Chapter 153: Return to Prison and Uprooting

Dax lifted his head, his eyes simmering with a cold, dark fury. "Get out of my way."

His gaze fell on the man in red, on the baton that blocked his blade from its final, fatal plunge into Wilson Fisk.

Matt's escrima stick held firm against the razor-sharp steel. "No," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the damp sewer. "He goes to the police. The law will see him punished."

"The law?" Dax's voice was a low, dangerous sneer. "Did you not just see him walk out of a courthouse, declared innocent? Did you not see him make a mockery of justice in front of the entire world?" He pushed against the baton, the metal groaning under the pressure. "Move. Or you'll be next."

"Don't do this, Night Ghost!" Matt pleaded, his voice tight with urgency. "Blind vengeance only breeds more chaos!"

"Chaos is not my concern." Dax stared hard at the masked man before him. "He is my guide. Even in this fog, He shows me the path."

Matt knew exactly who 'He' was, and the realization made the situation infinitely more complicated. "We have laws! The people who helped him are a corrupt minority!"

"Can you guarantee that?" Dax countered. "Even the FBI is crawling with his puppets!"

One wanted legal punishment; the other, summary execution. As the two heroes stood locked in a tense stalemate over Fisk's unconscious form, footsteps splashed towards them. It was FBI Agent Ray Nadeem.

His eyes widened as he took in the scene. He recognized Daredevil, the vigilante he'd met at the precinct while dealing with a minor traffic violation. And the other man… Night Ghost, the shadowy figure who had inexplicably saved his life before. Now, seeing them together, Ray's professional world tilted on its axis. He knew Daredevil's true identity. How was he supposed to reconcile the man of the law with the man behind the mask?

Pushing his personal turmoil aside, Ray stepped forward, his voice firm and professional. "I will guarantee it. I will guarantee that Wilson Fisk receives the punishment he deserves."

As an agent with a fierce sense of justice, Ray had been played for a fool just like everyone else. The anger from that betrayal fueled his resolve. He wanted Fisk behind bars for good.

"The evidence from that screen is more than enough to put him away for life," Ray continued, his words directed at Night Ghost. "And I give you my word—every single one of those corrupt FBI agents will answer for what they've done. I don't know how to make you believe me, but I will see this through. There are still good people in this world. My colleague, Dax, he'll work with me to clean house."

He had no idea he was speaking to Dax himself. But Ray's sincerity was palpable. He believed that bringing Fisk in was the key—the definitive action that would earn him the authority he needed to climb the ladder and enact real change.

Looking into Ray's earnest eyes, Dax finally relented. With a sharp metallic sound, he sheathed his blade.

A collective sigh of relief came from Matt and Ray. With the public scandal raging, the FBI desperately needed to secure Fisk to salvage its reputation. They moved to haul the large man to his feet.

Just as they did, Fisk's eyes snapped open. He had been feigning unconsciousness.

With a guttural roar, he thrashed wildly, breaking their grip and scrambling away.

"Move!" Dax roared.

In a single, fluid motion, he drew the throwing knives from his tac-vest. Power surged from the ground up, coiling through his legs and into his core. His entire torso twisted like a high-tension spring wound to its breaking point. Then, in an explosive release that was faster than the eye could follow, his hands blurred.

A series of sharp cracks, like miniature sonic booms, ripped through the sewer's quiet.

Fisk, who had almost reached a ladder, screamed as explosions of pain erupted all over his body. The throwing knives sank to their hilts, pinning his bulky form against the curved tunnel wall like a grotesque specimen. His arms and legs were impaled, rendering him completely immobile.

Having exhausted his arsenal, Dax exhaled a sharp plume of white mist into the cold, damp air.

Ray's jaw hung open. He had never seen anything like it. To throw a blade with enough force to break the sound barrier… the sheer strength required was unimaginable. Matt, too, was stunned, the gap in power between him and Night Ghost now starkly clear. He was a man who pushed his body to the absolute peak of human potential, but Dax was something more. Even so, Matt felt no regret for refusing the serum that created such power. He simply clenched his fists, his resolve to become stronger hardening into diamond.

Pinned and bleeding, Fisk roared like a cornered beast. A strange, orange-red glow began to emanate from his skin, the intense heat causing the metal of the embedded knives to shimmer and turn cherry-red. He was trying to break free again.

Ray's expression hardened, his hand instinctively going to his firearm. For a moment, he considered ending it right there. But a living Fisk—a Fisk who could talk—was infinitely more valuable than a dead one.

As they hesitated, a new sound cut through the tense silence. A faint, buzzing vibration.

"Bzzzt… Bzzzt…"

The three men looked at each other. "Not me," Ray said, checking his phone.

Matt shook his head. Dax remained motionless.

Their eyes all fell on the struggling Kingpin. Matt's enhanced hearing pinpointed the source: a pocket in Fisk's suit. He cautiously approached the pinned man and retrieved a cell phone.

"Vanessa!" Fisk's struggles ceased instantly. The name was a desperate plea. His eyes, wild moments before, were now wide with panic. "Please… let me answer."

The raw desperation on the face of the monster gave Matt pause. He silently nodded, answered the call, and held the phone to Fisk's ear.

A woman's voice, clear and concerned, drifted from the phone's speaker. "Where are you, Wilson?"

At the sound of her voice, the monstrous rage on Fisk's face melted away, replaced by a startling tenderness. "I'm fine, Vanessa," he managed to say, his voice strained but soft.

"I'm at the airport," she said, her own voice unable to hide her excitement. "I'm coming to see you."

Panic flashed across the face of the man who hadn't flinched while facing down two of the city's most feared vigilantes. "No! Not now."

"Why?" Vanessa's voice was still calm, but a note of confusion entered it. "Tell me, Wilson."

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the dripping of water.

"I'm sorry, Vanessa," Fisk finally whispered, his tone gentle. "Will you wait for me?"

"I will."

Her reply was as solemn and sacred as a wedding vow. In that single moment, all the fight, all the rage, all the will to burn the world down around him, evaporated from Wilson Fisk.

"I will wait for you," Vanessa repeated, her voice no longer light but thick with a promise that would last a lifetime. "Don't you dare lie to me, Wilson."

The call ended.

Fisk let his head slump forward. The orange glow faded from his skin.

"Arrest me, Agent Nadeem," he said, his voice hollow.

Ray glanced at Matt, then at Dax, before stepping forward. As the manhole cover above them grated open, flashing red and blue lights painted the sewer walls. Fisk looked up, accepting his fate.

He was pulled to his feet, the throwing knives still protruding from his flesh. As he was led past Matt, he paused and spoke in a low voice. "Thank you… for the call."

Then, turning his head slightly towards the shadows where Dax stood, he added, "And tell him… tell your master… this game isn't over. I will be back."

Fisk was escorted away. Reporters swarmed the scene, their camera flashes creating a blinding, percussive storm of light. Ray watched some officers start towards the open sewer, but he held up a hand to stop them. He walked back to the manhole, closed the heavy iron lid, and patted it once.

"Thank you," he murmured to the darkness below.

He needed to re-evaluate everything he thought he knew about these masked vigilantes. Their existence was a direct challenge to the judicial system, a sign of its failures. If more people decided to take the law into their own hands, the city's delicate order would crumble into chaos. But tonight… tonight, maybe they weren't the problem. Maybe they were a symptom of a sickness he now had a chance to cure.

The scandal of Wilson Fisk—freed and re-imprisoned on the same day—erupted across the nation, exposing a deep rot within the justice system. The news of bribed judges, threatened jurors, and a compromised FBI task force sent shockwaves all the way to Washington. The FBI Director was apoplectic. Ray's own supervisor had been on Fisk's payroll.

In a secure office, the Director personally summoned the only two agents from the task force who had emerged clean: Ray Nadeem and Dax.

"This was submitted anonymously," the Director said, his face grim as he slid a thick file across his desk. "We've been made into fools. Tools in someone else's game." He looked at Ray. "You did well, Nadeem. Very well. If you hadn't brought Fisk in, the Bureau's reputation in this city would be in ashes." He sighed, the weight of the situation clear on his face. "The entire surveillance team was bribed. Except for you two. I was planning on promoting you after this settled down, but we can't wait."

With the sudden vacuum of leadership, the supervisor position was now Ray's. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

Suppressing his excitement, Ray asked, "Sir, do we know who was behind the video on the courthouse screens?"

"We're looking into it," the Director mused. "They were clever. Hacked the feed remotely. The Cyber Division traced the IP to an internet cafe, but the security footage was wiped. Whoever did this was a ghost." He gestured to the file. "We suspect the same person delivered this. It was found in the records room this morning."

Dax fought to keep a smirk from his lips. He knew exactly how it got there. He'd swiped his own keycard and placed it there himself.

Ray opened the file. His eyes widened in shock. "This is… all of it."

"Fisk's entire financial network," the Director confirmed. "His accountant, Leland Owlsley, has vanished. He got on a plane yesterday, and we have no idea where he is. This file is our only key."

With this intelligence, they could systematically dismantle everything Fisk had ever built. Ray saw the names of city councilmen, judges, and corporate leaders. The Director saw the look on his face and made him a promise: handle this, uproot Fisk's entire network, and the position of Branch Director would be his.

Ray left the office in a daze. Dax was promoted as well, bumped up to team leader by default. It was a promotion he hadn't sought, but it would provide useful cover. His days and nights would now be a whirlwind of official duty and shadowy vengeance—a life he found grimly fulfilling.

Miles away, John reviewed the latest report from Natasha. Fisk had set a new, infamous record. And John understood his parting words. The game was far from over.

But for now, the primary threats were neutralized. Fisk, Killian, Desmond… the men who had wronged his family were falling, one by one. There was, however, one piece of his life he still needed to recover.

He hadn't forgotten his sister.

Natasha's intel was concise. A name. A final destination.

John closed the file. His own path was now clear.

He was heading to a small, unassuming town in New Jersey.

Westview.

(End of Chapter)

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