Chapter Text
I am a normal man getting on a normal 3 o'clock train and I am absolutely in no way whatsoever suspicious at all. Functions under the 'think murder and walk' principle, if I look entirely as if I belong, I will simply belong.
That was entirely how that worked. Yes. Completely. There was utterly zero reason that Maxie should be suspicious under any interpretation of the adjective, nevermind the multiple police agencies who wanted to talk to him about skipping out on Paiso and his community service hours required there. It was all a suggestion, really, do a couple of 'friendship battles' with a bunch of children and his arch enemies, and his multiple convictions of eco-terrorism just went away! The criminal justice system, truly a marvel to be beheld, and absolutely was not the reason Maxie was currently striding across the ever-busy Gear Station on the upper boundary of a casual speedwalk. With a book tucked under his left arm, a small bag slung over his right shoulder, and a look that brokered no conversation, he looked just like any other much-hassled Unovian trying to access the wonders of modern transportation.
If he'd had it his way, he would have built subways and high speed rail everywhere, to cut down on the need for cars of course, open more space for other infrastructure that wasn't roadways. Maxie Matsubusa had absolutely nothing against subways whatsoever, but he didn't like the crowded nature of the station. Unovians weren't precisely rude, but all of them walked with similarly brisk airs and brisker paces, allowing Maxie both to fit in and be caught up in the sweep. His dour expression was not out of place, but his nerves certainly were. Nerves he was stamping down with his heel as hard as he could, hoping his boots weren't all too recognizable.
The only thing he'd done in the way of disguises was throw on his backup glasses and cram his jacket into his bag, throwing on the hood of his vest for warmth more than anything else. Even then, he was debating on putting the jacket back on and just covering the Team Magma symbols with whatever he could pull out his satchel, because he was already cold. Unovian summers were as warm as the coldest day in Hoenn, and Maxie hated them as much as he had ever hated Archie, and perhaps even then some, which was a very large allotment of hate for anything. Gooseflesh was already beginning to cover the back of his neck now that he’d hit the air conditioning in the station, and he wanted nothing more than to grab his train to Anville Town and get as far away from this throng of too many people as fast as physically possible.
His timing was a boon and a drawback. With this many people crowding the floors, squeaking designer sneakers and clicking high-dollar heels all over the place, arguing about schedules and prices and other things city-dwellers without high-profile criminal charges squabbled over, he went overlooked. The lighting in here was harsh and made him look pale and sickly, even more so than he usually did, casting long shadows under his cheekbones and giving his complexion an odd tinge in the glimpses he caught of himself in spare bits of glass. Maxie fancied his veins stood out maybe a bit more against the skin of his hands than perhaps they ought. Especially against the backdrop of the yellowing brick floor.
At least I look the part of a Unovian, he groused to himself. Pale and grouchy. It is absolutely not because I'm pushing my late forties. Arceus, no, never that.
The ebb and flow of bodies lead him to an information board, as passengers double or triple-checked their routes, and Maxie stared rather blankly at the map of train lines. He tried and failed to make sense of all the squiggling, squinting and leaning in and out and around to get the best angle around the other heads and shoulders. With all the noise about him, it was a touch hard to focus, and his backup glasses were a bit lagging on his prescription. The amount of people physically blocking his way didn't make it any easier. Were this any other subway, he would have just hopped on a line and figured himself out, but this was the Battle Subway, with the Subway Masters, which was so far behind ‘ideal’ that Maxie nearly forgot the definition of the word. If he boarded the wrong line here, he'd end up in a fight, and he rather disliked that notion, thank you kindly.
When you were the subject of an international manhunt, though, you took what you could get, and Nimbasa City was somehow the easiest place to get to from Pasio. Maxie probably could’ve skipped out to Alola, however tight the Customs there were, strictly due to the distance, or lack thereof, from his paradisiac-appearing prison. Fufufu, Customs, in a world where twelve year olds regularly have Flying Pokemon and hop off to wherever they please in a flash. Ridiculous. Even so, that was where Poképol would expect him to go from Pasio, and if he was going to get caught and hauled back to Hoenn for his crimes, he was going to make sure they had to chase him about a bit first. All of that thought and planning to get here amounted to about nothing when he was staring at the subway map without a clue how to read it, though.
Single Line, Double Line, Super Single Line, Super Double Line… Multi Line? Maxie shook his head, dislodging the nicely typed words he had to lean in too closely to read out of his brain, stepping back neatly to avoid a woman with too much hairspray jabbing her manicured finger into the board. She traced her route with it before she flounced away again, taking the scent of the entire hair product aisle with her. All of those lines were battle lines, as he'd gathered, and weren't what he came for. What he wanted was the only train out of this place, to a remote, backwater dump where only railroad workers tended to live: Anville Town. It was out of the way enough to ensure Poképol wouldn’t come sniffing... Too quickly, anyhow, while being of enough geological import that he might not go completely off the walls with boredom during his stay, occupying his time with the local soil and rocks, monitoring the stability of the region with the subway's constant running. However long or short his stay in that town would be depended on how many of his Admins also managed to escape Pasio, or if they elected to simply serve out their sentences and then go do whatever it was eco-terrorists did when they weren’t trying to raise Primal Pokémon from slumber. He thought he heard Courtney talking about becoming a barista at Starantler before he bailed the island.
Pulling himself out of his own head, Maxie blew some of his hair out of his face. He was getting distracted. Squaring his shoulders, Poképol's most wanted picked a direction and walked with the masses, plunging himself into unknown waters. Worst case, he went down the wrong stairs and a Depot Agent asked him to register a team for the Battle Lines. At that point, he would play the part of a ditzy soul just trying to take advantage of cheap transport and ask to be pointed in the right direction. Perfect plan, really, or the best he could get, willing himself and his dress to meld with the crowd. It may have been summer, but he still didn't understand how everyone else here could be dressed in short sleeves and khakis, sundresses and little hats. The air conditioning in here would be comfortable enough for a Glalie, much less a human person. His hooded vest was practical, and to his immense relief he spotted a few others in similar layers, opened hoodies, beanies half-askew on mostly shaven heads.
Stop worrying. You'll give yourself away.
Maxie forced his eyes forwards, following the trail of overall-clad men and women to the Anville line, breaking off from his more fashionable rivulet of people. Dirt crunched under his shoes, dislodged from his new companions, who mumbled heartily back and forth about the economy, the crops this time of year, the new model of engine they'd been working on at the railyard. The chatter was dim and comforting, in a way, securing his surety in his choice of hideout. Halfway across the station now, he rounded the curve of the main office pillar and went by color, as well as surroundings. Anville Town’s line should be the reddish-brown sign, if he’d read the maps correctly, so all he had to do was trot down those stairs, buy his ticket, and-
“Hello there, sir! Stop please!”
Oh blast. Shoot. Not me, please, Arceus, not me-
“You there, with the red hood, cease locomotion, if you would!”
Curses.
Maxie stopped, schooled his features into the closest approximation of ‘dumb, lost tourist’ that he could manage, and turned towards the voice as his cover all boarded the train. It was quite loud, and certainly not lacking in inflection, and for the life of him the former Team Magma boss could not imagine who it could belong to-
Oh sweet Arceus, he’s tall.
Maxie prided himself on many things. His intellect, mainly, but also his charismatic demeanor, his ability to get himself out of any scrape with enough time and effort. However, he could not be perfect in every regard, and something that was a little lacking was his height. It wasn’t often he allowed it to get to him (because his shoes had heels), but at the moment he was feeling quite cowed. In three long bounds, the man calling for him had come to stand before him. The subway employee was leaning over him, having a solid five, perhaps six inches in height to boast over Maxie, and though he wasn’t attempting (too obviously) to lord it over the other man, he certainly was blotting out the fluorescent sun overhead. His black coat flared about his hips like a Honchcrow's wings as he came to an abrupt stop, inches from his nose.
“Pardon,” the agent asked, tipping his hat politely. “Pardon much, passenger, for my disturbing your route. My brother was wondering where he had seen you before, was all! Mind illuminating us as to your identity?”
Nobody had ever taught this man what an inside voice was. Maxie took him in with a nervous, roving gaze. The Conductor’s eyes were a clear, cool grey, sparkling with sincerity, and though his mouth did not move from it’s painted-on frown, he didn’t appear upset in any way. However, he was making a bit of a scene with his volume. Maxie did not like that. The last thing he wanted right now were more eyes on him, more people looking his way, more potential rats to call that blasted Looker and get him thrown in prison. He needed out of this situation, and now.
Thus, he pivoted on his heel, intent on striding off into the sunset and onto his train to Anville Town, attempting to leave the other man behind despite his desperate bid for his undivided time and attention. “Sorry, terribly sorry, but I simply must be on my way, train to catch, I-"
Maxie ran into someone else, who was just as tall and just as solid-chested as his original obstacle. Scowling, Maxie looked up to see a white coat and hat adorning a smiling man who was the absolute spitting image of the first, save the opposite, far more cheery expression. A Joltik crawled onto his shoulder, waggling brilliant, highlighter-yellow fangs, blinking every violet eye in succession. Suitably boxed in by two strikingly similar men, one in a black coat, one in white, Maxie gulped.
Well, flip me sideways, it’s the blooming Subway Masters.
The exact last people he wanted to see.
Maxie considered letting his Mightyena out to savage one of their legs so he could run. The pros and cons were weighed in his mind, his analytical nature debating the action in a matter of heartbeats. He wasn't the strongest trainer, though he was tough. A two on one fight, however, was almost always unwise, especially when he wasn't certain what Pokémon these men carried on their belts in their teams of four. He certainly didn’t want to risk making this situation worse, for the slight chance of escape. Not until he'd tried to talk his way out first.
Following this plan, connected in about half a second, Maxie put on a suitably cowed countenance, looking from one twin to the other. Perhaps if he could bloody see, he could work out the minute differences, but for all he could tell, the first man had simply been copy-pasted into a second. For the life of him he could not recall their names. What he could recall was that the Subway Masters were tall, identically yet oppositely dressed, and formidable Trainers. These two fit the bill, and could be no others.
No, releasing his hound and then absolutely legging it wouldn’t be the best option. For all the freedom it had the potential to buy, it was more likely he'd be caught in seconds, what with all the cameras. He couldn't abandon his partner Pokémon like that either. Beside him, the intensive stare coming from the Twin in White was burning, clearly anticipating funny business from Maxie. Straightening up a touch, Maxie endeavored to be as un-funny as possible. He plastered on his blandest, most milquetoast, ‘Ignore me please’ smile, gritting his teeth behind his lips, and quashed his thought of canine violence. “Oh, apologies, sir. What may I do for you?”
The smile on the Twin in White was something akin to lockjaw, with the way it failed to waiver, and the look in his eyes suggested precisely what Maxie might do for him, which was too insulting to even think the words of. The Twin in Black, thankfully, spoke up, allowing Maxie an excuse to look at his friendlier (by comparison) face. The frown didn’t make him look altogether approachable, but it was much preferred to the knowing little grin on the other twin. The knowing grin that Maxie felt was altogether too smug.
“No need to apologize!” The Twin in Black declared, raising a finger in the air, his other hand tucked neatly in the small of his back. “I told my brother Emmet not to bother you, but he insisted he had seen you before. I’m Subway Boss Ingo.”
"And I am Emmet," Emmet replied, stock still and still grinning like an imbecile. "You look verrrry familiar. Have you ridden with us before?"
Now Maxie was the one with lockjaw. Avoiding Ingo’s earlier question of identity, he gave a little laugh that sounded far more neurotic than he’d intended. Today had been trying to start with, being cornered and questioned by two men that both scraped six feet and were packing high-level, battle-hardened Pokémon was only adding to his discomfort. The skin down his spine prickled, hackles metaphorically raising before he could smooth them down. The twins observed him with interest like Pyroars, one halfway involved in the proceedings, the other sharp and alert. Maxie felt hunted. He didn't like that feeling.
“Oho, no, I’m sorry, I’m a stranger to the system. I’m just trying to make my way to Anville, you see, for the informal trading business there-"
“Anville!” Ingo brightened considerably, pulling a pocketwatch embossed with a Chandelure from his overcoat. Over his shoulder, Maxie heard the Joltik click it’s fangs excitedly as the cover was flipped with the corner of Ingo’s thumbnail to check the time, hungry for the battery it contained. “Well, my friend, you’re just in luck!" Ingo exclaimed good-naturedly. "Right on schedule, the train is due to depart any minute now!”
“Precisely why I must be going,” Maxie attempted to excuse, but Emmet took a half-step to his right and blocked the path to the line. Craning his neck, Maxie could barely see the station between the joint of Emmet’s arm and shoulder, the sliver of freedom between his bicep and side. Maxie looked up at Emmet. Emmet looked down at him, the Joltik disappearing inside the collar of his coat, crestfallen, as Ingo put the watch away.
Maxie didn’t like to swear, but he was, in fact, considering thinking a few choice obscenities in Emmet’s direction. Maybe. If the situation worsened he would absolutely put it under review.
“I understand you are eager to depart! But, safety checks must be preformed first. Follow the rules! Safe driving. I would like to put my finger on where I’ve seen you.”
Ingo spoke again, a racquetball match of a conversation forcing Maxie to turn his neck in a way that made it twinge, and ensured he would hear all about it in the morning, provided he didn’t end up in a cell with bigger problems. “So sorry,” the other Subway Master tacked on, seemingly genuine in his apology. “Emmet thinks you’re suspicious, and we can’t compromise the safety of the other passengers. Though I am not the greatest fan of following your firebox, Emmet,” Ingo rumbled, arms folding into his coat with a rustle. Not quite accusatory, not quite forgiving. “Why does this man stand out? He’s not even done anything.”
Emmet tapped the side of his nose with his finger. “Intuition,” he replied, which earned a hardening of Ingo’s mouth. “And his choice of reading material. A book about earthquakes? While on a subway? Verrrrry brave.”
Wincing, Maxie must admit that Emmet had a point. Only a true scholar could read something like that on a subway and not be a little unsettled. “I’m a geologist,” he offered by way of explanation, which was weak and little better than staying silent to begin with. Emmet’s cutting gaze turned back towards him, with all the intensity of a Staraptor on the hunt, driving for an unknowing Ratata at two hundred miles per hour.
“Oh?”
“Emmet, really, that’s quite enough of your intuition,” Ingo tittered. “It’s a man with a book headed towards an area of geological activity. Nothing suspect in the slightest.”
“Hmm. I must beg to disagree!”
A dispute was brewing directly over Maxie’s head, and he really did not want to be caught in the storm. He began to sidle to the side that Emmet wasn’t currently blocking, inching to the left. Come on, get into a fight, leave me be…
“Intuition isn’t always a good enough reason to bother a passenger, Emmet, brother mine. I think you’re watching too many crime shows.”
“I like catching trouble before it starts, mhm,” Emmet replied, smile slightly strained. The conversation had moved more to body language, a silent battle only the twins could hear and understand. The brothers seemed to have forgotten entirely about Maxie, the source of the conflict, and for that he was grateful. He wormed his way out from between the pair, securing his hood a bit more securely about his ears, muffling the argument. “Unfortunately, I sense trouble. I do not wish to see the lines derailed because of it."
“You’ve already derailed this poor passenger, Emmet. Come along, at least let’s take him to the office, then we can pass out a fee waiver-”
Maxie turned smoothly, entered a group of hurrying commuters, and let the bustle of the station swallow the quibbling behind him. Breathing a bit heavier than he would have liked, with what felt like sweat running down the nape of his neck (Him! Sweat! Absurd), he blended seamlessly into the afternoon rush and tapped his way down the stairs at speed. The heavy brick underfoot turned quickly into well-worn linoleum, scuffed and marked black with the rubber from countless sneakers from thousands of passengers. The lights buzzed uncomfortably at the edge of his hearing, present in a way that he was acutely aware of, like the scratching of his hair under his sweater, the bunching up of his stockings around his ankles in his boots. Every person around him was a bit too close, but if he moved away for some breathing room, he’d be picked back out and questioned harder for how quickly he took his excuse to run.
Just be normal, Maxie, Anville Town isn’t that long a ride. Half an hour, at the absolute most. Put your head down and keep it down, and it’ll be over before you know it.
He patted the Pokéballs in his satchel absentmindedly, as if confirming they were there, rolling around gently on top of his coat. He knew each one by touch, weaving through the congregation now forming at the ticket booth. He hoped the agents weren’t alerted to his presence yet, swiping money off the counter and giving tickets out, as well as small parcels. Mightyena and Crobat, his starter Pokémon in the criminal underworld. His Weezing, good for a quick escape. Camerupt, his first Pokémon, raised from a Numel out of an Egg. Maxie was well aware he could get out of anything, as long as he had his lucidity and his Pokémon at his side. He’d escaped Poképol and Pasio, after all.
He paid his fare without speaking, merely placing the several hundred Pokédollars on the counter and taking his ticket in a fog. Meandering into the train, he picked his way, carefully, to a seat by the door, readjusted his clothes once again, and cracked open his book.
It was more a pretense to let his mind run than anything else, as more people filled the car around him. With his nose in a book, nobody wanted to talk, though a pair of children did hop up onto the seats beside him, chatting excitedly about the Double Line. Maxie couldn’t care less. His eyes traced over the first line of the first paragraph without seeing, not aided by his still-poor glasses, and it took him three tries to recognize he’d left off halfway down this page the last time he’d put this book down. Scowling, he shifted in his seat, the crummy pleather uncomfortable to be on for long. Already, it was crackling under his legs, and he couldn't seem to settle.
This won’t take that long. The route to Anville wasn’t altogether lengthy. A little more discomfort, Maxie, and then you can go into hiding once and for all. Really, truly, you do not wish to get caught, so don't act as if you expect to be. If you do get caught, Archie is going to laugh at you. I'd like to see him escape Pasio that smoothly.
The PA system chimed over his head, causing Maxie to jump, blood running colder than average in his veins as he waited for the announcement telling passengers to ‘be on the lookout’ for someone of his exact description. He didn’t calm much as the voice went on, blithely listing the schedules for this train, ‘The Subway Bosses welcome you onto the Double Line, keep arms and legs inside the cars at all time, please refrain from unregulated battling,’ yadda yadda, so on and so forth. Maxie felt his limbs relax a fraction, and was nearly finished with the page before realization crashed onto him like a wave. His head snapped up, neck still upset from the twist earlier now really causing a ruckus on his C3-7. This was what you got when you didn’t achieve your life ambitions by forty. A lifetime of regret for hunching over desks.
Taking a closer look at the patrons of this car, dark eyes roaming imperceptibly over the personnel, Maxie cottoned on to some similarities. One, most of these passengers came in pairs. Two, not one person here, other than himself, was over twenty five. Three, all of them were dressed in light clothing, shorts, graphic tees, what he would call ‘play clothes’ for the children. Trainer clothes for teenagers.
He snapped his book shut, and allowed himself the indulgence of a beautifully exquisite swear, tucked into the back of his temporal lobe.
Fuck.
It was several minutes before Ingo realized that he was strolling towards the office without a passenger, looking back over his shoulder with raised eyebrows. He’d spent a lot longer arguing with Emmet than he had intended, straight over the head of the man in question, picking apart the reasoning for calling him out of place at all. He’d been so caught up in it that he didn’t even notice him sneaking off! Seeing a lack of suspicious persons between himself and his twin, he stopped on a dime. His shoe clicked smartly on the marble. “Emmet,” said carefully, calmly.
“Ingo.” A perfectly measured response.
“What happened?”
Silence. Ingo drew a hand down his face and cussed softly to himself. He drew a breath in and huffed it out, standing up straight on a renewed course to his office, marching forward with the expectation Emmet would follow.
“We’ve been had, it seems. Drat. I’ll go inform Tama to put out an APB, we’ll bring the man in for questioning, call Officer Jenny of course-”
“No.”
Ingo had done an about-face, coat swishing about his thighs, to look at his twin. He knew the look on Emmet’s face, the casual smile being replaced with something downright devious by the cant in his eyebrows. Ingo clasped his hands in front of him gravely, ready to play this game, as it were. The frown on his face was now intentional, not the natural curve of his lips. “Care to let me in on the secret?” He asked, knowing Emmet would clue him in when he was good and ready. Emmet flicked his steely eyes towards the trains, saying nothing, telling all. Slowly, it dawned on Ingo, and he shook his head, holding his cap on with one hand.
“Not Anville, hmm?”
“Twigged onto him going towards the incorrect station. The colors are quite similar, if you aren't paying attention. I’ll handle it, Ingo. It’s my line. I can take care of a little errant car like him.”
After a few repeated affirmations that Emmet would give him a ring the second something went wrong, Ingo left his twin to his own devices, parting the crowd to make it to his Single trains. Doffing his cap to the trainers who were still swarming his depot, Emmet held his head high, smug in the knowledge of what he’d just captured.
Yes, I could turn him into Poképol. But! This promises to be much more entertaining! You never know when you need a disgraced crime boss on your rota!
“Isn’t that right, Burger?” Emmet addressed the wriggling Joltik who’d settled himself next to his heart. He got an affirmative buzz in response, and felt considerably lighter as he crested the stairs to his conductor’s car and got on the radio system, picking up the receiver as he gave his engineers the final thumbs-up, that this train was ready to go.
“Apologies for the delay! The Subway Bosses welcome you onto the Double Line…”
As he talked, Emmet smirked. I've got you, Maxie Matsubusa!...