Last night

Matt Murdock, a.k.a. Daredevil, deftly jumped from rooftop to rooftop, shadowing the Chevy Blazer far below him. Whenever the Blazer stopped, Matt ducked behind the nearest cover he could find, moving only when he heard the SUV’s exhaust signature change. He followed it out of Hell’s Kitchen, up through Midtown. Hmm, Matt thought as he traversed a power line to reach the next rooftop. Where is he headed?

Suddenly, his superhuman ears picked up a scream. A woman, about three blocks away. He turned his head in that direction, trying to get a fix on it, as the Blazer rumbled to a stop for a red light below.

He heard the scream again, this time accompanied by a "Help me!" Matt bit his lower lip and waited for the Blazer to move. "Go," he said with clenched teeth. "Go, goddamnit."

The scream again. He clenched his fists into balls, trying to focus. "Go, God damn you, go! Move!"

The scream came yet again, and he couldn’t ignore it any longer. As he stood to go help, he heard the Blazer start up and move. He started to follow, but was interrupted by that damnable scream again. "Fuck!" he said, running in the direction of the scream.

With two leaps he came to the rooftop overlooking the alley where the scream came from. With his ‘radar’, he picked up two men cornering a poor young lady, who emitted yet another shriek.

"Enough already!" Matt yelled as he jumped down into the fray, landing on top of one of the men. He heard the crack of several ribs as the man went down. Matt rolled to his left and sprung up, billy club in hand, as the second man realized what was going on. The man started to raise his gun, but Matt threw the billy club and hit the man’s hand, sending the gun flying.

Matt then rushed the man, driving him into a bunch of trash cans. Matt straddled him, then began punching him as hard as he could, hitting whatever presented itself. Head, neck, shoulder, chest, whatever.

The man raised his hands to protect himself, but Matt struck them too. "Ow! I’m sorry!" Matt kept punching. "Please stop!" Matt kept punching. "You’re killing me!" Matt kept punching.

The woman, formerly cowering in the corner, watched Matt beat the hell out of the now-cowering criminal. "Um," she said timidly. "I-I think he’s had enough."

Matt stopped a fist in midair and listened. The man underneath him didn’t stir. He wasn’t even breathing. Matt stood up and looked over at the woman. He took a couple of breaths, then just walked out of the alley.

The woman watched him, then looked down at her assailants. Then she pulled a phone out of her purse and dialed 911. "Hello? I want to report that I just saw two men get brutally assaulted by…they were assaulted, that’s all."

Now

"Wow." Foggy Nelson leaned against the door of the room, a hand over his mouth. He looked at Matt, sitting in the moonlight, wearing his uniform. "You did that, huh?"

Without a word, Matt nodded.

"And you didn’t find him, huh?"

Matt, head lowered, shook his head. "Nope. I would’ve…if I didn’t get sidetracked."

"It wasn’t your fault, Matt. You did…" Foggy sighed. "You did what you do. You saved her life. What else could you do?"

"Yeah…" Matt rubbed the back of his neck.

In the moonlight, he looks quite saintly, Foggy thought with a smirk. "And he knows who you are now?"

Matt nodded.

"Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Matt? This, this is kinda important to me. ‘Cause if you’re made, I’m made. You could’ve at least given me that courtesy."

Matt sighed. "I…I thought I could handle it myself. Like I always do."

"‘Like I always do?’" Foggy chuckled. "Matt, who do you think you are? Captain America?"

Matt smiled. "No. I voted Democrat."

Foggy sat down on the bed next to Matt. He clasped his hands together. "So. What’s the plan now?"

"I have a plan, I’m gonna find this guy. But first, I need something from you, Foggy."

"Anything, Matt."

Matt sat up straight. "I need you to trust me on this one. I’m gonna take care of this. I just need you to do what I say and trust me. No matter what happens, just trust me. Okay?"

Foggy looked at his friend for a while, then gave a half-smile. "Okay," he said, clapping Matt on the shoulder. "I trust you."

One day later

Special Agent Fred Byrnes stood up as Derrick Wardell, his squad leader, walked out of the conference room. They had been called into FBI New York Headquarters to give their explanations for the whole Silke fiasco. In reality, they did very little explaining, mostly taking the reaming they were handed by the cover-your-ass FBI brass.

Derrick motioned for Fred to sit down, then joined him on the bench. Derrick laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Fred watched him with surprise, excitement, and fear. "Sir?"

"Don’t worry, Fred," Derrick said without opening his eyes. "We’re not getting fired."

Fred let out a sigh of relief, and Derrick said, "Don’t rest so easy. The ADIC has decided to dissolve the Fisk Squad, as Wilson Fisk is essentially dead. As such, we have been reassigned."

"Oh," Fred said. "Well, do you know where, sir?"

"Well, I know you’re headed over to the Gambino Squad, as they need some new faces after a bunch of them got made in a court hearing last week." He opened his eyes and looked at Fred with a grin. "Be careful over there, kid. I heard they actually do real police work there."

Fred grinned. "It’s not that bad, sir. I mean, you said it yourself. Fisk had his hands in way too many pots for us to overcome. We really didn’t have a chance. We did the best we could." He regarded Derrick. "What about you, sir? Where’re you headed?"

Derrick frowned. "Don’t know. They said because I instigated the incident which lost a witness and compromised a safe house, they decided to take my case under further review." He laughed. "With luck, I might be brought before the Attorney General himself!" He lowered his head into his hands. "Fuck."

Fred watched him for a moment, and even opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Then suddenly Derrick sprung up and rubbed his slightly-reddened eyes. "Fred, Fred, Fred," he said. "Look, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Trust me." He clapped Fred on the shoulder. "And you oughta get over to Gambino already. Swanson’s been looking for you, I heard."

Fred stood up and held out a hand. "Well, it was a pleasure serving under you, sir."

Derrick smiled. "That’s bullshit, but thanks anyway, kid. Knock ‘em dead, and I’ll see you around the way." He watched Fred walk off, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, hands clasped in his lap. He thought about Silke, his charred body sitting in that chair, smiling at him. Mocking him.

You were mine, Derrick thought, you son of a bitch. You were mine. And whoever did this to you, did this to me...

Two nights later

Matt crouched on the edge of an apartment building, listening, smelling, even tasting the scene below. Every now and then, he moved to a different building, trying to find what he had been missing for the last couple of nights.

A lead.

His search for Silke ended at the NYPD’s 122nd Precinct in Staten Island, where – thanks to lots of footwork and definitely some fistwork – he found Sammy Silke’s body being held until the transfer over to FBI jurisdiction could be properly processed. Matt even visited the place after hours, and finally felt the face of the man who started all of this.

Fighting the temptation to mutilate the body, Matt broke into the Records Department and read the decedent’s file. More good news, in the form of words such as "torture," "mutilation," "appearance of a professional hit."

This led Matt to an unmistakable conclusion: Sammy Silke had been killed, tortured, for information. And Matt didn’t even have to speculate what kind of information Silke gave up.

And so, he searched. Searched far and wide, for Silke’s killers. He called in sick from the office twice in a row. He knew Foggy would be pissed, but he also knew Foggy would understand. It was, after all, his head on the line, too.

Matt even thought about venturing out in broad daylight. He really hated the thought of it. Not only did it make him too visible, it also took a lot out of the mystique behind being Daredevil. A red-garbed phantom of the night, now that’s scary. But a goon in red going around in daylight, he just looked like any other costumed asshole. It might have to come to that, he lamented after the discovery of the body. Time was not on his side. And two days and two nights later, time wasn’t giving him any options.

He jumped to another rooftop, landing with less-than-usual grace, sending some pebbles hurtling to the ground below. He listened to them cascade upon the street, each one as loud as the clash of cymbals. Damnit, he thought, moving toward cover. I’m useless now. I need some rest.

But instead of moving, he just stayed on that rooftop and debated calling off the search early. On the one hand, he was tired. On the other, some joker out there knew who he was, and worse, who his friends were. "Foggy," he said, thinking of Foggy getting shot, or stabbed, or burned, or frozen, or decapitated, or a million other things, helpless against the myriad enemies Matt – and Daredevil – had built up over the years.

"No," he said, standing up. "I gotta keep going."

Murdock, you idiot, his inner voice said. What have you always told yourself? He thought for a second, then sighed. "Always bring your ‘A’ game," he said.

Right, the inner voice continued. So go home and get some rest. Get back on your game.

"Right," he said, taking off in the direction of his apartment.

Silke’s killers would have to wait.

The answering machine beeped. Foggy’s voice came on. Matt didn’t bother to get out of bed, just let the machine run.

"Hey, Matt. Don’t know if you’re there. Doubt it, you workaholic. Anyway, I need you to hurry this all up, because Arthur-friggin’-Ronson keeps bugging me about that damn case you agreed to take on for him. Did you have to get drunk at that party, huh?

"Anyway, I can only fend him off for so long, and I think he’s beginning to suspect that there’s no such thing as a fidondectomy. And, someone from the Public something-or-other called again, I dunno. The message’s on your machine, and I got a little too much work to do around here without dealing with your stuff. Anyway, stay safe, and…I hope to hear from you soon."

Matt let the machine go off, then got up and called the office. A woman picked up. "Hello, Nelson & Murdock. This is Pam, how may I help you?"

"Pam? It’s Matt."

"Oh! Mister Murdock! I haven’t heard from you in a while. How’re you doing?"

"I’ve had better days. Is Foggy in?"

"Mister Nelson? Yeah, hold on a sec." He heard a brief musical selection, then: "Hello?"

"Fog."

"Matt? Oh, geez, man. Are you okay?"

"I honestly don’t know how to answer that," Matt said after a while.

"That bad, huh?"

"Fog–"

"I know, I know. Let you take care of it." A brief silence, then: "So, what’s up?"

"I…I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Because of that Ronson thing." He smiled. "Fidondectomy, Fog?"

Matt heard Foggy snort. "I had to make up something."

"What in the world would I need a fidondectomy for?"

Foggy chuckled. "It’s for your fidro-optic nerve. Controls motor functions or something like that. I think that’s what I told him."

"Sounds painful."

"Yeah, well…" Foggy sighed. "Honestly, Matt, what did I tell you about getting drunk at these high-brow parties you like to attend?"

Matt smiled. "Don’t go home with more than two supermodels–"

"And?"

"And don’t agree to take on any clients after four or more drinks or midnight, whichever comes first. Like I said, I’m sorry. That’s the last one. I swear."

"Mmm-hmm." Matt heard some shuffling of papers. "Oh, and before I forget, you got some certified mail today, from the Wagner Corporation. Who are they?"

"Wagner Corporation?" Matt said. Wagner Corporation? Why did that sound so familiar? "What’d it say?"

"Matt, I did not open it. That is a federal offense, and we are already breaking enough laws around here, what with the illegal gambling den and hookers out back."

"Fog–"

"All right, all right." He heard the sound of paper ripping as Foggy read the letter. "Okay, let’s see. ‘Mister Murdock, I cordially invite you to meet me at 17075 Pendleton Street, Suite A, at 8 PM tonight. Please do not be late, as we have an important matter to discuss. Signed, a confidante.’ Matt, what the hell is this? Another drunken client agreement?"

Matt wasn’t listening, because he came to a sudden realization. He realized why the Wagner Corporation was so familiar. And then when he heard the address, he knew who his caller was. "Fog, I gotta go. I’ll explain later, but I gotta go." He hung up, then just sat on the edge of his bed, figuring out a battle plan for 8:00 PM.

Because the Wagner Corporation is a dummy corporation, owned by the man located at 17075 Pendleton Street, a place Matt has visited many times before. In fact, he’d been there trying to get information on Silke earlier.

17075 Pendleton Street is the office of Leland Owlsley, a.k.a. the Owl.

That night

The Owl checked his watch. 7:55 PM. A little early, he thought as he watched the Daredevil make short work of his henchmen. One of them, who had the pleasure of being beaten by the Daredevil a few days prior, simply held up his hands and stepped aside to let the Daredevil pass.

The Owl shook his head as his henchmen dragged themselves out of the room. What use would they be anyway? He looked up at the Daredevil and smiled. "Good help is hard to find, isn’t it?"

The Daredevil just stood there, staring down at him, before finally saying, "What do you want, Owlsley?"

"Ah, on a last name basis are we?" He motioned to a chair in front of the desk. "Have a seat, Mister Murdock." He smiled as he saw a slight reaction from the Daredevil. Very slight, but a reaction nonetheless. He waited a couple of moments, then shrugged. "Okay then. Stand if you prefer."

"What is this about?" Daredevil said, a hard edge in his voice.

"This," the Owl said, rising, "My pedigreed, handicapped chum, is about this. Our new situation." He moved to the large windows overlooking the darkened city and stared down at the hundreds of moving, constantly blinking lights weaving in and out of the spires of shadows. Soon, he thought. Very soon. "But where are my manners? How is Mister Nelson? Good health, I assume?"

In an instant Daredevil crossed the room and grabbed the Owl just as the latter turned around. Daredevil slammed the Owl against the window hard enough to crack it. "If you harm one hair on his head…"

The Owl rolled his eyes. "Put me down, Mister Murdock. No harm will come to your friend." Daredevil grunted and put the Owl down, and took a step back, hands balled into fists. The Owl smoothed himself out and looked up at his companion. "Not as long as you meet my demands." He turned around to look at the window. "Damn. I just had this installed."

"Demands?" Daredevil snorted. "What are you, a hostage taker?"

"I prefer to think of myself as a businessman, and a very good one at that." He walked over to his wet bar and poured himself a glass, then turned to Daredevil. "Have a glass?" He chuckled. "No, of course not. Not while on the job, right?"

"Why am I here? What do you want from me?" Daredevil said.

The Owl smiled. "Aren’t you at all curious to know how I got such valuable information under my ‘wing,’ as it were?" He paused for a response, but Daredevil wasn’t accommodating. He shrugged. "Like I said before, I am a businessman. And like all good businessmen, I am always on the lookout for new business opportunities.

"So imagine my surprise when a certain red-garbed vigilante comes into my office, demanding information. A name, of all things. Now, what kind of four-color supervillain would I be if I didn’t capitalize on this? Besides. The odds of finding him first were on my side. I have a network of informants. You have," he gestured up and down at Daredevil. "Whatever you have."

The Owl laughed. "God, when I realized you wanted Silke, I thought it was for something small, like the location of a drug cache or a critical witness. I never would have thought it would be something of this magnitude." He looked at Daredevil as he crossed back over to his desk and sat down. Daredevil, for his part, stayed rooted to the same spot, his head following the man.

"Which brings us to the negotiations phase. In exchange for my continued silence, you will work for me."

"As an enforcer or bodyguard or something like that? Never," Daredevil cut in.

"No, no, no," the Owl said, shaking his head. "To use you as something so trivial would be an insult to your abilities. No, I have in mind for you the position of Director of Special Projects. In other words, those high-risk taskings that you can so easily manage. Doesn’t pay anything, but at least you can keep your loved ones safe, and as an added bonus, you get to stay out of jail. I hear vigilantism’s a crime, nowadays."

He paused, then added, "Oh, one more thing. Don’t think about turning on me. Upon news of my death or otherwise incapacitation, I have standing orders to release the names and addresses of you and your friends and family to both the city’s major newspapers as well as some of the more…unsavory elements?" He smiled, stood up, and offered a clawed hand. "What do you say, Mister Murdock? Care to join my happy little team?"

Daredevil stared at the Owl, at his outstretched hand. His own hands, still balled, relaxed, then uncurled completely. He stepped forward and grabbed the Owl’s hand as hard as he could. "Ow," the Owl said, wresting his hand away from Daredevil’s grasp. As he nursed his wounded paw, he smiled. "How ironic. A handsome devil making a deal with the devil. I guess good help isn’t all that hard to find, is it?"

The next morning

Foggy Nelson woke up, checked his answering machine, ate breakfast, checked his cell phone, shaved, showered, checked his answering machine again. He checked it a third time on his way out the door. "Goddamnit, Matt, where are you?"

On the train ride to the office, he called everyone he knew about Matt. Which amounted to his mother, Ben Urich, his girlfriend, and the office. Damn, I need to get out more, he thought as he listened to a ten-minute rant by his mother about how her begonias weren’t coming in right, due to this "damned cold New York weather."

"Mom, it’s only seventy degrees," Foggy said, before being summarily dismissed.

Ben was out doing something, and the call to his girlfriend Sandy was short, sweet, and fruitless, but the call to the office held some promise. In fact, "Mister Murdock? Oh, yeah, he’s here, in a meeting," were the exact words of Secretary Pam. "Should I tell him you’re calling?"

"No, that’s okay," Foggy said, all of a sudden eager for the train to get to the station. "No need to interrupt him." As soon as the train stopped, Foggy was off, running to the office. Huffing and puffing like he hadn’t since his college track days, he ran, questions flooding his mind. Trust me, he says. I know what I’m doing, he says. Then he disappears into God-knows-where.

He entered the office and marched past – oops – Administrative Assistant Pam, headed for Matt’s closed door. He heard Pam say something, but it amounted to nothing more than static in the machine.

"Matt, you son of a bitch," he yelled as he opened the door. "You have some explaining to…" He trailed off as he laid eyes on Matt staring at him, along with a middle-aged woman with blonde hair in a pantsuit. Foggy’s eyes flashed from Matt to the woman and back. "Do," he finished. "Oh."

Matt turned to the woman. "Elle, this is my best friend and partner, Franklin Nelson. Fog, this is Elle Baumgardner, the–"

"The Public Advocate for the City of New York," Foggy finished. He smiled at her. "Hi."

"Hi," she smiled back.

Foggy turned to Matt. "So…that other thing, is it…?"

Matt lowered his head and nodded slightly. "Yeah, yeah. We can talk about it later, but yeah, it’s…taken care of." He straightened up and gestured at Elle. "Um, Mrs. Baumgardner here has come today with a proposal for us, Fog." He grinned. "And I gotta tell ya, it’s one hell of a proposal…"