Matt tried.

He really tried to take Foggy's advice and stay off the streets tonight.

He worked late at the office, and ate dinner at the burger joint around the corner, lingering over his meal as darkness fell outside the restaurant window. Then he went to Fogwell's and spent over an hour pummelling the punching bag and lifting weights.

But that only ate up so much time. When he let himself into the apartment afterwards and dropped his gym bag by the door, there was still so much of the night left to endure. Hours stretched ahead of him, with nothing to occupy his mind. Nothing to divert his thoughts away from Calina...

Nothing but the sounds of distress and pain and fear coming from the streets below.

Matt stood in his living room and clenched his fists as a sharp cry rang out from a few blocks away.

No.

He couldn't do it.

It didn't matter that he wasn't in the right headspace. That he was distracted by the loss of Calina and preoccupied with thoughts of what might have been...he had a responsibility to his city.

And he couldn't stand by while people were being hurt.

He rushed over to the closet and grabbed his suit. Within minutes he was dressed and racing up the stairs to the roof.

He was Daredevil.

And the streets were where he belonged.

———

The old fashioned sodium lamp in front of the Chinese consulate cast a bright cone of light onto the darkened street, which Matt could detect by the slight warming of the air.

But he wasn't interested in what was in that lighted space. He was interested in the tall, lanky guy just out of its reach. The one lurking in the mouth of the alleyway beside the large concrete building.

Matt had found his way to this part of the city just after midnight. When darkness fell, the Hudson River parkway was a hotspot for drug deals and muggings, so Matt usually patrolled this area as part of his normal route through Hell's Kitchen.

But it wasn't normal for him to linger in one place like this.

He'd been scoping out this block for the last hour, perched on the rooftop beside the consulate, cataloguing everyone that came and went...because this was the next likely site of a fear pheromone attack. The map of cases that Foggy and Karen had been painstakingly plotting for weeks all pointed to this location.

And Matt wasn't going to let this opportunity pass him by.

Finding the people behind these attacks was the only 'win' that Matt could see on his horizon. It was the only thing that was actually going right in his life at the moment. So even though Foggy would be pissed at him for being here, there was no way he was turning back.

Especially since his gut was telling him that this was the right place...

...and that the guy hiding in the shadows beside the consulate was his man.

He'd been standing there for more than twenty minutes now, and his heart rate had accelerated gradually over that span of time. Now he looked downright jittery, one hand compulsively adjusting the ball cap on his head, and the other clenching his phone so tight Matt could hear the plastic casing creak from the rooftop overhead. The man checked the display as another message came through - he'd been receiving texts steadily over the last ten minutes, but he'd never once replied.

Matt quietly descended the fire escape and crouched in the alleyway behind him, ready to intervene when the moment came. From this close, he could detect the sharp smell of nervous sweat radiating from the man. And beneath that...the familiar acrid scent of the fear pheromone.

This was definitely the guy.

Matt's own heart started to pound faster in anticipation. Then he held his breath as the clack-clack-clack of high heels rang out on the deserted street. He cocked his head, trying to pin-point the direction of the sound.

It - a woman - was coming towards them. She must have just left the consulate after a very late night at work. It made sense that some of the staff must be on Beijing time, but it left this particular worker at risk of being targeted.

Sure enough, the man in the shadows straightened up and reached into his pocket. He swapped his phone for a small cylindrical device and gripped it in his hand as the woman walked closer and closer. She passed through the light of the streetlamp and the man raised his hand, preparing to release the pheromone...but Matt got there first.

He rushed up behind the man and grabbed his arm. He wrenched it behind his back, quickly plucking the device from his hand and tossing it to the ground. Then he kicked the back of the man's legs, forcing him to his knees. The man grunted at the impact, drawing the attention of the woman passing by the darkened alley. The clack of her heels paused as she registered the sound, but she was obviously wise enough to not stick around and investigate - her footsteps accelerated as she hurried away from the scene, leaving Matt alone with her would-be attacker.

Matt grabbed the hood of the man's sweatshirt and dragged him further into the alleyway, then roughly shoved him against the wall. He used one hand to pin him in place, and the other he clenched into a fist. He cocked his arm back in warning, and spat out a single word, "Talk."

"I- I- I-," the man stuttered, shaking his head.

Matt leaned closer, letting the man get the full effect of his Devil mask. "Talk," he repeated, dropping his voice even lower. "Where did you get that device? Who are you working for?"

"No-one!"

Matt punched him, a quick hard strike in the nose. "Wrong answer."

"It's the truth," the man wheezed. "These random dudes paid me a hundred bucks to take that thing and use it on someone. They said it was just for a prank!"

"Any you believed them?"

"I needed the money, man. I didn't think about it too closely."

Matt studied the man's heart, trying to determine if he was lying, but it had been racing for the last five minutes. Fear and anxiety radiated from him. If Matt didn't know any better, he'd suspect he was a victim of the pheromone rather than a wielder of it. But the scent he'd detected earlier was coming from the device - not the man.

He was just scared. Which meant his story - as bizarre as it sounded - was probably the truth.

"Where were these guys?" Matt asked. "The ones who paid you?"

"Um, they were coming out of that abandoned store on West 52nd. You know, the one near the Hustler Club."

Matt nodded and took a step back, releasing the man. "Get the hell out of here."

The man took off running. Matt picked up the device from the ground and secured it in his belt. Then he scaled up the side of the building to his right. He looked north, in the direction of the Hustler's club.

It was only 10 rooftops away.

He was only 10 rooftops away from finally getting some answers.

He backed up and started running.

———

Matt swore as he stalked through the corridors of the abandoned building.

It was empty.

He was definitely in the right place - the faint scent of the fear pheromone lingered in the air, and the basement was filled with discarded lab equipment - but not a soul could be found on the premises.

Judging from the dust covered surfaces and the old scents clinging to the furniture, the operation that was running out of this place had been shut down a while ago.

Matt jogged up the stairwell, hoping to find something on the next floor that might explain what the fuck was going on...and who was lying to who. Because either the man from the alleyway had been duped by the guys at this location, or he'd given the wrong intel to Matt on purpose.

But if that was the case...why?

Matt got his answer moments later.

Just as he reached the door to the top floor, the music from the strip club next door suddenly quieted. It had been pounding out a droning techno beat from the moment Matt stepped foot in the building, the sound carrying through the walls and filling his senses. But in the sudden silence, a new sound hit his ears: a barely perceptible tick-tick-tick...

Matt paused, his hand on the door handle as he cocked his head and listened closer. It was probably a clock in a long-abandoned office. This building used to be a woodworking supply store, so it would make sense for there to be an office or two.

But Matt's instincts were screaming at him that it was something else. Something far more dangerous. He stretched his senses out further, every muscle in his body locked as he concentrated on what the air was telling him...

And that's when he picked it up - the subtle scent of plastic and motor oil. It was a combination he'd come across before, and it was one that was hard to forget, given what it signified - the presence of C4 explosives.

Now that he'd latched on to the scent, Matt could detect small deposits of it on every floor.C4 explosives. The whole building was wired to blow.

And the ticking clock was the timer.

Shit!

He spun on his feet and raced up the stairs to the roof, his legs pumping as he took the steps three at a time, pushing himself to go faster. It had only been a matter of seconds since he'd picked up the sound of the bomb but his gut warned him he only had seconds more until it detonated.

Sure enough, he'd barely cleared the door leading out onto the roof when he heard the sharp click of the detonator. He felt the rumble of the explosion under his feet as he raced across the rooftop. And as he launched himself across to the adjacent building the blast-wave hit him, propelling him further and faster through the air as the fireball scorched his back.

He collided hard with the asphalt on the next roof over, and rolled to a stop in a graceless sprawl. He lay there for a couple of minutes, winded from the violent landing. When his breathing returned to normal, he rose up into a crouch and listened for the sounds of sirens, or the calls of the public reacting to the explosion. It had been large enough - and loud enough - to have woken everyone in a 10 block radius, so there were bound to be multiple people heading in this direction...but Matt couldn't hear a thing over the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

He shook his head and banged the heels of his palms against his ears, but the loud piercing sound persisted. It drowned out all other noise, leaving him essentially deaf in both ears.

Deaf and blind.

Fear hit him in an instant. All of a sudden he was back in his apartment after being shot by Frank Castle, cowering against the wall and screaming in silence as his hearing shorted out. He'd never quite gotten over the terror he'd felt that day - the terror of being locked in his own head, cut off from his senses.

Helpless and alone.

And now he was right back there. But instead of being in the safety of his apartment, he was on a rooftop next to a burning building with - for all he knew - squads of police officers and firefighters arriving on the street below.

He was trapped!

He was less than a mile from his apartment, but it may as well be a continent away. He had no chance in hell of getting home in this condition while staying undetected, and he had no way to call for help - his phone was still shut away in his desk drawer at work.

His fear turned into full blown panic.

He scrambled across the rooftop, his arms out to guide him, and managed to find the water tower he'd spotted earlier from the street. He crouched down behind it and tried to get his bearings. He could tell that he was facing away from the burning building by the relatively cool air around him, but that was all he could discern of his surroundings. The smell of soot and ash clogged his nose, so even his sense of smell was lost to him.

He was completely and utterly shut off from the world around him.

Completely and utterly vulnerable.

His breathing sped up, until he could feel himself panting as he tried to gulp down enough air to ease the tightness in his chest. His heart was hammering and he started to feel light-headed.

He had to calm down! The last thing he needed was to lose consciousness on top of everything else. He forced himself to breathe deeply, holding each inspiration for a count of five before blowing the air out between pursed lips.

The meditative breathing seemed to help. But what made the biggest difference was imagining himself somewhere else. Somewhere much safer and infinitely more peaceful.

And what he pictured was his bed, with Calina lying in it next to him. She was in his arms, her long legs entwined with his. His head was tucked against the back of her neck and with each breath he imagined he could smell her delicious scent.

After a few minutes, the tight feeling in his chest eased, and his palpitations tailed off. He stood up and felt around for the ladder that would lead him to the top of the water tower. If he couldn't get home, he would just hide up there until the immediate danger passed or his hearing returned - whichever came first.

He'd just found the first rung when he picked up faint rhythmic vibrations in the concrete beneath his boots.

Footsteps.

Someone was on this roof...and coming his way fast.

He ducked behind one of the tower's metal pillars and slid his baton from the holder on this thigh, prepared to fight. It could just be a drunken reveller from the club below, but it could be a cop or someone from the gang that had set the explosive trap for him next door.

And both of those last options would be bad.

Matt held his breath and tightened his grip on his weapon as the steps got closer, the vibrations more distinct. The person was on the other side of the tower, so Matt was blocked from their view for now...

But then they rounded the structure, and Matt felt a hand come down on his arm. He reacted in an instant, batting the hand away and swinging his club. He didn't expect to hit them, but he wanted it to act as a warning to whoever was up here with him.

They didn't get the hint. The hand came back, this time trying to wrestle the baton away. Matt held firmly but his attacker hit the nerve cluster in his elbow causing his fingers to slip open. The baton fell to the ground between them, but Matt recovered fast. He swung out, but his punch was blocked. He tried again, in a quick volley of strikes, hoping that with sheer speed and power he could get some hits in.

Some of them landed.

Most missed.

But then he got a lucky break. His fist collided with his attackers arm, so he grabbed it, and slid his grip down to their wrist. He used the momentum to spin them around and caught their other wrist, pinning both of his attackers arms behind their back, and finally gaining the upper hand...

Or so he thought.

The person he'd trapped relaxed their body, bent their knees and ducked under his right arm. This unbalanced Matt, and a quick shove against his side caused him to topple and roll across the concrete roof.

He sprang to his feet and paused, his mind spinning as he recognised the familiar move.

It was the exact same one Calina had used against him when they'd sparred in Fogwell's a few weeks ago.

Could it be...?

No. It was just a coincidence.

It had to be.

But then he sorted through the other information he'd gleaned from the brief fight just now. The build of his opponent matched Calina. The way they'd flowed out of reach of his punches was so similar to her fluid, defensive style...

No.

His mind was playing tricks on him - filling in the blanks of his sensory deprivation with wishful thinking. He hadn't heard from her in 10 days, why would she all of a sudden be on this rooftop?

The person crept closer. But didn't engage him again. And Matt realised that they'd never once attacked him. They'd grabbed for his baton after he'd tried to hit them with it, but all other moves had been made in defence.

As if they hadn't wanted to hurt him...

Desperate hope warred inside him. And it managed to overcome his trepidation. "C-Calina?" he asked.

The person stepped even closer, so close he could feel their body heat. They carefully took his hand, and removed his glove.

And with a soft finger, spelled out a single word in braille on his palm:

YES.