Prologue: Blind Injustice
Clak clak clak clak clak clak clak
The constant clicking of his cane against the sidewalk, tapping out a beat like a steady metronome with each step he took. The early-afternoon twittering of birds in trees, the faraway screech of tires on tarmac, the erratic smatterings of peoples' footsteps as they went about their lives. Each sound, every one of them distinct and unique in their own way, told a story all on its own; somewhere, a door shut. Somewhere else, a dog rummaged through garbage. Elsewhere still... well...
that one might be better off left
unmentioned. You get the idea. All around him, the city took deep breaths, its inhabitants coursing through its veins like blood. Just another day in suburban New York. Even with all that, Queens was like a library next to the tumultuous uproar that was Hell's Kitchen. He kinda liked it.
The cane. The birds. The dog. These were all things he could hear, but never see. He saw nothing through those blank, clouded pupils; hadn't since childhood. Crimson shades reflected a world of paper right back out, the eyes within comprehending nothing.
Seeing nothing.
Then again, seeing wasn't everything.
He had a plethora of other talents at his disposal to make up for it. Smiling, he politely nodded to a passing elderly woman in the street and slowed his pace to a contemplative walk a ways down the footpath, eventually coming to a halt entirely before a row of innocuous houses. He briefly glanced upwards, holding his breath and attuning his senses; defective eyes drifting shut, the man letting his ears do the perceiving for him. Like he said... a plethora. Seemingly satisfied, he veered off the sidewalk after a moment to stroll down the driveway to one house in particular, convinced he wasn't being tailed.
He should've listened harder.
Some distance away, situated at the far end of the block and perched lithely atop a bungalow, a figure clad in white watched the man's movements intently. She was too far-off for his hearing to pick up without knowing what he was looking for, her strong heartbeat just one of many. The fuchsia-adorned web patterns on her arms and hood pretty much broadcasted her motif right off the bat, and the thin fabric coverings obscuring her eyes were currently narrowed as she watched the man approach the domestic dwelling.
Matt Murdock, attorney at law. A loooooooooong way from home. Too far. Way, WAY too far for comfort. Also, hi. Internal commentary. I do that. 'Specially when I'm nervous, and right now I'm an 11 on a scale of prom date to hostage situation so deal with it. Why is he here?!????
Dropping her stance lower and pressing her fingertips to the roof tiling, she deftly crawled over the edge and down the wall one step at a time. This
had to be a coincidence, right? He was a lawyer. He must've been here for her dad. Legal business, client contracts needing finalizing, something like that. He wasn't here for Spider-Woman, no way. She didn't even
live here anymore. This might've been Gwen Stacy's house once, but when she put the ol' mask and tights on there was nothing connecting her to-
Oh.
#$%@.
"Captain Stacy. Afternoon. Is Gwen home?"
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. On one side of the door, George Stacy, captain of the NYPD. Loving father to Gwen Stacy, also known by the press and citizens of New York as "Spider-Woman". Her true identity was a secret known only to herself and George, his silence maintained to protect his daughter. On the other side, Matthew Murdock. Decorated criminal defense lawyer, known for his track record of getting clients acquitted. Ostensibly visually impaired, but sometimes seemed just a little bit too
aware for a blind man. Earnest, intelligent...
...and right-hand man of Wilson Fisk, alias "The Kingpin". Notorious organized crime boss, murderer, and all-around nasty piece of work. He'd had dealings with the police department numerous times, almost all of which involved Fisk and were about as legitimate as a Bigfoot sighting. Greased palms and veiled threats were the norm with Matt Murdock. And now he was here, at his house.
Stacy didn't respond, instead allowing a tense silence to settle over the scene as the two men stared each other down. There was no need. After the initial shock packaged with seeing Murdock surface
here of all places, the first thing to flash in the police captain's eyes was understanding. This wasn't about him. There was only one reason he could be here.
He knew.
Dammit, Gwen. I taught you to be smarter than that.
The captain went for his gun, but his hand had barely finished twitching in his holster's direction when Murdock stepped forward and delivered a vicious headbutt to Stacy's nose, positioning his cane behind George's ankles and sharply shoving the man forward so he stumbled and landed hard on his back with a grunt. He tried, once again, to reach his gun, but Murdock stomped on his wrist and gave him a kick in the ribs for good measure, stooping down to almost gingerly scoop up the sidearm. Using a handkerchief to mask his fingerprints, he casually flicked the gun across the room and straightened up with a sniff, using the hankie to wipe the few flecks of blood from Stacy's nose off his forehead.
"Rude. So, like I was saying-- Gwen Stacy. 20 years old, Midtown High graduate. Studying at ESU, though with the amount of classes she cuts I use the term "studying" loosely. Drummer in a really crappy band, and-- I like this part-- daughter of NYPD captain George Stacy! One of about three cops in the bureau who aren't on Wilson Fisk's payroll. That's all just happenstance, though. I'll admit I was considering threatening your family to convince you to roll over, but when I started looking into your sole living relative-- sorry about the wife, by the way-- I got to thinking. And I started thinking that maybe, just maybe, two of my problems were really one and the same. I was disappointed in myself for not seeing it sooner, but, y'know. Blind."
The arrogant, self-assured smirk never left the attorney's face, even as he casually took off his sunglasses, tucked them away inside his shirt pocket and produced a black, nondescript bandana, tying it over his eyes and head while he spoke.
"I started thinking about Spider-Woman. And about how she has an unbelievable track record of saving you, Captain Stacy. It's been, what, three times now? Two of our own personal assassins have tried to rub you off, and both times they met resistance from the elusive woman in white. It could've just been coincidence, of course; maybe you were just on her radar after being so vehement about bringing her in a few months back, but I didn't think so. And imagine my surprise when I looked into young Gwen's extracurricular activities, and found... this."
He reached into his inner jacket once more, pulling out a neatly folded flyer of some sort for a rock band called the Mary Janes.
"Stupid name for a band, but whatever. Here's the neat part. Your daughter, Gwen; drummer for this group, right? Well, as it turns out... this is the same band whose gigs Spider-Woman's taken it upon herself to intervene in when things got out of hand. Twice."
He slipped the flyer back into his pocket, abruptly whipping his walking cane and letting it extend into baton form with a
flik.
"And after that, I figured I could just come here and test a theory. So here we are."
Stacy had listened in silence throughout Murdock's entire spiel, but when it was over he just gave a derisive snort, spat and shook his head.
"I knew you were sick, but I didn't take you for a moron, Murdock. You're way off. And you just came here and admitted about 80 different felonies to a captain of the police force."
"I'm a very good attorney, Captain Stacy. You know that. Besides, even assuming I walk away from here without the immense leverage of knowing your daughter's secret, and assuming in such an event that you're still alive... what're you gonna tell them?"
He grinned.
"A blind guy did it?"
SMAAAAAASH
Sorry, kitchen window. No time for subtlety. I'll always remember you. Gwen landed on the kitchen tiles in a hail of shattered glass and splintered wood, poised in a half-crouched position with her fingers arched against the floor. She initially said nothing, letting her arrival speak for itself, staring daggers at the Kingpin's assassin across the room.
After a few moments of silence, however, she spoke, a voice that seemed better-suited to sarcasm uncharacteristically dark in the moment and lightly muffled by her spandex facemask.
"You made a mistake, Murdock. Done goofed bigtime."
The killer seemed unfazed by her arrival, arching an eyebrow beneath his own minimalist mask and letting his smirk linger as he cocked his head.
"Au contraire. I think you showing up here pretty much confirms my theor--"
"No."
"YOUR MISTAKE WAS COMING TO MY #$@% HOUSE!"
The syllables hadn't even left her mouth before she was simply
gone, a blur of motion flipping and springing across the room in an erratic pattern to rock Murdock in the jaw with a killer left hook before he could so much as
think of dodging. It was all he could do to roll with the damn thing, throwing himself backwards and handspringing into a crouch as he gritted his teeth and wiped away blood from his chin. She was so used to holding back, to putting a cap on her strength and speed for fear of hurting someone. Well, now she
wanted to hurt this guy. He put his hands on her
dad. Did that smug son of a bitch have
any idea how bad he just #$@%ed up?!
Apparently not. He rose to his feet, still maintaining an air of smugness even now, holding his telescopic baton out in front of him in a professional stance.
"Careful, Gwen. I know your secret now, remember? Play your cards with me wrong and I can destroy your entire life--"
BAM. Murdock absolutely ate another punch to the jaw, sending him careening across the room to land in a heap of furniture as he shook his head to clear it. Growling, he kipped up to his feet and broke into a dash for his adversary, spinning the baton in his grip to lash out for the spider's center of mass. The strike was lightning-fast, precise, and carried the impact of a professional boxer's blows and then some. Most ordinary men and women wouldn't have had a snowball's chance in hell of avoiding it.
Gwen weaved around it like it was a thrown pillow, swinging in hard with her right fist to crack Murdock in the face once again with a dull
thampf. Her fists were coated with a layer of webbing, acting as an impact absorber so she didn't have to pull her punches, and for as far as the man's intense training in speed and agility got him he might as well've been fighting with two broken legs. Everywhere he struck, it seemed like Gwen was elsewhere, and when he tried to duck her hits he found them raining down regardless.
Thump-thump.
Badum-thump.
Thumpathump.
Thump.
As good as his skills and radar sense were, physically Murdock was still just a man.
And she was a
spider.
It seemed like it was over before it even began. Murdock lay in a bruised, battered heap on the floor, and Spider-Woman stood over him without so much as a scratch, fists clenched and breathing ragged. After a moment, she spoke.
"Hitting a blind guy never felt so good. Murdock, I pretty much speak for the entire city of New York when I tell you to SHUT UP. Kay?"
She didn't wait for a response, dropping a hand to her hip and raising the other to brandish a cell phone. It was powered on, the camera light illuminated to indicate it was recording.
"I got 95% of what you said to Captain Stacy on film, along with the total ass-beating I just gave you. Got that? I shouldn't have to explain what that means. Go. Get out of here, go back to doing whatever a creepy lawyer does in his free time. Keep everything you think you learned here to yourself, or mister video here goes viral. Doesn't matter how good a lawyer you are, you'll rot in jail where you belong for the rest of your life-- assuming mister Fisk doesn't send your replacement in to keep you from ratting. Don't say anything, just leave. And if you ever come near me or my family again, I won't even bother releasing the vid."
She crouched down to yank him by his tie, leering behind her mask as she finished.
"I'll just kill you. Now go."
Total bluff, but that was for her to know. To his credit (ech) Murdock didn't look scared, just... beaten, and he left with about as much dignity as he could muster after that beatdown. No posturing, no promises of revenge. He just shut up and left. If only more villains could've been like that.
Her dad was out cold after Murdock gave him a swift kick in the head to put him out of commission when the fight started, but she could tell he'd be fine. That said, she reeeeeally didn't wanna be around when he woke up to get a lecture, nor did she wanna deal with the cops when they showed up. Someone must've called by now, no doubt.
So... she made like a banana and split too, sighing to herself as she left through the back door and took off on a web-line, grateful as always for the telephone poles scattered around the neighborhood tall enough to swing on.
Unfortunately, she was so preoccupied by that little series of events she hardly even registered the oncoming wave of white destruction before she ran straight into it, her last sensation before blacking out the throb of her spider-sense buzzing in the back of her skull.
Some time later...
Gwen woke up a while after the others with a start, gasping as she clutched at her head groggily. The source of her rude and abrupt awakening, her spider sense, was still tingling like crazy, pounding against her skull to the beat of one of her drum solos. Ugh. She could feel a migraine brewing and it was
not gonna be pleasant. C'mon, didn't she have enough to worry about without... whatever the heck
this was?! She had band practice tonight! And supervillains!
Okay. She had to... say
something. She didn't recognize any of these people, they might've been dangerous. Or crazy. Or both. She had to let them know she wasn't gonna be easy pickins' if they wanted to mess with her. C'mon, spider, bare your fangs.
Make them fear you. It can't be that hard. Most of New York already does.
"Um... I eat children."
...
"..."
"...Bye."
With a sudden
Thwipp and a sharp yank she was gone, swinging up and away into the darkness to find a high-up vantage point to cling to, survey the area and get some idea what kind of place they were in. It was obvious they were underground someplace, and that typically meant the way out was up... right?
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