(Attendance please…)
….
The Next Day:-
The news cycle, ever hungry, had found a new obsession. The headlines were no longer dominated by Gojo Satoru, but by a new, more immediate story emerging from the dark, gritty streets of Hell's Kitchen.
An army, or at least what seemed like one, was waging a brutal, systematic war on the local gangs. The news reports were chaotic, filled with witness accounts of military-grade firepower and disciplined, tactical assaults.
Sirens wailed constantly. Gojo, out for an early morning stroll while Mochi was still snoozing in her new bed, watched as police cars, not just one or two but a whole convoy of them, sped past, lights flashing, heading towards the heart of the chaos.
Fragments of the "Daredevil" series, specifically the part involving season 2, surfaced from his hazy memories. He had a pretty good idea of what was happening, and what might have just happened to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
Gojo stretched, a casual, lazy movement. He then warped, appearing high in the sky, the city sprawling out beneath him. From this vantage point, he had a clear view of every rooftop, every alleyway.
"He should be somewhere near here," Gojo thought, his Six Eyes scanning the urban landscape with incredible precision. "On a rooftop, knocked out, if my memory serves me right. A bullet to the head, wasn't it?"
A part of him, the fan of the Daredevil character, wanted to just let things run their course, to let the story play out as it was "supposed to." But another part, the part that was now an active, powerful player in this world, took over. He couldn't just stand by.
He began his search, warping from rooftop to rooftop in a series of silent, instantaneous blinks.
He took a moment to appreciate the breathtaking view of the city waking up, the morning sun casting long shadows between the skyscrapers.
After a few minutes of this high-speed, panoramic search, he finally found him. On a flat, gravel-covered roof, lying in a heap, was a figure in a simple, black, makeshift suit.
Gojo warped to the rooftop, landing silently a few feet away. Before him, unconscious and bleeding, was the man himself, Daredevil.
Gojo squatted down, his fingers gently finding the pulse point on Matt Murdock's neck. A steady, if somewhat weak, beat met his touch.
"He's alive," Gojo muttered, a hint of relief in his voice.
He then gently picked up Matt's limp body, surprised at how light he felt. Using a subtle application of Blue, he effortlessly lifted the injured vigilante, making him practically weightless.
With Daredevil cradled in his arms, Gojo levitated off the rooftop and began to float back towards his apartment.
….
A Few Hours Later:-
Gojo was lounging on his sofa, idly flipping through channels on the massive TV. Mochi, whose leg was now looking much better though still needing care, let out a sharp bark, demanding attention and, more specifically, food.
Gojo smiled, got up, and filled her bowl with the dog food he'd had delivered.
He considered making something for himself, then remembered he didn't actually know how to cook anything beyond instant noodles. He sighed and picked up his phone to order some pizza.
He placed the order and then the wait began. It had been several hours, but Daredevil still hadn't woken up.
He was breathing normally, which was a good sign.
The makeshift helmet he wore had clearly saved his life from the gunshot, but some damage was unavoidable.
Gojo had carefully removed the mask, cleaned the blood from Matt's face, and done what little he could to make him comfortable. Now, all he could do was wait.
Just as he was thinking this, he heard a loud thud from the bedroom, the sound of someone falling. It was Daredevil.
Gojo entered the bedroom to see Matt Murdock writhing on the floor beside the bed, clearly disoriented. As Gojo entered, Matt's head snapped towards the sound. "Who are you?" he rasped, his voice rough. "And where am I?"
Gojo chuckled. "Well, well, well," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "It seems someone's cover is blown. Should I call you Daredevil, or the kind, blind lawyer, Matt Murdock? I have to admit, I didn't really think blind vigilantes were a thing. It's a bold choice."
Hearing his own name, Matt's hands flew to his face, then down to his body, a frantic self-assessment. He realized his mask was gone, though his black suit was still on.
"If I were you, I wouldn't struggle that much," Gojo advised. "I mean, you were knocked out cold on a random rooftop. If I hadn't been taking my morning 'flying' fly-by, someone else, someone less… understanding, might have found you with that suit on."
Matt, pushing himself up, turned his head towards Gojo. "You don't seem that surprised," he stated, a note of suspicion in his voice.
"Oh, you can 'read' expressions too?" Gojo asked, a playful glint in his eye. "Tell me, did any girls ever try to undress themselves in front of you back at your apartment, thinking you couldn't see? I mean, technically you can't, but you still can… ah, well, you know what I'm trying to say, right?"
Matt, ignoring the bizarre question, hurriedly made his way to the window, his head cocked, trying to get his bearings, to hear the familiar sounds of his city. He stumbled twice on the way, his balance clearly off.
"What's happening to me?" he muttered, clutching the window frame. "I can't… I can't hear properly."
"Probably the trauma from the headshot, or something," Gojo said with a shrug. "Delayed concussion, maybe."
"Did you call the police?" Matt asked, his voice strained. He was struggling to hear; even Gojo's voice sounded distant, muffled.
"Nah, I didn't," Gojo replied. "Do you want me to?"
"Why didn't you?"
"What do you mean, 'why'?" Gojo said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, you wear a mask. You probably don't want the whole world to know that Matt Murdock, attorney at law, is also Daredevil, the guy who beats up criminals at night."
"That's not what I'm ask—" Matt stopped mid-sentence, a sharp pain lancing through his skull. He clutched his head, his senses overloading and then shorting out, and squatted down, groaning in pain.
Suddenly, he couldn't hear anything. The world went silent. Panic began to set in.
Gojo, seeing his distress, helped Matt up and guided him back to the bed. Matt lay there, his hands gripping the bedsheets, his face pale. "Hello?" he called out, his own voice sounding distant and strange to him. "Hello! Ahhh. Helllllloooo? Anyone? Satoru? Anyone?!"
Gojo, confused by his shouting, replied, "Yeah, what do you want? I'm right here."
Matt continued to struggle, his breathing growing ragged. "Helloo! I-I-I can't hear! I can't hear anything! Are you still here, Satoru?!"
Gojo took Matt's hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "Yeah, I'm here. Hello. Can you feel that?" he said, his voice calm. "It's probably from the head injury. And you're having a panic attack. Just breathe."
….
Thirty Minutes Later:-
Matt was lying flat on the bed, his breathing finally even. The panic attack had subsided, and his hearing, though still not perfect, had returned to a functional level. Gojo was sitting on the couch in the living room, giving him space.
"Hello, Mr. Satoru," Matt said, his voice quiet but clear.
Gojo, hearing his name, went back into the bedroom. "Gave me quite a jump scare there, man," he said. "First the hearing loss, then a full-blown panic attack. I mean, is there anything else left on the list? I would have called a hospital, but then, you know, you being in this suit, and the police getting involved, asking questions like 'where did you get shot?' Which you probably don't want to answer."
He held out a small bottle. "Here," he said, shaking two pills into his hand. "Painkillers. Should help with the headache. I don't need them, but I bought some for you."
Matt, with slightly shaky hands, took the pills and the glass of water Gojo offered, gulping them down. He finally seemed to relax, his mind a little clearer. "Thank you, Mr. Satoru," he said, his voice filled with a genuine, if weary, gratitude. "Thank you for not calling the police, and for… helping me."
"Think nothing of it," Gojo replied with a wave of his hand. "Though, you can take my case in return for all this. No pressure, of course. If you don't want to, then don't."
Matt was silent for a moment. "You don't have any questions?" he finally asked.
"Like what, exactly?" Gojo countered.
"Like… am I even really blind? Or how I do… what I do?"
Gojo laughed, a bright, easy sound. "Please, this is hardly the strangest thing happening in the city right now. It might have been strange before the alien attack on New York. But after that? Some things, like a blind man who can 'see,' are just… part of the new normal now. I mean, we know for a fact that gods exist, aliens exist. So, demons? Super-senses? Not really a stretch."
Matt managed a small laugh of his own. "Well, you're right about that."
"Though, I do have to ask," Gojo said, his tone shifting, becoming more serious. "Why don't you kill them? The criminals, the human traffickers, the ones who really deserve it. I mean, you're just locking them away. And then they get out on bail, or some high-powered lawyer finds a loophole, or their connections get them out, and they just go back to doing the same terrible things all over again. Why not just… end it?"
Matt's expression became complicated, a mixture of pain and conviction. "It's… a little complicated," he said, the weight of his own moral code settling around him.
….
A/N: So, How was it? Gojo would give him a teaching of batman. Dont kill them if you dont want. As killing is nothing but mercy. But beat them so senseless that they whenever they think of doing anytging illegal… they get you in their dreams and minds.
You can broke their arms, legs fingers whatever so they dont even think of committing illegal act. What daredevil do is try to knock them out faster so he can deal with others, and then others woke up in a hospital or police stations, no trauma other than getting knocked out and then ending up in police or hospital.
Q: Should I make daredevil like batman in beating?(full brutal)
-yes
-no
And as always thanks for demicatoru/loadedDemigod for suggestions.
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