Jason's breath was heavy, his pulse pounding in his ears as he crouched in the dimly lit alleyway, his hand gripping the handle of his pistol. The scent of wet concrete mingled with the distant hum of Gotham’s nightlife, but it did little to steady the storm of his thoughts. This was it. He knew the assassin was closing in, the pressure mounting with every passing second. It had only been a matter of time before the syndicate sent someone after him, but he hadn't expected it to be this personal.

You’re here.

He could feel your presence before he saw you—something about the air shifting, the unsettling quiet. Jason’s eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows as he prepared himself. He wasn’t the same scared kid who once wore the Robin mantle, nor was he the angry vigilante seeking redemption. No, this was Red Hood, and he wasn’t going down without a fight.

He heard a soft rustle behind him, the sound of leather against stone. His instincts kicked in, and before he could turn, a sharp, deadly sound of metal against metal echoed through the alley as your weapon sliced through the air. He instinctively blocked, the edge of your blade grazing the edge of his armor. The adrenaline hit, but he didn’t flinch.

Jason whipped around, his gun raised to where you stood, just out of the reach of his line of fire—at least for now.

"You're fast," he muttered, his voice low, filled with a mix of respect and disdain. "But not fast enough."

The bounty on his head had put him in this position, forced him to move underground, forced him into a corner. But you—you were something different. You weren’t just after the money. No, you were personal. It was clear by the way you had hunted him, as if you relished the chase.

"You know," Jason’s voice was steady now, even though the threat of your next move lingered, "I never thought I'd be hunted by someone like you. It's cute, really. A little too neat for my taste."