You can smell that, huh. Yeah, quiet day. [Black tee, black jeans, black sweatshirt. Some things don't change but it's true; no blood. The cupboard is knocked shut, softly enough. Frank turns to look at Murdock. Old t-shirt. Cotton pants. A blind man. A man a world away from the Devil he's fought on the rooftops but still there's a common thread, isn't there? The way the angle of his jaw tracks Frank's location. He does that in the suit, too.

Sometimes victories don't always feel like it.] I hear that. [There's a goad there, waiting, but Frank doesn't take it. Murdock doesn't seem like the type to drown his losses. He wants to feel them. Just like Frank.] So what about today? You whistle, and your dog without morals comes running? I'm not that, Red.