[center][img]http://static.tumblr.com/8y60per/DXKnmgo4g/dd_logo2.png[/img][/center]
The white noise of static turned a burning auburn in Matthew's head, the inferno he knew as vision slithering along walls and cascading down shelves as the blaring bounced from wall to wall to make its way to Murdock's ears, his sensitive hearing detecting every nook the sound-waves wormed their way into on their journey. He paused, sitting up in his bed - feeling the silk sheets slide from his form and become a formless mass on the floor as he did - and extended a hand toward the radio, his arm flickering in front of him as he felt the air shift around it and the new sound vibration caused by the movement. His fingers found the dial and carefully tuned the stations - brushing past Gotham News Radio as he did - until he found his preferred setting, a smooth jazz station that filled his apartment with soft, easy-listening music that he could tune out as it illuminated his world. Sonar was easier than micro-currents - though Matthew had most of his flat memorized regardless.

Matthew switched it back to Gotham New Radio.

"-opening this opportunity up to any enthusiastic entrepreneur. I'll even double the reward if you manage to bring me the Bat alive, so I can fillet him myself. Good luck Gotham, you'll need it."

Matthew took a single, controlled breath. He had [i]planned[/i], tonight, to patrol his city, to check on a lead about one of The Kingpin's drug rings - to rendezvous with Foggy, who had been promised a night as a wingman (Matthew admitted readily that his blindness was an advantage, much as the pity aggravated him). Instead, he now had a single mission - listen to the heartbeat of Hell's Kitchen, and stop anyone who decided to pass through on their way to the $50million supposedly waiting for them. The Kingpin - nameless as he was - held too much of a choke on his own men to allow them to abandon their posts, and there weren't any petty, independent criminals brave enough to flee from the Devil into the claws of the Bat - but there were assassins out there, Matthew knew; men and women like himself that had chosen to walk on the [i]other[/i] side. Some of these beasts would travel through Hell's Kitchen - through [b]his city[/b] - to make their way to Gotham and the Bat that roosted there. They would not make it. They would become examples.

Matthew stood, turning his radio off - it had switched to frantic non-info about the bounty as the newsrooms desperately tried to cover a story they had no details on. He left his bedroom, the temperatures shifting around his body as he stepped through the door-frame into the living room, and listened to the sounds of the city coming from his open window. Traffic, rain, and lonesome sirens, though nothing that suggested the beasts had already found their way into Manhattan. Matthew moved through the room quietly, stopping at the blank wooden-panel wall that made up the far end. Invisible seams were etched into the wood, lit up to Matthew as he felt the air pushed off from his body worm its way into the micro-crevice, sound worming its way along the wall before dipping slightly and worming back out. He laid a hand on the wall slightly up and to the right - pausing to listen to his building, hearing footsteps three floors down and a couple having sex two up and four apartments to the right - and pressed gently; the seams popped out and a panel opened, a drawer in the wall. Inside laid batons, a bodysuit - and the mask. Matt didn't need micro-vibrations or air currents or sonar to see the horns. The horns were his - they made him the Devil, savior of Hell's Kitchen. He took three minutes to don the armour, counting the time by the ticking watch on the bedside table in the apartment below his. 

Matthew made his way out the window quietly, slipping it closed gently behind him before flipping across the wall to the right until he reached the fire escape gantry, clambering up the rusted metal with graceful speed until he had reached the rooftop. From there, he ran across the concrete to the other side, perching on the lip of the building and pausing to listen, allowing the city to flood his ears and mind - the rain splashed against his skin with constant force, suppressing his sense of temperature and air currents, so he relied on the noise of the splattering raindrops to paint a rhythmic picture of the streets before him. There were footsteps below, scarce and muffled though they were; with the pervading threat of the Gotham bounty matching the ferocity of the storm, the people of Hell's Kitchen were wisely unwilling to face the city tonight. That made the ones that did appear all the more worthy of listening to. A particular pair piqued his interest; hard heels with a clank of metal, and the swish of a long coat caught around the legs - yet there was an attempt to remain quiet and cautious, despite the intentional gaudiness of the outfit. Or perhaps the mark thought himself 'ostentatious'. Matthew was technically blind, but he didn't need to see to know this creep was committing crimes against fashion.

Unfortunately, Daredevil couldn't interrogate him for poor clothing choices alone. Matthew would need to track him for a while to find out if that was really necessary.