When battling broke out in those parts of Gear Station reserved solely for public transport, Emmet’s natural assumption had been that it was the result of a dispute between patrons. It wasn’t a common thing when the Battle Subway was right there, a convenient way to vent one’s frustration, but it happened from time to time. Breaking up disputes was part of the job-- when he wasn’t actively part of them, at least-- and since he was available and present, Emmet had headed off to settle the matter.

And he’d certainly settled it-- just not the way he thought he might.

He’d made a concerted effort to deescalate the situation, only for an unrelated commuter to pull their own Pokemon on him-- for multiple bystanders to engage staff, and then the passing trainers who thought to intervene-- and it descended into chaos.

In a brief lull between knocking out a Mienfoo and hurrying to assist a trusted subway trainer, he cast a look around. Many of the aggressors wore matching headpieces but some didn’t, and more to the point, he recognized a handful of those individuals from their facility. Not only had this been a premeditated attack, but whatever institution these people represented, they’d gone so far as to enter into the system. The realization stung, but it was an emotion he’d have to work through after this was done with, when there weren’t people and Pokemon threatening the facility he worked so hard to maintain.

Galvantula hastily scampered beneath the downward swoop of an Unfezant, turning to ram it with Wild Charge at his shout, and he found that he didn’t have the opportunity to dwell on the betrayal when his attention was needed in the here and now.

The one thing he couldn’t clear from his mind was the fact that, in his hasty sweep of the main hall, he hadn’t noticed the distinctive dark silhouette of his brother. It could have been a good thing. It could have been a verrrry bad thing. Emmet didn’t currently have the opportunity to find out which it was.

He got that chance a minute later as Unfezant fell and Galvantula began webbing both it and its trainer in place.

“Are you in a position to speak?” He said into his radio, grateful for the fact that none of the people around would be able to hear the anxiety building in him.

Even among the minor din surrounding him, the sounds of a match came across on the radio, though were quickly drowned out by Ingo himself, “I’m conducting a battle at the moment. I’ll be in contact shortly.”

On the surface, that didn’t confirm much. It could mean his twin had been caught up somewhere on the outskirts of this mess, or it could mean that Hank had been correct when Emmet had asked in the minutes preceding the uproar, and Ingo was on the Single Line doing his job. His tone had been perfectly even, though-- if somewhat louder than need be—and the promise to return the call suggested he didn’t think himself in any danger.

As soon as the Pokemon and trainer Emmet had been battling were secured, another filled their place. Without guiding lines or any delineated rules, the throng was one massive free-for-all. While there were those faces he trusted without question, in regards to most subway trainers, he couldn’t afford to assume they were on his side; he wouldn’t target them if they were opposite a clear aggressor, but if they decided to attack him, he would fire back without hesitation.

Eventually, he had to draw Galvantula back; her webbing was too valuable in containing the opposition to risk her be knocked out, and he was worried others might catch on and begin to target her for that reason. There were plenty of ally Pokemon with similar capabilities, doing exactly the same thing, but she was the only one that was guaranteed to listen to him.

Eelektross took her place, visibly startled by the state of the station, but his surprise only lasted a fraction of a second before he accepted what was being asked of him.

It would be lying to say there wasn’t an element of fun to it-- in trying to discern friend from foe and seeking out the best opponent to tackle next-- but it was a sad state of affairs, and any enjoyment was quickly stamped out by the need to ensure those relying on him were protected.

“I can speak now.” Crackled through his radio, “The Single Line is on course back to the station and we’ll be arriving imminently.”

Ah, so Hank had been right. That was a relief, though if the green line had been running all this time, then Ingo had no idea what was awaiting here. The interlopers were beginning to cotton onto the fact that their numbers were waning-- members pinned, caught in traps or affected with status conditions-- and because of that, a not insubstantial number of those who remained were attempting to pull the brakes and flee, but the station was still littered with familiar faces that might be hiding an agenda. “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.”

He expected a hesitation as the information settled and then further inquiry. What he hadn’t anticipated was Ingo to respond with only a second’s delay, “’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.”

Excluding the passengers? Did that then imply that…?

“You were made a target.”

That changed everything. Their conversation from that point was clipped and to the point, conducted neatly alongside Eelektross’s crusade against a Duosion, but Emmet was seething and certain that it showed on his face. The next few masked individuals he cornered went down hard and fast.

It was bad enough that these people had taken advantage of their facility and put commuters in danger, but they had the gall to go after his brother-- to engineer a way to isolate him and use his delicate state as a weapon. Not only that, but many had worked with them; Emmet remembered suggesting a slightly different moveset to one of the Pokefans whose Rufflet Eelektross had steamrolled just a few minutes prior. It felt violating. They’d been betrayed and also made accessories to their own double-crossing.

In the mass hysteria there was no way to question motives, but the general goal was fairly clear: the Unovan rail system was critical to the region’s operation, the backbone of material shipping and intra-region travel. If one was of a mind to stage a coup, controlling the railway would be a strong start.

This was hardly the first time that he and Ingo had to repel miscreants from the station en mass; granted, it hadn’t been on such an overwhelming scale before. Team Plasma’s machinations hadn’t necessarily been subtle, but neither were they so blatant; most people didn’t even realize the system had come under fire at that point in time.

There was no way this was going to escape public notice, however.

The station was an absolute mess by the time Ingo and Isadore met him, any stragglers finding themselves overwhelmed by those battling on the facility’s behalf. Isadore broke off to assist a nearby lass, trusting that Emmet wouldn’t allow anything to happen now that the twins were back within view of one another, and Ingo hurried over as best he could between the environmental obstacles and his own struggles. He was flanked on either side by Chandelure and Klinklang, arms held defensively in front of him as he moved.

Aside from being rather winded, he seemed… perfectly fine.

Only trouble could come of assuming, though and-- while it was an incredibly poor decision-- Emmet turned away from the dregs of a battle he’d been overseeing to meet him halfway, trusting Durant and Galvantula to end the fight and contain their targets, respectively.

“Are you alright?”

“A bit rattled, but unharmed,” Ingo said, neither his voice nor body language betraying any such disquiet, “Yourself?”

Emmet physically waved the question off. “Fine, fine. I do not know if Isadore informed you of--”

He broke off abruptly, thoroughly distracted by the hand tilting his head backward; before he could ask what his brother thought he was doing, the grip changed and, nose scrunching in distaste, Ingo scrubbed a thumb against Emmet’s cheekbone.

In spite of what was going on around them, Emmet batted it away, sputtering, “I am not one of your children.”

The glove came away dirty, the color of dried mud, and he legitimately didn’t know when that might have gotten there. His puzzlement likely showed on his face, because Ingo gave his head a minute shake and didn’t ask. “I didn’t intend to derail you; for a moment, it looked like you might have been injured. Please go on.”

“I do not know if Isadore informed you that a number more former subway trainers have turned against us. It is unwise to trust any of them without cause right now. I have been trying to retaliate only against those who instigate.”

Nodding to either in turn, Ingo said, “Chandelure and Klinklang are still in good health if you require assistance on these tracks.”

“Just those two?” Emmet asked, surprise making him blurt it out before he could think better of it.

He would have gone on, trying to gloss it over, but Ingo gave a subtle grimace. “Double battles aren’t my forte.”

Interesting. He’d follow that thought to its logical conclusion later. “No matter. Any trainer who hasn’t already departed isn’t a flight risk. I would appreciate your company in rounding the last of them up. I also recognize that this may not be feasible. You said you were unhurt, but will your body permit that much activity?”

As if reminded, one of Ingo’s hands fell back to the side of his abdomen, “I don’t think it would make anything worse. The passengers are already quite upset with me, and a new round of practice contractions decided to make the return commute with us. I’d like to keep moving for now; it won’t remedy the issue, but the distraction would be a boon.”

“If you’re certain.” Emmet said, dubious. A high rate of fetal activity wasn’t generally something to worry about-- it would be a far worse sign if the passengers had gone still in response to their father’s stress-- though the comment did explain why Ingo had chosen to use ‘rattled’ as a descriptor when he seemed perfectly composed. The false contractions were more notable, but also not much of a surprise. Neither was an active risk. At this stage, however, it was best to err on the side of caution.

“Promise you will alert me if you experience any sudden changes.”

His brother gave a short, affirmative salute, and at Emmet’s whistle, Durant and Galvantula hurried over to them.

He recognized that it wasn’t the wisest thing, permitting a man thirty weeks pregnant with twins to help patrol the station-- but, at the same time, he couldn’t seriously humor any other course of action. In the wake of such an attack, when it was impossible to know who to trust at a glance, Emmet wholeheartedly believed there wasn’t anywhere safer than right next to him.