Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon.
Bravery and cunning,
One needs to survive.
Do not hesitate, do not flounder,
Watch your step, watch your step,
Before you fall.
Shifting and moving around the mansion had seemingly no pleasurable aspect for Eusine, other than wasting precious time and attempting to alleviate the stress and anxiety this day had given him. So much had happened, shifting his world into different viewpoints to the point that he felt ill, and yet he had found no remedy to conquer this dizzying feeling of unease, other than to occupy himself in other measures of the day.
This was why he was arriving at the stoop of the farmhouse where Keiko had last been seen. Eusine was already aware of where the child was being held, this wasn't the information he was hoping to gain; not from the lone woman who had been witness to the catastrophic events of the Carillon's abduction. Instead, he was hoping to truly know which diabolical beings had been involved in the scheme and capture, as an avid researcher he found it in his rightful duty to process any information capable of helping them along the way. Did these demons have any specific characteristics? Was there one monstrous leader? How many were involved? Eusine's questions would no doubt roll endlessly along his membrane and tongue until the interview was over and done with, but the lone set of queries that now settled in his brain had him swallowing in fierce temptation of even asking them. How did they take her? What did those brutal beings do? How cruel would they, this unlikely formation of a few scarce souls, have to be in return to proclaim justice?
Eusine's knocking was not very loud and quite brief, thinking that the carrying of far too many decibels was useless in this case, for in the hollowness of empty screams, everything echoed.
Despite his quiet candor, the door was soon opened, his eyes flickering over a small child leaning out from the corridor, the merciful slits running over the youth to use her as some sort of distraction. Tears had stained her cheeks, and had not yet been washed off, or perhaps they were too recent, a continued source of evidence for heartbreak and defeat. The researcher carefully mustered his best attempts at a soothing voice, lowering himself to the child's level so that the tiny girl no longer had to gaze in wonder at his appearance and reasoning for being there. Eusine had a notion that no one around these parts had seen someone dressed in the varnish that coated his body, this portion of the vast loam of Johto was simply a floating farmland, resting and trying to relax as the world passed by. He was having second thoughts about his overzealous suit of lush cream and ivory, but decided to not be overtly hesitant in its regards, and spoke to the child.
"Good day, my dear. I'm Eusine, I told your mother that I was hoping to drop by today to ask some questions. May I come in?"
The child nodded, and as she turned the man noticed another girl behind her, following closely behind him as he walked through the open precipice. To think these two children were witness to the horrible event that had happened here, it was all a bit too much to bear. Not only did the Rockets cause pain to the Carillon, Lance, Morty, and himself, but also to a small family, that had simply taken the young trainer under their wings of protection, tried to make her feel at home. Was she like a sister to these girls, an elder sibling showing them the ropes of life? Was she like another daughter to the woman now walking towards him, a carefully pasted smile at her face? How much grief had been sown along these vacant lands of indulged silence? How much longer would the suffering last? Why did all this pain have to spread, one lasting touch upon an open canvas and everyone seemed to feel the demise? Eusine's attention was squandered from these thoughts, if only for the briefest of moments, to shed some voice towards the woman he had sought for the occasion.
"I apologize Madame, Rosa, is it? I don't mean to make you answer all of my questions, but they might help in our case-"
"It's fine, Mr. Eusine. I understand. That poor girl went through more than I. I can't act like I suffer more than she. Please, come sit down, I hope I can be of some use to you and your cause."
Eusine nodded graciously at her answer, before slipping into the confines of the kitchen, now dirtier than it had ever been before. The woman unceremoniously tossed a worn sponge from the table and into the sink, and rid a pile of tissues resting in some kind of nest from the counter, before sitting at the small wooden stand and silently imploring the researcher to join her.
"Now, before you begin, Mr. Eusine, what is it that you do?"
She seemed suspicious, her wise and quivering brow cocked in curious contemplation, running over his figure as though he held some sort of gun in his polished suit. One couldn't really blame her, especially with recent events. He had to admit that not everyday did some poor Trainer get attacked in front of one's home, abducted in broad daylight. To be extra assertive and playing defensive was wise, a keen offensive maneuver by those who held such pain in their hearts. Eusine balked for a few moments despite all this, not quite sure of how to respond to her abrupt questioning.
So he made up a lie, because in his mind, that would be the best solution; an innocent, white sheered tale to ensure the safety of the Carillon's identity, his own, and the many others involved. The Trainer was still the young girl she knew, and hopefully, after this day, Eusine wouldn't have to bother the poor woman again. She would never know of his farce.
"I'm a detective at the police station in Goldenrod. After you phoned Officer Jenny yesterday, she took the liberty of asking me to come down here today and see if I could gain any more information. I assure you, I am not one of those ruthless thugs."
How dare that wench even think she could get away with that disgusting act, how dare she think for one moment that he would allow her to simply go unpunished for spitting in his face, for disrespecting his person. This Carillon child was nothing more than a frustrating little brat, who gave no regard to anyone but herself. The cold man took an old master key from his deep pockets, producing the instrument and unlocking the pale door he had come to, further down the hall from the prison cells, lost in his irritated and raw thoughts. Striding into his office, the Rocket, out of pure frustration, eyed the contents on his desk, then reached forward and pummeled some important artifact to the floor. It landed with an ungracious smash, and he almost enjoyed the sound, the sight, of the splitting porcelain fragments, as he leaned on the heavy oak construction, head bowed deeply. It made him feel better, to feel that at least an inanimate object would bend to his will, gleam in peaceful pieces along the hardened floor, become broken and stay broken, incapable of being replaced into their former identity. But alas, the attempts at calming himself down were met to no avail, for a brisk, cold voice (it flowed with more petulant ice than his own) boomed over the communications device along his wall.
"Sounds like someone isn't getting anything accomplished."
Biting back a groan, or some hasty retort, he resolved to turn around and address his boss in the clear, television-like structure. Panic began to quell deep within his soul, but he fought against the rise of terror, instead, beginning to shout the ills of his latest efforts with the legend.
"The girl isn't agreeing to anything! She just sits there, or comes up with some snide remarks about how she's being treated unfairly, how she doesn't know what's going on. She won't abide by our terms. I've tried telling her that we're torturing her Pokemon, but all that does is produce tears."
"Resort to harsher means. Don't tell me you've gone soft. Use force if necessary. We need this girl on our side, and I don't care how you do it. Scare her into submission, terrify her until she says yes, but we can't lose this one. Failure is not an option. Without her, we won't be able to control Suicune. Do you understand?"
The boss received only a submitting nod from his subordinate.
"Good. Now I don't want to hear that you've failed again. Next time I talk to you, she better be more than just a sniveling child. I want her bending to our will, and no one else's, especially not her own. Don't allow yourself to be overcome by some pathetic girl."
The voice was promptly cut out as the speaker left the scene, leaving only the Rocket alone in his office. Heaving forth a bitter sigh, he looked at his door, grabbed the cool, metal handle, and upon entering the hall once more, made a turn towards the Carillon's cell yet again.
There couldn't be any failure. She had had enough time, that stinging sensation would undoubtedly still waft along her cheek, and if she contained any sort of intelligence, she wouldn't want that pain to resonate anywhere else either. He had half a notion that this Keiko girl would realize what was at stake, and would either break or become molded into a zombie beneath the weight of a thousand shadows. He didn't care about which option she took, just as long as she was torn away from her spitfire personality, frayed at the edges and losing what she had now. It was clear that she didn't understand the potential within her (especially with the fact that she wasn't even aware that she had been named Carillon), how Team Rocket could shape her into more than just a simple Trainer. She could have anything she wanted, could become whatever she aimed to be, and it would be so simple. Bow to their organization, believe in domination of the world, and everything would go according to plan. How hard was it to see that she could be anything at all, to simply believe in the Rockets and her wildest wishes would come true? Did she think of them as cruel? Ha. That was worth a laugh. She didn't know the meaning of the word.
Not yet, anyway.
The Rocket, too absorbed in his own thoughts to care about his surroundings, didn't notice the presence of a justified darkness hovering outside his office, a cape swishing across the floor, and a flaming haired stranger sneaking into the throngs of the door to his room before the click of the automatic lock.
The sliding door of Keiko's cell opened once more, perhaps fifteen minutes later than when it had closed. The Rocket had been correct in his affirmations; her cheek still stung horribly, her tongue running along the inside of her mouth in efforts to calm the quelling storm, but the numbing bound no enterprise of ceasing. She added it to the list of things currently ailing her, and firmly stared into the eyes of the Rocket as he entered her sights yet again. The smooth etching of his cruel voice grated against her senses, throbbed against the weight of the chains and made her wince in agony, eyes closing in despair.
"You have one more chance to reconsider."
The girl's brow lifted as eyes opened, and yet, despite that pain in her cheek, the aches all over her body, she couldn't help but force her tongue to move accordingly in retorting formations. She had become the embodiment of boldness at this point, despite the warning signs etched all over the tense and glowering Rocket, the thick tension boiling and seething along the thick chamber. Foolish or brave, only an audience could judge.
"Oh? Lucky me. Too bad I won't be taking it."
She was fraying every last inch of his nerves, the frustration he had felt earlier coming upon him ten-fold now. What was worse was the fact that his boss had enforced the pressure of the moment, his words echoing in the back of the Rocket's skull. The tall, smoldering figurine knew that he would have to resort to extreme measures, the likelihood growing each time the child opened her infuriating mouth.
"You will learn your place, girl."
His cold voice echoed across the vast chamber, yet she paid no heed, already enveloping her mind to a peaceful trance, her own method of blocking out the cruel master, thought of in his previous absence. She could envision her old home, overflowing with warmth and benevolence, or Rosa's wondrous farm, the sounds of Miltank mooing whistling along her eardrums. Keiko closed her eyes to imagine such wonderful things, enjoying the sights and sounds of the past, no matter how recent it seemed, unaware of the Rocket's change in physique before her. At the girl's continuing silence, his façade warped into nothing but sickened rage, and felt no resistance from his body as he raised a closed fist, and swung. She had crossed the line, and had to pay the price.
Both parties were surprised at the contact, the girl's cry of pain was thrown across the chamber, ignored by the occupants of the headquarters, despite the likelihood of being overheard. The man's eyes widened, stunned at his own actions, though narrowing to slits again as soon as he could regain his former posture. There was suddenly an insurmountable feeling of triumph clinging to the very core of his body, lifting him above and beyond the monstrosity of his deed. To hear her scream of terror, to make her hurt again, it gave him the most intense elation, pouring along fingertips, gliding to the inside of his dark, tarnished heart. Would she know who was in charge now? It would never be her bratty perseverance that dominated the situation, but his overbearing force of might and unholy terror. Now that he had leered along her face, ruined the peaceful entity it had solidified moments before, he wondered if he had completely destroyed her tranquility. He longed for it to be shattered, dead, cold as this disgusting room that she remained chained to. He wanted her destruction, her defeat, to learn of her breaking point. The formidable Rocket drew back, standing upright and glaring down at her, awaiting some sort of response other than muffled tears. There was a growing hope, as she lain in this filth, that the girl would now submit, that he wouldn't have to return to his boss with insufficient results, especially after the use of pain, of force, as a coercing and extreme measure.
Keiko's eye throbbed from the connection of power, the pounding in her eardrums only signaling the imminent swelling and onslaught of white flashes, the repeated puncture of pain over and over again was far too intense to take. The pressures of the evening before and the current day had taken a toll, not to mention the beatings she currently faced. In one fell swoop, the Rocket saw his problems further escalate, as the youth's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she promptly blacked out, becoming a brief, fluttering mess of silence.
Lance's patience was waning, fizzling as time passed in unwarranted, slow measures. He had paced around the Rocket's office numerous times, sifting through papers, stepping over pieces of shattered porcelain, listening to a bell ringing off in the distance, before finally giving up on finding anything worth his time. The computer upon the desk of whoever's office was distinctly absent of any sufficient information, at least in Lance's view, since he couldn't for the life of him guess the password to the damned contraption. There were a few precious moments where he had just wanted to smash the thing, but he soon realized after these thoughts that such actions wouldn't help anyone, and had opted to just take the plug out of the wall in spite.
Waiting for the Rocket return from whatever he was doing was becoming an infuriating task, and before long Lance had anxiously clambered into the man's spinning chair, thinking, waiting, before the click of a lock was heard.
His eyes widened, and quickly his long arm reached out to the light switch beside him. Crouching lowly by the edge of the swinging door, his presence enveloped by the heavy shadow wandering in, tiredly searching for the same enlightening crevasse Lance had recently dimmed. Amidst the small distraction, the dragon tamer took his chance.
The last thing the Rocket saw was a fist flying quickly into his face.
"Tough luck, buddy."
Lance smirked, proceeding to close the door before someone wandered by and saw the commotion, before giving a mock salute to the Rocket, snagging his keys, and making off down the hall with the man's cape across his back, replacing his own. With the giant crimson R emblazoned along his spine, the Champion assumed an important man's identity, and his influential keys, thus gaining access to anywhere he wanted in the vicinity. A few glares were sent to random, passing Grunts, sending them off in various directions in wide-eyed panic, and he only widened his smug grin at their antics. This was going to be a piece of cake.
Now, just to find the girl.
Despite rumors of the Rockets cunning, swift, narrow passageways and hints of an eternal labyrinth within the complex headquarters, Lance found that perhaps he had discovered a niche in their planning.
They were easily fooled.
The first door he entered with the special key revealed several scientists on computers, struggling away at haphazard typing and various tests. Some didn't bother looking up from their screens, though one brave one that held onto a jar of some suspicious looking green liquid peered over the rim of his glasses and gave Lance a scrutinizing glare.
"Do you need something, sir?"
The fact that he bothered to address Lance with respect meant the master had somehow managed to garner quite a good disguise, the obsidian cape was producing decent results in his regard, leading them to a faulty point in the scope of things. In his cunning way, Lance decided to use this specious décor while he had the chance, manifesting a certain form of queries in order to gain further information for his heroic mission.
"I do. I was not informed of the current whereabouts of the girl that was taken here, despite the fact that I've supposedly been instructed to question her. Perhaps you know of her location?"
At this, the scientist questioned, a rather small man with an intelligent gaze, seemed to envelop his entire façade into a smirk that could rival Lance's own. Due to the strange reaction, the dragon Trainer simply arched one brow in confusion and curiosity, nervous for an instant, perhaps he had blown his cover? He didn't warrant the anxiety across his own visage, layering it with the cool endeavors of stoic, impassive perfection.
"So Mr. I'm-In-Charge couldn't handle her, eh? Had to call you in? Well, regardless, she's down the hall a couple cells. I'd be careful, heard she was a feisty one."
Lance simply gave a respectable bob of his head to the man after he was given appropriate answers, and stepped carefully out of the room before rushing down the hallway. He didn't want to be caught, he didn't want to be noticed, and he certainly didn't want anyone gathering suspicion about him, especially some pathetic Grunts running around. Since he hadn't been given an approximate number for the cellblock Keiko was currently bound to, the trainer figured it wouldn't hurt to check out the rooms next door and further down, at any rate; she was on this floor.
Before long Lance had not only scared several Grunts out of their wits (even receiving some hurried bows at his very presence), but had recovered the Carillon's Pokemon, after giving out some reasonable excuse to the scientists. They had believed his tale; that they were completely incapable of testing the pathetic beasts and only his mind was worthy to beseech unto theirs, and escaped with them in hand, Pokeballs gathered with little hesitation.
Things were going far too smoothly, it made him feel lax and caught off guard. This heroic faction was moving along without a single problem, and he was regarding the shrinking shadows as though they would somehow reach out to snag him away from being the savior. Where were the dark demons hiding amongst these shivering eaves? Where were the enemies of this forsaken mission, where were the cruel figurines deigned as masters of manipulation, of sinister plots and reckless abandon? He felt lured and unaware, proceeding into a trap that rested upon him thinking that he was safe from harm. He didn't think his heart had ever beaten so fast.
The ringing of one solitary, chiming bell caught his attention as he wandered out of an empty prison hold, discarded and no doubt waiting for the next poor victim to be garnered into it's grasp, setting the master on alert for someone coming. Looking down the vast, long corridor of the specific hallway left nothing to be found, and so he proceeded towards the single room left, where the sound had seemingly resounded and disappeared. Just approaching the pale, sliding door left a foreboding presence in the back of his mind, a sense of urgency flashing about his skull, bouncing off in various degrees of excitement, anxiety and trepidation. The sense of something hollow, sinister, embroiled with haunting claims and cries seemed to comprise the entire entity of the door, the room, the entire portion of the single slab of hallway. Something awful had happened within these confinements, and already Lance felt sick to his stomach, breathing deeply to quell the desire of lurching any breakfast he had consumed. A chill lingered along his spine; he shuddered involuntarily at the cool touch of the key to the lock, pressing the instrument in one smooth motion, not noticing his hand had been shaking with the thought that the key wouldn't slide into this compartment, and only it. Fingers wrapped around the handle, escorting it sideways as he had done with all the others, half-expecting alarms to start screeching above him. When nothing happened, he breathed a sigh of relief, clambering into the room before anything else could appear and cause distinctive trouble and articulate chaos.
What he saw made him take back that softened breath of ease, and hitch his lungs into an overload of guilt and shame.
