C66: Victim
"Be careful!"
With his acute hearing detecting a sudden shift in the atmosphere near the docks, Matt Murdock's tone sharpened as he issued a warning to his team.
"You don't need to say it—we all saw it," Jessica Jones muttered, rubbing the bruise blossoming on her chest, her voice laced with irritation.
"So many people pouring out of one container... unless you're blind, it's impossible to miss—" she stopped mid-sentence, glancing at Matt. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to—"
"It's fine," Matt said calmly, shaking his head. He had long since adapted to blindness, navigating the world with radar-like senses enhanced by the accident that had changed his life.
"Guys, maybe save the heartfelt bonding for later."
Luke Cage's baritone cut through the tension as he stepped forward, eyes locked on the growing number of gunmen, Hand operatives and Wilson Fisk's mercenaries closing in around them. "We've got real problems."
Unlike the others, Luke wasn't concerned about bullets. His skin, as impenetrable as vibranium, gave him that luxury. But not everyone in the Defenders had that edge. Planting his massive frame ahead of the group, he added: "Stick close behind me. I'll draw the fire."
This time, Jessica didn't argue with him.
Her voice softened. "Just be careful, Hero-for-Hire."
Looking over his shoulder, Luke gave a half-grin. "Sweet Christmas. I'm bulletproof, remember?"
From the other end of the container yard, an elderly Chinese woman approached her presence ghostly, commanding. Mrs. Gao, once a founding member of the Hand and feared across multiple continents, stood beside Bullseye, whose fingers toyed with a stack of playing cards like they were scalpels.
"Don't let any of them walk out alive," Gao said coldly.
"They won't," Bullseye replied without emotion. "Kingpin wants Daredevil's mask for his private collection."
"I don't care about Fisk's trophies," Gao said, folding her hands. "I want results."
Their confidence made it clear: in their minds, the battle was already won.
Meanwhile, the Defenders tensed as the noose of enemies tightened.
"Fire!"
The command rang out—no one saw who gave it but it was obeyed instantly. A hail of bullets tore through the night.
"What was that?" one of the nearby dockworkers muttered, startled by the noise.
"Don't," the foreman—a grizzled white man with a union badge and heavy fatigue under his eyes—grabbed his arm. "Don't even think about checking it out. This isn't for us."
He glanced toward the chaos, voice grim. "Fisk's orders. That's all you need to know."
Despite Wilson Fisk's frequent appearances in the Daily Bugle and New York Bulletin as a philanthropist and real estate mogul, everyone who worked these docks knew better. Ships came in under the radar. Containers were never opened. Guns, drugs, human trafficking—it was all under Fisk's empire.
And nobody wanted to be a casualty.
Bang. Bang—
Luke Cage pressed forward, shielding his teammates from a storm of gunfire. Bullets from automatic rifles struck his skin with metallic clangs but failed to pierce.
"You didn't tell me one of them was bulletproof," Bullseye muttered, eyes narrowing as he tracked Luke's advance.
"He's just one man," Mrs. Gao said with quiet disdain. "The others are not so fortunate."
As if on cue, Bullseye's hand snapped forward. Playing cards ordinary to the naked eye—whistled through the air, transformed by his lethal accuracy into deadly projectiles.
The shadows and chaos of the firefight cloaked his movements.
"Watch out!"
Matt sensed them a split-second too late. One card sliced across his cheek, warm blood trailing from the cut.
"Flying projectiles!" he shouted, ducking. "He's using playing cards—be careful!"
But his voice was nearly drowned out by gunfire.
Jessica looked up instinctively and too late.
Another card spun straight for her, sharp as a shuriken.
"Jessica—down!"
With no time to think, A Xing shoved her forward. She stumbled, turning just in time to see him catch the card squarely in the side.
"A Xing!"
He staggered, toppling from the protective shadow of Luke Cage into open ground, where bullets churned the air.
"No—!"
Jessica started back, panic flaring in her chest.
But Luke grabbed her wrist, voice low and taut. "We can't stop. Not now. Keep moving!"
…
In the antique shop, Li Ran sat rigid.
The moment Bullseye's card struck his avatar, he felt the surge of chakra within destabilize. The construct—A Xing was beginning to falter.
If the illusion broke now, everything would collapse.
Without hesitation, Li Ran reached for the reserve—the other avatar he'd crafted in the likeness of the Phantom Thief. Funneling chakra through both constructs, he reinforced A Xing's form from afar.
Through the cloak of darkness and smoke, no one noticed the lack of blood where the card struck. The illusion held.
All Jessica saw was A Xing, already wounded, trying to rise—defiant—before collapsing again under the onslaught.
And the Hand pressed in.
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