And they do. They disperse. They go home.

Stunned, I look at Phoenix. He suddenly seems smaller than six feet one, lighter than 205 pounds, younger than twentysomething. "You won!" I tell him.

"They had the weapons, the numbers, but they backed down to the image of Phoenix Jones," he says.

I feel an impulse to celebrate with him, but suddenly the full weight of the evening comes crashing down on me.

"I'm going to bed," I say.

"We'll stand here for ten minutes and solidify the corner," he replies. "You don't want to stand with us?"

"Definitely not," I say.

I jump into the taxi. And when I arrive back at the hotel, my legs buckle and I almost fall onto the floor.

···

Five a.m. My phone rings. It's Phoenix, shrieking with laughter, babbling, hyperventilating, releasing all the adrenaline.

"That was ridiculously intense! In a few hours, I've got to be a day-care worker!"

···

It's the next afternoon. There's a comic convention in town, at the Washington State Convention Center in the business district. There are something like 30,000 people here, families and costumed comic fans, packing the modern glass building. I spot Knight Owl and another Seattle superhero named Skyman. He is only semicostumed. He's unmasked and goateed, and he's wearing a white T-shirt with a Skyman logo of his own design.

"Ooh, look, the Rocketeer!" he says at a passing costumed attendee. "You never see Rocketeer costumes! That is priceless! I gotta get me a photo of that! Ooh! Lady Riddler! Nice!"

Skyman approaches a Batman. "Is that a real bulletproof outfit?" he asks him. "No," Batman replies a little apologetically.

"This place," I tell Knight Owl, "is full of costumed people who would never confront drug dealers in the middle of the night. You and Phoenix and Skyman exist in some shadow world between fantasy and reality."

"Yeah," Knight Owl replies. "What we do is _hyper_reality!"

And then there are cheers and gasps and applause: Phoenix Jones has arrived. He is a superstar here. He sees me and we hug—two brave warriors who have been through a great adventure together.

"Thank you for making our city safe!" a woman in the crowd calls out to him.

"You're a very cool man!" someone else shouts.

I tell Phoenix it is time for me to leave.

"When you write this, be sure to tell everyone that what we do is dangerous," he says.

"I think you're great," I say. "But I'm worried you're going to get yourself killed."

"Well, don't make it seem like I'd be dying for a choice," he replies. "I couldn't quit if I wanted. You know how many people in this city look up to me? I haven't paid for my own coffee in six months."

And I suddenly realize I feel about Phoenix the same way everyone here does. I think he is an awesome superhero.

As I walk out, I hear a father whisper to his young son, "That's a real superhero."

"Are you a real superhero?" the little boy asks Phoenix.

Phoenix looks down at him and smiles.

"I'm as real as you can get."