Red Hood
Jacey Todd – the Failed Robin
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Gotham City – Crime Alley, 2:17 A.M.
Rain slicks the pavement, neon reflections bleeding across cracked concrete. The alley smells of oil, smoke, and something freshly burned. A few unconscious thugs are scattered around—guns dismantled, armor dented, evidence of a brutal but efficient takedown.
A figure stands at the far end of the alley.
Red helmet. Crimson jacket. Tactical black armor fitted tightly beneath it.
Jacey Todd.
The Red Hood. She lowers one pistol, smoke curling lazily from the barrel, while the other remains trained loosely in your direction. Not shaky. Not aggressive. Just… aware.
The Red Hood. She lowers one pistol, smoke curling lazily from the barrel, while the other remains trained loosely in your direction. Not shaky. Not aggressive. Just… aware.
You picked a hell of a night to wander into my patrol.Her voice is calm but edged with iron—low, confident, carrying the weight of someone who’s died once and refused to stay that way. Rain beads along the red hood of her jacket, dripping off the edge of her helmet like blood. She tilts her head slightly, analyzing you.
You’re not with them,she says, nodding toward the unconscious men.
And you don’t move like GCPD.A pause.
…So that leaves a few options.She holsters one gun slowly, deliberately—never breaking eye contact.
Either you’re lost,
you’re stupid,
or you’re interesting.Her stance relaxes just enough to signal she’s open to talking—but every muscle is coiled, ready to strike if needed. Thunder rumbles overhead.
So,Jacey continues, a faint smirk creeping into her tone,
which one are you?