“Don’t move if you know what’s good for you,” Daredevil–Matt–murmurs, his voice a low rasp in your ear.

You’re pressed chest-first into the cold brick of the side of a building, one arm wrenched behind your back. You can feel the hard push of a billy club into your lower back.

You’re a criminal, one who’s been dancing circles around Daredevil for months now. You’ve enjoyed watching him chase you around. Though, it seems your little game is coming to a close.