Dressed in a thick black jacket that seemed to swallow him whole, Wyatt walked along the midst of Mount Hope Cemetery, watching as his breath escaped in delicate puffs of white mist, the chilly November air biting at his exposed skin.
Each inhalation sent jolts of pain through his injured and bruised face as he trudged along the winding paths, surrounded by the solemn silhouettes of ancient tombstones.
A few fellow visitors glanced his way, their eyes drawn to the stark white bandages and the angry bruises marring Wyatt's features, but they quickly returned to their own realms of sorrow, steeped in their grief and the weight of their memories.
Finally arriving at his destination, he knelt before a pristine gravestone, its surface gleaming even in the muted light of the overcast sky. The name etched deeply into the stone—Luigi Lombardi.
Reaching out with a trembling hand, Wyatt brushed away the nonexistent dust that clung to the gravestone as if it could somehow erase the ache in his soul. He held onto the cool stone, his heart heavy, and let out a weary sigh, the sound echoing softly in the stillness of the cemetery.
"I got him, Luigi. I found the man who took you away from Serena. He won't hurt anyone ever again," Wyatt whispered. "I… I lost control. The things he said… I couldn't stop myself, and I just… beat him down. I almost killed him," Wyatt looked down at the bandages covering his injured knuckles. "I just… lost myself to all that rage that I thought I had under control. But it was too much. It broke free after the way he talked about Serena. I couldn't stop it."
A burst of heat rose in his chest, but it quickly settled. Even now, remembering the words Reznov said about how his men almost assaulted Serena still caused his inner rage to burst forward. But after the grave assault he performed on Reznov, which ended with the man's face being permanently disfigured, any and all of the anger Wyatt kept locked away had been finally released. Only embers of its existence remained.
"I can guess what you would say: that what I did to that man wasn't wrong and that Reznov got what he deserved. Killing him would be easier than keeping him locked up for the rest of his life. I want to agree with that. I do. But… I can't. I can't allow myself to sink to that level again. I refuse to become like them. I know it's naive. I understand that the world would be better off without people like him. But I don't want to be an executioner. I want to inspire people to be better."
Wyatt took a seat and leaned on his knees. "I know how that sounds. It's a childish dream, especially considering the world I'm living in. Hell, I know better than anyone that killing everyone who is or will be a threat in this world would be the smart thing to do. The easy thing to do… But is it so wrong for me to want to live in a better world? A world where everyone can just be good to each other? It's so obvious, at least to me... In reality, everything is connected. Everyone is connected."
Wyatt lifted his head, his gaze lost in the mesmerizing dance of vibrant colors swirling in the air around him. This ethereal ballet was not a figment of his imagination; it was a vivid representation of the intricate web of existence that he could perceive with his unique abilities.
Thanks to the inner workings of his powers, he had the rare gift of seeing beyond the tangible world, discerning the fundamental components of matter and the smallest atoms that comprised everything.
Each line and hue he observed was a manifestation of the interconnectedness of all life. Humans, mutants, animals, insects—every organism, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, was interwoven in this vast tapestry of existence. There were even lines of dancing colors, strange atoms that were lost to even him, that he could not understand as well. While he understood how existence of life worked, he still didn't have all the answers.
Even so, Wyatt understood that everyone's lives were not isolated threads but part of a larger narrative, a complex ecosystem where each being influenced the others in ways both seen and unseen.
In this profound understanding, Wyatt grasped the essence of what truly mattered.
At the end of it all, beyond the noise and chaos of daily life, every living being shared one essential truth: their existence was intertwined with one another.
Each connection, each relationship, was a lifeline, grounding them in a shared reality where unity was the ultimate strength. The weight of this understanding settled within him, deepening his resolve to cherish and protect the delicate balance of life that surrounded him. Even those who would be better off dead due to their actions.
Perhaps if he weren't able to see in such a molecular spectrum, Wyatt wouldn't be so adverse to killing.
He wouldn't be so adverse to doing what was needed. To do what was easy.
But he couldn't. Every life form had infinite potential for good. But also evil.
It wasn't his call to decide if they lived or died.
Because if he ever crossed that line… he doubted he would ever come back. He doubted he could still be the same person. He doubted he could still be good.
Wyatt was afraid of the man he could become if he simply started killing everything and everyone he thought deserved it.
And so, he refused to kill. No matter how much easier it would make his life if he simply did so.
That was his choice. His decision.
In the end, he would choose what he would do with his life and his power.
And what he decided to do was help and protect those who lacked the power to do so.
Was that the correct choice to make?
Wyatt didn't know.
But he would walk down that path with hope for the future.
"It's an old-fashioned dream. I know… but it's my dream," Wyatt said and stood to his feet, not realizing he had spent an hour sitting. In a flash of light, a bundle of flowers sat in a beautiful vase in front of the grave stone. "Thanks for listening, Luigi. Next time, I'll bring Serena with me."
Turning around, Wyatt left the cemetery. The weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.
••o••o••o••
Maksimilian Zhukov was not a man to be crossed. Over the span of his 65 years of life, he had clawed his way to power. He had lost count of the number of lives he had trampled, fractured, and ended in his long career of crime. Killing came to him as naturally as breathing.
It was no surprise to anyone when he established a large and unstoppable human trafficking operation twenty years ago. Such cruel acts, such as selling a human being to another for monetary gain, didn't affect him in the slightest. All that mattered to him was his money and power.
As the years unfolded, Maksimilian's wealth and reputation grew exponentially, creating an aura of both fear and respect that surrounded his name.
To many, he was an untouchable figure in the shadowy underbelly of the city, a man whose very mention was enough to silence a room and instill a sense of reverence.
However, this status was irrevocably shaken when a new name began to echo through the streets: The Big Man. Known to some as Wilson Fisk, this formidable newcomer rose to prominence in the criminal underworld with astonishing speed, amassing power and influence seemingly overnight. The sudden emergence of Fisk as a significant player transformed the landscape of organized crime, and it enraged Maksimilian.
Who did Wilson Fisk think he was?
How could someone so new to the game challenge a legacy built over decades?
The sheer audacity of his rapid ascent was unprecedented in their world—a realm where trust and loyalty meant everything, and alliances were painstakingly forged over time.
Maksimilian had received word from one of his trusted employees that Wilson was employing a variety of modern techniques and innovative approaches to expand his empire. His methods included leveraging the World Wide Web and advanced technology, allowing him to outmaneuver competitors with alarming efficiency.
Maksimilian couldn't help but scoff at these tactics; he had always been an old-school operator who preferred the tactile feel of pen and paper, meticulously documenting his resources and strategies in ink.
Yet, he recognized that the tides of change often demanded adaptability. In moments when technology was necessary, he relied on his loyal, tech-savvy subordinate, whose expertise was vital for navigating this new era. Additionally, Maksimilian's connections within the government provided a safety net, ensuring that their operations could remain under the radar and shielded from prying eyes.
Despite the rising storm that Fisk represented, Maksimilian was resolute. He believed that his own organization, built on years of hard work and dedication, still eclipsed Wilson's burgeoning ranks.
As he surveyed his operations, he knew that the battle was far from over, and he was determined to safeguard his legacy against this uninvited rival.
That was until Atomic appeared like a demon possessed.
It all began one fateful night when Maksimilian's usual weekly shipment of new product—over a dozen young girls—left port, bound for Nova Scotia and their yet-to-be futures with their new owners. Just as the ship sailed into the dark waters, a figure emerged from the night: Atomic. The hero of New York. A walking god among them.
With a blend of skill and overwhelming power, Atomic swiftly neutralized Maksimilian's armed men, dismantling their defenses as if they were nothing more than fragile toys. In a matter of minutes, the girls were freed from their captivity, and with a decisive command, Atomic turned the ship around, steering it back to port where a legion of police awaited to take down the human traffickers.
If that had been the end of it, Maksimilian might have endured the blow and rebuilt his losses. However, Atomic was relentless. The vigilante embarked on a crusade to uncover every last operation linked to Maksimilian's nefarious activities.
One by one, he unearthed ships laden with contraband, dismantled clandestine warehouses brimming with ill-gotten wealth, and placed hundreds of Maksimilian's once-loyal employees behind bars. It was a systematic destruction that left Maksimilian's empire quaking on its last legs.
As the days turned into weeks, the foundations of Maksimilian's power began to crumble before his very eyes, each blow delivered by Atomic feeling more personal than the last.
Then came a tipping point: Wilson Fisk, the notorious up and coming crime lord who smelled the weakness radiating off Maksimilian's. Without wasting any time, Wilson moved in.
With a swift strike, he stripped away what remained of Maksimilian's influence and resources, leaving him with only a handful of fiercely devoted men, like Reznov, and mere scraps of his once-glorious wealth.
In his desperation, Maksimilian resorted to reaching out to Senator Stern—a long-time customer and financial backer—hoping to secure his faltering empire.
Initially, the Senator's intervention seemed to breathe new life into Maksimilian's ambitions, helping him claw back a fraction of his lost power and wealth. But just as his fortunes appeared to turn, fate intervened with an unexpected twist: Atomic was suddenly branded a terrorist and vanished from the city, leaving chaos in his wake.
Recognizing this as a crucial turning point, Maksimilian knew he had to act decisively. The opportunity to reclaim what was rightfully his was within reach, and he was determined to seize it—no matter the cost.
With no Atomic to stop him, Maksimilian regrew his empire rapidly with Stern's resources and government connections. All in return for first picking any future girls he planned to sell. This was no problem for Maksimilian, especially considering that the younger ones, Stern's personal favorite, were easy to kidnap.
But then came Atomic's highly publicized hearing on Capitol Hill, and everything began to unravel once again. The weight of his past involvement with the government-run facility in Nevada, overseen by the notorious MRD, had finally caught up with Sterns.
With his arrest, the support and resources that once flowed to Maksimilian had vanished overnight. Stripped of his privileges, Maksimilian relied solely on the meager foundation he had managed to build in an alarmingly short span of time.
Despite the overbearing attention, Atomic returned to the city, his name cleared in a whirlwind of media coverage and public support.
With unstoppable momentum, he unleashed a relentless wave of justice that swiftly dismantled the burgeoning crime syndicates that had begun to rise in his absence.
Atomic was an unstoppable force, his power so overwhelming that crime bosses trembled at the thought of crossing his path; most chose to avoid him entirely, like a contagious disease.
Maksimilian, however, had no choice but to resign himself to this grim reality. He would swallow his pride and operate from the fringes, lurking in the shadows like a rat scuttling in a dark alley. The very thought of his fall from grace ignited a furious rage within him; it was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing he had sunk so low.
Setting his glass of vodka down with a clink that echoed through his dimly lit office, Maksimilian took a moment to absorb his surroundings. The space was a far cry from the opulent rooms he once occupied, filled with lavish furnishings and the hum of high-stakes business. Now, his office felt cramped and suffocating—a reflection of his diminished status and the tangled web of power dynamics that had turned against him.
"Where is Reznov? He's late," Maksimilian said to the two men who stood at attention beside the lone door of the room.
"Comrade Reznov said he was handling one of those vigilantes," One of the men, Nikolai, said. "That was three days ago."
Maksimilian frowned and leaned forward on his desk. "The Daredevil… one of the pests that have been interfering with our business," he said with a glare. "Why hasn't Reznov reported back?"
"I'm not sure, boss. This isn't like Reznov," Nikolai said, pulling out his phone. "I'll call him and-"
The door to the room burst off its hinges as a figure in red and black dashed in. With quick movements, Daredevil took out both Nikolai and his partner before they could pull out their handguns.
Maksimilian was about to grab the AK-47 from beside his desk, but froze as his body levitated off the ground, surrounded by a red glow. He looked over to the door and glared hatefully at Atomic.
"You! You son of a bitch! You ruined me! You dare show yourself to me!" Maksimilian yelled as he tried to move his limbs to attack Atomic.
"It's over, Maksimilian," Atomic said as he tied him up with rope, just like he had done to the two unconscious men on the ground.
"Over? This is far from over! You think I'll stop just because you've captured me?! My power and influence may have weakened, but I still have friends in high places!" Maksimilian spat out as he glared at Atomic and Daredevil with as much hatred as he could muster. "You think these American prisons can hold me? I'll be out soon, and I'll find every last person you care about. And when I do, I'll gut them and deliver their mutilated corpses to you! I'll make you suffer tenfold for what you've done to me!"
Atomic turned to Daredevil and stared. The man without fear sighed and nodded. "He's not lying. He means every word he said," he said.
"Then it's decided. After everything he's done... after everything we've seen, the fortress is what he deserves," Atomic said.
"What are you two bastards—" Maksimilian started, but his words were cut off as thick tape wrapped around his mouth.
"I don't like this. If I allow you to do that, we're taking on the roles of judge, jury, and executioner. He deserves a real trial by the people to condemn him for his actions," Daredevil asserted as Atomic moved behind Maksimilian's computer.
"Eve, get me access. I want everything," Atomic instructed, inserting a flash drive into the computer's USB port.
"On it," Eve replied.
Within a matter of minutes, the laptop's screen was full of pictures showing off beaten and abused minors, women, and men as their bodies were shown off to interested buyers from across the world. Records of money transactions, evidence of bribes, and contact information to high-powered members of the city, police, and government were all displayed before Atomic.
"Maksimilian is right. He knows a lot of powerful people who will help get him out of jail. A trial will only be a waste of time and resources. His computer holds too much blackmail on these people. They'll bend over backwards if it means all this doesn't go public," Atomic said. "We know he's guilty. The horrors he's committed and ordered are real. I know this may not be the right thing to do in the eyes of the law, and it's not something we'll do for every criminal we come across. But the fortress is the solution for people like him, those who commit real evil. A real solution."
Daredevil remained silent, his gaze directed away from the unfolding chaos around him.
Years of rigorous law study and his dedication as a defense attorney echoed in his mind, urgently insisting that Atomic's proposed course of action was fundamentally flawed.
Yet, deep within him—the very essence that defined him as Daredevil—a voice quietly but persistently argued that perhaps Atomic's solution was the only viable option. The law, a cornerstone of their society, was not always synonymous with justice. No amount of wishing could change that bitter truth.
In his dual existence as a lawyer, both within the courtroom and beyond, Daredevil had witnessed the grim realities of an imperfect legal system. He had seen countless lives shattered as innocent individuals were ensnared in the web of legal machinations, suffering as affluent and well-connected lawyers skillfully maneuvered their clearly guilty clients out of accountability. He had even observed judges, once bastions of impartiality, swayed by the allure of corruption, their gavel strikes more reflective of personal gain than justice.
Maksimilian, despite the erosion of his power and the weight of his transgressions, still possessed a few aces up his sleeve. He was a master of survival in the criminal underworld, and it was only a matter of time before he would reemerge from the shadows to reconstruct his empire.
Walking up to the broken doorway, Daredevil paused. "Fine. We'll do things your way—at least this time." With his words spoken, the man without fear departed.
Atomic nodded, aware that Daredevil sensed his movement from beyond the room. "Eve, release all of this to the public. Don't leave anyone involved out of it."
"You got it," Eve replied, much to Maksimilian's horror.
The muffled screams of the man filled the room as Atomic approached him. Lifting Maksimilian into the air with his powers, Atomic stared deep into his eyes. "Where you're going, no one will help you. You will answer for all your crimes, and you'll never see the light of day again—just like Reznov."
Maksimilian's eyes widened in fear as Atomic waved his hand, creating a large opening in the wall. With another wave, he fashioned a blindfold around the old Russian man's eyes.
With one final muffled scream, Maksimilian was carried across the skies of New York as Atomic flew him to the Fortress of Solitude, where he would spend the remainder of his natural life.