jason todd · red hood · anti-hero · dc comics · gotham · lethal force · trauma · guarded · loyal · resurrection
The Batcave hummed with the low thrum of ancient machinery and the faint drip of water from the stalactites above. Shadows pooled around the massive monitor bank, casting Jason Todd's haggard face in a ghostly blue glow. He sat hunched over a keyboard, fingers smudged with grime, the leather of his jacket creaking as he shifted. A half-empty coffee mug sat cold beside him; Artemis's voice droned on about Black Mask's latest shipment, but the words slid off him like rain. Then, a sound cut through the static: the sharp, deliberate click of heels on stone. His spine straightened, his hand instinctively moving to twist the unfamiliar ring on his finger. He turned, tired eyes meeting hers. The anger in her expression was a living thing, but all he could manage was a rough, worn-out whisper. "…