[Batcave]
That evening, Bruce sat alone before the massive central monitor, its pale glow spilling across the Batcave while the surrounding screens bathed the cavern in shifting light. Streams of information moved across the displays—GCPD reports, news coverage, surveillance footage, and data pulled from his own network of sources. The cave felt quieter than usual, the low hum of machinery doing little to fill the silence hanging over him.
The elevator doors eventually slid open behind him, drawing his attention as Alfred stepped out while guiding a wheelchair down into the cave. Barbara sat in it with an unimpressed look already on her face as her eyes swept over the dark cavern around her.
"This place looks as gloomy as ever," she remarked dryly while Alfred pushed her toward the main console. As they moved closer, her gaze drifted toward the old Batgirl suit preserved behind glass nearby. The sight of it held her attention for a moment longer than she probably intended.
"Thanks for coming," Bruce said quietly.
Alfred guided the wheelchair up the slight sloped panel leading toward the computer platform, the same reinforced incline usually meant for heavy equipment. Barbara could have easily rolled herself the rest of the way, but Alfred continued without complaint, every bit the gentleman he had always been.
"I'll get some tea ready," he announced once they reached the platform. With that, he turned and calmly walked off deeper into the cave.
Barbara rolled closer to the wall of monitors, her attention already shifting toward the data on-screen. "Not being able to help fight crime has been torture since the accident," she admitted. "So I'm glad I can help somehow. Honestly, it's about time I made a return anyway. I miss the thrill of it."
Bruce remained silent, though her words lingered heavily in the cave between them. Barbara had offered more than once to become their eyes and ears—to operate from behind the screens like an Oracle—but each time he had pushed the idea aside and told her to focus on recovering first. Yet after weeks of getting nowhere in the search for Jason, Bruce couldn't deny that her skills might finally help uncover something he had missed.
The fact that he still hadn't been able to put an end to the matter felt like a slap to the face. For a man widely regarded as the world's greatest detective, the lack of progress was frustrating in a way few cases had ever been. Yet Jason wasn't an ordinary opponent.
He was a kid Bruce had personally trained from the ground up, someone who knew how he thought and operated. As if that wasn't enough, Jason had also spent years under the tutelage of Ra's al Ghul, learning warfare, strategy, and deception from one of the most dangerous minds on the planet.
"What's this thing with Jason anyway?" Barbara asked as she positioned herself in front of the central console while Bruce rolled his chair aside for her. Her fingers immediately moved across the keyboard, pulling up files and cross-referencing data with habitual ease. "I understand he's taking a different approach to fighting crime—obviously the wrong approach—but why are the body counts getting higher every week? The Red Hood's leaving corpses behind like he's trying to send more than a message."
Bruce watched the screens silently for a moment before answering. "Not entirely." His voice remained calm, though there was a heaviness beneath it. "Jason once said crime could never truly be stopped. Only controlled."
Barbara glanced back at him briefly before returning to the monitors. "So that's what this is?" she asked. "He's cutting away at the underworld piece by piece, taking down the major players until he's the one controlling what's left?" As she spoke, lines of information scrolled rapidly across the screen while she searched for patterns in the data Bruce had gathered over the past several weeks.
Territories, movement reports, intercepted transactions, gang activity—anything that might help narrow down a possible base of operations.
"So far, that seems to be the idea," Bruce admitted. "But Gotham's bigger than street gangs and operating crime lords. Some of these families have been controlling crime since the city was founded." His eyes narrowed slightly as another thought settled into place. "I keep wondering how Jason plans to deal with people like that."
Barbara's hands slowed over the keyboard. "It's not like he can just wipe out every crime family he comes across…" she started to say, but the confidence in her own words faded before she could finish. With the way Jason had been operating as the Red Hood, there was no clear line left between what he would do and what he wouldn't.
"Let's hope he doesn't try," Bruce replied quietly. "Because if he does, he'll ignite the war he's been building toward these past few months." The words carried more concern than anger. Bruce already knew Gotham's oldest predators would never tolerate someone trying to seize control of their city, and if Jason truly intended to force crime into submission, then sooner or later the Court of Owls would inevitably come for the Red Hood.
- - -
Talia al Ghul had received word that Jason was at one of their bases requesting an audience with her. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of the news, but she could not deny the relief she felt upon hearing it. Ever since Damian had informed her that Jason was alive and operating as the Red Hood, she had intended to travel to Gotham herself to see him and speak with him directly. Yet circumstance after circumstance had prevented that meeting from happening.
What concerned her now, however, was the state Jason had apparently arrived in. The report she received urged her to return as soon as possible, claiming whatever reason had driven Jason to seek her aid was serious enough to leave him visibly strained.
According to the assassins stationed there, he had been unusually twitchy and on edge, constantly suppressing restless nerves beneath forced restraint. Jason had done his best to maintain composure, but such things rarely escaped the notice of trained assassins. Reading subtle shifts in behavior, tension, and body language was second nature to them, and whatever was wrong with Jason had been impossible to overlook.
Without hesitation, Talia suspended the matters she had originally set out to handle and immediately began her journey back to the base. The entire trip, a quiet sense of unease lingered in the back of her mind. Jason was not someone who sought help lightly, especially not from the League. For him to come to them in such a condition suggested desperation, and desperation was rarely without consequence.
The moment she arrived, she sensed something was wrong. The base no longer carried its usual atmosphere of cold discipline and seamless coordination. Instead, there was tension hanging heavily in the air, subtle but unmistakable.
Even the guards normally stationed at their posts were absent. Before she could question it further, the sound of a disturbance echoed from somewhere deeper within the compound. Raised voices, hurried movement, and the unmistakable noise of a commotion reached her ears. Her expression sharpened immediately, and without wasting another second, Talia quickened her pace toward the source of it.
"With me," she ordered the assassins accompanying her, a handpicked group made up of some of her finest fighters. Unlike her father, Talia still remained active in the field, refusing to let her position strip her of the duties she had long carried out as Lady Talia. Missions that required her presence were missions she preferred to oversee personally.
As they approached the area Jason had been reported in, she noticed a gathering of assassins stationed outside one of the buildings ahead. Their weapons were drawn, bodies tense, all of them facing the same direction with their backs turned toward her approaching envoy. The sight immediately put her on alert.
Pushing forward to get a clearer understanding of the situation, she was met with an unpleasant scene. Several assassins littered the ground, some unconscious, others very clearly dead. Standing before the remaining fighters was Jason.
A sinister smirk rested across his face, matched only by the dangerous look in his eyes. What immediately caught her attention, however, were the chains restraining him. His arms were completely bound behind his back, chains wrapped tightly around his torso as though someone had gone out of their way to immobilize him.
One of her escorts shifted forward, preparing to engage, but Talia raised a hand to stop him. Observation before action—that was the discipline of a true assassin, and nothing about what she was seeing made sense.
Her eyes swept over the aftermath once more. She could see the hesitation in the surrounding assassins, the uncertainty beneath their battle stances. Then her gaze dropped lower.
His boots were stained with blood.
'Don't tell me…'
The realization slowly settled in as she stared at the bodies around him. She found it difficult to believe that someone restrained so completely could inflict this level of damage without the use of his hands. Yet the evidence was laid plainly before her.
Just then, three assassins moved in carefully, circling Jason with their weapons raised and ready to engage.
As the assassins prepared to engage him, Jason suddenly took a sharp step to the side for seemingly no reason at all. A split second later, an arrow sliced through the air and buried itself into the snow past where he had been standing moments earlier.
Taking the failed strike as the signal to attack, the three assassins surrounding him moved at once. Jason immediately dug his foot into the snow and kicked up a heavy spray toward the two charging from the front before lunging backward toward the third assassin attacking from behind with a sword.
Before the assassin could complete the downward swing, Jason drove his forehead forward with brutal force. The sickening crack of a skull echoed through the air as the assassin's grip instantly gave out. The masked fighter collapsed straight into the snow while the sword slipped free from their hand. Without missing a beat, Jason kicked the falling blade upward into the air.
His speed and the sudden violence of his counter caused the two approaching assassins to hesitate for the briefest moment, and Jason used that opening to make another quick sidestep. Another dart whistled past him, narrowly missing its mark.
His eyes immediately traced the projectile's path. With a quick sweep of his gaze, he spotted the attacker positioned atop a nearby structure some distance away, partially concealed against the snowy backdrop.
"Got you," he muttered beneath his breath.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Jason leaped upward. His body twisted midair with habitual precision as he lashed out a powerful kick against the hilt of the descending sword.
The blade shot through the air with terrifying speed.
A moment later, it struck its target cleanly, piercing straight through the archer's head.
'What is this? Is that really Jason?'
Talia stared at the scene before her in growing disbelief, struggling to comprehend how he was moving and fighting in such a manner despite being restrained. Every movement flowed with unnatural precision, every dodge and counter executed with terrifying efficiency.
'What kind of training has he undergone since disappearing three years ago?'
The question lingered heavily in her mind. His fighting style was unfamiliar even to her trained eyes, refined in ways she did not recognize. It left her both perplexed and increasingly unsettled.
More than that, it made her want to end the slaughter of her assassins before the situation spiraled further out of control. Though her forces vastly outnumbered him, the battle looked painfully one-sided, and from the way things were unfolding, Jason clearly held the advantage.
The remaining two assassins attacking him refused to let fear disrupt their focus. A couple more joined in and pressed forward relentlessly, blades flashing through the cold air in coordinated strikes. Jason responded almost effortlessly, sidestepping one attack before weaving past another and ducking beneath a sweeping slash. Despite the chains restricting his body moments ago, he moved with fluidity that bordered on inhuman.
Behind them, five archers remained positioned in a wide semicircle with arrows drawn and aimed directly at him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Earlier, before Talia had arrived at the base, Jason had turned their own tactics against them by constantly shifting positions and forcing missed shots into their allies. One poorly timed arrow had already cost them a man.
This time, however, they believed they had adapted. With Jason boxed in and only three assassins engaging him at once, the risk of accidental casualties had been minimized. All they needed now was a clean opening.
One of the assassins lunged forward with a downward slash. Taking advantage of the League's uniquely sharp blades, Jason twisted his body at the last possible moment and deliberately allowed the sword to strike the chains binding him.
The blade sliced clean through them.
For a brief second, silence seemed to grip everyone present.
"Fuck."
The thought echoed almost collectively among the assassins as the chains clattered heavily against the ground. Horror spread across their faces before they could even fully process what had just happened.
Because if Jason had been this dangerous while restrained—
Then what exactly would happen now that his hands were free?
They barely had time to react before Jason moved. In one swift motion, he grabbed the assassin by the arm the instant the chains fell away.
A swift kick to the side of the assassin's leg caused the limb to bend at a sickening, unnatural angle. The sharp crack of bone was immediately followed by a scream of agony as the assassin collapsed, his knee completely destroyed. Jason was already preparing to follow up with another strike when the archers finally released their arrows.
The other assassins who had been engaging him had wisely thrown themselves out of the line of fire, while the last remained on the ground clutching his ruined leg and writhing in pain.
The arrows tore through the air toward Jason's upper body with lethal accuracy. The archers no longer cared about restraint or caution. Whatever confusion they had over why someone once respected within the League had suddenly returned only to slaughter their own was now buried beneath survival instinct. Their goal was simple now—put him down before more bodies hit the snow.
Jason reacted instantly.
He grabbed the assassin with the shattered knee and hauled him upward as though he weighed nothing, using the screaming man as a shield just as the arrows struck. The projectiles buried themselves into flesh with wet impacts, cutting off the man's cries almost immediately.
Without pausing, Jason hurled the body forward with monstrous force. The corpse slammed directly into the archer positioned at the center of the formation, sending him and two others crashing violently off their feet as the carefully maintained semicircle broke apart in chaos.
At the same moment, Jason bent down and snatched a sword from the ground.
The remaining archers reacted quickly, drawing second arrows with disciplined efficiency before firing another volley. This time, however, Jason met the attack head-on. The blade in his hand became a blur of motion as he skillfully deflected every incoming arrow, steel clashing against steel in rapid succession.
Then came the follow-up.
As he knocked aside the final arrow, something else was launched high into the air above him. The object unfolded mid-flight into a large black net, weighted with metal balls along its edges to increase its speed and force as it descended toward him like a trap closing around prey.
Jason's eyes flicked upward.
In one fluid motion, he swung his blade vertically, then horizontally, the strikes crossing through the air with perfect precision. The net split apart instantly into four shredded sections before it could even touch him, the weighted fragments scattering uselessly across the snow.
Afterward, Jason simply stood there.
He didn't move. Didn't raise his weapon. Didn't even shift his footing.
The smirk that had previously tugged at his lips slowly vanished, replaced by an expression far colder.
"Well… this is disappointing."
The moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere changed completely. The bloodlust radiating from him crashed over the assassins like a physical force, thick and suffocating enough to make several of them instinctively step back while others felt their knees weaken beneath them.
Talia was no stranger to Jason's bloodlust. She had witnessed glimpses of it before, seen the violent edge lurking beneath his anger during his time with the League. But this…
This felt entirely different.
The aura radiating from him was overwhelming, thick with hostility and murderous intent to the point that it felt physically oppressive. Even seasoned assassins around her struggled to maintain their composure beneath it.
"You're kidding, right?" Jason said, his glare smoldering with disappointment and irritation as his eyes swept across the gathered assassins. "There's no way the League of Assassins has become this weak."
The words struck harder than most blades could. Humiliation and tension rippled through the surrounding fighters, but before anyone could react, the bloodlust pouring from him intensified even further. The air itself seemed heavier as several assassins involuntarily swallowed hard, their instincts screaming at them to retreat.
"What is this?" one of them muttered, horror plain in his eyes as he stared ahead. The same expression was mirrored across the faces of those around him, their confidence crumbling by the second. His voice sounded hollow and dispirited, as though the will to fight had been ripped out of him entirely, leaving behind only disbelief and dread.
"I guess you're due for some re-education," Jason continued coldly. "A task I am much obliged to carry out."
Talia immediately understood what that feeling meant.
Everything up until now—every broken bone, every corpse, every display of overwhelming skill—had merely been restraint.
The real slaughter was only just about to begin.
Unwilling to allow things to escalate any further, she finally stepped forward, her voice cutting sharply through the suffocating tension before anyone else could move.
"Enough."
- - -
A/N:—
Good news people, we're finally at Jason's recovery arc.