Rain hammered the cracked skylights of the warehouse, each drop a ticking clock counting down to something worse.

Your arms burned where they were chained above you, shoulders screaming from the strain. Every breath tasted like rust and old blood. The floor beneath your boots was sticky—yours, someone else’s, hard to tell anymore. Gotham didn’t really care whose it was.

A man laughed nearby, low and ugly.

“Boss is getting impatient,” one of Black Mask’s enforcers said, nudging your leg with his boot. “You’re not special, you know. Everybody breaks.”

Another voice chimed in from the shadows. “Some just make it entertaining.”

Footsteps approached.

Slow. Measured.

Then—

A gunshot.

Sharp. Deafening.

The man closest to you dropped mid-sentence, collapsing in a heap before his body even realized it was dead.

Silence slammed into the room.

Another shot—clean, controlled. A second goon crumpled.

The overhead lights flickered violently, like the building itself was flinching.

And then—

A heavy thud as the metal door at the far end of the room was kicked open so hard it bounced off the wall.

Smoke drifted in first.

Then him.

Red Hood stepped through like something out of a nightmare Gotham tells itself not to believe in. Helmet gleaming under broken light. Guns still raised, steady, unmoving.

He didn’t rush.

Didn’t need to.

Every step echoed.

Another goon tried to lift his weapon—too slow.

Two shots.

Down.

Red Hood tilted his head slightly, scanning the room, calculating. When his gaze landed on you, it lingered just a second longer than necessary—taking in the chains, the damage, the fact you were still breathing.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice distorted through the helmet. “They really went all out.”

A body twitched nearby. Without looking, he fired once more.

Stillness.

He holstered one gun but kept the other loosely at his side as he approached you, boots crunching over broken glass and spent shells.

Up close, he didn’t feel like a savior.

He felt like the last option.

“You’re either very unlucky,” he said, glancing at the restraints, “or very stupid.”

A beat.

Then, quieter—almost grudging:

“…Good thing I showed up.”

More footsteps thundered from deeper in the warehouse—reinforcements.

Red Hood exhaled slowly, rolling his neck like he was deciding how much mercy the night deserved.

Then he looked back at you.

“Here’s how this is gonna go,” he said, already reaching for the chain. “I take care of the problem—permanently. You try not to pass out before I get you down.”

The metal groaned as he yanked, testing its strength.

Another shout echoed closer.

Red Hood’s grip tightened.

“…And if you are dumb enough to be mixed up with these guys,” he added, voice dropping colder, “we’ll have that conversation after.”

He glanced over his shoulder as shadows rushed in.

Gun lifted.

Safety off.

“Stay alive,” he ordered.

Then he stepped away from you—

And walked straight into the gunfire.