February, 2001

Madison Square Garden

The lights flickering were ominous. This was Madison Square Garden after all. One of the Great Stages of the World. At the moment, I was standing well off to the side of the room, unfortunately next to Ronald Ryan, who I was very strenuously ignoring. Aleksei was under the stage, underneath a convenient trapdoor, while Herman was backstage.

None of the rest of the audience seemed to notice. It was all happy cheers, gleeful shouts, and the air of excitement was palpable. It would have been intoxicating, if I wasn't already on edge. And then, the moment that Becky came back on stage, everything went to hell. The lights went off, leaving everything in darkness. Not that that affected the fans just yet… that is, until that 'faulty' spotlight turned back on, shining at the entrance directly across from and below where I was standing. An entrance that was now open, with a man in a black suit striding out… and the Jumbotron turned on suddenly, giving a much better view. And the first thing that I noticed about him made me freeze up.

"Hello everyone!" The man exclaimed into the mic held in one of his hands. One of his very purple hands. And there wasn't a blacklight in sight. I was in a panic mode, calmed only by the fact that I had checked my suit's seals before I came here. A terrible, obscene, irrational fear. I was safe in here. I knew that. I should have known that. The Crimson Dynamo was a piece of old Soviet surplus. The plans for it had been laid down before the infamous Chernobyl disaster… but it was designed to function alongside The Radioactive Man. It had complete and very advanced(for the time) NBC functionality, filtration and air scrubbers. But the man walking idly towards the stage scared me on a level deeper than Cletus Kasady had.

"Hello! Yes hi! Please, please, I'd appreciate a bit of applause, if you could?" That voice… that voice was horrible. It was like something heavy and slimy was clinging to my shoulder, drooling onto my ear and giggling with an utterly malevolent glee, more of a monster than any demon. And then, as one… the audience began to clap. Rhythmically. In unison. Over, and over, and over and over. Wave after wave of perfectly synchronized human noise, with more perfect coordination than should ever be possible, not like many people working together, but... like they were being controlled by something greater. By something that thought it was greater. The man chuckled, waving his hands in the air. "Good. Good. Very good. Why don't you all just stop right there for the moment? Now, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Zebediah Killgrave, you may know me better as The Purple Man. It's lovely to be here!" He laughed a high-pitched, shrill laugh that felt like nails on a chalkboard.

I clenched my teeth, and started to raise my arm, before Killgrave started to talk again. And what he said made me freeze up again.

"You might be wondering why I'm here! Well, you see, I had a lovely time, a little while back, hearing an absolutely delightful song! A song by that beautiful young lady up there on stage. Give us a bow dear!" The Jumbotron image swapped to Becky, standing there awkwardly… before giving a stiff, robotic bow. Killgrave clapped his hands exaggeratedly, laughing that awful, hateful laugh. "Oh lovely! Lovely lovely lovely. How about a curtsey?"

Becky was forced to comply… and even more disturbingly, unlike the blank and dull expressions of dazed enthusiasm on everyone else's faces, I could see Becky's eyes welled up with tears, her entire body shivering slightly. Unable to truly resist, but still fighting against Killgrave's mind control. "Awwwww… why the long face? Frowns don't look good on you my dear~ Why don't you perk up those lips a bit? You really should smile more."

I nearly zapped him right there, as I watched Becky's expression forcibly twitch and twist into a smile fit for a Stepford Wife, tears still running down from her terrified eyes. But he just. Kept. Talking. "Now, originally, I was just going to come in, sweep dear Miss Becky off of her feet and spirit her away, and then be done with it… but, I've decided to flip the script. Now, I'd love to take credit for this whole shebang, but far be it from me to not thank someone who's been so very helpful in letting me get to this point."

Killgrave pointed towards me, the Jumbotron shifting to show where I was standing, illuminated by the spotlight and my heart skipped a beat… until I realized who he was pointing at. I didn't move, didn't want to give things away… but behind my helmet my face had turned into a mask of abject fury. "Let's give a big hand to Mister Ronald Ryan! Why don't you step up into the spotlight? Yeah, there we go!"

Good Ole' Ron stepped forwards into the middle of the spotlight, face just as dopey and placid as pretty much everyone else fully under Killgrave's control. "Thaaaaaank you. Now, I called Mister Ryan up a little over a month ago with a little bit of a proposition. I offered him Ten! Million! Dollars! For beautiful Miss Becky Ryan! Yes indeed! This man was offered I repeat, Ten! MILLION! DOLLARS! To sell his daughter off to lil' ol' Moi. And he took that in a heartbeat. Now, I was supposed to pick her up from her dressing room after her final number… buuuuuut~, I'm a bit too much of a showman, and I can't believe that a man could be so cavalier with his little girl's life~."

Killgrave's voice was absolutely dripping with insincere sarcasm as he hammed it up into the mic. "Unfortunately, Mister Ryan isn't going to be getting his Ten! Million! DOLLARS! Oh no. No no no. All he's going to get…. IS A FIST TO THE BALLS! If the delightfully cute little lady in the power armor could puh-lease deliver that wonderful gift!"

Oh my god, he's a fucking idiot. He actually thinks I'm under his control. I can work with this. My face shifted to one of forced, strained calm beneath my faceplate as I spun in place, desperately trying to maintain my composure intentionally walking robotically over to Ronald Ryan. I loomed over him, staring him right in the face. It seemed like Killgrave had lessened his control over Good Ole' Ron, because his terrified expression told me exactly how much he didn't want me to do what I was about to do. But he couldn't stop it.

Killgrave's words were still circling inside my head, around and around, and my attempt to maintain my composure broke.

I was seeing red at the moment. My face was set in a rictus of pure, undiluted anger, not that Ronald Ryan could see. All he could see was the silver-painted, vaguely skull-like face of the Crimson Dynamo Mark IV, it's singular eye-slit lens glowing menacingly. I pulled my fist back and-

February, 2001

S.H.I.E.L.D. Facility,????

"So you hit him in the balls. On live TV. While wearing a suit of power armor made to fight Iron Man." The agent stated, to which Ash nodded. They both already knew the details of those events. It had been heavily documented.

"It wasn't enough to kill him… He got medical attention in time. But… well, that isn't growing back. I guess Becky'll have to be content being an only child on her dad's side." Ash crossed her arms.

"So, that convinced Killgrave that you were under his control fully?" Ash nodded again at the question.

"You know, for a former Soviet spy, Purple Man sure forgot how heavy duty the seals on their enclosed Power Armor were. Or he just didn't know, either way."

The SHIELD agent made a note. "Please continue. I've seen the footage, but I need to hear your account."

February, 2001

Madison Square Garden

"BRILLIANT! BRILLIANT! Such a good show! BRA~VO!" Killgrave seemed to be having the time of his life. He must have thought that everything was coming up aces for him.

Zebediah Killgrave. The Purple Man. One of the most feared Supervillains in America, if not the World. Mind Controllers were like that, especially ones on Killgrave's level. His Pheromones worked near instantly, and you needed either an absurdly strong will, or actual physical or mental defenses to stop it. And, of the various unscrupulous mind controller types… Killgrave was probably one of the most infamous.

The last time someone tried to drag him in front of a court, he was accused of several thousand charges of attempted murder, with those under his control counted as the weapon. Several hundred charges of actual murder… and the number that I, and basically any other even remotely prominent female figure knew very closely by heart. Three thousand, two hundred, and ninety nine charges of rape. And those were just the ones he was charged with.

The only reason Killgrave wasn't six feet under was that the neurotoxin that had converted him into The Purple Man had also given him a healing factor on par with fucking Wolverine. He could survive being thrown under a goddamn speeding train, being crushed inside of a miniaturized prison gem, and so fucking much more. Killgrave was an absolute monster who had won the superpower lottery, and slipped away from justice so many times.

But he wasn't like Carnage.

Killgrave skated by on his Healing Factor alone. He wasn't particularly skilled in anything other than talking, he didn't seem to have some kind of guardian devil watching over him from below. He didn't rise from the grave, or mysteriously get his powers back when they were taken away. He wasn't a cockroach seemingly fated to return to the land of the living no matter how hard we tossed him into the nearest pit of eternal torment. He was just a horrible, awful, repugnant person who won big…. And he now thought that I was in his clutches.

As Ronald Ryan twitched and writhed in pain at my feet, blood pooling from what could be mistaken for an injury from a car wreck- I didn't need Kilgrave's pheromones to stop me from pulling my punches on people like that- my fists remained clenched. And Killgrave thought it was all part of his show. "Ohhhhh, that's the stuff! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! Now, I've seen you on the news, and you're a little plain… but that's nothing letting your hair down won't fix. But, nobody's gonna be able to appreciate that if you're always in such drab armor. So why don't you come down here take it off and strip all your clothes off." I stared at Killgrave from where I stood, visor pointed directly into his gleefully insane purple eyes. He waited. And waited. And then I spoke. Just a single word, the one that Killgrave didn't want to hear

"No."

Killgrave blinked. He stared at me dumbly. "What do you mean 'No'? You were just…"

"I. Say. Thee. Nay." My visor flash, and Killgrave's jaw dropped with horror.

The place Killgrave was standing was free of civilians. He'd made them back away from him, made them give him the space to grandstand. And in doing so, he had given me a clear field of fire. And I wasn't taking chances. This wasn't like with Carnage. Kasady was a personal threat. A deadly physical combatant who could murder a lot of people very quickly, and one who required a very particular way of taking him down cleanly. Killgrave was a different problem with a different solution. If I gave him the time to recover from his shock, he had an entire stadium… probably the whole building under his sway. And he was carrying a mic most likely hooked into the whole PA system. If he recovered his wits… he could order the crowd to do anything he wanted. Act as a human wall, charge me with lethal intent, kill themselves right then and there. I couldn't take that chance with this piece of human garbage.

My pauldron opened, and a launcher emerged, aimed directly at the Purple Man. Killgrave spun around to try and run, but it was already too late. There was a whistling sound…. And the last thing that went through Zebediah Killgrave's head was a Hammer Industries Self-Guiding Sidewinder Missile. And unlike someone trying to use it on an armored target within the minimum safe distance… Well, Killgrave was still within that distance, but healing factor aside he was just a squishy human. And even when they don't blow up, a missile is still a fast moving projectile that's much larger than most bullets.

What was left of Killgrave's head… wasn't pretty.

The moment his body dropped, the crowd… didn't panic as I expected. There was no crush or screaming or anything. Thank the gods, it seemed that Killgrave's pheromones took a little bit to wear off. Even still, I flew over towards the body as fast as I could, watching as his head began to slowly, ever so steadily put itself back together. I refused to allow that. And I had the perfect tool to do so.

February, 2001

S.H.I.E.L.D. Facility, ????

"That Carbonadium alloy of yours turned out to be pretty useful." The agent asked. "Eyewitness reports, and the footage we could get of you specifically showed you bear-hugging Killgrave's corpse. I assume it was to expose the body to maximum amount of radiation?"

Ash nodded, face downcast. "I… like I said. I don't… want to regret doing it. In this line of work… you can't always just cleanly beat someone up and put them in cuffs for the cops. I… that's for the Superheroes to do. If it had been Iron Man he'd… he'd… I don't know. He'd have used some kind of anti-pheromone nanite swarm to nullify the threat. If Spider-Man was there, he'd probably have webbed up Killgrave's mouth and beaten him black and blue… Captain America… he'd have powered through the control and knocked Killgrave out in one punch… BAM!" She mimed the gesture from the famous poster of Captain America punching out Hitler.

"I… didn't do any of that. I was too scared… too… terrified to do anything at first… I could only just play along. Because I wanted to hurt Ronald Ryan. And I wanted to hurt Purple Man. So I did…. Does that make me a bad person?"

The agent shook her head. "I… don't reall know what to tell you. At the end of the day… well, I might not be the best person to ask for clarity or judgment in this case."

She gestured to the SHIELD insignia on her jacket. "You were doing your job. And sometimes, that job requires killing people, like you said. It was going to happen eventually. No matter your personal feelings on the matter, the results are commendable. Killgrave was specifically marked down on SHIELD's Threat Index as basically a walking WMD. Unless someone stopped him fast or decisively enough, you were going to get absurd numbers of casualties and mass collateral damage. Thanks to you and your employees, there was only one fatality, Killgrave himself, and one serious injury, Ronald Ryan. If it hadn't been for your decisive action, things would have been so much messier. As it is, for us, that's a name off of the Critical Threat Index, and an especially dangerous one as well."

Ash just nodded, looking very conflicted, so the agent continued. "I'd suggest talking with someone about it. Probably someone who'd understand, and not think about things purely in black and white. Now, we're nearly done… if you could just say what happened immediately after. That's what we have the least witness testimony on."

With a deep breath, Ash nodded again. "Yeah… that… should be simple enough…"

February, 2001

Madison Square Garden

The time after I thoroughly exposed Kilgrave's corpse to Carbonadium Radiation was… a blur. I jetted over to the stage, and signaled for Aleksei to emerge, and pulled himself up out of the trapdoor, looking around the Garden for any more potential threats and rallying the normal security people to get the crowd under control before a panic started, while I picked Becky up in a bridal carry and flew her backstage. Now that Killgrave was dead, Becky had come out of the control a lot faster than most of the crowd, and was currently huddled against my armor, sobbing uncontrollably.

I carried her back to her dressing room, and set her down for a moment so that I could step out of my armor, and then I hugged her tightly as I felt tears starting to flow down my own cheeks. We were there for what felt like hours, huddled against one another, crying our eyes out. Becky over the horrific violation of her mind, and the thought of the very near violation of her body… and me over the fact that I'd actually, in that split second decision, taken a life… no matter how horrible he'd been. No… that wasn't quite right. I was crying because I'd killed someone… and didn't particularly feel bad about it.

A little while later, Aleksei came in, saw what was happening, and carefully wrapped the two of us up in a warm blanket, before sitting down, back against the door, acting as a shield against everything outside, softly humming a calm, soothing tone. I found out afterwards that Herman had been on the other side of the door in full costume, arms crossed, managing to be so menacing that we weren't bothered by anyone, cops, feds, SHIELD, anyone, for a few hours, while Aleksei provided a gargantuan rock of safety in full view of both of us.

February, 2001

SHIELD Facility,????

"I think that's everything. Thank you for your time Miss Anderson." The Agent stood up, and Ash finally saw the name on her badge, which finally really identified her, proving my suspicions correct.

"Happy to help Agent Brand." Ash nodded, face returning to a calm neutral expression. "I will admit, I wasn't expecting SHIELD to get involved…"

Agent Abigail Brand smiled. "Zebediah Killgrave had been close to the top of several of SHIELD, Interpol, and the FBI's lists for ages. And we got jurisdiction this time. Someone will be along to bring you back to the front shortly. And I'm certain that your god would approve... after all, He Loves You."

February, 2001

Central Park, Manhattan Island, New York City

"And they let me out of there a few minutes later, drove me home, and I crashed in bed for a few hours before Uncle Jim called me… and then he called you after that… and here we are…"

I shifted on the bench I was sitting on, avoiding looking at the man sitting next to me. I… wasn't quite sure I deserved to. It was stupid of me, I knew but I just felt… incredibly tumultuous inside. "I… keep thinking back to things…. And… wonder to myself…"

"What do you wonder?" The man asked after I trailed off, voice strong, kind, lacking any sort of judgment. "Something like this… if you keep it locked up, it'll eat away at you."

"I… I wonder how I could kill Killgrave so easily… and I couldn't do the same to Cletus Kasady. He was right there… on the ground. Unable to defend himself. Just like with Killgrave, my armor inhibits regeneration… but I… I just couldn't do it. And I… I hate him. I hate him so much. When we were fighting, I just wanted to take his head off. But… but then…" I was stammering, eyes welling up with tears. "I wanted…. I wanted… I wanted to kill him for everyone he's hurt… everyone he's killed… but why couldn't I then when I did the same thing to someone just as bad, but who I'd never met before… who never hurt me before. I just… I just made excuses…"

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "You're not the first person who's felt that way. Even down to the same maniac. I know a guy who considers it his responsibility to take the world on his shoulders because of the power he's been given. You mentioned that you talked with him a little while ago. And I'll tell you the same thing I told him. You can't let that guilt get the better of you. It doesn't matter whether he'll escape next week and go on another spree. That's on him. Not you. You can't hold the weight of the whole world on your shoulders... no one can."

I finally looked up and saw two clear blue eyes above an almost shining smile looking back at me. "These maniacs, lunatics, and monsters, they always try and make you feel like doing anything to them drags you down to their level. And that's a load of bull. While I usually prefer not to kill, sometimes it can't be helped. Sometimes it's the only way to save lives. But you also can't get locked into that mindset. There's a difference between killing someone who's already been beaten because of what they might do, and killing someone who's definitely about to do grievous harm to a lot of people if you don't do something fast. You get that? If you need someone else's word on it… just ask your Uncle what happened in Berlin, on April 30th, 1945."

"Yeah… I do… kind of… it still makes me feel… sick… kinda. The other stuff as well." The hand on my shoulder squeezed in a comforting way.

"There's also nothing wrong with feeling indignant towards people who do bad stuff. You're not a bad person for not feeling bad about hurting Ronald Ryan, or killing Purple Man. The fact that you recognize that you feel that way, and can self-reflect on it means you've got a working conscience, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise." This time, I was patted on the head, which, seeing as who was doing it, made me feel like a little kid again, hearing Uncle Jim share his stories about the War. You know which one.

"Thanks…. Captain Rogers." I managed to get out, eyes still full of tears.

"It's no problem." Steve Rogers, Captain America, current leader of The Avengers, and former leader of The Invaders, smiled at me from the other side of the bench. "I've always got time to lend an ear when someone's hurting. Especially one of my old friend's nieces is in trouble. Now… since it looks like you're feeling better… why don't you tell me a little bit about your new Maverick business. Sounds like that might cheer you up."

A/N: Another Phone Chapter. This one sooner than expected. I'm not... the most happy with this one, but my betas said it was fine, so I put it up. I've been waiting to drop that last bomb this entire mini-arc. It's an effective band-aid over a lot of the angsting the SI would feel otherwise, while letting her reflect on the issues involved with a clearer head. It might not sit well with everyone but eh. Also, further revelations as to Ash's mysterious Uncle Jim.