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!