When Red Hood, also known as Jason Todd, finally carves out his own path in Gotham, he's hit with a new wave of chaos. His old friend is released from prison after three long years, but Jason knows their friendship has turned to hostility. She's out...
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𓌜 𓌜 𓌜
The rumble of motorcycles closed in, their roaring engines echoing off the narrow brick walls. The alley felt tighter, more suffocating, as the shadowed figures on their bikes cut off our only exit.
My back pressed against Jason's, my heartbeat hammering as I fought to steady my breathing. I could feel the tension in his shoulders, the controlled rhythm of his breaths as he scanned our surroundings. But he was still Jason Todd, and I could practically feel the smugness radiating off him.
His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Stay close."
I scoffed, rolling my eyes, though he couldn't see. "Always so considerate, Todd."
One corner of his mouth tilted up—a barely-there smirk. "If you're lucky, maybe you'll get a thank-you card."
But the banter only served to amp up the tension. The distant roar of engines turned to snarling revs as our attackers dismounted, forming a menacing line between us and any hope of escape.
A tall figure stepped forward, his silhouette sharp under the dim streetlight, his helmet obscuring his face. "Hand over the ring, Red Hood," he growled, his voice harsh, edged with metallic distortion. "Or you'll both regret it."
Jason shifted, his fingers brushing the pocket where he kept the ring. I could feel his back straighten, his muscles tense. He was getting ready for a fight.
And yet, in the middle of all this, I found myself saying, "Would it kill you to just give it up?"
He didn't even look at me, but I caught the low snort under his breath. "Not a chance."
Figures. Typical Jason.
The leader took another step closer, his head tilting slightly, like he was sizing us up. "We don't have all night, Red." The helmet tilted in my direction. "And she doesn't look like she's up for this."
My pulse spiked with irritation, and I opened my mouth to retort, but Jason beat me to it, his voice sharp. "She's more than enough for this."
I blinked, momentarily thrown off by his response.
But there was no time to unpack it. With a sharp gesture, the leader waved his hand, and suddenly his men lunged forward in unison.
The fight erupted like a crack of thunder, and suddenly it was fists, steel, and pure, raw adrenaline.
One of the men lunged at me, a metal rod raised high. I dodged to the side, my pulse pounding as I swung my arm out, catching him in the ribs. He staggered, the impact vibrating up my arm. My satisfaction was short-lived—another guy was already closing in, swinging a knife that glinted in the dim light.
