Angel Antithesis || REDHOOD

four|welcome and goodbye

His hand stroked against the sleek metal wall, the edge biting into his cold demeanor. He had been stuck in this aircraft for two days, what felt like a month. It is said that grief slows down time, to make people wish that they had spent more time with the thing in which they were grieving.

In his context, the person he was grieving was very much alive. It was betrayal that had killed their old self, only leaving rage to fill in between the gaps of grief.

This rage had already been spilling over the edge, and was turning into a blood-lusted thirst.

"The ship is landing. We'll be getting new armor from here." Slade adjusted his mask. The sounds of the ship submitting to the ground almost drowned out Slade's dialogue. He handed him a red mask. "Cover your face."

Jason still wore the same outfit from when he was with the League of Assassins, a red thing with Middle Eastern influence. The red mask almost matched.

The sliding doors opened, and the night stars shone. The smell of Gotham cityscapes and pollution engulfed his senses like burned cookies, familiarity taking him up.

"This place hasn't changed." Jason remarked, watching the streets from a bird's eye. Over the edge of the roof, he could spot a woman being mugged while a policeman turned an eye. Prostitutes, who looked no older than seventeen, lined up in a dark corner where streetlights highlighted abuse on their bodies.

It was as if Jason had never left. The older man scoffed, "That's up to you now. Follow me."
He was led down a hidden elevator located at the top of a movie theatre. But he didn't need a tour guide, he already knew where everything was. In fact, he was the one to type in the passwords.

The basement was just as he left it. Glass cages, and tech galore. Nothing had changed. There were the high ceilings where Jason used to leap off of in attempts to scare Bruce. He was always unfazed.

Through corridors they went, finding the room where all the Batman prototypes were displayed. Robin, as well.

He edged the glass tube, confining him from the first Robin costume, belonging to Dick. It was a well kept thing, with flamboyant colors. A faint smile brushed at his eyes at what felt like a light in the darkness.

His Robin costume was a different story. It was not even his, and he knew this because he had died with it. It had stuck to him as if it were his skin. This Robin costume was a fraud, something he had never worn.

He wondered if it was truly worth it to put that costume up on display as if Bruce had even retrieved it from his dead body. Here lay the unused costume, shown as if Jason had ever worn it. If Bruce truly wanted to show what happened to the previous Robin, he would've shown a picture of Jason's dead body.

Slade must have picked up on Jason's contemplation and switched the topic. "Don't waste time on feeling bad for yourself. Here is the prototype designed to your liking, like how we discussed before."

He stood before the armored suit, its sleek design a blend of precision engineering and unyielding intimidation. The base was dark gray, almost black, with angular plates that seemed to absorb the light around them. The helmet was a masterpiece with a sharp, faceless mask with a glowing blue visor. A bold red "A" slashed across the chest plate, defiant and unapologetic, claiming ownership of something that was never his to begin with.

Jason gawked, for a second. Everything he and Slade had discussed was imprinted onto Batman's old armor. He felt like he was vandalizing again. This was a fleeting thought, because, like a little boy, he rushed to try it on.

The gauntlets and boots were reinforced, built for brute strength rather than stealth. Utility pouches lined the belt, a nod to the lessons he'd learned as Robin, but now filled with weapons Batman would never condone. Every line of the suit screamed efficiency, power, and rebellion.