Daredevil: origins

Chapter One: vigilante by night

The air was a cold summer breeze and Hell's kitchen was as dark and dirty as ever. Night had fallen and the neon lights of the city's clubs and bars filled the night with a strange smog. Criminals loved the smog, it offered all the hope of lights and sound and laughter as well as quiet and guns and murder. Perfect. That way no one heard the gunfire or the screaming, no one would notice the stabbing or stealing or smell the flames billowing away from a burning bank or shop or whatever building they had just ransacked. Criminals thrived in Hell's Kitchen, it was practically a breeding ground for them. All the best criminals came from Hell's Kitchen and all Hell's Kitchen got was crime.

Joey was 18, just left school and staying in a small building with a couple of other guys. In the cupboard sat 3 ak47 rifles. The tips were touched with blood and the trigger was smooth and easy to use. They were perfect.

"Alright," Joey said, sitting amongst the other two members of his flat, "we all know our jobs, right?'

"Chill Joey," said Mark, "it'll all be fine."

"I just want to prepare for every eventuality."

"You don't need to, we're in Hells kitchen, worst that happens is we bribe a cop with 10℅ of the loot. No ones gonna end up in jail."

"Its cuz he's from Chicago," piped up Fred, "You got to be careful in Chicago."

"You ain't in Chicago no more Joey," Mark said reassuringly, "you're in Hells kitchen and, let's face it, hells just a heaven for people like us."

"Bad people," said Fred.

"Still," Joey replied, "I don't see the harm in being prepared."

"Did you prepare for this?"

The unexpected shout came from the doorway. All 3 men spun around,

Mike pulled out a PM-32 pistol and a knife flicked out of Fred's sleeve. In the doorway was a man, dressed head to toe in black. At first glance it looked like thin, sports cloth but ripples in the fabric indicated padding underneath for protection. Over his face (covering his eyes) was a peice of black material, tied behind his head, covering everything above his mouth. How was he going to see? Finally, in his hands, were two mettalic clubs, painted black. After studying the man Joey realised he could be dealt with easily. He couldn't see, he hardly had any armour and the clubs were thin and easy to dodge. Joey realised that he could have some fun.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

The man in black didn't answer just gripped his clubs tighter. What could Joey call them? They were small, flimsy and thin, a bit like Billy from the mob shop. It was settled, they were to be called Billy clubs.

"Have it your way then, " Joey said, grabbing a shotgun from the table. He fired one shot, directly at the man in black. However, the intruder dodged it with split second maneuvers before throwing one of the Billy Clubs at Joeys face. Sadly, Joey didn't have great reactions and the club hit him straight in the jaw. The force behind it was incredible and the agony that followed was mind numblingly painful. Joey fell to the floor, fighting through the pain. When it had calmed down Joey began to stand up only to find the man in black in a fistfight with Mark and Fred.
Thinking on his feet, Joey started to make his way to the cupboard, an ak-47 would be rather useful. Joey risked a glance back as he swung open the cupboard doors only to notice that Fred was on the floor in a crumpled heap and the man in black had his fist around Marks throat. Suddenly, the man in black lifted Mark off the ground and slammed him against the wall. A soft gurgle escaped Mark's throat as he was forced into unconsciousness.

"Oh God," Joey screamed, yanking one of the guns off the rack. He span on his heels attempting to aim the gun at the man in black. But he was too late, the man in black was already upon him, throwing fist after fist against Joeys stomach. The ferocity of the punches, the sheer speed of it, was almost inhuman and in the split second as another punch hit Joeys face, he wondered if the man in black was a man at all or in fact a devil.

His fight punched out of him, Joey allowed the devil to lift him off the ground by the scruff of his neck and slam him against the wall. But he wasn't slammed as hard as Mark had been. The devil had wanted to keep Joey conscious, which he was, barely.

"Joey Macklone," the devil said, his voice a fierce, angry shout, "what happend to Ricky Clayton?"

Instantly, alarm bells rang in Joeys head. How did he know about Ricky? How had his Chicago past come back to him?

"We were friends," Joey reasoned, "but he found out about me."

"About what?" The devil hollered.

"The owl, OK," Joey pleaded, "he knew about the Owl and I had to kill him. It wasn't nice and I feel bad but I had to kill him."

"When the cops arrive, don't say a word about this or--"

"--I won't say nothing, not till court."

"Good," the devil replied in a strangely satisfied voice.

And then, in one quick, decisive movement, Joey's forehead was smashed against the wall, knocking him out, instantly.

Hope you liked Chapter one. Chapter two will be out next Friday. Comments are welcome and votes are too. No swearing, being rude or offensive remarks towards people, please.