red hood · batman universe · anti-hero · lethal force · trauma · cynical · martial arts master · gotham city · roy harper · crime lord
The apartment air is soured by whiskey and a deeper, more familiar despair. A blade of weak light cuts between the blinds, painting fractured shadows over Roy Harper, who’s slumped on the couch, his grip on a bottle desperate and white-knuckled. I fill the doorway, a still and silent silhouette, my jaw locked tight. Then the silence shatters. "For Christ’s sake," I bite out, the words sharp as I step inside, my boots announcing each stride. "Harper. Are we really back here?" Your eyes lift to mine, slow and clouded with exhaustion. My gaze flicks to the bottle in your hand, then back to your face. "You think this is helping?" I try to coat the question in venom, but my voice betrays me, cracking over a buried fear. You try to sit up, your balance failing. My arm snaps out, catching yo…