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◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 100 Power Stones.
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Zero point five seconds.
A solid, diamond-shaped shield laced with pale-blue energy lines snapped into place in front of her left arm.
"Whoa..." Jessica instinctively raised her arm; the shield felt weightless.
"I paid top dollar for a Vibranium coating plus Starr Group's latest energy-dispersal field," Anthony said flatly.
"It can soak hundreds of tons of kinetic force in an instant without turning your arm into jelly."
"Cross your arms." Anthony ordered.
Jessica crossed both arms over her chest as instructed.
"Vrrr—!"
The two shields snapped together, forming a massive defensive wall that shielded her entire body.
"Besides stopping ballistics, when you charge it turns you into a human bulldozer that can plow through buildings."
Pleased, Anthony pulled a sleek metal box from his pocket and tossed it to Jessica.
Jessica caught it and opened it.
Inside lay three syringe vials glowing an eerie green.
"What's this?" Jessica held one up to the light.
"Looks like radioactive sludge."
"T-VEX. I call it 'Popeye's Spinach Juice.'"
Anthony pointed at the vials.
"Insurance for you."
"I don't need insurance." Jessica snorted.
"I can chuck a tank into the Hudson."
Anthony shook his head.
"You haven't met real trouble yet, Jessica. This World is far more dangerous than you think."
He stood, stepped close, and lowered his voice; the pressure in the room suddenly weighed on her.
"Ten minutes after you jab this, your strength jumps dozens of times and you might even unlock some new tricks."
"But remember—" he tapped a vial with one finger, "this is your ace. Only when you've got no choice. After it wears off you'll be starving enough to eat a cow and weak as a drowned rat."
"Most important: use more than two in a day and you could die."
Jessica slid the box into a hidden belt compartment.
"Got it. I'm not an idiot."
"So who exactly is this crook to justify all this gear?"
"Orville Black. Nickname: 'Bone-Cruncher.'"
Anthony tossed her a tablet.
On-screen: a disturbing photo of a hulking creature with ashen skin.
"Former underground brawler; picked up some mystery juice during an unknown ritual. Super strength, armored skin, savage temperament."
"This past week he's hit Brooklyn and Queens—killed three cops who tried to collar him and ate one..." Anthony paused. "Forget what he ate."
"Bottom line: the President handed the job to us."
"One last thing."
Anthony pointed to the man in the corner lugging a broadcast camera.
A veteran Vought combat cameraman, helmet on, GoPros everywhere—his name was Dave.
"Dave, say hi."
"Hey, Queen Jones! I'm Dave, your number-one fan!" Dave waved excitedly.
Anthony raised a finger toward Dave's lens.
"I don't care who the perp is or what the cops scream."
"Jessica, your top priority... protect that camera."
"If things go sideways," Anthony leaned in, voice low, "you can let a few cops get hurt—even let yourself get banged up—but if Dave dies or that camera breaks... and the audience can't see your heroic moves..."
"...I'll zero out your bonus and you'll be drinking two-buck rotgut whisky for the rest of the year."
Jessica Jones ground her teeth.
"You're a complete bastard, Starr."
"Thanks for the compliment." Anthony flashed a perfect smile.
"Go, Queen. It's your debut—I'll be watching on TV."
...Bronx, derelict dockside warehouse.
Sirens shredded the cold wind.
A dozen patrol cars and one SWAT armored truck ringed the old warehouse so tightly no water could leak through.
"All units: target is heavily armed. Queen Jones takes point; SWAT holds perimeter," the field Commander barked over comms.
Jessica exhaled softly as rain dripped from her hair.
Behind her, cameraman Dave panted while adjusting his lens; the red REC light glowed.
"Ready, Queen?" he whispered.
"Remember, angle your face a bit—this side has the better light."
"Shut it, Dave."
Jessica slammed the heavy iron door with a kick.
"BOOM—!"
The twin doors shot inward like artillery shells, toppling a whole rack of shelves.
"Who's there?!"
"It's that bitch—Queen Jones!"
Inside, a dozen thugs snapped to, hefting not rifles but modded Chitauri energy guns whose muzzles glowed ghost-blue.
"Crap."
Jessica's first instinct was cover, but poor Dave with his rig was right behind her; if she ducked he'd be Swiss cheese.
"So troublesome!"
She spun, grabbed the stunned Dave, and yanked him behind her.
At the same instant she crossed both arms over her chest.
"Vrrr—!"
The silver-white vambraces flared, a V-shaped barrier blossoming mid-air to shield them completely.
"OPEN FIRE!!"
"Fwoosh! Fwoosh! Fwoosh!"
A storm of high-energy beams poured in.
"Thud-thud-thud-thud!"
Ripples danced across the shield but the blasts couldn't punch through.
"Cool..." Dave marveled, camera rock-steady, perfectly framing Jessica's determined back and the moment her shield bloomed.
"Got enough footage?" Jessica asked coldly.
"Plenty! Close-up is money!"
"Then stay down—I'm going to work!"
Jessica surged forward behind the shield and burst through the curtain of fire.
In a blink she cleared the kill-zone.
A hulking goon swung a Chitauri war-club at her flank.
"Die!!"
Jessica sidestepped the tip of the club.
Her right hand shot out like a viper and brushed his wrist.
She borrowed his momentum and pulled him off balance.
"Have a nice flight."
The 220-pound brute pinwheeled three and a half rotations through the air before smashing into a scrap heap.
"Crack." The snap of his spine rang clear.
"Whoa!" Dave zoomed in. "That's Martial Arts—so sick!"
"Next!"