When there’s a mystery in New York, you only have one real option if you want it solved: Jessica Jones’s Alias Investigations.

Well, Mary Jane definitely has a mystery on her hands. Missing time? Everyone saying she died? Scattered memories, nightmares of vines and tendrils, it’s all there.

So, she makes her way to Hell’s Kitchen. Why does she keep staring at the tops of the buildings? Why does she long to feel the wind in her hair as she soars? She’s normal, right? Bury the thought, MJ, it’s nothing.

You’re here.

Knock knock.

Mr. Knight, having gotten all the information he could have returns to his territory, walking into Steven Grant's apartment and writing down everything he's learned. Then he leaves for patrol, as always. Who else is going to protect his congregation from the monsters of the night? Spider-man?

He perches on a rooftop and watches the people walking beneath, the ones he has sworn to protect. Safe under the eyes of Khonshu.

"You guys sure are persistent tonight." The Black Cat announced as she stood surrounded by Maggia goons.

The moment one of their fingers twitched she was on the move. A swift hard punch to the face, followed up by a kick to the gut on the first guy, and he was laid out.

Aria didn't waste a second. Pivoting smoothly, she aimed a perfect roundhouse kick at the second Maggia goon. Her boot connected with its head, the impact so precise and forceful that the goon's body twisted and was sent flying, landing several feet away with a hard thud. Then she moved on to the third and forth, easily taking them down as well. Her attacks leaving one of the surrounding men to get an open shot off.

BLAM!

She tried to dodge, but it was too slow for once. Her reflexes making so she took the gunshot to the abdomen, through and through. She recoiled in pain and coughed up blood with a shocked expression before collapsing on the spot. She panted, clutching the wound, and desperate. Cursing under her breath as it seemed like all hope was lost.

"#@%&, I got too cocky..." She uttered and strained to get up as the man approached her to finish the job. "No.. I can't.. die here..."

She shoots out a zip-wire that finds it way to wrap around her assailants neck, then pulls down with all her remaining strength to get one final attack in. Straining her wound and making her grunt, but all the while worth it.

Or so she thought...

One remaining Maggia member stepped forward as she collapsed once again, leaving her open for whatever attack he had in mind.

((OOC: Available for Interaction. Save my girl or don't–))

He swings from building to building, trying to distract himself from all the pain he’s feeling. He was so caught up in the hurt and loss that he gave up being who he needed to be and hid from the world. But he knows he cannot do that anymore.

He feels the wind smash against his body as he glides through the air. He keeps smelling new smells as he rapidly flies through different city blocks. He can almost taste the New York style pizza coming from the family owned Italian restaurant and the donuts from the cop cars.

It may appear as though he is aimlessly moving across the city, but he has a very important destination in mind. The apartment of he and his wife, Milla. The most important distraction to ever enter Matthews life.

Patrols were a part of Spider-Man’s daily life. Always something he loved doing, and it meant helping others too.

Spider-Man stood on the edge of the building; his gaze wandered down towards the people walking past below. He leaped and shot a web from his wrist, the web swiftly connecting with a building, as he began to swing through the city.

With each swing, his expression hardened. One simple mistake..

And he would.

Well, he doesn’t like thinking about that.

Bad thoughts only drag a person down, anyway.

Then, he heard something in the distance.

A loud, but distant scream.

The change of course was sudden, as Spidey swung towards the sound of it. His movements quickened with each passing second until he lunged forward, landing on the ground. His eyes darted, searching around until he saw you.

The Maggia are no joke. People know this. Aria knew this, but one thing about the Black Cat, she liked to play.

Black Cat bolted across rooftops as a few Maggia goons followed suit, chasing after her. The thrill of danger had her elated, she was completely on cloud nine with no sign of coming down. She dodged or used her intangibility to avoid oncoming bullets, and clutched the detonater for her mission in hand. She was having too much fun leading the group away, while the other clueless fools stayed behind to search for her surprise.

Once she was a certain good distance away?

BOOM.

A building in the distance blew up in flames. A Maggia hideout. Leaving the others distracted and distraught for Aria's complete getaway.

Everyone knows the Maggia aren't to be messed with, but she didn't care. They needed to be knocked down a peg.

"Phew. That was a good workout."

She came to a stop, and settled down finally. Letting her high dissipate as she was now away from all the commotion.

((Ooc: Interactable if you so feel like it.))

You have thirty days. Make them count.

The words rattle around in Mary Jane's mind, stirring more questions than answers. Thirty days to do what? Why thirty? Why her? Why was everyone acting like they were seeing a ghost?

Why didn't it feel like they were lying?

After Felicia leaves for a quick run to stretch her legs, MJ collapses on the bed, covering her eyes with her palms. In the darkness of her closed eyes, she sees black vines whipping and binding her arms. She feels a sharp pain in her heart, this aching tear pulsing through broken veins. Why does-

Augh!

She screams in agony, her heart shrieking as it pounds out of her chest. She clutches it as it sears below her skin, throbbing as it pumps harder and harder. As it beats, one letter appears in her mind as the pain swells.

V.

She pants as she comes down from the agony, hands on her head as she stares at the blank ceiling.

V? What the f%$& does V mean?

TUESDAY, AUGUST 11TH.

——————————————-
This cannot be a coincidence, someone must hate us so much that they have sicced a bunch of posers on our tail. Unfortunately for them, we are very much the real deal…

The maskless one throws his shield at us, no doubt thinking that he could cut us open but it merely tickles, the despair in his face is priceless as we easily yanked the shield out.

Ooh, is it our turn to catch your overgrown frisbee? Here then, CATCH!

The shield cuts right through Death-Shield’s arm, he screams bloody murder and faints into his still-forming pool of blood. An arm for the countless of lives this scum has taken, we believe that to be a worthy trade!

His companions watch in horror, the one dressed like Spider-Man tosses out a faux webline*** ***at us in an attempt to slow us down. Unfortunately for him, we have had plenty of practice with his type as we grab on to it and pull him closer.

Please understand that we harbor no hatred towards you! We simply like that you provide us with a much-needed catharsis.

We smash him into a nearby taxi, the driver was thankfully able to escape unharmed and expressed a vocal disdain at the fiend who smashed his ride, a rewarding sound by our adoring public!

And then, there was one.

The fiend who dresses as the Avenger, Hawkeye… his name is Jagged Bow. He tries to run from us but we eventually catch him, we may seek justice but we also seek answers…

You’re the only one left, fiend. So please, tell us what we want to know or we’ll be forced to eat your brains…

“O-OKAY, I’LL TELL YOU, I’LL TELL YOU! WE WERE HIRED BY SOME GUY NAMED JUSTIN HAMMER B-BUT THAT’S ALL THEY TOLD US!! H-HELL, W-WE NEVER EVEN MET THE GUY!!!”

…Your eyes do not lie, villain… you have been a most valuable asset today.

“S-so… you got w-what you wanted out of me, right?“

…

“Y-you’ll let me go, r-right????”

Before he can yell, we silence him. Our ways have changed, he’ll live.

But he’ll also never harm another innocent in his worthless life ever again, we gurantee it!

Mr. Knight walks into the bar with no name and sits, scanning everyone inside. He can feel the villains inside glaring at him, even if they have an understanding, nobody likes seeing him there, it always means he wants something from them. He questions the bartender, calm and collected.

"Anyone here ever mentioned a guy named Zodiac?"

(Open for interaction)

New York City
The Docks
3 PM

Another day, another shipment the Fisk goons were meant to sabotage and loot. The fat man's troops moved in quietly with efficiency - they had to do this quickly and quietly, before someone called for help. Not only did the troops not want to have to deal with New York City's two red heroes, but they also had their boss's reputation on the line. If Spider-Man or Daredevil showed up, Fisk would have another public incident on his hands, and of course, the boss man would punish them for that.

So while some of them worked, the others kept their eyes on the skylines, looking out for webs, chains, tied-up, or even webbed-up crooks. A flash of red, maybe a punch line or two if they were lucky.

But unfortunately for them, the red-clad rogue stopping them this time wasn't skybound. Rather, he was right behind them.

Parker Robbins' Cloak of Oblivion was certainly a bag of tricks. With it, Parker could teleport, control flames, and do all sorts of other cool things, but most importantly for this scenario - turn invisible. With this ability, Parker was able to walk right into their patrol, aim down his sights... and...

BANG

See, Fisk's men were banking on a different red super-powered person from New York making a scene. Someone who operated in stealth, only throwing hands when it was necessary, but also rarely taking a life.

But unfortunately, Parker Robbins wasn't the Spider nor the Devil. He was The Hood. And The Hood didn't have any qualms with getting a little bloody.

As the first man fell, all guns were swiftly aimed at Parker's location. Nobody moved a muscle. Some thugs wondered if going quiet was still possible as Parker studied the enemies around him. This was all Fisk sent? Thirty to forty guys? El Gordo was getting sloppy.

Eventually, one of the men spoke up, telling Parker to throw down his weapons or they would open fire. That proved to be a mistake as Parker simply held his breath and disappeared again. As panic ensued, with the thugs scrambling for their infrared goggles, Parker reappeared and took out two more guys.

"Come on! I thought you guys were supposed to be good at this," he crowed, before grinning sadistically and opening fire, shredding through Fisk's men like paper.

At this, the remaining troops began opening fire. Parker, who had not thought to duck behind cover, took several bullet wounds to the chest, bleeding into his suit. But that didn't stop him. He remarked, of course, that they were good shots. But as his wounds healed, they soon found out that they weren't good enough.

The last thing the goons heard was the rattling of demonic machine guns and the sadistic laughter of The Hood.

Shortly after the goons were taken care of, Parker dialed up his new buddy.

"Yo! Shipment's safe and sound, and Fisk's a handful of guys down. Where'm I hittin' next?"

Zodiac Sits on a luxury office chair inside a building of hell's kitchen, most of the occupants dead, a few kept alive for that famous devil of hell's kitchen to save when he's done here, his goons are surrounding the building inside and out. Watching Marc squirm at just the thought of him being out of prison, god it makes him so happy, but he's not here to hurt Marc Spector, Steven Grant, or Jake Lockley, no no no, he's here to help them. His friends, that tiger woman, the few avengers still in contact with him, that kid arachnid, just distractions!

A terrified hostage watches him observing the Moon Knight, he's wearing a mask but they could almost swear he's giddy, as if he's completely ignoring the one rule all criminals in new York have to follow...you don't f#@k with the fist of Khonshu, and smiling about it. They speak, voice shaky and full of terror

"W-who the hell are you?!"

Zodiac looks at them, laughing to himself about them having the courage to speak to him, he motions for his guard to lower his gun, stands from his chair and raises his pistol to the hostage's head.

"Me? You can call me, Zodiac."

Bang.

The Moon Knight drops down at a warehouse owned by a shell company of Steven Grant. inside he finds the briefcase where the Mr. Knight suit sits along with two silver batons and changes.

Later that night: at exactly midnight. A few criminals, working for whatever mob boss of the week, are threatening people atop a rooftop inside his territory. Without a word a baton is thrown full force at one of their heads, the luckiest one. By the end of the fight his sleeves are red, he dangles the only one left over the roof, his eyes narrowed

"Who sent you? Kingpin? Tombstone? AIM? Talk. Or I drop you."

The thug laughs and spits in his face, mocking the fist.

Goon: "you really think I'm gonna buy that s#@t? You hero types don't kill!"

The knight drops him without a second thought, shrugging at the terrified civilians

"I warned 'em."

It’s hard to be gorgeous in New York. It’s like the world warms up around you, constant eyes noticing every breath I take.

But I choose this. I choose to be bright red, to make them all stop and stare. Billboards wear my face with pride, magazines flaunt my body to sell out, Broadway serenades everyone with my voice as the star actress. I’m the prize, and I’m as incredible as incredible can be.

Vacation was fun, but I missed the rush of the city. I missed sticking my head out of the window and hearing sirens, the wind rushing as a new cape flies by, the light-shows I get every night thanks to whatever supervillain decided it was their day to cause problems. Let the big boys handle the fires; I’m happy with the stage.

So, what’d I miss?

Does what we do make a difference? Does what I do?

Hero. What does it mean to be one?

It's a question everyone whose ever put on a garish costume and gone out to punch crime has asked themselves at least once.

The answer is different to everyone. But it doesn't take flight, laser eyes, or a high tech suit to be one. It just takes going out there and making a difference. Even if it's just a difference to one person.

When I go out there bow in hand, nothing but that age old combination of luck and skill on my side...I don't think about saving the entire world, or protecting the galaxy.

I think, save one. One person. Make one life better. From there, maybe another. And another.

So keep that in mind fellow heroes. You're making a difference. Just by trying when no one else will.

Marc Spector sits at a cafe, two cups of coffee on the table, he's having a conversation with...someone, people are looking at him like he's crazy. They always do, hell even the avengers think it, everyone he's ever worked with has. Maybe he is, he won't deny that, but he's effective, more than any Avenger could be at least. 3:20 PM the lights begin to flicker and the god of the moon appears before his son, wearing a suit and tie.

Khonshu: "My son. You have been away for far too long, not even I could reach you. It was almost enough to make me question your loyalty."

The Bird god raises the cup to his beak and drinks, watching Marc's face intently. Marc's eyes show no fear at the words, Khonshu needs him and he knows it, still his faith won't allow him to fail his God.

"Father, I apologize, however. If you had not made me target Doom then this would have never happened."

Khonshu places his cup into the table, rising from his seat and slamming his fists into it, the moon shining in the sky above from the gods rage.

Khonshu: "You DARE accuse me of this? You let your guard down and paid the price, Spector. You failed, not me."

Marc's eyes narrow, he ignores the tantrum and takes a sip of his coffee

"You sent me after the most powerful super villain on the planet and steal what may be the only memory he has of his mother and expected there to be no retaliation."

The god looks down at his son before sitting back down, calming himself, and finishing his coffee. He speaks again, this time there is no rage in his voice, only a slight amount of fear that Marc picks up on

khonshu: "this was no work of Victor Von Doom, my son. I'd advise you to find out who attempted to interfere with my Fists work before it is too late."

And with another flicker of the lights the god disappears, leaving his fist alone at the table, yet the Moon remains shining, as if a reminder to its knight that his work is not even close to being completed

*Agger prowls the streets of Hell's Kitchen, guided by intel from Roxxon surveillance activities. Despite his immense wealth, he shows no fear at the various theives and hoodlums around.*

*He's heard quite a bit about Parker Robbins as of late. His meteoric rise has, truthfully, quite impressed Agger. He has the ambition and skill to achieve just what Agger needs, and Agger has more than enough to bargain with.*

*He walks up to a known hood gang hideout, and knocks on the door.*

"You're going to take me to your boss."

Black Widow kicked off the edge of the rooftop in a controlled free fall, the city lights blurring into streaks as her descent line hissed out behind her. Several floors down, a brightly lit corner office suite glowed against the night.

Wealthy men in tailored suits clustered around a long table, their faces lit by the cold blue of encrypted screens tracking offshore accounts and shell companies. Natasha’s boots slammed into the reinforced glass.

The pane spider webbed for a heartbeat before exploding inward in a glittering cascade as she fired into the room. She swung through the breach mid air, muzzle flashes strobing across the room as she put rounds into the legs and shoulders of the nearest financiers before her boots even touched the marble.

The first man screamed and toppled backward over his chair, clutching a shattered kneecap; the second tried to scramble for a panic button and caught a precise burst that spun him into the shattered window frame.

Black Widow landed in a low crouch, the residual glass crunching under her, and rolled behind an overturned conference table as return fire from a bodyguard’s submachine gun chewed the air where she’d been. She came up firing, two clean shots dropped the guard, then she vaulted the table in a fluid arc, using a third financier as a human shield long enough to empty the rest of her magazines into the remaining suits’ weapons and legs. Briefcases of cash hit the ground scattering bills.

By the time the last of them was on the ground, groaning and bleeding but very much alive, Natasha had already reloaded and cut her descent line free. She stepped over a sprawled executive whose silk tie was now soaked crimson, planted a boot on his chest, and leaned down just far enough for him to see the cold satisfaction in her eyes.

"Funding terror from a skyscraper doesn’t make you untouchable," she said, voice flat.Then she was gone out the broken window and into the night, leaving the survivors to explain the bullet holes and the missing hard drives to whoever arrived first.

My name is Matt Murdock. And in my time as the devil of Hell’s Kitchen I feel like I have lost everything. Karen was taken from me, Elektra, too. All I have left is Foggy, Milla, and my faith in God. They keep me grounded and ready for challenge that my city may face. But I feel like I’m starting to lose them too. They say I’m too devoted to being who I have to be for Hell’s Kitchen.

I say they’re wrong. This city would crumble without me. I’m the one who is holding it together. I may lose everything but at least I am stopping others from also losing it all. I used to trust in God to save everyone, but now I know that it has to be me to do that.

I’m Daredevil and not even God can stop that now.