C27: Purple Man
Holding a decorative plate from Rosenberg's Antiques in her hand, a shop that once catered to the Hell's Kitchen elite, Jessica Jones walked briskly through a shadowed alleyway, one hand in the pocket of her leather jacket.
Behind her, several figures began to materialize from the gloom, their silhouettes cutting through the dim yellow light of a flickering streetlamp.
"I'm in a good mood today," Jessica said without turning around, her voice dry. "So if you don't want me to ruin it, back off before I change my mind."
She came to a halt at the alley's mouth, her boots scraping the concrete as she turned. The figures were clearer now, four individuals, varying in build, race, and age, but all sharing the same blank stare. They didn't look like gang members or muggers. No fear. No swagger. No life in their eyes.
Jessica's jaw tightened.
They weren't just following her, they were sent.
Something inside her began to curl into a knot. The stoic mask she'd perfected over the years cracked slightly. A memory, a nightmare, began to claw its way back into her thoughts. Something she thought had died in that accident. Something she'd buried.
He couldn't be back.
"He should be dead," she muttered, her hand clenching around the plate. "That bus took him out. I saw the body bag."
"I've been looking for you, little Jessica."
The words came from the one in front, a gray-bearded white man in a janitor's jumpsuit. She blinked. It was Jack Talbot, the old man who ran the laundromat next to Alias Investigations.
Except… it wasn't.
The voice, the intonation, she knew it too well. The smirk curling on his lips didn't belong to Jack.
"I spent years crafting an illusion of life," he said. "A play in which I was both actor and audience. But then you stepped on stage, Jessica. And suddenly, I realized I didn't want fiction anymore. I wanted you. Only I can draw out the masterpiece inside you."
"Kilgrave."
Crack.
The plate exploded in her hand, ceramic shards cutting her palm. Jessica didn't flinch. Her eyes locked on the imposter in front of her, the shell worn by a ghost from her past.
After everything, therapy, vodka, isolation, he had found her again.
---
"Jessica, what did I tell you?"
Inside the antique store, a man had entered silently. He ignored Li Ran, who stood near the register, eyes narrowing in confusion. The man's gaze drifted lazily over the cluttered shelves, landing on a faux-Grecian vase with gold trim.
"What?" Li Ran asked warily, his instincts twitching. Something was off.
The man didn't answer immediately. He just smiled and tilted his head, his violet scarf tucked inside a dark wool coat, a style that clashed with the summer heat outside. He brushed a ceramic angel aside with little care.
Then Li Ran felt it: his heart pounding unnaturally fast, breath shallow, focus slipping.
"Hm?" the man prompted, turning toward him. "That's not the answer I wanted."
Li Ran felt his mouth move before he could think. "It's just a simple transaction."
The man relaxed, attention drifting back to a bronze figurine of Anubis.
So the effect hadn't failed.
"What kind of transaction?" he asked.
"A ring," Li Ran replied, voice flat.
"Bring it to me."
"Yes."
As Li Ran turned to obey, his hand brushing the counter, the man's voice cut through the air again.
"You're not under my control, are you?"
Li Ran froze mid-step. The distance between him and the counter felt impossibly far.
"When did you know?" he asked, finally turning back.
"From the start," the man replied, still toying with the 'antique' statue, revealing a "Made in China" mark beneath. "My pheromonal neuro-control doesn't delay. It's immediate—absolute. If it doesn't work right away, it never will."
His violet eyes gleamed under the soft light.
"You're an anomaly, Li Ran. I hate anomalies."
His tone lost its feigned warmth. The mask slipped.
Li Ran's mind raced. The man's tailored suit, his compelling aura, his deliberate speech pattern, it all aligned. Coupled with the system notification that flashed earlier…
> [Fame gained: Kilgrave +25]
There was no mistake.
This was Zebediah Kilgrave, the Purple Man. Jessica Jones' tormentor. The man whose mere words could override free will.
And Li Ran had nearly fallen into his trap.
---
Their exchange had seemed innocuous to outsiders, but Li Ran knew better. The room had been teetering on the edge of a cliff. If he hadn't been using [Wesley]'s card, a persona loaded with calculated resistance and tactical foresight, he would've succumbed to Kilgrave's viral influence immediately.
The [Adrenal Acceleration] perk wasn't just for reaction time. It enhanced neural resistance, kept his senses razor sharp under stress. His hyper-elevated pulse was disrupting Kilgrave's neurochemical command.
But it was fading.
His heart was slowing, clarity ebbing. Kilgrave's psychic grip, subtle as a spider's thread was tightening.
"I see," Kilgrave mused, stepping forward. "You're not immune. Just… delayed."
He stopped mid-stride, watching Li Ran with idle curiosity, the same way a scientist observes a twitching lab rat.
Li Ran's face contorted, fighting the fog creeping into his mind. His limbs were stiffening, fingers twitching against his will. Even the simple thought of moving felt like trudging through cement.
"You're breaking," Kilgrave said softly, almost admiringly.
Li Ran knew he had seconds, maybe less, before full neural override.
He made his choice.
Summoning the last of his strength, he pivoted on his heel and lunged toward the counter.
---