Xaviers!

Shane had heard the rumors of the alien in custody and of the possibility of more hiding in the government. His own father's politics had gotten more extreme in the last couple of years, something he had always just assumed was political maneuvering. But if there was even a remote possibility that his father had been replaced by some thing, he had to know. He owed the man his father used to be that much.

So, after a long and hesitant gaze up at his family home, he climbed the steps and pressed the buzzer. He honestly didn't know what he wanted the truth to be. Either his father hated him, or he was most likely dead.

After a moment the intercom crackles to life with his father's voice. "Yes, who is this?"

"The prodigal son returneth," he answered.

"Did they find a cure already?" He sounds surprised, almost even a little bit glad. Or he would if the whole sentiment behind what he's saying wasn't tainting it.

"You can't cure what... no, I'm not having that conversation with you again."

"Can't I just be visiting?"

"Fine, fine. Come in before the neighbors see you." The intercom cuts out and the door buzzes open.

"Asshole," he muttered before going inside.

The hallway is empty and it does not sound like his father is coming to meet him at the door, which means he probably used the intercom in his study.

"Lazy fat-ass can't even meet me halfway," he grumbled as he headed upstairs and knocked on the study door.

"Come on in, son." his Dad says from where he's sitting behind his desk. Looks like he just went straight back there after buzzing Shane in.

Shane walked in and approached the desk. The words he had planned to say immediately fell from his brain. Instead, he said, "Son? What a nice upgrade from... what was it your man Farage said?... oh yes, 'monster'."

"I've come to terms with the fact that my son is a monster. What more do you want? Did you just come here to insult my esteemed colleagues?" he says, looking up at Shane.

"No. I came here to see if the man who raised me still existed. If somewhere under the political calculations you've wrapped yourself in you still actually cared about me. Because everything you've done in years says the opposite."

"Son, all I'm doing has been for the good of the country. For your future. And sometimes people have to be protected from themselves. I wish that wouldn't include my own child, but I would be a hypocrite if I let that change my mind."

"Changing your mind only makes you a hypocrite if you keep on the same course. It's not bloody retroactive!"

As they talked, he crept a vine around the desk.

"I don't expect you to understand. Maybe you will when you're older."

"I'll understand plenty from behind the bars of my detention camp. You're naive to think it won't end up there."

The vine crept up his father's chair. It grew a tiny barb and snapped at the back of the man's neck like a biting insect before rapidly retracting.

"Nobody wants to put anybody in detention camps unless they pose a--ow!" she slaps the back of his neck as if he was swatting a mosquito. he checks his hand and frowns when he doesn't find a squashed insect. "Unless they pose a serious threat. I don't see you railing against the prison system. Or the fact we don't just let anybody carry a gun around. If we can't take these weapons away then we need to monitor them. Not invite more of them into our country and put everybody at risk. Quit being so selfish and think about the country as a whole."

He glanced down as if successfully scolded but was actually checking the blood he hoped his barb drew.

It's not a lot, but what little blood is on the stinger looks pretty red. As he's still contemplating it the phone rings and interrupts his train of thought.

His father glances down at the caller ID and gives Shane a look that translates to 'This is important. Get out.' Important enough that he apparently doesn't want to keep the caller waiting until Shane actually starts moving, picking up the phone right away. "Yes, this is him. Mhmm. Of course, yes, always. Patch me through."

His relief that his father hadn't been body snatched was short lived. "Family first as always," he said with disgust before slipping out. He did, however, stay close enough eavesdrop on whatever was so important.

He obviously can't hear the other side of the conversation, but his father is helpful enough to at least provide him with some details.

"Ah, Mister Farage."

"Yes, quite well."

"You too I hope?"

"Fantastic."

"Yes, most of the planning is done, and we have confirmation from a good hundred people already."

"Yes, of course."

"No, I'm sure the fundraiser will be a great success."

"I contacted the PM, but I haven't heard back y--"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

"I will right away."

"I understand, it'd be huge in the public eye."

"I will--"

"I will try my best, sir."

"No, I don't know what size suit he wears. Why is th--"

"I understand. Yes. My apologies."

"Goodbye."

Shane raised an eyebrow at the bizarre end of the conversation. Why would the Hateful Frog need to know that for a fundraiser? Unless... no, that's ridiculous.

"How on bloody Earth are you planning to lure the PM to a fundraiser for your little hive of scum and villainy?" he asked from the hall, not caring if his father knew he had been listening.

"You little..." his father exclaims, followed by the sound of his chair being pushed back. A moment later he pulls open the door all the way. "Do you not understand the concept of privacy? Or are you here to spy on the government for your new freak friends?"

He rolled his eyes. "Please, I've been eavesdropping on you for years. Besides, a fringe party fundraiser is hardly government."

"We'll see about that, now won't we?" he says probably a bit too ominously. "People will see we only have their best interests in mind."

"You know you really shouldn't talk like a supervillain to me, right? Next thing you'll tell me you're going to put the PM's brain in a jar."

"Don't be ridiculous, son. That is precisely the sort of thing we're trying to prevent."

"You can't very well call people like me monsters and freaks and expect us to have much faith in the purity of your party's intentions. So consider me a skeptic."

"You didn't like me calling it a condition either. There's just no pleasing you."

"How can I best explain this... ah. It's like how you don't like being called a walrus," he explained.

His father just harumphs at that, which doesn't help dispel the comparison.

"We're just trying to make Britain Great again. You might have no bad intentions, but there are plenty who do. Not everyone's allowed to have a gun, why should we just let people have much more dangerous things with no government regulation." he parrots the Party Line.

"Regulating people based on their DNA is something I wouldn't trust any government with. You might have no bad intentions, but there are plenty who do."

He sighed, "But honestly I didn't come here to insult or debate you. It's just reflex."