Good Cop wasn't sure how long he'd been in this room now. There wasn't a clock. There wasn't anything. Just the empty chair that Emmet had been in.
He looked at it, and felt a sudden surge of resolve. What was he doing sitting here and sniveling, waiting to be rescued like some goddamn fairytale princess? There was some gobshite out there wreaking havoc on Bricksburg. On his city.
If Bad Cop had been able to keep doing his job even while missing Good Cop, then Good Cop could do the same.
No one messed with his city.
He flexed his hands, wincing as the rope chafed against his raw skin. His ankles had been tied to the legs of the chair as well, and he tried squirming against them, with no luck. Craning his neck, he eyed the bolts holding the chair to the floor. They seemed fairly new. It was likely that these chairs were not part of the room's original design, because while the bolts were new, the floor was old, cracks running through the cement. He threw his weight against the chair and it rocked slightly, the cement crumbling a little around one of the bolts.
Clenching his jaw, he did it again, putting as much force into it as he could. The rope burned against his wrists and his head ached and his stomach hurt, but he powered through, heaving side to side with all the strength he had. The chair was beginning to rock more now, and he paused, breathing heavily. Blood had begun trickling down his fingers again, and he was pretty sure he was going to have permanent scars on his wrists from this. But he already had so many. What were a couple more?
He examined the bolts again. One of them was almost completely free of the old cement, but the others still seemed to be stuck in pretty well. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, pausing for a moment to refocus. His hands were pretty slick with blood, so he tried to use that to wriggle out of his bonds, but hissed in pain and decided he'd rather keep his skin. He wobbled the chair, watching the bolt that was coming loose. If he could just loosen one more, he could tip right over… and then what? He'd still be tied to the chair, but more uncomfortable.
Good Cop sagged, feeling the fight begin to drain from him. He wished Bad Cop were here.
No. He couldn't think like that. Not now. Besides, he was going to be able to get his counterpart back. All he had to do was get out of here, get to Benny. Bad Cop had thought that he'd lost Good Cop forever, but he'd still kept going.
It would be an insult to Bad Cop if Good Cop gave up now.
Think.
Kinzel wouldn't have left him here unguarded. There were bound to be Duplo minions still here.
Breaking the chair out of the concrete would make a lot of noise.
Good Cop smiled.
Reinvigorated, he began rocking the chair again, banging it back and forth. The looser the bolts became, the louder it clattered.
The door slammed open and two Duplos came barging in, shouting, "What the hell's going on in here?"
And, right on time, the concrete let the bolts go and the chair topped over sideways. Good Cop let out an oof as he hit the ground. Oh, that hurt.
"Ugh, for real?" one of the minions said, walking over. "Help me get him back up."
The two of them heaved Good Cop upright. "Honestly," the second one said, leaning in. "What did you think you were going to achieve?"
Good Cop lurched forward, body-checking the minion. The minion stumbled back, tripped, and fell on his rear. Good Cop managed to gain his balance, awkwardly hunched to the shape of the chair.
"This is ridiculous," said the first minion, drawing an electric baton out of her belt and approaching Good Cop.
As soon as she got close, Good Cop spun, whacking her with the legs of the chair and sat back, pushing her to the floor under the chair. One of the legs of the chair landed on her arm, quite by accident but very fortuitously for him, and he heard bone crunch. Minion One screamed.
The minion that Good Cop had knocked back earlier was on his feet again and headed straight for Good Cop, but the cop leaned his weight even more onto the female minion's arm.
Minion Two faltered when One screamed again.
"How about you untie me, and she gets a chance at keeping her arm?" Good Cop asked cheerfully.
Two made a noise of contempt. "We're dead anyway if we don't keep you here," he snapped, but still he hesitated.
"And if you keep me here, you think Bad Cop will let you live?" Good Cop replied, still keeping up that dangerously cheery tone. "You really wanna die? You let me go now, you can just skedaddle and do whatever you want with the rest of your lives. I'm much nicer than my brother."
While Good Cop's attention had been on Two, One had reached up, and now she grabbed the rope binding Good Cop's wrists and drew in one leg, pulling down on the rope and pushing up on the bottom of the chair with her knee. The chair fell backwards, and Good Cop's head cracked against the cement. Minion One scrambled away, her arm hanging uselessly at her side. "You honestly think we'd betray Kinzel?" she spat, her good hand clamped down on her wound. "Wise up. Let's go," she said to her compatriot, jerking her head towards the door. "He can stay like that."
They left, slamming the door behind them.
Good Cop groaned, pain lancing through his head.
Then he felt something under his hands. It was a shard of concrete, its edges jagged and sharp. He closed his fingers around it, fumbled with it until it was against the rope, and began to saw.