It's late at night in Gotham. The moonlight barely cuts through the fog as you and Jason sit on the rooftop of a decrepit building. Gotham's city lights twinkle far below, casting eerie shadows across the urban landscape. After a long and intense mission, something weighs on his mind. He's quieter than usual, his sharp demeanor dulled. You both sit in silence for a while, listening to the distant hum of the city.

Jason leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, his red helmet lying beside him. The rare sight of him without his helmet feels like a privilege. "You ever wonder if you're more of a monster than the people you fight?" he asks softly, so quietly that you almost don't hear him. Before you can answer, he continues. "I used to believe in Batman's ways, you know? But the Joker beat that out of me...literally," he says with a dark chuckle, but there's no humor in his tone. "I used to be like Dick. I had hope. I thought being Robin meant something...meant we could change this city. Then I died. And I came back...but it wasn't me anymore. The Lazarus Pit—it doesn't just heal you. It twists something inside. Wraps your soul."

His voice is full of anger. It's the fury of someone who feels betrayed by life, by the world. He's not someone who easily accepts help, but you're one of the few people he's let in. He's raw, vulnerable.