The Law of Averages

The first wave of federal support arrived at roughly five in the morning. National Guard troops deployed across and around the city, reinforcing the checkpoints currently being maintained by state troopers and the county sheriff's department. Others roamed the city streets in armored transports, enforcing curfew with military efficiency. Their job was to maintain the peace, while their FAT counterparts located and destroyed the offending villains.

Gregoir saw none of these things, occupied as he was, though he would have dearly liked to. His enthusiasm for martial pursuits was not limited to his chosen lifestyle. Gregoir held a fine appreciation for all those individuals who chose a disciplined path. He would have likely joined the military himself, had he never met Kenny, and had his Natural status not greatly limited his deployment options. He held little stomach for wetwork; Gregoir always did his duty, but he liked to believe that there was generally a better path forward. That would not be the case here, he knew. The villains haunting his city needed to be exterminated, and he was glad that these allies were here to assist.

If only he could see them.

Alas, Gregoir was stuck in an interrogation room, being cautiously debriefed by a federal investigator about his most recent battle. Cannibal had been a wily opponent, strong, swift, and incredibly dangerous. Gregoir's pulse still raced at the mere memory of the encounter! His fighting spirit stirred with just the speaking of it!

"It says here," the federal agent scanned a page from Gregoir's incident report, "that Cannibal, and I'm quoting you now, 'ripped out my heart and attempted to eat it, buying me time for a counter attack.'"

There was a pause as the fed met Gregoir's eyes, his face plastered with polite incredulity. "Was that an exaggeration, perhaps?"

"Not at all!" Gregoir replied proudly.

The fed winced, sticking a finger in his ear and rolling it around. Gregoir watched him with some concern, taking in his features. Agent Garner was a small man, slight of build with wispy hair that showed signs of early greying. The man seemed stressed and his skin was an unhealthy white. Gregoir almost advised him to get some sunlight, before clamping down on the impulse. It wasn't his place to offer health tips to federal agents. The man was surely well aware of his own status. He was probably just overworked.

The fed held Gregoir's report up vertically, tapping it against the steel desk that occupied the center of the room, and squared the pages. They both sat on reinforced chairs in the little interview room, though Gregoir's bulk dwarfed his seat. The lights in the ceiling were uncomfortably bright, though Gregoir paid them little mind. He smiled at the man across from him, attempting to demonstrate his sincerity with every fiber of his willpower.

The fed winced again, averting his eyes to glance awkwardly down at the report, and said, "You've never demonstrated that level of regeneration before, Officer Pierre-Louise. You also performed several feats of strength in your fight that far surpassed your previous physical limits. The APD keeps detailed records of your weight training, did you know that? You shouldn't have the physical capability to throw a fully grown adult over fifty yards. Do you have an explanation for this?"

Gregoir beamed, delighted by the compliment. "Hah! Surpassing one's limits is the pursuit of a lifetime!" He flexed in his seat, the sleeves of his uniform stretching against their seams. "Thank you for the praise, Agent Garner! I shall continue to seek personal growth in all regards!"

After a moment, Gregoir's smile dimmed slightly. "Though, you are perhaps mistaken about one thing. I did not actually hurl Cannibal over fifty yards with my arms alone!" He pursed his lips, then corrected himself, "Well, I suppose it depends on your point of view. I did use my arms to do it, but one was unattached to me at the time. I used it as an improvised club, so that might throw off the statistics some. I don't rightly know how to account for that in my training records." He cocked his head, lost in thought. "Perhaps I should incorporate some kind of baseball routine...?"

Agent Garner slammed both hands down on the table, producing a quiet thump. Gregoir glanced at the man's skinny frame with concern. That must have hurt.

"Do you think this is a joke!?" Garner demanded. "You fought in hand to hand combat against one of the most dangerous Naturals on record, and emerged effectively unscathed! I require an answer as to how, Officer Pierre-Louise, and neither of us will be leaving this room until I've gotten one that satisfies!"

"Ah!" Gregoir nodded, finally understanding. He leapt out his chair, planting his fists against his hips and pushing out his chest. "So you wish to hear the tale from my own lips! I shall endeavor to satisfy your curiosity!"

Agent Garner had flinched at Gregoir's movements, his hands darting for something concealed on his hip, but those same hands were now planted firmly over his ears.

"It was a dark and stormy night!" Gregoir began, dramatically waving his hands out before him. "My brave friend Daniel Newman had called upon me for assistance, having encountered a terrible foe!"

"Yes, we are aware of Mr. Newman's role in all of this," Garner replied through gritted teeth. His hands cautiously left his ears, and his jaw worked silently for a moment. Finally, he managed to say, "I don't need to hear the entire story; I have your report. I simply need to know how it is you faced Cannibal without dying. Your report does not include that."

"It doesn't?" Gregoir asked, confused. He thought back to his report. He thought he'd explained it rather adequately.

"No," Garner replied stiffly. He flipped through the report again, not stopping for long enough to actually read anything. "You repeat the phrase 'My fighting spirit surged' on no less than seventeen occasions, but not once have you explained what that means."

Gregoir frowned, not quite grasping the question. "What it means?"

"Yes," Garner said with growing frustration. "What is this fighting spirit you're constantly talking about?"

Oh, this poor, unfortunate soul. Gregoir nearly wept at the man's plight. Here he was, seeking guidance from a master, yet Gregoir could not enlighten him. It was impossible, a question without an answer. Gregoir placed his meaty forearm over his eyes, tilting his head back so that tears could not spill.

"I'm sorry!" he cried. "I cannot help you! Fighting spirit cannot be explained! It can only be experienced!"

Gregoir's free hand closed into a tight fist with a whap of displaced air. "You must seek battle for yourself! Leave behind the false safety of a desk, and throw yourself at any opponent who will have you! Friend or foe, you must push yourself! Only then shall you understand that which you seek!"

Garner stared at Gregoir in what was surely suppressed awe. Both hands raised up, palms facing inwards, and the fed began to massage his scalp. He let out a soft, disbelieving groan. Something chirped in his ear, the noise only audible in the sudden quiet of the interrogation room. Garner paused, listening, then sighed heavily.

"Do you have any close family, Officer Pierre-Louise?" he asked simply.

The question managed to catch Gregoir off-guard.

"Family?" Gregoir repeated. "No close family, I'm afraid. I have a few cousins living in California, but my parents passed on a few years ago."

"Did you wish to arrange federal protection for them? And any friends whom you feel might be in danger?"

"I hardly think it's necessary," Gregoir replied uncertainly. "I've barely met my cousins, and they are quite far from here. All my friends are on the force, or otherwise capable of handling themselves."

"Are you certain?" Garner pressed. "You've made a very dangerous enemy. Certain precautions may be wise."

"That's... part of the job?" Gregoir pointed out with some confusion. Why was this man telling him these things as if it should be news? An officer flirted with death every day. These past few months proved that more than anything. Was it simply because Cannibal was so feared?

It struck him then, the reason for all this. It wasn't just a debriefing, but a psychological evaluation. Of course! It was only natural that they be concerned about his mental state, having fought so ferocious a foe! The federal government was not aware of his implacable nature; they were doing their job in evaluating his mental health. He simply needed to demonstrate that he was of sane and sound mind!

He smiled gaily, chuckling in understanding. "No need to worry about me, Agent Garner. Though I would never wish for strife, I will gladly meet any challenge that comes to me! Take note!" Gregoir placed his foot on the chair, showing off his powerful thighs. The metal groaned beneath the pressure, bending slightly under Gregoir powerful frame. He curled his arms, and flexed every muscle, shredding the seams on his uniform! He raised his voice to match his conviction!

"Only through righteous battle can our will be honed!" he cried. "While I look forward to when my gifts might be used for creation rather than destruction, until that day comes, I shall do my part gladly!"

Gregoir punctuated the sentence with a brilliant smile.

Garner stared back at him, his face working through several different expressions, before finally settling back into stoic nondescription.

"Very well," he stated simply. A line of blood ran down from one ear and dripped on the man's suit. Garner didn't seem to notice. He put aside Gregoir's report, and consulted his own notes.

"What about the crater in the neighboring lot," he asked, referring to the gargantuan explosion that had driven Cannibal back at the end of their fight. "Was that your doing?"

It was a rhetorical question; he knew Gregoir couldn't have done it, but Gregoir answered anyway. "No, that was someone else."

"An officer?"

"Not to my knowledge," Gregoir admitted, "and none have taken credit so far as I'm aware."

"A vigilante." The words were almost a snarl. "Great, just what we need."

"An enemy of the People," Gregoir corrected mildly. "That, at least, we can be thankful for."

Garner scowled. "What else do you know about the attack?"

Gregoir shrugged. "Nothing. I have many talents, but seeing in the dark is not one of them." He had his suspicions, but it would be incredibly unprofessional to voice them without proof, not to mention unfair to any who might be unjustly incriminated by his words.

"What about—" Garner paused as someone spoke to him over his earbud once more. He grimaced. "Very well. I think we're done here, unless you have anything you'd like to add?"

Gregoir considered it. He stepped forward to the little man, and laid his huge hand gently on the fed's shoulder.

"I hope you find what you are looking for," he intoned solemnly. It was a cruel world they lived in, to deny a man his fighting spirit.

Garner swatted Gregoir's hand away with a scowl. He stood up, and opened the door. Captain Gable's face greeted them immediately upon exiting. Gregoir snapped to attention, while the fed held a hushed conversation with his captain. He heard a few whispered words as they spoke. Something about pathological honesty and guilelessness. Gregoir suspected they were talking about him, but disregarded it as none of his business.

Eventually, the fed broke away. He stomped off, looking dissatisfied. Gregoir couldn't blame him. He felt for the man, and his inability to appreciate a good fight. Hopefully he would find it within himself, someday.

Gable grinned at Gregoir. "You did well in there."

"You were listening?" Gregoir asked in surprise. He was confused as to how the captain could have possibly heard their conversation. This particular room didn't have observation glass. It was just a box. The federal investigator wore an earbud, but it was surely tuned in to his own command network, not the APD's.

Gable chuckled. "How could I not?" he asked, mysteriously. "Regardless, I think you've passed muster. You're needed back out in the field."

"I'm glad to hear it," Gregoir admitted. He rolled his shoulders, feeling a few pleasing pops. "I was getting a little restless. Where will I be posted?"

Gable's reply was lost to a sudden flurry of activity from deeper in the building. They were currently in Gregoir's home district, deep within the bowels of the APD fortress. Gable lead him out of the interrogation cells and towards the central chamber where Smart Paint coated the walls. A group of officers were gathered around, loudly gossiping, as an internet video displayed itself in front of them.

"What's going on in here?" Gable bellowed.

An officer glanced over, then rushed up to the captain.

"Sir," he said breathlessly. "There's a live broadcast going out over the internet right now. It's Champion, sir! It's really him!"