I get nervous about a lot of things: taking tests, being around certain girls, speaking publicly, just the normal things most seventeen year-olds would get antsy about. I mean, this is the weirdest part of our life, with all those changes and the confusion, just.....well, a lot of things. But Mom says I'm a pretty good kid, for a teenager. And I guess she's right. I do well in school, I don't get into much trouble, I help out around the house, or at least, when Mom actually needs it. Even though Dad's been gone, Mom's stayed pretty much independent. She always has been, it seems like, and I'm sure you have to, when you're in the business her and Dad were in.

Oh yeah, I guess I kind of forgot to mention that. You see, I don't exactly have a "normal" family. Sure, there are other kids in this city with the same kind of parents as me...I just see it differently than them, I guess. Some of them take up the family business, some don't. But all of them have both parents around. One of King Namor's kids, I think she calls herself "Giantess" in costume, does this superhero thing, with full support from both the King and Queen Jennifer. Both of her parents were superheroes back before the Enemy took Earth, and they were both around for her. Mom supports me and all, but she's still just a mom.....she's not a man.

I'm standing here in my room, and I look at myself in the bare essentials in the mirror. My blue and white boxers hug my muscular lower body, and I can't help but admire difference in fit from a while ago. I think I deserve a little vanity; I worked hard enough for it. Dad had me doing push-ups and sit-ups when I was really young, and he would've taken me to weights in my teens, if he'd been around then...

"Benjamin Murdock!" she yells, my mother's tone never threatening, but commanding me in a wise way. Still, I'd call it yelling.

"Yes, Mom?" I say loudly, as I walk to my door and open it, allowing better communication between us.

She walks up the stairs slowly, already looking for me to be standing at my door. I study her as she climbs, her face aged a bit, but still having the fire of a young heart. I know that guys all around the place used to fantasize about Mom, but that's just...eh, disgusting. Still, I can see the beauty in my own mother. Her brown, curly hair is poofed out more than usual, held up by a deep red.....oh, I dunno what you call them...headband-thingy? I've seen a lot of old pictures with other heroes wearing them...they come up the sides of your cheeks and come across your forehead. I never really thought they looked very cool, but Mom's not exactly a trendy hero anymore. This whole scene makes me appreciate sight so much more. That, and what Dad and Mom used to tell me, about being blind.

The headband, or whatever, is a part of her costume. She hasn't worn it in a long time. Unlike some of the other heroes, she didn't change her costume in the early days. Dad didn't either. I liked his costume a lot...all one color, simple, effective. Mom's matches his pretty well, with the red and pink color scheme. I guess Mom's costume is still all right, but I never really thought it looked anything like a witch, except for the cape.

"Honey, are you almo.....Ben! What are you still doing in your undies?"

Yeah, that's her. Wanda Maximoff, the heroic Scarlet Witch, my mother.

"We agreed that you'd go out at ten o'clock so you could be home earlier, and here it is, nine-thirty, and you're not even in costume." Mom has a good memory, and she's a little strict every now and then, but she was right. I should be in costume. I just don't know if I can do it.

"I know Mom, I know. But what am I gonna do in thirty extra minutes of sitting at home, in a costume, with my mother in her equally crazy get-up?" I'm not a rude kid, and Mom knows this, because she knows me.

"Haha...oh, Ben, you know how us mothers are. Well, girls in general really.....We're all sentimental!"

"And that would lead to.....?"

"Pictures!"

Mom is already setting up the auto camera out in the hallway while she tells me about how special this occasion is.

"Mom: Pictures? We may be a family, but we're freakin' superheroes! Think if there was a photo of us like this just sitting around the house and someone found it. I mean, I wouldn't mind...but you're the one who demanded that I keep my identity secret."

She's nearly finished, and I can tell already that I won't win this one. I'm really just prolonging the embarrassment of not being photogenic.....God, I hate pictures.

"Maybe you're a superhero now, but I'm not anymore. I'm just dressed for the occasion, and you need to be to. It'd be just as bad to have a picture of you in your undergarments with your mother in full costume lying around the house."

"Probably worse...I get the point. I'll be back down."

I walk upstairs and Mom is humming to herself. She really is a cheery woman, and I know she was that type of hero, most of the time, too. I'm really glad she wasn't one of those stupid "dark heroes" I've heard about...there were so many of them, they were just stupid.

In front of the mirror again, I finally start putting all the pieces together. I'd worn them all before, at one time or another, but never all at once. First on are the bottoms, dark grey and tight.....maybe a little too tight. I'll have to look into that later. Then the little pantaloons. Sometimes they look kinda stupid, but it's a tradition thing. They go on a bit uncomfortably at first, but they adjust slightly. That whole area's getting kind of crowded down there. I look up again, and the pantaloons don't look so bad. They're black, and look sorta cool against the deep charcoal pants. I put on my top next, the same color as the bottoms, and it slides on tightly. This kind of tight, though, is good. "You can't be too revealing when it comes to a costume," Mom once said. She's right, in this case. The long sleeved top stretches over my muscles, and I spend time flexing in the mirror, admiring.

"Ben! Time's wasting.....if you need me to come help..." Mom is threatening from downstairs.

"God.....no thanks, Mom! I'm almost ready, sorry."

I continue, putting on my black ninja boots. Mom said she had to go to some trouble to get these, but she figured they'd make my first few shifts easier on the feet. Maybe I can make the two-toed look popular. Gloves next, and they add a good effect, coming all the way back to right below my elbows, as black as the boots. Now here's the part I've only done once...the mask. It's a part of the top, and it's hanging just behind me, on my back. I reach back slowly with both of my arms and bring it over my head. Once it's centered, I close my eyes, and begin bringing it down.

I can feel the material on my face. I want to open my eyes. I don't want to open my eyes.

I open my eyes, and I'm scared to near-death.

"Mom! Good lord...Don't sneak up on me like that!"

I saw her reflection behind me, beaming like mad. She was so happy...so proud.

"Sorry, Benny, I figured you needed some help. Besides, I couldn't help but come get a first look at Uncle Tony's work."

"Well, let me see..." I say as I look back at the mirror. The mask fits perfectly on my face, its eyeholes cut in ellipses just large enough to the mask a little room to move around without screwing my vision. I look at the top, and I see the deep grey horns. They look a little bigger than Dad's, but that was on purpose. Uncle Tony didn't want me to look just like my old man.

"I think it looks great, Ben. Don't you?"

"Yeah.....yeah, it really does look good."

I was the perfect model of a street hero.

"Then let's go take that picture so you can get out and get home for some rest...it's already ten 'till ten. But first, Ben.....you might want to change into some briefs, intsead." she says, laughing.

I look in the mirror and I see that my boxers are very visible through the tights, bunched and crowding my pants. That defenitely would be embarassing.

My mom leaves, and after a quick change, she's back. Mom walks me, arm in arm, over to the place of our shot. In front of the plain beige wall of our hallway, with no markings or other pictures to distract from the two pinnacles of heroism, awaiting the eminent flash of the "Picture Taken" light. I put my arm around her shoulder, and I look at her for a second. Her smile is very natural, very nurturing. For a witch, she sure looks innocent. She turns to look at me.

"Are you ready, Ben?"

"...As ready as I will be." I answer, trying to sound sure in some way.

"As ready as I will be" is probably right, though. This is the best I've felt about everything all night, and still I'm sick with anxiety. I go ahead and smile, as I wait for the picture. It's forced.

"Picture- now." Mom says, loud enough for the machine to pick up her command.

I can hear the camera whirring, readying itself for the photo. It takes a little bit to go ahead and take a picture, as advanced as it is. I wait, and I keep thinking.

I get nervous about a lot of things, normal things that everyone else gets worried about. I'm going out on my first shift as Daredevil. That's hardly a normal thing.

The camera increases its noises, and the flash shines bright...

11:00 PM: My first hour out in Avengers City, and no action at all. It feels good, out in the night air. It's cold outside, but despite the costume's tight feel, its material does a good heating job. Swinging from building to building, in the real city, is a little bit harder. It's probably just because I'm still nervous. Not so much about the fighting or anything...not that I've seen much of that yet...more that I don't want to look stupid. I know there aren't very many people out, but I'd still like to make a good first impression. On that note, not a soul has seen me yet. I dunno whether that's bad or good.

I'm not sure whether this is just a "slow" night, crime-wise, or what. Maybe I'm just too afraid to go very close to Easton. I've heard some bad stories about that place.....I think I'll leave it up to the pros, for now. I keep checking my supplies neurotically: billy club, communicator, mini-first aid kit. Still there. Still waiting.

12:37 AM: I've been swinging around a lot more, and I thought I saw a crime in progress. It ended up just being some kids sneaking out of their house, and their parents caught them, anyway. Another thing happened: I saw my first super-fight. Well, at least.....this was the first time I saw one as Daredevil. It wasn't anything big...Beowulf and Maniac Minister battled over the Minister being near town. He hadn't really done anything wrong yet, but Beowulf's smart and quick enough to keep the Maniac from getting started. It was a quick fight, and Beowulf knocked him senseless, and left him wrapped up for the Crew. I watched, and it invigorated me. I was ready to jump in at any time. Beowulf didn't need me to, though.

1:55 AM: No action. I'm getting a little tired.....I couldn't sleep very well last night, even though I needed it. Still waiting.....adrenaline rush from Beowulf's fight left me with a sinking spell. I need something to keep me awake.

2:21 AM: Nothing at all. I'm tired. I'm bored. How could anyone do this every night, over and over again? I'm thinking about going home. I began using my super-radar, but I didn't pick up anything out of the ordinary, or anything very close. Where is everyone?

2:50 AM...

I'm sitting on top of a particularly old apartment building. It was probably one of the first buildings built here. I've decided to go ahead and stay the rest of my shift, and I'm passing the time by seeing how the grassy areas compare in size to the red sandy areas. I stopped concentrating on my radar, but luckily I hear the noises of heavy breathing and muffled talking from across the street. After a quick check on supplies, I shoot the billy club off and swing over swiftly. The other building is fairly new, especially in comparison to the older building from before. I remember now.....it's the new Steven Rogers Memorial Hospital. There sure are a lot of "Steven Rogers Memorial" things around town. Mom hasn't told me why, yet.

I follow the sounds as they get closer, and I pinpoint their source outside of a room that's luckily on the side of the building, with a window, about seven floors up. Carefully, but with confidence, I lower myself down the side of the building, until I reach my point of destination.

Looking into the window, I feel a little cheap. But I suppose it's part of the business.

The room is dark, and all I can really see are a few machines, a large bed with a fairly dark-skinned woman laying in it, and a faint light coming from around the door. The voices keep getting closer and closer, and I finally put together some of what they've been saying. Apparently, the Multovos are more of a family than biologically. A few representatives, including "Rat" Randy and Leo Multovo and a few of their buddies, are walking down the hall to this woman's room. I'm not quite sure why...they keep mentioning "the kid" and "payback", so I can tell it's not good.

As I expected, the door flies open violently, and Rat and Leo step in, their four men standing behind them. The lights are quickly turned on, and the woman sits up in bed right away. Concentrating, I "zoom in" on the woman's hospital bracelet. It reads: "Tiffany Breyer". I had heard about her.....the news said she had been involved in some sort of organized crime dealings, and that she was injured during her arrest. Why would the Multovos be visiting her?

"Well, well, Tiff. How come we keep meetin' like this, eh?" Rat says, as he walks over to her and puts his hand to her chin. She tries to shake him, but he holds her tight, and slaps her face with the other hand. Her already bruised and battered body falls back into the bed, and stays there.

"Aw, Rat, c'mon. I thought we was just gonna scare her good, trash the place and be out."

"Shut up, Leo. We're gonna show this cow what it's like to screw with the Multovos..."

I know I have to act. I have to. I have to...

"I don't think you'll be doing any of that!" I say, trying to sound brave, as I break through the window, feet first. With the momentum from swinging on my line, I manage to have minimal damage on my bones, and the boots cover the protection.

The gangsters look up, surprised and a little scared. I stand near the bed, trying to bulge out and look menacing. By the looks on the faces of the henchmen, it works. But Leo and Rat have seen plenty of superheroes before. I've got to prove myself, to these two.

"What're you gonna do about it, hornhead?" Rat said, pulling out his gun and aiming it at Tiffany.

"Oh please God, no! I don't wanna die.....you can't kill me and the baby!"

I thought I heard eight heartbeats. I can now see Tiffany's bloated stomach.

"Woah, just slow down there...uh...Rat. Mm...let's not get too feisty." I'm faltering. I can't let this intimidate me. I have training, heightened senses, a little magic maybe... these guys are all just sides of beef, with plenty of fat. I can take it.

"One wrong move...hey, whattaya call yourself?" Leo asks.

"I'm...uh...Daredevil."

Great introduction.

"Hahahaha, you're Daredevil?? I doubt that. More like a little runt with horns, I think."

"Didn't Big Papa ace the Daredevil a while back?"

"Sure did. And that makes it impossible for 'dis poor sap over here to be Daredevil. So what's your name, boy?" Rat asks.

The Multovos. Big Papa Multovo. Did he really kill Dad? I don't know, but I act in anger, and for once it helps. I reach for my club as quick as I can, and I throw it at Rat's hand. Before he can even think to pull the trigger, the gun is knocked from his hand. "Aaaaaah! Dammit!" he yells. The others are slow to react, so I grab my club as I flip over them, landing right by the light switch. Once the lights are out...they're mine.

The fight doesn't last long. Maybe a minute, maybe two. I only get hit in the shoulder once, and lightly at that, and then I get kicked in the leg as one of them goes down. Shabby fighters, even in numbers. One time, when I punch, I hear and feel five ribs crack. The groan tells me I might have punctured something. But he'll be all right...this is a hospital, after all. I make sure I take out all but Rat...he probably thinks he's lucky that I don't see him. But I do. I see him perfectly, in the dark. And once I'm done, I flip on the lights.

"Just wait there, you bastard!" Tiffany cries desperately. I look over quickly, and she's on the floor, holding Rat's own gun at him. He immediately holds up his hands.

"Ms. Breyer, no!" is my first reaction. To shoot a man...I can't let her do that.

"Why not? This trash rapes me, makes me carry his child.....then he tries to kill me and the baby I've been carrying. Why should he live??"

She's got me there, for a minute. Rat deserves to suffer. He deserves something bad, something horrible. But it's just too easy to kill someone like that, isn't it? To just shoot them and be done, like that. That's not a hero's way.

"Ma'am, please. Rat deserves the worst. He deserves a fair trial, where will be found guilty by our courts, and then will suffer in jail for a long time." That's really all I can think of.

".....But...he tried to kill...oh.....oh God....." Tiffany breaks down and drops the gun. Rat is ready to reach for it, but I push him against the wall and kick the gun away. He's scared, I can tell, and that makes me feel better.

"Look at what you've done to this woman...you do know you'll be punished horribly for it, right?"

Even though he's scared, he's still cocky, and he's still just a part of the heap of garbage in this town.

He smiles at me slyly. "Oh, I dunno. Big Papa's got his fingers in a lotta pies..."

I can't stand that sort of thing. Quickly I lift my fist, and strike Rat straight in the nose, just the right angle to cause enough blood to leak into his mouth while he lays almost unconscious. I let the anger take over.....it's starting to wear off.

As I walk back to the window, I can still hear Tiffany crying, and I can still hear Rat straining for an unchallenged breath. How do heroes just leave scenes like this, before someone arrives? Do you just trust that things will work out? I guess that's how it's done.

I take my club and fire it, and I turn around to still see Tiffany sobbing on her knees. The sight sickens and saddens me. She looks up just for a second, her eyes bloodshot and bulging, and the tears streaming down her face and mixing with the drippings from her nose and with the blood seeping from her scars, forming a waterfall of depression and anguish to flow down to the floor. She speaks. "P....p-please.....just go. I don't...don't want anyone to see me." So that's it. No "thank you". No kind words at all. I'm just asked to leave. So I do.

4:53 AM: After a final round between downtown and home, I finally start back to the house. There's no more action for the night, just time to think.....

5:12 AM...

"Mom," I say loudly but without energy, "I'm home." I'm crawling in through the window to my room, and I stumble a little on the way in. My fall makes a bit of a noise, and Mom comes rushing into the room.

"Oh, hon! Are you okay?" she says as she helps me up.

"Yeah.....yeah, I think so." I'm not physically hurt, really. I sit down on the bed and take off my mask.

"So, what happened?? Obviously something pretty big, for you to come home at five-fifteen in the morning." She sounds a little concerned, but I can tell by her look and her tone that she wants to hear juicy details. It's funny, how she looks at it like a soccer mom would for her little kids playing. She wants to know scores, details, how badly her child beat the others...

I'm tough. Yeah, I think I am. But I can't help but let the tears roll slowly and gently down my cheeks as I ask, "Mom...how did Dad really die?"

She sits down by my side quickly, realizing my pain, and holds me in her arms, her motherly goodness flowing to me to comfort me. "Oh, Ben, why do you ask that, honey? What's wrong?"

"It's just.....I had a run-in with some of the Multovo family tonight. Rat Multovo was there, and he said.....he and Leo said that Big Papa Multovo killed Daredevil...Dad."

"Ohhh, honey...believe me: that's not what happened. He was just bragging for the sake of intimidating you, I'm sure. Your father...he died in a much nobler way."

"Then how did Dad die?"

".....Ben...oh, Ben, you don't know how many times you've asked me that. But I still can't tell you."

"Why not?? Why the Hell not? He's my Dad, for Christ's sake! Shouldn't I at least know how he died?"

"Ben, please, don't you know that I'd never lie to you or keep information from you for a bad reason? I'm your mother, and I'm only for your best interests. I'll tell you someday.....you just need some more years under your belt."

I feel my underlying anger start to fade, and the sadness is blocked by the numb non-feeling in my gut and in my being. "Fine. I'm tired. I need to go to bed."

"Ben, don't just dismiss this! I'm sorry, I just.....oh it's just a tough situation. I trust you with all my heart...you're my son! I don't want to give you any wrong ideas about your father before you're at the right age to completely understand." She puts her hand on my shoulder, and squeezes it gently.

"Honey.....please? Trust me on this one?"

I break. ".....Well.....all right, Mom."

"Thank you." She says warmly, and kisses me on the cheek. She gets up and walks over to my mirror, and asks, looking at me through the reflection, "So....about tonight....."

I tell her all about the boredom, and seeing Beowulf fight the Maniac Minister, and then about the big deal with the Multovos and Tiffany. She says she isn't really surprised that it's all connected.....she's smart like that. You get that from being in this business so long. Then I mention the lack of thanks, the strange feeling of just leaving the situation.

"Are you just doing this for the thanks, Ben? Just for the image? I hope not. Because, if you are, then you won't last long. You'll just wither away under bad press and even worse nights. Is that what you want?"

"No ma'am......no. I want to help the people who need it."

"Then you have to understand that not everyone can find the right words to thank someone who saved their life. That woman was probably scared out of her wits, and was probably a bit intimidated by you, too."

"Yeah. I understand now...I think."

"You will, Ben, as long as you just know that it's about them, not about you."

I'll probably be thinking about that one for a long while afterwards.

"I get it. I'm a part of the whole."

"That's right. You're getting smarter, my heart, even after your first night."

She walks over to my desk and opens up a small box. What she brings out surprises me: it's a black marker of some sort.

"Mom, what're you...?"

"I think you've earned this tonight, my son. Your chest went without something to recognize you by tonight, your costume without its trademark."

She holds up the marker, apparently a material paint-marker, and carefully draws something on my chest.

"Tonight, you earned his name...your father's legacy."

I stand up and look in the mirror. Two D's, a little different from Dad's, but still representative of the name.....the title, Daredevil.

"Go ahead and sleep, Ben. You're going to need it, and you deserve it."

With that, she kisses me again on the cheek and says goodnight.

I'm up until at least seven o'clock in the morning just staring at the "DD" insignia alone, and I nearly pass out on the bed from exhaustion.

I dream of my father. I dream of us swinging through the buildings and streets together.

That alone is enough to keep me going.

NOTES FROM THE WRITER: This is the first of multiple stories set in the universe of Avengers City. Keep an eye out for clues as to what happened.....things may be revealed, some day.