POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: Veilstone Galactic HQ

"Take his Commanders away from him," Charon had said. "That alone will severely handicap Cyrus, who relies on others to mask his own incompetence. When you confront him, do not let his words sway you. Stall for time until the sedating antihistamines cross the blood brain barrier, and Detective Looker will take care of the rest."

I've done it. I've replaced his painkillers. I've lured his Commanders away. The police have entered Galactic HQ and are making their ways up the floors. A perimeter has been established as far as Route 214.

Presently, Cyrus is staring up at me. Given how pale he is, he might kneel over any minute now.

"How many?" he says.

"What?"

"Helicopters. Tanks. The usual arsenal of a raid."

Wow. I spare him no details, stating instead, "We've got HQ surrounded."

Cyrus raises a brow. Slowly, he draws himself up, using the shelves for support. Blood is dripping down his sleeve. He catches my questioning stare, and he smirks.

"How rude of me," he sighs. "For the Champion to visit my office when it is in an unsightly state…"

"It's over," I say. "You're coming with me."

"Keep him talking!" says Looker.

"What's happening down there, Cynthia?"

"Justice."

He sneers. "Justice? What does 'justice' mean to you?"

I roll my eyes. "Throwing you into prison for your crimes."

"That's it? As usual, your perception of good and evil relies on an established dichotomy. Not everything in this world is black and white." He drags a shaking hand through his hair, collecting the fallen strands hanging over his forehead. "Do you think everything will be solved after you've put me away?"

"It's a start."

"You are not addressing the root of the problem, Cynthia. Think: what underlies the cause of all sorrow in this world? Why do we fight? Why do we resort to conflict to resolve our differences?"

It's been fifteen minutes. This bastard is still rambling on about who-knows-what. He's actually holding my gaze as opposed to falling over from the sleeping pills.

"Something's wrong," I whisper to Looker. "Cyrus is still sober."

"It's rude to ignore someone who is expecting your answer. Kindly direct your attention away from the earpiece, please."

"What do you mean?" Looker hisses. "Was there a mix-up with the pills? He's supposed to be knocked out five minutes ago!"

And Cyrus is next to me in a heartbeat, holding up my earpiece between the both of us. His brows furrow at what he hears while I do a mental "Oh shit."

"Ah," says Cyrus without any inflection in his tone. "So that's how it is."

"What? Cynthia, your voice sounds different. We're still waiting on your signal so we can send the snipers in."

Cyrus's frown deepens. I attempt to snatch my earpiece back only for him to gracefully sidestep.

"Where are the Commanders?" he says.

"They're in custody! The tall one gave my agents quite a beating, but we've subdued her!"

At that moment, something snaps in Cyrus's stony mask. A chill shoots into my visceral organs like a gunshot to the heart.

"Spirit," Cyrus murmurs, his voice flat and dead. "Vacuous sentimentality. These wretched emotions stemming from a weak and incomplete heart… the root of all needless strife in this world…"

Then he holds the earpiece to his lips. "I am Cyrus, the CEO of Galactic Energy as well as the leader of Team Galactic. I will blow up Veilstone City unless you adhere to my demands."

"What?!" I shriek.

"WHAT?!" Looker cries. "C-Cyrus? Holy… Cynthia! Cynthia, you there?!"

"Pastoria too," Cyrus continues in a leveled monotone. "Hearthome City will be next."

"WAIT! Uh… Y-You don't have to do this!"

"You didn't have to do this either. Yet, I am offering you a choice: heed my demands or face the consequences of your actions."

A long silence crackles on the other end of the line, allowing me ample time to grasp the reality of how utterly fucked we are. Looker was so gung ho that he swept me along with his infectious optimism. We knew there are bombs here, but we never planned for an actual threat.

We've severely underestimated our foe.

When Looker speaks again, his words are strained. "What do you want?"

"No!" I yell. "Don't listen to him! He's bluffing!"

Cyrus has not blinked. "I am holding your beloved Champion of Sinnoh hostage. Cross me, and you will never see her again."

"B-But you're here as well! You'll blow yourself up too!"

"And?"

And I do something I should've done before: I tackle this crazy motherfucker down. Before he can get up, I wrench his arms behind his back and plant my palm against his head. Something warm and wet oozes below my skin, but I dare not look.

"Looker, I subdued him! Send in backup!"

A sudden light blasts in my face, causing me to release my hold. I duck just in time for a violet wing to slice the air instead of my heart.

"Crobat?" Cyrus croaks. "I didn't summon you…"

I also call out Garchomp, who takes initiative to return Crobat's Cross Poison with Dragon Rush. While the Pokemon duke it out in the background, I lunge for Cyrus, who swipes his arm, showering droplets of blood into my eyes.

"Motherfucker!" I hiss. It stings like crazy. "Where's the rest of my Pokemon?!"

"You've forced my hand!" Cyrus growls. "Crobat, Haze!"

Then the windows explode, sending glass and shrapnel raining down the ceiling. Strong winds slice into the room, announcing the presence of the rapidly chopping helicopter blades.

"Cynthia!"

Detective Looker waves from the nearest helicopter, a megaphone in his hand and a battalion of agents at his beck and call. A searchlight hones in on Cyrus, trapping him within its harsh radiance.

He squints into the spotlight. "What the…"

"Alakazam, Psychic on Crobat!"

A powerful telekinetic blast rams into the bat, sending it flying into Cyrus's chest. The force causes him to misstep, and he falls into a graveyard of glass.

"Lucian?" he whispers, his lips barely moving.

Lucian grabs me back. While I was stalling for time, he had led a regiment of Interpol agents all the way up here, blatantly disregarding Charon's plan.

"Are you all right?" he says to me. I nod, and he cracks a weak smile. "That's a relief. I honestly thought we had a hostage situation on our hands…"

"Cyrus of Team Galactic!" Looker booms into the megaphone. "You are under arrest! Hands where I can see them!"

I summon Garchomp to my side in case Cyrus pulls a fast one. But he doesn't. He simply sits there in a pool of his own blood, a limp Crobat in his laps, his head hung on his shoulders. On all sides are agents with guns trained on him. Far in the distance are snipers with their scopes to his head.

It's over. Anyone can see that.

But just as Cyrus begins raising his hands, two latecomers join the show.

"Sorry!" Flint says. "Volks got hungry, so we stopped by Hearthome for some pan bagnat. There was a long line, so—"

"What the hell happened here?" Volkner gasps.

When Cyrus raises his head, a peculiar light dawns in his dim eyes whose pupils dilate with some kind of deadly realization, like a somatic response to these two's presences. His demeanor instantly changes: his shoulders stiffen, his hands tighten into fists, his mouth plunges downward to show his teeth gnashing against each other.

Cyrus is mad. Absolutely livid.

"You…"

Flint starts. "Huh? I-Is he talking to me?"

Volkner's brows furrow. "I think he's talking to me."

Cyrus is trembling now. Not from fear. From rage.

"I refuse… I REFUSE TO FALL ON MY KNEES IN FRONT OF THE LIKES OF YOU!"

And he whips out a remote from his vest. My blood turns to ice when I put two and two together.

"Put that down!" Looker yelps.

"Crobat!" Cyrus snaps.

The bat wakes up at his command, wings brandished for an all-out assault.

"Hold up!" Flint dons his best big brother smile. "O-Okay, let's all calm down. I'm sure we can resolve this without conflict—"

"Shut up."

Volkner scowls. "Don't talk to my friend that way, you creep—"

"Shut. Up."

This is the first time I've seen Volkner break a sweat. And it scares me.

Despite the glass shards imbued within his skin, Cyrus calmly holds up the remote for all to see. Never once does the blaze of defiance waver within his eyes.

"You squeeze that trigger, and I will detonate this bomb," he says. "If you mistakenly think I'm bluffing, then shoot me."

I glance at Lucian for advice, only to find that he's frozen in shock. I then match gazes with Looker, who mutters something into his radio. He then mouths something to someone, words along the lines of: "I'm sorry."

The bullet strikes before we know it, penetrating flesh with a sickly crunch. Cyrus's fiery resolve finally falters once Crobat falls at his feet.

Any action taken within this decisive moment will significantly alter the course of this story. It's all or nothing now. While time stands still around us, I raise my hand and proclaim the finishing blow.

"Garchomp! Draco Meteor!"

A comet streaks against the fabric of the moonless sky. Only for a second is the horizon a velvet black, for the next it is ablaze in crimson light.

In that heartbeat of time before the meteors fall, Cyrus meets my gaze. I recognize that fear in his eyes. It's the same horrified stare from back at Celestic Town.

Then time flows again, and the meteors collide into Galactic HQ. Tremors race up the floors, earthquakes rippling all throughout Veilstone City.

Long after the shaking subsides and the billowing cloud of dust disperses do we peek up from our hiding place. The office is unrecognizable. Everything is completely obliterated.

Somewhere within the ringing in my ears, I hear Looker yelling at his agents. I see him motioning frantically for the helicopters to move in.

"Go, go! Dig Cyrus out! Bring him to a hospital at once!"

Something sparkles from under the rubble. A hand. In the pool of blood and glass is a hand, sticking out in plain sight.

Lucian pulls me into his arms. "You did the right thing, Cynthia," he murmurs, his voice calm and soothing, a balm against my screaming nerves. "Tonight, you saved human and Pokemon lives. You're a hero."

I don't feel like fucking hero.

"It's over," Flint whispers. "Holy shit, I thought I was about to die."

"Buck wouldn't like that," Volkner says with a shaky smirk, one that crumbles as soon as it is deployed.

The moon finally appears in the sky. Helicopter blades whirl overhead, adding to the assorted cries that resound through the night. Sharp, stale winds sweep the ruins of Galactic HQ, scattering debris to the city below.

"It's over," I repeat to myself. "This nightmare is finally fucking over…"

Oh, if only I knew.

Cyrus's defeat at my hands is only the prelude to our long and tragic story.