Title: The Pikachu Project
Author's Notes: This will be the final installment featuring Dr. Craig, although he and Eric will make a later appearance in the last chapter. Hopefully with the next three chapters, everyone's questions will be completely answered. Now I want to say a special thanks to everyone who has reviewed so much. It's been great, and I hope you all stick around for the ending!
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Just the original characters, and the plot.
"When I can't sleep, I count the number of buckles on my straight jacket."
The Pikachu Project
By: Tear22
Chapter Seven: Driven Insanity
"How was your meeting?" Eric asked while the lead scientist passed him in the hallway, Dr. Craig having to shield most of his face, as Eric now smelled rather potent.
"It was fine," he lied, involuntarily biting his tongue, a nasty habit he had developed when he wasn't telling the truth, as he swiftly shut the door to his room, and leaving Eric out in the hallway with a slightly puzzled look on his face.
But the door didn't stay closed for long. Just as Eric began walking away, his attention was caught by a low creaking sound as Dr. Craig's door brushed up against the stained, carpeted floor of the hallway. He turned back and found Dr. Craig's head protruding slightly from behind the doorframe, his glasses tilted at a minor angle.
"I see you already went to the incinerator," Dr. Craig commented, noting the slight bit of ash lining Eric's chin and nose. "Did you see… what that Grunt mentioned?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I did," he sighed bitterly, vividly remembering the slit mark across the female agent's throat, leaving the tan skin on her neck stained with dry blood. "Did you, uh, know those agents?"
Eric looked up again as the door closed with a snap, leaving him only with the soft humming of the machinery located in the weapon's storage room, which was positioned directly below the floor where he was standing.
"That's insane! It's an outrage!" Eric cried, desperately watching Dr. Craig thrust another pile of dirty clothing into his worn suitcase. "It's impossible…. He can't…."
"Well he apparently can," Dr. Craig sighed, closing his eyes black warily as the setting sun's rays shown in from the slits of his blinds that were messily attached to his unclean window.
He had received little to no sleep after his meeting with the Boss, and realizing it was a possibility that Brian would get a promotion for turning him in to Giovanni with false information for the Rocket Asylum did not help his repeated insomnia.
"But aren't you going to fight for your position?" Eric protested, chewing his pale lips in nerves. "I mean they can't just take you away like that! You are the head scientist for genetically engineered Pokemon, right? The Boss needs you!"
"I'm sure he'll be able to find a replacement in no time," he said, his voice wavering slightly as he placed his last bit of clothing in his suitcase and closed it with a snap. "And it's this or death, I'm assuming. Besides, I've found from past experience that I'm very easily replaced."
At this Eric said nothing, just continued to watch Dr. Craig examine his small room a last time before a sharp knocking on the door caused them both to jump a bit.
"Bye, kid," Dr. Craig whispered, ruffling the boy's hair a little as the knocking became gradually louder.
"Bye," he mimicked, looking down toward the floor and appearing genuinely crestfallen.
Dr. Craig made to reach the handle on the door, but he soon found no need as he jerked his hand back, sure that if he had left it in the position it had been that his hand would have certainly been broken. For the door had been slammed open in a threatening fashion, swinging back with slight ease and colliding into a small bookshelf place haphazardly up against the wall. This caused several of Dr. Craig's Pokemon Science books to fall open into a small heap on the floor, sending the unused book's dust flying in numerous directions.
"William Craig," a man dressed in a starch white coat said with an air of great importance, ignoring that he had just managed to knock over several other objects in turn to knocking over the first, "you are now under the control of the Team Rocket Insane Asylum. We advise you to remain calm," and with that being said, he proceeded to take out a small tranquilizer gun from his jacket pocket.
Dr. Craig could have sworn the man winked at him, but had no time to contemplate over the matter, because he soon found it becoming increasingly difficult to stay awake. He moved slightly in order to sit down on his bed, but a sharp pricking feeling located in his upper arm caused him to grimace slightly, and then fall back onto his bed. Dr. Craig looked down to find the tranquilizer gun protruding from his shoulder, the liquid placed in it stirring slightly with his current rapid breathing. He blacked out and his breathing became light as soon as the men who had come for him mockingly placed what appeared to be the material of a straight jacket over his face.
Dr. Craig woke up to the sound of a door being slammed shut, and he wearily lifted his head to find that he couldn't possibly lift anything else, for he had been bound in a straight jacket so that his arms were forcibly placed behind him, leaving his shoulder blades to be hunched forward, and making the curled position he was in quite uncomfortable. He looked at his surroundings and came to the conclusion that after he had been hit with the tranquilizer, he had been taken to the Rocket Asylum's truck, which now rumbled on toward the Asylum on worn, uneven tires. A single, flickering light bulb, which provided the only light in the truck, swung violently as the truck swerved out of the Headquarters' area.
He lightly placed his cheek back on the cold wood of the small bench he was laying on, which threatened to slide slightly every time the truck swerved. He felt as if he were going to cry, but refused to let himself when he noticed that he wasn't the only occupant of the Asylum truck. He attempted to set his focus on the other patient, finding some difficulty in doing so as the car gave an unpleasant jerk and rattled on. The other patient was a girl, no more than fifteen, with the most stunning red hair the doctor had ever seen before in his life. Her hair, however, would have been much more stunning if she hadn't been insistent upon gnawing it, causing her yellow teeth to become entangled with several of the strands. He also noticed that she had repeated scars on her arms, making her give off the scent of dry blood and saliva, which slurred together with her tongue and stained her black Rocket uniform a great deal.
He blinked slightly as she had caught him staring at her, and immediately averted his gaze as she emitted what suspiciously sounding like a Zubat's screech, making Dr. Craig thoroughly glad that a straight jacket too bounded her. She managed to roll on her side, so as to where her back was facing him and then began rubbing her wrists together, making them responsibly raw.
Dr. Craig must have fallen asleep after that, for when he woke up he noticed that the car had stopped, and the noise of keys rattling against someone's wrist could be heard coming directly outside of the truck. He had to close his eyes momentarily when the doors to the back of the truck were thrust open, revealing the rays of early morning and a driver who looked as if he had not shaven in over two weeks.
"Out," he muttered to several assistants of his that evidently were workers for the Rocket Asylum. They quickly did as they were told, and Dr. Craig was soon lifted unwillingly into the air and draped over one of the worker's broad shoulders, apparently thought unable to perform such a simple task as walking.
Therefore, followed by the girl who was also being carried by two of the assistants, he was carried into the Rocket Asylum, whose bright glass doors, once being given the proper code by the workers, opened easily.
If the morning light that had woken him hadn't been enough to blind Dr. Craig, the interior of the Rocket Asylum surely would. The walls were painted white, and although several of the corners suffered chipping, it gave an almost eerie appearance to the facility. A large fountain sat in the middle of the tiled lounge, and as Dr. Craig shifted his head slightly on the worker's shoulder, nearly sneezing as his nose brushed up against the man's hair that smelled suspiciously like smoke, he then noticed that the fountain suffered several dents. On closer inspection of the fountain that sported three Magikarp in the center, he came to the conclusion that the dents were obviously made by bullets.
The water that squirted out of the carved Magikarps' mouths was clean, perfectly mimicking the rest of the Asylum, but managed to spray onto the floor, leaving the area reasonably slippery. And just as the worker, with Dr. Craig promptly on his shoulder, passed the fountain, a loud screeching sound could be heard as the workers who had been carrying the girl tripped and fell, bring the girl down with them. She immediately stood back up, and surprisingly taking advantage of the men's fall, the girl proceeded to run toward the exit, her arms that were forcefully strapped to her chest swinging back and forth wildly. She stopped running however, when the Asylum worker that had been positioned at the check in counter stood up, and cocked a gun aimed directly at her head, which had turned around in an interested fashion at the noise of the weapon clicking. Without any hesitation the worker fired the gun, sending the bullet hurling into the girl's head, which rapidly split open on contact. He sat back down as if this was ordinary business, and placed the gun back into a compartment located in the desk.
"Oh my god!" Dr. Craig screamed, burying his face into the worker's shoulder as if for protection, feeling what he most certainly hoped wasn't the remains of the girl's brain splatter near him. Dr. Craig started to sob quietly, and obviously irritating the man who was carrying him, he was set down onto the floor, leaving him to vomit up what ever gelatin he had eaten the previous day.
He sat on the tiled floor and sobbed; ignoring the aggravated jerks he was receiving from the Asylum worker to get up so that it would be possible to mop up the yellow tinted vomit that surrounded the doctor on the floor.
In all his years he had worked within the Team Rocket organization, he had surprisingly never seen a human being killed in such a vicious and rather carefree manner. He supposed that being shut up in his lab for so many years had certainly decreased his viewing of human death, but even still, he had never once killed a Pokemon he had been experimenting on without feeling even the slightest bit of regret for the loss of life.
"Are you deaf? I said get up!" the Asylum worker that had been carrying him ordered, grabbing Dr. Craig's racking shoulders and hoisting him up to a standing position. "Don't take it so seriously, stuff like this happens all the time," he continued, speaking more slowly as if just remembering that the scientist he was dealing with had recently been declared insane. "Now come on, we need to get you checked in and inspected for weapons."
Dr. Craig nodded slowly, and as if in a daze followed the man to the check in counter.
"Name please," the worker said in a bored tone, impatiently tapping the tip of his pen against the check in form located on his desk.
Dr. Craig began to say his name, but found himself incapable of doing so as he heard the slightly disgusted groans of the janitors who were evidently in charge of cleaning up the girl's remains. Noting his difficulty, the worker who had brought him in answered swiftly: "William Craig."
"Current age?" the man continued, scratching his nearly illegible handwriting onto the document.
"Twenty seven," the worker said for Dr. Craig, who had recently just opened his mouth to speak, but left his jaw to hang.
"Place of birth?" he asked, tugging at his starch white jacket that had begun slipping of his shoulder, making Dr. Craig remotely jealous that he was even able to move his shoulder without pain.
He then noticed the amount of pain he was actually in. Either he had been too distracted to notice that sharp aching he was experiencing in his arms and shoulders that were agonizingly tied back, or the tranquillizer gun that had been used on him the night before was starting to ware off.
"Viridian City," the worker said, leaving Dr. Craig to give up on answering on his own.
"That's all we'll be needing for now," the man behind the desk started, opening the same compartment he had placed the gun in and causing Dr. Craig to flinch slightly. He put the information in the compartment and locked it, then said: "You will now be escorted for your weapon inspection."
Just as the man had said, Dr. Craig was soon led into a small room that much resembled something of a children doctor's office. He certainly felt like a child, in any case, for he not only was to be inspected for weapons but also was in need of a current physical for the Asylum. Therefore, he sat stiffly on a doctor's counter with his mouth open and his now dry tongue being firmly pressed with a cold medical utensil.
"Alright, that's all we need for your physical," the inspector, who apparently doubled as a doctor despite the very noticeable bloodstains throughout the room, commented.
"Okay," Dr. Craig sighed, very thankful to the fact that the procedure was now over. He had spent the last twenty minutes with this man, who had identified himself as Larry, and under no reasonable doubt was attempting to flirt with him.
"Here, let me get this off you," Larry said, swiftly unhooking the straight jacket from Dr. Craig's body and placing it next to him on the counter. "Go ahead and take off your clothes," the Weapon Inspector ordered, exiting the small room momentarily.
"Do… do what?" Dr. Craig asked while blushing slightly at what he assumed was the man's offer. "Why do I need to do that?"
"What do you think?" the Team Rocket agent asked sarcastically, swiftly pointing with his gloved finger to the small badge pinned unevenly on his uniform that read "Weapon Inspector."
"Oh, right…" Dr. Craig sighed, obliging by taking off his stained lab coat reluctantly.
"And don't worry too much," the agent added, beginning to close the door behind him, "I already have a boyfriend."
Dr. Craig refused the urge to vomit, instead allowing for his mouth to build up with saliva. He hastily removed his shirt and pants, permitting them to drop on the tiled floor.
The next hour or so was spent in the company of Larry, whose attempts to flirt with Dr. Craig had decreased once he had removed his clothing.
Once finished, Dr. Craig was fully clothed in his hospital robe, which gracefully slipped off his pale shoulders as he freely stretched, with his arms over his head while yawning lazily. He was exceedingly happy to be out of the straight jacket, but he had to massage his stomach every few minutes because the jacket had left his skin rather sore and a slight shade of pink.
He was now being escorted to his room by an Asylum employee, and was finding that he was having an increasingly harder time staying focused as he made his way down the hallway. Most of the rooms he passed were surrounded by a clear glass, used to easily monitor dangerous patients from out in the hallway instead of having the task of actually entering the room itself. From what Dr. Craig could tell, most of the rooms were completely sound proof from out in the long corridor, but he managed to hear the slightly faint screaming coming from behind one of the clear window panes.
The patient who was screaming sat in the middle of his room, swinging his surprisingly free legs wildly off the chair that he was positioned haphazardly on.
"Shouldn't, um, someone take care of him?" Dr. Craig asked, pausing momentarily in front of the room. The former Rocket's screaming increased as he noticed Dr. Craig was staring at him, and caused several cameras positioned in the corners of the room to turn to him and adjust their focus.
"No," the worker replied, urging Dr. Craig on with a sharp jab in the back using his clenched fist. "We don't bother with cases like him."
"I see," he said, rubbing his back slightly as the man's fist lost contact, his spine now sorer than it had been previously.
They continued walking until they reached what Dr. Craig guessed to be his room, and the worker confirmed his suspicions by swiftly tapping several numbers on a keypad fixed securely to the cold metal of the door. The door swung open on its own accord, and slowly shut again once Dr. Craig and the worker had stepped inside.
The room was essentially just like a large hospital ward, and backed up against the walls were six sets of cots, each occupying a snoozing former Rocket. One Rocket happened to be awake, and his head was buried in a book, which caused his matted brown hair to fall over his face and past his nose. His legs were crossed casually over one another, which allowed simply too much exposure of the man's body for Dr. Craig's liking since his Asylum dressing gown rode up his legs slightly. He looked toward Dr. Craig and nodded slightly, then continued reading.
"This will be your bed," the worker said, inclining his head slightly to a cot located in the far corner of the room. Dr. Craig moved to inspect it, noting that when he ran his hand over the covers that the sheets left his hand somewhat sticky, possibly from not yet dry blood.
He also noted that he had in fact drawn the attention of some of the other patients of the ward, all of which looked like they were wondering what on earth Dr. Craig was. He quickly directed several sharp glares at each of them, and then turned back to the worker, who looked somewhat surprised that the scientist seemed reasonable of logical thought.
"…If you need to use the bathroom, it's right there," he said, pointing a gloved finger toward the end of the ward where a restroom door was positioned, which swung open and revealed a fairly large man in his hospital robe.
The man's face brightened considerably after seeing the worker, and immediately dismissed his idea of returning to his cot and instead waddled to him, and then wrapped his arms around the worker in a very large hug.
"It's nice to see you too, Arnold," the worker said, giving the patient an awkward pat on the shoulder, then allowed him to retreat back to his cot.
"Anyway," the worker continued, appearing relatively uncomfortable at having come in contact with a patient from the ward, "you will be fed on regular intervals and if you need anything simply press the button located on your nightstand next to your bed."
"Alright," Dr. Craig said, feeling as if this was merely just a bad dream. He then remembered that he had packed a bag of clothing, but had not seen it since he had left the base the day before. "Have you any idea as to where my bag might be?" he asked, feeling rather stupid at having lost track of it. Then again, he supposed he had no choice in the matter to begin with.
"Yes, some Grunt came rushing after a few of our workers because of it, and caused a slight delay in your arrival," the worker replied, his tone sounding vaguely annoyed. "He seemed to really admire you, though. But we'll have the bag delivered to your ward by no later than tonight."
"It must have been Eric," Dr. Craig pondered to himself, and then felt a slight jolt in his heart that seemed similar to pride. But trying to not think about Headquarters or any thing in particular, the scientist merely nodded his head in response.
"You," the worker started again, placing a firm grip on the steel handle of the door as he turned to leave, "will be monitored very closely. You're apparently more trouble then you're worth," he muttered to himself, exiting the ward and closing the door with a resounding click.
Dr. Craig, fully aware that nearly all of the wakened occupants of the ward's eyes were on him, plopped down on to his bed, allowing the sharp springs protruding from the cover to slightly dig into his pale, unclothed legs. Once upon sitting down, he immediately wrapped the covers around him, his teeth chattering violently. It was surprisingly cold for the number of bodies in the ward, and he felt slightly unwell as he noticed a bucket he assumed was for vomiting located next to his cot. It was like he was being urged to feel sick.
"So, what are you in here for?"
Dr. Craig's head snapped up immediately, causing his black bangs to become entangled with his glasses that now hung insecurely off his left ear. He readjusted his glasses so as to where they were firmly resting on the bridge of his nose, then looked at the cot to his right to find the source of the question and the rather deep voice.
It was the man who had acknowledged him earlier, his book now resting at the edge of his bed. Before answering him, Dr. Craig quickly glanced over the cover of the novel, finding that it most likely dealt with some type of warriors.
"What's wrong? Can't you talk?" the man smirked, allowing for the book to slip off the side of his bed and hit the tiled floor with a slight clang.
"Of course I can," Dr. Craig retorted, already beginning to slightly detest the Rocket, but seeing as there was no one else to talk to, he responded to the man's earlier question with: "I lost the Boss' present for his fiancée."
"Is that it? You know, I believe I've heard about you. Become pretty unpopular among the organization, haven't you?"
"I suppose I have…" Dr. Craig muttered, tightening his grip on the sheets that were entangled with his now sweaty palms.
"And I've heard several Rockets that were sane enough to talk amongst themselves mention you. Dr. William Craig, isn't it?" he asked, extending his hand as if he wanted to shake the scientist's. "I'm Mike."
"H – Hello," Dr. Craig said stiffly, shaking Mike's hand and purposely digging his uncut fingernails into the flesh of his palm. "Why are you here?" he asked, partially wondering if the man he was shaking hands with was completely insane.
"I murdered my partner," he said casually, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his pale lips as Dr. Craig instantly dropped his hand.
"You… you did what?" Dr. Craig asked, starting to feel incredibly uncomfortable being in the presence of Mike.
"I murdered my partner," he repeated, propping his head up slightly with his unclean pillow. "You talk like you've never even heard of a murder before. I mean, it happens quite often in Team Rocket."
Dr. Craig supposed he was right. After all, he himself had nearly been the victim of murder a little over two weeks ago, and he decided that it was nearly unfair to judge Mike on his crime, but still he felt the need to further entangle his upper body with his sheets as the former Rocket continued on with his rather gruesome story.
The soft ticking of the wall clock revealed that Mike's account had lasted nearly an hour, and Dr. Craig felt somewhat ill in knowing that the man lying next to him had stabbed his partner repeatedly over something so trivial as slight jealousy.
"She put up a very good fight, she did, and in the end I had to use my Nidorino's horn attack to get her to shut up for good," Mike finished, looking as if he were truly enjoying the scientist's reactions to his crime.
Dr. Craig partially wondered if Eric had been the one to burn her body, and letting his curiousness take control of him inquired, "What did you do with the body?"
"Burned it myself, of course." He chuckled a bit then continued to say, "You know that kid that's in charge of the incinerator?"
"Yes, I know him pretty well, actually," Dr. Craig said, his thin black eyebrows rising slightly at having been a little surprised that this Rocket knew whom Eric was.
"Well, the kid is so absent minded," Mike grinned, drumming his fingers in a rhythmic style against the metal siding of his cot, "that he actually forgot to lock that incinerator. So, seeing as no one was around at the time, I just slipped her body in there with no one noticing. Although, a camera must have picked it up or someone turned me in seeing as I'm here now," he said, laughing as if he was telling a great joke that only he found funny.
Dr. Craig found that his mouth was opening almost unwillingly in order to defend Eric from being called absent minded, although he knew it was probably true, but stopped when the door to their ward was opened and shut again. An Octillery was standing by the closed door with several trays of food balanced evenly on the tip of each of its arms, the yellow suction cup attached to its body providing some support as it slid across the tiled floor, leaving a small trail of smudged, jet black ink as it went.
"Oc," it said, as one of its red tinted arms shoved a tray of food into Dr. Craig's lap as it reached his cot, leaving the fork placed haphazardly on the metal tray to quiver carelessly.
"Um, thank you," he said genially, but then eyed the food slopped in the tray rather disdainfully, as several bits dripped slowly off the side and formed a small puddle in Dr. Craig's lap, making his hospital robe dirty. At least it was something other than gelatin, he supposed.
Despite the meal, he was a bit amazed at the Asylum's obedience training for their Pokemon. Although he had tried terribly hard, he had never once been able to tame any of the Pokemon, normal and hybrids alike, to a point where they would obey his every command. But, he did have to remember; Team Rocket did specialize in Pokemon enslavement, after all. Perhaps he was merely an exception.
Dr. Craig began eating his food, watching in slight amusement as the Octillery attempted to persuade Arnold, who was lying in the cot across from his own, to eat the food it was offering. He simply refused to eat, and although Arnold's words were mumbled together in an almost incoherent way, Dr. Craig managed to make out the words "I'd rather eat Miltank dung."
"Idiot," Dr. Craig heard Mike whisper from over on his own bed, glancing up from the book he was reading and flick his brown eyes almost disgustedly over Arnold. "That fat tub of lard knows we don't get much to eat." He chuckled to himself again. "I suppose he wouldn't need it. And I wouldn't eat all that now if I were you," he warned, looking toward Dr. Craig who had just settled on placing his fork in his mouth.
"Why not? The worker said we were fed at repeated intervals," he protested, hearing the door shut with some difficulty as the trail of ooze left by the Octillery got caught in its steel hinges.
Mike answered simply by lifting his sheets that had been hanging loosely off the side of his bed, and pointed to a small stash of the same food placed in several cracked, paper cups stored under his bed.
"Wouldn't the Asylum employees notice that you have food hidden?" he asked, gingerly placing his tongue on the slop that sat on the edge of his fork.
"Please, they never come to check up on us. As far as they're concerned, we're just a way to get paychecks from Giovanni," Mike answered, in a sour yet nearly wise tone.
"Oh," Dr. Craig said weakly.
When he thought about it, Mike seemed to be right. The way that girl had been shot when he had checked in was still making his stomach churn. They didn't care about their patients at all.
"And did you notice how happy Arnold got when he saw the employee? That's because he hasn't seen anybody that isn't kept in these four wall, in about, oh, four months," he said, holding up four slim fingers in order to show emphasis.
"Are you serious?" Dr. Craig asked. "They don't check up on us for that long?"
"Just about," Mike said, leaving Dr. Craig to wonder if the Rocket was merely trying to scare him. But there seemed to be a bitter air in the way he spoke, making the scientist confirm his statements were true. "Sometimes longer," he continued, wiping at his lips in order to get the remainder of the food he had just sampled off his thin, pale face.
"That's insane," Dr. Craig said, looking down at his own stomach as it gave off a loud grumble. In an almost childlike fascination, Mike leaned across his bed and the space set between the two cots, and lightly poked Dr. Craig in the stomach, as if inspecting it.
"Don't worry, I can give you some of my saved food," he told Dr. Craig, who had immediately leaned back slightly as Mike's prodding had continued. "With how skinny you are you wouldn't last more then a few weeks without some food." To verify this, he leaned further over and slightly lifted up Dr. Craig's hospital robe, and lightly massaged his belly and gave the scientist a confirming nod of his head. "Yes, you'll definitely need some of my food."
"…Okay, thanks," Dr. Craig said, grateful to the fact that the lower portion of his body was concealed within his sheets.
"You have soft skin," Mike said rather randomly, then leaned back onto his own bed and picked up his book once again.
Dr. Craig blinked slightly, but decided not to press on the issue, as Mike now seemed quite absorbed within the pages of his novel.
A morning of the following week, Dr. Craig's eyes fluttered open to blurrily reveal an Ekans, its tail rattling in time to the surprised shriek from the scientist as his vision came completely into focus.
"What's your problem?" Mike asked, rolling over on his stomach and covering his head with the dirty pillow that depicted an image of a Nidorino as his bed creaked somewhat under the slight weight of the former Rocket.
Dr. Craig swiftly pointed to the Pokemon on his covered legs, its purple, unpleasantly cold skin sliding along his bed as it gave off a hiss, which caused the paper letter clutched between its sharp teeth to fall unto the covers as its forked tongue protruded from its mouth.
"Oh, that," Mike said tonelessly. "That's the delivery Pokemon for the Asylum. Odd that it got in here so early though, normally they don't allow it down the wards in the morning unless it's pretty urgent," he said, stretching in his bed to the point where his legs swung unenthusiastically off the end.
"Could you have possibly been any louder?" one of the occupants of the ward shouted from her bed, the noise of her feet sliding of the cot evident as she continued down to the bathroom. This patient, contrasting Mike, was incredibly irritated that another person had been placed in their ward. She often complained about the disturbance Dr. Craig made, and constantly reminded him of something that resembled a Pikachu, in an attempt, that most certainly worked, to annoy the scientist further.
The pair ignored her comment, and continued to curiously watch the snake Pokemon slither off of Dr. Craig's bed and down the ward, leaving the door to open by itself and nearly slam on the Pocket Monster's tail, which gave off an irritated rattle as the door closed shut.
"So, go ahead and open it," Mike said, shifting his weight slightly in order to see the letter more clearly, which was of course sealed with the infamous R.
As Dr. Craig placed his thinning hands on the edge of the paper, he indistinctively found himself drawing back, coiling his fingers to reach his palm. This was the same kind of document Brian had showed him a little over a week ago, and just the sight of it made his face grow paler still.
"You don't suppose it's from Giovanni, do you?" Dr. Craig asked quietly, holding up the letter so that his nose nearly brushed up against it and then tilted his head back slightly, attempting for the bright lighting of the ward to see through the envelope, but to no avail, considering most if not all Team Rocket's documents were undetectable unless opened.
"I don't think it could be from anyone else," Mike answered plainly, unwrapping himself from the sheets of his bed and instead situated himself onto Dr. Craig's, a slight habit he formed since the time of the scientist's arrival.
Dr. Craig was jolted slightly by the sudden change of weight, and nearly fell off the cot as Mike insisted upon taking the envelope from him and examining it himself. "Yes, this is certainly from Giovanni," he said, the clarity in his voice somewhat lost since he had acquired a bit of a head cold a few days prior. He then reached over to his own nightstand and withdrew several tissues from the tissue box sitting on the furniture and blew his nose, leaving Dr. Craig to quickly snatch the envelope back from him as it nearly fell to the floor.
"So, what are you waiting for? Open it," he ordered, lightly massaging the tip of his nose with the tissue.
"Right," Dr. Craig sighed, evenly scraping his nail under the seal in order to break it. The letter opened on its own accord, and Mike, who had been leaning across Dr. Craig's bed to read it, sneezed promptly upon seeing the bottom of the memo as if almost due to shock.
"What? What is it?" Dr. Craig asked, and Mike quickly shoved the letter back to the scientist.
He hurriedly scanned the document, and upon reading it sunk back onto his covers. The Boss wanted him to pay for the damage he caused during his project, which included the money for the truck he had been using to deliver Pikachu, the slight damage done to the laboratory he had been using, not to mention the money for the cage. All of this equaled to around eight thousand dollars, which was worth a large amount of Dr. Craig's paycheck, although he wouldn't receive it until he possibly returned to Headquarters.
"You're going to be paying for all this stuff for quite a long time," Mike commented, retreating back to his own bed once again and curled up as to go back to sleep, which was nearly the only thing available for any of them to do. "Talk about adding insult to injury."
Dr. Craig was emotionally tired and had absolutely no desire to dwell on finances at the moment. He allowed for the letter to fall down unto the floor as he repositioned his legs on the bed, and almost immediately feel back asleep as the soft snoring coming from Mike had a virtually rhythmic effect.
He wasn't aware of how long he had slept, but Mike and told him that when he had awoken he had been quite surprised, because he had been certain that the scientist had somehow died in his sleep, leading Dr. Craig to believe he had been resting for hours.
While ignoring the sharp pain in his stomach from lack of food, he slowly dragged himself to the very dim bathroom, which was only for one occupant's use. The truth was he didn't requireusing the restroom at all, and once upon arriving there merely stood in front of the cracked mirror and lightly massaged his face, which had a reasonable amount of excess skin on it now from losing weight.
He shook his head slowly in order to revive himself, and then carefully brought a hand to the lower section of one of his eyes and pulled it down slightly, finding that when he did so most of his eye was completely bloodshot, leaving what looked like red veins to meet his black pupil. He groaned lightly in the back of his throat, and began to walk out of the bathroom when his attention was placed back to the mirror.
Although the mirror was cracked a great deal, he had only just now noticed in what way it was cracked. He found that when he traced the patterns of the fractures on the mirror with his finger that it formed what fairly resembled a Pikachu.
Dr. Craig blinked rapidly in order to get the image out of his mind, but when he opened his eyes again established that the image was not of his imagination.
"Pikachu," he muttered, and allowing for his fatigue to finally get the best of him, he slumped over onto the sink that was fixed into the wall directly below the mirror, allowing for his head to roll uselessly into the small amount of dirty water that had not been drained and was filling up a minor portion of the sink. His breathing slowly decreased, and the feeble pressure against the water caused it to bubble up slightly as his breathing nearly gave out. He indistinctively pulled his head out of the water and propped his chin up on the edge of the sink, permitting for his damped black hair to slowly fall into his open mouth. His uncovered knees were resting on the bathroom floor, and the slight prick of the cold tiles caused him to once again look up at the Pikachu feebly carved into the glass of the mirror.
"Damn you, Pikachu."
Yay!
This was my favorite chapter to write by far. I found the Rocket Asylum very interesting, and I hope the ending was a good effect, because those words will come up later, just from someone else entirely.
In the next three chapters, you'll get a point of view from Pikachu, Ash, and the Team Rocket we all know and love... Jessie, James, and Meowth!
I've also started to write continuation side stories featuring The Pikachu Project, and once this is finished, let me know if you all want them posted or not!
Long Live The Boss,
Tear22