[Hell's Kitchen - The Morning After]
BREAKING NEWS:
[CHANNEL 4]: "Tragedy in Hell's Kitchen. Nearly fifty citizens discovered in an abandoned canning factory, victims of a brutal assault."
[CNN]: "Doctors at Presbyterian Hospital confirm the victims have been surgically blinded and deafened. They will live in darkness and silence for the rest of their lives."
[FOX NEWS]: "What kind of monster does this? Public outrage reaches a boiling point as citizens demand answers from the NYPD and Congress."
The news vans clogged the street outside the ruined factory, their satellite dishes pointing like accusing fingers at the sky.
On the periphery of the media circus, Matt Murdock stood on the steps of a tenement building. His knuckles were white as he gripped his cane.
He didn't need to watch the news. He could hear it.
He heard the heartbeats of the weeping families. He smelled the antiseptic and old blood lingering on the victims as they were loaded into ambulances.
He was the first one on the scene last night. He had heard the factory wall collapse.
But he was too late.
When he found them—fifty broken souls wandering in the rubble—his heart had nearly stopped. The Man Without Fear felt something rare: helplessness.
As a lawyer, he couldn't save them. As a vigilante, there was no one left to fight.
So he had done the only thing he could. He called in a favor.
"Natasha. I need help."
Only S.H.I.E.L.D. had the resources to protect these people. If the NYPD handled this, the victims would be lost in the system, silenced by corruption, or buried by politicians who wanted to keep the city's crime rate looking "manageable."
"Matt, let it go."
Foggy Nelson's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Don't let the anger take the wheel, buddy. This isn't a tort case. This is a massacre."
Foggy looked at his friend with deep concern. He knew that look on Matt's face. It was the look that usually preceded a trip to the emergency room.
"The NYPD is all over this," Foggy urged. "They'll find the maniacs who did this. You know... we're just lawyers. We handle landlords, not warlords."
Matt remained silent, his jaw set like granite.
Just as Foggy was about to plead again, a sleek, dangerous silhouette cut through the crowd.
"Sorry, Foggy. Can I borrow your partner for a moment?"
Foggy blinked. Standing before them was a woman with short, vibrant red hair and a smile that could stop traffic. She wore a leather jacket that cost more than Foggy's car.
"Uh... sure," Foggy stammered, his lawyer brain short-circuiting.
He looked between Matt and the stunning woman, shrugged tactfully, and patted Matt on the shoulder.
"I'll... just be over there. Way over there."
As Foggy retreated, muttering about how Matt always got the dangerous women, Natasha Romanoff leaned against the railing.
"Thank you, Natasha," Matt said quietly. "For stepping in."
"It's what we do," the Black Widow replied, her tone shifting from playful to professional. "Though usually, we prefer aliens to mutilations."
She studied him.
"So, Matt. Are you still determined to fight alone?"
"You know the offer still stands. S.H.I.E.L.D. could use a man with your... sensory profile."
Matt didn't respond immediately. The recruitment pitch wasn't new. But Matt Murdock operated in the grey. He broke bones to save lives. He didn't think a government agency would approve of his methods.
"I can't," Matt said finally. "My city needs me here. Not on a Helicarrier."
Natasha sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. "Stubborn as always."
"I can't stay long. Fury has me on a new assignment," she said, lowering her voice. "But I have some intel for you. A parting gift."
Matt tilted his head, listening intently.
"We investigated the tunnel beneath the factory," Natasha whispered. "It was a slaughterhouse. Dozens of ninjas, all dead."
"The Hand," Matt hissed, the name tasting like poison.
"Yes. But here's the interesting part," Natasha leaned closer. "They were all killed with a single blow. Clean. Efficient. Terrifying."
"And Matt? We found the remains of Sowanda."
Matt stiffened. Sowanda. One of the Five Fingers of The Hand. A man who had plagued New York for years.
"He's dead?"
"Vaporized," Natasha corrected. "Whoever did this... they took out one of the Fingers of The Hand like it was nothing. You have a new player in town, Daredevil. Be careful."
She reached out, squeezing his arm briefly.
"Watch your back, Matt."
Natasha turned and walked away, her hips swaying with a confident rhythm. She hopped onto a waiting motorcycle, revved the engine, and sped off toward Midtown.
Foggy scurried back to Matt's side as the bike roared away.
"Okay," Foggy exhaled. "Which ex-girlfriend was that? The assassin or the spy?"
Matt didn't answer. His mind was racing.
The Hand.
They were his arch-enemies. They had taken Elektra from him. And now, someone had crushed them like bugs.
Matt gripped his cane. During the day, he was Matt Murdock, the helpless lawyer.
But the sun was setting.
Tonight, the Devil would have to find out who had killed the Wolf.
[En Route to Midtown]
The wind whipped past Natasha as she weaved through New York traffic.
She tapped her comms earbud.
"Coulson. I'm en route."
"Good," Phil Coulson's voice crackled in her ear. "I'm at Presbyterian Hospital. We have two witnesses to the anomaly."
"Witnesses?" Natasha asked.
"Victims," Coulson corrected grimly. "I hope you brought your ghost stories, Natasha. Because I think we're going hunting."
Natasha smirked beneath her helmet, accelerating toward the Queensboro Bridge.
"Copy that. The Widow is inbound."
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