Hey guys! This is my new fanfiction. I have no idea where I'm going with this and how often I will be uploading new chapters. Please feel free to review and favorite this story. Suggestions are also very welcome.

"Daredevil" belongs to Stan Lee and Marvel; any scenes used in this story belong to the screen writers of Netflix/Marvel.

Prologue

A bloodcurdling scream broke the silence of the night. Anyone that was near the office building in the more fancier area of Hell's Kitchen was frozen by the amount of terror, grief and fear that filled this haunting scream of pain.

Soon after and seemingly out of nowhere two police cars stopped in front of the building. With their guns ready two officers ran inside, following a suited guard of the Japanese security whose colleagues were already on their way to the 24th floor where the scream had come from.

No one said a word. The tense atmosphere between the Americans and the Japanese guard didn't cover up an unspoken acknowledgement – the kind you only find between rivaling partners that despised each other and still got teamed up for a job.

The tension increased the longer the elevator took to reach the right floor. Both officers were exchanging looks of arrogant and racist annoyance, hating that they were ordered to help the Japanese with this "minor disturbance" when they were aiming for the real deal. The Japanese security guard, however, had his eyes fixed on the smooth metal doors; he couldn't care less about the existence of the two officers behind him. Their presence was necessary to keep up appearances and get this job done. That's what the boss had wanted and so it's done. No questions asked.

A bell-like sound indicated their arrival. The doors slid open and all three men entered the floor with the offices of the leading members of the company. One of the officers had a look around as they followed the guard down the open corridors.

That's when loud and heartbreaking sobs filled the air as well as a deep male voice speaking Japanese. Everything seemed normal; the usual crime scene. However, when they entered the office at the end of the corridor both officers not only had to hold their stomach. Seeing this terrifying and gruesome scene was nothing for a weak bladder either:

They were looking straight into the blood shot and twisted eyes of a young Japanese business man whose bluish-pale head was sitting in the middle of his desk, both his hands and feet next to it.

The expensive desk, a polished masterpiece made of Zelkova wood*, and everything on it, from important papers, electronic devices and personal things, was now covered in deep red and already curdling blood. The cruelly mangled body that was still oozing with blood was sitting, hunched over, behind the desk.

The Japanese security guards had watched them cautiously with cold eyes. Horror shivered down the officers backs as they gathered their senses, realizing that the guards must have been familiar with such sights. Finally getting it together they noticed a young woman sitting in one of the modern arm chairs behind the group of suited men. She was covered in blood and slowly rocking back and forth with her shaking hands in her lap.

The two officers, both pale and still shocked, exchanged a quick look before turning to their guide from earlier. He looked them dead in the eyes and nodded once. Although his blood was running cold one of the Americans swallowed the lump in his throat as he picked up his radio.

"Central post 31 K." He tried to keep his voice steady, his gaze locked with the Japanese guard.

"Central post 31." A female voice sounded lightly distorted.

"Got a 415. Code 4. You copy?"

"Central post 31 copy. 10-34. As soon as you can."

"Roger that." He said and slowly put the radio back into its hilt. The two men exchanged another nod and then the police officers were escorted back to their cars.

As soon as the elevator doors closed a busy mood swept through the office. Two of the three remaining guards started cleaning up the crime scene. The third, who had brought in the police officers, was now grabbing the young woman and pulled her roughly to the bloody desk. His fingers dug vice-like into her soft flesh, making her whimper in pain.

He dragged her around the table, dismissing the horrified look on her face as she once again was confronted with the headless corpse. He grabbed her chin and twisted her head to make her look at the bloody message on the smooth glass front.

"He hopes, you have learned your lesson." He said in Japanese, his lips close to her ear. A fearful sob was stuck in her throat as her eyes read the characters.

Silently she collapsed right then and there, the bloody word "戒め"** hovering over her fainted form.

Author's note:

* one of the most expensive Japanese furtinure woods

** jap. "warning", "punishment"