William's heart was roaring wildly.
But he couldn't utter a single word.
The hand, which was executing the final judgment, slowly tightened.
"Crack—crunch."
The sound wasn't loud.
It was even a bit muffled.
Like breaking a damp branch.
Kilgrave's struggles ceased abruptly.
His eyes, wide with fear, instantly lost all their luster.
His pupils rapidly dilated, turning into two hollow, black holes staring at the ceiling.
A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his obstructed mouth, winding downwards.
Then, everything fell silent.
The purple man who could control minds with his words.
The demon who dragged Jessica Jones into Hell's Kitchen, just like that, silently became a twisted, still-warm corpse.
Jessica released her grip and slowly stood up.
She didn't look at the corpse, but instead lowered her head, looking at her hands.
There was no blood on her hands; they were clean as if nothing had happened.
She stood in silence.
Like a statue that had exhausted all its energy and fallen into slumber.
The euphoria of revenge did not appear.
The relief of liberation was also nowhere to be seen.
Only a vast, boundless emptiness instantly consumed her.
The darkest chapter of her life was torn away by her own hands.
William looked at Jessica.
He looked at the corpse on the ground.
Then he looked at the four unconscious "witnesses" nearby.
A clear, three-dimensional roadmap composed of countless troubles automatically generated in his mind.
Problem One: The corpse.
Kilgrave was not an unknown; his death, especially in this manner, would definitely stir up huge waves.
This corpse was not garbage; it was a ticking time bomb.
Problem Two: The scene.
This was the primary crime scene.
Fingerprints, DNA, signs of struggle… His and Jessica's biological information probably already covered this Villa.
Any third-rate CSI agent could have an evidence feast here.
Problem Three: The witnesses.
That family of four.
Jessica's handling was efficient, but it had endless repercussions.
What would they remember when they woke up?
Hysteria?
Home invasion?
Problem Four.
And the most critical problem.
Jessica Jones. She was now a murderer.
A murderer with superhuman strength, an extremely unstable mental state, and severe violent tendencies.
He seemed to already see his future.
Sentenced to life imprisonment by some court for incitement, assistance, and harboring a murderer.
He covered his forehead, realizing he now had to be a crisis PR and cleaner for a PTSD female killer.
Jessica seemed to wake from a long nightmare.
She looked around blankly.
Her eyes held only an extreme, weary numbness.
She walked straight into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
The sound of rummaging came, and finally, she emerged with a bottle of whiskey, twisted open the cap, and took a large swig directly from the bottle.
Jessica leaned against the wall.
She slowly slid to the ground, hugging the bottle of alcohol, staring blankly ahead.
Alright, now the situation had become:
A superhero who killed someone and started to withdraw.
A corpse that would cause huge trouble.
Four civilians who could wake up at any moment.
And a terribly unlucky insurance salesman whose head was about to explode from pain.
Kilgrave's twisted posture and wide-eyed, unseeing expression were practically a piece of evidence that could make any jury climax on the spot.
Looking at the unconscious "audience" family, good heavens, four ticking time bombs.
Finally, his gaze returned to the core of the problem.
The woman who was chugging a bottle of whiskey like Water.
He was now inextricably bound to Jessica Jones; if the boat sank, he would have to feed the fish with it.
What to do?
Call the Police?
And then say: "Officer, my client killed someone, but I swear I was just here to sell insurance"?
He seemed to already see himself in an orange prison uniform, enthusiastically selling "Prison Brawl Accident Insurance" to a group of tattooed tough guys in the prison cafeteria.
William felt a throbbing pain in his temples.
What he needed now wasn't a lawyer, it was a miracle.
A miracle that could make the corpse, the evidence, and the witnesses all disappear.
"Superhuman Third-Party Liability Insurance (Hell's Kitchen Special Edition)"!
Property damage… personal injury… third-party liability… William's eyes widened.
A crazy, almost genius idea exploded in his desperate mind like a supernova.
Was this Villa property?
Yes.
Now it was a mess; the walls needed repair, the floor needed replacing, the air needed purification.
Did this count as property damage?
Yes!
Kilgrave… he was a "person"… right?
Even if he was a bastard.
He had now suffered "injury," well, ultimate injury.
Did this count as personal injury?
Also yes!
The most crucial point: He was a "third party"!
So… this was completely within the scope of compensation!
He was not some unlucky witness, nor was he an accomplice to murder.
He was a claims consultant!
Here to handle customer after-sales issues!
At this moment, William Rodriguez felt himself elevated.
He straightened his back, the fear and panic on his face swept away, replaced by an unprecedented, extreme professionalism and confidence.
"Cough."
Jessica, who was staring blankly with the bottle, twitched an eyelid but didn't look at him.
"Ms. Jones. Regarding this… business dispute that just occurred, I believe it's time to activate the additional clauses of your policy."
Jessica finally reacted.
She slowly raised her head, and a trace of focus appeared in her empty eyes, falling on William.
Her gaze was filled with deep confusion.
As if she was listening to some alien language she couldn't understand.
"What?"
"Claim."
William was concise.
"The 'Superhuman Third-Party Liability Insurance' you purchased includes a special service: 'Post-High-Risk Conflict Site Cleanup and Restoration'."
He spoke nonsense with a straight face, not blushing or skipping a beat.
"According to the terms, after you deal with a high-risk target, for any 'physical pollution,' 'biological contamination,' and 'structural damage' caused at the scene, our company will provide one-stop, comprehensive… aftermath services."
The corner of his eye glanced at Kilgrave on the ground,
"Including but not limited to the harmless disposal of failed high-risk targets."
Jessica just looked at him, her expression shifting from confusion to absurdity, and finally, from the depths of that dead, gray ash, a spark of… incredulity emerged.
She probably hadn't heard anything so preposterous in her life.
What kind of brain did this insurance salesman have?
A very light, dry laugh squeezed out of Jessica's throat.
It wasn't mockery, nor did she find it funny.
It was an instinctive reaction to being hit by extreme absurdity.
"You mean…"
She pointed to the corpse on the ground.
"You want to… claim reimbursement for this?"
"It's a claim, Ms. Jones, a claim."
William corrected her.
"This isn't reimbursement; this is a right you are entitled to as our valued customer."
He pulled out his phone.
The light from the screen illuminated his face, which was plastered with "professionalism" and "reliability."
"Now, I need you to provide verbal authorization to confirm the initiation of the claims process."
He turned the phone towards Jessica; a green application button was on the screen.
"Claim item: 'Hell's Kitchen Special Edition - Post-High-Risk Target Elimination Site Environmental Comprehensive Management Service.' Confirm submission?"
Jessica stared at the screen, then looked at William.
He wasn't joking.
He was serious.
In this Hell's Kitchen she had created with her own hands, when she thought everything was over, with only endless emptiness and trouble remaining, this insurance guy actually handed her an… after-sales service application form.
This was too absurd.
So absurd… that in that hollow despair, she found something she could grasp onto.
-------------------------
Thank you for following my story. If you want to read it first, please visit my Patreon — there are about 30-40 chapters waiting there. Your support really motivates me to continue to release more stories!
👉[patreon.com/TripleCrown07]