Antony stood in front of the screen, his back to everyone, watching the endless stream of audition videos scroll by.
"If we don't find them, don't bring them into the spotlight, don't put them under supervision…"
"That silver-haired kid might end up robbing banks. That self-healing lunatic could turn into a serial killer."
He turned around and spread his arms, as if welcoming the storm yet to come.
"But now? They're on my show. Bound by my rules."
"And under those rules, only people who behave get to climb upward."
"This is called… entertainment-based assimilation."
Tony Stark stared at him, emotions tangled and unreadable. He picked up the bottle and refilled Antony's glass.
"But let me give you a warning, Antony."
Tony's eyes sharpened.
"When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. These people… you'd better be able to control them."
"If one day they lose control," Tony pointed at himself, then at Steve, "we'll stop you. Friend or not."
Antony looked at Tony and raised his glass.
"I look forward to that day, Tony. But that day…"
"…will never come."
…
The party lasted until two in the morning.
Pepper helped a slightly tipsy Tony back to his room.
Steve said his goodbyes politely, then roared off into the snowy night on his Harley.
Antony had the driver take him and Jessica back to her place.
Jessica stood at the entrance, staring at the still-bright streets.
"I should go," she said. "Training tomorrow."
"No rush."
Antony stepped beside her and handed her something.
A small gift box.
Jessica blinked. "What's this?"
"Open it."
She hesitated, then opened the box.
Inside lay a key.
A plain brass key, attached to a leather keychain with no logo.
"This is…?"
"A brownstone apartment in Brooklyn," Antony said softly, looking out the window. "Top floor. Rooftop access. Great view—you can see the bridge."
"And… it's close to where you grew up. Same neighborhood. But it's brand new."
"I don't—"
"Don't reject it yet," Antony cut her off. "This isn't a boss giving perks to an employee."
He turned and looked straight into her eyes.
"That crappy apartment of yours? A mattress and empty bottles everywhere. That's not a home, Jessica. That's a shelter."
"You need a place where you can actually sleep. A place with windows. Sunlight. No mold."
"Think of it as preparation for your indie film," he shrugged.
"After all, Queen Jones can't live in a dumpster. If the paparazzi catch that, it'll hurt box office numbers—and popularity."
Jessica clenched the key.
The cold metal pressed into her palm, grounding her in a way she hadn't felt in years.
She wanted to snap back.
To say I don't need your charity.
To say I've got money—I can buy my own place.
But when she looked into Antony's eyes—casual on the surface, genuinely concerned underneath—every sharp word stuck in her throat.
The party.
The talk of orphans.
The warmth of eggnog.
And now this key.
Her iron-hard heart felt like it had been wrapped in cotton.
"…How much is the rent?" she finally muttered.
Antony smiled.
"Taken out of your appearance fees. Relax—you're high income. You can afford it."
"Hmph."
Jessica pocketed the key, gripping it tightly.
"Thanks… boss."
She turned to leave. Just before the door closed—
"Hey, Jessica."
She looked back, a flicker of anticipation in her eyes.
"Merry Christmas," Antony said.
Her lips curved upward before she could stop herself—a smile with no armor, no burden.
"Merry Christmas, Antony."
The door closed.
Antony stood alone on the quiet street.
The system notification rang out.
Ding! Special Popularity +20,000 (from Jessica Jones)
Current Special Popularity: 59,500
"Heh… very nice," Antony grinned, unmistakably pleased.
"Jessica really is a hidden treasure."
-----
High above, an invisible Quinjet hovered within the clouds.
Nick Fury lowered his binoculars, his single eye dark.
"Sir, registrations have exceeded one hundred and fifty thousand," Maria Hill reported over comms.
"At least a hundred of them are confirmed… real superhumans."
"He's assembling an army," Fury said flatly.
He glanced at the rapidly climbing number on the screen.
"We need to accelerate."
"Initiate Avengers expansion protocol."
"If he wants to fight with numbers…"
"…then we'll match him head-on."
…
January in New York smelled like wet iron.
Half-melted snow mixed with exhaust fumes and garbage, turning the streets into pools of black, nauseating sludge.
For most New Yorkers, this was the most miserable season of the year.
But for the newly minted "Queen Jones," it was just another background detail in her hellish schedule.
Six a.m.—woken by a cursed alarm clock.
Six-thirty—arrival at Vought's Advanced Training Center.
"Listen, Queen," Ashley rattled off, shoving a tablet into Jessica's hands, her words firing like a machine gun.
"For the next month, your schedule will be tighter than the President's."
"Monday, Wednesday, Friday mornings—combat training. Afternoons—media response classes. Tuesday and Thursday—joint law enforcement operations with NYPD ESU and the FBI, targeting superhuman crime."
"Saturday—fan meet-and-greets. Sunday—oh, Sunday is where Mr. Homelander graciously gives you half a day off. For spa treatments and skin care."
"I don't need skin care," Jessica rolled her eyes, tossing the tablet back. "I need sleep."
-----
Vought International – Equipment R&D Division
"This thing looks like a stage prop."
Jessica Jones raised her arms, scrutinizing the pair of silver-white metal bracers strapped to her forearms.
They were lightweight, forged from some kind of specialized titanium alloy. The surface carried sleek honeycomb patterns, while the inner lining—pressed against her skin—was soft memory gel.
"Watch your wording, Queen," Antony leaned against the equipment rack, espresso in hand, eyes flicking across streams of data on a tablet.
"This is your exclusive gear from now on."
He stepped forward and tapped her forearm with a finger.
Click—!
The bracers instantly detected the micro-electric signals in her muscles.
With a crisp mechanical snap, the armor reacted.
What had covered only her forearms unfolded and reconfigured in an instant.
Countless tiny metal scales came alive, surging outward, snapping together across her body in a blur—assembling piece by piece, locking into place.
--------------
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