Just as Rex stood there, staring at the chaos he had unleashed, David's voice suddenly exploded in his ear.
"Hey! Don't just stand there! This is your karma—no, your problem is coming fast. Daredevil's heading straight for you!"
Rex's heart skipped.
Of course he was.
His hand instinctively brushed against the Demon Face mask he had brought along. Now it felt almost useless. At this point, even if he tried to play innocent, there was no way he could just walk away unnoticed.
A dark red figure vaulted across the rooftops, moving with terrifying speed. Within seconds, Daredevil landed nearby, his posture tense, his head snapping toward Rex the moment he arrived.
Even without sight, he had already locked on.
"You bastard," Daredevil said coldly. "Was this you? Six explosions. Dozens dead."
Rex's mind raced instantly.
He couldn't admit it. No matter what.
If he did, there was no coming back from that.
"Not me," he replied immediately, his tone firm. "Don't throw accusations around. I just got here."
He pointed toward the distance without hesitation. "I saw someone running toward the river. Go after them."
Daredevil let out a sharp breath, his voice laced with disbelief. "You think I'm stupid? Who else could pull off six coordinated explosions at once?"
Rex shrugged, forcing a calm expression. "There are plenty of capable people out there. Why does everything have to be me?"
Daredevil didn't bother responding.
He moved.
The strike came fast and direct, aimed to end the conversation entirely. "I'm done talking," he said. "You're going to prison tonight."
Rex dodged back, refusing to engage further. Fighting Daredevil now was pointless. There were bigger problems.
Much bigger.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement among the residents who had been trying to put out the fire earlier.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
One man suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter, doubling over as if the world itself had become a joke. Another began tearing at his clothes, his expression wild and unhinged. A third started singing loudly, completely out of place in the chaos.
Daredevil froze mid-step, his head snapping toward them. "What the hell…?"
Then his tone shifted sharply. "You poisoned them?"
Rex rolled his eyes, irritation cutting through the tension. "You call yourself a hero, and you can't even smell the air?"
He gestured around them. "That's burning drugs. If we keep fighting, we'll end up worse than they are."
Daredevil paused, clearly processing that. Slowly, he lifted part of his mask, exposing his nose and mouth.
Then he inhaled.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Rex's expression grew darker with each breath he took. "You… you really going to keep doing that?" he muttered.
Daredevil lowered his head slightly, his voice turning grim. "Marijuana. Heroin. Amphetamines. A whole mix of it."
He turned his face toward the flames. "This isn't just a fire. This is a drug den going up."
Rex gave a helpless shrug. "Whoever did it probably wanted to destroy the drugs. Just picked the worst possible method."
He clicked his tongue. "Can't blame them too much. Good intentions, bad execution."
Daredevil shot him a sharp look. "Do you realize what this means?"
His voice tightened with urgency. "People could overdose just breathing this in. Some will lose control. Others could start riots. This—"
"I know," Rex cut in, more serious now. "That's why standing here arguing is pointless."
He pointed into the distance. "There are five more sites. Let's split up."
Daredevil hesitated, clearly torn between suspicion and necessity. Finally, he clenched his jaw.
"Next time," he said coldly, "I won't let you walk away."
With that, he launched himself back into the night, disappearing toward the next fire.
Rex watched him go, exhaling slowly.
"That's why we'll never get along," he muttered.
Still, he didn't consider Daredevil an enemy.
Not yet.
He tapped his earpiece. "David. Out of the remaining sites, which one needs me the most?"
…
Inside New York Police Headquarters, tension had reached a breaking point.
Chief George Stacy stood behind his desk, his face dark with anger as reports came flooding in.
Minutes earlier, he had received the video.
Two officers, confessing everything.
Corruption. Bribes. Drug trafficking.
It was bad enough.
But what truly enraged him was the method.
Lynching.
Two NYPD officers, executed like criminals.
Before he could even mobilize a rescue, the explosions hit.
Six sites.
Simultaneously.
"This is terrorism," he growled, slamming his hand on the desk. "Find whoever did this. I don't care how—bring them to me!"
A knock interrupted him.
An officer rushed in, barely catching his breath. "Chief, multiple newspapers—including the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the Los Angeles Times—are preparing to run the video and bombing story on their front pages tomorrow."
Stacy's expression turned even darker.
This wasn't just a crisis anymore.
It was a career-ending disaster.
"Notify everyone," he said through clenched teeth. "From this moment on, this is the number one case in New York. Everything else takes a back seat."
He leaned forward, voice cold and sharp. "Twenty-four hours. I want results."
The room fell silent.
Everyone knew the order broke procedure.
No one dared argue.
Another knock came almost immediately.
"Chief! Witnesses report seeing Demon Face fighting Daredevil at one of the explosion sites."
Stacy froze for a split second.
Then it clicked.
Six deliveries. Six explosions.
Two corrupt officers moving drugs.
And now Demon Face at the scene.
"Of course it was him," Stacy muttered.
His fist slammed against the table. "Deploy SWAT. Mobilize every available unit. I want that man hunted down block by block."
One officer hesitated. "But sir… we don't have concrete evidence—"
"Who else could it be?" Stacy snapped. "Daredevil may be reckless, but he wouldn't do something like this."
His eyes burned with determination. "Prepare my car. I'm going personally."
His voice dropped, filled with intent.
"I'll be the one to bring him in."
…
The rooftop restaurant was no longer elegant.
It was wreckage.
After hearing the full report—six distribution sites destroyed, losses exceeding one hundred million dollars—Wilson Fisk lost control.
Furniture lay shattered across the floor. Glass cracked under the force of his rage.
He stood before the massive window, chest rising and falling heavily, his tie torn loose, his suit disheveled.
Behind him, Wesley had already returned after escorting Vanessa.
Looking out over the burning city, Fisk's voice came low and dangerous.
"Is the hunting team deployed?"
Wesley nodded quickly. "They've already begun. As you ordered… they won't leave survivors."
Fisk's jaw tightened.
"They'd better not fail."
Wesley swallowed hard. He knew exactly what that meant.
Fisk stepped forward and slammed his fist into the reinforced glass.
Cracks spread instantly across its surface.
"I want him dead," Fisk said, his voice trembling with restrained fury. "I should be the one to do it myself."
…
Phil Coulson was jolted awake by the sharp ringing of his phone.
He blinked, disoriented for a split second before grabbing it.
The moment he answered, a furious voice blasted through the line.
"Coulson! Where the hell are you? The entire Hell's Kitchen is on fire, and you're still in bed?"
It was Nick Fury.
Coulson immediately got up and pulled back the curtains.
The sight outside hit him instantly.
Flames.
Smoke.
Chaos.
For a brief second, his mind stalled on something completely irrelevant.
The safehouse windows had excellent soundproofing.
Then training kicked in.
He checked his watch. "Director, my assignment ended yesterday. It's just past midnight now. I was scheduled to depart for Brazil—"
Silence.
Then—
"Get your ass moving!" Fury barked. "Hawkeye's already outside. Your new mission just changed."
Coulson straightened immediately. "Understood, sir. What's the target?"
Fury's voice came cold and precise.
"The man who just poisoned half of Manhattan."
....
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