James had never checked his watch so endlessly in his life. There were still more than ten minutes before he was meant to arrive at the bank, but he was determined not to let something as preventable as timing ruin his career.
He paused by a shop window, ignoring the merchandise behind it and rather focusing on his transparent reflection. For the mission, he'd pulled his hair into a short ponytail, which was covered with a baseball cap advertising a team James had never even heard of. The rest of his clothing was equally casual. What struck him- other than the stranger he'd created with a mere change of attire- was how exhausted he looked. He didn't feel particularly tired; although sleep had been a struggle the previous night when so many worries had haunted his thoughts, for the most part, he was better rested than he had been in a very long time. Granted, he didn't feel the optimism he'd once displayed, but he wasn't in a state of melancholy either.
James smiled to himself, his hand tracing the lines under his eyes. It was odd to be reminded about the deception of looks by his own mirror image.
A jolt of panic hit him, and he swiftly rose his watch again. His heart rate was tranquilised by the fact that only another minute had passed.
Reassured that he wasn't behind schedule, he returned his attention to the direction in which he was going. Thankfully, the memorable roundabout that sat at the heart of the buildings made navigating the streets much more easy without the aid of a map- James had a familiar landmark to return to every time he was unsure of where to go. His eyes swept over each sign he passed; he was getting close. The briefing had included directions to the building, and he'd read it enough times to remember the whole thing word for word.
"A left turn here," James mumbled, his lips barely moving as he scanned the area. As predicted, the bank was visible on the other side of the road, which was almost free of cars. No doubt the location had been carefully chosen due to this trait (among others): trying to pull off a heist in a city packed with vehicles would make the following getaway near impossible.
Trying to look inconspicuous, he checked the time. His role in the mission was due to be carried out in two minutes- it struck him amazing that the timings in the briefing were all so precise. For as long as he could afford, James stayed on the edge of the pavement, pretending to text someone on a switched-off mobile, and then crossed the road without needing to check for oncoming traffic.
The two cops he was meant to distract were standing, as specified, at the side entrance of the bank, talking to each other. James examined the two men. They were both of about average build, one taller than the other, though their faces remained pale blurs from the distance at which he was standing. He just hoped he could outrun them long enough to lead them where he needed to.
A shaky breath escaped his lips as he forced himself to walk. James found himself thinking back to his training as he pondered what he was about to do.
"For whatever reason, there might come a time when you want to get an officer's attention," Viper had told them.
James met the eye of one of the guards.
"You've got to be careful. If you resort to this, you'll be getting chased for miles before they give up."
He strode up to the policemen, the encounter about as natural as two repelling magnets forcing their way into contact. James raised his hand above the head of one of the officers, moving his arm so quickly that the man didn't have time to react.
"Do NOT use this method unless you absolutely have to."
He stole the cop's hat.
The guard took a second to process what had just happened; in the time it took for him and his partner to respond, James was already bolting down the street.
"Hey!" one of them yelled as they commenced the chase after him. "Stop!"
James was in no state to reply, his efforts concentrated on three things alone: where he was going, not falling over, and keeping ahead of the two men hot on his heels. Viper's advice was working, perhaps too well, because with each step he could hear his pursuers slowly but steadily closing the gap.
Their shouts faded into background noise as James snapped his gaze between passing signs. He was relieved to recognise his current location, and sharply turned the next corner he came to. The soles of his sneakers were less than ideal for running, but he managed not to trip on the irregular heights of the paving slabs.
"You're resisting arrest!"
"Thanks for the update," James thought, but unable to voice the retort between his ragged breathing. His state of terror didn't help, either.
He could almost feel the cop's hand on his back when the sign reading "Rooster Street" came into view. The universe could be kind when it wanted to.
James sprinted into the alleyway, and stopped to catch his breath. He'd done it. He'd carried out everything his papers had told him to.
His sense of achievement was snuffed out by the two baton-wielding officers headed his way, gasping for air as they moved towards him. James froze. He had successfully distracted them, led them where he was supposed to so the mission could work properly- but what about him? He'd been so preoccupied worrying about fulfilling his role that he'd barely given a thought to what would happen afterwards. If anyone was even coming to help, James had no idea. Maybe this was Carter's way of getting rid of him.
James lamely offered the cop his hat back as the man approached him. The officer snatched it out of his hand, and pushed James against the wall. "That meant to be some kind of joke?" he demanded.
The thought of making a break for it crossed James' mind, but he knew it would be futile against two stronger, armed men who currently had him cornered. Despair taking over, he whimpered as the cop grabbed his wrist, and pulled it behind his back in a hammerlock. The abrupt pressure on his shoulder made James cry out in pain. He was screwed.
All of a sudden, a muffled crack pierced the air, echoing in the narrow space. James felt the officer's grip on his wrist relax considerably, and turned around for an explanation.
Sprawled on the ground was the other policeman, a circular hole on one side of his forehead. For a moment, James failed to realise what was going on. Then he saw the blood.
"Stan," the remaining cop said finally, his voice quiet and trembling. This man was nothing like the one he'd been just seconds before, no longer enraged and overpowering. He let go of James, and moved towards his dead colleague. The officer had taken two steps when a second crack sounded, and he too sank to the floor, his head thrown to the side in a crimson mist.
James stumbled backwards, leaning against the brick wall for support. His chest rose and fell with a succession of horrified gasps of breath that did nothing to ease his sudden lack of oxygen. His head rung as if he'd been hit, and suddenly his limbs felt too heavy, his legs too weak. He quivered, knees buckling as he willed his balance to hold, clutching the windowsill behind just to stop himself from collapsing.
There was a soft thud at the other end of the alleyway as two men dropped down from a ladder, and walked in James' direction, both holding silenced guns. He considered running, but as it was he could barely stand.
"Hey," one of them greeted, his thin lips pulling into a smile. James opened his mouth to reply, but closed it for fear of letting out a sob.
"I thought you were really going to get arrested there!" the other man remarked. "Sorry we made you sweat like that. We just had to wait for them to stop moving, so we could get a clear shot." He laughed weakly. "Didn't wanna take you out accidentally!"
His partner chuckled too, the action making his cheekbones push further against his skin. "Oh, and stealing his hat? That was brilliant, man." He turned to his slender companion. "How long left until we're meeting at the van?"
"Don't know. Depends how long the agents who are getting the money take," the man replied. Setting his gun back in its holster, he looked to James again. "I'm William, by the way," he said, and then jerked a thumb at his team mate, whose chin was covered in a rough stubble. "That's McCarty."
James nodded quickly, about to introduce himself when his stomach churned unbearably.
He darted behind a dumpster to his right and threw up.
When James re-emerged, William took a bottle of water out of his satchel. He held it out in James' direction.
"Here," he prompted, his expression suggesting either confusion or concern- perhaps a mixture of the two. Having taken the drink hesitantly, James sipped the water at a slow pace, not wanting to risk vomiting a second time.
"Thank you," he murmured. His voice was strained, and made his state of petrification obvious, but James didn't care. Nothing held his attention in that moment other than the two dead men on the ground, and the terrible, undying fear he felt.
"We should make a move," McCarty suggested, with a subtle gesture towards the bodies. "Don't want to be around when someone finds this mess."
James followed them numbly, doing his best to look away from the splatter of blood accented with chunks of grey matter that now stained the concrete below. Guilt suddenly joined the list of feelings that gripped him with clawing hands; in oblivion, he'd been leading the cops to their deaths. He had been an unknowing pawn in a far greater plan, one that worked regardless of his consent to its end goal.
"That's our cue," William said, smiling as an alarm began to sound from inside the bank. "Sounds like they're done." James didn't react; the mission suddenly seemed so irrelevant. Who cared how much money they made? Two men were dead, partially because of him. It was hard to focus on anything else when it felt as if his entire world was ending.
They walked as quickly as they could without risking drawing attention to themselves, stopping just before they met the slope of the curb. In little over ten seconds, two white vans swerved to a halt next to them, the back doors swinging open before the vehicles were fully stationary.
"Get in," a man inside instructed, his voice gruff. James waited for William and McCarty to climb up before doing the same himself, standing unsurely. Three agents hovered by the open doors, unmoving until about five people ran forwards to meet them, all clad in balaclavas. Unmarked bags heavy with notes hung from their clenched fists.
"Pass it up," an agent told them, extending his arm. The thieves did so, then jumped up into the van to join their co-workers. McCarty slammed the doors shut again with a soft grunt, and the vehicle surged forwards in a sudden jerk that was accompanied by the screeching of the tyres below.
The bank robbers sank onto the benches, and tore off their masks.
"We good?" one of them wheezed. He turned nervously in his seat, looking back at the van behind. "The- er, the alarm's meant to be ringing, right?"
"There was no way of stopping it from going off once we left," William said, nodding. "Don't worry. Far as I know, everything's going to plan."
"Holy shit!" McCarty exclaimed as he looked inside the bags. He laughed in disbelief. "How much is in here?"
"A lot," someone else replied simply.
"Yeah, you're not kidding!" McCarty breathed. His face was contorted by a mixture of shadows and his sheer joy at the money before him. "This has gotta be, like, ten lifetimes' worth of cash!"
"Don't get any ideas, mate," William said. He grinned, slapping McCarty on the back. "It's for the boss' funding. You'll get your cut."
McCarty scoffed. "Enough to buy a candy bar, if I'm lucky," he said insincerely, then saluted with an expression of mock patriotism. "But I surrender my riches for the glory of Team Rocket!"
James couldn't understand, as William snorted with amusement, how the two could be in such high spirits. They had murdered no more than minutes ago, and yet they laughed with no traces of remorse. Meanwhile, James was battling the constant threat of passing out, his head light and swimming with thoughts that left him in a state of looping despair- yet there they were, joking as if nothing was wrong. He envied them.
As the van continued to trundle forwards down the pavement, flying over speed bumps and skidding round corners, James went strangely tranquil. While the facts remained, he found that his responses were deadened, and the conversation that surrounded him slowly faded into a low hum of silence only he could hear.
"How did it go?" Jessie asked cheerily, leaning over the back of her seat to face her two partners. They'd all moved back to the same vehicle- an unbranded truck- in order to lessen their chances of being tracked. Butch and Cassidy were there too, and seemed to be back to their normal- if arrogant- selves.
"Dat was da best mission I've been on in ages!" Meowth replied, grinning widely. "You shoulda seen all da dough we got!"
"It was awesome," Jessie agreed. "Everything ran like clockwork! And for the record, contrary to your rude expectations," she said, with a glare in Meowth's direction, "I pulled off my part perfectly." She smiled, and sighed contentedly. "This is what we're really capable of."
James jerked forwards slightly as the jeep stopped. He peered out of the window, and saw that they were back in the car park of the headquarters.
"We here already?" Meowth questioned. He looked mildly confused. "Dat was quick."
"Well, time flies when you're basking in victory!" Jessie said, beaming. She wore the recently forgotten expression of confidence and hope on her face, looking as optimistic as she had in her early days as an agent, when the three were still coming down from the high of passing training as the top team. James nearly forgot about everything that he had been through in that afternoon as he watched her stride forwards; seeing her so happy was a welcome distraction. Meowth wasn't much different. While he didn't show his good cheer as obviously as Jessie did, James didn't miss the way the corners of the cat's mouth pulled upwards whenever he forgot to pretend to be indifferent. It could easily be overlooked by an outsider, but James knew Meowth was over the moon with the success.
"This calls for a celebration," Jessie said decisively when they were back in their room. She knelt down by the mini fridge, browsing its contents. "I think I saw a bottle of champagne back here somewhere... Oh, it's just fruit soda. I thought it would be odd if Team Rocket provided its own agents with booze." Jessie stood up again, pushing the fridge door shut with her foot. "Well, pineapple juice is nearly as good as alcohol," she said. She started to twist off the metal cap, but stopped, frowning. "What's up, James? You've barely said anything."
Dread settling like some looming bird of prey, James felt his muscles tense. The scrutiny resonating in Jessie's eyes scared him more than he anticipated; she was breaking down his flimsy barriers, and he could feel himself weakening.
Her voice sounded again, this time worried and so soft her question was barely audible: "James?"
He couldn't keep his composure any longer. James gripped his head with his hands and sobbed helplessly, steadily falling tears brushing his face before dripping onto the carpet. Too miserable to feel the embarrassment that he knew he would later, he forced himself back to silence, and wiped his eyes hurriedly with the back of his hand.
"At the bank," he began, his speech purposely slow, "when I was distracting th- the guards, they..."
James took a few seconds to keep his self-control from collapsing again, swallowing. "There were these agents there already, and they- they shot the cops." He watched Jessie and Meowth's eyes widen in surprise. "I didn't know- but I- Jessie, I helped them do it! It's my fault-"
The sentence was cut short by a second bout of hopelessness that rendered James speechless again, only whimpers escaping his clenched teeth. Equally wordless, Jessie set the bottle down on the counter behind her, and moved forwards to pull James into a hug. He would have been more startled at her willingness to show such compassion should his mind have been unclouded, but he merely wept with his chin resting on her shoulder, letting her hands clutch his thin frame.
"These guards- they were killed by Team Rocket agents?" Jessie asked quietly when the two had backed out of the embrace again. James tried to answer her, but could only nod. Jessie seemed to think about this for a while.
"It ain't your fault," Meowth mumbled. He raised his cerulean eyes to James, the bitterness in his irises as clear as their colour. "Dere was no way ya could've known." The Pokemon's tone took James by surprise: it had a dangerous edge to it that Meowth reserved for his rare moments of total sincerity.
"He's right," Jessie agreed, nodding at James. "You didn't kill anybody. You didn't do anything wrong."
James smiled weakly. "You mean other than the whole robbing a bank thing?" he asked.
The lines on her brow softening, Jessie snickered. "Yeah. Other than that."
Carter stood up as his employees walked into his office, having changed back into their uniforms. Jessie, James and Meowth- as usual- kept their distance at the back of the crowd.
"Well," Carter said, placing his palms on his desk and smiling boldly, "welcome back." Unsurprisingly, no one was brave enough to reply. "First of all, I want to congratulate all of you for the success of the mission. The police are showing no signs of having successfully tailed us so far, and the extraction of the money has secured us the planned amount. I'd just like to run through the events of your individual tasks." He pointed a finger at one of the agents at the front of the group. "Tell me, if you'd be so kind- were there any complications in your role?"
The woman hesitated before speaking. "No, sir," she said. "We, uh, arrived at the bank at on time, then proceeded to get the money by holding the staff and people inside at gunpoint. The security showed up, but they surrendered their weapons when they saw they were outnumbered. Then we left and got into the vans."
Carter nodded his head. "Good." He narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar people opposite. "Who was on the team assigned to get rid of the guards at the left of the bank?"
"Ah, that's us, sir," James heard McCarty respond from somewhere in front, recognising his voice immediately. "We got a good vantage point from the rooftop. When the cops had entered the alley, we took them out with the silenced guns, and, um, yeah, we climbed down and left in the van."
"All right- that's good." Carter cleared his throat. "And the guards to the right of the building? Who was responsible for their disposal?"
A man on James' left raised his hand halfway. "Yeah, that was us, sir," he said.
"Any complications?"
The man rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, we were in position to shoot the guards, but..."
Carter looked unimpressed. "Go on?"
"Um, well, we didn't... When it said to shoot them on the briefing, I thought it was gonna be with a tranquilizer or something," the man blurted. "So... We didn't do it."
"You didn't do it?" Carter repeated, his voice too still.
"N-No, sir." A nervous smile flickered onto the agent's face, fading as quickly as it had appeared. "Um, you see, when uh, Giovanni was around, we didn't really go in for... that method, much."
"Regardless of what you may have been used to before," Carter said brusquely, "these were simple orders."
"Yeah, I- I'm sorry sir, it's just we didn't want to kill them."
Carter's expression darkened. "What's your name?" he snapped.
"Alonzo, sir," the agent replied, the tremor in his voice giving away his fear.
"And your partner in the mission?"
"That was Harry," Alonzo said, turning to the man at his side.
"And do either of you have any idea how much danger you put your colleagues in?" Carter growled. "You left the guards alive, armed, and free to take out the agents who were leaving the bank!"
The other man with a shaved head- Harry- chimed in: "The cops dropped their weapons and ran off anyway when they saw how many people they were up against, sir."
"That's besides the point," Carter snapped. "What if the guards hadn't been so cowardly? What if they'd decided to play the hero and, I don't know, shot at you all? The tasks in your briefings aren't just there for the fun of it!"
Although James felt deeply sympathetic towards the pair of agents currently under Carter's wrath, he was just glad that it wasn't him on the receiving end of the rebuke.
"Screw this," Harry muttered, glaring back at Carter. "I didn't sign up to be a murderer." To James' astonishment, Harry spun on his heel and began marching towards the door. "I quit!"
Seeing Carter's gesture, two men in suits that had been standing idly by the exit moved away from their posts, and grabbed Harry's arms. "Get off!" Harry yelled, unsuccessfully trying to shake them off.
"Cut it out," Alonzo hissed to his partner, obviously aware of the hole Harry was digging himself into. He shakily turned back to Carter. "He's just stressed out, sir- he doesn't mean it. Our loyalty will always be with Team Rocket- please, sir."
Carter stared back at the obsequious young man in front of him, unblinking. "The rest of you may leave."
The other agents exchanged glances before obliging, moving past Harry and Alonzo to the door.
"Let me go!" Harry demanded angrily as the two men holding him dragged him towards Carter's desk.
"Sir, please," Alonzo begged, watching his partner struggle. "He's not himself today. Please, just give him another chance to-"
"Silence!" Carter interrupted. He shot an impatient look at the agents waiting by the door, resulting in their hasty departure.
"Now he's in for it!" someone giggled as soon as the door closed. "The boss'll really tear into that idiot!"
"I feel sorry for the guy," another person replied. "Harry's always nice to me when we meet on the field."
"Still, he's gotta be brainless to talk to Carter like that. It's his own fault he's in trouble."
"Maybe you're right. Oh well. I'll ask him about it tomorrow. I always see him and Alonzo in the line at lunch."
Looking concerned, Jessie broke her attention away from the agents talking around them. "Let's go," she said, nudging James and Meowth. "No point in hanging around."
James murmured his agreement, and looked back at Carter's office. "He really is as scary as Giovanni was," he thought. "Maybe even more so."
"No!" Harry cried out from behind the closed doors.
They'd made it about halfway down the corridor when the gunshot boomed behind them.
