"I'll start from the beginning," she muttered.
"My parents died in a car crash... because some idiot teenager ran a red light."
"Then someone experimented on me—some twisted lab rats at IGH. They turned me into something… different."
"Then he came—Kilgrave. The mind control. The loss of will. The things he made me do."
"Kill. Hurt. Obey."
"And now—this is all that's left."
Boom!
The rubber ball in her hand exploded against the wall, spiderweb cracks spreading across the concrete.
The woman who just hurled it—Jessica Jones—turned without a word and vanished into the night.
The streets of Hell's Kitchen were as alive as ever, full of faces and voices, but none of it meant anything to her. Optimism? That was long dead.
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her worn leather jacket, hunched over, walking like a shadow through the city that never cared.
Jessica Jones. Once Jewel. Now a half-functioning alcoholic PI who lived off exposing cheating husbands and scumbags worse than her.
Only the burn of whiskey kept her grounded. That, and the fire she couldn't kill inside.
She mumbled to herself, "Maybe I'll splurge. Hit the Bazaar, get a drink that doesn't taste like regret and bottom-shelf trash."
Her feet carried her to the old familiar Golden Building… or at least it used to be.
"Heisenberg Building?" she scoffed.
"Great. Some self-important jackass bought the place. If the club inside changed too, I swear…"
"You better still have decent whiskey, Heisen-whatever, or I'll level this place."
She pushed inside—and everything went sideways.
"Fake, fake, fake!!" she screamed.
"You! You useless bastards! Let's see who drinks who under the damn table!"
She grabbed a bottle, downed it in record time.
"What's the matter? Belly full of your own shame?" she jeered at a leering drunk. "Try making a pass again. I dare you."
Boom! Smash! Crash!
Furniture broke. Men screamed. One tried to pin her.
He ended up flying across the room.
—
By 11:20 PM, Heisenberg was still chatting with Agent Coulson in his booth, when the noise finally broke through.
He sighed. "Do I have to fix everything myself?"
Coulson hesitated. "Just saying, Heisenberg… they're drunk. Not criminals."
"Uh-huh." Heisenberg stood.
He clapped his hands—crack!
The shockwave blew out across the room, knocking tables over and silencing everyone within ten meters.
The fight paused.
Well—almost everyone paused.
One woman, thin but deadly, kept going. Jessica Jones had a man—at least 180 pounds—lifted by one arm. Her other fist buried itself in his gut like a hammer.
Heisenberg watched with amused interest.
"Now that's a firecracker," he smirked.
The crowd egged him on, typical trash talk.
"She's got fists like yours, boss!"
"She yours now, Heisenberg?!"
Jessica only got angrier.
Boom! Another hit.
"You think you can drug me? Strip me while I black out?"
Boom! Internal bleeding.
"You think I haven't seen every disgusting tactic in the book?"
She drew back again—ready to kill.
Then her wrist was caught.
She looked up.
Heisenberg.
His grip wasn't strong, just there—like her rage couldn't touch him.
"That one'll kill him," he said calmly. "You ready for that?"
Something cracked inside her—not his wrist. Hers.
She stumbled back, dropped to her knees, head down, breathing hard.
All at once, the heat left her, leaving only a cold sweat and a deep, nauseating memory.
And for a second... she was just a woman again.
Not a weapon. Not a monster. Not a survivor.
Just Jessica.
In the next moment, she pushed herself off the floor, her voice laced with venom.
"Who the hell are you to butt into my business?"
Heisenberg tilted his head slightly, a calm smile on his lips.
"Me? I'm the guy who owns this place."
"Oh, you."
Jessica Jones didn't give a damn about his status. With a growl, she threw a punch at Heisenberg's chest—hard and fast, without hesitation.
CLANG!
The impact echoed through the club like a bell struck by a hammer. Jessica stumbled back three steps, her knuckles flaring with pain.
"Son of a—!" she hissed, cradling her hand. "What the hell are you made of?"
Heisenberg grinned, impressed.
"You've got one hell of a punch. Want to make it a game? You win, you call the shots. I win—well, I think you already know."
Jessica scowled. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
"But not the worst you've met, I'd bet."
Heisenberg could already tell something about her didn't add up. Her strength. Her attitude. The haunted look in her eyes. This wasn't some drunk with an attitude problem.
And then it clicked.
She didn't give him time to dwell. With a defiant roar, she stomped hard on the floor, launching herself at him like a human missile. The floor cracked beneath her boots, splintering from the force.
But Heisenberg caught her mid-air—one arm, clean, effortless.
"I believe everyone heard the rules," he called out to the stunned club. "I win. I play. Now, someone get the poor bastard she was beating to a hospital, and drinks on me for the night!"
Cheers erupted as he carried Jessica toward the penthouse, still squirming and cursing in his grip.
---
The Penthouse, Later That Night
Jessica Jones wasn't ordinary.
That much was obvious.
Stronger than a hydraulic jack, angry as hell, and… hungry in a way Heisenberg hadn't seen before.
And for once, he didn't hold back. He didn't have to.
She didn't break—she welcomed the challenge. Even craved it.
By morning, he woke up on the floor, his bed a wreck behind him.
Six A.M.
He slapped her backside, groaning. "If you're trying to sneak out, at least let me sleep in."
Startled, Jessica turned around and grinned, then leaned down to kiss his cheek.
"I'm not tipping you for last night. I'm broke, remember?"
"Damn it," he muttered, yanking her back into his arms. "Then you're working off the debt. Morning rounds."
"Hah. Afraid of a rematch?"
---
Later, as the sun rose higher
She lay beside him, breath slowing, her body heavy against his chest.
"I'm Jessica," she said suddenly, as if the words had to be forced out. "Jessica Jones. Yeah, embarrassing way to introduce myself, I know."
Heisenberg leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.
"Want me to scream your name next time you go flying?"
She punched him lightly, laughing despite herself.
---
Over Breakfast
Jessica sat cross-legged on the couch, wrapped in a towel, chewing toast.
"So," she said, "you're the infamous Heisenberg. New York's underground nightmare. Kingpin's killer. Some call you the Anti-Superman."
Heisenberg raised a brow, taking a sip of coffee. "Which nickname do you like best?"
Jessica grinned and stretched, her bare foot brushing his chest.
"The barbarian one fits."
He caught her foot mid-motion. "I like yours better."
She smirked, pulled away, and went back to her eggs.
---
Later That Morning
Jessica tied her hair into a rough ponytail and grabbed her jacket.
He didn't stop her—not yet. He liked her too much to chain her down.
---
Eleven A.M.
Heisenberg dressed sharp: suit by Barbara, sunglasses pure Terminator. He slid into the Bentley that once belonged to Kingpin and punched in the address for Alias Investigations.
Time to pay a visit.
---
Meanwhile, at Alias Investigations
Jessica stepped out of her building in jeans and a worn leather jacket. Before she could make it far, a friend spotted her.
"Jess! You look… unusually happy. That anger management thing work out?"
Jessica scoffed. "I'm angrier. Just... looser."
Her friend gave her a knowing look.
"Someone strong?"
Jessica cracked a grin. "Strong enough to break my bed. And maybe me, too."
Whistling, her friend nudged her.
"Girl, spill it next time."
Jessica waved it off and walked toward the nearby diner. She didn't make it.
---
In the Skies Above Earth
Her scream echoed into the upper atmosphere as she found herself hurtling into space—held tightly in Heisenberg's arms.
She gasped, staring at the Earth below. "Are you—are you Superman?"
Heisenberg shook his head.
"No. I have his strength. But not his rules."
He pressed his forehead to hers.
"I looked into your past. I know what Kilgrave did. It made my blood boil."
Jessica's eyes brimmed with tears.
"I figured you needed a miracle. So here I am. I'm not Superman... because I'll do what he won't. I'll crush that bastard and throw him into the sun."
Jessica broke down, her voice shaking.
"Superman was never my hero anyway."
She cried. And then, finally—she laughed.