The conference room at the Osborn Group was a fortress of silence, its walls a layered bulwark of concrete, plasterboard, and sound-insulating felt.
While not as unyielding as solid concrete, they were still far beyond what any ordinary person—or even standard artillery—could breach.
Yet, with a single, devastating punch, Batman sent Kingpin's massive frame crashing through the wall. The crime lord's body tore through the barrier, hurtled across another conference room, and slammed into a second concrete wall, collapsing more than half of it before coming to a stop. The impact shattered the room's windows, sending glass shards scattering across the floor like a cascade of jagged stars.
Silver Sable stood frozen, the chair she'd been clutching slipping from her hands. Her mind flashed back to the first time she'd seen Batman, in the dim, sterile depths of the underground lab on the second floor. Back then, he'd worn a simple black stealth suit, not the armored combat gear he donned now. She'd watched him take down fifty of her security team, one by one, with brutal precision. Even then, she'd thought she could take him.
Now, witnessing Kingpin—a man whose bulk was more muscle than fat, whose strength dwarfed that of any normal human—sent flying like a ragdoll, Silver Sable realized how vast the gulf was between her and Batman. Her earlier confidence crumbled, replaced by a chilling certainty.
"This guy isn't human," she thought, her gaze locked on the exposed chin of Batman's cowl. "That jawline's just a decoy to throw us off. What's really under that suit? A vampire? A werewolf? Some resurrected Egyptian pharaoh straight out of legend?"
Batman stood unshaken, the only sign of his exertion the spiderweb of cracks spreading beneath his boots from the recoil of his blow. Silver Sable's mind raced with tales of myth and mystery, each more outlandish than the last.
She remembered what Scorpion Mike and Driver Walker had said about Kingpin: his seemingly bloated physique was nearly all muscle, his strength far beyond human limits. "Half of Spider-Man's strength would be enough to handle him," they'd claimed.
Batman, fully aware of Kingpin's unnatural power, hadn't bothered with a tentative jab. He'd calibrated his strike to send the crime lord sprawling with one blow, aiming to end the fight quickly. He wanted to minimize damage to the Osborn Group's walls and, more critically, avoid collapsing any load-bearing pillars.
With a powerful stomp, Batman launched himself after Kingpin, following the path of destruction. From Silver Sable and Matt Murdock's vantage point, the ensuing battle was a blur, marked only by a relentless series of cracks, like firecrackers popping in rapid succession.
"That's…" Silver Sable began, a guess forming as she strained to make sense of the sounds.
"He's breaking Kingpin's bones," Matt Murdock said, his voice low and certain.
Minutes later, Batman returned, dragging Kingpin's battered, hulking form back into the boardroom. He glanced at Matt Murdock. "He's yours," he said flatly, before turning and leaping through the shattered window, the same one broken during his earlier clash with Kingpin.
By the time Silver Sable reached the window, Batman was gone, swallowed by the night.
Kingpin lay incapacitated on the floor. Matt Murdock didn't touch him, instead calling the Manhattan Police Department to take the crime lord into custody. The man who had once ruled Hell's Kitchen's underworld, who had dreamed of becoming the undisputed emperor of Manhattan—perhaps all of New York—was finished.
Even in the police station's detention cell, Kingpin remained silent, his face a mask of calm. No screams, no pleas, just the same gentle demeanor he'd worn before, as if the man with most of his bones shattered wasn't him.
Matt Murdock and Silver Sable followed the police to the station, watching as Kingpin was locked away before preparing to leave.
"You think you're heroes," Kingpin said slowly, his voice breaking the silence as Matt Murdock turned to go. "You think this prison can hold me."
Matt stopped, his sightless eyes seeming to fix on Kingpin through his dark glasses.
"The real prison is out there," Kingpin continued, his tone heavy with conviction. "The chaos, the disorder, those cockroach-like thugs tearing each other apart over a pack of cigarettes. In three months, I'll be back in the sunlight. Only I can bring order to the chaos of the underworld."
He slumped onto the cell's low cot, but his voice carried the weight of a king on a throne. "When you see a broken bridge, and you're the only one with the strength and the blueprint to fix it, it's your responsibility to act. New York needs an underground emperor."
Matt nodded, then crossed to the cell opposite Kingpin's. With the police's permission, he slid open the iron door obscuring the view, leaving only the bars. He pointed to the two figures inside.
"You're right," Matt said. "But they've already confessed to all your crimes. Cigarettes, firearms, prostitution, robbery… As a lawyer, I can't say exactly what punishment you'll face, but you know what's coming."
Kingpin's gaze drifted past the bars, and his heart sank. There, in the opposite cell, were Scorpion Mike and Driver Walker, his trusted lieutenants, captured by Batman the previous night.
Under normal legal procedures, Kingpin was looking at life in prison.
With Walker and Mike's testimony, Matt had chosen to shield Ivan and his daughter Maddie, sparing them from testifying in court.
"I wonder what methods Batman used to make Walker spill everything," Matt thought, a shiver running through him. "His tactics might be even darker than I imagined. I just hope he hasn't figured out I'm Daredevil."
Matt shook his head, pushing the thought aside, and left the station.
Once Silver Sable and Matt Murdock had departed to prepare for the court proceedings that would freeze Kingpin's shares and prosecute his gang activities, Batman descended from a nearby rooftop. Now dressed in a plaid shirt, he was Peter Parker once more, visiting Dr. Otto at Empire State University.
During the chaos at the Osborn Group, while Matt Murdock had been listening to Batman's heartbeat, Batman—using Peter Parker's heightened senses—had been tracking Matt's. Walker's confession had mentioned injuring Daredevil's thigh, and Matt Murdock carried the faint scent of medicinal ointment on his leg. The same steady heartbeat, the same blindness, the same injury.
In Batman's eyes, Matt might as well have had "I am Daredevil" scrawled across his forehead. It hadn't taken much to confirm his identity.
But Daredevil wasn't an enemy, and Batman had no interest in exposing him. He had bigger concerns. Norman Osborn's whereabouts were still unknown, and Dr. Otto needed urgent surgery to remove his mechanical tentacles and reclaim his life as a scientist.
Then there was the message from Ursula, the landlord's daughter, delivered to Peter's apartment that morning. Tony Stark, unable to reach Batman directly, had contacted Empire State University, who reached out to Aunt May, who then called Peter. The message? S.H.I.E.L.D. needed Peter Parker's technical expertise—specifically, Batman's skills—to build a firewall to protect against another breach… by Batman himself.
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