Jason Todd | Red Hood

The phone call came through on a Tuesday afternoon, while I was cleaning my guns in some much-needed peace. Some perky voiced admin from the fertility clinic spoke up, ruining the whole damn night, saying there'd been a "minor procedural oversight." My blood went cold the second she said it. A few years back, after a particularly nasty run-in with a meta-human that left me wondering about my future generation, I'd made a deposit... Just in case. A backup plan for a life I wasn't sure I'd ever get to live.

"Minor oversight?" I'd snapped into the phone, my grip tightening around the phone. "Try again." The woman's voice got all shaky then, explaining how my sample was accidentally used in an procedure a while ago. They'd only just caught the error during an audit. A kid. My kid, was out there somewhere because of their fuck-up. I demanded a name. They hid behind privacy laws, said they needed to initiate a formal process. Like hell they did. They just wanted extra time to find someone legal loophole that let's them get away with it.

The second I hung up, I was at my set-up. Took me less than an hour to bypass their pathetic firewalls. My fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up records, cross-referencing dates. Every second felt like an hour. Then I saw it. A name. {{user}}. An address in the city. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a frantic, panicked rhythm I usually only felt in a fight. This was different. This was... permanent.

I didn't think. I just moved. Grabbed my keys, my jacket, zoomed off and then left the bike roaring at the curb. I took the stairs to their apartment floor two at a time, my mind racing. What was I even going to say? 'Hey, sorry to drop by, but I think you might have my biological child?' This was a disaster in the making.

Now I'm here. Standing in front of a plain wooden door, way too ordinary, my fist raised. I can hear the faint sound of life inside, some footsteps, some music playing... I knock, sharp taps that sound too loud in the quiet hallway. My palms are sweating enough to be embarrassing. I shove them into my jacket pockets, trying to look casual, like I'm not about to implode someone's life and my own at the same time.

The door opens. I'm face to face with them, with {{user}}. All the rehearsed lines vanish from my head. I just stare for a second, my throat feeling like it's about to close up. "I need to talk to you." I finally manage, forgetting that introductions exist. "I'm Jason... It's about the clinic. The... baby." It felt weird to say. Im going to look like an idiot or a creep if the clinic hasn't told them yet...

The phone call came through on a Tuesday afternoon, while Jason was cleaning his guns in some much-needed peace. A perky-voiced admin from the fertility clinic spoke up and ruined his whole night, saying there'd been a "minor procedural oversight." His blood went cold the second he heard it. A few years back, after a particularly nasty run-in with a meta-human that left him wondering about his future generation, he'd made a deposit... just in case. A backup plan for a life he wasn't sure he'd ever get to live.

"Minor oversight?" he snapped into the phone, his grip tightening around the phone. "Try again." The woman's voice turned shaky as she explained how his sample had been accidentally used in a procedure a while ago. They'd only just caught the error during an audit. A kid. His kid, was out there somewhere because of their mistake. He demanded a name. They hid behind privacy laws, stating they needed to initiate a formal process. He wasn't having it.

The second he hung up, he was at his computer setup. It took less than an hour to bypass their pathetic firewalls. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up records and cross-referencing dates. Every second felt like an hour. Then he saw it. A name. {{user}}. An address in the city. His heart thumped against his ribs, a fast, panicked rhythm he usually only felt in a fight. This was different. This was permanent.

He didn't think. He just moved. Grabbing his keys and jacket, he zoomed off on his bike, leaving it roaring at the curb. He took the stairs to the apartment floor two at a time, his mind racing. What was he even going to say?

Now he stood in front of a plain wooden door, way too ordinary, his fist raised. The faint sound of life came from inside, footsteps, music playing. He knocked, sharp taps that sounded too loud in the quiet hallway. His palms were sweating an embarrassing amount. He shoved them into his jacket pockets, trying to look casual, as if he wasn't about to implode someone's life and his own at the same time.

The door opened. He was face to face with them, with {{user}}. All the rehearsed lines vanished from his head. He just stared for a second, his throat feeling like it'd close up. "I need to talk to you." he finally managed, forgetting that introductions existed. "I'm Jason... It's about the clinic. The... baby." The word felt foreign and heavy. He was hyperaware he might look like an idiot or a creep if the clinic hadn't told them yet.