Both start in hell: but their talents are multiplied a hundredfold.

As Jessica Jones pushed open the glass door of the café, the brass bell on the door frame rang out with a short, hoarse sound.

She wore a dark gray old leather jacket over a black T-shirt with a worn-out collar, her jeans had faded white lines at the knees, and a pair of muddy ankle boots made a soft, rhythmic sound as they stepped on the floor.

Her long black hair was hastily tied back, with a few loose strands clinging to her slightly pale cheeks.

There were two obvious dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept well for a long time, and the taste of whiskey and cigarettes from last night still lingered on her lips.

This beautiful girl carried a languid weariness and a faint sense of death.

Jessica Jones is a private investigator who runs a small firm called "Alias ​​Investigations" in the Hell's Kitchen area of ​​New York City.

She underwent special experiments that gave her superhuman strength, endurance, and a degree of flight ability, but she rarely uses these abilities voluntarily.

Jessica is more accustomed to solving problems with her fists, or simply using indifference and alcohol to isolate herself from the world.

She was once deprived of her freedom by the Marvel villain Purple Man through mind control. That past is like a shard of glass stuck in her bones, still causing her to wake up in the middle of the night.

Therefore, she hates anyone who tries to manipulate another person's mind, and she also hates that she still occasionally dreams of those days when she couldn't fight back.

Last night she received a commission with an unusually high reward.

The client asked her to investigate a priest named Shen Jue and obtain as much detailed information about him as possible.

No kidnapping or interrogation is needed; all that's required is observation, tracking, and recording.

Jessica didn't want to take this job with such an unclear background, but the advance payment was enough for her to pay her rent for the next few years and even buy her many cases of expensive whiskey.

So she appeared here, like a ghost that had just crawled out of the mud.

She glanced around the coffee shop and quickly spotted Shen Jue sitting by the window.

He was an overly calm, handsome Eastern man. At that moment, Shen Jue was holding a cup of coffee with sugar cubes, as if waiting for an old friend.

Jessica didn't stop, but walked straight to the bar and said in a slightly hoarse voice, "A black coffee, the strongest kind."

Her voice carried the sluggishness of a hangover and a deliberately suppressed alertness.

Shen Jue had already discovered her.

He even put down his coffee cup the instant before she pushed the door open to enter.

But he didn't turn around or talk to her.

Shen Jue simply picked up the cup, took a slow sip, and looked through the glass window at the wet, slippery pavement on the street, dappled with neon lights.

Jessica could feel Shen Jue's gaze sweep over her for a moment.

The feeling of being seen through but not being confronted made her neck feel a little tight.

She took the coffee, but instead of finding a seat, she leaned against the bar and warmed her cold fingers with the cup.

As the caffeine and warmth seeped into her bloodstream, the fog left by the overnight whiskey in her mind finally began to dissipate.

She continued to observe Shen Jue out of the corner of her eye, like an experienced hunter assessing a completely unfamiliar prey.

Shen Jue still didn't look at her, only a faint smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.

Jessica couldn't tell whether that smile was a provocation or an invitation.

She swallowed a large gulp of black coffee, the bitter liquid rolling down her throat as if reminding her to stay awake.

At that moment, the hairs on the back of Jessica's neck suddenly stood on end.

A cloyingly sweet smell, like a damp, cold snake's tongue, slowly licked into every corner of the café from the doorway.

That's not perfume.

Those were pheromones emanating from the purple-skinned person.

A foul stench, a mixture of chemical sweetness, sweat, and some kind of putrid floral scent, like cough syrup forcibly forced down the throat.

Jessica's stomach suddenly clenched.

She heard that voice.

A light, triumphant humming, like someone tapping their foot on someone's spine, drifted in step by step from outside the door.

"Darling, you got a smile so bright~"

Purple Man Zebdia Kilgrave pushed open the door and entered.

He looked as if he had been soaked in purple paint from the inside out; his skin was so smooth and flawless, and his violet pupils gleamed with the lazy cruelty of a cat toying with a mouse.

He wore a well-tailored purple suit, a snow-white shirt, and a darker purple tie.

Everyone turned to look at him.

No one found him scary.

In the coffee shop, every ordinary person began to smile unconsciously, their eyes gleaming with a hypnotic, unfocused light.

The purple-clad man opened his arms as if embracing a flock of lambs who had finally met their god.

Jessica clenched her teeth, and the veins on her temples throbbed.

She knew all too well what was going to happen next.

Zebdia Kilgore, a former Yugoslav spy whose real name is unknown, gained mutant abilities during a nerve gas experiment.

His body continuously secretes an airborne pheromone.

Anyone who inhales it will completely lose their willpower if they are close enough and for a long enough time.

He will make them love him, worship him, and go through fire and water for him.

He only needs to say one word, or even give one look, to make the mother strangle the child in her arms.

He once made Jessica wear a purple dress and smile as she killed for him.

That memory was like a rusty iron hook, suddenly seizing Jessica's lungs.

She felt her breath catch for a second.

Purple Man was still humming that song, his voice so gentle it was as if he were singing a lullaby to the whole world.

Jessica made no further move; tears were already streaming down her face.

She had her back to the purple-haired man, her knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white, her nails almost digging into her palms.

The purple-haired man stopped humming.

He tilted his head, sniffed, and slowly a smile spread across his purple lips.

"Ah," he said, his voice sickeningly sweet, "there's a...sweet smell here."

Jessica Jones was jolted awake, immediately falling into PTSD (Post-traumatic Stress Disorder), her entire body trembling uncontrollably.

Even as a superhuman, Jessica Jones was completely unable to avoid the Purple Man's mind control through pheromones.

Only a strong will and a non-human being can resist the influence of the Purple People.

For example, in Hell's Kitchen in New York City, Daredevil, who possesses a strong will, cannot be controlled by Purple Man.

Unfortunately, Jessica, who could easily withstand small and medium-sized firearms, did not have such strong willpower, which led to her being controlled and tortured by the Purple Man for several months.

"Really..." Zi Ren was smiling as he approached Jessica, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Shen Jue in the corner of the cafe.

Shen Jue was leisurely sipping her coffee, a stark contrast to the other coffee shop customers who were controlled by the Purple Man and were smiling back at him.

"Oh?" the purple-haired man laughed loudly, his skin releasing pheromones frantically towards Shen Jue.

"What an amusing story of a hero rescuing a damsel in distress."

"Your priest over there, you seem a little unhappy?"

He reached his arm behind his back and secretly gripped the revolver hidden at his waist.

Shen Jue's expression was very somber at this moment, and he seemed very dissatisfied with Zi Ren's behavior.

"That purple-haired bastard," Shen Jue said in a deep voice, "has anyone told you about him?"

"Is controlling someone's will and taking pleasure in tormenting them really something that could send you to hell?"

"Are you deliberately trying to lower my fashion sense by doing this?"