“Tell me more about boxing,” Keira asked one night in her room, as she and Rob shared a drink. Of water. Alcohol was not happening again anytime soon. “You've defined its core set of rules," she continued, "and that it takes pains to prevent its competitors from dying in combat. However, at its core, the sport still seems to glorify physical violence, which goes against what you've told me of Earth society. How does your home world reconcile that contradiction?"

Rob peered at her through his glass and flinched at how intense her eyes were – she really wanted an answer to that. “It’s not just something everyone just does, you know?" He explained. "It’s a sport. Sports are...different. On the whole, most people don't like getting into fights, but some people like punching each other super hard – and they like finding out who can punch each other the hardest. Boxing lets them satisfy that desire in a controlled environment.”

She nodded along, the idea appearing to interest her. Wonder if she's going to start a boxing club now that we've settled in, Rob thought. Wish her luck, but I’m not volunteering.

"I suppose that a peaceful society still needs ways to placate its combat-minded folk," Keira remarked, as if she was impressed with Earth's sensible decision-making. “Boxing is the most popular sport on Earth then, I take it?”

“Ah...no. It’s pretty popular, but it’s not the most popular.” Rob didn’t like this line of questioning. Not because he was uncomfortable with the topic, but because he was pretty ignorant of sports in general. They weren't really his thing; he'd learned most of what he knew through osmosis. “I’m not entirely sure what the most popular sport in the world is, to be honest.” He had a few guesses, but he didn’t want to say them and be wrong – even if Keira would never know.

“Then what's the most popular sport in your region?” she insisted. “Is it similar to boxing?”

She’s asking me if it’s violent, isn’t she? “Sort of," Rob hazarded. "It’s called football. It's...kind of like simulating a war, where the goal is to get a ball to the other side of the arena, but the other team is trying to stop you. Everyone has different roles to play, and there’s a lot of complex strategy to it.”

Complex strategy that he'd never really fully understood, if he was being honest. “Jason was actually a star football player,” Rob found himself saying. That felt more natural than attempting to talk about the sport itself. “He was the ace of our home team. Honestly, with time, he might have become the best in the country.” Rob paused, considering what he'd just said. “Maybe he already has,” he muttered, bittersweet nostalgia washing over him.

Keira squeezed his hand, a concerned expression on her face. Rob offered her a warm smile, signifying that it was okay for her to continue. Nodding slightly, she hesitated before asking what was on her mind. "You've mentioned Jason in the past," she began. "But never that he was inclined towards physical violence."

Sorry, Jason, Rob thought. I’m giving you a bad reputation over here. Then again, knowing him, he might laugh it off and embrace the misunderstanding, leaving Rob with a migraine as he tried to explain what he'd actually meant to everyone.

“Sure, let's go with that,” Rob answered, thinking back. “He was damn good at it, too. One of those once-in-a-generation prodigies. Fast, strong – but most of all, he was dedicated. Never skipped a day of practice, always tried to get better at what he did.”

Keira's eyebrow rose by an inch. "Even when accounting for your friendship bias," she began. "That's still impressive. It sounds like he would have made an excellent addition to our Party.”

"...He would have," Rob admitted, thankful that they'd never have the opportunity to test that. For all my fuckups, keeping Jason out of Elatra wasn’t one of them. He would always be proud of himself for that day.

"Although," Rob hesitated. "He'd probably have gotten on your nerves a little.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

What was the best way to describe it? “Jason takes everything and nothing seriously at the same time," Rob explained. "He works harder than anyone, wakes up early, schedules every minute of his life toward becoming the best version of himself he can be. But somehow, when he’s actually in the middle of something...he clowns around. A lot. Says it helps his nerves.”

Rob had seen him pull off trick plays as a quarterback that seemed to provide little purpose other than pissing off the enemy team. Jason's opponents always appeared in a bad mood, while Jason himself always appeared to be having fun, moving in a smooth, relaxed motion with a grin on his face. Rob understood the appeal of making light of a stressful situation – it was a tried and true coping mechanism – but not to that degree.

Then again, he does win all the time, Rob thought. Maybe there's something to it. He considered the notion for a moment before internally shaking his head. Eh, I'll pass. I’m not insane, and I have bigger things to worry about than some buff guy tackling me.

Keira crossed her arms, looking lost in thought. "That wouldn't be so bad," she eventually said. "As long as he took matters seriously during situations that demanded his full attention."

"Oh, definitely," Rob said. "He'd adapt. Dude's not that stubborn."

Suddenly, he froze, an intrusive thought seizing his mind.

“Rob?” Keira asked. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Rob replied, frowning. “Just that I said he wouldn’t be that stubborn...then I remembered, well, he is my best friend."

--

The midday sun shone down, illuminating a city street that should have been empty.

Off to the side, a sword stood atop a flaming pile of cars. The sword itself appeared safe from the flames, its surrounding area miraculously clear if only for now. It was a sight straight out of absurdity, but somehow, it wasn't the most interesting thing in Jason's view. The young man stepped forward with an air of confidence, arms spread, grinning wide as he approached his target.

“Hey, have you seen my friend Rob, by any chance?” he asked. “Brown hair, looks like he’s brooding even when he’s smiling, just a bit shorter than me – ah! I have a picture of us from high school on my phone, actually, let me show you." He shoved one hand into his pocket and idly fumbled around. "Have you seen him, by any chance? Guy was sucked into a Portal trying to save me. Well, not trying, guy did save me. Been worried about him though, yeah?”

There was no response. The creature looked as if a god had been told about the concept behind turtles but never actually seen the picture of one. It possessed a shell, four limbs and a grotesque deformed appendage that was probably its head, with a mouth that appeared to stretch from its right side until a second hole where its left eye should be. The creature was laying upside down, situated a few feet away from the flaming pile with the sword.

And it was looking Jason in the eye, only a few feet away from him.

“Hey, look, you can’t blame a guy for trying – we never really tried talking to you guys before. Not like you gave us much chance.” Jason stretched his neck and leaned over to gesture at the creature’s shell. “But, well, you can’t really move right now, and executing something that can’t defend itself would leave a bad taste in my mouth. Even if it is a horrifying turtle monster. So we've got some time to kill until the rest of my unit catches up and helps me finish the job, you know?”

It roared at him.

The screeching, deafening cacophony that followed would've been too much to bear for most people. Even covering their ears would have done little to protect them from the pain invading their bones. While not debilitating, it was just bad enough to make a person almost wish that it was, just enough to make them hope for an excuse to curl up into a ball and give up on the world. Its pitch caused the steel in the sword to vibrate slightly, producing an almost melodic cry.

Jason, for his part, was only mildly bothered. If anything, the creature’s foul breath and the way the wind from its scream had messed up his hair annoyed him more. Shrugging, he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “The army should be catching up soon. I ran ahead to make sure they didn’t have to fight you. Kinda concerned about how well you guys can resist bullets these days.”

Suddenly, he leaned forward, fixing the turtle-thing with an inquisitive look. “Mind telling me what's going on? When you and your friends first came here, bullets were ripping through you, no problemo. Lately, though, it seems like I can do more damage than most guns just by swinging a sword. And while I have been getting stronger, that’s not the whole story." His eyes narrowed. "Are the Outsiders...adapting to bullets? How does that work?”

He looked the creature in the eye, almost as if hoping for an actual answer. It just stared straight forward, head reminiscent of a deformed tiger, as it impotently rocked back and forth on its massive shell.

“Okay, I’m officially crazy," Jason decided. "Talking to a turtle monster...well, it was worth a shot. Just really want to know where my best friend is. Not like we know literally anything about you 'Outsiders' or whatever.” He was literally speaking to a turtle monster and he still felt ashamed of using that term. Damn the higher ups for insisting on it. "For all I know, you could be capable of speech, but are just pretending to be mindless.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response that never came. “No dice there, huh?”

Out of nowhere, a sudden jolt of energy appeared to possess the monster. With a suddenness that surprised them both, it drove its own head into the ground, forcing it into a makeshift lever to flip itself high and forward into the air. Jason’s surprise eventually gave in to an uncontrollable laughter at the sight. I should really be more freaked out about this, he mused. The things a guy can get used to. The creature was moving, albeit more slowly now. Jason had no idea what kind of organs the average monster turtle had, but he was decently certain he had stabbed at least a few of them.

“Been a nice talk," Jason said, to the hobbling turtle. "Even if you probably can’t understand anything I’m saying.” The sound of a man shouting in the distance prompted him to shake his head with a regretful smile. “But it seems like it’s unfortunately time to wrap this up.”

“Jason!" Sergeant Danse yelled from behind. "What the fuck are you waiting for?! Do your job and kill it!” Jason looked at him just long enough to see that he was sweating, but unhurt. It was why Jason had hurried ahead – he'd killed all of the smaller monsters before his unit even got a chance to see combat.

“Easy there," Jason said, putting on the same air of confidence as before. "Not like these guys are any threat.”

“To you,” Danse exclaimed. “They are not a threat to you, Jason. The rest of us are just human beings, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“They aren’t a threat to you either,” Jason said, standing up and rubbing the back of his head. “I took care of them before you got here. There shouldn't be any more of them left.”

If irony had a sound, it would be the hail of gunfire thundering out across the city that decided to begin at that very moment. Jason froze, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. “I...missed some?”

Danse nodded, calming slightly now that his message had been received. “Just two. They weren’t with the main cluster of creatures; you couldn't have caught them. No casualties so long as you act fast though.”

Shit. That changes things. Jason reached out his hand behind him, and without looking, grasped at the sword. It hadn’t moved from where he'd left it. “Guess it’s time to earn my title. Can I ask you to keep this thing busy?”

Danse looked at the monstrous turtle-thing, limping weakly as it reared its head and barked at him. His helmet nearly flew off his head just from the gust of wind its roar produced. “I'm not that incapable, Sergeant Hero," Danse said, rubbing his ears. "It might take more bullets to kill those things every day, but you know what?" He hefted his rifle and met Jason’s eyes. “I've got a lot of bullets.”

The two exchanged a nod.

Jason perked up as he caught a glimmer of motion in the shadows. Moments later, a creature emerged from the darkness, leaping at Danse from behind. The soldier was aware, but didn't bother moving, instead focusing on calmly inspecting his gun and ensuring it was fully loaded.

He had total confidence in what was about to happen.

Jason jumped backward slightly, connecting his heel with the ledge of the car that his sword had been stabbed through before, and pushed off. He accelerated quickly, faster than any normal human standards could have hoped to achieve. Such standards no longer existed in this world – not for him, and not for the monsters. Jason stretched out his arm as he passed over Danse, making sure to casually salute his superior with one hand while upside down in the air. He turned the motion into a swing, his sword striking at the giant bug-creature that was behind Danse, swatting it out of the air like he'd bashed it with a lead pipe.

In the past, Jason had taken to using a baseball bat as a weapon before coming to the conclusion that its reach was lacking. He'd also tested out weapons with finely-sharpened edges, but they didn't get the benefit of Bludgeoning Proficiency, and lost their edge quickly regardless. As such, he'd settled on his current weapon of choice, which was technically a sword. More aptly, it was a large chunk of metal – meant not for cutting, but for beating the shit out of things.

One left, Jason thought, as time seemed to slow to a crawl. This wasn’t an ability he'd gained with his Character Sheet – it was a talent he'd been blessed from birth, one that made him the star player of any team he was part of. There was no one who could focus more on a single task, no one who could make faster decisions in the moment. The faster his heartbeat raced, and the more adrenaline coursed through his veins, the more the world slowed down.

In the distance, Jason barely spotted another of the giant fly-like creatures rushing at a soldier. There it is. Last one. “Keep the Turtle Fucker busy,” Jason said, putting a hand on Danse’s shoulder. "Give me a minute."

Without waiting for a reply, he sprinted forward toward the creature, covering the span of the street in seconds. Once he was close enough, Jason leapt forward in a blur, sword raised high. He brought it down onto the monster's side, his jump attack finishing the swinging motion even before his feet had landed. “You alright?” Jason asked. His words came out just as the fly-creature smashed against a wall, its innards pulping out in a geyser of purple.

"Think so," the soldier muttered, sounding shaken. "I was shooting, but it just kept coming at me. Wasn't like that a month ago.”

“I am so sorry,” Jason said, hands together in a sincere apology. Gunfire is still going off, he thought, checking to the side. Danse is doing fine. “I really thought I got them all. Didn’t expect you guys to get here so fast and...” Jason leaned forward, one hand on his hip and a sudden smile on his face. “Hey – Jeff? That you? Sorry, hard to tell with the helmet and stuff. Didn’t see you at deployment, we were in a hurry and – anyway, thought you were still on parental leave! How’s the kid?”

“BEHIND YOU!”

He tossed his sword upward just slightly, spinning it forward and quickly grabbing the handle as soon as it had rotated enough. “I remember hearing the birth had some issues, hope it wasn’t too stressful for you guys.” Jason pushed the blade behind him and it hit the monster in the head, knocking it flat in the ground. “You sure you should be back here already?”

“Yes...yes!” The second affirmation was more confident, but Jeff’s eyes were still aimed behind Jason and at the fallen monster. “Linda wasn’t pleased with how long it took, but the doctors took care of her and she’s fine. Our son too.”

“That’s wonderful! What did you name him, by the way?”

“R—”

A screech cut him off. Jason held off an apologetic finger and dashed away toward the source, sword lagging slightly behind him and arm fully extended. “Last one. Turtle fucker.”

Danse was right. They were damn good even without him. Gunfire wasn’t hurting the creature much, but it was making it hesitant, pushing it back. At his superior’s orders, they were shooting at it in such a formation so that it never had time to rest, with one half of the unit repositioning while the other provided covering fire. Well done. And that was all they had to do.

“My turn!” Jason shouted. “Let me finish it!”

The firing line parted in the middle to allow him and his sword to pass on through. Despite his lack of formal rank, they all trusted him implicitly to finish this fight. Time to earn that trust. He jumped, sword raised high, then suddenly dropped the sword behind him and slid toward the creature. There's just enough space between its lower shell and the ground, he thought, adrenaline surging. Did it once, one more time—!

The creature's grotesque head snapped at him, but Jason slid underneath it just fast enough to dodge. Still in the sliding motion while underneath the monster, Jason put up his foot in one corner of the shell and pressed against the ground with his palms, turning his body into a makeshift lever. He pushed, and his muscles flexed, bulging with unnatural Strength. “One—more—time!”

As he'd done before, Jason roared with exertion as he flipped the monster onto its shell. And as it'd done before, the turtle creature struggled, flailing with its legs in the air. Recovering from that position appeared quite difficult. Not impossible, though, as Jason was now aware. Which meant there wouldn't be any time for another talk. Shame – the last one had been so very productive.

He pulled his sword from the ground and approached the creature, jumping on top of its shell once more. “It feels in poor taste to kill something like this,” he muttered. “But I figure I only have about ten seconds before you flip yourself back up again. So”—he lifted the sword above the creature's head and looked down—“let’s finish this.”

--

Jason was a man of three masks.

The first mask was the one he wore as he saluted his adoring fans when arriving back in the city. That he even had fans was ludicrous enough. Just because I’m the only one who has a Character Sheet, Jason thought. They’ve turned me into…this. A freak they can parade around like a goddamn superhero. Keep the people calm, give them something to obsess over. Something to joke about. Something to latch onto instead of the monsters attacking our world.

It annoyed him, but he didn't think for a second about not going along with the show. People were suffering and needed a distraction. If that meant showing up on morning news and having a weird amount of people talking about him on social media…well, that wasn’t so different from playing football in college, really. Honestly, somehow, talking to the media as a soldier was less stressful than as an athlete. At least this way he only had to worry about conspiracy theorists misinterpreting him on purpose, not degenerate gamblers going after him for scoring too much or too little.

Reaching forward, he tapped at the microphone a few times before speaking. It was his favorite part of press conferences; just hearing that absurdly loud static sound annoying everyone and them not being able to complain about it. It was childish, he knew, but a man had to amuse himself if he wanted to stay sane these days.

“It was a routine operation," Jason began. "And thanks to my friend Danse’s leadership, we were never in any real danger. I’m happy to report we sustained no casualties whatsoever while containing the hostiles who showed up earlier this morning.”

This was the part where they all heaped praise on him and the army – in short, boring filler. Come on, Jason internally pleaded. Ask me about the details. Ask me about the strategy. Ask me about something meaningful. There’s no *content* here. Of course, even if they did ask him, he would likely have to tell them that most of it was classified. Still, he would have preferred dancing with protocol over dancing with political praise. At least it’s less annoying than the next part.

Media scrums were more precise than clockwork. Reporters always started with soft, ego boosting questions they could all agree as a group were necessary for their respective coverage of the matter, before moving on to poorly thought-out, loaded questions to serve as tomorrow's clickbait. “Mr. Jason," a reporter piped up. "Do you have any response to the claims in social media that the monsters are weak to garlic? And do you think citizens should start stocking up just on the off-chance it might offer some protection?”

And there we go, Jason thought. Starting off strong today. Can’t let it show on my face, but god-fucking-damn that’s stupid. He knew how to handle it. If he just laughed it off or replied immediately, he would be criticized for being too flippant or inconsiderate. At the same time, if he wasn’t strong enough on his dismissal of their insane questions, he would get criticized for that too. People had been latching on to anything to feel safe lately, and that had more often than not backfired. In one case, there'd been an incident where people were hospitalized for drinking rubbing alcohol after a rumor went around that it would make them less enticing to monsters. Better to nip notions like that in the bud before they could spread.

Jason pulled the microphone from the desk closer to his face. There was an art to this – he made sure to grab it from the base, making sure the action wasn’t obstructing his slightly raised eyebrow from the camera. “Sorry, can you repeat the question?” he asked in a serious, but hesitant tone.

The reporter didn't even blink. “Mr. Jason, do you have any response to the claims in social media that the monsters are weak to garlic? And do you think citizens should start stocking up just on the off-chance it might offer some protection?”

“You’re asking me if I think monsters are weak to garlic?” Jason’s response came out in complete deadpan, enough so that Rob would have been proud. “Is that what you’re asking?”

A few other reporters and media personnel laughed. Good start, he thought. It was an effective approach to take when you wanted to laugh at something but couldn’t – repeat the question, appear as though you can’t understand it, and let the other media people mock it for you. It was something his coach had taught him early on before his debut match. Media could criticize you for anything, but they couldn’t criticize you for agreeing with them. Of course, this didn’t prevent individual people from getting upset, but it did set the tone for the narrative.

“Well, I don’t think that works,” Jason said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The utter seriousness of his tone caused an audible chuckle to pass through the room. “I ate garlic this morning and it didn’t seem to keep them from attacking me. Oh,” he added, as if suddenly remembering something, and then leaning forward with a frown, “it did keep my girlfriend from kissing me, though.”

Another round of chuckles passed by, and then came the finishing blow: he smiled. It was a strong weapon against media scrums, smiling. You had to know when to use it. Jason knew he was handsome enough for it to carry some weight. “She really hates garlic,” he muttered, pretending to try to stifle a laugh.

Watching him trying to suppress his laughter caused the reporters to laugh in turn, after which they moved on from the question. Truthfully, his girlfriend had no issue with garlic, but appearing like a relatable everyman was one of the strongest defenses against a barrage of questions searching for their next clickbait article. Ah, fucking kill me, he thought, as he smiled.

Many more insufferable questions ensued, and he parried them all; not without effort but certainly without difficulty. This went on for a few minutes until the press conference was done, and he was taken to a private area and finally allowed himself a deep sigh.

“Here,” Danse said, handing him a bottle of water. “Drink up. Would be a joke if you killed all those monsters and died of dehydration. Nice press work out there.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, allowing himself to appear slightly sullen. It was more than fine, it was necessary to have some measure of honesty with the people fighting alongside him, even if he couldn’t quite drop the third mask altogether. “God, I hate this whole publicity thing.”

“You’re really good at it though," Danse remarked. "That used to be my job before you came along, and I legitimately hated it. At the time there weren’t even monsters or anything either, so barely anyone even gave a shit about what I was saying.”

“It comes with practice. You would have eventually learned it too.” Jason’s eyes twitched slightly. “But who the hell likes doing this?” he said, in an exasperated tone.

Danse let out a deep, bellowing laugh. “I’m glad to see you’re human. You seem so comfortable fighting monsters that it’s almost scary. It’s nice to see there’s things that even you don’t like.”

“I can tune out distractions when I’m fighting – just ride the adrenaline and see where it takes me," Jason explained. "Talking is different. Thinking is different. Have to be aware of too much at once. It takes effort.” He paused. That was more honesty than he'd intended, and he wasn’t sure how Danse would react. Jason looked up hesitantly and saw that his superior had an understanding smile on his face.

“Makes sense.” Danse nodded slowly, to himself at first, then to Jason. “Take tomorrow off. We need you in your best shape to keep those things at bay – not like we can show up with tanks in a narrow street.”

Jason shook his head quickly. “I can’t take a day off. If there’s more of those things, I need to be able to fight. I’m the only one who can-“

“And that’s exactly why you’ll rest tomorrow," Danse interrupted. "You’re the only one who can engage monsters without collateral damage." He frowned. "Hell, you’re arguably more effective than a lot of our armaments, too. We cannot afford to have you overworking yourself, especially not with the reports of that…special monster running around.”

Special monster? “I can work and still be fine,” Jason quickly said. Then, more cheerfully, he added, “My body feels fine, and I’m feeling pretty good, actually. Another one of those things attacks now and I’d be right on for—“

Suddenly Danse put a paternal, heavy hand on his shoulder and grasped it tightly enough for it to hurt. “This is not negotiable, soldier.” Jason wasn’t officially a soldier; Danse only ever called him that when the matter was serious. “I'm ordering you to rest.”

God, he sounds like my coach.

--

At home, Jason allowed himself to shed off his third mask and move on to the second.

He allowed himself to drop his fake, media-friendly smile. Jeanette didn’t need him to be the savior of mankind, and he didn’t feel the need to act like it. Here, he could just be Jason. That was who she loved and who she wanted him to be.

“I hate garlic?” Jeanette asked playfully as she sat down beside him on the couch. “You're the one who complains when I put too much of it on steak.”

“Hey, hey – first of all, you know the deal, I have to play along with the media. Second of all, you put way too much garlic on steak!” He paused to consider what he'd said at the press conference. “Did that upset you? I can tone down bringing you up if it bothers you.”

“Love, you are literally out there fighting monsters. Doesn’t feel like I should complain about people thinking I don’t like garlic, eh?”

“Doesn’t mean your feelings don’t matter,” he said, in a serious tone. “If it bothers you-“

Jeanette laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Nah, it honestly doesn’t, just like teasing you, is all.” She leaned closer into him. “Only thing I’m worried about is you. Doesn’t feel great knowing you’re off every day risking your life.”

That was the reason behind the second mask’s existence.

“It’s always safe,” he lied. “I’m never in any danger. Honestly, those monsters are weak as hell compared to me. Almost feels unfair, really.” For now. It probably won't last. He banished the thought. “I’m going to be fine. I promise.”

“If you say so,” she replied, in a long-suffering tone. They both knew he was lying, to a degree, but she could allow it so long as he appeared confident enough in his safety. “Hey, if you have some time off…how about we watch a movie or two before bed?”

“Sounds good. Don’t you still have some work to do first, though?”

Jeanette sat up and nodded sadly. “Unfortunately, yes. Have to get that done before we can relax. Figure you still want to exercise a little to get your mind off things first though, so I can use that time to get some work done.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. Truthfully, he hadn’t decided on exercising, or at least hadn’t admitted to himself that this was his plan just yet. She knew him better than he knew himself some days. Especially lately, when I barely feel like I know myself anymore. “That sounds like a plan.”

“Good,” Jeanette told him, smiling as she leapt from the couch with a sudden burst of energy. “Go get your exercise done, I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom. Should be done with my work by then.” Right before she reached the door, she turned around and said, “Oh, and I'll be waiting for you without clothes on, so don’t work out too much.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. What happened to watching a movie though? “Get your work done first though.”

“I'll get my work done but I’m not going to like it!” Jeanette defiantly exclaimed, as if declaring a war. “Not even a little!” She shut the door behind her with a dramatic click.

Jason found himself smiling for almost a full minute after she'd left. Not many people could raise his spirits the way she did. I love that woman, he thought, rubbing his chin. For a few moments, his mind was clearer than it had been in weeks, thinking of how he wanted to marry her, how their marriage would be, how Rob would be his best man…

And then he found himself alone with his first mask.

--

This mask was the oldest of them all. It was the one he'd worn even before monsters started coming around. The one he always used to protect everyone around him.

The one he wore to fool himself.

I’m fine, he thought, mind racing. Just gotta keep killing those things. Eventually we’ll find out what happened to Rob, everyone will be safe, everything will be fine…just gotta…just gotta keep holding on. Just for a bit longer. I got this. Don’t know what Danse is on about, really, I could be back to the fight tomorrow. I-

His exhaustion caught up to him all at once. Not physical exhaustion; that much he could work through. It was mental. The weight of having to fight for everyone’s sake wasn’t particularly heavy, but pretending it didn’t weigh anything was a borderline herculean feat. Both were tasks he could manage, for a time, but some days they felt heavier than others.

And as time passed, their combined weights were building up, bit by bit.

This is nothing, Jason assured. I can keep going for a really long time. Fighting is almost fun, yeah.

It wasn’t. People died, and just thinking it was fun made him want to chastise himself.

I’m not afraid of fighting. Those creatures got nothing on me.

Today, they didn’t. It wasn’t always so easy.

I can talk to the media all day.

Jason would've given up on his scholarship if keeping it meant he had to talk to the media this often.

Everyone is counting on me…they need me.

That one was actually true, and he knew it.

Which just made it worse.

Everyone needs me to be strong in public, Jason thought. I have to win fights without breaking a sweat – it's the only way my unit can feel safe. They're terrified of fighting monsters, same as me, but they relax when they see me smiling and laughing like nothing is wrong. I also have to appear charismatic so the populace at large will feel at ease. The memes about me they're posting on social media seem to be giving them something else to focus on for a change. Better that than discussing how we're slowly losing this war. And I can’t show concern about the fighting, because Jeanette will worry even more. She knows this is dangerous, but if she thinks I’m confident she’ll watch me go with a smile.

I have to—

I have to—

Alone, confident no one would see him, his final mask cracked as Jason sank his head onto his palms. “I’m so scared,” he muttered. “I can't let everyone down. I can't die. Not when I’m the only one who can level up. Just me. Nobody else. I can’t…I don’t have the luxury of not feeling okay. Gotta keep going.”

He remembered what he had told Danse earlier. I can tune out distractions when I’m fighting—just ride the adrenaline and see where it takes me. Talking is different. Thinking is different. Have to be aware of too much at once. It takes effort. Even now, that was true. He needed to distract himself before intrusive thoughts overtook him. “Whoever said you can’t run from your problems didn’t do enough cardio,” he muttered, chuckling at his own joke.

One of his favorite things about their house was the basement. It was soundproof and had a very high ceiling – which meant he could hit at the wall without worrying about anything. He absently picked up a racket and started hitting a tennis ball against the wall, his footwork still as adept as it'd ever been. If anything, his footwork had improved since his tennis days. Despite switching sports, he still hadn’t quite given up on switching back at some point.

I remember playing with Rob when we were kids, Jason reminisced, soothed by nostalgia. We hadn’t even entered high school yet. He remembered dragging Rob to their first tennis lesson, resulting in the two of them playing together for a few years. Practiced, entered tournaments, woke up early for practice – it was heaven. At the time he'd dreamed of the two of them being grand slam doubles champions together.

It was a naive, childish thought that ended right before they entered high school.

“What do you mean you quit?” Jason had asked, horrified. “You’ve been doing so well lately, and I've – we’re on route to get into the rankings just a few years after entering high school. C’mon, man!”

“It’s not about doing well,” Rob replied. “I just...don’t enjoy it. Not like you do. Not enough to make it my whole life.”

Jason knew that. He knew Rob didn’t enjoy the same things he did. But at the time he was still hopeful it would somehow work out. “Just give it a shot,” Jason asked him, desperately. “It wouldn’t be as fun without you. Just one more year, please.”

“No,” Rob flatly told him. It wasn’t mean, but it was firm. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to invest myself into something like this if my heart isn’t into it. I don’t want to, so I won’t. Not everyone enjoys competition the way you do, dude.”

“I know...I know.”

The tennis ball bounced off the wall. Jason returned it without letting it bounce again – the rhythm was picking up now, and he was determined to keep up the pace. At the time, I couldn’t understand you, he mused, swinging his racket. I thought...how can you just say no when someone asked you to do something that clearly mattered a lot to them? He let the ball bounce once this time, then hit it on a rise against the wall, falling back to catch it as it went long.

“Hey Jason, can you be part of the team? Permanently, I mean?” The captain of the high school football team had asked. “That one game when you filled in, when Mark was sick? That – it was amazing, like crazy shit dude. And that was pure athleticism talking, almost zero practice. Think you could be a pretty amazing quarterback if you stuck to it.”

“I – ah...I don’t know, man. I got...”

“I need you,” the captain repeated. “I feel weird about graduating and leaving the team without a leader. The boys could really use someone like you. They *need* someone like you.”

Jason hesitated for just a second. “Okay. I – I'll think about it, okay? Can’t decide on this that quickly.”

He'd never really loved football. In truth, Jason had meant to play it more casually. Thought he could focus on tennis and only do football with his friends at school, that it wouldn’t be a big deal. But before he knew it, he'd become his high school’s star player, taking them from an easy round one opponent to championship contenders. Everyone started looking at him in awe and admiration, praising him for his talent, thanking him for sticking with them.

Eventually, he stopped playing tennis. It wasn’t a retirement from the sport; he just started being forced to miss out on so many practices that at some point he quietly accepted he couldn’t compete in those tournaments anymore. Even now he still dreamed of ditching the pitch and returning to the court. But I’m still a football player. Once this is done and the season starts again, my team is going to need me.

...Again.

The ball smashed against the wall. This time it was different from the last: there was almost no footwork involved, merely ball control. His goal now was to hit the ball at the same spot over and over without moving his feet. And he found that with every thought, his shots became stronger, more aggressive.

“You want me to be what – some weird, Captain America bullshit?” Jason had asked the man, his eyes wide at their audacity. “Seriously?”

“Nothing of that level,” the government agent dismissively said. “It would get mocked to hell and back. Counterproductive if it gets to that point. Let the kids meme about it if they want, but you’re just going to be the face of our efforts. Very subdued.”

“So I'm a poster boy for your, what, propaganda? That everything is just fucking fine?” Jason snapped back angrily. “Do you know how many people are in danger right now? How many people are dying? Maybe if you lot had actually TRIED to do something and listened to me when the first Portal appeared, instead of accusing every country on the map of running an experiment-”

The agent didn't offer any disagreement, merely holding out an empty palm to ask for a moment to speak. “Be that as it may, the fact remains that people are panicking. They're suffering, and you, Jason, are the only one who can make it better.” He placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “People need a symbol in times like this. Something to focus on. Something to adore, something to hate, something to laugh at, something to respect...they need *something*. Only you can be that something. It’s up to you to decide if you want to be.”

A few days later, Jason had agreed to be given the honorary title of ’Sergeant’ despite not being a member of the army.

A few days after that, he started making his rounds.

“I hate this,” Jason muttered, hitting the ball harder and harder. “I hate it—so—much!”

The ball finally sped up beyond the point he could keep up with and zoomed past his shoulder. He didn't bother giving chase, instead looking at his racket. It'd been restrung and had its tape changed many times, but it was still the racket Rob had given him when he quit tennis.

“If it were you in my position,” Jason asked the racket. “Would you have told the football captain to go fuck himself? Would you have shrugged off the government's request?" His grip tightened. "I wish I had you here, man. I wish I could just talk things out with you. Things always made sense after a couple beers with you. You know, when you quit tennis, I...was actually upset. I know that was literally back in middle school, but I still get upset thinking about it. Thought you were selfish back then, but I was wrong."

He paused. "Well, maybe I was right, but lately I’ve been thinking that being selfish isn’t such a bad thing. You were always so hard on yourself for not going with the flow of things, even if it caused problems every now and then.” More than once he'd seen Rob accidentally turn down a girl who was interested in him because he was too honest about how he felt about their date ideas.

“I can’t believe you told her that,” Jason had managed to say, before resuming his laughter.

“What?” Rob cried out indignantly. “She asked me if I thought art galleries were fun and – well, I said, not if I don’t like any of the art there!”

A monumental amount of effort allowed Jason to keep a straight face. “And – and what did you say after that?”

“Well, she told me who the artists were, and I had never heard of any of them so...I told her it sounded boring and I didn’t want to go." His eyebrows rose. "What?” He demanded, at Jason’s laughter. “She asked me to be honest before!”

Jason laughed at the memory of Rob's indignant face. “You always saw that as your flaw," he muttered. "But you know, I’m really jealous of how you managed to stay true to yourself no matter what. Wonder what you would say to me now. Hope I can see you again soon.”

...Shit.

Just one stray thought that allowed others to enter his mind. He’s alive. He’s gotta be. I know it. Nothing would make sense otherwise. Why would he be dragged out there simply to be killed? Even if those weird monster things wanted to eat people, and he wasn’t sure they did, taking only one person would be pointless. There had to be more to it.

Besides – and this was his main reason for believing so – Rob was too stubborn to die like that.

Still, it weighed on him. More than anything else. If he knew Rob was safe, that Rob was busy fighting so they could get him back, everything would be worth it. But when exhaustion crept in, when negativity started to take root in Jason's brain and his body was too tired to fight it off…he would sometimes wonder if Rob was dead. And the thought killed him inside.

“I just – I just want to know you’re okay,” Jason muttered through a heavy breath. “Please. Give me – a sign or something. Anything.”

TERMS ACCEPTABLE.

It was a voice. Loud as an explosion and silent as the grave. A shout that came from inside his head, paralyzing his body and causing it to seize up. This was a familiar horror, a nostalgic fear that squeezed the breath in his throat. The voice from my nightmares, Jason realized. When—? I’m awake. This is the first time – since Rob—!

His thoughts froze. The voice in his head seemed to feel...disrespected. Jason started sweating heavily as he dropped to one knee, bracing his racket against the ground to keep his body from collapsing entirely. It was less of a weight and more as if his very life was being drained away from his body. Jason had no idea what was happening or what that pressure was, but one instinct rose above all others: do not give in.

Which was easier said than done. To say that the pressure was overwhelming would be a gross understatement. It was as if...he couldn’t even think of a comparison. It was just too much-

NO! Jason forced the thought away. I have to fight back. Need to find a comparison point. Put my fear into concrete words. Make it tangible. After some effort, an answer came to him – it was as if he'd suddenly found himself atop a mountain peak, the lack of oxygen slowly killing him. I can deal with this, Jason rallied. Steady my nerves. Breathe slowly. Don’t waste air. Slow down your heartbeat. Cold sweat ran down his face. Don’t give up. Focus. Keep your head working. Jason was managing it, if only barely. It’s like...an older brother holding my head down against the ground. The notion spurred a competitive drive within him. Fuck that. I won't let you.

“What terms?” he finally managed to spit out. His voice was as low as a whisper, and he barely recognized it as his own, but a note of defiance was still there. “Who – who are you?”

REBELLION?

A ghostly laugh rang out, sending more than chills running through his spine. It was like hearing glass laugh, an unearthly wail that violated existence, each individual note feeling like a nail driven directly into his nerves.

I’m not giving in, Jason affirmed, shivering. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts. This is the first time they’ve shown up when I’m awake. It’s my chance. My *only* chance.

“Where’s Rob?” he demanded. “Tell me! What did you do to him? If you don’t...I’m going...”

The ghostly laugh echoed again. It bounced off the walls, seeming as though there was a slight pause before each bounce, waves of mirth hitting him at a delay from every angle. Jason sucked in air as he was driven to the ground, barely managing to force down his bile. The laughter continued, more gleeful this time.

They...it...whatever...it knows I’m desperate to find out what happened to Rob, Jason reasoned. It’s mocking me because I’m trying to stand up for myself. It...it knows...I can’t. He bared his teeth. Even if I puke blood, that’s not going to stand.

“Tell me what you did to Rob!” Jason pushed himself to his feet with his racket. “If...you...don’t...” It was more than pain. An overwhelming sense of nausea seemed to grab hold of him, but he refused to let go. His coach had taught him better. If you have vertigo, focus your center of gravity while you still have a notion of where up and down are. Stay low, but stay up. “If you don’t...I’m going to...kick your fucking ass!”

There was no ghostly laugh in response. Jason's chills left him momentarily, his senses returning. There was a vague sense of satisfaction in the air, a feeling that he thought could have been his, although it was hard to tell with the pressure invading his mind. Exasperation was another feeling, but he was positive that it didn't belong to him. The voices spoke again, but this time, they came across as emotionless and direct. It gave Jason the impression that he was speaking to someone else.

LEVEL 30. KILL THE ‘BAKER STREET HORROR.’ YOU HAVE TWO WEEKS. THOSE ARE OUR TERMS.

Two weeks? He was level 22 right now. Leveling up that fast would be nearly impossible. But what was his alternative? Giving up on the only clue he had to find Rob? No. No. No. No. “You’re on,” he barked. “I don’t care what your game is. I’ll do it. And I’m not in the habit of losing.”

POCKET MIGHT HELP.

The pressure vanished.

It was so sudden it took Jason a bit too long to realize the voices were gone. His body was still shivering from fear, but most of the more intense reactions were subsiding. It was as if they'd never been there at all. Have I…have I always been here? Jason wondered. Did I dream this? Did any of this really happen? Instinctively, he reached for his pocket. It was empty before.

Not anymore.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered, holding it carefully. “A bracelet?” Despite its unassuming appearance, there was something fundamentally wrong about it. The bracelet gave off the same feeling of overwhelming darkness that the Portal had – which made sense. After all, it had just materialized into his freaking pocket. As a gift from them. Dangerous was a poor word for it; danger implied a possibility of harm, while this thing damn near guaranteed it. Jason knew this instinctively.

Which didn't stop him from putting it on in one quick motion.

Game on.