Chapter 33:
[Drake POV]
[Police Precinct, New York City]
I walk the street of Hell's Kitchen right into a police precinct. [Lobby.] Venturing the lobby, I cross straight toward the sergeant's desk. The man raises his head at my approach. His eyes go wide when he sees a pistol trained on his head. A near-silent pop escapes the weapon, painting the wall behind the sergeant in red. Behind me, a squad of CERBERUS commandos storms in and commences their mission. Hunt and exterminate every badge-carrying police officer in the building. We cut off their means of communication. Bar every exit. In three minutes, the whole building transformed into a kill box.
[Spartan POV]
[Bunker, New York City]
The sensation of something wet and firm slapping against my face wakes me from my sleep. Surprised, I jerk into a sitting position to find a wolf-dog standing over me in bed. It takes me a moment to realize it's Wanda's dog Ahab. The dog lowers himself, pushing my hands with his snout. A sign to signal me that he wants to be petted. I comply with his request. "Good boy," I say, playfully massaging his smooth dark fur. 'Huh, the wolf-dog has gotten much bigger since the last time I saw him.' At that moment, Wanda appears by the doorway, "Ahab! I'm so sorry he disturbed you." I wave it off, "It's fine. At least I woke up to a gorgeous view." The woman's cheeks flush crimson, then she glances at herself from the mirror nearby, "W-what? I'm a mess in the morning."
I leap off the bed, striding toward Wanda, then pull her in my arms, placing a kiss on her cheek, moving down to her neck, "Well, you're one hot mess of a morning person." She gasps a light breath and smacks my chest, "Don't tease me." Feeling the mood to mess with her a little, I hoist her up by the thighs, pinning her to the wall by the door. Ahab gets the idea we want some private time and walks out of the room.
Wanda lets out a small yelp of surprise. I kiss her deeply and with passion. She returns the gesture in kind. I smoothly trace my kiss onto her chest. Knowing my intentions, Wanda pushes her shirt up and guides me exaggeratedly onto her breast, allowing me to take it into my mouth. The fire builds up in both of us. The scent of her body fills the small space. I draw in a deep breath and feel the chemical triggers go off like plucked strings in the pit of my stomach.
Internally I laugh at the situation; this teasing session completely flips on me. Now I want more, need more. Before I know it, Wanda slips a hand down over my slide and zips me open. My eyes gape, staying focused on her green orbs. She moves her pantie to the side and replaces its spot with my member. Slowly I slide into her. Above me, I feel her mouth gasp open. I know as well that she would be beginning to taste the flesh of her breast in my mouth. Wanda is beginning to moan as we sink to the bed, and I move back and forth between her breasts, rubbing their springy resistance over my face. Her hands turn hungry. We scrabble feverishly at each other's clothing, mouths trembling with the need to fill themselves with the heat on our skin. Later, we lay in bed side by side, hands milking each other afterglow. "That one hell of a way to start the morning," Wanda says, snuggling her warm-soft body closer to me. I shoot her a smile, "Happy you enjoyed it."
[Kitchen.] Finally, fully up and clothed. Wanda and I eat breakfast together. "So what are your plans for the day?" I ask, taking a bite of the bagel. "Sister Maggie has some errands for me to run at the shelter," Wanda tells me. She has been putting in a lot of work time at the shelter lately. A thought hits me. I consider not pressing the subject, but my curiosity is at its peak. "Are ducking mage training?" I ask carefully. Wanda pauses sharply, then down casts her eyes, "No. Well, maybe a little but not really. I just want a break for a while. The whole supernatural thing was slapped on me so abruptly. It was too much. Worst of all, I nearly lost everyone. Do not get me wrong, I am not giving up, only taking a small break from the action. Mainly supernatural-related ops. Everything else I am still prime for." I nod, placing my hand over hers, "I get it. Everyone needs a break once in a while." Cock my head, "Prime?" Wanda cracks up slightly, "Sorry. Lingo I picked from the teens at the shelter."
[Karai POV]
[AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[R&D-lab.] I march down the hallway, noting how quiet the place is when it's empty. As far as I'm aware, the team is all out on an op. I stop at R the door is partly open with a view inside. Spot Tony passed out over his workstation, an empty whiskey bottle still semi-clasp in his hand. The smell of alcohol radiates off of him in waves. Strong stuff too. Can already tell he's going to have a really bad hangover. I'm surprised to see him here. The man is supposedly retired. Well, retirement is probably not the right word. He mostly operates on an on-and-off basis now.
I grab a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of aspirin from a nearby table and set them close to him. My gaze shifts around the space. A mechanical frame gravitates my awareness. At first, I thought it was one of Tony's suits. Getting a better look, it's a new advanced drone. The outward design resembles the Iron Man suit with a different color scheme. Metallic silver. The headpiece is the real eye-catcher. Not sure what it is, but there's something uneasy about it. Despite appearing inactive, it feels like it's watching me. Studying me.
Tony starts to wake up from his drunken slumber. He groans in discomfort when the light hits his eyes. Quickly places on the sunglasses after he finds them. "Aspirin bottle is on your left," I say over my shoulder. Tony jumps in surprise when he hears my voice. Uncapping the bottle, the man takes two pills, swallowing them down with water. "Party a little too hard last night, huh," I comment, expecting Tony to shoot back with a witty retort. But he waves it off. Maybe it's the cause of the hangover, but Tony didn't behave like his usual self. Thinking about it now, he appears like he's low energy and struggling. "You alright?" I ask. "Hungover with a blistering headache," Tony remarks, rubbing his temple, "I'm just peachy." I consider calling Pepper so she can deal with this; I don't have enough indulgence to play babysitter. Stark regards me with a considering gaze, "Never thought I see the day, you of all people helping me out. And here I was under the impression you hate me." I roll my eyes, "I can still walk out but won't. Plus, I don't hate you. Only dislike you. Big difference."
"Still haven't earned that redemption, huh?" Tony states, smirking a little, but it doesn't reach his eyes. I shake my head and tell him bluntly, "No. You've done a lot of morally questionable things, Stark. Directly or indirectly, you've caused a lot of pain. Putting on an armored suit, playing hero, and saving a few lives doesn't mean your past actions are erased. The road to redemption is a lifelong one." "Speaking from experience?" he asks back, not as a jab but as a place of sincerity. I nod, looking away, "What are you doing here?" Tony points a thumb towards the armored drone, "Working on Ultron." "Ultron?" I voice, tilting my head. The tech billionaire elaborates, "It's a side project I've been working on for a while now. A defense system to better safeguard the world."
[Matt Murdock POV]
[Months earlier, New York City]
Still can't believe I'm back in Hell's Kitchen after all this time, but now I'm back. Never abandoning Hell's Kitchen again. I'm surprised how much it has changed during my time away. Not in the normal sense, like remembering a childhood through a filter of innocence. Graffiti covers every available surface. Bumps and junkies loitering everywhere. Nervous eyes looking for the next target to roll over. A civilian in the wrong place. Then again, the whole world has changed since the Battle Of NYC, not just Hell's Kitchen. As I walk the street, I can feel gazes on me. I'm not worried; I can handle myself. In fact, no matter how bad things have become, I actually feel safer in Hell's Kitchen than anywhere else. This place is my home; the bricks and street are built into my DNA. I feel the city's pulse beating in time with my own heart.
[Fogwell's Gym, New York City]
I find myself standing in front of the old gym. The same gym my father trained in. The same gym I would hide away in when everything became too much to bear. In a way, this gym was also the birthplace of DAREDEVIL. When I first let the Devil out to beat Slade to an inch of his life for murdering my father. The one place I can freely be my true self. Before I know it, my feet are already moving toward the building. It's boarded up now. The whole street is empty. A couple of homeless people stagger along the sidewalk. I move to the back of the building and pull the boards off the window that leads to the locker room, Just like I did when I was a kid. The wood, filled with rot and termites, disintegrates at my touch. 'How long has the gym been abandoned?' I ask myself. Dust clogs at my nostrils as I climb inside, but beneath the dust, beneath the sense of emptiness, I can still smell sawdust and sweat, or maybe it's just my imagination.
[Inside.] Whatever it is, the gym calms my racing heart. Brings me back to myself. I can almost hear the echoes of my younger self hitting the punching bag. My fists pummeled the leather like machine gun fire as I tried to work off the frustrations of my life, but all that is buried in the past now, like my father. Move through the locker room and out into the gym area. I sense the space around me as I trek to the ring and reach for the ropes. It's that very moment I realize I'm not alone at the gym. Another heartbeat. Rabid. Frightened. Young. A girl. I straighten slowly and turn toward the sound. "You can come out. I won't hurt you." I can hear a creek of wood and a rubber stretching. Kid has a slingshot. She fires a small pellet. I snap up a hand, catching the ball inches from my face. "How the hell do you do that?" the girl voices out, impressed. I'm right; the stranger is a girl. 15, maybe 16.
The girl moves out into the open. I feel her stare. "Why are you wearing shades? It's pretty sad wearing shades at night. It doesn't make you look cool. Makes you look like an old man trying too hard," she remarks. "I'm blind," I cut her off. The girl blinks, "Seriously? My bad. Sorry." I'm amused to hear there's no embarrassment, "It's fine." "So do you still have your eyes," she asks curiously. That had to be the oddest question I've ever heard. "Yeah, I still have my eyes," I answer. "What happened? Were you born that blind?" she presses on. "You asked a lot of questions," I say. She huffs, "I'm young it's what I do," she remarks back, "So were you born that blind?" I shake my head, "No. It was an accident. The kind of accident I don't want to talk about. What's your name?" The girl crosses her arms, "Mickey." I arch a brow, "Mickey? Like Mickey Mouse?" She rolls her eyes, "Gee that's such an original joke. I've literally never heard that before in my life. What's yours?"
"Matt Murdock," I tell her, "What are you doing here, Mickey?" "This is my place," Mickey says. I blink in surprise, "You own the gym?" Mickey exaggeratedly holds up her hands, "Well, own is a strong word, but it's just the rats and me so I reckon I can lay claim. Anyway, an old blind guy wandering around Hell's Kitchen in the middle of the night?" "Will you stop calling me old? I'm only in my late 20s," I bark, annoyed. Mickey laughs, "Anyone older than 19 is old to me. Sorry, man, it's all downhill for you. So what are you doing here?" I gesture around the gym, "I used to train here when I was a kid, and my dad too." Point to the west wall, "There used to be a couple posters over there." Mickey follows where I'm pointing. "Are you pointing at the guy in the red getup? Jack the Devil Murdock. Why are they dressed like the devil?"
For a moment, I allow myself to smile at the memory, "Because of how he fights in the ring. People say he fights like a man possessed by the devil. It's a nice gimmick." "Cool," Mickey says, eyeing the poster. I stand there a moment longer, watching the memories run by in my mind. Shaking it off, I double back to my question, "What are you doing here anyway? Last I checked, it's not the safest neighborhood for a kid." Mickey keeps her eyes on the poster, "It's better than being on the streets." "Don't you have a family or guardians?" I ask. She rocks her head, her voice cracked, "No. I'm an orphan. My mom was killed in the incident." "Oh… I'm sorry," I say. Mickey takes a sad breath, "Yeah, me too." And besides, this place is a million times better than the shelter. No pervs or creepers." She turns to face me, "Unless you're one. In which case, you should know I got a knife." I hold up my hands, "You're good." "Anyway, back at ya, why are you here?" she asks. I shrug my shoulders, "I honestly don't know. Just felt the need to. Now that I'm here, I'm in the mood to train. You in?" Mickey blinks, "Me?" I nod, "Sure. Unless you think a blind dude will show you up." Mickey laughs, "In your dreams, old man. Okay, I'm in."
[Jessica Jones POV]
[Present time, New York City]
Unable to sleep, I decided to go for a long walk to clear my head. I stand across the street from a bar. In my line of work, you have to know when to walk away, but sometimes walking away isn't an option. After I quickly check the surroundings to see it's clear, I jump onto a fire escape and sit on the steps. Opening my messenger bag, I grab my camera and aim it at the bar's red door. A man steps out, followed by a woman. The two walk to the other end of the building. They stop at a door. I watch the two enter the building. A short moment later, the light in an apartment switches on. I stare, brows furrowed. The man steps to the window, hands in his pocket, shoulders sagged, as he gazes into the night. My heart drops when I get a clear view of the man. Luke Cage.
An overwhelming sense of guilt rushes through my entire body. The woman from before approaches him from behind, wearing nothing but lingerie. They kiss, but it's clear the woman is more into it than Cage. The man looks so sorrowful. To him, this is an itch that needs to be scratched. I lower the camera, lean my head back, closing my eyes, fighting to hold back tears of shame and guilt. An image of a dead pregnant woman flashes in my mind. The monster's voice echoes through my ears, "Do it, Jessica! Do it!" I jerk my eyes open, breathing heavily, breaking out of the short nightmare. I take a long moment to calm myself. Steal one last glance at Cage before leaving.
[Alias Investigations, New York City]
On my way back to my apartment, I come across Murdock in the hallway. Glance away, not wanting him to see me at my most vulnerable, but I then remember he's blind. Talk about a momentary mental flip of memory. The man walks in my direction then. I freeze when my eyes fix on the man's face. It's all bruised up. "Jesus, Murdock, what the hell happened to you?" The blind lawyer jumps in surprise. Yet, for some reason, it feels fake. Like he actually knew I was standing in the hallway just playing up an act. I shake my head. No, it's only my imagination.
His bruises appear fresh. About an hour old. "Were you mugged?" I asked about a possible scenario that would explain his current state. He considers the question, then slightly nods, "Didn't take anything important that can't be easily replaced." I steal a quick glance at his knuckles. They're bruised and swollen as well. 'Must've tried to fight back.' I take Murdock by the arm and half-drag, half-guide him to my apartment. Thankfully he doesn't try to stop me or pretend he's perfectly fine.
[Apartment.] I sit the man down on my couch, then go into the kitchen to grab an ice pack. Returning, place the ice pack on the nasty-looking lump on his head, "Just hold the ice pack there; it'll bring down the swelling." He nods, "Thanks, Jones." I move to sit next to Murdock, "Care to tell me what happened?" He sighs, "Pretty much how you guess it." "Are you going to report it to the police?" I ask. Murdock turns his head in my direction, a brow raised. I shake my head, feeling stupid, "Sorry, For a moment there I forgot you're blind." He holds up a hand, waving it off, "It's alright. If anything I appreciate you don't treat me like glass. It's quite refreshing." A small blush appears on my face, 'I think I'm starting to like this guy.'
Murdock crakes a small smile. "I want to thank your dad for me. For remembering my father's name," he tells me. I look away, my mood shifts and an aura of sadness radiates off of me, "I would if I could. Dad is gone along with my mom and little brother. Car accident." "I'm sorry for your loss," Murdock says sincerely, feeling sympathetic. I rock her head, "Honestly, I hate when people say they're sorry. It doesn't change anything. And it sure as hell doesn't make me feel any better. But I appreciate the thought. I don't mean to be a bitch. That type of emotional pain never fades." Murdock nods genuinely, understanding where I'm coming from, "I know the feeling."
A thought occurred to me, "It's pretty late, what are you still doing at the office?" "Doing research on Union Allied for a case I'm working on," Murdock divulges. I perk up at that, "Did you say Union Allied?" My voice must've conveyed a sense of urgency because Murdock's expression is a mask of concern. "What?" he asks, puzzled. I stride to the file cabinet and pull out a folder, "A month ago I worked on a missing person case. Dion Lopez, age 20. Story goes like this: Dion gets a job by a mysterious benefactor. Starts bringing in a lot of money. A six figure salary overnight. Down payment in cash. Everything was good for a while. A few weeks in, Dion suddenly became extremely paranoid, jumping at shadows. Dude was running scared. Then one day he just vanished without a trace. The connection: Union Allied. Union Allied was the mysterious benefactor."
Murdock leans in, elbows resting on his lap, "Did you run a check on Union Allied?" I cross my arms while leaning against my desk, "Of course I did. At least I tried but couldn't get anything solid. Under hundreds of documents and half dozen shell companies all I managed to get is one name. Wilson Fisk."