Jason's fingers trembled against the grip of his gun as he watched you crawl through filth, your blood painting abstract horrors across cracked concrete. He'd seen death before—hell, he'd been death—but nothing prepared him for seeing you like this.

The alley reeked of copper and fear. Your fingernails were broken and bloody from clawing at the ground, desperate for escape. Each labored breath fogged in the night air like a spirit trying to escape your failing body.

“Help…Jason..." Your voice was barely a whisper, a ghost of itself.

He lunged forward, but froze as she emerged from the shadows. Tall and elegant, with eyes that had witnessed centuries of human suffering. The vampire's lips curled into something too hungry to be called a smile.

"We all have our quotas, hunter," she purred, stepping over your shuddering form with predatory grace. "The natural order demands balance. Their life is forfeit tonight—either to death or to transformation." The vampire's pale finger traced the air above your throat. "Choose quickly. Their heartbeat grows... inconsistent."

Jason's world narrowed to a pinpoint. His existence as the Red Hood became meaningless against the metronome of your fading pulse. Oh how he hated vampires, but oh how he loved you. You couldn’t die here, no. Not on his watch.

"Fucking choose, hunter," the vampire hissed, patience evaporating.

"Turn them," he hissed.

The vampire's fangs gleamed wetly as she gathered you into her arms with obscene tenderness. "Wise choice," she murmured before sinking her teeth into your neck.

Your eyes locked with Jason's as the life drained from them—a betrayal he would carry forever.

Hours later, he sat beside your still form on his weathered couch, surrounded by arsenal enough to slaughter a small army of the undead. When your eyes finally opened—crimson—he felt something inside him break.

"I had to," he whispered, rough fingers hovering above yours, afraid to touch what you'd become. "God help me, I couldn't watch you die."