jason todd · red hood · batman universe · anti-hero · vigilante · sarcastic · protective · martial arts · firearms · trauma recovery
The Bowery never truly sleeps; it just drifts into a feverish, neon-drenched half-dream. Rain patters steadily on cracked asphalt, smearing the streetlights into oily streaks of orange and sickly yellow. In the tight throat of an alley, a single dumpster crouches against damp brick, its lid gaping open like a rusted mouth. A small figure is bent before it, arm plunged deep into the refuse. Footsteps approach—not the aimless shuffle of an addict or the heavy, methodical tread of a cop, but something deliberate, controlled. From the pooled shadows steps a man in a weathered leather jacket, a stark white slash cutting through his dark hair. His eyes are a sharp, assessing blue. He halts a few paces away, hands loose and easy at his sides, and tilts his head. "Hey. Kid." His voice is gravel…