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It was the end of another soul-crushing shift for Emily Drake. The clock had just struck 9 PM, and the dingy office building parking lot was sparsely lit under flickering streetlamps. The December chill bit at her face as she stepped outside, the icy wind carrying faint traces of the city’s typical chaos—sirens in the distance, the hum of traffic, and the occasional shout from an alleyway.
Emily tugged her coat tighter and trudged toward her car, parked at the far edge of the lot. Her feet felt like lead after standing for hours, her brain was a foggy mess of reports and spreadsheets, and her patience had eroded to less than zero. She didn’t care about anything except getting home, microwaving leftovers, and passing out on her couch.
But when her car came into view, her stride faltered.
Leaning casually against the hood of her faded blue sedan was a man clad in dark jeans, a leather jacket, and a red helmet that looked distinctly out of place. He was scrolling through his phone, his body language radiating the kind of unbothered confidence that screamed trouble.
Emily stopped a few feet away, blinking. She was too tired to fully process what was happening. A lunatic in a helmet was loitering on her car.
"Hey," she called, her voice flat but firm. "Can you, uh, not?"
The man didn’t look up. He held up one gloved hand, flipping her the bird without breaking stride in his scrolling.
Emily closed her eyes for a long moment, inhaling deeply. Her hands were trembling, not with fear, but with the kind of simmering exhaustion-fueled rage that only a long, crappy day could inspire.
She tried again, stepping closer. "Seriously, I need to get home. Get off my car."
Red Hood finally looked up from his phone. The visor of his helmet glinted under the streetlamp, and though she couldn’t see his face, Emily imagined he was smirking beneath the mask.
"Yeah, I heard you," he said, his voice distorted slightly by the helmet. "No."
Emily’s hands balled into fists. This wasn’t happening. She was done dealing with entitled coworkers, rude customers, and now, apparently, Gotham’s brand of unhinged vigilantes. She was tired, she was done, and this clown was in her way.
"Fine," she muttered, marching to the driver’s side door.
Red Hood didn’t move. He stayed perched on the hood, one foot propped on the ground, his attention back on his phone.
Emily got in the car and slammed the door shut with enough force to make the windows rattle. She turned the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering to life with a reluctant groan.
"You’ve got three seconds," she said through the rolled-up window, her glare fixed on him.
Red Hood didn’t even look up.
Emily put the car in reverse. The sudden movement made Red Hood stumble slightly but not enough to dislodge him. He shifted his weight, bracing a hand on the windshield.
"Seriously?" he drawled, still not moving. "This all you got?"
Emily’s jaw tightened. She pressed the gas.
The car lurched backward, jolting over a speed bump and throwing Red Hood completely off balance. He tumbled off the hood with a muffled grunt, landing on the asphalt with a thud that was surprisingly satisfying to hear.
Emily hit the brakes and rolled down her window, leaning out to stare at him as he picked himself up. He dusted himself off with exaggerated movements, his posture somewhere between annoyed and impressed.
"Really?" he said, his helmet tilting as he stared at her. "You just—"
"Stay off my car," Emily snapped, her tone icy.
Red Hood cocked his head, like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or amused. "You know who I am, right?"
"Don’t care," she shot back. "Go loiter somewhere else."
To her surprise, he didn’t retaliate. He stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, before letting out a low chuckle. Then he stepped back, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
"All right, all right," he said, his tone almost playful. "You win, lady. But don’t come crying to me when some lunatic steals your car because you pissed off the wrong guy."
Emily didn’t respond. She rolled up her window, shifted into drive, and pulled out of the lot, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. Her heart was pounding, but she refused to let it show.
The drive home was mercifully uneventful, though her mind buzzed with lingering irritation. Who the hell did he think he was, lounging on someone else’s car like he owned it? And the audacity to act offended when she called him out? Typical Gotham. Even the so-called "heroes" were just arrogant jerks in costumes.
By the time Emily parked in front of her apartment, she had mostly shaken off the encounter. She climbed the stairs to her unit, dumped her bag on the floor, and collapsed onto the couch, letting out a groan as the day’s weight finally caught up with her.
The knock came around midnight.
Emily jerked awake, disoriented. She blinked at the clock, then toward the door. Another knock followed, louder this time.
"Who the hell…" she muttered, dragging herself off the couch.
She opened the door a crack, and her stomach dropped. Red Hood stood in the hallway, leaning casually against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world.
"Hey," he said, his tone infuriatingly casual. "Nice place. Cozy."
Emily stared at him, her mouth dry. "How did you—"
"Relax," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "Not here to fight. Just thought I’d drop by and say thanks for the…uh, impromptu physics lesson earlier."
She frowned. "Are you seriously stalking me because I made you fall off my car?"
"‘Stalking’ is a strong word," he said, his helmet tilting slightly. "Let’s call it...following up."
Emily’s annoyance flared again, overpowering her unease. She folded her arms. "Well, thanks for stopping by. You can leave now."
Red Hood didn’t move. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small device—a tracker, she realized with a sinking feeling.
"You might want to get your car checked out," he said, tossing it to her. She caught it instinctively, her fingers curling around the cold metal. "Some of the city’s less savory folks use these to keep tabs on unsuspecting people. Guess you’re lucky I found it first."
Emily stared at the device, then back at him. "You’re…helping me?"
He shrugged. "Call it a courtesy. Figured I owed you after the whole rolling-off-the-hood thing."
"Pretty sure we’re even," she muttered, but she pocketed the tracker anyway.
"Fair enough," he said, stepping back. "Well, enjoy your night. And maybe invest in a better parking lot."
With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing down the stairs.
Emily closed the door and leaned against it, her mind racing. She wasn’t sure if she felt grateful, annoyed, or just plain exhausted. Either way, one thing was certain: Gotham was a city that never stopped surprising her.
And she was too damn tired to deal with it.