I know I said I'd do Frog-Man (true hero), but I was actually kinda excited for this chapter. It's a bit shorter than usual, but since this is an actual plot and fighting chapter I excused myself. I know some people are going to be pissed at the end of this chapter, so I'm already bracing myself. Well, either that or people get really hyped. Could go either way. I'll be updating Two Spiders on a Web after this so we can have a bit of a break.

Anyway, I read the latest Spider-Gwen and one of the comments people - myself included - had is that Gwen/Harry has absolutely zero chemistry. I'm hoping the pairings in this story don't fall under the same trap. Given this I should probably downplay the romantic gushy moments and make them rarer so it doesn't feel forced or stale.

Next plot chapter will be focusing on Lana primarily. That and Gwen telling her dad and Jess about her new tagalong. Cue George Stacy going for his gun cabinet and inviting Peter over for dinner.

So the majority votes for the symbiote's name are either Chocolate (I seriously just suggested that as a joke) or Charlie, which is just another way to say chocolate. Laura's also the prime vote for the host, which might make things...difficult. Incidentally, I love how many are into the idea just cause it makes Cindy suffer. Guess that 'Cindy is Laura's mom' plot took off way more than I intended.

Side Note - When I asked about GweMJ last chapter I did not mean I would break up Peter/Gwen now. I meant that I wondered if people would've preferred that as the pairing in V1 all those months ago vs the Peter/Gwen pair we got. I have no break-up plans.

Adding to that, I've gotten at least a couple of reviews for Matt/MJ. That...came out of nowhere. Is it cause they're both redheads who were possessed by monsters? Cause something tells me Gwen would FREAK OUT if MJ ever went for it.


"This is the place?"

The nondescript office building he and Matt stood in front of was hardly something that looked like it belonged to someone as vaunted as the Hand, but he knew that beggars couldn't be choosers. With the Beast dead and a lot of their assets totaled thanks to him and Moon Knight's (and Rand's, according Spector) efforts across the past year, an office building was all they could really afford.

"Yes. Not as cavalier as my previous evil lair, isn't it?" Whatever cry for redemption he had, that damn smile never changed. He looked like a shark who smelled blood in the water. The devil costume didn't help, "After you killed Alexandra, they lost a lot of their funding."

"Probably shouldn't have left all their money on a woman who had an ego bigger than that Skrull ship." He supposed it was inevitable. After you lived for so long you either got so paranoid about every little thing or you thought you were invincible. Alexandra and Sowande were the latter while Bakuto and Gao were the former. Always hiding behind their lies and proxy soldiers the same way Matt did a year ago. Except for them it was because they were afraid.

And then there was Murakami.

He'd only faced the (very) elderly Japanese man once, back when he'd escaped that Hand dungeon, but he'd never forget him. Crusty old bastard was as tough as leather with a face to match. He didn't care about the thought of dying. Not because he was confident; he just didn't care if it could happen.

Peter took another slow breath from his cigarette - which Gwen was not so subtly nudging him to quit... - and looked up at the building. He knew from experience that Murakami was a brute, obsessed with honor and with a bizarre sense of fair play. Long as he responded in kind Murakami was predictable and, best of all, focused on him and him alone. He knew for a fact that Sowande, Bakuto and Gao weren't nearly as easy.

Speaking of.

"Not going armed?" Murdock asked as soon as he pulled out both pistols and unloaded them. He removed the bullets from the chambers and Murdock smiled, "Ms. Stacy's not watching, you know?"

"We want to kill Murakami, right?" He put the pistols and magazines back into his jacket and began unloading his bracers, "He won't run, not if he thinks he can get a fair fight out of this. No need to sneak around when we can go through the front door and get what we want." Besides, he probably warded the building so he couldn't go invisible. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Thankfully the two of them were alone. Despite the sun just barely setting the entire street was empty save a few parked cars. Last thing he wanted was to draw attention or have anyone take a picture of Spider-Man working along with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, "Sure you can fight?" He emptied the last magazine from the bracer and put it in his pocket.

"Worried for me?"

"Answer the question before I break your other arm."

Murdock laughed. The fact that only his jaw was exposed made it more unnerving than it should have been, "Yes, I should be able to." He moved his right arm experimentally, "Ms. Stacy broke the bone, but Stick's teachings allow me to keep it mended for the time being. I'll face the consequences of that soon enough." Peter didn't ask. He didn't care.

"Right. Let's go."

The lobby was brightly lit, spacious and looked like no one had been there since it was made. The chairs and tables were meticulously cleaned and the front desk had no one manning it. Peter made his way towards it with Matt right next to him and picked up the logbook, "Hmm, rather rude of them," Matt said airily, "I expected that there'd be a bit of a welcoming party."

"You're in the wrong place if you're expecting champagne." He picked up the logbook and the pen. If Murakami had his way they it would've just been the two of them in an empty room with no distractions. Again, he liked that about him; guy was stubborn as an ox and had a temper to match.

He wrote their names down - Daredevil (dumb name) and Spider-Man - and raised the page to one of the security cameras on the wall. The message was clear: Come and get us.

Matt raised his head and smiled wryly, "Well, that did it. You kicked the hornet's nest now."

"You can always turn back."

"And miss spending time with you? Not for anything."

Peter dismissed him with a rude gesture and turned to the elevator at the end of the lobby, "Get ready." He cracked his knuckles and lowered himself into a fighting stance while Matt unsheathed his billy clubs.

*Ding*

They were out immediately and with no warning. Murakami was a hermit who didn't like to get involved in the politics, but he wasn't like the rest of the Fingers: his men were disposable, yes, but that didn't mean they were just bodies to throw into the grinder like it was with Matt, Sowande and Gao. Meaning they'd have a fight on their hands.

Half a dozen men and women in suits strolled out of the elevator. The first two, both men, led the pack, one of them holding a sword and the other wielding a baton. No firearms, as expected; Murakami thought it made them weak and reliant, "Huh, guessing the boss is upstairs?" None of them said a word. He'd take that as a yes, "Guessing you stooges are the welcoming party, right? Fine, let's go."

He waited for them to make the first move. The man with the baton charged forward and Peter dodged his blow, grabbed his arm and twisted. The man didn't scream even as Peter twisted his arm behind his back and slammed him to the ground hard enough to knock him out.

The rest were on them already. Matt threw one of his billy clubs and hit a woman wielding a nightstick right in her throat, causing her to crumple to the ground. He dodged the slash from the one with the sword and kneed him in the gut, "These are Murakami's best trained?" His smile was wide and could generously be described as crazed. He was enjoying this.

"Focus." Peter grabbed another one of the goons and headbutted her. Blood gushed out of the broken nose and stained the dark fabric of his mask. The woman was barely on the ground before the elevator dinged again and more goons walked out. Murakami must've been using them as a hazing. Anyone who didn't last or survive clearly wasn't worthy of the Hand.

Matt punched another one in the jaw and he crumpled like a stuffed sack, "Heh, this is fun." Peter rolled his eyes as they were forced back to back with the goons surrounding them. This reminded far too much of that time back when Jack and his mad followers went on a rampage. Except this time there wouldn't be a weedy arms dealer at the end of it.

Matt ducked when a man with a knife charged at him. Peter turned around and kicked the guy straight in the chest while Matt took his previous place and tripped another man with a baton before stomping on his face, "Just like told times." Peter scowled. He talked like they were friends or something,

"Shut up." He yanked the closest one with a net of webbing and headbutted him before taking his baton. It wasn't his preference, but he'd make do, "Come on."

Three of them charged at him. Peter lowered into a sudden crouch and Matt rolled across his back to kick the closest one across the face while he webbed the remaining two with both hands and tripped them to the ground. Matt smacked them both in the heads hard, "We work well together." Peter didn't say anything and turned around just in time to kick out a goon trying to slice his neck clean off.

He hated to admit it, but Matt was a...decent partner. It wasn't a surprise. He only had a month, but Peter did train with Stick while Matt was being raised as Stick's own personal child soldier. They fought similarly, even if he hated the thought of the two of them being similar in any way.

Peter leaned back to avoid the knife and it just barely cut through the cheek of his mask. He quickly adjusted himself smacked the woman's gut with the tip of the baton before following up with a strike to her face, "Tch." He raised a hand to his right cheek quickly and frowned at the blood on his fingers. If Stick were here he'd beat him black and blue for getting distracted.

"He certainly would." Peter dropped the baton and let Matt deal with the last goon. Counting all the men and the backup that was over a dozen men easily, and he wasn't naive enough to think that was the end of it. This was the welcoming party Matt was expecting, "Guessing you're on the top floor?" He asked to the security camera. No response, "You better not run. I'm playing by your rules, after all."

He called the elevator back down and Matt walked beside him. He looked none the worse for wear apart from a rapidly forming bruise on the right side of his mouth and blood on his knuckles. His smile was still there, "Hmm, it's nice fighting something more than an opportunistic rapist." Peter didn't say anything and pressed the button again. Now Murakami was just taunting him, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Shut up."

Matt sighed, "You know we don't have to be enemies."

The elevator doors opened, "Doesn't mean we have to be friends either." He looked back, "Come on, unless you wanna take the stairs."

"I was going to so we wouldn't have to be confined to small space, but if you insist." Matt grinned and strolled inside before Peter could shut the door in his face. Damn it. Sighing himself, Peter pressed the button to the top floor.

It was mercifully quiet for a few seconds, though of course it didn't last, "What do you plan to do after this?" Peter didn't say anything, "I mean, you can't just be Spider-Man 24/7, hm? Without the Hand I daresay you might actually have time to be Peter Parker, especially given Ms. Wilson's Initiative program. No need to run yourself ragged solving ill and woe of this city."

Again, he said nothing.

"Well, assuming I survive this little war Karen wants me to go back to being a lawyer. Pro bono work, of course, just helping little old ladies who got scammed by the big bad conglomerates or helping a crippled child sue the bank for everything because a disability means people sympathize." He tapped his covered eyeholes, "Me being a so-called helpless blind man really sold the 'innocent possessed by the Devil' angle'."

"What makes you think you'll even survive this?"

"Perhaps I'm optimistic." He shrugged lightly, "And if I don't...well, we all have to get our ticket punched eventually. I will admit that a part of me wants to end it because the anxiety keeps me up at night. You know the feeling: you worry so much on what could be that a part of you just wants to get it over with. Even the worst of Hell's torments pale to some of the nightmares I've had thinking on it."

"...I think you're underestimating it." Peter scoffed.

Matt laughed, "Perhaps, but keeping an optimistic mind helps with the day to day." He hummed, "...Do you ever think about it? What comes after, I mean?"

He should've kept quiet, but the damn elevator was making him stir crazy, "Not really." It wasn't a whole lie. He did think about times, though now he'd made his peace with it. Gwen and a few others like Cindy were definitely heading to the choir invisible upstairs, but as for him and everyone else...well, guess they'd have to flip a coin for that. Page'd probably dangle it over their heads at some point.

"In control as always. It's no wonder I fell in love with you."

His spider-sense didn't blare. Peter didn't say anything and just waited for the final floors to tick down. He was sure that if Gwen were here she would've had a meltdown, so probably best if he didn't mention it. He could tell it took everything she had not to follow him to Matt's place; finding out about this would mean she'd never stop hovering over his shoulder. Justifiably so, but still.

Matt smirked and put a hand under Peter's jaw and turned his head to his. They were scant inches from each other now, "You know, in many situations silence is treated as consent." Matt's expression showed off his teeth.

Peter grabbed his wrist and snarled, "How's a broken jaw treated?"

"Much less positively." He chuckled and titled his head just before the elevator suddenly stopped a few floors from the top. Peter let go of him, "Well, looks like we have one more gauntlet to run. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

This time he didn't wait for them. As soon as the doors were opened he charged out and tackled the closest goon to the wall with a sickening crack. Another goon rushed to his back back Matt threw a billy club to the side of his head.

He could hear them all, crowded around the rooms. Peter sneered, grabbed the goon from the wall and tossed him through the door. The wooden doors practically fell off their hinges as the goon flew through the air and crashed through a nearby table. A few of the stooges actually turned to look in shock at their compatriot's state, which gave him just enough time to press the attack.

He didn't kill any of them and neither did Matt, but that didn't mean they were going to go easy on them. Peter hit them hard and fast, blood, teeth and spit flying out with every blow. Matt was the same, breaking their bones and leaving them crumpled in the floor with whatever he could get his hands on. At one point he even stabbed a stooge through the palm with a boxcutter after smashing him against the wall.

It was disturbing just how familiar it all was. He definitely saw Stick's training, but in many ways Matt reminded him of Bullseye and Moon Knight: crazed and clearly enjoying the pain he gave and take. All throughout he never stopped smiling and sometimes he laughed even when a knife nearly chipped through the armor and pierced his stomach.

"Because I want to die."

Good thing Peter didn't care about him.

Peter finished off the last goon and let him fall to the floor. This time he managed without a scratch, "Planning to tire me out?" he asked aloud. He kicked one of the groaning mooks and nudged his head to Matt, "Come on, I'm getting tired of this."

The two of them made their way up using the stairs. Peter ducked to avoid the sword as soon as he opened the door and Matt threw another club hard enough to break the bastard's nose. Peter grabbed him by the collar just long enough for the man's eyes to widen before he threw him down the stairs where he fell with multiple painful cracks.

"...That was cruel."

"Cry me a river."

The top floor was devoid of all life. Peter opened the door and raised a brow when he saw that empty, brightly lit hall, "Guess he's done stalling." He kicked the door open and strode inside. The hallway went two ways: straight ahead to a large room and to the left to who only knew where. Murakami would've been at the room; all the better for his fight.

"I guess this is where we split ways." Matt hummed, "You deal with Murakami and I'll check in on the rest of the rooms. Perhaps we'll find something useful on the other Fingers."

"Do what you want."

"Telling me you want me to be careful would be nice."

"So would you jumping off the building. Wanna trade?"

He chuckled and left, leaving Peter to trudge the length of the hallway alone. Despite the dozens of men they fought through below he couldn't help but feel a slight weight in his stomach. He didn't like to think about it, but he'd only been alive for a scant 19 years; nothing compared to the centuries of the Fingers. He'd brushed against death so many times now and he wasn't even old enough to drink.

He opened the door.

The room was large and completely empty save for its sole occupant. Murakami knelt on the floor with his back facing him, his head bowed and his breathing level with a small ninjato at his side. An amateur would've thought that he was sloppy, careless. Peter knew the truth: a normal man had no chance of landing a single hit on him.

"Hey. Been a while."

"Ore no buka wa shippai shimashita." Peter smiled wryly. Murakami's voice was as rough as gravel and his slow words added a menace to it that couldn't be denied, "Anata wa hitori de konakatta."

"Don't worry, Matt's not gonna interrupt us."

"Yoi."

The older man stood and turned to face him. Murakami wasn't young despite his so-called immortality - his face was tanned and rough like leather and the wrinkles around showed a man who'd survived many years against other people's attempts otherwise. Despite that he was anything but feeble; even under his coat and shirt it was obvious he had the body of a fighter and what little skin that wasn't covered showed peeks of ornate tattoos.

Stick had said once that Murakami looked more like he belonged in the Yakuza or Triads than something like the Hand. Peter agreed, though that was hardly a bad thing. Like he said, the bastard was predictable.

"Bokutachi no saigonotatakai wa mikan no mamadeshita."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't at my best." Peter shut the door behind him as Murakami took off his coat and shirt, exposing the tattooed body underneath. That was how fought - no armor, no tricks, and no help. If he couldn't survive on his own then he didn't deserve to, simple as that. How old bastard managed to even join the Hand in the first place was beyond him.

"I'm gonna keep my clothes on, if it's all the same to you." Murakami didn't say anything and just waited for him to take his place across from him, "You know, I like someone who doesn't my jaw my ear off. Ready?"

"Anata ni."

Murakami struck first. Peter side-stepped the heavy punch and countered with a knee to the chest. Murakami blocked his leg and pushed him back with a powerful blow to the chest, 'Still as fast as ever.' Peter stumbled back slightly and took a slightly strained breath. Going invisible wouldn't work here - he could feel the countermeasures on the walls - and the room offered no advantage to either of them.

Murakami's blows were fast and difficult to dodge even with his enhanced speed. Peter ducked and tried to sweep his leg only for the old bastard to jump and almost kick his head off as he landed. Peter scowled and pressed the attack, punching at whatever vulnerabilities he could spot.

The first two blows were dodged and the third was blocked. Murakami's mouth twitched in pain from the force of the blow and Peter ejected a net of webbing. The web clung briefly to the surface of his skin before falling to the ground uselessly, "...Came prepared, huh?" He retreated slightly to the hard wall as Murakami advanced on him. Maybe he really should've taken Gwen's offer earlier. Centuries of combat experience meant nothing when your opponent could shrug off being shot by rifle rounds.

Murakami's next blow almost struck him square in the jaw. Peter dodged the blow and his fist impacted with the concrete wall hard enough to break it, 'Damn.' Peter grabbed the older man's arm before he could pull it back and smashed the elbow with his own arm. There was a sickening crack and Murakami's face knotted in pain just by the smallest amount.

Peter twisted his arm back, breaking the bone even further, and pressed him against the wall, "Saw your men at a museum not too long ago. What were they after?"

"Sore ga Gao no jigyōdesu." Peter's brows furrowed. Gao's business? He was sure those were Murakami's men. Hm, probably on loan. The old bastard didn't much care for the day to day. Long as they left him alone to do his hunts they could do whatever he wanted.

He didn't get a chance to ask another question before Murakami's supposed to be broken arm broke out of his grip and he headbutted him. Peter stumbled back from the sudden, unexpected blow. He ducked to avoid the next punch and was too slow to the react to the kick aimed at his chest that forced him on his back, "Shit..." His spider-sense screamed and he rolled to avoid the ninjato coming straight for his neck.

"Time to use weapons now?" Peter eyed his arm. The bone had definitely broke and yet there he was using it like nothing was wrong. He was really starting to hate that Chi thing, "'Fraid I didn't come with anything sharp and pointy. Still don't like guns, right?" He tried not to think of the irony that he was the chatty one in this relationship. Gwen would've had a field day.

Somehow the slashes and stabs were even faster than the punches and kicks. Peter let his spider-sense guide him and he almost felt like a puppet on a string as he ducked and weaved Murakami's trained strikes. It was an odd feeling, one he didn't like very much. Teresa told him something about his spider instincts before, but he still wasn't much a fan of feeling out of control in his own body.

Peter flipped back and aimed a kick at Murakami's outstretched arm. The blade flew through the air and crashed against the nearby wall. Peter kicked Murakami in the chest hard enough to make him stumble back and clicked twice on Gwen's webshooter to snag the handle of the blade. By the time the weapon was in his hands and Murakami realized what happened the blade had already come down.

The blade cut through the ring and pinky fingers of his right hand before he could move his arm fully. His other hand struck Peter's wrist and the blade fell with a dull clatter between them. His eyes snapped down to it briefly and that was long enough for Murakami to headbutt him again and kick him into wall.

They stayed in the opposing corners. Murakami was on his knees and looking down at his mangled hands while Peter panted and tried to recover from the blow to the solar plexus. He wasn't used to this. 'Honorable' fighting...it sounded like a joke to him. A fight was a fight and the dirtier you went the better chance you had. Shoot someone in the bad, cut the lights, even drop the ceiling on top of them. The time of duels and bowing had long passed.

Peter regained his breath and stood up. Murakami was still on his knees, but his gaze was focused and steely. He was ready for round two.

He barely managed a couple of steps before his spider-sense screamed. He knew that warning - nowhere to go. Before he could do more than brace himself a sudden, unseen force crossed the length of the room and he was flung into the wall like a ragdoll. His breath was forced out again and he looked up through blurry eyes as a figure in an ornate dress walked into the room with a cane.

"Gao..." Peter sneered. If there was anyone in the Fingers he hated dealing with, it was her. Murakami was predictable and Sowande and Bakuto hid behind their followers, but Gao...she seemed to feed off of people's misery. She propped herself up as some enlightened philosopher when really she was just a parasite who gouged the people who already had nothing.

Murakami's displeasure matched his own judging by the scowl on his face, "Ima sugu shuppatsu."

"No. It's clear you can't handle this." She looked down in distaste at his severed fingers, "This...child is nothing more than a crying gnat and yet you failed in every turn. Now I will handle this."

Out of nowhere, two ninjas in crimson red uniforms grabbed Murakami and pulled him from the room even as he screamed. She looked down at Peter with a look of utter distaste, "You were useful, stopping the upstart, but now you've overstepped."

"Fuck you." He pulled out his gun only to be met with a deafening click. He cursed himself and grabbed for a magazine but when he looked up again Gao was already gone, "Damn it..." He pulled himself up off the ground and narrowed his eyes. He wasn't alone.

More ninjas, each of them wearing the same blood red cloth. Peter reloaded his other gun and started shooting. Something about the ninjas made it easy to forget they were people. He didn't think too much about it; the last thing he needed was a discussion on the morality of killing people who tried to stab him with pointy sticks and had the survival instinct of lemmings.

He finished off a dozen by the time he got to the hall again. His spider-sense suddenly blared...and then abruptly stopped, "What the..." He holstered his guns and sniffed the air. He smelled blood from the next room. An ambush no doubt, but...

Peter opened the door and was immediately met with the sight of another pile of dead bodies with a figure over them. It was a woman, that was clear even under the thick cloak, full body suit and patchwork mask she wore. Her right hand held a katana while the left held the neck of a ninja who was trying to choke something out through his bloodstained mask.

She stabbed his throat. He gurgled briefly and she let him drop without a word, "...Guessing you're not pals with Murakami's bunch." She stepped past him and nudged her head. He got a closer look at her mask. It looked morbid, a pathwork leather thing with obvious stitches marring the surface and no sign at all where her eyes could see out off. "You one of Matt's friends?"

Again she didn't say anything. Peter's eyes narrowed but he followed along; his spider-sense was still quiet, "...At least tell me your name." That finally got her to stop. Her shoulders sagged by the barest amount, like she could barely be bothered, and she took off her mask.

She was a young woman with tan skin and features that resembled someone with Native American heritage. Still, that was nothing compared to what drew all his attention: a white handprint that started from her right jaw to her left forehead. Her face was expressionless and the handprint only emphasized her dull brown eyes. She looked at him in silence for seconds and then mouthed a single word.

'Echo.'

"...Guess that's all I'm getting from you." She put her mask back and nudged her head again, "Fine...lead the way."


He missed this.

Matt grinned as he smashed the billy club against another of Murakami's pawns and broke her jaw. Her hand raised to try and stab him and he grabbed the outstretched limb before quickly breaking it. Murakami trained his men, but they weren't broken the way Stick made his students. He still remembered the harsh training, the way Stick left him with bruises all over his body all while taunting him for not being better.

He didn't hate him for it. Back then with his mother dead (and blinding him, because God had a twisted sense of humor) and his dad committing assisted suicide due to pride he had nothing and no one left. To think he actually considered the old man a father. How naive. Stick had beaten that out of him too. He wasn't his father. Stick was the blacksmith and Matthew Murdock was his weapon.

It instilled a warped sense of values in him. The closest equivalent would be those horror stories you'd hear about African children charging machinegun nests with nothing but machetes because they didn't know any better. He was the same, ready and willing to bite open someone's neck because Stick told him. He didn't know any better, he was barely ten when he killed his first man, so why would he doubt?

Stick told him to feel pride when he hurt people, and now that pride mixed in with his own sense of anger. It would've been one thing if he died right then and there in Times Square. He would've welcomed it; dead by the hands of the people he tormented under the Beast's thrall. It would've been storybook and he would die as the monster. Perfect. Now he was here, strung along on Karen's leash because the human part of her just refused to give up on him. At least he could share that pain and frustration to everyone else to make himself feel better.

Or maybe he was just a sadist. Either or.

The last of the pawns fell and Matt picked up his thrown clubs. He didn't kill any of them, even if the temptation to do so was almost overpowering. He liked to think it was part of his desire to atone for his undeserved life, but really he just wanted to spite Stick. Stick taught him to kill without thought, made it as easy as breathing. Turning away from that was a victory, however petty.

He wondered how Peter was doing. Matt was certain he could take care of himself, though he was equally certain that Ms. Stacy would blame him for anything that happened to her precious Spider. It somewhat amazed him how she managed to retain that balance of kindness and stupidity despite everything she'd been through. Still, he knew well enough not to provoke her if he could help it.

"Hm..."

He told Peter he'd split off in search for information, but the computer room he found himself in ensured he was of limited value. Despite his gifts, blindness was still blindness and he couldn't read an electronic screen. Stick had deliberately refused to teach him how to repair his eyes, some justification on reliance, and at this point he didn't care enough to ask. A world on fire beat sight any day of the week.

And he had other methods.

He looked over and found one of the more uninjured pawns. Her nose and one of her hands was broken, but she was remarkably well all things considered, "We need to have a talk." Matt grabbed her by the collar and all but smashed her head against the closest table containing a computer. She cried out weakly in pain, "You know how to use a computer, right? Nod your head if yes."

It took a few seconds of hesitation, but eventually she nodded. Matt grinned openly and pushed her into a miraculously upright chair, "Good. You're going to help me. Give me information on anything your master finds valuable and I'll let you go."

"They'll...They''ll kill me..." she muttered weakly, her Japanese accent thick.

"If you don't, I'll kill you." He pressed the tip of the club against her neck hard enough to choke, "Difference is you can from them. You can't run from me."

He unwrapped the billy club and wrapped the wire around her neck be he pulled. Choking was one of the most terrible ways to die. A bullet or a blow to the back of the head wasn't pleasant, but at least it was (usually) quick and, if you're lucky, painless. Choking was different. Your vision faded, your breath stopped and eventually you can't feel anything but the rapid beats of your heart trying to save you. It brought a fear like no other.

And an excitement. It was surprising how many died trying to go for that thrill, but he wasn't one to judge.

Her heartbeat sped up and, after a moment of internal conflict (and lots of screaming), she nodded. Matt smiled pleasantly and unwrapped the wire, "Good. I knew we could be friends." He hummed and kicked the back of the chair. Her chest hit against the deck and she heaved, "Now get to it."

It took her a few minutes to get anything with that one hand of hers, but eventually she managed to get something. He paid attention to her heartbeat the whole time. Stable - as well as it could be, considering the circumstances - so he had a good feeling. Eventually after a while (and leaving blood on the keyboard) she took a USB from the CPU and handed it to him shakily.

"Thank you very-"

Matt grabbed the USB with his right and used his billy club to deflect the thrown knife aimed at his throat. The woman wasn't so lucky. The knife embedded clear through her carotid artery. Her next few breaths came out as strangled gasps and she fell forward, crashing to the floor with a pool of blood forming underneath her.

"You're a bit late if you hoped to silence her." Matt flashed the USB tauntingly and ducked to avoid another thrown knife. Odd, he could barely hear the other figure's heartbeat, "Are you one of their test subjects?" he taunted loudly. The Hand had limited methods of resurrection even outside the Beast. Emphasis on limited - most came back with their minds fractured and their bodies damaged in some way. It would explain the faint and irregular heartbeat.

The figure didn't say anything and threw another knife. Matt deflected it and charged towards him. He expected to be stopped, but his punch connected and pushed through the feeble block. Matt hit him thrice before the figure could throw another punch, which Matt easily grabbed and countered, "Not very well trained, are you? " He elbowed him in the face and pushed him towards a nearby pillar.

The pawn crashed into it and Matt kneed him in the stomach. He let out a muted grunt of pain and quickly stood up to attack him again. Matt blocked every blow and elbowed him in the face. The pawn rolled back into a crouch and it was only then Matt noticed one of his clubs in his hands.

He spat out blood and tossed the club against the floor in front of him. It bounced, hitting Matt square in the jaw. Matt's head rang from the impact and the pawn tackled him till his back hit a nearby table painfully. Matt fell on his knees as the figure slid under the table, grabbed another knife and tossed it right where he lay.

The knife cut through the armor on his wrist. Matt scrambled back, stood and flipped through a nearby table, using it as makeshift cover, "Good aim on you." Matt hissed and pulled the knife out as the pawn tried to throw knives through the table.

He had to finish this now.

Taking a deep breath, he ran along the length of the room, dodging and deflecting the thrown projectiles as he went. He threw his last remaining club at the power switch, bathing the room in absolute darkness.

He lowered into a crouch and used the tables as cover. The pawn looked around and threw projectiles at every little noise that came. Matt kept going till he was behind him. This one he could kill; he'd died once already, after all.

Matt was almost on him before the pawn suddenly turned around and, with an eerily familiar chuckle, tossed a knife close to his neck in a minute gap through the armor. Matt screamed at the sudden pain and stumbled back into a nearby shelf. Matt raised a hand automatically to the knife, which gave the pawn a chance to grab the shelf and collapse it on top of him.

Matt landed on the ground with the shelf on top of him. The impact re-broke his arm and he bit his tongue to keep himself from screaming.

The pawn laughed, louder this time, and he finally heard it. Matt's eyes widened as the faint and irregular heartbeat became all too clear. He looked up at the pawn with wide eyes. He knew that heartbeat.

He'd been the one to end it, after all.

"Bullseye..."

For the first time, the figure spoke, "Bingo."

And then he raised his foot and stomped on Matt's head.


So am I the only one shipping Peter/Matt right now? It's clear Peter's a super hard tsundere for him given his constant comments about how he doesn't care about him and the fact that he wants him to die.

And we finally got the last member of the V2 Defenders: Maya Lopez, codename Echo, a Cassandra Cain-esque figure who doesn't talk much but her actions speak more than enough for her. With this we've got four anti-heroes (Matt, Peter, Echo and Moon Knight) with one nice boi (Iron Fist). Maybe I should add more genuine nice guys?

...Oh, and Bullseye's back under the Hand's control. Yay. Yep, now we've got former Kingpin turned hero Daredevil fighting against former anti-hero turned unhinged monster Bullseye. You know what they say: you either live long enough to be a hero or you die and see yourself become the villain. Or at least that's how Earth-65 says it.

Five bucks says the audience is still gonna side with Bullseye, though. That heroic psychopath charms really colors people oddly. Speaking of, I really enjoyed writing Matt's perspective in this chapter. He's a different kind of anti-hero from the others I've written and typing out his thoughts was a real delight. I'll see about adding more POV's for him, especially when he interacts with people like Gwen and Cindy; especially Gwen.

Question:

1. So what's the verdict so far: are you guys sympathetic and/or intrigued by Matt or should he have been executed at the end of V1?

Review Answers:

Eedura - They're supposed to be painful :) It really makes you see how a hero wannabe fares in a world where comic logic doesn't apply to them.

SpiderGod76 - Nacho cheese symbiote, you mean? Guess we'll see.

Brave2000 - Well, we get a better look into Matt's mind this chapter. What do you think, redemption or no?

Tangolite - Like I said, I don't plan to switch things up. I was just curious.

Cha0s4ever - MJ wasn't worried about being forever alone; she was worried her life would just suck in general. Also, I'm pretty sure Shadowcat would at least help in raising Laura.

Guest 1 - Is Matt really worthy of pity, though? As Noir and various others point he deserves to die for all the dozens if not hundreds of people he's killed. He was a criminal even before the Beast possessed him. Yes he had a fucked up childhood, he mentions it in this chapter, but does that mean he gets a chance to atone?

Guest 2 - Naming the baby Chocolate isn't odd considering she named Venom Webster. It's not like she's calling it Diabetes.

Titan616 - No plans to change track. Anyway, Frank's off in Mexico killing cartels. He's been up to half a dozen now, but it was a slow few months.

Guest 3 - Nah, 65-Noir sounds more like Red Hood. Original Noir is totally Cage, tho :P

Guest 4 - Gwen doesn't know she can use symbiote pieces to track her friends yet. Yes her dad will freak, and yes it's a different color. You'll never guess what it is ;)

Noisy-Crickey - Nah, MJ doesn't do scare tactics...yet. She's still doing the Dexter thing. Also, Matt/MJ would be crashed by the massive shipbreaker known as Gwendolyne 'No fucking way that's happening' Stacy. As for the birth, it's likely they'll have to be together. That's how spawning works in canon.