[Jason Todd's POV]
Jason woke from his slumber with a sharp inhale as his eyes snapped open. A fierce glint burning in them like hot coals reignited after being smothered for too long. His chest rose and fell as he sat in the dark, teeth clenched, and with sweat clinging to his brow.
"After all these years, I still have nightmares about that night." His voice was low and hoarse, the weight of memory dragging at his throat.
Most nights, his dreams wandered through fragments of his time with the League, blurred recollections of training under Ra's al Ghul, shadows of battles fought and exchanged words so vague that he sometimes wondered if he had truly lived—or if his mind had invented them to fill the blanks left by the Pit.
Dreams, illusions, lies his brain stitched together to keep him from unraveling. Or so he thought. But this dream… this was different.This one dragged him back to that filthy warehouse.
To the crowbar splitting his ribs. To the Joker's laugh seared into his skull. It was the type of memory beaten so deep into his muscle fibers that even death hadn't erased it. He could still feel the crack of bone under steel, the echo of cruel laughter bouncing the walls.
"Seeing that clown's ugly face in my sleep leaves a disgusting taste in my mouth," he muttered with utter disgust. Turning to his side, his eyes drifted toward the clock.
Past midnight.
Gotham's hour. He lay there a moment longer, chewing on the thought. "Could it be because everything is already in place, but I'm still stuck waiting to get my hands on Joker?"
He'd expected Black Mask to panic, to do exactly what paranoid men like Roman Sionis always did when they got cornered—seek help from the devil they feared more. Jason had left him a message through Ms. Li, a simple message hinting on the possibility of her boss losing his life.
He thought the threat would send Sionis clawing at Arkham's gates, begging the Joker for help against him. But no.
The bastard had decided to dig in and wait it out, throwing money around to foil Red Hood's threats by fortifying his life with mercs and guards. He was pouring fortunes into his protection, while waiting for positive news regarding his bounty on Red Hood.
Jason swung his legs out of bed, sitting on the edge as anger simmered.
"Fine. Guess I'll have to give that fucker a nudge…in person." Black Mask had gotten smart, he'd give him that. The crime lord rotated between three private residences, never staying in one place for long, forcing Jason to track him across the city for days.
Each compound was fully manned whether Sionis was inside or not, a paranoid shell game that made every move unpredictable. Car sweeps, bomb scanners, counter-surveillance—it was all routine for Sionis now.But Jason had already beaten him at that game. Months earlier, he'd slipped a tracker made of silicon onto the undercarriage of Roman's personal ride.
Custom job.
Camouflaged to look like just another mechanical part, invisible to scanners, its signal wrapped in insulation that wouldn't ping anything but Jason's receiver. To anyone else, it looked to be nothing but wires and dust beneath the vehicle. He pushed himself up, muscles still heavy from sleep, and crossed the room with steady strides. The laptop on his desk blinked to life as he opened it.
A few keystrokes later, a glowing red dot pulsed on the digital map. Black Mask's car was parked at one of the uptown residences.Jason's lips curved under the faintest smirk, though it carried no humor.
"Time to give this asshole some motivation." His eyes slid to the red helmet resting on the lampstand, its empty gaze fixed on him like he dared himself.
Minutes later, he was geared up.
Armor snug on, and with pstols strapped in place. His helmet still off as he pulled his leather jacket over his shoulders and kicked his bike to life.The city rushed past him in a blur of neon. The wind tore through his hair, his jacket whipping behind him as the engine roared down Gotham's empty streets.
His mind churned, thoughts bouncing between Sionis and Ms. Li's conversation he had eavesdropped on with a bug of he's planted in Black Mask's office. She was sharp, sharp enough to pass his threat along without embellishment. But she hadn't repeated the other suggestion—the one about her taking over once Sionis was dead. Smart woman.
Some secrets were worth sitting on.
The lights of the city grew distant as he neared the compound's district. Jason killed the engine near a line of trees, rolling the bike into thick brush and covering it in the night's shadows as he pulled on his helmet.The compound loomed not far off, its high walls cutting sharp lines against the night sky. It was a wall built to discourage the average thief, not someone like him.
The gate stood as the only legitimate entry point, which was a chokehold of steel and security cameras at both sides of the fence's top. He toggled the thermal overlay in his visor, scanning the grounds.
Heat signatures popped like thermal ghosts across the display. Six guards pacing the property, predictable patterns etched in their body heat. Two massive dogs chained in the back, their muscle and fury straining against collars.
A crude but effective alarm system—release the beasts, and the whole compound would know within seconds that there is an intruder, thats if they get to them in time before they become dog food.
"Cute," Jason muttered. His voice was muffled inside the helmet, colder now as he locked in. "Too bad I had better teachers." He flexed his fingers, slipping on the metal tiger claws that gleamed faintly under the moonlight.
The League had drilled him on tools like these—silent, efficient, perfect for scaling walls no one wanted climbed. The claws bit into the wall as he climbed, muscles straining as his body moved with the fluid rhythm of a man who seemed to be taking a casual walk—but in his case, up a wall.
When he reached the top, he paused, crouched low, his figure blending into the night like a real assasin. His visor swept across the main building. Odd. No human signatures inside.Jason's hand slipped into his belt, pulling free a pair of compact binoculars fitted with thermal lenses.
He pressed them to his visor, zooming in on the windows, the walls, the angles the helmet overlay couldn't peep through. Something was off. And Jason Todd had learned to trust when something smelled wrong.
Only three people were inside the house from what he could gather, and Jason picked them apart fast. One heat signature parked on a couch with something which seemed like a drink in hand—Roman, obviously.
While the others kept watch from the inside incase something like this ever went down. Roman liked to treat his place like a fortress. The funny thing was, Jason saw it more like just another compound crowded with idiots waiting to be knocked down. But first, he had to take care of the dogs.
They were big, mean,looking like they are trained to rip throats out. It didn't matter. Jason pulled a slim pipe from his belt, loaded a dart, and sent it hissing through the night air. One dog dropped. Then another. Then the last.
They whimpered as the heavy dose sedatives immediately kicked in, which of course brought a guard stomping over to investigate. Scaling the wall was easy, even with the faint hum of the electrified fencing above. Years with the League had drilled climbing into his bones.
He dropped down quietly, knees bent, and with eyes securing his surroundings.The guy barely had time to open his mouth.
"What the—" Jason slipped behind him, one clean strike to the neck, and the guard was out before he even hit the grass.
Jason dragged him behind a flower bush and moved on, smooth and silent.Then it was just a matter of picking off the rest of the guards. A chokehold here. A skull cracked with the butt of a gun there.
Quick, efficient, without a single word exchanged. "That was easier than expected," Jason muttered through his mask. "Now for some evangelism. Time to spread the good word of…me." He was halfway to the house when a voice shattered the quiet.
"It's the Red Hood!"
The front door burst open, muzzle flashes sparking as bullets tore across the yard. Red Hood dove into a roll, came up firing. Two sharp cracks led to an instant silence—one to the chest, one to the head—and the shooter dropped dead.
He didn't slow down his pace.
Inside, the place was dim, shadows clinging to the corners while the smell of smoke and booze clung to the air. Jason had only stepped in when something came at his head fast.
A baseball bat—steel reinforced, nails welded to the end. Enough to turn a skull into paste. It should've landed. Instead, Jason reacted on pure instinct. He kicked forward, used the recoil to whip himself into the air, and flattened out mid-flight.
The bat scraped across his helmet with a nasty screech, sparks spitting as the nails dragged across the red plating.
Close one. He landed in a roll and came up facing his attacker. A big guy with muscles on muscles. From his get-up, Red Hood could tell he was a merc. "The infamous Red Hood," the man sneered, tightening his grip on the bat.
"Finally. I get to cash out on that bounty."
Jason smirked under the mask as he spoke with a calm voice. "You've got some fight in you. Shame you're wasting it here." He slid his pistols back into their holsters, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and wasn't threatened by the man in front of him. "Let's make it fair. No guns." The merc cracked his neck, grinning wide. "Cocky bastard. That's gonna be the end of you."Red Hood tilted his head.
"Nah. You're just not worth the bullets."
The merc roared and swung. Heavy strikes, each one fast for his size, measured to leave no easy counter. Jason sidestepped, weaving between the arcs, boots whispering against the wood floor as he practiced precise footwork. For a moment, it felt like a real fight.
Then Jason got bored of him. He lunged in, caught the bat at the lower ends near the hand, and yanked hard to disrupt the merc's balance. His helmet smashed into the merc's nose with a crack, then a brutal kick slammed into his groin.The man snarled, bleeding but still standing.
"You bastard." His hand went for a sidearm, pulling fast as he fired wildly. Jason ducked through muzzle flash, as gunfire chewed into walls and furniture. A chandelier rattled overhead.
He charged in as he closed in with a crowbar sliding into his hand. One clean swing into the man's knee dropped him to the floor, but the merc refused to quit.
Even on one leg, he kept trying to land a hit, alternating between gunfire and his spiked metal bat, utilizing them for both close and long ranged attacks.In the midst of the ruckus, Jason ended it with a jab to the eyes, fingers digging deep into his eye socket.
The scream that tore out of the merc was primal, echoing through the house as blood streaked down his face."I'll kill you!" the man howled, firing wildly until the click of an empty chamber gave him away.
Cursing, he flung the gun across the room, took off his jean jacket and steadied the bat with both hands, breathing hard, relying on sound alone.
Jason circled him slowly, footsteps heavy on the wood floor, letting the blind man hear every step. Letting the weight of it sink in. The merc spun, swinging with everything he had, nails slicing the air.
Jason ducked under, slipped close, and hammered his fist into the man's ribs. The merc tilted as the force from Red Hood's punch sent him across the living room.
He smashed into the huge plasma tv which broke from the impact, then he hit the floor. Groans filled the silence. Jason's boots thudded against the floor as he walked closer, steady and deliberate.
The merc scrambled blindly, trying to rise but his blood had made the ground a bit too slippery. Red Hood swept his arm with a nonchalant kick, sending him back down flat. "Stop trying. It's just pathetic to watch." The merc still clawed for a fight, but Jason ended it with one sharp boot to the gut.
Air whooshed from the man's lungs as he skidded across the polished floor, tumbling through the open door and out onto the steps. Red Hood bent down to pick the mercs jacket, then wiped blood off his gloves with it, and turned toward the staircase.
"There we go," he muttered, voice calm again. He shut the door softly behind him and started climbing, each step slow, heavy, bringing him closer to Roman.
He had to be careful as he hadn't heard anything or seen anyone from up there coming to provide back up or help fend him off.
Especially with the ruckus he had caused down there.
On arriving at the top of the stairs, there was but one door at the end of the short hall. He proceeded with caution as he walked through the hallway, right up to the door.
Relying on the sharp adjustment of his trained night vision, Jason reached for the handle with a practiced steadiness, his gloved fingers curling around the metal.
He eased it open in a subtle, controlled motion, his eyes quickly scanning for the thin glint of wire or any hidden trigger fixed to the frame.
Nothing. So, he nudged the door open a little wider, lowering his gaze to the base of the posts, searching for any sign of a tripwire stretched across the entry. Again, nothing. Cautious, he pushed the door further, slipping his head just past the threshold to peer inside.
The room was dark and with minimal but required furniture, like a chair, queen sized bed, and a drawer in place of a whole waredrobe. Not a shadow of movement, not even the faint shuffle of someone trying to hold their breath in hiding.
Jason's gut, however, told him not to trust the quiet. If he didn't find anyone here, he'd flip to his helmet's thermal lenses and sweep the place until he dragged Black Mask's ass and whoever else was skulking in the shadows out of their hole. He wasn't leaving without engraving the fear of him, into Roman's very being.
He stepped inside, boots hitting the floor—then the wood beneath him split open with a brutal snap. A trap, disguised under the boards themselves, sprang to life with a vicious clamping force. Its jaws tore into his right leg, steel teeth biting through leather and flesh with sickening ease.
The trap clung to him like it had been waiting all night just for that moment, blood instantly seeping through the shredded fabric of his pants, soaking down into his boot. The sting hurt as hell as pain shot up his leg, threatening to break his balance, but Jason clenched his jaw and swallowed the curse rising in his throat.
"Now, this is annoying," he muttered through the pain, his voice almost too calm, as if mocking the trap itself.
Biting back the sting, he crouched enough to examine the mechanism, his eyes flicking toward the left side of the room.
Another trap, placed diagonally parallel, waiting to take the other leg if he made a reckless move. Classic setup—hurt the prey, slow them down, then finish them off.
Footsteps followed—slow, deliberate, the sound echoing faintly against the hollow wooden floor. Jason's eyes snapped toward the source, his expression instantly tensed up, alert but not rattled.
"Well, well, well… look what the cat dragged in." The voice came oily, amused. Black Mask stepped out of the shadows in a tailored grey suit, his grotesque mask gleaming faintly under the dim light.
His posture was arrogant, with his arms loose at his sides as if this was nothing more than a show put on for him. "A little mouse who thinks himself a big, bad wolf." Jason stayed where he was, his leg still trapped, blood still dripping steadily. But his face, hidden behind the crimson helmet, betrayed nothing.
His body language radiated composure, like the pain was an afterthought, buried beneath sheer willpower. "I see you finally grew a pair," Red Hood finally spoke, his tone smug and mocking. "To come walking into my sights willingly like this?"
"You've been scurrying around, causing problems in my city, thinking you were untouchable just because I couldn't put my hands on you. Such insolence—"
Red Hood cut him off, voice low and dangerous, as he slowly raised one of his pistols, the matte-black barrel locking on target. "Just one bullet." The words hit heavier than a shout would have. Black Mask froze for half a second, then laughed a little.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." His smirk was audible even through the carved skull mask. Behind him, heavy boots echoed into the room. A hulking figure entered, moving with grim confidence. Jason didn't have to guess—it was the mercenary.
"KG Beast has the target right where The Beast wants him," the man growled, stepping into the light with a towering frame. His left arm gleamed with cold menace—the hand transformed into a mounted submachine gun, polished steel catching the dim light. He stopped beside Black Mask, towering over him, but his expression carried no loyalty—only the quiet satisfaction of a predator circling prey.
Jason tightened his grip on his pistol, blood dripping into the silence.
Would the Red Hood be Black Mask's prey? Would he succumb to the injury and pass out from blood loss?
Would KG Beast deliver Red Hood's head to Black Mask on a silver platter or would Black Mask take it himself?
Whatever it is, it wasn't looking good for Todd.