The next day, the sun was high in the sky, precisely at twelve noon.
Hell's Kitchen, the entrance to an alley.
William Rodriguez, the guy who was determined to sell insurance to superheroes, stopped and took a deep breath.
The mixed scent of overnight pizza, damp cardboard, and a faint hint of despair from the alley entrance invigorated him—ah, the authentic smell of Hell's Kitchen.
"The midday sun is strongest, all evil spirits must retreat!" William cheered himself on, "Even if Ms. Jones has the worst morning temper, she has to give me three minutes for an introduction, right?"
He tightened his tie and patted the secret weapon in his pocket—a bottle of decent bourbon whiskey.
This was his carefully prepared 'knock-on-the-door' gift, based on 'intel,' to deal with this type of client by appealing to her preferences.
Turning into the alley, at the end of the alley, an old, weathered building stood. On the second-floor window hung a crooked sign: "Alias Investigations."
The font was quite rebellious, but a bit chipped.
"Good, that's the vibe."
William rubbed his hands and pushed open the creaking wooden door that seemed ready to fall apart at any moment.
The light inside was dim, and a strong smell of alcohol mixed with the burnt aroma of coffee wafted out, almost sending William reeling.
He adjusted for a moment before he could make out the interior of the office—if it could even be called an office.
Files were scattered everywhere as if a small tornado had struck, and the desk was piled high with empty liquor bottles, takeout containers, and various unrecognizable clutter.
And behind that desk, mostly buried under debris, a figure was sprawled in a difficult position, a mass of dark, messy hair covering her face, revealing only the back of a black leather jacket.
William's eye twitched.
It could only be you, Jessica Jones!
That sleeping posture, clearly the mark of a seasoned fighter.
He tiptoed, like a bomb disposal expert, carefully maneuvering around the unidentified obstacles on the floor until he reached the desk. Jessica Jones was in a deep sleep, breathing evenly, even accompanied by a very faint...snore?
Ding! Potential client "Jessica Jones" detected.
Target characteristics: superhuman strength and durability, flight capability, PTSD, private investigator. Current status: slightly hungover, high external vigilance.
System recommendation: Given the target's high-risk profession and potential for significant destructive power, consider promoting "Superhuman Third-Party Liability Insurance (Hell's Kitchen Special Edition)" or "Personal Accident and Psychological Counseling Comprehensive Protection Plan." Friendly reminder: The target strongly dislikes being manipulated and false sympathy.
As soon as the system prompt sounded, William's heart stirred.
High vigilance?
Hungover?
Then this bottle of wine...
He pulled the carefully selected bottle of bourbon whiskey from his pocket and gently placed it on a relatively clean corner of the desk.
Then, he took a deep breath, as if making a major decision, and carefully twisted open the cap.
A soft 'click' was exceptionally clear in the quiet office, followed immediately by a rich aroma of alcohol that instantly permeated the air, like an invisible beacon lighting up the dim room.
William held his breath, nervously staring at Jessica, who was sprawled on the desk.
Alcohol, indeed, had its magic.
In less than five seconds, Jessica Jones's nostrils twitched slightly.
Immediately after, her head slowly lifted, a mass of messy hair falling from her face, revealing a face heavy with sleep but still showing a hint of alertness.
"Hmm?"
She squinted, her gaze somewhat unfocused as she scanned the office, finally settling on the open whiskey bottle in William's hand.
Without any hesitation or politeness, Jessica reached out and snatched it.
William only felt a blur before his eyes, and the bottle was already in her hand.
"Thanks."
Jessica took a large swig directly from the bottle, as skillfully as if she were drinking water, then let out a long breath and smacked her lips: "Not bad, not too terrible."
She instantly became much more alert, scrutinizing William with eyes that were still a bit hazy but now carried a critical look.
William smiled bitterly to himself; his introductory gift had been treated as a hangover cure, but it was remarkably effective.
"Speak," Jessica took another swig of alcohol, "What do you want to commission? Find a mistress? Investigate a scumbag? Or do you want me to help you find something you've lost?"
She paused, frowning: "Let me tell you upfront, if it's about finding cats or dogs, or some idiotic question like 'help me check if my wife is an alien,' then just get lost.
My sign clearly states, serious inquiries only."
William's mouth twitched.
This opening... was completely different from what he had expected!
However, William was a seasoned salesman, with excellent adaptability.
He cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound sincere and professional: "Uh, Ms. Jones, you might have misunderstood. I'm not here to commission an investigation."
"Oh?" Jessica raised an eyebrow, the bottle in her hand paused at her lips, "Not a commission? Then why are you in my dump? To bring warmth? Or to sell me some random junk? I don't have money."
William took a deep breath and offered his prepared pitch: "Ms. Jones, I have a service here that I think you might be interested in."
"Service?" Jessica scoffed, "Do I look like someone who needs special services?"
"Yes," William endured her murderous gaze, enunciating each word: "Insurance! A risk protection plan specifically for... well, special talents like you."
The office suddenly fell silent.
Jessica stared at William for a full three seconds, the sleepiness and drunkenness completely vanishing from her eyes, replaced by an extremely dangerous focus, as if she were appraising an old piece of furniture to be dismantled.
"Insurance?" She slowly repeated the word, then suddenly laughed, but her smile was so cold that William felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, "Kid, do you know what I do?"
"Yes, private investigator." William braved it, maintaining a professional smile, "And a very excellent one, with a very wide scope of business."
"Then do you think," Jessica leaned forward, and William only then realized she was a bit taller than he had imagined, exuding a strong sense of intimidation, "someone like me would f***ing need insurance?"
As her words fell, William felt an invisible pressure.
Although Jessica made no threatening gestures, the aura about her that screamed, "I can throw you out this window anytime," was simply too intense.
William swallowed, his mind racing, the system's warning about "disliking manipulation and false sympathy" highlighted in his mind.
He composed himself, and instead leaned forward as well, meeting Jessica's gaze directly, his voice lowered but every word clear: "Ms. Jones, I know you are strong. Precisely because you are so strong, and encounter more trouble than anyone else every day, you need protection that matches your capabilities, don't you?"
"This is not sympathy, nor is it pitying you. This is respect, the risk management due to special talents like you."
"After all, your fists are hard, but guarding against thieves for a thousand days, there are always those unexpected accidents or dangers that are impossible to guard against, aren't there?"
Jessica looked as if she had heard the funniest joke of the century, her eyes dismissively sweeping over William, then she casually picked up another empty bottle from the table, and without looking, flicked her wrist towards a half-dented metal trash can in the corner of the office.
"Whoosh—Bang!!"
The empty bottle flew through the air with a whistling sound, accurately striking the trash can, sending it flying as if hit by a cannonball, crashing heavily against the wall behind it with a loud bang. Plaster dust fluttered down, leaving a clearly visible dent.
Jessica settled back into her creaking chair, crossed her legs, one hand idly playing with the half-full bottle of bourbon, the other casually resting on the armrest, her eyes coldly fixed on William: "I am the danger itself, understand, insurance boy?"