The Law of Averages

Silence. The sound of a pin dropping could've been heard in the packed parking lot. The assembled officers seemed utterly at a loss for words. Champion faced them, quiet, motionless, and judging. His stare was unblinking and stoic, the face of a disappointed father, illuminated clearly by the headlights of the cruisers. His gaze drifted slowly across the gathering.

Champion stood oddly, to Dan's eye, both himself and his companions not entirely facing the arrayed officers, but rather the freeway behind them. His head finished its swivel, and ended facing straight ahead of himself, slightly to the right of the gathered forces, gazing gently up. His fellows followed his lead, even Cannibal. They arranged themselves in perfect profile, held the motion for all of three heartbeats, then, with a flash of crackling purple light, vanished into the dark.

Dan felt a sickening feeling deep in his gut, as he glanced in the direction that the group had faced. There in the distance, on the freeway overpass, was a large gathering of parked cars. They'd stop to witness the action, Gregoir battling Cannibal, though between the night and the distance they would have seen little with a naked eye, or even a cell phone camera. Acting on gut instinct, Dan brought himself to the shoulder of the overpass. He appeared a stone's throw away from the gathered cars, and was immediately greeted by a wave of noise. He quickly jogged over to the mass of clamoring civilians.

There were a dozen or more people there, watching and arguing. Some had binoculars, several used their cell phones, and one in particular had a shoulder mounted video camera. All were pointed at the motel in the distance. There was a white van parked amidst the cars, the kind news crews and musicians used to transport gear. It wasn't a local station; it wasn't any station at all. They were amateurs, without any kind of label. There was a woman standing beside the concrete barrier that kept cars from tipping off the highway. She held a microphone in one hand, and was being filmed by the man with the shoulder camera. She was clearly saying something, but Dan couldn't hear her over the roar of the crowd.

What he could hear, most clearly, was the word 'Champion' being repeated, over and over.

Dan couldn't help but think at least some of this was planned. There was little chance that the cameras had caught all of the action. The motel parking lot had been poorly lit until the helicopter had arrived, and even that had gone down quickly. Dan's own attempt at killing the terrorist should have been completely masked, given the distance and the darkness, though the aftermath was certainly caught on tape. Gregoir might become an even greater celebrity once the videos found their way to the internet, and Dan had little doubt that they would. The bigger issue was Champion, and the group he'd arrived with.

There was a horrible, triumphant jolt in Dan's stomach as he realized: they have a teleporter. It was confirmed, without a doubt. The enemy, the People, had broadcasted that fact out to the world. There was no doubt in Dan's mind that they'd just put on a show for the crowd, the police and the witnesses here on the overpass. Champion's appearance was already causing a stir, and there was no way for Dan to predict the kind of unrest the resurrection of both Cannibal and Champion would cause for the country.

How in the world were they alive? Anastasia clearly knew something. Dan wasn't so blind as to ignore the sequence of events. The feds had been called in mere hours after Dan had spoken to her, despite days of stonewalling. She knew something, and it was massive, and terrible. This, Dan knew, would be a problem. In the distance, he could see more cops approaching. Dozens of flashing red and blue blurs, closing the distance from every direction. The APD were all hands on deck; too little, too late, and the citizens were witness to their shame.

Briefly, he considered ripping every piece of electronic hardware in the area into t-space. That, though, would cause as many problems as it solved. Conspiracy would be the word, and if a single person had streamed the encounter, that would be proof. More importantly, the distant disasters he was hypothesizing were something for the future. They lingered on the periphery, but could only hold his attention for the briefest of moments. There were bigger issues at hand, ones he actually had a stake in.

Dan dropped into t-space. He needed to focus, think, plan. What were his priorities? What could he do, and what did he need to do?

He dropped back into reality with a firm list of goals. The first, he saw to immediately.

His fist pounded urgently against the wooden door to Margaret Summers' apartment. His other hand dialed Abby's number, while his veil swept the room for occupants. Only one, to his relief, and her clothes and general shape indicated Maggie. The older woman made her way to the door, checked the peephole like an intelligent human, and opened it. Abby picked up at almost the exact same moment.

"I'm with Maggie, now," Dan said tersely. "Is that plane ready?"

"Uh— yes?" Abby sounded confused at the abrupt question. "Yes, I sent you the address. Is everything alright?"

"Plane?" Margaret asked with narrowed eyes. "What plane?"

"You're leaving town," Dan informed her bluntly. "And no, Abs. Things are not alright."

"I'm what?" Margaret repeated flatly.

"What happened?" Abby asked.

"You'll probably see it on the news any minute now," Dan replied. He looked at Margaret. "Pack a bag, you're leaving."

"I am most certainly not!" Margaret shrieked indignantly. "Who do you think you—?"

"The news? Oh god, what—?"

"I just got into a fight with Cannibal," Dan interrupted them both. The completely ludicrous sentence stopped any argument in its tracks.

"You what?" Margaret asked.

"You what!?" Abby shouted.

"Cannibal," Dan repeated, managing quite admirably to keep the weariness and fear out of his voice. "You know, the villainous serial killer from half a century ago? He's alive. I ran into him not twenty minutes ago, at this shitty motel by the freeway. The APD showed up, and there was a brawl. I don't know if anyone died; I'm pretty sure Cannibal got at least one person. Gregoir was there, and he held the bastard off. Oh, and Champion showed up." Dan was rambling now, he knew it, but he couldn't stop. "The People are back, they have a teleporter, and a lot of dudes that are supposed to be dead. Cannibal is with them now, I guess. I don't know. All of this was caught on film, though, so you can both see for yourself. Also Andros Bartholomew kidnapped the Pearson's night shift manager, and I'm pretty sure he's dead now."

"Alex is dead?" Margaret asked, horrified. Her hands swept up to cover her mouth. "How!?"

"Kidnapped," Dan repeated harshly, "by a Genius with a grudge. You might be next on the list, so you need to pack. Now." He didn't mean to sound so frustrated, but it leaked out anyway. The look on his face sent Margaret scurrying off into her apartment to pack. Dan instantly felt like a bastard, but didn't regret it. If it got her moving, it was worth it.

"Danny..." Abby said quietly, at a loss for words.

"I'll get her out safe," he promised.

"I'm not worried about that right now."

Dan shook his head like a wet dog. He felt a bone-deep exhaustion settling in, and the cold dread of knowing peace was far away. "I'm fine."

"When will you be here?" she asked anxiously.

"Once things here are settled."

"You can leave at any time." He could hear the fear in her voice.

Dan steeled himself. "Bartholomew made a promise to me. He's just going to keep killing people, Abs. He's going to do it until someone stops him, and I'm the best bait available."

"You don't owe strangers a thing," Abby insisted, her worry for him coloring her words. "People die every day, Danny. Let the authorities handle things. Come here, to me. Be safe with me."

"I will," he promised. "Just as soon as I'm done here, I will."

Margaret emerged from her bedroom, a small suitcase packed. She looked to Dan with a frown. "Where are we going?"

"I have the address," he said. "Get your keys, I'll drive."

"Danny," Abby tried again, "go with her."

"I'll see you soon, Abby," he promised. "I love you."

She hesitated, searching for another argument and coming up short. He could nearly see her hands twisting together in a knot as she replied, "I love you too."

He hung up the phone, took Margaret's suitcase, and escorted her out the door.

The hangar was only twenty minutes away, with Dan driving well over the speed limit. He knew for a fact that every officer in the city would be occupied with the debacle at the motel, and wanted Margaret out of the city as soon as possible. Dan didn't know what was coming, but he imagined the presence of Cannibal, at minimum, would accelerate the time table for the Federal Assault Teams. Killing villains like him was literally the reason they'd been created.

The plane waiting for them was nothing like the sleek, high tech jet that Abby had flown away on, once upon a time. It was little more than a passenger plane, with a gruff, impatient man as a pilot. Dan swept the plane with his veil, searching for anything odd, but found nothing. He loaded Margaret up, gave her a kiss on the cheek and a half-hearted apology, then sent her on her way. He passed the pilot a handful of Benjamin's, just to be safe.

He watched the plane take off with a sense of relief, mixed with melancholy. A man had died today, and it was, at least a little bit, Dan's fault. He wasn't a fool; Bartholomew clearly bore the lion's share of the blame, but Dan could not hide away from the guilt that he felt. It wasn't rational, but there it was.

"What now?" he asked out loud.

He blinked back home, and was greeted by a series of indignant squeaks. Merrill was still in her cage, waiting on him. Dan sheepishly released the mouse, and she crawled up his sleeve, puffing her little breaths into his ear. He rubbed her tiny head, and turned on the television. Breaking news flashed across every channel, and pictures of Champion and Cannibal were plastered across the screen.

"What now?" he repeated, looking for any reports of a government response. This could not be ignored. Two men, known to be dead and gone, were walking around Austin, causing trouble. It was a conspiracy theorist's wet dream. Regardless, that was the APD's problem. His problem was Bartholomew.

Dan didn't know what to do. He began pacing in his living room, as he ran through options. He considered calling the number Bartholomew had texted him from, but quickly disregarded it. The mad scientist was clearly unhinged, but nowhere near as careless as Dan had first assumed. It was a mistake he would not make again. With Margaret safely out of the picture, the Venn diagram overlap of people that Dan cared about, and people who could not defend themselves, narrowed dramatically.

Connor Graham, who'd been taken by Bartholomew before, was sequestered in a hospital ICU beside his injured uncle, a dozen incapacitated SPEAR members, and a small army of cops.

Dan stopped pacing. He couldn't put his finger on why. There was a dissonance, somewhere. Something he was forgetting. His thoughts stuttered as he searched for it. He ran through it again, looking for the hole. Margaret was safe, presently airborne, and soon to be under armed guard at the Summers' mansion. She was his only civilian acquaintance, and Bartholomew didn't even know of their friendship. He would have taken her instead, had he any inkling. It seemed as if he'd simply scooped up the first person he ran into, upon entering the Pearson.

The mad Genius had clearly not been keeping tabs on Dan from within his prison. He wouldn't know of Dan's friendship with Connor, Freya, or Gregoir. They were safe. Gregoir could handle himself, and the two rookies were at Cornelius' bedside. The hospital was well guarded by the APD, given it housed almost all of their injured SPEAR team members.

There was that dissonance again. His conclusions felt wrong, though he couldn't place why.

He let his mind wander back to the events of the evening. Bartholomew, Burl Meyers, and Cannibal. The motel, the battle, Gregoir holding his own against a monster. It came to Dan in a flash of horrible understanding.

Cannibal was in Bartholomew's room. The two knew each other at minimum, and Cannibal knew that Dan had called Gregoir. The villain had obviously advanced senses, and had fixated on Dan for a good part of the fight. Gregoir's bellowing voice, even over the phone, was unmistakable. Cannibal knew Gregoir, and so did Bartholomew. Gregoir had fought the man, broken free and thwarted him.

He'd rescued Connor.

Two very bad men, two common enemies in Dan and Gregoir. If Cannibal spoke to Bartholomew, if he told him about the fight, or if the mad scientist had witnessed it in any way, they'd have common cause and a common target. How best to hurt Dan and Gregoir? There weren't many points of connection between them. Connor Graham was the most obvious, and the most vulnerable. Bartholomew knew about him. Hell, Dan had called in the boy's uncle to bring the villain in. There was a connection there, and it was known.

Two birds, one stone.

How many cops were still at the hospital? How many, really, had stayed to guard their fallen brethren while others rushed off to fight Cannibal? Did Bartholomew know where the fallen would be taken? Did he know when they would be vulnerable?

How much of tonight had been planned, and how much had been improvised?

Dan pulled out his phone, and called Connor.