Game Over : Marvel Reboot

When I used to watch Marvel movies, read the comics, or dive into the novels, I always thought the depiction of New York—or any city where the heroes operated—was exaggerated. "It couldn't be that bad, right?" Sure, there were crimes, but it couldn't possibly be as bad as the stories made it out to be.

I mean, I'd seen enough American cop shows to know that the police were portrayed as these infallible heroes who solved every case in under an hour. Even the FBI seemed to operate with godlike efficiency, as if the crime in the US were not enough, they went global, waltzing into other countries like they owned the place and somehow getting full cooperation from local authorities. Went to Thailand, kick someone else door and shouts "FBI!' with their guns up and blazing.

But now, as I cycled through the streets of Queens on my way back to the warehouse, I realized just how wrong I had been. The city was a cesspool of chaos. In the span of just a few blocks, I witnessed five muggings, eight fights, two car thefts, and three cops openly taking bribes from prostitutes. And the craziest part? No one seemed to care. People walked by like it was just another Tuesday, their faces blank, their steps hurried. The city was running on fumes, and yet it kept moving, like a broken machine held together by duct tape and sheer willpower.

"This is insane," I muttered under my breath, weaving through the crowded sidewalks. "How is this even real?"

I tried to keep my head down, to avoid drawing attention to myself. But the universe, it seemed, had other plans. Just as I was about to turn a corner and leave the chaos behind, I saw something that made me stop dead in my tracks. There, in a dimly lit alleyway, was a scene straight out of a crime drama—except this was no TV show. This was real.

"AAHHHH!!! Help!!!".

A feminine shriek echoed everywhere. I saw where it comes from, A young woman was being accosted by a group of men. At first, it looked like a simple mugging. They had her backed against a wall, demanding her purse.

But then, things took a darker turn.

"Hehehe, you know what? …. I want more~" One of the men got too handsy, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer.

"No! please! Just let me go! Please!!" She struggled, but he was too strong.

"Nope~ you're going to be playing with us, tonight~ Hehehe!!" the man laughs maniacally, clearly aroused with the sight of the hopeless woman,

"No! NOOOO!!!!".

The others laughed, egging him on, and soon, they all joined in. The woman screamed, but her cries were drowned out by the noise of the city.

"SHUT UP!!! BITCH!!" They hit her, leaving bruises on her face and arms, and it was clear what they intended to do next.

My hand instinctively went to my backpack, where I had stashed one of the handguns I'd looted earlier. I was about to step in, to do something—anything—to stop this. But before I could move, a figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the alley.

He was dressed in all black, his face obscured by a makeshift mask. His movements were deliberate, almost theatrical, as he stepped into the dim light. I recognized him immediately. It was him—the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Daredevil. Well, the future Daredevil. Right now, he was just a man in a black outfit, but there was no mistaking who he was.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice firm and commanding. The men froze, turning to face him. "Let her go. Now."

One of the thugs laughed, stepping forward. "What are you gonna do, tough guy? Wait, are you blind or something?"

Future Daredevil didn't respond to the mocking. Instead, he moved. His first strike was lightning-fast, a brutal uppercut that sent the thug sprawling to the ground, unconscious.

"BAAMM!! …you all will pay for your crime!". The Devil declared, readied in a boxing stance,

The others hesitated, but only for a moment. Two of them charged at him, one armed with a knife.

"DAMN YOU!! Aaahhh!!!" one-man steps forward with knife in hand, Future Daredevil dodged the first attack with ease, catching the knife-wielder's arm and locking it under his own.

"BUK!! KLINK~" With a swift jab to the face, the thug reacted to the pain by dropping the knife in his hand,

"HAH!! …BBUKKK!!!" The Devil then delivered a powerful kick to the other thug's stomach, sending him crashing into a dumpster.

I watched from the other side of the alley, still perched on my bicycle. Part of me wanted to intervene, but another part was fascinated. This was my first real encounter with a superhero—or at least, a future superhero. I wanted to see how he handled himself.

And handle himself he did. Daredevil moved with a precision and grace that was almost inhuman. He was blind, but his other senses more than made up for it. He could hear a punch before it was thrown, could sense the shift in the air as someone moved. It was like watching a dance, every move calculated, every strike deliberates.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath. "He's good…. But not that good"

Our future Daredevil's were too naïve and too easy to be preoccupied, the situation had turned into a grim tableau of violence and despair, because the bad guys would never-ever play by the rules, The young woman, her face streaked with tears and blood, was now a hostage, a gun pressed firmly against her temple.

The man holding her sneered, his voice dripping with malice as he tightened his grip. "You move, she dies," he spat, his eyes locked on Daredevil.

Matt Murdock—still new to this vigilante gig—froze. His fists clenched, his body tense, but he didn't move. I could see the conflict in his posture, the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of his mistake. He had been too eager, too naive. Instead of securing the woman first, he had charged in, hoping the thugs would focus on him. But they hadn't. And now, he was paying the price.

The other thugs, recovering from Daredevil's initial assault, seized the opportunity. They circled him like wolves, their laughter cruel and mocking. One of them landed a brutal punch to his ribs, sending him stumbling backward. Another kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to the ground. Daredevil grunted in pain, his hands raised defensively, but it was no use. They were on him now, their fists and boots raining down without mercy.

"Thought you were tough, huh?" one of them jeered, driving his knee into Daredevil's stomach. "Look at you now, blind boy."

The man with the knife stepped forward, his blade glinting in the dim light. He grabbed Daredevil by the collar, pulling him upright, and plunged the knife into his stomach. Matt cried out, his body convulsing in agony. The thug twisted the blade before yanking it free, then stabbed him again, this time in the thigh. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the pavement as the thugs laughed, their voices echoing through the alley.

"This is what happens when you mess with us," the knife-wielder sneered, wiping the blade on Daredevil's shoulder. "You're nothing but a joke."

The man holding the hostage chuckled, his gun still pressed to the woman's head. "Yeah, a blind joke. What were you thinking, huh? You really thought you could take us all on?"

"Just…. let her go…" Daredevil groaned, his breathing ragged, his body trembling from the pain and blood loss. He was beaten, broken, and on the verge of passing out, but he still wanted to see the young woman safe.

The thugs showed no signs of stopping, their laughter growing louder as they prepared to deliver the final blow. "Fuck you, you blind muthafucka!! Guys! Kill this fake hero!"

That's when I decided enough was enough.

I had been watching from the shadows, my hand resting on the grip of the handgun tucked into my waistband. Part of me had wanted to see how this would play out, to gauge Daredevil's skills and limitations. But this—this was too much. These men weren't just criminals; they were monsters. And they needed to be put down.

I stepped into the fight, my movements silent and precise. The man holding the hostage didn't notice me until it was too late. The cold muzzle of my gun pressed against the back of his head, and I spoke, my voice low and icy.

"Drop the gun. Now."

He froze, his laughter dying in his throat. "W-what the—"

"I said drop it," I repeated, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Or I'll paint the wall with your brains."

The gun clattered to the ground, and the man raised his hands, trembling. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the knife-wielder turn toward me, his blade still dripping with Daredevil's blood. I shifted my aim, my second gun appearing in my other hand as if by magic.

"You too," I said, my voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Drop it. Or I'll drop you."

The knife hit the ground with a metallic clang, and the thug raised his hands, his face pale with fear. "C-cool it, man," he stammered. "We're just—we're just messing around."

"Let her go," I ordered, my eyes never leaving the man in front of me. The hostage-taker released the woman, pushing her away as if she were on fire. She stumbled forward, her legs shaking, but she didn't fall.

"Grab your stuff and get out of here," I told her, my voice still carries the same stern tone. "Take him with you."

She nodded, her eyes wide with fear and gratitude, and rushed to gather her belongings. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the devil's battered form, then bent down and helped him to his feet. He groaned in pain but didn't resist as she draped his arm over her shoulders and began dragging him toward the other end of the alley.

As they disappeared into the darkness, I turned my attention back to the thugs. They were still standing there, their hands raised, their faces a mix of fear and defiance. I didn't give them a chance to speak. I didn't give them a chance to beg.

---------------------------------------

As Matt and the young lady hurried their way to safety, five gunshots rang out, sharp and precise, echoing through the alley like a death knell. Both of them grinded to a halt for a moment, but then, kept moving forward, and when they come out on the other side,

"T…thank you…. Sir?" as the young lady were about to thank her savior, she turned and the man in black that she carried were gone. Stammered for a little bit, but then she decided to ran away on her own.

Minutes later, Matt Murdock returned to the scene, his body battered and bleeding but his determination unwavering. He moved slowly, his senses strained as he took in the carnage. The alley was silent now, the only sound the faint drip of blood pooling beneath the bodies. Five men lay dead, their lives extinguished in the blink of an eye.

Matt knelt beside one of the bodies, his hand brushing against the cold, lifeless skin. He didn't need to see to know what had happened. The smell of gunpowder, the stillness of the air, the absence of any struggle—it all told the same story. Someone had intervened.

Someone had saved him.

But who?

He stood, his face a mask of pain and confusion, and turned to leave. The alleyway was empty now, the shadows deep and impenetrable. Whoever had been here was gone, leaving only death and questions in their wake.