It was Dan's first time in the Capitol, and he wasn't enjoying the experience. He'd once heard that something was always being protested in Washington, but the citizens of Dimension A seemed to take things to the next level. There was a small sea of sign-carrying bodies occupying D.C. More than a handful of streets were cordoned off due to protests, and the DCPD were out in force, directing traffic and corralling passerby. Not that any of this was more than a mild inconvenience to Dan.

He strolled the streets in his best imitation of business casual, with a suit jacket tucked away in hammer-space in case he needed it. The outfit was camouflage. You could get just about anywhere without armed security by looking impressive and acting like you belonged there. Dan's current target was a squat office building on northwest 9th Street, moderately adjacent to the FBI Headquarters. It was this building that housed the Radiological Emergence Division. Jeremy Rawls' division, the Villain Response Unit, fell under their umbrella, and his offices should be somewhere inside.

Not that Dan thought he could just walk in and ask. He obviously could, but it might draw attention and questions he wasn't prepared to answer. The whole point was to speak to the man without being seen or overheard. This was dangerous, Dan reminded himself. It was hard to keep that fact in mind. He hadn't been present for the assassination attempt on Dunkirk, and he hadn't known anyone involved. The danger hadn't crystalized for him, quite yet. Nor did he want it to. He was quite happy living in ignorance, in this case. He would proceed with caution, regardless.

Dan was well accustomed to paranoia by now. He spent most of his time lying to his closest friends about his own activities and capabilities. The fact that they might suspect the truth was irrelevant; there was no proof to be had, not in small part because he was getting pretty good at being careful. It was hardly a stretch to extend that same discretion towards this particular encounter. He didn't need to physically enter the building to explore it, he only needed to be nearby.

When Dan first arrived in the city, he assumed he would need to fabricate some sort of excuse to linger in the shadow of the federal building. His original plan was to find the closest bench—the sidewalks were littered with them—and have a long lunch. That plan turned out to be unnecessary.

As with most things in Dimension A's America, the building had chosen a theme and leaned into it hard. It was the headquarters of the FBI's Radiological Emergence Division, alias RED. It was a pretty easy thematic leap. The entire building was firetruck red. Its sides were rounded, rather than square, tapering off near the center all around. Dan suspected the architect was going for an apple, but missed rather badly. Its bulbous shape looked more like a child's drawing of a heart. Despite its aesthetic missteps, it was a publicly listed government property, and therefore drew the requisite amount of attention.

There were several hundred people picketing the RED building, waving signs like 'Free the People!' and 'Naturals are Natural!' and other such slogans. It was a work of mere moments for Dan to secure himself a spare sign from a helpful protestor, and stand within spitting distance of his target for as long as he wanted. His veil sent out feelers, and he slowly, surely, mapped out the building. All the while, he watched employees come and go, searching for the face of Jeremy Rawls.

He could have done this with his portals, sitting a thousand miles away in the safety of his own home, but that had risks of its own. Dan's doorways were not invisible. They were, in fact, pretty obvious depending on the angle and the size. He didn't fancy staring into a peephole for hours on end, only to be discovered by some random passerby, from an angle he hadn't noticed. Better to be there in person, to get a feel for things with his own eyes and his own ears and his own veil.

Dan didn't expect to need a mental map of the RED building, it was just habit at this point. Not even a precaution, so much as a comforting routine. Where others might fidget or play with their hair, Dan compulsively mapped the world with his veil. His power swept through concrete, plaster, and tile. It felt out the complex electronics that seemed to line every inch of the eye-watering structure, traced wires as they branched off again and again, and tagged a hundred different shoe soles as they sat beside desks and their owners worked.

There were five exits to the building, three of which went underground. Dan's veil mapped out a long, wide passageway beneath his feet that lead towards the FBI Headquarters four buildings down. The underground road had stairs leading up to every building between, secret entrances and exits in case of an emergency. And only in case of emergency, Dan presumed, as they were completely empty. Each entrance was barred by a heavy door and locked, physically and electronically.

The last way to exit the building seemed to be a fire escape. All employees entered and exited the building through the front doors, at least in a normal day. That seemed odd, to Dan, but he accepted it as just one more quirk of Dimension A's architecture. The crux of his observations was that Rawls should be visible whenever he arrived, or left, the building. So, Dan tucked his sign up against his shoulder, waded deep into the crowd of protestors, and settled in to wait.

It wasn't just blind luck that Dan was relying on, though he'd happily settle for it. Jeremy Rawls was slated to give a recruitment speech at St. Joseph's College Preparatory—a private high school similar to the one Connor and Freya attended—later this afternoon. His attendance was helpfully listed on the school's event itinerary, and so heavily promoted that it was the third result Google spat out when Dan searched for Rawls' name. And so it came to pass, as the afternoon rolled into the evening, that Jeremy Rawls exited the building.

Dan watched him walk along the sidewalk, not sparing the shouting crowd so much as a glance, and make for the adjoining parking lot. Dan began shouldering his way through the protestors, his veil tracking his target. Rawls stopped in front of his vehicle, a two-door sportscar, and Dan swept the insides for anything suspicious. The last thing he needed was Rawls getting taken out by a car bomb, or something equally asinine, the moment Dan found him. Thankfully, everything seemed in order.

If Rawls was in any way concerned with his own welfare, he did an admirable job of hiding it. The man climbed into his car, and roared out of the garage at what might generously be described as highway speeds. Dan was beginning to understand why Dunkirk drove the way he did. There was probably some idiotic federal exemption that allowed them to completely disregard the rules of the road. Regardless, Dan made it out of the crowd, ducked into a nearby alley, and vanished.

He appeared on a cross street where Rawls had met traffic. Dan reached into t-space, and pulled out his secret weapon. It was a pair of darkened welder's glasses, and he'd mounted a thin layer of cloth on the inside of the left eye. He strapped the goggles on, keeping his eyes open. The goggles were large enough that the velvet layer didn't quite reach his eyelashes. Dan's veil poked the velvet, and created a portal in the nook a distant building. His vision immediately split in two, one eye tracking Rawls' car as it tore down the road, and the other seeing the sidewalk in front of his body.

The disorientation was immediate, but not debilitating. Dan summoned his long forgotten cane sword into his right hand and half-walked half-stumbled towards a nearby bench. His trusty blade was a melted ruin, but the cane part of his cane sword worked just fine. Dan leaned heavily on it as he sagged into the bench, then leaned his head back to rest. The goggles' lenses were blacked out. Nobody could see his eyes, and the small layer of cloth offered an anchor for his doorways that wouldn't broadcast the inside of t-space to anyone who might have enhanced vision. To the casual onlooker, he was a blind man taking a breather. Dan kept one eye closed, while the other followed Rawls' progress.

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The problem with just approaching Rawls on the street, was that the man might have backup. Dan knew very little about how feds operated, but he had to imagine someone like Rawls had invested in a bodyguard or two. Maybe the agency itself assigned babysitters? He really didn't know. All he did know, was that Anastasia Summers never went anywhere without a cadre of armed gunmen, and she was the scariest person he knew. Surely Jeremy Rawls had at least a single person watching his back?

So Dan watched, and waited, and catalogued. He looked for cars following at a distance, but quickly gave it up as pointless. Rawls blitzed down the highway, weaving in and out of traffic with dangerous familiarity. No car could be following him unless it was flying and invisible. Dan made the logical assumption: any backup Rawls might have had to be waiting at the school.

St. Joseph's was a sight to see. The school's front gates, inlaid with golden filigree, were open and inviting. Its parking lot was filled to the brim with people, parents and children alike all moving in the same direction. There was a stadium at the opposite end of the property, where the crowd congregated. Rawls barely slowed as he entered the parking lot, and he veered off towards the VIP parking, near the stadium.

Dan swept the crowd with portals, getting as close as he dared. It was madness. People, conversation, the unending clamor of teenagers. Nobody wore nametags, nobody dressed in specific colors. There was security milling about, but none were armed, and none seemed concerned. So far as Dan could tell, they simply assumed nobody would dare intrude if not invited.

Dan made a decision, and willed himself into an unoccupied bathroom stall. His portal quickly lost track of Rawls in the hustle and bustle, but Dan wasn't concerned. More important than where Rawls was now, Dan knew where he was going to be. He tossed his welder's goggles back into t-space, and summoned his jacket. Dan slipped into the crowd without issue, blending in as just another audience member. He didn't bother with concealment. In the sea of faces, he'd just be one more. Any kind of mask or facial cover would just make him stand out. Instead, he settled his face into the same bland boredom that every parent present wore, and went to find a seat in the stadium.

Rawls gave a rousing speech, if the crowd's reaction was any judge. Dan found himself too distracted to listen. He was busy searching for familiar faces in the crowd, searching his memory for every person he watched exit the RED building. Cornelius' observation training paid off dividends here, as Dan was able to determine, with fair assurance, that he had never seen any of these people before.

Once again, it seemed wrong to Dan's sensibilities. All of his experience with Anastasia told him that people who engaged in shadow wars inside their own agencies didn't walk around without protection. He supposed that Rawls might be both personally powerful and extremely self-confident, but that didn't track with Dan's impressions of the man. The opposite, really. Rawls had a harried urgency in every motion that spoke of extreme anxiety. If anything, he gave off the impression of an overworked retail manager.

Even so, Dan had resolved not to underestimate anyone, anymore. He kept up his search up until the very end, and when Rawls finished his speech and made to leave, Dan followed. It was difficult to keep track of the man's manic movements. People attempted to flag him down to talk, but Rawls appeared to be over public speaking for the day. He rushed out of the building, making for the parking lot like a man with far more work than were hours in the day.

Dan followed him as best he could. His veil did most of the legwork, spinning out threads in its normal pattern. He trusted his power implicitly, barely needing his eyes at all. Something struck him as off, however, as he ambled across the parking lot, drifting between groups of departing students. It took him a moment to figure out what was wrong, what his instincts and his power were working together to tell him.

Rubber soles pressed against concrete in the rhythmic pattern of someone walking in a straight line. Each tap was like a ping on a sonar array, lighting up Dan's sixth sense and alerting his subconscious mind of movement. But when his eyes roamed over the source, he found nothing. Over and over, his eyes skipped past a spot in the parking lot, where his power insisted something was moving. A pair of shoes trailed behind Rawls, invisible to the naked eye and seemingly moving of their own accord.

No, not shoes. A person. Dan's brain struggled with itself to reconcile the logical leap. It was— it was so obvious what was happening, yet making the connection felt like wading through a quagmire. Only Dan's power, stubbornly insisting that something existed where it clearly did not, prevented Dan's brain from dismissing its own conclusions. He squinted hard, trying not to be obvious.

Nothing. Only Rawls' back, and some parked vehicles. There was the sporty two-door that Rawls had arrived in, an SUV fit for a family of six, a sleek motorcycle, and a truck the size of a small shed.

And then the motorcycle disappeared. Poof! Right before Dan's eyes. His brain instantly dismissed the event, but his veil stubbornly insisted that a motorcycle was sitting right there, and always had been. It traced itself up the rubber tires, across the metal frame, and found linen pants, rubber soles, a cloth shirt covered by Kevlar plating and combat webbing, and leather gloves. A person sat there, atop a vehicle, both shielded from awareness, and Dan's brain slowly, sluggishly, made the connection.

Somebody's power was fucking with his mind. Someone invisible was following Rawls.

Rawls had an invisible bodyguard.

And Dan was suddenly thrilled for his own paranoia. It would've been a disaster if he'd spoken to Rawls with some unseen person at his back. Dan's veil swept the bodyguard's form, noting the pistol tucked into an arm holster, the small med kit tucked into his vest, and the knife in his pocket. Dan memorized the feel of the man's soles. He wouldn't miss him again. Whatever power this man used to erase himself from people's minds, it wouldn't matter. Dan didn't need eyes to see.

Rawls peeled out of the parking lot, heading for home. After a moment, his bodyguard followed, his vehicle silent, invisible, obscured from every sense save Dan's veil. Dan followed them both. Rawls quickly found his way onto the highway. Dan couldn't follow the bodyguard with his doorways, but that was fine. As soon as Rawls stopped, Dan could appear on a nearby roof and track down the invisible man with his veil.

Rawls ended his journey at a fancy condominium near the edge of D.C., well away from the screaming protestors and noise of the city. The man parked his car with his usual alacrity, and made for the nearest elevator at a brisk trot. Dan created a quick few portals inside the building, and eventually found another bathroom stall to appear in. He squatted on the john, as his veil mapped the surrounding building. He quickly found Rawls, still in the elevator, and then his invisible follower, only just entering the lobby.

Dan smirked. Invisible or not, following the fed's insane driving must be a pain in the ass. He felt for the man, truly.

Rawls got off on the tenth floor, and made his way to his room. He unlocked it with a keycard as his bodyguard stepped into the first-floor elevator. Dan had maybe a minute or two to contact the man if he wanted to speak to him alone. He considered the issue, then snaked his veil into Rawls' apartment and swept its walls for anything that didn't belong. Once Dan was satisfied that the man's home wasn't bugged, his veil spat out a burner phone onto the kitchen counter. Dan summoned another one to his hand, and dialed its partner. He sat back, feeling out Rawls' reactions through his veil.

Rawls stepped into his apartment, shucked his jacket and briefcase, then froze as an unfamiliar phone rang. He turned in a slow circle, examining his apartment. His gaze finally settled on a small black burner phone, sitting on the kitchen island not twenty feet away. He seemed to consider it for several seconds, before giving a half-hearted sigh—as if things like this just happened sometimes—and approaching.

He answered the phone, stating simply, "This is Rawls."

Well, that was easy.

"Mr. Rawls," Dan greeted. "I'm calling on behalf of an anonymous party in Austin. They believe they have someone you want to speak to, and would like to arrange a transfer."

There was a brief pause. "Austin? I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

Rawls' puzzlement sounded genuine to Dan's ears, and it caught him off-guard. He checked the progress of the man's bodyguard. He was still riding the elevator up. Dan doubted the man would do anything more intrusive than stand watch outside the apartment, but he couldn't count on it.

"It seems like there are some things you don't know," Dan said at last. "I'd like to talk about them face to face, but this needs to be a private conversation."

"I can make time," Rawls replied tersely. He'd obviously done something like this before. "When and where?"

"I can meet you where you are," Dan replied. "Though, again, it has to be just the two of us."

The elevator dinged, and the bodyguard stepped out, making his way towards Rawls apartment with unhurried steps.

Dan smiled. "Nice try, Mr. Rawls. Send away that invisible bodyguard of yours. We can have a chat once he's gone."

There was a long pause, The bodyguard sidled up to the door, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his knife. Rawls reply came right as the man crouched, and delicately began to work his blade between the knob and the frame.

"Invisible bodyguard?"