"I won't patronize you by acting coy. You've obviously seen what I can do." His voice was softer now, and he stared at me with wide and curious eyes. His lips parted into an expectant smile as he awaited my response.

I stared down into his mug of coffee. The man had forced a colleague of mine to make it. I hoped it tasted as bitter as I felt.

"I don't talk about myself to strangers."

"Well, I'll start. My name is Kilgrave."

I snorted, more out of reflex to humor than actual, you know, humor. "Kilgrave? Are you serious? Was Deathskull not taken?"

"Oh, please. It's only got one L. It's not that bad." He laughed, despite my remark.

"Whatever you say, Murderfortress."

"That one doesn't even work. Fortress has the wrong number of syllables. Shankstab works, though." He even had the audacity to wink.

Now we were both laughing. He took a long drag of his drink, and tore a bit off his croissant. "So, what's your name?" he asked before taking a bite.

"Sorry, Dreadblood. I still don't know you."

"That one sounds like a pirate captain. But fine, fine, I'll just tell you a little bit about myself, and hopefully you find time in your oh so busy schedule to reciprocate." He leaned in. "And I'm sure I don't have to actually threaten you to suggest you remain discrete, right?" His hand brushed the handle of the knife. I shivered.

"My name is Jessica. Jessica Jones."

"Good! Now, where to begin… how about my powers!" His eyes shone with pride. "I can force anyone - well, almost anyone - to do whatever I want, when I want. My control lasts roughly 24 hours, and as long as I keep compelling them they will retain all previous commands. I spend my days finding new people to order around, and my nights with anyone I desire. It's a charmed life, definitely, and it's not gotten old in the slightest. My control can change anything about a person, from their personality to their, well, preferences. As soon as I get inside their heads, they are unable to disobey, no matter what. Like this fine gentlemen over here -" he gestured to the man with the umbrella, who was beginning to dry off after spending some time indoors "- he's been instructed since about four hours ago to carry my things and make sure I am dry. I've also told him that if he lets even a single drop touch me, he will rip off his own face with his bare hands."

"That's barbaric!"

"It's efficient. This was a very expensive shirt. Dry clean only!"

"As if you didn't just take it off the shelf."

"Well, okay, true. You got me there."

"Christ, this is insane."

"No more insane than someone else messing with my own personal mind voodoo. You make it hard to think, you know that? Like a constant buzzing in the back of my mind, telling me to obey."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon, babe." I shot him a glare. "C'mon, Jessica… you obviously know I'm telling the truth. Don't tell me you've never cut loose." His eyes sparkled with malice. I've never seen someone this driven before…

An awkward silence was all I could respond with. I started tearing a paper napkin into progressively smaller chunks. He decided to push the issue.

"So with all of this untold amount of raw psychic power, why do you still work here?"

Ouch. He had a point, which is the worst kind of insult.

"I don't want to hurt anyone. The more people I… 'infect'... The less I can hurt them."

"How noble. I kind of wish I had your idealism. I just spend my time doing whatever the hell I want. So, what, your power just wears off? I could feel you trying to break my control earlier, but it probably takes a lot of time to do anything substantial, right? Otherwise everyone would have just dropped their knives."

"I don't have a lot of practice."

"Honesty is the best policy. But really, you've never just had someone drive a fork into their eye? Not even when they deserved it?"

I cut him off. "No one deserves that."

"Really, now. You can't think of a single person."

"Oh, I can think of lots of people." My boss. My parents. A hundred other people. All of them taking advantage of me…

Another awkward ugly silence.

"You'd be surprised at how fun it can be." His wry smile matched his cold eyes. I could get lost in them, those dark irises and the cool and callous mind behind them. The thunder in the distance somehow matched his demeanor, punctuating his words.

"No matter how much I'd like to take revenge on those who've fucked me over, it just isn't something I can do. I work with the subconscious, not the conscious. I can make someone like me, not make them kill themselves. Besides," I added, "I'd want them to suffer."

"Now we're talking, Jessica Jones. You just continue to surprise me."

"It doesn't wear off, you know."

"And yet again, another shock." He feigned a gasp, before leaning in close again. "Are you really telling me your power doesn't wear off? Christ, you could be living a better life than I am, and here you are working for minimum wage like the rest of these peasants."

"Unlike you, I don't have the capacity to steal anything I want without consequences."

"But you could, if you really put your mind to it."

I met his steely gaze. His words weren't a command, but there was an implicit expectation in his phrasing.

Could I?

I'd be lying if I said that delusions of grandeur weren't my first reaction to my powers developing. Memories of me imagining revenge, angry tears streaming down my cheeks, flashed through my mind.

Focus, Jessica. Breathe.

The conversation in the room lapsed a little as the room breathed with me.

"Honestly, no pun intended, that level of control takes my breath away."

Him interrupting my reverie was the least of my worries. What he was saying was horrible, but it was true.

He continued. "I think all you need is a little taste, and you'll see. You'll be hooked, just like me."

"What am I supposed to do? Just think angry thoughts?"

He laughed darkly, before shooting me another wink. "All you have to do is hold on for the ride."

Kilgrave rose, and addressed the room.

YOU THERE

He began by pointing at the man nearest to the door.

LOCK THOSE DOORS AND FLIP THE SIGN TO CLOSED

He smiled and waited for the click of the lock before continuing.

EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM THAT ISN'T ME OR JESSICA JONES, KILL EACH OTHER

The room responded almost instantly. Patrons of all ages grabbed their silverware and began attacking each other. Some forgoed tools and used their bare hands, scratching and biting. There was no hesitation, no fear.

I was overwhelmed. I could feel their anger. Their hate. Their overwhelming need to obey.

I stood, and Kilgrave slid an arm around me. "Just watch, Jessica," he whispered. "Isn't it intoxicating?"

It was.

Oh god. I could feel it. I could feel him - his power, his control. His sick, sadistic smile. I could feel the fight, its energy. I could feel the joy they felt when they killed each other, and it was… good.

I leaned on him, the only affirmation I could muster. He tightened his arm around me for a moment, before relaxing. The rain and thunder made an almost elegant backdrop to the carnage.

"See what I mean?" he murmured. It was barely audible over the din of the fight, but I didn't need to hear the words to grasp the meaning. He was clearly enjoying it as much as I was. His face was slightly flushed, and he seemed to be swaying on his feet.

"Buy me dinner first, Kilgrave." This time I was the one who winked.