Day 2

The sun shone through the demolished roof of the old warehouse. Greg O’Flanigen flinched slightly. The sunlight struck his face making him groan as he awoke slowly. Last night. OH God. Last night he almost died at the hands of a meta-human who fancied himself a vampire. That guy was twisted. Greg sat up on the old tattered couch he used as a bed. He looked around. There, on a small coffee table he salvaged from a scrap yard, was his helmet, staring back at him with those triple lens goggles built into its head piece. Greg got up. He stretched. On the back of his neck and head were cuts brought upon by the helmet’s straps. The super powered maniac pulled so hard on his helmet, the straps dug into his skin slightly. He could feel his muscles flex and loosen from a night of uncomfortable sleep. His body still hurt from last night’s fight but it wasn’t unbearable. He could move as swiftly as always. And that was good enough for him.

He looked around at his temporary lodgings. Greg had quite enough money back in Westmoor City he earned through various ways (most of them involve killing or fighting), but he didn’t have another identity. If he did and could actually pose as simple citizen he would have gotten himself a hotel room. But no. Leading two lives at once would be catastrophic for the mission because sooner or later the two lives he would lead would collide and mess up each other. No double lives. No secret identity. That meant constantly moving in secrecy and resourcefulness. Once on a mission out of town he had to spend his resting hours in the sewers of San Francisco. It’s the life he had chosen. No need sense in complaining about it.
After a few more minutes of stretching and exercising, Greg took his helmet. He looked into those goggles. He could fell the feeling of being the Red Hunter coming over him. He slowly placed it on and tightened the straps. Then a hiss of pressure was heard and the helmet clung to his skin tightly. The mouth piece was the only part of it that wasn’t air tight.

Two things rushed through his mind. One was that the police were now aware of his presence in New York since last night’s incident. Second was that in fighting the shadow manipulator he had forgotten the real reason he came to this stupid city for, the murderer and rapist who got away from him back in Westmoor City. He looked at his bike, leaning against the warehouse wall. He was tempted to take it and use it to move around the city faster, but that would cause unwanted attention. So he decided to go on foot and stick to the shadows and “rooftop express”.
He pushed the sliding door open slightly and stepped into the day light, sliding the door closed behind him.

Red turned around and was now standing face to face with a young girl. Why would she approach him. Even in his hometown people tend to keep a distance from him. This was highly suspicious.

Then she said "Excuse me sir, could you help me find my sister?"

Again, he felt highly uncomfortable. The girl was talking to him like he was a boyscout. He didn't know what to make of it. Maybe it was a trap, maybe the girl couldn't find anyone else so she approached a costumed vigilante who was known to kill and assassinate criminals.

Against his better judgment, Red spoke, his voice filter making him sound deep and inhuman "Fine". He didn't know what he was getting into but he was sure he would find out quite soon.