It still felt weird to be out in the open.
To be out of self-made containment.
Stryker didn't like crowds anymore, couldn't really handle more than three people in a room now.
A big upset compared to the crowd control situations he had been in before.
But he didn't like to be holed up either.
He didn't like the idea of being stuck in one place.
Not anymore, anyways.
Ever since what happened had happened, ever since the whole Revenant thing had started and finished, it felt like he was just stuck in this limbo. The ordeal had left its impression on him, and it was one that would never leave him; it was one that would follow him for the rest of his life.
There was relief to be had that he was no longer stuck in the physical manifestation of Hell, but being back home didn't feel right either.
It didn't even feel like home anymore.
Instead, there was this constant nagging in the back of his head that reminded him how he would never fit in again.
That his life from before was over- snuffed out and cut short.
In the worst way possible.
It still made his head spin whenever he tried to sort his thoughts out over it.
One minute, he was just a NYC cop.
And the next minute, he's being dragged into what feels like some kind of fantasy, underground fighting ring.
And no one around him bats a fucking eye over it.
And then he's dead.
Stryker tried not to think on it too often.
The touch of someone's hand against his arm was enough to pull him from his thoughts. It was enough to bring him back to focus, back to the present.
Enough to remind him that he was on a classified, highly-secured military base in the middle of God knows what desert. The heat and the dryness of the air reminded of him that other place. Not to the same extreme, but it didn't take much for him to connect the pieces. He knew he was back in Earthrealm just based on the day-night cycle alone, and that was all he needed to focus on.
The desert was cooler at night and the subtle breeze on his skin let him know he still had a few hours before the temperature dropped too low.
The breeze brought attention to the numbness of his fingertips, reminding him of the cold beer he still had in his hand, completely untouched.
"Sorry about the beer," Sonya started, as she stepped past him and moved to the open railing across from him. "I took these from Cassie's hidden stash and figured she had better taste than this. Apparently I was wrong."
Stryker chuckled and moved the bottle to his other hand, rubbing his numb fingertips against his jeans to get feeling back to them.
When the General asked if he was up for company tonight, he didn't think much into it.
Sonya had been a constant in his recovery, almost taking him on as a personal case herself. He had asked her once why she felt compelled to be so involved with the former Revenants, and she had given the simple answer that it was her responsibility. He knew there was more to the answer, but she never gave away more than that.
What he didn't anticipate was being dragged up into one of the watch towers on the perimeter of the SF base, with the only light sources being the crescent moon and the motion-activated spotlights.
They were about as isolated as one could get on a military base.
"I've busted up plenty of underage drinkers," Stryker remarked. "They always go for the cheap kind."
"Maybe, but Cassie gets paid plenty- and she's not underage," Sonya replied. "And with how often she's going to the convenience store, you'd think she could at least pick up something with a better label. There's never a good reason to drink bad beer."
"You're still drinking it," he pointed out.
"Yeah, but I don't want to be."
There was some building irony as Stryker watched her take a drink from the dark-auburn bottle, and then watched as she grimaced with the apparent offensive flavor. And yet, despite looking like she was struggling to down it, she took yet another sip.
Bad beer was still beer, he supposed.
"So what's been on your mind?" Sonya questioned, as she leaned back against the railing behind her now.
"Tough question," he replied.
"You've answered worst."
She had a point.
Sighing, Stryker leaned against the railing behind him just the same as he tried to organize his own thoughts. He tried to buy himself some time as he took the first sip from the beer in hand- and admittedly, the woman had a point as he felt the almost bitter flavor coat his mouth.
"It's bad," Sonya remarked, no doubt reading the expression his face. "I should've picked up something better to celebrate with."
"It's fine," he tried to assure, although he was clearly lying through his teeth about it.
It didn't help that his voice may or may not have cracked when he spoke.
He had had his experiences with bad beer, so he knew that he would eventually get used to the flavor- as unfortunate as it was.
He still hadn't answered her question though.
"Its just- it's odd," Stryker started, not entirely sure how to go about what he wanted to say. "It's been twenty-seven years and it doesn't feel like it. Some days it does, I guess. Other days it feels more like fifty- and sometimes, it doesn't feel like any time has passed."
Sonya would know more about the feeling than he would.
She knew a lot more about this whole situation than he did.
"That's what I hear," Sonya nodded.
She made the motion like she was going to speak again but stopped herself.
And Stryker had a feeling he knew what she was going to say.
She wanted to promise him that it would get better, that he'd pull himself through this.
That there would be a light at the end of the tunnel for him.
But she couldn't make that kind of promise.
It was a situation he had been in many times himself. Words of encouragement and support were always needed in the aftermaths of something gone wrong, but there was a fine line in giving support and making a promise. And there was no sense in pretending that you could promise someone complete recovery. It was usually what people wanted to hear though, just so that if things didn't turn out as planned, they could blame someone else for the trouble.
"It's not exactly New York's finest establishment, but I hope it's a good substitute," Sonya spoke instead, offering a swift change of the subject.
"Shit beer, good company- all you're missing is the noise and the assholes for the authentic New York experience," Stryker offered.
"Oh, there are assholes around here somewhere," she assured.
He chuckled and muscled his way through another sip of beer.
"God, I haven't thought about New York in a long time," he remarked, speaking his thoughts out loud for once.
He was trying to get out of the habit of keeping his thoughts to himself. He used to be pretty open about what he was thinking and never hesitated to let someone know what he really thought about them- even if it meant calling them out. He had been called honest and blunt because of it, got called an asshole a few times as well but that was a given.
There just didn't seem to be any reason in mincing his words if the situation called for it.
He wasn't an idiot though; there was always a time and place for everything- but God help him if the time was right.
"I could never go back there," Stryker continued. "Although now that I'm out of the city, I'm not sure if I would want to go back even if it was possible. They probably didn't even realize I was gone- well maybe except for the lack of parking tickets."
He heard Sonya almost choke through her next sip of beer, almost spitting it out.
The taste must've been getting to her now.
"You don't even know the start of it," she remarked, brushing the back of her hand across her lips before she wiped it against her pants.
Stryker shot her a questioning look- and received a surprised one in return.
"Right, you've been avoiding the news," Sonya started, as she moved to set her beer down onto a nearby folding table. The watch tower was a bit cramped, but there was space for some furniture- although most of it was the folding kind. "A lot has happened since you were gone, obviously more than you probably thought. I can... bring you up to speed on everything if you want. It might be a little heavy handed, but that's up for you to decide."
He had purposely been avoiding hearing about anything outside of the Special Forces base- anything to do with him anyways.
Which, given the two years of remission, was a little harder than he thought it would be.
He wanted to focus on himself, on getting himself back under control and getting back into the right kind of headspace.
Which, again, was proving to be harder than he'd like.
For what it was worth, it felt like he was at a good standing now and days.
And despite his initial objective thoughts, curiosity was a fickle creature.
"Let's take it slow," Stryker replied, "don't give me too much at one time."
"I can do that," she assured. "You got a preference for where I start?"
"Wherever you want to start."
Sonya mused over his response, looking as though she was trying to figure out the best place to start; it implied to him that, while she had made the offer, she might not have expected him to pick up on it.
He couldn't blame her though.
He had turned down her other offers each time.
"Say what you will about your career, Kurtis, but you left a huge impact on New York City."
The fact Sonya had used his first name told him enough about what was to come.
"After the whole city invasion and Tournament fiasco, you couldn't watch the news without hearing your name, or seeing your face plastered somewhere on-screen," she started. "For a whole month, the news just ran testimonials about you. Reporters just went walking out onto the streets, walking up to random people and asking what they thought about you. There were a lot of good things to be said, a lot of things that I didn't know about you."
Admittedly, he would be ignorant to ignore his somewhat superstar status in the city.
Do a few good deeds and suddenly everyone in the city knew his name and knew what he looked like.
It was all just part of the job to him, but for some reason a lot of his actions got blown out of proportion.
"They were probably embellishing," Stryker evaded. "They did that from time to time. I was just a cop- nothing more."
"Really?" Sonya mused. "Because I heard the whole thing about saving the orphans on the bus-"
"Anyone could've done that," he interrupted.
"I don't think I could have," she replied.
"I'm sure you could if you tried."
The General rolled her eyes at him and chuckled under her breath. "This is what I'm talking about, Kurtis, you aren't aware of your impact. And despite what happened, despite how you see yourself, to other people you were more than just a good cop."
He never accepted anything more than just being a cop before, there was no reason for him to accept it now.
Especially with everything that had happened.
"The NYPD has a huge memorial for you out front," Sonya continued. "I used to go to it every few years to see how it looked, to see if it was still there. There were always flowers every time I went."
"A memorial?" Stryker repeated. "That's a little... much."
"They have a new task force they named after you too," she added. "The STRYKER unit. Don't ask me what exactly they do, because I don't know- but I imagine it's something akin to what you were already doing."
"You're embellishing."
"Look it up."
It felt like she was antagonizing him now.
If the words had come from anyone else but the General herself, he wouldn't believe them.
He'd probably slander them for lying to him.
But Sonya was far from the kind of person to mince words and embellish things; she wouldn't speakeasy even if it meant sparing someone's feelings. If anything, she was a lot like him- blunt and honest, even if it hurt.
It made his head hurt trying to figure out why so much would happen in his absence.
"Even after twenty-seven years?" Stryker questioned- and he was the first to admit to how quiet his voice came out when he spoke.
"The person you envisioned yourself to be wasn't how other people saw you," she reminded. "And in this case, it was for the better."
Stryker escaped into his beer for a moment, thinking the words over in his head.
He could still recall the invasion day as clear as the hour that it happened.
It was still a blur of movement, a blur of rushed actions, of on-the-spot decision making.
He remembered how everyone looked to him on what to do- officers and civilians alike. He could still feel the pressure to make the right call, to ensure everyone's safety even though he was just as lost as they were; he just tried not to let it show. There was never any shame in not knowing what to do, but with the city falling apart in his hands, and with his understanding of the world shattering around him, he couldn't risk sending someone off to their death.
If he was the only causality that day, then it was a success.
[But he wasn't.]
"What... what do people think happened to me?" Stryker finally questioned, asking the one thing that had been on his mind for decades now.
Sonya shrugged at first, delaying her own response by taking a sip of beer.
"The rumors are here and there mostly, but there was never an official answer given- at least not one with evidence," she started. "The accepted answer by the news, and by the Special Forces as well, is that you died in the terrorist attack on the city. Your body was never recovered, but given the damage the city went through it wasn't surprising- or suspicious. Someone did manage to find your badge in the rubble, which only added to that theory."
Stryker figured that would be the easiest answer to give.
He was sure plenty of people went missing given how those beasts kept knocking their way through buildings.
"There are less accepted rumors," Sonya continued. "Like how you're on some special undercover mission to infiltrate the same terrorist group that attacked the city so that you can destroy them from the inside. The news wouldn't take it into consideration, but it's been semi-supported on the internet since another attack like that hasn't happened since you disappeared."
He couldn't help but to chuckle at the thought.
Give it to New Yorkers to have a solid explanation- and yet still want to have their conspiracies too.
"The people are known to be... eccentric- erratic even," Stryker remarked. "Too many people with too many ideas, you know? They see too many things in the movies and, given how the invasion went, people probably thought something that radical could happen in real-life as well."
"You can't blame them for being creative," she mused. "Although..."
"Don't tell me it gets worse," he started, catching on to her trailing voice.
"There were some erratic conspiracy theorists who think that the terrorist attack was a cover-up, and that beings from another planet invaded instead. And that you were forced to leave with them to defend Earth in some strange Tournament made up of other planets- like some kind of intergalatic battle royale."
Stryker shot the woman a concerned look at the... oddly specific theory.
"They also think that you later died in said-Tournament and that you now fight with the legion of the undead."
"Sonya-"
"People think that the government knows what happened, but that they're covering it up because the people of Earth can't know about the other planets- or about the constant state of danger that we're in."
Stryker didn't say anything this time.
Instead, he watched as Sonya took another sip of her beer.
"Crazy rumor, am I right?" she remarked. "People really get these kinds of ideas in their heads- and then spread them all over the internet."
"Yeah- yeah, like I said, the city's really... open-minded sometimes," Stryker replied. "Tell me, General, you wouldn't have had any hand in releasing that kind of conspiracy theory, would you?"
"No," Sonya assured. "I know what really happened."
"True, but in this instance, I don't think that really helps your case."
She chuckled and turned to dump the rest of her bottle over the side of the railing. "Alright, it's gotten to me, I can't finish that," she started. "I'll make sure to grab something better for next time."
"So now there's a next time?" he questioned.
"There's always going to be a next time, Kurtis."