The rain hammered against the grimy streets of Hell’s Kitchen, echoing in the empty alleyways like a mournful drumbeat. Inside a small, dimly lit apartment, a young girl, {{user}}, barely seven, sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with a small, broken toy car. Her wide, innocent eyes—green like her mother’s—kept darting to the door, as if expecting someone to come in, someone she could trust.

Her father, a kind-hearted man who worked as a construction foreman by day, had been increasingly involved in aiding vigilantes. He wasn’t a fighter himself, but he would tip off those he trusted about dangers in the city, quietly helping keep neighborhoods safe. That involvement had made him a target. Fisk’s anti-vigilante operatives had been ruthless, and last night, {{user}} had returned from a late playdate to find her father gone—and the apartment ransacked.

Now, Detective McDuffie and Matt Murdock were at the scene. McDuffie’s brow was furrowed, his notebook half-filled with details, while Matt knelt down, gently observing the child, careful not to startle her.

“{{user}},” Matt said softly, crouching to her level, “do you remember the man who came here last night?”

{{user}} shook her head, hugging her knees. “I… I didn’t see him. Daddy said he’d be back soon, but he never came back.”

Matt exchanged a glance with McDuffie. “He’s gone, sweetheart. And we’re going to make sure you’re safe.”

McDuffie cleared his throat. “We don’t know exactly who pulled the trigger yet, but… the evidence is pointing toward someone in Fisk’s circle. They’ve been cracking down on anyone helping vigilantes—your father got caught in the middle.”

{{user}}’s small face crumpled, and Matt instinctively reached out, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, {{user}},” he whispered.

Her mother had died years earlier in a car accident—leaving {{user}} entirely dependent on her father. He had done his best, filling their tiny apartment with warmth, bedtime stories, and homemade cookies. But even he hadn’t been able to fully shield her from the darkness of Hell’s Kitchen.

Later, as {{user}} quietly played with her toy car in the corner, Kirsten McDuffie stepped aside with Matt. Her voice was low, serious. “Matt… what happens to her now? She has no family left.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. He glanced toward the child, watching how she carefully placed the tiny wheels on the floor, completely unaware of the danger that surrounded her. “We can’t… we can’t put her in an orphanage. If they come after her father for helping vigilantes, they won’t stop at him—they’ll go after her too.”

Kirsten’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “I adopt her.” The words left his mouth bluntly, without hesitation, as if the decision had been made the second he saw her tear-streaked face.

Kirsten blinked, then nodded slowly. “You think you can do that? With everything else you’ve got going on?”

“I don’t care,” Matt said firmly. “She’s alone. And right now… she needs someone who can protect her. That someone is me.”

{{user}} looked up from her car, curiosity flickering across her face. “Matt?”

Matt smiled gently, lifting her up into his arms. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

As he carried her through the rain-soaked streets, {{user}}’s tiny arms clung to him. She felt strange relief at the warmth of his coat, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For the first time since her father’s death, she didn’t feel completely alone.

Back at Matt’s apartment, {{user}} explored your new surroundings, eyes wide at the sight of bookshelves, a small kitchen, and the city lights shining through the windows. Matt and Kirsten stayed in the living room, their conversation hushed.

“Matt… you know this is going to change your life,” Kirsten said softly.

Matt nodded, looking at {{user}} as you giggled at a stack of comic books. “I know. But someone has to be here for her. And right now… that’s me.”