[ Jason lets the comments slide, but he doesn't tolerate the attempt to brush his guns away. They come right back up, and he takes a step even closer, the barrel of one of the crimson pistols now literally in John's face. But he does falter.

He can't stand this. He has to know.

He holsters his other weapon and reaches up to unfasten and pull the helmet off of his head and let it fall to the ground, the lightweight metal nonetheless clanking down the now-quiet alley.

The face revealed is young--somewhere in his twenties--and handsome, framed with sweat-damp dark hair. In fact, he almost bears a superficial resemblance to Bruce Wayne despite the lack of blood relation. A domino mask conceals his eyes, but does nothing to hide the utter hatred on the young man's face. ]

We're going to keep chatting just like this until I get answers I like, or until I put a bullet in that fucking addled head of yours.

[ A breath. ]

Do you know who I am?