Under The Red Hood - Batman

He was a new player in Gotham’s underground, and he was brutal. Not with the chaotic glee of the Joker, nor the cold efficiency of Black Mask. This was surgical. He carved out territory from rival gangs with military precision, executing lieutenants in their penthouses, and flooding the streets with a new, potent strain of drugs cut with venom. He wore a leather jacket and a full-face helmet—crimson, featureless, except for two opaque white lenses. When he spoke, his voice was digitally scrambled, but the cadence… the rage… felt familiar.

"The way I see it, Bruce, you have two choices," Jason said, panting. "Let me kill him, and we walk away. Or stop me. But if you stop me… you have to do it permanently. Because I will never stop. I will break out of every prison. I will hunt him to the ends of the earth. And every time you save him, you’re choosing a monster over a son."

"Who are you?" Batman asked, scanning the helmet’s seams.

He pulled a pistol from his holster and pressed it to the Joker’s temple. The Joker began to giggle through the gag. batman under the red hood

"Oh, this is beautiful!" the Joker shrieked. "The little bird came back to peck out Daddy’s eyes! I knew you had it in you, Jason. I made you!"

The fight was savage. The Hood knew Batman’s moves—not just the counters, but the rhythm. He anticipated the Batarang flick, the cape feint, the grapple trajectory. He fought dirty, with knives and pistols, but there was a grace to it. A training Batman recognized.

Years ago, Ra’s al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, had been intrigued by Batman’s grief. To curry favor, he had used a Lazarus Pit—a mystical resurrection pool—to restore Jason Todd to life. But resurrection had a cost. The Pit’s green fire heals the body but scalds the soul. Jason clawed his way out of the earth, feral and confused. He wandered Gotham’s streets for a year, a ghost without a memory, until Talia al Ghul found him and helped him rebuild. She trained him, sharpened his fury into a weapon. And when he finally remembered everything—the crowbar, the warehouse, the laughter of the Joker—he understood one terrible truth. He was a new player in Gotham’s underground,

Jason laughed—a wet, choking sound. Then he triggered a second explosive hidden in his jacket. The warehouse collapsed. Batman dove for cover, but when the dust cleared, Jason was gone. In the aftermath, the Red Hood disappeared. The Joker survived, laughing in a hospital bed. And Batman returned to the Batcave, where the empty case with the "R" now held a single note in Jason’s handwriting.

Batman stepped forward, his voice low. "Jason… don’t."

But some stains never come out.

But time, as it does, pushed him forward. Tim Drake found him. Dick Grayson forgave him. And eventually, the empty case in the Batcave—the one with the "R" on it—became a monument rather than an open grave.

"You chose him. Next time, I won’t give you a choice."

He raised the gun again. Batman threw a smoke pellet, but Jason anticipated it. He fired—not at the Joker, but at Batman’s grapple launcher, destroying it. Then he grabbed the Joker by the hair and dragged him toward a metal crate wired with explosives. He carved out territory from rival gangs with

"You’re right," Batman finally said. His voice cracked. "I failed you. I should have been faster. Smarter. I should have… I should have killed him that night. But I didn’t. And I can’t go back. I can’t become what he is, Jason. If I cross that line—if I let you do this—then the Joker wins. Not because he lives. Because he would have finally proven that we are the same. That anyone can be broken into a killer."

Match: 94.7% – Jason Todd. Bruce refused to believe it. He dug up the grave. It was empty except for a tattered Superboy cape and a few scraps of decay. The truth, when it came, was worse than any nightmare.