"We can't stay here. Kingpin will probably hear about this soon. We need to go."
Matt Murdock's ears twitched, and his dark red mask turned toward the ventilation duct, cutting Frank's fury short.
"Consider yourself lucky, kid." Frank sneered, flicking his half-smoked cigarette into the blood on the floor with a faint hiss.
He strode over to a corpse he had shot through the head, bent down, and pulled the Ka-Bar Knife from its neck. He casually wiped it twice on the dead man's clothes before sliding it back into his tactical vest.
"Move out." Frank wasted no words, turning toward the concealed escape passage on the other side of the basement.
Matt walked over to Peter, grabbed the collar of his crude red-and-blue bodysuit, and hauled him out of the sludge of strong acid and blood.
"Steady on your feet, kid." Matt's voice was low and hard. "This isn't the time to cry. If you want to atone, stay alive first."
Peter was pulled upright like a rusted puppet. His stomach was still cramping, and his mouth was full of the bitter taste of stomach acid.
He stared blankly at Roman's corpse on the floor, half its head missing. The sight seared itself into his retinas like a red-hot branding iron.
This was the real world of crime. No pulling punches, no SpongeBob underwear. Only brains, strong acid, and a nauseating stench.
"I... I understand."
Peter's voice was horrifyingly hoarse. He put his mask back on, the dent Frank's gun barrel had left still visible, mechanically shot out a strand of webbing, and followed Matt and Frank into the depths of the dark passage.
The next morning.
The rain in Hell's Kitchen had stopped, but the damp, moldy smell still lingered in the air.
Three layers of yellow-and-black