March 2016

Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters

The city had changed. Ever since Wilson Fisk made his public vow to bring down the so-called "Devil of Hell's Kitchen," the mood in New York had shifted. Vigilantes, once seen as mysterious protectors, were now under heavy scrutiny. Fisk's speech had rattled the city, igniting fear and distrust in the hearts of New Yorkers.

Spider-Man, once a symbol of hope, was now caught in the middle of this growing divide. Some still saw him as a hero, swinging between buildings, stopping petty crimes, and helping those in need. Others, influenced by the rising fear of masked vigilantes, wondered if he was just another danger waiting to explode. The events in Hell's Kitchen, the explosion, and the deaths of two cops had scarred the city.

The whispers on the street had turned into conversations over dinner tables and in boardrooms. People were afraid. Afraid that what happened in Hell's Kitchen would become the new normal, that their neighborhoods could become war zones overnight.

Reports on TV debated the pros and cons of vigilantes like Spider-Man and others who operated outside the law, like the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. New York had always been a place where people were tough, resilient, and not easily swayed. But this was different. The shadow of Hell's Kitchen loomed over them all.

And Wilson Fisk, now a public figure, was capitalizing on that fear. With Liz and Doris by his side, he had made himself the champion of law and order, calling for tighter restrictions on vigilante activity, all while subtly painting himself as the city's savior. He was building a narrative...a dangerous one. And the people were buying it

Right now, Y/N sat on the bench, his chest heaving as he cooled down after an intense game of basketball with Gambit, Roberto, and Logan. The air was cool against his skin, sweat dripping from his brow, his Knicks Ewing jersey sticking to him. He stared out at the court, lost in his thoughts, which, of course, inevitably drifted to Liz.

It had been a few months since everything with her father went down, and though their relationship had unraveled, he couldn't shake the guilt. Liz had no idea what her father had been up to, and now, because of him, her world had been turned upside down. The weight of it all hung on his shoulders.

From across the yard, Kitty spotted him. Her heart raced as she watched him sitting there, alone. She knew about Liz. Everyone at the Institute did by now. But what she felt wasn't just pity, it was more complicated than that. Kitty had always had feelings for Y/N, and now that Liz was out of the picture, the situation felt... delicate. She didn't want to come off like she was taking advantage of his heartbreak, but at the same time, she didn't want to avoid him either

She took a deep breath and made her way over to the bench, the sound of her footsteps soft against the pavement. As she approached, Y/N looked up, giving her a half-hearted smile

Kitty: Hey...

She said, her voice light but cautious. She sat down next to him, her gaze flicking between him and the ground

Y/N: Hey... 

Y/N replied, wiping sweat from his brow and leaning back against the bench. He gave her a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes

Kitty felt the tension between them, this unspoken thing that had always existed, but now, with everything that had happened, it felt even more complicated. She wanted to say something, anything to make things less awkward, but the words seemed stuck

Kitty: How are you holding up?

Y/N shrugged, staring out at the basketball court

Y/N: Oh y'know...just taking it day by day

There was a heaviness in his voice, a tiredness that Kitty wasn't used to hearing from him

Kitty bit her lip, unsure of what to say next. She wanted to comfort him, but she didn't want to push him either. The silence between them lingered, and for the first time in a long time, she felt nervous around him. Normally, they were so easygoing, so natural together. But now, with Liz in the background, everything felt... different

She shifted in her seat, her eyes glancing at him from the corner of her eye

Kitty: You know, if you ever want to talk about it... I'm here. I mean, I know things are kind of... complicated right now

Y/N: Thanks, Kit...

She smiled, but it was small, uncertain. This wasn't the time to tell him how she felt, she knew that. He was still dealing with everything that happened with Liz, and she didn't want to add to his emotional turmoil. But still, it was hard to sit next to him and not say anything, not let him know that she was here for more than just a friend.

The awkward tension hung in the air again, but this time, it was different. There was something unspoken between them, something that had been simmering for a while. Kitty could feel it, and she knew Y/N could too. But for now, it was enough to sit next to him, to be there in case he needed her.

They both sat there in silence for a moment, the sound of the basketball echoing in the background. Neither of them said anything, but they didn't need to. The understanding between them, though awkward, was growing stronger.

Whatever was going to happen between them, it would happen in time. For now, Kitty was just content to be by his side, even if the words she really wanted to say were still waiting to be spoken

After a couple of hours, Y/N had just changed into his normal clothes, still a bit rattled from everything that had been on his mind. As he walked down the hallway, lost in thought, he bumped into Kitty again. She looked like she had just left the gym, her hair slightly damp, her face flushed, and she was wearing a crop top that exposed her abs. The sight of her made his face flush instantly

Kitty: Hey...again

Kitty said with a small smile, not noticing his blush. She seemed more relaxed than earlier, and her eyes were warm, the way they always were when she was around him

Y/N: Hey...

There was a brief pause before Kitty took a breath, deciding to just go for it

Kitty: You wanna maybe...someday hang out? Y'know...just the two of us.

Y/N's heart raced, and he felt a knot of hesitation tighten in his chest. He liked Kitty...he knew that. But after everything with Liz, he wasn't sure if he was ready to take that step with someone else so soon. It felt complicated. Then again, why not? He and Kitty had always had this connection, and she had always been there for him.

He hesitated, looking at her, unsure of what to say. She must have noticed the hesitation because her expression faltered for a second, though she quickly recovered, giving him another soft smile

Kitty: You don't have to decide now. I just... thought it could be fun

Y/N took a deep breath, weighing his options. It wasn't like he didn't want to hang out with her—he really did. And if they both liked each other, maybe this was a chance to finally act on those feelings. But part of him wondered if it was too soon, if Liz was still lingering in the back of his mind

Finally, he looked into Kitty's eyes, and something inside him just... clicked. Maybe things were complicated, but that didn't mean he should shy away from what was right in front of him. Kitty wasn't Liz, and their relationship would be different, but that didn't mean it couldn't be something real

Y/N: Yeah...let's do that

Kitty's face lit up, her nerves easing away

Kitty: Cool! I mean...yeah okay...right. We'll figure something out soon

She tried to sound calm, but there was a flicker of excitement in her voice that she couldn't hide.

As they both stood there, it felt like a weight had lifted between them. Whatever awkwardness or hesitation had been there earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by the possibility of something new. Something good

Kitty: I'll...see you around

...

Seattle, Washington

Black Site Echo

In the depths of a secluded, fortified government facility in the outskirts of Seattle, Bolivar Trask stood in the cold, clinical glow of a control room, overseeing the vast operation that was well underway. This was Black Site Echo, a heavily-guarded facility so secretive that only a select few even knew of its existence. It was here, with the backing of the Worthington family fortune and the influential power of Senator Kelly, that the Sentinel Project had been greenlit and was now in full swing

Trask watched as engineers, scientists, and military personnel moved about below him on the manufacturing floor, working tirelessly on the latest prototype. The towering frames of the Sentinels, the enormous mutant-hunting robots, stood like silent giants in various stages of completion. The floor buzzed with activity: sparks from welding torches flashed, and the whirr of mechanical arms filled the air as they assembled the colossal machines piece by piece

With funding from the Worthington estate, whose patriarch harbored a deep fear of mutants after his son's transformation, and Senator Kelly's political clout, Trask had everything he needed to push his vision forward. The Sentinels would be the answer to the so-called "mutant threat", a line of defense to protect humanity from the growing population of super-powered beings that many believed would one day rise up to conquer the world

As Trask looked over the control panel, he couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment, mixed with cold determination. This was the culmination of years of work. He had been laughed at, doubted, and dismissed before, but now, with the government on his side, he held the future of humanity in his hands

The lead engineer approached him, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag

Engineer: The latest prototype is nearly complete. We'll be ready for testing within a week, sir.

Trask gave a curt nod, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the massive machine

Trask: Good. We need results. Senator Kelly has promised the President a demonstration soon, and I won't have us falling behind schedule

The engineer nodded and walked away, leaving Trask to his thoughts. He couldn't deny the weight of what he was doing. Once the Sentinels were fully operational, there would be no turning back. The world would change forever.

Trask turned toward a large screen, displaying a three-dimensional model of the Sentinel prototype. It had been designed with adaptability in mind, strong enough to withstand mutant attacks, intelligent enough to track and neutralize threats, and equipped with advanced weaponry, including energy weapons capable of neutralizing even the most powerful mutants

...

Hell's Kitchen, New York

Nelson & Murdock Offices

The small, cluttered office of Nelson and Murdock was buzzing with the usual late night energy. Papers and files were scattered across the desk as Karen Page, Foggy Nelson, and Matthew Murdock were deep into the details of their latest case. It was a typical day in Hell's Kitchen...until Foggy decided to change the subject

Holding up the latest edition of the Daily Bugle, Foggy waved the paper in the air, the headline in bold: 

THE DEVIL OF HELL'S KITCHEN

Foggy: Devil my irish ass. This guy's a terrorist

Karen sighed, her gaze flicking to the newspaper. She'd read the article already, but the sensationalism of it irritated her. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, as the press called him, was controversial, sure, but not the monster they made him out to be.

Karen: This is all just speculation. Nobody knows if he's a terrorist or what

Her voice was firm. She couldn't help but be biased, though. Months ago, this so-called "devil" had saved her life. That night still haunted her, but she owed him everything.

Foggy: You're absolutely right. Terrorists have causes. They claim responsibility. Al-Qaeda wanted the world to know exactly what kind of assholes they were. This guy? Not a peep. All terror without the "-ist". You know what they call that? Nut job.

Foggy was still angry. The explosion that had rattled Hell's Kitchen a few months back wasn't something he could easily forget. He and Karen had been in the apartment of one of their clients, Elena Cardenas, a sweet old woman who needed help with her landlord, a greedy developer trying to evict everyone in her building. They were only a few blocks from the explosion when it happened, and Foggy and Elena had gotten hurt. Ever since then, he wasn't exactly a fan of vigilantes.

Karen: Maybe... what do you think, Matt?

Matt Murdock, sitting in the corner with his usual calm, smiled faintly. He could hear the concern in Karen's voice, the tension in Foggy's. He tried to diffuse it with humor.

Matt: I think... Foggy will be pitching for the Mets next season.

Karen couldn't help but laugh, even as she shook her head at him

Karen: I'm being serious.

Matt grinned, leaning back in his chair.

Matt: So am I. I mean, have you seen their bullpen?

Foggy wasn't having it. He was still too worked up over the article, the explosion, the damage to their neighborhood. His face was set, and he turned toward Matt.

Foggy: Come on... you telling me this dickhead blowing up our backyard doesn't piss you off?

Matt's smile faded. He knew better than anyone the pain and devastation that explosion had caused. He knew the suffering of Hell's Kitchen more intimately than most. His voice was softer when he spoke again.

Matt: What happened to Hell's Kitchen, to you and Elena, and to all the other people that were hurt... yeah, it pisses me off. But... this man, whoever he is, whatever his motive, he shouldn't be tried and convicted in the press. We're lawyers, we know how it's supposed to work.

Karen: So... hypothetically, if this guy got caught, needed counsel, Nelson and Murdock would offer to defend him?

Foggy didn't hesitate, shaking his head emphatically.

Foggy: Hell no.

But Matt, ever the voice of principle, leaned forward, his expression thoughtful.

Matt: It would be his right

The tension in the room hung there for a moment, unresolved. They all knew the complexities of the law, and what it meant to defend even those society saw as villains. In the end, it wasn't about what people deserved, it was about the law and justice.

But Karen couldn't help but wonder: what if the Devil of Hell's Kitchen wasn't the villain the media painted him to be? What if he was something else entirely?

Later that night, Karen heads to Elena Cardenas' apartment, balancing a few grocery bags in her arms. It had become something of a routine for Karen to check in on Mrs. Cardenas, and while the groceries were a small gesture, the real reason she came was to dig for information. She needed answers...about the explosion, about the construction companies involved in Elena's case, and about who might be pulling the strings.

As Karen helps put the groceries away, she tries to steer the conversation toward her investigation.

Karen: Moving on, uhh... estoy tratando de... encontrar una conexión entre una compañía de construcción y los obreros que... habían destrozado tu apartamento. (I'm trying to... find a connection between a construction company and the workers who... had destroyed your apartment)

Elena Cardenas, a small but spirited woman, gave Karen a knowing look. She had been through this before, fighting against greedy landlords and corrupt contractors. But this time, something felt different, like there was more at play than just a bad landlord

Elena: Por qué tú no preguntas a Señor Tully? Él los mandó. (Why don't you ask Mr. Tully? He sent them.)

Karen frowned. She had been trying to get to Tully for weeks now, but he was impossible to track down. Every inquiry was met with stonewalling from his legal team

Karen: I... no lo puedo encontrar. Sus abogados dicen que él está de... vacaciones. (I...can't find him. His lawyers say he's... on vacation)

At this, Mrs. Cardenas scoffed, her eyes narrowing in anger.

Elena: ¡Yo viviendo aquí y ese gordo de mierda está acostado en una playa?! Oh... Perdóname.(I'm living here and that fat shit is lying on a beach?! Oh... Forgive me.)

She quickly looked toward the small painting of Jesus Christ on the wall, making the sign of the cross with a hint of guilt for her outburst

Karen couldn't help but smile slightly. Mrs. Cardenas had more fire in her than most, even after everything she'd been through

Karen hurried down the dimly lit street after leaving Mrs. Cardenas' apartment, the nagging feeling of being followed gnawing at her. She quickened her pace, glancing over her shoulder. The figure in the shadows moved closer. Panic started to rise as her heart raced.

Before she could break into a run, another man appeared from an alley, blocking her path.

Thug 1: So... why you bothering the old woman?

Karen: Get off of me!

She reached for her pepper spray, but the second thug, the one who had been tailing her, grabbed her wrist before she could use it.

Thug 2: She was gonna spray you.

The stalker chuckled darkly, tightening his grip on Karen.

Thug 1: Maybe I take that away from you... empty the whole thing in your face and burn your eyes out so you don't go snooping where you're not supposed to.

In a flash of desperation, Karen kicked the first thug hard in the groin. He staggered backward, but the second one shoved her to the ground, causing her to hit the pavement hard.

Thug 2: Stupid bitch!

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the bald headed thug was hit in the back of the head by a baseball, causing him to stumble forward. Foggy Nelson emerged from the shadows, clutching a softball bat, his face a mix of determination and panic.

Karen: Foggy?! Oh my God... what... what are you doing here?

Foggy stood tall, gripping the bat tighter.

Foggy: What are you doing here?

Karen: What are you doing here? Are you following me?

Foggy: Yeah!

Karen: Why?!

Foggy: Because you were acting weird. I was worried about you!

As the first thug tried to get up, blinking through the pain, Karen wasted no time, spraying him directly in the eyes with the pepper spray. He screamed, clawing at his face.

Karen: I can take care of myself!

Foggy: Let's discuss that away from the maniacs, okay?

As they turned to leave, Foggy gave the second thug, the bald one, a solid whack across the back with the bat for good measure

Later that night...

Daily Bugle, Manhattan

Later that night, the atmosphere in Ben Urich's office was tense. The dim light from the desk lamp illuminated the mess of papers, clippings, and string connecting faces, places, and events on the board. At the center of it all was a King of Diamonds playing card, pinned high above everything else.

Karen and Foggy stood near the cluttered desk, watching as Ben added another card to the web, drawing out connections in their investigation into Union Allied.

Urich, frowning in concentration, pointed to the King of Diamonds

Urich: The man at the top...

Foggy stepped closer, scrutinizing the board. He let out a low sigh.

Foggy: Any idea who he is?

Karen shook her head, her voice filled with frustration

Karen: No. But I think he might have been the one behind Union Allied

Ben nodded, clearly agreeing. He sifted through a stack of notes on his desk before pulling out another card and holding it up to them, a Jack of Hearts with a drawn black mask on it.

Urich: There's another player on the field.

Foggy narrowed his eyes, looking at the card

Urich: The man in black

Foggy: He works for the king?

Karen: No...no. He'd never have helped me if he were

Ben pinned the Jack of Hearts right beside the King of Diamonds

Urich: Which means...they're working against each other

Karen's eyes traced the web of connections, trying to make sense of the chaos.

Urich: So the question is... which one trumps the other?

...

The Next Day...

Midtown High

At Midtown High, the cafeteria buzzed with the usual energy, but for Y/N, everything felt muted. The laughter, the chatter, the clinking of trays... it all blurred into background noise as his eyes stayed fixed on Liz Allan. She sat a few tables away, surrounded by classmates who were trying to act normal, but the awkward silences and forced smiles were unmistakable.

Liz kept her head down, barely touching her food. Y/N could tell it wasn't the same for her anymore. The once radiant girl who seemed to light up every room now looked... lost. The rumors about her father, the Vulture, had spread like wildfire. People whispered behind her back, as if she carried the sins of her father like a scarlet letter

From across the room, their eyes briefly met. Liz quickly looked away, her face tightening with discomfort. Y/N's heart sank. He could feel the distance growing between them, and the worst part was, he didn't know how to bridge it.

At her table, Liz's so-called friends weren't doing much to help either. Some stayed out of guilt, while others only lingered to feed the gossip. She was the daughter of the Vulture, and no matter how innocent she was, that stigma stuck like glue.

MJ, sitting across from Y/N, noticed his stare. She raised an eyebrow.

MJ: You know staring isn't going to fix anything, right?

Y/N sighed, tearing his gaze away from Liz, the weight of it all pressing down on him.

Y/N: I just... I hate that this is how things ended.

MJ softened, her usual sarcastic edge giving way to something more empathetic.

MJ: It's not your fault, Y/N. What her dad did...what happened...you didn't choose that. Neither did she. But... sometimes, people need space to figure things out. Maybe that's what Liz needs right now.

Y/N nodded, knowing MJ was right but feeling helpless all the same. He could see the pain Liz was in, and all he wanted was to help her through it. But for now, all he could do was give her the distance she seemed to need... even if it hurt.

As the bell rang and everyone began to file out, Y/N gave one last glance toward Liz, hoping for a sign, any sign, that things might be okay between them one day. But Liz didn't look back. And with a heavy heart, Y/N followed the crowd, unsure of what came next

After class, Y/N headed straight to the rooftop of Midtown High. It was his go-to spot, a place where he could just breathe, away from the chaos of school and the weight of being Spider-Man. Up here, everything felt distant. The noise, the drama...it all seemed so far below.

He leaned against the railing, staring at the skyline of New York City, lost in his thoughts. His mind kept drifting back to Liz, the way things ended, the cold distance between them now. He felt so conflicted... torn between doing what was right as Spider-Man and the guilt he felt for being part of what brought her family down.

As he sighed and closed his eyes, the sound of the rooftop door creaking open startled him. He turned to see MJ standing there, her expression soft, yet knowing. She walked toward him, hands in her pockets, her casual stride a reminder that she had always been able to read him like a book.

MJ: I've known you since we wore diapers, Y/N. I know this is your sanctuary. Bad grades, bad games, bad days... you always come up here when you need to relax.

Y/N managed a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Y/N: Yeah, well... today's been a pretty bad day

MJ leaned against the railing next to him, glancing at the cityscape for a moment before turning her attention back to him.

MJ: I figured. You've been... off lately. And I know it's not just school stuff.

Y/N didn't respond right away. He appreciated that MJ could sense when something was wrong without prying too much. But he couldn't shake the feelings of guilt and regret eating him up.

Y/N: It's just... Liz, you know? I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I never wanted to hurt her or mess up her life.

MJ frowned, her usual sarcasm softened.

MJ: Y/N, you didn't mess anything up. Her dad... well, he was into some shady stuff. That's not on you.

Y/N: Yeah, but it still feels like it is...

There was a pause as MJ considered what to say next. She shifted, her arms crossing over her chest.

MJ: Look, I'm not gonna pretend like I know everything that's going on between you two. But Liz? She's smart. She's probably just trying to figure things out. It's not about you. Not really.

Y/N nodded, but the guilt still clung to him like a shadow. He couldn't tell MJ about his role as Spider-Man, about how he was involved in her father's arrest, but even without knowing that, MJ seemed to get it.

Y/N: I just wish I could make things right.

MJ: Maybe you can't. Not right now. But you can give her space. She'll come around when she's ready. And when she does, you'll know what to say.

Y/N glanced over at MJ, a little surprised by how wise she sounded.

Y/N: When did you get so good at this whole advice thing?

MJ smirked, her sarcastic edge returning.

MJ: Oh, I'm always good. You just don't notice 'cause you're too busy moping up here.

That earned a small laugh from Y/N, which was exactly what MJ had been aiming for. She nudged him playfully.

MJ: Come on, Y/N. Let's get out of here before you start watching over the city like one of those crazy superheroes

Y/N blinked at her, momentarily thrown off by her comment, but then laughed again, shaking his head.

Y/N: Yeah, alright.

As they headed back inside, Y/N felt a little lighter. Even if MJ didn't know everything, her words made him feel a bit less alone. Maybe things with Liz would work out in time, and maybe they wouldn't. But right now, he wasn't facing it alone

Meanwhile...

Pier 81, Hudson River

In the dimly lit warehouse, Wilson Fisk stood silently by a large table looking at some housing proects. The warehouse was one of his many properties, an unassuming front for his more illicit dealings. Here, away from the public eye, Fisk was not the charismatic public figure, not the "savior" of Hell's Kitchen. Here, he was the criminal mastermind... the Kingpin

James Wesley, his right-hand man, stood nearby, a tablet in his hand. Wesley's voice was calm, professional, as he read off the latest updates from the media and political landscape.

Wesley: Our latest polls show your approval numbers are rising... across political, ethnic, and economic lines.

Fisk nodded slightly, his focus still on the blueprints of a new real estate development. The plans sprawled across a table behind him, detailing areas in West 52nd and Ninth Avenue. Prime real estate for what Fisk had in mind.

Wesley: The 501(c)(3) has been approved, so the PAC is definitely making donations now. And... Senator Kelly's office has asked for a meeting

Fisk finally turned, his hulking frame moving with surprising grace for a man of his size. He regarded Wesley for a moment, his cold, calculating eyes taking in the information.

Fisk: Breakfast. Reject the first place they suggest.

There was no hesitation in Fisk's voice, no need to explain his reasoning. He knew the value of control, of setting the terms of every interaction. Even something as simple as a breakfast meeting needed to be on his terms.

Wesley nodded, understanding the importance of even these small power plays.

Wesley: Understood.

Fisk's attention shifted back to the real estate plans on the table. His vision for the city was far larger than anyone could understand. It wasn't just about money or power. It was about shaping New York into something better. His version of better

Fisk took a deep breath, his expression darkening slightly as his thoughts shifted to more immediate concerns.

Fisk: How about Detective Hoffman?

He didn't look up from the plans, but the weight of his words was felt in the room. Hoffman had been useful, a necessary tool in Fisk's strategy. His role in silencing Detective Blake after the warehouse explosion had been critical. Blake's death had been pinned on the vigilante...the "Devil of Hell's Kitchen", thanks to Hoffman's intervention. The deception had been perfect, seamless. But now, Hoffman was missing.

Wesley, ever composed, adjusted his tie and spoke with his usual coolness.

Wesley: Our sources in the IAB tell me Hoffman was supposed to give a follow-up statement about what happened at Metro-General... He never showed.

Fisk's jaw tightened slightly, a rare sign of his frustration. He straightened, finally turning his cold gaze to Wesley.

Fisk: We need to put this behind us.

Wesley nodded, his voice calm and measured as always.

Wesley: If he's still in the city, we'll find him.

Fisk's gaze didn't waver. His eyes burned with the intensity of a man who was accustomed to absolute control.

Fisk: If he isn't?

Wesley allowed himself a small, knowing chuckle.

Wesley: We'll still find him. It might just take a little longer.

Fisk remained silent, his mind already processing the options. He had no time for hesitation or loose ends. Hoffman would be dealt with, one way or another.

Fisk shifted the conversation, his voice turning lower as he mentioned the man who had been haunting his operations for months.

Fisk: And the man in the mask?

Wesley's lips curled into a faint smirk.

Wesley: The authorities are motivated to shoot on sight... if they have the opportunity. He's not nearly as active as he's been in the past. Maybe... he's given up?

Fisk's eyes narrowed, his expression thoughtful. He wasn't one to underestimate an enemy, especially one as dangerous as the masked vigilante who had disrupted so much of his empire.

Fisk: Maybe he's just choosing his targets more carefully...

...

Metro-General Morgue, New York City

The sterile air of the morgue hung heavy around them as the coroner lifted the sheet, revealing the still body beneath. Matt, Foggy, and Karen stood together, a weight of grief settling in their chests.

Mrs. Cardenas was dead.

Karen's breath caught in her throat as she looked at the woman who had trusted them, who had come to Nelson and Murdock seeking help. She buried her head against Foggy's shoulder, her tears spilling freely. Foggy's own eyes glistened as he stood frozen, his arm around Karen, trying to stay composed. But the loss was too personal.

Foggy wiped at his face, looking at Matt through the veil of his own tears, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Foggy: It's her...

Matt nodded slightly, his jaw tightening as he turned his head toward Brett Mahoney, the police officer standing somberly beside them

Matt's voice, low and strained, cut through the silence.

Matt: How did it happen?

Brett shifted uncomfortably, his face etched with regret as he spoke.

Brett: Neighbor saw some junkie they'd seen in the building fleeing the scene with her purse. Probably jumped her while she was fishing for her keys.

The words stung. Karen's quiet sobs grew louder, and Matt clenched his cane tightly, fighting to contain his own anguish. This wasn't just a case anymore. Mrs. Cardenas had been family, in a way...someone they had vowed to help. And now she was gone.

Matt turned toward Karen, his voice soft but firm, trying to shield her from more pain.

Matt: Karen, maybe you should go wait outside...

But Karen shook her head, her voice trembling as she clung to her composure.

Karen: No...no, I'm...I'm...

She lifted her tear-streaked face toward Brett, her voice hollow.

Karen: How did she die?

Brett's hesitation was palpable, but he owed them the truth.

Brett: Multiple stab wounds. The ambulance got there quick, but...

The unspoken words lingered in the air. There had been nothing they could do.

Foggy bowed his head, the weight of the loss crushing him. He had promised Mrs. Cardenas they'd help her. They'd been so close to finding a solution, and now... now it felt like they had failed her.

Brett: My mom says all the family she knew about's passed on. I knew you were looking into her tenancy case. Thought you might be able to point us toward the next of kin.

Karen's breath hitched, her hand covering her mouth. She forced herself to speak, the words bitter in her throat.

Karen: No... she didn't have anyone. Just us...

The truth of it only made it harder. Mrs. Cardenas had been alone in the world, but she had found comfort in them. And now they were all that was left.

Foggy: We'll see to the arrangements.

His voice was steady, but the cracks of grief still bled through. He couldn't save her, but they could at least ensure she was laid to rest with dignity.

Brett gave a small nod, grateful for their kindness in the face of tragedy.

Brett: Good of you to take that on... I'll let the ME know.

With that, Brett turned and left the room, leaving them alone with their sorrow

Karen wiped her tears, but they kept coming, her shoulders shaking with the weight of the moment. Foggy hugged her tighter, the warmth of his presence a small comfort in the cold morgue. Matt stood silently, the sound of Karen's sobs filling the space as his grip on his cane tightened, his own anger and guilt bubbling under the surface

Mrs. Cardenas hadn't deserved this. And somewhere deep in his heart, Matt knew this wasn't just a random act of violence. There was more to this...something darker at play. He couldn't let her death go unanswered.

Not this time...

...

St. Patrick's Cathedral, Fifth Avenue

The towering spires of St. Patrick's Cathedral rose above the bustling streets of Manhattan, offering a rare quiet refuge from the chaos outside. Inside, the flickering glow of candles cast a soft light over the stone walls, and the faint scent of incense lingered in the air.

Y/N stepped into the church after school, his footsteps soft on the marble floor as he made his way toward the pews. He hadn't been here in a while, his life had been moving too fast, with school, friends, and his other life. But today, after everything that had happened, he needed guidance. He needed peace

He sat down, glancing at the high altar. His father had raised him Catholic, part of his Italian heritage. And although they didn't go to church every Sunday, Y/N had always believed. He didn't wear his faith on his sleeve, but he knew there was a God. Somewhere. His beliefs, even unspoken, shaped who he was. They shaped his sense of morality, especially in his other life. His rule...the one rule he couldn't break, was inspired by it: No killing

Deep down, he knew why. His faith told him that taking a life wasn't his to decide, no matter what they'd done. That line kept him grounded, kept him from becoming something else, something darker.

As he sat there, lost in thought, the familiar sound of soft footsteps approached. Father Frank, the priest of the archdiocese, and someone Y/N had known since he was a kid, slid into the pew bench beside him. The priest was a calm presence, an African American man with a quiet wisdom and a knack for playing the piano. He had helped Y/N through his catechesis, and in many ways, shaped the boy's understanding of faith and morality

Father Frank: You don't visit me often enough, Y/N.

The priest's voice was warm, but there was an understanding behind it. He knew this wasn't a casual visit.

Y/N smiled faintly, looking down at his hands.

Y/N: Life's been... busy.

Father Frank nodded, his gaze following Y/N's to the altar.

Father Frank: Life always gets busy. But when it brings you back here, it usually means you're looking for something.

Y/N took a deep breath, the weight of the past weeks sitting heavy on his shoulders, protecting his secret as much as he could

Y/N: I think a girl I used to date pretty much hates me... she's the Vulture's daughter

Father Frank leaned back slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he processed Y/N's words.

Father Frank: The Vulture... as in the villain who was arrested in New Year's Eve?

Y/N nodded, the weight of the situation hanging over him like a cloud. He had been careful not to give away his secret life, but even with just this bit of information, it felt like the burden was growing heavier.

Y/N: Yeah. Her dad did some terrible things. But... I think she blames me for what happened to him. I don't know if I should talk to her or just... leave her alone

Father Frank studied him, sensing there was more to the story. The young man in front of him had always been a good kid, but there was something about the way he carried himself, the way he spoke with such weight, that made it clear he was struggling with more than just a break-up.

Father Frank: It's never easy when someone you care about is hurting, especially when you feel responsible in some way. But sometimes, we take on burdens that aren't ours to carry.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, staring at the floor.

Y/N: But what if I was? I mean, I... I knew things about her dad, things that got him in trouble, and now she's paying for it. Her whole life's turned upside down because of me

Father Frank leaned in a little, his voice soft but steady.

Father Frank: We all face consequences for our actions, Y/N. And sometimes those consequences ripple out and affect the people we care about. But you have to ask yourself...did you act out of malice? Did you want to hurt her?

Y/N shook his head quickly.

Y/N: No...of course not. I wanted to protect her.

The priest nodded, understanding.

Father Frank: Then what happened to her father was out of your control. You can't save everyone, and you can't protect people from the truth. But you can offer her compassion. If she needs time, give her time. If she needs space, give her that too. Just make sure she knows that you're there when she's ready.

Y/N sighed, feeling the conflict inside him. He knew Father Frank was right, but that didn't make it any easier.

Y/N: I just... I don't know if she'll ever forgive me. I don't even know if I deserve it.

Father Frank smiled gently.

Father Frank: Forgiveness isn't always about deserving, Y/N. It's about understanding. Maybe she'll come to understand your reasons, and maybe she won't. But don't let that stop you from doing what's right. All you can do is keep your heart open and pray that she finds peace in time.

The words settled over Y/N, a reminder that he couldn't control everything, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe Liz would never see him the same way again, but that didn't mean he had to stop caring about her

Father Frank: And as for you...you need to make peace with yourself. You did what you thought was right. Sometimes, that's all we can do.

Y/N nodded, feeling a small sense of relief. He still had a lot to figure out, but for now, at least, he knew where to start.

Y/N: Thanks, Father.

Father Frank gave him a reassuring smile.

Father Frank: Anytime, Y/N. You're always welcome here.

Y/N stood up, feeling a little lighter than when he had walked in. He wasn't sure how things would play out with Liz, but talking to Father Frank had helped clear his mind. There were things he couldn't control, and as much as it pained him, he had to accept that

As he glanced around, the familiar atmosphere of St. Patrick's Cathedral brought him a sense of calm. The soft flicker of candles along the walls, the rows of pews, and the solemn statues of saints all seemed so steady, so constant. But something felt off. Someone was missing.

He noticed it almost immediately. He hadn't been to the church in a little while, but there was always a certain presence that brought a quiet warmth to the placethe sweet old Hispanic lady who would light candles and say her prayers in spanish every day around this time. Y/N had never spoken to her, but she was part of the routine of the church. She was always there.

Tonight, though, her spot near the candles was empty.

A knot of worry tightened in his chest. It was strange, and for some reason, it bothered him more than it should have. He approached Father Frank again, hesitating for a second before asking.

Y/N: Uhh... Father, where's that Hispanic lady? You know, the one who's always here lighting candles? I don't come here often, but I swear I see her here every time I do. What's her name?

Father Frank's expression softened, but a shadow of sorrow passed over his eyes. He set down the small Bible he had been holding and turned fully to Y/N, as if preparing to deliver difficult news.

Father Frank: You must mean Mrs. Cardenas.

Y/N nodded, recognizing the name, though they had never formally met.

Y/N: Yeah, her. She seemed... I don't know... like she was always praying for someone. And in spanish too, so...that's nice

Father Frank sighed, the weight of grief clear in his voice.

Father Frank: Mrs. Cardenas was a kind soul, always praying for her neighbors and for peace in her building. She was a pillar of her community in Hell's Kitchen. But...

Y/N's heart sank as Father Frank trailed off.

Y/N: But...?

Father Frank looked down for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, then met Y/N's eyes again.

Father Frank: She passed away recently. It was... tragic. She was attacked in her building, mugged. The police say it was just a random act of violence, but...

Y/N felt a cold rush of disbelief. He blinked, trying to process what he had just heard.

Y/N: She's... gone?

Father Frank nodded solemnly.

Father Frank: Yes, just a few days ago. I've been praying for her soul, and for the people in her neighborhood. It's a reminder of how fragile life can be, Y/N.

Y/N stood there, his mind reeling. He didn't know Mrs. Cardenas personally, but he had seen her so often, always lighting candles with such quiet dedication. And now she was gone, just like that. Another innocent life, another victim of the city's unrelenting violence.

He clenched his fists at his sides, the sense of helplessness creeping in once more.

Y/N: She didn't deserve that...

Father Frank placed a comforting hand on Y/N's shoulder.

Father Frank: No, she didn't. But sometimes, this world is unfair. All we can do is pray for those who are lost, and try to bring a little more light into the darkness, in whatever way we can

Y/N nodded, though inside, a fire was building. Another life lost in Hell's Kitchen, another person who couldn't be saved. He felt the weight of his responsibility pressing down on him again, harder this time.

He looked back at Father Frank.

Y/N: Do you know... who did it?

Father Frank shook his head sadly.

Father Frank: The police are still investigating, but from what I've heard... there aren't many leads. It was a junkie who...jumped her when she was coming back home

Y/N swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He had to do something. He couldn't just let this slide.

Y/N: Thanks, Father.

Father Frank nodded, sensing the shift in Y/N's mood, but he didn't pry.

Father Frank: If you ever need to talk, Y/N, you know where to find me.

Y/N managed a small nod before turning away, his mind already racing with the need for action. Mrs. Cardenas didn't deserve to die like that, and if no one else was going to find out who was responsible... maybe he would

Y/N: I appreciate it, Father. But I got work to do now...

Later that day...

Hell's Kitchen, New York

As Y/N swung through the narrow, dimly lit streets of Hell's Kitchen, the night felt unusually heavy. He wasn't in his usual patrol mode, tonight wasn't about cracking jokes or small-time criminals. This was about Mrs. Cardenas, and the anger that had been building in his chest since learning of her death. She was an innocent, and yet another victim of the relentless violence that plagued the city. He needed answers, and tonight, he wasn't going to rest until he got them.

His senses were heightened, more than usual. The noises of the city filled his ears: the distant hum of traffic, the murmurs of people in their apartments, the occasional outburst from street corners. And then, through all the noise, he picked up a low, pained groan. Someone was hurt, nearby.

He swung towards the source of the sound, landing on a fire escape above an alleyway. Looking down, Y/N spotted a man, a dealer by the looks of him, crawling on the ground, his body battered. Someone had gotten to him first, and judging by the man's panicked state, it wasn't just any ordinary beatdown.

Y/N dropped down from the fire escape, his movements silent, as he approached the injured man. The dealer saw him and immediately began to scramble backward, pressing his back against the cold, wet wall of the alley.

Dealer: Arrest me! Please! Put me in jail! I... I'll tell you everything!

Y/N narrowed his eyes beneath the mask. This was odd. Criminals didn't usually beg to be arrested. Whoever had been here before him had left quite an impression.

Y/N knelt beside the man, his patience thin, but he kept his voice steady.

Y/N: Who put their hands on you?

The dealer trembled, his eyes wide with fear as he struggled to get the words out.

Dealer: The...the devil...

Y/N's eyes widened slightly behind the mask. The devil? It took him a moment to piece together who the man was referring to, but then it clicked... the "devil" of Hell's Kitchen. The other vigilante who'd been making waves recently. The one the media was in a frenzy about, calling him everything from a terrorist to a savior

The man in the black mask.

Y/N clenched his fists, frustration bubbling inside him. He had no idea what this vigilante knew, or why he had beaten this dealer so brutally. But Y/N had been chasing answers all night, and now there was someone else out there... someone clearly ahead of him. The pieces weren't falling into place as easily as he'd hoped.

Y/N: What did you do to deserve that?

The dealer shook his head rapidly, his voice trembling.

Dealer: I don't know, man! I swear! I just sell stuff, alright? Weed, some pills...heroin... whatever! But he came after me like I was... like I was part of something bigger!

Y/N's jaw tightened. Something wasn't adding up

Y/N: What does this have to do with Mrs. Cardenas?

The dealer blinked, confused.

Dealer: W-Who?!

Y/N grabbed the dealer by his collar, pulling him closer, his voice colder now.

Y/N: The woman who was killed in Hell's Kitchen a few days ago. What do you know about that?

The dealer shook his head desperately.

Dealer: I don't know anything about any woman, man! Please! Just... just let me go!

Y/N released him, pushing him back against the wall. The dealer coughed, rubbing his throat, but Y/N had already lost interest. The devil had been here for a reason. He was looking for answers too. But what did he know that Y/N didn't?

His eyes were wide with fear, but Y/N wasn't giving him any room to breathe. He loomed over the man, his patience wearing thin.

Y/N: Some junkie killed her... I want a name and an address... and you're gonna give it to me

Meanwhile...

The dim, filthy apartment reeked of sweat, booze, and the sharp, metallic scent of old blood. Bottles and trash were scattered across the floor, and a junkie sat on the couch, lazily injecting himself with heroin

Suddenly, he looked up, blinking sluggishly, and saw the dark silhouette standing before him... the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, clad in black from head to toe, his mask concealing all but his clenched jaw

The junkie chuckled weakly, thinking it's just a hallucination

The Devil didn't move. Instead, he knelt and picked something up from the floor. It was an old, worn purse. The name "Elena Cardenas" flickered in Matt Murdock's mind, her sweet, trusting face haunting him as he stood in this wretched pit of a home

Matt: Where'd you get the purse?

The junkie, still giggling, shrugged lazily.

Junkie: What... purse?

A fist slammed into his face. The junkie's head snapped back against the wall with a sickening thud. His laughter turned into a groan as the Mask keeps him pinned

Matt: Lying? Bad idea.

In an instant, Matt grabbed the junkie by the throat and hurled him across the room. The man crashed into a pile of glass bottles, the shards slicing into his skin. He screamed, clutching his bleeding hands.

Junkie: AHHHHH! Stop, please! I'm sick... I'm sick...

Matt didn't care. This wasn't about sympathy. This was about justice. Mrs. Cardenas didn't deserve what happened to her, and if this man had any part in it... even a small one... he would pay

Matt: Listen...I've hurt a lot people tonight to get what I need to know. The asshole that killed Mrs. Cardenas shoots up at this adress, likes cheap menthols. Thinks it covers the stench of his rotting teeth...it doesn't!

Matt's fist came up again, ready to land another blow, when suddenly, something yanked him back. Hard.

A web.

Matt stumbled backward, released from the fight for a moment, and turned, his heightened senses already picking up the presence of someone else in the room.

Perched on the ceiling, Spider-Man looked down at him, his eyes narrowing behind the mask.

Y/N: That's enough, man.

Matt's grip tightened. He hadn't heard the kid approach, not even with his senses. Whoever this was, he was fast...and sneaky. But this wasn't his fight.

Matt: Stay out of this, kid

His voice was low, threatening, and cold

Y/N: Stay out of this?

Y/N dropped down, landing lightly in front of Matt. His posture was tense, but controlled.

Y/N: Look, I get you're trying to do your thing, but we're not gonna beat answers out of people. That's not how this works

Matt: I don't have time for this...

He turned toward the junkie, still bleeding and shaking on the floor.

Y/N: You think hitting this guy until he's in a coma is gonna bring back the woman he killed?!

Matt froze, his fists still clenched. He knew the kid had a point, but anger was boiling inside him. He had sworn to protect people like Mrs. Cardenas, and now she was dead.

Matt: He's scum. He's not worth saving.

Y/N: Maybe not, but this isn't how we do things. We don't kill, and we don't torture. I'm not letting you cross that line.

The two stood there, face to face, sizing each other up. To Matt, Spider-Man was naive, still holding on to some idealistic view of right and wrong. But to Y/N, Matt's brutality wasn't justice, it was vengeance.

The junkie coughed, his breathing labored as he looked at the two masked men. He didn't know what was worse... the drugs slowly eating him alive or the masked man who was seconds away from doing it for them

Junkie: I...I don't know their names...they found me! They took me to a warehouse on the water...Pier 81. I didn't wanna do it, man...I swear! But...I was hurting man...

Matt: Shut up! You're gonna turn yourself in...to sergeant Brett Mahoney at the 15th precint. If you don't...I'll find you...and next time...I'm not gonna stop

Junkie: I... I don't know their names. They found me! Took me to a warehouse on the water... Pier 81. I didn't wanna do it, man, I swear! But... I was hurting...

The desperation in his voice might have earned sympathy from someone else, but not tonight. Not from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Matt's jaw tightened, his fists curling as he leaned in closer.

Matt: Shut up.

The words came out cold, cutting through the junkie's pathetic rambling 

Matt: You're going to turn yourself in... to Sergeant Brett Mahoney at the 15th Precinct.

The junkie shook his head, fear overtaking him, but Matt's glare silenced any protest before it could leave his lips.

Matt: If you don't...

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

Matt: ...I'll find you. And next time... I'm not going to stop.

The threat hung in the air, real and terrifying. The junkie's bloodshot eyes widened, understanding that there wouldn't be a second chance. Matt took a step back, his breathing controlled but seething with anger. He turned away from the junkie, clearly finished with him

Y/N didn't say anything, not yet. He shot a final glance at the terrified junkie, webbed him up just enough to make sure he wouldn't run, and then turned to Matt

Y/N: Pier 81...I guess it's where you're going next

Matt didn't answer right away, his face still set in grim determination as he started walking toward the nearest fire escape.

Matt: You coming?

Y/N hesitated for a split second before nodding. He wasn't sure if they were on the same side, but for now, they had the same enemy. And that was enough

Pier 81

The cold wind from the Hudson River swept across the dimly lit pier. Shadows danced off the walls as Y/N and Matt entered the abandoned warehouse, its eerie silence only adding to the tension that hung in the air. The two vigilantes moved cautiously, their senses on high alert. Matt, clad in his black mask and gear, seemed especially focused, while Y/N followed closely, unsure of what they would find but trusting Matt's instincts.

As they stepped further inside, Matt moved toward a table in the center of the room. His hand extended, feeling the papers scattered on its surface. He brushed his fingers over the texture of the documents, his heightened senses telling him far more than Y/N could comprehend at the moment

Y/N raised an eyebrow, watching Matt's movements. He didn't understand why Matt was so focused on the papers, or how he was even getting any information from them. Something was off, but Y/N trusted him enough not to question it...for now

Matt's fingers stilled as his head turned slightly, his senses picking up something. At the same time, Y/N's own heightened hearing kicked in. He heard it too: a heartbeat, slow and steady, almost unnaturally calm.

Matt: I didn't come here for you...

A voice responded from the shadows, calm and collected, yet menacing.

Nobu: But I am the one you have found...

Suddenly, a figure dropped from the rafters, landing gracefully before them. The man was clad in a red ninja suit, his face concealed by a mask, and his stance composed and lethal. Y/N immediately fell into his own battle stance, ready for anything. This wasn't just any ordinary thug. This was someone far more dangerous

Matt: You were at the docks... with the boy.

Nobu: As were you... with the old fool. That was unexpected.

Matt: I'm not part of his war.

Y/N, confused by the exchange, glanced between the two.

Y/N: Uhh... sorry... am I missing something here? I feel like there's a story between you two—

Nobu snapped his head toward Y/N, his voice sharp.

Nobu: Silence!

He turned his attention back to Matt, ignoring Y/N's confusion.

Nobu: Yet you aided him. And in this act... you've caused me displeasure.

The tension in the room thickened as Matt and Nobu began to circle each other, each movement deliberate and calculated. The air was thick with the anticipation of violence.

Matt: Did Fisk send you? Is that why he paid that junkie to—

Matt's voice held a mixture of frustration and bitterness.

Matt: A woman is dead. And for what? Just to lure me into some kind of trap?

Nobu's calm exterior remained unshaken, his voice cold and unwavering.

Nobu: You are here... are you not? And you brought a guest... Mr. Fisk is going to like what I'll do to you both

Matt: I knew no one was in the building. Made that mistake with the Russians once. Learned from it.

Nobu: But you did not know I was here.

Matt: No... you slowed your heart, lowered your body temperature...

Nobu's eyes narrowed beneath his mask.

Nobu: The old fool has taught you in our ways.

Matt's voice was steady, his grip tightening around his wooden sticks.

Matt: I told you I'm not with him.

Nobu: Yet you're still a warrior... deserving of a warrior's death.

Matt: I came here for Fisk... guess I'll have to settle for you...

He raised his wooden sticks, ready for the battle he knew was coming.

Nobu: I show you respect. You would be wise to return the courtesy.

Y/N, standing off to the side but fully engaged in the growing confrontation, couldn't help but interject.

Y/N:  You'll have to earn it...

Nobu's response was swift and without hesitation. In one fluid motion, he flung a series of knives at both Y/N and Matt.

Y/N's reflexes kicked in instantly, dodging the blades with acrobatic precision, flipping through the air to avoid the deadly projectiles. Meanwhile, Matt used his sticks to deflect the knives, the wooden clacks echoing in the cavernous space.

The fight was on.

Y/N landed, crouching low as he prepared to move. Matt stood beside him, both of them facing Nobu, ready for whatever came next

Y/N's muscles tensed as he prepared for the next strike. Nobu's movements were fast, almost too fast for Y/N to track. He lashed out with a series of blows that Matt narrowly dodged, while Y/N flipped backward to avoid a strike aimed at his legs.

Nobu's eyes gleamed in the dim light, and he suddenly shouted something in Japanese that Y/N couldn't understand. The sound echoed off the walls, and moments later, more men emerged from the shadows. They were dressed in dark suits and ties, but each of them carried swords. Gleaming, sharp, and ready for blood.

Y/N quickly counted them. Nine? Ten? There was no time for hesitation

Matt: Go... 

Matt's voice was calm but firm

Matt: I'll deal with him.

Y/N: Are you sure?

Matt gave a subtle nod, not breaking his focus from Nobu

Matt: I can take him. Now go!

Y/N hesitated for just a second, his eyes darting between Matt and the approaching men. He knew Matt could hold his own, but Nobu was something else. Still, Y/N trusted Matt's instincts.

With a final glance, Y/N launched himself into the air, swinging toward the group of sword-wielding men. His webhooters shot out, catching two of them by their wrists and yanking them off their feet. He landed gracefully behind them, dodging a sword swing aimed at his head

But there were too many of them. More and more of Nobu's men swarmed around him, forcing him to retreat back toward the wall.

Suddenly, Y/N felt a sharp blow to his side. One of the men had tackled him, sending him crashing through a window. He tumbled out into the patio outside the warehouse, glass shattering around him as he hit the ground with a painful thud. He groaned, trying to shake off the impact, but the men were relentless, already closing in on him

Meanwhile, inside the warehouse, Matt was locked in a deadly dance with Nobu. The ninja moved like a shadow, his kyoketsu shoge, a blade attached to a long chain, whirling through the air with deadly precision. Matt dodged and blocked as best as he could, but the weapon's reach made it difficult to get close. Nobu slashed at Matt's arms, drawing blood, and then struck his torso with another vicious slice

Nobu moved with deadly speed, slashing at Matt's torso, cutting deep into his side. Matt grunted in pain, his body staggering under the relentless assault. Blood dripped from his wounds, but he stood firm

Nobu, seeing the Devil of Hell's Kitchen struggling, smirked, his eyes cold.

Nobu: You have fought well.

Matt, clutching his side, tried to retreat, his breathing ragged, the pain making his movements sluggish. Nobu watched him, his blade raised, ready for the final strike

Nobu: It is... not enough.

As Nobu lunged forward, aiming to deliver the killing blow, Matt mustered every ounce of strength he had left. In a desperate move, he performed a kip-up, his body lifting off the ground in a swift, fluid motion. The blade whistled past where his chest had been, missing by inches.

Matt, now on his feet, deflected Nobu's next strike with his stick, using it to redirect the blade. The momentum of the deflection sent Nobu's blade into a hanging lamp above them. Sparks flew from the broken lamp, igniting the gasoline that had spilled on the floor due to their combat

Within seconds, Nobu was engulfed in flames

He screamed in agony, but even as his body burned, he tried to strike again. His determination was terrifying, but the flames consumed him too quickly. His movements grew slower, weaker, and after one final desperate punch toward Matt, he collapsed to the ground, his body engulfed in fire.

Matt stood over him, breathing heavily, his body trembling from the injuries. He watched as Nobu's body lay there, motionless, the flames consuming him entirely. The warehouse was filled with the stench of smoke and burning flesh

The crackling of the fire was all he could hear for a moment, his breath ragged and his mind was a mess. But then, a voice cut through the haze

Fisk: Thank you.

Matt turned abruptly, the voice unmistakable. Standing in the shadows, just beyond the glow of the fire, was Wilson Fisk. Wesley and another bodyguard flanked him, their expressions cold and unreadable.

Matt's face contorted with fury and disbelief. Fisk stepped forward, his large frame looming over the scene, the flickering fire casting long shadows across the warehouse floor.

Fisk: Nobu... was becoming an issue. I appreciate you... removing him from concern

Matt groaned in pain, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through his body. His fists clenched tightly as he struggled to remain standing, his breathing labored.

Matt: You... you wanted me to do this.

Fisk nodded, taking another step closer, his calm demeanor infuriating Matt even more.

Fisk: In a perfect world... you would have taken each other out, but... it isn't a perfect world, is it? Not yet.

Matt slowly pushed himself up, standing on shaky legs, his body covered in cuts and bruises from the fight. His mind raced, but all he could feel was rage.

Fisk: To be honest, it took longer than I expected. Nobu didn't mind. He meditated for hours. I find it difficult to meditate. My... mind... it won't quiet.

Outside the warehouse, the sounds of battle still raged. Y/N was locked in a fight with Nobu's remaining men, the clash of steel and the thud of bodies hitting the ground echoing faintly inside.

Fisk: It's a... character flaw, I suppose. We all have them. You, for instance, have demonstrated an emotional weakness for children and women. I assumed that would extend to the elderly. So, I baited the hook. And here you are

Matt's jaw clenched, his anger boiling over. Mrs. Cardenas' face flashed in his mind, her kind eyes, her warm smile. She had been innocent...an old woman who only wanted justice for her and her neighbors. And Fisk had taken her life just to lure him here.

Matt: You took her life... just to get my attention?

Fisk's expression didn't change. He remained eerily calm, as if none of this was of any real consequence to him.

Fisk: Nobu forced my hand in the matter. My options were limited by necessity. I took no pleasure in her passing

Matt's fists clenched even tighter, his knuckles turning white beneath the blood and grime. His heart raced, and despite the injuries weighing down his body, a burning rage fueled his desire for vengeance.

Matt: I'm... gonna... kill you.

Wesley and the bodyguard raised their guns instantly, but Fisk lifted a hand, signaling them to lower their weapons. He looked at Matt with a twisted mix of curiosity and amusement.

Fisk: Take your shot.

The room was silent except for the crackling of the flames. Matt's breathing was heavy, his muscles aching, but his fury kept him standing. He knew Fisk was goading him, tempting him to cross a line he had sworn never to cross. But the image of Mrs. Cardenas, lying dead because of this man, was almost too much to bear

Matt threw a wild punch at Fisk, but his injuries slowed him down. The tall, imposing figure of the Kingpin barely flinched, sidestepping the blow with surprising agility for his size. With a growl, Fisk retaliated, his massive fist crashing into Matt's ribs, sending a jolt of agony through his injured body

Fisk was relentless. Another punch came, this time to his jaw, and the impact sent Matt sprawling to the ground. His wooden sticks fell from his hands, clattering on the concrete floor.

As he lay there, dazed and bleeding, Matt's fingers brushed against Nobu's kyoketsu shoge, the chain wrapped around the blade covered with his own blood. Gripping the weapon with both hands, Matt slashed upward at Fisk, aiming for the abdomen

The blade met something solid

It was body armor, hidden beneath Fisk's tailored suit. The blade scraped harmlessly against it, and Fisk barely reacted to the attack.

Fisk's eyes flared with anger. He grabbed Matt by the collar and lifted him off the ground with ease. The masked vigilante, broken and bleeding, was no match for Fisk's sheer strength. With a roar, Fisk slammed Matt down onto a wooden table, shattering it into splinters

Fisk loomed over Matt's motionless body, his deep voice like a thunderclap.

Fisk: Wesley...

Wesley, ever loyal, raised his gun, taking aim at the broken man beneath Fisk's feet. But before he could pull the trigger, a sharp thwip cut through the air. A strand of webbing shot from the shadows, yanking the gun from Wesley's hand and sending it flying across the room.

Matt didn't hesitate. He staggered to his feet, his body screaming in pain, and ran towards the nearest window. The second bodyguard raised his gun to fire at Matt's back, but was knocked off balance as Y/N swung in, kicking the guard to the ground with a well-aimed blow. Matt dove through the window, shattering the glass, and fell into the dark, freezing waters of the Hudson River below

Y/N landed in front of Fisk, breathing heavily. His dark blue and yellow suit was torn, blood seeping through the fabric from multiple cuts on his arms and legs. His muscles ached from the relentless fight against Nobu's men, but he stood tall, determined

Y/N: Here I thought you were a philanthropist. You're done, baldy

Fisk's lips twisted into a sneer. He was a mountain of a man, calm and composed despite the chaos around him.

Y/N didn't waste time. He launched himself at Fisk, webs shooting from his wrists as he tried to bind the giant man's arms. But Fisk was faster than Y/N expected. He grabbed the webs mid-air, yanking Y/N off balance. Before Y/N could react, Fisk delivered a brutal punch to his midsection

The impact was devastating. Y/N felt his ribs creak under the force of the blow, pain exploding through his body as he was hurled across the room, crashing into a stack of crates. He groaned, struggling to push himself up, but Fisk was already upon him.

Fisk: You children never learn.

He reached down, grabbing Y/N by the front of his suit and hoisting him up like he weighed nothing. Y/N tried to struggle, swinging a punch at Fisk's face, but the crime lord easily blocked it and slammed Y/N into the ground with bone-shattering force

The room spun, and Y/N's vision blurred with the pain coursing through his body. He coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. He had never felt such raw, overpowering strength before. Even with his powers, Fisk was too much for him. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to give up, but he forced himself to move.

Y/N: I'm...not done...yet.

Y/N tried to shoot more webs, aiming for Fisk's legs, but Fisk kicked him hard in the side, sending him skidding across the cold, concrete floor. Blood smeared behind him as he tumbled to a stop, gasping for air. His vision was fading, and he could feel his strength wearing out. His suit, once a symbol of hope, was now tattered, barely clinging to his bruised and battered body.

Fisk advanced on him, calm and deliberate. The thud of his footsteps echoed in Y/N's ears as he lay there, struggling to get up. He knew he couldn't win this fight. Not now.

With one last desperate burst of energy, Y/N shot a web toward the ceiling, yanking himself upward and out of Fisk's reach. He swung through the warehouse, narrowly dodging a bullet fired by the remaining bodyguard, and crashed through the shattered window where Matt had jumped moments earlier

Moments later...

Queens, New York

The streets were quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional dog barking. The faint glow from street lamps barely pierced through the darkness, casting long shadows over MJ's neighborhood. In her room, MJ lay sprawled across her bed, phone in hand, deep in conversation with her best friend. They gossiped about their day, about school, and the usual things that occupied her thoughts late at night.

MJ: No way, Sally! She did not wear that to class!

She laughed, kicking her feet up

Her laughter was cut short by a strange noise coming from outside—something rattling near the garbage cans. MJ paused, holding her breath, listening intently

MJ: Hey, I'll... call you back.

Without waiting for a response, she ended the call, setting her phone down as she got to her feet. She grabbed a flashlight from her desk and tiptoed toward the window, her heart pounding. Leaning out slightly, she saw the lid of one of the trash cans toppled over, but... something else was there too. Something...someone

MJ: Who's... who's there?

Her voice trembled slightly, but she forced herself to stay calm. Slowly, she descended the stairs and stepped out of her back door, the flashlight beam flickering across her lawn. When she turned the light toward the garbage cans, her breath caught in her throat.

There, lying amidst the trash, was Spider-Man.

MJ gasped, her mind struggling to comprehend the sight in front of her. Spider-Man, the same hero who had saved her life months ago, was now laying crumpled and bleeding in her backyard. His suit was torn, deep cuts lining his chest and arms. His breathing was labored, and his mask clung to his sweat-drenched face.

MJ: Oh my God... Spider-Man?

She rushed over to him, crouching beside his battered form. She hesitated, unsure of how to help him, her hands shaking as she reached for him. But then, she heard it... a voice, weak, barely above a whisper.

Y/N: M...J...

Her eyes widened. He knew her nickname?

MJ's heart raced even faster now. She leaned in closer, shining her flashlight at his face. There was something familiar in the way he said her name, something that didn't sit right. She reached for his mask, her fingers trembling as they tugged at the fabric. Slowly, she pulled it up, revealing the bruised and bloodied face beneath.

Her breath hitched in her throat

MJ: Y/N...?

She froze, the flashlight slipping from her grasp and clattering to the ground. The beam flickered across his pale, exhausted face, confirming what her heart had already told her.

Y/N, her childhood friend, was Spider-Man

To be continued...