A Summer in Hell's Kitchen:
Hell's Kitchen, New York, 12th August 2001,
Summertime in the Manhattan neighbourhood of Hell's Kitchen. The days are bright, hot and full of mischief. The nights are cool and restless, with the hum of the city calling below to this boy.
Matt Murdock.
Soon mom and dad will call for him and Matt will toss under the covers and stare at the night sky. And wait for dawn.
For more mischief.
"C'mon Matt, hurry up! " exclaimed an excited 12-year-old boy. "Hey Mark, wait up!" cried out Matt, as he ran through the streets of Hell's Kitchen.
Matt is a 7-year old boy. He has a head of red hair like his father and his mother's deep blue eyes. He was short for a boy his age and was skinny to boot.
It's summer in the Kitchen and like every year, the kids in the neighbourhood cause havoc in the streets. Everyone is running around organizing baseball card tournaments, playing soccer, riding bikes in other people's properties and pranking the local cops. "Dude, this was like your idea. Don't make me come over there and carry you to Mr. Cranshaw's place!" cried out Mark, grinning.
"Yeah, yeah I know," Matt said, rolling his eyes.
Matt then took a sharp left and vaulted over some fences blocking the path.
"Show off," Mark said under his breath.
It took Mark another 10 minutes to reach their agreed rendezvous point, (whatever that meant) and Matt was already there, sticking his tongue out at the older boy.
"How can you be so old and so slow at the same time?" Matt asked facetiously.
"Oh shut up, I'm here, aren't I?" Mark said in response.
Mark was a 12-year-old boy with dark, caramel-brown skin, a head of black and curly hair and was well built for a boy his age. "Anyway, what's this big plan of yours anyhow? I have boxing lesson at 6." He asked impatiently.
"Alright, I go inside and act all adorable. You get the PlayStation from that display case thingy and we sell it for loads of cash!" Matt said with great enthusiasm.
"That's it?" asked Mark incredulously.
"Um, yeah?"
"Aren't you forgetting something?", Mark asked Matt as he playfully rustled his hoodie's pocket. "Oh yeah, forgot about that," Matt said taking the item in question from Mark's hand, causing the older boy to roll his eyes. "Wish me luck", Matt said with a gleeful smile.
"Yeah, give me the signal and I'll get out of there," Mark said not realizing that Matt had already gone. "We are going to be in so much trouble", Mark said under his breath. He started looking around to make sure no one was looking. When he felt the coast was clear he started pacing slowly towards Matt. Matt knew the shop owner, Mr. Cranshaw since he was little. OK, littler. He was a cranky old man with a gimpy leg. His dad told him it was because he fought in some war and he stepped on an old landmine and we should be nice to him because of it.
Matt never really understood how fighting in a war makes it alright to be mean to your customers and swindle their cash. After his service ended the only work Mr. Cranshaw could get was as an electrician, but he apparently saw the potential in selling old games and consoles to kids and decided to pursue that instead. 'We'll pay him the money for the PlayStation eventually,' thought Matt as he entered the store. The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne greeted his nostrils the moment the door swung open.
'Alright Matty, show time.'
Matt saw that Mr. Cranshaw was sleeping at the register and took out the precious cargo he got from Mark. A whole slice of garlic and a red paintball! Rubbing garlic in your hands covers them in garlic juices and garlic juice rubbed in your eyes equals super realistic tears. Matt then slammed the paintball against his cheek, making the paint trickle down his face.
'Ok, breath in and out, in and out, in and out,' Matt chanted in his head as he scrunched up his face as much as possible. He slowly walks towards the old veteran and starts screaming. "MR. CRANSHAW, MR. CRANSHAW!" The old man gasped in shock and looks around the shop until he spotted Matt.
"Good God, boy, what the devil happened to your face?" he demanded as the shock in his eyes turned into concern.
"Those boys out there were throwing stones at your shop," Matt said sobbing as he pointed to a group of teenagers on the other side of the street. "I told them to stop but they... but they..." Matt stuttered rubbing his eyes even more with the garlic juice, causing him to tear up more.
"Alright, alright. Stop your sniveling boy." the old man says, reaching for his prosthetic limb. "Are you gonna talk to them?" Matt asks impatiently. "Yeah, give me a minute kid," he said struggling to put the artificial limb on.
By the time he put the thing on the boys outside started to shift. "Oh no you don't," Cranshaw said, increasing his pace as he followed the boys. "Finally," Mark says as he enters the shop looking for the display case at the front of the store. "Remind me why you can't take the stupid thing yourself?"
"It's on the top shelf," Matt says, still teary-eyed from the garlic.
"I hate you sometimes man." He says as he takes the display off the shelf.
"Yeah whatever, can we leave now?" Matt asks as he wipes his hands on his shirt.
"Yeah, sure," Mark said as he secures the gaming console in his backpack. As the two boys turn to leave they hear the sounds of police sirens. They run the opposite direction of the sirens but stopped as they saw the outline of an officer in the distance. "What the hell are you two boys doing?" the officer asks as he walks towards them.
"We just bought a play station!" Matt quickly responded.
"Yeah, we just wanted to go home and play it," Mark added.
"I think I'll take it from here officer Boles." a kind voice said from behind the boys. The officer in question looks at the boys and simply nods in confirmation and goes back to his squad car. "I think you boys owe Mr. Cranshaw an apology,"
"Yes, dad." Both boys replied in unison.
"Yes, sir, I understand," Jack Murdock replied with a strained voice over the phone. The two brothers waiting in the adjacent room in the corner.
The Murdock household was nothing to boast about. An apartment of three rooms (four if you counted the bathroom) with two bedrooms and a combined hall and kitchen. Jack and his wife Miranda shared the largest bedroom. Their walls were adorned with pictures of Jack in the heyday of his boxing career, back when he had the title of "Battlin' Jack Murdock", Miranda's Law degree and of course pictures of the children.
The boys both shared one room and were currently sleeping on a bunk-bed.
Matt and Mark always fought over who would get the top. Sometimes they'd bet on who'd win the next Jets game or play a game of rock, paper, scissors. Other times they'd wrestle for it, with Mark usually securing a win. Their mom would usually break up any fights that got out of hand and would dole out a random punishment. Sometimes they'd be forced to do a paper round at 5 in the morning, and one Halloween they were forced to give all their chocolate to the neighbor's stupid daughters. For a couple of kids, that's , however, both brothers couldn't care less who got the top bunk since it wasn't mom that was dishing out punishment. It was ''Battlin' Jack Murdock''.
"Thank you, sir," Jack said as he cut the call, wiping his brow and sighing quite audibly afterward.
Jack Murdock was a tall man, 6 foot 3 inches in height and quite fit his age.
Jack entered the bedroom with a stern expression on his face. "That was my Sargent on the phone," he told the boys with deep and booming voice. "I've managed to pull a few strings and offered Mr. Cranshaw a full reimbursement for any damages caused."
"We were gonna give it back," Matt said in a quiet tone.
"You're lucky that I convinced Mr. Cranshaw not to press any charges." Jack continued ignoring Matt. "Disappointment can't even begin to describe what I'm feeling right now." Jack spent a solid minute in silence before speaking again. "Tell me," Jack said in a softer tone, "Whose idea was it?"
Both boys were looking straight at the floor, not daring to look up. Jack paid attention to them both regardless. Men tend to be a lot less skilled at lying compared to women, little boys even more so. Both boys displayed the obvious signs, a refusal to look directly at someone, fidgeting, twitching faces. All normal considering the circumstances.
But what betrayed people usually were the eyes and Matt's were bolting around like The Flash.
Jack glared at Matt, "Matty." Matt clenched the sheets of his bed and refused to look up. "Look at me, Matty," he said, spacing his words out for dramatic effect. Matt slowly looked up at his father to see not a face of fear or of anger but something much worse; a face filled with disappointment. "Dad," Matt began but stopped before he could finish the sentence.
"I don't want to hear it," Jack said.
"And you should be the one setting the example Mark, not enabling him to steal of all things."
"I know dad," Mark replied not even bothering with an apology knowing it to be a futile gesture. "Well, I know that another speech isn't going to do any of us any good, and since I know for a fact your mother's punishments do nothing for your long-term behavior, I decided to dole out the punishment myself." "Mark, you're banned from boxing lessons for the entire summer."
"What? DAD!"
"And Matt, I've asked Mrs. Decker to give you piano lessons again."
"No way dad, I hate playing that stupid thing."
"I'm not done yet. The both of you are going back to Sunday school. At least the Church oughta knock some sense into you two."
"DAD!" Both boys cried out in unison.
"AND, the two of you will work at Mr. Cranshaws three days a week."
Both boys looked at their father in horror.
"For the rest of the summer."
"No way dad!" Mark replied. "That is so not fair!" Matt added.
"FOR. THE. REST. OF. THE. SUMMER." Jack said, pausing between every word so that the message would sink in. "The two of you start tomorrow."
Jack left their room and entered his own. He laid down on his bed and looked at his clock. '7:30,' it said. His wife was on a company retreat, she was always much better at making the kids listen to reason. She was a lawyer, after all, she's good with words.
The boys were laying in bed, Matt had climbed to the top as soon as their father left.
"I hate you so much right now," Mark said. Matt simply laid in silence. Trying to ignore the events of the day and get to sleep. He'd find a way out of this. He always did.
"Well don't stop now, put your backs into it, that floor ain't gonna sweep itself." Mr. Cranshaw instructed the boys as he laid back in his chair, puffing on his fifth cigarette of the morning.
"But we've been at this all day!" Mark whined as he whipped the sweat off his brow for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Yeah, and we aren't even getting paid for this!" Matt added.
"Well a little manual labor never hurt anyone," Mr. Cranshaw stated gleefully as he started to read his newspaper, which Matt had to ride a block away in order to buy since the one delivered to Cranshaw's place, "didn't have any crosswords in it," apparently.
Matt started to smile.
"What is it boy?"
"Actually, you're sort of wrong there," Matt said with a smug grin."What in God's name are you talking about?" Mr. Cranshaw inquired.
"Well, according to child labor laws in the state of New York, you're only permitted to allow minors to work 8 hours per day, assuming are over 14. And well we aren't exactly 14 yet."
"Now, wait a minute", Mr. Cranshaw started.
"Also, since we aren't getting paid or working for a family business and you've been smoking right next to a couple of kids you could get into loads of trouble if we complained to the proper authorities." Matt said, his grin never faltering the whole time, with Mark struggling to hold in a laugh.
"You've got some nerve kid.", Mr. Cranshaw said with a stern look on his face. "I can't deal with this right now. I need a drink.", Cranshaw got up to leave and put on his leg, he started to cross the road when both boys started to laugh.
"Oh my God dude. where did you learn that stuff?" Mark asked with great surprise. "I snuck into Mom and Dad's room when you all fell asleep and borrowed some of mom's old law books. I didn't understand half of it but I learned a lot about labor laws and stuff." Matt said still grinning the whole time.
"You read all of that in one night?", Mark asked.
"Yeah, why'd you think I fell asleep on Cranshaw's door after washing it?"
"Man, if I had half your brains I'd get like straight A's in school." "Aren't you like the teacher's pet anyway?" Matt asked.
"Hey, I'm not... Wait, look over there", Mark said pointing towards the middle of the road.
Matt's eyes followed his finger and saw what he was pointing to. It was Mr. Cranshaw, limping in the middle of the street. "Why's he walking like that?" Matt asked. "Not sure. Wait look, his fake leg. It's coming off".Mr. Cranshaw's brace that kept his prosthetic attached to his stump was loose and he was struggling to keep upright, let alone walk. "Should we help him?" Matt asked.
"Remember when you tried helping him this morning putting the stupid thing on?"
"Yeah."
"Remember what he said?"
"If I can pilot a helicopter I can put on a damned leg," Matt repeated with a raspy voice, trying to mock the old veteran. Mark then pointed out that after that stint with the labor laws, which may or may not even be valid in this scenario, Matt'd be the last person Cranshaw would want help from. Matt told his step-brother he'd wait at the sidewalk in case he fell.
"Whatever man," was all Mark said in response as he entered the shop again.
Matt was about to shout out to Cranshaw when he saw something enter the corner of his eye.
A truck, heading straight for Mr. Cranshaw.
"MR. CRANSHAW!" Matt screamed as he ran across the road to reach the old man.
Without thinking, Matt pushed Mr. Cranshaw away from the middle of the road. As this happened the truck driver, noticing what was happening started turning the large vehicle towards the right, away from both Matt and Mr. Cranshaw, crashing into a nearby lamppost.
As he crashed the back doors of the van broke wide open and the contents of the truck, barrels rolled straight towards Matt. The young boy crouched down in fear as the contents of the barrel leaked out as the barrels rolled near him. As they came towards him one of their lids came off.
Matt looked towards the direction of the now open barrel to see if it was safe to stand.
It was the last thing he ever saw.
The chemicals in the barrel sprayed over Matt's face.
"AARGGGHHH!", Matt let out a loud scream and reflexively put his hands over his eyes.
Matt was writhing on the floor, still screaming.
"Matt? MATT?" Mark cried out, leaving the shop to see what the commotion is about.
"Oh no." Mark said as he ran towards his foster brother, who was still helplessly squirming on the road in agony.
"Mark? MARK?"
"Yeah, I'm here dude!"
"I can't see, Mark... Mark, I can't see! Mark!"
Mark looked around to see the barrels. They had a radioactivity symbol plastered on them. "It's alright, keep your eyes shut Matt. Someone call 911!" Mark cried, holding his brother in his arms.
Matt couldn't hear any of it. He began to feel light headed.
Soon, he couldn't feel anything at all.
Chapter 2
Hell on Earth:
His blood burns.
He can feel the chemicals coursing through his veins. Everything hurts.
Everything hurts.
He has no idea where he is. He can feel sandpaper scrape his skin every time he moves. Wait, not sandpaper. Sheets, linen sheets. He can smell some chemicals- disinfectants maybe?
He's in a hospital! Matt can hear people come and go, smelling like tub fulls of soap water and bleach. The room he's in smells like half-eaten food, sausages, half-digested eggs.
They stab him with needles and probe his face. They think he can't feel what they are doing to him, but he feels everything around him.
He knows they cut his still hurts.
All he wants is to die.
But he didn't. So he had to make do.
Hells Kitchen, New York, February 19th, 2002:
It's been six months since Matt lost his sight.
Six months since his world turned upside down.
Their Grandma decided to stay with the family till Matt got his bearings. She initially helped Matt with the basic things- getting dressed, walking around the house, homework and such. She even tried buying him a guide dog, but Matt declined saying that "It smells like poop and its fur makes me itch."
Jack Murdock kept himself busy at the precinct, always buying a box of jasmine tea from China Town, since it was the only smell Matt could tolerate for long periods of time.
His mother, Miranda, spent the past few months in court, building a case against the company that shipped off their radioactive waste that blinded her son. Under any other circumstance, the case would have been in favor of the company, Lex Corp as it turned out, but since Matt saved Mr. Cranshaw from being run over by a company van the case managed to stretch on for three months.
In that time Miranda gathered crucial evidence against Lex Corp. Their illegal transportation of radioactive waste, the fact that their transportation of said waste wasn't up to government required standards as well as the fact that the waste contained traces of the radioactive mineral kryptonite.
Kryptonite, according to the United Nations must not be transported in any form outside of government-sanctioned air transport, and only in lead containers. Both laws were broken by Lex Corp.
Miranda called in various experts, most notably Ray Palmer, the particle physicist.
She also called Mr. Cranshaw up on the stand. Granted his state of intoxication was used against her on the case, but the driver had ignored two sets of traffic lights.
Needless to say, Lex Corp's lawyers denied responsibility for what they called "A terrible tragedy." and decided to settle with Miranda and her law firm for $5,000,000 and would pay for his medical bills.
Miranda won her first big case and was on her way to be promoted to junior partner.
The money, the family decided would go to a trust fund in Matt's name, only to be used after his 18th birthday.
But Matt didn't want their money, hell at this point he didn't even want his sight back. He just wanted Lex Corp to take responsibility for what happened to him. But they didn't. They just gave him some cash and expected him to just shut up. But Matt didn't feel angry for long.
'At least I got the money.' Matt thought, from what he heard from his mom during the trial, most cases don't even make it to a courtroom, even if the corporation involved was obviously guilty.
He was lucky.
His mom was a lawyer. A really good one, backed by a powerful law firm. Most people in Hell's Kitchen couldn't even afford rent, good food or even clean underwear.
He wondered what it was like for people without his luck.
He wondered if they could even get a lawyer's attention.
He asked his mom about this a few days after the trial and she said, "Well, honey. Most lawyers don't really get to choose what cases they get. Either their boss assigns them one or they just work as a researcher for another lawyer's case. Since they need to win big cases to increase their firm's profits, most of the smaller cases get ignored or get a court appointed lawyer."
Matt didn't think that a court appointed lawyer was such a bad idea but then his mom pointed out that most court appointed lawyers are over worked and barely spend time in their cases.
Matt wondered why guys who break the law like that with their companies never get arrested.
He asked his dad that very question.
"It's not so simple son," his dad started. "Remember how you told me about this kid in your class who bullied another kid for weeks and the only reason he wasn't suspended was cus' his dad was friends with your principle?"
Matt nodded.
"Guys like Lex Luthor are like that kid. He knows the right people and has enough cash to make sure he hires the best lawyers to make sure he gets off scot free. We cops put the bad guys behind bars, lawyers get them out."
"But mom doesn't do that!" Matt replied.
"No Matty, your mom's different."
They stood in silence for a few minutes and Matt left to his room, tapping his cane around, trying not to bump into anything.
Mark took Matt's accident the worst.
He blamed himself for what happened to his little brother. He spent the first few weeks in the hospital right next to him, refusing to leave his side.
Whenever Matt woke up screaming either due to a nightmare, the pain or hearing things that Mark thought weren't there, his older brother would comfort him. Afterwards, when Matt was allowed home, Mark was the one to help him walk around the house and later around the neighborhood.
Mark used to sneak away after school to Ted Grant's boxing gym.
Ted was the world heavyweight champion for over 10 years. He owned a gym near Hell's Kitchen and Mark has been training there since he was 10.
Mark was slacking for most of the summer after Matt's accident. Ted encouraged he take a few more weeks off but Mark needed a distraction.
Mark was one of the most naturally talented boxers Ted'd ever trained. 'Kid could make pro easy.' he thought. Ted hadn't trained people for the ring in a long time. He taught them how to fight on the streets, in real life situations where the rules didn't apply.
Most people who come to his gym stay for a couple weeks and leave, but not Mark. 'Boy's 12 and he trains harder than most adults.' Ted never gave Mark any special treatment though, last thing a potential prodigy needs is an ego.
Matt always wanted to learn how to fight, he even snuck out at night sometimes and used his dad's old equipment sometimes.
His mom never approved, forcing him to learn something more civilized, like the piano. He was never the best, in fact, he hated it, but he practiced a few minutes every day so his mom would be happy. That way he could sneak out of the room knowing he wouldn't get into trouble if he got caught.
But after he lost his sight he played the piano for at least an hour a day. The music drowned out the constant background noise he heard all the time.
He could hear every cough, sniffle, bark, bell, siren, moan and other noises he would rather not describe.
The piano, just for a precious few minutes drowned all that out, all there was in the whole world at that moment was him and his music.
But it wasn't enough.
He still felt angry.
At himself, the world.
He needed to hit something, really bad.
'I really shouldn't be doing this.' Matt thought to himself. He wore a black hoodie and joggers, at least they felt warm enough to be black.
'Mom and dad are going to kill me!' he thought as he walked the streets of Hell's Kitchen for the first time unaccompanied.
Everyone was looking at him. Offering him help, giving sympathetic looks.
Matt could feel it. He couldn't explain it but he could almost feel their heads moving through the air.
He could feel a lot of things.
He hated it.
Every smell, sound, and change in temperature or the surface. He was aware of everything but had no idea what the heck he was observing unless he got close.
He couldn't see, but this was pretty close.
He never expected something as simple as walking to be so tough, not because he didn't know where anything was but because he was constantly bombarded by peoples smells, whispers, breathing, footsteps, the music blaring from their headphones.
He'd often lose his bearings and stand still just to find a sense of direction. He decided to just use the heat of the sun to determine where he was, direction-wise at least.
He was trying to follow a specific set of footsteps.
Trying being the operative word.
He made sure that the shoes that made the footsteps made a distinct noise just to make things slightly easier.
All he had to do was stick a bit of his dad's old boxing tape to the soles of Marks shoes and voila. Now all he had to do was keep track of the scraping of the tape against the pavement and hope to God that the tape sticks to the shoes and that he doesn't get run over by a car when he crosses the street.
'Piece of cake,' Matt thought facetiously.
Mark entered the old gym, he took in a big breath, allowing his lungs to acclimate to the scent of old shaving cream, boxing tape, and dust. The scent reminds him of his dad's room, minus the dust.
Mark started his usual routine, sets of push-ups, shadow boxing, pull-ups, jump rope, etc.
He moved on to the bag after a half-hour of warming up.
Ted wasn't always at the gym when Mark was around, he'd usually be in his office or outside the back, doing some training himself.
Mark had a routine to follow so it didn't bother him. Ted came around for actual sparring sessions, he wanted to improve Marks speed and general fitness.
Ted is slowly making Mark more and more comfortable with what he calls urban training. Basically using everyday outdoor objects to workout.
He used to do that a lot back in his Justice Society days, but that's neither here nor there.
Mark continued to beat on the bag until he heard a distinct tapping noise behind him.
"Ted?" Mark asked, hoping to God it wasn't who he thought it was.
"Um... Hey bro?" Matt asked tentatively, "Your footwork is a bit off," Matt said, smiling at his attempt at humor.
"Dude, what are you doing here?" Mark asks as he approached his brother.
"To box? Or do they teach ballet here too?" Matt replied with a small smirk on his face trying to ease the situation.
"Mom and Dad are gonna be so mad," Mark stated, "How the heck did you get here anyway?" He asked.
"Dude, with the way you smell you'd have to be headless or something not to be able to follow you." Matt said pointing to his brother.
Mark put his hand on his head and sighed, "Why'd you come here anyway?".
"I just wanted to box with you again, like we used to," Matt said quietly.
"Really? That's it? You walked all the way over here, on your own through one of the roughest parts of the Kitchen, to box with me?"
Matt responded by simply nodding his head.
Before Mark responded Matt added, "I just wanna feel normal again, at least for a while. We used to this stuff all the time, sneaking out and fighting and stuff. Please, just this once, I won't even tell Mom or Dad about it!" Matt said holding back tears.
"Alright," Mark said as he started to guide Matt towards an old boxing bag.
"Really?" Matt asked with excitement.
"You'd probably tell Mom I made you come down here or something if I didn't," Mark said in a semi-sarcastic tone.
"Eh, maybe, maybe not," Matt responded with a smile.
Mark guided his brother towards the bag, made sure his form was adequate and gave him an old sequence of punches that they used to practice to follow.
A half hour past and Matt has never felt better, he could feel his muscles contracting and extending, he was consumed by the sound of seams of the punching bag wearing away slowly, the sound of his own breathing, the scent of the adhesive of his boxing tape being mixed with his own sweat along with the feeling of the air in front of him shifting as he made the bag move forward with every punch.
Granted he didn't make the bag move as much as his foster brother, lacking his training and speed but he finally felt like he could breathe. He wasn't being coddled or treated like a piece of glass, he was just a kid spending time with his brother, doing something he liked and was pretty good at.
Ted Grant usually never let freeloaders enter his gym, uninvited at least. But he couldn't take his eyes off his new guest.
His form was sloppy, to say the least but the way he moved was interesting. It was almost as if he could anticipate the way in which the bag moves and instinctively alters his footwork to compensate for it.
Ted thought it was beginners luck but no, he has consistently been doing so for the past 30 minutes, it'd be a shame if he were to stop.
"Alright, fun's over boys!" Ted bellowed, his voice echoing across the whole gym.
Both boys were startled, with Matt's ears ringing from the foghorn of a voice that belonged to the old boxer.
"You, redhead. What're ya playin' at?" Ted asked Matt, with the young boy not knowing whether the question was rhetorical or not.
"Umm...well, um, sir, it's like..." Matt stuttered out.
"Those gloves of yours are way too big for a kid your size," Ted began as he gave a smaller set of gloves to Mark.
As Mark put the new gloves on Matt, after removing his own. Ted then asked Matt to move into his stance after giving cursory instructions to Mark.
Ted looked at Matt's amateur stance and smirked.
"Alright kid, let's whip you into shape."
For the next three months, Ted has been training both boys. Mark has been progressing very quickly, the now 13-year-old teenager has been following his training regiment and diet very sincerely and is aiming to compete in a junior boxing tournament uptown in a few weeks.
Matt's ability to read braille and his academics have improved; his training, on the other hand, was hit or miss.
On the one hand, his form and striking speed have improved dramatically. Ted even jogged with him some mornings to boost his confidence being outdoors and to help him move at least somewhat independently without his cane.
But he really couldn't do much else, not due to his blindness, however, much to Ted's surprise but because Matt couldn't tolerate being in crowded area's for too long. Unfortunately, due to the nature of Ted's business and the fact that they lived in New York, encountering a crowd, indoors or outdoors was far too common.
Simple things like an angry driver blasting his horn, the bell ringing in the gym or even something simple as a pair of keys being thrown in his direction can cause him to grab his head and scream in agony.
What's more surprising is that he managed to catch said pair of keys without any problem.
Ted didn't know what to do with the boy. If he continues as he is, he'll barely be able to put a toe outside by the time he's out of middle-school.
Matt needs special help. Not a government source though, he's worked with enough agencies to know what governments can potentially do to a suspected super-human.
"Damn it," Ted whispered under his breath as he removed an old Justice Society communicator from a secret compartment in his office desk. 'Come on you son of a...' Ted started to think as the old communicator started to beep.
"Ah, Wild Cat, been a while. Tell me. Why are you using my father's old communicator?" the man at the end of the line asked as Ted looked at an old picture of 'The Justice Society of America'.
"Kato, I've got something that might interest you."
"What?" Matt and Mark asked in unison.
"I said, this guy's gonna be training redhead over here," Ted stated as he tidied up his gym that morning.
Matt didn't know how to react. He's just gotten used to the gym and Ted's training and now he's shipping him off with someone else.
Mark was quite shocked as well. Not because Ted wanted Matt to train with someone else but because that someone else was a 5'7, skinny old Chinese dude. He didn't look very impressive especially next to Ted who looked like a giant next to him.
"But why this guy?" Mark asked before his brother could.
"Mark, take a look at Kato's eyes for a sec will ya," Ted whispered in his ears.
Mark knew better than to answer back and looked straight into Kato's eyes. They were glazed over.
'He's blind?' Mark mouthed to his teacher.
Ted simply nodded.
"I'm not moving," Matt said incredulously, after focusing on Kato for the past few minutes.
"I told you that it's just for a couple weeks to see how it goes along. Besides you just met the man today."
Matt simply stared at Ted or tried to at least.
"Fine, but I want ice-cream," the 7-year-old demanded.
Kato and Matt sat on a bench under a tree in central park.
It was a busy morning, fortunately for Matt he was too focused on his melting ice-cream and the mysterious man sitting next to him to notice the stuff happening around him.
"So what kind of training is this?" Matt asked.
"You like ice-cream?" Kato asked.
"Yeah."
"Good, then be quiet and eat it. I'll ask the questions." Kato said in a frank tone. "There is one thing that you must know, no one feels sorry for you and no one ever will. You know why this is?"
Matt shook his head.
"It's because they don't have to. They have their own lives to deal with, their own problems. They'll give you looks and pass comments that make them feel better for caring about someone less privileged than they are." "Besides," Kato continued as Matt licked his ice-cream, "Compared to these people around you, you've won the lottery."
"I did?" Matt asked.
Kato simply replied by placing the base of his cane near Matt's throat. "What was it I said about talking?"
"Shut up?"
"I said be quiet but close enough," Kato stated as he 'looked' around in front of him.
"How old were you when you got blinded?" Kato asked as he moved his head towards Matt's direction.
"Seven," Matt said.
"Seven? You had seven whole years to look at movies and night skies. Many people never had that luxury." Kato stated. "So you were seven years old, walking around with your brother then you get hit by a truck," he paused for effect, "Then you died."
"I didn't die!" Matt exclaimed in confusion.
"You lived? Thank God, it's a miracle. You survive an armored truck driving towards you and then you get some radioactive waste in your eyes, what happened next?" Kato asked.
"I started hearing things."
"What kind of things?"
"Everything. I hear cats meowing, coughs, fights, sirens footsteps, sometimes blocks or miles away. I can feel and sense things, I know when they move and where things are. But I can't see."
"You know what that is?" Kato asked, "That, dear boy, is a gift. A special kind that people spend entire lifetimes to achieve and you, a seven year old, have gained what many highly experienced warriors could not."
"Never thought of it that way." Matt said.
"That is because you are an idiot."
"I'm not an idiot, I'm smart."
Kato almost chuckled at that statement. "You think you are smart simply because you learnt to run your fingers over the bumps and read braille."
"Knowledge comes from books not intelligence. Being smart is making the right decisions at the right time. Such as right now."
"What path are you going to choose? Are you going to cry yourself to sleep every night wishing for someone to hold your hand and make things normal? Or are you going to get up and do what it takes to reshuffle the bad hand life has given you?"
Matt simply tilted his head, signifying his acknowledgement.
"Very well, lets get started."
"How is the ice-cream?" Kato asks.
"Tastes like vanilla,"
"You and every other person in the world can taste vanilla. Empty your mind and use those gifts of yours."
Kato then put the ice-cream near his nose and started to lightly sniff.
"I detect, two varitey of vanilla beans, sugar grains, milk from three separate cows from two states of this country, and," he takes a small lick of ice-cream and recoils in disgust. "Several elements and chemicals that frankly should be part of a kid's science experiment, not their food."
He takes another sniff of the cold desert, "Ah yes, dirt from the hand of the man that served this divine confectionery to us. He probably spent the morning gardening with his cat in the yard."
"How'd you know about the cat?"
"Smell of the dirt," Kato responded frankly.
"There is a whole world around you and it is big and beautiful. All you have to do is calm down and let it in. Don't resist."
A dog and his owner walk past. "What can you tell me about that dog?" Kato asks Matt.
Matt concentrates and turns his head towards the direction of the dog. "He's hungry," Matt stated, "His tummy's growling." He paused for a moment.
"He's dying to eat those hot dogs over there," Matt said pointing his finger towards a nearby hot dog stand.
Kato's lips almost curl into a smile.
"Not bad. Not bad at all." Kato stated. "What about the girl over there?" Kato asked, pointing to a young couple around 10 feet away under a tree. Matt spent a few seconds longer to analyse the girl due to her distance. "I think her skin's too hot. Her heart rate's really high, and her breathing's way too shallow. Is she sick?" Matt asked, with concern dripping form his voice.
"Worst. The poor girl's in love. What about that old man on the bench?"
Matt, shifts his attention to the old man, he hears his strained heart beat and his lungs seemingly collapse with every breath.
"He's dying," Matt said with a sense of sadness in his voice.
"And there isn't a damn thing you can do about it." Kato tells Matt.
"Big and beautiful world out there. But beauty does not last, like everything else, it degrades over time. The only way people such as you or I can survive is if we take the world by the throat and refuse to let go."
"If I ask you a question will you hit me?"
"That depends on the nature of the question."
"Did you go blind or were you just born this way?" Matt asks the elderly Chinese man.
"I lost my sight after an accident not unlike your own." Kato said, his serious tone of voice ever so slightly wavering.
"Spent many years in some of the most dangerous places across the globe to learn how to 'see' again, to fight again, to live again. Lessons I shall provide you, starting today."
"Today?"
"Is there a problem?" Kato asks Matt.
"Nope," Matt answered immediately.
"Then follow me. Keep up, I will not slow down."
Kato walks into one of his places of training in New York. For the purposes of today he has emptied the area completely to teach Matt. The area in question was a large soundproof room, with the walls covered in sound absorbing foam and the floor a hard but an almost equally sound absorbing material.
He wanted Matt to be able to detect things in an environment where his usual method of detecting objects was nullified, his hearing and basic echo-location.
The only thing he could hear in the room was Kato's heart beat and voice.
"I'll hear no complaints boy," Kato instructed Matt as he entered the room, "I will teach you how to master your senses and if you are good enough I shall make you into a true warrior."
"Your chances are slim. You are emotional, undisciplined and self-entitled. But you have potential, it's up to you to harness it.
"Now reach out your hand and concentrate," Kato said in a calm tone. "Feel the air."
"But nothing else is moving other than you," Matt said in annoyance.
"Keep quiet and concentrate. The air is still pushing around you, one wall is closer than the other, feel it." Kato repeated, his tone of voice never wavering.
"But I don't feel anything."
Matt's head then suddenly hurt as something hit him on the head.
"You felt that at least," Kato stated, instructing him to pick up the escrima stick on the floor. Matt crouched onto the floor, using his hands to feel around for the stick. He finally felt the wood in his fingers and grabbed it, leaping right up to face Kato. But he couldn't hear Kato's heart beat, or his breath.
Matt then got hit on his right shoulder.
Then on the back of his head.
"Hey, that hurts!" Matt exclaimed.
He felt another hit on his back. He swings in that direction but hits nothing but air.
Another hit to his shoulder.
"Knock it off!" Matt said in anger striking again, still hitting nothing.
He does so again.
Again.
And again.
Until Matt heard a whisper of something moving in the air.
A shape formed by air.
A stick!
Matt raised his stick upwards and blocked the incoming attack.
"Whoa. How did I do that?" Matt asked in astonishment.
"You have officially graduated kindergarten. Don't get cocky yet, your education has just begun."
Days passed.
Months.
Matt goes to the designated training location of the day.
Kato is inside the room.
Matt has tried to find more information about his new teacher. From what Mark tells him, Ted Grant's and Kato's dad were tight and they were part of some team or society way back when.
'So I'm either being trained by a super-hero or by some crazy spy. Great,' Matt thought sarcastically.
"What do you hear?" Kato asks Matt.
"Creaking of wood, wire... Wait, no, catgut, stretched out. You're holding a bow. What're a couple blind guys gonna do with a bow?"
"This," Kato said, shooting three arrows straight into a the center of a bulls-eye.
"Alright, let's begin."
Kato throws the bow to Matt, with Matt hearing the bow leave his masters hand and feels it falling through the air. Matt catches the bow and notches an arrow.
After a few corrections in Matt's technique in holding the bow, Kato gives the go ahead to fire.
Matt releases the tension from the arrow and lets go. The arrow flies upward, going through a window and embedding itself into a car below.
Kato places his hand over his forehead and simply says, "Again".
Matt fires again and hits the wall this time.
"Again," Kato demands.
Matt fires again.
Again.
Again
And again. Again and again till Matt's knees wobble and red-hot pain streaks from his shoulders to his elbows.
He fires and misses the Target but comes close to the edge of the wooden board the target was placed upon.
He fires yet again.
And again.
His blind eyes water with tears, his lungs fill with the old basements dust making his chest feel like it's on fire.
Until.
THUNK.
"I hit it. Kato, I hit it!" Matt cheered in relief.
"Anyone can hit it once. Again, this time concentrate on your target, feel its shape, it's smell. Focus."
Matt fired again, the arrow coming closer towards the bulls eye. He fires again hitting the bulls eye. Firing again, he shoots an arrow through the previous one.
Matt practices the kick again, his legs reaching the apex of their arc with his arms stretched out, leaving all his limbs extended in a position similar to that of a butterfly's wings in-flight.
He then threw a series of punches towards Kato, each being parried by the old man. Kato unleashed an onslaught of punches of his own. Matt has never been able to parry or block a punch or kick from Kato. Ignoring the fact that his punches could bend steel and shatter stone if he wanted, his speed was incredible.
To demonstrate his speed he once placed a quarter in the palm of Matt's hand and before Matt could close it Kato managed to take the quarter away from Matt's palm and replace it with a penny.
He also caught a blunt arrow that Matt fired at him (under Kato's instructions) using both hands and threw it back at Matt with enough force to leave a large bruise on his forehead for days.
Matt leaped out of the way and Kato threw Matt two sticks he had on him.
Matt caught them in mid-air and proceeded to crouch down and attack Kato's knees and shins. Kato counters his strikes with a shin kick to the face causing Matt to immediately stand up and back flip several feet away to gain distance from Kato.
As Matt prepared to close the distance and strike again Kato gives a command, "Break." Matt immediately complies.
"What rules the body?" Kato asks
"My mind." Matt replies.
Kato gives a gesture to indicate that he can start the sparring session again. Matt throws one of his sticks at Kato, but it misses and ends up flying over his head. The old martial artist is about to kick in Matt's face when the stick the boy threw ricochets off the adjacent wall and hits his master square at the back of his head.
'Clever boy.' Kato thought.
"Break."
Matt stops.
"What's your greatest weapon?" Kato asks.
"My body."
Kato tells Matt to continue and delivers a knee to Matt's face which he blocks with his remaining stick, but gets caught in a hold by Kato.
Matt's hands instinctively go towards his throat to see if he can loosen Kato's grip. He couldn't, and seeing no other option he opts for the only move he has available, he bits Kato's hand.
Kato loosens his grip in pain and Matt does a flip and uses it's momentum to get out of the stronger fighters grip.
"How do we fight?"
"We're formless, unpredictable and shapeless, like water."
"What do our enemies control?"
"They'll control nothing but a hospital bed by the time we're through with them."
"Stop." Kato instructed as he took the remaining stick from Matt's hand.
"You've learned to harness your body as a weapon. You're skilled with many weapons. But fighting is just the start. First you have to learn how to harness your emotions. You're emotions deep down within."
"How do I do that?" Matt asks half thinking it was going to be some sort of DIY brain surgery or something.
"By meditating."
"That thing you do where you try not to sleep?" Matt chided.
"Yes, that's it," Kato said through a chuckle.
Matt's noticed that Kato's gotten a bit more light hearted. His training regiments are still brutal, and he's probably sustained more bruises on his body and face than there are hairs on his head. But during times like these, when they were just talking he seemed more open, calm and relaxed, maybe even nice if you push it.
Kato finishes packing up the equipment.
"Try it, be open to it and later on you can get stronger, faster, more focused and even compensate for any lack of sleep and can heal your wounds faster," Kato added, trying to peak Matt's interest in the useful practice.
"Seriously, you can do that?" Matt asked with a sense of disbelief.
"How is it you think me and Ted have lived so long?" Kato asks in response.
"I'll learn how, just like you."
Kato smirks, "Good. Tomorrow we start with basic meditation and then knives. Try not to stab yourself." He said as Matt heads towards the exit. "Alright, see you tomorrow Kato," Matt says as he leaves the old, crumbling building.
Night after night Jack and Miranda Murdock find their sons asleep, exhausted, with Matt always sleeping alongside his books.
Both parents think that their little boy is studying like a demon.
They're right of course.
But Matt's studies go beyond law, history and geography. They go into a realm, in Matt's eyes at least of near magic.