"...Kate," the little girl answered timidly.
"Kate…" Antony repeated softly, as if tasting the name.
Then he reached out and gently—almost reverently—touched the action figure in her hands.
"…You like this?"
"Yes," Kate nodded. "It's you… you saved me."
Antony's expression froze for exactly one-tenth of a second.
Saved her?
Oh. Absolutely. That definitely happened.
"That day…" Kate's eyes reddened. "The building collapsed. My dad, he…"
Her voice trembled. "That alien monster was going to kill me… and then… then you appeared."
She reenacted it excitedly, eyes shining.
"You looked at it and—zzzt!—shot light from your eyes!"
"…I'm sorry."
Kate froze.
"I'm sorry, Kate," Antony said hoarsely. "That day… I should have been faster."
"If I'd been just a little faster… your dad… he might've—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
A hero's guilt spoke louder than a thousand excuses.
"W–waaah…"
One of the accompanying reporters—a young female intern—could not hold back her tears on the spot.
The hospital director covered her mouth, eyes glistening red.
For the first time since the incident, light returned to Kate's once-empty gaze.
She stared at the man before her—the godlike hero who had saved her… and was now apologizing to her.
"No!" Kate suddenly shouted.
She tossed the action figure aside and threw herself into Antony's arms.
"It's not your fault! It's not! You're a hero! You saved me!!"
She broke down sobbing.
The child's cries echoed through the room.
Antony—Homelander—awkwardly, carefully wrapped his arms around her.
He lifted his head and closed his eyes.
A single perfectly timed tear slid down his handsome cheek.
Click—FLASH!!!!
The cameras went insane.
Ding! Popularity +213
Ding! Popularity +480
Ding! Popularity +355
…
Ding! Special Popularity +10,000!
Inside, Antony was laughing his ass off.
Perfect. Absolutely flawless performance. Once Vought spins this properly, my popularity's going to skyrocket. Everyone will love me.
The "visit" concluded, and Antony left the hospital completely satisfied.
He didn't head straight home.
Instead, he flew a few laps above New York, savoring his after-dinner dessert—the cheers of the crowd.
As he passed over Hell's Kitchen, his enhanced hearing caught something… off.
"…No… please… let me go…"
A woman's voice—tight with suppressed terror.
------
Hell's Kitchen
The name fit.
Even a month after the Battle of New York, the air here still stank of rot and despair.
Jessica Jones tossed an empty bottle into the sink.
Clang.
In the mirror was a pale woman with dark circles under her eyes.
Her black hair was a mess, like a bird's nest. She wore the same old uniform: a black leather jacket and ripped jeans.
"Fuck," she muttered.
She grabbed her keys.
Jessica had powers.
She didn't know where they came from. That goddamn car crash took her family—and left her with this "gift": super strength, and a body tough enough to jump off a ten-story building without breaking her legs.
A gift that meant jack shit to her.
It only brought trouble. Isolation. Being treated like a freak.
So she hid.
She bounced between jobs—cashier, bartender, even once dressed as a fuzzy squirrel handing out flyers in Times Square.
She drifted through life like that… until the Battle of New York.
She saw a Leviathan smash into the side of a building.
She saw a blond man in a cape carry a nuke into the sky.
And right in front of her, a Chitauri soldier raised an energy spear toward a little girl hiding behind a taxi.
Jessica didn't think.
She ran.
She grabbed the alien bastard by the head and slammed it into the asphalt with strength she'd hidden for ten years.
She saved the girl.
And from that day on, something she thought was long dead… came roaring back to life.
…..
"Stop right there, bitch! Hand over your money!"
Hell's Kitchen. 2 a.m.
Three junkies cornered a nurse fresh off a night shift. One of them flicked open a switchblade.
"Please…" she begged.
"Please my ass!"
The leader slapped her hard across the face.
"Hey."
A lazy, irritated female voice came from the alley entrance.
"Could you assholes at least try a new script? It's always 'bitch' and 'give me your money.' Zero creativity."
The three turned around.
It was Jessica Jones.
"It's her!" the leader sneered. "That leather-jacket freak! Boys—she's alone! We—"
BAM!
Jessica didn't bother listening.
She picked up a trash can lid and hurled it like a frisbee.
It smashed square into his face.
His nose caved in instantly. Teeth flew.
He went down with a single strangled scream.
"What the—?!" The other two froze.
"Next," Jessica said, cracking her knuckles.
"Fuck! Kill her!"
The one with the knife rushed her.
Jessica sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and bent it the wrong way.
CRACK—!!
"AAAAAAHHHH!!"
He collapsed, howling.
The third thug turned and ran.
Jessica sprinted after him, grabbed him by the collar, and hurled him like a bowling ball straight into a brick wall.
BOOM!
The wall caved in slightly.
The guy slid down like a sack of meat.
Jessica dusted off her hands and walked back to the stunned nurse.
She pulled a wrinkled twenty out of one thug's pocket and handed it over.
"Take a cab. Don't walk this street again."
"…Thank you… thank you! You… you're a hero!"
"I'm not a hero," Jessica waved it off awkwardly. "I'm just… Jessica Jones."
She turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Across the street, hidden in the shadows, a man in a purple shirt and matching tie watched the entire scene.
A sick smile crept across his face.
"Oh… my," he whispered.
"So raw. So powerful."
"You're mine."
------
The next day.
Jessica's usual dive bar.
"Cheapest whiskey you've got, Jack. On the rocks."
"You playing vigilante again, Jones?" the bartender said. "One day it's gonna bite you in the ass."
"Shut up and pour."
"Hey," a calm male voice cut in, right beside her.
"Mind if I buy you a drink?"