Bang!
A clenched fist smashed hard into a man's face. Bone shifted, skin twisted, and tears, mucus, and blood burst out together in a grotesque mess. The impact echoed through the narrow underground space like a gunshot.
The fist slowly loosened. Fingers flexed once, twice. The dark red nylon combat suit was already soaked, the fabric heavy with blood that wasn't its owner's.
In Hell's Kitchen, beneath a crumbling building long abandoned by daylight, a small casino hid in the shadows. Flickering lights, illegal tables, dirty money. Tonight, it had become a battlefield.
Daredevil moved through Kingpin's gang like a storm.
Another man lunged at him from the side—
Crack!
An elbow crushed into a jaw. The man dropped without even screaming.
Sizzle—
A spray of blood splashed across an exposed light bulb. White smoke hissed upward, followed by a sharp pop as the bulb exploded.
That had been the last incandescent light in the casino. Darkness swallowed the ceiling, leaving only dim neon strip lights casting distorted, colorful shadows across overturned tables and fallen bodies.
Groans echoed weakly. Most of the men were already unconscious. Some weren't breathing at all.
"Brother—no, Father!" a trembling voice cried out.
At the end of a long, narrow corridor, a short, fat man pressed his back against the wall. Daredevil's short baton was jammed against his throat, the cold metal digging into soft flesh.
"This is just a small casino! All my customers are regulars! I swear! I don't know how I offended you!"
Behind Daredevil, bodies littered the hallway—casino workers and gang members alike. Blood streaked the walls. The air stank of sweat, fear, and iron.
The casino owner swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bumping painfully against the baton.
"A-are you here for money?" he stammered. "Or something else? I don't run any sex trade here, but if you need it, I can introduce you—"
Bang!
Daredevil's fist slammed into the wall beside the man's head. The concrete cracked, dust raining down.
The casino owner screamed.
"When did you join Kingpin's gang?" Daredevil asked, his voice calm, controlled, terrifying.
"T-two weeks ago!" the man sobbed. "Just two weeks!"
Daredevil withdrew the baton, grabbed the man by the collar with both hands, and lifted him off the ground, slamming him against the wall.
"Tell me every Kingpin hideout you know."
"Only—only one!" the casino owner wailed, legs flailing helplessly. "A place for sex trade—nothing else, I swear!"
Silence followed. Daredevil's head tilted slightly, listening. Heartbeat. Breath. Lies.
"…Give me the address."
The man rattled it off in a rush, words tumbling over each other. The moment he finished—
Thud!
A heavy punch sank into his abdomen. He folded to the floor, gasping, clutching his stomach.
Daredevil didn't look back.
---
Ten minutes later, in a cheap hotel in Hell's Kitchen, purple-red neon light spilled through dirty windows.
An old man froze mid-motion, terror spreading across his face as a dark red figure crashed through the glass in a storm of shards. The stench of blood hit him first.
His legs gave out.
Bang!
Fists met flesh. Screams tore through the room.
The hotel walls shook.
---
Deep beneath the city, on the third underground floor of the Osborn Group, two figures stepped carefully through destruction.
Batman and Black Cat split up the moment they entered.
Black Cat switched on a small flashlight, its narrow beam cutting through darkness as she examined the scene inch by inch. Broken equipment. Bent steel. Blood trails dragged across the floor.
Batman moved straight to a shattered workbench.
He raised his arm. The armor along his forearm silently shifted and retracted, revealing a compact, custom-built computer embedded beneath. Screens flickered to life as he connected directly to the damaged instruments.
His goal was simple: determine whether this laboratory had been used last night.
Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the hum of machines and the soft crunch of debris underfoot.
"This damage wasn't caused by Kingpin," Black Cat said as she approached. "What did you find?"
Batman retracted the device back under his armor.
"The instruments were activated last night," he said. "This facility was conducting human experiments."
Their eyes moved almost simultaneously toward the center of the room.
A transparent octagonal cage stood there, roughly ten square meters in size. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. Metal restraints lay twisted and torn apart.
Batman stepped forward.
"Without a large external server," he said, "my current system can't fully analyze the scene."
This suit didn't have a built-in Detective Mode like some versions of his technology.
It didn't matter.
Batman himself was a detective.
He stepped into the octagonal cage.
"Black Cat," he said calmly, "shine the light on that corner."
She complied, carefully avoiding broken glass and exposed wires.
Batman closed his eyes briefly, constructing the scene in his mind.
"The subject's physique matches an ordinary human male," he said. "No extra limbs. No built-in weapons. This wasn't Dr. Otto."
He moved, reenacting each moment.
Breaking free of the metal frame.
Tearing through reinforced glass.
The first researcher falling.
The second screaming.
"The researchers didn't activate any countermeasures," Batman continued. "They were unprepared."
His boots traced invisible paths across the floor as he followed the imagined movements of the subject. Black Cat followed, flashlight steady, her expression growing serious.
They stopped in a dark corner.
"This is where the last victim died," Batman said.
He knelt, examining the blood splatter on the wall.
"The researcher crawled here," he said. "Begged. Kneeled. He was strangled."
Silence filled the room.
"I need access to the building's surveillance," Batman said as he stood. "If it hasn't been altered."
He turned to Black Cat. "What are you planning to do next?"
She didn't answer.
Her eyes were fixed on the broken workbench.
A thin strand glimmered there, almost invisible unless you knew how to look.
A silk thread.
It swayed gently in the air disturbed by their movement.
Black Cat reached out—
"Don't move," Batman said sharply.
He stepped back into his mental reconstruction.
Following a researcher down to the third underground floor.
Removing his suit jacket.
Entering the cage.
The experiment escalating.
The cage breaking.
Everyone dying.
Then, retrieving his discarded clothing from beneath the workbench.
Batman straightened.
"This thread is silk," he said. "Used in high-end suits."
He glanced at Black Cat.
"The subject wasn't homeless. He was wearing an expensive suit."
He left the thread untouched.
Together, they moved up to the second underground floor, where Batman reopened his computer.
"I'm hacking into the internal surveillance," he said. "Stand guard."
Black Cat nodded without hesitation.
She wasn't sure if Batman was even fully human anymore—wrapped in armor, surrounded by technology, moving with inhuman precision.
But after what she'd seen downstairs, she trusted him.
Batman began sorting data at high speed.
"Twenty-fifth floor first," he muttered. "Elevators. Stairwells. Underground garage."
Minutes later, his jaw tightened.
"All footage from last night has been deleted."
Clean. Professional.
"He knew about Osborn's internal surveillance," Batman said. "Deleted it personally."
He leaned back slightly.
"He likely entered through the underground garage. Wore a high-end suit. Had the resources to erase data."
A short list formed in his mind.
Only two names fit.
Harry Osborn.
Norman Osborn.
"I'll need to visit Harry," Batman thought. "And find a way to access the surveillance near his home."
He stored the thought away.
Tonight wasn't over yet.
There was still another monster loose in New York.
Batman shut down the system and stood.
Dr. Otto.
The man who had fought police in the Brooklyn sewers earlier that day.
The man responsible for over thirty deaths.
Batman turned toward the exit.
All the tools he had bought, modified, and assembled during the day—
They weren't for Osborn.
They were for hunting Otto.
And tonight, the hunt would begin.
-----------------------------
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