Arcane

The sound of voices stirs me from my sleep. I groggily open my eyes to a bright light above me. My head is pounding along with sharp, adamant pains in my stomach. The lore of sleep slowly seduced me, tugging at the weakest parts of my body. I raise my hand to grasp my head, only for it to fall short due to leather restraints bound to my wrists. This sends me in a panic, I abruptly sit up, but am forced back against the rough mattress that I am currently on. A leather strap travels along my chest, binding me to the bed. I begin to struggle under the restraints, attempting an escape, but to no avail.
My head jolts up as someone dares to open their mouth, "guys she's awake." A blonde woman stares me down, fear glinting in her eyes. Her hair is tied back in a pony while she wears a pencil skirt dress. Two men stand on either side of her. The bed is angled upward so I'm sitting up to an extent, able to face the people in the room without strain. An unfamiliar man turns my way, his face round with shaggy hair ending just above his shoulders. The more I ponder on the two, they do seem somewhat familiar, to be honest, I just can't place it at the moment. The only familiar face in the room is Matthew Murdock, so these must be his associates.
"Ah, Diana- glad to see you're awake. These are my co-workers: Franklin Nelson and Karen Page. As I said yesterday, we are here to help you and your case, although getting into altercations with law enforcement officers does not aid us in any way," Matthew says, deadpan.
That's when I remember what happened and why I'm currently in a hospital. The blood that dripped from my body, staining the floor of my cell crimson. The feeling of helplessness crept up my spine as I slowly drifted into darkness. I slightly shudder at the thought. Even still, it takes me a minute to fully register what the man said. The way he said it, was almost as if he blamed me for the incident. As if I was the one who started the fight.
"And what is it that you know about the altercation, as you put it," I say coldly. The other two in the room remain silent, watching as Matthew fearlessly inches closer.
"From what I was told, you were caught attempting to escape by two officers whom you then maimed and attacked to which they stabbed you, in self-defense."
I scoff lightly, raking my tongue over my teeth. Of course. Those cowards couldn't finish the job so they had to fabricate the story, making it seem as if they were the heroes of the day. No matter what I do, I always end up being the one to take the fall. I speak up, staring at Matthew's cane, his hands clamped around it tightly. "Well, then I guess you heard right, what a shame I wasn't able to cut their throats out, no doubt they deserved it," I say, tightening my jaw. What a fool I was to think anyone would want to help me. Matthew was right in a sense, someone is pulling my strings, but I highly doubt he will be the one to terminate the puppeteer. So why not play into the rumors? There was no footage of the fight, and It's me against two cops. My grave was dug the minute I stepped into the precinct.
Mr. Murdock's knuckles grow white as his grip around his cane intensifies. The woman's mouth falls open while her eyes glisten with repulsion. "Matt why are we-" Franklin speaks up, concern dripping over his words.
"No, hold on Foggy," he replies, cutting his friend off. His tongue rakes over his lips before he parts them, "and where was this aggression yesterday? We all know the rumors of the skills you possess. You could have easily killed anyone in the precinct at any point in time, yet you walked in willingly."
My breathing begins to escalate, I don't take pride in the skills I have. They are more of a nuisance than anything, a constant reminder that I am Fisk's and Fisk's alone. A reminder of everything I've lost. The thought of people cowering at my name should bring me some sort of comfort but it doesn't. I change the subject, guiding the conversation away from a topic I'd much rather keep left alone. "This case is a lost cause, better you relinquish yourselves from it instead of wasting your time."
"Not necessarily," Foggy speaks up, more timidly than anything. "You haven't been charged with any crimes yet which means they have no evidence against you."
While it is true that I've been careful with every murder I've committed, the news leaves me slightly dumbfounded. They know it was me that committed countless murders, yet they don't possess any evidence? Not a single recording of me doing any crimes? No DNA? No murder weapons? Nothing? If I wasn't me I'd consider this a bit of luck, but as fate would have it, it could mean something else entirely.
"Theoretically, you could walk out of here a free woman. Though this case is being heavily followed by the press so the D.A is doing everything in her power to charge you with something," Foggy continues.
I stay silent, taking in the information I just received. Would I be free? Of course not, I think, shoving the thought of freedom to the depths of my mind. Maybe someday I can free myself from Fisk's grasp, but I can never truly be free of my past. I can never be free from the ghosts that haunt me every day.
"And what of me then? My employer will surely find me, kill- taking matters into his own hands," I correct myself. A coldness creeps down my spine as I recall his brutality with a certain Russian. I do my best not to show any signs of fear around them.
"We can get you protection," Matt says firmly.
I laugh slightly, wincing as a newfound pain erupts from my stomach. "There is no protection from him, especially not for me. He will do everything in his power to find me. I know too much," I say quietly.
"Then why hasn't he tried yet?" Questions Foggy.
My lips form a straight line as my gaze travels to my covers. "He has connections everywhere. He knows exactly where I am and even still I am at his mercy." I try to hint at the two cops being connected to him, but I think it falls short.
Matt's head tilts as his eyebrows furrow. "Wait is-" he licks his lips once more, shifting his weight onto one leg. "Are you saying that you're in here because of Fisk? That the cops are connected to him?" Clever, that one. Maybe I can work around the ties Wilson has within my head to communicate with them.
Almost like clockwork, voices erupt within my head, screeching at me to not answer the questions. This time though, I don't easily succumb to them. I try my best to fight against it. It's been days since my last recalibration, the effects should start to wear soon. "Possibly," is all I can say through gritted teeth. Naturally, I should be furious with myself for only being able to get out one word, but in truth, it's a step forward. A small step, but a step nonetheless.
"If that's true then why did you agree to the fabricated story?" Matt inquires.
"I've learned to accept the things people say about me, no one cares for what I have to say anyway." I stare through the group in front of me, vast images appearing in my mind. Some were of Victor beating me every time I dared to speak. Others were of Fisk, whipping my back until I learned not to defy his rule.
"We care," Matt says solemnly. "We wouldn't be here if we didn't care for your side of the story." Foggy and Karen share a look, something tells me they don't see things the same way as Matt.
The words float throughout my body like a butterfly taking its first flight. It's been seven years since someone's treated me with such kindness. What I'm feeling is foreign and I can't quite decide if I welcome it or not. While the feeling is refreshing, I am grounded by the thought of what Fisk will do to them. If he assumes I talked, he'll kill them mercilessly. Hell, he'd probably have them killed just for trying to help me. The thought of the brutality that Fisk possesses is enough to send goosebumps all over my body.
"You only have twenty-four hours left before they have to release you, assuming they don't charge you for anything. Make it through that and we can tackle the next big problem as it comes," Karen says, attempting to reassure me. I must've let a sign of fear slip out.
I nod in return. I watch as Foggy and Karen file out of the room, Matt staying put. "I'll be back later, and when I do, I'd appreciate it if you stop lying," he says, adjusting his glasses.
"And what is it that I'm lying about?"
"You're not a bad person, that is clear. You put up this facade to make it seem as if you're untouchable, that you're this unmovable force that words cannot touch. While in reality you're drowning, attempting to cling onto anything you can so you can stay afloat. Each terrible thing you do chips away at your soul, leaving you empty and hopeless. You don't believe things can change but that's where you're wrong. They will, you will receive the help you need. I'll make sure of it," he says more to himself before exiting the room to join his friends.
His words hang through my mind, my mouth falling dry. Am I so transparent? The facade I don before others are my way of protecting myself. If I allow others to think that I'm a terrible person, no one will expect anything else from me. They won't expect me to display something I can't provide them. Truth be told, I don't know how much goodness is left within me. It's been beaten out of me over the last seven years. Once Gwen was taken from me, I fell into a dark place that I'm not sure I can ever recover from.
 
Once my legal team left, numerous cops and detectives filtered in and out of my room. Each questioned me about the encounter the previous evening. From the inquiries they held, it was clear that they had enough evidence to convict me of attempted murder of the first degree. I assume that they're waiting on the D.A to make any final moves. My restraints remained tight all day and I could swear it began to cut off my circulation. I was fed my meals with caution.
It has been about 12 hours since my lawyers left, and untrue to his word, Matt never showed back up. Perhaps he is waiting for a later time, but I highly doubt it.
I begin to drift off into sleep when the sound of someone walking into the room causes my head to perk up. I watch as a doctor strolls over to my bed. Sweat glistens on his forward while his hands shake. He's holding a syringe of sorts, his eyes darting around the room. I don't need to be psychic to know what this means. I quickly begin tugging at the leather tightly wrapped around my wrists, attempting to cause some slack. The restraints barely move, even with my strength. The doctor looks into my eyes nervously, muttering something under his breath. My heart begins pounding so hard that it feels as if it is going to break through my chest. Utter terror flows through my veins as I watch the doctor shakily grab the IV tube connected to my arm. I try to yank the tube out of his grasp but fail miserably. He pokes the needle into the tube and presses down, the liquid inside the syringe hurriedly making its way through the tube. The doctor quickly scurries out of the room, taking the syringe with him.
I blink a couple of times as I feel the liquid course through my veins. The strength I possess quickly begins to fade as does the will to move. My limbs fall limp as I become too weak to even move my head. My breathing slows significantly and my eyelids begin to droop. I fight desperately to keep them open, to do something. I don't know what the doctor gave me but it can't be anything good. The battle to keep my eyes open soon becomes too tiresome. As they shut, a man in a suit walks in, the light of the room glaring on his glasses. Shit.
 
Once more I wake up tied to something. This time it's a chair and my hands are bound behind my back. My eyesight is so blurry that I can't make out where I am. I want nothing more to drift into a deep sleep, drowsiness taking over my head. Am I wearing my suit?
"Do you know why you're here?" I feel my breath hitch as a familiar voice boom through the room. I force my head up, my vision clearing just enough to see the large man standing in front of me. This is the moment I've been dreading.
"Mr. Fisk, I've made a mistake please, if you send me back out th-"
I stop abruptly as he swings at my face. Blood instantly begins to trickle down my lip. "I don't want to hear your excuses or your pleas!" He shouts, smacking me across the face once more. My head hangs limp as blood pools in my mouth. "I only kept you alive for one reason. If I would have known how worthless you were going to turn out to be I would've killed you along with your little friend." His words sting my eyes, tears beginning to form. Not for his harsh words, no- for Gwen. I don't dare to let them fall though, one thing I will never give him again is the satisfaction of seeing me weep before him. He lowers his voice, "since no one at the precinct could kill you, I've decided to take matters into my own hands. It only fits the occasion."
He lifts my head only to slam his elbow into it. I cough rapidly as my forehead burns. He backs up, grabbing a metal baseball bat behind him. Through my tear-filled eyes, I can see it shimmer under the light of the room. Such a shame it has to be used for something like this. He swings the bat into the side of my head, stars forming before my sight instantly. Once more, my head falls limp as I struggle to stay conscious. I spit the blood out of my mouth, aiming it toward Fisk. I know I shouldn't have, but I'm going to die anyway, so what's the harm?
He curses under his breath as he brings the bat up once more, this time hitting my stab wounds with all his force. I cry out in pain as the chair I'm in falls to the floor. I let out short coughs, attempting to pull in as much oxygen as I can. He begins hitting me with the bat relentlessly, shouting things I can't understand. My face is bloodied as well as my stomach. My lungs screamed for air as each blow hit my stomach, blinking resulting in more pain than not. I groan on the floor as Fisk stops to catch his breath. I can feel every muscle in my body ache, shouting at me to stop this torture as I inhale.
Even in the state, I'm in I still heard it. The sound of glass shattering in the room causes Fisk to turn immediately toward the source. I'm not sure as to what happened but Fisk moves away from me and toward the source. That's all I need for my eyes to fall shut completely.