"Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!"
A dozen razor-edged alloy playing cards screamed through the air, each spinning at supersonic velocity. Their trajectories overlapped in a tightening lattice — not to strike, but to seal every evasive angle.
A feint.
At the same instant, Bullseye triggered the grapnel cable integrated into his Oscorp tactical brace. The filament snapped around a suspended butcher hook, and he swung through the cold storage chamber with gymnastic precision.
Servos whined.
His right forearm rotated, stabilizers locking.
Target acquired.
The industrial chandelier above Joren.
"Try this."
A pulse discharge struck the suspension mount.
Metal shrieked.
The half-ton steel chandelier tore free, electrical arcs snapping through the air as it plunged downward.
Cards sealing escape routes.
Half-ton debris collapsing from above.
Bullseye himself accelerating from the flank, exoskeleton amplifying his strike velocity.
Sky. Overhead. Side.
A mathematically perfect kill geometry.
This time, he would erase the humiliation.
"Ora."
Star Platinum moved.
Not fast.
Not rushed.
Simply inevitable.
Its hand flicked through the storm of spinning cards.
The alloy projectiles reversed direction instantly, ricocheting with multiplied velocity, embedding deep into the cold storage walls.
The falling chandelier descended into Star Platinum's rising fist.
Bang.
The impact wave propagated through the steel structure, shattering its internal stress lines. The mass disintegrated mid-air into fragments that scattered harmlessly across the floor.
Bullseye's enhanced fist arrived.
Star Platinum turned.
Locked on.
The first punch landed before Bullseye's nervous system registered contact.
Then—
"Ora ora ora ora ora ora ora!"
A barrage erupted.
To ordinary perception, Bullseye simply stopped mid-motion.
To his nervous system, every bone in his body was struck hundreds of times per second.
Shock fractures cascaded.
Reinforced skeletal braces buckled under vibrational overload.
Oscorp stabilizers overloaded.
Consciousness vanished before pain arrived.
"Ora!"
The final blow detonated against his torso.
Bullseye's body blasted through the cold storage wall, carving a human-shaped void before disappearing into the night.
Silence returned.
Daredevil stood motionless beside the unconscious Hammerhead, whose reinforced skull had finally failed him after Matt's final shoulder throw.
He stared at the boy.
Hands in pockets.
Hat low.
Then at the ragged hole in reinforced concrete.
His mouth opened slightly beneath the mask.
Joren sighed softly.
Finally, that fly is gone.
Without acknowledging Daredevil's shock, he walked to the ammunition crates.
He touched one with his fingertip.
"Buzz—"
Ripple energy propagated through the metal lattice.
Oscorp pulse rifles relied on superconductive energy conduits and micro-capacitor arrays calibrated to precise oscillation tolerances.
Ripple disrupted those tolerances.
Inside the sealed crates:
energy circuits destabilized
• capacitor matrices collapsed
• firing relays fused
Externally pristine.
Internally worthless.
Scrap.
Joren withdrew his hand and turned to leave.
"Wait."
Daredevil blocked his path.
"You're just leaving?"
"What else?"
"Kingpin. Bullseye. These men are criminals. They belong in court."
His voice carried urgency — not weakness, but conviction.
Law. Procedure. Justice.
The pillars he refused to abandon.
Joren stopped.
"Court?"
"He tried to kill me. Fisk rebuilt him and sent him back."
"If I hand him to the system, Fisk will retrieve him."
"Then he returns stronger."
"And next time, he won't aim at me."
He paused.
"He'll aim at my family."
"My friends."
"My life."
His eyes remained calm.
"I hate trouble."
"I hate repetitive trouble even more."
"So I choose the most efficient solution."
"Remove the threat."
Silence fell.
Daredevil did not stop him.
For the first time in years, the structure of procedural justice felt… fragile.
Manhattan — Fisk Tower
Kingpin stood before a panoramic view of his city.
Wesley, pale and trembling, stood nearby, arm encased in a medical brace.
On the wall, Bullseye's ocular implant feed replayed.
Confidence.
Calculation.
Perfect geometry.
Then—
impact.
distortion.
darkness.
Kingpin spoke quietly.
"What… was that?"
"An invisible entity?"
"A force capable of deflecting bullets… dispersing energy… pulverizing steel?"
His perfect weapon — enhanced with Oscorp's cutting-edge orthopedic augmentation — had failed in under a second.
Had not even touched the boy.
The order he built through violence, capital, and fear felt, for the first time in decades…
compromised.
He chuckled.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
Then stopped abruptly.
BANG.
His fist dented the alloy table.
"I don't care what he is."
His voice turned cold.
"Wesley."
"Yes, boss."
"Use everything."
"Surveillance. Financial records. School systems. Utilities."
"I want his family."
"His routines."
"His friends."
"His habits."
"Every vulnerability."
He turned toward the city lights.
"Turn everything around him into hell."
His eyes hardened.
"This high school student must die."