Jay stepped off the Metro-North train at Grand Central, letting the Tuesday morning rush hour swallow him whole. The commuter crowd flowed around him—suits heading to Midtown offices, tourists clutching subway maps, students rushing toward Columbia. Perfect camouflage for someone who needed to disappear into the city's background noise.

  He'd spent the ride from Bayville thinking about scale. Claire's payment had padded his accounts nicely, but he was still thinking too small. Playing it safe in the suburbs, taking one client at a time—that wasn't freedom. That was just a prettier cage.

  If you want powered individuals in bulk, you go where powered people are broke. And in Marvel? That's always New York.

  The city hit him like a physical force. The smell of hot dog carts mixed with exhaust and that indefinable urban musk of eight million people living on top of each other. Car horns created a symphony of barely controlled chaos while construction crews jackhammered through another "essential infrastructure project."

  Jay loved it immediately.

  He started in Hell's Kitchen, walking narrow streets between tenements that looked like they'd been standing since the city was founded. This was ground zero for the street-level superhero community—Daredevil's territory, though the blind lawyer was still just a blind lawyer for now.

  He was walking past Josie's Bar when he saw her.

  Tall woman in a leather jacket, dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She was walking out of Golden Dragon Chinese Takeout with a plastic bag. Her posture was casual but alert.

  Jay's comic knowledge kicked in like a searchlight cutting through fog.

  Jessica Jones.

  He forced himself to keep walking, but his mind was already racing. Jessica Jones meant Luke Cage was somewhere in the city. It meant there was an entire underground community of powered individuals living paycheck to paycheck.

  More importantly, it meant somewhere out there was Kilgrave.

  Jay ducked into a newspaper stand, pretending to browse while he processed the implications. The Purple Man—the mind controller who could make anyone do anything with a few spoken words. In the comics and show, he'd controlled Jessica for months, turning her into his puppet.

  I can't be mind-controlled, Jay realized, touching the mental shield perk he'd chosen. Purple Man is the perfect first real villain. And his power is too dangerous to be left alone.

  It was strategic brilliance. Kilgrave was terrifying on a personal level but operated small-scale. He was psychological horror that most heroes couldn't touch. But Jay could. His mind shield made him immune, and power theft would let him turn Kilgrave's greatest strength against him.

  Jay pushed the thought away. First things first—he needed to upgrade his infrastructure.

  ?

  The forger worked out of a massage parlor in Little Odessa, Brighton Beach. Jay had gotten the contact from Bobby, who'd gotten it from someone who knew someone who'd once needed to disappear from some very unfriendly creditors.

  The parlor's waiting room was decorated in aggressive tackiness—red velvet everything, gold-framed mirrors. The clientele looked like extras from a mob movie: men in expensive tracksuits, women with hair that defied gravity.

  "You here for Dmitri?" The receptionist was a blonde with an accent thick enough to cut with a knife.

  She led him to a back office where sat Dmitri—a man who looked like he'd been assembled from spare parts of other, larger men. Even Kingpin would look thin compared to him.

  "You need papers?" Dmitri's English was precise but heavily accented.

  "Yeah. I need multiple identities, high quality. Medical credentials for one, courier license for another."

  "It'll be expensive."

  "I figured."

  Within an hour, Jay walked out with two driver's licenses, a medical assistant certification, and a courier ID that would pass anything short of federal scrutiny. He also left with three prepaid burner phones and a storage locker key for Queens.

  ?

  The gun dealer operated out of a fishing boat moored near the South Street Seaport. Which would have been more intimidating if the boat wasn't called "Sea Ya Later" and painted in colors that made it visible from orbit.

  Toby—not his real name, obviously—was a Vietnam vet who'd discovered that selling firearms to people who couldn't buy them legally was considerably more profitable than actually fishing.

  "Say, do you also kiss your girlfriend upside-down in the rain, or...?" Jay asked, eyeing the boat's ridiculous paint job.

  "What? You messing with me?" Toby barked.

  Jay put his hands up. "Nah, man, just nervous, that's all."

  "You ever actually fire one of these?" Toby asked, watching Jay examine a compact Glock 19.

  "Some." Jay had spent quite a bit of time at shooting ranges during his residency. Stress relief, he'd told himself, though honestly it had just been another way to avoid going home to his empty apartment.

  Toby led him to the boat's hold, converted into a surprisingly professional shooting range. The sound suppression was so good that the gun's report was barely louder than a handclap.

  "Nice grouping," Toby admitted after Jay put six rounds into the center of a target at fifteen yards. "You want the suppressor?"

  "Yes. And something non-lethal. Taser, maybe pepper spray."

  "Planning to take down gangs?" Toby's grin suggested he was joking, but his eyes suggested he really wasn't.

  "Just covering all the bases."

  Jay left with the Glock, two magazines, a quality suppressor, and a tactical pen that was really a disguised taser.

  ?

  His phone buzzed as he walked back toward the subway. Bobby's number.

  "How's the city treating you?" Bobby's voice carried background noise of traffic and construction.

  "Like it's trying to mug me, but in a charming way. What's the word from the network?"

  "It's grown, Jay. A lot. We've got people in Queens, the Bronx, Hell's Kitchen, Harlem. Word gets around about a guy who heals people and asks for nothing but information. Folks are starting to call you 'The Doc.'"

  Jay winced. "Please tell me that's not catching on."

  "Little late for that."

  Jay found a relatively quiet corner near a hot dog cart. "I need you to start tracking someone. Woman, tall, dark hair, leather jacket. Name's Jessica Jones." He texted Bobby a photo he'd discretely snapped. "She's been spotted in Hell's Kitchen and the Lower East Side."

  "You want her found?"

  "I don't care about her specifically. I care about who's watching her. There's a man who's interested in her—very interested. Goes by Kilgrave. He's... dangerous."

  Bobby was quiet for a moment. "You sure you want to get tangled in this? There are stories, Jay. People who cross certain lines in this city, they don't come back the same. Some don't come back at all."

  Jay watched the crowd flow around him—workers heading home, couples on dates, families navigating the subway system. Normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that there were predators who could rewrite their minds with a whisper. But Jay knew Kilgrave's weakness: his pheromones had a range of about eighty feet, and commands needed to be refreshed every twelve hours.

  "Just tell whoever's tracking them to keep a distance of at least a hundred feet. And report back every twelve hours. I want to know where they go, who they talk to, what they do."

  "And if this Kilgrave guy notices he's being watched?"

  "Then we'll know exactly how dangerous he really is."

  After hanging up, Jay stood in the growing twilight, watching the city light up around him. Somewhere out there, Jessica Jones was probably still struggling with her new hero role, trying to find her place, still full of hope. Somewhere else, Kilgrave was planning his next move, completely confident that his mind control abilities could bend anyone to his will.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  But Jay had something neither of them knew about.

  The mantis stalks the cicada, but the oriole stalks them both.

  Time to find out which one he really was.

  ?

  Three days later, Bobby's call came at 2 AM.

  "Found them," his voice was tight with tension. "Warehouse district, near the docks. Your Jessica Jones walked right into what looks like a trap."

  Jay was already moving, pulling on his coat and checking his equipment. "How long?"

  "My guy lost visual about two minutes ago. Building's isolated—old textile factory. If someone was planning something private..."

  "Send me the address."

  Jay's cab ride through the empty streets felt like the longest ten minutes of his life. The warehouse district was a graveyard of New York's industrial past—skeletal cranes and empty buildings casting jagged shadows under sickly streetlights.

  He paid the driver three blocks away and approached on foot, moving through the maze of abandoned loading docks and rusted chain-link fences. The textile factory loomed ahead, its broken windows like dead eyes staring out at the East River.

  Jay circled the building twice, noting the lack of guards.

  The side door was unlocked. Of course it was.

  Jay slipped inside, immediately hit by the smell of dust, rust, and something else—something chemical and wrong. The factory floor stretched out before him, old machinery covered in tarps like sleeping giants. Somewhere in the darkness, he could hear voices.

  He moved closer, using the machinery for cover, until he had a clear view of the center of the factory floor.

  Jessica Jones stood motionless under a single working light, her body rigid as stone, but her eyes burned with the fury of a caged animal. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even turn her head away from the pale figure circling her like a predator savoring its prey.

  Kilgrave looked exactly like the show—thin, elegant, wearing an expensive purple suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. His movements were precise, theatrical, like he was performing for an audience of one.

  "You feel it, don't you?" Kilgrave's voice was silk over steel, his British accent making every word sound refined and cultured, even as he spoke of atrocities. "Your body obeying me while your mind screams in protest. It's quite beautiful, really—the way you struggle against something so inevitable."

  Jessica's jaw clenched involuntarily as he commanded it to. Jay could see the rage in her eyes, the way her muscles strained against invisible bonds. She had strength enough to lift a car, could punch through marble walls, but none of that mattered when her own nervous system had been turned against her.

  "I've been watching you, Jessica," Kilgrave continued, stopping in front of her. "Learning your patterns. Your precious little apartment, your pathetic attempts at being a hero. Helping people less then you" He reached out and traced a finger along her cheek. "You think you're so strong, so independent. But look at you now."

  Jay had heard enough. He stepped out from behind a piece of machinery, his footsteps echoing in the vast space.

  "Jesus Christ," he called out, his voice carrying a mixture of disgust and genuine bewilderment. " Mind-controlling women in abandoned warehouses. Looks like you fell too hard from the TARDIS, don't you think?"

  Kilgrave whirled around, his concentration breaking just enough for Jessica to feel a flicker of hope. But the moment of distraction cost her—she could feel Kilgrave's attention snapping back to her, the invisible chains tightening.

  "Who dares interrupt—" Kilgrave began.

  "Oh, spare me the dramatic villain speech," Jay said, stepping into the light. He looked relaxed, almost bored, but Jessica could see the way his hand rested near his coat pocket. "I've been tracking you for days now, and I have to say, your reputation is vastly overinflated."

  Kilgrave's eyes narrowed. He wasn't used to people interrupting him, let alone mocking him. "You're making a grave mistake, little man. I am Kilgrave. I make people do whatever I want."

  "Yeah, I've heard the stories." Jay took another step closer. "Mind control through airborne pheromones. Impressive party trick."

  The casual recitation of his abilities clearly unsettled Kilgrave. "How do you—"

  "Know your powers?" Jay smiled, but there was nothing friendly in it. "I make it my business to know about predators."

  Kilgrave's face twisted with rage. "Enough! Kneel before me!"

  The command hit like a physical blow. Jay felt it wash over him—the overwhelming compulsion to drop, to submit, to worship this pale monster in his ridiculous purple suit. The pheromones invaded his lungs, tried to worm their way into his bloodstream.

  And then they hit his mental shield and shattered like glass against steel.

  Jay's knees buckled slightly, and he let himself drop to one knee, head bowed. Better to let Kilgrave think his power was working.

  "That's more like it," Kilgrave purred, his confidence returning instantly. He walked over and placed his foot on Jay's head, pressing down until the man was forced to support Kilgrave's weight. "All talk, just like the rest of them. Did you really think you could challenge me?"

  Jessica's flicker of hope died. Another person trying to help her, now kneeling at Kilgrave's feet. How many more people would suffer because of her?

  "You know what I think?" Kilgrave said, grinding his heel against Jay's skull. The expensive leather of his shoe was surprisingly heavy. "I think you should stay right there and watch what I do to dear Jessica. Perhaps it will teach you about the natural order of things."

  "You want to know what I think?" Jay said, his voice muffled but strangely calm.

  "I didn't give you permission to—"

  Jay's hand moved with practiced precision, producing what looked like an ordinary pen from his coat. But when he jammed the tip into Kilgrave's ankle and pressed the trigger, fifty thousand volts of electricity surged through the contact point.

  Kilgrave's scream echoed off the warehouse walls as every muscle in his body contracted at once. His foot slipped off Jay's head as he convulsed, crashing to the concrete floor like a marionette with cut strings.

  Jay rolled away and came up in a fighting stance, the taser pen already resetting for another shock. "Yeah, about that kneeling thing..." He grinned, and it was all predator. "Turns out mental immunity isn't just theoretical."

  Kilgrave thrashed on the ground, his nervous system still misfiring from the electrical shock. "Impossible," he gasped. "No one can resist—"

  Jay hit him with another jolt, this one longer and more vicious. "Resist what? Your little pheromone party trick?" He grabbed Kilgrave by the lapels and hauled him upright. "I've been immune since the moment you opened your mouth."

  The words hit Kilgrave harder than the electricity. For the first time in years, maybe decades, he was facing someone who couldn't be controlled. Someone who saw him not as a master or a god, but as exactly what he was—a pathetic man in an expensive suit.

  "This is for every person you've violated," Jay snarled, his calm facade cracking to reveal something cold and furious beneath. He shocked Kilgrave again, watching him convulse. "Every life you've destroyed because you're too weak to earn what you want."

  But Jay wasn't finished. With Kilgrave stunned and helpless, he grabbed the man's wrist and activated his power absorption ability.

  The sensation was unlike anything Jay had experienced before. Kilgrave's ability didn't flow into him like liquid—it writhed. Something alive and squirming moved beneath Kilgrave's skin, like parasites threading their way through his veins.

  Each pulse brought more strength, more control. Jay could feel the pheromone-producing glands in Kilgrave's throat, the neurological pathways that let him implant commands in other minds. All of it becoming his.

  Kilgrave's eyes went wide with horror as he felt his power being drained away. "No," he whispered, then louder, "NO! You can't—"

  He tried to issue a command, tried to force Jay to stop, but the words came out as nothing more than desperate sounds. His voice carried no weight, no compulsion. Where his abilities used to hum with constant power was now just... emptiness.

  Jay felt the last threads of Kilgrave's power settle into his own nervous system. The knowledge came with it—how to release the pheromones, how to craft commands that would bypass conscious thought, how to make people love him or fear him or forget he'd ever existed.

  It was intoxicating. And terrifying.

  "Feels different from this side, doesn't it?" Jay said, releasing Kilgrave's wrist. The man collapsed like a broken doll.

  Jessica felt the invisible chains around her will shatter. The relief was so intense it nearly brought her to her knees, but her rage kept her upright. Months of nightmares, of waking up wondering what he'd made her do while she was under his control—all of it came rushing back.

  "Please," Kilgrave gasped, looking up at Jessica with genuine fear for the first time she could remember. "I'll leave. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again, I promise—"

  "You'll what?" Jessica's voice cut through his pleas like a blade. She stalked toward him, her superhuman strength making each footstep crack the concrete. "You'll promise to be good? You'll apologize for the months you stole from me?"

  Jay stepped back, recognizing this moment belonged to her. There was something in Jessica's eyes—not just rage, but a need for closure that only she could provide.

  Jessica reached down and grabbed Kilgrave by the throat, lifting his entire frame off the ground with one hand. He weighed maybe 150 pounds; she could have thrown him across the warehouse without breaking a sweat.

  "I used to have nightmares about you," she said, her voice eerily calm. "I'd wake up screaming, wondering what you made me do that I couldn't remember. But you know what I realized?"

  Kilgrave clawed weakly at her grip, his face turning purple. "Jessica, please—"

  "You're not a monster." She drew back her fist, and Jay could see the years of suppressed fury burning in her eyes. "You're just a pathetic little man who never learned that 'no' means 'no.'"

  The sound of Kilgrave's bones breaking was deeply satisfying. Jessica dropped him and stepped back, watching him fall to the concrete in a heap. He was breathing, but barely conscious, blood streaming from his ruined nose.

  "Is he...?" Jessica started to ask.

  "Unconscious, not dead," Jay said, checking Kilgrave's pulse. "Though his abilities are gone permanently. Think of it as delayed justice."

  Jessica studied the stranger more carefully. He was maybe thirty, lean but strong-looking, with dark hair and intelligent eyes. There was something predatory about him, but it felt directed outward—protective rather than threatening.

  "Who are you?"

  Jay stood, brushing dust off his coat. He glanced down at Kilgrave's broken form and shook his head. "You know what's really messing with me right now?" he muttered, more to himself than to her. "I used to watch you on TV every Sunday night. Different character, obviously. Guy who saved the universe instead of..." He gestured at the destruction around them.

  Then, focusing on Jessica, he said, "For now? Call me Doctor."

  He pulled out a small white business card and handed it to her. It was plain except for a phone number and a simple message: "For emergencies. For healing. For super-troubles."

  "I don't understand," Jessica said, turning the card over in her hands.

  Jay's hand briefly glowed with a soft green light as he passed it over a scrape on Jessica's arm from where she'd struggled against Kilgrave's control. The pain vanished instantly, the skin knitting itself together as if it had never been broken.

  "Let's just say I have unusual hobbies," he said with a slight smile. "If you ever find yourself in a situation like this again, or if you know other enhanced individuals who need help, call that number."

  "Wait," Jessica called as he turned to leave. "What happens to him?"

  Jay glanced back at Kilgrave's unconscious form. "That's up to you. But if you're smart, you'll make sure he never walks free again. His powers are gone, but the list of people he's hurt?" Jay's expression hardened. "It's long. Too long."

  Jessica looked down at the card in her hand, then at Kilgrave.

  "Thank you," she said quietly.

  But when she looked up, the stranger was gone. Only the card remained.

  Jessica Jones stood alone in the warehouse, finally free to make her own decisions. And her first decision was to make sure Kilgrave would never hurt anyone ever again.

  She pulled out her phone and dialed 911. It was time to tell her story, and even if it revealed their powers, she'd let the justice system decide what to do with a monster who could no longer hide behind stolen minds.

  The control had been shattered. She was free.

  And somewhere in the shadows of New York, Jay walked away with new power coursing through his veins and the satisfaction of knowing he'd just removed one of Marvel's most dangerous predators from the board.

  The mantis had stalked the cicada. But this time, the oriole had come out on top.