Is it that we collectively thought Steve Jobs was a great man, even when we knew he made billions off the backs of children? Or maybe it’s that it feels like all our heroes are counterfeit. The world itself’s just one big hoax. Spamming each other with our running commentary of bull**** masquerading as insight, our social media faking as intimacy. Or is it that we voted for this? Not with our rigged elections, but with our things, our property, our money. I’m not saying anything new, we all know why we do this, not because Hunger Games books makes us happy but because we wanna be sedated. Because it’s painful not to pretend, because we’re cowards. F*** society.
Not every hero wears a mask. Some heroes save the day in the simplest of ways. By just being there for us, or letting us know we’re believed in.
In the name of our dead father, in the name of Ragnar Lothbrok, the greatest hero of our country, and in the name of Odin, we declare war on the whole world.
You’re the best guy I ever knew. You may not think you’re a hero, but you’re a hero to me.[to Snart]
They say everyone’s born a hero. But if you let it, life will push you over the line until you’re the villain. Problem is, you don’t always know that you’ve crossed that line. Maybe it’s enough that the world thinks I’m a hero. Maybe if I work long and hard, maybe I can fool myself.
Let me give you some advice, Wally. Being a superhero’s not about kicking ass. Well, nope, actually that’s a straight-up lie. There’s a lot of ass-kicking involved.
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.
Every kid dreams of being a superhero. Having powers, saving people. But no kid thinks about what it’s like to be a hero and not saving people. Truth is, not much else changes. You still hurt, you still love, you still wish and hope and fear things, and you still need people to help you with all of it. In some ways, that’s the best part.
All right, Frank. You don’t want to tell us? I’ll tell you. I’m gonna tell you exactly what kind of man you are. You’re the kind of man this city needs. Because ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we all know this city needs help. Needs it now. Not tomorrow, not next week, not when the day comes, when the corruption that Wilson Fisk left in his wake is flushed out for good, and the police force is finally back on its feet. We need it now. ‘Cause this city’s been sick. And the cops, they can’t fix it alone, they need, we all need men and women who are willing to take the fight themselves. The kind of people who risk their lives so that we can walk safe at night in our own neighborhoods. The ones our esteemed District Attorney here is trying so hard to destroy. New York needs these people. We need heroes.