Midnight in Hell's Kitchen.
Inside the subterranean silence of his cellar, Jack adjusted his industrial headphones.
The brass dials on his modified shortwave receiver hummed with warmth.
Static hissed through the copper wiring, interlaced with frantic, high-pitched chatter from the NYPD dispatch radio.
"Dispatch, all units near 48th and 10th, we have a 10-10 in progress at the old ice factory..."
"...Three suspects down... repeat, suspects are bound with heavy wire... attacker fled via the rooftops..."
Jack's pen moved smoothly across his yellow notepad, making another neat entry.
Incident #1: 11:15 PM — 8th Avenue alley. 4 Maggia enforcers incapacitated.
Incident #2: 11:42 PM — 10th Avenue rooftop. Russian courier intercepted.
Incident #3: 12:08 AM — 48th Street ice factory. 3 armed burglars left tied for precinct patrol.
Jack laid down his pen and leaned back against the heavy oak table.
He didn't need high-tech satellite tracking.
By cross-referencing NYPD response calls with the panicking chatter on encrypted mob frequencies, he was mapping a distinct, predator-like movement pattern across the rooftops.
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen was out in full force tonight.
"Matt Murdock..." Jack murmured to the empty, concrete-walled room.
His voice was barely a breath, instantly swallowed by the damp air.
"Blind. Master martial artist. Hypersensitive sonar hearing."
Jack tapped his index finger rhythmically against the edge of his receiver box.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
At 1.6% synchronization, Jack knew engaging Daredevil directly was suicide.
A single blow from Murdock's billy club would crack his ribs, and Murdock's sensory perception would catch any lie before Jack could finish the sentence.
"He hears heartbeats," Jack analyzed calmly, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"He hears micro-changes in blood pressure, vocal chord vibrations, even sweat production."
Jack looked down at his pale hands.
His Poker Face (Tier 1) trait kept his outward facial expressions controlled, but what about his heart? What about his pulse?
He needed to test if his Joker system traits could bypass Murdock's human lie-detector capabilities.
A sudden, sharp burst of static crackled in his left ear.
"Unit 4, we have shots fired near the abandoned church on 49th! Multiple Russian operatives engaging a single target!"
Jack clicked his pen shut, sliding his notebook into his charcoal trench coat.
"Target acquired," Jack said, a faint, razor-thin smile spreading across his lips.
"Time for an observational field trip."
He pulled his black collar high around his neck, picked up his heavy flashlight, and unlocked the basement door.
The metallic stench of blood and gunpowder hung heavy inside the abandoned church on 49th Street.
Rain drizzled through the shattered stained-glass windows, dripping onto six Russian operatives groaning in pain on the cold marble floor.
All of them were thoroughly beaten, their weapons smashed, and their hands zip-tied tightly behind their backs.
From the shadow of a dark wooden confessional, Jack stepped out silently.
His dark charcoal coat swished gently against his leather boots.
He didn't make a sound. He had waited outside until the acoustic resonance of Daredevil's grappling hook faded high into the night sky toward 50th Street.
"Clean work, blind man," Jack murmured softly, looking around the ruined sanctuary.
Jack walked straight toward the lead Russian operative—a heavy-set man with a broken nose, bleeding profusely onto his designer leather jacket.
Beside the leader lay a heavy black leather briefcase that had popped open during the scuffle.
Jack knelt down beside it.
Inside sat three bound stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills, a encrypted satellite burner phone, and a small black USB drive stamped with a red eagle crest.
Jack's fingers moved smoothly, pulling the cash and the drive into his deep coat pockets.
Total cash taken: $1,500.00.
"N-No..." the Russian thug groaned, coughing up blood as he squinted through his swollen eyes at Jack.
"That's... Yuri's money... Who the hell are you?"
Jack slowly leaned down, pulling his collar down just enough to reveal his eyes.
Using his Poker Face trait, he offered the bleeding man a warm, gentle, and utterly hollow smile.
"I'm the cleanup crew," Jack whispered pleasantly.
He picked up the thug's dropped satellite burner phone, pressing it into the man's bloody palm.
"When your boss asks where his money went... tell him a man in a black coat gave it to charity."
The thug stared at Jack in sheer terror, unnerved by the total absence of anger or fear in Jack's eyes.
Jack stood up, buttoned his trench coat, and walked calmly out the back exit into the rainy alleyway.
A subtle purple notification light flared warmly across his vision.
[ System Micro-Task Completed! ]
Objective: Scavenge high-value intel and resources from a vigilante crime scene without being detected.
[ Rewards Issued: ]
Synchronization: +0.2% (Current Total: 1.8%)
System Cash Deposited: $300.00
Jack walked down the quiet, wet alley, sliding his hands into his coat pockets.
His financial and system status updated instantly:
[ Current Status ]
Host Synchronization: 1.8%
Total Available Cash: $2,254.00 ($454 + $1,500 scavenged + $300 reward)
New Items: Encrypted Russian Mob USB Drive
Unlocked Skill: Basic Lockpicking & Wiretapping Mastery
Synchronization was now at 1.8%.
And for the first time, Jack had over two thousand dollars in his pocket, alongside a high-value encrypted USB drive containing the Russian mob's deeper operational secrets.
"One point eight percent," Jack murmured, looking up at the rain-soaked sky of Hell's Kitchen.
His smile widened, sharp and full of dark promise in the night.
"Now we have real capital. Time to buy some real toys."
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