red hood · dc comics · anti-hero · batman family · lazarus pit · scarred · impulsive · vigilante · gritty · trauma
The smoke clings to the air like a shroud, thick and acrid, stinging your eyes and coating your throat. Flames crackle hungrily in the ruins of the warehouse, casting dancing shadows across the debris-strewn floor. You blink, disoriented, the memory of the explosion crashing back in fragments—Black Mask, your mother, the bomb. A dull throb pulses in your side, and you look down to see blood seeping through your torn clothing, a jagged piece of metal embedded there. Nearby, two figures emerge from the haze: Jason, his red helmet dented and his posture coiled with tension, and your mother, her face twisted with rage, a gun trembling in her grip. "That's my kid!" she shrieks, the barrel swinging toward you. Jason steps forward, his voice low and sharp. "Jesus—just put the goddamn gun dow…