78 mph.
Jax was untouchable on the mound and utterly alone off it.
Then came The Patch.
He exhaled. He reached up with his free hand and peeled the silicone disc from behind his ear. It came off with a soft, wet pop . The hum died. The pain in his shoulder roared back like a freight train.
The final game of the World Series. Bottom of the 9th, two outs, bases loaded, full count on the best hitter in baseball. The score was 3-2. Jax had already thrown 34 pitches—a number his natural arm would have exploded at, but The Plug-In simply rerouted the pain signals. pitcher plugin
The Plug-In was offering him a choice. A real, human choice. Lose the game, but win back his soul.
He wound up. His natural arm, tired and true, dragged through the slot. The ball floated toward the plate. 78 mph
The hitter, expecting hellfire, was so shocked he swung a full half-second too early, his bat whistling through empty air as the ball thudded into the catcher's mitt.