Chapter 8 - "To Poison the Parting Glass"


Sitting in a conference room, in a building which once housed an ivysaur, Riza and the Bravoes, Dr. Sigurd and his immediate subordinates, and some privileged staff members discussed the plans of their own search for the missing pokémon. It was agreed, even before confronting PECA and its leaders, that hardly anyone felt comfortable leaving the work to someone else; no one wanted to sit around, waiting, while less than thirty people searched an entire metropolis for a single pokémon.

There were graphs and charts, along with two maps of the city, set up in the white room. Riza sat listening to plans for how to best go about finding Ivysaur, and one of the privileged staff, who was educated in investigation, instructed the room on various locations around the city which could be avoided, due to the unlikeliness of someone even walking through it with a pokémon they'd be attempting to keep hidden. It was valuable information, but the leader of the Bravoes wasn't paying much attention. She wouldn't be directing anyone, as the other Bravoes were already present and listening on their own, and she wouldn't be searching with them because of her injury.

Every time she thought back to that moment she got shot, Riza became more angry. Angry at herself, for being so slow- so weak. She debated with herself on whether or not she could've rescued her friend at all. Even if she had begun applying lethal force, part of her doubted there was any way for her to succeed- it's not as if the Bravoes were the only ones with that capability there, and any one of her supporters dying in a battle she started was totally unacceptable. Maybe if she had just picked Ivy up and carried him... he would've been disoriented, but would he have been hostile? The researchers thought so, but she was amenable to getting whipped if it meant still having him safe. The guilt, anger, and creeping fear clawing inside made her feel all the more conflicted. She should be stronger than this, and the girl tried to tell herself it was just a pokémon- a pokémon she liked, but a pokémon, none-the-less; Riza didn't understand how something not human could make her feel this powerfully. Attempting to refocus and at least keep her thoughts conducive to the task at hand, she took a sip of water and looked around the room. She'd seen all of these faces before, and was glad to find them so concerned, but there was one that wasn't there, she realized.

Dr. James Mossley, while working independently from Dr. Sigurd, was so often in Poké Compound that it was as if he did belong there. As such, Riza was surprised to find him absent, now, and thought to call him- perhaps he didn't know. The wounded young woman lifted herself from her chair, and stepped out of the office towards the nearest phone, crutch in hand.

"Viridian City General Hospital, Dr. Mossley's office. How may I help you?" A young woman with a thick accent common to the region answered the phone. Riza knew Dr. Mossley was a surgeon at the city's largest hospital, but didn't think he was so busy that he had a secretary.

"Uh, hi. I'm trying to speak to Dr. Mossley, is he there?"

"And who's calling?" she asked. Riza gave the secretary her name.

"Ah, Ms. Silver- of course! Sorry, but the doctor just went to a... a complicated operation, so I'll have to ask you to call again later, please. Or I can take a message, if you like!" The young woman sounded like she was reading off a cue card. Riza figured she might've been new.

"Ok, thanks. Can you just tell him to call Dr. Sigurd when he gets the chance, please?"

"Yeah, 'course. Hey, thanks bunches for the call; you have a super day, now!" Her voice chirped with what had to be phony enthusiasm, and the call was already disconnected when Riza wished the same to her cynically. The girl's weird phone etiquette would definitely be brought up to Dr. Mossley when Riza saw him, and when things were less tense. She wondered how often he must have had to perform surgery when she saw him at the compound so often; it could be that he was more of a director in the hospital, and maybe he let less-experienced or subordinate surgeons perform when able. Limping back towards the conference room, Riza noticed outside there were so many people, already seemingly organized. Everyone was still in black, and they all seemed to be waiting for orders. Once again, the Bravo felt pride, and hope, both tightening her muscles and relaxing them. With everyone so determined to find Ivy, there was no way they could fail. She gave a content sigh and returned to the conference room.

In an old building, far away into the east end of Viridian City, Yellow sighed, too, being bored and sleepy. Waiting for the doctor to get on with his business, she checked-in on her team quickly with her comm-link. With the successful delivery of the ivysaur to the dingy, yet hospital-like room she monitored via hidden surveillance cameras and microphones, all Yellow had to do was ensure that no one found out about the operation. Thus, she had Sky, Rain, Cloud, and Thunder out checking on different things.

Sky was remotely monitoring operations within Poké Compound, using some hidden cameras they set up in select locations during the infiltration part of their break-in, much earlier in the morning. Rain was posing as an interning secretary in Dr. Mossley's office, directing anyone looking for him accordingly. Yellow had given her a sheet of paper telling her exactly what to say, or do, to various people, or when in certain situations. Cloud was pretending to be just a normal kid, reading a book at a cafe near the PECA building. He radioed-in earlier to tell her that all of the poké-activists had stormed up to the poké-hunters in some kind of display of force. He didn't get a lot details, and there were so many people, he could barely see what happened, but apparently Green Springfield had some kind of conversation with Dr. Lance Sigurd, a lead speaker for 'the cause', and then they all just went their separate ways, before the guild, itself, took to the streets in large numbers. Yellow was awaiting updates on the situation.

Finally, Thunder was out front in the building she and the ivysaur were currently in. In the event that anyone had seen the man who made the actual delivery, and came asking questions, he would be there to report the issue to her, and handle the threat accordingly. Using a fake ID, Yellow ordered one of her father's cleaner and more well-spoken men to not only put in the commission with PECA, but also to pick it up and transport it to "Mikey's Hardware", which was the building they were in. It was one of her father's assets, and currently undergoing renovations for a few days. There would be plenty of noise and an understandably small amount of traffic to the somewhat removed store, but with all the measures Yellow had already undertaken, there was about a nonexistent possibility of anyone discovering them, or connecting any of the dots, at all. Yellow had even planned out the route for the delivery, herself, sticking to back alleys, side streets, and the shadows of large, forgettable buildings.

"I... don't know if you can remember me," the aging doctor began after almost five minutes of utter silence. Yellow was in a small control room next to the doctor's makeshift laboratory, and watched the cameras. "It was years ago, now, after all. Long before any one else had found you again, I'm sure."

Yellow didn't know what the doctor had planned for the creature, but she didn't expect what she was so-far seeing. Very quickly, after barely moving at all since he'd entered the room, Dr. Mossley removed the still weak pokémon from its transportation cage and put in a on a sort of operating table, which looked like it was made for the creature. It stood almost vertically and had a hole in the table for the plant on the pokémon's back. Even the restraints would have been awkward for a human child's body, but for the pokémon, they were perfectly placed and effective. He gave it an injection of some medicine he'd had in his lab coat pocket. Then, walking around the table, with almost preternatural skill, the doctor gently massaged the ivysaur's bulb until it made a 'pleased' kind of sound and its vines came out. The doctor tugged gently while massaging to get the two vines to come all the way out- and they were pretty long; at least 10 feet, Yellow guessed. But with the way the ivysaur was... moaning- Yellow supposed it was- she wasn't sure what she was looking at, or why this whole scene gave her a disturbed feeling, until the doctor abruptly raised a kitchen knife she didn't see before and began hacking at the base of the vines, summoning a pained scream from the ivysaur. That's when Yellow began to feel like something terrible was about to happen- this image she saw was like the set of a horror movie.

The doctor cut until he'd severed the vines coming from within the bulb. Dropping them and the knife on the ground when he was done, Mossley sighed and removed the gloves he wore. Yellow saw then, through the cameras, that they weren't medical, plastic gloves but were instead made of heavy-duty cloth. It made sense, she realized- the vines probably weren't smooth, and she recalled something about them having a poisonous coating from the intel she'd read when first planning this operation. After sitting down for another few minutes, the doctor got up and walked to a tiny study area, with a desk, dozens of books, papers everywhere, and an old radio. The doctor took something from the desk and gently showed it to his still-groaning victim. Yellow couldn't see what it was.

"You can see this, well enough, yes? Forgive this abysmal lighting. But, you see, yes? ...do you remember?" He asked, carrying on somberly; Yellow could not see the photo, but whatever was on it seemed like it meant a lot to the man. He took the picture in both hands and looked at it, himself, removing his glasses, and letting his imagination bring life to what his naked eyes could no longer see. He smiled briefly before returning his glasses and walking back to the desk to put the photo away, picking up a scalpel, in its stead. If it were not obvious to Yellow what was about to happen before, it was now.

The audio microphones placed within the room were of such a quality that teenager could hear the doctor's shuddering breaths, and the cameras gave a generous amount of visibility into the scientist's stage. She remembered reading Dr. Mossley's dossier a few days ago, when she met with her father. He was a widower, though there were no details on how or when the woman died- only a photocopy of an old picture, with a time stamp from six years ago. From what Yellow could tell, his wife was quite beautiful, and seemed to be a scientist of some sort, as well, since they were both wearing lab coats and holding some mysterious vials. However, Dr. Mossley's dossier revealed nothing about any past he had this ivysaur.

"She loved you, you know? We both did. Two years, we cared for you. Made you see that humans and pokémon could co-exist. In a way, you were the child we could never have. Two years... yes, we studied you. Researched you. Maybe did some things that confused you." A long pause, as the doctor stared sadly at the scalpel in his hand. "But it was never our intention to hurt you. And yet, you had to... rebel. You had to destroy things, and hurt people, and eventually..."

In a moment, and without finishing his thought the doctor put his instrument to the scaly flesh of the pokémon, which cried out with greater ferocity. Beneath its muzzle, it shook against its bonds. The scalpel pushed into the leg of the ivysaur with relative ease, and the beastly screams Yellow could hear meant the doctor must have forgone the use of any anesthetic or numbing procedure. Thick, deep red blood lined around the fresh incisions, but the doctor worked through it, using his knowledge of the ivysaur's anatomy to sick purpose. Yellow wasn't a doctor- she had no idea what the man was doing, but watched on with disgustedly curious amber eyes.

After a few minutes, the doctor pulled up, and sighed with the same sad face he'd had the whole time. Walking over, again, to the table, he grabbed a roll of gauze and an unmarked bottle. He used his white coat to wipe away some of the blood before spritzing the wounds he inflicted. He waited a moment and examined the wound; Yellow watched through the camera which directly focused on the would-be operating table, but couldn't tell what was supposed to be happening. The ivysaur continued to groan in pain as it had been doing. After a moment, Dr. Mossley sprayed the wound again and immediately wrapped gauze around it.

"Alright, there's that leg done. I've severed the two tendons and one of the large nerves you have here. You should be able to feel just about everything in the leg without being able to use it, at all. This makeshift hemostatic will slow your bleeding enough to help the gauze staunch it relatively quickly," the man announced with blood on his hands. He wore no gloves or mask, Yellow realized, and was working in dim lights in a dirty back room. At least the floor was tile. "Again, I don't know if you can understand me, but as a doctor, it's just a habit I've developed over the years to explain as I go.

"Now, much as they don't bother me, I must admit your protests make for poor listening. Shall we have a bit of music?" Mossley walked over to the old, dusty radio on his desk and fumbled with the frequencies for a bit. Eventually, he tuned it into a classical music station. Taking a moment to listen, he remarked on his fondness of the particular song which had begun to fill the room, of course playing through the audio mics, as well.

Yellow typically enjoyed classical music, but in her current situation, she couldn't help but shiver. The song was slow, and featured a violin, a piano, and some other, deep instrument Yellow could not identify. Its tone was quite somber, and yet relaxed. Perfect for reminiscing on times past, perhaps, or drinking to long-deceased loved one. The teenage girl would not have considered torture to be another reason for listening, but she supposed it fit. It fit too well, in fact, and she was nearly ready to walk away from the monitors.

Dammit, you bastard- would you get on with it? Yellow thought with clenched teeth. Her forehead scrunched under the weight of the situation, and she couldn't help but remember the days of years passed, in which she, too, was tortured. While her step-mother never put her hands on Yellow, and certainly never strapped her to a table and cut her open, she was constantly being psychologically assaulted.

From locking diseased or half-feral animals in the basement room Yellow occupied, to giving her nothing but actual garbage to eat, to keeping her in total darkness and silence for a month after Yellow once dared to ask if she could go play outside. Kristen even gave her step-daughter a dress once- which, at the time, Yellow believed to be quite beautiful- just so that she could put on a humiliating performance for a surprising amount of sadistic friends of hers. Asked to dance and sing, and tell jokes, all the while wearing an excessively long and frilly, yellow polka-dot dress at the age of 11. Both fruit and insults were thrown until Yellow, so awkward and embarrassed, wet herself- much to the enjoyment of Kristen. After being forced to clean up the mess she'd made, she was ordered back to her cellar to cry under the cement, where they couldn't hear her over their opulence.

Yellow remembered it feeling particularly brisk that day, and the humiliation overwhelming her as she stripped from the ruined dress in the dark, her legs and face freezing cold. She nearly suffered a mental breakdown then, and no one cared at all. Not Kristen, not her father, not Harley, and not even a single one of the goons littering the manor. To them, it was just another nuisance- the faint sound of the family shame, wailing in the background again. But she had become stronger over time, after growing with Kristen's cruelty. She didn't scare easily, and she learned how to focus on her own strength and hope in her darker hours, when a coil of rope and a chair seemed like an oasis in the desert. After Yellow finally recovered from that episode weeks later, she swore she would never let anyone make her feel her like that again, and so far, she'd kept her promise, despite the few years more that Kristen had tried.

The doctor had already begun his work on the next leg of the ivysaur- which was still resisting, being perfectly conscious and in immense pain- when he divulged more information on the shared history between the two, drawing Yellow back from her suppressed memories.

"Her name was Maria, you'll remember. Again, she loved you dearly. We actually fought a couple times about how attached she'd grown- before I, too, grew attached, of course." He finished the leg much quicker that time, and applied the hemostatic to it before continuing. "We found you out on a privately-funded expedition, working as researchers for a company hoping to understand the metamorphosis pokémon undergo. To do this properly we wanted to acquire a very young specimen. As far we could tell, you weren't more than a year old at that point. We also took another, older, specimen in the same phase as you were back then, and a regular ivysaur. We'd hoped to understand what triggers in you, to change so dramatically so quickly. And, after two years of studying and caring for you, as the youngest subject we'd acquired, we succeeded."

Dr. Mossley, looking more and more like the practiced surgeon he must have been, began on the pokémon's front-right limb next. The light above the table flickered softly as a moth floated about it; the doctor didn't notice, and instead turned his head slightly to the radio without stopping his cutting.

"Ah, I recognize this song! One of the classics- Jean Locquen, a true master of the clarinet. I remember having a glass of wine ten years ago to this song, in some parlor, shortly after I began to court Maria..." he trailed off, gazing pensively into a wall. If the ivysaur could understand any of the doctor's words, that understanding would have been wholly useless, given its predicament. Yellow wondered if the man knew that he was being watched and was simply telling his story for her sake. This had to be more than just his revenge- the doctor spoke as if he were lecturing a grandson on how much things had changed as he'd gotten older, though the man was only 42. She could not discern what, but it seemed, to Yellow, like James intended for something more than just to cut up the ivysaur and go-on about his business... or perhaps it was that he intended less than that, she thought.

"Well, as I was saying, we were researching a natural phenomenon- what is most commonly referred to as, 'evolution'. It was all very secret, hush-hush business. Understandably so, as pokémon physiology was only just becoming widely-understood. With more understanding, comes more interest, and with more interest, comes more funding. It wouldn't have been long before everyone and his brother was out to discover what caused your 'growth spurts', so to speak. However... one of my mistakes came in treating you as more than a research subject. You're a living being- we cared for you, even after we'd deduced the hormones and glands and conditions and what-not- all the things we were looking for, you understand."

The ivysaur began to tremble less aggressively than earlier with the loss of another of its limbs. There was only one more, which the doctor expertly paralyzed and bandaged in a couple more minutes of silence from both himself and his patient, which was disconcerting to Yellow. She subconsciously urged for the ivysaur to keep fighting but realized the folly of that thought. The doctor was in total control, and his hand was steady. It probably became too painful for the ivysaur to resist more than it could help at that point- it was even possible the creature was in shock. Mossley seemed to wonder this, too, and checked the pokémon's pulse and eyes. With a halfhearted grunt, he removed the binds which held the limbs of the ivysaur, loosened those on its body, and gave it a shot of something. After the doctor withdrew the syringe, her began to perform CPR on his victim. Clearly, the doctor wanted the ivysaur to live through its pain.

After a minute or so, the pokémon began to wail, as it had been before. Mossley welcomed the broken creature in front of him back to consciousness, and decided to speak bluntly before beginning what Yellow could only assume was the final part of his twisted plan.

"You're going to die in your own home, Ivysaur. Like she died in that forest of yours, chasing after you. I watched as her calls to you became screams of horror. And pain. Watched as she got whipped to death when we encountered your kin. Most of us did. The other bulbasaur and ivysaur in the forest heard your cries and came to help, I suppose, after you'd run all the way back to them, and that was a long run." Dr. Mossley had set aside his tools for a moment and grabbed a chair. He sank into it heavily, rubbing his eyes and massaging his temple, smearing some blood onto his creased face.

"It was my fault, you know. What happened. After we got what we needed from you, most of the of the team wanted to send you back," James confessed, leaning in close to Ivysaur. The creature only gazed back at him in anguish while he continued, "But the problem with that was that we hadn't really accomplished much, in the grand scheme of things. We deduced what caused a metamorphosis, but I wanted to be able to control it. Heh, call it the arrogant scientist in me. So I created something that forced the required hormonal shifts and biochemical reactions in you, to cause you to..." James Mossley waved his hand indicatively at the broken creature in front of him; "Evolve." He then shook his head and began crying and muttering; Yellow couldn't deduce what he was saying exactly, but he seemed to be recounting the consequences of his experiment, from all those years ago. He took some time to sit in the chair and meditate shakily on his mistakes. The ivysaur again began to groan, but softly, now, as if it too were lamenting some grievous error from years past. Placing a wrinkled, bloody hand in thinning hair, Dr. Mossley sat back in his chair and examined his one-time friend distantly. Still, the creature voiced its sorrow, and seemed to be attempting to look away from its persecutor.

"You and I, Ivysaur. We killed them. It was my arrogance, your recklessness... I had to leave her body, you know that? Truth is, she was still screaming when I fled. Fled from dozens of lashing vines, flying from the brush. Jason, Barry, Horace, Emma, Oscar, and my Maria. Six scientists, with nothing but dedication to improving the lives of both humans and pokémon through understanding. And they all died- horribly- because of us," he said as he stood, walking back to the desk. "You ran before, so I've taken your legs. You got them lashed to death, so I took your vines. And now, this-" he spoke resolutely, holding up a picture in one hand. Slowly- too slowly- Dr. Mossley approached the captive ivysaur, and put his own face very close to his captive's.

"This time, I'm not acting in pride. This is not for glory. Not even for my own satisfaction, but rather, to correct my mistakes, and I'll pass this revision unto young Ms. Silver- that you're very existence was an error on my part. I want her to hurt, like I hurt; it's the best way to learn, and the only way for this to end." The doctor's closing words were more forceful than anything he'd said there before, and his actions, too, grew more forceful. Grabbing his scalpel again, the doctor quickly and sloppily cut open his victim's gut. Reaching in with his bare hands, he pushed aside organs which were not meant to be seen, until he found the one he was searching for, and ripped it out, to the ivysaur's great dismay.

"Without this, you won't be able to perform photosynthesis, thereby losing a critical energy source for your body, and when they find you again- that girl, Riza, and even Lance- then, they'll know my pain when they see the hopelessness of your situation. You're only going to get worse before you die, and they'll suffer with you- even after you've passed, I'm sure. All the way up until my benefactor publishes my research. Then everything they felt for you- everything you represented- it will all be made worthless. They'll curse you just like I have."

As he spoke, the older man went to get the hemostatic. The ivysaur was crying, now, like it had not before- letting loose mad shrieks and wheezes, writhing best it could against its binds. The blue bundle of flesh screeched mercilessly, though the doctor was not deterred. Before applying the spray and gauze, the man would once again jam his hand into the gut of his victim, thing time leaving the photo he'd had; Yellow saw that it was just of the pokémon's handler, Riza Silver. This time, the doctor used stitches to messily, yet decently, close the new hole in the pokémon's stomach. He then sprayed the wound with a good deal of his hemorrhage-halting mixture, and wrapped the creature firmly with bandages. The flower prevented the gauze from being only where it needed to be, and so Ivysaur was more or less covered in reddish-white bandages, making his heavily injured state all the more conspicuous, right along with the death wails. Yellow couldn't hear the music, anymore.

The doctor grabbed another syringe after applying the bandages and stuck the patient with that, as well. Then he sat down with a worn huff. James Mossley eased into his chair and looked at the ivysaur for a few minutes, as the creature's cries began to die down. After about ten minutes, the doctor gave the pokémon another injection. Yellow, being just a 17-year-old street tough, had no idea what was going into the creature's body, and was a bit surprised that the doctor explained everything but that. She figured the man would give the creature a moment more, and thought to use that opportunity to call her squad.

They'd all split up; Yellow was the only one who watched the doctor- the other four were out ensuring that no one found the ivysaur, and monitoring the other entities which they'd used to get it, in the first place. Initially, the crime heiress imagined that she would find something pointless here. She thought this would be just one researcher attempting to steal his colleagues assets from the shadows. Instead, she found a story. One reminiscent of the kind she normally found entertaining. However, the gruesomeness of the doctor's revenge for the accidental slaying of his wife and friends was a challenge to watch. It wasn't as typical as a chair in a dark room, and some big guy with strong arms. It wasn't as self-serving as simply looking the creature in the eyes as the doctor killed his victim in whatever manner he would choose. No, this was entirely deliberate- calculated and cruel. Not only would he break the Poké activist's trophy, Dr. Mossley would send them back the pieces, watching as they cut themselves trying to put it back together. Their icon would become a fleshy shell- a cruel mockery of what it once was- and what got Yellow the most was that they would never know why. They'd never know that their miracle friendship didn't come from the ether of good will and clean air. They'd never know why the ivysaur suffered, or who made it do so. They'd never know the tragedy of the situation which they'd find themselves in, where the past betrays the present, and corrupts the future.

To allow this to happen, Yellow would have to be as heartless as her father. What's more, the doctor seemed wholly to be helping himself, and not serving any of the interests Mr. Roquett must have had for him. This in mind, she was about to radio her team, still watching the aging doctor coldly, when she saw him move. Gently, she eased off the call button.

"Ah, forgive me. In all my thinking, I almost forgot you were there," Dr. Mossley said, looking not directly at Yellow, but at the wall she was behind. "I realize this probably hasn't gone like the benefactor had anticipated. I'm afraid the truth is a bit shameful." The doctor stepped to his desk and hit some sort of hidden switch, as far a Yellow could tell. He then pushed the desk aside and fumbled with a tile for a moment to reveal a hidden compartment in the floor.

Lifting up on a handle, the doctor pulled up some fancy machine, which looked like it might be smoking. However, as the man opened the machine, and pulled out a bag, Yellow realized it was some preservation container. From it, the man pulled out a bag and waved it gently in his hand.

"This is part of the research I spoke of, from years ago. It should still be in flawless condition. In it, you'll find the chemical compounds, agents, and reagents which I used to force the development of this pokémon into an ivysaur. I also have thorough notes and logs on the process and the various examinations we performed to discern the science behind the so-called 'evolution.' I do hope this will suffice- I know our agreement was perform the research now, but... well, it's already been completed," he said. Still, Yellow was dumbstruck. She had suspected that the man knew she was there, but to have had a plan for the both of them, way before he actually reacquired the ivysaur was totally unexpected. With some caution, Yellow exited the hidden camera room, emerging from a false wall in the hallway, and knocked on the door. Dr. Mossley opened it warmly.

"Oh, hello; you're not the woman my benefactor typically sends to me," he said with some surprise.

"I'm new," she said casually. Walking into the room "While I think our benefactor will be pleased to have the fruit of your research, I don't know how he'll feel about being deceived like this."

"Yes, I must ask forgiveness for this. You heard my story. When my colleague, Lance- er, Dr. Sigurd, that is- revealed to me that he'd come in possession of a naturally tame ivysaur, I knew... well, I needed this," the man said soberly. He extended his bag to Yellow, and she took it carefully. She then looked him up-and-down harshly, and clicked her teeth.

"So, all that backtracking was for my sake... You had to know how dangerous the forest was; you had to know how discombobulated that thing would've been after you forced its body to morph into something it wasn't ready for. Why would you follow it around, anyway?! What did you think would happen?"

He didn't answer immediately- only let his face sink and a sigh rise. Walking back over to the crude operating table, the doctor began to unbind his now unconscious patient. Funny, how administering an anesthetic was literally the last thing he did. Removing the creature from its restraints, he dumped it into a large trash bag, where it fell with a loud flop, but remained silent.

"What exactly did you do to this pokémon? Tell me what it was that I just saw. Use regular words, if you can," Yellow demanded. While impressed with the doctor's medical prowess, she needed to know what the hell happened, so that she wouldn't look totally incompetent when she revealed to her father that she hadn't completed her assignment exactly as planned.

"Well, first I restrained the creature, of course. Then I administered a dose of adrenaline, to help wear off the effects of whatever drugs you'd given him before. I cut off the appendages which sprout from its symbiotic flower, to prevent him from whipping anyone else when this is done. Then, I severed critical tendons in his limbs, preventing him from fleeing the situation he'll find himself in. Then I removed his photoglycogenic gland, which is the part of an his body that allows him to convert sunlight into energy- energy he could then use to begin healing himself, for example. Then, I injected a simple anesthetic, and put him in that trash bag. That's it, really."

"Right. How very 'mad scientist' of you. And the picture? The one you put inside the damn thing?"

"...a message. A warning."

"To its friends? A warning of what? Not to make the same mistakes you did? How would they know?"

"They wouldn't. It should be ambiguous- it should caution them on the whole of what's happened- of trusting pokemon, who cannot be trusted, themselves."

Yellow gazed cooly at the doctor, subconsciously mimicking her father; "That's why you want to give it back?"

"Yes. I always intended to return him to Dr. Sigurd after I'd done what I needed to do," he plainly admitted.

"And then what? Get on with your day? Have a bit of tea, maybe read a book? Your friend has some aggressive people working with him- they won't just let you walk away after bringing their 'friend' back in a trash bag!"

"Well, of course, I know that; I'm just going to put it in a dumpster and call Sigurd from an unregistered phone line; I'll let him know where he can find the ivysaur and that will be that. As for myself, I think it's time I saw my wife, again."

Yellow looked at the doctor once more with confusion. All that he'd done, and now he was just going to give back the ivysaur and kill himself? The man waited years for this opportunity, just to leave the thing as a cripple. Yellow didn't understand, but didn't want to stand around listening to a man explain every detail of his vengeance anymore. What's more, she couldn't let the doctor take the ivysaur, himself. Too much of a chance someone might spot him, or worse, him and the ivysaur. Yellow told him as much, and said she would take the ivysaur herself.

"And what if someone sees you?"

"Doesn't matter- I'm just a city girl taking out the trash. No one knows me, and no one will know me. You, on the other hand, have a name, a face, a reputation. Every aspect of this arrangement we've had needs to be secret- even its resolution. I'll leave the pokémon where one of Dr. Sigurd's groupies will find it," she said. Hesitating for a moment after grabbing the trash bag from Dr. Mossley, she asked him, already having faced the door, "You're positive the guy won't be able to just fix this thing?"

"Yes. Without being able to use sunlight as an energy source, I doubt the ivysaur will recover even with any otherwise effective medical treatment; he should die within the next week from complications. I've deliberately infected my scalpel, as well, to be sure," he said somberly. "There's no way even he could save Ivysaur, now." Yellow figured some part of him must have been sad to do all this. Mossley said earlier he had looked at the ivysaur as a "child he never had", and almost certainly viewed him as an accomplishment. The ivysaur was one step away from making Dr. Mossley and old team famous, and probably very wealthy. He said that it was his own arrogance that turned his triumph into tragedy. The blonde haired girl standing across from the world-weary man supposed he meant the forced evolution of what would've been a bulbasaur, and the complications that unnatural transformation imposed.

Yellow nodded a farewell to the man, and took the bagged pokémon and the doctor's research package with her out of the door. It was the first time she'd been ever there; she did not expect to return.

Radioing the team, Yellow informed them that she was leaving the building with 'the trash', and told them to meet her at their hideout as soon as possible. Cloud asked what was going on and what Yellow meant by "trash", but she simply told them she'd explain at the hideout, crossing paths with Thunder as she exited the building, who insisted, at first, on walking with her, before she just gave him the doctor's research and repeated her order. She was ready to report to her father and be done with this horror show. Being honest with herself, part of Yellow screamed inside at how wicked her actions had been; then a larger part said to be quiet and to keep moving- the day she started to care about people's feelings would be the day someone took advantage of hers, and that was never going to happen. She could never stop fighting to come up; it was her only goal, and climbing over everyone else was the fastest way to win the game.