POV: Cyrus / LOCATION: Veilstone Galactic HQ

Splendid. The fourth fire alarm within the first six months of this year. By the time I managed to wrangle the situation into control, the sun has begun to set. I wasted an entire day's worth of productivity.

Through tears, the responsible party confessed that they were curious whether firecrackers would explode if they blew on it. Then some ignoramus dropped an active lighter on to the fuse, and the rest is a million Poke's worth of water damage.

They wholeheartedly believed that I was about to murder them. That would be too much work on my part, especially figuring out whether to cremate their remains or toss them into the sea. When I told them exactly that, they fainted on the spot.

"You're too cruel," Jupiter had said, more amused than anything. "They're already deathly scared of you. Do you want them to fear you even more?"

Frankly, I was too exhausted to care. I had worn myself out speeding through HQ, checking for any imprudent Grunts that might've been left behind. I had pushed my body's limit aiding in the cleanup effort. I had abused my voice drilling Galactic's evacuation protocol into their thick skulls for the millionth time.

So now, as the skies darken outside my window, I merely slump into my chair like a sack of flour. My head hurts. My limbs ache. I wish to nurture a hot cup of coffee in the blissful solitude of my office. Perhaps tinker with something. Or I can rest my eyes for a second. Yes, that sounds like a wonderful—

"Master Cyrus!"

I moan into my arms. I am sick and tired and in no mood to settle the usual bickering between the younger Commanders. They storm into my office anyway, like they always do.

"Master Cyrus, Mars broke my TV!"

"Saturn made fun of me! He said girls can't play videogames as well as boys!"

"She threw my console into the screen!"

"He scratched me! Someone trim his nails!"

When Jupiter runs in, I practically melt from relief.

"Shut up!" she snaps. "Seriously, no one's got time to listen to you two whine! Complaining to Cyrus isn't going to help either."

"He can buy me a new computer," Saturn whines.

"Money doesn't fall from trees, Saturn. Cyrus worked his ass off to build this place up from the ground. You of all people should know that, considering that you've known him longer than I have."

Jupiter cuts off quite abruptly, and the next thing I know, she's holding my wrist with a grim scowl.

"You're bleeding."

I assume that what she means is that my bandages are soggy from the sprinkler accident. But I quickly realize that they're no longer white. Instead the gauze is a muddled pink, darkening to red before my very eyes.

"Contact with water must've reopened the wounds," Jupiter mumbles. "You knew that, and you still insisted on helping clean up?"

"I am the boss of this place," I snap. "Do no treat me like a piece of glass!" To prove that I am a perfect picture of health, I slam my fist onto my desk.

Ah.

I… shouldn't have done that. For a horrifying second, all I can see is red.

Before someone points out my glaring weakness, a cry sounds from somewhere in the building. My computer reveals that an alarm was pulled in the lobby.

"Stupid Grunts," Saturn grumbles.

Another alarm appears, this one originating from the third floor. The fourth. The fifth. Blinking red dots are swarming my monitor like an outbreak of chicken pox.

"We'll check it out," Mars says. "And teach those idiots a lesson or two."

"I'll go with you."

Jupiter gently pushes me down. "You stay here and change your bandages. We'll be back in a few."

With great reluctance do I allow them to leave. When they close the door, they perform it with a chilling finality. Hopefully this matter will be resolved soon.

While I wait for my Commanders, I open my cabinet and withdraw my acetaminophen bottle. As I regret to admit it, my psyche can only tolerate so much pain. Right now it feels like my limbs are about to fall off at its joints. Jupiter was right: if I had come with them, I'd only be a burden.

Yet I cannot dismiss this churning unease in my gut. Perhaps it is due to the lengthening shadows crawling down my wall, but I feel that something is… untoward. Not right.

With that thought heavy in mind, I empty out a half bottle's worth of acetaminophen tablets, obscenely dismissing the labeled warning to take two per meal period. I need to get better now, not later. I've already wasted enough time.

As I am about to swallow my medicine, the last traces of sunlight tap the tip of my nose, drawing my gaze to the watercolor horizon. It's getting dark. To me, sunset is the most solemn time of the day. After that is nightfall, when the world is no longer bright and warm.

Then I finally find it: that something untoward whose uncertainty has been plaguing my thoughts as of late.

These tablets. The powdered acetaminophen has not changed in appearance since my childhood days. The medicine I am familiar with are printed with "L" as the starting letter. These which I hold in my hand have the letter "R."

Another alarm blares. This one comes from the Laboratory.

All these unconnected incidents click together into a horrifying realization.

It's a trap.

"Jupiter!" I blurt. Mars, Saturn!" Hopefully it's not too late. I fly out of my chair, adrenaline splitting through the pulsating pain in my legs as I sprint to the exit.

But when I fling the door open, something pushes me back, a force so powerful that the wind is briefly knocked out of me.

"Going somewhere, leader of Team Galactic?"

Damn…

Damn it! I left my memory erasure device in the Laboratory! I knew I'd need it soon, but not this soon!

She advances, and I step back. Seething with rage, she jabs a sharp finger at my neck as if she plans to slit my carotid artery.

Ironic, is it not? To think that you've cornered me in my own home.

"You've remembered," I mutter.

"You bet I did," Cynthia snarls. "And this time, you won't walk away in one piece."