Kinzel leaned back in the armchair by the window, looking out through the glass. "It's such a quaint little city," he sighed, propping his chin in his hand. "I almost hate to cause it so much trouble."

Rawley had sprawled out on the couch against the wall opposite the window. "I seriously doubt that, sir," she said, popping a fresh piece of gum into her mouth.

Kinzel smiled faintly, still gazing out the window at the view below. "You know me too well."

"Still," Rawley said, stretching. "What is with this place? No gangs, barely any crime. It's frickin' creepy."

Kinzel hummed in agreement. "But I don't believe we could have arrived at a more opportune time. They're still reeling from one revolt – I doubt they're well equipped to stop another."

Rawley wrinkled her nose. "I can't wait 'til we've kicked these losers out. Blowin' up their stuff is fun and all, but this city is total Lamesville right now."

"Patience, dear." Kinzel shifted and looked over at her. "What's the situation in Gotham?"

Rawley unhooked a small black tablet from her belt and scrolled across the screen. Her eyebrows went up. "It's a nightmare over there," she said.

"Good." Kinzel smiled. "I can always count on the Joker to wreak some decent havoc. There won't be any backup for Bricksburg coming from that direction." He pushed himself out of the chair. "Let's move out. We have a game to play."

Before he left, Kinzel had removed their gags, but it was a while before either of them spoke.

Finally, it was Emmet who broke the silence. "Well," he said. "This isn't good."

Good Cop let out a humorless laugh. "That's one way of putting it."

Emmet watched Good Cop carefully. "Are you okay?" he asked after another few moments.

Good Cop rolled his eyes. "I'm tied to a chair with a death sentence hanging over me. What do you think?"

"No, I mean…" Emmet's face scrunched in thought as he tried to find the right words. "More than that. You look…" He trailed off. Then: "You look empty."

Good Cop's throat tightened. Empty. That was a good way of putting it. Had Bad Cop felt like this? Like his chest had been hollowed out, like there was a hole in him that cold wind whistled through? He swallowed, head bowing forward. "I feel empty."

"Good Cop-" Emmet began, but Good Cop cut him off.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, voice ragged. "Please, Emmet."

Emmet seemed about to protest, but instead he leaned back, his shoulders sagging. "Yeah," he said. "Sorry."

Good Cop closed his eyes in relief. "Thank you."

"But if you change your mind," Emmet said softly, "I'll listen."

Good Cop looked over at him wearily. Emmet's face was creased with genuine concern, and nothing more, nothing less. All he wanted to do was help. Good Cop shook his head, one corner of his mouth twisting upward in not-quite a smile. "You're such a feckin' goody two-shoes."

And then, amazingly, Emmet laughed. "You're the last person who should be making that kind of accusation, Good Cop."

"Oh, please," Good Cop snorted, but there was something uplifting about Emmet's laugh, even here, with his hands going numb behind his back and everything aching and half of himself missing.

No wonder this kid won a revolution. He could probably move mountains with nothing but the sheer force of his optimism.

The door swung open, and they both looked up. A couple of standard Duplo minions entered, in their black uniforms and white helmets that covered their faces. Without uttering a single word, they approached Emmet and cut him loose, yanking him to his feet.

"Hey!" Emmet protested. "What are you doing?"

He received no reply, and they started dragging him towards the door, impassive against his struggling.

"No!" Good Cop shouted, his chest constricting. "No, don't take him!"

But the door slammed shut, and Good Cop was left alone in the small room he'd been moved to for the filming.

Alone.

Panic churned in his gut and made his head spin. "No," he gasped. "No, please. Don't leave me alone." The air was stifling, hard to breathe. He jerked violently against his restraints. The rope scraped on the skin of his wrists. "Don't leave me alone!" he screamed, the chair rocking slightly under him where it was bolted to the floor. Something warm trickled down his hands, but he barely noticed. He screamed again, wordless and desperate, petering off and breaking into a sob.

He was alone, alone, well and truly, for the first time in his life, and Emmet's abrupt arrival and even more abrupt departure had only served to highlight this fact.

Slowly, his tugs against the bonds weakened and finally stopped, and he slumped forward, shaking uncontrollably. His breath came in short, hiccupping sobs. Blood oozed from the abrasions on his wrists and dripped off his fingers. Quiet pleads fell haltingly from his lips, but there was no one there to hear them.

Eventually, they too ceased.