What is it, to be a hero? Look in the mirror and you’ll know. Look into your own eyes and tell me you are not heroic, that you have not endured, or suffered, or lost the things you care about most. And yet, here you are, a survivor of Hell’s Kitchen, the hottest place anyone’s ever known. A place where cowards don’t last long, so you must be a hero. We all are. Some more than others, but none of us alone. Some bloody their fists trying to keep the Kitchen safe. Others bloody the streets in the hope they can stop the tide, the crime, the cruelty, the disregard for human life all around them. But this is Hell’s Kitchen. Angel or devil, rich or poor, young or old, you live here. You didn’t choose this town, it chose you. Because a hero isn’t someone who lives above us, keeping us safe. A hero’s not a God, or an idea. A hero lives here, on the street, among us, with us. Always here but rarely recognized. Look in the mirror and see yourself for what you truly are. You’re a New Yorker. You’re a hero. This is your Hell’s Kitchen. Welcome home.
We are all lonely. I sometimes think that that is all that life is. We’re just fighting not to be alone.
There’s something about this city that makes good people want to shoot their way out of bad situations.
There’s nothing worse… feeling choices are made for us. There’s nothing you can do, but swim in s*** and hope you don’t get too much in your mouth.
Just for a minute try to be Frank Castle. To be solely fueled by a single cluster of seconds. One moment in your entire life. And every time you close your eyes, you relive that moment. And every time you open them, you find only the briefest peace before you realize that that nightmare is real. That nothing has changed. Your family isn’t coming back. And so you watch them die, all over again right in front of you. We’re not talking about something that happened to Frank Castle, we’re talking about something that is happening to him.