Urban Nights: Part One

Life in Hell's Kitchen was hard. Surrounded by poverty, crime and corruption, the occupants of this ghetto were constantly faced with one problem or another. Still, a few of the sons and daughters of this tough New York neighborhood perservered. One of these people was named Willie Johnson.

It was late when Willie was walking home. No one was on the street. Great, he thought, momma's probably worried sick about me. He imagined her nagging yet caring voice scolding him when he stepped in the door of his tenement home. A gust of wind blew by ominously and the boy shivered, quickening his pace.

He jumped in surprise as a clunky old car rolled by, its bass blasting the beats of some generic rapper. Sighing, the skinny boy continued on. His building seemed illuminated by Willie's anticipation as it grew closer. Huffing, he sped up to a slow and steady job. Then it happened.

Willie passed a small, looming building. Its door was boarded up along with its windows, save one. The familiar sound of glass smashing echoed throughout the streets as a young Asian boy tumbled out of the only one of the building's windows that wasn't covered by boards.

Wincing, Willie lifted his arm to see glass extending from the back of his hand and blood trickling down his forearm. Ignoring his pain for the moment, Willie rushed towards the fallen kid and knelt by him. "Are... are you okay, man?"

Groaning, the Asian simply laid there with blood trickling down his face. Suddenly, Willie heard a new voice from the building. "Leave him there, skinny."

Willie's jaw dropped as he witnessed a costumed man calmly hop down to the street. With a white target on his forehead, Willie quickly recognized the man, although a name didn't come to his head. Pulling out a handgun, the man cocked it and pointed it at the Asian kid.

Grinning, he kicked at his victim's midsection. "Get up." The boy only gave a terrible, "YEEAAAARGH!" of pain while Willie watched in horror. The man crouched down next to the bleeding boy. "Yeeaaargh? Is that Chinese for 'my ass is grass?'

With a sickening calm, he put the gun to the boy's head. "Goodbye, Quang." Blood squirted out as he pulled the trigger, sending it in nearly all direction. Standing, he idly watched blood trickle down towards the gutter in a trance-like stare. Willie gasped, slowly backing up until he started running.

This seemed to snap the costume man out of his trance and he smirked. "Cute, kid." He idly fired a shot at the boy's ankle, hitting it dead on. Letting out a scream, Willie fell to the ground clutching his foot. Banging his head, the boy sobbed as blood soaked his long-sleeved shirt.

The costumed man snorted. "That was dumb." Suddenly, sirens echoed throughout Hell's Kitchen. Frowning the man emptied his gun, tossing the clip into a nearby dumpster. "Here come the cops. Well, kid, tell 'em Bullseye said 'hi.' See you around."

He strolled off down the block, turning a corner and disappearing. With tears streaming down his face, Willie could only stare at the body lying a few feet away from him while he waited for the cops.

The next day, the man known as Daredevil was meeting with a very good friend of his. "It just doesn't make sense, Ben... who ordered this hit? He murdered a 16 year old gang leader's son. Couldn't have been the Kingpin, he's got good relations with the Chinatown groups."

His spectacled friend, Ben Urich shrugged and sighed. "Could have been anyone... hell, he might have just felt like doing it. With this guy, you can't tell. I-"

Daredevil silenced him with a wave of his hand. Frowning, he grabbed the billy club on a nearby table. "Gunshots. I've got to go, I'll talk to you later." Before Ben could reply, he slid the window open and swung off towards Midtown...