DC: The Man And The Hood

A month passed. The fortress courtyard was alive with the clashing of swords, the grunts of soldiers, and the rhythmic hum of disciplined training.

The air was thick with sweat and tension as the League's warriors honed their skills under the watchful eyes of their commanders. But Jason Todd was absent from the crowd this morning.

Instead, he was with Ra's al Ghul in a secluded chamber, its walls lined with ancient weapons and scrolls depicting the League's philosophy.

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single skylight that bathed the center of the room in an ethereal glow. Jason stood in its center, his shirt discarded, his chest heaving as fresh cuts oozed blood. Ra's loomed over him, his sword poised at Jason's throat.

"That is enough for today," Ra's said, his voice calm but authoritative.

Jason grinned despite the pain, spitting out blood as he struggled to rise. "Not done yet, old man," he rasped, his tone defiant. His body ached, every muscle screaming for rest, but the adrenaline coursing through him drowned out the pain.

Ra's arched an eyebrow, intrigued by the boy's resilience. "As I said, enough," he repeated, sheathing his sword with a decisive click.

Jason scowled but reluctantly sank back to the floor, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

Despite his disappointment, a small part of him was relieved. The relentless training was exhilarating, but it pushed him to his limits—and sometimes beyond them.

"You continue to show improvement," Ra's remarked, pacing slowly around Jason. "Your movements grow sharper with each session."

Jason wiped blood from his lip, smirking. "Yeah, it gets easier after a few fights. But here's the kicker—how come I can pull off moves I don't even remember learning?"

Ra's stopped, his piercing gaze meeting Jason's. "The mind may forget," he said, "but the body remembers."

Jason's eyes flicked toward the courtyard, where soldiers sparred with mechanical precision. "Weird. It's like instinct takes over sometimes," he muttered. "Almost like I'm watching someone else fight through me."

Ra's nodded, pleased by the observation. "Your subconscious mind is blending what it once knew with what I am teaching you now."

Jason tilted his head, considering this. Deep down, fragments of his past nagged at him—blurry images of a shadowy figure, a sinister laugh, and a crowbar flashing in the dark. But he kept those memories to himself.

"What if I never get my memories back?" he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

Ra's paused, his expression unreadable. "Should that happen, you will still have a home here. You are one of us now, Jason—a warrior, a member of the League."

Jason glanced down at his bloodied hands, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. He didn't fully trust Ra's—not yet. But the man's words planted a seed of belonging, a dangerous comfort that Jason couldn't ignore.

"Thanks, I guess," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet with a wince.

Ra's allowed himself a faint smile. "Rest now. Tomorrow, we take your training to the field, we are going to work on your stealth."

As Jason left the chamber, the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at Ra's lips. The boy was strong, cunning, and driven by a fire that could either destroy him—or make him invincible. Either way, Ra's intended to wield that fire for his own ends.

....

[Jason Todd's POV]

Jason found himself tied to a chair and unable to move. The vivid image of a clown in a purple suit appeared in front of him as a maniacal laughter with a strong hint of lunacy filled the air.

The clown was about to strike him across the face when he suddenly jolted from his sleep, covered in sweat and panting as he began to gasp for air.

"It was only a nightmare." He muttered, still struggling to breath. 'But why a clown of all things, and why this overwhelming feeling of both fear and something I can only describe as pure hatred.' He thought.

After a short while, his breath became calm and steady. He then laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling in hopes of at least getting some rest that night.

He needed to be well rested for his next training to commence in a couple hours. He shut his eyes and tried to catch some sleep but unfortunately for him, he was wide awake and still tormented by the recurring images of the mad clown.

The League of Assassins' fortress was quiet in the early hours, the halls bathed in the dim glow of torches.

Jason stood at the edge of the main training hall, his muscles tense as he listened to Ra's al Ghul's steady voice. The man had an unnerving ability to command silence without raising his tone, and Jason couldn't help but focus entirely on him.

"You've proven yourself capable in direct combat," Ra's began, pacing slowly. His silhouette moved like a phantom against the flickering torchlight.

"But brute strength and skill with a blade will only take you so far. True power lies in the ability to move unseen, to infiltrate the very heart of your enemy's sanctum without leaving a trace."

Jason straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing.

"Stealth, boy," Ra's continued, his tone like a blade slicing through the air.

"Stealth?" Jason asked with confusion in his tone. "I know nothing about that, you haven't taught me anything about that."

"Stealth is an art which comes to most naturally, but they also undergo training to perfect this art. Tonight, we will see if you have the potential to grasp it."

Jason clenched his fists, nodding silently.

"If you feel backed against a wall or come against an obstacle you can't seem to get by, then think on your feet and take the best course of action your guts tell you to."

Again, he gave no response, just a nod. He didn't need words to prove himself, his actions would speak louder. And hopefully he doesn't screw up and get beaten like a literal thief by those guys.

****

The first part of the lesson was grueling. Ra's led Jason to a secluded part of the fortress—a maze-like area designed specifically for stealth training.

The space was dimly lit, the air damp with the scent of moss and old stone. The walls were lined with narrow ledges and hidden alcoves, while the floor was covered in uneven tiles that creaked if too much weight was applied.

"You are to retrieve an item from the vault at the center of this maze," Ra's instructed, gesturing to a map he had laid out before them. "There will be guards patrolling. They will not go easy on you." His green eyes glinted. "If they catch you, they are instructed to treat you as an intruder."

Jason smirked, the corner of his mouth curling into a cocky grin. "So what's the challenge, old man? Avoid them, grab the thing, and get out?"

Ra's stared at him, unamused. "The challenge, boy, is not to let your arrogance get you killed. Now, go."

Jason's grin faded as he stepped into the maze, the heavy door shutting behind him with a resounding clang.

The silence was oppressive. Jason crouched low, his footsteps feather-light as he moved through the winding corridors.

Every sound, every creak of the floor or drip of water, seemed amplified in the stillness. His senses were on high alert, his breathing slow and measured as he scanned the area for movement.

Ra's had been right: there were guards. They moved in pairs, their footsteps echoing faintly. Jason pressed himself into the shadows, his black tunic blending seamlessly with the darkness.

"Focus," he muttered under his breath. "You've done stuff like this before."

Had he? The thought gnawed at him, a flicker of frustration bubbling up. His memory was still a fragmented puzzle, with pieces that didn't quite fit together.

He knew he had skills—muscle memory that kicked in when he fought or moved—but the origin of those skills was a mystery.

The Lazarus Pit had stolen so much from him, leaving behind a volatile mix of rage and confusion. He clenched his fists, forcing the anger down. Now wasn't the time to lose control.

After navigating several corridors, Jason reached a narrow passageway illuminated by a single torch. A pair of guards stood at the far end, their swords glinting in the light. Jason crouched low, calculating his next move.

Equipped with certain tools Ra's viewed as necessities for the job, he reached into the pouch at his belt, pulling out a small smoke pellet.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent it rolling across the floor. The pellet exploded into a cloud of thick, choking smoke, and the guards coughed, momentarily blinded.

Jason moved swiftly, his steps silent as a whisper. He slipped past them, his heart pounding as he reached the next corridor. He didn't look back.

The vault was ahead. Jason could see the heavy iron door, flanked by two more guards. But this time, there was no cover, no dark areas to hide in, no corners to slip around.

He crouched behind a stone pillar, his mind racing. How was he going to get past them?

The bloodlust stirred, a dark voice in the back of his mind. 'Take them out. They're in your way. Just a quick strike, silent and clean.'

Jason clenched his jaw, gripping the pillar so hard his knuckles turned white. "No," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not like that."

But the urge was overwhelming. The Lazarus Pit had left him with a hunger for violence, a need that clawed at him in moments like this. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Focus," he whispered. "You're not a killer."

The tension in his chest eased as he formulated a plan. He reached into his pouch again, pulling out a vial of sleeping powder—a gift from Talia.

With careful precision, he uncorked the vial and blew the powder toward the guards. The fine dust spread quickly, carried by an almost imperceptible draft. Within moments, the guards swayed, their movements sluggish before they crumpled to the ground.

Jason moved swiftly, his heart hammering as he reached the vault door. He examined the lock—a complex mechanism with multiple tumblers.

"Of course it's not simple," he muttered, pulling out the lock-picking tools as his mind flashes to when Ra's had included them in his pouch.

"I don't have the faintest idea on how to pick a lock." He had protested, but was shut down with a single reply from Ra's.

"Figure it out."

"Like hell am I supposed to figure this out?" He muttered, drawn back to his current situation as he began sticking a tool into the look.

The process was painstaking, every click of the tumblers echoing in the silent corridor. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he worked, his hands steady despite the pressure. Finally, with a soft click, the lock gave way.

The door creaked open, revealing a small, ornate chest on a pedestal. Jason stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room for traps. Satisfied it was safe, he lifted the chest and opened it, revealing the scroll Ra's had sent him to retrieve.

The journey back was just as tense. Jason retraced his steps, careful to avoid the guards who were still patrolling. By the time he reached the entrance, his body was aching, his leg muscles screaming for rest from crouching all night long.

Ra's was waiting for him, his expression unreadable. He held out a hand, and Jason placed the scroll into his palm.

"You succeeded," Ra's said, his tone neutral. "But you were sloppy."

Jason scowled. "Sloppy? I got the job done, didn't I?"

Ra's raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You relied too heavily on tools and tricks. A true master of stealth becomes the shadow itself, needing nothing but their own skill."

Jason bit back a retort, his frustration simmering. "I'll do better next time."

"You will," Ra's said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "For now, rest. Tomorrow, we will refine your technique."

Jason nodded, turning to leave. As he walked away, the bloodlust stirred again, whispering dark promises in the back of his mind. He clenched his fists, determined to keep it at bay.

'One step at a time.' He thought. One step at a time.