The Invisible String: Matt Murdock/ Daredevil

17

The heavy, metal clang of the shipping crate door echoed like a thunderclap as Matt shoved it open, the rusted hinges groaning in protest. Pale moonlight spilled in, illuminating the interior with harsh contrast—two battered figures emerging from the darkness, blinking against the night.

The dockyard was quiet, but not empty.

The sea wind stung fresh against Annalise's skin. Her legs felt like lead. Every muscle trembled from exhaustion, and her mind was still fogged by the lingering voltage burns that crawled under her skin. She leaned slightly into Matt for balance, though her pride resisted.

"We're almost there," he murmured.

But the scent hit him first—cheap cologne, cigarette smoke, gun oil.

"Matt," she whispered, already hearing the shuffling of boots.

Four men rounded the corner between crates, each armed, faces unreadable in the moonlight.

Matt stepped forward instinctively, shielding Annalise behind him.

"You just don't quit, do you, Daredevil?" one of them sneered.

"No," Matt replied flatly. "You should've."

They rushed all at once.

Matt surged forward with trained precision, ducking under the first swing. His baton cracked across the attacker's knee, dropping him instantly. The second lunged in with a knife—Matt twisted aside, disarmed him mid-motion, and delivered a brutal elbow to the side of his head. He crumpled like a sack of bricks.

Behind him, Annalise cried out.

He turned sharply—too late.

One of the thugs had her by the arm, shoving her back into the crate wall. She kicked, hard, staggering him, but her strength was failing. Her body screamed from the residual electrical trauma, there was no chance of pulling away anyone's pain tonight.

She ducked a punch, threw one of her own, sloppy, wild, but it bought her a second. He surged forward again.

Matt moved to intervene, but sharp fire burst in his side.

He gasped as the blade slid in below his ribs, hot, clean, deep. The world reeled.

The last attacker had circled behind him in the chaos.

Matt stumbled forward, driving an elbow backward to knock the man away, but he could already feel the warmth of blood soaking into his shirt.

Annalise, seeing him stagger, cried out and lunged. With a burst of adrenaline, she clawed at her attacker's arm and slammed his head against the container's steel frame with a hollow clang. He dropped instantly.

Matt dropped to one knee, pressing a trembling hand against his side. Blood soaked his shirt, sticky and hot. Annalise rushed to him, grabbing his face.

"Hey—stay with me," she whispered. "Come on."

"I'm fine," Matt lied.

"You're not, you're hurt Matt.

"It's alright, just go quickly."

He ushered her away, following behind her, listening for others.

The tension hung thick in the air as they made their escape, adrenaline propelling them forward. Just as they reached the edge of the dockyard, a group of armed men emerged from the shadows, guns raised. "Stop!" one of them shouted.

Matt's instincts kicked in. He heard the telltale crack of gunfire just a moment before the bullets began to rain down around them, ricocheting off the metal crates and sending splinters flying. "Down!" he shouted, pushing her down as they dived toward the water. They plunged into the dark, the cold embrace of the harbor just as shots fired overhead. But in the process of shoving her out of harm's way, he felt a searing pain in his upper arm as one of the bullets found its mark.