Alvin knew exactly who Matt was—the legendary Daredevil of Marvel lore. Every night, clad in red and black, he prowled Hell's Kitchen's alleys, battling crime and shielding the innocent.
In the comics, he was a near-invincible hero: brilliant, relentless, unstoppable. But Alvin saw the reality—a battered, obsessive man.
Born and raised in Hell's Kitchen, Matt was fixated on saving it. He blamed the endless gangs and unchecked crime for the neighborhood's despair.
He fought to purge the streets, blind to the futility. Gangs would never vanish.
To Alvin, Matt was just a skilled fighter—maybe with enhanced hearing—but still human. Against desperate criminals, he often bled more than he prevailed.
Yet Alvin respected him. A man who bore others' pain? That deserved honor.
Guilt tugged at Alvin. "Sorry, Matt. You know my deal with Kingpin bars me from other blocks."
Matt laughed weakly, adrift. "Alvin, we both want Hell's Kitchen better. You've transformed three blocks. I've changed nothing. People still get robbed, killed."
"I hear screams every night. I try—but I can't save them all. I don't know how."
Alvin refilled Matt's beer, spiking it with whiskey. He tapped the glass, urging him to drink.
"Change isn't a one-man job, Matt. Know why I demanded better precinct gear first?"
Without waiting, Alvin answered, "So cops like Michael and Scott patrol at night. Not every thug dares attack police. More patrols mean safer streets."
Matt drained his glass. "But people still suffer. And I'm powerless." He removed his sunglasses, revealing pale, pupil-less eyes. Rubbing his face, he looked broken.
Alvin's voice hardened. "You're not God. Even He can't save everyone. You need to breathe, Matt."
"We'll fix this together. Playing vigilante helps less than empowering real cops. I'll talk to Kingpin—make him leash his dogs. Stop provoking him. It only gets you hurt."
"A controlled devil beats chaos. Kingpin keeps order. Dark order, but order."
Matt slammed his empty glass down. "So he walks free?"
Alvin sighed. "Kingpin's not the disease—he's a symptom. Kill him, and a hundred gangs war unchecked. With him, there's at least rules."
Matt slumped over the counter, crushed. "I don't know if you're right. But your way works. Still… I won't stop. Not until I can't go on."
Until he dies, Alvin understood. He respected that resolve too much to interfere.
Squeezing Matt's shoulder, Alvin said, "I've got your back. But rest sometimes, damn it." He pushed a fresh drink forward—this time, straight whiskey.
Soon Matt was out cold. While Foggy was busy boasting to patrons, a slender crimson vine slithered into Matt's calf. A surge of red energy flowed through the ghoul vine—its ability to convert corpses into life force now channeling vitality into the battered vigilante.
Alvin timed it perfectly. The moment Matt's injuries were fully healed, he recalled the vine.
Casually pouring himself another drink, Alvin knocked it back while observing Matt's now peaceful, flushed face. "To noble spirits," he murmured, raising his glass. "And stubborn bastards who won't quit."
The celebration lasted until midnight when the restaurant closed. After arranging for JJ to take Matt and Foggy home, Alvin headed upstairs. He checked on little Nick first—finding the boy fast asleep—before gently tucking him in and turning off the light.
As he stepped out, he found Jessica leaning against the hallway wall, watching him intently.
Alvin rubbed his cheek self-consciously. "What? Got something on my face?"
The way Jessica stared—that mix of shy admiration—made the thirty-five-year-old soul in a younger body unexpectedly flustered. Teasing seemed safer. "Jess, forget something in my room?"
She shook her head, confused.
Alvin feigned disappointment with an exaggerated sigh. "Ah. Thought maybe you'd left your heart here and came back for it."
Jessica's face turned scarlet so fast Alvin worried she might combust.
With an embarrassed stomp, her foot went straight through the wooden floorboards—her right leg now dangling through the hole as she flailed backward, her modest chest looking even flatter in this ungainly position.
They both froze. Alvin swore his shock was purely about the structural damage, not her predicament.
All color drained from Jessica's face. Trapped with one leg through the floor and the other splayed awkwardly, she couldn't bear to look at him. She pushed off the ground violently—
—only to yank her leg free while ripping her pants clean open, exposing a pale thigh and taking another chunk of flooring with her.
A muffled scream escaped as she covered her face and bolted into her room, slamming the door so hard the entire frame tore loose and smashed into the opposite wall.
Surveying the wreckage, Alvin cursed his big mouth. Teasing a super-strong, easily flustered girl? Bad call. Tomorrow's repair list just got longer.
Peeking through the ruined doorway, he saw Jessica facedown on her bed, screaming into a pillow. A married man's wisdom told him: never approach an embarrassed woman in this state.
After propping the door back up and shooing a curious Nick back to bed, Alvin finally retreated to his own room. Time to end this exhausting day.