Dan couldn't be sure what his client had intended, when they'd hired him to deliver a plastic tub of body parts, but Dan was pretty sure that this wasn't part of the plan. There were now—Dan did a quick headcount—approximately seventeen cops swarming the storage facility. The entrance was blocked off by squad cars, and there were more flashing lights than at a blockbuster premier.

Homicide detectives were taking pictures of the locker, while another interviewed Dan. He didn't recognize any of them. Baker was nowhere to be found because, despite Dan's paranoia, there was no actual evidence yet implicating either Coldeyes' Crew, or the People. It was just a body in a tub in a locker. And a Dan.

"So you never actually met the client in person?" the detective, who had introduced herself as Sarah McKay, asked him.

Dan shook his head. "We only corresponded through my business email. They sent the delivery information and payment. I require a contact number for emergencies but I can't imagine it's real after seeing this."

"We'll need it anyway," Detective McKay told him. "You never know when a criminal will make a stupid mistake like giving out their actual phone number."

Dan shrugged. "Sure."

He pulled out his phone, brought up the email, and rattled off the contact number he'd been given. McKay scribbled it down on a notepad, then asked, "And where were you meant to deliver this?"

Dan consulted the email, then told her.

"Do you know the individual who you were delivering to?" she asked.

Dan shook his head. "I'm just a courier. I go where I'm paid to go. I don't think I've ever even been to that part of town before."

"It's a dangerous place to be right now," she noted.

"Where isn't?" Dan replied.

McKay chose not to answer that, instead switching track. "Did you open the tub?"

"That was the first officer on scene," Dan corrected. "My mutation gives me a rough idea of my surroundings, and my work as a crisis volunteer has exposed me to more than my fair share of bodies. When I sensed what was inside, I immediately called the police."

A sharp whistle rang out from somewhere behind the storage unit, then an officer rounded the corner at a jog. His arms flailed like a startled octopus as he attempted to flag down McKay. The woman regarded him with confusion, as he shouted, "The cameras!"

Dan glanced at one of the nearby security cameras. It was positioned five units away, mounted on a corner and facing towards the crime scene. Unlike the rest of the storage complex, the cameras were actually in somewhat decent condition, though they all looked like something out of a nineties heist film. Large, boxy, and painted white, with a blinking red dot to show that it was active, the cameras served as an adequate warning that the premises was under watch.

They were also the sole source of surveillance, given that there wasn't even a guard posted, so that was probably less useful than one might assume. Dan guessed that the owner hoped the overt cameras would scare off thieves, and was too miserly to spring for an actual deterrent.

"The cameras!" the officer repeated, coming to a halt in front of McKay. In his hand was a cell phone. "I've got the owner on the phone. He says the cameras are props!" He gestured towards the camera, and its blinking light. "As in: plastic! I just finished checking the facility, and confirmed it. None of the cameras are hooked up to anything! Even the lights are just cheap LEDs mounted inside a hollow case."

"So?" McKay asked. "What's your point?"

"I've got the Double-E's upgrade," the officer explained, waving his hand up and down in front of his eyes. "The Electric Eyes. I can see electrical activity. Sir, the camera watching this unit is active! It's hooked up to something, and transmitting!"

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Dan and McKay both stared blankly for a few seconds, as the implications clicked in.

McKay spun on her heel to face the camera, and strode towards it like an angry bull.

"Follow those cables!" she bellowed to the officer behind her, pointing towards the camera. "Tell me where they lead!"

He hurried after her, as every other officer stopped what they were doing to watch.

"It looks like they just go inside," the officer said, as he circled the building.

"Open that unit!" McKay ordered. A nearby officer tossed her a crowbar, and she knelt next to the lock.

Dan, half out of sheer panic, and half out of pure reflex, sent his veil whipping into the storage unit. He had just enough time to spot check the garage door, making sure that there were no traps waiting to go off, before McKay wrenched it open. Dan winced at the noise as the door rattled upwards, and the contents were revealed.

It was a laptop, sitting on the cold concrete floor.

Dan blinked, and looked again.

Still a laptop. Wires lead from it, to the wall, where they'd been duct taped together. Following the trail with his eyes and veil, Dan could clearly see that it was connected to the camera outside the unit. Officers quickly cleared the room, and McKay approached the laptop.

She squatted down, brow furrowed, as she looked at the screen. Several of her fellow detectives followed her in, puzzling over whatever they were looking at.

"It's streaming," Dan heard one mutter. "Look. It's connected to the city wi-fi, and that's a streaming app."

Dan glanced to the camera, pointed squarely at the crime scene, and back to the computer. Streaming? To who? And why? Someone had clearly taken the time to set all this up. Surveillance of private property was definitely illegal, and the owner had already told the police that it wasn't him. It probably hadn't taken a great deal of time to set this all up, but the premeditation spoke wonders. Had this all been planned?

McKay seemed to be asking the same questions of her fellow detectives. After a few minutes of discussion, they determined it safe to shut off the laptop. The camera was disconnected from the laptop, and the light turned off. The officers clicked the computer shut, and slipped it into a plastic evidence bag. They seemed to believe that they might be able to find an archive of the stream, and through that, somehow trace the IP address of anyone who had watched it.

Dan knew next to nothing about cyber-security, but the unpleasant feeling in his gut had yet to go away. The more convoluted this affair got, the more he became convinced it was Andros Bartholomew who had organized it. The question, then, was how much should he tell McKay?

"We don't know that these two things are related," McKay told him, having returned to their interview. "It's entirely possible that two criminal actions were occurring, one minor and one major. But we can't take that as a given, and neither should you. Someone was watching you pick up this package, Mr. Newman. Now, it could be that you were being targeted somehow. If you delivered that package, the video might have been used to implicate you somehow. Or, it could be that they expected you to discover the contents, and wanted to see your, or our, response."

"That's a lot to take in." Dan swallowed nervously. "Which are you leaning towards?"

"I've no opinion at this time," McKay replied tersely. "I'll wait and see how things play out. Now... who knows about the sensory aspect of your power?"

Dan shrugged helplessly. "Anyone who's ever worked a scene with me? It's on my volunteer badge. And anyone who has access to my upgrade documentation."

"Do you have any enemies? Anyone who might want to involve you in this?"

Dan's laugh was short and sharp. "This time a few days ago, I stepped into a fight between the feds and Coldeyes' Crew. Now I'm pretty sure both groups have a problem with me."

"Yes, I heard about that," McKay replied without inflection.

Dan made a 'well there you go' motion with his hands.

"You asked if I had any enemies?" He repeated. "Take your pick."

McKay scribbled something on her pad.

"Thing I don't get?" Dan continued, scratching at his neck. "If this was targeting me, shouldn't there be someone waiting? Some asshole with a gun? Or a bomb?"

"Hard to say," McKay replied absently. "Criminal psychology is an entire field of study."

Her phone blipped, and she paused her writing. She drew it out of her pocket, and the screen came to life. Unlike in Dan's previous dimension, the officers of Dimension A did not need a computer in their cruiser, though many had one anyway. Their phones held all the features that they needed, but infinitely more portable. McKay had punched in some of Daniel's information when she first began to interview him. He assumed that she was finally getting a response.

The detective stared down at her phone, thumb scrolling the screen. She had excellent control of her reactions, and revealed absolutely nothing of substance. McKay just reached the end, blacked out her screen, and pocketed the device. She glanced back up at Dan, eyes hard.

"That address you gave us?" she said. "The place you were meant to deliver the package?"

Dan nodded uncertainly.

McKay spoke through gritted teeth. "It's the home of one of our SPEAR Team leaders. He was just reported missing."