New Marvel Presents:
DAREDEVIL the Fearless
# 10: "A Deed Committed!"
Written By: Ben Kaine
Editor: Brian Provow
My name is Matt Murdock, Attorney at Law. I'm blind as a bat, although sometimes you might forget it. The reason for this is simple, if odd. As a boy, I saved a man's life and, in doing so, was hit by a truck containing some interesting cargo. Radioactive cargo. I was blinded, but every other one of my other four senses was put to the umpteenth degree.
To make a long story short, these four gifts of mine, at the expense of one, have made me a 'superhero'. A card-carrying tights-wearer. I'm called Daredevil. I'm the Man Without Fear, they say, and the only real reason for that is because I can hear you coming a mile away. If I can't take you, I'll run and get the Avengers. Spider-Man, another tights-wearing roof-jumper with an early-warning sense of his own, tells me that his system is pretty
Wilson Fisk, once called the Kingpin of Crime, is without a doubt one of the most detestable creatures I have ever known, with an evil in his soul that I sometimes think the Devil must envy. He has made my life Hell on several occasions, nearly destroying me and everything I love, whether employing a psychopathic assassin or using his knowledge of my secret identity to rend my public life asunder.
As Charles Dickens said, 'it is necessary that you understand this, or else nothing wonderful can come of the events of which I am about to relate'…
The Clinton Mission Shelter, a community outreach. Run by Nuns, it gave the Homeless places to stay, food to eat, and warmth to heat themselves. When every bit of power in New York City suddenly went out in the dead of winter (unbeknownst to New York as the result of the firing of a superweapon in the Midwest), it found itself almost underseige with people trying to survive the elements, people who found themselves suddenly reduced to a time when
Man fought with swords. They tried to cope until the authorities could restore the city's power.
The man who had just quietly entered the shelter through the back door was unaware of this, but the oppurtunity was a good one. He quietly slipped through the dark kitchen, fixing in on the orange glow of the fireplace in the main hall, where nuns served the Homeless and Poor with blankets and whatever food didn't require modern technology. He smiled.
Somewhere within that main hall, a 'Sister Maggie', one o' the nuns, was doing her work, having no clue that she was going to be decorating the halls with her intestines in a few minutes. He slipped a knife from his belt, instead of the little throwing dagger that he could kill her with quickly and quietly. His employer, Thomas Charteau, wanted it messy. Fine by him.
His black, kevlar-lined tights let him blend, at least partially, in with the darkness. The white, circular stripes about it did not, but since he wasn't here to pull a sneak job, he was fine with that…
BULLSEYE grinned. He liked their expression when they recognized him from the papers anyhow. He liked to make a little game of it, sometimes… He tried to kill them so that the expression would be on their faces when the police arrived.
The assassin gripped the knife tightly in his hand and peeked through the door into the main hall. He'd memorized Sister Maggie's face by a photograph… He just had to find her. Ah, there she was. Alright lady, he thought. The motherly-type who could turn your insides into goo with a smile. He'd start by paralyzing her so she couldn't run away… and then he'd kill all the witnesses.
He took out a second knife with his free hand, gripping both blades fiercely. The grin, the predator's smile, relaxed on his face… and he leaped through the doorway-
"Surprise, Honey-!" Bullseye cried as he leaped across the room. Someone screamed as he raised the knife, and Sister Maggie, the mother of Matt Murdock, turned around… "You've won an all-expense-paid vacation to the Pearly Gates, courtesy of your ol' friend-"
"BULLSEYE-!" came a voice that could shake windows, stunning Bullseye with surprise. "NO!"
Bullseye turned and at that point a chair flew across the room, slamming into him and knocking him off the table he had jumped on… He fell, both of his knives falling across the floor, away from his grasp. Bullseye groaned, standing, the smile gone from his face…
"What-? You!" he cried, looking up at the gargantuan form of his former employer and ruler of New York's underworld… "Wilson Fisk? KINGPIN-? What the hell is this?"
"At the moment, I am 'Thomas Charteau'…" Fisk growled, and he advanced like a giant. Bullseye's look of surprise turned to a look of hatred.
"That was you-? I'm pulling this job for YOU in a freakin' false account-? I told you, Kingpin.. It's over for both o' us! I ain't pulling your jobs anymore!"
"And you shall not pull this one," the Kingpin said. "I call it off. The nun, 'Sister Maggie', is to be left alone. You shall leave."
They stood there, amidst a room of shocked, poor people… Behind Wilson Fisk, Fisk's right-hand man Pembroke ran in, a look of fear on his face… Bullseye turned his cold eyes upon the little nerd for a moment, then back to Fisk.. A man he had come to hate, and yet now tried to pull the wool over his eyes and now had wasted his time-
And then, a slow smile spread across the face again. The predator's smile.
"Better idea," Bullseye chuckled, and Fisk's eyes widened slightly as Bullseye picked up his knives again. "Ya see, upon the death o' Sister Maggie, the Thomas Charteau account automatically pays my account the money. I'm betting you haven't frozen that program yet. So whatsay-"
The smile got wider as Bullseye finished: "- I kill her… and butcher you too? Hundreds of mob bosses who'd pay for the Fat Man's corpse, Fisk. Thousands. Heh. Heh heh heh. HAHAHA-!"
And Bullseye leaped forward again, this time at Fisk himself, knives whirling-
Fisk raised his arm to ward off the knife and felt the cold steel enter his arm, sending his warm blood spurting across his white coat. His other hand curled into a fist and he shot a punch at Bullseye, knocking the assassin across the room again.
"I'll die…" he groaned as the blood made its way down his arm, "..but you won't live to see it."
* * *
Tap tap tap tap tap tap….
Tap tap tap tap tap tap…
"That's good, Phil. That's real good!" J. Jonah Jameson laughed, puffing on his cigar as he looked about the offices of the Daily Bugle. The lights had gone out, but there had been no panic at the offices of what Jameson called 'New York's hard-fact newspaper'. You didn't dare panic, or Jameson would… well, nail your butt to the wall.
That was last night, and Jameson had quickly hauled up old typewriters, candles, lanterns, and paper. "All the other newspapers are gonna be stuck 'cause of this blackout, but not the Daily Bugle! We'll have our morning edition out as if it were just another day! That's why we're the Daily Bugle!"
Phil Urich relaxed in his chair, lighting his cigarette. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked around. Jameson had left to go rail on another reporter for not typing fast enough, and Robbie Robertson, the assistant editor, was on his own well-deserved (in Phil's opinion, not Jonah's) break.
He looked out the window at the City Which Was Finally Sleeping. It was the afternoon, and white snow was falling in what was actually a rather beautiful vision of the city… despite the fact that the death count would be horrible. Maybe he'd ask Matt, Ol' Hornhead, what exactly had happened to make the entire city go out. He knew these types of things. When you associated with Captain America or defended the Fantastic Four, you pick up on such
If Matt was available. Karen Page and Foggy Nelson had visited him a short time ago, asking where he might be… Wanting to protect Matt's secret identity, of course, Phil hadn't mentioned that he might be battling some menace with the power to black out miles or whatever.
Jameson was looking angry. Time to get to work again.
* * * HELL'S KITCHEN * * *
Sister Maggie ran.
How long had it been? Three minutes ago? She had found a policeman and told him as quickly as she could that something was going on at the Clinton Mission Shelter, something bad, but she could not stop running. Not with that- that monster on her tail. That demon.
Bullseye. One of the demons that haunted her son's life. How, she wondered, could he face such creatures on a day-to-day basis? Surely the Lord was with him, but his bravery must still be far greater than hers. He probably got it from his father… She had never been very brave-
And that's why you ran into the convent, wasn't it Maggie? To hide behind church walls.
She pushed the thought away, looking around desperately as she ran through Hell's Kitchen, calling for help. Perhaps Matt- Daredevil, would come. Perhaps he'd come and save her and beat the monster again… the monster who-
The monster who was locked in battle with that man. 'Fisk'? 'Wilson Fisk'? Another name that Matt had once mentioned to her, when he was staying in her care… Another name he spoke with venom. Another monster.
The same monster that had turned to her and yelled for her to run away and not look back, no matter what? The same monster who had saved her life?
She cried again for help and then hit someone-
"SISTER! SISTER, CALM-!"
That voice! Sister Maggie looked up, her old eyes looking over a lovely face… A face her son loved. She choked back tears and spoke… "Karen? Karen Page? Is that you, Child? Oh, thank Heaven, Child… Listen to me, listen-"
* * *
"So what's she worth to ya, Fat Man? Is she your girlfriend-?" the assassin hissed through a bloodied mouth. He leaped into the air, sending his foot flying forward in an arch, but even Bullseye could easily forget that Fisk, as gigantic as he was, had almost no fat on him. It was muscle, and muscle was agile.
A hand came up and blocked the kick, then a second large hand took the stab of Bullseye's blade meant for Fisk's head. More blood came and Fisk seized Bullseye's leg, hurling the assassin once more across the room.
The room had finally begun to clear, although it was certainly not an orderly clearance. Women seized their children, wrapped in whatever blankets and food they could grab with their leftover limbs, running for the exits, screaming. Fisk did not see Murdock's mother. Good. Run, he thought. Run with all your might, woman.
Bullseye was standing again, taunting. "…heh.. Nice, Fisk.. Still got the ole' kick. I'll bet my body would be in paste if not for this spiffy little adamantium skeleton o' mine, eh? I wonder if you've got one too… Guess I'm gonna find out. Hehe!"
"Pembroke!" Fisk barked to his man, cowering in the corner. "Leave. Freeze the 'Thomas Charteau' account. He shall have no reward-!"
Pembroke nodded, turning to run… but Bullseye had found one of the forks from a leftover meal. It sailed through the air and caught the fleeing man, Fisk wincing despite the many murders he'd seen, and Pembroke fell.
"Bad advice," the assassin muttered, seizing several more knives and forks. Fisk's face set in granite and his two meaty, bloody hands grabbed the end of one of the long tables. Pushing forward, he lifted the table, creating a great battering ram, and charged.
The table blocked the incoming knives, forks, and spoons, smashed against the wall, cracking into pieces, but Bullseye had nimbly leaped over it. Fisk caught a fist full of adamantium to the nose, felt the cartilage burst. Another punch, and Fisk stumbled backwards.
Bullseye kicked forward, slamming the adamantium-filled foot into his head, and Fisk saw stars.
* * * A CERTAIN BAR * * *
"You won't believe it!"
"Well, if ya spit it out, maybe I'll have a better chance! C'mon, Turk! What the hell is it?"
".. I was walking, see? Doing nothing, minding my own business-"
"Get to the point, Turk!"
"..and I saw that man, Bullseye, man. Got the word that he's goin' after somebody in the Clinton Mission Shelter and I stop by to see… and I see him fightin' the Fat Man!"
" 'The Fat Man'? Some new hero?"
"Ya don't remember Fisk already? The Fat Man! The Kingpin of Crime! They're going at it no-holds barred! Ya want good seats, ya'd better hurry-"
The bar almost cleared at that very moment, men rushing to the door… only to be stopped by a figure outside. A hand seized Turk.
"Tell me about it."
* * * THE CLINTON MISSION SHELTER * * *
"Now ain't this the way to die, Fat Man?!" Bullseye grinned, sending another foot into Fisk's head with enough force to snap a normal man's neck. Several fold-out chairs were knocked about as Fisk fell, only for a moment, quickling rising in time to ward off another knife. His arms. They were going numb…
He looked at Bullseye through blurred but hateful eyes, grabbed a chair and flung it at the assassin. Bullseye deflected it with the flick of an arm.
"Please," the predator muttered, rolling his eyes. "Getting a little desperate, Fisk?"
Fisk made no reply. He was.
* * * NEARBY, HELL'S KITCHEN BORDER * * *
"We have to do something…"
"Maybe Matt'll return," Foggy half-whispered.
Karen turned on him, giving him a fierce look. "We can't always expect Matthew to save the day! God, he's been gone for how long now-? We can't just let Fisk die and hope that Daredevil will conveniently pop in-!"
"…Why not?" Foggy asked.
"..I'm sorry, Karen. I didn't mean that… but Fisk has hurt you all so much.."
The old voice of the nun, sitting on the bench near them. "..Forgiveness is divine, Child…"
"The police are on their way for you, Maggie," Karen said.
"But what are you suggesting? The police won't arrive in time, and even if they did…"
"Unless there was an entire SWAT team, they'd be slaughtered," Karen finished.
"..Then I guess.. Fisk is dead."
* * * CLINTON MISSION SHELTER * * *
"Outta curiousity, why'd ya do it, Fat Man?"
Bullseye's voice echoed through the dark shelter, the voice of a predator. Fisk ignored it, continued to crawl through the kitchen, hoping that his trail of blood was not discovered by Bullseye for another few seconds…
"C'mon, what gives? You have an attack of the conscience or what? You've had me ace plenty o' people. What's so special about the nun?"
Nothing, Wilson thought, standing to open the back door. Perhaps that is what's wrong.
He felt a knife enter his back, grunted, and stumbled out into the cold daylight. His coat had been ripped somewhat, no longer protecting him from the weather like it used to. Forget such Weakness, he thought grimly, and closed the door behind him. He would have tried to move a dumpster in front of it, but Bullseye would simply circle around with a speed to impress Spider-Man. No, he'd only bought himself seconds. Better use it to find a weapon.
His cane. He had left it in the car. It held a powerful blast charge upon its end, something that he had a Valley engineer build into it… before he'd had him buried.
If he could make it to the car-
Somewhere in the cold, Bullseye was laughing… He began the slow movements toward that car that he was still capable of doing.
* * * THE DAILY BUGLE * * *
Phil Urich awoke with a start as the phone rang. It was odd, not having any electricity but still having a phone. He didn't really understand it, but it was never a problem… He picked it up, put it to his ear.
"Hullo?" he asked sleepily, and perhaps a bit drunkenly.
"Urich? Urich, this is Karen. There's a problem and I just don't know what to do…"
"What? What is it- Ok, Karen… Hold on! Slow down! I'll grab a pen- well, what's so important? …What? …Holy..-"
He hung up, rose from his desk. Truly, a day of surprises… and he wished to God that Daredevil was here, or at least that he knew the man was coming.
* * *
Wilson Fisk's fingers made bloody prints upon the tinted windows of his car. The Cold. It stung them. Perhaps the Cold he was feeling wasn't entirely from the snow, he thought.. Perhaps if he looked past the black tint of his windows he could see the face of Death-
The cane. Get the cane. Where was Bullseye-?
The Nun! Daredevil's mother! Had he gone after-? The cane. Get the cane.
He pulled his fist back, sending it into the glass only to remember its bulletproof. He grunted, wondered if he had keys in his pocket… No, Pembroke had them-… It had been a while since Fisk had ever driven himself-
The black window exploded in shards, cutting Fisk's face even as a powerful blast slammed into his chest. Fisk cried out and fell to his knees, shaking, the world swimming as the energies did their work, bringing a man's body to his knees through complete disruption of his muscles.
And Bullseye leaped out of the car, cane in hand. Upon the other side of the car, there lay a broken window. Adamantium was stronger than any glass.
"Hi there, Fat Man! I took the liberty o' retrieving this little toy for you. Mind?"
The eyes of a Kingpin glared at the assassin through a face of blood, and Fisk launched his body forward. Bullseye easily twirled in the air, meeting Kingpin's face with a kick, then another punch, then another, and a kick, and another…
"CONSIDER YOURSELF #$#(%& YET, FAT MAN-!? HOW'S IT FEEL???
Another kick, another punch. Muscles tore as feet and hands as sharp as blades slashed them.
"I'm going to screw you over, Fatso! Screw you into the ground! And your bloated carcass'll be on some lucky crimelord's mantle by the end o' the day! Silvermane! Hammerhead! Be a helluva auction, won't it?! Have to visit a good taxidermist first, tho'-… and kill a certain little #$@%(* nun!"
The giant remained standing, his breathing coming in labored gasps… Somewhere within his head, a swollen brain was struggling to escape a cracked skull. The concussion was a deep one, but it might not compare to brain damage.
"…You.. won't.. get her.."
"That's your final degree, 'King'!" Bullseye laughed, and he took a throwing dagger from his belt. He let it fly, hurled straight toward the small space between Fisk's eyes, and both knew he wouldn't miss-
And the dagger rested between two red-gloved hands. In a moment, its trajectory was reversed, and it slammed into the side of Bullseye. The assassin fell.
"…You.. M-Murdo-" Fisk hoarsely whispered, falling to his knees. The scarlet swashbuckler, the Daredevil, took several steps past the fallen giant…
"Stand down, Fisk," came the familiar growl of the Man Without Fear. The unseeing face turned to the assassin. "I have it from here…. and… thanks."
And Bullseye stood, laughing in the cold as he ripped the dagger forth from his body.
"Oh, you certainly do… All the punishment, all the blood.. Come and get it, Hornhead!"
And they leaped forward simultaneously…
* * To Be Continued in "Daredevil the Fearless" #11! * *
NEXT: What the heck do you think-? It's DAREDEVIL vs. BULLSEYE, as we close in on our big twelfth issue! This time, however, Daredevil may not have in him what he'll need to deal with his most lethal foe…
Daredevil the Fearless # 9 was called a "must-read"!
Daredevil the Fearless # 11 will be called a "read or die"!
Read it in January on The New Marvel: Fan Fiction webpage.