Jessica turned and saw the man.
British accent. Purple suit. Decent looks—but there was something deeply wrong about him, something that made her skin crawl.
"I don't know you," Jessica said, instantly on guard.
"My name is Kilgrave," the man said with a pleasant smile as he slid onto the barstool beside her. "I saw you last night… in the alley. You're very special, Jessica."
The alcohol haze in her head vanished in an instant.
"You followed me?" Her grip tightened around the glass.
"No, no, no." Kilgrave raised both hands, playing innocent. "Fate. I was simply passing by. Tell me—don't you think this world is rotten? Don't you feel like no one truly understands you?"
The words hit perfectly—right where she was weakest.
Jessica froze.
"You…"
"I know," Kilgrave's voice softened, almost hypnotic. His eyes seemed deeper now. "I know how lonely you are, Jessica. You don't need to struggle anymore. You don't need to resist."
He leaned closer, lips brushing her ear, whispering:
"You only need to… fall in love with me."
Jessica's pupils dilated. The clenched tension in her fists slowly faded.
She looked at him. Her gaze shifted—from suspicion… to anger… to something far worse.
"I…"
"You love me," Kilgrave repeated, savoring the change. "Now stand up. Come with me. You want to."
"…Yes."
Jessica stood. Her eyes were hollow, yet filled with a disturbing, artificial happiness.
"I… want to go with you."
The bartender frowned. "Hey, Jessica, you okay? You don't even know this guy."
Kilgrave glanced at him and smiled.
"Jack, isn't it? You've always dreamed of jumping on the bar and clucking like a chicken for five minutes."
"…What?"
"Bawk—bawk bawk bawk!!"
Jack suddenly leapt onto the bar, flapping his arms wildly, crowing at the top of his lungs.
The bar erupted into chaos.
Kilgrave wrapped an arm around Jessica Jones and calmly walked out.
"See, Jessica?" he murmured, stroking her hair. "The world is my playground. And you… are my most beautiful toy."
-----
Marriott Hotel – Top-Floor Suite
Jessica stood motionless in the center of the room.
Her consciousness was trapped inside a deep purple prison. She could see. Hear. Feel.
But she couldn't control her body.
It was worse than death.
"You're beautiful, Jessica."
Kilgrave loosened his tie and poured two glasses of red wine.
"Do you know how long I've been looking for you? I saw footage of you during the Battle of New York—smashing that alien into the pavement. God… it was intoxicating."
He approached her, admiring his "work."
"They call that blond bastard Homelander. They call Stark Iron Man. Clowns. All of them."
He lifted her chin gently.
"But me? I'm a god. And you, Jessica… are my goddess."
He inhaled her scent greedily.
"Now… smile. Give me your sweetest smile."
Jessica's lips pulled upward against her will—stiff, empty.
"Perfect," Kilgrave breathed. "Now… take off your jacket. You want to do that for me."
Her hands trembled.
Inside her mind, she screamed. Cried. Fought.
No… no… please… stop…
But her fingers still reached for the zipper.
"Yes… just like that…"
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three polite taps on the balcony glass.
Kilgrave spun around, furious.
"What the fu—"
Floating outside the shattered city skyline was a figure the world had seen every day on every screen.
Homelander.
Antony hovered calmly outside the balcony, wearing that flawless, commercial-perfect smile. The Stars and Stripes cape snapped in the wind.
Sixty floors up.
"Good evening."
He punched through the glass and stepped inside.
"Sorry to interrupt. I was flying overhead and thought I heard this lady saying 'no'?"
Kilgrave's face twisted in rage.
"Get out! This doesn't concern you!"
Then, pointing at Jessica, he screamed his most vicious command:
"Jessica! Kill him! Rip his head off!"
Her eyes snapped from devotion to pure murderous intent.
"Yes."
She turned and charged like a wild animal, fist swinging toward Antony.
The punch could've sent a truck flying.
THUD.
Her fist slammed into his chest.
Antony didn't move.
He glanced down at her knuckles, then back at her struggling face—and smiled encouragingly.
"Nice strength. But not enough."
"What are you waiting for?! Kill him!!" Kilgrave shrieked.
"Ma'am, my apologies."
Antony raised his right hand, casually extended two fingers, and flicked—
Flick.
A sharp, crisp knock against Jessica's forehead.
A harmless-looking forehead flick.
BZZZ—
Her vision went black.
Kilgrave's voice—his control—was severed instantly.
Jessica gasped, collapsing backward.
Antony caught her.
She spun, eyes wild, staring at the man in purple.
"KILGRAVE—!!!"
All the fear, rage, humiliation she'd buried exploded at once.
"I'LL KILL YOU!!"
She charged him like a lioness.
"No! Stop! I command you—STOP!" Kilgrave screamed, backing away in terror.
It didn't work.
Desperate, he turned to Antony.
"I command you! Homelander! Protect me! Kill her!!"
Antony crossed his arms, watching like it was theater.
"You… why aren't you moving?!" Kilgrave shrieked.
Antony casually dug a finger in his ear.
"You're loud."