316-318

Chapter 316: The True Dark Knight! 

Dunn said calmly, “Because of a job switch.”  

“A job switch?”  

Kevin Feige blinked, caught off guard.  

Alan Vaughn nodded. “Exactly. Back in the late ‘70s, Warner released Superman—the first real superhero movie in history. It took America by storm, crushing Marvel’s heroes and putting DC’s lineup, including Batman, in the shade.”  

Kevin Feige caught on quick. “So… DC poached Frank Miller to take over the Batman series?”  

Alan Vaughn gave a firm nod.  

Nina Jacobson wasn’t thrilled. “Marvel’s got tons of comic writers. Losing just one guy—Frank Miller—really tanked Daredevil that bad?”  

Alan Vaughn glanced at her, biting back a retort. No point in arguing with her—gentlemanly restraint won out.  

Just then, Jonathan Nolan snapped to life like he’d been hit with a revelation. “Because of the Dark Knight!” he blurted, almost shouting.  

“The Dark Knight?”  

“Yeah! The boss told me ages ago we’d be doing Daredevil, so I’ve been digging into the character for over six months. And there’s one hurdle I can’t get past—the Dark Knight!” Jonathan’s face grew serious.  

Even Grant Hill, a total outsider to comics, pieced it together. “You mean Batman: The Dark Knight Returns—the most iconic Batman comic series ever!”  

Stan Lee’s expression turned cold, a hint of mockery in his voice. “Yep. That series flipped Batman’s old Superman-like heroism on its head. It went full anti-hero—diving into society’s corruption and brutality, grounding the character in an ordinary backstory, drenched in post-industrial doomsday vibes and dark fatalism.”  

Dunn smirked, a trace of disdain creeping in. “Exactly. The Dark Knight is just one Batman series—and it’s riddled with logic holes. Other versions of Batman don’t cling to that no-killing rule.”  

Stan Lee’s face twitched. He shot Dunn a look, surprised to find so much common ground with this young boss. “Right! Batman—or Bruce Wayne—not killing? That’s just Frank Miller’s wishful thinking. His so-called reasons for it don’t even hold up.”  

At this point, the room’s newcomers were lost, scratching their heads over what was being said.  

Only Marvel’s old-timers really got the subtext.  

Joe Quesada chimed in. “Miller’s excuse is that Bruce Wayne’s parents were murdered when he was a kid, leaving him traumatized, so he won’t kill. But anyone with a shred of psych knowledge knows childhood trauma’s more likely to twist you into a disturbed adult—not some beacon of justice.”  

Brian Michael Bendis added, “Bruce says he doesn’t kill, but when his son Damian does, he forgives him. When his mentor’s dying, he doesn’t lift a finger. And in the Court of Owls mess, he finds out his enemies are zombies and goes full slaughter-mode—because ‘they’re not alive’? What a joke! Killing’s killing!”  

Alan Vaughn shrugged. “No way around it. Miller’s no-kill philosophy for Batman in The Dark Knight was shaky from the start. When other DC writers took over, their values clashed hard with his, and you end up with laughable contradictions and plot holes.”  

Kevin Feige, a Marvel comics whiz, had been soaking it all in. Suddenly, it clicked. He shot to his feet, eyes wide with disbelief. “I get it! The real Dark Knight… it’s Daredevil!”  

Dunn’s face softened into a knowing smile.  

That’s Kevin Feige for you—his pick for Marvel’s next president. Sharp mind, quick on the uptake.  

Jonathan Nolan, who’d been rewriting scripts and studying Daredevil for six months, lit up too. “Yes! It’s Daredevil! He’s a lawyer—he lives and breathes the law every day. He believes it’s the ultimate way to punish crime. No one but a jury and God has the right to judge someone’s life!”  

His words hit like a thunderbolt, clearing the fog for everyone in the room.  

So, the comic series that vaulted Batman past Spider-Man and Superman to become America’s favorite superhero—Batman: The Dark Knight Returns—was originally meant for Daredevil!  

DC’s poaching of Frank Miller snatched that concept away, awkwardly grafting it onto Batman.  

No wonder it’s full of glaring flaws.  

Daredevil only operates at night because he’s blind—his super-senses shine in the dark, making him a perfect crime-fighter then.  

But Batman? Why’s he stuck to nights? His powers come from tech and gadgets—day or night shouldn’t matter.  

Before Miller, Batman was out in broad daylight all the time, teaming up with Superman and other heroes to save the day. He wasn’t some inherently dark figure.  

Nina Jacobson fumed. “Are we just letting DC and Frank Miller off the hook? No lawsuit for stealing?”  

Bill McNick shook his head. “Tough case to win. Copyright theft hinges on expression versus ideas. Same expression, different ideas? That’s plagiarism. Different expression, same idea? Not a chance. Ideas are free game.”  

Daredevil and Batman are distinct heroes with different stories. Even if they share the “Dark Knight” vibe, it’s not infringement—unless a court could prove Miller cooked up The Dark Knight Returns’ plot while still at Marvel.  

Good luck proving that.  

Alan Vaughn sighed. “Back then… we were furious, but what could we do? DC was at its peak. The Batman movie dropped and blew up—bigger than our Spider-Man last year! Late ‘80s, Marvel was drowning in a financial crisis. Even if we wanted to sue, we couldn’t afford the lawyers.”  

Andrew O’Hare frowned. “So that’s it? Outsiders like us might not get it, but anyone in the comic world can see The Dark Knight ripped off Daredevil!”  

Joe Quesada gave a bitter laugh. “It’s not that simple. Marvel’s got Deadpool, DC’s got Deathstroke. Marvel’s got X-Factor, DC’s got Doom Patrol. Marvel’s got Black Cat, DC’s got Catwoman. Marvel’s got Vision, DC’s got Red Tornado. Marvel’s got Bullseye, DC’s got Deadshot. Marvel’s got Thanos, DC’s got Darkseid… These characters are way more alike than Daredevil and Batman. Copyright battles between the two companies have been nonstop for half a century.”  

Everyone in the room smirked.  

Everything’s a copy in this world—even comics.  

Especially since DC usually got there first, and Marvel followed with their knockoffs. When it comes to swiping, Marvel’s got the edge.  

Alan Vaughn, Marvel Entertainment’s CEO, noticed the awkward looks around the table and coughed lightly, trying to save face. “Actually, DC already caved on the Dark Knight thing. When Marvel’s cash flow tanked and we were on the brink, we teamed up with DC for those Marvel vs. DC crossover comics to boost sales. DC gave us a bigger cut. And Miller came back, did some short Daredevil: Man Without Fear comics for us—though they didn’t hit like before.”  

The room collectively rolled their eyes.  

“Enough about that—it’s not today’s focus,” Dunn said, his brow furrowing as he scanned the group. With a sharp wave of his hand, his voice rang out, firm and resolute. “What matters now is this: Daredevil… is the true Dark Knight!” 

Chapter 317: The Epic Heroic Spirit 

There’s no doubt about it—Batman: The Dark Knight Returns is a milestone in comic history, an untouchable peak! 

The New Haven Register raved, “The Dark Knight Returns is, without question, a work of genius—a serious piece from an artist who takes comics seriously.” 

Rolling Stone called it, “A turning point in Batman’s history, a classic that reshaped American comics.” 

Bestselling author Stephen King gushed, “Perhaps the finest comic art ever published.” 

Crime writer Mickey Spillane added, “This is an ambitious, gripping crime Batman—pure manliness!” 

This comic didn’t just catapult Batman back to the top as America’s favorite superhero—it rewrote the playbook for the entire medium. It transformed Batman from a traditional hero into an obsessive antihero, fully embracing the darkness, outsmarting everyone, and even taking down Superman. That laid the groundwork for countless “universe” stories to come. 

Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy, adapted from this comic, achieved god-tier status right alongside it. 

Now, Dunn had already shifted the comic market’s landscape. Marvel Entertainment was a subsidiary of Dunn Pictures, and Spider-Man had kicked off the Avengers franchise. 

He didn’t mind pushing the envelope even further—his goal was to let Marvel Studios dominate the superhero movie market completely! 

“In the comic world, Batman stole the spotlight that should’ve belonged to Daredevil, becoming the iconic ‘Caped Crusader’ everyone knows. That’s the past, and we can’t change it,” Dunn said, pausing for effect before letting out a soft huff. “But in the movie world, Daredevil’s going to reclaim his rightful glory. We’re taking control of the future!” 

His words hit hard, stirring something deep in the old-timers from Marvel Entertainment. 

Back when Marvel was teetering on bankruptcy, DC swooped in and poached the brilliant Frank Miller. It was a sore spot for every Marvel veteran. 

Dunn’s declaration was a clear signal—he was ready to strike back for Marvel’s past! 

Of course, it was also about Marvel Studios’ growth and securing their place in the superhero film arena. 

Bill McNick spoke cautiously, “We’ve got to tread carefully here. The situation’s totally different—The Dark Knight’s rights belong to DC.” 

Dunn waved him off with a grin. “Bill, you’re missing the point. Daredevil is Daredevil, Batman is Batman—we’re not borrowing The Dark Knight’s story. We’re crafting our own. But the mindset? That’s fair game. Ideas are free for anyone, right?” 

Bill couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head. 

Christopher Nolan, who’d been quiet for a while, suddenly piped up, “It’s not just the mindset—it’s the style too!” 

Dunn’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! Style’s the key!” 

Nina Jacobson, who’d hashed this out with Dunn plenty of times, explained smoothly, “We all know Spider-Man is just the opening act. We’re building the full Avengers universe! This massive series needs a consistent style—witty, humorous, straightforward, and crowd-pleasing. Pure popcorn flicks.” 

“Spider-Man is like that, and so will Hulk, Iron Man, Thor, and Ant-Man. We’re talking a dozen, maybe dozens of films. But sticking to that formula too long risks getting stale and boring—audience fatigue sets in. So, we’ve got to mix it up with different flavors of superhero movies to keep things fresh.” 

“Spider-Man 2 is slated for summer 2002, and we’re already talking about Ant-Man for 2003. To avoid backlash from samey vibes, we need a Marvel movie with a totally different style slotted between them—and that’s Daredevil!” 

The Avengers founders in the comics are Iron Man, Hulk, Thor, Ant-Man, and Wasp. 

In the previous timeline, Marvel Studios skipped Ant-Man and Wasp early on, opting for the bigger names—Captain America and Black Widow—to crack the market faster. 

Things were different now. With Spider-Man’s explosive debut leading the Avengers charge, influence wasn’t an issue. 

Sticking closer to the comics and honoring the fans felt like the better move. 

Grant Hill hesitated, “No matter how you slice it, Daredevil and Batman’s styles are similar. Warner’s not going back to that ‘90s gothic vibe. While Marvel’s superhero movies lean sunny, funny, and light, Warner might dodge that and go dark, serious, and heavy to stand out.” 

Andrew O’Hare shook his head. “Not necessarily! Dark movies have never been the commercial mainstream. Warner’s rebooting Batman with a big budget—they might not risk going too edgy.” 

Nina Jacobson smiled. “Warner might not take the gamble, but we will! Plus, even if they do, we’ve got the edge on timing.” 

“Timing edge?” someone asked. 

Kevin Feige grinned, jumping in, “Daredevil’s already in prep. Even if rewriting the script—especially a series—takes time, we can start shooting this year and hit a May 2003 slot. Warner’s different. Batman died in the ‘90s—they’ve got to do serious market research. If they rush a summer 2003 release, they won’t have time to polish it.” 

Dunn waved a hand dismissively. “That’s all external stuff—doesn’t matter. Let them do their thing. As long as our movie’s quality is top-notch, we don’t need to fear anyone! Nina’s take on the Avengers tone was solid, but I’ll add one more layer.” 

“For the Avengers, saving the world is pragmatic and grounded. These heroes are just regular people aside from their powers. They don’t just save lives—they do it with a scientific approach that doesn’t wreck everything, then go home to live normal lives.” 

“That makes them relatable and modern, shifting from worshipped icons to lovable, charming good guys.” 

Seeing everyone nod in agreement, Dunn pressed on, “But Daredevil? We’re going a different route. His take on saving the world is pure, absolute heroism—true idealism, even if it’s a bit tweaked from the comics for the screen.” 

“Daredevil’s got heart. Even if you don’t get me, hate me, or want me dead, I’ll still save you—quietly, secretly, no reason needed, no hesitation. That’s why Daredevil needs that Greek epic, tragic grandeur. He’s noble, but not your everyday ‘nice guy’—he’s a pure good in the truest sense.” 

Andrew O’Hare caught on quick, elaborating, “The Avengers series is family-friendly, built on mainstream values—good versus evil. Daredevil, though, digs deeper into values, painting a hero with real epic spirit.” 

“That’s the vibe!” Dunn said, his vision crystal clear. 

In the old timeline, Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy hit god-level status, becoming the ultimate weapon for DC fans to dunk on Marvel stans. 

So Dunn’s plan was simple: take that Dark Knight trilogy blueprint, swap “Batman” for “Daredevil,” and flip it inside out to craft a unique Daredevil series. 

Plus, he had a natural edge over Warner. 

Nolan’s trilogy made Warner a fortune and turned Batman into a deity. 

But after that? Trouble brewed. 

How do you bring a godlike Batman back to earth? 

In Batman v Superman and Justice League, Batman came off as dumb, clumsy, useless, and flat—even diehard fans couldn’t help but cringe. 

The Dark Knight trilogy was a massive win, but it wrecked any chance of a cohesive “universe.” 

That was Warner’s unavoidable flaw. 

For Dunn, though? No problem. 

If the Daredevil trilogy hit god-tier? Great—let him stay up there as the epic hero in everyone’s minds. 

No need to drag him down to clown around with a mishmash of other heroes just to sell tickets. 

A superhero ascending to “divinity” was worth way more to Marvel than box office cash. 

It’d be the ultimate image boost for Marvel’s entire hero lineup! 

Unless a deep, dark, philosophical script came along, Dunn wouldn’t touch Daredevil again. 

Let him sit on a pedestal, basking in glory. 

The Avengers didn’t need Daredevil anyway, and the Defenders? Without him, that crew couldn’t even make it to the small screen—zero point in bothering. 

Netflix’s Daredevil series had solid reviews and a decent run, echoing Nolan’s Dark Knight vibe. But it never captured that “bearing the world’s righteousness” tragic grandeur. 

Like most Marvel movies, it stuck to clear-cut good-versus-evil, with shallow gray-area chats often brushed off with religious fluff. 

The gray zone—complex, messy humanity—is where the real magic lies. 

And Dunn wasn’t about to let that slip by. 

Chapter 318: Heroes for Hire  

In Dunn’s past life, Hollywood’s superhero movie scene was a chaotic mess. You had the “Marvel Universe,” the “DC Universe,” the “Spider-Man Universe,” the “X-Men Universe,” and more popping up all over the place.  

Among them, the Avengers-led “Marvel Universe” and the Justice League-driven “DC Universe” reigned supreme—one took a witty, lighthearted route, the other a dark, brooding, and tragic one.  

By comparison, the “Spider-Man Universe” and “X-Men Universe” were just cash cows, lacking the brand pull to truly stand out.  

Now, with the Spider-Man rights firmly in Dunn’s grip, Sony’s “Spider-Man Universe” was dead in the water. And with his foresight, Dunn wasn’t about to settle for just solidifying the Avengers’ comedic charm—he wanted a piece of the Justice League’s deep, somber territory too.  

Use Spider-Man to kick off the Avengers’ heroic vibe!  

Use Daredevil to launch a dark, anti-hero era!  

This wasn’t some wild fantasy of Dunn’s. Marvel had over 5,000 superheroes, plenty of them with that tragic, heavy edge—Ghost Rider, Wolverine, Moon Knight, to name a few.  

Today’s brainstorming session was all about nailing down Marvel Studios’ future strategy. This was Dunn’s golden ticket to dominate the film market.  

Veteran producer Bill McNick mulled it over before speaking slowly. “I like this approach. Two paths—one bright, one dark. Stagger the release dates to mix up the audience’s tastes. It’s like a feast: the more flavors and variety, the more people dig in.”  

Dunn grinned. “It’s not just two paths, though. What about the middle ground? That’s a huge untapped space. Think crude, fart-joke Deadpool or mystical, aura-shifting Doctor Strange—they can bounce between both sides.”  

Joe Quesada nodded thoughtfully. “Doctor Strange… Marvel’s comics have dug deep into the magic realm. Crack that window open, and the market could explode.”  

Nina Jacobson shot it down fast. “Not yet. Expanding too much too soon is a bad move.”  

Kevin Feige chuckled. “Maybe we build two teams: the upbeat, sunny Avengers and a dark, icy Midnight Sons alliance.”  

Joe Quesada explained, “The Midnight Sons… that’s Blade, Doctor Strange, Ghost Rider, Moon Knight, Morbius, and Man-Thing. They wield supernatural powers to guard Earth’s shadows—where there’s light, there’s darkness.”  

Andrew O’Hare, no comic expert but familiar with New Line’s Blade, spoke up firmly. “Dark doesn’t mean slaughter! We’re talking movies here—we’ve got to push positive values! The story can be heavy, even brutal—think Saving Private Ryan—but the message has to stay upright.”  

Bill McNick nodded. “Big, bloody spectacles might grab attention for a minute, but they don’t work for a franchise. It’d tank Marvel’s rep long-term.”  

Fair point.  

In Dunn’s past life, the dark, suffocating Batman: The Dark Knight raked in over $1 billion worldwide because its values resonated—admirable and profound.  

Meanwhile, equally dark but gore-soaked flops like Blade, The Punisher, and Elektra crashed at the box office, letting Marvel scoop their rights back up for free.  

Dunn agreed. “Heavy doesn’t mean violent. I’m with you. We’re framing Daredevil as an epic hero, but he’s not the right fit to kick off the Midnight Sons. This isn’t about opposition—it’s about balance. The Avengers keep their fun, breezy vibe, but we’ll also shoot a mix of other genres to show range, not just lean hard into darkness.”  

“Now I get it,” Alan Vaughn said, nodding with a smile. “We can do a grand, somber Daredevil, a goofy, ridiculous Deadpool, a magical Doctor Strange, or an awe-inspiring Ghost Rider. Variety keeps fans guessing about what Marvel’s got up its sleeve.”  

“But it’d be best to tie them into a team,” Andrew O’Hare said hesitantly. “Otherwise, they’re just loose ends. They don’t fit with the Avengers, and it’ll feel messy.”  

Kevin Feige’s eyes lit up. “Heroes for Hire!”  

Heroes for Hire?  

What’s that?  

Even Dunn was stumped by the name.  

Stan Lee grinned and explained. “It’s a Marvel superhero group—basically a business that rounds up independent heroes who don’t fit into other factions. They offer paid security and investigation services. Founded by Luke Cage and Iron Fist—both pals of Daredevil and part of the Defenders. It’s a perfect lead-in from Daredevil!”  

“Luke Cage and Iron Fist?” Dunn raised an eyebrow. “Those two don’t have much juice for development.”  

Kevin Feige waved it off with a laugh. “No biggie—we can tweak it. It’s a movie, after all. The second-gen Heroes for Hire was started by Misty Knight, a Black female hero… but she’s even less bankable. We could swap in someone else as the founder—like Daredevil’s girlfriend, Elektra.”  

“Keep it simple, though,” Dunn cautioned, frowning. “Too much clutter, and fans’ll get lost.”  

Kevin Feige’s brain was firing on all cylinders, weaving threads together fast.  

“For Daredevil’s first movie, the script’s got to center on the big bad, Kingpin, and it can’t dodge his girlfriend, Elektra—she’s working for Kingpin. Here’s the pitch: Daredevil picks justice over love, pisses off Elektra, takes down Kingpin, and saves New York. It’s got depth—love, freedom, justice, all that philosophical meat.”  

“The Avengers’ founding lineup doesn’t include Spider-Man. Little Spidey’s just Iron Man’s nephew figure—he’s not ready to join up. But the first Avengers flick needs Spider-Man for his box-office pull. After he fails to make the Avengers cut, his buddy Daredevil invites him to join Elektra’s reformed Heroes for Hire.”  

“Oh, and heads-up: in the comics, Heroes for Hire includes Spider-Man, Black Widow, Elektra, Namor, Falcon, Deadpool, Ghost Rider, Punisher, Moon Knight, Gargoyle—serious firepower. So in Daredevil, Ghost Rider, Spider-Man, all that, we can drop hints and Easter eggs.”  

Nina Jacobson beamed at her assistant. “The Avengers can assemble—why not the Heroes for Hire too?”  

Kevin Feige, buzzing with excitement, said, “Exactly! Two different vibes, both powerhouse teams. Big enemy shows up? Avengers team up. Heroes for Hire can do the same. And if an even bigger threat comes—one the Avengers can’t handle alone—maybe the two groups join forces!”  

Dunn flashed back to Avengers: Infinity War—every hero in the universe uniting against Thanos.  

Kevin kept going. “Since they’re New Yorkers, Spider-Man and Black Widow can double-dip—Avengers and Heroes for Hire. They’re the glue, smoothing out tensions between the groups and setting up a united front against some mega-villain down the line.”  

Dunn hadn’t seen this coming.  

What started as a Daredevil pitch meeting had spiraled into a sci-fi fever dream.  

But damn, Kevin Feige had a knack for this!  

In Dunn’s past life, Feige took a gutted Marvel—missing half its rights—and still spun the Avengers into a string of blockbusters. The guy had vision.  

This “Heroes for Hire” thing, though? It never popped up in his old timeline. Dunn wasn’t 100% sold.  

“It’s a solid idea,” he said, giving a nod of approval before tempering it. “But no rush. Let’s test the waters with Daredevil, Ghost Rider, Moon Knight—see how the market bites. If the demand’s there for a team to rival the Avengers, we can bundle these heroes up later.”  

Nina Jacobson agreed. “Right. We figure the Avengers’ first team-up won’t hit till 2006. Plenty of time to hash this out. For now, let’s lock in Daredevil—make it bulletproof!”  

Dunn waved a hand grandly. “Budget’s unlimited! Same as Spider-Man—$150 million! Chris, I’m counting on you to bring your A-game and prove I’ve got an eye for talent!”  

“$150 million…”  

Even with some mental prep—knowing Dunn would lean on him—Christopher Nolan still sucked in a sharp breath at the number.  

His last film, Memento, cost $5 million and pulled in $25 million at the box office—peanuts next to Saw’s $78 million domestic and $65 million overseas haul.  

And yet?  

Zack Snyder got a $35 million Resident Evil gig, while Nolan landed Daredevil at $150 million.  

This heated seminar drove home just how critical Daredevil was to Marvel Studios.  

It was trust—and a hell of a responsibility!