The meeting was surprisingly friendly after that. Jason didn't have much in the way of wine; he'd always been more interested in beer, for one thing, and for another getting drunk around these people seemed like a terrible idea. He learned quickly enough that this bar was a contact point for the local Supervillain 'Community'; the Don kept things non-violent with a general rule that whoever started it would be directly taken to the hospital for treatment for what happened to people who started it, and never allowed back in; which led to a certain level of concern on Jason's part that Swiftblade might be less concerned about rules than her father.

At that point, however, things had taken a turn sideways. He'd met bank robbers, muggers, burglars; the invisible mutant, calling himself 'The Ripper Chameleon', was actually already wealthy before he'd even gotten involved with the Don, and primarily worked with him to get good deals on all the stolen goods he fenced; he was actually concerned Jason could see him, as he was invisible to visible, infrared, and UV sensors, and had thought all he needed to worry about was sonar.

After a long, unproductive talk where he refused to reveal how he could see him; and demonstrated again that he could find him so long as he was in the open.. some safecracker bought him a beer. And of course, he couldn't turn it down. And when a burglar who'd once been caught by Lightning bought him a round of Jack? Well, he couldn't turn down good Tennessee whiskey.

***

When he woke up the next morning with a complete lack of hangover in the same extremely nice penthouse suite he'd spent the past few days in, he was intensely surprised; he hadn't gotten well and truly drunk since his head injury, and if his new brain had the magical ability to avoid hangovers, well, that sounded damned fine. He was even more surprised to find that he wasn't alone in that bed.

A lithe, dark-skinned young woman beside him in bed.. and a shock of pink hair on the pillow. She was actually a bit curvier than he'd thought seeing her in that outfit; granted, most women looked better out of their clothes than in them in Jason's opinion, but this was an exceptional example, especially considering she'd been wearing essentially a tight armored bodysuit.

Holy shit. Yup. Swiftblade. Penelope Russo, the Don's daughter. Okay, yes, she was attractive. She was also the daughter of a mob boss and intensely frightening. Which meant that his choices here were either kill her in her sleep and run like hell, or absolutely do not do anything to piss her off. And even if that passed, would the Don kill him?

Did anything happen last night? Obviously something did. He tried to focus, to remember. He hadn't planned on drinking at all after that glass of wine but... well. Yes. Something did happen. The memories were vague, but she'd literally dragged him here. God knew where his truck was at this point. And after that... Okay. Strange memories. Frightening memories. He definitely hadn't said yes or agreed to anything that happened last night, but had enjoyed it regardless. At the time, it was one of the scariest moments of his life. But after the fact, knowing he'd survived, pleasant enough.

So, his usual routine in a hotel room back in the day would be to quietly pack, get the hell out of dodge, and maybe leave a note. And if she were particularly good, his phone number and an invitation for some other day. So... what was the best way to handle this. No way in hell the Don wouldn't find out. It was his hotel.

Quietly slipping out of the bed and getting dressed.. noticing that the toes of his boots had literally been half worn off when he was dragged by the much shorter woman.. Jason dressed in more normal clothing; jeans, long-sleeved shirt with the logo of some athletic company he'd never heard of appropriate for the chill air outside, and the boots to his... costume? Uniform? Whatever supervillains called their outfit. He should ask Penelope that. Or Swiftblade? Yeah, she didn't like being called Penelope.

Standing in the next room of the suite, Jason called up room service as he set his holster and custom shroud grenades in place. She might wake up in a killing mood, and if she did, he'd take her with him.

"This is the front desk speaking, Bobby on call, how can I help you?"

"This is Jason Byrne, in room 519. Miss Russo apparently dragged me to my room last night and is asleep there now. If you know what she likes for breakfast, I'd appreciate having it sent up and... if you could let her father know, I'd prefer to avoid that particular conversation."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Ahh... yes, sir. We knew she was on the property, just not which room. Don't feel too bad; the boss hasn't killed any of the last few guys this happened to. Any preferences for yourself, sir?"

Jason blinked. "Ahh.. just bacon and eggs, thank you, Bobby." Set the phone down. Good lord, how often did she do this? Well. At least they were still alive, right?

He stood in the front room, waiting for the... seven minutes, a knock on the door. Now that is fast service. Before opening the door, he 'looked'; making sure. Just a cart loaded with... a truly ridiculous amount of bacon, eggs, and half a dozen gatorade bottles. No guns waiting. No thugs.

He opened the door; the man outside; young, hispanic, polite, giving a nod. "Compliments of the boss, sir. Just... I'd advise keeping anything you say about this within the company."

"Understood." Talking about Swiftblade's habits a negative.

He rolled the cart inside, and slid it right into the bedroom; treated to the sight of Swiftblade stretching as she rose up from the bed; despite the fear, despite knowing how dangerous she was, he couldn't help but feel a touch of attraction there. Well, more than a touch.

"Excellent. If you'd cut and run when you woke up I'd have had to track you down and kill you. Bringing in breakfast? A+." She pulled the cart closer, setting one of the smaller plates aside.. and started to eat. And eat. The speed and volume which she processed the bacon, eggs, and drink on the plate was astounding.

He'd heard Speedsters, aside from Lightning, needed to replenish every calorie they burned. That if they ran ten times as fast as a human, they'd need ten times the energy to do it. But this... Actually seeing the tiny figure eating what appeared to be her weight in protein was.. startling, to say the least.

She glanced up, mumbling something around a mouthful of bacon... and stopped. She was practically dripping with grease, which was, oddly enough, a good look for her. "I'm trying to decide whether you're looking at my tits, which is okay, or if you're watching me eat because you think I'm a freak, in which case I'm gonna tear out your heart and feed it to you. Nice third eye, by the way. You forgot whatever you did to hide it this morning."

Jason turned away immediately, feeling his forehead. "Ahh... Actually, I'm gonna pack up my things and head out to Spring Hills Gulch. And obviously, I'm also a full-fledged member of the 'freak' squad of a more visible persuasion."

He started to put action to words; sorting through the hotel room carefully, making sure he didn't miss any cables, grenades, shells... anything important. He had enough to remake most things in the van, but, well. Best not give anything away he didn't have to.

His uniform.. armor... outfit... costume... Armor worked. His armor was packed up in a duffel bag, alongside everything else; clothes, burner phones, a few hand tools; and even a few of the disposable shampoo bottles from the hotel. He liked this brand.

When he finished packing, he glanced back at her. It couldn't have been five minutes but there was an empty stack of plates beside her already. He headed into the bathroom; slapped a small adhesive pad over his third eye; and started smearing make-up over it. It never looked -good-; it looked like he had some sort of skin condition; but it didn't look like, well. A third eyeball.

Before he finished applying the patch, a blue-suited figure popped in beside him... Jason almost drew his pistol... but he could tell she wasn't there to kill him. She walked up close.. and gently smudged the make-up with her finger. "You need more practice at this. I could tell something was off at the bar. You need it seamless. Daddy can get you a prosthetic face that's seamless."

"Well forgive me for not bothering to learn until I had warrants out and needed to stay on the run."

"Hmph. Well. I'll see you next time you're in town. Or I feel like dropping by."

"Just call first. I'd hate to see you go the way of Lightning by mistake."

A laugh far too girly started up; swiftly turning dark and maniacal. "As if."

He kept his gaze on her. Calm. Serious. He could see exactly what it would take to kill her. Granted, every scenario he imagined, he died too.

She gave a grin in response. "You really mean it, don't you. You think you can take me. Anyone else, I'd call bullshit. But... you did kill lightning. Well. Have fun visiting Valkyrie... Titanslayer."

As she vanished with a blur, leaving a pile of dirty dishes, a thoroughly trashed room, and a confused and frightened Jason behind, he shook his head. "I said Eyeball, damnit. How am I gonna build a brand as a villain if everybody just calls me by whatever random name...."

Titanslayer was much, much cooler. But no way in hell would he go by that when approaching Valkyrie. She might take it as a threat. And, well. Nobody threatened Valkyrie and lived.

***

The trip out of Vegas was vastly different from the trip in. He still had the bike in the back; but it was strapped to the wall of the panel van, completely out of sight. He'd decided to keep it; maybe add some armor or guns or something to it. It could outrun most cop cars, and any non-speedster Meta, so of course it would be useful sometime. And hey; with the Fabricator he could make all sorts of funny-shaped pieces to disguise it; none of this cheap spray-paint crap.

He had a better vehicle; this van was one of the newer ones, and could make it all the way to Alaska without having to stop for gas; more guns; better equipment... and tons of cash. He even had a fabricator running off of the van's systems making pieces for the bike.

Granted... with all the bumps on the highway out to Spring Hills, it'd probably be janky as all hell. But still. Better than nothing, right?