At first glance, the inside of Fogwell’s gym was nothing special. Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, shining across old creaky machines covered with a blanket of dust. In the centre of the gym was an old boxing ring, torn by years of age and taking up most of the room. They were lockers in the corner of the room also caked with dust. The inside of Fogwell’s gym was nothing special to an ordinary man but Matthew Murdock wasn’t an ordinary man.

Matthew ‘Matt’ Murdock could smell the sweat that still lingered on the machines, taste the dust in the air and hear the water dripping in the shower room. The inside of Fogwell’s gym told a story not to those that could see it, but rather to a blind man kneeling next to the lockers.

Matt heard his phone vibrate before it even rang. ‘Foggy, Foggy,’ called the automated voice. Matt got up, his hands running over the dent he punched into the locker, taking out his phone.

“Mr. Murdock, you’re late for work,” Foggy said. Matt let out a flimsy chuckle.

“The firm’s called Nelson and Murdock,” Matt said. “Not Nelson and associates.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re late.”

“Can a boss really be late?”

“A boss?” Foggy scoffed. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?”

Matt groaned.

“Did I just hear groaning?” Foggy said. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” Matt said, rolling up his shirt and seeing bruises from last nights incident. “Just had a little accident.”

“You want me to come over?” Foggy said, his voice softer. “To help.”

“No, no it’s fine,” Matt said. “I’m alright…”

“You sure?” Foggy interrupted. “I don’t…”

“It’s not a big deal,” Matt said. “I’m fine, Foggy. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, it’s bound to be a slow day seeing as we just opened,” Foggy said. “By the way, have you heard the news?”

Matt pinched the bridge of his news. “What news?”

“Good old Roscoe Sweeney,” Foggy said. “He died last night in that old subway.”

His footsteps clattered across the pavement, he breathed like an elephant. His heart went off like a jackhammer, his face was a red as a pimple about to burst.

“People say there was some guy in a mask after him,” Foggy said. “One of those masked vigilantes like Batman.”

He fired two bullets at him that he easily dodged. His heart couldn’t take it anymore, it was beating as fast as a rabbit. The man in the mask called after him but his plea fell on deaf ears.

“They say it’s a heart attack but I think that’s a big coverup,” Foggy said. “The cops don’t want to look worse than they already are.”

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He ran past a sea of homeless men who were equally as surprised when the man in the mask dashed past them. He could hear his heart. It was like a time bomb ready to explode.

“Either way, the guy who killed your father is dead,” Foggy said. “I know you wanted to lock him up but…” Foggy upon realising his friend was silent stopped his tangent. “Matt, you there? You doing okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” Matt said. Matt sighed. “Look, Foggy. I’m going to be a little late…”

“No, no I get it,” Foggy said. “Take all the time you need. Like I said, this place is empty.”

“Thanks, Foggy,” Matt said. “See you later.”

Matt hung up. He took out the cloth around his eyes, putting it in the locker where his civilian clothes were stuffed. He shoved his shirt in, took out his suit, red sunglasses and extended his walking stick. He made sure his locker was locked tightly before he left Fogwell’s gym.

Like many things in Crime Alley, Fogwell’s gym was abandoned long ago. Mainly due to the death of their star athlete, Battling Jack Murdock and the fact that it was one of the many businesses under Roscoe Sweeney. Nobody ever went near Fogwell’s which made it the ideal place for poor, blind Matt Murdock to train without being disturbed. Thanks to his dad, Matt had the keys to the gym. He made sure no one was outside before he opened the door.

His heart couldn’t take it anymore. In just a split-second Roscoe Sweeney collapsed on the floor. The sea of homeless people turning huddled around their fires and board games staring at him before returning to whatever it was they were doing.

Crime Alley was filled to the brim with cars in the morning. Cars blaring their horns and drivers yelling at each other. Nobody wanted to be here any longer than they needed to be, even in the morning. After all, it wasn’t called Crime Alley for no reason. Matt Murdock heard it all.

The man in the mask kneeled down, pressing his palms against his chest. Hoping and praying this bastard was still alive. Hoping and praying that his heart would beat again so that he could pay for everything he’d done.

The streets were mainly empty and desolate. It only got packed in the morning when commuters had to drive through the city block to get to work or wherever else they had to go.

But it was still. Still as a stone. The man pounded the granite next to him, screaming in rage and hatred. This man had killed his father only to die of a heart attack, never to answer for his crimes.

His dad used to tell him stories. Stories of when this place used to be called Park Row. Where the streets were packed with rich people and businesses used to flourish. When everybody used to be happy. Even when the depression hit and most of the businesses had to close down, Park Row used to still be bustling with activity. And then the Waynes died and everything went wrong. First it was the Falconies and soon after, crime families from all around, the Cartel, the Irish Mob and even the Yakuza had made this place their home. The people here were weak and vulnerable and business flourished for these groups when people were weak and vulnerable. Keeping them all in check was Roscoe Sweeney. But now he was dead.

He heard police sirens ring in the distance. He had to get out of here. He ran past the homeless men who had all gathered around him. He ran out of the subway as the police sirens got louder.

A lot of people wanted to leave Crime Alley. You could get mugged or killed at any moment. Everybody wanted to leave Crime Alley but due to circumstances could barely leave. Something pulled them back in against their will.

He heard their footsteps shuffling down the staircase. He heard the officers yell as they walked towards Roscoe Sweeney’s body. The infamous Fixer’s dead body. There was muttering and mumbling before they finally confirmed it. Roscoe Sweeney was dead.

Everybody wanted to leave Crime Alley. Even the people who lived here for decades wanted to leave. Crime Alley peaked during its Park Row days, they said. Everything was great until the depression, they grumbled. Everybody wanted to leave, except Matt Murdock. Even with a fancy degree from Columbia, Matt Murdock didn’t want to leave. Even after the man who killed his father wasn’t brought to justice, he didn’t want to leave. After all, his mother left them both here, his father died here, he was raised here, hell their firm was located here. Matt Murdock was born in Crime Alley; it was his home.