“Boss, we have a lawyer ready to go,” Juan said. “The men and I will find a way to deal with the witness just…”

“No,” Fernando said. “No, nothing will happen to her.”

“Boss, are you sure?” Juan said. “She has a solid case against you and…”

“No Juan, there’s something you don’t understand,” Fernando said. “If we kept on killing our enemies it’d be easy to find witnesses. Killing is messy. Yes, it’s easy but afterwards there’s drama, y’know? Too much to clean up, too little time but what’s scary, what breaks the masses isn’t when you start killing them left and right but when you start making them fear you, when you break them to the point where they can’t act.”

“Your time is up,” muttered one of the cops.

“That is what we shall do,” Fernando said. “We will make that whore fear us.”

“What’re you talking about?” the officer said walking towards him. Fernando smiled at him.

“Nothing officer,” Fernando said, hanging up the phone. “My time is up, yes.”

The officer wrapped the handcuffs around Fernando and dragged him back to his cell. Fernando just smirked, blowing into the air.

…

Sparks danced in the air as the razors buzzed against the machine. Melvin Potter was in his warehouse, his ‘forge’ as Betsy called it. It was a musty place, tools lining the tables and the walls, the smell of metals and faded flames filling the air. The clang of hammers against metal and the loud screech of machines were the sounds that echoed through the warehouse. Clang, clang, clang. Melvin was always good with his hands. Hands the Gladiator used to take, Melvin used to build. Clang, clang, clang. Throughout the day the Gladiator was a looming force in his head, whispering his lies and hatred. Forcing him to turn. The sound of the hammer hitting the metal was his respite. Clang, clang, clang. The forge was his sanctuary, his hands the key. The forge was his escape from the monsters, from the violence, from the life, the him he hated.

“Melvin.”

Melvin turned and without thinking swung his fist at the Devil standing in front of him.

“Go away!” he cried. “Go away. I don’t want you here!”

He remembered his fists bearing down on him, he remembered the bruises opening up and burning and the taste of his own blood.

He threw the tools neatly laying around at the Devil. He thrashed and swung his fists, breaking the tables, swinging the tools around, bruising his own body.

Melvin in his angry desperation picked up one of the rusted sawblades lying around and threw it at him. To get him out of here to…

Kill him.

Get rid of him…

Forever.

“Melvin,” the Devil said. “I just want to talk. I just need answers.”

“No,” Melvin cried. “You take and you take. You’re just like the rest of them. You’re just like them.”

Melvin remembered the jeers, their faces twisted in laughter as he stood over the bloodied-up body of a man he… he…

Remembered his father laughing like the rest of them. Whips burning across his body to make him stronger. Sawblades tearing through his skin. A voice mumbling, telling him he can be

Stronger.

Telling him he can feel

Protected.

Melvin collapsed on his knees, clutching his head and wailing.

The Devil kneeled down.

“Those trucks,” the Devil said, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Those trucks, they were carrying children. Children like you. Melvin, I know what it’s like to have your childhood stolen from you. I know what it’s like to have a monster inside.”

“You… you do?” Melvin asked.

The Devil nodded. “Melvin. You need to remember where they were. You have to. That way I can protect them, I can make sure they don’t end up like you, like us.”

Melvin gave a shaky nod. “I… I…”

“Come on, Melvin,” the Devil said. “Tell me.”

Melvin got up, clearing his throat. “They… the trucks went out of town. All the way out to that old… warehouse district. The one that got burned down all those years ago.”

“The Great Gotham Fire of 1929,” the Devil said. “I know what you’re talking about.”

“I… I don’t know what they did to the children,” Melvin said. “But I… I heard that from around one hundred children, only 1 of them came back.”

The Devil look downcast, his body sagged. It was hard to read his eyes since it was always covered up. After a while, his body straightened and he pulled Melvin up.

“I also need your help with something else.”

“What?”

The Devil pulled out something from his pocket. “I need you to build…”

“No,” Melvin interjected. “No, no. I promised Betsy I wouldn’t build weapons anymore. I promised her. I’m not going to build anything that will hurt people.”

“Melvin,” the Devil said. “If I don’t get this built, more people will get hurt. I won’t be able to protect anyone. I mean look at me.”

Melvin stared at the Devil’s clothes. It was lined with tears and scratches barely held together by multi-colored threads. Melvin could see the Devil’s face was lined with bruises and he looked winded.

“I need your help, Melvin,” the Devil pleaded. “Please.”

Melvin picked up the paper. He went over the suit, a helmet that could resist bullets and a suit that was light, easy to move in but would be able to take a knife. It was a tall order, even for Melvin. But Melvin was good with his hands.

“What colour do you want it?”

“Colour?” the Devil asked. He looked confused like he didn’t understand the concept of what a colour was. “Red,” he said quickly. “I want it to be red.”

…

“You’re late,” Foggy said.

“You’re early,” Matt replied.

“I got a case on leases for you on your table,” Foggy said. “Some landlord chased out a lady with 4 kids when the shooting started. Seeing as I don’t know shit about leases, I told her I’d hand the case over to you.”

Matt nodded. “Straight to business, huh?”

“The master has to be stern,” Foggy said. “And strict on his young disciple.”

“The master who doesn’t ‘know shit about leases’,” Matt said.

Matt ran his finger through the braille as Foggy went through his files. A few hours later, Foggy got a call.

“I have to take this,” Foggy said to Matt as he left the office. Matt placed his file down as Foggy took his call.

“Theo, can you call me later I’m…”

“Foggy this is bad,” Theo said suddenly, cutting Foggy off. “Some Irish bastards broke into the shop when mum and dad were clearing it and…”

“Theo, calm down,” Foggy said, though Foggy’s heartbeat said Foggy was anything but calm. “What’s going on?”

“They got mum,” Theo said. “Dad’s fine but mum… mum’s in the hospital. We’re at Gotham Public, please hurry up.”

At that Foggy hung up, bursting into the office, stench of fear all over his body, his heart beating like a fire alarm. “Matt, I got to go,” he said, breathless.

“What’s wrong?” Matt said getting up.

“My mum’s in the hospital,” Foggy said, putting his jacket. Matt could hear the tears welling up at the bottom of his eyelids. “Some Irish guys, they…”

“Do you need any help?” Matt said. “Should I join…?”

“My dad doesn’t want to see you Matt I’m sorry,” Foggy said. “Just look at the cases on my table and…”

“Okay,” Matt said. Foggy realised he was wearing his blazer upside down and growled, turning it up. Matt placed his hands on Foggy’s shoulders.

“Breathe, Foggy,” Matt said. “Breathe. Panicking won’t get you anywhere.”

Foggy’s body warmed up in irritation. “My mum is…” Foggy looked at the calm look on Matt’s face and took a deep breath. “You’re right, Matt. I’m sorry I…”

“It’s okay,” Matt said. “I’ll call up a taxi. You just try to stay calm, okay?”

Foggy was breathing into his fist. “Okay. Okay. Thanks Matt.”

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Matt smiled. “No problem, let’s get you to the hospital.”

…

“Damn, Sean you’re a fucking freak,” Jack said. “You didn’t have to do that to the old lady. The man was…”

“Shut up,” Sean said. “The boss gave us orders.”

“To scare the fatso, Nelson, yes,” Jack said. “Not beat an old lady half to death.”

Sean and a half-dozen men including Jack had special orders from the boss to scare old fatso Franklin Nelson. Him and his blind friend were starting to act up again, revealing some old rackets and thinning their numbers. During the whole gang war fiasco, Sean had risen up the ranks and was now the boss’s right-hand man and Jack wasn’t complaining. Sean was a good guy to have a drink with but when it came to missions, he had the bad habit of taking things too far. The boss’s orders were just to rough up the old butchery, put a little scare in Nelson but after old Pa Nelson started acting up, Sean started acting up to. He beat the old man till his nose started bleeding and to show he meant business started throwing around the old lady like a ragdoll, bashing her head against the wall and kicking her all over. The whole thing made Jack sick.

Their next stop was Murdock but by the time they started heading towards him, the sirens started wailing and Jack and the boys made their way to an old building. After the heat died down, Sean and the boys made would head on over to Murdock’s place and show him not to mess with the Grote family.

The boys started playing around, they put their sticks and bats down. Old crazy Patrick had brought some cards so him and two others were kneeled over playing cards. Meanwhile, Cillian was sharing a flask around with some of the boys but Sean was having none of that. He was still, walking around and staring up through the windows.

Jack was kneeling over playing cards with Patrick. He turned over to Sean.

“Come on Sean,” Jack said. “Join us. You look grimmer than my uncle on a Sunday afternoon.”

“Someone’s here.”

Jack scoffed. “You, my friend, need something to drink.”

There was a loud snap and the lights went off. The boys started dispersing. Jack heard them start picking up their weapons.

“You think it’s the Bat?” William asked, his voice shaking.

Patrick laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Bat don’t work at…”

Patrick’s sentence was cut by a loud crack and his loud screams piercing the darkness.

There was nervous murmuring. Everybody was planted in their location. Jack was the only one who dared to check up on Patrick.

He lay on the floor, tears running down his face, his arm twisted at an odd angle.

“Patrick, you okay?”

“It… it ain’t the Bat,” Patrick said in a raspy voice. “It’s the Devil.”

The lights were switched on by Sean.

“He’s right there!” someone screamed.

The Devil was behind Cillan and Dessie who started swinging immediately. Dessie swung his pipe, the Devil grabbed it mid-swing. Cillan tried bashing him across the head with his bat but the Devil yanked the pipe out from Dessie’s grip and knocked him across the head. The bat clattered across the floor. Dessie tried going in for the tackle but it seemed the Devil knew what Dessie was going to do before he even did it. He elbowed Dessie in the face there was a sickening crunch as Dessie clutched his nose and rolled to the floor. The Devil tried to finish him off but Sean threw the baseball bat straight at him. It spun in the air; the Devil rolled out of the way as it hit Dessie across the face knocking him out. Jack and Tom took that opportunity to attack. He dodged Tom but Jack managed to tackle him across the floor. Jack tried punching him but the Devil landed a lucky knee in his stomach. He got up, grabbing hold of Jack by the waist. Tom however, had other plans. He grabbed the pipe and swung. The Devil grabbed it in mid-air, elbowing Jack with his left and trying to yank the pipe from Tom with his right. Taking advantage of the opportunity Sean started running. He leapt in the air, about to land a dropkick. The Devil dropped to the floor and the kick hit Tom instead. The Devil landed elbow after elbow on Jack’s back but Jack refused to let go. The Devil freed his leg and kneed him in the stomach. Jack keeled back and that was all it took for there to be an opening. Taking advantage of the opening, the Devil kicked Jack across the face. The world spun around Jack. He could taste his own blood. Fist after fist landed on his face. He heard Sean grunt as he threw the metal pipe at the Devil. The Devil dodged. The metal pipe bounced at Jack’s side. He dived for it and so did the Devil but before he could he could even reach it; the Devil grabbed a hold of it. Jack tried getting up but the Devil swung the pipe in a mighty arc and the world around Jack turned black.

…

In a sea of 7 heartbeats only one of them was calm.

And the 7th heartbeat was calm even when standing face to face with the Devil.

“You fight well,” Sean said. “I’d like to test your abilities but my master calls me.”

Sean threw the baseball bat. Matt dodged with ease. Sean made a run for it, Matt followed. But by the time he caught up Sean was already on the window.

“The Demon calls,” Sean said. “And soon the Demon shall rise.”

Sean disappeared through the window; Matt tried to follow but by the time he got there Sean had already disappeared amongst the Gotham crowd.

…

The text wasn’t in Japanese which Haruka found odd.

Normally, Samantha made an effort to type in Japanese which Haruka appreciate. But Samantha was also a bit scatter brained so Haruka wouldn’t be surprised if she typed in English. Numbers were fine though and the text gave her a time.

The Wayne Relocation office was its usual inconspicuous self. With the simple waiting line and cheap fan dangling overhead, Haruka could see her reflection in the tiles. Haruka was surprised Samantha wasn’t there to greet her.

“Hello, Sam,” Haruka called out. “John, you’re there?”

John was her lawyer. One of the good ones as Sam put it though under her breath, she called him an idiot which made Haruka giggle. The office had been a second home of hers and while John and Sam were preparing her case, she’d seen people come and go. People like her who had been forced into a country they didn’t know about. The Relocation office was a safe haven for these destitute men and women. And if, like in the case of a woman from Colombia whose ‘husband’ beat her, they had any unwanted pursuers they’d be protected by the bodyguards. Much to Haruka’s surprise, neither of them were here.

She figured they had gone somewhere but Haruka couldn’t shake the cold feeling she had in her gut. She slowly walked towards the office, she didn’t know why she did that. She took a heavy footstep and something splashed underneath her, she looked down and saw a pool of blood.

Haruka immediately burst into the office and what she saw there made the world around her spin.

Sam and John lay across from each other. There was blood, blood all over the office. Blood spilling out from John’s throat, blood staining Sam’s clothes. And sitting on the desk, on the desk that was still a mess, on Sam’s desk was a man. A Mexican man with blood on his face, blood on his hands.

“Mr. Hernandez sends his regards.”

The man disappeared, leaping out of the window like an acrobat. Haruka’s knees felt weak, her body felt like it was shaking.

She looked at John, at his mouth wide open in shock, at his blank eyes staring at her. She stared at Samantha, at the…

She puked on the floor.

At the… the pencils and pens sticking out from her body. At the pen that was jabbed straight through her throat.

And their eyes staring at her. Staring at her like Kyoko, staring at her like Kyoko before the monster shot her. She felt her heart on her throat. Her brain screamed at her to run but she was paralysed, she was scared and she hadn’t felt this afraid and worst of all, she was hopeless. The world around her spun and Haruka collapsed on the floor.

…

“Is the job done, Juan?” the voice of his boss crackled on the other side of the phone.

“Yes, senor,” Juan said. “I don’t think the whore will continue her case, especially after I killed her lawyers.”

“Did you make it a spectacle?”

“Si, boss,” Juan said. “I did it just like you told me.”

“Yes Juan,” Hernandez said. “You see, fear is an art. They are elements that go into it and a good artist knows the most efficient way to make a man or whore piss her pants. Like the Batman, you know?”

“Si, si, I know boss,” Juan said. “Did you get the package?”

Hernandez paused. “The package. Which package?”

“It’s by your cell, boss,” Juan said. “A gift from me, from my people for teaching me everything you know.”

Hernandez chuckled. “You know how to make a man, blush, Juan. I’m headed back to my cell right now, it was a hassle smuggling in this phone.”

“I know you don’t like talking about him,” Juan said. “But we were inspired by the gifts Ignacio used to give you, you know.”

Hernandez paused. “Ignacio was a good man. A cheap bastard but a good man. I know mi amigo wouldn’t want me to hold on to him for this long.” Hernandez chuckled. “Bastard would complain that I’m suffocating him. Do you any regrets, Juan?”

“What do you mean, boss?”

“Regrets, like you had to have left something behind before joining this life?”

“No boss,” Juan said. “I snuffed out those regrets with my own hands.”

“Since childhood me and Ignacio were dragged into this life,” Hernandez said. “By our fathers. My father and Ignacio’s, they were muscle you know? Disposable. They’d die and nobody in the higher ups would miss em. And they did, they both died in a shooting, died like pigs. I asked the old man in charge over at Mexico if he even remembered their names and he just laughed. Old man just laughed. You’d think their deaths would free us, take us out from this life but it didn’t, y’know? Me and Ignacio, we were too good at our jobs. Too damn good. I wonder what life would be like if we weren’t, Juan. I wonder where Ignacio and I would be if we weren’t so damn good.”

There was a very long pause before Hernandez chuckled. “Nice wrapping.” Juan heard something being picked up and the creaking of a bed. Hernandez started unwrapping it.

“Wait boss,” Juan said, his hand reaching into his pocket.

“What?” Hernandez said with a groan. “I feel like a kid on Christmas morning here, Juan.”

“Before you open it,” Juan said. “I’d like you to know it was our men that killed your friend.”

“Are you pulling my leg here, Juan?”

“The Yakuza didn’t kill your friend,” Juan said. “It was one of our insiders in the Yakuza. And one of our insiders with the Russians gave him the bulletproof suit. Gave all of us the suits.”

Hernandez took a deep breath. “If that’s the case, Juan I will tear apart you and your people. I will find the bastard who killed my friend and I will make him swallow his fingers. And you, Juan, I have something special planned for you, you fucking traitor.”

“Look to your right,” Juan said.

“The fuck you…”

“Do you see the officer waving at you?”

“That smiling bastard,” Hernandez spat. “What about him?”

“He’s one of our men. He’s the one who gave you the gift.”

Juan pressed a button in his pocket. He could hear the beeping through the phone.

“What the…?”

“The Demon shall rise,” Juan muttered.

Juan heard the explosion. And then he heard the silence.

The number you have dialled is unavailable. Please call again later.

…

The faint smell of burns and ashes clouded his nose. He could sense the wind whistling past the hollowed out remains caked with rust. A mild wind blew through the empty field, rustling the trees and grass. Matt could smell the rain in the air, he could also smell blood. It was faint, but it was there.

Matt followed the smell, walking past the rusted carcasses of old warehouses and factories. The smell of blood grew stronger and stronger as he made his way to the centre of the ghost town, the sound of the wind whistling through the empty buildings making it seem like the buildings were singing a sad choir.

Matt stopped in front of an old factory where the smell of blood was at its strongest. The door screeched in protest as he pushed it open. Dust exploded in the air, invading his chest and lungs causing Matt to sputter and cough. Matt could smell coal and soot. This was probably where the fire started, Matt thought. He could smell charred metal and could taste the soot in the air. But Matt wasn’t here for a history lesson.

He followed the smell of blood down a flight of stairs. Factories in Gotham were made much bigger in the olden days in order for the owners to carry out dirtier business than their factories. Matt’s skin prickled as he felt a sudden burst of warmth in the air. The boiler room at the bottom had been used recently.

He almost vomited when his nose picked up the scent of burning flesh.

But what about the blood?

Deeper and deeper he went into the bowels of the factory, plunging into the sea of secrets the factory was trying to hide.

He found himself in an open area, coarse sand in a circular arena about 20 meters across and the smell of blood and sweat and desperation tainting the sand. Matt felt his stomach sink. He rushed back to the boiler room.

The boiler was off, blowing off empty air. But Matt could smell it, smell the soot and the coals and the smell of roasted flesh stuck to the surface of the boiler. They were garbage bags around him, bags that smelt like calcium and jewellery. He walked through rows of them. He emptied out one and plastic tags clattered on the floor. Nametags.

Matt desperately went through them. Each name making his everybody heartbeat feel like knife cutting across his ribcage. He could feel his fingers tremble over each name, his body shake and his soul shatter under the weight of a monster that would do something like this.

He almost didn’t want to run his fingers through the ink that stained the last nametag. But he had to. He had to make sure that William Grimshaw was alive.

His fingers ran through the rough ink splattered across the coarse page. He followed the ink through the twisted road it paved. Down and up and down and up, one straight line, two short and two long and…

The hollow tag of William Grimshaw clattered across the floor.

Matt didn’t hear the silent footsteps behind him. He couldn’t hear the sheathed heartbeat until the sword went through his stomach and crimson blood ran through the steel blade.

“The League of Assassins send their regards,” a voice said, barely a whisper. “Matthew Murdock.”

Matt could make out a pair of glassy eyes before the world around him went black.

To be continued…