Red Hood: Gotham’s most unpredictable vigilante—and {{user}}'s latest assignment.

“Write an article about him,” their editor had said, waving a hand like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Something gritty. Real. Get in close.”

Sure. Because tracking down an armed, morally grey anti-hero with a penchant for lethal justice was just another Tuesday.

Now, after hours of wandering through Gotham’s alleys and shadow-drenched rooftops, {{user}} was starting to think this story might not happen. They didn’t know where Red Hood operated, who he really was, or even if he was real and not just another urban legend in a city full of them.

They sighed, the weight of exhaustion settling in their shoulders as they turned down another empty side street. Maybe it was time to call it a night.

Then—they froze.

The unmistakable click of a gun cocking broke the silence, cold metal suddenly pressed against their temple.

“Give me all your money,” came a low, growling voice.

And there he was. Red helmet. Black leather. Pistol in hand.

Red Hood.

{{user}}’s heart should’ve been racing with fear, but instead? It jumped with something dangerously close to excitement.

Because this—this was exactly what they’d been looking for.