Liam Grote welcomed his brother Elliot ‘Grotto’ Grote into his office. A warm orange glow emanated from the chandelier on top. Elliot felt like he had to wipe his feet before stepping on the fur carpet.

“Welcome,” Liam said. “Sit. Sit.” Liam beckoned Grotto to sit on the shining wooden chair by his mahogany chair but Grotto decided otherwise, sitting on the leather couch by the side. A leather couch so new it squeaked under his butt.

“You want some?” Liam asked, opening a cabinet with expensive beer. He took out a bit bottle of scotch and poured it into a glass.

Grotto shrugged. Liam filled him a glass and handed it to him before returning back to his seat behind the desk.

“So, what brings you here?” Liam said, taking a sip of his scotch.

“You hear the news?” Grotto asked. “Old Roscoe bit the dust. Apparently one of them masked freaks got him.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Liam said. “Now everybody’s scramblin’ for Crime Alley. Sweeney had a tight hold over there. That what you came here for?”

“I hear you’re making a move, too.”

Liam scoffed. “Well, I can’t just ignore a goldmine, Grotto.”

“I came here to tell you not to make a move,” Grotto said.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re scared of that masked man.”

Grotto shook his head. “No, I ain’t scared of him. No, it’s just everything else that’s going on. Everybody’s making a play for it. The Cartel, the Russians, hell I even heard the Yakuza want a piece of that.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Liam said. “A man has gotta take risks. Didn’t dad always used to say nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Dad used to beat the shit outta both of us and almost killed mum.”

“Either way,” Liam said, waving his hand. “With the money we’re getting we don’t need to worry about any war. We have the guns.”

“And what about where we got the guns, huh?” Grotto said. “Dad may have been an asshole but he’d never traffic kids, Liam. Kids.”

Liam scoffed. “They don’t kill them.”

Grotto stared at him; mouth agape. “Are you hearing yourself right now? Whatever those masked bastards do to those children doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change the fact that we’re sending those kids to god knows where.”

“Those kids never had a future in that place anyway,” Liam said. “I can’t believe you’re actually thinking about something for once. Why don’t you use that brain cell of yours to actually do something of worth instead of beating the shit outta people.”

“Look, Liam,” Grotto said. “You keep doing this, I’m out. I’m done.”

Elliot downed his scotch in one go. “The money changed you. You’re even more of an asshole than you used to be.”

Liam scoffed. “You’re done. You’re done. Please Grotto you can’t even think for yourself. You can’t do anything without somebody instructing you. You’re a dumbass, Grotto. If it wasn’t for my money, you’d be rotting in a cell for what you did to that girl.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Mark my words, Grotto,” Liam said. “You’re going to come crawling back here, begging me to come back.”

Elliot walked away from Liam, ignoring him and from out of nowhere a wave of exhaustion filled his body. His body felt like lead.

“What the hell did you put in this?”

“Fuck you talking about?” Liam asked.

“The beer,” Grotto said, trying his best to fight away the exhaustion. He could barely carry himself over to Liam. “Did you spike it?”

“What the hell are you talk…”

Liam couldn’t finish the sentence owing to the fact that the knife was stuck in his throat. Blood spurted out of his neck, showering Grotto’s face in a paste of red.

Grotto barely had time to emote, let alone mourn. He turned his head around and saw a woman with hair as black as night and an outfit as red as blood. Grotto tried to move, tried to show the whore what happened when someone killed his baby brother but he couldn’t move. He could barely carry his body over to her before he collapsed on the floor.

When Grotto woke, he lashed out like a wild animal. “My brother,” he roared. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you bitch.”

It was at that moment police officers burst into the room.

“What the hell?” he said, still feeling groggy. “What’s going on?”

The officer took out his badge. “Elliot Grote. You’re under arrest for the murder of Liam Grote.”

“What?” Grotto said. “What the hell? Get out of here or I…”

It was only then he noticed the bloodied knife in his hand.

…

The inside of the church was pungent with the smell of polish and perfume. Matt could hear the whispered prayers of visitors, their tense heartbeats and could smell the salty tears falling down on their face. Matt took an empty seat at the back of the church, hearing the footsteps and muffled discussions of nuns and priests until he heard footsteps approaching.

“Counsellor,” said a man, from the way the air ruffled around his feet Matt assumed he was a priest. “What brings you here on a day like this?”

Matt smiled. “Word around here travels fast.”

“Very,” the priest said. “Newspapers are calling you the new hope of Crime Alley.”

“That’s a little much,” Matt said. “I don’t think we’re that affordable.”

The priest chuckled. “So, what brings you to a dingy old church like this instead of doing whatever it is you lawyers do?”

Matt sighed. “My father used to come here. He uh, used to come here a lot, before a big game or a…” Matt cleared his throat. “A job.”

“Yes,” the priest said. “I remember your father. He was a good man.”

“Ask anyone around here and they’ll say otherwise,” Matt said. “Especially after the jobs that bastard…”

“Language.”

“Sorry father,” Matt said. “Especially after those jobs that Roscoe Sweeney used to make him do. Speaking of, have you heard the news?”

“Yes,” the priest said. “Whatever he did on this planet, only God can judge him now.”

“After Roscoe died, I’ve been thinking about God,” Matt said. “About how he gives and how he takes. About punishment and I want to know father, is God punishing me?”

“What makes you say…” Father paused. “Rather what makes you think that?”

“I lost my eyesight a long time ago, Father,” Matt said. “It was a scary experience. Not only did I lose my eyes but there was this noise, everything hurt. My senses felt like they were on fire. I felt like I was in hell. After everything cleared, after I recovered, I realised even though I couldn’t see, God had given me other gifts.”

“What kind of gifts?”

“You had eggs and bacon this morning,” Matt said and smiled. “Not very kosher of you might I add. Your wife gave you a kiss on your… left cheek. Very cheap lipstick might I add. I guess those donations you ask for aren’t enough. You stopped by at a hot dog store, spilled some mustard on your sleeve I believe before you stopped by at the church and sat in front of me.”

There was a pause. Matt could hear his heartbeat race for a minute before the priest cleared his throat and his heartbeat slowed to a calm rhythmic beat. “Under normal circumstances I’d have called the police but we live in a time where a man dresses up as a bat and another climbs on walls.”

Matt chuckled. “Yeah. I thought these gifts were a blessing but it was when I grew up that I realised it was a curse.”

Matt paused. “You see, my father died. He got shot by those men. Ordered to be killed because he wouldn’t bow down to their demands. I was ten at the time and…” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Every day, father. Every day, I would go outside this bar. Their… their hideout and I would listen. Listen for any signs of regret or remorse, any signs of repentance, praying I would find some sign, something to show that they felt something when they separated a vulnerable little boy from his father and I didn’t find anything. God knows I tried, God knows I risked my life going to that man’s house only for him to drink a beer, read a newspaper and go to sleep without a care in the world.”

Matt paused, feeling something wet fall down his cheek. He wiped it up before continuing. “But it didn’t stop there. No, every night I would hear the atrocities he committed against the people here. Every night I would hear his men assaulting, raping and even killing innocent men and women. Separating even more children from their fathers. And Father, I couldn’t sleep. I heard every single moment of their exchange. I heard their heartbeats stop but I was powerless to do anything to help them. To save them. I made a vow. A vow that I would do everything in my power to put that men behind bars so that he wouldn’t harm another human life.”

Matt tightened his grip around his walking stick. “I tried the legal way but he was too smart, Father. His defendants played around with the evidence and he went off scot free. There was not enough evidence to lock him up. I tried, believe me I tried to put him away but the court wouldn’t have it. If I insisted, I would have gotten disbarred. Everything I did to become a lawyer would have been flushed down the drain. So, I handled him the only way I knew how to.”

There was a silence. It took a while for the words to dawn on the priest and when he did the priest, his heartbeat fast but once it did, he looked at him with an expression that was as cold as stone. His heartbeat was slow, steady. The heartbeat of one disappointed.

“Did you kill him, Matthew?”

“No,” Matt said. “No. I didn’t. It was a heart attack that got to him. I tried to warn him but…”

A small crack formed on the top of where Matt had tightened his grip around the walking stick. “Father how do I know I’m being punished? I thought me being blinded was an opportunity, a gift from God now all it feels like is a punishment. God gave me the gifts to become a lawyer but the system is flawed, Father. A system I once had hope for lets people like Sweeney get away. You know what it feels like? It feels like God is laughing at me from above.”

Matt put his head down. He heard father turn his head, looking out at the distance, contemplating.

“I don’t claim to be the authority on God’s plan. I don’t think you and I can comprehend it’s magnificence or even its scope.” The priest put a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “But you asked me about punishment. You asked me how you know you’re being punished. I once attended a Muslim sermon…”

“Isn’t that blasphemy?”

“You’d be surprised what you can learn from other religions, Matthew,” the priest said. “Anyways, I was attending this sermon and the priest, the um… maulana I think they call them. He said something that stuck with me. He said punishment from God isn’t losing a loved one or losing your job. He told me punishment is when you’re given everything you ever wanted. He said punishment doesn’t bring you closer to God, it takes you away from him. Punishment makes you forget God. Takes you far away from him.”

The priest got up. “You chose to come here, didn’t you? To come to the house of God. This isn’t you being punished, rather it’s a test.”

“What… how is he testing me?”

“I can’t answer that,” the Priest said. “But you told me you had gifts, didn’t you? Do you hear her?”

“Hear who?”

“The woman sitting out in front?” the priest asked. “She’s praying.”

Matt sorted through the array of whispers flying by his ear like gusts of wind. He heard their heartbeats singing songs of fear, sadness and anticipation. The heartbeat in front sang a song of fading hope.

“Oh God,” the woman cried. Matt could hear her sobs, hear the tears falling down her cheeks. “Please bring my son back. Please bring my baby back…”

“Mrs. Grimshaw’s son has been missing for a week,” the Priest said. “She doesn’t know what happened to him. One moment he was out playing in the playground and the moment after she disappeared. Nobody knows what happened to him.”

“God, I know I haven’t been the best,” Mrs. Grimshaw said. “But he’s all I have. Please, please bring him back. Please bring little Mikey back.”

“You can hear the rest to?” the Priest asked. “Can’t you?”

Like a choir, their whispers filled his ears. Singing a ballad of weakness and vulnerability, a song only Matthew could hear.

“… I can’t get off it, God. Please give me the strength…”

“… I’m weak. I’m so weak. Forgive me for what I did to my…”

“… They keep coming into my building. I’m holding them off but I don’t know what they’ll do to my wife. Please God, protect her…”

“Now I don’t know why God took away your father,” the Priest said. “I don’t know why he took away your sight. I don’t know why he didn’t bring Roscoe Sweeney to face justice in this world but Matthew, I think he brought you here for a reason.”

His phone started to ring. “Foggy. Foggy.” Matt found this peculiar. Foggy wouldn’t call unless it was something urgent.

“I didn’t catch your name, Father.”

“Please call me Lantom,” the Priest said. “Father Lantom.”

“Thank you, Father. For the talk,” Matt said. “But I have to take this.”

“No problem,” Father Lantom said. “See, you around Matthew.”

Matt nodded. He picked up the phone, leaving the church.

“What’s up?”

“Sorry to call you but you remember Mahoney?” Foggy asked. Matt didn’t need to be near him to know that his face was riddled with sweat, his voice told him exactly what he needed.

“Yeah, the officer we helped out of an assault case,” Matt said. “What about him?”

“Well, remember how I made a deal with him to hit me up when something interesting happened at the police precinct?” Foggy asked.

“No.”

“Anyways,” Foggy said. “He hit me up.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Remember the Grote family?” Foggy asked. “That Irish crime ring?”

“Yes.”

“Well one of the two Grote brothers were caught,” Foggy said. “And he’s asking us to be his lawyers.”

…

The Park Row police station was bustling with footsteps and animated chattering. Everybody was talking animatedly about Elliot Grote and how he murdered his brother. Many of the officers were glad, the others were lamenting the fact that they might not get their money again.

“Liam Grote was found dead in his office this morning,” Agent Mahoney said. A strait-laced, no bullshit African American officer Mahoney was one of the few people in the Park Row precinct that could be trusted. “Elliot Grote was found, suit stained with blood. The murder weapon was a knife and that knife had his fingerprints all over it.”

“So, uh… tell me what exactly are we doing here?” Foggy asked.

“Poor old Grotto said he needed a lawyer,” Mahoney said. “Said he didn’t want any public defender. Told me he heard about a couple of new lawyers starting a firm around the block. Said he wanted them.”

“And what if we say no?” Foggy said.

Mahoney shrugged. “I don’t know. Good old Turk’s been caught with some drugs again so I’m going to be dealing with him. You guys go on ahead.”

Foggy turned his head, looking at the interrogation window. His heartbeat was like a rabbit, Matt could smell the sweat dripping down his neck. “Guy looks nervous.”

Elliot Grote’s heartbeat was going off like a jackhammer. Matt could hear his teeth grinding, the anxious tapping of his fingertips against the table and his leg bouncing off his palm.

“You think we should get out of here?” Foggy said. “We don’t have to represent him, do we?”

“Let’s at least hear him out.”

“Sure, sure,” Foggy said. “But he seems like a lost cause. Fingerprints all over the murder weapon? Prosecution is going to jump all over that.”

“Something else on your mind?” Matt asked.

Foggy bit the nail in his thumb. He looked at Elliot and back at Matt. “Yeah. This guy has been a thorn in Crime Alley’s hide for years. If we represent him, hell even talk to him, our reputation is going to take a nose dive.”

“Like I said, Foggy,” Matt said. “We’re just going to hear him out.”

“Okay, okay,” Foggy said. “But if there’s anything that seems off, we’re leaving this guy and taking a theft case or something.”

Matt nodded. “Sure.”

The door to the interrogation room creaked open. Elliot’s heart was beating extra fast, there was the smell of fear and anticipation in him but also another smell. In his sweat Matt could smell the feint trace stench of a drug. A sleeping drug.

“Um… Mr. Elliot,” Foggy said, dragging his chair across the floor and also pulling the other one out for Matt. “This is my partner Matt. We’re here to hear you out.”

Foggy reached out a hand to shake and so did Matt.

“A blind guy’s representing me?” Grotto said. “A freaking cripple.”

“You’d find I’m more than capable Mr. Elliot,” Matt said. “You’d also find that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter, do you?”

“Why you little…” Grotto growled. His handcuffs rattled as he tried to throw a punch at Matt.

“Look, Mr. Elliot,” Foggy said. “We’d like to hear your side of the story. It says in your report that you claim you were drugged.”

“I swear I was,” Grotto said. “Even told the coppers but they wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t even take a urine sample. Those bastards, want me to rot, I tell you. Rot.”

“Did you do it, Mr. Grote?” Matt said. “Did you kill your brother?”

His heartbeat was fast, panicked. It would be hard to make out he was lying but…

“I swear I didn’t kill him.”

His heart didn’t skip a beat.

“Me and Liam had a lot of differences,” Grotto said. “We even fought a lot but kill him? No. He’s my baby brother for fucks sake. Sure, I’d beat some sense into him but kill him. No.”

His heart didn’t skip a beat again.

“Even if we do believe you, Mr. Grote, why us?” Foggy asked. “Aren’t your family rich enough to afford lawyers? What about a public defender?”

Grotto scoffed. “Can’t trust the lawyers my brother hired. Bunch of swindlers I tell you that. And a public defender? Half of them are under one family or another’s paycheque. No, you two, you two are the only lawyers I can trust.”

“We might not have the experience…”

“Experience, shmexperience,” Grotto said. “You guys are the only lawyers I can trust. Look I’ll pay you whatever the hell you want, just get me the hell out of here.”

Grotto’s body smelled. A smelled Matt was all too familiar with. The smell of fear and desperation.

“I’ll discuss this with my partner,” Foggy said. “We’ll get back to you.”

They left the room. Grotto started tapping his foot against the floor.

“We’re not…”

“We’re taking it.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Foggy said, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Look, Foggy,” Matt said. “This guy has connections. If we can get him to talk, we have a landmine of…”

“That’s for the police to handle,” Foggy said. “Besides we just opened up and we’re the talk of the town. If words get out that we let this guy go, what do you think will happen to our reputation?”

“He’s not that…”

“Matt this guy raped a fifteen-year-old,” Foggy said. “He used to beat the shit out of random people. Even if we had the slightest iota of a chance of getting him acquitted, you really think people around here, in Crime Alley will take it lightly?”

“You just have to trust me, Foggy.”

“I trust you Matt,” Foggy said. “It’s just…”

Foggy sighed.

“I’ll handle the evidence,” Matt said. “I’ll handle him. He said he was drugged, didn’t he? We can work with that.”

“Nobody’s going to listen if we don’t have the evidence.”

“I’ll deal with that,” Matt said. “You just do the research and the briefs.”

“The trial is tomorrow,” Foggy said. “They want to get him locked up as soon as possible.”

“That’s plenty of time.”

Foggy rubbed his temple. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Matt put a reassuring hand on Fogy’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine, Foggy. Trust me.”

“You should be glad we were best friends in college,” Foggy said. “No sane lawyer would want to go anywhere near this case.”

“Well judging by what we did in college, we’re anything but.”

Foggy let out a half-hearted chuckle. “You do the honours.”

The door to the interrogation room opened. Grotto looked up to see the blind man walking in.

“Mr. Elliot Grote,” Matt said. “You have the honour of being Nelson and Murdock’s first client.”

…

The Grote family mansion was built on the outskirts of Crime Alley. Huge and foreboding, the mansion was built by men in power exploiting the weak and profiting off their sins. Most of security was cleared out after the murder in place of lazy police officers slacking around and drinking beer.

Matt tried to gain access to the crime scene through legal means but the cops in charge weren’t having it. Sitting in front of the scene of the murder was a fat cop that smelt like grease. Matt could hear the cholesterol taking rounds around his heart.

“Ease of the fried food Carl,” Matt said before he left.

“Eh shut up shyster,” Carl said, waving his hand dismissively. “You ain’t my wife.”

Matt made a mental note of the layout of the mansion before he left, making his way to the back of the mansion. Noting the guards patrol routes and also which guards patrolled each hallway. The murder scene was in the 3rd floor bedroom. He wouldn’t be able to climb up there without alerting the guards. He also didn’t want to be spotted. He’d have to be smart. He waited five minutes, making sure the coast was clear before he got ready.

He took out his blazer and tie, throwing them in a dumpster. He untucked his shirt and tied his mask over his face. He wore a pair of leather gloves to make sure his fingerprints wouldn’t be found in case he was spotted. He jumped over the fence, hiding in the bushes.

One guard was in charge of the back. Matt checked around the bushes looking for anything that’d be able to distract him. He found a rock and threw it, the guard’s heartbeat spiked and he heard his footsteps receding. Matt crept through the bushes, keeping track of the officer’s footsteps as he climbed up the walls of the manor to the second floor.

Matt would have to walk around the 2nd floor seeing as that was the fastest way to the murder scene with the least number of guards. Matt was about to enter through the window but then he heard a police officer walking by the window. At the bottom, the footsteps of the officer he distracted started getting louder.

The police officer by the window wasn’t moving and the one who was distracted was starting to get closer. The officer started by the window started to move, Matt climbed into the window. He’d normally never attack a police officer but desperate times.

The police officer turned; his heartbeat spiked.

“Who the hell are…”

He was about to call somebody with his walkie-talkie but Matt kicked him in the stomach. Before he could even react, Matt punched him across the face, ripped away his walkie-talkie and got him in a choke-hold. The officer struggled under his choke-hold, desperately trying to elbow Matt but soon his body slacked and the officer was knocked out.

The radio was static. Matt sprinted towards the other side of the second floor, making sure not to alert anyone. He went to the window, making sure the coast of clear before climbing up the wall to the murder room.

The window clicked open. The smell of blood and rum was strong. Matt stepped on a fur carpet, pungent with the scent blood. A mahogany table was by the window, the scent of wood polish almost blocked out everything else. Matt locked the door to the room, to make sure nobody entered.

The radio was still buzzing out static.

Almost everything had already been submitted into evidence but Matt could still smell the stench of a fur carpet soaked with blood and beer, it was easy for him to know the locations of the blood stain and the beer. And in the feint, lingering smell of the rum that spilled across the floor, he smelt it. A sleeping drug. There was nothing in this room that was admissible into evidence. He sniffed the air one more time and…

The static was starting to clear. “Walt, you copy?”

Underneath the carpet was a piece of glass. A piece of glass that stank of the bitter smell of a sleeping drug. There was more, pieces of glass were scattered all over the carpet, small but caught in the furs of the carpet.

“Walt, you better not be joking around.”

Matt gathered the pieces of glass, placing them in an evidence bag he ‘borrowed’ from the precinct. He placed them inside and was ready to leave but…

“Can somebody go check on Officer Walter, he isn’t answering. Anybody close by?” Pause. “Okay, Officer Brendan.”

He smelt her. For some reason she always smelt like roses. Touching her felt like touching silk, kissing her felt like paradise. Smelling her again brought back memories that made his heart ache.

“Officer down!” Brendan shouted. “Officer down! He’s still breathing but…”

What was she doing here? What was her smell doing at a murder scene? Unless…

“Look around he must be…”

The doors of the mansion burst open like thunderclaps. The officers’ footsteps shuffled across the marble floors like a hailstorm.

“What the hell?” Carl grumbled, the door to the crime scene rumbled. “Lars what the hell are you doing? You’re not fucking…”

“There’s a thief or a freak running around,” Lars growled. “Move your fat ass out of the way.”

What was Elektra doing her? Why was her smell so prominent in this room?

The door burst open.

Lars spoked into his walkie-talkie. “The crime scene is clear, sir.”

Matt untied his mask. He took out his blazer and tie from behind the trash can. As police officers scoured through Grote’s manor for the man in the mask, Matt walked away from the manor, walking stick clattering across the pavement.

…

The door to the interrogation room burst open. The blind one walked in, walking stick clattering across the concrete floor.

“Your hair looks like a mess, blind boy,” Grotto said.

“Walked in front of an air vent,” Murdock said, waving his hand not holding the walking stick dismissively. “But my hair is none of your business, Mr. Grote.”

Murdock shuffled through his blazer pockets pulling out an evidence bag. He placed it on the table. “This is, however.”

“What’s this?” Grotto asked, running his hands through the evidence bag. “Also, where the hell’s the fat one? The jittery one.”

“My partner couldn’t make it,” Murdock said. “As for what’s in the bag, well a friend of mine over at the crime scene found some glass shards scattered around. He found nothing of interest except maybe traces of a powder on the edges.”

Grotto’s eyes widened. “Evidence.”

Murdock smirked. “You have a brain after all.”

“Why the hell aren’t you submitting it or whatever the hell you lawyers do?” Grotto said. “This gets me out, right? This is my get out of jail free card?”

“You’re right about that,” Murdock said. “This is enough to get you acquitted…”

“But what?”

“I want information,” Murdock said. “Drug routes, weapon supply routes but most of all, human trafficking routes.”

Murdock leaned back. “You see, children have been missing and…”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Grotto said. “You can do whatever the hell you want but there ain’t no way in hell I’m snitching.”

Murdock let out a light chuckle. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You see I know about the Albanians.”

Grotto’s heartbeat spiked. Matt smirked. Bingo.

“Now you’re already going to be unpopular with the jury,” Matt said. “Prosecution are already going to jump on the fact that you raped…”

“Look I…”

“… A fifteen-year-old,” Matt said. “But after that she was found dead. Her and her family. Without this piece of evidence, you’re gone. And not only are you going to be unpopular with the jury but you have a bunch of Albanian boys your brother got arrested. What do you think’s going to happen to you when you get locked up? Huh, Grotto?”

Grotto clenched his fist. Matt could hear his heart drumming with rage. He looked like he was ready to punch Matt across the face.

“So, Mr. Grote,” Matt said. “What will it be?”

Grotto looked into Murdock’s red shades, from the shades it looked like the world was on fire and he was in the middle of it all.

Grotto clenched his fist. He wasn’t bright. Dad used to say that, mum used to say that, hell even Liam. He’d always used to pick fights and let his anger get the best of him. Sitting across from Murdock all he wanted to do was punch him straight across his pretty little face. He always sorted out his problems with his fist, that was what always got him into trouble but he didn’t care. His dad taught him from a young age to punch away your problems and young Grotto and his mother were always the punching bag.

Now, because he was stupid, he was standing across some crippled bastard who owned him, who made him his bitch without even trying. A crippled bastard he would have otherwise beat the crap out of if it wasn’t for the situation he was in. Once he was free, Mr. Murdock would get the message. But for now, he’d have to play along with his demands.

“Fine,” Grotto said. “Fine, asshole.”

Matt smirked. He took the evidence bag. “I’ll be taking this.”

“Y’know,” Grotto said. “My mum used to say the Devil isn’t like what you hear about in the bible. He wasn’t a horned monster or whatever they told you about in church. No, my mum used to say the Devil always wears a suit.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Grote?”

“I’m saying, Mr. Murdock,” Grotto said, emphasising his surname with venom. “You’re the devil.”

“Oh, Mr. Grote,” Murdock said with a smirk. “I’m well aware.”

…

Matt hated rain. It messed up his senses, making it hard to focus. It was just his luck that this was the night it decided to rain.

“Liam hired this guy,” Grotto said. “This creep. Some guy named Sal. Goes around kidnapping these kids, mainly orphans and kids whose parents won’t miss em. Drops them off at that old ACE Chemicals warehouse. You can’t miss it. I think today’s one of the drop off days.”

Even after long being abandoned, the stench of those chemicals still lingered in the air. The smell of rain drowned out the worst of it but Matt could still smell it lingering. It was an ACE Chemicals vat that took away his eyesight. Matt could never forget the smell.

The rain poured across the asphalt, bouncing off the warehouse roof. Matt almost didn’t hear the cough of Sal’s engine until its wheels splashed water onto the gravel road that led to the warehouse.

Even in the rain he could hear their heartbeats. Beating with fear, their cries and them desperately trying to comfort each other. They were seven in all. If Matt was right, Sal had two bodyguards to make sure the deal went smoothly. They were armed with basic pistols. The pouring rain made it difficult to hear anything but another car was following behind them, this one with a healthier engine.

The cars stopped inside the warehouse. Matt heard the doors slamming. He jumped down from his vantage point, sprinted towards the fence and made his way to the warehouse, the voices of Sal and the buyers getting louder as he got closer.

The rain clattered against the rusted metal sheet of the warehouse. Their heartbeats could be heard, hammering like scared rabbits. The buyers were muttering something in the car. Matt could hear two voices but with the rain he couldn’t be too sure. They were saying something in a language that sounded Asian. Matt assumed it was Japanese or Chinese. If that was the case, why were the Yakuza or Triad interested in little children? It didn’t seem like their type of racket. Matt heard something heavy move in the distance. Probably a wild animal or something blowing in the wind.

“Seven kids, like you asked,” Sal said. He sauntered towards the door and swung it open. The kids inside whimpered and cried.

“I see eight,” said one of the buyers. He had a heavy accent.

Sal walked in and yanked a kid out of the back of the truck. Matt heard a shrill voice cry for him but Sal’s bodyguards had their guns trained on the children before they could move.

“This one here has a little sister,” Sal said. Matt could hear the boy struggling before Sal hit him across the head. “Probably not what you want but two for the price of one, eh?”

“No,” the other buyer said. “Attachments makes them weak. We want children both emotionally and physically fit.”

“Well, if you want that you came to the wrong place,” Sal said. “Crime Alley has none of that. Now are you going to pay or not? The girl’s starting to look real valuable right now.”

“Yes, she is,” said the other buyer. “Yukio, kill the boy.”

Yukio reached for the dagger underneath his coat pocket. Before he could even draw it, a brick struck him across the hand.

“Nani,” Yukio growled as the dagger clattered across the floor. Before Sal’s men could draw their guns Matt threw glass bottles at them, temporary stunning them. Matt tried to land a drop kick against the first buyer but he was trained. He ducked out of the way. Matt landed on the floor just as the first buyer took out a dagger from his coat and threw it at Matt. Matt rolled out of the way as the dagger stabbed the warehouse floor. Yukio was inches away from his dagger and one of Sal’s bodyguards had their gun ready.

Matt sprinted towards and tackled him across the floor as the gunshot ricocheted off the metal. The knife Yukio threw narrowly missed Matt by an inch. Matt grabbed the buyer in a chokehold, avoiding his desperate elbows and headbutts.

“Get the goods and get the hell outta here,” Sal said.

One of Sal’s bodyguards slammed the door shut, muffling the kids panic screams. The other had his gun trained on Matt and the other buyer and fired.

Matt pushed the buyer out of the way and ducked. Yukio started throwing knives from his coat at him and Sal’s bodyguard started shooting. The engine spluttered to life. Matt tackled the bodyguard across the floor, his gun clattering across the floor. Matt punched the bodyguard against the face, repeatedly. Sal started moving his truck, the tires screeching across the floor. The truck moved towards him. Matt got up and pushed the bodyguard’s unconscious body away. Before he leapt on the car bonnet, he grabbed a brick. The car drove towards him like a charging bull and like a matador, Matt leapt.

The world around him was a shaking mess. The car crashed into both of the buyers, their bodies crashed and tumbled and cracked. There was a chorus of panicked heartbeats, Matt’s mind was racing with a hurricane of thoughts.

“Shoot him, you idiot!” Sal screamed. “Shoot the bastard.”

The car shook on the gravel, Matt could hear the gun being loaded but also the rain. The goddamn rain. Matt threw the brick, it crashed through the glass and hit someone with a thud.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sal cursed.

His bodyguard’s heartbeat and breathing were slow. Sal was reaching out for something in his glovebox. Matt’s grip was slowly starting to loosen, he wouldn’t be able to hold onto the car for much longer.

Sal loaded his gun. Matt ducked just in time as the bullet whizzed past him. Sal fired blindly, each bullet missing while Matt crawled upwards. He grabbed a hold of Sal’s collar and bashed his face against the dashboard.

“Fuck…”

Matt bashed his head against the dashboard again as the car crashed through fences.

Matt could smell his blood. He bashed his face again. This time Sal was knocked out. But the car was still moving. Matt reached out for the hand-break, praying that the car didn’t crash. He reached out desperately, he grabbed a hold of it and pulled. The car coming to a sudden halt and launching him forwards.

Matt regained his consciousness a few minutes later, limping towards the back of the truck, his body bruised and battered. He yanked the door wide open. He heard their heartbeats spike, he heard them all whimpering.

“It’s okay…” Matt said through heavy breaths. Every word felt like a chore, every breath felt like an exercise. “It’s okay. I’m here to rescue you.”

“Like Batman,” said one of the kids.

Matt tried his best to smile. “Yeah, yeah. Like Batman.”

“Get out of here,” Matt said. “Call the police. Call your parents.”

Matt had his hand against the door. “Is there anyone hear called Grimshaw? Mikey Grimshaw.”

“No,” said one of the girls.

He heard them jump out of the truck.

“Do you need any…?”

“No,” Matt said, shaking his hand. “Just get out of here.”

His body fell against the side of the truck.

“Mister,” cried a little girl’s voice, tugging at his sleeves. “Mister is my brother alright?”

“I…”

There was a lot going on. Matt didn’t have time to focus on the little boy. If anything happened to him, oh God if anything happened to him.

“Lisa,” shouted a voice in the distance. “Lisa are you alright?”

“Andy!” screamed the little girl.

He heard the girl’s footsteps squish in the mud as she made her way to her older brother. Their heartbeats were slow, warm.

“Thank you, sir,” he heard Andy say. “Thank you so much.”

“Get out of here,” Matt said. “Call the police.”

“Will you be alright?”

“I’ll…” Matt’s knees hit the ground. “I’ll be fine. Get out.”

The kids started moving, each of talking about the man who rescued him.

“He was so cool…”

“I saw him jump on the truck…”

Matt could feel his consciousness slowly fading. He figured this wasn’t such a bad place to rest. And then he heard clapping.

“Bravo,” the first buyer said through slow claps. “Bravo. I thought you Americans didn’t have any honour in you but you proved me wrong. Jumping onto the truck like that, never yielding on your prey. You’re like a demon.”

Matt got up. He raised his fists.

“And yet you still don’t yield,” the man said. His heart was beating fast with excitement though and judging by the smell of blood, he was didn’t get off lightly after being hit by a car. “You have, what is it you Americans say…” Rin paused for a bit. “Ah yes, balls. A man of true, unwavering determination.”

The second buyer drew a dagger from a sheath. “I will find great honour in being the one to kill you.”

They charged at each other, both fuelled by adrenaline. Matt tried landing a punch but the man ducked and slashed him across the chest. Matt roared in pain.

“My name is Rin,” the man said. “Rin Nakamura. The man you just defeated is Yukio, my kyodai.”

Matt tried landing a punch but Rin dodged it and punched him in the face. Matt stumbled back, almost falling in the mud.

“What is your name?”

Matt screamed and tackled him across the mud. They exchanged fists and blows, Matt feeling sharp bursts of pain in his arms and as Rin slashed like a madman. In their struggle, Matt managed to disarm Rin. Rin kicked him back as they both fell in the mud.

They both struggled to get up, their bodies staggered and buckled, begging for rest but both their minds were made.

Matt threw the dagger at Rin, aiming directly for his shoulder. Rin had no time to dodge but the dagger bounced uselessly off his shoulder.

“Custom made tuxedos,” Rin said through heavy pants. He picked up the knife. “They’re able to take a bullet too…”

Matt picked up a glass bottle and threw it at his face. Seeing as he was distracted, Matt tackled him across the floor. Punching him repeatedly across the face.

“I don’t have time for small talk,” Matt panted. “What the hell do you want with those children?”

Rin tried guarding against the punches but his body was too weak, too tired to respond. Matt’s punches were also getting weaker. He grabbed Rin by the shoulders and held him up.

“Who do you work for?” Matt growled.

“I shall give you no answers,” Rin said.

“You won’t be saying that when I break your arms.”

Rin chuckled. Matt could smell the blood on his teeth, the fresh wounds on his face.

“I have taken worse,” Rin said. “Much worse.”

Matt could hear his teeth shaking, his tongue moving.

“Gotham will be the Demon’s,” Rin said. “Much sooner than you think.”

Before Matt could react, the smell of almond permeated from his mouth.

“No,” Matt mumbled. “No, no, no, no.”

Matt tried shaking his body, tried doing anything but it was too late. His heart had already stopped.

Matt fell back, Rin’s body falling from his grip like a featherweight. “God dammit.”

Matt sighed he struggled to get up. Maybe he’d get home in time and rest in his bed but he didn’t mind sleeping in the middle of nowhere. And then he heard it, footsteps. Barely audible footsteps but footsteps nonetheless. He heard leather rustle in the wind and the sound of metal like a switchblade being drawn.

Then that metal thing was thrown. It landed with a loud thud on a tree next to him.

The mysterious person moved. He was starting to get closer to him but it was hard to tell because of the rain. Matt could barely make out his heartbeat but it was strong, steady. It seemed like he was waiting for Matt to touch the metal thing.

He ran his hand over it. Sharp grooves underneath the bottom and two spikes at the top. He ran his hands over it, trying to discern the shape.

After he felt it, he felt his heart jump a little. It was shaped like a bat.

To be continued…