POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: [classified]

So. I have a confession to make. Nothing that scandalous, but I did do something that most sane people would frown upon, Looker and Lucian especially.

But I am a grownass adult capable of accepting the consequences of my actions. Besides, I'm bored out of my mind with the League still under temporary closure…and speaking of closure, I think I need some for myself.

So it is on one fine day that I boldly march into this classified location whose address I cannot breezily reveal. The officers there greet me warmly. They show me to an unoccupied room. I refuse the suggestion for additional security measures because I know I won't be needing them.

As I wait with a foot tapping on the cement floor, my gaze wanders around the white, windowless room. Nothing much to see except for the security cameras mounted on the ceiling. I think I'm the only source of color in this place, and that realization is troubling.

Then the door beyond the iron fencing opens. I looked away too late, as our gazes have already connected.

"Twenty minutes," says the officer, sitting the prisoner down on the chair beyond the length of this table. "If you need assistance, Miss Champion, please give us a call."

I nod absently, my attention wholly captured by the man in front of me. For the longest time, no one speaks. We merely stare at each other, as if we can glean the unspoken words from the other person's heart.

Finally, he speaks first. As he always has.

"Well. This is certainly a surprise."

I have no witty retort to that. But I have to show him that I'm the one in control of this conversation.

"Really? Anyone could've foreseen your fall from grace. It was a matter of time before Galactic's true face was unmasked."

"You know I'm not referring to that, Cynthia."

And I cringe. Crap. Barely a minute into our first encounter since the raid and he already has an edge over me.

Cyrus returns my bitter smile in the form of a sneer. "I'll keep my words brief: what more do you want from me?"

I defiantly cross my arms. "You sound like a dying Weezing."

"You can blame the respirator for that."

A lump forms in my throat. "Oh. S-So you just left the hospital?"

"That was a while ago." His forehead scrunches as if he's trying to recall what day it is. "Before I was taken into the interrogation room, I was in my cell, secretly plotting my escape from this dreary place."

Despite myself, I bark out a harsh laugh. Cyrus sees this, and his cracked lips curl.

"You see," he continues, "I thought about using a spoon to burrow my way out of prison, but they only provide plastic utensils to us inmates… not to mention that I am confined in the upper floors. I did have a solution which would involve dislocating my joints to slip out the window, but sadly, that would only work if I could feel my limbs."

"You do know that the guards are listening in to all this, right?"

"Oh? Is that so? You mean to say that privacy is not guaranteed in prison?"

This motherfucker is definitely something else. After the hell that he's been through, he still has the nerve to be a sarcastic prick. That's… reassuring. I'm secretly glad that his shitty physical appearance is only skin deep.

"Orange doesn't suit you," I say.

"Hmph. As long as I have something warm to wear, I don't have any complaints. I don't even mind the Trubbish situation that plagues this severely underfunded institution."

Then Cyrus places his hands on the table, lacing his fingers to form a plateau which rests his chin. I notice how his handcuffs rattle with each insignificant movement, sending audible ripples down the chain that connects to his ankle fetters. His stare is intense, but what I notice is how his hands tremble under their weight.

"You didn't come here to humor me," Cyrus says flatly. "Spit it out."

He's right in that I didn't come here to listen to his bullshit. But I really didn't have a real reason to come. Instead of sitting here in this cramped room, I could be at my beachside villa in Unova, sensually licking a Casteliacone.

So slap my palm on the table. I did not expect him to recoil so violently like that. When he realizes that I'm gaping at him with slack jaw, he hastily fixes his composure.

"D-Detective Looker will be here soon." Cyrus sneers as if that stutter was only my imagination. "He will play Good Cop Bad Cop. Not you, Champion."

"I came here for answers!" I blurt.

"To what?"

Oh crap. Think! "T-Tell me why you were stealing Pokemon! Why would anyone do that?"

"Because I can."

"Huh?"

Cyrus sighs as if he is explaining rocket science to a normie.

"I'll be telling this to Detective Looker too, but if it absolutely cannot wait…" He draws himself up in the chair. "I told my Grunts to steal Pokemon because I can, Cynthia. Nothing more to it."

"B-But why? You can find Pokemon literally anywhere. Why take them from people?"

"You're right, Cynthia. Pokemon can be found virtually everywhere. Why don't people simply take something else?"

"How can you say that?! Our Pokemon are our friends. We grow up with them, and we grow old with them. You can't just replace them like batteries!"

Cyrus scoffs softly. "Are your Pokemon that precious to you?"

"Yes!" I snap. "They've been with me since I was a child! Then you had the audacity to steal them—"

Cyrus's neck snaps back quite suddenly. "What nonsense are your spouting on about? Why would I steal your Pokemon?"

"Because that's what you do! Looker found them when he swept Galactic HQ—"

"While I did command for Pokemon to be stolen, I did not steal your Pokemon."

"But—"

"You won't force a false confession out of me," Cyrus hisses. "Your missing Pokemon were planted there by someone else, understand?"

A heavy silence follows his dubious proclamation. The guard present announces that I have five minutes left.

Then Cyrus sighs. "I know that your Pokemon are precious to you. That bond you share is the driving power behind a Pokemon's true potential. You know that some Pokemon evolve through friendship, yes? Through the success of my experiments, I came to realize that the energy released during that method of evolution was exactly what I sought—"

"You lost me."

"I know. Long story short, I sought to understand the relationship between friendship and power. That was why I needed to siphon the energies from other's Pokemon."

I still don't get it. "Why not use your own Pokemon? You have four."

Cyrus frowns. "Because it won't work. Unlike you Trainers, I don't treat my Pokemon as my friends or partners."

There are so many holes in that statement, yet Cyrus appears to be confident of his assertion. He also looks a bit puzzled at my confusion.

"Incidentally, are my Pokemon at a safe location?"

"Um… yeah. They're currently in—"

"Time's up," says the officer, moving to lift Cyrus off the chair.

"Cynthia, wait," he says.

"What?"

"Something's been bothering me as of late. How did you gain so much insight into Galactic's secrets, enough to go ahead with the raid? I doubt any of my Grunts told you about my secret Laboratory."

Cyrus is expecting an answer from me. Should I tell him? Should I go against Looker's warning and possibly expose someone to the threat of retaliation?

Why the fuck not? I hate that sleazy old ma. I know nothing good will come out of Neo Galactic. Besides, Cyrus is in prison. He can't do anything.

"Charon," I say. "He was the informant."

Oh how quickly someone's face can fall at a name. Cyrus's smugness crumbles like dry earth, and he actually looks… concerned. Troubled. Yet he says nothing as the officers escort him out, not even sparing me a second glance.