Chapter Text
"Benjamin Pointdexter?" Spoke the older looking man beside him on the plane.
Dex's jaw tightened and he instinctively reached for his pocket. The man placed his hand gently over Dex's forearm in a soothing motion. "Woahh there son, I'm not going to send you to prison or anything."
Dex squinted his eyes at the man and relaxed his arm, bringing it up to rest on his leg. "So what do you want?" He spoke quietly, a sharp edge in his voice. The man smiled, the way his lips curled up felt eerie. Like he knew something he shouldn't.
"Well Ben- Can I call you Ben? You have attributes that fit perfectly for a small group of deranged people who call themselves heros. I was wondering if you would be interested in speaking to my employer?" The man explained in an over relaxed tone, the kind that shows he deals with murderers far too often to be considered normal.
Dex's teeth clenched at the sound of his first name, the only people who used it were people who thought they were above him. It sounded so condescending. "You're employer?" He echoed, his mind reeling at the thought of being trapped under the boot of another corrupt official.
"Yes, her name is Valentina Allegra De Fontaine. She founded the Thunderbolts, also known as the New Avengerz."
Dex searched his memory, nothing of a Allegra de Fontaine coming to mind. He furrowed his brows and looked at the seat in front of him. "Avengers?" He scoffed, straightening his posture slightly. "Why the hell would you want someone like me. I'm a murderer."
"Exactly! You would fit right in. Every one on this team was a hired assassin at one point in time." The weird old man explained, he leaned in closer as if telling him a secret. "They are all so fucked up you look like a saint."
"Now I know you're full of shit." Dex mumbled and subconsciously leaned towards the window, supplying a well needed distance between the two of them. He started to tap rhythmically on his thigh, tap tap tap.
"Okay, well take the Winter Soldier for example. He's killed how many? Yet he became a congress man then joined the New Avengerz." The man said while thankfully leaning back to the comfort of his own seat.
"Okay well wasn't he mind controlled or something, the most I have on my defense is being purposefully drugged up and having my mental illnesses used against me." Dex spits out with a stern tone. "I'm sure you've read my file."
"Well then you already are more redeemable than Walker. He killed a man in cold blood in a foreign country while baring our flag, no drugs, no manipulation." The man replies with practiced ease. "If he able to be on the team you've basically got a golden ticket."
Dex stares at the hand drumming on his thigh, watching as his fingers press against the fabric repeatedly. He let's out a defeated huff, and counts the seconds that go by as he tries to think of an answer.
"It's okay Mr. Pointdexter. You don't have to decide now." The old man slips him a business card and slouches in his seat, folding his hands over his chest. "You can return to your music now."
For the rest of the plane ride Dex sits in unease, periodically glancing over to the strange man beside him. He would have to fact check the guy as soon as they landed.
....
Dex maneuvered his way through the busy streets of Pennsylvania. Bundled up in layers of coats and with a signature ball cap on to hide his features. He takes a detour to a local library, stopping in the section they keep their free use computers.
He takes a seat in front of the borrowed device and taps his fingers twice every two seconds as he stares at the search bar. Tap tap. He types in "New Avengers" and gets hundreds of results. Tap tap. Countless degrading the guys, some hesitantly thanking them. Tap tap. Apparently they all are murderers as well, and are seemingly making up for it..? Tap tap.
He types in "Valentina Allegra De Fontaine" into the search bar and finds a extreme lack of results. Tap tap. He searches through websites and social medias, the craziest thing is people questioning her decision of who the 'good guys' are. Tap tap.
He searches for what feels like hours, only stopping when they kick him out cause they're closing. The most dirt he was able to dig up was a singular court case against her claiming that she was dabbling in human experimentation. But the court had found her not guilty and she continued her reign.
She felt almost too clean. Like she was hiding something big. But that made some part of him deeply instrested on finding out what it is.
He threw a hood over his head and kept his head down as he made his way over to his temporary hideout. Locking all the doors as soon as he set foot inside. He digs in his bag, reaching in the spot of where he remembers specifically placing the business card. He slaps the thing onto the counter beside his bag and stares at the piece of paper like it had personally offended him.
He calculated in his head every possible way for this to go wrong. Tried thinking of alternative moves. "What would Matt do?" Dex mumbles to himself, then wanders away from the paper that is clouding his mind.
Matt would probably do what he thinks is best, even if he hated that person with every fiber of his being. So in this scenario he would look at his options and weight them based on a sense of duty. Right now, Dex wanders aimlessly, no goal, no purpose, no where to aim. Most of all, no one to command him when to shoot. But if He goes with this Allegra de Fontaine he would have all of that.. But does she want him to shoot at the right things?
He stares at the stained walls, cobwebs lining them like gothic decorations. It looks like every sort of bodily fluid has been seeped into the walls. The floors are creaky and some of the panels are bloated. He turns up his nose as he hears the squeaks of rats scurrying inbetween the lining of the walls. He would probably drive himself insane here, within less than a week.
Then he thinks back on he earlier research, the ones concerning De Fontaine. She had bought the Avengers watch tower. The Stark tower. That man was rich, and that tower has the greatest tech probably in all of America.
Without much of a second thought he walks back over and looks down at the business card. He reaches for the burner flip phone he had stolen, and quickly types in the number. He presses the phone to his ear counting the amount of rings untill someone answers...
"Ben! I'm glad you decided to give me a call."
....
Meanwhile. Matt layed up in his cell, head pressed back against the hard material pretending to be a pillow. He is grateful he doesn't have a roommate, cause that would make his life that much more difficult.
He tilts his head to the side, listening to everyone in the building. There were gaurds that are corrupt, turning a blind eye to actions that should never be allowed. Gangs and rivalries fumed hot, insults being thrown at each other. Fights and attempted stabbings happening in more than one spot in the prison.
Then there was different factions that divided the prison even further. Some of the prisoners were still pro-Fisk even after all he had done, if anything loved him more now. While other's hated the man's guts, for many different reasons. Maybe they worked for him and got thrown in prison while he prospered on an island. Others were victims to his murderous rampage.
A soft click, click, click, of familiar footsteps strolled down the hall. The sound of his heartbeat in steady thumps, showing no inclination of fear and pounding in a show of dominance. He carried a prisoner guard baton, dragging it across the barrs of the cells as he walked by, the repeated clinks growing louder.
He stopped right outside Matt's cell, and leaned against the bars that separated the two of them. "Mr. Murdock, or should I say.. Daredevil." He spoke confident, a hint of smugness in voice.
"Officer Powell. Though I guess I should say inmate Powell." Matt responded flatly, a sense of an upper hand in his voice.
Powell let out a sound akin to a growl and bangs the baton against the bars. "Now you listen here devil, while I tell you exactly how this is going to go."
Matt tilted his head to the side slightly, listening to the rush of blood through the man's veins. He hones in on the sound of a guard waiting just out of the block, turning a blind eye to the conversation.
"In here, you do what I tell you. You got that? I run this block and I can make your life living hell." Powell grits out, grinding the baton along the bars. "And don't even think of fucking fighting us, cause there are a lot more of us than there are of you."
Matt smirked and folded his arms behind his head. "Whatever you say, officer." He responds in a mocking tone.
Matt can practically hear the way Powell smirks as he struts of to find the rest of his little group of criminals. He let's a little sigh escape him at the thought of the violence to come. He almost feels sorry for all the criminals he's locked up in here. But then again, no he doesn't.
....
Dex wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it surely wasn't a helicopter landing on the top of the building he was staying in. And surely not for it to arrive in under 10 minutes. He gathered his small amount of things and made it all the way back to the state he just fled from. But now he was being escorted into the biggest build in all of new york, and with high security clearance. They didn't even try to confiscate his guns or his pocket change that he often used as projectiles.
He follows what seems to been an assistant as she leads him to this huge room on the top floor. He has to resist the urge to drop his jaw in shock at just the size of the doors.
He is lead into the room and is sat down in front of a desk and is told "Ms. De Fontaine will be out in just a minute" before the assistant scurries off into the distance. Dex uses this time to catalog his surroundings. The room was tidy, everything looked far more advance than anything he's ever seen before. Even the fucking chairs were a form of technology.
The walls were barren other than a singular clock or a photo of who he can only assume to be De Fontaine. Kinda narcissistic if you ask him, but everyone has their thing. Who is he to judge?
He straights his posture on instinct when he hears the door open. He glances over he shoulder to see the middle age woman strut into the room with a cowering young assistant beside her.
"Ahh, Benjamin. I'm glad you decided to give Mr. Charles a call!" She announces while making her away towards her desk chair. "Mel will you grab me a glass a wine, and a coffee black for Mr. Pointdexter here."
The so called Mel girl walked of frantically to retrieve the drinks, her heels making quick clicking sounds. One, two, three, four-
"So, Benjamin. I have already been planning on how to introduce you to the pub-"
"How did you know I like my coffee black?" Dex cut her off, staring at her with untrusting eyes.
"Well as you said to Mr. Charles. I've read your file. Every single one from your moment of birth to now. I know about the death of your parents, your steady therapy throughout childhood into adulthood, every medication you were on when the late Vanessa Fisk used you to kill Franklin Nelson." Valentina responded matter-of-factly. Her voice almost sounding like the one of a mother.
Dex grit his teeth, staring daggers into her soul. His fingers started to tap on the arm of chair he was sitting in. A grounding motion so that he doesn't reach for a weapon and kill her where she sits.
"Now Benjamin, I'm not trying to intimidate you." She says in a quiet voice, as if talking to a wounded animal. "I've see you at you're worse and I still want you." The care in her voice sounded manufactured, and her speech sounded rehearsed. Still, Dex calmed slightly.
"Why me? I've heard you have super abled beings on this team. The boot leg captain and the cyborg are both super soldiers. So why do you need a guy with good aim?" He huffs out.
Mel scurries back into the room and hands Valentina he glass of wine and places the cup of coffee on the desk in front of Dex.
"Well Benjamin, you have experience. Not just with fights but in tactical situations. You were literally a part of the army and a special agent with the FBI. You fit right in with the quiet takedown personnel I have acquired over the years." Valentina pauses to take a sip of her wine. "You are more than just you're excellent aim. Plus, I need someone who is quiet and efficient."
Dex's jaw flexes as he stares at the coffee placed on the desk.
"My team is the remedy for this cities lawlessness. Together we will do great things Benjamin." Valentina says softly, an almost coo in her voice.
His eyes flick up to Valentina. Her smile seems genuine enough. He stops tapping his fingers along the edge of the chair and leans forward to grab the mug.
"When do I start?"
....
Matt makes his way down the long cafeteria line. He holds a tray in his right hand, while his left is latched onto the rail the separates the cooks from the hungry, using it to guide him in these unfamiliar areas.
He can feel the footsteps the people take infront of him as a sign to move forward, copying the exact amount of steps. The person behind him pushes him forward, mumbling something about, "fucking move faster." Matt suppresses a scoff as he straightens his posture, he can only assume its one of Powell's goons.
He gets his food and sits at the only table with no one at it, trying to stay as secluded as possible. He eats his food in peace, almost gets through all of breakfast without something happening. But then his ears pick up the sound of someone whispering "Hey, Powell. We should get him now while he's alone. Assert dominance from the very beginning."
Matt doesn't hear a response, but he does hear the sound of at least five men standing up and walking in his direction. He curses under his breath and continues to stares his half-eaten food.
"Hey, Murdock! Wanna have a little fun?" One of the rando's shouted, pulling a makeshift knife from his pocket. One of his friend's whistles as they surround him.
Matt hears how the guards turn away, pretending not to see anything. He hears how their hearts stay steady like this is something they see every day. Which, it probably is.
The guy comes up behind Matt and smacks upside the head. "Hey! I asked you a question. Sure you can't see but I know damn well you can hear me." He scoffs and pressing the makeshift knife into the back of Matt's neck, drawing a couple dropplets of blood.
Matt takes a deep breath, he knows if he fights them he could get time added onto his sentence. As if that matter with how long it is anyway. Plus everyone in this damn prison was seemingly bought out, so keeping good behavior was pointless.
"Sure," he mumbles underneath his breath, more to himself than anything. He stands up abruptly and spins around, smacking the shiv from the inmates hand. Then he punches him in the face and pushes him into his friend. He kicks another lackey in the back of the legs, and when he drops to his knees grips his hair and buries the man's face in left over grits.
He the twirls around and blocks two swings from the guy in front of him, kicking the shiv up and grabbing it for himself. Instead of stabbing the guy with it, he does a couple of precision swipes which leaves the man's clothes dropping to the ground. The man shrieks in embarrassment, Matt uses this period of distraction to kick him between the legs and throw him on top of the guy who was trying to get grits out of his eyes.
He jumps on top of them and smashes their heads together one good time, leaving one completely dazed and trapped underneath the other who was now unconscious. Matt leaps up and spins around to face the three that are left.
He kicks the first guy in the gut then swipes his legs out from underneath him, the guy falls into another inmate who punches him in the face for touching him. The force of the punch knocks him out and he lands with a thud. He stares at the two left standing and motions them forward. "C'mon." He says in a taunting voice.
He latches onto the guy closest to him and brings a knee to his gut. As the man doubles over he flips him around and locks his arm behind him and effectively breaks it. The guy screams in agony and falls to the ground, crawling away with one arm.
The last guy looks at his friends, broken and unconscious, and grits his teeth. The man takes of his shirt in a show of dominance, which causes Matt to smirk. He tosses the makeshift knife onto the table and lifts up his fists. The guy roars and surges forward with all of his force. Matt ducks and slides past him, tripping him as he passes him.
He grabs the guy in a headlock with one arm while reaching around for the shirt the man discarded. When he finds it he wraps it around the mans neck and chokes him with it until he losses consciousness.
Matt stands up victoriously, while huffing. The prison is silent for a moment, just observing the chaos, before erupting into cheers. Matt almost scoffs. He grabs his jello he was able to protect and walks out of the cafeteria as breakfast was dismissed and everyone was escorted back to their cells. Or the infirmary.
....
Dex stares at the closed elevator doors, counting every floor it goes up. 40, 41, 42. He straightens his posture a little as the elevator dings and the doors skid open.
His grip on the bag of his small amount of belongings tightens as he steps foot out of the elevator. He walks through a corridor that leads to a giant open area of a combined kitchen and living room. It looks super modern corporate, not very cozy or homely other than a couple of loose blankets and books.
He is greeted by a young nice lady who enters the room shortly after him. "Hello sir, my name is Reese Ackley, and I am your personally assigned publicist and media trainer." She greets offering a warm hand for him to shake.
"Hello Ms. Ackley." Dex greets with a practiced smile, his lips curling up at the ends. "Personally assigned? Everyone gets a media assistant?" He questions with more amusement than anything.
"Well only people who aren't used to public events or speaking, like Ms. Starr and Ms. Belova. But there are special cases like Mr. Shostakov, who is kept from public speaking all together." She explains, her voice prim and proper. "I will also be running social media accounts, for the whole team and have access to personal files, so if you need anything just let me know."
Dex nods, taking in the information provided. Trying to grapple onto the names of teammates he is yet to meet. He watches as she digs in her bag and grabs out a phone. She hands it to him with a kind smile.
"This is the latest version of phones there is, Ms. Allegra De Fontaine wants to ensure you have full access to communications and pop culture so you are up to date for public speeches. Don't worry, you're phone is not tracked, and we can not see anything you search on your phone."
Dex nods as he takes it, not really sure if he actually believes her. He does a quick look over of the phone and shoves it in his pocket. "Do you know if anyone is here right now?" He asks while glancing around.
Reese looks around the building and pauses, clearly not expecting that question. "Uhm, I'm not quite sure.. Ms. Allegra De Fontaine just hired me so I'm not familiar with their routines yet." She says while turning back to look at him, cowering her head slight as an apology.
"Well I guess were in this together, thank you Ms. Ackley." Dex responds with a smile. Reese nods her head and walks out of the room.
Dex glances around round the area he is in. He sees two exits, to two different hallways that lead to what he can only assume is the personal bedrooms. So he loosens his grip on the bag and waltz right to try and find his room.
He finds room almost immediately, it happens to be one of the first ones. He was able to find it so quickly cause it literally had his name on it. In bold letters. But hey he's not complaining, he didn't have to go through peoples rooms.
He settles in fairly quickly, he showers and unpacks his room strategically. But not too scattered in case he needed a quick escape.
He startles at the loud crash sound of broken glass. He has to resist the urge to lunge for his gun. He hears a guy yelp and assumes its one of the teammates and not a burglar who climbed 42 floors and broke in through a window. He takes a deep breath and walks out to where he head the sound.
He leans against the doorway, that separates the living area and the bedrooms, and just watches the man for a while. The guy darts around picking up glass while avoiding stepping on any small shards. He looked like a frantic little kid if Dex was being honest.
"Yo, you need help with that?" Dex asks the man with a raised eyebrow, arms folded over his chest. The man makes a screech like noise and practically jumps out of his skin. The man turns around so quickly Dex was sure he would've toppled over.
"Who are you?" The man questions immediately, his voice quivering slightly.
"Woah, calm down bud," Dex stays while throwing up his hands in surrender. He pushes off the door frame and walks towards the kitchen slowly. "To be honest I was just about to ask you the same thing. I'm Benjamin Pointdexter."
The man visibly relaxes at the announcement of Dex's name. Which is quite strange in Dex's opinion cause usually that makes peoples reactions worse. The guy sighs and continues to clean up the glass he had broken.
"Sorry for my reaction Mr. Pointdexter, I didn't think you would be here for a couple more days.." The man explains while glass up. He didn't see to be a hero, but he also was definitely not an assistant. Who is this guy?
"Oh?" Dex responds while circling him in a way akin the a predator circling its prey.
"Yeah, Val said you would be here by thursday, I didn't know that meant you could come early." The man says while tossing the broken glass and dusting himself off. "Oh! I'm so rude."
The guy darts to stand in front of Dex, who almost reaches for his gun out of instinct. "Hello Mr. Pointdexter I'm Bob." He holds his hand out to shake Dex's.
Dex stares at his hand with a look of hesitation for a moment before grabbing it and shaking. "Just Dex is fine.." He responds while trying to remember back on the research he did to figure who the hell Bob is.
He lets go of his hand and absent mindedly taps his hand against his pants three times, in quick succession. Tap, tap, tap. "Just Bob?" Dex questions, furrowing his brow at the man.
"Yep! Well my full name is Robert Reynolds, buy I prefer just Bob." So called Bob says while reaching for a glass to pour milk in.
"Ahh, alright Bob" Dex says with a slight smile, though his voice is rather monotone. He glances around for a sign of any other living being in the house. "Is there anyone else here?"
"Nah, they're out on a mission. Something to do with Tech Thieves or something."
"And why aren't you on the mission?"
"Well.. I don't really do missions."
"Oh? How intriguing."
"The others should be back around dinner."
"All right well thank you Bob."
Dex makes his escape from the ever growing awkard situation. He had started to play less and less attention to the conversation as the overwhelming urge to run away took over. He goes into his room and shuts the door with a sigh.
This was going to be interesting.