Under the Red Hood

This is my first sandbox story and I might continue it. This is basically a retelling/interpretation of "The Little Red Riding Hood."

Under the Red Hood
A fan designed alternate universe of Little Red Riding Hood

Article 1
1932 - East Harlem
Little Red

The sky is of ash. Sirens rang through the air. I anxiously wait, clutching the package in my arms. Ahead of me stands a steel door, its black paint chipped and fading. Bullets indent the door from inside out, making it look like a coded message in braille. An acrid scent filled the air, a mixture of blood, puke, urine, and alcohol. Muted yells scream, and gunshots echo behind the door. I approach the door and hesitate, if only for a moment.

“You won’t fail dear” mother had said. “I promise I won’t. I-I promise.” I said holding mother’s hand as she lay in the dirty alleyway riddled with bullets as her lifeblood pulsated out of her.

Gathering my courage, I approach the door. Freeing my hand from the package, I use it to greet the door with swift force. I pound at the door in a secret code passed down the Red family. A slot opens at a high eye level of the door. “Password.” a gruff voice affirms. I search my mind for the answer. With a shaking voice, I answer “Halliwell”. The slot shuts with a bang. I am alone, if only for a moment. Then, the sound of gears clunking and screeching filled the air.

Suddenly, the door swings forward, catching me off guard. I recovered, picking up the package like a mother does her lost child. The voice matched the bouncer perfectly. With a stiff mustache foreboding his menacing face. A scar on his right eye has rendered it glossy white. His crew cut makes his midnight black hair look like spikes ready to impale me if I agitate him. I move my eyes slowly down him. The tank top he wears is strained under the pressure of his powerful muscles. His chest ripples both with dark hair as well as muscles. His arms dwarf the size of my head. They look to be the size of bowling balls and looked to be as strong as iron too. Additionally, his crossed arms make them appear to be larger. My gaze lowered even further to his dark trousers that bulge out with firm legs. I take notice to his staring at my newly formed breasts. A smile flickers across his face as I pull my dress downward. Its replaced with a frown when I reveal a concealed pistol. “Go through,” he says, his demeanor reverting back to the former. I step through the dark entryway confidently.

Suddenly, I am blinded by the light of the bar. Even if the Prohibition had ended, that didn’t mean that it was exactly looked on with wonder. The mayor was there along with his advisors. A librarian, a lawyer, and his secretary were all laughing and shouting and drinking like it was the end of days. I gape in wonder at my surroundings. A pop on the back of my head reaffirms my goal. “Pops, get ova’ ‘ere” I hear a masculine voice cry out. Pops brushes past me, taking a brief moment to move his fingers down the neckline of my dress. I smack him with the back of my hand as he hastens towards the voice I heard. I’m knocked to the ground by an unknown figure and mutter a curse under my breath. Then, I gather myself up, retrieve the package, and continue my way to The Boss’s office.

Not many know about him or his true goal but we all know it ain’t good. I look through the keyhole to find the boss with his girlfriend, Cindy, in an intimate moment. Repulsed, I quietly move away from the door, willing the image out of my head. I reopen the door to find no sign of Cindy. I see the boss and suddenly realized how the illusion occurred once I saw the white paper taped to the door. I give a small frown before I turn my attention back to the Boss. He was dressed in a smart, striped, white and black blazer with a pinstripe vest. His black shirt lay beneath them all forming an optical illusion that the suit was a part of him. His red tie was neatly tucked between the trio. In his right hand was his cigar and in the other his fabled Tommy gun affectionately named Sally. His face gave the appearance of someone who once was handsome, though weathered by time, starvation, and wounds. His steel grey eyes were complex, both inviting and intimidating. I could barely see his graying hair under his onyx fedora. He took a puff from his cigar, paused, and then met my eyes.

I froze. What do I say? What do I do? I wasn’t prepared for this. However, he answers my question immediately. “Are you the daughter of a Mrs. Red Hood,” he said, his voice, baritone with a thick New Brook accent. “Yes-yessir,” I stammered. “You don’t stammer when you're talkin’ to me, but this is our first real meeting so I’ll let that slide.” His expression changed as he looked at me. “You look just like your mother,” his whispered almost too quiet to hear. Shifting his gaze skyward, he paused and then looked down back at me, “We have a job for you, Little Red. There’s some trouble coming from Gretel Grove that a Wolf has been harassing the general populous. Demanding dough. Taking names. You’re new but I know you’re not fragile.” I smirk, revealing the pistol in my bag. He returns the smile, but there is a pain in his eyes. Suddenly, his face hardens and deepens his voice. “Enough talk. Get on it.” I nod, familiar with this “go get’em” attitude and turn to face the door when he stops me. “One last thing, take this with you,” he says, handing me a blanket-covered basket. I reply, “Sure. Anything else?” “Yes,” he says, “I want you to take my son, Peter, with you. He needs the experience and as the closest to his age, I think you’ll make a good example.” From behind his desk comes a kid about my age of extremely fair skin and dark black hair. He as ever so slightly shorter than me and was rather thin. He looked like he could be taken out by a simple breeze much less than a crime-filled street. I opened my mouth to object but was met with the door in my face. Begrudgingly, I take the package (which he didn’t even take), basket, and little peter and head out into the unforgiving streets of Grimm City.

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