Hells Messenger

Fiona knew this was reckless—even by her standards. Out of all the risks she had taken for a story, this was by far the most dangerous.

She was crouched behind a dumpster, half-hidden by stacks of garbage bags, her camera raised as she captured the scene unfolding only a few feet away. This was one of the Russians’ known territories, a place whispered about in the kind of circles that made even seasoned criminals uneasy.

Her pulse quickened as she watched a blind Chinese man approach the two Russian guards standing outside. He wore a backpack and tapped his cane against the pavement with every careful step.

Fiona couldn’t hear their conversation, but body language told her enough. One of the Russians hesitated, glancing toward the other before finally stepping aside to let the blind man inside.

She snapped another picture.

Then, a deep voice rumbled behind her.

“What are you doing here?”

Her breath caught as she spun around, coming face to face with the man in black.

Her grip tightened on her camera. “How did you even see me?” she asked, knowing full well that she had been buried deep in the shadows.

“You need to leave,” he said, his voice firm.

“No,” she shot back. “The Russians know something. And I’m guessing that blind guy wasn’t just dropping off snacks.”

He didn’t argue, but his head tilted slightly, as if he were listening to something she couldn’t hear.

Fiona turned back toward the entrance just in time to see that the other guard had gone inside, leaving only one man standing watch.

“Stay here. Don’t move,” the man in black ordered before rushing off, disappearing into the night like a shadow.

Fiona didn’t listen.

She adjusted her camera, her fingers tightening around the lens as she watched him jump the lone guard, taking him down with swift, practiced movements.

Her instincts took over. Click. Click. Click.

She captured everything. The blur of motion, the sharp impact of fists, the raw efficiency in the way he fought.

Then something shifted.

The man in the mask froze, his head snapping toward her.

He looked like he was about to run straight for her—but it was too late.

The explosion ripped through the building, a deafening roar splitting the night as fire and debris tore through the air.

The blast hit them both like a shockwave.

Fiona barely had time to gasp before she was thrown backward, the camera flying from her hands as everything turned to chaos.

Fiona's ears were ringing, the high-pitched whine drowning out everything else as she slowly regained consciousness. Her lungs burned, and when she coughed, she tasted dust and smoke, the thick air clogging her throat. Every part of her ached as she pushed herself up on shaky arms, blinking against the haze of dust and flickering embers around her.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a voice. Muffled at first, then gradually sharpening through the static in her head.

“Fiona! Fiona!”

She turned toward the sound, barely able to make out the masked figure moving toward her.

Her thoughts weren’t on the explosion. Not on the fact that she could have died. Instead, the only thing running through her mind was—

“My camera,” she mumbled, still disoriented, eyes scanning the wreckage. "Where’s my camera?"

The masked man crouched beside her, reaching out but not quite touching her. “Fiona, can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

She barely processed the concern in his voice, too focused on finding what she had lost. "No, no. I’m okay. I just—”

Then she saw it.

A few feet away, half-buried in dust and debris, was her camera.

Her heart dropped. "Oh, god. No, no, no."

She scrambled forward, ignoring the soreness in her body as she reached for it, pulling it from the rubble. As soon as she saw the cracked lens and the chipped body, her stomach twisted.

“Shit!” she muttered, turning it over in her hands, trying to see if it could still be salvaged.

"You need to get out of here," the man said, his voice urgent.

Fiona barely heard him, still gripping her broken camera like she could will it back to life. Then reality hit her all at once.

She looked up, her eyes sweeping over the devastation—the collapsed structure, the scattered debris, the faint orange glow of flames flickering beneath the rubble.

Her breath caught. “Oh my god… there were people in there.”

The masked man turned to her, his jaw set. “Listen to me. Go home.”

Fiona looked at him, her pulse still racing. But something in his stance changed. He had gone still, his head tilting slightly, like he was listening to something she couldn't hear.

She followed his gaze to the far end of the wreckage. "What is it?"

He didn’t answer.

Instead, his body tensed, and without another word, he turned and sprinted toward whatever had caught his attention, disappearing into the smoke and shadows.

Fiona sat there for a second, her heart still hammering. Then, gripping her broken camera tight, she forced herself to her feet.

She knew she should leave.

But she also knew she wouldn’t.

Fiona's heart pounded as she tightened her grip on her ruined camera, making a decision she knew was reckless.

Instead of running, she followed him.

Staying low, she moved through the shadows, weaving between wreckage and debris, keeping a safe distance as the man in black disappeared into the remnants of the ruined building. The smoke was still thick, the air tainted with burning plastic and dust.

Then, she spotted him. He had found someone—Vladimir.

The Russian was injured, half-dragged by another man who was leading him out of the destruction. He barely looked conscious, his movements sluggish, blood streaking the side of his face.

The masked man didn’t hesitate.

He launched himself forward, catching Vladimir’s companion off guard, delivering a brutal punch to the gut before flipping him to the ground in a single swift motion. The man barely had time to react before a second blow left him slumped against the rubble.

Vladimir tried to fight back, but he was too weak. His swings were slow, uncoordinated. The masked man dodged with ease, countering with a strike to his ribs. Vladimir stumbled back, groaning, gripping his side.

The fight was over in seconds. The masked man was stronger, faster—Vladimir never stood a chance.

But before he could finish what he came here to do, sirens wailed in the distance.

Fiona stiffened, her head snapping toward the street. From around the corner, multiple police cars skidded into view, their lights flashing red and blue, tires screeching against the pavement. Doors flew open. Officers poured out, guns drawn, shouting commands.

"Hands in the air!"

"Raise those hands!"

"Don’t move. Raise ‘em!"

"Hands in the air, now!"

Fiona held her breath, her body still as she watched the masked man obey.

Slowly, he lifted his hands, letting the officers rush in, pushing him to his knees as they slapped a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists.

Her stomach twisted.

But then—he moved.

The second they thought he was secure, he fought back.

Effortlessly, he twisted his body, slamming into the nearest officer, knocking him off balance. In one fluid motion, he ducked beneath another’s swing, kicking out a leg to send a second officer crashing to the ground.

Despite being cuffed, he took them all down.

Within seconds, every officer was either unconscious or groaning on the pavement.

Fiona barely registered the breath she let out, half-stunned, half-impressed.

The masked man reached down, grabbing the keys off one of the fallen officers. With practiced ease, he undid the cuffs.

Fiona barely registered the breath she let out, half-stunned, half-impressed.

The masked man reached down, grabbing the keys off one of the fallen officers. With practiced ease, he undid the cuffs, his movements quick and efficient, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Without thinking, Fiona stepped out of her hiding spot. “Holy shit.”

His head snapped up, his jaw tightening as he huffed. “I told you to leave.”

“But you’re gonna question him, right?” she asked, nodding toward Vladimir, who was still slumped against the ground. “I want to know what he has to say too.”

“No. Leave now!” he barked, his voice sharp, frustration laced in every word.

Fiona opened her mouth to argue, but something in his posture made her hesitate. His head tilted slightly—he was listening to something.

More sirens.

He turned back to Vladimir. “How bad are you hurt?”

The Russian let out a string of angry curses in his native tongue, glaring up at him. The masked man didn’t have time for it. Without hesitation, he kicked him in the face, knocking him out cold.

Then he turned back to Fiona, his patience completely gone. “Go!”

He took a step forward like he was going to force her to move, and Fiona instinctively jumped back, heart hammering.

The sirens were getting closer, the flashing lights beginning to reflect off the walls of the alley.

She looked at him one last time, still breathless from everything that had just happened, then turned and ran.

• • • • • • •

Fiona hadn’t even made it home.

The city was chaos—sirens wailing, smoke rising in the distance. The warehouse explosion hadn’t been an isolated event. More bombings had gone off, fires burning through Hell’s Kitchen like some kind of war zone. People were in the streets, some panicked, others trying to make sense of what was happening.

She weaved through the mess, trying to process everything, when her phone rang.

Karen.

Fiona answered immediately. “Karen?”

“Fiona! Where are you? Are you okay?” Karen’s voice was frantic, nearly drowned out by the noise in the background.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I—”

“Have you heard from Matt?” Karen cut in.

Fiona’s stomach twisted. “No… have you tried Foggy?”

“I’m with Foggy,” Karen said quickly.

Fiona stopped walking. “What?”

Panic crept into her voice. If Matt wasn’t with Karen and Foggy—where the hell was he?

“I’ll call him. I can go by his apartment and—”

“Fiona, we’re at the hospital,” Karen interrupted. “Foggy’s okay now, but he was hurt. He got some glass in his side, but they got it out.”

Fiona’s breath caught. “Oh my god.”

She turned on her heel, already flagging down a cab.

“I’m on my way.”

• • • • • • •

Fiona rushed into the hospital room, barely noticing the other patients scattered around, all victims of the night’s chaos. The air smelled like antiseptic and smoke, the tension thick as doctors and nurses hurried between beds.

Her eyes landed on Foggy, lying in one of them, Karen standing at his side.

“Oh my god! What happened? Are you okay?” she asked, breathless as she reached him.

“I’m okay,” Foggy reassured her, wincing slightly as he adjusted himself against the pillows. “They got the glass out. I’m mainly just sore.”

Fiona’s eyes darted around, her worry still on high alert. “Where’s the nurse? We can get you something for the pain. Where were you guys? How did this happen?”

“We were at Elena’s house,” Foggy explained. “Our new client—we’re helping her with a tenement case.”

“Then there was this loud boom, and the windows just shattered,” Karen added, still shaken. “It was insane.”

Fiona swallowed hard, her brain running through everything that had happened that night. “And you haven’t talked to Matt?”

Foggy shook his head. “No.”

“I should go to his apartment, check on him,” Fiona said, already planning her next move.

“Wait, I don’t want you out there,” Foggy said quickly.

“Foggy, I’ll be fine. But Matt—” Fiona started, only to be cut off by Karen.

“Holy shit. Fiona, is that you?”

Fiona’s heart stopped.

She turned to where Karen was staring—at the TV mounted on the wall.

On the screen, grainy security footage played.

The masked man.

And her.

Standing right next to him, surrounded by unconscious cops.

Fiona felt her stomach drop.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

“Turn it up,” Foggy said. Karen grabbed the remote, raising the volume.

“The authorities have just released new video, taken just moments after the explosions that stunned Hell’s Kitchen earlier tonight. Pulled from a security camera—”

The footage began playing, showing the masked man fighting off police officers before Fiona ran into frame.

Then, the video froze.

“Authorities believe this man is responsible for the bombings, possibly as part of an ongoing feud with the Russian mob. The woman in the video has been identified as Fiona Nelson, the journalist behind the infamous crime blog Kitchen Compromised, who just weeks ago published the now-famous exposé on Union Allied Construction. It is currently unclear what her involvement is in tonight’s events.”

Fiona felt every pair of eyes in the room land on her.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Yeah, shit!” Foggy snapped, turning to glare at her. “What the hell is going on, Fiona?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” she said quickly.

“It looks like you’re in cahoots with a masked psychopath who just bombed the city!”

“Wait, that’s him!” Karen cut in, staring at the screen. “That’s the same guy who saved my life!”

Fiona shook her head. “Look, I am not in cahoots with him. I don’t even know who he is. And he didn’t do this!”

Foggy’s expression darkened. “Then what were you even doing out there?”

Fiona hesitated for only a second.

“I was doing research for my own story,” she said, voice firm. “He showed up after I did, and then… then the freaking building exploded. But he didn’t do this.”

Foggy let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Fiona. Do you even hear yourself? You're on the news. Do you understand how bad this looks?"

"I know how it looks," Fiona admitted, crossing her arms. "But that doesn't make it true."

"Well, the cops don’t know that!" Foggy shot back. "They see a security video of you and him, and now they’re gonna come looking for you.”

“Then I’ll talk to the police!” Fiona shot back, frustration creeping into her voice. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and you know what? Neither did he!”

She let out a sharp breath, running a hand through her hair as she tried to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I’m gonna call Matt again,” she muttered before turning on her heel and walking out.

• • • • • • •

Fiona lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her phone resting on her chest.

She had tried to sleep. She had tried closing her eyes, forcing herself to breathe evenly, pretend she wasn’t worried, but it was useless. Not until she knew Matt was okay.

After leaving the hospital, she had gone to his apartment, knocking, calling his name. No answer.

For a brief moment, she had considered breaking in. If no one heard from him by morning, she decided she’d go back and pick the lock.

But now, as she lay in the darkness, her mind racing, her phone finally rang.

She didn’t even look at the screen before answering.

“Oh my god, Matt?!” she blurted out.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and tired. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” she breathed, sitting up quickly. “I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t sure if you were okay. Where have you been? We’ve all been calling you! I went by your apartment, but you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he said. “I was at the office, and my phone died. The streets were crazy, so I decided to stay there until things calmed down.”

Fiona let out a relieved sigh, rubbing a hand over her face. “Oh. Well, that’s smart. Have you talked to Foggy?”

“Yeah, I just talked to him,” Matt said, pausing before adding, “I was also listening to the news—”

“Matt, please don’t lecture me,” Fiona cut in. “I’m way too tired, and Foggy already did.”

“Fine,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Then I’ll wait till the morning.”

“Matt,” she sighed.

His tone sobered. “Fiona, do you have any idea how dangerous what you’re doing is? Buildings were exploding. You could have gotten hurt.”

“It’s not like buildings exploding is a common occurrence,” she muttered.

“You shouldn’t have been there at all.”

“This is my job, Matt!” she snapped. “One I now won’t be able to do since my camera’s completely busted.”

Matt went quiet for a moment.

Then, softly, he asked, “Are you okay?”

Fiona blinked. The fight drained out of her all at once.

“I’m fine,” she said, but it didn’t sound convincing.

Matt exhaled like he didn’t believe her either.

She let out a small, tired laugh, sinking back onto her pillows. “I just… it’s been a long night.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “Get some sleep, Fi.”

She closed her eyes. “You too.”

• • • • • • •

Fiona pushed open the door to Nelson & Murdock, a fruit bouquet balanced carefully in her arms. Foggy and Karen were standing near Matt’s desk, both looking up the moment she stepped inside.

“Before you say anything,” she started, lifting the bouquet slightly, “I come in peace.”

Foggy didn’t look amused. Instead of reaching for the fruit, he held up a folded copy of the Bulletin and dropped it on the desk in front of her.

“You’re on the front page now too,” he said, voice tight. “They’re calling him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

Fiona frowned, glancing down at the paper before shaking her head. “He’s not the devil.”

“You’re right. He’s a coward,” Foggy muttered. “What I wouldn’t give for the chance to rip that corny mask off and—” He trailed off.

“And what?” Karen asked.

“Punch him… in the face… with my… fisticuffs,” Foggy finished.

Fiona let out a small laugh. “No offense, Foggy, but I don’t think you’d win.”

“Please don’t tell me I’m detecting a hint of admiration for that terrorist,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“He’s not a terrorist,” Fiona shot back.

“You’re absolutely right. Terrorists have causes. They claim responsibility. Al-Qaeda wanted the world to know exactly what kind of assholes they were. This guy? Not a peep. All terror, without the -ist. You know what they call that? Nut job.”

“He’s not a nut job,” Fiona insisted. “I mean, I barely talked to him, but still, he seemed… I don’t know. Very non-terroristy.”

Foggy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Oh, right. Because you’re the best judge of character when it comes to guys with severe issues and questionable life choices.”

Fiona’s brows pulled together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Foggy said, exasperated, “that you have horrible taste in men. You’re always trying to fix somebody.”

“That’s not true,” Fiona said quickly.

“Oh no? What about that DJ you dated?” he shot back. “The one you loaned money to? And then he just… never paid you back?”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “That was different.”

“Oh, sure. Just like the guy before that—the one who lived in your apartment for three months, rent-free.”

Karen bit back a laugh. “You know, maybe you should date Matt,” she joked. “He’s got issues.”

Foggy immediately shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Before Fiona could say anything, Matt—who had been completely silent up until this point—blurted out, “We’re already dating.”

Fiona’s eyes went wide. “Matt!”

Foggy blinked. Then let out a short, humorless laugh. “Is that supposed to be funny? Are you joking?”

Fiona spun on Matt. “Oh my god, what is wrong with you?”

Matt simply shrugged. “You wanted to tell him.”

“Not like this!” she hissed. “I was gonna write a speech!”

Foggy’s expression shifted from shock to pure disbelief. “You’re dating my sister? Have you lost your mind? For how long?”

Fiona winced. “Not that long. Like… barely a month.”

Foggy let out a slow breath before shaking his head. “So you lied to me. For a month.”

Before she could respond, her phone rang.

Fiona pulled it from her pocket, seeing an unknown number.

She answered, already feeling a headache coming on. “Hello?”

“Ms. Nelson? This is Detective Hoffman with the NYPD. We need you to come down to the station. We have some questions about what happened the other night with the bombings.”

Fiona shut her eyes. “Um, yeah, of course. I’ll be down soon.”

As she hung up, she looked up to find three pairs of eyes locked on her.

“Who was that?” Karen asked.

“The police,” Fiona said. “They have questions.”

“Of course they do!” Foggy groaned. “I told you this would happen.”

Matt immediately stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”

“No,” Foggy interrupted, grabbing his coat. “I’ll go with you. You are not going anywhere with her.”

Fiona held up a hand. “Why do either of you have to go?”

Foggy gave her a pointed look. “Do you listen to anything I’ve ever taught you?”

She huffed, already regretting even stepping into the office today.

“Never talk to the police without a lawyer.”

“Fine,” Fiona muttered, barely sparing Matt another glance before turning on her heel and heading for the door.

Foggy followed right behind her, muttering under his breath the whole way out.