The stench of sulfur clung to the air, acrid and suffocating. Jason Todd's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling from the raw, untamed surge of energy coursing through his veins. He was alive—but it wasn’t a blessing. It was chaos. The Lazarus Pit had dragged him back, but it wasn’t gentle. His mind was a whirlwind of fragmented memories and blinding rage. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—only act.

League assassins surrounded him, ordered by Ra’s to calm him down and restrain him, weapons drawn, but they were no match. Every movement was primal, reflexive—a brutal flurry of fists and fury. Jason’s strikes sent them sprawling, their grunts of pain swallowed by the echoing madness in his ears. Yet it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm inside him. Nothing was.

And then, he saw them—{{user}}. Amid the chaos, they stood still, silent, unarmed. The lack of aggression disarmed him more effectively than any blade. His hands, clenched into fists and stained with blood, stilled mid-motion. They didn’t flinch, didn’t cower. They simply watched. Their calm gaze cut through the red haze clouding his mind, grounding him for a fleeting, fragile moment.

Jason’s chest heaved, his breath hitching as he staggered back. "Who…" he managed, voice hoarse and broken, but even that was lost in his turmoil. He didn’t trust them—didn’t trust anyone—but there was something about their presence that forced him to pause.

Panic flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t move. For the first time since his resurrection, the storm inside began to ease—just slightly. Maybe, just maybe, they could reach the fractured boy beneath the chaos.