I do not own Pokémon or Familiar of Zero in any manner, and expect no monetary profit from this endeavor.

Episode VII: The Great Mistake

It was another day at Tristain Academy, and the sun was shining down on the expansive Vesti Court, where a hot battle was unfolding. "Arbok!" Jessie yelled. "Use Wrap!"

"Victreebel!" James commanded. "Use Razor Leaf."

Arbok, accompanied by Victreebel's leaves, shot towards the other end of the battlefield, where the two challengers stood. One resembled the creatures faintly, appearing to be a small, bipedal lizard with a leaf-like tail, but the shining metallic surface indicated otherwise. The machine and his companion, a pink-haired girl, waited for instructions.

"Alright," Meowth said, "Let's do this. Derf, Leaf Blade! Louise, Seismic Toss!" Spinning his razor-sharp tail like a blade, Derflinger cut through the barrage of leaves, tearing them to shreds. Arbok lunged for Louise, but she was waiting and ready. As soon as Arbok was close enough, Louise grabbed Arbok and lifted it into the air. Swinging it over her head like a whip, she launched the serpent like a projectile back at Victreebel. Unable to move in time, Victreebel was hit dead on, causing the two to lie tangled in a pile.

"Okay," Meowth said, "now finish it off with Quick Attack!" Acting in unison, Louise and Derflinger rushed forward, charging full speed at their opponents. As they ran, Louise felt the exhilaration of battle. She felt almost as if she was not a failure, but instead was invincible. Those feelings faded as she felt the pain of slamming into the two Pokémon, but she still felt good.

"How was that?" she asked.

"Great," Jessie told her. "Even though we're still holding back…"

"Jessie," James interrupted, "I thought that you said to always go all…"

"Anyways," Jessie continued, shoving James aside, "you're doing great. Can see that you're getting stronger every session."

"You think so?" she asked.

"Sure 'ting," Meowth assured her. "Why, you just defeated that Fouquet just a few days ago. If that isn't proof, I don't know what is."

"Fouquet was a powerful mage," James noted. "I hope we don't run into her again."

"Don't worry," Louise said. "Given the number of nobles she's robbed, she'll probably face the executioner once she stands trial." She prepared to head back to her room, but turned around when she saw her familiars weren't following. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Kill?"

"Huh?" she said, turning to James, who was pale like her other familiars.

"They…might kill her?"

"Well, yeah," Louise said dismissively, "that's kind of a given. What did you expect?"

"But she's just a crook," Jessie said.

"So?" Louise said pointedly. "She still robbed a number of high-ranking nobles. If that wasn't enough, the fact that she was willing to steal powerful artifacts like the Staff shows that she's dangerous. What's the big deal?"

"They…kill people here," Meowth said slowly, as if he didn't want to believe it.

"Yes, of course they do," Louise said in frustration, "just like everywhere else."

"Not in the League."

"The League?" Louise asked.

"Where we come from," James clarified.

"You…mean they don't execute criminals there?" Louise said, gaping in shock. "That's insane!"

"Funny," Jessie said, "Just had the same thought about here. How can you just kill people like that?"

"They're just criminals," Louise protested, "And mostly commoners at that."

"And what are we?" Meowth demanded. Louise opened her mouth and shut it. "Dat's right," Meowth said, "Here we'd be dead for just a little innocent stealing." "Well," Louise said,

"I suppose that our execution system is a little harsh, but it still is very civilized, with plenty of procedure. In any case, it's still better than dying on a battlefield…" She trailed off, seeing her familiars whiten even further. "Let me guess," she groaned placing a hand to her temple, "You don't have those either." The three dumbly shook their heads. Slumping to the ground, Louise said, "Every time I think I'm starting to understand you familiars, I just become more and more lost."

"You're telling me," Derflinger said. "With all your zeal for battle, I would think that you would be deadly warriors."

"Sure, we fight," James said, "but what does that have to do with it? It's not like we're trying to kill anyone."

"If that's so," Louise said, "I'm surprised you're still alive in the world, given your idiocy."

"Well," Meowth said, "it's not like anyone's really tried to kill us."

"Never. Tried. To. Kill. You." Louise repeated before shouting, "What do you mean nobody's tried to kill you? What about Fouquet? Do you recall how she tried to crush us all with her golems?"

"Yeah," Meowth said clueless, "but what's that have to do with death?"

"Oh, that's right," Louise muttered, "I forgot how you lunatics have a different definition of danger. In any case, just know this. Fouquet has committed crimes suited for the death sentence, and she's likely to receive it. It's a fundamental piece of the law, so there's nothing you can do unless you want to go to Genoa and break her out yourselves." Satisfied that she had said her part, Louise walked off, ignorant of the gleaming looks of her familiars.

Fouquet stewed in her cell, waiting for the inevitable. She would be charged in court the following week. As she had caused a great deal of shame to nobles all over the country, she would most likely either be exiled or be given the death sentence. And given that she had already demonstrated her ability to travel undetected, they would likely favor the latter. At first she had considered escaping, but that hope was in vain. Everything in her room, from bed to eating utensils, was made of wood, preventing her from using her infamous Earth magic. It didn't help that the prison's foundations were designed to resist magic. No, there was no hope for her anymore. She just hoped that her sister never learned what became of her; poor Tiffania…

She was disturbed from her musings by a steady pounding on the bars. Looking over, she saw one of the guards waiting, carrying a tray of food ill fit for a group of pigs. The prison administration liked little overtures like these to show the prisoners their powerlessness. Fouquet wasn't bothered though; she had had to eat many unsavory things while on the move. Ignoring the jailer, she silently took the tray of food.

Her stoic attitude was broken when she noticed a small book resting on top of the food. "Oh," the man said casually, "Some admirer sent this in as a gift for you. Nothing dangerous in it, so no worries in leaving it with you. You might want to pull it out of the soup before it gets too soggy though." He walked off humming some military tune. Glaring at the back of the guard, she frantically pulled the book out of the soup and began to dry it with what little material she had. She had always had a respect for knowledge, and the soaking of the book horrified her. They called her a criminal for stealing, but she never damaged them; destroying such a work was a true crime. The guard probably hadn't even realized the gravity of his action, simply thinking of it as one more way to taunt her. Typical of the nobility, of the world she hated.

Tearing her mind away from such melancholy, she began to examine her unexpected gift. Who would be willing to send her a book, especially one in such good- albeit soggy- condition? Her suspicion was aroused when she saw a familiar symbol etched on the side of the cover. She had seen that mark just a few weeks ago, boldly placed on the uniforms of those responsible for her imprisonment. Team Rocket. Those strange familiars still remained an enigma to her. On the one hand, she had them to blame for her current state. On the other, they intrigued her. They certainly weren't nobles; they seemed almost like her during her treasure hunting craze, before she shifted to serious theft. Yet they were able to overpower her without using magic. Well, at least, not the familiars. Their master on the other hand… Fouquet regretted not paying enough attention to that girl. If the familiars were Gandalfr, did that mean…

Setting those thoughts aside, she began to inspect the book, wondering what surprise they had in store for her. A small piece of paper fell out, revealing a message in a cryptic tongue. No matter though; Fouquet was highly adept at deciphering unusual forms of writing. This particular language was quite familiar to her, as it was often found beside unique artifacts such as the Staff. She had made considerable progress when at the Academy, but was stymied by the lack of resources to examine. Now, though, she had a large selection of the language, and the last pieces of the puzzle closed gaps.

The message simply stated, "Coming to help. Will be soon." Fouquet sat down on the hard floor with a pensive look. She did not know whether to laugh at the irony, or to scream at it instead. Her capturers were now going to be her rescuers. The question was, what would their price be? The more she thought about it though, she became less concerned. From what she saw of those familiars, they were highly unpredictable. Most likely, they only cared about freeing her, for whatever whim that passed through them. If they wanted more, well, she was used to giving people the slip, and there were plenty of places to hide once outside the city.

For now, she decided to take a closer look at the book they had sent her. She had not had any true contact with the outside world since her capture, and a good book would be the perfect way to quench her anxiety. Examining the cover, she made it out to read "Power of the Earth." A good omen, she supposed, given her affinity. Slowly but surely, stumbling through translations and strange terms, Fouquet began to read the book. The more she read though, the faster her heart pounded. Was it even possible?

"So it's time to go then?" Meowth asked James as they quietly crept through the school halls, tensing at every piece of the moon that shone on them.

"Just got word through the grapevine of servants," James said as they hauled gear down the hall, carefully scanning side to side in fear of detection. "Our package reached its destination."

"Are you sure it got through though?" Meowth questioned. "What if someone reads the note?"

"Don't worry," James said, "The note was in our language, not the language from here. Though I'm not sure about the book."

"Don't worry," Meowth assured him. "I got that book back home from the Boss, I mean the old one."

"Meowth!" Jessie yelled. "How could you steal a book from a Boss, even if it's an ex-Boss?"

"It was an accident," he said defensively. "I was going in to grab a report and grabbed the thing off his desk by mistake. Afterwards, I was too scared to bring it back. It's been years now, so we're probably safe. It wasn't anything interesting anyways, just the Boss ranting about a bunch of metaphorical stuff; I fell asleep halfway through it."

"That's alright then," James said, "though I'm still a little nervous about this."

"Too late to turn back now," Jessie said. "We're firmly committed. There's no turning around, not even if the Boss finds us."

"Is that so?" a voice spoke from around the corner in front of them. The team froze as Louise stepped out from behind a statue.

"Boss," Meowth said, "it's not what ya think…"

"Save it," Louise said. "I know what you familiars are up to; you're heading for the capital and national prison, aren't you?"

The team sagged in defeat. "You…found out?" Jessie asked, as if she couldn't believe it.

"I'm not stupid," Louise replied. "You three jump on any adventure with the slightest incentive, orders or not. So I've been keeping an eye on you for surprises. And I noticed that you've started hoarding supplies ever since our little chat."

"Look," Meowth said, "we'se decided to help the pitiful excuse for a thief, and nothing's gonna stop us."

"I guess it's come to that," Louise said, sighing. Team Rocket tensed, wondering if Louise was going to try and stop them; given her training, it was very possible she'd succeed.

"I'm going too."

"Huh?" The three fell flat on the ground in confusion.

"I'm not sure I agree with you on your stance here," Louise said, "but it does feel a little wrong. Besides," she huffed, "I can't let you three run off on your own. You'd fumble in an instant and ruin my reputation."

"We've done well so far," James said defensively.

"You don't know what you're getting into," Louise said. "We are going to break in Genoa Prison, the most secure prison in the country. It rests in the heart of the capital, a place where we already have a bounty on our head, if I need to remind you. Because of its location near the royal palace, a number of the guards come from the palace, and are experienced mages."

"Does that mean we give up?" Meowth asked.

"No," Louise said, raising a finger with excitement, "I have a plan. With my plan and whatever you come up with, we'll be unstoppable."

It had been a couple of days since the message, and Fouquet was becoming slightly impatient. Those Gandalfrs had to hurry up if they wanted to free her before she stood trial. But, she wasn't really concerned with that. Ever since she had received the book, she had continued to read nonstop. Although she had finished the book once, she was rereading it for more insights into the author's mind.

I was dissatisfied with my mother's plans. With her wealth, she could take any city in the world as her own, but she was merely content to hide in the shadows, caring only about gathering further material wealth. A noble objective, to be sure, but useless unless such power was put to use. I wanted to use all our power against the League, against those moralistic fools who sought to keep us from our rightful place. It was with this mindset that I set out into the world, believing that I could accomplish what my mother could not even comprehend. Many years would pass until I realized the childish naïveté that my simplistic goals were.

Fouquet found the speaker in the book to be a very interesting figure. Much like herself, he had set out to change the world. But unlike her own, disillusioned path, she could see how his own experiences shaped him to better fulfill his destiny. And if so, what did that mean for her?

Still, her revelations only increased her anxiety, as she truly wanted to escape now. Plans bubbled through her mind, dreams that she had to see come to pass. Now where were her rescuers? One day though, she heard a strange conversation between the guards.

"I still think that this is a waste of time Pierre. Are we really letting those clowns into the greatest prison in all of Tristain just for a cleanup check?"

"Now, now Gils. The warden made it clear that they can only clean the halls. The cells will remain secure as ever."

"Still, it irks me that we have to submit to those bumbling fool! Do you know how many times they've gone back through the garrison? First to dust. Then to mop. Next to inspect. And, once they spill their full load of trash, start over again. It's driving me crazy. If I could get my hands on whoever sent these fools to us…"

"Don't forget that they have permission from the Princess. I saw the letter myself, and it's certainly authentic. I used to work under her, you know."

"Yes, yes, I am well aware of your oh so grand royal career- as an ink holder! If you want to boast of your talents, then write a complaint to the Court. We have enough problems keeping these rogues under control without incompetent interference."

"Well, I did not lower myself to actually write on her Majesty's papers. Someone had to hold the tray up for her to access the ink, didn't they? In any case, it wouldn't do us any good to complain. Why bother? We'll get a little extra help around here, and the expenses won't come out of our pockets."

"Okay, you're right. I got myself too worked up. We'll just let those Zeros do their job and then…"

Fouquet brightened at this. At Tristain Academy, there was only one person in particular who had that special title attached to her, and her familiars had taken that dubious title for themselves as well. Sure enough, a suspicious figure soon appeared in front of her cell. Although the figure at first appeared to be a small, black-haired boy, a closer glance revealed stray strands of pink hair pushing out.

"Miss Valliere," Fouquet said, very pleased, "I take it you are leading my soon-to-be liberators."

"Unfortunately," Louise sighed, "and don't say my name around here; if you need to call me anything, just refer to me as Saito."

"Saito?" Fouquet mused. "That's an interesting name."

"Well," Louise said, "I needed some sort of disguise to be those three's supervisor, and a name to go with it. Leave it to Siesta to come up with the most bizarre name. I mean, who would ever name their son Saito, a couple of village idiots?"

"I think it's a very nice name for such a nice young man," Fouquet replied, smirking.

"Anyways," Louise said, moving away from that subject, "here." She carefully fastened a small lock to one of the bars. Attached to the end of the lock was a strange metallic item. "You might want to stay at the far edge of the room until the bomb goes off," she warned.

"When will it go off?" Fouquet asked.

"Tonight," Louise said, "when the two moons come full circle. We need the time until then to set up enough diversions to keep the guards busy. Once you're free though," she said, "it's every man for himself, so make yourself scarce. And just pray that we don't meet again."

"Miss…Sir Saito," Fouquet said as Louise turned to leave.

"What?" Louise asked.

"Tell your familiars that I'm grateful for their help," she told her, "And that they've given me new hope for the future."

"Sure, whatever," Louise said dismissively. "I'd better get going before a guard notices I'm slacking my supposed duties here. The false-man then scurried off, leaving Fouquet to return to her book. Where was she? Oh, that's right, the journey to Orre.

After the coup at the Plateau failed, I and the other renegades who remained scattered to the far winds. Some took refuge with my mother, but I refused to show myself to her, for that meant giving in to her rule now and forevermore. Instead, I sailed to the last place the League would search for me, a land so ridded in deserts that even Pokemon had difficulty surviving. There, in the shadowy, dusty streets of Orre, I found a new calling, and saw what the future was for those who truly wished to change the world.

Elsewhere, the other members of the scheme were hard at work. Because there was no way to ask for directions to Fouquet's cell without arousing suspicion, the team had split up, each covering an area of the dungeon, armed with bombs for when they finally found the cell. Many more bombs than one would expect. The original plan had been to plant an explosive on every cell, resulting in a mass prison break, but Louise put an end to that. Fouquet's was the only cell they could blow up. However, that did not prevent them from hiding bombs in any other nooks they could find, ranging from around pillars to under dining tables to in between stacks of weapons.

Like the rest of the team, James was going cell to cell, planting timers while merrily scrubbing away at the floor. Okay, so not really merrily, given "her" current maid disguise. Still, he was mostly content. Although the outfit had drawn some leers from the guards until "Lord Saito" intervened, he wasn't overly concerned. However embarrassing these disguises were for him, at least they offered a large degree of security. As long as he had this dress on, nobody would be suspicious, and their plan could go off without a hitch.

As James passed by a cell though, he suddenly whipped his head around in shock. The figure inside was very odd, and at first appeared to be a young lady, garbed in evocative clothing. However, the masculine features betrayed the person's gender. James stared aghast as he slowly began to recognize the unusual prisoner. No, it couldn't be…

"Ah, good morning to you, Master Mott," the man said, dutifully addressing a small empty potion bottle beside him. "Another morning for us in exile, isn't it?" James watched on dumbfounded as Mott continued to have an animated conversation with the expressionless container. "Oh, you are right, milord," Mott said, "it's all the fault of that knight Siesta, the false maid who betrayed us all. If we found her here, we would…"

James slowly backed away from the bars, not wishing to be noticed, when the radio on his apron suddenly went off. "James," Louise shouted through it, "we found her! Finish up the cleaning and get ready for the next phase."

James desperately tried to mute the voice, but it was too late. Mott froze at the noise, and his eyes turned manic as he spotted James out of the corner of his eye. "You!" Mott shouted, lunging at the bars. "Sir Siesta, I hereby challenge you to a duel to the death. Or if you wish mercy, I can always offer you other pleasures; I'm such a nice Maid, don't you think?"

James' only response was to run away frantically, while Mott's maddening and feminine laughter echoed through the corridors. "Come back, fair night," the voice called, "This Maid only wants to play with you. Come back, and we can dance while I sing. La la la la la, do me ri, I will kill thee!

"Oh," he added, calling back to the now-vanished opponent, "and thank you for this lovely gift. It will make a beautiful decoration on our little porch." After attaching a small chain and item to the bars, "Maid" went back to tending to her master, all the while promising revenge on that maid-knight when they next met.

That night, a man paused in his walk to adjust his hood, taking care to cloak his eyes. His credentials up front would silence the bureaucratic eye, but still, he could not risk a rumor getting started by some guard who recognized him. It was unlikely, as he rarely visited Tristain, preferring to stay in his homeland. But destiny would draw Tristain into the fold of the Founder soon enough, and if enough people later recalled his noticeable face, it would be…destabilizing. Even so, he paused by a balcony to allow the double moonlight to blend with his face, reveling in the Founder's light. The Founder's legacy would be restored soon enough, but for now he would contend to the necessary pruning that any plan needed. Pawns needed to bend to those above them, or otherwise be plucked as useless hindrances to the main body.

He had been about to check on Fouquet about her botched job, but changed his mind upon noticing a distinct figure lurking by the prison gate. The man wore a white mask to hide his face, but his stride, seemingly humble but filled with condescension, made his identity all but clear. From beneath his hood, the man let loose a brief smirk of triumph. It seemed that the pawns were beginning to move. That man had been watched with great interest for years; his interest in the Holy Land ensured his dedication, if not loyalty, to the plan. However, the masked man had already found an employer. In most cases, this would be met with death. Yet he had orders to leave the pawn be for now. The captain would serve the floating island well until its fall, and then he would be open for the taking. Likewise, the same could be ultimately done with Fouquet. In any case, Fouquet had been ignorant of the true reason behind the mission, let alone her employers, so they had nothing to worry about her learning the truth, nor her soon-to-be masters. Therefore, best to leave the 'new age' to its own devices. The Reconquista would serve its purpose and ultimately fall to a greater foe. He supposed that one should feel remorse for allowing the naïve pawn to be destroyed by one that would inevitably become their enemy, but, as his master said, sacrifices needed to be made for the sake of grace.

In any case, he had another prisoner to visit, one that would not be met with the same lenience as Fouquet. Matilda was simply a vagabond, who they had not disclosed the full details to. The man he was heading to though had known much more. They had put too much faith in the fool's promised formulas. He had seemed competent at the time, and the first shipments had been satisfactory. But then that idiot had to blow his entire cover. And as such, he was a potential leak that needed to be filled.

"Greetings, Count Mott," the figure said, eyeing the prisoner with distaste. Tristain had been unsure what to do with Mott. Such treason should have been met with the death penalty, but his actions had made the palace suspicious. It appeared that Mott had been en route to meet an employer, but the confusion regarding his motives made it impossible to tell who. Mott was widely known to be a highly conservative man, hardly the one to support a shaky conspiracy. The figure knew this all to be true; Mott certainly was a conservative man, as his business with them proved. Therefore, the crown was loath to kill him, at least until they extracted the information. However, the events of the escape left Mott deranged. Still containing vital information, yet still dangerous and unable to answer questions, he had been sentenced to life imprisonment in Genoa, in the hopes that his sanity would return in time along with his knowledge. The cloaked figure, on the other hand, knew that Mott's case was hopeless. The potion was a well-kept secret, known only to the higher echelons in Gallia and his homeland; given the utility of the potion, little research was done for a cure, which would erase the whole point of it.

"Why, if it isn't the little messenger boy," Mott said, curtseying, "come back to speak with Lord Mott. Just be a second," he told him, "And I'll fetch him for you."

"I want to speak with you, not your master," the figure said hastily. He had heard rumors of Mott's identity mix-up, and had no intention of allowing him to descend into his madness. Not until he got the answers he was looking for.

"You may," Mott said, giving a smile that would almost seem sweet if the rest of his face didn't look insane. "Should we talk in here, or in my lord's guest chambers? There's plenty of intimacy there…"

"I wish to know what happened to the potions that were ordered," he snapped, before pasting a calming smile on his face. "If it should please you and your grace, that is." At times like this, he wished the Founder's gift to him granted power over more than simple beasts. Then there would be no need for the quiet stratagems, peace could be ensured, forever. But that was not the case, so he needed a careful approach for human quarries. Even if he just wanted to slit the fool's throat and be done with it.

"Well," Mott replied, frowning, "I brought the Titan Potion with me when I fled. We were going to give it to you, and we would be rich, and Mott would be king…"

"Then where is it?" he asked.

"Somewhere," he replied disinterestedly, "but who knows? It was the right potion, so I poured it into Mott so he could defeat those nasty men trying to hurt him. But it didn't help, did it? Though it did help me; I feel better than ever."

"That is good to hear," the man replied, trying to discern the puzzle. So Mott had taken the wrong potion by mistake. A pity he had drunk that potion; his master had been waiting for that potion as well as the main one. "So what happened to the real Titan Potion?" he pressed. "Did it burn down with the mansion?"

"Maybe," Mott pondered, pursing her lips in a feminine way, "but Master Mott doesn't think so. Oh no, the maid must have taken it away. That's why we burned it all down, so she wouldn't get away and tell everyone."

"The maid?" he asked. Mott kept a number of servants for his amusement, and switched them off as they broke. If one of them had gained even a sliver of information and ran, he might have more loose ends to deal with after he was done here. "Which one?"

Looking agitated, Mott said, "The bad maid, of course. The bad, wicked, evil maid who tricked poor little Mott."

"Do you know what she looks like?" he asked, gently but eagerly. Perhaps he could get an answer out of this interrogation after all.

To his dismay though, Mott answered, "He was a knight in shining armor, with breasts that weren't his and hair that wasn't his! Oh, he was a nasty one, and we will have fun when we catch him!"

Rolling his eyes beneath his cloak, the man drew out his staff. It was obvious that he would get no straight answers from Mott, so it was best to move on to the second stage of the visit. Ignorant of his imminent doom, Mott continued to rant. "He was here, did you know? We saw him just minutes or weeks ago. If we could just break out of this place, we would kill him and beat him and…"

The shadowed man prepared to thrust his staff through the opening, effectively killing Mott without any true evidence, when a sudden explosion rocked him to the side. It almost seemed like an earthquake, as explosion after explosion rumbled in the prison, shaking the floor like a boat in a hurricane. By the time he recovered his stance, he could see that Mott had fled, his bars utterly destroyed by the blasts. Alarms began to blare as the tower was suddenly put under attack.

The hooded man moved to the window, his lunar eyes swiftly looking around for observers, and then launched himself off the wall, to land atop a dragon. His steed flew off into the night, while the man looked back at the crumbling fortress. This was certainly an unexpected event, one that his master would be most interested in. In any case, there was no use to remain any further; his role in events needed to be concealed until the proper time, and they could always catch the targets later when they desired. Staring up at the moons, he dared Run and hide fools, however good it will do you. A day will come when you will realize that you cannot hide from the true power that rules across the lands.

"Ready for the motto?" Louise asked over the radio. She was hidden in the bushes on a hill overlooking Tristaina, giving her a perfect view- with binoculars- of the prison tower. Having securely barred the door to the basement, where the guards were now locked up sans wands having filed up there for "inspection", Louise had promptly exited the building, her part of the mission complete. While her familiars were still very distinctive, the fact that they were counted as familiars – normally viewed in the same category as pets – kept them off the usual census lists, granting them a level of anonymity. She on the other hand had her standing as a noble to maintain, and she couldn't count on her disguise holding once chaos broke loose.

"Ready!" James' voice boomed from the other side of the radio.

"Oh, and Boss," Meowth said, "thanks for helping us out with dis. That fake signature really did the trick. You're definitely learning the tricks of the trade."

Louise blushed, and then huffed indignantly. "I'm just making sure that you familiars don't cause any more blandishes to my honor than possible. You'd cause problems either way, so I can at least supervise," she retorted.

"And make sure you say Fouquet. Not Rocket or Zero or anything else. If we ever get implicated in this, well, I don't even want to imagine what will happen, not to mention what I'll do to you three if you botch it up."

"Don't worry," Jessie said, "we'll take care of our end here. Just set off the fireworks and we can get this party started."

"Okay," she said, beginning to push magic into the remote control for the countdown sequence. Team Rocket had come up with an ingenious way of enhancing Louise's explosions. She found that she could channel them through the remote to the explosives, making the ensuing payload ever potent. Of course, it caused the device to self-destruct in her face as a result, but it still worked well. The metal item began to flash erratically as it overloaded, shattering into a cloud of dust. Louise ignored the malfunctioning equipment and peered at the mighty prison complex, hoping that the plan worked. For a second, there seemed to be nothing, and she sighed in despair. However, then small dots of fire began to spawn all across the walls, like pieces of bright moss forming on a rock. Instead of remaining firm though, the stone crumbled in an instant, causing entire segments of the majestic structure to tumble to the ground.

Waiting until she knew the broadcast was complete, Louise reactivated the radio. Everything okay in there?" she asked.

"Um," Meowth's voice said nervously, "sure. Could you call back later please? We're a little busy now."

Frowning suspiciously, Louise asked, "What's wrong now?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Meowth answered unconvincingly. "Everything's…look out!" he yelled, the radio turning to static.

Cursing to the Founder, Louise turned to Derflinger. "Now what?" she asked.

"Your familiars seem to have a tendency to get out of trouble as easily as they get themselves into it," Derflinger, now an iron mouse, said reassuringly. "We just have to have faith that they can pull this off. Still," he added, "Might want to make sure the balloon's ready for a quick take-off."

"No," Louise said, "even if they can get out of anything, they cause more trouble than it's worth. Besides, it's my responsibility to look after those buffoons, so there's no choice for me now but to fight."

"Whatever you say," Derflinger said as he followed her. "Plus, a leader deserves his or her share of the loot, don't you think?"

"Exactly – wait!" Louise said. "I'm not a robber! I'm not!"

"Sure, sure," Derflinger said in that humoring tone. Louise ignored him and pressed forward. This was just her keeping her familiars from getting into more trouble. It was certainly not at all from them infecting her with their chaotic sense of kleptomania. It wasn't! Even if where exactly she was headed – just a way to make a distraction – only seemed to confirm that she had inherited their sticky hands and paws.

"Team Fouquet," Jessie shouted into the microphone, "blast of at the speed of light!"

"Surrender now," James said, "or we'll steal everything in sight."

"Meowth, dat's a rap!" Meowth exclaimed, turning off the stereo.

Although Team Rocket had let Louise handle much of the planning, such as the signatures she used to pass them off as workers, they had insisted on one vital point: they had to give a motto. After much debate, Louise had acquiesced, on the condition that they use the garbled term of "Team Fouquet" to hide their identity. To deliver the speech, they had installed a network of surround sound throughout the prison; the speakers were so loud, parts of Tristainia could actually hear the motto from outside the jail. Needless to say, the enhanced speech exhilarated Team Zero. Never had they given such a grand introduction. It was a shame that it wasn't the right title, but it appeared to be a good sign for their success in the mission.

"Alright," Jessie said, setting the equipment down, "things are looking up for us." They had picked a time when the guards were changing shifts, and the explosions on the outer walls would draw the guards away from the mostly-unharmed prison cells. Still, best not to dawdle. "Let's grab Fouquet and get out of here before anything goes wrong."

"Yoohoo!" The team froze as a masculine yet high pitched, almost girly voice called to them from behind them. Turning around, they saw a bizarre figure slowly walking down the hall towards them. It appeared to be a maid of some sort, but James and Meowth gasped in horror as they recognized the person.

Not noticing her teammates' reaction, Jessie called out, "Listen, you're a maid I guess? This is a serious robbery we're doing here, so get out before someone gets hurt."

"I just want to play with my maid-knight," the figure said in a deranged singsong voice. "I'll hug him and drown him and hang him out to dry."

"That's no maid," James said forebodingly.

"Then who is it?" Jessie asked.

"That's Mott," Meowth said.

"Mott?" Jessie exclaimed. "But I thought that he went mad or something."

"Oh no," Mott said, "Not mad at all. Mott is perfectly fine. See?" she said, holding out a small bottle. "He's as hearty as ever."

"Oh, that's nice," Jessie said quietly, exchanging nervous glances with the others. "We'll just be going now," she said, edging away. "Don't want to disturb your cleaning."

However, Mott then spotted James, his complacent attitude replaced by fury. "That's him!" she shouted. "The maid who is a man who is Master Mott's most hated enemy!"

"Um, hi," James said weakly. "I don't suppose we can just settle this peacefully?"

Slipping back into faux innocence, Mott replied, "Don't worry, I just want to play!"

"Play?" James asked nervously.

"Of course," Mott said, excitement building in her voice. "We can kick your head and juggle it and lots more!

"But first," she said sternly, "you hurt poor little Mott, so he wants me to hurt you.

"Nothing personal," he added, "just Mott's orders." With that, he drew out a wooden mallet that she had liberated from the kitchen and charged forward.

Jessie and James wasted no time, letting loose Arbok and Weezing. "Meowth," Jessie said, "Get going. We'll handle things here."

Meowth ignored her, trying to contact the Boss. However, he changed his mind as the first of Mott's water attacks surged forward, hitting the device and short-circuiting it. "Well," Meowth said, dashing off, "that's all the incentive I need. See ya!"

"Man," Jessie complained, "I thought we settled this a couple episodes ago."

"The narrators need some kind of fight for this episode," James pointed out.

"True," Jessie admitted. "Let's just show this lunatic not to mess with Team Zero!"

"Weezing," James commanded, "Sludge!" Weezing fired a blot of poison at Mott. Following in suit, Arbok spat out Acid. However, he stood his ground and let the attacks hit him dead on.

"What?" Jessie exclaimed in shock. Although the corrosive poisons burnt away Mott's maid outfit, he seemed unaffected, mist floating off of him.

"Count Mott is very wise," Mott said, beaming at her imagined master. "He knows much about poisons, from immunizing against the ones that tickle your blood to using water to counter those that burn the flesh. And he was so kind to teach me all his secrets. Isn't that wonderful?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued, "My, these are certainly yucky lice, spewing icky waste everywhere. It's up to the Maid of Mott to clean things up!" Mott began to spin in circles in a dance that would be beautiful if not for the water shooting from his hammer.

The torrents drove Arbok back to Jessie and knocked out Wheezing with a solid blow. "Return!" James said, calling Weezing back to its ball.

"Perhaps it would be best to flee," Jessie suggested.

"Funny," James said, "I was thinking that same thing."

As Mott finished his ballet dance, he saw that Jessie and James were dashing off in a desperate attempt to evade him. "You won't get away that easily, Sir Siesta!" Mott shouted, giving chase. Jessie and James ran as hard as they could, but eventually stopped at a dead end. "Nowhere to run, my silly little knight!" Mott called, slowly approaching them with relish.

"Listen, you," Jessie said, "we're Team Zero, and we're not going to let anyone defeat us, certainly not a madman like you."

"Ah," Mott said, "you care for this maid who is a man. Perhaps you are a girl who is a man. In any case," he warned threateningly, "Siesta, boy or girl, is coming with me; she will be wed to Lord Mott, or he shall keep a sweet maid like I company."

"We'll see about that," James said, releasing Victreebel's Pokéball.

Watching Victreebel engulf James, Mott narrowed his eyes. That is the same familiar you used last time, maidman!" she yelled in fury. "Now I shall send those naughty little pets packing; the only pet we need is you, Siesta." Mott launched another spray of water at James. However, Victreebel held fast, absorbing the water readily as a Grass type. Refusing to give in, Mott continued his barrage, and it seemed that he might triumph in the end.

However, Jessie got an idea. "Arbok!" she ordered. "Swim up the water and attack Mott!" Entering the field of water, Arbok began to slowly but surely make its way up towards Mott. Little time remained, though; Victreebel looked ready to faint against the constant onslaught, Grass type or not. In the end though, Arbok proved triumphant, bursting out on Mott's end of the water magic with a fearsome cry. "Break the hammer!" Jessie yelled. Within seconds of contact with Arbok's powerful tail, the wooden mallet shattered, depriving Mott of his makeshift wand.

"Well, that's that," Jessie said confidently, turning to leave with James. "Next time find some other person to stalk; can't have us look like the Twerps."

"You think this is over?" Mott laughed hysterically, drawing out a chef's knife. "A mage might give up, but Maid's a maid!" Taking advantage of their surprise, he lunged forward.

Mott almost made it to his targets, but was cut off when a wall of earth appeared between him and the duo. Turning to the left, he saw Fouquet approaching, armed with a wand that Meowth had supplied. "It appears that these people did you an injustice," she observed, "just as they did with me. However, I also owe them a debt, so if you wish to continue to fight you must first face me."

Seeing the determined opposition, Mott backed away and bowed. "It had been a pleasure serving you all today," he said sweetly. "Sorry to leave on such sudden notice. But we can pick up on the fun later!

"And Siesta," he told James, "there can only be one Maid for Mott's hand, and that will be me!" Releasing a cloudy mist, Mott vanished.

"Thanks," Jessie said to Fouquet. "Maybe you are a decent crook after all."

"No," Fouquet replied wistfully, "you were right when you called me a wannabe. Even in my struggle against the world, I almost thought it was hopeless. You three though have showed me a new path."

"You're…welcome?" James said, clueless.

"Tell me," she asked, "that book you lent to me. Do you really come from a world like that?"

"Sure do," Meowth said, who had returned after seeing that the danger was past. "And you can keep the book if ya want it. We snagged it by mistake from the old Boss' office, but didn't really find much use out of it; we really aren't avid readers. Here," he added, tossing another booklet to her, "You can take the Rocket handbook too if you want. We just skimmed the thing and left it at that. Books bore the heck out of us most of the time."

"You should reconsider," Fouquet said, "they can be very enlightening." She then moved towards a hole in the wall, a golem appearing to carry her.

"You sure you don't want to join Team Rocket?" Jessie asked. "We could always use more help."

"Thank you," Fouquet said, "but I have my own dreams to follow. Even if my plans parallel your own," she warned, "Our differences may lead us to conflict in the future. The next time we meet, we will be enemies."

"Well," James said, "right now, you're a friend, and that's all that matters."

"Perhaps it is," Fouquet mused. "I shall have to remember that. May your team continue to surprise this stagnant world."

Watching Fouquet leave, Jessie said, "Now we need to get going to. Otherwise, the Boss is going to kill us."

"Too late," Louise's voice came from behind.

"Boss!" Meowth exclaimed. "We thought you were gonna stay behind with the balloon."

"I was," Louise said, "until you three seemed to need to be bailed out again. But," she admitted, "you've done pretty well. Now let's go."

"This was our greatest hour yet!" Jessie boasted.

"Our secret hour," Louise reminded, "and don't forget that. It's bad enough that you guys caused enough trouble to make me come back; this was a waste of time."

"Not entirely," Derflinger commented. "Those goods you snagged are a prize at least. The familiar really reflects the summoner."

"Shut up!" Louise hissed, trying to hide a large bag behind her.

"What bag?" James asked curiously, peering in before Louise could stop him. The three stared in shock at the contents: gold coins, jewelry, a book- anything the prison locked up that wasn't people.

"This…is for us?" Jessie asked in awe.

"Well," Louise said, "the quickest way in was a hole blown into the vault, and I thought that I might as well grab some things so you couldn't make any excuses to dawdle later. It's not like I'm agreeing with your convoluted logic," she emphasized, almost desperately. "I still think this whole plan was a dumb idea you dragged me into."

"Sure, whatever you say, Boss," Meowth said warmly as the trio walked off, hands and paws draped over their Boss.

Fouquet paused in her escape from the now frantic town. With all the confusion that those familiars and mage had wrought, her departure was secure. Right now, she decided to take a brief respite to ponder the new ideas floating in her head.

Could it really be done? She had lived most of her life with a fiery yet grim outlook, knowing that nothing would ever change. Now though…

I spent most of my early life pursuing my dreams only as others saw them. In time, I realized that they all could not grasp the fundamental truths for victory. Gonzap, Evice, Greevil… I owe them all much for the lessons they taught me, but they never achieved the understanding of the world necessary to change it. In the end, I knew that I had to leave them behind and forge my own path, with I as the leader and not the follower. If I could not take my dream into my own hands, who would?

No, she could not turn back on her dream now. But what was her dream really? It now seemed childish, focusing only on revenge and not the actions that could change the world that oppressed her. At least she could see the dream better now, clearer than ever. She would think about what she had learned, and then she would strike. The writer of this book may never have planned for it to end up in her hands, but she would treasure its teachings and follow his example. She would make her own power, and while she might be forced to serve at times, she would be ruled by no one but herself.

Fouquet got back to her feet, ready to leave posthaste, only to freeze as the razor tip of a blade softly but threateningly rubbed against her neck. Slowly turning around, she gazed up a man with a white mask. "Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth," he said in a gentlemanly yet dangerous voice, "I would like to speak with you about an important matter…"