Prologue: Chrono Island
September 7th, 2008
There is nothing like a building spontaneously combusting to confirm your suspicions about its occupants.
For two years, the residents of Chrono Island had wondered what went on behind the blue-grey doors of the mysterious factory. The two-storey building was tucked away at the bottom of the island, hidden by trees and far from the main town, but it was still a sore point for the locals. No one knew who worked there or what its purpose was, but every week someone would show up at the supermarket or a town meeting with a new story of figures skulking around at night and large boats arriving at the private dock.
So when the factory suddenly and without warning exploded, no one was particularly shocked. Of course, they were taken aback by the explosion – on a quiet Saturday afternoon where the only thing people were waiting for was the high tide, to have the earth quiver and a giant plume of orange-tinged smoke rise up from the trees was a little surprising – but once the initial shock passed, most people agreed that it had only been a matter of time.
It took a few hours for firefighters and their team of Blastoise to put out the flaming building, and by the time investigators were allowed in, most of the town had gathered on the forest's edge to watch. They were all stunned by the sight that awaited them: most of the walls had collapsed, the roof had completely caved in, and half the floor had been blown apart. There were no signs as to what had caused it, and everything that remained had been burnt black with ash, but that didn't stop the crowd standing around the melted barbed wire fence from speculating.
"I always heard they were making supplies for the Celadon Game Corner."
"Wasn't that run by Team Rocket?"
"Barry was fishing when the explosion happened. Told me he saw three people come running out of the building just before it happened."
"Well, Steve says he saw the Champion flying away on his Charizard, and those friends of his were there as well."
"Oh my lord, that would explain it – I told Mary she was being silly when she said she saw that Leaf girl and her Blastoise swimming away. Do you think they did it?"
"I've said it before and I'll say it again, Team Rocket is just the beginning. We are getting closer and closer to the apocalypse with every passing day!"
"Shut up, Carol, no one asked you."
As the locals gossiped and squabbled over rumour and heresy, Detective Inspector Arthur Reynolds focused on the facts at hand, even if he imagined what the townspeople were saying was true. This was no gas explosion, whatever had happened here had come from a device or machine, the cracked crater proved that. Though as Reynolds cast his eyes over the charred rubble, he knew the decimated machines that were scattered around him like soldiers on a battlefield would be far above the intellect and expertise of their forensics department.
We might as well pack up now, there's no way in hell we're going to find out who's responsible. Reynolds felt a tang of guilt even thinking that, but he had seen enough over his career to know it was a fact. As the only arson expert in the Sevii Islands, he had been called to the scene barely minutes after the explosion had shaken the island. He'd been here for nigh on six hours, but he had known as soon as he arrived that everything there was to see was already laid out before them.
Reynolds tore his eyes away from the ash-filled hole and turned his gaze to a nearby office. "John!" He barked, and was pleased that, even after all these years, his hoarse voice was able to command attention from everyone around him.
A young, blond man rushed over eagerly, like a Growlithe returning to its trainer. "Yes, sir?" He asked with unnecessary vigour. Arthur gazed down at the junior officer and internally sighed. He had been like that; bright-eyed, cheery, hopeful. But now Arthur was nearing retirement, his hair and sagging eyelids giving away his age, and his joy for the job had long faded. He had seen too many horrors, most of it over the last few months, and had been thinking about the next stage of his life when the call through that afternoon, a reminder that his work was not done with him yet.
"We should wrap things up for the night. We are losing light, and we are never going to find anything turning over ash in the dark."
"Shall we keep people on site to guard?" John asked.
"Err, you and Wilson can, and I'll see whose on duty to take over later," Arthur said, and John nodded and rushed off. The detective watched him go with exasperation before following after, giving the ruins one last look as he walked stiffly back to his car. Whoever had done this, whether it was Rocket or the Champion, was long gone and out of his reach, literally and figuratively. With no bodies to make it a murder inquiry, the case would sit on his desk unsolved for years, long after the site had been cleared and everyone had forgotten about the mysterious factory that one day vanished.
If the inspector had taken a moment to look back before heading down to the police boat docked at the pier, he might have seen the ground where he had just been standing move. As it was, no one noticed as one of the floor tiles slowly rose upwards, shifting aside ash and rubble. The townspeople distracted by scandal and the investigators dulled with boredom paid no attention as the tile was shoved onto a pile of ash, leaving a hole in the middle of the floor. The two hands that shortly followed were utterly ignored, as was the man they belonged to as he pulled himself up into the factory.
If anyone had paid him any attention, they would have assumed immediately he was a scientist. The man's profession had seeped permanently into his appearance, his lab coat, dark glasses, pale complexion, and slicked back hair turning him into a walking stereotype. The only thing that broke his costume was the fresh, shining wound over his left eyebrow and the many scorch marks muddying his coat.
The scientist hovered beside the hole for a moment to ensure he had not been spotted before scuttling towards what had once been his private office. Though it was more open air now that all four walls had collapsed, leaving only a cracked desk and half melted filing cabinet behind. The sight made the scientist groan into his clenched teeth. He frantically pushed rubble off the desktop, keeping a watchful eye on the disinterested officers, until he found his laptop buried beneath. The discovery momentarily filled his heart with joy, but he only had to hold it up to the fading light to see the hard drive had melted.
"No, no, NO!" The man hissed, and he threw the useless device aside. He had seen this coming; the attack had happened quickly and without warning, and his enemies had made sure to target his computers. He knew that every digital copy of his work was gone, and it took all his willpower not to scream to the heavens.
Angry, helpless, he turned towards the melted cabinet. Similarly, much of the contents had been destroyed in the fire, but in the bottom drawer, there were several folders and a mobile phone that had escaped the flames. Relieved, the scientist turned the device on, the ruins of his office briefly illuminated by blue light before 'GIDEON'S PHONE' appeared on the screen. Footsteps in the distance told him he could not celebrate here; he grabbed what he could and ran back to the hole as stealthily as possible.
Only once the tile was back in place did Gideon turn the lights on. The dim bulbs illuminated the metal bomb shelter that was now home. He had built the room years ago in case of situations like this, but he had never thought he would actually have a need to use it. The room was tiny, made smaller by the number of belongings packed into it: a table, scientific equipment behind clear cabinet doors, an overflowing bookcase, two beds, a fridge, microwave and oven, and an outdated computer and small TV. It would be enough, but Gideon had little interest in comfort when, for the second time in his cursed existence, he had potentially lost his life's work.
"Let's see what the scum have left me with." He began sifting through the folders, trying to contain his rage. He could not afford to start over again. The lab had not been perfect, but it would have served the purpose of rebuilding the Rocket empire, carrying on Giovanni's legacy – his legacy. Now the few meagre resources he had managed to save from their former strongholds were gone, all his plans, formulas and strategies turned to ash. Gideon hoped there was something meaningful in the folders, but as the minutes went by he found only instructions for machines he could not possibly rebuild and plans for defunct projects he had no hope of resurrecting alone.
"USELESS!" Gideon roared and threw the folders across the tiny room. Papers became loose and scattered in the air, landing in a mess on the floor. Gideon sat on his rigid bed watching them fall. Starting over was not impossible, but with no plans, no resources, with nothing to build on, the statistics were not in his favour.
Gideon looked at the ceiling, wondering what might happen if he went back up there and handed himself in. He began calculating how many of the locals he could kill before they got to him when he noticed a strange light; it was purple and moving as though alive, and had not been there when he had gone up before. He stared at the floor and spotted the source instantly: it was a computer disc, but to the untrained eye it could be a portal to another world. It shone unnaturally, the glowing pattern swirling and moving in a way no normal computer disc should. Yet, as Gideon sank to the floor, grasping the circle as though it was some holy item, he remembered just how abnormal it truly was.
"Operation Lavender…" Excitedly, Gideon flung papers aside until he found the ones he needed. He remembered now; how he had buried the project, hidden it away so no one could find it. Gideon told everyone he would destroy it, but he had kept every bit of data, all of which was here: all the instructions, all the resources he needed, all the places to go and people to find, it was all here. This was all Gideon needed to complete Giovanni's master plan, the reason for everything they had done.
Grasping the disc in one hand and the papers in another, Gideon fell to the floor, laughing. The children had tried to end him again, they thought they had succeeded. They may have won, for now, but they had handed Gideon exactly what he needed to destroy them all, and ensure that, once and for all, Team Rocket would reign supreme.
