Book 2: Chapter 29: Get Help (1/2)

Dan's veil found the villain's trail before Dunkirk did. It was easier for him, as his power tunneled easily through concrete and earth. Getting a firm grasp on what he sensed was more difficult, but he could parse the basics. At some point inside the maze-like lower level of the field office, the villain had decided to make his own path.

Dan had been mentally referring to the man as a metal-manipulator, but it seemed as if he'd need to revise that to matter-manipulator. He could follow the trail the man's body had made by the warping of material. It seemed as if the villain had simply walked into, and through, the closest wall, bee-lining towards his target without regard for what stood in front of him.

The walls were, for the lack of a better term, slurry. It was the same warped mix that Dan's veil had felt when the villain had first emerged from the cargo trailer. The effect seemed to merge materials that he touched, twisting them together like Play-Doh. Dan could follow the man's passing through the strange sensation of bonded material. He wondered, idly, if the villain could have used his power productively, creating super-materials for the benefit of humanity and his own bank account.

What a waste.

He considered relaying this information to the injured agent, but decided to wait. At this point, there wasn't much Dan could tell him other than, ”He went that way,” and pointing somewhere underground. Not exactly helpful. Not before he'd found the villain himself, or whatever he was searching for.

Dan carefully eased another groaning volunteer into the waiting ambulance. At this point, he was seriously considering grabbing a second vehicle. If nothing else, the injured fed might be able to drive it, albeit unsafely. Though if the occasion were to arise that a concussed and maimed federal agent was needed to drive a vehicle, safety would be Dan's last concern.

It was as he was waffling over this decision, that his veil found the prison cells. That was the only way to describe them: reinforced square rooms, half a dozen of them, buried at the heart of the facility beneath the field office. The doors were made of a clear glass that reminded Dan of his own windows, incredibly dense, and sealed perfectly flush with the walls. When he found the first, Dan didn't immediately understand. It was only after his veil had tagged the others that he understood what the villain had come here to do. The gaping hole in one of the cells was as clear a sign as any.

It was such a ludicrous thing to find that Dan almost burst out laughing. What was with this dimension's insane obsession with underground lairs? This was probably the third or fourth he'd found in just over a year! Granted, it was easier for him to find them than most, but this was just one city! Surely there were some kind of zoning laws that would make building the damn things a little harder!?

Regardless, it was time to tell the feds what he'd found. Dan blinked beside the injured agent, getting a sharp, surprised gasp from the man as he tried to orient his pistol in Dan's direction. Probably... not Dan's best idea, given the man was injured, paranoid, and holding a gun. Dan gently pushed the barrel back down.

”So my mutation gives me some sensory abilities,” Dan stated quickly, unwilling to get into the nitty-gritty details of his power. ”I can sense the jail cells beneath the field office. One of them is broken open, and I'm pretty sure that big villain was the cause.”

The trooper, whose skin was already sallow from his injuries, somehow paled even further. For a moment, Dan was worried he'd pass out. The man had lost a good deal of blood, but he quickly rallied himself.

”Is there anyone in the cells? Anyone at all?”

Dan poked at the floor, searching for the tell tale signs of feet against concrete. He found nothing but air.

”No,” Dan replied.

The wounded agent swallowed weakly. ”Please, bring me a radio,” he managed to gasp out. His own hung from his belt, missing half its antenna and most of its face.

Dan complied, automatically sweeping his eyes across the battlefield before grimacing at the scene. He reoriented towards the unconscious feds, dragged off to the side by their compatriots. He quickly unstrapped the first radio he saw, checking that it was on, before passing it to the injured fed.

”What's your name, by the way?” Dan asked.

The federal agent's eyes flicked to Dan, then to the radio. He checked it for a headset—it must have gotten unplugged at some point— before weakly bringing it to his lips and pressing the transmission button.

”This is Trainee Don O'Brien calling from the surface;” he murmured into the radio's receiver. ”Special Agent Dunkirk, are you receiving me sir?”

There was a brief pause, before the radio crackled.

”Confirmed O'Brien. Make it fast.” Dunkirk's voice was no longer as raspy, but he sounded tense and annoyed.

”Sir, the civilian volunteer out here has just told me that his upgrade has a sensory aspect,” O'Brien began hesitantly.

”Get to the point Trainee,” Dunkirk interrupted, dropping all pretense of protocol.

O'Brien flinched. ”He says the prisoner has escaped, sir.”