Capítulo 33: PR Problem
We might have a little problem as my day to day schedule has drifted drastically it'll take some time to get back to my pace please bear with me
I've made the chapter larger than Usual.
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Niklaus entered his room with an air of calm and control, loosening his tie as he stepped inside.
Sitting at the edge of the couch, Ashley looked visibly distressed, her brow furrowed, fingers twitching against her thighs as if trying to hold back a tide of nerves.
She barely registered his entrance.
Niklaus's sharp eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the tension immediately.
"Ashley," he said, voice low but probing. "What's going on? Why the long face?"
Ashley looked up, biting her lip nervously.
She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then with a resigned sigh, picked up the remote. "We've got a huge PR problem," she said, her voice edged with worry.
Without another word, she turned on the TV, the screen flashing to life and settling on the familiar logo of Fox News.
The news anchor, with that calculated tone of concern that bordered on sensationalism, was midway through his report.
"...a tragic accident involving a Vought Pharmaceuticals truck carrying highly dangerous chemicals."
"The incident occurred earlier today in Hell's Kitchen, resulting in a catastrophic spill that left a 12-year-old boy, Matthew Murdock, permanently blinded and severely Injured. The boy pushed an elderly man out of the way of danger but couldn't save himself. His father, a local boxer, witnessed the entire horrific event."
Niklaus's eyes hardened as the news continued.
"The situation is further complicated by reports that the truck was also transporting radioactive Material. "
" Questions are now being raised about why Vought would transport such materials through a densely populated urban area with so little precaution."
" Critics are calling it a complete failure of corporate responsibility, and many are asking if Vought's negligence is to blame for this boy's suffering. The city is in an uproar, and legal experts suggest that lawsuits are imminent."
The anchor leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting with an opportunistic hunger for scandal. "Could this be the beginning of the end for Vought's reputation as America's favorite corporate ? Only time will tell."
Ashley muted the TV, turning to face Niklaus with a look that was both fearful and pleading. "This is bad, Niklaus," she said, her voice shaky. "They're tearing us apart on every channel. The lawyers are already getting bombarded with requests for statements, and people are—"
Niklaus cut her off with a raised hand, his expression unreadable as he processed the information.
He remained silent for a few moments, his gaze fixed on the now-muted TV screen, where images of the accident site played out in a loop.
His jaw clenched, but when he finally spoke, his voice was eerily calm.
"Let them talk," Niklaus said, turning his gaze back to Ashley.
"We'll handle it. But first, we need to make sure that boy's story doesn't get out of control. Damage control starts now. Get the best PR team on it. We'll spin this. I don't care what you do bribing, blackmail, assassination shut these mouths "
Ashley nodded quickly, relieved to see that he wasn't angry. "I'm on it," she said, grabbing her cellphone to make the necessary calls.
But even as she worked, she couldn't help but feel a chill in the room.
Niklaus stood by the window, staring out at the city with an intensity she had seen only in moments when his power felt most dangerous.
This was going to be more than just another corporate clean-up job— after all it was getting real close to home.
Niklaus stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought.
His mind was already churning through the details, trying to make sense of the shift in events. He didn't like surprises, not anymore— and certainly not ones like this.
Ashley was still frantically calling on her phone, trying to get the PR team as well as thw hitmen team mobilized when Niklaus suddenly spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Ashley," he said, turning around slowly. "I want you to find out where the boy—Matt Murdock—is hospitalized. I'll handle this myself."
Ashley looked up from her phone, momentarily taken aback. "You're... going to deal with this personally?" she asked cautiously.
Niklaus's eyes narrowed as he processed the boy's name again.
Matt Murdock. It rang a bell, one that brought with it a chunk of memories from his past life.
He hadn't thought or cared much about comic books or heroes from his old world since his rebirth into this one,since he beliveed that he had already changed it to an irreversible degree.
Daredevil
Murdock's origin story had been something else in the comics—a chemical spill from Rand Oil—but now Vought was at the center of it.
Fate had a funny way of correcting itself.
"Yes," Niklaus responded, his voice firm but thoughtful. "I'll take care of it. It's... important."
Ashley, sensing that Niklaus wasn't in the mood for more questions, simply nodded. "I'll have the information to you within a few minutes," she said, already dialing numbers to get the details.
Niklaus returned his gaze to the window, the city sprawling out before him.
There was something about this twist—something that made him curious about how things would play out now that he was in the equation.
Matt Murdock, destined to become Daredevil, blinded by Vought chemicals instead of Rand Oil.
Not to mention that from what he saw then he might have got exposed to the gene catalyst made from radioactive elements.
"Things really have changed a lot" he muttered under his breath, a small smile creeping onto his face.
---
The newsroom was buzzing with energy as journalists and staff hustled to meet deadlines, but in a corner office, tensions were brewing.
A Vought PR member, a polished woman in her thirties with a sharp business suit and a smile that never quite reached her eyes, stood across from a stubborn media manager, his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed defiantly over his chest.
"You can't run this story," the PR member said with carefully measured calm. "The narrative is too damaging, and it's built on speculation. You know Vought will retaliate. It's in everyone's best interest to bury this now before it gets worse."
The media manager, a man in his late forties with graying hair and a rough demeanor, sneered at her. "I've worked in this industry for two decades. I don't need corporate stooges telling me how to do my job. The truth needs to be told, and I'm not going to let a company like Vought intimidate me into silence."
The PR member's smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second. "You're making a mistake," she warned quietly. "This isn't about intimidation—it's about protecting the people involved."
The media manager shook his head, standing firm. "You don't own the truth, Vought doesn't own the truth. I'm running the story. End of discussion."
With a resigned sigh, the PR member gathered her things. "You've been warned," she said softly, her tone almost sympathetic. She left the office without another word.
---
Two hours later, the media manager was clocking out of work, still riding the high of his decision. He had stood up to one of the biggest corporations in the country, and that meant something. He fished his car keys from his pocket when his phone rang.
"Hello?" he answered absently.
"Mr. Davies? It's HR from the office," came the voice on the other end of the line. "We've been instructed to inform you that your employment with us has been terminated, effective immediately."
The words hit him like a sledgehammer. He stopped dead in his tracks, stunned into silence. "What?" he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm... I'm fired?"
"Yes, Mr. Davies. We'll arrange for you to collect your things tomorrow. Good night."
The call disconnected, leaving him standing in the cold night air, his world suddenly spinning out of control. Disheartened and confused, he stumbled back to his car and drove home in silence.
---
Back in his apartment, Davies sat in the dim light of his kitchen, a beer clutched in his hand.
He stared at the label for a long time before popping it open and taking a long, bitter swig.
The sting of the news was still fresh, and the beer didn't do much to dull it.
As he drank, his mind swirled with questions. What had happened? Why had the company folded so easily?
Suddenly, a strange sensation crept over him. His muscles stiffened, his chest tightened, and a searing pain shot through his body.
He tried to gasp, to scream, but his throat closed up. The bottle of beer slipped from his hand, spilling its contents on the floor.
His body jerked violently once, then went still. His eyes were wide open, locked in an expression of confusion and terror.
From the shadows of the kitchen, a figure emerged. The man was dressed in all black, his features impossible to discern.
He moved with an unnatural, mechanical precision as he stepped forward, inspecting the scene for a brief moment before speaking into a concealed earpiece.
"Target eliminated," the man said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion.
Without another glance, he turned and walked out of the apartment, disappearing into the night as if he had never been there at all.
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