New York City, The Iron Age
Months Ago...
How did Daredevil die?
It was simple. He died how he'd lived.
Without fear.
The year was 2200 AD and despite the attempts of some of the world's greatest individuals, the universe had taken a dark turn. America had effectively been turned into a dictatorship under the rule of a ruthless and mysterious Supreme Commander, his new regieme supported by thousands of mighty Iron Soldiers, each one outfitted with power armour similar to the one designed by Anthony Edward Stark back in the early 21st Century. The Iron Army as it was called had dominated the rest of the planet and slowly had managed to spread its grip around every country and continent with the exception of Europe.
Obviously there were people attempting to resist this regieme, such as the members of SHIELD operating out of New Latveria, along with the Spider Clan and the numerous costumed free fighters spread across the planet, however hese individuals were few and far between... and the Iron Army was seemingly unstoppable.
"Come on then..." A broken, tired figure gasped while accepting his end was near. "...let's see what you've got!"
Atop a building in Hell's Kitchen, the vigilante Daredevil took his last, deep breath, sucking up the fear deep inside of him. Across the room from him stood several Iron Soldiers, each one wearing a black variation of the Iron Man armour.
"Daredevil!" One of the soldiers yelled, voice booming through his helmet. "In the name of the Supreme Commander you will surrender now or be executed!"
The vigilante grinned through broken teeth, his feet were mere inches from the edge of the rooftop and for a second he considered leaping from it.
He wasn't certain if he'd keep running or let himself splat on the streets below. Death would be quick and painless, better then whatever the Iron Army had planned for him.
No. Suicide wasn't the answer, it wasn't the way he wanted to go... If Daredevil was going to die, he wanted to die fighting.
"I have a better idea." He replied before quickly revealing a small pepper spray can and pointing it towards the soldiers in one, quick motion. In a panic the soldiers unleashed the repulsor beams linked to their hands, each one tearing through the Man Without Fear's body and sending him plummeting towards the streets below.
"No, no, no!" A man dressed in a grey lab coat rushed to the edge of the roof and peered down at the bloody corpse down below. "For Stark's sake!" He screamed, letting his repressed rage flow all around him. "Damn it!" The doctor snapped while tearing out pieces of the blonde hair on his head.
"We're sorry Doctor Liberdeen." One of the Iron Soldiers said from behind the doctor. "He made a move. We had to react."
Doctor Liberdeen scratched his chin, something he always did whilst thinking. This little operation had been a complete disaster, and if he didn't think of something quickly, Doctor Essex would have his head.
"It's perfectly alright, Sergeant Alberon." Liberdeen finally said after a moment of silent contemplation. He looked back down at the puddle of blood and brains that had once belonged to Hell's Kitchen's greatest hero. "...maybe we can save his brain."
_____________________________________
Now.
"I don't know the point of being a reporter if I can't report the news!"
It was a common complaint heard throughout the offices of the New York Bronze, a local paper operating out of Hell's Kitchen. freedom of speech was something that had quickly disappeared once the Iron Army had taken over, yet the illusion of it had remained. People were allowed to complain and argue about the most mundane of topics, TV programmes were filled with subliminal propaganda and any local papers that had survived the fall of the Heroic Age were heavily monitored.
"We've talked about this, Leeds." Brick Simpson grumbled from his office, large cigar in hand. "We do report the news!" The Chief Editor sighed before taking a puff of tobacco. "We've just gotta be more selective on what news we report."
Abigail Leeds was well known throughout the city of New York for her social skills, she didn't have any, mainly because they didn't matter. In this plucky brunette's mind there was only one thing that mattered, the truth. Also breathing. Breathing was quite important.
She rasied an eyebrow at her boss, arms folded across her chest with a copy of her rejected article in hand. She was dressed in a brown jacket, pen lodged behind her ear with her hair being slightly tussled from the events of the day.
"You wanna know why I got rid of your story?" Brick asked before Abbie even got chance to. His overweight frame was barely able to fit inside his chair.
"Duh."
"It's because the Iron Army don't want the public to know they're going around blowing up Kindergartens!" The Editor replied, slamming his hands on his desk.
"But boss, that story was go-" Abbie started to say only to stop when Brick held up his hand.
"We've been over this a million times Abbie!" He snapped, turning completely serious. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and placed it carefully in the ash tray on his desk. "This paper is dying! And if we're not careful we're going to die with it!"
Leeds looked at her boss in shock, disappointment filling her stomach and making her feel sick.
"Go home." Brick ordered. "Let off some steam and come back tomorrow. We'll talk more, then."
Abigail gave her boss a scowl before scrunching up her article and tossing it into the nearby bin. In anger she stormed out, orange satchel over her shoulder.
Along the way to the elevator Abbie passed Rick the building's janitor. He was a tall, well built African American who always wore black sunglasses and was currently sweeping the floors by the elevator.
"G'night Abbie." Rick said as Abbie stepped into the lift.
"Night Rick, you crazy nutbag." She replied while pressing the button to the ground floor.
New York City came to life at night, which was ironic considering the majority of the place's murders occurred once the sun set behind the buildings. Sometimes Abbie wondering if she should move somewhere else... then she remembered there was nowhere else to move to.
Maybe if she grew another few arms she could live with the mutated lizard people in the DMZ...
"Well, if it isn't my favourite customer!" Gaston, the local convenience store owner said once Abbie stepped into his shop.
"I bet you say that to all the tippers." She replied before heading to the back of the shop where all the booze was kept. Stood by the magazine section was an off duty Iron Soldier who was busy flicking through the porn mags, he seemed to be fixated on a woman dressed in an 'Invisible Woman' bikini. He was dressed in the standard clothing Iron Soldiers wore while out of the armour, however he didn't have his badge on display, making his current status obvious.
The sound of a ringing bell filled the air as a man clad in a black ski mask stepped into the shop, Abbie knew something was wrong straight away.
"Hello Gaston." The ski mask growled from under his mask, he pulled a pistol from his bag and aimed it at the store clerk. "Sorry about this."
Abbie watched the scene in complete shock, she turned to the off duty Iron Soldier and looked at him with dismay as he ignored the loan shark and continued turning through the magazine.
"Aren't you going to do something?!" She asked in a hushed tone so that the gunman wouldn't hear her. The soldier shrugged, completely uninterested.
"Off duty." He replied.
"Tell... tell the Fixer I've got his money!" Gaston stammered while trying to get behind the safety of his till.
"Fixer doesn't care about the money, Gaston." The gunman told him. "He just wants me to send a message."
Abbie was prone to sudden acts of stupidity, she stepped between the aisle leading right towards the till and immediately regretted her decision as the gunman turned towards her. "Hey!" She yelled as he glared at her between the slits in his mask.
"Make a move and die!" He snapped, uncertain about the new variable in the equation. He seemed to consider his actions, then realized it was probably easier to just kill everyone in the shop. That would definitely send a message. He turned the gun on Abigail and prepared to pull the trigger.
That was when the masked man made his move. The bulb bathing the shop in a yellow light exploded, catching everyone off guard and sprinkling glass down onto the ground, however before the gunman could react and fire his weapon at the defenseless reporter a large, red object that seemed similar to a pipe shot through the entrance, knocking the pistol out of the gunman's hand and diverting the bullet.
"What the stark?!" The off duty Iron Soldier yelled just as a dark figure leaped into the shop and smashed his fist against the gunman's cheek, knocking him back and causing blood to spray out of his mouth. The masked man followed his attack with several quick blows to the thug's chest, cracking several of his ribs and finished it by sweeping under his legs, knocking him unconscious.
"Spider!" The soldier pulled out his sidearm and aimed it at the man dressed in the blood red costume. "Don't move!"
"I'm not a spider." The vigilante said before sending what appeared to be a red baton into the Iron Soldier's forehead. "I'm the Devil." He stood up and holstered his weapons, briefly glancing at Gaston before turning to Abbie with bright red eyes. He seemed to concentrate for a minute, his breathing slowed down and his head moved down towards the ground.
Abigail Leeds looked at the vigilante in pure amazement, his body was mostly in the shadows, however she could make out his outline, he was dressed in a red, skintight outfit with two black horns sticking out of the top of his head. Effortlessly he picked up the unconscious gunman and tossed him over his shoulder.
Who was he? Abbie had no idea, probably some total nutbag. He looked like the Daredevil vigilante that had died months ago... but resurrection wasn't possible.
Was it?
Regardless she now had a story, one that fit within the Iron Army's set parameters and one that could keep her interest for longer then five minutes.
"Wait!" She yelled while running to the door which the vigilante had disappeared through. Abbie looked into the night sky and smiled as the new Daredevil clambered across the rooftops, unconscious gunman still over his shoulder.
"What a starking nutbag." Abigail muttered as he disappeared from sight.
Next Issue: Who is the new Daredevil?
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