Hip worked at a coffee shop near the edge of town called the Jumping Bean. Once Good Cop strode through the glass front door and dimly registered the ring of the overhead bell, he realized that this place wasn't exactly "jumping". Granted, he didn't expect a coffee shop to get much business at one in the afternoon, but this place was also obviously suffering from competition with Octan's newest chain store, the Coffee Chain. A quick glance around the beat-up chairs and abstract art on the walls told him that he was currently the only customer in the store.

The barista perked up as he entered, stashing his newspaper underneath the register. Good Cop dimly recognized this as the hooded man from the alleyway encounter. It was difficult to see the connection now that there were no sunglasses to obstruct his eyes or hood to shield his face.

"Good Cop? Huh. What brings you here, dude?" the man asked in his throaty voice. Yep, this was Hip alright.

Good Cop gave a glance at the chalkboard menu. Some of the items were crossed out or erased, suggesting that financial difficulties had forced them to scale back on their variety. "Let me think for a minute." He wasn't familiar with coffee stores, seeing as caffeine wasn't something he usually needed to resort to.

Just pick something and go. Once we have the info we need, the drink doesn't matter.

Good Cop, after a moment more of hesitation, gave a shrug. "Can I get a medium iced tea?"

Hip flashed him a brief, friendly smile. "Sure, dude, no problem. Here or to go?"

"Here, please." He couldn't exactly leave until he had the information he needed.

A curt nod from Hip. "You looking for something darker, or fruitier? Or do you want more caffeine?"

Good Cop grimaced. He wasn't used to this much variety. "I just want something to cool me down," he said simply.

Hip put on a sly grin, one that looked depressingly similar to the one Danny had always worn. "Kay. I'll whip you up a mint. That'll be two bucks."

As Good Cop handed over the metal studs, he couldn't help but marvel at how cheap the drink was. At least the price explained why no one was here – the "drink overpriced coffee" part of the instructions was one that many people followed religiously.

As Hip prepared the drink, Good Cop watched with mild interest. In most food and retail places he visited throughout the day, the workers followed a very exact set of instructions. Their motions were rapid and precise, designed to maximize speed and profit. Hip was nearly the complete opposite. A few inexact sloshes from a couple different jugs below the counter were followed by a handful of ice studs dumped into the mug.

As Hip approached him with the iced tea, Good Cop gave a deep exhale. It was time for the real part of the plan to begin. He rested his hands on the counter, put on a faint smile, and gave Hip an unblinking stare.

"Here you go, dude," Hip said as he offered the mug.

Good Cop refused to move. He remained frozen in place, doing his best to smother any nervousness or discomfort. He silently reassured himself that Danny had given him the correct instructions.

Hip gestured with the mug. "Dude? Hello? Your tea?" After a moment of unbearably tense silence, his eyes went wide. "Wait. No, you can't be serious."

Good Cop's mood leapt, making it a distinct effort to hold still.

Hip's words became slowed with caution. "Did something freeze you like that?"

Good Cop wanted to release an immense sigh, but instead, he forced himself to follow through with the password. "My body is frozen, but my mind is always free."

Hip abruptly ducked low over the counter, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper. "Dude, what the heck are you doing? There's an Octan camera in here!"

Good Cop allowed himself to relax, and he calmly took the mug from Hip's unresisting grip. Yes, there was a security camera in this store, but thanks to his Bad side's input, he had already come up with an answer to this sort of question. "I had someone jam the cameras," he explained. "We should be good for, oh, another hour or so. Bad Cop's asleep, and Business thinks I'm on my lunch break."

Hip blinked his eyes a few times. He opened his mouth once, closed it, and opened it once more before he found the presence of mind to say anything. "Okay."

Honestly, Good Cop had expected to encounter far more suspicion than this, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Danny told me there was a meeting for the Bricksburg resistance in a few days," he began, trying to imply the natural question.

At the mention of his brother, Hip shook the blank surprise out of his expression. Ah, there was the suspicion Good Cop had been expecting. "Where'd you get the password?" Hip muttered.

Simple questions should be treated with simple answers. Good Cop, softening his expression with false hurt, responded with a quiet, "Danny told me."

Hip's narrowed eyes kept up the same intensity of suspicion. "Why'd he tell you?"

Good Cop broke eye contact, staring into his reasonably-priced drink. For both his true self and the persona he wanted to display to Hip, this was not a topic he wanted to revisit. "I was his best friend, all the way to the end."

In his peripheral vision, he could see Hip's posture loosening up. As Danny's older brother, Hip would have known all about their friendship in high school. Still, Good Cop gauged that a fair amount of distrust remained. Anyone who worked for Lord Business was still an enemy of the resistance, and no high school friendship was going to convince them otherwise.

Luckily, Good Cop knew exactly what he needed to say to obliterate those last remnants of suspicion. "The password was one of the last things he told me before Bad Cop interrupted us," Good Cop muttered. "He took Danny away, dragged him to the electrocution chamber. I didn't even get to see him again before he…" A wet swallow, executed at the perfect time to imply everything that went unsaid. "And now I'll never get to see him again."

Good Cop put on a grim smile and looked back up into Hip's cold eyes. "From what I heard, Danny fought him every step of the way. He didn't break, no matter how much Bad Cop tortured him. He even lost a hand, but he still didn't crack. He died fighting for what he believed in. It's the way he would have wanted to go, I think."

There was the tiniest bit of heartbreak in Hip's eyes. Still, Good Cop remained confident that telling these lies was the right thing to do. It was better to paint Danny as a martyr rather than a captive. If the Master Builders believed he was still alive, they would attempt to break him out, and that could only end in disaster. If they believed that he'd died for their cause, they would be more willing to sacrifice their lives in turn, taking unnecessary risks in the process. Capturing them and bringing them to their rightful place would become easier and less damaging for everyone involved.

Plus, Hip and the others would learn the truth about Danny eventually. If Good Cop had his way, everyone would be reunited as quickly as possible, even if he needed to use a few lies to grease the wheels in the meantime.

"Dude…" Perhaps Hip's eyes looked a little bit mistier than before, but still, this was far from the outward display of sadness Good Cop had expected to see after telling this man of his brother's demise. "I knew Bad Cop was ruthless. Torture, yeah, we all knew it was gonna come to that. But killing him?"

"I don't think Bad Cop did it on purpose," Good Cop said. "Things kind of…escalated out of control. I'm sorry."

Hip leaned against the counter slightly. For the most part, this appeared to be a casual action, but Good Cop picked up a slight tremor in his movements. He was likely just as anguished as anyone would be in this situation. He was simply doing a very good job of holding it back. If only Bad Cop possessed that level of self-control, perhaps their partnership would be a bit healthier.

What is that supposed to mean?

Good Cop pulled his mug a little closer to his body and sighed. He didn't expect his other side to understand what it meant, but he wasn't in a position to explain things at the moment. He needed to focus on the problem at hand. Hip was still holding back, and Good Cop had one last card he could play.

He leaned in a little closer. "Danny didn't deserve to die," he said, hardening his voice. "I want to avenge him. I want to finish what he started. We spent our last few minutes together discussing ways for me to join the resistance movement, and I really don't want it to be for nothing."

That was it, the last bit of information Hip needed. The barista inhaled deeply, then exhaled, before taking his hands off the counter and turning completely around. He walked into the back of the store, stepping through a doorway and out of sight.

He's gone. Your plan didn't work.

On the contrary, Good Cop thought everything was going along swimmingly. He was confident that Hip had at least a small amount of trust in him now.

How do you figure?

Good Cop hadn't proven his trustworthiness in any logical way, but he had sown the seeds of something far more important. If Hip denied him now, he would be turning his back on his dead brother's final wishes. Even if he didn't believe Danny was dead, the doubt would haunt him every day. What if Good Cop had been trustworthy all along? What if Danny had sacrificed himself to let Good Cop join the resistance, but everything had been in vain?

Hip had the desire to trust him now, and that was far more powerful than any hard proof. Very smart people often put their faith in the absolute worst possible people. So long as they wanted to trust them, they would rationalize endlessly until the target became the most trustworthy person in the universe. Well, perhaps the second most trustworthy, sitting just behind President Business.

While Good Cop waited for the barista's return, he absentmindedly sipped at his drink. Not bad, not bad at all, especially considering how cheap it was. The subtleness of the flavors put it in a tier above the standard Octan fare.

Stop enjoying it. That's the enemy's tea.

Good Cop nearly choked on his mouthful of tea. He hadn't anticipated the potential of it being drugged or poisoned, though he seriously hoped this wasn't the case. It was already too late to backtrack.

That's not what I meant.

Oh, so his Bad side was concerned that they weren't drinking an official Octan product.

Correct.

Now that he thought about it a little more deeply, it was probably slightly treasonous to admit that this coffee shop easily beat out the Octan chain in almost every way. Price, taste, in-store atmosphere… Still, he couldn't say that he regretted exploring this secondary option.

We just bought something from one of Octan's competitors.

A competitor that, by the look of the store alone, was struggling to keep up. It was comforting to know that the Jumping Bean's clear advantage wasn't nearly enough to defeat Octan's powerful media presence and rampant popularity. When all was said and done, Business was still the winner of this economic fight, and any victory for Lord Business was a victory for everyone.

Hip stepped back into view again, clutching a piece of paper in one hand. His expression was hard and unreadable, but it was clear that the cop had scored some sort of victory. "Memorize this," Hip ordered, shoving the paper into Good Cop's one free hand.

Good Cop quickly scanned the scribbled words. 207 Studdington Avenue, 8 PM. The Bricksburg meeting time and place, obviously.

"Tomorrow night," Hip added. "Be on time. Come alone."

Impossible, unfortunately.

Good Cop repeated the address a few times under his breath. It was easy to memorize, especially considering that the house number was the same as his office's floor number. He handed the paper back to Hip. "Is there anything else I need to know, or…?"

Hip quickly took the note back, and without warning, he also snatched the mug of tea out of Good Cop's hands.

"Um, I'm not done with..." Good Cop started.

Hip didn't respond, instead turning to hold both the paper and the mug over a nearby sink. Without pause, Hip dumped the remainder of the drink onto the note. Stud-droplets of tea ran down the sheet, smearing the words until they were completely illegible.

"Oh." Good Cop spoke.

Hip shook the last few studs of tea out of the mug, and then he let it fall into the sink with a clatter. "You should prolly go," he grumbled. "I gotta make some calls now."

Good Cop's radio chose this specific moment to give its standard, piercing ring. Good Cop quickly covered it with his hand and flashed Hip a sheepish grin. "Apparently, I have to make some calls too," he joked. "So, I'll see you tomorrow night?"

Hip gave an uncommitted grunt. Good Cop nervously stood there for a few seconds, waiting to see if Hip had anything more to add. When no further response came, Good Cop gave a polite, "Goodbye," and showed himself out.

As he stepped out into the bright sunlight and began the walk back to his car, he gave himself a moment or two to settle back into his police chief mindset. Then, he grabbed at his radio and pulled it up to the side of his head.

"Good Cop reporting," he spoke.

"Leif Mapleson," a gruff voice replied from the speaker. Ah, this was the Viking from yesterday afternoon. He was likely reporting the outcome of that sea serpent debacle.

"How did it go? Not too badly, I hope?" Good Cop asked, genuinely curious.

"It wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been, chief. Your officers showed up right in the nick of time, and the beast didn't know what hit it." The man let out a hearty chuckle. "Now, the serpent's bricks are helping repair the buildings it destroyed. Construction is slow, chief, but we'll be done soon enough."

Good Cop couldn't help but wonder how much quicker the process would be if they had a Master Builder to help rebuild. Maybe this was one of the reasons why Business had set up his Think Tank? Good Cop shook his head, deciding to pursue a different path in the conversation. "By the way, which superheroes came to the rescue?" he asked.

"Um… None of them, chief," the Viking answered. "It would've been nice, though. Not that your police officers didn't do a great job, but with superhero help, things might've ended a bit sooner. Less damage."

"Mmm-hmm." This was troubling news. Even if the Heropolis division had been too busy to send a hero or two over, they would have at least given him a call to let him know. "I'll look into it," he assured.

"Thanks."

Without another word, he set the walky-talky back on his hip.

The time before the resistance meeting was packed with activity. Both cops worked together on the Monday report, each typing out half of it sometime during their turn. Bad Cop also assumed direct control of the rest of the Super-Secret Police, the robots Lord Business had seen the need to hold back until the cop could prove himself. To Bad Cop's delight, his robotic police force almost tripled overnight. Business also put him in charge of a squad of "specialized" robots, something Bad Cop realized would be very useful for the coming mission.

There was also the matter of figuring out exactly how the two of them would manage their turns to accommodate Good Cop's nighttime meeting. The meeting in question could last anywhere between five minutes and several hours. There was no way to properly compensate for the lost time beforehand.

Bad Cop wanted to return to their usual schedule as quickly as possible after the night was over, but Good Cop didn't think this was necessarily such a good idea. If the mission went as planned, Good Cop might be called to go to several more nighttime meetings, which would cause problems for Bad Cop's dream of returning to their usual schedule.

Eventually, they settled on a compromise. On the night before the meeting, Bad Cop's turn would start an hour earlier than usual and last an hour later into that evening. Then, when the meeting was over, they would figure out how much time Good Cop still owed his other side, and they would figure out what to do from there.

When Good Cop drove to the meeting place, he perhaps gave himself a little too much time to get there. He decided to use this extra time to park his car a healthy distance away from the meeting house, hoping to keep any resistance members from messing with his car. This also had the secondary benefit of adding to his deception. It looked like he was trying to throw someone off his trail.

Even after walking the rest of the way, he arrived a few minutes early at 207 Studdington. It was a nice place overall, a smaller house tucked away in the northern area of Bricksburg's residential sector. The building was a bit simple, a plain, blocky structure restrained to a single story, but at least it had a porch. Though he had only the streetlights to see by, he could tell the outer walls were a relaxing shade of blue. No one would suspect that such a charming house could be a base for Bricksburg's most dangerous criminals.

As Good Cop approached the front door, he couldn't help but notice that the windows were dark. Even the porch light was off. Had he come to the right place?

I've checked the address three times. We're here.

He raised a hand to knock, but before he could do so, the door suddenly swung open. He gave a small jump in surprise, and rightfully so. Standing in the doorframe was a familiar man – flat-top blond hair, white clothing, and a serious stare. This was the opponent who had left both cops so thoroughly concussed only a few days ago.

Good Cop's eyes naturally strayed downwards, hoping to see what kind of damage his Bad side's blaster had done. He caught sight of an ugly-looking scorch mark about halfway down one leg, but otherwise, there didn't appear to be any lasting damage. Worrisome, to be sure.

We already have measures in place to deal with him. Don't you dare let your resolve crack this early in the game.

Good Cop tried not to fidget away his anxiety. "I'm here for the, um…"

The man crossed his arms. "Good Cop," he said plainly. "I wondered if I would ever get the chance to meet you face to face. Of course, Bad Cop and I have already met."

Good Cop himself had personally lived through that meeting, experiencing the fight through his other side's thoughts and sensations. This man was acting pleasant now, but Good Cop was well aware of exactly how dangerous the man before him could be. If he could even be called a 'man', anyways.

Good Cop maintained only a weak smile as he spoke. "Bad Cop wouldn't stop talking about you when he got back to the station. You were very close to winning that fight, you know. If that gun hadn't landed where it did…" Or if there hadn't been a second mind to point out that gun, things might have ended quite differently.

The man gave a polite nod. "Even the best fighters get unlucky." After a moment, he held out a friendly hand. "My name is Zane. Welcome to the resistance."

Good Cop responded by taking this hand and giving it and eager shake. "Thanks! I didn't expect to get this warm of a welcome."

Zane continued to shake hands, perhaps a little longer than was strictly comfortable. "A warm welcome?" he said, amused. "If that is what you want to call this."

Zane suddenly gave a tug, nearly yanking Good Cop off his feet. The cop yelped as he pitched forward into the house. The door slammed, cutting off most of the ambient light.

Great. It's a trap.

In the darkness, something slammed into his back. He lost the rest of his balance and crashed face-first into the floor. A set of hands, probably Zane's, pressed against his shoulders, pinning him to the ground. Good Cop heard voices, but there were far too many for him to discern any of the words. Someone turned on the lights, though he was too busy getting a close-up view of the bricks in the floor to make much use of the light.

Panicking will only make things worse.

He followed his other side's advice, taking deep breaths and forcing himself to remain still, even as another set of hands quickly patted him down. One man gave a derisive snort, and the cop felt someone pulling the gun off his hip. "What do we got here, dude?" said a voice Good Cop instantly recognized as Hip's.

Good Cop swallowed the lump in his throat. "It's an Octan third-generation stun blaster," he answered, keeping his tone as level as he was able. "Nine shots, and it paralyzes for two hours without any lasting damage."

Hip gave a low whistle. "A stun gun?"

"I always need something to protect me out there," he said truthfully, slowing down his breathing a little. "But I didn't think bringing a deadly weapon would leave a good first impression."

Why the heck are you making this ambush so easy for them?

The more cooperative he was, the less injury, confusion, and misunderstandings there would be. That was a plan of action Good Cop could get behind, even when he had no idea what was going on.

I told you, it's a trap. Not that you'll believe me about it until it's too late to escape.

Someone else pulled off his walky-talky, and Good Cop fought the urge to squirm in protest. As cooperative as he wanted to be, he wasn't exactly comfortable with being unable to phone for help. "It's off," he spoke up, still trying to put on a show of offering useful information.

Why bother?

To prevent anyone from messing around with the radio, of course. They couldn't let anyone turn it on, not yet. Once that happened, the radio would emit a signal that could be detected and traced. They couldn't let things come to that unless things started going terribly wrong.

This doesn't qualify for 'terribly wrong' yet?

The people patting him down quickly finished their search. Whoever was pinning him down removed their hands, and through a joint effort, two different people hauled him off of the floor and set him on his feet. The one on his left was Zane, but on his right was a dark-haired lady he couldn't recognize. He couldn't help but notice that the two of them immediately took this opportunity to pin his arms to his sides.

He squinted against the yellowed lights. A small gathering stood before him, perhaps around a dozen people in all. The group of people spoke amongst each other in hushed whispers, but it was nothing he could make sense of. The bodies were packed close together, so close that he couldn't make out the people in the back. He recognized a few faces as some of the missing deportees, and he also picked out Jane in her tan, safari-esque outfit, but otherwise, these were all complete strangers.

Someone near the back of the group called out. The voice seemed alright enough – the French accent made the man sound nothing short of comical. The actual words, however, made Good Cop's thoughts stop cold. "Will someone please take his helmet off already?"

Instinctively, he gave a jerk against the people restraining his arms. "No!" he gasped. He couldn't let them see the secret hiding underneath his helmet, he just couldn't…!

After brief flashes of shock, then confusion, then fear, then confusion again, he finally managed to apply some rational thought to the situation. "This is a trap, isn't it?"

Took you long to see the signs.

The entire room fell silent at Good Cop's accusation. The tension was thick enough to spread on toast.

Jane Goodall eventually stepped forward out of the crowd, her face scrunched into a quizzical expression. "Why would you assume something like that?" She seemed more upset and confused than anything else.

Good Cop decided to fill her in on his reasoning. "I can understand why you'd take my gun and radio. It's common sense. You don't know you can trust me, so to keep yourselves safe, you have to make sure I can't hurt you or call Bad Cop in to hurt you instead."

He gave a pause, judging their reactions. The thoughtful silence signaled him to continue. "But my helmet? I can't hurt you with a helmet. The only thing it's there for is to prevent you from hurting me. If you want to take it off, that means you plan on fighting me, and… Well, that means this is probably a trap."

Jane shifted her posture slightly, obviously uncomfortable. Perhaps she was also a little bit guilty? Regardless, Good Cop was certain this was not a trap of any sort, though his little accusation seemed to do a good enough job of keeping them away from his helmet.

What?! Have you gone completely insane?

He understood that his Bad side would have trouble seeing this as anything other than a crazy ambush scenario, but there was probably nothing to be afraid of.

Like you said, they have no good reason to take off our helmet! What would they possibly have to gain?

He wasn't quite sure. If they wanted to injure him, they would have done so already. They couldn't so much as suspect his Bad side's presence, seeing as the cops were the only double-sided human in the Lego universe, so the resistance clearly wasn't out to expose his true nature.

After these moments filled with tension and silent conversation, Jane eventually broke away from his gaze and turned back to face her comrades. "Do we really need to take his helmet off?"

A dissenting rumble sounded from the gathering of people. The French-accented voice from before spoke up again, cutting through the chatter. "I've been told it helps to remove such physical barriers. But, no, I would not think it necessary."

The man in question nimbly edged his way to the crowd, coming to a stop in the front. Good Cop didn't know what he expected from this man, but he was clearly from somewhere outside of Bricksburg. The man's triangular goatee and twirled mustache, like his accent, screamed 'comedy'. His manner of dress was sharp but verging on the edge of ridiculously old-fashioned – red bowtie, black tuxedo, red cummerbund, and a simple top-hat.

While the man's clothing was certainly outlandish, the long, thin staff in his hand was what drew the cop's attention. At the top was a lumpy bundle, a fabric sack meant to hide the staff-topper. Good Cop's curiosity only grew when the man reached up to pull the fabric away, revealing a jagged blue crystal. Good Cop leaned forward slightly, trying to confirm if its gentle radiance was only a trick of the indoor lighting.

It took him a few seconds to put all the pieces together. This was a stage magician holding a wizard's staff, and he was planning on using it to cast a spell of some sort.

Magic doesn't exist. Not in Bricksburg, anyways.

Well, yes, magic was strictly prohibited within the city limits. However, Master Builders weren't particularly renowned for following the rules.

The magician spoke again, but a bit louder this time, making an announcement to the entire group. "I've been told that this works best with three people, including myself. As such, I will need two volunteers."

There were a few whispers among the group at large. Without warning, someone from the back barged forward, not caring how many people he had to shove out of the way. Good Cop instantly recognized this as Hip Slider. The white t-shirt, ripped jeans, and dark sunglasses were anticipated, but the golden medallion around his neck and the crooked baseball cap perched on his head were new.

Hip faced the magician with a mask of stony determination. "This might be my last chance to see Dan again. Count me in, dude."

Good Cop narrowed his eyes, now utterly confused. What kind of spell was that magician going to cast? One that needed volunteers, but also one that would apparently let them see Danny again?

Hip's head swiveled to a new target, the nearby Jane Goodall. "So, Jane, how about it? Wanna see your boyfriend one last time?"

Jane took a timid step backwards, her face shifting to a turmoil-filled grimace. "I honestly don't know. What you told me about Good Cop's story… I'm not sure if I want to see that."

Zane's voice spoke up immediately to Good Cop's left, making the officer in question jump a little in surprise. "If she is having doubts, perhaps it is best if I volunteer for the position instead."

The magician's mustache made an agitated twitch. "You'd best stay out of this. We do not even know if the spell will work on people like you."

Good Cop glanced sideways at Zane, noting that the man didn't display any sign of offense other than a short, restless change in posture. Either this kind of thing happened depressingly often or Zane was particularly skilled at hiding his emotions.

Maybe both.

Hip drew a bit closer to Jane, dropping his voice to a softer tone. "Look, I know we won't like what we see in there, but we gotta do it anyways. Dan'd want us to know what happened to him."

Jane stared at him with wavering eyes, and then she finally let her arms drop to her sides. "Okay. Okay." She let out a long, heavy sigh. "I'll go in there, for his memory. So we can tell everyone he died a hero."

Good Cop felt uncomfortable at the prospect of breaking up such a poignant moment, but his curiosity was driving him mad. Now this spell involved 'going in' somewhere? What could it possibly involve? Why had they discussed taking off his helmet?

When the magician began to move the glowing crystal close to his face, Good Cop's words finally broke free from his throat. "Woah, um… What exactly are we doing? What are they volunteering for?"

"Oh, my apologies," the magician replied, bringing the staff away from the cop's face. He put a hand to his chest and gave a small bow. "Where are my manners? You may call me Presto Change-O, and I will be your spell-caster this evening."

Good Cop wanted to take a reluctant step backwards, but the men pinning his arms clearly wouldn't let that happen. "What kind of spell-casting?" he asked, making sure to broadcast every ounce of his worry.

"Oh, nothing too major." Presto gave a broad smile. "We are simply going to enter your mind to see if you are truly one of us."

Every time I try to write a 3k-word chapter, it keeps spiraling out to nearly double the original length. Not that this is a bad thing, of course. It allows me some extra time to flesh out my OC's and built a bit more of the Lego universe, pun completely intended. It makes it difficult to finish the chapter in a timely manner, though.

In other news, I now have an official beta! ShinyShiny9 has been a big help in tweaking this chapter and giving me suggestions, for which I am grateful. Give her a big round of thanks, and expect to see her (positive) influence more in the future.