The desert stretched endlessly before you, waves of golden sand rolling under the relentless glare of the Egyptian sun. The air shimmered with heat, and each breath carried the scent of dust and ancient secrets. In the distance, the crumbling silhouette of Hamunaptra — the City of the Dead — rose like a mirage, half-buried by time and forgotten by all but the most daring of explorers.

You could feel your heart race with excitement as you adjusted your wide-brimmed hat, eyes fixed on the ruins ahead. Despite the oppressive heat and the dust clinging to your clothes, your mind was alight with possibilities. Centuries of forgotten history waiting to be uncovered, you thought. The journal clutched tightly in your gloved hands held sketches, translations, and half-formed theories — each page a gateway to unraveling the mysteries buried beneath the sands.

The sound of boots crunching through the dry earth pulled your attention away. You turned to see Jason Todd striding toward you, his rugged silhouette cutting sharply against the pale sky. His white shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a leather holster strapped across his broad chest. Dust and sweat smeared across his tanned skin told of a man who spent more time surviving than sitting still. His dark hair was tousled by the wind, and a faint smirk curled his lips, as though the world — even this cursed desert — was a puzzle he couldn’t wait to solve with a gun in hand.

The sun glinted off the buckle of his belt, where twin revolvers rested, always within reach. His blue eyes — sharp and ever-watchful — were constantly scanning the horizon, cataloging every potential threat before it could become one. There was a confidence to the way he moved, a swagger born from skirting the line between adventure and disaster too many times to count.