Volume 2: Chapter 197 — On Stage

A/N: Sorry about the delay. Got Covid again. Zero stars, no improvement from last time, cannot recommend the experience.

Gregoir Pierre-Louise had set up what might generously be described as a training camp for his small cadre of prospective recruits, a group of teenagers consisting mostly of wannabe vigilantes. The gregarious giant didn't have the heart to crack down on these well-intentioned do-gooders with the sort of violent dissuasion APD protocols usually demanded. Instead, he elected to recruit them through the dubiously effective method of training them to be better vigilantes. Dan was pretty sure it was working, if only because of Gregoir's growing reputation, and his irrepressible charisma.

Gregoir's running battle with Coldeyes had been broadcast far and wide, garnering him enough fame and influence to request a full revamp of the APD Academy and its peripheral facilities. The old structure was a relic of a time before private training colleges. It lacked both the funding and the staff to compete with more elite institutions, which boasted far greater survival rates for their graduating students (usually because they were immediately promoted to command positions and desk jobs.) Faced with poor attendance and poorer outcomes, the Academy was seen as a third-rate institution at best.

Gregoir aimed to turn around this shambolic reputation, starting with this first generation of 'students', and he'd enlisted the help of Connor Graham to help as an instructor. The younger man had zero teaching qualifications, but he was serious enough about the job to have memorized every rule and regulation in the book, and shameless enough to quote them at people whether they wanted to listen or not. He was also not half bad in a scrap, and young enough to appeal to the vigilante kids as a peer.

Kid vigilantes? Kidgilantes? Vigikids? 

The students. He could talk to the students as a peer. And Dan, likewise, wasn't so far off either. Dan knew Gregoir was focusing heavily on responsible upgrade use, and measured force, to ensure none of his students accidentally killed or injured someone in a fight, or caused undue property damage if they were ever forced to defend themselves. This meant lots and lots of combat training, spars, and power practice. Usually against Gregoir himself. 

Dan was pretty sure the big blonde was secretly attempting to demonstrate just how outclassed the kidgilantes would be if they ever ran into an actual villain. The entire group could gang up on Gregoir, and the immovable giant would shake them off like flies. But his power and reputation were already cemented in their minds; it was an expected outcome. He needed some variety. Connor worked well, but he'd been tutored by the finest combat instructors money could buy since he was capable of throwing a punch. He oozed affluence. They needed someone else. Someone a little less prestigious, a little more average. Thus, Dan was here to do his part for society and beat up a bunch of teenagers.

"This is not what I was expecting," Dan said, staring at the old gym Gregoir was using as a training ground. He and Abby stood across the street, outside an alley from where they'd taken a portal over. The air smelled like wet dirt, musty and metallic. He tasted blood in his mouth.

"This can't be up to code," Abby commented, peering at the dilapidated sign hanging above the entrance. The words were lost to time, only a faded rectangular outline, and the rusted-out remnants of letters remained.

Dan spun out threads from his veil to investigate the structural integrity of the building and was surprised to find it mostly intact. The outside was a travesty of design, with metal girders and beams supporting an almost crustacean-esque shell made of some kind of shiny metal. None of it was galvanized in any way, such that the entire thing had rusted through and collapsed in on itself. However, beneath this ugly, superfluous coat was a strong foundation of concrete and stone. It was difficult to discern the exact composition, but Dan could tell it was sturdy and enduring. Someone had created a perfectly fine gym, then covered it in decorative crap, and left it to rust.

Dan passed this information along to Abby, who continued to squint at the outer shell. 

"I think it was supposed to be a badge," she said, after a time.

"A... badge?" Dan repeated. He traced his eyes over the slanted roof of the building, which was just a series of jagged, rusted edges lounging over a layer of concrete. "How do you figure?"

"Well, from above," Abby said, pointing at the sky. "You can kind of trace out what's left of the supports. I think it was meant to look like a police badge. You know, kind of shield-shaped. And I think the metal was originally bright silver. Look, it's still shiny in places."

Dan looked, and it was, indeed, still shiny in places. Patches of bright silver surrounded by a sea of brown and red. If he crossed his eyes and squinted, the snarled metal almost looked like corpses, and bits of silver, swords. Dan hated everything about it. He led Abby silently to the entrance and shoved the door open. It slammed into the opposite wall without slowing, and every eye in the building turned in their direction.

Dan paused at the sudden attention, but his brain automatically cataloged the contents of the room. The floor was tile wherever it wasn't covered in rubber mats. The walls were thickly padded. There were no walls or adjoining spaces, the entire structure was wide open, almost like a stadium. 

No, Dan thought. Like a gymnasium, not a gym. 

There were workout machines scattered about the building, but they'd been pushed up against the walls to make space. The center of the building was occupied by a makeshift stage, four times as wide as a standard boxing ring, and roped off by caution tape. Inside the ring, Connor was squared off with a lanky teenager with more hair than muscle, both geared up for sparring. Gregoir stood in the corner, wearing a referee outfit that heroically strained to contain his bulk. Past him, another dozen or so teenagers watched the fight on stage, each with varying levels of gym dress. Every face in the building turned towards Dan as he accidentally made an entrance.

They all wore masks. Even Gregoir and Connor. They looked fucking ridiculous. 

Abby followed in right behind Dan. She peeked past his shoulder, caught sight of Gregoir in an extremely tight referee outfit and domino mask, and promptly burst out in loud guffaws. The room full of mostly male teenagers stirred at the sight and sound of a pretty woman laughing. They seemed caught between being offended and smiling stupidly.

Gregoir broke the stalemate, by shouting, "Battle waits for no one! Continue!"

Connor obeyed immediately and socked his opponent in the stomach with a gloved hand. There was the meaty, thwacking sound of impact, followed by an exhalation of air. The skinny teenager's feet left the ground before he dropped into a moaning heap, clutching his belly.

Gregoir beamed. "Always be aware of your surroundings! Distractions will get you killed!"

Dan ambled over to the gathered teenagers as Connor's opponent was scooped up by Gregoir, who lifted the young man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Gregoir leapfrogged past the caution tape and left his groaning charge on the ground to recover. He approached Dan with a wide smile, teeth gleaming.

"Daniel, my friend! Thank you for dropping by!" His massive paw, nearly the size of a trashcan lid, enveloped Dan's own as they shook. "Abigail," he greeted next, completely enveloping her in a hug. "Welcome! Welcome!"

He stepped away, still beaming. This was Gregoir in his element, showboating and teaching before an eager audience. He gestured between Dan and his students. "You all remember Daniel? He is a certified crisis volunteer and Academy alumni. He has generously volunteered to assist me as a training instructor today. I think it will do you all some good to face a little variety in your opposition." 

Alumni was a stretch, given Dan had taken exactly one class at the Academy, but he wasn't about to argue with Gregoir in front of the munchkins.

Gregoir's smile widened as he looked at Abby. "Abigail? Would you like to join in?"

Abby matched his grin and cracked her knuckles. "I'm always happy to instruct others in the benefits of physical fitness."

"Excellent!" Gregoir clapped his hands. "That's settled. Connor, tag out! While Dan gets changed, why don't all of you discuss Jerry's performance in the ring, and what he could have done better."

The wiry teenager on the ground groaned in protest.

"Now, now, Jerry. It's very important to go over your mistakes constructively while the battle is fresh in your mind," Gregoir chided. "It's the only way to learn."

The rest of the students obediently gathered around their collapsed companion, dropping into crouches or taking seats on the mat. A lively discussion quickly broke out, which seemed about fifty percent mocking, and fifty percent constructive. Connor hopped out of the ring, effortlessly landing on the ground without breaking stride. He greeted Dan with a nod and a handshake, before smiling at Abby.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you spar with them," he told her. "We've got three women here, and none of them have any direct strength enhancements. They need an example to look up to, I think. And the boys need to learn not to underestimate their enemies based on appearance."

Abby shrugged, curling her arm to show off her well-developed biceps. "I'll do my best to clobber some sense into them."