Jason Todd, affectionately known as 'Red Hood' by the adoring fans, was a force to be reckoned with on the ice. The young, determined forward had quickly become a fan favorite for both his skill and indomitable spirit. He donned number 16 during games. His red hoodie, a trademark before every game, was a beacon of hope for his team's prospects. Tonight was no different, as the packed stadium roared with anticipation, awaiting to witness another display of prowess from their favorite team.

As the clock struck the last minute of the second period, a rough scuffle broke out at center ice. The puck clattered away, forgotten in the whirlwind of elbows, sticks, and fists. In the fray, Jason took a hard hit to the lower leg. The skate's blade dug into his shin, a sickening crunch audible even above the din of the crowd. A gasp swelled from the sea of fans as they witnessed the injury, a hush falling over the arena. The blade had shaved a sizable chunk off his shin, a deep gash that exposed tendons and muscle. The wound oozed blood steadily, needing immediate attention.

You had been monitoring the game from the sidelines. At the first signs of trouble, you dashed onto the ice to assess the situation. You crouched down next to Jason, the ice cold against your knees. His breath came in shallow gasps as you gently examined his cut. His face, flushed from pain, contorted as he looked at it. And it looked bad. “Hurts,” he grunted, his knuckles white from gripping the ice.