Tim's caffeine-induced hyperness had his mind flicking from one clue to the next in rapid succession. The pieces of information he'd gathered over the past few months slowly connected. The puzzle was finally starting to form a picture. It all made sense now. The rage pointed at the bats and the knowledge he possessed of them, the intimate familiarity of crime alley, even the training to a degree. Tim leaned back from his desk with a sense of satisfaction and a rising feeling of dread.

The Red Hood's identity was unraveling before his eyes...

_______

Jason was having a remarkably bad day. He'd spilled tea on his new (to him) copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, stubbed his toe on the corner of his ratty old couch, and he'd left his favorite League knife at home when he'd left for patrol. Ah, and the fact that he'd gotten word of a new gaggle of traffickers making their way through his turf. You'd think a bag of heads would make some people think twice about breaking his rules.

Red Hood raced across the dirty rooftops of Crime Alley towards the Bowery with the lethal grace only members of the League of Assassins have. The smog hangs thick in the chilly night's air and it smelled like it was going to rain soon. Good, it'd help clean up the bloody mess he was going to make of those traffickers. Jumping over an alleyway, he glimpses some two-bit thugs shrinking into the shadows, hoping they aren't Hood's target tonight. A small smirk of pride flickers across his face. He's only been back in Gotham three months and he'd already gained a considerable amount of notoriety. A few days ago he'd heard some Crime Alley kids playing a game they called "Hood and Robbers." Who knew that being a crime lord could be so much fun! Hood shakes his head as he arrives at a rundown warehouse on the edge of Crime Alley and the Bowery. Tonight was not about fun. It's about taking out some trash that had the nerve to go against him.

The decrepit old building was easy enough to slip into, but it was so old he had to move extra slowly to keep the rusted rafters from creaking under his considerable bulk. Hood carefully peers down at the warehouse below. Five thugs with a visible pistol on each milled around beneath him. A few were ambling about clearly bored while the other two were on edge. Their eyes darted towards the shadows as if they expected something to launch out of them. Or someone Hood darkly chuckled to himself. Maybe the heads did have an impact on these guys. On the far side of the warehouse, he could hear quiet sniffling. He couldn't see the victims because a stack of shipping crates hid them from view, but that was definitely where these scumbags were hiding them.

Hood's preferred method for crushing those who defied him included flying in with guns blazing and grenades flying, but that's a little difficult when hostages are involved. Besides, there could be more goons guarding the victims. When Hood could finally see over the crates his blood began to boil and his vision flashes green. There were no guards, but there were kids. Every single one of the victims was a tiny little child with mottled purple bruises splashed across their scrawny bodies. Not only were they trafficking on his turf, they were abusing kids. Kids who were under his protection.

The only warning the poor sap had before his skull shattered against the concrete was the snap of leather flying through the air. Hood rolled off the guy and popped up with guns blazing. While caught off guard, two of the traffickers had been antsy from the beginning and fired back with barely a moment's hesitation. Hood dives for cover behind a stack of crates after two more drop dead, bullets neatly placed in their heads. A bit too clean for his liking given their occupation, but he had other flies to squash. A well-placed bullet flies through the pallet and grazes his thigh, causing him to release a small hiss of pain. These guys might get a couple lucky shots in if he wasn't quick. Desperate thugs fire more rounds and shoot unpredictably.

Leaning around his impromptu cover, he fires a few more rounds at his assailants and manages to catch one in the chest and the other in the leg. Both drop to the ground screaming in pain, one with a hole in his lung and the other just being a wimp. That wasn't even a good shot. He waited a second to make sure no goons he'd somehow missed were going to bleed from the walls. Once he was sure there was no one unaccounted for, Hood stalks through the warehouse relishing in the smell of blood and gunpowder until he was standing over the whimpering man holding his leg.

"I thought I'd made it pretty clear what would happen if anyone tried to traffic on my turf." The modulator in his helmet added a robotic tinge to his growl. The man started at the sound of his voice and promptly began begging.

"W-we didn't know we was in y'er turf or who's you were! We's was just tryin-" Hood cut him off with a loud bang from his glock. A matching, bloody hole appeared in the other leg accompanied by an ear-splitting screech. The green danced happily in his vision.

"Is that so? Well allow me to introduce myself," he snarks. "Red Hood. The crime lord of the alleys and I specifically told everyone trafficking, especially trafficking kids would get you a bullet to the brain." He shoves the pistol between the wide eyes staring up at him. What can he say, he always enjoyed a bit of theatrics. "You have two options. First," he says, wiggling a finger in the air, "you can spit out who put you up to this and I will give you a merciful death. Your second option is to keep it to yourself. But then I'd have to start chopping you apart bit by bit until you scream out their name in an attempt to sate my rage and end your suffering. Please," Hood says while leaning closer. "Pick the second option."

The man pales considerably and stutters out, "It was Mask! Please spare-"

Bang Bang

A bullet rips through Hood's shoulder, quickly followed by a second burying itself above his hip. Agony seared throughout the left side of his body. The bastard he landed on was still alive. He whips his pistol around and dispatches the man behind him before shooting the remaining two clinging to life. Damnit, he'd been sloppy. Careless even. If Talia caught wind of this he was in for one hell of a lecture and a beatdown.

The faint wail of sirens made themselves known, and Hood stumbled to his feet and made his way over to where the children were hidden. Alright, here's how he's going to do this:

Check on the kidsMake it to a safehouseDon't bleed out

Yeah, not dying again today would be nice. At the sight of the kids came the green flared again. He could make out injuries he couldn't see earlier: infected cuts, a few broken bones, hell, one kid had whip marks. He should've killed them slowly, he thought bitterly. "Sit tight kiddos, help's on the way," he said as soothingly as he could manage with three gunshot wounds. The kids looked at him with wariness, but Hood wasn't going to get closer. Paramedics would be here within minutes and he needed to bolt. He unceremoniously shoved open a side door leading to the connecting alley and grappled to the top of the neighboring roof.

Damn that hurt. How the hell did all three bullets hit the left side of his body? What god did he irk to give him such rotten luck?

Muttering about stupid bullets and stupid-er traffickers, he made his way towards his closest safehouse at a steady, rhythmic pace.

Jog. Grapple. Swing. Land. Breathe. Repeat.

Jog. Grapple. Swing. Land. Breathe Dammit! Repeat.

The process was arduous and excruciating. His breath was starting to come in labored pants, but he could get there within ten minutes if he kept this pace up. He can do this. He's the Red Hood and a literal zombie. A few bullet wounds weren't enough to put him in the ground. A flash of red appeared at the edge of his vision and colorful curses promptly streamed from his mouth. This was not the time for a confrontation with the Bat and his precious brood. He picked up the pace despite his body screaming at him. He needed to lose the tail. Even if it was too close to the safehouse for comfort, he could cut his losses and abandon it within the next few days. After he's no longer bleeding out and in agonizing amounts of pain.

The increase in speed didn't seem to put any distance between him and the replacement at all. If anything, he was gaining. Hood started making riskier and riskier moves to try and gain some breathing room and shake off the determined little runt. He leaps over drops he'd normally grapple over, takes turns too tight for his hip wound to handle, and releases his grapple before he's sure he'll land on a roof instead of splattering on the pavement below. He had to bite down on a pained scream more times than he'd like to admit. And still, the replacement persisted.

This wasn't going to work. The exhaustion was creeping in on him, his entire body burned, and the blood loss was reaching a worrying state. The runt would catch him at this rate. He needs to change his approach. Skidding to a halt, he turns and faces his replacement. He drew himself up so it'd be less obvious that he was favoring one side and resisted the urge to keep an iron vice over the oozing wound in his shoulder. This is earlier than he'd planned and without the drama the Tower would have brought, but if he has to beat the kid into a bloody pulp in order to escape, he will without hesitation. No, that'd take too long, and he'd quickly lose the upper hand. Just knock him unconscious or shoot him in the leg and book it. He can do that. He can last that long.

Robin grapples across the gap and deftly lands on Hood's roof. "Hello, Hood."

"Replacement," he growls in return. The effort it took him to speak was concerning. He needed to speed this up. "Now why would a little birdie be so far away from his nest? You know it's a big bad world out here without the Bat to keep your feathers intact." The kid merely tilted his head to the side. Dear God, how far did he take this bird thing?

"I'm just here to talk," he chirped back brightly. Green was starting to hum in his veins. Unholstering a gun with his good arm, he levels it in the kid's general direction.

"Is that so?" He drawls, trying to keep an unbothered and confident air about him. He really needed to pull this off. The kid would tell Batman if Hood looks like he's going to keel over. And that would just prompt them to attack him while he's vulnerable. "Too bad I'm not in a talking mood. You know, places to be, people to kill, a criminal empire to run. The whole shabang. Fly your little bird butt home before I shoot you." The kid stares at him for a second before spilling a sentence that makes his blood run cold.

"I know your secret."

If Hood wasn't a professional, he would've been reeling back at the simple sentence. Too bad for the kid, Hood was a professional. He wasn't going to fall for it. He'd dropped hints here and there to put the bats on edge, but nothing that should lead to his identity. It was largely dropping the bats' names, rubbing the fact that he knows that the second Robin's dead in their faces, using the knowledge he has on them to send them on wild goose chases, and all around giving Bruce a run for his billions. This has to be a bluff. It has to be or all his plans just went up in smoke before his eyes like his hopes and dreams had in Ethiopia. What sane person takes those snippets of information and goes "oh yeah, Jason rose from the dead and decided to become a crime lord!" So instead of letting his idiotic brain box continue to panic, he scoffs.

"Sure, kid. Whatever you say. Enjoy your newfound revelation, I'm heading out." Hood salutes and makes to turn away when panic flashes across the kid's face and he frantically spills the words he was holding on to for a dramatic reveal (whaddaya know, the kid has some sense of drama too).

"I know you're trying to avenge Jason Todd."

Hood's entire being: mind, body, and soul, all stuttered to a halt.

"What the hell did you just say?!"