Chapter 1: Redemption For A Vigilante!

(Opening A/N: I've been taking an interest in a new vigilante from a video game I've been playing. And that vigilante is the Red Hood. But let's say that Jason Todd AKA the Knight/Red Hood was hired to torture and kill a member of Lagoon Company as a way of trying to bump his "Reputation" but instead gave him a chance to make things right. This story is rated M for blood and gore, graphic violence and torture, adult language, nudity, use of drugs and alcohol, rape, and strong sexual content. And now the disclaimers, I do not own Black Lagoon or it's characters for they are properly owned by Rei Hiroe and I do not own the Red Hood for that is owned by DC comics. Plus if you're going to ask why am I killing off Rock, let me answer this...this is a story of atonement for one's sins. Anyway, let the carnage begin.)

"Tick tock, tick tock! Times running out my little bird!

"Big Bat Daddy better show up soon! But he might not even recognize you at this point! He he, ah ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

I woke with what could have only been the start of a heart attack. A semi-rectangular section of my face was alight with pain. It took several minutes to get myself under control. It had been months since the last time I was haunted by that damn dream. Actually a better description would be to say it was more of mixture between nightmare and memory.

Fire and fear.

Death's face.

Betrayal.

The dream was the last vestige of an old life. One where I thought I was safe despite what danger I found myself in. But now I was broken because of that life.

That brokenness inside led me to a place where hope goes to die. A true den of thieves and immorality, I washed up in the city of Roanapur.

At first I tried to live by the code my former mentor taught me. No killing. No guns. No harming the innocent. But it turned out to be a philosophy unsuited for Roanapur where death was currency, guns were life, and innocence an illusion.

In fact without a piece, you might as well be walking around naked with "dumb fuck" painted across your chest. So I did something that was the antithesis of my training, I stole a gun and killed its former owner with it. That was two years ago. During the time period I became something of a mercenary around town, famed for my red jacket and black body armor outfit.

The money was usually good. My list was usually simple. Food, water, booze, and bullets; said list being prioritized from least to greatest need. I knew plenty of men in my place that would have put women on that list. While the temptation was high, I stayed away from the hookers. I'm pretty sure no one knew what was crawling around down there and I wasn't keen on finding out. Especially without a qualified doctor who wasn't involved in the illegal organ trade close by.

I stood up and stretched. My room was small and rank of just about every foul odder one could encounter save human waste. The land lord used that as a selling point when I first looked at the place. Amazingly that was the clinching selling point.

The place was painted in an awful shade of yellow, though I suspect it wasn't the original color. I kept it prim and proper. An average bystander would have thought it was a simple bachelor's pad.

My morning was interrupted by an uninvited knock at the door. I rolled up a pair of jeans and grabbed the only gun I ever kept out in the open, the Colt .45 I stole. Sentiment aside it was the only weapon outside of my assortment of melee weapons that had never jammed.

I kept the pistol just out of sight as I answered the door. Two Chinese gentlemen were there. I recognized them as members of the local Triade branch. That made me nervous. Business in Roanapur was done almost exclusively over the phone. House calls were usually nothing more than patients meeting with the reaper.

"Greetings, Jason," the taller of the two greeted. My nerves felt like they were about to fray into a million tiny pieces. I tried not to let them get to me.

"Does Chang need something?" I asked.

"Yes, there is a project he'd like your assistance with," the man continued.

So far so good. "Okay. Sure. Usual fee?" I asked.

"No this is something of a job interview."

"For what? The Triade doesn't hire outsiders," I countered.

"The boss wants a handyman on retainer from outside the organization for…outsourcing certain jobs," he said.

"Fair enough. Where and when?"

"Tonight, at the docks. We'll be waiting."

And indeed those same two men were waiting in a Mercedes at the dock. I was shoved into the back seat between my two acquaintances. The driver sped off. "So what does Chang need me to do?" I asked.

The other man shifted a bit. "We need you to interrogate a prisoner for us. The only thing you can't do is tell him you're working for us."

I nodded in agreement. I was handed a pistol, a Berretta M9. It was fairly generic as far small arms went. It was loaded too. My eyebrow rose a bit. "Is this necessary?" I asked.

"They're blanks. It's just a little something to keep him on his toes," they said. "His nickname is Rock. We need you to ruff him up a bit, we don't care how far you go so long as he's alive at the end. Ask him what he knows about Chang's latest heroin shipment vanishing. He knows what happened to it."

"Doesn't that give it away that I'm working for you?" I countered.

"It would if you were Chinese. But you're American. Our subject will most likely think that you are an outsider trying to make it big in the city. Do this right and there might be future work for you."

"Fair enough." They booted me out in front of a warehouse. I straightened my shirt a bit and walked into the warehouse. At the center of the facility was a single light shining down on my victim, his face bagged. The man was dressed like a white collar dweeb, his personal effects we splayed out on a table. All too easy. I picked up a crowbar.

I sat down in the other chair, sitting in it so that my chest rested on the back of the chair when I leaned forward. "Somedays you just have to ask yourself why. Ain't that right, Rock?" I softly asked.

"Who…who are you?" Rock asked. His voice was desperately trying not to sound panicked. He was failing. Miserably.

Not that I blamed him. "Oh, I don't think it matters much now, Rock," I purred.

"Why are you doing this?" Rock asked. "I don't know anything I swear!"

His voice reached that creepy level somewhere around a screech and a cry.

"I have it on good authority that you know about what happened to the Triad's heroin. Let's just say I'm very interested in its whereabouts," I insisted.

Rock squirmed a bit. "I don't know," he repeated.

"Come on, you know what I have to do now?" I said as I got up, brandishing my weapon.

"No—"

He was cut off by a hellish scream thanks to my crowbar making contact with his left kneecap. After a good swing; it was all in the follow through.

"Well now Rock, are you ready to talk yet?"

He failed to respond. I swung the crowbar so hard that it cracks a rib and tips the chair back, then poor Rock starts to spit up blood. Still he stayed true to his name.

The cycle repeated a few times, Rock getting bloodier and bloodier. I was starting to tap into a sadistic side I never really knew before. I began to step on some of his injuries causing bones to break. Every move I made was reinforced by the mantra of "it's only a job."

"Please," the man finally gasped. "I need to make a call. It will help you find the heroin, I swear."

I jammed my Beretta M9 into his abdomen. "Let me make this very clear, if this is a ruse: I will end you," I growled. Rock nodded in acknowledgment. It was a bluff of course but if it sounded like he was dead, whatever friends he had would quit before they had a chance to start and just wait for the body to turn up.

I grabbed his phone from the table. It was a cheap flip phone, probably untraceable. "It's the top number," Rock said. I pressed the call button and set it down by Rock's head. My weapon aimed at his chest. I wasn't sure why. Just playing the part I suppose. After all if he could see even a little of what was going on I'd look stupid for not.

"Hello?" a woman with the voice of a heavy smoker answered.

"Revy-help-please-I-lo-" Rock's loud plea got cut off by my swift double tap as I crushed the phone.

"What did I say—"

Now it was my turn to pause. There was now a pair of bullets in Rock's chest, adding yet more blood to the pool that had started to gather around him. I dropped my gun, sending off a random ricochet shot.

"Help please!"

"Ah ha ha ha ha!"

It had been three long months since I looked into the abyss. Three months of wondering what had happened. Three months of being blacklisted. No jobs came to me and I always got turned down. The Triads had to of screwed me over. But why?

I finally decided to find out why. My old skills were brought to bear. Nothing came up. It was becoming clear that I had to go to the top if I wanted answers. The problem was that Chang had gone underground and covered his tracks extremely well. My only option remaining was to work my way up.

The best place to start was going to be a fresh shipment of high grade heroin arriving at the docks. I was about one hundred meters away hidden in a perch, watching them through the scope of my sniper.

One of the guards was testing the stuff after a long argument with his partner. He brought out a knife to cut into a pack of the drug. I lined up a shot. My finger curled back.

The bullet shattered the blade of the knife and sent the hilt flying. It appeared to piss him off. I was hoping for the "scared shitless" response but whatever. The guard pulled out a pistol, yelled at his partner, and started towards me.

The guard that tried to take a free hit was the one to stumble into my snare. He went flying upside down right up to me. I slapped my hand over his mouth to keep him from crying out for help after I pulled up my hood. I made sure he saw my own knife extremely close to the cable that precariously held his life. "I'm going to make this clear. You answer the questions I have and you don't become the subject of a physics experiment I've been very curious about," I growled. He feebly nodded in agreement. I released his mouth.

"Has anyone told you, not to get high on your own supply?" I asked. A mundane start but I needed to gage the level of intelligence I was dealing with.

"You're…you're the Red Hood," the man hissed. He was a bit spooked. Understandable but useless.

"Answer the question asked," I reminded him.

"Look I'm just a grunt man," he pleaded. So not as smart as he thinks he is, the ambitious fool of organized crime.

"I know that and that's the point. All I want to know is who your boss is," I calmly stated.

"His name is Long. Spends his days at the gambling den. That's all I know!" he ratted. I smirked and brought the knife up to the rope. The man frowned. His speech failed him.

"Sorry. Scientific inquiry got the better of me." The rope snapped and the guard plummeted to a grizzly death below.

All that was left was a final calling card. I wandered over to the now abandoned drugs with a container of fuel. I poured the gasoline over the drugs. I pulled out a box of cigarettes and my lighter. The tobacco went up in smoke. I gave it a couple of puffs to inflate the embers then tossed it onto the illicit substance.

Chang rarely ever had raw bad news delivered to him. His underlings had learned it was safer to either solve the problem or come up with a solution before discussing the problem. It wasn't fear that made them do so. Chang preferred his peons to be proactive, and usually rewarded those who were able to fix a problem before he knew about it. There were the exceptions of course. But normally Chang's private information network kept him up to date.

So when an exhausted grunt was brought into his office it felt like a bolt of lightning just struck him. He kept himself from throwing his ash tray as he learned that a good chunk of his money has literally gone up in smoke. And by the looks of it, it was only the start.

Drama and theatrics were something I avoided. Quick and dirty was the way I played. That's why it felt odd standing at the pay phone with payment in hand.

See there was one phone number in this hell hole of a city everyone knew, but few dared to dial. For you see the devil doesn't have cloven feet or horns or a goatee. No the devil was blonde and scared and Russian. Everyone in Roanapur knew her: the boss of the Russian crime syndicate here in the city, Balalaika.

I put the coin in the slot and dialed. The line was picked up. "Hello?" the cold voice of the devil herself answered.

"Tell Chang I was the one who destroyed his drugs," I said.

"Oh? And who's the dead man I'm speaking too?" Balalaika answered. There was a mocking laughter behind her words.

"The Red Hood."

"You're still around? Very nice. I'll pass on your little message. Anything else?"

"No."

"As you wish. Try not to die and stay in touch, Hotel Moscow might just have something for you to do," she said.

I hung up the phone, flipping up my hood as I walked into the night. Next stop in this tour of destruction and death, the Gambling Den.

(A/N: First time I wrote this, I felt like leaving out some major details and really just went and winged it. But now, I've made it a little better but I can't make any promises about slowing down or spelling, because do you ever see any action scenes slow for any reason? Nope, it's fast, graphic, and all that good stuff. Plus I don't have Microsoft office. And I love writing action and graphic violent scenes. Especially if it's like Black Lagoon or anything like that. So feel free to drop a review if possible. Plus faves and/or follows are still optional. Also if you have any ideas or suggestions, let me know. And until the next chapter, this is the master of chaos, the commander of the leigon of corpses, BloodyDemon666 signing off!)