POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: [classified]
I'm sorry, Lucian. I do trust you. But you're preventing me from finding the truth.
Please understand, Lucian. This is a personal matter for me.
Holding those thoughts in my heart, I shed my umbrella and enter the fortified complex. The bruised clouds from Crystal Cave are now rolling into the mainland, bringing with them a temporary future of darkness.
Things have changed in our unorthodox rendezvous. A glass barrier stretches across the room. Instead of being greeted with the usual sardonic whimsy, the dull droning of the security cameras welcomes my entrance.
Beyond the distortion, I spot his head, bowed like a defeated king surrendering his crown. A thick leather strap wraps around his slender waist, securing it to the spine of the chair.
Maybe it's just the abnormally harsh glare of the lights, but did he dye his hair? It looks… different somehow.
And upon closer inspection, my suspicions are confirmed. His hair has turned white. Just like powder snow.
Wasn't it blue when we were in Crystal Cave, not even a week ago?
"You okay?" I say softly.
Cyrus twitches. Not him, but his body. It's hard to explain, but his mind is no longer in this room… It's somewhere far away where no one can reach.
My pulse quickens. "What happened?" I press. "Did they hurt you?"
No verbal response. I tentatively tap on the glass. Again, only his shoulder responds by jolting. With pursed lips, I gently slap the barrier.
Immediately his head snaps up with a horrible crackling. Our gazes meet. The luster in his eyes has long departed, leaving behind seas of swirling darkness.
Is that really you, Cyrus…?
The man before me lets his head roll back down. He then picks up a cheap blue pen and scribbles on the blank sheets of paper in front of him. Scritch. Scratch. His movements are performed in a silent daze. The trance is only punctured by the pen often clattering out of his trembling fingers and the irregular, off-putting whistling gurgling in the confines of his throat.
With two hands, Cyrus slides the completed paper through the slot.
"Utterly humiliated by my defeat at Celestic Town, I hunted my enemy into the outskirts of the forest. Driven by my lust for revenge, I shoved her off the highest ledge. I couldn't risk my reputation being marred by a count of homicide, so I stowed her away in my headquarters in Veilstone. To rid the evidence, I confiscated her Pokemon. After she regained consciousness, I would forcefully eradicate her memories with my memory erasure device.
"To achieve a perfect world, I will eliminate all obstacles in my path. I will not hesitate to kill to achieve my goal.
"With my signature, I swear that my confession contains the absolute truth in that I, Cyrus, admit to all crimes committed against Cynthia, the Champion of Sinnoh."
A speck of dust falls onto the spotless white floor.
That's it. After hounding him for so long, after countless denials of the allegations against him, Cyrus finally gives in without a fight. And I didn't even have to use force.
And there's that smile. He seems genuinely happy that his sins have been lifted from his conscience. The pen remains in his grip, as if he's more than willing to tailor his confession to my demands.
What a horrifying, heartbreaking smile.
Suddenly, a memory strikes. A quip from long, long ago, one I had initially dismissed as one of his smartass musings:
"Looks can be deceiving."
Before I can process these sudden developments, someone spins me around. Standing before me is the last person I wanted to see.
"I told you to stay home!" Lucian barks. "Does our friendship mean anything to you—"
Then he sees the confession. And the blood drains from his complexion.
"What did you do?" he whispers. "Cyrus, what did Cynthia make you do?!"
"I didn't do anything!" I yelp. "He just gave me the—"
"I wasn't asking you, Cynthia! You've caused enough trouble! How many times do I have to keep cleaning up your mess?!"
His rise in volume is like a slap to the face. Yet I hold my ground against these brazen accusations.
While we argue, another person enters the room. Golden badge flashing, the woman plucks the confession from Lucian's grip and brushes past us without a second glance.
"Wait!" he sputters. "Who are you? Don't touch that—"
"This is the inmate's confession," she says flatly, her tone bristling with cold authority which causes Lucian to shut up immediately. "Everything and anything he says and writes during his incarceration can and will be used against him."
My blood boils at her overbearing attitude. "Who do you think you are?" I snap. "How dare you address Lucian like that!"
She merely bats an eye. In fact, I don't think she's capable of blinking. It's… unnerving.
"I know who you are, Champion Cynthia and Lucian of the Elite Four. Mister Lucian, while I appreciate your efforts in the arrest, you have been relieved of all your legal responsibilities towards the inmate. Effectively immediately. I will handle the legal proceedings from here."
"W-What? But no one told me anything about a prosecutor!"
His question is ignored, for the federal prosecutor sweeps us to the door. But I manage to shove her aside and run back into the interrogation room.
This time, there is no smile. He's staring at us intensely, glassy eyes wide and very, very bright. His lips are parting; his head is shaking violently… like he's begging us not to go.
The authorities are called before I can acknowledge that troubling realization. While they drag me out, me thrashing and cussing all the way, our gazes meet for one final time before the iron door closes.
I thought I saw blood coming out of his eyes. What's even stranger is that there is no physical wound anywhere on his face.