“Is that the boy?” Stick asked the nun, pointing at the skinny boy writhing on the bed and moaning in pain.

“Yes,” the nun replied. “Matthew Murdock. He’s blind but every once in a while he has these… episodes. The poor child seems to be in pain and when we ask him what’s wrong he just cries saying he has a bad headache. He’s been losing a lot of weight too. Whenever we give him strong food he just vomits it out. He only eats rice and even then only sometimes. We tried sending him to a hospital but that just seems to make his episodes worse.”

“I see,” Stick said, thrusting out a card It was forged but Stick found when you had some semblance of authority and a card people were as blind as he was. “I’m here on behalf of an organisation of blind men. We’re going to help young Matthew here reacclimate to modern society.”

The nun nodded. “I… that’s good. I hope it works. He needs something like that… somebody who understands what he’s going through.”

Stick smiled. “I understand, Sister. Young Matthew over here will be in good hands. You have my word.”

…

“Where are we going?” Matt asked for the one hundredth time.

“Well maybe if you’d stop asking questions and started observing things you’d know.”

“Not much to observe when you can’t see.”

“Oh, hardy har smartass,” Stick said. “Here we are.”

They were in an empty factory. Matt could hear the rats scuttling on the walls. The smell of their dung was strong, too strong in fact that Matt took a breath. In the distance he could hear cars honking, people growling and roaring and an awful, awful ringing that signalled the start of…

Matt started to clutch his head.

“I want to go home,” he started to cry. “My head it… it hurts.”

In the blazing vortex of sounds and smells Matt could hear footsteps closing in on him and stick clattering on the floor. Each footstep felt like a nail being poked into his brain, each tap of the stick a hammer being bashed against it.

And then he felt a sharp pain on his stomach, Matt keeled over.

“What was that?” rolling on the floor.

“Get up.”

A stick cracked against his back.

“Is that…”

“Get up,” Stick said.

“But it hurts,” Matt said. “It hurts so much I…”

The stick cracked against his thigh.

Matt grabbed a hold of his thigh. “What are you doing?” Matt protested. “You’re hurting me you…”

“It won’t stop unless you make it stop,” Stick said.

Matt rolled out of the way, avoiding the stick him by a millimetre. He tried to get up but a punch knocked him down.

“No fair,” Matt said. “You can’t just…”

“No fair,” Stick said in a mocking voice, wooden stick cracking against Matt’s stomach. “You can’t just… just what? Hit you?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, meekly putting his hands up to defend himself. “I’m blind I can’t…”

“You seem to forget that I’m blind too, kid,” Stick said, finishing his statement with a punch to Matt’s stomach. “Lemme tell you something, the world doesn’t care about whether you’re blind or not or whether you have your ‘special episodes’. No. Thieves will see a blind kid walking around and think you’re an easy target and a cashier trying to make a buck will give you the wrong change. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there kid, and you’re a weak, blind little runt.”

The stick cracked against his face and Matt’s glasses clattered on the floor.

“I’m not weak,” Matt cried.

“The bruises on your body say otherwise,” Stick said.

“But I can’t do anything I’m blind,” Matt said.

“Now that’s a lie,” Stick said. “You’re telling me you don’t hear it when I swing? You don’t hear it when I try to throw a punch?”

Stick chuckled. “You’re a dog with sharp teeth who doesn’t use them. Just like your father.”

Matt was silent. “What was that?”

“You heard me,” Stick said. “Your father was a useless dog.” Matt tried getting up but Stick hit him down with the stick. “Sharp fangs that could tear anything but he never used em.” Matt threw a punch but Stick slapped him across the arm. “Well, you know what they say like father like…”

Stick swung again but this time the kid dodged the first swing. Stick tripped him over but the kid got up, this time dodging some of Stick’s swings.

Stick grinned. This kid was going to make a find hound.

…

The Bat Signal blazed in the sky and it wasn’t Jim Gordon who switched it on.

Jim opened the door and immediately pulled out his gun. In the centre of the rooftop was a man dressed head to toe in red and on his side, Elliot Grote’s right-hand man was lying down, bruises dotted around his face. Behind the man dressed in red, Batman prowled.

“You know it’s an offence to turn on the Bat Signal without authority?” Jim Gordon asked. “Who the hell are you?”

“He’s the vigilante from Crime Alley,” Batman said. “He wants you to hear him out.”

Jim scoffed. “I should have him arrested right here and now. He cost us a lot of good men.”

“I made a mistake,” the Devil said, raising his hand up in surrender. “I don’t expect you to trust me but Crime Alley is in danger.”

Jim turned to Batman. “What’s this guy talking about?”

“The League of Assassins Jim,” Batman said. “They’re in Gotham.”

“They’ve made their base in Crime Alley,” the Devil said. “This guy…” He kicked Sean in the side. “Is part of them.”

“If the Grote family’s right-hand man is part of the League…” Gordon muttered, realisation dawning on his face.

“Yes,” Batman said. “The Gang War was a huge setup.”

Gordon’s eyes widened. “W-What’s their endgame? What do the League want with Crime Alley.”

The Devil yanked Sean up and pushed him towards the Commissioner. The Devil kept a leash on him by holding Sean’s hand behind his back. “Explain yourself to the Commissioner.”

Sean just grinned. “The Demon shall…”

There was a loud crack, Sean dropped to the floor screaming in pain. The Devil pulled him up by his hair. “I said explain yourself.”

Sean kept up his grin. “We want what we always wanted. Ras Al Ghul’s perfect world needs the strong and the people of Crime Alley, the people of Gotham, they’re weak. They need to be cleansed, erased before they swell up and fester this world even more than they already…”

The Devil pinned him to the ground, boot on his skull.

“If we don’t do anything, hundreds… no thousands of people will be killed,” the Devil said. “We have to stop them before…”

“I get it,” Gordon said. “I get it. But I’m not sending any of my men out there. It’s too huge a risk.”

“But Jim…” the Devil started but Jim raised a hand to stop him.

“That’s why I’ll be coming in myself,” Jim said.

“Jim,” Batman started but Jim stopped him.

“I’m not about to put myself in the line of fire, I have a daughter to take care of,” Jim said. “But I still don’t trust horn-head over here.” Jim lit a cigarette. “The less people we lose the better.”

“Very well,” Batman said. “Let’s get started.”

…

The streets were empty. Their footsteps echoed across the shaky rooftops of Crime Alley’s apartment buildings as they made their way to their destination. Her master, Stick leads the way, beckoning her forward with each step they took.

They landed in a cramp alleyway, making their way through the damp tangles of trash cans and garbage bags. She followed Stick through the alleyway and into the deserted street stepping in front of a school.

They entered; large shadows cast against the eerily clean hallways. They walked through rows of classrooms and shoddy lockers until they stepped in front of an office which was the only room in the school that had its light switched on. The green tag on top of the door said ‘Principle’.

Elektra opened the door for Stick. Standing by the window with a cigar in her mouth was an old lady with ashen hair. The office looked more like a large kitchen than a principal’s office with an oven and stove standing in the corner and a desk in the centre with a computer.

“Is the training done?” Stick asked. “Ma Gunn.”

The lady flicked her cigarette and tossed it out the window. She looked to be in her mid-sixties or early seventies, not the age you smoke cigars. She was also dressed like a grandmother with a red blouse and long skirt making the contradiction even more apparent.

“Yes Stick,” Ma Gunn said. “You gave me some wonderful specimens, both boys and girls.”

“Show me,” Stick said.

Ma Gunn led them through the similar hallways, most of them blending into each other. They stood in front of a locked door. Ma Gunn unlocked them and they stepped into a classroom of around three dozen children staring at them with blank eyes like zombies.

“It didn’t take much to shove those ideas of yours into their little heads,” Ma Gunn said. “I don’t know what you did to em but I don’t want to imagine.”

“Let’s just say the corruption of this shithole’s been cleansed out of their heads,” Stick said. He walked over to one of the boys, pulling his head to face his. “They’re the perfect soldiers.”

Ma Gunn shrugged. “I don’t care about your cult shenanigans or whatever. I just want the money you promised.”

“My employer will make sure you’re well compensated,” Stick said. He turned to Elektra with a grin on his face.

“See these children?” Stick asked. “They’re the perfect army. They will kill without question. Murder their family, brothers and sisters without a hint of remorse. Perfect for the League to save this city from its corruption. Each of them is the perfect soldier, untainted by emotion. Just like you, my dear.”

Elektra saw all of them staring at her with empty eyes. They looked like zombies rather than children, whatever hope and dreams they had drained out of them.

And for some reason, Elektra felt sick.

…

Taste- the sensation of flavour perceived in the mouth and throat on contact with a substance.

“What do you taste?” Stick asked.

“Ice cream,” Matt said. “I taste…”

“No,” Stick said. “What do you really taste?”

“Milk and…”

“Go deeper,” Stick said. “Take another lick.”

Matt licked the vanilla off the ice cream. A wave of nausea spread through his mouth as he almost hurled.

“What do you taste?”

“Sweat,” Matt said. “Some of his sweat was on the ice cream and…”

“Let me tell you something Matty,” Stick said. “Before we lost our eyesight, they were things we couldn’t see. We relied so much on our eyes we missed the bigger picture. Take a breath but not with your nose, with your mouth.”

Matt covered his nose and took a deep breath. An awful taste invaded his mouth and his lungs, a taste that clogged his throat and made his lungs feel like fire. He vomited.

“What did it taste like?”

Matt was quiet. His lungs still felt like they were on fire.

“What did it taste like?” Stick said, firmer this time.

“Like… like shit,” Matt said. “All the… the air and... it was disgusting.”

“Yeah Gotham’s not doing so good with pollution nowadays,” Stick said. “You see what I mean? You wouldn’t be able to see that with your eyes.”

Stick paused. “People rely on their eyes way too much nowadays, unable to see the shit going on right beneath their noses.”

Matt wiped his mouth, trying his best not to vomit again.

“Come let me show you something,” Stick said. “Something interesting.”

…

They were standing atop a building. Matt could feel the warm touch of light filtered through what felt like a glass skylight.

“Let me open this up,” Stick said. Matt heard the skylight open. Below him he heard heavy footsteps clatter across the marble floor and people talking loudly so much so that…

“Not your ears kid,” Stick said. “Remember what we said about taste.”

Matt nodded shakily. He took a breath, opening his mouth and could taste it. Cigar smoke in the air that made his lungs burn, sickly sweet wine that made his head spin and…

“What’s this?” Matt asked. “It tastes… sweet. Like…”

“That’s happiness, kid,” Stick said. “People in here suck this city dry to make themselves fat so of course they’re happy. They’re unable to see the people beneath em struggling, people beneath em eating each other like dogs. Money made the world smaller for them but also their brains. Now watch what happens when they see something their small brains can’t understand, watch what happens when they realise they aren’t as untouchable as they think they are.”

Stick smiled. “Taste the air kid, you’re in for a treat.”

Stick leapt in. Matt heard his footsteps thud and the uneasy murmuring that caused Matt a headache. Matt blocked his ears and tasted the air.

The taste was bitter and small. Matt could taste it in everyone, all the little specks in the room. It was so weak he could almost count everyone in the room but it gathered and gathered, filling the whole room.

Matt heard muffled footsteps come towards Stick. “Who the hell are…”

With one swift movement, Stick moved his… well stick and the man screamed in pain. Everyone in the room screamed and the smell was stronger now. It was bitter, it was strong but it was also… tasty. Matt felt a rush in his head he’d never felt before, a rush so strong that he wanted to jump in with Stick and help him out.

There was fighting and the security guards started shuffling in. Stick made it out of there, he always made it out of there. Jumping through the skylight like a superhero as bullets whizzed around him.

Stick led him through the alleyways. As they rushed through them Matt could taste it, it was feint but it was there pumping through his body like a lifeline. Adrenaline.

They stopped in a dirty hallway riddled with garbage, panting out of breath. Sirens wailing in the distance.

“What was that taste?” Matt asked as they caught their breath. “It was bitter but it was also…”

“Fear,” Stick said. “That was the taste of fear.”

Stick smiled. “It’s a great taste, isn’t it?”

…

The Batmobile lights flashed through the patchwork roads of Crime Alley like a searchlight searching for any signs of life on the deserted streets.

Within the Batmobile, Gordon’s nails dug into his palm. “It’s quiet, too quiet.”

“I agree,” Daredevil said from atop the rooftops. “I don’t hear anything. No footsteps, no talking, nothing.”

In an alleyway below him a fire crackled but the space around it was vacant. No heartbeats, no skin absorbing the heat.

They stalked through the empty streets, Daredevil probing his senses trying to pick up anything when…

“In that building over there,” Daredevil said. “I hear footsteps.”

A derelict building across the street where the homeless mainly occupied.

“We’ll check the outside,” Batman said. “You observe the building and reconvene.”

“Very well.”

Daredevil descended from the building, grappling down with his stick. He walked toward that building, honing in on the footsteps.

He tasted blood in the air.

Dust clogged the air, the smell of sweat and ashes stained the room. Daredevil followed the smell of blood, up the creaking staircase and worn-down hallways.

He turned the corner and heard a man choke on his own blood.

“H-Help me.”

The man crumbled; his heartbeat silenced.

Small footsteps and a blade swung at him.

Daredevil sidestepped. The footsteps disappeared and so did the heartbeat.

The blade swung behind him, Daredevil dodge just as another one swung in front of him. He rolled out of the way, elbowing the assassin in the side and tackling him to the ground. His sword clattered on the ground. Daredevil didn’t know if he was up against one person or many. There were no heartbeats, their footsteps left no trace, he could only hear the swinging of their blades. A blade swung behind him, Daredevil took out one of his batons and threw it blindly. The stick hit the assassin across the face. She let out a groan of pain, the footsteps she took clumsy and giving her away. Daredevil ran towards her, ready to land a kick when a sword swung at his side. He dodged into a trap, a blade slashing across his back. Daredevil screamed in pain.

“What’s going on?” Gordon asked.

Pain flared through Daredevil’s back. “The league, the league is here.”

“Where?” Gordon said. “Where are they…”

At that moment, he heard something explode. The explosion rumbled through the streets, he heard splinters scatter all around but…

He couldn’t focus, blades swung by him. He had to dodge, he had to respond. He couldn’t just sit by passively waiting for them to swing.

But he couldn’t hear their heartbeats, he couldn’t hear their footsteps.

However, there was something he could hear.

A sword swung at him from the side, he dodged it, grabbed the assassin’s arm and twirled him over to the floor. He ducked as an assassin tried going for his head, he took out his baton and threw it against his face.

They went silent again, still. Yes they were trained well but…

Daredevil punched one of the assassins across the face, he rolled out of the way picking up one of his batons. It bounced across the walls, hitting two and returning to his hand.

Everybody had to breathe.

…

The Batmobile was in tatters reduced to nothing more than a charred husk of flames.

Batman landed atop a building. Gordon meanwhile was up in the air, parachuting downwards.

“Did you have to eject me so abruptly?” he asked, landing on the rooftop, removing the parachute.

“There was no telling when the bomb would go off,” Batman said. “How they managed to sneak it in…”

Batman had no time to think. “Look out!”

Batman pushed Gordon out of the way as a shuriken stuck itself on his gauntlet where Gordon’s head was supposed to be.

“What the hell was that?” Gordon muttered.

Batman pulled out the shuriken as barely audible footsteps clattered around them. Surrounding them were men and women dressed head to the toe in a black outfit that Bruce was awfully familiar with.

“We have company,” Batman said. With a flick of his wrist, Batman had a Batarang at ready. “Stay on guard. These men are trained.”

Gordon cracked his knuckles. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

…

There were around him, unconscious, bruises lining their bodies. One of the Assassins tried swinging her sword but Daredevil grabbed the blade in his palm, kicked her in the stomach and yanked the blade from her grip. The assassin tried fading into the shadows but Daredevil threw a baton at her face and she was out cold.

Daredevil picked up his baton. He ran towards the Batmobile, hoping to see if Batman and Gordon were okay when he heard a feint voice…

“Tiff is that you…”

… and the sound of a blade being drawn.

Daredevil fought the pain he felt from his wounds that screamed through his body as he sprinted towards the sound, pushing his legs beyond their limit.

“It’s me your dad… don’t you recognise me.”

He walked back as the silent footsteps came closer.

“Tiff what are you doing with a sword, don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

Something fell from his shaking hand, something made of fabric.

“I… I know I haven’t been the best; I promise I’ll stop drinking but.”

He fell on the floor.

“Your eyes, girl. What’s up… It’s… It’s…”

Muscles tensed. A blade was raised.

“Oh god!”

A baton struck Tiff across the head. Tiff swung the blade wildly as Daredevil took a step back. She turned her focus to Daredevil who ducked under her swing and went to the man.

“Get out of here,” he said.

“T-That’s my daughter,” the man said, heart beating rapidly against his chest. “I haven’t seen her in months I can’t just…”

Daredevil pushed the man out of the way as Tiff swung. Daredevil clumsily stumbled out of the way. Tiff stabbed, Daredevil ducked and tackled her to the floor.

“Get out of here,” Daredevil growled. The man hesitated. Tiff pushed turned and pushed Daredevil out of the way. Daredevil removed his large baton and pressed a button, the tight rope extending and wrapping itself around Tiff who was dragged down by the force. “GO!”

The man nodded with hesitation and ran off. Tiff struggled against the ropes, Daredevil pressed the button and the baton returned. Tiff was already prepared, throwing three shuriken at Daredevil. Daredevil rolled out of the way, grabbing his baton just as Tiff grabbed her sword. He threw his baton at her which Tiff deflected but that was exactly what Daredevil needed. He dashed towards her, Tiff swung, Daredevil ducked. She swung again but this time Daredevil was prepared, he grabbed the blade and flicked his wrist. The blade clattered on the floor. Tiff threw it aside and swung her fist, Daredevil dodged. She swung her leg to catch him off guard but Daredevil already knew the moves. Stick had taught them to him.

She swept her foot across the floor again. When Daredevil attempted to dodge she would move in for an uppercut and when he dodged that a kick with her dominant leg to his side.

He waited for the kick, grabbing her left leg he turned her over, dropping her to the floor. She tried getting up but Daredevil was on her. With one blow to her face, she was out cold. Daredevil got up.

“I thought I told you to run,” Daredevil said.

The man’s body tensed in fear. He walked out from behind the pillar he was hiding.

“That’s my daughter,” the man said. “Tiffany and if you did something to her I swear…”

Daredevil turned. The man shrunk.

“How do you know it’s her?”

“I managed to pull her mask off in the middle of the fight, hers and another one of those masked freaks,” the man said, his voice shaking. “I wouldn’t miss that face for the world. She had been missing for months and I… I thought she’d recognise me but…”

His voice cracked. Daredevil could smell his tears. “She killed my pal Mike before I could say anything. I made a run for it but she caught up… and… and her eyes. That wasn’t my daughter I was looking at… it was… it was someone else.”

“You said you managed to take out someone else’s mask,” Daredevil said. “What did you see?”

Tiff’s father said something that made Daredevil’s stomach sink.

“It was a kid,” Tiff’s dad said. “A kid around 12 years old. I swear I’d seen his face before but…”

“You bastard,” Daredevil muttered underneath his breath.

“What was that?” Tiff’s dad said. “I didn’t quite…”

“Get Tiff out of here,” Daredevil said. Daredevil pressed his microphone to reach out to Batman. He turned to Tiff’s dad “Get your daughter and those kids out of here, it’s not safe.”

All the microphone was giving was static. Daredevil cursed under his breath.

“W-what kids?” Tiff’s dad asked. “What do you mean not safe? What’s going on?”

“Those Assassin’s,” Daredevil said. “People in masks. They’re child soldiers. It’s not safe to keep them around here any longer otherwise…”

Batman picked up on the other side. “Daredevil, what seems to be the problem.”

“The Assassins are children, Batman,” Daredevil shouted. “The League is using Child…”

Daredevil didn’t get to finish his sentence as the building right next to them erupted in a burst of flames.

…

Smell- perceive or detect the odour or scent of something.

“You smell it, don’t you?” Stick said. “In the air.”

They sat on a bench in one of Crime Alley’s old parks, faded grass and dirt all around them.

“No, I don’t,” Matt said.

“Yes you do,” Stick said. “I can tell when you’re lying, see your body’s starting to warm up.”

Matt wanted to object, to protest but he knew doing that around Stick meant a whack of that Stick of his and Matt didn’t want to spend his night putting cream on his bruises.

“I do,” Matt said. Stick was about to say something but Matt spoke up before he could. “But if I try to I’ll start to vomit. I don’t want to…”

“Smell and taste are intertwined,” Stick said. “That sweet nun told me you’re starting to eat more solid foods without throwing it up all over the table and I couldn’t help but think I’m owed a thank you.”

“But…”

THWACK

“No buts,” Stick said. “Now tell me what do you smell?”

Matt rubbed the red sore on his arm, letting out a tired sigh.

He smelt it, the faded grass, the sand in the park. He could smell the cat shit buried in the sand and the giant dog turd behind one of the trees. He could smell piss and stale food but then that smell, like sharp tendrils tickling his nose, the smell of…

Matt coughed, gagging.

The corner of Stick’s mouth twitched. “You smell it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Matt said, coughing. “It’s awful. I don’t want to do this anymore, please can we stop?”

“How did your home smell?” Stick said. “That old dingy apartment you lived in with your dad?”

“I forgot,” Matt said. “Can we please go home?”

“How did it smell?” Stick said. “We’re not leaving until you answer my question.”

“Like… like home,” Matt said.

“Go on.”

“Like anti-septic,” Matt said. “Dad used to always come home beaten up after a fight so he’d bring out bottles of that stuff. When I was small I always used to wake up to that… that smell. It was so strong. There was also the smell of sweat…” Matt giggled. “Dad used to throw his clothes around the house, our house smelled like sweat until the weekend when he finally took the clothes for a wash.” Matt smiled. “And a shower.”

Matt stopped there, pain starting to clutch his heart even tighter.

“Ever been to a friend’s house?” Stick said. “Notice how different it smelled but when you went home, home always smelled like home?”

Matt was slowly starting to understand what Stick meant.

“And your street,” Stick said. “Crime Alley.” He said those words with scorn in his voice. “Now I’ve been around the neighbourhood, it smells like shit. Like drugs, like stale alcohol but you just ignored that smell, didn’t you? You’ve lived there for so long, how couldn’t you?”

“Open up your nose again,” Stick said.

“I thought you said we were going home,” Matt said.

“We go home when I say we go home,” Stick said. “Smell it, smell that smog in the air.”

Matt opened up his nose again, the smell invaded his nose, clutching his stomach, forcing his food out.

“That smell,” Stick said. “That smog, that’s the smell of people’s sins, their destruction, their waste, their fears, their hopes. This is the smell.”

It was overwhelming, Matt fought every single urge in his body to puke.

“And this is your new home.”

…

He smelt fire all around him.

Dust all over his body, his fingers, rubble bearing down on his back. He was buried.

“Daredevil,” Jim Gordon’s voice crackled in his ears. “Come in, Daredevil.”

Daredevil groaned. His body was aching all over.

“Do you hear me?” Jim Gordon said. “Hello, do you hear me?”

From the foggy depths of his mind, he remembered the children, he remembered how Stick made them monsters.

“I hear you, Jim,” Daredevil said. Straining his muscles till they burned he pushed the rubble off of him, summoning whatever strength remained in his body, still that wasn’t enough.

“The city,” Jim said. “The place is all up in flames; Buildings are burning down all around us. Batman’s trying to do something but…”

“The assassins,” Daredevil said. “The assassins are children.”

“What?” Gordon asked. “You sound rattled, what’s the situation looking like at your end?”

Some of the rubble was loosened, all he had to do was drag himself outside of this mess.

“I’m fine,” Daredevil said. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Forget about me,” Daredevil said. “Those assassins, the soldiers after you, they’re the children who went missing in Crime Alley. I don’t know what Stick, what the League did to them but we have to get them out of here, we have to get them some help.”

Daredevil breathed heavily, panting under the exertion of the rubble atop him. “Tell Batman, get the word to Batman.”

Gordon’s voice was starting to break off. “What… kids…?”

The static broke off, and there was only white noise.

Matt was alone.

He thought about Tiff. Thought about how she was just about ready to kill her father. And the memories came back, the sword in his hand and the smell of fear in that man’s body. In the room, he could only feel two presences, his and that man.

Matt thought about those children, all of the children behind those masks. He thought about how on that day, in that room thick with the scent of incense it choked, if he had made the wrong decision how he would have ended up like that.

He thought about Stick, the man who raised him, the man who taught him control over his powers. His irises were fogged glass just like his but he wondered when he ‘saw’ Matt, what did he see?

He had to know.

Daredevil dragged himself out of the rubble, pushing it aside, crawling. Ignoring every aching muscle, ignoring the bruises that cried out and the smell of his blood he dragged himself out. Pushing, straining every muscle, every bone until he was finally out.

His body shook as he got up, his body screamed for rest, his body begged for the exhaustion to take over.

Matt didn’t listen.

…

Bright lights flashed across the buildings that remained in Crime Alley, projected all across town by children in the clothes of killers.

On the screens was a blind old man.

People of Crime Alley.

Daredevil dragged himself across the streets, through the screaming people, through the chaos.

His mic crackled to life.

“I got your message,” Batman said. “I know about the children.”

For years Gotham has been a dark hole, a soul sucking abyss that turns people rotten.

Buildings exploded into fire, the smell of searing flesh and bitter tears.

“Take care of them,” Daredevil said. “Make sure they get the help they need.’

A shell of its former self.

“He’s in the subway system,” Batman said.

“I know,” Daredevil said. “I hear him.”

“I managed to pinpoint the exact location,” Batman said. “He’s by a Lazarus Pit.”

And you, the people who live here, you are the parasites, the leeches who bleed this city dry.

“Great,” Daredevil muttered.

Living in the corpse of what once made Gotham great. Your sins the cancer that feeds off Gotham City.

” The Pit smells like embalming fluid,” Batman said. “And fire.”

Daredevil nodded weakly. “Thanks.”

And the only way to get rid of a cancer is to eradicate. To destroy it before it feeds anymore.

Daredevil stood in front of the subway, the subway and his memories started to flood back.

The League has neglected this duty for decades. We refuse to neglect it any further.

The Fixer’s panicked footsteps, his heart beating like a jackhammer. This station where it began.

Your children have been turned against you. You step over each other in your desperate attempts to escape.

He followed Stick’s voice through the winding tracks and long abandoned stations.

There is no escape.

Deeper and deeper he went. Till he could smell sewage water and hear rats scuttling through the walls.

Not from your children, not from me, not from the League.

And through the awful smell and bitter taste, he smelled her. She smelled like lavender and blood; her footsteps echoed down the sewer.

You have fed off this city for far too long.

“Elektra,” Daredevil said.

“You look tired Matthew.”

“It’s been a long day.”

It is time for you to be punished for your gluttony.

Daredevil heard the Sais clatter on the floor. Elektra raised her fists, Daredevil raised his.

Far in the distance he smelled it, embalming fluid and fire. And far above him was the subway.

The station where it all started.

The station where this story ends.

…

Hearing- the process, function, or power of perceiving sound

The discordant sounds of the city exploded into his ears, everything and everyone’s lives rattling through his head. Cars and songs and heartbeats and animals all in his ears, all reverberating through his head, all at the same time.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Matt wailed. He took a deep breath and returned to the present, to the sound of the park and the chirping of the birds.

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Stick asked. “This is your life, Matt. You can’t just expect to…”

“My head hurts,” Matt said. “It hurts so much. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

The stick whacked against his shin again.

“How do you think the world works?” Stick said.

“I’m just a kid,” Matt said. “I’m blind. I shouldn’t have to be doing this.”

“That’s the problem with you, kid,” Stick said. “You think the world cares.”

“What?”

“You think people care that poor little Matthew Murdock is blind?” Stick said. “That he lost his father? No, all they see is a blind little boy and in a city like this, you’re easy picking.”

Stick’s grip tightened around his stick. “So enough with this ‘I can’t do this’ bullshit. It makes you weak and the world eats up weak people like you.”

The birds flew away, all Matt was left with was the whistling of the wind.

“Focus Matthew,” Stick said. “Focus on the sound of my heartbeat if you have to. You have to sharpen your senses.”

He opened up his ears, welcoming the world back into his head again.

But this time he heard it. He heard the bump of something. The calm and steady bump that hit against his chest.

Matt smiled. “I… I hear it. I hear your heartbeat.”

Stick smiled. “You did good, kid.”

It was only later Matt would know what his heart rate slowed for a brief moment, why his heartbeat was a little calm if only for a second.

It was the sound of pride.

…

They danced the same dance of fists and kicks. This time around, however, Elektra got most of her punches in.

“You’re not ready, Matthew,” Elektra said. “You’re wounded, you’re exhausted.”

Matt threw a punch that Elektra ducked under. She landed an uppercut, Matt stumbled back.

“And Stick may be old,” Elektra said. “But he’s stronger than ever. There’s no way you can beat him in this state.”

Matt managed to get a punch in. Elektra retaliated with a kick to Matt’s stomach.

“Why do you insist on carrying this out, Matthew?” Elektra asked. “Why do you insist on destroying yourself?”

Matt was breathing heavily. Elektra was right, he was in no state to be taking on Stick but…

“He’s destroying my city,” Matt said. “Killing my people. There’s no way I can let that slide.”

Matt threw a punch. Elektra shifted her weight grabbed his arm and tossed him over. Water splashed around Matt. His body was too tired to get up.

“I have to kill you now, Matthew,” Elektra said, walking towards her Sais. “I’ve beaten around the bush for too long.”

“So do it,” Matt said. “Be the loyal little soldier he thinks you are.”

She picked up the Sais but her grip around them was tight.

“You know it,” Matt said. “You saw it. Those children… those poor children are what he thinks of us. Loyal little empty husks that carry out orders without question. That’s what he trained you to be, that’s what he wanted me to be.”

Elektra turned around, Sais in hand.

“Go ahead,” Elektra said.

“What?” Daredevil asked.

“Stick is straight ahead at the Lazarus Pit,” Elektra said. “If you think you can win this go ahead. Show me you’re better than Stick.”

Her footsteps splashed across the water and then they were gone.

Matt got up. He was exhausted, his body was aching everywhere and he could smell the bruises forming on his face after his fight with Elektra. He could smell the embalming fluid in the distance.

He followed the smell.

…

If Matt could see, he would see the green glow of the Lazarus pit lighting up the network of broken pipes on the roof and rats scuttling in the walls.

But Matt couldn’t see, he could only feel and the heat from the Lazarus Pit was anything but warm.

“So, you came,” Stick said.

He looked around, tried hearing, tried feeling for Stick but Matt could barely sense his presence.

“I did,” Matt said. “But I don’t ‘see’ you anywhere. I didn’t take you for a coward, Stick.”

Stick chuckled. “You always had a sharp mouth on you.”

“Helps when you’re a lawyer.”

Stick laughed. “You look tired Matt. I can smell blood on you. Did Elektra give you trouble?”

“She did,” Matt said. “Can we get this over with? I’ve had a long day.”

“Very well,” Stick said. “As you wish.”

Matt heard the surface of the Lazarus Pit bubble to life. It sizzled like steam as a man ascended from the burning depths, with a body that smelled like it was being cremated and muscles twisting like sinew.

Stick rose from the Lazarus Pit, the burning green liquid sizzling around his body.

“I don’t think Master will mind if I take a little dip,” Stick said.

And Matt could hear the twisted glee in his voice.

…

Touch- come into or be in contact with.

“It’s metal, Stick,” Matt said. “There’s no way I can break it.”

“What did I say about whining kid?”

“That I shouldn’t but…” Matt was about to say but Stick cut him off.

“Then how about you stop whining and listen?” Stick said. “You can hear my heartbeat but my words go through one ear and go out the next with you don’t they? Run your hands over the pole. Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels sturdy,” Matt said. “I can feel vibrations like pins and needles all over the pole except…”

Matt found a spot in the stick that didn’t vibrate as much, where the pins and needles feeling receded.

“Now bend the pole over there.”

Matt flicked his wrist and the pole creaked, bending like a straw. Matt eyes brightened.

“Holy crap, I did it!” Matt exclaimed. “I bent a pole.”

“Yeah, you did it,” Stick said feigning excitement. “Good for you kid.”

He placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder.

“Touch is a very important sense,” Stick said. “You can feel around, find weak points in sticks, metals and even humans.”

Matt’s left shoulder drooped to the side. He could barely move it, a numbness made it feel all tingly.

“What the…”

But Matt didn’t have time to react, Stick swung his stick but Matt was prepared this time, he dodged back missing it by an inch.

Matt only needed to hear the muscles on the side of his face twitch to know Stick was smiling. Needed to only smell the adrenaline pumping through his body and taste the bitter sweat in the air to know that Stick was preparing himself for a fight.

“Now kid,” Stick said, raising his fists. “Here’s where the training begins.”

…

Matt threw his baton at Stick who just caught it and crushed it in his palm. He pressed the button on his grappling stick, hearing the ropes wrap themselves around Stick but Stick broke out of them pulling Matt towards him and knocking him across the face.

He felt the world spin around him like he was on a treadmill, his senses were going haywire and Matt was struggling to refocus them.

“Didn’t your pointy eared friend tell you?” Stick said, pulling Matt up and punching him across the face with a punch that felt like a wrecking ball. He heard his mask crack across the floor and the world around him ring like a siren. “The Lazarus Pit enhances your strength.”

Matt shakily raised his arms up to defend himself but Stick just kicked him across the stomach. He felt the world around him whiz by as he crashed into the corner of the room.

Pain burning through his body, the taste of blood choking him and his heart beating like a siren, Matt fought through it all to get up and he almost did. Unfortunately, Stick was fast.

He yanked Matt’s mask off, reeling him up by his hair. Matt groaned in pain.

“After everything,” Stick said, his face was so close Matt could taste the Lazarus Pit in his breath. “After all my training I guess you’re nothing more than a weak puppy.”

Matt grabbed his arm, trying to push Stick away and create some distance but Stick’s grip was strong, too strong.

“Even this fancy suit of armour and those gadgets couldn’t protect you from your own weakness,” Stick said. “You’re nothing more than a naïve child who thinks he can fix this rotten world with his childish ideals. That’s all you and the Batman will ever be, weak children in a world of strong men willing to do the right thing, the only thing.”

Matt could hear the muscles in Stick’s right hand tighten, he knew if he was punched it would go right through him.

“Remember what you told me about touch, Stick?” Matt asked.

“What?”

Stick’s left hand fell limply to the side. The grip he had on Matt loosened. Stick threw his punch but Matt ducked. Stick ran his fingers through his left hand to regain feeling but he fell on the floor, kneeling on his right leg.

Matt took the opening. Fist after fist, blow after blow, he hit Stick over and over again. Stick tried defending himself but Matt pressed a pressure point and Stick was left out in the open. Blood was on Matt’s glove on his face, pain flared across his body on the rare occasion Stick managed to get a punch but Matt fought through it all, tasting the blood in his mouth, tasting the adrenaline keeping him alive, feeling his heartbeat echo all throughout his body. He punched and punched and dodged and punch until he finally, finally had his hands around Stick’s throat.

Matt was breathing like a wild dog, he could smell the blood on Stick’s body, smell the fire evaporating from him. He could hear Stick’s frail bones, feel the touch of his wrinkly hands grab Matt’s arms.

Worst of all, he could hear the muscles on the side of his face twitch into a smile. Stick was proud.

“C’mon kid,” Stick said. “Show me you ain’t weak after all.”

Matt’s grip around Stick’s throat tightened.

…

They were in front of a warehouse. Stick had called him here for the final test. Matt didn’t know what that meant but after all that training, wherever Stick went, Matt followed.

“Here’s the place,” Stick said. “Open the door kid.”

The warehouse smelt like old meat and rusted metal. It made Matt’s stomach churn.

“Wait,” Matt said.

“Look kid, I don’t have time,” Stick said. “This test ain’t going to finish itself you know?”

“Wait, wait,” Matt said. “I just want to say thank you…”

“What’s with this pussy ass bullshit?”

“I thought my life was over when I lost my sight,” Matt said. “I thought I was alone but training with you made me feel less alone and…”

Matt pulled out something from his pocket and placed it in Stick’s palm.

“For that I’ll always be grateful,” Matt said. “I know it’s not much but it’s the wrapper, from the first ice cream you bought me.”

Stick’s fingers lingered over the wrapper. For a long time, he stared blankly out into the distance. Matt could tell from the way his fingers lingered over the wrapper to how still his body was. Stick wasn’t used to something like this.

“Get in the warehouse,” Stick said.

Matt smiled. “Okay.”

He stepped inside the warehouse. And the warehouse smelled of cologne, a familiar smell of cologne that planted Matt on the ground.

And a voice that cut into his ears like razors.

Thanks Mr. Sweeney, said Jack Murdock. I won’t let you down.

Ah, ah you don’t touch Mr. Sweeney Battlin’ Jack. And just between you and me.

They whispered but Matt could hear.

That poor lil kid of yours, shame what happened to him. You need the funds right, ain’t no way you can treat him with the pay you get.

What… what are you saying? Jack asked.

What I’m saying is the boss has high hopes for Creel, real money maker you feel? And the boss won’t appreciate an old fart like you to rake in the cash. So, what I’m saying is in Round 4 you bite the bullet otherwise…

His laugh was ugly.

You bite the bullet.

“Hey can somebody get me outta here?” that same voice, that same voice that made Matt’s heart hard and his body burn all over. He was tied to a chair and his voice wanted sounded so scared, so weak and small. Good. “Can somebody please get me out of here? I’ll give you money, I’ll give you gold, whatever just please…”

It was as if Matt was possessed, he walked over to the voice and punched him across the face. Matt could smell his blood on his knuckles, smell the fear that stained the man’s body. But Matt didn’t care, he punched and punched and punched. Each punch satisfying, each splatter of blood he heard drop on the floor exhilarating. And each sentence Stick said out of his mouth egging him on and on.

“Sam Slade,” Stick said. “37 years old.”

Matt could barely hear Stick over the sound of Slade’s crying, over the sound of Matt’s own screaming.

“Right hand man of Roscoe Sweeney,” Stick said. “AKA The Fixer. A man you know all too well, Matt.”

“Matt,” Slade said. “Matthew Murdock. Battlin Jack’s…”

Matt pushed the chair down, he heard Slade’s head hit the concrete but he didn’t care. He kicked him, punched him. All the rage, all the anger he had kept pent up erupting in each punch he threw.

“He has killed 23 people in total during his lifetime,” Stick said. “12 from opposing families, 11 innocents.”

Blood was on the floor, Slade was screaming. Matt could smell his tears.

“And amongst those 11 innocents,” Stick said. “Was your father.”

Matt felt his hands weaken. “W…what?”

“Old Slade here killed your father,” Stick said. “It was under Roscoe’s orders, yes but he was the one who pulled the trigger.”

Slade was crying, the smell of his tears was intermixed with the smell of the blood on his face. “I’m sorry kid. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it, just please let me go. Please.”

“Scum like him don’t deserve to live, Matt,” Stick said. “Scum like him stain your town, stain this city.”

Matt didn’t know how the knife was in his hand, he just knew he had a knife.

“Scum like him stole your childhood.”

Matt raised the knife.

“No,” Slade said through snot filled tears. “Please no. I have a family, my ma, she can’t live without me. Please! Please!”

Stick scoffed. “His mother. All filth does is create more filth.”

“Please,” Slade cried. “Dear god please.”

And Matt could smell the swelling, smell the tears. He could hear the desperation, taste the pain in his voice as he strained his vocal cords begging.

But the knife, the knife. All he had to do was stab him in the throat. All he had to do was end him, end him for killing his father, end him for killing the only man who loved him.

And the knife was so light in his hand, so well balanced…

Then why did it fall from his palm.

“What’s going on?” Stick said. “He killed your father. You can’t just…”

“I can’t do it Stick,” Matt said, crying. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Stick asked. “Why not?”

“This isn’t justice,” Matt said, saying the words justice as if he knew what it meant. “This isn’t… isn’t right.”

“Not right,” Stick snapped. “NOT RIGHT! He killed 23 people, scum like him don’t deserve to live. SCUM LIKE HIM MAKE THE WORLD FILTHY!”

Matt was just sobbing.

“I should’ve known you’d be too weak to carry this out,” Stick snarled. “Too much of a bitch to understand how the world works.”

Stick pushed Matt off Slade and picked up the knife.

“No,” Matt cried out. But Stick didn’t listen. Stick stabbed Slade in the throat, Matt heard the arteries rupture and the blood flow out. Matt heard his heartbeat come to a standstill.

“You’re too pathetic,” Stick said. The blood dripped from the steal knife onto the floor. “Too weak. I should’ve known that from the start.”

Stick walked out the door.

“No don’t go,” Matt cried out, tears clogging up his throat. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Sentiment and emotion make a pathetic man,” Stick said. He shuffled through his pockets and picked up the ice cream wrapper, crumpling it in his fist. “And that’s what you are, Matt. A pathetic man.”

The door to the warehouse slammed shut behind Stick. Matt collapsed onto the floor, picking up the crumpled ice cream wrapper, trying to make it whole again.

And when he couldn’t, when he realised he was all alone he lied down and curled up into a ball, heavy sobs wracking through his body, his only company the corpse of the man who killed his father.

…

Matt could feel the air leaving Stick’s body. All he had to do was hold on.

“Do… it, Matt,” Stick wheezed. “Do it…”

But Matt wasn’t a killer, no matter how much he hated Stick for what he did.

He loosened his grip.

Stick stumbled backwards onto the floor. The temporary boost of the Lazarus Pit had long left, leaving behind a frail old man.

“I always knew you were weak,” Stick said. “Always knew you didn’t have the balls to kill me.”

“Shut up,” Matt said. “Tell all of this to your therapists over at Arkham.”

Stick chuckled. “Arkham huh?”

Stick sat up. Matt’s body tensed but Stick was in no position to attack.

“You really think you’re better than me just because you don’t kill?”

“I think I’m better than you because I’m less of an asshole than you are,” Matt said.

“What you and the Batman are doing,” Stick said. “You’re just band aid on an infected limb. A temporary measure, a weak measure. The problems that infect this city can’t just be punched or scared away, they run deeper than that, to the core of the city itself.”

“Shut up,” Matt said. “All you do is talk.”

“Look at the Joker,” Stick said. “Look at all the other murderers and psychopaths this city created. You think locking them away will fix this city, beating them up and throwing them to an asylum they always manage to escape from? No. Band aids don’t heal infected wounds, you have to cut them off and mark my words, the League will cut them off. Isn’t that right Elek…”

Matt was too slow to stop the Sais from piercing his throat.

“W-why…?” Stick said through raspy breath.

Elektra walked in, yanking the Sais from his throat. Blood spurted from his neck and onto her face but Elektra remained passive.

Matt tried to get up, Elektra had to stop him from collapsing.

“Why…” Matt breathed out. “He was a lieutenant. You betrayed the League of Assassin’s, there’s no going back…”

“You’ll see, Matthew,” Elektra said. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Elektra pressed a pressure point at the back of Matt’s neck and Matt collapsed onto her shoulder. Elektra had to drag Matthew out of the cave.

She looked back at Stick’s still body, at his glassy eyes wide open in shock. Elektra knelt down and placed a gentle hand over his eyelids. A single tear fell down her cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

She left the cavern, holding Matt close to her, leaving the boiling green pit behind her.