Chapter 39 – Halloween Preparation

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The golden afternoon sun cast long shadows over Hell's Kitchen, painting the streets in shades of amber and crimson. Jack strolled through the bustling sidewalks, humming a tune with an exaggerated sway in his step.

Beside him, Natalie—the blonde secretary he had spared—clutched a thick folder of crime ledgers, her expression shifting between nervous determination and sheer exhaustion.

Jack glanced at her and smirked. "Nervous?" he asked, tilting his head.

Natalie sighed. "I'm walking into the only law firm crazy enough to go against Kingpin while being escorted by the city's most wanted lunatic. What do you think?"

Jack gasped dramatically. "Oh, sweet summer child, that's slander! I am a perfectly well-adjusted citizen who just happens to enjoy extreme urban redecorating!"

She rolled her eyes. As they approached the modest red-brick building with the sign "NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEYS AT LAW," Jack cracked his knuckles.

"Alright, let's talk about this whole 'justice' thing. Should I kick down the door or dramatically burst in with a monologue?"

Natalie rubbed her temples. "Just… use the door like a normal person, please."

Jack sighed. "Boring." And with that, he pushed the door open.

Inside, the office had the usual warmth of a small, honest law firm—messy desks, stacks of legal papers, and the faint smell of cheap coffee.

At the desk, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson glanced up, his brow furrowing.

Matt Murdock sat behind his desk, his hands resting on the table as if already aware of who had just entered.

Jack grinned. "Ah, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen! And his sidekick, the Misty Paralegal!"

Foggy frowned. "It's Nelson. Franklin Nelson. And we're not taking any supervillains as clients."

Jack laughed, plopping down into a chair with the grace of a man who had never followed rules a day in his life. "Oh, I'm not here for legal representation—I have nothing to hide!" he said, crossing his legs.

Matt smiled slightly. "Except from the police."

Jack snapped his fingers. "Damn, you got me there, lawyer man."

Natalie cleared her throat, stepping forward. "Actually, I'm here to atone."

Matt's head tilted slightly in interest.

She placed the thick folder on his desk. "These are the records of Damage Control's crimes. The extortions, the land grabs, the intimidation tactics. It's all here. I know Nelson & Murdock is the only law firm willing to take on Kingpin… so I figured, if anyone could use this, it's you."

Matt reached for the folder, running his fingers along the edges before setting it down. "That's… quite the evidence drop. But I can't read it."

He tilted his head. "Karen?"

Karen Page entered from the back office, her sharp eyes taking in the folder before picking it up. "I'll transcribe it to braille," she said, already flipping through the pages.

As they waited, Matt turned his attention back to Jack. "So, what's the real reason you're here?"

Jack smirked. "What, I can't just enjoy a lively discussion with my favorite blind lawyer?"

Matt leaned forward slightly. "You make the law sound like a suggestion."

Jack shrugged. "Laws are written by the victors, Matty. And sometimes, if you want change, you have to do it yourself." He smiled faintly. "Like a man who goes around punishing criminals who slip through the cracks of the legal system."

Matt grinned. "Oh, I don't know who you're talking about. But I like his style."

They both chuckled.

Jack leaned back, stretching. "So, tonight's gonna be festive in my territory. Halloween and all."

Matt smirked. "Throwing a party?"

Jack snapped his fingers. "Think of it more as a… theatrical performance. Come and see—oh, wait, I mean, come and hear."

Matt chuckled. "I'll pass."

Jack grinned wider. "I was actually gonna invite you to go trick-or-treating with me."

Matt raised a brow. "I think I've passed the age of trick-or-treating in the eyes of the law."

Jack tilted his head. "Wait, there's an age law on trick-or-treating?"

Matt smiled. "Of course."

Jack sighed dramatically. "Well, I'm doing the adult version anyway. It's called trick-or-threatening."

Matt tilted his head. "You're planning something, aren't you?"

Jack stood up, stretching. "Matty, my dear boy… I am always planning something."

He grabbed a piece of candy from Foggy's desk, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. "Alright, I'll let you boys get back to your heroism. Be seeing you."

With that, he turned on his heel and strolled out the door, humming 'This Is Halloween' under his breath.

Matt sighed. "Something tells me I'll be hearing about whatever he does next."

Foggy sighed a sigh of relief. "Why is he our problem now?"

Matt smiled slightly. "Because nobody else is crazy enough to stop him."

…

The streets of Jack's newly claimed territory were alive with energy.

A week ago, these streets had been a warzone, a battleground drenched in blood. Now, they shimmered with orange and gold lanterns, banners fluttering in the cool autumn breeze.

Children ran through the streets, their laughter echoing through the buildings as they admired the decorations. People carved pumpkins, and paper ghosts swung from rooftops. Food stalls lined the sidewalks, their scents of roasted chestnuts, fried dumplings, and caramel apples mixing in the air.

And walking amongst them, weaving through the crowd like a ghost, were Jack's clones—each one ensuring everything was running smoothly.

One clone took inventory at a stall. "Alright, the candy distribution is on track, the parade is set up, and we have enough food stalls for the influx of visitors."

A man from Madam Gao's faction handed the clone a report. "Boss, there's something you should know. Most of the festival budget hasn't even been touched."

The clone raised a brow. "Why?"

The man scratched his head, almost embarrassed.

"Because the people are doing everything themselves. They just... took care of it. The moment they saw what was happening, they pitched in. The business owners, the families... they just want to make this place something worth celebrating."

Jack, the real Jack, overheard this as he strolled through the streets. He grinned, hands behind his head. "Aww, look at that. The community actually functioning like an actual community. Makes you all warm and fuzzy inside, huh?"

The man nodded. "It's going to attract a lot of people from outside your territory. Are you sure you want that?"

Jack chuckled. "Of course. The more barren the rest of the city looks compared to mine, the better the world sees my territory. Let them see what happens when you're not under the thumb of some fat bald dude in a suit."

The man gulped. "You, uh... you mean Fisk, right?"

Jack tilted his head. "Who else would I be talking about? Lex Luthor?"

As Jack made his rounds, he suddenly heard a sharp voice call out. "Jack! Oi! Jack, get over here!"

Jack turned to see Auntie Vivi standing outside her tailor shop, hands on her hips.

He grinned and walked over, raising a brow. "Aunty, what's up?"

She held out something—an intricately designed white robe with silver embroidery that shimmered like frost.

Jack whistled. "Fancy. This for me?"

Auntie Vivi nodded firmly. "This is your Halloween costume."

Jack laughed. "Aunty, I don't think I need a costume. I'm already fabulous enough."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't talk nonsense. Even your clones have costumes."

Jack glanced around and did a double take. Sure enough, his clones had all dressed up. One was a cowboy, another a vampire, one even wore a cheap Tony Stark mask and carried a fake arc reactor.

Jack sighed. "You guys are enjoying this a little too much."

The clone in the Iron Man costume crossed his arms. "Listen, I think I make a very convincing billionaire playboy philanthropist, thank you very much."

Auntie Vivi grabbed Jack's sleeve and pulled him toward her shop. "Now, come on. You need to get dressed."

Jack groaned. "Fine, fine. But this is just a slightly fancier version of what I always wear."

"Not yet." Auntie Vivi smirked.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Aunty... why do I feel like I'm about to be taken hostage?"

The moment he sat down, another clone appeared with a devious grin and a small container of temporary hair dye.

Jack frowned. "What are you doing?"

Auntie Vivi smirked. "Just sit tight."

Jack gulped. For the first time in a long time... he actually felt nervous.

…

In the pristine, sterile halls of Adams General Hospital, the air was thick with tension. It wasn't just another hospital—it was one of Wilson Fisk's own holdings, managed by one of his trusted commanders, Dr. Michael Adams. And right now, Fisk was not in a pleasant mood.

His massive frame barely fit through the doorway as he stepped into the dimly lit private room. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor filled the space. There, lying motionless on the hospital bed, was Bullseye—his once-deadly hands now reduced to nothing but an index finger and a thumb.

Fisk stood at the bedside, his jaw clenched. This was his most efficient assassin. His most precise weapon. And now... he was reduced to a broken husk.

Dr. Michael Adams, the hospital director and another of Fisk's six commanders, stood beside him, adjusting his glasses with an uneasy expression.

Fisk didn't even look at him when he spoke. "How is he holding up?"

Michael glanced at the clipboard in his hands, hesitating for a moment before answering. "It's a miracle he even managed to land that helicopter last night. But as soon as he received emergency treatment, he fell into a coma."

Fisk finally turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. "When will he wake up?"

Michael exhaled sharply. "We don't know yet. The lab results aren't back yet, and even if he does regain consciousness, the damage—"

He didn't get to finish. Fisk lunged forward, his massive hand wrapping around Michael's throat and slamming him against the wall with bone-crushing force.

The clipboard clattered to the ground. Michael gasped, his feet barely touching the floor as Fisk's grip tightened.

"Just answer my question," Fisk growled. His voice was dangerously low, like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Michael choked out, struggling against the impossible strength holding him in place. "We—don't—know—yet!"

For a moment, Fisk simply held him there, the pressure increasing ever so slightly. Then, abruptly, he released him.

Michael crumpled to the floor, coughing and rubbing his bruised throat.

Fisk adjusted his cufflinks, looking down at him with cold indifference. "Focus on treating him. Make sure he wakes up."

Michael looked up at him, incredulous. "If you want to kill him, why do you need him awake first?" he muttered under his breath.

Fisk paused at the doorway, glancing back at him with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Because I want him to understand why he failed me."

Then, without another word, he stepped out of the room, leaving Michael Adams coughing and shaking on the floor.

**A/N**

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