The Marvel-Overwatch Journey V.2

1st POV - Claire (Hell's Kitchen, January 2nd, 2002 6am)

He's late. Glancing at my phone I swiped to silence my 5:00 am alarm. I hadn't slept last night, and now I had to spend the day dealing with sick patients and their worried – or worse, annoying – relatives. Fantastic. Sometimes I really wonder if I should have just left Matt to die in that dumpster. 

Fortunately for him - and Hell's Kitchen - I'm too much of a bleeding heart to ignore someone dying in front of me, as much as it's come back to bite me in the ass. Playing personal nurse to the "Devil of Hell's Kitchen" wasn't exactly a life goal of mine. Speaking of, I should grab my first aid kit – which is far more stocked then it should be – save myself sometime when Matt inevitably limps his way into my apartment.

Sighing to myself I gave a feeble prayer that I'll still have a usable towel at the end of the month and heaved my exhausted body off the couch. Shuffling into the kitchen, I figured I might as well put on a pot of coffee. I slowly made my way to the cabinet where I kept my kettle – leaving things like that out is asking to get robbed – when a knock on my window caught my attention.

Crouched there in all his bleeding glory was Matthew Murrdock. Even from here, I can tell my prayer would go unanswered. Great. I really need to start shopping for towels in bulk and find a way to explain to Louise why I'm constantly disposing of bloody ones. Striding over, I opened the window and stepped back, allowing Matt to slip in with practiced ease. He stumbled once both his feet hit the ground. 

Moving forward I caught him before he could get blood on my favorite lamp and dragged him over to the couch. He sank down with a groan while I began to clean and stitch his wounds. 

"Who'd you piss off this time?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I surveyed the damage. Extensive bruising covered most of his upper body, and it looks like he twisted one of his ankles as well. He also has two gunshot wounds, both thankfully grazed but bleeding rather heavily. I think one of them might have nicked an artery. 

Matt gave a quiet chuckle at my question, only to wince as he moved a hand to his bruised jaw. My couch, once a nice piece of furniture that brought out the room's colors, now needed to be hidden whenever anyone came over. "I was raiding one of the Russians' hotels" he said, relaxing as much as his battered body would allow "The ones where they keep and addict the kidnapped kids. I got a goon to turn over where the Ranskahov brothers were tonight."

And just like that, whatever small relief I'd felt seeing him alive evaporated. Jesus, I knew Hell's Kitchen was a cesspool of crime and corruption – everyone did – but hearing the details of just how evil these gangs are hits differently. Finding out the Russians actively kidnapped and drugged kids to force them into prostitution almost cost me my job when I refused to admit them at the hospital.

I admire Matt. I really do. It's impossible not to after seeing what he's doing and how much it costs him. I can't imagine how hard it must be on him to do this night after night with no rest. But sometimes in my darker moments, I wonder if he'd make more of a difference if he were a little more ruthless. If he crippled or killed some of these monsters, would they finally step back and reconsider if what they're doing is worth it? Would they run at the mere sight of him?

He wouldn't of course. Even if I begged. Even if all of Hell's Kitchen begged. Matthew Murrdock had drawn his line in the sand and he'd sooner die than cross it. Dragging myself away from those thoughts – thoughts that seemed to haunt me more and more lately – I injected a note of false levity into my voice. Pointless, probably, given Matt's senses. "And let me guess: you walked yourself right into another trap." 

He smirked, slightly shaking his head. My heart fluttered in a familiar way. Bastard. He's doing that on purpose. "No, the information checked out. I found them in a garage. Lacking security. No easy exits." 

"Then how'd you get so hurt? Sounds like it should've been easy." Matt's many things, but a poor fighter isn't one of them. There's no way a bunch of thugs did this to him.

His lips thinned, and I felt the tension radiating throughout his body under my hands. Whoever had done this left an impression. "Once I knew the brothers were there, I backed off to search the building." He began, his muscles slowly relaxing as I continued my work. 

"Found the generator quickly enough. Knocked out the two sentries posted outside the room and shut off the power. From there, I made my way to the garage and started to take out the thugs surrounding the brothers. The plan was to force them to retreat to a safe house I could leak to the police. The raid should have given them all the evidence they needed to throw the brothers behind bars for life at least once they were caught…"

He trailed off, and I glanced up, concerned. Reaching forward, I rested a hand gently on his cheek. "Hey, you okay? Whatever happened tonight, whoever attacked you, you're alright. A couple days' rest and you'll be good as new. Okay?"

Matt took a quick steadying breath, then nodded and picked back up. "I wasn't the only one after the Russians. Partway through, just as they started moving towards their car, someone else appeared. They…they weren't normal. Something was wrong with their body."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know how to explain it," he said, voice uneasy. "It was like they were disappearing and reappearing, different parts of themselves shifting constantly. One minute they had a right arm and left foot, the next they'd have a torso and right leg. I couldn't track the parts that disappeared. It was like they didn't exist. Even the parts they kept together were difficult to track. I could only sense them through how the wind shifted… through him." 

"Through them? Not around?" I asked, curious. 

"Yeah," he confirmed "The wind passed through them, but it stuttered and shifted as it encountered the denser parts of their body. I could track him roughly. After getting tossed around for a bit." 

"Whoa, back up" I said "One second you're fighting the Russians, the next you're fighting some weirdo also going after the Russians? I'd have thought you guys would hit it off."

"He was slaughtering them, Claire." His voice was graver than I'd ever heard it. He turned his head, unseeing eyes directed at me, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

"He's strong, fast, and has some type of invulnerability. He could've disabled all of them without breaking a sweat, but he didn't. He went for the kill every time. I could hear the bones snapping, the cries of pain. Felt the thunderous force of his hits through the air. He was mocking them. Limiting himself to give them a sense of hope only to take it away. No one deserves that, Claire, no one." His unwavering voice coursed through me easing some of my own doubts and worries with its sheer conviction. That's just the kind of man Matt Murrdock is – a will of iron, dedicated to improving lives and punishing criminals.

Sighing, I resigned myself to putting off moving for a couple more months.

3rd POV - Triskelion (January 2nd 2002, 10:00am)

On the top floor of the Triskelion, inside his spacious office, Nick Fury sorted through the various reports submitted by his agents for review and sign-off. He circled areas requiring further investigation and left notes for himself on how each agent had handled their assignments for future reference. After finishing each report with his signature and a stamp assigning its security level, he set it aside and reached for another from his steadily dwindling pile—only to blink in surprise as the pile suddenly seemed to spike in height.

"Motherfucker." Sighing to himself, Nick stretched his arm to grab another file when a knock on the door broke his concentration. 

"Director Fury, I have urgent news from our contact in the New York underworld. You need to see this." Agent Maria Hill's voice carried clearly through the closed door. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Nick released the grip he had on the gun hidden beneath his desk and leaned over to unlock the door.

{Buzz} {Click}

With an audible click, the door unlocked, and Agent Hill stepped inside. Dressed in the standard SHIELD uniform, a headset in her ear and a tablet in hand, Maria Hill was the embodiment of what an agent of SHIELD should be: professional, skilled, and—most importantly—loyal.

Nick watched her approach his desk, analyzing her demeanor to gauge just how "urgent" the news really was. On the surface, Hill's appearance seemed as polished as ever. But to Fury's trained eyes, the haphazard state of her usually immaculate hair and the subtle tension in her stance suggested she hadn't even had time to finish breakfast before rushing to deliver this report.

For an agent of Hill's caliber, it had to be serious to disrupt her routine.

"What's the situation? Who's responsible? Have predictions been drawn up for how this will affect New York long term?" Fury's tone was sharp, his questions fired in rapid succession.

Silence.

Hill wasn't one to delay delivering a report, and she knew full well the kind of consequences Fury dealt to agents who failed to meet his standards. The pause only heightened his sense of urgency.

"Well? Out with it. What's going on?" His voice remained steady, but Hill's tense posture showed that his intended effect had been achieved. Unprofessionalism is below his people.

"Sir…" Hill began, taking a steadying breath. "Our informant contacted us at roughly 0700 hours to report that the Russian gang operating out of Hell's Kitchen is… gone." She hesitated for only a moment before continuing.

"Last night at 2300 hours, a hotel in Hell's Kitchen used by the Russians for human trafficking was attacked. A resident reported the incident to the police at 0500 this morning after finding a body outside the building. Upon investigation, police discovered 37 missing children, along with 10 others strapped to beds within the hotel. All the armed guards were found dead, along with several of the kidnapped children in room 415." Hill glanced at Fury before pressing on.

"On the first six floors of the hotel, the bodies are scattered, showing little sign of struggle. It's likely they were attacked from behind by our mystery assailant. However, on the top floor, all the violence is concentrated in the hallway facing the west staircase. Fifteen Russian mobsters were found dead in what the police have described as a bloodbath. The methods used were… brutal. Reports suggest dismemberment and savage tearing. Similar crime scenes are being reported throughout Hell's Kitchen, all in areas frequented by the Russian mob." Hill took another breath before delivering the final piece of information.

"Most importantly, at approximately 0830 this morning, the Ranskahov brothers were found dead in their hotel. The younger brother was hanging from a shower cord, and the elder was found with a hole through his chest in the bathtub. While the full effects are still unclear, our analysts are already assuming that the Russian mob is finished." Hill stood straighter, her report complete, as Fury leaned forward, his head resting in his hands as he processed the information.

"Casualty report." He ordered firmly.

"Sir, a total of 450 bodies have been found. Of those, 310 have been positively identified as members of the Russian mob. Another 65 are civilians, likely unlucky enough to cross paths with the assailant during their operation. We're still waiting on confirmation for the remaining bodies, including the children killed in the first hotel."

The numbers solidified Fury's conclusion. With the Ranskahov brothers dead and the mob essentially annihilated, there was no chance for the gang to recover. The police could handle the immediate fallout, but SHIELD needed to act fast to prevent Wilson Fisk from expanding his influence too quickly. Their timeline needed to be updated, and SHIELD's control over the criminal underworld reinforced before others rushed to fill the Russians' void.

"And what do we know about the assailant?" Fury asked. Hill's expression shifted slightly before she turned her tablet around, displaying a grainy video from a street camera. The footage showed a man in a red devil costume being thrown onto the street. He lay there for a moment before struggling to get back on his feet.

"Matthew Murdock? That's our suspect?" Fury asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

"No, sir," Hill clarified, shuffling slightly before meeting his gaze. "The garage Matt Murdock—aka Daredevil—was thrown from is one of the massacre sites. We believe he fought briefly there before the assailant, temporarily designated 'Reaper,' moved on to kill the Ranskahov brothers. It's possible the brothers only made it back to their hotel because of Daredevil's interference."

"Our agents have scoured every camera in Hell's Kitchen, but our assailant is either highly trained or has skilled accomplices. They evaded all cameras during their crusade. This video is the only one we have that even hints at our assailant and their capabilities." With a sour expression, Hill reclaimed her tablet and began to give Fury a detailed report on the charts and analyses their experts had compiled since the news broke.

Nick Fury took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as his mind worked through the situation. "Reaper" was more than just a dangerous killer—he was skilled and powerful enough to decimate an entire mob in one night. The implications were clear: SHIELD's operations in New York would need immediate reinforcement. Additionally, fallback plans would have to be established in case Reaper decided to expand his slaughter to other criminal elements. Too many valuable assets were at risk if SHIELD remained unprepared.

"Hill," Fury began, his voice firm, "assign as many agents as we can spare to New York to reinforce our assets. Deploy small surveillance teams to monitor all non-SHIELD-affiliated assets, and assemble a strike force to track Reaper actively. Coulson will lead the team. Recall Barton from Syria—this takes precedence." Fury paused briefly, his gaze hardening. "As of this moment, all information regarding Reaper is classified as Level 8. No one accesses it without my direct approval."

Straightening to her full height, Hill gave a sharp salute before turning on her heel and hurrying out of the office. Fury watched her go, knowing she would efficiently relay his orders and begin organizing the necessary teams without delay.

…

Meanwhile, in another office on the opposite end of the floor, Alexander Pierce received his own report regarding the shifting dynamics of New York's underworld and Reaper's rampage. Scowling at the sparse information SHIELD had managed to gather, he opened his email and scanned through the package Agent Hill had distributed across SHIELD's various levels.

"Hmmm, Fury's calling in all available agents? He must have gotten quite the scare," Pierce muttered, chuckling to himself as he continued reading. His expression shifted to one of satisfaction when he reached the part that piqued his interest.

"A strike force? Perfect." He turned his attention away from the computer and toward the HYDRA agent standing silently in front of his desk, awaiting instructions.

"Make sure Rumlow is assigned to this squad. This is the perfect opportunity to position him for a promotion to strike team leader. Also, have Grant direct the two assets under his charge to develop an improved surveillance network in New York. I don't want another report this lacking in detail ever crossing my desk again." The agent nodded silently and left the room without a word.

Leaning back in his chair, Pierce allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction as he gazed out at Washington, D.C., basking in his own success. In a few more years, Project Insight would be complete, and HYDRA would finally achieve total control over Earth.