From Bullets To Billions

Chapter 145: Jay’s Past

”You want to know… why I fight? Why I joined Dipter?” Jay echoed, his voice cracking around the edges.

It wasnʼt just surprise in his tone. It was something heavier. Something tangled deep in his chest. No one had ever asked him that before, not like this. Not as a person. Not as someone who mattered.

And he hadnʼt expected it from Max. Of all people.

He thought Max just saw him as the muscle. A blunt tool for a dirty job. Big guy, big fists, end of story. But now Max was asking why, and whatʼs more, heʼd said Jay didnʼt have to fight at all if he didnʼt want to. No pressure. No strings. Just a choice.

That messed with his head more than anything.

Those words echoed, twisted into something warm and unfamiliar. They brought him back to the first time Max had stood up for him, that moment with Snide. When Max had drawn a line and said Jay didnʼt deserve to be treated like trash.

That had stuck with him. Maybe more than he wanted to admit.

”If itʼs you asking,” Jay said slowly, ”the one whoʼs been backing me up… then yeah. Iʼll tell you.”

He took a deep breath. And opened the door to everything he usually kept locked away.

*****

Jay had always thought of himself as a protector. He didnʼt earn that title. He claimed it. Carved it out of necessity.

Because no one else was going to do it.

He wasnʼt alone in the world, not at first. He had a sister. Mira. Her name meant ”light,” and maybe that was fitting, because she was the one good thing that hadnʼt been taken from him.

But from the day she was born, everything else had gone wrong.

Their mother died giving birth to her.

Jay had been nine. Nine years old, standing in a hospital hallway he barely remembered now, clutching the edge of a plastic chair while his father stared blankly at the floor.

It destroyed them.

His dad turned into someone else. Someone cruel. Angry. Dangerous. He blamed Mira for the death, openly, bitterly. Even though she was just a baby. Just a tiny bundle with wide eyes and no idea how broken the world already was.

Jay didnʼt know what to do. So he stepped in.

When his dad screamed, Jay took the shouting. When he swung, Jay stood between him and Mira. At nine years old, he was already bigger than most kids. Big enough to shield her. Big enough to take the hits. And he did.

Every single one.

Until one night, in a storm of fear and fury, Jay shouted something he didnʼt mean, but maybe he did. That theyʼd be better off without their dad. That if he left, maybe things would finally stop hurting.

He didnʼt expect those words to matter.

But they did.

A year later, their dad was gone. No note. No goodbye. Just vanished. One day he was there. The next, he wasnʼt.

The rent was prepaid, but that was it. Jay and Mira were alone in a tiny apartment with peeling paint, empty cabinets, and no idea what came next.

So Jay decided.

At ten years old, he became a father, a brother, and a survivor, all at once.

He learned how to change diapers by watching old videos online. He boiled water for bottles. He held Mira against his chest when she cried and whispered lullabies he barely remembered from before everything fell apart.

He taught himself to cook with canned beans and instant noodles. He visited food banks, telling them his father sent him. He used fake names and made up stories. Anything to keep the food coming.

But it was never enough.

There were days he didnʼt eat. Nights he cried into a couch pillow while Mira slept next to him, wrapped in a secondhand blanket and wheezing softly in her sleep.

He reached out to everyone he could think of, neighbors, teachers, people at church. But help never came. People looked away. Or they gave him tight smiles and muttered ”thatʼs so sad” before turning back to their own lives.

By the time he turned fourteen, Jay stopped asking.

Growing up, Mira never got stronger. She got sicker.

She had been born too early. Her lungs had never developed right. Her immune system was weak. Sometimes it felt like the world itself was too heavy for her to carry.

She missed more school than she attended. Spent more time in bed than out of it. Some mornings, she couldnʼt even lift her arms. Her cough sounded like it was tearing her apart.

Jay would sit next to her, hold her tiny hand, and tell her things he wished were true. That one day theyʼd live in a house with big windows and sunlight that kissed her face. That one day sheʼd run without gasping. That one day sheʼd breathe like everyone else and never have to stop halfway up the stairs.

He made her believe in those dreams, even when he didnʼt.

Behind the scenes, he was breaking.

He took jobs he wasnʼt old enough to have. Worked night shifts at greasy fast food joints. Lifted crates until his back throbbed. He skipped breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner, just so Mira wouldnʼt have to.

He sold everything. His phone. His sneakers. His games. Everything heʼd ever saved, gone to the nearest pawn shop.

But the bills kept coming. Rent. Medication. Doctor visits. Inhalers. X-rays. Lab tests. Always more. Always something.

And then, one night, Mira collapsed in the bathroom. Blood in the sink. Tears in her eyes. Jay holding her in his arms and begging her not to die.

That night rewrote everything.

That night, he stopped pretending kindness was enough.

Thatʼs when Dipter found him. Or maybe he found Dipter. Jay couldnʼt remember anymore. Just that someone offered him money. Real money. And he took it.

He hated himself for it. Hated the things he had to do. Hated the bruises. The lies. The way Mira looked at him like he was still her hero, even when he didnʼt believe it anymore.

But every time he handed cash to a pharmacist or paid off a stack of bills, he told himself it was worth it.

And then Max showed up.

Max handed him five grand like it was nothing. No questions. No conditions.

To Jay, it might as well have been five million.

It meant a month of treatments Mira couldnʼt afford. Blood tests the clinic had been pushing for. A real blanket, one that didnʼt smell like damp and mildew. It meant hope, something he hadnʼt dared to feel in a long time.

Thatʼs what broke him.

Thatʼs why the tears came.

”And thatʼs my story, Max,” Jay said finally. His voice shook with all the weight heʼd just unloaded. ”Iʼm not giving this back. I canʼt. I need it. Bad.”

Max nodded. Calm. Steady.

”I told you. Itʼs yours.”

Jay met his eyes. ”But I need you to know something.”

He took a breath. It felt like stepping into new air. Fresh. Real.

”Iʼm not just thankful. Iʼm… changed. No oneʼs ever helped me without wanting something in return. Not once. You didnʼt even ask what it was for. You just… gave. That means more than you could ever understand.”

He straightened up, taller than before. His voice stopped shaking.

”Whatever youʼre doing, whatever you need, Iʼm with you. For life, Max. Youʼve got me.”

Max looked at him for a beat, then nodded again. ”Good. Because I donʼt need followers, Jay. I need people I can count on.”

Jay smiled.

For the first time in years, it wasnʼt forced.

”Youʼve got one.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Then Joe burst in, all grin and no filter. ”Great! So Iʼve decided something. Now that youʼre officially part of the main group… you get to be the Pink Ranger.”

Jay blinked. ”Me… the Pink Ranger?”

Joe shrugged. ”Yup. Because youʼre a big olʼ softie.”