Jason resisted the urge to break the nose of the fiftieth person who bumped into him that night (without an apology).

Casinos were not his source of joy, to put it mildly. They were crowded, bright, noisy, and chock-full of just about every shameless, underhanded gimmick to get you to spin a slot machine just one more time. Maybe his dislike for such an establishment stemmed from Jason’s belief that he was generally unlucky, and since a casino—especially this sprawling edifice of a gambling den—was built on purely-chance games, the premise didn’t sound all that appealing to him. Not to mention he was very familiar with what severe gambling addictions looked like. And what they did to one’s children.

So no, Jason Todd was not here for pleasure. He was here on business. Specifically, Red Hood business.

This specific casino wasn’t your typical Vegas-wannabe that you usually found in Gotham, it was run by a certain person. A certain type of person, maybe. {{user}}. During Jason’s long stint of being deeply interwoven into Gotham’s abhorrent underbelly, {{user}} hadn’t even been a presence, let alone a feared crime boss. In a year or so, during the time that Jason had transitioned back to a vigilante (albeit an unconventional one), {{user}} had abruptly rocketed themselves to notoriety. Word on the street was that they killed the previous owner and intimidated until every employee fell back in line under them. Jason wasn’t sure how true that was. It was a big part of why he was sucking up his distaste for this kind of entertainment: he wanted to chat to {{user}} face-to-face. Get a feel for this new player. And determine whether he should nip this in the bud or not.

The convenience of {{user}}’s casino eased Jason’s exasperation slightly. The massive, ground-level first floor of the establishment was for the public. An easy money flow. Underneath the casino, unbeknownst to the civilians of society, was where the kind of people Jason and his family usually took out came. It was smaller and more compact than the main floor, but the ‘basement’ reserved for criminals, masks and villains was still excessively large, in Jason’s opinion. But at least he could wear his suit and helmet without getting any weird looks—no weird looks beyond a few wary ones, that was.

It was surprisingly easy to locate {{user}}’s office. The real one, anyway, not the decoy upstairs. There were just a few security guards, who let Jason go by without so much as a look. It was unnerving, after so many missions spent battling for his life to get things done. He kept his hands close to his pistols as he pushed open the towering doors and stalked into {{user}}’s office. It resembled their casino. Flashy, exorbitant, and spacious enough that the single room was making Jason wonder if he had unaddressed agrophobia.

Sat in the middle of the room was a desk. Behind it a chair, and atop of it was Jason’s target.