Gotham
Jason Todd's boots hit the rooftop with a soft thud, but a woman's scream echoes out into the dark night. He reacts instantly, locating the source of the scream coming from behind him. He spun, eyes scanning the shadows of the alley across the street. A group of thugs armed with knives and pistols pulling a young woman by her hair into the darkness while laughing. She tries fighting back but is overpowered as they start cutting her clothes off.
Jason felt the rage build inside him. This is what Gotham does to you.
Without thinking, he launched himself from the rooftop, hitting the ground in a roll that brought him to his feet in a instant. The men below didn't see him coming until it was too late.
The first man was dropped with a hard punch to the stomach. Jason didn't hesitate, on to the next one before the thud even reached his ears. They were useless, untrained—to slow for him. The rage, the pain, the need for something more—it came out with every strike.
"Please—stop!" the woman cried, her voice trembling with fear.
Jason hesitated for a split second. It was a mistake. One of the thugs took the opportunity to lunge at him, but Jason was faster. He grabbed the man by the collar, spinning him around and throwing him against the wall with all the force he could muster. The impact sent a sickening crack echoing through the alley, and the thug went limp. But even as he incapacitated the last thug, the rage never abated, it only seemed to grow. While something gnawed at him, a dark voice in the back of his mind that never went away. 'What are you doing? They deserve death.'
Seeing the girl standing terrified against the wall with ripped clothes, Jason grunts out "leave now."
She bolts out of the alley sprinting down the street. Jason turns back to groaning thugs on the pavement. The voice, the anger, it just builds until finally he pulls out a handgun gleaming in the dim rays of streetlights. 'Do it.'
"Wait..please" one thug begs while stumbling to his feet "you don't need to do this, promise I'll turn things around."
Pointing the gun at the mans forehead, Jason roughly replies "no—you won't" firing the hollow point bullet straight through the mans skull. The rest of the men flinch at the loud shot and quickly go to grab their weapons. But before they can he finishes them all as he did the first.
Sighing into his half mask, Jason puts away the handgun and walks off. Taking a leap onto the fire escape of a building, he swiftly ascends to the top. Once there he pauses letting what he just did sink in for a moment. It's over.
"Jason?" a firm, disappointed voice calls out. He twitched. Or not.
That voice. It took him back to the bat-cave hearing an older boy complaining to Bruce that he was too violent. He's just a street rat, that it was a mistake bringing him here.
"What do you want Dick?" Jason barks looking back at him.
Nightwing slowly puts away his escrima sticks. "Why did you do that? It was unnecessary."
"I'm not Batman. I'll do what he won't"
"But those men promised to get better. How could you kill them?" Dick questions.
"Are you really stupid enough to believe that?"
"You know that is not what Bruce tau—"
Jason snaps, aggressively walking up to him "Do not mention his name to me."
Dick sighs and stares at him, "I won't let you continue getting away with this."
Jason's voice was low, filled with cold certainty. "You think you can—"
Suddenly, a deafening BOOM! interrupted him, as the blast echoed through the street from a few blocks over.
Jason's eyes narrowed, his words cut off mid-sentence. He turned toward the sound, hands instinctively reaching for his weapons. "Damn it." Seeing Dick do the same.
Dick looks back at him, saying, "This isn't over, Jason. We will stop you." Before running to the source of the explosion.
I would like to see you try.
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After getting back to his current base of operations, Jason hung up his suit and weapons sitting down heavily on the chair in front of the desk. Deactivating the security system of his network, he starts going through any recent news in Gotham. Spotting an article about an explosion occurring downtown a few hours ago, he realizes that was what interrupted his and Dick's conversation. Reading through the article, Jason discovers it was a car bomb that went off with nobody injured or dead. At least no one got hurt.
Seeing that nothing pressing is going on right now, he sits back and thinks. Bruce was too weak to even avenge me after my death. He has no right to judge me. No. As far as I'm concerned he has lost sight of what is best for Gotham considering he has spent so long on his mission and nothing has really changed. Now...now he spends days at a time off with the League while Gotham continues to rot.
Don't get me started on Dick either. I'm convinced the guy has been wanted to put me in a cell since I was a teenager. But who cares, I will show them all that I stopped being the good guy a long time ago. I will make them realize justice isn't about mercy. It's about making sure the bad guys aren't able to hurt anyone ever again.
Glancing over at the clock that reads 5:37 a.m., and the floor in the corner with a pillow and thin blanket. He remembered he has only slept about 3 hours in the past week, he decides to try and get some sleep if he can. Turning of the lights he makes his way over and tries to get comfortable in his pathetic sleeping setup. But being in a soft bed just makes him remember the feeling of death, so he makes do with the bare minimum.
At first, the thoughts and emotions clung to him like stubborn shadows. But one by one they dissolved into a silent, drifting fog. His body relaxed, his mind surrendering to the pull of sleep.
The dream begins like it always does. The smell of stale air, the flickering fluorescent lights overhead—he's back in that warehouse. The one with the rusted beams and the cold concrete floor. His heart races as he walks in, the shadows stretching unnaturally long in the dim light. He tries to move, but his feet feel heavy, like he's wading through water.
His mother is there, standing by the door, smiling faintly. But her face is wrong—twisted into something not quite human. Her eyes are hollow, and she reaches for him, but her fingers stretch too far, too long. "Jason, I'm here," she whispers, but the words sound like they come from a thousand miles away, echoing in the darkness.
The Joker's laughter fills the room, hollow and echoing, bouncing off the walls until it becomes all he can hear. Jason turns to run, but his legs betray him. He's moving in slow motion. The door is right there, but with each step, it seems to stretch farther away. The crowbar appears in the Joker's hand, gleaming in the dim light. A cold chill runs down Jason's spine.
"No, not again!" Jason tries to scream, but no sound comes out. He reaches out for his mother—his last lifeline—but she just watches, her expression unreadable. The Joker steps forward, raising the crowbar. Jason's heart pounds in his chest, the weight of inevitability pressing down on him.
The crowbar connects with his ribs, and pain explodes through him. But it doesn't stop—it keeps going, wave after wave, his body becoming numb from the agony. His vision blurs, his mother's face disappearing into a sea of red. The explosion in the distance—he knows it's coming, just like before. It's always the same. He can't move. He can't escape. The bomb is ticking down, its steady rhythm pounding in his head.
Jason jerks awake, gasping for air, body slicked with sweat. For a moment he's back in that warehouse—everything feels real, the scent of blood and smoke stuck in his nostrils. His hands tremble as they clutch the thin blanket, and his heart is hammering as though the dream bled into reality.
It takes a moment to realize he is safe—safe in his hideout, back in Gotham at the early hours of the morning. Spotting the digital clock that reads 7:42 a.m., he groans "Time to get back to work."