The Purple Man
Daredevil and related characters belong to Marvel Comics.
Other Marvel Re-Imagined titles can be found here.
Rating: T+ (for references to violence; covering my bases)
“Matt, Jesus, what the duck happened?” Foggy asked as Matt fell in, breathing heavily and bleeding from his lip. He’d only left with Urich about four hours ago and he’d been fine then. As he hung Matt’s arm around his shoulder and carried his friend inside, Foggy couldn’t think of what could possibly have happened in those four hours.
“I don’t know, but I could smell Karen,” Matt said. Foggy placed him on the couch and ran into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. He hadn’t even taken the costume with him and Matt was more than capable of fighting off muggers. Examining a glass, Foggy could see a chip on the edge. He put it back and took out another, even worse-off glass. Thing looked as if someone had tried crushing it with their hand. Pulling out the chipped glass again he filled it with tap water. No time to make a coffee and water would be better anyway.
“You’re not thinking straight,” he said, handing Matt the glass. Matt stretched out his hand to grab it, but Foggy had to take Matt’s hand with his own to help his friend even find a hold on the glass. The glass reached his lips and the water fell down Matt’s throat. His hold on the glass seemed feeble, but Matt hung onto it long enough for Foggy to take it back.
“I know what I smelled Foggy and he smelled like Karen,” he repeated, taking a deep breath. “He uses mind control and he’s out there right now.”
He wasn’t sure what he should do. The last time he’d let Matt dress up in that costume he, Foggy, had been drugged and almost killed. Those were, if not quite normal, average mobsters. If Matt was right, this was on a completely different level; whoever this was could have an army at his feet. There could be no New York if what he’d had done to Matt was proof of his plans. Sighing, Foggy walked towards the box near the TV. Not the most inconspicuous place ever and Karen had even asked about it on the bus back from the bar four hours earlier. Whoever it was had either beaten up Matt himself or controlled someone else to do it; he shivered at the thought of what might have happened to Urich. Foggy took the box and carried it back over to Matt.
“Look, before you put this on again I want to ask you to do something, Matt.”
“Sure,” he replied, finding the box without much difficulty but an expression of pain etched into his face. Foggy winced; if Matt really was thinking straight he’d probably leave this person to Yellowjacket or someone else. He’d clearly been battered enough that day.
“I just want you to think about why you’re Daredevil,” he said, undoing the top button of his shirt and letting his neck get a bit of air. Foggy wiped his forehead of sweat. “Are you doing this because you want to bring about some justice, or are you doing this to prove something to yourself?”
Matt pulled the red mask over his face. Foggy nodded, even though Matt couldn’t see. Should that be Daredevil, now? Whoever Matt had been was covered in red and black cloth, light and breathable but unmistakably anonymous. Glasses lay on the couch next to him. This wasn’t a blind lawyer with a debater’s tongue; this was a crimson shadow fashioned by Matt but drawn by Foggy. It actually looked better than it did on paper, but anything would be better than drunken scribbles.
“I’ll tell you when I get back.”
To Be Continued.