Eddie Charleston did not react to his old alias. His blank stare was focused squarely on the tile floor. A line of drool ran down his chin and formed a dark spot on his shirt. One of the priests flinched at Dan's words, while the other jabbed a finger in his direction.

"This is a restricted area!" the priest bellowed. "Identify yourself!"

Dan's helmet tilted pointedly down, and then back up, indicating without words his armored plate and the FBI logo emblazoned brightly upon it. The priest seemed to sag as he took it in. His head swung wildly from Dan, back to Charleston, and there was a desperation there that Dan didn't like. He activated the Champion protocols of his helmet, and all sound suddenly fell away.

Charleston needed to be heard for his upgrade to take effect. That's how it used to be, at least; with the possibility of a broken upgrade, there was no telling how it would act. Even still, Dan was confident the application hadn't changed. The Evo Church wouldn't bother putting Charleston on stage if he could just be parked in a corner whispering his poison to the congregation. Beyond that, the one time Dan had seen Charleston act with anything resembling consciousness, he'd been handed a literal script to follow.

Dan's veil swept the two priests clothing for weapons and bits of paper. He came up short on both. They were completely unarmed, not even a pocket knife between them. Well, that just made things easier.

"Newman here," Dan broadcasted to Agent Carver. "I've got eyes on Edict. He's incapacitated and unresponsive. Maybe drugged. Looks like they were trying to wheel him out of the building as if he were someone's infirm uncle." Dan felt a little bad mixing in some white lies, but it was basically the truth.

"Understood." Carver's response was short and to the point. She sounded out of breath. "I need to calm this crowd, so you're own your own for a minute."

"Copy," Dan replied, and moved to subdue his targets.

Handcuffs were easy enough to come by. Dan produced a pair and gestured the twitchier priest forward. "Let's get this over with."

"Now hold on a minute," his companion protested weakly. "We haven't done nuthin' wrong."

The man's words played out across Dan's visor as the speech to text program did its work. He struggled to not roll his eyes. Instead, he blinked behind the pair, seizing the more nervous priest by his arm and twisting it behind his back. The man yelped in surprise, then pain, as Dan rapidly wrestled him to the ground. He cuffed the man and left him prone, gasping for air and groaning weakly.

Dan stood back up, turned to the other priest, but the man instantly lifted his hands into the air.

"Whoa, whoa! I'm good, no resistance here!" he said, and after a moment to read his words, Dan gestured him forward. The priest approached, arms extended and held together. Dan got the man turned around and cuffed, then planted him onto the damp floor in a seated position.

Finally, there was only Charleston left. Dan approached the man with care, wary despite the villain's apparent condition. The closer he looked, though, the surer he was that Edict no longer existed. This broken shell, this empty thing, was little more than a mindless automaton. It was different, somehow, seeing him up close and in person. The pallid skin, the glassy eyes, the long, wheezing breaths. It was like being next to a corpse, or someone infinitely close to becoming one.

The fear drained away. Dan stepped past the man, seized his chair, and guided him slowly out of the showers. He produced another pair of handcuffs, and secured Charleston's arms, but he doubted the man would be going anywhere of his own volition.

Dan's HUD lit up with noise indicators near the front of the gym, and he checked the locations of his squad mates. Agent Carver entered the room, followed by two more of her men. Beyond them, blatantly rubbernecking, was a mixed crowd of about two dozen civilians and priests. The last agent in pointedly slammed the door to the gym shut, but Dan could still see curious faces poking in through the small door pane.

"You found him," Carver observed over the squad channel, notably not asking how he'd done it. "Good."

She moved to examine him, and a light shone from her wrist, to run over Charleston's limp form. She checked it, then nodded with satisfaction.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Low brain activity. There's something going on in there, but not much. You think he was drugged?"

"These two were escorting him out," Dan said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "I'd ask them."

Carver nodded, striding confidently forward to examine the two priests. The twitchy one was still on the floor, doing his best impression of a caterpillar. The other had curled up into a ball, his face buried between his knees. Neither seemed optimistic about their futures.

Carver used her boot to turn over the caterpillar priest, and grunted as the man spewed invectives in her direction. She moved to the next, dropping into a crouch and grabbing the man's chin, lifting his face into view. He was a younger man, not much older than Connor Graham, but an adult nonetheless. His face was blotchy, eyes red and watery. Something in his expression brought a change over Carver.

The woman stiffened, jerked backwards, and swore. Dan's HUD kindly spelled out her words as she openly broadcast to the young priest, "Oh Zach, you little imbecile. What have you gotten yourself into?"

The young man blinked owlishly up at her, then asked in a bewildered voice, "Auntie Em?"

Oh hell, Dan thought. Things just got personal.

He turned to check on the squad mates, and found them both shifting uncomfortably. But there was no surprise there, nor shock.

"You're part of this- this attack!?" the young man, Zach, continued. His voice grew higher, more shrill, more angry. "How could you!? After everything the Church has done for us! For our family! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Carver shook her head. "Be quiet, Zach. You're going to make things worse for yourself."

"No! You be quiet!" the younger man shouted mulishly. "Mom was right about you! I don't know what kind of insane grudge you have against the church, but we're in the right! You have no authority here! You can't do this!"

Carver sighed, and bent down. She grabbed her... nephew? By the arm, and hauled him upright. "You're wrong on all counts, kiddo. But that's okay. You've been sheltered your whole life, so you don't understand what reality is. Well, buckle up, because it's time to learn."

She dragged him forward, and another squad member hustled past her to retrieve the second priest. Zach continued to yell and squirm, fighting his aunt the entire way. Words scrolled across Dan's visor, too fast to keep track. He was shouting rapid-fire insults, deeply personal attacks that Dan felt uncomfortable even read. The final squaddie wheeled Charleston around, and guided his limp form towards the door. He drew even with Carver, and Zach's gaze fell on the comatose villain. Something dark and vindictive crossed his face. His mouth moved, more words scrolled across the screen.

"Rise up Brother Charleston! The Church of Infinite Evolution calls for—"

He didn't get any further than that, because Dan blinked beside him and clocked him across the jaw. The young man grunted in pain, and Carver jerked him backwards.

"Shut up!" she said. "Stop fighting me!"

Zach said something in response, but Dan wasn't watching him. His eyes were on Charleston, whose body stirred briefly. It was slight, little more than a twitch. No awareness crept into his eyes. No sound came from his mouth. He did not make a noise or even work his jaw. It was just a twitch.

He hadn't twitched, before now.

Dan flicked himself into t-space, and examined his own mental state. He felt the budding worry fade away, but that seemed a natural emotion. What else was there? He didn't feel any sudden urges to murder his comrades. He definitely didn't feel drunk. So Charleston probably hadn't used his power on them. A twitch could just be a twitch.

Dan fell back into the world. He checked his veil, letting it bubble and froth around him, searching for contamination. His suit was fine. So were his squad mates. No anomalies to speak of. Charleston's room was empty and accessible, the illusion broken once they'd led the man out. There was a crowd milling outside the gym, but that was nothing new. Dan allowed himself to relax a fraction, but paranoia insisted he warn his team.

"Charleston twitched when your nephew said his name," Dan pointed out. "He's not doing anything else, but..."

"Hm." Carver grunted as she wrestled her nephew into a headlock. "Run a check on him, Bravo-Two."

The man pushing Charleston's chair tapped at his wrist, and the same light from earlier played out across Charleston's form. He checked the results, and an image appeared in the corner of Dan's HUD.

"Brain activity has increased," Bravo-Two said. "Not enough for consciousness. It's probably a stimulus reaction to hearing his name."

"Keep an eye on him," Carver advised. "He's not playing possum, but who knows how long whatever they gave him will last."

Bravo-Two gave an acknowledgement, but any follow up was interrupted by a broadcast over the squad channel.

"Civvies are acting strange, Agent Carver," one of the cops on perimeter duty said.

"Strange?" Carver repeated. "Strange how?"

"I... can't really describe it. They've all, um, gone still."

Another voice broke in, "I'm seeing the same thing here. Something freaky is goin' on."

There was a cold feeling creeping up Dan's spine. He was on point, being the only one unburdened by a prisoner. He moved up to the door, noting that nobody was looking through the small glass pane anymore. His veil told him people were standing outside, that hadn't changed, but it was difficult to judge their disposition. He reached for the latch, reconsidered, and peeked through the glass.

There were two dozen people outside of the gym. Most were civilians, with a few robed priests mixed in. They'd followed Carver, gawping and gaping, unable to resist their curiosity. None of that was present now. Not a spark of life or motivation. Forty pairs of eyes were locked on the outside of the gym. Unmoving, unerring.

Utterly still.