The Greatest Superhero You've Never Heard Of

[Tom Harriman]

Tom frowned. That wasn't what he'd hoped Dan would take away from it, but he supposed it was a valid question; no harm in answering.

He grabbed the screen and turned it around towards him, scrolling through the information he'd unearthed in search of the knowledge that Dan sought. The internet held a surprising amount of information about everyone scattered about the place; information that not even the most security conscious of individuals could hide. All you needed was a date of birth, and maybe a vague location, and you could find all manner of stuff scattered about the place.

He found the name precisely where he found it. "Laura," he answered, as if he was casually reading off cinema showings. "Laura Matthews. And the daughter is called Meg."

He hesitated, suddenly regretting volunteering the the information so freely. He looked at Dan with a hint of worry in his eyes. "Someone you know?"

[Captain Dan Myers]

A laugh escaped, but it was a hollow sound. It wasn't one born from amusement: more from bitter disappointment. Not Stephanie. Of course not Stephanie. How could the cosmos ever be that fair?

"I've never heard of her in my life," he threw back.

He needed a drink, though he doubted that there was anything legally available in this world that had quite the same kick as the stuff the resistance fighters had brewed down in the caves.

But even that wouldn't help; not until he'd drunk enough to make his brain stop working. There was too much to think about; too many thoughts that he didn't want to entertain; too many memories that he didn't want to flash before his eyes. In his experience, alcohol amplified everything: it made a good time into a great time; it turned annoyance into anger; and it turned regret into outright remorse and misery.

Not a good plan, he mused. But then, sleep didn't seem like a great idea either; not just yet. Dreams could do more damage than alcohol, if they set their minds to it: and Dan didn't trust his subconscious one damn bit.

Besides, there was something he needed to do first.

But then that would involve asking the question: the question that he knew Tom wouldn't want to answer. "Do you have an address?"

[Tom Harriman]

Tom's stomach twisted up into a knot. It was a question he knew would come eventually. It was a question that he knew it was best not to answer truthfully. And yet, despite stumbling across exactly what Dan was asking for hours before, he hadn't managed to muster together a rebuttal that was more than paper thin.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he pointed out: the best he had.

He searched his brain for options. His mind had entertained every notion: was it even safe? What would happen if the two met? Would it be like Back to the Future? Were they oscillating at different universal frequencies. Would the two touch and explode? Would the universe unravel because there was more matter than their should be?

None of those seemed like they'd fly. He wasn't sure if Dan would even understand.

"It's probably best that you lie low, until we can work out how to get you home," he tried.

[Captain Dan Myers]

"And how long will that take?"

He shook his head, and heaved out a protracted sigh. "I saw the machine that sent me here. Even if you managed to somehow reverse-engineer the science based on what little I've told you, it took Pyre and his people months to put the machine together; and they had a slave army and near unlimited resources."

His shoulders slumped. It wasn't like him to give up, and yet here he was, doing exactly that. Was it surrender though, or merely resignation: the acceptance of a truth that couldn't be overcome, in order to find a new reason to keep fighting?

"I'm not going to walk up and slap the guy or anything," he assured, offering a small smile. "I just need to see him; see his family. I need to get a handle on what's different about this world: and what better place to start, right?"

[Tom Harriman]

Tom mirrored his sigh, and his resignation. It was bad logic - a bad idea - but he couldn't find a way to argue against it.

His fingers tugged out a scrap of paper from the mound on his desk, a few short lines of text scrawled upon it. He didn't know what he'd been thinking: didn't know why he'd even written it down.

"Edwards Air Force Base," he said eventually, voice thick with reluctance as he handed the address to Dan.

"Careful though," he warned. "People are going to be looking for you, and that outfit of yours isn't exactly subtle."

[Captain Dan Myers]

An incredulous, defensive frown flashed across Dan's features.

"What the hell is wrong with my outfit?"

[Lieutenant William O'Hara]

O'Hara felt decidedly uncomfortable standing in the middle of an Air Force base, not wearing a proper uniform. Sure, he looked like a soldier: it wasn't like he was knocking on the door dressed in civvies or anything like that. But this sort of official situation called for a proper uniform; duty blues, or at the very least an actual outfit with US Air Force printed on it. The gear that Vanguard issued was good gear, and perfectly suited for the kind of work that it did, but at times it made him feel like some sort of skeevy mercenary, rather than a legit American soldier.

He'd abandoned his team at the airfield, and had appropriated one of the jeeps from the base car pool in order to get here. It was amazing what a few phone calls and the right set of names dropped to the right people could do: Colonel Hunter had everything in hand by the time he arrived. It was impressive really, when you thought about it; he often wondered how in the hell a career fighter pilot managed to get so damned organised. He'd have to ask one day, maybe.

He frowned a little; he'd rapped his knuckles against the door a few moments ago. He'd checked with base security and Myers was definately on the base, and there was a car parked in the driveway. Yet, no one had made it to the door.

He pounded his fist against the woodwork again. "Captain Myers, sir," he shouted, hoping his voice would carry into the rooms beyond. "This is Lieutenant William O'Hara. It's very urgent that I speak with you, sir."

[Daniel Myers]

"You should have told me."

When Laura Myers got angry, she didn't get loud. Maybe it was a teacher thing. There was probably some new legislation that stopped you from shouting at Elementary school kids or something like that: some weird crazy law that the state of California had embraced. Regardless of the reason, her anger didn't manifest as volume. Instead she turned deathly quiet; she acted like she was deeply hurt and offended by whatever you'd done. Daniel had seen it work miracles with their daughter and the other kids he'd crossed paths with; but being on the recieving end was like taking a shotgun blast to the gut.

"Honey, I told you -" Daniel tried; his voice was starting to sound desperate. "- that guy wasn't me."

She looked at him as if that was the most moronic thing he could ever have said. "I don't care about that. I don't care whatever flyboy stunt you and your pilot buddies pulled out there. I don't care about how you get your kicks." A glare formed in her eyes. "You should have told me that you were a -"

She couldn't say the word. Daniel did it for her. "A mutant?"

She nodded; disgust joined the medley of disapproving emotions dancing behind her eyes. "All these years I've known you. You've lied to me through every single one."

The bottom fell out of Daniel's world. "I didn't think it would matter."

Teacher training finally gave way to baser instincts. "Of course it matters!" Laura fired back, her Kansas accent thick with righteous rage. "Of course it matters," she tried again, a little composure restored. "You're sick, Daniel. And worse... you've passed on this genetic disease of yours to our daughter."

Laura reached out and shoved her hand into his chest, tearing out his heart and everything that was attached to it. Or at least, that's the way it felt. It left Daniel numb, inside and out. He looked into her eyes, and where usually he saw the kind of love and eye-rolling tolerance that had graced her gaze for all these years, instead he saw fear, anger, hate; the dark side trifecta. Everything else - everything he believed was unchangeable - was gone without a trace.

His mouth worked, but no words came out. A hand pounded on the door again. His eyes flicked involuntarily in that direction.

"Go," Laura insisted, bitterness marring her words. "It's probably one of your new adoring fans."

With that she was gone; and the sight of her walking away broke Daniel completely. This is why, his sorrow-filled mind whispered as he watched her leave, half-wondering if her walking out of the room wasn't a metaphor for some larger departure from his life. This is what I was afraid of. This is why I never said.

He managed to make it to the door, though he wasn't entirely sure how. It swung open to reveal someone he didn't recognise; military looking, but unmarked. That probably should have set off alarm bells, but his attention was elsewhere. "Can I help you?" he asked, absently.

[Lieutenant William O'Hara]

"Captain Myers," O'Hara began, launching directly into his tirade before anyone had an opportunity to interrupt him. "I'm Lieutenant O'Hara; I represent an organisation called Vanguard. It is vitally important that I speak to you about your activities in Los Angeles today."

O'Hara fought the urge to frown. Something about the guy didn't seem quite right. It was like he was older, or heavier, or like something had changed; as if the footage he'd committed to memory during the ride out here had been from a different time in the man's life. This guy seemed quiet, reserved, and strangely saddened; one hell of a convincing mild mannered alter ego, that was for sure. But when you'd blabbed your mouth in front of the media, why bother with an act at all? Things weren't adding up.

"It would be a big help if you'd volunteer to come with us, sir."

[Daniel Myers]

"It wasn't me," Daniel grunted, but it lacked a conviction: an excuse that he was tired of uttering again and again.

This man was a soldier though; or at least he looked that way. Maybe he'd listen to reason, unlike Daniel's dearly beloved. "Check base security," he tried, managing to muster a little defiance in his tone. The man had said Lieutenant; and Daniel wasn't about to let himself be falsely accused of poor fashion taste and idiotic heroics by a mere El Tee.

"They'll confirm that I was on site the entire time; not for days. Even my wife hasn't been off-base for about a week, what with it being the school holidays and all."

[Lieutenant William O'Hara]

"I'm sure they will, sir."

O'Hara offered him an apologetic smile, though it was more to be polite than because of any genuine thoughts and emotions. Normally that would be enough to convince a rational human being - that was a strong enough aliby to satisfy law enforcement after all - but the world was a strange place nowadays, and what was once obvious couldn't be taken for granted anymore.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid that until we can confirm the nature of your mutation, we can't rely on the accuracy of the base's security records." There was a hint of a shrug on his shoulders. "When it comes to dealing with mutants like us, being in two places at once isn't as uncommon an occurance as you'd think."

[Daniel Myers]

Dealing with mutants.

That was hardly a reassuring turn of phrase. The like us hardly softened the blow, either: a Lieutenant at his door could be perfectly ordinary, but an unmarked Lieutenant with mutant powers suddenly opened up a potential new realm of conspiracies and secret agencies that he had spent his life trying to avoid drawing the attention of.

I don't want to be a part of this, his mind whispered. I just want a normal life.

The sound of a door behind him opening caught his attention; inside he grimaced as he heard the footsteps of his wife. Clearly she was spoiling for round two. Or maybe she'd come to throw accusations at the unsuspecting Lieutenant. Daniel tried to save him; to spare him from that onslaught.

"Look, Lieutenant. Now isn't exactly a good time -"

[Lieutenant William O'Hara]

O'Hara's eyes picked up the movement in the room behind the Captain; he kept his movements subtle but still threatening as his hand strayed towards the sidearm holstered at his belt.

There's an easy way to do this, and a hard way. He never spoke the words, but his actions made his meaning very plain. You're coming with me whether you like it or not. Lets not make things messy in front of your family.

The undercurrent of threatened violence was completely absent from his words, however: they retained the same formal and respectful tone the had before, though there was a slight hint of threat in his Texan drawl. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist, sir."

[Daniel Myers]

Daniel didn't respond; Laura's scathing voice interrupted before he even got the chance.

"One of your co-conspirators?" she accused, abject disbelief thick in her voice. Assumptions had become facts in her mind, and she was in no way prepared to listen to anything anyone had to say.

"Take him," she insisted, shoving her husband forward. Clearly, she was oblivious to the threat of firearms being made; she just wanted the man - the monster - gone from her home. "Go pull another one of your hero stunts. It's fine; I need him out of the way while I pack anyway."

Pack?

Funny how one word could convey such a terrifying, life-destroying premise. Worlds all but failed Daniel; a few fragments was all he could coax out. "Laura, I -"

He felt it before he even saw it; the vicious sting of a hand across his face. But her worlds, cold as ice and laced with the same venom that flooded her eyes, cut far deeper and hurt much more.

"I never want to see you again."

Daniel didn't realise he was over the threshold. He found out when the door slammed into his shoulder, the locks and latches clunking closed as the woodwork crashed into place.

Shoulders slumped, an utterly defeated man turned to face O'Hara. The breath that escaped him wasn't even a sigh; he couldn't muster the effort for anything that decisive.

"Lead the way, Lieutenant."

[Colonel M. James Hunter]

"Copy that, Lieutenant. Bring him on home."

Jim almost smiled. It didn't feel like an appropriate time to smile - not with a control centre full of people watching him - but the success made him want to regardless. There was relief mixed in there, too: relief at the fact that they'd managed to find and apprehend this Dan Myers character in a matter of hours, and were in the process of bringing him in without incident. He'd read mission reports of Vanguard's previous dealings with mutants from before his time; and frankly he hadn't been fond of their methods.

Things would run a little differently under his watch, he hoped; and it was much easier to be an advocate of change when you had easy successes to refer back to.

"Sir," came a voice from beside him; one of the numerous Sergeants swarming about the place. "Shall I contact General Vasher's Office, and inform them that we've apprehended the target?"

Hunter considered the question carefully. Much as his fighter pilot mentality demanded that he boast about his victory as quickly as possible, years of experience filled him with an air of caution. Life had taught him lessons before about counting unhatched chickens; and while he couldn't think of any way in which the operation could possibly go south at this point, that didn't mean that fate and the universe wouldn't manage to be a little more inspired.

"Not just yet, Sergeant," he replied.

His brow puzzled into a frown. Perhaps he could think of ways that the op could go wrong, after all. Evolution was a trickster, throwing curveballs and planting pitfalls for anyone who was too closed-minded to consider every possible option. Hunter lived in a world where the fact that someone looked, sounded, and acted like the person you thought they were wasn't necessarily confirmation of their identity. This operation had been easy. Had it been too easy?

Walking a few paces to his left, he tapped a Tech Sergeant on the shoulder; instantly they vacated their terminal, and allowed the Colonel to sit. Not quite as swiftly as an experienced operator might have done, Hunter still managed to pull up the footage from the news reels; watched as Dan Myers made his spectacular exit from the scene. His eyes absorbed the information: the timestamp; the shadows. He scooted his chair back, frowning more heavily now as he glanced to the Sergeant.

"Can you show me this location on a map of LA?"

It was a rhetorical question and, pouncing on her keyboard before Hunter even had the time to offer her the chair back, the Tech Sergeant brought up a multicoloured overview of the location of the fire; something that the analysts had already plotted an hour ago at his request. Hunter glanced between the two, dots connecting in his mind. And then he saw it.

"That's the wrong way," he said quietly.

"Sir?" the Sergeant asked, echoing his frown.

He looked at her for a moment, and then back to the screen. "When he leaves, he heads north, towards Downtown. That's completely the wrong direction if he's headed back to Edwards."

The Tech Sergeant seemed confused, but Hunter didn't dwell on that; he was back to his feet, returning to where he'd been standing a few minutes before. His lips narrowed into a grim line as he considered the favour he was about to ask. Perhaps he was still new, but there were certain things - certain abilities - that his sensibilities had trouble taking advantage of. That said, there weren't all that many ways to quickly and accurately verify a person's memories; and Hunter could only think of one person capable of that who was currently on the Vanguard payroll.

"I'll take that call to General Vasher's Office now," he said, "But it's Major Keller I want to talk to."

[Captain Dan Myers]

Dan landed on the roof. He hadn't meant to, but landing at the end of one of the leaps his powers granted was like trying to steer yourself with a parachute onto a target; only without the benefit of the parachute. There was some skill involved, but not nearly as much as Dan liked to pretend: mostly it was falling with style, and it was a mix of luck and flailing that allowed him to avoid too many unfortunate landing places.

What he was able to do was control the force of his impact with the ground. Light as a feather when he landed, Dan didn't make a sound. It was a good thing too he realised, as he peered over the roof's edge: on the driveway below there was movement; hostile movement from the look of it, or at least angry. He watched carefully, and considered his options. Now was the time for subtlety and tact.

Too bad he was no good at either.

He vaulted, hurling himself down from the rooftop to land gracefully on the driveway behind her. He allowed his impact to make a sound this time; not so loud and sudden that it would startle, but enough to be noticed.

"Excuse me, Mrs -" he started, but never got a chance to finish.

Laura whirled, surprise in her eyes for just a moment until she recognised the face they settled upon. That was all the attention he was given; her look turned to scorn, and she turned back to her task, heaving a laiden suitcase into the trunk of her car.

"You didn't bother to change this time," she observed, her tone bitter. The force with which she hurled the suitcase about made it clear that she was imagining that it was something else. "Don't try to stop me," she added.

"Mrs Myers," Dan tried again. "Laura. I am -" He trailed off.

What the hell was he actually planning to say? And what had he stumbled into? What was happening here? Why was- was this his fault? Had he done this?

"I'm not the man you think I am."

A dark note of laughter escaped from Laura. "Well, isn't that obvious?"

"Why are you even back?" She shook her head; the hatchback slammed closed, the whole car shuddering with the fury of the impact. "You and your soldier friends were barely gone long enough to pull off a stunt." She turned on him with accusing eyes. "Or are you just here to flaunt it at me? Some sort of delusion that I'll see you dressed like a fucking superhero, and just swoon into your arms?"

Dan's mind, heart, whole body stalled. He stared blankly, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. "What soldiers?"

Eyes rolling in disgust, Laura turned her way again. "Oh, come on. Do you honestly expect me to by the 'I don't know what you're talking about' routine? Credit me with a little intelligence -"

A hand lashed out, gripping her firmly by the upper arm, spinning her around to face him again. "Laura." His voice was firm; it left no room to be ignored or disobeyed. "What soldiers?"

Something shifted in her eyes, some flash of recognition; or rather a lack thereof. Something was different. Something was off. The hair was the wrong shade, and he seemed taller; and while that was easy to change with cosmetics and costume, he seemed slimmer somehow. And his eyes: they were the same, but different. The man staring out of them was a complete mystery to him.

"Who -" She tried, her voice finally failing her. "Who are you?"

"I don't have time to explain." Dan's words were curt and clipped. "What soldiers? Which way did they take him, and how long ago were they here?"

"I don't -" More struggling for words. Her head shook slowly, brow furrowed in abject confusion. "Ten minutes, maybe? I think they were headed to the airfield."

The muscles in Dan's jaw bunched and clenched. "Wherever you're planning to go... will he know to find you there?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'll be at -"

Dan cut her off. "Don't tell me. Just take your daughter and go. I'll find your husband. I'll fix this."

He turned away, his leatherette gloves creaking as his hands clenched into firsts. He hesitated for a moment before he lept into the sky, in order to offer two parting words:

"I'm sorry."

[Daniel Myers]

Daniel sat in stoic silence as the car pool Jeep rolled along the all too familiar route from home to the airfield. There was very little for a dutiful soldier such as himself to do in such a situation: even though he outranked the Lieutenant who had come to collect him, resistance wasn't all that smart an idea when you were dealing with men in uniform with guns. Especially not when you were standing outside the front door of the house your family was in.

Granted, home was ten minutes behind by now, but even then he didn't spend more than half a thought contemplating escape. It wasn't a question of survival necessarily; more a matter of the naive hope that if he explained himself and provided his alibi they'd realise that this was all a giant misunderstanding, and it'd all blow over. They'd just skip over the whole keeping his mutation a secret part, despite the Air Force's policy to "encourage" it's personnel to register voluntarily. They'd ignore the part where pretty much every airman who'd been outed as a mutant had found themselves hanging up their uniform under the premise of don't ask, don't tell. He'd not dwell on the fact that his wife was already packing to leave the house; on how he'd been hiding what he was from her ever since they'd met.

His hand clenched involuntarily around the Jeep door; he heard and felt the groan of the vehicle's suspension beneath him; caught the puzzled frown from the driver as their movement became a little sluggish. He forced his eyes to close; forced his mind to calm; and reigned in the oh so involuntary application of his powers.

A loud thud and a clunk sounded from the hood. The suspension bobbed. Daniel's eyes snapped open; that definitely wasn't him.

His startled eyebrows raised, Daniel peered out through the windshield. A mirror peered back.

[Captain Dan Myers]

"Sorry to be a pain," Dan offered to the Lieutenant at the wheel, an apologetic half-wince gifted as well, "But would you mind pulling over?"

A palm flat on the hood of the Jeep, waves of invisible energy were already coursing into the bodywork, wrapping themselves around the chassis, axles, wheels; subtly smoothing out the warped dents and divots in spacetime that gravity caused, and transforming the vehicle into less of a weighty burden for the pavement to support.

Dan watched the Lieutenant's options zip past behind his eyes like box cars on a freight train; he saw the decision to swerve before the Lieutenant's hands had even moved the steering wheel, and sprung into action in a flash. Hands still firmly in contact with the Jeep, he stepped back onto the road. With a jolt that his knees would no doubt protest later, all the force the Jeep could muster strained against his muscles; but with the Jeep now weighing about the same as an equally sized empty cardboard box, it took a fraction of a second for Dan to heft it from the ground. Wheels span insistently, but with nothing but three inches of air between them and the nearest source of traction, the automobile and it's contents came to an abrupt halt.

It took a second or so for the Lieutenant to dislodge his foot from the gas pedal; a couple more before Dan felt entirely safe putting the Jeep down again. When he did, the Lieutenant gunned the accelerator again; but it had about the same effect on Dan as sneezing at him would have.

One hand and his shins still holding the Jeep steady, his other hand reached for the hood, compelled it to become even lighter; the hinges splintered like glass, and it tore free as if it were made of paper. It clattered to the ground as Dan tossed it casually aside, it's true weight restored the instant it left contact with Dan's fingers.

He jerked his head towards it, staring intently at the Lieutenant. "Are you gonna stop now, or am I going to have to do that to your engine block too?"