Logs:But even the hairs of your head are all counted. Do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.

But even the hairs of your head are all counted. Do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.
cn: police violence
Dramatis Personae Dawson, Leo, Iron Man	2020-10-13 "I think -- you might need to call another ride."
Location <NYC> Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. Cloudy and chill, it's not a particularly pleasant afternoon. The threat of imminent rain is not encouraging people to linger outdoors, though despite this there's been a line for some time outside one small building -- once a daycare, shuttered for operations during the pandemic and yet to properly reopen. For business, at least, though the owners have been happy enough to let the Mongrels set up their temporary clinic in this spot from time to time. Today Dawson is lingering outside the door as the wait dwindles. Even for him he's been somewhat keyed up, an erratic jitter to his movements even when he tries to stay relatively still in his perch on a curb nearby. He's in his usual -- khakis, green polo, a light canvas jacket on overtop that doesn't hide the odd serpentine coil of his matte black tentacle-like mechanical arm today. Thankfully he doesn't have too much longer to wait before the rest of the line dwindles. Leo emerges, dressed today in crisp, fitted blue jeans and a plaid button-down in a handful of cheery pastels, a lightweight grey nehru jacket over top. For a few moments he just watches Dawson's fidgeting quietly before moving to join him at the curb. "Are you hungry? It's been a while." Dawson is on his feet in an instant, one hand wrapping around his chest and the tentacle arm hanging looser at his side. "I --" He hesitates, eyes darting to Leo and then away. "Have time still, if you need to get food." The sag to Leo's shoulders is minute. Pretty overlookable. "That wasn't --" he starts, but then gives a small nod. "There's a good dumpling place. Just around the corner. If you have the time, I would -- like that." A smile flashes across Dawson's face. Very quick. Then gone. "Yeah. Yeah, I could --" The tic of his eyes is a rapid thing, too, as he starts moving again. Taking in Leo. Sweeping the street around them. The sky. "I do like spending time with you, you know. It isn't just --" The tip of the tentacle arm curls upward, outward. Leo falls easily into step beside Dawson, his hands tucking into his jacket pockets. "That wasn't my worry." His eyes dart sidelong to the other man, his own smile soft but staying put when it appears. "But it is good to know. I just -- you used to eat. More. The last couple --" He shakes his head, giving a very small shrug. "People are allowed to worry about you too, you know." Just around the next corner, a pair of Oscorp-model Guardians have been -- well, lurking would imply a good deal more stealth than the large and shiny black robots possess. Right now they're just standing, imposing and silent on the sidewalk -- most people who pass by are going to some lengths to give the mechanical police officers as wide a berth as possible, even if it means stepping briefly out into traffic. They don't move, but there's a subtle new animation in their expression as the pair pass by. Maybe it's an extra brightness in their glowing green eyes. Dawson's eyes get a little bit wider, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. His steps drift just a little bit closer to Leo's -- maybe it's a coincidence, following that last comment. Maybe it's the police toasters menacing the block. "I'll get some dumplings," is all he actually says out loud, holding the door open for Leo once they get to the blip of a storefront, already half-filled with a small waiting line. Leo doesn't seem to mind the proximity. The reflexive tense of his shoulders is definitely the police-bots; it passes once they've crossed past the Guardians onto the next block. "And smoothies after or is that pressing my luck?" His shoulder bumps lightly against Dawson's on his way in. His hands untuck from his pockets only in order to clasp behind his back instead. There's a whine and a thud outside. The door doesn't exactly open again to admit the next pair of customers. At least, not the traditional way. Despite being very much unlocked, there's a creak, a crunch; it's torn straight off its hinges to reveal the pair of Osbots now standing in the doorway. Not, it seems, the same pair they passed earlier -- still a short ways down the block but heading up it now with heavy clanking steps. "This is an unlawful assembly," one of the Osbots is announcing, to the suddenly-clamoring room. "Place your hands behind your back and do not attempt to resist arrest." This announcement is -- not, in fact, doing anything at all to calm the room down. A few people are trying to flee -- back over the counter, out past the bots; a few people are yelling. One is taking out their phone to record this. The bot that hasn't spoken lifts its hands, none too gently shoving back at the people who are attempting to leave. "This is an unlawful assembly," repeats the first one, just as flat as before. "Attempts to resist will be met with force." Dawson's hand has shot to Leo's arm the moment the door cracks out of its hinges, but his initial blink-jump hitches. Stops, with them just on the outside of the door, now. 'What,' he's mouthing to himself, wider-eyed than before once the bots start speaking. The look he gives Leo has more than a little confusion in it. Leo is no help on that front. At first there'd only been a tired resignation creeping into the set of his jaw and tense of his shoulders, but the robot orders put the same perplexity in his own face. Maybe there should be some kind of relief there -- instead only a bemused, out-loud echo of Dawson's silent sentiment: "What?" Another pair of robots is dropping down from somewhere overhead, as Leo and Dawson reappear on the outside of the storefront. "This is an authorized arrest," the first robot in the doorway is helpfully explaining, even as its companion trains the gunbarrel of their arm on the next person to try and charge past the robots. "Through a partnership with the New York City Police Department, Oscorp is proud to deploy over a thousand Guardians to enhance the quality of life in New York City by --" The report of a bullet eclipses the rest of the robot's words, though underneath the loud crack their speaker is still playing neutral and monotone. Dawson does not have time for another What, though it's etched into his expression clearly enough. "Don't move." He's blinking back into motion the moment the first robot starts to engage their weapon. The moment after the guncrack sounds the robot and Dawson both are only a blur. The Guardian reappears right after, lodged upside-down with head and half its torso sunk into the sidewalk. The girl -- perhaps a teenager -- who had been trying to get past the robot in a panic has stumbled back, crumpled, a rapidly spreading red stain on her green and white polka-dot hoodie. Leo is not exceptionally good at following directions, regrettably. He's backing away rapidly once Dawson sets him outside, his eyes gone huge and his arms crossing over his chest. "This is an unlawful assembly," the first robot is repeating calmly, even as its partner steps forward over the body of the fallen teenager to grab the nearest standing person, yanking their arms behind their backs to bind them together with some sort of sticky-stringy adhesive. There is yet another pair of Guardians tramping their way towards the commotion. The two pairs of robots already outside have engaged their guns, as well, as people continue to try and flee the storefront. There are more gunshots firing, loud and rapid; one more man joining the teenager on the ground. One grabs Leo when he moves. "Place your hands behind your back and do not attempt to resist arrest," though its already roughly doing the first part for him. A bright streak of red and gold is descending from above. This time it has no pithy quips -- just landing with a heavy crack in between one of the Osbots and its nearest target, the gunshot ringing harmlessly against the metal chestplate of the power suit. One gauntlet lifts, firing a bright beam towards the robot. Amid the gunfire, Dawson is a blur again. One person is shunted quickly out of the way of a bullet meant for them; another robot is sunk deep into the pavement; another is yoinked away from the bot reaching for them to deposit them in relative safely across the street. He's just blipping back in, hand clapping to the back of one Guardian which -- just disappears entirely. If he's even noticed the deep crimson splotches on his own jacket (though oddly enough it has no holes) it's hard to say; he isn't much slowing. One light touch to the shoulder of the girl on the floor sets her right next to the bright armor suit. "There are two people injured. Can you get them to a hospital?" Just before he vanishes with the robot that just tried to arrest Leo. The robot that's just been shot staggers back, one arm hanging broken and barely attached. Tries to shoot Iron Man right back, futile though it may be with bullets ricocheting off the armor. The two arriving robots aren't wasting time now with the fleeing restaurant goers -- their attention is focused straight on Dawson. Of course, the salvo of bullets they try to unleash at his rapidly shifting form is probably none too safe for the rest of everyone around, either. The power suit is just taking aim at the bot again when Dawson drops a heap of bloody teenager at its feet. "Hospital. You got this?" Maybe he counts the rapidly vanishing robots as answer. Regardless, there's not a lot of time to see if Dawson, in fact, has it; with two injured people in his arms he's taking off again, leaving the chaos behind. "I've handled worse." And then there's only a blur again. It's a little disorienting to follow -- people vanishing and reappearing Somewhere Else than the storm of bullets. Pieces of robot left on the sidewalk while the bulk of the Guardians are left in it. When it quiets there's only Dawson, clamping a hand to Leo's shoulder and blurring off as the sound of sirens start to draw near. When they reappear it's in a tiny secluded garden, small mulch-strewn paths wending through the flowers and hedges and trees to a little central fountain. Dawson is very pale as he sets Leo down, sinking onto the fountain's edge. Leo's shoulder is shaking beneath Dawson's hand, right up until he's released. "What --" comes again, but doesn't get anywhere. The bloodstain on Dawson's jacket earns a wide-eyed look; he's reaching a steadying hand to Dawson's shoulder, now, starting to pull the jacket back until he notices the lack of bullet holes in the clothing. "Oh --" comes on a shaky, relieved breath as he sinks down beside the other man. "I thought that was yours. What was that -- are you okay?" Dawson leans gratefully in against the hand Leo offers him. "You're okay," he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed and his weight sinking heavily up against Leo's side. His breathing is strained, an odd gurgle to it that is not fully explained by his intact clothing. It makes his last words raspier, a little harder to catch. "I think -- you might need to call another ride."