Jason rolls his eyes and pulls out one of the guns. He brings it up and points it directly at Ronan. "Just so you're aware, I have no compunction killing people. I've done it enough times before." Though not like this. Jason only kills the people who deserve it - criminals, monsters, the really bad guys. The ones who would kill without remorse and treat it like a joke. He lowers the gun after maybe a beat too long, holstering it again.

Maybe a little self-consciously, he runs a hand through his short, raven-black hair. There had been a white streak there when Jason had clawed his way out of his grave after being brought back to life, but the Lazarus Pit had done away with it - along with his all of his scars and everything else. In some ways, he'd become a blank slate. In others, he'd been saddled with way too much history. "I'm like twenty-two," he adds with a frown. Even Damian hadn't called him gramps, and Damian was the demon brat that hell had spat out.

Possibly literally, given his name.

"Don't worry, son. I don't do too well with friends anyway." Except for maybe a handful of people. Roy. Kori. Artemis and Bizarro, kind of. Sometimes Dick and Babs.

He looks out the window of the truck to see them approaching the fence, and he sets his mouth in a grim line. "Looks like we're almost there." His eyes tick back to Ronan. "You ready for this?"