The Law of Averages

Dan was juggling several things, each critically important in their own right. The first was his phone call with Andros Bartholomew, whose long rant was finally beginning to die down. The burner was still muted, but if Dan didn't show some signs of life soon the mad Genius might get suspicious. That would be very bad, given that Dan had just learned where the man was staying. He needed Bartholomew to stay angry and immobile for as long as possible.

In his other hand, Dan held his own phone. He'd already texted the address to Gregoir, Ito, Connor and Freya, and just about every cop he had the number for in order to raise the alarm. Now he was frantically looking up the location online, and trying to find himself a picture of it. If he found a picture, he could teleport to it.

The address led to a cheap motel on the outskirts of downtown. There was absolutely nothing of note in the area, which was only a step above a slum. It wasn't even all that close to Burl Meyers' original apartment, nor the storage units that Dan had been directed. It was, however, right down the street from the Metro line, and along the feeder of a large freeway. That clocked with what Dan knew about Bartholomew; he doubted the man had a car or a license, not that he would care about the latter.

"Are you even listening, Newman?" the mad scientist's exasperated voice sounded from the burner phone. There was an odd scraping noise, and a scream of pain that immediately earned Dan's attention.

He quickly unmuted the phone, but Andros was still speaking and he didn't dare interrupt, "How about now? Do I have your attention, or shall I remove something important from your little friend?"

"I'm here," Dan said through gritted teeth. The night manager of the Pearson was neither his friend, nor particularly little, but the unhinged terrorist didn't seem to care about either fact. Dan was quickly running out of time and options, and nobody he'd texted had—

Dan's phone buzzed with a call from Gregoir. Dan awkwardly juggled the two phones, answering his own, but speaking into the burner, "What do you want from me, Bartholomew?"

There was blessed silence on Gregoir's line as he immediately caught on to what was happening. Dan put the burner on speaker as Andros spoke, "Well, if you're so eager to lose your freedom, I suppose I can move along to my demands."

"By all means," Dan replied graciously. On his own phone, he minimized Gregoir's call, and pulled up the official website of the motel complex. There were pictures there, including the front desk. He zoomed in on the cheap linoleum flooring and peeling wallpaper, grinning as he locked the location into memory.

"It's quite simple really, even you can manage this," Bartholomew said with thinly veiled hostility. "There's an old playground I want you to visit. It's quite abandoned, so no need to worry about witnesses or... collateral damage." The last two words emerged as an amused taunt.

Bartholomew then rattled off an address that had Dan scrambling for something to write on. The mad scientist didn't even pause for breath before issuing further orders, "I've left a syringe hidden inside the covered twisty-slide. You'll know it when you see it."

"A syringe," Dan repeated flatly.

"You'll take the syringe," Bartholomew continued without breaking stride, "and inject yourself. It doesn't matter where. It contains a sedative that will keep you out long enough to be collected for study and testing. Building something capable of holding you will be a worthy challenge, but will take some time. I'm afraid you'll remain in an artificial coma until then. My apologies."

He didn't sound even a little bit sorry.

"And if I don't?" Dan asked, mostly because he thought it'd be suspicious if he didn't.

"Then I'll keep abducting people and killing them in ever more creative ways. Maybe I'll make recordings, and email them to you, just so you know it's your fault." Andros Bartholomew sounded downright cheery at the prospect.

"Okay fine, holy shit," Dan replied quickly. "Don't do that. It's fine, I'll go. Might take me a bit to find this place, though. Just an address isn't enough."

Bartholomew cackled menacingly. "Find a way, Daniel Newman. I'll be generous and give you five whole minutes to get your affairs in order and sedate yourself. I'll know when it's done. Good luck."

The call ended abruptly, and Dan was left staring at the quiet burner. With a thought, he sent it into hammerspace. He'd learned from Anastasia: someone could still be listening in.

Dan quickly put his own phone to his ear, and asked, "You get all that?"

Gregoir's answer was direct and to the point. There was no time for pleasantries or explanations. "The park he is directing you to is nearly twenty minutes away from the address you've given as his location. How certain are you of your information? Your text was light on details."

"I'm standing beside Burl Meyers," Dan revealed. Burl straightened to attention at the mention of his name. His eyes blinked at Dan, murky and dull. "Poor fellow is drugged to the gills. He was looking for me at Bartholomew's direction, and doing a very bad job of it. I asked him where they've been staying, and he gave me that address."

"But is the hostage there as well?" Gregoir urged, all business.

Dan hesitated at the question. It was a very good one. He turned to Burl, chewing over how he might ask without raising what little suspicion remained in the man's head.

"Burl,' Dan said quickly, keenly aware that his window to act was shrinking by the second, "was there someone else staying with you and Andros?"

Burl nodded dumbly.

"Tallish white guy?" Dan clarified with an internal cringe. He was aware that he'd just described over a quarter of the city, but it was the best description of the night manager's appearance that he could summon up. He really, really didn't know the man very well. Dan still couldn't remember his name, and every time he considered that fact he felt a stab of guilt.

Thankfully, Burl nodded again.

"I think so," Dan said into the phone. "Are you on the way?"

"Fast as I can," Gregoir said with steely determination. "I need to make additional calls. Daniel, you should get to a secure location and wait for my word that it's safe."

"You gonna get there before my..." Dan checked his watch. "My three minute window is up?"

There was a moment's hesitation before Gregoir answered, "Of course."

Gregoir was not good at lying.

"Then I'll meet you there," Dan said simply, before ending the call. Gregoir wouldn't be calling back. He needed to rally the troops, and time was short. He wouldn't make it in time, Dan could hear it in his voice. Andros would realize something had gone wrong, kill his hostage, and flee. Someone needed to stop him, and Dan was conveniently available.

Dan had a really simple plan. He would teleport into the shady motel room where Bartholomew was staying, and either capture the terrorist himself, or stall him until the authorities could arrive. Despite the relative dangers of the plan, Dan was feeling confident. He'd beaten Bartholomew before, and that was fresh off of being drugged and knocked unconscious.

A small chunk of metal began to fall through t-space.

Dan focused on the location he'd just memorized and blinked into motel lobby, ignoring the clerk's squawked surprise. He snatched up a nearby pamphlet, opening it up to reveal a map of the apartment complex. His finger tracked down the laminated page until he found Bartholomew's room number. He turned, still ignoring the clerk's increasingly loud questions, and blinked into the parking lot. He took a moment to orient himself, checking his map again, then appeared at the edge of the stairwell closest to Bartholomew's room.

Dan waited there, checking his watch. Just over a minute before Bartholomew's deadline. Dan sent out his veil, searching for traps. Bartholomew might not know he's coming, but Dan wouldn't put it past the man to booby trap his own room. Dan's veil slipped through the concrete walkway and beneath the mad scientist's door. It skated along the floor and walls, up furniture and across the counters. He found nothing that seemed off to his senses, but only a single inhabitant.

His veil crawled up the person's clothing, feeling out their frame. He was of average height and build, and sitting in a recliner seemingly of his own accord. He was barely moving, only the soft movement of his shirt and Dan's own veil revealing that he was alive at all. He could very easily be the night manager, sedated and immobile. Perhaps Bartholomew was already en route to the park, eager to pick up Dan's sedated self. Or maybe it was Bartholomew himself, and his hostage was kept elsewhere.

Dan swept his veil through the neighboring rooms, finding them empty of traps and people. The neighboring rooms below were likewise void of life. He spread his veil thinner and farther, now just searching for signs of life and finding nothing. This small section of the motel was eerily quiet; his instincts told him something was very wrong. It was... nothing real. But Dan felt a slowly budding fear in the back of his mind that threatened to seize control of him. There was no cause for it. It just was.

He instinctively sent his veil into the air around him, but couldn't get far. There was nothing overt that he could detect, but something was clearly affecting him. Bartholomew had probably dosed this entire section of the complex with something to ward people away. This conclusion did nothing to fight the feeling, but Dan was used to being afraid. He pushed onward, walking quietly to the entrance of Bartholomew's apartment.

Two options lay within, the hostage or the terrorist. Dan was betting on the former. Bartholomew had probably left the moment he'd issued his ultimatum, relying entirely on his knowledge of Dan's general nature to ensure no foul play.

Or he had other means of ensuring compliance...

The thought sent a shudder down Dan's spine. He realized, suddenly, just how many things could go wrong. What if the hostage had been implanted with something horrific, as Dan had, and could die at the press of a button? What if Dan had made the wrong choice, and another man would pay for it?

It was too late for regret. The deadline passed as he stood anxiously in front of the closed door, and Dan was forced to make his move. His veil whipped out, removing the lock, the bolt and the and knob. He gently swung it open, and stepped inside. He knew exactly where his target was standing, his veil told him the whole tale. He turned to the recliner, expecting to see one of two faces.

The man seated there was not one that Dan had ever met. He was gaunt, almost malnourished, but visible muscles stood out on his ravaged frame. His skin clung tight to clearly outlined bones, and there was a ravenous hunger in his gaze that sent cold pinpricks racing down Dan's spine. It took Dan a moment to place the man's features. He knew this man, though Dan had never seen him in the flesh. The man had lost a great deal of weight, and his features were sharply outlined by the lack of fat, but Dan could never forget the cold, dead gaze staring back at him.

Cannibal sat in the recliner, an intrigued smile carving its way across his face.

"Hello," he rasped with a voice like sandpaper against desert stone. "Why don't you come in? I was just thinking about dinner."