Hell's Kitchen had never truly slept—but tonight, it was wide awake.
Sirens howled without pause. Engines roared. Doors were kicked in. Glass shattered. Screams echoed through narrow alleys and concrete corridors as if the neighborhood itself had been dragged into a nightmare.
The reason was simple.
Walker was missing.
Walker—short, muscular, efficient—was not just another thug. He was one of Kingpin's most trusted core members. A man entrusted with secrets, leverage, and dirty work that could never be written down.
And now, he had vanished.
---
Inside a lavishly furnished room, Kingpin stood motionless.
He wore a pristine white suit, his massive frame resembling a living wall. One hand rested on his cane, the custom-made weight grounding him like an anchor. His presence alone pressed down on the room like gravity.
"Felicia. Shulman. Lester. Mike."
His voice was calm.
Deadly calm.
"Besides Walker," Kingpin continued, "you are the four people I trust most."
The four stood before him.
Three men in black suits.
And one woman—relaxed, smiling, dangerous.
"Turn all of Manhattan upside down if you have to," Kingpin said.
"But find Walker for me."
A pause.
"You may kill him if necessary."
The words landed heavily.
---
Shulman shifted uneasily. His eyes lingered—just for a moment—on Kingpin's cane.
"Boss," Shulman said carefully, "The Cat Burglar and Bullseye should be enough. I don't have muscle. I don't fight. I make tools."
The cane Kingpin leaned on had been made by Shulman himself.
Despite never finishing high school, Shulman had taught himself mechanics, chemistry, and engineering from stolen books and broken safes. In the underworld, his reputation as a lock-picker and inventor rivaled legends.
After Felicia's father—the original Cat Burglar—was killed, Shulman had risen quickly.
Kingpin was not surprised by the objection.
"You won't fight," Kingpin said evenly. "When they find Walker, you will handle transport and concealment."
Then his gaze shifted.
"Mike."
The man known as Scorpion lifted his head. Sparse eyebrows. Hooked nose. A scorpion tattoo coiled up his neck.
"You were a private detective," Kingpin said. "Tracking people is what you do."
Scorpion nodded once. No hesitation.
"Felicia. Lester," Kingpin finished. "Clear obstacles. I don't care about the cost."
Felicia—the Cat Burglar—smiled sweetly.
Her eyes swept over the others.
She remembered everything.
Her father's death had not been an accident.
Shulman had convinced Kingpin that the Cat Burglar was a liability.
Scorpion had tracked him down.
Bullseye had killed him.
"Don't worry," Felicia said lightly. "We'll bring Walker back."
---
Hell's Kitchen Erupts
The order rippled outward.
Like boiling water, Hell's Kitchen exploded.
Doors were kicked open. Apartments were stormed. Innocent people were dragged from beds and thrown against walls.
Dead or alive.
Walker had to be found.
The Manhattan Police Department scrambled desperately, forced into pursuit as dozens of gang vehicles flooded the streets—not just searching, but deliberately causing chaos to split police response.
Sirens wailed.
Tires screamed.
Boom!
At an intersection, a police car was smashed aside by a speeding truck, flipping end over end before slamming into the pavement.
---
The Prisoner Speaks
Beneath the chaos, in an underground parking garage near the intersection, Walker sat on the cold concrete floor.
His face was swollen. His lips split. His hands were tied behind his back.
Despite the pain, he smiled.
"Listen to that," Walker said hoarsely. "How many families won't sleep tonight because of you?"
Across from him stood Daredevil, dressed in his dark red suit, posture tense.
"Go play hero with the homeless," Walker sneered. "As long as I'm alive, Hell's Kitchen will burn."
Walker lifted his chin.
"Kingpin won't stop. I know too much."
Then—
Crash!
The rolling garage door, lowered earlier, was smashed inward.
A pickup truck roared into the parking lot.
Daredevil reacted instantly, snapping his twin batons together into a long staff.
"It's useless!" Walker shouted. "They've found you! You can't run, tight-suit!"
Bang!
Daredevil struck Walker hard across the head.
Walker collapsed unconscious.
Without wasting a second, Daredevil dragged him beneath a parked car and vanished into the shadows.
---
Hunters Arrive
The pickup truck rolled slowly forward, headlights sweeping the garage.
Inside, Bullseye clicked his tongue.
"Mike," he said irritably, "you better be right."
Scorpion smirked. "Trust a former PI's instincts."
Bullseye snorted. "I'm Kingpin's chief assassin."
A playing card flicked from his fingers, embedding itself into a concrete pillar.
"Found him," Scorpion said suddenly, braking hard.
The headlights locked onto Daredevil's position.
"You take Daredevil," Scorpion said. "I'll grab Walker."
Bullseye leapt from the truck, cards flying from his hands like blades.
Daredevil had no choice.
The fight was on.
While Bullseye engaged Daredevil, Scorpion followed the trail and dragged Walker from beneath the car, tossing him into the truck.
"I've got Walker," Scorpion shouted into his radio. "Cover me—"
---
The Street Changes
The pickup burst out of the parking garage—
And Scorpion froze.
From the far end of the street, something was coming.
A muscle car, its engine roaring like a living beast, charged forward.
Cars tried to block it.
They were smashed aside.
Its speed didn't slow.
It increased.
As it drew closer, Scorpion's breath caught.
The car was no longer recognizable as anything ordinary.
The body was armored. The front reinforced into a brutal plow. A massive Bat emblem merged seamlessly into the design, forming a snarling, demonic face.
It looked less like a vehicle—
And more like a predator.
Scorpion's instincts screamed.
This wasn't a chase.
It was a hunt.
And the Batmobile had arrived.
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