Marvel: Rise of the Ultimate AI

Jessica Jones, a private investigator from Hell's Kitchen, was currently running her "Alias Investigations" out of the living room of her rented apartment—thanks to budget cuts.

Not only was Jessica a detective, but she was also a superpowered individual, known for her extraordinary strength, speed, and stamina. For a while, she had gained a bit of a reputation in the darker corners of New York.

She wasn't the type to doll herself up—in fact, some might even call her a bit sloppy. Jessica could often be seen wearing a worn black leather jacket, faded tight jeans that looked like they'd been washed a thousand times, and scuffed-up black leather boots covered in makeshift patches. To her, speed and flexibility were far more important than fashion. As she put it, "Feminine clothing just gets in the damn way."

No one in her circle had ever seen her wear a dress, let alone heels.

But despite the rough appearance, her striking features and curvy figure were impossible to ignore. Jessica Jones was the textbook all-American beauty—just one with a serious edge. You'd think she'd have a line of admirers, right?

Wrong.

Jessica had exactly zero suitors, and that was partly due to her ability to casually lift a car over her head. The other part? Her notorious temper. Jessica wasn't just a firecracker—she was a full-blown stick of dynamite with a short fuse.

After losing track of her latest high-priority target—none other than Erik "Magneto" Lehnsherr, the Brotherhood of Mutants' enigmatic leader—Jessica found herself unemployed again.

These days, her work mostly consisted of finding runaway pets, taking compromising photos of cheating spouses, and tracking down stolen microwaves.

Until today.

Her newest case was personal… well, sort of. Her landlord came knocking, desperate for help. His nephew had gone missing, and he wanted Jessica to find him. The catch? If she succeeded, he'd forgive her past-due rent and give her six months rent-free.

Jessica was no saint—but she wasn't stupid either. That offer was golden.

Without hesitation, she took the job.

The missing nephew's name was Thomas Ed, a guy in his twenties and a self-proclaimed freeloader. He ran with the local thugs, mostly doing small-time jobs.

Using her street-savvy, Jessica tracked down a few of his usual cronies. They mentioned something about Thomas getting involved in a smuggling deal arranged through some shady broker. No one would say what exactly was being smuggled, just that it was a "big job."

The way they danced around the topic set off alarm bells. These weren't just scared kids—they were terrified. Jessica had seen that kind of fear before. This job wasn't just risky; it was lethal. Something big was behind it.

But Jessica Jones wasn't new to this game.

She knew exactly what to do—find someone in the know, and beat the truth out of them.

Classic, but effective.

Her target? Michael John, the biggest smuggler in the area.

And beat him she did. After pummeling him senseless and hoisting a whole damn car over her head in front of him, Michael cracked like glass.

"You and Thomas got involved in the same mess. Why are you here talking to me, and he's missing?" Jessica's eyes bored into him like steel drills.

"Whoa, whoa, hey now, don't say that! I'm not part of that mess—I warned him, okay? I told Thomas not to take the job," Michael stammered, waving his hands defensively. "I've been in the game longer than he's been alive. I knew it was dangerous. But the payout… it was insane. If you pulled it off, you'd never have to work again."

"Last I heard, Thomas was recruiting some of the guys to join him."

Jessica narrowed her eyes. "I need details. Real ones."

"I don't know anything concrete. You had to be in to know," Michael said quickly, sweating.

"Don't play dumb. I'm not asking about the job—I'm asking about who offered it."

Michael's face turned pale.

"That… I can't say. You don't understand. If I talk, I'm dead."

Jessica's fist slammed into the hood of the car she'd lifted earlier, leaving a massive dent. "If you don't talk, I'll shove this car down your throat."

The memory of her strength—and that terrifying thud—was still fresh. Michael gulped and hesitated… then cracked.

"Okay, okay! Just… don't say I told you."

He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's Mason Industries."

Jessica's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes darkened.

Gene Mason's name was beginning to surface in all the wrong places.

And she had just stumbled into something far bigger than a missing person's case.

Something that reeked of danger… and conspiracy.

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