Wesley would die for him. There would not be a moment of hesitation, a pregnant pause to breathe and accept his fate, not even a second to calm his nerves. He would die for him and it would be automatic and immediate. He is a machine computing an equation. No emotion needed. No emotion necessary to get the job done.
Wesley would kill for him. The lives he has taken are countless. When he was young he would attempt to put a number to the corpses that he disposed of, but that was then. Now he is older, ruthless, and crueler. He would kill for him, with no guilt or remorse in his own heart. No emotion needed to kill. He wakes and lives every day with a clean conscience, because he has none.
Wesley would die with him. He hated this city and the filth that he could never wash off, but he would support him until his dying breath. He would support him even when LeLand, Madame Gao, and the Japanese would turn on him. He would be there, until the end. He can feel it in his bones, settled deep in the bone marrow, impossible to extract, impossible to discard, the undying loyalty for Wilson Fisk.
