I hear her scream. In fact, I don't understand how the entire region doesn't. I should be in bed right now--sleeping across the room from my roommate and close friend Foggy Nelson. Lucky for her I can only take his snoring so long, and that I need to free myself from the restraints of that room, isn't it?

I leap from one rooftop to another, following her gasps and screams. Finally, I find myself right above her. There are two people pushing her back--not literally, yet--into the alleyway. They're breathing heavily, and telling her to shut up. But she won't stop sceaming.

I really shouldn't complain, though. The screaming helped lead me to her, after all. But I would've done fine finding her by the perfume she's wearing. Well... the perfume she took a bath in, really.

I leap down without a sound. It wasn't that far--perhaps only a drop of thirty feet. I stay in the shadows, as I hear one of the girl's attackers forcefully tear her shirt. That's when I step out, instructing them to back away from their prey.

They laugh. Just like everyone's always done, dating back to my childhood back in elementary school. But why shouldn't they laugh? After all, I'm just a skinny guy wearing something someone would jog in and a face mask. I'm sure they'd find it comforting that I'm blind, too. I can't do any harm. I can't stop them from ravaging the young lady I'm here to save, over and over again.

Wrong.

"Get 'em!" One of the men say, charging forward. I realize how close he is by his onion-caked breath, which causes me to practically taste the herb. My fist connects with his jaw, driving him back into the other man--who'd begun to make his way towards me, as well. The clanging of his already loose belt made sure I knew that.

The one with the belt lands on the ground courtesy of his cohort in crime, the onion-eater. It doesn't take them long until they're up again, but once they reach where I was standing I leap to the side--landing upon the dumpster that sits to my right. I flip off of it, landing in front of the girl. "Don't worry. You'll be fine," I say, trying to comfort her.

Her heart's racing, and I can tell she feels no more safe than she did before. The two men have turned, obviously, and were making their way towards me once more. Once the one with the belt foolishly gets close enough, his chest meets the sole of my shoe. I can hear the gurgling of the spit that flies out of his mouth, and the loud thunk as his tail bone once again hits the ground.

"Get behind me," I say to the girl, turning my back to my attackers for only a second. My mistake.

I try not to pass out as the baseball bat slams into the side of my face, but it's hard. I have to stay conscious for the girl. I won't let anything happen to her--I can't. The taste of my own blood is alarming, but if I let that distract me I'll just be tasting more of it. I question how well I am going to fair tonight, having let the baseball bat go undetected... but I fight the thoughts back.

I have to stay focused.

I stumble back, my fists slamming into the man with the onion breath. Just as the one with the loose belt stands, my foot slams into his temple, and he falls. That's one down. Make that two, I notice, as I grab the man with the onion breath's shirt as he falls limp.

I release the shirt, and smile at the thud as he hits the ground. I can still hear the girl's breathing, and smell her perfume... so that means she's still with me. "Are you all right?" I ask, hiding the concern in my voice. I can show no emotion. Stick taught me that a long, long time ago.

"I'm fine," she says. "Now that you're here, that is. Are you some kind of superhero, or something?"

Superhero? I'm certainly no superhero. I'm just a man who wants to make a difference with his life. I was trained in the use of all my other senses, honing them--perfecting them--because I was blinded years ago. (Courtesy of radioactive waste.) My life is full of loss, and there has always been a lack of justice.

My father was forced into a deal with the mob--just to support me after my mother died. In the end, he made the right decision, I suppose. It was in the ring that he, the boxer known as Battlin' Murdock, showed me (even though I'd already been blinded) one thing he'd always stressed in my life.

To never give up.

Because he didn't let the other boxer win, he was killed that night. I made his murderer's pay--something I'm not that proud of. It lead to the death of a hooker, as well. That's why I'll always follow the rules. The rules I've studied since I was just a child.

I'm not a child anymore. I'm a man. A man with a purpose--to make my father proud, and to preserve justice.

"I asked you a question," the woman says in an annoyed tone.

I finally answer. "No, I'm no superhero, miss. Just a man who wants to make a difference."

"Do you have a name?"

Matt Murdock, college student at Columbia University. That's who I am. I'm going to be a lawyer. So, I ask you this. Why is it I respond with the following?

"...Daredevil."

I hear the sirens coming from a few blocks away. It will still take the police quite some time to arrive, but I'm going to make my leave. The men are out, and the girl has been saved. I've done my part.

...For tonight.

I do one more flip, landing on the same dumpster I'd used to my advantage earlier in the night. With another jump, I grab hold of the fire escape which had rattled with the wind. I move quickly on it, though. It's obvious the structure could go at any minute. Within moments, I find myself back on a rooftop.

Leaping from rooftop to rooftop as before, I'm left with only my thoughts and the sounds, smells, and other sensations of the night. It's then that I finally put something into words. I love this.

I told that girl to call me Daredevil tonight. The name that, oddly enough, I was christened with for being a "bookworm." Although I don't know what it is, I can feel it. I love the law--but I know justice through the courtroom won't always pull through. What if, in those cases, I can still ensure justice?

...It's just a thought.