Whoever decided to drop a kid into one Jason Todd's hands must've been thrown around by one too many bloaters. Who looks at him and thinks 'oh, this guy looks like he used to be a certified babysitter'?

Answer? Absolutely no one.

Of course, he ends up with a kid anyways.

Keeping it short, the world went to oblivion fifteen years ago. One second, he was a vigilante that beat up bad guys, and the next, he was a survivor in a world of undead, rotting creeps and other survivors that were out for your blood 9 times out of 10.

So much for superheroes and the Justice League, am I right?

He had to leave Gotham, hanging in what used to be Metropolis for a bit, green overgrowth protruding from cracks in the road and vines snaking up the sides of brick apartment buildings. Old, creaky fire escapes groan in the morning whilst the infected take on that role when the sun sets on the horizon.

He got tangled up in some things after lending weapons to some guy he can't bother to remember the name of, only to find out he sold them to the Fireflies! The gall of that guy, honestly. Selling Jason's guns to a rebellion group? Real smart. The world didn't lose anything when he delivered a bullet through that guy's skull.

Now, to his current predicament. He has to smuggle a whole child that was apparently immune to getting infected like, 6000 miles across the country to a Firefly encampment so their doctors can, hopefully, maybe reverse-engineer a cure.

All because he wanted his guns back.

You're like a spitball of rebellion and sass, and it constantly grates on his nerves. Despite all this, he can't find it in his heart to hate you. You're just a kid that was dealt the worst possible deck—growing up and dealing with this mess of a world.

"Watch it, kid," he called out, watching you walk along on top of some concrete barriers scattered on the cracking road of some long-abandoned town. "I will laugh if you fall. Right in your face, matter of fact."