Maguire fixed Bullseye with a look of pure disdain.
"How boring. Is *that* all you've got? Strutting around like you're something special—please."
With a casual flick of his arm, he hurled the throwing knife back. Powered by the ten-ton force in his muscles, it flew faster than the human eye could track.
Bullseye barely had time to register what was happening before the blade punched clean through his palm.
The pain was instant and blinding.
"Aaagh—my hand!" he screamed.
For a man whose livelihood depended on precision and dexterity, an injury to the hand was catastrophic. His career as an assassin could very well be over.
Maguire's steps were slow, arrogant, deliberate as he advanced.
---
Bullseye's terror spiked. The job, the money, the Kingpin—he forgot it all.
What good was a payday if you didn't live to spend it?
He spun on his heel to run.
Maguire only smirked.
A cigar appeared between his fingers with a twist of his wrist, baffling both the crowd and Daredevil.
"What—he's letting him go?"
"Why's he lighting a cigar now? Shouldn't he be chasing him?"
The assassin glanced back in confusion, seeing Maguire calmly exhale a perfect smoke ring.
"Run? You think I'd waste the energy?" Maguire murmured.
His right hand lifted.
A strand of web shot out like a lightning bolt, catching Bullseye square in the back.
The assassin heard the hiss of air and tried to dodge—but the next thing he knew, a crushing force yanked him backward.
In an instant, he was skidding across the pavement and landed flat on his back near Maguire's feet.
The bystanders gasped.
"He just… reeled him in from *that* far away!"
"That white line—what even *is* that?!"
Daredevil's jaw tightened.
*Just how many abilities does this guy have? Is he even human?*
---
Bullseye lay there, dazed.
*Wasn't I running? How am I back here?*
Then the voice came, right behind him.
"What's the rush? Did I say you could run?"
From the corner of his eye, Bullseye noticed a silver-dressed woman step out of another car. Daredevil's expression shifted at the sight of her.
She darted toward the black limo, standing protectively as a well-dressed middle-aged man emerged, his expression grim.
But Bullseye's focus was on the predator looming over him.
Maguire's shadow fell across him. The killer, who'd faced death more times than he could count, felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"Why'd you stop?" Maguire asked, his tone almost amused.
"I—I'm not running," Bullseye stammered.
"Did I *say* you could stop?" Maguire's brow furrowed.
Bullseye's mind spun. *Wait—does he… want me to run?*
"T-then… I'll run? Run?"
Maguire nodded slowly.
"Go on."
Bullseye's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Before I change my mind—move."
He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the agony in his injured hand, and bolted.
But before he'd taken two full steps—
CRACK.
Maguire's boot slammed into his knee, the joint folding with a sickening snap.
Bullseye collapsed, clutching his leg, shrieking.
"My leg—ahhh!"
Maguire looked down, still smiling.
"You gonna run or not? I *told* you to run."
---
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