"I'm back. And I've decided I can do more for the world than build weapons."
"So, effective immediately, I'm shutting down Stark Industries' weapons manufacturing."
"Until I figure out what comes next, something that actually serves this country's best interests…"
On the diner's old TV, Tony Stark's voice rang out clear and defiant from the press-conference podium.
Stark Industries had been born in the fires of the arms trade.
What Tony just did wasn't trimming fat; it was amputating the heart.
The stock market reacted exactly as expected: pure panic.
Since the news of Tony's kidnapping, the shares had already been bleeding out. Investors who'd held on through the desert nightmare thought his return meant rescue.
Now they wished he'd stayed lost.
"Tony Stark, you son of a—give me back my life savings!"
"I bought the dip the day he came home. Someone hold the window, I'm going up to the roof."
"It's done. We're cooked."
Hell's Kitchen, a grimy little diner on 46th.
Curses and groans rolled through the room like a drunk choir. Half the customers looked ready to throw chairs at the screen.
In the corner booth, Daniel watched it all with the detached amusement.
The NPCs in this game were impressively alive. That chubby guy two tables ahead looked personally betrayed; face red, spit flying, he knocked over his coffee in rage.
The blind man sitting beside him caught the falling mug without spilling a drop.
Daniel blinked.
A blind guy just pulled off a ninja catch?
He leaned forward. "System, you sure there's no bug? Blind dude just caught a cup mid-air."
[Ding. No anomaly detected.]
The man in the red-tinted glasses set the mug down like nothing happened.
Daniel's eyes narrowed. Interesting.
Plate in hand, he stood, crossed the room, and slid into the empty seat across from the pair.
The chubby one looked up, startled. "Uh… can we help you?"
Daniel smiled wide. "Just felt like making new friends. Two hundred bucks for the introduction."
The man's frown flipped instantly. "You, sir, have excellent taste in friends! I'm Foggy Nelson, this is Matt Murdock. Partners in justice and occasional bankruptcy."
He flicked a business card across the table like a playing card.
Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law.
Hell's Kitchen's newest (and only) bargain-priced defenders.
"Perfect," Daniel said, pocketing the card. "I actually have a legal question."
Foggy puffed up. "Fire away."
"If a pregnant woman gets into a fight, does that count as gang assault?"
Foggy opened his mouth. Closed it. "Technically… you need three or more people for—"
"What if she's pregnant with twins?"
Foggy's brain visibly blue-screened.
Daniel turned to the quiet one. "You really blind?"
Matt tilted his head, calm. "Since I was nine. Chemical accident. Also, your hand's been hovering near my pocket for twelve seconds. I may not see, but I notice."
Daniel laughed and pulled his hand back. Confirmed. This guy's stats were hidden for a reason.
Matt's voice dropped slightly. "You're not from around here. Most people with good sense avoid Hell's Kitchen. Why are you here?"
"Looking for someone."
"Who?"
"Guy goes by Iron Head… or maybe Hammerhead? Real name something like Harrow?"
Foggy scratched his curls. "Never heard of an Iron Head."
Matt's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his cane. "You mean Joseph Harrow. Street name Hammerhead. Runs the Maggia family in this borough. They say bullets bounce off his skull plate. Very dangerous man. Why?"
Daniel glanced at the wall clock, stood up. "Long story. Gotta run. Catch you gentlemen later."
He was out the door before either could reply.
Matt sat motionless, listening to the footsteps fade into the street noise, cane resting across his knees.
Foggy's voice broke the silence. "Matt. Psst. Matt!"
"What?"
"That guy just dined and dashed. Go get him!"
Matt sighed.
"…I'm blind, Foggy."
"You've chased worse in the dark! Come on, the check was twenty-three fifty!"