Daredevil & Angel: The Silver Age

Issue #1

"Signs"

It was amateur night. A ragtag group of thieves was getting ready to "hijack" a truckload of furs, in the sense that they were standing around, smoking, and listening to their boss haggle with the driver. Their boss wanted the robbery to look convincing; the driver was afraid that it would look too convincing. Daredevil listened from a rooftop that was downwind of them, and he "watched," in his way.

They were in an alley that was plastered with garbage. The truck was parked just off of it, and they'd had the common sense to kill the engine, so they wouldn't wake up any witnesses. This part of Hell's Kitchen was dead-quiet, tonight. That was good for both sides. No looky-loos for the hijackers to worry about, and no innocent bystanders for Daredevil to worry about.

All of the usual suspects were there-they were easy to identify. Steve the Slovak had a uniquely-round shape to him, and he smelled like an obscure, distinctive brand of cigarettes. Joey Buttons had a click in his left knee (which Daredevil had given him) and clothing that always reeked of mothballs. Irish Joe tended to put way too much polish on his shoes, and he whistled through a gap in his teeth (another gift from Daredevil). The tall, skinny Polish Joe used a hair-cream that, according to his radar-sense, practically turned his hair solid. "Billy" Kidd was the high-strung type, and he had the racing pulse to match, along with the odor that came from working in a meat-packing plant. And Donnie, their boss? He was always sweating, he had a nasal voice, and he was covered with hairs from his wife's tiny little dogs.

To Daredevil, Polish Joe was just another goon. But Matt Murdock had stood up for him in court. He wasn't a career criminal...he was too young to be a career anything. Polish Joe had done some petty stuff, but a pair of crooked cops had leaned on him, and he'd made a deal with Internal Affairs, turning evidence in exchange for leniency. The guy had gotten married when he was still in high school; he had a wife and two little kids at home. Matt Murdock had worked hard to get him a second chance. If a good person got desperate, they could turn into a reluctant criminal-someone that was just trying to keep their family fed-but Polish Joe was joking around and having a good time. Daredevil clenched his fists, seething.

He was wearing the second version of his suit. The first one had been low-key, consisting of a black bandana-style mask and black streetclothes. But he'd looked too much like a common burglar. More and more heroes were popping up in New York, and he wanted to make it clear that he was on their side, so he'd decided that he needed to seem a little more "super." His new suit was a pale, ghostly yellow. The torso section was black (as were his gloves and boots). His billy club, the big "D" on his chest, and his mask's lenses were all red. Judging by his enemies' usual reactions, he must have looked terrifying in the moonlight. The yellow was an inside joke: when he was a kid, he'd tried to walk away from fights, though he hadn't always succeeded. The other kids had called him yellow.

"A few bruises is one thing," the driver was saying, his heart-rate starting to increase, "but anything more than that, I want another fifty." The driver was out-of-shape and in extremely poor health. If it turned into a real robbery, the stress alone would seriously mess him up, and a few good punches could kill him.

"This isn't just about tonight," Donnie said. "You're our inside man, and we've gotta protect that, right? If they figure it out, that means no more scores. Forget the fifty. If we make this look good, there'll be plenty more in the future."

"You've gotta protect me...by hitting me more?"

"It's just your turn, that's all. We've hit some rigs before you, and we'll hit more rigs after you-but if you're the only driver we don't rough up, it won't look right. See what I'm saying?"

The driver started shaking his head, but Donnie ignored him, waving the others over. Daredevil didn't think that the guy would survive a serious beating. The old guy probably looked tough enough to take it-Donnie sure seemed to think that he was-but Daredevil knew otherwise.

Time to step in.

Daredevil had been holding a loose chunk of brick, and he threw it at the nearest streetlight, hitting it dead-on. The light shattered and went out. He heard the men shout and curse, but only half of them drew guns; it was supposed to be a friendly handover-type job, and some of them hadn't thought to bring weapons.

He fired his billy club's grappling cord-it was a wire with a metal stud on the end, and he'd gotten to where he could wrap the cord around just about anything with a mere flick of his wrist. Daredevil swung down into the alley, kicking Joey Buttons right in his shoulder blades. Joey ate dirt and lost his gun. Daredevil jerked his hand, loosened the grappling cord, and let it retract. Several of them were screaming and firing blind. He flipped into the air, and he simultaneously threw his billy club, letting it ricochet around the alley. It hit Irish Joe in the head, disarmed Donnie, made a noise that drew Steve the Slovak's fire, and startled Polish Joe so badly that he tripped over a rotted-out old crate. Seven ricochets: a new personal best.

While his billy club was bouncing around, Daredevil took advantage of the chaos. When he attacked "Billy" Kidd, he planted his feet like a boxer, battering him with straightforward lefts and rights. His father would have been (sort of) proud. But, when the newly-disarmed Donnie charged at him, he switched to what Stick had taught him. A kick caught Donnie in the side of the head, and a vicious open-handed thrust hit him in the face and sent him crashing into a wall. Then, Steve the Slovak regained his bearings and came after him, shooting the whole time. Daredevil leapt like an acrobat, doing a split-second handstand on Steve's head. He landed behind Steve, kicked him behind one knee, and threw/flipped him into the nearest garbage container. Steve's gun went flying, and his head banged on the container's metal edge.

Daredevil caught his billy club. The driver had tried to run off (and collapsed), and Kidd, Irish Joe, and Polish Joe were coming at him.

Irish Joe got there first. He swung, and Daredevil ducked and slugged him right in the gut. Irish Joe was the heaviest smoker of the bunch...it knocked the wind out of him and left him gasping for breath. Daredevil shoved Irish Joe into Polish Joe, who wasn't exactly an experienced fighter. Kidd pulled out a switchblade, but Daredevil blocked it with his billy club, kneeing Kidd in the groin. That was the bad thing about switchblades, you had to get close. Kidd hunched over, vomiting, and Daredevil elbowed him in the back of the head. Irish Joe and Polish Joe were still trying to get untangled from each other. Joey Buttons hadn't managed to get back up, but he was crawling toward him, and getting ready to lunge for his legs. Daredevil casually kicked him in the face.

Polish Joe went after a gun that was on the ground, but he only managed to kick it away, and he cursed. When he saw Daredevil, he put his dukes up. But he was watching his upper body, and not his lower body; Daredevil stomped on his foot, and Polish Joe went down, clutching it. He'd heard something break, which would hopefully keep him out of trouble for a while. Irish Joe had straightened back up-he'd found a crowbar. He was coughing, and angry, and his first (and only) swing was too hard. Daredevil sidestepped it, and Irish Joe threw off his own balance. He clubbed Irish Joe in the head.

Donnie was staggering around, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth. He shouted various Asian slurs. Daredevil was a martial artist who dressed in a yellow devil suit...yeah, he was surprised he didn't get more of that, actually. When Daredevil advanced on him, Donnie crossed himself. An uppercut put him down.

Daredevil rounded up the guns, piling them away from the others. Everyone was either unconscious or too injured to escape.

Sirens were approaching, so he needed to get out of there...but, before he left, he checked on the driver. The man was alive, but not in good shape. He'd almost had a heart attack.

When the driver saw him, he gasped and tried to drag himself to safety. "Stuh...stay away..."

"It's over," Daredevil said, his voice a low growl. "I want you to tell the police everything."

"Don't-oh, god-don't hurt me."

Daredevil had never liked the shadier type of truck drivers, given the incident that had blinded him. But he only attacked people if they were a threat. "Calm down, old man."

"I can help you...I've got information...information about your kind of people..."

Daredevil grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, sitting him up. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw somebody flying, the other day. Swear to god. Right here, in Hell's Kitchen."

There were only a few people in the city that could do that-and none of them spent time in the Kitchen. "What, Iron Man? Thor? Or the guy with wings, the one that Spider-Man fought?"

"No, none of them, I swear. Somebody new."

Donnie's crew had smelled like booze and reefer, but this man was sober. He wasn't in great shape, right now, but he seemed coherent enough. And his heartbeat said that he wasn't lying. He believed he'd seen something, at least.

"You've got a new freak runnin' around your neighborhood," the driver said, gasping. "Better keep your eyes open."