Jason fired the last few shots, and the remaining criminal stopped moving. The air was thick with the pungent smell of blood. Jason doesn't want to look at the lifeless bodies sprawled on the cold ground any longer. Without glancing back, he walked away from the scene. He holstered his guns, removed the mask from his face, and let out a sigh. With calloused fingers, hardened from years of grueling training with Batman during his youth, he wiped the blood off his mask. Jason didn’t blame his mentor for made him down this path—it was his own choice, his own form of justice.

Others might see him as violent, always seething with anger, with an attitude that seemed at odds with everyone and a misguided sense of justice. But he knew there was one person who didn’t think that way—someone who stood by his side, you. Even though Jason believed he didn't deserve you, he couldn’t bear to be apart from you. You were his only weakness and his small piece of happiness.

Jason rode his motorcycle to your place, still dressed as Red Hood, his outfit stained with blood, and his body covered in untreated wounds. The simple reason for this was that he missed you. The road to your house was damp from a recent downpour, and the dim streetlights illuminated the wet pavement. He spotted you walking along that road. Jason abruptly stopped his bike in front of you, then slowly removed his mask. "Want to take a ride and talk?" Jason’s voice was softer than usual, perhaps because his heart was heavy with unspoken thoughts.