poor good cop keeps getting knocked around dude just can't get a break

Good Cop groaned, his head lolling to the side. His arms ached. He was sitting upright, but he couldn't move. Suddenly, he became very aware of rope around his wrists, tied behind the back of the chair, and he was instantly awake. For a second, the image of a dark, concrete room overlaid his actual surroundings, but he blinked, and it cleared. The room he was in wasn't dark at all. It was brightly lit, but not so bright as to be harsh. It was clean and clinical, but not so much as to be sterile and cold. Friendly wasn't the right way to describe it, but it certainly wasn't intimidating.

But all of this was secondary observation, because the primary thing that demanded his attention was the young man sitting straight-backed on the table a few feet away, hands folded in his lap with one leg crossed demurely over the other. The first descriptive word that popped into Good Cop's head was royalty. The man wasn't dressed lavishly, but it had a certain regality about it. He wore a long-sleeved powder-blue shirt under a darker blue vest with gold chains across it to hold it shut, which gave way to a long, blue, silky skirt, which ended just above a pair of black leather boots. He was smiling thinly at Good Cop. "Glad to see you're awake," he said, and damn, but this man had class. His accent plucked on Good Cop's country boy origins, pulling to the surface an insecurity the cop had thought long dead – hick from the sticks in a big city full of modern people.

"Where the hell am I?" Good Cop spat, shoving the feeling back down.

The man feigned a pout. "You don't recognize me? After all the time you've spent hunting me? I'm hurt, Bad Cop. I thought we had something special."

It took Good Cop a few moments to process this. Cautiously, he asked, "Kinzel?"

The leader of the Duplos clapped his hands together theatrically. "Aw, you do remember me!"

Good Cop knew who he was now. Bad Cop had spent hours poring over reports, sitting on stakeouts, and leading raids on Duplo hideouts in the hopes of capturing this man. But Good Cop had never seen a picture of him before. And now, here he was, sitting just within reach.

The only problem was that Good Cop was on the wrong end of the handcuffs.

"I'm so glad we can finally talk face to face, Bad Cop," Kinzel said, uncrossing his legs and sliding off the table. His boots clicked on the tile floor as he walked up to Good Cop. He reached up and gently prodded at the bandage on Good Cop's temple. "Seems like you've had a bit of a rough time even before you got here."

Good Cop jerked away from the touch. "I'm not Bad Cop," he snapped.

Kinzel knocked lightly on the top of Good Cop's head. "I'm pretty sure you are. You've got a very distinct face."

Good Cop gritted his teeth. "Well, I'm wearing it right now. I'm Good Cop."

Kinzel took a step back, one thin eyebrow arched in thought. "Ah," he said. "I think I've heard about you. Word on the street has it you're dead."

"Word on the street has it wrong," Good Cop said shortly.

Kinzel sighed, leaning back against the table. "I'm not interested in you," he said, waving his hand. "Send Bad Cop out."

"I can't," Good Cop replied. His glasses were starting to slip down his nose, only saved from falling off completely by the bandage there. "He's not home right now."

Kinzel narrowed his eyes. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not," Good Cop growled. "There was a mix-up. He's in another body." He couldn't help a smirk. "You got the wrong Cop."

Fury flashed across Kinzel's face, and he backhanded Good Cop, sending the glasses skittering along the floor. "I don't like your tone," he hissed, grabbing Good Cop by the hair and jerking his head back.

Good Cop smiled mirthlessly, trying to ignore how every single one of his muscles ached. "That's too bad," he said. "It's the one you're getting."

Pain exploded in his stomach and the air rushed out of his lungs as Kinzel punched him in the gut. "Usually I admire sass in the face of danger," he said, face inches from Good Cop's, fingers tightening painfully in the cop's hair. "But I'm not in the mood right now." He took a step back, put his foot on the chair between Good Cop's legs, and slowly drew a dagger out of his boot. Good Cop watched with widening eyes, transfixed by the glinting blade.

Kinzel leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee and waving the knife idly under Good Cop's nose. "So you're going to tell me," Kinzel said casually, "how, exactly, one ends up in the wrong body."

Good Cop barely heard him. His entire world had narrowed down to the dagger inches from his face. Light flickered along the edge of the blade, and his heart pounded in his ears. The room was darkening, the smell becoming musty and stale, the light that flashed on the metal dimming and yellowing. Are you listening? he could hear Business saying. Are you listening?

"I said," Kinzel screamed, pressing the cold flat of the blade against the scarred side of Good Cop's face, "are you listening?"

At the contact, Good Cop inhaled sharply and snapped back to the present. His breathing came in sharp gasps, his heart thudding against this ribcage.

Kinzel fixed him with a calculating gaze, then trailed the tip of the knife along Good Cop's jaw, watching as the cop's breath quickened. "Well," Kinzel said, withdrawing the knife to tap the flat against his own lips contemplatively. "You've got some issues, don't you?"

Good Cop declined to answer, staring down at the floor and struggling to regain control of himself. He'd been trained for situations like these, dammit, he'd been trained-

He had been.

Funny how one incident can unravel years of hard work.

He started to laugh, because he didn't know what else to do.

Kinzel jerked Good Cop's head back again and pressed the blade to his throat, but Good Cop just kept laughing.

The Duplo leader made a noise of contempt and sheathed the dagger, stepping away. "It didn't take long for you to snap, did it?"

Good Cop didn't seem to hear him, lost in hysterics.

Kinzel sighed and turned away, crossing the room to the door. He opened it, then glanced back at where Good Cop was slumped forward against his bonds, still chuckling to himself. Kinzel shook his head and stepped out, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Rawley!" he shouted.

There was the tramping of boots down the hall, and then a short woman skidded to a stop in front of him. "Yes, sir!" she said, saluting.

Kinzel crossed his arms and drummed his fingers. "What do we know about Good Cop?"

Rawley looked confused. "Just that he existed."

Kinzel frowned. "See if you can find out more."

Rawley nodded. "Is there anything else, sir?"

Kinzel narrowed his eyes at the far wall, thinking. "We may have to revise our initial plan."

"Sir?"

"It seems that Bad Cop's ended up in a new body. It's going to be very hard to find him now." Kinzel unfolded his arms and rested a hand on top of Rawley's helmet. "Let's bring in Emmet, shall we?"

Rawley grinned with malicious glee. "Yes, sir."