When someone was shot in Crime Alley, nobody batted an eye. Apathy was at the core of the people of Crime Alley and who could blame them? Worse things happen to people everyday in this city. When someone was shot in daylight, it was just a normal day in Crime Alley.

But when Ignacio Quesada, right hand man of Fernando Hernandez, leader of the Cartel in Crime Alley is killed by a Japanese man in broad daylight, you bat an eye.

After the funeral, one of his men brought Fernando aside.

“Our boys found this after the shooting.”

The boy placed a briefcase on the table, he opened it and in that briefcase was a blazer. A blazer riddled with bullet holes but no blood.

“Our boys found this, guy dropped it while he was on the run,” said his boy. “Puto had those special suits. The suits only we’re supposed to have. Us and those Russians.”

Fernando took out a cigar. “Ignacio used to love these cigars; you know? I never understood the appeal, they were cheap shit but Ignacio used to puff them away. They’re shit, no kick, nothing.” Fernando chuckled. “But Ignacio was always a cheap bastard. Even when we were kids, cheap cigarettes, cheap clothes.” Fernando sobbed. “Cheap bastard.”

Fernando cleared his throat, running his hand over his trimmed beard. “What else did you find out?”

“We found some of those putos on our turf,” the boy said. “Took out some of our boys, they also had these suits.”

“Sergei,” Fernando said. “Cheap bastard like Ignacio. Ignacio told me not to trust him, he could smell bastards like him from a mile away. Call him up.” Fernando scoffed. “Bloody Russians, you can’t trust them.”

The boy was taken aback. “Call him, senor? You sure?”

“Yes,” Fernando said. “It’s time we played our supplier a visit.”

When someone was shot in Crime Alley, nobody batted an eye. But when Ignacio Quesada was shot in broad daylight by the Yakuza, you bat an eye. Because that meant blood would be spilt, that meant blood would rain in the streets, that meant war.

…

“Matt where the hell were you?” Foggy hissed, his voice seething with anger. He gave one look at Matt and stopped in his tracks. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Accident,” Matt said.

“And you didn’t think to call?” Foggy said. “The judge is fuming. You really think you’ll be able to get away with it?”

“Look I’m sorry,” Matt said. “What happened?”

“We’re in recess,” Foggy said. “The toxicology report and that anonymous submission of those glass fragments is swaying the jury’s mind but…”

“Prosecution,” Matt said. “Let me guess they’re bringing up that rape case, his complicated relationship with his brother and…”

“Everybody in the jury,” Foggy said. “We tried to get an unbiased jury but the Grotes…”

“Yeah,” Matt said.

“Prosecution is going full on with a claim that Grotto took the sleeping pills himself to avoid having fingers pointed at him,” Foggy said. “Doesn’t help that the knife is full of his fingerprints. God, I don’t know what to do.”

“Leave the closing statement to me,” Matt said.

Foggy scoffed. “It’s Schreiner. You really think he’ll let you…”

“He will.” Matt smiled. “Blind remember. It’d be bad publicity if he didn’t let a blind lawyer…”

“Even then,” Foggy interrupted. “You can’t just walk into the court without repercussions, hell you might get disbarred. You didn’t give due notice to me or…”

“I’ll handle it,” Matt said. “Just give me that closing statement.”

Foggy sighed. “Dragging me into trouble again,” he mumbled. “Just like in college.”

Recess was over. Matt Murdock walked into the courtroom, walking stick clattering on the marble floor.

…

“I’m really sorry for your loss, Fernando,” Sergei said through his thick Russian accent, though Fernando knew that it was just formalities. There was no meaning behind his words. Sergei was a businessman first, a friend second. “What brings you here?”

Fernando looked around at the expensive mahogany table, the rows of extravagant beer in his glass shelf, the beautiful paintings that lined his walls and the bright red carpet that his feet could sink right into. All of it, polished to a shine.

What brings you here? Sergei asked. Ignacio always said he was good at bullshitting.

Fernando placed the bulletproof suit on the table, Sergei winced.

“Ignacio’s killer had this on,” Fernando said. “Now, Mr. Sergei as I’m sure you’re quite aware the killer was a member of the Yakuza and I’m sure, judging by the nice suit you’re wearing you broke the terms of our deal.”

Sergei was still. “Look, Fernando…”

“Stop lying,” Fernando snapped. Fernando calmed down, he took out a gun and pointed it directly at Sergei’s hand. “If you bullshit me, those brains of yours will be splattered all over that nice carpet of yours.”

Sergei held his palms out in surrender. “Okay, Fernando, calm down. Let me make a few calls…”

Fernando thumbed the barrel. “If you’re lying.”

“I don’t know anything about any Japanese deals,” Sergei said. “I’ll call the suppliers, maybe they’ll tell me something.”

Sergei went to his telephone, glancing at the barrel of the gun. The phone rang and Sergei’s heart skipped a beat when someone on the other end picked up.

“Vladimir,” Sergei said. “Yes, yes.”

Sergei tensed. “An extra batch and you didn’t tell me?”

Sergei face-palmed. “Did you find out where it went?”

Sergei slammed the table. “Dumbasses. I’m surrounded by dumbasses.”

Sergei hung up and dialled up another number. “There was an extra batch being shipped out. The man in charge of shipments doesn’t know where the batch went to. I’m calling the manufacturer.”

The phone dialled. It dialled and dialled and dialled but nobody picked up.

“What the hell?” Sergei mumbled. He called the number for the manufacturer’s safehouse and his handler but nobody picked up.

“He’s not picking up,” Sergei said. He turned to Fernando, waving his hands desperately. “But look, I had no idea about the extra batch. I would never trade with those Yakuza, I’m a man of my word Fernando and you…”

“You know where they deal?”

“What?”

“The Japanese,” Fernando said. “Do you know where they deal?”

“That’s a stupid idea Fernando,” Sergei said. “If you do anything, blood will be spilt. The Japanese have deals with the Triad and…” Sergei shook his head. “It’ll be a war.”

“Well, those bastards should’ve thought about that when they killed my brother,” Fernando said, leaving the room, removing and old crumpled up polaroid photo of him and Ignacio when they were just ten-year-old boys.

…

Everybody’s eyes were on him as Matt Murdock took the stand. The courtroom was packed today, many people interested in the outcome of the case of The People v Elliot Grote. Matt could hear a lot of heartbeats beating in anticipation, in anger and in eagerness. But none were more eager than the heartbeat of the prosecutor.

Matt could smell the expensive cologne wafting from his body, the unnecessary amount of wax in his hair and hear the expensive, recently tailored threads rubbing against his body. Matt could also smell cheap lipstick on his neck and hear him tapping his wedding ring with glee. A typical lawyer who probably took up this job because of the money.

Overseeing the trial was a chorus of 12 heartbeats. The jury. Each of them looking at Matt in a mixture of confusion and contention. Some of them looked at him with resentment and judging by the smell of them, it looked like they either resented Elliot Grote or just wanted the trial to be over.

Matt didn’t need to see to feel the stern gaze of the judge, his body calm but cold, ready to dismiss Matt at a moment’s notice.

“Mr. Murdock,” Judge Martin said, his voice crawling up Matt’s neck like ice cold water. “Care to explain yourself?”

The prosecutor’s heart leapt with joy.

“I got caught up in an accident this morning,” Matt said.

“And you didn’t think to give me or your partner due notice of your arrival here?”

“Your honour, I was dazed. I wasn’t thinking…”

“If you still need time to recover, why did you come here?”

“Because I believe in the innocence of my client.”

The jury was swayed. People were taken aback by his confidence and his lack of fear.

“That’s all well and good, Mr. Murdock,” the judge said. “But I will not have you walking here as if you own the place. This court is not a circus.”

“Prosecution gave me the impression otherwise.”

There was a flurry of soft chuckles. The prosecutor’s body heated up. In the corner he heard Foggy let out a soft sigh of exasperation.

“Your honour,” Matt said. “My client is entitled to the best defence, it is one of his fundamental rights and nothing, not even an accident will get in the way of providing my client with the best defence.”

The judge was quiet. The jury, the one’s who weren’t bored had found a newfound inclination towards Matt and the prosecutor was staring at his watch.

The Judge’s heartbeat didn’t give anything away. Matt could feel his eyes on him, tapping his fingers in deliberation.

The judge cleared his throat. “Very well, Mr. Murdock. Owing to your disability and circumstances I will allow you to provide counsel for the defendant, however if this happens again without due notice you run the risk of being disbarred. Are we clear, Mr. Murdock?”

Matt nodded. “Yes, your honour.”

Matt sat in the defendant’s booth. “God I almost had a heart attack,” Foggy whispered. “Thank god Martin was feeling nice today otherwise you’d be screwed.”

Matt heard Grotto chuckle. “You have balls, Murdock. The way you walked in.”

“Before Mr. Murdock’s interruption,” the Judge said. “We were dealing with the issue of fingerprints on the knife.”

“Yes, your honour,” the Prosecutor said. “It is my belief that Mr. Grote intentionally intoxicated himself in order to avoid liability. We’ve established that our witness, Mrs. Ness saw Mr. Grote lying unconscious by the body before she called the police. The toxicology report submitted by the defendant shows…”

The trial went on until the third recess, whereby Matt would have to give the closing statement. During recess, Foggy’s feet were tapping the floor, his heartbeat was racing like a rabbit. He paced around the room, mumbling words to himself.

“Foggy I can feel your anxiety from here,” Matt said.

“I know, I know,” Foggy said. “It’s just… this all hinges on your closing statement. You may have the jury’s favour but…”

Matt placed a reassuring hand on Foggy’s shoulder. “I need you to trust me, Foggy.”

“I do,” Foggy said. “I do. You’re the better lawyer from the both of us. I should have just…”

“No,” Matt interrupted. “I may know the statutes, how to win over a jury’s favour and all of that but you know the case law Foggy. And half of law is…”

“The cases,” Foggy said. “Yeah, law school hammered that home.” He chuckled.

“Besides you can’t have Nelson and Murdock without Foggy Nelson.”

Foggy smiled. “You’re right.”

“You carried most of this case, Fog,” Matt said. “Now just leave the rest to me.”

Foggy’s heartbeat slowed. Matt couldn’t see it but he knew Foggy was smiling.

“Sorry to ruin your moment,” Grotto said. Matt could hear his voice shaking, his heartbeat going off like a jackhammer. “But I’m going to get fucking shanked if you two don’t…”

“Relax Grotto,” Matt said. “I’ll handle it.”

“You boys both know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t…” Grotto said, his voice taking on a grave tone.

Foggy was about to say something but Matt raised a hand to stop him. “Mr. Grote I don’t think anything will happen to us. Not if the Albanians have something to say about it.”

Grotto’s body flared up in temperature. He clenched his fist and grit his teeth. “Bastard.”

Matt smirked. “Thought so.”

Recess was over. The bailiff called them in. “Foggy.”

Foggy gave Grotto a smug smile before they entered the courtroom. Grotto spat and followed them inside, cursing God for cursing him with the Demon that was Matthew Murdock.

…

After prosecution gave their closing statement, the Judge turned to the defendants. “May the defendant please give their closing statement.”

“Matt,” Foggy whispered. Matthew got up and walked towards the jury. Playing up his disability by moving the stick back and forth, Matt stopped in front of the jury aisle. There was a choir of 12 heartbeats, 5 of them were leaning towards Matt’s favour, a woman in the corner of aisle two found him attracted to him, the other 5 were bored or their opinions weren’t swayed by either side and two of them had their heartbeats flaring up in anger. Two of them despised Grote. That posed a problem, a big one.

He was about to start but then he smelt it. Elektra. The perfume she used to always wear in college, the perfume that drove him insane. He could still taste her lips, smell her body, remember the feel of her skin on his hands and like a reopened wound, feel the heartbreak he felt when her father died, when she left Columbia, left…

“Mr. Murdock,” the Judge said, snapping him out of his heartbreak.

Matt cleared his throat. “Sorry, your honour.”

Matt looked up and faced the jury. “One of the first questions they ask you in law school is ‘what is the law’?” Matt said. “One way or another somebody is going to say the law is justice and your lecturer will ask ‘what is justice’? Elliot Grote is not a good man and I’m sure prosecution has made that very clear but that brings me back to the question what is justice?”

Matt paused. “It wasn’t just, what Mr. Grote may have done before. I don’t need to lay it bare, we all know Mr. Grote was never the pinnacle of moral righteousness. Mr. Grote did things that weren’t just, that weren’t right but ladies and gentleman of the jury we aren’t here to judge him on what he did before but what he did now.”

He listened to their heartbeats stir. One of the two with a grudge against Grotto was stirring, the other was firm in his beliefs. “Prosecution may have mentioned the various crimes committed by my client but I bet they neglected to mention that Mr. Grote loved his brother, coming from a background of abuse Mr. Grote did everything he could to protect his brother. What his brother became, Mr. Grote had no control over but that doesn’t change the fact that he loved his younger brother and wouldn’t bring himself to murder him in cold blood.”

11 heartbeats in agreement, only one was off beat. “Which brings me back to justice. I may not know what Mr. Grote allegedly did but knowing him, I know he would not murder his brother. You as a jury must administer justice not for his past misdeeds but what he did now and based on his personality and relationship with the victim I know that he would not plan or even think to do something like this. I can’t assure you whether or not Mr. Grote will face punishment for the injustices he committed outside this courtroom but the justice we should consider is the justice to be dished out now and his past misdeeds should not cloud the justice we dish out now. Thank you for your time.”

11 in agreement, one in doubt.

Matt walked back to his booth. The judge tapped his gavel.

“With that, the trial is over,” the Judge said. “The result will be deliberated by the jury, Prosecution, Defendants, if you may excuse yourself.”

Matt and Foggy left the courtroom, the lead prosecutor did so with a smug look on his face.

“That was an excellent closing statement,” Foggy said, patting Matt on the back. Matt listened in on the jury deliberation. The judge was explaining intention in criminal law.

“I really hope the bastard says not guilty,” Grotto said. “For both your sakes.”

“Prosecution makes a good point,” said juror number 1. “He could’ve just done it himself…”

“You’re in no position…”

“I doubt anyone would willingly inject sleeping medicine,” said juror number 10. “I mean if he had a choice wouldn’t he have wiped his fingerprints off…”

“Yeah, I know,” Grotto snapped interrupting Matt. “Just… one of the jurors was looking at me funny.”

“You don’t know these criminals,” said juror number 12. “They’d do anything…”

“If we can prove a bias, we still have a right of appeal,” Foggy said. “It isn’t the end of the world.”

“Am I detecting contempt towards the defendant, Mr. Garcia?” asked the Judge.

Mr. Garcia’s heartbeat tightened. He was nervous.

“Yeah,” Grotto said, sighing. “I know but…”

“No,” Mr. Garcia said. “It’s just…”

Foggy bit his nails. Grotto rubbed his hair, pacing around the room.

“Are we unanimous in our decision?” the Judge asked. “Based on the facts of the case, is the defendant guilty?”

There was a sea of hushed whispers. “He could have just made himself sleep…”

“But he would have wiped his fingerprints off…”

“Yeah, prosecution doesn’t make sense…”

“Criminals also don’t make…”

Silence.

“May prosecution and defence please return,” the bailiff said.

Foggy’s and Grotto’s heartbeats spiked. Foggy and Grotto cast a nervous glance to Matt who gave them both a firm nod before they entered the courtroom.

Their footsteps felt like lead as they entered. Seconds felt like hours as Matt and Foggy made their way to their seats and Grotto stood in front of the judge, his heartbeat going off like a machine gun.

“Based on findings made by counsel of the defendant,” the Judge said. “And submissions made by both Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock, this courtroom finds the defendant Mr. Elliot Grote not guilty.”

Grotto’s eyes widened. Matt could almost hear Foggy’s grin. The Prosecutor’s heart and body trembled in fear but Matt didn’t have time to focus on that as Foggy shook his shoulder. They stared at each other with the biggest smiles on their faces.

The first ever trial of Nelson and Murdock and they had won.

…

Trapped in a cage. That’s what Kyoko felt, trapped in a cage. And not a cage that someone trapped her in, no. She was the bird that saw the feed and didn’t notice when the door was shut.

Her vomit swirled around in the vortex of water going down the chipped sink of the Oriental Delight’s bathroom. Faded neon lights cast a dull glow inside, barely illuminating the cockroaches scuttling on the walls. Haruka held her hair, gentle hands on her back.

“There, there,” she said in soft whispers as Kyoko retched in the sink again.

After that, she slumped to the side, Haruka holding her to slow her fall. For a moment their eyes met and she could see the love in them, the pure, unfiltered true love and she looked away. Like she always did.

The red neon flashed like a warning sign as Reiji stood in front of the bathroom door.

“Kyoko you’re up.”

Feigning pleasure as the man moved inside her, she looked at the man’s hungry eyes. Looked straight at him, faced his consuming lust as opposed to Haruka’s love.

After that passionless night, Kyoko injected the poison in her veins, the temporary pleasure clouding the pain she felt every day.

The brown bits of what little she ate swirled in water, sinking into an endless abyss. As it swirled hypnotically down the sink, she thought about her father back in Japan.

When she was 6, he closed the door on her. It was for work, her mother explained half-heartedly. Her dad only used to come late at night; when Kyoko was asleep and when she woke up the morning the only trace of him she would see was the door closing on her and it hurt.

At 12, her mother used to bring another man into the house when dad was away. She didn’t know why but her mother would always lock her in her room when that man came to their house. One day, her dad found out and the following days were a swirling hurricane that Kyoko forgot about, all she knew was that she’d be living with her father for the rest of her life, the thought of which made her happier than ever. But then, early in the morning, in her father’s apartment she woke up to see no sign of her father and the door to his apartment closed.

At 15, she realised that she could do whatever the hell she wanted until her father opened the door again. She’d spend her night with hot boys down by Shinjuku, face heavy with makeup. Spend her nights sleeping with whoever she could find. Sure, it hurt in the morning to see the door closed but the heroin made her forget. It took her far away and when her dad kicked her out at 18 and she was starved for it, the pain becoming all too much to bear, the heroin took her far away. All the way to America.

“I can’t stand to see you like this,” Haruka said. In a place where everybody spoke English, Haruka speaking Japanese gave her comfort just like her body. She placed a hand on her cheek. “This place, it’s not good for you.”

Kyoko avoided her eyes again. Haruka let go of her cheek but her grey eyes met Kyoko’s again. “I met this woman from Wayne Inc. At first, I thought she was lying, your expectations are very low when you live in this part of the city.” Haruka let out a chuckle. “But she showed me her ID and spoke fluent Japanese. She told me that she can get me, get us different identities. Get us to Metropolis or back home. We can see the rest of America like we always spoke about. She can…” Haruka paused. “She can even rehabilitate you.”

At that Kyoko’s temper flared up. “I don’t need…”

“You do,” Haruka snapped. Haruka realised her temper flared up quieted down. “You do. The heroin is destroying you, Kyoko. You’re… you’re not yourself anymore. I can’t stand to see you like this, please stop…”

“If you can’t stand to see me like this then leave me alone!” Kyoko snapped. And seeing the hurt on Haruka’s face made her heart twist. “I never needed you. You’re just a pain in my ass.”

“You can’t mean that,” Haruka said, tears falling down her face. “You can’t possibly mean that?”

The door to the bathroom opened. “Kyoko, you’re up.”

Kyoko got up. Before she left, Haruka grabbed her hand. “Kyoko, please. We can go, we can run away…” she said in forced whispers.

Kyoko pulled away. She walked over to Reiji, forcing her best smile. She met Haruka’s eyes just for a split second, those warm grey eyes that brimmed with such overwhelming love that she had to look away before Reiji closed the door on Haruka.

…

After the trial, Foggy suggested that Matt and him go to Josie’s for some drinks but Matt said he had to go for a check up after the accident. Foggy, bummed out, headed to the law firm but before he took out the keys, he was greeted a sweet old woman.

The woman wore dark red clothing and looked to be in her 60’s. She was carrying a pink box. Foggy could smell the chocolate chip goodness from inside.

“Mr. Murdock?” the woman asked. “Or is it Mr. Nelson?”

“I’m Mr. Nelson,” Foggy said. “The less handsome one is Mr. Murdock.”

The old woman chuckled. She had her grey hair tied up in a bun and she smelt like a bakery.

“And who might you be, pretty lady?” Mr. Nelson asked. The old woman waved her hand in an old-fashioned gesture.

“Oh, you,” the old woman said. “My name is Faye Gunn but everybody around here calls me Ma Gunn.”

“Oh, you’re running that school just across…”

Ma Gunn nodded with a pleasant smile. “Yes. Everybody here thought I was crazy trying to rehabilitate the children of Crime Alley. ‘Why should you care about them?’ they all said but I if I don’t, who will, you know?”

Foggy nodded. “Yup.”

“And here you are, you and your partner trying to bring the law into Crime Alley,” Ma Gunn said. “It’s amazing. It’s good to see people trying to make a difference. To see people actually give a damn.”

Foggy scratched his hair. “Aw gee, thanks Ma’am. Though I must give credit where credit is due, it wasn’t my idea to bring the firm here, it was Matt’s.”

Ma Gunn smiled. It was a smile that reminded Foggy of having cake at tea time at his grandmother’s house. Ma Nelson always knew how to bake up a damn good chocolate cake.

“It’s good to see people caring,” Ma Gunn said. “To bring some guidance to this place. Lord knows the children need it.”

Foggy chuckled. “Yeah. My brother once got pickpocketed…”

“Is this Nelson and Murdock?” said another voice. Right next to them was a woman dressed in a bright white, expensive dress.

“Yes, it is,” Foggy said.

“I have something to discuss,” the woman said. “In private…”

“Oookaay,” Foggy said.

Ma Gunn smiled at Foggy. “Seems you’re busy.”

“Yeah, looks like.”

Ma Gunn handed him the box of cookies. “To making a change here.”

Foggy smiled. “To making a change.”

Foggy took the box and turned to the woman. “Let’s hear what you said.”

“So, Mrs. White, your husband is a meth dealer?” Foggy said, munching on the cookie. “And you want to divorce him?”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, I was wondering where he was getting the money from and when I found out…”

Foggy nodded though judging by her dress she didn’t just find out now.

“And you want a divorce order?” Foggy asked. When he saw glass shards in front of the office of Nelson and Murdock, he almost dropped the box of cookies.

“Excuse me,” Foggy said. Glass crunched underneath Foggy as he carefully walked toward the door, half expecting somebody to be on the other side. A brick had been thrown through the glass of the office door, Foggy looked through the now window and saw nothing except the words TRAITORS painted in a blood red ink. He opened the door and it looked as if a cyclone had hit the office. Their (very expensive) computers had been thrown about. Glass littered the office floors and their tables had been overturned.

Foggy turned to Mrs. White. “I think we’re going to need that Meth money.”

…

The phone vibrated in Matt’s pocket. Matt turned it off and breathed in, to focus. The music in the front was loud, blaring and overwhelming. Block it out. Block out the smells and the sounds. Focus on their footsteps, focus on the rhythm. The leader was at the end of the hallway, in a vacant office. 10… no 12 men on his way to the office. And two footsteps headed his way. Matt shuffled through his pockets, feeling his cloth masked and wrapped it around his face.

…

Reiji opened the door and a wooden cabinet exploded over his face. Before Reiji could take out his gun a man in the mask tackled him across, Kyoko heard Reiji’s breath explode outwards. The man pulled away as Reiji fought to regain his breath. Before Reiji could regain his breath, the man in the mask kicked off the wall with his right leg and kicked him with his left.

Kyoko was about to break into a sprint when the man held out a hand to make her stop.

“Wait,” the man said. “Wait. There’s something going on.”

…

Fernando took a puff off his cigar and coughed. “Cheap shit.”

The faded neon lights of Oriental Delights fizzled on and off, shining red across his face. Two of his men stood on the sides of the door, holding machine guns ready to enter at Fernando’s command. The rest were on the rooftops, ready to take down anybody who tried to escape/ Fernando pulled his knife out of the bouncer’s neck as he stood in the middle of the door.

“Que se haga justicia aunque caigan los cielos,” Fernando said, fingers running his fingers over the picture of Ignacio in his pocket. He flicked the cigar stub away just as the door to Oriental Delights burst open as gunfire rained down in the lobby, the glowing red ring around the cigar fading to black.

…

“Wear this,” the man said, draping Reiji’s blazer over Kyoko. “It’ll keep you safe.”

Just then the sound of gunfire filled the air like a thunderclap.

“There’s a fire exit after three doors to your left,” the man said. “Use that and get out of here.”

The man ran on ahead as gunfire riddled through the lobby. At first, Kyoko was ecstatic. Finally, freedom. She’d get out of here and forget about everything, head to Metropolis or New York by herself and never come back here. To hell with this place, to hell with the people here, to hell with Haruka…

She remembered her hands on her cheek, warmth and love that she never received. Love she ran away from like she was running away right now.

Doors slammed open as the people she worked with burst through, running to the fire exit. But she didn’t see Haruka amidst the panicked crowd.

She walked towards one of them. Shaking her and stopping her in her tracks.

“Where the hell is Haruka?”

“She… was… she was in the lobby,” the woman said, her voice shaking. Kyoko’s hands dropped. She’s dead, she had to be dead. There’s no way she was alive, a fact that made her heart ache. She should run, get out of here. Go find that lady she talked about.

But her body wouldn’t listen. Straight towards the gunfire. Straight towards the storm.

…

People ignored him as he walked past the crowds. Yakuza men rushed through the lobby, guns at the ready. The panicked screams of the crowds and gunfire was making it hard for Matt to focus. His senses were overstimulated from the tsunami of smells and sounds.

“…Haruka…”

“… God, save me god…”

“… Too many…”

“…Ignacio…”

“… He’s headed straight for the boss…”

The sound of a gun clicking.

Matt ducked as the bullet struck a metal pipe and air hissed out of it. 2… no 3. He felt someone kick him in the stomach. Another readied his gun, Matt ducked before he could fire, kicking his leg, causing him to fall but not before a third punched him in the face.

Two more footsteps. Five, no four. Each of them ganging up on him. It was so loud, the hiss of pipes, the chaos, the gunfire. So damn loud.

Focus.

Breathe.

He felt the gun press against his forehead. Matt kicked him in the shin, keeling him over. He twisted his arm as the man fired wildly, scaring away the other 3… no 4 men. He twisted the man’s arm as he let out a scream of pain. Matt picked up the gun as another one of the men loaded his gun and through it straight at his face. While on the floor, Matt rolled, throwing the man over. While the man lay down on the floor, disoriented, Matt snapped his leg causing him to let out a scream of pain. The goon Matt threw the gun to regained his bearings. Matt heard and rolled out of the way as the other four men started firing at him, shooting at the pipes causing hot air to blow. Matt stood right in front of one of the men, who had his gun ready pointed straight at Matt. Matt ripped out the pipe and blew air at his face. While he was disoriented Matt tackled him across the floor, punching him in the face. When the second was unconscious and the steam blew off, three guns were trained on him. Three guns fired at him.

Matt focused on the trajectory off the bullets, the world seemed to slow as he weaved past the bullets, all three of them missing him within inches.

Matt disarmed the first man, kicking his arm and elbowing him in the jaw. The second tried to fire at Matt but Matt caught the gun in mid-air and threw it at his face before tackling him into the third. The first regained his bearings but Matt was faster, he picked up the gun, threw it into his gut and knocked him out with an uppercut to the chin. The two men tried to get up but one kick each to both of their faces and they were out.

After making sure they were unconscious, Matt caught his breath. He ran his hand over the wall to the boss’s office. One hostile. No guns, just one dagger in his pocket. There was a vase on a wooden cabinet, only object in the wide-open room. Hanging on he wall in a lavish sheath that smelt like gold was a steal katana.

Matt made a mental note of the objects and opened the door to the boss’s office.

…

The gunfire erupted in the room, glass shards exploded in the bar in the corner. The bright red neon lights flickered and dangled and the bodies, oh the bodies. Kyoko prayed that none of them were Haruka’s. On one side, the Yakuza who sold her into this life hiding behind cover, on the other side, Mexican men carrying automatic weapons.

Where would she be? Where could she be? Haruka wasn’t a dancer so she wasn’t in the middle of the room. So where, where?

“The bar,” Kyoko mumbled to herself.

Kyoko sprinted towards the corner of the bar as gunfire rained all around her. Bouncing off the walls, ringing in her eyes. She saw men without faces; she saw men riddled with holes. The Yakuza that brought her into the life falling like dominos under the violent hailstorm of bullets that erupted all around the lobby. Kyoko felt bullets hit her jacket. She saw the still bodies slumped over the bar counters and shattered glass raining down behind the counter. Kyoko ducked underneath the gunfire and jumped behind the counter.

She almost slipped with all the alcohol that spilled on the floor. Haruka was in the corner, hands over her ears. Black trails running down her cheeks with all the crying she had been doing.

She looked up and saw Kyoko, a wave of relief washing over her face. “Kyoko,” Haruka said. “You’re alive.”

Kyoko crawled over to Haruka, wrapping her in her arms and pulling her close. “Haruka, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” Haruka cried. “I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”

Kyoko kissed her cheek and forehead, running her fingers through her hair. “I love you,” she said. “I love you so much. We’re going to get out of here, okay. We’re going to go to that lady you spoke about and we’ll move to Metropolis or New York, far away from here.”

Kyoko held her cheeks in her hands, looking her straight in the eyes, accepting the love she saw in them. “No more running away now. I promise you. I promise you.”

…

“They call you the devil, you know.”

The boss ran a whetstone over the blade of the katana. Matt noticed that he had thrown his shirt in the corner of the room. Matt could smell faded ink smothering his entire back. The boss turned around to face him, katana to his side.

“No man would kill Roscoe Sweeney,” the boss said. “No sane man would kill the man keeping us together.”

The sound of gunfire was just but a muffle in this room, but Matt could hear the sound of bullets hitting flesh. The sounds of people screaming in agony.

“That,” the boss said. “That’s on you. If Roscoe was still alive none of this would have happened. You vigilante types think you’re doing the right thing, that you punch the bad guy and everything will be fine. The world isn’t that simple.”

“I didn’t come here to talk philosophy,” Matt said, though he didn’t sound so sure in his words. “Two of your boys, Yukio and Rin Okumura were found yesterday, caught trying to buy kids. I’m here to stop it.”

The boss laughed. His heartbeat was firm, nothing about it gave anything away. “There’s a lot you don’t know akuma.”

He held his katana upwards, body still, muscle tensed. “You’re not the only devil in crime alley.”

Matt charged and as he got closer, he heard the boss’s muscles twitch. Matt slowed down but it was too late.

Blood ran down the wound in his chest.

…

Kyoko gripped Haruka’s hand tightly, never letting go.

“Wear this jacket,” Kyoko said, draping it over her. “It’ll keep you safe.”

“What about you?” Haruka said. Her hands were shaking in her grip. “Will you be…”

Kyoko gave her the most reassuring smile she could muster. “I’ll be fine.”

They ran past, hand in hand. Bullets bounced all around them, making Kyoko flinch. Haruka was slowing down, her body shaking. Kyoko pulled her when she slowed, keeping her grip firm and giving her a reassuring nod whenever she slowed. They were about to reach the back when Kyoko felt pain flare up her side.

Haruka let out a scream as blood poured out of Kyoko but she held on firm and took Haruka away.

As they reached the back, Kyoko’s vision was fading. She was starting to slow down and now Haruka led the way.

“Just keep moving, Kyo,” Haruka said. “You’ll be fine.” They were right in front of the fire exit when Kyoko collapsed.

Haruka ran over to her. “No… no. We can’t stop here. We can’t.”

At that, the door burst open.

“Haruka, go,” Kyoko said through a raspy breath. “Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

They heard Mexican being muttered.

“Go see Metropolis, go see New York,” Kyoko said. “That’s what you wanted right.”

“Not without you,” Haruka said, choking back tears. “Never without you.”

Their footsteps were getting closer. “I’ve always been dead weight. Caught up in my own problems, pushing you away,” Kyoko said. “Go.”

Haruka shook her head, swallowing back tears as the footsteps drew closer.

Kyoko pulled herself up. Haruka allowed herself to smile. “See, you can get up. We can make it. I know we can.”

Using the remaining reserves of her strength, Kyoko pushed Haruka through the fire exit. Haruka was startled for a second but before she could regain her bearings, Kyoko leaned on the door. Ready to push it close. That was before her body was riddled with bullets.

Haruka let out a scream as a man appeared, holding a machine gun and kicking Kyoko’s body.

“Puta,” the man shouted, landing heavy blows on Kyoko’s limp body. “Useless puta.”

The man turned and for a split second, Haruka met his eyes. Cold, brown eyes maddened by grief.

Haruka slammed the door shut as the man fired, bullet holes tearing through the door. She clambered on her feet, running away from the man, trying her best to push back the image of Kyoko’s lifeless eyes staring at her.

…

Matt crawled to the vase, trying to ignore the pain. Various slashes lined his body, each of them burning with pain. He could hear his own blood dripping from the blade of the katana like gentle raindrops.

“Is this the devil I hear so much about?” the boss said. “A mad man rushing into battle with no regard for his life?”

Matt tried grabbing a hold of the vase. He heard the man straighten out his katana, ready to deliver the finishing blow. Matt threw the vase but the man cut through it, glass spilling everywhere.

“Pathetic,” the boss said. “Just pathetic.”

He ripped off his mask and kicked him to the ground.

“Let me see the face of the man I’m about to kill.”

Matt tried moving as the man prepared the finishing blow but his body didn’t respond. The pain, it was too much. And then he felt it, silent footsteps sneaking up behind the man and he heard the blade slicing across his throat.

Blood trickled on his face as the boss’s heartbeat slowed. His body landed with a thud. He smelt it again, lavender. For a split second he could almost, almost touch her skin again.

“Matthew,” she said.

Fading away. Everything was fading away. The smell, his hearing.

“Elektra,” he muttered before his consciousness slipped away from him.

…

The door to the bosses office burst open as Fernando stampeded inside, his fingers twitching,

“Kazuma,” Fernando said, his voice dripping with venom. “We have to talk.

But when he got there all he saw was droplets of blood on the floor and a corpse lying in the corner of the room.

Fernando didn’t need to identify the corpse to know who it belonged to. He fired his gun wildly, the wall bursting around him as he screamed in an unbridled fit of rage and grief.

It was when he returned to his office when one of his boys walked into his office, head down.

“We found this at the crime scene, senor,” he said.

Fernando flicked his cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke and coughing. “What?”

His boy walked slowly to Fernando’s table. He placed something on it. Fernando turned and saw a cloth mask.

“What is this?”

His boy remained silent.

“Speak cabron.”

“It was him, Senor,” the boy said, speaking in a muffled whisper. “The man who killed the Fixer. He killed the Yakuza bastard. El Diablo.”

Fernando gave him a tight smile before punching him straight in the face.

“I don’t care who he is,” Fernando roared. “Place a bounty on his. 5 million dollars to whoever brings me the head of this bastard!”

To be continued…