A sudden splash jolted Jessica awake. Ice-cold water drenched her from head to toe, and she gasped, instinctively kicking out with her long leg as she flipped upright. Before she could process her surroundings, Hong Fei's leg swept hers out from under her. She crashed back onto the floor, momentarily stunned. Her eyes snapped up to meet his, curiosity flickering in her gaze. This was her first glimpse of his face without the mask, but his movements—his speed, his technique—felt hauntingly familiar.
Hong Fei's chuckle broke the silence. "Whoa," he drawled, tilting his head. "Is your makeup not waterproof?" Jessica's hand flew to her face, her fingers brushing against the smeared remnants of her smoky eye. The once-dark liner now streaked her cheeks like black tears—or perhaps dried blood. She turned away sharply, shielding her face with her hands. "Get her some makeup remover," Hong Fei ordered. "And bring a set of clothes."
Number Two left and returned moments later with a box of cosmetics and a folded outfit. Jessica snatched the clothes and held them up to her face, hiding behind the fabric as Number Two escorted her upstairs to clean up. When she reappeared, she wore a crisp men's suit, her face scrubbed clean and fresh.
Hong Fei gestured to the seat across from him. Jessica perched on the edge of the sofa, her posture stiff. "Care to explain," he began, his tone dry, "what you were thinking with that getup earlier?" Her cheek twitched, and she dropped her gaze, embarrassment washing over her.
He wanted to ask if she'd planned to douse herself in water and leap out to terrify the Purple Man to death, but he bit back the jab. A girl's pride was fragile, after all. "Where is the Purple Man?" he asked instead.
"I don't know."
"Hmm?" His brow furrowed.
Jessica's voice quickened, her words tumbling out. "I don't know the exact location, but I know the general area. I can find him within a day."
"You're that good?"
"I... I've been watching him," she admitted, her voice heavy. "Before I met you, I was always looking for the right moment to strike. But I never had absolute certainty." Her tone was laced with frustration, the weight of helplessness pressing down on her.
Hong Fei nodded, his expression unreadable. "How have you been resting these past few days? Tell me the truth." Jessica hesitated, her lip caught between her teeth. She glanced at him, then away, her inner turmoil plain. He waited, patient and silent.
Finally, she spoke, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry. I can't do it. I can't calm down. After I left that day, I waited for your call every second. I've never wanted revenge this badly. I almost went out to find him myself... I'm sorry. I just... can't." Tears spilled onto the back of her hand, each drop a silent testament to her pain.
Hong Fei sighed inwardly. Flowers of hatred? More like flowers of stupidity. He'd known all along she couldn't keep her cool. If Jessica had been capable of calm, she would have found a way to eliminate her enemy long ago. The Purple Man—Kilgrave—was no ordinary foe. His body emitted a unique pheromone, a chemical weapon of sorts.
Once the target's skin absorbed these hormones, the Purple Man could control them through language. It was like hypnosis, but far more potent. Powerful, yes—but not limitless. If it were, the Purple Man would have unleashed it day and night, bending the entire world to his will.
Revenge shouldn't be this complicated. The simplest solution? A sniper shot. Eight hundred meters out—one bullet, one kill. Can't make the shot? Hire someone. No money? Cut back on the booze and save up. Want to do it yourself? Pay for training.
If you're shaky and worried about tipping off the target, take a page from Master Hong's book—compensate for poor aim with sheer firepower. Artillery shells don't need precision. The results speak for themselves. Methods are meant to be improvised, but Jessica's only strategy had been drowning herself in liquor.
If not for the fact she'd eventually learn to fly on her own, Hong Fei wouldn't have wasted his time. He snapped his fingers. Number Two, standing nearby, responded instantly. "Kilgrave's location is locked. He's in New York, but not in Jessica's district." How? Remote tracking, obviously.
Frank Castle—the Punisher—had handled the initial positioning himself before passing it to his trained team. Lose the trail, and Frank would personally crush their skulls. Jessica's head jerked up, tears streaking her face, disbelief written across her features. Hong Fei stood. "Let's go. Tonight's your revenge."
If you still can't fly after this, I might just put you down myself. Jessica followed in a daze, fingers trembling. Outside, Hong Fei slid into the back seat while Jessica automatically took the passenger side. The driver's seat sat empty. "Want me to drive?" Hong Fei offered.
Jessica, still wiping her face, snapped to attention and scrambled into the driver's seat with muttered apologies. The engine roared to life. The navigation's blinking red dot burned bright against the screen. As they hit downtown New York, Hong Fei pulled on his mask and activated his Hidden Identity card.
The closer they got, the harder Jessica's hands shook. The car lurched forward, speed climbing without her realizing. "Slow down, or the cops'll join the party." Her foot jerked off the pedal, and the car crawled to a near-stop. Hong Fei shook his head from the back.
But Jessica's whole body was shaking now, barely keeping the wheel steady. Hong Fei kept quiet—saying anything would only make it worse. The cars behind them weren't so patient, horns blaring. Driving too slow was illegal too, not that she cared.
Luckily, the target wasn't far. The apartment building loomed ahead, its exterior worn with age. The car slid into a shadowed corner. Jessica stumbled out, doubling over against the wall to retch. Not pregnancy—just raw, nerve-wracked tension. Hong Fei popped the trunk.
When he hauled out the contents, the car's rear end lifted several inches. "You're not in the right headspace for neck-snapping. How about we send him off with this instead?" Jessica turned, still gagging—then froze, the nausea vanishing instantly.
She saw that Hong Fei was holding a thick, black, sturdy object with six rotating barrels. The muzzles gaped like voids, the weapon's lines sleek and lethal. A heavy ammo belt fed into the massive drum slung over his shoulder. Hong Fei grinned. "One thousand rounds."
Spin it fast, it takes less than a second. Spin it slow, and it's just a few seconds. "How many seconds do you like?" Fear comes from the unknown or the shadows of the past. Jessica had been under the Purple Man's control for eight months.
No one could truly understand what she'd been through. Empathy is an illusion. Someone who's never written a novel can't grasp the panic of a deadline or the calm that follows.
Hong Fei didn't understand Jessica's pain, nor why she saw revenge as so complicated and difficult. All he could do was try to ease her fear in his own way. If he could have, he'd have brought a rocket launcher to back her up.
Frank had mentioned they'd bought too many rockets—expensive to maintain. Jessica stood frozen, like a wooden statue. She couldn't comprehend Hong Fei's actions, just as she couldn't predict whether he'd kick her leg or hammer her head next.
Hong Fei slapped her head lightly. "Wake up! What are you dreaming about? I'm asking you—how many seconds?" Jessica blinked, her eyes still fixed on the Gatling gun in his hand. She swallowed hard, stammering, "Are you... really planning to use that?"
"What else? Firecrackers for you? A thousand rounds to celebrate? How can you even think like that now?" Jessica shook her head quickly. "I..." She hesitated, then took several deep breaths, meeting his gaze straight on. "I want to try it myself."
"Try it?" "No. Not try. I can do it. I can defeat him. I'll snap his head off with my own hands!" "Good. Let's go. Wait—put this on first." Hong Fei handed her a pure white mask, one he'd used before. Paired with her oversized suit, it looked unsettling.
The Purple Man's room was on the sixth floor. They took the elevator up. Jessica's breathing grew heavy. Hong Fei had already cloaked himself in "Qi," his breathing halted. Letting foreign energy into his body made him uneasy, even if most air has cycled through someone else's lungs.
Ding! The elevator doors opened. Jessica stood frozen, so Hong Fei pushed her head forward. Thud! Solid impact. Jessica rubbed her head and stepped out, Hong Fei trailing behind. "601, 602... 610. This is it." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a stack of metal pieces.
Hong Fei muttered, "I've turned into subway Grandpa." "Get out of my way!" He grabbed her collar and tossed her aside. Stepping forward, he kicked the door. It flew off its hinges, soaring several meters before crashing to the floor with a deafening boom.
The ceramic floor cracked with a crunch, and shards scattered everywhere. Standing at the doorway, the room appeared empty. Hong Fei stepped back and moved aside. Jessica took several deep breaths before finally stepping inside. Suddenly, a voice came from the side, and her body went rigid.
"Jessica." Kilgrave leaned against the bedroom doorframe, gray bathrobe hanging open as he crossed his arms. That infuriating smirk never left his face. "You came to me on your own. Finally see reason?"
She turned her stiff neck toward him. Every muscle in her body coiled tight. "I'm here to kill you."
The words tore from her gritted teeth. She launched forward, fists cracking with pent-up rage—then froze mid-step, muscles locking against her will. Kilgrave's smirk faltered for just a heartbeat. Disappointment flickered behind his eyes.
He closed the distance between them in three lazy strides. "You're the most stubborn one yet." His breath hit her ear as his tongue slithered out, grotesquely long. "But that just makes this more... exciting!"
The glint of steel flashed.
Kilgrave's scream shattered the air as the toothpick speared through his tongue, pinning it to his jaw. He thrashed like a hooked fish, wild eyes locking onto Hong Fei's silhouette in the doorway. The air around Hong Fei prickled with something unnatural—something dangerous.
The Purple Man raised his hand and pulled out the toothpick. Blood sprayed as he slurred through mangled flesh, "You'll regret that."
Hong Fei crossed the threshold, hefting the six-barreled muzzle. "Say that again?" His finger hovered over the trigger.