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The downtown street, illuminated by vibrant neon lights, was bustling with the evening rush. Peter kept a steady distance, weaving through the crowd as he tracked the two figures.
Suddenly, the man quickened his pace. He gripped the young woman's arm and pulled her directly into a narrow, dimly lit side alley. Peter's brow furrowed.
"Was I discovered? They clearly aren't ordinary citizens. Let's see what they're planning."
Although Peter was acting alone, he wasn't unprepared. The moment he had stepped out of the steakhouse, he had tasked Deep Blue with hijacking the local surveillance network. If anything went south, he would have eyes everywhere.
For extra security, he had already deployed his Nanometer Metal Battle Suit beneath his clothes. While his face remained exposed to avoid drawing attention, the reinforced armor hummed silently under his jacket, ready to respond in milliseconds.
Peter turned the corner and entered the alley. The transition was jarring; the muffled roar of the city faded, replaced by an eerie, heavy silence. In the center of the alley, the middle-aged man and the young woman stood with their backs to him, perfectly still.
They had been waiting for him.
The man's voice slithered through the air like a venomous snake. "Young man, haven't you ever heard the saying? Curiosity kills the cat."
Peter raised an eyebrow, maintaining a relaxed, casual posture. "Oh? You're going to kill me just because I saw you skip out on a steak dinner? Let me guess—you're going to hypnotize me into doing something messy?"
The man turned slowly. He adjusted his purplish-black suit and looked at Peter with an arrogance that bordered on the divine. "Hypnosis? Don't insult me. My gift is far beyond the parlor tricks of a psychologist."
He gestured toward the woman beside him. "You're lucky. I've been looking for a little entertainment to help my digestion. Jessica, go twist this boy's head off and kick it like a ball."
The Unstoppable Force
Before the man had even finished his command, the young woman—who had been a vacant shell moments before—erupted into motion. Her feet slammed into the pavement with enough force to tear the tough cowhide of her boots.
She wasn't just fast; she moved like a heavy tank at full throttle. Each step sent a shudder through the ground as she blurred under the dim streetlights, leaving a faint afterimage in her wake.
Peter's eyes remained calm as he performed a split-second analysis.
"Peak explosive power: approximately 8 tons. High physical durability. Zero combat technique—pure, unrefined raw power. She has incredible potential, but right now, she's just a blunt instrument."
As the woman lunged, Peter simply extended his hand. In a flash of red light, the nanometal beneath his sleeve surged forward, materializing into a heavy, reinforced shield.
Boom—!
The collision echoed off the brick walls. The young woman's slender frame hit the shield and was instantly thrown back by the recoil. She tumbled through the air, plowing several long furrows into the pavement before coming to a halt. Peter, however, hadn't moved an inch.
The Mind of a God
"How is that possible?" the man stammered, his eyes wide with shock.
As Peter began to walk toward him, a look of desperate ferocity crossed the man's face. He let out a hoarse, commanding roar. "Kill yourself! I order you to take your own life! Right now! DO IT!"
Peter's pace faltered for a fraction of a second as he felt a wave of airborne pheromones and chemical signals wash over him, attempting to hijack his neural pathways. But his Super Intelligence Brain—the passive skill that granted him absolute immunity to mental manipulation—didn't even flicker.
"So that's your trick," Peter said, his voice cold. "It's not hypnosis. It's a chemical mind-control signal transmitted through your voice."
The man stumbled back. This had never happened. No one ignored his commands. No one saw through his secret so easily. For a man who spent his life playing with the consciousness of others, this loss of control was terrifying.
Peter stopped a few feet away and pointed to the unconscious woman. "Her name is Jessica Jones, isn't it?"
The man's pupils contracted sharply. He didn't have to answer; Peter already knew.
This was Zebediah Killgrave, the man known as the Purple Man. His power was singular and cruel, allowing him to turn anyone who heard his voice into a puppet. To Killgrave, other people weren't human—they were toys to be broken and discarded. Even by the standards of a supervillain, he was a bottom-feeder.
End of the Line
Peter's last shred of restraint vanished. Leaving a man like Killgrave alive was a death sentence for every innocent person who crossed his path.
Peter extended a finger. A tiny, high-precision laser emitter emerged from the armor on his fingertip.
Whizz!
A thin beam of concentrated light flashed in the darkness. It was over in an instant. A clean, circular hole appeared on Killgrave's forehead. He fell backward, his expression frozen in a mask of disbelief, landing in a pile of discarded trash bags.
The sinful life of the Purple Man ended right there, in a nameless alley in the heart of the city.
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