"We got two gunshot victims here!"
The doors to the ER burst open, with paramedics and police ushering in two men on stretchers. The charge doctor, a Doctor Patricia Parker, quickly directed the two men into separate triage cubicles.
Dr. Parker yelled at another doctor, a tall blond man in his late 30's, "Kerley! You take the head wound, I've got the multiple!" Doctor Kerley headed into the neighboring cubicle and began work on his patient. Patricia tended to her own patient.
"What've we got?" she asked one of the paramedics who had brought him in.
"Police found these two, along with another they think is the shooter, down in a warehouse on the docks. Looks like four shots from a 9mm at fairly close range."
Dr. Parker looked at the man on the gurney. "Jesus this guy is huge. Any identification on him yet?"
"Don't you recognize him?" the paramedic asked. "He's what's-his-face…Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin of crime."
"Ah, crap. That means if I don't save him, I'll probably end up in the East River. Okay, let's see what we can do." With that, Doctor Parker began barking orders and worked to save the Kingpin's life.
Later that night, Dr. Parker was sitting in the hospital cafeteria, nursing a cup of coffee. Up walked Dr. Kerley, who sat beside her.
"Hey, John," she greeted. "How'd yours go?"
John Kerley sipped his coffee, grimaced at its bitterness, and began adding sugar to it. "Gunshot wound, dead center of the forehead. By all rights, he should have been dead instantly. As it is, he's in a coma with swelling of the brain. Best-case scenario, he'll have some kind of brain damage. Worst case, well…you know."
Patricia nodded. They had both seen plenty of 'worst case scenarios' in their time in the E.R.
John suddenly perked up. "Oh! You know who it was?"
Patricia shook her head. "No, who?"
"That guy Daredevil fought on tv that one time…Bullseye. Buncha warrants out on him. They've got his room guarded six ways to Sunday. Even as a vegetable, you can tell he makes all the cops nervous."
Patricia chuckled. "Yeah, that makes sense in a way. My guy was Wilson Fisk."
"No kidding?" John asked. "Is he gonna make it?"
Dr. Parker nodded. "I think so. Most of the wounds didn't hit anything vital. Except one. X-rays indicated it severed his spine. He's in surgery right now, trying to minimalize the damage. He'll probably end up at least partially paralyzed, though."
John leaned back in his chair. "Wild. You know if they have any suspects yet?"
"Yeah. Third person was at the scene unconscious. He was holding the gun."
John leaned back forward. "Well, who was it? Another costume? That Punisher guy?"
"No," Patricia said. "Guy's name is Murdock. Matt Murdock."
# # # # #
54th Precinct Police Station, Interrogation Room One
Matt Murdock sat quietly at the table, his hands folded on his lap. His mind was trying to distract itself from the events of recent days by losing itself in his super-senses. He was currently using his sense of smell to determine how many different brands of tobacco had been smoked in this room. He was up to 17 when the door opened, and two men walked in.
"Hello, Mister Murdock," the first man said. He was tall and well built, with dark, wavy hair and blue eyes. "I'm Detective Kent, and this is my partner, Detective Wayne." He pointed to his partner, who was a bit shorter and thinner, with straight dark hair, and dark eyes. He just nodded at Murdock.
"I'm pleased to meet the both of you," Matt said very matter-of-factly.
"How are you feeling, Mister Murdock?" Det. Kent asked. "I see we got you bandaged up from your cuts and bruises."
Matt relaxed his concentration for a moment, and felt pain from a dozen wounds slice through him. He quickly regained himself, shutting the pain away again. "I'm…fine, thank you very much."
"Good, good," Kent said with a smile. "Now, we were wondering if you could clear up what happened tonight. With you, Fisk, and Bullseye."
Matt thought for a moment. "Well, I-"
Detective Wayne suddenly slammed his fist on the desk. "Why'd you shoot them, Murdock? Why were you in a warehouse with an assassin and a crimelord?"
"Alleged crimelord," Kent corrected.
"As I began to say before," Matt started again, "I came home from my practice last night to find Bullseye in my apartment. For some reason unknown to me, he beat me unconscious. From there, I assumed he took me to the warehouse where Fisk was. I was unconscious until the police arrived, where I saw Fisk and Bullseye had been shot, and I was holding the gun."
"So why'd you shoot them?" Wayne asked, agitated.
"Detective Wayne…" Det. Kent began to interject.
"I didn't," Matt said.
"But you just admitted you had possession of the gun."
"Only when I awoke."
"Then how did it get there?" Wayne asked.
"Detective Wayne…!" Det. Kent said, more intently.
Matt sighed. "I already told you. I was unconscious. Anyone could have put it there."
"Or you could be lying."
"BRUCE!" Kent yelled, startling the other two men.
Bruce Wayne looked at Kent. "What?!"
Kent pointed at Matt. "He's blind."
Wayne paused for a moment, the wheels in his head obviously spinning. "So? Are you saying a blind man can't fire a gun?"
Matt smiled. "The physical act of shooting a gun, yes. However, it's somewhat difficult for a blind man to see what he's shooting at. I'd guess that's where the term 'firing blind' came from."
Detective Wayne stewed for a bit, then stormed out of the room, leaving Matt Murdock and Detective Clark Kent facing each other from across the table.
Finally, Kent broke the silence. "I'd…like to apologize for Bruce. He gets a little wrapped up in the whole 'good cop/bad cop' routine. He's really a great police officer. He just wants to solve the world of all crime overnight."
Matt was quiet for a moment. "Am I being charged with anything, Detective Kent?" he then asked.
"Not at this time, no. But this is an ongoing investigation, so I do have to ask you to stay in town, as we'll likely need to speak with you again."
Matt and Clark stood up. "Could you lead me out, please, Detective?" Matt hated playing the blind man, but he knew it was necessary to protect his secret identity.
"Not a problem, Mister Murdock." He gently grabbed Matt by the elbow, and walked him to the door. "I'll take you out to the lobby, and we'll call a cab for you."
"Thank you, Detective." Matt halted. "Oh, I have a question if you don't mind?"
"Sure thing, Mister Murdock."
"Were there any more casualties in the area?"
"Nope. Just the three of you. Why?"
Matt shook his head, remembering how Karen Page had leapt off the roof of the warehouse. "No reason. Just curious."
Kent looked at him quizzically. "Do you know of something we don't, Mister Murdock?"
Matt shook his head again. "No. Please…I've had a rough day. I'd just like to go home and rest."
# # # # #
A graveyard on Long Island
The light of day had nearly completely died when the lone female figure surreptitiously snuck up to one of the numerous graves. Storm clouds had been brewing for a good part of the day, and the first heavy drops of rain had begun to fall. This did not seem to disturb the female, as she pulled several items out of a bag she had been carrying. She spread the items around the grave in various spots. She then lit several candles, their flames fighting against the increasing rain, sputtering and hissing their anger at the sky above.
As the mystery woman dipped some kind of brush into a small pot, a flash of lightning suddenly lit up the night. Revealed in the glow of electricity was the woman, Calypso, voodoo mistress and former lover of Kraven the Hunter. As Calypso ran the brush over the name on the tombstone, the thunder from the lightning bolt finally crashed.
*DOOM*
Calypso drew a few symbols on the tombstone then dropped the brush. She immediately threw her hands up into the air, and began gyrating her body in ways that seemed both obscene and unnatural. Her mouth began to utter sounds that sounded like no human mouth could ever form them. Above her, the sky began to flash more frequently, the thunder nearly drowning out her vocalizations.
*DOOM DOOM DOOM*
For several long minutes, she continued. Dancing around the tombstone, speaking an unintelligible language, and occasionally throwing a powder from one of her pots into the air.
Suddenly and without warning, Calypso's muscles seized up and she fell to the ground. Standing behind her, the graveyard's night watchman put his taser back into its holster. He bent down and quickly handcuffed her.
"Lousy hopped-up kids," he said with a bit of disgust. "Damn sky's fallin' on yer head, and yer out here getting' all loopy and defacin' the graves. If I catch a cold 'cause a you, I'll be mighty pissed."
The watchman picked up the dazed Calypso, and steered toward the gatehouse, so he could call the police and get her taken away. As he walked away, he shined his flashlight at the grave in order to make a mental note for the groundskeeper to clean it up the next morning.
"Got it," he thought. "Matthew M. Murdock."
After the two were gone, all was quiet again in the graveyard. The rain continued to fall and the lightning continued to flash. The graveyard's inhabitants gave no protestations to their late-night shower. Then, a small sound could be heard…
'…skritch…skritch…skritch…skritch…'
# # # # #
Two Weeks Later
Leland Owlsley, otherwise known as The Owl, sat on a small examining table. His shirt was off and a doctor was checking his vital signs. Nearby, a small, weaselish man stood, flipping closed a small notebook.
"What's the verdict, Doctor?" Owlsley asked as he put his shirt back on.
The underworld doctor put his spectacles on, and looked at his chart. "Well, the effects of the glider formula that gave you your more…gross…anatomical changes* seem to have been expunged, or at least regressed, from your system. I'm not sure how it will affect your flying ability, though."
* (As shown in Marvel's Daredevil Vol.1 #'s 301-303. ~Jason, who gives a hoot)
"That's fine," Owlsley said. "I'd rather be normal than that freak I had become. And my legs?"
"Well," the doctor began, "there doesn't seem to be any change. You'll still need the braces in order to walk. Perhaps with an intense physical rehabilitation program, you could regain some-"
"Yes, yes," Owlsley interrupted. "I've heard it before." He then turned to the other man in the room. "Anything else to tell me, Bettencourt?"
"Yeah, boss," the man said as he flipped open his notebook again. "The Kingpin apparently had a hit attempted on him. He lived, but still took a bunch of bullets. His condition is still pretty hush-hush, but rumor has it he may have been hurt pretty bad. There've also been some rumors that Hobgoblin guy is rustling up some muscle, perhaps to challenge Fisk. Plus, if Fisk really is weakened, you can assume that there'll be some noise out of the likes of Hammerhead, Silvermane, and the Maggia."
The Owl stood stiffly, his leg braces supporting him and enabling him to walk, if none too gracefully. He began to put on his trademark green jacket. "Hmm, that'll mean a lot of money and firepower being transported around. This could be my chance to reclaim my place in the New York underworld. And I think I have just the idea how to get my foot in the door."
# # # # #
One Week Later
Detective Wayne sat as his desk, looking through the mail that had arrived for him that day. He picked up a manila envelope that had no return address upon it. He opened it, and looked at the piece of paper for a few moments, then a grim smile passed over his lips. He leaned forward across his desk toward Detective Kent, who was at the adjacent desk. "Hey, Clark. When do they take the breathing tube out of Fisk so we can interview him?"
Kent looked up. "Couple days, last I heard. Why?"
Wayne showed Kent the letter he had received. "'Cause if his story coincides with what I just found out here, I think we've got our shooter."
# # # # #
Three Days Later
Matt Murdock had lain low the last month, allowing his body and mind to heal. Daredevil had been given a vacation, and Matt was beginning to feel centered again. He had spent most of the time in his brownstone meditating, and felt the better for it. He had received very few visitors in the last several weeks as the media had found new stories to sensationalize, so he was quite surprised when there came a rapping at his front door. He quickly slipped on his robe and went to answer it.
When he reached the front door, he pressed the intercom button. "Yes? Who is it?" he asked.
"Detectives Wayne and Kent, Mister Murdock."
Matt opened the door. "What may I help you with, detectives?"
"Mister Murdock, you are under arrest for the attempted murders of the assassin known as Bullseye, Wilson Fisk…and for conspiracy in the murder of Foggy Nelson," Detective Kent said as Detective Wayne turned Matt around and slapped a pair of handcuffs on him.
Next Issue: Matt must defend himself from some pretty heinous charges, or else he could end up pressing license plates! Plus, Matt will get some legal help from a very surprising corner! Be here for Daredevil #12, "Justice for All?"
Devilish Thoughts
When I first began visiting M2K, the title I figured I wanted to write was Daredevil. This was just before Logan Polk was announced as getting the title. And boy, am I ever glad that he did get it before me. Logan's run (heh…no pun intended) was one of the most intense I've read here at M2K, if not anywhere.
When I heard that Logan was leaving the title, I had mixed feelings. First was disappointment that I wouldn't get to read any more of Logan's rendition of ol' Hornhead, and excitement that I might get to write the title that I have always looked forward to writing.
All the ideas I had had a couple years ago plus new ones began popping back up, and I sent a proposal to David Wheatley, EiC here at M2K. He accepted them, and I waited patiently for Logan to wrap up his final issue.
Then Logan put out the word that he was going to leave his final issue the way he had finished every other issue of his run…with a cliffhanger and things in a bit of a mess.
Surprisingly, after reading an advance copy of Daredevil #10, it became extremely obvious where this story had to go, and I began to redesign my entire plotline. Logan's finish, instead of being a possible hamper has instead become a springboard to some, at least in my mind, fantastic plot ideas.
So those of you who were fans of Polk's run, stick around. You'll still see his influence both in style and substance. For those of you reading for the first time, stick around also! I guarantee you some twists and turns that will hopefully shock and entertain you.
What can you expect? Why, the unexpected, of course!
~Jason Eberly
December 15, 2003
The doors to the ER burst open, with paramedics and police ushering in two men on stretchers. The charge doctor, a Doctor Patricia Parker, quickly directed the two men into separate triage cubicles.
Dr. Parker yelled at another doctor, a tall blond man in his late 30's, "Kerley! You take the head wound, I've got the multiple!" Doctor Kerley headed into the neighboring cubicle and began work on his patient. Patricia tended to her own patient.
"What've we got?" she asked one of the paramedics who had brought him in.
"Police found these two, along with another they think is the shooter, down in a warehouse on the docks. Looks like four shots from a 9mm at fairly close range."
Dr. Parker looked at the man on the gurney. "Jesus this guy is huge. Any identification on him yet?"
"Don't you recognize him?" the paramedic asked. "He's what's-his-face…Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin of crime."
"Ah, crap. That means if I don't save him, I'll probably end up in the East River. Okay, let's see what we can do." With that, Doctor Parker began barking orders and worked to save the Kingpin's life.
Later that night, Dr. Parker was sitting in the hospital cafeteria, nursing a cup of coffee. Up walked Dr. Kerley, who sat beside her.
"Hey, John," she greeted. "How'd yours go?"
John Kerley sipped his coffee, grimaced at its bitterness, and began adding sugar to it. "Gunshot wound, dead center of the forehead. By all rights, he should have been dead instantly. As it is, he's in a coma with swelling of the brain. Best-case scenario, he'll have some kind of brain damage. Worst case, well…you know."
Patricia nodded. They had both seen plenty of 'worst case scenarios' in their time in the E.R.
John suddenly perked up. "Oh! You know who it was?"
Patricia shook her head. "No, who?"
"That guy Daredevil fought on tv that one time…Bullseye. Buncha warrants out on him. They've got his room guarded six ways to Sunday. Even as a vegetable, you can tell he makes all the cops nervous."
Patricia chuckled. "Yeah, that makes sense in a way. My guy was Wilson Fisk."
"No kidding?" John asked. "Is he gonna make it?"
Dr. Parker nodded. "I think so. Most of the wounds didn't hit anything vital. Except one. X-rays indicated it severed his spine. He's in surgery right now, trying to minimalize the damage. He'll probably end up at least partially paralyzed, though."
John leaned back in his chair. "Wild. You know if they have any suspects yet?"
"Yeah. Third person was at the scene unconscious. He was holding the gun."
John leaned back forward. "Well, who was it? Another costume? That Punisher guy?"
"No," Patricia said. "Guy's name is Murdock. Matt Murdock."
# # # # #
54th Precinct Police Station, Interrogation Room One
Matt Murdock sat quietly at the table, his hands folded on his lap. His mind was trying to distract itself from the events of recent days by losing itself in his super-senses. He was currently using his sense of smell to determine how many different brands of tobacco had been smoked in this room. He was up to 17 when the door opened, and two men walked in.
"Hello, Mister Murdock," the first man said. He was tall and well built, with dark, wavy hair and blue eyes. "I'm Detective Kent, and this is my partner, Detective Wayne." He pointed to his partner, who was a bit shorter and thinner, with straight dark hair, and dark eyes. He just nodded at Murdock.
"I'm pleased to meet the both of you," Matt said very matter-of-factly.
"How are you feeling, Mister Murdock?" Det. Kent asked. "I see we got you bandaged up from your cuts and bruises."
Matt relaxed his concentration for a moment, and felt pain from a dozen wounds slice through him. He quickly regained himself, shutting the pain away again. "I'm…fine, thank you very much."
"Good, good," Kent said with a smile. "Now, we were wondering if you could clear up what happened tonight. With you, Fisk, and Bullseye."
Matt thought for a moment. "Well, I-"
Detective Wayne suddenly slammed his fist on the desk. "Why'd you shoot them, Murdock? Why were you in a warehouse with an assassin and a crimelord?"
"Alleged crimelord," Kent corrected.
"As I began to say before," Matt started again, "I came home from my practice last night to find Bullseye in my apartment. For some reason unknown to me, he beat me unconscious. From there, I assumed he took me to the warehouse where Fisk was. I was unconscious until the police arrived, where I saw Fisk and Bullseye had been shot, and I was holding the gun."
"So why'd you shoot them?" Wayne asked, agitated.
"Detective Wayne…" Det. Kent began to interject.
"I didn't," Matt said.
"But you just admitted you had possession of the gun."
"Only when I awoke."
"Then how did it get there?" Wayne asked.
"Detective Wayne…!" Det. Kent said, more intently.
Matt sighed. "I already told you. I was unconscious. Anyone could have put it there."
"Or you could be lying."
"BRUCE!" Kent yelled, startling the other two men.
Bruce Wayne looked at Kent. "What?!"
Kent pointed at Matt. "He's blind."
Wayne paused for a moment, the wheels in his head obviously spinning. "So? Are you saying a blind man can't fire a gun?"
Matt smiled. "The physical act of shooting a gun, yes. However, it's somewhat difficult for a blind man to see what he's shooting at. I'd guess that's where the term 'firing blind' came from."
Detective Wayne stewed for a bit, then stormed out of the room, leaving Matt Murdock and Detective Clark Kent facing each other from across the table.
Finally, Kent broke the silence. "I'd…like to apologize for Bruce. He gets a little wrapped up in the whole 'good cop/bad cop' routine. He's really a great police officer. He just wants to solve the world of all crime overnight."
Matt was quiet for a moment. "Am I being charged with anything, Detective Kent?" he then asked.
"Not at this time, no. But this is an ongoing investigation, so I do have to ask you to stay in town, as we'll likely need to speak with you again."
Matt and Clark stood up. "Could you lead me out, please, Detective?" Matt hated playing the blind man, but he knew it was necessary to protect his secret identity.
"Not a problem, Mister Murdock." He gently grabbed Matt by the elbow, and walked him to the door. "I'll take you out to the lobby, and we'll call a cab for you."
"Thank you, Detective." Matt halted. "Oh, I have a question if you don't mind?"
"Sure thing, Mister Murdock."
"Were there any more casualties in the area?"
"Nope. Just the three of you. Why?"
Matt shook his head, remembering how Karen Page had leapt off the roof of the warehouse. "No reason. Just curious."
Kent looked at him quizzically. "Do you know of something we don't, Mister Murdock?"
Matt shook his head again. "No. Please…I've had a rough day. I'd just like to go home and rest."
# # # # #
A graveyard on Long Island
The light of day had nearly completely died when the lone female figure surreptitiously snuck up to one of the numerous graves. Storm clouds had been brewing for a good part of the day, and the first heavy drops of rain had begun to fall. This did not seem to disturb the female, as she pulled several items out of a bag she had been carrying. She spread the items around the grave in various spots. She then lit several candles, their flames fighting against the increasing rain, sputtering and hissing their anger at the sky above.
As the mystery woman dipped some kind of brush into a small pot, a flash of lightning suddenly lit up the night. Revealed in the glow of electricity was the woman, Calypso, voodoo mistress and former lover of Kraven the Hunter. As Calypso ran the brush over the name on the tombstone, the thunder from the lightning bolt finally crashed.
*DOOM*
Calypso drew a few symbols on the tombstone then dropped the brush. She immediately threw her hands up into the air, and began gyrating her body in ways that seemed both obscene and unnatural. Her mouth began to utter sounds that sounded like no human mouth could ever form them. Above her, the sky began to flash more frequently, the thunder nearly drowning out her vocalizations.
*DOOM DOOM DOOM*
For several long minutes, she continued. Dancing around the tombstone, speaking an unintelligible language, and occasionally throwing a powder from one of her pots into the air.
Suddenly and without warning, Calypso's muscles seized up and she fell to the ground. Standing behind her, the graveyard's night watchman put his taser back into its holster. He bent down and quickly handcuffed her.
"Lousy hopped-up kids," he said with a bit of disgust. "Damn sky's fallin' on yer head, and yer out here getting' all loopy and defacin' the graves. If I catch a cold 'cause a you, I'll be mighty pissed."
The watchman picked up the dazed Calypso, and steered toward the gatehouse, so he could call the police and get her taken away. As he walked away, he shined his flashlight at the grave in order to make a mental note for the groundskeeper to clean it up the next morning.
"Got it," he thought. "Matthew M. Murdock."
After the two were gone, all was quiet again in the graveyard. The rain continued to fall and the lightning continued to flash. The graveyard's inhabitants gave no protestations to their late-night shower. Then, a small sound could be heard…
'…skritch…skritch…skritch…skritch…'
# # # # #
Two Weeks Later
Leland Owlsley, otherwise known as The Owl, sat on a small examining table. His shirt was off and a doctor was checking his vital signs. Nearby, a small, weaselish man stood, flipping closed a small notebook.
"What's the verdict, Doctor?" Owlsley asked as he put his shirt back on.
The underworld doctor put his spectacles on, and looked at his chart. "Well, the effects of the glider formula that gave you your more…gross…anatomical changes* seem to have been expunged, or at least regressed, from your system. I'm not sure how it will affect your flying ability, though."
* (As shown in Marvel's Daredevil Vol.1 #'s 301-303. ~Jason, who gives a hoot)
"That's fine," Owlsley said. "I'd rather be normal than that freak I had become. And my legs?"
"Well," the doctor began, "there doesn't seem to be any change. You'll still need the braces in order to walk. Perhaps with an intense physical rehabilitation program, you could regain some-"
"Yes, yes," Owlsley interrupted. "I've heard it before." He then turned to the other man in the room. "Anything else to tell me, Bettencourt?"
"Yeah, boss," the man said as he flipped open his notebook again. "The Kingpin apparently had a hit attempted on him. He lived, but still took a bunch of bullets. His condition is still pretty hush-hush, but rumor has it he may have been hurt pretty bad. There've also been some rumors that Hobgoblin guy is rustling up some muscle, perhaps to challenge Fisk. Plus, if Fisk really is weakened, you can assume that there'll be some noise out of the likes of Hammerhead, Silvermane, and the Maggia."
The Owl stood stiffly, his leg braces supporting him and enabling him to walk, if none too gracefully. He began to put on his trademark green jacket. "Hmm, that'll mean a lot of money and firepower being transported around. This could be my chance to reclaim my place in the New York underworld. And I think I have just the idea how to get my foot in the door."
# # # # #
One Week Later
Detective Wayne sat as his desk, looking through the mail that had arrived for him that day. He picked up a manila envelope that had no return address upon it. He opened it, and looked at the piece of paper for a few moments, then a grim smile passed over his lips. He leaned forward across his desk toward Detective Kent, who was at the adjacent desk. "Hey, Clark. When do they take the breathing tube out of Fisk so we can interview him?"
Kent looked up. "Couple days, last I heard. Why?"
Wayne showed Kent the letter he had received. "'Cause if his story coincides with what I just found out here, I think we've got our shooter."
# # # # #
Three Days Later
Matt Murdock had lain low the last month, allowing his body and mind to heal. Daredevil had been given a vacation, and Matt was beginning to feel centered again. He had spent most of the time in his brownstone meditating, and felt the better for it. He had received very few visitors in the last several weeks as the media had found new stories to sensationalize, so he was quite surprised when there came a rapping at his front door. He quickly slipped on his robe and went to answer it.
When he reached the front door, he pressed the intercom button. "Yes? Who is it?" he asked.
"Detectives Wayne and Kent, Mister Murdock."
Matt opened the door. "What may I help you with, detectives?"
"Mister Murdock, you are under arrest for the attempted murders of the assassin known as Bullseye, Wilson Fisk…and for conspiracy in the murder of Foggy Nelson," Detective Kent said as Detective Wayne turned Matt around and slapped a pair of handcuffs on him.
Next Issue: Matt must defend himself from some pretty heinous charges, or else he could end up pressing license plates! Plus, Matt will get some legal help from a very surprising corner! Be here for Daredevil #12, "Justice for All?"
Devilish Thoughts
When I first began visiting M2K, the title I figured I wanted to write was Daredevil. This was just before Logan Polk was announced as getting the title. And boy, am I ever glad that he did get it before me. Logan's run (heh…no pun intended) was one of the most intense I've read here at M2K, if not anywhere.
When I heard that Logan was leaving the title, I had mixed feelings. First was disappointment that I wouldn't get to read any more of Logan's rendition of ol' Hornhead, and excitement that I might get to write the title that I have always looked forward to writing.
All the ideas I had had a couple years ago plus new ones began popping back up, and I sent a proposal to David Wheatley, EiC here at M2K. He accepted them, and I waited patiently for Logan to wrap up his final issue.
Then Logan put out the word that he was going to leave his final issue the way he had finished every other issue of his run…with a cliffhanger and things in a bit of a mess.
Surprisingly, after reading an advance copy of Daredevil #10, it became extremely obvious where this story had to go, and I began to redesign my entire plotline. Logan's finish, instead of being a possible hamper has instead become a springboard to some, at least in my mind, fantastic plot ideas.
So those of you who were fans of Polk's run, stick around. You'll still see his influence both in style and substance. For those of you reading for the first time, stick around also! I guarantee you some twists and turns that will hopefully shock and entertain you.
What can you expect? Why, the unexpected, of course!
~Jason Eberly
December 15, 2003