"Yeah, that doesn't help. What's an Amazo?"
Before Batman could explain, the android let out a low, guttural roar—and launched itself straight into the air.
Both arms came crashing down into the pavement, sending a shockwave that shook the whole lot. Crates toppled. The van flipped sideways. The shock cracked the asphalt like it owed the ground money.
Batman shot up with a grapple line. Robin did the same.
They regrouped on a nearby crate stack. Batman glanced down at the twitching criminals and zip-tied them in a flash. Robin dropped beside him, still eyeing the android below.
"What the hell is this thing? I don't recognize the species, the tech, nothing." Batman didn't look away. "It's a cybernetic android designed to mimic the powers of metahumans."
Robin raised an eyebrow. "Okay, now I'm listening. What kind of metahumans are we talking about here?"
He got his answer when Amazo came charging in again.
It threw a punch that would've turned concrete to dust. Batman and Robin split in opposite directions, dodging with seconds to spare.
The punch slammed into a container—BOOM—leaving a massive dent and a spray of sparks.
Batman hurled a set of batarangs. Amazo swatted them like flies.
Robin side-eyed his father. "You really expected that to do anything?"
"They're not done."
The batarangs boomeranged back and embedded themselves in Amazo's back, right before exploding.
Amazo was blasted off his feet. "Nice," Robin admitted.
He dropped a set of smoke pellets while Amazo was still reeling. Smoke rolled across the lot.
Batman slid on brass knuckles.
"Let's take it apart."
They dove into the smoke together.
Batman's punch would have cracked a normal human's jaw. Robin kicked it in the side, hard enough to send it staggering, but it didn't. Batman landed another solid hit, peeling back synthetic skin. Sparks flew.
But Amazo wasn't down for long. It flew straight up, smoke swirling off its body as it hovered. Then its eyes lit up.
"Laser eyes. Of course," Robin muttered. Twin red beams shot downward, carving through the concrete as Robin dove out of the way and retaliated with a trio of explosive batarangs.
BOOM!
Amazo stumbled in the air, sparking.
Angry now, it dropped with another ground-splitting punch.
"Y'know," Robin muttered, "he seems really focused on you… and just kind of annoyed at me."
"You're welcome," Batman said dryly.
They kept moving, dodging more laser blasts, but the margin was getting thinner. Amazo was adapting—starting to predict their attacks and block them.
"We need to end this fast," Robin said, ducking under a swipe.
"It's modeled after human physiology. Weaknesses apply."
Robin's lips curled into a grin. "Got it." Batman blinked. "Wait, Robin—!"
Too late.
Robin sprinted straight at Amazo, dodging lasers with parkour-like flips and sidesteps. At the last second, he tossed smoke bombs and vanished into the fog.
Amazo switched to thermal vision. The red glow swept the smoke—and just as it spotted him, Robin was already mid-air.
SHINK—SHNK—CHHK!
All that could be heard were wet metallic slashes and the hiss of oil hitting concrete.
The smoke cleared.
Robin stood there, sword lowered, breathing steady. His blade dripped with thick, black oil.
Amazo lay in pieces—headless, one arm gone, one leg clean off. The oily black substance pooled beneath it like blood. The tied-up criminals just stared.
"Holy shit," one whispered. "Remind me never to mess with that kid."
Robin didn't even glance at them. He just flicked the oil off his blade and looked at Batman.
Batman gave a single nod of approval. They cuffed each thug individually, slammed each of them against a container wall, and made it real clear the time for games was over.
"This shipment was for Black Mask," Batman said coldly. "You three are too dumb to rob him. Who sent you?"
"Nobody!" one of them shouted. "We just—!"
THUNK.
Robin's sword stabbed into the metal wall an inch from the guy's face. "You're stalling," Robin said. "Next time it's your thigh."
The guy practically pissed himself. "Okay! Okay, I'll talk!" he shouted. "It was Red Hood—he—"
CRACK!
Blood sprayed the container behind him as a bullet ripped through his skull. The other two dropped a second later—clean shots to the head.
Batman yanked Robin into cover.
"Sniper," Robin said, peeking around the crate.
Batman pulled out a pair of binoculars and zoomed in. Far across the water, a figure was already packing up a long-barrel rifle, heading for the rooftops.
"Got him," he muttered.
Robin tried to get a look himself, but then he heard a low hum overhead.
He looked up—and saw the Batwing descending, a zipline extending. Batman was already halfway up. "Wait!" Robin called out.
"Stay here," Batman replied flatly, vanishing into the belly of the jet. Robin just stood there, watching the Batwing rocket off into the sky. He took a deep breath. Exhaled. Controlled.
Old him would've chased it down out of spite. Now? He let it go.
But as he turned away and headed deeper into the shadows, his jaw clenched and his fingers curled.
- - -
[Jason Todd's POV]
The rifle kicked once, sharp and clean, and Jason watched the first man's head snap back like a puppet whose strings were cut. The others didn't even scream. They just dropped. One after another.
Three clean shots. No hesitation. No noise except the suppressed pfft of the barrel and the soft rustle of shell casings dropping onto gravel.
Jason exhaled slowly through his nose, lowering the scope.
He stayed prone for a second longer, eyes tracking the scene across the water.
Batman and Robin already went into cover, scrambling behind a container as the last body hit the ground. They were fast. Always were. Especially the kid. But not fast enough to stop him.
Jason shifted his rifle, quickly disassembling the barrel and stuffing it into a hard-shell case
beside him. No words. No drama. Just another job done. The wind bit at his jawline beneath the red helmet as he rose and slipped into the shadows of the rooftop.
He moved fast, methodical leaping across narrow alley gaps, boots hitting the gravel and tar of Gotham's old buildings with a practiced silence. The Batwing's engines roared in the distance.
Figures.
He glanced up once, watching the jet tear through the clouded sky like a hunting hawk. It hadn't spotted him yet, but it would. Batman always figured out where to look eventually.
Red Hood was flying across Gotham's rooftops like a parkour junkie with something to prove. Quick, sharp, agile—like the city was just an obstacle course he knew by heart. His boots tapped metal and concrete. Didn't matter. He kept moving, fast and smooth.
And up above, that damn Batwing hummed low in the sky, stalking him like a shadow with wings.
Batman wasn't letting up.
Jason smirked behind the helmet. Of course he wasn't. Bruce never did.
He dove into an alley, skidding along a rusted fire escape before dropping to street level. The Batwing slowed up, floating higher to get a better angle.
Then came the roar.
A deep, guttural engine screamed as a blue 1969 Ford Mustang burst out of the alley like a bat out of hell. It hit the street hard, tires screeching, fishtailing once before finding grip and tearing through traffic.
Batman clocked it immediately.
Jason was behind the wheel, and he was hauling ass.
This wasn't your average car chase—this was something else. A whole new level. Getting tailed by Batman? That's not just dangerous—that's Gotham's version of a death sentence.
But Jason was calm behind the wheel. Smooth. Focused. He kept Bruce close—real close—but never close enough to get caught.
If he wanted to vanish, he could've.
He didn't.
Zip-lines shot from the Batwing with a hiss, metal cables punching into the Mustang's roof like steel claws trying to drag him up into the sky.
The car bucked, rear wheels screeching as the line yanked tight.
Jason reached up, popped the latch. The detachable roof flew off like a soda can lid, and the Mustang bolted forward, free again.
"Come on, Bruce," Jason muttered under his breath. "Let's see if you've still got it."
He veered into a tunnel, lights flickering above as the sound of the engine echoed like thunder. The Batwing followed, reshaping its frame mid-flight, narrowing itself to fit through the tight space.
As soon as they were out, another cable launched—aimed for the back tire.
"Nope. Not today."
Jason cranked the wheel hard and yanked the handbrake. The car spun in a clean, smoke-spitting donut, then rocketed down a different lane, leaving the line slicing through empty space.
He caught a glimpse of a red-light cam up ahead and gave it the middle finger as he blew through an intersection doing double the speed limit.
Another zip-line. This one came in low—too low.
He dodged left, then—bam—trap sprung.
A second line latched onto the driver's side door, yanking the whole car sideways mid-turn.
Jason didn't flinch.
"I gotta hand it to you, B..." he muttered.
With a swift kick, the door blasted off its hinges, and he didn't slow down. He aimed the Mustang straight at a looming steel structure, the building already giving off that old chemical stink that clung to your clothes for days.
The Mustang smashed through a rusted roll-up door with a metallic screech and skidded into the factory, knocking over barrels and tanks before finally slamming into a vat. Chemicals hissed and spilled across the floor in thick, toxic puddles.
Up above, the Batwing hovered, then let its pilot drop.
Batman crashed through the glass skylight, landing hard on a catwalk high above the chaos. His boots hit with a thud. The place hadn't changed much.
Ace Chemicals.
The air was heavy with rot and regret. Pipes moaned. Vats bubbled. It was like the place was still haunted by its past—and Bruce could feel every damn ghost in it.
He spotted the crashed Mustang, steam rising from its hood, liquid oozing onto the concrete.
But no sign of Red Hood.
Then he saw it—a section of the railing up ahead. It looked... new. Out of place.
His stomach tightened.
It was this place. This exact place. The one that turned a scared wannabe into Gotham's biggest joke.
He remembered it all.
Red Hood. Not Jason. The first one. Tuxedo, helmet, cape way too long. Looked like he was in a cheap magician's act.
Batman had chased him through this very place. The guy had panicked—screaming it was a setup, begging to be heard.
Bruce hadn't listened.
He pulled out the cuffs, eyes cold. The guy reached to take off the helmet, saying he wasn't a crook. Swearing it.
Then the cape got caught under his feet.
He slipped. Grabbed the railing. But the rusted screws gave out.
Bruce reached for him—too late.
He remembered the scream. The splash. The silence after.
Cards floated to the surface.
Then... nothing.
That man never came back.
Only Joker did.
"Hard to forget that, huh?"
The voice cut through the fog in his head like a knife.
Batman snapped out of it, turning toward the sound. Jason stood on another catwalk, helmet on, pistol aimed casual and steady.
That red bat on his chest burned like a challenge. A scarlet insult.
Jason's voice was low, cold. "This place... it's where you really messed up the first time. Your first big failure. Maybe your worst."
He cocked the gun. "Definitely not your last."
Batman didn't move. Didn't flinch.
Then Jason fired.
The bullet hit the wrecked Mustang, sparks dancing across the chemical slick. Flame snapped to life—bright, fast, hungry. It shot across the floor, chasing the trail of leaking liquid like it had a grudge.
The explosion hit like a bomb.
Jason turned, shielded his body from the blast with his coat.
Batman pulled the cape around him and braced, heat licking at his armor. He caught a flash of red sprinting off through the smoke.
He ran after him.
Metal bent and screamed. Another blast went off, knocking Batman off his feet. He dropped like a stone.
Straight toward a tank of bubbling acid.
"Karma's a bitch," Jason's voice echoed.
But Bruce was quicker than fate.
He fired the grapple gun, line shooting skyward. It caught, pulled him hard, and he kicked off the tank mid-air. He swung up, twisting in the air as another fireball erupted behind him. It threw him off balance, sent him tumbling.
He hit the floor in a roll, cape smoking.
Some people would call that luck.
But this was Batman.
- - -
[One Rooftop Over…]
Jason stood on a nearby building, arms crossed, helmet under one arm as he looked down at the wreckage. The heat shimmered off the roof. The explosions had painted the sky in orange and black.
His breathing was calm now.
That had been fun.
He hadn't felt that alive since he came back to Gotham.
Batman would be fine. He always was. But tonight wasn't about winning or losing. It was about reminding Bruce that ghosts don't stay buried forever.
Sometimes they show up with guns.
Sometimes they smile.
And sometimes... they drive a Mustang straight into your past just to make you remember what you chose to forget.
- - -
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