Blurry Vision ∷ Daredevil; Matthew Murdock

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Chapter 46

Dear Ms. Madera,

I'm inquiring about your time working for Illinois Department of Juvenile Justice (Illinois Youth Center - Chicago). From what I have been able to gather is that you were working along with a Psychiatrist (correct me if I am wrong), yourself being a Sociologist, with a minor in psychology. You were able to turn a lot of bad kids over to the bright side.

Would you be interested in working in New York City's criminal justice branch?

With the percentage of crime in the city steadily growing (vigilantism of course) it would be nice to have someone able to talk some sense into these criminals.

If you are interested, please feel free to contact the NYPD, tell them you want to speak to 'Sargent Brett Mahoney'. Hopefully I will speak to you then.

Signed,
Sargent Brett Mahoney,
27th Precinct,
New York.

P.s. Thank you for bringing in Wade Wilson–he's been a thorn in my side for months.

~~~~~~
Sunday, March 27th, 4:47 am

Someone's watching you...

I let out a soft groan while rolling off my bed and onto the floor. For a moment, I wish my body kept falling, but instead, I'm just met by the cold hardwood floor of my loft comforting my crash. That was a comforting thought to wake up to.

"Have a nice dream?"

"Shit." I hiss, why is my intuition always right at the wrong times? I shoot up, stumble a bit, and finish it off with a glare towards the voice of the Devil through the dawn coated room, "Jesus Christ, don't you ever use a door bell like a regular fucking person?"

"You gave Frank the burner." He states, a bit of hysterics lying in his voice. He finds that amusing to say the least.

"He wanted to talk to you, and I didn't think I would ever really want to call you." My voice is gravely from literally just waking up not even thirty seconds ago, and my body is still working on my shoulder from the other day.

"That had Claire's—"

"No, it had a burner that you gave her. I'm not stupid." I cut him off, muttering the last part under my breath. I walk over to my closet and I grab a sweatshirt out, realizing that I forgot to turn my heat on yesterday when I got home, so it's fucking freezing in here.

"You're bleeding." His voice cuts through the silence and I pause, running my fingers over myself until they fall on my wrist. How did I get cut on my wrist?

I replay what happened yesterday until I grimace remembering how I got not just this cut, but some other ones as well. I ran into a few... 'deals' on my way home yesterday... some asshole had a switchblade.

"Whoever invented the switchblade..." I trail off, shaking my head in annoyance. I hope it stabbed them in the back one day... literally.

"Frank stabbed you?" His voice carries an underlying tone of both disbelief and disapproval.

"What—no!" I snap at him for even suggesting that, "Some assholes grazed me."