We at the Daily Bugle pride ourselves on airtight sources who painstakingly review all information provided to us to further expand our readership’s day-to-day knowledge of this fair city. Readers may remember that we covered the Wrecking Crew’s damning attacks on the Federal Reserve Bank, New York Stock Exchange and Midtown Stark Industries facility not too long ago. It’s on the back of these turbulent events that our source has provided us with some compelling footage which will interest those with more than a passing concern for Hell’s Kitchen.
After a humiliating defeat at the hands of an unknown assailant at the Federal Reserve, an injured Daredevil was seen unmasking while tending to his wounds. A witness was present for the occasion and was able to provide footage of the much sought after figure renowned for his heroism and stubborn recklessness alike. The vigilante in question is none other than local lawyer MATT MURDOCK of NELSON & MURDOCK: ATTORNEYS AT LAW. While Murdock is certified as being legally blind, we have it under good authority that his enhancements mean that he is capable of effectively sensing his surroundings by other biological methods to a superhuman degree. In light of these revelations, Murdock’s involvement with ACCORDS-related legal cases could suggest a conflict of interest.
While refuting the claims, Murdock did not elaborate on the matter when approached by the Bugle but assured us that he would seek justice to clear his name. At this time it is unknown if Murdock’s involvement with a number of cases in Hell’s Kitchen tied with his persona as Daredevil will be affected, but we will keep our readers posted of any further developments.
FOOTAGE FROM THE SCENE CAN BE SEEN ON OUR WEBSITE. WARNING: VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Tony Stark is feeling in the most festive of moods and has decided to host a small invitation only holiday party. The tree is brimming with carefully picked gifts and Pepper Potts has ensured that the most blissfully overpaid interior decorators have been hired to spruce up the party deck. The one rule for the night is: EAT, DRINK, AND BE MERRY. Take the time to show treasured friends you care. Make amends with the local vigilante that micromanages four blocks. Exchange heated moments under the mistletoe with that special someone. Festive attire is encouraged, but not required.
→ WHERE: Avengers Tower
→ WHEN: December 2nd - December 16th
→ TAG: Please use fao: stark holiday party
All players are encouraged to take part in the event and you can continue responding to your regular threads while the event is active. Please use our Discord channel’s “general plot” chat to team up for threads.
THREAT LEVEL: HIGH; SUPERHUMAN CLASSIFICATION 10; ENHANCED ENDURANCE, SPEED, STRENGTH, & STAMINA. TO BE APPROACHED WITH EXTREME CAUTION.
WARNINGS: MILITARY TRAINING (CONFIRMED; BULLDOZER), POSSESSION OF MYSTICALLY IMBUED ARTIFACT OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN (CONFIRMED; WRECKER), GAMMA RADIATION EXPERTISE (CONFIRMED; THUNDERBALL)
KNOWN ASSOCIATES: FRANKLIN HALL (CONFIRMED), MAKI MATSUMO (SUSPECTED), ADVANCED IDEA MECHANICS (CONFIRMED)
INDIVIDUAL ASSESSMENT: DIRK GARTHWAITE, WRECKER; ELIOT FRANKLIN, THUNDERBALL; HENRY CAMP, BULLDOZER; BRIAN CALUSKY, PILEDRIVER
“Not this again.” The exasperated sigh filters through gritted teeth as the footage shakes between intermittent points of focus, trembling hands of an individual uncertain of the culmination of what they’re witnessing. Struggling to maintain their composure as history unravels before their camera, a gloved fist makes contact with a jaw, the impact sending a patch of pale flesh to ripple green. The blow is harsh enough for the Skrull's disguise to dissipate entirely, an initial angered retaliation subdued by the combined attack of caped heroes who aren't known to usually work together.
Arms crossed against his form with sleeves neatly gathered at his elbows, unmoved blue eyes steadily watch the large television screen flush against a wall within the recreational room, a blank expression etched onto a smooth square jaw despite fast-paced footsteps frequently surrounding the man. Members of staff from the PR Department reserve an adjoining conference room to discuss their daily handling of the organisation’s ongoing damage control; the Stark Network was only beginning to be reinstated but the company's reputation had been tumultuously marred regardless of another crisis akin to the ‘end of the world’ having been scarcely averted with thanks to The Avengers and their allies. The same news story had been shown ad infinitum on every channel for the past few hours with words of relief soon shifting to outrage, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers' unexplained disappearances during the debacle making turbulent waves.
And yet the developer was more concerned by the fact that he couldn’t work, varied components of the Network having been infrequently suffering from downtime for prolonged periods; internationally based data centers were being periodically cut off from online access as J.A.R.V.I.S. performs their own series of diagnostics to ensure that the extraterrestrials hadn’t penetrated their facilities further. It was necessary albeit frustrating… Then again, over a decade of experience in network and cybersecurity maintenance along with human interaction didn't seem to have been a match for the otherworldly virus. Go figure.
The thought is unwarranted in these stressful circumstances but the engineer pays it little regard, hours of his time having been wasted despite being one of the first members of this sector’s development team arriving at the office. It was a common occurrence for Beck to make an early appearance and late departure, a sense of drive and determination spurring him on to continue with the project that he had dedicated the majority of his career to. Taking a seat to surveille his surroundings with discreet calculative interest, he arches one leg over the other in contemplation over whether to work from home for the day; the notion is swiftly pushed aside due to the flurry of recent activity, reasoning with himself that it was best to be onsite with his ear to the ground - opportunities could arise at surprising moments---
Two personal assistants dynamically swing into the room, a slender telephone swapped between them before an earpiece is picked up by subtly manicured fingertips, freckled cheeks overshadowed by a bloom of increasingly reddening skin as the device is abruptly positioned against her ear. Sinew tenses across a slender neck as Pepper Potts barrels into the conversation, arms hurriedly reaching back to tie up her strawberry blonde hair into a tight bun to cease its cascading trajectory across her tense visage. There’s an uncomfortable sensation in the room, Beck’s presence suddenly growing increasingly unwanted amidst the combined glare of the two underlings who comically juggle items between them. But the man purposefully doesn’t take the hint, clearing his throat slightly as he calmly opts to make his way across the room to the expansive doors of a communal fridge.
It's difficult not to pry ( had it been his intention not to? ), the CEO’s voice justifiably shrill, a history of grievances hanging heavy from her words and weighing down on her narrow shoulders. A visible tremble rolls over her body as the woman takes a deep albeit shaky breath, coinciding with a gentle thud as one of the fridge doors is softly closed, the employee sheepishly turning around to face his company as he retrieves two glass bottles of water.
Based on the tinny remnants of audio filtering through, it’s evident that the conversation isn’t complete and yet her digit grazes against a sensor upon the earpiece, ending the flow of communication and handing the device back to one of the aides. The three of them are in the middle of a frantic exchange about the CEO’s bustling schedule before one of the bottles is confidently offered to Pepper, Beck’s quiet approach met with a grateful tight-lipped smile.
“Thank you...” A brief pause, recognition filtering over the woman's features as a recent email comes to mind. “…Quentin, yes, I haven’t forgotten your proposal. Things are a little chaotic at the moment, but I’ll get right on it once---” The man doesn’t give her the opportunity to continue with the response, a hand composedly raised to put her at ease.
“As I mentioned in my memo, I’m certainly in no rush. I have every bit of confidence that you’ll be able to return to it when the timing’s right.” There’s the pitched sound of a seal being broken, lips pressing against the glass opening to take a large sip of the refreshing beverage before the coder continues. “However, if Mr Stark were interested in reviewing the use-cases for my prototype instead, that could also work.” Beck’s soft simper is disarming regardless of the severity of current circumstances for the company, poised eye contact maintained in a bid to gingerly push to gain a desired response in his favour. “Whichever’s easier for you, Miss Potts.”
"You know what,” the CEO shuffles between a few files, readying herself to hurriedly make a move with a quick glance over her shoulder. "I'll see what I can do."
Jessica sat at the counter in the kitchen of her new townhouse, hunched over the keyboard as she pored over a multitude of open webpage tabs. It was getting late, and the cup of tea she’d brewed hours prior was cold. The bluish light from her screen lit her face as she noted the date and time of publication on seven different news reports.
A man in a restaurant killing himself with a pizza cutter. A woman slicing off her own fingers with her violin strings in the subway station. Two police officers holding guns to one another’s heads in the park. Even an entire performance venue blanketed in silence while a singer tried to garrote himself with the microphone cord. Even more reports of people acting possessed, determined to perform ridiculous and near-fatal tasks with no discernible reason.
These were all telltale signs of Kilgrave’s handiwork, each dated alarmingly close together, within the last two weeks. He was getting testy, and Jessica could tell. The last report was dated yesterday morning.
Luke’s footsteps could be heard down the hall as he emerged in the doorway. He paused there for a moment, looking at Jess hunched over her work. “Jessie, your side of the bed is cold,” he chided in a low, rumbling voice. “C’mon, this can’t wait ‘til morning?”
“I’m getting close. He’s... he’s desperate, or testing something. He keeps compelling more people for longer, if these reports have all their numbers correct,” she muttered, not bothering to peel her eyes from the screen. Jessica took a sip of her cold tea, frowned, and put the mug down quickly. “I just have to find out what he’s going to try next, what stunt-”
A harsh buzz on the granite was quickly followed by Jessica’s phone screen lighting up. One message from Trish. Buzz. Two messages from Trish.
>> Hey Jess
>> Check the news.
Jessica’s brows drew together in confusion. Taking her phone in one hand, laptop in the other, she pushed past Luke towards the den. She put her appliances down on the coffee table and picked up the remote, flipping for the news channel. She was still learning the numbers of the channels, not having had a proper television for quite a few years until now. “Wait, wait, there,” she muttered as she saw the feed of helicopters over Morningside Park.
It was late, far later than anyone should be gathered in a public park. Through the searchlights she could see crowds of people amassed in one spot. But around what?
“Oh no, no,” Jessica said, clapping a hand over her mouth. Luke stood beside her, watching the screen but not catching what had surprised her. Weakly, Jess pointed a finger at the jostling footage to a very small, but very distinct purple figure standing apart from the crowds.
The marquee at the bottom of the screen offered very little explanation, as the reporters couldn’t exactly tell what was going on. But Jessica knew. This was it- this was what he’d been testing himself for. From what she could see, a crowd of about two or maybe three hundred people- civilians mostly- standing in haphazard rows, waiting for his command. God knows what he’d already told them to do. Maybe they would kill each other. Maybe they would cause a riot. And worse, maybe they would come for her. Even those stupid fucking news crews were in danger the longer they stayed around.
Absolutely chilled, Jessica stood transfixed in horror as the scene played out- or rather, didn’t. What were they waiting for?
Just then, her phone rang. Again from Trish’s number. Jessica picked it up hastily. “Trish, I’m watching and he’s-”
“Hello, Jessica.” The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Trish, but it was all too familiar. And if the call came from her sister’s phone...
“What the fuck have you done to Trish?” Jessica demanded harshly, her heart beating fiercely.
“Now, now,” Kilgrave chided. “There’s no need to take that tone with me. I have your sister here, and she’s fine. In fact, she’s better than fine. Much more obedient than you ever were, Jessica. Perhaps I chose the wrong sister?”
Jessica’s mind began racing- how fast could she be out of here and get to the park? Was this all a trap? How did he get Trish, and how did he get so many people under control at once? Clearly, whatever he’d been trying to do to improve his influence was paying off. But it didn’t matter- every second she left Trish with that monster was a moment of life that the other woman would never get back. And Jess had learned lately that every second was precious.
“What do you want?”
“Oh, come now. If you have to ask, you haven’t been paying attention.” He paused and Jess thought the line might have gone dead, but then he spoke again, accent cloying in her ear. “We’ll be waiting for you to make your choice. You’ve got an hour, Jessica.”
An hour was far too long to leave those people standing there, in the harsh, late night. And Jessica had already made her decision long ago. She hung up the phone without another word and threw the thing down on the couch, pushing past Luke to grab her jacket and boots from the bedroom.
“He has Trish,” she panted, tugging up her boots frantically. Luke followed her, giving her space as she bent at the waist, only slightly impeded by her burgeoning stomach. “This is it, Luke. I... I don’t have a choice. This has to be it.”
“Then let me come with you. Lemme call Danny, you call Matt, we’ll get the gang together and we’ll stop him,” he offered, already knowing what stubborn Jessica Jones would say.
“No, I can’t risk him getting any of us,” she said, shaking her head. “Besides, I want to believe whatever psychic bullshit Jean Grey put into my brain... it’ll be enough.” She grabbed her jacket and tugged the sleeves on. Jessica ran back to the front room, grabbing her phone from the couch, fingers trembling as she stuffed it in her back pocket. This had to be it, but what was it? So many variables she couldn’t know. And she was fucking terrified.
Jessica stopped at the front door, looking back to Luke in his boxers. God, she wanted to curl up in bed with him. To act like this wasn’t the very possible end of everything she’d worked so hard to build for herself. To go to sleep, curled at his side, loved and safe and warm and only waking up occasionally to pee because pregnancy was stupid. No night terrors, no thoughts of failing to face her greatest fears, her greatest foe.
“Luke, if something... if something happens to me, call Murdock and tell him to come to Morningside Park. No matter what, you need to stay out of his reach, okay?” Jessica could tell that Luke’s heart was in two places on this one. He so badly wanted to come with her- not for his own heroics, but to protect her. Support her. But he also knew the terror of losing control, and if Kilgrave had that many hundreds of people in his thrall, there was no way Luke Cage was going to be able to stand apart. And Jess couldn’t risk Kilgrave using him against her. Or worse.
She shook her head and without another word, slipped out into the night, leaping up to a nearby fire escape to make her way across the rooftops.
---
It took Jessica about eighteen minutes running and leaping at top speed across the rooftops to make it into range of the park. The news helicopters still circled, and it was a wonder they hadn’t been threatened off. At least, if they were safe in the air, it was one less thing for Jess to worry about. The last thing she needed was a kamikaze pilot under Kilgrave’s influence.
As she drew near enough, she lowered herself to the street and stood there, hands on her thighs, panting. She quickly checked her phone- no breaking updates in the report, so that seemed good. But nothing with Kilgrave was ever as it seemed. Putting her phone back into her pocket, Jessica put a hand on her stomach, which fluttered as she caught her breath. She couldn’t sense the baby’s movements yet but she had to trust everything was okay in there. A little cardio never hurt, did it?
She was well within her hour, but Jessica knew Kilgrave would grow impatient waiting for his latest plaything to arrive. The woman steeled herself in the cold night air and proceeded on foot at ground level.
Approaching the edge of the park, she was met by a throng of bodies, standing soldier-like at attention, facing the base of the Charles Schurz Memorial. Jessica couldn’t see over the sea of heads, but if she was a betting woman her money would have been on Kilgrave- and Trish- waiting there. And that would be the worst if she was lucky.
At the sound of her footsteps, one of the heads closest to her- a blonde young woman she didn’t recognize- turned and clued in to her arrival. Like clockwork, the hundreds of other bodies spun around to face her down, and Jessica had to step backwards at the oppressive weight of their collective stares. She didn’t know what Kilgrave had told them to do, but watching her seemed as good a guess as any. The silence was deafening, save for the rotary hum of the helicopters above.
“Jesus, fuck,” Jess muttered as she dared to step forward, fists clenched. She moved slowly, fearing that they may have been told to attack her, or attack one another. No one seemed to be holding any weapons- that, again, seemed like a good sign. Too many good signs in this nightmare scenario.
Silently, she weighed the exact amount of force she would have to use to knock out any of these civilians if they attacked her. Jessica knew where to hit and just how hard to put them on the ground in the least concussive, least damaging way. She always knew that much, but now she was preparing to exercise it.
As she approached, the people parted just enough for her to pass through. The crowd was still trained on her, their eyes following every step. She stepped into the cleared path, and the bodies moved in behind her to close her in. “Really? The theatrics,” she muttered, trying to get any one of them to react. How long had they been here before she’d turned on the news? She was met with nothing but laser focus. Jess shuddered, remembering what it was like to be inside of that, watching the world, trapped in your own mind.
Kilgrave’s command had never been strong enough to work on more than a small handful of people at a time. How did he have this many minds under such strict control all at once?
Walking further into the sea of bodies, Jessica began to double take, seeing what she imagined were familiar faces. Just beyond the cold stare of a beautiful Native woman whose features were sharp with focus, Jess spotted Peter Quill. There was no recognition or familiarity in his stare, just icy determination. She so badly wanted to bring herself to smile, just to assure him things would be okay. But she would be lying to herself and to him, and she couldn’t shake the abject terror that gripped her completely. So she kept walking, slowly at first, then with more determination.
She could see Kilgrave’s head over the legions of people, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement. Jessica moved forward, noticing another familiar gaze in the throng of people parting to let her through. Her eyes widened, and Jess threw out a hand.
“Kate! Kate, no,” she shouted, reaching for the girl and shoulder-checking an older gentleman to move him out of the way. Claw-like hands gripped Jessica’s jacket, pulling the neck and restraining her. “Fucking get off of me!”
“No,” a stranger’s voice said. The tone was robotic, practiced. “You’re wasting time, Jessica. Leave her.”
Jessica struggled, wresting hands off her jacket as the crowd backed off and returned to their positions. “Oh, so you freaks do speak.” She knew better than to test them again, but...
Her heart sank. Jessica would personally take on every one of these people if it meant getting Kate to safety. Taking her away from all of this- the girl must have been breaking inside. Standing in a park, late at night. Assaulted by the mind manipulations of the sick and twisted man they both hoped would die. Well, Kate might have to watch it happen, if Jess got her way tonight.
As she passed, she turned, not touching, to speak to the girl. “Kate, I’m sorry. I’m going to make this right. I’m so sorry.” There was no assurance in her stare. No confirmation of understanding, no acknowledgement that she heard or even believed Jessica. Just blank focus.
The investigator practically shoved the rest of the crowd out of the way as she marched to Kilgrave standing at the base of the memorial with Trish kneeling beside him. To the opposite side of her sister, Jess spotted that strange eye-shaped sculpture the Bugle had written about months prior. It had been reported stolen on New Year’s Day, just after their fight with the ninjas and Typhoid Mary. So why did he have it?
“You depraved, maniacal bastard,” Jessica barked as she stormed up the steps, stopping short at the closer sight of her sister. Trish’s eyes were glistening, piqued pink in the corners as if she’d maybe been crying. Kilgrave wouldn’t have let her, but it was just so cold out that maybe the stinging night air had that effect on her anyways. Jess only turned her head briefly to see the army of bodies behind her all take a few steps closer in unison- the only way out of here was up in the air now.
Speaking of, the floodlights of the helicopters were obnoxiously bright, illuminating the scene. Kilgrave’s teeth shone as he cracked a large grin at Jessica’s arrival. “Well, Jessica,” he crooned, patting Trish’s hair like she was a housecat. “Your sister and I were beginning to think you wouldn’t show. Well, I had my doubts but she... she seemed so sure you would rush in and save the day, hm?”
His laughter curdled Jessica’s blood and she had the urge to rip off the hand that was touching her sister. The Purple Man was uncomfortably confident now that the investigator had stepped into his game. Jess balled her fists at her sides and tried to slow her breathing before she flew off at the handle. She had to figure out his angle first, or else any ‘kill yourself’ or ‘kill each other’ fail-safe commands could turn the night into even more of a shitshow than it was already shaping up to be.
“So, Jessica, why did you come here? To be a hero to dear, sweet Patsy and all of these innocent bystanders? Or did you have some other delusions?”
His grand, sweeping gesture at the crowd made her shoulders tighten. Something inside of Jessica tugged, from her chest towards Kilgrave. She wanted to tell him her plan, just so he could know what he had coming to him. So she could wipe that stupid, smug grin off his face.
In the back of her mind, the flaming words ‘Fuck You’ appeared. Oh god, that was Jean Grey’s psychic trigger going off. There was no way his powers were getting to her now, unless... That sculpture at his feet worried her.
“I’m waiting, Jessica.”
She swallowed. Over the distant din of the helicopter, she raised her voice from a whisper. “I’m here to kill you.”
Kilgrave paused a moment, brows knitting together. Then he shook his head. “Oh, well then. I could have guessed that!” He looked more amused than she would have liked. His next words were painfully deliberate, testing the bounds of his persuasion. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Here Jessica grew confused. She hated the superheroic monologuing of so many other crimefighters- Captain America and his speeches, She-Hulk’s quipping, even Daredevil’s self-righteous shit. But now, she felt like this was her moment. Her moment to exact revenge for everything he ever did. To her. To Luke. To Kate and Peter and everyone standing behind her. To Trish, the one person she always thought she could keep safe.
But was she telling him these things because it was what she wanted to hear? Or it was what he had told her to do? Jessica’s heart beat even faster with fear.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I’m pregnant,” she admitted. “And it’s Luke Cage’s. And I’m more loved than I ever have been, and killing you is the last step to ensuring that I have a future that I can look forward to.” Saying the words felt good, whether it was what she wanted to tell him or not.
At that, Kilgrave looked visibly crestfallen. Only just slightly. He stuffed both hands in his suit jacket pockets and sniffed. “Well, that explains the bit of a gut you’ve got going on right there. I didn’t want to be rude and say something, but, seriously. Jessica.” He tutted and looked around at the scene he’d created here. He looked past the investigator into the crowd, drawing out the moment. Why didn’t she just kill him now?
“Jessica, it is... so sad that you have to lie to yourself like that,” the Purple Man continued. “You really are so damaged. Which is a shame, because you’re such a lovely jewel.” He sighed and Jessica took a step forward, which she regretted instantly. Kilgrave straightened, putting a foot to the eye sculpture. Was it going to shoot lasers? What the fuck was it doing here anyway?
“But you always were a bit of a daft bitch,” the British man spat quickly. “You just don’t get it, do you? I’ve hardly had to use any power to get you here, Jessica. Just wait until you see what I’m prepared to do. This beautiful little piece here- and I don’t mean your sister- is a very powerful relic. That controls minds. With it, there’s not a soul alive that could resist my commands. Not even you, my jewel.”
Jessica wanted to believe he was bluffing, but that confidence, that ego. That was more than she’d ever seen from him. He didn’t know about what help she’d received from Jean Grey, but up against that relic, she wasn’t sure it would matter much here.
“All I ever wanted was you,” Kilgrave continued. Trish shivered by his side in the cold air, and Jess so badly wanted to give the woman her leather jacket. “I gave you everything I could, and it still wasn’t enough. And then that damned Luke Cage couldn’t even get a job done right and then what? He takes you from me? And you’re having a fucking baby with him. Augh! You know you’ll never really be happy. I know you, and you’ve never had it in you to love anyone. Not even yourself. Certainly not a baby, disgusting little thing. Maybe you care about your darling Trish here, but you couldn’t even protect her now.”
“I’m going to make you regret touching her,” Jess practically growled. “You’re going to pay for everything you’ve done.”
The Purple Man compelled Trish to stand, which she obeyed. Jessica stood rooted to the spot simply out of fear. She had to gauge the right moment to make her move without ruining everything. Why wasn’t he using the eye on her? Was he afraid it wouldn’t work? Or was he scared it would be too easy? Kilgrave bent down and picked up the relic, which was sizable in his arms. “If I can’t have you, then I will be damned sure you never forget me,” he threatened.
Jessica steeled herself against whatever unimaginable horror he could speak into existence next. Her heart was practically in her throat by now.
“Go on then, Jessica,” he said, the bright lights glinting off the sculpture mystically. “If you’re going to kill me, then get on with it. Be the big sodding hero you always think you can be. But remember, killing one person is an accident. Killing two people makes a habit.”
Kilgrave stood, staring at her relentlessly. Jessica could feel the eyes of three hundred strangers boring into her back. He was going to make her do this in front of an audience. Make her ruin her own life by doing exactly what she wanted to do. And a small part of her didn’t want to go through with it any longer, but she felt that she had to. Was he really compelling her, even now? With the use of that artifact? Or was Jessica finally taking her chance to do what she knew she had to?
How was it that she had all the power, but he still had complete control?
Numbly, she walked forward. The crowd walked with her. They closed in until there was only a small perimeter of space between her, her sister, and the suited Englishman. Jessica shoved Trish back gently, keeping her out of the way.
As Jessica approached, she could see the disappointment in Kilgrave’s glance. The sadness in his eyes. This was a losing battle- but why was he giving up the fight? The man was heartbroken, knowing he’d lost his chance with Jessica for good. It made her even more furious.
“Hey, asshole,” she said, squaring her shoulders. Before he could respond, she gripped him by the jaw and lifted him up, just as he’d made her do unto others dozens of times before. Jessica could almost recall the smell of the burning oil on the grill at the teppanyaki restaurant in the cold night air. Her fingers squeezed tightly on his neck, the veins in his face turning...purple.
“Smile.”
With her off hand, Jessica quickly grabbed his skull and snapped his neck with determination, dropping his body to the pavement in a muffled thud of purple suit fabric. The eye sculpture fell from his arms and clattered as the metal hit concrete. A massive shudder ran through the gathered crowd as three hundred people suddenly, slowly regained their faculties. It was like a great sigh was exhaled as people began to come to clarity, seeing themselves in the park, gathered around a dead man’s body.
To be sure he was truly dead, Jess knelt down and checked for a pulse. Nothing. For a moment, she imagined this was one of his mind games, maybe a trick he was playing now that she was under his control. But it felt real. Horrifyingly real.
Sirens howled all around the park perimeter as law enforcement arrived, as if they too had been waiting for the spell to break. Jessica wanted so badly to check on Trish, but a gruff voice urged her to stay down. She slowly lifted her hands away from the body, putting them over her head. There was no fight left in her.
She’d done exactly what she set out to do. So why was she still so afraid?
“You have the right to remain silent.”
Her arms were twisted into cuffs and Jessica was pulled upright, led to a police car with flashing lights. She didn’t resist.
She saw detective Knight arrive with another squad, and the woman gave her a disdainful but confused look as Jess was more or less pushed into the back of a vehicle. The dark-haired woman tried to search the crowd for a sign of Kate, Trish, or Peter. Anyone familiar, anyone who could provide a friendly embrace, a reassuring word. Nothing. Just cops moving in to mark the perimeter of the crime scene. There was no way they could reasonably question all these witnesses. And they practically had Jessica dead to rights.
She was tired. Oh, so tired. And so Jess sat in the back of the squad car, hands behind her back, head bowed. She remained silent, all the way back to the precinct.
The wind bit bitterly at her nose and fingertips, shivering to her core despite the crackling of flames behind her, smoke pluming from the wreckage of what had once been a house. Her home.
Through the roar of heat she hears the crunch of boots on snow, and looks up to see the offered hand of an old, weathered soldier. She takes it.
( those who later associate her with the bitterness and harshness of the winters of her homeland forget that the black widow was born in fire )
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
Nikolai ties the small, black ribbon around her left finger, the ribbon that had been stitched into his uniform by his mother before he was shipped off to war. The ribbon is the only ring they can afford, bullets cracking off in the distance in place of bells.
He’s gunned down by Germans. Most of them are. Forced to scatter, she escapes, her stocked rations not enough to fend off starvation, her will not enough to fend off exhaustion.
Nikolai never gets a grave, but the one she digs takes hours and is too small.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
They keep to the corner and shadows and speak in English. English - always English. Never (rarely) Russian in case they are overheard. Vain hopes of running away from this place, a few uttered longings of turning against their superiors. Words just as forbidden as their actions, nothing muttered above a whisper.
“It’s okay little one…shhh….”
Of course, the child doesn’t quiet. Sobs into her shoulder, small hands digging into the black of her uniform as her father bleeds out on the ground, as the Winter Soldier walks away, red-stained blade in hand.
Natalia doesn’t speak when her superiors take the girl away - for training, to be told in subtle nuances that her father was a traitor. Another orphan taken under wing. Not unlike herself.
She wonders how she could have ever envisioned herself a mother.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
Soft, mocking, scoffing, merely a huff of air exhaled. She’s used to laughter like this. Used to laughing like this. More used to not hearing it at all, no humor to be found in stealing secrets and slitting throats.
She’s older now and determination is something she no longer feels when they tell her to kill, seduce, and lie. A feeling too bright for a place like this. So when faced with such a strong light of it, Natalia can’t help but nearly double over in laughter at the blonde.
<“You are too naive.”>
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
They didn’t have medical clinics in the Red Room. Not really.
She’d heard the soldiers and guards refer to ‘the clinic’ when a Black Widow operative would turn up carrying child. Some went willingly, others fighting, a few crying. That was usually the last Natasha would ever see of them.
( killing machines are not allowed to malfunction )
Agents were taken to The Clinic when ill, chests wheezing from pneumonia or stomach heaving from flu. They were taken when they’d suffered broken bones, compound fractures, and punctured lungs. They, too, usually were never seen again, subjected to failed serums and experiments.
( killing machines, if found faulty, were to be discarded )
She remembers one winter of forcing herself not to cough at night, trying to sleep in the damp room that held none of the warmth that a bedroom should - a prison cell. She remembers powering through days of brutal training sessions, feeling faint but letting each bruise gained serve as a reminder to not give in - to stay alive - only to be sent back to the barracks for another night of curling in on herself, hoping to keep warm yet burning up from fever sweat all at once.
When she gets ill for the first time while working for S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha refuses to see the doctor, refuses to tell anyone. She still associates ‘doctors’ with scientists and ‘scientists’ with torture. Still associates medical aid as an admission of weakness.
( in the end, clint is the one who fakes sick to get medicine for her )
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
In the metal-on-rock cacophony as the truck rolls out of control she thinks-- a flicker of a thought: this isn’t how she wants to die.
Blood runs over her brow, into the crease of her eyelid-- thinned and smudge with the brush of her wrist. Natasha pulls herself out of the vehicle, hauling the engineer out by the collar of his jacket, out of the caged heat and into that of the sun beating down on them. A reprieve. Short-lived, as a bullet tears through her hip and into the engineer.
As he bleeds out, through the smoke, she sees a ghost.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
Fury’s had her assigned to monitor the Hulk for the Avengers Initiative for well over a year now. She’s seen what he’s capable of, what he can do. Much of her life has been about control, measured chaos. Never fully unleashed, always methodical, precise.
( she shakes, knees to her chest, suddenly very aware of how fragile she really is )
It was better observing unbridled rage from a distance, she thinks.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
She holds the scepter in her hands and thinks about all it’s done. Turning a good man against his allies, nearly sending a aircraft full of people plummeting to the ground for its conquest, killing a man, uniting a team.
She holds the scepter in her hands and sees it for what it really is. A weapon. An instrument of destruction. But mostly a tool. Not unlike herself.
( it would be easy, to turn this opportunity against them )
She closes the portal.
Not all tools reap chaos.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
Natasha drops her bag of luggage from her latest op beside the couch with an air of indifference. Massaging a bruise against her ribcage that’s sure to turn green within the next day or two, she walks over to the recorder and presses play. An old message from Maria Hill telling her to come in for the assignment she just completed. Beep. Nothing new.
Liho twists around her legs as she turns a stove burner on for soup, looking up expectantly at her. <“Sorry. I didn’t go to the pet store,”> she mutters, somewhat apologetically before grabbing a can of tuna from the shelf. <“It will have to do.”>
Which, she thinks as she sits on the counter and eats her soup, is something she tells herself too often.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
“We trusted each other, once, when we probably shouldn’t have, and...I’d like to think that worked out-- least for a while. Right?”
She’d broken into Barnes’ barren apartment and waited, the news signaled out via her Avengers Identicard burned into her brain like a brand. Steve Rogers is missing, a stranger-- otherworldly, vindictive-- wears his face.
She knows it’s only a matter of time before the news goes public. Barnes was there, had called Stark in. She wants answers. She wants....
She isn’t sure what she wants.
“I wanna be able to trust you.”
His words are an abandoned whisper, one she answers in kind.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
She leaves. In the wake of the Skrulls’ absence, of what they’d left behind, she leaves. Weeks pass. She visits old graves. A black ribbon. A black rose. Months pass. Isaiah feeds her intel. It brings her to Bolivia. She leaves it behind for Paris. For Japan. New Mexico.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
“I would like you to think about the future, Natasha. I would like you to think about what you could become.”
The man calling himself The Prophet has no eyes that she can discern, just pools of electric white. There is no wetness to them, no discernible texture. Just light, glowing from the hollows of their sockets.
“They are not chaos, they are guides. They do not seek to destroy. They see what will survive into the future, and they help it to flourish.”
Something not human, something that once was. Possessed and directed by beings unnamed.
“I know what you’re really about,” she says. “You and everyone else in the present and the future who wants to be God. You just want power.”
“You’re wrong,” it says, “and I’m sorry you reacted this way. I used the carrot. Unfortunately the stick will prove a bit more final than you might--”
Natasha plunges her knife into The Prophet’s throat before he can finish his threat.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
A year goes by.
The ACCORDS bring her back to a home divided.
It’s a round table discussion and it reflects in its end result-- talking in circles; no one budging from the stance they’d entered with. She’d been relieved to see the team gathered together-- it’d been so long. It would be the last.
( she signs it )
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
Much has changed at S.H.I.E.L.D.; it goes much unnoticed to the public. Alexander Pierce has been months dead, buried, mourned by family and colleagues-- with former Deputy Director, Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine named as Secretary in his place.
Much has changed and goes unnoticed-- like a finger run through a thin layer of dust.
She stands before Maria Hill, right hand clasping her left wrist behind her back, and waits for the Director’s next move. Her mission report has enough details within it to be convincing, following the right direction-- one step, two steps behind.
( if she isn’t careful, they’ll burn her-- throw her in the deepest government blackhole from which she’ll never be heard from again )
Maria is just doing her job. She expects Natasha to do the same.
( she doesn’t-- can’t-- know that it was natasha who leaked the blueprints to the latest s.h.i.e.l.d. base that’s been infiltrated; she wouldn’t still be standing in the director’s office otherwise )
S.H.I.E.L.D. - and what is lurking beneath its skin - will not find Rogers or Barnes.
FightAsOne RP AU: Week 8 - Monster Murder Mystery: James “Bucky” Barnes
→ Lycanthrope;
The beast within sleeps, but it is not dead-- lofty, ominous words that have followed Bucky for years, long before he truly knew what they meant. For many lycan families, the Awakening is a ritualized tradition, something sacred and to be cherished. It varies from clan to clan, but all beliefs revolve around one thing: the first willful drawing of blood.
Bucky broke the Barnes’ family practice of the ritual - usually held on the evening of ones’ twenty-first birthday - when circumstances led him to enlisting into the military on his eighteenth birthday. Without the guidance of his family or others of his kind, his first few years of transformations were difficult, lending themselves to loneliness. Though rumors abound (clan disputes, sudden tragedy at the hand of hunters, discord within the family itself) as to the exact reasons for this departure from custom, the end result remains the same: blood was shed and the wolf within was awakened.
The only remaining son of the Barnes’ lycan clan, Bucky spends most of his time these days enjoying his civilian life after two tours of warfare with his own kind and other members of the supernatural community. Unlike traditional “werewolves” who are influenced by lunar cycles, his inherited lycanthropy grants him the ability to turn at will, allowing him the luxury of blending into modern society without restriction. While its common knowledge in the community that for this reason alone, Bucky has no motive to draw attention to himself...others whisper that sharp fighting abilities, little to fear from silver bullets, and the capacity to remain cognizant while transformed all make for a formidable traitor....
Fight As One RP AU Week 8: Monster Murder Mystery: William Kaplan | Descendant of Qīnglóng
“See the world in green and blue, see China right in front of you. See the canyons broken by cloud, see the tuna fleets clearing the sea out. See the Bedouin fires at night, see the oil fields at first light. See the bird with a leaf in her mouth, after the flood all the colours came out - it was a beautiful day.”
Azure Dragon, Black Tortoise, White Tiger and Vermilion Bird - with the creation of the universe, the astral form of these four mythical creatures joined together in the cosmos, taking on the obligation of controlling the changes of the seasons through the phases of the lunar months. Millennia passed and these gargantuan symbols of evolution remained rooted in the stars, forming a series of constellations whose respective souls fragmented and cascaded down to various points of the Earth upon four mortal families. Seven members of each elevated household draw power from their respective symbol, gaining their physical characteristics for a short period of time to fulfil their duties.
The extended Kaplan family were bound with Qīnglóng, the Azure Dragon - with Spring being their responsibility, the family based in Manhattan channel energy from seven constellations to ensure that the season flourishes on an international scale. William, the youngest and most optimistic member of the family to rise to the challenge is tied with Xīn, the Dragon’s heart, using its warmth and sense of certainty to spread the concept of hope and new beginnings.
