There'd been an uptick of thirty percent in missing children in the last few months, but the disappearances didn't seem to follow any specific pattern. The kids ranged in age from ten to sixteen and went missing on random days and from different neighborhoods. They didn't even have the same school in common.

Steve rubbed a tired hand over his face and put the pen he'd been using to write notes down on the coffee table. "I think we should take a break. Clear our heads."

Matt pulled out the ear bud he wore in his left ear to listen to the audio convertor for the internet. He frowned and began tracing his fingers over the cover of the folders Karen had left for the third time in the last hour. Unsatisfied, he patted around the surface of the kitchen table, his face scrunching up in confusion when he found the book that was next to the satchel.

"What's this?"

"It's a paperback copy of Executive Order 12333. Karen left a post-it note about reading it. I got to page ten before I feel asleep last night."

"Oh, good. I'm glad to have the full transcript."

Steve got up from the sofa to stretch his legs and walked over to where Matt sat by the table. "It's kind of odd that a presidential executive order is available to read."

Matt sat further back against the chair, resting a hand against his injured shoulder. "It's because of the freedom of information act, not to mention Executive Order 12333 has been around since 1981 when President Reagan first issued it."

"I read that in the preference." Steve wandered into the kitchen and filled up two glasses of water. Then he brought them over and set them on the table. "It was an order that defined covert action as both political and military activities that the U.S. Government could legally deny. It was granted exclusively to the CIA."

"And for a while, the CIA was the sole government agency allowed to conduct covert action. The CIA doesn't report to congress, they only report to the president." Matt took his glass of water and drank half of it. "Then 9/11 occurred and it was amended three times over ten years. It named the Director of National Intelligence as the head of all intelligent operations, not to mention granting the Intelligence agency a new set of powers."

"Like Special Activities."

"All covert action, including paramilitary operations."

Steve followed along with Matt's line of logic, surprised where it was going. "You think that this Intelligence Agency controls SHEILD?"

"I think a few select people do. SHIELD doesn't report to the CIA, right?"

"I don't think so. Fury always reported to some shadow group. But even if these people are part of a secret sub-set intelligence agency, how does that impact the current situation?"

Matt used the edge of the table to stand up, grimacing with the effort. "Because if the Avengers serve under any U.S intelligence agency, even if it's for only certain missions, than there's a conflict of interest."

"Between the Accords…."

"Between a U.N. resolution and a presidential executive order."

"I can't believe the amount of holes you've discovered in such a short amount of time." Steve was baffled by the amount of illegalities associated with a thing responsible, in part, for tearing his life apart. "Why wasn't this explored? Don't these types of things go up for debate more?"

"Public opinion, international pressure." Matt walked toward the living room, his movements still stiff and in obvious pain. "Not to mention something tells me that there is a legal document we're not privy to, probably classified, something specific to the Avengers. Executive Order 12333 was amended again in 2013, but there's no record of the additional authorities it granted. That transcript was published four years ago."

Steve grabbed the book, looking for the print date. "How do you know that? You smell the paper?"

"That, and Karen mentioned it on her tape."

"You've really done your homework," Steve said, impressed. And grateful.

"I told you, I want to help."

2012 was the year the Avengers had been officially assembled. Maybe the U.S government had been trying to find a way ever since to control them and the Accords conveniently became the first step.

"The Accords were meant as a way for other countries to have a say about Avenger activity on their soil," Steve said, thinking out loud.

"Which is their sovereign right," Matt interjected and took a seat on the sofa, sinking into the cushions with labored effort. He took several deep breaths. "I've always supported a basic set of regulations governing Avenger rules of engagement."

Steve folded his arms across his chest, aware that there was a difference of opinion on the matter, not to mention an obvious contradiction from a guy who sought justice in the courtroom by day and in the streets at night. "But that doesn't change the fact that the Accords are illegal."

"There are several aspects of that are Unconstitutional." Matt stretched out his legs, looking every bit of a man still recovering from a major gunshot wound. He removed his red glasses, resting them on his stomach, his voice quiet and worn as he closed his eyes. "It's just too bad that the lawmakers and Avengers…were so unwilling to sit down and draft out a compromise."

Steve looked away from Matt who had drifted asleep, regret and what-if's a terrible stranglehold across his chest. He hadn't had time to navigate political red tape, or explore any other options, not with a kill order out on Bucky.

Steve had a made a choice and he'd find a way to live with it, and find a way to make up for the continued fall out.


Steve waited a couple of hours before rousing Matt awake to change his bandage. The stitches had held and there was very little bleeding. The skin showed no sign of infection and Steve felt like they had gotten lucky thanks to modern and ancient medicine. He cleaned the incision again, redressed the wound, and handed Matt more Advil and Gatorade.

Matt sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled up the zipper to his hoodie to cover up his chest, his gaze off into the distance as he tilted his head to the side.

"What do you hear right now?" Steve asked curious.

"The electrical current of power lines, water through seven hundred feet of pipe. Ms. Heighmeyer is taking a shower next door and using about six gallons per minute. Her drain is clogged with soap residue. Thirteen people in the building are wearing sneakers; Adidas and Nike are the most popular, six others are barefoot, two are in high-heels, and the rest have on slippers. Not to mention four cats and two dogs are up and walking around."

Taking another sip of his drink, Matt looked an inch past Steve's shoulders. "Everyone's voice has a unique pitch and tone, kind of like fingerprints. All the conversations in here overlap with each other, competing with the noise from their TVs and stereos. Discussions about the news, a heated argument over who was supposed to do the laundry, Gary on the first floor has sleep apnea based on how loud he snores, and Tyrell just found out his grandmother passed away from cancer." Matt looked down at his sock-clad feet. "He just put on headphones and is blasting a very angry rap song with distorted bass levels."

Steve closed his eyes, trying to take in a fraction of what Matt did even with his own enhanced hearing, only catching the humming noise from the refrigerator, muffled conversations, and a door slamming closed from the floor below.

"So, you hear everything within this building down to the streets?"

"And everything next door, across the street, and down the block. But I can filter everything out, layer by layer. It just takes concentration. A lot of it." Matt glanced toward the window. "Karen's here. She's paying the taxi driver right now."

Matt grabbed his glasses from the coffee table and slipped them on.

Steve didn't have time to think about the sheer magnitude of stimulus that was generated by a whole city on a daily bases and what type of focus was required to make living tolerable.

He walked over and opened the door before Karen even knocked. "Hey," Steve greeted. "I had a hunch it was you."


Karen had changed into a light grey sweater and a different pair of jeans; she looked more rested. "Sorry it took me so long, I ended up sacking out on my sofa for a few hours."

Matt stood up and walked to the middle of his living room, still wearing dark sweatpants and a hoodie, two days of scruff covering his face. "No need to apologize; you needed to sleep."

"And did you? Sleep that is?" Karen asked, looking at Matt's rumbled appearance.

"A few times."

"Good." Karen gave him a brief smile before carrying her box over to the kitchen table.

Matt didn't move or say anything after the awkward small talk and Karen busied herself unnecessarily with a few files from the box.

It was up to Steve to move things forward. "Did you learn anything while you were out?"

"Well. Not much." She gave her box a cursory look before folding her hands across her chest. "I talked to her grandmother. She said that Gina's mother had left to go on another bender last week, and the grandmother talked Gina into staying with her, but then Gina disappeared."

"Did she mention anything about the mother's dealers?" Matt asked. "Did they ever come by or cause trouble?"

"The grandmother didn't mention anything, but she lives on the edge of the Kitchen. When I spoke to some of Gina's neighbors, the older woman across the hall told me that strangers started coming in and out of the apartment at night." Karen pulled out several opened envelopes. "I also found these in the mailbox. Tons of late bill notices and at least two utility cut-off notices."

Matt smirked and Steve took the offered bills from her hand. "You stole her mail?"

"They were sticking out of the locked box," Karen said with a guilty smile. "I kind of felt it was public domain."

Matt leaned against the back of the sofa. "Gina's mom was in deep debt, using, and her daughter was about to move in with her grandmother."

"The chances of her running away are pretty slim." Steve began pacing while he spoke. "Maybe one of the dealers grabbed Gina for collateral or to put her to work."

"Put her to work?"

Karen looked at him, disturbed, and Steve realized how his turn of phrase could be misinterpreted. "Oh, I meant, selling drugs." He gave Karen the rundown on the number of minors being arrested for distribution and the increased rate of missing children.

Steve resumed pacing while Matt remained perched against the sofa, head bowed in thought. Karen curled her fingers around her mouth, the three of them contemplating scenarios.

"Maybe if we knew what type of drugs the mother was using, we could narrow down which dealers to track?" Karen suggested, sounding unsure.

"What about the day Gina went missing?" Matt asked, moving from the sofa to take a seat in one of the kitchen chairs. "Do we know any more details about that?"

"Yeah, she was at her doctor's." Karen said. "She has a standing appointment every month."

"For what?" Matt asked.

"Gina was born with a heart murmur, but it was starting to show signs of something called…," Karen rifled through her box and pulled out a piece of paper. "…a growing aortic stenosis. She started seeing a cardiologist and the last time anyone saw her was at the doctor's office."

Matt's head popped up with intense interest. "A heart murmur? Do you have her medical records by chance?"

"No. Why?"

Matt stood up with a grunt and paced in front of the kitchen table. "We're talking about a birth defect that is a narrowing of the left ventricle of the heart." He stopped mid-pace; arm held tight against his side and looked over at Karen. "Foggy's aunt had one."

"I don't know much about the condition. I could look it up." Karen pulled out her phone and started typing, scrolling for a few seconds. "Here it is. In aortic stenosis, the opening of the aortic valve becomes narrowed or constricted. This narrowing keeps the left valve from opening fully, reducing blood flow to the body and making the heart work harder."

Matt nodded along as she spoke. "Yeah, it has a harsh feel, kind of a crescendo-decrescendo shape."

"It has a shape?" Steve asked inquisitive. It almost sounded like sonar, which was fascinating to him.

Karen waited for Matt's answer as he stood between them, face screwed up in thought.

"It's hard to explain, but the closing and opening of the valves have this grating quality, the left artery is louder than the right." Matt gave a half hearted shrug with his good shoulder. "It makes a…a moving shape when I hear it."

Karen watched Matt with a mix of awe and incomprehension. She pushed back an errand strand of hair away from her chin. "You notice how loud a person's blood flows?"

"If I focus on it, especially when a defect has such an impact on the sound." Matt stood in thought, lips pursued together. Then his whole posture changed; he stood straighter and Steve saw a distinct shift—the same determination Steve had seen in him before he started going at the heavy bag. "I'm heading to the roof."

Steve knew exactly what Matt planned to do; he wasn't sure it was possible, even given the younger man's abilities. Then again, Steve had witnessed a person morph into a giant green man and a young woman shield him from explosives with the power of her mind. He had faith in the impossible.

"Do you really think you can find Gina through Hell's Kitchen?" Karen asked, stepping toward him. "You've never even met her, to you know, memorize her heartbeat."

Matt stopped long enough to put on a pair of sneakers from the closet, and then he started up the staircase, trailing a hand against the brick wall. "I won't know unless I try."


There was a bite in the wind; it stung Steve's cheeks and made him huddle beneath his shirt and the pea coat he grabbed from the Matt's closet. Karen wrapped her arms around her middle despite the long jacket she wore. They moved slowly forward, the moon and stars were not visible because of lingering cloud cover making it difficult to spot dings and potholes in the cement surface of the roof.

Matt however, walked across the rooftop with practiced ease until he reached the ledge and stared out over the city.

Not for the first time Steve was struck with the idea of Matt using a type of sonar to create an image, although he knew it was more complicated and overwhelming than that. How far would he need to stretch his senses to narrow down a single sound, using how many filters?

Matt jumped onto the narrow ledge and walked toward the east wall without thought. At any other time it'd seem like he was showing off, but Steve knew the rooftops were Matt's domain.

Matt reached the corner and stood, cocking his head like a bird, tilting it from the left side then to the right.

Steve almost held his breath even know it wouldn't be of assistance, but wanting to do something, anything to help.

Karen kept her distance, casting glances in Steve's direction, the two of them expressing the same thoughts without saying a word. Should they talk? Sit down? Remain still?

Matt's exhales were loud in the night air, his breathing rate rising in tempo, the muscles along his jaw flexing with effort as he bowed his head. If a stranger were to walk out right now, it'd appear as if he was contemplating jumping.

But after a moment he hopped down, and sat on the surface of the roof with his back to the corner, his face cast in shadow as he stared at the ground.

Resting his forearms on his knees, he seemed to be mediating on his quest, one minute stretching to the next, until he shook his head in frustration. "There's too many," Matt growled.

"Too many heartbeats?" Steve asked.

"Heartbeats, voices, a damn bar brawl breaking out on 5th and West." With some difficulty, Matt rose to his feet, annoyed. "It's a constant bombardment."

"Exclude the bar fight," Steve told him. "Get rid of all the angry, intoxicated sounds."

Matt took off his glasses and slipped them in the pocket of his hoodie, his gaze faraway.

"Now, filter out slow heart rates," Steve continued. "And all those really fast ones, those are babies and small children, block them out."

The rise and fall of Matt's chest slowed, his shoulders easing from their stiff posture. He stood inert, time stretching unforgiving and slow. "I…I can't find her."

Karen inched closer to Matt and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You said a murmur had a crescendo-decrescendo shape. That it's harsh. Gina's heart pumps blood louder in the left ventricle than softer with the right."

Matt nodded his expression blank. He lifted his head up and to the right, brow furrowing. "She's…," he licked his lips, his face a mask of pure focus. "She's near West 57th Street. Beyond 12th Avenue. I…I can't narrow it down any further."

Steve had memorized the map to Hell's Kitchen; that was almost twenty blocks away, on the outskirts of the city. He patted Matt on the shoulder. "You did enough."

Matt rested his gaze at Steve, giving him a weary half grin. "It's a start." He looked from Steve to Karen. "Thank you."

"You did all the work," Karen told him.

Pulling his glasses from the pocket of his hoodie, his hands shook a little as he slipped them back over his face. Then he carefully wrapped his arms around himself as if for the first time realizing it was cold, his whole body started to shiver. "And we still have a lot more to do if we're going to get her back."


Steve sat on the sofa with Karen; both of them listening to Matt who sat perched on the edge of the loveseat across from them.

"We should go out tonight and determine Gina's exact location. Recon the situation."

This wasn't a surprise for Steve to hear; whether Matt or Daredevil, his new friend was a man of action, and Steve doubted he made such decisions on a whim. "Could you determine any other details about the location or the number of other people?"

"Matt already said he could only locate her within the two blocks; I think that's pretty accurate."

Steve looked over at Karen and saw a fierce protectiveness in her eyes and probably a little fear at what they were discussing. Matt had forced her away from his life; this type of situation was probably very new.

"And it's gives us a starting point to conduct surveillance, but I'd like to know what we might be up against." Steve looked over at Matt. "You said up on the roof that we still have a lot more work to do. Did you detect something that gave you concern?"

Matt curled and uncurled his fingers like he missed holding and fidgeting with his cane. "I detected close to another twenty heartbeats, maybe more, but it was hard to tell if they were a few meters or a few hundred meters from Gina."

"But you suspect she's surrounded by a lot of people?" Steve asked.

"I'd bet on it."


Steve gathered a few bottles of water and Gatorade from Matt's refrigerator, wondering if Matt had anything to carry them with.

Karen grabbed the drinks from the counter and started putting them in the file box, answering his unspoken question. "Do we need anything else?"

Matt stood near the counter, looking uptight and irritated. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

"You know I can take care of myself," Karen told him. "I've been doing it for years without the need of super serums or enhanced senses. Besides. This is recon."

"Not every recon goes well, Karen. The situation could get deadly in seconds."

Karen looked to the ceiling before continuing with him. "You've been shot Matt, or did you forget that?"

"I've gone out in far worse condition."

Karen threw her hands up in the air, but Matt didn't seem to notice or acknowledge her frustration. He walked to his closet and opened up the chest storing his suit.

Karen looked over at what Matt pulled out and she placed her hands on her hips and glared at Steve. "You're the head of the Avengers; could you please talk some sense into him?"

Steve tried not to flinch at her choice of words.

Matt took out a black backpack and began transferring pieces of the red body armor inside it, ignoring Karen's pleas. The man was the epitome of stubbornness.

"You know that thing still has two bullet holes through it?" Steve pointed out.

"There's no time to get it repaired tonight, it'll have to wait until later," Matt replied.

It wasn't exactly a good answer.

Steve looked between them, the whole situation feeling like déjà vu, the need to step up and take charge was pure instinct.

Walking until he stood between them, he pitched his voice loud. "This is a joint operation. We need each other in order for it to succeed and that includes trust."

Steve stared at Matt, knowing the other man was aware of it. "Karen is the only one legally licensed or able to drive. We can't afford a screw-up because we get pulled over for a random stop or traffic violation."

Then he glanced at Karen. "We can't locate Gina without Matt and a good solider will never enter a potential battle without the proper gear or protection. If things get hairy, he needs to be Daredevil, and that armor is for his protection as well as everyone else."

Steve held himself tall. "We follow my lead and if things go sideways, I take point, and everyone heeds to my orders. Is that clear?"

Matt lifted his eyebrows in challenge. "Is that how the whole being a team thing works?"

"I'm not injured and I'm not a civilian. By default that makes me the team leader."

"Or maybe you just like being in charge." But there was no malice in Matt's tone.

Karen picked up the heavy backpack with the Daredevil suit, slung it over her shoulder, and waited. Matt nodded his appreciation at the gesture without argument.

Seeming satisfied, Karen gave Steve a hard stare. "And what about you?"

The question took Steve by surprise. "What?"

Matt grabbed his cane from a spot against the wall. "I think what Karen is trying to say is that Steve Rogers isn't bullet proof and maybe he needs some proper gear as well."


It took half an hour to drive to the location where his stuff was buried and despite Steve's desire not to waste time; he felt it was his duty to ensure the safety of the people with him.

He'd picked a construction site that was held up in legal issues regarding zoning; the place was surrounded by a chain fence and usually didn't attract much foot traffic. Using a storage locker had been another idea, but Steve had been too paranoid about SHEILD finding it even if he'd paid in cash.

Steve had insisted that Karen and Matt wait for him at a diner a few blocks away; he needed to slip in and out alone. It didn't take long to locate the half dug-up basement and he found a shovel then jumped into the shallow ditch.

It felt good to work up a sweat again, digging into the soil, stretching his muscles. Adrenaline fueled how he attacked each slam of the blade, increasing the size of the hole, creating piles of mud and dirt all around him. Minutes ticked away and Steve worked at a breakneck pace, obliterating the ground, sweat stinging his eyes.

When his shovel clanked against metal, his heart leaped into his chest.

His hands scrambled with the Asgardian chest, hefting it out of the ditch. His pulse thrumming, he pressed the symbols embedded in the top and the lid opened. It felt like a vise had squeezed his chest; the sheer emotions at seeing the familiar red, white, and blue Vibranium steel, was overwhelming.

How many times had he used it against the greatest monsters of men, shielded comrades-in-arms and complete strangers—until he wielded its astonishing power against his own friends?

He could still see Tony's bruised face as Steve slammed it into his metal suit.

It was like a crack in a dam and his eyes welled up from too much loss. Steve rested his forehead against the metal, his chest heaving. He ached for his former teammates, for Sam and Tony, Clint and his family, for the injustice and pain that still tortured Bucky. At all the years he'd lost with Peggy.

"It's not how many times you get knocked down that counts, Captain. It's how many times you get back up."

Steve lifted up his head to see Matt standing on the outskirt of the ditch, holding his good hand out for Steve to grab.

Steve took Matt's wrist and he walked up the muddy incline, carrying his shield with him. Matt wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulder, lending strength and compassion. It was a solid and grounding feeling, one that shored him up until Steve physically calmed.

"Thank you." After taking a moment to regain his composure, Steve wiped at his face. "Weren't you supposed to stay at the diner?"

Matt gave him a half smirk. "I might have been monitoring your progress."

"And Karen?" Steve asked.

"She wasn't about to be left in the car," she said, coming out from the shadows. "Sorry. I wanted you two to have your moment." Then she placed a hand over her mouth in awe. "Is that…is that your shield?"

Steve held it up for her to see and she reached out, tentative, and rubbed her fingers over it. "I just got shivers. Oh Matt, I wish you could see this."

"I remember what it looks like," Matt said his tone nostalgic.

"Would you mind carrying it to the car?" Steve asked. "I need to grab my suit, just in case I need it later."

Even though Matt's glasses hid most of his features, Steve could feel the honored surprise of his reaction. Mindful of his friend's injured shoulder, Steve put it in Matt's left hand.

Matt gripped the shield by the top handle, raising it up in admiration. "It's amazing."

Steve smiled, looking from Matt to Karen, his heart beating in rare moment of pride. "Now, let's go find a missing a girl."


Steve sat in the backseat so that Matt could help Karen navigate as they approached their destination. It was a quiet ride, there were fewer cars on the road, and it didn't take long for them to reach West 57th street.

Karen slowed their speed, casting glances in Matt's direction, her hands tight around the wheel.

"Head toward the docks," Matt told her.

"Are you sure?" Karen asked.

"Yeah."

They crossed 12th Avenue and went toward the river, five blocks from the ambush where Matt had been shot. "We're nearing the piers," Steve said, he could smell the lake.

Matt stared out the open passenger window, listening, his face obscured by shadows. "Gina's in the factory off of Pier 96."

"I've never driven out here," Karen said, following the road around the curve. "Is there a good place to park out of the way?"

"There's a vacant gas station south of the factory," Matt told her. "It should provide us some cover."

There were few working streetlights, giving them a strategic advantage. Karen found the gas station and turned into the darkened parking lot. They all got out of the car; Steve followed Matt as he walked toward the edge of the parking lot and faced the three story building across from them. The factory took up most of the block, a looming structure of cement and brick, perfect for concealment.

"What do we have?" Steve asked, looking for a sitrep.

Matt walked while he spoke, his demeanor composed and assessing. "There are three guards outside, two of them are roaming. Another twenty men are inside, all heavily armed with assault rifles and handguns."

"That's a lot of firepower." Steve scanned the factory. "I wonder what they're protecting?" he said half-heartedly. It was always about weapons or drugs.

"Amphetamines, thousands of pounds." Matt paused frowning. "And a lot of…chemicals. Mostly Polyvinyl chloride, highly modified by chlorination."

Karen raised an eyebrow in astonishment. "I'm going to have really re-think wearing perfume around you, Matt." Then she stared at the industrial plant. "Why would drug dealers care about manufacturing industrial chemicals?"

"So they could mask the odor of their product when they transport it out of the city." Steve shook his head, they were getting sidetracked. "What about Gina, did you locate her inside?"

Matt didn't reply, and Steve looked over at him, staring. "Matt, can you—"

"She's there, in the center of the building in some type of storage room. There's no easy way to reach her…or the others."

"The others?" Steve repeated, surprised.

"There are four other children with her." Matt swallowed, his voice stressed. "Gina's the oldest."

Five children and a warehouse of bad guys was already a complicated operation without an injured teammate.

Steve went over several strike scenarios, calculating the odds, as Matt wandered down the sidewalk.

"They're packing all the meth to be loaded onto a ship that's headed for Brooklyn tonight." Matt turned toward Steve. "We have to get them now."

Matt didn't even wait for Steve to reply before he headed toward the car to open the trunk.

"Do I need to remind you that teams have to work together?" Steve said to the back of Matt's head. "That includes decision making and discussing things like strategy."

"We can talk while we suit up."

Matt retrieved his body armor from the trunk while Karen seemed torn between helping him and listening to Steve.

Steve knew from experience, this was the most challenging lesson about team building: getting the lone wolves to realize the benefit of partnership.

"We don't even know if we're headed inside at the moment. If we take the time to stop and evaluate things, we might discover a less dangerous opening. But we can't make a risk assessment if we go off half-cocked."

"There's a…a sense of urgency going on in there…. Something bigger than I can put my finger on." Matt unzipped his hoodie to change. "You have to trust me when I say we have to go in now."

Steve had faced alien invasions and mythical monsters, but he knew never to underestimate an enemy. He trusted Matt regarding his own limitations; he'd obviously gone up against many foes with varying degree of injuries. But, while he watched Karen help Matt put on his gear, Steve couldn't stop thinking about the high level of risk.

Steve weighed their narrow options when an explosion went off in the distance. He spun around in time to see the outline of flames a mile away.

"What the hell?" Karen exclaimed.

"That's the warehouse district on the east side," Matt said, his voice shaken.

Steve searched for the source of the explosion, focusing on the flames, but there were too many buildings in the way. He expected Matt to fill him in what he could sense, but instead, Matt had turned toward the factory as he fastened the last tab of his chest armor.

Confused, Steve scanned the front of the factory and watched the guards talk frantically on their walkie-talkies, only catching bits and pieces of their conversation.

"Can you hear them?" When Matt didn't answer, Steve looked over at him in concern. "Matt."

"The factory…it's rigged with explosives."


"Matt, are you sure?" Steve listened for any discussion from the guards about a bomb, straining against all other outside noise.

"I just searched for signs of explosives and could smell the pentaerythritol tetranitrate."

Karen walked over to stand between them. "What about a timer?"

"They really only use those in the movies," Steve explained. "Most explosives are on a short delay or trigged by a cell phone."

"Do you think whoever blew up that other building is on their way here?" Karen asked.

It was a valid question and Steve didn't have an answer.

"There's no way of knowing. But we don't have a choice," Steve said, addressing them both. "Matt and I are going in. But we need to use earwigs to communicate at all times, and Karen, you'll need to keep us updated on all outside activity from here."

"I can do that," Karen said.

Steve gave her a box of communication devices from the kit he'd buried with his shield. She handed Matt an earwig while fiddling with her own.

Steve finished suiting up and inserted the last com in his right ear while Matt put on his helmet. This was Steve's calling, what he'd been doing for most of his life, why he put on the suit.

"Matt, I need you to lead me to the bomb and provide back-up. Karen, if you see another vehicle pull up, radio us and go in the opposite direction. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Karen crossed her arms over her chest and stared both Matt and Steve down. "But if someone drives up here, promise me you guys will get the hell out of there."

"We will," Matt said in his raspy, Daredevil growl. "Once we get those kids."


The lack of light provided great cover as Steve ran toward the side of the plant, keeping both he and Matt out of sight of the guards, who were now huddled at the front entrance.

One of the first rules taught in boot camp: never stand together in a close group.

Steve threw his shield, the metal edge smacking the first guard in the head, the angle and momentum causing it to connect with the second guy. By the time the third guard could aim his weapon; Steve punched him in the face.

"The front area is the packing part of the facility. It's filled with conveyer belts and dozens of drums of Polyvinyl chloride. There are four guys inside, three loading the containers onto a pallet truck, and one driving it." Matt paused, clenching his jaw. "There's a fifth man and he's dousing the room with gasoline."

"They plan on blowing up the building themselves after they evac." Were they trying to cover their tracks, or had they planned on killing five young witnesses, too? And what was with the explosion on the other end of the city? Steve shook off the distracting thoughts. He needed to focus, now. "Can you give me their exact positions inside?"

"Yes. But the better question is …how good is your vision in the dark?"

Steve could visualize Matt's half smirk. "Good," he answered.

"Great. Because I just located the power breaker; enter when I give you the signal that I've turned off all the lights."

Matt opened the door and vanished inside before Steve agreed. Communication skills were clearly something they needed to work on. Steve listened to all the movements inside, envisioning the layout.

"Now," Matt spoke through the com.

Steve used the back of one of the large conveyer belts for cover; the men inside the packing area too preoccupied with yelling at each other about the sudden darkness to notice him.

The conveyer belt took up the length of the long room and he kept behind one of the support stands. Even from where he stood, Steve could smell the burnt plastic coming from the Polyvinyl chloride being distributed along the conveyer belt and the open containers waiting to be sealed. The barrels were probably the perfect things to conceal any signs of meth during transport.

Polyvinyl chloride was toxic and nothing to be played around with, yet the goons using it weren't even wearing any protective clothing or safely goggles.

A beefy guy sat in the seat of forklift shouted at the others. "Damn it, Gomez, turn the damn power back on!"

"Screw you, Roach. Got my hands full, here!" Gomez screamed back, shaking a red container, the floor around the barrels covered with gasoline. "I've only got half this area covered and I need to finish the rest. Ask one of your bozo the clowns and see if they're capable of finding the light switch."

Steve wondered how much of the factory had already been doused with accelerate. The gas fumes were pretty damn strong; hopefully Matt had learned to ignore such odors. Aware that Matt was perched in the rafters above him, Steve whispered he was attacking.

He threw his shield; knowing the angle would clip the first two guys standing by the barrels. After his shield knocked over his first two targets, Steve ran over and kicked the third guy in the jaw then retrieved his shield from the floor.

"Holy crap!" Gomez said and dropped the container of gas on the floor as he reached for his sidearm.

Steve heard the chink of metal cable extending as Matt swung the end of his billy club into Gomez's face from his perch above.

Roach removed the safety to his AK-47 and Steve leaped out of the way before the man started shooting. But the AK-47 was knocked out of Roach's grip by the slam of a metal baton.

Steve climbed on the front of the forklift and Roach leaped out of seat and onto the ground. Steve jumped down and kicked the rifle Roach was scrambling for out of his reach. Snagging the baton that laid next to it, Steve tossed the weapon high in the air for Matt to catch.

Roach pulled out a knife, but he stood, gawking in the dark.

"Reinforcements are coming," Matt's voice came over the com. "Four more bad guys."

Steve had heard them approaching and began mapping out their trajectories. "Can you locate the bomb?" When he didn't hear a response, Steve spoke louder. "Daredevil?"

"Steve…There's two explosive devices. They're in opposite locations."

Steve deliberated fast. "We'll split up. You can lead me to the first bomb over the com and I'll walk you through disarming yours."

"That's not going to work."

Steve rolled his eyes. Of course that plan had one major flaw. "All right, we'll take out the reinforcements first."

Talking to Matt must have given away his position because Roach lunged at him with the knife. Steve sidestepped the charge and whacked the man on the back of his head with a chop of his hand.

"Steve, the bad guys have stopped right outside the corridor. They're fanning out."

Steve held up his shield, prepared to charge, when he heard ammo clips being loaded.

"Do you really think after dealing with the Punisher and the Devil's of Hell's Kitchen, we wouldn't be prepared?" One of the men outside the door yelled.

"Get down!" Matt yelled over the com.

Steve dove to the floor, covering his head with his shield, as hundreds of bullets ricocheted around him. The bad guys weren't aiming at anything specific; they just sprayed the room in hopes of hitting their targets in the dark. They didn't seem to care if they shot one of their buddies by accident.

But they would run out of ammo soon, Steve knew, and he would try to take advantage of the opening. "As soon as they re-load, I'm going on the offensive," he radioed to Matt.

There was a break in the bombardment and Steve rose to his feet. At that moment, the room lit up with emergency lighting.

He watched as one of the men facing him pulled a pin out of a grenade and threw it just as three others fired at the rafters over Steve's head in attempt to shoot at Daredevil.

Steve jumped up in the air and slammed the grenade out of the way while another goon threw a second one toward the barrels of chemicals.

Steve heard the explosion, and a split-second later, he was thrown by the resulting shockwave and fireball.


Steve's world faded in and out with the sound of gunfire, the smacking of fists against flesh, and the thud of a body hitting cement.

A female voice kept yelling in his ear and he tapped his com to reply. "Karen?" he groaned.

"Steve! Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes and they felt like someone poured acid into them. He squeezed them shut as they watered uncontrollably. Steve coughed, his lungs seizing in a fit, the back of his throat and the inside of mouth rubbed raw.

"Karen," he rasped, rising to unsteady feet. "Have you heard from Matt?"

"No! He won't answer me."

Steve forced his eyes open, the world a smear of darkness and the sensation of burning. There was a burst from an AK-47 to his right, about six meters away, followed by the snap of bone and a shout of pain.

He felt someone come up behind him and Steve swung out with his elbow. It was caught in a solid grip, motion halted.

"It's me," Matt said in his right ear, his voice rough.

Matt handed Steve his shield and Steve attached it to the magnetic harness on his back.

"Come on, we have to keep moving." Matt grabbed him by the arm and began shoving him forward. "Three meters ahead then turn right."

Steve gained his bearings the more he walked, noticing how Matt leaned heavily on him. "Are you injured?"

"I'm fine."

Matt yanked on Steve's arm when he almost walked into a corner. His eyes still burned from the chemical vapor in the air and Steve felt like he could swallow an entire truck of water.

"Okay, here we are," Matt told him, a hand on Steve's back moving him forward. "Bend over, use this emergency eye washer."

A stream of water sprayed his eyes and Steve opened them wider in relief.

"If you were anyone else…you would have suffered a traumatic brain injury…. But your eyes will only super-heal if you rinse them out," Matt panted, out of breath.

Steve heard the sound of people approaching, but Matt was already moving. "I'll be right back."

"Wait," Steve growled, moving his head away from the faucet.

"No." Matt grunted, pain cutting a ribbon of tension through his gruff voice. "You've got one job…and that's to disarm the bombs…. Now rinse your eyes."

Matt moved away, staggering a little. Steve continued cleaning out his eyes until his vision cleared.

He heard Matt's baton in the air, heard it striking a target, then the sound of punching and kicking.

Wiping the remaining water from his face, Steve blinked several times, following the sounds of the fight into the corridor. By the time he reached the source of the battle, all he could hear were the rough, rasps of heavy breathing and the sounds of the fire from the front area of the facility. It would spread soon.

He saw Matt use the wall for support, his knees shaking as if his legs were about to give out from under him.

Steve ran over, grabbing his arm to help keep him steady. "Matt," he whispered, keeping his voice low. He turned the other man to face him. "How bad is it?"

Matt pressed his forehead against Steve's chest, still gasping. "I might have…popped some stitches."

Steve didn't waste a second; he took Matt's good arm and wrapped it around his shoulder, ignoring Matt's groan. "Okay, focus. Can you lead me to the bombs?"

"Go down the hallway…toward the maintenance room."

Matt kept up better than Steve expected; the smaller man used him for support, but his feet were steady. "How many men are left in the building?"

"Six. The explosion killed three guys…and I took out four more of their buddies."

Steve entered the maintenance room and immediately spotted the explosive device.

The bomb was large with almost fifty pounds of dynamite; it could blow-up half the building and was well-designed, with anti-tampering mechanism including a series of switches that could either disarm it or cause it to explode.

"Damn," Steve cursed, uncharacteristically.

"That bad?"

"Yeah." Steve shook his head at how professional it looked. "An amateur didn't build this."

"Can you…cut the wires or something?"

"I wish," Steve said, studying the components. "The point of a bomb is to explode so the makers usually hide the wires."

If he were alone or if the blast radius were smaller, Steve would just use his shield to deflect the explosion. But that wasn't an option. He pulled out a Swiss army knife, trying to figure out where to begin without tripping the sensors or activating the detonator.

"Maybe if I could separate the blasting caps from the rest of it…."

Matt stared at the mass of dynamite and tape. "What do you need?"

"Normally the best way to disarm a bomb is a controlled detonation." Something they couldn't do. "The second most common method is to use liquid coolant to freeze the motion-sensing fuses and find a way to stop the donator."

Matt scanned the room and stared at something in the corner. "What about an air duster?"

Matt lurched toward a cabinet and fumbled with one of the doors. He found a can and almost dropped it when it slipped through his obviously weakening grip.

"I've got it." Steve grabbed it and inwardly cursed the serum-enhanced senses that allowed him to hear Matt's increasingly rapid heartbeat. "This might work."

Taking the can of compressed air, Steve walked over and sprayed all the components with the cooling vapor.

"We've got company coming," Matt announced and before Steve could say anything, he disappeared around the corner.

"Damn it," Steve cursed.

Matt had already dragged Steve to safety and fought-off several men, ripping open his healing wound in the process. Steve had smelled the blood beneath Matt's suit; he was furious that there wasn't any time for triage.

Steve almost crushed the nozzle, empting the whole can of air duster onto the sensors and the electronic trigger device.

Taking a deep breath, he used his pocket knife and pried away the first blasting cap.

One down.

He repeated the process with the second blasting cap, exhaling heavily, without a trigger there couldn't be an explosion. Steve crushed them with the hell of his boot. Removing his shield from his back harness, Steve ran toward the sounds of another brawl.

He entered a hallway with all the ceiling light fixtures smashed-out. Steve leaped over an unconscious man slumped on the floor and entered the fray of an on-going fight.

Matt ducked a fist aimed at his face and swept a leg under his much larger opponent, knocking him down. But his momentum was too much for Matt to control and he staggered into a wall, only the sheer power of will seemed to be keeping him on his feet.

Matt's opponent rose to his feet, all six foot two and two hundred pounds of muscle. Growling, the man lowered himself like a football player and charged.

Steve stepped in front of Matt. The guy's shoulders crashed into Steve and the rest of his body crumbled into a heap from the impact. Steve didn't waste time with him, aware another bad guy was trying to sneak up behind him.

Knowing every second was of the essence; Steve spun around and punched the other man in the sternum. The bone cracked beneath his fist and the man gasped, clutching his chest before collapsing.

Matt made his way toward Steve, using the wall for support. Blood dripped from his mouth and his breathing was strained. "We've got…to keep going. Grab the kids…."

Steve took Matt's left arm and slung it over his shoulder. "We've got to find the second bomb."

"It's too late," Matt wheezed.

"Bone? Lopez?" A voice squawked from a walkie-talkie Steve noticed lying on the floor. "Come in, over!"

"Too late for what?" Steve asked, dragging Matt along.

He didn't need to ask where they needed to go; Steve could hear the children screaming through the cement walls.

"To the vigilant nuisance crawling around in my warehouse," the same voice spoke from one of the radios. "I hope you burn in hell."

Steve held Matt up by his chest and leaned him back against the wall for support before the concussive force of fifty pounds of explosives went off.

Matt screamed as the walls shook, reaching up clumsily to try to protect his ears, the vibration of the explosion ringing through Steve's teeth. He kept Matt upright until the detonation ended, feeling the thrum of his friend's frantic pulse until the rumbling subsided.

He listened hard for sounds of the children, his own heart pounding when their sobs finally reached his ears.

Steve could feel Matt shaking, knew his friend was injured and hurting, but they had to keep going. He grasped Matt by the shoulders, forcing the stunned man to focus on him—his voice, his presence.

"Matt…Hey, hey. Listen. We've got to finish this mission." His hand slid up to grip Matt's blood-covered chin. "Do you understand?" Steve asked in between his own harsh breaths.

Matt pushed himself painfully upright, gripping Steve's shoulder hard until he was somewhat steady on his feet. "We have five minutes…until a fire engulfs this entire building."


Steve followed the muffled sounds of the children's screams through the walls while helping Matt down the hall. The south entrance was still on fire from the grenade and the bomb had consumed the east section.

"Matt, do we have anymore bad guys to worry about?" Steve asked.

"The last four are…outside loading the…meth onto trucks."

Steve promised himself he'd never rest until they were all behind bars.

Smoke filled the corridor, the temperature skyrocketing every second from the nearing flames. He anchored Matt; kept an arm around the other man's waist, taking some of his weight as they sprinted down the hall at the fastest pace possible.

Steve didn't need to look up to see the flames begin to appear in the rafters above them. Cement walls were great barriers, containing the fire so it wouldn't spread to other buildings while trapping it inside, causing the fire to seek out oxygen in the large empty sections above their heads.

Sweat rolled down the exposed areas of Steve's face, the fumes burned his eyes. But the office was only a few meters away, the shouts of the kids and their pounding fists against the door the only things he focused on.

Steve let go of Matt, who followed slowly behind him, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. Steve ran toward the heavy, metal door. "We're here to help. Stand away from the door!" he yelled.

The frantic pounding ceased and Steve kicked the door, knocking it off its hinges.

Five young teenagers rushed out, tear-stained and scared, all of them frantically staring at the flames behind him, frozen in fear like rabbits.

"Come on, follow us to safety!" Steve yelled, trying to corral them.

Two girls stared up at Steve, one of them ten or eleven years old, the other one with familiar strawberry-blonde hair, looking petrified. "Are you kidding me?"

The three boys looked ready to bolt. If they ran away from Steve, they could get lost and separated.

"Gina," he said, addressing her, the growing heat literally sucking away the air in the hallway. "Listen, I know you're scared, but your grandmother sent us. We're here to help. But we have to go now!"

"My grandma knows Captain America?" Gina said dumbfounded.

"Whoa," one of the older boys said. "And Daredevil."

Matt came out of the darkness, looking very like the demon his persona was meant to project. "The fire's moving. We have to run!"

"Everyone grab the hand of the person next to you." The kids obeyed, hanging onto every one of Steve's words. "Good, now Gina, take my hand and you…," Steve pointed at the oldest boy.

"Joey," the teen responded.

"Joey, grab Daredevil's hand."

Joey stared at Matt in horror, then at the flames, and quickly took Matt's wrist.

"Don't let go of your buddy," Steve instructed and started running toward the back of the building.

"This isn't summer camp," one of the other boys muttered.

The group ran down the hall, the temperature inside felt like an oven. It was a race against combustion. The fires were spreading – producing columns of hot gas toward the ceiling, collecting and seeking more oxygen.

For a normal person, it would be hard to see through the darkness and growing smoke. But Steve had incredible night vision and he led them toward the back loading area. The children were quiet except for their heavy breathing and occasional sobs of fear.

Steve felt Matt behind him, keeping up with the frantic pace, the only sign of his injury the grunt and groans he was unable to keep at bay. Steve didn't know how Matt stayed on his feet-active meditation, adrenaline, or pure will power-but he thanked the heavens that he did it.

Joey started coughing, and one of the other two girls began to drag behind, forcing Steve to slow down.

"I…I can't breathe," Gina cried.

Steve wrapped an arm around Gina's shoulders, urging her forward. "Just a little further, honey."

The flames traveled horizontally along the ceiling, faster than they could run, a thick layer of heated air, moving downward.

There was a faint whimper and a shout from behind. Steve glanced back in time to see Matt pick the youngest boy up and off the floor and almost topple over in the process.

Joey grabbed the kid by the shirt collar and slung him arm over his shoulder so Matt wouldn't have to carry the child. "I've got Eli," he told Matt.

Gina and her friend screamed and Steve returned his attention to in front of him. He watched in horror as the flames leaped down and toward some of the remaining crates in the loading area.

A wall of fire blocked their escape.

The youngest girl wrapped her arms around Gina, crying, while Gina whispered, "It's okay, we're okay."

Gina put one of her arms around Steve's waist, the two girls huddling against him.

All three boys crowded together against Matt, and he faced Steve, the two men not wanting to say out loud what they needed to do. Steve knew his suit was fire resistant, and he guessed so was Matt's.

Unclasping his shield, Steve held it out in front of him, prepared to order the children to fall back behind him and run–

But the words died on his lips at the sound of a harsh whooshing. A white cloud cut through the flames and a figure in a dark trench coat emerged with two fire extinguishers.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" the guy yelled. "A damn invitation?"

"Frank," Matt muttered.

Steve didn't care who he was; he focused only on the escape the man provided, and grabbed the hands of two of the girls. He looked over at Gina to find her trying to console her distraught friend. Bending over, he picked up the smaller girl and held her against his chest.

Steve looked at Gina and her other friend. "When I say now, I want you to run."

Matt gathered the boys and moved toward Steve. "We're ready."

"Enough screwing around," Frank growled. He turned around and sprayed the growing flames with both nozzles, creating an escape.

"Now!" Steve yelled as he and the girls ran through the path Frank had created.

Karen was waiting outside, holding up another fire extinguisher. But when she noticed that none of the kids were on fire; she dropped it, and started helping guide the children to safety.

Gina and her friend collapsed to the ground, Karen covering them with a blanket. Steve carried the other little girl outside and lowered her to the grass as flashes of light almost blinded him.

He looked up to see bystanders taking pictures, the little girl hugging his neck. Steve saw Gina out of the corner of his eye as she whispered, thank you.

Steve ignored the camera flashes and the distant sounds of sirens, and he turned around to help the others, only to find no one behind him. Unclasping his shield, he started to run into the burning building when the other children rushed out…alone.

The three boys huddled with Gina and her friends, all of them coughing and hugging each other.

"Where's Matt?" Karen yelled.

Picking up the extinguisher she'd dropped, Karen looked ready to charge back toward the building when Frank Castle stormed out, dragging Matt at his side. He ignored Steve, Karen, the kids, and the unexpected array of amateur paparazzi and hauled Matt—who seemed to be unconscious or nearly there—along with him.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Steve yelled, following them.

"Well, Red is kind of bleeding out," Castle shot back over his shoulder. "So, unless you want me to drop him off at the nearest ER, I'm taking him to my place."

"Like the hell you are," Steve growled.

Castle walked toward a beat-up black, four-door truck and stood in front of it, leaning Matt against the truck bed and holding the smaller man up using his shoulder against Matt's chest while he opened the driver's door. "I've got blood and supplies stored at my place. You could be useful and take Red's suit off and place pressure on the wound while I drive. Or, I dunno; you could just stand there like some grunt."

"You can trust him, Steve. He won't hurt Matt."

Steve stared at Karen, unsure what to be more bewildered by: the fact she trusted Frank Castle, or that she gave away Matt's identity.

Castle snorted. "Don't worry Captain; I know about Red's secret. He was my lawyer."

"I'll stay with the children," Karen said, putting a hand on Steve's shoulder, staring at Matt in fear. "Go with Frank."

Steve willed his adrenaline and nerves to calm down as he glared at Castle. "You make one wrong move and I'll lay you out."

Steve carefully took Matt from Castle, Matt's head lolling on Steve's shoulder as he took all of his weight. Matt groaned from the movement and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

"Only a few more steps," Steve told him.

Karen hurried and opened the back passenger-side door as Steve got Matt in the back, the wounded man all but falling against the seat.

"We did good buddy," Steve said as he removed Matt's helmet, his friend's completion ashen under the smears of blood and soot. "You just have one more mission and you had better complete it."