Pain surged through his body—every move, every shift, every breath. He could faintly hear the murmur of the guards stationed outside his room, unmoving and still. They’d made sure his stay at the hospital would be miserable; keeping him tied to the hospital bed, the room completely empty except for the monitors and IVF stand beside him. It was sterile, cold and lifeless.

It reminded him exactly why he hated hospitals.

Frank had long since excepted his death. He’d be trialled for all his crimes, and being imprisoned (or suffering the death penalty) had become inevitable. His case had been taken over by Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson and Karen Page, and while Frank knew they were trying their best to help him, he knew the law had never been in his favour.

He exhaled a pained breath as he remained in the fixed position on the bed, his wounds and bruises still healing. The silence was loud; no one dared step into his room (the nurses were too scared, and security barely let anyone inside).

He didn’t bother trying to sleep, it had never came easy to him after that day—when he’d lost the kids and Maria. He refused to let himself be at peace.

The silence was suddenly interrupted when the door opened. A woman stepped in; another nurse since he’d scared off the rest. Frank watched her quietly, before he muttered, his voice rough and cold, “Don’t get comfortable, sweetheart.”