Matt stood still, not moving.
The night wind swept across the rooftop, carrying the unique scent of Hell's Kitchen, a mixture of despair and cheap hot dogs.
The wind ruffled William's clothes.
It also stirred up the dust that the Guardian of Hell's Kitchen was most reluctant to touch deep within his heart.
Every word of William's "business plan" reeked of rotten opportunism.
But it also carried a damned, undeniable logic.
After a long while, Matt finally spoke.
"Your heartbeat is lying, William."
"Which part?"
William extinguished his cigarette on the rooftop's parapet.
The ash was scattered by the wind, blending into the night.
His movements were as casual as if they were just discussing tonight's ball game.
"You said you were an 'unlucky insurance salesman'."
Matt slowly turned to him, his sunglasses reflecting a cold and fragmented light under the city's neon.
"Your fear is real, but so is your ambition. They are screaming in your blood, along with adrenaline."
"You're not tied to a bomb; you want to dismantle someone else's bomb and then build a more powerful one of your own."
William fell silent.
Any emotional disguise was meaningless.
This man could hear lies.
"So what?"
William laid out his cards bluntly, a tired, self-deprecating honesty appearing on his face.
"Matt, I'm not you. I don't have the lofty ideal of saving the World with my eyes covered. My ideal is very vulgar: to survive, and preferably to live a little more decently, without having to pander to people like Kingpin anymore."
He pointed to the dazzling city below his feet.
"In this hellhole, decency needs to be exchanged for power. Kingpin has it; he can even host parties at home, dressed impeccably as a philanthropist, treating us like monkeys."
"I don't have it, so I can only stand here, like a criminal, discussing with a true crime fighter how to deal with another... potentially good person."
Only a raw reality remained in William's tone.
"You're right, I have ambition. Because I'm afraid of death. This insurance policy is my lifeboat snatched from the God of Death's hands. Now, I need a nautical chart to tell me where the reefs are."
He looked directly at Matt, his gaze sharp.
"And you, Matt, you are Daredevil, you dislike Kingpin, and you need to know what exactly is being transported on that ship."
"Because no matter what it is, if it 'accidentally' explodes at the docks of Hell's Kitchen, you'll still be the one cleaning up the mess."
This was a binding.
He had tightly bound his life and Matt's responsibility together with an invisible rope.
Matt's jawline was as taut as a steel wire.
He hated this feeling.
He hated the powerlessness of being forced to choose the less stinky mud.
William was right.
He couldn't gamble; no street in Hell's Kitchen could withstand a "surprise" of Kingpin's magnitude.
"Patsy Walker."
Matt finally spoke, his voice dry.
He had compromised.
"Former child star, public figure. A year ago, her mother's cult, the 'Three Saints Society,' tried to cause trouble in New York. She obtained a reinforced suit and some... training from it."
William's ears perked up, his brain rapidly recording.
Tandy couldn't have investigated this inside information.
"Her abilities are superhuman agility, strength, and senses. She received martial arts training from K'un-Lun, which was actually taught by Danny, but her foundation is unstable, more like a product of a crash course.
"Her fighting style is direct, fierce, but lacks experience and tactical acumen." Matt paused, then added, "There's no 'listening' in her fighting, only 'charging'."
"She relies heavily on that suit; the suit provides most of her protection and strength amplification. The suit's energy system is her weakness."
"Why did she steal Kingpin's stuff?"
William pressed.
"I don't know." Matt shook his head, "But Miss Walker's sense of justice sometimes overrides her judgment. She believes what she's doing is right and will do it regardless of the consequences."
A hothead with ideals, abilities, but not much common sense.
William immediately labeled Hellcat in his mind.
This was the most troublesome kind of opponent, because you could never logically predict her next move.
"I've given you the intel."
Matt's voice turned cold again.
"Remember your promise, William. And, stay away from her. Don't hurt her."
"My job is to 'kill risk,' not to kill people."
William shrugged.
"As long as she doesn't actively crash into my 'risk assessment report,' I'll be very professional."
He turned to leave.
"William."
Matt called out to him.
"If you take Kingpin's favors and become like him..."
William stopped, not looking back.
"...then, I'll be the one to pay your claim."
Matt's voice dissipated in the night wind.
That was a promise, and also a death premonition... When William returned to the A8, the smell of whiskey in the car was stronger.
Jessica had clearly downed another bottle, and was idly drawing grimaces with her finger on the fogged car window.
"Done talking?"
She eyed him askance, her gaze a mix of worry, impatience, and a hint of curiosity.
"Done talking."
William slumped back into the passenger seat, feeling as if he had just finished a battle, completely drained.
"So, what devil's bargain did you strike with that sanctimonious blind lawyer?"
"I exchanged information about potential 'weapons of mass destruction' on Kingpin's ship for Hellcat's personal resume and medical report from him."
William was concise.
"Looks like you dragged Daredevil into it too."
"Correction,"
William closed his eyes, rubbing his aching Sun, "he jumped in himself. Out of a lawyer's and community hero's professional sense of responsibility."
Jessica stared at him for a full half-minute. Finally, she let out a long sigh, a mix of helplessness and absurdity, and slumped back into her seat.
"You've successfully turned everyone into your accomplice."
"Alright."
William opened his eyes.
His gaze became clear again; the calculating insurance broker was back.
From the paradox briefcase that had never left his side, he took out an ultra-thin tablet computer.
"Let's have a pre-battle briefing."
Jessica looked at him with a "you've got to be kidding me" expression.
William ignored her. He lit up the screen, which immediately displayed a detailed satellite map of Kingpin's mansion, and a highlighted route extending from the Manhattan port area.
"First, our client's objective is clear: ensure the safe warehousing of this batch of 'artworks'. This means our primary task is not to defeat Hellcat, but to prevent her from accessing the goods. This is security work, not a boxing match."
His finger slid across the screen, bringing up Patsy Walker's profile, with a summary of the intelligence provided by Matt attached.
"Target: Patsy Walker, codenamed 'Hellcat'. Strengths: strong physical abilities, well-equipped, strong motivation."
"Weaknesses: lacking tactical acumen, insufficient combat experience, heavily reliant on her suit, and... an overabundance of justice."
Jessica leaned over to take a look, muttering, "Sounds like a troublesome teenage girl."
"Exactly right."
William's lips curved into a smileless arc, "So, we can't deal with her the way we deal with adults."
"Going head-to-head is the worst option; that's the job of Kingpin's bodyguards who only have muscles in their brains. We are a professional risk management company."
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