Vincent was worried. He’d followed the news, and the mansion attack had been big news. No information had been released yet as to what happened to the residents, but Vincent knew that it what ever had wasn’t good. He’d even taken a trip to the mansion to check it out. The place looked like a full on battle had taken place there.

Running out of options he had decided to take a risk, to go and talk to the police. Hence why he was at an NYPD police station. Calming himself he walked up to the desk and asked, “Excuse me, but I’m looking for some information on my daughters, Emerald and Ruby Lupin.”

“Excuse me, but I’m looking for some information on my daughters, Emerald and Ruby Lupin.”

Those were the words that Rupert heard as he walked down the stairs from the second floor, carrying a cardboard box with all the possessions from his office. A Twin Towers paperweight, from before 9-11; personal coffee maker (with mouse-chewed electrical cord); coffee mug; a picture of his mom and dad down in Florida; a pen and pencil set. A few other miscellaneous items, as well, but that box was the sum of his detecting career. He’d just stopped by to tidy up the ol’ office before heading to the camps. His first shift as a supervisor started in an hour. Goodie.

He paused as those words hit his ears, and took it upon himself to answer for the desk officer. Setting his box down on the front desk, he smiled warmly at the man, and offered his hand.

“Hello, Mister Lupin. My name is Rupert Kelley. I’ve heard a lot about you. I know your daughters—all three of them.” He kept his tone cordial and sincere as he went on to his punch line: “In fact, I happen to have had the pleasure of putting Emerald and Ruby into a concentration camp for mutants.”

He wondered, idly, if Emerald got her temper from her mother or her father. All he knew about the girl’s parents was that her mother was the mutant and her father was human. Was he about to get punched? That would be fantastic.

Rupert had come to a decision yesterday, after hearing about the premature death of his own child—a death he had caused. He was going to release the mutants from the camps. Until then, he was going to be the perfect model of an upstanding zealotous asshole. All the better to have no one suspect him, after all.

Vincent turned to the man who had come down the stairs. He knew the girls, and seemed more than willing to talk about them. At last, someone who could help him. He knew all three? Vincent wondered how he’d met Sapphire and what had she done to him. Then he mentioned the camps.

Clenching both fist tight enough to make his knuckles go white he managed to resist the urge to punch a policeman in a police station. He briefly toyed with the idea of suiting up in Dreadnaught and going down to the camp and busting his daughters out. However, he’d seen the Stalkers, and knew that While Dreadnaught was probably a match for two or three of them, there would be many more than that at the camp.

Instead he reigned in his temper, unclenched his fists and asked, “Can I see them? I want to know that my little girls are ok.” There was not point arguing the complete injustice of the law here, nor was there a point in trying to fight it. instead he tried to work around it to do what he could to help Emerald and Ruby.

“See them?” Rupert asked, with no lack of theatrical surprise. “Now see, that might be a problem, Mr Lupin. You see, while I could bring you to see them—easily!—I don’t really think I want to. I can assure you,” he smiled, “that they are getting the finest of Congress-mandated treatment. And so long as they can refrain from doing anything hideously stupid—not to question the intelligence of your daughters, Mr Lupin—then I’m sure no one will feel the need put either of them into solitary confinement.” His smile was starting to hurt his lips.

Those white-knuckled fists didn’t escape Rupert’s notice. “On that subject,” he pushed it, “might I just complement you upon your fine fathering. Your daughters are all very rational, well-adjusted, non-violent bitches.” He was really getting into the swing of things, now. It was amazing how little guilt he felt about saying these things; the knowledge that he was going to get this man’s daughters out of the camps was quite lifting. It even let him do the following with a grin: he winked, and added: “And I do mean bitches. Heh. No offense, but your wife must be a dog.” He laughed at his own bad joke.

Vincent’s fists clenched even tighter, but in an incredible display of self control he did not punch the good detective’s lights out. Instead he left the station in a cold rage. Storming from the place he withdrew to a back alley and pushed a button on his watch.

Dreadnaught dropped silently from the sky and landed lightly with a grace surprising for something his size. Vincent wasted no time in getting into the armoured suit and taking to the sky. That detective was going to regret insulting his family.

Rupert watched the man leave, thoroughly impressed by his self-control. Then he hefted up his box, said goodbye to the officer behind the desk, and left the station. It felt strange—he’d worked out of the Central Park Precinct for the past seven years, ever since day one. He glanced back at the building once. The grey stone front looked like an old friend; and here he was, leaving it behind. I’ll be back, he promised. Just as soon as this is all over, I’ll be back.

The words felt faded in his mind, like an after-image of sincerity. He meant them, but a part of him knew that it was beyond his control. It’d been beyond his control since he’d decided to set the muties free. Since he’d fallen in love with Raina. Since he’d gotten Emerald cleared of her past criminal record. Since God knew when.

Rupert had always been a praying man. It was the way he was raised, and it was what he believed for himself. It had been a long time since he’d done it, though. His mind riffled through Psalms. As he strolled to his car, he hummed the fourth:

Answer me when I call to you,
O my righteous God.
Give me relief from my distress;
be merciful to me and hear my prayer...
...In your anger do not sin;
when you are on your beds,
search your hearts and be silent.
Selah...
...Many are asking, "Who can show us any good?"
Let the light of your face shine upon us, O LORD.
You have filled my heart with greater joy
than when their grain and new wine abound.
I will lie down and sleep in peace,
for you alone, O LORD,
make me dwell in safety.

He set his things in the back seat, and put the car into gear. The ride to the camps was long—they were in the middle of Nowhere, New York, give or take a few barren stretches of forest. He didn’t think about much on the way, and didn’t really pay much attention to the trees. He felt good—better than he had in days. His fingers tapped at the steering wheel as the radio played. He was going to make things right. Amen.

Vincent watched from high above as Rupert left the building and got into his car. Just because he had walked away didn’t mean he was just going to let the bastard get away with not just what he had said to his family, but what he had done. He was the one who had put Emerald and Ruby in the camps. For that he would pay.

Once the car had cleared the city and was out in the middle of no where Vincent stuck. Swooping down out of the sky he grabbed the rear of the detective’s car and in one smooth motion flipped it right. The car span right around once before landing heavily, but not fatally, on its roof. Vincent moved to loom over the car and waited for the occupant to crawl out.

((ooc: Can I get a description of the Dreadnaught? Thanks!))

Rupert’s first thought was that the metallic flash in his review mirror was a Stalker. Then his car was spinning in a manner it was never intended to, and Rupert wasn’t thinking much of anything for a small eternity. He watched through his windshield as the trees on the roadside spun over and landed on their heads. Then the ceiling was bouncing alarmingly close to his head, and he was dangling, for some reason, by his seatbelt. The shoulder strap bit sharply into his collar bone. The car settled, but the world looked all wrong. It took a moment for his mind to follow what had happened.

He eased his foot off of the gas pedal, and glanced furtively at the side view mirror. That, friends, was not a Stalker. But it was large, and robotic. He gave himself a quick check-over, tensing his muscles one by one. Sore here and there, especially in his shoulder, but functional. He never took his eyes off of the robot. Whatever it was, it was waiting for him like a good little assailant. He slipped a hand inside of his coat, and was dialing on his cell phone before he’d even brought it out.

...The screen was a dead gray. Crap. Moral of that story: put your cell phone on the charger; you never know when you’ll need to call in backup. Since this was his own car, and not a station one, he didn’t have a police radio to call through, either. All right. So he was on his own. He dropped his phone, and sent his hand back into his coat. This time, it came out with his gun. That, he knew, was functional. He unclipped his seatbelt, and landed on his knees and one hand on the roof of his car.

Deep breaths. He could do this. He didn’t have to take the thing down—he just had to get into the woods, and hide. Someone would look for him when he was late for his shift. Maybe not for hours, sure, but eventually. He just had to stay alive until then. No doubt this was one of those things that would make a funny story, looking back. ‘Sorry I was late for my first day of work—I got attacked by this giant robot, you see....’

Oh fuck.

Okay.

He could do this.

Taking one last calming breath, Rupert pulled the driver’s side door handle, and shoved hard. The frame scrapped against the black top and came to a halt. ...Right. Well, there went his dramatic running exit. Crawling to the other side of the car, Rupert tried the passenger side. There we go.

Rupert, gun in hand, bailed out of his car and ran. He ran like Hell.

(OOC: Dreadnaught is a fifteen foot tall humanoid robot. All his weapons are currently concealed, so currently he looks like a big shiny man, but when he activates weapons I’ll state where they are)

IC: Vincent watched through Dreadnaught’s optical sensors as the car flipped over. Shifting to infrared he watched the detective pull out various things and activated Dreadnaught’s signal jammer. The boys in blue were not invited to this little party.

Then the detective scrambled out of his car and ran like hell. Vincent had no intention of letting him go. Dreadnaught had automatically identified the detective’s weapon and listed it as no threat. It would take more than bullets to penetrate Dreadnaught’s armour.

Activating the jets in Dreadnaught’s legs Vincent flew over the detective and landed in front of him, cutting off his path to the woods. Activating the right chain gun the weapon came up and out of Dreadnaught’s right forearm. Turning on the speakers Vincent’s voice boomed out loud and clear.

“I’ll teach you to mess with my family!” The chain gun span into life and fired, ripping up the ground just in front of the detective. Vincent was going to make him pay for putting his little girls into the camps, pay dearly.

“I’ll teach you to mess with my family!”

Rupert knew he was in trouble before the tin can spoke. After that line, he knew just how much trouble. Vincent was in there. Perfect.

“Listen,” he started hesitantly, as it blocked his path to the woods. Apparently, it flew. Right.

That’s about when it shot at him.

“F-!” He leapt back, aware even as he did so that he was only alive right now because the Lupin sisters’ father had missed him on purpose. He was being toyed with. Great. “Listen! You don’t understand! I just—I’m not what you think I am, all right?”

It wasn’t the most convincing speech he’d ever given. He was a little too fixated on that gigantic machine gun to be thinking straight at the moment, thanks.

Fortunately for the detective Vincent was one of the calmer members of his family. That was why instead of receiving a volley of bullets he got something else. A drone (imagine a meter diameter disk which can hover) detached from Dreadnaught and flew over to Rupert.

Two cables with handcuff like attachments shot out and snapped round Rupert’s wrists before pulling upwards, stopping at a level that meant Rupert was standing on his tiptoes. “Just what are you then?” Vincent demanded, “because from where I’m standing you’re nothing more that an anti-mutant bigot, one which I would do the whole world a favour by removing.”

To make his point he placed the chain gun right in front of Rupert’s face and began to spin it, although he didn’t fire yet.

“I’m not a zealot! I mean, I was, but I—” Now was not the time to explain the series of incidents that had led up to his change of heart. He swallowed, and tried to look at what passed for the robot’s head, instead of at what was quite clearly its gun. A machine gun, on a robot. Seriously. Yes, this guy was definitely the father of the Lupin sisters. And this situation, folks, was beyond ridiculous. He’d deserved this treatment a week ago. He did not deserve it now, and he’d thank the world to note that, even if he wasn’t giving it any reason to.

That logic was what had him shouting, with self-righteous indignation, at the man who had his life in his hands.

“Look, I’m planning to get your daughters out of there! I’m getting all of the mutants out of there! That’ll be pretty damn hard to do if you kill me!”

It hit him towards the end of that last bit: now was also not the time to be yelling at the over-protective vigilante father in the machine-gun wielding robot. He took in a deep breath, and counted to ten, swearing heartily before God and tin can that he would never skip another anger management class again if he lived through this.

There was a long pause as Vincent digested this latest bit of information. As the guy had been speaking he’d been doing a full body scan on him and hadn’t detected that he was lying. The gun stopped spinning.

“What do you plan to do?” Vincent asked. The gun was still in the detective’s face, and the drone still holding his arms a little too far above his head for comfort, but death was now a little less imminent. Maybe the detective would stop shouting now.

The fact that the distraught father had stopped spinning that gun in his face, and seemed to be listening, was encouraging Rupert to approach this situation in a rational manner.

The fact that he was talking at a giant robot while there was a non-spinning machine gun in his face was, somehow, detracting from that.

The added fact that his legs were cramping up from being forced to stand on his tip-toes by the random bondage droid wasn’t helping. It really... just wasn’t.

“This is ridiculous,” Rupert pointed out, in a manner that—he was proud to note—didn’t involve shouting. There was only the slightest of an end-of-his-rope growl in his voice. “Either we’re talking about this like rational human beings, or we’re not. So either you’re letting me down and stepping out of your mecca fantasy, or I’m not telling your jack-squat.” Rupert had lost track of the number of times he’d mentally reached his breaking point this week. Honestly, it was getting a little tiring. He gave the robot a dead-pan stare. A robot. He was still trying to wrap his head around that fact: Vincent was driving a robot.

Rupert needed Prozac and a nap.

Vincent waited for a while considering Rupert’s request. Another apandage extended from the drone, grabbing Rupert’s gun and tossing it to Dreadnaught. Holding the gun tightly in Dreadnaught’s hand, so the detective could not attempt to use it against him once out of the suit, he quickly added a program into Dreadnaught.

Now, at the push of a button on his watch, Dreadnaught would grab Rupert and lift him high above its head, holding him there helpless. Secure in the knowledge that now Rupert couldn’t attack him or escape he had the drone release the detective and fly back to Dreadnaught, locking into place.

The chest plate folded down and Vincent walked calmly down the steps. Once out of Dreadnaught the chest plate folded back up and the robot took a step back. “All right,” Vincent said, “We’ll talk about this like rational humans. But I’d better like what I hear.”