Matt hadn't spelled it out completely, but Maya understood every implication. And she had no reason whatsoever to doubt him.
Her own perception ability was active and directional—she had to consciously engage it. When she focused, she could sense everything within range down to remarkable detail, but the more granular the scan, the shorter the effective radius. Beyond about 650 feet (200 meters), things went fuzzy.
Matt's super-hearing was different. It was always on. No switch, no range limitation he could choose—he received everything within his detection radius whether he wanted to or not.
Her perception could drill down to the mitochondria in a cell if she pressed. His hearing couldn't match that kind of precision. But his range? Peak Daredevil could monitor half of New York City.
To put that in perspective—New York was enormous. Most of the boroughs weren't even contiguous landmasses; they were separated by stretches of open water. For Matt's hearing to cover meaningful chunks of that geography, he was operating at a range of at least nine or ten miles. That surpassed even Karin's mind's eye from the Naruto series.
Matt had only been a mutant for a short time. His range was nowhere near peak yet. But even at this early stage, it dwarfed Maya's. And since his hearing never turned off, this information had almost certainly come to him passively, without him trying.
Which meant the problem was real.
Now came the hard part.
Even if she confiscated every weapon in the building this morning, what would that actually accomplish? Guns in America were as common as pencil knives back in China—pencil knives, not kitchen knives. By afternoon, whatever gang boss was running this recruitment drive would hand out fresh ones. Confiscation wasn't a solution—it was a delay.
She couldn't transform into Spider-Man and go eliminate the gang leadership either. Hell's Kitchen had no shortage of ambitious criminals willing to fill any vacancy.
Ignore it entirely? Also not an option. These gang bosses wanted cannon fodder, and they'd found some. By tomorrow morning, they might not have many left standing—they could even be wiped out entirely.
Maya pressed her forehead into her hand and thought hard.
"Matt," she finally said, "what do you think we should do?"
"Confiscate the weapons immediately. Stop them from—" He caught himself mid-sentence and went quiet.
He'd seen the flaw in his own answer.
"How long does something like this usually last?" Maya asked. "How long does the fallout from the Frank incident usually last? How long before it burns itself out?"
She was asking because Matt's passive surveillance made him arguably the best-informed person in Hell's Kitchen. He'd know things she couldn't.
"About a week. Once a major shooting incident occurs, the police will step in. Several of the more ambitious players in the Kitchen are already primed to move—it's just a question of when the first shot gets fired." He chose his words carefully, omitting the part where he'd also picked up that the police were deliberately standing back and waiting. That was sensitive enough that explaining how he knew would cause its own problems.
Maya's eyes sharpened. "So tonight's potential street battle is just the opening move. There's more coming."
"Yes."
"And the police won't intervene until the body count reaches a certain threshold."
Matt hesitated, then nodded. If he'd already come this far—shown up, told her what he knew—there was no point giving her a false picture of the situation that might lead to a worse outcome.
Maya appreciated it more than she showed. Matt had run real risk coming to her at all—all of this just to save the same punk classmates who bullied him regularly. His hearing was his secret, and the information he'd just shared had gaps in it that a clever person would notice immediately. She'd already noticed. She simply wasn't going to push him on it.
She already knew Matt Murdock was a super-hearing ability user. She wasn't going to question it.
3:00 PM—Manhattan Community High School
"What's going on? Why is there an all-school assembly announcement in the middle of the afternoon?"
A Black senior put down his basketball. His lanky white teammate shrugged.
"No idea. Sounds like it came from the student council."
"I'm not going. I've got practice. I'm entering the NBA draft in June."
"You? Draft tryouts? Do you even know how to register?"
"Obviously I do—President Hansen posts the entire process on the school bulletin board every year. The school has resources for it, too."
"Man, and you're still calling that little b— your president? In high school? What is wrong with you?"
"Will you two just go?" A third student cut in. "The announcement said anyone late loses two Morality Points. That's serious."
The lanky white kid exploded. "Morality Points can go to hell! You and I used to be in the same year. Now you're almost done and I'm still in ninth grade! Three times, man—I've been held back three times because of those stupid points! I finally make it to high school and Reeves has already set up the same system here!"
The big Black basketball player turned slowly. "Only we get to use that word. Watch your mouth. Then don't go—you can graduate at thirty for all I care."
"I—" Duke went quiet.
Meanwhile, outside:
"Nana, why did the President call an all-school assembly?"
"I have no idea. I'm just as confused."
"Matt, why are the high schoolers here too? Isn't this normally just for us?"
"I can't see, obviously. But the elementary and middle school share the grounds with the high school—maybe it's a joint announcement."
From the podium, a tall Black young man stepped up: "Attention, everyone. My name is Andrew Reeves, President of the High School Student Council. Today we've called together all four grades of high school along with the 7th and 8th grade cohorts. President Hansen has something important to address. Please welcome President Hansen."
André jogged off the stage and came straight to Maya. "President, you can go up now."
"The microphone stand is a bit tall," Maya said.
André looked. The stand was set to about 5'3" (160 cm). Maya was barely 4'7" (140 cm).
"I am so sorry, President, this is entirely my subordinate's fault—please just give me one moment—"
He bounded back up the steps with surprising agility for a big guy, not even bothering to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and adjusted the stand down to about 4'3" (130 cm) — just right.