Apuntes-- If you like this story, you should read a story called Sweet Ambrosia. It's cool. But besides that, um, the poem in this chapter is mine, and it's called Serendipity's Knife. This part clears up everything confusing about that prologue chapter, I think, although those of you less observant people will still be confused about the Espiritus. You'll probably have your suspicions confirmed in the next chapter of this story. I think it will have about eight or nine chapters before its finish. So hold on to your bottle caps, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.
A Descent Into Rancor
Part V- The Scent of Descent to Rancor and Acid Rain
Misty rubbed her temples as Brock plunged into sleep again, unable to fight the weakness which wracked him. Ash shook his head at Misty's strange suspicions as it was revealed that Brock's sickness was caused by a strange depletion of his immune system.
Cough. Hack. Fever.
Brock was a mess, but he was safe now. Misty even seemed suspicious of the doctors, they seemed to be giving him enough shots. Ash felt totally drained, he didn't know if he could take any more travesty within that very short month.
Brock began to mutter Gary's name, but it was in a muffled voice, and neither Misty nor Ash could tell what he was saying.
Misty jumped up from her chair and grasped Brock's hands in hers. Her eyes paid special attention to his parted lips and twitching eyes.
I'm here, she whispered, putting a hand to Brock's cheek. You're safe, Brock.
Brock felt like melting chocolate to the touch, and Misty winced. She dipped her fingers in a glass of water beside his bed and dabbled it onto his cheeks and forehead. He breathed in deeply at her touch, letting his muscles relax. He even gripped her hand back slightly.
Brock said within a breath. It was almost as indecipherable as when he said Gary, but Misty understood him.
You'll be all right, Misty whispered back to him, biting her lip.
Ash stood up as well, not wanting Brock to think that Misty was the only friend of his who cared.
Hey Brock, he gulped. I never got to say goodbye to you before, when you left. And I'm sorry for that. We've all missed you.
Brock opened his eyes, looking up at his friend. He was about to say something else when he began coughing rather productively. Misty and Ash both felt sympathetic towards him, but were inclined to look away.
I can't believe he got caught in a factory machine in police training, Ash shook his head. That's the last reason I would have thought he'd get hurt.
Misty shrugged at Ash's comments and just seemed to watch the blood drip from the IV above Brock's head into his wrist. Misty would have gladly donated, but apparently they had some of Brock's blood type available.
Ash looked up at Misty and sighed. He had desired a response, but was satiated with the fact that the general bad mood would probably cease to exist soon.
Brock squeezed Misty's hand a little more, forgetting that it would be the death of her within his pseudo-consciousness. He sighed firmly, then relaxed into sleep once again.
The desert surrounded Brock once again, but this time it was free of any boulders or debris. It was night time, and the sky shone like one giant star to create a pale white countenance upon the sand, and Brock was alone.
His vision was assaulted after either a second or an eternity, he couldn't tell, by that same thing that had assaulted them--him and Gary. He began to choke, trying to scream, trying to run after it, but all attempts proved fruitless. He was frozen in time, and no amount of desire in his body could lift his feet from the ground to attack it.
His eyes grew wide as Gary's figure appeared in the thing's hands. Brock wanted to scream out, he wanted to save Gary, he wanted to--
But want doesn't amount to do, and the creature disappeared, letting Gary fall to the ground, right next to Brock.
Brock still wasn't in control of his body, and although his mind screamed no, he reached down and began to choke Gary.
Stop stop stop, he told himself, I can't kill you, I don't want you to die!
You're killing me, Gary said back. You killed me!
I wasn't supposed to let you die, Brock sniffed, I shouldn't have passed out. I should have broken its neck--
Misty whispered, and Brock woke at last, having a feeling that he had been saying something, but he was asleep and couldn't remember what it was. He did feel the tears which still rained down his cheeks, and he did feel Misty's arms around him as she cradled him and rocked him back and forth.
What happened? Brock muttered in his delirium.
You were just crying and saying something weird in your sleep, Misty responded, her voice slightly hoarse.
Brock groaned, rubbing his eyes.
You didn't really get hurt in a factory accident, did you? Misty challenged, pulling her comforts away from Brock.
Are you saying that I'm lying? Brock frowned, feeling threatened suddenly.
Then why did you keep saying I killed him' in your sleep? Misty's eyes narrowed.
Brock looked up at her, searching his mind for a response, and actually derived one that wasn't a total lie.
Are you sure I didn't say them? he spat, almost angrily, because it is my fault my whole family is dead now.
It is not, Misty sighed, then kissed Brock's forehead gently.
Brock was surprised at this action, but said nothing.
The Cage is going to wish it never came into existence, Brock thought as Misty settled into embracing him for comfort once again. They'll never hurt anyone I love again.
You pulled a rose's thorn through my skin,
Then called my name and kissed it better.
The horizon is littered with open tombs,
Waiting for me to fall in.
Your skin was like acid against mine,
My tongue pushed you away from me.
For all the damage my life has cost you,
I repent--my blood falls from my heart to the ground.
My blood tears through my own skin
As I think about how you left me,
I fall to the ground onto your cadaver,
Desiring to melt with the dead.
But somehow I gingerly avoid the tombs,
I live on in a soul drained of love.
I can live on, kicked into the waters of aggression.
Whoever told me that life and love were precious
Must have aimed to torture.
They must have had destruction in their minds.
Footsteps can explode through a thousand halls,
And a thousand fools could gun me down,
But I'd rather you were here to run me through.
I always thought you'd be the death of me.
Who would have known it'd be the other way around?
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Rain speckled the earth, a gentle wave of would-be relief for those camping out in the desert trying to stumble their way through assassin training. However, word had flooded the desert of what had taken place between Bucket, Grell, Shale and Oak, and no one could help but feel that the sprinkles which dabbled their skin was made of blood and acid. The storm the night before wasn't even as painful as its calmer aftermath, and each darkened day was prelude to a sightless night. They wanted to act and talk tough, but fear infiltrated their minds with every wink of sleep and every growl of their stomachs.
Three figures dressed in black sat on a rock, their heads hung low.
Nocturna is going to get killed, the first one sighed.
I dunno, the second one pondered, this was a job well done.
But if the element of surprise isn't there, the third added, even just one time, I'm sure that the battle would be lost.
Why must this Shale person be protected anyway? the second muttered.
I think we should let him die, the first shrugged. We should let Giovanni get a taste of his own medicine, the Mistakes only want him.
But we can't just let the experiments die because Giovanni deserves to get axed, the third one blinked. They are innocents. Nocturna knows this.
Shale won't be innocent for long, the first announced, then climbed onto the back of a fearow. This incident may have just pushed him over the edge.
I'm sure if it becomes necessary, The second's head lowered while climbing onto the back of a noctowl, Nocturna will let Shale be killed.
the third's eyes narrowed while climbing onto the back of another noctowl, I'm sure if it becomes necessary, Nocturna will die first.
The three said not another word to each other before flying away, trying to get above the clouds before becoming to wet or getting stuck by lightning.
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Weeks had passed, and Brock's pneumonia and wounds had healed to a point where he'd be able to go soon. He sat up in the chair beside his hospital bed playing on a game of electronic checkers that the roving hospital clown had delivered, just waiting for the time of day he knew that Ash and Misty would visit.
Misty and Ash walked in right when Brock had expected them to--ten minutes after being dropped off by the bus around the corner.
Hey Brock, Ash smiled, then walked over to look over Brock's shoulder. Are you winning?
Of course, Brock smirked.
Misty walked up to Brock sullenly, her hands behind her back. I heard you're going to be well enough to leave in a couple of days, she softly pointed out.
Brock nodded. I'll finally be able to get out of this hospital gown.
What are you going to do, Misty gulped,
I need to get back to police training, Brock responded immediately. My injuries were all flesh wounds, I'm not permanently damaged, so I should be all right.
Misty's eyes widened, you need more time than that to recuperate! What if you get hurt again--
Don't worry about me, Brock replied, suddenly serious. There are still some things that I have to take care of.
You're not going to be able o get rid of the Cage by yourself, Misty gritted her teeth. You should stay with us, you should be with us! Why can't you understand that!
The only thing I understand, Brock lowered his head, is that you want to keep me from doing what I need to do. Look Misty, I'm doing this for you guys! I don't want you to be hurt, I want to be able to--
We don't need protection, Misty's breathing quickened, you do! We're not the ones in the hospital covered in scars right now!
Misty, it's not your decision, Ash tried to interject, only to receive the glare of death from her.
Ash is right, Brock folded his arms, chucking his game on the bed. It's my decision, and I'm doing what I need to do.
You don't need to! Misty fumed, then slammed her way out the door.
Ash turned to Brock, wincing as he watched his friend stare blankly at the door, a tear stumbling down his face to the nape of his neck.
Ash whispered, she'll get over it.
I don't understand, Brock frowned. What did I do to make her so mad? I--I just want to help--
I think she misses you a lot, Ash nodded. I think that's her problem. She wants you to come home with us, because--
Brock looked away and swallowed hard.
If I tell you something, he said raspily, do you promise not to tell?
Ash nodded immediately and stepped closer to Brock.
I want to come home too, Brock confessed, and--I love her. It's so ridiculous, I know, we should be like brother and sister, but it's not. I want to just be with her, but I can't. She doesn't understand. The Cage has taken too much away from me, I can't lye down and do nothing after they destroyed my life.
I understand where you're coming from, Ash nodded. I thought Misty would too. We're all people who take action. But she has a bad feeling, or something.
Brock shook his head then climbed back into bed. He suddenly wasn't feeling so hot.
Ash furrowed his eyebrows, I have a bad feeling too. You should just come home.
Nothing doing, Brock barked flatly. I'm going back, and that's all there is to it.
Ash stood up, shaking his head. All right, have it your way. But I don't want to see you dead, Brock. That's all.
I'd probably be better off, Brock muttered inaudibly, looking away from Ash.
Come again? Ash turned his head.
I'll be all right,Brock assured.
Ash frowned. I'm gonna go find Misty.
Brock nodded, then turned away, crawling under the blankets. He felt chilled inside and out, chilled and alone.
I'm sorry, Gary, he sighed, I'm sorry, everyone. He then closed his eyes.
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Well Mr. Shale, the doctor flipped through his notes, you were going to be released today, but we've been informed that you told someone that when you got out you were going to kill yourself. I'm sorry, but you're being transferred to the psychiatric ward.
Brock's face contorted into all shades of existing anger, and he sat upright, letting his anguish flush nearly purple across his confused face.
Who the hell said that? Brock clutched at his blankets. I said no such thing!
I'm sorry, the doctor shrugged, we have to take these things seriously. If you don't feel that way you'll be released after your evaluation.
So any stranger can just come up and get me committed? Brock nearly began to froth at the mouth. Is that it?
The doctor sighed. Just come along, we're not allowed to disclose that info--
It was Misty, Brock shouted, wasn't it? She's trying to keep me here, isn't she?
Calm down, the doctor ordered, or we'll have to tranquilize you to take you away.
Son of a bitch! Brock shouted. I'm being held captive by my own friends!
Calm down, the doctor said even more sternly, this is your last warning.
Oh stop acting like you wouldn't be just as pissed if one of your friends committed you, Brock wrenched his arm away from the doctor. I hate hypocrites.
the doctor held up his arms, we'll do it the hard way.
The doctor called for assistants on his walkie talkie, and two brawny men sauntered into the room.
Take him to the psychiatric ward, the doctor snorted.
Oh no you don't! Brock screamed, running backwards in the room. I'm not going with you, I'm getting the hell out of here!
The two men looked at each other, then advanced upon Brock.
Brock knew that he wouldn't be able to run or hide, so he grabbed the first guy he could reach and pile drove him into the ground.
the guy groaned from where he lye.
Wanna piece of this? Brock shouted to the other would-be captor.
Not today buddy, the guy shook his head, then drove a needle into Brock's arm.
Brock shouted, trying to pound on the man, but he soon became disabled from movement.
Let's get this nut job out of here, the man who Brock had floored stood up and grumbled angrily.
Brock lolled helplessly as he was carried down the hallway, and he saw the faces of Misty and Ash. They looked very concerned.
How could you do this to me? Brock whispered, a tear slipping to his chin.
I love you Brock, Misty sighed, I did this for your own good.
I'll never speak to you again, Brock thought, unable to respond to Misty.
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You have a visitor, the woman announced. Would you like to see her?
If it's Misty, Brock spat, tell her to burn in hell.
This person's name is Cassidy, The woman replied. Not Misty.
Brock choked, then by all means, show her in.
Cassidy entered the room, followed by a guard for her protection. Brock was determined to be dangerous and violent, and nobody was allowed to see him unless some burly jerk with tranquilizer in tow accompanied them.
Come to tell me that the boss' thinks I'm a failure? Brock frowned.
Cassidy looked around, motioning to Brock that she couldn't tell him what she needed to with the guard around. She leaned in to his ear, but the guard became more on guard and came closer to the two.
Cassidy gritted her teeth, I'm a Judo black belt. I won't die. Give me some privacy.
The guard said nothing and backed up, a tiny bit.
You want out of here? Cassidy whispered flatly.
No shit, Brock whispered back.
Be by the window at midnight, Cassidy replied.
I don't have a watch in here, Brock announced.
Don't go to sleep tonight, she hissed, just wait by your window. But you can never speak to any of your friends again. Do you still want to go through with this?
More than ever, Brock's eyes narrowed.
Cassidy nodded. Make sure no one else is in here either.
Will do, Brock nodded.
Cassidy then kissed Brock on the forehead. It alarmed him, but then he realized it was for show to the guard.
I miss you darling, Cassidy blinked sweetly. I hope you're better soon.
I miss you--too, Brock stammered out, unable to fake the emotion. I can't wait to get out of here.
Cassidy left, and Brock watched the door she left from carefully for a moment.
What's a dish like that want with a whack job like you? the guard chuckled.
I'll give your fat ass a whack job if you don't get the fuck out of here, Brock threatened.
Ooh, I'm scared, the guy laughed, then closed the door, locking it behind him.
It's gonna take a week to get to midnight, Brock frowned, putting his chin in his hands. I wonder how they're gonna pull it off.
Brock spent the time between hell and escape watching the TV which was behind an unbreakable plastic pane. He couldn't decide the channel, they didn't trust him with a remote. It must have been because he tried to beat the hell out of a guard with the last one.
Is anything unbreakable? Brock wondered, eying the plastic pane, then eying his fist. Because I'd like to cause these people as much pain as I can.
He was about to try and shove his fist through the plastic pane when he decided that he shouldn't start anything. Not that night. He just had to be patient, and soon his hell would be over.
He'd never in his life felt as angry as he had that night. He'd never ever wanted to just hurt anyone as much as the people in that hospital. Maybe Misty was right. Maybe he belonged there. He thought he was just becoming violent because of the anger the most recent events had instilled into him. Maybe it was because he didn't have Gary there to balance him, like he'd balanced him so well.
As soon as I finish my business with the Cage, Brock whispered, imagining that Gary was sitting next to him, I'm coming with you.
One of the doctors watching the patients in the surveillance room saw Brock talking to nothing beside him, and wondered how such a peaceful young gym leader could have fallen so hard off the edge.
Brock lye back on his bed for the rest of the night, wondering how Misty could have hurt him so badly.
And then what? Brock furrowed his eyebrows. Let's say I wipe the cage out. Then what? What will I do?
Gary looked at his feet. You'll still have me, he grinned awkwardly.
Brock shook his head. I wiped you out first. Poor, misguided Gary. Thinking that such a dumbass could be his best friend.
Brock sat up, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth.
I know how you feel, but we have to control it. Don't let him give you nerve calming medicine again unless we're actually going to do something.
Brock was puzzled at this statement. He was covered in tears of pain, and looked up at Gary shakily.
Thank you, Brock sniffed.
You're fucking weird, Gary laughed while Brock silently passed out.
His times with Gary were short, but his death was probably the last hell his mind could possibly handle.
Brock bit his lip. I dunno. Maybe I'll stay tonight. But if I don't like it, I'm out of here.
Gary nodded. We'll get those bastards back--together.
Not together, Brock swallowed, but I will get those bastards back. That's a promise.
Night shrouded the day, and Brock breathed it in with anticipation. He couldn't wait to get out and do what he had to do and be done with it. He felt strange, looking so forward to death when he could have so much more life to drink from if he chose. But he would have nothing to live for if the Cage was gone. He'd have no revenge, and definitely no friends.
Midnight rolled around the room like a brushfire, and Brock's arms rested haplessly against the window as he awaited his release. His mind felt crushed and trampled against the weight of hell which had been strapped to it. But he wouldn't have to think of that anymore--after he'd be able to escape.
Tap tap.
Brock startled as someone pawed at the window he leaned against. It was covered in bars on the outside and plastic on the inside, so he had no idea how it could be used as an escape route. He wasn't about to doubt the abilities of Team Rocket, however.
Brock stood back as a light shone in his face, and the wall beside him began to crumble. He jumped out of the way as a small explosion caused it to collapse, and was coerced into jumping onto a helicopter.
Nice evening, isn't it, Shale? Giovanni grinned, stepping toward him and helping him into the chopper.
Brock felt awkward taking the man's hairy hand, but gained his confidence back as soon as a couple of grunts chucked a bomb into the room he had fled.
Awesome evening, Brock grumbled, sitting down dejectedly on a seat provided for him. The helicopter was obviously the play toy of someone filthy rich, and Brock could feel the luxury of the seat provided for him leak into his skin as he felt the fabric. It had been too long since he'd been able to sit on something besides an indestructible cot, and it felt wonderful.
You're officially a dead man, Giovanni grinned, handing him a glass of champagne. The grunts chucked a bucket of blood into the room before the helicopter took off. Tomorrow you'll be known as nothing but a stain on the ground. How does it feel?
Like freedom, Brock replied monotonously, sipping his champagne. So am I going back to training?
Giovanni just kept on grinning, you're beyond that. Someone who can survive an encounter with a Mistake is far beyond rookie training. You'll have your own apartment, like all the other Rocket members.
Brock's lips remained on the edge of a glass as he looked up at Giovanni, his expression indebted in puzzlement. What is a Mistake? How the hell did the cage get those things?
Experiments gone awry, Giovanni snarled, the first fall his face had taken from his previous grin. They called it project K. They're going to try and use them to get rid of you. They're scared.
Bring it on, Brock narrowed his eyes, swigging down the rest of his champagne. I'll fuck them up.
There's the attitude, Giovanni nodded approvingly. But we know you'll be very successful once you're trained to use the big guns.
Show me to Brock crushed the glass he was holding with his bare hand.
Giovanni's face contorted as Brock destroyed it, but he didn't lose his temper. He knew that Shale had been given shots that didn't deplete his immune system while in the hospital because his assistant felt like he'd be too weak to cause much damage. It didn't matter at that point, however, because the shots were over and done with. And his assistant was right--he had been controlling Shale externally. And maybe the disappearance of Oak had actually done more good than damage. Everything was going his way.
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A day after the funeral. Brock's funeral.
The gun Brock twirled between his palms frightened him, if it did anything. He breathed in slowly as he pressed it to his forehead, then brought it back down again.
Someday, he thought, pointing it away from himself. I gotta control it now.
He didn't know if he'd be able to kill anyone, but it was his goal at the time. He was already going to hell or being reincarnated as a booger for what he did to Gary, and he knew that. So there should have been nothing holding him back.
It was still raining lightly and steadily as it had been for the past couple of days, and it felt like a cleansing acid upon Brock's skin. His hair was flopping onto his forehead as it weighed down by water, and he twitched lightly in nervousness as he slicked it back away from his eyes with a trembling hand.
I'm gonna have a nervous breakdown, he thought, breathing in ragged breaths as he finally gathered the strength to open the door to the bar.
Sans protection such as a bullet proof vest or even thick clothing, he unloaded his weapon on the bartender. Screaming, running, and drawing of weapons ensued, but Brock's mind had fled him. It didn't seem like it was him who dropped everyone in that bar quickly and easily, not being hit once by the numerous rounds fired at him. Somehow he could anticipate everyone's moves, and thus avoided them.
How did I do that? he asked himself aloud as his gun seemed to stop firing upon its own volition and the bar was naught but a desert covered in blood and unmoving carcasses. He dropped his weapon and ran out the door, ran for his life.
Tears began to flow more thickly than the drizzle from the clouds which painted the sky dark, and he had to stop and throw up all over the brick wall of the building before continuing. The rocket members waiting in the van around the corner turned away as Brock relieved himself of the contents of his stomach, and they feared him.
Brock dizzily stumbled into the van, immediately curling into the fetal position as he did so.
What have I done? he shouted in a whisper, his throaty words seeming desolate and feral. What if some of those people were innocent?
Not a chance, Butch replied shakily from the front seat. That's a total Cage hangout. We only know where it is from spies.
Every one of those people has probably destroyed a family just like yours, Cassidy added softly. Why were we assigned to this person? she thought.
Butch looked at her sympathetically as Brock shook in the corner. Could he go insane on them as well?
I want to die, Brock muttered, his mouth going dry.
Cassidy consoled. You've done everyone a favor.
I hope so, Brock shut his eyes tightly, preventing the release of tears. I hope wherever Gary is, he doesn't hate me now. And a good thing Misty and Ash have no idea about this.
Brock was dropped off at the building that he knew to be his apartment building. He had a fleeting concern as he ascended the stairs that Giovanni would be angry with him for throwing his gun, but it didn't matter. Even if he killed him for it, it didn't matter.
Despair welled in the pit of Brock's stomach, clawing its way to his appendages for release. Brock fell back against a wall, wringing his hands as sweat dripped from his flesh to his clothing. His head throbbed and pounded, and his vision began to redden and blacken.
I'm having a nervous breakdown, he realized, swallowing hard and jumping to his feet.
Brock wandered into the kitchen, grasping a knife tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.
I've done all I'm going to do, he nearly shouted, now I just want to get out of here!
He attempted to slash his wrists, but only tore through the wrong parts of his arm in his fervor. But it actually helped him to calm down. As his nerves ground down, he got a wet rag and stopped his bleeding, suddenly feeling that he could go on.
He walked like a zombie to his bedroom, eying the geodude in his corner sadly, eying the vulpix beneath his blankets with desolation. He would go and visit the others in the center the next day. Maybe it would help him carry on.
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Espiritu Noctuna's arms were held out wide as rain pelted the thin black worn, and eyes fluttered downward toward the ground, not even visible below from the cliff.
Tears were all that was to be felt as a deep breath was taken, and feet were recoiled as if to spring. Death was about to consume when someone tapped Espiritu on the shoulder.
You're a fool if you think he's really dead, came the weak, masculine voice.
Espiritu looked down toward the fog and back to the grasses and tiny flowers which seemed so vibrant under the grim contemplation of death. Espiritu's eyes wandered back up toward the one who had spoken.
How'd you get here? Nocturna frowned.
I can be anywhere I want, the man replied. Now let's get out of here, you're gonna catch cold in that skimpy outfit.
Nocturna nodded and back flipped away from the cliff.
Who would have thought, the guy chuckled, walking toward the ninja-like figure at quite the leisurely pace. Just hope her ass doesn't get killed in all of this.