Even though it took Coop a while to recognize, the potential of Richard Burns became apparent to him after two weeks of training alongside each other. A natural athlete that things came much more naturally to than Coop, who didn’t have the same anger guiding him. That’s what tripped Coop up at first; this kid wasn’t coming from the same sort of raw background that Coop came from, where brute force and sadism could overcome athletic deficiencies. Regis spoke of training a new generation of fighters and Burns and this lot was it, even if they weren’t there yet.

In the back of his mind, he knew this newfound focus was a distraction from what lay ahead of him. His eyesight, while recovering, would never be the same. If he did any other job in the universe, there would be zero questions about installing an augmentation to restore—even enhance—his vision. Instead, he was still mulling over if fighting with the eye patch was better than fighting with the exposed, damaged eye surrounded by scarred tissue. Distractions were good.

“I’m still not used to this thing.” Burns was out of breath after a session with the bot, Coop having configured it to his Skidz setting, arms and all. “You were right, this thing fights a lot different from the ones we have.”

“The Kaijutech are trash,” Coop said. “Trust me, this is the real deal.”

“This Skidz is a real asshole, then,” Burns said.

“No shit.” Coop unconsciously scratched at his eye under the patch, Burns collecting himself and pretending not to notice.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to...”

“It’s fine. I still beat the bastard.”

“Should we configure this beast for Kriger now?” Burns asked. It was a fair question. They’d spent two weeks with Coop showing Burns and any other curious fighter his special bot, configuring it for different specific fighters and archetypes. He did his best to not focus on his own troubles.

“Suppose I’ll have to at some point.” Coop admitted.

“I know things aren’t... better yet or anything, but there’s a date set for it, right?” Burns asked.

“Six weeks from now,” Coop sighed. “In theory, I should’ve been preparing for him for the last two already. Instead, I’m trying to get a feel for the basics like some sort of newbie. Not even sure I should take this fight.”

“W-what?” he asked. “You’re Coop fucking Sabre! Every one of these guys in here is doing this because of you. There weren’t any fighters in the league for us to look up to before you. Every human was a speed bump for these big bastards, then you came outta nowhere with that attitude and recklessness. You inspired us.”

“I became a tool for the Earth gov,” Coop mumbled. “A face to put on an advert and parade around as some sort of exceptional person, when I’m just a fuck up like the rest of you.”

“Be that as it may, you’ve shown us we can do this,” Burns said. “Without you and your uncle... I don’t even know.”

“I’ve beaten a few aliens over the head with a barbed wire bat,” Coop said. “Let’s be real here.”

“I am being real. You kicking my ass that night was an honor. It was an experience and—“

“Alright.” Coop’s palm shot out, stopping Robert in his tracks. “Look, I get it. I’m dealing with a migraine right now and should call it for the day. You mind getting that thing configured for me to train with tomorrow or something?”

“The Kriger program, right?”

“Suppose I have little choice, do I?”

“I’ll go fetch the parts for it now with some of the boys. They’ll all be excited about watching you train for this.”

“Thanks, kid.” He forced a smile before slinking away from the gym, the weight of the situation back on his shoulders after a few carefree weeks of ignoring his problems. Regis was pacing around the hallway, arguing with someone, only to stop at the sight of Coop and approach him.

“Boy, you know, I didn’t expect much from ya, kid. But this? You’ve really lit a fire under their asses out there.”

“That’s great,” Coop said. It was sincere, even if his voice didn’t reflect it. “Just glad I can help.”

“The eye getting any better?” Regis asked.

“Not really,” he said. “Doc told me my vision wouldn’t get much better than the 30% or so it’s at now.”

“The bright side is, whenever you retire, we can set you up with a nice augment,” Regis said.

“Fighting Kriger again, like this...” All the thoughts he’d pushed aside, the shame and depression that followed the initial loss, were coming back to him.

“Nobody ever said this was gonna be easy. You’ve come further than either of us ever expected,” Regis said.

“... And if this is it?” It was a thought that had crossed his mind more than a few times. “If I’ve got one more fight, win or lose?”

“Then you’ve had one helluva run.”

“It just feels like everyone wants something from me. I don’t even know what I want for myself.”

“Yeah, you do,” Regis said. “I’ve known you a long time. We’ve been through some rough times together and if you’re anything, you’re someone that when you figure out your path, you see it through.” Regis clasped him on the shoulders. “You’re in a better place now than ever before. Sam’s a good one. She cares about you, and even if you quit now, money won’t be an issue. Hell, you could help out around here. There’s always room for you. Those kids out there? They think of you as a god.”

“I’m not a god, I’m just some fuckup from the streets of Birmingham that found a way to make money off of being an asshole.”

“You’re much more than that,” Regis said. “You’re family, don’t you forget that. Fuck what anyone else thinks. You don’t gotta do anything for these people, anyway. You wanna quit and go disappear? Go do that. Fuck it.”

“Yeah, fuck it.”

Coop slapped his uncle on the shoulder and continued down the hall, mind swimming through a myriad of awful options before him. Defeating Kriger and winning the Intergalactic Championship was always the goal. Making it this far was never good enough; defeating Kriger and becoming the first human to capture the crown was. Proving every last asshole that claimed he’d grow up to be nothing more than a petty thug wrong had been a driving force for his existence. They’d already been proven wrong countless times over, and win or lose, he became somebody. Maybe helping these kids out was where he belonged. The door to his suite slid open and Sam was slumped over on the couch, blankets slung over her.

“Oh, hey,” she said.

“You still not feeling well?” When he left that morning, her stomach had been bugging her, and she didn’t look much better.

“Feel like shit,” she said. “You’re not looking too hot yourself.”

“Got a lot on my mind.”

“Sorry, Coop,” she said.

“It’s no worries. What can I get you?” He sidled up next to her on the couch.

“Just sit with me for a while,” she said.

“Yeah, I can do that.”