Just as he was wallowing in frustration, David shouted through the earpiece:
"Bro! Snap out of it! Your karma—cough, I mean, your trouble is here!"
"Daredevil is heading your way!"
Cohen's heart skipped a beat. That guy showing up could only mean bad news.
He touched the demon mask costume he had put on earlier. At this point, there was no way he could just blend into the crowd and slip away unnoticed.
Between the buildings, a dark red figure leapt gracefully, quickly closing in. His sharp gaze instantly locked onto Cohen, eyes turning cold.
"Bastard! Was this your doing? Six explosions—and you killed dozens more!"
Cohen's mind raced. He couldn't admit it. No way.
If he did, he'd never be able to hold his head high around this guy again.
"It wasn't me.
Don't talk nonsense.
I was just passing by!
I saw a shadowy figure running toward the river just now. Go chase him!"
"Hmph! So you've got the guts to do it, but not to admit it, huh? Who else but you could have orchestrated six explosions at once?"
"There are so many heroes in the world. Why pin everything on me?!"
But Daredevil wasn't having it. He didn't waste any more words and threw a punch straight at him.
"Today, I'm putting you behind bars!"
Cohen had no interest in getting tangled up with him any further. Right now, he only wanted to figure out one thing—was there any way to stop this disaster from spiraling further out of control?
…Well, man-made disaster.
Just then, a few of the brave civilians who had been helping put out the fire started acting strangely.
Someone burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Another tore off their clothes like a maniac.
A third one began belting out a song at full volume.
Seeing this, Daredevil stiffened, halting his attack. His voice was filled with disbelief.
"You bastard… you drugged them too?!"
Cohen rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck.
"Hero, can't you smell it? The air is thick with the stench of burning narcotics.
If we keep fighting, we'll both be tripping harder than they are."
Daredevil paused for a beat, then lifted his leather cowl just enough to expose his nose and mouth.
He took a long, deep breath. "Hooo."
He sniffed the air again. "Hooooo."
And again. "Hooooooo."
With every breath he took, Cohen's face darkened.
You little—don't tell me you're actually enjoying this?
"Marijuana, heroin, amphetamines… There's a cocktail of drugs in the air. Is this place a drug lab?"
Cohen shrugged. "Originally I—cough, I mean, whoever set the fire probably just wanted to destroy the drugs.
Unfortunately, they made the terrible decision of using explosives."
He sighed, then added with mock sympathy.
"But we really can't blame him. After all, he meant well."
"There's a wise old saying from the ancient East—'To err is human.'" Cohen said, as if he were offering profound wisdom.
Daredevil shot him a glare. "Do you have any idea how much trouble this could cause? Some people could overdose from inhaling the smoke.
Others might lose control and start riots. And some could—"
"I know!" Cohen interrupted before he could finish. "Which is why this spot looks pretty mild compared to the others. There are five locations total. How about we split up?"
Daredevil clenched his jaw, clearly struggling with the idea. After a moment of gritting his teeth, he growled, "Tch. Just don't let me catch you again."
He gave a flick of his baton and launched himself toward the next location.
Cohen sighed inwardly.
This was exactly why he never fully agreed with Daredevil—but also why he never considered him an enemy.
"David, out of the four remaining spots, which one looks like it needs me the most?"
New York Police Headquarters
Captain George Stacy sat behind his desk, listening to a report from one of his officers. His face was dark as thunder.
Just minutes ago, he'd received a video.
In it, two dirty cops confessed to things that made his jaw drop in disbelief.
But even if he put all that aside, there was one fact he couldn't ignore—two New York police officers had been subjected to vigilante justice.
And that felt like a personal insult.
Just as he was about to lead a team himself to rescue the officers, the explosion happened.
"Goddamn motherf— This is a full-blown terrorist attack!"
His voice roared through the room.
"I want every division on this. I don't care who's behind this—whoever planned this assault, I want them to pay. Heavily!"
Knock knock!
A firm knock echoed through the office.
Someone burst into the office, breathless.
"Captain! Urgent update—we just received word. The vigilante cop video and the explosion case are both going to be front-page headlines in The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Los Angeles Times… and dozens of other outlets."
George Stacy's face darkened to a shade nearing black.
No doubt about it—this was going to leave a deep, possibly permanent scar on his career.
This could ruin his future.
He clenched his teeth.
"Notify everyone: from this moment on, the bombing case is the number one priority in New York. Everything else steps aside.
I want results—in twenty-four hours!"
A few senior officers in the room opened their mouths, then closed them again.
They knew the order violated protocol—but they also understood.
When the Big Three newspapers in America splash something across their front pages… even the President feels the heat.
Just then, another knock came at the door.
"Captain," someone reported, "witnesses saw Demon Face fighting Daredevil at one of the explosion sites. Ninth Street."
Stacy's eyes sharpened immediately.
The vigilante video mentioned two cops transporting drugs to six stations. Now, six separate explosions.
And then Demon Face and Daredevil show up at the scene?
It was obvious now—Demon Face was behind this.
BAM!
Stacy slammed a heavy fist onto his desk.
"Get me SWAT. Mobilize all on-duty officers and send them to the scene.
I want a block-by-block sweep. Turn over every trash can, every rooftop, every damn inch of Ninth Street.
Find him. Bring in a Demon Face!"
Someone muttered nervously, "But… we don't really have any hard evidence it was him…"
"If not him, then who?!" George barked.
"Look, I don't even like that red-suited vigilante—but even he wouldn't do something this crazy."
His voice dropped to a grim, cold tone.
"Prep the car. I'm heading to the scene myself.
Hmph… Demon Face. I'm going to bring you in with my own hands."
…
A French restaurant—now in complete shambles.
After hearing the news that all six of his drug distribution hubs had been blown up, and that he had lost over a hundred million dollars in the process…
The kingpin destroyed the place.
Panting heavily, he stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, yanking off his tie. His tailored suit was now a wrinkled mess.
Behind him, Wesley had just seen Vanessa off and rushed back immediately.
Staring out at the fires tearing through the city, Kingpin's voice was hoarse with rage.
"Has the kill squad been deployed?"
Wesley nodded. "They're already moving. Per your orders—bodies, no survivors."
"They'd better not fail."
Wesley swallowed hard.
As Kingpin's most trusted aide, he knew better than anyone how brutal the man could be.
To fall under his wrath… was a death sentence.
Sure enough, Kingpin slammed a massive fist into the glass.
The reinforced, shatter-resistant window instantly filled with a web of deep cracks.
"I swear… I want to kill him with my own hands."
…
BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!
In a dark apartment across the city, Coulson was jolted awake by a string of urgent ringtones.
That particular sound? Reserved for only one person—his beloved director.
He picked up, still groggy, and immediately heard a dramatic, sharp voice roar through the phone:
"Coulson! Where the hell are you?
Hell's Kitchen is burning to the ground, and you're sleeping like a baby?
Are you kidding me right now?
I told you to keep an eye on Demon Face! What the hell have you been doing?!"
As Nick Fury's voice raged in his ear, Coulson pulled back the blackout curtains.
Instantly, the glow of rampant fires in Hell's Kitchen flooded the room with an ominous light.
He stared at it blankly, still not quite fully awake. The first thought that floated into his brain was:
Wow… this safe house has amazing soundproofing.
But years of training kicked in quickly—Coulson's instincts sharpened, and he shook off the haze.
He glanced at his watch.
"Director, the mission to monitor Demon Face ended yesterday.
It's now—" he paused, checking the second hand—"12:01 A.M. My assignment has officially changed to tracking the green monster in Brazil."
"…"
Dead silence on the other end of the line.
Then came a furious bellow:
"Motherf— Get your big ass out of bed!
Hawkeye Barton is waiting for you at the door. I want that freak who poisoned all of Manhattan in custody, now!"
"Yes, sir. Right away, Director!"
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