The moment Darren heard the guards shouting, his heart lurched—he thought he'd been exposed.
But the rapid footsteps didn't come toward his side of the building. They rushed off in the opposite direction.
So… someone else had broken in.
"Another intruder?" Darren murmured, eyebrow arched. Then he grinned. "Even better."
If someone else was stirring up chaos, that meant less attention on him. He could work in peace.
Taking full advantage of the distraction, Darren strolled down the hall as if he owned the place, reached his target office, and flicked out his trusty universal key. A quick click, and the lock gave way.
Inside, the office was sleek, sterile, and dark. He scanned it quickly, his eyes locking on a framed painting hanging on the wall—ordinary at first glance, but in his HUD it gleamed faintly white at the edges.
That subtle shimmer was a dead giveaway: interactive object detected.
"Oh, I love this kind of brain-dead mission," he muttered, walking up with a smirk.
Behind the painting, sure enough, was a hidden panel. Inside the panel—a small steel safe.
A twist of the key later, and it popped open, revealing stacks of ledgers inside. Legitimate, actual paper ones, not the spicy kind.
"Mission item secured."
Darren stuffed the books into his in-game inventory and turned to leave—
Only to hear footsteps approaching the doorway.
He froze.
Then, as the figure appeared under the flickering hallway light, Darren blinked and grinned.
"Well, if it isn't Attorney Murdock! Out for a midnight stroll?"
Matt, in his full red Daredevil suit, stood at the door. His expression was… complicated.
Who the hell comes to this kind of place for a "stroll"?
He clearly hadn't expected to see Darren again, especially not here. His face tightened, the usual calm lawyer's tone dropping into the gravel of a vigilante.
"Hand over the ledgers," he said firmly. "Those are key evidence against The Hand. You can't take them."
"Excuse me," Darren scoffed, "ever heard of 'finders keepers'? And seriously, you're blind—what are you gonna do with ledgers? You can't even read what's in them."
"I can."
"Sure you can." Darren grabbed a pen, scrawled something across his palm, and raised it. "Then tell me—what's written on my hand?"
"I don't know."
"Aha! See? You—wait, what?"
"You wrote 'I don't know.'"
Darren stared at his hand. Then at Matt. Then back at his hand.
"Okay," he admitted, a little unnerved, "that's actually creepy."
He squinted. "Matt Murdock, are you really blind? Or are you one of those fake-blind music teachers who 'accidentally' walk in on girls changing backstage?"
Matt's jaw clenched. "You—what—no!"
For a man who'd fought gods and mobsters, it was impressive how easily Darren could fluster him.
"Just give me the ledgers," Matt said tightly. "They need to go to the police."
"No can do." Darren grinned. "I'll deliver them to S.H.I.E.L.D. We're faster, smarter, and have cooler business cards."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Matt frowned. He ran through every agency he knew—FBI, CIA, NYPD, DEA—but that one didn't ring a bell.
Given the man standing before him, it sounded more like something made up during a manic episode.
But before he could press further, his expression shifted. His enhanced hearing picked up something—a faint rush of air, a whisper of fabric, the steady rhythm of multiple heartbeats.
Darren noticed it too, a moment later.
From the shadows at both ends of the corridor, black shapes began to emerge—silent, masked figures clad in ninja garb.
At least a dozen of them, surrounding the doorway in perfect formation.
"Daredevil," hissed the red-clad leader, stepping forward, voice like steel scraping against stone. "You've meddled with The Hand for the last time. Tonight, you die."
The ninja flicked his wrist, launching a flurry of shuriken straight at Matt!
Matt's body twisted in midair, flipping sideways in a clean, acrobatic dodge. The blades clattered harmlessly into the wall.
The red ninja snarled and drew his katana, charging in with a roar.
The two clashed in a storm of motion and sound—metal on metal, the scrape of boots, the thud of fists.
Meanwhile, Darren found himself surrounded by his own share of sword-wielding assassins. Their stances were sharp, measured, utterly disciplined.
Darren exhaled slowly, pulled a watermelon knife from his inventory, and said in a low, dangerous tone, "You guys might wanna reconsider. I know kung fu."
The ninjas exchanged blank looks—and attacked in unison.
Their blades cut through the air in synchronized arcs, cold flashes slicing toward Darren's neck, torso, and legs.
Against an ordinary fighter, it would've been over in seconds.
But this was Darren.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Gunfire echoed through the corridor.
Four ninjas dropped instantly.
Darren spun his Desert Eagle once and blew the smoke from the barrel. "Told you I knew kung fu."
The remaining ninjas froze mid-step, faces hidden but posture stiff with disbelief.
Kung fu? That was kung fu?
Still, fear wasn't in their vocabulary. They roared and charged again.
It didn't help.
Darren's "American-style Iaido" was faster than any sword.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Each bullet found its mark. In seconds, the hall was littered with bodies.
Only the red ninja was left, still locked in combat with Matt. He caught sight of his fallen comrades and his eyes flared with fury.
"Baka yarō!" he spat, breaking away from Matt. "I'll make you pay!"
He spun, charging at Darren with blinding speed, blade gleaming like lightning.
Darren calmly raised his gun—BANG!
The ninja's wrist twisted midair. His katana angled up and deflected the bullet with a clang!
Darren blinked. "Well, that's new."
He holstered the pistol, shifting his grip on the Sun Blade. "Alright then, let's do this properly."
The red ninja roared and brought his sword down with all his might.
"Die!"
Steel met steel.
"Parry!"
A metallic shriek split the air as the blades collided. The impact sent shockwaves through the hallway, sparks flying.
The ninja staggered back, completely stunned—his body locked, muscles frozen.
"What—?!"
He never got the answer.
Darren's knife flashed once, clean and swift, separating head from shoulders.
Matt winced. "You're killing again."
Darren rolled his eyes. "It's called self-defense, Counselor. Ever heard of stand your ground?"
Matt just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose behind the mask.
Then both men turned toward the end of the corridor—where a new wave of black-clad ninjas was storming in.
Swords raised, battle cries echoing, they charged as one.
Darren tensed, stepping in front of Matt protectively.
"Matt, there's too many of them. Listen—follow my lead. We'll split up and escape, alright? Just watch my signal."
Matt frowned, confused. "Your what?"
But Darren had already turned, throwing him a meaningful look—a quick, sharp glance that screamed "now!"
Then, without another word, Darren spun around and bolted down the hallway at full speed.
Matt stood there for a beat, deadpan under the mask.
"...He knows I'm blind, right?"
But by then, Darren was long gone.
And the ninjas were already shouting, swords raised, chasing after the man who called that "a coordinated escape plan."