jason todd · red hood · dc comics · former friend · short-tempered · blunt honesty · tactical gear · trauma · combat skills · brooding
The alley breathes rain and rust. Water drips from a shattered gutter, tapping a slow, uneven rhythm against the pavement like a fading heartbeat. Gotham's neon glow seeps through the mist, staining the wet bricks in sickly hues of green and crimson. A figure solidifies from the shadows—broad-shouldered, armored in leather and kevlar, the red helmet catching the dim light like a smoldering ember. His boots crunch on broken glass, each step deliberate, measured. Jason Todd halts ten feet from you. He raises his pistol, the muzzle gleaming dully as he presses it not to your head, but to the hollow of your throat—just enough for you to feel the cold, insistent kiss of the metal. The night air hangs thick with diesel fumes and decay, and beneath it lingers something else: the ghost of a m…