The dimly lit warehouse reeks of damp concrete and stale cigarette smoke. You’re seated on a cold metal chair, hands bound behind your back. Kingpin's goons are pacing around, muttering to each other, occasionally casting nervous glances your way. You stifle a sigh, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

This is so cliché. Captured by thugs, used as bait, and now, waiting for a hero to swoop in and save the day. You’ve seen this play out in the movies more times than you can count, but living it? It’s as tedious as you’d imagined.

The door creaks open, and the goons freeze. A figure steps out of the shadows—Matt, in his Daredevil suit. His presence immediately shifts the atmosphere in the room, tension winding tight as a bowstring.

Matt moves with fluid precision, dodging the first swing from one of the thugs, then disarming another before you can blink. The sounds of fists meeting flesh echo through the warehouse, a brutal symphony of swift justice. You catch his eye for a split second, and you can’t help but roll yours again.

Within moments, the last of Kingpin’s henchmen are down, groaning on the floor. Matt’s breathing is steady as he steps closer, pulling off his mask. His gaze finds yours, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You know, I thought you’d be a bit more excited to see me,” he says, his voice low and teasing, as if you weren’t sitting there, tied up like the classic damsel in distress.