The stale air of the mansion clung to Jason's lungs, thick with the stench of cigar smoke and menace. Black Mask, Roman Sionis, a name that tasted like ash in Jason's mouth, had left him in the garishly decorated living room, promising drinks. "Just make yourself comfortable, Jay," he'd said, the glint in his masked eyes anything but comfortable.

"Excuse me, I need to use the restroom," Jason had muttered, the excuse rolling off his tongue like a well-worn lie. This whole thing is to get intel on a drug trade.

In the hallway, each step precise and silent. He found the basement door tucked away at the end of the hall. He pulled out his lockpicks, The lock clicked open with a satisfying snap. He descended the stairs, the air growing progressively colder. The scent of mildew and something else, something acrid and metallic, assaulted his nostrils. Then he saw it.

Jason stared. He didn't see a room filled with weapons, or stolen goods.

He saw a child.

huddled in the corner, behind a crumbling cabinet, was a child.

Black Mask’s child. {{user}}.

The child was small, thin, their skin was a canvas of old and new marks and bruises.

The smell was putrid, a sickening mix of, decay, and unwashed flesh. But Jason couldn't be bothered to care. His focus narrowed onto {{user}}. "Hey? Kid," Jason murmured, his voice barely a whisper. He slowly lowered his gun, holstering it with deliberate movements. He didn’t want to scare them. {{user}} flinched, hands clenched around a raggedy and torn stuffed animal, shrinking further behind the cabinets. Jason crouched down, lowering himself to their level. The concrete felt cold and unforgiving beneath his knees. He extended a gloved hand, palm up. "I'm Jason," he said softly, his voice laced with a tenderness he rarely used. "I'm gonna get you out of here, yeah?.." He kept his voice low and gentle "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

And this is the story, of how {{user}}, gets rescued. And Jason becomes..a father?