There had been a subtle tension over the station all morning, present in a way that opposed any definition. It was easy enough to pass off as the city readjusting to its normal rhythm in the new year, but anyone who bothered to delve deeper would deny that it was the root cause.

Daily operations chugged ahead, irregardless of any of this. It was important to make the most of the next six weeks in particular, just in case the timeline erred on the shorter end of things, and in this regard, a month and a half felt like nothing. Leron and Donta had their teams settled and proved to work well enough as a multi battle pair, but still needed practice to get used to the system’s flow and work any kinks out of their strategies. It was just proving difficult to hand over the controls as part of that testing phase.

Maybe some people would find it the decision to continue running around the station at this point questionable, but, primed by years of doing this precise job, Ingo thought very little of how automatic his response to being called away for a battle was. With the suggestion that, in his absence, the artist he’d been working with might want to review the movements of their opponent, he pushed himself to his feet and headed off.

The only sign of his twin was a flash of white across the entryway as he passed through, and while he wasn’t convinced he’d been seen, he raised a hand in silent greeting before continuing on his way.

It wasn’t that getting around was difficult, per se, but it definitely required more effort than he was accustomed to, which meant he had to act immediately or allow himself advance warning to get where he was needed. Thus far, the usual ‘two car buffer’ was still effective-- largely because the train simply couldn’t leave before he boarded-- but the idea of only having to move to the in-station arena was growing more and more appealing, the rate directly proportional to the passengers' growth.

He loved the tempo of battling on the subway, but his sons had an undeniable impact on how feasible it was.

When he reached the platform, Ingo glanced over to see who might be departing, but found there wasn’t anyone passing the threshold. Maybe he’d missed them entirely, or been too lost in his thoughts to notice as their tracks crossed. That was far from acceptable. He had to stay attentive it if he wanted to give the challenger a proper battle.

As he slid into his seat, he gave his cheeks a firm pat-- half wake-up call and half pick-me-up-- though it was counteracted by the soothing rumble as they left the station. He would have to be careful when the trainer reached the car before his, to anticipate when he would need to get up and take his place; while he didn’t need help in getting to his feet just yet, it was… a bit of a process unassisted, particularly on a moving vehicle.

It likely was time to put the reserve plan into place. Ingo wasn’t sure how much longer it would be safe to continue operations as usual, and Leron and Donta could use the time to acclimate while he and Emmet were still at the station to act as consultants. It would bolster confidence and help the public adjust to the acting bosses before they went on leave.

There was still time before he had to worry about that, though, so for now he leaned back, trying to make himself moderately comfortable. A kick to his side suggested that he hadn’t quite succeeded, and he gave the spot a consolatory ruffle. He was immediately kicked again in retaliation.

Just as he was considering perpetuating the cycle of violence against his uterus, he heard one of the internal doors hiss open and, distracted, he looked that way.

They had seen their share of decisive battles over the years, but that seemed too decisive. There was no way the 19th battle had ended so abruptly unless a play had been incredibly well planned or something had gone to pot.

But that… couldn’t be. Though it was harder to hear the sounds of battle originating from the third to last car, it was always audible, and, now that Ingo stopped to think about it, everything had been quiet as a Loudred suffering from Throat Chop. Had something gone wrong? Perhaps the challenger had actually wanted to halt their progress for the day and missed their opportunity. Or-- he thought, pushing himself up using the armrest-- maybe there had been a medical emergency.

Just as he released Chandelure to go on ahead of him, the car’s door opened.

Three people stepped in, coordinated in their black headwear, but dressed casually from below the neck. There were no Plasma hoods, but the message conveyed was unmistakable. They were a unit, a solid face approaching him in opposition.

It was lucky he’d already gotten to his feet, because it meant he was able to back off to his usual-- defensible-- position. He had to go slowly, to move carefully to avoid falling; he made a point of sending Haxorus out to help hold the line and give him opportunity to reach the grab ring.

“Can I help you with something?” He asked, diplomatic even in the face of the unspoken aggression.

“Just… don’t put up a fight, boss. We won’t hurt you.” Said someone near the back, and in spite of the interference the mask caused, he was easily able to match it to Kaleigh, the clerk whose Pignite had evolved into Emboar weeks prior. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

Chandelure gave a low warning whistle as the foremost members tried to draw nearer, the blue tinge of Psychic warding them back to a regulation battle distance. Though it seemed they were still negotiating, the shorter of the pair reached for one of the pokeballs on their belt.

“And what is it you do want?”

“We want people to think that we are going to hurt you.” Said another familiar voice-- he didn’t know this one’s name, but thought he’d heard them on their way to the Double Line at some point or another. “They’ll be willing to work with us, then.”

Ingo had assumed as much. Regardless of whether or not they meant him any harm personally, if they wanted him as a hostage, there was no reasoning with them. “I won’t allow you to use my life or the lives of my children as leverage. Whatever ideal you’re acting in service to, I refuse to bow to it so easily.”

To match the two Pokemon he himself had put into play, the trainers he didn’t know tossed out their first picks one after another. It was easy math right away-- if all three of them had been allowed onboard a Single Line, they had to have three Pokemon each, pitting him against nine in total, at least six of which would function in a doubles-slash-multis format. Entirely doable if he had a partner of his own, slightly more questionable as a locomotive absent any other cars.

His best bet would be to pit his opponents against one another and hope they weren’t practiced as a team.

Unfortunately, they had their faces covered with dark masks, drastically limiting his ability to read into their expressions. It wasn’t the worst thing if he couldn’t analyze them ahead of time, but it would give him less leeway to work with. While his knowledge of Pokemon was nothing to sneeze at, he didn’t have Emmet’s memory for precise stats or full move lists, often relying on what he could observe of the specific specimens instead; it cut out some of the uncertainty, but was yet another factor that made the margins razor thin in this instance.

Compounding the matter, it was clear from their choice of Pokemon that these two had taken the time to study his team and account for its weak spots. He didn’t have any immediate counter to Seismitoad, and Vibrava had the type advantage over every one of his Pokemon save for Crustle. There was no need to be hasty, but there was every chance this could go quite bad in short order.

“Back, Chandelure,” He commanded as his opponents called out their own instructions-- Round and… Fissure?-- and was careful in the way he angled himself as he added for Haxorus, “Dragon Dance!”

Between his body language and the way the sound echoed in the car, she took the hint and hugged the left side of the battlefield, which cut things rather close where Fissure was concerned, but was worth the risk. While unhappy with being sidelined, Chandelure floated obediently into reach, taking up guard at her trainer’s side as Crustle assumed her place. It instantly began to scuttle to the opposite side of the field.

“Further in, Haxorus-- Dragon Claw and then weave back! Crustle, stay on your track and use X-Scissor!”

Dragon Claw connected just as Ingo had hoped, and while the Dragon Tail that drove her back to her pokeball was less than ideal, she was still up. Furthermore, her sudden absence had the exact same effect as angling herself behind Vibrava-- it caused Seismitoad’s next attack to hit its ally instead.

While it wasn’t a damaging move, Gastro Acid forced the dragon to drop like a stone, effectively grounded.

...there was a very clear course of action to be taken here, and though it didn’t necessarily have a type advantage to back it up, he’d be remiss if he wasted this chance.

In lieu of sending another Pokemon out, he called to Crustle, “Earthquake!”

The bug complied without a hint of hesitation, and while his proximity to Seismitoad meant that its next attack was almost certain to connect, if Ingo had read the trainer’s tension properly and Vibrava didn’t have a super effective attack in its moveset…

“Fissure again!”

He felt his expression twitch into something that didn’t count as a smile. They hadn’t thought it through, counting on singles strategies when there was another Pokemon in play-- when there was another Pokemon directly in the move’s path-- and, winding up to target Crustle, Seismitoad didn’t even know to try to dodge. It was down in an instant, its trainer cussing at their supposed partner as they tossed out a Carracosta.

For his own sake, Ingo hoped this particular trainer was on Emmet’s side of the argument and hadn’t opted for a specimen with Solid Rock.

While not perfect with Vibrava still on the field, he sent Klinklang out in Haxorus’s stead. As things stood, speed was his ally. Klinklang could easily outpace everything else in play, and since being grounded, Vibrava’s mobility had been undercut; right now, even Crustle could beat it in a footrace.

Responding to a curt jerk of the head, Crustle went skittering across the field while Klinklang bounced off of Carracosta with Volt Switch. By the time it was able to respond, its target was gone and Aqua Tail met open air.

The same couldn’t be said for Crustle, whose close-range X-Scissor sent an already hurt Vibrava to its four quivering knees, swiftly replaced by a Scrafty.

That gave him options. He could try baiting them again, using Excadrill as a tempting target for a super effective fighting type move, but would they be so careless a second time? He didn’t see the tell-tale peeling that might suggest the Scrafty had Shed Skin, which meant the combination of Toxic and Venoshock was a viable one-- he’d been hoping to use it in conjunction with Hex, though, and this was an awful match up for Chandelure twice over. Haxorus didn’t have any inherent vulnerabilities to either opponent, but had already taken a super effective hit, and Klinklang couldn’t force a faster turnaround after Volt Switch.

Excadrill it was. Even if he couldn’t use this set of Pokemon against one another, she had the benefit of Aerial Ace and the highest base speed on the battlefield.

“High Jump Kick!” Called the Scrafty’s trainer, excited, and while Aerial Ace connected, so did that devastating blow, knocking her directly out.

Fine. He could work with that. The trainer was leaning into a high-risk move with imperfect accuracy, so they clearly hadn’t learned a thing from earlier. Crustle, likewise, took a heavy hit in the form of Aqua Tail, but Sturdy kept him up and the Rocky Helmet did its small part in biting back against Carracosta.

“Hold your move!” Ingo called out to him, head tilted to give him a direction, and sent Klinklang in as backup, deliberately choosing its departure point.

“Another Jump Kick!”

There it was.

“Volt Switch, Klinklang; Crustle, use Flail on Scrafty!”

In what was an almost cruel volley, Klinklang boomeranged off of Carracosta for a second time, slipping away with pinpoint accuracy and causing Scrafty to careen into its ally; the attack was enough to knock the turtle out, and while that meant it didn’t backfire on Scrafty, the dark type near immediately fell victim to Flail, sent tumbling atop the unconscious Carracosta.

There was a moment of furious, hissing debate on the other side of the field, and Ingo took that opportunity to wave Crustle back to safety.

“Alright, flue, you’re up.” He said lowly, easing up on where he’d subconsciously listed against Chandelure. She nudged against him as she dove into motion and took up her place on the field. Garbodor met her several seconds later, taking Klinklang’s place.

“Seriously?” He heard the careless trainer sneer as they processed the fact that their partner had sent out a Heatmor, “Are you stupid or something? Against the guy with the undead candelabra?”

In one wide, snappy gesture, the accused pointed toward his partner’s own Pokemon, “Speak for yourself, jackass.”

“It was s’posed to be for the Crustle!”

He’d been a little too effective in pitting them against one another, it seemed.

The radio on his hip crackled to life, and the both of them fumbled to attention, trying to use the distraction to get the edge on him. Playing it safe for the moment, he had both of his Pokemon retaliate against Heracross, the combination of Overheat and Psychic readily putting it down for the count.

Without taking the time to remove the device from his belt, Ingo held down push-to-talk and simply raised his voice, all but drowning out the sounds of Fire Spin sweeping Garbodor into its area of effect, “I’m conducting a battle at the moment. I’ll be in contact shortly.” He followed it immediately by releasing the button and saying, “Psychic please, both of you.”

That Emmet had tried to contact him in the middle of an active run like this was concerning, but he had more pressing matters to deal with right now. The fact that his statement was met with a clipped affirmative confirmed that, whatever the issue was, it would keep until they pulled back to the platform, at least.

With the opposite side of the field empty, the car’s collective attention turned to Kaleigh.

“Do you think you’re riding the Single Line today, or have you also mistaken this for doubles?” He asked and, while it would only be fair to repay the way he’d been ganged up on, Ingo signaled for Chandelure to return to his side when the former subway trainer sent a singular Pokemon out.

Type-wise, she would have had the edge over the Emboar, but Kaleigh’s body language suggested there was some kind of trick lurking ahead, and he didn’t want to risk it just yet.

While he didn’t have the exact stats memorized, Emboar’s stature gave its strengths and weaknesses away. It was all bulk and firepower, but this Pokemon outpaced Garbodor with a speed that should have taken it multiple Flame Charges, confirming that something was amiss. By that point, though, he’d already called for Psychic, and when what was ostensibly a fighting type shrugged it off like nothing, he realized exactly what was going on.

“U-turn!” Kaleigh called, and the illusory Emboar hurtled forward, already arcing itself to return to its trainer.

But when it lunged at Garbodor for the second time, it flinched, its sensitive little hidden nose overcome by her Stench.

“Focus Blast Garbodor, quickly!”

The image of an Emboar shattered as the Zoroark beneath skidded the length of the car and shakily tried to push itself to its feet. There was a flash of white teeth pulling in an unpleasant sneer, but, ultimately, its defenses couldn’t hold and it crumpled to the ground in a black and red heap.

A cursory set of blows were exchanged as the actual Emboar took its place; with the use of Black Sludge, Garbodor was still hearty enough to get two separate instances of Psychic in before falling.

This battle was swiftly pulling into a terminal, and if he could get through it without risking Chandelure’s wakefulness, Ingo would do so. Whether these people had been beaten in a battle or not, they were still able to retaliate physically, and at thirty weeks, there wasn’t a great deal he’d be able to do against three simultaneous aggressors; having her hold them at a distance with Psychic was by far the safest course of action.

With Chandelure out of the equation for now, Haxorus was clearly the next best option, fast enough to put an end to the Emboar’s assault without any issue. Weak as it was from the outset, Earthquake might have been overkill, but eight Pokemon in, there was no room for leniency.

This would be the last one, though. Probably. Hopefully. They were doing well enough, though with two Pokemon down, Crustle on his last legs and Chandelure sidelined save for an emergency, that left Klinklang and Haxorus to finish this up.

Brows drawn in contrition, Kaleigh sighed and sent out her last Pokemon: a Bronzong.

Her reaction told Ingo everything he needed to know about whether it had Heatproof or Levitate-- not that it really mattered. Heatproof would have left it vulnerable to Earthquake to begin with; the fact that it had Levitate just allowed Bronzong the experience of meeting Mold Breaker head-on.

Its sturdy body carried Bronzong through the first blow, and the answering Payback was enough to finally level Haxorus. In spite of the type resistance, a first-- and final-- Giga Impact from Klinklang brought the battle to a swift end.

“Be ready to hold them,” He said to Chandelure, the command muted but resolute, and then raised his voice, “Well. What can I say?”

There was a stony silence from the pair of trainers he didn’t know, but Kaleigh confessed, “I really did hope we wouldn’t have to battle.”

He believed her. That didn’t mean much considering she’d gone through with it for reasons yet unknown, but Ingo legitimately held that she’d walked into this thinking they would get their way with minimal fuss. The fact that she’d brought Levitate to a Mold Breaker fight was proof enough.

“And what, exactly, had you thought this endeavor might accomplish?”

Nothing. Save for the low roar of the train, the stillness was all-encompassing. He sighed and shook his head, waving for Chandelure to act as they’d discussed. The first step he took away from the grip ring was slightly unsteady, but the farther he got the easier it was to regain his balance, and with Klinklang whirring its concern at his back, he keyed in the command to return to the station.

While he didn’t dare sit down given the circumstances, Ingo let himself lean against the bench’s armrest as he radioed in again, “I can speak now. The Single Line is on course back to the station and we’ll be arriving imminently.”

He didn’t get a response immediately, which was worrying, though not necessarily cause to panic. It gave him a few minutes to calm his racing heart and process the fact that he wasn’t the only one who’d been been disturbed. Setting the radio down, he used that newly-freed hand to press against his middle, rubbing a thumb over the most active area.

“I’m sorry,” He rumbled, hoping the familiar intonation might help sooth the pair, “It’s over, and you’re both safe. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

It would have been horrendously awkward had he remembered the presence of the interlopers in that moment, but for the time being, his only concern was for the children he carried.

In his logical mind, he knew these things: Chandelure was keeping watch and ensuring their safety. Klinklang was present as a secondary line of defense. They were on their way back to home station. He’d reported in and only had to wait for his brother’s response. Each of those brought a caveat with it, but he couldn’t focus on any of that just yet-- not in the least because, now that he’d been made aware of it, the writhing going on inside of him was nothing short of stomach-turning.

The radio blared to life, and for one miserable second, he forgot how it worked-- which was just as well since it meant Emmet didn’t actually hear the way his voice shook on the single note of question.

“The situation here is not preferable. It’s not terrible either. You might consider setting course for another circuit. It would be safer for all of you.”

Without pausing in his effort to mollify the passengers’ distress, he scooped the radio up to reply, “’Not terrible but not preferable’ is an accurate assessment of this situation, as well. If you’re so concerned, I can alter course, but bear in mind that we’re two individuals over usual capacity, excluding the passengers.”

There was a hesitation, and then a chilly, “You were made a target.”

“I have to assume so; my request for answers was denied when I posed it.” Belatedly, he remembered that there were other humans onboard, and that they’d likely heard or seen him struggle against his own body. It should have been embarrassing, but if anything, it was infuriating. That was precisely why this had happened in the first place: because they’d tried to take advantage of his vulnerability.

“Are these people still an active threat?”

He spared a glance toward the opposite side of the car, where the three were still held pinned. “They’re conscious and unharmed, but unable to battle any further. Chandelure has them restrained.”

“Good.” He almost snorted at how emphatic the single word was. “It’s not the safest right now. But better here than alone with them. I will have Isadore meet you on the platform.”

“Understood. Please make sure he knows that two of the individuals involved are soon-to-be former subway trainers; I believe the third is the challenger I was meant to meet. They emphasized nonviolence, but shouldn’t be underestimated.”

“Yup. Be safe.”

“You as well.” He said, and leaned back against the car’s wall.

He stayed there, a static sentinel, for the rest of the silent commute.