C26: Jessica Jones
The violent knock on the door made Li Ran, who was sorting a stack of mock vintage coins in the antique shop, subconsciously frown.
He turned his head, and the first thing he noticed was a pungent waft of whiskey laced with cheap cologne.
"Are you the owner of this place?"
A woman in a weathered hoodie stumbled in, half-sober, half-drunk, with an old bottle of Wild Turkey dangling loosely in her fingers. Her boots scraped against the wooden floor, echoing louder than her slurred voice.
"That's right," Li Ran responded calmly.
He glanced up, taking in her unkempt dark hair, sallow cheeks, and the deep furrow in her brow, someone who carried the kind of weight not born of age but trauma.
"Help me figure out what this is worth."
Without waiting for a reply, she pulled a slightly tarnished ring from her coat pocket and dropped it on the counter. Then, without ceremony, she took a long pull from her bottle, as though it were morning coffee.
Li Ran picked up the ring, a worn tungsten band with minor cracks along the surface. He studied the engraving, barely legible: To S.J. – Until the End.
"One hundred," he replied flatly, placing it gently back on the counter.
Bang—
"One hundred?" she echoed with a hiccup, slamming the bottle against the wood. "You trying to screw me over because I've had a few?"
In a sudden motion, she grabbed Li Ran by the collar. The strength in her arm took him by surprise, far more than her thin frame suggested. He tried to twist free, but her grip was firm, unnaturally firm.
"The ring is scratched, and the stone's synthetic," Li Ran explained, keeping his voice even. "One hundred is generous."
She stared at him for a long beat, eyes bloodshot but narrowing with suspicion, before releasing her grip with a scoff.
"Figures. Some sleazeball pawned it off on me. Probably fake like his personality."
She snatched the bills from the counter, shoved them into her jeans pocket, and took another swig from her drink.
Then her gaze drifted around the shop, dusty shelves, faux Ming vases, imitation Vibranium trinkets, a knockoff Gotham penny on the wall, all clearly items sourced from the back corners of Chinatown.
Most of it was junk. She could smell a fake a mile away. It was part of being a PI in Hell's Kitchen, trained by trauma, not tuition.
"Place is full of fakes," she muttered. "But charming, I guess."
Then, as if something clicked in her brain, she turned back toward Li Ran.
"Hey, boss. You interested in a deal?"
Li Ran raised an eyebrow. "What kind of deal?"
She took a long drag from her bottle, then pitched it into the trash can with practiced indifference. "Name's Jessica Jones. Private investigator. Hell's Kitchen. Maybe you've heard of Alias Investigations?"
Li Ran's eyes flickered. That name—Jessica Jones. It finally registered.
Former superhero. One-time Avenger candidate. Member of the street-level group known as the Defenders, alongside Luke Cage, Daredevil, and Danny Rand. Survivor of Kilgrave, the mind-controlling sociopath. Super strength, bad temper, and a drinking habit that would make Tony Stark raise an eyebrow.
She wasn't just some barfly with an attitude.
"I mostly handle cheating spouses, stalking cases, and the occasional missing person. But now and then, some lowlife tries to pay me with 'rare' junk. Like that ring."
Jessica scratched her head, clearly trying to phrase herself. "If I get more junk like that, think you could turn it into something usable? Cash, contacts, trade?"
Li Ran leaned back. On the surface, Jessica Jones wasn't worth the trouble. But underneath that alcohol-soaked exterior was a name. A name people followed. And where there was attention, there was popularity.
And where there was popularity, there were cards.
"If you bring it in, I'll appraise it. Fairly," he said at last.
Jessica grinned, a tired, half-hearted thing. "Good. Glad that's settled."
She reached across and shook his hand, then promptly turned to one of the shelves and plucked a ceramic plate from the display. It featured a stylized depiction of the Wakandan Panther God Bast... but it was clearly a poorly made replica.
"I like this. Symbol of our new partnership."
"That's not exactly free—"
But Jessica had already turned and left, flipping him a lazy wave as she disappeared down the street.
"…It cost me a whole dollar," Li Ran muttered.
He watched her go, the words of her story replaying in his head. He knew her potential. The Defenders, while sometimes seen as the poor man's Avengers, were still major players in New York's supernatural underground.
Sure, Jessica wasn't the Hulk or Thor, but if used correctly, if the cards lined up, her fame could be the key to something much bigger.
Not everything needed to be earned through brute force.
He looked around at the antique shop again. His cover, his identity, his stage. Li Ran wasn't going to blow it just for a quick fame burst.
No, timing mattered.
With a small sigh, he walked over to retrieve the empty bottle Jessica had left behind.
That's when the bell above the door rang again.
Jingle—
Li Ran turned and stopped cold.
A man in a sleek purple suit stepped inside, eyes twinkling with dangerous amusement. His every movement was too smooth, too deliberate.
And behind that smile was something colder.
More calculating.
Kilgrave.
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