Jason stepped toward the entrance of the medical ward. The outer doors of it resembled those of a hospital, looking clean (perhaps a little too clean) and had the customary medical emblem printed above it. As Jason approached, two nurses suddenly emerged, chatting with each other. They stopped in mid-stride at the sight of him.
"Hey!" One nurse grinned. She raised a hand. Jason gave her a high five, returning her smile. "Jason! Nice to see you."
"Thanks!" Jason replied. He nodded to the other nurse. The guy just gave him a shy smile. "Its nice to see you guys too. Didn't one of you treat my injuries once?"
The female nurse elbowed her friend. He looked like he wanted to desperately flee the scene but just looked at his toes instead. "He did! Helped stich up a knife wound you got during your guys fight with the freaky artist dude. He's been bragging about it to the rest of the crew ever since."
The guy blushed and gritted his teeth. He grabbed her arm and muttered, "We, uh, have to go..." He dragged the other nurse to the elevator. She burst into laughter as they went and said something to him that sounded like teasing. Jason felt a bit elated as he watched them go. He had fans here. Real people who liked him like...a celebrity or something. Geez. Now that felt kinda good. Of course, these guys were the staff here, so they kinda had to support him but only in the most basic of ways. Not by personally showing up and falling over themselves in his presence. It was pretty cool, that.
Jason smiled again and pumped a fist. Ha! He had fans! He wondered if they wanted his autograph...maybe he should...no. No, no. Jason pushed those thoughts away and calmed down a bit. He wasn't here for fun. He was here to visit Max.
'Stayed focus,' Jason thought. He approached the medical ward and opened it, slipping inside. 'Now lets see how he's doing...'
The inside of the medical ward was a long narrow corridor. Multiple rooms lined it each designed to look a stereotypical hospital room. Jason knew that from experience. Nurses and doctors moved around, checking clipboards and data pads, some talking to each other in hushed tones. One doctor went by Jason, giving him a small smile as he led a staff by who was wearing a cast. Jason led them pass him before moving along the corridor.
He scanned each room. He knew that Max was in one of them. Near the back? It had been a little while since he had last visited, which really sucked. Mostly he hadn't had time, being on missions most of the time and Max also really didn't want them to visit. He always asked them to go away. The poor guy seemed like he was ashamed every time they showed up or something like that.
The Urban Spider paused at the end of the corridor. Through one door's window, he saw a familiar face. He leaned against the door, looking in, his energy starting to deflate as he watched what was inside.
Inside the room he could see Max sitting on the edge of a bed. He was wearing a hospital gown, his feet dangling a few inches off the floor. Max was a muscular young man, his skin tan owing to his Hispanic heritage. With his arms uncovered, Jason could see his biceps were pretty dang huge. But in contrast to his well-built body, his face looked...unhealthy.
Max looked a little pale in the face. He had seen the Akihiro stuff, almost as if the events had lathered his skin, leaving a permanent mark. His hair had grown out, now unkempt, scraggily, and sagging over his shoulders. He was also unshaven, a small beard covering his face. His left eye was covered by an eyepatch. Jason shuddered briefly at the memory, the sound of Akihiro's knife...no. No, he pushed that away even as the horrible image started to take root. Not a good idea to think about that shit. Not now.
Max sat in a hunched position, his good eye staring ahead. He didn't seem to be staring at anything in particular, just staring. In front of him was an older man. He sat in side profile to the door and was wearing a doctor's uniform. The man had a well-groomed beard, horn-rimmed glasses, and a face that looked like it had been carved out of stone. He was Robertson, the chief medical officer and seemingly the Director's number two.
Robertson was holding a stress ball in one hand. He held it before Max, a few inches from the young man's face. Max's good eye looked at him and he just stared at it before letting out a long, exasperated sigh. He sounded tired. Exhausted. Like he had just ran a marathon for three straight days in the desert. He looked it too. Haggard, rough, and unkempt. To Jason, it was a sharp contrast to the confident, healthy, and lively person Max had been just a short time ago. Looking at him now he almost didn't seem like the same person.
Robertson gestured at the stress ball. Max stared at it before raising his left hand. Gritting his teeth, he made a grab for it. He missed. Robertson gestured for him to try again. He did. Another miss.
Max swore loudly. He punched the bed sheets and turned away, cursing several more times. Robertson hung his head. He pulled an iPad from his pocket and typed a note on it. Jason avoided looking too hard at it, curious as he was. It wasn't his place. Looking at Max he just felt awful. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea...
But Robertson suddenly glanced over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow in recognition as he spotted Jason through the window. The Urban Spider flinched but recovered himself and waved. He mouthed 'Can I come in?'
Robertson glanced at Max. His face, like always, didn't show much emotion. Jason often joked Robertson was part robot but after months had gone by and the guy still hadn't cracked a smile, he was starting to believe his own crackpot theories. Seriously, Robertson needed to make expressions other than frowns. It couldn't be good for his muscles.
After a moment Robertson approached the door and opened it. Jason gave him a thumbs up and went inside. Robertson closed the door and said, his voice monotone, "Max. You have a visitor."
Jason approached the hospital bed. Max didn't respond. He didn't even look up. He just at the floor, his face hidden behind his tangled mess of hair. The Urban Spider glanced at Robertson. Robertson returned his look but as usual, the doctor's expression was impossible to read. Jason turned back to Max and cleared his throat.
"Hey dude. Its me."
Max was still unresponsive. Jason frowned. He didn't want to push the guy, but still...he'd been like this for weeks with almost no change. The Urban Spider wasn't sure what to do, so he kind of stood there awkwardly for a few moments, his brain rattling around for thing to say.
Finally, he hit on something. "So, Hiroshi is doing well. Well, sort of. He's not meshing too well with everyone so far and he needs to train a bit more but I think he's gonna work out. Seems we made the right call taking him in." Jason laughed. Max continued to stare at the floor. The Urban Spider's laugh faded away as he deflated.
He moved closer to Max and put a hand on the guy's shoulder. Max flinched slightly but didn't react otherwise. Jason thought about sitting on the bed but decided against it. "Hey man. You gotta talk to me. We're all here for you but you gotta..." He groped for words. "Gotta open up and shit, you know? Things the therapists are always saying to do. You know? If you don't, you'll just be like this and stagnate."
Max mumbled something. Jason didn't hear what he said. "What?"
"I'm fine." Max said, slightly louder. His voice was montone and morose. He didn't sound fine at all. He still didn't look at Jason. The Urban Spider sighed but released Max's shoulder. He moved away from him, approaching Robertson.
"He doesn't look so good," Jason muttered to the doctor. "Hell, he seems awful even."
"The loss of his eye seems to have affected him quite a bit," Robertson said, glancing down at his pad. "Several psychologists have diagnosed him with clinical depression, possible PTSD, and several other mental conditions. He's mentally tearing himself apart and has been unresponsive to help. I think he continues to not adjust well to his new eye in theraphy because he isn't letting himself."
Jason looked back at Max. He winced. He still could see Akihiro's knife ramming into Max's eye, made a horrible noise as it stabbed through it. Max's screams from that moment still haunted his dreams. Max had given himself up for Jason and now he was physical and mental wreck.
"I still think this is my fault," Jason muttered. "Akihiro was going to torture me first but Max taunted him, made him come for-"
"I know Jason," Robertson interrupted. "I know. Blaming yourself will solve nothing. You didn't do this to Max, some lunatic did. It's not your fault. Understand that?"
Jason sighed. He nodded slowly. It made sense but still...he felt like he should've done more. Robertson glanced at Max and then his watch. "Its past eleven o' clock. Lights out soon." He patted Jason's shoulder. "You better some rest. You've got a big day tomorrow."
"Yeah..." Jason nodded again. He pointed at Max. "Will...he be there?"
"Yes," Max's voice suddenly said. Jason turned and looked at him. For the first time, Max had glanced up. His single eye narrowed into a slit and he grunted, "I will." He sat up a bit straighter, pulling himself onto the bed.
"Hey that's great! Well man, it sure will be interesting..." Jason started to say, getting excited but his voice faded as Max lay down in bed. Max ignored him and stared at the ceiling, placing his arms behind his head. The Urban Spider looked at his friend unhappily. Just a few weeks ago, Max had seemed the center of their whole unit. He was strong, confident, slightly rigid perhaps, but he was always looking out for everyone, keeping them focused on the mission, helping them work together. Looking at him now, he didn't seem like the same person.
Jason clenched his hand into a fist and turned away. He walked out of the medical ward and back to the elevator, resisting the urge to punch a hole in the wall. Fucking Akihiro. That bastard had done this. He'd tortured them, attacked them personally, and cut out Max's eye, reducing him to a disheveled shell of himself. He needed to pay. He needed to found so Jason could kick his fucking ass and made him hurt like he had hurt them.
Why couldn't the Agency find this guy? Was he keeping a low profile? Hiding inside a painting, resisting his sick urge to kill people to make his twisted art? Jason thought he should've been found by now. That he should've been found and brought in so he could...
Jason had an image of Akihiro in his head. He imagined his hands closing around the smug bastard's throat before slamming his skull into something sharp. Repeatedly. He closed his eyes and took a breath. He let the image linger for a moment and smiled. Then he pushed it away. He couldn't get worked up now. So instead he hit the elevator button, perhaps a little too hard, and road the elevator to the common area floor.
Jason entered the common room, a large space that held individual rooms for him and the rest of the team. Walking inside, he saw Laureen slumped across the couch in front of the TV, a controller in her lap, a bag of chips sprawled next to her, and a Diet Coke on the other side. She was playing a video game, which Jason could see appeared to be a fantasy game of some kind. Her character was running across a castle of some sort, dodging what looked like lizard people as booming music played.
"Hey," Jason said, shutting the door. He glanced at the screen. "Aren't we all supposed to be going to bed early?"
"Shut uuuuuuup," Laureen moaned, not taking her eyes from the screen. "I just have to beat this last boss and then I'll go to bed. Now fuck off."
Jason smirked. A bit of his awful feeling slipped away. He moved forward, skittering as quickly as he could past Laureen's television and darted into his room. He shut the door, cutting off the sounds of the TV, before flicking on his light switch.
His room was small, with a single bed, a desk, and a closet in it. It didn't have any windows or decorations, making it a tad depressing to be in at times but Jason didn't spend a whole lot of time in here. So he didn't mind that much. Sure beat his old place in Harlem, anyway.
Jason peeled off his costume, hanging it inside the closet. He stretched before getting into bed and pulled the covers over himself. He raised his arm, twisting his hand backward and flicking off the light switch over his bed with his pinky. The lights went out, plunging the room into darkness, save for a tiny sliver of light under the door radiating from the TV outside.
Jason sighed and closed his eyes. It had been a long day. And tomorrow was going to be a hell of a lot longer. He was slightly nervous about tomorrow but not as much as when the Director had first announced it. He had totally freaked then. Now he had come to terms with it and was a bit calmer.
The Metahman Agency was a secret organization, naturally. But their methods hadn't exactly won them brownie points with the public and their efforts to stop violent metahumans had lead to a worldwide panic over metahumans. People talked about them like they were monsters, talk shows were coming up with new conspiracy theories everyday, and anti-metahuman sentiment had increased to huge heights. All of that was helped by the destructive attacks by Zeus and Akihiro in New York, Washington, Connecticut, Colorado, and Chicago. Fear of metahumans was a big, big problem.
The Director, though, had come up with a solution. A rather...simple one, actually but still unexpected and unconventional. She had decided to go public. Unveil the Metahuman Agency to public and show them as heroic figures to the masses.
Jason wasn't sure if that would work. After all, he'd been seen by a lot of people and most had been terrified of him. Although a few had been reasonable when they'd talked to him, so maybe it wasn't such a bad idea either. In any case, he didn't have a say in the matter, although he had been freaking out at first. But now he figured it would be fine. Not like they were revealing their identities at tomorrow's press conference.
Jason snorted. Shit...he was going to a fucking press conference. Jesus. Now that he never expected to do. Damn, there'd be reporters there and politicians and all kinds of crazy stuff. He was going to be on TV! He wondered what people would think of him, standing in his costume before millions of viewers. Would they be scared of him? Laugh at him? He didn't know. But he'd find out soon. He hoped it would turn out positive. And he was sure it would. Maybe. Possibly.
He sighed and rolled over. All this worrying was getting him nowhere. He'd just lie awake all night at this rate. Time for sleep. He could worry tomorrow, when he'd be parading through a sea of reporters and all that shit. Damn, this was either gonna be fun or the worst thing ever. Well, not the worst thing, but it was high up there.
Jason made a mental note to remember not to be an ass to anyone. Or lose his temper and punch a dude's lights out. Or act creepy with contorting his body and crawling about. None of that.
His mental checklist done, Jason closed his eyes. Sleep didn't come easily but when it finally did, he slept like a log.