"She looks different from the others."
In Hell's Kitchen, hidden in the shadow of ruins behind enemy lines, Jessica Jones secretly watched a group of angels in the distance, her young face full of helplessness. "And seriously, I'm just a high school dropout detective. Why did I have to get mixed up in something like this? And become temporary teammates with weirdos like you?"
She did not want this. Jessica only wanted to curl up in her detective agency every day, drink the cheap liquor she bought to her heart's content, then sleep until she was dead to the world.
Not some Alien invasion, with Hell demons appearing on the streets and people dying like harvested crops.
"Because you want to stay alive. To do that, you need to kill them, and you can't do that alone." The man wearing a black T-shirt with a large white skull emblem on the chest, with no fewer than six large firearms slung across his back, answered her like that.
Plain logic, breath carrying a faint scent. That was how tough guys were; even pretty young girls received no special treatment from him.
The man had some injuries, but the enemies who had inflicted them were all thoroughly dead. For someone with such extraordinary willpower, bleeding and injuries did not diminish his combat effectiveness. Instead, they only fueled his fury.
His very soul was screaming, demanding justice for the dead and making these Alien monsters pay their blood debt in blood.
The thick smoke in the sky had completely blocked out the sunlight. At this point, only patches of street illuminated by fire remained.
The residents of Hell's Kitchen resisted fiercely, but even though the place was packed with all kinds of "socially vibrant groups" and they possessed a variety of advanced weapons,