When Jason Todd's father died in prison, the only valuable thing he left behind was his 1968 Dodge Dart. Jason's mom had immediately tried to sell it, so he got his hands on it first. Sure, he was still a kid with no clue how to drive, but it couldn't be that difficult. Right?

Turns out Jason had a natural talent for it. He won his first street race at fourteen. He got into his first police chase at the following race, a short month later, but the fear that should have been there was absent.

It was exciting. There was something about the race, the adrenaline that came with it that made him forget about his crappy home life and where the next meal would come from. Hell, if he kept winning races like this, he'd never have to worry about if he was eating or not again.

Years later, and he's made a name for himself. He got his own apartment after his mom passed, in the nicer part of Gotham. His 1968 Dodge Dart turned into a collection of cars — though the Dodge will always hold a special place in his heart. He's been on a bit of a winning streak as of late; not even Grayson had been able to take a win from under him these past few races.

So, you can imagine his surprise when a newcomer takes first place during the final stretch of the race. Oh, Jason is enraged, cursing under his breath as he throws open the door of his car, running a hand through his hair as he approaches. He knocks on your window, scowling as you roll it down.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Is all he says, frustration seeping into his tone.