The streets of Musutafu glowed faintly with neon and sirens in the distance. You pulled the hood over your head, the red fabric shadowing your mask as you slipped out of the store with a bag in hand. Alarms blared, but you were already halfway down the alley before the police lights even rounded the corner.

“Too slow, as always…” you muttered, smirking beneath the mask.

Behind you, painted across the wall, was your mark—a symbol in crimson that let everyone know Red had been there.

Somewhere on the rooftops, a Pro-Hero landed, scanning the streets. But you were already gone, melting into the city night like smoke.