Dan tapped at the base of his laptop, drumming his fingers against the aluminum frame. His eyes flicked across the screen, checking emails and bank information. The tapping increased, a quiet, constant drumroll filling his study. Someone knocked on the door to his study.

"Come in," Dan called.

The door cracked open and Abby's head poked in. Her long hair was pulled into a ponytail that draped sideways as she tilted her head.

"What's up?" she asked.

Dan scrolled up and down, confirming what he already knew. "The payments from Marcus have stopped."

Abby's head righted itself, and she swung the door to his study all the way open as she stepped inside. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Not necessarily." Dan leaned back, scratching his neck. His eyes still roamed the screen as he nodded to himself. "Not a dime for the last three weeks. I didn't even notice until now."

Abby crossed over behind his desk. She peered down at the screen. "There were more important things to think about. So what does this mean?"

"No idea." Dan shrugged. "Maybe whatever account he was using ran dry."

"You still haven't heard from him?" Abby asked.

"Not a word. No emails, no calls, no texts. No idea what happened to him," Dan confirmed.

"Any way to check if his station is still around?" Abby asked.

Dan considered the question, then considered whether or not it mattered. Marcus's space station sat in orbit over Neptune, and it had been Dan's home for his first few months in Dimension A. The last time he'd visited it'd been abandoned and on the edge of collapse. Now he was too scared of appearing in empty space to try teleporting back.

He thought for a minute about what it would be like if he were wrong. Maybe Marcus had returned, fixed things up, gone back to whatever hollow shell of a life he'd lived before Dan had arrived. Nothing had changed between the two of them. Dan would always appreciate the kindness the old scientist had shown him, but their friendship was a distant thing now. Marcus was still lost in the past, and Dan had built a life in the present. If the old man wanted to contact him, Dan was right here. In the meantime, he was well past needing charity.

"Danny?" Abby prodded.

Dan shook himself free of his thoughts and said, "It doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Dan nodded, then grinned up at her. "Just means I have to get a real job."

Abby crossed her arms, tilted her head up, and looked down at him out of the corner of her eye. She harrumphed self-importantly. "Not going to live comfortably as my sugar baby?"

Dan laughed. "Technically I'm a business owner. I suppose I should start acting like it."

It was harder than he hoped it would be. Dan spent the rest of the day making calls. From construction companies to grocery stores, and everything in between, Dan called any business he imagined might need things delivered or shipped. His veil's capacity had massively increased in the year since his arrival. He could drag an easy ton of material, instantly, without regard to distance, and he didn't get tired doing it. There was bound to be an industry demand for that sort of thing.

Of course, there was the issue of his cover story. Mutates didn't grow their powers, and while Dan didn't have an official weight limit listed on any of his paperwork, his sheer versatility was bound to draw suspicion eventually. He was already pretty open with his own status. He was pretty sure most of his close friends either knew or suspected, and were just doing the polite thing and ignoring it. Either way, jumping literal tons of goods from one part of the country to another was a great way to get more attention than he wanted.

Really, this whole 'hiding his Natural status' thing was a pain in the ass. Recent events had only polarized the public's opinions of Naturals. The country seemed almost evenly split. On one side, Naturals were a danger to themselves and those around them, and should hide away their powers and maintain a safe distance from society. On the other, Naturals should embrace their powers, train with them, and use them in ways that would benefit the world.

Neither side engaged with the fact that most Naturals did not choose to be incarnated, nor did they address the societal shunning that they faced from both sides. Those facts were still the third rail of national politics. Even pro-Natural demagogues stuck to utilitarian arguments. Either Naturals were a dangerous societal element, or they were not. Instability was the enemy, something that Dan found hilarious because this society was anything but stable.

Echo had succeeded in at least one respect: Naturals were the talk of the country once again; Naturals, and the People. Rumors were flying and the internet was abuzz with activity. Given the sheer amount of information—and disinformation—being bandied about at all times, there was bound to be some radicalization on both ends of the spectrum. It really wasn't the best time to be a Natural.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Dan spent the next day puzzling over this problem and finding no answers. In retrospect, he should have asked Anastasia to just register him as a Natural, despite the mistrust and scrutiny that would have invited. Back then, he was much more afraid. Of the world, of the People, and the people around him. Of everything. He should have just been honest from the beginning, and now he was stuck.

Well, nothing left to do but play things out. Dan would do what he did best, and wing it.

He called up Marcus' old supplier, an industrial machine shop that dealt in everything from scientific equipment to construction vehicles. The owner had a mind like a steel trap; he remembered Dan, and it took little convincing to be immediately contracted for a delivery. These were uncertain times, and the promise of nigh-instantaneous delivery for at vastly undercut rates was not something anyone sensible would pass up. The man had also been trusted by Marcus, so Dan figured he would be more likely to overlook any irregularities with Dan's mutation.

The machine shop had been hired by a local construction firm for supplies of all things. Austin had been on lockdown for weeks, with only essential supplies being allowed in through city checkpoints. Certain building materials were not on that list. Now the machine shop was running low, and more was still needed. Dan was tasked to go to an out of state supplier. The job took all of five trips and thirty minutes. He brought the construction material directly to the site, where he introduced himself to the workers and the foreman. Ten minutes later, Dan had a business card and another contact.

That was his life for the next few days: In and out of the city on delivery jobs for businesses of every kind, who had been waiting weeks to refresh their supplies. In the meantime, Abby returned to work at the rehab clinic. With the Scales essentially coming apart as a gang, the number of visitors to the clinic greatly increased. The Scales had taken care of their own when it came to minor overmod issues, but that was no longer possible. Former members now swamped the clinic at all hours, all requiring specialized care for their irregular bodies.

With her work picking up, Abby finally caved and bought some wheels for herself. She chose a large, loud, fast muscle car that might have been a Dodge Challenger had this dimension not gone so sideways. It was called a Dominus, and Abby had it painted in eye-watering neon pink. They kept it in the driveway, just one more thing warding people away from their shared home. In their free time, they repaired the front yard. Dan re-turfed the lawn where officers had torn it to pieces. He finally ordered new bulletproof glass, replacing the cheap panes he'd installed as a stop-gap. They weeded their shrubs, bought mulch, and planted flowers. They worked on their home until it became what they remembered it being. It was a hectic, but pleasant, two weeks as both Abby and Dan fell back into their cozy life together.

They met with Cornelius in between work and housekeeping. The officer seemed entirely unfazed by his injuries, though at least some of that had to be the drugs. The man was high as a kite, doped up on so many painkillers that it was only his upgrade keeping him conscious. The prosthetics his brother had arranged for him were top of the line, connecting directly into the nervous system and providing realistic neural feedback. The downside was that the installation process was long and excruciating. Cornelius, perfectly comfortable in his own masculinity, asked for and received enough tranquilizer to put down an elephant.

Cornelius' total recovery was a long way off, and he would never quite regain what he'd lost. Upgrades being what they were, even the reinforced titanium prosthetic wasn't quite as strong or flexible as the original limb, though it was an adequate replacement. It would take a great deal of rehabilitation for him to get back his old strength, and, as he dreamily informed Abby, he would be in her care. The lunatic claimed to have scheduled appointments at her rehab center for the next six months. Abby laughed it off for the joke that it clearly was, and they both put it out of their mind.

It was a sunny Sunday morning, and Dan accompanied Abby to work in the passenger seat of her growling muscle car. Abby approached driving in the same way she did everything in life: with maximum enthusiasm. The first time she'd been pulled over, Dan had been in the car alongside her, desperately clutching at his seatbelt. The officer had recognized Dan, ignored his pleading gaze, given him a cheerful smile, and sent them on their way. The word must have gotten around about Abby and her distinctive vehicle, because she hadn't been stopped since.

At least the car came with some great safety features.

Abby soared into the parking lot of the rehab center and squealed to a stop in her assigned space. Hers was easy to identify, being the one with all the tread marks. Dan blinked free the instant the car was parked, opening Abby's door and ushering her out before she could change her mind. They walked out of the parking lot hand in hand, moving towards the rehab center.

The center used to be a small gym. It was a single-story affair, shaped like a rectangle, with a slanted roof and square walls. It wasn't much to look at, devoid of the bizarre thematic flourishes most buildings carried in Dimension A. This was a place of healing and reconstruction. It had no unnecessary ornamentation, no bizarre decorative twists, no extra quirks to speak of. It was plain in its purpose and did not divert from it in the slightest.

Dan liked the place, though it reminded him a bit of a hospital from his old dimension. There was a sort of medicinal smell that permeated the building at all times. Something like bleach, but more herbal. The floors, walls, and ceiling shined a vibrant white. It was clean and sterile. Plain as paper. All these design choices, or lack thereof, contrasted harshly against the center's patients.

This particular rehabilitation center was primarily used by overmod victims. Overmodding generally resulted in a plethora of animalistic features that the human brain wasn't equipped to deal with. Extra limbs, tails, sometimes mouths or eyes. The purpose of centers like this was to train victims' brains into recognizing their new parts, and controlling them in a way that made life manageable.

The center was on the edge of what used to be Scale territory, and rehab centers had generally been seen as neutral ground by Scales and their associates. With both major Austin gangs falling to pieces in the aftermath of the UT Massacre, centers like this had become hubs for former gangsters. It wasn't nearly as dangerous as it sounded, given the location's almost religious significance to overmod victims. It was usually pretty safe.

Usually.

Today though, Dan and Abby were met with an unusual sight. They stopped at the entrance, stunned and staring. At the center of the building stood two men.

The first: Cornelius on crutches, in full APD regalia. He wore a wide, confident grin despite his unsteady stance, unperturbed by the hostile gazes of the crowd surrounding him.

The second: Connor, scowling with his arms crossed, dressed sensibly like a civilian. He had no fear on his face, only an expression of utmost sufferance directed squarely at his uncle.

The pair stood by the front desk, and Cornelius hobbled shakily over to slap down a printed document.

"I have an appointment!" he announced cheerfully.