What happened

Walking. Downtown. Maybe.

Town, city, urbanian, place, nook, cranny, crack, crumb, piece.

Somewhere along the line... he had lost it. Completely, utterly, didn't get it, couldn't absorb it. With a knife, he pried off his mask like a second skin, and abandoned both knife and former mask in an alleyway. The side of his face dribbled with blood, but that was perfectly okay. That hard part had been trying to avoid his mouth and eyes. Which he'd managed with some difficulty.

It doesn't talk to me.

He still didn't understand things. Alternatives? Alternate place had no OUTSIDE.

No more mask. No more god damned QUESTIONS.

Vic Sage trembled as stalked the graveyard.

He found himself keeping company with a pair of very dead Waynes.

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It had been a rough day in court. Two cases were up on the chopping block and Matt was going to have to work his ass off for the defense. His associate, Foggy, had called in sick this morning, so the two hearings had depended solely on Matt. It was a relief he took good notes - Foggy's wouldn't have helped him at all, even though he brought them anyway. That chicken scratch was hard to read, even with Matt's fingertips on the ink from his pen.

By now, he was the only one in the court room. Even the cleaning guy was gone for the day. Matt couldn't smell the disinfectant on the man's clothes from the back of the room any more. Sighing, Matt picked up his cane in one hand, briefcase in the other, and headed to the door. His footsteps echoed off the tile floor, mapping out the benches and short bannister behind the defense and prosecution tables.

The hallway was busy. Media and journalists were elbow to elbow for a higher profile case that was being tried upstairs. Their jabbering and shuffling made Matt cringe as he skirted around the crowd. The whirring of cameras and media equipment made Matt hold his cane out further in front of him. Super-sensitive hearing or not, he didn't want to look like an idiot walking into a camera lens.

Reaching the door, Matt breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped outside to hear the cacophony of the city he'd grown used to, away from the heaving crowd inside the court building. The sounds of the city were always changing and always slightly disorienting, but he appreciated it more than crowds of people. He made his way down the steps to hail a cab. Normally, he would walk home, but after today, when things had gone pretty rough, he decided to take a cab. The air temperture had dropped and the cold rain was just starting to pelt down on the pavement. Matt liked the rain, but right now, he didn't want to deal with that. Finding the cab, he slid in the back.

"West 47th and 10th." The man had punjabi music blaring over the cab's radio, which made Matt lean forward and shut the window to the front seat. Rain began to pound on the roof of the cab and wheels outside sloshed through puddles. Too many things were going through Matt's head to allow him to focus.

Finally, the car stopped and leaned towards the curb as the cab pulled into the gutter. The driver opened the window. "$5.32"

Matt felt for the money in his pocket and handed it to the man. "Keep the change." He didn't want to mess with that right now.

Stepping out of the cab, Matt heard it pull away. Even in the rain, one sniff told him he was in the wrong neighborhood. "HEY!" he called after the cab, as he turned back towards the street, his cane scraping over the pavement. But the cab was gone. Wet and cold, Matt decided to investigate where he was. Allowing his senses to experience everything, he turned the corner onto what should have been his block. The rain outlined the shapes and forms of the buildings. Lampposts and garbage cans...wrought iron fences...a bar further down with a sign hanging from the wall. This was not Hell's Kitchen.

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