N ran toward the dark spires that were the buildings of Nimbasa City, determination enough to keep his arms and legs pumping despite his ragged breaths. Thanks to King's kindness, his hunger was sated, and although King had also shown his transformation by offering to help him stop Ghetsis and the Sages, N could not accept his aid.

He was thankful for it, of course, but he could not. Ghetsis might have manipulated him, but it was N who had formed Team Plasma. He had spoken all those times to the populace, convincing them that Pokemon were slaves. He had killed Drayden in the name of a cause he no longer believed in. That meant he had murdered someone for no reason.

He could have blamed his father, but he did not. It was his fault, and so he would fix everything himself. King did not need to endanger his life and the lives of his Pokemon to undo N's mistakes.

The first buildings that lined the edge of the city blurred past him as he sprinted, feet slapping on the concrete. As before, there was not a soul in sight that he could see, but he heard something coming from the distant inner-city. A buzz like he had stuck his head inside a bees nest - the clamor of thousands of people, of Team Plasma.

The rally was beginning.

Through narrow alleyways and streets, he ran, the noise growing louder, the sun beating against the skin of his neck, glinting in the many windows of the city. Sweat made trails down his face.

He licked his lips as he ran, tasting salt. He did not have a plan, not exactly, for how he would get around Ghetsis if he tried to stop N with his Pokemon. Yet, if the people saw that his father was a trainer, and, in addition, saw that he was attacking N, surely they would side with N.

That was why he pushed himself to sprint. He could not be caught by Ghetsis when there was no one around to witness the exchange. He didn't dare slow, not even for a second to catch his breath, and soon, with the blaring hum of conversation ringing in his ears, he turned a corner, and there they were, gathered in the center of the amusement park.

N staggered to a stop, panting hard. There were thousands, as he had guessed, squeezed between Ferris wheels and roller coasters like a river flowing around jutting rocks. There were clothes of every color. N could not see where his father or the Sages were, but he was positive they were somewhere nearby, waiting to make their speech.

He scanned the area. There must be somewhere to stand that would allow all of these people to see me.

There. A set of painted red stairs that led to a platform at the base of a Ferris wheel. It was there that he would make his stand.

Having regained his breath, he started toward it. Oddly, he began to think of the times when he was a small child when he would see his father and love him and hug him. Ghetsis had not been around often, but N recalled those days that he had as days that he was happiest. Had Ghetsis been evil, even back then?

Yes. He had. N still did not know the full reason, but it was then that his father began to show him dead and injured Pokemon.

He supposed that most of his life was a lie because of Ghetsis. The thought turned his stomach. He could not say with certainty that he loved the man as a father any longer. Once this was all over, once he had thwarted Ghetsis' plans, perhaps his father could be redeemed. There could be a small amount of good left in him, even after everything he had done.

As he reached the edge of the crowd, the same thing that had happened in Castelia City happened again. People did not recognize him at first, but when he progressed further, his presence became known. Word of what he had said in that city hadn't spread far, for people gasped and called out his name. Soon, each person was turning to look in his direction, some straining to catch a glimpse. People parted for him as if he were a celebrity. He did not necessarily like the attention, but it was what he had counted on: it was necessary if he were to show them the error of their ways. The error of what he had shown them.

He stepped on to the platform. He turned so that he was facing them. They waited expectantly to hear his words, beaming at him, eyes wide and mouth hung ajar or split into grins. He looked around at them.

N held out his arms, as he once did while giving a speech. He opened his mouth.

A crack like lightning, sharp and abrupt, made his close it again. N would recognize that sound anywhere.

A gunshot.

At first, he did not feel anything more than a slight impact, as if someone had lightly slapped him. He looked down. Blood seeped into the white cloth of his shirt. His arms fell limp, people screamed; one of his hands went to the wound at the center of his chest. The warm liquid coated his palm. So much. Why is there so much?

He staggered back. Someone had shot him.

The crowd erupted into a rampage of screams, distant echoes to N's ears. Suddenly his legs no longer supported him. He fell to his knees, vision blurry, searching for who had done it.

The mob became a wave of movement and shouts and ferocious scrambling.

And then N saw him.

Standing at the far edge of the crowd was a man dressed in the uniform of a police officer. The hand that held the gun pointed toward N was charred and black.

It was his father, holding the gun that N once used to kill Drayden.

Ghetsis cackled. Some turned to look at him, pointing. Soon all saw who had fired the shot. A police officer, they would think.

N collapsed. What… what is happening? No… no… this cannot…

He clawed toward the edge of the platform. Black encroached at the corners of his vision. Strength fled his arms, until the point where he could no longer use them. He was cold. So very cold.

His eyes began to close, the blackness taking over. He still did not feel any pain, but the thoughts that came through his befuddled brain knew something was wrong.

Luna. So cold. He thought that if only he had Luna beside him, maybe then he would not be so cold.