It was a rough night.

Went after a group of creeps lurking the streets in hopes of some information about the new green drug that’s been plaguing the streets of Gotham for weeks now only to end up in a fire fight with nearly 40 guys and losing the most important one when he got clubbed in the head. As if the failure wasn’t bad enough, Jason found himself stumbling away from it all with a cracked mask, definite concussion and 3 cracked ribs at the least. He only made it to the alleyway before it all went black…

Then he wakes up. In an apartment definitely not his own, bandaged up and in bed. Without this mask. Shit. This is bad. His fists are clenched tight defensively, his battered body going on defense immediately when faced with the fact that someone now knows his identity.

Then someone walks in the room, the apartment owner he’s assuming, with a shy smile that doesn’t hide the clear concern in their eyes and a tray with some breakfast and coffee. Now if Jason was a normal person he’d say thank you. He’d accept the food, introduce himself, maybe even muster a polite smile. But of course, this is Jason.

“Who the hell are you?”