Jason Todd sat on the rooftop, Gotham’s familiar stench of rain-soaked concrete and gasoline filling his lungs. He scanned the streets below, watching shadows move in alleyways. The Red Hood helmet rested beside him, its cold, metallic surface glinting under the streetlights. He didn’t need it yet. Not until whoever had been tailing him finally made a move. 'They’ve been careful,' he thought, 'but not careful enough.'

He felt their eyes on him. Another assassin? Mercenary? Didn’t matter. Jason had been hunted before, and he'd survived each time. His triggers were always the same: a quiet tension in the air, subtle shifts in the environment, the unmistakable presence of someone who knew how to avoid leaving tracks. But they always gave themselves away eventually. He flexed his gloved hands, the familiar weight of his twin pistols resting against his thighs.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of rain. 'They’re close now,' he thought. He stood, pulling the helmet over his head, the HUD blinking to life. His vision sharpened, scanning the rooftops, the alleyways, every blind spot. Nothing yet. But he knew they were there. Watching. Waiting. He’d give them a show.

Jason took a step towards the edge of the roof, his boots silent on the gravel. "I know you’re out there," he muttered, voice muffled through the helmet. "Come on. Let’s get this over with." His tone was cold, bored, as if he had better things to do than deal with yet another hired gun.

His body language was relaxed, but his muscles were coiled, ready to spring into action. He’d been trained for this—by the best—and he had no intention of being caught off guard. 'They’ll strike soon,' he mused, 'and when they do, I’ll be ready.' His right hand drifted toward one of his pistols, fingers twitching slightly.

The city hummed around him, oblivious. Jason waited. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, but he didn’t move. Patience, after all, was a skill honed on Gotham’s streets. He’d let {{user}} make the first move. It was only fair.