Ten years ago, Jason had led his team to a shocking victory against the reigning champions. It was the kind of miraculous underdog story that brings a smile to people’s faces years after the fact. Both his hometown crowd and his team were celebrating like they'd won the lottery. For the first little while, he was happy to join them in lifting up his trophy, posing for photos, and everything else that they needed him to do.

But soon enough he managed to get away from it all, hiding in the locker room by himself.

And alone, he allowed his masks to drop, and muttered to himself, “...Goddamn it.”

“You didn’t seem happy out there today,” Rob noted. Neither of the two felt it necessary to question what Rob was doing there or how he'd known where Jason would be. They'd known each other for far too long for that. At first, Jason didn’t even move from the bench he was laying on, relenting only when Rob sat down beside him and pushed him in a demand for more space. “You know, I’m not much of a sports guy, but I was under the impression that people usually celebrate when they win.”

“Funny. Very funny.” Jason was using his elbow to shield his tired eyes from the ceiling lights, but even in that exhausted state, he appreciated Rob taking time off his antisocial schedule to talk some shit. Sometimes, that’s just what a guy needed. “We won, but at what cost?”

“Hmm.” Rob’s questioning sound would have come across as sincere to anyone who didn’t know him. “I think the school actually makes money off your football games, so the cost was probably pretty low.”

Jason’s annoyance surpassed his tiredness, and he sat up in a hurry to look at his friend with an expression of pure indignance. “You know what I mean! Did you see that – that horrible style?”

“You’re talking like I know enough to understand the difference.”

He ignored Rob’s response, running his hands through his own hair as if he wanted to pull it out in a fit of despair. “Ahhh goddamn it! We were so goddamn boring! Where was the style? Where was the fun? Didn’t you see it, Rob? Every single play we ran was textbook as fuck. I mean, okay, we won, but is there a point in winning if you look boring doing it?”

Rob didn't respond immediately. He maintained an even gaze into Jason’s eyes, letting the silence – or rather, the cheering echoing from outside the locker room – hang in the air for a moment. “Well, they certainly seem happy.”

“Well, I’m fucking not!” Jason cried out, sighing. It was childish, he knew, and he wouldn't dare act like this in front of anyone else. He wasn’t even sure if he would allow himself to feel this kind of emotion when alone. But it was fine when Rob was there. “That was stupid! I wanted to fake a field goal then run into the endzone myself!”

Rob nodded slowly, as if he understood. “Hmm. Would that have helped you win?”

“God no!” Jason replied, almost as if offended. Then, he relaxed into a smirk. “But it would have been really cool.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Jason drew a deep breath. Here – and only here – he allowed his disappointment to show on his face. “Because it’s not just about me. Look, I get that if the boring textbook plays work, that’s what you go for if you want to win. I really get that. But I’m willing to risk losing if it means I get to have more fun, you feel me? Only...” Jason hesitated. It wasn’t that he minded telling Rob about it. It was that he minded admitting it to himself. “It sucks. Knowing that if you mess it up, you aren’t just screwing up things for yourself, but for the entire team. Feels sort of...heavy, if that makes sense. Kind of suffocating. Makes me feel like I have to do things the boring way not to disappoint anyone.”

Rob made a loud sound of understanding and nodded, letting silence fall over them for a moment. They both knew what he was about to say, but the silence showed that he understood how important this matter was to his best friend.

“I don’t recall that stopping you from acting like a clown when we played tennis as a duo,” Rob pointed out dryly. “Every other point, you'd do some stupid shit, like hitting between your legs or something.”

“That’s different,” Jason said, in an oblivious tone, “it’s fine if I upset you. I mean, you’re gonna forgive me.”

There was absolutely no delay between those last few words and Rob’s finger flicking Jason’s forehead with rather impressive precision. He couldn't have hit him that fast based on reaction times alone – he'd been waiting for it. “Jackass,” Rob muttered, annoyedly at first, then relaxing into a smile in the end.

“What? It’s true,” Jason told him, laughing. They both stood up. “I never felt tied down to anything when playing with you. It’s different from a whole team.”

Rob shook his head, sighed, then tapped his friend on the back of the shoulder. “Come on, jackass. You did win a tournament today, so I guess dinner is on me.”

“Really? I’m down for steak.”

“Cheap fast food is what I can afford. Funds are a bit sparse right now." He reached his hands into his pockets, and pulled out nothing, proudly presenting his empty palms. "You’re gonna take reheated, prepackaged cheeseburgers, and you’re gonna like it.”

“Deal.”

The two started walking out of the locker room, Jason shaking his head a few times to put on his mask of ‘perfectly happy captain proud to be part of his team’ before seeing anyone else. Just before they reached the door Rob stopped. “Hey, Jason?”

“What?”

“You should try being more selfish once in a while,” he said, in a serious tone. “I don’t like seeing you stress yourself out with this shit.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but shut it when he realized he didn't have anything resembling a counterargument. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I...promise that I'll try.”

And he had. He really had. But it was hard, so hard to be selfish – because at the same time, it was frighteningly easy. His most intense desire was to indulge himself on the field, doing whatever he wanted, the rest of the team be damned. It was exactly why he knew he had to be hard on himself.

Maybe he really wasn’t suited for team sports after all.

He truly wanted to be a good person. It was something that defined him at his core. And wasn’t a good person supposed to let everyone else rely on him? Wasn’t the image of a reliable guy smiling and saying, ‘Leave it to me’ supposed to be cool? Wasn’t it the right thing to make people happy? Wasn’t it the mature thing to keep those selfish feelings buried deep inside him and focus on teamwork?

Jason really thought so.

But then why did he feel so constricted? The older he got, the more it felt as though his limbs had been wrapped in chains. An invisible metal that wasn’t quite heavy enough to paralyze him. He convinced himself he could still move normally, and if he ever felt as though the weight was slowing him down, then he simply had to get strong enough to pull it up with him.

It would all be fine if he let the weight of those chains guide his limbs, but he refused to.

"You’re the best captain we've ever had!" his teammate told him, a broad smile on his face. "Everything feels like it’s going to work out when you’re there with us!"

Still, it felt heavy.

"I’m so glad you’re not in danger," Jeanette said, resting her head on his shoulder. “Knowing that you're handling things fine helps me stay sane."

So heavy.

"I lost a lot of good men before you came along," Danse told him. “Don’t ever forget how much good you’re doing, kid.”

So...heavy...

ACCEPT POWER.

SO. FUCKING. HEAVY.

“JASON!” Danse shouted. “Stop, you’re going to kill him!”

--

His wrist burned.

When Jason came to, he was in a hospital of some sort. Where am I? His memory was hazy. The last thing he remembered was fighting Baker, and almost losing before the coward ran away. What had happened after that? There were soldiers, yes, and they sounded vaguely threatening. Had they taken him somewhere?

It was then that he noticed the man in the white lab coat he'd pinned down, looking up in horror at Jason with broken glasses and nose, tears streaming down his face. “Please, Mr. Miller, I had no choice, I was just following orders, I-”

Jason looked around. A number of military men were on the ground, chaotic pools of blood surrounding each of them. Some moaned, some stood almost completely still, and most had their limbs twisted in quite unnatural ways. Slowly, he looked at his own hands and found wet, fresh blood there. Splotches of red evidence proving what he'd done.

He didn’t feel particularly bad about it, and that concerned him. “What happened?” Jason muttered.

“Those guys took you here,” Danse said. He was standing across the room, blessedly unharmed. “I tried to stop them, but...no, excuses are worthless. They wanted to fucking vivisect you, figure out something about your powers – fuck, I should have known!” He sounded frustrated with himself. “That is why they authorized our mission. Higher-ups were probably hoping you’d die and that they could just recover your body. I’m sorry for not noticing it sooner, Jason.”

That wasn’t the part that he was worried about. “No, I mean”—Jason gestured around the room—“what happened?”

Danse rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. “You woke up when they were trying to...run experiments on you.” He paused. “Then you fought back.”

A sudden apprehension rushed into his head. Had he killed any of them? Shit. If I did, then I’ll be in deep legal shit. Jeanette might get in trouble over being associated with me too. He still wasn't able to conjure up any strong feelings at the thought of actually killing a person. Morally, he didn't care one way or another.

Worst of all, a part of him wanted to kill them. His wrist burned at the thought, and he grit his teeth, banishing the temptation with more effort than he would've liked.

“They're alive," Danse assured. "We...we stopped you before it got too bad.” He hesitated. “Don’t worry. The army has walked back their orders to run experiments on you.”

“Why?” Jason hadn't meant to sound so distrustful. Danse was his friend. Yet for some reason, he found himself unable to keep his voice calm. “Why the hell have they decided against it?”

The pause was long and painful. “It's been a few days since you lost consciousness, Jason.” Danse’s voice sounded regretful. “They kept you drugged up for a little bit, tried running some experiments until something inside of you changed. I informed your girlfriend you were going on a secret mission,” he quickly added. “She isn't concerned about you disappearing.”

Of course she is. But less than she would have been otherwise. “Thank you,” Jason muttered. “That doesn’t explain why the higher-ups are changing their tune about me, though.”

“Baker...isn't a local issue anymore.” Danse shook his head. “He’s been sighted all around the world. Japan, France, England – you name it. He never looks the same to anyone, but we've confirmed that it’s the same monster." He frowned, a pensive look on his face. "It’s different from what the Outsiders have been doing until now. There's no pattern to it. Baker just wants to kill things.”

Jason raised his eyebrows by a hair. “And?”

“And you’re the only one who fought him and lived.” Danse gave him an awkward shrug. “I don’t think I count – all I did was throw a grenade and run.”

The silence that followed hung heavy. Jason could anticipate what Danse was getting at, and he didn’t like it one bit. But he wanted someone else to say it aloud for him. Even if it was Danse, even if it was his friend – someone needed to have the balls to tell him what they expected him to do. Jason looked at him accusingly. “So?”

“There’s been a lot of rumors about the ‘Red Blur.’ They don’t know for sure that it’s you, but there’s been rumors, of course. All everyone is sure is that there's a man who fought the Baker Street Horror to a standstill.”

Pretty generous to describe it like that. His overcoat was blue, too. They'd either seen the monster itself as it stole his shape, or Jason's jacket had been so covered in blood that they couldn't discern what its original color was. “Why the fuck does that matter?”

“Because it's been slaughtering people.” Danse’s voice grew heavier, and in that instant, even behind those thick sunglasses, Jason could see the weariness in his eyes. “A lot of people. They've been treating it as less of a monster and more of a natural disaster. That thing is like a one-man army, Jason. Wreaks havoc and then slips away before anyone can put it down. People need to believe in something, something to give them hope, and...”

“...And that’s my job. Same as always.” He let out a bitter laugh. Fucking rich. “So what? Am I supposed to just head out there and go fight for the same people that tried to fucking vivisect me?” Anger flared up within him, and he couldn't tell if it came from his heart or his wrist. Jason had never wanted to break something so badly before. At that moment, he knew he had to break something, someone to keep himself from going mad.

Danse didn't blink. “Yes,” he told him plainly. “That is what you are supposed to do.”

Every face in that room felt like it belonged to an enemy. Every soldier that remained upright could have seized him, drugged him, tried to cut him open – enemies. Every single one of them. Their eyes didn't even look human anymore to him, but they didn’t feel like monsters, either. There was something almost...soothing to their existence now, each pair of eyes giving him glimpse into a future where he would shut them forever. And this calmed him. It felt as though all his pain and concerns would go away once they died. More than that, all of those concerns, all of that negativity broiling inside...it would do more than fade away. It would be converted into pleasure.

A voice inside of his head screamed at him.

KILL THEM.

Jason leaped forward at one of the guards that remained upright. The soldier reached for his gun, but Jason caught his wrist first. I’m stronger than you are. He squeezed his grip tight, bone snapping loudly as the man screamed in pain and dropped his weapon. A chorus of steel flared up as guns were drawn, but Jason was ready, spinning around to place his back against the wall as he held his captive as a shield.

Around seven people left, he considered, grinning. They’re going to be pretty inaccurate if they want to avoid hitting their friend, and even if they shoot me my Vitality is going to keep me from dying immediately. Bloodlust surged through him. He wanted to paint the walls red. His heart racing, Jason planted his right foot against the wall behind him, preparing for a lunge forward. Let’s see what you can-

“Stand down!” Danse thundered. He had no authority over anyone in that room at that moment, neither the soldiers nor Jason. Yet his voice was so commanding, and his unarmed presence walking to the middle of the room so demanding of attention, that they all listened to him. “Guns down. Now.”

There was hesitation. “Now!” Danse ordered again, and they all dropped their weapons once more. He sighed in relief, tuning towards Jason next. “Soldier, let go of him.”

Danse spoke like it was an order. Jason's eyes narrowed. He didn't have a single goddamn reason to follow orders right now. He'd been betrayed by the army. By the very man he held in his arms. There was no reason to listen.

He did anyway.

“What do you want?” Jason barked, as he let go of his hostage. His anger hadn’t left his body, but the sheer surprise he felt now had tamed the explosive feeling slightly, if only for the moment. Danse stepped forward. “Don’t come closer!” Jason shouted. Out of all those people, Danse was the only one he didn’t want to harm...and the only one whose presence made him feel scared by how little control he had over his own body. “If you come closer, I’m going to—I’m going to—”

“Break my bones?” Danse ventured. He took another step forward. “Kill me?” His superior shrugged slightly, taking yet another step toward him, and removing his sunglasses. There was warmth in his eyes. “If it helps you feel better, do it. If killing me helps you control yourself, then do it.”

Surprise once again proved to be an effective master over anger, Jason's confusion suppressing the aggression simmering inside. “What the hell are you saying? You know I’m not kidding right? This is..." He shuddered. "Really hard to control.”

“Yeah. I know.” Danse rubbed the back of his head and smiled. It was an awkward action, and it was only here that Jason realized he wasn’t as uninjured as he'd seemed to be at first. His arm...is it from his fight against Baker? He wondered, horrified. Or did I do that?

"Jason," Danse began. “I know what you’re going through is difficult-”

“You don’t!” Jason shot back. His words were visceral, coming from deep within his gut, and they felt truer than anything else he'd said in his entire life. “Having to deal with those powers—my mind—everyone’s expectations—the monster—the fucking betrayal—you don’t know!” In his anger, Jason stomped on the floor, his wrist burning as his foot shattered some of the white concrete beneath. “This isn't something you can ever understand—no one knows what this feels like!”

Every soldier in that room retreated against a wall, some inching toward the door in open horror. Danse didn't move a muscle. “You're right,” he acknowledged, smiling bitterly and raising his arms in a reluctant shrug. “I don’t know. Lucky dumbasses like me don’t get how tough people like you have it. I never really had to fight that hard. Ah, sure, I fought...but my men always saw the worst of it. Was promoted early on, praised for shit that barely even counted. Nepotism is a bitch. And I never got to see the things they did, the horrors they did...they’d come back from an assignment laughing it off like nothing happened, you know? But then I’d catch them staring off into the distance with a haunted expression...”

Danse trailed off. He considered his own words for a moment, then shook his head. “No, that's too simplistic. If it was just being haunted, they could have dealt with it a lot easier. Instead, they would just stare off into space with blank faces. For the most part, they wouldn’t be thinking about anything at all. They were just...numb. Nothing felt real to them."

He closed his eyes, pain evidence in his voice. "Occasionally, they would remember things from back then – back when they were fighting. Like their bodies were desperate to feel something, even if it didn't fit whatever situation they were in. They acted like normal, but inside they were like a scratched CD. Just blank noise...and occasionally repeating an old sound.”

Danse was quiet for a long time. “I could never understand what they went through. Could never help them much. But I knew that they had things to sort out, and I did the only thing I could.”

“What was that?” Jason muttered. “What did you do to help them?”

He laughed in response. “Whatever I could.” There was a sad smile on his face. “Whatever that meant.” He took one last step forward and placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder.

KILL HIM.

It would be so easy, Jason thought. But though the anger within was spurring him onward, he couldn't muster up the desire to go through with it.

“Do you think I didn’t realize how much shit you were going through while fighting those monsters all by yourself?" Danse continued. "That I didn’t notice how your clowning around was your way of trying to cope with everything? I noticed. I...just don’t know how to help. It’s the same thing as with my men." He locked eyes with Jason. "I know I’m asking for the impossible here. For you to keep risking your life, even though your mind is going insane, and after the people you've been fighting for betrayed you. I know that. But I still have to ask you to do it.”

“Why?” Jason managed, in a weak voice. He didn’t mean it as a snappy response, nor did he mean for his words to hurt Danse. He just really needed to know why. “Why are you asking me to do that if you know how fucked up this is?”

“Because you're the only one who can,” Danse said, in an apologetic tone. “And I’m sorry.”

I hate it.

I hate it so much.

It was true, and that made it all the worse. He was the only one who could protect the country – the world right now. Whatever magic shit powered the Outsiders was somehow susceptible to Jason's boosted stats. A monster like the Baker Street Horror, borderline immune to most modern weaponry, could only be defeated by someone like him.

And there was no one else like him.

There was nothing Jason wanted more than to throw it all away, to damn everyone to hell, to let them deal with it without him. Only, he knew they couldn’t deal with it without him. Just like in football. It was the same scenario on a different scale.

Whatever he wanted for himself didn’t come into it. He still had to do the right thing.

“Fine,” he muttered weakly. “Give me back my goddamn sword.”

--

Jason had planned on acting distant towards his unit when he came back. It would let them know that something had happened, and that he wasn’t happy. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. None of them knew why he'd been missing for a few weeks, the official story being that he was out on a mission chasing after the Baker Street Horror, and they greeted him with broad smiles when they saw him. They'd been so relieved he was back, so happy to see him safe, that his plans faded almost immediately.

Shit. How does Rob do it? I can’t help myself, Jason thought, as he smiled and joked with the men he'd meant to withdraw from.

They needed him now more than ever.

“Baker was last sighted in France,” Jeff told him. “At first, we thought that was gonna be it. The army surrounded him – even brought some tanks. But...they barely scratched him, and before the really big guns could be deployed, he vanished.” He paused. “Baker was sighted in several different countries a few days after that, pretty much intact. He’s just running around, destroying everything he can, fighting whatever he wants. No one can stop him.”

The unspoken hung in the air.

Except for me.

It wasn’t like they could just drop a nuke on a single humanoid target with the ability to teleport across countries. Bullets did less against him every day, and he seemed fast enough to dodge most explosives regardless. Not to mention the sheer collateral damage those weapons left behind – fighting him did as much damage to an area as Baker himself.

“If he comes here again...” Jeff started, uneasily. “I’m scared, Jason. My child was just born, you know?”

“Yeah.” Jason shook his head. Don’t say it. Don’t take responsibility. “Don’t worry. If he comes back here, I'll finish him myself.”

Jeff cheered up as Jason's mood darkened. They exchanged some small talk for a little while, and it was almost a relief when they got word that monsters were sighted ahead. Jason quickly nodded at his group and ran off ahead to finish them.

Even now, he hadn’t lost track of his main goal.

EXP.

Level 30.

Rob.

He'd been unconscious for a week. Needed to kill things as fast as possible before the time limit ran out. How long did he have left? A day? Two? Shit. He was Level 23 right now. Was it even possible to gain seven levels that quickly?

But that’s not really why I’m rushing ahead, is it? Jason thought, as he caught sight of the first monster and pursed his lips. This is just fun.

Jason couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He was enjoying the killing. Usually, when he grew to enjoy something, he would get bored with it after a while – you can’t help but get a little less excited about something if you do it over and over again, after all. But this was different. Killing monsters wasn’t getting less enjoyable. If anything, he was enjoying it more every time he did.

Enough that he was growing concerned.

“Sorry Turtle Fucker, no time for chatting today,” Jason said to the monster’s headless corpse. “Really have to go.”

This wasn’t enough. It wasn’t giving him enough EXP, true, but it wasn’t giving him enough excitement either. Would Baker give him the feeling he wanted right then?

Would a human?

Jason struck himself in the face, breathing heavily as the realization dawned on him. What the hell am I thinking? The most frightening part lately was that he would catch himself having those terrifying ideas like they were the most natural thing in the world, as if the little voice inside every person that told them to disregard intrusive thoughts had been silenced. He had to stay on guard. If he let himself stop paying attention for even one second, it would...

ACCEPT POWER.

The voices still terrified him, yet Jason noticed his hands weren’t shaking. That wasn’t good. It was as if his emotions and actions were divorcing themselves from each other. “I'm struggling enough to remain sane right now,” he muttered. “So forgive me if I’m not thrilled about making it easier for you to turn me into a mindless beast.”

YOU CANNOT WIN.

Jason shrugged. That thought had come to mind before. His last fight against the Baker Street Horror hadn't been easy, and he honestly couldn't imagine himself winning against it. That made sense, he supposed. If nothing else, this whole thing had given him time to really understand more about the beast. It was becoming stronger every day by adapting to people’s fears, just like the other monsters were adapting to gunfire. Jason’s fear had been ideal for it.

What he was most afraid of was the perfect version of himself.

The version of him that could do almost anything required of him without effort. A mythical genius that existed in everyone’s mind, blessed with the ability to do whatever he wanted – that actually could do everything easily, instead of just hiding how much effort it all took.

How was he supposed to beat that?

YOU MUST KILL IT.

“Don’t waste your time,” Jason shot back, the air around him growing colder. It was like speaking back to a winter night that encroached closer and closer upon you with every breath. “Let me do things my way. I hate to admit it, but I’m barely hanging on as it is.” The bracelet had given him more power, he knew. Without it, he would be even weaker...and even with this advantage he still barely landed a hit on Baker. But he couldn’t accept more power. “It would be pretty lame if I found out what happened to Rob but ended up too crazy to do anything about it. Let me try this my way. Either I kill it and you get to go on with whatever you have planned, or I die and you are presumably amused. Win-win for you, no?”

NO.

Now this was interesting. “Why the fuck does it matter to you if I kill it or not?” he asked slowly.

The voices didn't respond, sending Jason's mind racing with possibilities. Why did they care so much about him defeating the Baker Street Horror? That’s not how they had been at first. If anything, they'd appeared completely certain that Jason would fail to beat it, almost reveling in the idea. Now, the voices were acting like killing Baker was absolutely necessary.

Danse’s words came to his mind. "It’s different from what the Outsiders have been doing until now. There's no pattern to it. Baker just wants to kill things."

No fucking way.

ACCEPT POWER.

It wasn’t going to tell him as much, but Jason could bluff here. “No,” he told it, flatly. “I don’t want to go crazy.” Crazier, at least.

There was a pause. Not only was there silence, but even the cold air appeared to grow warmer for a moment, until both the voice and a chilly breeze returned at once. POWER WITHOUT MADNESS.

“That would be great if I could trust you. Thing is, I can’t. And that’s a pity, you know? For the both of us.” Jason shook his head. “I mean, you lost control of the monster, haven’t you?”

No response. It was hard to gauge its reaction just based on the lack of sound, but Jason was nothing if not a shit-stirrer. “Oh my, you got yourself in a bit of trouble, eh? Created that thing, let it feed on human fears...and now your mad dog broke out of its leash. What’s that, were you not prepared for how utterly terrified humans can be of things? Tell me, was it any particular fear that turned out to be too much? Oh noooo, what’s going to happen if you can’t control it? Although that might just be the issue itself, eh?” Jason laughed out loud. He hoped the other soldiers were still too far behind to hear him, but it was hardly a pressing concern. “Guess you’re not used to not controlling things.”

It felt as though he was being choked.

Jason was lifted up in the air by an invisible force. Only the tips of his feet touched the ground, and he couldn't breathe at all, like a ghost was grasping his throat and draining the life out of him. His limbs grew heavier as that same invisible force shoved him to the ground, pressing down hard. Even moving a single finger felt like a superhuman effort. Colder than before, the air now felt like a blade millimeters away from his neck.

ACCEPT.

POWER.

Jason tried to speak, but he wasn't capable of opening his mouth. Heavy, invisible chains had lashed him to the ground and sealed his lips. There was no real choice. If he rejected their proposal, he would be killed right here and now. Even if he survived, Baker would kill him just a bit later. Resisting was more than futile, it was impossible. His body wouldn't move at all; he could barely even move his fingers.

ACCEPT.

POWER.

His mouth still couldn't answer. The voice appeared to notice this, and he felt the grip on his right hand loosen. It didn’t even want him to answer him aloud, just for Jason to give a signal of yes or no. The freezing, oppressive air, and his failing lungs told him what would happen if he didn’t capitulate. He thought of Danse, Jeanette, the army, the press – everyone who needed him to be strong.

ACCEPT?

The voice allowed Jason to regain just a little movement in his hand. Slowly, he started to curl his fingers inward, about to extend his thumb upward in affirmation. It was the right thing to do, he knew. But he heard something like a mocking chuckle from the voice, and a sudden spark of stubborn fervor overtook him, stronger than the madness could ever be.

He curled every finger inward except for his middle one.

There was a pause. It should have been eerie, yet Jason couldn't help feeling very pleased with himself. Horror could not touch his heart, for pride had already made its home there. Go ahead, kill me.

...ACCEPT POWER LATER. The voice disappeared with that, as did the cold air and the pressure on his lungs.

At first, Jason did nothing but laugh. It was outright hysterical to him. He'd managed to talk back to the voices, even if he was still nowhere closer to knowing what their goals were. Yet, as the laughter echoed in the open air, exhaustion set in – and so did his concerns.

He'd told the voices off, sure, but they still seemed certain he would accept their offer. And were they wrong? Jason still didn't have a chance at defeating Baker.

“He’s what everyone else thinks I am,” Jason muttered. “Stronger than anyone. Faster than anyone. Can do anything without breaking a sweat.” Even in their brief fight from before, the Baker Street Horror had shown himself to be much more adept at using a sword than Jason ever could be. People assumed that Jason was a master swordsman just because he carried the hunk of metal around, not realizing it was just the first thing he'd thought of that wasn’t a baseball bat.

Everyone thinks I’m some sort of invincible genius, but – that’s not it, goddamn it!

If he was, he wouldn't be in this situation. Jason couldn't do anything to Baker right now. He would need to accept the voices' offer to stand a chance against it. Even if I go crazy, at least Baker will be dealt with, Jason reasoned. What about future monsters though? He couldn’t fight them if he'd completely lost his mind. Then there was Rob; Jason still needed to find out what happened to him. To get him out of wherever the fuck he went. And Jeanette...she would be crushed if he turned into a mindless berserker.

And what if he did defeat Baker somehow? The army was still always going to be a shadow looming over his shoulder, able to kidnap him again and – and cut him open while he was still alive. They would have very little reason to let him roam free once Baker was dealt with. Maybe the best thing to do was to let it rampage around, keep himself in the public eye, make it harder for the army to make him disappear without anyone noticing...

But that would mean letting thousands of people die, just so he could stay safe.

Shit.

What could he even do? There was no goddamn right answer here.

“Hey.” Jason wasn’t even aware when he had pulled his phone out of his pocket, and only vaguely aware that he had called her. “Jeanette?”

“Jason?” Her voice was both surprised and relieved. Even over the phone, he knew how much concern his sudden disappearance had caused her. “Oh my god, you’re – you’re fine. I want to be mad at you, but I’m just glad you’re-”

Jason felt guilty for not letting her finish. “I need help,” he muttered.

He couldn't see her face, but just that pause was enough for him to know exactly what expression she was making. It was the one Jeanette always made when setting aside her own fears to talk about his. Jason hated seeing that face, because he wanted to be the one to help, to be her pillar of strength. But it was also the most soothing expression in the world, and just imagining it right now brought him a measure of peace. “What’s wrong, honey?” she kindly asked.

“It’s too much,” he said, and hated himself for saying it. It was too honest. She was going to feel even more concerned. But there was no stopping him now; the words were already spilling out of his mouth. “Don’t know what to do. There’s so much. A monster I have to defeat, a friend I have to save, an army I have to fucking avoid – and I’m supposed to do it all with a smile on my face. How the hell am I supposed to do that.”

“Hard to help you when I don’t know exactly what’s going on,” Jeanette said, in a joking tone. God, her laughter healed his soul. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“There is way too much to say at once.”

“It would be easier if you'd told me as it was starting to pile up.”

Ouch. She had a point, though. “I just...I don’t know what to do. No, I guess that isn’t true.” He drew a deep breath. “But it’s hard.”

“That bad?”

“That bad,” he confirmed.

“I can’t make it easier for you,” Jeanette told him. “I would if I could, but I don’t have superpowers. I’m good with a gun, but I doubt that would be enough.” Good was an understatement. A few more competitions and she would qualify for the Olympics as a shooter. “But I can get some nice movies set up for when you're back, so you can relax. Ah, no food with garlic though, I hate that, remember?”

Even in his current state, Jason had to laugh at that. “Yeah...of course.”

“Do your best. I'll be with you no matter what, okay? Not just me. Your coach, your friends from the army – everyone.”

Jason sighed. If only it was that easy. “Jeanette,” he said, in a quiet voice, “if I try to do what I think is the right thing and fail...it’s not just me. You guys are going to die with me too. I can’t gamble with your lives.”

“Yes, you can.”

Jeanette’s answer came so promptly, so quickly, so devoid of hesitation, that it took Jason a moment until he could even utter back, “What?”

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m betting my life on you. We all are, really. You’ve been our only hope for a while, right?”

“That’s exactly why,” Jason began, voice full of exasperation, “that I can’t just be a reckless-”

A loud burst of static hurt his ears and cut him short. Jeanette had tapped against the phone to cut him off. “It would be really selfish of us to expect any more from you," she said.

“It wouldn’t!” he shouted. “It’s your goddamn lives we’re talking about. If I’m wrong, if I lose, then-”

“Do you think fighting is the right thing?” Jeanette asked, as if she hadn’t heard him. “That what you’re afraid of doing is what you think you should do?”

He wanted to lie. To run away. To find an easier option.

“It is,” he admitted.

“Do you know what to do now?” Jeanette asked, gently.

Jason drew a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. I do," he said, in a tone full of confidence. He looked around the empty area. “There's just one more thing I have to do, and then I’m coming home. I promise.”

“Good,” she replied happily, as if he wasn’t just about to risk his life. “I'll be waiting for you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Jeanette paused. “I'll be waiting for you, okay?” she muttered once more. "As long as it takes."

Jason hung up, but continued looking at his phone for a moment. “Please do,” he said.

He allowed himself only one more moment to hesitate. Then, he gripped his sword and looked to the sky. In the end, there was still one easy way to solve everything. But it was completely absurd...more than that, it was dangerous. The avaricious thoughts of a madman.

Memories of his conversation with coach Vasquez flashed in his mind.

“That seems greedy,” Jason muttered.

His coach shook him. “That’s fine. Be greedy. Be obstinate. Most of all, be whatever you want – and I will always support you, Jason.”

Maybe that was just how things had to be. “BAKER!” Jason declared to the sky, pointing his sword at the sun. “I'M RIGHT HERE, YOU COWARD! COME FIGHT ME!”