Matt Murdock loved being Daredevil. It was liberating, it was exhilarating...and it was the exact opposite of everything that he believed in.

He wondered how it was for the others. When Iron Man or Spider-Man looked at their suits-the symbols they wore-did they feel proud? Powerful, maybe? Matt felt that way, as well, but only to a degree. He couldn't hide from the truth. Whenever Daredevil was needed, it meant that the system had failed. He'd "read" Daily Bugle articles that featured quotes from psychologists, who insisted that superheroes were just power fantasies run amok...but, for him, it was the exact opposite. Daredevil was a necessary evil. Matt had devoted a good chunk of his life to studying the law, and he'd spent a few years practicing it, both in Boston and New York. Matt was an idealist. He wasn't doing this to make a quick buck; he actually believed in it. And when he had to put the suit on, part of him felt weak, because it was a sign that the law had let someone down. He loved the law more than anything, and his alter ego was a reminder of how much more work needed to be done.

Classic Catholic guilt: he dreamed of a day when Daredevil would no longer be needed, but he also dreaded it.

It was a little before eight in the morning, and Matt had just walked into the office, sweeping his cane ahead of him. He was tall and slender, and he had red hair. His best friend and law partner, Foggy Nelson, insisted that the reason Matt seemed so "cool" was because he wore dark glasses all the time. For someone that had barely slept, he looked just fine; Stick had taught him the art of trance-sleeping, which made two or three hours of sleep feel more like ten. (And, even if he seemed a little tired, being blind gave him a built-in excuse. Everybody knew that many blind people had trouble sleeping.)

Their office wasn't very big. Since they wouldn't be impressing anyone with their size, their secretary, Karen Page, had decided to go in a more Bohemian direction, as opposed to a corporate one. Matt didn't quite understand what that entailed, but their clients seemed to like it. Before Karen came along, Foggy had been in charge of decorating the office, and that hadn't gone so well. During Karen's job interview, the first question she'd asked was about their "blinding" wallpaper. That was before she knew about Matt's condition. The conversation that followed had been awkward and apologetic, but she'd taken the job.

Nelson & Murdock was fresh off a string of high-profile wins, and in another hour, their office would be packed with potential clients. This early in the morning, though, it was usually just Matt, Foggy, and Karen. But that wasn't the case, today. Matt had heard Marta Dubanowski crying from a block away. Karen was trying to console her, while Foggy stood off to the side, fidgeting. Matt already knew what had happened. Marta's husband-Joe-had been arrested, last night. He'd been part of the crew that Daredevil had taken down.

As part of his previous deal, Joe was on parole, so he wasn't supposed to be congregating with known felons. The driver had probably told the cops everything, and Joe had had drugs on him. Parole violation, possession, conspiracy, and robbery-related charges. Unless the cops had screwed up, Joe would be going to prison for years.

Marta's children were also there. A boy that was about five, and a girl that was about three. They were nervously clinging to Foggy's legs. When Foggy saw Matt, he half-walked, half-waddled over to him. "Mr. Dubanowski has an issue that we need to deal with," he said conversationally.

Foggy was trying not to scare the kids...but Matt could tell that they were already terrified. He smelled the fear all over them.

"Let's go into one of the offices," Matt said.

"I'd really like to, but, uh..." Foggy tried to pry the little girl off; she wouldn't budge.

"Give them some candy."

"Actually, we ran out. The bowl on Karen's desk is empty."

"I know that, Foggy."

"...wait, um, you mean my candy?"

"Yes. The secret stash in your office, the one behind your radio."

"How did y-" Foggy shook his head, sighed, and waddled into his office, with a child hanging onto each leg.

Matt walked over to Karen and Marta. Marta stood up, started to explain the situation, and then collapsed back into tears. He couldn't blame her. Her husband was going to jail, she had two young kids to raise, and she was young, herself. It had been a shotgun wedding when they were still in high school. Matt sort-of knew her: some of her cousins had lived in his building when he was younger, before his father was killed, and he'd seen her when she was a toddler. It seemed like everyone in Hell's Kitchen was connected.

"He was arrested, again," Karen said, keeping her voice low. "We don't know much. It was some kind of attempted robbery, and Joe was injured. Daredevil was there."

Matt Murdock couldn't know what Daredevil did, so Matt played dumb as best he could. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, Marta." He squeezed her shoulder.

It'll be impossible to keep him out of jail, this time...but maybe we can get him a reduced sentence, at least. He's cooperated with the police before. Maybe that'll count for something, or maybe they'll feel like he took advantage of them. The cops hate it when they feel like someone is laughing at them behind their backs.

When Foggy returned, the kids were walking on their own, candy in hand. He'd gotten some for himself, as well.

Karen ushered the kids into some chairs and handed Marta another tissue. "Mr. Murdock, Mr. Nelson...if the two of you need to have a conference, I can handle things out here."

"Thank you, Ms. Page," Matt said. He was always glad to "see" her. Karen had picked up a new habit: each day, she wore a different type of flower in her hair. She'd told Foggy that, since most of their clients were struggling in life, she wanted to add little touches that brightened their day. But Matt suspected that it was for his sake, as well. He couldn't compliment her on her hair or her dresses, but the flowers were a different matter-it gave them something to talk about, and it made each new day a surprise.

They went into Foggy's office and closed the door. Foggy's window was open; he mumbled to himself and shut it. His office had a tendency to smell like hamburgers, pizza, and Chinese food, so he'd periodically air it out. It made things a little chilly, at times. The smell wasn't too overpowering, today, though a normal person would have barely noticed. Matt was tough enough to deal with it being a little cold; Foggy shivered and hugged himself.

Foggy was an incredible lawyer. He didn't think of himself that way, but he was. Foggy excelled at research, preparation, negotiation, and deposition questioning. He didn't like being in the courtroom-he hated any sort of public speaking-but he always did just fine. When they'd decided to start a firm together, Foggy had made Matt promise to do most of the court stuff. "Look, let's be honest," he'd said. "You're a better speaker, and juries really respond to you." Juries "responding" to someone was a nice way of saying that a lawyer was taller, or more photogenic, or had a good voice. Matt thought that it was ridiculous; he was always trying to get Foggy to stop underselling himself. His blindness did give him an advantage over Foggy, though. It made him that rarest of creatures: a sympathetic lawyer.

They sat down, and Foggy put his head in his hands. "So, obviously, Joe did something stupid, again," he said. "I guess it was a robbery gone bad. I mean, all robberies are bad, but this one didn't go like it was supposed to. He and some guys tried to hit a shipment of furs, and Daredevil crashed the party. Joe got roughed up. Apparently, the driver was in on it, and he's pointing fingers. There were some other robberies in the past, but Marta insists that Joe wasn't involved with those. And, as an added bonus, he had drugs on him when he was arrested."

"Where's Joe now?"

"He's in the hospital, getting a cast on his foot. The cops did the usual thing-they tried to withhold medical treatment to get him to talk-but he finally mentioned our names, and they let him go get checked out."

Okay, start establishing a timeline. "How did we find out about this?"

"He didn't come home, last night, so Marta went to the local precinct. Some green patrolman told her that he'd been arrested, and then the desk sergeant shushed him."

"Did they give him his call?"

"Yeah, but only for a minute, and he was in the ER, so I could barely hear him. I told him to sit tight and keep his mouth shut."

"What about the other men? Are they talking, or were they hurt, too?"

"Compared to them, Joe was lucky. They're still getting patched up. That's the good news, I guess: when you aren't conscious, you can't make a deal. They haven't had the chance to turn on each other. So, if one of us can get down there in time, maybe we can help Joe beat them to the D.A."

"I'll go." Matt could still hear Marta crying, and guilt was starting to work on him. He hated the idea of taking a father away. It was Joe's fault, not his, but still...

Come on, Matt. If he'd been there reluctantly, he would have run, and you would have let him. But that wasn't what happened. He was laughing about the whole thing, and a minute or two later, he tried to grab a gun. At that point, he crossed the line from stupid kid to committed criminal. If he'd gotten away with it, he would've kept pushing his luck, and Marta would have eventually had an even worse situation to deal with.

"Acccctually," Foggy said, fidgeting, "I should probably be the one to go, Matt."

"What? Why?"

"Well, it's just...you're both from the same neighborhood...and you're a success, and he isn't. I think he's a little resentful of you. If he's got a chip on his shoulder, he's more likely to listen to me."

Matt almost chuckled. For all his enhanced senses, he'd completely missed that, while Foggy hadn't.

"Hopefully, it'll just take a few hours." Foggy opened his day-planner. "Let's see, we've got...the tenement class-action at nine, the sick Osborn Chemicals janitor at ten-thirty, and the Rodriguez witness prep at eleven-thirty."

"If you get tied up with Joe, I can handle all of that solo."

"I know you can, buddy," Foggy said. He grabbed his briefcase and stood up. "But, geez, with all the walk-ins we've been getting...I'll try to hurry back."

When they went back into the main part of the office, Marta had regained her composure. She was on her feet, her eyes were dry, and Matt could tell that she was looking at the two of them. "Are you going to see Joe?"

"Yeah, I'm heading over to the hospital right now," Foggy said.

"Good. They wouldn't let me see him, before, so I want to go with you."

Foggy coughed. "Uh, I'm not sure if-"

Marta drew her children to her. "After today, it could be years before we get another chance to see him in a...you know, a normal place."

"I'm sure they'll let you and the kids see him for a few minutes," Matt said. "After that, Foggy can talk with the A.D.A., and you can get a late breakfast."

Foggy mumbled vague agreement, and the four of them headed for the door. The kids waved goodbye to Karen. When they were gone, Matt and Karen were alone.

"Those poor kids," she said, straightening up her desk. "I feel so bad for them."

"Yeah, it's awful."

As Daredevil, Matt was doing great: he'd only been active for a few months, but that didn't mean that he was a rookie. He might have been inexperienced as a vigilante, but Stick had started training him before he was even a teenager, so he was an incredibly experienced fighter. He knew how to handle himself on the streets. But dealing with the stuff that came after that, all the ugly consequences...he was still struggling in that area. Luckily, "seeing" Karen always made him feel better.

When Matt still had his sight, he'd seen radar screens on TV and in movies. But his radar didn't quite look like that. In fact, it didn't look like anything. He didn't see glowing lines in the darkness; he literally felt his surroundings without touching them. It was incredibly visceral. He could sense movement and solid objects, and tell if those objects were smooth or coarse, hard or soft. (And, since it was a 360-degree thing, he was almost incapable of losing his balance for disorientation reasons, which was a good trick for an acrobat to have.) It had messed with his sense-related verbs; a thought like "I see him running away" actually meant "I feel him running away."

So, while Matt couldn't make meaningful eye-contact with Karen, he continuously felt her body. If they were in the same room, his radar sense prevented him from not looking at her. And he felt heat so strongly that his mind processed it in an almost visual way. Matt had a thermal picture of her in his head, which was as close as he came to sight. Experiencing her like that was a guilty pleasure, of course, but it was also one of the highlights of his day.

Matt coughed, feeling his Braille watch. "I've got some time before my first meeting...I'm going to make some calls. With Joe going to jail, Marta's going to need a job. I think I'll ask around."

"Wow, that's really sweet of you."

Matt thanked her and went into his office. (He made sure to turn on the light, since he'd have seeing clients, later.) For the next twenty minutes, he called clients that owed him favors. Most of them owned small businesses or knew people that did. Before long, he'd come up with a few possibilities to present to Marta.

It was always a nice change of pace: making a difference with his words, and not his fists. Sure, it didn't feel quite as...emotionally satisfying, but, intellectually, he knew that it was the better option. There were times when Matt's life reminded him of that fable about the sun and the wind. He had two primary tools in his toolbox, his words and his fists, and each new day seemed like a contest between the two. Which would do a better job of helping Hell's Kitchen? Some days it was one, and some days it was the other.

Matt had become the civilized man that his father had wanted him to be. On the surface, anyway. The anger had always been there. Anger at his mother, for abandoning them. Anger at the kind of people that had murdered his father. Stick had taught him to control that anger...but, as he got older and learned more about the world, he'd discovered just how much injustice was really out there. Matt might have been blind, but there were some things that he couldn't help but see. Rage had nearly eaten him alive. In the end, it had pushed him to take action and become Daredevil.

Every morning, Matt Murdock put on a suit and tie and shook hands with people that deserved to be punched, but he was only able to do that because of what he'd done the night before. Being Daredevil was how he kept the anger from hitting a boiling point. It worked, but it also produced guilt: he was betraying his father's wishes, not to mention his own beliefs, and he was enjoying something that he knew was wrong.

In the main part of the office, Karen was getting things ready for the day, and she was also listening to news on the radio. Matt couldn't help but hear it. So, when some baritone announcer mentioned reports of a "winged man" seen over Manhattan, Matt sat up a little straighter. He remembered what the driver had told him: that there was a new flight-capable person in New York.

As casually as he could, Matt walked into the main part of the office and got a drink of water. Karen was continuing to prepare the office, and, based on what Matt could tell, the news about the winged man hadn't fazed her. The announcer was claiming that the winged man had attacked a woman, and that some heroic news-vendor had saved her. Matt never trusted initial reports on these things; when he'd started wearing his new Daredevil suit, "witnesses" had claimed that there was an eight-foot-tall demon running around.

He took a drink of water, turning toward the radio. "Did I hear that right? Someone with...wings?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I have a girlfriend that lives in Manhattan, and she saw him, the other night."

"What does he look like?"

"She said that he really does have wings-big, white, feathery ones-and he wears a sort of costume. Red and black, with a little yellow. And he has a halo on his chest."

Red, black, and yellow? Those are the same colors in my Daredevil suit. And the halo...he has a religious motif, as well. Is this a copycat?

"She thinks he's some kind of thief-like a second-story man-but I think he's a new superhero. They're always saying bad stuff about Spider-Man, too, but I saw him save a little black boy."

Matt couldn't help himself. "Maybe you're right: maybe he's another hero, like Spider-Man, or Ant-Man...or Daredevil..."

He couldn't see it, but, Karen made a face. "I don't know, I think Daredevil's sort of creepy. I mean, I know that he's helped a lot of people from the neighborhood, but he reminds me of one of those movie monsters. Kind of like the Hulk, I guess."

Matt's heart sank. He didn't know why he was surprised, though. Daredevil was supposed to be scary. Iron Man and Thor can throw tanks around, so their enemies are automatically terrified of them. But I have to work for it. If the crooks start thinking that I'm just human, my job will get a lot harder. But, let's be honest, she isn't wrong. You might have gotten better at managing all that rage, but it's still there.

The phone rang. Karen answered it, and Matt turned down the radio for her, putting it on its lowest-possible volume. The announcer had stopped talking about the winged man, but Matt was still thinking about him. The same colors, a halo on his chest, and the driver said that he saw someone flying over Hell's Kitchen.

You've only fought normal criminals, so far. Mobsters, muggers, hired guns. Is this your first 'archenemy'? I think that Daredevil needs to take a trip to Manhattan, tonight.