Hi.

So...this is Rocket. It came from a combination of too many RPs, too many Diet Dr Peppers, and too many odd nightmares.

Lots of pairings here because I plan on making this a long story.

Proton/Domino

Proton/Petrel

Archer/Ariana

Giovanni/Domino

Mondo/Butch

Cassidy/Butch

Proton/Archer

Wendy/Domino

Petrel/Wendy

Giovanni/Ariana

Silver/Lyra

Jessie/Cassidy

Jessie/James

Attila/Bashou

One sided Marauder/Domino

This story is not all about shipping, however. There is actual plot. These are just 'ships that are possibilities at the moment. I'm still sort of deciding. They may be full on or just mentioned in passing.

Anyway, this story is rated M for language, violence, sexual stuff, mature situations...etc. All that good stuff.

Questions. Concerns. Seek my inbox please. I'm happy to answer to anything.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, as awesome as that would be. All rights to the games, anime, and manga go to Nintendo, their creators, et cetera. I'm just a mere fangirl.


Prologue.

It all starts with a smirk. A tug at the corner of his lips. Uncaring, cold eyes that smile on their own. Maybe a small, cruel laugh.

He is merciless.

A spritz of cologne. A tug on his jacket, tailored for his handsome build. A tip of his hat, black as night and his heart.

He is fearless.

He ambles out into the open full of secrets, feigning wearing his heart on his sleeve like a badge of honor the way those sensitive types do on a regular basis. He scours the streets on Goldenrod City for vulnerability. A girl without friends, without love, without even the excuse of chocolate. A lonely sheep. His favorite prey.

He is Proton.

"What's on the menu tonight?" he wonders.

Proton reaches the corner of Radio Tower Drive and Main Street. He meets up with a taller man with a lankier build, dressed in a tan trench coat and fedora.

"Still picking up chicks in that ridiculous get-up, aren't you?"

Petrel looks indignant. "Shh! Bitches love the Italian mobster look. Have you seen the ones Boss brings back to his office on a regular basis?"

Proton rolls his eyes. "Whatever floats your boat. Just make sure to stay far away from the girl's I'm after or you'll be certain to scare them off."

"Look who's talking. Once you bring out your little snack, it'll be end-game."

"Once you bring out your little make-up kit, it'll be endgame. Because they'll realize you're gay."

"Not gay, thank you. Just fabulous. You know that."

"Otherwise you'd be all over me, wouldn't you?"

"You're so unbelievably cocky!" Petrel accuses, and then hesitates. "Er…"

Proton bursts out laughing. "You're only proving my point."

"Smartass."

Proton continues chuckling a while longer, then finally shoves his hands in his pockets. "Good luck to you, sir. Back at Base bright and early then? We have that meeting after all. Unless you planned on staying—"

"Staying? Ha! You know me better than that."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. You're questionable. Anyway, you do know about the meeting, correct? Wendy sent out faxes and everything."

"Calm your tits. Of course I saw it. Archer's headings drive me nuts. 'From the desk of Archer Apollo…' like he's trying to sound important or something. We all know Ariana's really the big cheese around here."

"So you'll be there?"

"Mhm. I won't necessarily be awake, but someone's bound to drag me there so…"

"Alright then."

And he's off again, leaving his fellow stalker, his partner behind. He is riding solo for the night, with shining eyes the equivalent of lighthouses, guiding the weak in a direct path towards him and all his incessant lust. He seems to attract everything, and everything cannot resist, like gnats hovering over rotted meat. He waves some away, the old, the ugly, the infantile…until he is left with the crème of the crop.

"Where to tonight…?"

He wants a fresh kill tonight. No exceptions. Proton gets what he wants when he wants. He was raised this way, born this way. And so is the way he is.

Three options.

One. Proton returns to Base and tempts a young, barely eighteen year old grunt to come fix something in his office. And then he pounces like the rapid, half-crazed jungle animal he is.

Two. Proton goes out to a club, buys some skank that can get his blood going a coupla classy drinks, walks her back to her cheap, cramped, and leased apartment, and sneaks back out at three in the morning.

Three. Proton pays for some bimbo off the street.

He shouldn't even be trying. The girls flock to him after all.

But option one is certainly the cheapest. And it's not like he's loaded with money or anything. His last failure, the debacle at Slowpoke Well, kind of took the edge off his paycheck.

…So he goes with option one.