The silver car stopped beside the wrecked vehicle.
Three machine gunners got out and opened fire on it.
Once their bullets were spent and police sirens began to wail, they started the car again and drove away.
After they left, someone stood on a nearby road, bracing himself against a metal frame as he vomited.
"How do you feel?"
"I feel like someone stuffed me into a pipe, squeezed me through it, then sucked me out like a flushing toilet."
"With descriptive skills like that, I suggest you study literature in college." John gave him a thumbs-up.
Ferdinand was in no mood for jokes. He was throwing up so hard his guts nearly came out.
John watched the silver car disappear into the distance. "Looks like someone in Hell's Kitchen is getting restless."
The man who had gone after his father had finally made another move to send a warning.
But the Ten Rings hadn't carried out this attack. It seemed they had their own troubles to worry about now.
"Bleurgh-"
John glanced at the man, who was still vomiting.
It was only Apparition, wasn't it?
Young Muggles made such a fuss over everything. A few more trips and he'd get used to it.
"Boss, how did I get here?"
After Ferdinand finished vomiting, his eyes were unfocused.
He couldn't remember how he had gotten out at all.
"Oh, just a little trick." John took a green banknote from his pocket and tucked it into Ferdinand's, then raised a hand. A yellow taxi stopped in front of them. "You're done working for today."
He tossed Ferdinand into the car, and the taxi whisked him away with a stomp on the accelerator.
John stood there for a while, then drew his Wand with his left hand.
"Time to see who's behind this."
A loud crack rang out. The approaching police officers hurriedly looked over, but there was no one there.
"Mission complete."
Inside the silver car, a report on the operation was underway.
The man in the passenger seat spoke into his phone. "Yes, no survivors."
"Not a single one."
The car came down off the overpass and stopped.
The man hung up and turned to look at the killers in the back seat.
"Your job is done."
The two men were still riding the high.
But the man in the passenger seat raised a pistol.
The suppressed pistol fired twice.
The driver stared at him in terror. "I-I won't say anything."
"Sorry. No survivors."
The man repeated what he had said earlier.
He pulled the trigger.
Blood splattered across the glass.
The man calmly got out, took a can of gasoline from the car, and poured it over the vehicle.
He put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with a match.
Taking a deep drag of nicotine, he flicked away the match just before it burned his fingers.
The match traced an arc through the air and landed neatly inside the car.
The fire spread rapidly, consuming everything, including the three bodies.
A breeze brushed the man's cheek, lifting a few strands of brown hair.
His eyes were melancholy as he stood some distance from the burning car, quietly watching it burn to nothing.
Rather than throw away the spent cigarette butt, he pinched it out, crushed it between his fingers, and put the fragments in his pocket before turning to leave.
He walked back to Hell's Kitchen.
The man sighed.
"Young lives, gone just like that."
With his hands in his pockets, he wandered through Hell's Kitchen that night like a ghost with nowhere to go.
Inside a high-rise in Hell's Kitchen.
A tall man with a seemingly bloated frame slowly lowered his phone. He wore a white suit.
The bespectacled man behind him said nothing. He understood this man better than anyone and knew how excited he was at that moment.
"Are we paying him the money?"
The bespectacled man asked.
The tall man glanced back at him. "We keep our promises."
"But this is the last time."
The bespectacled man said nothing more and left the room.
Looking down over Hell's Kitchen, the man's eyes brimmed with ambition.
He had been born here, grown up here, and committed his first crime here.
He had climbed step by step from a nobody to his current position.
His ambitions went far beyond this.
There was more he wanted. Something bigger.
He needed to go further.
He needed greater power to help him.
"Wick."
He knew the death of Wick's Son would force that man to act.
This was a perfect opportunity to take that man's place.
An opportunity to expand his ambitions until they encompassed all of New York, then the entire country, and even the world.
Reflected in the window, half the man's face was hidden in shadow.
Matt was swinging his Cane.
He had learned his staff techniques from Stick. They were fierce, terrifying, and full of killing intent.
These techniques were designed to kill, but Matt had his own rule against killing.
As a lawyer, he believed in the law more than anyone.
As a devout believer, his refusal to kill was more about redemption.
The Murdocks had a devil hidden deep in their hearts, and killing was the key that unlocked its cage.
Matt would not let himself become a devil.
He stopped swinging his Cane, sweat running down his cheeks.
He brought the sections in his hands together and twisted them, assembling an ordinary-looking Cane.
He wiped off his sweat with a towel. His warm-up was complete.
He picked up the headscarf that concealed his identity.
It was time for Matt, the righteous lawyer, to sleep, and for Daredevil to rise again.
Matt stood on a rooftop, quietly listening to the clamor of Hell's Kitchen.
A muffled scream reached him.
He turned toward it and hurried in that direction.
He couldn't drive, but he could run and leap freely across rooftops.
Almost there.
He was nearly there.
Stop the crime!
With that thought, Matt leaped down from the stairs and shouted, "Stop!"
The other man did indeed stop.
He even offered a warm invitation. "Out for a stroll?"
The familiar voice stunned Matt.
"Superheroes mostly work at night." John released the man he had beaten beyond recognition and walked over, wiping blood from his fists. "Don't you people get sleep-deprived?"
"Mr. Wick?" Matt smelled blood and said gravely, "I hope you can explain this."
"Nothing much. I was riding home today when this guy blew up my car with an RPG." John shrugged. "I was questioning him about who ordered him to do it."
"Someone tried to assassinate you?"
"It wasn't the first time."
John's casual attitude left Matt at a loss for words.
He had thought he was coming to stop a crime, only to find someone beating up a criminal.
"I can help," Matt said. "I can tell whether he's lying."
"No need." John casually dropped the handkerchief. "I already have the answer."
"Don't forget, I can use magic."
John shook his head. "This guy is a retired special forces soldier."
"His boss gave him a substantial sum of money, but there was one condition."
"No survivors."
John looked at the man lying in a pool of blood. "Fisk. Do you know him?"
"Fisk?"
Matt frowned in thought. "I think I've heard of him."
"All right, looks like I'll need to investigate. Oh, this guy's grabbing his gun. Don't worry, he's going to shoot himself in the mouth."
The man lying in the pool of blood drew a gun from his waist. Matt was about to move, but John remained unmoved.
Then a gunshot rang out.
The bullet exited the back of the man's head.
John looked calm. Matt's feelings were far more complicated.
"He was a good father," John said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, he wasn't a good man."
"You could have stopped him." Matt "looked" at John. "Why?"
"Why should I save someone who wants to kill me?"
John looked baffled. "You don't actually think I'd repay malice with kindness, do you?"
Matt fell silent.
"Now that I have my answer, the game can continue." John stretched, shifting the Wand in his hand. "By the way, I imagine you'll be grabbing some bad guy by the collar and beating him up soon, so I'll tell you in advance."
"The FBI will contact you, most likely about my car exploding."
"Just tell them I happened not to be in the car."
Waving goodbye, John walked out of the alley.
Matt remained alone for a while, then left.
The assassination attempt made the news.
Early the next morning, Morning News reported on the explosion.
John looked at his right hand, which was covered in a layer of silver as thin as a cicada's wing.
"Fusing in two pieces of uru made it conduct magic better."
John lifted his fingers, and the phone beside him flew over.
Its screen showed an incoming call from Natasha.
When he answered, he heard Natasha's voice.
"Perfect timing. I need you to issue a notice confirming I'm not dead."
Hearing John's voice, Natasha breathed a sigh of relief.
"I knew that explosion wouldn't kill you."
"It could have," John said with a smile. "Maybe it was just a little short."
"What did you find out?" Natasha ignored his joke and asked, "You wouldn't take a hit like that for no reason."
"You're very clever, Miss Romanoff."
The silver covering John's right hand receded, forming a Silver Ring on his finger. He said casually, "If you can use S.H.I.E.L.D. to look into Wilson Fisk for me, I'll give you a raise."
"Wilson Fisk?" Natasha asked seriously. "He's the mastermind behind the assassination?"
"If that retired veteran with PTSD could fool his own mind into believing a lie, then I suppose it wasn't him."
"Do you know him?" John asked.
Natasha glanced at Barton, who stood a short distance away, and denied it. "No, but the FBI files mention someone code-named Kingpin. I once suspected it was him."
"Kingpin is someone under the Hotel System. If it's him, that makes sense."
With the Underworld President gone, the factions under the Hotel System stood to gain the most.
Kingpin was one of New York's largest Underworld Forces, and was also a member of the High Table.
He was ambitious and controlled numerous factions.
With Watson Wick gone, it wasn't impossible for him to take over the Underground Alliance.
John listened to Natasha's analysis, stroking his chin.
"You don't seem to be at work today, Miss Romanoff."
Natasha smiled. "I'm your assistant, not the company's, aren't I?"
"Fair point."
John nodded and hung up.
A faint smile unconsciously tugged at Natasha's lips at John's response.
Barton noticed from a distance and asked, "Boyfriend?"
"No, he's not." Natasha rolled her eyes. "A guy who does whatever he pleases. Even more willful than Tony Stark."
Barton looked sympathetic. "The director sure gives you plenty of assignments like this."
Fury stepped outside and heard someone bad-mouthing him. His dark face seemed to grow even darker.
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