This is not my reality

The warehouse loomed on the outskirts of Gotham’s industrial district, its faded, graffiti-covered brick walls crumbling under the weight of years of neglect. Rusted steel doors lined the perimeter, barely hanging on their hinges. High above, shattered windows allowed cold, silver shafts of moonlight to spill into the dim interior, casting broken light patterns across the dust-laden floors.

(Y/N) stood near the loading dock, their silhouette sharp against the gloom, watching with a critical eye as their crew hauled the crates of fear gas from the truck. The crates were heavy, marked with ominous warning labels, and the faint hiss of compressed gas leaked from some of the containers as they were hastily unloaded. The low hum of machinery filled the air, punctuated by the occasional metallic clank as crates were stacked carelessly onto nearby shelves.

A dim overhead light flickered, casting erratic shadows that played tricks on the eyes. The warehouse smelled of chemicals and decay, the pungent scent mixing with the natural grime that covered the walls and floor. (Y/N)’s crew worked in silence, their movements quick and efficient, their faces set with grim determination.

(Y/N) crossed their arms, the weight of Gino’s orders heavy on their shoulders as they observed the shipment being tucked away in the corner of the warehouse. The sickly yellow hue from the flickering lights above painted the scene in a sinister glow, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. They knew that eyes were on them—Matthis and Gino had made sure of that. Somewhere, they were watching, waiting for (Y/N) to slip up.

(Y/N) could feel the weight of their eyes, causing shivers to crawl down their spine. Shaking off the chill, they turned toward the crew, who nearly dropped a box of the dangerous gas. “Watch it, you idiots!” (Y/N) screamed, marching over to the two young mafia members. “This stuff is highly dangerous. Are you trying to get us caught?” The young men shivered under (Y/N)’s icy glare. “N-no, boss, we’ll be more careful,” one of them squeaked, his eyes darting around, avoiding (Y/N)’s gaze. Sighing, (Y/N) relaxed, closing their eyes as they rubbed the bridge of their nose. “Just—just be more careful,” they said before turning on their heel and heading back to the loading dock. The familiar static of the comms crackled to life, followed by Gino’s grumbling voice, “(Y/N), you’ve grown soft.” His voice was strained, his anger palpable even over the comms. (Y/N) sighed, pressing the button on the small device. “They’re kids, Gino,” they said, their voice trembling. A deep, chilling laugh echoed through the comm. “They’re just kids,” Gino mocked. “I don’t care. Shoot them next time.” (Y/N) shuddered at the command, their eyes scanning the warehouse as they watched their crew continue to unload the crates of fear gas. They couldn’t explain to Gino how wrong this all was. (Y/N) wasn’t like Gino; they wouldn’t kill without reason, especially not such young people who, in their opinion, shouldn’t be involved in the mafia at all. (Y/N) had no one left; Gino had made sure of that, in ways that left (Y/N) shouldering the blame. Unbeknownst to (Y/N) and their crew, two dark figures observed from a nearby rooftop. Red Hood let out a small, disgruntled sigh as he lowered the binoculars, extending them toward Nightwing. “I don’t like this, ‘Wing. They look like a caged animal. (Y/N) seems scared,” he grunted.

Nightwing nodded as he took the binoculars, his gaze following the groups of (Y/N)’s crew hauling crates of what appeared to be fear gas into the dilapidated warehouse. His focus zeroed in on (Y/N). “They look anxious, flinching every time they hear the person on the other end of the comms. Do you think it’s this Gino person?” he asked, noting (Y/N)’s repeated flinches whenever the comms crackled to life. “They look like they want to throw up. Very unusual for a mafia member,” he added, turning to Red Hood, who looked ready to storm in with guns blazing. “What’s the plan here, Red Hood?”

Red Hood grunted, running a hand along the top of his helmet. “They’re scared, ‘Wing. They didn’t tell me much. Probably too afraid that Gino would find out. They did leave this address on Benny’s rooftop for me to find. All it said was this address and ‘Fear,’” he said, standing up fully. “The plan is to attack and fake arrest (Y/N) without hurting them. It’s the best way to get them out of this and to gather more information.”

Nightwing mulled over this, his hand coming up to his chin as he considered the new information. This operation could go south quickly if they weren’t careful, and it would be worse if Gino was present. “What if Gino is here? Or worse, if he’s here and they shoot (Y/N) before we get the chance to save them?” he asked, trying to anticipate every possible outcome.

“I know, ‘Wing, but it’s a risk we have to take. You weren’t there that night. You didn’t hear how their voice shook when they said, ‘Because if I do, you will die.’ It was like their entire will to fight was gone. Something happened, and even if we don’t fully trust them, I think there’s more to this story than meets the eye. We need to find out what’s going on in this city.”

Nightwing nodded, his gaze refocusing on the operation. “Let’s do this,” he said, reaching for his Escrima sticks and holding them at his sides in a relaxed stance. Red Hood nodded in response, drawing his pistols and ensuring the safeties were off.

Nightwing and Red Hood moved stealthily across the rooftop, their figures merging with the shadows. Nightwing held up a gloved hand to signal Red Hood as they reached the edge, peering down at the warehouse below. The building's rundown facade was barely illuminated by flickering streetlights, casting eerie shadows across the loading area. (Y/N)’s crew was busy moving crates marked with ominous symbols, the fear gas inside barely visible in the dim light. Nightwing pulled a smoke grenade from his utility belt and gave Red Hood a brief nod. With a quick flick of his wrist, Nightwing tossed the grenade toward the warehouse entrance. It landed with a soft thud, and a thick, swirling cloud of white smoke erupted, quickly shrouding the area in an opaque haze.

Red Hood and Nightwing descended swiftly from the rooftop, slipping through a side entrance now obscured by the dense smoke. Inside, the warehouse was a labyrinth of crates and industrial shelving, shadows playing tricks on their senses as the smoke rolled in.

As the smoke thickened, Red Hood and Nightwing sprang into action. Red Hood, pistols drawn, fired non-lethal rounds with surgical precision. The bullets struck mafia members with sharp impacts, sending them crashing to the ground or stumbling away from the fight. Red Hood moved with ruthless efficiency, aiming to incapacitate rather than kill.

Nightwing fought with his Escrima sticks, darting between crates and using his environment to his advantage. His strikes were rapid and controlled, targeting key pressure points to bring down opponents without causing fatal harm. He maneuvered through the smoke, his movements deliberate and strategic.

(Y/N) coughed as the thick smoke obscured their vision, the acrid haze mixing with the relentless sounds of gunfire and the pained grunts of those around them. Their heart pounded in their chest, each beat echoing louder in the chaos. (Y/N) flinched as a firm grip clamped down on their arm, the robotic distortion of Red Hood’s voice modifier cutting through the din. “Come on,” Red Hood commanded, his voice clipped and urgent.

With a powerful tug, Red Hood wrenched (Y/N)’s arm behind them, forcing their wrist up between their shoulder blades. The pain was sharp, almost dislocating (Y/N)’s shoulder, and they let out a muffled cry. “Wing, I’ve got them! Let’s move!” Red Hood barked, shoving (Y/N) in front of him as he pushed toward the exit.

As the smoke thickened and the chaos inside the warehouse reached a fever pitch, Gino’s gruff voice cut through the haze with a menacing edge. The deep, guttural laugh that followed seemed to resonate with the darkness of the scene, sending a shiver through the room. His figure emerged from the swirling smoke, a silhouette of formidable presence against the billowing gray.

Gino stood tall and imposing, his tailored suit contrasting sharply with the grimy surroundings. The sharp lines of his expensive, dark suit and the glint of his polished shoes were out of place in the run-down warehouse, marking him as an outsider to this rough environment. His face was partially obscured by the haze, but his steely eyes, narrowed in anger, were unmistakably visible. The small pistol he brandished was steady in his hand, the metal catching what little light filtered through the smoke.

He advanced slowly, each step deliberate and calculated, his movements echoing with the clink of his leather gloves adjusting his grip on the gun. The sharp, predatory smile on his face was a stark contrast to the pain in his voice as he shouted, “Move and I shoot, Red Hood.” The threat was as much about power as it was about intimidation, his voice carrying an undercurrent of raw, unfiltered menace.

Gino’s eyes locked onto (Y/N), and a dark, satisfied glint sparked in his gaze as he took in their visible distress. His expression, a mix of cruel amusement and contempt, revealed his utter disregard for (Y/N)’s suffering. “Think you can just waltz out of here with them?” he sneered, his voice laced with menacing confidence.

As Red Hood immediately fired his pistol, Gino’s reaction was immediate. He let out a sharp cry of pain, the bullet striking his shoulder with a resounding thud. The impact made him stagger back, a grimace of pain flashing across his face. He clutched his wounded arm, his anger flaring into a more frantic rage. The pistol wobbled slightly in his grasp as he struggled to steady himself, his face contorting in a grimace of both pain and fury.

Despite his injury, Gino’s resolve remained unbroken. His eyes, though pained, were still cold and calculating as he watched Red Hood drag (Y/N) away. The frustration in his voice was palpable as he shouted after them, “You think this is over? I’ll find you. And when I do, there will be consequences.” His figure was enveloped by the smoke.

Taking advantage of Gino’s distraction, Red Hood dragged (Y/N) forcefully toward the exit, his grip unyielding. Nightwing was right behind them, his figure cutting through the smoke as he followed closely. The urgency of their escape was palpable, the tension mounting as they navigated the remaining obstacles.

As Red Hood and Nightwing pulled Renee out of the warehouse, they maneuvered into a narrow alley, the surrounding walls providing a brief respite from the chaos. The city loomed ahead, its labyrinth of lights and shadows stretching out below them. The cool, crisp night air was a jarring contrast to the intense heat and chaos they had just escaped. Red Hood maintained a firm grip on Renee ready to make their next move.

Nightwing took the lead, his grappling hook already at the ready. He fired it toward a nearby building, the hook securing with a satisfying clang. With a quick, practiced motion, he swung up to the roof. He looked back at Red Hood and (Y/N), his expression intense. “Come on!”

Red Hood’s grip tightened around (Y/N) as he quickly detached the grappling hook from his utility belt. With a swift, practiced motion, he fired the hook toward the next rooftop, the cable whizzing through the air before catching securely on the edge of the building. The sudden jerk as the hook anchored itself was felt through the line, but Red Hood’s focus remained unwavering.

He wrapped his arm firmly around (Y/N)’s waist, pulling them close to his side for support. As he activated the mechanism, the pair was launched into the air, the world blurring around them. The city lights below seemed to stretch and distort as they soared through the night sky. The sensation of weightlessness was brief but intense, ending abruptly as they slammed down onto the rooftop with a heavy thud. Red Hood’s boots skidded slightly as he steadied himself, his heart pounding from the adrenaline.

As the hook retracted and the cable slacked, Red Hood swiftly unfastened it, keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings. He released (Y/N) from his hold, the momentary respite allowing him to assess their condition. (Y/N) collapsed onto their knees, their body trembling uncontrollably. Their complexion seemed to lose its vitality, giving them an ashen appearance. Each breath came out in shallow, ragged bursts, the effort visibly taxing their strength. Their eyes darted around erratically, desperately trying to focus on the shifting surroundings as their vision constricted to a narrow, flickering tunnel. Red Hood’s gaze hardened with concern as he saw the signs of (Y/N)’s collapse. His breath caught beneath his helmet as he swore under his breath. “Damn it,” he muttered harshly, crouching beside (Y/N). Their eyes fluttered erratically, rolling back into their head as consciousness slipped away. Red Hood’s gloved hand reached out urgently, his fingers brushing against (Y/N)’s skin as they slumped forward, their eyelids falling shut.

With a grim determination, Red Hood quickly lifted (Y/N) into his arms, cradling them carefully, their body limp in his grip. Nightwing, who had been keeping watch, joined him, his expression grim as he assessed the situation. “We need to get them to the safe house now,” Nightwing urged, his voice taut with worry.

Red Hood nodded, his face set in a determined scowl. “I’ve got them,” he said, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. He adjusted his grip on (Y/N), ensuring they were secure before signaling to Nightwing. With a shared look of resolve, they resumed their rooftop escape, moving quickly yet cautiously as they carried (Y/N) toward safety.

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed the action in this chapter. I really hope this shows how much even if Jason isn't happy about this, he listened to when you talked. Luckily the next chapter will be a bit calmer.

It had been a few months since Red Hood and (Y/N) first crossed paths, and despite the volatile nature of their work, a mutual understanding had managed to hold strong. The safe house—once a small, dingy warehouse tucked away in Gotham’s industrial district—had been transformed into a modern oasis. The contrast between the cold, rusting exterior and the sleek, minimalist design inside was jarring, but it suited (Y/N) perfectly: functional, deceptive, and secure.

They lounged on the leather couch, one leg draped over the back, phone hovering above them as they scrolled absentmindedly through social media. The soft glow from the screen was the only light in the dimly lit room. For once, things were quiet. Too quiet, maybe, but (Y/N) had learned to cherish these rare moments of peace.

That calm was shattered when Matthis barged through the door, his entrance anything but subtle. The heavy metal door groaned on its hinges as it swung open. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, his sharp eyes taking in the sight of his ‘boss’ sprawled on the couch. “Hey, boss, Gino just called. He’s on his way.”

(Y/N) nearly dropped their phone, their casual demeanor evaporating in an instant. “What?!” they hissed, bolting upright. Their mind raced as they processed Matthis’s words, adrenaline kicking in.

“Why is he coming here?!” they demanded, already moving towards their room to change into something more appropriate. Leggings and a hoodie weren’t exactly the uniform for dealing with Gino Moreno. They yanked open the door to their wardrobe, pulling out their suit with quick, precise movements.

Behind them, Matthis leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He couldn’t hide the smirk creeping onto his face, enjoying the rare sight of his usually composed boss in full panic mode.

“He’s coming to check on you, boss,” Matthis explained, his tone lazy, almost mocking. “He heard about the Red Hood incident.” The words left his mouth with a casual shrug, but they landed like a punch to the gut.

(Y/N) froze mid-motion, their hand still on the suit jacket. Slowly, they turned to face Matthis, their expression darkening. “And who exactly told him?” Their voice was low, deadly, a stark contrast to the frantic energy from moments before.

Matthis swallowed hard, the smirk disappearing as (Y/N) advanced toward him with a predator’s calm. Their footsteps were slow, deliberate, echoing in the small room. (Y/N)’s eyes bore into him, cold and unforgiving.

“I—I’m not sure, boss,” Matthis stammered, visibly shrinking under the weight of (Y/N)’s gaze. His bravado crumbled as he averted his eyes, fidgeting nervously. “I’m not sure who told him.”

(Y/N) stood before him now, their posture perfectly controlled, but the tension in the air was palpable. Their hand inched toward the pistol holstered at their side, fingers twitching ever so slightly. The threat was unspoken but clear: they didn’t need to raise their voice to make Matthis feel the gravity of the situation.

But before (Y/N) could make a move, the large metal door swung open again, and the room seemed to drop in temperature.

Gino Moreno stepped in, and the space itself felt smaller, suffocated by his presence. He wasn’t tall, but the power radiating from him was impossible to ignore. His thick, stocky frame moved with the grace of someone who’d spent years carrying the weight of the mafia on his shoulders—and crushing anyone who got in his way. His sharp, angular face was all hard lines and cold edges, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back in a style that hadn’t changed in decades, as timeless and unyielding as the man himself.

Those eyes, cold and calculating, the color of slate, swept over the room with the precision of a predator sizing up its prey. His suit—tailored to perfection, a deep charcoal that absorbed the light—added to his aura of menace. There was no warmth to Gino, only the promise of power, violence, and control. When he smiled, as he did now, it was a quick, thin-lipped gesture that barely moved his face, a predator’s smile, one that never reached his eyes.

He took a few steps forward, his polished shoes echoing in the safe house. “Well, well,” he began, his voice gravelly, thick with his Sicilian accent, “if it isn’t my favorite little Moreno.”

Matthis shrank back further, but (Y/N) didn’t flinch. They were used to the weight of Gino’s gaze, the suffocating presence that made most people tremble. But this time, there was something different—a threat that lingered in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Gino's large, calloused hands hung loosely at his sides, but the tension in his fingers, in his whole posture, hinted at the violence always simmering beneath the surface. He let the silence drag, savoring the unease before he spoke again. “We need to talk, kid. Heard you’ve been getting friendly with the Bat’s little pet. I don’t like that.”

He let the words hang between them, the unspoken consequences already settling like a noose around (Y/N)’s neck.

(Y/N) stood straighter, squaring their shoulders as their eyes locked onto Gino’s icy gaze. The weight of the room shifted in an instant, but they refused to back down. “It was just a simple chat to create a mutual understanding that the Bats will not interfere with our operation,” (Y/N) said, their voice steady and measured. Not a single tremor betrayed them as they stood their ground, even as Matthis, still cowering at their side, seemed to be trying to disappear into the shadows.

The tension between (Y/N) and Gino was thick—both of them stubborn, neither willing to back down. (Y/N)’s strength came from staying calm, refusing to let Gino’s presence rattle them, while Gino’s power came from sheer intimidation, the kind that had crushed plenty of people before. For a moment, his expression was hard to read, but there was a flicker in those cold, slate-gray eyes, almost like he was amused.

Then his tight-lipped smile widened. His shoulders shook as a deep, booming belly laugh erupted from him, filling the space. It was a laugh that was far from friendly—more like a hunter who’d just cornered his prey. The sound echoed off the walls, the mockery behind it sinking deep into (Y/N)'s chest.

“Oh, that’s what we call it now?” Gino said, his voice laced with derision as the laugh subsided, his eyes never leaving (Y/N)’s. He took a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its target. “A mutual understanding, huh? Well, you know how I feel about that.”

Gino’s grin faded, replaced by something far darker. He advanced on (Y/N) with a cold, calculated menace, his presence suffocating. The distance between them shrank, and by the time he stood in front of (Y/N), the air felt thick with unspoken threats. His hand came down heavily on (Y/N)’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the fabric of their suit with enough force to make them wince. The grip was firm, almost bruising—an unsubtle reminder of the power he held over them.

“May I remind you,” Gino said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against (Y/N)’s ear, “what happens when you don’t follow my orders?”

Flash Back Please Skip if you don't like it

The memory hit (Y/N) with gut-wrenching force. One moment they were facing Gino’s threatening presence, and the next, they were transported back to a nightmarish scene on the Hudson River. They were on an old, dilapidated boat, its rusty hull creaking under the strain of the dark water beneath.

The night was heavy with fog, the air cold and damp, making every breath feel like ice in their lungs. The sky was a thick, oppressive blanket of gray, barely illuminated by the flickering light of a single, swaying lantern. Shadows danced across the boat’s deck, twisting and warping in the uneven light, creating grotesque shapes that seemed to leer at (Y/N) from the darkness.

The boat smelled of brine and oil, mingled with a metallic tang that clung to the back of (Y/N)’s throat, making it hard to breathe. The gentle but persistent creaking of the boat seemed to echo the pounding of their heart, each sound amplified by the eerie silence of the night.

Gino stood at the boat’s edge, his silhouette dark against the weak lantern light. His voice cut through the fog like a blade, cold and merciless. “Let me make it perfectly clear,” he said, his accent thick, each word heavy with menace. “You will push your family into the cold river. They’re tied up with cinderblocks.”

He gestured towards the bound figures of (Y/N)’s parents, their fear-stricken eyes reflecting the dim light. “You see, they’re going to sink to the bottom of this river, weighed down by these blocks. No chance of escape, no chance of survival. The water will fill their lungs, and they’ll drown in the cold, dark depths.”

(Y/N) stared at Gino, their eyes full of unshed tears the fog only adding to their fear, “Please Gino, Please we don't have to do this!” (Y/N) begged looking from Gino to their parents, wishing they had the power to stop this.

Gino’s expression hardened, his eyes cold and unyielding. “Oh, I’m not finished. If you don’t follow my orders, it won’t just be your parents who end up in the river. I’ll be happy to throw you in there myself. You’ll join them at the bottom, and then it’ll be your turn to drown.”

His smile was cruel, unrelenting. “So make your choice. Do as I say, or prepare to join them in their watery grave.”

(Y/N) let out a choked sob, their eyes locked on their parents. Despite the horrifying situation, their parents looked back with nothing but love and trust. The sight was unbearable. (Y/N)’s mother gave a small, sorrowful nod, a gesture that only deepened (Y/N)’s horror. With a final, heart-wrenching glance at Gino, (Y/N) mustered the strength to push their parents towards the edge.

Flash Back Ending

The splash and Gino’s laughter reverberated in (Y/N)’s mind, each sound a brutal reminder of that night. The memory felt suffocating, almost as if they were being pulled back into the darkness of the river. With a sudden gasp, (Y/N) snapped back to reality, their breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps.

Their eyes darted around the safe house, struggling to shake off the chilling aftereffects of the flashback. The modern comforts of the room felt surreal, a stark contrast to the cold, unforgiving boat. (Y/N)’s hands trembled, and they clenched their fists, trying to steady themselves.“No, Gino,” they said, their voice wavering slightly as they blinked away unshed tears.

Gino’s cruel grin widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Good,” he said, his tone cold and commanding. “Now listen carefully. You will do exactly as I say, without question. You’re not even allowed to breathe without my permission, kid.”

(Y/N) nodded, their gaze dropping to the ground, unable to meet Gino’s cold, assessing eyes. The weight of the flashback still pressed heavily on them, making their shoulders sag. Gino’s grip finally released (Y/N)’s shoulder, leaving a lingering sense of pressure.

Gino’s expression softened just a fraction, though his smile remained cruel and calculating. “Good,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of satisfaction and authority. “Now that we’ve settled that, let’s talk business.”

(Y/N) stood on the edge of the rooftop, the city lights below flickering like distant stars. The wind whipped around them, adding to their sense of instability. They glanced down at the streets far below, feeling the pull of their own desperation. Gino’s words still echo in their ears, only adding to the constant city noise.

Red Hood, while patrolling the Gotham rooftops, came to a sudden halt. The night air was crisp, carrying a chill that seemed to sharpen his senses. He scanned the shadows and spotted (Y/N) crouched precariously on the edge, their silhouette framed against the sprawling cityscape. The dim glow from the nearby streetlights cast long shadows across the roof.

He narrowed his eyes, the intensity of his gaze barely discernible through his mask. “(Y/N)?” he called out, his voice slicing through the silence of the night. The unexpected sound caused (Y/N) to jump, their hands instinctively clutching the cold, hard concrete edge as they struggled to steady their breath.

Quickly, (Y/N) wiped away the remnants of their tears with a swift, practiced motion. They turned to face Red Hood, rising fluidly from their crouched position. A forced, almost theatrical smile spread across their face as they bowed exaggeratedly, the movement betraying a hint of their inner turmoil.

“Red Hood, always a pleasure to see you!” (Y/N) said, their voice carrying a strained cheerfulness. They clasped their trembling hands behind their back, attempting to mask their fear. “I trust the information I provided was useful?”

Red Hood’s eyebrow arched skeptically, the expression hidden beneath his mask. “Yes, it was. But why are you here?” he asked, his voice steady yet edged with suspicion. (Y/N)’s smile faltered briefly before snapping back into place, more rigid than before.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy some fresh air?” (Y/N) replied, taking a few measured steps closer to Red Hood. Their movements were deliberate, almost graceful, as if they were performing a carefully rehearsed dance.

Red Hood’s scowl deepened, his eyes never leaving (Y/N). “Yes, but not in Gotham. No one comes out for fresh air in this city,” he said, his voice low and accusatory. He crossed his arms, the shadows from the streetlights deepening the creases in his mask. “Now, tell me why you’re here.”

(Y/N) halted their dance-like movements, their face a mask of practiced nonchalance. “Red Hood, I’m from New York. I’m used to a little smog,” they said, their voice carrying an edge of forced calm. They kept their hands hidden, the memory from earlier flashing vividly in their mind. “I could ask you the same. I know this isn’t part of your usual patrol route.”

Red Hood let out a dismissive grunt, his posture betraying his frustration. “I have my own reasons. Now tell me why you’re lying,” he demanded, taking a step closer, his presence imposing and unyielding.

(Y/N)’s smile wavered once more, the facade slipping as they unclasped their hands from behind their back. They began to nervously fidget with the seams of their suit jacket, their fingers tracing anxious patterns. “Red, I’m not lying. I’m just... withholding the truth,” they said, their voice faltering slightly as they moved back to the edge of the rooftop.

The view below stretched out in a patchwork of streetlights and passing cars, with pedestrians drifting aimlessly along the sidewalks. The scene was surprisingly serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil (Y/N) felt inside. The distant hum of the city felt almost soothing, reminding (Y/N) of simpler times, moments before they were ensnared in Gino’s ruthless grasp.

(Y/N) gazed out over the city, their eyes searching the horizon as they spoke. “Do you know what it’s like being in the mafia? It’s grueling work. It comes with sacrifices that often rival those of you heroes.” They paused, letting their words hang in the cool night air as they looked up at the overcast sky, which was draped with thick, ominous clouds. “We’ve all lost someone—whether it’s a colleague or family. The pain is the same. Some carry more guilt than others. I carry all the guilt for those I’ve lost.”

Red Hood’s stance softened as he took in (Y/N)’s confession. His mind flashing back to his own experiences before the Lazarus Pit, the weight of his past heavy on his shoulders. Shaking his head, he took a few deliberate steps closer, moving to stand beside (Y/N) at the edge of the roof. “Why not leave?” he asked, his tone gentle, an underlying note of empathy in his voice.

“Because if I do, you will die.”

I hope everyone enjoyed the longer chapter! It is definitely a heavy hitter for this slow-burn fic but I promise that I will have a happier chapter next time! Also if this Fic was too much for you please know that I am always here to listen even if only through messages. This is purely fiction!

Crime Alley, once known as Park Row, was where the underbelly of Gotham scheme. (Y/n) santered through the area, glaring straight ahead. Looking down at their phone they rolled their eyes, “Why does Black Mask even want to meet?” they grumbled. Black Mask is the current crimelord, a sleaze bag in (y/n)’s opinion, he sells drugs to kids and hurts kids, something that (Y/n) does not tolerate. 

Matthis, who had been trailing behind (Y/n) spoke up, his voice monotone, “You know why Boss. He doesn’t like that we are setting up shop,” (Y/n) rolled their eyes at this, “Yeah well he’s a sleaze bag, he needs to be put down like the dog he is.” they grumbled. Matthis let out a laugh at this, “I know Boss, but unless Gino said you can, you know the rules,” (Y/n) stopped and turned to Matthis, their gaze softening slightly, “I know Matt, but he hurts kids. That should be an automatic target in my opinion. He’s just obsessed with money and power.” they said, frustration evident in their voice. 

Matthis nodded, reaching out to put a comforting hand on (Y/n)’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I know Boss, but look on the bright side, since we came to town our other soldiers have busted multiple schemes involving kids, all of those kids are safe because of us.” He said leaning closer trying to look (Y/n) in the eye. “Just promise me that you won’t be too rash.” he pleaded, his grip on their shoulder tightening slightly. (Y/n) sighed and nodded, “I promise Matty.”

Matthis smiled and released his grip on (Y/n), “Good now let's get going we can’t be late,” he said giving (Y/n) a small playful nudge. (Y/n) chuckled and turned around, their face going back to the menacing glare. 

Black Mask’s goons greeted them at the door, puffing up and acting all menacing, “Look Matthis they’re trying to be scary,” (Y/n) guffawed as they slapped Matthis on the back. Matthis laughed, a frightening sound. “Move it, uglies, I don’t have the patience to deal with low-level goons today,” (Y/n) commanded, a menacing glare on their face. The goons visible gulped, comically deflating and moving out of the way so Matthis and (Y/n) could enter the compound. (Y/n) smirked and pushed open the doors, the doors slamming against the wall, alerting everyone to their arrival. “Oh, Black Mask!” they called out, their voice playful. Matthis followed, his hand resting on his gun, ready to draw at a moment's notice. 

Black Mask, a supposed crimelord who has a disfigured face that looks like a black skull, greets them as they enter his office, "Ah, welcome," the crime lord's voice wavered slightly, though they quickly masked it with a thin veneer of arrogance. "I trust your journey was... uneventful. Not that it matters to me, of course—just a formality, you understand." Their smile was tight, forced, as they leaned forward, their eyes betraying a flicker of unease. "Let’s be clear—you’re here because it suits me... for now. Your life, your fate, every breath you take—it’s all within my control." They hesitated, just for a moment, before adding with a strained bravado, "But let’s not waste time, shall we? I'm sure you wouldn't want to give me any reason to doubt your... intentions." 

(Y/n) grinned wickedly, “You hear that Matthis, he thinks he's in control,” they laughed, turning to Matthis who had a similar grin on his face. “Black mask, let's make one thing clear. You're only still alive because Gino said I wasn’t allowed to kill you,” they responded, their voice dropping into a menacing snarl. “I hope we are here to accept the terms of Gino’s agreement. I would hate to become the crimelord of Gotham in less than a week. I bet  Arkham Asylum has a nice little cell for you, or perhaps a trip to the bottom of Gotham Bay is more your style.”  

Black Mask’s facade of control wavered as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his fingers drumming nervously on the desk. A bead of sweat traced a slow path down his temple, despite the cool temperature of the room. “Oh, I’m well aware of Gino’s... conditions,” he said, his voice trembling slightly despite his effort to sound dismissive. His eyes darted toward the window, a subconscious sign of his unease as he struggled to maintain his veneer of bravado. The thought of losing his grip on Gotham’s criminal underworld gnawed at him, and he clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the rising tide of panic.

"You might have Gino’s protection now, but that won’t last forever. And when it runs out, when his favor shifts... you'll see just how ruthless I can be." He tried to muster a confident grin but failed to hide the fear behind his eyes. "But for now... yes, let’s talk terms. I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement, can’t we?"

The last words dripped with a forced attempt at confidence, but the unease in his posture was unmistakable.

(Y/n) let out a sharp, barking laugh that echoed through the dimly lit room. "Yes, let's get down to business. I’m sure we can find some common ground." They eased into the chair across from Black Mask with the same casual confidence of someone who controlled the room, crossing their legs and weaving their hands together in their lap. Matthis stood behind them, a silent but looming presence, his hand still resting on his pistol, ready for anything.

With a smile that carried no warmth, (Y/n) continued, "Let’s start with the basics. The Moreno family will allow you to continue your work—" they paused, their gaze hardening, "—as long as you stay out of our business and keep your hands off the children and women of Gotham."

Their tone sharpened as they leaned forward slightly, the playful facade vanishing in an instant. "That means no trafficking, no exploitation, none of your people using them as pawns. You do, and I won’t hesitate to tear your empire apart piece by piece."

The air in the room grew tense, but (Y/n) didn’t flinch. They held Black Mask’s gaze, letting the weight of their words settle before easing back into their previous, more casual tone. "Now, as for the rest, I’ll be taking over the drug and chemical market. Specifically, Crane’s and Joker’s operations." They leaned back, cool and composed. "You can keep your foothold in the weapons trade. That’s your bread and butter, after all."

Pulling a folder from their suit jacket, (Y/n) slid it across the desk, their eyes never leaving Black Mask’s. "All I need now is your signature," they said with an almost playful tilt to their smile, though their gaze carried a dangerous promise. The unspoken message was clear: Refuse, and I’ll handle it another way—one you won’t like.

Black Mask’s jaw clenched tightly, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as (Y/n) spoke. His eyes flicked from the folder to (Y/n)'s expectant smile, then up to Matthis, whose hand hovered ominously over his pistol. He forced a tight-lipped grin, trying to keep the edge of fear from creeping into his voice.

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” he said, his tone strained but still laced with forced arrogance. “The Moreno family pulling strings and you stepping in as Gotham’s new chemical kingpin. Bold... reckless, even.”

He paused, his fingers twitching slightly as they hovered over the folder. "Crane, Joker… those are dangerous territories you’re encroaching on. I’d be curious to see how long you last before their… unpredictability becomes a problem. And Gotham’s children and women?” His voice hardened, though a nervous tick betrayed him. “What do I care about them? Fine, we’ll leave them alone."

He leaned forward slightly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "But you think you can waltz in and take the drug market, just like that? Push me into weapons alone? You really think that’s all it’ll take to control Gotham?”

He reached for a pen, his fingers wrapping around it tightly, but hesitated, his eyes locking with (Y/n)’s. The threat behind their gaze was unmistakable. He forced the pen to the paper, scrawling his signature with an irritated flourish. "I’ll play along for now. But remember, the moment Gino’s not watching your back, you’ll wish you stayed in your lane.”

Black Mask tossed the folder back across the desk with a scowl. "I’ll see to it that your precious market remains intact… for now."

(Y/n) grinned, taking the folder, “I’d like to see you try Black Mask,” they said, a threateningly calm look in their eye. “Thank you for your cooperation. Gino will be in contact. Arrivederci!” With that said (Y/n) stood and left the office, Matthis following close behind. 

Matthis ascended the creaky stairs of the aging apartment building, each step groaning under his weight as dust danced in the dim light of the flickering hallway lamps. His fingers absently toyed with the crumpled slip of paper in his pocket, the familiar rustle almost comforting. "What’s their obsession with this Red Hood guy, anyway?" he muttered under his breath, the irritation clear in his voice.

He paused in front of apartment 8, its door slightly scuffed, paint peeling from the edges. For a moment, he hesitated, listening to the distant hum of the city outside, a strange quiet settling over the corridor. His knuckles met the wood in a sharp, decisive knock that echoed through the stillness, bouncing off the cracked walls and traveling further than it should have. He shifted on his feet, waiting, the silence deepening as if the very building was holding its breath.

The door creaked open, revealing a young man with fiery red hair and piercing green eyes, his brow furrowing in suspicion. He studied the stranger for a moment, leaning slightly against the doorframe. "Can I help you?" he asked, his tone cautious yet curious.

Matthis offered a sickly sweet smile, the kind that never reached his eyes. "Hello, Roy Harper," he greeted, giving a subtle nod of acknowledgment. Without further pleasantries, he pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket and extended it toward Roy, whose confusion only deepened. "The Boogeyman wants Red Hood to meet them at this address at midnight," Matthis continued his voice calm but carrying an ominous weight. "Tell him not to be late."

Before Roy could respond, Matthis pivoted on his heel and made his way back down the creaking stairs, his footsteps fading into the eerie quiet of the building.

Roy stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. His heart skipped a beat, a cold chill creeping up his spine as the reality of the message sank in. With trembling fingers, he fished his phone from his pocket and hastily dialed a familiar number. His voice came out shakier than intended. "Jason, get to my apartment. Now."

The rooftop of Benny’s was quiet, the hum of the neon sign below buzzing faintly against the backdrop of Gotham’s infamous Crime Alley. (Y/n) stood at the edge of the roof, their sharp eyes scanning the empty street below. A light breeze caught the edges of their coat, but the chill of the night air didn’t bother them. They had grown accustomed to Gotham’s cold nights—nights where deals went bad, and survival often hinged on instinct and reputation.

(Y/n) had been waiting for nearly an hour, their arms crossed as they leaned casually against a rusted rooftop vent. Their posture was relaxed, but their mind were sharp, and calculating. Midnight was fast approaching, and they knew Red Hood would be on time. They shifted their weight, resting a hand on their hip, where the handle of a pistol was concealed under their coat. The city below seemed almost too quiet, but that was typical of Crime Alley at this hour. The place had a pulse, one that slowed after dark, but never fully stopped. A few dim streetlights flickered weakly, casting long shadows down the alleyways, and Benny’s—the rundown diner below them—was the only place still open, a beacon for Gotham’s late-night stragglers and criminals looking for an easy hideaway.

At exactly 11:59, the distant growl of a motorcycle echoed down the alley. (Y/n)’s gaze snapped toward the sound, their expression unchanging but their heart quickening slightly in anticipation. The roar grew louder as the bike sped closer, until the unmistakable figure of Red Hood came into view, cutting through the fog of the city like a shadow.

He parked the bike just outside Benny’s, his movements were as efficient and precise as the rumors suggested. He dismounted the red of his helmet reflecting the flickering streetlight. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, scanning the area with the practiced eye of someone who knew when they were being watched.

(Y/n) remained on the rooftop, watching him in silence, their fingers tracing the cool metal of their pistol for reassurance. They didn’t need it, not yet. This was just the beginning—a game of power, influence, and carefully chosen words. Red Hood was an unknown factor in Gotham’s underworld, and (Y/n) was about to find out if he was an ally, a threat, or something far more dangerous.

(Y/n) smirked as Red Hood’s head snapped up toward the rooftop, catching their silhouette in the faint glow of the streetlight. If they could see his eyes behind that mask, they’d bet anything they were narrowed in suspicion. They gave a little wave, playful, taunting, before stepping back from the edge.

The familiar thunk of a grappling hook followed a second later, embedding itself into the ledge, and (Y/n) watched with mild amusement as Red Hood flew over the edge with fluid precision. He landed in a perfect three-point stance, his movements as controlled and efficient as always.

"Heya, Red," (Y/n) greeted, their voice laced with mocking sweetness. They flashed a smile, sharp and unsettling, the kind that made it hard to tell whether they were genuinely friendly or just a little unhinged. "How’s this fine night treating you?"

Jason Todd, a.k.a. Red Hood, rose to his full height, his body tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap. Even behind the red mask, (Y/n) could sense the intensity in his stare. "Why am I here?" he growled, his voice low and edged with irritation. His hand instinctively drifted to the gun holstered at his side, fingers resting lightly on the grip.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, come on, Red, let’s not go straight to the dramatics." They waved dismissively, unfazed by his hand on the pistol. "I’m not here to shoot it out with you. That’d be bad for business." 

(Y/n) casually toyed with the edge of their suit jacket, as if standing in front of one of Gotham’s most ruthless vigilantes was nothing more than a routine meeting. "I’m here to talk business," they began smoothly, their tone almost disarmingly light. "I assume your associate, Roy Harper, gave you the gist already. I had my own man deliver the message, but I thought I’d make things clear in person."

They glanced at Red Hood, who remained silent and tense, his stance ready for action. But (Y/n) didn’t seem bothered, their demeanor unnervingly calm. "As long as you and your bat-family stay out of my business, no harm will come to you. That’s a promise." A smirk tugged at their lips. "Though, I do regret what happened to little Robin. He’s just a kid—too young to get caught up in this mess. Even if his mother does scare me a little," they added, their smile faltering for a fraction of a second.

(Y/n)’s gaze sharpened, locking onto Red Hood’s masked face with cold precision. "But let’s get to the point, Jason Todd. I give you my word—no harm will come to children, women, or any innocents in Gotham, as long as I’m around. That’s my line, and I don’t cross it."

They extended their hand, an offer hanging in the air between them. "And, for what it’s worth, I’m willing to cooperate with you and your bats—feed you information, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my own business. Call it a… mutual understanding."

Jason felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine as he stared at the hand extended toward him. His instincts screamed not to trust them. "Why should I believe a word you say?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers twitched toward his pistol, his body coiled with anger. "You shot at us! You used tranq darts on us!" His voice rose, his fury barely contained, the memory of being ambushed still fresh in his mind.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes, the gesture as dismissive as it was calm, before lowering their hand back to their side. "Please, don’t be so dramatic," they said, almost bored. "I won’t fault you for being angry—it’s expected. But I’m not here to justify the past. I’m here asking for trust, a mutual understanding. You and I both know the streets of Gotham demand a certain code."

They paused, meeting Jason’s glare with a steady gaze, their voice firm but measured. "I may be in the mafia, but I have my morals—ones that, if you’re honest with yourself, aren’t so different from yours. I protect the innocent, just as you do. That’s why, despite everything, I won’t reveal the civilian identities of your bat-family."

The tension in the air thickened as (Y/n) straightened, eyes never leaving his. "If it helps you sleep at night, I’ll even give you my own name, and show you my cards." They bowed their head slightly, offering a gesture of respect, though their tone remained unwavering. "I am (Y/n) (L/n), capo of the Moreno family."

They lifted their gaze, giving Jason a small, knowing smile. "Now, tell me—what’s worth more? Holding onto your grudge, or building something that keeps both of us on the right side of the line?"

Jason’s eyes narrowed behind the red mask, (Y/n) straightening after their introduction. The silence stretched between them, thick with tension. After a moment, Jason’s hand fell away from his pistol, but he wasn’t backing down.

"You say you won’t harm innocents, and you want us to stay out of your business," he said, voice still edged with suspicion. "But you’re not exactly on my list of trusted allies. I don’t work on faith alone."

He crossed his arms, his posture still rigid, clearly testing (Y/n)’s patience. "If you’re serious about this ‘mutual understanding,’ I need to see proof. A safe house, your operations—something more than just words."

(Y/n)’s smile faltered for the first time. Their mind raced, calculating how to keep Jason from stepping into dangerous territory. The safe house was off-limits—too many eyes, too many risks. They couldn’t let Jason, or any of the Bat-family, see the inner workings of the Moreno family. And certainly not with Gino’s surveillance.

They chuckled softly, playing it off, though their fingers twitched slightly, betraying a hint of unease. "Come on, Red. What, you think I’m going to invite you over for coffee and a tour of my hideout?" They tilted their head, eyes flicking up to meet his. "This isn’t how trust works. You don’t show me your safe house, and I’m not about to parade you into mine. That’s not how I do business."

Jason’s jaw clenched. He was clearly used to being the one in control of situations like this, but (Y/n) wasn’t backing down. "So you’re telling me I’m just supposed to take your word for it? You really think that’s gonna fly with me?"

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, leaning forward just slightly, showing they weren’t rattled by Jason’s pushback. "What I’m saying, Jason, is that trust is built over time. You want proof? Fine. I’ll give you information on one of Crane’s next shipments. A test, if you will. You stop it, and you’ll see that I’m not playing games. But my safe house? That stays off-limits."

Jason’s gaze hardened, and (Y/n) could almost feel the weight of his distrust. "You expect me to work with you, and you don’t even trust me enough to let me see what’s going on behind the curtain?"

(Y/n) shook their head, smiling, though there was a sharpness in their eyes. "It’s not about trust, Red. It’s about survival. I don’t trust anyone in my safe house. Not you. Not even my boss. And if I can’t trust them, why would I risk trusting you?"

Jason’s eyes stayed locked on (Y/n) as their words settled in. His instincts screamed not to trust them—after all, he’d been burned too many times before. But there was something about the way they spoke, that flicker of truth beneath their guarded exterior, that made him pause.

He crossed his arms tighter over his chest, still sizing them up, his face unreadable behind the mask. “You don’t trust your own boss?” he asked, his voice low, testing.

(Y/n)’s smile didn’t waver, but their silence spoke volumes. Jason knew that kind of tension well—he’d lived with it in the Bat-family, keeping one eye open at all times, never fully trusting anyone. It was familiar.

“Fine,” Jason finally said, his tone sharp, but with an edge of reluctant acceptance. “I’ll take your offer. But if you’re playing me, or if innocents get hurt while you’re running your little empire…” His hand hovered over the grip of his pistol, a not-so-subtle warning. “I won’t hesitate to come for you.”

(Y/n) didn’t flinch. In fact, they seemed almost amused. “I’d expect nothing less, Red. But you’ll find I keep my word.”

The tension between them lingered, thick with the weight of an unspoken understanding. Jason gave a small, curt nod, signaling that—for now—he’d give them the benefit of the doubt. But trust? That would come much, much later, if at all.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he muttered, turning on his heel and heading toward the edge of the rooftop. In one fluid motion, he fired his grappling hook into the night and disappeared into the shadows, leaving (Y/n) standing alone.

I hope everyone enjoyed the longer chapter, I will be revealing more about Gino, and Jason's developing trust in (Y/n) in the next Chapter!

Gotham had calmed down since the breakout, the only sounds, (y/n) heard was the usual rumble of the city. Cars honking, sirens, and chatter floated through the air, quite overstimulating if you’re not used to chaos. “Here Batsy, come out to play,” (y/n) sang, their voice disguised by a veneer of false innocence. They toyed with their dual pistols, the safety engaged, twirling the guns by their trigger guards as they leaped from rooftop to rooftop.

They halted, their eyes widening as they spotted a dense cluster of bats clinging to the rooftop directly in front of them, their attention riveted on the warehouse below. With a smirk, (Y/N) clambered up the small access building, their heart pounding with anticipation. Cupping their hands around their mouth, they shouted, "Hey there, Batsy!" they hollered, the bats almost jumping out of their skin. As they turned, (Y/N) grinned wickedly, their eyes gleaming with mischief. "It's great to finally meet the famous Batman and his team of child vigilantes," they said, standing tall and performing an exaggerated bow, reminiscent of the one Joker had done just hours before. "Allow me to introduce myself, Batsy. I'm the new boogeyman in town, and I'm here to shake things up."

Red Hood and the others had gathered outside a dilapidated warehouse, the rumored delivery point for the deadly "weed killer." As they stood, tense and watchful, awaiting their chance to strike, an unexpected visitor arrived. All heads turned toward the newcomer, a sinister figure clad in a sleek black suit with holsters strapped to both legs. "The bo-boogeyman?" Spoiler whispered, her voice barely audible.

The newcomer grinned wildly, their eyes glinting with malice. "Yep, and I've come with a message," they replied, their voice suddenly dropping to a chilling low. "Stay out of Moreno's business, or I won't hesitate to eliminate you as nuisances." Their menacing tone sent shivers down everyone's spines as they reached for their holsters, their head tilted to one side in a gesture of contempt.

Red Hood grunted, the sound distorted by his voice modulator. His hands instinctively moved toward his holsters, a silent challenge. "You're the one who brought in the 'weed killer'?" Red Robin demanded, his voice filled with anger and disbelief.

The newcomer let out a maniacal laugh. "Oh, little Robin, you've got guts!" they exclaimed, jumping down from the building and walking menacingly toward the edge of the platform. "What if I am? I told you to stay out of Moreno's business, and I mean it!" They pulled a pistol from their holster, the safety still on, and began to twirl it by the trigger guard. "I've done my research on you bats, especially you, Batman," they said, their voice almost casual. "I know your civilian identity."

Red Hood and the others froze, a shiver of cold running down their spines. “Tt, as if you—” Robin didn't get to finish his retort before a bullet whizzed past his cheek, leaving a thin, stinging cut. The mysterious figure's voice, cold and menacing, cut through the tension. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Robin. I hate hurting kids.” The figure lowered their arm and clicked the safety back on with a practiced deliberate motion. 

Robin reached up, wiping his gloved hand across the cut on his cheek. His fingers came away smeared with bright red blood. The sight triggered Batman’s fury. He snapped his head toward the mysterious figure, his posture shifting into a coiled, predatory stance. “What do you mean you know our civilian identities?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The figure let out a chilling giggle that sent a shiver down Red Hood’s spine, reminding him eerily of Harley Quinn. “Well, Batsy, it wasn’t exactly rocket science. Even when you lower your voice, it’s unmistakable. Your physique hasn’t changed either, at least that’s what past... acquaintances have mentioned.” They continued to pace on the edge of the rooftop, their free hand twitching towards a small pocket on their coat. “Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Orphan, Robin, Spoiler, and even Signal—these are all kids you’ve taken under your wing, some more willingly than others. You’ve essentially raised a squad of child soldiers. Although, I suppose Robin didn’t have much choice in the matter.” They paused, a twisted grin spreading across their face. “Oh, and by the way, Robin, or should I say Damian, your mother says hello.” Their eyes gleamed with a mad, unsettling intensity as they finished their taunt.

Batman momentarily faltered, his usual stoic expression faltering as he stared at the Boogyman. “Well, this has been fun,” the Boogyman said with a mocking cheerfulness, drawing a small tranquilizer gun. Red Hood’s eyes widened in alarm. Acting swiftly, he tackled Batman and Nightwing to the ground just as the Boogyman unleashed the darts. Robin, Orphan, Spoiler, and Red Robin all collapsed almost instantly, their bodies crumpling to the pavement.

Jason's head snapped up, his expression a mix of rage and determination. He drew his pistols and fired at the Boogyman, but the figure evaded each shot with astonishing agility. The Boogyman’s eerie laughter filled the night air. “Aww, I like this coat,” they taunted, a bullet grazing their suit jacket. They cackled, locking eyes with Red Hood. “Nice reflexes, kid, but this is where our dance ends.” With a theatrical bow, they added, “Have fun carrying them home!” and with that, they vanished into the shadows, leaving only the echo of their laughter behind.

Red Hood grunted as he hefted Red Robin and Spoiler onto his shoulders, yanking the tranquilizer darts from their bodies with a grimace. He glared at one of the darts, rolling it between his fingers, his scowl deepening beneath his helmet. "They knew exactly who you were, Batman," he growled, his voice low and edged with frustration. "They even know about Robin’s mom." He raised his gaze to meet Batman’s through the narrow slits of his helmet. "They know everything."

Batman’s jaw tightened as he surveyed the fallen team members—Robin, Orphan, Red Robin, and Spoiler—each of them vulnerable, unconscious. His mind raced, calculating their next move. “You’re all benched,” he barked, his voice cold and commanding. “Until I catch them, no one’s getting back in the field. That’s an order!”

(Y/n) cackled as they strode into the safe house, the adrenaline from their latest escapade still coursing through their veins. Matthis glanced up from his phone, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. “Looks like you had fun, Boss?” he asked, setting his phone down on the couch.

With a wide grin, (Y/n) tossed their suit jacket aside, revealing a ripped sleeve and a bullet hole. “So much fun,” they replied, their voice dripping with satisfaction. “I threw out a few threats, knocked most of them out cold... but sadly, my coat didn’t make it.” They frowned, examining the damage with a mix of irritation and admiration. “That damn Red Hood has some impressive marksmanship,” they muttered, tossing the jacket onto the back of the couch.

Matthis raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Even when you’re angry, you can’t help but be impressed, huh?” he observed, watching as (Y/n) leaned casually on the couch.

(Y/n) smirked, a glint of excitement in their eyes. “That I am. I think it’s time I meet Red Hood face to face.”

I hope everyone enjoys the banter between (y/n) and the bat family! I really want to portray (y/n) as a person hardened by the mafia, but yet a fun-loving person.

Gotham, a city infamous for its crime and chaos, was the perfect backdrop for (y/n)'s latest endeavor. The city's reputation for lawlessness and the presence of vigilantes like Batman made it an ideal location for illicit activities. They had been sent here to keep an eye on things and make sure operations ran smoothly.

“Boss, we have secured the perimeter. No one gets in or out of here without us knowing” Matthias voice rang out, as he came running up behind you. Matthias was a younger soldier, far too young in (y/n)’s opinion, but they digress. You stood in the office, overlooking the warehouse, ready for the shipment of chemicals to arrive. “Sounds good Matt, Gino said he has pulled some strings for us tonight. No bats to worry about,” you gently intoned, turning back around as you heard the roar of an engine. “The bats will be preoccupied by a break out at Arkham Asylum, curtsey of the Moreno family.”

The truck backed in as a notification popped up on your phone notifying you that the break out has started, “Ah perfect timing, make sure not a single case of those chemicals is dropped. The Joker might have already paid, but I'm not dealing with that crazy guy tonight,” you commanded, as you sit at your desk, “If a single case is dropped, shoot the soldier who dropped it”

As the truck arrived and the cases were carefully unloaded, (y/n) watched from the office, a sense of anticipation and unease washing over them. The night was filled with potential dangers, and (y/n) knew that they would have to be vigilant to ensure the success of their operation. The warehouse was a ticking time bomb, and a single misstep could lead to disaster.

Jason sat on the edge of a roof, under his red hood, watching as the last of the escapees were rounded up. A voice crackled through his comms, "That couldn't have been a coincidence," it was Red Robin. Jason grunted in agreement, nodding even though no one was around. Pressing a finger to the comm, he responded, "Yeah, it felt too organized. Oracle, thoughts?" he growled, his calm night shattered by the unexpected chaos.

“Red Robin is right, so are you, Red Hood," she replied, her voice filled with disbelief. "Batman interrogated one of the head guards. They were paid and blackmailed into releasing the prisoners." The mention of the Moreno family caught her attention. "They said something about the Moreno family?" she asked, her voice rising with concern.

"Tt, I've heard of them," Robin interjected, his tone filled with a mix of annoyance and respect. "Ruthless bunch. They're a branch of the Sicilian mafia. Mother and Grandfather often talked about them." The revelation sent a shiver down Oracle’s spine. The Moreno family was a dangerous force to be reckoned with, and their involvement in the Arkham Asylum breakout made the situation even more perilous.

A groan through the comm, "Why is it always the mafia?" Spoiler whined, Jason could practically hear her dramatic pout.

Jason rolled his eyes at her, "It's not always the mafia, Spoiler," Batman's gruff voice sounded, joining the call. "However, Robin is correct. The Moreno Family is known for their ruthless tactics and even more dangerous members. This begs the question: why are they in Gotham? They're usually only in Sicily or New York."

Batman's words hung heavy in the air. Red Hood couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The Moreno family's presence in Gotham was a troubling development, and it was clear that something sinister was afoot. Their arrival could signal the start of a new era of crime in the city, a reign of terror that would rival even the Joker's.

Jason knew that they would have to be vigilant to prevent the Moreno family from establishing a foothold in Gotham. The city was already teetering on the brink of chaos, and the arrival of this powerful mafia family could push it over the edge.

"Oracle, were there any suspicious deliveries or anything coming into Gotham? Of the people who weren't involved tonight, this would leave Joker, Mr. Freeze, or Penguin. Perhaps one of them bought something from the mafia?" Red Robin queried, his voice filled with suspicion. The possibility that one of Gotham's most notorious villains had formed an alliance with the Moreno family was a terrifying prospect.

If any of the three had acquired a dangerous weapon or substance, it could spell disaster for the city. The thought of Joker armed with a new weapon or Mr. Freeze with a more powerful ice-based device sent shivers down Red Hood's spine. They would have to be prepared for anything.

Typing could be heard through the comms as Oracle, a.k.a. Barbara Gordon, investigated recent deliveries at the docks. "There was a shipment of weed killer coming from New York City today," she reported. "Although with the new information tonight, I doubt it was weed killer." Oracle sighed in exasperation.

Batman's voice called through the comms, "Let's reconvene at the Batcave. We can make a plan from there." Various voices agreed as they began to trek back to the Batcave. Jason's mind was a whirlwind of possible motives and thoughts. The Moreno family's presence in Gotham was a puzzle, and the mysterious shipment of weed killer only added to the intrigue.

As Jason made his way toward the Batcave, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were facing a formidable enemy. The Moreno family's arrival in Gotham was a harbinger of danger, and they would need to be prepared for anything.

(Y/n) grinned as a familiar, grinning man entered the office, guided by Matthis. "Ciao, Joker. It's fantastic to see you!" they exclaimed, rising to shake the madman's hand. "I hope the streets weren't too chaotic for you," they quipped, settling back behind their desk.

Joker let out a maniacal laugh, amused by the Capo's words. "I knew the Moreno family wouldn't let Batsy interfere," he cackled, beaming at (y/n). "So, I guess we're all set here. You have the hydrogen cyanide and Strychnodide?" (Y/n) nodded. "All I need from you now is your word that if caught with Moreno family goods, you won't snitch. And if we hear you plan to use these chemicals on children or wives, we won't hesitate to shoot first," they hissed, ensuring their point was clear. The Joker cackled, "I promise, little Moreno, it won't come to that," he assured, giving an exaggerated bow.

(Y/n) nodded, waving off the Joker's bow with a dismissive gesture. "Good, now leave," they commanded, leaning back in their chair. The leather creaked beneath their weight as the Joker cackled and departed, barking orders to his henchmen. Once the villain was out of sight, (Y/n) let out a low groan, rubbing the bridge of their nose. "God, that man gives me a headache," they grumbled, gazing up at the concrete ceiling. "Matthis, I think I'm going to go have some fun. Keep an eye on the Joker, and if he does anything we don't approve of, shoot him," they ordered, standing up. "I'm going bat hunting."

I hope you like my first Fanfiction! Let me know if I should write another chapter of What Comes Around!