It was quiet as I came out of the hideout, the only sound being the clanging of my footsteps against the metal steps of the staircase. There was nobody at the souvenir shop. I don't know what I was expecting. The police are obviously way too lazy to do anything, and I don't exactly think Lance would want to catch them up on what was going on. Famous or no (actually, especially if he was famous), he was going to get in hot water if the police hear about his Dragonite. They are bound to, anyway, if Lance tries get Team Rocket arrested. Ariana and her grunt has heard too much. That is, they heard everything.

It was time to enter the Mahogany Pokémon Gym. Apparently from the sign Gym Leader Pryce is "The Teacher of Winter's Harshness."

My money is on that some girl got her heart broken by him, or something.

Pryce's Gym

Safety: 3/10

People really, really could've slipped and died. I mean, he doesn't need to keep the ground that slippery, right? Slipping and dying isn't very safe. And neither is catching hypothermia. There should've been a sign that warned of this evil Gym's cold temperature, but there weren't any, even though everybody in the Gym was wearing a coat...

Anyway, I swear I got a cold here.

Design: 6/10

Perfect design, if placing a pack of ice over everything and calling it a day is acceptable.

Gym Trainers/Gym Leaders: 4/10

Somebody tell the Gym Trainers you're not supposed to ski on a solid flat ice floor. Or at least, skating inside a Gym should be frowned upon.

Pryce, the Gym Leader of the cold Ice Pokémon of Johto, actually had a cold that day.

Why am I not surprised.

The old man, though constantly blowing his nose, was too proud to lower the temperature. Through his sniffles, he managed to tell me, "Pokémon have many (cough) experiences (cough) in their lives, just (cough) lime we do."

I just stared at him, not really getting anything what he was saying. And partially wondering about whether I wanted to drink limeade after this. Meanwhile, Cinder was creating a new experience of how much he disliked an icy floor. He kept staring at it, and rubbing his paw on it, like he thought the ice would rub off and show the real flooring of this thing. No such luck.

Speaking of the ice, some of the Gym Trainers were skiing directly on the ice, and one of them ended up hitting me. The skis practically landed on the backs of my shoes, the force enough to break some of my skin. I had blisters over the back of my feet, and felt pain especially in the places where the back of my foot rubbed against my shoes.

"I, too..." Pryce was saying, "have seen (cough) and suffered much (cough) in my life." He blowed his nose firmly with a tissue. I watched him with concern, not getting a single word of what he was saying, even though I bet it was something really wise and shit.

"Dude, you can have my napkin," I offered. He took it, blew his nose once more, and said, "Since I am your (cough) elder, let me show you what I mean..."

I nodded, and waited.

"I have been training (cough, cough) since before you were born. I do not...lose easily..."

Not even with a cold? I decided to hold my tongue for once. This may be Pryce's dying words.

"I, Pryce—the Winter Trainer—shall demonstrate my (cough) power!"

"And I shall demonstrate mine," I said, only somewhat sarcastic as I flamboyantly directed Cinder to the scene.

"Nice gesture," Pryce said.

"Thanks," I said. "I practice."

"Willow is (cough) my middle name," Pryce called out. "Willow is flexible (cough, cough) and not easily broken. I shall not lose."

We've been battling for a while by then, and I was sleepy. Hamako, my brilliant Lapras, has practically done everything on her own. But this was a boring match, and it would bore anybody. I can't even remember what happened during those boring sixty something turns. It think it had to something about the enemy not being able to give out much damage, and it would regain its health every time Hamako got it down far enough, and it was a super boring fight, and I fell asleep. Then I woke up the same time the enemy Pokémon did, and Hamako would just look at me like "WHAT". And Pryce would blow his nose.

Something like that.

Well, at least Hamako leveled up in the Pokémon hierarchy by the end of it.

"Hmm, my luck appears to have run out," Pryce said, recalling his Dewgong. "I am impressed (cough) by your prowess."

"Thanks," I managed to get out. I yawned, but not before stiffening it with my hand. The old man probably got enough yawns already.

"With your strong will of keeping awake during an obviously pressing time," Pryce continued, "I know you will (cough) overcome all life's obstacles. You are worthy of my Badge..."

I fell asleep for the rest of it.

I woke up with a cold.

The Gym guide exclaimed that I had just fought "a hot battle that spanned generations" but it only made more tired. I left the Gym, yawning, when I got a phone call from Elm.

"Lyra, how are things going?"

"Chilly."

"Well, I called because something weird is happening with the radio broadcasts."

"They're suddenly interesting?"

Elm was silent.

"Eh?" I said.

"They were talking about Team Rocket."

I nodded, though he couldn't see it—nodding to myself. "So I was right."

"Lyra, do you know anything about this?" he asked me in a tone that was much too chilly.

"Uh, no," I said. "I just made a really good guess."

"Maybe Team Rocket has returned," he mused.

"Probably."

"No, that just can't be true!"

"Professor, have you been outside anywhere lately? These people have been crawling left and right with their bad marketing strategies, how the hell—I mean, er, world—have you missed them?"

"I suppose you have something of a point," Elm said stiffly, "seeing that you travel so frequently. You must have seen many things on the road." His voice was mocking. I gripped my Pokégear.

I realized something weird was going on there, so to break the tension I cheerfully added, "Damn right!"

Like I didn't feel the poison at all.

It seemed that the "stupid kid neighbor" persona would work here, and it must have, because Elm's tone considerably improved. I wasn't surprised. Acting dumb has always helped me out.

"Anyway, sorry to bug you!" he said. "Take care!"

Elm abruptly hung up, giving me a chance to continue my nap. Maybe find a tissue while I was at it.

I went to the Goldenrod Radio Tower.

The first floor was largely untampered with. At first sight I wouldn't have guessed that there was something wrong, had the music on the radio didn't change to loud James Bond music. But it did, and it was Casino Royale's James Bond on top of everything else. There was this clerk at the desk, the regular old clerk who didn't understand the ultimate form of peaches...I barely remember why I was so mean to her that day. Her forehead was wrinkled (I got the feeling she wasn't responsible for the change in music), but her voice remained as cheerfully polite as before when she spoke with me. Something, something, no visitors, something?

We narrowed our eyes as we both looked over to the Rocket guy who stood at the doorway.

He was slurping his milkshake too loudly. I was barely able to hear anything the clerk was saying.

"Hey," I said, walking over to him, "I strongly recommend you letting me through."

He glared at me. "Who are you, exactly? We have some business going on here."

Believe or not, I was kinda impressed. The guy sounded older than ten.

"I was told not let anyone pass but those of Team Rocket."

I frowned.

"Do you understand?" he demanded.

"No." I was just messing with him, but he elaborated.

"You are only allowed to come through when you wearing that cool black uniform for Team Rocket."

"Okay," I said, nodding.

I had only a vague idea of where to get a "cool black Team Rocket uniform," but it was something. Besides, I needed new clothes. Those things are never at a decent supply when it comes to me.

The tunnel.

Was there not a supply of black Team Rocket uniforms there? Had I not gotten a picture of myself taken there, with Lorcan and my Pokémon surrounding me?

When I went there, I saw a man in a Team Rocket uniform. Immediately I tensed, but he seemed calm enough as he pleasantly studied me.

"Huh? Are you a newcomer, too?"

I relaxed, but I still watched his face carefully. "Newcomer?"

"We had to recruit new members for the Radio Tower mission. Then we ran out of uniforms."

"Oh, no!" I fingered the ends of my ponytail, urging my voice to remain calm as I acted. "But he told me to get a uniform..."

"Don't worry," he said breezily, "I found some here. Since you are here, why don't you change as well?"

The awkward thing about the next few seconds is that he actually tried himself to get me changed.

He started to shove the shirt on me, rolling up the sleeves kind of like the way my mother used to change me when I was little. I squirmed out of his grasp, accidentally punching him in the nose. As he grimaced, holding up his hand to his nose in obvious pain, I messily apologized and got the hell out. I went to the storage room.

When I came out, I realized he was still standing there. Damn.

"Better head to the radio tower, then!" I was sort of running out when he called me back.

"Oh," he told me in his pleasant voice, gesturing to my new uniform, "but you shouldn't try to scare people walking around looking like that, OK?"

Oh, the irony.

And so, shredding any mere picture of dignity that I had left, I wore the Team Rocket uniform proudly upon my chest as I ran towards the Radio Tower like a bullet. Put together post-Kris mother, my reputation, Team Rocket, and the vomiting pictures altogether, and you have the picture of a shitless person that had already lost their shit a long time ago.

I was about to walk inside the Radio Tower when Pikachu Boy came up to me.

"Hey, Team Rocket!" he shouted, his reddening eyes filled of so much fury it looked like I'd just tricked him into drinking some super spicy sauces. "Stop going around in groups and troubling people. You cowards!"

His head tilted towards the ground, and he spat, with as much pressure as he could, at my shoes. I dodged it, pulling the brim of my black Team Rocket cap down my face. Pikachu Boy caught my arm and pulled it away from my hat, probably just to annoy me or something. My face bitting back a frown, I backed away and looked up at him. His eyes widened before I realized I'd just made a mistake.

"Huh?" he cried out, his voice sounding panicked, hoarse. "Are you Lyra?"

Fuck this shit, I thought. Fuck it. Fuck it.

In front of Pika Boy, I tried to fix my face into confusion. "Lyra?"

Pikachu Boy took a step closer, erasing some of the distance between us. He looked hurt. The rage diminished in his eyes, leaving a vacuous sadness. "What are you doing here?"

I didn't answer, instead taking my hat and tossing it idly into the air. Fuck all of this. I caught it with one hand, staring at it. My thoughts were trailing off, losing their coherence.

"No way..." Pikachu Boy gasped. "You think you're strong now that you look like them?" His face reddened, even though little I've said or done suggested that conclusion. "That's foolish! You shouldn't wear those things!" He grabbed my shirt, and pulled it off.

You read that right: Pulled it off.

He wasn't even sure if there was a shirt underneath.

"WHAT THE FUCK, MAN!"

Tugging the shirt from his hands, I slapped him (lightly, yet angrily) across the face. He stared at me in shock. I stared at him in crazed anger, before placing back on my Team Rocket shirt. It was a warm day, but eh. I paused for few moments, then I remembered what I was doing and scowled.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You just don't take a person's shirt off! What's it up to you if I join Rocket, anyway?" With evilness raising within me, I added, "Seriously, what's wrong with you? Are you a stalking person?"

Pika Boy was silent. He placed a hand on his cheek, where I had hit him. I continued to look at him fiercely, even as I put back on my shirt. I glared through pieces of black cloth.

Finally, he muttered, "It's called a stalker."

I was like, HE WOULD know that.

"Are you stalking me?" I repeated. It seemed, all over Johto, I've been encountering this bastard. Even when I stayed too long in one city or too little in another, he always seemed to be around where I was at. This couldn't be just coincidence. I've been seeing him so frequently for so long.

But he shook his head, over and over. "No, no, no..."

"Still, leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with you. And we're not friends, so why should you care if I'm disguised as Team Rocket? Why do you even keep going after me, anyway, if you hate me so much?"

Pikachu Boy stepped back, frowning. "Disguised..."

"Yes, disguised. I was planning to be disguised as Team Rocket so I could infiltrate the Radio Tower." My voice managed to come out calm and icy. I stared at the ground.

"I'm sorry, Lyra."

I was waiting.

"I shouldn't have done that. Lyra, I'll do anything you want me to. I swear."

Yeah, I was waiting for that last part. You know me.

Five minutes later, Pikachu Boy walked into the Radio Tower wearing a pink sundress.

I came in too, unfortunately holding hands with Pikachu Boy. Cinder was directly behind me, and he was snickering at Pika. Cinder thought my idea was amazing. God, I love Cinder.

"This is my little sister," I told the clerk.

"Okay," she said uneasily.

I went to the grunt, releasing Pikachu's sweaty hand.

"Hey, I'm a newcomer of Team Rocket—"

"No, you're not," he spat out. "I can tell you're not. Your hairstyle is not accepted by our dress code regulations." He took pocketbook out of one of his pockets. "Here we are."

The man shoved the pocketbook inches away from my face. It was the dress code regulations for hair, if you were a grunt, that is. If you were an Executive or something you were given a creative license to act like a somewhat usual human being and could choose the shape and color of your own hair.

Anyway, the hair that the pocketbook for grunts showed acceptable was terrible short pink hair for guys and terrible bobbed pink hair for girls. The hair that was unacceptable was everything else.

"I went to the barber," I said, "but they weren't working."

"They only don't work on Sundays, and at night."

"Today is Sunday."

"Today is Tuesday."

"Well, nobody told me that," I said defensively.

"Here's where I know you're lying—every approved Team Rocket member gets a specialized smartphone, one day before their official first day. The phone has several celebrated anthems contained within it, including the anthem of Giovanni, the anthem of Giovanni's dog, and the anthem of California."

"Hotel California?" I guessed.

His face darkened. "It's 'I Love You, California.' "

I wouldn't have guessed that in a million years. I thought was that the anthem of New York, or some shit. I thought it was, "I Love You, New York."

"Also with the phone," he said gravely, "is the time, date, and day of the week. These things are uttered thrice a day with our daily teachings of Taoism, using the alarm feature of the phone. It is told to Team Rocket members everywhere."

He glared at me, his hand on his Poké Ball.

Oh, shit. I knew my total lack of awareness of the calendar in the summertime would get me killed one day.

"Wait," Pika interrupted. I'd practically forgotten he was there, he was so unimportant. "You learn Taoism?"

"We do," the grunt said, his deep voice still so grave and steady.

"Real Taoism?"

"Of course."

"Tell me one thing about Taoism, then."

The Team Rocket guy thought for a second, then brightened. "We become the tree. Then eat it."

Pika Boy looked disgusted. "That doesn't have anything to do with Taoism!"

"Well, not specifically, anyway," I said, just to be fair.

The grunt hissed as he tossed out his Raticate. "I have had enough of this. You two shall be thwarted before you soil the glorious name of the Team Rocket legacy!"

"Get out of the way, little sister," I said. "This fiery battle may put your pretty little dress on flames." I directed Cinder to the battle scene, instructing him to blast flames at the Raticate.

He obeyed, resulting in a satisfactory burst of flame searing at the Raticate's flesh. The crackles of the flames made the grunt wince.

"Good," I said. "Now try that again."

He did.

The battle was a short one. Pika looked annoyed by the end of it, taking my hand again. I resisted the temptation to slap his hand off. He insisted that it would be more credible for us to hold hands, and since I knew nothing of sisters, I allowed the little bastard to do it.

I took off my Team Rocket grunt hat and placed it on Pika's head, just for my amusement. The hat sloped down.

"You are too powerful," the grunt remarked to me, backing away deeper into the staircase. "You could spoil our plan..."

He turned and ran up the stairs, his ruckus making Cinder scowl at the chaos. The Quilava was taking a nap at the time.

Pikachu Boy turned towards me. "Your plan didn't work."

I didn't say anything.

"Huh...It was a typical idea of the meek, anyway."

I stared at a random painting on the wall behind him. "You weren't complaining much earlier."

"Whatever. I'll let you handle this, Lyra, if this is really what you want to do."

He started leaving the room. I hesitated, calling his name out. He stopped, turning back to me with an unreadable expression.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

Pain flitted across his face before becoming neutral again.

I tried to smile, but the expression was so fake it probably looked as painful as it felt. "Changing out of your dress?"

"I have to defeat the Dragon Tamer...What's his name...?"

My eyebrows furrowed. "Lance..."

"Lance! After that, it'll be your turn. Be ready for it." He began to turn his back to me before I called his name one last time.

"You can't beat Lance. You'll just lose again."

"How can you be so sure of that?" he said, tightening his jaw. "You have absolutely no faith in me." He walked to the door, scowling as he turned back to meet my eyes. "You—"

"911!" somebody screeched, slamming the door open. Pikachu Boy was splatted against the wall as police officers came inside the room. They looked over at everyone suspiciously before stopping at Pikachu Boy.

"You're under arrest," one of the police officers said, grabbing Pikachu Boy's wrists.

Pikachu Boy gasped, his face growing pale. He at first tried to struggle but the other officers firmly shoved him to the wall. I would've said something about the entire matter, but I didn't need the police to look too closely at my black Team Rocket shirt. I crossed my arms over the red 'R', but it didn't help much.

"Team Rocket," the police officer said triumphantly, seizing the Team Rocket cap from Pikachu Boy's head, "you are currently under arrest for trespassing." He shoved Pika towards the doorway and into the street.

"That's not even an actual person from Team Rocket—" the clerk began, but the police officer still remaining stuffed an apple pastry into her mouth.

"Don't worry, my dear. We have it all under control." Then he patted her cheek.

The clerk kind of looked like she was going to throw up, but she had the dignity to take a tissue and spit out the entire apple pastry there. I salute her.

"NO!" I could hear Pikachu Boy screaming from the street. "NO! I'M NOT EVEN TEAM ROCKET—HOW WILL I BEAT LANCE NOW—"

I heard a car door slam shut.

"SHUT UP AND USE INDOOR VOICES!" one of them roared. At that point, I'm pretty sure at least half the block heard them by now and was now creeping around in the shadows.

I think I'm not the only one when I say the Johto police need more training.

A single police officer had stayed in the office for a few more seconds. He looked over to me, and his gaze was kind of creeping me out, Team Rocket shirt considered. I hugged my arms against my chest like I was cold, but I realized pretty late that all I was succeeding to do was making my shirt wrinkled.

"Is that your dress he's wearing?" He probably recognized that Pikachu Boy was a boy.

"No," I said truthfully. "I found that dress in his bag. I just dared him to wear it."

The police officer soundlessly left and closed the door. Meanwhile, Pikachu Boy was uttering earsplitting screams from the street, and the clerk was frantically licking the icing of a lemon cake to get the expired-seven-years-ago taste of the apple pastry out of her mouth. The police officers were busy arguing on who was going to take shotgun, which was unfortunate because a crowd of curious people was seriously gathering outside of the Radio Tower to see what the red-haired child was screeching about. It was something about "POLICE BRUTALITY," which is always a red flag for every good lawyer. The bad lawyers just sit around and try to get paid, I think.

I slumped against the wall of the Radio Tower, smoothing back the creases on my shirt. I was incredibly shocked at that moment.

I had no idea that anybody was any more useless than Pika Boy, but the police defeated him in that battle, hands down.