Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As she left the bar, Jessica Jones checked her voicemail to see if the caller she’d ignored an hour ago had left a message. These days, nothing, and no one, interrupted her drinking. She glanced at the screen: “Matthew Murdock.” She tapped the “play” icon.

“Jessica Jones, Matt Murdock. I’m looking for an investigator to work a case with me. You interested? Call me.”

“Why not?” she thought, with a mental shrug. It would be a change from skip traces and cheating spouses. She hit the “call” icon on the screen.

Matt answered. “Hey, Jess, can I call you back?”

“Sure, but what’s the case – ?”

He interrupted her: “Sorry, but I’m in court, and the judge is about to take the bench. And I can’t really explain it over the phone, anyway.”

“Oh, OK. I’ll come by your place tonight.”

“OK. See you then.”

* * * * *

Jessica finished her glass of Matt’s best whiskey and set the glass on the coffee table before asking him, “So what’s this case you can’t talk about on the phone?”

Matt shifted uneasily on the chair opposite her and took a deep breath. “Actually, it’s . . . uh . . . it’s my case.”

“What do you mean it’s your case?”

“It’s about the accident, you know, when I was a kid, when I . . . lost my sight.”

“Oh.”

Matt continued, “I’ve been thinking about it lately, and . . . ”

“What, you want to sue someone?”

“No, no, it’s not that. The statute of limitations has run – years ago. But, like I said, I’ve been thinking about it, about one of the last things I saw before my sight . . . went. I remember seeing barrels in the street, full of the stuff that spilled on me. There were a lot of them, Jess. And I need to know – what was in them, why it did . . . what it did . . . to me, and who was responsible. Someone has to know.”

“Why now?” Jessica asked.

Matt considered this for a moment, then held his hands out, palms up, “I don’t know. It’s been on my mind for a while now. And it’s not like I could’ve done anything at the time.” He fell silent, remembering. “My dad, I think he might have known something, but if he did, he didn’t tell me. And then he was killed.” He turned away, but not before Jessica saw the sadness on his face. “I always wondered about it. But I had other stuff to deal with, after the accident. And I was just a kid. With your help, maybe I can find the answers now.”

“Time for a refill.” Jessica picked up her glass and headed for the kitchen. As she poured herself another three fingers of whiskey, she asked, “Are you sure you want to know? Voice of experience here, it may not work out the way you want.”

“I know. But there’s something else. The stuff that was in those barrels, it destroyed my eyesight in, like, a couple of minutes.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. And it did more than that. It . . . it changed me. It was powerful – and dangerous. And, like I said, there were a lot of barrels. They came from somewhere. Someone knows who made it and what they did with it. What if it’s still out there? What if someone’s using it? I need to find out.”

Jessica finished her drink in one gulp and sighed. “OK, Murdock, I get it. I’ll get on it tomorrow.”

* * * * *

Two days later, Matt was at his desk, trying to concentrate on the electronic voice reading the case he’d found on Westlaw, when he heard a knock on the door. Still wondering why appellate judges always had to be so verbose, and grateful for the break, he put on his glasses and went to the front door to admit Jessica.

“I found something, but you’re not gonna like it,” she told him.

“What is it?” Matt asked as he returned to his desk and sat down.

“The original accident report,” she replied.

“So what’s the problem?”

Jessica sat on the edge of the desk. “The truck – the one with the barrels – was owned by Rand Enterprises.”

Matt shook his head. “You’re shittin’ me.”

“Nope. It’s all here,” Jessica told him, slapping the report down on the desk.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Matt replied dryly. “Damn it.”

Jessica nodded. “Yeah. We gotta tell Danny, you know.”

“I know – but not yet. We need more facts,” Matt insisted.

“Like what?”

“Well, we know the truck was from Rand Enterprises, but was the stuff in the barrels theirs, too?”

Jessica considered this for a moment. “The report doesn’t say anything about that. It’s just a bare-bones accident report.”

“Like someone was covering something up?” Matt suggested.

“Maybe,” Jessica conceded. “But if Rand was making the stuff, it would make sense that they’d use their own truck to move it. From what you’ve told me, that was some pretty bad shit. If it was yours, would you trust someone else to move it?”

Matt turned toward her and leaned forward. “So if we assume the stuff was Rand’s, we need to look for someone who worked there – someone who knows about it – and get them to talk.”

“Danny could help with that.”

“No. I mean, Danny’s a good guy, he’s got a big heart, but I don’t want him anywhere near this investigation – not until we figure some things out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Jessica agreed. She thought for a moment. “I may have a way of finding someone and getting them to talk.”

“How – ?” Matt started to ask, then stopped himself. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“Good thinking, counselor.”

* * * * *

After a week with no word from Jessica, Matt began to wonder if her methods (whatever they were) were working. Then, late one evening, she appeared at his door.

“Hey, Jess,” Matt said. She brushed past him into the apartment.

“Hey. What’re you doing at home this time of night, Devil Boy?”

Matt gave a resigned half-smile at the nickname. “The Kitchen’s quiet tonight. Cops are on top of things, for now.”

Jessica walked down the hall and sat on the couch, waving the slip of paper she held in her hand. Matt leaned against the arm of the chair opposite her.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Good old fashioned detective work,” she replied, holding up the slip of paper. “You see before you – well, you don’t actually see it – the name and address of a scientist who, according to my informant, worked on an off-the-books research project for Rand Enterprises until about five years ago. Name’s Don Porter. He lives in Bay Ridge. I say we pay him a visit.”

* * * * *

The next afternoon, Jessica and Matt took the subway to Bay Ridge and walked to a neighborhood of modest homes. As they approached Porter’s address, Matt stopped short, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Is this the house?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He turned his head to one side. “There’s something ‘off’ about it. I can barely pick up what’s inside – or who.”

“Maybe no one’s home,” Jessica suggested.

“No, it’s not that. Even if no one’s home, I should still be able to hear something, things like electricity buzzing or water running or the house itself, shifting and settling. But there’s basically nothing. The sounds are muffled, like something’s blocking them.”

“Well, let’s check it out,” Jessica said. They crossed the narrow front yard and climbed the steps to the front porch of a small bungalow. Jessica knocked on the door. When no one answered, she tried again, knocking harder. Finally, the door opened a crack, revealing a slice of a man’s face, partly covered by dark, almost opaque, sunglasses.

“Don Porter?” Jessica asked. He winced, as if in pain. “I’m Jessica – ”

“No, no,” he said. He tried to close the door, but Jessica was too quick. She pushed past him and into the house, followed by Matt.

Once the front door closed behind him, Matt was shocked to find he couldn’t get a good sense of his surroundings. It was as if a blanket had been thrown over the entire space. He wasn’t sure where he was, so he snapped his fingers, trying to get a read on his location. The sound disappeared, swallowed up by – something. The room seemed to close in on him. He suppressed the urge to bolt for the door – if he could even find it. “Is this what it’s like,” he wondered, “to be blind without heightened senses?” He gripped his cane more tightly.

“What the hell?” Jessica thought as she looked around the living room. It was oddly quiet and dimly lit by a single, low-wattage lamp. Blackout curtains covered all of the windows, even the small ones in the front door. The carpet beneath her feet was thick, and some sort of fabric covered the walls. The air itself was still and hushed. The man who’d answered the door was cowering in the corner farthest from the lamp. He was tall and thin, his clothes hanging loosely on him. His face was gaunt and deeply lined. His gray hair looked as if he’d cut it himself.

“Mr. Porter?” Jessica asked. “You are Don Porter, right?”

“Keep your voice down, please,” he replied.

Jessica lowered her voice to a near-whisper and moved closer to Porter. “Is this all right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re Don Porter?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Jessica Jones, and this,” she indicated Matt, “is Matthew Murdock. I’m a private investigator. He’s a lawyer. We’re not here to hurt you. We’d just like to ask you some questions about your work for Rand Enterprises.

Porter’s face fell. “I can’t – ”

Jessica cut him off. “Does this,” she said, gesturing around the room, “have something to do with it?”

“What do you think?” Porter asked. “Do you think I choose to live like this?”

Matt spoke up. “If you tell us what you know, Mr. Porter, maybe we can help.”

Porter seemed to see Matt for the first time, noticing his dark glasses and white cane. “You’re blind?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Sometimes I wish I was.”

“Tell us,” Matt whispered.

Porter didn’t answer right away. He left the corner where he had been standing and sat down in an armchair. He sat there silently with his head down, wringing his hands, for several minutes. Then something seemed to give way inside him. He took a deep breath before he finally raised his head and spoke. “I was a microbiologist. I worked for Rand Enterprises until about five years ago. My last job was working on a secret research project. They were looking for mutagenic compounds, things that would change humans at the cellular level, the level of DNA.”

“Medical research?” Matt asked.

“Not a chance,” Porter scoffed. “They weren’t looking to cure diseases; they were looking to create individuals with abilities, powers.”

“Did they?”

“Not while I was working there. I don’t know what happened after I . . . left.”

Jessica spoke up. “Who was in charge of the project? Who knew about it?”

“It was Harold Meachum’s project originally. I don’t know who took over when he died. But it was off the books, no one was supposed to know about it.”

“What about Wendell Rand?” Jessica asked. “Did he know about it?”

Porter shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure. I was just a worker bee, working in the lab.”

“What happened to you, Mr. Porter?” Matt asked softly.

Porter sighed deeply. “About five years ago, they decided to start working again on an old compound, one that they developed 15, 20 years ago. They abandoned the work on it back then – I’m not sure why – but someone decided it had potential. I was assigned to work on it, testing its effects on various types of cells. I was around the stuff all the time, 50, 60 hours a week. Maybe I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been. There was a lot of pressure to get results, so we took shortcuts. I was breathing in the stuff, getting it on me. After a few weeks, I noticed I was hearing and seeing better. Other things, too – smells and tastes were more intense.” Porter paused, drawing in a shuddering breath.

“Go ahead,” Matt urged him gently.

“It didn’t stop there. It kept going. Everything – sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch – kept getting more intense, more sensitive. The lights in the lab hurt my eyes. Normal, everyday sounds were . . . . piercing, painful. I couldn’t eat. Do you know how awful food tastes when you can smell and taste everything in it?”

Jessica glanced quickly at Matt. His jaw clenched, and he seemed to grip his cane even more tightly than before.

“So I quit my job, put in the blackout curtains and soundproofing, and here I am. If I have to leave the house, I do it at night.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” Matt lied. “But it would be a big help if you could just answer a few more questions.”

“OK,” Porter replied.

“Where was the facility where you worked?”

“In Hell’s Kitchen, 43rd and 10th.”

“Do you know if the project is still running?”

“No idea.”

“Did they ever use any of their compounds on people?”

“None of the ones I worked on. But there were other lines of research. I don’t know about them.”

“OK. Thank you.” Matt turned toward Jessica. “I think we’ve taken up enough of Mr. Porter’s time.”

“Yeah,” Jessica agreed, starting toward the door.

“Jess – ” Matt whispered. Jessica turned around and saw that Matt hadn’t moved. “Damn,” she thought. It never occurred to her that he might actually need a sighted guide, just this once. She walked back and stood next to him, so he could take her arm.

“Good-bye, Mr. Porter,” she said when they reached the front door, “and thanks.”

Outside the house, Matt reached out with his senses. Things seemed to have returned to normal – his normal. He gave a sigh of relief.

Jessica gave him a worried look. “You OK?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Now that we’re out of there.”

“I don’t know about you, but I need a drink,” she said.

“You got that right.”

Jessica pulled out her phone to find the nearest bar. Once there, they carried their drinks to a booth in the corner, as far away as possible from the other drinkers. Jessica took a sip of her whiskey and asked, “So – Porter – do you think he was working on the same shit that was in the barrels?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Son of a bitch.” Jessica paused, undecided whether to ask the question that had been uppermost in her mind since they left Porter’s house. Finally she said, “Is that what it’s like for you?”

Matt didn’t answer right away. He frowned and said, “Not really.” He took a deep breath and let it out before continuing. “Well, kind of . . . at first.”

Without any warning, the memories came flooding back. He was nine years old again, a terrified child who was thrust suddenly into a strange world where he could see nothing, but he could hear, smell, taste, feel . . . everything. He remembered, all too well, the feeling of drowning in the torrent of sensations from his newly-heightened senses. He shook his head to clear it.

“You with us, Murdock?”

“Yeah – just, I don’t know . . . ..” He shrugged.

“OK,” Jess replied skeptically. “So what changed?”

“Stick.”

“The old guy who taught you to fight?”

Matt took a drink of his beer. “That wasn’t all he taught me. He taught me how to use my ‘gifts.’ That’s what he called them, ‘gifts’ – usually when he was telling me I didn’t deserve them.” He smiled wryly. “He taught me how to control them so they don’t overwhelm me, like Porter.”

They drank in silence for a while. Then Jessica decided to ask the other question that she’d been wondering about since they left Porter’s house. “How do you do it?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Matt picked up his beer bottle and turned it around in his hands. “Basically, I have to focus on what I want to let in.”

“Damn,” Jessica thought, “it ain’t easy, being Matt Murdock.” She glanced at him, hoping he couldn’t read her emotions.

“Meditation helps,” Matt offered.

“Meditation? What, like Danny?”

“It works,” Matt insisted, “you should try it.”

“Fat chance,” Jessica scoffed. “This works for me.” She lifted her glass and drained it, then asked, “Do you think you could help Porter like Stick helped you?

Matt considered his answer, fiddling with the cocktail napkin on the table in front of him. Finally, he said, “Yeah, maybe. Well, not the light sensitivity part, obviously, but the other stuff – maybe.”

“So what’s next, counselor?"

“We check out the building at 43rd and 10th.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“See you there.”

* * * * *

When Jessica landed on the roof of the building at 43rd and 10th, she spotted a black-clad figure standing near the corner. “Shit,” she thought, “please tell me that’s not a ninja.” Just then, the figure turned his head, listening. It was Matt. She let out a silent sigh of relief. She’d seen enough ninjas to last her a lifetime.

Matt sensed her presence and turned the rest of the way around, pulling up his mask. “Hey, Jess,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Hey,” she whispered. “No horns?”

“Left ’em at home. Daredevil can’t be a part of this. Too many questions.”

“Oh. Right.” After a moment, she added, “At least you brought your own scarf. I’m not letting you steal mine again.” Matt grinned crookedly.

“While you were doing your lawyer stuff today,” Jessica told him, “I did some surveillance. The building is definitely being used for something. People were coming and going all day.”

“Security?” Matt asked.

“From what I could see, not exactly state of the art – not what you’d expect for some super-secret research facility.”

At the rooftop door leading to the stairwell, Jessica disabled the security keypad next to the door. She then pulled out her burglar tools and started picking the lock. After a couple of minutes, she swore under her breath, “Son of a bitch!”

“Is there a problem?” Matt asked innocently.

“You know, it’s not as easy as it looks on TV.”

“I don’t know, actually,” he said, “how does it look?”

“Go to hell, Murdock,” she replied.

“Want me to try?” he asked.

“What, you think you can do it better?”

“Probably,” he said, pulling off his gloves and holding out his hand.

“Knock yourself out.” She slapped her burglar tools into his hand and watched him go to work. The lock yielded within a minute. He turned around, smirking, and held out her tools.

“Arrogant asshole,” she muttered as she grabbed the tools and returned them to her bag. She pulled her hair back, then wrapped her scarf around her head, covering her hair and the lower part of her face. Matt put on his gloves and pulled down his mask.

They entered the stairwell and paused as Matt lowered his head and focused on the inside of the building. “Anyone there?” Jessica asked.

“I count five, all armed, scattered on the second and third floors. That must be where the action is. Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute, Matt,” Jessica said, grabbing his arm. “We don’t need to mix it up with those guys in here. All we need to do is get in, find evidence of what they’re doing, and get out. We really don’t want them to catch on that someone’s interested in what’s going on here.”

“OK,” Matt said reluctantly.

They crept silently down the stairs until they reached the door opening onto the third floor. Jessica reached into her bag and pulled out a spray can.

“Hair spray?” Matt asked. “What’s that for?”

“The security cameras. It fogs up the lenses. This is why you hire a professional.”

Matt chuckled softly.

“I just hope no one’s monitoring the feed,” Jessica added.

“I don’t think so,” Matt told her, “the five guys I spotted are all on the move.”

They exited the stairwell and moved quickly and quietly down the hallway, stopping a few times for Jessica to obscure the camera lenses. Suddenly Matt stopped, grabbed Jessica by the arm, pulled her into a supply closet, and shut the door.

“Why, Murdock, I didn’t think you cared,” Jessica said sarcastically.

“Shut up,” Matt snapped. “Someone’s coming.”

A few seconds later, Jessica heard the approaching footsteps. Matt cocked his head, listening intently, until the footsteps faded. “It’s clear,” he finally said. They left the closet and continued on their way.

After they turned into an intersecting corridor, Matt stopped again. “Here,” he said, lightly tapping the door next to him.

“Anyone there?” Jessica whispered.

“Nope.” Once inside the room, Matt scanned it: an interior room, windowless, with work benches, petri dishes, beakers, rows of test tubes in racks, pipettes, microscopes, centrifuges, refrigerators, freezers, and other equipment he couldn’t identify. Definitely a laboratory.

Jessica reached into her bag and pulled out a small flashlight. “OK?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She surveyed the lab, taking photographs from time to time. Matt leaned against one of the workbenches, waiting for her to finish her work. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of the lab: something sickly sweet and rotten at the same time, with metallic overtones that left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He was sure he’d smelled it before, but he couldn’t pinpoint where or when.

After shooting a photo of a petri dish with a culture growing in it, Jessica reached out a hand to touch it. Matt pulled her hand away. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with, how potent it is, how it works,” he warned.

“What do you think it is?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but it smells like something organic.”

Matt crossed to a door at the far side of the lab. He stood next to it with his hand on the door and his head lowered, focusing.

“What is it? Another lab?” Jessica asked.

“I don’t think so. There are filing cabinets, a desk, chairs, so an office, probably. No one’s there.”

Once they were inside, Jessica closed the door behind them and turned on her flashlight. She went straight to the computer she spotted on the desk. After a moment, she stood up. “Damn. It’s password protected. We don’t have time to try to break in.” She tried the file drawer in the desk and found it locked. She pulled her lock picks out of her bag and held them out to Matt. “Make yourself useful, Murdock. We need to get into this desk.”

While Matt picked the lock on the desk, Jessica checked the filing cabinets. To her surprise, they were unlocked. She soon found out why. They contained boxes of test tubes and other small pieces of equipment, instead of files.

“Got it,” Matt said, pulling open the file drawer in the desk. Jessica turned on the desk lamp, pulled out the file folders, and started photographing their contents.

She had finished the first file folder when Matt turned off the lamp and put a hand on her arm. “Someone’s coming.”

They flattened themselves against the wall next to the office door, where they would be hidden by the door if it was opened. A single person entered the lab. Test tubes clinked, and a piece of lab equipment switched on. Five long minutes later, the equipment shut off, and the test tubes were put back in their rack. The sound of the lab door opening and closing, followed by receding heartbeats and footsteps, told Matt the person had left. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“He’s gone.”

As Jessica continued to photograph the documents from the desk, Matt stood next to the door leading to the lab. All at once, his senses went into overdrive. Sensations cascaded over him – sounds, smells, tastes and vibrations in the air. He felt lost in the chaos. Faintly at first, then more clearly, Jessica’s voice emerged from the sensory noise. He struggled to focus on it.

“You all right over there, Murdock? . . . . Matt!” she hissed.

He gasped. “Yeah.”

“You don’t look all right.”

“Something in the lab’s affecting me. We need to get out of here.”

“OK by me. We have what we came for.”

They left the office and crossed the lab to the hallway door.

“Is anyone out there?” Jessica asked.

Matt tilted his head. “I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. You better take a look.”

Jessica opened the lab door just far enough to look out. “Clear,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

Matt put a hand on Jessica’s shoulder, and they ran down the corridor, reaching the stairwell without being spotted. Back on the roof, Matt stood with his head down, his hands on his knees, panting. Suddenly he remembered why the smell in the lab seemed so familiar. The same smell was all around him when he was lying in the middle of the street, seeing his father’s face for the last time.

“What the hell happened back there?” Jessica asked.

Matt straightened up and shook his head. “I’m not sure. Everything just went . . . haywire.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” Jessica muttered, rolling her eyes. “But why didn’t anything happen to me? I was there, too.”

“I don’t know for sure, but it took weeks before Porter noticed what was happening to him. Maybe you weren’t exposed to the stuff for long enough. It must have affected me differently, because my senses are more sensitive already.”

“You’re sure you’re OK?” Jessica asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. But you’re missing the point. ”

“Oh, yeah?”

Matt ignored her. “Because of my little, uh, episode, we know we’re on the right track.”

“How so?”

“Whatever’s in that lab, it’s the same stuff Porter was working on.” Matt paused and pressed his lips together, then licked his lips and added, “The same stuff that spilled on me when I was a kid.”

As soon as Jessica and Matt arrived back at her office, Jessica uncapped the bottle of whiskey that was standing on her desk and took a long drink. She held out the bottle to Matt, who shook his head and waved it off. She took another drink before putting the bottle down. Then she took her camera out of her bag and plugged it into her laptop to download the photos from the lab. When the download was complete, she started scrolling through the photos, slowing down when she reached the documents. Matt leaned against the desk as she read.

She skimmed the first ten pages, then sat back in her chair. “Whoa.”

“What is it?” Matt asked impatiently.

“Don Porter was right. Some of these reports go back 15, 20 years, and Harold Meachum’s name and ‘Rand Enterprises’ are all over them.”

Matt pondered this. “So it does go back to the time of my accident,” he thought out loud. “What do they say?”

“There’s a lot of technical stuff, but it looks like they’re talking about how to cause mutations, targeting specific genes on specific chromosomes, stuff like that. They’re calling it ‘Project 46’.”

Matt frowned. “Keep reading.” He stood up and began pacing back and forth. Jessica went back to her reading, but Matt’s pacing was annoying her. She was about to tell him to quit, it was getting on her nerves, but she stopped herself, remembering that he couldn’t look at the screen and read the documents for himself. He had to wait for her to tell him what they said. If she were in Matt’s shoes, she’d be doing something worse than pacing. She sighed and tried to ignore it.

A few pages farther on, Jessica stopped reading. “Oh, shit,” she said. “This is bad.”

“What is it?” asked Matt from across the room.

“There’s a memo, dated a week ago, talking about ‘human subjects’ and going to something called ‘Phase Two’ in sixty days. It’s time to talk to Danny. We’ve gotta shut it down, and we can’t do that by ourselves. We need his help.”

“I agree,” Matt said. Jessica looked at him, surprised. He continued, “I know we need to bring Danny in to have any chance of stopping it. But he doesn’t need to know about me, that Rand was involved in my accident.”

Jessica shook her head. “He’ll figure it out, anyway. You know he will.”

“Maybe,” Matt conceded. “But you know how Danny is, he’ll blame himself. I don’t want him carrying that guilt. He already has enough to deal with. This is my case. You have to let me handle it my way."

“OK,” Jessica assented doubtfully.

* * * * *

“Hey, Jess, Matt, come in,” Danny said, opening the door to his apartment. They followed him to the living room and sat on the couch. Danny sat on a chair opposite them. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Matt leaned forward and started to speak. “This is going to be hard for you to hear, Danny, but just hear me out. When I was investigating, uh, something else, I stumbled on some research Rand Enterprises is doing. They’re looking for compounds, chemicals that could change people at the cellular level.”

“You mean, like medical research?” Danny asked.

Matt shook his head. “It could have been, but it isn’t. They’re trying to trigger mutations, to create people with abilities, powers. They’re dealing with powerful, dangerous shit. We found someone who worked with it, and he’s all fucked up.”

“Fucked up how?” Danny asked.

“Basically, he can’t leave his home. He was exposed to something that made his senses super acute. It’s too painful for him to go outside, except in the middle of the night. He spends his time holed up in his house, behind blackout curtains and heavy soundproofing.”

“Damn,” Danny swore under his breath. “Was my father involved in this?”

“I don’t know. According to the guy we talked to, it was originally Harold Meachum’s project, off the books. Your dad may not have known about it.”

“Harold Meachum’s dead. Are you telling me the project is still running?”

“It looks like it,” Matt said. “We went to the location where our guy worked, and there’s still an active lab there. Jessica took photos.”

“How’d you get the photos?” Danny demanded.

“Well, we, um, kind of . . . ,“ Matt stammered.

“Jesus, quit beating around the bush, Murdock,” Jessica interrupted, “We broke in.”

Danny shook his head resignedly. “Of course you did.”

Jessica took a stack of photos out of her bag and handed them to Danny. “We found reports talking about ‘human subjects’ and starting ‘Phase Two’ within the next 60 days. They’re in there, too,” she said, gesturing at the stack of photos Danny was holding. “And there’s something else,” she continued. “Whatever’s in that lab, it affected Matt . . .”

“Affected him how?” Danny demanded.

Matt shrugged it off. “It was nothing, really. The important thing is, we need to find out what they’re doing, who’s behind it, and stop them.”

“No, I need to do it,” Danny declared. “This is my company, my family, my fight.”

“Jesus, Danny, when are you gonna get it?” Matt demanded. “We’re on the same side, man.”

“Matt’s right, Danny,” Jessica said. “It’s not only your fight. It’s my fight, too. You know what was done to me, how I got my powers. It’s like IGH all over again. The people in that lab will do the same kind of thing to other people. Maybe they already have. I need to stop them – we need to stop them. You know I’m not big on ‘teamwork’,” she said, making air quotes with her fingers, “but we need to work together on this one.” She glanced at Matt, then continued, “And there’s something else – ”

“Jess, don’t – ” Matt warned under his breath.

Jessica ignored him. “It’s Matt’s fight, too. You know the stuff that blinded him and gave him his powers? Rand Enterprises made it, their truck spilled it. It’s the same shit that’s in that lab.”

“Jesus,” Danny muttered. He fell back in his chair and sat silently for a long moment, thinking, then turned to Matt. “Wait a minute. You weren’t gonna tell me, were you?”

Matt waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not about me. You didn’t need to know.”

“Didn’t need to know? What a load of crap. You never learn, do you, Matt?”

Jessica answered for him. “Obviously not.”

“Look, Danny,” Matt began, but Danny interrupted him. “Zip it, Matt, I’m not interested in your bullshit excuses.”

Having no answer for Danny, Matt turned on Jessica. “You had to tell him, didn’t you, Jess?” He stood up and walked away from her and Danny. “Thanks for nothin’.”

Jessica followed him. “Get real, Murdock,” she snapped. She glanced back at Danny. “He would’ve figured it out for himself sooner or later – probably sooner. Don Porter’s heightened senses? What happened to you in the lab? Gimme a break.” She turned to walk back to Danny.

“Don’t you walk away . . . .”

Matt and Jessica continued to bicker, but Danny tuned them out. His gaze fell on Matt’s folded cane on the table in front of him. Matt’s abilities made it easy to forget he was blind. Danny knew he didn’t really need the cane. But there it was, a tangible symbol of Matt’s blindness. “Damn,” Danny muttered under his breath. He tried, and failed, to imagine what it must have been like for Matt when he was nine years old, struggling with blindness and heightened senses. Pity welled up in him. He tried to suppress it, knowing Matt didn’t want his pity. He told himself it wasn’t for the Matt he knew. The Matt he knew wasn’t someone to be pitied. It was for a nine-year-old boy lying injured in the street while the poison that had spilled on him did its damage. Rand Enterprises made that poison. Worse, they might even have profited from it. Guilt threatened to overcome him. Suddenly, Matt’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

“This was a bad idea,” he said angrily, grabbing his cane and starting to walk away.

“Matt, wait,” Danny said. ‘I am so sorry about what happened to you . . . .” His voice broke. He buried his face in his hands. Matt turned to face him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Danny,” he said gruffly. “You were just a kid.”

“So were you, Matt,” Danny replied, his voice muffled and choked with emotion.

“Like I said, this isn’t about me, Danny, it’s – ”

Danny lifted his head and brushed away tears. “Bullshit. Of course it is. What my family, my company, did to you, it was unforgivable – ”

“I lived,” Matt replied curtly. “Now we have to stop it from happening to anyone else.”

“And we will,” Danny said, “together.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Ward!” Danny bounded into Ward Meachum’s office at Rand Enterprises, ignoring Ward’s assistant and her pleas for him to wait. He stopped short when Ward held up a hand, and he noticed for the first time that Ward was on the phone. “Typical,” Jessica said under her breath as she and Matt followed Danny into the corner office.

Ward finished his call and came out from behind his desk. “What’s up, Danny?” he asked.

“This,” he said, indicating Matt, “is Matt Murdock.”

“It’s good to finally meet you, Matt,” Ward said, shaking Matt’s outstretched hand. “Danny’s told me all about you.”

“Shit,” Danny thought, cringing at Ward’s comment and hoping Matt couldn’t detect his reaction. He glanced at Matt, but he was poker-faced.

“And this,” he said, indicating Jessica, “is Jessica Jones, his investigator.” Jessica scowled at “his investigator.” She wasn’t “his” – not Matt Murdock’s or any other man’s. Ward extended his hand. “Ms. Jones.” Jessica stood with her arms folded and turned away, tapping her foot. Ward withdrew his hand, looking confused.

“Please, have a seat,” Ward said, indicating a round conference table in the corner of his office.

When they were seated around the table, Danny said, “I’m gonna let Matt explain why we’re here.”

“First,” Matt said, “I want to assure you this is not about any potential litigation.” He waved a hand. “My client is not looking to sue Rand Enterprises. . .”

Ward interrupted him. “Happy to hear it. I remember the Aaron James case. I was glad we weren’t on the other side of that one.”

“So was I,” Matt agreed dryly, then continued, “Why we’re here: I hired Jessica to look into the background of the other side’s expert witness in one of my cases. His name is Marshall, uh, John Marshall,” he said, making up a name for the imaginary “expert witness” on the spot. He gave a silent sigh of relief that he hadn’t slipped up and said “Thurgood Marshall,” then went on with his cover story. “Jess discovered that he worked on a Rand research project called ‘Project 46.’ We’re looking to find out more about the project and his work on it.”

Ward rubbed his chin. “Doesn’t sound familiar. Let me check.” He went back to his desk and tapped on his keyboard. After scrolling through several pages on the screen, he said, “Nothing on a ‘Project 46’ or an employee named ‘John Marshall.’ Are you sure about the project’s name?”

“Yes,” Jessica said, pulling out the photos of documents from the lab and offering them to Ward.

He walked back to the table and took them from her. He studied them for a moment, then asked, “I don’t want to know how you got these, do I?”

“Right,” Jessica confirmed.

“We think the project’s located in a building in Hell’s Kitchen, at 43rd and 10th,” Matt said. “Is that one of your properties?”

Ward went back to his desk and tapped on his keyboard again. After a moment, he said, “Yes, it’s one of ours. But the building is obsolete and has only been used for storage for the past twenty years, as far as I know. There’s no record of any research project at that location.”

Looking troubled, Ward rejoined Matt, Jessica, and Danny at the table. “It’s been more than two years since my dad died – I mean, really died – and I’m still learning about things I wish I’d never known about. This is another one, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, we think it is,” Matt replied.

Ward sighed heavily. “I don’t need this,” he said. “If there’s a lab there, I’ll shut it down tomorrow.”

“No, not yet,” Danny told him. “We don’t want to tip off whoever’s running it that we’re onto them.”

Matt turned to Ward. “Is there anyone else we can talk to, someone who might know more about this?” he asked.

Ward thought for a moment, then said, “Clifford Roche, Director of R & D. My dad hired him originally. He’s a brilliant scientist, but he’s also an arrogant s.o.b. You know the type, he thinks the rules don’t apply to him because he’s so brilliant. The employees in his division joke that he thinks the “R” in the Rand logo refers to him. But if there’s a research lab in that building, he’ll know about it.”

Matt stood up and extended his hand. “Thanks, Ward.” He shook Ward’s hand and followed Jessica out of the room.

Danny stayed behind for a moment. “I meant what I said about staying out of it,” he told Ward. “You need to let me handle this.”

Ward nodded. “OK.”

As soon as Danny left Ward’s office, Matt grabbed his arm and propelled him into a nearby conference room. He spun Danny around and stood facing him. “You told him,” he demanded, in his lowest and most menacing voice, “about me?”

“But, Matt, . . . I . . . look. . .” Danny spluttered.

Jessica followed them into the conference room and closed the door. “What part of ‘secret identity’ do you not understand?” she asked.

Danny fell into a chair. “Look, guys, I’m sorry,” he said, holding out his hands. “But I thought you were dead . . . .”

“Well, I’m not,” Matt snapped, “and even if I was, I’m not the only person who’d be hurt if this got out. What about Foggy? And Karen? Did you even think about them?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus.” He stalked to the far end of the room and stood with his back to Danny and Jessica, breathing heavily.

“You really put your foot in it this time, Ironclad,” Jessica drawled.

Danny looked up at her, not even bothering to call her on the nickname. “I’m really sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking . . . .”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“But we can trust Ward, I’m sure of it.”

“You better hope so,” Jessica said pointedly.

It was several minutes before Matt cooled off enough to continue the conversation. Finally, he walked back to Danny and Jessica. “Ward was telling the truth when he said he didn’t know about the project,” he said.

Danny gave a sigh of relief. “Good. I didn’t want to think Ward could be involved in something like that. But Harold had some shady shit going on, even before he got mixed up with the Hand and died for the first time – ”

Jessica interrupted him. “Enough already with this weird coming back from the dead shit.” Matt raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Not you, asshole.” Jessica punched him lightly in the biceps. “You weren’t really dead.”

Danny gave Jessica an irritated look. “ – and I was worried Ward could’ve been sucked in.”

“He wasn’t,” Matt assured him. “Not into this, anyway.”

“Good,” Danny said. “I’ll let you know when we can see that Roche dude.”

* * * * *

In spite of Ward’s call to set up the meeting – or maybe because of it – Clifford Roche, M.D., Ph.D., kept Danny, Matt, and Jessica waiting for fifteen minutes before they were admitted to his office the following afternoon. Even after they entered the office, Roche pointedly continued reading the document he was holding in his hand, in no hurry to acknowledge them. When he finally put the papers down and looked up, Danny introduced Matt and Jessica. Roche stared at them openly, not bothering to conceal his interest. He gestured at the visitors’ chairs across the desk from him. “Have a seat, have a seat,” he said distractedly.

Jessica returned Roche’s gaze. He appeared to be in his sixties, tall and white-haired. Most people would describe his appearance as “distinguished” or “patrician,” but she thought “rich asshole” was a better fit.

Matt started to tell the story about the “expert witness,” but Roche interrupted him, waving his hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, yes,” he said. “I’ve never had an employee named – John Marshall, was it?” Roche emphasized the name in a way that told Matt he’d seen through his cover story. Matt groaned inwardly, but there was nothing to do but keep going.

“What about the project?” he asked. “Can you tell us anything about a research project called ‘Project 46’?”

“Nothing,” Roche declared. “What sort of project did you say it was?”

“I didn’t. But we think it was some kind of basic research, at the cellular level – genes, mutations, that sort of thing.” Roche’s eyes flicked up, and his head jerked, at the mention of “genes” and “mutations.”

“That doesn’t sound like one of our projects,” Roche replied. His Boston accent grated on Matt’s ears. “Our research is generally of the applied variety, things that are more immediately useful – and profitable.”

Matt stood up. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Roche.” He turned to leave.

“It’s Dr. Roche. And there is one thing I can tell you about this so-called “project” you’re so interested in.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” Jessica asked skeptically.

“Forty-six is the number of chromosomes in human cells,” Roche informed them condescendingly.

Danny, Matt, and Jessica walked out without another word and headed for Danny’s office.

“Lyin’ piece of shit,” Matt fumed as soon as Danny closed the door to his office. “Whatever’s going on in that lab, he’s part of it.” He followed Danny and Jessica to the other side of the office, where they sat around a small work table.

“Yeah,” Jessica agreed. “Ward was right – the guy’s a real dick. But he’s not as smart as he thinks he is. He just had to tell us what ‘46’ means – he couldn’t help himself.”

“And did you see his reaction when Matt mentioned ‘genes’ and ‘mutations’?’ Danny asked. “He knew we were on to him.”

Matt added, “Yeah, his heart rate and adrenaline spiked when I said that.”

“That’s not all,” Jessica told him, “you should have seen the way he was looking at me – like I was a lab rat or something. Creeped me out.”

“He must know who you are, Jess,” Matt said. “He’s gotta be interested in your powers and how you got them.” He waved his hand. “So, yes, to him you’re a lab rat, something to experiment on.”

“It wasn’t only Jess,” Danny said. “Roche was looking at you the same way, Matt. You think he knows who you are?”

Matt rested his chin on his hands, thinking. “Probably,” he replied.“Maybe not about Daredevil, but I’d bet good money he knows I’m the kid from the accident. And he knows what the stuff in the barrels does – ”

Danny completed his thought, “ – which means he knows about your powers.”

“Bingo,” Matt said grimly.

“OK,” Jessica said, “so we know Roche is behind the project. How do we stop him?”

Matt rubbed his forehead, thinking. “I’m not sure,” he said. “We don’t really have anything on him – it’s not like we can tell people I know he was lying. We need to force his hand somehow.”

“How?” Danny asked.

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll find a way.”

* * * * *

Three days later, Matt was getting ready for a pretrial hearing, rehearsing his arguments in support of his client’s release on his own recognizance, when Jessica called. “Check out NY1,” she told him, “the story about the ‘Vampire House’.”

“‘Vampire House’?”

“Just check it out,” she insisted, and hung up.

Matt found the page on his laptop and listened to the report. “Bay Ridge resident Donald Porter, 56, was found deceased in his home yesterday afternoon, the result of an apparently self-inflicted gunshot wound. According to the Medical Examiner, he had been dead for at least a day. Police found him after an anonymous caller requested a welfare check. Porter’s home was known in the neighborhood as the ‘Vampire House’ because of its heavy blackout curtains and the fact that Porter only ventured out of his home at night. Police sources indicated Porter may have suffered from a rare medical condition, but the Medical Examiner would not confirm this. Porter was retired from Rand Enterprises, where he worked as . . .”

Matt had heard enough. He slammed his laptop shut and walked away, breathing heavily and cursing under his breath, “Goddammit, goddammit . . . .” When he reached the kitchen, he picked up a coffee mug and hurled it against the brick wall with a howl of rage. It shattered. He continued to pace, clenching his fists and muttering curses, for several minutes. Eventually, he ended up back at his desk. He spun his chair around and sat down.

When he finally slowed his breathing and heart rate, he checked the time. “Shit,” he said under his breath. He was going to be late for court if he didn’t leave right now. He put on his glasses and jacket, grabbed his briefcase and folded cane, and ran down the stairs, hoping he didn’t encounter any of his neighbors on his way out.

Somehow Matt made it through the hearing. As soon as it was over, he went straight to Jessica’s apartment. He banged on the door, yelling, “Open up, Jones! I know you’re in there!” When the door opened, he pushed it aside and barged in.

“You think you’re pretty cute, don’t you, Jones?” he exploded. “You couldn’t just tell me?” Jessica walked back to her desk and sat behind it. Matt followed her and stood on the opposite side of the desk, facing her, his hands on his hips.

“Chill out, Murdock,” she replied nonchalantly. “I wasn’t in the mood to deal with your drama.”

“Well, guess what, you can deal with it now.” Matt leaned over the desk and pointed a finger at her. “You know it’s bullshit – that was no suicide. Porter knew too much, and Roche killed him because of it.”

“Based on what, counselor? I thought lawyers were supposed to deal in facts.”

“You want facts?” Matt countered. “I’ll give you facts.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “We go to see Roche, asking about the project. A couple of days later, Porter turns up dead. You don’t think that’s just a little bit fishy?”

Jessica looked doubtful. “Yes, but why kill him after he’s talked to us? If Roche wanted to silence him, he was too late. It doesn’t add up."

“A lot of what he told us is inadmissible hearsay. With Porter dead, there’s no one to testify to it. He was a loose end, Roche couldn’t let him live. Plus, Roche knows the stuff Porter was working on is the same stuff that spilled on me in the accident. He has to know we know. Who do you think made the anonymous call? Without it, Porter wouldn’t have been found for days, maybe even weeks. It’s not a coincidence. Roche wanted him to be found. He’s sending us a message, trying to draw us out.”

“But they’re saying it was suicide,” Jessica protested, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair. “And you were with me at Porter’s house, you talked to him. His life was a living hell. Maybe it finally became unbearable. I mean, we can’t really know what he was going through. . . .”

“I do.”

“Oh, shit,” Jessica thought. She began to speak, “Matt, I – ” but the look on Matt’s face silenced her. There was nothing she could say.

After a moment, Matt waved his hand. “Forget it.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “I wanted to force Roche’s hand, but not like this. I should have seen this coming, gotten him somewhere safe.” He hung his head and ran a hand through his hair. “This is my fault.”

“Enough with the Catholic guilt, Murdock,” Jessica told him. “Porter would never have left his house. And he hadn’t been involved with the project for five years. There was no reason to think he would be a target.”

Matt shook his head. “Believe what you want,” he said, “but I’m telling you he was murdered.”

She shrugged. “Whatever. What do we do now?”

“If Dr. Roche wants to draw us out, we’re not gonna disappoint him.”

* * * * *

It was after midnight when Danny strode into the lobby of the Rand building, followed by Jessica and Matt. Matt’s glasses and his folded cane were in the pockets of his hoodie. He didn’t want anyone remembering Danny was with a blind guy.

One of the security guards looked up from the bank of monitors. He recognized Danny and waved them through. “Hey, Jake,” Danny greeted him. “How’s it goin’?”

“Can’t complain, Mr. Rand.”

They took the elevator to the 36th floor, as if they were going to Danny’s office. Then they made their way along the dark corridors to the stairwell and walked the ten flights down to the 26th floor, where Danny’s key card opened Roche’s office. With the credentials that gave him access to all of Rand Enterprises, Danny logged on to the computer on Roche’s desk and began copying files onto a flash drive. Matt used Jessica’s lock picks to open one of the file cabinets, and Jessica began to search it.

Jessica was going through the third file drawer when she suddenly stopped and did a double-take. She glanced at Danny, who was looking the other way, then removed a folder and stuffed it in her bag. Matt noticed but said nothing. He went back to picking the lock on the next file cabinet, and Jessica resumed her search.

A few minutes later, Danny leaned back in Roche’s chair while a large file was being copied. “Hey, Matt,” he said, “where do you think Roche is going with his project?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Matt replied. “We know he wanted to create people with abilities, but what he was going to do with them, if he succeeded – ” he shrugged, “that’s anyone’s guess. He would have to have a way to control them . . .”

“Control them how?” Danny asked. “Like Kilgrave?” Jessica shot him a dirty look at the mention of Kilgrave.

“Maybe,” Matt said. “Or he could use threats – or money – or sex – or addictions. There are a lot of ways to manipulate people into doing what you want.”

“He could have been planning to indoctrinate them, you know, brainwashing, like a cult,” Jessica suggested.

“You think he could do that?” Danny asked.

“Well, Madame Gao’s followers blinded themselves, so, yes, anything’s possible,” Matt said grimly. He bent down to pick the lock on a small file cabinet, but before he got it open, he stood up and turned his head to one side.

“What – ?” Danny began. Matt held up a hand to silence him. On the far side of the building, a man said, “No guns. Remember, he wants ’em alive. Just grab the blind guy and the girl and get out.” Another voice asked, “What blind guy?” The first voice answered, “The one that ain’t Danny Rand, moron.” Then there were multiple footsteps, headed in the direction of Roche’s office.

“Someone’s coming,” Matt told the others. “They’re after Jess and me.”

“How many?” Danny asked.

“Six.”

“Shit,” Jessica said under her breath.

Matt held out a hand to her. “I need your scarf.”

“Give me a break,” she grumbled, but handed it over. Matt tied it around his head.

Moments later, six black-clad men appeared at the office door. “Get them,” one of them ordered, and they charged into the office.

Two men grabbed Matt and tried to drag him toward the door. He fought back, with a sharp elbow to the kidney of the man behind him. He twisted and chopped down on the man’s wrist, forcing him to release his grip. Matt spun to his right and landed a punch on the side of the second man’s head. He staggered but didn't go down. Matt went after him and got him in a chokehold. He strained to maintain the hold while the first man tried to pull him off. Finally, he felt the man in the chokehold go limp. Matt let him slide to the floor, then ducked and spun away from the man behind him. He kicked out, connecting with the man’s stomach and sending him flying. He fell onto a chair, which overturned and splintered from the impact.

Two other men were attempting to hold Danny back as he fought to break free. He twisted and lashed out with his left foot, hitting one of them squarely in the knee. He crumpled to the floor, screaming in pain.

Across the room, Jessica was struggling with a single attacker, who had her in a bear hug. She kneed him in the groin, and he let go, howling in pain. She landed a punch that stunned him, then picked him up and threw him against the wall. The drywall shattered, and he fell to the floor, unmoving. The man who appeared to be the leader of the group grabbed Jessica from behind and began pulling her toward the door. Danny pivoted away from his remaining adversary and threw him to the floor. He ran to her, chopping down on her would-be kidnapper’s arm to break his hold. Bones crunched, and he let go. Jessica made sure he stayed down.

The second man who had been holding Danny back came up from behind him. Jessica screamed, “Behind you, Danny!” Danny spun and unleashed a kick, hitting the man in the chest. A single punch from Jessica put him out of action.

Matt was still holding off the sixth man. He landed a sharp uppercut on his opponent’s jaw. The man recoiled from the impact but stayed on his feet. Matt leaped and twisted in the air, his right foot striking the man’s rib cage with a satisfying crack. He went down and stayed down.

“Let’s get out of here,” Danny said, panting. Jessica ran back to Roche’s desk and grabbed her bag and the flash drive. Matt took off Jessica’s scarf and handed it to her, along with her lock picks, before they followed Danny out of the office.

They took a cab to Matt’s apartment. “Nice place,” Danny said, standing at the end of the entry hall and looking around.

“Thanks, man.” Matt went to the kitchen and pulled out his first aid kit. It only took a few minutes for them to patch themselves up. When they were done, Matt grabbed beers from the fridge for himself and Danny. Jessica helped herself to a generous portion of Matt’s whiskey. They took their drinks into the living room and sat around the coffee table.

“What the hell was that?” Danny asked.

“Lab rats,” replied Jessica. Danny gave her a questioning look. “Roche knows Matt and I have . . . powers. He wants to study us, maybe experiment on us.”

Matt nodded. “She’s right. Before they showed up, I heard one of them saying ‘he’ wanted Jess and me alive. It’s gotta be Roche.” He took a long drink of his beer.

Jessica took the flash drive out of her bag and handed it to Danny. He put it in his pocket. “I’ll get this analyzed, but it may take a few days,” he said. He picked up his bottle of beer and drank, then asked, “How’d those guys know we were there?”

“The security guards. Roche must’ve paid off some of them,” Jessica told him.

“Maybe Rand needs to pay them more,” Matt observed dryly.

“Now what?” Danny asked. “You want me to shut down the lab?”

“Not yet,” Matt replied. “If you shut it down now, he could start up the operation again somewhere else. We don’t only want to shut down the lab, we want to stop Roche. But he knows we’re on to him now. If we’re going to stop him, we need to know what he’s up to. We need watch him and the lab.” He turned toward Jessica. “Jess?”

She nodded. “You got it. I’ll get Malcolm to help.”

Danny finished his beer in one swallow and stood up. “You’ll keep me posted?” Matt nodded and walked him to the door.

When Matt returned to the living room, Jessica was still sitting on the couch. “I haven’t finished this,” she said, lifting her glass. “And there’s something you need to see – ” Matt grinned at her. “ – uh, know.”

She pulled the file folder from her bag. “I found this in Roche’s office. It’s labeled ‘Murdock’.” She opened the file and began to read. She turned a few pages, then muttered under her breath, “Son of a bitch.”

“What is it?” Matt asked, sitting down on the couch next to her.

“It’s a Release of All Claims. Looks like it was signed by your dad. He gives up your claims against Rand, and they agree to pay him five grand and take care of your medical bills from the accident.”

Matt shook his head. “Oh, Dad,” he sighed.

Jessica kept reading. “There’s also a memo from Roche, instructing his staff to tell your dad the release is just a formality, and he needs to sign to get your medical bills paid.” She turned the page. “And there’s another one, telling the lawyers to settle the case fast, before your dad hires a lawyer, they need to bury it, so no one finds out what was in the barrels.”

Matt absorbed this information in silence. Finally, he said thoughtfully, “After the accident, my dad opened a credit union account for me. The first deposit was $5,000. I always wondered where that money came from.”

“Now you know.”

“Yeah.”

Jessica finished her drink and left. After he closed the door behind her, Matt went back to the living room, turning off the lights on the way, and sat down on the couch. He remained there for hours, sitting alone in his darkened apartment in the dead of night. He finally knew what he’d set out to discover, but that knowledge brought no feeling of accomplishment. He still had work to do. He thought he’d accepted what happened to him all those years ago. But he hadn’t made his peace with it – not completely. His need to know the truth about the accident proved that. Sure, he’d learned to live with his heightened senses and his blindness, but he never chose to have those ‘gifts.’  When he was growing up in the orphanage, the nuns told him he had to accept what had happened to him, it was God’s will, God had a plan for him. Even then, he’d doubted it. The merciful and just God he wanted to believe in wouldn’t do that, not to an innocent child. It was man’s doing. Now he knew the man who had done it. A man who wanted to play God and didn’t care how many people he damaged along the way. A man for whom the accident was no more than a minor inconvenience, an insignificant bump in the road. To Roche, nine-year-old Matt Murdock was someone to be brushed aside, bought off, disposed of, without a second thought. Now he would make Roche pay. He didn’t know it back then, but the accident that took his sight and heightened his senses also gave him his mission: to deliver justice, working within the law or outside it, for those who were discarded so casually by the wealthy and powerful. God’s plan or not, this was what he was called to do.

* * * * *

Sitting in the diner across the street from the lab building, Jessica held up her coffee cup for a refill and sighed. Surveillance was not her favorite part of the job. Almost two days had passed with no sign of Roche, and it was still “business as usual” at the lab, as far as she could tell. She drank her coffee, wishing she had brought a flask so she could add a little kick to it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large black SUV approaching. It slowed and parked in the loading zone in front of the lab building. As soon as she saw Roche get out, she was on the phone to Matt and Danny.

Matt arrived within a few minutes, still in his business suit.

“Anything?” he asked, sitting down across from her and loosening his tie.

“Not since I called,” Jessica replied. “He’s been inside the whole time.”

Matt turned his face away from the window, not wanting Roche to spot him when he came out. The waitress brought him coffee, and he drank it while they waited.

Danny joined them ten minutes later. “What’s happening?” he asked.

Jessica shook her head. “Nothing so far. Keep away from the window, so Roche won’t see you,” she instructed him.

Jessica’s coffee cup was almost empty again when she spotted Roche coming out of the building, carrying a large briefcase. “Here he comes,” she whispered to Matt and Danny. Roche strode to the SUV, threw the briefcase onto the front passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the engine, but by that time Jessica had run across the street to the rear of the vehicle, grabbed the bumper, and lifted up the rear end. As the rear wheels spun uselessly, Danny and Matt dragged Roche out of the SUV. Before Roche could resist, Matt started punching him, landing blow after blow, until Roche’s face was battered and bloody, and Matt’s knuckles were raw. “Enough,” Danny finally said, pulling Matt off Roche. “He’s not going anywhere.” Roche slid down to the pavement and slumped against the side of the SUV.

Danny reached inside the SUV and turned off the engine. Only then did Jessica release her grip on the rear bumper. Danny turned to Matt, “You better leave. You can’t be here when the cops arrive. Jess and I will handle them.”

“He’s right,” Jessica said. “Get going.”

Matt could hear sirens in the distance. He nodded and took off. He climbed to the roof of a nearby building and crouched there until the police arrived and took Roche into custody. The rage that had fueled his beating of Roche slowly dissipated. But he wouldn’t soon forget the day when he took down the man who had changed his life forever.

* * * * *

Matt, Jessica, and Danny met at Jessica’s office a week later. The two men pulled up chairs and sat across the desk from her.

Jessica spoke to Danny. “You called this meeting. You want to tell us what’s going on?”

“I met with DA Tower yesterday,” Danny replied. Matt raised his eyebrows. “Being the majority owner of Rand Enterprises does have some perks,” Danny explained.

“Go on,” Jessica prompted him, brushing her hair back.

“It looks like Roche was about to make a run for it. He had an itinerary for a flight to the Caymans in the briefcase, along with a pile of Rand’s money. There were also a couple of flash drives. One had the ‘Project 46’ data, and the other had financial records. He’d been siphoning money from legitimate Rand accounts to fund the project for years – and keeping some for himself. The DA says they have plenty of evidence to put him away.”

Matt nodded. “Good.”

“There’s one other thing,” Danny added. “Tower said the flash drive with the project data had all sorts of crazy shit on it. It’s like Roche was obsessed with creating superpowered people. I hate to think what would’ve happened if he’d gotten his hands on you two.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Matt shook his head. “Jesus.”

“So – is Matt in the clear?” Jessica asked.

“Don’t worry, I kept Matt out of it,” Danny replied. “And the cops think Roche’s off his rocker, anyway. It’s not just the stuff on the flash drive. Apparently he’s been claiming that a blind lawyer with superpowers – powers that he created – beat him up before the cops arrived.”

Matt smiled crookedly. “It does sound kinda crazy, doesn’t it?” Then he turned serious. “What about Don Porter?” he asked.

Danny shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, but Tower says the ME has ruled his death was a suicide, and they don’t have evidence it was anything else.”

“Goddammit,” Matt said. He slammed his hand on the desk, then stalked across the room to the window. He stood there with his back to them and his head down, swearing under his breath.

* * * * *

Matt was in the gallery every day during Roche’s trial. Jessica joined him on the afternoon when the jury returned its verdicts finding Roche guilty on multiple counts of embezzlement and tax evasion. After court adjourned, they found a bar a few blocks from the downtown courthouse. Once the bartender had poured their drinks, Jessica turned to Matt, “Why so gloomy, counselor? Roche is going away for a long time.”

Matt nodded. “I know.” He swirled the Scotch in his glass, then set it down on the bar. “But he’ll never really pay, not for everything he’s done. Men like him never do. And to them, people like Don Porter, like me, we’re just collateral damage.”