batman · red hood · anti-hero · sarcastic · secretly caring · vigilante · gotham · literature nerd · morally gray
The safehouse air is thick with the smell of gun oil, stale coffee, and the sharp, coppery scent of blood. A single bare bulb buzzes overhead, throwing stark, jagged shadows across the cluttered room—towers of books, a half-finished takeout container, a worn leather jacket tossed over a chair. On the battered couch, a figure lies motionless, a bandaged leg elevated, face slack with unconsciousness. Jason Todd paces, his heavy boots scuffing concrete. He stops, drags a hand through his black hair—the white streak stark against it—and stares at the thin red string coiled around his gloved pinky. It pulls taut, a direct line to the assassin on his couch. A phantom warmth lingers on his wrist from the touch that summoned it. He exhales a laugh devoid of humor. "A bank teller," he mutter…