𝖥𝖨𝖲𝖪.

Dispose of the body Wesley, and have my table reservation ready by four.

Summer Fever.

Due to a recent assault on my life, but that mysterious girl again, The Gala will unfortunately be pushed the following weekend.

Boo hoo.

“Before we know it, New York will be a fascist city with a 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙬 of nine at night. .

. .we, Nelson & Murdock, can spin this. Can 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙥 you. In turn, help 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙔𝙤𝙧𝙠 from being under the boot of 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙁𝙞𝙨𝙠.”

“We are trying to do, is protect you from whatever weight Fisk 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙨 to throw at you. You leave now, disappear, you put a sour taste in everyone’s mouth that people with 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 can come and go as they please. Hurt who they want, do what they want.”

Hm.

Ah, so be it. I’ll have security escort you out.

Boring. Is your display done? Must you all have so much bravado and flare?

Speak. Before I lose interest.

Good. That is the intention. Break into my private office, be shot. It is as simple as that, it is not the fault of the hunter that the deer does not see them. Nor is it the fault of mine that the idiot cannot read.

Are all of you as dumb as you look?

The next person to break into my office and attempt to lecture me will be shot.

“That their heroes - - their Meta - Humans, all of them, are worthless. And no matter their 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 or 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙧 the impose on the city - - Wilson Fisk will be here to 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩 them.”

“I don’t even 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 who you are.” Security came crashing in, quicker this time due to updates of their last encounter. Fisk tossed her aside as if she were garbage - - in his mind she was. “Take her. Wesley, prep me for a press release. New York needs to see this. They need to know.”

“Weak.” He spits. Fixing his collar. “The worst part about all of this. .” Wilson bends down, his large ape like hand grabbing her by the throat. Lifting the smaller child with ease - - as if she were nothing, meant nothing.

Busy, busy.

“I don’t care.” Stepping forward, arm up to come down upon her.

Quickly, two fist - - like hurricanes clashing together, smash down upon the device. Cracking with the power of an angered soul.

“𝙉𝙤𝙬. Shall 𝙬𝙚 continue?”

“Have you come to ruin your reputation more? Or to practice your stand up? Decide quickly. I have much to do today.” Remove his jacket ever so gently, folding it with care - - then placing it upon his desk.

“Is none of this beneath you? The yapping, the contestant need for attention, to be something you’re not?” Standing. Larger. Taller. Fixing his suit at its wrist. “So pathetic.”

Her teleportation to his desk scatters paperwork and pens to opposing directions. Tussling the neat tight that hung around his neck - - which he so calmly fixed as he sighed.

“You don’t know when to quit. I’ll give you that. But again I ask, have you thought any of this through?”

Ah, so be it.

I beg you to not do this all over again.

So that will be two assault charges then?

You must live a sad life then if your goal is to ruin another. Unlike mine, where I had created the Better Hell’s Kitchen project. Which you seemingly destroyed - - but I see that does not matter to you. Nor did the men that you nearly paralyzed. So violent, so ill.

“I think it’s time you left.”

My mother was a saint.

| I promise 😭 I’m legit reading a DD reading guide to understand him and Matt haha