Even facing Hammerhead's crew who tried to torch an orphanage, Batman didn't use Peter Parker's full twenty-five tons of strength.
That would've pulped them, and that wasn't the point. He needed them alive to spread fear. So he settled for breaking most of their bones.
Now, in Hell's Kitchen, afternoon sunlight dazzled the city, but in the roof's shade a black and a red figure crashed together as if the glare didn't exist.
Thud! Thud!
Fists and feet collided several times a second, punctuated by tight, breathy grunts.
Batman's suit was plated, but the other man's paired batons blurred in the air. In moments they'd traded several volleys, neither gaining the edge.
A forearm guard met a baton with a crack; both men slid back a few steps.
It looked intense, but both were probing, holding back.
"Who are you, and why stop me?" Batman asked in a low voice.
"You can call me Daredevil." The man in dark red tipped his head. "You broke some bones in Hell's Kitchen last night. I want to know why."
Batman's gaze locked on him. During the fight he'd noticed the mask covered the eyes—yet the man blocked every strike with unerring precision. He didn't need sight.
"They robbed a convenience store," Batman said.
"If that's all, you didn't need to go that hard. A couple of them are paralyzed for life." Daredevil lowered his center of gravity, batons ready to move again.
"…Then they used the alcohol they stole to make Molotovs and tried to burn down an orphanage," Batman said. "Still want to keep going?"
He'd kept his power throttled. The suit was nowhere near a Gotham Batcave build. He hadn't even used gadgets. But if it came to it, he didn't mind a rematch—to see who was sharper.
Daredevil chuckled. "Heh. Fair enough. You ruined my plan, but no one could ignore something like that.
"Another time. I have to get back to work."
He slid the batons into the thigh sheaths and turned to leave.
"Barry Allen says that after every fight…" Batman thought.
Watching him go, Batman flicked a batarang—milled at the illegal shop—off his belt. It flew silently and was on Daredevil's back in a blink.
Just before it hit, Daredevil tilted aside and snatched it from the air.
"Just as I thought—you've got a way to sense things without your eyes."
Batman paced closer, hands curling into fists. "You said the 'orphanage arson' disrupted your plan… explain."
Clink.
Daredevil opened his fingers; the batarang hit the roof with a chime. He turned to face Batman again.
"I steered them into it.
"I needed to spark a gang war here and smoke out their boss."
Batman's first thought was "Kingpin," but he didn't say it. He pressed the point.
"So you planned to use those orphans as collateral in your scheme?"
Daredevil barked a laugh. "They moved out last week. If I sacrificed kids to catch crooks, God wouldn't forgive me."
Batman's face didn't change—he already knew. But he needed to hear Daredevil say the orphanage was empty. He didn't want this "Daredevil" taking lives on incomplete intel.
He said nothing more, stepped off the roof, and his rebuilt glider opened on his back, carrying him into the forest of New York high-rises.
"He's blind, but his hand-to-hand is world-class. He's trying to pit gangs against each other in Hell's Kitchen. No clear facial read, voice masked like mine—no way to ID him.
"He senses the world with something besides sight—like 'Spider-Sense,' but not just danger-triggered."
"A sonic weapon should drop him."
Back at the shipyard, Batman changed into a plaid shirt.
"I can't tell why this 'Daredevil' wears the suit—personal vendetta with the mob, or the same mission as me?"
He shook his head. No more delays. Once Octavius's funding was handled, he needed to build out sonar, Detective Mode, tasers, bugs—the whole kit.
Even the Batmobile, Batwing, and a Batcave as an operations center.
With those, no one hides from him.
For now, he needed a company on paper.
New York's busy; incorporation can take days to months. Luckily, there's an expedited lane. With money, he had papers in hours.
He formed a shell under the banner of "AI research." He didn't plan to build real AI—it's too slow to monetize. He couldn't wait.
"Stark Tower."
He flagged a cab and gave the driver the destination.
He'd use a slice of his old AI stack to draw corporate partners and raise cash—nothing like Alfred AI or Brother Eye. Just civil-use modules like the Batmobile's obstacle recognition.
New York had countless potential investors—but he ignored them and chose Stark Industries.
He remembered Howard Stark's name in the CIA's Tesseract files. This was a chance to raise funds fast and open a channel to Stark—maybe learn about the Tesseract.
…
At a small law office in Hell's Kitchen, Matt Murdock—fresh out of the dark red suit and into a business one, red-tinted glasses on—adjusted his tie and called to his colleague:
"Foggy, anyone stop by with a case?"
Foggy Nelson spread his hands. "Come on, Matt. We've landed exactly one client since we opened. You were gone for a bathroom break—who's gonna show up that fast?
"Seriously, though—if we don't get a case soon, we're done."
Matt just smiled and fell silent, replaying the man he'd just fought—the most difficult opponent he'd faced since becoming Daredevil.
"His heartbeat and breathing were rock steady—even in a brawl. His strikes wove together every martial art I know, plus forms I've never seen…
"Friend… or foe?"