Chinatown. Safe House.
"Madame Gao. Finding you wasn't easy."
A voice, dripping with mature charm, echoed in the dimly lit room.
Madame Gao turned slowly.
Standing in the doorway was a woman in a black tactical suit. Her figure was flawless, curves accentuated by the tight fabric, but Gao saw past the beauty.
She saw danger. A Black Widow spider walking into her web.
"Are you also here to ask about the Ice Demon?" Gao asked, her voice steady. The fact that her subordinates outside had been silently neutralized didn't seem to phase her.
"Who is he?"
"I don't know," Gao shook her head.
"Then what do you know? Why did he pick the Triad?"
Natasha Romanoff—Black Widow—stepped closer, stopping three meters away. She wasn't here for vengeance or justice. She was a spy. She just needed intel.
"He brought a photograph. The two men in it were his targets. You can start there."
Gao tossed a manila folder onto the table. It slid across the surface, stopping at Natasha's fingertips.
"I am done with this city. Tomorrow, I return to my homeland," Gao said coldly. "The Ice Demon is your problem now."
Natasha picked up the file and walked out into the neon-lit streets of Chinatown.
She opened the folder. Profiles of two low-level drug dealers.
"Looks like I'm working overtime," Natasha sighed.
If she could use Tony Stark's AI, she'd find the Ice Demon in an hour. It was absurd—a massacre of this scale over two street thugs?
"But Hell's Kitchen is his territory," Natasha mused, thinking of a certain horned vigilante. "Daredevil might know something."
Her phone buzzed.
She looked at the caller ID and rolled her eyes. If Tony Stark wasn't so critical to SHIELD's future, she would have quit this babysitting gig months ago.
"Guess Clint will have to handle the Ice Demon."
Unless Coulson pulled her off the Stark detail, she was stuck. And she had a feeling this Ice Demon was dangerous. The autopsy reports were chilling—victims froze to death in milliseconds.
"Mr. Stark," she answered, putting on her 'Natalie Rushman' voice.
"My little assistant, where did you run off to?" Tony's voice drawled.
"Apologies, Mr. Stark. I was handling some personal errands. I'm on my way back."
Long Island Estate.
"Julia, you were excellent."
Vincent gave a playful pat to the realtor's hip as she adjusted her skirt.
Julia gave him a look that was equal parts professional gratitude and personal satisfaction.
"If you need anything else, Mr. Hall... call me."
She kissed his cheek, picked up the signed contracts, and drove off in her Ford.
Vincent watched her go, then got into his Lincoln. He drove to the abandoned factory in Queens.
His old van was still there, encased in a protective dome of ice he had left earlier.
With a thought, the ice cracked and dissolved. He retrieved the duffel bags containing $30 million in cash and tossed them into the Lincoln.
Thirty million wasn't much compared to his stock portfolio, but Vincent hated waste.
"This van is a liability. Too much DNA. Too many traces."
He extended his right hand.
Hydro-Kinesis.
Water from the humid air and nearby puddles surged forward, forming eight serpentine tendrils. They wrapped around the van like pythons.
"Ice Dragon Twist!"
Vincent clenched his fist.
The water dragons froze instantly, turning into jagged, diamond-hard ice constructs.
CRUNCH.
The ice dragons constricted. The metal of the van groaned and shrieked as the extreme cold made it brittle. Under the crushing pressure, the vehicle was pulverized into frozen shrapnel.
"Hydro-Form!"
The ice melted back into water, carrying the debris into the factory's drainage system, washing away all evidence.
"Ice-Ice Fruit plus Hydro-Magic," Vincent grinned. "The synergy is exponential."
He drove back to the new estate.
He stashed the cash in the wine cellar's hidden vault. This was dirty money. He couldn't deposit it. It would be his rainy-day fund for off-the-books operations.
Park Avenue Penthouse.
Vincent returned home late.
From the wall adjoining Gwen's apartment, he heard a faint thud.
Using his Hydro-Kinesis, he sensed the water inside Gwen's body. Her blood flow was elevated, her muscles tense. She had just returned from a night of patrolling.
She's mastering the web-swinging, Vincent noted. I wonder if she uses organic webs or shooters?
He'd find out soon enough.
Ding.
His phone lit up.
[Jessica Jones: I'm at the Blue Moon Bar in Hell's Kitchen.]
Vincent sat up.
She finally replied.
He decided to go. She likely had questions. Or suspicions.
He waited until he sensed Gwen's heart rate slow to a sleeping rhythm, then slipped out.
Hell's Kitchen was a ghost town. The legend of the Ice Demon kept the streets empty.
Vincent could feel the Desire Points trickling in. Every shadow, every cold breeze generated fear in the locals. This district was now his farm.
Blue Moon Bar.
Jessica sat alone, nursing a whiskey. She ignored the few patrons brave enough to be out.
"Whiskey. Neat," Vincent ordered, sliding onto the stool next to her.
Jessica didn't look up. She stared into her glass.
"Someone was asking about the photo I got for you," she said, her voice flat. "SHIELD. Or maybe FBI. They know I looked into your parents' killers."
Vincent took a sip.
"Tonight is just for drinking, Jessica. No past. No business."
Jessica finally turned to look at him.
Her dark eyes searched his face. The boy she thought she was protecting was gone. In his place was a stranger.
A stranger who might be a monster.
"You're not who I thought you were, Vincent," she whispered.