The call went straight to voicemail, and Dan wanted to scream in frustration. He slipped his phone back in his pocket, and appeared in the parking lot of St. David's Hospital. Immediately, he understood that it was in no way as vulnerable as he'd feared. The number of officers had dwindled, certainly, and even as he watched, more peeled away.

Dan supposed that Gregoir's initial call for backup had not been taken entirely at face value. He'd faced a villain, and had gained backup appropriate to such, but he hadn't faced Cannibal. It was just some faceless thug with powers, or so the dispatchers must have thought. Anything else was simply unbelievable. But the truth was out there, on video no less, and the APD had to respond with appropriate force. Too little, too late, though Dan wondered if any amount of force that the city could bring to bear would have ever been enough.

Regardless, the hospital was still a veritable fortress. Officers swarmed the premises, more alert than ever with the confirmation of greater threats. Some left, some stayed; more than enough remained on guard. Connor would be safe. Bartholomew would be a fool to attack this place, and getting the young man out would be nigh impossible. Dan had time to think, and act.

First, he went home to change. Black jeans and black hoodie over a dark blue shirt. His work boots were dark brown, which served his purposes well enough, and he had a pair of black leather gloves that he slipped over his hands. He found a black shirt, and used his veil to snip out a large square of cloth, that he folded into a bandana and wrapped around his face. He wasn't concerned about his identity this time. He was past caring about that, and he didn't think he was going to be doing anything illegal. Dan's concerns were practical: he was white as a loaf of bread, and didn't want to stand out in the dark. He covered as much skin as possible, and set out.

Dan returned to the Pearson lobby, appearing in the shadow of a pillar. The lobby was empty and quiet. The only exception was Burl Meyers, who sat slumped in a chair, fast asleep. A line of drool pooled above his sternum, where the curve of his belly began. Dan stood and watched and waited, but nothing happened for several minutes. His veil probed the surroundings, giving him a near perfect idea of the building's structure, but found no people nearby. He considered leaving. He doubted Bartholomew would be back for his broken parody of Igor. Guilt made him stay.

Dan pulled down his bandana, reappeared beside Meyers. He leaned forward, and gently prodded the man's shoulder. Meyers shook in his sleep, his jowls wobbling. He moaned something incoherent, so Dan gave him a harder poke. Meyers' eyes shot open, and he gasped in a great breath of air. His hand shot over his chest, and for a moment Dan worried he was having a heart attack. It passed quickly, whatever it was, and Meyers' breath evened out. Finally, he looked at Dan, eyes wide.

"Hello?" he asked dumbly. "Do I know you?"

Dan straightened up, looming over the man. He kept his words short and to the point. "You need to go to the hospital."

Meyers blinked at the statement. "I do?"

"You do," Dan confirmed. He pulled out his phone, and scrolled through his contact list. He found his target near the end, and selected it. The phone rang once, before a machine picked up. Dan put it on speaker phone.

"Yellow Cab taxi services, please state your location."

Dan did so, while Meyers watched with bemusement.

"Please state your destination."

Dan rattled off the address of St. David's.

He answered half a dozen other generic questions, before getting confirmation that a cab was on its way. He gave Burl Meyers as the name of the passenger. The man looked at Dan in confusion.

"I'm going somewhere?" he asked.

"The hospital," Dan repeated.

Burl seemed to consider this with great difficulty.

"Okay," he finally decided.

Dan got the man outside, and planted him beside the curb. He found a notepad by the Pearson's information desk, and ripped off a sheet of paper. He scribbled a short note for the cab driver, an abridged, highly sanitized explanation of Burl's unfortunate circumstances, then stuffed it in the hands of the man in question.

"Give this to the taxi guy," Dan directed.

Burl nodded with glassy eyes. Dan hid a pitying wince. It hurt to look at the man, to look at what had been done to him. He moved like a drunk, and spoke like a robot. The little app on Dan's phone that Googled things for him had more personality than Meyers had shown all night. It was horrifying, and Dan chose not to think about it. Hopefully, he'd be getting help soon.

Dan made sure Meyers wouldn't wander off, then he left.

He reappeared on a street nearly on the opposite side of town. It was facing a set of ruined apartments that had been condemned several months earlier. This was the site of Dan's kidnapping, where he'd been first scooped up, in the middle of what he thought was a building fire. Andros Bartholomew had admitted to setting the whole thing up, using some kind of chemical reaction to create disintegrating smoke that ate away at the building's foundations.

The surroundings had suffered greatly in the aftermath of the villain attack, though it had never been officially named as such. An accident, so said the final report; a blatant lie to preserve property values. It had not worked. The land had tanked in value, and every apartment nearby was condemned and abandoned. Dan scanned the perimeter, keeping to the shadows. He didn't walk. If he needed a different angle, he willed himself elsewhere. He kept perfectly still otherwise, simply observing.

He checked over every parking lot nearby, looking for Meyers' red sedan. The way Dan figured it, Bartholomew was holed up somewhere familiar. He didn't have the time to find somewhere new. He hadn't been free long enough. He was sticking to places that he knew from before, he had to be. That was Dan's theory, at least. So far, it wasn't proving all that effective.

There were cars nearby, but they were abandoned and rusting. Dan thought back to Meyers apartment, to the testimony of his neighbors. Bartholomew had brought out a great deal of raw materials. He'd have to transport it somehow. No way did he ditch the car. He might want to now, now that Dan had exposed his knowledge of Burl Meyers. But the city was awake and alert and swarming with cops. Dumping a car now might be more dangerous than keeping it. Dan was betting on Bartholomew hiding the vehicle nearby himself, just in case.

But clearly not here.

Dan went to the next location on his list. He appeared in the little room that Bartholomew had imprisoned him in, once upon a time. It hadn't changed much. A little more dust, dirt and disrepair. The walls were crumbling, and the place smelled like mildew. Dan cocked his head, listening, waiting. He heard the skittering of rats, the sound of cicada chirping. Nothing large. Nothing human. His veil swept out to confirm. Dan moved on.

In stark contrast to the abandoned apartments, the building that Gregoir had brought down while rescuing Connor from Bartholomew's clutches had been rebuilt, refurbished, and reopened as a cop-themed restaurant. The owner of the property had taken its thirty seconds of fame and run with it. The restaurant seemed well put together and thriving, though it was currently closed. No terrorist would be hiding here.

Dan checked the nearby parking lots and buildings. Most were under construction, new businesses taking advantage of the flourishing restaurant and nearby shopping center. They were barebones, only just getting off the ground. Nowhere to hide, nothing even resembling shelter. Skeletons, reaching skyward. Dan saw right through them. Empty. Bartholomew wasn't here. Dan left without a sound.

He found himself at the Applegate Hotel. He looked at the dirty, outdated building where his life here had really began: The ride along with Gregoir and Connor, where things had gone sideways in a horrible hurry. They'd been called in for something fairly mundane. The owner had claimed someone was stealing his electricity, whatever that meant. They'd walked into a trap, and been hit by some asshole mercenary mutate who could roofy people with his voice.

Dan had escaped through sheer luck and a badly worded order, only to brawl with the mercenary's partner in the parking lot. Gregoir and Connor had been snatched up, and spirited away. Dan had just checked the location where they'd ended up, but this was a literal hotel. He'd saved it for last, figuring it was the best chance of success.

His hopes sunk quickly, as he looked around the empty parking lot. He walked up the steps, to the old revolving door that sat in the entrance. It was barred. A notice was posted on the glass window, yellowed with age and exposure. Dan read it, and scowled. Closed for renovations.

He walked the perimeter, sending his veil scurrying through the walls and floor. He swept the first floor with ease, finding nothing of consequence. On a hunch, he checked for a secret basement but found nothing. It wasn't a large hotel, five stories tall and not particularly wide. Dan squatted down next to a wall, and let his veil spin out its threads. He checked floor by floor for life, taking it slow and steady and thorough. He repositioned when necessary, which wasn't often. His pool of energy had seemed deeper, somehow, ever since he'd stolen away that anvil from the mall smithy.

He found nothing. Not a single sign of people, living or otherwise. He found no electronics of consequence. He found rats, bugs, and debris. Dan sighed, dejected. It was worth checking, but he was nowhere. No leads, no knowledge, no ideas. Helpless, once again. He shook away the melancholy before it could really set in. There was always something he could do. Always.

He returned to St. David's. The entrance was well lit, and flanked by a pair of officers. The hospital had closed to the public when the SPEAR Teams had first arrived, but it had reopened at some point in the day. Dan dimly recognized the pair on guard, and they gave him brief nods as he walked past. He returned them, then paused.

"Any word on Cornelius Graham?" he asked.

The one on the left shook his head. "Still unconscious. Your buddy is with him. The nephew."

"Still in the ICU?" Dan asked. The man nodded in return. Dan thanked him, and moved into the hospital.

He stood at a crossroads, the ICU in one direction, and the toxicologist in the other. Dan turned to the latter. Might as well get it out of the way. He strode down tiled halls, his heavy boots clicking against the floor. People brushed past him in both directions, barely sparing him a glance. His bandana was stowed away in a pocket and his hood was down; no use looking suspicious at a time like this. He suspected that news about Cannibal hadn't yet propagated through the city. There wasn't nearly enough panic in people's movements.

He found the office of the doctor who had seen Waylon, and knocked twice. Sharp, quick snaps of the wrist sent a meaty echo across the hallway and earned him several glances from passerby.

The door opened, and a familiar face peeked out. The doctor's eyes found Dan's face, and lit up with recognition.

"You," he said in surprise. "Where's Officer Gregoir?"

"Out," Dan said simply. "Can you spare a moment?"

The doctor opened his door in answer, and Dan stepped in.

"How's Waylon?"

"I really can't say," the doctor replied. "That's not just medical confidentiality, either. I just don't know."

"Did you figure out what he got dosed by?" Dan asked.

The doctor shrugged. "A compound I don't recognize. Examination indicates it's some kind of extreme sedative. Numbs the senses, the mind, awareness, things like that. On a hunch, I swabbed the boy's nose. Found residue, there. It was aerosolized."

Dan had assumed that, but it was good to have confirmation.

"Any idea how to get around it? A cure?"

The doctor shrugged again. "Don't breathe it in."

"Will he get better?"

The doctor shrugged one last time. "I don't know. He might be fine tomorrow, or the next day, or in a year. Or he might be stuck like this forever. It's too early to tell."

"I've got another guy coming in," Dan said. "He was hit by the same thing, but worse. Longer exposure, for sure."

"Coming in to the hospital?" the doctor asked. "Is he mentally capable?"

"Not particularly," Dan admitted. "I called a taxi for him, and gave him a note. I'm hoping he makes it here soon. Could you look out for him? He's a big, fat, middle aged white guy. Name of Burl Meyers. If there's anything you can do for him..."

The doctor sighed. "I'll certainly try."

Dan thanked him, and left.

He turned towards the ICU, where Connor, Freya, and Cornelius waited. He had a warning to deliver.