This story takes place somewhere slightly outside normal Daredevil continuity. Deal with it.

Daredevil: The Devil You Know

Part One

Red—The Blood of Angry Men

"The problem with Silke was that he just didn't know his limitations. I hate to quote someone the likes of Clint Eastwood, but a man has to know his limitations. Without that, well, stupid men do stupid things."

He light a cigarette, and took a swig of the beer sitting in front of him, while his audience looked at him with eager anticipation.

"Now, he thought he could kill the Kingpin and just take over. Like that. Life don't work like that—the world don't work like that. This isn't a movie—this is reality. And you know what the problem with reality is?"

He leaned forward, eyes pulled close together, a lean and hungry look on his face.

"The problem with reality is that it never ends. There's no final reel—there's no credits. Once one story ends, the next one begins. Silke couldn't comprehend this—no, he thought that he'd kill the Kingpin, and that would be that. But, the Kingpin? He's not a person…no, he's a lifestyle. He's an idea. He's a state of mind."

Some of the men squirmed in their seats—how long had it been since the Kingpin had passed on? Three months? Four? Even still, the news of the retribution against Silke and his men could send a shiver up even the spine of the toughest guy here.

"You kill the Kingpin, someone takes his place. Someone as tough as he. Someone as mean as he. Someone with the absolute balls like he did. And that's something Silke and his capos couldn't deal with. Now, we have an opening, my friends. We have a way of continuing the story. Out with the old—you know the score."

He stood at this point, crossing in front of his desk. Their eyes followed him—after all, he was a self made man. And he was made. He was God. God loves, God punishes. God is first over all.

"The thing with this corporation, as it is with you and me, is that it's a living thing. And like any other living thing, it has it's stages. Birth, growth, maturity, decline, and death. All stages of life—a tree sprouts from a small seed. Soon it becomes a sapling, and soon it grows. It keeps on growing, and then, suddenly, it stops. The next thing you know, the branches fall off, the bark starts to strip, and then—it's over. Just like that tree, so we must first realize that whatever we do, it won't last forever. We won't live forever. But, you know something, we can damn sure leave our mark on history."

He was God, and he was good.

Matt Murdock could hardly sleep in his bed anymore—he had thought, briefly, about getting one of those "Sensory Deprivement Chambers", but they resembled a coffin too much, and he was certain he had fought a vampire one time. Well, all the things that he had battled over the years: ninjas, mutants, people with expanding legs…what hadn't he fought at one point or another? The sheets, silk, irritated his skin these days, and, anyway, the apartment was too noisy these days. Ever since that college girl had moved in below him—even now, at two thirty in the morning, he could hear her jamming out to Dave Matthews Band below.

She was Dian Simmons, the daughter of the very wealthy Leyton Simmons, head of Simmons Publishing Group—Matt could count down on both hands just the number of magazines they published alone. She had gotten the nice little flat to live in as a bonus for getting good grades last year—and Matt knew his rent wasn't cheap. But, then again, he had his experience with class action lawsuits, including, recently, one of the largest monetary awards in New York history. And, right after it was awarded, Nelson and Murdock took fifty percent. Matt could barely afford to live here, much less have lived here as a poor student.

He'd only gone out once this week, and it was Wednesday. Not good. Sure, he'd be out all weekend, but he had promised to go out at least three days during the week, but, with the trial, and that damn injury he had gotten during a particularly careless moment chasing an attempted rapist, he needed some time. But, his time in court was over, and it would be good to get back out there. Tomorrow. Tonight, he would try to sleep.

The knock on his door shocked the absolute hell out of him—it wasn't a loud knock, but, with his abilities, it didn't take much to startle him. Especially when he was trying to sleep. He rose out of his bed, and slipped on a robe—he had been wearing pajama bottoms, but he preferred to hide his bruises and scars whenever he could. As he walked towards the door, he could hear heavy breath, and a speeding heart, as if someone was going to need a lot of bravery to do what they were going to do. Not they, no, it was a girl. He could smell patchouli and…it had to be incense. And a hint of marijuana—she hadn't smoked, but someone close to her had. It wasn't a she—no, as he got closer he could smell the tell-tale sign. Chanel number five. It was Dian.

If he could see, he would marvel at her simple beauty—fair skin, long blond hair, her well toned body hidden by the baggy, college hippie clothes she wore. She was a natural beauty, which was lucky, because, due to her college hippieness, she now declined to wear makeup. But, like any other self respecting young woman, she couldn't bring herself to skip out on the leg and underarm shaving, not only because it was disgusting to her, but it itched like nobody's business. As Matt opened the door, she smiled, then cursed herself for doing it—he was blind, she reminded herself.

"Hello? Can I help you?" Matt faked his surprise when she answered. He always said that if he ever gave up the superhero business, maybe he should go into acting.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to open your door to strangers, Mr. Murdoch?" She added a sort of playfulness to her voice—figured that would be the best way to communicate with him. She had gained her crush on him two years ago, when she saw his picture on television, as the was defending a young African American who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Larceny, they accused him of, simply because he was black. She admired the way he carried himself, how he seemed to use the law to change the system. Then she moved in, finding out two days later that he lived in the same building—Matt Murdoch, the wonderful defender of the little man, the man who was changing the world. And, he was cute. God, was he cute.

"Well, I guess I need to start using my peephole. Oh, wait, I'm blind. Sorry, I forgot." She laughed—her blood was rushing around. Her heart was beating hard, and, he could feel the heat coming from her skin. She coming on to him? Matt felt puzzled by this.

"Mind if I come in, Mr. Murdoch? I need some legal advice."

"Sure, Dian…I was having trouble sleeping anyway."

"Why?"

"Couldn't get the song ‘Best of What's Around' out of my head." Good line, he thought. Gives them a bit of common interest. She brushed past him, her arm, her soft skin grazing against his free hand as she walked by.

"My favorite song from my favorite band. I'm beginning to think this was a good idea."

Matt was late, Foggy thought, as he sat in his office, running through a few old files. He probably needed the rest, with the case and all, and he had probably gone out last night, though Foggy couldn't remember hearing anything on the news about Daredevil, but, then again, given the news that had hit around seven this morning, old Hornhead busting a couple of gangbangers last night probably wouldn't have made the top story.

Matt came in around nine thirty, whistling, and who could blame him. Foggy walked into Matt's office as Matt was taking off his suit coat and placing it around his desk chair. Matt heard Foggy coming toward him right after he walked in—no doubt a lecture about being late. But, after last night, Matt was surprised he didn't call in sick.

"Office hours start at eight, need I remind you?" Foggy had a jovial tone in his voice—good. Matt could tell he wasn't angry. Hell, Foggy probably thought he had gone patrolling last night.

"Sorry, Franklin, but I had an really strange night last night?"

"Franklin? Now, you're just getting nasty. What happened? The Purple Man reappear?"

"No, I didn't go out last night. It was a…well, it was a woman." This captured Foggy's attention. Matt heard the pulse racing, the undeniable sign that Foggy's imagination was going into overdrive. Matt smirked, knowing that whatever he was imagining wouldn't even begin to measure up.

"Who? What? Details, buddy, details. How'd you meet? I haven't heard you talk about any women in a long while…"

"She's this girl who lives in the apartment below me. She young—very young. Twenty-one-year-old college senior. But, she was really great. Anyway, I was having trouble sleeping."

"Okay, she's young, but, hey…Who was she?"

"Dian Simmons. Daughter of Leyton Simmons." Matt could hear Foggy's heart skip. The rush of blood away from his face. The breath leaving his body. Matt raised his eyebrows, something had completely taken by surprise.

"You haven't heard?" Foggy's voice contained an element of shock in it, another alarm sounding.

"No, what happened?"

"They found Leyton Simmons dead this morning. Murdered. Shot through the head."

"Oh my god…" Matt could hear a television coming through from the room next to his office—they were watching the news. It was true, it was too true.

He sat in his office, watching his boys' handiwork on the television. One down. Pretty soon, the world would know his name, and, more importantly, so would the Kingpin. Or, more accurately, whoever was running the Kingpin's business right now. Oh, yeah, he had sent a message. And they were getting it loud and clear. And, unfortunately for them, there were more messages on the way. God was speaking to his people. And, if they were smart, they would listen to God. No one ignores God.