Dunkirk flinched backwards, swearing loudly, when Dan appeared in the seat across from him. Dan grinned at the man, forearms on the table, as he leaned backwards. The blackmail photo was clutched between two fingers, and he laid it down on the little table. Dan pressed down on the laminated paper as he slowly slid it across to the fed.

"I believe this is yours," Dan declared.

Dunkirk's nostrils flared in and out as he calmed himself. He glanced down at the photo, snorting out a harsh breath, before sliding it over to the side.

"Daniel Newman," he greeted without warmth.

"Oh good, I was right," Dan chirped happily. "Would've been awfully embarrassing if it had been somebody else blackmailing me."

Dunkirk's eyes narrowed. He reached into his pocket—Dan's veil hurriedly swept the man, finding something electronic, about the size of a lighter—and drew out a silver device that he placed on the table. Dunkirk pressed the devices only switch, and a small light lit up on top of it. A strange hum immediately filled Dan's ears, and the hairs on his arms stood up.

"Check your mobile," Dunkirk said smugly.

Dan did so. The screen of his very expensive phone flickered wildly, and the recording function had died entirely. Dan wasn't surprised. That would've been too easy. He shut the phone off, and pocketed it.

"Not my first rodeo, kid," Dunkirk warned.

Dan glanced around the diner. There were people around, but not close enough to hear them. Nobody else seemed to notice the static hum filling their booth.

"Neat trick," Dan said. He briefly considered dumping the device into t-space, but that would probably spook Dunkirk into leaving. Who knows what the man might do, then. Instead, he said, "Shall we get to business?"

"Right to it, then," Dunkirk acknowledged. "I have footage and photos of you moving military equipment on behalf of the APD. Your records list you as a mutated Short-Hop. Awfully versatile for a mutate, don't you think?"

"My records?" Dan echoed with a laugh. "You've never seen my records. You don't have access to them." Dan was entirely confident in calling this bluff. Anastasia herself had assured him that the specifics of his (forged) documented mutation could only be accessed under very specific circumstances, and that she would be alerted to the intrusion. Otherwise, all one would get was his name, and a very brief outline of his abilities.

"I've got friends in high places," Dunkirk lied confidently.

Dan burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. The sound just slipped out, abrupt, loud, and continuous. He couldn't swallow down the howling laughter that spilled from his lips. It was like catching the giggles, except ten times worse. And every time he glanced at the deepening scowl on Dunkirk's face, Dan's laughter only increased.

"You think this is funny?" Dunkirk hissed, glancing around the café. People were looking their way. "You could be facing serious charges!"

Dan fought to stifle his laughter. He waved at the fed to continue, saying, "Sure, sure, whatever."

Dunkirk's brow looked like someone had been plowing farmland.

"If you don't care about yourself, maybe you'll care about your friends," he said menacingly.

"I care about both," Dan corrected, "I just don't think you have shit to threaten us with."

"You saw the photo," Dunkirk insisted. "I've got you cold, taking what isn't yours."

"Villain salvage," Dan scoffed confidently. "I was legally contracted to move those goods. If the NG wanted to keep their shit, they shouldn't have left it behind"

He had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but he believed in his ability to bluster.

Dunkirk switched tactics without blinking. "It's not about the legality. It's about the image."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"The National Guard's reputation is dirt in this city," Dan laughed. "The hell do I care about the image? People would celebrate us screwing them over any way we can."

"Depends on the story you tell," Dunkirk said, with a sly smirk. "Maybe this was the APD's plan all along. Maybe Gregoir Pierre-Louise deliberately held back from joining the NG at the University of Texas, hoping that the Guard would fail, and that he could swoop in and look like a big damn hero. Maybe APD command saw this whole disaster as nothing more than an opportunity to enrich themselves and their reputation."

"Weak," Dan stated. "Thin. Unbelievable."

"Believable?" Dunkirk scoffed. "Who gives a damn about believable? People will believe what they're told, so long as it's a good story. Everybody loves heroes, and everybody loves when those heroes crash and burn."

"Gregoir's record is spotless," Dan pointed out coolly. "Can't spin what isn't there."

"You think I can't spin this?" Dunkirk hissed, stabbing his finger against the photo. "You think I couldn't throw mud on a saint? Boy, I work for the federal government! In the mud is where I live! And I can make things very muddy. I don't need to ruin his reputation to ruin his dreams. I've got friends at city hall. I know what the APD has been working on. All that funding, all those... necessities. Maybe they aren't so necessary after all. Not when the APD is squirreling away military equipment on the sly."

Dan looked at the fed. Dunkirk was practically frothing at the mouth, even as he contained his rant to a quiet, seething whisper.

"You're making a lot of threats towards people who aren't me," Dan said, his mind recounting their conversation. Dunkirk had dropped the direct line of attack awfully quick. It made Dan pretty sure the man had nothing on him. "Why are you talking to me? What is it that you want?"

"I want what's mine!" Dunkirk snarled. "The Artificer weapon that your APD buddies have claimed for themselves. I requisitioned it. It was stolen from me, and I want it back."

"The pain gun?" Dan clarified. "The one Coldeyes was waving around?" He'd seen the videos of Gregoir's fight. Coldeyes had dropped half a dozen feds just by pointing the thing at them.

"The very same," Dunkirk nodded. "I want it. You're going to get it for me."

"Why not go to Gable with this?" Dan asked curiously. He motioned to the photo. "Is it because he would know that your blackmail is worth less than the paper it's printed on?"

Dan didn't even bother mentioning Gregoir. The big blonde wasn't the type to be blackmailed. Gregoir would've punted the uppity fed into the upper atmosphere long before a demand could be made.

"Captain Gable has already denied my official requests multiple times," Dunkirk admitted. "There have been several, ah, confrontations between us. I believe his judgement is compromised when it comes to myself. Even with compelling leverage, I don't think he would be amenable to seeing sense."

"Whereas I— what? Only think you're some asshole trying to blackmail my friends?" Dan asked.

"Our interactions have been limited," Dunkirk stated mildly. "And judging from your performance on the roof, you have the qualifications I need to secure my weapon without drawing undue suspicion on either of us."

"Alright, let me see if I'm hearing you right." Dan leaned back in his seat and began ticking off points on his fingers. "You've got photographic evidence of me performing a lawful action at the behest of several members of the city's law enforcement. You want me to steal Genius-tech from the APD, or else you will use this photo to smear the name of one of my friends and an organization I'm loosely connected to. You'll do this by implying they purposefully allowed the UT Massacre—somehow—in order to bolster Gregoir's name and reputation, and allow the APD to salvage the NG's equipment. That about the size of it?"

Dunkirk shrugged, apparently unbothered by Dan's scathing summary. "Just about."

"Not real big on truth, are you?" Dan asked.

"There's some truth in there," Dunkirk said. "A little truth, and a whole lot of lies. The public is fickle. It doesn't take much to dirty a man." He shrugged again. "I may not be able to be stop the plans of the APD, but I can make it messy. I can make it miserable. I can make it much harder than it needs to be. I'm not asking for much, here. Just one little thing. It was mine to begin with, I only want it back."

"You're a real piece of work," Dan observed. He wasn't as angry as he'd expected to be. Obviously, he was unhappy, but beneath quiet displeasure was the absolute certainty that he could end this man. The thought came unbidden: he could follow Dunkirk home, wait for the man to lay down to bed, then open a portal beneath him and dump him into an active volcano somewhere. Nobody would ever know; nobody could ever find out.

It was a grim, uncharacteristically dark thought. Dan found himself less disturbed by it than he might have been a year ago. He had no intention of murdering this man, but he felt a great calm descend upon him as he realized his ability to do so.

I've faced monsters, little man. You're don't frighten me.

He looked at Dunkirk, who suddenly seemed deeply unsettled by whatever expression had fallen across Dan's face.

"Gimme some time to think about it?" Dan asked, doing his best to imitate Anastasia's wolf-like stare. He bared his teeth in a sharp smile.

Dunkirk shifted in his seat, swallowed heavily, and licked his lips. He reached for the device on the table, fumbling as he picked it up.

"One day. Same time, same place," he managed to grind out, clicking off his fancy toy, and stuffing it into his pocket. He dropped a handful of bills onto to the table and quickly exited his seat. Dan watched him leave, eyes following him into the parking lot, into his nondescript SUV, and out onto the street. Dunkirk turned away from the diner, tires squealing as he tore down the block. He blew past a red light, made a turn, and was out of sight.

Dan followed.