*I would like to apologize for my lateness in posting. Due to the combined
effects of school, writer's block, and plain forgetfulness, completing this
chapter took longer than expected. Thank you for your patience. ^_^
~Mirkana Falcon~
CHAPTER 6—BREAK AND ENTER
Even in the cover of darkness, Logan felt exposed and afraid as he waited in the trees, watching the guards. Every time one of them glanced up he tensed, sure they would spot his white uniform in the dark forest. If they had noticed anything, however, they thought nothing of it. Both remained oblivious to Team Rocket's prodigal son—or rather, its Trojan horse.
Logan allowed himself to look down at the R on his shirt. He'd broken a promise he'd made to himself never to don the uniform again, but now it was saving Isaiah. Falcon had brought it along, hidden in that blue bag she carried everywhere. He imagined she'd predicted his distaste for that red R.
"10:27," someone—he couldn't tell if it was Rasha or Falcon—whispered from behind him. Logan gritted his teeth. If no one had changed the schedule, the guards would change at 10:30—not a moment earlier or later, he thought, remembering nights when he'd stood watch himself. That was the most painstaking part—waiting there at attention for three hours, growing stiff in your spot as you waited for your watch to strike that exact moment. Nothing ever happened on guard duty. Logan slipped his hand into his pocket. If he timed it accurately enough, the guards would stay bored.
Three endless minutes later, the left guard looked down at his watch. Both guards stood up straight and stretched. Then, moving slower than Slugma, they walked to the left and disappeared around the side of the building.
Logan trotted to the heavy doors. Heart hammering, he pulled a bent- out-of-shape paper clip out of his pocket and stuck it in the lock. It scraped metallically against the inside of the lock, a series of rasping clicks that ended with a final click as the clip lifted the catch. Logan pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him. No one would come for him. The only alarm system in Team Rocket headquarters were the trigger alarms inside the building—one for fire, the other for security. No automatic alarm was connected to the doors. He remembered one time when a few employees requested that Giovanni purchase one of these systems. The Team Rocket leader had replied that if money were to be spent on an alarm system, it would have to come out of salaries. Besides, there were already guards.
Logan walked down the entrance hall into a carpeted room with chairs and low tables—the lobby. A uniformed man exited the right elevator. Logan noted his gloves—rubber.
"Hey." Logan approached the green-haired stranger. "Can you tell me where the supply room is?"
"What do you need?" the man asked with little suspicion.
"I'm from the Fuchsia base," Logan said. "Came to pick up some supplies…"
"Oh yeah…Fuchsia. Just go down that hall to your left there all the way to the end, then turn right and it's the third door on your left," the man said. "I'm Fuller, by the way. Jason Fuller."
"Mitsuhiro Kusakabi," Logan replied, knowing Jason Fuller would never remember it.
"Nice to meet you," Fuller replied.
Logan brushed past Fuller and turned left. On the way, Logan lifted Fuller's keycard and pocketed it.
When he reached the supply room, he swiped the card and entered. A camera mounted on the wall followed him as he walked past. Someone had pushed a shelf into its path, keeping it from turning all the way to the left.
"Hey." Logan nearly had a heart attack. He forced himself to turn slowly toward the open door. One of the guards had stuck his head inside. "Hey, you," he said. "This door is supposed to stay closed."
Logan thought fast. "I know but… ugh, don't you smell that?" he asked, waving his hand in front of his face. "Someone must of spilled Gloom pollen in here or something. I can't breathe in here."
The guard sniffed the air suspiciously. "I don't smell anything."
"If you come in here, you will," Logan said. "It really reeks."
The guard frowned. "Well… all right, but don't forget to close it after it airs out." He stepped out of the doorway and disappeared from view.
Sighing mentally in relief, Logan leaned against the wall next to the door and waited, listening. Then he heard one of the guards whisper inaudibly, and the other one yell:
"Who's there? You stay right there! I'm warning you! Hey! Hey!"
Logan tensed up. He heard Pokéballs breaking open and scuffling footsteps. Silence followed. Then Rasha and Falcon entered the open door. Logan quickly pulled them into the corner.
"Stay over here," he said. "There's a camera in this room, but it can't see us here—there's a bookshelf blocking it."
"That was a good idea," Rasha commented.
"Someone else's work, not mine," Logan told her. He glanced outside, checking the unconscious guards. "Okay, now listen," he whispered conspiratorially. "There are three rooms in this building where Pokémon are held, and right now I think Isaiah could be in any one of them. The first room is on the second floor. That's the holding room—pretty basic; it's just cages and tanks. Then there's another area—it's not in this building; it'll be out back—where they keep really large or really dangerous Pokémon. The last one is the lab, which is pretty self- explanatory—that's where they run scientific tests. That's on the second floor, too." Logan paused to check the guards again. "That means if we split up, we can cover all three rooms."
"I'll go to the experimental wing," Falcon said.
"Okay… I'll go out back. That leaves the holding area to you, Rasha," Logan said.
"All right," Rasha said.
"Hold on," Falcon said, dropping her bag and unzipping it. "We'll need protection." She pulled out a weapon and tossed identical ones to Rasha and Logan, along with square cartridges.
Logan held his weapon vertically, his fingers finding the trigger. "Seizure rifles," he muttered.
"Just in case you need to defend yourself," Falcon replied, slapping the cartridge into the gun's underbelly.
After a moment's hesitation, Logan jammed his own cartridge into place. "For Isaiah," he said. The two women nodded.
"Okay," Logan whispered. "Let's go—"
"Hold it," Rasha said. "We can't go out into the hall. We're not in uniform."
"Yeah, and what about the camera?" Falcon agreed. "It'll see us if we walk past it."
"Damn, you're right." Logan frowned and his eyebrows turned down thoughtfully. Then his eyes light up. "There's a fire escape you can use to get to the second floor. In fact… that'll put you right in the holding room! Of course…" he winced a little "… you'll have to look around pretty fast; the cameras'll spot you and there are probably people in there…"
"Don't worry about us," Rasha assured him.
Logan knew he wouldn't be able to help worrying, but he nodded anyway.
After a cautious peek outside, the three scuttled out the door. The fire escape—a massive, unsteady looking structure that looked like a snake make out of bars and wire—clung to the side of the building, the top platform resting on the sill of a lighted window on the second floor. Cautiously they approached it, on the alert for any sign of danger.
When they reached the stair's foot, Falcon slid her weapon into her belt and began to climb. Before Rasha could follow, Logan's hand touched her shoulder, pulling her back.
"Rasha…" The unfamiliar look in his eyes when he whispered her name made Rasha's heart flutter. He looked frightened, but not the way he had when Isaiah had burned his crop—there was softness in his eyes, a sort of mix between worry and affection, and Rasha realized her heart was aching for him. He didn't seem able to articulate this feeling, but instead he reached out and briefly squeezed her fingers in his hand. Then, ducking his head, he ran away and disappeared around the corner.
After a few moments of wondering silence, Rasha looked up to see Falcon's eyes glowing down at her from halfway up the stairway. Her face turned hot and she began to climb the steps briskly. Soon, she and Falcon peeked over the windowsill and into the living room.
The holding room was bare of everything but cages—iron-barred cells, various terrariums, glass capsules, and water-filled tanks crowded the room. A different Pokémon inhabited each tank, each one looking the very picture of neglect and misery. The creatures slumped gloomily inside their confinements, staring out with longing eyes and most likely dreaming of the masters they would never see again.
On the left-hand side of the room, two black-uniformed Rockets were huddled around a cage. Looking closely, the women thought it looked like they were putting some sort of Pokémon—a Sandshrew or Sandslash, it appeared—through the door of a barred cage. Amazingly, the Pokémon wasn't struggling. Rasha guessed it must be under the effects of Stun Spore.
Falcon, meanwhile, was struggling with the window—it wasn't locked, but seemed difficult to work with. Frustrated, she pulled it upward with all her strength. It gave way with a loud, dismaying creak.
Slithering like an Ekans, Falcon dove through the window headfirst. Adrenaline took hold and Rasha leaped through right after her. The Rockets flailed clumsily getting to their feet with shocked expressions on their faces.
Falcon swept back her long jacket, placing her hand on the butt of her seizure rifle. "Don't move!" she shouted.
Too late—the male Rocket, a husky young man with buzzed black hair, was already sputtering into his radio. "This is Byron! There's a break- in! Two people are brea—"
"Pichu!" Falcon screamed.
A yellow blur of lighting leaped from Falcon's jacket to the ground. The air exploded with electricity and the Rockets' screams, and when the insane flashes of light had ceased they lay on the ground, still seizing.
"Zelda, Hypnosis!" Rasha cried, throwing her Pokéball.
The Drowzee landed before the toppled Rockets with a heavy thud. Grinning mischievously beneath her long nose, she began to wave her three- fingered hands in time with her low chant: "Drrrow-zee, Drrrow-zee, Drrrow- zee…" She clapped her paws together, and the uniformed man and woman shut their eyes in unison. Soon their soft snores filled the air.
Falcon grimaced. "We're still too lat.e… that call already got through." She looked up and noticed, with a small bit of relief, that Pichu's electric attack had already shorted out the security camera. "Do you see Isaiah?"
"Not yet. There's tons of cages in here."
Nervously, Falcon turned her head toward the door, which was, thankfully, closed. Hopefully no one right outside had heard their comrades' screams. "Keep looking. I'm going to the lab. Come on, Pichu!" The eager little mouse bounded onto Falcon's shoulder.
"Try not to be seen!" Rasha urged.
"It may be a little late," Falcon said dryly. She moved to the door and listened. Were those footsteps she heard coming toward her? Probably not… they didn't sound panicked. It wouldn't be long, though. "You better be prepared for a fight," she told Rasha.
"I think I can handle them," Rasha said. "Go, Falcon."
Falcon detached a Pokéball from her belt and opened it. The beam of light that spilled out of it deposited a small, sleeping Abra in her arms.
"Okay, Abra," she whispered. "Wakey-wakey, baby. Time to work."
Falcon waited until she felt the press of Abra's mind. The Pokémon's telepathic abilities were far from sophisticated—feelings and pictures, mostly, nothing complicated like words—but the press was enough confirmation.
"Okay, now listen, sweetie—this building has moved a little, but it's still the same, so you should be able to take me anywhere I want to go, right?" Falcon waited for the confirmation feeling again. "Right. Now, I want you to take me—are you listening carefully?"
A few second's pause, and then the Abra's foxlike head bobbed up and down once.
"Good. I want you to take me to where the Pokémon are that have something different in their bodies. Understand? You remember what I'm talking about, right?"
There was a long, murky pause. Just when Falcon was about to explain it again, though, Abra responded with a clear thought that, though wordless in itself, was easily translated by Falcon's mind: Bad medicine.
Falcon's mouth tightened grimly. "That's right," she whispered. "Bad medicine. Can you take me to the bad medicine Pokémon, Abra?"
Abra pondered for a moment longer. Then a low buzz filled Falcon's ears as psychic energy built up around her, making the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck prickle. The world darkened for a split second, as if Falcon had blinked, but when her sight returned the room had changed. Now the floor tile was white, and there were no cages to be seen. Instead, neat shelves and cabinets lined the walls. Hulking pieces of machinery bedecked with wires, knobs, and tubes slumped against the walls. The air smelled clean and sterile, like a hospital.
There was not a Pokémon in sight, but Falcon remembered where to find Team Rocket's guinea pigs. She walked past the orderly shelves and cabinets to a door in the back of the room.
As Falcon reached out for the handle, it suddenly began to turn. Falcon's feet rooted to the floor as a white-sleeved arm pushed the door outward. A blonde-haired man exited, busily writing on the clipboard in his hands while his glasses slipped further and further down the bridge of his nose.
If Falcon had remained silent and frozen, the scientist might have walked right out of the room without noticing her. However, when the shock finally reached her she drew in her breath rather sharply. The blonde man jumped; his clipboard and pen slipped out of his hands and clattered to the floor.
Falcon swore mentally. She put her right hand over the butt of her gun and hurriedly put her finger over her lips. Of course, the scientist didn't pay much attention; he was still panicking and flailed clumsily until his back was against the wall. His hand fumbled for the alarm lever on the wall. A surge of adrenaline seized Falcon and she drove her fist into his goggle-eyed face; his nose crunched under her knuckles and he crumpled to the ground. Falcon waited for a moment and then nudged him with her foot, but he was out cold.
Jeezus, I hope I didn't break his nose too bad, Falcon thought. What'd he do to me?
Even though the scientist hadn't managed to pull the alarm, the security cameras still would've seen everything. The whole building would be on alert pretty soon, and she needed to buy enough time to get a good look at the lab's Pokémon before the time to run came. There was a ring of keys on the scientist's belt. Falcon pulled them off and started to step over his body on the way to the door, then took his radio as an afterthought before locking the lab's door. The camera's head swiveled back and forth, following Falcon as she walked. She stopped to stare for a long moment into its glassy eye before raising her seizure rifle and blinding it.
The door to Giovanni's office creaked cautiously open, the grunt behind it poking his head in before entering. "Sir?"
Giovanni frowned; he hadn't called for anyone to meet him in his office, and his employee looked nervous, which undoubtedly meant that someone had fouled up down below. He folded his hands on his desk and braced himself for the worst. "What is it?"
"Ahh… we just got an urgent call from Byron in the holding room…"
The grunt's boss waited while he hesitated, stretching the collar of his uniform. "Yes? What is it?" Giovanni said impatiently.
"Well, I don't know sir. He shouted something about a break-in, but then he cut off; no one in the room is responding."
Yes, it was pretty bad, but Giovanni wasn't worried yet—not by far. As far as he knew, no one on the outside even knew where the new headquarters had been built. A break-in seemed to him highly unlikely. "Did you send someone up to check?"
"No, sir… you need pretty high clearance to get in there, so we weren't absolutely sure if you—"
"What about the cameras? Did they catch anything?" Giovanni interrupted.
"Well…" the man cleared his throat and adjusted his collar again, making Giovanni more and more impatient. "Not really, sir. The camera in that room is out, but I talked to security and they—"
Before the grunt could finish, the door slammed open and a watchman burst through, dressed in normal street clothes, unlike the other employees. "Sir, there's been a security breach in the lab!"
Now Giovanni stood up. "What?"
"You better have a look at this." The watchman ran out. Giovanni rose to follow.
In the security room, two Rocket watchmen crowded around one of the many cameras set up on a desk lined with three chairs. When Giovanni entered the room, they moved aside eagerly to allow him a look.
Peering at the black-and-white screen, Giovanni was met with a full panoramic view of the lab. He could clearly see the man in the white lab coat sprawled out on the floor. A woman in a long jacket crouched beside him—rummaging through his clothes, it looked like. The camera followed her as she locked the door with the scientist's keys. She paused in front of the camera, gazing into it with a look of infuriating cool on her face. Giovanni leaned closer, gripping the back of the chair in front of him tightly. The woman on the screen pointed a gun straight into the camera, and snow filled the screen.
"I'll send someone down there right away, Boss," the grunt said earnestly. "They'll take care of her."
The grunt was halfway to the door when Giovanni stopped him. "Send at least three men. And have the elevator sealed off and the fire escapes and emergency exits blocked."
The grunt's eyes widened. "But sir…"
"Don't waste time!" Giovanni roared. "The longer you stand there, the more time she has to escape!"
"Yessir!" the man yelped, barreling out of the room.
Giovanni glared at the snowy screen and spoke through his teeth to the watchmen. "Keep a sharp eye on these cameras. If she shows up anywhere else, radio the others." The watchmen nodded.
An eerie smile curved Giovanni's lips. Not many people caused him as much trouble as this one. She'd had the element of surprise the first time, granted, but security was much better now. She wouldn't cost him another rare Pokémon. Not, at least, without taking on his entire army.
Giovanni strode out of the security room and returned to his office desk, settling his hands calmly in his lap. The situation was unsettling, of course—he began to think maybe he should've purchased the door alarms after all—but the odds were greatly in his favor, and he had his enemy cornered. Ms. Falcon, he thought, was in for the fight of her life.
~Mirkana Falcon~
CHAPTER 6—BREAK AND ENTER
Even in the cover of darkness, Logan felt exposed and afraid as he waited in the trees, watching the guards. Every time one of them glanced up he tensed, sure they would spot his white uniform in the dark forest. If they had noticed anything, however, they thought nothing of it. Both remained oblivious to Team Rocket's prodigal son—or rather, its Trojan horse.
Logan allowed himself to look down at the R on his shirt. He'd broken a promise he'd made to himself never to don the uniform again, but now it was saving Isaiah. Falcon had brought it along, hidden in that blue bag she carried everywhere. He imagined she'd predicted his distaste for that red R.
"10:27," someone—he couldn't tell if it was Rasha or Falcon—whispered from behind him. Logan gritted his teeth. If no one had changed the schedule, the guards would change at 10:30—not a moment earlier or later, he thought, remembering nights when he'd stood watch himself. That was the most painstaking part—waiting there at attention for three hours, growing stiff in your spot as you waited for your watch to strike that exact moment. Nothing ever happened on guard duty. Logan slipped his hand into his pocket. If he timed it accurately enough, the guards would stay bored.
Three endless minutes later, the left guard looked down at his watch. Both guards stood up straight and stretched. Then, moving slower than Slugma, they walked to the left and disappeared around the side of the building.
Logan trotted to the heavy doors. Heart hammering, he pulled a bent- out-of-shape paper clip out of his pocket and stuck it in the lock. It scraped metallically against the inside of the lock, a series of rasping clicks that ended with a final click as the clip lifted the catch. Logan pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him. No one would come for him. The only alarm system in Team Rocket headquarters were the trigger alarms inside the building—one for fire, the other for security. No automatic alarm was connected to the doors. He remembered one time when a few employees requested that Giovanni purchase one of these systems. The Team Rocket leader had replied that if money were to be spent on an alarm system, it would have to come out of salaries. Besides, there were already guards.
Logan walked down the entrance hall into a carpeted room with chairs and low tables—the lobby. A uniformed man exited the right elevator. Logan noted his gloves—rubber.
"Hey." Logan approached the green-haired stranger. "Can you tell me where the supply room is?"
"What do you need?" the man asked with little suspicion.
"I'm from the Fuchsia base," Logan said. "Came to pick up some supplies…"
"Oh yeah…Fuchsia. Just go down that hall to your left there all the way to the end, then turn right and it's the third door on your left," the man said. "I'm Fuller, by the way. Jason Fuller."
"Mitsuhiro Kusakabi," Logan replied, knowing Jason Fuller would never remember it.
"Nice to meet you," Fuller replied.
Logan brushed past Fuller and turned left. On the way, Logan lifted Fuller's keycard and pocketed it.
When he reached the supply room, he swiped the card and entered. A camera mounted on the wall followed him as he walked past. Someone had pushed a shelf into its path, keeping it from turning all the way to the left.
"Hey." Logan nearly had a heart attack. He forced himself to turn slowly toward the open door. One of the guards had stuck his head inside. "Hey, you," he said. "This door is supposed to stay closed."
Logan thought fast. "I know but… ugh, don't you smell that?" he asked, waving his hand in front of his face. "Someone must of spilled Gloom pollen in here or something. I can't breathe in here."
The guard sniffed the air suspiciously. "I don't smell anything."
"If you come in here, you will," Logan said. "It really reeks."
The guard frowned. "Well… all right, but don't forget to close it after it airs out." He stepped out of the doorway and disappeared from view.
Sighing mentally in relief, Logan leaned against the wall next to the door and waited, listening. Then he heard one of the guards whisper inaudibly, and the other one yell:
"Who's there? You stay right there! I'm warning you! Hey! Hey!"
Logan tensed up. He heard Pokéballs breaking open and scuffling footsteps. Silence followed. Then Rasha and Falcon entered the open door. Logan quickly pulled them into the corner.
"Stay over here," he said. "There's a camera in this room, but it can't see us here—there's a bookshelf blocking it."
"That was a good idea," Rasha commented.
"Someone else's work, not mine," Logan told her. He glanced outside, checking the unconscious guards. "Okay, now listen," he whispered conspiratorially. "There are three rooms in this building where Pokémon are held, and right now I think Isaiah could be in any one of them. The first room is on the second floor. That's the holding room—pretty basic; it's just cages and tanks. Then there's another area—it's not in this building; it'll be out back—where they keep really large or really dangerous Pokémon. The last one is the lab, which is pretty self- explanatory—that's where they run scientific tests. That's on the second floor, too." Logan paused to check the guards again. "That means if we split up, we can cover all three rooms."
"I'll go to the experimental wing," Falcon said.
"Okay… I'll go out back. That leaves the holding area to you, Rasha," Logan said.
"All right," Rasha said.
"Hold on," Falcon said, dropping her bag and unzipping it. "We'll need protection." She pulled out a weapon and tossed identical ones to Rasha and Logan, along with square cartridges.
Logan held his weapon vertically, his fingers finding the trigger. "Seizure rifles," he muttered.
"Just in case you need to defend yourself," Falcon replied, slapping the cartridge into the gun's underbelly.
After a moment's hesitation, Logan jammed his own cartridge into place. "For Isaiah," he said. The two women nodded.
"Okay," Logan whispered. "Let's go—"
"Hold it," Rasha said. "We can't go out into the hall. We're not in uniform."
"Yeah, and what about the camera?" Falcon agreed. "It'll see us if we walk past it."
"Damn, you're right." Logan frowned and his eyebrows turned down thoughtfully. Then his eyes light up. "There's a fire escape you can use to get to the second floor. In fact… that'll put you right in the holding room! Of course…" he winced a little "… you'll have to look around pretty fast; the cameras'll spot you and there are probably people in there…"
"Don't worry about us," Rasha assured him.
Logan knew he wouldn't be able to help worrying, but he nodded anyway.
After a cautious peek outside, the three scuttled out the door. The fire escape—a massive, unsteady looking structure that looked like a snake make out of bars and wire—clung to the side of the building, the top platform resting on the sill of a lighted window on the second floor. Cautiously they approached it, on the alert for any sign of danger.
When they reached the stair's foot, Falcon slid her weapon into her belt and began to climb. Before Rasha could follow, Logan's hand touched her shoulder, pulling her back.
"Rasha…" The unfamiliar look in his eyes when he whispered her name made Rasha's heart flutter. He looked frightened, but not the way he had when Isaiah had burned his crop—there was softness in his eyes, a sort of mix between worry and affection, and Rasha realized her heart was aching for him. He didn't seem able to articulate this feeling, but instead he reached out and briefly squeezed her fingers in his hand. Then, ducking his head, he ran away and disappeared around the corner.
After a few moments of wondering silence, Rasha looked up to see Falcon's eyes glowing down at her from halfway up the stairway. Her face turned hot and she began to climb the steps briskly. Soon, she and Falcon peeked over the windowsill and into the living room.
The holding room was bare of everything but cages—iron-barred cells, various terrariums, glass capsules, and water-filled tanks crowded the room. A different Pokémon inhabited each tank, each one looking the very picture of neglect and misery. The creatures slumped gloomily inside their confinements, staring out with longing eyes and most likely dreaming of the masters they would never see again.
On the left-hand side of the room, two black-uniformed Rockets were huddled around a cage. Looking closely, the women thought it looked like they were putting some sort of Pokémon—a Sandshrew or Sandslash, it appeared—through the door of a barred cage. Amazingly, the Pokémon wasn't struggling. Rasha guessed it must be under the effects of Stun Spore.
Falcon, meanwhile, was struggling with the window—it wasn't locked, but seemed difficult to work with. Frustrated, she pulled it upward with all her strength. It gave way with a loud, dismaying creak.
Slithering like an Ekans, Falcon dove through the window headfirst. Adrenaline took hold and Rasha leaped through right after her. The Rockets flailed clumsily getting to their feet with shocked expressions on their faces.
Falcon swept back her long jacket, placing her hand on the butt of her seizure rifle. "Don't move!" she shouted.
Too late—the male Rocket, a husky young man with buzzed black hair, was already sputtering into his radio. "This is Byron! There's a break- in! Two people are brea—"
"Pichu!" Falcon screamed.
A yellow blur of lighting leaped from Falcon's jacket to the ground. The air exploded with electricity and the Rockets' screams, and when the insane flashes of light had ceased they lay on the ground, still seizing.
"Zelda, Hypnosis!" Rasha cried, throwing her Pokéball.
The Drowzee landed before the toppled Rockets with a heavy thud. Grinning mischievously beneath her long nose, she began to wave her three- fingered hands in time with her low chant: "Drrrow-zee, Drrrow-zee, Drrrow- zee…" She clapped her paws together, and the uniformed man and woman shut their eyes in unison. Soon their soft snores filled the air.
Falcon grimaced. "We're still too lat.e… that call already got through." She looked up and noticed, with a small bit of relief, that Pichu's electric attack had already shorted out the security camera. "Do you see Isaiah?"
"Not yet. There's tons of cages in here."
Nervously, Falcon turned her head toward the door, which was, thankfully, closed. Hopefully no one right outside had heard their comrades' screams. "Keep looking. I'm going to the lab. Come on, Pichu!" The eager little mouse bounded onto Falcon's shoulder.
"Try not to be seen!" Rasha urged.
"It may be a little late," Falcon said dryly. She moved to the door and listened. Were those footsteps she heard coming toward her? Probably not… they didn't sound panicked. It wouldn't be long, though. "You better be prepared for a fight," she told Rasha.
"I think I can handle them," Rasha said. "Go, Falcon."
Falcon detached a Pokéball from her belt and opened it. The beam of light that spilled out of it deposited a small, sleeping Abra in her arms.
"Okay, Abra," she whispered. "Wakey-wakey, baby. Time to work."
Falcon waited until she felt the press of Abra's mind. The Pokémon's telepathic abilities were far from sophisticated—feelings and pictures, mostly, nothing complicated like words—but the press was enough confirmation.
"Okay, now listen, sweetie—this building has moved a little, but it's still the same, so you should be able to take me anywhere I want to go, right?" Falcon waited for the confirmation feeling again. "Right. Now, I want you to take me—are you listening carefully?"
A few second's pause, and then the Abra's foxlike head bobbed up and down once.
"Good. I want you to take me to where the Pokémon are that have something different in their bodies. Understand? You remember what I'm talking about, right?"
There was a long, murky pause. Just when Falcon was about to explain it again, though, Abra responded with a clear thought that, though wordless in itself, was easily translated by Falcon's mind: Bad medicine.
Falcon's mouth tightened grimly. "That's right," she whispered. "Bad medicine. Can you take me to the bad medicine Pokémon, Abra?"
Abra pondered for a moment longer. Then a low buzz filled Falcon's ears as psychic energy built up around her, making the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck prickle. The world darkened for a split second, as if Falcon had blinked, but when her sight returned the room had changed. Now the floor tile was white, and there were no cages to be seen. Instead, neat shelves and cabinets lined the walls. Hulking pieces of machinery bedecked with wires, knobs, and tubes slumped against the walls. The air smelled clean and sterile, like a hospital.
There was not a Pokémon in sight, but Falcon remembered where to find Team Rocket's guinea pigs. She walked past the orderly shelves and cabinets to a door in the back of the room.
As Falcon reached out for the handle, it suddenly began to turn. Falcon's feet rooted to the floor as a white-sleeved arm pushed the door outward. A blonde-haired man exited, busily writing on the clipboard in his hands while his glasses slipped further and further down the bridge of his nose.
If Falcon had remained silent and frozen, the scientist might have walked right out of the room without noticing her. However, when the shock finally reached her she drew in her breath rather sharply. The blonde man jumped; his clipboard and pen slipped out of his hands and clattered to the floor.
Falcon swore mentally. She put her right hand over the butt of her gun and hurriedly put her finger over her lips. Of course, the scientist didn't pay much attention; he was still panicking and flailed clumsily until his back was against the wall. His hand fumbled for the alarm lever on the wall. A surge of adrenaline seized Falcon and she drove her fist into his goggle-eyed face; his nose crunched under her knuckles and he crumpled to the ground. Falcon waited for a moment and then nudged him with her foot, but he was out cold.
Jeezus, I hope I didn't break his nose too bad, Falcon thought. What'd he do to me?
Even though the scientist hadn't managed to pull the alarm, the security cameras still would've seen everything. The whole building would be on alert pretty soon, and she needed to buy enough time to get a good look at the lab's Pokémon before the time to run came. There was a ring of keys on the scientist's belt. Falcon pulled them off and started to step over his body on the way to the door, then took his radio as an afterthought before locking the lab's door. The camera's head swiveled back and forth, following Falcon as she walked. She stopped to stare for a long moment into its glassy eye before raising her seizure rifle and blinding it.
The door to Giovanni's office creaked cautiously open, the grunt behind it poking his head in before entering. "Sir?"
Giovanni frowned; he hadn't called for anyone to meet him in his office, and his employee looked nervous, which undoubtedly meant that someone had fouled up down below. He folded his hands on his desk and braced himself for the worst. "What is it?"
"Ahh… we just got an urgent call from Byron in the holding room…"
The grunt's boss waited while he hesitated, stretching the collar of his uniform. "Yes? What is it?" Giovanni said impatiently.
"Well, I don't know sir. He shouted something about a break-in, but then he cut off; no one in the room is responding."
Yes, it was pretty bad, but Giovanni wasn't worried yet—not by far. As far as he knew, no one on the outside even knew where the new headquarters had been built. A break-in seemed to him highly unlikely. "Did you send someone up to check?"
"No, sir… you need pretty high clearance to get in there, so we weren't absolutely sure if you—"
"What about the cameras? Did they catch anything?" Giovanni interrupted.
"Well…" the man cleared his throat and adjusted his collar again, making Giovanni more and more impatient. "Not really, sir. The camera in that room is out, but I talked to security and they—"
Before the grunt could finish, the door slammed open and a watchman burst through, dressed in normal street clothes, unlike the other employees. "Sir, there's been a security breach in the lab!"
Now Giovanni stood up. "What?"
"You better have a look at this." The watchman ran out. Giovanni rose to follow.
In the security room, two Rocket watchmen crowded around one of the many cameras set up on a desk lined with three chairs. When Giovanni entered the room, they moved aside eagerly to allow him a look.
Peering at the black-and-white screen, Giovanni was met with a full panoramic view of the lab. He could clearly see the man in the white lab coat sprawled out on the floor. A woman in a long jacket crouched beside him—rummaging through his clothes, it looked like. The camera followed her as she locked the door with the scientist's keys. She paused in front of the camera, gazing into it with a look of infuriating cool on her face. Giovanni leaned closer, gripping the back of the chair in front of him tightly. The woman on the screen pointed a gun straight into the camera, and snow filled the screen.
"I'll send someone down there right away, Boss," the grunt said earnestly. "They'll take care of her."
The grunt was halfway to the door when Giovanni stopped him. "Send at least three men. And have the elevator sealed off and the fire escapes and emergency exits blocked."
The grunt's eyes widened. "But sir…"
"Don't waste time!" Giovanni roared. "The longer you stand there, the more time she has to escape!"
"Yessir!" the man yelped, barreling out of the room.
Giovanni glared at the snowy screen and spoke through his teeth to the watchmen. "Keep a sharp eye on these cameras. If she shows up anywhere else, radio the others." The watchmen nodded.
An eerie smile curved Giovanni's lips. Not many people caused him as much trouble as this one. She'd had the element of surprise the first time, granted, but security was much better now. She wouldn't cost him another rare Pokémon. Not, at least, without taking on his entire army.
Giovanni strode out of the security room and returned to his office desk, settling his hands calmly in his lap. The situation was unsettling, of course—he began to think maybe he should've purchased the door alarms after all—but the odds were greatly in his favor, and he had his enemy cornered. Ms. Falcon, he thought, was in for the fight of her life.