Clark Kent (
stands_for_hope) wrote2015-06-01 10:49 pm
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Clark and Karen | Continuation Thread
The problem with organized crime was that when a leader fell, all it did was create a power vacuum. Criminals were people as much as anyone else, and amongst them were people who wanted to climb to the top and others that desperately wanted someone to tell them what to do and how to succeed.
With the damage done by the Battle of New York and the 'war' that had been waged between the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the now-unmasked Wilton Fisk, the field had been left ripe for the picking in more than one way and the cream of the crop of the organized crime syndicates had noticed.
Bruno Mannheim didn't even try to play the philanthropist. No, he was there for one reason and one reason only: easy pickings. And that was why it was getting increasingly dangerous out there for the uniformed crime fighters... and their non-uniformed vigilante assistants. Criminals with guns that reminded them more of the kind of weapons the Chitauri had brought with them. Criminals with allies in other towns, alibis in other places. Nasty on all levels.
Which was why Clark came home that night and headed for his laptop instead of his favorite book. It seemed this journalist was going to have some work cut out for him after all here in New York.
With the damage done by the Battle of New York and the 'war' that had been waged between the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the now-unmasked Wilton Fisk, the field had been left ripe for the picking in more than one way and the cream of the crop of the organized crime syndicates had noticed.
Bruno Mannheim didn't even try to play the philanthropist. No, he was there for one reason and one reason only: easy pickings. And that was why it was getting increasingly dangerous out there for the uniformed crime fighters... and their non-uniformed vigilante assistants. Criminals with guns that reminded them more of the kind of weapons the Chitauri had brought with them. Criminals with allies in other towns, alibis in other places. Nasty on all levels.
Which was why Clark came home that night and headed for his laptop instead of his favorite book. It seemed this journalist was going to have some work cut out for him after all here in New York.
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"Karen? Do you need me to get the first aid?"
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"No apologies necessary. I'm not the one bleeding."
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She looked up to him with sad eyes, and tried to shake it off. "I'm a mess," she reiterated.
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"You're hurting. And that means you need a little extra help. That's all."
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He couldn't even imagine how he'd feel if he had to take a life.
He reached down and carefully tilted her head up so that he could see her face, look her in the eyes, show her.
"It's okay. It's going to be okay."
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"No, no...no, it won't, it can't," she manages to say though she can feel the sobs beginning.
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"It can and it will."
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She is holding to him tightly, keeping him close to herself out of greed, and need. "I don't know," she said softly, "I don't know."
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"Karen," he said slowly, "you're sitting here, weeping in my arms, deeply unhappy with what you did. That isn't the action of an unrepentant killer. It's the way someone reacts when they've had something terrible happen to them, when they made decisions they aren't happy with but thought were necessary... when a good person was too scared to make a good decision.
"If there's anything forgivable, it's that."
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"That's not an answer, Karen."
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"And you can do what you want. Just like I can say what I want. I'm not stopping you."
And he stepped back, shifting over towards where he'd been doing the prep.
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