"We'll handle Powell. He's at the top of the task force food chain right now. We do need to take him down, but I also want to see who and what he can lead us to first." Start playing offensive, rather than purely defensive. As Karen had said, this was a battle that wouldn't be won just using fists. As much as Matt wanted to make it that simple, they couldn't. "You'll get your choice of legs to break afterwards, though." Matt didn't have any problem breaking some bones. He'd already broken Powell's arm once.

Or was the Devil temping someone good, because he really wanted revenge?

It was hard not to want to kill Powell himself hearing about her injuries. Wincingly he pushed himself to sit a little more upright, concern etched on his face. His gaze was unfocused but his brow furrowed, and he reached out to lightly touch her bandage. A reminder he wasn't able to protect everyone all the time, but part of him still hating himself for that. The reality that it was his Catholic guilt talking, because this was as much Kate's fight as his.

Matt's phone pinged, saying he had a message.

Clint Barton. Clint Barton. Clint Barton.

Matt groaned as he rolled over, answering his phone with the voice to text option. He put it on speaker.

"Matt."

So you just go and have a revolution and not invite me? Here I thought we had something special at that bodega twenty years ago, Murdock.

Met some of your friends on my way in. Sweethearts, aren't they?