Detective Hauss knelt over the charred corpse, closely scrutinizing it. One hand pressed a handkerchief against his nose, while the other poked at the body's spiked collar with a metallic pen. He tapped his implement against the collar several times, and bits of blackened metal flaked away. The device was remarkably intact, given the state of its wearer.

"A fashion statement?" Hauss posited unconvincingly. He poked it again. "Awfully sturdy."

Dan considered what to say. Anastasia hadn't told him to withhold information, and the detective seemed genuinely uncertain as to the collar's use. Dan was certain that the FBI knew about the pain collars, but that information apparently hadn't leaked down the line to police officers. Whether that was because it was supposed to be a secret, or they just hadn't needed to know, Dan could only guess.

Well, if Anastasia hadn't wanted Dan to leak classified information she shouldn't have asked him for help.

"It's a pain collar," Dan offered, pulling out his own bit of cloth and fashioning it into a mask. He stepped towards the body, and crouched beside Detective Hauss. Upon closer inspection, the electronics had clearly been melted, though the casing was mostly intact.

Hauss scowled at him. "Please tell me that's some kind of edgy fad and not exactly what it sounds like."

"It's exactly what it sounds like," Dan confirmed solemnly. "All I know about it is the People are known to use it, and that it's supposed to cause immense pain to the wearer." He paused, then added, "It's been suggested to me that, under sufficient duress, a person's upgrade might theoretically mutate, and dramatically outperform its previous limits."

Hauss scoffed. "What, like an adrenaline rush for upgrades? That's a bunch of hokum, son. Upgrades don't work like that."

Dan didn't bother arguing. Instead, he offered, "The People might think they do."

The detectives frown deepened, though he directed it at the body. "You're thinking this is a terrorist who tried to break his own upgrade?"

"I don't know about that," Dan said. "I'm just relaying to you what I do know. That's why I'm here." And to be Anastasia's spy, but that was better left unsaid.

Hauss stared down at the body, his face screwing up in silent displeasure. The other officers had moved towards the end of the barge, to give them some space to work. Their efforts continued, as more and more metal piled up along the boat's length. They'd be running out of space soon, so a decision needed to be made.

"We need actual evidence, not theories," Hauss decided. He reached into his vest and produced a DNA swabbing kit. It was little more than a Q-tip in a bottle. He brushed the cotton swab along the exposed... bits, and bottled it up tight. He replaced the kit with another, and did this three more times.

"It'll go to the lab for testing. Shouldn't take too long to find a match if they're in the system."

Dan nodded at the explanation. "What's next?"

Hauss opened his mouth, but paused as his radio barked something incomprehensible. He unclipped it, his face still in its perpetual frown. The radio went up to his ear, as he barked, "Repeat that!"

The noise came again, and Hauss' eyes widened.

"Confirmed?" he asked sharply.

Another burst of muddled noise that Hauss clearly understood. He turned to Dan, something approaching a grin finally crossing his face.

"We think we've found a survivor," he said.

"A survivor?" Dan echoed. "A survivor of what?"

Hauss gestured towards the bridge as he stomped away, shouting for a boat.

"The bridge?" Dan asked incredulously. He jogged after the detective. "Are you telling me there were no survivors at all?!?"

"Nobody close enough to tell us anything useful," Hauss confirmed. "There was a traffic jam at the time of the build-up. Those inside the blast zone were killed, and those outside if it were too far away to see anything of note. The survivor claims to have directly witnessed the attack."

He waved his arms at the closest police watercraft, and planted himself at the edge of the barge as it approached.

"Coast Guard helicopters fished him out of the water almost half a mile out," Hauss continued. "He's injured, but alive. Damn lucky, too."

Dan agreed with that statement wholeheartedly. The survivor's upgrade had needed to withstand both the insane heat of the fireball, and the massive pressure wave generated in its absence. Maybe he was a Natural?

The two of them loaded into the boat as soon as it arrived, and within minutes they were zipping across the shoreline towards the Coast Guard staging area where the survivor had been brought for medical care. The boat docked, and Hauss quickly leapt to shore, with Dan following on his heels. A series of large canopy tents had been erected across a flat parking lot. The medical tents offered more protection, being fully enclosed and painted with red crosses. Hauss strode towards the latter, and Dan followed. Another KWPD detective met them mid-way, rushing through an explanation as they approached the medical tents.

"Some bruised ribs, and his scales are burned but its only on the surface," the new detective said. "No internal bleeding, nor any real life threatening injuries. He's conscious, but a little concussed."

"Scales?" Hauss asked.

The detective checked his notes. "Apparently he's modded himself quite extensively. He looks... well, you'll see for yourself."

Hauss shouldered aside the entrance flap to the medical tents. "What's his name?"

They stepped inside, the sole patient in the tent lit by bright electric lights. He was at least seven feet tall, from the tip of his scaly snout to the base of his clawed feet. He was wiry, but well-muscled, his skin was dark green in color and covered with ridged scales. Many were broken across his body, revealing patches of angry red epidermis. His snout was swollen, and several of his sharp teeth were broken. He looked like a gigantic, bipedal lizard that had been beaten repeatedly with a mallet. He was also being tended to by a nurse with whom he appeared to be flirting.

The detective checked his notes for the lizard man's name, but Dan beat him to it.

"Phil?" he asked, delighted to see a friendly face, no matter how beaten up. Detective Hauss jerked to a stop, turning to Dan with confusion.

Phil, the friendly surfing lizard reluctantly glanced away from his nurse to peer at Dan. After several seconds, his expression brightened.

"Mouse dude!" he called, slightly slurring his words. "How ya' doin' man!"

The two had met months ago, at an open-air party at Zilker Nature Preserve in Austin. The lizard man was on vacation from California, where he taught tourists how to surf, and had shared a few beers with Dan and Merrill while they drunkenly commiserated about the nature of life. It was a fond, if slightly fuzzy, memory.

"You know this man?" Detective Hauss demanded.

"Oh." Dan shook his head, having momentarily forgotten where he was. "Uh, yeah."

"Elaborate, if you would," the detective growled out.

"I got wasted with him and a few of his friends this one time," Dan answered without really thinking.

Hauss stared at Dan with what could only be profound disappointment.

"Fantastic," he pronounced flatly. He turned back to Phil, paused for a breath, then checked the other detective's notes.

"Mr. Orlais," he began, "I'm told that you claim to have witnessed the explosion this afternoon on Overseas Highway A1A."

Phil bobbed his head in confirmation, but stopped abruptly to groan and clutch at his temple. "Woah, dizzy," he mumbled. They waited as he gathered himself, then confirmed, "Yeah, dude. I was right there when it all went down."

"How is it that you're still alive?" Hauss asked in a neutral tone.

"My insides are a lot tougher than my outsides," Phil explained, bumping his fist against his chest, then wincing in pain. "Aughh... Anyway I've got my mutated Frogman keeping my squishy bits in place."

Hauss' brow furrowed. "Frogman? That's a military upgrade."

"Oh yeah, yeah," Phil's head bobbed once more. "I served seven years in the Navy. They gave me a sweet upgrade as a signing bonus. Frogman for the Frogmen, man!" He snapped off a crisp salute, that actually managed to look convincing. "Seaman Philip Orlais at your service." His eyes unfocused, and he blinked rapidly before rubbing his forehead. "Ow."

Hauss still seemed unconvinced, but a glance at his partner earned him a confirming nod. "Right. So: What did you see?"

Phil's expression sharpened, and he sat up straight. "Terrible things, man. Terrible things. I was about halfway between Stock Island and Boca Chica, riding the A1A, when the car in front of me began to swerve back and forth." He wiggled his hand for emphasis. "I thought maybe the driver was drunk or something. It had blacked out windows, so I couldn't see into it, but in hindsight I'm pretty sure there was some kind of scuffle going on. It was rocking back and forth on its wheels. Eventually, it bumped against the barrier, then spun out to block both lanes."

"The vehicle," Hauss said, "describe it for me."

Phil's face scrunched up as he thought back. "Silver Nissan SUV. It had a Florida license plate, first three digits FYD, I'm pretty sure." He thought for another moment. "I remember seeing one of those satellite radio thingies." Phil dangled his hands above his head, in a gesture that only he understood. "You know? The roof-mounted doohickey?"

Hauss seemed completely unprepared for Phil to be a genuinely useful witness. He took several moments to catch up, before furiously scribbling notes onto a pad.

"Alright, What happened next?"

Phil shrugged helplessly. "I stopped, obviously. Same with the car beside me. They were blocking the whole freeway, man. Cars started piling up behind me pretty quick. On the other side, too. Rubberneckers and such. It all turned into one big traffic jam. I hopped out of my car once I was sure I wasn't gonna get rear ended. I thought, hey, someone might be hurt in there, y'know?"

"Sure," Hauss agreed, making another note.

"Anyway, I was stopped about a hundred feet away. I walked maybe half the distance before the car started to glow. The door opened, and this guy fell out, screaming. It was just... ragged, man. His hands were around his throat, and he was glowing like the sun, and he wouldn't stop screaming." Phil's voice was solemn, haunted and dull. "I barely got a look at him before things went bad. The fire came outta nowhere, man. Just fwoosh! And it was suddenly everywhere. I'm almost completely fireproof, and it still scalded my scales. It only lasted a few seconds, but I felt the ground melting beneath my feet. Then it was gone. I could see again. The glowing guy was kneeling on the ground, and everything was burning all around me. The glow was back, right on top of him. Then he exploded."

Phil was silent for several seconds, just staring down at the sheets. "I blacked out, but I saw him clear as day right before it happened. He was just a kid, man." He shook his head, his clawed hands tearing lines into the covers.

"Just a kid."