Dan was watching the news when Galeforce finally made his appearance. The cute, heart-warming report on a local dog shelter was interrupted by a breaking news broadcast. Galeforce's mug was plastered across Dan's television screen, as the newscaster narrated current events in their infuriatingly perfect voice.

"The notorious vigilante, Galeforce, has officially entered Austin city limits! He has openly announced his intentions to assault several private establishments that he claims to be housing illegal operations. We go now to a video recording posted just minutes ago on Galeforce's social media account."

The screen transitioned into a lower quality selfie-cam. Galeforce posed into the camera, grinning brightly. His domino mask wrapped tight around his eyes, distorting the shape of his face, but it couldn't hide the luster of youth. His bleached hair had seen a trim since his last appearance, and he'd spiked it into dozens of sharp tines. The young man looked like he growing a very small pine forest out of his head.

Dan had never seen someone so ridiculous act so confident.

"Hey there G-Force fans!" the vigilante shouted into the camera. The screen panned around, showing that he was high, high up in the air. "It's your boy 'G' here, dropping a quick announcement vid! I'm in Austin today, and a little birdie dropped me a line on some sweet villain lairs. Expect a livestream tonight of the raids, and a couple of compilations to follow! I've been working on my camera work: check it out!"

The camera wobbled backwards, pulling away from Galeforce's face. It kept going well past the length of his arm, its movement growing increasingly unsteady, until it became clear that he was using his powers to manipulate the phone's trajectory. Galeforce's mouth moved, though his words were completely inaudible. There was only dull static, but the phone zipped in a wild, tumbling circle. There were flashes of ground, sky, ground, sky, lake, sky, ground, skin— The phone slapped back into Galeforce's hand, and the sound returned as he fumbled with it.

"Still working on it, as you can see," the vigilante admitted sheepishly. His face jerked back into view. "I've got this neat audio algorithm running to dampen the noise, but sound quality is still an issue, obviously. But don't worry! Improvements are coming! I've got a few sponsorship deals in the works. Obviously, I can't talk about anything until it's all finalized, but let's just say big things are coming! That's all I've got for now, folks. Be sure to like, comment and subscribe. Also, make sure you click that bell to enable alerts! You don't want to miss tonight's stream; I promise you that! Peace out!"

The video ended, and Dan's phone lit up several times in fast succession. He checked the first of his several new notifications, registering Dunkirk's text without surprise. It was a simple message, and without elaboration.

"Tonight," it read.

The next was from Cornelius.

"Heard from you-know-who?" was immediately followed by, "Nvm, no txt. Meet when free. My favorite spot."

Dan sent a thumbs-up to Dunkirk, then quickly texted an update to Abby. He pocketed his phone, swept his veil through his clothes—checking for bugs, electronic or otherwise, was pure habit at this point—then teleported to a college pub that Cornelius frequented. Dan found an empty corner booth, ordered an appetizer, and settled in to wait. It was the middle of the day so the crowd was thin, but Dan was young enough to not stand out. He quietly munched on his mozzarella sticks and counted down the time in his head.

Twenty minutes passed before Cornelius arrived, strolling in like he owned the place. His eyes found Dan almost immediately, and he made for the booth without hesitation.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Daniel," he greeted, extending his hand to shake.

Dan accepted the gesture, feeling a small, electronic device as it passed from Cornelius' palm to his own. He slipped it into his hammerspace, expression unchanging. Cornelius took a seat in the opposite seat in the booth.

"It'll be tonight," Dan told him. "No specifics yet."

"We've added a few complications," Cornelius said.

"Oh?" Dan asked. "Do tell."

Cornelius quickly outlined the defenses around the Artificer's pain gun. It was kept in a secure APD warehouse used to hold dangerous or unstable evidence and technology. The weapon itself was kept inside a locker and monitored with both proximity and pressure sensors. If either were tripped, an alarm would sound and the facility would be flooded with knockout gas. It was some real Indiana Jones shit.

None of it would pose much of a challenge to Dan. The gun itself wasn't particularly big, and the facility wasn't particularly wide. His veil had grown a great deal these past few months. Dan's pool of energy was large enough that he could make the swap from outside the building. Finding an exact weight match would be annoying, but he had a kitchen scale and plenty of warning.

Dan realized, with a jolt of sudden realization, that nobody had so much as floated the idea that he would fail the extraction. It was disturbing to realize how much faith his friends had in him, and how much they knew about his abilities. Dan rarely gave out the specifics of his power, and his friends had always kept up the polite fiction that it was a mutation. Listening to Cornelius calmly list out a set of defenses that would stymy most hardened professionals, Dan finally understood just how closely he'd been observed. He spent a great deal of time among highly trained professionals. They weren't blind. They must have been suspicious at some point.

They obviously trusted him now. Dan had no doubts on that account. He wondered, though, how long it had taken. He guessed it was somewhere around the first time he'd maimed Andros Bartholomew, when Cornelius had come running at his call. Dan felt a great surge of affection for his friends, who had waited, and watched, and evaluated his character before acting in a way that might have destroyed the life he was building here.

Dan brought his attention back to the present, nodding to Cornelius. He understood what he needed to do. There was a reason he was learning these things ahead of time. He had to retrieve the weapon without suspicion. The alarms wouldn't trip. That wasn't their role. That wasn't the point of these security measures. The point was to discover just how much Dunkirk knew.

The fed had a vested interest in Dan succeeding. He should, theoretically, hand over any knowledge he might have about the weapon's defenses. The pressure plate was a late addition, and only a handful of people knew about it. If Dunkirk warned Dan, it would significantly thin the list of possible moles. It was vital that the leaks were plugged.

The gun itself also carried a tracker, but nobody expected that to do much. There were only so many places to hide a bug on a gun, and Dunkirk would undoubtedly check over his prize. Everybody presumed the swap would be done quickly. Dan would warn his APD friends, but there was no guarantee that they could make it on scene in time. It would be up to Dan to plant another tracker, the very same one Cornelius had subtly passed over, somewhere on Dunkirk's person.

It was all about buying time, now. With Galeforce in the city, the APD would have limited resources available to back Dan up. The vigilante had to be the priority, but the chance to nail the fed could not be passed by. It was a risk, giving him the pain gun. If Dunkirk made it out of the city, there wouldn't be much the APD could do to him. He'd be free to return to the FBI, and salvage his career. Nobody wanted a rat like that back in power, especially not while he held blackmail on the APD.

"One last thing," Cornelius said. He regarded Dan seriously. "Galeforce mentioned a source in his last video. We're pretty sure that Dunkirk tipped him off."

Dan frowned skeptically. "To what?"

"We don't know, and that's a problem. I'm hoping you can find out."

"Million people in the city," Dan pointed out. "Any one of them could be fans. Any one of them could know where to find some criminals. What makes you think it was Dunkirk?"

Cornelius shrugged. "The timing. It's awfully convenient, don't you think?"

"Is this where you tell me you don't believe in coincidences?" Dan asked him.

"Not helpful ones," Cornelius replied. "Murphy cuts both ways. Everybody gets fucked. I don't buy that Dunkirk caught a lucky break. No way, no how."

Dan laughed at the officer's cynicism.

"I'll see what I can find out," he promised.

"Good. And good luck, Dan." Cornelius hesitated, then added, "Stay safe, huh? It's not likely he'll go for a double cross, but you never know with slime-balls like Dunkirk."

"No worries," Dan reassured him. "I got this."