Daredevil 2099UG #3

People are slaves.

Everyone is a slave to something.

Money.

Drugs.

Power.

Responsibility.

Something.

Everyone.

Some volunteer for that slavery. They shackle themselves to a job or an addiction or someone else's expectations. They see these things as sources of pleasure, wrongly equating pleasure with happiness.

Other times slavery is foisted upon them through design or circumstance.

The bonds are just as strong and just as heavy regardless of how they're procured.

Slaves walk through the street, shoulders hunched by the weight of the of their slavery to the system. No one walks proud or tall lest they invite attention to themselves. Attention and notice are simply invitations to be stopped.

To move through the world, you need to move from place to place as fast as you can, quick short steps with your arms close, avoiding the eyes of everyone else and any physical contacts. Psychologists call this a don't touch me pose.

Some people can't help but attract attention though.

Costumed heroes are such a people. Tall and proud.

But no less slaves then anyone else.

Because everyone is slave.

* * * * *
Direct From the 2099 Underground:

The Daredevil 2099 Underground # 4
Sins of the City 4 of 12

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

The vehicle pulls into an alley. Not any alley in particular. Just an alley. It's dark, as most Downtown alleys are in the evening, and has a variety of unpleasant smells emanating from it, as most Downtown alleys do regardless of the time.

"Why are we stopped?" The voice is one used to getting answers when asking questions. Like the person projecting it, one Miss Rena Ross, the voice is cultured and imperious, though for once it lacks the usual arrogance.

She leads the eliciting double life of an independent reporter and spoiled Uptown Neo-Victorian.

Rena sitting upon the back seat of the vehicle in the alley deep in Downtown. The seats are synthetic leather, the windows are tinted, and there's both a state of the art sound system and vid-feed installed. Far better accommodations then the vast majority of the rest of Downtown's currant occupants.

Sitting in the front seat, piloting the now stopped vehicle is Ramses Moore. His voice is strong and flat and never changes tone. "We're waiting."

He hurts people that the Kronos Corporation tells him to hurt.

Information is the life-blood of any journalist. Outlaw, corporate or otherwise. Unfortunately for Rena, Ramses Moore isn't the kind of person who likes the sound of their own voice.

"And how long are we going to wait here?"

"As long as it takes."

Silence.

It's taking a great deal of restraint for the journalist not to fly into a tantrum and start yelling at her kidnapper. She's already learned that he has very little patience for that sort of behavior and has a welt rising on her cheek to prove it. She brushes the lock of blue bangs which is the only hair she has out from her eyes and tries again. "Have you considered that this Payne guy isn't going to call tonight? We've been driving around for over two hours and he hasn't contacted you yet. Maybe he went home early or something?"

"I doubt it."

Rena's fists are hurting slightly from being clenched into fists. Her blue lacquered nails are digging into her palms. "And if he did?"

There's no pause before Moore answers, "Then we'll keep waiting."

A sigh emanates from the captive.

Silence.

"This thing play any music?"

Ramses Moore flips a switch on the dashboard. Some pop star bimbo's voice begins to broadcast over the sound system singing about how happy she is. Corporate manufactured music at it's worst. A slight flicker of a grin flashes on the militant man's face. Rena grimaces but it's better then the silence.

* * * * *

The Daredevil sits in darkness of his condo. It's been over two months since the last time he was here and it no longer feels like home. Ironically he has been feeling things with a lot more accuracy these days. Despite the darkness, he can see the familiar surfaces; cold lifeless paintings on the walls, wide screen vid-player, expensive sound system, state of the art kitchenette.

Things. Once he thought them symbols of status, his status, in the corporate Uptown world. He would come here to this moderately large apartment after a day of work, play some sterile corporate music on his expensive sound system, eat a pre-made pre-packed nutrient-enriched meal, turn out the lights and go to sleep.

Now it's dark and he's still wide awake. And he sees things in a whole new light.

Ever since that meeting with one Dr. Allen Gunderson he's been seeing things as they really are.

His vision is telescopic and he can see in the ultraviolet and infrared and clear as day at midnight or mid-afternoon.

Brushing his fingers against the synthetic fabric of his couch he could determine the thread count. If a door was opened he'd know from the change in air pressure and humidity.

He'd showered but he could still smell the odors of Downtown rising from him, mingling with the antiseptic clean of the condo and the scent of the meal he's preparing in the kitchenette.

The air carries the taste of the food to his mouth, as well as a variety of other flavors.

Despite the thick walled construction, he can still hear the footsteps of his neighbors in the adjacent condos. He can almost make out what they're saying at times, but the walls are effective enough to muffle most of the conversations thankfully.

The Daredevil exists on a level of awareness that most people can't comprehend. Can't even begin to fathom.

It's all thanks to one dottering old would be mad scientist and his latest breakthrough who's since committed suicide.

Or got himself murdered, depending on your point of view.

And then Galahad, Metalscream, the Hulk and the Punisher were murdered on the Night of the Long Knives. He'd been focused on himself up until that point. Worrying about how he was going to cope with his enhanced senses. How his life had changed while trying to go through the motions as though it hadn't.

Then Rogers gave the kill order and the Daredevil watched as four men were murdered in cold blood. It was all nice and legal too.

Corporate law had been the Daredevil's life, but thanks to Gunderson he was seeing things through new eyes.

Literally.

The law didn't help anyone on the Night of the Long Knives with the exception of the corporate powers that be. Nor did the law do anything to help Dr. Allen Gunderson.

When you need it, the law is blind.

And the Daredevil is blind to injustice no longer.

His eyes are wide open.

He is a thing of justice.

Standing with a speed and sureness of movement possessed only buy those who've been physically enhanced in some way or have spent a lifetime keeping fit, the Daredevil focuses his full attention on door leading to the complex's communal hallways.

The door that's opening.

Other then himself, and agents of the corporation who own the condo complex, there's only one person who can open that door. He's been waiting for the moment.

This confrontation.

He knew it was coming.

That doesn't mean he's prepared for it though.

* * * * *

"Working late, Larid?”

Without looking up from the file he's reviewing, Kronos' head of Acquisitions, nods silently.

"Tell me; how goes our side project?"

Larid Killian dislikes the man addressing him. He dislikes the man addressing him the way people dislike learning they've been eating food product that Synthya has recalled because a rogue trace chemical adding realistic colour to the facsimile food causes stomach lining to fester and rot.

Dennis Jones is Kronos' Vice President. He is a small mousy albino, who twitches oddly. His habit for unexpectedly dropping in unexpectedly to inquire on the progress and status of things he knows nothing about have not endeared him to the various department heads. Nor does his outright arrogance or the impression that he not so much earned his portion, but cheated and lied to get it make him popular at company parties.

Cheating and lying is company policy, but there's only so much a person can be subjected too.

It's not apparent to anyone who's met Kronos' Vice President exactly why he is Kronos' Vice President.

"Which of our side projects is it you're inquiring about, Dennis?" Though he tries to maintain an air of boredom and disinterest with the sycophantic little man, Larid is smart enough to know he won't go away that easily.

A great sigh of disdain emits from the Kronos V.P. "The biological research interest."

The Kronos Acquisitions Department Head nods in understanding. "Cardiotech. Their research is moving rather slowly. My reports indicate that they've had difficulty and locating test subjects. Something to do with vigilante interference apparently. It's all in my files somewhere."

Jones nods his head in a comical bobbing fashion. "Yes. Ever since that Spider-Man appeared they've been like roaches. Disgusting. What kind of setback does this present for us?"

Larid Shrugs. "That's uncertain at this point. It all depends on how many test subjects they need to refine the procedure. If they have enough, then there should be very little setback. If not, then it all depends on how long it takes for them to find a new source."

This seems to inspire Dennis Jones into deep thought. "Get in touch with Payne. The man has resources that might be useful in finding such test subjects."

A shudder ran through Larid.

"What about raiders?"

"Corporate raiders? No. Talk to Payne."

A grin that Larid Killian didn't like in the least crossed the albino's face. "He's more suited to this type of situation."

The thought of dealing with Ilid Panye was almost as distasteful as that of dealing with Dennis Jones more then necessary. He'd do it though.

If required.

* * * * *

"Mr. Lambert." The, voice is sharp and commanding, and one that Mikhel Lambert knows well. He turns from the door he was about to leave through, and walks towards it's source.

It's source is one Professor Leslie-Ann Graves. She's a short woman, definitely not more then a meter and a half tall, though obviously not a child from her full figure and mature face. Olive skinned with deep green eyes and short black hair.

"Yes, Ma'am? What can I do for you?"

"You observed Dr. Takawaga's project's activities today, did you not?"

It took a moment for Mikhel to realize she was talking about Hiro Tseung."Yes, Professor Graves."

"And what did you think of him?"

"I'm sure Carol put everything relevant into her repor--"

"Dr. Takawaga's report was quite thorough, I assure you, but I'd like to here your assessment as well."

Mikhel bit his lower lip a moment. "Tseung is definitely impressive. I remember seeing him before he got the treatment. He was quick and strong, but now...the guy's a machine. Shock. It was scary, watching him work out with practice dummies today."

"And I read some of the past two month's field assessments, too. I think what Carol has developed here is a very brutal, very efficient warrior, but I fail to see just how he'd be of any real benefit to our cause."

"Sure, he can get through Shields and pay cops, but there will always be goons. I just--"

The short woman cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Lambert. That will be all." With that, she turned and began to walk towards another part of the complex.

Mikhel watched her go for a minute, before leaving as he'd intended to before the encounter.

* * * * *

The door swings fully open, silhouetted female enters the condo.

"Lights."

In response to her voice, the dwelling illuminates itself.

Though she's somewhat softer featured, Lindsey Killian physically resembles her father in many ways. She's pale of skin, shares his platinum hair and has the same intense eyes, though hers are green. Her hair is kept shorter, too.

She's also built like her father. Thin, though with a feminine roundness, and taller then the average female.

She kicks off her shoes and sets her briefcase down beside the door, entering her home.

An odor wafts it's way to her from the kitchenette. Lindsey knows she didn't preprogram the kitchen facilities to prepare a meal before she'd left that morning.

Warily she calls out.

"Hello?"

"Is someone there?"

A blond head abruptly thrust out from the kitchenette, smiling. "Hey, you!"

"Eric!" Lindsey throws one of her gloves at her fiancee. "You shocking scared the life out of me!"

The big lawyer walks forward and encircles his lover's waist with his arms. "I'm happy to see you, too." He leans his face forward to peck a kiss against her cheek. "I didn't hear you enter."

She hugs him back quickly before disengaging. "So how was your little sojourn? You didn't forget about me did you?"

He looked contemplative for a moment before answering. "It was...refreshing. Just what I needed really."

"And nothing could make me forget about you."

Hanging up her coat, the platinum haired woman flashes Eric a bright smile. "Good to hear. And I'm glad you're feeling better. You were so on edge before you left."

She points towards the kitchenette. "What are you cooking?"

"It's a surprise." The big man grins. "Your father says 'Hello' by the way. And there's some messages on the machine. I haven't played them because no one knows I'm back yet, so they must be yours."

Walking over to the vid-phone, the girl hits the replay button.

"You have four new messages."
She interrupts the machine. "You went into work today? What time did you get back?"

The first message begins. Corporate advertisement for Angel accompanied by indoctrinates holo images.

"Yeah. I got back probably about a half hour after you left this morning, so I figured I go into the office and see what needed to be cleaned up." Eric is rummaging about in the kitchen.

The Angel ad continues and Lindsey giggles. "And just how is Stuart?"

A sigh emanates for her fiancee. "Same as always."

The second message begins as the one from Angel ends. The holo is of a girl probably in her late teens or early twenties. She's smiling wide. "Lindsey, it's Estell. Give me a call when you get in. There's this shocking trippy-wild party going on tonight, and you just <I>have</i> to make an appearance! Bye! Call me!"

Eric shakes his head. "You're sister's never going to grow up, is she?"

"Not if she doesn't have too," Lindsey confirms. "She's into that Neo-Victorian scene right now. Arrogant snobs."

The third message begins. The holo projector falls dead. Audio only. The only audio coming through the speakers though is the standard background sounds; rustling, breathing, airflow.

With a weird sort of anticipation, both the condo's occupants fall silent, waiting for some change.

The message lasts just under three minutes before the caller hangs up. There's no change.

The fourth message starts. Yet corporate ad. So low lever bio-engineering and research concern, trying to get it's name out. Cardiotech. It goes ignored.

Eric Nelson frowns deeply. "That was weird. What number was that?"

Looking at the display, Lindsey shrugs. She wears a look of consternation. "Whoever it was has some tech that blocks S/F call display trace hardware."

"Weird. You need special licenses for that kind of device or else it's illegal." The big blond lawyer continues frowning at the machine. "Maybe we should call SHIELD."

Her own look of displeasure fading, Lindsey shakes her head. "No. I doubt it's that serious. We should get the machine upgraded though. It's getting kind of dated now."

* * * * *

A small red light flickers on the dash board. Moore turns off the radio. Despite being tuned to a Kronos owned media station, he knows the caller causing that red light to flicker wouldn't approve. He activates the on board vid-phone.

Ilid Payne's emancipated features appear in miniature holo. "Ramses. How goes the operation."

The big man in the dark suit gestures to the back seat. "Quite well sir. She's asleep now."

Payne nods slightly. "Yes. Sorry to keep you waiting. I had some other matters to attend too."

Having really no comment at this point, Moore simply waits.

"A SHIELD patrol unit will be nearing your portion shortly. I'm assuming you can make Miss Ross appear like your typical Downtown filth and plant an illegal substance on her? One that will make certain that the reporter will be apprehended."

Moore allows a slight grin to cross his face. He's well aware that Payne's recent annoyance is the vigilante known as the Daredevil, and that planting narcotics on people is one of the Daredevil's tactics.

"Of course."



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