Red Ink

Part 37 - The Red Raid II

The plan was in place.

It was Red's idea to swap the ink for poison. Her and Ray worked tirelessly the entire week to go over every detail. She would go to the appointment, make the swap, and finish his tattoo with a smile (or as much of a smile as she could muster), and by the end of the day, Dabi would be dead.

Ray's men would follow her to the appointment from afar and break her out once the job was done— just in case he didn't plan to let her leave, like Tadashi's dad told her.

But... could Y/N actually do the job?

Ray spent most of Red's upbringing keeping her tucked tight under his wing. He got her real documents, real certifications, and a real home; anything she would need to start a life with clean hands. Don't let them tempt you, he would tell her. If a deal feels too good to be true, believe it.

And for years, she did. Y/N was a good girl. She kept to her studies, never ventured farther into the Underground than the Commons, and certainly never interacted with anyone there beyond a polite hello. Ray made sure of that.

But when his tight grip on her safety waned as she aged, the temptations got the better of her. It was supposed to be a quick, seamless agreement, they said. All they needed were some drawings. Some powerful statements.

Propaganda.

She told herself that it wasn't all that dangerous. She wasn't brandishing weapons or threatening innocents. In fact, she only ever promised three works for them— three works in exchange for one device that she desperately needed. They're just drawings.

But when Y/N's second drawing for them, the beautiful white dove with bleeding eyes and clipped wings, showed up on the bodies of dead heroes only a few weeks later, she understood what she'd done. The white bird represented the heroes, and the clipped wings were a promise the Crimson Doves planned to deliver.

Red pulled out of the deal immediately, wrought with grief and regret so deep she could hardly breathe. She didn't want this. All she wanted was that stupid little device; a chance to save Ray's life.

No matter how much she tried to atone, no matter how many healing artworks she crafted on the skin of others, she couldn't rid her mind of that image: a hero, lifeless on the ground after the Crimson Doves fulfilled the promise the mark made. The mark she designed.

After several years, the shame became easier to live with. It was a silent mark of her own that she hid even from Ray. He was right. He had always been right. She should've believed him instead of believing that this deal was special— that this deal would be different, that it was just a few drawings in exchange for a chance to repay Ray for all he'd done for her.

She was only nineteen when she made those drawings, and now, even at twenty-three, they still haunted her.

How she felt then was almost identical to the feeling swimming in her chest now as she stared down at the little vial. She turned it over in her hand, examining the red liquid and trying to fathom just what she was going to commit in only a few hours.

Red didn't have the tough skin that Ray had developed after a life in the Underground. The idea of taking someone's life, even someone who deserved it, sickened her beyond belief— but would this atone for her sins? Would this deplorable act really bring justice for the Underground, or would it add to the blood already staining her conscience?

Her trembling fingers almost dropped the vial at the thought. She tried to picture it, but the imagery only flipped her stomach and stung her eyes. Don't cry. Be tough, like Ray.