[In a flashback, Matt and Stick are on a park bench, eating ice cream]
So what kind of training is this?
Then shut up and eat it. I'll ask the questions. First thing you gotta understand is nobody feels sorry for you and nobody ever will. 'Cause when it comes to being born lucky you won the friggin' lottery.
[Smacks him with his cane] What did I say about questions?
Good. How old were you when you got blinded?
Nine? So you had nine whole years of looking at movies, blue skies, up girlies' skirts that I never had. I was born blind. You don't hear me whining about it, do you?
So, you're nine years old, walking along, minding your own business and whammo! Get hit by a truck, killed dead on the spot.
You lived? Praise God, it's a miracle. So you survive the truck and get this chemical shit in your eyes. What next?
Everything. Coughs and fights and cats meowing. Sometimes blocks away. I can sense things. I know where things are and when they move. But I can't see.
You know what they call stuff like that? Gifts. The special kind. The kind that very few people have. Or deserve.
I never thought of it that way.
Well, that's because you're stupid.
I'm not stupid, I'm smart.
Because you taught yourself how to run your little fingers over the bumps and read Braille? Smart don't come out of books, kid. Smart is making the right decision at the right time. Like now. What's it gonna be, Matty? You gonna spend your life crying and rocking yourself to sleep at night? Or are you gonna dig deep and find out what it takes to reshuffle those cards life dealt you? Your call.
No one's bought me ice cream since my dad died.
[scoffs] Everybody can taste vanilla. Pay a little more attention, use those gifts. You know what you got? [sniffs] Sugar grains, vanilla bean, milk from three different dairies from two states... [licks] ugh... batch of chemicals straight off the periodic tables and... [sniffs] dirt off the guy's hand that served it to you. He spent his morning gardening. Whole world around you, Matty, and it is friggin' huge. And all you need... are the guts to let it in. Try. That dog, what's his story?
He's hungry... his stomach's growling... and he's dying to eat the hot dogs that guy's carrying just upwind of him.
Not bad. What about the girl?
Her skin's... Her skin's too hot. Her heart's beating fast. Is she sick?
Worse. She's in love. And the old man?
And there's nothing you can do about it. Big world, not all of it flowers and sunshine. And the only way guys like you and me can survive is to grab it by the throat and never let go.
[Fisk wants Detective Hoffman to kill his partner Detective Blake so that Blake won't squeal on Fisk]
I know that you have feelings regarding this matter. I respect that. But if Detective Blake chooses to speak out of turn the result would be unpleasant, for you and for me.
CHDetective Carl Hoffman
Out of turn? You shot him!
Technically, we paid someone else to shoot him.
I didn't blow the hell out of the Russians. And I didn't shoot those cops.
So, what? You want me to write your side of this?
No, I want you to expose the man responsible. The man who's tearing this city apart, piece by piece.
Because he doesn't want you to. That's what makes him dangerous. Living in the shadows, no one knowing who he is.
Said the man in the mask.
"You get what you deserve." It's an old saying. One that survived the years, because it's true. For the most part. But not for everyone. Some get more than they deserve. Because they believe they aren't like everyone else. That the rules, the ones people like me and you, the people that work and struggle to live our lives, just live, don't apply to them. That they can do anything and live happily ever after, while the rest of us suffer. They do this from the shadows. Shadows that we cast with our indifference. With a pervasive lack of interest in anything that doesn't directly affect us, we, in the here and now. Or maybe it's just the shadow of weariness. Of how tired we are, struggling to claw our way back to a middle class that no longer exist, because of those who take more than they deserve. And they keep taking, until all that's left for the rest of us is a memory of how it used to be before the corporations and the bottom line decided we didn't matter anymore. But we do. You and I, the people of this city, we still matter. There's someone in Hell's Kitchen that doesn't share this belief. He's been among us for quite some time. You've never heard his name. You've never seen his face. He's stayed in the shadows. Because men like him, men that want to control our city, our lives, fear the light and what it reveals. This man must no longer be allowed to operate in the darkness. If he has nothing to hide, let him step forward.
[Fisk calls a press conference]
I'm not very good at this, out, being in public. But I felt the need to speak up for this city that I love with all my heart. No one should have to live in fear. In fear of madmen who have no regard for who they injure. In fear of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, who has inflicted untold pain and suffering. This masked terrorist and psychopaths of his kind, we must show them we will not bow down to their campaign of coercion and intimidation. We must stand up to them. As this man, my dearest friend, Leland Owlsley, a pillar in the financial community, stood up when he was recently assaulted. But this assault was for no other reason than to send me a message. A message warning me to stop. To give up my dream that I have for this city. A dream of a better place. A place for its citizens to feel safe. To feel pride. I tried to do this quietly, not wanting to draw attention. The last thing I wanted was for anyone close to me to become a target from those who do not share my dream. For those who will have this city stay exactly as it is, mired in poverty and crime. But I know now it was foolish to make that decision. That I can no longer do it alone. That I cannot keep living in the shadows afraid of the light. None of us can. None of us should be forced to. We must do this together. We must resist those who would have us live in fear. My name is Wilson Fisk. And together, we can make this city a better place.
Do you believe in the Devil, Father?
You mean... as a concept?
No. Do you believe he exists? In this world, among us.
You want the short answer or the long one?
When I was in seminary I was more studious than pious, more skeptical than most of my peers. I had this notion which I was more than willing to speak about, at length, to whoever I could corner, that the Devil was inconsequential. Minor figure in the grand scheme.
Not very Catholic of you.
Uh-huh, yeah. In my defense, in the scriptures, the Hebrew word "Satan" actually means "adversary." It's applied to any antagonist. Angels and humans, serpents and kings. Medieval theologians reinterpreted those passages to be about a single monstrous enemy. And, in my youthful zeal, I was certain I knew why: propaganda. Played up to drive people into the church.
So you don't believe he exists.
Years later, I was in Rwanda trying to help local churches provide aid and sanctuary to refugees. I'd become close with the village elder, Gahiji. He and his family had the respect of everybody, Hutu and Tutsi alike. He'd helped them all through famines, disease. The militia liked to force Hutu villagers to murder their neighbors with machetes. But nobody would raise a hand against Gahiji. They said, "Well how can we kill such a holy man?" So the militia commander sent soldiers with orders to cut his head off in front of the entire village. Gahiji didn't try to put up a fight. Just asked for the chance to say goodbye to his family. By the time he was done, even the soldiers didn't wanna kill him. So they went to their commander and asked permission to shoot him. At least give him a quick death. The commander wanted to meet this man who had won the respect of so many. He went to Gahiji. Talked with him in his hut for many hours. Then he dragged him out in front of his village and hacked him to pieces along with his entire family. In that man who took Gahiji's life, I saw the Devil. So yes, Matthew. I believe he walks among us, taking many forms.
I was worried you might've gone out and done something foolish, after our talk this morning.
I haven't done anything. Not yet.
Sounds a bit on the ominous side.
I went to visit someone close to the... close to the Devil. Not to hurt her, just to get a sense of him. Of who he is and what it would take to... do what I have to.
And... what did you learn?
That he has someone he loves... who loves him, who'd mourn his loss.
Mmm-hmm. Few things are absolute, Matthew. Even Lucifer was once an angel. It's why judgment and vengeance... are best left to God. Especially when murder is not in your heart.
I know my soul is damned if I take his life. But if I stand idle, if I... if I let him consume this city, all the people that will suffer and die...
There is a wide gulf between inaction and murder, Matthew. Another man's evil does not make you good. Men have used the atrocities of their enemies to justify their own throughout history. So the question you have to ask yourself is: are you struggling with the fact that you don't want to kill this man but have to? Or that you don't have to kill him but want to?
So, give me an idea what you're after.
Good... art isn't furniture. If you knew exactly what you were looking for, you'd be just decorating. Art should speak to you... move you. [Walks up to a piece] This one, for example. One of my favorite pieces.
Imagine a sea of tonal reds. The color of anger... of rage... but also the color of the heart... of love... hope. This strikes the perfect balance between the two.
I don't know, it sounds aggressive.
All depends on your point of view.
