Diantha paced the length of her living room like a woman possessed, her holocaster ringing as she waited for her call to connect. Everything was falling down around her—and the worst part was, it was happening in slow motion. It was like hurtling from the top of Prism Tower in a river of molasses frozen by an avalugg's extreme Blizzard, knowing at any minute some asshole was going to have their charizard pop out and use Heat Wave, and there was nothing you could do except pray to the gods it wouldn't happen until you were close enough to the ground to survive the fall.

Maybe that was a little dramatic, but it was a reoccurring nightmare she'd had since she was a little girl, and the anxiety was right about at the same mark. In this case, her proximity to landing wasn't the distance between the tower's tall needle and the harsh cobblestones of Centrico Plaza, but whether or not Augustine fucking Sycamore would put aside his stubborn pride long enough to answer her many calls or texts.

"Gus," she growled to herself, "I swear by Xerneas, if you let me go to voicemail one more time, I'm going to set Cassius loose." She knew from rumors floating around the League that Augustine had left the region hardly even a week ago. They hadn't been speaking for longer. She knew he was hurting; hell, she was hurting, too. It wasn't like it had just been anyone who was crushed under Geosenge. It was Lysandre, of all people, and there had been nothing Diantha could do until it was too late. He had been killed by a snare of his own design, and neither that nor the fact that they had both so endlessly loved him gave the man a free pass. He had tried to do the unthinkable, and as much as it hurt, as much as grief burned white-hot inside of both of them, the world was better off this way. Augustine hadn't been much help, in the grand scheme of things. Like always, he only withdrew in on himself. The least he could do was pick up the fucking phone.

Varda, her gardevoir, watched her from the chaise lounge in front of their monumental entertainment system, where she laid idly on comfy cushions. Diantha felt and welcomed her presence in her mind; she was always there for her. Always ready to help, to keep her focused, anything Diantha needed. Varda was a good pokemon partner, and a good friend. Even still, through their connection, she could feel her own worry mirrored back at her through the pokemon's psychic powers, and she wondered how long it would take for both of them to break, together.

"Hey, you've reached Gus! Leave me a message, then please come find me at the lab! I've probably passed out again!"

"Dammit, Gus!" she snapped over the recording, chucking the holocaster to the couch just in time for Augustine's voicemail to pick up her long string of hissed expletives. She stopped in her tracks, rubbing her temples as she tried to soothe herself. Varda let out a low, trilling sound, and Diantha took a deep breath before turning to her.

"I'm fine," she told the pokemon, voice strained but much more calm. Even so, she could feel Varda's hesitation across the room. "Really," she continued, "I'm okay. I just..." Her eyes landed on the holocaster, still recording on the couch. A little more timidly, she walked back to take it into her hands, holding it as she tried to think of what more she could possibly say. She felt a nudge from Varda in the back of her mind. She took another deep breath.

"Gus," she whispered into the microphone, "please, please call me back. Even if you don't want to talk about—about the lab—or about him, I—" Her voice broke. She struggled for a moment, but an impeccable actress to the last minute, she pretended it was just another film. A spy thriller. Her voice became serious and steeled. "Augustine, I have heard the Director talking about getting the police involved. I don't know what's going on, but you need to be careful. ...Call me back. Okay? I worry about you."

She ended the call, staring at the holocaster screen as the minutes blinked at her before returning to the clock display. He really was a stubborn pain in the ass. Worse than a gogoat, and just as scruffy as one. Something told her that, just like every ignored call and text between now and the day Augustine had to present the children with the Honor of Kalos, he would not call her back. Maybe it was time to stop trying.

"Don't look at me like that," she told Varda as she crossed the room to lean against the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows.

Her penthouse apartment overlooked Centrico Plaza, and she could spy the very spot she would fall to from the top of Prism Tower. Further off in the distance, she could spy Autumnal Avenue, and her mind briefly returned to the day the three of them had properly met. Gus had been a complete mess. Cassius had nearly started a fight. Diantha tried to make Cassius apologize for throwing coffee in Gus's face. And Lysandre, strange and stoic as he'd been since their days as children in Camphrier town, had been the one to pull Augustine into their group. The bond between those two had been something special.

Varda trilled again, and Diantha looked over her shoulder to see the gardevoir still staring at her. Concern projected from their shared connection, a deep and profound worry for the state of her well-being, and Diantha offered her friend a smile.

"It's okay," she assured her, "I'm coming to terms with it. Maybe I can bring everything up with Dr. Moreau on Tues—"

Her holocaster began to vibrate wildly in her pocket, and her heart leaped into her throat. Holy shit. Holy shit? Was that him? Quickly, she yanked the caster up to her ear and swiped through to the call, her eyes wide.

"Gus?" she cried, "thank Xerneas, I thought something absolutely horrible was—"

"Hiiiiii," came the awkward sing-song reply, a feminine voice that was certainly in no way Augustine's, "sorry, it's Burnet. Uh... been a while, huh?" She laughed nervously, and Diantha's shoulders sagged. She went to flop down onto her couch, tiredness beginning to seep in. Of course it wasn't Gus. It was never Gus, anymore. How embarrassing.

"Hello, Burnet," she replied, cringing at her own unenthused tone, "sorry. I got a little carried away. I thought perhaps you were..."

"Kukui said he hasn't been taking your calls," Burnet said, "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have to be alone, right now. How are you holding up?"

"Better. Much better. I am working with a therapist. It's still very difficult, but I'm learning to manage."

"I'm glad to hear that, at least."

Diantha wasn't sure what else to say. She assumed neither was Burnet. They sat there for a while, playing a game of chicken neither was entirely certain how to win. She only knew Burnet a little, and her husband about the same. She'd met them just once, when they had come to visit Gus and were hanging around his lab when Diantha had gone to drop off some paperwork from the League. They were friendly. Kind, even. But Diantha had been more like Lysandre than Gus in the respect that strangers weren't entirely her strong suit. She much preferred to be left alone. Now, though, when she needed help, she was determined to do her best to build a few solid bridges. She was opening her mouth to give an awkward attempt when Burnet spoke again.

"Sorry," she said, "sorry, I didn't know how to tell you. Um... Gus was arrested this morning at our home."

"What?" He was in... Alola? Of all places? She'd half-expected him to return to Sinnoh—after all, he was very close to Professor Rowan, if he was intending to hide out anywhere... She began to pace again. Something felt wrong, and it sent a chill down her spine that she didn't quite understand. Varda's confusion spiked inside her, and the worry began to settle deep into both of them. "Dammit... dammit, of course he'd do something like this..."

"Please," Burnet begged across the line, "please, we need help. A lawyer, something, anything. Is there anything you can do for him, Diantha?"

Was there? The Director hadn't listened to her, before. Her role wasn't as a politician, judge, or jury. Her role was to battle, and to obey the Kalos League's decisions. And Augustine had thrown everything into the Director's face, in the end. Of course things would end this way. What did he expect? He would be charged, found guilty, and sentenced. She would have to visit him on weekends with a plexiglas window between them. Stupid, stupid.

"I can't promise anything," she sighed, "but I'll see what I can do. I can catch the next flight this afternoon."

"Thank you," Burnet breathed, "oh, my gods, I didn't know what we were going to do, there's no way Kukui and I can afford a lawyer right now."

"Don't worry. We'll figure it all out. I'll be there soon." A pause. Diantha fidgeted awkwardly. "Thank you for calling me, Burnet. See you tomorrow."

They didn't exchange any pleasantries after that. Diantha simply swiped to end the call, then went to collapse onto her couch, smooshing her face into one of the many pillows to muffle the deeply frustrated scream she loosed from her throat. That was it. That was the charizard's Heat Wave.

At least, she mused when she finally got up to begin packing, Augustine would really be able to pull off prison orange well.


Po Town was bright for the first time in a long while. It was a strange part of Ula'Ula; regardless of the weather anywhere else on the island, anywhere else in Alola even, it always rained. A thick cover of dark and angry clouds was a given most days. The locals said the old town was cursed, and Guzma had to admit, the evidence was there. As much as he spent his days trying to ignore the ancestral guardians, Tapu Bulu seemed to delight in punishing him and Team Skull both. For now, though, the clouds had parted and the Alolan sun peeked through to greet him. Maybe that was a sign that the islands were beginning to forgive him. As he worked, he wondered what he could have possibly done to earn that—especially with the big graffiti mural splashed across the side of the pokemon center wasn't nearly close to being cleaned.

"Alright, Pancake," he ordered, "and you, Rye, let's give this bitch a full-force blast of water! On three, a'ight?"

To his side was his golisopod, looking as though he were about to throw down with some punk's pokemon, and his buddy clicked his mandibles and chattered eagerly. Hovering just over his head, his masquerain, Rye, beat his paper-thin wings, his antennae pointed at the ready. Guzma held up his fingers as he counted to them.

"One... two... three!"

Pancake and Rye unleashed torrents of water that sprayed with the force of a fire hose, and Guzma watched with satisfaction as the baking soda solution he'd smeared like a paste over the graffiti seemed to do the trick. It was dissolving and peeling off in bits and chunks—or, well, the newer shit was. Some of the old paint they're sprayed over was holding fast to the building. He'd need to bust out the lacquer remover, or even just give the whole building a fresh coat of paint if that didn't work.

"Stop, stop!" he called over the rushing of the sprays, and his pokemon turned to look at him as their streams died down. Guzma rubbed his chin and frowned thoughtfully at the wall, then approached to run his hand over the rough sides. Yeah. Lacquer remover for sure. He wondered if Nanu had picked up fresh bottles after last time, or if he'd have to beg for some again.

"Alright, team," he said to the pokemon, "here's what's goin' down, ya get me? Go to the house—" He pointed to the mansion. "—and help the others move some of the trash outside. If you finish, just y'all wait for me, alright?"

Pancake lumbered closer, his antennae tickling at Guzma's face and hair, the ticklish touches forcing him to laugh. Rye landed in his hair, making it quite clear he was reluctant to leave. Guzma carefully picked the masquerain up and placed him on top of Pancake's hard exoskeleton. He watched to make sure the two went exactly where he told them—he loved all of his bugs dearly, but they could be trouble makers just as much as him, sometimes, and Guzma didn't trust himself to follow directions on a good day. When he finally saw them nearing the front yard of the mansion, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and opened it to begin thumbing through bills. He'd have to skip a few Tapu cocoas, but the few bills he had left should have been enough to get what he needed to finish off the center.

Off in the middle of town, filled with his equipment, sat a little sun-bleached wagon that had at one point been a brilliant red when he stole it from the back yard of one of the houses. That little wagon had seen a lot of action. When Skull was around, he used it to haul groceries back from town, or to take broken laptops or smart phones up the mountain for Molayne to work on. Now he used it to cart around bottles of cleaner, a handful of rags, a few scrub brushes and a bucket. How times have changed, he thought to himself as he went to take the wagon's handle.

"Really? That's how you're getting to town?"

Guzma jumped an easy foot as the familiar voice caught him off-guard, but when he turned, he couldn't help the honest grin that split his face. Plumeria grinned back at him from just down the street, hands on her hips as she regarded him.

"Well?" she prompted, "I'm not gonna hug first, dipshit."

With a laugh, Guzma raced towards her, sweeping her up into a tight bewear hug. Her arms wrapped over his shoulders to give him a good squeeze back, and just as they were beginning to pull apart, Guzma couldn't help but pull her back in one more time.

"You're lookin' great, sis," he said when she finally wiggled out of his grip, "but whatcha doin' here? Ain't you got training to do? Battle Tree and shit?"

"I'm givin' my team a break today," she answered, her eyes briefly drifting awkwardly to the side, "thought I'd come see how you were doin' with this mess. And look at you, numskull!" She motioned to his little wagon. "Just take a ride pokemon, for fuck's sake! You gonna walk all the way to town and back? You ain't gonna get shit done!"

"I can't take a ride pokemon," Guzma reminded her with a roll of his eyes, "hell, I can't even get into my boxes, Plumes, you think the cops are gonna trust me with a fuckin' ride pokemon?"

"Well then ask Nanu for a ride. He ain't doin' shit, I saw him playin' with his meowth outside."

The thought gave Guzma pause in a way it never had before. His mind turned back to the previous evening and the bomb Nanu had dropped on him. Was he really willing to get into a car, alone, with a man like that? What would stop him from slitting Guzma's neck and throwing his body off a cliff? What if he stole his kidney? Shit. He shouldn't have given Gus a hard time about the kidney thing. It was an actual, statistically non-zero percent likelihood that Nanu was just playing the long game to sell his kidneys on the black market. Was there a black market in Alola? Where was it? Was he going to have to steal his own kidneys back?

"Guzma," Plumeria said, "Guz, you good? Earth to Guz?" She snapped her fingers in front of his thousand-yard stare, and he shook his head. Time to change the subject.

"Hold on," he said slowly, "you took a break last weekend. Twice in a row?" And he knew he hit a nerve by the way her face flushed deeply red on the spot.

"So?" she sputtered, "what does that have to do with anything? Maybe I just needed a longer break, you know, some of those trainers never give it a rest! That Blue guy, you know, he just jumps people and pulls them in for battles sometimes, and—"

"C'mon, Plumes," Guzma told her, "don't lie. I can see right through that, y'know." He motioned off to the Pokemon Center, where it cast a long shadow for them to escape the broiling sun overhead. They squatted against the wall, squishing into the shade as much as they could. Plumeria, still red-faced, was refusing to look him in the eye, now. Something really bad must have happened. Guzma offered her a reassuring smile. "Tell ya big bro what happened. I gotta beat someone down?"

She bit her lip and played with the ends of her long, brightly-colored hair. When she finally dared to look up, she was on the verge of tears, and Guzma's brow knitted in concern.

"It was so stupid," she whined, "I just—I couldn't get two words out, and when I did, I—Guz, you gotta understand, she was just so pretty, and I—"

So that was it. A laugh bubbled up from his chest and he pressed his hand tight over his eyes in second-hand embarrassment, his head tipping back to lean his fluffy hair into the brick.

"Plumes!" he laughed, "really, is that all it takes to getcha guard down?"

"Don't laugh!" she cried, "c'mon! No, you don't understand, she was really, really pretty, and she had this gorgeous sylveon with her, and—I just couldn't speak, and when she asked my name, I just—" She motioned helplessly with her hands, then let loose a high note of anxious tension, and Guzma laughed harder.

"You crashed and burned," he howled, "you poor thing!"

"I said stop laughing!"

He only laughed harder as she shoved him, and he fell over onto the pavement, grabbing her arm to pull her down, too. They rolled and roughhoused until the heat took its toll and they needed to catch their breath. They laid there, half in the sun, as they gasped and heaved, the grin never having left Guzma's face and the pout still pulling at Plumeria's lips.

"So?" he asked her when he could finally breathe, "whatcha gonna do? You ain't gonna give up, right?"

"I can't," Plumeria answered, shaking her head, "I can't, Guz, I just can't. I can't look her in the face again, not after that."

Guzma hummed thoughtfully. He watched the clouds for a minute, and when he turned his head to look at her, she just looked so defeated. He wasn't havin' none of that. He stretched one arm out around her shoulder and pulled her snug in.

"Here's what you're gonna do," he said, and she looked up at him, "get back on that mudsdale, a'ight? You're gonna go up to her."

"A'ight... I'm gonna go up to her."

"You're gonna say your name."

"I... I'm gonna say my name."

"And then you're gonna invite her to the abandoned Megamart."

"To the abandoned... what?" Plumeria pushed herself up on one elbow, scoffing. "Oh, yeah, sorry, let me just go up the most beautiful woman on the planet and ask her to some shady back alley, I bet she'll only respect me for that."

"You said she had a sylveon?"

"Yeah."

"And you met her at the Tree."

"Yeah."

"So ya gonna ask her out to go catch a mimikyuu."

"Guzma that's—" Plumeria paused as she thought it over. "Actually, wait. That's not a bad idea."

Guzma grinned and spread his arms out as though to say 'see?' He pushed himself up, too. Pokemon solved a lot of life's problems, he found. Caused a number of them, too, to be fair, but hot damn if they didn't get him out of trouble right when he needed it. He was about to rub his genius in her face when the sound of something metal grating over concrete screeched through the air, and both of them froze and sat up a bit straighter. Plumeria leaned her head around the corner, then looked back to Guzma with a shrug.

"It's just Nanu," she told him.

"That's strange," Guzma mused, "he usually leaves me alone 'til dinner." He pushed himself to his feet and offered a hand down to Plumeria to pull her up, too. Nanu waited patiently with his hands in his pockets as the two crossed the town, nodding politely to each of them as they approached.

"I gotta head to the precinct," Nanu said tiredly, "something came up. You kids gonna be good while I'm gone? Plumeria, you helping out today?"

"Hey, old man," Plumeria answered, "yeah, I'll keep Guz in line." Nanu's expression didn't change. Something was wrong.

"What's going on?" Guzma pressed.

"It's nothing," the old cop answered, "I'm going to lock the gates. Behave yourselves."

He started back out of town, but Guzma lunged to grab him by the back of his jacket, and Nanu scowled over his shoulder at him. Guzma let go. Nanu rolled his shoulder.

"What's going on?" Guzma repeated more forcefully, and he sighed.

"That new friend of yours got picked up by Interpol," he told him, "I'm just going to go keep an eye on things."

"Friend?" Plumeria asked, frowning curiously at Guzma, who ignored her and pushed towards the gate.

"I wanna come," he said, "c'mon, Nanu, man, I—"

"No," he was cut off, and he scowled as Nanu began to pull the gates closed, "trust me. No. This is going to be bad enough without you there."

Guzma's face curled into a malevolent sneer as the gates screeched shut and the lock clicked into place. What the actual shit? What the hell did that mean? His hands balled into fists. He wasn't some fuck-up. It's not like he was going to make things worse by hanging around.

"Guzma?" Plumeria said quietly. Her hand reached for his shoulder, but he instinctively flinched away. She didn't try again. He was left to seethe quietly on the spot, knuckles stark-white. Bastard. Absolute bastard.

"C'mon," he spat, and turned towards the old mansion, "forget that asshole. Let's break some shit."

He marched off without waiting for her answer.


"They're on their way."

Nanu glanced away from the one-way window as Looker placed a steaming mug of shit coffee on the table next to him. He took it into his hand with a grimace and sniffed idly at the mug before taking a sip. Gross. But all they had at the moment. Looker collapsed back into his seat and settled in, sorting through a series of documents laid out on the table before them.

"He's already made his call," Nanu replied, "I don't think he dialed out to the professor. Called a Kalosian number, seemed like."

"The Kalos League, probably," Looker hummed, "I don't think he had his own lawyer."

"He keeps asking for one. Guess he got nowhere fast."

Through the glass they could see the small, non-descript room quite clearly. There was a single stainless steel table, and two uncomfortable-looking chairs sat across from each other on either side. In the chair further from the door sat former-Professor Augustine Sycamore, handcuffed to it by one wrist and slumped down in his seat. His cheek rested on his free palm, and his legs, crossed at the ankles, rested up on the table. Every now and then he would cast dark looks at the window, unable to see them but wishing their deaths all the same. Nanu drummed his fingers in front of him, then glanced back at Looker.

"I don't get the big deal," he admitted, "it was just one helioptile, wasn't it? And you were able to recover it?"

"One helioptile," Looker corrected him, "one keystone, and at least three mega stones that were all property of the Kalos League. Mega stones are restricted materials, not just anyone can take them in and out of the region; they take these things very seriously." He pushed a print-out towards Nanu, who took it and held it up to the light, his frown deepening. It looked like three rocks and a ring. He sighed and pushed the paper back towards Looker.

"Still feels like a waste of time," he grumbled, "could have just recovered everything and sent him to court. Slap 'im with a fine, let that be the end of it."

"We haven't recovered the keystone. The Kalos League was very insistent we bring that, especially, back."

There was a knock on the door. The two looked round as one of the other officers poked her head in, motioning for one of them.

"His lawyer's here," she announced, "Chief, he asked to speak with you directly."

Nanu rolled his eyes and grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, stalking out towards the door. Looker returned to the documents.

The lawyer was already waiting in the hall, tapping away on his PokeGear with a briefcase in the other hand. His white suit was pristine, his blue hair cropped short, and as the officer left the two to speak, the man smiled.

"Detective Nanu," he greeted, and Nanu hesitated as the Japanese hit his ears, "it's good to see you well. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

He was familiar. Nanu strained himself to remember where or when they had met. Or had they met at all? The man's smile broadened.

"Sorry," he said, though he didn't mean it in the slightest, "I'm getting old. You'll have to remind me."

"It was Goldenrod, I believe," the man told him, "ah, but it was years ago. Really? You don't remember?"

Darkness and fire danced in his memory. Lights flickering on and off. A houndoom like a demon in the shadows. Nanu had been there as a specialist. He thought that had been the end of it.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly. The man held up the screen of his gear. It was a photo of his house. He was asleep on the couch. His meowth were curled up all around the room. And Guzma was laying on the air mattress in the background. Not a lot got to Nanu. Not in a long, long time. But right then, his eyes lingering on the fluffy mop of white hair, he could feel his blood freeze.

"You are going to let me speak with Augustine Sycamore," the man told him, "and then, when I leave, you will release him."

"Why?"

The man waved the phone at him.

"I don't like questions, Detective," he answered, "but I do like results. Do as I say, and there won't be any unfortunate accidents."

Again, Nanu hesitated. A few years ago, he would have told the man to fuck right off, but now... His eyes shot back to the photo. They had been in his home, and he slept right through it. Reality sunk in. They may have even been there, now. Guzma and Plumeria were locked in. Lowering his eyes, he stepped to the side. The man chuckled and strode towards the door, pausing to whisper into his ear.

"You're losing your touch, Executive."

Nanu was left to sneer and curse in the hallway as that smug blue bastard passed through the doors without a single worry in the world.