The Law of Averages

Two men stared at each other, each somehow knowing the other despite having never crossed paths. Burl Meyers moved first, by slowly, almost drunkenly, reaching into his jacket pocket. Dan reacted on instinct alone, blinking into Meyers' personal space and slamming a palm into his stomach. Dan's veil darted through his victim's coat, searching for whatever he'd grabbed for. It latched on to an object inside, and Dan blinked it into his own hand.

Dan retreated, reappearing where he'd started, something heavy in his palm, and Meyers staggered backwards with a surprised grunt. Dan hadn't struck him hard, but the big security guard seemed ungainly on his feet. With the slow, dramatic groan of a cow being tipped, Meyers lost his balance and toppled to the ground. He rolled like a meatball, boneless and flailing, before finally coming to a stop almost ten feet from where he'd started backpedaling.

Dan stared at the spectacle, feeling awfully embarrassed that he'd briefly seen this man as a threat. He glanced at the thing in his hand: a large, blocky burner phone. It was the kind you could get at a gas station, prepaid with a limited number of minutes. It was grimey, old, and smeared with what might have been chocolate, but still just a phone. Not a gun, or any other kind of weapon. Not that Meyers was in any shape to use the latter.

Burl Meyers was a hefty fellow to begin with, but whatever he'd been dosed by—because something was very obviously wrong with him—had robbed him of whatever grace he might have possessed before. He was still on the ground, looking for all the world like an upended tortoise. His stiff, jerky motions and attempts to upright himself seemed almost inhuman. It was like his brain thought his body was the wrong shape, and struggled to reconcile the difference.

He'd figure it out eventually, but for now, he was harmless. Dan let Meyers be, flopping around like a beached whale in the Pearson's empty lobby, and checked over the phone in his hand. He scrubbed the little screen with the corner of his shirt. A number had been pre-dialed, one that looked oddly familiar, and after a moment Dan realized it was ringing. He quickly checked the settings, and discovered the same number programmed in on the speed dial. He took out his own phone, and checked the call that he'd missed while sleeping.

The two numbers matched.

Dan pursed his lips, an unpleasant theory quickly forming in his mind. Before he could get any further, the ringing stopped, and a voice came onto the line. It was higher than Dan remembered, sharper and more manic. Insanity lurked within its murky depths, waiting to be unleashed. It was the voice of Andros Bartholomew, and his question sent a chill racing down Dan's spine.

"Have you seen the target?"

Dan glanced back to Meyers, who had managed to briefly struggle up to one elbow, and was currently working on sitting up. His eyes drifted back to where the man had stood, to the little piece of glossy white photo paper that he'd dropped when Dan struck him. His veil whipped out, and brought the paper to Dan's free hand. It was a photo of him, of Daniel Newman in all his bland glory. He was asleep, laying on a stretcher; Andros Bartholomew must have taken it when he'd kidnapped Dan nearly a year ago.

What an absolute creep.

"Meyers!" the voice over the phone hissed in sudden fury. "Did you butt dial me again, you imbecile!?"

Dan had Andros Bartholomew on the phone. He almost let out a nervous laugh. He had the man's phone number. The fact that Bartholomew was using a phone at all was invaluable knowledge. He just needed to call Gregoir—

Burl Meyers let out a loud, frustrated groan, followed by the world's loudest fart. Dan clapped his hand over the phone speaker, but it was too late. Bartholomew's questions instantly shifted direction.

"What was that? Who is this? Why are you calling!?" Barely a moment passed, before he shouted again, "Meyers! Fight them, you buffoon!"

Dan thought the security guard might actually give it a go, so loud was the angry request, but Burl was presently occupied with gravity, and couldn't come to phone right now. Dan faced a choice: to hang up, and instantly teleport to the closest police precinct with this new information, risking the possibility of Bartholomew fleeing, or he could talk to the madman, engage him, while trying to contact any of his APD friends, and hopefully track the terrorist down.

He pulled out his own phone, and called Gregoir. He put the burner to his other ear, smiled too himself, and said, "Sup, Andy."

There was a long, long pause, in which the call to Gregoir went to voicemail. Dan mentally cursed, and sent a text to the absent officer, before trying Kaneda Ito instead. He jumped, when Andros' voice came back with sudden, explosive fury.

"You!" the terrorist howled in the melodramatic intonations of a Disney villain. He stretched the word long past its normal bounds, its elastic vowels holding strong until Bartholomew's oxygen ran dry.

Dan heard a long, deep inhalation, and spoke up before he could be shouted at again.

"Me."

Bartholomew shrieked out a few harsh syllables that, creatively reinterpreted, might have formed some kind of insult. He followed with a noise not unlike a kettle boiling, before finally ceasing all communication. Dan was forced to glance at the screen, just to be sure the call was still going. It was, but Bartholomew was giving him the silent treatment.

Imprisonment had done the man no favors. He seemed far more unhinged than when Dan had last encountered him. The kidnapping had been overcomplicated and overdramatic, not to mention risky, but Bartholomew had seemed in control of himself more than not. He'd been capable of long term planning, and had worked to neutralize Dan's power in a way that should have been effective given the information available to him.

The man on the phone seemed absolutely deranged. Dan wished he could teleport to the APD, but the call would surely drop. Dan's phone, fancy, new and connected to the city's wireless network, could usually keep up with his sudden jaunts, but the burner looked like it was designed to be a car phone from the 80's. Dan didn't want to spook the mad scientist, though he was no longer sure if the man could be predicted with any kind of accuracy.

The call to Ito went dead, and Dan grimaced in irritation. All the cops were busy. That was understandable, given recent events, but really fucking frustrating in the moment. Dan considered calling Connor, then mentally rerouted and dialed 911. There was a mute button on the burner; Dan could just explain the situation to the operator—

"I have your friend," Bartholomew finally spoke, his voice laced with menace. Dan immediately stopped what he was doing. "You'll do what I say, or they will suffer most grievously."

"My friend?" Dan repeated, trying to sound aloof and unconcerned as if that would stave off the sudden jolt of concern building in his gut.

"The night manager," Bartholomew hissed. "I've taken him, your little friend."

Dan sagged in relief, then immediately felt guilty. Bartholomew had a hostage. The fact that Dan barely knew the man didn't make the reality any less grim. He searched for something he could say that might keep the man alive.

"I don't even know that guy's name," Dan offered with complete honesty.

There was a brief pause, during which Dan tapped out brief, urgent texts to Gregoir and Ito.

"So you're saying he's useless to me?" Andros asked, with what seemed like genuine curiosity.

"Ahh..." Dan stammered quickly. "No, no. It's fine. You've got yourself a hostage." Dan paused, then added, "Well done."

Bartholomew cackled, swinging suddenly back to his unhinged self. In the lobby, Meyers finally managed to lever himself to his feet, and swayed uncertainly, glancing between Dan and the phone. Dan watched the other man warily, uncertain if he was an enemy or not. Meyers, for now, seemed content to stare blankly and wait for orders.

"You're going to do what I say," Bartholomew boasted loudly. "You'll do it, or your friend will suffer the consequences!"

"He's... not my—" Dan heaved a sigh. "Yes, okay. You got me."

"I know!" the mad Genius crowed. "After my last failure, I knew this was the way forward! I might not be able to contain you, but I can certainly hurt those around you!"

"That's very clever," Dan offered. He was following Gregoir's rules for interacting with mad scientists. Keep them talking about themselves, and ask them leading questions. They'll almost always seize on the chance to talk about their plans, buying yourself time to search for a way out. Mad scientists nearly always missed something obvious, so focused they are on their goals. As a possible Genius, and confirmed lunatic, Bartholomew's tunnel vision could only be worse.

"When did you kidnap—" Dan searched guiltily for the night manager's name, and came up blank, "him?"

"I acted recently. More fortunate, I!" Bartholomew revealed with another deranged cackle. The sound trailed off into a thoughtful hum. "Though had I known you would be visiting your friend, I might have stuck around! No, no, that would not be to plan. Not in the same room as you, not again, never!" The man's speech trailed off into murmured curses, before picking back up again with sudden energy. "I called you! You didn't answer! Why didn't you answer, Daniel Newman!?"

Bartholomew knew his number. That fit rather neatly with Dan's own theories.

"I was sleeping," he revealed. He waited a moment, then let false enlightenment fill his voice and said, "It was you who called me to that storage facility!"

"Yes!" Bartholomew gleefully confirmed. "It was I!"

Dan could imagine him spreading his arms like a cartoon villain.

"Why the bodies?" Dan demanded. "Why send me to a cop's house? And what did you do to him?"

"I did nothing to that poor police officer," Bartholomew replied gleefully. "Nothing at all. His residence was simply appropriated by something greater than he could possibly imagine! Your delivery was payment for services rendered. If the recipient had killed you, well I certainly wouldn't have minded."

"I don't think I'll apologize for missing that delivery," Dan remarked. "I think not having me killed is listed somewhere in my terms of service."

"Oh, I'm delighted that you survived!" Bartholomew said. "At first, I thought a messy death for you would warm my heart. I've had nothing, nothing at all to do for the past year, except stew on my loss. I've relived those moments a thousand times in my head!"

Dan half-listened to the man rant while he considered his own possibilities. The APD was clearly in some kind of big meeting, preparing for the shitstorm about to hit the city. His friends weren't checking their phones. He could call 911, and hope he could convince the operator that it wasn't a crank call? He really just wanted to hang up the phone and jump to the nearest precinct, but Dan thought he might be able to fish for Bartholomew's location if he stayed on the line for a bit longer. Dan tuned back in to Bartholomew.

"-but I never thought I would gain so much from you, my greatest nemesis!"

His what?

"I set up those cameras intending to salvage what I could from watching the use of your power. It was a simple, crude setup, yet I've reaped such brilliant rewards! I've been studying you, Daniel. The footage I recorded wasn't long, but it revealed secrets that you could scarcely imagine! My mind is spinning with possibilities! We will create great things, you and I, given time."

Bartholomew's rant only gave credence to the theory that he was a Genius. The upgrade allowed its bearers to make inventive leaps almost out of thin air, sparks of inspiration that come upon them from stray thoughts, and passing glances. Watching a video of Dan using his power might've been the equivalent of handing over a detailed blueprint for some theoretical device or another. Dan didn't want to contemplate what Bartholomew might accomplish from studying Dan's power.

"You won't have time," Dan said, hoping he wasn't bluffing. "The feds are here. They're gonna come down on you like a ton of bricks."

Bartholomew let out a shrill giggle that sounded like a rabbit's death cry. "Your precious 'feds' have no idea the game that they are playing. There's something greater at stake than they can possibly imagine. The future of the species will be determined here!"

He continued in that vein for some time, while Dan once again scanned the room. The Pearson was blessedly empty, save for Burl Meyers, who seemed to be standing in a strange caricature of parade rest. Waiting for orders, probably.

Dan paused at the thought. He ran it over in his mind, as he regarded Meyers' dull gaze. There was an idea...

He cupped his hand over the burner's receiver, then saw the mute button. He tapped it, said, "Hello, hello?" into the phone, and grinned when Bartholomew's rant didn't break stride. Dan walked over to Meyers, smiling amicably.

"I'm supposed to meet up with your boss," Dan said, an expression of guileless honesty pasted on his face. "Where's he at?"

"Uh," Burl replied blankly, scratching at his neck. "He said not to tell people that."

"No, it's alright," Dan soothed. He held up the phone, with Bartholomew's voice still blaring out of it. "That's him, see? Go ahead and ask him."

Dan motioned for him to speak into the phone while he still held it. Meyers seemed uncertain, but did as he was told.

"Should I tell him, boss?" he asked stupidly.

Dan quickly pulled the phone to his ear, wincing at the volume, then nodded in faux understanding.

"Got it, got it," he said. He turned to Burl, and gave him a thumbs up. "He says yes."

"Oh, okay then," Burl said, seemingly relieved that his conundrum had been solved for him. He reached into his pocket, and this time Dan let him. The man pulled out a slip of paper with an address scribbled onto it. Beneath that was a room number.

"I'm supposed to give this to a taxi," Burl explained helpfully.

Dan examined the address, grinning in victory.

"Good job, Burl," he said to the smiling, drugged up security guard. "Good job."