Devil Has His Due

March 21, 2015: Jean Grey runs into Daredevil in Hell's Kitchen.

Hells Kitchen

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Hells Kitchen. Before it was just for the irish and a few italian, now there's a melting pot of races and upscale swanky coffee shops that pull in more money than it's obviously worth. It's all about the brand, really. And we're not talking about the coffee or the way Mrs. Copper makes the pastries that she sells to the business at a side scale. Coffee that's bought locally, slapped on with a name that's made all too famous and you have yourself a franchise where people would spend upwards of five dollars just for a medium cup, where you can get it from the fast food drive ins just the same for only a dollar.

But that didn't stop Ms. Grey. She was there after a much needed shopping trip, visiting stores that possibly could caused her to spend and upwards of a thousand, but she managed to make out with a pair of shoes and a new scarf that seemed a little like something that she herself wouldn't wear.

The booth in the back was taken up with a new paperback of her favorite author that was just released a week ago, soup bowl sized coffee cup in front of her topped with cream, sprinkles, sullying that visage with a straw as she idly sips and reads, the thick of her red hair hung along a shoulder as her leg crosses so she could settle down and enjoy a moments peace.

But outside? Two dark vans approach the curb, pulling into space as the ringleader turns to gesture to his man.

"We get in, we get out. All we need to do is find the owner and put it to him straight. This is our block, Hell's Kitchen belongs to us. And they're going to pay or get the fuck out. Understood boys?"

His voice echoes through the comms as those within take attention. "We're going to start with this little coffee shop right here and make our rounds. You lot take the entrance, the boys with me will take the inside. Jack, stay on the monitors and make sure if anyone decides to call the police, we'll know about it, and kill the slimey fuck'a that does it. We good boys?"

"Let's do this shit!"
"We're going to monkey fuck'em!"
"Ahahaha, yeah! I'm ready!"
The vigilante known as Daredevil knows there's a lie in what they say, because Hell's Kitchen doesn't belong to them. It belongs to him, a lesson he's been painfully instructing the criminal element in for nearly a decade now. They seem determined not to get the message, though, as evidenced by the chuckleheads in the van down below.

He'd heard them several blocks ago, while he'd been waiting for an attempted burglary on a nearby diamond merchant - burglary, however, took a backseat to potential homicide, especially since he knew the dealer had insurance. He could always track the thief down later anyway. He's trailed along with the van, leaping from roof to roof. Before they get inside into the diner, though (he thinks of all coffee shops as diners - it's the old school New Yorker in him), he needs to intervene. Once they're inside, they'll have too many victims and too much enclosed space.

So, as they pull in and prepare to leap out, there's a sudden shock as their windshield shatters, as if someone hit it with a rock, a loud, shocking sound that spiderwebs the whole front panel, not knocking it out but obscuring the driver's vision. And then there's a dent in the rooftop as someone lands on it from above

The ruckus that was caused outside was noticed by the red-haired vixen in the shop, her green eyes cast upon the scene as she slowly rises within her seat. Book was soon discarded, and a warm smile towards the barista goes unnoticed in the face of fear.

"Oh my god, what's going on out there?" She stammered, both hands risen towards her mouth to cover it in shock.

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out." Jean says. "Close the door behind me when I leave. Stay inside. Do not go out. Get your people to pull down the blinds and get to the back of the shop and make sure it's secure. I'll come and let you know when everything is safe again."

She didn't spare the woman a second glance as she exits the shop..

Meanwhile, the shatter of the windshield draws out a few swear words, the men immediately leaping into action to try to filter out of the van proper. As soon as the door opens on one van, it jerks with the weight of the devil upon them, all eyes glancing up towards the ceiling as the ring-leader.. who sadly is in the van that Matt leaped on.. points up!


The men struggle and quickly wrestle their guns away from their respective holsters, and with an aim and a lean back towards the ceiling, they begin to fire…
Daredevil had already begun backflipping the moment he landed using the rooftop as more a distraction than anything else. Still, they don't miss him by much, showing better reflexes than plenty of street thugs, the bullets popping out of the top. Of course, not all of them do, leading to at least one yelp from a ricochet as their weapon fails to penetrate the roof - contrary to most films, those roofs aren't as flimsy as they seem.

He lands behind and kicks the rear doors hard enough to snap the lock, flinging them open but stepping aside, leaving just empty air for them to see, like the doors opened of their own accord. DD hears the declaration from the woman inside, her confidence indicating she's either a cop or a superhuman - at the very least, someone who feels capable enough in the face of violence int he middle of Hell's Kitchen. Those people are few and far between.

"Come on, boys, I thought you were here to raise hell. You had to know there was a chance the devil would show up," he calls out.

The costumed menace wasn't met with amusement, though with a little bit of surprise as she watches him move. She waits in front of the diner as the latches were heard, then immediately begins to cross the street.. yet the second van? They finally come into play. They filter out of the van as well, guns amassed with itchy trigger fingers, ready for the kill.

"Go for the coffee shop!"
"Boss is under attack!"
"Fuck it, lets take care of it!"

The men, five and all make their slow approach towards the van.. but something.. or someone holds them up…

Meanwhile, the Boss filters one out of the van with a harsh push, who tucks and rolls himself out onto the ground, used as fodder for distraction while the driver attempts to quietly exit out of the door.

Which might have worked if Daredevil hadn't rolled under the van before they spilled out of it, hiding out while he waited for the crooks to make their way out. He feels something…strange in the air, a solidity that suddenly manifested where there should've been none, grasping at some of the crooks. Something superhuman, no doubt - his intuition had been right. It usually was.

When the driver steps out, he quickly screams as DD's foot lashes out, heel catching the side of the man's ankle and snapping it, stumbing him into a kneel as DD rolls out and up, bringing his baton across the man's face with a snap as he leaps, spinning to throw a kick at the 'fodder', "Yeah, you're doing a great job of taking care of it!"

"Wait.. why can't.. why can't we go through?!" One of the men shouted out.
The other glances towards Jean, a scowl upon his face. "It's the fucking bitch over there!"
"Shoot her!"

Jean remained calm in the face of it all, her brows lowering as she takes slow steps, one hand raising as the van itself begins to screech and groan.. pushed aside by the force of her TK. As a gun is raised, a bullet is fired, catching her completely off guard with a pelt to the shoulder, her body jerking back into a stumble as the van itself stops its loud screech, the wound cut through and through by the tear of led.

There was a little scream as she holds onto her shoulder, fingers grasping her limb as blood pools forth, the wall that held the men together soon dropping away as the concentration was lost.

"Hahaha! Yeah! Grab the mutie bitch!"
"Get those mutherfuckers over there too!"
"I'm going to kill them all!"

You paged Shift with 'Race age nigguz!'
The scream gets the devil's attention as he steps through his blow to the cannon fodder, dropping the punk where he stands. He knows that sound, recognizes pain and fear alike mingled together. When they come aroud the van to get him, though, he seemst o have vanished, the boss and the punk alike laid out and unconscious, blood pooling beneath the boss' head from his split lip and broken jaw.

It's only a momentary pause, though, for, as the men start to descend on Jean, a shadow falls on them from above as Daredevil leaps from the top of the van and down upon the mass of them, using his body as a weapon, lashing out with all his limbs to drive them apart. He disarms one as he lands, bullets eating into the asphalt as the guy pulls the trigger. Daredevil spins, elbowing one in the throat as his movement drags that fire into another punk's legs, his knees chewed up swiftly by the bullets and drawing a scream of his own…

It was a huge downplay on Jean's part. Mostly to keep herself covered from prying eyes. If you go big, then you don't get to go home. People will know you, they will see you, and they will try to capture you. Though, luckily, Jean has help.

For as she scoots away from the mens approach, her eyes widen as the Daredevil begins to fly, landing right into the men as the bullets began to fly towards the diner, which was immediately stopped with an outstretched hand and a roll upon her belly to shield the building.

The led, all collected, as soon dropped upon the ground as she drags herself to her feet, the last remaining man running off towards the good working van so that he could make his escape, attempting to leave his brothers behind…
The vigilante turns and kicks, his boot cracking across the jaw of the one man not unconscious or fleeing, knocking out a few teeth as the man tries to recover his gun. Satisfied with his work, Daredevil stands over the bodies of the fallen, his baton in one hand. His dark leathers and crimson aspect do, indeed, give him a demonic appearance, almost, in the twilight, the streetlamps coming on down the street as darkness descends fully on Hell's Kitchen.

He turns his head, not fully towards Jean, for there's no need to look at her. "You're going to need to see a doctor for that. You won't die, but stitches, at least, I'm guessing," he says, just from the volume of blood he's sensing.

"Fuck this!" The man hollars, peeling out with his van doors swinging. He got away for the day. Hells' kitchen was not theirs.

Jean however, keeps a hand pressed to her shoulder, her gaze watching as the man leaves them both in the dust, with others laying around them either groaning or softly sobbing. This.. this was new for her.

"I will be fine." She states quietly, her lips nearly pursing into a slight smile as she leans just a little to the side to try to see his face. "Who are you?"

Matt Murdock tilts his head slightly, marking the scents of the ones who ran away. He'd track them down later. He wasn't much for mercy or forgiveness - he'd have made a bad priest, as his priest often reminds him. She can see a bit of his profile: strong jaw, smirking mouth, and that hint of horns on the cowl of his mask, eyes hidden behind opaque red lenses in the mask.

"Just the local devil, collecting his due,' he says with a smile. "Don't wait too long for that doctor, though. With this much filth around you wouldn't want to get an infection," he says. He raises his baton and fires a cable into the rooftop of a nearby building, the sound of his grapple sinking into the brick reverbrating in the air.

"Police are about three blocks away and coming in. If you're nervous about that sort of thing, make yourself scarce," he says and, with the flick of a button, the baton drags him away into the night with a snap. Blink and then he's gone.

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