As Jason stood contemplating the disaster unfolding before him, David's panicked voice erupted through his earpiece: "Hey! Stop daydreaming—this is your karmic payback—wait, you've got bigger problems. Daredevil is heading straight for you!"
Jason's heart skipped a beat. The vigilante's timing couldn't possibly be worse.
He touched the Hell's Butcher mask he'd tucked away earlier, knowing he couldn't even pretend to be an innocent bystander and walk away now.
So, he put it on.
A crimson figure bounded between buildings with remarkable agility, rapidly closing the distance. Upon spotting Jason, Daredevil's expression hardened instantly.
"You bastard! Did you cause this? Six explosions across the district—dozens could be dead because of you!"
Jason's mind raced. He absolutely couldn't admit responsibility.
If he did, he'd never be able to face this self-righteous vigilante again.
"It wasn't me! Don't throw around accusations. I was just passing by!" Jason pointed frantically toward the waterfront. "I saw someone in dark clothing running toward the river. If you hurry, you might catch them."
"Save it," Daredevil snarled. "You have the audacity to commit this act but not own up to it? Who else could orchestrate six simultaneous explosions?"
"There are plenty of costumed lunatics in this city. Why assume it's always me?"
Daredevil dispensed with further conversation and launched a devastating punch. "Tonight, I'm bringing you to justice!"
Jason had no interest in prolonging this confrontation. His primary concern was finding a way to mitigate this catastrophic—and entirely accidental—public health crisis.
Coincidentally, several residents who had bravely joined the firefighting efforts began exhibiting alarming behavioral changes.
Some couldn't stop laughing hysterically. Others began tearing off their clothes. One man broke into an impromptu operatic performance.
Witnessing this disturbing spectacle, Daredevil froze mid-attack, his voice dropping to an incredulous whisper: "You sick bastard... you've poisoned them?"
Jason rolled his eyes. "Hey, 'hero'—can't you smell the burning narcotics permeating the air? If we keep fighting here, I guarantee we'll end up more deranged than they are."
Daredevil paused momentarily before pulling up the lower half of his mask to expose his mouth and nose. He inhaled deeply, analyzing the air.
He took another experimental breath. Then another.
With each inhalation, Jason's expression grew increasingly concerned. What exactly is this guy doing?
"Marijuana, heroin, methamphetamine... a complex mixture of substances. Was this a distribution center?"
Jason shrugged nonchalantly. "I suspect whoever set these fires intended to destroy the drug supply but made the critical error of using explosives."
"Still, we can't judge too harshly. Their intentions were noble." He added with feigned wisdom, "As an ancient Eastern proverb states: 'No one is perfect, and all are prone to error.'"
Daredevil glared at him. "Do you comprehend the magnitude of this disaster? People could die from overdosing on these fumes. Others might suffer psychotic breaks and incite riots. Some might—"
"I understand!" Jason interrupted. "Look, there's nothing more we can do here. Five additional sites remain. Shall we divide them between us?"
Daredevil clenched his jaw, hesitating before responding with barely contained fury. "Next time our paths cross, you won't be so fortunate."
With that, he swung his billy club and launched himself toward the next explosion site.
Jason sighed inwardly. This complicated relationship explained why he never fully agreed with Daredevil's methods yet couldn't consider him a true enemy either.
"David, of the remaining sites, which appears most critical for my attention?"
At New York Police Headquarters, Commissioner George Stacy's expression darkened as he listened to his subordinates' reports.
Minutes earlier, he'd received a disturbing video featuring two corrupt officers confessing to crimes that shocked even his veteran sensibilities.
Setting aside the corruption allegations, the apparent abduction and potential execution of two NYPD officers was profoundly offensive to everything he stood for.
Just as he prepared to personally coordinate a rescue operation, the explosions occurred across Hell's Kitchen.
Goddamnit, this is a full-scale terrorist attack! His anger boiled over. "Find whoever orchestrated this. They'll face the full weight of justice!"
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts.
An officer burst through the door. "Chief, we've just received information that the vigilante interrogation video and tonight's bombings will headline tomorrow's editions of major newspapers nationwide—including the New York Times, Washington Post, and Los Angeles Times!"
Stacy's complexion turned ashen. This publicity disaster would undoubtedly jeopardize his career trajectory.
He clenched his teeth. "Alert all divisions. As of this moment, the bombing case becomes our absolute priority. All other investigations are secondary."
"I want results within twenty-four hours!"
Several senior officers exchanged glances but remained silent.
The Chief's directive clearly circumvented standard protocols, but they understood the extraordinary pressure that would come from simultaneous front-page coverage across America's most influential newspapers.
Another knock at the door broke the tension. "Chief, witnesses report Hell's Butcher and Daredevil engaged in combat near the Ninth Street explosion site."
The connection crystallized instantly in Stacy's mind.
The interrogation video had mentioned corrupt officers delivering narcotics to six distribution centers—now six explosions had rocked the district.
With Hell's Butcher and Daredevil at the scene, the conclusion seemed obvious: Hell's Butcher was responsible.
"DAMN IT!" Stacy slammed his fist against the desk. "Mobilize SWAT immediately! I want every available officer at those locations. Search every inch until we apprehend Hell's Butcher!"
A junior officer spoke hesitantly. "Sir, we lack concrete evidence linking him to these events..."
"Who else could it possibly be?" Stacy snapped. "While I have reservations about the red vigilante, even he wouldn't perpetrate something this reckless."
His expression darkened further. "Prepare my vehicle. I'm heading there personally. Hell's Butcher will be arrested by my own hands tonight!"
The French restaurant lay in ruins.
Upon learning that all six drug distribution centers had been destroyed—resulting in losses exceeding one hundred million dollars—Kingpin had demolished the establishment in a blind rage.
Now he stood before the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows, his breathing labored, his necktie torn away, and his immaculate suit in disarray.
Behind him, Wesley had returned immediately after escorting Vanessa home.
Surveying the fires spreading across the city, Kingpin spoke in a ragged voice: "Has the hunting team been deployed?"
Wesley nodded. "They're already moving. As instructed, they'll deliver only a corpse, not a captive."
"They'd better not fail me."
Wesley swallowed nervously. As Kingpin's most trusted lieutenant, he understood the ruthless nature of his employer better than anyone.
To inspire this level of hatred... the target's fate is already sealed.
As if confirming his thoughts, Kingpin drove his massive fist into the remaining glass.
The reinforced, laminated safety glass instantly fractured into a spiderweb of cracks.
"I want to kill him myself," Kingpin growled with lethal intent.
Agent Coulson was jolted from sleep by his phone's insistent ringing.
This special ringtone was reserved exclusively for the Director.
The moment he answered, an exasperated, theatrical voice boomed through the speaker: "Coulson! Where the hell are you? Half of Hell's Kitchen is ablaze, and you're enjoying a peaceful slumber? Are you serious right now? I tasked you with monitoring Hell's Butcher—what happened to that assignment?"
Following Nick Fury's tirade, Coulson pulled back his hotel room's heavy curtains.
Instantly, the raging fires of Hell's Kitchen filled his view.
Exhaustion had dulled his normally sharp faculties. His first absurd thought was: The soundproofing in this SHIELD safe house is remarkably effective!
Professional instincts quickly reasserted themselves as he checked his watch.
"Sir, the Hell's Butcher surveillance operation officially concluded yesterday. It's currently... one minute past midnight, and my assignment has been reassigned to Brazil to apprehend the green subject."
Silence hung on the line momentarily.
"Get your ass out of bed, NOW! Agent Barton is waiting outside your door. Catch whoever just poisoned half of Manhattan!"
"Yes, Director."