blade
Two weeks had passed since Daredevil's unexpected visit, and the rumors continued to spread. The small clinic in a back alley of New York slowly became known as a spot for those who couldn't go to regular hospitals—whether criminals, homeless people, or even ordinary folks who found themselves in trouble with the wrong people.
Peter wasn’t oblivious to the danger starting to surround him, but he didn’t stop He knew that eyes were watching him, not just from the police or heroes, but from some of the big criminals who had started to wonder about the mysterious doctor who treated both their enemies and allies alike.
It was as if his clinic had become a neutral zone between two warring states... Peter didn’t truly intend for this to happen. He had become a doctor for a reason, and he had opened his own clinic for that reason as well, so he would run his business the way he saw fit.
Peter Parker wasn’t just a doctor who treated patients he treated the visitors of his clinic in a unique way. Treatment was never free. If a person didn’t have money, they had to pay in some other way. His requests were often strange and unexpected.
One day, a small-time criminal came in with a deep wound in his arm. Peter looked at him with calm eyes, then began disinfecting the wound before asking in a dry tone,
"Do you have a good dishwasher?"
The criminal stopped speaking for a moment, as if the question had caught him off guard. He looked at Peter hesitantly, then said,
"What? Huh...?"
"Yeah, a dishwasher," Peter repeated calmly as he continued working on the wound. "If you don’t have one, you’ll have to pay me back in some other way."
The criminal stared at him for a moment, then replied, his eyes completely confused,
"Are you serious? A dishwasher?"
"If you don’t have one, we can work something else out," Peter shrugged, glancing up indifferently.
After a while, another criminal came into the clinic, nursing some minor wounds from a fight with someone Peter looked at his condition quickly then said,
"Do you have old scientific books?"
The criminal stared at him strangely before laughing,
"Scientific books? I'm a criminal, man!"
"Do you have them or not?" Peter responded coldly, continuing his work "If you don’t have them, you’ll have to compensate me some other way."
"No, I don’t have anything like that," the criminal replied, trying to hide his confusion and embarrassment.
"Well, then we’ll have to come up with another form of compensation," Peter said, nonchalantly, as he pressed on the wound to stop the bleeding.
On another visit, a third criminal had injured his leg and came in seeking treatment. As Peter treated him, he politely asked,
"Do you have a coffee machine? I need one."
The criminal looked at him in disbelief, then responded,
"A coffee machine?..."
"If you don’t have one, do you at least have a coupon for a supermarket deal?" Peter added, continuing his work without looking up.
The criminal couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He tried to escape the situation and said,
"I... I have a coffee machine, but I just want treatment!"
"Treatment isn’t free," Peter said dismissively "If you don’t have what I’m asking for, you’ll need to compensate me in some other way. That’s the clinic policy." He pulled out a notebook and asked the criminal to write his name and what he was offering as compensation.
Sure enough, the criminal brought the coffee machine two days later. Peter examined it, thanked him politely, and the criminal left, his face still full of confusion and bewilderment.
One of the criminals, who seemed new to the area, was sitting in a chair, groaning in pain from an injury. Peter was carefully tending to his wounds, but he spoke in a dry, indifferent tone.
"If you don’t have the money, there are other ways to settle the bill. You can write your name in this notebook and tell me what you’re compensating with. That’ll serve as an alternative to payment."
Peter pulled out a notebook from one of the drawers, which was filled with names written in various handwriting. Each name was accompanied by details of what the person had offered as compensation.
Some had offered sensitive information about other criminals, while others had provided dubious services or even secret promises. Though Peter didn’t truly need any of this, he didn’t mind using it if necessary. His clinic had become a neutral ground between the bad guys and the heroes, and he could benefit from it.
In another case, a hungry homeless man asked for treatment for a cold he had caught. Peter looked at him carefully, then said,
"You know what you need to do. Write your name in the notebook and tell me what you can compensate me with. I need help delivering a message to someone, maybe you know this person."
The homeless man mumbled, clearly hesitant, but eventually took the pen and wrote his name in the notebook, with a vague promise of help in the future, while Peter treated him—without showing any real emotions toward the visitors.
The strange compensations were what determined who deserved treatment and who didn’t.
Well, he didn’t ask for those compensations randomly... he really needed them. He thought, instead of exhausting himself trying to earn money and pay for necessities, why not just get compensated through their treatments?
A brilliant idea, Peter thought, saving him from electricity bills, medical supplies, disinfectants, and the costs of maintaining the entire clinic. He ensured that everyone who entered the clinic would leave him with something useful for later.
On a rainy night, as thunder roared and lightning illuminated the sky, while Peter was finishing his last patient, his senses suddenly tingled, warning him of another impending danger He stopped what he was doing, then slowly looked at the door, squinting as he heard heavy footsteps stop right in front of it for a minute, followed by a knock It wasn’t a soft knock, but a heavy, rhythmic one, as if announcing the arrival of someone important.
Peter raised an eyebrow, walked slowly to the door, and opened it without hesitation to find a massive man standing before him, wearing black and silver armor that looked real, with a white headgear hiding eyes that concealed intentions that were not hard to understand. He wore a skull mask, and his presence filled the room.
Peter didn’t need to guess his identity.
Taskmaster.
Taskmaster grinned wickedly, tilting his head slightly as he observed Peter Parker through the sharp eyes behind his skull mask.
"Dr. Parker... is that correct?" he said in a calm voice, though laden with an undeniable weight.
Peter didn’t reply immediately, keeping his eyes fixed on the massive man standing at his door There was no need to ask no room for doubt He knew exactly who this man was and why he was here.
Taskmaster stepped inside uninvited, making his presence known in the room as Peter stepped aside to let him pass and closed the clinic door.
Taskmaster's movements weren’t hurried they were slow and deliberate, as if weighing every step, testing every detail around him. He took a quick glance at the clinic, at the tools, at everything, before his gaze returned to Peter.
"I’ve heard you're a good doctor." He raised one of his hands, encased in a black leather glove, and waved it slightly in the air. "And I need a doctor tonight."
Peter didn’t move, but narrowed his eyes slightly "I don’t need to guess you didn’t come for a routine check-up?"
Taskmaster chuckled, the laugh dry, but not without spirit "Well, let's say my profession makes me prone to a lot of injuries." He turned his body slightly, then, without warning, pulled a small dagger from his jacket and threw it onto the table next to Peter. The blade struck the wood accurately, quivering for a moment before settling.
Peter stood still, not moving, only raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.
Taskmaster scoffed at Peter’s calm and composed reaction, then continued "And today... I got a bad one." He opened his jacket, revealing a deep wound on his side, blood still fresh, slowly seeping onto his white shirt under his luxurious armor.
Peter clicked his tongue, glancing at the wound, then turned his gaze back to the masked man. "I assume refusing isn’t an option."
Taskmaster tilted his head, as if studying the young doctor’s reaction. Then he smiled again, with the same calm and chilling demeanor.
"You’re a doctor... and tonight, you have only one patient."
Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead in exhaustion, as if he had been through this scenario before He pulled a lollipop from his pocket, unwrapped it slowly, and popped it into his mouth without rushing, savoring the one moment of silence he might get that night With half-closed eyes, he waved his hand nonchalantly at Taskmaster to sit on one of the beds.
"Sit there," he said in a calm voice but with a tone of impatience.
Taskmaster didn’t argue but slowly moved and sat on the metal bed, stretching his legs slightly while watching Peter take out his medical tools. The atmosphere was charged with silence, except for the sound of rain outside and the soft sound of Peter’s footsteps as he gathered what he needed.
His eyes behind the mask watched every move of the doctor, knowing that the man in front of him wasn’t comfortable with the situation, but he didn’t seem frightened either.
Peter leaned down to examine the wound, twirling the lollipop in his mouth as he gave it a careful look. The wound was deep, but not deep enough to reach any vital organs The blood was beginning to clot at the edges, but it was still fresh enough to be concerning. He turned to grab some cotton and disinfectant, then looked back at Taskmaster
"What got you? A sword? A knife?"
Taskmaster chuckled, his laugh quiet but laced with sarcasm. "Close enough. One of the mercenaries who thinks they can take me down."
Peter raised an eyebrow, dipped the cotton in the disinfectant, then pressed it firmly on the wound.
"Oh, I see And you decided the best way to end the night was to invade my clinic."
Taskmaster didn’t move, barely showing any reaction to the pain. "You’re a doctor, aren’t you? That means you treat patients regardless of who they are... or what their past is."
Peter didn’t respond, he just continued cleaning the wound, his eyes focused on the task. After a moment, he said as he worked the wound with his gloved fingers, "Doesn’t look like the weapon was clean. You’ll need an antibiotic, unless you have a superhuman immune system I don’t know about."
"No, but I heal quickly I just need this wound sealed up so I can get back to work."
Peter looked at him sideways, then grabbed a needle and thread, starting to stitch the wound with precision. "Work, huh? Training a new generation of villains to fight the heroes?"
Taskmaster smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Work is work, Dr. Parker. Just like your job is to fix people, my job is to teach them how to break others."
Peter looked at him with calm eyes, then finished the last stitch, cut the thread, and stood up straight. "Alright, you’re fixed Try not to die within the next 24 hours, at least, so I don’t feel like I wasted my time."
Taskmaster stood up, adjusted his jacket, then turned to Peter as if studying him for a moment
"I’ll stay alive, don’t worry." Then he pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. "For your efforts."
"I won’t refuse the money, but..." Then Peter turned to Taskmaster and added with a smile, "Compensate me with something else."
Taskmaster tilted his head slightly, as if weighing his words. "What do you want?"
Peter smiled faintly, then raised the lollipop from his mouth and pointed it toward him. "Do you have a plumbing kit?"
Taskmaster paused for a moment, then spoke in a calm voice, with a hint of confusion, "... What?"
Peter threw the medical gloves into the trash, then leaned on the table, sighing. "The pipes in the clinic are making an awful noise. I could fix them myself, but I need the tools."
Taskmaster tilted his head slightly, as if unsure whether Peter was serious or not, then said "I have sources for almost anything... but this is the first time someone’s asked me for plumbing tools."
Peter shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, you can pay for your treatment this way."
Taskmaster stood up, adjusted his jacket, then spoke in a calm voice, "I’ll see what I can do."
And as Taskmaster reached the door, Peter spoke quietly, looking at him calmly "Don’t make this a habit, Taskmaster."
The masked man paused for a moment at the door, then turned his head slightly and spoke in a quiet voice. "Don’t worry, doctor... only heroes repeat their mistakes."
Then he left, leaving behind an air of mystery... and the money that Peter hadn’t touched.
After Taskmaster left, Peter stood still for a moment, watching the door slightly shake with the wind from outside. Then he exhaled slowly, took the money from the table, and flipped it between his fingers for a moment before placing it in his desk drawer without care. He didn’t want to be known as "the criminal’s doctor," but at the same time, he wasn’t in a position to turn down extra income that helped keep the clinic running.
He went to the small sink in the corner of the room, washed his hands carefully, then picked up the lollipop from his mouth and looked at it for a moment before shaking his head and putting it back in his mouth while gathering his tools and rearranging the medical table.
But what he didn’t expect was that Taskmaster would return again, and sooner than he thought, the very next night
After a long day of regular patients, and as Peter was finally thinking about closing the clinic and heading home, he heard the same heavy knock on the door. This time, he wasn’t surprised. His heightened senses had screamed all day about the danger, danger, danger... what an annoyance.
He opened the door, and just as he had expected, Taskmaster was standing there. But this time, he wasn’t injured... instead, he was holding a plumbing kit in his hand.
Peter raised an eyebrow, shifting his gaze between the masked man and the kit. "I didn’t think you’d take it seriously."
Taskmaster entered the clinic uninvited, placed the kit on the table, and spoke in his calm voice
"A deal’s a deal."
Peter approached the table, opened the kit, and began inspecting the tools They were brand new, some of them from brands not easily found even in regular stores.
"These are good tools," he said, lifting a huge wrench, sounding skeptical. "I hope they weren’t sourced suspiciously."
Taskmaster chuckled lightly, his laugh dry but not mocking. "I won’t lie to you, some of them weren’t bought the traditional way."
Peter shook his head as he set the wrench aside
"I didn’t expect anything less."
Taskmaster stood there for a moment, watching Peter rearrange the tools in the kit, then spoke in a serious yet calm voice. "I don’t expect to need your services soon, but... just in case I do, I’ll return."
Peter didn’t lift his gaze, he just closed the kit and said, "Please don’t return with your body as a lifeless corpse."
The masked man didn’t respond immediately. Then, after a moment, he turned toward the door and before leaving, said in a low voice with a sinister smile on his face:
"Don’t worry, next time I’ll make sure you join my organization."
Then he vanished into the darkness before Peter could even respond to his words.
What did that lunatic just say..?
"What? Join him? Please let me think he’s rambling...."
Peter wondered if he had started something he wouldn’t be able to stop, then placed his hands over his eyes in exhaustion and sighed.
"It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, he’s just crazy... Let’s ignore it. I have much more important things to worry about."