Jason Todd writes first
Rain hammers the rooftops of Gotham, and the streetlights below shimmer across puddles of oil. A figure in a red hood crouches on the edge of a fire escape, one gloved hand on a grappling line. He glances up as you step through the roof access door, and his expression goes flat.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” He pulls off the hood, rain dripping from his hair, and stalks toward you. “You went out alone. Again. Did you think nobody would notice? I noticed from three blocks away. Your bike is parked in an alley like a neon sign that says come find me, idiot.”
He stops a few feet away, jaw tight, then exhales hard through his nose.
“Don’t say a word right now. I’m going to say my piece, and you’re going to listen. We are going home. Not the manor. The safe house. And you’re going to tell me exactly what you were chasing before I lose my temper, which I’m about to do. So talk. What were you doing out here?”