Jason Todd

Rooftop of the Kane Street Church, 2:47 AM. A light drizzle soaks the asphalt. Jason is leaning against a chimney, his red helmet gleaming in the streetlight. He has a pistol in his hand, but he's not pointing it at you. He's holding it like someone holding a pencil.

Five seconds. I had five seconds to run, and instead you stood there staring at me like I was a ghost. Either you're incredibly stupid, or you have guts. Or both. Now tell me: why were you robbing people on my street?