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Vernon DuPuis

Once a thief, always a thief.

0 · 175 views · located in Main Street (Continued)

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by NotAFlyingToy

Groups

The Wing City Police Department, dedicated to protect and serve. One of the most formidable law enforcement agencies on the planet, considering the near limitless potential crime for a city on the crossroads of worlds.

Description

The Roomies wrote:Look me in the eyes,
You know damn well,
What I've been trying to tell you,
I won't back down.

You must have me confused
For somebody who loses.
Because I don't back down.


Image

So begins...

Vernon DuPuis's Story

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Street lights. Passing cars. Sounds of scraping feet and roaring shadows, the din of the collective grunts and groans of the city meeting cold ears, protected by only a tuque that was yanked hastily over short blonde strands. In his hand was a paper cup of sludge, dredged up from the nearest caffeine joint that cost him probably a buck thirty too much.

Well, you know what they said about cops and their coffee.

He was nursing the cup, his eyes on a sheaf of his own papers, his breath a foggy, crystallized mass upon the frigid air. The cold helped him think; kept him sharp and focused, aware, as he poured over the documents. Perhaps the focus was too sharp, however, because his pacing took him right into the path of the Serbian woman.

A brush against her elbow was enough to knock loose the tremulous hold he had on the folder, and the papers were suddenly fluttering in the breeze as his gaze was jerked up to hers, calculating, alien eyes taking in her attire, the focus broken by mild surprise and sheepishness.

"Sorry," he said, the leather of his jacket creaking as he raised a hand in a gesture of civility. "I should've signaled before making a turn like that."

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The cop shot her a grin as he moved to collect them, as well. "Happy to help," he said, easily, not at all concerned by the fact that she was taking a look through the files. Each was a handbill; Wanted posters, each meticulously printed, dating back decades ago, all scooped up from various buildings throughout the city by his very hands, photocopied, and leafed through. Each of the criminals were of public record, likenesses or photographs of them staring out.

As he collected a fair amount, he began stuffing them back into his own file folder. "It takes a special breed of woman to be out on the street in the cold and handing out things that will probably be thrown out the minute they turn the corner," he said, amused. "And anyway; don't worry about those so much. I was just curious about 'em, not like they'll do any harm winding up in someone's hands. Hell, maybe they'll catch 'em."

He reached a hand towards her, tucking the folder into his arm. "Vernon, by the way. Vernon DuPuis."

The setting changes from main-street to Wing City

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The radio squawked inside the Ford Crown Victoria, and a gloved hand snaked out to snag it and hit the answer button.

"213, this is Car 114, responding to your backup call." Pressing two quick buttons on the dash of the car, 213's location blipped in the onboard computer system. Behind the wheel, Specialist Vernon DuPuis slurped the last of his disgusting coffee, flicked the siren to a wail, and gunned it towards the location in a sudden spurt of wheels and scorched asphalt.

He was two minutes away.

The setting changes from wing-city to Main Street

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Vernon shrugged, offering a smile. "I'm... I'm in between jobs at the moment, actually. Taking an extended vacation, you could say. Pursuing my options with these."

He flapped the handbills in the air, wondering if she could see through the bullshit. "And what about you? Do you work with those papers you're handing out, or are you advertising the manatees around this season?"

The setting changes from main-street to Wing City

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"Dispatch, this is Car 114," Vernon stated, his hands expertly maneuvering through traffic, shooting through an intersection, squealing around a corner, and firing through an alleyway to cut off a few precious seconds. Officer's lives were at stake.

"Reports are of officers down, unsub armed and dangerous, and a present being unwrapped. I'm looking to - shit," he blared his horn as a Taxi nearly cut him off - "I'm looking to cut off the escape route leading away from the van. I'll push them to you."

The screaming of his siren exploded over a short hill, where the upturned van lay about a mile down the road. Vernon narrowed his eyes, checked the strap on his flak jacket, and pressed down on the accelerator, his fingers moving to unbuckle his seat belt, and unlock his door.

The screaming car closed the distance rapidly.

The setting changes from wing-city to Main Street

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Vernon gave her a glance-over. "I dunno," he said, smiling. "You look like a woman used to getting wet."

He paused.

"Um, not that- I didn't mean- well, my foot tastes nice today."

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Vernon accepted the card with as much grace as someone in his position could. "Yeah, thanks. Good luck getting dunked or whatever, Ms," here, he glanced at the name, "Sekova."

He saluted her with the card, a wry grin pulling at his face.

The setting changes from main-street to Wing City

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When the hiss of the front tire reached Vernon's ears, the car went into a slightly out of control, swerve-y mess that resulted in sparks flying from the wheel, licking the sides of the Vic and the asphalt as his knuckles went white on the steering wheel. Giving up trying to regain control, he shifted his hands from the wheel itself to the axel with one hand, the other reaching to grab the standard issue shotgun from the passenger seat and strapping it around his neck.

He then twisted the axel, hard, to the left, and opened the door.

The car went skidding into a slide, the unbuckled seatbelt catching in the wheel and holding it as it careened into the sideways van, slamming against it with no small amount of force. Instants before impact, the cop bailed, a hazy green bubble flashing around him as his body hit the tarmac, performing two somersaults and coming to one knee, shotgun cradled in his hands. The bubble disappeared as quickly as it appeared as he leveled the firearm towards the back of the Van, approaching it in slow, measured footsteps.

"Wing City Police!" he barked, cocking the gun, "Step out of the vehicle with your hands behind your head, weapons on the ground. Do it, now."

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Every day, Vernon's shufflin'.

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The gun remained rigid, trained police's eyes - unusually green, like sapphires - narrowing from behind the barrel of the gun. "That's enough," he said, jerking the gun slightly. "Stay right where you are."

There was a half-dozen feet between the two men, but the disadvantage was on DuPuis' side and he knew it. He couldn't remove a hand from the gun to radio in the situation, change the plan. There was at least another accomplice in the van, and he couldn't stall the man forever.

"On the ground, legs spread apart," DuPuis said, his hand tightening around the butt of the gun as he advanced two steps forwards.

The setting changes from wing-city to Main Street

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The gun remained rigid, trained police's eyes - unusually green, like sapphires - narrowing from behind the barrel of the gun. "That's enough," he said, jerking the gun slightly. "Stay right where you are."

There was a half-dozen feet between the two men, but the disadvantage was on DuPuis' side and he knew it. He couldn't remove a hand from the gun to radio in the situation, change the plan. There was at least another accomplice in the van, and he couldn't stall the man forever.

"On the ground, legs spread apart," DuPuis said, his hand tightening around the butt of the gun as he advanced two steps forwards.

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The cop's eyes didn't bat. "Fascinating," he said, in a monotone voice. He released his gun with one hand, the other reaching for his handcuffs as he walked towards the kneeling criminal, the silver bracelet unwinding in a sound not unlike a Zip.

Standing over the kneeling man, he tossed his cuffs down at him. "Cuff yourself," he said, his gun pointed towards Maggy.

The setting changes from main-street to Lady Une Drive

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Outside the apartment, the roaring and sudden cutting of an engine could be heard; a yellow convertible, top down, slowing to a halt in a handicapped space. The man inside - blonde, thin, and with an odd shade of blue eyes - took out his keys, and checked his gun belt for his required items.

The file that he had created - from his own scratched, ugly writing - on the woman who he believed to be residing in the apartment lay open on the front seat. Removing his sweater, he tossed it over the documents, undoing his seat belt, opening the door, and stepping from his vehicle. He removed silver aviators from his pocket and placed them on his nose, walking up to the building and heading for the apartment number marked on one of his sheets.

When he reached the intended door, he removed his badge, ensured that his safety was engaged, but the strap was off, and rapped on the door.

"Police." He called.

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Vernon met her eyes, not quite smiling.

"'Afternoon, ma'am," he said, holding up his badge. "I'm Specialist Vernon DuPuis, with the Dangerous Offenders unit, currently affiliated with the WCPD. I'm currently investigating into an incident involving a man name Casper, whom you've had contact with in the past."

He glanced behind her, the move a practiced one, keeping the disgust and anxiety off of his face. He knew of her past. His eyes darted down to follow the lines of her arms, a frown tugging at his lips. "May I come in?"

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"That isn't necessary, thank you," he said, his voice prim as he replaced his badge and followed her inside. He drew a notebook, flipping it back a few pages until more of his chicken scrawl appeared. He remained standing.

"I'll make this quick, ma'am," he said, "as I have no intention of taking up more of your time than what is necessary. A man named Price escaped recently from prison, aided by an accomplice who is unknown at this time. I've reason to believe that he will return for perceived vengeance upon both Casper and Bethany Foster, whom I'm told you also have connections with."

He let the sentence hang, not quite accusing, not quite insinuating.

"Is there any further light you can shed as to the incident with Casper and Price? Anything you give me will help us keep Casper safe and Price locked away."

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Vernon nodded to himself and scribbled down a few things, his hand aggressive, almost angry as he poured her thoughts onto the page. He allowed himself a second look at her arms, opened his mouth as if to comment, and then snapped it shut, finishing his sentence.

When done, he tapped his pen against his notebook, adressing her. "You were the one who contacted the authorities regarding Detective Foster's kidnapping, correct? Can you tell me what you saw?"

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Vernon nodded at this statement, making another aggressive notation.

"Is there any reason you can think of for the abduction of Bethany Foster and the incident involving Casper to be related?"

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Vernon's eyebrows raised, but he said not another word - his notepad formed the words dealer and bitch, however. A reflection of his own personal experience.

"I'll be taking that opinion into account, ma'am," he said, and again, it looked as though it pained him to say the word. "In any case, the Foster abduction isn't my jurisdiction. However, should the WCPD find any further information regarding her whereabouts, I'll make a note to inform you at this address immediately."

It wasn't a kindness in his mind, but an action of necessity. "Is this agreeable?"

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"No," he said, tapping his pen against his notebook and closing it with a flick of his wrist. "No, there's nothing I need from you. But I'd like to share some information."

He folded his arms. "From what I've learned of you, you've been clean for a solid amount of time. Which is good, and would normally clear you of my casebook. But you are in the presence of dangerous men and women, exposed to them, day by day. I would like you to know, as a favour to you, that I hope you stay clean."

He straightened, turned around. "If I happen to find any substances within your system, on your person, or in property that is yours, I will not hesitate to do my job on you, just as well as I wouldn't hesitate to lock up Price or his as-yet unidentified accomplice."

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I hope we understand each other."

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He nodded at her, walking out the offered door, and heading down the steps. Without glancing backwards, he opened his car door; the tinted windows offering him protection as he slipped inside of it.

Instantly, he shuddered, his hands fumbling for the glove compartment as his breath began to erupt in stacatto bursts of shuddering, gaspy wisps of air. He grabbed at a can of disenfectant, sprayed it around the car, his clothes, his hands.

He'd come a long way from being twelve, and having to burn the clothes the taint touched.

After thirty seconds of spraying, he relaxed in his seat, breathed deeply, and started the car.

Fucking junkies.

The setting changes from lady-une-drive to Wing City

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He had been waiting for some time at this location; yellow convertible running with the lights off, hands slowly, surely sliding over the steering wheel in a soothing pattern. It was the second time in way too short a span that he'd have to deal with track marks and young faces; injections that ran into the veins and bloodstream of these kids. The thought of it - of blood being unpure, unclean - had his hands quaking slightly, and he itched to reach for his scrub brush, wipe away a few flakes of skin, expose the filth.

No. He would control himself. He was on a job; the job was finding and taking in the man known as Price. And lo and behold, the staggering youth who moved towards the doorway of this 'Viktor''s apartment was the one who had the best shot of telling the cop what he needed to know.

He killed the engine. Checked his firearm. Closed the glove box, locked it, unlocked it, and re-locked it. He buttoned his holster, straightened his leather jacket, adjusted his hoodie.

Then, he stepped into the waning light.

His steps were even, measured, as he walked towards the youth, his gun covered by the jacket and sweater combination he wore, his badge poking out of his back jeans pocket. The simple black workboots were inky in the night, the only thing uniform about him. Sharp eyes would notice the make, the brand, of a police officer.

He didn't mind. Vernon DuPuis had nothing to hide.

"Sir," he said, as the passkey made it into the youth's hand. He reached into his back pocket, flashing the badge. "Are you Casper Harpert?"

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Vernon didn't like this tone one bit, and so offered his most sincere smile.

"My name is Specialist Vernon DuPuis, Mr. Harpert. I'm working with the Dangerous Offenders Unit, currently affiliated with the WCPD. I'm currently involved in returning a known accomplice of yours - Price, as you know him - to prison."

He paused, raising his eyebrows. "In other words, Mr. Harpert, I'm looking to save your life. I realize that your opinion of my profession isn't one of top rating, and so you can realize that I don't give a shit."

He flipped a notebook open. "Cut the attitude. Answer my questions. I'll lock Price up, and then the only cops you'll have to deal with are the ones that bust up your smack buys. How's that for who I am?"

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Vernon cocked his head, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Okay, kiddo. Okay. You're right; being shot by a guy you fucked around with, pumping your system filled with shit, and being locked up is a surefire way of living. I'd hate to impeach upon your rainbows and butterflies by locking up someone who wanted to kill you. Someone who - I believe - is going to hunt you down, put another bullet in you, and dump you in the river."

Vernon saluted, taking a step back. "You have yourself a good night, Mr. Harpert. You have yourself a safe night. I hope you don't live to regret this moment."

With that, Vernon spun on his heel, walking back the way he came.

The setting changes from wing-city to Main Street

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The giant watched the woman move to the door, her wrists behind her as he flexed his fingers, the wounds around his wrists gaping and jagged with how much the iron rubbed and tore at the skin around them. His eyes settled on the owner of the shop they were in for a long moment, his gaze easy, quiet.

"If I tell you," he said, slowly, "you're involved. Let's state that right now. I consider it a privelege that you don't know the purpose as to why I'm here, or where I'm going. But I won't lie to you."

He glanced down at the bleeding wounds, his wrists cracking as he moved them slightly. "I'm hunting a God. I'm going to build a group of driven individuals who have been negatively impacted by his existence in the world, and I'm going to free those he imprisoned."

The setting changes from main-street to Main Street 1

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He was following her with the efficiency and the blatancy of a true beat cop, his hands tucked deep into a leather jacket, eyes glued to the back of her head. It was hard to forget a face like that, he decided, his pace leisurely and casual.

Vernon DuPuis didn't look like a cop; but then again, that was all part of the image. He wore high tops and jeans, leather jackets instead of polished buttons and medals. His uniform was whatever the hell he felt like wearing; as was the charms of working with the dangerous criminals of the ever disgusting bowels of Wing City.

This one...

This one he had been looking forward to for a while, ever since a thick manilla envelope stamped with her name had arrived on his desk with his morning coffee. Even now, as he tapped his back pockets, alternating between checking that his badge was secured and his wallet encased, his fingers twitched with the itch to get the cuffs on her feline form, slam a jail cell door on her without any further delay.

For now, he would bide his time. Sabetha Riwora walked the streets looking for trinkets, and Vernon DuPuis followed.