[Life is Good] Chapter 68

Daredevil “looked” at the Coke bottle in her hand, then at the strange figure who’d offered it. She cracked it open and took a cautious sip—buying herself a little time to figure out how the hell to act in a situation like this. Who—or what—was this thing in front of her? Victim of an experiment? A mutant who’d lost their human form? An alien?

There were no easy answers. On the outside, “Dimon” looked like a nightmare. But inside the store? She’d overheard enough of the exchange to know he’d talked to the owners politely, even warmly. Malati, who had a reputation for being a total hardass, had told him to come back anytime. And not in that “get lost and never come back” way, either. Genuinely.

He hadn’t killed or even hurt the robbers. Hell, technically, he hadn’t even touched them—just scared the crap out of them. And now the monster was just sitting there, munching on chips, sipping soda, looking up at her like, “What?”

“What are you?” The words just kind of slipped out as she watched him open his jaw way too wide and tip half the damn soda bottle into it. It was... a horrifying view.

Dimon choked, literally coughed on the Coke, and gave her a long, slow, deeply offended stare.

“Are you married?” he asked suddenly, and she blinked.

“Why are you asking me that?” she said, instantly on edge.

“Just answer the question.”

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped, then sighed. “But fine—no. I’m not.”

“And you never will be,” he huffed, tail twitching irritably. “If you go around calling every guy you meet a what, then the only man in your life’s gonna be a dildo! What kind of manners is that, huh?! I shared my Coke with you! And you couldn’t even manage a hello!”

The tail curled tighter, the bone-blade tip flicking in irritation like a pissed-off cat. “Look, I get it—I don’t exactly scream average human. I’ve got style, alright? But that’s no excuse to be rude to a complete stranger who’s done nothing but be polite. Malati was right not to like you!”

“Uh…” she floundered, totally off balance. She’d come expecting a fight, not a scolding on basic decency from a monster with a soda in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s just… when you drank… it was a lot.”

“I don’t have lips!” Dimon practically spat, jabbing a claw toward the gaping maw of his skull-face. “Do you see lips?! I can’t drink normally! Verstehen?”

She took a deep breath, cheeks burning. He had, in fact, defended her in front of a very feisty Indian grandmother. This was turning into the second most embarrassing patrol of her week. Exhale…

“Yeah, okay. Sorry again. I was rude. Thanks for the drink… and hello.”

“Forgiven,” Dimon muttered, snorting as his tail finally stopped twitching.

Awkward silence settled between them. He reached for the chips again… then hesitated and pushed the bag a little further away from her, as if she didn’t deserve them anymore. Ouch. She really had offended him.

Still, she couldn’t help herself.

“So… where are you from? I’ve never seen anyone even remotely like you.”

“There.” He pointed down, clicking his teeth.

“…Hell?” she asked hesitantly, flicking her “gaze” toward the skull resting beside him.

“Sewer,” he said, followed by another click-snicker. “Went out for snacks. And before you ask—no, I didn’t steal the money. I earned it.”

“Earned it? How?” She knew it was nosy, but honestly, how did a… whatever-he-was even get a job?

“I’m a programmer,” Dimon replied with a sigh that could’ve melted steel, making her raise both eyebrows. “I can make you a portfolio site. No discounts.”

A sewer monster programmer. The world really has just… completely lost its damn mind, she thought.

“Hm. Well, I’ll be going then,” she said later, having escorted me all the way to a payphone. She was clearly still rattled—nothing tonight had gone as expected. And she hadn’t meant to insult me, not really, but her first words had definitely struck a nerve.

“Have a good night,” I offered, more calmly now. Despite the weirdness—and the very bumpy start—I kinda liked Murdock. As a person. As a character. Chalk it all up to shock and wild circumstances.

“You too,” she replied. “Sorry again, for the way I acted. But… try to understand—your appearance is pretty alarming. And there’s no intel on you. I mean, if I asked to see ID, you’d have nothing, right?”

I snorted, raising a claw and flicking his tail. “These are my documents.”

“Armed, too,” she muttered, eyeing the holstered Colt Anaconda.

“Hey! Valera is not just a weapon! Valera is a friend! We’ve been through things you can’t even imagine. And think about it: a lonely man, in a scary world—he needs to protect his virtue, y’know?”

She let out a tired sigh and left, only pausing to toss over her shoulder, “Try not to cause trouble.”

I watched her until she was out of range, then ducked into the booth. Time for the call.

Breathing deep, I let the anger build, wrapping himself in that raw fury. Sensory range expanded fivefold. I checked—Daredevil was still walking, didn’t seem to be eavesdropping.

Calming again, I took a breath and focused. Needed more practice. Nearly crushed the phone in hand.

Dialing Yuriko’s number.

“Hello? Sensei? Sorry for the late call.”

And yeah, it was surreal—but I would swear hIcould feel her raising an eyebrow on the other end. My deeply disturbed imagination even conjured her wearing a sheer black robe. The thought was… surprisingly arousing.

Teacher-student syndrome? Maybe.

“Anyway,” I muttered, “I’m guessing your expression right now is, ‘Where the hell have you been?’”

“Straight to the point,” came Yuriko’s calm voice through the receiver.

“I’m in Hell’s Kitchen. Could you come by when you’re able? Maybe bring my phone and some essentials? I’ll explain everything when you get here—can’t return just yet.”

“Meeting spot?” Her voice was as indifferent as ever, but something warm spread through my chest.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t lecture. No frantic fuss. My sensei trusted me. Didn’t treat me like some brainless thug. And even with all her cold composure, she respected my choices. Of course, if when we met face-to-face she decided my logic was full of shit, she’d definitely let me know—with that kind of savage politeness that only she could weaponize. But until she had the full picture, she gave me the benefit of the doubt. That meant more than I could say.

I gave her the address, warned her to keep her face covered—Daredevil might still be sniffing around—and told her to be careful with her words.

I’d seen how badly the world of supers handled secrets. “Loose lips sink ships” might as well be tattooed on half the hero forums. Still, I wasn’t sure linking the freaky alien horror with Salamander was a good idea. We’d see what “Kaltenbrunner,” a.k.a. Yuriko Oyama, had to say about that.

Before hanging up, I asked her to check in with the moms—let them know I was alive and mostly okay.

As I made my way to the meeting spot, I mulled it all over. The idea of keeping my alien-self and my hero-self as separate identities was… tempting. Two faces for different jobs. Smart, right?

Of course, all of that relied on whether I could get my original form back—or at least shift between the two. If I was stuck like this permanently? Then I’d have to build one hell of a reputation. The kind that made people say “hey, that scary guy’s alright.” Not exactly easy when just drinking soda in public was a red flag.

The truth was, I didn’t want to be evil for evil’s sake. Or even for comfort. Sure, being an unhinged bastard without morals or conscience gets results fast, but I wasn’t built for that. Honestly? I was terrified I’d lose myself. My new nature encouraged that path, and I had to fight it constantly.

I headed toward our meeting point. Gotta be early—don’t wanna keep Sensei waiting.

Also, note to self: cut back on the habit of sass-bombing every super you meet. This form made me feel powerful. Between the claws, the speed, and my old abilities… it was easy to get cocky. But I needed to remember that it was an illusion. There’s always a bigger stick out there.

“…Though,” I murmured to myself, “a little sass never hurt.”

A few soft click-laughs echoed through the dirty, graffiti-covered alley.

We talked in her car. I just slipped into the back seat when she pulled up.

For the first time since we met, I wasn’t watching her stony face for clues—I could feel her emotions. It was kind of beautiful.

Under the still surface, I felt impatience… then surprise… then something like relief. Even joy, if muted. Sure, she wasn’t the most expressive person emotionally, but there was something there. Positive. Unmistakably so.

When she saw what I looked like, she hit me with surprise, admiration… and something dangerously close to fondness. For a split second, I thought she was gonna scratch me under the chin like a pet cat.

She listened to my whole story in silence. When I got to the troll fight, I caught a tiny flicker of envy. She was jealous, the psycho. At the part about the mage, she gave a soft huff of disapproval. Pretty sure she didn’t like her.

When I mentioned the runaway soldier, her face didn’t change—but inside, I could feel her conscience grumbling like a bear waking up from hibernation.

My plan to stay away from the School? She approved, though there was hesitation.

“You sure,” she asked, glancing around, “that you won’t lose control out here?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “But I can always duck into the sewers if I have to. I’m getting better at control, and honestly… I think being around people helps. Listening. Watching. Remembering.”

“Then why not go back to the School?”

“Because I’m scared,” I said. “And Sensei… I don’t think I can take the pity. Or the hovering. Or seeing their reactions when they look at me now.”

She didn’t say anything, just sent me a soft wave of understanding… and sympathy. Her face stayed frozen, but I felt it.

“As you wish,” she nodded. “I’ll call your parents in the morning. In the bag: clothes, clean phone number, cash. The case has your suit.”

“What’ll I do next? I dunno yet. Figure something out. Maybe even… do a little hero work.”

“You looking for trouble?” she asked, one brow arched just slightly, the smallest twinkle of mischief in her voice.

“…Maybe,” I grinned. Part of why I didn’t hole up in one of Magneto’s hideouts. I missed the action. Even just this low-stakes urban stealth—getting spotted, maybe chased—it scratched the itch a bit.

“And what about comfort?” Her lips twitched into the faintest smirk. God, she was hot when she was amused.

“Not forever. I spent a couple months sleeping on dirt, eating lizard-rats, drinking from puddles. I’ll find a quiet squat, lay low there for a while.”

“Good,” she nodded. I felt satisfaction from her—and a tiny thrill, like she was enjoying watching me grow. “We’ll call it a self-sufficiency test. If anyone asks—that’s your cover story. Try building a reputation for Dimon. Something good. It could help. But be careful not to make the link between you and him too obvious. Castle and the vamps know, so don’t push it. They won’t blab outright, but they might hint. And expect Deadpool. She’ll definitely show up if the rumors start flying.”

She went quiet for a few seconds, thinking.

Then she turned and looked at me—and her emotions were a swirl: pride, warmth, approval… and something I couldn’t quite place.

“Send me your measurements,” she said flatly. “And pics. In your underwear.”

I blinked. “What?”

“What you’re wearing now is a disgrace,” she said, deadpan.

As Sensei’s car pulled away, I stood there for a second, weirdly thrown off. Normal clothes? Since when was she so considerate?

I adjusted the hefty gym bag slung over my shoulder—full of goodies and “essentials”—then scaled a nearby rooftop. Still a bit of time before dawn. I needed a place to crash. Maybe even a semi-permanent hideout. Not going back to the sewers—my nose was way too good for that shit. But an attic, or some abandoned apartment? That would be chef’s kiss. Bonus points if there was a subway access nearby in case of sudden “oh shit” moments.

Early morning.

Caprice hated getting up this early. Ass-crack of dawn early. But grandma had been merciless: “You want more pocket money? Then help with the business.”

If only she’d known that “help” would look like this.

Her grandma? An actual monster. Makes supervillains look like amateurs.

“I really dropped out of school for this?” the groggy eighteen-year-old grumbled as she watched her grandmother inspect a building. “Why the hell are we even here in person…”

Yeah, she was whining—but she knew the drill. It had been explained to her more than once. If you wanted your business to stay profitable, you had to keep it on a tight leash. Not that she had to personally show up for every tiny deal, of course—but the underlings needed to know that the Manfredis were always watching. That’s why Grandma and her moms did these little field trips now and then. A pop-in to check on newly acquired property, show face at a business meet, or drop in for a surprise inspection. Nothing said “we own this place” like unexpected oversight.

“Caprice, coffee?” her bodyguard asked with a knowing smile, nodding toward the barista stand across the street.

The girl glanced toward the doorway where her grandma had vanished and decided, yeah, her help wouldn’t be needed for the next five minutes.

“Let’s go. I doubt there’s decent coffee in Hell’s Kitchen, but I’ll take any caffeine-flavored swamp water at this point.”

Everything was fine. The coffee even smelled okay. But then the black van pulled up.

“Angelica—” Caprice turned to her bodyguard, but saw she was already watching the van with a sharp eye. That gave her a brief flicker of reassurance… which evaporated the second the vehicle rolled to a stop, perfectly blocking the view of Grandma’s people across the street.

The van’s side door slid open.

And Caprice suddenly found herself in a vice-grip hold from Angelica.

Her own bodyguard. Her friend, since childhood.

A hand clamped over her mouth. The woman she’d trusted her entire life was dragging her toward the van—where inside, several women in masks and holding weapons were waiting.

Caprice thrashed like hell, biting down hard on the hand muffling her scream. She was rewarded with a sharp hiss of pain. “You traitorous bitch,” flashed through her head like lightning. She couldn’t believe it. The one person she’d never doubted had just spat in the face of everything her family had ever done for her.

They shoved her into the van. As the doors slammed shut, her panicked gaze caught a glimpse of something through a broken attic window in the neighboring building.

A face.

A horrible, terrifying monster’s face was staring right at her from the shadows.

“Of course,” she thought grimly, rolling her eyes internally as a gag was jammed in her mouth. “Out of all the people who could’ve seen my kidnapping—some big-name superheroine in spandex maybe—it had to be a damn freak-show.”

She did take some comfort in hearing her family’s people shouting on the other side of the street. Backup would be on the way.

Caprice exhaled hard through her nose and tried to get as comfortable as she could on the van floor. Not easy, since she was already chained up, wrists and ankles locked.

But she knew how to play this. Don’t fight. Don’t provoke. Don’t risk your life unless there’s no choice.

Grandma would come for her.

And some of these bitches? They were absolutely going to the bottom of the Hudson. And with concrete shoes, too—those don’t exactly help you float.