Roman

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

I see webboy and think spiderman but no. I see star lord and think guardians but no. How dare u confuse me with ur awful schemes! D:<

@Ceta de Cloyes

And I'm not even from 30 BCE!

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

^{_{VII. Struggle}}

---

Matthew's conversation with Foggy had been brief, but full of both grief and forgiveness in equal measure. It was clear to Murdock that what he had previously assumed was an unshakable bond between the two friends had indeed been stirred by the initial impact and fallout as Kingpin's plans unfolded before the city; but despite lingering paranoia and conspiratorial whispers, Foggy still believed in Matt, and that was enough. There had been apologies from both sides, wordless explanations of thoughts and feelings, secrets implied and trust shared and rebuilt, and ultimately a reaffirmation of support, loyalty, and above all, faith. Faith was so important now; Matthew clung to his faith in the belief that he was on the right path, his faith that he would not allow himself to stumble and fall in the face of such terrible adversity. His faith that Wilson Fisk, Kingpin of New York, was simply a man, and would be felled as such.

They had decided between them - Nelson and Murdock, partners forever - that Foggy was not safe. It felt obvious and remained unspoken by either of them, but the implication was there: if Foggy stayed, he was a target. They had discussed options, each one feeling less desirable than the last, and Foggy had eventually accepted that he needed to leave the city, perhaps even the state, and to take Karen with him. One of his firm's major partners had a soft spot for Foggy, and an understanding of his relationship with Matthew; initially, the offer of a temporary leave of absence had been then rejected from pride and disbelief, but now seemed prudent to accept, thereby removing Foggy and Karen from danger's path. Matthew would miss them terribly, and worry about them constantly; but Foggy had soothed him and they had said goodbyes with warm, hopeful voices. Matthew would regret their absence. A small part of him felt suddenly un-tethered, as if another lifeline to his humanity had been severed.

The officer that had brought him his phone still had not returned, and Murdock smelt freshly burning tobacco and sugary coffee through the cracked window pane of his cell. The man in the cell at the end of the corridor had not stirred through all the commotion since Matthew's arrival, nor through his conversation; whatever had put him under had put him under deep. His heartbeat was slow and steady and did not flicker or falter. Matt sighed, still trying to ignore the stench that oozed from the man's still, prone form, and turned his attention back to his phone. He tapped the screen lightly with his thumbs, feeling the warmth of the display as it lit up in response through his fingertips. He wondered if Elektra would want to speak to him, if she had even seen the news.

"Command: Call Elektra."

His phone whirred silently as it connected the call, and vibrated as it began ringing. Matthew held his breath as he brought the phone to his ear. All other sounds ceased as he listened to the ringing and the ringing only, every new peel of the tone a renewal of his desire to speak to her, touch her, explain his behavior and apologize for the way he'd treated her, beg for forgiveness and understanding and repentance. The phone rang on.

There was a click and a tone and a gap in the air where everything paused - and then another click as the answering machine activated. Elektra's recorded voice came through muffled and ragged.

"Matt, if this is you, I've gone back to my father for a while. I'll call you. I need some time to...think about things. If this is anyone else...don't bother leaving a message."

Another click and then a dead tone. Matt let his hand fall to his side as he hung up.

When the officer returned some time later, having been sternly reminded by her section chief, she found his phone placed on the floor just beyond the bars of his cell, and Matthew himself asleep on his cot, back towards her, his suit jacket folded neatly on the floor, and his tinted glasses resting on top.

-

It was dark outside when Matthew was awoken. He couldn't see the light, or lack thereof, but he could feel the cooler, more crisp night air seeping into the building, and he heard the soft rustling and low coos of nesting pigeons on the roof above his cell. Beyond the holding cells the station was quiet, with only subtle ticking of clocks and dripping of loose taps and leaky pipes rhythmically breaking the silence for microseconds at a time, each tiny burst of sound exploding outwards along walls and surfaces to paint the world for Matthew as it went. A few yards down the corridor, through a electronic door with magnetic seals - the most advanced tech in the station, Matthew realized, noting how poorly equipped the Hell's Kitchen precinct really was for the rapidly evolving world beyond the New York borough - he could hear the low rumble of snores from the officer on the graveyard shift.

Matt sat up quietly and moved towards the bars, feeling the floor where he had left his phone some hours ago; nothing. He hadn't expected it to be there, but it would have been a useful surprise. Instead, he sat back on his cot, reaching out with his senses and paying attention to the building and the air. Something had stirred him from his sleep, though he could not place what - but the longer he listened, the more something felt off: the sounds felt oddly layered, and louder than they should be; the air currents were subtly wrong and illogical, pushing heat around in unanticipated patterns; the smells present were expected, but seemed muted and suppressed, like breathing through a cloth. Though his senses were clear, he felt somehow stifled, suppressed...

Suddenly the veil appeared to lift, and Matthew pushed himself forwards off the cot, ducking low and rolling left away from the back corner of his cell he had felt the movement from. It all rushed in immediately: the man's heartbeat, the heat of his body, the air pushing in and out from his ragged breathing, and that smell of cheap whiskey, hard drugs, and poor hygiene. It all swelled out of his assailant like some fetid aura and Matthew shook to his core at the thought that this ragged beast of a man had hidden from him so effectively.

The ragged man chuckled, low and filled with malice, and withdrew his arm from the vicious thrust that he had intended as a killing blow. He brought his hand up and Matthew now realized his weapon: a hypodermic needle. He pressed the plunger ever so slightly and cool liquid spilled from the tip. Matthew was hit with the pungent odor of liquid morphine - bitter and chemical - and it suddenly seemed all so obvious. Drugs were already part of the accusation. The media would lap up an overdose in prison. The assassin licked the droplet from the needle, and Matthew heard his heartbeat slow and felt his body-heat recede into his torso.

"You'll have to try harder than that." Matt threatened, and he got only a wheezy, humorless laugh in response as the ragged man straightened up.

He thrust forward again in one quick, clean motion, arm trailing behind before swinging forwards needle-first towards Matthew's neck; from his crouched position Matt rolled sideways once more and took a low sweep at the legs. The ragged man drew one up out of the way and hopped back on the other, landing gracefully. The arm with the needle hung low and limp; Matt noticed the other was strapped in tightly to his chest, moving little. Matt stood, the ragged man opposite, each waiting for the other to take the first move. The ragged man swayed slightly on the spot, lilting left to right and back again, his movements almost mesmeric. He bobbed for a few seconds - and then faked left before jabbing right with his free arm, grazing Matt's neck as he pulled backwards and duck under, spinning as he went and taking another low sweep, this time catching the ragged man's ankle and causing him to stumble into the back wall of the cell. The needle dropped as the ragged man used his free arm to catch himself, and Matthew quickly brought a foot down, snapping the tip and smashing the glass syringe. Morphine vapors exploded into the air and the ragged man swung back around.

"That was for the clean option." He snarled, lunging at Matthew again - only this time, Matthew pushed himself into it with one foot, raising the other to plant his shoe square in the ragged man's chest and impact what Matthew suspected was a weak arm. He was proven right as the ragged man gasped in shock and pain, pushed backwards to bounce against the wall. Matt grabbed the ragged man's free arm and wrenched him forwards again, putting the butt of his hand into the ragged man's back between his shoulder blades as he went; the ragged man slammed hard against the bars, his free arm stretching out between them into the corridor beyond, and Matt moved quickly, putting a knee in the bottom of the ragged man's spine before stepped to the side, grabbing his forearm from through the bars and pulling sharply in the wrong direction.

There was a snap and a squelch and Matt's head rang from the smell of blood and the scream of the ragged man in his ear. Matt stepped back as the ragged man slumped to the floor, snapped arm stuck outside the bars, blood dripping. Matt heard the snores of the night guard stop and snort as he woke to the scream; he didn't have much time. He knelt and roughly seized the ragged man's face in his hand.

"Where is Fisk? How did you hide from me?"

The ragged man chuckled through labored, wheezing breaths.

"He is hidden, as I hid from you. The Hand has you now. You struggle, like a rat, convulsing death spasms."

Matt punched him in the nose. He heard the night guard fumbling with his keys at the end of the corridor. "I don't care who you are, or how you hide. Where is he."

"You are a fool. Fisk did not hire The Hand. He asked for a blessing. We will find you. You will die. Make your peace, Matthew Murdock."
Matt heard a clicking from behind the ragged man's teeth and immediately realized what he was doing; he pushed his hand over his mouth, trying to wrench his jaw open and remove the capsule, but he was too slow - the ragged man had already bitten down and swallowed, and now he foamed from the back of his throat through Matt's fingers as the poison capsule took hold. The ragged man shuddered once, then lay still.

Matt swore. Behind him he heard the night guard finally opening the door to his office, grasping clumsily at the clasps of his holster; Matt stood, leaving the ragged man's corpse behind. The door to his cell was open, key still in the lock; he moved quietly to the end of the corridor, waiting for the guard to come around it. He did so in a hurry, not paying attention - Matt took him by surprise, sweeping his legs out while pushing him to the floor with his hand, a quick jab to the forehead putting the guard out cold. Matt took the baton from the guard's belt and left the station.

The night was deep and long; Fisk was out there, and he was scared, cowering behind this new cabal of assassins. Matt could smell the desperation; he would draw Kingpin out. He craned his neck towards the sky, and felt the sword of Damocles hanging perilously above the city. One way or another, this great struggle would end.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

^{_{VI. Accusations}}

---

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. Rip off the band-aid, Murdock.

"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.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

^{_{V. Voicemail}}

---

Matthew had run into the night for what had felt like hours before he had secured safe harbor; fear and panic had gripped his heart and blinded him to all else, sending him fleeing into the cold, dark jaws of a city that suddenly felt very alien to Murdock. That damnable call had shaken him to his core; no longer was he the Devil, prowling the streets of Hell's Kitchen with an earned arrogance, striking fear into the hearts of criminals. Now fear had found him instead, and he was so very afraid. Afraid for his friends - Elektra, Foggy, Karen, Katherine - dragged into a war they possessed neither the knowledge of nor the ability to fight. Afraid for his city, now feeling the balance of power tip and give way beneath his feet. And his own basest instinct: he was afraid for himself. His enemy now knew all there was to know of him, and had all angles from which to attack him.

He had eventually sequestered himself in a previously-fortified bunker, a panic shelter for dark times. Dark times had come indeed. There was little here: food and water for emergency rations; extra batons and a replacement mask. Mostly it was just a hidden, secure place to hunker down, a space he now used to give himself time to let the panic wash away in the face of scheming and rational thought. He needed a plan, he needed a path of action. He needed time to process and to formulate. Kingpin knew his true identity; DareDevil seemed of little use, but perhaps more important than ever. With this new, omnipresent danger, could he go back to his civilian life? Would he need to? Would he be able to? He needed to think...he needed to think...he needed to rest.

-

He must have spent at least the rest of the night asleep; when he woke he could feel the ambient heat from outside filtering in, and the sounds and shakes of a city awake and alive rumbled through his bones. Matthew felt stiff - the consequences of spending the night in his armour - and he moved himself to sit against the wall as he undid the clasps on his helmet, setting it down by his side as he held a hand up and pressed it against the wall, letting the vibrations worm their way down his arm, the familiar rattles comforting him. He could not leave, not during the day; he was too conspicuous in his armour, especially with every criminal element in Hell's Kitchen now looking for him - and more than a few cops and federal agents in the Kingpin's pocket. He would barely make it half a block, rooftops or not. No, there was no leaving now - he would have to wait until the city went to sleep, until the heat dissipated and there was naught but dark clouds and moonlight left.

It took many bored, quiet hours, but eventually night fell. The city fell quiet and Matthew felt the cold begin to seep in, and he knew it was time to move. Carefully, quietly, he left the bunker behind him and moved once again to the rooftops he had raced across just the night before, pushing himself back towards the heart of the city and where he knew home lay. There was no time for vigilante heroics tonight, though the plight of the innocent and the schemes of the villainous still played heavily upon Matthew's mind, every inch of good and evil that writhed in combat around him worming its way into his bones. The conflict that had born him and that had sustained him, and that hoped to survive him. It would not be so, he would be sure of it, despite the machinations of his nemesis. Home grew closer and closer with every thudding footstep, and as he grew nearer the fear from the night previous gave way to outrage and anger. Kingpin threatened him on a ground unprecedented, and Matthew would not stand for such a personal affront.

He let himself in to his apartment through the living room window, clambering up the fire escape rapidly to avoid anyone waiting for him at the front door; with Kingpin's new knowledge, there was no such thing as 'too careful'. And he found his paranoia to be well-founded almost immediately. The draft hit Matt first, a through-breeze from the window straight through the front door; the smell of smashed and splintered wood was next, and in the breeze he could hear the slight creak of the hinges that what was left of his door hung on. His apartment had been ransacked, the wreckage spread out along the floor for Matthew to tread on and step over. There was little left. A low tone pierced the still air from the floor a few feet in front of him, and Matthew moved with purpose towards the discarded landline handset that had been thrown to the floor in the intrusion. There were messages waiting. He held the handset to his ear, and wrapped his free fist around his batons, preparing for any returning enemy agents and hoping the calls he had missed were not as grave as the one he had taken just one night before. Matthew almost flinched as the robotic voice blared into his ear.

"MESSAGE FROM: 'F-Foggy, it's Foggy.' PLEASE SAY 'LISTEN' TO HEAR THIS MESSAGE."

From even that short snippet, he could hear fear, shock, disbelief and, most tragically, betrayal in Foggy's shaky voice. He had no doubt this was Kingpin's first strike against him - turn his allies into enemies and isolate him from any kind of support network he'd previously had in place. But the method he would choose to employ...there was no real knowledge as to the depths of Kingpin's moral waters. Matthew paused, savoring the last few moments of his civilian life being untouched by Kingpin's murky, sullen hands.

"Listen."

"Matt where are you? Are you hiding? Are you out of the city? I don't want to believe you'd run, Matt, Jesus, I don't want to believe you did this. Have you even heard? Do you even know? Are you shitfaced somewhere? In response? In anticipation? Donatella was ruled a suicide, Ricci is found dead after shooting himself in an alley, these accusations come out about you...and you've just fucking ghosted all of us!? Where the hell are you Matt you can't treat us like this! If someone's setting you up you need to tell us and we'll help but if it's not a framing, if it's all true...I don't know what to think. I don't know who you are. Would you please just call one of us?! Just to tell us where you are and try to explai-"

Foggy's voice cut off as Matthew hung up, unwilling to hear anymore. Hearing his best friend like that, desperate and angry, all of that confused pain directed explicity at Matthew, hurt him in a true way, a way that seared and branded him beneath the skin, made him believe he was at fault, that this wasn't the dark machinations of his nemesis, now looming over him and numbing his senses, blinding him once again. He felt like he was suffocating, and he had to push himself back towards the window to take a long drink of cool night air. He let the city flood in, all its sounds and smells and vibrations, waves of hot and cold alternating in the air currents. He breathed in deep through his mouth and tasted car exhaust, dirt, vapourised sweat. It was all there, swimming around him, and with his head poking out of his window and his city filling his head with its essence, he felt the fear subside and give way to that old righteous anger. He turned from the window and picked up his phone again, activating the voice commands.

"Search 'Matthew Murdock' in the news." He said, waiting patiently as the device gave a soft beep to acknowledge the command, and then a swishing sound to indicate the search being performed - and then another soft chime once completed.

"I FOUND TWENTY EIGHT RELEVANT RESULTS."

"Filter the most recent."

"MOST RECENT RESULT: WWW DOT NEW YORK DOT C B S LOCAL DOT COM. HEADLINE: NEW YORK ADA IMPLICATED IN DRUG TRAFFICKING RING. SECOND RESULT: WWW DOT N Y TIMES DOT COM. HEADLINE: MATTHEW MURDOCK, NEW YORK ADA, WANTED FOR QUESTIONING IN DRUG AND BRIBERY ACCUSATIONS. THIRD RESULT: WWW DOT FOX FIVE N Y DOT COM. HEADLINE: DISGRACED ADA MURDOCK ON THE RUN FROM POLICE. FOURTH RESU-"

Matthew stopped the read outs. There was enough there to infer from the context - Kingpin had attacked Matthew's position as ADA, his legal channel through which to dismantle Fisk's empire while the Devil assaulted him more literally. With ADA Murdock discredited, his existing work would be in question, and all his incarcerations reversed - and there would be no one left with the bravery and boldness to take on Fisk and the system he owned. Matt had to concede it was a cunning move on Kingpin's part; he only wondered why it had taken Fisk this long to try such a method. If the opportunity was there to remove him, why wait? Perhaps Fisk enjoyed the game, saw it as chess; Matt had only ever been successful at putting away low-level members. Maybe, unwittingly, Matthew himself had been a cog in Fisk's great machine, churning the used-up meat to make way for fresher, fitter blood.

Irrelevant. The time for courts and sentences had passed. Matthew knew his next steps almost instinctively.

He slept in his armour. He would need it.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Snart - Cold As Ice

@Hillan

Isn't it crazy how these old(er) songs that have entered a kind of cheese-fest zeitgeist of the 70's and 80's and linger on as singular lines or half-remembered lyrics we sing over and over as schoolchildren actually turn out to be killer tracks when you sit down and listen to the full record?

I recently had this with I Think We're Alone Now, I song I previously literally only knew the titular line of as a half-baked cultural memory and hadn't ever actually personally experienced. I watch Umbrella Academy, hear the track, go take another listen, and discover it's actually an absolute banger. And yet do I think Umbrella Academy chose it because of it's legitimate musical achievements, or because it was a convenient, widely-recognized song to help paint the pastiche they were striving for, an easy nostalgic cash-in?

Who knows. Both tracks rock.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

As a question to everyone; in your head, do you have a theme song for your character? Do you have one for the game at large?

On my end, Spidey's theme is probably just the Spectacular Spider-Man theme, but I'm making that diegetic, so, a little better than just taking it, I guess. Otherwise, his arc theme is The Distance by Cake. I think it connects pretty well to what I'm going for this season with Spidey, and I figured Spider-Man: The Distance was a good arc name, and so it was.

As for an overall theme for the game, though? I'm drawing a blank, which is kind of why I ask the question in the first place. Last time, in UOU, Glitter and Gold by Barns Courtney was my pick, but it somehow doesn't seem to fit as well to this game, but maybe it's just the clashing mental association between this and UOU. Who knows? What do y'all think?

@DocTachyon

Probably this. I haven't thought much about songs per post or character etc but this song probably encapsulates a lot of the themes I'm trying to put across with Murdock.

I have several other songs that will start to be featured in future posts, as well as themes for characters who won't be showing up until my second arc. The fun of listening to said songs (which are fantastic tracks in their own right) is picturing the upcoming significance of them. Hopefully you guys will find my choices fit as well as I think they do.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Was just chatting with Doc on Discord when I brought up the idea of Injustice in this RP's universe, and I figured I'd bring the discussion here.

So. The biggest and bestest superhero went nuts and created a totalitarian dystopia. Who did it and where would your characters be in that mess?

@Simple Unicycle

I’d love to explore a DareDevil who crosses the line, or has the line crossed for him, and truly gives in to his darkest impulses. Either becoming a Punisher figure against the regime or an authoritarian who cordons off Hells Kitchen and turns it into his personal kingdom.

More than likely however Murdock would oppose the regime and then promptly be killed.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Honestly like top tier Batman if you ask me.

Edit: And easily the best Clayface that's ever been written.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

He was rail thin with long, greasy black hair,

@Byrd Man

?

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

^{_{IV. Consequences}}

---

Elektra's mournful, defeated voice played on Matt's mind as he followed Harry Ricci, Mob Lawyer, along his winding night-on-the-town. He played the short, awkward conversation over and over in his mind, only paying half-attention to the movements of his target - but enough to notice that, despite bouncing from bar to bar to bar all evening - the better part of four hours since finding him initially - the smell of alcohol was one that merely clinged to Ricci, rather than originated from him. When the wind hit him Matt could smell only cola, not bourbon, on his breath, and his heartbeat had been the elevated thudthudthud of a stressed and anxious man all night, and not the lax thump - thump of a sedated drunkard like many of the other patrons of the bars and club that Ricci had visited this evening. They were making a slow, winding path downtown, inching ever closer and closer to the address that had been whispered to Ricci some hours earlier; but Matt couldn't help but wonder why he bothered with the charade of trawling the clubs at all, rather than heading straight to the end destination. It reeked of suspicion. It reeked of a trap. Matt double checked his positioning, ensuring he was following at a safe distance, reassuring himself that he hadn't been made. The trail continued to the next block over - 35th - and as Ricci entered yet another bar, Matt chose the moment to softly descend from the rooftop via a fire escape on the exterior of the building. He hit the ground with a crunch and crouched low, hunkering down behind a large dumpster to wait for Ricci. The address was now just two streets over; Matthew had no doubt this bar was the last before the end destination, and whatever or whoever lay there for Ricci.

Matt wasn't sure what to prepare for, but he poised on the balls of his feet and hovered his hands over the holsters of his batons on his thighs nonetheless; the night was noisy, thick with the smell and heat of drunkards young and old. Matt lost himself in them, letting his senses wander the street, astrally moving from couple to couple, in and out of bars. A whiskey chaser and laughter at the one friend who chucked it down the wrong pipe and now spluttered, heat blossoming on their cheeks. A jibe and a joke as a group left one bar and debated on the next, each member arguing for their own suggestion and deriding the others. A couple sitting across from each other, a glass of wine each, fingers wordlessly intertwined and a heat building at their cores as the woman used her legs to play with her partner's. Two long-time friends reuniting, arguing over who gets to purchase the first round, a warm, loving tone in both voices, before the decision is made and four drinks are bought, a clink of glasses saying more than either of them could put into words. All of this surrounded Matthew, a living, breathing city of good people with kind hearts.

But surrounding that was the darkness Matthew fought against. Up high in the flats above him, there were sobs as a husband drunkenly berated his wife and son. In the next building over, halfway up, two young men - too young to be in this world, but involved all the same - compared guns and knives and organised weed, cocaine, and heroin for a night of selling. Two streets over, shivering women in provocative clothing solicited passing men, their hearts thudding with cold and anxiety about bringing enough money back to their pimp. It was always there, cloying and clawing at Matt's mind, an underlying decay that threatened to rot away the very foundations of the city and bring it all down until everything sunk into the murky pits that the bad men and women of Hell's Kitchen called home. He would not - could not - allow them to hollow out his city any more. He had made small progress since beginning his crusade, the saviour of the people, beating back would-be muggers and rapists, assaulting laundering operations or arms deals. But these were simply symptoms of a greater illness; now, Matthew needed to be the cure to the disease, not the medication to treat it. He needed to go after the biggest fish he could. The assault began here and now, with Ricci and his mysterious contact.

The door to the bar Matt was watching from his vantage point in the alley across the street swung open, and from it erupted sound and smells, but Matthew cared only about the smell of Ricci's cologne and the sound of Ricci's heartbeat. The cologne was tinged with a nervous sweat now, and his heartbeat had elevated to an even higher level. Matthew was worried his mark might pop and have a brain aneurysm before they reached the meeting point.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Ricci's brain remained unruptured as he stepped out of the bar and let the door close behind him, straightening his tie as he looked up and down the street both ways. Matthew waited for a few tense moments, holding his breath unconciously, and then Ricci turned and began walk to their final destination, one block over. 34th and Lexington; a nondescript street with a bodega and laundrette on one side, and low-income apartment buildings on the other. There was a service alley down the side of the bodega and Matthew could already feel the presence of someone there, a low heat and a steady pulse as they waited patiently. Ricci beelined for the alleyway, and Matthew tensed up in anticipation. This was it.

The man nodded as Ricci approached and then he asked, as previously instructed, for a 'house special with a sour twist'. The contact nodded again, and wordlessly retrieved something from his coat before handing it to Ricci. It seemed to be some manner of large envelope, but it was bulky and Matthew heard a rattle from within as Ricci gripped it, a sound that seemed familiar to him but he was somehow unable to place within the context. Whatever was in that envelope, it was what Ricci had arrived for. The contact spoke as Ricci tore the top of the envelope off and peered at what was inside. His heartbeat spiked again, and now Matthew began to move across the street to the alleyway, his own pulse rising as he prepared for action.

"You've done excellent work thusfar, and he extends his gratitude. He asks you for only for one final favour."

Ricci gave him a long stare, and then nodded with a particular sense of finality.

"The organisation thanks you for your commendable loyalty. Naturally, we all wish you good luck."

The contact left and Matthew waited for Ricci to move before he approached - but Ricci didn't move, he just stood in the alley alone, clutching his envelope and...waiting. Matthew grew impatient. He removed his batons from their holsters and stepped around the corner, quiet and menacing, letting his boots crunch on the badly-kept ground of the alleyway to announce his presence, doing his best to appear intimidating and frightening. Ricci pushed his hand into his envelope as he turned around and Matthew immediately broke into a sprint as he realised where he recognised that metallic rattling and slight clinking. Ricci had pulled a pistol out, and as the envelope dropped to the ground he stretched out his arm and pulled the trigger haphazardly, squeezing it over and over. Matthew threw himself into a slide underneath the first two bullets, feeling the air split in front of them and the shockwaves of pressure left behind them, the white-heat of the shot lingering in the gun's barrel before exploding again and again and again, every new shot another cacophony that overwhelmed Matt's mind; from the slide he slung himself into a sideways roll before springing up and pushing a boot against the wall to vault backwards. Sparks and mortar flew as a bullet crumpled against brick where Matthew had been mere moments before - and as Matt practically flew through the air, propelled by adrenaline alone, he swung his batons down on Ricci's arm, shattering the radius bone and putting his shooting arm out of action. Matt landed to the side and flipped, bringing his boot aggressively into Ricci's chest and taking him to the floor, before following the fall with his baton again, this time cracking ribs. The gun clattered to the floor, and Matthew stood slowly, looming over the panting Ricci. He made a vague clawing at the discarded pistol with his non-broken arm, and Matt stepped on his wrist with an aggressive amount of pressure, letting Ricci squirm and groan for a few seconds before he dropped and drove his knee into the side of his head, knocking Ricci unconscious, and allowing Matt to search his body.

There wasn't much; change and small notes from the bars, a balled up napkin that reeked of sweat, a wallet with a few business cards and very little else. In his left jacket pocket, however, Matt found a phone - modern, sleek. No case. He flipped the silent switch on the side off and pressed the home button, feeling the faintest whirring from within as it fired up out of standby, but there was no forthcoming click as the phone unlocked; he pressed the home button again, and the phone gave out a slight vibration. Entry locked. He had a good idea how to gain passage however; reaching down, he took the broken arm of Ricci in hand - the dominant hand, he made an educated guess at, as it had been the hand Ricci had taken the pistol in initially - and pressed the thumb against the home button. The phone unlocked, and Murdock dropped the arm, to a significant groan from the groggy, semi-unconcious Ricci. He held the home button down until the voice command system activated.

"Activate text-to-speech dictation." The phone dinged with an affirmative. "Open messages." The phone made a swishing sound as the relevant app opened, and at this point, began to dictate the names of those whom Ricci currently held conversations with. Matt listened with growing impatience as the phone listed known low-level mob thugs, local business, several different females including one that shared Ricci's name...and then it said 'Kingpin', with as much anticlimactic aplomb as Matthew would expect a waiter reading the day's special soup for the fifth time in one dinner order. His heart skipped a beat, and he opened his mouth to say, 'Open my conversation with Kingpin', but only got as far as "Open-" before he heard Ricci's weight shifting behind him with a considerable groan, and then that metallic clank of the gun being picked up from the ground, and how could he have been so careless to not have kicked it away, clenching the phone in hand as he tensed his legs to dive out of the way of the incoming bullet-

There was a gunshot that felt louder than any of the shots before it, but Matthew felt no air splitting in his direction, no belch of heat towards him. He heard a wet, squelching sound; the unmistakable thick trickle of blood hitting ground; a low, moaning gurgle. The smell of fresh blood exploded forth, and he heard Ricci's pulse quiver and become thinner and faster - and then there was a final, sickening thud and a following clatter of metal on concrete.

Matt turned around. He already knew where the last bullet had gone, and it mattered little now. Angry as he was, any frustration or rage at lost answers - or even lost lives - was impotent and irrelevant. The phone pinged, vibrating as it rang and dictated its call aloud.

'INCOMING CALL FROM: KINGPIN'

Matthew answered, and brought the phone to his ear. He couldn't bring himself to find appropriate words. He wasn't sure he needed to. The dulcet, menacing tones of his nemesis soon erased all other thoughts from his mind.

"I am so sorry that we must first meet in such unpleasant circumstances. Believe me, were your self-imposed involvement in my affairs not to have come at such... inopportune a time, I may have admired your...tenacity. Alas, your indomitable efforts have proved an unbearable thorn in my side, and so, the time has come for such an opponent to be...removed. Obviously, my men have found themselves...outmatched, in the past. And it would seem that subterfuge, though poorly executed, still underestimates your abilities. And so, we have come to the only remaining solution to you, my final problem."

Matt cleared his throat. "I am far from your final problem. Even if you kill me, there will be more that come for you. And I will not go down easy."

Through the phone, Kingpin chuckled, and Matt struck the wall with the baton in his free hand, removing a chunk of brick at the impact point."Please, have no doubt that I will kill you. But before that...inevitable end, I will first make an example of you. I will show the world that those who seek to hinder me will lose...everything. You see, this city is mine. And it shall remain. Mine. What you do now is of no concern; you have already chosen your fate, and the fates of others, through your actions. There is a universal truth, Mr. Murdock. And it is that everything...everything. Has consequences."

The phone hit the ground before the line went dead. Matthew was already running.