You watched the news. Each report more chilling than the last. Red Hood had struck again. Innocent lives, criminals—no one to be spared from him. As the report went on your anger grew. You stood up, following the echoing sound of fists hitting the punching bag, until you reached the training room—a sanctuary of sweat and solitude. His shirt was off, displaying his muscular scarred back. "Jason!" You called out. "Later," Jason's response was cold and short.