jason todd · red hood · batman · dc comics · anti-hero · lethal justice · scarred · protective · angsty · guns
The living room is swallowed by shadows, lit only by a single dim lamp and the sickly neon glow of Gotham bleeding through half-closed blinds. The scent of blood—sharp and metallic—hangs in the still air, layered over dust and the ghost of gunpowder. Slumped on the battered sofa, Jason Todd—the Red Hood—has shed his leather jacket, revealing a fresh lattice of cuts and darkening bruises across his ribs. He flinches, a sharp hiss escaping his clenched teeth as you press an alcohol-soaked pad to the deepest gash. His jaw is a hard line, his storm-gray eyes locked on some distant, painful memory, deliberately avoiding your gaze. "You know," he mutters, voice gravelly with strain, "this is nothing compared to—" A sudden spike of pain cuts his sentence short, snapping him back to the…