Chapter 2: The Devil of Hell's Kitchen
Foggy came and grabbed Matt by the shoulders. Though Matt couldn't see, Foggy was a stockier set person who had a plain but earnest face. His light brown or dirty blonde hair, a debate constantly had with his friends, was down to his shoulders nicely put back for the case.
"We did it, Matt," Foggy said nervously, "For better or worse, we did it." Matt didn't respond. In spite of the target they had put on their backs, something else felt off. Britto was far to calm. Not a care in the world. In fact, Britto's heartbeat hadn't changed at all. His overall demanor protruded smug. A smile curling on his lips in the next room. "You know, fellas," Matt heard him tell the guards, "I'mma have my boys kill you too."
"Shut up," said the guard, a hit with the baton made.
That was it, Matt decided he was going to follow the convoy later that night. Make sure Britto wasn't planning some sort of daring escape. Otherwise, Matt's just being more paranoid than usual.
"Matt? Matt?" Foggy said, refocusing Matt to the moment.
"Sorry, I'm just processing everything."
"It's a lot to process. We always told ourselves we'd be ready for this. Now we've got to live in a post Britto world. The first step, survive the press."
As the two walked down the stairs, they were flooded with television reporters and interviewers.
"Mr. Nelson, Mr. Murdock," said one reporter, "The two of you just took on one of the biggest cases of the decade, how do you feel right now?"
"I think I can speak for Matt, and say that we're thrilled to have put such a terrible monster back where he belongs. I can only hope Mr. Britto can get the rehabilitation he so desperately needs while being incarcerated at Ryker's State Penitentiary."
"And what about the dangers this has put the two of you in?" Matt and Foggy were silent fot a moment, each other waiting for the other to speak.
"We did not seek the death penalty in our case against Mr. Britto," Matt broke, "We are hoping that perhaps our mercy will be met in kind by the Enforcers and whoever operates their business. If not, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.". Badly as Matt wanted to leave, and make sure all of his hard work wasn't in vain, Matt stayed with Foggy for the next hour answering questions as the sun began to set.
...
Soon, the night moon was above New York, and the security of night meant escorting Danny Britto to Ryker's. Britto was in the middle SWAT van of the convey, protected by two more SWAT's. One in front and one behind.
Danny was smiling as he used his finger to pick at his ear. "You know, even if you take me out, the Enforcers still will Enforce shit. The Kingpin is still going to be moving shit around."
"Maybe so," said the guard, "But we'll catch them too eventually."
"Will you? The police couldn't even catch me."
"And yet, here you are." The smile on Danny's face subsided as the vans continued their way from the courthouse to the port, where Danny would be shipped to Ryker's via boat. Danny would never get that far.
About the halfway point to the pier, sirens were seen in the distance accompanied by a small fire. A firefighter came to greet the head SWAT driver. "What's going on? We have to get this cargo transported to Ryker's ASAP."
"Some dumbass," a disguised Montana responded, "Got himself caught in a car. We're using the jaws to get him out, just give us say five minutes...or go around for all I care." Montana then proceeded to walk away. "Only thing that matters to me right now is getting that boy out.". The SWAT driver was looking further ahead, but couldn't see a car, just the fire. Seemed to have been started with garbage.
Something wasn't right, Stanley knew he had to get out of there. Britto was being described as far to at ease with himself to not have a pla- WHAM!
At full force, Stanley's SWAT was hit by a second firetruck with the back SWAT being hit by a third. Stanley was hurt, but he could still fight. Or so he thought, as he tried to move, a piercing yell went through the air as he hung upside down in the turned over van.
He watched as the van behind him exploded and watched as several armed firefighters went to go unlock Fancy Dan's SWAT van. They did it with relative ease, killing the two SWAT guarding Britto as soon as they opened the door. Stanley's best friend was in that van, and though he couldn't see, he knew they were dead. He knew he'd be next.
"Took you guys long enough," Danny said as he came crawling out still chained up.
"Well, maybe if you hadn't gotten caught," Montana responded, "We wouldn't be in this mess."
"Man, it wasn't even the cops who caught me," Danny said, "It was some nutjob in a mask. All black. No eyeholes. I don't even know how that crazy mother fucker could s-.". Danny cut off.
"What? What is it?" Montana asked as Danny became white eyed and a sickly pale.
"No, he, he followed me," Danny said as he pointed behind the Enforcers. Behind them was an angry man, all in black, matching Danny's description perfectly, the flames from the firetruck augmenting his silhouette. "Kill him," Danny whispered, before switching to a yell, "KILL THAT FUCKER NOW!"
Before any of the Enforcers had a chance to shoot at him, the Man in Black rushed foward, engaging the two largest men. The two men were the Oxen brothers, Raymond and Ronald Bloch.
The Man in Black was dodging the majority of their punches and kicks, and was to close for anyone to shoot. His attacks were close and intement. Fast. Faster than Fancy Dan's or Snake Marston. And whatever hits he actually took from the Oxen brothers, the Man in Black continued on with his attacks. Quick and focused.
With their force though, it still wouldn't take a lot until he fell, that is if they could land enough hits. The Man in Black ducked from another swing by Raymond before uppercutting him in the jaw. Raymond backed up in fear, watching the man stare him down. Maybe. He couldn't even see his eyes. He was literally doing this blind folded.
But this man thought he good beat him? All of these thoughts poured into Raymond as the Man in Black started to better his brother, the former's attacks being more and more aggressive. He couldn't win, not with so much on the line, not while he was rescuing his brother in arms, so with a rage and anger that overpowered him, Raymond charged with a vicous yell as he tackled the Man in Black. He started punching him, with Snake Marston, the skinniest of the killers, and Harrison, the third largest of the group began kicking him.
Montana stared at the scene for a moment dumbfounded but satisfied. "Well, at least I get why you lost by yourself," Montana said, "We got Shultz in a getaway car four blocks East. He'll get you out of these binds. We just have to make it there." Montana's voice loudened, "Gentlemen! Let's get out of here!" Montana and Fancy Dan then proceeded to leave the scene.
It was difficult, getting past all of the chaos, the police sirens in the distance closing in. Montana looked behind. Only Ronald was following closly behind. No Raymond, no Marston, no Harrison. Where were they?
They were being beaten.
The Man in Black had grabbed Harrison's leg as he was kicking him and managed to trip him into Raymond and Marston. The group, disoriented watched as the Man in Black got up, shaken but standing firm.
"The fuck is he?" Marston asked as he watched him give the finishing blow to Raymond. The titan then fell, with the Man in Black pushing him at Marston. This disoriented Marston just enough for a prestine kick to be made in his gut, fracturing one of his ribs. "Harrison, do something."
Harrison came up to the Man in Black, a smile on his face as he took his first swing at this opponent. How was he doing what he was doing? How was he standing after all of that damage he had taken? The Man in Black was clearly moving slower, a sign of the stamina and strength lost, but it was still faster than a wounded Harrison was doing. With every punch Harrison made, it was as if he knew it was coming before he even swung. This was no small feat. due to Harrison's intense boxing and military training, and did not speak the other way around.
It was the kick in the groin that did him in.
The beating on his face was just to ensure he didn't wake up.
"The hell are you?" Marston demanded. The Man in Black turned and said, "To you, I'm the Devil."
"Where the hell are they?" Montana asked worried. It was then Montana got his answer from Marston as his body fell on top of the front view mirror, shattering it into pieces. "The hell?" Montana asked as he looked out his side window and saw him. The Man in Black. The Man in Black? It was a lot to process. Here Montana was, trying to free his brother and this man had taken away three? Who was he?
"Montana," a very injured Marston whispered, barely hearable for Montana with his head stuck out of the running car, "You can't beat him. He doesn't even need to see. He's the Devil, Montana. I look up at the Heavens, and all I see is the Devil." Marston then passed out to his injuries.
"Reverse, Shultz," Montana said, "Get us the hell out of here."
"What about Marston?"
"Marston said leave him."
"He told us to run."
"Damn it, Herman, I said FUCKING DRIVE!" Herman then floored it, leaving an unconscious Marston and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen behind.
A healthy Matthew Murdock would have gone after him on rooftops. After the toll he had taken, and the toll it took to drop Marston from the top of this three story building, Matt couldn't chase them down. Not without passing out somewhere in a ditch, which he was almost about to do.
Matt eventually crawled down stairs and limped towards the Clinton Church, removing his mask at some point. Thoughts rushed through Matt's head. His childhood. Being blinded. His father being murdered. Stick. Elektra. Anger. Unresolved rage. But it was becoming resolved. His anger now had purpose. At least that's how he fealt.
Eventually a bloodsoaked Matt came into the church late around midnight. In the church was only one soul. Father Paul Lantom. The traditional priest's robe seemed to meld well into his older face, though it also seemed like his adornments aged him more than he was. He looked at Matt with sorrowful blue eyes.
"Matt," Father Langtom said, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I just-I wish to do a confession."
"There's blood on you, Matthew."
"I'm aware, Father." Realising the pointlessness of debate, Father Langtom motioned him to follow. Langtom in his older age hadn't even thought about Matt being blind and not being able to see his gestures. It didn't phase Matt, because he did see it. Just not in the traditional sense. He heard the wind and the force from the gesture, just as he smelt his Priest's favorite burger joint on his hands go in the same direction, or as he simply felt the vibrations using almost an echo location. He felt, heard, and smelt everything. But his training had made him focused. Everything in Matt Murdock's mind was 'mind over matter,' or faith.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last confessional. I beat three men almost to death tonight. The fact that they would die was the only thing stopping me. The only thing in that moment.". Matt fell silent as he gathered his thoughts. "This is the eighth time I've gone out, doing what I feel is God's work."
"Why do you believe if is God's work and not the work of the Devil?" Father Langtom asked, "These deeds you are doing, they do not describe the love of God's will."
"Was it not God's will to take my eyesight?" Matt said calmly, as he continued, "To take away my father and the life I once lived? To give me all of these abilities for some sort of purpose? I have been given gifts by our Lord, and raised in a way I can use them to extract His will. The will of good men who can't defend themselves, who can't fight. But you are right, Father, I do not use the hand of God to banish these criminals to prison. I use the fist of the Devil to hopefully rehabilitate some of them in prison and sending the rest away from good people. I am a Martyr of God, and all I can do is pray to Him that my actions are His guides and His truth." Silence fell the room a moment more until Father Langtom broke the quiet veil.
"Matthew, I do not know if what you are doing is God's purpose for you or not, but I believe there are some people who can think they're doing good, being the hero, and not knowing what they are doing is adherent to God."
"What do you think?"
"I know not the Lord's thoughts on this, Matthew, lest I would share them with you. What I do know is that you are doing what you think is right. Doing what's right isn't always doing what's expected or legal. It's a personal path and to say you are walking a gray path is an understatement."
"You didn't give an answer."
"You're a good man in my eyes, Matthew; I respect your faith and conviction, and there are men out there who use those spiritual utilities to create great evil within the world, but I cannot speak for God on something like this. If you believe this is the path God has put you on, then you must be at peace for the damnation that could befall you."