Promises Made to a Black Hole
By Moonraker One

CHAPTER ONE

Three different checkpoints saw more than fifteen thousand people the first day of the convention/tournament on the private island purchased by Similatac. Garbed in full Team Rocket regalia, James Johnson had prepared himself for undercover work within the organization that had given him most of his teenage year angst. When a servant of the Team Rocket brass approached him, the former field operative displayed his fake identification and paperwork. When the middleman checked the computer a digital information file, cooked up by the tech guys at the FBI main headquarters, of course, would appear on the screen. It played out exactly as planned, without problem, and two separate lieutenants escorted James away from the rest of the crowd of people.

"James, it's good to have you back," one lieutenant greeted. "Giovanni has had us working on the latest project. We can't tell you more than that, of course, but you can be of much importance to us." He had seven different concerns on his mind, each one related to the project that had been under construction for quite a long time now. An operative quite as legendary within the Rocket organization as James always proved to be a time for pride, even if he had a long failure streak after meeting up with Ash Ketchum for the first time.

"It's good to see that things haven't gone completely to hell in my absence," James joked. Part of his instructions on the way to the island were to gather as much incriminating data as possible from what could be accessed. And as to what couldn't, he had been given a number of secret tools to make his espionage into their systems as stealthy as possible. Several more searches and a lot more paperwork involved and he found himself amongst his former comrades. The irony made him laugh; more than a decade ago, he'd be happily working amongst them on the latest plot for more power and conquest. Now he was their enemy and couldn't let them know it.

Moving as one agent in a wave of white leathered field soldiers, he searched every head in the area for a sign of long red hair. He scanned visually for anything that looked even remotely like it might be his former companion and the only love interest he'd ever had. Nothing resembling Jessie Hannigan did he find. Although depressing in a way, it gave him a sense of hope; perhaps she moved on, left their pathetic history behind like he did and accomplished bigger and better things. Craning his head to the upper right, he saw standing on a well-constructed balcony a familiar sight: Giovanni. The boss he once served and got a meager and unappreciative paycheck from watched with hungry eyes to make sure he saw nothing out of the ordinary occurring. The very same eyes came in momentary contact with James's. Although no expression changed on either face, more than a billion words were exchanged in the single solitary glance. The aging Rocket director seemed to have aged not at all in the eleven years since James last saw him in person; Giovanni thought James had grown to look more mature.

I sincerely hope you've changed in ways less superficial, Giovanni hoped, thinking back to how useless James and his teammate Jessie had proved to be in the past. They easily got the highest failure record in the history of the illegal organization. But then again, I have much hope for our project, and you, James, may play a bigger part in this than even you can comprehend.

Once the disguised FBI agent managed his way to the end of the wave of field operatives and other scientists and analysts hired by the organization, he found himself handed a folder by yet another Team Rocket lieutenant. "James, this folder contains the information you will need to know to be of utmost use to this organization, especially Mr. Giovanni himself. You will be issued a small apartment in which you will sleep and eat in between days of work. Do you understand?" James nodded. "Good. Here is your apartment number. It will be opened by your fingerprint scan. Your part in the project begins tomorrow."

The short walk to the apartment complex where he'd be staying in until his part in the project became clearer to him did his mind some good. He found his room on the sixth floor in room seven A. The two room apartment with a kitchen and a bathroom suited him well considering his task at hand. His white leather outfit he slid out of and threw them on the bed to be dealt with later. Stepping into the bathroom and into the elegant shower he removed his boxer shorts and tossed them to the bathroom's exit. The hot water soothed his body from the long flight he'd undergone earlier, and the steam made the air seem lighter which eased his mind. Thoughts and memories—many of which he did not want—had been flooding through his mind the entire morning. He scarcely thought of anything except the negative times he'd had with Team Rocket.

He washed his navy blue hair and stared into the streaming water. How the mostly unbroken streams danced downwards to the shower floor and then shattered reminded him of his tumultuous love life. Jessie Elizabeth Hannigan had been his partner in crime and his only love interest. Her expansive, fiery red hair streaked right and left when she walked, and her gentle beauty contrasted with her burning passion for life. She had a commanding attitude, a take-charge method of living which had guided her through good times and bad and provided him the spark that he needed to pull himself out of the shithole his life had become. Questioning his sexuality and being confused as to what he really wanted almost did him in. His late teenage years were hell for him, despite the fact that he was well-off. The first time they made love saved him from what he could have become. He always believed that he owed his life to Jessie, and in its own way, it wasn't a lie.

But I'm the one to blame, he thought. I should've stayed with her and loved her desperately. I should've asked her to marry me. Instead I blew it, just like always. He remembered that day well. She warned him not to go to America, for it might do him wonders for his career aspirations but it would kill their relationship. He assured her that he'd keep in touch. He guaranteed her that their love would last, would survive anything. Instead, the inevitable happened. Routines and career goals murdered their greatest gift to one another. She probably detested him for the remainder of his life after that, and the thought of her giving up on him ate away at his soul.

"May God forgive me," he whispered to himself, toweling off. "Because I know she won't."

Dressed only in a new pair of boxer shorts, he lay back on the bed with his feet dangling off the edge. His gun—a Rocket issue Baretta that had become standard equipment for field operatives a few years prior—he stared at while contemplating his latest assignment. He put the barrel to his right temple and pulled the trigger, the unloaded gun clicking adamantly, symbolic of the mood of his life; empty. He sighed and tossed it on the floor to the right of him. I just want this damn assignment to end.

His first day and he already couldn't stand the undercover work.