The nights were colder now. Not because of the season—though New York winters could be merciless—but because Rai was tired in a way that coats and heaters couldn't fix.
He was stronger. Faster. More precise. But the weight of it all was starting to show in the quiet spaces—between fights, between breaths, between moments where he didn't have to be the Devil.
Yet he couldn't stop. Not now.
Patterns in the Chaos
Criminals were disappearing. Not arrested. Not prosecuted. Just… gone.
And someone noticed.
Somewhere deep inside a S.H.I.E.L.D. monitoring facility, a board lit up with red pins and scattered photos. Patterns emerged across cities: Newark, Queens, Brooklyn, Jersey City. High-crime zones. Bodies found without surveillance footage. Weapons left untouched. Sometimes, entire gangs dismantled in a single night.
Agent Maria Hill stood in front of the board with a cup of bitter coffee and a furrowed brow.
"This isn't vigilante justice," she said. "It's surgical. Whoever's doing this, they're not just angry. They're methodical."
Coulson agreed. "Almost military."
"No," said Nick Fury, stepping into the briefing room. "This is something else."
Classified Designation: RED-EYE
They didn't know who or what he was yet. No face. No voice. Only a few credible witness statements:
"His eyes were red. Glowing. Like they were alive."
"He didn't speak. Just moved. And then it was over."
"I thought he was a myth—until he saved my daughter."
S.H.I.E.L.D. flagged him as a potential enhanced individual, possibly mutant or tech-based. But no tech they could trace, no mutant registry match. Infrared footage showed strange energy readings, but nothing conclusive.
One analyst jokingly dubbed him "Red-Eye." The name stuck.
They assigned a low-level task force—not to engage, but to observe. Quietly. Carefully. Fury's orders were clear: "We don't poke what we don't understand."
Meanwhile, in the Shadows
Rai didn't know they were watching—not yet. But he felt it. A subtle shift in the air during his nightly runs. A motion on a rooftop that disappeared too quickly. Nothing conclusive, but his instincts were sharpening alongside his skills.
His training hadn't slowed. It had changed.
He no longer had to think before molding chakra. His control was tighter, his stamina higher. He could sustain Substitution and Transformation jutsu with little effort. Clone Jutsu had become second nature—useful for distractions, escapes, or recon.
The more he used his Sharingan, the more it grew in clarity. Still two tomoe in each eye. Still room to grow. But the vision—the perception—it was no longer human.
Burnout
But power had a cost.
One night, after stopping a weapons shipment in the Bronx, Rai stumbled back to his apartment and collapsed halfway through removing his armor. He woke hours later on the floor, body aching, ears ringing, Sharingan still flickering in his reflection.
He was pushing too hard.
The city didn't sleep—but he had to, sometimes. He forced himself to rest. To eat. To write down every technique he could remember, sketch every trap he might use, refine every inch of his gear.
There was no one to help him. No mentor. No team. Just his own resolve.
He didn't think of it as bravery. Just survival.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Line in the Sand
As 2007 bled in, S.H.I.E.L.D. drew up an unofficial policy:
Do not engage the Red-Eye unless civilians are at risk.
Observe. Record. Report.
Because every time they tried to follow him, they lost him. Every drone malfunctioned. Every tracker failed. And the last field agent who got close woke up in a dumpster with all his gear disabled—and a simple note taped to his chest.
"Next time, I won't be so polite."
The City Holds Its Breath
To the underworld, the Red-Eyed Devil was no longer a rumor. He was a force. Stories spread about entire safehouses burned to the ground, weapons melted, kingpins found sobbing in cells after being shown "visions."
To innocents, he remained unseen. A whisper. A myth. A demon who only visited those who deserved it.
And to Rai?
He was just trying to stay one step ahead of what was coming.
Because he remembered the timeline. He remembered the names.
And he knew the storm hadn't even begun.
[To Be Continued…]