The chain links of the fence dug into his back. A chorus of jeers and mocking chants filled his ears.

“Look at little Daredevil,” said one of the boys. “Only thing he’s good at is reading books.”

Matt keeled back as a punch landed in his stomach.

“Come on Daredevil, fight back,” said another. “Or what, you going to call your dad to come help you, huh?”

A punch to his face. His cheek started to swell up.

“No books to get you out of this huh?”

Punches and kicks exploded all over his body. Pain racked his body and he could hear it, almost feel it. It showed itself whenever he clenched his fist, whenever he tensed his muscles, whenever he imagined their bruised faces and bloodied lips. The Devil.

He curled up on the floor as kick after kick landed on his body. He wanted to fight back. He knew he could fight back but…

“Don’t use your fists Matt,” his father said. “Study hard to be a lawyer or a doctor but don’t end up a bum like me, only able to use his fists to solve his problems. Promise me that Matt.”

“Daredevil,” they chanted. “Daredevil, Daredevil.”

Matthew Murdock wanted to fight back. He wanted to fight back so badly.

But Matthew Murdock never broke his promises.

“Daredevil,” they chanted. “Daredevil, Daredevil, Daredevil.”

…

The assassin pulled the blade out of his stomach.

“I must say I’m disappointed in you, Matthew,” the Assassin said. “And here I was thinking I trained you well.”

“S-Stick?” Matt said, rolling on the floor, gloves over the wound in his stomach.

“Yes, Matthew,” Stick said. “I must say I’m disappointed. Didn’t I teach you not to rely on heartbeats alone?”

Matt started crawling, leaving around a trail of his own blood. His head started spinning. The only thing he could taste was his own blood, the only thing he could hear was the desperate beating of his heart as it tried to pump out the blood he was using, he could only smell the ashes and soot and his fingers were trailing through his belly, trying to map a pathway of the fractured tissues and the wound.

“An assassin never leaves a job unfinished,” Stick said. “But we risk losing our best assassin if I let you die, isn’t that right, Elektra?”

Her smell, Elektra’s smell and her footsteps. The world around him was spinning, he could barely sense her.

He could feel Elektra wrapping something around his wounds.

“W-What do you want?” Matt sputtered as Elektra pulled him up.

“This city,” Stick said. He chuckled. “Remember how you used to tell me how much you loved this city. Well…”

Stick smiled. “It’s ours now.”

…

In a lonely church in the corner of a city of sinners, a penitent confessed his sins.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” the penitent said with a deep breath.

The priest realising the voice expressed his concern. “Why do you sound…?”

“That doesn’t matter,” the penitent said suddenly. “It doesn’t matter. I just… I’ve…”

The priest paused to let him continue.

“I’ve hurt a lot of people. I’d like to think I did it for the right purpose but…”

“Remember what I told you about the children,” the priest said with a gentle voice. “Remember what I said about your purpose. What happened to those children?”

The penitent’s laughter had no joy in it. “That’s the funny thing pastor, those children are dead.”

…

Foggy entered Matt’s apartment with shaky steps. The phone call he had gotten sounded ominous and he had already been on a rollercoaster at the hospital with his mum. If something had happened to Matt…

He opened the door. Matt’s apartment made Foggy feel like he was back at the hospital, each step he took feeling more and more like a trial as he made his way to Matt’s living room. And there he saw none other than Elektra Natchios, kneeling over Matt. He saw her hands were bloody and Matt wearing black pants with a bloodstained shirt on the table. Elektra was wearing a skimpy red dress. Seeing the blood-stained couch was enough to jolt Foggy into action, he rushed over to Matt’s side. He had a lot of questions for Elektra but decided to push them back due to the urgency of the situation.

“W-What should I do?” Foggy asked. Elektra guided him over to the bloodstained bandage over his stomach. Much to Foggy’s surprise they were faded bruises and scratches lining his muscular body which took Foggy aback. “W-What happened?”

“Somebody stabbed Matthew with a sword,” Elektra said.

“A s-sword?” Foggy said, confused. “W-Who…?”

Elektra tilted her head. “You don’t know?”

“D-don’t know?” Foggy asked, placing his palms over Matt’s stomach. “Don’t know what?”

Elektra pointed at a mask lying on the table next to a shirt. A mask Foggy was familiar with seeing it in the newspapers and all the witness accounts.

The mask of the Devil of Crime Alley.

…

There was a day Matthew Murdock had enough.

He was in an alleyway and there they were. The kids, the bullies. Starting their chant.

“Daredevil,” they started. “Daredevil.”

The leader, a snobby asshole named Todd walked over to him with a grin on his face shoving back.

“I don’t like the way you’re lookin at me, Daredevil,” Todd said. “It’s really starting to piss me off.”

Todd yanked Matt up, shoving him into the wall. He punched him across the face.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll wipe that look off your eyes,” Todd said, his face taking up most of his space. “You want that, eh Daredevil.”

Matt grinned. “You hit like a girl.”

Todd’s fist sent a flare up his stomach. “What’d you say, huh Daredevil?”

Matt refused to meet his eyes.

“HUH, FAGGOT!”

He punched Matt again, Matt wanted to fall on the floor but Todd wouldn’t let him, pulling Matt back up again.

“Have anything to say for yourself, Murcock?”

Matt spat in his face. Todd tried going in for a punch but Matt kicked him in the crotch. Todd groaned in pain and fell to the floor.

Their chanting stopped as Matt laid punch after punch on Todd’s ugly face. “Say my name,” he said in a sharp tone. He could feel Todd’s blood on his knuckles, feel his desperate attempts to block Matt’s blows. Todd was reduced to a sobbing mess, his face was bruised and bloodied and Matt got up, blood dripping down from his knuckles.

“SAY MY NAME!” he screamed to the boys surrounding him. They all backed off. Matt grinned. He walked past them, running back to his house in excitement. A rush of joy moving through his body as he sprinted his way back to his house, eager to tell his father the news.

But Matt caught his father on a bad day. Their house smelt like alcohol. Jack Murdock sat on his couch, bottle of beer in his hand mumbling something.

“Why’s your shirt all bloody?” he mumbled when he saw Matt.

Matt had his head held up high. “Remember those kids I told you about? Todd and his band of assholes? Well, I got into a fight with em…”

“Leave em alone,” Jack said. “You know what I told…”

“Yeah, but they were saying bad things about you,” Matt said. “And I couldn’t just sit there. Todd was about to punch me…”

“What did I say, Matt?” Jack Murdock said, there was a dangerous edge in his voice. An edge that made Matt’s stomach sink.

Matt started drawing circles with his foot, he could barely meet his father in the eyes.

“No buts,” Jack said. His voice was still. Matt felt like he was stepping on a minefield. He hadn’t ever felt this way around his dad and…

“I swear,” Jack said. “I swear nobody listens to me.”

Jack got up from the couch. Matt looked into his father’s eyes and thought he was possessed. There was no way that was his father. It was a ghost or a demon possessing his body. It couldn’t be his father. Matt took fearful steps back, wanting to run away.

His father roared like a giant. Matt wanted to go away, run away but before he could a heavy fist struck his face and Matt felt like he was on another planet.

His father saw the bruise swelling up. Matt could see it in his eyes, could see that his father was back but…

“I’m sorry, Matty,” his father said. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

But the damage was done. Matt ran away from his house despite the desperate pleas, his tears burning across the bruise on his cheek. That wasn’t his father, Matt thought. That was anybody but his father. His father was a good person. A very good person. He wouldn’t do bad things. He wasn’t Todd’s or Jamie’s or Turk’s father. He was a good person.

But there was that voice at the back of his head. The voice that said it was his father. A voice that said good people can do bad things. A voice that said the world wasn’t as simple as he thought he was.

He looked over Crime Alley, at the glittering buildings that were slowly starting to close down. At the trash that was starting to fill the streets. He thought about how there was no good and evil, that if his father hit him then what about him? What could he do? What could his friends do? Before he left his spot atop the rooftops, he cast a last look at the city he was raised in, the city he loved. It would be the last time he ever saw it.

And that was the day his path in life was set. In more ways than one. If good people could do bad things and if bad people could do good things, he would help those people. Help those people do better and make sure the bad things didn’t hurt them. He would become a lawyer.

A blind man was walking across the road, he didn’t see the Ace Chemicals truck rushing toward him. Matt pushed him out of the way and his reward was the fire that burned through his eyes.

…

From the swirling void of his scattered senses he was anchored back to life by the scent and heartbeat of Foggy as his eyes snapped open.

“W-where am I?” Matt asked. “What are…”

“Elektra brought you here,” Foggy said. “She managed to patch you up.”

Matt was confused. “Elektra. W-what… how…?”

“I know, Matt,” Foggy said. “I know that you’re…”

Matt was silent. He knew what Foggy was talking about. He could smell his blood on a shirt lying on his table, he could feel the bandages around his belly. More importantly, he could hear Foggy fiddling with a fabric in his hand. The fabric of his mask.

“Foggy I can…”

Foggy put his hand up. “You don’t have to explain. Elektra told me about the… the super senses or whatever. She told me that you’ve always been like this. That you can tell when someone is lying or…” Foggy sighed. “Look I just want to know one thing. Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to protect you,” Matt said. “I couldn’t…”

Foggy scoffed. “Protect us? You put yourself in danger whenever you put on that mask, bringing in all kinds of freaks and what happens when one of those freaks find out? Huh? What happens to us? What happens to me and my family?”

“Foggy I…”

Foggy’s body started to heat up, his heart rate started flaring in anger. “My mother is in critical condition, my dad has bruises all over his face and I have to deal with the fact that my…” Foggy fought back the tears that were starting to pop up in his eyes. “My best friend is some… some vigilante and has been lying to me about him being blind for the past seven years.”

Foggy turned to Matt. “Are you even blind, huh? Or is that a lie too?”

“I am,” Matt said. “I am. When I was a kid those chemicals… they made me blind but I don’t know if it was to compensate or if it was those chemicals but I could hear everything, smell everything and eating something made me feel nauseous. But I can’t see. I can’t read your face; I don’t know what colours you’re wearing right now. All I have is your heartbeat and your body temperature. That’s how I can tell you’re… you’re heartbroken.”

Foggy’s chuckle was bitter. “I hate that I can’t get a read on you. I hate that I’m looking at your eyes and you’re not giving anything away. I…” Foggy clenched his fist. He bit his lip and looked away.

“You’re smart,” Foggy said. “You’re a smart guy and you know doing this… doing whatever it is you do puts us all in danger. Then why do you do it? Why put yourself… why put us in danger.”

“I don’t…”

“You do, Matt,” Foggy said. “You do so cut the bullshit and tell me.”

“My hearing,” Matt said. “My hearing. I hear everything that goes on around town. Every murder, every assault, every rape, I hear it…”

“Why not call the cops?” Foggy asked. “Why not do things lawfully? I thought you believed in the law.”

“I do,” Matt said. “I do believe in the law but…” Matt chuckled. “Faith in institutions can only get you so far in a city like Gotham.”

“That’s why we have Batman,” Foggy said. “You don’t…”

“But I do,” Matt said. “Dammit Foggy I do. When you can do the things I can, hear the things I can you have to. You can’t just sit aside and… and hope the cops do something. Hope Batman does something. You have to do it yourself.”

“But you’re hurting yourself,” Foggy said. “You’re hurting us. What happens when you die, huh? Who’s going to ‘protect’ us then. What happens when someone finds out and…?”

“They won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” Foggy said. “You walk in here patched up, with wounds that could kill a person and you’re telling me… what? You’re telling you’re not worried someone will find out about you, about us and that there’ll be hell to pay if they do. Matt my mother is in critical condition right now from the Irish Mob. Imagine what they’d do if…”

Foggy paused. Matt could hear his heartbeat slow, could hear his skin trickle with realisation.

“The whole thing with Grotto,” Foggy said. “When we took that case. You didn’t…”

Matt didn’t have to wait for Foggy to finish his sentence to know what he was going to say next.

“Foggy I believe in protecting the rights of the innocent,” Matt said. “No matter who they are or where they come from.”

Foggy was silent. There was a silence between them, a silence that weighed on Matt more than any car or punch ever would.

“Did you take the case so… so… that this Devil of yours would get a lead?” Foggy asked. “Did you put us in danger just so you could…?”

“No, Foggy,” Matt lied. “No, I…”

“Shut up!” Foggy shouted. Matt could smell the tears on his face. “I can’t hear heartbeats; I can’t smell a liar or whatever like you can Matt but I know when you’re lying. I…”

“It was the Irish that went after my family, Matt,” Foggy said. “The Irish. You… you put them in danger without even telling me. You…” Foggy clenched his fist. “What the fuck Matt? What the fuck…?”

“Melvin Potter,” droned the uncaring voice of his backup phone. “Melvin…”

Foggy looked at the phone and then at Matt.

“I have to…”

“Go ahead,” Foggy said with a sigh, body burning with rage and hurt and confusion “Go right the fuck on ahead but I want to hear everything. Everything. Because I don’t know about you Matt but I’m not sure who I’m looking at anymore.”

…

“I couldn’t save them pastor,” the penitent said, staring at his hands. “I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t…”

The penitent choked. “They were children father, just children. Some of them were barely 10. All of them were just… just ashes and I…”

The pastor took a deep breath, mumbling a prayer under his breath.

“Son,” the pastor said. “You can’t…”

“I can’t what… blame myself?” the penitent chuckled wiping the tears from his eyes. “I can’t hate myself for something that’s my fault.”

“It’s not your…”

“It is my fault,” the penitent snapped. “I’m being punished, Father. Punished for… for… choosing the life that I did. The man who carried out the deed, the man who murdered them was the man who trained me. It was the man that showed me this life of… of… violence. God condones violence and I carried it out… I carried it out not in his name but in mine and I’m being…”

“Stop,” the pastor said firmly. “Stop. The Lord loves all life. He wouldn’t take them away so brutally to prove a point. Son, remember what I said about punishment.”

“That punishment takes you away from the Lord,” the penitent muttered.

“Yes, exactly,” the pastor said. “If you were being punished, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be here, repenting if you were being punished.”

“Then… what am I…?”

“You are being tested, Son,” the Pastor said. “Tested by the Lord. Have you lost faith?”

“I…”

“Be honest with me,” the Pastor said.

“Yes,” the penitent said. “I thought how could someone so merciful could be so…”

“And yet you find yourself here,” the Pastor said. “Why is that?”

“I… I don’t know. I…”

“You’re being tested, my child,” the Pastor said. “And it seems you’ve passed.”

…

They were dropping like flies.

The Triad’s boss was poisoned, the Albanians’ boss’s car exploded, the Russians’ boss riddled with bullets and not to mention good old Hernandez biting the bullet in an explosion over at the precinct.

Grotto felt like he was the last one left. Grotto also felt confused, he was supposed to be the one that murdered Hernandez, not some explosion.

Just a few days ago there was a gunshot. A gunshot that almost killed Grotto. A gun fired by a man Grotto thought he could trust. As of right now, the only man he could trust was Sean.

And Sean had something to say.

“We gotta move outta hear boss,” Sean said. “It ain’t safe.”

Grotto didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to leave his family’s manor behind, leave Liam behind.

But Grotto knew he couldn’t stay here any longer.

“Take me away,” Grotto said with a grin.

…

“The suit is ready Mister Devil,” Melvin said. “It’s been hard keeping it from Betsy but… it’s done. It’s finally done. You need to come pick it up now, though. I don’t know what Betsy will do once she finds it but I don’t think it’ll be anything good.”

“Okay Melvin,” Matt said. “Thank you.”

Matt got up. He could feel his wounds pull apart but he didn’t care. He had to get that suit,

“Matt, don’t tell me you’re going.”

“I have to,” Matt said. “If I don’t…”

“Elektra told me who you’re up against,” Foggy said. “This… this League of Assassins. Let Batman handle it or Spider-Man. You don’t have to do it. You don’t have to do this, Matt. I mean look at yourself. There’s no way…”

“He killed those children, Foggy,” Matt said. “They were… they were ashes when I found them.”

“Who…”

“The man who trained me,” Matt said. “The man who taught me how to use my… my abilities. He killed those children.”

“That Stick guy?”

Matt nodded. “For the longest time I… I didn’t have anyone. I felt alone having these powers and hearing and smelling things I shouldn’t. Stick made me feel less alone. Made me feel like I had someone to share my pain with.” Matt paused. “But one day he put a sword in my hand and told me to kill somebody, kill the person who shot my father and when I refused, when I said no, he left. And I was alone again.”

Matt’s chuckle was bitter. “Part of me knew I was in the right. No matter how angry I was, no matter how alone or abandoned my father’s death made me feel I was no killer. I was no executor. I was a man, not God but the other part of me, the childish part of me blamed myself. Blamed myself for being so weak and useless. That’s why I lost Stick, that’s why I lost the only person who ever understood me. Seeing those children, seeing what he did to them made me realise just how he felt about me.” Matt said. “Made me realise just how… how… disposable I was to him.”

“Punching him won’t solve your problems,” Foggy said. “Punching him won’t…”

“It will,” Matt said. He smirked. “It’s the only thing we Murdock boys know how to do.”

Matt stood by the door.

“Matt, if you leave…” Foggy said. He bit his lip. “If you leave we’re through. As much as it hurts me to say this I can’t… I can’t work together with someone who… who I don’t know. Someone who…”

Foggy sobbed. “I want to keep the memories of my best friend, intact. Not the man who… who put my family in danger. Not the man who caused my limp.”

Matt stood by the door. He had his mask in his hand, he could hear Foggy down the doorway.

“I don’t think things can go back to normal after this,” Foggy said. “I don’t think… I can just sit by and watch while you put yourself in danger, knowing just who’s behind the mask.”

“I understand, Foggy,” Matt said. “I do but…”

Matt put on his mask.

“But I have to,” Matt muttered. The words felt far away when he said it, his body felt like lead. “I’m… I’m sorry Foggy.”

Matt opened the door, leaving his friend behind and not looking back. Not looking back, despite the pain. Not looking back despite the single tear that fell down his cheek.

…

“Let me tell a story, son,” the pastor said. “A story about destruction.”

…

“You look like shit,” Melvin said as Matt jumped in from the warehouse skylights.

“Had a rough day,” Matt said, having to drag himself to the suit which was draped over a mannequin.

“This it huh?”

“Yes,” Melvin said. “The outside is reinforced with the same leather as bulletproof vests but it’s not as tough to allow you to move.” Matt ran his fingers through the suit and could feel the intricate layers Melvin carved into the suit. “Knives will barely have an effect on you unless you’re stabbed and bullets won’t be as harmful as they usually are.”

Matt noticed two leather pockets attached on left and right side of the suit. Narrow pockets that his hands barely fit through.

“What’s this?” Matt asked.

Melvin walked over to him holding two clubs. He ran his fingers through them, they were evenly balanced, tough and durable.

“I figured you might need something to help you out,” Melvin said. “So, I made this and something else. These clubs are made out of a tough material that allows them to bounce off the walls. Throw them.”

Matt took a stick in his left hand and flicked his wrist, throwing it against the wall of the warehouse. The club hit the wall and bounced back at Matt who caught it.

Matt placed the club by his eyes and twirled it around. “What else did you make?”

Melvin handed him one large stick, about the same size as two of the clubs combined. Matt felt a small button jutting out at the bottom.

“Batman needs those special hook thingies to get around,” Melvin said. “I thought you might need something like that to.”

Matt stood beneath the skylight and pressed the button. He heard the stick split in two, twirling around in a circle as the firm rope looked for something to grab hold off. The other half of the stick bounced off the roof and fell to the floor. Matt pressed the button again and the rope stiffened and the stick zoomed back to Matt’s hand with a satisfying click.

“Interesting,” Matt muttered. He turned to Melvin. “You really like making things don’t you?”

Melvin scratched the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah. I was always good with my hands. Once I get an idea I just have to go ahead with it.”

Matt walked over to the suit.

“If you need anything,” Melvin said. “Repairs or anything you can come right…”

“No, he won’t,” said an angry voice.

“B-Betsy,” Melvin stuttered. “How long…?”

“I was wondering when you’d say something,” Matt said.

“Melvin did you forget why we came here?” Betsy said, grabbing Melvin’s hands in hers. “Why we made a run for it when the fighting started?”

“Y-yes,” Melvin mumbled. “I’m sorry Betsy.”

“I’m lost,” Matt said. “Why did you come here? Leaving a good lawyer to die while you guys ran off to some empty street doing god knows what?”

“Shut up!” Betsy snapped. Matt could hear her voice shaking, and smell a tiny sliver of guilt on her body. “What the hell do you know, you freak?”

“Betsy,” Melvin said, almost crying. “Please leave him alone. It’s my fault.”

Betsy pulled Melvin close. “It’s not your fault, dearie.” She turned her face to Matt. “It’s freaks like you, like Batman that force people into circumstances like this. Vigilantes like you who think you can solve the problems of this city with your fists and tanks and justifying all the violence and hurt with some bullshit self-righteous excuse.”

“Lady, you clearly don’t know…”

“I do know what I’m talking about,” Betsy said. “You think your codes make you better than the people you lock up. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t! At the end of the day, you’re just like the people you lock up, using violence to get what you want, consequences be damned.”

Melvin was in a crying fit now.

“It’s okay,” Betsy said, rubbing his back. “You’ll be alright.”

“Get out of here,” Betsy said. “And never come back. We came here to get Melvin away from your… your world and I’ll be damned if I ever let this poor man go back into it again.”

Matt picked up the suit, removing the pockets and attaching it to his side. He launched his grappling hook, zipping himself up through the skylights as Melvin Potter collapsed on the ground, crying into his woman’s arms.

…

“I’m sure you know the story or should I say stories,” the pastor said. “Of terrible storms, of floods. Punishment raining down on sinners.”

The penitent was silent.

“Tales of terrible destruction caused by God,” the pastor said. “Cause by a force of great good.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Violence is destruction,” the pastor said. “Punching, kicking, killing it is the destruction of a body, of a life. God rained down destruction upon the sinners so that they may not return to their old ways. To remind the sinners of the consequences of their actions, that God is watching. Now, you’re no God, you’re only a man but…”

The pastor paused. “We talked about faith, Matthew. About purpose, about violence. God rained down destruction upon sinners to remind the faithful of what would happen if they went astray. You coming here, maybe it’s a sign?”

The penitent paused. “A sign? Of what?”

“Your role, Matthew,” the pastor said. “As a reminder.”

…

“I’m sorry boss,” Sean said.

Grotto turned around to see Sean pointing a gun with a silencer on him.

“What?” Grotto said. “Sean what’s all this about? Why do you have a gun on me?”

“The mob bosses,” Sean said. “All of them dropping left and right, it’s no coincidence. The League shall rise and our prize will be Gotham.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Grotto said. “Is this some prank? Did Gabe put you up to this?”

“I figured I owed you some answers,” Sean said. “You’ve been very kind to me.”

“This is a joke,” Grotto cried. “This is a joke. It has to be. Sean you’ve been my right-hand man for ages. You can’t just…”

“I’m sorry,” Sean said, thumbing the barrel. “I’m really really…”

Sean dropped the gun as searing pain shot through his hand. Sean clutched his broken palm, looking down to see a red club rolling on the floor.

Sean didn’t have time to react as a punch landed on his face, knocking him back. Sean growled, pulling out a switchblade from his pocket but the man in red was faster. He picked up the red club and threw it at his face. Sean recovered quicker this time but another billy club rebounded off the wall and into his face causing him to stumble to the floor next to his gun. Sean picked it up and fired at the red flash but before he could, the bastard landed a kick on his stomach and before Sean could do anything a rope tied itself around his body and he fell to the floor as the man in red dragged him back.

The man in red pinned on the floor. Sean rolled his tongue towards the tooth at his back but Red bashed his face against the floor, the cyanide vial bouncing out of his mouth and onto the floor.

The man threw his billy club and Sean had Grotto groan in pain. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Grotto was reaching for his gun.

“Who the hell are you?” Sean grumbled.

He remembered their chants. He remembered their jeers. He remembered their teasing and he remembered every single punch, every single blow on his body. The children in the playground used to call him Daredevil. His father told him to keep it in, don’t let the Devil out.

Forgive me, Father, the penitent said to the heavens.

I let the Devil out.

“I’m Daredevil.”

To be continued…