Sorry it's been so long! Here i am! (Sorry dont yell at me plze!) This is a rather filler-chappie, and I apologize (not really...), but I promise things will start moving along soon! Thanks so much for the follows, the favorites, the reviews - for reading! Cheers, yeah?
Jason hadn't really been that concerned about the people who were working for him. In all honesty, he thought that ones he'd scared into working with him all deserved to be thrown in jail - and worse, because the criminals and gangs and drug lords currently under his reign (Black Mask was getting more and more jealous, but for now he wasn't messing with the Red Hood's business, which was awesome, because he got sick and tired of the man's temper tantrums real fast) had done worse than he had (killed people, controlled criminals, beat people up, blow things up - the usual that the Red Hood did) and they all rightly deserved to go straight to hell without even being considered for the possibility of going to heaven (though he wasn't quite sure if that existed, but the whole idea of them needing to go to hell was true).
He was in his dingy, dark, silent apartment (one of them, anyway; this one was the dump of the lot that he owned throughout the city, because you could never have just one safe location when half the city wanted you behind bars and the other half wanted you dead while a select few just thought of him as nuisance, or a savior, just a pain in the ass that needed to get high-fived - in the face - with a chair or something like that), sitting on the couch, with his head in his hands. Dawn was nearing, and he was damn near dead on his feet with exhaustion, because, despite what certain people might think, being a crime lord was not the easiest job in the world (but it had it's moments - and besides, pissing people off by blowing things off always worked as a good stress reliever, though Bruce and Dick had never really approved of that method).
In fact, all he wanted to do was sleep for another year and then wake up to everything being a bit easier to deal with. Because ever since he'd decided to go around Gotham as the Red Hood, he always ended up dead on his feet.
He sighed, dragging his hands across his face as he leaned back into the old, musky (probably untrustworthy) fabric of the couch (he'd actually paid some junkie for this couch, because stealing a couch was not something the Red Hood, or Jason Todd, would ever do, though setting one on fire might be just for the hell of it), his head tilted towards the ceiling. His eyes were closed, and his eyelids were heavy, but suddenly he wasn't all that sleep.
It took him a moment that he was bored.
Bored of scaring the citizens of Gotham.
Bored of scaring people for working for him.
Bored of spying on Black Mask and messing up his deals.
Bored, bored, bored.
Jason had never been this bored in his entire life. Crime wasn't supposed to be boring (though superhero-work could be, but he'd never been that bored doing that while he'd been Robin, because he was either getting lectured because he hit a guy too hard or focusing on becoming a better Robin than Dick had been). It was supposed to be thrilling. It was supposed to get the adrenaline rushing through his system - but for some reason, he was bored of it all for the moment.
It made him think.
Maybe he could start making dusk and dawn appearances around the city, or maybe he could even make a daytime appearance just to remind the Gothamites that they weren't safe from him in the daytime (whereas they thought they were, and at night was when all the smart people stayed close to the good neighborhoods and tried to avoid dark alleys and shady-looking people), but then he quickly dismissed that idea (someone else could probably do that for him), because during they day he slept like a rock and he liked getting six to ten hours of sleep (if he was even that lucky) on weekdays (weekends were more fun because more people went out on the weekends, which meant more chances for crime to strike).
... maybe he could pull a bigger stunt than stealing cars, blowing things up, scaring people, killing people - the usual. In fact, he realized, as he sat up, feeling a bit more alert than before (but still dead tired). He was smirking now, and his eyes were open. He wondered, almost frantically, what he could do that would pass off as a bigger stunt.
Control the city? He frowned for a moment. No, that'd be too hard. And besides, he didn't know anyone who would even want to bother with the entire hell hole that was Gotham (besides Black Mask, but if he needed his ego inflated to the point where 'he owned all of Gotham once' than he probably had serious issues and, even Jason would love to shove something like that in Black Mask's face, he'd probably fail and Bruce would probably win and then Dick would probably drop a typical big-brother comment that he really didn't want to hear, so he scratched that off the list of possibilities).
Could he kill a shit-ton of people? He shook his head silently, sighing heavily. No, that wouldn't do anything but piss everyone under the sun off. He was bored, not looking for the entire universe to come after him and kick his ass for mindlessly massacring a bunch of people - the Joker could do that without a problem, and he wasn't the Joker, so, yeah).
Well... what else was there?
He certainly wasn't going to turn into a good guy, because being like Batman had its limits and those limits restrained him from doing what he wanted and that wasn't exactly even an option, so...
Jason sat back again, and stared up at the ceiling, his mind churning with ideas.
When he found the perfect stunt to pull (havoc to wreak, disaster to spread - whatever you want to call it), he would put it into action immediately.
And then, the fun would begin.
But for now, Jason was stuck with brainstorming.