Chicago, USA – Midnight
Sirens wailed through the darkened streets as a high-speed police chase tore through Chicago's rain-slicked roads. A black SUV, its tires screeching against the asphalt, swerved violently between traffic as a group of villains inside laughed maniacally. Their Quirks had already done their job—one police cruiser lay flipped on its side, steam and sparks rising from its ruined engine.
"Damn it!" One of the officers still in pursuit cursed into his radio. "We need heroes NOW! Where the hell are they?! These bastards are gonna get away!"
But before dispatch could respond, a blinding neon-red streak zipped past the police cars, moving like a predator through the urban jungle. A low, guttural roar of an engine followed, sending a deep vibration through the night air.
The officers' eyes widened as a female cop gasped in shock. "No way... it's him."
Her partner, gripping the wheel tightly, swallowed hard. "The Red Hood..."
A sleek, black motorcycle, its chrome details gleaming under the streetlights, sliced through the rain like a phantom. The rider, clad in a deep red jacket with a long hood covering his head, wore a dark, armored mask with glowing red eyes—his mere presence oozing menace.
The criminals in the SUV glanced at their rearview mirror, their cocky grins vanishing as sheer panic overtook them.
"OH SHIT, IT'S REAL! HE'S REAL!" one of them shrieked, gripping the dashboard.
"The Red Hood's just a myth, man! He's not supposed to—"
Their words died in their throats when a gunshot rang out.
The back windshield of their SUV exploded into shards of glass.
The men screamed as a black handgun gleamed under the streetlights, firmly gripped in the vigilante's gloved hand. His motorcycle stayed perfectly balanced, his trigger finger steady as he aimed the weapon at them while riding full throttle.
Then he spoke—his voice distorted through a modulator, giving it an eerie, metallic tone.
"Was that fake?"
The criminals collectively screamed in terror.
"DRIVE FASTER!"
"I AM, YOU IDIOT!"
The SUV swerved through the streets, dodging through intersections, but no matter how they tried, they couldn't shake him.
The Red Hood was relentless.
He leaned forward, gripping the handlebars tightly, shifting his weight effortlessly as he cut through the maze of roads with terrifying precision.
Every time they turned a corner, he was right there, his glowing red eyes burning into their souls like a specter from hell.
The chase had just begun.
The criminals in the SUV were losing their minds. No matter how fast they drove, how sharp they turned, or how many side streets they veered into, the Red Hood was still there—haunting them.
The driver gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he twisted the wheel to take a hard left onto a less crowded street. "We gotta lose him, man! We gotta lose him NOW!"
"HOW?!" the passenger screamed. "He's driving like he's got a damn Quirk or something! Ain't no way a normal guy can handle a bike like that!"
The man in the back, still brushing glass off himself from the earlier gunshot, fumbled with his seatbelt. "Screw this! I'm shooting him!" He pulled a semi-automatic pistol, rolled down the window, and took aim.
But before he could even pull the trigger, the Red Hood twisted his handlebars, leaning his bike to the right, dodging the shot before it even fired.
With a flick of his wrist, he fired back—not at the man, but at the gun itself.
BANG!
The shot was precise. The criminal yelped as the bullet struck his weapon, sending it flying out of his hands and clattering onto the street.
"SHIT! SHIT! HE SHOT THE DAMN GUN OUT OF MY HAND!"
"HE AIN'T EVEN LOOKIN' WHEN HE SHOOTS!"
The driver took a sharp swerve through an alleyway, their SUV narrowly missing an old dumpster as it skidded onto another road. The tires screamed.
But so did the criminals—because the Red Hood didn't miss a beat.
He accelerated, pushing the motorcycle forward with perfect control, his coat flaring out behind him like a bloodstained banner. He weaved through parked cars, jumped off a curb, and even climbed the side of a guardrail, landing flawlessly without losing speed.
They could not shake him.
"HE'S—HE'S NOT HUMAN!"
The driver spotted an upcoming bridge with train tracks overhead. A freight train was moving along the rails.
"This is it!" he shouted. "I'll time it! The second we hit the bridge, we cut under before the train passes, and that bastard gets blocked off!"
The SUV roared onto the bridge, its tires screeching as it pushed its last burst of speed forward. The criminals all turned back, their breath catching in their throats.
The Red Hood was still on their tail.
The train was almost at the crossing.
Then, at the last possible second, the driver swerved the SUV under the train tracks, just barely making it through.
One of the criminals started laughing in relief. "We DID IT! We—"
VRRRRRRROOOOOOOOM!
A dark blur shot straight over the moving train.
The Red Hood's motorcycle flew through the air—launched off the side of the bridge railing—soaring above the speeding train cars like a damn ghost rider from hell.
Time seemed to slow down as he twisted his body mid-air, his red eyes locked onto the villains below.
One of them literally pissed himself.
And then—
HE LANDED.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Four rapid gunshots rang through the night.
The SUV skidded as the bullets shredded the tires.
The driver lost all control.
The car flipped—spinning violently in midair before crashing side-first into a lamp post, completely totaled.
Smoke rose from the wreckage. The criminals inside groaned, bloodied and defeated.
Standing just a few feet away, the Red Hood sighed, holstering his weapon. "Hmph... took longer than I wanted."
Then—
SIRENS.
Police cruisers screeched to a halt all around him. Officers poured out, weapons drawn.
"PUT YOUR HANDS UP! YOU'RE UNDER ARREST FOR VIGILANTISM!"
The Red Hood slowly turned to face them, calmly raising his hands.
Then, in the blink of an eye—
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Five precise gunshots.
But not at the cops.
The bullets struck their guns, knocking them clean out of their hands.
The officers stood there—stunned, terrified, and amazed.
The female cop who first recognized him gasped, cradling her hand where the bullet had gently disarmed her without even breaking the skin.
The Red Hood spun the revolver in his hand, twirling it once before holstering it smoothly.
Then he spoke, his modulated voice carrying a cold finality.
"I was doing my job."
He turned, stepping toward his motorcycle.
One of the officers, still frozen in place, finally found his voice. "You should let the heroes handle this!"
The Red Hood scoffed. "Yeah? And where were they?"
Silence.
No answer.
The vigilante simply swung his leg over his bike, revved the engine, and with one last glance at the cops—he was gone.
The Red Hood first appeared two and a half years one knew who he was. No one knew if he even had a Quirk. But what was known? He was a ghost in the streets of Chicago. Heroes had tried fighting him, but he was too clever—too skilled. He never missed. He never got caught. He killed criminals—but only those who deserved it. Some called him a murderer. Others? A necessary evil. But to the criminals of Chicago?
He was fear itself.
As Red Hood sped through the empty streets, he passed a television store—dozens of TVs broadcasting the latest breaking news.
The headlines flashed:
"New Mexico Terror – Unidentified Vigilante Leaves Criminals in Vegetative State."
A reporter spoke gravely:
"Another brutal case has emerged in New Mexico. Multiple criminals were found incapacitated, their eyes completely burned—yet no external injuries were reported. Doctors say their bodies are in perfect health... yet their minds are shattered.
The leading theory? They were broken... by fear itself."
The Red Hood watched for a brief moment, his glowing eyes narrowing.
Another vigilante was out there.
And they weren't playing by his rules.
Uzuchiha aparmtent
Back in Japan, in the Uzuchiha apartment, the morning was peaceful. Sasuke was lounging on the couch, completely engrossed in a book. It was one of those old pre-Quirk era novels, Warhammer 40k. He had to admit, despite how grim, dark, and outright horrifying some of it was, he was enjoying it. The brutal realism and the sheer depth of the universe made it fascinating.
Naruko had a thing for pop culture, but she had a way of introducing him to things he might actually like. He appreciated that about her. While he was initially skeptical, Warhammer 40k had actually managed to pull him in. It was far more entertaining than most of the modern hero fiction that existed today.
Next to him, a small Kurama was munching on a bag of chips, his eyes glued to the TV. The news was broadcasting footage from America, specifically Chicago.
The screen showed shaky police camera footage of a dark figure on a motorcycle, red eyes glowing through the darkness, effortlessly weaving through the streets as he chased down a group of criminals.
"Chicago authorities are struggling to contain the infamous vigilante known as Red Hood," the news anchor reported. "For over two years, the Red Hood has operated in the shadows, evading capture while dealing out lethal justice to criminals who 'deserve it.' Heroes have been unable to stop him, raising concerns about whether the United States is experiencing a growing vigilante problem—"
Sasuke sighed, barely glancing up from his book. He knew exactly what Naruko was doing in the other room.
She was probably watching everything she could find about Red Hood, taking notes, analyzing his methods, and comparing them to heroes, villains, and other vigilantes throughout history. It was one of her quirks—she loved learning about figures who operated outside the system, especially ones who made an impact.
Honestly, Sasuke couldn't blame her.
Hero names today were a joke compared to the ones that existed before Quirks became the dominant factor in society. At least pre-Quirk era heroes had names with real weight and meaning. Batman, the Punisher, Spawn, Daredevil, the Shadow—those names actually carried something behind them.
Nowadays, most hero names sounded like they were made up by children.
He turned a page, his mind wandering as he listened to the news report.
At least Red Hood was doing something.
As Sasuke continued reading, Naruko was sprawled out in her loft, peacefully drooling on her pillow. She was deep in sleep, lost in a strange, vivid dream—or rather, a series of bizarre visions.
She saw herself as a Sith, standing in the middle of a fiery battlefield, red lightsaber ignited, dark robes billowing in the wind. Yet, for some reason, the entire battle was being fought in a full-blown musical, with soldiers and Jedi as they clashed.
Then, the scene shifted.
Now she was... ridiculously busty, standing in what looked like Hell, wearing some type of miko erotic version of it, surrounded by demons who were vibing to a concert. She was singing
Another vision took over.
This time, she was... a guy? A male version of herself was sitting at an ice cream shop, casually chatting with colorful ponies. She had no idea what they were talking about, but Male-Naruto looked like he was having the time of his life.
The dream shifted again.
An older version of herself was soaring through space, fists colliding with beings who looked like Superman, but all of them wore white uniforms. She felt insanely powerful, every punch sending shockwaves across the battlefield.
Then came another scene.
She was seated at a wooden table, eating a meal with Sasuke. Sitting across from them was a kid in green clothing with a fishing pole strapped to his backpack. The atmosphere was peaceful, warm, like they were family.
But then—
She saw Sasuke kissing her.
Her entire body froze. She felt the warmth of it, the tenderness, and—
Naruko's eyes shot open as she bolted upright in bed, face burning red.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" she screamed in embarrassment.
Sasuke, still on the couch, barely flinched. He turned a page in his book, raising an eyebrow.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone flat.
Naruko, blushing like crazy, flailed her hands, trying to calm herself down. "N-Nothing! Just... I had a nightmare! Yeah, uh, someone stole my ramen!"
Sasuke stared at her for a moment.
It was actually a believable excuse, considering how much she cared about food, especially ramen. He let out a quiet hum and went back to his book.
"Alright."
Naruko sighed in relief, wiping sweat from her forehead. Good job, Naruko. That was a solid save.
But what she didn't realize was that Sasuke knew her too well. He could tell she was lying. He just decided to let her think he believed her.
Sasuke's phone rang, filling the apartment with the sound of Bugs Bunny's voice saying, "What's up, doc?" He glanced at the screen before answering, his expression unreadable.
Seeing this as a perfect opportunity to escape her embarrassment, Naruko immediately jumped down from the loft, landing gracefully. "I'm heading up to the roof to water the plants," she announced hastily, slipping on her sandals.
Kurama, the small fox with his tiny legs, trotted up to her with an amused smirk. "So," he drawled, "how was dreaming paradise?"
Naruko's eye twitched as she glared at him. He knew. The little furball had been playing around with her ability to peek into the multiverse, and now he was using it to mess with her.
She chose to ignore him, but Kurama wasn't about to let her off that easy.
"You cannot deny your destiny," he continued, his voice taking on a mock-prophetic tone. "It has been foretold!"
Naruko's face burned even redder. She yanked open the door, ready to escape, but Kurama got one last jab in.
"It is your destiny, young Uzumaki," he said grandly, "to bring back both the Uzumaki and Uchiha Clans."
Without turning around, Naruko stuffed her fingers in her ears. "Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of me not caring! Go fuck yourself." She slammed the door behind her.
A second later, the door cracked open again, and she stuck her head back in. "And seriously?! Using Star Wars references against me?! That's just low."
Kurama burst out laughing as she slammed the door shut again, her face still glowing red.
On the rooftop, Naruko let out a long sigh. The morning air was crisp, and the city stretched out before her. She pulled out a bottle of homemade alcohol—strawberry-flavored, one of her personal brews. Twisting the cap off, she took a deep chug before exhaling and letting out a loud burp.
"Damn," she muttered to herself, stretching. "I'm so glad my immune system is stupid strong. Alcohol, cocaine—pfft, nothing phases me."
Unbeknownst to her, a small drone hovered far away, its camera zooming in on her as she drank. In a dimly lit room filled with monitors, a man watched the feed intently. He leaned forward, his expression neutral as he analyzed her movements.
"Target isn't doing anything at the moment," he reported.
Behind him, a soldier adjusted his jacket before heading for the door. On the back of his coat, an acronym was displayed in bold letters:
G.A.U.N.T.L.E.T.
to be continued...
Hope you enjoy this chapter and creating new characters like red hood. Also what Naruko saw her other variants from my other stories.