The clinic was hushed, dim overhead lights, the sterile tang of antiseptic in the air, and a humid stillness born of fatigue.
Claire sat on a low cot, arms crossed loosely, a gauze pad taped to her temple. Adam stood nearby, leaning against the wall, with his hands tucked into his jacket's pocket. His makeshift cloth mask still obscured his face.
Just then rear door creaked open.
Adam shifted subtly as a man in black entered. Black shirt, pants and soft-soled boots. His face was obscured by a mask pulled low across his eyes and nose.
Matt Murdock stepped into the church clinic. He paused sensing the subtle tension in the air and the warmth of Claire's breath.
She stood immediately, trying to keep her composure. "You're here."
Matt moved toward her, concern in his voice. "What happened?"
"I—I was walking home," she said, voice trembling despite herself. "And I guess they followed me. They got into your apartment somehow and they tried to grab me."
Matt's jaw tensed. "Are you hurt?"
"Bruised. That's all." She hesitated and looked at Adam. "He stopped them. Just… came out of nowhere."
Matt turned slightly toward Adam. "Thank you for helping her. "
Adam gave a short nod. "Sure."
Claire looked at Adam. "I don't know who you are, but… thank you. Really."
Adam remained silent.
Matt caught a trace of that strange metallic scent again. His brow furrowed slightly, but he dismissed it. Could've been something in the room. He tried to sense Adam's heartbeat, but all he could feel was something burn inside Adam.
Matt tensed his eyebrows a little 'What is that?' He thought. He tried to sense his breathing, but everything he felt made no sense to him.
Claire took a breath, eyes still tired. "I'm okay now. Shaken, but fine. We should go.
Adam turned toward the door.
Matt paused before speaking again. "Why the mask?"
Adam still walking, not look back. "Same reason you wear yours."
That earned a pause from Matt.
Adam continued walking to the door, "You jump into fights solo. That kind of thing leaves ripples. You do it enough times, and the people around you end up paying for it."
Matt's jaw clenched.
Adam paused with one hand on the door handle. He turned his head slightly and added quietly, "You're not the only one trying to keep their distance from the consequences."
He stepped through the door and vanished into the night.
After walking for a few minutes, he used his powers to get away from Matt's range. Maybe he didn't need to, but being too careful never hurt.
After a few blocks, he stopped using his powers and started walking to his motel through an alley which he found as a shortcut.
'Hah hah hah, fuck I'm way too tired.' Adam thought taking off his mask and burned it using his powers. 'Man that was unreal. I talked to Daredevil. The Daredevil.' Adam in shock.
'This world is getting unpredictable. At one point it feels like the start of MCU, but Matt is already on his path of becoming Daredevil.' He thought.
Adam stopped walking and looked at the sky one more time.
'Sighh, I'm tired.'
________________________________________________________________________
Morning crept over Hell's Kitchen. Inside Stan's Diner, the fluorescent lights flickered to full brightness. Adam finished tying his apron in the back, rolled his shoulders, and stepped out front.
The first wave of regulars had already taken their seats.
Mrs. Delgado sipped black coffee at her usual booth, a crossword in one hand, her reading glasses slipping down her nose. She gave Adam a tired wave as he passed by.
Big Tony lounged in the far booth, construction vest slung beside him, a mountain of eggs and toast disappearing bite by bite. He gave Adam a grunt and a nod.
"Morning, Tony," Adam said, grabbing the coffee pot.
"Rain's coming," Tony muttered. "Whole damn site's gonna flood again."
Adam topped off his mug. "You want your usual with extra bacon?"
"Hell yes. Keep me going."
Behind the counter, Stan emerged from the kitchen, a rag tossed over one shoulder. He gave Adam a glance as he loaded a plate.
"You're late," he muttered.
Adam glanced at the wall clock. "By two minutes."
Stan grunted. "Then you're early. But next time be early-ready."
Adam smirked and slid plates onto the pass-through, already wiping down the counter.
The bell above the door jingled. A man in a gray coat entered, shoulders sagging with exhaustion, badge clipped to his hip. The dark bags under his eyes betrayed a sleepless night.
"Morning, Ricky," Stan greeted.
Ricky gave a weary nod and dropped onto a stool."Double strong. No questions 'til I've had at least two sip. "
Adam poured him a mug and slid it over.
Stan leaned forward on the counter. "Still quiet out there?"
"Yeah," Ricky muttered. "Too quiet. Russians are edgy. Like they're waiting for a coin to drop."
Stan raised a brow. "Something new?"
Ricky shrugged. "Rumors. Street-level stuff. Someone's taking swings at their guys. It could just be internal. Or it could be something else."
Stan asked again. "You mean like a turf war?"
"Or a ghost," Ricky replied. "There's some talk going around lately. Late night beatdowns, guys taken out clean, no noise, no evidence. Old school vigilante stuff."
Stan grunted. "You think that it's the Devil guy that the people keeps whispering about?"
Ricky sighed. "Honestly? I don't know. But someone's hitting the right targets. Hard."
He finished his coffee and stood. "Alright. Time for six hours of shuteye before something worse rolls in."
Adam watched him go, then turned to wipe down the counter, lost in thought.
________________________________________________________________________
Later that afternoon, Adam stepped out of the diner, his shift done. He had around $70 left from his cash reserves. Enough to breathe, barely. He walked down a few blocks to a no-name electronics shop and bought the cheapest prepaid phone on the shelf.
Basic. $29.99 plus tax. It worked.
He left the store and wandered until the crowd thinned. He saw a small park nearby and saw a steel bench under a tree. He walked to the bench and sat down.
As Adam sat down. He felt like the weight of the world sagged into his shoulders.
He put both his elbows on his knee and stared at the blank screen of the phone. His thoughts ran circles.
"Why am I here?" he muttered. "Why me?"
There was no answer. Just the wind in the trees, the hum of a distant car.
Then came a voice. Gentle.
"You look like someone trying to solve the whole world in one thought."
Adam flinched and turned. A man sat next to him. Elderly, kind eyes, a clean coat and a brown cap. He looked eerily familiar.
"Morgan Freeman??!" Adam blurted out.
The man smiled faintly. "That name doesn't ring any bells."
Adam shook his head. "Sorry. You just reminded me of someone. Never mind."
"Well, whoever he is, he sounds like an amazing guy. "The man chuckled and nodded toward him. "Son, you've got a look that is carrying something heavy. Maybe not in your hands, but here" he tapped his temple. "And maybe here." He tapped his chest.
Adam looked forward again. "I didn't ask for this."
"Most don't," the man replied. "But that doesn't mean it came to the wrong person."
"Feels like I was dropped into something way over my head."
"You probably were," he said. "But I've seen that look before. It doesn't come from weakness. It comes from change. And change usually hurts before it starts to help."
Adam studied him. "You some kind of preacher?"
The man shook his head. "Just someone who remembers what it's like to question everything."
He stood slowly. "Keep walking, son. Sometimes the answers find you when you stop demanding them."
And with a calm nod, he walked away, disappearing down the path like he'd never been there.
Adam sat still, the phone warm in his hand. The bench empty beside him.
And for the first time that day, the silence didn't feel lonely.