Hells Messenger

The glow of Fiona’s laptop screen flickered in the dimly lit apartment, illuminating the wall beside her desk, which was now covered in scattered notes, photographs, and pinned-up printouts. Red ink circled names, dates, and addresses, forming a web of connections that she had spent the past week trying to untangle.

This was bigger than she had anticipated.

At first, it had started with rumors,stories of dirty cops turning a blind eye, of officers making evidence disappear and rerouting arrests before they ever reached a holding cell. It wasn’t new. Corruption in Hell’s Kitchen had always existed.

But this felt different. Organized. Deliberate.

She had followed Officer James Connors first, a name she had heard one too many times from sources who had every reason to be afraid of him. A patrol cop with a clean record on paper but a suspicious number of overlooked cases under his belt.

Two nights ago, she had trailed him from his precinct to a bar in Midtown, where she had watched him slip into the back room with men who didn’t look like cops at all. She had snapped a few photos, careful to stay hidden, watching as he shook hands with a man in a gray suit, exchanging something small between them.

A bribe? A payoff?

It was enough to be suspicious but not enough to publish yet. She needed more.

Her fingers moved quickly over her keyboard as she typed up her notes, cross-referencing Connors’ name with unsolved cases, missing reports, and dead-end arrests. The deeper she dug, the more names started appearing, patterns forming, threads tying multiple officers to the same off-the-books operations.

And at the center of it all?

A name that was carefully absent from every report, every document, every leaked tip she had come across.

Who was behind all of this?

Who had enough power to keep this many people quiet?

She chewed on her bottom lip, scanning her notes again, eyes darting over names and locations. She didn’t know it yet, but she was already dangerously close to the answer.

• • • • • • •

Fiona had been excited all day. She and Matt had actually planned something—something that wasn’t last-minute, squeezed into busy schedules, stolen between cases and articles and whatever it was Matt did when he disappeared at night.

It was just drinks, nothing special. But it felt special.

She had wrapped up her work early, and even changed into something a little nicer than usual—not that Matt would see it, but still. It was a date, even if they weren’t calling it that.

But now?

Now she was sitting in her apartment, staring at her phone, her untouched drink sweating on the coffee table. No call. No text. No Matt.

She checked the time again. Two hours.

At first, she had figured he was just caught up with work—maybe a late client, maybe Foggy needed him. He’d always been a little flaky when it came to personal plans. But Matt was never completely unresponsive.

With a sigh, she grabbed her phone and called him.

Straight to voicemail.

She bit her lip, hesitating before leaving a message.

“Hey, Matty, it’s me.” She kept her tone light, casual, like she wasn’t at all sitting here wondering if something had happened to him. “I guess you got busy, or you forgot. It’s fine, really. Just, um—just let me know you’re okay, okay? You don’t have to explain, I just—”

She exhaled, forcing herself not to sound too worried.

“Just call me back when you can.”

She ended the call and set the phone down, trying not to let the unease settle too deep in her chest.

• • • • • • •

Fiona had been staring at her phone for hours, willing it to light up with Matt’s name. Every few minutes, she checked for missed calls, reread their last texts, told herself not to spiral.

When her phone finally rang, she didn’t even check the caller ID before answering.

“Hello?” she said instantly, her voice bright, hopeful, relieved.

“Hey! It’s your favorite big brother.”

Fiona deflated immediately, sinking back against her couch with a sigh. “Oh. Hey, Foggy.”

Foggy groaned dramatically. “Wow. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Sorry, I just—” she stopped herself, forcing a small smile into her voice. “What’s up?”

“Well, since you sound so excited to hear from me,” he teased, “Karen and I are at Josie’s, and you should come join us.”

She hesitated, still glancing at her phone, still torn between worry and frustration.

But maybe a distraction wasn’t the worst idea.

“Okay sure,” she sighed. “I’ll be there soon.”

By the time Fiona walked into Josie’s, the familiar scent of stale beer and old wood already made her feel a little better.

Foggy grinned when he saw her. “Hey, look! It’s my favorite sister.”

“I’m your only sister,” she reminded him, sliding onto the barstool next to Karen.

Karen smiled warmly. “I’m glad you came.”

Fiona returned it, genuinely meaning it. “Me too.”

They settled into easy conversation, drinks in hand, laughter spilling between them as they swapped stories about terrible bosses and Hell’s Kitchen’s never-ending chaos.

Karen nudged her glass toward Fiona’s. “I have to admit, I’ve been a fan of your blog for a while now.”

Fiona perked up. “Wait, really?”

Karen nodded. “Yeah. You write about the stuff no one else does. And you actually care about what happens to people here.”

Fiona smiled, but Karen’s expression shifted—turning a little more serious.

“How do you do it?” Karen asked. “I mean, how do you deal with learning about all the awful things happening? The corruption, the crime, all of it?”

Fiona twirled her glass between her fingers, thinking.

“It’s hard,” she admitted. “Some days, it feels like there’s no point—like the bad guys always win.” She glanced at Karen, voice soft but steady. “But I have to do something. I can’t stop bad things from happening, but I can make sure people know the truth.”

Karen nodded slowly, absorbing her words. Something shifted in her then—like she had been searching for a reason to stay at Nelson & Murdock, to keep fighting, even when it felt like too much.

“Yeah,” Karen said. “I think I needed to hear that.”

Fiona smiled. “Good. Now, let’s order another round, because I definitely need another drink.”

• • • • • • •

The night air was cool against Fiona’s skin as she stepped out of Josie’s, the warm glow of the bar fading behind her. The buzz from the drinks and laughter still lingered, but the moment she was alone again, that familiar feeling of unease crept back in.

She reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone.

No missed calls. No texts.

Her stomach twisted, fingers hovering over Matt’s contact before she pressed it—just to see if he had even read her last message.

Nothing.

Fiona let out a slow breath, telling herself not to overthink it. Matt was busy. Maybe he had fallen asleep. Maybe he had gotten caught up at work. Maybe there was a perfectly good reason why he hadn’t called her back.

But still…

She turned the phone over in her hands before finally tucking it away.

It was probably nothing.

But the worry gnawed at her anyway.

• • • • • • •

The next morning, Fiona woke to a loud knock at her door. She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut against the dull, pounding ache in her skull—the unfortunate consequence of one too many drinks at Josie’s.

Dragging herself out of bed, she didn’t bother checking who it was before pulling open the door.

She blinked in surprise.

"Matt? Oh my god, what happened?"

Her hangover faded into the background the moment she saw the angry bruise forming around his left eye, redder than the rose he was holding—the one she hadn’t even noticed at first.

Matt offered a small, almost sheepish smile. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn’t paying attention last night. My fault."

Fiona sighed, crossing her arms. "You should get one of those dogs."

Matt let out a quiet laugh. "Foggy says the same thing."

"That probably means we’re right," she pointed out.

"Yeah, probably," he admitted before extending the flower toward her. "I, um… I got you this. I wanted to apologize for last night. I should’ve called."

"I called you," she reminded him.

"I know." His voice softened. "I took something for the pain. Must’ve passed out."

Fiona sighed, reaching out to take the rose from his hand. "You shouldn’t have done that. You could’ve had a concussion."

"Yeah, that probably wasn’t my best move," he admitted. He hesitated for a second before asking, "Can I come in?"

She stepped aside, allowing him inside before closing the door behind him. Trailing after him into the kitchen, she set the rose down on the counter.

"I’m glad you can’t actually see me," she muttered. "I probably look like hell."

Matt frowned. "What happened?"

"Foggy opened a tab at Josie’s," she groaned.

Matt let out a low chuckle, reaching for her. She didn’t pull away, letting him wrap his arms around her, and he took that as a sign that he was forgiven.

"My head hurts," she pouted, resting her forehead against his chest.

"Yeah? Want me to bring you something?"

"Yes, please."

Matt laughed again, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "Go sit down. I’ll bring it to you."

Fiona didn’t argue, making her way over to the couch while Matt navigated her apartment with practiced ease. He grabbed aspirin from her bathroom, then stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water before heading back to her.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking them from him before narrowing her eyes playfully. "How do you even know this is aspirin? You could be poisoning me."

"Aspirin has a smell to it," he said simply.

Fiona paused mid-sip. "You can smell aspirin?"

Matt hummed in confirmation, shifting beside her.

She grinned sleepily, curling into his side as his arm came around her. "What does it smell like?"

"Aspirin."

• • • • • • •

Later that day, Fiona walked into Nelson & Murdock, immediately spotting Matt and Foggy standing by the door of Matt’s office.

“Fi! My favorite sister! Come in!” Foggy greeted, his tone far too cheerful.

Fiona narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“Why do you assume I want something?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“So you don’t want anything?” she countered.

“Okay, yes. But really, it’s more of an exchange,” he admitted.

She crossed her arms. “What?”

“Have you ever heard of Confederated Global?” Matt asked, his voice even as always.

“No. Why?”

“A guy stopped by this morning, said he worked for them. Paid us a lot to take on this case,” Foggy explained.

Fiona frowned. “Who’s the guy?”

“Wouldn’t give us his name,” Matt said.

“Okay… what’s the case?”

“Man named John Healy beat another man, Prohaska, to death at a bowling alley with a bowling ball. Claimed it was self-defense,” Foggy explained.

Fiona’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, Prohaska is dead?”

“You know him?” Matt asked, turning his head slightly toward her.

“Heard of him. Just your average local crime lord,” she said. “So what do you need my help with?”

“We need you to look into Confederated Global. Find anything you can that might be useful,” Foggy said. “By tomorrow.”

Fiona scoffed. “And what do I get in return?”

“Inside scoop on a really interesting case for your blog,” he offered.

She shook her head, knowing full well she would have done it for them even without that.

“I’ll see what I can find,” she said.

“I love you,” Foggy said, grinning.

Fiona rolled her eyes as she turned to leave. “Uh-huh. I love you too.”

• • • • • • •

Matt, Karen, and Foggy were still at the office, papers scattered across desks, exhaustion thick in the air as they pushed through another late night. The dim glow from the desk lamps cast long shadows, and the distant hum of the city seeped in through the windows.

When Foggy’s phone finally rang, he scrambled to grab it, answering before the second ring.

“Fi! Please tell me you found something on Confederated Global.”

Fiona sighed on the other end. “Unfortunately, not much. Just that it’s a subsidiary of a holding company of a loan-out to a holding subsidiary, and so on and so forth.”

Foggy groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It took you all day for that?”

Fiona laughed, the sound light, teasing. “I’m gonna let that one slide because I can tell you’re exhausted. But I do have my own job too, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there. Tell Karen and Matt I said hi.”

“Will do,” Foggy said before hanging up, tossing his phone onto the desk with a sigh.

Karen glanced up from her notes. “That sounded promising.”

“Oh, yeah. Super promising,” Foggy said dryly. “Turns out, the company’s just another shell wrapped in a bunch of other shells. It’s like peeling an onion, only at the center is just… more onion.”

Matt smirked faintly, shaking his head. “So we keep digging.”

“Yeah,” Foggy sighed. “And I get another headache.”

• • • • • • •
  
  Fiona stepped into the courthouse, the air thick with quiet conversations, the occasional echo of footsteps bouncing off the marble floors. She scanned the hall until her eyes landed on Matt, sitting calmly on one of the wooden benches.

As soon as she started toward him, his head tilted slightly, his focus shifting in her direction. By the time she reached him, he was already standing, waiting for her like he had known exactly where she would be.

“Matty! Hey, where’s Foggy?” she asked, coming to a stop in front of him.

“Bathroom,” he told her, adjusting his cuffs. “Thanks for coming.”

“Well, I was promised a Nelson & Murdock exclusive,” she said, flashing a teasing smile.

Matt let out a soft laugh. “Still, I like knowing you’ll be there.”

Fiona’s expression softened as she reached up, her fingers adjusting his tie, smoothing down the fabric of his coat. “Well, I know this case will go your way. You two are amazing lawyers. I still remember some of your mock trials at Columbia.”

Matt groaned at the memory. “I still can’t believe you came to those.”

“I mainly just liked seeing you all dressed up,” she teased, letting her hands linger for just a second longer. “I still do.”

Before she could say anything else, Foggy’s voice rang out from down the hall.

“Fiona! Hey!”

She immediately took a step back from Matt, turning to face her brother. “Hey!” she greeted quickly, tucking her hands into her coat pockets.

Foggy barely seemed to notice, more focused on the task at hand. “Matt, you ready?”

“Whenever you are,” Matt said, his tone steady.

Fiona glanced between them, offering a quick smile. “I’ll see you guys inside.”

She turned and walked toward the courtroom, but not before catching the slight smirk on Matt’s face—one she wasn’t entirely sure was meant for her or just a product of him knowing exactly what he was doing to her.

Fiona sat quietly in one of the few occupied pews, her notebook balanced on her lap, pen in hand as she listened intently to the opening statements. The courtroom felt eerily empty, but that wasn’t unusual. Cases like this—ones that didn’t have high-profile names or media attention—often had little public interest.

Still, that didn’t make it any less important.

She scribbled a quick note as Foggy spoke, his voice steady, persuasive, the way it had always been—even back in law school when she used to sit in the back of his mock trials, watching him debate hypothetical cases with the same passion and conviction he was showing now.

“And in the state of New York, I’ll remind you that my client is not required to prove that he was justified in his actions. Instead, it’s up to the prosecution to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he was not justified in defending his life. And they will come nowhere close to meeting this burden. At the end of this case… the only verdict that you can render will be not guilty,” Foggy said confidently, finishing his statement.

She barely registered when the door at the back of the courtroom creaked open, the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching.

But she did notice when a man chose to sit directly beside her. Her pen hesitated over the page.

There were plenty of empty seats. Rows of them, in fact. Yet, for some reason, he had chosen the one right next to her. Fiona glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

He was well-dressed, his suit neatly pressed. He met her gaze, his expression unreadable, but polite.

Feeling the awkwardness of the moment, Fiona offered a small, polite smile—one of those quick, obligatory acknowledgments people give in tight spaces.

The man smiled back, just as polite.

But something about it felt off.

Matt, who had been focusing on the subtle shifts in her heartbeat, noticed the slight but sudden change in its rhythm. Quicker now. Unsteady.

He turned his head slightly, glancing toward her.

That’s when he heard the steady, measured breathing of the man sitting beside her.

And recognized him immediately.

It was the same man who had come to their office.The same one who had paid them a suspiciously high fee to take on John Healy’s defense. Confederated Global.

As the judge banged the gavel, court adjourned for the day. The low murmur of conversation filled the nearly empty room as lawyers packed up their files, and John Healy was led away by the bailiff. Fiona closed her notebook, slipping it into her bag as she rose from her seat.

She had just started toward the exit when she heard someone call her name.

“Miss Nelson.”

She paused, turning to find the man who had sat beside her now standing a few feet away.

He smiled, polite but unreadable. “I hope you don’t mind me introducing myself.”

Fiona straightened, caught a little off guard but keeping her expression friendly. “Not at all.”

“I wanted to say,” the man continued, “I read your blog after your Union Allied piece. Really enjoyed it.”

Fiona blinked, momentarily thrown. “Oh. Uh—thank you. That means a lot.”

His eyes lingered on her for just a second longer than necessary. “You have an impressive way of uncovering things most people overlook.”

Something in his tone made her shift slightly. Compliment or warning? She couldn’t tell.

Before she could ask more, he glanced toward the door. “Well, I should be going.”

Fiona hesitated, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

The man smiled again—the kind of smile that meant he wasn’t going to answer.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Nelson.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving only questions in his wake.

Fiona watched him go, chewing the inside of her cheek.

• • • • • • •

The next day in court, Fiona sat in the back, watching as Matt stepped forward to deliver his closing argument. The air in the room was heavy with anticipation, the quiet hum of shifting papers and restless movements barely breaking the silence.

For a moment, Matt stood still, saying nothing. The pause stretched long enough that people in the room started exchanging glances, wondering what he was waiting for.

"Mr. Murdock, we're waiting," the judge said.

Matt turned his head slightly, as if pulled from a thought. "Sorry, Your Honor."

He turned back to the jury, his voice measured, thoughtful. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, forgive me if I seem distracted. I've been preoccupied of late with, uh… questions of morality—of right and wrong, good and evil. Sometimes the line between the two is sharp. Sometimes it’s blurred. And often, it’s like pornography… you just know it when you see it."

A quiet ripple of laughter moved through the courtroom, Fiona included. The tension in the air eased just slightly.

"A man is dead," Matt continued, his tone sobering again. "I don’t mean to make light of that, but these questions… these questions are vital. Because they tether us to each other. To humanity. But not everyone sees it that way. Not everyone sees the sharp line. Some only see the blur.

"A man is dead," he repeated, his voice softer, more deliberate. "And my client, John Healy, took his life. This is not in dispute. It is a matter of record. A fact. And facts have no moral judgment. They don’t change based on what we think of them, how we feel about them. They just are.

"What was in my client’s heart when he took Mr. Prohaska’s life—whether he is a good man, or something else entirely—is irrelevant. These questions of good and evil, as important as they may be, have no place in a court of law. Only the facts matter.

"My client claims he acted in self-defense. Mr. Prohaska’s associates have refused to make a statement regarding the incident. The only other witness, a frightened young woman, has stated that my client was pleasant and friendly, and that she only saw the struggle with Mr. Prohaska after it had already started.

"Those are the facts. And based on these alone, the prosecution has failed to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client was not acting solely in self-defense. And those, ladies and gentlemen of the jury… are the facts.

"My client, based purely on the sanctity of the law which we’ve all sworn an oath to uphold, must be acquitted of these charges.

"Now, beyond that—beyond these walls—he may well face a judgment of his own making. But here… in this courtroom… the judgment is yours, and yours alone."

The room sat in silence as Matt stepped back, his words hanging in the air.

After what felt like hours of waiting, the courtroom fell into silence as one of the jurors stood and handed the judge a small slip of paper. Every eye in the room was locked on the bench, waiting for what came next.

Fiona shifted slightly in her seat, glancing to her right.

The same man from yesterday had returned. This time, he chose to sit a few chairs away instead of directly beside her. Still, his presence felt deliberate, calculated.

The judge unfolded the note, reading it over before looking up. "Madame Foreperson, it’s my understanding from this note that you have been unable to reach a verdict."

The older woman stood, her hands clasped in front of her. "We have not, Your Honor."

A murmur rippled through the room.

Just like that, Healy was set free.