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Hell's Kitchen didn’t call out his name anymore.
There weren't bouts of petty fighting, or raids around the corner for him to solve. There wasn’t anyone calling from the darkness of abandoned buildings, begging to be saved. No one needed him anymore, and there wasn’t anything he could do to mend that. The air was bitter, a type of bitterness that ripped him out of dissociation and back into his consciousness. He tried to ignore how the familiar sounds of cars racing beneath him have slowly dwindled these past couple months, how the feeling of the air on his fingertips was the only thing keeping him grounded to the world around him. The sounds of sirens were permanently sketched into his mind, but the sounds of them slowly slipped out of reach. That familiar prayer, despite his lack of belief, spun around in his head like a mantra:
O good Jesus, hear me.
Hide me within your wounds-
A part of Matt wished that there was more crime in the city, the years of torment he dedicated every waking moment to solving had come to a pause. He wondered when the lines blurred between heroism and personal gain, when an occupation became dependency. The thought of being dependent on something stemming from the torment of others made him sick. But there was more there, more that he couldn’t decipher based on a psychoanalysis of his thoughts on a rooftop.
A shiver rushed through the back of his neck, reaching into the depths of his nervous system that had to be caused by more than the cold. His eyebrows raised, as he took a breath, focusing on centering his feet on the solid ground. It had been so long that he couldn’t even conceptualize the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins, the feeling of the vibrations rattling every bone.
Someone needed help.
Someone needed him.
He sprung off the rooftop faster than he could fathom, gripping on to each poll with a flexibility that radiated a feeling of familiarity as he slid down the fire escape. Every building felt like home to him, like this city had its own way to weave into his soul.
defend me from the evil enemy,
He sprung off the fire escape and rolled through his landing on the building next to him. Matt forced every breath to propel him forward, leaving no room for failure, every bite of the impact was a drug that sent him soaring. The wind chipped away at his skin as he hooped between each foot, fumbling with his toolbelt, he propelled himself forward with the grappling hook. The feeling of sharp clanging colliding against each other kept him on his toes. He sensed hasty movement nearby, he had to be close.
And call me at the hour of my death,
A bone chilling thud rattled through the air. Screams pierced through the air but were silenced mere moments after. The world around him went quiet, and he was plunged back into darkness. But, the one thing that kept him anchored was the sounds of muffled wheezing that rattled through his skull.
Matt’s eyebrows furrowed, “Shit.”
He sent himself falling off the ledge, ignoring how his mind was clawing onto the instinct to listen to the heartbeats in the area. He scrambled after he landed on the pavement, scanning the general area. The vibrations on the floor were muffled, but there was no doubt that someone was laying in front of him. The smell of metallic blood clung onto his nose, he took a step closer.
“Is somebody there?” Matt called out, “What happened here?”
The stench of death lingered in the air. With every second that passed without a reply, Matt’s stomach twisted. He was too late, he was always too late. Multiple bodies were scattered across the alleyway, each mutilated and contorted in ways he couldn’t imagine. Whoever had done this was long gone, fleeing the scene and disappearing into the labyrinth of the city.
Matt lowered his head, etching the cross across his head, chest and shoulders. He hoped that Heaven granted these poor souls the peace he deserved. He then leaned over each of the bodies, using two of his fingers to gently shut their eyes. He then reached into one of their pockets and grabbed one of their burner phones, dialing for emergency assistance. He let the dispatcher speak into silence, he only had a few moments before this area was swarmed with police and Fisk’s goons.
To the fellowship of your saints
That I might sing your praise with them
Matt stood, taking a deep breath. Amongst the silence of Hell's Kitchen, he finally knew why he sought out the crime that plagued this city. Matt was nothing but the same man that curled before the Lord as He stripped him from everything he’d known. That would never change, no matter how much time had passed. But, although he was weak, he was not a coward. Whoever committed this atrocity was skilled and enraged. Killing this many people so quietly within such a short time frame was beyond frightening. Whoever had done this would be brought to justice, no matter the cost. He gripped onto his club once more, throwing one end onto the fire escape and pulling himself upward.
As the sun began to rise over the skyline, marking a future where Daredevil was this city’s salvation once again, Matt felt as though The Lord had finally answered his prayers.
for all eternity. Amen.