Published at 12th of August 2022 9:14 pm

Book 2: Chapter 30: Idiots in Fancy Suits

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“I told you the FBI would handle this!” Dunkirk snarled at Dan, having pulled him aside to berate him. “You are a civilian! You do not get to override my authority! Your duty is to stay out of my way, not step into it!”

The grouchy fed had surfaced shortly after the APD had arrived, called to the surface by the wounded agent O’Brien. He didn’t seem thrilled to be abandoning his idiotic pursuit, though Dan thought his men might be grateful. The tunnel that the villain had carved ended in the sewer system. The villain and whoever he had rescued could be anywhere by now.

“I’m a civilian,” Dan echoed, “My duty is to call the cops when there is trouble.”

He gestured dramatically to the demolished field office, with the eighteen wheeler still embedded in it like a giant’s fist.

“Trouble!”

“Don’t get cute with me!” Dunkirk threatened. “I could have you detained like that!” He snapped his fingers.

Dan laughed in his face. “For what? I’ve done nothing wrong, and you’ve got no jurisdiction to boot. I’ve checked.”

And he had. The FBI had a lot of power in this dimension, but Dan’s crisis volunteer status granted him a good deal of leeway. The federal government wasn’t keen on punishing people willing to go into battle zones to help save lives without pay. Dan had rights and, in front of all these cops and given what Dan had done to help, Dunkirk was unlikely to try anything rash.

“You threw yourself into the middle of a fight between my men and armed villains, causing—” Dunkirk’s eyes seemed to bulge as he blindly reached for a plausible number. “I don’t even know how many injuries and deaths! You’ve abused the protections afforded to crisis volunteers as an excuse to act like a vigilante!”

“I used those protections as an excuse to save the lives of you and your men,” Dan snapped back. “Show a little gratitude! I know you lost people, and I get that you’re angry about it, but that didn’t have shit to do with me.”

“You think this is about—” Dunkirk bit off whatever he was going to say, glancing behind him at the array of cops and paramedics doing their work and not so subtly listening in. He turned back, glaring at Dan. “Never mind, I’ve got more important things to deal with. I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Newman.”

“Ominous,” Dan sniped back acerbically.

Dunkirk stalked off without another word. Dan watched as the special agent moved right past his injured men, sparing them not even a glance, and began to loudly berate the first officer on scene for some random perceived slight. What a small, petty man. Dan shrugged it off. Not his problem anymore.

Dunkirk hadn’t even seemed interested in how Dan had fought off the villains, more focused on his audacity rather than his actual actions. That would probably change, eventually, but by then the memories would be less fresh, and the evidence sparse. In a way, keeping the man irrationally angry was actually helpful. It kept Dunkirk focused on what Dan did, rather than the how.

Dan sidled over to a nearby paramedic, who was stitching up a cut on the arm of a volunteer in the back of an ambulance. They both greeted him with cordial nods, and Dan sighed as he leaned up against the rear bumper. His body ached, and his face was covered with dust, dirt, and blood. His head was beginning to spin, as the enormity of what he’d done here began to creep in to his awareness.

“Do you need me to stick around?” he asked.

The paramedic shrugged. “Things seem to be calming down for now. I’d ask the sergeant, but I think you’re good to go.”

Dan eyed the officer in charge, who was in the middle of a hushed argument with Dunkirk. The scowl on both men’s faces were not encouraging.

Dan shook his head. “Pass. I’m tired and sore. I’m heading out. Dispatch has my ID from when I called this in, so if the sergeant needs to contact me…”

“I’ll let him know,” the paramedic nodded. “You did good work, here. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Yeah,” Dan agreed absently, as he eyed the bloody remnants of the villain’s assault. And his own. “Good.”

There was nothing left for him here. His navigator pulled him out of the battlefield, bringing him elsewhere. He reappeared in his bathroom, shucking his bloody clothes and stepping straight into his shower. Water sloughed down his hair and back, first cold then warm then hot. He watched as his tile floor was tinted red, then washed clean. His soul felt the same.

Abby must have heard the shower, because she was waiting for him when he came out. All it took was a look at his face, and she knew something had happened.

“Oh Danny,” she murmured, pulling him close.

Dan closed his eyes, home at last.

Connor and Freya visited the next day, trailed by a haggard Cornelius. Dan let them in with barely a word. They spared his still damaged windows and door a glance before entering. Dan brought the group to his living room, where they settled on his couch while Abby served up coffee.

There was a few minutes of silence, broken only by the grim news reports running on the television, as they caffeinated themselves. Dan took a deep draw, leaned back in his recliner, and considered his state of mind.

He’d expected himself to be a mess this morning. Yesterday, he’d likely killed a man, helped kill several others, and maimed a few more for good measure. He could barely even claim self-defense. It was morally grey at best, given that he’d actively inserted himself into the situation, and certainly not something he should feel proud about. So he’d expected to feel the same sort of intense regret one usually feels after betraying their own moral expectations.

Dan felt fine.

Well, not fine. His back ached and he was pretty sure he’d strained something in his left thigh. But his mind, his mood… was fine. The adrenaline shakes had passed in time, and the general horror he’d felt at seeing the dead and dying would pass as well. It had never been about what Dan had done, he realized, but rather what had been done in front of him that disturbed him so. He woke up in Abby’s arms, considered how he’d acted and why, and decided that he was okay with it all. He’d brutalized a group of very bad men with his bare hands, and then slept like a baby.

Was he Batman now?

“How are you doing, Daniel?” Cornelius asked, eyeing him with the mildest amount of concern a human could display.

Dan glanced at him, and shrugged. “Yesterday sucked ass, but I’ll get over it. How’s the department handling things?”

Cornelius scowled. “We lost three officers in the chaos of yesterday, and we’ve got half a dozen more wounded.”

“Holy shit,” Abby exclaimed. She blushed as everyone turned to her. “I’m sorry, it’s just so horrible is all!” She hadn’t been thrilled with Dan’s actions but, after talking it over, had at least agreed to postpone any argument over it until things had calmed down. The harrowed look on his face had worked in his favor, and his girlfriend was more interested in his mental health than berating him for his recklessness. It had been difficult to convey how desperate the situation had been with words, but Cornelius’ revelation had probably just helped a great deal.

Cornelius sighed. “We could never have prepared for this kind of situation. There’s a reason why villains don’t usually upgrade all their underlings. The risk of mutation is dangerously high, especially when they’re using shoddy black-market cosmic generators.”

“Isn’t that a benefit though?” Dan asked curiously. “I mean, I’d assume they want stronger lackeys.”

“Not when those lackeys are strong enough to take over,” Cornelius corrected him. “Mutates have a huge variance in their effectiveness. Just look at yourself, compared to someone whose short-hop mutated in a way that let him teleport his individual body parts.”

Dan turned slightly green at the gills. That was something he could do, if he wasn’t careful.

“Not especially useful,” he agreed.

“Right?” Cornelius said. “But there are plenty of useful ways for something to mutate, and that can be a problem. Nothing is worse than an underling whose strength matches his ambition.”

“Speaking from experience, uncle?” Connor asked, the attempt at levity warring with his absolute state of bedragglement.

Cornelius spared him a thin smile, before turning back to Dan. “It was unexpected, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“How so?” Abby asked.

“Most of the people causing trouble yesterday were teenagers. Kids given more power than they should have, and told to cut loose. We didn’t get even close to all of them, so now Coldeyes’ Crew have a swarm of young, reckless mutates looking to flex their new muscles.”

“But you’re gonna hit back, right?” Dan asked.

“We’re gonna hit back,” Cornelius agreed.

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