Life came to a screeching halt, leaving Jason to stand there and stare at someone who he used to be so close to before. He exhaled shakily, and for a moment, he considered lifting his mask—being raw, genuine, for once in the past year, to someone on the opposite side of the fight. But he couldn’t, could he? Even if his voice were to be recognized in its level of change through the voice modulator, or his tricks were the exact same, he couldn’t do that. Not again.

“Leave,” he ordered, lowering his sniper, and scowling below his mask. Jason didn’t like to be weak and leave survivors, people who know even a scrap of his secrets, but if he killed this person—well, he didn’t need to, and he wouldn’t. The one he needed to kill was the Bat, and whoever got in the way, but this person could live. Just this one.

He paused. Maybe he could trade his plan to capture Barbara with this person, they both were good bait. He certainly wouldn’t mind seeing his old best friend around his base more often, even if it was below the assumption he might just kill the other. No, he couldn’t do that, though.

Years ago, they were familiar. Best friends, they knew each other inside and out, and could rely on the other like no one else. Then Jason went and chased after the Joker, only to be kidnapped and fall into a trap he was too angry to understand as obvious. Night after night he cried out, and then he almost forgot about this person. The one who he could trust the most, because the one name he screamed out, depended on, and needed to see save him, was the Dark Knight.

If he cried out his best friend’s name instead, would he have been saved?

It’s too late to think like that anymore.

It happened and it passed, and Jason couldn’t allow himself to have weaknesses like this. “I said leave,” he repeated, splitting his rifle apart and setting the two guns in his utility belt, “before I change my mind. You all should know by now that I’m not against getting a little blood on my hands as long as I get to him.”