Marvelous Meditations

Nathan eased the car to a stop in the dimly lit parking lot of Matt Murdock's apartment building. The engine hummed for a moment before he shut it off, the interior falling into a quiet stillness broken only by the distant sounds of the city. He unlocked the doors with a soft click and glanced at Matt.

"This is you, Shades," he said, his voice casual but edged with the weight of the evening.

Matt exhaled, shifting slightly in his seat. "Yeah."

Despite how the conversation had dipped into heavier waters back at the bar, it hadn't drowned them. Instead, the night had gradually lightened, filled with dry humor, old memories, and the easy back-and-forth of men who had known each other far too long to let the past keep them at odds.

Still, one particular moment lingered in Nathan's mind.

Karen, with that sharp, inquisitive look of hers, had asked him a simple question—one that had nearly rendered him speechless.

"Who do you keep around to talk sense into you?"

It had caught him off guard, not because he didn't know the answer, but because he did.

Matt had Foggy. Someone to ground him, to pull him back when he strayed too far into the abyss. Someone who didn't just tolerate his crusade but fought to keep him from being consumed by it.

And Nathan? He had Rick, and although he valued their friendship, the man could never talk Nathan out of nothing once he set his mind to do it, and at times, he'd' be even more reckless than Nathan himself.

In the end, the only voices in his life that mattered were those of ghosts. Lily's memory, the echoes of past regrets, the silent promise of vengeance that had long since replaced anything resembling real companionship.

The mission became his reason to get up from the bed in the morning, it was all that mattered.

He had shrugged off Karen's question with a smirk and an easy, joking answer. "I mostly keep senseless company. People who get beat up as much as I do."

They had laughed, and the conversation had moved on. But the thought had lingered, simmering beneath the surface as he sat here now, watching Matt gather his things.

Nathan sighed, shaking off the thought. It didn't matter. Not yet.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You heading straight up, or gonna do your usual rooftop patrol first?"

Matt smirked faintly. "That depends. You planning on starting trouble in Hell's Kitchen tonight?"

Nathan chuckled. "Not unless someone gives me a reason."

"Then I might actually get some sleep." Matt opened the door, stepping out before pausing and leaning down slightly.

Matt had just turned to leave when Nathan spoke up.

"One more thing before you go," he said, his voice carrying an unusual weight.

Matt paused mid-step, tilting his head slightly. "What is it?"

Nathan hesitated for the briefest moment before exhaling, as if weighing his words. "I was hoping you could do me a favor."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "That depends. What do you need?"

Nathan leaned back against the headrest, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "Ever heard of HYDRA?"

The name alone made Matt's expression tighten. "You mean the mythical beast or the Nazi death cult Captain America supposedly wiped off the face of the Earth?"

Nathan let out a dry chuckle. "The second one." His smirk faded as his tone darkened. "Bad news, Shades—HYDRA's still kicking. They never really died. They just got better at hiding." He flexed his metal fingers, the soft whir of servos filling the quiet air between them. "And me being part Terminator? I've got them to thank for that."

Matt's frown deepened, his hands instinctively balling into fists. He had spent years fighting crime in Hell's Kitchen, dealing with mobsters, corrupt cops, and psychotic assassins, but HYDRA was something else entirely—an insidious disease that burrowed deep into the veins of society, festering in the shadows.

Nathan's gaze sharpened. "I intend to get some payback, and I was hoping you'd lend me a hand."

Matt exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "You know where I stand, Nate. I don't kill people. I'm not going to start now." His voice was calm but firm. "I won't try to preach to you, and I won't try to stop you either. We deal with different kinds of people—we live in different worlds." He shook his head, his tone weary but resolute. "But taking lives? That's just not my thing."

Nathan snorted. "Relax, Shades." He leaned forward slightly, resting an arm on the wheel as a smirk tugged at his lips. "That's exactly why I need you."

Matt's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Nathan rolled his shoulders, his prosthetic hand flexing absently. "I just need you to swoop in at a convenient time and stop me from killing a bunch of scumbags..."

...

The night air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and incense drifting from the hidden temples of New York's underbelly. A discreet warehouse on the outskirts of the city, sandwiched between abandoned docks and forgotten streets, served as one of the Hand's many hideouts. From the outside, it was just another derelict structure—inside, it was a fortress.

Three shadows moved in perfect silence along the rooftop, their dark tactical gear blending seamlessly with the night. Their faces were hidden beneath black balaclavas, their bodies shielded by reinforced armor that revealed nothing of their identities.

The only sounds were the faint clicks of weapons being readied and the occasional whisper of fabric shifting as they advanced.

Nathan adjusted the grip on his suppressed pistol, scanning the compound below. "Didn't expect you to show up," he muttered, barely turning his head toward the figure beside him.

Black Widow—though he refused to call her that just yet—cocked her head slightly, a smirk audible in her voice. "Disappointed?"

"I don't like surprises," he replied.

"Funny," she said, checking the charge on her Widow's Bite. "I thrive on surprises."

A few feet away, the third member of their squad knelt, examining the guards' movements with sharp precision. Even without his signature shield, Captain America had an unmistakable presence.

"Focus," Steve murmured. "We take out the sentries quietly. No alarms. We get to Bakuto before he knows we're here."

Nathan exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Fine. Just try to keep up."

Steve gave him a look, but Nathan was already moving.

The first guard never saw him coming. Nathan dropped from the rooftop, landing soundlessly behind the Hand operative. A swift arm wrapped around the man's throat, cutting off any chance of a warning. He gave a brief, strangled struggle before going limp. Nathan let the body sag to the ground, unconscious.

At the same time, Natasha slipped through the shadows like a wraith. Her garrote wrapped around another guard's throat, yanking him backward into the darkness. His boots scraped the ground once—twice—before he went completely still.

Steve, ever the professional, caught a third guard in a tight chokehold, lowering him gently so he wouldn't make a sound.

Within moments, the entrance was clear.

Nathan nodded. "Nice work. Now let's make some noise."

Inside, the scent of burning incense clashed with the metallic tang of blood. The Hand's grunts—low-level soldiers in crimson masks—stood in loose formations, some tending to weapons, others practicing drills. The dim light of paper lanterns cast flickering shadows along the walls.

The moment the trio stepped through the door, the fight was on.

Nathan moved first, a blur of motion as he weaved through the Hand's ranks. His Vibranium arm caught a sword mid-swing, wrenching it from an attacker's grasp before he drove a knee into the man's ribs, sending him sprawling. In the same motion, he flicked his pistol upward, dropping two more with suppressed shots to the legs.

Natasha spun like a dancer, her Widow's Bite crackling with blue energy. She caught a Hand soldier's wrist mid-strike, twisting him into a brutal throw before planting a taser disk onto another's chest. He convulsed violently before crumpling.

Steve, despite lacking his shield, fought like a force of nature. A roundhouse kick sent one grunt flying into a stack of crates, while a single well-placed uppercut put another down for good. He caught a blade on his forearm guard and wrenched it free, flipping it into a reverse grip before driving it into an attacker's shoulder—not fatal, but enough to take them out of the fight.

More soldiers rushed in, but it didn't matter. They were outmatched.

Within minutes, the room was cleared. The last grunt hit the floor with a dull thud.

Nathan dusted off his hands. "Well, that was fun."

Steve ignored him, already moving toward the ornate door at the back of the chamber.

Inside, Bakuto stood waiting. Clad in a crimson robe embroidered with gold, he looked as calm as ever, his sharp features betraying no fear. Around him, relics and artifacts lined the shelves—scrolls filled with ancient secrets, weapons that had tasted centuries of blood.

He clasped his hands behind his back. "So," he said smoothly, "I take it you're not here for tea."

The trio stepped forward, silent.

Bakuto's gaze swept over them, lingering on their masked faces. "Interesting," he mused. "You come cloaked in shadows, yet your movements betray discipline. Precision. American, I'd wager. But you don't work for the government. Not officially."

No response.

Bakuto's smirk widened. "So tell me—who are you, and why have you come to disrupt my operations?"

Nathan lifted his pistol, leveling it directly at Bakuto's forehead. His finger tightened on the trigger. And then he said, "Hail HYDRA."

A sharp crack split the air.

Nathan's gun jerked sideways as a crimson baton smacked against the slide, throwing his aim off. The shot rang out, embedding itself harmlessly in the wall. Before anyone could react, a figure in red dropped from the rafters, landing between Bakuto and his would-be executioners.

Daredevil.

Nathan smirked beneath his mask. Right on cue.

Matt straightened, his stance poised, every muscle coiled. "I don't know who you are," he said, his voice edged with controlled anger, "but I'm not letting you kill him."

Nathan tilted his head, stepping back slightly, keeping the gun in his hand but making no move to fire. "Oh, look at that. Someone still believes in due process." His voice was different now—sharper, more clipped, laced with cold amusement.

He was in character, fully committed to the act. He glanced at Steve and Natasha. "Looks like we've got a hero on our hands."

Steve shifted his stance, flexing his fingers like he was considering breaking Matt in half. "Orders?" he asked, his voice gruff.

Nathan exhaled, shaking his head. "The mission comes first." He flicked the safety back on his gun. "Let's give the good guy what he wants."

And then he lunged.

Nathan came in fast, throwing a wild hook at Matt's head. It was a feint, cleverly disguised, but Matt could see right through it with his super senses, ducking under it and countering with a sharp jab to Nathan's ribs.

Nathan grunted—he had to sell it—and staggered back a step.

Natasha followed up, sweeping low with a kick aimed at Matt's legs. He leaped over it, twisting midair to land a precise strike against her shoulder, pushing her back.

Steve charged next, his movements more aggressive, forcing Matt to stay on the defensive. Their strikes were controlled, just enough force to look real but not enough to overwhelm him.

Matt, for his part, played his role perfectly—dodging, countering, but never winning too easily. He had to make it look like he struggled.

Nathan let Matt's next hit connect—a solid punch across the jaw. He staggered, rolling with the force, and wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. "This is taking too long..."

Steve went for another swing, but Matt caught his wrist and twisted, flipping him over his shoulder. The impact sounded heavy, but Steve rolled with it, landing without real damage.

Nathan decided it was time to wrap things up. He made a show of glancing at the doorway, like he was reassessing the fight. "This isn't worth it anymore," he muttered. Then, louder, he barked, "Fall back. We'll come back for him later."

Natasha and Steve hesitated just long enough for it to seem real before nodding and stepping away.

Nathan shot one last glare at Matt before backing toward the exit. "You're making a mistake, Daredevil," he said, his voice still carrying that icy HYDRA tone. "You think keeping him alive is a win? You have no idea what's coming."

Then, in a blur, they were gone.

Matt let out a slow breath, lowering his fists. The Hand's stronghold was littered with unconscious bodies, the stench of incense mixed with blood. He turned to Bakuto, who was still standing—shaken, but alive.

"You should be thanking me," Matt said coldly.

Bakuto exhaled sharply, forcing a smirk onto his face. "And what will you do with me now, Daredevil? Let me walk away?"

Matt stepped forward, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him close. "I might have saved your life," he said, voice low and dangerous, "but there's plenty here to ruin it. You're going to jail for a long time."

For the first time, Bakuto's confidence wavered.

Matt didn't care.

...

Several hours ago

The night was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't sit right.

Nathan stood alone in the shadows of a secluded warehouse lot, hands in his pockets, hood up, listening to the distant hum of the city. The dim glow of a single streetlamp barely cut through the darkness, casting long shadows against the rusted metal containers stacked high around him.

He wasn't waiting long.

A soft shuffle of movement, near-silent but not to him, came from above. A second later, Daredevil dropped down from the roof of a nearby storage container, landing in a crouch before rising smoothly to his full height.

Nathan smirked. "Dramatic as always."

Matt crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. "Says the guy in black lurking in the dark."

Nathan chuckled but said nothing.

Another set of footsteps approached—heavier, deliberate, steady.

Steve Rogers stepped out of the darkness, clad in a dark combat suit with no stars, no stripes—nothing that gave him away. He looked at Nathan first, giving him a firm nod before his eyes shifted to Matt.

Nathan gestured between them. "Cap, meet the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Devil, meet Steve Rogers, aka Captain America."

Matt blinked, clearly caught off guard. His posture stiffened. "Wait… Captain America?" He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Damn. If I knew I'd be meeting you, I would've worn a suit with fewer holes..."

Steve gave a small chuckle, offering his hand. "I've heard about you too, Daredevil. You're a credit to this city, son."

Matt hesitated for half a second before shaking it. "I, uh… thanks. Didn't think you kept tabs on guys like me."

Steve gave him a knowing look. "I keep tabs on anyone willing to put their life on the line for people who can't fight for themselves."

Nathan clapped his hands together. "Alright, now that we've all had our little moment, let's get to it."

Matt exhaled, shaking off whatever lingering nerves he had. "Yeah, sure. Let's hear it."

Nathan leaned against a nearby crate. "We've already been through this, but I'll go over it one last time. We're about to start a war without firing a single bullet—at least, not one aimed at us. The Hand and HYDRA aren't the best of friends but they haven't had a reason to go at it in a long time. We're going to give them one."

Steve listened intently, arms crossed, while Matt furrowed his brow.

Nathan smirked. "We're going to hit a Hand hideout, take out their people, and make sure Bakuto lives long enough to crawl back to the rest of them—thinking HYDRA is responsible."

Matt exhaled sharply. "And I'm here to make sure you don't actually kill Bakuto."

Nathan snapped his fingers. "See? This is why I like you."

Matt sighed. "You do realize this plan could fall apart if Bakuto figures it out, right?"

Steve nodded in agreement. "It's a risk. But HYDRA and the Hand aren't exactly known for thinking rationally when they're attacked. We leave enough of a trail, make it convincing, and they'll be at each other's throats before they stop to question it."

Nathan grinned. "Exactly. And once they're busy tearing each other apart, we clean up what's left."

Matt folded his arms, taking a moment before nodding. "Alright. I don't like it, but I see the logic. If this keeps both of them bleeding, I'm in."

Steve glanced at Nathan. "We won't be alone on this one."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Steve sighed. "A friend of mine insisted on tagging along."

Nathan frowned. "I don't like surprises, Rogers."

Steve gave him a pointed look. "I don't know... you just might like this one..."

...

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