A dark ghoulish cloud has descended upon Hells Kitchen and the smell of looming catastrophe has been suffocating our hero. But what troubles him the most is not the bruises and the cuts and the blunt force traumas to come, no, his body can take a beating, what troubles Matthew Murdock most is what would happen to his heart.
Indeed he should have seen it coming, like cows grazing on a vast expanse of pasture his romantic interests would not leave him wiithout some dung to deal with in their aftermath. It seemed to him that whether or not the sky fell, whether good or evil should prevail, he would not be the victor, an active, maybe even decisive warrior, but not the victor.
He poured himself another glass of bourborn, his 4th that night, Foggys cover up may not have been too far from the truth afterall, maybe he really was an alcoholic. His glasses were off and the night around him burned in streaks of orange, gold and red, almost as if he were peering at the world through the lens of a flaring sun.
He wished she was there. He knew he wanted her there. What he didn't know know was who, who did he actually want of the three....Peggy?
Peggy was frail to behold, but in her eyes was a sttength that was almost intimidating. She was always fidgeting, and nervous, wanting you to understand, expecting that you wouldn't. She was uncertain yet endlessly charging down a singular path, she was the only hero he knew who didn't need to turn her hands into fists. And she was beautiful, everything she did was beautiful; the way she smiled that half smile, looked at you out of the corner of her eye, tucked her hair beneath her ear. Just beautiful, tender yet suspect, much unlike Elektra.
Elektra was the epitome of trouble, and what's more attractive than trouble? She had all the charm of vanity; consuming, fast, unpredictable, she kept you at the edge of your seat, always guessing she was up to no good and proving you right every single time.Elektra was easy, she was like nightlife. His nightlife. Dangerous, but containable, extreme but survivable, isn't life all about survival?
Survival, if anyone could revive him and save him from any future physical, maybe even emotional harm, it was the 'night nurse'. Yeah, that's what she'd been reduced to. He couldn't call her by name anymore, not with how far they'd drifted. Night nurse was both mountain and wind, pliable yet unmoving, fixed in her ways so that even her compromises were laden with virtue. She was easily the most formed of the three, the mos well rounded. She could anchor him, keep him from billowing in the storms that were coming. Night nurse would not merely string him up and have him restrained like a kite. No, she would shelter him, they would weather it, tpgether.
He stepped out of his apartment and onto the roof. The night was alive with crime. He could smell the steel of knives in the air. His ears heard the bullets shifting sightly in their chambers. Finally he settled his senses on the harmless, the innocent, the decent, these were the people that became prey to the cruel. These were the people he had to proctect, so that they would be unscarred, so that they would not have to become him.
As he listened he heard them, the three, the trinity of his heart. Their hearts were beating rapidly!
Peggy kept muttering oh my god over and over again, panicked.
Elektra said just wait till I get out of this, then I'll tie you to this chair with your own intestines. They slapped her. He heard knives approach, he started to head out when he heard the third.
The night nurse, his Claire, she was begging, saying please don't kill me.....
For a moment he was sure where he would go to first, based on proximity, but then he heard all of their captors say, all at once. You have 15 minutes to save her.
His head snapped left, then right, then forward, but his feet, were fixed to the ground.
"It is in your moments of indecision, that your dreams are destroyed."-Dr.Marc Dussault
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