Author's Excuse
Sorry for the long wait, everyone. The chapter ended up longer than I thought, so it took longer to edit it. But we're out of the Radio Tower, which is a good thing. Enjoy the chapter!
I didn't break a finger last night, though it did hurt like hell. What did happen was that I dreamed of creepy crimson eyes on a cute kitten.
As for the hideout...
It was still my responsibility to neutralize the situation, and I hated that, but I went through it anyway. I still had to strengthen my team. That's what I told myself as I wandered deeper into the hideout, passing and battling one indistinct Team Rocket grunt after another. These people were so indistinguishable, they must have been created from a machine. It must have been a very stupid machine, in fact. If it was up to me, I would've fired the goddamn manufacturing supervisor a long time ago.
So that's with the grunts, since I don't want so spend much more time discussing them. The pattern of the hideout itself consisted of several rooms and doors, based overall on a square pattern. The doors were those sliding, elevator style kind. They were able to be moved through the use of switches that were positioned in the central room. They were annoying, and I tripped like twenty times because it was so annoying. The colored tiles on much of the floor were chipped by the time I was done with it, as scratched and dirtied up as they were. One particular green tile had the trace of my blood on it. It was my favorite tile.
On the twentieth fall, my last fall, I stayed on the ground for a few moments because I was too lazy to get up. I spotted a shard of red tile on the floor, doubtless torn away through my many falls. I picked it up, carefully enough so that I wouldn't cut myself with it, and scratched the wall with it. A stark white line showed up from beneath the shard. I looked around; nobody was there. So I carved "PIKACHU EST PUER MOLESTUS" into the metal wall in angry writing, and nobody even cared, because nobody yet known this writing on the walls business to happen, save for me. It was so awesome, I added, "AUDIMUS JUPITER, MAGNA MATER," just for the hell of it. It didn't even make sense. It probably didn't make sense grammatically, but I have to admit I didn't check for sure.
Around this time I began to hear footsteps clanging, rapid footsteps. Somebody was running here. I got to my feet and fled to the next room. I skirted around the next few rooms, the rubber soles of my shoes rubbing against the tiled floors. Eventually I found myself out of that labyrinth of doors and in just good time, because somebody had noticed my chicken scratch on the wall. People started screaming.
"AN OCCULT CULT ATTACK! Everyone, this is a cult's attack! Someone had written something religious on the walls! Someone had written something religious on the walls, and we think this is the workings of a mass cult!"
I started sprinting to the door. The alarms were beginning to sound.
"Look at all this blood—!"
"Human sacrifices, that must be it!"
"Someone has to call the police."
"You idiot! The police are also looking for us, we can't call them..."
I was running as fast as I could by then, past the metal walls and the screaming grunts and the screaming alarms and the screaming janitors. The grunts thought the writings on the walls were much more suspicious than me, so they barely looked at me. I got a phone call just then, and I ducked in behind a pile of crates to answer it. A pack of running grunts whizzed by me. They became joined by the janitors.
I accepted the phone call. "Hello!"
"Hi, Lyra, it's Arnie. I want to talk to you about Venonat. I'm always with my Venoat. It's so cute, I just love it!"
Meanwhile, all around me sirens were blaring, and the grunts were running and screaming, pushing each other into walls and scrambling to get to the room with the sliding doors.
"Sometimes," Arnie continued, seemingly oblivious to the loud sounds, "I give my Venoat carrots. It has such cute front teeth! It nibbles on it softly, and its beautiful big red eyes stare up at me so adorably, I could just feel my heart squeeze."
"Um," I said, ducking back after being knocked on the shoulder hard by a sprinting grunt, "I don't like bugs." I slid closer to the wall, one hand still wrapped around my Pokégear. Team Rocket grunts rushed next to me, provoking a sweaty breeze to come my way. "Sorry about that, but it's the truth. I can't talk about them coherently."
"Well," Arnie said, "to change the subject, I just—"
I couldn't hear the rest of what he said; a grunt had just screamed into my ear that moment. "Wait, uh, can you say that again?"
"I just saw a female Nidoran for the first time."
"Oh, that's great. Hey, Arnie, I have to go. We'll talk again soon, right? Sorry about this, but I have to go."
"Huh? Wait—"
I hanged up. As I was getting up from my corner behind the crates, my foot kicked something. I turned, watching an Ultra Ball slowly roll away.
Okay, Ultra Balls are worth a lot of money, people. There was no way I was just letting that sweet ball roll away, destined for an executive's pocket. I jumped over the crates and pushed through the thick mass of Team Rocket grunts as I followed the rolling Ultra Ball. I shoved the shoulders of the other shoving grunts so I could stay ahead and keep the Ultra Ball within my eyesight, but suddenly I found myself tripping on someone's shoes.
I fell forward, then pushed against the guy in front of me as I got back up.
He glared at me and stepped forward, securing his left hand against the wall. "You're not going any further."
I brushed away a fallen strand of my hair. "How come?"
" 'Cause you're an enemy." He came closer. "And I don't show mercy to my enemies."
At that point, I could smell his breath. It smelled like cheese.
I scanned the hallway. The grunts had mostly all ran away, and the Ultra Ball was sitting two inches past the grunt's shoes. I slowly fell to my knees, my eyes never leaving the grunt's face.
"I'm not an enemy," I said.
"Yes, you are," the grunt said. His voice sounded pretty calm, which meant he was pretty crazy. "You're an enemy. You look like one. You look like a brat."
I slid my arm past his shoe, keeping eye contact. "You look like a big brat."
Anger flashed on his face. I gripped the Ultra Ball and quickly retreated my hand, slamming the Ultra Ball into my bag and standing up.
"See ya, brat," I said, and I ran off. He didn't catch me, probably because he tripped over his own shoes.
The hallways were generally empty. There was still the occasional grunt lying around, but they were all making selfies on wooden crates. One of them did stop me, though. He wanted to take a selfie with me.
I sat next to him on the crates as he held the smartphone up. I feel like it would be suspicious if I refused.
"Say cheese!" the grunt said with his slight Italian accent as the light flooded into our eyes. I squinted pretty damn hard, and my mouth swelled up. All in all, my face looked like it was going to explode. It was an accident, but when I allowed my eyes to relax I felt an ache settling in between the corners of my eyes. I rubbed them.
After the shot, he brought his phone closer and frowned. "Huh. Your face looks a little bit..." He hesitated, glancing at me. "You should relax your face next time."
His Italian accent was pretty cool. I actually quite liked it; it was familiar to me. My dad's mom was Italian, which is why I was able to recognize the accent.
"Yeah, it's not my best face," I said.
He agreed with me and I moved on. I found the Director eventually. He was an old man with a weathered brown jacket, the combination of which I had seen at this point a million times. Old men must be sticklers for the fashion of old men.
Anyway, the Director was contained in a small room, which showed a lack of a struggle. The man was just standing there. There wasn't a guard anywhere, nor a rope. The Director was locked there by nothing but the aches that came from old age. I silently cursed Team Rocket as I escorted the Director out because it was just too easy.
"Thank you, thank you for rescuing me," the Director hurriedly said. He wasn't quiet, but the passing Team Rocket grunts that lied on the crates barely looked up from their smartphones. "The Radio Tower!" he gasped. "What happened there?"
"Nothing much," I said. "Team Rocket took it over and played James Bond music. The radio show hosts are scared as hell, though."
"Scared as hell?"
"Pardon my coarse language. I don't know another way to describe it, sir. They're not sure they're going to make it. They're paralyzed in fear and aren't making a run for it. They might die of starvation if you don't do something."
The Director nodded grimly and gave me a key card without hesitation. He probably already knew that the police was useless without even asking.
"Use that to open the shutters on the third floor," he said.
"Nobody else can do this?"
The thing is, I was kind of shocked that he didn't have an assistant, or something. If he did, he should've asked me to bring that person. Giving important key cards to random girls is an awful plan. I could've been Team Rocket in disguise. There could have been one single semi-genius in Team Rocket who thought of getting the special key card that way by tricking the Director into thinking he was being rescued.
However, I decided not to say any of that. That too would bear the mark of suspicion.
The wrinkles on his face deepened as he gave me a stern look, though. "Why are you asking me that in a time like this? I'm begging you to help me. There's no telling what they'll do if they control the transmitter."
"The transmitter?"
"They may even be able to control Pokémon using signals. That's what I'm most concerned about."
The Director had a point. I sighed, knowing that there was no way to back out of this without a more than slightly guilty conscience. I was, as he remarked right afterwards, the only one he could count on. It was a downright awful thing to admit it because nobody should ever get so low to count on me, but it was pretty much true. I was also pretty much doomed.
I was thinking how doomed I was when I ran back to the Radio Tower. It was already being past 10 PM or so, and I had yet to finish up my work. The city was still crowded, albeit with less children at these darker hours. You may as well forget about the damn crowd, though, because it was obvious that nobody out there gave a bloody shit about what was happening at the Radio Tower.
The police didn't even give a shit, and they were paid to give a shit. They didn't investigate the Radio Tower after they arrested Pikachu Boy, or arrest me, even though I was evidently an accomplice. Let's face it—the cops are corrupted. I'm not being blind about it; it was clear to anyone out there that Team Rocket was paying the cops off. It was about as clear that nobody really cared.
So those ideas, those thoughts in my mind, died almost as soon as they came. I was still bored as hell. I was still going to defeat Team Rocket and carry on with the rest of my life, hopefully out of Team Rocket's clutches because I have better things to do.
I inserted the key card in the appropriate location, which I was able to identify because it said "KEY CARD HOLDER" in neon colors above it. A small clicking sound uttered, and the metal doors that blocked my passage slides away into the walls of which they were kept. I entered the room. Nobody was really there except for this one grunt, though I think we all understand at this point guards were unnecessary. All the battles I did with them only trained my Pokémon and made me stronger.
Hamako yawned loudly, and the grunt ran away out of fear. He probably thought that Hamako made a battle roar.
Then I got a phone call again. This time it was from a guy named Derek. Of course, I picked it up because I had nothing else to do with my life.
"Lyra...I have decided to give you a nugget."
"A chicken nugget?" I covered my mouth
"A golden nugget," Derek said. I didn't remember who Derek was, but his voice sounded precise and steady on the phone.
"Oh," I said. "That sounds...expensive. Are you sure?"
"My Pikachu loves it," Derek said. I started to guess that he was one of those Pokéfans.
"Okay," I said awkwardly. "Thanks, Derek. But I have to go now." I hung up. I didn't even know Derek's last name, but I was perfectly prepared to head over to him in a possibly quiet area just to get a golden nugget that I earned from doing nothing.
If you're wondering why I can't bring them straight to voicemail or something, well, Pokégears suck. Or at least, my Pokégear sucks. There's no texting portion, no voicemail, no camera. You can switch the backgrounds to a few different colors, and that's pretty much it. I don't know what my mom was thinking when she wasted her money and bought that piece of trash for me. It doesn't even show if you've missed calls, and it never goes on silent. You can't delete contacts, either. I should give this away to Lorcan for all the good it gives me. Maybe it can give him the social life he needs with other Dragonair. They can converse on paranormal young adult romances, or whatever else male Dragonair chat about.
I placed my nearly useless hunk of trash in my bag and walked on. There was really nothing else to do but ponder on those strange, eternally minor complexities of life (what would Lorcan do with a phone? what shimmers of intelligence is hidden deep within the stupid Team Rocket machine?). I carelessly ran up the stairs, cursing as I triggered a piece of mud on my new boots. I was kicking off the mud as I entered the room, spotting another staircase to go ip on and curse. I cursed as I approached it.
"Now, wait one second!" someone screamed.
I would've made a run for it had it not been Proton. So I paused instead, staring.
I don't think Proton actually noticed. He was somewhat out of breath since he ran to me, his hair slightly rustled. It looked hot, though. It totally looked hot.
"Aren't you the one who got in our way at the Slowpoke Well?" he said, his voice hoarse.
"Uh, no," I said. "That was somebody else, probably..."
"It is you," Proton said in shock. "I had doubts before, since you look much more different. But I can't forget that voice."
Hamako looked disgusted. But when she noticed me looking at her, she smoothed out her expression and gave me a pleasant smile. I looked away.
"Why can't you just quit this?" I told Proton. "I suppose, uh...your options for employment would rise if you did so." At Proton's blank look, I added, "C'mon, you can't accept that many people would hire someone working with a gang organization, even if you have a nice face. It doesn't work that way, you know." At an even blanker look, I added, "Your grunts are idiots and they have bad management. Surely you'd noticed this?"
The color of his face rose. "So you're doing all this because you want to make me angry."
Well, at least the hoarseness of his voice was wearing off.
I backed away by a half step. (My legs were starting to get strangely numb by standing in one place.) "How am I making you angry?"
Proton took an entire step forward. I could see the sharp color of his light eyes in striking detail, a greenish blue color—cyan. The intricate curves around his iris were so beautifully symmetrical, looking as though they had been etched in by an artist.
"Everyone wants to make me angry nowadays. Also, you insulted my grunts, my leadership, and indirectly, my intelligence and looks. And through it all, you look at me with that insolent stare on your face..."
"An insolent stare?"
"You're doing it right now."
I adjusted my gaze; averted it. "It wasn't an insolent glare...I mean, stare. It was a nice stare."
His eyebrows furrowed. I rose my gaze back up, swallowing. His cyan eyes locked into my brown ones and he leaned forward, his sweet breath grazing the side of my face.
"Do you want to test me?" he muttered, a hand setting against my shoulder. He gently brushed strands of my hair off of my shoulder, his hands soft like velvet from where he touched my neck.
I noticed this flab of what I assume was my hair launched itself upon my face, and I dizzily shoved it away from my face. Proton watched me like he had never seen anyone dizzily shove hair before.
What a bastard, I thought. What a bloody bastard. Another strand came to my face; I blew it away. Proton had a pained look on his face, the kind people give if someone had a huge coughing fit and they're older than you. He's acting like he never saw less than decent hair before.
"I hate my hair," I confirmed to Proton. "I hate it so much, but I know that if I shave it off it'll grow up again and I'll just hate it more."
"Hmm."
I touched the tips of my hair, desperate enough to consider doing pigtails again.
"You don't mind if I play around with your hair, right?" Proton asked suddenly.
"Meh," I said.
"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?"
"It's a 'I don't really care.' Just don't pull on it. Or put something weird in it. You get the drill."
If he did anything awful, Hamako could literally smash Proton into pieces. She was watching everything closely with those sharp blue eyes of hers, all 400 something pounds of her tense in anticipation. One signal from me and Proton could be on the floor, his spine crumbling and his bones breaking under the weight of her fully grown mass of flesh. He could be suffocating under her tremendous weight, either slowly dying as his organs crushed inside of him, or immediately falling into the reign of death if Hamako decided to simply smash him then with one strong pull down. So basically, I don't fear Proton or anybody's bullshit when I'm with Hamako. Even gunfire would take much too long in trying to kill her.
Proton took another strand of my hair and softly pressed it to my face. "It's a nice hair color. Chestnut. Nice and straight." As if highlighting the latter features, he smoothed my hair down in long, practiced strokes. His hands felt pretty great, actually—a soothing, calming presence, like small waves lapping on ocean shores.
"You know, you don't seem to be that bad of a kid," he mused, untangling a few persistent messes. "Your Pokémon seems to like you, at least..."
"You care about Pokémon?" I said, trying to not be distracted by the weirdness of my hair, which was obviously distracting Proton.
"I care about the things I can afford to care about," he said seriously, stroking the strands of hair in his hands.
"So you don't care about Pokémon." He didn't answer to that, but at least he was honest about it. Lance can learn a thing or two from Proton's book. Knowing Lance, he might even enjoy that.
Proton kept trying to fix my hair, ruffling the things that resemble bangs down my face, experimenting with different lengths. He smoothed hair down my forehead and studied it.
"Is being a hairstylist your dream, or something?"
"Something like that." Proton's fingers froze as they touched my "chestnut" hair. I strained and fussed around to see what was wrong. His hand slipped from my hair.
"No, no," he said hurriedly, making a circular motion on my cheek to calm me, "nothing's wrong."
"Okay," I said.
Looking back, I don't know why I went through this. I think it was the thought that he was probably going to give me cool hair tips that kept me standing with him at 10 or 11 PM on a Tuesday. Proton's own hair was silky and nice, a gentle blue that matched with the color of his eyes. It was good indication of any that Proton knew what he was talking about with hair, if he really meant anything he said to me.
"Can...can I braid your hair?" he asked.
"Sure." I was desperately in love at this point.
So he started to braid my hair.
Proton's eyes rarely met with mine after that. He was transfixed with chestnut brown and straight hair, I figured there was no getting him out of it. He did my hair carefully. Each braid was made slowly, softly; had this been done by a mother, I would've said it was loving. His hands stayed gentle. Despite that, when his silken, white hand brushed against my skin once more, I turned hot and cringed.
He had let go and watched me, his eyebrows furrowed out of concern this time instead of anger. "Is something wrong?"
Our eyes met for the first time in a while. Proton's eyes seemed more of a deep blue that moment, widened slightly from my alarm. I drunk in the sight of him, of his cyan eyes.
I shook my head. "I'm okay."
He continued on, albeit a bit reluctantly. Though, over the span of a few more minutes, he gained confidence. His fingers spun around me, swift and skillful. He started humming to himself too. It was a small melodic tune, and I have it in my head right now.
I was feeling weird after a while (WHAT THE FUCK WERE WE DOING?), so I told him to quit it. He released my hair without a question and stepped back, still studying my hair carefully.
"Proton," I said. "Why are you working with Team Rocket? You're not going to get much hairstyling done in here."
Proton's face darkened. "You need...money to train," he said carefully. "You need money to get a job, and you need a job to make money."
"That's not an answer, you know. Besides, you have money. Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me that you don't have any money after all that Slowpoke cutting? The price of the Slowpoke tails were 99999999999 something in Poké dollars, and idiots actually bought it."
Proton's face froze. He looked at me like he couldn't believe that I'd just said that. I stared at him back. I was pretty fucking tired of all this bullshit. He had fucking money, he just didn't want to admit it. He was practically sitting on money and saying he didn't have it. I saw him lead the Slowpoke cutting and stuff, and I was a hundred percent sure he was rich from the whole thing.
Then Proton smiled. It was distinct from his usual cruel smirk, but I still felt shivers down my spine. "We hear Jupiter."
"I don't know why you just said that."
"Audimus Jupiter." He smoothed a hand over his own chin. "Magna Mater. Molestus Puer." He lowered his hand. "I heard about what happened in the Underground. Do you know? I also saw this selfie."
Proton tapped a bunch of random shit into his perfect iPhone. He lifted the screen to me. "See this?" He magnified the image: it was me and the Italian guy. Proton scrolled to the bottom of the image, and there was the time and date. Neither the time nor the date happened a long time ago.
"So," he said, still smiling, though that smile seemed colder to me now, "tell me everything you know about it."
I should've let him to keep braiding my hair.
"Well," I said, "what do you know about it?"
"I know that there was a lot of noise about it. I know that there were some traces of blood." His gaze drifted to my skinned knees, exposed through the ripped fabric of my pants. His gaze snapped back to my face. He was smiling as much as ever.
"Okay," I snapped. "So I was there. I know that somebody was in the area after me. I think he was the one who did it, actually."
"Ah? Then describe this person."
I made up an ordinary old man person, complete with the worn brown jacket and the gray hair, but I could tell from the light in his eyes that he knew I was lying. If this was Petrel I could've fooled them, but for whatever reason I wasn't fooling Proton. I don't know why Proton hangs around with such stupid people if he had enough brains to look past my lies. I guess it was the money. It must have been some money.
"Now, are you ready to confess to me what really happened?" Proton said when I was finished.
"I'm not changing my story."
"I won't punish the person who did the carving on the wall." Proton looked at me pointedly then.
"Still."
The light went out of his eyes. What remained was a vacuous expression as he surveyed me, biting on his thumb as he did so.
Proton said, "I would've warned you to be careful, but I know better than that. Since you seem to wish it, I'll show you the full extent of a Team Rocket Executive's wrath." His hand reached for his Poké Balls.
"We don't have to battle," I said hopefully. "Let's go out for ice cream instead."
"Why don't you confess what really happened and we both can go on with our lives?"
"What'll happen when someone confesses?"
"Nothing."
"Then what's the point?"
"Trust," Proton said.
"Trust?"
"Go figure."
I paused for three seconds. Proton waited expectantly, his fingers pausing after they encircled the cheap plastic of the Poké Ball.
Finally I said, "Can I get a lawyer?"
Executive Proton sent out Golbat.
I actually still liked Proton, even after my initial attraction wore off. Hamako was able to defeat both of his Pokémon in three hits, and I still liked him. After the battle, I almost invited him for ice cream before I remembered it was past 11 PM and everything was closing up. I didn't want to get his phone number because that would be sort of too obvious, so instead I ruffled his hair and ran up the stairs in high sped so he wouldn't kill me.
"You may have won this time, but all you did was make Team Rocket's wrath grow!" Proton screamed after me, a contrived remark that was expected of him.
He bursted into laughter the second after he said that. He knew how dumb that comment was.
Proton's a smart guy, I concluded. He's just completely wasting his life.
I reached a small room. There was a sign next to the staircase, and it read, "Go up for Observation Deck." To the side, which was led by a wide hallway, there was a red elevator. However, Ariana stood by the elevator, staring at the wall. For a spilt second, I thought she was waiting for me, but that didn't make sense. You would think she would run after me or launched thousands of grunts at me or something. It's true that she could have been the one who sent Proton, but Proton isn't that great a Pokémon battler. She should have gone with him and combined their strength.
Finally I decided that I was just going to go up to her myself. I switched Hamako with Kitty because of the former's weariness, and walked to Ariana quietly. She didn't look my way for whatever reason.
I tapped her on the shoulder. "Yo."
Ariana turned towards me, not looking surprised at all. Her lips, red with lipstick, curled as she made a grin. "Hey, you... Remember me from the hideout in Mahogany Town?" Her voice sounded flirtatious with a deeper undertone that people apparently call sexy. It was disturbing me, though.
"Yeah," I said. "I remember you."
She looked over me, still with that smile, then she looked over to the hallway, smile still latched on. "This time...this time it looks like you're really all alone. All alone..."
"Same to you," I said briskly. "Besides, I didn't even need Lance. I'm a one-woman show, you know."
"I see," she said coldly, tossing out a female Arbok. "What do you intend to do, Lyra? You can't fight us forever."
"I could, but then I'll get bored," I reflected. "Kitty, come here."
Arbok launched on Kitty out of nowhere, her eyes full of savage aggression. The Togetic cried out, his little white wings fluttering uselessly as the Arbok lunged her head down and bit Kitty squarely in the neck. Kitty screamed, an awful, bloodcurdling sound that made me freeze.
"Kitty, extrasensory," I said, clenching the ends of my shirt hard. I looked down; my fists were turning white. "Kitty, please, extrasensory."
Kitty escaped from Arbok, tackling and pushing his way through. He gave a look over his left wing at Arbok and shivered.
"Kit—"
A flash of pink light flared from Kitty and exploded into the Arbok. Arbok cried out, her tail waving limply as she faltered under the pulsing power. Ariana hissed, a wild look emerging from her eyes.
I released the ends of my shirt, taking Lorcan's Poké Ball. "Kitty, return. Now."
A shuddering Kitty came to me, and in a flash of light was once again safely within the confines of his Poké Ball. I swear, once, twice, and threw out Lorcan's ball. The Poké Ball swirled through the air. Upon hitting the ground, Lorcan was ejected, his blue tail curled up snootily around his pretty head. Purple flames mixed with a sickly yellow color broke out from his mouth, hitting Arbok. Arbok cried out once more in the midst of these crackling great flames. Then it was gone, having disappeared in a flash of pink light. I looked at Ariana and saw her retreat a Poké Ball, her face pale.
The rest of the battle went slightly better. However, I was still able to discern that most, if not all of my Pokémon, were out of it.
When her last Pokémon (Vileplume) was defeated, I retreated Cinder. Kitty was dizzy and bumped into walls as we walked around, so I went back to the Pokémon Center. My Pokémon were being healed by Nurse Joy when I felt my stomach twisting. A stab of pain dashed on my sides.
I ran—limped—to the bathroom. Leaning my head over the toilet, I abruptly puked my guts out. I stared at the toilet in disbelief. I didn't really eat anything all day, so all I just did was puke out water and contribute absolutely nothing to the world. It pissed me off.
After splashing my face with water several times, I headed out to the Radio Tower again. I was afraid that if I ate something I'll threw it up, and I was afraid that if I tried to rest I'll just stay awake thinking about the Radio Tower. So that's why I went back to the Radio Tower instead of doing something reasonable.
At the Radio Tower, I got a call from Irwin.
"Hearing about your escapades rocks my soul! It sure does!"
Oh, God.
Irwin hung up.
I was surprised that he hung up so soon, more surprised that it wasn't me who hung up first, but I wasn't about to call him and encourage further nonsense. I placed my Pokégear in my purse and moved on.
I reached the elevator that was next to Ariana. Get this, Ariana was still there. She gave me a look that was a mix of nastiness and admiration, and she was definitely still there. I walked past her trying not to look at her. The elevator had a single button available, and it was the one to go up into the Observation Deck. Like any idiot, I pressed it.
The elevator was like any other elevator in the country in that it had a blue floor, white walls, and a see-through window that showed the wires and shit that brought the elevator up and down. It's like the developers of the thing wanted you to be freaked out as the elevator creeped up, watching the wires strain and move and gasp up and down like weirdo snakes. I waited impatiently, but at least there wasn't one of those employees who operate the elevator, asking you where you wanted to go, smiling cheekily while wearing those bright blue clothes and pushing elevator buttons with fingers enclosed by white gloves. God, it would've been awkward if anyone was there. I never understand why anyone had to be in the elevators in the first place to push buttons in brining you up or down. Pushing buttons is simple enough, even for a small child.
"You've arrived at the Observation Deck," the elevator boomed once it had stopped at the top. I don't know why it did that, either.
The doors parted, revealing the Observation Deck. I walked past the doors.
I didn't expect the Radio Tower to randomly have an Observation Deck, so I wasn't expecting anything. The Observation Deck, as I soon discovered, was basically this big, circular room with windows surrounding the whole thing. The glass was either dirty or just plain old; it was blurry and distorted the view beyond the windows, giving a dreamy quality to it. I looked out. All I could see was this field, and these small crops and bushes on them. That was it.
There were binoculars, sure, but using them made the image blurrier still. I slammed my hand away from it and noticed the man who stood at the middle of the Deck. He had been so quiet I barely looked over him before. The man has bright blue hair and the white clothes of a Team Rocket Executive. Blue hair is the best hair. Proton can tell you all about that.
I reluctantly approached the Executive. It was Archer. He only heard my footsteps when I was coming near him. Archer turned around, looked slightly bewildered to see me, and frowned. Archer, as you will later realize, is a raving lunatic with abandonment issues.
"You managed to get this far...?" he said, pursing his thin lips.
"Yeah," I said.
"You must be quite the Trainer."
"Yeah."
"We intend to take over this Radio Tower and officially announce our comeback," Archer said, though I hadn't even asked him about that yet. "That should bring our boss Giovanni back from his solitary training."
"Honestly, I don't think Giovanni gives a hoot about you people anymore. He was literally hiding in a cave just to get away from you."
"That is not true. One day, we will regain our former glory! We will rule over Johto and several nice vacation spots in Kanto, and nobody can stop then. I will not allow you to interfere with our meticulous plans!"
At the time, I only wanted him to stop talking. (My stomach had an upheaval from listening to too many exclamations.)
But do you see what I mean? Archer's obsession with Giovanni who had abandoned him is depressing. It's like a bad breakup, or something. In fact, I bet that the other Executives only came in because they felt sorry for Archer. Proton didn't seem to care about anything, Petrel didn't know what he was doing, and Ariana only cared about making money. She was just too lazy for an actual job. Proton was much in the same way, actually.
"If you do not retreat," Archer said, his face beginning to turn scarlet, "I will have to remove you forcibly, through the use of a Pokémon battle."
"Fine, I'll leave," I told Archer, but he already sent out Houndour.
I bit my lower lip. "Lorcan, surf."
Lorcan began using the move. He called to water, waves of it forming around him in preparation of a torrent. Suddenly, I felt that knife of pain again, stabbing at my stomach as though intent on drawing blood. I ignored it.
The Houndour fainted. Archer was about to take out Koffing.
Lorcan gave a me a look, a worried one. I brushed away his concern, leaning against the wall.
"Don't focus on me," I said. "Focus on the battle."
Lorcan made something that resembled a frown, turning back to the Team Rocket Executive. Koffing was out by then, gloomy and disgusting. You can tell that the Pokémon wasn't happy with the way his life was turning out now. I can't blame it.
Houndoom came out after Koffing. Houndoom jumped out for my legs and started biting off more of my pants. Panicking, I kicked the Pokémon off and sent Hamako out for that one. In a few blasts of water, Houndoom was whimpering.
"That's impossible," Archer blurted out, who didn't understand that if something was happening it was evidently not impossible.
I started clenching the ends of my shirt again, staring at the floor. Don'tthrowup, I thought.
"No!" Archer then cried after Houndoom was defeated. "Forgive me, Giovanni!"
"Already forgiven," I said, but Archer looked like he wanted to kill me.
"I don't know how this has happened, but our dreams...they have come to naught. I...was not up to task after all." Archer swallowed, the motion seeming painful down his white long throat. "Like Giovanni has done before me, I will disband Team Rocket here today." He was the type to give up, I guess.
Also, that other comment—I don't know how this has happened?—was nonsensical. Honestly, he was there the whole time. He should know what happened.
Archer stood there in hesitation, his stance swaying before he finally dipped his head to me. "Farewell," he whispered, a century of mystery and sweat hazing the air as he swooped by like a raven flying from a tree. He walked past me, that rank of sweat floating by with him. "Farewell, dear enemy, whom I was not strong enough to deflect. Farewell, Giovanni, who gave me a place and rank in life, and had ensured good things to me once; long, long ago. Farewell, sweet—"
I barfed on him.
