Jason rode through the empty streets, the roar of his motorcycle echoing in the silence of the night. The city was still, but inside him, a storm raged. His fingers gripped the handlebars tightly, knuckles white beneath his gloves. Every streetlight that flickered past was another reminder of what he had lost.
His family.
Gone.
Murdered.
And he knew who was responsible.
He pulled up to the old brownstone that had once been his home. The house felt hollow now, like a shell of something that had once been filled with warmth. He stepped inside, his boots heavy against the wooden floors. The scent of old books and faint cologne still lingered in the air, remnants of a life that had been torn away.
Jason made his way to his room, barely glancing at the family photos lining the walls. Each one was a gut punch, a snapshot of a time when things were good. When they were whole.
He pushed open his bedroom door and immediately walked over to the closet. Reaching inside, he pulled out a familiar object—his helmet. The smooth red surface reflected the dim light in the room. He ran a hand over it, the weight of it settling in his palm like an old friend.
"It seems," he muttered, his voice hollow, "I have to be that killer again."
With a sigh, he set the helmet in his bag, grabbing a set of clothes as well. As he zipped it up, his eyes landed on Dick's police laptop sitting on the desk.
Dick had been so close.
Jason reached for the laptop, running his fingers over the worn edges. His brother had been investigating Hammerhead before he was killed. If there were any leads, they would be in here.
Stuffing the laptop into his bag, he turned toward the door, locking it behind him as he left.
The city blurred past him as he rode. The old, abandoned warehouse was just as he remembered it—dark, isolated, and forgotten. He pulled into an alleyway beside the building and stepped off his bike.
A single metal door stood at the end of the alley. Jason knocked twice.
A peephole slid open, and a voice from the other side grunted, "Who are you?"
Jason rolled his eyes. "Cisco, it's me. Jason."
The door creaked open, and a man with long black hair and a devilish smirk stepped out.
"Shit, man," Cisco muttered, immediately pulling Jason into a hug. "I heard what happened. I'm sorry, brother."
Jason stiffened for a moment before patting Cisco's back. "Yeah. Thanks. But I need your help."
Cisco pulled away and motioned him inside. "Then come on in."
The room was cluttered with old monitors, tech scraps, and half-built machines, the scent of burning metal and oil thick in the air. Jason dropped into a chair as Cisco leaned against his desk.
"So, what's up?" Cisco asked.
Jason pulled out Dick's laptop and set it down. "Can you get information off of this without anyone knowing?"
Cisco scoffed. "Please. Best hacker in the world, remember?"
He cracked his fingers, then got to work. The screen flashed with lines of code as he bypassed security measures like they were child's play. Within minutes, he let out a low whistle.
"Damn," Cisco muttered. "I'm in."
Jason leaned forward. "Pull up Dick's latest case on Hammerhead."
Cisco's fingers danced across the keyboard, then he suddenly froze. "…Whoa."
Jason's eyes narrowed as he scanned the screen. Human trafficking. Murder. Kidnapping. Drug dealing. Drug trafficking. Bribery.
The list went on.
Jason's hands curled into fists. "Son of a bitch."
"Yeah," Cisco muttered. "Looks like your brother was getting real close to taking down Hammerhead's operation. But before he could…"
Jason slammed his fist against the wall, teeth clenched. "So they killed him."
Cisco stayed quiet, letting Jason simmer. The silence was thick, heavy. Then, Jason took a deep breath and turned to Cisco.
"You still got those weapon stashes?"
Cisco's smirk returned. "Oh, you know I do."
With a push of a button on his computer, a hidden door slid open, revealing an arsenal of weapons, armor, and gear. Jason's lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl.
"This works," he murmured.
He stepped inside, running his hands over the neatly arranged weapons. His eyes landed on a pair of sleek black pistols.
Cisco picked them up and grinned. "Got these from a Stark Industries black market sale." He pressed a small button on the side, and the pistols clicked together, transforming into a sniper rifle.
Jason raised an eyebrow.
Cisco pressed another button, and it shifted again—this time into an assault rifle.
Jason smirked. "This'll work."
Then, something else caught his eye. A set of red and black grenades.
"I'll take these too."
Next, his gaze landed on a set of reinforced body armor. It was plain, unmarked. Jason turned to Cisco. "You got red spray paint?"
Cisco frowned. "Why?"
Jason picked up the armor, his fingers tightening around it. "I need a symbol."
Understanding flickered across Cisco's face. "Alright," he said, tossing him a can of spray paint.
Jason took the armor and spray-painted a red bat symbol across the chest. He held it up, staring at the mark, before turning back to Cisco.
"Why a bat?" Cisco asks then Jason says "It was my dad's favorite animal." Cisco nods.
Then Cisco handed him a helmet. "Upgraded your old one," he said. "Built-in mic, mini-computer, even a self-destruct function if things get really bad."
Jason nodded in appreciation.
His eyes wandered back to the stash. A pair of knives gleamed under the dim light.
"What about these?" he asked.
Cisco grinned. "Oh, those? Adamantium knives. Got them off some underground weapons dealer."
Jason turned the knife in his hand, testing its weight before throwing it. It spun through the air and landed dead center on a target board.
"Bullseye," Jason muttered.
Jason suited up, strapping on the body armor, sliding the knives into their holsters, loading the pistols, and pocketing the grenades. He threw on a dark leather jacket, the final piece of the puzzle.
He reached for his red helmet, pulling it over his head before yanking his hood up.
Cisco leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "So," he said, "you're gonna need a name."
Jason turned to the mirror, staring at his reflection. The red helmet. The bat symbol.
The face of vengeance.
He let the name roll off his tongue.
"The Red Hood."
Cisco grinned. "Yeah. That works."
Jason tightened his gloves, turning to the door.
Hammerhead. Tombstone.
He was coming for them.
And he was going to burn their entire operation to the ground.