So here's something I thought would never see the light of day...
Bit of background. Indigo Tantarian, awesome ultimate indecisive lurker that she is, was the person to break my 50th-review-cherry, so I promised her a gift-fic. She selected the character Giovanni for the criterion, and here we are.
Now, there's some deep ideas in here. (Brave New World, anyone? :D) Also, the concept of Team Rocket sheltering criminals as a relief effort from the rest of humanity is not my idea...well, it's not mostly my idea. I remember reading it somewhere on-site (really, I did) but I can't for the life of me find where that came from. So this concept's only half-mine, I suppose? But the original idea was changed considerably, because I warped it and played with it, and put in my subtle [soma] references, so there. I don't own it.
I also don't own Pokémon. I do, however, completely own this dark and wonderfully disturbed view of Giovanni.
Indigo, my friend. Enjoy.
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Audio Transcript Recovered. File Number 13477-2G. Play?
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Begin. Current time: 4:39 AM, August 5, 2021.
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"The date is December 14, 2009, time…2:47 PM. This is Doctor John Hoskins, medical assistant to Doctor Hiro Yamamoto of the Yamamoto Clinic in Goldenrod City, Johto. I have finished a session with John Augusto Santorini, a man who claims to be the leader of Team Rocket. The police never found the man called Giovanni; he was able to evade all of them, even when his stronghold was finally breached by G-Men and the International Police. From what I can tell from being allowed access to the police reports collected by Viridian's Police Chief, Officer Myra Rodriguez (who I believe obtained her official Jenny status for that raid…but I digress), Giovanni was the head of Team Rocket, the ultimate boss. Only certain people in this organization got to see him face to face, and unfortunately I do not have the luxury to talk with any of them.
Officer Rodriguez said that the Elites killed themselves when the Team Rocket base was finally overtaken. My heart goes out to any family that may have been waiting to hear from their loved ones. I myself had a cousin that was taken for Team Rocket; I never heard what became of him. I hope that he survived the raid, although such information is now classified well beyond anything they'll let me see.
At any rate, I should get my promotion to full partner for this…
Actually, Jeanne, strike that last bit from the official transcript.
My original recording device was damaged on the way to the site (no small thanks to the Magnet Train personnel) where Mr. Santorini was waiting for me, an assisted living facility in Pewter City that was heavily guarded by IPs. I'll be attempting to recreate my interview of Mr. Santorini from my memory, and from what little I was able to record from my first tape recorder. I have most of my notes, which I'm filing with the IP in their Archives, per their request, File Number 13477-1G.
It was an interesting tale, at best. My first impression of this man was that he used to be more physically imposing. I don't know why that matters. It's just what I thought of first. I have no idea what happened to the man, but he had...shrunk. He was lying on that bed, and seemed crunched down from what would have been an impressively intimidating height. I almost pitied him. Like a man that had left behind something vast and meaningful, and was stuck holding only the littlest bit of his former glory. Only the tiniest piece of what could be seen from life, from him. And in the eyes. That's the only part of him that seemed to hold onto that glory. And in the telling of his story, those eyes would glimmer and gleam, simmer and boil and carry the full and impressive weight of his words. It was interesting, to watch, to listen, to see those eyes.
At the end of his life, I was told.
He certainly looked it.
…I'm getting off track again.
Mr. Santorini began with a description of his life growing up. To save both time and energy, I shall relay his words as I was able to record them. It's an interesting tale. And a tortured one. I hope that whoever finds this in the International Police Archives is able to understand this properly. I will be including my final analysis at the end of this reenactment of Mr. Santorini's life. I hope to properly convey the way he gave his speech; the leader of Team Rocket or not, the man was a powerful orator. Not as much as a man I heard give a lecture in Sinnoh while I was taking classes in Veilstone, but still. Such warmth, vitality…I have to admire this man for his inability to give up, despite all the hardships that had happened. Well…
Ahem. Interview with Mr. John Augusto Santorini, rumored to be Giovanni of Rockets; John Hoskins, Yamamoto Clinic, Goldenrod, Johto. December 14, 2009, 2:56 PM.
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I was born on August 17, 1960, in Viridian City, to Alfonse and Roberta Santorini. I don't have much memory of either of them growing up. I do remember that Alfonse drank and hit Roberta…and soon I was sent to live with Roberta's mother. There is little besides this fact. Those two I never claimed as my parents; as such, I do not trouble myself with them. I know they birthed me because of the certificate (that I destroyed) before I went to live with Grandmother.
Grandmother was not any less warm to me. I remember that she was a formidable woman. I was always able to tower over her physically less imposing stature, but despite this, she was able to keep me in line. We lived in a grand manor on the edge of town with the other old money in Viridian. Viridian has been a city long obsessed with its power and prestige. More than the nouveau riche of Saffron and the elitist New Age thought of Celadon. Why, you ask? Viridian has always been seen as the vacation homes of the rich. Celadon was the playground of the rich, Saffron the birthplace of the rich, Vermilion the town where they'd retire. But Viridian…it was different. The forest grew up around us, sheltering the houses from the outside world. I came to love it there, and when I returned I set my base of operations in that fair city.
Grandmother and her widower had lived in Viridian for years. They had become wealthy from discovering oil under the Kanto Sea. It was mainly used for the production of fuel for trade with Johto, around the peninsula, but once the reclusive Hoennites began to trade with Kanto they became even wealthier with exclusive rights to sell fuel to the shipping companies.
Our house was the biggest in Viridian; after all the socialites finally abandoned the city I had it made into the Gym. As such, Grandmother's legacy lives on. It only made sense to honor her memory with something she despised. Despicable woman. She didn't have a kind bone in her body. When I was finally able to leave for my journey, she gave me a firm swat on the backside and the promise that if we ever met again, she would disown me.
Actually, I think she did somewhere along my journey. It was in the days before such advances in telecommunications that I could call her on the vid-phone, but I always penned letters to her that boasted of my accomplishments. She sent ahead threats on my life at each Pokémon Center I stopped at. I sneered at them all, and when I was firmly established, I had them all killed.
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At this point, Mr. Santorini broke down into a fit of coughing, and I had to call for the nurse. It was a further ten or fifteen minutes before he was able to continue his tale. It seemed almost callous the way that he described to me the next portion of his story. I'm not even sure I fully understand it myself.
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…I had them all killed.
Callous, you say? Hardly.
Grandmother was a cruel woman, twisted and evil. I came to admire her traits and her tenacity. Although we inherently disagreed, we both shared the view that Pokémon were nothing more than tools to achieve an end. Which they are. Tools only put here for us to use. I do not believe in that harmony of nature argument. If these so-called Legends wanted to keep the balance in check, they should do that themselves. I never heard any sort of resistance from the ones that I carried those days, nor will I ever.
I had Grandmother and both Alfonse and Roberta killed. They meant nothing more to me than a last link to a life that I would not continue anymore. And what had any one of them done for me, except cast me aside and make their own lives better for it? It was a while before I did understand that each taught me the basic tenets to life, although once I had finally learned these concepts, they were of no further use to me. I have lived by these principles since, and would continue, if not for my illness.
Grandmother, in her own ruthless way, bade me understand that nothing should stand in the way of my goals.
Alfonse taught me that the drink is not to escape problems; as such, my employees were forbidden from using substances or performance enhancers.
And Roberta showed me that love is for the weak and those who do not control their own lives.
Being the only surviving heir, I took control of Grandmother's assets, burned down her house and collected the insurance, and moved to Goldenrod with sole ownership of the oil company and enough money to buy a skyscraper.
I loved the city. Goldenrod was pulsating and pounding, the biggest city in the world and always in a frenzied dance of movement and commerce. With the money from the takeover of Grandmother's estate, I built myself a large house in the residential sector, sparing no expense. When that was done I burned it to the ground myself, collected the insurance and began to look for a job that would both make me richer and give me the facilities to do what I wanted in life.
At first, since I held controlling interest in the oil company of Grandmother's, I had to run it for a time until I found others willing to do it for me. Do not confuse this-I do still hold most of the company. And I knew that whoever I left in charge of it would attempt a takeover. So I carefully selected my successor in the company, knowing full well that they would try to betray me. I promoted from within a man who'd be with the company since it was founded and knew more than I probably ever would. He was a lowly janitor who'd lived in the shadow of the company's tower in Vermilion. And suddenly he was thrust to the head of the corporation. As such, I always would know what he would be doing in the company and could step in if needed. Luckily, he was a shrewd businessman, something that none of us had seen-me or Grandmother-after all, why should we? A janitor? Beneath us. But that man was able to take the company and expand it into what it is today-Kanto Oil and Shipping Trust, the largest producer and distributer of oil in the world. Even Sinnoh, those oil-hungry mongrels, get nearly 20% of their gross imports from KOST. He was no fool. And I was pleasantly surprised.
With more money then I'd ever imagined, I set forth to build my empire in the world. It was not easy at first-I was young, recognizable, impressionable. I had an agenda to accomplish, a goal for the world that I wanted to see done. I had to do something. I was bored. It was early in June of '79 that I found it.
By sheer happenstance I had left my apartment in the city and was going in no particular direction when a man jumped in front of me, knocking me down. At first I was stunned until he bolted off, until realizing that he had taken the Pokéball of my Nidorina. I got to my feet and followed him. I did not shout for a Joe or a Jenny. I could certainly tear this man apart with my Nidorino alone. I cornered him in an alleyway off the side of a restaurant-some atrocious smelling concoction of noodles wafted from the dumpster in front of us-and we prepared to face each other.
"Give me the Pokéball, or I will rend you where you stand," I told him simply, calmly.
It was not what the thief expected, I think. He regarded me for a while, looking up and down at my expensive suit. He was obviously trying to see how many credits he could take from me, in addition to any other Pokéballs I might have. What I was not expecting was for him to hand me my Nidorina and step back, nodding.
"Good, you've passed the test, Mr. Santorini." He spoke calmly, with a clipped accent I came to recognize as that from Olivine. "He's waiting for you, in there."
And he pointed a slender finger to the back door of the restaurant, before shuffling off into the bright daylight of the street beyond the alley.
At first, I was hesitant to follow. What sort of test was he talking about? I could only assume it'd been a trick. I clutched Nidorina's Pokéball tightly; there was no way to know if I'd need her when I stepped through the door into the restaurant proper.
The scene was only lit by the melodramatic candles, and a man sat at the edge of the restaurant in a booth, swirling his noodles around on a fork. A lone waiter stood patiently, clutching a bottle of bottle of wine that he poured expectantly into a glass for me. The man took a long slurp of the noodles and tasted a bit of the wine before he turned to me.
"Son, I see you sitting there," he said in a deep, modulated voice, "and I wonder, what's your goal in life?"
I thought for the longest moment. For some reason, this man scared me, excited me, intimidated me. I knew that he was hiding something. It was a test.
I grinned broadly. It was in my best interest to play to my strengths. "I want to rule the world."
The man nodded, taking another long sip of the wine. "Exquisite vintage, this is. A '47 Chateau Gyarados; grown on the slopes of Mount Silver. Drink up, son. I don't trust a man who doesn't drink."
Hastily, I picked up the glass of the deep red liquid in front of me, hiding my gag reflex the longer I stared. Alcohol, thanks to my dear father, never interested me. I could appreciate the work that the vintner had put into it. How long the grapes grew on the mountain and then had been smashed, probably by a worker Pokémon like a Hitmonlee or a Machop…all to swirl coolly in my glass.
I set the glass back down, noticing the way it sparkled in the candlelight. "I prefer not to poison my body with this wretched drink," I told the man smoothly, "I have nothing to gain from it."
He smiled at me as I stared unflinchingly into his blue eyes.
"Good. You'll do nicely."
From that moment on, I became his right hand man. His name was Giovanni, and I'd been selected to inherit his empire.
It was the summer of '89 when Giovanni finally died, handing me the reins to his plans, his empire. He'd had no heirs, so I was named heir to his estate thanks to some tricky wording in his will by his lawyer. A long-lost niece tried to take what she could from me, but I had her killed.
No witnesses, Giovanni told me, no one to take from you what you've earned.
I was just a rich kid off the farm, in Viridian. I was fabulously wealthy but bored, and then this opportunity lands before me.
"It wasn't that you were rich," he replied the one time I asked him why he'd chosen me. "I could have picked anyone off the street, my boy. I chose you because you have the will. The will and the drive to soldier on, to keep going when no one else does. That's a rare gift, one only seen in Champions."
I snorted. "Sir, I have no interest in being Champion."
He smiled that rare, dangerous smile I'd only seen him display fleetingly. It dipped up from the edge of his mouth, on the right, before spreading across his face to show teeth bared and at the ready.
"A Champion is not always of the League, Giovanni," he replied smoothly, before handing me a Pokéball and leaving the room.
And then, Therapist, I took over what Giovanni had left me. And what had he given me, besides the realization that I ruled the world? Nothing, absolutely nothing. For I was to keep this great and terrible secret to myself, and continue on unknowingly, like nothing was wrong.
And that is, you ask?
I will tell you my deepest secret, Therapist. Mr. John Hoskins, who will probably earn fame and recognition; if they let you publish your work. If they let you reveal the secret to the world, you will be famous. But they won't. The world is in my hands.
And how do I know?
Let me ask you this, Mr. Hoskins. How is it that the crime is diminished in the world? How is it that the Big Four regions no longer fight and squabble like they used to, like the Crusades and the Conquests of old? Why does everyone submit to a League that governs what is a glorified children's game, a game that is should be eventually outgrown—but isn't. A game that everyone plays, everyone buys into, everyone can't stop being obsessed with? Tell me your answer. Tell me why it's so peaceful now.
You have no answer, do you? You don't know why this society is so sheltered. You cannot even being to fathom your life without Pokémon, can you? Even those who "hate" the creatures harbor a deep feeling of contentment when they are around the creatures.
The awful truth, the inexorable truth, the laughably obvious and carefully controlled truth is that the inhabitants of this planet are crafted to have The Partnership. They are led down this slope, through gentle, subtle teachings through hypnotic suggestions and then expected to come along down the road. It is considered abnormal to exist without at least one Partner. But if logic is followed, how can this be true? Unleashing a ten-year-old unto the world with a fire-breathing monster? How did this come to be? How could someone ever suspect that these children could have the mental capacity to go out into the world, let alone be able to control the monster they've been released with?
It is due to that same simple fact.
Our society had been restructured in some radical way, some horrible way, to suppress our deeper, baser instincts and encourage this happy, gentler, more co-operative humanity.
It sickens me.
When I found out what the secret was, I couldn't really tell anyone. After all, who would believe me? The Champions know. They only tell those of us in each region who head up a villainous team; it's simpler that way. It is easy to leave the reins in our hands, because we are in fact puppets to the League. Every Pokémon is strictly controlled; every human's whereabouts fastidiously tracked. We are allowed to do our own experiments and plans to raise Legends, conquer world; incite upheaval simply for the fact that we are doomed to the start.
For humanity's greatness, the drive and competition to protect our own necks, has been waylaid for a child's game. Team Rocket is a place of refuge for those who don't quite fit the paragon of Pokémon perfection. It is a place for those humans whose baser instincts, the ones who can truly feel guilt, remorse, anger, pain, pity; compassion, even, must go. And I was charged with keeping track of them. Keeping my fingers in the telecommunications industry to try and crack opens this rotten world that is so perfect and clean. Keeping my people in line, when in fact, we were only the ones who kept humanity from falling apart.
I never was able to find out what the Champions did to keep us squashed. When they revealed to me the secret, I forbade them from putting their influence machines near my people. If we were going to be ostracized because our emotions happened to run a full gamut, we were going to be outcasts all the way. In fact, under my tenure as a Boss, Team Rocket conducted more raids and schemes than ever before, simply because I kept the League out. We differed here. They understood that I truly kept this perfect world—or, at least, my two slices of this perfect world; Kanto and Johto—from slipping into an anarchistic mess. And I understood that there was no hope, that I was stuck in a senseless and hopeless cycle of not breaking the veneer of this too-happy world.
Oh, how I longed to say fuck it all and overthrow the League! The Champions, despite being formidable Battlers, would quail before our numbers; if I had taken the time to bind all the teams together. But it wasn't to be.
I was meant to live a lie, Mr. Hoskins; meant from the start, perhaps even conditioned, to lie and steal and cheat my way to the top, and then realize that there was nothing atop the pedestal and I was alone, so alone…
That is the story, Mr. Hoskins. You know the awful truth. You can look at me and think this is preposterous. You can dismiss me and say that the society you've been born in is happy, content to live out their day-to-day lives in utter bliss and ignorance. You can say that your people are content to stay within the normal parameters of their own lives that don't change. But I know the truth, Mr. Hoskins. I know that the world is not the same.
And I know that I was the one controlling it.
And I let it slip through my fingers.
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End Audio Transcript. Current time: 4:52 AM, August 5, 2021.
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