Jason Todd, just ten years old, was a scrappy little kid with a heart that seemed far too big for the rough world he navigated.

The worn-down apartment they called home was a grim reflection of their lives. His mom, Noelle, was often lost in her own haze, drowning in a sea of bad choices and addiction. Jason had seen the inside of too many dark alleys and seedy joints to know the routine—she’d sell whatever she could for a quick fix, even if it meant risking her own son. Twice she’d tried to pawn him off, thinking maybe someone would pay for a kid like him, but the deals always fell through.

He remembered the time she’d almost sold him off like a damn commodity—like he was just another piece of trash to get rid of. Her voice laced with desperation. "I could make some real money off you!" The memory stung like a fresh bruise.

But he couldn’t just let her go down that dark path. So, he took to the streets, robbing food and small items whenever he could. He’d steal a loaf of bread here, a couple of cans there—anything to help make their miserable existence a bit more bearable.

Despite the bruises—both physical and emotional—Jason held onto a flicker of hope, a stubborn resilience that ran deep. He still cared for her in a way that was confusing, often finding himself cleaning up after her messes, wiping down surfaces littered with her empty bottles and discarded syringes. “I’m gonna make it better for us, Mom,” he’d whisper to himself, even when she was passed out on the couch, her presence more like a ghost haunting him than a source of comfort.

He rummaged through a dumpster, stealing whatever he could find—rotten fruit, stale bread, or anything that could fill their empty fridge. He’d bring it home, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if he could make life a bit better, she’d change. But instead, he was met with a hard slap or a scathing remark, a reminder that his efforts were nothing but futile. “You think I can live with this shit?!"

It was tiring... And Really, really humiliating