DAREVEIL: PENANCE

Following season One, mostly speculation and vigilantics. Warning, may contain spoilers.

Click.
Somebody's got a gun.

Splash.

And he's stepped in a puddle. I pause, tilting my head as I position myself in the direction of the noise. I listen to the whistling from the pipes and I approach it. It evolves into hissing which escalates into dripping. I've found the puddle.
Something moves to my right. I duck and jab.
Thwack! My fist connects with a torso. The gun scrapes the wall as he falls back. I lunge for the armed hand and slam it into the wall.
Clatter.
The gun's on the ground, now's my chance. Twisting his arm, I wrench.
"The Hand. Where're they operating from?" I growl. I can smell the stench of his sweat, it mixes with tobacco. We have a smoker on our hands.
"I don't know!" He blurts in that frantic tone I'm growing so used to. They always do that, vomit out the truth in sheer terror. It's almost starting to amuse me.
"Please! I swear!"
I shove my knee into his spine. I feel him writhe against me, pain is shooting from his spine to his brain and I savour every moment. Clutching him by the collar, I hoist him backward, with his head facing the concrete wall, he knows what's coming.
"I have a family!" He cries.
"Then give me answers!" I snarl now, having to keep my anger in check.
"I don't know! I swear on my son!"
"If you're lying to me, I will find you. And I will kill you. Slowly." I promise him as I loosen my hold on him. Just as I feel him start to relax, I slam his head into the wall.
Crack.
Broken nose but that's about it.
Thud.
And a concussion.
The familiar scent of warm iron tinges my nose. Blood.
Using a booted foot, I flip him over on the ground so he doesn't suffocate in the puddle of blood pooling from his nose.
Twenty minutes of scaling fire escapes go by, and I'm on the rooftop of my apartment block. Breathless from the dash back home, I lean forward against the balcony as I face the city below. I catch my breath.
That was fruitless. It's frustrating. They're invisible and it's making me restless. The only difference now is, they know I'm after them. Knowing they're in my city makes me feel like I can see shadows again. A whisper here, a shape shifting in the darkness, a presence. I can sense them, watching me. Waiting. But for what?
I will find them and I will rid the city of their evil, maybe then I might find some peace.

Another night wasted.

Heading toward the fire escape, I drop down and climb in through the window of my apartment. I know it's my place from the number of stairs, the splintered window sill and the smell of rum coming from the drapes.
Home sweet home.
Pulling off my mask, I grab the bottle of whiskey I left on the table this morning and down it. The flavour makes me gag then comes the slow burn. That's the thing with drinking, it's the only burn that loosens things up inside, soothing my shot nerves and whispering bittersweet nothings to my tortured mind.
The drink is the warm embrace of a lover when I've come in from the cold. It's not practical, but sometimes, I need it. Lately, I've needed it a lot. Foggy doesn't really talk to me much, there's a tension there ever since he find out. And Karen's noticed, but she's too focussed on finding justice to bother to address it.
I wonder what she doing tonight. I sit on the stool and lean against the counter top. I pull off my suit and slowly bend my left leg. It's been sore for a week now, but it's getting better. I got a new rule of thumb, if the body is healed, the city isn't.
So far it's been pretty accurate.
I pause, something doesn't feel right. Someone is here. I lift my head and let the scent tug at the furthest corners of my mind, it unravels.
Shit.
"Elektra." The name is shoved off the tip of my tongue by a combination of disbelief and alarm.
"Hello, Matthew." I can hear her smile. It's cruel, playful.
"Stay away from me."
"Aw, after all these years, you don't wanna hear me out?" The voice moves to the left of me then to the right, she's looking me over. Her style of observing hasn't changed much, not unlike a boxer. Left hook then a right swing. She moves fast as she sums me up. I know because I hear the swish of her jacket, detect the scent of lilies and gin.
"Elektra, you need to go." I manage, it's like a lump of coal is lodged in my gullet and I can't breathe. The memories of how she feels, smells, speaks and even walks all come rushing back, accompanied with the damaging and reckless time we spent together. It was intimate, it was intense, it was fast and it was bad. She's the wrong kind of freak, and I need her to keep away from me.
"Very well, Matthew. But I have a lead on the Hand."
"What?" I mumble, but she's already heading for the door.
"Your turn to beg." She quips in that cold, well-spoken way I hate that I've missed.
"Elektra, wait—"
The door swings shut and I'm on edge. She has a lead. I have so many questions. How? Where? More importantly, why?
Elektra is more of a mercenary than a hero, she does as she pleases for who she pleases. What's she got against the Hand?

It must be personal.
I move over to the phone and push the voicemail button. It clicks with ease. And that's when I hear Karen's voice.
"Matt, they've got Foggy. I need your help! 32nd and 4th, take the back alley."
If anything happens to Karen or Foggy, I won't be able to live with myself. I'm already pulling my suit back on, it happens automatically. I can't go as Matthew. They need real help. And if anyone lays a finger on either of them, there'll be hell to pay.

Bursting through the open window, I leap off the fire escape and descend into the murky city.