Jessica Jones was beginning to suspect the universe had a personal grudge against her.
She had made a genuine effort.
Richard had asked her to control her temper, and she’d promised she would.
She intended to keep that promise.
So why, she wondered, did idiots seem magnetically attracted to her?
Trish had once asked her the same question.
“How come everyone else can stay at one job for years, but you always end up in the middle of something insane?” Jessica hadn’t had an answer then.
She still didn’t.
That morning she’d shown up on time, walked into the Daily Planet, and stepped into the elevator like any normal employee.
Then a man dressed like he’d lost a fight with a paint factory grabbed her wrist and ordered her out.
Seriously?
Who died and made you king of the elevator?
She wanted to avoid trouble.
She truly did.
But stepping aside because some thug demanded it?
That wasn’t going to happen.
The gangster yanked on her arm.
Jessica didn’t move.
He frowned.
Apparently he hadn’t expected a woman to weigh as much as a concrete pillar.
He pulled harder.
Nothing.
Jessica remained exactly where she was, looking at him with an expression normally reserved for particularly slow children.
The other gangsters watched.
No one laughed.
They didn’t have to.
Their faces said enough.
You can’t even drag one woman?
The man’s ears turned red.
With a growl, he grabbed Jessica’s wrist with both hands.
“What the hell…” “I don’t believe this…” “Enough.” The gang’s leader cut him off.
“We’re not here for her.” “Let’s go.” Reluctantly, the thug released her.
Before turning away, he shot Jessica a vicious glare that clearly promised revenge.
Jessica almost rolled her eyes.
Lucky for you.
Old me would’ve peeled the elevator doors open and thrown you down the shaft.
Thankfully…
She was trying to be a better person.
The elevator climbed to the top floor.
When the doors opened, more than a dozen gangsters poured into the newsroom.
Jessica followed behind them.
Curious.
The leader stepped into the bustling office and shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Where’s Kathy Grom?” Conversations stopped.
Keyboards fell silent.
Every reporter looked up.
Jessica blinked.
So that’s why they’re here.
She briefly considered solving everyone’s problem before it became a bigger one.
Then Richard appeared.
Calm as ever.
“Kathy’s out on assignment,” he said.
“I’m the owner.” “If you have something to say, say it to me.” The gang leader snorted.
He extended a hand.
One of his men immediately passed him a rolled-up newspaper.
He tossed it across Richard’s desk.
“Read it.” Richard unfolded the paper.
It was Kathy’s investigation.
The story exposing the Green Snake Gang’s trafficking operation, complete with photographs of Ultraman’s intervention.
He nodded thoughtfully.
“Good article.” “The photos are strong.” “If I were grading it…” “I’d give Kathy a seven out of ten.” “She’s still new.” “No point letting success go to her head.” The gang leader stared at him.
“…That’s not the point!” He dragged over a chair and sat down with exaggerated swagger.
“You’ve probably guessed who we are.” “We’re with the Green Snake Gang.” “They call me Viper.” “I’d expect reporters to know that name.” Richard looked genuinely puzzled.
“I’ve never heard it.” He glanced around the newsroom.
“Anyone else?” The reporters shook their heads.
Not one recognized the name.
Viper’s jaw twitched.
What kind of newspaper is this?
The article had made the Green Snake Gang infamous across New York.
Their trafficking operation had become front-page news.
The organization’s superiors had responded exactly as expected.
With rage.
Viper’s boss had spent nearly half an hour screaming at him over the phone for allowing a rookie reporter to expose their business and attract Ultraman’s attention.
Viper couldn’t argue back.
So now he was here to vent his frustration on someone weaker.
He couldn’t find Ultraman.
Even if he could, he wasn’t suicidal.
That left the journalist who had written the story.
He rested a pistol on Richard’s desk.
The gesture looked rehearsed.
He’d clearly copied it from too many gangster movies.
“We don’t have to be enemies, Mr.
Carter.” “You’ve caused us some inconvenience.” “Our demands are simple.” “No more stories about the warehouse.” “And hand over the reporter who wrote that article.” “Do that…” “…and maybe our boss will let this go.” “Otherwise…” “You won’t like what happens next.” Viper leaned back, satisfied with his performance.
Surely the room would be terrified now.
Instead…
The reporters watched him with open curiosity.
Richard merely nodded.
“I see.” He looked toward Jessica.
A tiny motion of his eyes was enough.
Jessica understood immediately.
She walked over to the desk.
Picked up the pistol.
Viper smiled.
“I don’t think you’ve ever handled one of those.” “Do you even know how to take the safety off?” Jessica examined the gun for a moment.
“No.” She answered honestly.
Then she wrapped both hands around the barrel.
Metal groaned.
The hardened steel folded into a crooked loop beneath her grip as though it had been molded from soft clay.
Jessica set the ruined pistol back on the desk.
“But I know how to do this.” Silence swallowed the newsroom.