Chapter 1: Prologue
**All Character Belong to Marvel Netflix and Marvel**
Pain. That is the first thing I remember. I remember slowly opening my eyes. I was vaguely aware of the remains of my family's suburban around me. Then came the heat. My surroundings became clearer when I realized that the orange glow I assumed was the sun was actually the glow from the fire that had consumed the rest of the suburban. I called out to my parents. I screamed, cried for them to stop the pain that coursed through my small 8-year-old body. The last thing I remember before the darkness consumed me was the realization that the putrid smell that hung in the air was the burning remains of my parents.
When I woke they told me it had been two weeks since the accident. When the detectives came into the room, they danced around the facts behind the accident. I begged them to tell me what had happened. They told me that the oil from the engine ignited and caused the car to explode, somehow sparing me from its deadly trap.
I spent a week in the Hospital before they released me to the social worker, a homely looking woman named Brenda Marshal. Her appearance left much to be desired for. She was a cruel and heartless woman who shoved me into Saint Agnes Orphanage with a sneer and sharp look that said she didn't expect a girl who just lost her parents would be adopted any time soon. Her prediction slowly became true. I sat in Saint Agnes for 6 months before he came. I woke up one night to see a man standing at the foot of my bed. He then told me everything, he told me the truth about my parent's death. They were members of the chaste, a secret organization that fought against the immortal criminal organization called the hand, and it was the Hand that rigged my family's suburban to explode. He then asked me a question that would change my life forever. He asked if I would like to learn to fight against the hand. He said that by the time I was 16 I would be a great warrior and would be able to avenge my family's death. I agreed. And with those words, the hardest and most painful 8 ½ years of my life began. I trained every day for 10 hours a day. Stick, the man who came to get me, became my main trainer. He taught me to fight, to center myself, and how to draw a bow string and fire an arrow with extreme precision. And when I turned 16, Stick sent me to Hell's Kitchen, New York. He told me to seek out a man who he said would help me take down the hand.
And that is why I am standing outside a corner apartment, getting ready to ring the bell and ask to talk to the person. I rang and when I heard a voice ask what I wanted. So, I told him.
"Stick sent me. I am here to talk to Matt Murdock."