Author note: Here we go, some action. Hope I did well.

Jim O'Reilly was just a small-time member of the rather big Irish Mafia that was situated in Hell's Kitchen. He handled drop-offs, was in charge of ensuring that protection money was handed over, sometimes he guarded some of the rarer items, at least while they were being prepared for transport. At times, Jim may have sampled some of the consumables. But he kept his head down, there were no big risks for Jim, he had no interest in going up in the Family, content in the amount of income he could take home to his actual family. His position allowed him enough protection to ensure his little angel met with no harm from the local monsters but not enough that would make her target for the other Families to ransom.

He worked hard hours, they could range from anywhere from as earlier as 6 AM to as late as 6 AM. Jim wished he could spend more time with his daughter, but instead he spent his day's busting heads. Sometimes when he lost a fight, when he was too battered to be useful, they would allow him to head home earlier that night.

Those were the days for him, it didn't matter that he comes home covered in both his or other peoples blood, not for his daughter anyway. All that mattered to her is that she could show her Daddy her drawings. It made all the beating he gave and received worth it if he could give her a happy childhood. Tonight could turn out to be one of the early ones for him.

He wouldn't let himself be beaten up of course, no matter how much he loved spending time with his daughter he knew how upset it made his wife when came home so swollen his eyes wouldn't open. The plan tonight to hit up this local store, you see the owner had gotten brave, thought himself too big for this operation.

Mickey O'Hare didn't like that too much, felt like it disrespected the Boss, so he sent Jim and some of the boys to mess up the place a bit. Jim took comfort in the fact that the Boss didn't know about this shopkeep if he had Jim would be taking the man himself to the Boss for some lessons. Ain't nobody surviving any of the lessons the boss teaches.

The group Jim was leading to the shop were no-bodies, just fools even lower on the totem pole than himself. Two big newbies, they over six feet five inches tall, strong as oxen but couldn't throw a punch to save their lives. A bunch of idiots that were only in it for themselves, the types that Jim wouldn't trust to watch his cat, never mind his back, but a craftsman can only work with the tools he has. They were carrying, he himself had a sawn-off shotgun in his coat, but they were planning to just bust the place up a bit.

"Hey, you, baldy" Jim pointed at the one he found the most stupid looking. "Knock the down door," There was a big bang as bald Irish thug kicked the door down as hard as he could. The alarm started to blaring, giving out an whining noise that few could sleep though.

"Alright lads," He yelled over the alarms. "Get to work, I'll keep watch to warn ye when the pigs show up"

Jim was meant to go in with them, to look over the newbies as they worked. Make sure they matched the standard that the Irish were known for. But he was tired of the work, he'd seen enough of it. There were times when he thought of going legit, getting a real legal job, but then he would look at his bills, he would look at his girl. Jim couldn't stand the thought of not giving everything she deserved in life, which anything she wanted.

These thoughts were broken when he found the bald guy smashing through the shop window. Jim bent down to look at the downed man, was covered with his cuts, some of which had pieces of glass in them, no doubt from the window. The Bald newbie groaned in pain, his eyelids were closed as he was attempting to roll over but lacking the willpower to complete the action.

"Sorry," Jim heard some punk from yell back out to him. "I didn't mean to hit him so hard"

The longtime Irish Mafia member drug out his shotgun, then he cocked it. The gun made a satisfying click, the father strode around the glass, over the broken door and into the shop with a rage building inside of him that few people can muster in life. It came from his brief boxing days, it was what allowed him to be so brutal to people yet be so kind to his family and friends.

He entered the room, peering through the darkness like a tiger stalking their prey. His men didn't seem to have much of a chance to redecorate properly. The only difference to the room barring the door/window was a single broken table. It was then he stepped on something, or rather he stepped on someone. It was the other newbie.

"Get up you eejit!" Jim screamed at him, grabbing him by the shoulder and attempting to shove him to his feet. The result was the man awakening but sadly it ended with him back on the floor, except now screaming in pain. It was then Jim felt a shiver as looked at the shoulder of his fallen Mafia mate. It off center, as if someone had hit him so hard that the blow not only dislocated it but also knocked him out straight from the pain.

"Fuck!" The mobster swore, he searched the room. It was a big room and his other man was only just thrown out of the store, There was no backroom for the whoever took out his man, so he must still be in this dark room with him. He hadn't thought that the rumors were true. That there was some kind of new black masked vigilante in New York.

The Russians from what he know were the ones mainly dealing with this creep, he put a dent into their human trafficking ring recently. What was that freak doing here, stopping minor crimes, when he could be putting dents into real crimes. Where he could be stopping the real monsters from taking apart families. Well, the Russians were saying that this freak bled.

"Come you fecking coward," Jim let out a single shot into the ceiling, if he was going down, he'd make this thing bled. "Come out and fight me like a man"

The was a shadow, just at the edge of his vision, it was standing in the room. The figure was wearing what looked like sports gear with hood, it's the only color was black and the freak's eyes couldn't be seen in the darkness of the room. There was a slow strut as it mechanically came towards him.

Jim could feel the tension build in his arms. He imagined his daughter's crying face when she learned that her Daddy wasn't coming home, so he took a deep breath and let off a shot right for the Vigilante's chest.

Then nothing happened, the dark figure just kept walking forward. Did he miss? Jim had never missed before, not at these ranges. So he shot again, again and again, until the gun just clicked empty. The Mobster was in a panic now, he ran at the vigilante holding the gun as if it was a bat.

The gun was swung with all the force that he could muster, it was the hardest it had ever hit anything in his life. But like the bullets before even with the repeated action of smacking him across the face, nothing seemed to phase this freak of nature.

At the fifth swing, the gun was stopped, the vigilante held the other end in a vice. Jim tied, he gave everything he had to break the inhuman hold that the freak had but no amount of pulling and kicking helped. If anything the kicking hurt Jim more than helped.

That was when Jim heard the something that truly terrified him, terrified him in a way that only the Invasion Of New York could have. The gun started to crackle, snap and pop. The pieces just crumbled to the floor. Jim was left there staring at what had become the remains of the dream that he had for his daughter's future.

"FUCK!" The Irishman gathered up what was left of his rage and he threw himself. He threw himself right at the black figure, with his good leg he kneed in the balls, with fists he aimed for his ears. Every dirty trick he knew, everything he ever learned in fights, he used it all. This brutal combo ended with a fancy spinning kick to the right ear.

This landed Jim on the floor. His fists were busted open gushing on the floor, his legs were jelly, he wasn't able to stand. His breath was heavy, at least with this Jim knew that he had tried his hardest for his daughter. When she was told that Daddy was gone, at least she would know that he tried. He bled for her. With that, Jim O'Reilly closed what eyes on what would be his taste of life this side of the bars.

"That was something"

Said low voice above him.

(Earlier)

It had been a few months now since Ben had helped me out with a place to life and job. Things were better now, I got along well enough with most of the staff. Although I thought Mitchell's personal secretary, Caldwell, she seemed to resent how easy it was for me get this job. I suppose I understood that she did work for a position at one what I told is New York's best papers. I would be pissed if some nobody came and took a job that took me years to get too.

I thankfully didn't spend a lot of time with her. I was mostly a loose secretary, working for whoever needed help with basic tasks, which sometimes included going over typos on an article. Ben was the one who I spent the most time working for, it was also mostly just reading over his stuff for typing errors, managing the now required social media presence Ben was forced to have.

Sometimes when I was on a break, Ben would run ideas over me, ask me to attempt to write an article based on previous evidence and interviews he received over the years. Nothing current but I feel that he was trying to expand my skill portfolio. Ben seemed to get that even though I was happy where I was, I wanted to be more involved.

This eventually started a trend here, at least with the other reporters, where they would sometimes ask me to give an opinion on some of their softer topic articles. All of this help from the stuff, well with that it wasn't hard for me to build semi-decent investigative skills.

Ben also made sure to take me to a local junkyard. To see what the limits of my strength were. It was an illuminating experience, it seemed that each time we tested, we found that my limit increased. It was now somewhere around 100 tons.

We had more trouble testing my speed. There wasn't a place with enough space that Ben's low income can afford. So I looked for empty streets at night. We couldn't get an accurate reading but we estimated that it was over 100 MPH.

That brings brought me to tonight, because when I wasn't at the office mooching journalist lessons from my fellow employees, or at the junkyard testing my strength. I was in the city, listening in on some dirtier criminal dealings, hearing the rumors and paying a lot of attention to gossip. This allowed me to overhear the story of old shopkeep, down in Hell's Kitchen, while I was walking by some punks.

That old man called the name of Phillip Jackson, he was being brave, not letting the Irish Mafia push him around for protection money, but he was being a bit foolish not informing the cops of his situation or perhaps the cops were just that crooked down in the Kitchen. That would explain how some punks were comfortable just speaking about how tonight's the night that Jim and the boys were going to mess the place up as a warning.

Apparently, the person leading this group of thugs was the one named Jim, he was a brutal man, even these punks didn't want the man getting to the old fellow. Jim liked to break limbs, from what I could find out about the man, he had an unconfirmed count of 67 limbs that have been broken within the last two years.

That was what brought me to where I am now, the old man Philip's furniture store. I came in after taking an early day off work, for some reason Phillip worked latish hours for such a store, so it was about seven o'clock. when I entered the store. The poor fellow had awful eyesight because he didn't notice me there wearing a black sports suit with a hood and hiding under his counter. So closed up for the night, thinking that no one was left in the store.

The lights inside the store were now off, this darkness was an excellent test for a new power that had surfaced, thermal vision. with this new power of was now capable of seeing things in terms of their heat signature rather than using the standard method used by human eyes to see.

But that was what allowed me to make what I would be vigilante debut. I waited for a few hours under the desk, I eventually stood up and out from under the counter, due to being bored. So the act of pacing was undertaken, I left myself to just the backend of the shop. Then I heard tip of the accent from outside, an accent that only came from the Americanisation of generations of Irish immigrants. I could barely make out the noise from outside when a clear voice rang out.

"Hey, you, baldy," There was moment silence between that and the next sentence. "Knock the down door"

With my thermal vision activated, I could make out three blobs standing around outside that store door. This was them.

The was one bang, then the door fell, its hinges rolling across the store's floor. I stood still, hoping that they would not see me hiding in this corner. That was when like I predicted the alarm started to blare.

"Alright, lads," The man from before yelled over the alarms, the sound barely overcoming them. "Get to work, I'll keep watch to warn ye when the pigs show up"

The new light source allowed me to turn off the thermal vision and get a better visual on my soon to be opponents. It was just two thugs entered that entered the store. Both were massive, with at least five inches on me, one was dressed in a black suit but had a bald head, the other had a small bit of hair but a grey suit. The bald guy had a silver pipe in hand, the other fellow had what I presumed was an aluminum bat. The two weapons glistened in street light entering the broken store doorway.

With that I turned the thermal vision back on, to help keep track of singular fellow outside. Then I waited for the bald fellow to raise the pipe to strike a piece of furniture, to allow me to get a drop on them while they were distracted by their discussion of property. Sadly for that desk, I waited too long.

He shattered it in one strike. I blurred into action once his partner tried to mirror his success, intercepting the bat, it bounced off me, rolling onto the floor as the man who it belonged to shook from the feedback, his hand visibly a redder sheen in my thermal vision.

The bald one came for me with an overhead strike, there was a speed that you would not have expected from a man of his size, it was blazing even. But that level of speed was slow mo for me, I sidestepped his blow, its momentum carrying it to a new target. The other thug.

The thwack from it wasn't only winced producing but also knocked his fellow thug out. This was when I finally struck my first real blow. I attempted to give a what I thought was a light hit to the chest.

It was not a light hit, instead, it threw the man right through the store window, shattering into little pieces. That was a bad hit.

"Sorry,"I yelled out to the now two people outside the store. "I didn't mean to hit him so hard"

From the shape of the thermal image, I could barely make out the shotgun that the least thug took out of his coat. He came into the store, his thermals red hot with rage, the barrel of his gun scanned the room with precision. Thug stepped lightly along the floor of the store as if waiting for me to spring out. Then he stepped on the knocked out big fellow on the floor.

"Get up you eejit!" Shotgun thug yelled at the bigger fellow, grabbing him by the shoulder and throwing up. The outcome was as predictable as they come. The big guy's shoulder had snapped, so while the action woke him, it also caused him unbearable pain. "Fuck"

"Come you fecking coward," The only one standing let out a single shot into the ceiling as if I was hiding there. "Come out and fight me like a man"

His head looked at my general direction, no doubt his eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness. I decide to slowly make my move, the thug's gun shook in his hands, then he fired. It didn't really feel like anything, so I kept moving forward. He shot again, and again, each time the effect was the same. Nothing.

The man ran at me now, swing the gun with enough force to take down an elephant. He did over and over again until the fifth time when I decided to end it. Grabbing hold of it, I began to crush the gun under my strength. Leaving it in pieces on the floor.

Then things got interesting, he started to fight me with his fists, with his legs, and then he went for dirty tricks like groin shots. In the end, the man left himself a bloody mess, the durability of my body making hit he landed on me like hitting a cinder block.

"That was something," I said watching as this man fell unconscious under the weight of his injuries. I was impressed with the tenacity that this thug displayed. To fight on with even under those conditions was a testament to the power of that man's conviction.

In the edge of my hearing, I could the coming of sirens, that I believe was my sign to leave. I ran out of the store and leapt high into the distance, landing roughly on a nearby rooftop. A bit of inspiration hit, I took out a camera, ensuring to shots of the ruined store for a story idea for a small article in the Bulletin. Perhaps someone would run with the idea.

Author's Note: That was an experimental chapter for me, I wanted to showcase a criminal that couldn't be portrayed as wholly evil. He won't be a one-off character, he will show again later. Jim mightn't be a liked character by this thread, I hope he will be but I understand if he isn't. I have a big plan for him, character arcs with ups and downs, moral high ground and self-reflection. Though his questions will be raised, what are those questions? I'm not telling.

A lot of accidental harm here, every single mob member here is going to the hospital, and then the Jail. How long will they be struck there, depends on what the minimum time for their crime. Breaking and Entering. But also something to consider is that they think he's DareDevil. What could this mean for our honest lawyer and his humble sidekick Matt?

There has been a time skip undisclosed amount of time, for writing reasons I'm going to keep that close to my vest. I am not too sure about the overall quality of this chapter. I really liked the Jim portion but there is something about the Patrick side of the fight felt wrong, somehow, I don't know I think that I will go back to fix later, maybe I am just being too critical of myself.