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She stared at the document, feeling as though she'd just heard the biggest joke of her life.
"Me?" She jabbed a finger at her nose, voice cracking with disbelief.
"Acting CEO? Ashley, have you lost your mind? Last year I was in Hells Kitchen trailing two-timing husbands for two hundred bucks, and now you want me running a multibillion-dollar company?"
Ashley calmly pulled out a tissue, dabbed the wine from her blouse, deadpan.
"I'm not asking—he is. It's his order. Black-and-white. Read it."
"Not happening!" Jessica shoved the papers back.
"I can't do this—I can't even work Excel! I'm going home to sleep!"
"You can refuse," Ashley said coldly.
"But will you watch everything he built burn? Let S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Military move in, take over Vought, and drag every kid who believes in Homelander off to a lab?"
Jessica fell silent.
She remembered Anthony's final shout inside the Bifrost's pillar of light.
"Look after my home for me!!"
"…Goddammit." Jessica squeezed her eyes shut and downed the rest of the whiskey.
"I hate this so-called responsibility."
She snatched the document and, without reading a line, scrawled her name.
The pen nearly tore the page.
"Wise choice, ma'am." Ashley flashed a professional smile.
"Shall we announce your first executive order?"
"First thing…" Jessica pointed at the inflight screen showing a photo of her in white spandex, captioned "QUEEN JONES".
"Change that damned name."
"I'm not Queen Jones—it sounds like a washed-up drag queen."
"What would you prefer?" Ashley asked.
Jessica gazed at the amber liquid, recalling the gem-bright neon she'd sometimes glimpse in a Hells Kitchen gutter. In a World of lies and packaging, she wanted something precious, however small.
"Jewel."
Jessica spoke the word.
"Jewel."
"Sounds like a jewelry store, but at least… I picked it myself," Jessica muttered.
"Jewel…" Ashley's eyes lit up.
"Retro, yet relatable! We'll redesign the brand—approachable chic!" She flipped open her laptop and fired off emails.
"I'll have PR swap every asset within the hour. Spin line: a queen doesn't merely rule, she treasures and protects."
"No offense to Mr. Starr, but his naming taste is awful!"
"Right? You think so too?" The two women shared a grin—friendship born in an instant—while Anthony lounged on a lavish Asgardian bed, tossing a golden apple and pondering life.
Suddenly a crisp system alert rang in his head.
"System notice: Super Seven member data updated!"
"Member 'Queen Jones' renamed—'Jewel'!"
Anthony froze; the golden apple thudded onto his forehead.
"…The hell?"
He gaped at the effeminate new name on the panel, feeling his aesthetics take tenfold critical damage.
"Jewel??"
"Sounds like some has-been disco girl-group from the '80s!"
"Jessica Jones, you tasteless woman! 'Queen' was fierce! And you swap it for this cutesy bargain-bin name? Planning to sell Barbie dolls?!"
Anthony paced the room, teeth clenched.
"When I get back… I'm putting you over my knee and spanking you till you change it back!"
…New York, Vought CEO's office.
Jessica sat behind Anthony's massive desk, feeling utterly out of place. The chair was too big, the leather too soft—she feared she might sink right through.
"Ashley." She rubbed her temples.
"What's priority one right now?"
Ashley hugged a stack of files, rapid-fire: "Three things! First, pacify the board—I've set a video call; just show your 'I-want-to-kill-someone' face, they love it."
"Second, media line: 'Homelander is on a classified space mission vital to national security.' President Ellis has already tweeted support from the White House."
"Third…" Ashley hesitated, "the thorniest—Who is the Next Superhero?? reality show."
"What about it? Keep airing it."
"Not that simple." Ashley sighed.
"The show's core is Homelander—mentor, judge, traffic magnet. With him gone, sponsors are skittish; ratings are projected to tank. And the top-hundred finalists? Plenty of troublemakers. Without him to keep order, things could implode."
Jessica frowned. "Then I'll do it. I'm Treasured Heroine and acting CEO."
"Forgive me, Jessica…" Ashley said delicately, "your star power… isn't enough. You're formidable, but you can't command that set. We need heavyweights—names big enough to fill Homelander's void."
"Heavyweights?" Jessica sneered.
"Like the Hulk? Want him to smash the studio?"
"No." Ashley projected a photo onto the wall.
"We don't need monsters—we need legends."
On screen appeared two images.
One gripped a red-white-blue shield, eyes steely.
One wore gold-red armor, smirking with irreverence.
"Captain America, Steve Rogers. Iron Man, Tony Stark." Ashley's gaze glittered with calculation.
"With them—plus you—we get the 'Big Three Mentor Panel.' Guaranteed ratings rocket."
"You're insane." Jessica leaned back.
"They're Avengers. Tony Stark would happily buy Vought HQ and turn it into a public restroom; Steve's nice, but he's sick of circus acts."
"Which is why we need you… Homelander trusted you most, so you're the only one who can talk to them. And…" Ashley tapped the desk.
"You're now the decision-maker. Time to trade resources for resources."
Jessica studied the photos a long while.
"…Get the car ready."