Dan's veil found the villain's trail before Dunkirk did. It was easier for him, as his power tunneled easily through concrete and earth. Getting a firm grasp on what he sensed was more difficult, but he could parse the basics. At some point inside the maze-like lower level of the field office, the villain had decided to make his own path.

Dan had been mentally referring to the man as a metal-manipulator, but it seemed as if he'd need to revise that to matter-manipulator. He could follow the trail the man's body had made by the warping of material. It seemed as if the villain had simply walked into, and through, the closest wall, bee-lining towards his target without regard for what stood in front of him.

The walls were, for the lack of a better term, slurry. It was the same warped mix that Dan's veil had felt when the villain had first emerged from the cargo trailer. The effect seemed to merge materials that he touched, twisting them together like Play-Doh. Dan could follow the man's passing through the strange sensation of bonded material. He wondered, idly, if the villain could have used his power productively, creating super-materials for the benefit of humanity and his own bank account.

What a waste.

He considered relaying this information to the injured agent, but decided to wait. At this point, there wasn't much Dan could tell him other than, "He went that way," and pointing somewhere underground. Not exactly helpful. Not before he'd found the villain himself, or whatever he was searching for.

Dan carefully eased another groaning volunteer into the waiting ambulance. At this point, he was seriously considering grabbing a second vehicle. If nothing else, the injured fed might be able to drive it, albeit unsafely. Though if the occasion were to arise that a concussed and maimed federal agent was needed to drive a vehicle, safety would be Dan's last concern.

It was as he was waffling over this decision, that his veil found the prison cells. That was the only way to describe them: reinforced square rooms, half a dozen of them, buried at the heart of the facility beneath the field office. The doors were made of a clear glass that reminded Dan of his own windows, incredibly dense, and sealed perfectly flush with the walls. When he found the first, Dan didn't immediately understand. It was only after his veil had tagged the others that he understood what the villain had come here to do. The gaping hole in one of the cells was as clear a sign as any.

It was such a ludicrous thing to find that Dan almost burst out laughing. What was with this dimension's insane obsession with underground lairs? This was probably the third or fourth he'd found in just over a year! Granted, it was easier for him to find them than most, but this was just one city! Surely there were some kind of zoning laws that would make building the damn things a little harder!?

Regardless, it was time to tell the feds what he'd found. Dan blinked beside the injured agent, getting a sharp, surprised gasp from the man as he tried to orient his pistol in Dan's direction. Probably... not Dan's best idea, given the man was injured, paranoid, and holding a gun. Dan gently pushed the barrel back down.

"So my mutation gives me some sensory abilities," Dan stated quickly, unwilling to get into the nitty-gritty details of his power. "I can sense the jail cells beneath the field office. One of them is broken open, and I'm pretty sure that big villain was the cause."

The trooper, whose skin was already sallow from his injuries, somehow paled even further. For a moment, Dan was worried he'd pass out. The man had lost a good deal of blood, but he quickly rallied himself.

"Is there anyone in the cells? Anyone at all?"

Dan poked at the floor, searching for the tell tale signs of feet against concrete. He found nothing but air.

"No," Dan replied.

The wounded agent swallowed weakly. "Please, bring me a radio," he managed to gasp out. His own hung from his belt, missing half its antenna and most of its face.

Dan complied, automatically sweeping his eyes across the battlefield before grimacing at the scene. He reoriented towards the unconscious feds, dragged off to the side by their compatriots. He quickly unstrapped the first radio he saw, checking that it was on, before passing it to the injured fed.

"What's your name, by the way?" Dan asked.

The federal agent's eyes flicked to Dan, then to the radio. He checked it for a headset—it must have gotten unplugged at some point— before weakly bringing it to his lips and pressing the transmission button.

"This is Trainee Don O'Brien calling from the surface;" he murmured into the radio's receiver. "Special Agent Dunkirk, are you receiving me sir?"

There was a brief pause, before the radio crackled.

"Confirmed O'Brien. Make it fast." Dunkirk's voice was no longer as raspy, but he sounded tense and annoyed.

"Sir, the civilian volunteer out here has just told me that his upgrade has a sensory aspect," O'Brien began hesitantly.

"Get to the point Trainee," Dunkirk interrupted, dropping all pretense of protocol.

O'Brien flinched. "He says the prisoner has escaped, sir."

"Explain!" Dunkirk barked back immediately.

Dan's veil probed the empty cell. He traced its outline, feeling the warped, twisted, and merged metal and glass. He followed it to what had once been the back of the cell.

"The door is missing," Dan informed O'Brien, "and there's a hole in the back of the cell leading away from the rest of the building."

The agent quickly relayed that information, and received a bout of unprofessional cursing in exchange.

"Where is he now?" Dunkirk demanded. In the background, Dan could hear indiscernible words being muttered back and forth between the federal agents.

Dan shrugged.

"He doesn't know, sir," O'Brien reported.

"The armory was raided, Trainee," Dunkirk revealed, frustration evident in his voice. "If the villain surfaces, he may be armed with heavy ordinance. You should gather our wounded and attempt to flee. We will pursue through whatever tunnel was created." There was a chorus of protests in the background, before the transmission suddenly cut off.

Dan stared at the radio, gripped tight in O'Brien's hand. The plastic creaked under the federal agent's grip.

"That's a terrible idea," Dan decided.

"You should drive those people to safety," O'Brien said, nodding to the ambulance. He placed his radio on the ground, and picked up a pistol. The fed checked the chamber, then the magazine, then gingerly lifted himself into a steadier posture.

Dan pulled out his phone, and tried 911 one last time. Once again, it failed to connect. His eyes drifted back to the ambulance, then to the wounded fed. Dan could get him out. Park the man in the passenger seat, and drive for safety. They could bring the radio, so contact could be... maintained.

Dan was a fucking moron. He spun around without a word, and blinked into the ambulance. The goddamned radio! The ambulance drivers carried their own radios, dialed in to the city's emergency frequency, but the ambulance itself was required to carry a backup! It was something they'd briefly covered in his Academy class, that Dan had filed away and never thought about again.

The radio was stored out of the way, but not difficult to get to. It was tucked away behind the driver's seat, strapped to a zippered section on the back. All it took to reach it, was flicking the seat lever to lean it forward. This was by design, making it as easy as possible for others to access it, in case the drivers were ever incapacitated.

Dan plucked it out of its case, and flipped it on. It was already set to an emergency frequency, unique to these radios, and monitored by ambulance operators. Dan examined it, searching his memory for the dusty protocols that applied here. He doubted that his plea would be ignored just because he called it in wrong, but better safe than sorry when lives were at stake. Dan clicked the transmission button and spoke.

"This is CV24913 calling from Medical Station Charlie, is anyone receiving this?"

He let go and waited for—

"Dispatch receiving you CV24913. What's your situation?"

The crackly, robotic voice was music to his ears. Dan practically sagged with relief.

"Medical Station Charlie has been evacuated," he replied, "but the FBI field office was hit by a group of villains. We have several dozen injured, and I'm the only person on scene in any shape to perform first aid. I could use any backup you could provide, dispatch."

"Understood CV24913. Are the villains still present? Do you require police aid?"

"If available," Dan replied immediately. "We have one villain—" He remembered the prisoner. "Scratch that, up to two villains unaccounted for. There are federal agents in pursuit, but I've got wounded here, with nobody to protect them."

There was a brief pause, then, "Copy that CV24913. Sit tight, help is on the way."