Daredevil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
To most of New York, he was an urban legend. A shadow lurking in the bruised, neon-lit corners of the city. Unlike Spider-Man, nobody had ever managed to snap a clear photo of him. He existed purely in the panicked testimonies of battered gangsters and the frantic radio calls of corrupt cops. Some claimed he was a mutant. Others genuinely believed he was a demon who had crawled out of hell to drag sinners back down with him.
But Peter Parker knew the truth.
He knew the Devil was Matt Murdock, a blind lawyer who spent his days defending the underprivileged at the Nelson and Murdock law firm alongside his best friend, Foggy Nelson. By night, he traded the suit for Kevlar, punishing the guilty with his bare hands and a pair of billy clubs.
Tonight, the Hell's Kitchen skyline was choked with smog and the low hum of distant sirens. Daredevil vaulted across a narrow gap between two tenements, his boots landing silently on the gravel roof. His head snapped to the side. The wind currents shifted. It wasn't the heavy chop of a police chopper or the sharp crack of a gunshot. It was a fast, rhythmic thwip, cutting through the air like a whip.
Daredevil slid his billy club back into its thigh holster and leaned against a rusted water tower.
"Spider-Man," Daredevil said, not turning his head. "You don't usually come down to this neighborhood."
Peter dropped lightly onto the top of the water tank. "I could say I heard you first, Daredevil. Wait, didn't Frank tell you about me?"
Daredevil's shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch at the mention of the Punisher. "Frank and I don't exactly see eye to eye. We have different agendas."
Daredevil kept his posture relaxed, but Peter could see the coiled tension in his legs. The Daily Bugle might scream that Spider-Man was a menace, but an official Avengers invitation carried weight. They weren't enemies. Still, Murdock hadn't expected Peter to have a direct line to Frank Castle.
"Let me guess your agenda," Peter said, squatting on the edge of the tank. "You're trying to put Wilson Fisk behind bars for the third time. How's that working out? He gets locked up, gets his charges cleared, rebrands himself as a famous philanthropist, and launders hundreds of millions through post-Battle of New York construction contracts."
Peter stared out over the city, shaking his head. The timeline in this universe was a massive headache. Events that should have taken years to unfold in the original 616 continuity were resolving in months. Fisk shouldn't be back on the street, and the Defenders hadn't even formed yet. It felt like walking onto a stage where someone kept skipping scenes in the script. You knew the plot, but you couldn't trust the pacing.
Daredevil licked his dry lips. "If you're implying we should kill Fisk... that isn't our responsibility."
"I wasn't suggesting an execution," Peter said. "The courts are never going to give him the chair, either."
Peter studied the man in the red suit. Daredevil was a strict, unyielding non-killer. He shared Batman's rigid, absolute line in the sand. Peter absolutely hated the idea of killing, but he wasn't nearly as dogmatic about it as Murdock. Aside from Hank Pym, practically nobody on the Avengers roster shared Daredevil's extreme pacifist ideals.
"Nobody gave us the authority to act as judge and jury," Daredevil said, his voice lowering into a gravelly warning.
"Look, nobody gave us the authority to fight criminals in spandex either, but let's skip the philosophy debate," Peter interrupted. He waved a hand dismissively. "I came to you because I'm tracking the people digging up and smuggling Chitauri tech from the Battle of New York ruins."
"You think Fisk is running it."
"I know he is," Peter said. "But I broke into Fisk Tower twice and found nothing but empty servers and clean ledgers."
Daredevil stood in silence, listening to Peter's steady heartbeat. It was a direct offer for a partnership.
Murdock finally gave a sharp nod. "I'll work with you. But I have one condition. No killing."
Peter tilted his head. "That is literally the first time anyone has ever had to say that to me."
Before Daredevil could respond, Peter's head snapped to the left. His enhanced hearing caught the unmistakable metallic clack of a handgun racking a slide, followed by a muffled shout three blocks south.
Peter didn't hesitate. He dove backward off the water tower, fired a web-line, and slingshotted himself into the concrete canyons.
Daredevil immediately gave chase, sprinting across the rooftops and vaulting over fire escapes. But parkour, no matter how flawless, couldn't match the sheer, terrifying velocity of a web-slinger.
By the time Daredevil dropped into the damp alleyway, the fight was already over.
Four gang members were pinned to the brick wall, wrapped tightly in thick cocoons of white silk. It had taken exactly eight seconds. Four handguns lay on the asphalt, crushed into useless metal scraps.
Peter hung upside down from a fire escape directly above the thugs, his arms crossed. "Any other ground rules? No? Cool. My turn to ask a question."
Daredevil's jaw tightened, but a wry, grudging smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Ask away, kid. What do you need to know about Fisk?"
Peter dropped to the pavement, landing without a sound. "You sent him to prison twice. You really don't have a single usable lead on him right now?"
Daredevil's smile vanished. "Fisk insulated himself perfectly this time. Every business he owns looks entirely legitimate on paper. His wife, Vanessa, doesn't even touch the accounts anymore. I've broken up a dozen of his street-level rackets this month, but there isn't a single thread connecting them back to him."
"I might have a thread we can pull," Peter said. He reached into a hidden compartment on his belt, pulled out a folded photograph and a stack of printed hospital logs, and held them out. "Mac Gargan. Private investigator. Fisk is funding him to dig into my civilian identities."
Daredevil reached out, taking the papers.
"Gargan took a bullet last week," Peter continued. "He vanished from St. Luke's hospital, and I believe Fisk wiped the digital grid to cover it up. But the code he used to erase the records matches the tech from one of my old villains. If Fisk is keeping Gargan alive, he's probably upgrading him."
Daredevil ran his thumb over the edge of the printed logs. "Gargan. I've heard the name whispered on the street." He turned his head, facing Peter. "There's a warehouse on West 46th Street. Fisk's people run unusual cargo out of the loading bays at three in the morning. They keep it strictly off the books."
Daredevil folded the papers and slipped them into his belt. "If Gargan is on the payroll, that's where the paper trail starts."
PS: Marvel Fun Fact
Spider-Man and Daredevil share one of the most enduring and iconic friendships in Marvel Comics! Because they both operate out of New York (Queens and Hell's Kitchen), they constantly cross paths. They share a mutual hatred for the Kingpin, and their deep trust has even led them to wear each other's costumes on multiple occasions to help protect each other's secret civilian identities!