Gregoir laid out his spiel onto the poor lad, who'd offered up 'John Doe' as a pseudonym. Apparently, he hadn't given much thought to a flashier alias. Gregoir didn't seem to mind, outlining his plans to his newest 'student'.

"We need more police officers," Gregoir admitted frankly, and John immediately looked uncomfortable.

"Not to worry," Gregoir assured him. "It's not a job for everyone, I understand that. Besides, it will take years for our public training options to match the private ones. It would be unreasonable to demand service, without first offering a proper upbringing. I hear increased funding is in the pipeline, but we need a stop gap."

He pointed at his detained vigilante. "Part of that would be you, and yours."

"Me?" John echoed nervously.

They'd drawn a crowd of eavesdroppers now, though many were at least pretending to do other things. Gregoir was not subtle, even when he was trying to be—especially when he was trying to be—and his loud declaration of his own identity had drawn many eyes, and confirmed many suspicions.

Gregoir was a well-known as a figure in the city, but little was known about his personal life. He was a minor celebrity online, the darling of several online forums dedicated to police officers, and frequented by women aged eighteen to forty-five. There were many, many pictures of him, mostly with his clothing in various states of disrepair, and he'd mostly garnered a reputation as eye candy, before recent events. But Gregoir, the man, was mostly a mystery. After his bout with Coldeyes, it was a mystery most wanted badly to solve.

"You!" Gregoir confirmed. "Most in your—" He paused, seeming to search for an appropriately inoffensive term. "Faction. Your faction. Most are quite young, yes? Teens to early twenties?" Gregoir didn't bother waiting for John to confirm. "Too young or inexperienced to act as a recruitment base, and I assume most are every bit as uninterested as yourself. But that's quite alright! My wish is for you to continue what you are doing!"

"You... want to endorse us?" John asked with confusion. "But we're vigilantes!" The boy immediately flinched at his own omission, eyes going wide with regret.

"You're not breaking any laws that we can see," Connor stated bluntly. "The primary concern with vigilantes has always been the lack of training that inevitably leads to collateral damage." He paused, giving John a serious look. "Are you planning to use your upgrade if you see an ongoing crime?"

"N-no! I've got—" John fumbled at the Velcro pocket of his spandex suit, pulling out a whistle. "This!"

Gregoir examined the little whistle, then smiled. "Attention is an excellent deterrent. You mostly patrol populated areas, yes?"

The kid nodded.

"Then that's probably fine."

"Perhaps add a phone to your kit, as well," Connor added, dryly. "Calling the cops should still be high on your list. It's not like we'll arrest you for reporting a crime, no matter how you're dressed."

Gregoir snapped his fingers. "Ah! Yes, how forgetful of me. That's what I wanted to talk to you about! The APD would like to formally invite you, and any community-conscious associates you might know, to a get-together. Call it a mixer, where we'll discuss ways for us to work together."

He passed the young man his business card, with an address scribbled on the back in messy, cramped handwriting.

John took it hesitantly. "I can ask around. I think most people won't be interested, though."

Gregoir shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "That's quite alright. I just want to have a chat about how we can help each other. No commitment involved, you have my word. Any who appear, will be allowed to leave without contest." He perked up. "Oh! There will also be pizza, and drinks!"

"I'll... spread the word," John conceded. He looked around. "Am I free to leave?"

"By all means!" Gregoir gestured grandly. "Please, continue your patrol."

John left, just a hair too fast to seem casual. Gregoir planted himself beside Daniel, who'd been watching from the neighboring bench, and heaved a satisfied sigh.

"I think that went well," the big man declared.

Dan snorted. "You think anyone will actually show up?" He kept his voice low, mindful of the many watching eyes.

"We'll be there regardless," Connor stated, strolling over. He nodded to Dan. "You too."

"Me too?" Dan repeated, confused.

Gregoir grinned broadly. "Of course! As a licensed crisis responder, you can provide valuable insight and options to these young men and women! They'll no doubt have many questions for you!"

Dan clicked his tongue, but didn't deny his friend. Gregoir asked few favors. Instead, he brought back his earlier concern.

"Even if people show up, what makes you think they'll care about what you have to say?"

"They could ignore me entirely, and I'd still consider it a victory," Gregoir said. "Attendance itself is the goal. I merely want them to associate with us in a positive environment."

"I thought you wanted to recruit them."

Gregoir shrugged his big shoulders. His voice, amazingly, lowered. "I doubt we'll have much success there. What I'm hoping for is cooperation."

Connor grunted unhappily. "We could do more to discourage this nonsense. Or at least, limit it."

"In a perfect world, perhaps," Gregoir said. "I don't think it's an option here. These New Heroes have kept their actions within the law. I am perfectly happy to have them around, so long as that continues." He turned to regard Connor seriously. "We do not demonize community service. We encourage it. If we can get them to work with us, then all the better."

"So this mixer of yours is just an excuse to get a bunch of vigilantes in a room together?" Dan asked.

"And talk," Gregoir added. "We're all just people looking to do the best for our city. So long as conversation is on the table, there's hope for a happy ending."

There was a manila envelope in Dan's mailbox when he got home. No name, no address, no stamp. He swept the contents with his veil, before dropping it into his hand.

It was a photo. A dark roof, a few blurry figures. Ice, everywhere.

He turned it over. An address and a time was scrawled on the back, unsigned.

"Goddammit," Dan cursed.

The diner was moderately crowded. The evening rush was winding down, but people were still eating their meals. Dan scanned every inch of the building with his veil, looking for anything that might set off alarm bells. He checked lines of sight, looking for tall buildings from which some asshole with a gun might be watching. He checked the cars in the parking lot, then he created a tiny portal in the restaurant's ceiling and started cataloguing faces.

He stopped when he saw Thomas Dunkirk sitting in a booth.

"This fucking guy," Dan muttered. He turned to Abby. "It's Dunkirk again."

Abby scowled.

Dan looked at the man, watching as the fed checked his watch. He was dressed casually, but no amount of baggy clothing could hide the stick in his ass.

"If I dropped him into the ocean, nobody would know," Dan mused. He wouldn't even have to get close. He could probably make a big enough portal from the parking lot.

"Danny, no," Abby said firmly. "Go talk to the man. Say nothing incriminating. He's got no leverage, nothing you did was illegal. He just hopes you don't know that. Remember, he's used to people being afraid of his authority, but he's on leave right now. He has nothing to threaten you with. Don't lose your temper, and find out what he's trying to do. If he's resorting to blackmail, it can't be good."

Dan grunted in affirmation. He considered how he'd make his approach, then grinned wickedly.

Abby grimaced at the expression, and grabbed his arm.

"Try not to punch him where anyone can see it," she advised, then kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck."

Dan grinned at her, and vanished.