Unknownfate
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Chapter 100
🕑 Added 2025-04-16 14:24:51 +0000 UTCThe sun had dipped low outside, casting warm shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The trio sat around the cluttered kitchen table, surrounded by takeout boxes, protein bar wrappers, and at least two half-drunk energy drinks.
On the table sat Stark’s tablet—now active—projecting a clean holographic layout of files, maps, and images above the chaos of food wrappers.
Jessica leaned on one elbow, the light from the screen flickering across her face.
“So…” she muttered. “Any of this make sense to anyone?”
Mordred was upside down on the couch, one leg hooked over the backrest, absentmindedly tossing a balled-up napkin at the ceiling.
Matt sat forward, fingers steepled under his chin. Despite not being able to see the hologram, he listened to the brief snippets of audio notes and Stark’s metadata like he was absorbing every detail by sound alone.
“Some of these names match the chemical shipments from the warehouse raid,” Matt said finally. “There’s a pattern. Stark’s intel includes off-the-books docks, some medical fronts, and a place marked ‘Haven House.’ That one keeps popping up.”
Jessica frowned. “Sounds like a rehab center.”
“Too many inconsistencies,” Matt said. “Deliveries to nonexistent patients. Payments from shell accounts. Staff who don’t show up in any employment records.”
Mordred rolled over, finally interested. “Sounds evil.”
“It’s a target,” Matt confirmed. “Could be another front for them.”
Jessica sat up straighter, suddenly more serious. “Then we check it out?”
Matt nodded. “Tonight. Quietly. This time, we do not steal any monster trucks.”
Mordred groaned. “No promises.”
Matt looked like he wanted to bury his face in his hands but refrained. “I’ll scout it first. You two stay out of sight until I give the signal.”
Jessica grabbed her jacket. “Or until we hear fighting and assume you’re in trouble.”
Matt didn’t even flinch. “That’s... expected.”
Mordred grinned. “Alright. Mission time, huh? Let’s see what kind of cult-hospital-horror we’re walking into.”
-----
The black car rolled to a slow stop across the street from a tall, unassuming brick building wedged between two aging warehouses. A rusted sign above the door read Haven House – Wellness & Recovery. A few potted plants sat by the front steps, sun-bleached and dead. The windows were mirrored, but too clean. Too perfect.
Matt Murdock sat in the front passenger seat, motionless. His cane rested against his leg, unused. He didn’t need it to know something was wrong.
“No screams. No crying. No smells of bleach or medicine,” he muttered, head tilted slightly toward the building. “But I can hear ten heartbeats in the front lobby. Too steady. Like they’re waiting.”
Jessica leaned forward from the backseat. “Waiting for what? A group therapy session?”
Mordred stretched her arms overhead in the back, completely unbothered. “Maybe for us to kick in the door. I could go ask.”
“No,” Matt snapped. “We do this quietly. We still don’t know what they’re really hiding in there.”
“Oh come on,” Mordred groaned, slouching into the seat. “We know they’re Hand. We know they’re evil. And we know they’re running this as a front. What else do we need?”
“We need to be smart.” Jessica said, sounding more like Matt than Mordred. “Even if this place is connected to the Hand, it’s likely not their HQ, so we need to find clues, not burn the place to the ground.”
Mordred huffed. “Fine. But if I get bored again, and another monster truck derby pops up, I’m going.”
Matt ignored her. “I’ll go in first. Alone.”
Jessica frowned. While Mordred was unreliable, she was strong, and Matt wasn’t only blind, but also a normal human, even weaker than her. So she couldn’t help but worry he might get in trouble. “You sure?”
“I can pass as blind, curious, maybe even someone in recovery. They’ll assume I’m harmless. I’ll listen. That’s all.”
“And if they sniff you out?” Jessica asked.
Matt’s jaw flexed. “Then I’ll fight my way out.”
Mordred perked up. “And then we go full medieval?”
“Only if I don’t come back in ten minutes,” he said as he stepped out of the car.
The moment Matt stepped through the glass doors, the air changed.
It smelled too clean. Like bleach and artificial lavender. A chemical curtain masking something sharper underneath—iron, oil, antiseptic.
He paused just inside the lobby, white cane tapping gently across the polished floor. His sunglasses reflected the soft lighting above, though he didn’t need them. He already knew the space was too empty, too quiet. The receptionist’s breathing had changed the moment he entered. A little faster. Shallow.
“Hello?” he said softly, voice calm, disarming. “I was told this was… Haven House?”
A few heartbeats passed before the woman behind the desk replied. “Yes. It is. Are you looking for someone?”
Her voice was smooth, professional—but there was a stiffness underneath it. Something she was trying too hard to keep neutral.
Matt gave a sheepish smile, tilting his head just slightly. “No, actually. I… wasn’t sure where else to go. I heard this place helps people. I’ve had a rough few months.”
A pause. Her heart skipped.
“We specialize in very specific forms of rehabilitation,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “We’re a… private facility. By referral only.”
“Ah,” Matt said. “Of course. I guess that explains why it’s so quiet in here.”
He turned his head just slightly, listening.
Somewhere below—beneath the floor—he caught the faint hum of machinery. Not HVAC. Something heavier. Rhythmic. Like pistons, or automated hydraulics. And voices. Muffled. Two people arguing quietly behind a door just off the hall. Their footfalls didn’t echo like the ones above. Sound-dampening foam. Or concrete. Definitely underground.
He also heard the other people in the lobby room, even if they pretended not to be there, not moving, not making a sound. Clearly trying to make him think the place was empty.
“I’ve been to group therapy,” Matt said casually. “Didn’t work. Thought maybe something smaller. More focused. Maybe that’s what this is?”
She didn’t bite.
“I’m sorry,” she said, standing. “But we don’t take walk-ins. And we’re at capacity.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” he said, still smiling. “Even if it’s just to talk to someone. Get a feel for the place.”
The receptionist’s breath hitched. Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk a little tighter.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “You’ll need to leave.”
And now he heard it—behind the wall behind her desk. The distinct click of a security intercom being pressed, then released. A second heartbeat—faster—moved past somewhere deeper inside. Someone was watching.
Matt inclined his head. “Right. Sorry to bother you.”
He turned slowly, letting the tip of his cane tap lightly on the tile. As if he really didn’t want to trip on anything on his way out. But his ears were focused downward.
That humming below was too steady, too mechanical. Whatever was down there, it wasn’t for rehab.
And whatever Haven House was selling, it wasn’t salvation.
Matt quickly made his way over to the car and, from there, had them head back to their apartment while being careful not to be followed, even if Kingpin already knew where they lived.
He clearly didn’t dare cause more problems, not when the apartment belonged to the one and only Tony Stark.
Jessica looked up from the holo-projector Tony had installed on the coffee table. Mordred was upside down on the couch, legs kicked over the backrest, half-watching the flickering blue 3D schematics projected above her.
“There’s machinery under the building. Piston rhythms, some kind of hydraulic systems. Way too industrial for a rehab center. And the receptionist? Heart rate like a cornered rat. She hit an intercom the second I started asking questions.” Matt said, hanging his coat.
Jessica sighed, waving a hand through the air to spin the blueprints. “Alright, Daredevil. Here’s where it gets annoying. You can’t see this, right?”
“Still blind, last I checked.”
“So there’s this hallway on the west side. The floorplan says it ends in a supply closet.” She leaned closer, pointing. “But the wall looks reinforced. And the heat signatures Stark’s tech picked up say something’s definitely behind it.”
Matt listened, picturing the shapes. “Could be a concealed service elevator. Or an access shaft.”
“There’s also this weird gap between the boiler room and what’s listed as ‘storage B’ on the lower level,” Mordred added, sitting up finally. “Like a big empty square where no doors go. Jessica called it dead space.”
Matt tilted his head. “Then it’s not dead. It’s hidden. Probably their lab.”
Jessica nodded. “Or holding cells.”
“Or a punch dungeon,” Mordred muttered. “That’s a thing, right?”
Jessica gave her a look. “No.”
“Should be.”
Matt stood, walking toward the projection. “Okay. If we know the schematics are lying, then we need to map it out from the real world. Find a way to get in without walking through the front again.”
Jessica folded her arms. “So what—dress up like plumbers and sneak through the loading dock?”
“No. You two aren’t exactly subtle,” Matt said dryly. “We need to find service access, vents, delivery routes. Something low profile.”
Mordred frowned. “You mean, like… stealth?”
“Yes.”
“Ugh.”
Jessica smirked and gave Mordred a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. If all else fails, you can just steal another truck and crash it into the building.”
Matt sighed. “Please don’t.”
“Not promising anything,” Mordred grinned.
-----
The night was quiet. Too quiet. The wind stirred the edge of Mordred’s coat as she crouched on the rooftop ledge, looking down at the dimly lit Haven House below.
“This is dumb,” she muttered. “We should just kick the front door in.”
Matt’s head turned slightly. “And tip off everyone inside before we find anything useful? Great plan.”
Jessica crouched beside them, cracking her knuckles. “I vote for kicking the door in too, just for the record. But I’ll settle for punching someone after.”
“Focus,” Matt said. “There’s rooftop access here. I heard it—old maintenance hatch near the east vent. Quiet way in.”
“Boring way in,” Mordred grumbled. “But fine.”
They crept to the hatch. Jessica handled the lock with surprising care while Mordred hovered impatiently. Once inside, they slipped through the narrow service corridors, the stale air thick with chemical cleaner and something… foul.
Jessica was the first to wrinkle her nose. “This place smells wrong.”
Matt sniffed once, and his face hardened. “Formaldehyde. Blood. Rot.”
They moved cautiously through a few narrow halls before descending a metal staircase, eventually reaching the second floor, then a long, flickering hallway labeled surgery.
That was when the smell hit them full force.
“God,” Jessica said, recoiling.
The trio turned the corner—and froze.
Inside the surgical rooms were bodies. Half-covered, partially dissected. Organs missing. The walls were lined with surgical trays, coolers, and rusting equipment. Some of the remains were shriveled like they’d been drained dry. Others still had hospital tags on their wrists.
Mordred didn’t speak. Not at first. Her hands were trembling—then balling into fists.
Matt, turning his head slightly, whispered, “They’ve been doing this for a while. I can hear machines—downstairs. Excavation. Big ones.”
Jessica looked like she might throw up. “They were harvesting people. Just... cutting them up.”
“They were defenseless,” Mordred muttered. “Sick. And they did this to them.”
She didn’t wait. With a wordless roar, Mordred kicked the nearest metal door straight off its hinges. It hit the far wall with a deafening crash.
Alarms began to blare. Someone must have been watching.
“Well,” Jessica muttered, cracking her knuckles. “Guess stealth’s off the table.”
“Guess so,” Matt agreed, fixing his mask.
The hallway burst into chaos.
Red emergency lights flared, flashing across the bloody tiles as Mordred surged forward like a missile, eyes blazing, gauntlets crackling faintly with restrained mana.
The first guard that stepped out to investigate barely had time to shout before Mordred hit him like a truck, sending him flying back through a wall with a bone-rattling CRUNCH.
“Where are the rest of you hiding?” she growled.
Two more thugs rounded a corner with stun batons raised. Mordred didn’t even slow down—she grabbed a metal gurney and hurled it like a discus. It took both men off their feet and crushed them against the corridor wall with a clang.
Behind her, Jessica charged in next, planting her feet and grabbing the closest guard by the chest. With a snarl, she hurled him into a steel cabinet so hard the door bent inward like tin foil.
“I hate hospitals,” she muttered, ducking a swinging baton and responding with a punch that cracked ribs.
Daredevil followed in their wake—not as loud, not as flashy, but brutal in his own right. He ducked under wild swings, his batons cracking knees, elbows, ribs with practiced efficiency. One man tried to run—Matt tripped him with a sweep and drove a baton into his solar plexus, knocking him out cold.
“There’s more coming,” he said, breathing heavy. “Elevator just came from the basement.”
Mordred’s head snapped up. “Good. That means they know.”
The elevator doors opened.
Ten men poured out, heavily armed. Submachine guns. Tactical gear.
They didn’t get a shot off.
Mordred was on them in an instant. Her body moved faster than their hands could raise their weapons. She punched one through the wall, flipped another overhead, and used the third as a shield against incoming fire.
Jessica tackled one from the side, ripping his gun away and smashing it over his head like a bat. “Wrong floor, assholes!”
Matt ducked into the fray, weaving through shadows. His batons connected with painful, pinpoint strikes—throat, jaw, wrist, knee. A sweep of his leg brought two men down, and a throw sent his baton flying into a third’s face.
It was over in seconds.
“Damn,” Jessica panted, wiping blood from her lip. “That was almost fun.”
“Not over yet,” Matt said, nodding toward a sealed door marked authorized personnel only. “That’s where the machines are.”
They forced the door open. Inside was a narrow freight lift—clearly modified—and down it went into the dark.
Mordred stepped inside first. “I’m done with scalpel cowards. Let’s see what monsters they’ve got buried.”
(end of chapter)
Another little raid, just our adorable little Mordred out on an adventure, and showing off another evil of the Hand, gotta justify the number of dead ninjas or all the Naruto fans will come after me!
