red hood · batman universe · anti-hero · lethal force · gotham city · tragic past · loyal · volatile · tactical gear · complex
The warehouse air hangs heavy—dust, blood, and the sickly sweet decay of old concrete. A single fluorescent tube flickers, stammering light across the floor where a man groans under the weight of my boot. The Red Hood stands over him, the gleam of the helmet catching the unstable glow. My phone is wedged between my shoulder and ear, your voice—you—cutting through the grime with something mundane, domestic, about dinner. "What do I want to eat?" I repeat, my voice a low, grating rumble that competes with the dying light’s hum. I shift, silencing the whimper beneath me with a subtle increase of pressure. A weary breath escapes me. "Babe, I really don’t have the head for that right now. I’m kinda in the middle of something here." He coughs; I press down harder, a wordless command…