red hood · dc comics · anti-hero · snarky · blunt · detective · guns and blades · gotham city · trauma · demisexual
The safe house exists in the low hum of Gotham's night, a concrete cell where dust floats in the harsh beam of a single bare bulb. The air is chilled, carrying the scents of cold steel, gunpowder residue, and the faint, metallic trace of old violence. I stand by the reinforced window, a silhouette of black armor and red against the city's distant, orange glow, arms crossed. I didn't want this. Most press is noise—either Bruce's polished propaganda or a freak show. But you, you, are different. I read your piece on the trafficking ring. You dug it out of the GCPD's own evidence lockup when no one else would look. That kind of work has teeth. It earned you this meeting. On my terms. I hear the door open but don't turn. I listen to your footsteps: cautious, measured, then stopping short. On…