[Third Person POV]
The alley was narrow, dark, and smelled of gasoline and garbage. The silence was broken only by the sounds of fists hitting flesh, metal clanging against concrete, and grunts of pain.
Inside an old warehouse at the end of the street, a brutal fight was happening. A man had come not for money or revenge, but for one reason. He was here to save a woman.
The guards didn't see it coming. One moment they were moving crates and whispering about recent news. The next moment, a shadow appeared among them.
With nothing but his hands and whatever he could grab, the masked man fought like a storm. He used chairs, chains, and pipes—anything nearby. It was how he used them that scared the guards the most.
No one knew who the masked man was, but his fists told the story. One by one, they fell, beaten and broken. Their weapons lay useless beside them. And through it all, the masked man said nothing.
In a corner of the warehouse, a woman was tied up and bruised. She tried to scream, but a rag stuffed in her mouth kept her quiet. She could barely lift her head to see what was happening. But she could hear the fight. And deep down, she felt a small spark of hope.
[David's POV]
I stood on the rooftop of a nearby building, watching federal agents move in formation. Floodlights lit up the dockyard below. People were being pulled out of containers, wrapped in blankets, and taken to waiting vans. Some cried. Others just stared into space. For once, everything was going as planned.
I turned and slipped into the night again. It was nearly two in the morning. The streets were quiet, the city asleep. I moved across rooftops and alleys, crossing three blocks without stopping.
That's when the system pinged. A new mission appeared in front of my eyes.
"The fuck…" I muttered.
A second later, I heard noise below—shouts, the sound of a fight.
My instincts took over.
I moved through the shadows, heading toward the sound. When I reached the alley's mouth, I looked through a broken side window.
A masked man was fighting. He was outnumbered. He was bleeding.
My eyes narrowed.
This wasn't a random street fight.
I crouched low and watched. The man fought with skill and purpose. Each move was sharp. Each strike hit hard.
I didn't need much time to figure out who it was.
"Shit, what the hell is he doing here?"
Even through the blood and mask, I knew him.
I scanned the building. The thugs had their backs to the roof. I found a rooftop opening just big enough to drop through.
Without hesitation, I slipped through it and dropped into the warehouse. The impact was solid, I landed on two of them, knocking the breath from their lungs and sending them sprawling before they even registered what had happened.
Shouts filled the air. They were confused. I used that.
My fist hit one in the jaw. My knee slammed into another's stomach. I spotted two crowbars on the floor and kicked them toward the masked man.
"Hey! Use this!" I shouted.
He caught them without missing a beat.
Blood had soaked his shirt. His movements had slowed. But his will was strong. With the pressure off, he could fight better now.
We moved like two storms. I swept a thug's legs and disarmed another. The masked man used one crowbar to break ribs, the other to trip another man.
He was still bleeding. But he didn't stop.
He staggered after a hit. I stepped in, blocked the next blow, and dropped the attacker. The rest of the thugs panicked. Some ran.
I let them go. Not my job tonight.
I turned to knock out the last two still standing. One tried to swing at me with a pipe, but I ducked, slammed my shoulder into his chest, and finished with a strike to his neck. He dropped. The last man backed up with wide eyes before bolting for the back door.
The warehouse was quiet. Only the sound of breathing remained.
I turned to the masked man. He leaned against a crate, holding his side. Blood covered his hand.
We stared at each other.
He was tired and hurt. But not defeated.
After a moment, he spoke.
"Thanks," he said. His voice was rough.
I nodded. "You should rest. You're hurt."
But instead of following the suggestion, he pushed himself upright with a grunt and started limping toward the far side of the warehouse. His steps were uneven, and he swayed once, nearly collapsing before catching himself on the wall.
I frowned. "You can't keep moving like that."
He didn't answer.
I stepped forward and touched his shoulder. He spun and threw a punch.
I caught it and didn't let go. I reached into my inventory and pulled out two knockout syringes.
"Sorry," I said.
I jabbed both into his arm. He tried to pull back, but it was too late.
His breathing slowed. He staggered and dropped to the floor.
I stood over him. "What a drag."
"Gideon, activate X-Ray Vision."
Shapes appeared. In one room, someone was lying still. In another, ten people were huddled together.
I moved first to the masked man, kneeling beside him. Blood still seeped from the side of his abdomen. The healing potion vial was already in my hand before I finished thinking. I uncorked it and carefully lifted the bottom edge of his shirt. The wound was jagged and deep, not life-threatening now that the bleeding was slowing but he needed medical attention.
The blood clotted fast. The wound started to close. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.
"That'll do," I said.
I moved to the back room. The lock was old. One kick broke it.
Inside were ten people—women, two men, and a few teens. They looked scared and beaten.
I raised my hands. "I'm not here to hurt you. The men who brought you here are gone. You're free."
No one moved.
I found a crowbar and started breaking chains. After the first two, a young man helped me with the rest.
"There's another room," I told them. "Someone's in there. Help them out when you can."
Some of them nodded.
I walked back to the unconscious masked man. "Gideon, send this location to the FBI."
"Done," she replied.
I picked him up. He was heavier than he looked.
And then I walked out.
---
---
Next day
The sun was up, casting soft light through the apartment blinds. Inside a quiet bedroom, the man stirred on the bed. His body ached all over. His head throbbed. As he blinked through the haze, only one word escaped his lips.
"Mickey…"
From across the room, a voice answered.
"Yeah, you don't need to worry. She's safe. Welcome back to the world of the living, Mister Matt Murdock."
Matt's body tensed.
He sat up quickly and reached for his face. His mask was gone.
He also noticed the bandages wrapped tightly around his lower body.
His hand moved to his side, feeling the stiff padding.
His voice came out low and guarded. "Who are you?"
To Be Continued...