Chapter 42:
[Jessica Jones POV]
[1 Day Later, Alias Investigations, New York City]
A deafening crash shatters the apartment's silence, jolting me awake instantly. Panic surges through me as my mind scrambles to process the abrupt disturbance. My bedroom door stands ominously closed, casting a foreboding shadow in the darkness, and my heart pounds relentlessly in my chest. Fear and curiosity tangle within me, urging me to take action. I hesitate, then, with an uneasy courage, I venture a cautious "Hello?" that echoes through the room. The silence that follows is thick and oppressive, heightening the tension in the air. I strain my ears, desperate for any sign of movement or an intruder. My years as a private investigator have honed my instincts, and I swiftly shift into high-alert mode. Memories of past encounters with danger flood my mind, a grim reminder that peril could lurk around any corner. After a tense moment of contemplation, I ease out of bed, my movements as soundless as a whisper. The importance of preparedness is ingrained in me, and I know that caution is paramount. With practiced precision, I reach for the secured box concealed beneath my bed. This hidden compartment safeguards my most sensitive and valuable possessions. I unlock it, my fingers meeting the cold, unforgiving steel of the Glock-45 pistol. It's a tool I hope never to employ, but it's an essential safeguard in the perilous world I navigate.
I take a moment to check the gun's safety, ensuring that it's ready for use if needed. The knowledge of handling firearms responsibly and safely is something I acquired through training and practice. I know that possessing a weapon comes with great responsibility, and I am determined never to misuse it. With the pistol in hand, I proceed cautiously through the apartment. I know that I need to find the source of the crash and assess the situation carefully. As I move through the rooms, my mind races with possibilities. Was it just a random noise from outside, or could it be something more ominous? My instincts push me forward. After a thorough search, I finally locate the source of the crash – and my eyes go wide in shock. My eyes fix on the masked figure lying on the floor; my mind races with disbelief and intrigue. Daredevil, the renowned vigilante of Hell's Kitchen, is the last person I expected to find in my apartment. Never imagined our paths would cross again. The shock is evident in the way I grip the pistol tighter, but I quickly realize that Daredevil appears to be unconscious, not posing any immediate threat. Holstering the weapon, I approach Daredevil with caution. My heart still races, but I remind myself that he's one of the good guys. The man saved my life.
As I get closer to Daredevil, I can't help but notice the state of his costume. It's evident that he has been through a recent conflict, as the fabric is torn and ripped in several places. The normally sleek and formidable suit now bears the marks of a fierce battle. "Hey, are you alright?" I ask, my voice hushed but concerned. There's no response from him, and I can see that he's breathing, though barely. Knowing that I can't leave him unconscious on the floor, I decide to gently move him to a nearby couch, away from any potential hazards. As I do, I can't help but wonder what brought Daredevil to my apartment and why he's in such a vulnerable state.
Before I can dwell on the thought any further, I start to check Daredevil over more thoroughly for any life-threatening injuries, and my instincts as a private investigator take over completely. The urgency of the situation pushes aside any hesitation or ethical considerations, and I act purely on the basis of preserving life. With focused determination, I gently turn him onto his side, being cautious not to aggravate any potential injuries. I began to assess his condition, carefully checking for any signs of trauma or serious harm. The adrenaline surges through me once again, sharpening my senses as I work methodically to identify any potentially life-threatening injuries. I removed parts of his damaged costume to get a better look. My hand instinctively reaches for his mask, and before I even realize it, the mask is in my hand. It's a profound moment, knowing that I've unveiled the face behind the iconic vigilante persona. But my primary concern is his well-being, and I force myself to focus on the task.
I discover a few serious wounds, including broken ribs and a deep cut on his arm that requires immediate attention. I quickly grab a clean cloth from the first-aid kit and apply pressure to slow down the bleeding. After what feels like hours, I manage to patch Daredevil up the best I can. Honestly, I have half a mind to call the paramedics, but they would start asking questions. Questions I can't answer. Like why is there a blind man on my couch in a Daredevil costume? I gaze at Matt Murdock's unconscious form; my mind races with a mix of emotions - surprise, realization, and a tinge of guilt. I had always suspected that Daredevil might be someone familiar, but I lacked any concrete evidence to support my hunch. The way he tilted his head, a mannerism that I had noticed in both Daredevil and Murdock, led me to connect the dots. Now, with the mask removed, I'm faced with the undeniable truth that the man lying before me is Daredevil. Matt Murdock is a prominent lawyer by day and the masked vigilante Daredevil by night. The revelation is both awe-inspiring and humbling.
My mind drifts back to those pivotal moments; the memories come rushing back with vivid clarity. I recall the dark times when I was wrongly accused of a crime I didn't commit, facing the daunting prospect of a life behind bars. Desperation had consumed me, and just when it seemed like all hope was lost, Matt Murdock, the compassionate lawyer, appeared like a beacon of light. I remember his unwavering dedication as he chose to represent me in a court of law, putting his legal skills to work in my defense. It was as if he saw the truth in my eyes, and his intervention became the turning point in my life, preventing me from being swallowed by the injustices of the legal system. Back then, I had no idea that the man behind the red-tinted sunglasses was someone I would encounter again in even more dire circumstances. Fate, it seemed, had intertwined our paths once again when a hired assassin set their sights on me. It was a difficult situation, and just when it felt like my life was hanging in the balance, Daredevil, the masked vigilante, emerged from the shadows to save me.
It was a moment of awe and disbelief as I realized that the man who had fought for me in the courtroom was the same hero who had fought for me on the city's dangerous streets. Matt Murdock and Daredevil were one and the same, a dual identity that had been shrouded in secrecy until now. The mysterious savior who appeared when I needed him most had been there for me all along, albeit in different forms. His commitment to justice knew no bounds, and he had risked everything to protect the innocent, even in the face of danger. I can't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude and admiration for the man behind the red-tinted sunglasses and the mask. He had shown me the true meaning of heroism.
With the night enveloping us, I keep watch over Matt Murdock, the man who has played such a significant role in my life without my knowledge of his true identity. The convergence of our paths feels like destiny, and I now understand his profound impact on my life. As I guard his secret and protect him in his vulnerable state, I know that our connection is now deeper than I ever imagined. The city's enigmatic hero has become more than just a mysterious figure; he is someone I trust and respect, knowing that he will always be a defender of the innocent, both in the courtroom and on the streets.
Matt Murdock begins to wake up. He groans in pain. "Easy, Matt," I say softly, using his first name in an attempt to comfort him, "You're safe. You're in my apartment." I watch as his unseeing eyes shift around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. "You had a rough night, but you're going to be okay," I continue, trying to keep my voice calm and soothing, "You sustained some injuries, but I did what I could to patch you up."
The man notices the missing mask. Time seems to stand still for a moment, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for his reaction. There's no denying that this discovery could change everything between us, and the weight of the moment feels almost suffocating. I break the silence by dropping the mask onto his chest, a symbolic gesture acknowledging that I know his secret. It's a risky move, but I can't bear to keep the truth hidden any longer. The connection we share, the encounters we've had, and the way our paths have converged demand honesty and openness. Matt's unseeing eyes fixate on the mask for a long moment before slowly returning to me. There's a mix of surprise, curiosity, and perhaps a touch of vulnerability in his expression. I can only imagine the thoughts racing through his mind, trying to comprehend how I came to know his identity. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice steady but tinged with uncertainty, "You... you know?" I nod, my own voice steady as I respond, "Yes, Matt. I know." The weight of those words hangs in the air, and I can feel the gravity of the revelation settling on both of us. The truth has been spoken, and there's no turning back now.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. This is new ground for me, maybe for both of us. There's a profound sense of understanding and connection between us, yet words seem inadequate to express the depth of our emotions. I can sense that this is unfamiliar territory for both of us, a juncture where our roles as private investigators and masked vigilantes intersect in a way we never anticipated. It's uncharted ground, but in the midst of the uncertainty, there's also a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose. Matt Murdock opens his mouth to speak; I find myself interjecting, gently but firmly stopping him. "No, we're not going to go down that road," I say, meeting his gaze with a reassuring expression, "You don't owe me any explanations for keeping your secret. I understand that sometimes, there are reasons beyond our control that necessitate such choices."
The unspoken understanding between us is palpable, and I continue, "We both have a commitment to protecting this city and its inhabitants. That's what matters most, and I trust that you have your reasons for maintaining your anonymity as Daredevil." In the moment of silence that follows, there's a sense of acceptance and relief. The weight of the revelation no longer feels burdensome, and we both acknowledge the importance of trust and respect in our alliance. Matt's expression softens, and a small smile plays at the corners of his lips. "Thank you," he says, gratitude evident in his voice. "I appreciate your understanding." I return the smile, feeling a newfound sense of solidarity with this man who stands as both Matt Murdock and Daredevil. "You're welcome," I reply, "We're in this together, and I have your back, just as you have mine."
Moving on from the revelation of Matt Murdock's secret identity, I realize that there are more pressing matters at hand - namely, what led Daredevil to be in this state of distress and injury. Murdock takes a breath and starts to recap the event.
[Matt Murdock POV]
[Hours earlier, New York City]
I embrace the darkness of the night as I traverse the urban landscape of New York City. My heightened senses, a gift from a childhood accident that took my sight but heightened my other abilities, allow me to "see" the city in a unique way. The ambient sounds, scents, and vibrations beneath my feet paint a vivid picture of the world around me. The skyscrapers loom overhead as I leap from rooftop to rooftop, feeling the cool breeze against my face. The rhythm of my footsteps on the concrete and the occasional fluttering of a pigeon's wings give me a sense of belonging in this chaotic urban jungle. Tonight, the city seems to be holding its breath, almost as if it knows I am watching over it. My enhanced hearing picks up distant sirens and the soft murmurs of conversation from the streets below. For now, there are no cries for help, no desperate pleas for justice. It's a peaceful night, and yet, I remain vigilant.
In the distance, the stillness of the night is shattered by the sudden and alarming sound of gunfire. The sharp cracks reverberate through the urban landscape, sending shockwaves through the air and causing an uneasy tension to settle over the area. As the sound reaches my ears, my senses sharpen, and I become acutely aware of my surroundings. My heartbeat quickens, and adrenaline courses through my veins, preparing me for any potential threat that may emerge. The city, which seemed calm just moments ago, now takes on an ominous demeanor as the distant gunfire intensifies the darkness that engulfs the streets. Questions fill my mind as I struggle to discern the shots' origin. Is it a random act of violence, or is there a calculated purpose behind the shots? The uncertainty of the situation pushes me to act. Without hesitation, I set off in the direction of the gunfire, traversing the rooftops with swift and agile movements. My heightened senses guide me, allowing me to navigate effortlessly through the darkness and obstacles in my path.
[Construction Site, New York City]
Reaching the source where the gunshot originated, I open my enhanced senses to the surroundings. From my vantage point, I pick up multiple individuals within the construction site's ground level. Their movements are cautious yet purposeful, and I sense an air of tension and danger in the atmosphere. Carefully, I assess the situation, taking in the layout of the site and the positions of the individuals below. It's evident that something serious is taking place, and my instincts tell me that these individuals may be involved in dangerous criminal activities. I weigh my options, knowing that confronting them directly could be risky, especially without knowing the full extent of the threat. As a protector of the city, my priority is to keep its inhabitants safe, and I can't afford to be reckless. I decided to gather more information first before taking any action.
Observing the scene below carefully, my senses are finely attuned to every detail. Three men are restrained and forced to their knees while a large man stands imposingly over them. Their body language and the tension in the air suggest that this is no ordinary encounter. As I listen in, I hear snippets of conversation that hint at the gravity of the situation. The large man's voice carries a commanding tone, and his words imply that he's in charge. There's talk of money, deals gone wrong, and the consequences of crossing the wrong people.
As I hear the large man's words, my heart sinks. It becomes clear that this is not just a simple confrontation between criminals but a dangerous power struggle that involves corrupt elements within the police force. The situation has escalated beyond a mere criminal encounter; it's a battle for control and dominance over the city. "You honestly thought I couldn't touch you, Weyland. That you were safe in police protection. Idiot," the large man growls, his voice laced with malice, "I own the police in this city. This is my kingdom."
Weyland struggles against his restraints, desperately attempting to negotiate with Fisk. "We can still cut a deal, Fisk!" he pleads. Standing by Fisk's side, a bodyguard and right-hand man delivers a hard backhand across Weyland's face, silencing him. "Don't speak his name," he warns. Despite the fear in his voice and the dire situation, Weyland holds onto a sliver of hope. He believes there might be a chance to strike a deal with the powerful figure known as Fisk. However, Fisk remains unmoved, exuding cold determination and confidence in his control over the situation. He relishes the power and control he holds over others, making it clear that the city is under his dominion. The bodyguard, an imposing and loyal enforcer, reinforces Fisk's authority. He takes pleasure in exerting dominance and swiftly punishes any sign of defiance. Weyland's face bears the evidence of the brutal backhand, with pain shooting through his jaw and cheek as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. Yet, even in the face of such aggression, Weyland's determination remains unbroken. He has survived numerous hardships and knows how to navigate dangerous waters. He refuses to cower, knowing that he must find a way to outsmart Fisk and his henchmen if he wants to survive. Fisk, seemingly amused by Weyland's resilience, acknowledges his courage with a hint of respect in his voice. However, he makes it clear that bravery alone won't shield Weyland from the consequences of his actions.
"I pledge my loyalty to you, Mr. Kingpin, sir!" one of the other restrained men yells out. The declaration cuts through the tense atmosphere like a knife. The man's voice trembles with fear, and his words carry an air of desperation. It's clear that he's willing to do anything to avoid the same fate that befell Weyland, who dared to challenge the powerful figure known as Kingpin. Fisk stands tall and imposing, seemingly unaffected by the display of loyalty. His cold eyes narrow as he assesses the man who made the pledge. He has a reputation for being a shrewd and calculating leader with the ability to command fierce loyalty from his followers. The bodyguard, Fisk's right-hand man, looks on with a stoic expression, ever watchful for any signs of insincerity or betrayal. He knows that loyalty is not easily won and that the consequences of false allegiance can be severe.
For the man who just pledged his loyalty, the stakes are high. He has aligned himself with one of the city's most influential and dangerous individuals. Whether his pledge is genuine or merely an attempt to save his own skin remains to be seen. The other restrained man, who witnessed the brutal backhand that silenced Weyland, remains silent, his face a mixture of fear and uncertainty.
Fisk nods at his enforcer, "Larks, deal with this nuisance, will you please?" The man named Larks strides purposefully behind the other man. In one fluid and chillingly swift motion, he slashes a knife across the man's neck. A hushed gasp fills the air as the lifeless body slumps to the ground. The gory scene sends shivers down the spines of those who witness it. Larks stands there, stoic and cold, as he wipes the blood from the blade with a casual flick of his wrist. Fisk remains unfazed, his face a mask of control, as he watches the display of ruthless efficiency. It's clear that Larks is a loyal and skilled enforcer, someone Fisk trusts implicitly to carry out his commands without hesitation. Fisk turns his attention to Weyland, his cold gaze piercing through him. "I do not take kindly to false loyalty or traitors," Fisk states with an icy tone. The weight of those words hangs heavily in the air, and Weyland knows that he is now facing a dangerous and unforgiving adversary.
"Fine. You want the product, take it, take it all," Weyland tries, surrendering to Fisk's demands. He hopes that offering what Fisk seeks might appease the dangerous man before him. Fisk shakes his head, a cold smirk playing on his lips. "No, it's too late for that now," he retorts, dismissing Weyland's attempt at compliance. "You embarrass me. Made me look weak. And that is one offense I cannot allow to slide." Weyland's heart sinks further as he realizes that his surrender has not swayed Fisk's decision. He now understands that his actions have consequences beyond his immediate survival. By challenging Fisk and his authority, he has incurred the wrath of a ruthless and prideful man. The weight of his mistake bears down on Weyland, and he regrets his earlier defiance. But it's too late for regrets now. Fisk's reputation for mercilessness and his determination to maintain control are well-known, and Weyland has fallen into his grasp. As the cold night continues to envelop them, Weyland knows that he is facing a grim fate. There is no escape from the reality of his situation.
In a horrifying display of power, Fisk wraps his massive hand around Weyland's neck, exerting a crushing grip with little effort. The desperate gasps for air escape Weyland's lips as he struggles to break free, but it's futile against the sheer strength of his adversary. With a sickening snap, Weyland's life comes to a sudden and violent end. The sound echoes through the deserted construction site, a haunting reminder of the ruthlessness lurking in the city's shadows. Fisk releases his grip, and Weyland's lifeless body falls to the ground, a stark contrast to the determination he once displayed. The cold night air seems to hold its breath as if acknowledging the weight of the life lost. Fisk's expression remains impassive, as though taking a life was just another mundane task for him. He turns away from the lifeless body, leaving it as a chilling testament to his unyielding dominance.
Six razor-sharp shurikens fly towards me; time seems to slow down. I quickly assess their trajectory and react with instinctive agility, launching into a swift and calculated dodge. The shurikens whistle through the air, mere inches away from my body, their deadly intent unmistakable. With grace and precision, I twist and weave, narrowly avoiding each lethal projectile. I land in a ready position in front of Fisk and his goons. The night seems to hold its breath, waiting for the next move in this deadly. Fisk's cold gaze locks onto me, his expression betraying nothing but an air of arrogance and dominance. He seemed unfazed by my arrival as if he had anticipated this confrontation all along.
A man in ninja gear materializes in front of Fisk; his gaze remains fixed on me. It becomes evident that he is one of Fisk's assets, a skilled and deadly operative under the kingpin's command. The realization hits me like a sack of bricks—I've walked right into an improvised trap. Glancing at Fisk, I see the knowing smile on his face, confirming my suspicions. He has orchestrated this encounter. The night seems to close in around us, shadows deepening as I assess the gravity of the situation. Fisk's cunning tactics have put me directly in his crosshairs, and I now find myself facing the ruthless kingpin and his well-trained assassin.
I waste no time and rush forward, my heart pounding in my chest and my fists clenched tight. But as I launch a barrage of strikes, the ninja effortlessly blocks each blow with a grace that surpasses human capabilities. His reflexes are honed to perfection, and I can sense that this is no ordinary opponent. With deadly precision, the ninja counters my attacks with a series of swift and lethal kicks. I manage to dodge most of them, but the proximity of danger is palpable, and I know I can't afford any missteps in this life-and-death dance. Our fight takes us through a labyrinth of half-built structures. The ninja's movements are calculated and measured, his strikes precise and deadly. It's as if he anticipates my every move, and I find myself in a relentless game of defense, trying to evade his attacks while searching for any vulnerabilities in his impenetrable defense.
Amidst the flurry of blows and dodges, I find an opportunity to exploit a slight hesitation in the ninja's stance. With a burst of agility, I counter with a series of rapid strikes, pushing him back momentarily. But the ninja quickly recovers his expression hidden behind the mask, betraying nothing of his thoughts or emotions. He comes back at me with renewed intensity, and the clash intensifies once again. Despite the fatigue that threatens to slow me down, I press on, determined to outwit this formidable opponent.
As the intense battle rages on, the ninja pushes me back, his movements fluid and calculated. In a swift motion, he draws a long, thin chain with a sharp dagger attached to the end—a kyoketsu-shoge, a deadly and versatile ninja weapon. Before I can react, the chain whips through the air with lethal precision, wrapping around my torso with a vice-like grip. I feel the cold steel of the dagger against my skin. Locked in the grasp of the kyoketsu-shoge, I struggle to break free, but the ninja's skill in wielding the weapon leaves little room for escape. With every tug of the chain, the constriction tightens, threatening to cut off my breath. Suddenly, the ninja dashes forward with lightning speed, closing the distance between us. His fist lands with a powerful impact, sending shockwaves of pain through my body. I double over to the floor.
Still wrapped in the suffocating grip of the chain, I feel the sharp edges digging into my skin as the ninja drags me mercilessly across the floor. The pain is searing, and every movement sends waves of agony through my body. The weight of the chain pulls me down, making it difficult to find any leverage to escape. I struggle against the relentless force, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as I try to stay focused amidst the excruciating pain. The floor beneath me is rough and unforgiving, adding to my discomfort as I'm dragged further into the darkness of the labyrinth. Each inch feels like an eternity, and I can feel the cold, hard surface scraping against my exposed flesh. Summoning every ounce of resilience, I push myself to endure. With each agonizing moment, I search for an opening, a weakness in the ninja's hold. I know that every second counts, and I must act swiftly if I am to escape this deadly trap. In a surge of determination, I make one final, desperate push. With a burst of effort, I manage to twist my body, finding a fleeting moment of leverage. The chain loosens just enough for me to slip free from its grasp.
Gasping for breath, I manage to roll away from the relentless grip of the chain, putting some much-needed distance between the ninja and me. The pain lingers, but with a surge of determination, I find the strength to stand up, my body bruised and battered but my spirit unwavering. As the ninja moves in again, I know that I can't afford to hold back. I unleash the full force of the devil within me, going on a relentless offensive. My fists fly, striking at the ninja with every ounce of strength I can muster. Blow after blow, I match him with fierce ruthlessness. The battle shifted. I find an opening in the ninja's defenses, and I cut through his guard with a burst of precision. The tide of the fight turns in my favor, and I press my advantage. My instincts guide me, and I strike with unwavering focus, exploiting every opportunity to wear down the ninja. The final blow connects with the ninja's jaw, and a powerful force reverberates through the air. The impact is enough to send him crashing to the ground, unconscious and defeated.
"Well, that was quite an amusing display of skills," Fisk's voice pierces the air; I turn to face him, my senses alert to every movement and sound. He stands at a distance, observing the aftermath of the battle with an air of calm arrogance. His cold gaze locks onto me, and I can feel the weight of his presence in the night. Larks, his loyal enforcer, stands by his side, a silent and imposing figure. Without a word, he raises his weapon and shoots the unconscious ninja in the head. The cold brutality of the act sends a shiver down my spine, a grim reminder of the merciless world I find myself in. Fisk's words cut through the night like a knife, his tone icy and unforgiving. "I warned Nobu that I do not tolerate failure," he says with a chilling calmness, "The man used up all of my patience."
Nobu, the ninja who now lies lifeless before us, was just a pawn in Fisk's deadly game. His failure had cost him his life, a grim fate in the service of the powerful crime lord. As I stand facing Fisk, I can sense the layers of power and influence he wields, his grip on the city far-reaching and dangerous. I know that he won't hesitate to eliminate anyone who dares to oppose him or undermines his authority. In a split second, I make a daring decision. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I know that staying to face Fisk and his enforcer would be a deadly gamble. In an act of desperation, I seized the opportunity to escape. Without hesitation, I pivot and sprint toward the nearest window. The night air rushes past me as I propel myself forward, diving into the water below.
[Present Time, Alias Investigations, New York City]
"Fisk? Fisk? Why does that name sound so familiar?" Jones voices after I finish recapping the event. "It should. Fisk is the owner of Union Allied Construction. His full name is Wilson Fisk," I reveal to the PI, "The Kingpin's real identity."