Dan's imdiate impulse was to check on Nikolos Andeno, but the boy was sitting in his classroom at school. Dan's veil confird that a living person was, in fact, in the seat and not so sort of elaborate illusion. Which left the question: Was this new vigilante an Evo Church plant, another one of Madison's cat's-paws, or the genuine article?
Dan was leaning towards the latter, if only for simplicity's sake. It made sense, given the slowly growing popularity of vigilantes across the country. Galeforce had restarted a trend thought long dead, and though the man himself had crashed and burned rather spectacularly, there was an uncountably long line of young Naturals and Mutates waiting to take his place in the spotlight.
The D.C. vigilante was probably a speedster of so variety. Eyewitness reports a 'black blur' interceding in a series of nightti burglaries. So far, whoever it was had avoided identification by being very fast and very careful, but it couldn't last. Dan figured there'd be at least a solid picture of the vigilante within a week, assuming they stayed active. Surveillance was everywhere in the capitol. It was just that kind of place.
Once Dan got a look at the vigilante, it would be much easier to sort out their allegiances. It was all in the outfit. Galeforce had an actual, armored, tailored superhero costu. It only made sense; if you're gonna send a vigilante out on to the streets to punch criminals into submission, you better give them enough gear to not instantly fold to the first asshole with a gun they run into. No need to risk an expensive investnt falling to a stray bullet.
Genuine vigilantes, the sort that had cropped up in droves after Galeforce's initial success, usually wore homade costus with civilian-sourced gear. Gregoir's growing collection of teenage do-gooders almost universally dressed like Ren-Fair enthusiasts who'd been blacklisted for being way too aggressive in mock battles. There was a pervading sense of overcompensation born out of the knowledge that their gear and training was not up to snuff.
If the D.C. speedster was wearing a ski mask and hoodie, it was probably safe to assu they weren't being backed by anyone important. Unfortunately, the other side would have access to the sa knowledge. Dan could think of a number of people who'd be happy to rope in a new vigilante with promises of gear and support.
Abby wandered by as Dan was scanning news reports from D.C., and she stopped to peer over his shoulder. She read a few lines of the article, which was ninety percent speculation, snorted, and moved on. Dan closed the tab, slouched into his seat, and groaned in agreent. He was not built for stakeouts. This long-term surveillance crap was killing him. He still spent an inordinate amount of ti each day checking in on Senator Madison, and the Andenos, and occasionally the heavily surveilled house where the Elder was cooling his heels until his trial.
Dan told himself it was to keep them all honest. If Madison and his faction were going to pretend like they were good little law-abiding citizens, then he'd be their Big Brother. In reality, he was just hoping they would do sothing stupid, so he could finally unleash his frustration on soone who deserved it. His covert spying really wasn't adding much of note. His targets already knew eyes were on them. Anastasia, at least, was deliberately obvious in her surveillance of Madison's movents. It was as much provocation as deterrent. He'd either crack under the pressure, or be forced to limit his extracurricular activities for the foreseeable forever. All the while, an FBI investigation into Madison's affairs continued on its slow, steady pace. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he would crack, Anastasia had claid. He had to crack.
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Dan planned to be there when he did. Except, he was slowly going insane. It'd only been two weeks since the frantic, violent events at the Evo Church, yet it felt like Dan hadn't left the house in a year. He couldn't rember the last ti he'd seen any of his friends. Patience had never been Dan's strong suit, but his powers had removed what little regard for the virtue he held. The ability to instantaneously appear wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, was not conducive to building self-restraint. It was a problem he'd long recognized, and completely failed to address. What was he going to do? Not use his powers?
If Dan had sothing to show for his ti, it'd be different. Progress was different than patience. The latter was waiting for a train to arrive. The forr was driving sowhere himself. The destination might be the sa, but the context changed his tolerance for the act. The thought of going through this for months on end... well, it was leading Dan to contemplate so very unwise actions.
He wanted to track down the D.C. vigilante. He wanted to confront the Andenos. He wanted to drop Madison into a volcano. He wanted to kidnap a Geist and deliver it to the FBI for deprogramming. The list of bad ideas went on and on. In the end, he found himself feverishly opening portals across D.C., making recordings of every area where the speedster vigilante had been spotted. Familiarizing himself with the terrain. Getting the lay of the land. Ferreting out all the good spots to open new doors.
Pointless.
This was where Abby ca upon him again, rapidly flicking through his ntal catalogue of nooks and crannies. The television screen looked like it was constantly bouncing between the most boring channels available, all displaying dark alleys and run-down corner shops where the working poor were doing their grocery shopping. Dan felt her arrive. He almost always knew where she was; the shape of her in his veil was imprinted on his mind. She stood behind him, quietly observing as he stewed in frustration. Finally, she got fed up with it.
Abby walked across the living room, to where Dan's little spy cara boxes were set up, then she unplugged the entire contraption from the television. The screen went dark, and Dan blinked at it as if coming out of a trance. He turned to Abby, bewildered.
"We're going out," Abby declared, marching up to him. She easily dragged him out of the canyon he'd created in the couch, and planted him on his feet. "I'll call Gregoir. He should be running that little after-school training club right about now. It's been a while since we've checked in on him and the costud rugrats."
That... sounded amazing, actually. Sothing fun, instead of this endless tedium. He nodded, and Abby brightened. Dan looked down at his rumpled shirt and sweatpants. He was pretty sure he'd worn these sa pants for, like, a week straight.
"I'll go get changed," he said.
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