One week had passed since the Memphis Debacle, as the talking heads on television were labeling it. Rawls had released very little information, in the end. There wasn't so much as a whisper of a False Cannibal or a dead Champion. The video of the warehouse slaughter hadn't found its way onto the internet, much to Dan's surprise, and speculation was raging out of control.

Rawls was still head of the Villain Response Unit, despite being flayed alive by the press. The complete information blackout had not been received well by anyone, least of all the thousands of civilians displaced by the mid-storm evacuation. Simultaneously, nobody had missed the fact that the VRU's tactics were so very reminiscent of ones used against the People in the past. Word of Champion being sighted in Memphis shortly beforehand was still floating around the internet, and even an idiot could put two and two together, no matter what the official line was.

Dan had stopped texting Anastasia for updates. It was apparent to him now, something very political was going on behind the scenes and he wasn't sure if he wanted to get involved. The old matron had promised to keep him in the loop, but thus far the investigation was 'ongoing'. She'd sounded as happy about that fact as he was, and Dan didn't intend to press. So far as he was concerned, he'd done his part. Dunkirk was rotting in an interrogation cell, his patrons were under investigation, and the APD had received a few restricted upgrade patterns as thanks. Dan had even netted a fat contractor's fee from the VRU, in part for his capture of the False Cannibal, and in part for delivering Dunkirk safely.

Life was pretty good, so long as he ignored all the signs of an impending societal collapse, and the terrorist organization that specifically had it out for him and his loved ones. While Dan was no longer content to simply close his eyes in ignorance, at present there wasn't much more he could do than wait. Anastasia had the resources and the motivation to get to the heart of the matter, and she would undoubtedly ask for Dan's help were it required. Until that time, he was left to his own devices.

Abby was working at the clinic today, so Dan had accepted a few small delivery jobs to occupy his time. Nothing major, just within the city or right outside of it. Each request had been intriguing enough to catch Dan's eye. He would take it slow, this time. He was in the mood to meet some people, possibly make some new friends, or at least contacts. Maybe then he'd feel like he'd actually accomplished something this week.

His first trip took him out into the county, where hills and cows reigned, down a farm market road and past a copse of trees, where a little house was nested against the border of a forest. Dan appeared outside the property, by a rusty old gate and a boxy CCTV camera. There was a small intercom taped haphazardly to a wooden fence post, and Dan pressed it. A woman's aged voice, dipped in southern twang, belted from the box.

"Yeah?"

Dan cleared his throat. "Deliveryman Dan, here for a pickup."

There was a brief pause, then, "Oh, yeah. Come on up honey. I gots your package wrapped and ready."

There was an electronic buzz, and the old gate creaked slowly open. Dan strolled down the dirt road, whistling to himself. It was a beautiful day, and this far from the city, nature had taken hold. He could hear birdsong and crickets chirping. Every breath carried the earthy smell of leaves and wood. He rounded the bend, past an obscuring thicket that had yellowed in the sun. He found himself facing an idyllic cabin, intersecting wood burnished bronze and gleaming. On the porch, in a large, comfortable rocking chair, an old woman bobbed back and forth.

She was ninety if she was a day, with stark white hair and wrinkled skin. She was skinny as a twig, wearing a dress that Dan suspected was older than the surrounding trees. But her eyes were clear and her smile wide and her dentures bright white. She waved at Dan as he approached, surprisingly spry for someone who looked so frail.

"Come up, come up! Your package is over yonder," she hollered, pointing out to her yard with a gnarled hand. "Is it just you then?" She whistled, long and deep. "You'll have a heck of a time with it all by your lonesome."

Dan followed her gesture and saw a tree sitting in the yard, uprooted, gift-wrapped, and waiting. He didn't have the faintest clue why someone had ordered a tree from this woman, and the prospect of an answer was what spurred him to take this job. But first, manners.

He hopped up the steps of the cabin and onto the porch, held out his hand, "Daniel Newman. Nice to meet you ma'am."

"Dorothea March," she greeted, reaching out. Her hand was cold and clammy, but her grip was strong. There was still life left in this woman, old as she was. "A pleasure, sonny. Now, how d'you plan on getting that there tree outta my yard?"

"Oh, moving things is what I do," Dan said. He straightened, and willed himself to the base of the tree. He heard a quiet, "Well that's a trick," from the porch as he examined the package with his veil. It was... odd.

"What kind of tree is this?" he asked, knocking on the base with his knuckles. "The listing didn't say."

"It's a memorial tree, meant to honor the dead" Dorothea replied. "Custom grown by yours truly."

"Grown?" Dan repeated, looking between her and the tree. The thing was at least twenty feet tall, and thick as he was. "Did you start when you were a teenager?"

Dorothea cackled, waving her crooked fingers. Green sparks trailed off them. "I've got a green thumb, sonny. That there conifer took me three months to grow."

"Useful," Dan said. He avoided asking if it was an upgrade. That sort of thing just didn't seem polite. "Well then." Dan rubbed his hands together. "Are we good to go?"

She made a 'get on with it' motion.

Dan's veil ran through the entirety of the tree. He remembered when he could only move his own weight. His power had grown so much since those early days. He felt the strain of the dense, enormous tree, but it was well within his limits. He grinned, flexed, and dragged the tree into t-space.

The old woman blinked. "Well that's not something you see every day."

Dan walked back to the porch, willing paperwork out of his hammerspace. He passed it to her on a clipboard. "Sign here, please."

Dorothea cackled again, scrawled an ugly, looping mark, and handed it back. "You got a card, dear? Reliable movers are so hard to find."

Dan produced a business card with a flourish, and dutifully passed it over. The old woman snorted, pocketed it, and waved him away. Dan took one last look at the idyllic property, then vanished.

Back to the city.