The cold leather seats.
The silent air, and outside the window, the luxurious lights of another World, rapidly receding.
Jessica was driving William's Audi, and the car was filled with a strange mixture of cheap whiskey and expensive perfume, just like the night they had just experienced—absurd and fragmented.
William had asked Jessica why she liked to drink such cheap liquor. She said it was strong.
Having witnessed Jessica down the whiskey in one go, William sternly forbade her from driving.
Driving under the influence would lead to a revoked driver's license.
Jessica, however, laughed twice, declared she didn't have a driver's license anyway, and rudely got into the driver's seat.
Her fingers on the steering wheel were white at the knuckles, as if it wasn't a steering wheel, but Kingpin's neck.
William leaned back in the passenger seat, untied the necktie that had nearly choked his will to live, and completely relaxed.
The 'professional elite' mask on his face had shattered into powder, leaving only the exhaustion of having narrowly escaped death.
Kingpin.
Hellcat.
Pledge of Allegiance.
Each word was a death notice.
"You really should have seen yourself just now."
Jessica, with interest, took out another bottle of liquor and took a sip. William had no idea when she'd brought it into the car!
"Like a poodle dropped into a shark tank, desperately trying to prove it wasn't dog food, but the new caretaker."
William twitched the corner of his mouth, wanting to smile, but found his facial muscles were completely stiff.
"Thanks for the compliment. At least I wasn't eaten on the spot, right?"
He turned his head, looking at the increasingly familiar, dilapidated streetscape outside the window. Hell's Kitchen had arrived.
"And, I've secured for us the right to choose from a menu, rather than being served directly on a platter."
"That menu only offers two ways to die."
Jessica slammed on the brakes, stopping the car roughly by the roadside, and the vehicle groaned in protest.
She turned her head, her eyes sharp as knives under the dim streetlights.
"Now, tell me your damn plan. Don't give me any of that 'for ourselves' nonsense. I want the truth. What exactly are you gambling on?"
William's phone vibrated at that moment.
He looked down; the screen displayed only a few simple words from an encrypted number.
"[The usual place. Come alone.]"
There was no signature, but William knew who it was.
"My plan?"
William put away his phone, met Jessica's gaze, his eyes filled with an unprecedented gravity.
"My plan is to find a crack to survive between the two millstones of Kingpin and Hellcat. For this, I need a friend who understands both law and violence."
He pushed open the car door.
"You stay here. The upcoming conversation is not suitable for a drunkard who has 'I want to beat everyone up' written all over him."
Jessica watched him get out of the car and disappear into the darkness of the alley, cursed under her breath, but ultimately did not follow.
She punched the steering wheel.
The horn let out a short, angry wail... The rooftop of Clinton Parish.
The night wind, carrying the clamor and sin from the depths of the city, made clothes flap loudly.
William climbed the last section of the fire escape and saw the figure with his back to him.
He wore a cheap suit, held a white cane, and stood quietly at the edge of the rooftop, like a statue merged with the night.
Matt Murdock.
"Your heart is beating very fast, William."
Matt didn't turn around, his voice calm.
"Faster than someone lying in court. Filled with fear, and... a hint of excitement that even you haven't noticed."
"Any normal person who just signed a death-defying contract at Kingpin's dinner party would have a heart beating this fast."
William walked over to him, and like him, looked down at the brightly lit city below.
"As for excitement? That's a side effect of adrenaline; in court, they call it 'stress response,' I call it proof that 'I'm still alive.'"
Matt slowly turned around, his eyes, hidden by sunglasses, "looked" at William.
William felt as if he was once again being scanned from inside out by a precise X-ray machine.
All disguises and excuses were futile before this 'Listener of Hell's Kitchen.'
"Kingpin. Hellcat."
Matt's voice deepened, "You've become his knife, to go against a... vigilante?"
"Correction. I'm not a knife, I'm an insurance claims adjuster." William offered him a cigarette, but Matt shook his head.
He lit one for himself, took a deep drag; the calming effect of nicotine was minimal.
"My job is to handle risks. Right now, 'Hellcat' Patsy Walker is the biggest risk variable in Kingpin's business. I need to assess her, control her. That's what the contract says."
"You're going to attack someone trying to uphold justice for the sake of a devil's contract?"
Matt's voice carried a cold accusation.
"Justice?"
William laughed, his laughter filled with deep mockery. "Matt, you're a lawyer; you should understand the hypocrisy of that word better than I do."
He took a step forward, closing in on Matt, and lowered his voice.
"Tell me, what kind of 'justice' requires breaking into Kingpin's most heavily guarded private estate to steal 'artworks' from several heavy trucks? What kind of 'artworks' are worth Kingpin, the King of New York, personally overseeing, even to the extent of finding an outsider like me to be cannon fodder?"
William looked directly into the sunglasses, articulating his guess word by word.
"I don't know what's in those trucks. But it's definitely not a Picasso painting or a Rodin sculpture."
"That thing is dangerous. Dangerous enough to give Kingpin trouble. Dangerous enough for a so-called 'hero' to want it at all costs."
"Now, one madman wants to snatch a bomb from another madman. And I, an unlucky insurance salesman, just happen to be tied to that bomb."
William's tone returned to calm, but the chill in his words moved even Matt.
"I'm not here to seek your approval, Matt. I'm here to inform you."
"I've taken this policy. No matter who Hellcat is, no matter what she wants to do, tomorrow night, she will be my enemy."
"I need to know everything about her. Her abilities, her weaknesses, her modus operandi. This is the risk assessment report my client deserves."
He looked at Matt and made his offer.
"And in return, I'll let you know what those 'artworks' actually are. Once I deliver them, you can go and take them."
A deathly silence fell upon the rooftop.
Only the wind, like a ghostly whisper.
Matt Murdock, the Guardian of Hell's Kitchen, suddenly found a crack appearing in his firm belief in Black and White.
He stood at the boundary of law and vigilantism.
And William stood on the cliff between the devil and the abyss, sending him a blood-stained business proposal.
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