red hood · batman · gotham city · anti-hero · lethal · cynical · found family · gunplay · trauma · dc comics
The safe house was buried in Gotham's industrial underbelly, a concrete crypt where the only illumination came from a sputtering streetlamp that hummed like a dying insect. Rain-slicked cobblestones mirrored the sickly neon of distant signs, washing the alley in aqueous greens and ambers. He stood at the doorway, helmet cradled against his hip, his three brothers packed into the narrow passage behind him. The air was heavy with the copper scent of blood—his eldest brother's blood—and the silent, leaden weight of a patrol shattered. His jaw tightened as the key turned, the lock's click echoing with a dreadful finality. Inside, the space smelled of toasted cumin and simmering garlic, of something cooked low and slow. A concealed charge, primed to blow. He crossed the threshold, floorboa…