C50: Case
She stumbled out of the elevator with a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey in hand.
The reemergence of Kilgrave the Purple Man had made Jessica Jones' already chaotic life descend further into dysfunction. Traumatized by his psychic domination, she self-medicated with bourbon and stubborn isolation.
"Ms. Jones?"
Lurching toward the alias-painted frosted glass of Alias Investigations, Jessica fumbled through her leather jacket pocket for her key. Her hand trembled, failing to guide it properly into the lock cylinder.
"Shit!"
Muttering, she leaned against the doorframe, ready to either break it down or phase through it by sheer will, when she heard a hesitant voice behind her.
Turning, she saw a pale, anxious woman hovering near the stairwell.
"My name's Michelle... I need your help."
Jessica blinked slowly. Her bloodshot eyes and slouched posture radiated irritation.
"Do I look like someone who helps people?"
The woman opened her mouth, but Jessica waved her off and turned back to the door. "Try tomorrow. Or the day after. No don't try at all. I've got a hangover appointment with the floor."
"But I don't have anywhere else to go." Michelle clutched her handbag. "My husband John went missing a week ago. He hasn't come home, and that's not like him."
"You call the cops?" Jessica asked sharply, key still jammed at the wrong angle. "They're usually free."
"They won't take it seriously. But I know something's wrong. John's schedule is precise—he clocks in at Rand Enterprises every day at 8:30 and clocks out by 6:30. He never deviates."
Jessica tilted her head. "He ever seem... nervous? Maybe secretive? Jumpy at shadows?"
Michelle perked up. "Yes. How did you know?"
"Because he's probably cheating," Jessica said flatly. "Sorry, but I've seen this pattern. Wife hires me, husband turns out to be a sleaze with a burner phone and a rented apartment in Hell's Kitchen."
"You don't know my husband."
"I know cheating. I used to work with Matt Murdock. Guy smelled guilt like it was his day job."
Michelle's smile was tight. "Maybe I made a mistake coming here."
"Maybe," Jessica muttered, finally twisting the key home. The door creaked open.
As the woman walked away, Jessica stared after her, uneasy. Something didn't sit right. She didn't know if it was the woman, the timing, or just Kilgrave still in her brain like a splinter.
"God. This whole week is bullshit."
She tossed the door handle's broken cover plate onto the desk and slumped into her chair.
Jingle bell—jingle bell—
The Alias office phone rang. Jessica stared at it as though it had personally wronged her.
Two rings. Three.
She didn't answer.
Then the voicemail kicked in.
> "Jessica Jones, walk away. Don't go looking for John. You think you're immune? You're not. Back off."
The line went dead.
---
Later, in a shadowy corner of Harlem, Jessica stood inside a small antique shop that seemed too pristine for the city's wear and tear. The morning sun did little to soften her sharp expression or the scent of whiskey on her breath.
"Jessica, do you ever keep regular hours?" Li Ran asked, adjusting a cracked jade figurine on the display shelf.
"This is my job," she muttered, swigging from a steel hip flask. Her gaze swept the interior, noticing a freshly-installed glass counter. Her eyebrows lifted. "New case or just collateral damage?"
"What do you think?" Li Ran frowned. "Your friend Kilgrave wrecked half my shop during that psychic tantrum. Some of this stuff was from K'un-Lun. Irreplaceable."
Jessica shrugged. "Sorry. Emotional baggage comes with me. No returns."
Li Ran grunted. Her tone might've been sardonic, but her eyes were hollow. He knew the signs—he'd seen them in people haunted by more than just trauma.
"So," he asked, "why are you here? Besides the liquid breakfast."
Jessica took another sip and leaned against the wall. "A woman named Michelle came to me. Claimed her husband vanished—Rand Enterprises employee. I blew her off. Then I got a warning call. Voice modulated. Real Hydra-style drama."
Li Ran's brows furrowed. "So you came to dump it on me?"
"I'm not dumping. I'm delegating," she snapped.
He crossed his arms. "Classic villain move—try to scare the nosy PI into backing off. Why don't they ever shut up and finish their plan in peace?"
"Ego," Jessica said. "They want an audience."
Li Ran sighed, turning toward the dusty back shelves. Ever since awakening the Prayer Order System, he'd sensed darkness rising again. And Kilgrave psychic parasite that he was had only been a harbinger.
Still, something about this John case felt off. Jessica's instincts were rarely wrong, even when soaked in liquor.
"Did you find anything?" he asked.
"Nothing concrete," she said. "Internet's a dead end. His social trail dried up a week ago. But I hit up some contacts—people from my old days with Trish, others who used to work underground. One of them dropped a name."
She leaned in.
"The Hand. You know it?"
Li Ran's expression changed immediately.
The Hand—an ancient ninja clan tied to necromancy and blood magic. They'd infiltrated Rand, Midland Circle, and more than a few dark corners of New York. Danny Rand, Daredevil, even Stick had fought them.
And if they were involved again, things were about to get very bloody.
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