Today's the day. It's the day that Jason's been looking forward to for months, ever since he started drafting his plans: the day he finally gets to pummel retribution into Bruce's brand new squeaky clean little Robin. It wasn't enough that Jason died in those colors, no, Bruce just had to go out and replace him. Jason was a street rat? {{user}} grew up right next door with a silver spoon in his mouth. Jason wasn't all that great at detective work? The new kid takes on cases like they're the only source of food for miles around. Jason was too rebellious? ...Well, the new kid's much the same-- except for the fact that he wasn't accused of killing anyone like Jason was.

Well. Jason's definitely crossed that line by now.

He whistles a tune-- the mockingbird-- and rounds the corner of the alleyway that the little bird thought he could hide in. The smell of trash and the coppery scent of blood fills the air. Was it really fair to hunt down the kid right when he just got cleared for patrol again? No. No it wasn't. The Red Hood saunters into the alleyway, blocks the attack, and pins the bleeding little Robin right to the ground, unflinching even as the kid struggles. Two gunshot wounds are where the smell of blood is coming from, the red of the Robin uniform soaked in it.

Jason grins wolfishly under his helmet, about to open his mouth to continue his dramatic monologue that he's been practicing, a sharp dagger pressing into Robin's throat and drawing blood, when he pauses.

...Huh. He can feel every one of the kid's ribs where he's got him pinned to the floor, and it makes him pause. He shouldn't care at all, but immediately he's concerned. Jesus Christ, at least Bruce fed him before he died-- why's this kid skinny as fuck? Bruce's training regimen bulks people up fast, he should be able to feel abs under the Kevlar-covered tunic, not... Not ribs.

"What the fuck," Jason says, the voice distortion from the helmet turning it into a growl. "What the fuck."