This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by ShonnaRose and JhinoftheOpera.
[13-2] Rebellion is a Form of Therapy
"Well, Christine, I'll see you in a few days. Our schedule still works fine, right?" asked the substitute, milquetoast therapist. Kris couldn't decide whether the woman's face or her guest office was more undecorated.
"Uhh, yeah. Thursday," she said.
"Consider working on what we talked about."
"Yeah, yeah, I've got to write down when I feel like I'm not in control." She gripped the small spiral-bound notebook and a pencil under her thinning arm, simultaneously irritating the drawn skin over her ribs. Holding them made her feel like her mother, for better or probably worse. "Simple stuff."
The woman's sanitized smile was her last gift before she pulled the door closed, though it was far more comforting than the four steel frowns of the armed guards waiting outside.
When Lucian read the Viceroy's mind, her agreement was broken by proxy. Since the man in charge knew she wasn't the sole shareholder of the contents of his head, she couldn't keep its market value just by keeping her mouth zipped and her teeth locked. Selling it off before things got bad would have been a better investment.
"What are you looking at?" Kris sneered at the agent closest, prompting his hand on a Poké Ball.
The burly man said nothing, allowing her a wide opportunity for just about anything. An insult? A government critique? A poem about how much she absolutely despised being babysat at seventeen? As much as she wanted to do one or all of them, she huffed instead.
Whatever. She was going to see Lucian, because they had a little to talk about after what happened yesterday.
The rustling of gear and the ting of footsteps on tile shadowed her as she marched down the halls, into a downward-bound elevator. It wasn't like before, where she was content to sneer and complain—after the sweet nectar of freedom was ripped away, she wanted to do something about it. Put someone in the floor, maybe.
She found the scarlet office door standing out in its hall, and when she tried to reach for the matching stained handle, a padded hand seized her wrist. She shot venom at the bald agent standing in her way.
"You're not allowed to speak to Dr. Furutre. Viceroy's orders," he announced.
"Was I supposed to know this ahead of time?" She shrugged him off and reached again, and this time his arm jammed into her neck like a crossbar. Were her Pokémon still not at the daycare center, she would've sprung Axe from his capsule and cleaved him in two with his bladed jaw. She tried to mimic his intimidating affect—cutting eyes, hunched back, everything short of growling.
Despite her tacit resistance, he refused to budge. "Step away from the door. Now."
Not super keen on seeing the situation escalate, she humored his request for a few steps. His stiff arm remained raised for a few seconds until he registered that she stopped moving. She wasn't entering, but she wasn't leaving.
"You're International Police." She focused on the leading man's scratched badge. "Terminus's goon squads."
The IP were meant as a global peacekeeping force. Their agents and their detectives were lent out by the International Pokémon League to its regional subunits to support their local police or to settle matters beyond the jurisdiction of any one region. Regardless of who their current "owners" were, however, they ultimately answered to only one person, and anyone with a nose for subtext understood what strings came attached with their deployment.
"The Viceroy has made a few slip-ups that Mister Terminus isn't a huge fan of. I'm sure it's important to you that we keep one of his most trusted delegates is kept in check," she said, with a little emphasis here and there to make it clear what she was leveraging.
The man reinforced his demand by switching his hand from his Poké Ball to his gun, deciding that his threat needed fewer consenting minds. "Move along."
Lucian's door cracked open. His lavender eye appeared in the gap behind the shield of his glasses, with only hints of the crimson office behind him. "Ah, excuse me. I'd prefer you keep the hallways clean."
"Uhh, hey Lucian." Kris waved and placed a brave foot towards the door.
The agent planted himself in the way again. "Doctor. We'll be taking her someplace else."
The gap opened further, and it froze all of the agents, and Kris herself, into a still life. Lucian wasn't a therapist emerging from his office—he was one of the region's four strongest Trainers and they were trespassing on his sacred domain. She knew factually that he could read thoughts and little else, but she still felt overwhelming psychic pressure pulsing from his head. Like a blizzard, it buried her.
Unhindered by the strength of his own mind, he cut through the cabal of men to meet her, his mouth a neutral line. As close as she was, she could see pink spidering at the edges of his eyes from lack of sleep, hidden from the others by the tint of his glasses. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Just fine," she said, surprised by her own lack of artifice. At least in this one, specific, mundane scenario, she was able to deliver some good news.
The leader tried to shove himself between them. "Leave this to us. The Viceroy says—"
"The Viceroy's word means nothing to me. If you'd like to report that to his majesty, by all means, but I'll be taking her inside my office now," explained Lucian.
She subtly shook her head to him. She wasn't some damsel—not that she didn't appreciate the gesture—and she could have laid out all four of them if worst came to worst. There were a few Rocket grunts with double-digit sentences and full-body casts that could attest to that, and only the vaguest color of scar in her side to show how little they got her back.
Though they were still tense, the men parted like stiff drapes, allowing her and Lucian to step inside. He hovered in the doorway in standoff when the men refused to clear the area.
"You," he accused the leading man. "You should visit your mother. Even if you're on less than ideal terms, she'll probably be happier with you than with her care nurse."
The man doubled back, eyes wide, and rubbed his temple.
"And you should speak to your girlfriend about your, ahem, pub hookups. The earlier you come clean, the easier it will be to mend your relationship," Lucian said to the burly guy, who similarly transformed from an adult professional to a child who just broke a vase.
It was with that note that he nearly splintered the door by slamming it on its frame, somehow with only a soft click instead of a bang. He sat in his desk by the door, crossed one leg over the other, and let the arctic atmosphere defrost. He was downright bone-chilling when he had no obligation to be warm. She averted her eyes from him, paranoid of him digging into her frontal lobe to learn about her earlier appointment, but the only buzz she heard was from the idling computer set to webpages about the latest back alley stabbing incident or something.
She noticed a large curtain hanging between his office space and the "patient" space, which was a new—and inspired—addition. Standing on her toes was uncomfortable, but she had etiquette. It wasn't her place to head inside and sit down until he properly invited her and served as a host.
"This room is soundproofed, for your information," he said, after her extended silence.
"I can see why the Viceroy was avoiding you," she whispered. A cup of ice water pooled condensation on the desk's red planks, the reflection of her unsteady face squished around its curved surface.
"Go ahead," he said. "I'm sure you're parched after your session."
"Well, I did cry a little this time." She slammed the full contents of the glass down her throat, not really letting it quench her thirst or wet her splitting lips. It dropped unceremoniously into her stomach.
"A good cry?"
"I don't feel like crawling in bed and waking up next week, so that's a good sign," she said, ignoring her heavy, sagging chest and hoping that he wouldn't notice.
He did. He wasn't having it. "I'm actually somewhat busy at the moment, so I don't believe I can accommodate you until—"
"No!" shouted Kris, loud and idiotic. She burned from her cheeks to her toes, matching the color of the cushions behind her. "I need to stay informed. I need to do something."
He reached for a book lying on his desk, sighed audibly, and cracked it open. It wasn't like him to act angry or flustered, and as he flipped erratically through the pages, she realized he was actively searching for the right thing to say.
"I understand that we came to an… agreement," he said. "But I'm not comfortable with you involving yourself only because you perceive that I want you to."
"I already told you I'm not mad. And I'm not doing this because of you."
"Then who are you doing this for?"
Just like in her sessions, it would have been so easy for him to just pry open her skull and read the answer himself, but he took the road less traveled. That had always been his goal, to force her to find the answer herself, even if it choked her in her own bed.
He was relying on her honest answer and her honest emotions when he asked that question, and she could feel it materialize at the concrete side of herself, well within Lucian's reach if only he didn't trust her.
Kris raised her eyes directly to him and tore into the cover of the spiral-bound notebook with her fingernails. "For myself."
A pregnant pause later, he set his own book on the table and leaned back, apparently more at ease. He fixed his turtleneck and overcoat, and adjusted his hair some, just to pretend like he was still professional. Feeling the burn in her throat, Kris wished she had a second glass to actually savor.
"So, uhh, that curtain." She tried to change the subject. "Is there a reason for—"
A man in a long coat burst through on command, shoulders at his ears. His bangs flew skyward with no evidence of hair product, and he was positively adorned with papers in each and every one of his pockets. "Dr. Furutre, we must resume the interrogation immediately! Yes, our quest is dependent on cracking this vagabond for all he knows about the Galactic Company!"
Kris peered past him into the carelessly pulled curtain. The central table in his office was replaced by a single chair, bound to which was a man whose mouth was sealed by tape around his entire head. Underneath his tight ropes, she could see a brilliant—and familiar—G-shaped emblem on the chest of his full-body suit. He rocked back and forth and screamed nothing, to his horror and her utter, morbid curiosity.
The coated man looked at her. He looked at Lucian. He looked at her again.
"Hold that thought," he said, and then straightened his back. "You must be the venerable Christine Masuta, daughter of the late Cynthia Masuta and Lance Masuta, rest their souls in peace. On my honor as a detective, I will determine the true nature of your parents' gruesome murders and bring true justice, the spirit of karmic retribution, to the Sinnoh Region!"
Lucian looked pale. "...Detective."
She crossed her arms and said, "Spill."
Words cannot describe how long I have been waiting for this introduction. The detective (I'm sure you know who he is) has made cameo appearances prior to this point, but I was just gripping my seat in anticipation of being able to write him for real. I think he's an absolute blast.
Next time is Part 3: Games From Above. See you someday!