Bloody Hell - Daredevil Fanfiction

Chapter 7: Fit to Burst

  "Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"
  
The voice came from a cop who was kneeling next to him and leaning over his face. He had a thick beard, a ginger one and curly orange hair which poked out from under his hat. The ginger man was a little too close for comfort, so he threw his arms up in the air as though to swat a fly.

"Ah!" the cop scoffed, jerking out the way with a heavy frown. He then made a gesture to someone who came to his side; they also carried a frown on their face, and seemed to examine the body in front, which frowned back. This cop had a wonky nose and a brown moustache.

"Get him up", the wonky nosed cop ordered, and another man (who's scalp was bare) hurried over and started to yank at his limbs until he was slouched against the wall.

As he sat there, like a sack of sand propped up against the wall, he could feel something on the back of his head. He frowned and applied his hand to his scalp, feeling the region that had been struck with his fingers. He could feel something soft and fabric-like; he followed it with his fingers. Apparently, it was wrapped all the way round his head and there was a squishy bit where the wounded region was.

"Sir, you're going to have to come with us", the ginger one said, now standing in front with his hands on his hips as though to assert dominance.

"Zebadiah Jax", he paused almost for purposeful dramatic effect before continuing, "you're under arrest for attempted murder and physical assault. Anything you say can and will be used against you. You will be cuffed and escorted to a cop car momentarily", the moustached man said boldly, whipping out a pair of handcuffs almost with a smirk.

The ginger man and the bald man knelt either side of Zebadiah and pulled him up. The handcuffs were handed to the ginger man, who promptly tugged his hands behind his back and secured them.

It was clear to Jax that he'd received some medical attention whilst he was out cold, but as he rose from the floor, he suddenly felt quite faint. His head was heavy and clouded; retinas were aching with the bright light that they'd brought in and stood in the corner of the office; and his legs felt weak. He wanted to touch the back of his head again, but as he tried to move his hands, the ginger man gripped his wrists tighter.

"Don't try anything funny, Jax", he boomed.

"My head...", Jax mumbled.

"You were struck in the head with a glass jug. A dressing has been applied to the wound and you lost some blood during the incident. You will feel dazed and tired for a little while".

Awkwardly, Jax, the ginger cop and the wonky nosed cop all marched down the narrow corridor, to and down the stairs. The descent was most frustrating; the ginger man clearly had no spatial awareness, so kept bumping into Jax repeatedly as they travelled. The moustached cop marched by Jax's right side but was a little too close for comfort. Jax's right arm tingled, like when you're sitting in a room by yourself and you feel like you're being watched.

The dazed feeling was lifting when he and the irritation crew approached the NYPD car. The strip of lights on the roof were dancing, the red lights spinning like ballet dancers caught in a glass case. The door was opened, a hand was applied to his head and he was shoved inside. Swiftly, the cops clambered inside and started the engine; one of them pressed a button and instantly, the captured ballet dancers started to scream whilst the engine growled.

Before long, they were darting through the streets of Hell's Kitchen. Zebadiah's head was beginning to ache horribly. He wouldn't have minded the journey, but the screeching of the sirens and the bickering of the cops were like some disgraceful noise cocktail.

One of them picked up the radio piece and yanked it towards their mouth. "This is Hale, we're bringing them in. Six minutes away. Name is Zebadiah Jax, attempted murder and physical assault". Except, he didn't finish his sentence. Jax glared through the mesh wire between him and the front of the car and saw the cop grow completely rigid. His hand froze, then began to shake. The radio fell from his grasp. Jax's eyes switched to the driver who quickly became rigid too; his hands froze, and he became panicked that he couldn't steer the wheel. Both of them started to quiver violently, moaning and wincing. The eyes of Jax scowled forward through the mesh barrier as the men began twitch and jerk about. The ginger one, Hale, slowly brought his hands to his face to inspect them, and the other rolled up one of his sleeves. Their skin was burning as tiny beads of blood started to force their way through to the surface.

A sudden ape-like yelp sounded from the driver: the car was rolling freely down a slope. He desperately tried to move the wheel, but it was no use. The car knocked a parked car, then another, before the three of them were jolted forward. They had stopped, colliding with a thick wooden post on a block corner. Clipping the parked cars had proven fortunate to them, slowing them down somewhat, but now the two cops looked at each other. Their faces were dripping with blood and their white shirts were as though they'd been dipped in ruby-red paint. They gritted their teeth and closed their eyes, a blanket of sharp pain covering their entire bodies. Horrible hoarse groans and cries erupted from them until finally, the car went silent.

Jax leaned forward. He looked left at the driver, who'd fallen forward and now lay awkwardly against the steering wheel, then right at Hale, who had perished with his eyes glaring at his colleague. Jax shuffled a little closer to the door. He turned, grasped the door handle and opened the door, exiting the car. Next, he wandered around to the passenger door, which he also opened. It was impossible to see in the dark, but the car seats were now soaking up the blood of the two men. Jax knelt down and examined the large keychain on the officer's belt. He'd been in cuffs before, so he knew what to look for. Hastily, he began to tug at the keychain until it became unhooked from its belt.

It wasn't long before there was a harsh sound as the collection of keys clattered to the tarmac, then a shorter metallic CHINK as the handcuffs did too. The man's mouth twisted into a grin for a brief moment, before his features sunk into something more dark and determined.
Jax turned his back on the car and clenched his jaw, inhaling sharply; the two heads of the officers started to bleed rapidly from everywhere – blood ran from their noses, ran down their necks from their ears, crept from the corners of their eyes and mouth, and forced its way through their skin – until they burst, beautifully decorating the inside of the car.