Chapter: Deadpool and Daredevil: Death Shot
The night in Hell's Kitchen had its usual pulse—a chaotic hum of neon lights, distant car horns, and the never-ending foot traffic. But tonight, an unnatural silence seemed to hang in the air, as if the city itself was holding its breath. The kind of silence you feel in your bones when something bad is about to happen.
On a rooftop, Daredevil stood, his red suit blending into the shadows of the night. His senses were heightened, his radar scanning the city's rhythm. Every heartbeat, every footstep, every subtle shift in the air was analyzed. And something didn't feel right tonight.
It wasn't the typical violence of Hell's Kitchen—no, this was different. The usual chaos seemed muffled, something far more controlled, far more deliberate was about to unfold.
Then, a distant sound cut through the silence—sharp, jarring. The unmistakable crack of gunfire.
"Not again…" Daredevil muttered.
His radar sense was already pinpointing the location. It wasn't a random act of violence. This was methodical, almost surgical. His mind clicked into action. Daredevil didn't hesitate. His body launched into motion, leaping across rooftops, his billy clubs extending and retracting as he used them to swing from building to building, getting closer to the source.
The sounds of the gunfire grew louder, mixed with the rapid, deliberate steps of boots on wet pavement. But there was something else. Something that Daredevil's radar sense honed in on, something disturbing. Two figures, moving with calculated precision, but only one felt like a true threat.
Daredevil landed silently on the edge of an alleyway, crouched low and scanning the scene. One of the figures was immediately recognizable: a man in red, surrounded by an aura of madness and unpredictability—Deadpool. But the other… Daredevil had no idea. His radar sense buzzed with the sense of danger from this unknown figure. The silhouette was obscured in shadows, but Daredevil could tell the person was a professional, a killer.
He could feel the presence of someone who had been trained for this. This was no ordinary street thug.
"This is gonna be trouble," Daredevil muttered, adjusting his mask as he prepared to make his move.
Deadpool, ever the attention-seeker, saw him almost immediately and flashed a grin. "Well, well! If it isn't the devil in red himself!" he shouted with glee. "Come to stop me? Or are you here to join the fun?"
Daredevil didn't answer right away. His senses were still focused on the second figure. The killer was dangerous. He could feel it in the air, in the way the man moved. Every inch of him screamed precision. This was no mere thug. This was a Death Shot—one of the most skilled, lethal assassins on the planet. And there was no telling how many more of them might be out there.
"You're playing with fire, Wade," Daredevil said, his voice low and focused. "You're going to get yourself killed."
Deadpool laughed, the sound of his insanity cutting through the tension. "Oh, you know me! I don't die. But hey, I'm up for a challenge. And it looks like we've got one!"
Before Daredevil could respond, the second figure moved. Fast. The Death Shot assassin closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, a sleek blade flashing in the dim light as it aimed for Daredevil's throat.
The attack was swift, but Daredevil had already anticipated it. His radar sense flared to life, guiding him as he spun to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike. The assassin was on him again, but Daredevil was faster. His billy club lashed out, striking the assassin's arm and deflecting the blade away from his torso.
"Impressive," Daredevil muttered, focusing his senses. "But you're gonna need more than speed to take me down."
The Death Shot assassin's response was cold and calculating. Without missing a beat, he shifted his weight and countered, attempting to strike low this time, aiming for Daredevil's knees. The move was so clean, so precise, that Daredevil barely had time to react. But at the last moment, he threw himself backward, landing on the edge of a nearby fire escape, his boots scraping against metal as he steadied himself.
"I'll give you this," Daredevil said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "You're good."
The assassin didn't speak. His eyes locked onto Daredevil's, his movements still as calculated as ever. He was analyzing, waiting for the right moment to strike. But before he could make a move, Deadpool decided to make his grand entrance.
"Hey! No fair, you've got all the fun! Mind if I cut in?" Deadpool hollered, twirling a katana above his head before charging toward the assassin.
"Oh, come on. Give me a break, Wade." Daredevil sighed, knowing exactly what kind of chaos was about to unfold.
Deadpool's sword collided with the assassin's, the sound of metal ringing through the night. The fight was on. The two mercenaries clashed, each fighting with wild abandon and manic energy. Deadpool was all over the place—his attacks erratic, unpredictable, and filled with a kind of mad energy that made him almost impossible to predict.
The Death Shot assassin, on the other hand, was the epitome of precision, his movements controlled, every strike calculated to take down his opponent with maximum efficiency.
"Nice moves!" Deadpool taunted, spinning around and narrowly avoiding a strike. "But I gotta warn ya, I'm the best at this game."
Daredevil observed the fight carefully, knowing he had to step in soon. As much as he hated to admit it, Deadpool wasn't the most reliable ally. In fact, he was often more of a liability. His chaotic style was dangerous, sure, but it didn't always sync with Daredevil's more methodical approach.
The assassin, Death Shot, darted forward, his blade aimed at Deadpool's side. But Deadpool was already flipping over the attack, landing with an exaggerated flourish. "Whoa! That was close! Almost got me there, buddy!"
Daredevil didn't have the luxury of watching Deadpool's antics. His focus was on the assassin, who was already shifting positions, preparing for another strike. Daredevil's radar sense flared again, and he could see it coming. The assassin was moving toward Deadpool—his next target.
Without thinking, Daredevil launched himself into action. He hurled his billy clubs at the assassin, sending them twirling through the air like boomerangs. They hit their mark, striking the assassin's hand and forcing him to drop his blade. In the same motion, Daredevil followed up with a flying kick that sent the assassin tumbling backward.
"Hey! Thanks for the assist!" Deadpool called out, clearly unaware of the danger he was in.
"Don't get too comfortable," Daredevil warned, his eyes never leaving the assassin. "This guy's not just some street thug. He's a professional. A Death Shot. And they don't quit."
As if on cue, the assassin rolled to his feet, his eyes locked onto Daredevil's. His movements were silent, fluid, and deadly. The streetlights cast eerie shadows over his black armor, giving him an almost otherworldly aura. He was a living weapon, and he was now aiming for Daredevil's throat.
"Daredevil!" Deadpool shouted from behind, leaping into the fray with reckless abandon. His katana sliced through the air, narrowly missing the assassin's shoulder. "You're gonna let him have all the fun?"
Daredevil dodged the assassin's next strike and used his radar sense to pinpoint the moment to strike. He jabbed his fist into the assassin's midsection with a brutal punch, knocking the wind out of him. But the Death Shot didn't flinch. Instead, he used his momentum to grab Daredevil's arm, twisting it with precise pressure points that sent a jolt of pain through Matt's body.
Deadpool was on the move again, spinning his katanas in a whirlwind of chaotic energy. He was unpredictable, dangerous in his own unique way. The Death Shot, however, was still focused, determined to take them both out.
"You can't keep this up forever," Daredevil said, pain lancing through his arm as he broke free from the assassin's grip. "These guys don't stop. And neither will I."
The assassin gave a cold, almost imperceptible nod. Then, without warning, he vanished into the shadows, disappearing from sight with terrifying speed.
"Wait, what?" Deadpool gasped, looking around in confusion. "Did he just… did he really just…?"
Daredevil's muscles tensed, his senses heightened. He could still feel the assassin's presence, faint but there. "He's not gone," Daredevil said, narrowing his eyes. **"He's just waiting for the right moment."