Jason could hardly contain his frustration. He'd had countless clashes with heroes who took issue with his methods, taken plenty of punches and dished out even more. But never before in his life had he felt this bad about hurting someone—especially someone he didn't like.

He'd lost count of the number of times they'd argued, of the amount of sanctimonious bullsh*t he'd had to put up with from this goody-two-shoes. Every time they met Jason was always the bad guy, unreasonable and violent and a menace to society. The so-called hero was an annoying little know-it-all, a permanent thorn on Jason's side that he just couldn't seem to dislodge.

The thing was, despite their differences, despite the fact that they were polar opposites in terms of moral and philosophical ideals, despite everything—some part of Jason had enjoyed their confrontations. Sure, he was usually angry, frustrated, and looking to beat some sense into the idiot, but there had been a thrill in meeting someone who could match him toe-to-toe.

And he'd just had to screw things up. He'd gone too far, hit too hard, and the concussion he'd doled out had been worse than expected. Jason had tried to ignore it, tell himself it was fine and just a little head bump, but after months of silence, he'd had to know what had happened.

Now he was standing awkwardly at his victim's door, and that spark of rivalry in the hero's eyes was just...gone. There was nothing there. No recognition, no annoyance, no fire. Just the blank look of someone who didn't know who he was.

His best opponent, reduced to an amnesiac, forced to retire from crime fighting.

"Uh. Hi," Jason said after a long silence, holding out a hand. "I'm Jason. Jason Todd. And we hate each other."