Rupert had honestly forgotten that he was still holding his gun. Since it was rather a moot point, he didn’t mentally berate himself over it. He could do that later, if and when he grew tired of hitting himself over the head with the other things he’d been an idiot about lately.

The circular thing saw fit to release him, and Vincent stepped out of his robot. “All right. We’ll talk about this like rational humans. But I’d better like what I hear.”

Rupert rubbed the back of his neck. He appreciated that qualifier the man had just said. Really: no pressure. “Not to push my luck, but do you think you could go for thirty seconds without threatening me?” He dropped his hand. “Never mind. Okay, my big elaborate plan: this is my first day actually working at the camps, so I don’t have one yet. I don’t know how many Stalkers are posted there, I don’t know how many guards there are, I don’t know what the conditions are like at all. I do know,” he glanced meaningfully over Vincent’s shoulder to the tin man, “that if you were even thinking about driving that thing in like a conquering hero, the only thing you’re going to achieve is having your daughters see their dad get toasted. Not to nit-pick your plans when my own are...” He shrugged his shoulders. “I need to check the situation out. I’m hoping there will be a central control room where I can deactivate all the power-suppressors from, but I just don’t know yet. I need to get in touch with mutants on the outside, as well—once the camp freaks are free, they need somewhere to hide.” ‘Freaks’ might not be the best word choice, but old habits died hard.

He wasn’t feeling the urge to shout any longer, but he did feel the need to say a certain something. With a glance back at his flipped car, he informed the man of a shocking fact: “You know, if you murder a zealot, it’s still murder. Just for the record, they can change their minds. Killing them doesn’t miraculously transform the world, it just makes it a little more blood-stained, and robs them of the chance to redeem themselves.” Asshole, his mind added. Robot-wielding zealot-hunting vengeance-driven asshole. Just what the world needs. Hell, that’s even better than me.

So the detective had a goal but no plan, perfect. Still, he was looking to help, and Vincent could use the help. He ignored the detective’s quips and started thinking. What did he have on him that could help the detective out?

Reaching into his pocket Vincent pulled out a small box. “Here,” he said tossing it to Rupert, “If things are as bad as you say they are then you’ll need all the help you can get.”

So the anti-zealot vengeance-seeking robot-piloting father had a box for him; perfect. Still, the guy wasn’t threatening his life anymore, so this conversation was actually looking up.

“So,” he asked, trying to put a polite tint to the way his eyebrows had shot up his forehead as he stared at the... box. “What does this do?” Knowing the Lupin family... Rupert wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

As that was a common question Vincent had programmed it as a trigger phrase to activate the robot. The box unfolded into a small humanoid robot, who waved cheerfully at Rupert.

“Hi,” said the robot, “I am Cube. I specialise in infiltration and sabotage. Who are you?” Vincent could not help but smile at the bemused look on the zealots face. It would be interesting to see how he and Cube got along.

‘Bemused’ would be one way of describing the look on Rupert’s face. There were many others that were appropriate, at the moment. He was a regular thesaurus of facial twitches.

...An infiltration and sabotage mini-robot. Of course. Did its head fold open, and could a little mini-Vincent pilot step out? No doubt.

“Hi... Cube.” He answered slowly. “I’m Rupert. I’m sure I can find... something... for you to do.”

This was probably Vincent’s idea of ‘useful’. That worried him a little, but it didn’t surprise him in the least. An espionage cube. Great. Wonderful. Truly. Really. He could use this, yeah. If it didn’t stick out like a sore shinny robotic thumb, and if the risk of it getting caught was something he wanted to run. He hadn’t even assessed the situation himself yet, and he was being given one of the Lupin family’s eccentric creations to aid him? Lovely. Beautiful. Charming. Sure. Except that if he got caught with this, it was game over already, and it was only day one that he was out on the playing field. If nothing else, the Lupins had both genius in spades and a distinctly lacking sense of the practical.

Slowly, and with one eyebrow arched and worthy of many adjectives, he looked up at Vincent. “Actually, I’m not sure what I can use... Cube... for.” His other eyebrow shot up. “Wait. Wait wait wait. Never mind. I just thought of something.”

An espionage bot could take care of a ferret, right? Even a ferret that navigated New York in a jet-propelled cage? Let’s hear it for using two odd ducks as their own stones.

“I think you’ll find you can use me,” Cube answered, “allow me to demonstrate my stealth capabilities.” With that he morphed in Rupert’s hand and soon looked just like a palm pilot portable computer.

Shifting back the little robot explained, “I have powerful sensors to detect if anyone is approaching and adapt to conceal myself in an inconspicuous manner. I will not reveal your intentions at the camp.”

…Admittedly, the shape-shifting abilities made it slightly more useful, but it was still something made by the Lupin family, and it was still a talking cube. It said it could be “inconspicuous”, but that “it said” part was half the problem, in Rupert’s mind. How did he know this thing wasn’t going to give him away just because its central processor got bored of being a palm pilot? He’d heard they’d employed some muties, to keep the other freaks in line—what if there was a technomancer on the guard staff, who could sense the thing’s existence? And no offence to the Lupins, but from what he’d seen, they redefined eccentric.

He might have a solution for all of this. He wondered, in a slightly surreal off-handed manner, if it was going to cause his car to get attacked by a robot on the way home.

Slowly, he raised his gaze back to met Vincent’s. He even put on a small smile. “Thank you... Mr. Lupin. I’m sure I can find something to do with this; in fact, I bet new uses are just going to come to me.” Uses the man probably didn’t anticipate. He was going to get his ass kicked if he did what he was thinking of doing, wasn’t he? Honestly, it was the best course of action he could see. Maybe he should discuss this with the somewhat violent man before him. Then again, maybe he only wanted to antagonize the violent man from a distance. “Not to cut this conversation short, but if I don’t show up for my shift, I’ve got a lot of explaining to do. That wouldn’t be a good omen for the rest of this.” He glanced back at his flipped car, and flicked his eyes back to the robot. “Do you think you could lend a guy a hand?” His poor car looked like a turtle who had given up on life.

“Oh, and a question—can I contact you through this thing? As in, can you hear what is being said around it?” That could complicate things, or make things easier. Which was going to entirely depend on Vincent’s reaction to what Rupert was planning to do, his first few minutes after stepping into the camp.

“Cube can hear everything and relay it to me,” Vincent said, “and his coming with you is none negotiable. So far I only have your word that you intend to help my girls. Cube will be my way to ensure that you stick to your promise.” Vincent could see the uneasiness Rupert had about bringing the robot with him.

Turning around he walked over to Dreadnaught. The big machine’s chest plate flipped down and he stepped inside. Moving over to the car he picked it up as if it weighed nothing and set it down on its wheels on the road, pointing towards the camps. Opening the car door he tossed the gun back to the detective. Cube extended and arm and his hand shot off. It was attached by a thin metallic wire. Grasping the gun the had reeled back in and the small robot turned to Rupert, offering him his gun.

Rupert looked down at the small robot offering him his own gun. Nonnegotiable. Right. This... would be unnecessarily interesting. Because, truly, his life was so horribly dull as of late. “Thanks,” he stated, walking over to his newly righted car. If Vincent thought he was talking about the car, well, that was just chipper.

“Is there anything else, or can I get to work, now?” He was already in behind the driver’s seat. There were fewer things he wanted out of life, just now, then to not be dealing with the semi-murderous man in the robot suit.

When they got into the car Cube hopped into the passenger seat, shot his hand out to grab the seat belt, reeled it to him self and strapped himself in. Turning to Rupert he grinned (his face is a screen with a simple smiley face on it).

“Go on, before you’re too late,” Vincent said, “and remember, I’ll be watching, so take good care of Cube.” Activating Dreadnaught’s jets Vincent took off and flew away. “Well what are we waiting for?” asked Cube, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Rupert stared down at the glorified box. The glorified box that had just belted itself in. “First off,” he said coolly, “I am not talking to you. Second, you need to look like a palm pilot. Now. I don’t know how far out from the camps the Stalkers patrol; probably not this far, but as we get closer, they will be around. I’m not going to have one of your big brawny cousins spotting you, never mind the people I have to lie my ass off to. I don’t care what your...” Father? Evil Scientist? “...creator said: you’re going to look like a palm pilot unless I specifically tell you to appear otherwise, or I am putting you under a wheel of this car and revving it.” He glared down at the thing for a moment more, and then thought up another very important guideline for their relationship: “Third: unless I talk to you, you do not talk to me.” Taken in conjunction with rule one, that might make this situation tolerable.

Now, for the test: “Do you understand?”

“Somebody’s grouchy,” mutter Cube as he unbelted himself and shifted to a palm pilot,” And paranoid. For your information the nearest Stalker is 1.6 kilometres away, a single shadow unit making a wide sweeping patrol. He’s reached the apex of his loop and is now moving away from us.”

“First, not talking to me is dumb. I can help you out more than you’re willing to admit. With me around you don’t just have eyes in the back of your head, but all around. However, I won’t speak if there are humans or mutants within earshot, and I’ll assume everyone has hearing like Ruby.”

“Second I’m fine with, though I may shift to stretch my legs from time to time, but only when there is no one around. Third, see my answer to first.” Satisfied with his reply Cube started playing Tetris, loudly.

((ooc: Hunter, have you cleared the tech to detect cloaked Stalkers with CyberDoc? Just checking.))

(OOC: Haven’t cleared it, but it’s impossible to completely conceal something. It still gives off heat and has a physical presence. Cube is also showing off slightly, as actually he just knows the Shadow’s rough location to the nearest 100m. He can tell you roughly where it is, but nothing pinpoint.)

((ooc: Coolies; just wanted to check a bit, there. )

Rupert was no genius, but he did not have to be. There was one fact that was blatantly obvious: Cube was going to get on his nerves. Apparently the world at large had decided that he didn’t have enough to deal with, between housing two mutie’s pets and planning the breakout of an entire camp in defiance with national law. Oh, and making sure he was hated by all the people who he was trying to help, and friends with all the people he was going to brutally stab in the back.

Yes. Yes, Cube was that last straw that he really needed.

((ooc: I’ll continue this when the time wrap starts at the camps, methinks... since they’re still on day one, at present, and this takes place on day two.))