The breeze on my face is cool in the humid night. It carries with it the smell of the Chinese take out on the street below. They use too much oil when frying their rice. It also carries a hundred other things. The scent of a woman stood waiting outside, sickly sweet. Lavender. She probably hopes it covers the stink of the cigarettes she chain smokes. It doesn't. The laughter of a couple two blocks over, fingers still sticky from the popcorn they ate in the movie theatre they are exiting. She whispers something in his ear.
Your place nearby?
From the way his heart starts pumping, it probably is. My mouth twitches into a smirk.
The breeze also carries the metallic scent of the city. Hot and bitter. That's pollution for you. You quickly learn to ignore it, but it's always there, an afterthought on everything you can smell.
I let it all wash over me. The heartbeat of Hell's Kitchen. I take in a long, slow breath and pull the black mask other my broken eyes. I won't be needing them anyway.
Then I let the devil take over.
The devil probes each part of the city, focusing my senses to the minutest of details. A heart beating too fast, a voice too high, a cry of suffering, the smell of blood, of fear. Tonight, it doesn't take long. Either I'm getting better at this or Hell's Kitchen is getting more dangerous. Probably both.
Three blocks over I hear a woman's voice. She's young. Barely twenty. She's exiting a bar, one that probably hasn't been cleaned in years, with a man. I can smell his breath, so thick with alcohol it is almost solid.
Please, let me go.
The devil snarls, urging me to go. It wants to be let loose. It wants to fight. But I hold back. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this time-
I'm running before she lets out the first scream. I hear a snap, her cheap heels breaking as she is dragged into a nearby alley. She's putting up a fight but she isn't winning.
Thanks to the apartments above the takeout, the building I am stood on is higher than those surrounding it. I've built up enough speed by the time I hit the edge of the roof to jump and tuck my legs underneath me. As I feel the next roof come towards me, I curl into a roll to help ease the landing. A few loose stones catch on my black top, tearing it, another reminder of how little protection I have. I don't stop to think about it, using the momentum to propel me towards the next jump.
She is still screaming. Good. Make as much noise as possible. Don't make it easy for the bastard.
I can hear her hitting him too. Again and again, with open palms. They don't lay much of an impact, or he is too drunk to notice so she kicks him. I hear his footsteps stumble and for a moment I think she might escape.
His breathing gets heavier and his heart pounds in his chest as he hits her. A single punch to the face. He's getting off on this. I hear her body hit the floor. A nearby crisp packet scuttles away in the breeze. I can smell her blood.
The devil inside me roars. My fists clench as I jump over a vent on the roof of a night club. I am momentarily blinded by thumping music and sweat soaked dancers but I quickly reach the fire escape on the far side. Clamping my hands on the cold metal I leap over the edge, letting gravity do most of the work.
I drop into the alley.
I hear him undoing his fly as I hit the ground. She's pinned below him, breath constricted by his knee on her chest. She's still struggling but dazed by the earlier strike and the blood filling up her mouth.
"Get. Off. Her." My voice doesn't sound like my own. It is filled with promises of violence and blood. This isn't Matt Murdock, small time lawyer of Nelson & Murdock. This is the devil, and he's hungry.
The man stops, spinning off the girl in a panic and getting to his feet.
For a moment, I think he is going to run away, scared to be caught in the act. I hear the switchblade flick open.
"Fuck off," he growls in a voice breathy with lust, waving the blade in the air. "I'm busy."
I hear my knuckles crack. "Last chance. Let her go."
He spits at me through a wave of sour, alcoholic breath.
I've already moved before he has a chance to hit me, fist raised. The devil roars out of my lungs as I charge. The man doesn't move, not expecting a full-on attack.
My fist connects with his cheek. In a flash I feel the two days of stubble on his chin, the crook of his nose previously broken and not fixed, the remains of the cocky smile he was wearing before I hit him. He spins into a nearby trash can. A metallic ring fills the air. He recovers quickly, bellowing a cry of his own, and catches me in a tackle to the waist. I hit the far wall of the alley hard and the breath is knocked out of me. I'm trying to get it back when he follows up with a punch to the stomach.
An image flashes in my head of my father in the boxing ring. Taking punch after punch to the stomach.
His voice rings in my mind: A Murdock may get knocked down, but they always get up again.
I curl over, let him think he has beaten me. He punches me one more time for effect and then backs up, picking his knife up from the floor. I use the time wisely.
Pushing off from the wall, I slam into him again. He swipes wildly with the knife, but I hear it cutting through the air and lean back. It skims past my nose. He goes for another swipe, but this time I catch his arm and hold it back. I punch him in the face. Just like he did to the girl, but I don't let him drop. I punch him again and again. A warm, metallic liquid covers my fist. The devil punches him again.
He drops the knife. I hear it clink against the ground. I let him drop as well.
He groans quietly as I lean in close to his ear. I whisper, loud enough that his barely conscious mind can make it out. "You touch her again, I'm coming back for you." I pause. "And next time, I won't be so forgiving."
I hear a soft whimper as I stand back up. That smirk appears on my face again.
Apart from a broken nose, the girl is fine. I call an ambulance and sit with her until it comes. She shakes and cries while we wait, but as I am about to leave I hear her whisper in a small voice: "Thank you."
The devil smiles and disappears into the night.