• INTO THE ENDLESS •

No. No. He -- he was there, he was there. Anticipating Bruce's face when 'the world's greatest detective' finally realized who lay behind this mask. All that pain, all the rage for one sweet, sweet moment. To show him how desperately and how atrociously that man had failed. Jason wanted to breathe it in nice and deep -- the look on B's face -- but the moment his mask lifted... here he was.

Snow. Gloved fingers tapped the cold settling on his cheek. A panic set in; quick to close the mask back over his face. Breathe. Safe, comfortable, controlled. He has control. He has control. Time to focus. Now, where... was he? Fingers patted himself down. His weapons. His weapons were gone, holsters empty, any other fun little toys on his personal arsenal gone. Breath hitched. It's fine, he doesn't need them. Comms -- dead, nothing but static. Readings on his display -- confusing, if not utterly useless.

Forward. Slowly, houses came into sight. The longer he walked, the more angry he became. Years, years, years. He's spent years. Stolen. Gone. The man was wound so tight, heart thumping and blood rushing in his ears loud enough it almost deafened him when fingers reached out toward the first person that came into view.

"Where am I." His other hand balled into a fist all to eagerly. The voice -- while mechanical -- was almost reedy; pitched up slightly and squeezing tight with anxiety. Trying desperately to regain control. He has control. He has control.

• BODIES WITHOUT SOULS •

It wasn't unfamiliar. Voices, sounds, images that weren't there. Around every corner and under every rock. He lived with them; learned to see them for what they were (of which they were not, they were not there at all). This was no different and in ways strangely comforting. Eventually you learn to see the world in another way. And perhaps it was that madness that gave him clarity. Ah -- the room had an end after all.

Todd's (slightly) less jumpy than he had been upon arrival. Still, apparently, not interested in showing a face. Mask and suit affixed to his body like a security blanket. Jason had long since turned the display off, but he wore it nonetheless. When another approaches, he's crouched at the safe. The entire room wore signs of a thorough investigation. Papers now strangely in neat piles, dusty items all organized. The patternless fingerprints of gloved hands marked each and every corner from top to bottom. He didn't leave a single inch unattended to.

He'd break into these with ease as a child. What made it difficult now? The man rose to his feet, turning. "Looking for something?"

• THE END APPROACHES •

It was comforting. It was comforting and it shouldn't be, but it was. He is coming. Dramatically ominous (because he was one to talk regarding dramatics), but comforting. An enemy; entity or person? Tangible or corporeal? He knew how to fight. He knew how to survive. It was in his blood well before any of them got a hold of him. Fingers pinched the map, smudged the ink -- blood. Old? Still fresh enough.

Eyes scanned the area; other notes, behind the board, around the board. Recent footprints, fingers in the dust, anything out of place that might tell him something more until, oh. A person. Jason squared. Tipped his head to the side a touch. "Move."

OOC CRAP

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Behold as my prompts decrease in size with each header, lmao. Next stop: one liner. Hey, hello. A few things to note. One: he looks like this. Two: he sounds like this when his mask is on which is like, always. Three: sorry he has -500% chill. :')