They only get a… well, a corrupt police commissioner once. More like "doesn't understand how things work around here". Also, pretty corrupt.
He's shuffling through papers and unopened letters, ignoring the growing noise from outside, when the door is forced open by a freezing gale-force wind, snatching the paper from his hand and scattering it.
"We need to talk, sir," says a voice.
Oh, geez. These guys.
"About?"
"About how you personally authorized a veritable raid on innocent citizens, destroyed their homes, and left them in the dirt."
The commissioner sighs. "Look, kiddo. That ain't your jurisdiction. They've been suspicious for a long time, they had it comin'."
"Their entire families had it coming to them?"
"Yeah. It was necessary, I don't expect you to understand the complex politics and such behind preemptive action. Boring stuff. I promise you, I was just doin' my job. Ain't you people supposed to protect Ninjago? I'm doing the same thing you are."
Zane's features tighten ever so slightly. "I was built to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Even an apology would have alleviated this situation somewhat, but you have issued no such thing. Clearly, you have violated -"
"Listen, kid, it's complicated. Alright? Get outta my office if you're only gonna tell me how to do my job."
The floor cracks beneath Zane's feet and filthy, insulation-littered ice creeps its way through.
"If you would just listen to me-"
"Guys-"
"You listen to me-"
Zane grabs the commissioner's shirt collar, a frozen piece snapping off and clinking to the ground a second after he pulls it towards him. The temperature plummets 20 degrees. The commissioner's breath wafts up in controlled drafts past Zane's unmoving face.
"...Zane," Cole says, warning buried underneath his words, "drop him. We can talk from across the table."
"Take your hand off my shoulder," he responds, flatly.
"You need to calm down before we freeze out the office."
"Cole. Did you hear me." It's not a question. Cole recognizes that voice. He lets go.
The commissioner shifts under his desk. "Son," he says, "I would advise you to listen to your friend, and get your hands off me."
"I," Zane says, hissing ice creeping up his arms, "am not your son."
The man's eyes narrow. In a flash, Zane lets go of his collar with one hand, grabs Jay's hand with the other, and barely flinches as an angrily buzzing taser is slammed into his palm, snapping electricity between three metals, as if it would do something. A burst of freezing cold energy explodes from the impact, cracking the walls and shutting off the buzz with a weak snap. Jay sucks air in through his teeth, caught off guard, as the voltage courses through Zane, through him, through his other hand. He clenches his fist. Cole backs up half a step.
Zane's grip is vicelike as he stares the commissioner down, cracks forming in the pathetic battery-powered weapon, until it shatters in his fist and reveals its frozen, geode-like core. It clatters to the ground in pieces, useless. For the first time since they stormed into the office, Zane can detect fear in the man's glare.
He vents a shaft of freezing opaque air from his lungs.
Good.
"We are going to talk."