"Admin Claire."

Claire didn't open her eyes. Maybe it wasn't that important. Maybe he would go away. She needed her sleep. Whatever it was could wait.

"Admin Claire, they brought in one of the traitors."

Claire groaned. She didn't want to deal with this right now. The prisoner would still be around in the morning. She pulled at her quilt and rolled over. She was going to get at least another hour of sleep.

"Admin, please, Rasmus wants you to—."

Claire pounded her fist against her sleeping bag. So that was it. Rasmus wanted to toy with their new captive, and he wanted her to be there to witness it. She rubbed her eyes and checked her watch. It was 2:27.

"I'm gonna kill that freak," she muttered.

Claire closed her eyes as tight as possible, mentally counted to ten, and forced herself into a sitting position. The grunt who had been sent to wake her was still there—standing uncomfortably just a few feet from her bedroll in a way that told Claire he was under strict orders not to return without her.

"Give me a sec," said Claire. "I need to get dressed."

Claire hastily brushed her tangled blonde hair and put on her bandana. She had given up on doing her face paint since the transfer to Nanzo. The abandoned, half-completed shell of an office building where they made their base offered few comforts, and when everything and everyone was covered in dust and dirt, Claire wasn't going to make the extra effort to stand out.

Claire's sleeping bag was in a secluded corner of the hideout—secluded, but not private. With three dozen grunts camping out and Rasmus coming and going without warning, the only privacy Claire could find was by sneaking out on her own. Sometimes she went to see Liam. Usually, she watched him from a distance.

"Alright," said Claire to the grunt. "Let's go see this traitor."

The prisoner was restrained in his chair by the prehensile vines of a Tangrowth. He looked older than Claire, but not much older. She studied his face, but couldn't recognize him. There had been a few grunts that deserted before she took over from Zhang. She reasoned that this must be one of them.

"So," began Claire. "Who are you?"

"A rat," said a cold voice. "Caught in a trap."

Rasmus was leaning against a nearby pillar. His bright blue eyes were fixed on the prisoner—looking inside of him rather than at him. Even watching Rasmus crawl around in someone else's mind made Claire uneasy, but she noticed that something was off. There had been a note of agitation in Rasmus' voice, and his eyes were twitching erratically, as if he was struggling to force his way into the prisoner's head.

"Having trouble?" asked Claire.

Rasmus clenched his teeth and stared even harder at the captive. Claire smiled to herself. Seeing Rasmus this frustrated was a rare treat. Finally, after several minutes of pregnant silence, Rasmus appeared to give up, and the prisoner relaxed in his chair.

"He's been trained to resist psychic powers," said Rasmus, breathing heavily. "We'll have to find another way to make him talk."

"Why does that matter?" said Claire, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard by the prisoner. "What does he know that we need?"

Rasmus scoffed. Claire noticed that the red veins in his eyes,

"There's a network," he said. "An underground of former Team Power members conspiring against us. Our captive knows something about it. I want to know what."

Claire raised an eyebrow.

"You're getting paranoid. A few grunts ditched. So what?"

"Someone is helping them," said Rasmus darkly. "And the ones that are leaving are taking our secrets with them. It's time to plug the leak."

"Well, he's not gonna talk your way," said Claire, jerked her head at the captive.

"Then he'll be made to talk in the way of Team Power," said Rasmus, his lips curling into a sneer. "I understand you have some experience breaking others in this way."

Claiire's fingers went numb. It had been a long time. Long enough that it didn't feel real anymore. She hesitated. Someone else could do it. She was in charge here, after all. She didn't need to personally—Rasmus was in her mind. Crawling around like a spider. He would make sure it was her. There was no way out.

"Bring me his Pokemon," said Claire.

She almost didn't recognize her own voice.

Author's Note: It's been a while since the last chapter, which I think needs an explanation. I've been transitioning to a new job at a different international school—the same international school that inspired Everspring International Pokemon Academy, in fact. I've been busy with beginning-of-the-year madness, but I should be back to posting several times a week when things settle down. Thank you to D. N. and all my other regard readers for your continued support.