1963-11-21 - Family Feud
Summary: Famed Mob boss Paul Cavassini is called to the witness stand during his trial, but an assassination attempt turns the Five Families upside down.
Related: War in the Kitchen Plot
Theme Song: None
thea cable moonknight josh domino daredevil 

November 21, 2016
U.S. District Court, Manhattan, NY

Matt Murdock wore his best suit today. His decision to have Nelson & Murdock represent Paul Cavassini had been a point of contention with Foggy and Karen; bad blood had formed amongst the three, perpetuated by their temporary closing of the law office during the Hellmouth debacle.

Today, however, is a big day. He stands, adjusts his tie, and approaches the bench held by the Honorable Richard McMicken, presiding. His cane taps along the floor as he walks, head held straight and with confidence.

"Your Honor, the Defense would like to call Mr. Paul Cavassini to the stand."

The words are followed by a rousing cacophony of surprise, coming from the packed courtroom. There were many in attendance today; reporters, concerned citizens, even two members of city council. Most unsettling, however, were members of the Italian 'business' community; rough-jawed men in nice suits with a scofflaw demeanor. Their presence alone has triggered an increase in law enforcement, who's officers stand at the outer walls in an even pattern. The two combined have leveled an air of tension over the courtroom.

Judge McMicken, with a scowl on his face, begins banging his gavel. "Order!" He cries. "We will have order in this courtroom!"

It takes a moment for things to settle down, after which McMicken motions toward Murdock. "We have a lot of ground to cover, Mister Murdock, and I'm certain the prosecution will demand a cross examination, so, let's get this started. Your witness, please."

The bench creaks under the weight of Paul Cavassini, a heavyset Italian with a bitter smirk on his face and an ugly combover. His suit is about $300 nicer than that of his attorney's. He walks forward, meets the bailiff, and places a sweaty palm upon the Holy Bible to be sworn in.

Across the city, ears are on this trial, which is being reported on via A.M. Radio. The broadcast is being played in every pizza joint, Italian ristorante, pub, and even among many of the car radios.


Thea arrives from RP Nexus.


Thea has arrived.


Josh is having some pizza, which is proving a bit of a challenge at the moment. Why? Because he's freaking gold, that's why. Like, his skin is seriously gold. Not in the far future oompa loompa president elect sort of orange, but like, gold. That means at the moment he's quite obviously a mutant, and yet, he's hungry, and he wants pizza. So. He has gloves. A hoodie. A scarf. And he keeps his head down. He managed to get a slice, and then step out of the pizza place, there so he can afford to lift his head a bit and nibble on said pizza.


There's at least one person who seems to be glancing Josh's way more than a little in the pizza joint. A somewhat scruffy man in a scruffy shirt with no tie, just finishing off his own slice of pizza. Marc doesn't say anything, but that doesn't make getting stared at any less unsettling.


Thea has just received her slice of pizza. Being observant as she is, she's noticed the gloves and the hoodie and everything. So with her soda, pizza, and a measure of not-quite-real confidence, she'll approach that table. "Hey there, You mind if I take a seat?" Yes, she sees the gold skin, and from her expression and her voice, it doesn't matter one whit. And she's maybe blocking staring RUDE man a little.


Among the attendees is a white-haired man with a black patch over his left eye and a brown trenchcoat over a functional dress shirt/slacks/tie combo. His right eye's been busily scanning the Italian contingent ever since he took his seat, checking for weapon bulges and facial recognition hits from his growing database of news clippings. His mind, meanwhile, has been tuned towards skimming their thoughts for potential targets, recent business dealings, and other useful intel— until Paul Cavassini takes the stand, that is.

Like the other attendees, Cable fixes his senses upon the man approaching and then testing the bench without much delay. Unlike them, he's not especially interested in the contents of Paul's testimony as he tries to draw the convicted criminal's surface thoughts into clear focus.


Only a madwoman would have signed up for this. Or someone who is hell-bent on pushing her own luck. Two different Families are banking this operation. Some no-named chick claiming to be a mercenary. Someone who could get shit done, no questions asked. She had a whole sales pitch planned out in advance, performed on two separate occasions. It worked.

Both of the Families had agreed. They wanted this one public. They wanted to show the entire country that no one of the Cavassini Family was safe. It would also mean big bucks from each of them if she could land the shot, or certain death if she failed. No pressure.

A neighboring office building offers the perfect vantage point. Enough distance to give her time for an escape. Not so much distance to make the shot impossible.

The building in question is..ironically..a lawyer's office.

The window is opened just enough to clear the rifle barrel. The pale shooter reaches for the bolt, operating the mechanism with firm and decisive motions. Only the keenest of ears would make out the sound of a thirty-ought six being chambered from another building some distance away, but the wind happens to flow in just the right direction to offer the right set of ears the right opportunity for a miracle to happen…

In her mind she can almost hear the order being growled from her commanding officer, like sandpaper across her spine: 'Send the shot, D-7.'

The wind passing through the flags of the courthouse dies down, the world turning eerily still as if the city itself is holding its breath. The various sounds of urban life grow distant. The slow exhale of her breath resonates within her own ears.

Fire. Fire. Fire.


Windows rattle.

The shockwave tugs feathers out of a roosting pigeon's tail, startling the bird into flight.

A string of dust jumps clear of aged brickwork along the wall of a nearby building.

A loud -snap!- sounds out across the street like a distant thunderclap with no lightning to accompany it.

A single droplet of water gets turned into vapor while falling from a rusting pipe, vanishing in an instant.

A neat hole about the size of a dime suddenly appears through one of the courthouse windows a split second before the side of Paul Cavassini's head explodes in a shower of gore. Blood, bone, and and brain matter spray out across the room as the force of the slug throws his large body to the side like a ragdoll, long gone to this world before his remains strike the worn carpeting of the floor.

At least his corpse is already dressed in an expensive suit.

The shooter's eyes slowly close, releasing the rest of her breath as the pressure is relaxed from the trigger.

(Congratulations, Domino. You are now one very rich lady.)


It's hard to tell, at first, where Murdock's questioning is going. The jury sits in rapt attention, while others nervously glance around the room. It sounds, almost, as if Matt is asking questions designed to incriminate his own client.

"So, the question, Mister Cavassini, is this." Murdock turns away from the jury, and back to face his client. "Of all these allegations, are any of them… something that can be proven? Beyond reasonable doubt?"

Cavassini sits back, scowling at his attorney. "Far as I can tell, the only thing you lot have on me is that certain individuals with whom I've associated have questionable records with law enforcement. I choose to do business with members of my extended family, because they're people I trust."

"People you trust," Murdock echoes, then turns toward the jury. "A common practice in the business community, a thing which…"

He trails off, turning his head in an odd way. His mouth opens, and his breath catches just so. "Your Honor, if I may?" His words become hurried, and he approaches the bench in a haphazard way. "I'd like to motion that the court take an early break for lunch."

Judge McMicken leans forward and eyeballs his wristwatch. "Counsel, it's… 11:30. May I ask why-"


Judge McMicken becomes the primary recipient of Paul Cavassini's exploded head, his robes and face covered in gore. Murdock staggers and uses his cane to prop himself up, a gasp upon his face. There is a momentary silence that follows the gasps and shrieks from those in the court; jurors and spectators look on with a sense of shock and awe, many of whom have never seen such a terrible thing before.

That momentary silence is short lived. It's broken by the assortment of mobsters who, within seconds, are shouting blame and vulgarities at each other. One or two of them produce firearms from within their suit jackets, pointing them at each other. More firearms come out, from other mobsters and cops. Individual words are hard to hear, considering the echoing nature of the courtroom and the addition of panicked cries from others in attendance.

The first shot fired pelts a member of the Bonanno family in the chest. Within the blink of an eye, the courtroom is filled with deadly gunfire.

In the pizza joint, the A.M. Radio squawks off a report. "Oh. Oh my. It seems that Mr. Cavassini has been shot. Ohhhh, this doesn't look good!" The voice can be heard just over the erupting din, and soon enough, gunfire fills the radio waves. "Oh, my God! This is horrible! This is h-" The broadcast cuts back to the studio, where the anchor's voice is trembling. "Ah, this is Steve Newman with AM 1400, we ah, have received report that alleged mobster Paul Cavassini has been shot while on trial."

A young man bursts out from the kitchen, his face red with anger as he points toward another patron. "Hey! Ei, tu! E cazzo di Gambino responsabile di questo!?"

The other jumps up from his table, produces a gun, and takes a shot at the kitchen boy with a sneer on his face. "Eat lead, Bonnani cunt!"


Josh lifts his head up and glances at Thea for a moment, a bit more of his golden skin showing— there's a bit of a smile, and it might be— whooa, violence. He's leaping up suddenly, and this sends his hoodie back some, revealing that yep, he's a golden boy. Guns? Guns! Without any kind of hesitation and lacking any sort of sense, he's flinging himself over the table and towards the kitchen boy. If he can get hands on the kid quick enough, he might just save his life no matter where the bullet hits.


With line of sight to the glimmering Josh cut off by Thea's intervention, the scruffy fellow with an empty plate in front of him turns his attention elsewhere, apparently more curious than intent on starting trouble.

Too bad others in the establishment aren't turning out to be so low-key.

Even as Josh is flinging himself at the kitchen boy, Marc smoothly picks up his empty plate and sends it spinning off right towards the trigger-happy patron's face. What with the radio shouting about a courtroom hit in a case that's got the attention of most of the organized crime in the city, he really seems more irritated than shocked. "Stay down!" he barks, though weather it's an instruction to the bystanders or the man he just attacked is hard to say.


Thea lets her pizza and soda hit the table. The courthouse isn't that far, a couple blocks. She misses the Golden boy's heroics, though she won't forget his face. She's in her heels, but that's not slowing down that dead run up the street. There's no way paramedics will get an ambulance through if people are in a panicked state and thronging in the streets. She can slip in if there's chaos, go unnoticed in her white blouse and black skirt under a black wool coat. If there are shots being fired there, there may be people she can save. She even has her nursing student id in her pocket, thankfully, if she's stopped from trying to help.


"Heads DOWN!" Cable booms, his seat toppling over as he explodes to his feet. Amber light leaks from beneath his eyepatch and sheaths his body while he scans for, then sets his eyes on Paolo Colum—


— bo's exploding face— damnit. He whips his head left and spies 'Little' Frederick Gambini clutching one of the Genoveses to shielf about half of his ample frame.

The mutant's cybernetic eye contracts, and just as one of the Bonnanis spots and decides to try and pop the guy with the funky glow, Cable isn't there anymore; he's looming over 'Little' Freddy.
"Bodyslide by three," he intones while reaching out to wrap the two mobsters in a bearhug.

"Wh— fucking— " Frederick sputters as golden light floods from Cable's body to consume the lot of them. "— offa me, ya fuckin'— "

A couple seconds later, the golden glare, Cable, and the mobsters are all gone.


"— fanook— fuck— " Frederick gets out before realizing that he can now see a big, blue marble in a sea of stars through a nearby window. "— FUCK! What the— "

"Shh," Cable punctuates with sharp blows upside the head. "Later." The coat and eyepatch are quickly shed as a rack full of things approximating guns rises up from the floor.


There's more than one way to trigger an explosive reaction! The rifle darts back inside of the adjacent building as the lone shooter hauls ass. The building isn't completely empty but she has enough time to make a run for the elevator, wrenching the doors open and slinging the rifle before she leaps for the wires. A pair of gloves are all that spare her hands from being torn to pieces by the braided steel cable, dropping straight past ground floor to end up in the basement.

Domino has this all mapped out. Where to go, what to avoid, what needs to be done along the way. Transportation is waiting on the far side and she's got an easy run right beneath all of the chaos on the streets. She even has a place to stash the rifle, which has been painstakingly cleaned of all of her prints. It gets left atop of a densely packed series of pipes, neatly hidden from view.

If she never sees this Winchester again, so be it. Its job is done.

By the time she emerges she looks just like any other pedestrian who happens to be an albino with a facial tattoo, acting just like every other panicked citizen as she runs for her car.

Tonight's ride, an equally disposable smoke grey 1960 Buick Invicta.



The kitchen boy takes a bullet right to his gut, tearing his clothes and splattering blood all over Josh, who tackles him a split second after, with just enough time to work his magic. Similarly, the thug who'd fired first takes an unsuspecting dish to the face, causing him to fire his gun haphazardly into the ceiling. The fellow working at the counter ducks low, though he grabs the phone and receiver from the counter as he goes, and begins rapidly spooling a number.


Murdock, who's become flattened to the ground, begins climbing up and behind the judge's bench. "Your Honor!" he cries, reaching for the trembling Irishman. "We've got to get you outta here."

"I've got him," says the Bailiff, who's clutching a bullet wound to his shoulder. He reaches for the judge, then begins working toward the judge's recess room. "You okay, Murdock?"

"Yeah," Matt breathes, and follows the sound of the bailiff's voice. "Shit." His hands are tied. Much as he wants to do it, he can't blow his cover here. It's too public.

What… on Earth… is that sound?

He turns his head in Cable's direction, mouth ajar.


'Little' Frederick Gambini backpedals and is about to spit more vitriol, when Cable's armament reveals itself. "The fuck is this shit?"

Bobby 'The Bob' Farelli, recently made by the Genovese Family, yelps and rubs his face. "Hey, wait a second? What the fuck, is that Earth??" He swivels his head around. "What'd you do, freak?"


People have already begun pouring out of the U.S. District Court building, jamming up the already busy streets. Thea was wise to stay on foot, it allows her to travel more quickly toward her destination. Police and emergency crews are having a hard time getting through, but that's all about to go to shit. Phone calls have been made, from multiple sources; the mob is moving in. Cars begin crashing through the traffic, and out pop men with tommy guns, shotguns, and pistols. The violence breaks out all around Thea, and that 1960 Buick Invicta finds itself peppered with bullets that somehow just manage to miss puncturing any tires, fuel lines, or critical mechanical systems.


From Josh's hand comes a spreading of golden light, as it shines through to the kitchen boy and the biokinetic energy infuses the young man. First he holds his life in check: preserving through will alone the body from breaking down more, and then within moments the wound heals and the bullet is pushed right out of the wound. The golden glow fades. "Stay down." he instructs to the kitchen boy, who may or may not actually speak english.


Marc walks over to the gunman in the Pizza joint, wrenching away the firearm while the man is stunned. He turns to check on Josh and the kitchen boy, in time to see the bullet pop out of the youth's belly while Josh glows golden.

The previously staring man now gives a small nod of respect. "Things are gonna get messy out there, if I send people this way who are hurt, can you keep that up?" he asks. Marc's already heading to the door if no one else inside seems set on violence, hearing some of those cars full of guns opening fire not that many streets away.


Thea slides between people, moving against the tide. She'll skitter to a stop in the courtroom, heels going silent. There's a blink as her powers take over her vision a moment, a swallow. "Who's hurt? I'm a nurse, I'm here to help." So please to not be shooting or roughing her up, please.


"We're on a hyperadvanced operating base called Greymalkin. It's currently locked into geosynchronous orbit with Earth," Cable dispassionately states while strapping a bandolier and tactical belt to his person. "You've been brought here for questioning via controlled spatial disruption - AKA a bodyslide - because you've been deemed to possess intelligence relevant to several investigations that I'm currently pursuing." A blinking, chromed out handgun hums in its holster as he swipes his thumb across its rear and attaches it to his waist. "In other words: you have never, in your miserable lives, been more thoroughly fucked than you are right now."

To drive his point home, Cable attempts to drive a psychic spike into each man's motor system in the hopes of dropping them to the ground for a few solid minutes of agonized paralysis, left eye casting a terrible glare across the felons' features.

"I'd like for you two boys to play nice while I clean up the mess you" he looks squarely at Frederick "went and made; can you do that for me?"


Hocrap! Domino gets to her getaway car -just- in time to dive behind it as a wall of bullets tears out across the street. In the next second all she can hear is the rhythmic *DunkDunkDunk!* of slugs punching into the sheet steel and the sharp cracking of glass. Now isn't a time for getting engaged in a street war, she just needs to get the hell -out- of here!

No fluids leaking out of the Buick. That's a good sign.

She crawls in through the passenger door, keeping low as she squirms into place behind the wheel. More or less. She's just reaching for the ignition when there's a flash of golden light from the corner of her view. Over there, in the Pizza joint. That's…

That's -Elixir!-

"Oh honey, you picked the wrong time for a pie," she groans.

She could still leave. He can handle himself out there. Right..? But..he's part of the same damn -team,- and—

She could just kick a damn puppy. The keys are swiped from the ignition then back out of the car she crawls, swearing under her breath every few seconds. The team healer is -not expendable,- Thurman.

Right as Marc is heading for the door there's an albino chick with a black spot around her left eye making a mad dash to get inside of the diner!



Most of the shooting has died down, because there aren't many people left to shoot. There are many corpses; mostly mobsters, some police officers, and an unfortunate number of innocents, including the radio announcer. Quite a few injured remain, though, and one bleeding cop grabs Thea and begins directing her toward the injured.

Murdock, it would seem, has disappeared.


The kitchen boy blinks his eyes and turns to look at Josh, wide eyed. He looks down to the hole in his shirt, then back toward the Golden Boy with terror and awe in his face.


"Chiunque to sia, grazie."


Both Gambini and Farelli look to each other, before finding themselves dropping to their knees, screaming in agony. Each of them clutch at their heads before falling on the ground, unable to move beyond producing grunts and moans of terror and pain.

Frederick's eyes rotate toward Cable, gripped with raw fear. Seems he's too paralyzed to answer, but the message is clear. These guido bastards aren't going anywhere.


Right as Marc is clearing out and Domino is heading in, another mobster is mounting a bus stop with a tommy gun in hand. "BAAA FUNGOOL!" he cries, and cocks the weapon, when a billy club whizzes out of nowhere and knocks the gun right out of his hands.

Moments later, Daredevil whisks in from atop a traffic post, landing on the mobster with his boots. The two men tumble over each other, and with a horrific 'crunch' of shattered rib, the mobster breaks Daredevil's fall. The masked man grabs the mobster by his head and cracks it against the sidewalk, knocking him out in brutal fashion, before lifting his head and staring at the pizza joint.


"For… awhile. It depends on how bad and how many there are." Josh rises up as he answers the departing Marc, and even though he's sorta revealed himself, he lifts his hoodie up and tries to hide his face as best he can once again: it doesn't stop some looks, but Elixir is hoping that no one decides to lynch him or anything. Anything is possible though, and he doesn't yet know he's immortal. He rushes over towards the door, even with his head down, and then he sees— Domino?

"Domino?" he blinks, "What the hell is going on, any idea? People just started shooting eachother. All I wanted was a slice."


Marc might have replied to the glowing kid who really doesn't seem like he belongs in a suburban war zone, but then an albino is practically running him down, and with good reason it would seem. A man aiming a tommy gun at you is a great reason for anyone to make scarce— Marc's just tensing to throw himself to the side when a billy club out of nowhere takes the man down.

Marc gives another little nod, and dashes off around a corner. It looks like other people have found time to switch into fancier threads, and as it happens he's got a set of his own.


Thea will have to make that slice up to the nice golden hued kid. Right now she's busy using what's at hand, and in her head, to staunch bleeding from multiple wounds… on multiple people. No time to waste. Of all the days to not have any of her first aid stuff on her person. She will yell for anyone whole and not completely useless to search for first aid kits, find her anything useful.


"Thought so," Cable grunts while wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. "Prof, give me news— "

Steve Newman's voice fills alien corridors as Greymalkin's AI obliges the cyborg. His attention returns to the rack, grimacing as he makes a few final selections. The situation in the courtroom itself seems to be settling, due to the mathematics of it. "Bodyslide by one; outside."


Golden light floods the air beside the Man Without Fear, fading after several seconds to leave a man who smells of oil and ozone standing beside him.

"Civilian casualties?" he asks of Daredevil while unholstering his handgun and pointing it at the beaten down mobster on the ground. Once it's clear that he isn't going anywhere, he brings his attention up to follow the masked man's gaze, then advances on the parlor. "Think the number real loud. What's the situation in there? How many hostiles?"


Through the doors and rolling across the floor Domino leaps, half expecting a bullet in the back as the goon outside readies a Thompson. He's ..well..he's -gone.- Though the really weird thing isn't the disappearing act, it's seeing Daredevil. Out here. Outside of Hell's Kitchen. During the day.

..The hell is HE doing out here?

As much as she'd just -love- a free shot or twelve at the guy he's still safely marked as being off-limits, at least from what she last recalls hearing. So long as he doesn't get in her way everything's all cool. She just wants to haul Josh's ass to safety.

To Marc she sharply inclines her head, whether in greeting or thanks. Then her attention lands on Josh. "Come on, we've gotta go," she calls out while reaching to grab the golden one by the arm if he doesn't move fast enough. "Less talking more running!"

Oh, and -more- golden light. Almost as soon as she starts running for the door she -stops,- muttering "This is turning into an odd party." Because yep..that's Cable.



It doesn't take long for those still standing to heed Thea's words. There's at least one first aid kit in the room itself, which is gathered by the police officer. A few other good samaritans, shaken from shock, make their way into the halls to look for more. She'll have her work cut out for her.


Daredevil makes a face when Cable re-appears. More or less, his mouth makes a grimace of sorts, then begins to process a few things. This all happens while he slings his grappling club to the side, where it smacks into his discarded bludgeoning club. Magnetic tips connect, and with a yank, he draws them both back into his hands. Think the number?

Too many to count. Regarding civilian casualties. Regarding the situation inside the pizza joint? There's a man behind the counter, he's on the phone, speaking Italian.

The grappling club gets thrown to the right without looking; it flies through the air and busts the jaw of another mobster about to let loose on a pair of cops with his shotgun.

Domino. Daredevil has no concept of telepathy or how it works, so he doesn't exactly have an off switch. What the hell is -she- doing here? Mother of God! If she and Raven have something to do with this… what's that? Daredevil cocks his head to the side, even as the grappling club comes whizzing back to his hand. He turns aside and bum rushes another thug, swinging wildly with his other billy club toward a gun-wielding arm and following through with a roundhouse kick to the face. Pay phone, courthouse. Someone's calling Cavassini's son. This is about to get real ugly.

All it takes are two phone calls. Within moments, the Five Families have been notified of what's taken place at the U.S. District Courthouse. All across the city, the mob is getting fired up, placing blame. Alliances are torn apart with mere words, and blame is passed back and forth.

"This is gonna be a bloody day," mutters Daredevil with grief and fear in his voice.


For his part, Josh is tugged along, "Someone might need help…" It was how many days ago that he was killing soldiers? Now he's worried about saving civilians? Still, he goes along with Domino, but there is some hesitancy to his movements.


Thea is sweating, just a bit, her blood pressure soaring as she works on someone whose blood is stubbornly not stopping. Her face is flushed, and already there's the hints of strain, exhaustion, haunting around her eyes. "Sweet jesus, did anyone call for an ambulance?"


Luckily for Domino, she gets some extra time to consider a different means of egress, because for some reason, the abrupt appearance of a giant man wearing slacks, a tie, and a grenade-covered bandolier next to the Man Without Fear brings .45 shells raking across the street, forcing Cable to swiftly divert from his direct path to the parlor to the relative safety of a parked car.

Less fortunately, Daredevil's stream of consciousness outs her regardless, prompting a brisk, curious glance around the surrounding streets before Cable zeroes in on the man with the Thompson and the bad intentions scanning for him from atop a deli. After a brisk swipe along his handgun's barrel and a twitch of Cable's wrist, the mobster tumbles to the street, smoking from a gaping new hole in his chest while the cyborg takes off running towards the courthouse.

On the courthouse, Daredevil 'hears', a faint trail of amber light unfolding behind Cable as he pushes his mind and body towards their limits. //Get the parlor guy. Or some casualties. Get some— //

His astral voice falls silent when he nearly shears a courthouse door from its hinges, a storm of litter swirling in his wake amidst the luminous trail by now. It isn't until he reaches the phone bank that his body ceases to be a blur of amber, white, and black— and at that point, he is gripping a fistful of the phone-wielding mobster's hair in his shaking left arm and panting heavily. His left sleeve hangs in tatters, revealing gleaming metal studded by a dozen porous, gradually growing spikes. Blood sluices down the front of a now-ruined payphone and a couple of teeth clatter down to the ground along with the coins raining freely from the machine.

After giving himself a couple seconds to stem the red stream from his nose, Cable haltingly relinquishes his grip; his hand falls as if leaden, dragging him to his knees.

The front half of the mobster's head remains embedded in the payphone while the rest of him hangs limp.

Following a few more seconds of labored breathing, the spikes retract and Daredevil hears his astral voice once more, fainter than before:

Call's done here. What's your situation?

At the same time, he pulls a little disc with a Phoenix emblem in the middle from one of his pouches and taps the center, hailing a similar device owned by Domino.

"Domino. This is Cable, just checking in; what's your situation?"


"Can't help anyone if you're dead," Domino quickly counters Josh's protest. "The Families have gone apeshit and we're at ground zero!"

Hell, if the blind hero guy outside wants to weed out all of the mobsters then Whitey's not about to get in the way. He's helping her out! She may get out of this mess without ever being seen with a weapon in her hands, which would be just -cherry.-

To Josh, she says "Buick across the street, head down, go!"

She'll lead the way, make sure the car is unlocked and the keys are in hand, because no mission is complete without the sudden addition of an ally extraction! Then something starts making noise in her jacket pocket. She keeps forgetting that little communicator is in there…

"Dom here," she reports back while firing up the huge V8 and gunning it once. "Getting the fuck outta Dodge, over."

One ladies sized biker boot drops down onto the accelerator, adding a rib-vibrating snarl and shrieking of tires into the scene.



"Mob activity outside," the cop informs Thea. "They can't get through." He turns away, then looks back to her earnestly. "Listen, doll. You save one life, that's one more than not. Okay? Keep at it, I'll try and get you some help." And then, he's off, headed for the front.


Daredevil grimaces when that big man's voice 'appears' in his head. "The hell?" he verbalizes, a thought mimicked in his head. You're in my head? What the hell is this?

Still, he heeds. A quick spin and pivot sends the suited mobster to the ground, when two fists collide with the mobster's face. His head darts to the pizza joint, then to the cables running from the building to a telephone pole. He throws the club in his left hand with a vicious swing, releasing the line and clinching it once it strikes the cable. He grunts and drops to the ground, pulling hard, and with a snap, the telephone wire is ripped free and comes flopping to the street.

Cut the lines, he thinks without breaking.

Just like that, things begin settling down, mostly because there aren't any other mobsters left standing in this part of town. Daredevil looks about with a frown on his face, before launching the grappling cable at the nearest building and rising out of sight.


Joseph Colombo hangs up the phone, then reaches for his cigar once more. He draws a long drag from the illegally imported Cuban, beady eyes staring off toward the far end of his richly decorated room.

"Well, Joe." The voice is that of Carlo Gambino, who stands not far from the man with a bottle of imported Peroni in his hand. "Deed's done. They gonna light up the streets like never before."

"Get all the underbosses in one place," instructs Colombo, "by nightfall. We'll let those other hacks tear themselves apart like drunk negroes, then, we'll make our move."

"And find out who the hell's gobbled up all the good stuff."

"Due time, Carlo." Joseph Colombo turns and reaches under his desk for a pistol he's kept there, secretly.

Or so he thought.

Coming up empty, Colombo turns and looks at Carlo Gambino with surprise, before a fresh hole is drilled right through his forehead and into the back of his chair.

"Due time," echoes Gambino, before walking over and plucking the cuban out of Colombo's dead lips. He eyeballs the thing for a long moment, before putting it into his own mouth and taking a deep, long drag.

"Let the war begin."

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