I played AS again lately, and I kept running into this douchey Aqua Grunt who wouldn't stop reminding me of his pathetically low rank within Team Aqua, so I made him into a thing.
Thirty-Six (36)
"Good work, Thirty-Six." The older man's voice was dry as he clapped his hands slowly. "You managed to keep him occupied for thirty whole seconds."
Thirty-Six scowled, kicking the dust on the floor of the submarine bay. His real name was Trent, but nobody called him that any more. Since joining Team Aqua, he had been called by his rank so often that he had become accustomed to introducing himself with a number. "You didn't do much better, Twenty-Seven. Your lame-ass Grimer just about knocked itself out."
"Pshaw." Twenty-Seven snorted as he turned his head absently to glance after the upstart ten-year-old that had defeated them both. Thirty-Six followed his gaze. Ignoring the squabbling pair, the kid had already moved on with his Mega Swampert, laying waste to everything in his path as he single-handedly blasted his way through the entire Aqua defensive line.
Ah, well. It wasn't his problem anymore, Thirty-Six reflected idly. Admin Matt would take care of the brat, and a chewing-out for everyone who had failed to stop him would follow in short order. Thirty-Six was used to it, unfortunately. Matt's boisterous, rambunctious ranting was a common experience in this dingy, poorly-lit cavern that they called home. He wasn't an ill-natured boss by any means – in fact, he was fairly easy-going. The only problem was that he was always expecting too much of himself – and by extension, his men.
"Really, though!" Twenty-Seven continued with a bark of ill-spirited laughter. "You actually thought that was intimidating?"
"Huh?" Thirty-Six narrowed his eyes. He wasn't really in the mood for a fight after being so summarily dispatched, but this guy was getting on his nerves.
Twenty-Seven put on a deep, mocking voice and wiggled his hands next to his ears. "Hurr durr, I'm the thirty-sixth strongest battler in Team Aqua! Your interference stops here!"
Thirty-Six felt the tips of his ears burn beneath his bandana. "I don't sound like that," he grumbled. In hindsight, he was forced to admit that it did sound stupid. He wasn't going to give Twenty-Seven the satisfaction of letting him know that, though.
"Listen, kid. Nobody cares where you're ranked. Least of all the schmucks that try and break in here. So try not to embarrass yourself."
"You're not my boss!" For a second, Trent was back. The kid who had had some fire in him. The one who didn't take shit from anyone. Where had he gone? "There's what, two hundred guys in Team Aqua? Thirty-six means something!"
Twenty-Seven sighed, pulling a cigarette from his chest pocket and stuffing it between his cracked lips while he searched his belt for a lighter. Retrieving and igniting it, he lit the cigarette and took a long drag before replying. When he did, the mocking tone had vanished from his voice, replaced with a kind of pity. "I'm serious, Thirty-Six. Unless you're in the top ten and next in line for the admin job, nobody gives a shit about your battle rank. They just call us by number because it's easier than names. Names are for friends and important people, and let me tell you this: nobody here wants to be your friend, and you sure as hell aren't important."
"That's certainly true," Thirty-Six admitted, grimacing and fanning a cloud of foul cigarette smoke out of his face with one hand. Suddenly, his ire had petered out. There was no point getting pissed off at Twenty-Seven. "So next time, I'm supposed to what? Just yell 'halt, intruder!' or some lame shit like that?"
Snorting, Twenty-Seven took another puff on his cigarette and gestured back towards the teleport pad in the corner of the room, where another blue-suited grunt was fussing over his unconscious Poochyena. "Please. You saw how well that worked for Forty-One. He looked like a dumbfuck and he lost. Just like you," he said with a smirk.
Thirty-Six bit his lip. Why was he always the butt of everyone's jokes? Spinning on his heel, he trudged back towards the teleporter that lead to the barracks. He had a Carvanha to take care of.
After ensuring that his Pokémon was okay, Thirty-Six immediately went to the rec room and made sure he was signed up for further ladder challenges. Okay, so 'Team Aqua's thirty-sixth strongest battler' didn't sound that impressive. There was only one way to remedy that.
"Who are you? What are you people doing here?" the girl demanded, holding a Poké Ball defensively in front of her as if it would ward him off by itself.
"If you're looking for your friend Brendan or whatever, he's not here anymore." The driving rain plastered Trent's hair against his face, but he ignored it. Guard duty sucked – especially outdoors on nights like this – but every now and again something interesting cropped up. "I don't know exactly what's going on, but he followed my boss to Route 128."
Feet slipping on the sheer, wet rocks that made up this particular section of Lilycove's coastline, the girl backed unsteadily away, still gripping her Poké Ball tightly. "Well . . . thanks, I guess," she said cautiously. "I'll just, uh, I'll be going now!"
"Oh, I don't think so," Trent said with a grin, plucking a Poké Ball from his belt and tossing it in one hand as thunder rumbled overhead. "After all, I'm the thirty-fifth strongest battler in Team Aqua!"