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***

3 months later

Sellout girls on every corner, tits on goddamn neon posters that burn out your retinas. A couple of corrupt cops, to the cackling of a pimp, enter the underground brothel where little Nixie Pierce is now, a young girl who has become a hostage to her father's ambitions.

Tonight she is to be sold like cattle. To the most vicious and violent bastard in New York. Cops, politicians, businessmen. All the scum of the city gathered in one place, thinking they can have fun controlling the little girl's fate and watching her cry and suffer. None of them would intervene on their own, only laugh lustfully, wishing the fourteen-year-old good luck while she was in the clutches of a sadistic maniac.

Her father, Ronald Pierce wasn't much different. The same dumb bastard who wanted to get his hands on as much as he could by going over the heads of the town's citizens. He played the game and failed. Now his trashy body hangs at the bottom of the river, with a bag of cement tied to his feet, and little Nixie will be forced to serve as a toy and a reminder to everyone. A simple message for all the uppity people in town that are involved in the eternal fun for supremacy.

When Matt Murdoch told me this story, I was about to go off like a raging bull, maiming and beating up anyone I found in that lousy brothel. 

But Daredevil was a good teacher, the kind of teacher who could easily set you straight if the lust for action got the better of you.

And now here we are, waiting on the roof of a neighbouring building, reading each of the new arrivals. And the more I saw, the more desperate the situation became. Too many, too dangerous and too reckless, intoxicated with power, they would stop at nothing to keep the show going.

-Nervous?

-Yes,‖ there was no point in hiding it, Daredevil saw right through me, reading my reactions to each new visitor, -can we handle it? There's a lot of them out there.

-Of course," Matt clenched his fist, crunching the fresh leather of his glove, hiding all emotion as he transformed back into a "machine," "who else is going to save little Nixie?

-Yeah... That's right.

It was my first serious case since the battle with Hugh's gang and I was nervous, because the level had risen sharply and there wouldn't be a crowd of stoned morons. There were cops and mafia here, which meant everyone probably had a gun.

-Just remember your objective and I'll do the rest.

-I got it.

Jagged phrases, jerky movements. No matter how hard I tried to immerse myself in my inner noir, a fictional image full of self-confidence, fear was holding me back, preventing me from concentrating. But the time was getting close to the start of the auction, which meant it was worth starting.

-You can do it, if you couldn't, I wouldn't have brought you along.

With the last word, Murdoch jumped off the roof, firing his harpoon into the auction building. Using inertia and his own data, he gained the speed he needed on his first attempt, jumping onto the roof of the building we needed. 

A deep breath with dry lips. With excitement a real desert unfolded in my mouth and I even seriously considered drinking a couple of shots of bourbon from my father's locker. But all that would come later, for now it was time for action.

The cat hook built into the telescopic baton shot out at the target, clinging to the edge of the building. A couple of extra jerks to check just in case, and I jump off the roof following my mentor and partner in crime, only dropping straight down to the ground floor.

The streets are silent, and it's not until I'm close to the building that I hear the hum of merriment and celebration coming from the basement. If I didn't know what was going on here, I would have thought it was an underground casino or a bar for their own kind, for the visitors were very reckless and fearless, and had no fear of repercussions if the police came to their door.

-I'll make you start to be afraid, I'll force the laughter back down your throats....

Coming out of the alley, directly to a couple of guards, lazily smoking in the side, without greetings or fake idle questions, I knocked out the first one with a blow of a stick, so that a moment later at full speed I flew with all my body into the second one.

Our clash was heard all along the street, but no one dared to look out of the windows, justly afraid of the auctioneers.

Only a few seconds of struggle - and here in my hands rested a helpless body, peacefully sniffing in two holes. You miserable piece of shit, I bet all you can do is steal parentless children from empty houses.

Reflexively adjusting my cloak, I cautiously descend the stairs, covering my mask with my hat. A lonely, dark staircase leading down into the void, where the noise and rumble of music comes from.

The scent of expensive cigarettes and booze wafts up through the small cracks, along with the spicy aroma of foreign perfume that tickles my nostrils, conjuring up fantasies with the women of the local establishments, but not me.

Beautiful wooden doors, most likely made from a single piece, with carvings and decorations that would be the envy of any collector. Well, of course, this is where the important people gather. With only a couple of people above their heads, the rest of us have to bow down to earn their favour.

A measured clack of knuckles and the casement opens before me, revealing the surprised face of the doorman. A middle-aged man with an elegant moustache. A mask of politeness and understanding has long been frozen on his face. Someone like him would never ask dumb questions, only politely extend his hand to you, asking you to increase his premium by a couple of notes with Franklin's image on them.

My hand shoots forward before he can even open his mouth. A firm grip squeezes his jaw, preventing the servant of hell from screaming. He's frightened, unaccustomed to this kind of treatment, having always considered himself part of the elite, thinking that being a member of such a rabble would protect him from everything.

Red satin carpets greet his face with open arms. Closing the doors behind me, I sneak the man away for fear of meeting any chance witnesses. He crawls behind me on his hands and knees on the floor, trying to stop the humiliating advance into the nearest back room. He mooed and twitched, but another kick to the ribs knocked the doorman out of his spirit, forcing him to listen silently to my questions.

The guards, the guests, the servants, the singers, the dishes... All to find out what stage the event was at, little if anything had changed.

Our dialogue was quick and stilted, and as I asked questions, the doorman regained his confidence and boastful tone. His eyes were filled with disgust mixed with contempt.

-You're not going to get out of here alive, it's worth-

I didn't argue with him. With a painful yelp, the man crouched on the floor, his liver in his hands, tears spurting from his eyes.

-Where's the girl?

-What... ?

Sneezing and spitting, he could barely look up at me.

-Where's the girl, Nixie?

-So this is for her? She's in the staff room, getting ready to go out... ?

-Thank you.

The severed body was left lying in an inconspicuous back room full of buckets and mops. Hopefully, the guests will behave themselves tonight and they won't find the butchered gatekeeper anytime soon. We need to hurry. Matt's gonna make his move as soon as I find the kid, and until then, his hands are tied. I don't know what Daredevil's gonna do, but he's got his arsenal on him.

The servants' corridor goes deep into the building. A perfect opportunity not to run into any mobsters or corrupt politicians, but it was too long.

I had to run, and my gut told me I wasn't going to make it. Whether it was intuition or my usual self-belief, it was a drumbeat in my head, forcing me to speed up.

The music was getting quieter and now the voice of the host began to announce that the main event of the evening, for the sake of which they had all gathered, was about to take place. For a minute the word was given to the organiser of this circus. The man whose name they are afraid to say out loud. His deep bass echoed through the corridors, sending shivers through my heart. Wilson Fisk himself. He'd crushed his last enemy and was now completely destroying any memory of him, at the same time getting rid of a potential avenger in the future. This is how he shows his power. Passively threatening everyone, warning what will happen to anyone who dares to go against him.

I wasn't following neatly anymore, hastily kicking down doors or shoving random waiters and available girls. The commotion behind me was starting to build, a couple of menacing shouts already warning me to stop, but as luck would have it I couldn't. I had to find Nixie and by the law of the genre she would probably end up in the final room.

Bursting out the last door, only just managing to duck to the side before bullets pierced my shoulder instead of my head.

"Just like that?". 

A stray thought flashed before my eyes as I fell to the floor as if in slow motion, meeting my eyes with the terrified child. Her pupils dilated in fear and fading hope. There, in the depths of her eyes, I could see her slowly resigning herself to the inevitable, for the only protector who had come to her aid had fallen at the first serious obstacle....

"No! No, no, no. Come on! Get up! Move!". 

-Is he dead?

-I think so. Go check it out.

-Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah.

The open hook of the baton slams under the ambo's knee, forcing him to the ground. Tearing out a chunk of meat and trousers, I start hammering him with the stick, covering my body. Pain spreads through my body, it's hard to move.... The blood is draining from my shoulder, I can feel it. With a jolt, with every movement I make, it tends to leave my body. The image of a frightened, crying girl arises in my mind....

-Aah! 

Grabbing the big guy by the waist, I push him backwards, towards the armed accomplice. The sound of gunshots fills the room, and then screams begin to erupt everywhere. The shrill shrieks of women and the cursing of the auction administration, but the loudest of them all is the gunman.

-"DIE ALREADY!

He discharges the entire magazine into his colleague's body. The jolts from some of the shots reverberate in my chest and side, but I keep going.

My hat has fallen off my head, leaving me with only a mask dear to my heart. It's moments like this that decide whether you're worthy of wearing it or not.

No tactics, no tricks, no fighting skills. Adrenaline flooded my blood, turning me into a simple lump of anger and pain.

The blows of the telescopic baton rained down all over the enemy's body. With a crunch of cartilage and bone, he falls at my feet, whimpering and begging for mercy....

The door swings open behind me. The jerks in the lobby finally managed to catch up with me, which means it's about to get even hotter in here.

A cat hook shoots through the cupboard next to the doorway, knocking a huge sideboard full of crockery and shit right onto the first person who walks in.

Shards of expensive china mixed with coloured glass fly across the floor. 

I'm struggling to move, my strength draining by the second, but I have to get Nixie out of here before more freaks come in.

A couple of the surviving plates follow the cabinet, catching up with the second jerk waving a gun and yelling at his fallen mate. Idiots.

I picked up my hat and put it on my head, which brightened my eyes for a moment.

-Come on," I held out my palm without turning round, "we have to go.

A tiny hand grips my wrist with all the strength it can muster. She's trembling, scared, but even so, she's choosing to trust me, hoping to avoid the creatures' prepared fate.

-If I fall, you lie down next to me, keep your head down and stay down. Got it?

-Yeah.

-Great.

My arm's cramping, the adrenaline's wearing off, or maybe my body's getting used to it. Why can't I remember how it works? My head's all fuzzy and images start dancing in front of my eyes.

Gunfire erupts from the main hall. Machine gun fire mingles with the endless pistol shots. The rich guests are punching holes in the walls and ceiling, which means the devil of Hell's Kitchen is at work.

The baton pulls my hand to the ground. I barely have the strength to pick it up, but I can't throw it..... It's a gift after all.

-Beware!

Nixie's shout brings me back to reality. One of the adjoining doors leading to another corridor opens and a fat guy in a chef's outfit walks right out at us. He's got a couple of knives in his hands and a look of fear and anticipation on his face. I guess the jerk saw a chance to move up.

The baton easily finds its target, forcing the poor bloke to fall to his knees, clutching his non-metallic balls reverently.

-Come on, we must hurry...

Turns and corners. I've forgotten how I got here in the first place, and my brain's starting to malfunction, too much blood has been lost.

-It's him! He attacked me and beat me up! He's after the girl!

Doorman screaming. Fucking old man. Couldn't you just lie still? There's three hostiles, and two of them are reaching under their jackets to draw their guns. This is a shit situation, we're gonna have to get tough.

-Lay down.

Throwing Nixie's command, I lunge forward, firing my harpoon into the arm of the farthest man. With an ear-splitting crunch, the sharp edges of the hook pierce his hand, knocking out his gun and any desire to continue.

-Micky! You arsehole!

Pain shot through his left cheekbone, having to sacrifice his face to take the bastard out for sure.

Spinning in place, I wrapped the rope around me. The most unpleasant moment in the plan, but I managed to hit on the turn, right in the throat, knocking the second from the boyband.

-Your luck's running out.

The wall next to the last bandit, who was pointing a gun at me, cracked under the weight of Wilson Fisk. The huge, balloon-like man, growling and cursing furiously, simply crushed my opponent into a crisp, then lunged back into the passageway, shouting threats and promising the most gruesome punishments.

"Thanks, Matt." 

Time was too short. Soon the place would be jammed with guards, police, and other interested parties.

-Nixie?

-Yes, sir?

-Phew, let's go, it won't be long now.

***

-E vola vola si sa

Sempre più in alto si va.

E vola vola con me

Il mondo è matto perché!

-Jesus, Matt, turn it off, please.

-Don't you like music? It calms me down.

-I love it. But when you put on the local radio while you're picking at my body, it's like I'm undergoing a repair, not an operation.

-You're picky, though," Murdock grinned as he pulled another splinter out of my shoulder, "I should be glad the calibre is small...

-I just can't hold back all the emotion.

-You're too sarcastic, I shouldn't have listened to you and given you whisky-

Rolling around in his chair, the blind guy poked at the receiver, switching the station to romantic.

-Fucking hell, Matt! Don't leave tools in my hand, I'm not a chop or a cake with knives sticking out of me!

-Yeah, yeah," Murdoch waved his hand in front of me and went back to the business at hand, "you're a nice turkey.

-Oh, that's creepy. With your glasses, your blank stare and your Dr Mengele smile, I'll never let you operate on me again.

-It's a shame, actually. I could have just taken you to the hospital.

-Yeah, right. Come on, rich lawyer, pay my bills and then you can drive me.

Murmuring to himself about the firm's dire financial situation, Murdoch continued to pick at my shoulder. 

-You did good, Sean," Daredevil smiled sadly, "It could have ended much worse. I didn't expect Fisk to bring in so many guards. We were lucky...

-Me. I'm lucky.

-Yeah.

-I'm still too weak. Just one bullet almost sent me to the grave," I clenched my fist in my healthy hand and turned away, hiding the displeasure on my face. I had to find a way to get stronger," Murdock said, his fist clenched in his healthy hand.

-Don't waste your strength, Sean. For a simple man, you're a very good fighter.

-Я... Oh, you're probably right.

I almost blurted out that it's easy for Matt to say that. Good thing I kept my mouth shut, but it didn't make me feel any better.

-I'll talk to someone," Murdock was the first to break the silence again, and he pulled out the last shard, stacking it defiantly in a pile with the others, "who can help you. I hope so.

It was interesting to get the details, to ask Matt about the nuances and other minutiae, but even in my condition it was obvious that Murdock didn't want to continue the conversation.

-Thank you.

-You're gonna regret this. Now let's get to work on your fractures.

Grinning, Matt turned up the music, indicating that the conversation was over.

-And our next song! Roy Orbison, a song from the acclaimed film of my youth! "Melody Released"!

-Woo-hoo...

*** 

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