The precise limitations of the Natural known as Echo are highly contested, even by those who knew the man. The most basic application of his abilities, copying the powers of other Naturals, operate under conditions that none have been able to decipher. Some claim that only touch is required, pointing to his habit of removing his gloves whenever a fight broke out. Others believe only the presence of another Natural is required, or that Echo's ability works over time. The truth is unknown, and the man himself is unlikely to reveal it.

What is known is relatively simple: Echo, through unknown means, can mimic the abilities of other Naturals. Notably, Echo does not create perfect copies of his targets, and indeed does not always accomplish their feats through the same means when duplicating more esoteric abilities. Additionally, his 'echo' is always a weaker version of his target's power. There are any number of potential reasons for these limitations, and the truth may never be determined.

Echo's identity is similarly shrouded in mystery. His given name was never made public knowledge, and if any in the People's hierarchy knew it, it has never once been disclosed. it is unknown if he has any family. Echo speaks with a neutral American accent, without any particular dialectical phrasing. Given the tumultuous times when he first appeared, his true identity and origins could be any number of things, and is almost certainly lost, permanently, to history. Whatever his past before joining the People, it is, for all intents and purposes, dead. He is Echo, and has worn that mantle with zealous fervor from the very moment he met Champion.

—Marcus Mercury's Guide to Everything

"You really must speak to grandmother. This whole thing is taking entirely too long. The public is beginning to notice our absence. Keeping the family under lock and key makes us look like frightened children to investors."

Jason had deigned to grace Daniel and Abby with his presence at dinner, and had done nothing but complain.

"We're an international company, Abigail! We can't pull half our board into hiding just because there's a little mess in Texas. God only knows how long it'll take to root out these terrorists completely. It should've been done years ago. They've got the National Guard running around chasing shadows and I'm forced to sit here and watch as our stock plummets!"

He'd been going on for some time. The three of them were gathered around a large dining table, with Dan sitting beside Abby near the middle, and Jason perched at the head. This dining hall was one of three in the mansion. The other two were occupied by Abby's many cousins, and it seemed even Jason required a break from the extended family. Maybe they were less tolerant of his complaints than present company.

Dan glanced at Abby, whose face was leaning heavily against her fist, squashing her features together. Her eyes fluttered slightly. She was very clearly snoozing. Abby was used to her brother, and had obviously developed her own strategies for dealing with him. Dan was less prepared, but had found Jason's rants to be oddly enlightening. He knew very little about Summerset, other than the fact that it was a gigantic technology company. Jason's complaints, while whining in their cadence, actually held some substance.

Few in the general public knew about the Summers' family vendetta with the People. As far as most were concerned, Abigail's parents had died in a plane crash while on an overseas business trip. And even if they had been murdered, what of it? Tech companies did not do battle with terrorists. That was not how things were done.

Anastasia's years as a special forces operative were likewise shrouded in secrecy to the masses. It wasn't hidden so much as not out in the open, and few bothered to go looking. Anastasia was active in a time that most would rather forget. It was, therefore, a little odd that the Summers' extended family would go into hiding the moment the People appeared in Austin. It was a no-win move in Jason's eyes, and had only served to damage the integrity of the company.

To those against Champion's message, it seemed as if Summerset lacked confidence in the government's ability to quell this minor rebellion. To those sympathetic to the plight of Naturals, it presented an image of extreme cowardice, while subtly lending credence to the threat of the People's resurgence and the claims that were made. Either way, the company had made no allies by turtling inside Anastasia's mansion. Dozens of tabloids were mocking the Summers family, and even well-regarded journalists were questioning the puzzling decision.

Dan didn't care about most of that. The Summers' wealth was not something he was interested in. As far as he was concerned, Anastasia had made the right call. She might be a bitter old hag, but she clearly knew the threat was real, and had taken measures to protect her more vulnerable family members.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Dan's phone rang, and Abby's face slipped off its resting place with a surprised grunt. Her face hit the table, paused for a moment, then resumed snoring. Dan glanced at Jason, who hadn't so much as paused in his rant. Dan quickly silenced his phone, glanced down at the caller ID, and frowned at the unknown number.

"Excuse me," he muttered, entirely certain that Jason was paying him zero attention. He stepped out of the room and answered the call. He didn't speak, simply holding it beside his ear and waiting.

"Hello?" the masculine voice, vaguely familiar, seemed confused at the silence. "Mr. Newman, are you there? It's Doctor Simon."

It took Dan a few moments to place the man. This was the doctor who'd examined Waylon, and who Dan had asked to take care of Burl Meyers.

"I don't recall giving you my number," Dan stated cautiously.

"You did not," the doctor confirmed. "I was given your number by an Officer Pierre-Louise. He checked in on Burl Meyers, and shared my concerns regarding Mr. Meyers and yourself."

"Concerns?" Dan repeated.

"Yes, quite. But this is really a conversation that should be held in person. Would it be too much trouble for you to stop by the hospital some time soon? It really is important."

"I'm in Florida," Dan stated dryly. It wasn't a lie, but this call was already odd. He wasn't about to agree to anything until he had more information. "What's this concerning?"

"Well, I'd like to run a blood test and an EEG," Doctor Simon replied frankly. "Mr. Meyers' condition has not improved, and although it does not appear to be contagious, I am worried about any possible..." He paused, as if considering his words. "Spread."

The tiniest thrill of alarm shot through Dan. "Spread?"

"You spent time in his presence, yes?" Doctor Simon asked. He continued without waiting for an answer. "It's possible that his clothing was contaminated by the same substance that altered him. Our lab is running tests on his clothing as we speak. I've also contacted the taxi driver who you hired to bring him to the hospital. He agreed to come by tonight for a full checkup. I'm hoping that this is simple paranoia on my part, but Mr. Meyers symptoms are too alarming to ignore any possibilities."

Dan frowned. "He doesn't have what Waylon had? The sedative thing?"

"The presentation is similar, as I'm sure you noticed, but the underlying cause is far more insidious." Doctor Simon paused, as if realizing who he was talking to. "I really shouldn't be talking about this. It's privileged information. But, again, I must stress the importance of being tested. Suffice it to say, this is nasty stuff we're dealing with, and I want to be absolutely certain that nobody else has been afflicted."

"I'll go to a doctor here," Dan promised. It seemed reasonable enough. The Summers family was bound to know a good one somewhere nearby.

"It's unlikely that they'll know what to look for," Doctor Simon replied, but he sounded considering. "I suppose I can consult with whatever doctor you find, assuming you're willing. It's reasonable that you aren't able to re-enter the city under current circumstances."

The admission made Dan relax a smidgeon. This seemed less like some sort of bizarre trap and more like a genuinely concerned doctor doing his job.

"How is Burl doing?" he asked.

The doctor's voice held little optimism. "His condition is... in flux. I really wish I could say more."

"Is Waylon in the same boat?" Dan couldn't help but compare the vibrant young man Dan had seen on the security feed to the dull, vacant dullard he'd become.

"I am more hopeful for a recovery on that end. It seems as if he only suffered brief exposure to— Ahem. He only suffered brief exposure."

"Brief exposure?" Dan repeated incredulously. "He was all kinds of fucked up! Burl Meyers didn't seem all that much worse to me."

"The inside was a very different tale, believe me," Doctor Simon said, unable to hide the slight enthusiasm in his voice. "It's really quite fascinating, if rather morbid. Young Waylon suffered some mental degradation, yes, but that was the extent of it. Meanwhile, Mr. Meyers' brain was in the process of being actively rewritten when you brought him to me!"

There was a pause as the doctor realized his slip.

"Hypothetically speaking," he added finally.

Dan wished he could've been amused. He was too focused on what he'd just heard.

"What do you mean, rewritten?" Dan asked quickly. "Rewritten into what? Hypothetically speaking?"

"Uh, well..." The doctor seemed to fight with himself before making a decision. "Without going into specifics, the hypothetical victim appears to be caught midway through a change in his neural pathways. It's as if he'd been subjected to a two-step process, but the second step was never fully completed. His brain is confused, almost like an Alzheimer's victim. It's forgotten its own shape."

Dan recalled the way Meyers had stumbled about, as if his body didn't fit quite right.

"Rewritten into what?" Dan repeated.

"I don't know." Dan couldn't see the man shrug, but he could hear it in his voice. "Something else."

"Is it contagious?" Dan asked.

"No, no. My concerns are purely regarding direct exposure," Doctor Simon immediately reassured him. "This isn't a disease, or a virus. Those are a dime a dozen. This is more like medicine. It is surgical and precise. It does not spread beyond its target. It is... designed, and obviously so. For what purpose, I am not certain." There was a long pause, before he added, once again, "I really do urge you to see a doctor as soon as possible."

"Yeah," Dan replied, his mind spinning as he tried to consider the implications of this new information. "I'll be sure to do that."

He slowly pocketed his phone, but started when Abby suddenly appeared beside him.

"What was that about?" she asked, peering at his worried face with concern.

"I'm not rightly sure ," Dan admitted. "Nothing good."

In his mind, the last words of Andros Bartholomew rolled about in his mind.

See you soon.