"A long stretch must be mended, but only through the most extreme and miraculous ways can this be achieved."
—Ghastra, Bay Province of the Draconid Order, Third Age (Translation: John Stone)
Water droplets dripped off of Archer's face, a sheen of moisture covering him. He gripped the sink to steady himself, holding himself close to the mirror as he stared his grim reflection down, a callous, exhausted reflection. Beneath him, the sink continued to run with a gentle hiss, moments before the iron push-handle sprung up and sealed itself, ending the stream of water. Outside, the echoing sounds of travel reached his ears, people racing through crowded tunnels to get to their destination.
Beside him, atop a paper towel dispenser, a thickly knit black ski cap rested atop it. As Archer contemplated the hat he ran a hand over his short, prickly blue hair, his hand grazing down below his ears where the hair had been cut incredibly close. Down by his boot, he nudged a black tote container slightly, getting it to jostle on its handcart.
With one last look to his short-cropped hair, Archer grabbed the hat and stretched it wide, slipping it over his head and pulling it down so that it covered his hair.
At the top of a hillside crest, Sedna parked the ATV. She opened the door with a loud chunking sound, stepping out and sinking her boots into the cool grass. Behind her trailed her white labcoat, caught by the chilled breeze as she walked to the end of the vehicle.
Though Mars too had gotten out, she was staring down at the bottom of the hill, a valley leading to the backside of a forest. When she squinted through her red bangs that knocked around in the wind and blinded her, she could see that the valley led up to the backside of the shack she had initially came to when finding Sedna and Vesta. Though the shack was several hundred feet away from where the valley sloped down, Mars squinted in seeming confusion. In the air, her finger traced down from the shack, down over land it sat on in an invisible line that passed deep underground like the tunnel she had traveled in, and then ran her finger in a horizontal line along where the main chamber should be, seeing that it led up to the sloping valley, and eventually the wreckage at the foot of the valley. Mars lowered her hand slowly and unknowingly, mentally lost in the wreckage that she hadn't noticed before.
At the foot of the valley, a building that had seemingly been built into the curve of the hill looked to have collapsed, the smashed in walls having tumbled in and crumbled into a pile of rubble. All around where grass would've covered the landscape seemed like burnt earth, old worn rock and dead plant life. The old concrete and steel that had collapsed looked as though it had once belonged to a warehouse with a high amount of fortifications, or an old base that had been destroyed.
The gentle squealing of wheels behind Mars caught her attention, and she turned to see Sedna with a gurney with a tall, expanded suspension, tiny wheels beneath. As Sedna popped the handbrake on the gurney and locked it in place, Mars stepped back, walking backwards until she stood alongside Sedna and continued to gaze down beside her at the distant wreckage.
"We'll have to proceed on foot," said Sedna.
My dearest Archer
We never made it to the Indigo Plateau. We had lost half our men along the way, and sooner or later I realized that Proton was right: there would be no end to the climb.
Once we had turned back, we were met with a nearly full-scale armada at the entrance to Victory Road. It was his idea to take us on the backs of what remaining flyable Pokemon we had. I owe a great deal to Proton for his decision to take the executives and higher-ranking officers rather than the grunts. That is the reason I can write to you today.
I need you most in this moment, more than any I have experienced in recent years. I still do not know why you reply.
The black knit cap hugged close to Archer's head, not letting a blue hair out from beneath it. His wet ears turned a deep rose color as the cool breeze of the underground terminal chilled them. Hands in his pocket, standing close to a pole with close guard over his luggage beside him, he watched the people around him with intense interest, occasionally giving a glance towards the guard at the staircase across the large expanse of crowd.
The train across the way from him caught him off-guard, as Archer would stare into the dark, murky glass that projected his reflection. He gazed at where he had touched up his eyebrows with a bit of makeup to make them appear thick and brown, but unassuming. He was tempted to run a finger over the fake, prosthetic mole he had attached to his chin moments earlier, but thought better of it. Even in the deep black sweater he wore beneath his uniform always and the white pants, it was the beige jacket that made him look fairly unassuming to those who were looking for him.
Sableeye lunged ahead, leaping to and crawling along the tops of large rocks that lined either side of the valley as they approached the less natural side of the valley. He climbed up with limber, incredibly thin limbs as he scaled the topmost rock in the layer of the valley the were walking, expressionless geodesic eyes panning over the rocky spaces before and ahead of him. Poised on his hind legs, Sableeye leaned back and squatted, dusting his claws off of his knees and watching silently.
As the hollow metal supports of the gurney rattled and whined as they traveled over the dirt path, wheels spinning on their round mounts, Sedna grunted and pushed forward wordlessly, moving the heavy cart down into a space between boulders, one of which Sableeye stood atop. With great thrusts, Sedna launched the gurney over small hops needed to get to the next divet where the wheel would get stuck again, then gave another thrust.
Behind her, several feet back, Mars' boots crunched on the pebble-filled soil, her posture slanted back slightly as she walked, her toes pointing down with her arms outstretched beside her for balance as she moved down the steep hillside. The white plastic of her boots had become deeply covered with tan dirt, scuffed from knocking them when she circumnavigated boulders and muddied from long grass expanses. She had garnered cuts on her palms, developed sore fingers and the beginnings of callices, as well as chipped at the already finely-cut fingernails she had. Up towards the horizon, where Sedna had gained the lead with her heavy payload, she gazed at the two of them, where Sableeye's tiny purple body could easily be identified from where she was. As she hopped down over the last expanse of sloping hill, hopping over where it dropped sharply into the rock deposit, she took a few quick steps across, catching up with Sedna quickly, all the while winding herself.
Sedna had stopped up ahead. She watched as Sableeye launched himself down from the tall boulder, landing on the smaller one opposite the trail and racing down to the other side, a shrill howl coming from Sableeye as he launched himself at a screaming Ekans. Sedna quickly stepped around as carefully as she could, standing in front of the gurney as she waited for the ensuing battle to end.
As Mars approached from behind, cheeks flush with a panting exhaustion, she stepped around towards Sedna, caught between the gurney and the shorter boulder. Leaning back, she leaned against the wall, catching her breath as she stared down at her scraped boots.
"Not a single question about where we're going. I have to hand it to you Commander, you're a compliant one," said Sedna.
Mars looked up, meeting with Sedna's playful, teasing smile. She raised an eyebrow at the jabbing question, returning her gaze to the ground as she shuffled on her boots.
"I guess now wouldn't be a bad time to ask, would it?" said Mars.
"As good a time as ever."
My dearest Archer
I still think to when we left those grunts at the base of Mt. Silver, where they scrambled to get around the entrance to Victory Road and there was no way around. Seemingly, they were all captured. I expect there wasn't much of a fight, and maybe only minor injuries. Still, it was them who put up the fight, were overwhelmed and struggled at the hands of the authorities, and not I.
They had cursed us very loudly when we took off. They were howling at us, screaming, but not begging. They knew we weren't coming back for them. They never asked, they just knew. It was as if they knew that this conclusion would be coming very soon to them.
It brings myself to the conclusion that I have raised that which I cannot take care of.
There are so many conclusions that Proton has brought up for how this might end. He has asked that I not return to the Radio Tower in Goldenrod, and that you should avoid it as well. I hope that this has reached you in time.
As the train bounced, racing along its steel track as it ran through dark tunnels, Archer held fast to the steel support pole, watching as his handcart bobbed softly, watching the thin black strap holding the tote to it warp with little effort.
Near silently, the thin silver watch on Archer's wrist beeped. When he looked at it, silencing the alarm on the digital device, he saw the time '10:45 AM' on it.
"Fifteen minutes to Goldenrod City," announced the crackling loudspeaker up above.
Squatting down, Archer undid the thin black strap holding the tote to the handcart. He then opened the lid, peering inside of the storage unit. A thin white jacket lay atop it, bearig the black shield and red 'R' emblazoned atop it: Team Rocket.
"Down, Sableeye. Get to the front of us, you hear?"
Sableeye hissed in compliance, scaling the boulder he had perched himself atop, crawling vertically with delicate precision on limber limbs, pulling himself down vertical on the surface with his head facing down towards the ground. He then let go, sailing towards the ground with thin outstretched forearms, moments before catching himself and then scampering up ahead to reach Sedna, running ahead of them.
Mars approached from close behind, entering the clearing. Keeping close to Sedna, watching as Sableeye scampered ahead of her and going in front of both her and Sedna several feet ahead, she paused, waiting for Sedna's next move. Turning to observe her, she saw that she was staring at the structure ahead. When she looked, she saw exactly what Sedna was seeing, eyes widening in shock.
On one of the remaining, still standing concrete walls had a host of graffiti atop it, the most prominent being a bright red mess of words: 'Here lies dead Rockets'
My dearest Archer
Silver asked once again who his father was. I did not tell him, as usual, but this time he said something completely different. He said that it wouldn't work with him for very long, and that he had to know. He was becoming a man soon. I told him that he was only fifteen, more reminded him, and that it would be longer than he expected, and by then it wouldn't matter.
Maybe with this next one I will tell them, whoever he or she turns out to be. The doctor says I have three months left. He estimates that when I last saw you, I was only two months. He still refuses to take my blood for a paternity test. He says it is too weak, too thin, but I know he is lying.
All of the passengers in Archer's train car had cleared to the very corners, a radius of empty floor space formed around where Archer stood. They stared at him fearfully, staring at the Rocket patch over the breast of his jacket, trying to stay away as far as they could.
With a warm, wet rag in his hands, Archer had finished wiping away the makeup that colored his eyebrows their color. With them fully at their original thin blue color, he set aside the rag in the same pile where the thick brown jacket and his ski cap had been resting atop the black tote and handcart. He tucked his arms behind his back, pacing the empty space as he waited.
A Rocket grunt jabbed his elbows at people, knocking people over slightly so that they stepped aside as he made his way through the crowds. As people got the idea and cleared a path for him to the open space where Archer stood, he entered quickly, grabbing a pole for support as he stood with Archer. He carried with him a black backpack, clutched in a knot in his fist as he threw the open bag to the ground, stolen Pokeballs spilling out and wobbling on the moving floor. The barrel of a pistol slid out, one of two inside that had been taken from security guards.
"This entire train has been disarmed, sir. No signs of resistance," the grunt reported, standing at attention for Archer.
Archer nodded sagely, turning his attention to those surrounding him, giving them careful glances. "Good. And what of progress in Goldenrod?" he asked.
"The jammer has been installed. No outside communications are reaching the passengers. As for our own transmissions there have been none."
Archer's eyes raced over the floor, considering possibilities in silence. Finally, he looked up at a chair across from him, eyeing a Pokeball that had slipped up against the wall. "Perhaps they've run into a snag, earlier transmissions being decoded earlier than we expected," he said.
"Of course, sir. Regulations state that a blackout must—"
Several more people behind Archer let out cries of distress, shouts of protest and thrusting coming as another Rocket grunt made his way to the train car through the crowds. He kicked and shoved much more forcefully than the last grunt, clearing a wide path for a man that followed him, one he grasped by the arm and dragged him through. When they had cleared, the Rocket grunt stepped into the clearing, letting the man with him walk ahead several feet before he shoved him to the ground, letting him fall to his hands and knees.
"This is the captain who would not surrender. We've replaced him with Grunt J at the controls."
Groaning, the man on the floor raised himself on his hands. He was a heavier man, thick and formidable posture with old age making him weathered and weak. His captain's hat fell forward, exposing his balding head. His blue vest draped over him, the badge with his name and title sagging on its magnetic clasp. Stiffly, he raised his head up to Archer, wincing and pushing his round glasses up to the bridge of his nose.
"So... You're the coward whose taking over my train," said the captain, wincing as his bruised limbs brought him to rest on his knees. "You've got a lot to answer for... This will not stand when we get to the station. They will have you arrested, jailed—"
"I'm expecting the authorities when we get to Goldenrod," said Archer, "but I'm not expecting them to be in control when we reach the station. I'm expecting a... Leadership shift."
The captain, resolve ever tightening, grit his teeth, his face turning red with anger. "You're criminals, and you will suffer your consequences, boy!"
Archer frowned. "'Boy', you say?"
Looking up to the grunt who had brought the captain in, Archer gave a wave of his hand, stepping closer to the captain as he did so. He watched as the grunt quickly launched himself at the crowd, raising the dagger tucked in his belt and herding them out of the corner they had gathered in, then turning his gaze to the captain.
"You don't run things around here... You aren't in charge!" shouted the captain, craning his head around as the grunt cleared the space.
"You are gravely mistaken," said Archer. He then kicked his leg up into the captain, ramming the side of his boot into the apex of his chest and knocking him back over his knees and to the side. Archer immediately followed up with a swift kick to his stomach, forcing a loud grunt out of the captain. As he let the captain writhe, catching his pained, labored breaths, he reached to the side and reached for the gray Ultra Ball mounted on the hip of his belt. He looked to the grunt keeping guard at the doorway, nodding to him as the grunt reached for his own Pokeball and tossed it to him, Archer catching it, now with both Pokeballs in hand.
As he looked down to the captain, spitting up blood from his fat, chapped lips. Making eye contact with him, Archer grinned.
"I want an apology," said Archer. He reached down, grabbing the man by the collar and lifting him by it so that he sat upright, leaning him against one of the poles. As he kneeled, squatting close to the captain, Archer bared his teeth in anger. "I want you to say you're sorry, right now."
The captain spit in Archer's face.
Rather than flinch or even wipe away the bloodied saliva that coated Archer's chin, Archer stared at the captain. He then grabbed both of the captain's wrists, moving them when they struggled slightly to the top of the pole he leaned against. In an instant, the second grunt who wasn't keeping guard came alongside Archer, producing handcuffs and latching them onto both the captain's wrists and the pole.
"Sir, three minutes to arrival," said the grunt.
"Good," said Archer, satisfied with the bindings of the captain. He stood up, walking away from the captain, still with the Pokeballs in both hands. "We'll make this short."
Archer clicked both releases on the Pokeball, pointing them at the floor in front of the captain. Twin red images of Houndoom appeared on the ground.
An old haze filled the collapsed structure, pouring down through the large tears in the ceiling. Both Mars and Sedna had passed deep into the inner chamber of the abandoned hideout, a yawning chasm of darkness ahead where the structure opened up into the lower base of the hill. Rubble and fallen, crumbled sections of wall filled the landscape, vaulting down towards the inside of the hill. Many of the interior walls still held in some form or fashion, alluding to what was once there.
Mars lifted herself up over a large pile of rubble, bracing her knees as she levied herself up atop it and pushed up, scaling the pile. As she caught her breath, taking a moment just to stand and ease her footing into the sifting piles of debris, she raised her head through her frayed bangs, gazing up at the tall section of concrete wall that rested with an ominous tilt to the side. Seeing deep cracks, carvings into the wall, Mars stepped close, digging her fingers into the cracks and lifting her leg around one of the taller sections, hoisting herself up and climbing around the tall section.
As she swung her leg over the side, her boot making contact with the ground while her other boot pushed her off the section of wall, Mars' hand pulled free of the crack she had sunk her fingers into. She let out a loud gasp of pain, grabbing her hand as she steadied her footing. Though her head flashed with pain, she steadied her footing and stared down at her hand, looking at the long gash across her palm. Blood leaked down over her hand, pouring from the gash over onto her wrists, an incredibly bright red.
The blood dripped from her hand. Looking down, Mars saw a round, red splatter had collected on the toe of her boot, leaking over the curve and catching in the hammered edges. Though a part of her felt the urge to clean it off, she lifted her boot slightly as she held her hand in her other hand. She looked down, realizing she had stepped on a large section of black cloth. As she stepped back, gazing at the black cloth and where it sank beneath a pile of of debris, Mars could see an edge where a piece of bright red cloth had been stitched on. In her curiosity, more had dripped from her hand, onto the flag.
Mars then stared up, looking at one of the last remaining sections of wall before the rest of the abandoned hideout vaulted down into darkness deep beneath the hill. From the section of wall, the suspending metal beam sagging partially, a ragged black flag hung, swaying in its tattered, dirty glory, a red 'R' emblazoned on the front.
Archer stood in the front traincar, standing still with his arms crossed behind his back in the center of the gently undulating floor, feeling the car bounce as it raced towards its destination. In the distance, over the near-silent whimpers and cries of distress from the captive passengers that surrounded him, howling shouts of pain reached him. His eyes shut as he smiled, the shouts for mercy oddly pleasing him, even as disturbing and gruesome as they were.
As the screams died down, the crowd parted once again, individuals shoved aside in brief displays of force as the two grunts entered. After standing at attention once again, saluting Archer as he turned his attention to him.
"We will leave the captain, not a thing changed. There will be no resistance on this train or in the station today," said Archer.
"Yes sir."
"Yes sir."
"Good," said Archer. "Then the next order of business will be getting in touch with Petrel to see how things in Goldernrod are going. F, you will take a scanning kit to the front to attempt to reestablish communications with their teams."
Grunt F saluted again, then removed his hat and bowed, kneeling towards Archer. As he got to his feet, he gazed up at Archer, placing the hat back on his head carefully. "Yes sir, it will be done."
Archer raised his finger towards Grunt F. "Use only emergency frequencies, no public channels, as our ciphers may have been discovered. Not a single mistake."
"Yes sir."
As Grunt F quickly made his way to the rear of the train, slipping into the crowds of people taking up the entry ways, both Archer and the remaining grunt stood alone, waiting for the grunt to slip beyond Archer's sight. Archer then folded his arms once again behind his back, hand clasping wrist as he paced along the floor of the train car.
Moments after Archer's orders, the grunt still remained at attention in the car with him. After careful consideration, he broke formation, stepping up to Archer, producing from his own utility belt a Pokeball. When he stepped close to Archer, noticed by him, the grunt handed him the Pokeball in his hand, Archer's Pokeball with Houndoom returned inside, holding it in front of him. When Archer took it, the grunt took several steps back from Archer, his hands at his side.
"Do you think there's a reason why Petrel hasn't reached out to us?"
Looking to the grunt with an empty stare, Archer thought momentarily, beginning to pace again. Though the grunt had just spoken out of turn, Archer didn't seem fazed by it.
"Whether or not our plan has gone accordingly can't be determined by a simple misstep or minor hiccup. I will take all precautions to ensure that the plan still picks up where Petrel left off. For right now, all I need you to do right now is make sure that it isn't mass pandemonium when we get to the station," said Archer, "and that means making sure no one gets off this train."
My dearest Archer
I'm not in love with Proton. I thought you should know that. Please write back.
As Sedna crested a particularly high rising mound of debris, she looked back over her shoulder. Squinting, it seemed as though the landscape of the crumbling hideout was devoid of people. Even Sableeye hadn't ran ahead or lagged behind, seemingly clinging close to her after she had barked at him for so long to stay. Beside her, Vesta rested on his gurney, still half-conscious and turning in his restraints softly, but those were all that she knew and could see were still with her. Mars was seemingly lost.
The brakes on the gurney squealed to a perfect lock, left to sit a flat space of the ground. Sedna, drawing the sleeves back over her arms, watching carefully as the flowing end of her labcoat drifted over rocks that could easily tear and destroy it, she leveled herself down over the shifting, crumbling slopes that eased around the mound she had rested Vesta on. She brought her center of gravity low, sidling her feet along the narrowing path as her hand steadied herself beside her. Once she had carefully moved herself down, hopping over the sloping end to the path, Sedna found herself standing on a wall. One foot planted on the jagged top edge of the remains of a wall that still stood, another on the rubble that had slid in and been braced back by the wall. As Sedna got her balance, she saw that there was some blood on the ground beside a wall perpendicular to hers. Beside it, a long black piece of cloth draped down over the side of the wall, a few bloodied hand prints on the wall beside it, leading down into the deep space below.
Leaning over the wall, Sedna looked down below. The room that the collapsed walls had once enclosed was an office, complete with a desk and several half-destroyed pieces of furniture. Atop the dirt-covered desk, Mars sat with her legs folded, a stack of papers beside her, one unfolded on her lap.
In near-silence, Sedna walked along the perimeter of the wall, watching both her own footsteps and where Mars sat on the desk. When she reached the lengthy black cloth, realizing it was one of the half-buried flags that had once hung on the walls of the building, Sedna squatted down and gripped the edge of the wall, kicking her legs over the edge and levying herself down as she grasped the edge of the wall. With one hand holding her to the wall, her legs hanging down freely from the wall with her boot toes pressed to the surface of the wall for meager support, Sedna used her other hand to grab the flag, using it to levy herself down into the former office, now turned pit.
As her boots crunched on the gravelly floor, littered with chunks of concrete, trash and steel beams, Sedna passed an overturned metal filing cabinet, one that had miraculously surfaced. Its metal drawers had been torn from it, left aside with a bloodied hand-print on the handle.
"How much do you know about Team Rocket?" asked Mars, voice as seemingly lost in thought as her expression gave away.
"Quite a bit, I suppose. More than your average joe for that matter," said Sedna. Her voice seemed to trail off as she walked around the desk, glancing up at Mars every so often. "Why do you ask?"
"Did you know my mother was an Executive?"
This gave Sedna some pause. It made her stop in her tracks, hands resting by her hips as her boots shuffled on the ground, kicking aside rocks idly.
"No, I didn't," said Sedna.
Mars flipped a page over, reshuffling the old tattered documents in her lap. She had drawn her wooly black sleeves high over her bleeding palm to stifle the blood. As rudimentary as it was, it still stopped the blood from reaching the documents, leaving the pages untarnished.
"One of the things I'm slowly learning about my mother is that she's an incredibly poor planner. Like, she doesn't plan at all," said Mars. "She doesn't have any foresight, any sense of what the future might be... Any idea of what consequences might mean, and the broader subject."
Careful with her words, Sedna raised her voice. "Are you just learning that now?"
"No, I probably should've figured it out early, when she had two kids and then went to prison," said Mars. "But I get the feeling that these journal entries were never meant to be read... By anyone. They're so... Raw. It's unsettling, it's like she's here with me."
A desk chair rested beneath a thick drift of debris, the still gleaming brass feet of the chair sticking up. Gripping the old base, Sedna pulled, tugging powerfully as she pulled the chair from the rubble, sending crumbling chunks of concrete out over the seat as it slid out. A cloud of white dust kicked up all around the chair and Sedna's legs as she righted the chair onto its feet, setting it down on a slight slope of ground close to the desk. The old, mothridden leather of the chair wheezed as she sat down in it, old dirt and dust kicking up around her.
The page in Mars' hand, lifted unsteadily up and held in front of her eyes, fluttered in the near-nonexistent wind. She trembled silently, going over the final words on the page.
The dark of the tunnel made the flickering lights of the train seem that much more unsettling. A hush had fallen over the crowded train cars as the yellow stripe painted along the wall, the painted marquee for Goldenrod City in clear white font, went racing by.
Archer stared ahead, gazing into his glossy black reflection on the window, biding his time. There were only minutes left.
Looking up at the operations room, the captain's seat at the head of the train, the door was slightly ajar. Grunt F stood in the doorway, fingers efficiently moving a dial as he moved the frequencies of his device. With headphones on that had attached to the device placed on the workbench in the operations room, he looked up to Archer and shook his head, passing through the various frequencies one last time.
My dearest Archer
Proton no longer accepts my calls. I've tried for months, as well as sent my newest, most updated phone number, stating that it hasn't changed in a letter. After the last time when I moved and changed my number, I know it was blocked. I know he has turned paranoid in recent years, and I had to convince him many times to prove to him I wasn't arrested and wasn't providing evidence.
Then, when I was reading the papers in the morning, I found that he had been arrested. I was smart, Archer, and I didn't provide my return address when I wrote to him. You certainly would've called me crazy, but it was the right thing to do. I worry about Silver quite a bit, but not as much as I worry about Mars. Both of them are so young, so hard on one another, and more than I have before have I worried what would happen to them should I become incapable. I would want you to be the saving grace should something happen to me. When I see Mars, I feel what is seemingly the last piece of you, because I'm so desperate for you to meet her. It is incredibly important to me.
Mars grit her teeth in pain, before letting out a loud yelp. Shutting her eyes in blinded pain, she hung her head low into her chest.
With a leatherman in hand, Sedna cut off another thin strip of white fabric from her labcoat. After prying the last of the loose white strands that held the newly cut strip to the remains of her sleeve, Sedna yanked the strip loose with a grunt, releasing the grip her teeth had on the shoulder of the labcoat and letting the wafty white fabric fall to her leatherman fell with a metallic clatter onto the rubble below. The chair wheezed as Sedna pulled herself closer to Mars and pulled the thin strip of fabric taught between her hands, wrapping it tightly around the palm of Mars' hand and crossing it over another thin, identically cut strip. A red splotch of absorbed blood marked the center of the palm, a thick white wrap cut in a thicker band of cloth from the same sleeve, wrapped tightly around the center with blood soaking it. The center turned darker as the crossed strips tightened, absorbing blood at the center.
Mars let out an involuntarily wail of pain. Her face paled, fingers curling in vain as she fought the burning sensation in her gash. She stilled herself as the pain died down, mentally shutting out any future visions of pain in anticipation of a second wave.
"Keep pressure. If those wraps get loose we'll have a serious problem," said Sedna.
"Duly noted," groaned Mars, sliding herself off the desk and onto her palm as a slight break to slow her momentum off the desk was a poor choice, as it shot agony up through her arm. It made her want to hurl, but she kept close, steadying herself as she walked forward.
Sedna watched with careful interest. As she slid the labcoat back onto her arms, careful to move her hand through the tattered sleeve with little interference, she stood up, following Mars. She watched her unsteady movements, watching her walk around the former office. With a passing glance, she eyed the formerly busy desk, one covered in old tattered papers for journals and different notes. They were gone, taken, leaving the destroyed surface of the desk where it was.
"Do you have a clean conscious raiding this office? Feel alright with this?" asked Sedna, a sense of taunting masked by a playfulness to her voice. She had taken to staring skyward, at the grayish sky through the large gashes in the ceiling.
Mars found herself standing by a destroyed painting, one that had fallen a long time ago. The glass surface of the painting had collapsed in on itself, shards scattered about, ground to a fine white powder at some edges. The painting itself had mildewed on one side, an awful smell where the glossy photo paper had taken on water and shriveled up on one side, turning to a brown pulp. The remaining side, trapped beneath dirt and rock, showed a black background. As Mars kicked aside some debris from the surface, she unveiled the true image of the painting's remains, a muted arrangement of pastel flowers on a dark surface.
"Are you upset that I took your charter from you?" asked Mars.
Continuing to admire the sky, Sedna let the silence drag out, knowing her answer but not saying anything. "I don't know. I suppose," she finally replied.
The pile of crumbled wreckage Mars had kicked aside with her boot slowly tumbled back towards the painting, shrouding it again. Her hair fluttered softly, bangs starting to brush down into her brow. She squinted, looking off to the side.
"Are you going to do anything to me?" asked Mars, following another long silence.
"No, but I expect you to come willingly to my demonstration. We still have Vesta to worry about, and for that I'll be needing a special companion. You need to meet my special companion," said Sedna. "It's not a punishment, but it's necessary."
Mars was silent. Beneath her arm, she clutched the stack of journals tightly. Over her shoulder, she turned to look up at Sedna.
When Mars didn't reply, Sedna took in a deep snort of air, kicking her boots as she walked, pacing. "I'm not upset that Team Galactic is revoking it's own name from me. To tell you the truth, it's fine. I haven't felt like I'm apart of Team Galactic for ages anyway. This mission is somewhat transcendent of that, I suppose. It's taken on a life of it's own... My life. I'm going to continue the mission without you, without Team Galactic, and I want that to be okay. I won't use the Galactic name or expect any supplies. Just let me continue. Let Vesta and I continue, and we'll make our end of our bargain with Celebi right. We just need time, much more time, and that's going to be a complete devotion."
As Mars heard Sedna out, she paused. Folding her arms, she walked towards the center, approaching Sedna peacefully. Her head hung low, watching the passing ground as she thought.
"I just need your approval," finished Sedna.
A rush of air built from the beginning of the train, a loud echoing coming from the first car and passing down to where Archer stood. A bright surge of light passed along all the windows the opening began to face the train, the squealing sound of brakes filling the ears of all the passengers. The lit inside of the terminal came to face them as they entered and the train slowed.
The tiled interior was empty, devoid of people and silent. Though the lights were on, all the displays inside were off. Several neon signs for different nearby facilities, nearby Pokemon Centers and shopping had been powered off, as well as backlit advertisements for different attractions in Goldenrod City and nearby towns, plastic signs for restrooms and all of the emergency exit light coming from the stairs up to the main building overhead were seemingly powered off and dark.
On the tiled floor were signs of a struggle. Deep chunks of the floor had been mashed in, cracked and scattered, large claw marks dragged through the floor as well as other violent impacts. Deep char marks covered several sections in different blast radiuses, some covering the far sides of support columns, black scarring over the side of a wall. Several small black streaks from minor blasts, some scattered and overlapping. Chunks of burnt rubble seemed to cover large sections of the area from no identifiable place.
Most of the passengers jumped when the doors sprung open. An eerie gust of wind entered the train cabin, the air-conditioned air tasting artificial and dead, filled with silence.
Several of the passengers turned and watched as Rocket grunts distributed themselves amongst carts. One looked for a command from Archer, who despite his confusion didn't visibly show it. The grunt closest to him had his Pokeball held tightly in front of him, ready to launch it, but still waiting for a command.
Kneeling down, Archer lifted the white leg of his pants up to the brim of his boot, a black holster strapped tightly to his legs. Silently, as he watched the opening of the train car ahead of him, Archer removed the leather strap from his holster. Inside, a fresh and unused pistol, the boxy handle sliding comfortably into his grip. The weighty gun slid out silently as Archer stood back up after securing the strap. Looking to the grunts beside him, he saw that they had both done similarly by grabbing for their guns. Archer slid his thumb over the rear of the pistol's slim form factor and cocked it with a low click of metal.
End of Act I
