Marvel Multiverse Gacha

"Happy Birthday, Jessica," a warm, cheerful voice said, the kind of voice that made you feel safe. A woman's voice, smiling as she spoke.

"Happy Birthday," a man followed, his tone bright and full of love.

"I didn't bring any gifts," a boy's voice teased from behind, playful and carefree.

"Let's go to Disneyland!" Jessica shouted, her excitement lighting up the moment.

Then the scene shifted.

"Mom! He took my purse!" she whined, her voice sharp with annoyance as they drove.

And then—the crash.

The screech of tires. Glass exploding. Metal crushing.

Darkness.

When she woke, it wasn't to her parents.

A sterile voice, cold and detached, broke through the void: "We're sorry to say your family didn't survive."

The scene changed again, the words blurring into new ones.

"You're getting adopted," a stranger's voice said flatly.

A man and a woman smiled down at her, their warmth feeling forced, artificial. "We're your guardians now. Welcome to the family."

"You're strong," the woman said, placing a hand on Jessica's shoulder.

And then it came. That voice.

"Kill yourself."

The couple obeyed without hesitation, grabbing a knife. The horror in their eyes didn't match the calm, dead look on their faces as they turned it on themselves.

Jessica screamed.

"No! Stop! Noooo!"

She bolted awake, her heart hammering in her chest. Sweat clung to her skin, and her breath came in panicked gasps. Her eyes darted around the dimly lit room.

Chains bit into her wrists and ankles when she tried to move. She was tied to the bed.

Her memories came flooding back, sharper than ever. Each one was a knife twisting in her chest.

She remembered how everything changed after her family died.

How her new guardians, smiling and hopeful, tried so hard to make her feel safe. To bring her into their world.

How it all fell apart when Kilgrave entered her life. How his voice became the only thing that mattered, commanding her every move.

How she killed—strangers she didn't know, people she'd never even met.

She remembered being forced to watch as her new parents, those kind, well-meaning people, turned the knife on themselves. She didn't want to remember, but she couldn't stop the image from surfacing.

And then yesterday. The fists. The bruises. The pain.

The weight of it all crushed her chest as she lay there, unable to move.

Her thoughts shattered when the door creaked open. John and Daredevil entered the room.

Her eyes locked on John first, the mask making her uneasy. The memory of the beating flashed in her mind—raw and fresh.

Since gaining her powers, this was the first time anyone had managed to hurt her this badly.

Then her gaze shifted to the guy with the horns. Daredevil. She wouldn't underestimate him either. He couldn't stop her completely, but she'd learned firsthand how dangerous he could be, especially when uninjured like he was now.

As she watched them, they were observing her just as closely.

Minutes earlier, Daredevil had sensed her awakening—her uneven breaths, her racing heartbeat. That had forced them to cut their interrogation of Kilgrave short.

After sealing Kilgrave's mouth again, John and Daredevil left Punisher behind, unsurprisingly.

Frank didn't bother coming in. He'd made it clear he'd rather watch Kilgrave than deal with this mess.

John stood at the foot of Jessica's bed while Daredevil leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his face unreadable. Jessica's glare darted between them, sharp despite how beaten she looked.

"Jessica Jones," John said, keeping his tone steady. "Do you remember Kilgrave?"

Her face twisted, pure rage flashing across it.

"Where is he?" she growled, her voice low but dangerous.

John didn't even blink. "Calm down. You're not in any shape to—"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" she snapped, yanking at the chains on her wrists. The metal creaked under the strain. "Where is he?"

"He's restrained," Daredevil said, his voice cool but firm. "Safe. For now."

"For now?" she spat. "That piece of garbage deserves—"

"You're not killing him," John interrupted, his voice sharp. "Not yet."

He still needs kilgrave to live.

Jessica's jaw tightened. "You don't get it. What he did—what he made me do..." Her voice cracked, but she bit it back.

"Oh, we get it," John said, his voice dropping. "We're here because of what he did. But he stays alive for now. "

Jessica scoffed. "You think you can control him? Good luck. He'll turn you into his puppet like everyone else."

John didn't respond right away. Daredevil shifted, the tension in the room growing thicker.

"You're alive," John finally said. "That means you've got a shot at real payback. Don't waste it."

Jessica glared, her lips curling, but she leaned back against the bed. She didn't look convinced, but for now, she stayed quiet.

***************

A year ago

Lily Adams lay motionless in her hospital bed, her tiny frame swallowed by the stiff, white sheets. The sterile hum of monitors filled the room, the soft beeping the only sign that her body was still fighting—barely. At the foot of the bed stood Max Adams, her father, his face carved with exhaustion and helplessness.

Lily was dying.

She'd been diagnosed with Cellular Necrosis Syndrome (CNS), a nightmare condition where her body's cells decayed faster than they could regenerate. The cruel irony? Her "gift"—an extraordinary healing ability—was the only thing keeping her alive.

But that same gift came at a cost. Healing required energy, and her body didn't have enough to spare. The more she healed, the weaker she became, and the weaker she became, the faster the disease tore her apart. It was an endless loop that left her fragile and bedridden.

At first, it wasn't so bad. Scratches, bruises—she could fix those like magic. But by the time she turned nine, everything spiraled. Her nose started bleeding randomly. Bones cracked without reason. Exhaustion became her normal. Now, at eleven, she was unrecognizable. Her bright blue eyes were sunken, her golden hair thinned to brittle strands that scattered across her pillow.

The doctors had nothing. No medicine, no treatment, no hope. The disease was too rare, too aggressive, too entangled with her healing powers to make sense of.

Max had thrown everything he had at it. Billions of dollars. AZI Pharmaceuticals' best scientists. Experimental treatments that bordered on reckless. Nothing worked. He'd dived into gene therapy, stem cells, even black-market whispers of "mutant biology."

Still, Lily's time was slipping away.

"Daddy..."

The faint sound shattered his thoughts. Max snapped his eyes to Lily, her lips barely moving.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he said, leaning closer, his voice low and breaking.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice raspy and fragile. Somehow, she managed a weak smile. "Don't... worry about me. I'm... not scared."

Max swallowed hard, his chest tightening as tears burned in his eyes. He wanted to tell her it wasn't okay, that he'd fix it, that he'd make her better. But her bravery—her calmness in the face of this nightmare—left him speechless.

She was everything he wasn't.

The doctors had given her two years. Maybe less. Her healing was failing, her body running on fumes. When the next wave of necrosis hit, it would be over.

Max stood frozen for a moment before walking out of the room. His fists clenched, his jaw locked.

He had one last idea. One final, desperate plan he'd sworn never to consider. It was dangerous, unethical, and could ruin everything he'd built. But for Lily? For her life?

He'd burn the whole damn world if he had to.