webboysurf

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

_{Crossover Special}

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^{Part 2: Running with the Devil}

"I'm giving you one chance to back off. These men are mine."

Matt Murdock gripped his remaining tonfa. His head was cocked to the side, focusing on the echoing noise and commotion. Two dead. More coming with guns. The man in front of him, he didn't know the voice. But he was fairly certain he knew who this could be. The slightest shift of metal components made it clear he had his weapons drawn on him. Matt slowly holstered the remaining tonfa on his hip, keeping his free hand raised.

"I saw your work at the Stardust." Matt's voice was steady and calm. The men down there didn't stand a chance if the Punisher focused back on them. Matt focused on Frank's every single twitch, body poised and ready to dive behind the nearest air-conditioning unit. In the meantime... this was just any other cross-examination. He just needed to throw Castle off balance. "Is this your idea of serving and protecting now, detective? Making orphans and widows?"

Frank scoffs. "Serving and protecting? I gave that up. These men deserve what's coming to them."

"That's not how justice works, Frank." Matt listened as the remaining Saints had made it to the base of the building. He was running out of time. "It's not up to a single person to decide who lives and dies."

"What, you going around beating them down is justice? You put them in the hospital, you put them in jail, then what? They get out, they're back on the street, they destroy more lives. I'm making sure they don't." Matt heard banging from the base of the building, then a thud as the Saints kicked the front door down. "You want to stop me? Better do it quick. We got four angry greaseballs coming our way."

Matt flexed his fists. "I give them a chance to change, Frank. A wakeup call, and a warning. The same thing I'm offering you. I'm giving you the chance to walk away before anyone else gets killed." He lowered his arms to his sides, then slipped his hands into his sleeves to grip the small throwing knives stored in them. "What'll it be, Castle?"

Frank sighed, almost masking the sound of his twin pistols brushing against their holsters. "Afraid I can't do that, mister devil. You're a good guy, so I won't put a round in you. You might wish I did by the end of this, though." Frank broke into a sprint, running right for Matt.

Matt Murdock dove out of the way of the charge, slotting the knives back into their sheathes as he rolled into a crouching position. He unslotted the tonfa from its holster, and jumped into the air off the AC unit to deliver an overhead strike towards the Punisher. The Punisher brought his arm up to block the strike, the tonfa coming down hard on his forearm and sending him stumbling back. Snarling like a rabid animal, he threw a wild haymaker at the Devil. Matt leaned back nearly 90 degrees, the fist nearly clipping his nose. He gripped the handle of the tonfa tighter, and quickly punched the pommel towards the Punisher's gut as he shot back up into the melee. "You hide behind a gun, Castle. Without one, you're nothing."

The tonfa collided with Castle's gut and he fell to a knee with a groan before collapsing onto the rooftop. "Maybe you're right," he said, rolling onto his side. "But I'm not the only one that does." As if on cue, the rooftop's door slammed open, the four remaining Saints pouring out of it and waving their guns around. Castle whipped out his pistols, his fingers tensing against the triggers as he took aim at one of the men.

Matt didn't have time to think. He didn't have time to deliberate on what to focus on. In that instance, facing down the barrel of four men and a psychopath, his body moved on instinct. Matt kicked at Frank's pistols, trying to veer the bullets away from their marks as his hands slipped into his sleeves. Matt turned his back to the thugs, producing two throwing knives as he gave Frank one last look. He called out, "He killed your friends." A simple message, but hopefully enough to goad the thugs into firing. The second Matt heard fingers on triggers, he dove out of the line of fire. He rolled behind cover, his focus primarily focused on Frank.

Matt heard a heartbeat, one that remained calm even as the bullets flew through the air and rained down on the A/C unit. One that was getting close... Very close. Matt felt a body bump into him and then a voice, "Good idea. Now we're both stuck up shit creek without a paddle. Think you can take these guys on with that little baton of yours?"

The Devil sighed as he slipped his hands back into his sleeves, producing two small throwing knives. "Not quite." He took a breath, waited for the hail of bullets to pause so the Saints could reload, and then quickly rolled from behind cover. He flicked his wrists forward, launching the knives into the upper thighs of two of the Saints. He wasted no time as he rushed forward towards the two who were quickly slotting in new magazines into their rifles. Matt swooped in to the closest Saint, grabbing the barrel of the rifle and using his momentum to wrench the gun forward slightly. The Saint resisted, trying to pull the rifle back to gain control. Matt smiled as he then dipped the barrel down slightly and then pushed upwards. The butt of the rifle slammed into the grunt's chin, knocking him stumbling backwards and letting go of the firearm to clutch his face. Matt tossed the rifle behind him, closing the distance with the second Saint. He was a little slower than he would have liked, managing to kick the rifle up into the air at the last moment before the Devil was shot in the air. The gunshot leveled near his head sent Matt reeling backwards, instinctively clutching at his ears. He couldn't sense anything except the lingering ringing.

He didn't hear so much as feel the vibrations of the bullets in the air that followed afterwards. He was still standing and wasn't feeling the sharp pains of bullets striking his body, so he had to assume the worst: Castle was taking them out. As the ringing slowly died down and Matt's faculties returned to him, he could sense that only one man was left standing, about fifteen feet away from him. The Saint wasn't facing the Devil but rather had his gun aimed at the Punisher, the two men both ready to fire at each other.

Matt grit his teeth, his body moving on instinct. His left hand clutched at the small, portable grappling hook fastened to his belt. The other hand unhooked the tonfa. He launched the tonfa at the remaining Saint, throwing it hard towards the man's temple. With the other hand, unfurled a sizable length of cord. He spun his body, swinging the grappling hook in a tight vertical circle to build momentum. By the time he faced Castle, he had launched the grappling hook towards Frank's leg. As it wrapped around and the metal barbs dug into his skin, Matt yanked on the cord to literally pull the Punisher's leg out from under him.

Frank fell to the floor with a shout, his head bouncing on the concrete. He growled lowly, half in pain and half in rage. "Gotta say, you're a tricky bastard, mister Devil." Another gunshot, then a *SNAP!* as the bullet flew through the grappling hook's wire. Frank rolled backwards, coming to a stop in a kneel as his hand fiddled with something on his belt. "But I got some tricks up my sleeve too." One arm came up to shield his face as the other arm threw out a small grenade that rolled to Matt's feet before exploding with a deafening blast.

By the time Matt was able to regain his senses, he was met with a flood of noise. Police sirens were drawing near. A fast pumping heartbeat was already trying to rush out the back entrance of the building... but that wasn't the one he was looking for. The Punisher was gone, without a trace. The lack of any other motion nearby confirmed what he feared to be true: the others were dead. Matt knelt down next to one of his tonfas, next to one of the corpses. He felt the man's face, closing the corpse's open eyes. He screamed out, slamming a fist into the roof. The sirens were getting louder and louder. He had to leave. Matt fetched his tonfas and booked it downstairs.

By the time the police arrived, the Devil was gone.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: Canis Dorms, P.R.C.U. Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.030: I Don't Think I Can Fight This

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_{Interaction(s): The Bros}

Previously: I Confess, I Messed Up

Rory slammed his laptop lid closed, rubbing his temples. He had specifically scheduled his classes so he wouldn't have to work on Fridays. Unfortunately, "my friend's keep nearly dying" wasn't a good enough excuse to delay essays more than a day and the last thing he needed was another reason for Jim and the faculty to be disappointed in him. He glanced about the room, sighing as he felt small whirlwinds circle his stomach. The room felt empty when he was the only one in it, in a way it never did before. He picked at the dirty clothes strewn around the hamper, tossing back in the accumulated laundry of two people. He lifted up the hamper, hoisting it out to the laundry machine.

While the clothes washed, Rory plopped onto the couch in the living room. His eyes darted towards Lorcán's door, that empty feeling weighing even heavier over him. Rory had never visited him in the hospital. He had went to visit Gil, but couldn't bring himself to walk in. From what the others said, odds were Gil would have just told him to fuck off if he had. It didn't make Rory feel like any less of a bad friend, though.

Rory felt his phone buzz on the couch next to him, and he picked it up while sprawled himself out. The smile formed on his lips before he even fully processed who it was from or what it was. A very cropped picture of a bit of green fabric, a sneak peek at what Haven was wearing to the dance. He reacted to the image with a heart, before locking his phone and tossing it on the ground next to him. The warmth he felt from her text barely quelled the rising currents in his chest. If anything, the storm raged harder.

Why was he able to step up for Haven, but not his best friends?

There was an easy answer to that.

Rory curled up on the couch, his skin feeling too tight and restricting on his body. Some deeper, animal part of him wanted to rip apart the flesh to let the emotions and spirit of him fly free. His breathing was shallow and quick, and he had to clench his hands into fists to maintain some grounded physical sensation.

He should have visited Gil, even if he was going to be an ass about it. He should have seen Lorcán before he was discharged, and made sure Aurora was ok. He should have closed and locked the window the night Haven was kidnapped. He should have pieced together that something was wrong with Katja sooner. He should have felt more sympathy for Amma. He should have tried to find Harper before the Trials scarred her. He should have checked in on Harper to make sure she was ok. He should have checked in on Banjo and Calliope. He should have been the one that was taken. He should have been the one who was attacked in the Trials. He was the one who should have been nearly killed. Why hadn't it killed him? Why did they want him? He was a bad friend. He was a bad teammate. He was a bad leader. He was nothing. He was nothing. _{He was nothing nothing nothing nothing}

Rory shook in a heap on the living room floor for what felt like hours. A soft buzzing from the phone a few feet from him roused him from the spiral. He clenched his hands into tight fists, digging his nails into his palms and counting down from ten to slowly bring him back to Earth. He wiped the tears from his eyes before reaching for his phone, checking the notification on his lock screen. He hated that his heart sank when he saw it wasn't from Haven.

I'm picking up booze on the way over. Little bit of everything.

We're letting loose tonight.

Gil

It took him a minute to process the message, before just closing his phone and setting it back down. He lifted himself up into a sitting position, back leaned against the couch. Gil knew that he didn't drink, and neither did Lorcán. But as Rory felt the colossal weight of his failures bear down on him, the purpose of his sobriety felt meaningless. Everyone knew he was an idiot, everyone knew he made bad decisions and said the wrong thing. At this point, who was he trying to fool?

Rory slowly picked up his phone, sighing as he lifted it up and sent a message to the guys.

“Gotta celebrate you two being back and recovered!!!”

Rory

A soft, sad smile formed on his lips. It wouldn't make up for much, but it was a start. In the meantime... he was going to need to get back into therapy. He shot off a quick email to his aunt, checking her schedule to see when they could next meet. Once that was settled, he leaned his head back against the couch. He took a deep breath. If they were mad at him, they would say something that night. Until then, he had to get ready. Clothes first, then he'd find the party hats and streamers that were somewhere in the shared storage.

Rory slowly pushied himself up to his feet. He swiped back into his text conversation with Haven, getting a good look at the shade of green. He shuffled back into his room, laying down on the ground and pushing around a bunch of balls, sporting equipment, dirty socks, and power bar wrappers until he felt his hand rest against a handle. He pulled out the old, small briefcase and hoisted it onto his bed. He stared at it a moment, not caring to look at the engraving on the side before unlatching and opening it. Inside was some old H.E.L.P. stationary, an old thermos, and a small assortment of neatly rolled up neckties. They were of varying shades and designs, though none were outlandish or novelty. The briefcase was one of the few things Rory kept of his father, unable to bring himself to toss it.

Rory pulled out his phone, checking the two green ties to Haven's choice of dress. He finally settled on the closest match, a simple green tie with gold diagonal stripes. He removed it from the briefcase, setting it down on the bed, before a small reflective glint caught the corner of his eye. Nestled in the briefcase, among the varying ties and assorted office supplies, was a gold tie clip. He lifted it up, running his hand along the engraving. It wasn't anything much, just four engraved letters. He set it on the bed next to the selected tie.

After all, he could use all the H.E.L.P. he could get.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

_{Volume 1: Revelations}

---

^{Chapter 4: Offerings}

>"Police have called for a manhunt for former NYPD detective Frank Castle this morning. Law Enforcement has linked ten murders to him, and reports indicate he is calling himself the Punisher. He is believed to be armed and extremely dangerous. He was last seen leaving the Royal Palace in lower Manhattan, and is confirmed to be the suspect in the mass shooting at the Stardust Lounge. The NYPD is investigating several other murders in the area to determine any connection to the suspect. Police are also looking into the possibility of this mass shooter having any connection to the masked vigilante terrorizing citizens in Hell's Kitchen-"<

Matt turned off the tv, sighing with a raspy exhale. He was sprawled on the couch, a half-empty liquor bottle and an old first aid kit littered on the floor next to him. His ribs were bruised, his head clouded by fog and confusion. He had been through worse, but the strength of the big bastard the night before had rung Matt's bell. A little recovery would be needed. And if he was going to face people like the Ox, he was going to need tools.

Luckily, he knew just the place.

♦♦♦

Fogwell's Gym smelled of mildew, rust, and mothballs. It had been abandoned years ago, shortly after the death of Jack Murdock. Most of the boxers who came out of Fogwell's ended up dead. It was a blessing, in that regard, that the gym was home only to cobwebs and memories. It wasn't even good enough for the rats.

Half the sandbags had fallen to the ground, rusted chains shattering under tremendous weight. Of those that remained, several had holes in them. The holes were relatively uniform... someone used them for target practice at some point. Or stray shots, given the faintest whiff of blood soaked into the creaky wood flooring. It could be any old boxers. It could be his dad's. It could be someone who was gunned down for making the wrong choices. The ghosts of this place wouldn't tell him, if Matt could be bothered to ask them.

Matthew Murdock wasn't at this gym to reminisce. He clutched at his bruised ribs, the jolt of pain clouding his focus for a moment. He had thought about his father plenty. He was here for a different memory.

666.

His father wasn't as staunch of a Catholic in his final years. He believed in God. He believed in salvation. He believed in loving your neighbor. But he was flippant with most other tenets. Its why he put on that persona, and even made the "Mark of the Beast" his locker combo. Matt heard the door click open and pulled on the small handle. He reached forward, rubbing his fingers along the fabric of Jack Murdock's old boxing robe, and then the fake devil suit. It was hard to picture the outfits now, after so many years. Even when they were in his hands, he couldn't easily remember what color the robe was. Red? White? Yellow? He didn't know for certain.

Of course, what he came for was in the bottom of the locker. An old wooden box, the faint indent and burn of a symbol on the top Matt never quite knew. The parting gift of an old flame. The box was slightly ajar, certainly from the last time he had checked it was still there a few months prior. He knew the contents, the letter printed out in braile, the faint whiff of her expensive perfume. It was all still there. Matthew Murdock removed the lid, and slowly removed the contents.

First were two tonfas, made of near solid metal. They were light and durable in his hands. Next, a grappling hook with a fiberwire cord. Lastly, a small set of throwing knives tucked into a black sash. She knew he would want them some day, even if he hadn't. If she even remembered him, she probably was smiling at the mention of a vigilante in Hell's Kitchen. She would know it was him.

Matt placed the items back inside the box, and slid it into an old duffel bag. Before he zipped up the bag, he paused. The faintest ruffle of old fabric reminded him of the robe and outfit left in the locker. Without dwelling on it further, he ripped the costumes off their hangers and shoved them into the duffle bag. Sufficiently packed, Matt zipped up the bag and swung the strap over his shoulder. He slipped out of Fogwell's, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up to obscure his face as he joined the foot traffic on the sidewalk outside.

♦♦♦

Matthew Murdock stood atop a brownstone, overlooking the Hudson river. From the ringing of the bells of Saint Cyril's, it was 1 am. He had slept most of the day, having called in a sick day with Foggy. He'd get shit for it later. But they didn't have many clients, and those they did have were all well taken care of. Matt shot off a few emails and did a little brushing up on case law while he popped painkillers and prepared for another night out.

The Devil was roused from his musings as he heard something that had been surprisingly absent that night so far. Metal scraping metal, along with the pull and release of a spring. A gun being loaded, several blocks away. Not a mere handgun... a rifle? He took a deep breath, before he jumped off the side of the building, swinging his way down the fire escape.

He had no idea what fresh Hell was waiting for him.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

@Eviledd1984 I'm afraid that unless @webboysurf gave prior consent, it's against the rules. Wilson is Daredevil's archenemy.

<Snipped quote>

@Master Bruce

Never got asked about it, but it's not a big deal for the story I'm working. I was leaving Fisk open to be a big picture villain for all of the NYC street level folks, and was intending to use Roland Desmond (Blockbuster) to fill a similar void as a specifically Hell's Kitchen criminal.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: Jim's Office, P.R.C.U. Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.017: I Confess, I Messed Up

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_{Interaction(s): Jim @Lord Wraith}

Previously: The Black

^{| One Day before the Dance}

It was the first time he had dressed in his full uniform since the Opening Ceremony. It felt stifling and constricting, though that was almost certainly the nerves and anxiety more than the fabric. He had spent a whole fifteen minutes making sure the tie was appropriately knotted and set. He had even gone through the effort of affixing the black beret and Blackjack armband appropriately, and checked them in the bathroom of the administration building before approaching Jim's door. His father hadn't given him much helpful advice over the years, but 'always dress up for a dressing down' finally made sense in this circumstance. He was as prepared as he was going to be. Rory approached Jim's door, delivered two firm knocks, and announced. "It's Tyler, sir."

"Enter." Jim ordered gruffly, the door opening to reveal Rory promoting a raised eyebrow from the Chancellor he was walking away from a nearby cabinet before taking a seat and placing two highballs on the desk. He produced a bottle and poured himself a drink before looking at Rory again.

"Aren't y'all a bit over dressed?" The corner of his mouth turned up, his moustache twitching with the small smirk. "Take a seat, Tyler, do you drink it neat?" Jim asked motioning towards the bourbon bottle.

"Neat is fine, sir." Rory walked into the office, taking a deep breath. He approached the desk, sitting down in one of the chairs before the desk. He sat straight, his expression stoic as he glanced at Jim. But he couldn't help but crack a smile as he raised an eyebrow when looking at the Bourbon. "After this week... I'm beginning to understand why my father drank so much."

"Try running this place with about eighty Blackjacks running around having adventures. Though certainly none quite as life and death as yours."Jim replied taking a sip of his drink. "I am disappointed though Tyler, but I'm not disappointed in y'alls leadership. To my understanding, Baxter stepped up when y'all were emotionally compromised and ultimately you saved Barnes with no losses." Jim took another drink while clearing his throat.

"What I am disappointed about is that there could have been losses, losses that if you had come to me first could have been completely avoided. Kruger could have been pinned and drowned, Cahors lost to a panic attack at the wrong moment." Jim continued.

"I trust y'all Tyler, I do. And Baxter showed excellent potential. I'm sure she already let y'all know you two will be working side by side. No what I am disappointed about is that you don't trust me or the faculty and I want to talk, man to man, about what I can do to change that." He spun the glass absently for a second before speaking again.

"Y'all were dealt a short straw five years ago joining when you did and you drew it again this year before graduating. I don't like the Foundation being here but I ultimately want what's best for y'all, the team and the rest of the student body. So tell me Tyler, what do y'all need from me to convince y'all I am in y'alls corner?"

Rory took a sip of his bourbon, hissing as the alcohol burned his throat. There was a warmth to the liquor that was unfamiliar to what he usually drank. But he went back for a second sip as he mulled over Jim's speech. "Harper was the first one I called, because I knew she could track Haven down. I didn't know who took her, or why. I made some bad split-second calls after that."

"Harper asked me not to inform you, when I mentioned getting you involved. Reminds me that I need to ask her what she was on about..." He trailed off, taking another sip of bourbon to calm his nerves as he focused his thoughts. "I didn't put up much of a fight. I trusted that she knew something I didn't." His eyes returned to Jim, his demeanor still stoic and calm. "There is almost no one in Blackjack who is ready to trust authority given what they've been through. If there was one I could point to, it would have been Harper."

Rory lifted one of his legs, resting his ankle across the opposite knee while his free hand tapped on the back of his polished shoes. Frustration seeped into his voice. "After this week, I'm finding it hard to trust anyone, Jim. My girlfriend was nearly killed twice in the past week, one of my closest teammates might have been involved, and my oldest friend and roommate was in critical condition." He let out a long exhale before taking a deep breath, slowing himself down. "If you want to earn back our trust... it needs to start with heightened security. And re-evaluating the staff. I think it's one of your expressions you used for Tad once... 'Get your house in order.'" His Jim impression was abysmal, and Rory averted his gaze to the window as he took another sip of liquor. "I'll talk with Harper, so we can start getting ours in order too."

"I appreciate y'alls candor, we've been doing employee evaluations since the reveal of House Orcinus and Michael's involvement. It's why Dr. Rivers hasn't been around lately, she's been doing mental scans of staff members for the past week. Gruelling, exhausting work." Jim replied before finishing his drink. "I'm surprised at how quickly Baxter has become an integral part of the team. Students don't generally integrate that well in their first year but she's proven to be a boon to y'all." The Chancellor mused, spinning his empty class on an edge of its base.

"Since you mentioned the investigation, how is it going? Do y'all need any support or do y'all have any leads?" He paused again, before looking directly at Rory.

"One thing that escapes me still, that sub-basement was a lab for one of Hyperion's supporters, it was meant to stay buried. How did y'all know about it?"

The mention of the investigation led Rory to take another sip. The warmth in his chest was oddly comforting. Lying wasn't going to do him any favors. "I have a strong lead... and I'm looking to confirm it today. As for the basement... the trail led there. By the time I got down the stairs, the water was already pouring. I just followed where it came from."

Jim nodded solemnly at Rory's words, if the younger man wasn't confident enough to share his lead at this time then Jim wasn't going to pry further.

"Alright, if the trail led y'all there then that's the end of it. Was kind of curious if someone had prompted that line of thinking which could lend weight to your investigation. But no matter, seems like you have everything handled." Jim replied, "And Tyler, if you're absolutely sure that you can trust Baxter, maybe bring her in and see if she can see something you can't."

The larger man stood to shake Rory's hand.

"Otherwise, I won't keep y'all any longer than necessary. Big night tomorrow, I imagine y'all want some time to prepare especially now that you have, as y'all said, a girlfriend."

Rory nodded softly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp, before resting the glass on the desk. He rose to his feet, shook Jim's hand, and left the office quietly. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Rory unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and took a few deep breaths. Relief and regret shook his wavering exhale, and he quickly made for the exit. He expected more of a dressing down. Part of him was prepared for the harsh words and an even harsher hand. But the specter of Cole Tyler only lived in his expectations and fears, and ghosts meant little to him these days. As one fear subsided, a deeper feeling persisted.

Rory wanted to go home.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

_{Volume 1: Revelations}

---

^{Chapter 3: Penance}

The benefit to an electric van was that it was almost as quiet as a mouse to most. No loud engine start up, no chance of a misfire or faint rumble as it idled. To most, an electric van could sneak up on you like a phantom. It helped cut down on the noise pollution that drowned this city's soundscape. Unless you saw it, you would never know it's there.

But the Devil knew it was there.

He crouched on the roof of Doreen's apartment building, tightening his white mask. He held his breath, focusing his hearing down into the street below. No one seemed to be about... well, save for the two men sitting in the van. One faster heartbeat, one slower. The van shook slightly with the former's movements, while the other moved nimbly. The doors to the back of the van opened, and they stepped out into the street. Particulars in appearance were always hard for Matt to parse out. The material sounded stiff. No buckles or belts, no zipper, just metal clasps... a work uniform, maybe? The air moved around their heads oddly, indicating they were wearing hats. Baseball caps, most certainly. One dragged out a small metal box that rattled with every movement, lifting it out the back of the truck as the other slammed the doors shut. Matt's brow furrowed. It was unlikely they were maintenance workers this late at night. Especially to a building that lacked any residents at the moment, Doreen included. Matt was glad he could convince her to visit her son in Jersey for the night.

They swiftly crossed the street, before the larger one stopped in the middle of the road, patting his coverall pockets. "Shit, Snake, I think I forgot the keys."

His partner, Snake, stopped dead in his tracks. His exhale sounded like a hiss of frustration. He turned around, shaking his head. "Well, Ox, then it's a good thing I'm here. Montana knew you'd fuck this up on your own." Snake shoved the toolbox into Ox's hands as they continued towards the building's front door. The former reached in to his pockets to produce a small leather pouch, and unfolded it. Matt had a hard time focusing on what the object was, until he heard the distinct sound of metal raking against metal: lockpicks. Frank had cheaped out on security, of course, and it took the Snake less than two seconds to rake all the pins in place and click the lock in place. He swung the door open, and the two stepped inside. Matt listened as their footsteps went up one flights of stairs, then two, and finally started the third.

Matt sprung into action, diving backwards off the edge of the building. He remembered the drunken stammering Foggy had made when Matt showed off his coordination when they were escaping a busted party their freshman year in college, and a smile formed on his lips. Matthew Murdock reached out a single hand, grabbing the railing of the fourth floor fire escape and pendulum swinging his way into the open window of Doreen's apartment. He rolled along the ground, barely making much noise. He listened quietly, his mind focusing on the soft hum of power as it surged through the apartment's walls. He quickly approached the small door in the living room, opening it up to reveal the apartment's breaker box. The nest of wires that ran in and out of it were evidence of illegal electrical work... something he would have a field day with in his other life. But for now, he quickly flipped all the switches off and closed the door, moving across the living room and crouching behind a sofa.

Matt hid just in time, as he heard the familiar sound of a metal rake being used to open the front door of the apartment itself. The two criminals stepped into the apartment, Ox slamming the door behind them. Matt couldn't see faces, but he could hear Snake turn to look at his partner with a lethal glare, if looks could kill. Snake fumbled his hands along the wall, looking for a lightswitch. When he flipped it, no lights turned on. He tried the next switch, groaning in frustration as that too failed to produce light. "Damn it... I'll look for the breaker. You get to work on the bedroom."

The two split up. Ox took the toolbox from Snake and slammed open the door to Doreen's bedroom. Snake was harder to place in the apartment. His footsteps were soft, especially now that he had handed off the toolbox. He moved quickly and with purpose, finding the breaker box just as quickly as Matt had. He looked over the switches, scratching his chin. He noticed all the breakers were flipped immediately. Snake knew something wasn't right.

Matt wasn't able to get the grab as Snake ducked under the attempted hold, summersaulting backwards into a crouching position. A voice rang out from the other room. "Wait, who are we tagging again Snake? The Dragons?"

Snake opened his mouth to call out, letting out little more than a yelp before the Devil was on him. Matt Murdock charged, focusing his attention on the small creaks in the floorboard under Snake's feet. His weight shifted to Matt's left, so he was clearly trying to dodge right. It made sense, to head towards your companion. Matt redirected mid-charge, intercepting the Snake as he tried to leap for safety. Matt had launched them into the single ratty sofa, which proceeded to flip onto its back as the two scrambled for control. The Snake seemed the better wrestler by talent, managing to use the momentum to push off of the Devil to try and get to a standing position. "Get in here you oa-" The Snake was unable to finish his sentence as the Devil swept his opponent's legs, the final word replaced with a thud and groan. Matt spun around on the floor, climbing on top of the criminal and quickly delivering a powerful punch to the man's jaw. It was a solid hit, bit the Snake responded by contorting his body to slip his feet onto the vigilante's chest. A powerful kick knocked the wind out of Matt's lungs, and landing his back into the overturned sofa. The Snake crawled on all fours, disoriented, past Matthew Murdock.

Matt spent the moment he had gasping for air focusing on his surroundings. The other criminal, Ox, lumbered towards the bedroom door down the hallway, his voice surprisingly small for such a large man. "What's wrong, Marston?"

"Code names, you moron!" Snake tried to scramble to his feet, looking back towards the rising Devil. The criminal didn't like his odds. "Change of plans, Oxy. You smash, I tag. We've got company."

This seemed to spring the Ox to attention. He barreled out of the room, and the Snake managed to slip past the large man like a leaf on the wind. Matthew still wheezed, his smell replaced with a faint whiff of iron. Blood, most likely. Snake had gotten in a punch in the initial grapple he hadn't noticed. The Devil had to be quick, if he was going to bring both of them down. He tilted his head, a strange reverberation in the room that didn't seem to match. Something wooden, heavy... a single piece resting against the wall.

A baseball bat.

Matt lifted it up into his hands, before turning to the Ox that stood confused in the hallway. "Uh, Snake, I thought you said it was just the two of us on this job."

They both heard the exasperated sigh come from the other room, followed by the shaking of a can of spray paint. "He's here to stop us, Ox. He's one of those vigilante's... the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, I think they're calling him."

"So then, I need to-"

"Kill him, Harrison!"

The Ox huffed, turning his gaze towards the Devil. "I'm sorry, man. Boss said no witnesses." The Ox moved forward, only needing a few steps before he was looming over the Devil. But Matt was quick, having cocked back the bat and swung it into the criminal's side. The Ox howled in surprise, losing his balance and stumbling into the small kitchen. Matt followed him in, lifting the bat up to deliver an overhead swing. But the Ox was ready this time, lifting a hand up and punching towards the bat. As soon as the fist made contact, the bat splintered into dozens of shards in an instant. The force was incredible. Ox followed it up with another punch towards the vigilante, who dodged the blow and delivered a counter-punch into the Ox's chest. Matt felt pain shoot up his knuckles, as the man's chest felt nearly as hard as brick. He was over 300 lbs of muscle, easy. As that realization shot into his mind, he realized he had left himself open to a backhanded slap.

Matthew Murdock was thrown backwards with a single slap into the kitchen wall, denting the drywall with his back. Pain shot through Matt Murdock's limbs as he tasted blood. Adrenaline shot through his veins like ice, doing it's best to numb the nervous system. It had been ages since Matt got this close to fear. It was a shame he was incapable of it.

Fearful men know when to quit.

Matthew Murdock charged forward with reckless abandon, ripping a toaster off the counter to swing by the cord into Ox's shoulder. This impact did little more than the others, just seeming to throw the man a little off balance and slow his next attack. Matt mostly focused on dodging the Ox's wild swings, trying not to focus on the loud cracks and banging that came from the heavy blows as they made contact with the counters, cabinets, and walls. For but a moment, Matt remembered what it was like when he watched his father box much bigger opponents in the unsanctioned fights at Fogwell's. It was a dance, his father had told him. A dance you had to keep up until the music stopped.

Matt took a stray hit here and there, doing his best to block the punches with his arms. But each one slammed him into a wall or a counter, and each one was a little harder to recover from. But Matt kept getting up. He couldn't afford to stop. If he stopped, he was dead. He was so focused on surviving the Ox's attacks, he hadn't heard that the spray painting had stopped in the bedroom. He only realized as he heard a fast heartbeat pounding behind him that the Snake had finished his work. He was now cornered in a small kitchen between an Ox and a Snake, breathing heavily as they all squared off. "You shouldn't have stuck your nose in our business. Now, why don't you just make this easy on us." The Snake produced a knife to emphasize his point, holding it out in the Devil's direction.

Matt placed a hand on his bruised ribs, grunting a little in pain. He didn't have long before the adrenaline wasn't going to be enough. He didn't like walking away, but he wasn't going to be used to Hell's Kitchen dead. And Foggy would kill him if he died to two thugs in an apartment. So, Matt Murdock bent his knees, held out a hand, and motioned for the Snake to come closer.

The Snake lunged at him, his stab quick and accurate. But the Devil was faster, grabbing the Snake's wrist and arm. He slammed the criminal's elbow down onto his knee, the sickening crack of splintered bone and a loud scream echoing in the apartment. The Ox charged behind Matt, swinging a fist down. Matt simply rotated around the Snake, kicking the criminal into the hulking accomplice's path. The Ox was only able to pull back his punch slightly, and the Snake crumbled under the powerful hit. Matt didn't stay to relish the small win, walking back into the living room. He held the Snake's hat in his hands, and crawled up onto the windowsill leading out onto the fire escape. He heard the Ox round the corner after him, watching in horror as the Vigilante turned and smiled. He waved the hat towards the ox, before leaping backwards out of the window and off the fire escape.

The criminal ran up to the window, peering out into the dark alley.

No one was there.

The Devil was loose.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

I've got maybe 1 or 2 posts before Daredevil could be open to any interactions. Down to interact with anyone in NYC that has an opening once those are out.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by webboysurf>

Dibs on Hell's Kitchen.

@Lord Wraith

Shit.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

I was close to apping Jessica Jones for another New York connection.

I like interaction. Please bring your interaction ideas.

@Pirouette

No interaction. Everyone, pick your borough or neighborhood and isolate.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Half of this RP is in NYC. I love it.