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Gotham City had always been a breeding ground for madness. Between the towering gothic architecture, constant storms, and an alarming surplus of costumed lunatics, it wasn’t a city for the faint of heart. At least, that’s what Erica Walsh told herself every day as she trudged home from her job at Gotham Public Library.
The walk to her tiny studio apartment was usually uneventful, save for the occasional mugger or overly enthusiastic street performer. But tonight? Tonight, Erica was about to witness something so bizarre that even Gotham’s standards would pale in comparison.
The first hint that the night would veer into chaos came when she heard shouting from above.
Standing at a crosswalk, she tilted her head back and squinted toward the rooftops. Two dark figures loomed in the shadows—Batman and Nightwing. The rain blurred their outlines, but their unmistakable presence brought a strange sense of foreboding. If those two were arguing on a roof, it meant trouble.
Erica adjusted the straps of her overstuffed bag and quickened her pace. She wanted no part in whatever was brewing up there. Unfortunately, Gotham had a way of pulling people into its theatrics whether they wanted to participate or not.
"YOU'RE NOT MY DAD!"
The voice rang out loud and clear, echoing across the cityscape. Erica froze mid-step, her head snapping up again. This time, she saw him: a figure clad in leather, wearing a blood-red helmet that glistened in the rain. Red Hood. Gotham’s favorite violent anti-hero and the bane of Batman’s existence.
Red Hood stood on the ledge of the roof, balancing precariously, arms spread wide like he was auditioning for a Broadway show.
"Jason, don’t," Batman’s gravelly voice growled, somehow carrying through the storm.
"Jason, please," Nightwing added, sounding equal parts exasperated and resigned.
Erica blinked. Jason? Was that Red Hood’s name? She filed the information away for later—this was the kind of trivia that came in handy for surviving Gotham.
But then it happened.
With a dramatic flourish, Red Hood spun on his heel and faced them both, arms outstretched as though he were about to give the performance of a lifetime. And he did.
He started singing.
🎶"The hiiiiiills are alive with the sound of muuuuuuusic!"🎶
Erica’s jaw dropped. Gotham’s vigilantes had a reputation for being eccentric, but this? This was next level.
Red Hood wasn’t just singing; he was belting the iconic tune with the fervor of someone who’d spent years honing their theatrical chops. His voice echoed across the city like a war cry. Erica glanced around to see if anyone else was witnessing this. A few passersby had stopped, staring up at the scene with varying degrees of confusion and amusement.
Batman and Nightwing didn’t move at first. Maybe they were stunned. Maybe they were used to this sort of thing. But Erica could practically feel the frustration radiating off them.
"Jason," Batman growled again, his voice laced with a mix of warning and disbelief. "Stop this. Now."
But Red Hood was in the zone.
🎶"With soooooongs they have sung for a thousand yeeeeeears!"🎶
The melody soared as he gestured dramatically, stepping even closer to the edge of the rooftop. Erica had to admit—his voice wasn’t half bad.
Nightwing pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something to Batman that Erica couldn’t hear. Red Hood, however, wasn’t done.
He spun around to face the city below, then raised both hands into the air. One of them, Erica noticed, was flipping the bird in Batman and Nightwing’s direction.
That was the moment Erica decided she needed to stay. Who needed Netflix when Gotham provided this kind of entertainment for free?
🎶"The hiiiiills fill my heart with the sound of muuuuusic!"🎶
Red Hood took a running leap from the edge of the rooftop. Erica’s breath caught in her throat as she watched him soar through the air. For a split second, it looked like he might actually hit the ground. But Gotham’s vigilantes always had a flair for the dramatic.
Mid-fall, Red Hood deployed a grappling hook, swinging toward the adjacent building with an ease that suggested he’d done this a hundred times before. He landed on the next roof with a theatrical bow, as though acknowledging the applause of an invisible audience.
Erica couldn’t help herself. She clapped.
Nightwing and Batman followed him with their own grappling lines, landing on the new rooftop as Red Hood straightened and brushed off his jacket.
"Do you ever take anything seriously?" Nightwing snapped, his voice just loud enough for Erica to hear.
"Sure," Red Hood replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I’m very serious about how much I hate being told what to do. Especially by him." He jabbed a finger at Batman, whose silence was more intimidating than any words could’ve been.
Erica raised an eyebrow. It was like watching a dysfunctional family dinner play out on Gotham’s rooftops.
Red Hood didn’t seem fazed by the tension. If anything, he thrived on it. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like a crumpled piece of paper.
"Oh, by the way," he said, tossing the paper at Batman’s feet. "That’s for you. Consider it my resignation letter. Effective immediately."
Batman bent down to pick it up, his movements slow and deliberate. "This isn’t a game, Jason."
Red Hood laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. "Sure feels like one, though, doesn’t it? You set the rules, you get to play God, and everyone else just has to deal with it. Well, I’m done playing."
Erica was too far away to see Batman’s expression, but she imagined his jaw was clenched tight enough to crack granite.
Nightwing stepped forward, his tone softer. "Jason, come on. You don’t have to—"
But Red Hood cut him off, raising a hand. "Don’t. I’m done with the pep talks, Dick. You and Bruce can go back to your little father-son crime-fighting duo. I’ll manage just fine on my own."
He turned on his heel, walking toward the far edge of the rooftop. For a moment, Erica thought he might actually leave quietly.
But no.
Just before leaping off the roof again, Red Hood turned back and flipped them both off with both hands.
"Catch you later, losers!"
And with that, he disappeared into the night.
The aftermath was almost as surreal as the performance itself. Batman and Nightwing stood there for a moment, watching the spot where Red Hood had vanished. Then Nightwing threw his hands in the air, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "I can’t believe I missed Blüdhaven for this."
Batman didn’t respond. He simply turned and fired his grappling gun, vanishing into the darkness without another word.
Erica stayed rooted to the spot for a few minutes, processing what she’d just seen. Then she shook her head, chuckling softly to herself. Only in Gotham.
When she finally made it home, she texted her best friend a single sentence:
"I just saw Red Hood flip off Batman while singing The Sound of Music."
Her friend’s reply came almost immediately:
"Pics or it didn’t happen."
Erica sighed, sinking onto her couch. She didn’t have pictures, but she had a story she’d be telling for years.