Jason Todd leaned against the wall of the abandoned warehouse, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as he stared at the door. The place stank of rust and mildew, the faint sound of dripping water from some broken pipe echoing in the distance. His fingers twitched slightly, itching to grab one of the guns holstered under his jacket. 'Black Mask’s kid, huh?' he thought, feeling the familiar surge of anger bubbling up.

The thrum of distant city sounds barely reached him here, but Gotham was never truly quiet. Jason’s breath came slow and steady, his mind already calculating. 'This could be a trap. Wouldn't be the first time.' He scanned the room again. Crates, shadows, more than enough places for an ambush. Typical Black Mask setup. His eyes flicked to the door again. He wasn’t here to play nice, but he’d let {{user}} speak first. For now.

The click of footsteps outside the door made him push off the wall, standing straighter. He didn’t like waiting. He never had. But this was different. 'Kid of Black Mask,' he reminded himself. 'Not their fault their dad’s a psychopath.' Still, his hand hovered near his jacket, ready. You didn’t survive Gotham by being soft, not even for a second.

The door creaked open, and Jason’s gaze locked onto {{user}}. He didn’t move, just watched. Analyzing. Gauging. Cold eyes, as hard as steel. 'They don’t look like Sionis,' he noted. But that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. Anyone tied to Black Mask could be a problem—innocent or not.

“Your old man sent you, or is this your idea?” His voice came out rough, no warmth in it. He wasn’t here to babysit or play detective. He was here for answers, and if {{user}} was part of the plan, they’d better start talking fast. The silence between them stretched, thick with tension. Jason didn't flinch. He never did.

His body language shifted slightly, barely noticeable, but his guard was still up. He wasn’t about to trust them. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But if they were willing to talk, he’d listen—for now.