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FIVE: TAXICAB TORTURE

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Comfort

Noun a state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint.

Comfort can take on many forms, varying from person to person. For some, it may be found in the tender warmth of a loved one's embrace, while others might discover solace in the familiar sting of disappointment that accompanies the absence of a parental figure on an important day.

People often seek comfort in what they know, as the unfamiliar unknown can carry a weight of uncertainty that not everyone is prepared to shoulder. In times of change, the allure of the known can provide a soothing refuge, allowing individuals to navigate the complexities of life with a sense of security and familiarity. Whether this security could be described as such is beside the point.

The experiences that shape us often vary dramatically from person to person; what may feel like anguish to one person can evoke joy in another. The influences of their environment during formative years, such as their upbringing,  play a significant role in how these emotions unfold.

The hard plastic hospital chair dug uncomfortably into Roman's sides as he sat in the waiting area outside a hospital room. Inside, Dimitri and Anatoly were interrogating one of their more... incompetent lackeys about something Roman was too tired to care about.

Despite his casual, bordering on bored, appearance, Roman was on high alert as he non-committedly flipped through the pages of a health book he'd found on a nearby table. Its title, "Blindness 101: 101 Tips and Stories to Help You Understand the Reality of the Blind", piqued his interest, and he wondered whether or not to share his findings with Zorro the next time they met. The distressed sound of hospital machinery broke him out of his thoughts. Not long after, Dimitri and Anatoly emerged from the room he was guarding, looking perfectly calm. Without hesitation, Roman stood and fell in step behind them as the trio made their way out of the hospital, got into a car, and drove off.

The moment they were certain they had put sufficient distance between themselves and the hospital, Vladimir spoke up, his native tongue rolling off his tongue in the same harsh tone it always does. "It seems the man in the mask has a female companion," he chuckled, turning his gaze away from Roman to the ignorant pedestrians strolling along the pavement. His eyes met Roman's as he continued, "If what that fool in the hospital said is true, she might know his identity...be his weakness. I need you to find this bitch of his" Roman's jaw tightened visibly at Vladimir's wording, looking away in an attempt to conceal the icy gaze he knew he now carried. A forced, cold chuckle escaped him as he turned back to face the brothers. "And when I do?"

This time, it was Anatoly who spoke, his tone considerably more subdued than his brother's typical snark. "Find out what she knows. And after that..." His lips curled up in a slight, icy smile. "Well, that's up to you. As long as you take care of it, we don't care what you do to the bitch" His last words were laced with cruel amusement.

Taking a deep breath, Roman stretched his back against the car seat and placed his arms behind his head with a sigh. His sly, almost feline gaze settled back on the brothers. "Fair enough," he crooned, "consider it done."

▬ι═ﺤ

Claire sniffles and wipes her runny nose as she sets down a bowl of cat food in front of the spoiled, chubby feline belonging to a friend of hers who was currently out of town. With another sniffle, she glances back at the cat, which simply stares up at the ceiling, meowing indifferently instead of eating the meal she just placed down in front of it. Frustration evident on her face, Claire made a half-hearted gesture towards the cat, muttering words the feline would never understand either way, "Eat it, you little bastard" only to shake her head as the cat continued to ignore the food. With a sigh accompanied by another shake of her head, Claire leans down towards the bag she placed on one of the chairs by the dining table and takes out a bottle of allergy medication, shaking a few tablets out in her hand before returning the bottle to its place.

Just as she was putting the bottle back in its rightful spot in her bag, a scuffling noise outside of the apartment door caused Claire to tense up. Carefully, she retrieved the phone Mike had given her and approached the door, pressing her ear against the door before carefully peering through the peephole. With a sigh of relief, Claire notices the only person outside her door is an elderly woman pushing a stroller down the hall.

Allowing a relieved smile to grace the planes of her face, Claire shook her head at her absurdity and turned back towards the cat, who was still stubbornly refusing to even lick the food she had given it. With a sigh, she starts walking back towards the chair, finally taking the medication she still had in her hand, and swallowing it dry. Not noticing the silhouettes of people behind the sheer white curtains of the room.

The apartment was eerily silent, the air still tense after the moment with the door, that is, until the sudden sound of a scuffle caught Claire's attention, the hairs on the back of her neck jolting up straight. Thinking it might've been the ungrateful cat, but one look at the feline told her that it was now peacefully fixated on its food bowl. But then, a slight movement in the corner of her eye caught her focus. Slowly, she looked down at the phone now gripped tightly in her hand, and clicked on the sole contact displayed on the screen.

The moment the first ring echoed through the apartment, her assailants struck. One man lunged forward, tackling Claire to the ground and holding her trashed, screaming form in place as the other swept the apartment for any roommates or potential threats. They paid no attention to the phone still ringing until it suddenly broke off, and a muffled voice called out from the abandoned device, going completely unnoticed as Claire desperately struggled against the man restraining her. "Hey uh, one sec-" she managed to break free one of her legs and started to crawl towards the phone, only to be yanked backward by her ankles unable to gain any traction on the slick, laminated floor of her friend's apartment. The voice rings out again, in question this time. "Hey, what's up?" unable to answer, Claire continues struggling against her attackers, terrified grunts escaping past her lips as he desperately tries to reach the phone. "Claire, can you hear me?" the voice on the line now sounded urgent, picking up on the sounds of her struggle it called out for her again and again, and the last thing she heard before a hard blow to her temple sent her into unconsciousness was the desperate plea for her name.

Amid the chaos, as the two burly Russian men roughly carried Claire away, nobody noticed when a gloved hand reached down and curiously picked up the abandoned phone, studying it appreciatively before vanishing without a trace.

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The fear that barreled through his body when he heard her fearful screams was one Matthew prayed he'd never have to feel again as he sped towards the apartment he knew Claire had been; the one where he still hoped she was, keeping up the fight long enough for him to get there. This was all his fault. If they hurt her, tortured her, killed her... it's his hands her blood would stain. Only he would know how she died, when she died, why she died.

When his feet made contact with the uneven stone rooftop of the building he knew to be the one Claire had been, he dashed towards the bulkhead on top of the building and threw open the, thankfully unlocked, door. When he reached the apartment, he noticed that the door had been left open, and although he desperately tried to sense her presence Claire was nowhere to be found.

There was no sign of Claire, no sign of her attackers, and no sign of the phone he had given her. The very phone she had used to call him not even five minutes ago.

The panic that raged through his body quickly transformed into rage. Blistering fury weaved its way through his body, increasing by the second until his body burned with anger. Unable to handle the suffocating influx of emotions, Matthew handled them in the only way he knew how: inflicting his pain onto something- or someone else deserving of it. And as his world on fire transformed into the hell he knew he deserved, it was the wooden dining chair that still held Claire's bag that fell victim to his pain. With a furious yell, the once pristine chair splintered as it hit the nicely painted wall on the other side of the room.

As he stood by the open window, breathing heavily while listening for any sign that might lead him to his friend, his heart stopped at the sound of muffled grunting and screaming identical to those he had heard over the phone mere moments ago.

And when the sounds of the city started to overlap with those of Claire's suffering, and he was left stranded in the middle of the city, Matt Murdock felt more like a failure than ever.

▬ι═ﺤ

His fingers toyed with the loose buttons on the burner phone in his hands as he watched two of Anatoly and Vladimir's lackeys pull out the kicking and screaming woman from the trunk of their worn-down taxi cab, and roughly throw her beaten body down on the concrete floor of the garage they were currently in. She's not given a second to breathe as another male grabs her by the throat and throws her in a chair sitting against the side of the taxi she had been in not even 10 seconds ago.

Roman says nothing as he watches one of the men ­­­­– the one he knows to be Sergei – step closer to the woman, baseball bat held incorrectly in his right hand "You answer, he stops hitting you. Everyone is happy"

She presses her back into the car behind her, trying desperately to increase the steadily decreasing distance between her and the men in front of her, wincing as the tightly bound handcuffs dig into the soft skin of her wrists. "I already told you, I don't know who he is"

Before she has the chance to say anything more, a scream tears its way past her lips as the man swings the metal bat towards her face, hitting the window of the car behind her instead; the filthy glass shattering on impact. He doesn't seem fazed by his actions while she trembles in her seat, her lips wobbling as she tries desperately to hold back the sob that's building in her throat.

"Tell me his name"

She shakes her head in denial, her entire body screaming in protest as she turns in his direction, pleading with her eyes for him to believe her. "I don't know. He never told m-" Her sentence gets cut off by a scream as she sees the metal bat head towards her face again and again, until one of the other men in the garage holds out his hand to intercept the bat, looking at her attacker in warning. "Sergei, Vladimir told us not to kill her until she talks"

With a disappointed glance towards his bat, Sergei lowers the weapon and turns away from the woman. "It gives me no pleasure. It doesn't. But I have been given a job to do, so please," he emphasizes his last words as if trying to evoke any pity in the woman whom he'd just attacked. "Answer the questions that I was told to ask," He pointed the bat towards her face "or I will begin breaking you, a piece at a time"

As she closes her eyes in preparation, the sound of footsteps echoes throughout the garage, followed by the unmistakable noise of metal clashing against metal. With her eyes still squeezed shut in trepidation, Claire freezes when a new, equally accented voice joins the conversation. The voice, while not quite as harsh as the others, carries an unmistakable authority veiled in a thick layer of amused arrogance.

"If I'm not mistaken—and trust me, I'm not—it's me that was given a job to do. Not you, Sergei." With a hesitant flutter, Claire opened her eyes. The first thing to greet her was a hand, adorned with rings that glittered ominously, gripping a baseball bat uncomfortably close to her face. As her gaze traveled along the length of the bat, it finally landed on its owner—a towering figure clad entirely in black, standing as a silent sentinel between her and the man he had so casually named Sergei.

"Seeing as your attempt at interrogation is as laughable as you are, I think it might be best if I took over from here. Wouldn't you agree, Darling?" He casts the last remark toward Claire, the amused glint in his eyes clashing with his otherwise stone-cold expression. One eyebrow arches teasingly as he notices her wide-eyed expression, her fear evident in every hitched breath barreling through her body. His gaze wanders across her features, lingering at her mouth—or the semblance of one—rendered mute by the tape that covered it. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes and a scoff, he gives a resigned sigh. In one swift motion, he yanks the tape away with a harsh tug, the lingering sting causing her eyes to well up with tears.

The look of pure terror on her face quickly transformed into a heated glare as the realization hit her like a ton of bricks; he expected her to respond to his question. "Rot in hell, you bastard," she spat, the words flying out of her mouth with a sudden burst of courage, all pretense of concern for her situation seemingly vanishing into thin air. After all, what did she have to lose at this point? Her life? She still had hope that Mike would show up to rescue her, although that hope seemed to diminish by the minute. "Why don't you go find someone else to fuck with?" The challenge hung in the air, begging for someone to take it.

With a condescending tilt of his head and a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he mused, "Oh, darling, I wish I could, but it appears I'm rather tied down here with you and this idiotic bunch," before giving Sergei a mock pat on the cheek, adding, "no offense." He was met with a tight grip around his wrist as he pulled his hand away, paired with a furious tirade that spiraled in a chaotic mix of English and Russian, oblivious of Claire's keen ears that desperately attempted to catch every word.

"Midas, what do you think you're doing?" With a grunt, Midas tore his wrist from Sergei's grasp and stepped back slightly, his gaze significantly colder compared to how it had been when he had been speaking to Claire minutes before. When he looked at Sergei and the men behind him, his stare had been mocking, yet now it appeared icy and vicious. "I simply... what did you say? Oh, yes! I have a job to do, and you are getting in the way of it." He then seized the metal bat swinging loosely by Sergei's side.

"Now if you don't mind," he said, leaning in closely, before snatching the weapon from his grip "I'll be taking this", then turning to Claire, he added "And this," as he grasped her arm with a surprisingly gentle hold—one less likely to leave bruises than she had braced herself for—before dragging her toward a door she hadn't even realized was lurking in the shadows of the garage.

He swung the door open to an empty room that looked like it was once a storage closet, save for two battered plastic chairs awkwardly facing each other. The walls were full of patches of scratched-off paint and poorly done graffiti that covered almost every inch of the room. Just as Claire began to take in the sorry excuse for a room, Midas shoved her inside, shooting a frosty look at his companions before sealing her fate by shutting the door behind him. Then, with a glance towards the chair farthest from the exit, he commanded, "Sit."

She didn't. Instead, she held her ground near the door, glaring at him fiercely. "What will you do if I don't?" He shrugged nonchalantly, plopping down on the nearest chair with the metal bat propped against it "Are you sure you want to find out? I can see you glancing at the door," he waved his hand dismissively as if inviting her to take her chances, "By all means, escape if you like, but do you really think you'll get far with those idiots waiting right outside?"

After a moment of contemplation, Claire cautiously approached the chair he had ordered her to sit in, her wary gaze fixed on him as she moved. Finally, she broke the silence with a sarcastic remark—one she regretted the second it slipped past her lips. "So, are you supposed to be the 'good cop' in this scenario?"

He smirked at her words, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and Claire suddenly felt more like vulnerable prey caught in a predator's gaze than she had just five minutes ago. "Good cop? Me? With that glare you're giving me, darling, I'd be a fool to try anything remotely close to that tactic." He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "No, I meant what I said about having a job, and you just so happen to be the key to it. The method I choose to get those answers is entirely up to you."

She recoiled in her chair as he rose and began circling her like a predator, and as he paused behind her to say, "Honestly, I believe you when you claim to know close to nothing about the man in the mask, but unfortunately for you, those other gentlemen out there aren't so trusting, which means we're stuck in quite the mess," As if the gravity of her predicament was suddenly lost on her.

Without a moment's hesitation, Claire sprang from her seat and lunged for the baseball bat propped against the one opposite, threateningly aiming it at Midas, who, to her surprise, appeared far from alarmed. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, having the nerve to carry a bored expression on his face, a lazy drawl circling his words as he spoke up "And what, pray tell, are you going to do with that? Hit me?" disbelief laced his final question as he looked her up and down before mockingly raising his hands in the air. 

She steeled her expression to the best of her ability, swinging the bat toward him in a, to him, rather comical attempt at intimidation. He just kept his hands raised with mock innocence and gestured toward the door "As I said before, you're free to leave; I'm not stopping you." Leaving her to deal with the harsh realization that she was in deep trouble no matter which way she turned, the sinking feeling in her stomach tripling in size as she stood there helplessly.

Taking advantage of her moment of indecision, he lunged forward, his hand snatching the metal bat with an urgency that caught Claire completely off guard. Before her instincts could kick in to distance herself from him, he had thrust her against the wall, the cold length of the bat pressed ominously against her throat to keep her there. The brave front she had tried to maintain crumbled in an instant, giving way to an unmistakable panic as a sob erupted from deep within her, practically launching itself into the silence of the room.

He seemed to hesitate for a split second, an internal battle raging behind his eyes, before he promptly terminated it. He leaned in until his face was mere inches from hers, his warm breath caressing her quivering features. His piercing gaze bore into her own, the intensity of his stare almost palpable. "Here's what's going to happen, Claire," he said, the use of her actual name instead of the infuriating nickname he'd been using sending a chill down her spine. His lips curled into a taunting smile as he continued, "I'm going to take this bat and start swinging it around the room. And you," he paused, his grip tightening on the weapon pressed against her neck, "you are going to scream. We need to keep up the façade, after all."

A wave of shock barreled through her, but she forced herself to hold his gaze, even as the weight of his threat threatened to overwhelm her. Slowly, her eyes drifted down to his hands, the bat pressing against her neck with enough force to leave light bruises in its wake.

With a flick of her gaze, she avoided his eyes. Quick as a flash, one of his ring-adorned hands firmly grasped her chin, roughly tilting her head back up until their eyes met. His actions carried a forceful undercurrent, a hidden desperation she couldn't quite place. "You'll give me at least some information about the man in the mask - real or not, I. don't. care." He abruptly released her, the bat hanging loosely by his side as he gave her a cursory once-over, almost as if checking he hadn't hurt her more than intended. Though his manner was coy and threatening, there was no malice in his tone, only a hint of dry humor.

He rubbed a scarred, weary hand over his face, sighing heavily before glancing back at her. Her shaken form was pressed against the wall, desperately trying to put as much distance between them as possible. "I really hope you're a good actress," he murmured, his tone laced with a hint of that dry sarcasm that seemed to lace every sentence he spoke.

With that, the room erupted into chaos.

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The men appeared disgustingly composed, their hearts thumping in a synchronized rhythm as they conversed in a jumbled mix of Russian and English. Matt, straining to listen, could almost catch the faint echoes of a conversation obscured by the heavy concrete of the walls. The near-silent buzzing of the flickering LED lights in the garage grated his senses in a way that made him want to scratch his ears off. It did, however, make it laughably easy to locate the breaker for the lights.

With the lights still out and the Russian men frantically searching for the source, it became almost effortless for Matt to eliminate them one by one. However, as the quickened heartbeats faded to a single one, his anxiety intensified. Where was Claire? Matt was certain he was in the right location; he had to be. The heavy scent of blood permeated the air, yet beneath it, he could still detect the unmistakable fragrance of antiseptic and disinfectant; a scent that seemed to cling to Claire no matter how meticulous she was in her attempts to wash it away.

But then he caught it—a faint, hollow laugh that tore at his ears in a way far more unsettling than any light could ever manage. Without a moment's hesitation, Matt tore off toward the sound, fear propelling his feet forward with an urgency previously unknown to him. But when the door between him and Claire slammed open, he stilled. His senses, previously clouded by fear, hadn't picked up on a second, familiar heartbeat in the room with Claire until it was too late. Claire's heartbeat was hammering through his head while the other seemed only slightly raised, not enough to be fearful but not quite calm either.

"I had a feeling that you were bound to show up, but to be honest, I was hoping I'd have a bit more time alone with Claire before you made your dramatic entrance." That infuriatingly sly voice cut through the air, a sound lingered in Matt's mind, and worked on his nerves like few others could. Matt sensed Claire stiffen at the mention of her name, and his anxiety deepened as he realized that the man standing there, Abaddon, held her tightly against him, tauntingly, using her as a cruel barrier between himself and Matt. The pressure of something heavy held against her throat.

With a fierce, angry yell, Matt dashed forward, forcing the other man to shove Claire aside to escape the barrage of punches Matt unloaded against him. Blinded by anger, Matt momentarily forgot about the weapon that had once been pressed against Claire's neck. That reality crashed back into his mind when a solid object drove into his ribs hard, leaving him gasping for breath just long enough for his opponent to land another punishing strike against his side.

A terrified scream pierced the air from the corner of the room, where Claire sat pressed against the wall, trapped and unable to reach the door without crossing the path of the Russian. The sound struck Matt like lightning, jolting him upright. His instincts kicked in as he delivered a powerful blow to the side of Abaddon's face. The impact elicited a curse that slipped from Abaddon's lips, dropping his weapon, but Matt's attention quickly shifted toward Claire. "Claire, run! Get out of here!" Matt shouted urgently, but before he could offer her any more encouragement, a knee slammed into his stomach, soon followed by a punishing strike to his face. To Matt's surprise, Abaddon let Claire dart past him, his focus unwaveringly fixed on the fight rather than the sobbing captive who had occupied his attention only moments before.

Matt regained his footing almost instantly, landing another fierce blow, this time aimed at Abaddon's ribs. With a swift motion, he shoved the Russian against the dirty wall, boxing him in, before delivering one final punishing punch to the gut. Abaddon doubled over, wheezing, yet there was an odd hint of amusement in his eyes–not that Matt was able to see. "What do the Russians want with Claire?" Matt demanded, desperate urgency lacing his tone.

After a rasping cough, Abaddon spat out the blood that began to pool in his mouth and leaned back against the wall. He tilted his head, looking down at Matt with a sardonic smirk playing at his lips. "No offense to your friend, but she's not what they're after," He said, running his tongue over his blood-stained teeth. "It's you they're interested in, Zorro." With a grunt, Abaddon propelled himself off the wall, using the momentum to shove Matt back, their confrontation far from over.

As the fight reignites, both combatants become so engrossed in their confrontation that they fail to notice the nurse glancing in from behind the doorway. To Claire, it appears as if they're engaged in a twisted dance, with Matt launching attacks while Midas adeptly and tauntingly sidesteps each blow. In an instant, however, the dynamic shifts. Before either Claire or Matt can react, Abaddon has seized Matt, flipping him around and revealing a gun from a holster strapped to his thigh. Matt stands rigid, facing the wall, while Abaddon locks eyes with Claire, who's standing frozen in her spot in shock. The cold metal of the pistol presses against the side of Matt's face, a chilling reminder of the very real threat of death that now lingers inside the damaged room.

Abaddon casts a sly smile at Claire before turning his gaze to the ceiling. He let out a deep sigh and pressed the gun firmly against Matt's face one final time before breaking the tense silence. "You know, this would be a rather precarious situation for you if the gun were actually loaded." With a casual flick of his wrist, he hurled the gun aside, where it clattered against the stone floor, echoing through the stillness of the room. In the blink of an eye, he was back against the wall, but this time, the air felt different – Matt's confidence seemed to falter, and although he technically had the upper hand, it didn't feel like that in the slightest. "You do remember how this played out last time, don't you?" Abaddon leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in Matt's ear, causing Matt to jerk slightly in surprise, his head tilting towards the sound almost instinctively. "If you wanted tonight to end like this, you could have simply asked me out to dinner. Much more enjoyable, wouldn't you agree?" Leaning back against the wall leisurely, he surveyed his surroundings, raising his voice to his regular volume, "I'd tell you to take a good look around, but I'm quite certain that wouldn't do you any good."

Matt stood there, momentarily paralyzed, as a rough hand met his cheek. Instead of the sharp sting he had anticipated, he froze at the unexpected gentleness. Abaddon's finger brushed against the wound on his lip, expertly wiping away the crimson trickle that had plastered against his skin. Just as swiftly as it appeared, the touch vanished, leaving Matt's thoughts racing. "While this has been quite entertaining, I do hope you'll consider my offer for next time," Abaddon said, locking eyes with Claire for a fleeting moment. With a subtle wave of his fingers, he melted into the grimy shadows of the garage, as if he had never existed at all. Claire remained frozen, her gaze fixed on the spot where he had stood moments before, a mixture of disbelief and horror etched across her face. Meanwhile, Matt's mind raced, struggling to comprehend the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded, a phantom touch still hovering over his face.

𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗞𝗦 !

Hello hello. i want to start this off by saying that y'all are growing way too comfortable with putting this fic in your 'never going to be finished' reading lists. Ye of little faith (Jk i understand you but I PROMISE I WILL FINISH THIS.

Second of all: Don't mind me changing tenses as if it's an olympic sport. Tenses are none of my business and now they aren't any of yours' either. capiche? capiche.

Now, how we feeling about this chapter? because im not too sure. I hope you at least like it? Roman and Matt will get more interactions soon i promise, i'm just trying to figure out how to intergrate Roman fully into Matt's path first before writing those. (I might rewrite half of this chapter, I might not. Who knows? Not me, that's for sure)

Thank you all for staying with this story - and me - for all this time!

With lots of love,

Emma <3

word count: 5061 (not proof read yet, so if there's any mistakes let me know!)