The chaos in Times Square continued, like a digital nightmare that couldn't be woken from. Iron Man's setback didn't extinguish the arrogant flames of "Traffic is King"; instead, it became even more excited for attracting the "attention" of this top-tier hero. Invisible waves of mental pollution spread in circles, drawing more innocent passersby into the frenzy of mechanical likes.
Inside the Hero Association's technical command vehicle, the atmosphere was heavy. Leo Fitz frowned, looking at the scattered data fragments of Iron Man's armor suffering from mental pollution, which were being transmitted synchronously.
"Even Stark's digital fortress was forcibly pop-upped... This is no longer something that can be resisted on a technical level." He rubbed his temples, his gaze falling on the communication ID marked "Non-Combat Support Personnel" on the screen—The Silent Heart Master Lin.
"Lin, do you hear me? We've captured several abnormal peak values of the target's mental fluctuations, and the data has been transmitted to you. Try to construct a directional silent force field, with the frequency referencing the inverse model of the peak values, to see if we can create a 'no-attention' blind spot around him!"
A moment later, a soft yet firm mental power, like a clear stream, began to seep from the edge of the square into that turbid sea of fanaticism. As this power brushed over the crowd, the fanaticism in their eyes slightly receded, their unconscious clicking movements slowed, and a brief look of confusion appeared on their faces.
"It's working!" an observer shouted.
However, it was short-lived. The wack "Traffic is King" on the screen seemed to immediately detect this power attempting to "cool down" his fervor.
"Who?! Who dares to cut my internet cable?!" he roared in fury, his flashing "eyes" suddenly turning in the general direction of The Silent Heart Master Lin.
The next second, a more concentrated, sharper mental impact, imbued with the malice of "cyber violence," pierced through The Silent Heart Master's silent force field like a poisoned arrow, slamming into her mental core!
"Ugh!" Far away in the rear safe zone, Lin, who had been maintaining the force field with her eyes closed, suddenly trembled, her face instantly turning pale, and a trickle of fresh blood seeping from her nose. Her silent force field shattered like glass struck by a heavy hammer. The backlash of malice made her dizzy and disoriented, almost unable to stand steady.
"Lin! Report the situation!" Fitz called out anxiously.
"I... I'm sorry..." Lin's voice was weak and pained, "His power... is too strong... and... full of malice... I can't completely block it..."
Even The Silent Heart Master, who specialized in countering mental pollution, had been defeated! The command vehicle fell silent. Combat heroes like Iron Wall and Swift Shadow were helpless against such an intangible attack, Stark's technological methods were ineffective, and now even the specialized support hero was injured... Were they really going to wait until this wack had absorbed enough "Traffic" to evolve, or caused an even greater disturbance?
At this stalemate, Kingpin, on the top floor of Fisk Tower, calmly scanned the hero status list, his gaze finally resting on a name marked "B-Class" with a status of "standby"—Daredevil.
He didn't hesitate, directly connecting to Matt Murdock's private communication channel.
In a small law firm in Hell's Kitchen, Matt Murdock had just finished a difficult phone call with a client. The client's case was thorny, and the law firm's bills were pressing. He rubbed his brow, sensing the myriad sounds and smells of the city transmitted through vibrations—the distant wail of an ambulance, the steam from the coffee machine next door, the complex heartbeats and whispers of pedestrians on the street, and also... a highly discordant "noise" emanating from Times Square, full of distorted desires and collective unconsciousness.
That noise filled him with an instinctive aversion and discomfort.
Just then, his private communicator (a special model issued by the Hero Association, with braille tactile display) vibrated. He "saw" it; it was a direct communication from the highest authority of the Hero Association.
"Mr. Murdock," Kingpin's low voice came through, without any pleasantries, "Times Square, tiger-level mental pollution threat, codenamed 'Traffic is King.' His ability is to forcibly draw attention and distort cognition; conventional methods are ineffective. The Silent Heart Master has tried and been injured. Your mission: find his true form and terminate him."
Matt remained silent. He could hear the chaos from Times Square and the wack's wild laughter in the background of the communication. He could "smell" the anxiety in the air and the nauseating, sickly sweet scent of mental pollution, like spoiled honey.
Help Kingpin? Help this... system built by the man whose dark past he knew so well? His heart was filled with conflict.
But... what about the ordinary people trapped in mental cages? What about the injured fellow "The Silent Heart Master"? What about the twisted power that was defiling this city?
His sense of justice, his instinct to protect the innocent, ultimately outweighed his wariness of Kingpin and his Hero Association.
"...Send me the data." Matt's voice was a little hoarse. He picked up the white cane leaning against the wall and walked to the wardrobe, where his red battle suit hung.
"Data transmitted. Frontline command is temporarily transferred to you. Iron Wall and Swift Shadow's team will cooperate with your actions." Kingpin's voice showed no fluctuation, as if he had anticipated his choice long ago.
A few minutes later, a swift red figure, like a bat in the dark night, silently traversed between skyscrapers, precisely avoiding all surveillance and sight, quietly infiltrating the edge of Times Square.
Matt landed steadily in the shadow of a billboard. He didn't need to look at the huge screen displaying the wack's distorted face; the strong visual information was useless to him, even a distraction. He completely shut off redundant visual information, elevating all his senses to the extreme.
The World, in his "eyes," became an incredibly clear holographic panorama composed of sounds, smells, vibrations, and temperatures.
He "heard":
· The subtle electrical static from the screen's loudspeakers, hidden beneath the wild laughter.
· The monotonous, externally guided pulsations of countless controlled people's hearts.
· Iron Wall's steady but slightly hurried breathing as he maintained the energy barrier.
· In the air, the chaotic mental pollution waves, like countless whispers superimposed, whose core frequency was constantly changing, attempting to interfere with any perception trying to lock onto it.
He "smelled":
· The sweat of the crowd, the scent of perfume, the greasy smell of street hot dogs.
· An extremely faint but unusually clear biological pheromone of a specific individual, mixed with excited adrenaline and the scent of some overheating electronic components. This smell did not come from the screen, but from... below the square?
He "felt":
· The vibrations from the ground caused by countless chaotic footsteps.
· An abnormal, subtle energy flow from underground, connecting to the large screen above via laid optical and electrical cables, like an umbilical cord delivering "nutrients."
Visual illusions? Mental pollution? These were meaningless to Matt Murdock. His World was already built on a dimension beyond normal human vision.
"Iron Wall, Swift Shadow," Matt issued instructions through the Hero Association's communication channel, his voice as calm as a surgical knife, "The target's true form is not on the screen. He is below you, about fifteen meters to the southeast, near a subway ventilation shaft, disguised as... a tourist who is 'live-streaming.' He has a reinforced mental barrier, but his physical defenses are unknown."
Iron Wall and Swift Shadow were both startled; they hadn't noticed anything unusual. But based on their obedience to Hero Association orders and their current predicament, they chose to believe.
"Received!" Iron Wall immediately adjusted the direction of his energy barrier, beginning to compress it towards the area Matt indicated.
Swift Shadow, meanwhile, transformed into an afterimage, bypassing the still-obsessed crowd, and darted towards the subway ventilation shaft.
The wack on the screen seemed to sense something; his wild laughter abruptly stopped, and his distorted face showed a look of surprise and uncertainty for the first time: "You... what do you want to do?!"
Matt ignored him. His senses, like the most precise radar, firmly locked onto the source hidden in the crowd, emitting a unique "smell" and "energy vibration." He could "hear" the wack disguised as a tourist, whose heart suddenly accelerated, and could "smell" the panic pheromones he secreted as his plan was disrupted.
"Now!" Matt whispered.
Almost simultaneously with his utterance, Swift Shadow had already rushed in front of the "tourist" in a windbreaker, holding a phone and seemingly live-streaming. In the other party's horrified gaze, Swift Shadow punched and shattered the phone in his hand, which was emitting abnormal energy fluctuations (the important medium), then delivered a precise chop to his neck.
The wack didn't even grunt, collapsing directly to the ground.
The moment he fell, the giant screen in the square suddenly went black, and all the controlled people, like puppets whose strings had been cut, abruptly stopped their movements. The fanaticism in their eyes quickly faded, replaced by deep confusion and bewilderment. The piercing mental pollution noise also receded like a tide.
Noisy Times Square fell into an eerie silence.
Matt Murdock stood in the shadows, letting out a soft breath. He "heard" the gradually returning normal heartbeats and conversations, sensing the dissipation of the nauseating, twisted aura.
He did not participate in the aftermath, nor did he accept any potential thanks. He simply reported calmly in the communication channel: "Target eliminated."
Then, just as he had arrived, he silently merged into the shadows, disappearing in the direction of the towering Hell's Kitchen.
Inside the Hero Association command vehicle, Fitz looked at the data on the screen rapidly returning to normal and couldn't help but whistle: "Well, well... Daredevil truly is Daredevil. No matter how flashy you are, I'll go straight for the kill."
Meanwhile, Iron Man, hovering in the air, had a somewhat complex expression beneath his faceplate. He looked at the scene below, which was quickly taken over by the Hero Association's Logistics Department, and where people were being evacuated and comforted. He then looked in the direction Daredevil had disappeared, and finally said nothing, his thrusters spewing dazzling afterburners as he shot into the sky.
Kingpin, in his top-floor office, watched as the marker for the "Traffic is King" incident changed from unresolved to green, his eyes deep.
"B-Class Hero 'Daredevil' successfully dealt with tiger-level threat 'Traffic is King.'"
"Contribution points settled."
"Hint: A diversified hero lineup demonstrates extremely high value in responding to complex threats."
Daredevil's perfect performance this time not only resolved a tricky crisis but also clearly demonstrated to all observers, especially S.H.I.E.L.D. and Stark, the Hero Association's unfathomable "systematic" potential that transcended mere brute force and technology.