Flight
The darkness was a welcome blanket. Matt lay on the cold floor of the church basement, his body numb, his mind reeling. Maggie. His mother. The woman who had abandoned him was here, had been here all along, watching him, praying for him.
The betrayal was a physical ache, a gaping wound in his soul. Everything he thought he knew about his life, about his past, had been a lie. And the woman he had confided in, the woman he had trusted... she had been keeping this secret from him for decades.
He pushed himself to his feet, his body trembling. He couldn't stay here. Couldn't face her, couldn't bear to hear her explanations, her apologies, her justifications. He needed to get away, to escape the suffocating weight of St. Agnes and its secrets.
His enhanced senses told him Maggie was still in the church above, her heartbeat slow and steady, her scent a mix of sorrow and guilt. She didn't know he had heard her prayer, didn't know that her carefully constructed world had just come crashing down.
He slipped out of the basement and into the night, his movements driven by a desperate need to escape. He didn't know where he was going, didn't have a plan. All he knew was that he couldn't stay here, couldn't breathe the same air as the woman who had lied to him for so long.
The city was a cacophony of sounds and scents, amplified by his heightened senses. His omega nature was clamoring for comfort, for safety, but he ignored it, pushing himself forward, driven by a primal need to find somewhere, anywhere, that felt like his own.
He found himself heading east, towards the old Hell's Kitchen neighborhood where he had grown up. The streets were different now, gentrified and sanitized, but the memories were still there, etched into the very pavement.
His feet led him to a familiar building, a dilapidated brick structure with boarded-up windows and a faded sign above the door: "Murdock's Gym - No Fear."
His father's gym.
It had been years since he'd last been here, years since Jack had died, years since he'd allowed himself to think about the man who had raised him, who had taught him to fight, who had loved him unconditionally.
The door was locked, but Matt didn't need a key. He picked the lock with practiced ease, his fingers moving instinctively, guided by years of muscle memory.
The gym was just as he remembered it - dusty and worn, but filled with the ghosts of his father's booming voice and the rhythmic thud of punching bags. The air smelled of sweat and leather and something else... something like hope.
He stumbled inside, his legs giving way beneath him. He sank to the floor, his back against one of the old punching bags, his body wracked with sobs.
"Dad," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I don't know what to do."
He was alone, truly alone, for the first time in his life. His mother had abandoned him, his friends didn't know the truth about him, and now his whole world was crumbling around him.
He closed his eyes, trying to conjure his father's image, to hear his voice, to feel his presence. Jack had always been his rock, his guiding light. He had taught Matt to be strong, to be brave, to stand up for what was right.
But what was right now? How could he be strong when his own body was betraying him, when his own mind was unraveling? How could he fight when he didn't even know who he was anymore?
He reached out and touched the punching bag, his fingers tracing the worn leather. He remembered the countless hours he had spent in this gym, training with his father, learning to control his senses, to harness his strength.
"No fear," Jack used to say, his voice booming through the gym. "That's the Murdock way. We don't back down. We don't give up. We keep fighting, no matter what."
But Matt was afraid. More afraid than he had ever been in his life. He was afraid of his own nature, afraid of Fisk, afraid of what the future held. And most of all, he was afraid of losing control.
He curled up on the floor, his body shaking with sobs. He needed comfort, needed reassurance, needed someone to tell him that everything was going to be okay.
But there was no one there.
Only the ghosts of his past, and the crushing weight of his present.