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Corbeau is on his way back to the Rust Syndicate's headquarters after having to deal with some business that couldn't be conducted at a desk. So he's tired. His pokémon are too, resting peacefully inside their pokéballs. He could have caught a cab but he liked walking through Lumiose on occasion. He couldn't properly know his city if he never saw it from ground level. It wouldn't do to grow complacent and lose that essential knowledge only gained by being actively part of Lumiose. Sitting in his tower at the Rust Syndicate all the time wasn't something he wanted to do.
As he made his way through the Bleu district he heard raised voices start drifting towards him. Curious, he diverted his path to follow the commotion. Conflict could often spell opportunity in his line of work. Equally it could be useful for keeping his organisation ahead of future problems. Or, alternatively, it could be absolutely nothing of worth. No harm in finding out which it was though.
As he gets closer Corbeau realises the voices ware coming from a narrow alley, so he makes his way down it carefully and peers around the corner. Two tall men are facing each other, arguing. They look like they might be tourists, the larger of them even has a large backpack slung over his shoulders. Corbeau listens in to their conversation and picks up that they had apparently lost the third member of their group, in the Lumiose sewers of all things.
There is a large network of tunnels under Lumiose after all, quite a complicated system in fact. Corbeau himself has an extensive grasp of their layout, having used them often in his youth to slip away or navigate the city undetected. If tourists are wandering around down there it is no wonder one of them got lost. So, this conflict seems to smell of opportunity.
"You guys," Corbeau calls, stalking out from the shadows to approach them. "It sounds as though you need some help."
They both glance over to him, surprise written on their faces. The taller man nudges the shorter one, a guy with a mop of blond hair that hangs in greasy strings about his face. He coughs and clears his throat.
"Our friend got lost underground. We were going to go to the police."
"No you weren't." Corbeau lets a tiny smile slip onto his face. "If you were you would have already done so. It's none of my business, and I don't care if you're up to something illicit. We can both help each other. I can guarantee results and discretion, for a price of course."
The two men glance at each other. The blond – apparently the leader – looks him up and down appraisingly. Then he smiles, a thin and ugly flash of teeth. "What exactly do you want?"
Corbeau shrugs. "I'll take whatever cash you have on hand. Any valuables too."
Getting tourists to sign a contract is more trouble than it's worth most of the time, and sightseers tend to carry more on them than Lumiose natives, so it's the easiest way to do things. It's not going to be his most impressive pay day but it's... well, it's fun. Doing a bit of cheap and unsophisticated extortion reminds him of the old days. Besides, if shady characters are getting up to something in his sewers he'd like to know about it.
The blond pulls his wallet from his pocket and tosses it to Corbeau's feet. He points his thumb at his stoic companion. "You'll get his after the job's done."
Corbeau hums and bends to pick up the wallet, taking a moment to peer inside before tucking it into his inner suit pocket. "This'll do for now. I'll warn you not to try cheating me though."
"Message received."
After that the situation was explained to Corbeau and the group made their way underground. The two men led him a fair distance in before claiming they'd reached the last known location of their missing companion. It was one of the narrower passageways of the sewers, with a number of branching paths leading in different directions. Definitely the sort of crossroads where someone could get lost.
Corbeau takes the lead now, eyes skating over the moist brickwork to see if he can find any sign of a person's recent passage. If not he can bring out his pokémon to help. Arbok would be able to slither quickly ahead and scout out the deeper tunnels most efficiently. Of course, if this missing person hasn't already surfaced and is out of phone service that already narrows down potential avenues.
As he's considering this and what these people were doing in the first place, hand to his chin in thought, a shadow falls over him. Perhaps his tourist friends are getting impatient. He opens his mouth to begin explaining what he's deduced so far but instead lets out a grunt of surprise when hands are laid upon him.
Before he can do anything his belt of pokéballs is ripped away from him. He reacts immediately, lunging for the thief, but he's still too slow. A foot slams into his chest and he tumbles to the ground, the skin of his hands scraping against the rough stone and ripping open as he lands.
Despite the pain he pushes himself back to his feet without delay, deadly scowl on his face, refusing to hold his aching midsection or show any outward signs of discomfort. He's leader of the Rust Syndicate. The power is still his. "Return my pokémon. Now. Or you won't like what happens next."
The blond swings the belt he's holding around in his hands. "You'll have to take them if you want them, Corbeau."
He hadn't mentioned his name. So at the very least they were aware of the Rust Syndicate.
"I'm giving you one last chance." Corbeau takes one step forward, glaring over the rim of his glasses. He's hoping intimidation does the trick. Usually it does.
"You're not in a position to be making demands right now."
So intimidation isn't enough this time. It was worth a try.
Corbeau rushes the guy holding his pokémon. He swings a right hook at his face and the other man twists aside. Then the man aims a kick at Corbeau, but Corbeau isn't unprepared like he was before. He takes the hit with his forearm and brushes the leg aside, quickly going in for another attempt at breaking the guy's nose.
It doesn't quite connect, grazing against his opponent's ear instead, solidly enough to hurt but not enough to be satisfying for Corbeau.
From behind he's yanked backwards by a hand in his coat's collar. While he's off balance the pokémon thief takes the opportunity to ram an uppercut into his sternum. Corbeau coughs, an unseemly globule of spit flying from his mouth. He hadn't properly taken into account the presence of a second enemy. Too enraged by someone laying hands upon Scolipede and the gang.
He tries to drag himself free of the one at his back but their grip on him is unshaking. Irritated, he strikes blindly behind himself with a punishingly sharp elbow. He hits true, a grunt heralding the spasming release of his jacket.
Corbeau spins, fist slamming into the cheek of his still-reeling assailant. The man stumbles but, disappointingly, doesn't go down. He's big and sturdy and there's almost no chance Corbeau can win in a head-to-head. At least not unscathed.
The sound of shoes scuffing on the ground is all the warning Corbeau gets before his original enemy rams into him shoulder-first. The force sends him crashing into the brick wall of the narrow sewer tunnel. He bounces off it with a cry, barely scrambling to keep his feet under him. Then he's being grabbed by the front of his shirt and slammed into it again, hard enough to make his head spin.
He blinks the stars from his eyes and growls. He's never been much of a fighter without his pokémon. Brains have always served him better than brawn. Even so, he's sure as hell not going to admit defeat.
He grabs the hand twisting in his shirt as hard as he can, digging his fingers into the skin hard enough to bruise. The guy's in close so he winds back his head what little distance he can and strikes, driving his forehead into the other man's chin. There's an explosion of colour behind his eyes and his glasses jar slightly out of alignment but it's worth it for the yelled curse of anguish it earns him.
Corbeau's hands dart out to grab the man by the throat. He squeezes ferociously, increasing the pressure until his own fingers are aching, trying to force the bastard down to his knees.
Then there's a hand on his throat. The bigger of the two men has rejoined the fray. Corbeau chokes as a vice-like pressure constricts his airflow. His hands lose their strength and the one he'd had at his mercy slips away. Corbeau lets him go, using his newly free hands to instead grasp at the hand on his own neck, scrabbling to pull it away.
He can't seem to make a difference though, and his struggles only grow weaker as black spots start dancing in his vision. The man lifts him higher by his neck, dragging him onto his toes. Corbeau sputters indignantly, baring his teeth and redoubling his efforts to free himself, digging into his opponent's skin with his nails.
The man is unphased. The other, having now recovered from his own recent strangulation, crosses around behind Corbeau and, in a few rough tugs, tears his jacket from his person.
"What... the hell... are you doing!?" Corbeau gasps angrily.
"Thought we'd better take your Key Stone. Don't want to take our chances. Besides, these things fetch an okay price."
It would have been just as easy to take the pin off his lapel, if not easier. Though it is cold in the sewers, so maybe they just want to make him uncomfortable. Or maybe he wants his wallet back. The man tucks Corbeau's jacket under his arm then takes a step back, tilts his head.
"Even smaller without your coat, huh?"
Corbeau feels a vein pop in his forehead. He hates this sort of posturing. Never mind that he does actually feel a little exposed without said coat. Intimidation is all well and good but he wishes they'd get to the point. Self-indulgent gloating grows tiresome very quickly. It's a waste of time. Especially when they all know he's right where they want him.
The one who has him by the neck lowers him back to the ground and spins him around. Despite his best efforts to the contrary Corbeau is too weak to stop his hands being pulled behind his back and bound there. The man must have been keeping the rope in that giant backpack of his.
Corbeau gets shoved to the ground and lands awkwardly. With a click of his tongue he adjusts himself to sit more comfortably, even casually, and glowers up at his assailants.
"Now what? You must want something to go through all this trouble."
"The Rust Syndicate's getting a bit too big for our liking."
"That so?" Corbeau raises an eyebrow.
"We thought we'd be able to lure at least some mid-rank grunt out but turns out the big Boss is an easy mark. We knew you liked going out on the town and that you're a nosy fucking bastard. Weren't hoping for much when we performed that little bit of theatre but you really showed up! And you bought into our story!" The blond waves his hands erratically. "The scariest bit was nabbing your pokémon but without them you're really not intimidating at all."
"And? What's the point of this?"
"Money. We're playing by your organisation's rules, Corbeau. The Rust Syndicate has cash to burn, surely plenty of money to spare for their dear leader?"
"Fucking stupid," Corbeau spits. "You don't get how any of this works, do you?"
"Oh, we do. We'll get what we're after then skip town. Even if you think you're a big shot your influence doesn't extend beyond Lumiose."
Corbeau shook his head. The Rust Syndicate was based in Lumiose, true. It was where all their operations were centred. That didn't mean they'd never done business in other cities or had other footholds. Nor did it mean they'd be unable to track down a couple of idiots just because they stepped outside some arbitrary border.
"So! Before we contact your syndicate we'll rough you up a little more!"
The bigger, silent one throws a pokéball and out pops a haunter. "Use hypnosis."
The force of the attack hits Corbeau full in the face and he gasps and screws up his features. Attacks don't always have the same effects on people as they do on pokémon. Rather than put him to sleep the hypnosis awakens a searing headache behind his eyes, making the lights too bright and noises too loud. He is on the verge of passing out but it's not so much a gentle drowsiness as a lurching faintness.
"Hey!" Someone tugs his hair, hard. "Stay with us, y'hear!?"
Corbeau hisses through his teeth. "Hit me with hypnosis then ask me t' stay awake? Are you a moron?"
His head snaps to the side and pain explodes across his cheek. He blinks his eyes open at the shock, only to slam them shut again as the light burns his retinas. He hasn't been hit like that in a long time. Not since before he became the Rust Syndicate's boss at least. He hasn't missed the feeling.
Still, he smirks and slides his hazy eyes over to his attacker. "You think I can't take a punch?"
It's not entirely unexpected when he gets punched again. There's a little more oomph to it too, enough to have his glasses slipping from his nose, now hanging around his neck by their chain. He licks his now-bleeding lip, tasting the metallic flavour. It almost wakes him up more than the blow.
His eyesight is even worse now without his glasses so he has to squint a little. If his hands weren't tied he'd simply slip them back on his face, but alas.
"I think you're right, Corbeau. A man of your calibre deserves a little more than a few punches."
From his pocket the man pulls a switchblade. It shines brightly even in the dark tunnel, which tells Corbeau it was probably purchased pretty recently. Which makes it decidedly less intimidating if it means this guy is new to all this.
There's no warning before a slice is ripped open in his cheek. Warm blood immediately flows, dripping down Corbeau's jawline and onto his shirt. It's not a deep cut, it won't scar. He's more concerned with the cost of his dry-cleaning. The throbbing brusies from where he'd been punched probably hurt worse.
"Still not feeling it huh?"
That's all the warning he gets before a sharp pain explodes in Corbeau's side. He looks down and sees the knife buried almost to the hilt in his side. Thankfully, his attacker seems to have had the wherewithal to avoid hitting anything major. That doesn't make it any less painful when the blade is tugged from his skin, splattering blood on his pants and leaving him gushing red. The smell is suddenly overwhelming, iron in the air so strong Corbeau can taste it. It almost makes the wound seem worse than it is.
Suddenly red light ignites the area, accompanied by the distinct sound of a pokéball being released. The light fades and solidifies into a massive, twisting form. Scolipede screeches, cry echoing and redoubling through the tunnels. Corbeau's lips pull back from his teeth in a mean grin.
"Looks like you woke up my partner."
"Th-that's not right! I didn't let it out!" the blond shrieks.
"As if he'd stay in his ball after smelling so much of my blood. You should've been more careful."
Scolipede screeches again, lowering his head to stare down at the people responsible for hurting his partner.
"H-hey, order it to back off! Or else we'll carve you up even more!"
"Scolipede," Corbeau drawls, and waits for his pokémon to meet his eyes. "Go wild to your heart's content."
With a roar Scolipede whips his head, lashing out with his horns. The two men shout, stumbling backwards. Scolipede advances, shooting poison from his mouth and they run, as fast as their legs will take them. Of course Scolipede gives chase. And he's faster than they are. There's no getting away.
They all disappear from Corbeau's view, into some further depths of the sewers' darkness. He can't see what's happening. He can hear it though. Human screams and Scolipede's violent glee as the wet sounds of poison flood the area. Corbeau closes his eyes and leans his head against the bricks behind him.
He doesn't have to wait too long before relative quiet descends, replaced eventually by a trotting thump making its way back to him. He opens his eyes when Scolipede nudges him with his snout. In Scolipede's mouth is his jacket and pokéballs. He delicately releases it into Corbeau's lap with a low trill.
"Thank you. Mind helping me with this too?" Corbeau shifts forward a little to awkwardly offer his bound hands.
Scolipede obliges, chewing through the rope in a few neat bites. Corbeau rubs his wrists as he pulls them back in front of him. There's a slight redness to his skin but it should fade just fine. He idly places one hand on Scolipede's flank, petting him at the same time as he pulls out his phone. He barely has to wait one ring before his call is picked up.
"Phillipe," he says calmly, "I'm going to send you a location. Have some grunts take on clean up duty there, understand?"
He hangs up moments later. Before he sends Phillipe the information he'll clear out himself. It won't do to have any grunts see him in such a pitiful state.
He gets to his feet with a groan, folding his coat over his arm. Scolipede inches closer, pressing himself against Corbeau to support him.
"I'm all right."
Scolipede chitters in the back of his throat, shoving his head further into Corbeau's space. Corbeau gently eases his partner away.
"I said I'm all right."
Scolipede ignores his wishes and nuzzles right back against him. Corbeau sighs and swings his arm around his partner's neck.
"Fine. You win. I'll lean on you for now."