Under the glow of eerie florescent lights, a short mustachioed man straightened his belt and held his head up high, like he was pretending to be a cowboy. Behind him followed Luke Cage, clad from head to toe in a bright orange jumpsuit. His face didn't even twitch.

The mustachioed man met another guard at the far end of the hall, passing off Luke to him with a nod before brushing past the inmate and marching back down the hall the opposite way. Luke narrowed his eyes at him but said nothing.

"You again?" said the other guard, leaning back against the wall next to the phone.

Luke nodded slowly. "I have a call to make."

"Yeah. You always do. Every day. Same time. Have they ever picked up?"

"Don't see what business it is of yours."

"Hmph."

With eyes narrowed, Luke typed an all-too-familiar number into the keypad on the prison phone.

Nobody picked up.

"You've reached the office of Matthew Murdock. Unfortunately, I'm not available to take your call right now, but if you would like to schedule a meeting or consultation-"

Luke's fingers gently pressed the phone's switch hook, canceling the call.

"No response. Shocking," chuckled the guard.

Luke looked at the floor. "I'll try again tomorrow."

"Of course you will." The guard rolled his eyes as he stood from the wall, grabbing Luke's forearm with one hand to pull him away. "Alright. Enough fooling around. Time to go."

"Wait. I have another call to make today."

"You made your call. You can't monopolize the phone; other inmates need to use it-"

"Do you see any other inmates?"

Luke threw up his hand, gesturing to the otherwise empty room behind him.

The guard rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, and waved one hand. "Fine. Be quick about it."

"Yeah…"

The guard leaned his head back against the wall, and Luke raised his hand to the keypad again, phone raised to his ear with anticipation.

This time, though, the phone barely had time to ring before someone picked up.

It was a woman's voice, fraught with concern. "Luke? Is that you?"

"Claire." Luke took a long sigh, closing his eyes as he pressed the phone to his ear. "God, it's good to hear your voice…"

Claire let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah. Same. How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay. Getting by…" The guard shot a look at him, and Luke groaned quietly. "I got your letter; saw that you wanted me to call. I'm sorry that I haven't called much otherwise; I just-"

"No, Luke, please. I don't want to see them gouge you for phone money any more than you do. It's just- I needed to talk to you about something."

"What is it?"

"I. Uh. Yeesh…" Claire tapped a finger against the phone on the other end. "I thought this was something you needed to hear. I got a call from Ellie- uh, an old friend at Metro General. Someone was rushed into the ER in critical condition. Multiple gunshot wounds. White, female, mid-thirties…" Claire sighed quietly into the receiver. "…Apparently, it was the woman that brought you in to Metro General for treatment however many months ago. Jessica Jones."

Luke's hand trembled against the phone. "I- Jessica…?"

"You know. Black hair? Pretty face? Shot you in the head? Funny, I thought you would remember. I barely knew her, and I sure as hell do."

"Trust me, I remember." Luke rubbed two fingers to his temple, eyes closed. "You're sure it was her?"

"I'm positive."

"Did you say gunshot wounds? What… happened to her?"

"It's not clear. I think it was some kind of police disturbance. From the way it sounded, I doubt anybody else could have healed from the wounds she took, but…"

"But she's tough."

"No kidding. But, it's- it… gets worse." She paused for a moment before continuing. "The paramedics that brought her in- four people. They were all found dead, and… I think it's getting covered up. Same kind of shit they tried to pull back at Metro General when Louisa was murdered."

Luke looked over his shoulder, grimacing at the raised eyebrow of the guard watching him. "Four people? Christmas."

"There's something going on here, Luke. I've seen this kind of shit before. The hospital put out a statement claiming they all died in an ambulance crash, but as far as I can tell, there are no records of a crash like that anywhere in the past month. Doesn't look like they're even down an ambulance."

"What, then? You think their deaths are connected to whatever happened to Jessica?"

"They've got to be, right? She's- what, a private investigator, right? I'm sure she's got enemies."

"Sure. But I don't think murdering paramedics is the kind of thing you would expect from a client angry about a cheating spouse."

"Exactly," Claire said pointedly. "…Luke, I'm worried this has something to do with you."

"What- you think Mariah and Shades have their hands in this?"

"It's not above them to kill innocent people to cover their tracks. If they found out about the relationship you had with her… they could be trying to get under your skin. Drag the life you had before you came to Harlem into the spotlight."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Luke pursed his lips, quiet for a moment as he considered it. "As far as I'm concerned, Mariah has me right where she wants me. Locked up, out of her way, not making headlines. If she and Shades started things up with me again, they'd just be drawing attention to themselves."

"You think Jessica might have gotten herself caught up in something big?"

"I think she already was caught up in something big."

Luke bowed his head with a solemn frown.

On the other line, Claire groaned quietly. "You're talking about the mind controlling dude. Kill-face."

"Kilgrave. And yes. I am."

"Luke, there's just no way. I know how dangerous this guy was, but he was already taken care of. The police found his body-"

"-Were you at the docks?"

"What?"

"Were you at the docks? Did you see a body?"

"Well, no, I didn't see the crime scene, but it's what they were reporting to the bystanders there…"

"They would have reported whatever he told them to report. That's what he does. He could have covered it up," said Luke, his voice firm enough to surprise Claire into silence. After a moment, he added, "Who brought in Jessica?"

"Uh. Ellie didn't say much." Obviously hesitant to respond, Claire paused, groaning again. "There was… uh… a guy in a suit. I think he was tall? He tried to follow the doctors into the operating room."

"He's not allowed to do that, right?"

"No. Hell no."

"Well, did they let him?"

"I, uh… I'm not sure." Another pause. "…She told me she didn't see them kick him out."

"God."

"Luke. We can't jump to conclusions. Don't let this get to you."

Breathing slowly, Luke gripped the phone tightly, careful not to accidentally crush it in his hand. "I know, I know. But he's dangerous. Too dangerous to be out on the loose. If that's what this is… if there's any chance…" The guard leaned forward on the wall next to the phone, and Luke narrowed his eyes at him. "…Claire, he's the one that killed Reva."

"I know, Luke. And I know how worrying it must be. But even if you're right, there's nothing you could do about it from where you are," she explained quietly. "You can't let this eat away at you. I just wanted you to be prepared in case it meant you could be in danger-"

"Me?" Luke snickered wryly, eyes closed. "Claire, I'm the last person we need to be worried about being in danger. I think Jessica may need help." He took a deep breath. "…I need to get out of here."

"At least we can agree on that."

The two of them chuckled, though the thought was really anything but funny, Luke thought.

"I might be close, if your lawyer friend hadn't up and ghosted on me."

"What, Matt? You mean you haven't heard from him?"

"He hasn't returned my calls in weeks." Luke shook his head. "Have to say, he's not what I expected, considering all the praise you seemed to have for him."

"I'm sorry. That's not like him," Claire said slowly, trailing off a bit. "…Well, actually, maybe it is. But I really thought he could help."

"I'm thinking it's time for new counsel."

"I'll see what I can do. He's not the one we needed," Claire groaned. "Bobby Fish has what we need. You're innocent. That's all that matters."

"You're right."

"Yeah. I know."

Luke chuckled again as Claire hummed into the receiver.

"Hang in there, tough guy," she said with amusement. "We'll get you out of there yet."

"Let's just hope it's soon enough," Luke replied, flashing a tiny smile to nobody in particular. "Take care of yourself, baby."

"Yeah. Try taking your own advice." She sighed, amused with herself. "See you soon."

"See you."

Luke hung up the phone and returned it to his side, mind racing. He'd barely been at Seagate for any time at all compared to his first stay, and yet he'd never felt so desperate to get out…

"Alright, I've been plenty lenient with you, inmate," said the guard, brushing past him and taking hold of his arm again.

Luke turned around, allowing himself to be led. "Fine, then. 'Till tomorrow."

Matt's eyes sagged under his shades as he pushed through a busy New York crowd, white cane tapping in front of him for appearances. The cool air cut across his face like daggers, and it did little to improve his exhausted frown.

An ocean of sounds and scents assaulted his senses as he sifted through the crowd, and he tilted his head down to pinpoint his target among the passerby. Stopping short at a small collection of tables, Matt folded up his cane and tucked it away, walking firmly toward the back corner.

Draped with a fine, expensive coat, Kilgrave crossed his legs at his seat, fingers drumming against a piping hot cup of coffee. Matt slipped wordlessly into the seat across from him and folded his hands on the tabletop, face stern and threatening. Kilgrave snickered at him.

"Well, good morning, Matthew!" Kilgrave covered his mouth as he let out a yawn, looking the other man over curiously. "You certainly look unpleasant today."

"Yeah, I've had better mornings." Matt chuckled humorlessly, making no effort to hide his biting tone- though it had no effect on Kilgrave.

"Ooh, so stern. Careful, now; you keep that tone so sharp, you'll cut yourself." Kilgrave took a sip of coffee with both eyebrows raised, bemused.

Matt slumped back in his seat. "What do you want?"

"I want you to be patient and listen, thank you. But I'm not going to command it. I'd rather we develop a… cooperative relationship."

"Keep dreaming."

Kilgrave stared for a few seconds, then rolled his eyes, throwing up his free hand. "Alright, fine then; I will command it. Be patient and listen to me." He rested his hand on the table. "I'm working on making a change in my life, Matthew. There's a lot of moving parts that I need to make sure aren't getting in the way of each other. I'm sure you can understand that; balancing a double life and everything."

Matt grimaced at the comment but said nothing.

After a few seconds, Kilgrave gave a small shrug and took another sip of coffee, taking the opportunity to continue. "Tell me; what's the story with your suit?"

"It's coming along," Matt replied obediently. "It's almost finished. It would have been finished a week ago if you hadn't forced Melvin to work on yours first-"

"-I just need the facts, thank you, not your personal commentary." Kilgrave straightened out his jacket with a small smirk. "And the jacket is quite comfortable. I have to say, that friend of yours did a bang-up job with it, even if he is a-"

"-Kilgrave," Matt interrupted with a scoff. "What do you want from me?"

"Alright, alright. Jesus." He rubbed his temples. "I'll tell you what I want. I want what I can't have. I want loyalty that doesn't wear off after a few days. I want protection that can keep me safe year-round. What I want is a network."

Matt sighed, knowing that he would regret asking. "And how could you possibly get that from me?"

"I couldn't. Not from you. Not directly, anyhow. But you're going to be my in," he explained, leaning in. "You're the one familiar with the… the… criminal element, as it were."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Matthew." Kilgrave waved his hand dismissively, swirling his coffee in his other hand. "I watch the news like everybody else. That- what's his name? Wilson Fisk? Man had half the city under his thumb, and yet nobody even knew his name." He shrugged slightly. "We both know, if there was ever a man that deserved that kind of power, it's me."

"You know Fisk is in a federal prison right now, right?" Matt replied without flinching.

"And wouldn't you know it, I'm having coffee with the man that put him there, aren't I?" said Kilgrave, gesturing in front of him. "You know what kinds of people I need to connect with better than anybody."

"You think butting in on organized crime is going to make you safer?"

He scoffed. "Well, I can hardly expect to curry much favor with the bloody NYPD, can I?"

Matt thought for a moment, slumping back in his seat. "…Fair enough."

"So what can you tell me?"

"Not much," replied Matt with clenched teeth. "The Russians are long gone. Chinese have nearly vanished. Dogs of Hell and the Kitchen Irish were wiped out. Cartel's influence has died down tenfold in the past few months. The Japanese…" –Matt tilted his head down with a grimace- "…I don't even know what's going on with them." He shrugged. "As far as I know, things are as disorganized in New York as they've ever been. People are still running guns and drugs, the usual stuff, but every time one person tries to step up someone takes them down."

"Subtlety isn't your strong suit, is it?"

"Speak for yourself."

"Tsch." Kilgrave smirked. "Well, it sounds to me like I should have plenty of opportunity to establish myself. What if I wanted to step in on someone's business? Who would I talk to?"

"They don't exactly leave fliers on telephone poles."

"Alright. Say you wanted to… I dunno, bust some criminals. Deliver some good old-fashioned vigilante justice. Presumably you have some kind of method of getting information. Tell me what you would do."

Matt cleared his throat, head bowed. "I'd… probably go after someone low-level. Beat information out of them. Dates and places. Some people have just been around the block enough times to know that kind of thing."

"Names and dates?" Kilgrave asked, resting an elbow on the table.

"Yes. For… a meeting. A sale. A trade. Something like that."

"Meeting? What, like a… like a criminal soirée?" Kilgrave laughed out loud. "So, hypothetically, if there were something like that I wanted to be made aware of, you could go out and knock some heads and get ahold of that kind of information?"

"I could."

"And when will your suit be ready, again?"

Matt shook his head, hands shaking as he reluctantly responded. "…In… a few days…"

"And you remember what I told you about working for me?"

"I do…"

"Then I think you just got plans for this weekend." Kilgrave yawned, looking Matt up and down from across the table. "Go out as soon as your suit is ready. And get back to me when you have information I can use."

"I don't-" Matt paused for a moment. "I don't know how long it might take."

"Then do what you have to do to be quick about it," Kilgrave commanded sharply. "You haven't built up a reputation for nothing, right? Let people know whose business it is." He sipped on his coffee again. "Daredevil is back."

"I'm telling you. This is the best offer you are going to get on a weapon like this, period."

A man in a black coat stood at the end of a table, holding a pistol in his hands in front of a crowd of half a dozen others. Brandishing the gun in one hand, he glanced to one of the men still seated across from him, flashing a toothy grin.

".357 caliber. Fits in a handgun. Inconspicuous. And yet… it can punch through solid steel." The man in the coat admired the gun in his hands as he spoke.

"That supposed to impress me?" scoffed the man at the other end, kicking his feet up on the table. "I've already got offers lined up on some of the gear they picked up from Toomes's crew before he got locked up. Blows your peashooter out of the water, big time. Like you wouldn't believe."

The man in the jacket rolled his eyes. "Christ's sake. Look, man. You wanna fight space aliens, fine; go drop 800 G's on some Star Trek shit in Staten Island. But if you want something practical, I'm the guy you want to talk to. I'm telling you, man. This shit goes through body armor like nothing. Perfect for any of our needs. But not too flashy." He aimed the pistol in front of him with both hands, smirking. "Diamondback almost killed Luke Cage with this shit."

"Yeah, before he got his ass beat."

"He got his ass beat because he got cocky. And you know what? He didn't show up to that fight with a gun. If he had, he'd be the one pitching this to you right now, not me. Guaranteed."

"Or maybe he just knew better than to trust the shit he was pushing on everybody else."

KOOM

A heavy crash from outside the door attracted everyone's attention at once.

"What the hell was that…?" The man in front shot his gaze up straight to the steel double-doors, raising his gun.

The others quickly followed suit with weapons of their own.

"Got to tell you, for a man with such a great weapon in your hands, you sure look close to pissing yourself," said the man across the table, dropping his feet to the floor as he reached for his holster.

"Man, shut the fuck up."

KOOM

"Fuck! What is that, feds? You said this spot was secure! Who could have-"

"It is secure! You saw the guards! This place is airtight fucking secure! Nobody is getting in here unless-"

KOOM

The doors shook as something crashed into them, only staying shut because of the steel crossbar securing them in place. Something heavy clattered to the floor on the other side of the door, as the men around the table held their weapons steady.

KOOM

With one final crash, the heavy metal doors burst open, splitting the crossbar clean in half. Through the doorway flew a man in body armor, who landed on the center of the table with a loud crash and slid to the opposite end, collapsing on the floor.

The three men closest to the door approached with their weapons raised, while the man in the black coat stared at the unconscious guard on the floor in front of him with disbelief.

Then an arm poked through the door. "Nobody shoot! Nobody move. We're here to negotiate, gentlemen!"

The men holding weapons froze, and the man entered the room in proper, dressed up in a long overcoat over a purple jacket. Behind him followed a black haired woman, wearing leather. The men around the table stared in disbelief, lowering their weapons as Kilgrave and Jessica approached the table, their movements completely in tandem.

"We'll hold off on my name for now," said Kilgrave. "But this is Jessica, and she would be happy to introduce herself to any of you. Say hi, Jessica." He raised a hand to gesture to the woman at his side.

Jessica gave a broad smile. "Hi, Jessica."

"Tsch." With a snicker, Kilgrave turned to the men still standing at the open door, gesturing for them to return. "Come on, come on. Everyone gather around. I'd like to properly introduce-"

"What the fuck do you think this is, show and tell?" interrupted one of the men with sudden anger. "You can't just barge in here and-"

"Shut up. –And you-" - Kilgrave gestured to the man behind him- "Shoot him," he said, pointing to the one that interrupted him.

All the others in the room remained dead silent as the man dropped dead to the floor, blood flowing in red streaks from the fresh bullet wound in his face.

"Now, as you may have picked up," said Kilgrave, slowly trailing around the table to get everyone's attention, "I am not like the rest of you. You're all gifted at… I dunno, killing each other, kidnapping people, selling stolen weapons, whatever. I, on the other hand, am gifted at… influencing people. Something I'm sure everyone here has figured out by now." He clasped his hands together. "Nobody here will tell anybody about me. But if by some mistake someone did… or perhaps if they did something I was a little less specifically clear on instructing them about… I could just as easily have them end up like Mr. Closed-Casket-Funeral on the floor there. So maybe apply a little bit of common sense. Are we all clear on that?"

The room filled with the sound of clothes shuffling as everyone nodded at him, frantic.

"Jessica here is special, too, just… a bit more hands-on about it. But more than special enough for the pathetic excuses for security guards you had surrounding the place, yeah?" Kilgrave poked the unconscious guard on the floor with his foot, glancing up at Jessica briefly. "Jessica, tell them what you can do to them if they try anything."

Jessica rolled her eyes. "I can remove your colon and choke you to death with it."

"Ooh. Nasty stuff," Kilgrave replied with a smirk. "Okay, so… with the pleasantries out of the way, I'll get right down to business. Specifically, your business. I have it on very good authority that you seven-" –he hesitated for a moment- "-er… you six… are some of the most involved members of the black market in Hell's Kitchen. Is that source to be trusted?"

Nobody said a word, as each person around the table glanced around at the others.

Kilgrave threw up his hands. "…Oh, for the love of- answer me, somebody. Obviously."

Instantly, the room erupted in affirmation, everyone talking over each other.

"I'm not familiar with your kind of business. I've never needed to get involved with your kind of people. But let me tell you what we have in common," Kilgrave hummed. "We're all trying to get on with our lives in peace. We're all trying to avoid butting heads with the police. We all… could use a little more security. So I'm going to make an offer, and it's going to work to our mutual benefit. I use my resources… and my considerable power… and I help you get what you want. And in exchange… all of you answer to me. Along with everyone that works for you." He exchanged a glance with Jessica, who smiled dully at him. "How does that sound?"

The men surrounding the table murmured uncertainly to each other, and Kilgrave rolled his eyes, gesturing for the man in the black coat- now positioned across the table from him- to speak.

"I- I mean- h- how could any of us- I mean, how could anyone- say no?" the man stammered, glancing helplessly at his gun on the table. "But… I mean… what are you planning to do here, man? What's your play? 'Cause you are talking about some upper-level, French revolution, coup d'état-type shit, and I don't know if you really know what you're-"

"-Know what I'm getting into?" spat Kilgrave. "Is that it? What, are you questioning if I have the balls for it? Do I need to paint another man's brains all over the floor before you-?"

"No, man, no! Jesus! It's just-" The man set his hands down on the table, taking a heavy breath. "…I mean, we get by selling arms and shit, yeah, doing deals out on the pier and all that. You can get in on that shit all you want, man. No trouble. But… I mean… if you're talking about everything we're into… the heroin and shit… I mean, look, we do the best we can dealing that stuff out here, but you're not exactly talking to Wilson Fisk here, you know what I'm saying? That shit is so goddamn high above my pay grade, I don't even know how to begin to describe it…"

"Alright then!" Kilgrave rested his hands on the table, glowering up at the man with a furrowed brow. "How about this? Try. Try to describe it. Because I want to deal with whoever's at the top."

The man frowned, face wrought with fear. He glanced hopefully at Jessica, who just scoffed at him.

"Okay, man. I mean… we're talking about a business that stretches way outside of just Hell's Kitchen."

"Even better."

Kilgrave kept his face completely steady. As the man across from him spoke, everyone else watched without moving a muscle, keeping the room nearly silent. Jessica took long, heavy breaths, barely emoting.

"Alright, man. Alright…" The man in the coat sighed heavily, struggling to come up with a good response. "I guess I'll start with the shit that goes right to the top…"

Kilgrave nodded slowly, curiosity flickering in his eye.

And Jessica trembled as she watched.

Two bare feet touched down on the hot pavement by a bus stop, a crowd passerby moving along the sidewalk in both directions. Ambitious and optimistic, a scraggly-haired Danny Rand set off walking among them, ears ringing with 15-year-old hip-hop and eyes fixed above the crowd at the New York skyline.

Among the buildings stood a giant grey skyscraper, and Danny's eyes traced its exterior with curiosity and awe.

With a childlike smile, he gestured to a man nearby a newsstand, pointing upward. "That's my building."

The man rolled his eyes. "You should sell it and buy some shoes."

Danny chuckled at the remark and marched forward, cutting through the crowd to make his way to the building's sleek entrance, "Rand" emblazoned on the wall through the glass doors.

Tucking his iPod into the tote bag around his shoulder, he approached the reception desk and flashed a smile at the receptionist, who narrowed her eyes at him.

"Hi! I'm guessing June doesn't work here anymore?" Danny grinned as the receptionist struggled to formulate a response. "Doesn't matter… uh, I'm here to see Harold Meachum?"

The receptionist hesitated for a second, confused by the bizarre request.

"…I'm sorry… that's not possible…" she said with a waning smile.

Danny shot her a look and shook his head, trying to clarify. "I'm Danny Rand. The son of Wendell Rand? I've, uh, been away a long time."

"And you're here to see Harold Meachum…?"

"Yeah."

They exchanged perplexed glances, and she nodded once, leaning down to her computer again. "One minute, please."

"Okay." Danny grinned again, turning around and resting his elbows on the reception desk. He looked up and down the lobby, nostalgic. "I used to ride my skateboard around in here…"

After a moment at her computer, the receptionist raised a hand to get his attention again. "Someone will be right out to see you!"

"Oh! Thanks."

Satisfied, Danny took a step away from the desk and looked down the lobby again, eyes settling on a computer screen built into a stand near the entrance.

A recorded voice chirped out a pleasant message from the stand. "Welcome to Rand Enterprises. Touch the interactive screen to access the company directory."

"Whoa. This is new."

Danny wandered toward the screen, bare feet cold against the tiled floor. He rested his arms on the sides of the stand, watching the computer screen as it played an idle animation- aeronautics, engineering, medicine and all the other fields Rand had dabbled in over the years. Danny's mouth hung open as he watched a clip of his father shaking hands with Harold on the screen.

It was the first time he'd seen his father's face in fifteen years. Stepping inside the Rand building again was a moment he had dreamed about for years, but now that he was there, it was as though he'd never left…

"…Let's go! You don't belong here."

A hand fell on his shoulder suddenly, ripping Danny out of his reverie. Two security guards closed in on either side of him, pulling him away from the screen by his arms.

Danny threw up his hands with surprise. "Uh, wait, I- I'm Danny Rand!"

The guard on his left pushed him toward the door. "Now!"

"C'mon, guys; just call Harold! I-"

"You're out of here!"

Thrust out through the entrance, Danny stumbled outside again and turned around. The guards shut the doors in his face.

Danny sucked in his breath. As the guards returned to their posts, he pulled open the doors again and marched straight through, hands pressed against his sides as he darted past the reception desk.

Two guards grabbed him by the shoulders again, pushing him back, and he groaned.

"Whoa! Hold him."

Danny rolled his eyes and glanced to the side, exasperated. "Guys, I just want to talk to Harold. Come on."

"No."

The guard on his left shoved him by the shoulder again, and Danny sighed… just wanting to get through.

Instincts kicking in, Danny threw out one hand and dispatched the guard on his left with a strike, throwing off the other one. Shocked, the other guard gathered himself and threw an easily-telegraphed punch, which Danny turned around on him. The second guard slammed into the glass wall by the entrance, leaving him lying beaten on a cushioned bench. Biting his lip, Danny marched past, moving toward the elevators.

"Hey!"

Two more guards piled in from the interior hall, the one in front brandishing a baton. He swung in an arc toward Danny's head, but Danny brushed out of the way of the strike and grabbed hold of his arm instead. The second guard charged forward with his baton as well, but Danny wielded the first's to block the strike, flipping both of them behind him and knocking the two of them to the floor in a pile with a single kick. Shutting the door to the hallway, a third guard ambushed him, and he ducked out of the way of several strikes before flipping the guard around him and slamming him against the glass doors.

Eyebrows raised, Danny thrust out a foot to press the button on the elevator, the guard completely at his mercy. With a sigh, Danny threw the final guard through the double doors and shut him out, jamming them with his baton. The guard got to his feet and rushed to the doors, and Danny flashed him an apologetic look as the elevator opened behind him.

Several floors up, a woman stepped into the elevator beside Danny and scanned her card against the elevator's control panel, paying him no mind as she selected her floor. With a shifty glance, Danny reached one hand to her purse and pressed her card to the panel again, entering his own floor with one finger. As the woman stepped out of the elevator, Danny folded his hands in front of him, riding the lift all the way to the top floor.

The elevator doors opened at Danny's stop, and he stepped out, taking in the view of the conference room and entrance hall of Harold's floor, which he knew like the back of his hand from his childhood.

"Excuse me!" The receptionist at the front desk shot him a look as she spotted him step outside.

Danny ignored her, wandering past the front desk to make his way into the offices at the end of the hall.

"Excuse me!" called the receptionist again, giving chase.

Determined now, Danny brushed straight through the hall and made his way into the entrance of the central office. As the receptionist caught up behind him, Danny slowed to a stop, feet digging into the scratchy carpeting beneath him. The massive wall of glass behind a desk showed a view of a parallel skyscraper across the street, just as he remembered, but behind the desk… someone else. A well-dressed man with slicked-back brown hair, sifting through documents on his desk.

Danny shot him a perplexed look. "Who are you? Where's Harold?"

The man narrowed his eyes, briefly glancing at the secretary behind Danny before meeting his eyes. "Excuse me? Who are you?"

The two of them stared each other down for a few moments before the clacking of high-heeled shoes interrupted them, and a brown-haired woman in a black-and-white blouse stepped into the office from the side door.

She frowned at the visitor. "Oh…?"

Seeing the two of them standing side-by-side, Danny shook his head in disbelief, realizing his own mistake and stepping forward. "…Ward? Joy?" Suddenly excited, he approached the woman with his hands to his chest, grinning again. "I- it's Danny! Danny Rand."

Threatened, Joy took a defensive step behind the desk, and Ward rose to stand beside her, shooting Danny an accusatory look. "How did you get up here?"

Danny nodded with a slight smile, pointing behind him. "The elevator… I, uh… I came to see your father!"

Ward opened his hands, speaking cautiously. "Look, I think you're in the wrong place."

"No, this is definitely the right place…" Danny shook his head as he glanced around the office.

"I'm sorry, but I'm calling security. They can help you."

"Wait, no! It's me!" Danny threw up a hand to stop Ward as he dialed on the phone on his desk. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but let me just talk to your dad, okay? Then I can leave you guys alone."

Joy stepped forward with a frown. "I'm afraid Harold Meachum is dead."

"What?" Crestfallen, Danny glanced between Ward and Joy, struggling. "I… I didn't know. W- when?"

Still fiddling with the phone, Ward threw up his hands at the secretary standing in the door, his face contorted with irritation. "Why isn't anyone picking up? Can you get security up here?"

The secretary gave a rushed nod and stepped away from the door, as Danny and Joy exchanged a confused glance.

"He… died of cancer," Joy explained, disbelieving. "Twelve years ago…"

Danny thought on that for a long time. "I'm… sorry to hear that. All our parents are gone now…"

"…Okay. Well, thanks for dropping by. I'm gonna show you out…"

"What? No, no, no; I guess I need to talk to you, then!"

Danny stepped away from Joy as she approached him, dropping his backpack to the ground and taking a seat in the chair in front of the desk.

Ward grimaced, looking down on Danny with a threatening frown. "What you need is to get out of my office."

"Look." Danny straightened himself out, trying to look serious. "It's me. Seriously. Why don't we just all walk over to the Stage Deli? We can have a cup of tea. We can talk about this."

Joy rolled her eyes. "Stage Deli's been closed for years."

"I- it- it doesn't matter where we go, okay? I just want to talk…"

Desperate, Danny looked up at Ward with his hands at his lap. Ward scoffed incredulously, but just before he got the chance to speak, he was cut off by another voice, and a man in a deep purple jacket stepped through the side door to the office.

"Okay! I'm here," the man declared with a harsh British accent, brushing past Joy to examine Danny himself. After a moment, he turned to Ward, frowning. "What the hell is going on here? I was busy; now I'm hearing we had some kind of disturbance in the lobby?"

Ward rolled his eyes at the man and thrust a hand in Danny's direction, visibly frustrated. "This homeless nutjob marched in here demanding to see Harold Meachum. Apparently something happened to security downstairs. He is claiming to be Danny Rand, who has been dead for years. I don't know what the hell is going on."

"We- we didn't mean for you to have to get involved-!" Joy interrupted hurriedly, shooting the man a concerned glance.

"Well, too late," said the British man with a sidelong glance, turning back to Danny. "You there. Tell me. Who are you?"

Danny's eyes glossed over for a moment, and he spoke quickly and suddenly. "I am the Immortal Iron Fist. Defender of K'un-Lun. Enemy of-"

"…No, moron." Staring incredulously at him, the British man waved his hand in front of him, thoroughly confused. "Your name. Tell me your name."

Danny blinked. "Danny Rand! Like I said!"

"Danny Rand? Child of Wendell Rand, Danny Rand?"

"Yes! That's what I've been saying!"

Mildly surprised, the British man straightened his coat and turned back to Ward and joy, shrugging. "Well, there you have it, I suppose."

Joy took a step back in shock, looking Danny up and down. Mouth agape, Ward slammed a hand down on the desk, narrowing his eyes. "Danny Rand is dead! Just because he believes it doesn't mean-"

"I'm not dead, Ward; I'm standing right here!" Danny spoke loudly, pointing a finger at Ward. "I survived the plane crash. I know it sounds strange, but-"

"Alright, alright, no bickering. I have enough on my plate as it is." The British man straightened out his jacket again and leaned against the desk, eyes widened at Ward. "Obviously he's not lying, so we have to assume it's at least possible that he's the real deal, don't we?"

Ward froze for a moment. "Well, I don't- I mean-"

"Just assume. If he is the real Danny Rand, what does that mean for us?"

"Well." Ward shot Danny another glance, clasping his hands together uncertainly. "I- well, I mean, theoretically, he would have inherited 51% of the company, so…"

"Alright, well, that's easy enough to solve, isn't it? He signs away whatever stock in the company he has, and then we don't have to worry about him either way, yeah?"

"I mean… yes, that's true, but…"

"Great." The British man pointed a finger at Danny harshly. "You there. Danny. Stay seated right where you are." He looked over his shoulder. "How long would it take us to draft something up for him to sign?"

Ward shrugged. "I don't know. You get the legal staff on it, and I'd be willing to bet we could have a document ready in an hour. If there's nothing to negotiate."

"Don't worry. There's nothing to negotiate."

The British man patted his knees thoughtfully and stood again, stepping to leave the office and shooting Danny one final glance.

"Sit tight, Mr. Rand. I and all the rest of us will be out of your hair soon. I've… got business elsewhere…"

Wide-eyed, Danny ran a hand through his hair, sitting obediently in place. Past Ward, the sun poured in through the glass, forcing him to squint from the light. He had been in that office more times than he could count as a child, knowing that it would be his one day.

Danny blinked, his thoughts cloudy. One hand closed into a fist, which trembled uselessly.