"Jessica, I need you to understand one thing."
Rosen's voice was flat, cutting through the thick tension like a surgical blade. Facing her wide-eyed shock and the torrent of questions he knew was coming, he had no intention of handing over more secrets. He wasn't a wiki page, and he certainly wasn't a mentor.
"What?" Jessica asked, her voice small, puzzled by his sudden shift in tone.
"Everything I just told you was a courtesy," Rosen said, his expression hardening into something cold and professional. "A reminder given in the name of our old friendship. I'm not here to prove anything to you. I won't provide you with evidence, and I don't have any obligation to help you find it."
He leaned closer, his shadow stretching across the table. "In fact, the moment I walk out of this coffee shop, I'll deny we ever had this conversation. If you want the truth, you're going to have to dig it out of the dirt yourself."
Rosen was interested in recruiting a powerhouse like Jessica Jones, but he wasn't about to become her babysitter. In his experience—both from his old world and this new one—handouts only bred weakness. If he just gave her the answers, she'd lose her edge. She'd become a "vase"—pretty to look at, but fragile and ultimately a burden. He needed soldiers who could stand on their own two feet when the world started burning.
This was a test. If she had the grit to follow the trail, he'd consider her for his future team. If not? Well, she'd just be another casualty of the city.
Of course, deep down, Rosen knew he wouldn't let her fall completely. If the scumbag known as the Purple Man ever crossed her path, Rosen would intervene—not for her, but because Kilgrave deserved to die. With a fifteen-second Divine Shield, Rosen could turn that mind-controlling parasite into red mist before the man could even finish a sentence.
"...I understand. Thank you for the heads-up, Rosen."
Jessica wasn't a fool. The chemical agents in her blood might have made her irritable and prone to flashes of blinding rage, but her mind was sharp. Living as an orphan under the Jones' roof had forced her to grow up faster than any of their old classmates. She saw his "retreat" not as cowardice, but as pragmatism.
In her mind, Rosen was just a guy who didn't want to get crushed between the gears of the U.S. Military. And honestly, who could blame him?
"So, you've made your choice?" Rosen asked.
"Yeah," Jessica said, her jaw setting in a grim line. A flicker of genuine, white-hot anger sparked in her eyes. "I didn't know before, but now that I do... I can't let it go. My parents and my brother... they didn't die because of some stupid argument in the back seat. I won't let them have died for a military cover-up."
Rosen nodded. That's the spirit. He knew where this path led. Confronting the military would show her the true darkness of the world. She'd be left with two choices: succumb and become a lapdog for S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Pentagon, or resist until she was backed into a corner with nowhere to run. If she chose to be a lapdog, he'd wash his hands of her. But if she chose to fight? That was when he would make his move.
The Eye in the Sky
Jessica left the cafe in a daze, her mind already racing through the files she'd need to find and the people she'd need to lean on. She was so preoccupied that she didn't notice a dark shape circling high above the Hudson.
Skill: Summon Warhawk – Level 1.
A faint shimmer of blue light flickered around Rosen's fingertips under the table. For a cost of 35 Mana, he called upon the Beastmaster's scout.
The Level 1 Warhawk wasn't a combatant—it had no talons for tearing or beak for pecking—but it was a masterpiece of biological reconnaissance. It was a dark, majestic bird with a wingspan that could catch the thinnest thermals. It clocked in at a staggering 215 mph, easily keeping pace with a police helicopter.
But its real power lay in its eyes. While the best eagles on Earth could spot prey from a couple of miles away, this magical construct possessed True Sight. It could see for nearly 50 miles in broad daylight and 25 miles in the dead of night. It could even see through magical invisibility within a mile-wide radius.
Rosen closed his eyes for a second, sharing the bird's vision. He saw Jessica walking toward the subway, her figure tiny against the sprawling grid of New York.
In the game, these summons lasted barely a minute. Here, the Warhawk stayed until it was killed or dismissed. It cost him a negligible 10 Mana per hour to maintain—a drop in the bucket now that he had Radiance Aura and the Staff of Antonidas pulsing with energy in his storage.
"Keep an eye on her," Rosen whispered to the wind.
With the hawk as his guardian, he'd know the second Jessica got into trouble. He'd know the second Kilgrave tried to make a move.
The London Heist
Rosen finished his coffee, the bitter liquid grounding him. He had his own mission now. Bismuth had failed as a core material, and his "Engineering vision" was pointing him toward one thing: Vibranium.
He wasn't ready to kick in the front door of Wakanda or pick a fight with the underwater kingdom of Talokan. He was powerful, but he wasn't "fight an entire nation of high-tech warriors" powerful—yet.
He needed a smaller target. A manageable one.
"The British Museum," he mused, a smirk playing on his lips. "They've got plenty of 'stolen' artifacts. They won't miss one more."
He also needed to move some of the Kingpin's gold. New York was currently crawling with Fisk's enforcers, but the Kingpin's reach didn't extend across the Atlantic. London was the perfect place to liquidate some assets and hunt for Black Market Vibranium.
As for the distance? What if the Military made a move on Jessica while he was in the UK?
Rosen reached into his pouch and brushed his fingers against a thick parchment tied with a blue ribbon. A Town Portal Scroll.
At $320,000 a pop, it was an expensive way to travel, but for a man who had just emptied a billionaire's vault, it was just the cost of doing business. He could be back in Manhattan in the time it took to read a text message.
"London calling," Rosen muttered, standing up and tossing a few bucks on the table.
It was time to see if the British were as good at security as the Kingpin. (Spoiler: Rosen doubted it).