CHAPTER 58

C58: Chat

After the battle at the Midtown Circle Financial building, the four regrouped at a nearby Chinese restaurant, using it as a temporary safehouse.

"So, who exactly are you people and why were you tearing through a Manhattan financial office like it was a dojo full of Foot Clan rejects?" Jessica Jones raised a skeptical brow, letting her gaze linger on the unusual crew across from her. Her eyes paused briefly on the red horned mask that Matt Murdock still had hanging from his belt.

"We're the Defenders," Matt replied with a weary breath, adjusting the gauze over the wound on his shoulder—an ugly gash from a Hand ninjatō. "An informal alliance. We came together to stop the Hand—an ancient cult of ninja assassins who deal in blood magic, resurrections, and corruption."

"The Defenders?" Jessica tilted her head, unimpressed. "That sounds like a Saturday morning cartoon lineup or a backup band for Luke's old bar."

"I told you it sounded corny," Luke Cage said, leaning back and folding his arms, his yellow Harlem hoodie still stained with soot and grime from the fight. "Should've gone with something like 'Street Justice.'"

"I disagree," A Xing interjected cheerfully, seated cross-legged, sipping hot tea. "Defenders sounds righteous. Like temple guardians."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "A Xing, do you really know what it means to be a Defender?"

"I know you just don't like nicknames," A Xing replied evenly. "Just like those embarrassing ones your dad gave you when you were a kid."

"That's different. He called me 'Pumpkin Butt.'"

"Well then, why didn't you veto the name when it came up?"

Luke grumbled. "Because I wasn't even planning to join you guys at the time."

"Then why complain now?"

"Because people keep roasting us over it!"

…

Jessica smirked as she watched the two bicker with the kind of ease that only came from watching each other's backs in a life-or-death street brawl. She turned back to Matt, who was testing the range of motion in his bandaged arm.

"Looks like your team's not entirely on board with the brand."

"Maybe not," Matt said quietly, the faintest of smiles curling at his lips. "But when things go south, they're the ones standing beside me. That's what counts."

"And you?" he added, his face turning toward her with uncanny precision. "You're clearly not just a regular P.I.—not with that right hook. Who exactly are you, Jessica Jones?"

"Maybe I'm just the exception to the rule," Jessica muttered, before taking a breath and explaining. "I've been working a case. Some missing persons. Victims disappearing without a trace. My investigation led to something bigger—too big. All the leads pointed to the Hand. That's how I ended up at the Midtown Financial front."

"You knew about the Hand?" Matt frowned. "Most people don't even get their name before they're… gone."

"I have my own sources," Jessica said vaguely, shrugging off the question.

In a quiet, cluttered antique shop across Hell's Kitchen, Li Ran—watching through his chakra avatar, A Xing—chuckled inwardly. You mean me, he thought.

…

Meanwhile, back at the now-ruined Midtown Circle Financial Company…

"I heard your little expedition went sideways, Madame Gao."

A gaunt, silver-haired man—dressed in a fine gray suit with a distinct Eastern cut—spoke in a rasp as he stepped over broken plaster and shattered glass.

Madame Gao, leaning on her cane as she surveyed the devastation, narrowed her eyes at the wall-sized hole left by Jessica's punch. "I underestimated them. I assumed they were gnats. But they've proven to be... persistent."

"Our time is slipping," the man said quietly. "The chi sustaining our longevity—it's thinning."

"We've located a trail," Gao replied, tapping her cane thoughtfully. "There are whispers of the Iron Fist in the ruins of an ancient monastery in Cambodia."

Their shared fear of mortality—after centuries of stealing life through blood rituals and the Resurrection Elixir was the foundation of the Hand's darkest ambition.

"If you require help cleaning up this mess," the man offered, glancing around, "I can handle the Defenders myself."

Gao shook her head. "No. There are others in this city who share our distaste for those vigilantes. And unlike us, he moves in the light."

"You mean… Wilson Fisk?" the man asked, eyes narrowing.

Gao's silence was answer enough.

…

"So, what else has your secret 'source' told you?" Luke asked, poking at his plate of greasy General Tso's chicken in the dimly lit restaurant.

"More than you think." Jessica squinted at a suspiciously orange-colored dish and pointed. "Wait—is this supposed to be shrimp?"

"No," Matt said calmly from beside her. "It's twice-cooked pork."

She raised a brow. "How the hell would you know? You're blind."

"When you lose one sense, the others sharpen. Smell, taste, even the way it sounds when you bite down."

"Like inner sight." A Xing chimed in. "We have something like that in Penglai martial arts. A concept we call 'intent sensing.'"

Jessica glanced around the table and smirked. "Okay. So we've got a blind ninja lawyer, a bulletproof ex-con, a mystery monk, and a burnout P.I. I guess we're all weirdos here."

After a moment, she grew serious again and spoke in a lower voice. "My source said the Hand isn't just an assassination cult. They deal in the occult. Necromancy. Ritual resurrection. There's talk of them bringing their 'Heaven on Earth'—whatever that means—to New York."

Luke frowned. "Occult? What, like voodoo?"

"More like K'un-Lun sorcery," Jessica replied. "The kind that turns corpses into warriors and lets dying men rise again."

"You're saying… they're immortal?" Matt asked, quietly stunned.

"That's what I was told."

The table fell silent.

"Immortal?" Luke finally echoed, half-laughing. "That's ridiculous."

Jessica looked at him flatly. "So is shrugging off a sword strike with your chest or punching a man through a brick wall. And yet—"

"Fair," Luke muttered.

Across the city, Li Ran leaned back in his chair and chuckled softly. She's getting good at this, he thought.

And the game was only beginning.

---