Marvel & DC's World War III: Red

Chapter 3: Collision Course

Their eyes locked. The Red Hood. Daredevil. It wasn't but a second ago when the two could've been allies. But Matthew has a line he refuses to cross. And Jason? He specializes in line-crossing.
The Red Hood swung his knife up high. he charged towards Daredevil, letting gravity bring the knife to the level of Murdock's skull. In an instant, he brought his clubs in the air to meet the knife in the air. Jason used his strength and pushed down, trying to overcome the clubs that blocked his blade from his target, but Daredevil's strength was to great. Matt brought his right knee to the Red Hood's gut and kicked upwards, to the bottom of his jaw. He staggered back, firing two rounds of his handgun to keep his opponent at bay. But Murdock was ready. He flipped backwards, spreading his arms as his feet left the ground, the bullets whirling under him as he began to end his rotation. Jason was ready too. He pulled a shuriken from his jacket sleeve and threw it towards him. the throwing star seemed to slice through the air, striking Murdock's face as he prepared his landing. the pain forced his head backwards and his spine soon slammed into the ground. he rolled over, slowly coming to his feet, as he touched his face. he felt the deep cut that started at the corner of his eye and reached down to the bottom of his lip. Jason walked closer, shaking his head. "You know, the only thing more predictable than your amazing reflexes is your circus charm. You can block bullets with a stick, yet you feel a backflip is most appropriate for this situation?" Murdock's expression turned to anger. His enemy was smart. Skilled. Loud-mouthed. Dangerous. He was sure that the whole "allies" thing wasn't going to work out.

***

The thug ran as fast as he could, nearly slipping on the pavement as he turned out of the alleyway. His deep breaths turned to panting as he turned his head backwards, seeing Moon Knight, wearing a white hood over a black bodysuit, protected by a white chest plate. Spector accelerated his pace and drew a moon shaped disc between his fingers. He threw it, and it pierced deep into the back of his knee. The man let out a shattering scream and fell to the ground.

Spector stopped his sprint and walked slowly towards him. He took the man by the collar and lifted him off the ground. "Zucco was found dead in an alley. Knife wound. I consider you tell me everything you know." The thug paused, letting out a groan as the sharp pain from his knee reached his thinking. "I-I don' know nothin' man! I swear to God!" he replied, panicked. Spector's eyes narrowed. That would've been good for some, maybe if he were trying out for a school play, but he knew this was where the trail led. Beating down on minor pushers. Calling in every favor that every one of his faces had, just to get a murder victim's name. And now here: a common thug, not worth the trouble he tried to cause, sporting the same tattoo on his neck that Zucco had on his wrist. The symbol didn't matter. What mattered is that, right now, he wouldn't take whining for an answer. His grip around the thug's neck tightened and he pulled a knife from his side and, slowly, pushed the blade against the man's stomach. He screamed, but Moon Knight appeared relaxed. "Try again." he commanded, stopping the blade when it drew a drop of blood. The man's screams settled and he looked at his strange interrogator. He didn't know which was scarier: the fact that he was crazy, or that he knew it. "L-look man, it w-was a quick set-up. We took the cash and turned on the bastard when he wasn't looking. W-we didn't know he was gonna off him. Honest! We'd thought he'd just be in that holdup down on Westside. That's where he put that Asian chick after all." the thug closed his eyes, in expectation of a knockout blow. Usually, he would've been right, but amongst all the defensive babbling, one part stood out to Mr. Knight. He pulled the man to the level of his face, whispering in his ear. "Take me there..."

***

300 meters away, the Red Hood and Daredevil were engaged in battle. 300 meters away, 12 stories above, a man held his sniper, standing it on the window frame, focusing his glare through the scope. for most, the kind of fortune he would find himself in would be at least two trigger pulls away, but when the Kingpin wants a situation dealt with, he only calls professionals. No, experts. For this man, the paycheck of a lifetime would come in one sniper shot. Some called it luck. Some called it practice. However, no matter the cause, he always hit his Bullseye.