"So, this is Guardians Of The Galaxy?" Groot said, settling down on Red's hotel bed, a tub of popcorn wrapped up in his vines. "It's so exciting to see the origins of the names our illustrious trainer picked out for us."

Red, who was lying next to him, raised an eyebrow. "Laying it kinda thick, aren't you?"

"Oh, am I doing it wrong? I learned that if you inject constant positivity into someone faking confidence you can trick them into believing its real."

"Groot, you're no longer my favorite."

"I'm your favorite?!" Groot said, wagging his butt as though he had a tail.

"Well, uh you were, but…" Red looked down at the Ivysaur's hopeful face. "Oh, forget it."

"Hey, will you guys can it?" Star snapped. He and Lucina had a system in place, whereupon she floated kernels in the air above his flaming tail to pop them. "We're trying to watch."

And so, as Chris Pratt did his iconic, goofy dance, Red's team settled in. Or at least, most of them. Being the resident psychic, it was Lucina's job to pass around the popcorn, which she did, though it wasn't without a lot of grumbling.

Unfortunately, as it turns out, Pokemon bladders are not very big, and Red had to pause quite a few times for bathroom breaks. Annoyed that he was that he couldn't watch his favorite movie uninterrupted, it finally gave him the opportunity to talk to Star-Lord (the Charmeleon) about his performance in the gym battle against Surge a few hours before.

"Is it alright if we go for a quick walk?" Red asked, conscious that his palms were getting a little sweaty at the thought of giving a lecture. "I was hoping to discuss something with you."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Star said, evidently not having caught on to the potential issue. That made things a little awkward, as they roamed the Pokemon Center hallway.

"We don't talk a lot," Red finally said, when the silence became unbearable.

"We don't need to converse to have a strong dynamic," Star snorted. He gave his trainer a toothy grin. "You give orders, I demolish our enemies. We have a good thing going."

"Well, okay, but herein lies the issue," Red said. "Can you not 'demolish'? Can't you go with a different, slightly less extreme metaphor? Like 'kick ass', or 'beat down'?"

"I don't follow."

"I'm saying that you're getting too vicious in these fights," Red snapped. "You nearly killed Surge's Raichu, you hurt Blue's Raticate pretty badly, and Yellow told me about the Dugtrio."

"Hey." The flame at the end of Star-Lord's tail grew more intense. "That Dugtrio would've killed her if I hadn't finished it off. And it's not like I even killed either of those other two Pokemon."

"It's not about the specific examples, it's about your berserker mindset! It's inevitable that you're really going to hurt someone if you don't hold yourself back. Hell, when you get like this you start ignoring orders."

"Oh, not this again! We're Pokemon, and Pokemon fight. Aggressively, and lethally when we need to. You realize I'm not far off from most Pokemon, right? Even the rest of our team would–"

"I'm not worried that the rest of the team will ignore my orders!" Red considered what he'd said for a moment. "Er...except maybe Jackie. But she does her best to control her anger."

"Look, I'll try to be better about following your commands." Star looked down, a bit embarrassedly. "I get that understanding the flow of battle is your job. But you need to grow up."

"Excuse me?"

"You want to have your cake and eat it too," Star explained. "You claim you want to be the best, but if you're not willing to make sacrifices for the win, if you can't stomach the death that will inevitably come…you're not fit to lead."

Star-Lord's claws scraped against one another, and he stepped right up to his trainer. His tail slithered around Red's shoulder, and Red shuddered as the flame at the tip kissed his cheek.

"An incompetent leader can be replaced, Red." Star-Lord grinned again, showing all of his sharp teeth.

Swishing his tail behind him, Star brushed past Red, heading back to where they had come from. "Think about what I said, boss. I wanna get back to the movie."

Leaving Red standing awkwardly by himself.

The Drunken Horsea, ordinarily the most popular bar in Vermilion, wasn't very crowded tonight, which was fortunate, as Kenny had a lot to say to his drinking pals. Flint had taken a while to be convinced, too embarrassed at being seen in public by his fellow veterans, but finally relented when Kenny offered him a change of clothes and an endless supply of his brewed coffee to get him through the night.

When they arrived, Kenny swaggering in as if he owned the place and Flint timidly following behind them, it was to a round of muted yet enthusiastic applause. The Drunken Horsea's usual customers were Instinct Corps veterans, after all. Surge himself was gesturing for them to sit down at the seats he had apparently saved for them.

"Kenny, I'll assume you want the usual?" The bartender was a tall, sullen man a little older than Surge. Once quite the handsome man, his attractive features were now quite difficult to find behind the myriad of scars across to face. "Er, and Flint. It's good to see you again. What can I get you?"

Flint didn't meet the bartender's eye, but Kenny was friendly enough for the both of them. "Brought our own drinks for tonight, Randy. Hope you don't mind."

The bartender scowled. "You're lucky I like you, or I'd have the both of you thrown out."

"Yeah, yeah," Kenny said, chuckling as he pulled out his coffee pot from the large backpack he had dropped to the floor. "How do you like it, Randy?"

"Black," the bartender said, stepping away to serve the ones who were actually giving him money. "Sugar gives me a headache."

"Good old Randy," Surge said, shaking his head in an amused sort of way. "Grumpy old sod never changes."

"It's good to finally catch up with you, Lieutenant," Kenny said. He saluted, which would have been a respectful gesture, if it wasn't accompanied by a teasing grin.

"Oh, put your hand down, private," Surge said, rolling his eyes. "I told you from the day you were injured in the line of duty to call me by my first name."

"Oh, what, Santiago? As far as I'm concerned, your first name will always be Lieutenant."

Even Flint snorted at that, which brought smiles to Kenny and Surge's faces. When he noticed them beaming at him, he turned red and burrowed his head in his hands.

"Anyway, there was a lot I wanted to talk to you about at the gym, but I thought it was best to give Red the spotlight," Kenny said. "A lot of stuff that I kinda just accidentally walked into." He handed a thermos to Flint, who took it gratefully.

"Would this happen to relate to the Mt. Moon fiasco that Red and Blue Oak were involved in?" Surge asked, polishing off his mug.

"Yup, Rocket Industries has a ton to unpack." Kenny's voice had fallen to a harsh whisper, as if afraid someone would overhear. "Including, well, I think we know now why the war ended the way it did. Samuel Oak, Fuji, Blaine, Bill Sonezaki...they've been keeping some pretty big secrets. I uh, really thought the two of you should know."

At that, Flint rose, looking at Kenny with shell shocked eyes, with a focus that Kenny hadn't seen since the early days of the Indigo War.

"What?" he breathed.

"Randy!" Surge suddenly said, and the bartender looked up from the dirty glasses he was wiping clean.

Surge held up his mug, his mouth contorting into a bizarre combination of a grin and a grimace.

"You better make the next round a double."

Watching his trainer shiver and whine in his sleep, Rocket wasn't so sure what to do.

You weren't supposed to wake up someone when they were dreaming, right? You were supposed to just wait it out and let them bear it the whole damn night? Easier said than done.

Red's face was beaded with sweat, and he was mumbling. Most of it was gibberish but Rocket caught a few names in the mix, people he no doubt was afraid were going to get hurt.

Rocket was used to feeling helpless, mediocre in combat and inadequate for emotional support, but this was unbearable. At least in battles he could feel some semblance of triumph in getting his ass kicked, knowing that he'd at least fought to the best of his ability, and that his failure was met with a consequence to himself.

But all he could do now was watch as Red wrapped his arms around his pillow and held it tight. Great job, Rocket. A pillow was doing a better job at comforting his best friend than he was.

"You know, you'd make a good dad."

Yelping, Rocket slipped off the bed, rolled down the covers and bonked his head against the (thankfully) carpeted floor. Moaning and rubbing his head, his eyes flashed to a laughing Drax.

"Nice landing," the Squirtle said, wiping a mirthful tear from his eye.

"Oww, what do you want?" Rocket muttered, his ears flattening in embarrassment.

"You owe me an explanation, pal," Drax said, jerking his head to the door. "I wouldn't impose, but you've spent the whole night sitting impassively on Red's bed, so I don't feel guilty about dragging you away for a minute."

Rocket glanced back to his trainer's sleeping form. "But he's—"

"Dude, it's a nightmare, not something you can fight. You can't hit subconscious inner demons super effectively, right?"

"Uh...I guess that's technically true."

"Then c'mon." Drax dragged him to the door. "Let Red fight his own fights."

"Okay, I see how it is," Rocket said sleepily, his eyes still trying to adjust to the bright light of the Pokemon Center's cafeteria. "You didn't actually want a heart to heart. You just wanted to raid the pantry."

The Squirtle was a tornado of destruction, ripping through casings of snack cakes, tearing into meats, and was now in the process of slurping down an entire jar of pickles.

"Hey, what can I say?" Drax said through a mouthful of dill. "Nurse Joys never lock up their food before I'm done with them, and I needed a lookout."

"Whatever, man, just enjoy yourself," Rocket muttered, resigning himself to guard duty. He flopped onto the ground, swishing his tail back and forth aimlessly.

"Hey, be my guest to whatever's here," Drax said. "Into pudding? There's a ton of pudding here."

"Not hungry."

"Toast? Cantaloupe? Cold pizza? C'mon, everyone likes cold pizza."

Rocket didn't answer.

"Fine, fine," Drax said, waddling over to where the Pikachu was lying. "What's up? Why don't you want to evolve? Why are you being all mopey."

"I'm not being mopey!"

"You're being pretty mopey."

"You realize that I could kill you, instantly right?"

"Yeah, but you won't," Drax said, making puckering up his lips to make obnoxious kissy noises. "You're too much of a softie.

"Just speak about it all right?" The Squirtle dropped his teasing tone. "I can tell you want to get it off your chest."

"All right," Rocket said, once again in resignation. "We're Pokemon, right? We fight, we get stronger. We get stronger so we can fight better. We fight better so we can evolve. We evolve so we can fight better than before. It's a cycle."

"Sure."

"Battling in our blood. It's what we do. But I hate it. I hate battling. It's probably the real reason I'm not very good at it. Or maybe it's the opposite. I hate it because I suck so much."

"You don't like fighting?" Drax asked, cocking his head to the side as if he couldn't comprehend such a notion. Rocket was used to that response. For most Pokemon, battling was like breathing.

"Can't stand it. Getting hurt sucks, and hurting or killing other people, even if it's necessary…" Rocket shuddered. "Maybe I don't like it so much because sometimes I am caught up in the bloodshed like other Pokemon. I lose myself, and not being in control is scary."

"Well, uh, I guess the million-dollar question is this," Drax said, scratching his head. "If you're not a fighter, why are you Red's starter to begin with? You're not just fighting; you made the choice to fight against the most powerful Pokemon in the region. Aren't you just hurting yourself?"

Rocket thought for a moment. "It's different with Red. He's so genuine and honest about what he wants to accomplish that I just want to help him see it through. Even the battles seem more fun, or at least worth the pain. It's like I'm fulfilling a purpose."

"But you still don't want to evolve?"

"I think by using a thunderstone, I'm giving in," Rocket said, looking down at his paws. "Pokemon can live long, healthy lives in their base forms, and I didn't evolve into a Pikachu because I battled. Raichu isn't better than Pikachu, it's just more powerful. If I took that plunge, I'd be giving my life to fighting. And everyone would know it."

Rocket watched Drax take in what he said, sure he'd fire back with sagely wisdom.

"Yeah, you're giving me a headache," Drax said, scratching his head. "Sounds like someone spends way too much time inside their own head."

"Pardon?"

"Look, are you enjoying yourself on this journey?" Drax said. "Does it feel right to you?"

"Yes."

"Then keep doing what you're doing, bro!" The Squirtle slapped his back. "And if you don't like battling, don't battle when you don't have to. It's as simple as that. No need to be so depressed all the time."

"You think you can wave problems away like that?" Rocket asked, arching a bow. Drax leaned forward and booped his nose.

Drax snickered. "It works for me, anyway!"

"Well, I certainly hope cleaning up after yourself works for you as well."

Rocket and Drax whirled around, so distracted by their conversation that they hadn't noticed Nurse Joy.

"Oh shit," Drax said, as her form melted into the shape of a fearsome Tauros. The bull stamped its foot on the floor, ready to charge. "Remember when I said about only fighting when you need to?"

"Y-yeah," Rocket said, gulping.

"This is one of those times! Fight for your life! Fight for your life!"

"A clone," Flint whispered. "That's what happened to me, then? A psychic clone destroyed my memory? Ruined my mind?"

"Your mind isn't ruined, Flint," Surge said, patting him reassuringly, before looking up at Kenny, about a million questions bursting to be answered. "So, this thing just lives in a cave on an island off of Cerulean?"

"Apparently," Kenny said. "Guarded by our old friends the Hellhounds. Jaune himself leads them now."

"It's nice to see the kid takes after his old man," Surge said, allowing a quiet smile to play on his face. "But uh...do we really have to call it 'Mewtwo'?"

"That's just what Red calls it," Kenny said, shrugging. "Honestly we just use the name out of habit at this point."

"So, other than Red and Blue meeting with whoever runs Rocket Industries, what plan do you guys even have?"

"There, uh, isn't one?"

Surge moaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I need another drink. We're just sitting Ducklett?"

Flint seemed just as distraught, anxiously running his hands through his hair.

"We just have to be prepared, Lieutenant." Kenny pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to his former commander. "You're the most popular man in Vermilion, surrounded by men who have and will fight for your name. Yours truly included. Spread the word, build us up in the meantime. Mewtwo himself may not be aggressive right now, but we'll just have to be ready when Rocket Industries shows us their hand."

"And then we'll know whether to hold or fold." Surge nodded to himself, as he accepted the cigarette, brightening up a little. "I guess this Looker guy is hunting for answers too?"

"Damn straight." Kenny rested back comfortably in his seat, lighting his cigarette. "In the meantime, I'll watch over Red, be sure he keeps out of danger. Kid's rough around the edges, but once we refine him, I'm sure he'll be a real asset."

Surge held out his hand for Kenny to shake. "Well, I'll do what I can. First thing tomorrow I'm off to tell the President of the Pokemon Fan Club what we know, see where that gets us."

"Wait, why the Fan Club President?" Flint piped up.

"Because he also happens to be Vermilion City's Representative," Surge said, rolling his eyes at the thought. "If we clue in enough of the Representatives, next council meeting we can push serious questioning onto Rocket Industries, maybe bust them once and for all."

"To think I thought they were the heroes," Flint murmured into his now empty thermos. "Supplying us for the war, all those slogans about fighting for Kanto's future...they're the ones who really caused all of this."

"I'm sorry, Flint, I know this has gotta be tough on you," Kenny said. "Here, let me pour you another."

"I'm fine, Ken." Flint's hands were still shaking slightly, but he stood up, and when Kenny looked into his eyes, he saw that that newfound clarity was still in them. "I can't put into words what this means to me, finally being able to understand what happened. It's like…. it's like waking up from a dream.

"Let me help," Flint pleaded. "In any way I can."

Kenny smiled. "Flint, all I can ask you to do right now is to go home to Pewter. See your family again. You can move forward if you let the people who love you help you."

"I uh…" Flint hugged his shoulders, his earlier confidence gone. "Yeah. I just...I hate the thought of them seeing just how disappointing I've become.

"It won't be easy, old friend. And I'm not gonna kid you, it'll probably get worse before it gets better. But trust me when I say that all you can do to disappoint them now is continuing to hide away."

"You're right, Ken. You've always been right."

Flint didn't exactly have a bounce in his step when he left the Drunken Horsea, but his posture was noticeably improved. As they watched him go, Surge leaned in close to Kenny's ear.

"You've got probably the most positive outlook out of anyone I've ever known," Surge said. He thought for a moment. "Okay well maybe barring Red, now that I've actually met him. But anyway, I know you're putting a positive spin on this, but do you really think there's gonna be a real plan? That we'll have any idea what we're doing?"

Kenny gave out a wheezing laugh that had him doubled over. "Well I sure as hell didn't know what I was doing during the Indigo War! And I got out of that okay."

"You got shot in the leg!"