Marvel Template System:Spectrum

Jessica's abode, a mix of an office and a rented apartment, was a trademark mess. It was clear that at some point, there had been attempts to "beautify" the place—decent, albeit not new, furniture had been brought in, a work desk stood in the center, and a cabinet with "case files" was placed to the side. But eventually, the owner had completely given up on maintaining any order, surrendering to her own carelessness. The floor was littered with empty bottles of cheap alcohol and fast-food wrappers, the wallpaper had begun to yellow under the weight of time, and the air carried the persistent stench of despair.

In principle, the place suited its owner perfectly. Although, Chris's own apartment wasn't much better. Sure, it wasn't a complete dump, but every detail—from the rusty plumbing to the rotting furniture—spoke of less-than-ideal financial circumstances. But Chris was used to it.

And, by the way, Jessica had just demonstrated another one of her superpowers. She had managed to get herself drunk to the point of utter incapacity.

And let's not forget, they hadn't even made it to any specific destination. Jessica had managed to get plastered literally on the way from point "A" to point "B," with brief stops at some old, shady stores selling counterfeit booze of the worst quality. But Jessica didn't care, thanks to her "super" tolerance. Although that same super tolerance didn't save her from horrific hangovers. Chris had been the first to witness that.

The guy couldn't even imagine what would happen if an ordinary person drank as much of that low-quality whiskey as Jessica did. For some reason, Chris felt that such a bender would drop his personal life counter from "10" to "9."

Anyway...

Typical Jessica.

"We... Ugh-ah-ah..." Jessica let out a very "unladylike" burp right in his face, the stench of alcohol hitting him full force. It was so bad that Chris almost puked on his new friend right then and there. "Had a great... time..." Jessica's eyes darted from side to side, as if searching for her next victim to increase the alcohol concentration in her bloodstream. Naturally, she had no booze left. Stuff like that never stayed around for long with Jessica, though that never stopped her from looking for a hidden stash that might magically appear out of thin air. "...out..."

"Yeah," Chris grimaced, trying to help Jessica lie down with one working hand. "Something like that..."

In response, all he heard was a loud, window-rattling snore.

Sighing and trying to close the door tighter—the locks on Jessica's door had long since broken, most likely due to the owner's drunken antics—Chris returned to his own apartment.

Since it was already close to 3 a.m., Chris decided to do what he always did: turn on the TV and try to fall asleep to the background chatter of some random program.

And of course, he didn't notice how Jessica Jones opened her completely sober eyes the moment Chris disappeared into his apartment.

The girl quickly got dressed, quietly left the apartment, and headed in a familiar direction. Only one note in her phone hinted at the purpose of her little "deception."

"Manhattan Psychiatric Center."

*****

"Tsk-tsk..." Chris winced as he instinctively leaned on his left arm. Sure, he'd been given painkillers, but a broken arm was still a broken arm. And that's not even mentioning the bruise on his right arm from his "first" failed attempt to punch a wall.

And honestly, he couldn't believe all of this had happened in just one day of knowing Jessica!

More had happened in a single day than in all the recent years of his somewhat monotonous, somewhat miserable life!

First, he finally had a friend! And what a friend! Jessica Jones herself, a part-time detective, Harlem's most notorious troublemaker, and, as it turned out, an actual superhuman!

Second, he had... superpowers!

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He could come back to life a limited number of times, and there were even hints of super strength!

"But how does this work?" Chris muttered to himself, looking at his bandaged hands. "Is it some kind of set? Just..."

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"I..." Chris swallowed a lump in his throat. "I don't know where these powers came from..."

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"No-no-no..." Chris's breathing took on a panicked edge. "I don't know... I don't know... I have no fucking clue... Zero ideas..."

Realizing that another breakdown was starting its countdown, Chris quickly moved toward the dresser by the bed. Opening the drawer, he took out one of the few personal items he had left from his time in the orphanage. They didn't always help, but sometimes they allowed him to detach from... another episode.

"Steve Rogers, the greatest hero of the USA."

Cards.

Just ordinary cards featuring great American figures. This little hobby had been very popular during his childhood. Since these cards came with gum, even the poorest orphan could afford them. People collected them, traded them, and even staged improvised battles with their own rules, where Captain America always won.

This little childhood pastime had always been his lifeline. Immersing himself in the world of imaginary heroes, Chris didn't think about the cramped walls of the psychiatric hospital, didn't think about how he had no friends left, didn't think about his "unreal" memories...

A simple game that captured all his attention.

Sighing in relief, Chris began flipping through the small stack of cards, habitually reading out the names of the featured figures.

"The Howling Commandos," Chris smiled as he saw the picture of the group of soldiers. "An elite team led by the Captain, instrumental in the victory over the Nazi regime. It was their group that stopped Hydra, led by the Red Skull..."

Under each member of the team, their name was written.

"Dum Dum Dugan, Jim Morita, Jacques Dernier, Margaret Carter..." The names of the famous heroes rolled off his tongue easily, as he had read them countless times before. "And..."

Chris suddenly stopped, frowning in confusion. He rubbed his eyes, trying to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

"Who the hell is James Howlett?!" Chris yelled, seeing a completely new face on one of his favorite cards. "What the fuck are you doing on my collector's card, some random hairy dude?!"

Cold sweat of genuine horror broke out on Chris's forehead. Barely able to squeeze out the words, he looked around and then...

Screamed.

"AN EXORCIST!" Chris yelled like a madman, clutching the card to his chest. Ignoring the pain in his arms, he jumped to his feet and bolted out of his apartment. "JESSICA, CALL AN EXORCIST! SOME BRUTAL CANADIAN ASSHOLE HAS POSSESSED MY COLLECTOR'S CARD! HUH?!"

As he flung the door open, he ran straight into a visibly embarrassed Jessica, who was just about to head out to the stairwell. The girl froze in an uncharacteristically sheepish pose, as if she'd been caught doing something shameful.

"Where are you going?" Chris asked, scratching his head in confusion.

"To get booze," Jessica answered instantly.

Nodding and not doubting her words for a second, Chris showed Jessica the Howling Commandos card.

"Jessica, something really fucked up is happening here!"

"Uh..." Jessica eyed the card skeptically. "Cool card?"

"That's not the point, Jessica!" Chris pointed frantically at a specific part of his relic. "There's a guy here who shouldn't be here!"

"You mean the Asian guy?" Jessica frowned. "Chris, that's racist! I disapprove!"

"Not the Asian guy!" Chris shook his head. "Do you see James Howlett?!"

"No."

"How can you not...?" Chris suddenly stopped, finally noticing that the mysterious man...

Had disappeared.

"W-We need an exorcist, stat!" Chris screamed even louder. "The National Guard! The Catholic Church! The fucking Ghostbusters! I don't care who, but we need to—"

"Calm the hell down already!" Jessica snapped, making Chris freeze in place. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

"I was just looking at my collection, like I always do," Chris swallowed hard. "And then I saw a guy on it who shouldn't be there!"

"By 'looking,' you mean..." Jessica made an ambiguous up-and-down motion with her right fist in the air.

"Go to hell, Jessica!"

"Well, what else am I supposed to think?!" Jessica sighed. "Who else would hallucinate some random dude?"

"It wasn't a hallucination!" Chris insisted. "Some guy materialized and then disappeared from the picture!"

"Maybe he got tired," Jessica shrugged. "What did you expect? That he'd stand there all day?"

"Go to hell with your Harry Potter references!" Chris grabbed his head. "He was definitely there! I'm not crazy!..."

As the last sentence hung in the air, an awkward silence fell.

"I'm not crazy!" Chris said, offended, turning to Jessica.

She sighed, pulled out her favorite flask, but sighed again when she realized it was empty.

"Chris, you're just overworked," she explained to him like he was a child. "Today was way too crazy. You died a couple of times, broke your arm, took painkillers... It all just piled up, and now you're seeing random, brutal dudes."

"Really?" Chris doubted his own sanity.

"Happens to the best of us," Jessica waved her hand dismissively. "You just need to... y'know, unwind. Maybe add something new to your routine..."

"Like what?"

"Well, why don't you start running in the mornings?" Jessica made a surprisingly reasonable suggestion.

"But my arm's broken," Chris raised his cast doubtfully.

"It's not your leg, is it?" Jessica raised an eyebrow. "It helped me back in the day..."

"Really?" Chris raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You don't strike me as the type who gets up for morning runs..."

"That's why you're an inexperienced virgin, and I'm on top of my game," Jessica snorted. "Besides, I know a great life hack for morning runs..."

"What is it?"

"Skip one day, and you add half an hour to the next run."

"Ooh, that sounds serious," Chris nodded slowly. "Does it really help?"

"Of course," Jessica chuckled smugly. "For example, tomorrow I'm supposed to run for two weeks straight..."

And Chris was left speechless.

Because there was no way to counter that.