[When he's identified, Jason finally pulls back his black hood. Beyond the obvious of being relatively short for a bat, the severity of his anger is written into his face. He's carrying around a grudge the size of the manor on his shoulders.]

In the flesh.

[He straightens up and releases a breath through his nose.]

But don't worry, I'm not on that Wayne teet any more. I'll make tracks. You don't have to fucking worry about me.