"You're late."
"You did none of your work."
"Late, are we?"
"I'm not holding your hand, kid, so you better pay attention."
Yellow's second day was worse than the first. Berated and beaten down at every turn, ripping apart her life like paper. Poor girl could not defend herself and after a while, Yellow didn't want to anymore.
What was the point? These adults mapped out her hours and destiny. Nothing she said mattered. All Yellow could do was remain silent as adults tormented and broke her down.
How could Lancelot live like this? How could anyone live like this?
She didn't know what to think. Maybe Yellow was a broken child. Maybe everything was upside down and inside out in Mother Forest. Rocket expected perfection on the first try, but Mother Forest wouldn't let her fall.
Yellow felt sick again. If she could talk to someone or a Pokemon or…
How she missed ChuChu. All of her Pokemon friends. How Mother Forest would laugh through the trees. How Uncle Wilton would try to teach her. Those days felt like distant dreams now, hidden by the pain and trauma of losing them so suddenly.
Steps. Yellow jolted, afraid of another rebuke. The anxiety overtook her as the door opened and a young woman was standing there. A tray of food was in her hands, along with some filtered water.
The recruit was sure she didn't move a muscle until the woman left. Only the hunger rumbling in her belly made her pick up her fork, hesitating as the meal laid out in front of her.
Some pink meat. Leafy greens. Carrots. A sliced fruit with the skin still on.
Yellow ate the vegetables and fruit piece first. While it was better than anything else that happened to her today, it was no equal to the forest's gifts. But she was forgetting all that as well.
However, when she reached the lump of pink meat, dread filled her. It looked like a fish, but without the scales. Just like her Magikarp friends in the forest. Snapping her eyes shut, Yellow swallowed the meat as fast as she could.
Tasted like rubber and death.
The door opened as Yellow had finished her meal, showing the same silent agent as before. But before it shut, Yellow spotted a familiar uniformed boy walking by.
"Lancelot!" She called out, scrambling out of her chair and zipping by the confused agent. Her peer had been around longer. He could help her adjust to this awful schedule. Or give her advice on how to stay awake.
Poking her head around the hallway, Yellow searched for the kid. Where did he go? Lancelot mentioned that his room wasn't so far away. Was he settling in for the night?
After about five minutes, the rookie found another door that was like hers, except that it had fewer locks on the front. Must be Lancelot's bedroom; but why was hers more secure? Was there some probation period that Yellow had to go through?
She pressed the button to enter. But no robotic voice greeted her. Annoyed, Yellow pressed it again, but no voice. Her hands pushed the metal again, whacking random parts here and there to force it to work.
"Hey!" Yellow snapped. "Open up! Hello?! Are you broken!? Open! Open, open, open!"
A couple of clicks and released latches answered her call before a grumpy, pink-haired kid glared at her.
"You can stop screaming now." Lancelot admonished her. "I can hear you through the door. Everyone from here to the training room can hear you."
"Well, come how I couldn't get in? The voice thing didn't talk to me."
"Locked."
Yellow stared at him. "We can lock our doors?"
"No. Where did you get that dumb idea?" Lancelot derided her, his eyes darting towards the ceiling. "I don't lock my door. That's against the rules. I meant...I meant the system must have locked up. Probably because you were banging on it like a crazy person."
Her nose wrinkled. "I'm not crazy."
"Whatever. What do you want?" Lancelot dismissed her anger. "I have lots of overnight work. So you better have a good reason to be acting crazy. The Masters don't like us being loud, especially this late."
Now Yellow wanted nothing to do with Lancelot if he was going to be so mean. She blew a hard snort from frustration before catching a whiff of some strange, airy chemicals. It smelled strong, as if they had squeezed flowers to a pulp and smashed into juice.
Then the young Rocket noticed it. Her peer's hair was much shorter and thicker, combed over with a touch of a slick substance. Yellow loved how fluffy it looked. Like a little Pokemon sleeping on top of his head.
"Hey! You have hair!" She exclaimed, making the other child roll his eyes. "I didn't know you had hair! You have pretty hair too!"
"I wear a hat. I'm not bald." His irritation was thick. "And my hair is not pretty. It's professional."
"No. It's pretty." Yellow corrected him, squinting. "Can I pet it?"
She stuck her hand out without another word, and he slapped it away, making her frown. Darn Lancelot! It's his fault for having pretty, fluffy Pokemon hair. Why not let her pet him? He might soften up a little.
"Don't touch my hair." Lancelot warned, "Master Archer spent a lot of time on this haircut. If I mess it up, he'll get mad. And I'm not getting into trouble because of you."
Yellow still yearned to pet him, but she tabled it for now. "Why does Master Archer give you haircuts?"
"Team Rocket assets and agents should be presentable at all times. You don't see Master Archer look sloppy, do you?" The boy shot back. "We should be mature and ingrain a sense of respect early on."
Yellow recalled what Ariana said. No frizzy hair, no acne, and always groomed. Like these children were owned and their appearance reflected on their value. Mental claws of a dark overseer dug into the sides of her mind, holding her brain hostage in fear and doubt.
She was Ariana's. Everything down to the nails and tongue had Team Rocket's brand. Was that why they cared so much about her ribs showing? Or was it from a place of warped compassion?
"Was that all?" Lancelot's question cut through her thoughts. "Next time, ask your tutor and not me."
"No!" Yellow said, clearing up her stammer. "I had a bad day."
"What do you want me to do about it? Bad days are normal days here."
A glare, worthy of the most hateful spite. "You're the worst."
Lancelot didn't bother stifling a laugh. "You haven't met many Rockets, have you?"
Yellow put her hands on her hips, trying to think. The older kid wanted to slam the door in her face and let her stew in it. But his attitude and apathy towards her state made the girl wonder how long it was going to take for her to act that way too.
She refused to act like a jerk, even on a bad day. And she will not let Lancelot act like a jerk on her bad day either.
"I wanna talk to you." Yellow switched tactics. "So I can manage them. Better."
"I'm not your therapist. I have my own priorities. Go cry about it or something." Lancelot refused, about to shut her out. "Since that's the only thing you're good at."
Her thoughts dug up an idea: blackmail. Blackmail seemed like how Rockets got things done around here. But blackmail him with what? She knew nothing about Lancelot—not enough to warrant decisive action on his part.
Except…
"I'll tell Master Archer that your door was locked." Yellow set her face in a heated stare, praying it would work.
Lancelot's hand stiffened on the doorframe. "It wasn't locked. You locked it up. I can't lock my door."
"Well we'll ask what happened. He'll know, right?" A quick, brutal counter. "He knows everything."
The boy's eyes darted to the ceiling, as if he expected a response. In an instant, he grabbed her and pulled her inside as the door shut behind her. Yellow felt grateful that it worked, quite empowered that she got her way for once in this wretched, dismal place.
Lancelot folded his arms. "Hurry up. Like I said, I have things to do. You're not even supposed to be in here, you know. Only adults of the same gender are supposed to be in our rooms."
"Is that why my door has an extra lock?" Yellow asked, looking around.
His room was an exact copy of hers. Small twin bed, tiny dresser, no decorations, and one desk that was covered with books. Yellow couldn't understand half the titles, but each one looked thicker and tougher than the one next to it.
However, right above his bed was some strange-looking lamp. It was long and slender, covered in black casing. A purplish-blue light bulb was underneath, ready to cast over his bedsheets and pillow.
"Girls are weaker than boys." Lancelot grunted, making her wrinkle her nose. "That's why you have an extra lock."
"Are not!"
"Master Archer said so. Madame Ariana insisted on it too, so it has to be true." He said, moving back towards his desk. "So boys can't go into your room."
"What happens if someone does?"
"I don't know. I never tried."
"What if a girl comes into your room, like me?"
"Maybe your head explodes and splatters everywhere and your brain goop gets stuck in the ceiling for a few years." Lancelot suggested, his flat tone edged on sardonic.
Yellow looked aghast. "Lancelot! That's nasty!"
He sat down in his desk chair, shooting her a dirty look as he scoffed. If that was Team Rocket's sense of humor, no wonder everyone seemed like sadistic sociopaths. No time to play, no time to grow some empathy in their bones. However, he sighed and scribbled out something in his notebook in order to multitask.
The gruesome idea stuck around. She inspected the ceiling and corners as worry washed over her. Nothing had happened yet, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen.
"Stop poking your nose around. I don't like people looking at my things." Lancelot said, now annoyed. "If they killed you, they'd kill you. Besides, you're a valuable asset. They wouldn't spend all that effort getting you here if you wind up dying."
"So people don't get stuck up there?" Yellow looked at the ceiling again. "Is that where the voices come from? People being stuck?"
There was a loud, frustrated groan. "You're an idiot. Can you just tell me what you want so you'll go away?"
Yellow couldn't see what he was writing, but she spotted his tray of food. It was the same thing she had, except his dinner included bread and a little yellow block. A glass of milk finished the meal.
Her eyes widened, fueled by jealousy, as she jumped at it.
"How come you get all that!?" Yellow exclaimed. "You even get milk! I couldn't even get milk in the forest, unless Uncle Wilton brought some! That's not fair! I want it too! How do I get milk too?!"
"Oh, grow up." Lancelot snapped, "I have work to do. You should go back to your room. Maybe if you complained a little less, you'd be faster at working."
"But how come you're fed all that stuff!? I want that! I get yucky meat, which I don't like 'cause they're Pokemon! Can we switch?"
"I'm a boy. Boys eat more. Girls don't. And you can't switch. The Masters don't like picky eaters. Your master picks your diet, and if you don't eat it, they'll make you eat it. Or starve." His clarification was tight, as if he had known from personal experience.
"That's dumb! I'd grow up more if I had all that!" Yellow refused to buy it, looking at the yellow block. "What's the big thing in the corner?"
"Cheese." Lancelot said, though it appeared he regretted answering. "You're already putting me behind. Go back to your room."
A simple bark did not scare her off. Yellow now had the curiosity bug, pulling out his books to read the difficult sounding covers. Lancelot freaked, grabbing his stuff back as she stuck her nose into one chapter.
"What's moo-moo-... moo-dale lowgick?"
"None of your damn business!" Lancelot admonished her, grabbing his book back. "And it is Modal logic. I will not explain it to you, because you don't even know how to read time yet. Go. Away."
Yellow ignored him. "How come you're reading it?"
"Because Master Archer said I have to learn it, so I am."
"Okay, but why?"
"Because he said so! That's why!"
"But why did he say that?"
"Because...he...is that all you wanted to know?! I thought you had Rocket stuff to ask!"
Her head snapped back down. Right! The bad day.
"How come you get everywhere on time and do all of your work?" Yellow questioned, looking at his desk again. So many books, so many filled pages…
"I manage my time." Lancelot answered, as if it was so obvious. "I make sure I hurry to my classes and training sessions. I also do my assignments right away."
Manage time. Clocks. Everyone had clocks.
"Okay, but what about sleeping and eating?" She frowned.
"I don't." A rather snarky answer. "If you have tasks, you don't. Is that it? It's obvious."
No eating or sleeping when there are tasks. Or classes. Or commands. Or expectations.
"Wait. That means you sleep…" Yellow tried to calculate it in her head, but the stress scrambled up her numbers. "Uhm. Not a lot."
"I sleep four hours every night." Lancelot said, trying to keep his temper together. "Which you're cutting into with these dumb questions. So imagine that right now, you get an extra hour since you're new. Work with that."
"Is that why you're grumpy? Because you don't sleep?" It explained everything.
"Whatever. You got me. Anything else?"
Yellow thought about leaving, but she had a feeling this was her only opportunity to get information out of Lancelot. She wasn't sure if the locked door blackmail would work again. Immediately, questions spat out one after another.
"How old are you? Why are we here? Can we go outside? How do you do the work if you can't understand it? Can we talk to others?"
Lancelot blinked, taken aback by her questions. Her hair twisted around her forefinger as she stared at him for an answer. His eyes looked up for a second, debating whether to answer.
"Well?" She pressed.
"I'm nine." He said, now hyper-focused on his books. "Master Archer said so. We're supposed to carry the legacy of Team Rocket. We can't go outside. If you don't know how to do it, you figure it out. And we're not supposed to talk to the other agents. It can be distracting."
"Can we talk to each other?"
"I guess." Lancelot clearly didn't care. "As long as the Masters approve of what we're saying."
At least Yellow had someone, even if he didn't feel the same way. "I guess that's okay... but we're always alone... we don't play with each other or with Pokemon… it makes me sad."
Lancelot rolled his eyes, "We're Rockets. We don't play. Especially not with dumb Pokemon. They would think they were above their status."
"But I don't want to be a Rocket." Yellow was adamant. "I'm the daughter of Mother Forest. They made me a Rocket."
The boy immediately scanned the ceiling, trying to catch some sign of another being there. After he was relieved that nothing disastrous occurred, Lancelot threw a harsh hiss under his breath.
"Don't say that, you idiot. The Masters will hear and punish you."
Yellow crossed her arms, "Why?"
"Didn't I just say!? You'll be punished! You can't—" Another look at the ceiling, worried, "—You can't talk about...all that here. They're always watching. They act like they're not, but they are."
Yellow tried to follow his gaze, searching the ceiling for evidence of something nefarious spying on the two. However, all she saw was the same blank ceiling tiles that were everywhere in this horrible place.
Shaking her head, the child frowned. "When can I talk about it?"
"Never, ever, ever." Lancelot snapped, picking his writing back up.
"Why can't we talk about it?"
"I just said! I just...you are so dumb! Did I not say that the Masters will punish us? Master Archer especially doesn't like Mother—" Lancelot clamped his mouth shut, avoiding Yellow's bright smile as he stuck his nose deeper into his book. "—Leave me alone."
"You are a child of Mother Forest!" Yellow pounced at his slip, shaking him again. "I knew it! I could sense your powers! Can you hear her too? Are you my big brother? Were we born together? Is—"
Lancelot slammed his book down, "Stop it! We're not...any of that! I'm not any of that! I was made for Team Rocket! I was born here, not in some stupid tree!"
Yellow took offense. "I wasn't born in a tree! I was born at the bottom of one! Mother Forest said so!"
"Well, Mother Forest is a crock." He shot back. "Nobody can be raised by a forest. That's impossible. You just got by for a while."
"What's a crock?"
"It means fake and stupid."
"Mother Forest is not fake! Or stupid!" Yellow's face turned red in rage. "I hear Mother Forest! She talked to me! She gave me food and shelter and Pokemon friends! You know nothing!"
Lancelot's face darkened. "Well, I never heard her. So she's a crock or you're dumb."
"She doesn't talk to wicked people." Yellow pushed back. "So you're wicked and that's why she won't talk to you."
A wounded look opened deep in Lancelot's eyes. Yellow stopped herself, realizing what she had said as Lancelot shoved his face back into a stony expression. She could feel her throat bob, aching to cry.
"I'm sorry." She said, downcast. "I... I don't like people making fun of me for…"
A pause, wondering if her words would even make a dent in his hurt.
"...Mother Forest would talk to you. I think it's because you're too far away from her." Yellow grasped at straws. "I can't hear her here either. Like the walls muffle her. Because it's…"
"You don't have to make it better." Lancelot said, his eyes burning a hole in his paper. "Master Archer said I was born for Team Rocket. So it doesn't matter what some leaves think. I already hear enough voices."
Pokemon. So Lancelot could hear them as well. He might have every power that Yellow did.
"Can you hear Pokemon too? And heal them?"
"Yes. I don't enjoy talking about them."
"Why?"
Lancelot pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why, why, why! Why do you keep asking why? You just do, you don't ask! If you can't do it, they find someone else to do it and that other person doesn't ask questions!"
Yellow's face fell, seeing the other child try to compose himself. Her body withdrew again, awaiting another strike. However, Lancelot fixed his emotions back up and continued to work on his paper.
After a beat, she asked. "Are you going to hit me?"
"No." His answer was abrupt. "But I want to."
That moment of compassion moved her, making her nod. "Thank you."
"Is there anything else?" Lancelot kept his head down, daring not to look at her. "By that, I meant you can leave and not come back. Ever."
It was best to leave. "Thank you."
"Good. Leave me alone. I'm busy."