Chapter 34:
[Matt Murdock POV]
[Fogwell's Gym, New York City]
From my vantage point on the sidelines, I watch as Mickey unleashes a barrage of punches and kicks onto the bag with impressive speed and precision. I like Mickey. The girl reminds me of how I was as a kid. Impatient. Keen to grow up. Restless. We grew into a routine. After work or school, we would meet up and train together at the old gym. I taught her some of the basics of what Stick taught me. Not everything, enough that she can survive the mean streets of Hell's Kitchen. Stick... I haven't given a thought to the man for a long time. After my father's murder, Stick found me and took me in. He trained me to be a warrior for an incoming war. A war he never shared any information about. Whenever I asked, he told me I wasn't ready to know. One day, he abandoned me because I broke a rule; I used his teachings to seek vendetta against the men who murdered my father.
I toss some sparring gear at the girl and tell her to get in the ring. Mickey puts on the gear without protest and then strides into the ring. She readies her into a boxing stance, "I'm ready when you are, old man." I smile at the girl's sassiness, "Just keep your guard up, little girl." Hands up, the two of us circle each other. Mickey goes in and throws the first punch. I sway out of her reach and tag her lightly on the patted helmet. During our match, she tells me how she's getting along at Saint Agnes' shelter. "The place is way better than the other shelters I've been at. Far less creepers and pervs. Sister Maggie is a hell of a lady. Hard but has her soft side. The Sokovian chick is also a joy. I don't know her name. Think she's a part timer, but still cool."
Mickey dodges a left-hook and then comes in hard with a body blow. I dance out of the way, "Nice. You've gotten faster." She follows after me, swinging a left and right hook. Both misses, "I swear to God, Murdock. I question if you really are blind." I chuckle slightly, "Told you. I was trained. They're very bad people out there who will jump at any chance to take advantage of you. And a person with a disability is easier prey to them. So I was taught to defend myself." She nods, "By a guy named Stick. You don't talk about him much." I go silent for a long moment. During my momentary pause, Mickey lands an uppercut. Before I can respond with a counter-attack, the timer on my phone goes off, signaling the end of the round.
Mickey unwrapped her hand tape, "My only real complaint about the shelter is the neighborhood itself. Places infested with violent gangs. Real bed people. Drexel is the worst offender. Guy runs most of the drug dens in the neighborhood. The cops won't go near him or his gang. No ground for investigation they say. Bullshit if you ask me. More like they won't go after him or the crew because they're being paid off to look the other way." "That's some serious allegation, Mickey. You can't go around saying stuff like that without proof. I may believe you and it may even be true, but it's not what we know or believe, it's what we can prove," I tell the teen.
Mickey nods, dropping her head, "I know. It's just frustrating." I clap a hand on her shoulder, "It'll get better in time." She rolls her eyes, "Everyone always says that and nothing ever changes. Can you honestly say with a straight face things have changed for the better since you were my age?" I considered her question thoughtfully and couldn't bring myself to lie, "No. But there weren't many people back then doing something to better the world. It's a slow process but it's happening." Mickey crosses her arms, "I'll believe it when I witness it myself." I shrug my shoulders, "Fair." She's young and impatient. I get it. I was very much like her at that age.
[Karai POV]
[New York City]
[Car.] I sit in the ambulance listening to the guy in the driver seat talk, but not really paying any attention to what he's saying. My focus is mainly on the surroundings, keeping an eye out for threats. Currently, the two of us are transporting an organ to a young patient who is in desperate need of a new heart. SHIELD got intel that a very bad and dangerous man was going to make a grab for it. "All in all, just stick to your training and you'll do just fine as a paramedic," the guy finishes, completely unaware that I'm not actually a rookie paramedic but an undercover SHIELD operator. Glancing at the side-view mirror, I watch a car two vehicles away that has been tailing us for a while now.
Once we turned into an isolated street, the suspicious car sped up ahead and cut us off. Jason slams on the break to avoid colliding with the other car. He's about to roll down the window to yell at the other driver, but I stop him. Two armed men dismount the car and approach the ambulance. The point man yanks Jason out the driver's side, demanding at gunpoint for the heart sitting inside a cooler in the back. Jason tries his hand at reasoning with the gunman, appealing to his morals, "You can't take that heart. A kid will die without it." The gunman aims the pistol at Jason's head, the cooler now in his hand, "Our boss needs it more." He flashes a wicked smile. A shot rings out. The gunman's partner falls to the ground.
I come around the ambulance, pistol leveled. Jason's eyes go wide with confusion and shock. Dropping the cooler, the gunman quickly grabs hold of the paramedic and uses him as a human shield, "Drop your gun or your friend dies." "Not my friend. Just met him today," I say, firing two perfectly placed shots at the gunman, dropping him. I walk over to the cooler, pick it up, hand it to Jason, "Go. Get the heart to the kid. I'll clean up here." "Thank you," Jason says while jumping back into the ambulance. Tapping my comlink, I call it in. After a few minutes, a squad of SHIELD agents converges on my location; leading the charge is Agent May, and following right behind the woman is Skye. A surprising appearance but not unwelcome.
As the two women step forward, I gesture to the two goons laying on the ground, "Tweedledum and Tweedledee." "Aww, you got us a present," Skye says, approaching. I shoot a small smile, then turn my attention to Melinda, "The package is en route to the hospital." She nods, "Good work." "Who's the VIP? Putting this much effort into a transplant patient is far from the norm," I state curiously. "A Latverian diplomat's kid," Skye answers. I keep my eyes on the street the ambulance disappeared in, "Well, hope the kid pulls through." May walks off to report the op status to command or Coulson.
Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I switch my gaze to Skye. "Nice, see you again. How have you been?" she asks. I scratch the back of my neck nervously, "Fine." Physically I may be fine, mentally is a different story, but she doesn't need to know that. It's not her business. "So you decided to be a field agent?" The woman nods pridefully, "Yup. May is my acting training officer." I smirk, "You're in good hands." I start to leave, but Skye stops me for a quick moment, a slight blush appearing on her face, but I pretend not to notice, "When you're free, we should hang out sometimes." "Yeah. That'll be nice," I nod, yet my heart is racing for no reason.
[Rooftop.] I jump to the roof. My heart is racing. Why am I acting this way? Why I'm so flustered all of a sudden. I steal a glance back at Skye, and a rush of heat rushes through me, and a few spicy images of Skye flash in my mind's eyes. 'What the fuck?! Where the hell is this coming from?' I straighten up, take a deep breath, and force myself to calm down, "Yes, I acknowledge that Skye transformed herself into a very strong and attractive woman. A very difficult girl from the one I first met." I bite my lip, 'Oh, primus, I'm in trouble.'
[Spartan POV]
[10th Police Precinct, New York City]
During my patrol, I get an unexpected call from Misty Knight, asking me to meet her at the police precinct. [Rooftop.] Flipping through the air, I land in a crouch position right by the police detective. "Got your call. What's up?" Knight gets straight to the point, "Know anything about OSCORP's Eagle-Eye tech?" I bob my head, "Yeah, a crime/emergency alert system." In truth, it's a cookie-cutter version of EYPON. The woman points a thumb toward the control tower, "The whole system is down. Citywide." "How?" I ask, arms crossed. Knight sighs, scratching at her temple, "The central server to the system was sabotaged. Now the whole department is scrambling to get it back online. The problem is we don't know how to fix it. We didn't build the damn thing." The realization of last night's escapade against Ghost hits me.
I sigh, walking over to the tower and run a scan, "Definitely a problem. The input bands have been shifted. Software damage. Give me a minute." Popping open the holo-computer, I start to work to fix the damaged network. Suddenly the tower beams back to life. "Back online," I say to Knight. The woman smiles, impressed. Maybe it was the spear of the moment, but it feels like something momentous just happened. Normally I wouldn't ever trust a cop. Not even an arm-length partnership. But my gut tells me Misty Knight is one of the rare honest good cops on the force. The police's alert system flags a crime in progress. "Time to get back to work," I say, walking off.
[Mickey Toretto POV]
[New York City]
I walk the street of Hell's Kitchen on my way to the shelter. As I stride through the nearly deserted neighborhood, I can't help but feel worried for Matt. Capable or not, he's still a blind man at the end of the day. The two of us grew very close quickly, like siblings. Hell, the man is an older brother I never had. The thing about me is I'm fiercely protective of the people I care about, and Matt Murdock is the only person in my life who has earned that level of trust and loyalty from me. But tonight, I don't need to stress over the issue; Matt is doing an all-nighter at the office working on a big corruption scandal case. No point in going to the gym. Training alone is no fun.
Cold wind blows from the west. Hard enough, I can feel the icy chill through my jacket. No wonder the street is fairly empty tonight. Nobody wants to deal with the cold. Winter's a bitch this year. I quicken my walk. The faster I get to the shelter, the sooner I'm out of the cold. As I pass an alleyway, I inadvertently stumble onto a shakedown in progress. Acting fast, I jump behind a dumpster for cover. Four mean-looking tough guys are busy roughing up a man.
The goon throwing the punches at the defenseless man cracks a smile. A sinister smile, downright gleeful. People driven by life circumstances into a life of crime have a tight-lip grimace about them that is disturbing and sad. This guy's grin is different. It's a smile of sadism. A predator who thrives on inflicting pain onto the weak. He pulls out a gun and jams it onto the poor man's forehead, resting his finger on the trigger. I reach into my bag to grab my phone to call 9-11 but stop when a rod-like object flies over my head toward goon with the gun, streaking him in the temple and knocking him out cold.
My eyes gape when I see it's Daredevil crouched on a fire escape. He leaps off the fire escape, lands in front of the gang, then stands at his full height, hands up in a boxing stance. The biggest guy in the gang stalks toward the masked vigilante. "I'm going to bash your face in, devil freak," he threatens. "Take your best shot," Daredevil growls. The large man swings his fist. Daredevil traps the goon's attacking arm and pummels him repeatedly with a barrage of closed-fisted punches. Seeing the display of brutality Daredevil is capable of, the gang takes a step back, fearful. "Who else wants to take a shot?" the red-clad masked vigilante barks. "Come on! We outnumber him!" one yell but has no confidence in his voice. "Fuck that noise I don't want to end up in a body cast!" a guy in the back shouts, making a run for it. As one starts to flee, the others follow.
"You can come out from behind the dumpster. It's safe now," Daredevil says over his shoulder. I jerk in surprise, 'He knew I was here the entire time?' Daredevil strolls over to the man the gang was beating on. "Is he alright?" I ask, walking over to the two. Daredevil shakes his head, "They beat him pretty badly. Need to get him to a hospital ASAP." Without being told, I pull out my phone, calling 9-11. Surprisingly the ambulance arrives quickly. I wave them down and usher them to follow me toward the injured man who needs help. Daredevil is long gone by the time I return with the paramedic.
[Wesley Larks POV]
[Devito's resident, New York City]
A twinge of excitement runs through me as I wait outside Devito's house, like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for the right time to strike. I peer at the old house. A double-story building. An old-fashioned, gabled roof and a small well-trimmed garden out front. Expensive. Classy. Not what I expected from the old ex-gangster. Cold wind blows. It's freezing today. I like the cold. Winter is the best time of the year to do my work. It feels right. I step out of the car and trek toward the house gate. The neighborhood is quiet and empty. Too cold for normal people's comfort. Pushing the gate open, I make my way into the premises. I approach the door, knock on the frame, and wait. No answer. I slip alongside the house, making sure my footprint isn't visible, then lean up against the wall where I can keep a watch on the front gate. I could just break in and wait inside. Know the man isn't married, so I won't have to deal with anyone in the house. This way seems more fitting.
Devito arrives a few minutes later. I watch the man walk up the path. Completely unaware of my presence, he approaches the door. I hurry around the corner, sprint up behind the man and stab a hypodermic needle into his neck. The man goes limp but is still alive, for now, at least. I drag the unconscious man into the house.
[Inside.] The first thing I do is zip-tie Devito to a chair, then get my tools ready. The house's living room is a nice setup. Expensive furniture, polished wood, and a well-stocked liquor cabinet. Feeling indulgent, I pour myself a brandy, something to pass the time until Devito wakes up. By the time I finish the drink, Devito begins to regain consciousness from his drug-induced sleep. I rest my arms on the chair and wait. "Huh, what?" Devito's eyes flicker open. He blinks. Glances in confusion at his surroundings. The man tries to move and realizes he can't. His eyes widen, looking at the zip-ties that bind him, then up at me. The fear in his eyes is a joy to behold. I stay silent for a moment. Just savoring the man's expression, waiting for it to change. It does.
By this time in my life, I consider myself an expert when it comes to facial expressions made under extreme duress. The study is a hobby of mine, or maybe obsession is the correct term. The fear on Devito's face moves to anger. I can almost hear the old ex- gangster's thoughts. My home! This bastard invaded my home! I'll kill him! Then the expression shifts to thoughtfulness. How can I get out of this? There must be a way. Devito's eyes move around the room, searching for something not there. Then comes the moment of disbelief. He's stuck here. And finally, the realization hits. He's in a hopeless situation. Cunning follows; he'll try to buy his way out. They all do.
If I were a common Hitman, it might have worked, but I'm not. "Whatever your employer is paying you, I'll double it to let me go," Devito says, struggling under the zip-ties, "Name your price." I let him soak in the misery for a while longer. "Say something damn it! What do you want!" he yells. "I'm here on behalf of Mr. Fisk," I say plainly. "Why?! I'm a nobody!" he argues. I smile, drawing out my trusted blade, "True. But you're a nobody who knows too much. Kingon cannot allow a rat to roam free." Devito flinches back. I watch the man during the whole interaction, focusing on the eyes. There's the look I want. Anger melting into resignation. He knows his end is coming. His eyes drain off all hope. All that's left is a dull gaze. A face full of resentment.
I stroll over to the restrained man, placing the blade's pointing edge onto the man's lap. With slight pressure, the blade easily rips through the fabric of the man's pants. Devito's eyes go wide in panic. "Recently I've been wondering about torture lately. I've seen it in practice but never did it myself. One day a thought occurred to me, would torturing the mind be more effective than physical pain. Whether watching something happen to your body but not feeling the pain is more terrifying than the pain itself." The man tilts his head, confused, "What?" Seems a demonstration is in order. With a quick swipe of my wrist, I slice one of the man's fingers clean off. Devito cries out in shock more than anything else. A full hour passed into our exercise when the man's scream finally stopped. During that time, Devito divulged so many secrets. Secrets that would be very useful to the Kingpin. Credit to the old gangster; he lasted far longer than I expected. I watch as the lights fade in what is left in Devito's eyes.