"You should know that I hate liars."
Jessica Jones took a long swig of her whiskey, slamming the glass down.
"When did I lie to you?" Vincent asked, genuinely frustrated.
"Always. Since the day you moved into Hell's Kitchen," Jessica hissed, her voice low but laced with hysteria.
"Jessica, you're drunk."
Vincent stood up, his expression cooling.
"I have never lied to you. If you think my moving here was part of some grand scheme, I told you the truth from day one. Whether you believe it is up to you."
He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and slapped it under his glass.
"It's on me."
He walked out of the Blue Moon Bar. He wasn't going to indulge a tantrum, even if Jessica was the first woman he'd been with in this world.
Jessica froze. She grabbed her black leather jacket and stumbled after him.
"Jessica!!"
A voice echoed in her mind.
Dizzy and half-drunk, the world suddenly spun.
Horrific memories—shards of a nightmare she thought she had buried—clawed their way to the surface.
Tears streamed down her face, ruining her smoky makeup. Her body stopped obeying her commands.
She turned away from Vincent and began walking mechanically toward the other side of the street.
A taxi pulled up right in front of her.
Stiffly, like a marionette, she opened the door, got in, and the car sped off.
Vincent, sitting in his Lincoln, watched the scene unfold. He had been annoyed, thinking he was losing a friend (with benefits). But seeing Jessica's sudden, unnatural shift—the tears, the trembling, the robotic movement—changed everything.
"Kilgrave," Vincent snarled, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure murder. "The Purple Man."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A woman knocked on his car window.
"If you want to save Jessica, go to this address."
A piece of paper slipped through the crack. The woman, a blank-faced suburban mom, walked away without another word.
Vincent grabbed the note, glanced at it, and floored the gas.
He tried to tail the taxi, but it had vanished into the arterial flow of traffic.
Vincent didn't panic. He drove to the address on the note—a high-end hotel in Midtown.
He kicked open the door to Room 404.
The lights were dim. A cold wind howled through an open window.
Across the alleyway, in the opposing building's window, stood Jessica Jones.
She was facing him.
She was shaking violently, fighting a war inside her own skull to regain control. Her lips quivered, trying to scream RUN, but no sound came out.
Tears fell freely. She could only watch helplessly as Vincent walked to the window of his room, looking across at her.
He came.
"No one takes what belongs to me," Vincent whispered.
"Climb onto the ledge."
A voice, smooth and terrifyingly persuasive, drifted from the shadows of Vincent's room.
Vincent felt it immediately—a strange, invasive energy trying to hook into his neural pathways. It was like a virus made of words, seeking purchase in his brain.
Vincent climbed onto the window ledge.
Behind him, a tall man stepped out of the bathroom. He wore a sharp purple suit and had a face that was handsome in a cruel, twisted way.
Zebediah Kilgrave.
He looked past Vincent, staring obsessively at Jessica across the alley, using Vincent as a prop in his sick theater of reunion.
"Jump."
The command was absolute.
"NO!!" Jessica's mind screamed, breaking through for a split second, but her body remained frozen.
Vincent teetered on the edge.
Then he stopped.
"Jump? Buddy, that's a long way down. Someone could get hurt."
Vincent hopped back into the room and turned around.
Kilgrave's eyes went wide. His jaw dropped.
"Impossible!" he shrieked, backing away. "How? How can you disobey me?!"
For the first time since gaining his powers, Kilgrave felt fear. His voice was law. People were puppets. The idea of resistance was alien to him.
"Such a powerful gift," Vincent said, walking slowly towards him. "Wasted on a pathetic deviant like you."
Kilgrave wasn't purple-skinned here—he looked human. But his pheromones were potent.
"BACK OFF!" Kilgrave screamed, pointing a finger. "SIT DOWN! KILL YOURSELF!"
Vincent didn't even blink.
[Passive Skill: Psychic Immunity - Active.]
Even without the System skill, his Ice-Ice Fruit could have neutralized the viral pheromones by elementalizing his blood and lungs. But the Immunity made it effortless.
"Do you know how small the human body can be divided when frozen?"
Vincent asked calmly.
Kilgrave's face turned red as he strained to push more power, but Vincent kept coming.
Suddenly, Kilgrave's body contorted.
Frost began to bloom on his skin.
"No... wait..."
CRACK.
Kilgrave turned into a statue of ice.
Then, Vincent clenched his fist.
Hydro-Kinesis: Dissolve.
The ice shattered, then melted, then froze again, shattering into finer and finer dust. Within seconds, the Purple Man was reduced to a puddle of slush and organic slurry.
Vincent flushed the remains down the toilet.
"The Ice-Water combo is terrifying," Vincent noted. "Matter destruction at the cellular level."
He waved his hand. The moisture in the air gathered and scrubbed the room clean, removing the scent of death.
Across the alley, Jessica collapsed as the mental hold snapped.
She gasped for air, then looked up. Seeing Vincent safe, adrenaline surged. She leaped from her window.
With her super-strength, she cleared the alleyway effortlessly, landing in Vincent's room.
She looked around frantically. "Where is he?"
"If you're looking for Kilgrave," Vincent said, pointing to the bathroom, "he's currently halfway to the Atlantic Ocean via the sewer system."
Jessica stared at him, stunned. The monster who had haunted her nightmares... was just gone? Flushed like waste?
"He's dead?" she whispered.
"Dead. Gone. Never coming back. Even if Death herself shows up, I won't let him back in."
Vincent smiled gently.
Jessica didn't say a word. She launched herself at him, tackling him to the carpet with the force of a train wreck.
"Whoa!"
Vincent laughed, flipping them over and tossing her onto the bed.
As they collided, Vincent flicked his finger.
Two tendrils of water rose from the sink, slithering across the room to pull the curtains shut.