Daredevil sat beside the cross atop St. Clinton's Church, gazing down at everything below.
His super-sensory abilities covered several blocks in the vicinity.
The sound of his heartbeat, his breathing, the noise of the television... countless sounds flooded his ears.
He was searching for that irregular heartbeat, that chaotic rhythm belonging to the madman in the purple suit.
No.
That madman vanished without a trace.
"Zzz--"
Matthew tilted his head slightly.
The sound came from three blocks away, at a secondhand store called " Old George's Electronics ".
In the display window, the dozen or so old-fashioned CRT televisions that had previously had black screens suddenly lit up simultaneously without warning.
The image shook twice, but the focus was clear. There were no news anchors; the screen was filled with static, accompanied by a piercing electrical noise.
A few seconds later, the image stabilized.
The background is a mottled red brick wall with several large, crooked characters spray-painted on it: [Homework Display].
A lone iron chair sits in front of the camera, with a person strapped to it.
Matthew stood up, his grip on the weapon making a squeaking sound.
He "recognized" the person.
He didn't recognize the person by their face, but by their breathing rate—rapid, shallow, and accompanied by slight rales in their lungs from years of smoking.
And there was that distinctive grinding sound from bones; it was a trace left by the poor healing of a broken tibia in the left leg.
That's Grotto.
Hell's Kitchen is infamous for its scum that is "not even worthy of being called human."
This bastard specializes in abducting runaway girls from the slums and selling them to transnational human trafficking groups.
Two months ago, Matthew personally intercepted him in the back alley of this church, broke his legs with two short sticks, and dumped him like trash in front of the 15th Precinct.
According to the law, he should spend the rest of his life in Rikers Island Prison.
But now, Grotto is on television.
Hello, kids from Hell's Kitchen! Good evening!
The nightmarish voice came from off-screen.
"Today, we're going to have a lively social practice lesson on the topic of 'Several Misconceptions about Waste Sorting and Recycling.'"
The camera zoomed in, giving Grotto a close-up of his terrified face.
"This Mr. Grotto is a bad kid. He ruined twelve families and sold innocent girls overseas. Our superhero ' Red Hornhead ' caught him, broke his legs, and then... handed him over to the judge."
How noble! How civilized!
"But guess what? Surprise!"
"Mr. Grotto has a good lawyer. That lawyer took a large sum of money stained with blood, and then swore in the name of God that Mr. Grotto was just a mentally unstable victim with severe cognitive impairment, unable to even distinguish between a girl and a doll."
"The judge believed it. After all, Franklin's image was always so convincing."
"So, he'll be able to get medical parole next week."
"If nothing unexpected happens, he will be back on the streets next month, continuing his search for the thirteenth and fourteenth victims."
On the television screen, a hand wearing a purple glove reached out, holding a rusty pair of scissors.
"Since the intricate machine of the law has rusted, jammed, and can't turn anymore, then as a concerned citizen, Mr. J, I have an obligation to help lubricate it."
Grotto's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, and a desperate, mournful "woo-woo" sound escaped his throat.
"Click."
The screen went black.
But the sound that came out in the last second sent chills down the spines of everyone watching TV.
Matthew jumped from the top of the church.
He ran between buildings.
No need to search; the smell of blood is the best guide.
On the slide in Clinton Park.
Grotto's body was arranged in a slide-like position.
His chest was cut open, and inside was a thick stack of documents—his bail application and records of bribes to his lawyer.
Beside the corpse, the madman had carved these words by digging his fingers deep into the sand, mixing them with blood.
Every stroke exudes a frenzied power.
[Teaching Notes 1: Killing him will save twelve girls in the future. Is this math problem difficult, my top student?]
Daredevil's fingers were trembling.
"The law has failed," he muttered, his fists clenched so tightly they trembled. "But that doesn't mean you can be the arbiter."
"Hehehe... Well said!"
The park's loudspeakers suddenly blared.
"But you're late, hero! This is just the first appetizer."
"Let's see which lucky audience member is the next guest! Hahaha..."
The park lights suddenly went out.
Daredevil's Radar Sense are going off like crazy.
It wasn't directed at him, but at another corner of the city.
That was... the only general hospital in Hell's Kitchen.
St. Mary's Hospital.
This is one of the few safe havens in Hell's Kitchen, and the only refuge for civilians caught in the crossfire of gang warfare.
But tonight, the Pure Land has fallen.
There was no large-scale Carnage, nor any explosions.
The Joker only did a very small thing.
He cut off the hospital's backup power and then hacked into the intensive care unit's control system.
When Daredevil arrived at the hospital, the entrance was already surrounded by police.
"Don't go in! It's full of poison gas!"
Police officers roared outside the cordon, stopping a group of family members who were trying to rush in.
Daredevil didn't use the main entrance.
He climbed up the drainpipe to the third floor, where the ICU was located.
The window was open.
The ward was eerily quiet; all the medical equipment had stopped working.
Daredevil walked into the corridor, and stepped on something—a playing card.
He continued walking forward.
A photo was posted on the door of each ward.
He lightly brushed his fingertips across the rough texture of the photographic paper, the slightly raised marks of ink spreading across his palm.
Thermal induction climbs along the boundary between light and shadow, outlining the content.
In the first room, lying on the bed was an elderly man with burns.
The photo at the entrance shows an arsonist holding a flamethrower.
The arsonist had three ribs broken by Daredevil six months ago and was sent to prison.
In the second room, lying on the bed was a little girl who was in a coma due to a car accident.
The photo at the entrance shows a drunk driver who hit someone with his car.
The driver had his wrist broken by Daredevil two months ago and was handed over to the patrol officers.
There are six rooms in total.
Six innocent patients died because their life support systems were cut off.
At the end of the corridor, a smiley face was sprayed on the wall in fluorescent paint.
Below the smiley face is an audio recording that is playing on a loop.
It was the sound of a man screaming in agony.
Matthew recognized the voice.
It was that arsonist.
"Please... kill me... I don't want to play anymore..."
Then came the Joker's voice, gentle as a priest's.
Shh... don't make a sound. This is a swapping game.
"Mr. Red Hornhead didn't kill you; he gave you a second chance. So, I'm passing that chance on to the other patients inside."
"See, because you are alive, they are dead."
"This is the law of conservation of energy, understand?"
The recording abruptly stopped.
Daredevil knelt down in the hallway.
In his senses, those hearts that had stopped beating sounded like deafening questions.
If no one is left alive, the arsonist will have no chance to escape.
If no one is taken alive, the gang driver will not be released on bail.
if...
"Is this your logic?" Daredevil's voice was hoarse as he stood up and stomped on the tape recorder, smashing it to pieces. "This world certainly needs a cleansing, but that broom shouldn't be yours."