The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 130: Shifty Business

Book 2: Chapter 130: Shifty Business

Dan's prediction had been close, but not quite on point. Galeforce's target was not an expensive shopping mall, but rather an expensive condominium in the neighborhood directly behind one. The windswept moron dropped out of the sky like a meteor into the center plaza of the condo complex, and announced to the world his intention to 'totally crap on some criminals.' The idiotic proclamation was made via his livestream, and instantly picked up by every news station in the state.

Galeforce was not subtle, and he was not precise. Dan still shuddered at the young vigilante's attempts at 'helping' in the aftermath of the Galveston hurricane. He had superb control over his powers, but very little care when it came to safely applying them. The fool carelessly tossed about debris like it was dirty clothes. There was no thought to it at all. It was impressive, and impressively stupid, all at once.

The young man obviously carried a narcissistic bent. Dan suspected he acted the way he did because he thought it looked cool. He'd stumbled upon phenomenal cosmic power and was using it to enrich himself. Normally, Dan might congratulate the kid on a scheme well executed. He wasn't about throw stones from inside his glass house. Dan was the last person who would complain about monetizing Natural abilities. Unfortunately, Galeforce had chosen a method that actively endangered other people. Not out of malice, but simple stupidity.

Dan pulled out his phone and tuned into Galeforce's stream. He watched the vigilante summon a miniature tornado in the middle of a civilian housing complex. The wind rattled windows and hurled potted plants about with great abandon. It also propelled the vigilante skyward, and he spun in a slow circle, muttering something to himself. Props to the kid, he'd fixed his audio. His rambling words were actually a series of numbers.

Room numbers, Dan corrected quickly. Dunkirk must have given Galeforce specific room numbers to hit. The fed had obviously included a rough location as well, because it only took a few moments for Galeforce—and his camera—to zero in on a room.

"Found you!" the vigilante shouted, giddy excitement in his voice. The camera floated backwards to capture his entire body in the frame. He jabbed his palm forward, chest jutting out heroically, as a blast of wind buffeted the sturdy wooden door. It held admirably, but briefly. First it cracked, then it splintered, then it shattered. It was carried along by the gust of wind, hurled violently inward. It made it ten feet inside, before breaking against the form of a man clad in flowing silver.

"Lookie here ladies and gentleman, we have a new challenge— Oh shit!" Galeforce's monologue was cut off by a hail of gunfire. The audio was quickly drowned out by the sound of roaring wind, as Galeforce spun up a tornado to defend himself. The silver man's skin rippled, like pebbles cast into a still pond. The ripples flowed down his thighs and into his feet, coiling into springs. He crossed both arms in front of himself, then launched forward as fast as a cannonball.

Galeforce dropped like a stone. The silver blur passed over his head, and was caught on a vicious updraft. He was launched off screen, but even over the howling wind, Dan could hear the crash. It was the sound of breaking stone and wood, of something heavy being hurled through a neighboring condo. He could hear screaming, and gunfire, and sirens.

Dan sucked in a sharp breath. This was incredibly overt, compared to the last few times Galeforce had appeared. The vigilante could never be described as low-key, but he'd generally contained his crime fighting to less populated areas. Small towns, or random black market upgrade dens out in the boonies. Places that the local police couldn't respond to in time. He struck fast, and left quickly. The pattern here was different. The sirens on the stream were growing louder, pulsing out of sync with the ones Dan could hear blaring across the city. The sound looped with itself in a strange, eerie rhythm.

Dan swapped browser windows, and tuned in to a local news station. They spoke about an impending police response, and he watched, live, as a chopper filmed from the distance. The condominium was wrapped in a thick layer of swirling dust. Rows of flashing red and blue zipped along the freeway below, like a trail of patriotic ants. Dan scanned the screen, part of him expecting to see the gunship they'd snatched from the NG zipping across the sky. It was a silly thought; the chopper was stilling undergoing repairs from its cold nap, and wouldn't be able to fly for some time. It seemed that the precautions Gable had taken to shore up the APD's assets had come just a little too late.

Somewhere below him, a door opened. Dan's veil picked up rubber soles on linen carpet, and he immediately snapped his attention to the room he was meant to be watching. Something alive had just walked through the door. Dan's veil slithered over clothes, a watch, a phone. Everything pointed to Dunkirk, or someone shaped exactly like him and wearing his clothes. The man stopped beside the safe and knelt to examine it. His hand held something plastic and filled with electronics. He ran it across the pain gun, then pocketed both items. He stepped into the center of the room, then did something with his phone.

Dan's phone buzzed, and he checked it. The second half of his payment had just arrived. This was Dunkirk. Dan's veil sunk into the heel of the fed's shoe, carved out a tiny chunk of material, and replaced it with the tracking device Cornelius had given him. Dunkirk pocketed his phone, turned towards the door, and swiftly left.

Dan sent a text to Cornelius, then followed. It wasn't easy, at first. Dunkirk took the elevator down to the crowded lobby, where Dan couldn't freely teleport, and his veil was confused by the dozens of living bodies. The distance between the roof and the ground floor was enormous, and even with his veil spun thinner than a spider's web, his pool of energy was running out of juice. Dan almost panicked, before remembering his newest discovery.

He found a flat piece of gravel, sunk his veil into it, and made a tiny viewport into the lobby. It was the size of a button hole, just enough for him to peek through. He held the chunk of gravel up to his eye and stared into it like it held the secrets of the universe. He watched Dunkirk make long, confident strides towards the door, quickly leaving sight. Dan simply reoriented his portal, creating a new one outside the hotel, hidden in the shadow of a window pane. Dunkirk walked across the street and moved directly towards a nearby alley. He passed through it, and into a neighboring street, then crossed over to a nearby rent-a-locker.

Dan appeared on the roof of the building, still holding his spyglass-rock. He peeked inside, and saw Dunkirk entering the bathroom, toting a duffel bag that he must have retrieved from one of the lockers. The man moved quickly. By the time Dan reoriented his peephole, Dunkirk was already changed and on the way back out. He'd swapped his fancy suit and tie for gym shorts and a baggy t-shirt. He'd mussed up his hair, then had thrown on a ball cap and gigantic aviators. He'd swapped out his business shoes for sneakers.

His shoes...

Dan swore! The shoes! The damn tracker was inside the shoes, and the shoes were no longer attached to Dunkirk! He stabbed his veil down through the roof, and snaked it towards the lockers. Dunkirk opened up a locker and stuffed in his duffel, and Dan immediately pressed into it with his veil. He needed to find the shoes, remove the bug, and plant it back into Dunkirk. He had to move quick, because Dunkirk was already on his way out the door.

Dan frantically searched the duffel, his veil reporting the sensations that it felt— and his brain stuttered to a standstill. There were clothes in the bag, yes, but also something liquid, and something electronic. The pain gun was missing, likely stuffed into the baggy shirt that Dunkirk had left in. This was something else. Dan couldn't be sure, exactly, what it was, but he had a suspicion.

He was pretty sure it was a bomb.