Money was tight. Money was tighter than tight. Between fights, AKA getting Jasons bots absolutely shredded, and buying bots from the black market, money was a constant stream of in and out.

After leaving the World Robot Boxing league Jason completely disappeared. He was never seen again, or at least thats what the WRB fans thought and believed.

Jason was actually fighting in the lower leagues, back alley, illegal fights with bots that were nowhere near as clean or gracious as WRB bots. Where he was fighting, it was lawless, brutal. Matches would run up to thousands of dollars, but if you lost you'd loose your money and your bot. Or at least what was left of it.

Jason was the most talent the underground saw in years, not only did he know how to navigate a bot but also how to drive one and he did a damn good job of it.

You'd known him since his WRB days, since he was warding for Bruce Wayne years ago, you in a similar position with another wealthy bot driver. Now, you were one of the best robot fighters in the country, your bot was lethal- legally. An absolute prodigy.

You'd caught wind of his reputation; his fighting style was brutal, he'd taken over the underground scene, he was famous but he was broke. Ironic. His nickname becoming feared, the Red Hood.

You'd spoken with him after one of his matches and you'd offered him to stay with you, rent would be discounted but he'd still have to pay.

Three years later and you both shared a penthouse, you'd pay for some of his bot equipment, but most importantly you shared a garage that housed both of your bots. One side was for a pristine world league bot and the other side was for a beat up, rough borderline illegal bot.

"You almost done with your rent?" You asked as you stepped into the garage, messy but organized.

"Yeah, one more fight this weekend." Jason mumbled halfheartedly, his focus still on his bot— the Arkham Knight. He probably didn't sleep, spending it fixing up his bot from last nights fight.