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[center][sup][sub]VI. Accusations[/sub][/sup][/center][hr]

The room buzzed with myriad sounds, filling Matthew's head with a white noise that crawled and swarmed across every surface that surrounded him, pouring around corners to spill over the thrumming crowd that awaited him in the next room: reporters flipping pages of notebooks and clicking pens as they prepared questions; presenters murmuring to themselves and their colleagues, warming up their throats and beginning their introductions; lawyers and solicitors whispering conspiracies and rumors, expressing disgust, disappointment and disbelief in equal measure; and always, always the bystanders, the civilians, the onlookers, tuning in for another episode of Hell's Kitchen, Kingpin's seedy puppeteering of the city having become a spectator sport.

The press conference and its contents had been Kate's idea, though she had suggested it through white-hot fury and gritted teeth; after 72 hours supposedly 'missing' in the wake of the accusations, Matthew had single-handedly - though unknowingly - allowed the ensuing media circus to obliterate any faith in his innocence the public may have held. Matthew knew this was not entirely Kingpin's doing, as the tabloids and gossip-rags were eager enough to sink their claws into a new victim without needing any malign influence, but by wiping away his personal public image he had also destroyed the people's faith in his position as ADA, and this damage had begun to bleed into Kate's office as DA. People were losing faith in their public defenders.  Matt heard a door open and shut and Kate's scent approached him from behind a good two feet in front of her until it surrounded him and she was at his shoulder. She was hot, and her measured breaths and careful voice told Matt that she was still seething. The debacle had caused considerable damage; it was unlikely Kate would emerge unscathed.

"Everyone's ready, Murdock. You've got your script. Time for damage control."

Matt shifted his weight uncomfortably; Kate's words felt venomous, and although her true anger was directed at the man behind the machinations, he couldn't help but feel some frustration deflecting towards him. 

"I'll do the best I can. I'm truly sorry that this has all happened, Kate."

"It happened. There's nothing else to say about it."

There was a cold pause, and then Kate lifted her arm and gave Matt a solid, singular pat on the back. 

"It was nice working with you."

Matt nodded. Kate left.

-

Despite Matthew's condition, from where he was sitting - center table, flanked by legal counsel and police on both sides - he knew that there wasn't a single eye in the room that wasn't on him. There was a moment of stillness; despite the accusations, Matthew Murdock had always been respected by many for his conviction and competency in the face of adversity. It warmed him that that, perhaps, was not completely lost. And then the buzzing began again, this time furious and immediate. Matthew quickly stood and held up a hand to quell the questions, and then sat once more, pulling a microphone closer to speak as he steeled his nerves.

"As you all know, evidence has come to light that implicates me in a serious drug-trafficking ring, as well as accusations of bribery in court. The media considers me a fugitive for my time spent missing; I assure you, I was not, and am not, an outlaw on the run, and I have invited you here today so that I may address this issue on my terms."

He took a moment to sip water - somewhat to settle his own nerves, and somewhat for the sheer drama of it - and then continued,

"I will tell you now that whatever testimony is levied against me I will fight and I will declare fraudulent. These accusations wound me professionally and personally; I am disgusted by the thought of betraying my office, the people of New York, and most of all my home of Hell's Kitchen. I find these accusations heinous - but they stand regardless, and I must answer to them. I pledge, here and now, that I will fight these charges with every avenue available to me, and I will be cleared. As a show of good faith in New York's robust justice system, the same justice system I myself have striven to uphold since I was still re-learning how to read, I will be voluntary submitting myself to police custody immediately following this conference."

There was a wave of murmurs, which Matthew allowed to ripple and die down, the frantic scratching of pencils and pens and clicking of tape recorders a constant sound underneath as his speech was transcribed, quoted, interpreted. Sometimes, he thought, it came in very handy not being able to read headlines. He powered through. The worst was yet to come. Kate's voice seemed to echo in his head. [i]Rip off the band-aid, Murdock.[/i]

"However, the impact of these accusations - fraudulent or not - cannot be ignored; and indeed, the impact has been significant. I cannot defend the people of this city when the people's faith in me wavers; I cannot represent the interests of the city while being forced to defend my innocence as a law-abiding citizen of New York." Matthew paused. Grief welled up inside him for opportunity lost. Anger bubbled alongside it for hope taken. "It is with remorse that, in the face of the circumstances before me...I must tender my resignation as Assistant District Attorney to New York City immediately."

The room burst into furor without delay. Furious scribbling blended with shouted questions and attention-grabbing remarks, nearly every reporter in the room at once trying to become the first to tweet the news while simultaneously updating their website. Matthew did his best to stifle the invasion of sound, standing and making subtle motions to his counsel and the police. He spoke above the fervor in a forceful, final tone. These would be his last public words, his last public image. After this, he would be painted solely through the unforgiving lens of the media.

"I thank you all for coming. I apologize for all that has happened. I wish us all the best of luck. Hopefully...I'll see you on the other side."

And that was that. Matthew held his arms out, fists clenched and wrists together, proffering his hands for restraints from the officer he'd agreed his arrest with before the conference. He felt the cold metal click sharply and tighten uncomfortably on his bones, and then a careful, but firm hand on his elbow to lead him forwards. The clamoring of the journalists left behind in the conference room grew fainter as they covered ground, and soon was only a warped bubble of white noise as they stepped out of the building and he was pushed towards a police cruiser. Matt stood still, his hands holding the top of the door frame as he sharpened his hearing, shutting out everything around him but their words, trying to make out even a snippet of opinion or reaction - and then his head was pushed down and in roughly, and the slamming of the door cut everything off.

-

The station smelt of tobacco, sweat, and gunpowder. The building snaked away down a corridor to Matthew's left and he heard the faint echoes of gunfire and clinking bullet casings bouncing around corners and off walls from some distant in-house gun range. Around him, officers, civilians, and clerks muttered among themselves and to themselves, some stealing quick glances at Murdock as he was escorted through the main lobby of the building and towards the holding cells. News of his press conference and subsequent arrest had spread like wildfire, spilling through the streets in digital waves as the story was tweeted and retweeted. Those that crossed his path moved out of it quickly, heads down and gaze pushed aside. Many of these officers had respected Murdock during his time in office, and he had enjoyed a positive relationship with a majority of those at the Hell's Kitchen precinct; he felt shame and guilt for allowing himself to be torn down in their eyes, but also anger and betrayal that the system was now twisting and perverting to work against him at the behest of it's greatest enemy. 

They rounded several corners, the noises becoming more distant and distorted as they moved away from the central hub of activity and towards the holding cells. They were empty, except for a single, ragged-thin man in the far corner, asleep and snoring. His frame shook and shivered with each long, labored breath, and Matthew felt compelled to cover his mouth as a a rancid mix of stenches assaulted him immediately; the bitter, sour smell of booze and heroin swilling with the sickly sweet stench of body odors and open sores. Matthew was guided into a nearby cell and the doors closed behind him. The cops who had escorted him thanked him for his decorum. Matthew did not return the gesture, and instead sat quietly on the edge of the cell's cot as they walked away and left him alone with his thoughts.

He sat for maybe an hour, perhaps an hour and a half - there was no ticking of the clock to keep track with - and then a new officer arrived, her vocation given away by the clinking of her badge on her hip against her belt and the slightly longer half-step on her right leg from where her firearm was uncomfortable on her pelvis. She fished something out of her pocket and offered it through the bars; Matthew stood and pushed his hand towards the heat of hers, and as his fingers met hers he realized she was holding his phone. He turned it over in his hands, holding the button down to turn it on. He looked towards her, and the shuffling of her feet and trousers as she adjusted her footing told him she was uncomfortable, maybe even nervous. Many people found it unusual to be scrutinized by a blind man. 

"Chief says you get your phone. Didn't say you had 'one call' so I guess we're skipping that cliche. Guess he figures you know your rights."

Matt chuckled. From her bristling demeanor and icy voice, he could tell this officer was not a fan of her chief, and perhaps not of Murdock either.

"Thank you. Am I wrong to sense a bit of tension?"

"Whole station's tense, guy. No one knows what to think about this whole...mess."

"What do you think?"

She paused. Not necessarily a bad sign.

"I think you've been dropped in. Top brass is being real careful with the evidence they've got on you. Officers are being kept far away - except for a choice couple that were on some favourite lists anyway. And you - you're acting like you've been backed into a corner, but not one you knew was there. My sarge says I've got a nose for stink. And this stinks."

Matthew nodded sagely, politely. She was savvy. Street smart. Probably why she was only a beat cop.

"Well I appreciate your candor. And I appreciate my phone. Do I have a time limit?"

She shrugged, and then shook her head, and then shook her head again before speaking.

"Not that I know of. I gotta take it back when you're done, though. But right now I could really do with a coffee and a smoke."

Matthew listened as the sound of her boots on tile faded into the distance, that right-leg half-step nearly as good as a fingerprint. He sat back down on his cot, phone in hand, thinking of speeches and monologues and persuasion. He ran a hand through his hair, and called Foggy.