.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

vi. "not another one of those costumed freaks-"

    TEARING HER EYES AWAY from the evening's news report on the television, Silvia sighed. She scrubbed a bare hand over her eyes, the planes of her face alien even to her own touch. Curious, her fingers strayed from their original course, tracing the uncharted landscape; the slope of her nose, the sharp angles of her cheekbones, jutting out in ways they hadn't seemed to before.

    The recent events were eating away at her, and she knew it.

    "– and a few more eyewitness accounts have been given regarding the so-called 'Man in The Mask', whose sightings have become far more frequent in recent weeks." The news reporter on the screen droned, his monotone voice a stark contrast to the content of the report. With crimes at an all-time high, each broadcast revealed a fresh hell unleashed upon the community; robberies, gang violence, and homicide seemed to be the new norm. Casualties and death were brushed over by those in power, who would rather focus on city-wide construction and renovations than the loss of life. 

    It made Silvia wonder how much longer things could go on before the city consumed itself entirely, razed to the ground, a beast devouring its own flesh in a vicious cycle of suffering. Two snakes locked in a killing embrace, cursed to devour each other for eternity. 

    "In the wake of a headless body being found near the docks in what was believed to be a gang feud, and the suicide of a Hell's Kitchen native only last week, we must ask ourselves the question we've all been thinking. Are we really safe?"

    Casting her gaze to the television, Silvia faltered, frozen by the ghost within the cold glare of the screen. She blinked, studying his unlined face, clear of the stubble and scar tissue that had marred him when they had met. It was an old photo, more than ten years off, but it was clear even then who it was. 

   Stewart. 

    With his unlined, unmarked face, free from the perpetual look of fear he had carried like a brand, the man in the photograph looked different. Almost unrecognisable. Blue eyes alight with good humour, skin smooth and untouched by the chemicals that would ultimately brand him a traitor. 

    What had his life been like before his dealings with Wilson Fisk, Silvia wondered. Had he enjoyed time with friends? With a partner? Had he savoured the feel of the sun's rays on his skin, before fate made him a ghost that haunted the night-shift? Had he been happy? 

    "Amidst this rise in crime, there has been a definite increase in sightings of Hell's Kitchen's own vigilante," he continued. "Who people in the area have christened 'The Man in Black'."

    A new image filled the screen; a grainy snapshot of the aforementioned man. The man who had saved her life only a week before, and who had seemed to think the private investigator was more trouble than she was worth.

    Silvia chewed on the tender flesh of her lip, thoughts carrying her far away from the shadowed comfort of the apartment. She studied the black mask the man wore in the photograph, pulled down almost to the tip of his nose. Who was he, underneath those layers of heroism and sacrifice? What was his goal?

    She thought back to the night they had crossed paths. Somehow, through the adrenaline and fear, she had managed to retain what he had said to her.

    You're going to get yourself killed.

   But in all honesty, what did it matter? What exactly did she have to value in her almost thirty years on the planet? The agency that was barely paying the bills, each day as tedious as the last? The fact that her mother's distant presence was the only relationship she had left? Or the apartment that she returned alone to every night, not daring to speak because her own voice seemed deafening in the silence? 

    As someone whose livelihood was built on seeking the truth, Silvia was certain of one damn thing; life had never given her anything worth losing. 

    "Will justice occur naturally? Or do we need more people like our masked vigilante?"  

    In the silence that followed, the weight of the news anchor's words settled with leaden finality. They were almost beseeching; a plea intended for her and her alone. It was hard to grasp, sitting there at the tiny kitchen table with only one seat, but Silvia mattered. She had the ability to change the very atmosphere of Hell's Kitchen. To bring justice, even by a tiny amount. 

    For what seemed like the millionth time, she thought of Stewart. Pictured the cramped home fear had confined him to, surrounded by nothing but empty bottles and the aching past. He had trusted her with his secrets; put his life on the line to defeat their common evil, and she would repay him in kind. 

    The ring she had stolen the day of his funeral winked at her from the kitchen counter, its presence mocking. The more she stared at it, the more its surface seemed to shift under the glare of the lamps. Undulating ripples within the metal, almost in an imitation of breathing. 

    Not drawing her eyes away, she felt her gaze unfocus; the air around her becoming hazy, thick like velvet and twice as suffocating. 

    Then, taking the golden band between her fingertips, Silvia braced herself for the inevitable. She would take it like a stoic. Would clamp her mouth shut and bite her tongue until it bled, for his sake. 

    It was the least she could do for a dead man. 

    Vision beginning to blur, Silvia let herself be swallowed up by the memory, and almost immediately after that first contact, she understood. The terror of Stewart's final moments, experienced all over again through her clouded eyes. She could feel it – the fear as real as an organ in her chest, piercing through flesh and bone like jagged splinters. Twisting like a knife through the pale armour of her ribs, blotting out the world until all she knew was pain. 

    She felt the drop as he had when they had thrown him from the bridge, before hitting the water's blackened depths with enough force to break. Arms trapped by her sides, all she could do was release a silent scream as her body began to sink; down, down, down to the litter-strewn riverbed where the forgotten things lay. 

    Except he was not a forgotten thing, as much as he had tried to be. Fisk's men had made sure of that. 

    The currents pulled her this way and that, eager children fighting over a favoured toy. River water tugged at her hair as she sank beneath the waves, saturating her clothes with leaden cruelty. And then it was everywhere; her nose, her eyes, her mouth. A forceful thing, it spilled down her throat, coating her lungs with silt the colour of charcoal.

    Through blurred eyes, she could just make out the shadows of people above the water, their silhouettes barely discernible through the darkness. Four figures – all men, it looked like – motionless as she, as Stewart sank beneath the waves. The men above the water stared down into the water, standing sentinel should they resurface. 

    Silvia felt her limbs begin to weaken, growing heavier by the second. The human body could only bear so much before it began to shut down, and at that stage Stewart had pushed the limit three times over. 

    It was no surprise when she felt herself beginning to die. 

    All she could do was thrash against the current, movements becoming sloppy.  Stewart's lungs had first tightened, then relaxed; surrendering completely. They had valiantly reached their limit, before expelling what little oxygen they had left. She felt her heart-rate slow as his had; a battered fighter staying down after one final blow.

    And then she was pitching forwards into nothingness, head weighing down towards her chest as the current carried her into the yawning dark. 

    Silvia hit the table with a jolt, gasping for air. Hands clawing uselessly at her throat, she retched in vain; chest constricting in an attempt to purge the phantom water from her lungs. 

    With a shuddering gasp she closed her eyes, the cold of the tabletop blissful against the fevered flesh of her cheek. Her laboured breaths were the only thing to be heard in the empty apartment, echoing horribly in Silvia's ears as her throat burned. She could still feel the water in her lungs, taste the silt on her tongue. 

    Too real, she thought wildly, tasting metal on her tongue where she must have bitten it. Far too real.

    In movies, drowning always seemed to look peaceful. A slow, gentle thing, like the lull of sleep after a long day. But sitting there, shivers wracking her body as she retched, Silvia knew the truth. The claustrophobia of it. The desperation as the air was stolen from your lungs. The defeat in accepting your fate. 

    Getting to her feet without a word, Silvia caught herself on the edge of the table, cursing at her legs as they struggled to support her. It took too long to make her way into the bedroom; using her surroundings as a crutch to aid her weakened limbs. 

    Then, with a glint of something like steel in her eyes, her gaze found the wardrobe.

    Pulling on the old fencing suit was enough to steady her slightly, the familiarity of it akin to coming home. Something she had done hundreds of times, she went through the motions mechanically, checking off each piece as it was put on. A spare chest-protector salvaged from under the bed, slipped over her head before she scraped her dark curls into a low bun. The plastron, protecting her sword arm, before the jacket that had thankfully not shrunk in the same wash that had tinted it blue.

    After lacing up her flat-soled shoes, Silvia straightened up to face her reflection. The figure that stared back was completely unreadable, rendered anonymous in the cover the gear provided. The black mesh of the visor hid her features, while the ambiguity of the suit would shield her from prying eyes. Worst case scenario.

    Unable to help herself, she raised her eyebrows under the mask, wiggling them as her reflection remained as impassive as ever. 

    Is it a bit excessive for investigating? Maybe. She thought, turning this way and that in the mirror, examining herself with a growing grimace. Will I look like an absolute freak if anyone sees me? Definitely. 

    Turning to face the city, Silvia watched as the lights shone like a beacon in the dark, bathing the skyline in constellations of neon sin. A constant thing, coming alive in the twilight. The headlights of a passing car illuminated her mask for the merest second, but she did not react. Did not shy away from the light, nor the dark that swiftly followed. 

    Silvia cracked her knuckles, before ducking through the window and into the night. 

    Weakness would have to wait. There was work to be done. 

— ¤ —

    TWO HOURS OF SEARCHING LATER, and Silvia's patience was wearing thin. Or rather, it had worn thin about an hour before when she had almost broken her neck trying to navigate the neighbourhood's rooftops. 

    The thought of being found in a crumpled heap on the street below filled her with burning embarrassment, let alone being found there in her makeshift disguise. 

    She thought of the man in the mask as she lowered herself from one rooftop to another, awkwardly dangling until her feet found purchase on the slick concrete. How the hell did he manage to travel around the city so quickly?

    Lucky bastard's gotta have a car, she thought enviously, dropping onto the building's fire escape with a grunt. I doubt he gets on the subway in his black get-up. 

    Silvia sighed. Despite the visceral experience of Stewart's memory, she had no clue where to begin regarding his killers. The Russians probably had countless locations hidden around the city, like the one she had set foot in only a week before. Hideouts that could be forged or discarded on a whim; cut out at the root for two more to take its place. 

    Maybe she had jumped into things too quickly.

    About to turn back towards her apartment, she stopped, stock still as voices floated upwards from the alleyway. Two of which were male, their agitation as abrasive as barbed wire. The other, in thinly-veiled panic, belonged to a woman. Despite the distance between them, it wasn't difficult for Silvia to make out fragments of their conversation. 

    "– deaf and stupid? I said, hand over your purse!" 

    "I told you, I don't have any money on me! Just let us go!" 

    A cold metallic click. A keening whimper. 

    "I won't ask again, you stupid bitch! Give me the goddamn money or I'll spill his blood all over the gutter!"

    The whimpering grew louder, now punctuated by soft sobs, and Silvia realised with a jolt exactly what was going on. 

   Creeping towards the edge of the railing, she peered down at the scene, painfully aware of each movement.

    Two men stood deep in the alleyway, slow steps perfectly synced as they inched forward. One was short to match his temper, holding a switchblade between his fingers as easily as a cigarette. The other was taller, leaner, sporting white medical tape across the bridge of his nose. He shuffled from foot to foot, gaze flitting about the alley as his associate did the talking. 

    Even from the rooftop, Silvia could see how anxiety came off him in waves, practically oozing from each pore. He seemed to be waiting for something. Or rather, someone, and Silvia couldn't help but realise that she was too. With bated breath she scanned the rooftops, certain she would see him.

    But the man in black, usually so diligent, must have had other arrangements that night. The rooftops remained empty. A siren cried out somewhere in the night, unreachable.

    Silvia hesitated, unable to look away – this wasn't her fight. Her dealings were with Fisk and the Russians, she knew that. But that wasn't the only thing she knew. Nestled at the back of her mind, coiled as tightly as a snake around the stem of her brain, was something else. Something that fed on the poison of memories, a parasite in her ailing heart. 

    Helping people makes you stand out. Not only did it paint a target on your back, marking you as prey; it handed your foes a loaded gun and urged them to pull the trigger.

     Her father, after all, had been a sorry example of this. 

    Shaking her head, she tore her gaze from the alleyway with a sigh. Fear ruled her with an iron grip, as it always had. Nothing new.

    " – What did I tell you?" The words were furious, and Silvia didn't have to look to know it was the shorter man who had spoken. "Stop your goddamn crying!"

    The slap that followed was delivered quickly, one deft blow that seemed to bounce off the cage of the surrounding buildings; so loud it seemed jagged in Silvia's ears. 

    Finally, the cries fell silent. And finally, something stronger than fear roiled within the detective; a white-hot lightning storm raging in her stomach. 

     Before Silvia knew what she was doing, she had unsheathed her fencing sabre and was bringing the blade down against the metal walkway of the fire escape with a bang. The sound rang through the still air like a gunshot, making each person below jump. 

    The knife jerked away from the boy's throat, now held in a trembling hand as silence settled in the air once more.

    "What was that?" The taller man asked, voice rising an octave by the last word. 

    "Does it fucking matter?" 

    "It does when some crazy guy in a Party City mask beat the shit out of me two weeks ago!" 

    A scoffing laugh. "You're full of shit, Barrett." 

    "I swear, man, I have the scars to prove i–" The taller man glanced heavenwards, doing a double take as he spotted the figure perched above. He blanched, stepping back into the edge of the dumpster. "Oh hell no," he muttered, eyeing her suit, her sabre. "One of you fuckers running around was bad enough–"

    "Turk." The other grit his teeth, a bite of impatience in his tone. "Now ain't the time to be a pussy." He followed his companion's gaze to where Silvia stood, eyes widening slightly before resuming their original coldness. He called to her, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face. "And what the fuck are you supposed to be, huh?" 

    She regarded him wordlessly. Head tilting slightly to the side, she watched as he squirmed under the mask's unreadable gaze.

    "Hey, I'm talkin' to you, freak!" 

    Silvia balled her hands into fists at her sides, looking down with a jolt as her wrist brushed against the hilt of her sabre. 

    What if... 

    Brain working feverishly, she drew the blade. Although it would do little to no real damage in a fight, she hoped the men would be stupid enough to believe the pantomime. 

    Let's hope the idiots aren't familiar with fencing equipment, she grimaced beneath the mesh of her mask. 

    Despite its harmlessness, there was no doubt that it played the part of a weapon well. With the caustic glow of the streetlamps reflecting off the blade, and the orange hue giving it the illusion of flames, she couldn't help but think of the illustrations of the Archangel Michael her mother had shown her as a child. A warrior of the heavens. A protector painted in gold. 

    Grabbing either side of the metal ladder, Silvia planted her feet and let gravity take her, sliding to the ground. She darted in front of the woman and child, flexing her fingers around the hilt of her sabre. Even out of the corner of her eye, she could tell the little boy's mouth had fallen open, eyes wide and gleaming. Whether out of fear or wonder, she did not know. 

    "What the fuck, man– Is that a sword?" Turk gaped, eyes bugging out of his head. If the situation had been slightly less tense, Silvia would have laughed at how dense he looked. 

    She rolled her eyes. Calling a fencing sabre a sword was just as insulting as comparing a water gun and a pistol. Two completely different things, unfortunately joined by appearance alone. 

    Still, they didn't have to know that. 

    "Nah man, I can't do this shit for the second time in two weeks," Turk shook his head. "Fuck this–" And with that he scrambled backwards, turning tail and fleeing from the alleyway. 

    The remaining man swore under his breath, before turning on Silvia. "Couldn't keep your nose out, could you? Nosey son of a bitch–" He snarled, grasping the switchblade so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Who do you think you are, huh? And what the fuck are you hiding under there?" 

    Before Silvia could react she felt his fingers close around her wrist. Around the tiniest sliver of skin where her suit and glove met. 

    Biting back a scream, she fought the black spots crowding her vision; the shock alone enough to make her pass out. The feel of his rough skin against her own repulsed her, bringing the taste of bile in the back of her throat as his very being invaded her senses. 

     Locked in an unforgiving grip, with waves of pain and nausea crashing over her, Silvia tried to shake his poisonous touch. His intrusion into her soul. She had to fight it. Had to fight him.

    If not for her own sake, then for the people she was protecting. 

    Seeking clarity, Silvia bit down until she tasted blood. The fog cleared, at least slightly; enough for her to wrench her hand out of his grip.

    Another siren pierced through the still air. Was it closer this time, or was it just wishful thinking and the fevered heartbeat in her ears?

    She raised the blade, angling it just right so that the moonlight illuminated the metal. Remaining silent, she brought the edge of the sabre to his neck, leaving the tiniest space between flesh and steel.

    His eyes widened, anticipating the bite of the blade, the warm trickle of blood. But it never came. The sabre's blunt edge would give the whole game away – but the fear it evoked was a tangible thing. 

    The grip on her arm lessened. 

    For a moment, the only sound in the confine of the alleyway was the set of four ragged breaths; the sheer desperation of it enough to make Silvia shiver. The little boy sniffled behind her, and she didn't have to look to know he had dried his tears with his sleeve. A bead of moisture rolled down her cheek beneath the mask, and she was unable to tell whether it was sweat or something else entirely. 

    Time was pulled taut, wound as tightly as a rubber band about to snap.  Another siren cried out in the dark, closer now. 

    "You're fucking crazy, you know that?" He finally spat, shaking his head in disgust before releasing her completely. "Thanks a lot." 

    Casting one final glare at his would-be victims, he backed away before slipping out onto the street. 

    As he rounded the corner and out of sight, Silvia finally allowed herself to fall apart. Shuddering as she thought of his skin on her own, she wasn't surprised to feel her shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs. The pleasure he had gotten from violence still felt raw in her stomach; a poison begging to be purged.

    "Are you crying?" The words were small, spoken in a rasp so quiet Silvia could have sworn she hadn't heard them at all. The little boy stared at her, small face earnest beneath the soft hum of the streetlamps. "Did the man hurt you?" 

     Silvia blearily took in the tear tracks on his cheeks, the bloody lip from where he had been struck. Whatever she had felt, the boy's night had seemed to win in the harrowing department. 

    Shaking her head, she braced herself against the wall. Fingertips brushing against the grimy brickwork, she felt the barrier between flesh and stone; enough to ground her.

    In reply, Silvia slowly turned to face the street, with its light and safety, inclining her head in a pointed nod. Even without the use of words, there was no mistaking what the simple action meant.

    Go. 

    Not waiting to be told again, the woman, guiding her child with trembling hands, hurried towards the street. Rushed steps grew slower, before halting entirely. "Wait!" She called, framed in the mouth of the alleyway. "Who– who are you?"

    Silvia hesitated, before backing away into the shadows of the alleyway. Swallowed up by the cruel night. 

— ¤ —

    SILVIA HAD NEVER BEEN SO EXHAUSTED in all her life. It had been just past four in the morning when she had returned home; eyelids drooping every so often like broken shutters, limbs clumsy and over-tired.

    She had scrambled through the window of her apartment, falling over the sill into a heap on the floor. It was a wonder she hadn't killed herself tumbling off the fire-escape on the painfully slow ascent back.

    Peeling off her visor, slick with condensation, Silvia could vaguely remember telling herself that she would close her eyes for two minutes. Two tiny minutes to rest her eyes before getting up for a shower and fresh clothes.

    She had woken with a start three hours later, still in the suit and suddenly aware of how suffocatingly sweaty the material was.

    Her morning had not improved from there.

    Now, sitting in her usual seat in the boardroom of Nelson and Murdock, Silvia could hardly keep her eyes open. Resting her cheek in one palm, the woman fought to stay awake, gaze unfocused and distant.

    Eyes fluttering closed, she opened them again with a jolt as footsteps approached from behind. 

    "'m awake!" She blurted, pulling herself into a crumpled – but slightly more upright – position. "Oh- Karen it's just you. Never mind." 

    "Long night?" The blonde asked, taking the seat opposite with a small smile, watching as the exhausted P.I resumed her slumped position. 

    "Long week," Silvia yawned, raising the mug to her lips. The coffee's taste alone was enough to wake her; the velvety bitterness making her lean back with a contented sigh. "Okay, maybe this makes up for it."

    "I'm glad it worked," Karen laughed. "I put extra granules in the percolator... you looked like you needed it."

    "You were right."

    Then the front door of the office was swinging open, with enough force to make Silvia jump. Wiping coffee from her jacket, she raised an eyebrow as Foggy barged into the room, carrying enough energy to power a small country. 

    "Is Matt around?" He asked, panting as he peered around the small room, eyes roving about as though he expected to find his friend hiding behind the furniture. 

    Karen turned to the other woman with a frown, getting a shrug in response. "No, sorry– I thought he'd be with you."

    "He's probably catching up on his beauty sleep. I called him last night and it went straight to voicemail as usual... doesn't matter. Take a look at this." 

    He dropped something on the table in front of them with a thump, and it took a few moments for Silvia's tired eyes to focus on what exactly he was showing them.

    Oh, fuck– she thought, staring at the newspaper article before her with mounting horror. Fuck!

    THE WEEPING ANGEL OF HELL'S KITCHEN? It read, the words a screaming herald, searing each damning letter into her vision. Feeling sick, she dragged her gaze to where the subheading lay: New Masked Crusader Spotted; Friend or Foe?

    As if things couldn't get any worse, lying underneath the text, sat a photograph. It was blurred, with the grainy quality of an overly-zoomed image, yet the picture was still distinguishable enough. A lone figure perched atop a fire-escape, captured leaning forward, poised as though watching. Waiting. Unreadable behind a visor, thankfully rendered anonymous by the ambiguity of the fencing suit.

    Someone from the street? Or one of the men? It didn't matter, really. She was screwed either way. 

    "–Vi, did you hear me?" Foggy asked, snapping her out of it. He sounded as though he were very far away, or perhaps at the bottom of the deep end of a swimming pool. 

    "Sorry, what?"

    "I said it's getting ridiculous, isn't it?" He wrinkled his nose at the grainy photograph. "Just what we needed, another one of those costumed freaks wreaking havoc on the neighbourhood!"

    "Foggy!" Karen scolded, drawing her curious eyes away from the paper. "Have you even read the article?"

    "...I skimmed it."

    "Well, if you'd skimmed just a bit better you would've seen this part," she pointed to one line in the middle of the column. "Ana Garcia, who was saved by the masked figure, stated, 'They came out of nowhere! I hate to think what would have happened to my son and I if they hadn't shown up... Whoever they are, I know one thing; they saved our lives last night.'" 

    Silvia blinked at the words, lips parting slightly as the statement echoed in the quiet of the room. Saved our lives. It rang through her mind, reverberating in a widening descent; reminding her suddenly of the knolling of the old bells at Clinton Church. 

    "Wreaking havoc?"  Karen raised one eyebrow deliberately, making Foggy flush crimson. 

    "Okay, maybe I was too harsh. But, I still think the police should do something about these... vigilantes." His mouth twisted with the weight of the word, distaste colouring his tone.

    The two women exchanged a glance, before Silvia spoke up, the words almost impossible to make out. "And what if the police are part of the problem?"

    "What do you mean?"

    "Foggy..."

    "What, you think they're in on this?" 

    Silvia stared at him, raising her eyebrows. "I mean this in the best way, but have you been living under a rock?"

    "No! I–" He spluttered. "Do you really think Fisk has got them in his pocket?" 

    "Rich people pay off the cops all the time," Karen said quietly, blue eyes distant. "It's not unlikely." 

    Silvia nodded, thinking of how the blonde had come to work for Nelson and Murdock. How she had almost been strangled in a precinct jail cell, just another name added to a list of countless others. 

   "Fine, no cops," Foggy raised his hands in a way that clearly meant I surrender. "But none of these masked weirdos either. We take down Fisk on our own, legally. No Man in Black, no 'Weeping Angel'. Just us." 

    The private investigator opened her mouth, protests dying on her lips as Foggy continued. 

    "Besides, why wear a mask if you've got nothing to hide, right?" 

    And despite her best efforts, Silvia couldn't find an answer.

author's note!

WELL it's been a while, but hello!! the summer was very eventful, but filled with a lot of firsts (including getting my dream college course!!)

this chapter has been festering in the drafts for a while as a result, and i'm so glad to finally publish it :')) i'm already working on the next one, so the next update should be a lot sooner 🙏

as always, i hope you're enjoying, and thank you so much for reading!! <3

(also thank you so SO much to Iebeaus for the stunning sign-off gif, i love it so much!! ❤)

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