Blackout | Matt Murdock

chapter twenty-one | new york gets fucked (as per usual)

To say it feels like the world is ending would be – actually, Michaela can't be bothered to think of something even remotely quippy about the situation she's willingly thrown herself into. It does feel like the world is ending, but isn't that just par for the fucking course for New Yorkers these days?

The epicenter of the fight isn't more than a block away from Keller's Bank, which is an uncomfortable reminder of simpler times, when all Michaela had to worry about was not getting flattened by a technopath-powered car. She can't believe those are her good old days, but, well, here they are.

Nothing's changed much from what Michaela saw on the news broadcast. Most of the civilians have cleared out of the immediate area, leaving the streets nearly deserted. Deserted, but not strictly unoccupied – there's evidence of Mordo and Cato's magic clashing everywhere, chunks of asphalt gouged out of the road, scorch marks streaked across buildings, a crooked stop light that's bent around what appears to have been a human-shaped projectile. The wizards themselves are currently nowhere to be found, though Michaela's fairly sure they're still in the general vicinity, which she's basing off the still smoking destruction that's been wrought on her beloved city.

She's so sick of wizards and their magic bullshit. Harry Potter is dead to her after this.

Beside her, Matt takes a moment to assess the situation. Judging by the taut line of his shoulders and the foreboding slant of his mouth, she thinks it's fair to say he's not too happy with what they've walked in on. But he doesn't say anything, doesn't make any complaints, just signals for Luke (who is an absolute tank of a man and also incredibly sweet?) and Jessica to round up the wayward civilians.

Jessica rolls her eyes. "Sure. Put the two powerhouses on babysitting duty. Great plan, devil man."

But she goes all the same, scowling when Luke grins and nudges her shoulder, murmuring something that she snaps out an equally quiet reply to. Luke gives a mock salute to Matt, winks at Michaela and Peter (who's hovering behind her, dangling upside-down from one of his webs and giving off some pretty big I-have-no-idea-what's-happening-but-by-god-am-I-gonna-help vibes), then jogs after Jessica, already calling out a comforting greeting to the panicky people they're moving towards.

Sensing her eyes on him, Matt turns to Michaela. "This is your wheelhouse, Michaela. Where do you want us?"

And ain't that the million-dollar question?

Michaela's had months to consider strategy. She's gone over the facts with Matt a hundred times, done it another hundred with Peter. She's even factored Mordo into her impromptu This Is Why We're Fucked meetings. And yet she doesn't feel any steadier on her feet here, doesn't feel like she's stepped back even an inch from the precipice she's been toeing for a year. Cato is just as unpredictable, just as terrifying as he'd been that first night she ran into him, when he'd flashed his not-so-holographic shields at her and disappeared into the darkness.

But when has that ever stopped her before.

"Spidey, you up for getting us a birds-eye view of the action?"

Peter is buzzing with nervous energy, looking like he might just vibrate off this mortal coil if left unchecked, and she figures this'll have him feeling included without letting him directly engage with the murderous wizards right off the bat. He's quick to nod, anyway, flipping upright without letting his feet touch the ground and webbing his way across the street. She watches until he's out of sight, something knocking loose in her chest even as something else seizes up. Then she's blowing out a slow breath, sparks licking down her forearms and flickering at her fingertips.