Daredevil: Truth Be Told

[J. J. Jameson]

Note: This story takes place shortly after the Daredevil arc "Out".

Chapter 1

My name is Matthew Murdock. Things get worse from here.
“He’s filing suit for someone stealing his parking spot?”
Foggy, eating a donut with one hand and holding a paper in the other. Somehow the paper had gotten wet the ink must have been running because it stank. The donut smelled like it was chocolate; his favorite. Dear Franklin, you really must watch those calories if you want any diet to work for you. I could hear the first bite moving down his throat.
“That’s what the papers say, isn’t it?” I replied, taking off my glasses to polish them for no reason whatsoever. It’s not like I need them to be clear. “Look, Foggy, we don’t have to take the case. We can tell them that it’d all be a waste of money and that their case would never hold up in a court of law. Granted, it wouldn’t be easy, but it could be done. Do we really want to make fools out of ourselves?”
People make me sick. Everyone wants what’s best for them and will only do what they benefit from. Whoever they have to crush, they will. Whoever they have to steal from, they will. Whoever is weakest they will prey upon. Whoever is susceptible they will take advantage of. That’s how it goes and I guess it’s only natural. Not all of us are natural.
The case was not as unusual as it sounded. Being a lawyer in New York, I’ve seen many strange things. Living in Hell’s Kitchen, well, you might as well say I’ve seen all the freakishness the world has to offer. Now, don’t get me wrong, there was nothing strange or freakish about a fat cat trying to get more money in his pocket. I’m just saying that there is not reason to be phased easily by any of the happenings in Hell’s Kitchen.
“No,” Foggy said, “we don’t. It’s bad enough, what with your little secret being not so secret anymore causing bad publicity; we don’t need to get a reputation for taking sleazy cases. I’ll call Mr. DeNaro in the morning and try to discourage him from appearing in court.”
“Thank you, Franklin,” I said as I slipped my glasses back onto my face. The lenses were red, or so I’m told, and they give me a devilish appearance, at least say some people. I guess that’s appropriate in a way, considering what my night job is.
“Cut the formality, Matt,” moaned Foggy. “It’s…what time is it?…one o’clock in the morning. We need to close up shop or the reporters will start storming the door way before we can get out.” He let out a yawn.
“I’m not going out the door, Foggy.”
That sentence was all that needed to be said. Foggy understood what was on my to-do list for the evening…morning…and he nodded grimly. We retired to silence for the next few minutes as we straightened up our desks. Mine, I could feel, was covered in papers, and I did my best to put them in a neat pile, setting them at the corner of the desk. From Foggy’s half of the room came a shuffling of papers, clattering of pens, and the scent of spilled ink. One of his pens must have broken. He uttered an expletive.
“Having trouble, Foggy?” I chuckled. Poor Foggy. As kind as a kitten and as clumsy as a mule.
“Razzin’ frazzin’ pen,” he muttered as he ran to the bathroom, turned on the water to wet a towel, and then soaked up the splattered ink blots. “You know, Matt, there’s irony in this. You, able to get cleaned up without trouble, and me, breaking a pen a day for the past week. I’m spending my paycheck on pens!”
I laughed and walked over to help him. In a minute we were done and Foggy was headed for the door. He grabbed his coat and hat from the rack and put them on briskly. The hat smelled of old newspapers and the coat of old leather, like something you would dig out of an attack trunk. That was Foggy.
The Offices of Nelson and Murdock, Attorney’s at Law, was named for the two men who worked in it, namely I and Franklin “Foggy” Nelson. When Foggy had been fired from the law firm of Sharpe, Nelson, Murdock, I had been so enraged that I myself had quit. We, two out-of-work lawyers, who also happened to be bachelors, needed something to keep us going. Naturally, being well established in the matters of law, Foggy and I thought it wise to stay in that field. I had come into a large amount of money at that time through inheritance and the road seemed to be paved with gold. Thus, Nelson and Murdock was born.
Foggy was a great guy and we’d been best friends for years. I knew I could trust this man with anything. We’ve been through tough times and testing situations, but in the end our friendship remains. Now, more than ever, our friendship was being strained.
See; remember I said things would get worse? That starts now. There are some things you should know about me.
I’m blind. Completely blind. I can’t see the sunrise or sunset. I can’t see the New York skyline. I haven’t seen anything for years. Not many can comprehend what it is like to only see black. It never changes its shade or its hue. No one spot is darker than the other. Imagine yourself in a room without windows, doors, or lights and you are blindfolded. Maybe then you can start to picture how it is. But remember that the lights will never come on. It will always be dark.
The funny thing is I can’t really understand what that would be like either. I wasn’t always blind, and I do carry those few memories of sight, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I didn’t say how I became blind.
When I was just a boy, something happened to me that would change my life forever. Ignore the cliché, but it’s true. One evening, I saw and old blind man was crossing the street. Being blind, he didn’t know that a truck was roaring down the street towards him. What happened next might just have been the biggest decision of my life. I ran towards the man as fast as I could. I shoved him forcefully out of the way of the truck to safety. He was fine, which was more than could have been said for me. The truck driver, having seen man and the old man, swerved to the side. The inertia of the move caused the trucks cargo to tip over off the back of the truck and onto the road.
What looked like barrels clattered to the street, bursting open from the fall. Some of the liquid splashed on my face and into my eyes. The pain was unimaginable, like a fire being lit behind my eye sockets. I could feel the nerves being burnt away and my sight being lost. It gave me a horrible sense of helplessness. I could do nothing but lay there and scream in pain.
Obviously, the liquid had damaged my eyes and blinded me. However, as time would tell, that wasn’t all that it did. With all handicaps, when one ability is lost, the others are strengthened. So it was with my blindness, only amplified by hundreds of times. I could hear conversations and sounds blocks away. While I couldn’t identify a person by sight anymore, I was able to recognize the person from dozens of feet off by their heartbeat. The smells flooded through my nose like a river. I was almost sickened by the sheer intensity of it all. I had no reason to learn Brail, for my sense of touch was escalated so much that I could feel the ink of the words raised off the page. Any document could be read by myself by merely running my fingers over it. It was absolutely amazing. And I had no idea what to do with my new abilities.
“Hello! Matt!” Foggy called sarcastically. It brought me out of my nostalgic train of thought. It’s amazing what one smell can do. “I’m leaving. Don’t stay up too late. You’re acting a bit strange. Not that it’s unusual, or anything.”
“Sorry, Foggy. I have a lot on my mind right now.” I said flatly. “You and I have been living in the hell of Hell’s Kitchen for the past month.”
“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” said Foggy, being as chipper as you can be in the middle of the night. “I’ll bring you a nice big pot of coffee in the morning.”
“Thank you,” I half laughed. “Good night, partner.”
“Likewise,” said Foggy as he headed out the door to a waiting cab at the foot of the steps.
I heard the care pull away, and I smelled the putrid odor of exhaust. I nearly gagged. New York, especially Hell’s Kitchen, needed to update its roster of taxicabs. I turned to head back to my desk when sensed something on the table to my right. Oh dear. It was Foggy’s apartment keys. Yeah…I think he’ll need those. Using my senses as a sort of radar, I could tell the car was long gone. Great. Don’t worry; I can handle this one.
One more minor detail: I eventually figured out what to do with my powers after some training.
I’m Daredevil.
I guess I’m what you would call a superhero. And it’s not without its advantages. It comes in handy at times like this.
I unbuttoned my dress shirt to reveal a crimson outfit, emblazoned with two giant “D’s,” one linked as a chain to the other. It was my symbol, my mark. I quickly shed the rest of my other dress clothes, standing now in my full outfit, save the mask. I dug into a pocket of the costume and put it on. The mask was fitted with two horns at the forehead, like a devil. Though it only covered my face to the bridge of my nose, leaving my jaw exposed, it concealed my identity. Now, I was no longer an attorney, working an average job for a living. I was Daredevil, the guardian devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
I made my way back through the halls, attempting to find the route which would allow me to escape the scrutiny of the never ending sea of reporters that had flooded both the porch of my office and the porch of my home for the past month. I didn’t blame them.
Nimbly I navigated out a window past the mob and out of camera sight. The last thing I needed was for Daredevil to be seen exiting Matt Murdock’s law firm, what with the rumors going around. Once I was a few blocks away, I eased up a bit and put my mind on the task at hand. I needed to find Foggy’s apartment, preferably before he got home. Again, it would be very suspicious for Daredevil to be seen near Franklin Nelson’s apartment, Matt Murdock’s law partner. Either way, I knew I had to get there and have Foggy’s keys there.
I focused and prepared myself for a fast trip. I took in a deep of the city air. My city. My territory. The place I was sworn to protect. With a second’s pause, I shrugged to my right, determined my course, and then made a dash. I was a red blur, sprinting across the rooftops at a heart stopping rate. I knew no caution. I yielded to nothing. I was the Man Without Fear. My feet barely touched solid foundation as I made enormous leaps that overcame the gapping valley’s between blocks. I noticed at one intersection that Foggy’s cab was halted. I couldn’t see it (I’m blind, remember?), but Foggy’s familiar heartbeat faintly pulsated in my ears through all the other commotion of the city.
The race was on. I bolted down blocks faster than I though possible, making jumps bigger than most would even dream of. I focused my radar ahead of me. Foggy’s apartment was two blocks away and I wasn’t even getting any readings of Foggy’s cab. Excellent. I took my club, clubs actually, attached to each other with cord. I might as well make this a grand entry, if only for myself. I tossed the club at a lamppost in front of the apartment, and then gracefully swung to a stop at Foggy’s welcome mat. I dug into my pocket and retrieved the key. Swiftly, I put the key into the lock, turned it, and I heard the click, confirming that the luck was freed.
I turned the doorknob, cracking the door just enough to slip the keys inside. Poor Foggy would be oblivious to the whole fiasco, thinking he had just forgotten to lock his door. I took in another deep breath to calm down after my mad dash. I didn’t have long to rest. Foggy’s cab was sending a buzzing in my ears, so I made my exit accordingly.
The night was young. The chill of the evening was just setting in as I made my way to Foggy’s apartment roof. It was a perfect night; it was clear, crisp, and quiet. Quiet? In Hell’s Kitchen, that’s a rarity indeed.

 

[J. J. Jameson]

Chapter 2 (Part 1)

When I reached the top of Foggy’s apartment roof, satisfied with my return service, I focused my senses, my radar, on the surrounding area in hopes of finding a safe spot to rest. A little over a block away was a water tower fixated upon another rooftop, shrouded in dark shadows, but still open enough for me to hear what was happening around me.
A few flips, jumps, and twirls later I was atop the tower, the gentle breeze humming its tune in my ears. Relax, it said. Let loose a little. Take a moment to reflect. Reflect? On what? My life? Tsk. My life. Even I had a hard time believing that I was here and all the events of the past years had led to this denouement.
What was going on in my life? Truth be told, a whole lot more than I cared to get into. Every time I thought about it, I came to the realization that all of the actions of my past seemed to sprout from this costume; because I was a guardian devil.
The fateful event that had changed my life had set off a chain reaction that jump started my real life and ended my old one. Even my day job, Matt Murdock: Lawyer, was connected through an intricate web of cause and effect. I guess everything is connected in some way.
My father had been a fighter, and it seemed natural. In the ring, he threw punches at some of the fiercest men alive. It wasn’t a horrible life, but he certainly could have done better for himself. As it is, most parents try to correct their failures in the lives of their children. The same was true of my father. He told me to go to law school, become a lawyer and makes something of myself, and boy, have I ever. See, my father’s life was violence, and it was violence which brought his death. Shot, in the face, after refusing to give into a rigged match.
I had made a promise to my father to not be like him. To not be a fighter. To not rely on violence for justice. I followed the promise, mostly, until his death. Where, father, was justice for you? Where was the legal system you told me would make me a better man? Justice doesn’t come so easily. I took matters into my own hands.
I’m sorry, father.
I was in law school at the time of his death; he was still in Hell’s Kitchen. Until then, I was not a figure of the night. I wasn’t a costumed “hero” or protector. Death changes a lot of things, including people. How could I watch the legal system make a mockery of my father’s killing while I was perfectly able to distribute justice of my own? Revenge is almost never a good thing, but this time, I felt justified in justifying.
I made a suit, a guise, something to cover my face. Was it from shame? Was it common sense? Or was it fear? No, it wasn’t fear, or maybe it was and I just didn’t realize it. Whatever the cause, something compelled me to adorn a costume, which then was yellow and brown. And then I got the justice my father deserved from the man who ended his life so unceremoniously. But not as Matt Murdock, no, in the devil costume, it was Daredevil. A name was used to scorn me in my childhood would now become the name whispered on the lips of those who feared the one that showed no fear.

 

[J. J. Jameson]

Chapter 2 (Part II)

Flash forward to now. Sure, lots of stuff happened between then and a few months ago. Fights too many to count, the ignition of a partnership, only to be ended abruptly. My identity was revealed to the world, but by my wits I was able to put that knowledge in a locked safe (or so I thought until a few months ago.) A few months ago, things changed, drastically. A few months ago, my world was turned upside down, then spun around several times for good measure. Remember the connecting webs I was talking about? Well at the center of this web was one thing: Karen Page.
Karen. Dear Karen. She had been the one true love of my life, the one I cared most about. But she had been gone for a while. Up and left. And I was alone again. So you can imagine my surprise when she showed up on my welcome mat, in tears and clinging to me. She dropped the bomb: she had AIDS.
I can’t say I was surprised. Karen could be wild and a partier, and she had “been with people”, lots of people. My unsurprised didn’t take away that gut-wrenching felling you get when someone tells you that death has just come a little bit closer. However, it would not be the AIDS that would carry out Karen’s fate.
To this day, I don’t even know if she actually had AIDS. I try not to think about it, but its one of those things that nags you when you’re just about to drift off to sleep. In the weeks that followed this revelation, things became…unearthed. Karen’s AIDS report had been part of a giant plot by a man named Quentin Beck to bring me down for reasons I still don’t fully understand. When it comes down to it, Beck was just a depressed jerk who had to hurt other people to make his pain go away. In the end it didn’t matter.
She still died in my arms.
It was my long time enemy, a lunatic named Bullseye, named for his deadly accuracy, who delivered the deadly blow. In Bullseye’s hands, anything is a weapon. Ironically, and sickeningly, it was my billy-club that was the weapon of choice this day. Bullseye took the club, and he hurled it at me. My own club was being thrown at me. Its target was my heart, but Karen’s heart received the blow. She, in selfless love, threw her body in front of the club’s path, taking the full brunt of its attack.
As she laid their, bleeding from the chest and dying in my arms, she told me in a hoarse whisper that she loved me. And then she was gone.
My life was in shambles, and I was on the edge of a breakdown. Eventually, things did begin to stabilize somewhat, and maybe; just maybe, I was getting over her death. Maybe I was finally seeing the bright side of things. Perhaps all was not over. It could have been true that life goes on and that one day you’ll look back and be amazed at how far you’ve come. Things never work out for me. I didn’t have time for all of that.
The Daily Globe headline said I was Daredevil. They outted me. A down on his luck FBI agent sold my name. Don’t these idiots realize I’m trying to help them?! And don’t they get it that I have to take a few precautions? I’m supposed to help them and they’re supposed to accept the help gratefully, not try to pull a guy down for lending a hand. They made my life a nightmare. It’s a constant struggle against the media, and the city, to keep my identity “secret.” Yeah right. I wouldn’t care so much, actually. The thing I loved most was already taken from me. They couldn’t hurt me worse than they already had. That didn’t worry me. What did worry me was the idea that they might stop me from doing my job. Jail, the ominous word hovered over me day in and day out. That’s why I couldn’t admit I was Daredevil. Hell’s Kitchen’s only guardian would be helpless in a cage while the city went to ruin.

 

[J. J. Jameson]

Chapter 2 (Part III)

I didn’t know how much time had gone bye as I sat atop the water tower. There was a peace here, distanced from the crowded city floor, that you couldn’t find anywhere else. I’m not sure what brought me out of my nostalgic meandering down memory lane. Maybe it was a passing car, or that old man yelling about something on the street, or maybe the music blaring in the next apartment.
My guess is that it was the explosion a block down the street.
I was alert once again. My senses were forming pictures in my head that were reminiscent of sight, but not so nearly the same. Already my club was in my hand as I made a dive down through an alley, twisting my body to avoid all of the fire escapes that were jutting from the buildings’ sides. As soon as I touched ground, I could feel the searing heat on my skin and the beads of sweat gathering on my pores. Screaming was everywhere, as were people, each heart racing like thunder, forming a symphony of drums. It was a car. Someone had blown up a car.
This is New York, not Baghdad. This shouldn’t be happening. For goodness’ sake, we’re in the middle of a metropolis! The inferno was growing, spreading to some nearby shrubs. From what I could tell, the whole car must be nearly in flames. My jaw dropped in astonishment at the sound of a faint, slow heartbeat from inside the car. Someone was inside! Still alive, but not for long. I moved quickly, ignoring the pain that the flames were inflicting upon my body. The thumping was on the driver’s side, and fading fast. I opened the door hastily, letting smoke pour from the inside. With my hands, I tore loose the seat belt that held the driver inside the fiery blaze.
It was a man. He was overweight and dressed in work clothes, or at least I thought they were work clothes. Most of them had been burned away, leaving tattered rags as a covering. The heart was still beating, but even more slowly than before. Pandemonium was everywhere. Shrieks and screams and prayers alike echoed through the streets. I took my billy-club and hurled it with all I had at a fire hydrant on the curb. By either luck, or sheer fate, a geyser erupted from the spot and showered blessed water down, calming the flames.
“Get me an ambulance!!!” I screamed to anyone who was listening. I could hear a signal from a cell phone in a woman’s purse.
“You!” I yelled in her direction, “Call the hospital! Call an ambulance! This man needs help now!!”
Instantly I heard the phone’s key tones as the 9-1-1 buttons were pushed. The fire had subsided for the most part, just as fire engines arrived at the scene. The man in my arms was bleed profusely from the shoulder. I myself had an injury that was leaking red blood from my leg. Ignore the pain, I told myself.
Like the trumpets of Heaven’s angels, I heard sirens coming in the distance. As the ambulance pulled up closer, I could outline the vehicle in my mind. It’s not seeing, exactly. Think of it as a black and white drawing, just lines forming shapes. No color, not detail, just basic lines that tell your brain enough to allow you to understand what you’re looking at. A figure, a man, exited the ambulance, rushing over to me. He bent down and looked at the man lying on the street.
The EMT was nervous, I could tell by his heartbeat. Scared out of is mind. He couldn’t bring himself to look at my face.
“Wh-What happened to him?” asked the EMT. He continued looking at the injured driver, examining him with skill.
“Car bomb,” I said. “I don’t know who. I don’t know why. I do know that he needs serious medical attention now. Please give it to him.”