[Third Person POV]
In the upper floors of a quiet, high-rise building, away from the noise of the city, Wilson Fisk sat in his private office. The room was quiet, only the soft ticking of a large wall clock filled the space. Outside, the lights of Manhattan stretched out like a sea of stars, but Fisk wasn't looking at the view.
James Wesley stood across from him, a thin folder in his hand, glasses slightly crooked as he adjusted them. His tone was calm, but there was tension beneath the surface.
"We lost the warehouse last night," Wesley began.
Fisk raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"
"It was under a small gang which we had recently absorbed."
Fisk leaned back slightly. "How bad?"
"Bad enough," Wesley answered. He opened the folder and passed it over. "Two men caused the damage. One of them is the same masked figure from the shootout. The other is still unidentified, but the two of them cleaned the place out."
Fisk flipped through the photos. Burnt-out walls. Broken equipment. Unconscious bodies lined up by police vans.
"But that's not the only problem," Wesley continued. "The news explosion last night hit harder than expected. We lost three insiders in city hall and at least one police captain we were keeping close."
Fisk didn't respond. He simply placed the folder on the desk.
"Of course, this kind of exposure also creates opportunity," Wesley added.
Fisk looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Go on."
"There's a power vacuum forming," Wesley explained. "All the officials who were removed are going to be replaced. If we move quickly, we can push in people of our choosing. It'll give us stronger control."
Fisk folded his hands. "The Iron Serpents are crumbling."
"Yes," Wesley said. "But not all of them are loyal to Morales anymore. Victor Ruiz has reached out through back channels. Word is, he's trying to convince Emilio Delgado to follow his lead. If both of them break from Morales, we may be able to form a partnership with what remains."
"Ruiz," Fisk repeated slowly. "He is running the parts in Brooklyn, right?"
"Exactly. And Delgado controls finances. If we bring them in, we can still salvage the crew's network. Money. Drugs. Distribution. Some weapon traffic."
"And Morales?"
"He's angry," Wesley said simply. "But losing power quickly. The warehouse loss has shaken his confidence, and with Reyes crippled and Vasquez dead, his inner circle is thin. And the whole gang is tightly under watch by the law enforcement."
"If this continues, there won't be much of the Serpents left."
Fisk didn't smile. "That's their choice. But we will be ready to take what remains."
Fisk looked down at his hands for a long moment.
"Approach Ruiz," he said. "If Delgado joins him, we'll make them an offer. Tell him we'll support his rise. But make it clear."
Wesley nodded.
"And the masked men?"
Fisk said. "Start investigating."
Wesley turned and left.
---
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[David's POV]
I sat on a chair across the room, watching him carefully. The guy was finally awake, but he still looked like he had been hit by a truck. He was scanning the room, alert, cautious.
But my thoughts were somewhere else.
Why was he fighting those gang members yesterday?
I had assumed this world followed the MCU timeline. That would mean Matt Murdock was still a few years away from putting on the mask. But what I saw last night said something different.
Was he starting to walk the path of becoming Daredevil now? Or was it just a moment of desperation? Maybe he just wanted to save the woman he was with, Mickey. If that's all it was, then maybe this timeline is messed up.
But if he really was going to become Daredevil, then I had a lot to warn him about. There were things hidden in the shadows of New York, darker than anything he'd ever known. If he was going to stand in the light, then he needed to know what was coming.
Still, I didn't want to jump the gun. I needed to test the waters.
That was when his voice broke through my thoughts.
"Who are you?"
I pointed toward the table beside him. "You should drink some water. And eat something while you're at it. It's not poisoned, trust me."
He didn't move. Just stood there, half-naked and wrapped in bandages.
"Jeez," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Would you please chill? I was just in the neighborhood, saw your ass was getting kicked, and stepped in."
"It wasn't," he said quickly, cutting me off. His voice was low, serious.
I raised both hands. "Alright, alright. Sure. You had it all under control, right? I just… helped a little."
I leaned back in my chair. "Look, I'm not here to fight with you. I patched you up, gave you a place to crash, and made sure no one followed you. That's it."
"Where is she?" he asked suddenly.
"Mickey?" I said, leaning forward. "She's safe. Metro-General Hospital. Along with the others who were locked up in that place. I made sure she got proper care."
He sighed in relief. It was small, barely noticeable, but I saw it.
"Thanks," he said, finally reaching for the water. His hand was still shaking a little.
"You're welcome," I replied. "Now sit down before you pass out again."
He sank into the chair across from me, still watching me like he was trying to figure something out.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Just a regular guy," I said.
He didn't seem convinced, but he didn't push.
"Why did you help me?" he asked after a pause.
I looked at him straight. "I wasn't about to let you bleed out in a warehouse full of scumbags."
He looked down at his hands. The bandages were stained, but the bleeding had stopped.
"You're lucky I had that healing potion," I added casually.
His head snapped up. "Healing what?"
"Don't worry about it," I said with a smirk. "Let's just say I have access to… interesting supplies."
He stayed silent for few seconds, then nodded slowly. "Okay."
We sat there in silence for a while. He sipped the water, finally taking a few bites of the food I had left for him.
I decided it was time to test the waters.
"You know, most people wouldn't throw themselves into a gang's warehouse just to save someone. Not unless they had a reason."
He was chewing slowly.
"Was it just Mickey? Or are you planning to make this a habit?"
He paused, swallowing hard. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you fought like someone who's trained for more than street fights. And you didn't hesitate. That wasn't just about saving someone. That was about sending a message."
He set down the glass. "Maybe I didn't like what they were doing. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the right time."
I tilted my head. "Maybe. But if it was just that, you wouldn't have taken the hits you did. You kept going, even when you were bleeding out. That's not instinct. That's purpose."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned back. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, quietly, he said, "I couldn't leave her."
"I get that," I replied. "But..."
He looked at me again, his eyes sharper now. "What's your point?"
"My point is, if you're thinking of doing this more often, you need to understand what's coming. The streets are changing. There are darker things out there. Things that don't care how good your intentions are."
"And you know this because?"
I smiled. "Let's just say I have my ways."
He nodded slowly. "I haven't decided anything yet."
"That's fine. Just… Never mind."
I pulled out a burner phone from my pants pocket and placed it on the table beside him.
"If you need help or anything else, call the number in the recent dialed list," I said. "Just keep it off when you're not using it."
I stood and moved toward the door. "Get some rest."
He didn't stop me. I didn't know what Matt would choose in the end. But I had planted the seed. And if he did decide to step into the shadows, I hoped he would be ready for what was waiting there.
To Be Continued...