The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 151: Anger

Echo stalked the streets of Memphis with a stolen face. Every long stride brought about a quiet crunch, as the gritty pavement clashed with his heavy boots. He pulled at the hood of his jacket, covering his features to any curious passerby. Though, there were few to be found. The sun was low in the sky, leaving the city shrouded in darkness. Night was falling, and he could cut the anticipation with a knife.

Federal troops were occupying the city, searching for Champion. Their presence was not hidden, though the local news channels had wisely kept their distance. He could almost feel them waiting in the wings, sitting in safety with their cameras and their microphones. Hoping to see violence. Hoping to capture it, bottle it up, and sell it to their customers. Vultures, one and all.

Social media was little better, and far less regulated. It was an interesting experience, to watch how a thing changed in so short a time. Echo could see the first pictures of federal agents as they took up posts and formed a perimeter. He could peer into the past, with time stamps and all, and see the grid closing in. But that wasn't all there was to see. For every useful picture or post, there were five thousand lies, alterations, exaggerations. For all that the internet offered more information, he walked away somehow less informed.

Regardless, he was satisfied knowing that his current path was outside the cordon, if only just. He kept a steady, confident gait as his target appeared in the distance. At the outer edge of the perimeter, set up on a second floor apartment and facing towards the action, was the temporary headquarters for the Villain Response Unit. The location, with its small army of heavily armed federal agents milling in and about the premises, had been leaked almost immediately. Sloppy, perhaps, or perhaps intentional. The place was a fortress.

Echo intended to stroll right in. He wasn't the Champion they were looking for.

There were civilians nearby, of course. Most were subtly, or not so subtly, taking pictures or video, or just outright gawking. Echo was genuinely impressed by their brazenness. Less so by their survival instincts. This was a prime location for a first strike. He could picture it clearly in his mind. A collared subject, brought across the street by Gateway. The fireball would eradicate everything within four blocks. How satisfying that would be.

Optimism, Echo mused, wryly. At best, such a move would kill thousands of civilians, and a dozen or so federal agents. The rest would be fast enough, skilled enough, or durable enough to withstand the opening strike, and their vengeance would be terrible indeed. He didn't think the People could be any more hunted, but that was a sure way to find out. So, no. There would be no fireworks today. Not, at least, on Echo's orders.

Echo quietly slipped past the gawking civilians and into the lobby of the apartment complex. He moved towards a pair of plainclothes feds lounging suspiciously near the entrance. They regarded Echo's concealed form with naked suspicion, until he threw the hood off his jacket. The faces of his enemies went from barely-concealed hostility, to confusion, to awkward recognition. Echo waited patiently, as his Mundanity did its work.

One agent gave a polite nod, while the other turned his attention back to the front of building. His eyes didn't glaze over, but he kept them facing away from Echo. Mundanity affected everyone differently, but the results were always the same. He was someone who belonged, but did not deserve attention. Sometimes it was out embarrassment, the subject having 'forgotten' his name. Sometimes it was out of implanted dislike, or misplaced authority. Sometimes it was sheer laziness. It was Echo's most useful infiltration tool, taken from the most uninspiring, boring Natural he had ever encountered.

The power was better now, in the People's hands.

It would get him inside, past the posted guards, and into the command center. From there, it would be up to Echo to retrieve the information he was looking for, without looking unduly suspicious. He wandered through the large lobby, and found a free elevator. He took it up to the second floor, pulling out a laminated ID from his pocket. The forgery wouldn't hold up to a detailed examination, but his power would cover that weakness. He clipped it to a lanyard and slung it round his neck as the elevator doors opened, and nodded politely at the fed posted up at the exit. He walked down the hallway, towards a repurposed dance floor, and entered the federal command center like he owned it.

Nobody paid him a second glance. He freely wandered through the staging area, extremely pleased with the rushed state of the operation. While Mundanity was a useful tool, it was hardly foolproof. Most secure federal buildings contained autonomous surveillance systems that would scan and match identification badges with faces. His power worked through electronic systems, but not on the systems themselves. Here, though, they hadn't had the time to set up such robust security. They were relying on force of numbers, and the People's unwillingness to engage where there might be civilian casualties.

Effective, if cruel, Echo thought. Unfortunately, the VRU were gravely mistaken in their assumptions. It was not the People who they faced. Echo had no idea who it was they faced, and that bothered him enough to risk this dangerous endeavor. Perhaps it was unwise, but the thought of it— Of someone debasing Champion's name and reputation, nearly drove him mad.

Was it hypocritical, given his own actions? Possibly. But Echo had earned that right. He'd been there since the beginning, fought at Champion's side, served him and given him sage advice. He lied, yes, and with the face of a man who never did, but it was all in service of a cause. It was all with the intention of bringing about a better world; a world he wished Champion had lived to see. Not the dark visions of their enemy! There was no doubt in Echo's mind, whoever this false Champion was, they were no ally of the People.

The seething rage only grew as he watched his enemies run through footage of 'Champion', the brief satellite images having captured him crossing through an empty construction site in broad daylight. It was patently ridiculous, but they all seemed to be taking it seriously. There was no skepticism here; no respect for an old enemy. Did they truly think he was so foolish? So careless? So weak? Or worse, did they really believe they were chasing Champion, and thought those same things about him? Echo didn't know which possibility enraged him more.

Where was Anastasia, he wondered. He'd expected to see her here, running things, shouting and raging. It would've soothed his seething heart, to see her in such a state, yet where had she gone? Not here, apparently. Not nearby, either, or he'd surely have heard the screams. He found himself growing even angrier at her absence. Were the People below her notice, even now? After all the violence they'd visited upon each other, she couldn't even bother to make an appearance? How he hated her, hated them, hated it all. It burned in his chest like live coals. He pushed it down, but not away. Never away.

He moved on to another screen, a three-dimensional overlay of the city, with the perimeter outlined in bright red. There were data streams running below it, and Echo peered at them in confusion. They were... signals of some kind. Cellular and radio and all the unfiltered, invisible crap that hovered in the background of civilization. Junk data. What were they looking for? He was so lost in contemplation that he almost missed the agent approaching him. Echo spun to face the man, smiling blandly and leveraging his stolen power to its utmost.

"You spot something, agent?" the man asked, brow furrowed. His eyes weren't on Echo, but the screen beyond him. There was concern there, like he was working with untested equipment and thoroughly unhappy about it.

Echo kept his answer simple. "No sir. Thought I did, but I was just imagining things."

The agent grunted at him, clearly distracted. "Well, good on you for double checking."

He seemed finished with Echo, Mundanity having rendered him uninteresting and unimportant, but Echo was not done with him. This was important, he felt it in his bones. He needed to know, and so he gently probed, deliberately vague, "You don't trust it?"

"It's untested," the agent replied with a curled lip. His eyes still traced the lines of data flowing across the screen. "We're trying to corral a teleporter of unknown power and capability, and this is what the eggheads give us to work with? We've only had the damn thing running for an hour and it's already spat out a false positive. So, no, I don't trust it. And neither should you. Better that human eyes are on this screen at all times." He nodded at Echo, eyes glazing over. "Keep up the good work."

Echo fought to contain his own expression as a chill ran down his spine. He nodded politely, before fixing his gaze back on the screen with determined focus. They were trying to track Gateway. It was... not impossible, but Echo had hoped it would take much longer to accomplish. This device had been running for an hour...

A cold sweat broke out across his neck. They'd missed him by thirty minutes. The slightest misstep, the slightest delay, and they might have caught him entering the city. This damned display certainly seemed to cover Memphis in its entirety. He had to more careful. His opponents were not lazy, and the People were no longer working with the cover of darkness. He'd gotten lazy, self-assured. Overconfident. He had to focus.

He shook away his malaise, and concentrated on his goal. There, on the screen, was the perimeter in its entirety. Updated in real time, Echo could see the slow, steady advance inwards. There was a clear logic to the grid, when it was laid out like this. A rough square, closing around a center point. He eyed the collection of buildings, highlighted in yellow, sitting in the middle of the map.

There was nothing left for him here. He'd gathered what he needed. He had the rough location of the false Champion, and the confirmation that it wasn't some kind of federal false-flag. This was a real operation, with real soldiers, and real stakes. There was another faction in play, and Echo did not know who they were.

He puzzled over this information as he rode the elevator down. The smart move was to retreat, call for backup outside the city, and wait in the wings for the fight to finish. Perhaps Anastasia would finally show up, devastate a few extra blocks like the monster she was. The 'real' Champion could make an appearance after the false fell. It would cement the People's story, their reputation, and their righteousness. It would cast doubt upon the actions of the VRU, and the regime they obeyed. It would empower the cause.

The elevator stopped, and he stepped into the lobby. He paused there, taking in the warm lights and cold tile and pitch-black darkness of the city. Night had fallen in full. The advance would continue, slow and steady. There was plenty of time to gather his forces. He should head east, out of the cordon, away from the danger. Let the FBI deal with the false Champion, and bear whatever trouble he would bring. Let his enemies destroy each other while he watched from afar.

East. He should go east.

He stepped towards the exit, but paused as something caught his eye. There was a television posted above the reception desk. The Summerset logo danced along its edges, laughing at him. A commercial ran on the screen. Two men standing over a grill, their families in the background. They spoke with each other, smiles on their faces. One had his hand dipped into the fire while flames feebly danced around his fingers, a sausage gripped between them. He held it up to the camera, steam wafting off his unblemished skin. He laughed, loud and bright, as if he hadn't just squandered his infinite human potential to cook a hotdog a little faster.

Echo wrenched his attention away. He clenched his jaw, grit his teeth, and walked to the exit. He left without acknowledging the two plainclothes agents. He kept his eyes forward. Kept his stride in check. He exited the building and paused, for just a moment, on the threshold.

He turned on his heel and headed west, into the cordon.

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