Iron Fist vs The Kitchen (Ben Urich, Closed)

[Rift]

11:30 PM, Daily Bugle Offices



As he approached the building that housed New York City's most well-known newspaper he found himself thinking back to what has transpired earlier in the day. He had been been on the roof of his building, meditating as the sun rose. The night previous had been rather uneventful, the city's worst elements seemingly taking time off. In fact he hadn't encountered anything needing the attention of the Iron Fist in almost a week, not since a short clash with the Red Dragon Clan and a young man that was so desperate for status that he lost himself (see Iron Fist: Blade of a Thousand Sorrows-still ongoing!) to an ancient, evil sword. Since that time he had been, quite frankly, bored.

Sure there was all the responsibility of running the Rand Corporation, but for the most part he allowed the trusted family lawyer Jeryn Hogarth to handle the day-to-day nonsense. Danny was fine simply pretending he wasn't rich and only signing off on paperwork now and then or attending a board meeting just to let everyone know his father's company was not going to get involved with certain unethical businesses. Being wealthy was more stressful than one would think and he only held onto the company to honor his dad and as Luke Cage had pointed out, the money allowed him to help in ways no martial arts could. That said it was far from stimulating and so he had found himself meditating more frequently.

Not like Luke is gonna come out for a late night bite every time I call him in the wee hours. Or...ever again. Pretty sure Jess hates me and that's why. Man he used to be a lot more fun. he thought.

It was during his last meditation session that the phone rang. Though he had let it go to voice mail it just continued to ring. Thinking it an emergency he finally answered only to find out that Joy Meachum was livid. The new homeless shelter that the company had touted in the media for months had been vandalized. An act of arson had nearly gutted the interior. The mobile medical vehicle that was to be used to assist the homeless that refused to come to the shelter had the glass smashed out and pricey equipment within stolen. Over all it was not only bad for business but also a blow to the work they were trying to do within the community. It showed that even while the help they offered was genuine, they were unable to guarantee the services they were offering. As depressing as the loss had been it was what his police contact had told him that bothered him most. There was a double 'D' burnt into floors of the building and the van was sporting some crude devil themed graffiti.

Pausing for a moment he pulled out the newspaper he had noticed on his way back from the scene, glancing at the headline once more. An article in The Pulse had detailed a growing movement where vigilantes, people who apparently were inspired by the example set by Daredevil, had begun to take the law into their own hands. Ben Urich seemed to be the only reporter taking the situation seriously, the only one asking questions about the so-called Devil Worshippers and what their rise actually meant. The media had barely covered the group, the few mentions of them he found online from the Associated Press all seemingly following the same line of thought. The reporters defended them with a vigor costumed crime fighters never received, the mental gymnastics they went through to paint them as disenfranchised citizens on the side of justice so great he doubted even the most intelligent people he knew could possibly keep track.

Why trash the center? It's exactly the kind of place they should be in support of. I mean, was it because of Rand backing it? Would they hate the company so much they'd hurt the less fortunate, maybe even themselves to make a point? Matt would never stand for something like that. I can't imagine he'd be happy hearing that they are doing this kind of thing while donning his horns, he thought to himself.



Shaking his head as he entered the building and took the elevator to Urich's office, he sighed. C'mon Danny, don't get ahead of yourself. May not even be related. Ben will have answers. And if nothing else maybe he can tell me how to get in touch with Murdock. I've been gone long enough he's probably had three offices destroyed and been outed as Daredevil twice.

Tapping on the door frame as he approached Urich's office he was thankful his hunch was right and the old newshound was once again burning the midnight oil.

"Heya Ben. Hard hitting true crime story or have they put you on celebrity detail? Either way, you got a minute for me to pick your brain? If you need coffee, I'm buying. Has to be better than what your boss lets 'em brew around here."

[webdevil]

Ben Urich was a reporter. But stating the obvious wouldn't provide proper context. He came from the type of brass that sought a story worth note and would seek the truth. If the whole thing came up as hogwash, it wouldn't be worth loading a litter box with. But if such a thing had any kind of veracity - he was always found clacking away at his ancient typewriter.

He liked that typewriter. It felt kinetic to pull the keys, adjust for errors, and be hands on. Sure, Jonah sprung for a fancy computer - at least by his standards - but it never quite felt the same. Maybe hr was old-fashioned that way. Much like he was an old-fashioned reporter, he supposed. Not one to jump at the first unverified source that came his way like most of his colleagues did whenever any dirt on Norman Osborn came over the wire. True, he despised the man - even exposed him as the Green Goblin before the Supreme Court yanked that away from him - but he wanted to see him burn the legal way as much as for Spider-Man to punch him in the jaw for the two-hundredth time. Which is why he could always be found writing in the dead of night by a single lamp at the Bugle's Pulse offices.

He couldn't write during the day - too much racket and Jameson for his liking - so he used those hours to gather his story. It took him at least fourteen hours to traverse the fire and police departments plus word on the street to get last night's column out alone. But wouldn't you know it that he had a fan. And even funnier enough - someone with as must vested interest in Daredevil as he did. Ben looked up and took off his horn-rimmed glasses, hanging them in a limp wrist as his eyes adjusted to the collage of green and gold that made up the Immortal Iron Fist strolling through his office door. Ben snorted.

"And here I thought you would have used the window. Your fellow Defenders clearly seem to think of it as more of an entrance. I know I have an open door policy, but..."

After a moment, he sighed and put his glasses on the desk.


"If you're buying, I won't say no. What can I do for you, Fist?" he said, stretching a moment so he could let the man in the golden mask speak.

[Rift]

It was fairly obvious that his entrance was probably far more formal than the ones people in his circles usually used when visiting New York's favorite crime reporter and he couldn't help but smile (another action Urich probably didn't see much from vigilantes) when Ben mentioned his fellow neighborhood heroes showing up via the window. Even before the so-called Civil War and the Suphuman Registration Act tore the community apart and forced some heroes to become cautious of being seen fighting crime, some were always more than a little paranoid about their secret identities or at the least committed to their gimmick. He could just imagine Spidey creeping along the side of the wall, tapping on the window while hanging upside down from a web or Daredevil showing up like the devil himself, red lenses burning in the darkened shadows. All very dramatic, all likely necessary, but not something Danny himself was particularly in the mood for this particular night. No, tonight he wanted the Iron Fist to be seen, so much so that he didn't even worry about dodging the security cameras on the way up even though it would have been simple enough.

"Well, to be honest this is part business, part... let us say concern for a mutual friend," Rand responded. "I read your article, the one about the Daredevil fanboys, or cosplayers, or whatever they are and I was hoping maybe to get some personal insights from you."

Putting the paper down on his desk, Fist tapped the image with his finger. "When I first heard about this I figured it wasn't a terrible thing. I mean I'm all for citizens stepping up, helping their own communities, and when the authorities can't or won't take action protecting their fellow man by doing their part to make the places they live better. It's one of the reasons I prefer the work Luke Cage and I did to throwing down with Thanos or Doctor Doom. Making a real difference out there in the streets that are so often forgotten about when the latest gamma experiment or alien invasion happens."

Though his identity as Danny Rand, billionaire co-CEO of the Rand Corporation was far from a well-kept secret, he didn't feel the need to mention that he used his wealth and company to do as much good as he could investing in projects that helped the community whether it was After School programs for kids, scholarships, low income housing, or investing in things that helped generate new jobs. Hell, it was why he swallowed the bile he felt every time he heard Fisk's name and decided to help after the whole Mutant Town disaster. Besides, Ben would already know it without his having to spell it out. The man wasn't one to hear about a superhero investing in things and not look at it from every angle.

"Sure, DD probably isn't the best example to emulate considering what we know he sacrificed for this town and I can't imagine he's happy about this, but you I thought maybe these Devils as you called them had their hearts in the right place. But now I'm not so sure."

Pulling out a cheap burner phone, the old flip-style numbers that mostly elderly seemed to use these days, Fist put it in front of Ben, pictures open. They were not the best quality, probably cringe inducting to a guy working at NYC's premiere newspaper, but they showed the smoldering ruins of the homeless center. The last image, clearest of all, showed the 'DD' marks burned into the floor of the center and on the street outside.

"That's the new Homeless Shelter and Outreach Center or what's left of it. And a calling card. I like to think the best of folks, but this...look I know journalistic integrity means being objective and not giving your own opinion. The article poses the question about whether these Devils are dangerous or just a natural progression of the costumed vigilante thing, but I have to ask, was this them? And more importantly have you heard from our mutual friend? If things are about to get ugly he's going to be right in the middle of it and I'd rather he not be stuck there alone."

[webdevil]

"Sure, DD probably isn't the best example to emulate considering what we know he sacrificed for this town and I can't imagine he's happy about this, but you I thought maybe these Devils as you called them had their hearts in the right place. But now I'm not so sure. "That's the new Homeless Shelter and Outreach Center or what's left of it. And a calling card. I like to think the best of folks, but this...look I know journalistic integrity means being objective and not giving your own opinion. The article poses the question about whether these Devils are dangerous or just a natural progression of the costumed vigilante thing, but I have to ask, was this them? And more importantly have you heard from our mutual friend? If things are about to get ugly he's going to be right in the middle of it and I'd rather he not be stuck there alone.""

Ben took the phone and looked at it with a furrowed brow. It was quite the sight.


"You and many others. But why come to me and not Matt himself?" the old reporter asked. He dispensed with ceremony knowing full well that Daniel Rand, the Immortal Iron Fist, knew exactly who Daredevil was underneath the cowl. Even if he was shooting in the dark, the two spent weeks in a laundromat when the city was being burnt to a crisp. Fist even wore the horns for a stint - not that Ben wanted to know that in case of any legal liability - so it was only natural to have his curiosity piqued.

"As to who caused this, if you read my article then you know that wherever a fire has been lit in Hell's Kitchen and its surrounding areas as of late, these so-called "Devils" have not been far behind. As to your second question, no, Matt hasn't come by lately tho I half-suspect he's already on the case knowing him. Bad enough dealing with Frank Castle and Jigsaw let alone an army of copycats. Maybe Spider-Man can give him tips, he seems to have bucked over on the idea despite the past decade of being a solo act." said Ben dryly.

He glanced over at the clock. It was late. Doris was not going to be thrilled since he had to take Tim to school in a few hours. Eighth grade. Poor soul. Something the people at Rand's shelter might have had to consider once. Til they fell on hard times. He then turned and looked again at the paper before looking at Iron Fist.

"Still, might be a mook or two who might have further insight. Russians ate it, and you know when the gangs get riled up over loose territory, the rats come out of their holes. If my memory's right, Matt would usually go to this bar where all the crooks would hang out down in the Kitchen. Jerry's? No. Johnny's? No. Oh! Josie's. That's it. A small dive bar in the Shelf. Want me to take you?" he asked, the idea of this story just took an interesting turn if shelters are being torched.

[Rift]

Danny smiled at the bluntness. He knew that Ben knew the big secret. He also knew that his own secret identity was in actuality one of the worst kept secrets there was, partially because he didn't go through much effort to keep his double life hidden. Still the unspoken superhero bro-code meant he had to at least make the effort to be vague, if only for the sake of tradition. Well that and never knowing if the walls had ears.

It's not like I walk around the city telling every crook, pedestrian, and random passerby that I am The Immortal Iron Fist at every turn, like some kind of poorly written soap opera version of a superhero, but I've never been shy about doing my thing even if I don't have a mask on hand, he thought. But not having to do double talk, low key spy nonsense is a relief.

"Honestly? Because I figured he'd already know about it or at least more than I do, politely thank me for the concern but tell me to stay out of it, and then go off and get himself half killed since he'd find a way to feel guilty about all this as he tries to handle it himself. You know...the usual? I thought maybe he'd confided in you first and maybe I'd be able to get some idea how to help him out before this gets too big."

Truth was he wasn't faulting Matt or criticizing the way he operated. He knew better than most that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen had a target painted on him from a number of enemies, Fisk included. And whether it was pride or Catholic instilled guilt, Murdoch had a habit of taking on sole responsibility for things and trying to handle situations with as little assistance as possible. It was a trait well earned considering the number of people Matt had seen hurt or lost due to his life as a vigilante. Hell, Danny himself had on more than one occasion done the same thing, ignoring the friendships and allies he had forged over the years when a matter was personal to him, so he understood the impulse. It didn't get much more personal than someone, let alone a group of someones, running around with your outfit and doing things in your name without your blessing. But while he could always count on Misty, Luke, or even Jessica to eventually slap him back to his senses Matt didn't have that support network. Well he did, but he would only call on it reluctantly. He just wanted him to know that despite his recent absence, the Devil didn't have to protect the Kitchen alone.


"And that's precisely what has me worried," he said at the mention of Punisher and Jigsaw. "He deals with enough psychos on the regular that a bunch of copycats is going to be a distraction that may get him killed. If it can be put down quickly maybe he'll be able to focus more on the big, known threats. Anyone hurt by the Devils will weigh on his conscience. Then again, so would any of them being hurt while wearing the horns."

Castle and Russo back in town. Again. Now this? It's adding gasoline to an already raging fire, he thought.

"As for the ride...why not? I hear that place can be a bit rough. If you are gonna be asking questions anyway, might help to have someone on hand in case they don't like what's being asked."

[webdevil]

The drive to Josie's was a sordid affair. Anyone trying to drive in New York City was already categorically insane - guess this was why Ben Urich fit in well with costumed types - the fact that Iron Fist had the mask on in the car the entire ride got more than a few eyebrow raises. Ben pulled the collar of his trench coat a little higher to try and obscure his face. Ok sure he was the editor of the Pulse so - yeah, he thought - just an interview. Interview. Right.

He parked the car about three blocks from the bar in case they got discovered and things went south (oh who was Ben kidding? Daredevil or not, it was gonna go south,) and they entered Josie's. Nobody looked up when Ben went inside - even though he did look slightly out of place in the shirt and tie with the trench coat - but they all raised their hackles the moment they saw the gold mask.

All except one table in the back led by a lanky black man who looked like forty miles of bad road in the desert after an oil refinery explosion. A regular at Josie's, and one who didn't notice the bar suddenly went quiet despite the music still playing and Josie's tongue clicking in the back of her throat as she slowly finished loading up the house with their cheap swill they called beer.

"Enn I sez tew 'em 'awo c'mon! I got dis! Buncha wacked socha acteevists pissin' the Devil here in'de Kitchen? #$%@ me I wuz curious, yeh!'" he said to his usual drinking buddies, tho his sidekick, Grotto, looked over at Josie and followed her eyes to the door.

"I think we found our guy..." Ben muttered to Iron Fist, jamming his fists into his pockets, looking for a cigarette and his lighter.

[Rift]

As the pair entered the bar, Danny was keenly aware of the looks he was receiving from the patrons. Each one looked angrier and tougher than the last and Rand was fairly certain he recognized a few. He may not be Daredevil, but he'd been in the vigilante game long enough, both solo and with the likes of Luke Cage, that there were bound to be some repeat customers. After all one mobster or supervillain falls and another took their place, leaving the enforcers and toadies looking for a new boss. If he had any guarantees that an all out brawl wasn't going to break out he'd of left the mask at home. The true identity of the Immortal Iron Fist was not exactly the world's best kept secret and outside of his own rogues gallery most wouldn't know the significance of the mask, but it was a part of who he was. Besides, with a guy never knowing when some government empowered lackey may show up to arrest him for saving lives without a permit, any added level of deniability was welcomed. Still he came for answers and to have his friend, so he said nothing as he ignored the startled customers and followed Ben.

It was awesome how Urich, a man without super powers could waltz into a place as rough as Josie's and seem just as calm and in control as someone in a mask. The man does, he thought, have a power of a kind. His dogged determination to get to the truth is something more people, civilian and reporter alike could use.

Merely nodding when Urich pointed out the guy Danny guessed was already three sheets to the wind, he followed in silence doing something between his best impersonation of stoic Matt and Clint Eastwood as they neared the men. With any luck Ben could do the talking and he wouldn't break into a smile as he tried tolook intimidating.

[webdevil]

Ben lit up the cigarette in his hand and took a quick drag before leaning forward reflexively; Matt had a notoriously bad habit of knocking the cancer stick out of his mouth before he could even smoke. Given the situation, ruining his lungs for a few moments of stress relief was worth it here as the room was oddly quiet. Ben approached the table, allowing himself to be lit up by the table's dim overhanging lamp.

"Funny you mention that," he said as he pulled a seat from the table at Turk's and sliding into it. "Ben Urich. I'm actually looking for someone who knows the lay of the land concerning "The Devils" as it were and you seem like a knowledgeable fellow, Mister Uhh..."

"Barrett! Turk Barrett! Ain't choo dat reporter who covahs th' heroes? Awww hell nah, I ain't gettin' put true th' windah a fifth time over this sheeet!" replied Turk, who began reaching for his piece he kept tucked in his waistband, albeit with difficulty.

Ben put his hands up in mock surrender. Having dealt with his fair share of muggers, hired killers, super criminals, and the occasional lady assassin, he had to think fast.

"Well actually..." he began which got Turk's attention for a second, long enough for him to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out his wallet, from which he extracted a couple of crisp hundreds he dropped on top of the pot, "I was thinking you could deal me in and raise for information,"

Turk looked momentarily taken aback by this before his eyes narrowed on Urich before gazing outward, realizing who was there. He recognized the gold and green.

"What, they sendin' in th' substitutes fo' hiyah?" he mocked Iron Fist. He knew the Kung Fu Man had a glowing fist that could punch through a truck and it would be idiotic to test his luck, but the costume he wore definitely didn't allow him to take him too seriously. Unlike the myriad of conversations of uncertainty that began to spring up. It was quite unlike whenever the Red Man came around where it was usually quiet, seething, like a bomb waiting to go off, Turk noted.

"Think we got him?"
"Dood! He flipped the car with one punch!"

"Freakin' Mutie s*## right 'dere!"

"Broke Deshawn's arms tho!"
"With that stupid mask? What's with the dragon logo? Is he Dragon Man?"

"Wonder where his bulletproof buddy got to..."

"I mean he's good at Kung Fu, but yer like Ju-Jitsu an --"
"I mean we could just shoot him!"
"Josie's watching..."

[Rift]

Danny fought the urge to grin as he listened to the men discuss the possibility of attacking him. He was after all a Living Weapon, recognized as such by the authorities. His bright gold mask while not exactly traditional superhero attire had a history, a lineage of honor and meaning attached to it that stretched back centuries. His hard earned skills allowed him to go head-to-head with some of the deadliest martial artists on the planet, men like Shang Chi. During his brief time wearing the horns of Hell's Kitchen's resident vigilante he may have even shown a few of the onlookers just how wrong they were to laugh. A lesser man would have been offended.

Rand though just let the comments roll past him like waves over a stone. Mere words were inconsequential and bruised egos were not worth the time and energy it would take to assuage them. Besides, Urich seemed to have a rapport with at least one of the thugs so jumping the gun was counterproductive.

What do you know Danny Boy, you've got this whole Zen thing down compared to the old days he thought. Plus there's always your other power.

Hoping to avoid a scene and to calm the crowd Danny raised a clenched fist, a move sure to have made some of the more wary flinch.

"Guys, this could go a couple ways. I could warn you that attacking a guy who is close personal friends with Power Man and several of the Avengers is not going to go well for you. I could remind you of every Kung Fu flick you've ever seen and how the guy in the slipper shoes, robes, or bright yellow jumpsuit always wins after clearing a room and breaking bones. Then I could demonstrate on whoever tries to make the first move. Your bar gets wrecked, ERs get filled, and medical bills go up. Or I could do this."

Suddenly a card appeared between the fingers of his fist.

"And buy everyone a couple rounds while the gentleman in the far more serious attire has a friendly, non-concussion inducing chat. Whaddya say? Booze instead of bruises?"

Glancing toward the bar he tried to show Josie he was serious. They may not be used to having a costume buy rounds instead of throwing punches, but he figured a sincere effort to avoid any unnecessary brawling was in order. Besides he was rich and he figured he may as well use the money for some good when the opportunity came up. A few rounds of alcohol was worth getting the information to help Matt.

[webdevil]

The bar stood there in silence save for the old juke connected to badly blown out speakers playing ACDC's "TNT" in the background. While many were still seething from their own personal vendettas against the jade and gold karate man, the idea of free alcohol made them all freeze in place. After a tense moment of awkward silence, they gave a small cheer of agreement and Josie gave a very visible sigh of relief from behind the bar, pulling out a large bus of clean glasses.

"Hey, Iron Clad? Thanks for not acting like your friend and smashing up the place. I've already had to replace that window 4 times in the past 2 months. Those are expensive!"

Ben and Turk turned back towards each other and the old mugger flashed a toothy grin that looked even more oily than the voice he used that followed.

"Smah guyz! Awrigh', Grotto, deal him in!"

The game they played was basic two-card Holdum. Ben missed the days when gangsters had variety in their card games. Anyone still play Rummy? He wondered privately. Nonetheless, he knew their type: Always willing to cheat and made no bones about it. Unfortunately for them, they were all so stupid that any professional could suss out their Tells within two hands. Playing it safe, Ben made small raises and folded before the pot got too big. In so doing, Turk and Grotto as well as their two table cohorts each used every single one of their tells on one another in that time. Turk's tell was the worst: Every time he had a shot at winning he would shake his right leg in a strange zig zag pattern while working to keep his face straight; conversely whenever he was losing, he would cough into his hand, pretend to take a drink, and quickly swap the cards in his hand with ones in his jacket. Nearly fifteen minutes later, Ben made his move.

"All in," he said, which was fortunate. He won one of the smaller pots, but he was strapped for time as much as any, and this was the first time he went all in. It was a risk, but surprised Turk.

"Eyyyy, the ol' man has a winner, eh!? Awwwright,lesh see!"

Turk foolishly put all in as well. Ben saw his tell - he thought he had a winner - and after the cards came up, Turk played.

"Three of a Kind, Jacks on the table, Queen high!" he said, noting the three cards on table: Jack of Hearts, Jack of Spades, Queen of Spades.

The others tossed their cards. That was when Ben played his: Queen of Hearts, Queen of Clubs.

"Full House," he said. Turk jumped back in his chair.

"NAH! I - -" Turk froze then. Even if he licked the Fake News shill, Iron Fist was right there to punch a hole in his chest like some bad kung fu movie he remembered. He sighed. He suddenly felt nostalgic for Daredevil's beatings.

"Whachoo wanna no?" he asked in a resigned tone, taking a drink.

"Word around here is the Red Man's got a bunch of copycats running around," said Ben, who pulled out another cigarette.

"Got nuthin on tha," replied Turk.

"What do you mean?"

"@##$# I look like, th' YMCA? All I no is a buncha ANTIFA college activists decide dey go' bored protestin' Preziden Osbern an' wun whu' th' Muties r gettin' here!" he said with his hands up, voice up so even in the din, Iron Fist could hear him clear as day.

[Rift]

Danny smiled at Josie. "I hear ya. Sorry about that. I keep trying to tell Luke he needs to learn how to achieve some Zen in his life, to help cut down on those anger issues you know? But he's stubborn. And I figured why ruin anybody's evening. We just need a little bit of info and I'll be out of your hair."

Looking across the bar he tried not to burst out laughing when one of the seedier looking patrons raised his bottle in mock salute to him. On a different night there was every chance that he would have gone ahead and knocked enough teeth out to where the main would be cursing him, albeit with a funny lisp, for some time to come. Tonight though they were all on the same side. Free booze had worked it's magic and the cost was more than worth it if it meant saving Matt from whatever craziness seemed to be coming for him this time.

Hearing Turk's comments, Danny sighed. His concern over the impersonators was that they were just that, impersonators. Not evil henchmen or the ploy of some super villain out to wreck havoc on Murdoch's life yet again. Not some sinister scheme by Kingpin to expose him again and bring the world crashing down around his horned head. No this was the work of idiots.

Danny was all for activists. Even when he disagreed with the cause, getting out there and trying to change things you didn't like was commendable, respectable, and part of the bedrock upon which the country was founded.  That said, disguising criminality as activism was shameful to everyone who had ever genuinely tried to change things for the better. And to do so in the guise of Daredevil, a man who had sacrificed mind, body, and soul for the community he loved? That was despicable. Matt was many things. Angry, righteous, skilled, and if he had to be deadly. What he wasn't was a symbol to be used against random people you disagreed with. He struck fear into the criminals of Hell Kitchen using the guise of the ultimate evil. That didn't mean he encouraged others to do evil and especially in his name. As someone who had worn the horns for a time when it was necessary, that burden was not one anybody but Matt could carry. And there were far too many forces of darkness still gunning for the Devil of Hell's Kitchen that would take offense to seeing a bunch of basement dwelling dropouts running around looking like the man they hated for so long. Things could get ugly in a hurry.

Making his way over to the table, Danny looked at Ben and then to Turk.

"Bootleg DD costumes are gonna cause these people and this town a lot of problems. Plenty of mean folks out there not going to appreciate anyone running around acting as if ol'Hornhead is a role model. Sooner of later someone is gonna make an example. So, where would we find these copycats Turk? I mean I could just start hitting up every Starbucks and hipster hangout, but time is pressing and this is New York. Got one of those on every corner. You gotta know something. Any recruitment areas you've heard of? Maybe you know someone who knows someone that supplied weapons?"

[webdevil]

"O. K. Fist off, ease up, Green Jeans! Ayyight? Frank? Dey' messin' it up fer us tryin' te' dew honess werk too!" said Turk, arms flapping like some gangly looking bird. Ben had to suppress a snort into the drink he had got while the Fist was questioning Turk. Leave it to Turk Barrett to call what he did for a living as "honest work,"

After a moment, however, Turk sighed and leaned across the table, past Ben so he could address Iron Fist. He motioned with a finger so the man in gold and green would lean in closer.

"But werd is dey luuuuuurv chillin' by ol' Fisk's buildings," he said.

Ben cut across.

"We know. They attacked one of the shelters he happens to own," said Ben, but Turk shook his head.

"Nah meng, m'talkin' low key shii. Warehouses, restaurants, th' kinda places "honess" folk werk tha' always seem no' far frum where we at sorta dil. I betchu they only dun cum here cuz we all packin'. Nah. They always wai til they can use numbahs. S'like watchin' some red sea shii,"

"You've seen them?" asked Ben with a stern look.

"Now did I say dat?" asked Turk.

But before the reporter could press any further, the TV in the back put up a special news bulletin with the caption (the screen was muted) saying:

"DAREDEVIL INSPIRED PROTESTORS OUTSIDE RANDCORP BUILDING."

"Well shiiiit!" said Turk with surprise at the TV.

[Rift]

Danny glanced at the television and took a deep breath. Calling these knock off devils protestors was...generous to say the least. Considering the anger they were causing for themselves and the city just by wearing DD's mantle they were an angry mob at best. Given the damage done to the homeless shelter they were domestic terrorists at the least. Still, he didn't expect any better from the media. Even when he tried to use the company to help people who needed it most, the vultures in the so-called news found some way to claim it was not a good thing. It either "wasn't enough", "too little, too late", or turned into a round table discussion on the Sunday Morning news shows about how his being wealthy was somehow the reason for bad things happening in the first place. Rinse and repeat whenever there was a slow news day or President Osborn needed to distract the public from whatever evil schemes he was cooking up at the time. Few left in the industry were the actual newshounds that Ben Urich was, presenting real news with just the facts.

Of course such was par for the course. He imagined other heroes who happened to be successful had the same backlash, if not worse. Stark probably faced this kind of idiocy daily. Even the Fantastic Four had suffered complaints about not curing cancer despite their high technology and immense intellect. Then there was that lunatic Moon Knight who...probably didn't give a damn anyway. But the point was, it was nothing new. The only difference from any other day that ended in 'Y' was that these thugs in cheap Halloween costumes could cause great damage. To the city in a crusade cloaked in false righteousness. To themselves if one of the real Daredevil's enemies showed up. To Matt's reputation and the man himself if they were not dealt with sooner rather than later.

Taking in the news and letting any distress or anger about the situation leave as he exhaled, he shrugged as he turned to Ben and Turk.

"Well, at least we know where some of them are," he said with a smile. "Thanks Turk. This has been enlightening. I'll make sure Luke knows that next time he runs into you he should go gentle. Well, you know, gentle as he can be."

Catching Ben's eye he glanced at the door, thinking they might get more answers down at the protest site.

[bio858]

RandCorp Building

A home away from home, that's how the leader of this new cabal felt as he stood upon a rooftop overlooking the Rand Building. Hidden in darkness, he'd look down to see the large crowds of protesters, all practically being guided by his hand. Being in a brand new land, he needed to do a lot of research to figure out the key figures and particular ticks of this New York City. And he found plenty of new opportunities to exploit.

Such as the Mutant Town Massacre, which left plenty of homeless individuals who survived either within or just outside the blast zone of where that beast awakened. Some of which with gifts of their own, given the majority of the poor victims were mutants and the like. Hence, the leader of the group took full advantage, swaying many either in need, or sympathizers who wished to help those in need, take it out on those they believed responsible.

Particularly one of the more notable suspects of the attack, and the one who seems to be benefitting the most out of its disaster, Wilson Fisk. With his company by the name of Damage Control gaining plenty of funding to make new buildings in the place of the old (now destroyed) buildings within the Upper East Side. It would seem that the Kingpin's vision of a New, New York was getting ever closer to being realized.

Which meant opportunity was knocking. It wouldn't be hard to try and take advantage of the desperate, the angry. Take the name of a well-known, decent lawyer within the community. Sway those to make up a secret cabal to take back their city, all under the name of one of their well-known defenders. All the leader of the group had to do was remove obstacles out of play.

Sure, he could take out the competition, such as the various crime families that controlled New York under Fisk's names. Take out key members one by one under the guise of vigilantism. But he also had to make sure he had more recruits for his "army". That meant taking out these shelters, preventing the homeless from being helped by the right hands, and guiding them straight to "his" cause.

Plus, in the long run, once he takes New York again from Fisk's hands, it would benefit in the long run to take these shelters out of commission. Less help to the needy means more customers to exploit in the long run. But he couldn't think about getting back into the drug-running business just yet. First, he needed to take out the competition, all the competition.

Such as one of the big names seemingly allying with Fisk with the rebuild, RandCorp itself. Plus, from the research he did upon the company, he believes there may be some association with that of the Iron Fist, given his comings and goings away from this particular building.

Perhaps he could take out another key defender of this fine city? Who knows, but for now, best to play the part of the noble leader amongst this cabal of Devils.

<"Get ready to escalate the chaos Mr. S. Stir the crowd a bit. Use, Mrs. R if you have to. Her voice should be loud to hear amongst the crowd.">

The woman going by Mrs. R would talk back through the comms.
<"Alright Mr. D. But after this, we're going after Owls' gang next, right? Or the Hoods?">

<"Of course, I understand your need for vengeance. But first, we need to convince Rand to give up their allegiances to Fisk. The less allies Wilson has, the less powerful he will be. But I promise, we will get vengeance for your husband. I guarantee it.">

<"Ok Mr. D.">

She would look to the crowd, brushing off her curly away out of her face. She'd look upon the bruises upon her darkly colored skin. It was proof of the battles she endured, the pain she withstood. She came too far to give up now on this crusade. For Robert, for her love, she needed to do this.

"COME ON EVERYONE! RAND CAN'T WORK FOR THAT SCUMBAG! THAT MONSTER! WE NEED TO TELL THESE RICH BOYS THAT THEY CAN'T STEP ALL OVER US AND GET AWAY WITH IT! THEY CAN'T TAKE AWAY OUR HOMES AND GET AWAY WITH IT! IF THEY WON'T LISTEN TO OUR WORDS, THEN THEY BETTER KNOW THAT WE WILL END UP RESPONDING WITH OUR FISTS! NOW! LET THEM HEAR IT!!!"

The crowds would chant louder and louder, "f**k FISK! f**k FISK! f**k FISK!", as the one with the devil mask that went by Mr. S would throw a Molotov cocktail at the building. The fire wouldn't spread much, but the impact upon the concrete left quite the spectacle. Enough to stir the crowd further to swarm the building. The guards outside would struggle to keep the protesters out. If the police took action, no doubt violence would stir. Things were gonna get really ugly sooner rather than later.

[webdevil]

Ben caught Iron Fist's masked eye and nodded, dusting himself off, collecting the rest of his winnings, and bowing Turk a good night and made straight for the door.

"First for everything: A superhero coming into the bar and the place not getting trashed," came Josie's voice as she served two more of the usual barflies.

Ben made his way to the car at a brisk pace, not stopping to talk til he was safely ensconced in his vehicle. Once he got there, he fumbled with the keys a bit. Stupid adrenaline. He felt Iron Fist on him as he got the car open, sliding inside and flipping the automatic lock for the passenger side.

"So let's recap: These "Devils" not only target criminals in the neighborhood and pissing off Josie's crew, but now they want to raid Danny Rand's corporate offices... When he's not even home?" he mused.

"Lately protesters had gotten smart and began picketing the actual people's homes. If they think he lives there, then the people working at Rand Corp are in the crossfire!" he said aloud, turning the key in the ignition and letting the old engine hum to life.