Six o'clock in the evening.
The last rays of blood-red sunset bled across the horizon, fading to bruised purple before disappearing entirely. Night settled over Chinatown like a blanket, and countless neon lights flickered to life in response, painting the streets in electric colors.
The Evening Hearth should have been closed by now. The dinner rush had ended hours ago, the last customers paid and gone. But the lights remained on, the door unlocked.
Nolan's aunt stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame in her white chef's uniform. Her eyes kept drifting to the table nearest the entrance, concern etched into the lines of her face.
A girl sat there, bathed in the colored glow of neon from the street. Black leather jacket. Black hair that hung limp and greasy around her face, unwashed for days by the look of it. She stared down at a plate of egg fried rice with hollow eyes, her gaze unfocused and distant.
The food had gone cold hours ago. She hadn't touched it.
Jason emerged from the kitchen, having finished the cleanup. He adjusted his frameless glasses and peered past the aunt toward the girl at the table. His expression was thoughtful, analytical.
"Boss," he said quietly. "She still hasn't left?"
The aunt nodded, her face grave. She pitched her voice low, not quite a whisper but close.
"She ordered one plate of fried rice and has been sitting there all day. If she hadn't claimed to be Nolan's classmate, I would have asked her to leave hours ago." She paused, frown deepening. "Do you think... is she on drugs? My Nolan has always been so well-behaved, so sensible. He never chased girls in school, and he hasn't even been attending lately. He doesn't have time for this sort of thing, does he?"
Jason's expression shifted to something caught between amusement and exasperation. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaned forward for another look at the girl.
After studying her for a long moment, he straightened and spoke with professional certainty.
"She doesn't exhibit signs of substance abuse. What I'm seeing looks more like post-traumatic stress disorder."
"What? What kind of disorder?" The aunt blinked at him in confusion. "Is that a mental illness?"
Jason sighed and shrugged. "In simplified terms, post-traumatic stress disorder, abbreviated as PTSD, is a psychological condition that develops after someone experiences, witnesses, or is confronted with severe injury or death. It's the mind's response to trauma it can't properly process."
The aunt nodded slowly, understanding perhaps half of what he'd said. But the clinical description was enough. Her expression softened as she looked back at the girl, pity replacing suspicion.
She began untying her apron, planning to change out of her work clothes and perhaps sit with the poor thing. Offer some motherly advice, try to lift her spirits.
Before she could move, a tall figure appeared in the doorway.
Nolan.
He paused just outside, his eyes immediately finding Jessica Jones sitting motionless at the table. For a moment, something unreadable crossed his face.
Then he stepped inside, smile fixed in place, and greeted his aunt and Jason warmly. He exchanged a few pleasantries, assured them everything was fine, then turned and walked to Jessica's table.
He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.
His smile vanished. His face became an expressionless mask.
He stared at the disheveled girl before him. Several seconds of silence stretched between them.
Finally, Nolan sighed. "Jessica. Are you really not afraid of death?"
The sound of his voice seemed to pull her back from wherever she'd been. Her unfocused eyes sharpened, finding his face. Recognition sparked.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice hoarse from disuse. "If there was any other way, I wouldn't have come. I wouldn't dare disturb you."
Nolan's chin lifted slightly. "When did you figure out who I was?"
Jessica took a shaky breath. The ghost of a smile touched her lips, bitter and fragile.
"That night... you looked familiar, but I couldn't place you. When I got home, I dug out my old yearbooks. Spent hours going through pictures." She paused. "You've changed a lot. I barely recognized you. But eventually, I was sure."
"I expected as much." Nolan's expression remained neutral, giving nothing away. "But since we are just classmates, not friends, I won't waste time with pleasantries. You came here for a reason. What do you want from me?"
Jessica's hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, knuckles going white. The table creaked under the pressure, wood groaning.
"I want you to save me." The words came out in a rush, desperate. "I thought that when he died, I'd be free. That I could start over, move on. But I was wrong!"
Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard and continued.
"I was conscious the whole time he controlled me. I knew what I was doing. I helped him do terrible things. Murder. Robbery. That was nothing compared to..." She stopped, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I'm getting emotional."
Her whole body trembled with the effort of holding herself together. She breathed deeply, in and out, fighting for control.
When she spoke again, her voice was flat, drained of affect.
"I haven't slept in days. Every time I close my eyes, I see it all again. Everything I did. Everyone I hurt." She looked up at Nolan, and her eyes were empty. "You saved me once. So I came to you. I need you to give me a reason to keep living. Give me something, anything. A purpose. A mission."
A pause. Then, quieter: "Or just kill me. I'd accept that too."
Nolan raised an eyebrow. He studied her face, reading the exhaustion, the desperation, the absolute sincerity of someone who'd reached the end of their rope.
After a long moment, something shifted in his expression. A decision made.
He leaned back in his chair, and to Jessica's surprise, he smiled. Not mockingly. Something else. Something almost... approving.
"Jessica." His voice was serious now, each word weighted. "Are you certain you're not afraid of death?"
"I'm not afraid."
"You won't regret this?"
"There's nothing left for me to regret."
"Then let me ask you something else." Nolan leaned forward, his gaze intense. "Are you willing to make a contribution to humanity's future?"
Jessica blinked. "Humanity's future? I... I don't understand."
"Do you think you're the only one who's suffered?" Nolan's voice was quiet but relentless. "Do you think you're the most miserable person in the world?"
He didn't wait for her to answer.
"Right now, at this very moment, while you and I sit here talking, countless people are enduring things they shouldn't have to endure. Suffering that could be prevented. Should be prevented."
He began ticking items off on his fingers.
"Metahumans with no morals, no restraint, using their powers however they please."
"Organizations built on chaos and evil, operating in the shadows."
"Xenos watching our planet with hungry eyes."
"Monsters from myths and legends, things that shouldn't exist but do."
His hand fell to the table with a soft thump.
"Jessica, humanity is standing on the edge of a cliff. One push, and we fall into extinction. The world doesn't realize it yet, but we're running out of time."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"So I'll ask again. Are you willing to join me? To dedicate everything you have to ensuring humanity has a future?"
Jessica stared at him. For the first time since she'd sat down at this table, genuine emotion flickered across her face. Confusion. Hope. Fear.
"I... yes. I'm willing." Then her eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion. "Wait. Nolan, you're not trying to recruit me into some cult, are you?"
"No." Nolan's voice was firm. "Your perspective is too limited if that's where your mind goes. This isn't about religion in the conventional sense. This is about a spirit that humanity has carried for thousands of years. A belief that we must hold onto if we want to survive what's coming."
He settled back in his chair, his posture relaxing slightly.
"Let me tell you a story. About an immortal being who has guided humanity since ancient times. He's been known by many names throughout history, but for countless generations, the most prominent title by which people call him is..."
The evening deepened. Outside, Chinatown's neon lights burned bright, casting colored shadows through the windows of The Evening Hearth. Inside, Nolan began to speak of the God-Emperor of Mankind, and Jessica Jones listened with the desperate attention of someone clinging to a lifeline.