"Hope this helps."
Attached were four pictures and one audio clip. He looked at the pictures first. The first one showed some sort of lab, blinding white yet barren of people. It looked like it was some sort of biological research laboratory. The second one was a picture of Alexi Michaels, at a conference desk with several hooded figures, obviously high-ranking members of Team Intrinsic. The third wasn't exactly a picture: it was a map, a very detailed floor map of, the label said, FundGen's headquarters. He glanced at it briefly, from what he remembered during his brief stay, it looked accurate. All fifty-three floors were documented. He sent this one to the large printer in the other room so it would print full-size, and moved on to the next. This one was odd, it was a picture of four people in front of a very impressive mansion. The four people were Michaels, a middle-aged female in a light hooded long-sleeve shirt, a similarly-aged male in the same hooded shirt (which Cory noticed read "Team Intrinsic" in the upper corner), and a younger female with pale, blonde hair. This last girl caught his surprise: he knew that he had seen her before. She had a pale scar running down the side of her face from the side of her eye to her chin. She couldn't be very old, probably her late teens or early twenties, and he wouldn't have even paid this much attention to her face if she didn't look so oddly familiar. Ah, he shrugged, onto the voice clip. It was only a few seconds long.
A male voice, whom he recognized as Michaels from news broadcasts: "Has the formula been perfected yet?"
A female voice, low but authoritative: "No, it has not been finished yet." The clip ended there.
Cory sat back in his chair, confused. This person, whoever it was, had given him so much information, yet was vague enough to leave him back at square one. He didn't even know if this source was trustworthy, but it was a potential lead. He saved the files to his computer and walked outside. Mike and Laura were gone: Mike must have taken her in his stead. Cory paced around the building a few times to clear his head and wake himself up. Upon his third circling of the building, his phone rang. Caller ID said "Unidentified Number". He reluctantly answered it, and before he could answer a greeting, a distorted voice cut him off.
"Meet me at the Blueberry Café at two PM." The call ended abruptly.
Cory stared, dumbfounded, at the phone before pocketing it. "How cliché," he muttered, "but it's a place to start." He looked at his watch. It was eleven AM. Blueberry City was a good two hour drive, so he packed up his computer and left.
He made it there. Blueberry was nearly on the opposite side of the region as TPH HQ was. He was still half an hour early, so he checked out the radio station. He liked to play the daily contest whenever he was in town, which wasn't often. He walked into the station and up to the contest desk, where he drew his Trainer Card and placed it on the counter. He flashed a brief smile at the counter attendant, who smiled at him.
"Hello, Mr. Russet. Let me just run your ID…" She turned to a computer and keyed in his ID code. The computer worked for a second before sounding a very cheerful ping. She turned back to Cory, handed him his card back, and told him the good news. "Congratulations, Mr. Russet, you've won a TM!" She keyed in something on the computer, and a disc materialized on the pad beside it. She handed him the disc. He read it, it was Blizzard. He thanked her with a smile and started to walk off.
The attendant stopped him. "Wait, Mr. Russet, I have something else for you!" He turned back to the desk, and she presented him with a small, green Pokéball. "This is a special edition Pokéball, created to commemorate FundGen's special event!" He took the ball and looked it over: it had FundGen's logo in bright metallics on the front of the ball, but for all other purposes, it was an ordinary Pokéball.
He would have inquired about this event, but he only had ten minutes to make his appointment. He thanked her and tossed the ball in the air a couple of times before pocketing it, walking off. He made his way to the café and sat down in an open area. He didn't know who his contact was, but he guessed that he (or she) knew him, so he'd find Cory. He sat there for twenty minutes to no avail, then stood up to go to the bathroom. When he'd returned, he sat for five more minutes: nothing. A waiter walked up to him.
"Sir, are you a Mr. Cory Russet?"
"Yes, I am," he replied warily.
"I have a note for you." The waiter handed him a folded piece of paper.
"I see. What did this person look like?" Cory inquired.
"I was asked to not reveal that information, I apologize." He gave a slight bow and walked off.
Cory opened the note. It was a simple note that left Cory frustrated.
"Sorry, meeting will not work out. I'll call again. –S"
S? This was getting very odd. Cory folded up the note, placed it in his coat pocket, and drove back to HQ.
