The Law of Averages

Dan crouched over the remnants of Cornelius' assault rifle. The weapon's plastic handguard had cracked under the freezing temperatures it had experienced, and the metal barrel beneath was brittle and fractured. Dan was surprised it hadn't shattered when it had fallen from its owner's limp hands. Apparently, SPEAR team weapons were made of sterner stuff.

Cornelius' assault rifle was in much the same condition as his fellows'. The APD had lost a great deal of equipment to this raid, in addition to manpower. It was the magazine that had first caught Dan's eye, the small, colorful tab on its backside standing out against the ice. The tab signaled a special type of ammo, something incendiary judging from its bright red tint, but Dan's gaze had soon wandered across the rest of the weapon.

There was a deep handprint along the rifle's grip, where Cornelius' had all but shattered the weapon in his confinement. The sight made Dan's stomach churn. It was fear, he realized. It was fear that Cornelius had felt, trapped in the ice. It was fear that had crushed his own rifle beneath the panicked strength of a Twice-Born. Dan almost looked away, not willing to bear witness to his friend's weakness, but Cornelius' own lessons forced him to stay. There was something wrong with this picture. Something off.

What was it?

The trigger guard was cracked, and the trigger itself was worthless. The ejection port was clogged with ice. The weapon couldn't fire even if all else had been functional. The handguard was shredded, from cold and physical strength, but the barrel beneath was touched only by the cold. There was none of the warping that Dan would have expected from a grip squeezing down. Its matte black color was stained with deep cracks, bits of shiny silver guts peeking past the paint.

There were a few small scratches on the inner barrel, around where one's thumb would rest. Dan had assumed it was normal wear and tear, but the more he looked at it, the more... deliberate, they seemed. His gut poked at him, and he acted on the hunch. His veil poked out, running along the length of the barrel.

Dan blinked as information flowed into his mind. He felt where metal had been gouged away. He felt the shape of it. The letters, the message, carved by Cornelius' thumb as he was stranded in a block of ice. Intel, passed along to his fellow officers in case he didn't make it, as surely this weapon would have been examined at some point. Dan was simply the first.

Two letters, a common enough phrase: TP

Dan assumed Cornelius wasn't trying to communicate a need for toilet paper. He quickly called out for Captain Gable, and showed the man what he'd found. The officer produced a magnifying glass out of his pocket, and held it over the barrel, confirming the tiny, etched message for himself.

"It's impossible," he stated in his low, steady tone. "Any teleporter capable of transporting someone into the city would've put out an energy signature that'd be picked up from two states away. That's something you find in a particle physics laboratory, not in the hands of a petty gangster."

"I don't think you can call him a petty gangster anymore," Dan noted quietly. "He's a full on villain, and he clearly had a way in and out that your people couldn't identify."

"You need specialized equipment, on both ends of the transfer, for any sort of known teleportation," Gable pointed out. "And the energy needs are enormous. Even a layman knows that. Why do you think we still have cars? Coldeyes, no matter how large he may have grown, absolutely does not have a spare nuclear reactor sitting around."

"Cornelius seems to think otherwise," Dan pointed out. "Why else would he leave this message?"

Gable stared down at the rifle. "He must have been mistaken. I suspect Coldeyes appeared under the guise of teleportation, but it was a trick. Some kind of illusory upgrade. Any explanation other than a personal teleporter. We couldn't have possibly missed such a thing."

Dan blinked, then cocked his head.

"A personal teleporter," he repeated. "What if they have a Natural who can teleport others?"

Gable frowned. "Unlikely."

"Why?" Dan asked urgently. If the enemy had a teleporter, they needed to start adjusting for it immediately. Dan knew exactly how devastating the power could be, and if this mystery person could bring along other people, he may even be more versatile than Dan.

Gable gestured to him. "You are the most powerful teleporter I've ever heard of, and you can't even transfer a single person, much less an entire group. There were thirty people here."

"You didn't breach for hours," Dan pointed out. "Plenty of time to take them away, one by one. Why else would Cornelius send that message?"

Great, clomping footsteps announced the arrival of Gregoir. He saluted his captain somberly.

"All SPEAR team members present and accounted for," he reported, bereft of his usual sunny smile. "Four were dead upon retrieval, as Daniel suspected. Another two have passed on before they arrived at Austin General. The rest are all in critical condition." He glanced to Dan. "Cornelius is in a coma, and it's likely he'll lose several limbs to frostbite."

There were several upgrades capable of regenerating a limb, but Twice-Born was not one of them. Other options were available, especially to a well connected government employee like Cornelius, but amputation was very much not a thing of the past, even in Dimension A. There was no guarantee the older officer would ever regain the use of his limbs.

Dan scowled harder, and directed Gregoir's attention to Cornelius' rifle. "They have a teleporter," he explained, walking the big blonde through his thought process, while Gable pondered beside them.

"It's not impossible," Gable admitted finally. "It's certainly an explanation. Not one I'd prefer, and I'm still not sure if it fits all the facts."

"We recovered Cornelius' helmet camera," Gregoir offered. "The stream cut out when they dipped below the shielded floor, but the backup recording might be salvageable. We'll have to see."

"That would be nice," Dan said. By which he meant, of course that wouldn't happen.

"Regardless," Gregoir stated, turning to Dan, "these are dire times and information is sparse. Coldeyes has clearly retreated to a different location. Any leads would be useful. I believe it's time to tell Captain Gable about what you have found in the course of your own investigation."

Gable slowly turned towards Dan, cocking his eyebrow. "Your investigation?"

"Ah," Dan stammered. "Well this is awkward."

Four hours later, Dan was at the hospital. Cornelius was laying unconscious in the ICU, being treated for extreme cold exposure, but that wasn't why Dan was here. He stood beside Gregoir, as a doctor ran an analysis on the blood of a young store clerk. Waylon had easily agreed to give his blood when asked by a police officer. He'd complied with the same glassy-eyed, vacant expression that he'd given to Dan through their entire conversation, and seemed utterly unfazed by the explanation given to him.

Another officer was watching over the young man, now. Dan expected they'd be scooping him up for treatment and questioning as soon as this blood test was completed. Given Coldeyes' ghost act, the APD needed any edge that they could get in tracking the man down. Any lead, no matter how thin, would be pursued.

"What happens now?" he asked Gregoir.

"Now, we wait," the blonde replied simply.

Dan shook his head. "No, I mean with the city. A villain basically just declared himself a sovereign citizen. That's... uncommon, right?"

Gregoir turned to look at him. "These days, yes. What happens next depends on the governor. Under normal circumstances he would go to the FBI for help in tracking down and profiling the villain, and they would make a recommendation on the required level of force to eliminate the target. Things would escalate appropriately from there."

"But the FBI are in the wind," Dan pointed out. "They rabbited. You think they're coming back?"

"I don't know," Gregoir admitted. "Their actions have greatly confused me. But at minimum, I would think that the National Guard will be called in to reinforce us. The mayor will likely dip into the budget to hire private security, to reinforce critical infrastructure. I don't know what the federal response will be. This event has certainly garnered national press, but it's not so unusual that it demands federal involvement."

That last statement was mind-boggling to Dan. Truly, he'd lived in a peaceful year. This level of insanity was considered almost normal in certain parts of the country. Villains just sprung up sometimes, and either the police, or the federal government, stepped in and squished them flat. Civilian casualties were just an expected by-product. Everything Dan had experienced in the past month was common, normal, and expected.

"Abby told me that Coldwater is willing to contract with the government of Austin," Dan said. "Cornelius asked her to make the connect, but given that he's, um, temporarily unavailable..."

Gregoir nodded. "I'll pass it up. I imagine Captain Gable will be thankful. Coldwater has an impeccable reputation."

"So I've heard," Dan said.

The computer pinged, and a series of results appeared on a nearby monitor. The doctor squinted at them, scratching his chin.

"Well, this young man has certainly been afflicted by something." He gestured towards the screen, which was scrolling through a list of incomprehensible graphs and words. "It'll take time to isolate exactly what these chemicals are doing to him, but I think it's safe to assume he is not in his normal state of mind."

"Thank you, doctor," Gregoir stated, straightening his back. "Confirmation was all we needed at this time, but keep working. Please keep the department appraised of your progress."

He turned away, and strolled towards the door.

"Come, Daniel."

Dan scampered after him, confused. "Where are we going?"

"To track down that security guard," Gregoir stated. "Captain Gable has assigned me to this task, since I've survived Bartholomew's best efforts to restrain me before. I'm bringing you, because you have too, and your insight may prove useful."

"Oh," Dan said. "That's good. Is that something you're allowed to do?"

Gregoir glanced at him, hints of his old smile drifting across his lips.

"I have no idea," he admitted, "but isn't it better to ask forgiveness than permission?"