Chapter Text
…
It’s the middle of spring, yet it’s still a little chilly and mother nature can’t seem to make up her mind with the rainy weather. Brett Mahoney tiredly walks into work. He tightly grips onto his coffee, like it’s the only lifeline he can depend on.
Petty crime rates have been slightly decreasing, thanks to a certain Devil that’s been lurking in the neighbourhood. He’s doing a damn good job at putting the devil’s fear into crooks.
However, large cases like human trafficking have been leaving trails of criminals with half of their bones broken for the cops to clean up after.
Maybe he should visit church, he hasn’t done that in a long time.
Just as he walks through the reception, switching shifts with his coworkers, who seem ready to drop dead, he stops dead in his tracks as a large envelope sits neatly on his desk.
It’s those long, light orange ones you can buy at a stationary shop. It’s placed over some papers he’d left before ending his shift yesterday. Dead center, with no address or destination.
He looks around, nothing seems out of place, as he cautiously sets his lukewarm coffee down and sits in his chair. He swallows the lump lodged in his throat, eyeing it like it’ll grow a pair of legs.
He checks his emails, messages, potential missed calls, and he doesn’t find anything, besides an unread text from his mother. He contemplates what to do, not really in the mood to find any deadly surprises.
He just recovered from a concussion a month ago.
He looks around his drawers and finds some gloves he’d left around, who knows how long ago. He snaps them on, ignoring a curious glance someone is throwing his way.
He drinks the rest of his coffee, downing it like a shot, as he begins to pry it open, taking note of the decent weight it has. He closes his eyes, shoulders tensing and waiting for a bomb to explode, or something along those lines.
“Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me…” He chants in a fervent whisper, opening one eye, when nothing happens.
Inside, there’s a disk, a folded piece of paper, a thick stack of documents, barely being held together by a clip and a ziplock bag containing what seems to be some IDS, ones you’d find in a wallet. Five of them.
His eyebrows furrow, as he firstly removes the disk and sets it besides his computer. Nothing’s written on it, but a note on the clear case reads: ‘AUDIO, VOICE RECORDING’
Then, he grabs the ziplock with the identities, an assortment of middle-aged men and women, faces he’s never seen before, names he doesn’t recognize. He makes a mental note to look them up for potential criminal files.
He places it next to the disk.
Next, he pulls out the stack of papers, skimming through them. There are colourful sticky notes that divide them into sections and Mahoney can see why.
They range from names, appointments and locations —with the specific times and dates— contracts and receipts, descriptions, self-written reports, everything you could possibly imagine and need.
His eyes catch onto a specific section, a green sticky note with the title: MERCHANDISE, in black ink.
There are names of children and young girls, ranging from five to sixteen. He pursues his lips, as certain names come up, ones that were reported missing by worried families weeks ago.
He takes a minute to process it all, head in his hands, as he can feel a familiar pounding in his head. He should’ve gotten two cups of coffee. Maybe a donut too.
He knows the risks of this being a cruel prank, a hoax, a mere fruitless hope for the police and victims, but they don’t have any more to lose, when they’ve been stuck in a dead end for too long. They’ve just been running around in circles, near to calling quits.
Besides, would someone really go to such an extent for a mere joke?
Finally, after sending a quick prayer to whoever is listening, he delicately unfolds the lonely sheet that sits at the end of the now empty envelope.
“Jesus Christ.” He mutters out, between clenched teeth.
It’s a map of Hell’s Kitchen, a detailed one, with markers highlighting different points and locations with a light yellow post-it note on the top right corner.
Every coloured area indicates common meeting spots for the criminals, routes that are often used, even tunnels that most people probably forgot about and upcoming trading spots, for human trafficking.
Because, of fucking course.
He flags down a passing coworker, who innocently has a paper cup with water in his hand. He tilts his head, concern painting his face, as Brett looks as though a demon took away his life essence.
“Something wrong, Mahoney?” He casually asks, peeking his head over the separator and taking note of the various objects on his teammate’s desk.
He flinches at the serious and dead inside look Mahoney gives him, and immediately clamps his mouth shut.
“I need you to gather every single officer we have available, call anyone who may be able to come, we’ve got a big case on our hands.”
“…Pardon..?” His tone shifts, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
Brett shoves the lists of names and locations, as he gets up from his seat. Eyebrows furrow, as eyes cast onto the names, before dubiously looking at Mahoney.
“Where did you get this…?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, but what I do know is that we have a human trafficking trade happening a week from now, which means… It’s going to be one hell of a week for us.”
He’s making a face that screams: “No time for shits or giggles.”
“… Right. Understood, sir…” His coworker scratches the back of his head, before shuffling away to follow the orders given to him.
Mahoney pulls out his phone, he has his own calls to make.
…
Two days after the anonymous present, Murdock, Nelson and Page show up at the station. Both lawyers dressed up, as though it’s a court day, while Page is dressed formally with a notebook in hand, and eyes belonging to those of an investigator.
Brett is really considering going to church, soon.
“Brett! Just the man we’ve been looking for.” Nelson calls out, with his ridiculous tie print —green and orange dinosaurs— and everything.
“Christ's sake, not now.” He bites out, trying to flee from the trio, only to be followed like a mother duckling with her lost children.
Is it too late to send a quick message to god? Beg him for forgiveness for whatever sins he’s committed in his current or past life?
“Bess told me all about how you’ve been busy with a sudden case? Perhaps… something we could help with, too?” Nelson asks innocently with his best charming grin, knowing damn well what he’s doing.
He doesn’t want to know what Nelson did to coerce that information out of his own mother. He should have never have even told her in the first place.
Mahoney gives them a sharp look, one that says, ‘Not the time’. Frustration settling on his shoulders, as none of them even look remotely ashamed of what they’re doing. He’s too damn tired for this shit.
After a brief stare down, with none of the three backing down, he eventually sighs and signals them into an empty interrogation room, making sure no cameras or recorders are on.
He removes his hat, blindly throws it on the table, and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to prevent the already forming headache.
“Has something… happened?” Karen curiously asks him, pen in one hand and an open notebook on the other.
She uses a soft tone, but all Mahoney is getting is ‘No pressure, but I want every. Single. Little. Detail you have. Like, rack through your brain for even the tiniest thing you can recall.’
He merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow, while crossing his arms. He suspiciously eyes the lawyers up and down, before leaning against the closest wall, shoulders still stiff.
His back hurts and his legs feel numb from all the running around he’s been doing these past two days. Arrests have actually been going decent, they’ve been able to cross one name after the other, on the list.
He’s barely gotten any sleep, a couple winks of sleep on his desk, when he was skimming through some files. He’s on the verge of collapsing and so are many other of his coworkers, who have been working equally as hard as him.
To think he’d be able to take it a little easier today, too.
“The Devil say anything to any of you?” That seems to catch everyone’s attention, like deers caught in headlights, making Mahoney frown.
“Uh. Nope. Why? What happened?” Nelson’s amused look shifts into concern and a little panicked, as he seems caught off guard.
He decides not to push it.
“So, it ain’t the Devil’s doing…” He mutters under his breath, mostly to himself, while racking through any other potential suspects.
“Brett, what exactly is going on?” Murdock pipes up, for the first time and catches him off guard. Even with his glasses on, Brett can tell Murdock is frowning, perceiving, searching.
With how quiet he can be, sometimes Mahoney forgets he’s even there. Doesn’t help that this man has muted footsteps, practically like a ninja.
He mentally debates with himself for a second, before groaning out from exhaustion, it’s been hectic these days.
Despite arrests going fine, interrogations are another story, a whole other genre.
Dealing with pissy traffickers, who refuse to cooperate and deny any accusations, even when every single fucking piece of evidence points to them, really sours his mood.
They don’t even hold any remorse for what they’ve done.
“Found a gift on my desk, two days ago. No address, no sender, nothing. Cameras were shut off for a few minutes, no witnesses, no fingerprints, just an envelope.”
Karen takes a step forward, hand viciously scribbling every crumb he’s offering. Brett’s seen Karen’s handwriting, and most of the time he can make out a word or two. They look like chicken scratches.
“What was in it?” Her eyes peek up, as she’s nose deep into her notes, waiting for more.
Murdock seems just as intense, as Nelson studies him with anticipating eyes. God, they’re like an eager dog waiting for a treat, after you just told it to sit two seconds ago.
He really wants a cup of coffee, right about now.
“A disk, documents, IDs, a map of Hell’s Kitchen. Every little information and evidence you could possibly need to take down a human trafficking ring, even before they can completely commit to it.” He grumbles out.
He, himself, still has trouble taking it all in.
For a second, no one says anything. It’s hard to believe that something like this could happen, especially in a rough neighbourhood like Hell’s Kitchen.
“… What?” Murdock leans against his cane, like an old man.
Usually, Brett would snort at the pose, but any humour has long since left his soul.
“You heard me. From the names and description of the criminals to appointments, lists, dates, fucking receipts, even notes about the best places we’d be able to catch’em.”
He squints his eyes, when he sees doubt on their faces. Jesus, it’s not like he told them that pigs have begun to fly, and he’s started going to therapy.
Actually, he should probably consider the latter, now that he thinks about it.
“And… it was just.. What— handed over to you?” Karen’s hand has stopped moving, the tip of her pen threatening to rip a hole through the page, as she glances over at Matt, who now seems tense.
“Right? Silver platter and everything. We brought the victims back, and arrested whoever were involved. It’s a pretty damn big ring. Over a hundred people involved, and they’ve been travelling around New York. Just so happens that Hell’s Kitchen was the next stop.”
He takes a moment, before gazing up at the ceiling. He winces, when he feels his neck pop.
“Though, there’s still other areas outside of Hell’s Kitchen that seem to be a part of this, we’re planning on informing the other stations that haven’t caught on.”
“Like?” Murdock presses with urgency.
“Harlem, Chinatown, Brooklyn, Midtown Manhattan, Queens, Greenwich Village… The list goes on.”
Foggy suddenly shifts closer to Matt, hand gripping onto his bicep, as he makes an odd expression. He stiffly turns his head to the other lawyer, similar to a robot that is in great need of an oil change.
“… Right. Yeah. A word, Matt?” He spits out through clenched teeth.
Mahoney doesn’t really question anything, when all three move to the other side of the room, huddled in a makeshift circle, while whispering whatever it is they’re whispering.
They’re like kittens from the same litter.
He stares impatiently at the trio, index tapping against the side of his thigh, as the whispering turns more aggressive, but still incomprehensible.
After a minute, he clears his throat, effectively cutting their conversation short, as he fixes his hat back on his head. He starts making his way towards the door, before casting one final glance towards them.
“If that’s all… I assume you’ll be making your way out, now?” He pulls the door open, standing beside it.
Karen is the first to move, speed-walking towards the exit with a tense smile, as the others follow closely behind.
“And uh… You’re sure none of them have asked for a lawyer? Maybe, someone needs representation—“
“Believe it or not, they’ve already got their own set of lawyers. Unfortunately, I doubt this is their first rodeo.” Brett huffs out exasperatedly.
“Well, ouch. I happen to think we’re some pretty good ones.” Foggy clenches over his heart, as if hurt.
Brett sighs, running a hand down his sweaty face.
“We’re still reeling them in, anyways. I’ll let you know if you’ve got a case, yeah?” He doesn’t bother hiding his indignation.
“Great! Knew we could count on you, Brett.” Nelson pats him on the shoulder.
“Yeah. Yeah. Now, get the fuck out, so I can get back to work.”
———
“And you’re sure, Daredevil doesn’t have anything to do with any of this?” Foggy insists, eyes glued onto his best friend.
They’ve just made it back into their firm, now putting their coats away. Matt breathes out from his nose, sounding similar to a bull.
“I’m certain, actually. Daredevil has been dealing with a drug cartel this past week.” Matt grits out, his knuckles white from the iron grip he has on his cane.
“Even then, no one has that kind of style. Wrapping evidence into an envelope, sending it to the police station without a single word, vigilantes don’t exactly… mingle well with officers.” Karen mutters out, eyes running over her notes for the twentieth time.
“Right, right. Then, what if it’s a new guy? I looked it up on my phone earlier, apparently other places have been driving up a storm from the sudden arrests of people. Police got their hands full.” Foggy perks up.
“The media’s already on it? Does it say anything about trafficking?”
“Well, it’s pretty vague, doubt they have the full picture. No mentions of any particular crimes, aside from theories, but no solid proof to back them up.”
Both men turn to Karen. She moves her eyes away from her notes, eyeing them both, before she sighs, exasperated.
“I’ll see what I can find.” She mumbles, before she falls into her mode, where she finds a new topic to cover and absolutely nothing can get in her way.
Knowing she won’t be back for another few hours, Foggy turns to Murdock.
“What about the other guys? Did they say anything?”
It takes him a moment to understand what Foggy means. Matt’s hand fiddles with the end of his grey scarf, as he raises an eyebrow.
“We’re not exactly on terms, where we meet up every weekend.”
Hell, it’s been months, since he’s last heard from any of them. It isn’t like they had willingly worked together, more of a ‘backed into a corner’ situation.
Jessica had barged into his office that time, huffing in annoyance, since the client they were representing was also the man she was hired to investigate. It was a whole ordeal and overall, a pain in his ass.
Their so-called meetup ended with a ‘Go fuck yourself, Murdock’ reciprocated with ‘Right back at you, Jones’.
“Really? I thought you’d all have like a super-secret-vigilante-hang-out-party every weekend and have some hotpot. Catch up, you know?” Foggy waves his hands around, enthusiastic about his fantasy.
Matt barks out a laugh.
“I can assure you, we don’t. But… I’ll consider contacting them.”
“Hm. You guys should so do that, though. In the meantime, I have a few calls to make with some nice folks.” Foggy sighs, as he plops down onto his chair.
Though Matt simply smiles sympathetically, he can’t help the persistent curiosity that purrs at him to find whoever is behind this.
Someone who’s clearly experienced and knows what they’re doing. Who is able to drag out every bit of intel without being seen.
They clearly aren’t limited to Hell’s Kitchen, if other places have also been touched by this individual. If it’s even the same guy, but Matt’s guts are telling him so. Everyone always did tell him to go with his gut.
He doesn’t recall even hearing any potential vigilante, or a foreign presence, while out as the Devil.
Which could mean an abundance of things.
Right now, they don’t seem to have any ill intent, but is it merely a façade for something more sinister?
So intriguing….
Matt Murdock is an ambitious man, and when something catches his eye, metaphorically, he can’t help but not let it go, and to pursue after it.
———
His head jerks, when he hears incoming footsteps and three frantic paced heartbeats. Automatically, he steps closer to the entrance of his office, looming over the frame.
A young woman opens the door, skepticism evident in her eyes and Karen is snapped out of her tunnel vision. She stands up, mirroring that of a rookie in the military, and walks around her desk.
“Hello! Welcome to Nelson, Murdock & Page!” She greets, while fumbling to dust off her pencil skirt.
The woman doesn’t answer, instead, her eyes skim the room, her body leans heavily against the door, before she settles on the closed one that leads to Foggy’s office.
“This… is a firm…? There are lawyers here?” She talks, almost robotically. A light accent accompanies her words.
“Yes, there are, though my partner is currently occupied with a phone call at the moment. Is there anything we can assist you with?” Matt intervenes, cane held comfortably in between his hands.
The woman licks her lips, casts a final glance, before she widens the door open, and two others walk past to enter the cramped room. A teenage girl and a young boy who can’t be any more than ten.
The girl holds her brother, protectively in her arms, as she sticks closely to her mother’s side. The little boy has wide blue eyes, but it doesn’t hold that layer a kid would have.
Karen shifts in place, uncomfortable, as the little family shuffle away from the door.
“We…” The teenage girl begins, her hold around her brother tightens. “We were hoping to get some… legal advice or, uh, something like that…” She chokes on a shaky breath, teeth worrying her chapped lip.
Karen stares at Matt, waiting for him to answer. He does that head movement, like a half-nod.
“Right, of course. Why don’t we settle into my office, if that’s alright?” He jerks his head behind him.
He can’t see it, but the mother is holding a challenging stare, still suspicious and unfamiliar. Karen smiles warmly, as a peace offering, and after a tense second, they all reluctantly agree.
She knocks on Foggy’s office to notify him, as Matt settles the three of them with extra chairs. He doesn’t question it, when the young parent quickly snatches each chair handed to her, from his, clearly trying to maintain a safe distance.
Matt understands that feeling, and he deeply sympathizes with her.
Once everyone is seated, Foggy shuts the door and Karen sets up the recorder at the end of the table. The mother caresses her daughter’s hand away from their view, under the table, as she nods encouragingly.
“Is it alright if we record this session? No one else can listen to this, but us. This is just in case we need to go over again, for a detail or…”
“If no one else can, then… It’s— it’s okay.” The girl mutters out, head tilted downwards.
It’s a lie, she clearly isn’t alright with any of this. Matt frowns, but quickly covers it, with a neutral expression.
“Alright,” Karen presses to record. “May we ask for your names?” She politely starts, with a tense upturn of her lips.
The girl hesitates, as she exhales a suffocating breath, before she glances up at Karen.
“I’m… I’m Clara Mahrez, this is my brother Liam and my mother Sarah.” She points to each individual, as she names them.
Clara shifts in her seat, agitated, but also because of something else. Her back is barely arched, there’s the faintest taste of iron that’s emitting from her, but with every movement, he hears the way gauze also adjusts.
“We— We wanted to talk about the, uh, trafficking case. The one from Queens. You’ve heard of it, right? The media hasn’t really caught wind of it, yet, but you’re all lawyers so—“
“Yes, we’re aware. We have connections, so we have a general idea.” Matt gently cuts her off, and Clara nods stiffly.
“Yeah. Yeah… Of course. Uh. Me and Liam, we— We were some of the victims there, that were going— going to get so… sold off.” She whispers in a strained tone, blinking back tears before they have the opportunity to fall.
“I’m sorry you had to go through such a traumatic experience. I’m glad you’re both safe, now.” Karen bows her head, and Liam shrinks into his sister’s frame.
The room experiences a moment of heavy silence, as Sarah fetches a patch of tissues from her purse, for her daughter.
“I— We—“ Clara stutters under chocked sobs, as she takes a deep breath. “We don’t really know what to do. I mean, maybe it’s silly, but the police haven’t said much aside that they are still capturing all the people involved, and we don’t really have much money…”
“And so, you came here for some tips on what to do?” Foggy finishes for her and she nods again.
“They haven’t given you any instructions to follow, or anything?”
She shakes her head.
“Not much, anyways… Since they’re overwhelmed with all of this… We weren’t really told on what to do…” She bites the inner part of her cheek, before focusing on the bookshelf that sits in the corner of the room.
Foggy clasps his hands together, as he thinks for a moment.
“Well, there are many options you can go for. First of all, you can file a restraining order for all of the traffickers, though if we’re being honest, they’re pretty limited with effectiveness...”
They keep at it, back and forth for about two hours.
Sarah is hesitant with what to do, about what the correct choices would be. Understandably so, she’s scavenging for the best for her children, with the limited knowledge and resources she possesses.
Foggy continues to gently guide them to the best options they could go for.
It’s a long process, the family would sometimes apologize for taking up their time, but Matt would reassure them that it was alright.
They take all the time needed to explain each step, to paint a better picture of the whole situation, adding little lights to their dark tunnel.
It’s gone to the point where Liam isn’t as scared anymore, Sarah seems comfortable that she absentmindedly sags on her chair, and Clara is looking at them in the eyes with a sense of relief.
They don’t make a final decision right away, in fact, they decide it’d be best to talk it between them again. Include the father in, who’s working hard to keep a roof over their heads, despite wanting to be here to comfort his family, to protect them.
They all agree, and Karen puts them at ease; tells them that they are absolutely welcome to come back, if they have any more questions or have made a final choice. She hands them a business card, suggests calling, if it’s more convenient for them.
At some point, when it seems like they’ve gone through the necessities, Clara feels safe enough, that she recounts a little of their story.
How they ended up in the circle. How she and Liam were walking home from school, the sun was setting, and they had just finished their after-school activities.
It was a typical day, like any other. Finished at the same time, headed home like usual, took the same route; nothing out of the ordinary.
They were debating about what to make for dinner, since mom and dad wouldn’t be home till late.
“The more I think about it… I remember, I had this feeling in the back of my mind that something was… off. But I just tried to ignore it, I thought— I thought it was all in my head, that it was nothing.” Her voice shakes.
She’s clearly angry with herself, probably blaming herself too. Her hands are clenched so tight, they’re white, a ghostly white.
She had even casted a glance behind her shoulder, but there was nothing to be suspicious of. However, that gnawing dread persisted, and she subtly hurried her steps, dragging Liam closer to her, who gave a questioning look.
As they passed by an alley, she felt pressure surround her throat, as an arm dragged her away from the public view.
Liam had ran after her, trying to protect his sister, but being a six-year-old doesn’t help the case. As Clara trashed in her capture’s hold, the little boy tried scratching and biting the arm around her torso.
Ultimately, he got hit in the head by another goon, with a baseball bat, knocking him out cold. Clara had screamed, eyes the size of dinner plates, when she saw the blood oozing out of her brother, splattering the wall, before she felt a cloth over her face.
She tried to avoid the chemicals, but the need for air peaked and everything had turned black.
Liam has a scar now, just above his ear, where he had taken the blow. He has trouble with speaking and has a poor memory. An adjustment that left Sarah breaking down to her knees, while her husband drowned himself in a spiral of guilt.
When they had woken up, they were already tied up and left in a dark room with other children, who were in a similar state as them.
They avoid the horror they went through, during their captivity and no one pushes.
Instead, the younger kid lights up, when he starts talking about how, one night, they heard quiet shuffling from outside and suddenly the door broke down, like nothing, and this masked figure appeared and saved them.
God has funny timing.
“And they didn’t say anything?” Foggy inquires, interested.
Liam shakes his head, a little grin on his face —dimples and a missing tooth showing— as he tells them that he held the person’s hand, as they were guided to the station.
Was one of the memories his brain had held onto. Though, small details were washed away, all the senses made up for it.
“And when we looked back, boom! Gone, like a magician!” His voice cracks at the end.
He shakes his arms around for added effect, and Foggy gasps dramatically. Liam seems proud of his storytelling skills.
“Did they ever show any signs of hostility? That you felt as though there was something behind all of this?” Karen asks.
Both siblings shake their heads, Liam more so enthusiastically. Clara adjusts the sleeves of her purple hoodie and tucks a couple of loose strands of black hair behind her ear.
“They… were wearing casual clothes, I mean, aside from a mask—“
“A really cool mask!” Liam jumps in and his older sister pats his head.
“Honestly, they didn’t look all that… strong. But— the people we passed, how they were unconscious— Most of them were bigger, muscular. I still have trouble believing that they were responsible for it. I mean, it had to be them, since no one else was there.”
Karen is back to scribbling on a separate booklet from her main one, as the lawyers string out more details with a couple more questions.
“Wait— So, they gave you guys a package? And it had all the evidence and stuff?”
“Well, I guess so. We didn’t really know what it was, didn’t ask, just sorta knew what they wanted us to do with it.” She shrugs.
As the interrogation continues in for a few more minutes, Matt can hear the voice of the Devil in the back of his mind.
———
“Thank you all again, for your help.” Sarah bows for the third time, hands gently holding onto Karen’s.
The tan skin is overall soft, bumpy from wrinkles at the dorsal, rough with calluses on the tips of her fingers, blunt nails nicely trimmed, and her hold is wobbly. She radiates with warmth and a mother’s love and devotion.
“As we’ve said, we’re glad we were able to help you.”
Karen zips her jacket, as she wraps her scarf comfortably around her. Foggy adjusts his hat, as Sarah takes Clara’s place with carrying Liam, who is now asleep. His head is tucked into her neck, quiet snores falling from him.
Foggy glances behind him, sighing at the pitiful sight of Matthew Murdock working in his office, a poorly lit room.
“You sure you don’t want to tag along, with us? You sure look depressing like that.” Foggy pipes up, as he leans against Matt’s door.
He snorts, fondly rolling his eyes.
“I’m sure. I just need to wrap a few things up, before I head out.” He smiles, as he hears Foggy groan, understanding the hidden meaning behind his words.
He looks behind him, Karen is distracting their clients, before leaning forward with a hushed tone, under his breath, so no one else but Murdock hears it. Not that he really needs to get close, in the first place.
“Are you going to try and find them?”
Matt pauses in his braille reading, tilts his head, and his smile grows into an unashamed grin.
“We’ll see.”
Since it’s dark outside, and Queens is a decent walk from Hell’s Kitchen, especially in the street the family lives in, both Foggy and Karen have volunteered to accompany them home, just to put their minds at ease, despite the initial protests.
Foggy sighs, pulls away from the frame and heads to the exit. His partner gets up and follows behind, listening as they start to trail down the hallway.
“See you tomorrow, then.”
“Don’t do anything stupid!” Foggy whisper shouts.
He waves goodbye at them, closing the door behind. He allows himself to relax a little and listens to their footsteps. He snorts, as he can hear his partner recounting stories, Matthew has had the luxury of hearing hundreds of times before.
He retreats back into his office, the space mostly dark, with almost all of the lights closed now. Not like he needs them, anyways. Saves money on their electricity bills.
Matt leans against his desk, with a tired sigh, when he can’t hear the group anymore. He massages the bridge of his nose, as he sets his glasses down.
His hearing range is spacious, practically engulfing the entirety of Hell’s Kitchen if he really strains. It’s rare for anything to get past the Devil’s nose or ears.
Yet, he doesn’t recall ever sensing a new presence, not one that would grip onto his attention, at least.
Which could mean a number of things.
He really doesn’t like any of them.
But things are never as easy as he wants them to be. God seems to really drag him into new headache-inducing challenges.
With a newfound energy, he sits back down and finishes his work.