Every person panics in a uniquely individual way. Yet, as with all things, there are some broad generalizations that can be made. Some people get tense, winding up like a coiled spring. Their heart rate skyrockets, their vessels constrict, their muscles contract, like rabbits ready to bolt. Others grow weak. Lightheaded. Legs turn to jelly and their spine crumbles. They can't cope with the situation, and their consciousness takes a brief leave of absence. Others still grow calm. Focused. The pressure acted like a whetstone, sharpening their senses, their being. It made them better.
Abby was a member of the fourth faction. She panicked in the same way as a hummingbird, flitting to and fro. Her energy skyrocketed, her mind raced, and her body got busy being busy. Cleaning was her method of choice for expelling these feelings. She worked over Dan's home like it owed her something. She polished his tables, his tiles, his kitchen surfaces. She bused away imagined dust with a dishrag more sandpaper than cloth. She smoothed out hard edges with hands like iron, grinding away at Dan's wooden dinner table until only fibrous tissue remained. It was her way of relieving stress, attacking an issue. That the problem only existed in her mind was irrelevant. Her energy needed an outlet, and humans so rarely concerned themselves with reality.
Dan was the opposite. His panic was a creeping, cloying ice. It was a tightening noose. It was the rattling whisper of a last breath. He grew quiet. He grew still. Like a deer stuck in headlights, he could only ponder his impending doom. It was a defense tactic, a survival instinct. Some holdover trait from the time of the dinosaurs, when his rodent ancestors froze in the face of oversized chickens. Some useless, mammalian instinct that never got the memo: the T-Rex can still see you.
He couldn't fight it, he could only bear with it. Anastasia Summers was coming, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had hours, at best, to prepare. Minutes, at worst. The woman sounded thunderously unhappy over the phone, and had no shortage of transportation. Dan keenly recalled the plane that he'd accompanied Abby on for her family reunion. Such a casual display of wealth and privilege, and for so trivial a purpose. What, then, would the matron do when she was in a hurry?
The doorbell rang, and Dan found himself unable to move. A true irony. The man who could go anywhere at the speed of thought, struggling to answer his door. The gears of his mind were frosted over. An endless field of ice.
And then Abby was there, with her sunshine smile and radiant energy, glowing like his own, personal star. She pulled him to his feet from his place on the couch, from the perfect indentation his ass had settled into, upright and steady. Both hands wrapped around his waist, his chest, her hair filled his vision. Vanilla and cinnamon, this morning. She was shaking, vibrating with nervous energy. Muttering assurances into his ear.
"It's fine, it's all right," she repeated, more to herself than him. She pulled him tighter. Held him close, and Dan found himself able to move once more.
His hand ran down her hair. "I know," he told her. "It's fine." There was nothing to be afraid— No, that wasn't right. There was plenty to be afraid of, regarding Anastasia Summers, but nothing that should effect him at present. He was not a member of the People. The elder Summers had already given, not her blessing but her tolerance, of him dating her granddaughter. The matron's anger was roused, that much was certain, but it should only be peripherally directed at him.
And not at all towards Abby.
"She won't be angry at you," Dan told her, his voice gaining strength and warmth. "You did nothing wrong."
Abby's face displayed blatant disbelief. "I didn't want to tell her everything. I don't want to tell her everything. Your business is none of her business. But she... doesn't take things like that very well."
"It'll be fine," Dan assured her. "You'll see." He could feel himself regaining equilibrium. He could feel Abby's shakes receding. They were better, together.
He found his way to the door, hand in hand with Abigail. He opened it, ready to face what lay beyond.
Anastasia Summers must have been beautiful, once. Some would call her beautiful still, with features so eerily reminiscent of Abby's that Dan was sure he was seeing the future. Yet she lacked the warmth, the laugh lines, the bubbly cheer. The woman was carved out of ice and granite and death threats.
Her clothes were oddly incongruous with her demeanor. A short-sleeved blouse and worn jeans, with boots made for kicking people to death. It was as if she'd been... gardening or something, and had left home in a hurry.
She eyed the two of them, intense and judging. Her eyes fell to their interlocked hands and her brow furrowed slightly. The gaze fell back on him, and he patiently awaited her judgement. Just having the courage to meet her eyes seemed to pass some sort of test.
"Newman," she acknowledged, in a tone that he suspected was meant to be neutral, but felt like a boulder weighing on his chest. "Abigail."
And then her mouth made a motion entirely foreign to it.
The woman's smile felt like a dagger being thrust at him. It was a gesture full of teeth, jagged and vicious. The expression of a wild beast looking to intimidate. It softened marginally when directed towards Abby, the woman's ice chip eyes fading to a more sedate cerulean.
Abby's smile was cotton candy in comparison. "Mama Ana." The affectionate nickname rolled off her tongue with nervous tension, and the room seemed to lighten.
The elderly matriarch sighed indulgently, shaking her head. The weight lifted off Dan's chest. Something deep inside him unclenched.
"Well?" the extremely dangerous old woman demanded. "Aren't you going to invite me inside?"
Dan's eyes darted to his lawn. There was a thing there, a vehicle of some kind. The bastard child of a super-car and a chainsaw, given wings and solid-fuel rocket boosters. The street had scorch marks for half a mile, and Dan hadn't the slightest clue how he hadn't heard her land. None of the neighbors had seemed to notice, though he doubted that would hold for long. Not that it mattered. Anastasia Summers could not be denied.
He held open the door, motioning her forward. "Come on in, Mrs. Summers."
"Mm," the woman acknowledged. She stepped inside, eyes roaming over the foyer with undisguised interest. Dan was suddenly struck with an intense feeling of gratitude towards Abby's manic cleaning.
"Acceptable," the older woman commented after a long moment. She turned to her granddaughter. "Your doing, I presume."
Abby blushed, but straightened her spine. "Dan is very neat."
A laugh almost slipped loose from his mouth at the bold-faced lie. Dan would describe himself as neither messy nor clean, having a healthy distaste for dirt and dust, yet liking to keep his crap close at hand. An organized room was one where he could find anything he wanted to in as little time as possible. Appearance had little to do with it.
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Anastasia's expression displayed how little she believed her granddaughter's words. With another sigh, she turned to Dan. Her expression hardened with alarming speed, losing all hints of tolerance. Her tone was brisk, commanding, "Well, that's the niceties out of the way. Take me to it."
"I—" Dan stuttered. Verbal whiplash didn't even begin to describe how he felt.
"Now," the Summers' matriarch commanded.
What else could he possibly say? "Yes'm."
He and Abby marched in lockstep towards the trapdoor leading to Captain Quantum's hidden lair. Dan lifted the panel free, revealing the short drop to the hidden tunnel. A small ladder had been bolted to the edge, but Anastasia elected to simply step forward, landing at the bottom with a metallic clang. Her stride barely slowed, and she strolled forward and out of sight without a single word.
Dan met Abby's eyes, and they both shrugged helplessly. He willed himself into the tunnel as Abby slid down the ladder like a fireman. Another blink put Dan beside the elder Summers, slowing his stride to match hers. The woman peered at the damaged tunnel with interest, occasionally stopping to examine the bits of circuitry that Gregoir had elected not to remove.
Speaking of which, "The officer that helped me clear this place out..."
"He will suffer no consequences," Anastasia replied absently, plucking out a melted fragment of something. She eyed it with interest. "I would not begrudge a man doing my grandchild a favor."
"Oh." Dan paused, quietly wondering how she could possibly promise such a thing. "That's good."
"It was a rather stupid thing that you did," Anastasia continued, and Dan flinched at the rebuke. "Each cell of the People used to connect to a remote server. If they found themselves under attack, a signal would be sent out; a warning to the rest, before the server reset itself. Sometimes, they would retaliate."
Something approaching visceral horror filled Dan's gut. "They could be coming here?" he whispered, aghast.
She shrugged. "It's within the realm of possibility."
Abby jogged up from behind them, finally catching up. "Who's coming here?" she asked curiously.
Dan gestured weakly. "The People sometimes sent out distress signals. I didn't... What should we do?"
"Nothing," Anastasia replied, pausing her advance. She turned to Dan, gauging his reaction with judgmental eyes. "You've already blundered. All that's left is dealing with the consequences."
"But what if they attack us?" Dan pressed urgently.
"I don't think they will," Abby reassured him, winding her hand through his.
"Why not?"
Anastasia turned away, resuming her stride. Her voice echoed in the tunnel, confident and cold, "Why do you think?"
The tunnel emerged into the decoy laboratory. After Gregoir's pillaging, it was little more than an empty room. Anastasia regarded it with little interest, instead somehow zeroing in on the wall separating the two hidden areas. The matron stepped towards it, laying her hand on the smooth steel. No wrinkles, Dan noted absently. She bore her age with uncanny grace.
"It wasn't always like this," she said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the little room. "Secret bases, hidden faces, trap doors and silent alarms." She snorted, her hand still resting against cool metal. "They were called heroes, once. They were seen as selfless, once."
She turned to face them, leaving her hand against the wall. "It's human nature, you understand?" Her words were directed to Abby, but her eyes were on Dan. "They were praised for doing the job of law enforcement, at a time when law enforcement couldn't do their job. Of course they would rebel against the Vigilante Acts. It was a slap in the face. Ungrateful. Dismissive of their sacrifices. They had been upholding justice while the police ran and died. Why would they run, now?" The woman smiled wryly. "It was pride. We are such simple creatures, in the end."
The door clicked, shuddered, and opened. It was unlike the Pearson's lair, that old, rusted, unkempt thing. There was no grinding here, no screeching hinges or rain of dust. The door opened as if its rails had been greased with melted butter. Silent and smooth.
Darkness greeted them. The lights were off within, by virtue of sheer ignorance. Dan hadn't found a switch, nor had he thought to bring a flashlight for this venture. Anastasia remained as unperturbed as ever. Dan caught the briefest gesture, a flicking of her finger, and fire sparked to life. An open flame roared into being at the center of the massive laboratory. It spread across the ceiling, crawling like a wave of spiders trailing golden silk. The darkness was captured, stored in flickering, squirming bundles, held helpless before the light.
That woman frightened him.
The room was fully lit for the first time. For the first time, Dan saw the vigilante gear in its entirety. Tables and armor and gear were piled in neat stacks across the room. Each table, laid out on display.
Something inside him eased at the sight. Anastasia's shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension. A feeling of... pressure, in the room, faded away. The older woman stared wordlessly at the room before her. Her eyes lingered on the helmet closest to the door.
"This isn't a lair," Anastasia murmured, her voice reverberating off the walls. "It's a mausoleum. A memorial." With a sharp gesture, the helmet crossed the distance between them, and smacked into her hand. She hefted it, the almost fifty pound lump of metal seeming feather-light in her hands, as she examined its contours with interest.
Dan cleared his throat, quietly offering, "I think Captain Quantum made that thing."
"That's not his name," Anastasia replied, almost absently. She turned the helmet over, running a finger across the soft padding within it.
"What?" Dan asked, thrown off by the sudden correction.
"Captain Quantum." Anastasia's head turned to face Dan, her eyes not leaving the helmet. "A child's moniker. A daydream. The fool's name was Morgan Strauss."
Dan frowned. "I know that. But, in costume, he went by—"
"There is no such thing as 'in costume,'" Anastasia corrected. "These People, they made their choices long ago. They don't get to hide behind anonymity. They do not have that privilege. I will not entertain their delusions. You shouldn't either."
"He's dead," Dan pointed out. "So, it's not like he knows, either way."
Anastasia smiled grimly. "What makes you think I care?"
"Grandma," Abby interrupted sharply. "Be nice. Please."
Anastasia rolled her eyes, but smiled indulgently. It looked like a shark eyeing him for a snack. He suppressed a shudder, as she wiggled the helmet like a cheap prop.
"I recognize this fellow. His name was... Baker. Barker. Something like that. Went by Centurion. He led a People cell in Baton Rouge." She flicked her index finger and the helmet spiraled into the air. A simple twirl of the same digit, and—
Dan staggered as a wave of something passed through him. Abby winced, behind him. His ears popped. The floor shook. Something screeched and grated and cracked.
The helmet crumpled into a molten ball the size of an apple. It fell to the floor with a tremulous clang, leaving and indentation on the steel. Smoke rose from where it lay, metal scorching beneath it. Anastasia eyed it with curiosity.
"That was no forgery," she declared. "It was a replica. An exact one. Or a spare."
Dan staggered upright, his ears ringing. "How are you so sure?" he managed to ask.
Anastasia smiled nostalgically. "It crunched the exact same way."
He tried not to shudder at the answer.
"I think he made these things," Anastasia continued, spreading her arms outward to encompass the room. "He must have been their armorer, or had a close connection to whoever it was. Someone made their gear. And when they died, they got a shrine. It's almost admirable."
"Does that help you?" Dan asked, frowning at Anastasia's palpable amusement.
"Not at all." The elderly matron shook her head. "The People had a Natural, one of their higher ups. He was one of the few who knew each of the cells. Had to. His power was a sort of delayed dimensional displacement. It was an emergency measure. Like a... time capsule. Activate it, and it sucked up all their incriminating evidence. I never did figure out how to get those things open. We couldn't even see them, after it was activated." She shook her head, caught up in old memories. "Only knew about it because one of my guys saw it go off. So much information just floating out there, in some inaccessible pocket of reality."
She blinked, coming back to herself. "Anyway. Strauss would've activated that measure, once he made the decision to go dark. And he did go dark. This place is dead. The dust can attest to that." She gestured at the ground, then fixed her gaze on Dan. "Congratulations, Newman. Your blundering has not fatally endangered yourself, nor others."
"Oh," Dan replied, too distracted to really register her rebuke. "That's good." His mind was quietly replaying what she had just mentioned. About pocket realities, alternate dimensions. An inaccessible space. Unseen.
His veil played over his body, over his skin, his face, his eyes. Like goggles, a window into the abyss. It obeyed his thoughts, waited for his command.
Dan stared into the shimmering sapphire glow, and pondered the possibilities.