Chapter 18 (1/2)

Downtown Atlanta smelt like burnt toast and ash. The air was heavy with heat, an oppressive blanket that smothered Dan's senses. His clothes were drenched in sweat after mere seconds, and the feeble breeze did nothing to cool him. Dan stared down at his glistening hands in consternation.

”This is... real?” he murmured, clenching his hand into a fist. He felt the muscles tighten and strain, he felt his body protest against itself. Dan relaxed, and the pain resolved into a dull ache.

”It most certainly is not,” Marcus spoke into his ear. Dan flinched backwards, spinning around in surprise. Charred buildings met his gaze, their burnt out husks still smoldering. Smoke billowed out of open windows, casting a shadow over the sky.

”Be calm. I am not there,” Marcus soothed.

Dan paused his frantic searching. Of course Marcus wasn't here. This was Atlanta. Georgia. Earth. A villain had just destroyed a chunk of the city. Dan was here for search and rescue, to lend what aid that he could. He'd just left Abby's; he had seen the devastation and wanted to help.

Except... that wasn't quite right.

He glanced at his surroundings once more. Destroyed buildings loomed large over him, crumbling and broken. The surrounding streets were warped from the blast, leaving the ground unstable. Dan could see a pair of ATVs in the distance, dragging small trailers filled with supplies towards a hastily erected pavilion. Volunteers were to gather there, to be briefed on how they could assist the police and firefighters in the area. Beyond the tent, officials rushed about with clipboards, frantically making notations and shouting orders.

Dan could practically sense the controlled panic that filled the air. He could see the determined anger on the faces of the distant volunteers. He could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance. It felt real.

”I'm... not here?” Dan stated uncertainly.

”No,” Mercury's disembodied voice remarked calmly.

Dan furrowed his brow, murky memories swimming to the front of his mind. ”You said I wouldn't forget.” He tried not to sound angry—he was a little bit too disoriented to be angry—but he couldn't keep the accusation out of his tone.

”You are entirely too accepting of other realities. I... did not expect that. You didn't fight the simulation at all.” Mercury sounded as apologetic as Dan had ever heard him be.

”I suppose I am,” Dan said slowly, ”but this is far from the strangest thing that's happened to me.”

”Yes. I expected you to immediately question your surroundings. I should have taken your previous experiences into account.” Marcus admitted.

Dan closed his eyes and counted to ten. The world seemed to stabilize more with every second. His confusion faded, slowly replacing itself with purpose. He could lambaste the doctor later. Hallucination or not, there were people that needed help.

Dan took a deep breath and started walking towards the nearby emergency tents.

”So, this is your training exercise. What am I supposed to do?” he asked quietly.

”It seems like you havesome ideas of your own,” Marcus chuckled. ”The scenario is this: You are licensed for disaster relief and have arrived to assist in the aftermath of the Atlanta attacks. You'll find a card in your wallet with your credentials. Speak to any of the official looking fellows with clipboards and they'll get you sorted.”

”I'm not licensed for disaster relief,” Dan argued, as he altered his path toward a woman matching the doctor's description. A small queue of people formed in front of her, and a crate of orange vests sat behind her.

”Quite right. This little exercise should perfectly illustrate why such things are necessary. Fear not, however, for I will walk you through it.”

Dan grimaced as he stepped into line. His hand dipped into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. A few errant flicks, and Dan retrieved his crisis license. The amount of information listed on it was startlingly short. His name, gender, and age, a personalized serial number, and a garbled sequence of letters, symbols, and numbers next to his upgrade description.

”What does S-HP17* stand for?” Dan asked with bemusement.

”That is the shorthand notation for your upgrade. The poor woman in front of you has to memorize every single one of them available to the public. The star indicates a mutation, the specifics of which cannot be condensed into short-hand. The number is the upgrade version.”

”There have been seventeen iterations of the Short-hop?” Dan clarified quietly.

”Mm, yes. Not much interest in it after the first dozen or so failures. Unlimited, unrestricted teleportation is the Holy Grail of transportation, but the Short-hop lacked potential.”

Dan swallowed heavily and remained silent. The line moved quickly, and soon he was facing the overworked woman at the front.

”Credentials,” she demanded impatiently, holding out her hand.

Dan passed over his crisis license and his non-driver ID card. The woman glanced over both with alarming alacrity, pausing very briefly at the Dan's upgrade description. Her eyes flicked to him.

”Mutate?” she asked.

Dan nodded meekly.

She scowled. ”Well?”

Dan glanced between her and the volunteers behind him. More scowls appeared, much to his confusion.

”She needs you to describe your power, Daniel,” Mercury informed Dan with not at all hidden exasperation.

”Oh.” Dan said aloud. His eyes widened as the woman's scowl deepened.

”Oh! Right, my Short-hop range is increased to about five miles, and doesn't require line of sight. I also haven't found a limit on the number of times I can jump,” he babbled quickly. Even in this false world, he would rather keep his power a secret.

He thought for a moment, then added, ”I can move up to my weight in non-living materials.”

The woman's scowl faded minutely. She visibly pondered the specifics of his power, then turned to the crate behind her.

”You're on call for medical,” she told him frankly, digging a bright orange vest out from the box and passing it over.

”What? I don't know anything about medicine—” Dan tried to interject, but a handheld transceiver radio was shoved into his face.