"All that the Thunderer wrung from thee
Was but the menace which flung back
On him the torments of thy rack;
The fate thou didst so well foresee,
But would not to appease him tell;
And in thy Silence was his Sentence,
And in his Soul a vain repentance,
And evil dread so ill dissembled,
That in his hand the lightnings trembled."

- Lord Byron, "Prometheus"


You get accustomed to the smell of blood. But it's never just blood with me, is it? The vents in my tactical mask were taking in the smell of blood, gunmetal, leather and kevlar, and the hot sweat collecting behind my neck as the truck screamed past Grant Park. I stole a glance down at my busted left leg as the right one held the gas to the floor. The pain racing up my body sent white sparks across my red vision as my hand closed around the knife stuck in my thigh. I grunted as a dip in the road shifted it and I let go of the knife to get a better grip on the steering wheel. Why is Lady Luck always playing hard to get with me?

I checked my rear view mirrors, the attack chopper gaining on me. Okay, I admit it. Probably shouldn't have made the joke about Bane looking like something that got run over on the freeway. Or shot him. But in my defense, he was dragging Harley Quinn out of bed by her hair for a reason I was still trying to work out. I needed to know why, and the tracker in the bullet I shot into Bane should tell me where he takes her. I kept my shaking hands tight on the wheel to steady them - FPHSHHHH - Shit, shit, shit. I wrenched the truck to the left, just missing the missile as it slammed into a small flower shop and picking up the speed. The April spring flowers exploded all over the street, and flower petals on fire fluttered to the ground like snow in my mirrors. I struggled to get the gasp out of my lungs, get a full breath as Bane's chopper banked that corner - still on my tail.

"Is the barricade up?" I heard Bane growl into his communications, and I tapped the side of my mask to up the volume.

"Si, how long until contact?"

"Not long, get ready. The Red Hood is wounded, breaking him should not take long."

I rolled my eyes. What is it with Bane and having to 'break' people? Sounds like his boys have worked out a little surprise for me. I loved surprises. Bane's chopper did not shoot at me further, just breathed down my neck for the next few seconds. The road meandered and I saw the roadblock. Must be thirty men, a couple of armored trucks and the concrete barricades making an effective wall across the two-lane street.

A dark smile curled at my mouth. "Oh Bane, you shouldn't have…"

Holding my foot still to the floor, I drew my handgun. Easily finding the familiar grip, there goes a couple of shots to break the windshield - the glass covering me and crunching as I moved. I cover-fired into the crowd of Bane's men as the truck was nearly on them, using my other hand to grab two grenades from my belt and pinned them between my legs, ripping out the pins with my index and middle fingers. One of their bullets whizzed under my ear and grazed my neck, a strangled noise escaping my throat at it. My wounded leg protested by sending lightning strikes of pain through my core, blurring my vision, as I let the grenades fall to the floorboards. I flicked the pins from my hand to grab my grapple gun, positioning my trigger finger.

The truck hit the barricades with a bang like a bomb going off, my body still moving through the windshield and through the air like a bird. Without a nanosecond to spare and barely able to see, I twitched my hand and let the fire surprise me - the grapple gun launching at a lamppost a solid three blocks behind the men. It felt like my brain slammed into the back of my head, making me dizzy - though I'm fairly sure that was the leg. The shiver that went through the air as the grenades exploded cracked another wild grin out of me as I sped ahead. I strained my eyes forward, my thumb finding the stopper on the grapple gun - I swung around the lamppost and flung myself, the grapple disengaging from the post - down an alley.

I landed on my side, thankfully not the side with the bad leg and my tactical hood cracked in two as my head impacted, but I tucked my arms in to roll a short ways, distribute the air rushed out of my lungs, and it took me a half-second to both breathe and lift my head. I pushed myself up, stretching my fingertips out and finding the wall. My leg was killing me as I braced myself against the brick of the alley, forcing it to take weight to allow me to stand. I grit my teeth, tightened my hands to fists. I knew I still had another two magazines in the pocket of my biker jacket, and let that thought - and that thought alone - console me as I limped down this alley. Bane might not have been caught in the explosion, and he's likely unhappy that I blew up a lot of his guys just now.

I bent down to pick up my Hood, staring at the face for a second before tossing it into the dumpster a few feet from my left. My black matted hair hung in my face as I focused my eyes on the dimness of the alley. Come on, Jason. Keep moving, I told myself. I couldn't stay here.

I retreated up the alley, ignoring the hot trickle of blood both from my neck and my leg; my hand at the brick guided me. This night was only lit by the full moon, who decided to help me out by peeking out from behind a cloud. I was drenched in sweat and blood and the dank air of this Gotham City alleyway. Each breath tasted like filth and gothic brickwork, each cough hurt. My head felt as if it were splitting down the middle, my hand braced against my handgun holster at my strong hip.

I vaguely remembered something I read while I was still Robin, though I'm not sure why I'm thinking of Marx right now. "The only antidote for mental suffering is physical pain." I had been in far, far worse pain than this. A year of nothing but pain at the hands of a madman. A madman among madmen. A gash in my neck, a knife in my leg, and a possible concussion is not the worse of it...But in some strange part of my head, I was exhaling in relief as I flipped between pain and more pain as I trudged down this alley. There is still so much work to be done to help my psychological pain...but for now, I've got plenty of distraction.

Sometimes, I think if it weren't for my sense of humor I'd be long gone in the head.

Like Bruce, I was reborn from my traumas in the form of my worst fear. No more Arkham Knight, and hello Red Hood. I became the better Batman needed desperately by the good people of this city, unafraid of getting my hands a little filthy...though the feeling of unfinished business weighed in my gut. I don't know why. Bruce was gone, Joker was dead. Was it because I didn't get to say goodbye to Alfred?

I saw the alleyway in front of me ending with a concrete guardrail, leading into a parking garage...I gazed up the building. An apartment complex. I was so tired. I rested my hands on the cold top of the guardrail, throwing one leg over it and crying out when I heaved the stabbed leg over. I slumped to the asphalt between two cars, my legs stretched out over the parking space.

I heard an engine, my eyes getting heavy. My head hung over my lap, and my eyes found the blood-red Batsymbol on my chest. I wasn't done yet. I needed to finish his work.

Lights exploded off the glass at the back of the car to my right, the sound of screeching brakes, and I flinched so badly I fell over in front of the maniac who'd nearly squashed me. My face scratching off the asphalt, my eyes slipped closed... the horn honking in my ears…

The car door opening, soft scrapes of shoes and a gasp. The shoes got closer, and I could almost get the words out, but not quite. Help...me….

My last recollection before I passed out was the sensation of small, feminine hands on my chest, over my heart. A couple of fingers under my jaw, feeling for a slowing pulse.