“Hey there hero, how's it going?” Danse stepped into the courtyard and was wholly unsurprised – and unimpressed – to find Jason already on his feet, sword in hand. “Did the higher ups really give you permission to be out of bed?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Listen to your doctors, goddamn it.”

“I swear I used to, but when you have superpowers...it gets more difficult,” Jason shot back, wiping some sweat off his brow. “My doctors are basically guessing how my body works. It's not like they know for sure what’s safe and what’s not.”

Danse crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. “And you do?”

“Of course not,” Jason snapped, pretending to be offended. “But if someone is going to be guessing, I’d rather be the one making the final call. And I think that staying in bed and letting my enemies grow stronger while I stay the same just ain’t the way to go. This way is safer.”

Jason had expected the man to protest more heavily, but instead he just nodded along, sighed deeply, and underhand-tossed a water bottle in Jason's direction. At the sight, Jason immediately dropped his sword and jumped backward to catch the bottle like it was a football. “Thanks. I should probably be drinking more water.”

“Damn straight you should.” Danse shook his head. “Saw the proposal you sent the higher-ups. That’s more ballsy than I expected from you.”

“I mean, they did try to cut me open like a frog. I've got some leverage on them, especially if they want me to keep quiet.”

“They could still try it again.”

That was true. Every kind of non-lethal experiment on his body had yielded no results, and as more and more creatures continued to pop up, the military was growing desperate to replicate his abilities. Still, it’s not as though vivisecting him had overwhelming support among the organization, and his defeat of Baker had certainly gotten him at least a few months of peace.

It was just enough time for him to make sure he couldn’t be disposed of. “I’m looking forward to seeing them try,” Jason declared.

Danse nodded slowly. “That proposal...seriously? Seems like you’re putting a lot of trust in the military. Doesn’t sound like you.”

“I mean, I've been incapacitated for a few weeks and the world hasn’t burst into flames yet." More people had died to monster attacks while he was out, and while that knowledge burned, he knew that letting the guilt consume him wouldn’t be beneficial to anyone. They needed him calm and in control.

Not that growing numb to the death around him was a good thing. I’m going to need so much therapy after this fucking thing is done, Jason thought. But for now I’ll keep focused. “I need to start relying on you guys more if we want to win this.”

“Win?” Danse’s judgemental look was replaced by one of confusion. “You’re acting like this is a game.”

“I’m acting like it’s a war.” Until now, they'd been thinking of the monsters' arrival mostly as an invasion of mindless abominations. A sort of natural disaster to repel and survive. But Jason's recent experiences had taught him more than just the fact that Rob was alive. He'd learned that there were intelligent forces behind the Portal's existence, and they had their own goals – be it amusement, control, or something else.

And that wasn’t all. Based on what he'd heard, the voices had heavily disagreed with each other on how to handle the Baker situation. Powerful as they were, they were subject to the same flaws that any human organization possessed. Individuality, desires, discord...so long as an enemy had those, they could be exploited.

They could be killed.

“Let me be straight with you," Jason continued. "I’m planning on killing whatever has been sending those fucking things to Earth.” If Rob doesn’t kill them first. He better let me have at least one of the fuckers. “That means getting as strong as possible.”

Danse nodded slowly. “And a drone system for capturing monsters will accomplish that?”

“It doesn’t have to capture them, just...keep them somewhere until I can get there and kill them myself. I mean, if they do capture them, all the better – bring them over like it’s takeout, and I’ll eat the levels after that. But I’m fine even if the drones only restrain the monsters until I get there. Unmanned systems are best because of how dangerous this is gonna be. It’s not just my bleeding heart making that decision; I’m being practical about it, too.”

His head had felt clearer since fighting Baker, clearer even than before he put on the voices' bracelet. There was something to be said about confronting your demons and piledriving them into the ground from the top of a skyscraper. “Training troops to capture monsters would take a while, and having to train more after half of them die in one deployment isn't sustainable," Jason explained. "Instead, we’re going to use unmanned weapons to bring monsters to me from all over the world, or at least keep them pinned down so I can kill them. It's necessary, as I can’t level up as fast as I could before I got rid of...never mind.”

Jason hadn’t explained the whole bracelet thing to Danse, and he was in no hurry to. “Just, if I have nothing to boost how quickly I level up...then I say, fuck it. I’ll use the entirety of humanity’s ingenuity and technology to make me stronger.” If he couldn’t level up twice as fast, then all he had to do was to kill three or four times as many monsters, and everything would even itself out. Probably. Jason wasn’t much for RPGs, he was more of a fighting game kind of guy – but it sounded right in his head.

“It makes sense,” Danse said, in a thoughtful tone. “The stronger you get, the better our odds are. Surprised you’re willing to go so hard into a plan like this, though. You always hated strategies that focused around you.”

“I did,” Jason admitted. “They scared me because...well, what if I messed up and got everyone killed? The thought still scares me.”

Danse regarded him quietly for a moment. “What changed?”

“I just realized that I can’t go on like I have until now...and that being timid is the same as admitting defeat. If we want to survive – if we want to win this war, we have to be bold. I can’t do that by running away from my responsibilities." He grinned. "Besides. If I’m being honest...I kind of want to do this.”

The thought of fighting didn’t scare him anymore. From now on, he'd see everything through on his terms. Everything felt more natural this way, like it was how the world was always meant to work.

“If it’s fine with you, then I approve of it," Danse replied. "Don’t think the higher ups will fight that too hard; it’s an excuse for so many military contracts and budget adjustments. Got a question, though: why'd you decide to use your powers like this? Even if you're more willing to take risks, it's a big departure from your usual.”

The voices said Rob was level 51 and I’m almost half of that. Fucking hate losing. “It's the mature thing to do,” he answered, in a smooth tone. Truthfully, he would have chosen to increase his levels anyway for the sake of winning this goddamn war, but being competitive with his friend brought a smile to his face. It was childish, he knew, but in a harmless way. “Besides, I’ve started gaining some fun abilities from my Level increases.”

Danse perked up; combat advancements always caught his attention. “Yeah? Like what?”

“There’s one called Counter. It's my favorite right now. If I hit something as it’s just about to hit me, I can deal just over twice as much damage as I would have otherwise, and paralyze them for a second too. Can’t move my feet while using it, though.”

Danse rubbed his thin thoughtfully. “Like some sort of boxing cross-counter thing?”

“Probably. I mean, I don’t know. Never got much into boxing. Always wanted to, though. Maybe I should join a club when this is all done.” Jason had begun to realize that thinking about the things he wanted to do after the war helped him stay sane. It made everything feel temporary...and it gave him something more important than even hope itself.

A goal.

The glory of victory was an effective motivator, but ever since Baker, he was more looking forward to spending time with the people he cared about. Now that he knew Rob was alive, it was easier to imagine that the dark clouds of today would eventually give way to sunny skies. Time to start working towards making that happen.

“Hey, Danse? Can you do me a favor?” Jason asked.

“Name it.”

“Watch my press conference today.”

Danse frowned, his eyes narrowing. “I'll be there in person.”

--

“Coach!” Jason called out, his posture rigid as he looked straight ahead. He'd gone over this moment in his head at least a thousand times. This had to be done right. “I’m quitting football. Forever.”

Vasquez looked up from his phone to meet his eyes, raising a single eyebrow in response. He regarded Jason silently for a moment before speaking. “Shouldn’t you be telling this to the guy who’s your actual coach right now? Technically, I haven’t coached you since high school.”

Jason shook his head. “Coaching is just a job for him. You’re...different. You taught me more than just football.” It was one of those things that was hard to express out loud. He would rather fight a dozen Bakers than have to put together his feelings into a few words, he thought, until a sudden sharp pain at his side made him rethink his view. Ouch. Okay, maybe six Bakers at most.

“I don’t care about letting him down," Jason continued. "I was just a number for him, you know? One more guy coming in through the system, letting him make some money off my name while I don't get paid at all because–”

Jason stopped himself. His rant about payment in college sports hardly seemed urgent. “If there was anyone I was afraid of disappointing, it was you, coach,” he muttered. “And I figured if I made you feel like you wasted your time teaching me or taking care of me all those years...I wanted to make sure you heard it from my lips. Not from a tweet or something.”

Vasquez held his gaze for a moment. Jason tensed, not knowing what to expect. “Sit down,” his coach told him, gesturing at the couch.

“I have to go soon, I–”

“Sit.”

Jason complied, keeping himself from crossing his legs or resting them on the coffee table as he would have done anywhere else. Sweat began to run down the back of his neck. Despite his apprehension, he didn't say a word, waiting in silence until the older man spoke.

“Do you really think, you dipshit, that I would be sad about you quitting?” Vasquez's voice was sharp, stabbing worse than Baker’s blade had.

“I just – you spent so long coaching me,” Jason said, his voice filled with a baffled sort of guilt. You even invited me to Thanksgiving, Christmas...made me feel like I had a place somewhere. Those days were probably gone now. They wouldn’t have any sort of relationship once he stopped practicing football, and he would have no reason to justify visiting Vasquez that often. “You even went out of your way to continue teaching me after I graduated high school and I’m just...throwing it all out the window.”

Vasquez barked a low, growling laugh. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? I taught you a lot more than football. So long as those lessons stick with you, then by God I did a good job.” To Jason’s absolute surprise, his coach smiled kindly at him. A moment later, Jason felt stupid for being shocked at all. Of course that would be his reaction. “Do you think a coach’s job is just to teach his players how to perform well on the field?”

“Definitely not,” Jason muttered.

“Good. Then you know I don’t care if you’re a football player or not. I’m proud of you either way. Besides...” His coach trailed off, appearing undecided about whether to say what was on his mind. “Never thought you should’ve been playing football to begin with.”

Now that surprised him. “Coach, what – what do you mean?” Jason demanded, in a defensive tone. He wasn’t really into football, but he'd still felt proud of his skills. “I’m damn good! You saw how many trophies we earned while–”

Vasquez motioned for him to shut up. “Never said you weren’t good,” his coach told him, “just that I don’t think you should have played. You were never the type to settle on a team sport. Sit down, you’re good at team sports, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you were happy with them. Just because you’re good at something, doesn’t mean you should do it.”

“But the team,” Jason protested, “they needed me. They would've lost without me around.”

“So what? Let them.” Vasquez let out a deep sigh. “Not worth your happiness.”

Memories of Rob quitting tennis and being all the happier for it flashed in his mind. “It really isn't,” Jason muttered. “So...are you saying you’re not disappointed?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Of course I’m not disappointed. Why would I be? Still going to be proud when I see you winning Wimbledon or whatever the big tennis tournaments are called.”

“I'll do my best.” Jason smiled. It was hard not to. “Can’t promise I’m going to win all of them, though. With all this new tech flying around, the big three are as good as when they were at their peaks.”

“Jason, you literally have superpowers.”

“I'd still take a healthy, young Nadal on clay over anyone with superpowers,” Jason said. An exaggerated shrug of his shoulders was enough even for his coach – who knew little of the sport – to understand he was mostly joking. Mostly.

It was a good note to end things on. Even if he wouldn’t see his coach as often anymore, Jason knew that Vasquez was still proud of him. That was all he could ask for.

“Well, I really should get going now," he said. "Wasn’t kidding when I said I was busy – got lots of things to do today.” It hurt to stand up so quickly, but he didn’t want to linger for any longer than he had to. Better to leave while he could at least pretend to be a little cool. “Have a damn press conference coming up soon.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here,” Vasquez waved him off. He grunted and looked down. A few seconds later, he exclaimed when Jason turned the doorknob. “Wait!”

“What is it, coach?”

Vasquez appeared to hesitate for a moment, but his face was determined. His decision had been made; he was just taking time to find the right words. After some deliberation, he nodded to himself, and looked up. “Haven’t met your girlfriend yet,” Vasquez muttered, in a strained voice. “Be sure to bring her over for Thanksgiving, you hear me?”

Jason didn't know what expression his coach was making. The man had shifted his gaze to the ground, and was trying to hide his emotions with a low grumble. Jason looked away too, for the same reasons he suspected his coach was averting his eyes. Shit. I’m not making a cool face right about now. “I will, coach. I promise.”

“Good. Send me a text once in a while to let me know you’re alive. I’ve been worrying sick over you – thought you were dead for a while. Not like the news would tell me.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“And Jason?” His coach’s voice steadied, and Jason managed to match his resolve by turning around and looking him in the eye. “One more thing.”

“Just name it.”

“If you care about the people you love, sometimes you have to be selfish. You can’t solve everyone’s problems without hurting yourself...and if you hurt yourself, you’re also hurting the people you love. Be selfish. Be greedy. Flip off some strangers so that you can smile at your loved ones. That’s life.”

Jason stared at his coach for several seconds before nodding back. Then, suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed. It was just like Vasquez to say something like that – and just like Jason to find it comforting. “Thanks coach,” he muttered. “I’ll see you soon.”

--

“So. You’re here. And you’re presumably sorry.” Jeanette asked him. Her voice wasn’t cold – it was warm, even. But it had been weeks and she was still a little pissed off at him. Which...was probably fair. “Are you?”

“I am!” he promised her. “I should have talked to you more.”

“And?”

Jason let out a defeated sigh. “And I promise to never try fighting any otherworldly shit without telling you about it first.”

“Good.” She pulled him closer and kissed him rather aggressively. “You'd better.”

“I will,” he told her. Jason’s voice was joking at first, but upon seeing the look in her eyes, he spoke more seriously. “I swear. I know that wasn’t reasonable of me...and it was downright insulting. You’re strong enough to handle me not being completely okay.”

Jeanette narrowed her eyes. While she was pleased with his words – as Jason knew she would be – she was also trying to find the trap there. “That’s way too mature. What’s the catch?” She widened her eyes, seeming to peer into his soul. “Come on, what’s wrong? Any dangerous missions coming up soon or something?”

“No, but...well, you’re going away for that shooting tournament, right?” It was downright weird to him that international sports were still happening while the world was being invaded, but it made sense. People needed distractions, and the world kept spinning even as it was being blown up. “Just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“It's only for two weeks," Jeanette said. "I’ll be back before you know it...and you will call me if something comes up.” It was less a question and more of a threat. Jeanette looked positively terrifying in that moment, and he had to admit, it was a good look on her. “Not like you to get all mushy like this, though.”

“You've been yelling at me for almost a month since I told you everything!” When Jason first arrived back home with his body as a broken mess, Jeanette had been concerned. But as he healed, and as she realized how much he'd been keeping from her...well, she might’ve gotten a little upset with him.

“If I don’t say it that often, you’ll forget it,” Jeanette told him, her voice sharp as a dagger. “You're really, really good at ignoring lessons you aren’t a fan of.”

“And you’re good at reminding me of them,” he muttered.

She smiled. “If it helps, you stupid creature, I feel more at ease now than when you were hiding things from me.”

Jason stared at her with wide eyes and a mild frown. “Seriously? You’re more relaxed now that you know I’m fighting teleporting abominations that steal my face, than when you thought I was just killing weird turtles and shit?”

“It’s not like I believed you when you said that nothing was wrong," she explained. "I just didn’t know what. This...this is better. I can deal with this better than I can deal with the unknown.”

“Guess that makes sense.”

“Too bad I couldn’t have been there with you. Kind of curious if that monster really looked like you.”

Jason shrugged. “Honestly, don’t even know if his corpse still looked like me after I killed him. By the time I woke up again, it was already gone – military probably didn’t want a monster’s corpse just sort of hanging out in the middle of a public street.” He awkwardly rubbed the side of his neck. It didn’t feel like he was being completely honest with her yet, but that would change soon. “Hey, Jeanette?”

“Yeah?”

A small grin crept onto his face. “I know you’re going to be at the airport, and using your phone is a hassle, but watch my press conference later. It’s going to mean a lot to me if you could.”

--

As it turns out, a near-death experience wasn't guaranteed to give someone a newfound appreciation for all things in life. Media scrums hadn't magically become more fun for Jason since last time. He still hated the goddamn things. Ever since what the media had dubbed ‘The Duel in the Rain’ transpired – probably by someone with a flair for melodrama – they'd been hounding Jason with questions, wondering if he was the one who'd taken down Baker. It made sense considering where the duel occurred and where Jason was usually deployed, but that didn't stop the military from publicly denying it.

They didn’t want Jason to gain international support, nor did they want other countries to know they possessed a ‘weapon’ capable of defeating a monster that survived tanks. Secrecy worked best in their favor. Over the last month, Jason had been instructed on how to speak to the media without letting them – or other countries – glean too much from his answers. It was of vital importance that they kept his full capabilities under wraps.

“—Mr. Miller, you have been injured for quite a while now. What caused the injury? Was it the Baker Street Horror?”

“—Mr. Miller, civilian casualties have gone up while you were injured. Does that concern you?”

“—Mr. Miller, are there any other soldiers being trained like you? Anyone else with your abilities?”

“—Mr. Miller, what can you tell us about the monsters you've defeated recently?”

One by one the questions came, and one by one he parried them all without hesitation. His training had prepared him well; he wasn't about to make a mistake anytime soon. Gazing to the side, he caught sight of Danse, flanked by a number of officials. They really aren’t letting me anywhere without a set of bodyguards, huh. Probably for the best, all things considered.

The questioning continued, and Jason found himself feeling mildly disappointed at how easy they were to handle. So far their queries had been on the boring side. Just a bunch of things he expected to hear, and that the press knew would result in vague non-answers. That was how these things always went; a bunch of softballs to butter up the interviewee before one mildly pointed question. It was like a theater performance, with a beginning, rising action, and conclusion.

“—Mr. Miller...are you familiar with the ‘Red Blur’?”

And there it is.

A collective groan passed through the room. Jason understood why; the media had asked that question multiple times a day since Baker was defeated, with little to show for their efforts. So far, today's reporters had been trying to gather as much info as they could with indirect questions. No one had bothered confronting Jason directly, as it was absurd to expect an honest answer.

Jason pulled his microphone closer. There was an art to this, and he was a master of it. He made sure his face wasn’t obstructed by the microphone, positioning so that the reporters' cameras could catch his slightly raised eyebrows.

“The ‘Red Blur’?”

“Yes. Word on the street is that a person defeated the Baker Street Horror. This individual was moving so fast all the witnesses caught sight of was a blur – left behind by his clothes, most likely.”

Jason let out a thoughtful sound into the microphone, making sure his subtle deliberation was caught by everyone. “Well,” he started, in his approachable, everyman tone, “if a person really did that, then they would have to be really strong. We’re talking stronger than a lot of million-dollar weapons. A person like that would be invaluable to the war effort.”

He could feel dozens of resigned glares from the military burning into his skull. They'd expected him to be coy, but that doesn’t mean they liked it. Murmurs spread among the media crowd, and the tick-tack of laptop keys echoed throughout the room, their next speculative headline already forming.

“Yes,” the reporter replied, “they probably would be.” There was a hesitant pause. The reporter appeared pleased with the answer he'd received, and was unsure whether to press his luck. Then Jason smiled, and that was enough for him to take the bait. “Mr. Miller, if I may be so bold...is there any truth to the rumors that you were the Red Blur?”

Danse was the first to realize it. His mouth dropped in a silent scream, and he winced in pain before any words were even said. Somehow, he could feel it in his bones, it seemed. I'm sorry, buddy, Jason thought. But not that sorry. When he flashed a grin in Danse's direction, all the color drained from the military faction's faces.

Jason coughed into the microphone to draw everyone’s attention. He leaned forward, baking in the spotlight, enjoying the deafening silence that drowned the arena. This is a bad idea. But he really wanted to do it, and Danse’s final sigh of exasperation only motivated him more.

“Yes, I am the Red Blur.”

Jason closed his eyes and smiled as he listened to the chaos that followed.