Daredevil's real name was Matt Murdock, and he was a blind lawyer by day.
He'd been in an accident as a child—lost his sight when a radioactive substance splashed into his eyes. But while his eyes had gone dark, his other senses had become supernaturally sharp.
His hearing especially.
Up close, he could hear the flutter of an insect's wings. From a distance, he could pick out individual conversations from a dozen blocks away. He could even detect lies by listening to changes in someone's heartbeat and breathing patterns.
Which was why he knew Otto was telling the truth.
But that knowledge brought mixed feelings—surprise and anger in equal measure.
Surprise that Otto could actually communicate with stray animals and hire them with food as payment. Anger that someone so young could be so calm about handling dead bodies.
Even if Otto was only disposing of corpses and not creating them, his casual demeanor suggested this wasn't his first time. Far from it.
How many times did you have to do something like this before it became routine?
This time had been self-defense, supposedly. But what about the times before?
After all, you didn't get a squad of heavily armed men kicking down your door unless you were involved in something serious. Robbery victims and regular citizens didn't face that kind of retaliation.
And if it really was just self-defense, why not call the police? Why handle the cleanup yourself?
Unless you were involved in something you couldn't afford to have investigated.
The thoughts flashed through Matt's mind in rapid succession.
He'd already mentally categorized Otto and his employer as criminals engaged in illegal activities. They needed to be stopped, prosecuted, sent to prison.
But he didn't have evidence yet. So instead of attacking, he probed for information.
"What exactly do you people do?"
"We're the Master of All Things," Otto replied simply. He reached into his pocket with his still-bloodstained hand and produced a business card. "Whether it's finding lost items, providing security, gathering intelligence, transporting goods, treating injuries... as long as the price is right, we handle it. Mr. Daredevil, please feel free to contact us if you ever need assistance."
That explained the armed assault.
Matt accepted the card, keeping his expression neutral. "You really do anything? Even illegal jobs?"
"Not exactly 'anything,'" Otto clarified.
Matt felt a small surge of relief.
Maybe they weren't completely lost causes after all.
"The boss is somewhat... selective about which jobs he takes," Otto continued. "He accepts commissions he finds interesting and rejects ones he doesn't, regardless of payment. It all depends on his mood."
"..."
Matt's brief relief evaporated.
He'd assumed Otto meant his employer had some kind of moral code or ethical boundaries. Instead, it was pure whim.
That kind of person was more dangerous than someone with no morals at all.
Because you could predict and counter someone with no morals—their selfishness and greed made them predictable.
But someone who operated based on mood alone? You never knew when they might do something completely insane.
Definitely need to find evidence and put them away.
Matt took a deep breath, preparing to probe further, when Otto spoke again.
"Although, even though he claims it's about his mood, I believe the boss actually judges each job based on his own internal code of conduct."
"Hmm?"
Matt's head tilted slightly. "What makes you say that?"
"We've had many potential clients approach us. But any job that seemed morally questionable—tasks that would make a decent person uncomfortable—the boss refused them all, no matter how much money was offered. On the other hand, some jobs that felt genuinely righteous? He'd take those even if the payment was only enough for two burgers."
"That's still just about mood, isn't it?"
"No, I think it's about the degree of morality involved."
"Degree of morality?"
"Exactly." Otto nodded. "Most of our jobs are technically illegal, yes. But they don't feel wrong. In fact, doing them often feels like the only right thing to do."
"That's nonsense!" Matt snapped. "There's nothing right about breaking the law."
"Isn't that exactly what Mr. Daredevil does?"
"..."
Matt fell silent.
He was right, of course. Matt was a vigilante, a superhero operating completely outside legal authority. There was no law that sanctioned what he did every night.
But he knew he was doing the right thing. And the people of Hell's Kitchen knew it too—they wanted more heroes like him maintaining order where the law couldn't or wouldn't.
Conversely, there was Wilson Fisk—the Kingpin.
A man who'd committed every ugly, vicious crime imaginable, yet appeared publicly as a respectable businessman and philanthropist. Completely law-abiding on paper.
But in reality?
He used his wealth and influence to bind himself to powerful institutions, used coercion and bribery to control key figures in both legal and criminal circles. Multiple investigations had been launched against him over the years, but they'd all gone nowhere.
Because everything Fisk did was technically legal. He never left evidence. Never got his own hands dirty.
The law was meant to be a minimum standard of morality, not the ultimate arbiter of right and wrong. It was a tool to protect people's interests—but it could also be a weapon used by the powerful to exploit the weak.
If someone bragged about being perfectly law-abiding, they were probably rotten to the core.
"Anyway," Otto said, "if you ever need assistance in the future, you're welcome to try us out. Maybe the boss will find your request interesting."
With that, he turned and walked back into the building. The stray cats and dogs dispersed on their own, melting back into the shadows.
Matt stood in silence for a moment, then leaped up to the fire escape and made his way to a nearby rooftop.
He didn't go far—just to a vantage point on the next block where he could maintain surveillance.
The Master of All Things seemed different from what he'd initially assumed. They weren't mindless criminals who'd do anything for money.
But whether they were ultimately good or bad—he couldn't say yet.
He needed more information.
Matt activated his radar sense, letting the cacophony of the city pour into his ears. He filtered through thousands of sounds, focusing on the building below, monitoring every movement inside the Master of All Things.
What he didn't notice was that several birds had landed on the rooftop behind him, watching him intently.
No—that wasn't quite right. With Daredevil's enhanced senses, it was impossible for him not to notice the birds.
He just didn't realize their significance.
Because at that moment, he'd picked up something far more interesting—secret conversations happening in two different locations.
"Mission failed."
"J-Squad has been completely eliminated. Target is currently shopping in Midtown. No visible injuries."
"There's an unknown individual at the target location. Just made contact with Daredevil. Suspected enhanced individual with animal control abilities—stray dogs and cats confirmed."
"Mission parameters need reassessment. All units pull back. Wait for new operational plan."
"Understood, sir."
"Mr. Quinn's establishment was attacked. Unknown individual is currently handling body disposal."
"Unknown individual just made contact with Daredevil. Suspected enhanced—demonstrated control over stray animals. No conflict between the two."
"Unknown individual has keys to the establishment and appears to know Mr. Quinn."
"Mr. Quinn has been located in Midtown. Target is unharmed."
"What are your orders?"
"Identify the individual at the establishment. Send someone to contact Daredevil and determine what they discussed. And find out who attacked Mr. Quinn's location—top priority."
"Understood, sir."
Two separate groups, using encrypted communications.
Daredevil heard every word. From the content and tone, he could roughly determine their positions and affiliations.
His expression darkened.