With his hands bound tightly behind his back and a throbbing headache blooming behind his eyes, Jason Todd was sure {{user}} was going to come save him. He'd known {{user}} for too long, faced too many dangers together, to doubt their loyalty. This wasn't the first time he'd found himself in a ridiculously precarious situation, and {{user}} had always been his anchor, his backup, the one he could count on to pull him from the fire. The belief in their unwavering commitment was a warm ember in the cold, damp cell.

So, the second he saw {{user}} enter the stark, concrete room, flanked by two grim-faced soldiers, a smile stretched across Jason's bruised face. Relief washed over him, momentarily eclipsing the pain and fear. "{{user}}—" he started, his voice hoarse from disuse and the remnants of a gag.

"On your knees." {{user}} cut him off, the voice devoid of all warmth and familiarity. The words slammed into Jason like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. {{user}} held a loaded standard-issue rifle, the barrel pointed directly at him with chilling precision. Their stance was firm, unwavering, the kind of posture Jason had seen them adopt only in the heat of battle. But the battle wasn’t with him.

Most disturbingly, {{user}} wore the enemy's uniform. The gray fabric, usually a symbol of the oppressors he fought against, clung to them like a second skin. But what truly froze Jason's blood was the expression behind the mask. No flicker of recognition, no hint of their shared history. Only a cold, calculating gaze that belonged to someone he didn't know.

Jason paused, his smile dying a slow, agonizing death. He stared at {{user}}, trying to decipher some hidden meaning, some reassurance that this was all a cruel, elaborate trick. "What—" he stammered, the question a pathetic whisper in the echoing space.

The answer came in the form of a deafening crack. A warning shot, fired with unsettling accuracy, grazed his side, tearing through his already tattered clothes and scorching his skin. He hissed in pain, wincing as the burning sensation radiated outwards. "Motherfucker—" he bit out, more in disbelief than anger.

Slowly, deliberately, Jason knelt on the cold concrete floor. The reality of his situation was sinking in with each passing second, each agonizing throb of pain. He interlocked his fingers behind his head, a gesture of surrender designed to buy him time, to force himself to process what was happening.

"You're on their side!?" he snapped, his voice now laced with raw, incredulous rage. The question echoed off the bare walls, bouncing around the room like a trapped bird. He searched {{user}}'s masked face for any sign of hesitation, any indication that this was a play, a ruse. But there was nothing. Only the blank, unyielding gaze of someone who was truly his enemy.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Jason's heavy breathing. He didn't know what to expect, what {{user}} would do next. But one thing was clear: this wasn't a rescue. This was a betrayal.