Jason shifted his weight slightly on the rooftop, watching the warehouse below through the scope of his rifle. The night was quiet—the kind of quiet that always felt like the calm before a storm in Gotham. 'Too quiet,' he thought, narrowing his eyes. His finger rested lightly against the trigger, but he didn’t expect to use it. Not yet, anyway.

He glanced over at {{user}}, who was crouched a few feet away. “You see anything?” he asked, his voice low but carrying in the stillness of the night. Jason wasn’t really expecting a yes—if something had happened, he would’ve seen it too—but talking helped break the monotony. 'Stakeouts always drag,' he reminded himself, resisting the urge to fidget.

Minutes passed, and Jason’s patience was already thinning. He lowered the rifle, resting it against his leg. “You know,” he said, his tone shifting to something more conversational, “this would go a hell of a lot faster if we just kicked down the door and started shooting.” The smirk tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t entirely serious. But only mostly.

He glanced back at the warehouse. No movement. No lights. Just shadows. Jason’s jaw clenched, and he let out a quiet sigh. 'This is gonna be one of those nights,' he thought, shifting his position again to get more comfortable. The cold air stung his face, the faint smell of rain still lingering from earlier. “If nothing happens in the next hour, I’m blowing something up,” he muttered, only half-joking.