The air felt cold, and to make matters worse, the night had only begun. Spector has given Marlene his coat, trying to do everything he could to keep her warm.

As he started to black out, the world started to change around him. First he was out in the cold, then he was moving, then he was in some temple, looking at a statue, a voice in his head.

“You shall do.” The voice said. “Do we have a deal, Mr. Spector?”

——————————————

“Mr. Spector?” His therapist asked again. “Or, am I talking to Doug Perlin?” He asked.

Spector blinked and looked at him. Right, Perlin. The name of his “other personality”. It’s so much easier to act like you only worry about one personality, instead of four. Besides, Spector didn’t plan to come back to this couch soon. He wouldn’t need too.

“No, it’s Spector. I’m here. Mr. Perlin has been quiet for some time now.” He said. “I’m sorry, just going down memory lane.” He said, fixing his collar. “I’m sorry for cutting this session short, but I need to take off.” He said, standing up.

“Oh, and why is that?” His therapist asked.

“I am off to court.” Spector said as he walked towards the door. “I’ve been following that case about the child. I’m going to the court house.” He said.

“Very well. Same time next week then?” The therapist asked.

Spector nodded as he opened the door, walking out.

——————————————

A boy was sitting at a diner, watching tv as he waited for some food. His mother had said something to him, then grabbed a plate, taking it to a customer. The boy watched the tv, some report about that “Spider-Man” guy saving some kids at the Washington Monument.

He looked over at a cop who was reading the paper, and the ball on his belt, which was on the chair next to him. The cop got up and went to get some fresh coffee, and the boy walked over to the belt. He grabbed the ball, there was a flash, and that is where the video ends.

“As you can see. A.I.M. is not to be blamed here. What had happened was tragic, but you cannot blame the company because of a mistake that a cop and a child had. The cop should not have left his gear there, and the boy should not have messed with gear that does not belong to him.” A lawyer said.

“This is clearly an accident, and it should be used as an example for parents to take time to talk with their children. If that waitress had simply kept an eye on her son, then we wouldn’t be in this court room today, and that boy and his mother would still be alive. The defense rest.” The lawyer said, walking over and sitting down.

Spector has been taking notes, especially about the lawyer. Mr. Knight would have to pay this man a visit later on tonight. Get some information about the weapon buyers and sellers.

The courtroom was quiet. All eyes were on the lawyer speaking. Matt sat there listening intently to the opposing lawyer's closing arguments. He could hear how calm the guys heart rate was. Matt hated listening to guys like this. He was so arrogant in his delivery. Foggy shifted uncomfortably in the chair beside him.

"I don't like this, Matt" Foggy whispered to him "It feels to perfect."

"Don't worry, we've got this." Matt whispered back.

"I wish I had your confidence, man"

"Well when you're this good looking, you have confidence to spare." Matt replied with a slight smirk.

"You're blind how do you know you're so good looking?"

"Never been turned down before." He listened to the the final moments of the opposing counsels argument. The jury sat there listening intently, they seemed unfazed by the smooth talker, but he wouldn't be able to be sure until he got up to speak. "Looks like I'm up." he whispered to Foggy as the other lawyer took his seat. He reached forward to grab his cane and patted Foggy on the shoulder. He tapped his way to the center of the floor. He tapped the ground real quick and used his sonar ability to face the jury, slowly. He smiled to them.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, a this has been a rough trial. A child is dead. It is rough for us to see the details surrounding this case. It's difficult for the parents of this child to have to sit here and relive this traumatic event over and over. This case is hard on the people of the city. We all have questions that we want answered, and here you have this company, A.I.M wanting us to shift the blame to this officer of the law. Now that could be the easy way out, but how long before they are blaming the parents of this child for the actions that lead to this terrible accident." He paused to take a breath. The jurors were stock still and he couldn't get a real reading on any of them. "As I said, we have questions. This company is making weapons strong enough to capture gods, and giant green men. Why then is it so carelessly placed in a police officer's standard equipment? Wouldn't weapons as powerful as this be better suited to be handled by a specialized task force?" There was a murmur from the crowd in the courtroom, and the judge called for quiet in the courtroom. "Where is the safety protocol? Why can a child operate this dangerous piece of equipment? Ladies and Gentlemen, we can end this the easy way. We can ruin a this officer's life. This man who risked his life during the battle of New York to get civilians to safety. Or...we could use this as a moment to really dig deep and look at the true fault, and that is the company itself. We need to hold them accountable so that incidents like this don't happen again. We cant give these grieving parents their child back, but we can sure as hell make sure this company will work to make sure no other parent has to lose a child. Thank you."

Matt turned on his heels, and returned to his seat. As he sat down he whispered to Foggy, "And now we wait."

The Wolverine or James Howlett or Logan as he chose to go by nowadays was on a plane to New York from Tel Aviv. He found most of what he was looking for. He realized to finally get what he needed he had to return home or what was left of it and avoid his former employers while doing it. The child behind him was an obnoxious brat who needed to get his ass spanked something fierce but the useless mother was to busy sleeping off the alcohol she consumed earlier in the flight. To stop the kicking he got up squated beside the boy. “Do you want to see something cool?” The kid nodded enthusiastically. Logan popped out his claws just inches from the boy’s face and retracted them just as quickly. The boy turned a pale white and stopped his obnoxious behavior the rest of the flight.

After about a span of an hour and a half on the train, the man had made it back to Chinatown. He was walking back home from work across town in a law firm. It had been months since he left the British Intelligence, whom had offered him protection and housing originally in Britain. Yet, he declined it for himself, but instead asked for such services to be given to his mother as a request.

His home now was a decent sized apartment with prices even he could raise a brow at. Though, he knew this to be a result of people moving there from everywhere else in the world; the homeowners trying to extend their wages. Well, it was too bad for them because they weren't getting any lump-some of his, that was staying put away until needed. Instead, he lived in one of the cheaper apartments, toward the bottom of the building. The man had gotten a job as a simple custodian in the prestigious city of New York.

The work was medial, but it provided a decent cover and reinforced a feeling of humility. However, as simple as it may have seemed, Shang-Chi knew that it wasn't smart to take any sort of chances. No..His father's ninjas, he learned, were rather keen on revenge. Though, while he could handle them, more often than not, he was aware of the fact that if he wasn't careful, that he could endanger others. Thus, he needed to soon find yet another job, though, he wasn't sure of one that would necessarily meet his circumstances. He'd have to give this more contemplation; perhaps a Window Washer..?

Then there was something else that he noticed. It seemed to him that there were many people here who decided to commit to doing things that were unjust without thinking of consequences. Theives. Murderers. Warriors of the night. There were beings of strange, supernatural abilities, some used them for good, and others did not grant such a courtesy. The police, whom were tasked with the job of maintaining order, couldn't always do such a thing.

Shang needed something else to focus on other than his father's death and the nature of his conscience wouldn't allow for such injustice to the common people. So, he intervened when necessary, but declared no glory for himself, often covering his face or disguising himself in some way.

Though this was during the daylight hours and such experiences were rarer...Thus, it did not claim his focus of everyday life. He had finally made it to the doors of the building, pulled out some keys and opened them, to pass through the main area in which people came in, the door locking behind him. He walked down a hallway and turned the corner.

"Hey! Mr. Shen!" A raspy, female voice called to him from down the hall. Hearing the name of his cover, he turned, and smiled. There was an elderly lady, named Lin Fan, who was one of his neighbors that he often helped out from time to time. "Did ye catch the news?"

His expression shifted to a light concern. "No, I was busy across town.."

The cistern-shaped woman clawed a few fingers through her black and silver hair. "Well, a kid was killed because some policeman wasn't paying attention to his equipment...Though, that cop might've been crooked. He had some strange weapon on his belt that exploded just from the kid touching it." Mrs. Fan exclaimed, clearly ashamed with those officially called the "Protectors of the People" with such a reckless action.

Shang's head shook, the deaths of children being the worst of news..."It is a shame." He noted to his neighbor whom had begun walking down the hall.

"They need to get some kind of a grip on this early, or I'm banning officers of the law from my restaurant.." Her phrase was said with dry humor and heavy sarcasm.

The martial artist merely shrugged at that particular statement. Though, this sense of mental mourning at the lost child led to another thought. One that led him to enter his home and turn on his television. Flipping to the news, he watched to see if they added a bit more insight to this event.

They showed the security footage up to the point of the flash, but no further in respect of the child's family. Though, Shang watched the video closely. Policemen have no need to typically carry such explosives for a simple patrol among the common people. Especially if this weapon had no sort of safety feature.

Whose idea to even have a weapon of this sort on the street level? However, this was but a common question. Something seemed off. Who authorized this? Who would provide such a weapon..? The latter was immediately answered, when they switched to a court case, with which he heard the acronym A.I.M...He had encountered this organization previously in his work as a spy.

Though, he questioned, would it be too rash to perform more of an in-depth investigation for only one incident...?

After the closing arguments from both lawyers, the jurors went to discuss. They were in the back for a few hours, but when they came back, it was news that no one wanted to hear.

A hung jury.

The people didn’t want to hear that at all. The judge was talking about how they will reschedule, and try to gather more evidence for the case. Of course, it was hard to hear him over the sounds of the people yelling about the “bullshit case” and how “it was rigged”. Spector watched as A.I.M.s lawyers used a side door to leave. He then looked at the jurors, studying them. Some looked calm, while the others, they had a look of complete fear. Something had happened back there, and he was going to find out what.

Starting with the lawyer.

—————————————

The night was calm, clouds forming to show that a storm was coming. The news said it wouldn’t be anything major, just a little rain. Mr. Knight found his way to the apartment building that the lawyer where the lawyer was living.

He found a way to the back door, dressed in a completely white tux and a white mask, with a crescent moon on the forehead. He was able to sneak past anyone that maybe out in the hall, which was a grand total of two teens, making out. He was sure he could walk right past and they wouldn’t care.

He made a way to the upper floor, where the “important” people live. Thanks to a “friend”, he was able to find out which apartment belonged to the lawyer.

“Well now, Mr. Goodman, let’s see what you are hiding.” He whispered, getting ready to pick the lock. Once he put his hand on the door, it opened easily. Mr. Knight raised an eyebrow as pushed the door open all the way.

It was clear that a struggle took place. A window was opened, the couch was turned over, papers everywhere. Mr. Knight walked around the room, deep in thought.

“It’s clear something happened here.” Spector said, inside a mirror.

“Yes.” Mr. Knight nodded as he looked at the mirror, seeing Spector instead of his own reflection. “But there is a problem.”

“What?” Spector asked.

“If the window is open, why was the door unlocked. After everything that happened in court today, he would be insane to leave his door unlocked.” Mr. Knight said as walked to a back room. “No, this was all done on purpose. But why?” He asked, opening the bedroom door.

Goodman was there, a bat on the ground, blood splattered all over the room, the bat, and what used to be Goodman’s face.

“Well, isn’t that lovely?” Spector asked, now in Mr. Knight’s head.

“Another issue. If you are trying to sell a beating,” he walked over and turned Goodman’s head, “why would you shoot him in his head?” He asked, then picked up the bat, studying it.

“This is sloppy work.” Mr. Knight said as he study the area. “Probably the first time the “hitman” has killed anyone.”

“If A.I.M. hired the killer, why not get a pro?” Spector asked.

“Simple, the killer wouldn’t be able to sell them out.” Mr. Knight said and walked to the open window. “Just as I thought.” He said, reaching down, pulling up a pistol. “They just tossed the gun out, didn’t check for a fireplace or anything like that.” He said. “So, the killer comes in from either the door or window, finds Goodman in his room, and bang!” He says, aiming his finger at Goodman’s body. “After that, he panics, and beats his face in with a bat. Then, he tries to stage a struggle, for some reason, and leaves.” Mr. Knight said.

“So, where is the silencer?” Spector asked.

“Either they took it, or there wasn’t one. If he didn’t have one, then everyone heard the gunshot. But they didn’t bother to call it in?” He wondered.

“Big profile lawyer, most likely didn’t have many friends. So, no one bothered to call it in.” Spector figured. “Not their problem and such. Hell’s Kitchen is a dog eat dog kinda place.”

Mr. Knight nodded, and stood up. That’s when he heard the closet door and someone bolted, running for the window. Mr. Knight wasted no time chasing after him.

The “chase” didn’t last long, just from one building to the next. Once they jumped from the fire escape, and landed on the roof to the neighboring building, Mr. Knight pulled out a crescent moon shaped disk and threw it, hitting the running man’s ankle. The man fell, and Mr. Knight picked him up, tossed him into a wall, and hit him a couple of times. “What were you doing there! How hired you?” He yelled, hitting him again.

“Help!” The man screamed. “Please help!”

Mr. Knight hit him again. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. A man, hiding in the closet, wearing a mask, a ammo clip on his belt. The assassin himself. Mr. Knight ripped the mask off, looking at the face of the young man, before hitting him again.

“Help!” The man screamed again. “Please! Someone come help me!”

“Shut up!” Mr. Knight said. “I know how to break every bone in your body in just the right way to cause pain and keep you awake. So start talking.”

Logan's plane touched down at JFK International. He deplaned and took a cab to the site of the biggest fight between the Avengers and the aliens. It didn't look like much of a battlefield now but the same could be said for all battlefields. From his experience the only lasting damage of a battle was not the emotional damage or physical damage it was the death, the future was forever changed by each death. Lives that were to born never will the people they would have loved and created now will love others and create others.

He had a day before his connecting flight. He walked the city for a while, his walk led him to a bad neighborhood a neighborhood he could tell had fallen victim to scum, dealers, bangers. It made his blood boil. A group of bangers confronted him. He refused their demands of giving them everything he had. Even if he did what little he had he doubted it would be enough to satisfy them. He started the fight by grabbing the pistol and wrenching it from his hands. He ejected the mag and removed the bullet from the chamber. He proceeded to use it as a hammer. He of course was shot several times but it barely slowed him down. By the end of the fight his clothes were covered in his and their blood but they remained alive probably had brain damage from the repeated blows to their head or they ran off like cowards.

Some residents came out cheering his actions others yelled at him for making things worse. He decided closure with his past could wait, these people needed him more. One of those whooping and hollering invited him inside to get cleaned up.