A world full of "hustlers, killers, murderers, and drug dealers" as Kanye West put it.
The Devil walks with them.
Not Jesus.
Not God.
But the Devil himself ensures that they're brought to justice.
But so does Matt Murdock: a young man anxious to make his name as an attorney. Murdock, blinded as a youth, lost his sight. From that young age, Murdock has learned that life is nothing more than a series of pluses and minuses. For every event or happening, something else happened that would negate the other action. When Murdock lost his sight, he was given a substantial gift in return: his other senses functioned at superhuman levels.
A new world was opened to the adolescent Matthew Murdock. From his hospital room after the accident he could taste hot dogs being sold by street vendors; when a nurse or orderly would turn on the sink in his room he would feel the temperature in the room drop; when his father, Jack "The Devil" Murdock, came to tell Matt about the doctor's findings, not only had Murdock already heard them, but he could smell his fathers perspiration... the sweat on his fight-torn palms; he could hear church sermons from a block away every Sunday, and it was in these readings that Matt found consolation. The word of God spoke to him. It spoke to him in a way no teacher or coach had before. It showed him that for everything that was lost, something was given back. It was then that the young Murdock realized that, though blind, he still had potential. He dove into his studies, ensuring that he would become a seeker of not truth, or honor even, but justice.
So, now he sits, arm held firmly by his friend and legal partner Franklin "Foggy" Nelson in a New York city district courtroom, eagarly awaiting the arrival of the Judge and Jury.
The door at the back of the small room rattles, and Murdock hears voices on the other side.
<"Just another day at the office..."> The voice says.
Murdock, turns his head, trying to focus his hearing on the voice on the other side of the door.
<"Yeah, honey. Leftovers from the fridge will be fine."> The judge behind the door mutters.
Murdock allows himself to smile, glad that the Judge hearing his case today only has dinner on his mind, as opposed to a bribe here or a "hand in the pocket" there.
"Matt, what is it?" Nelson asks, seeing the grin on his blind partner's face.
"Nothing, Foggy. I'm just glad that we're getting a judge who's more concerned about getting the truth heard than getting a bribe under the table from a corruptbureaucrat." Murdock said, whispering into his partner's ear. "And how are you so sure?" The doubting Nelson asked.
"Name one judge I've been wrong about." Matt said, gripping his cane.
"Well... uh..." Foggy grumbles. "None."
"Exactly." He says, putting a finger on the brim of his crimson glasses and pushing them up the bridge of his nose.
"Alright, the door's opening and the Judge is coming out." Nelson mutters.
"All rise, for the honorable Judge Philip C. Marcus." The bailiff commands.
Matt hears the pants of the courtroom audience ruffle as they all stand to attention. Murdock, too, rises to his feet; placing a hand on the edge of the defense table he sits at.
"Please, be seated." the judge says, and all obey.
"We're here to hear the case of State of New York Versus Ms..." he adjusts his glasses and looked down at the paper, having lost his place. "Marissa Silva?"
"Yes, your honor." Murdock says, standing up, still keeping a finger on the edge of the table.
"And you are?" The judge asks, eying Murdock carefully.
"Mr. Matthew Murdock on behalf of the defendant, judge."
"You're representing Ms. Silva?" Marcus asks.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well." The judge adds, with a note of finality. He leans back in his chair, taking up a stack of papers.
"Your honor..." Murdock asks, almost interrupting the silence of the courtroom.
"Yes, Mr. Murdock?" The judge asks, leaning forward again, removing his glasses.
"If it would please the court at this time, I would request that my co-counsel, Franklin Nelson be allowed to introduce himself, along with our client." Murdock asks, almost interrupting the silence of the courtroom.
"Does opposing counsel have any objections?" The judge asks, looking at the district attorney.
"None at this time, your honor. We only ask that we be allowed to make the same introductions when the time comes for us to present our case." The district attorney says, rising to her feet.
"The request is so noted. Mr. Murdock, you may proceed." The judge said, leaning back, preparing to introduce himself to the lawyers and parties involved in the case.
"Mr. Matthew Murdock on behalf of the defendant, judge."
"You're representing Ms. Silva?" Marcus asks.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well." The judge adds, with a note of finality. He leans back in his chair, taking up a stack of papers.
"Your honor..." Murdock asks, almost interrupting the silence of the courtroom.
"Yes, Mr. Murdock?" The judge asks, leaning forward again, removing his glasses.
"If it would please the court at this time, I would request that my co-counsel, Franklin Nelson be allowed to introduce himself, along with our client." Murdock asks, almost interrupting the silence of the courtroom.
"Does opposing counsel have any objections?" The judge asks, looking at the district attorney.
"Thank you, your honor."
Murdock taps on his partner's shoulder, who promptly rises to his feet.
"Good morning, your honor, my name is Franklin Nelson. I am Mr. Murdock's co-counsel in this matter." Nelson mutters.
The judge nods. "Good morning, Mister Nelson."
"Thank you, Franklin." Murdock's attention shifts seamlessly to his client, a woman with a cast over one of her arms, legs, and a neck-brace. Her face, beaten beyond recognition, is only recognizable by the hazel eyes that lie behind stitched-up eyelids.
"Your honor, this is our client. Ms. Marissa Silva. Were she able to speak, she would tell you herself. Unfortunately, though, her vocal cords were severed beyond repair when she was attacked by her husband." "Objection, your honor." The district attorney says, rising to her feet.
"On what grounds?" The puzzled judge asks, eying her. "Two, as a matter of fact. One, Mr. Murdock is arguing his case before the jury is even present; and, two, there is no evidence to support his claim that the defendant was attacked by her husband."
"Mr. Murdock?" The judge says, looking to Matt, offering him a rebuttal. "First, sir, the jury isn't present, therefore I can't be arguing my case; and, second, the fact that Ms. Silva was attacked by her husband on the night in question has been stipulated to by the state and is therefore admitted into evidence."
"Mr. Murdock is correct. The objections are overruled." The judge says, marking something on a sheet of paper in front of him.
"Your honor, for the record, I'd make a motion that the objections be noted for consideration by the jury."
"Mr. Murdock, any objections?" The judge asks, looking to Matt, whose head is deliberately turned slightly. "None, your honor."
"In that case... uh..." The judge mutters, losing his train of thought for a moment. "...the motion is granted. The objections of the district attorney will be presented to the jury as procedural matters."
"Your honor, if I may?"
"Yes, Mr. Murdock?" "I would herein like to make a motion that the case be dismissed."
"On what grounds?" The judge asks, amused by the young lawyer's gaul.
"You have no doubt seen the case file?"
"I have indeed."
Gripping his cane tightly, Matt heard the judge's pulse quicken. The district attorney's nostrils flared, as her breathing became shallow and fast-paced. "Then you are, your honor, aware that the prosecution only intends to call one witness? The man who has admitted to hitting his own wife?"
"I am." "Are there any visual aids that the prosecution wishes to admit into evidence?"
"No."
"Any experts they wish to admit for testimony?"
"None that they have informed us of." "So, in actuality, their case is based on the circumstantial testimony of a man who has admitted to attacking his wife?"
"To the best of my knowledge, yes." "Those are my grounds, your honor. Opposing counsel has failed to meet their burden; not the burden of reasonable doubt, but rather, that of a preponderance of the evidence before you: a lone man's testimony." Murdock says proudly, allowing himself to grin slightly.
The judge seems to ponder Murdock's impassioned speech for a moment, before motioning to both Matt and the district attorney.
"Counsel, approach the bench." Matt feels Foggy's hand around his tricep as he's led to the front of the courtroom, being followed closely by the district attorney.
Once the lawyers arrived at the judge's bench, he leans forward, covering the microphone in his face so that the four of them can have a private conversation.
"Do you have any more grounds for this case? At all?" The judge asks the district attorney; who, in response hangs her head in shame.
"Well, Mr. Murdock, it seems you've managed to win this case without even conducting a cross examination." Speaking into the microphone, the judge then adds, "The motion is hereby granted, and the case is dismissed."
The judge's gavel coming down illuminates the room for Murdock and he sees members of the small audience hugging each other, relieved.
----------------------- "It just isn't right, Foggy." Murdock says, walking down the steps of the courthouse.
"Why not, Matt? She was exonerated. Because of double jeopardy she'll never be charged with the crime again." Nelson says, as they walk down the steps.
"Her innocence ought to have assured that she wasn't charged in the first place." Matt mutters, stopping dead on the curb and holding his arm out signaling for a taxi.
"Look, Matt, don't get all morally indignant on me, here. We're lawyers. We have a reputation to uphold."
"Well, I guess we're just upholding different reputations." Matt says, walking further into the street.
"I can tell. You stand for the classic lawyer: a finder of justice. I stand for the modern lawyer: a finder of cash." Nelson mutters, wrapping his hand around Murdock's arm, heaving him closer to the curb. "And, since your name comes first on the door, we find all the justice we need, but, for some reason, my bank account balance has three zeros and one decimal in it... Get out of the road, you're gonna get yourself killed." The doubting Nelson asked.
"I don't need your damned help, for Christ's sake!" Murdock shouts, wrenching himself free of his friend and partner's grasp.
A silence sits between the two of them, as Matt crosses himself for taking the Lord's name in vein.
"I'm sorry, Foggy, it's just that..."
"I know." Franklin interrupts. "She's from the Kitchen, you're from the Kitchen. It's a common theme with our clients."
Matt leans his head back, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. The noise of the city was putting a strain on his head.
"What's up? Your eyes hurting you again?"
"Yeah, a little bit."
"C'mon, let's get you a cab." Nelson says, placing a supportive hand on his friend's back.
Within minutes, Nelson is holding the door to a yellow taxi for Matt.
"Thanks, Foggy." Matt says, easing himself into the cab, hitting his head on the roof as he goes.
"You want some company for the ride home?" Foggy asks.
"No, thanks."
"Well, call me when you get home."
"Will do."Murdock says as the car door slams shut. Foggy and Matt don't kid each other, they both know that call isn't going to come.
It's seven o'clock by the time Murdock arrives at the warehouse he rents. He slips easily into the massive, three room home he has.
Tapping a button on the wall, Murdock's true lair is revealed.
"Sorry, Foggy." Murdock says heatedly under his breath, taking off his suit for court, revealing his Daredevil costume. "But this place is mine... my town... My Kitchen. I'm the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. I protect those who cannot protect themselves. As a lone man, I use my tools..." Murdock slides his billy clubs out of their holster at his side and begins spinning them in each hand, warming himself up.
"and the fear my mere image can conjure up." Sliding on his gloves, Matt removes his glasses, and runs a hand through his hair.
"If you were here, Foggy, you'd ask me: 'Why? Why do you do this to yourself, Matt?' and the answer is simple, Foggy. Ralph Waldo Emmerson once said that "we are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell"...
Well, Foggy, I've been living in Hell since I was a boy. And, after years of complacancy, I've finally decided to do something about it. I've become the Devil himself."
Matt Murdock clipped his boots on, and jammed his billy clubs into their spot at his side. "Today I watched an innocent woman freed of guilt. And while it was redemption in it's purest form, I also watched a man who took his wife's voice away leave a courthouse with a smile on his face. That can't stand. Nor should it. So, Foggy. Why? Why do I do this?"
Murdock slides his mask over his face, completing his outfit and becoming Daredevil as the sun sets behind him.
"Because it's what has to be done." Daredevil says.
The Devil sat, perched on a lamp-post, contemplating his next move.
He felt the heat from the light dim, and eventually fade away, as the power was cut. Someone, or something, was draining the block, or maybe even the city of its power. One by one, the lights on the street went black.
The darkness provided an advantage to nobody, no one got a leg up.
Nobody except him.
He leaped off of the light, using the blaring horns and racketing buildings as guides, illuminating the world pitted in Darkness around him.
Running along a nearby wall, Daredevil leaped onto a nearby fire escape, elaborately gripping the ladder that led to the floor, he heaved himself up onto the first level of the fire escape. He spun around the metal frame of the escape, and climbed to the second level. Turning around, Daredevil, pushed himself from the ladder into the night air.
Having gained enough height to use his billy club, Daredevil threw the club forward, launching it towards a nearby building. With a mere flick of his wrist, the club's trajectory changed in mid air, sending it beneath a nearby water tower and around a steel flagpole.
Grunting, he heaved himself upwards, flying through the air. With both feet extended before him, Daredevil landed on an old, brass bar that held up the rickety sign marking his destination. Daredevil leaned down, perfectly balanced, and ran his fingers over the engraved wood.
"Bullseye's Bar & Grill"
He chortled to himself, ascending up the wall with a few brisk, well placed steps, and leaped through an open window.
He landed hard on the carpet, planting both his hands and feet on the ground.
<"What was that?"> A voice said from below him.
<"I dunno, let's check it out."> Another voice said.
The Devil grinned behind his mask, realizing that with the two approaching thugs, deception and cunning were his best tools.
He heard the thuds of their feet as they ascended the stairs, Daredevil had little, if any time.
He pulled his mask back, behind his head, and felt around the room.
He laid his hands upon an old coat, tossed aside in the corner and put it on. He holstered one of his clubs, while extending the other into his cane.
Daredevil tossed the cane towards the corner and fell to his hands and knees.
The two men eased the door open, only to hear, not Daredevil, but Matt Murdock, beseeching them for help.
"Hello?" He said, feeling the disgusting carpet, "Is anyone there? Please help me, I was just looking for the bathroom when I fell."
The two men stood quietly until one of them whispered to the other.
"C'mon, man let's just go."
Murdock heard the other man whisper back, "We can't. He's blind for Christ's sake, we can't just leave him here."
"Is someone there? Please, if you help me find my cane, I'll get out of your way." Murdock pleaded.
"I can hardly see him, it's so damn dark." The first thug said, making his way to Matt.
The room was illuminated before Murdock when the second thug walked into a chair.
"Dammit." He muttered, gripping his knee.
Matt felt a hand on his left shoulder, then another on his right.
"Come on, man, let's get you to the bathroom." The second thug's voice rang out.
"Thank you, but you really should have listened to your friend." Daredevil said, reemerging.
Matt threw his head back, discarded the jacket, and heaved his mask on.
"What the hell?" The first thug ask, digging into his pocket.
He withdrew a lighter, and flicked it a few times, igniting a small flame that soon covered the room in a deep-orange glow.
Daredevil spun his remaining billy club on his finger and jammed it into the first thug's throat. With a single swift motion, he threw his knuckle's into the other thug's Adam's apple. Both were silenced with a sharp "Glkk!"
The Crimson Crusader fell to his knees and jammed his fists into each of the thug's guts. He spun on a leg, and knocked their feet out from under them. Leaping to his own feet, Daredevil began pummeling the two men with his club and fist. After a quick somersault, he had both clubs and jammed them bluntly into the thug's foreheads.
As he heard their heartbeats slow, Daredevil stopped. The music from the bar below him was blaring, likely why nobody had heard his little tussle. Realizing he was out of breath, Daredevil paused, allowing himself to fully regain control of himself.
He picked up the lighter and stood for a moment, letting the scents from the bar below rise up the stairs to meet him.
Whiskey.
Gun powder.
Sweat.
Nothing he couldn't handle.
Daredevil casually picked up the discarded lighter and made his way down the stairwell. He removed his mask at the foot of the stairs so as to not draw attention in the poorly illuminated bar. The stink of body odor, vomit, and liquor met his nostrils as he made his way through the massive crowd.
He found an empty seat at the bar and slammed his fist upon the table. He ducked below the glass bar and heard the bartender mutter to himself.
"When someone pounds the bar, that's the international sign for "fetch me up another round" ain't it?"
Daredevil appeared in front of the barkeep.
"You can get me something." He said, lighting the lighter in front of his face, heat washing over his flesh.
"The mic."
Daredevil's voice boomed through the bar, having blown out the lighter, as the battery-operated microphone amplified his speech.
Citing biblical passage, with his own unique twist, Daredevil said[SIZE=-1] "Haste and escape for your lives. Look not behind you, escape to the safe streets of the City, lest you be consumed in all your wickedness."
[/SIZE]"What does that even mean?" an angry bar patron shouted.
"It means that you ought to run while you still can." Daredevil said, giving the group a moment to comply.[SIZE=-1]
[/SIZE]
A mass of patrons left the bar, leaving only Daredevil and the man who had been acquitted of a vicious assault upon his wife.
"You know, Zoltan. There's still a way you can survive this night." Daredevil said, clipping his clubs together and easing his way between the bar stools.
He heard the man's panting...
Smelled his sweat...
Felt his heart beating viciously through the rattling floorboards.
His fear was palpable.
Daredevil grinned softly from behind his mask.
"Zoltan... can I call you Zoltan? I know you're still in this bar. You're here; with me now. And there's only one reason for that. Do you want to know what it is, Zoltan?" Daredevil asked the panting, sweating, and panicking man.
"You're curious." Daredevil said after a few breaths.
The stench of the bar was foul, overpowering. With every few steps he took, Daredevil had to regulate his breathing, shake his head, and proceed ever closer to Zoltan Drago.
Finally, at long last, Drago's voice rang out like a bell.
"Curious? Curious about what?" He asked, safely lodged behind the bar.
"Curious about everything." Daredevil said, running his billy club along the legs of the stools he passed them, illuminating the room and taunting his prey at the same time.
"You're curious about how I know about what you did to your wife, curious about what your punishment will be..."
Daredevil sat at a stool directly above the man and leaned his head over, staring directly into the man's face from behind his blind eyes.
"...And most of all, you're curious about how you can be forgiven."
Drago lunged forward on the dirty floor, flicking cockroaches out of his path, in a hopeless attempt to get away from Daredevil.
Daredevil extended his torso over the bar, wrapping his hands around Drago's collar. He heaved the man onto the bar with one hand, and wrapped the other around a bottle.
He smashed the bottom of the bottle on the lip of the bar and held it to Drago's throat.
"Well, in my book," Daredevil muttered, cocking his head, "which is the Bible, by the way, there's only one rule that justifies forgiveness. The golden rule. Y'know, "Do unto others" and all that jazz."
Daredevil softly slid the pointed glass along the Man's throat, making sure that he didn't break the skin.
"So, tell me Zoltar. Why shouldn't I jam this bottle through your throat, taking away your voice? Ensuring that you never speak another word?"
Moments passed, each man waiting for the other to say something, anything.
"Answer me!" Daredevil screamed.
He heard Drago swallow a few deep gulps and slowly mutter the words.
"Because I'm innocent."
Though not the answer he was expecting, Daredevil still grinned from behind his mask, ignoring the fact that Zoltan Drago's heart was beating at a constant rate.
"Come now, Mr. Drago..." The Devil said.
He ignored the sound of wood splintering, and a beam flying through the air, and instead made a single statement.
"You can't lie to the Devil."
Daredevil heaved the bottle and his hand high in the air.
With a single swift motion, he sent it crashing down into the man's throat. The sound of glass shattering had cut him off from his sonar momentarily, so Daredevil had to rely upon his acute sense of touch to feel the man's throat.
Nothing.
Zoltan Drago's flesh was perfectly fine and intact. Daredevil couldn't smell blood, or taste it in the air for that matter, and the shattered neck of the bottle was still held tightly in his free hand.
"Leave my customer alone." A deep Irish accent said, illuminating the room.
With this new breath of light, Daredevil saw a shattered pool cue on the bar next to him. One that had obviously been thrown between the bottom of the bottle and the man's neck by the Irishman in the corner.
"Leave. Now. This doesn't concern you."
"Hey. You're in my bar, pal." The man said, stepping forward from the corner of the room, each step ringing clearly. "If you throw my customer onto my bar, don't say it don't concern me."
"Who are you?"
"Well... I'm a big Kahuna. My name's on the door."
His steps came closer, and Daredevil dragged Drago along the bar, away from this newcomer.
"Zoltan. Leave." The unnamed man said, directing the sinner now.
Daredevil's grip around the man's collar tightened, but he tore himself free.
As he headed for the door, the newcomer called out to him.
"And remember, Zoltan. This may be a man without fear," he said, pointing at Daredevil. "But there's really nothing to fear but fear itself."
"Fear..." Daredevil heard Zoltan mutter as he sprinted out of the bar.
Daredevil turned his attention back to the interlocutor and focused his senses even more sharply.
New scents wafted into his nostrils.
Polyester.
Nylon.
Sweat-covered plastic.
Daredevil shook his head. "What are you? In a costume or something?"
"That I am, mate." The Irish man said. "But, I like to think of it more like my "work clothes.""
Daredevil heard the scratching of something sliding over the man's face and could only assume it was a mask.
"See, Daredevil. Now we're on level playing fields." He said with a chuckle.
"Well, almost level." He added. "I know what your powers are. But, since I've only demonstrated my unique gift once, you aren't quite as well acquainted with mine."
Daredevil stood firm, and muttered something under his breath.
"What was that?" The Irish bloke taunted. "The man without fear is afraid of public speaking?"
Daredevil raised his head.
"And the Lord said: "Yes, march against New York, the land of rebels, the land of sinners, a land that you will judge! Pursue, kill, and completely destroy them, as I have commanded you."" The other man laughed.
"I went to Sunday school. If you think reciting modernized scripture will frighten me, Daredevil, you're dead wrong."
Daredevil thought for a moment.
"I'm simply pointing out that it is my job to rid the city of sin. So it shall be I who casts the first stone!" As soon as he had finished his final word, Daredevil hurled his billy club at the man opposed from him.
Daredevil heard it sail through the air and watched as it smacked the man's hand.
As he watched though, the man spun the club on his fingers, as if he had caught it.
With another swift motion, Daredevil watched as the club came floating back towards him.
Only by the grace of his enhanced reflexes was Daredevil able to take the club to the chin with a glancing blow.
He back handspringed and caught the club in midair.
Amazed at his opponents speed and precision, Daredevil felt it necessary to ask a single question.
"Who are you?"
"The name's Bullseye." The man across from him said, pointing at him.
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