Marvel's Daredevil

Record temperatures in the New York area

as 100-degree weather hits its fifth consecutive day with no end in sight.

I'll tell you who I want!

I told you I'll call you later.

Yeah, you'll get what you want.

Lowlife pulls a piece on me.

It never worked!

What's wrong with you? I tell you not to touch...

You want to move your car? Huh?

Get out of the way!

Oh, my God!

Move, move!

They opened fire.

Move the hell out of the way!

Drop the gun!

Drop the gun and get on the ground...

Out of my way!

Move!

Move, move, move!

You get out of the car!

- Get out of the way, now! - Get out of the car, now!

Call 911.

- And then he went to... - You! You!

Stay calm!

Call the cops.

Let me go! Please put me down.

- Help! Anybody, please help! - Shut up! Shut up!

Stand back, everybody. Okay, please, please.

You ever wake up in the morning...

from the second you get out of bed, it's like...

every molecule in your body hurts?

- No, never. - I'm in agony, dude.

What, did you go back to the gym?

Hell, no. Do I look capable of making healthy life choices?

I went out, Matthew. Went out dancing.

- I'm choosing not to believe that. - And yet, it's true.

- Mind if I ask you a personal question? - Go ahead.

- Are you insane? - Yes.

- Tell me it was the barista. - Hey, Foggy. Looking good!

Her name is Bethany

- and she is very limber. - Oh!

You're my hero.

- Watch it, asshole. - So, uh, when's the next date?

- Well, therein lies the true pain. - No!

Yes. One and done.

End of the night, she hugged me like a cousin and said, "I'll call you."

Oh, that's brutal.

- You know what my problem is? - Well, it ain't the moves.

You know I got the moves.

That's the tragedy of you being blind, you've never seen me dance.

Yeah, but I can cite the legends I heard in law school.

So come on, what is it? What's the problem?

No wingman. You never come out with me anymore.

Could you imagine Nelson and Murdock on the dance floor?

I can't deny that does sound epic.

- Then come out with me, Matt. - All right.

Come on, just one time, me and you.

What is it?

You're bleeding.

- Huh. Where? - Base of the skull.

Did you get it?

No one's gonna notice, if that's what you mean.

Thank you.

- I hate this. - We don't need to talk about it.

Good thinking.

You know, Karen's been asking questions. The cuts, the scrapes, the bruises.

- What do you tell her? - You have a drinking problem.

That's horrible.

Well, it's more plausible than

you put on a devil suit and beat the shit out of strangers.

You know, this whole thing isn't just your problem anymore.

And I'm past worrying about the broken bones,

and finding you beaten into a coma.

- What about us? - Nelson and Murdock?

You ever stop to think what happens if you get caught?

At best, you'll be disbarred.

Then you'll continue to do the good work we started together.

Do you even hear yourself?

You're my partner. I don't wanna continue alone.

Foggy...

last week, a client came to our office, Zuly Almeida.

Claimed her life was in danger. We had no legal recourse to offer.

I remember.

You recommended an excellent shelter for battered women.

- And she went. - Yeah, she tried.

That night, her husband found out she wanted to leave him,

and he followed her to the bus stop

with a gut full of beer and a butcher knife in his hand.

- You never told me that. - Well, I'm telling you now.

Mr. Almeida walked out of his apartment

with the intention to hack Mrs. Almeida into many bloody pieces...

starting by taking off her head.

Guess what?

Never happened.

Instead, he woke up in a hospital with two broken arms

and a restraining order safety-pinned to his chest.

Jesus, Matt.

If I take a night off, people get hurt.

I don't wanna lose you.

- You won't. - Promise me.

You want me to cross my heart?

Do not make fun of me.

I swear.

Come on. Let's get to work.

Yeah, I gotta get out of this heat.

Idiots.

Good morning, guys. You take the scenic route this morning?

- Morning to you, too. - Morning, Karen.

- What have we got? - All right.

Well, uh, Mr. Marino's dog was viciously beaten

by his neighbor after the dog, um...

defiled the neighbor's statue of Saint Francis.

- "Defiled"? - Um...

humped repeatedly until completion.

- That's a dog I want to defend. - Oh, he's... he's all yours, cowboy.

And, uh, Mr. Maxwell here was attacked in a bar fight last night.

He started it.

Oh, I... I called Metro-General and the other guy will recover,

but if you are looking at trial,

you probably wanna wait until his jaw is unwired.

Your girl's a badass.

You've no idea.

Um, and, uh, Miss Jacinto's working papers

have been denied for the third time.

Her father's gone and she says that factory work is

the only way she can support her family.

- Well, tell her not to worry. - Yeah.

I've already pulled her applications from the DOE.

Good, because we're gonna find her something better.

And that's just the appointments for the first hour.

You wanna talk about our 10:00 a.m.'s?

Uh, what's that?

Oh, uh, the bananas are from Mr. Tate.

Payment for that fender bender thing. And for you...

Strawberry rhubarb.

You will be mine.

Uh, so, um...

I installed this free trial of accounting software on my computer.

And the good news is that I can re-up it every 30 days

with a fake email address. But, um...

the bad news is that... we're broke.

As in, literally no money. And our income can't cover our bills.

We'll manage.

I don't know how, but I know we will.

All right.

Well, in the meantime, I guess we have, um...

lots of pastries and... and fruit.

Yeah, and fans.

- Portable, electric fans. - Yes.

And, uh... and each other.

Miss Jacinto, will you come in, please?

Let's see if we can find you a better way to live in Hell's Kitchen.

Please, sit down.

Apologies, Mr. Nesbitt. Blood's still up.

Best you mind him, Thomas.

You miserable mutt!

Where was all that fight 10 minutes ago?

Place smells like dog shit!

There's a pot calling the kettle.

Someone get this poor man a drink.

Grotto, you mangy shite. How's the view up Nesbitt's ass?

Gentlemen, if you'll permit me...

a word before we begin.

This is a night for celebration.

A night to discuss the future of our family...

the gratitude we feel for the support of his father.

But perhaps as important...

it is also... a moment for sober reflection.

Sober, my ass.

Two hundred years ago, our people were little more than dirt farmers,

struggling just to survive.

They had nothing but their hopes and their fists,

and they brought both of them along when they came to America,

many to this very city.

Think you've had enough, George.

Now some of you are young...

so there's no reason you'd remember,

but there was a time when the Irish owned Hell's Kitchen.

Wasn't a mother's son could make a move without giving us our due,

and any sorry shite dull enough to cross us paid a heavy price.

We had the cops, judges, councilmen.

We had the whole bloody city at our beck and call.

But we got complacent.

Lost our edge.

Just enough for a piece of garbage like Wilson Fisk

to steal what was rightfully ours.

That's right.

Some of us feared Fisk.

Some, in fact, ran.

A few...

maybe even deigned to work for him.

Siding against their own kind.

But now the Devil's taken him down,

and that, gentlemen, has provided us with a singular opportunity.

The Russians are dead.

The Chinese, they turned tail and ran,

leaving the drug trade ripe for the taking.

The yakuza have gone silent.

- Piss on 'em! - Piss on 'em all!

- Piss on 'em all. - 'Cause this is our time!