Daredevil 2099UG #3

What is a city?

Well, the answer should be simple really.

A city is an organism.

The concrete and glass is it's skeletal structure.

The business and corporations are it's circulatory system.

The economy represents it's general state of health.

The varied and various medias provide sensory functions.

The political structure acts like nervous reactions.

And all the little people running about their day to day lives are the spark of life. They repair, maintain and provide everything the city needs to function.

Quite often though, a city will have an infection.

Low health standards. Poverty. Crime.

Sometimes the infection grows and expands like a cancer, tainting parts of the city and those parts of the city cease to function properly until some of good people come to repair it.

Sometimes the people can't fix the tainted part. Sometimes the cancer can't be removed no matter how sharp a knife is used. Sometimes the politicians decide to right it off as a loss.

They compromise their city.

They contain the cancer to one area and make sure it doesn't spread.

Take Nueva York for example. Thriving teeming metropolis. Seat of Alchemax. Seat of Stark/Fujikawa. Home to more black card holders then any place else. A corporate paradise.

Then you go down from the fault line.

Down from Thirteenth.

Nueva York's infection is obvious, even though it's citizens might wish it were otherwise. Everything down from the fault line is a blight. Poverty. Disease. Home made narcotics. Rampant crime. It can't be regulated, hidden or got rid of.

Those who live up from Thirteenth now simply try their best to ignore it.

Up good. Down bad. Remember that.

There are agents put in place to fight back the infections like that of Nueva York. Antibodies. The law. In this case, SHIELD and the Private Eyes.

But what happens if the infection runs deeper? What if the true taint isn't visible and the antibodies introduced into the system, by the system are as corrupt as the system that introduced them, and the whole organism is slowly dying. Choking on it's own amoral filth.

Then you need to introduce outside agents to clean up the organism, and get rid of the hidden taints. The knife to cut out the masked cancers. True justice, where the law provides no justice at all.

Some would call them heroes.

Some would call them dissident scabs.

To the man cloaked in shadow atop the burnt out hovel in the center of Downtown, he, and the others like him, are only doing what they are able to do to make the world they exist in a better place for those around them.

It's been just over a month since he joined the ranks of the Punisher and Spider-Man. An agent of justice.

Since that time he'd not returned to the life he knew before. Friends. Family. His job.

There wasn't much time left before he had to return. Go back up from the fault line. He'd learned about life below again. Now he had to use that knowledge.

The Daredevil's eyes flash a deep crimson as he contemplated his return. He knows it won't be easy having learned what he has, but there was little choice. He has obligations that need to be met in his other life.

* * * * *
Direct From the 2099 Underground:

The Daredevil 2099 Underground # 3
Sins of the City 3 of 12

Words by Kyle Rivest
Chief Edits by Michael Shirley
Assistant Edits by Chris Lough
* * * * *

Larid Killian sits at his desk for the first time in six weeks.

The acquisitions department head looks at his computer terminal. Time to find out what he's missed in his absence. The work load should be light though for at least a week or so, considering what's happened in the corporate world. Nor does he expect anything to be of particular interest. Most matters could be handled by new employees. The corporate world of acquisitions was a devious, dirty, underhanded, cut throat world, but it was often the same scenario, different item, over and over, ad nauseam.

Yes, yes. Boring. Old news. Boring. Boring. All well and good. Expected. Boring. Stop.

There.

After all that had happened recently, Larid hadn't expected anything to stand out to him, but he'd been wrong before too.

He leans over punches up a command on his console. A face he's quite familiar with appeared.

"Hello, Stuart."

"Larid! When did you get back? I'd thought you were...on vacation." Killian just nods a moment. He knows the circumstances surrounding his six week departure are somewhat vague.

If one were to assume that all Kronos department heads were poured from a mold, then one would also assume that only Larid Killian or Stuart Cromwell is one, and not the other. Both are neat and meticulous in appearance, but Larid is stark, preferring dark suits of severe cuts where as Stuart is loud, often wearing the most flamboyant colours available. Larid is so thin as to be called skeletal behind his back on occasion, and Stuart sports a healthy paunch. The head of Kronos Acquisitions boasts a full head of long silver hair, but the head of the Kronos Corporate Legal Office is nearly all bald sporting only a black goatee.

"Stuart, listen a moment. Would you mind sending Eric Nelson to my office?" As always, the man's voice is cold and clam.

The wide face on the other end of the transmission grins conspiratorially. "Of course, of course. Going to drag him over the coals a bit?"

A slow nod. "Something like that."

"Give it a moment and he'll be right there. Do you know when the service is?" There's little doubt in Larid's mind that Stuart has already bought a suit for the event.

A slight shrug. "No. I don't believe they've set a date yet. I wouldn't worry to much about it though. More likely then not they're planning a small civil ceremony." The acquisition department head added that last bit just to rib Cromwell, knowing he no doubt believed he'd be invited to some lavish spectacle.

The two men signed off and Larid waited for the young corporate lawyer to arrive in his new offices. It wouldn't be long before he did. Eric Nelson wouldn't keep any of his superiors at Kronos waiting, least of all Larid Killian.

A small chime rings. Larid is fond of chimes. He presses a button. "Yes, Marcus?"

"Eric Nelson to see you, sir," the secretary announces over the comm-unit.

"Send him in."

The young blonde lawyer enters and waits. Larid is far more fond of Eric Nelson then he is the Head of the Kronos Corporate Legal Offices. He's far more like himself. Neat. Tidy. Quite. Hard working corporate man. He wouldn't be engaged to Larid's daughter otherwise. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Killian?"

"Eric. Come in, boy. Sit down." Larid gestures to the only chair other then his own in the office. "How've you been while I've been gone?"

The young man shrugs. "Well enough, sir."

Killian nods. "One would think so, considering that I wasn't the only one who's taken a leave of absence as of late. My files say you've just got back yesterday."

"Yes, sir," Eric confirms. "I needed some time off to relive some stress, sort things out in my head."

Again the nod. "And did Lindsey go with you?"

There's a brief pause. "Uhm...No, sir. I needed some time alone to think and I didn't want her to use up all her vacation time babying me."

A slight grin crosses the older man's face. "I hope you're not having second thoughts, are you?"

Surprise flashes in Eric's eyes. "No! No, sir. Nothing at all like that. I just needed to get away from it all. Stress. You know how it is."

Larid nods again. "Indeed I do. And I've a notion where all this stress has come from. It would seem that you've a run in with my department. Would you care to tell me about that?"

"Sure. No problem." Eric clears his throat. "About two days before you left, a Dr. Gunderson--Gundersam?--Gunderson came into my office asking me to take a case for him."

"And what case was that?"

"Well, Dr. Gunderson seemed to feel that Kronos was trying to cheat him out of a patent on some invention or other. He came to me claiming to know my father and figured that would make me take his case." Eric shrugs. "I told him that if Kronos was offering a bid, it was probably fair. He stormed out."

Larid waits a moment to see if the young lawyer has anything else to add. It would appear that he doesn't. "So why was my department bothering you."

The boy seems somewhat nervous at this question. Which is completely understandable. "Well, Gunderson committed suicide the day after he was in my office. Your people just wanted to know if he had given me anything, or any clue as to who they could contact to try and buy his new tech."

"And that's what caused you to run off to relieve stress?"

Eric shrugs again. "Not just that. Everything seemed to be moving to quickly and coming to head so soon. I had some back vacation time, so I used it."

The head of Kronos Acquisitions waits a moment and nods. "Well enough then. I intend to read over the files on this particular matter personally. It seems quite interesting thus far. I'm assuming I can call on you if I have any questions?"

"Of course. Whatever you need."

"Good." Laird Killian paused again, letting the single word hang in the air. "Now, I'm sure you're busily preparing your case for some important matter, so I won't keep you any longer. Stop buy any time you like, Eric. And give Lindsey my love. Tell her to call her poor, aging, lonely father." A smirk crosses the silver haired man's face.

Eric smiles. "I will do so, sir."

The young lawyer exits his offices, and Laird turns back to his files.

* * * * *

Neo-Victorian chic is most popular with teenagers and young adults whom are wealthy due to no effort or planning on their own part. They had a gold card put in their hands at birth and now call themselves cultured because of it. Primarily they spend time in cafes and clubs which cater to people whom have too much time on their hands and too little constructive skills to occupy such time.

Rena Ross is firmly entrenched within the Neo-Victorian lifestyle. She loves the freedom her social circles affords her and perhaps takes to much advantage of it. Her friends consider her something of an oddity though.

Rena isn't always content to sit about drinking java, gossiping about close friends and corporate figures alike. She's a bit more adventuresome and a positive thrill to be about at times. Rena has the especially deviant hobby of exposing minor corporate scandals on a free news feed she's established a contract with.

From time to time, Rena even ventures Downtown to interview the poor extorted and abused peoples whom live there.

It's a dangerous occupation, expressing non-corporate opinions, but ever since Doom's presidency it's been her right. A right she's taken full advantage of. Alchemax's fall just served to further prove that freedom of speech and expression is on the rise again.

And besides her status amongst her peers is escalated by her sheer audacity for making the broadcasts.

Her recent focus on the vigilante known only as the Daredevil who has recently made an emergence Downtown and upsetting corporate interests and projects has tripled her viewer ship. Rena Ross is beginning to believe that her broadcasts might actually have some sort of impact.

She sits at a small table in Neon Heaven, an Uptown Neo-Victorian cafe where she's considered a local celebrity, wearing her trademark smirk as she sipped at her java. Rena Ross contemplates her latest broadcast. SHIELD slaughtered a handful of innocent peoples trying get the Daredevil. Her expose aught to increase her viewer ship further.

A tall, broad shouldered and regal looking man sits down in the chair across from her. His hair is black and slicked back along his skull. His suit is well made though it seems to be of a militant cut. His eyes are hidden from view by a pair of mirrored shades.

Rena doesn't recognize the man, and he doesn't seem the type to spend much time in a place like Neon Heaven. She takes a moment to surreptitiously brush her blue bangs out from the way of her eyes and peer at the man over the rim of her purple lens spectacles. "Can I help you?"

"Miss Rena Ross?" His voice is hard and cold, though low enough that no one in the room but herself could hear unless they strained themselves.

She shrugs. "That's what the credits say."

The man's mouth is a thin hard line. Her flippant response has done nothing to impress him. "My name is Ramses Moore. I am here representing the interests of the Kronos Corporation. A Mr. Ilid Payne would like a word with you."

Even though she'd been paying more attention to Downtown then Uptown recently, Rena knows that Kronos has become a major player in the corporate world since Alchemax was cannibalism. Ilid Payne's name means nothing to her though, and the whipping boy he sent to get her attention doesn't impress her much.

"Look, I don't care who the shock you ar--"

"Language, Miss Ross. And I suggest you make this easy on the both of us." Moore's voice doesn't alter tone or pace at all. "I do have a weapon pointed at you right now and I'm more then prepared to use it. Now, if you'll accompany me."

* * * * *

Information about the heroic age isn't easy to come by, but if one looks hard enough, one can find anything.

Take Samuel Essead for example.

Over the past three days he has become the worlds leading expert on Matt Murdock, a blind lawyer who lived during the heroic age. Matt Murdock led a double life as the twen-cen hero with senses beyond any other living creature and no fear, Daredevil. As Matt Murdock, Daredevil was an agent of law and full partner in the law firm of Nelson and Murdock. Under his guise as Daredevil, Matt Murdock was an agent of justice and the self proclaimed protector of Hell's Kitchen, an area of what was then the city of New York.

His dual identity was revealed to the world at large only after his death, though the details of that event had eluded Samuel thus far. Still though, the man was interesting. What had begun as a simple curiosity had over the last three days become an inspiration to the young man. Murdock's dual life. The trials he faced. Law by day, justice by night. Blind, but with an ability to see the world more clearly then anyone else. A knight in red pajamas.

Fascinating.

Essead continued scanning archives, gobbling up any information available.

To learn about the present, you often had to look to the past.

* * * * *

"Where are we going?"

Ramses Moore doesn't spare Rena a glance, instead keeping his eyes on the road. "Downtown."

She is understandably confused by the response. "I thought some Kronos Head wanted to talk with me. Why are we going Downtown?"

"I sent Mr. Payne a message as soon as I spotted you in the cafe. He will contact me when he's ready to speak with you." Rena is beginning to tire of her abductor's cold monotone voice. It's somewhat creepy the way it never changes.

Also, she's somewhat annoyed at what Moore is saying. "You mean you knew I'd just come along. I might have refused or run. Did that possibility ever occur to you?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Still no alteration to his voice. "And, the eventual result would have been the same."

* * * * *

A roundhouse kick rocks the practice dummy on it's base.

The follow up hook kick would break a real opponent's neck.

A flurry of five punches pushes the hundred kilogram dummy back a meter.

Without pause, a leaping knee impacts the dummy where a human's nose would generally be and rocks it even harder.

As the attacker lands his back fist impacts solidly with the juncture of the dummy's neck and shoulder.

Watching the continued pummeling from an adjacent observation room separated by a piece of one sided glass, Carol Takagawa takes notes.

"So how is he doing?"

"Very well. Better then we could have expected really," Carol answers. She turns to look at Mikhel Lambert before continuing. "Hiro's stamina is incredible. Only years of training give people the kind of strength he now has. His agility is peak human. Hand-eye coordination amazing."

A smug grin crosses Lambert's broad face. "So the project was a success then, Doctor?" He's a plain man, brown hair, brown eyes. A bit wide around the middle, but utterly unremarkable otherwise.

Carol Takagawa is quite striking on the other hand. Very petite and of obvious oriental heritage, though her grey eyes betray some mixed blood. Her hair is short and dark and she dresses in a very conservative manor. Right now she's giving Mikhel Lambert a flat look of indignation. "Hiro Tseung might very well be the best weapon we have against the corporations. If the results of his mission don't prove that, he's been attacking that dummy relentlessly for the past three hours without pausing, or even slowing down. He's still hitting twice as hard as any of the other subjects. Yes, I'd say the project has been a success."

<B>Next Issue: Rena Ross is trapped in the underbelly of Downtown with one of Kronos' hired killers. The Daredevil copes with normal life for the first time after putting on his costume. And just who are all the people in this issue?</b>



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