บท 4: Chapter 4: Fall of the Kingpin
Nightwing strode through the shadows, the darkened streets of New York seemingly bending to his will as he moved with purpose. His target tonight was a warehouse tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city. Inside, the man he was looking for would help him take a major step toward bringing down the Kingpin of Crime, Wilson Fisk.
He arrived at the warehouse, a looming structure that looked abandoned to the casual observer but was anything but. The faint glow of lights leaked out from the cracks in the windows, and as Nightwing approached, he spotted the man he sought. A bald, muscular figure named Melvin Potter, who had a reputation as one of the best underground fabricators in the city, was entering the building.
Nightwing slipped inside silently and found Melvin tinkering at a workbench, completely unaware of his presence. He smirked, deciding to make an entrance.
"Yo," Nightwing said casually, leaning against a pillar. "I need your expertise."
Melvin jumped, dropping a tool from his hands. He spun around, eyes wide. "Nightwing?" His voice was filled with shock, the vigilante's name clearly not what he expected to hear tonight. "You're that guy everyone's been talking about in the underworld. You've been stirring up some trouble."
Nightwing shrugged, his smirk widening. "Gotta keep the bad guys on their toes. So, here's the deal. I need a better suit, and I heard you're the guy who can make that happen."
Melvin hesitated, his mind clearly weighing the risks. "What's in it for me?"
Nightwing's playful expression hardened in an instant. "Not going to jail for creating illegal equipment. Oh, and avoiding a broken arm and a concussion," he said, stepping forward with quiet menace. "Your choice."
Melvin gulped, clearly realizing his options were limited. "Deal."
"Good talk," Nightwing replied, his grin returning.
---
Two days later, the party of the century was underway in one of New York's grandest venues. The halls were filled with the city's elite, rich CEOs and power brokers all gathered to hear Fisk make his grand announcement. Among the high-profile attendees were Norman Osborn of Oscorp, Justin Hammer of Hammer Industries, George Tarleton of A.I.M., and even the infamous Tony Stark, who had flown in at the last minute. This wasn't just a party—it was a display of power and control, a stage for Fisk to cement his grip on the city.
Amidst the sea of luxury suits and sparkling dresses, a blonde waitress moved gracefully through the crowd, balancing a tray of champagne flutes. No one paid her much mind, as she appeared to be just another part of the scenery. But this was no ordinary waitress. Beneath the blonde wig and simple uniform was Felicia Hardy, and she had a much bigger role to play tonight.
As she passed by Tony Stark, her eyes darted toward the security systems hidden behind decorative panels. With practiced ease, she slipped away from the crowd and into a restricted area. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she remained calm, recalling the plan she and Nightwing had gone over a hundred times.
In her mind, the scene flashed back to two days earlier, where Dick had laid out the operation.
"You'll infiltrate the party as a waitress," he had said, pointing to the layout of the venue. "Once you're inside, you'll upload the files we got from Fisk's network into their systems. Everyone at that party will see it. Fisk will be exposed for what he truly is."
"And what about you?" Felicia had asked.
"I'll make sure we have backup plans," Dick had responded. "Two copies of the files. One goes to the police, and the other to a reporter I trust. Once the files are public, Fisk will have nowhere to hide. The police will arrest him, and we win."
Felicia had nodded, feeling a sense of hope for the first time in months. It was a dangerous plan, but it was also their best shot.
Back in the present, Felicia moved quickly, slipping a small hard drive into the system and initiating the upload. She tapped her earpiece. "It's done."
At that moment, chaos erupted in the ballroom. Large screens around the venue flickered to life, displaying file after file, revealing Fisk's corrupt empire in excruciating detail. There were records of drug deals, illegal arms trades, political bribes—everything Fisk had kept hidden for years was now laid bare before the city's elite.
Fisk, standing on the stage, saw what was happening and immediately turned to flee. Panic spread through the room as the guests began to realize just who their host really was.
Felicia stayed hidden, watching as Fisk disappeared into a side exit. She knew this part of the plan, too. He was making his way to the roof, where his private helicopter waited. But he wouldn't make it far.
---
On the rooftop, Fisk was out of breath but determined. He pulled out his phone and dialed frantically. "Bullseye! Where the hell are you?"
No answer.
Fisk cursed under his breath as he stepped toward the waiting chopper. But before he could take another step, a voice cut through the night air.
"He's not coming."
Fisk froze and turned slowly. There, standing in front of him in a sleek new suit, was Nightwing. The suit was matte black, with a striking blue-and-gold wing symbol across his chest. His mask, covering only his eyes, gave him a predatory look.
"You," Fisk growled, fury rising in his voice.
"Me," Nightwing replied with a smirk. "You know, I had a little chat with your boy Bullseye earlier."
A flashback played out in Nightwing's mind. Bullseye had been watching the party from a rooftop across the street, his sniper rifle trained on the ballroom. But before he could take the shot, a boot had slammed into his back, sending him sprawling.
"Back for more?" Bullseye had sneered, recognizing Nightwing as his attacker. "Last time didn't go so well for you."
"Second time's the charm," Nightwing had quipped, readying his Escrima sticks.
The fight had been intense, with Bullseye firing shots and hurling knives, while Nightwing used his agility and sticks to dodge and counter. But this time, Nightwing was ready. His new suit gave him an edge, and the electric charge in his Escrima sticks packed a punch. After a brutal exchange of blows, Nightwing had gained the upper hand. He'd knocked Bullseye out cold, leaving him tied up for the police to find.
---
Back in the present, Fisk was livid. "I'm going to kill you and everyone you care about!" he roared.
Nightwing's expression darkened. "You already did," he said quietly, before charging at Fisk.
The fight was explosive. Fisk was a mountain of muscle and rage, swinging his massive fists with deadly force, but Nightwing was quicker, dodging and weaving around the blows. With his new suit, Nightwing was faster and more agile than ever before, using his Escrima sticks to strike at Fisk's vulnerable spots.
Fisk charged at him like a bull, but Nightwing leaped over his head, delivering a hard kick to Fisk's back. Fisk stumbled but quickly regained his balance, turning and throwing a wild punch that Nightwing barely dodged.
Nightwing pressed the attack, using his agility to stay out of Fisk's reach. He delivered a series of electrified strikes with his Escrima sticks, each hit sending a jolt of electricity through Fisk's body. But Fisk was tough, absorbing the punishment and continuing to fight back.
The rooftop became a battleground, with Fisk using his raw strength to try to crush Nightwing, while Nightwing relied on his speed, gadgets, and combat skills to chip away at the larger man.
After what felt like an eternity, Nightwing saw an opening. Fisk was tiring, his movements becoming sluggish. With a final burst of speed, Nightwing ducked under a wild punch and drove both of his electrified Escrima sticks into Fisk's chest. The electric shock dropped Fisk to his knees, and he collapsed to the ground, panting heavily.
Nightwing stood over him, breathing hard, but victorious.
"You're done, Fisk," he said, his voice cold.
Fisk spat blood, glaring up at him. "You think this changes anything? I'll get out again. I'll come for you. I'll make your life a living hell."
Nightwing hesitated for a moment, his hand tightening around his Escrima sticks. The thought of ending Fisk's reign once and for all was tempting. But then he remembered Wally—his good nature, his ideals, the way he always believed in doing the right thing, no matter how hard it was.
Nightwing lowered his sticks. "No," he said quietly. "I'm not going to kill you. But if you get out, I'll put you back in a cell. Over and over again. I'll never stop."
With one final hit, Nightwing knocked Fisk unconscious.
As the sirens of approaching police cars echoed in the distance, Nightwing heard officers shouting from below. "Hands up! You're under arrest!"
He dropped a smoke bomb, disappearing into the shadows as the police stormed the rooftop. By the time they reached Fisk's unconscious body, Nightwing was already gone, swinging away into the night with his grappling hook.
---
The next day, Dick Grayson and Felicia Hardy stood side by side, watching as Fisk was loaded into a police van, headed for Rikers Island. The plan had worked, and Fisk was finally behind bars.
Felicia looked up at Dick, her expression conflicted. "So, are you going to keep doing it?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the bustling sounds of the city.
Dick, still watching as Fisk's police van disappeared around the corner, turned to her with a curious expression. "Doing what?"
Felicia smiled faintly. "Being Nightwing. You've made waves, taken down some of the biggest players in the city, but… what now?"
Dick paused, his gaze lifting to the skyline. "Yeah," he said softly. "This city needs hope. It needs someone to fight for it. As long as I'm here, I'll keep doing what I do."
Felicia's smile widened, though it didn't reach her eyes. "And what about me? I've been in and out of this life long enough to know the risks." She sighed and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I think… I think I'm going to go back to school, graduate, and maybe have a normal life. Or as normal as I can manage."
Dick looked at her with a mix of understanding and something else—something softer. "That's probably a good call, Felicia. I wouldn't want to see you caught in this mess again."
She nodded, her eyes suddenly misty. "Thank you, Dick… for everything." She hesitated, looking down for a moment, then back up at him. "And I'm still sorry about Wally. I know how much he meant to you."
Dick's jaw tightened, the mention of his old friend stirring a deep pain inside him. But he forced himself to smile. "You're forgiven. And, you know… you've come a long way. I'm glad you're choosing a different path."
Before she could respond, Felicia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Dick stood still for a moment, slightly surprised, but then returned the embrace, his hand resting gently on her back.
"Good luck," Felicia whispered, her voice barely a breath.
"You too," Dick replied, his tone sincere.
She pulled away slowly, offering him one last smile before turning and walking off into the city. Dick watched her go, a bittersweet feeling settling in his chest. For once, someone he cared about was walking away from the darkness instead of being pulled further into it. He hoped it would stay that way.
---
Later that night, Nightwing stood atop one of New York's tallest buildings, his silhouette framed against the glow of the city below. The skyline stretched out in every direction, a sea of lights that never seemed to dim. He took a deep breath, the cool night air filling his lungs, and for a moment, he allowed himself to reflect on everything that had happened.
The city was far from perfect. Crime and corruption still ran rampant. But tonight, at least, he had made a difference. Fisk was behind bars, his criminal empire in shambles. But even as he allowed himself that small victory, a blaring bank alarm sounded in the distance, cutting through the quiet night.
Nightwing smirked, shaking his head. "This city never sleeps, huh?" he muttered to himself.
Without another moment of hesitation, he leaped off the building, diving into the night like a shadow. His grappling hook shot out, catching onto a nearby ledge, and with a graceful swing, he disappeared into the darkness, heading toward the next challenge awaiting him.
---
Meanwhile, in a high-tech office somewhere far removed from the chaos of the streets, a woman with brown hair and sharp features entered the room. She moved with purpose, approaching the large desk at the center, where a single figure sat in the shadows.
"Director Fury," she said, her voice brisk but respectful. "I've got something. The identity of the new vigilante making waves in New York. He calls himself Nightwing." She placed a file on the desk in front of the man, opening it to reveal a familiar face.
The figure in the chair leaned forward, revealing the imposing form of Nick Fury, the one-eyed director of S.H.I.E.L.D. He picked up the file, scanning the contents carefully. The image staring back at him was that of Dick Grayson, complete with his police ID. Fury's eyebrow raised slightly in interest.
"Is he compatible with the others?" Fury asked without looking up, his voice measured and calculating.
The woman nodded. "I believe so. He's got the skillset, the attitude. He's… different from the others, but I think he could be a good fit."
Fury leaned back in his chair, a subtle smile playing on his lips as he activated the console on his desk. A holographic screen sprang to life, displaying a familiar title: **The Avengers Initiative.**
The screen shifted, cycling through various pieces of footage. It began with Iron Man, battling terrorists in a desert, his armor gleaming in the sun. Next came footage of Captain America in World War II, leading his troops into battle with his iconic shield raised high. The screen then showed a man in a red suit shrinking down to the size of an ant, while beside him, a woman in a yellow suit with wings blasted her enemies with glowing energy from her hands.
The footage continued, showing a short, rugged man with metal claws extending from his knuckles, cutting through soldiers like a human weapon. Then came the Hulk, a green behemoth rampaging through a battlefield, swatting tanks aside like toys.
A figure dressed in black appeared next, moving with the grace and speed of a panther as he took down a group of heavily armed thugs. Following him was a man with long, golden hair and a hammer in hand, fighting a massive armored figure in an epic clash of power and thunder.
The montage ended with two familiar faces: a red-haired woman expertly wielding twin pistols, and a man in a purple suit, his bow drawn, ready to unleash a barrage of arrows on his enemies.
Fury studied the footage for a moment longer, before closing the hologram with a flick of his wrist. His gaze shifted back to the file on his desk.
"Nightwing, huh?" Fury muttered to himself. "Interesting."
He stood, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the room. He looked out the window, his single eye fixed on the distant horizon.
"Let's keep an eye on him," Fury said, his voice low and deliberate. "We might need him sooner than we think." Then Fury stares out into the city, the wheels of a much larger plan beginning to turn.
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