| one: the usual |

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Slash. Slash. Slash.

"I'll get you, Red Hood!"

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"AAHHH!'

Slash. Slash. Bang. Bang.

Every building had their windows shut tight, not risking a single intruder from sneaking in. Doors that were in all different shapes and sizes were sealed shut with various locks. The people's eyes peered through the holes of their doors or from the edge of their windows to witness the eye-popping fight below.

The streets were abandoned, besides Red Hood and a group of gang members. Smears of oozing red liquid and small metal balls dispersed on the cement ground. Dead bodies with wounds and blood coaxed on them were no exception.

Two men held onto the sharp blade in their hands. Their comrades were all down, out cold. Possibly, dead even.

One sneered while the other clenched their teeth together at the sight before them. Both of them screamed out a battle cry as they charged towards the spiteful figure. Knives aimed towards the said figure and prepared to be thrust forward with full force. Rage and confidence were brimming in their spirits.

Red Hood threw his pistol up into the air, letting it suspend there while it was spinning in circular motions. He swiftly ducked backward, simultaneously dodging the attack by his enemies. A firm grip on both of their pants had sent them toppling to the ground.

Without wasting any time, his boots were already on top of their knives. He caught the pistol perfectly in his gloved hand and aimed for one of the men's head. Without mercy, he pulled the trigger and watched as the man's brain spluttered.

From under his hood, he felt a smack of red water dripping down his cheek.

Kicking the lifeless man to the side, Red Hood's boot skillfully kicked the said man's knife safely upwards to his unoccupied hand. He immediately sat on top of the gang's last survivor's back and brushed the knife faintly across the man's jaw. Leaning forward, he gently whispered into the man's ear, "May you rot in hell like the rest of these bastards."

He then jabbed the knife harshly into the man's fat neck. A visible smirk grew on his lips as the man choked out the familiar crimson oozing liquid. The man's neck dripping with the identical liquid, causing a pool of it to form around them. Leisurely, he stood up from the body of the past man.

His eyes were glistening under his stained hood as he took one last look of the bodies he had slaughtered. Turning around with his long, silky-red hood whooshing behind him, he strolled on ahead away from the battlefield.

It wasn't long before he heard a loud bang. He glanced over his shoulder to see no one, but the dead bodies. His arm was bleeding from the bullet scratching against his skin, yet it wasn't something that serious.

Red Hood didn't need a genius to tell him that if he couldn't identify this anonymous man's location in time, his heart or head might be their next target. Hissing at the stinging pain, he quickly shielded himself behind the wall of an alley nearby as he heard more shots coming his way. His arm, which so happened to be his shooting arm, shakily held up the pistol to his chest.

Red Hood chuckled to himself. This shooter may be smart enough to take his chance when he almost had his guard down, but he would make them regret that very soon. Unfortunately for the shooter, he'd managed to get a glimpse of their location. Letting a few seconds slide, he suddenly jerked to the side and had his arm with the gun stretched out to shot.

Bang!

...

...

...

Thud.

The body of his mysterious shooter laid unmoving in front of him, a puddle of bright red liquid began to form. Red Hood let out a sigh, lowering his injured arm to his side. He walked up to the body, inspecting it.

This man looked quite experienced with long-range shooting equipment and light-looking suit on, which was understandable as he took quite some time to pinpoint the man's location. The clothes were made out of leather, dyed in navy blue with belts secured around his waist to hold various types of bullets.

A sniper was laying not far besides them. He kicked the inanimate man as a way to flip the body over. The source of the overflowing blood was spotted on the man's chest, while something sparkled under the sunlight in that very spot, deep inside. It was none other than Red Hood's bullet.

"Bull's eye again," Red Hood uttered to himself.

Then, he proceeded to take away the bullet-filled belt around the body before retrieving his new weapon. He attempted to strap the belt that probably tripled his size around his waist, only to have it slide off his body. Letting out a huff, he carried the heavy items in his hand through the alley.

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Despite the struggles of bringing him the new additional load and a numb arm, he undoubtedly managed to get home safely (with a few more encounters with desperate thugs on the way). He was currently heading towards his living room, dragging his tired feet across the carpeted floors.

He honestly didn't care if he would be staining the maroon expensive carpets, he could just redecorate the whole house with new ones anyway. Although he washed himself off before coming back soon, there was still a tiny trail of blood. That was easily washable.

Laying out the acquired items on a milky-colored coffee table, he slumped his body to the soft couch with a while box in his hands. Opening the box, he took out the things he required to patch up his arm; some high-quality ointment and long cloth-like bandages. He pulled his hood down, letting his midnight locks rest on his shoulders.

After wrapping himself up, he slid the box to the other side of the couch. A grunt released from his lips when he sunk further into the soft material. Despite his teenage age, he afforded to afford a cozy yet humongous Federal Colonial styled house. It wasn't technically a mansion, but it could be easily mistaken as one. He could actually buy one, although he had chosen not to.

After all, he didn't need much space since he would be the only inhabitant. Unlike the other rich folks, he didn't favour having servants to do his chores when he could do them himself. He preferred to clean and care for himself.

His aero blue eyes then scanned the goodies he had from his daily walk in the town. Out of all the objects coaxed in blood on the coffee table, a particular dagger caught his attention. He hadn't noticed it earlier because the thing was soaked in thick crimson liquid, yet he spotted a mark on the shiny blade of the dagger.

The marks resembled an animal scratch, and it even sized up to a mark a huge bear would leave. How odd, was how his thoughts rang into his mind. In fact, they were rarely ever bears to appear around this area. Humming to himself, he placed the dagger back into its position.

Suddenly, his eyes landed on a Roman Gladius on the side. Picking it up, he inspected the sword shortly to find a strand of fur stuck on its handle. He pulled it out gingerly to observe it. It was a shade of grey, the length was quite short to be a human's hair.

A wolf was the closest prediction he came up with, yet he questioned to himself why a strand of wolf fur would even be on the handle. However, the size didn't even match up. It wasn't possible theory, unless the wolf had somehow held the handle in a human-like manner.

With that, he decided to stash his new belonging away to examine later. It consumed a longer time than usual for him to arrange them all in his weapon room upstairs, due to the injured arm and the unexpected higher quantity he had that day. As he had finally neatly added his new collection, he ventured down the hall to his computer room to check on any updates with Chester's rivals. He then decided to have his own leisure moment after he would be done.

He wasn't one to poke fun in other people's business, yet he would check up on a few locations to observe the kingdom's state. Especially since he had his own research at action, he might as well just dig a little deeper for more valuable information. When he had completed his routine on collecting the dull data on the pathetic businessmen, he sent his animal-designed drones to certain parts of the kingdom.

His drones had the look of little critters that the town folks think are adorable, yet he equipped unique and deadly modes to his drones that would change their minds in a snap. While most of his drones were full androids, they were few that were part living animals. Long story cut short, these animals were at the peak of their deaths and he brought them back partially alive as drones.

His drones spotted various random things. One caught an amateur thief stealing a purse down the open streets in the most cringe-worthy way possible, and the thief got caught and beaten up into a plump by the owner of the purse. The thief would be set behind bars easily by police if this kingdom was a normal political one.

Another drone had watched just two boys in a rural area casually chatting about their plan to capture someone, armed with pocket knives. That someone was him, since he had matched up to the characteristics like a silky hood, pricey bounty, unknown face and such. Thus, he should be expecting 'visitors' to his house soon.

None of them fit his interest until he headed over to the next monitor, using his spinning chair.

Nut, which was one of the few part-living and part-android animals, was spying on a familiar duo from afar. The scene seemed to be one of the hidden alleys that were in the darkest parts of the town, usually, the location drugs were smuggled. The squirrel drone's reflective black eyes were basically like cameras for him.

The current video was played live on the desktop he sat in front of. However, he saw no drugs in the duo's hands. Leaning back against his chair, he watched as Nut approached the duo upon his command. He then adjusted the volume knob on his control panel before slipping on his blazing red headphones.

"ㅡmust be joking, Fart Brain," he then picked up one of the duo's voice. It was rather gruff and really deep, his face was also indicating that this was Darren.

Darren was one of the many people to have sexually harassed him before since he was earlier thought as a girl. Blaming that fact on his feminine-looking body, he could only sigh at the misfortune of his genes.

He could still recall being dragged by the man on his first week living on the streets. This buffy and hairy man was practically one of the reasons he earned his name 'Little Red Riding Hood'. Punching him square on the jaw as his first impression on the man was probably the best choices he had made in life.

The other person, Joel, only laughed hysterically as he replied, "Do I look like I'm joking, Airhead?"

On the other hand, Joel was the only person that had been continuously harassing him since day one. He had no patience with the man for how forgetful he was. It didn't help that his voice didn't sound 'manly' enough to convince the idiot.

Fortunately for him, the man's body was quite on the weak side especially since the man didn't have much muscles. If he were to describe the man's features with a food, it would be a piece of macaroni. He thought Joel's body looked as straight as a pole, yet it was a pump-looking size.

Eavesdropping on their conversation, he managed to pick up only useless bits of information. There was another breakout at the Gates, an enormous mass murder and countless lost members of the duo's gang called Death Flag. He came to know Death Flag after meeting face-to-face with the gang's leader on the day he was taken under Chester's wing.

To be frank, the leader of Death Flag didn't quite meet up to his expectations but overpowered him utterly at that vulnerable time. Disgustingly, he viewed the leader as a man that wanted to castrate him for the man's own desires. At those times, his feminine figure was a curse to him.

Death Flag was notorious for being the third most dangerous gang in the kingdom. Folks wouldn't dare to get involved in any of their cases, and most who do usually hadn't been heard from. That counted him as the few lucky ones to had come back, alive.

Once he had earned the nickname 'Little Red Riding Hood', he was constantly getting his nose into the Death Flag's business to either foil their plans for the benefit of himself or, though he wouldn't admit it, others. Despite so, he was against the idea of hurting the innocent. It was ironic too, because his career consisted of murdering. He also found delirious joy in doing so too. Ironic, indeed.

In fact, there were two more 'lucky ones' who he identified to had also dealt numerous cases with the Death Flag for their own advantages. He had remarkably dead-on data on them, so he would have the upper hand if he were to battle with them. Their alias was 'Snow White' and 'The Beast', respectively named as 'Grey Frost' and 'Arawn Willber'. He brought himself to become acquainted with them, but the three of them weren't quite fond of each other from the first sight.

Brushing his thoughts, he then fully focused back onto the conversation between Joel and Darren. The latter of the duo was telling the former about how the latter's night patrol went with some Death Flag underlings. The story wasn't amusing in the beginning with the 'fun time' the latter's crew had, practically messing with the poor folks of Pledic.

He listened as the latter went on and on about it until the part where they reached the forest sparked his interests. Apparently, the latter's crew had to run an errand at the end of the day to collect the night's firewood. Halfway between the story, the latter's sudden shout of suspense caused something to snap inside of him.

"The boys and I saw not one, but five human-sized wolves!" Joel's exclamation caught his attention. Now, that wasn't the usual.

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