"Pathetic… Truly pathetic, Silver," Giovanni reprimanded, his once-strong hazel eyes sorrowful. Silver hang his head.

"It was a mistake, alright? I didn't expect—"

"And that was your mistake." Even as Giovanni lay on his sickbed, he was still as not-proud as ever of his son, his son who killed the Legendaries; his son who helped build the same machine that made Mewtwo; his son who trained Mewtwo; his son who did everything in his power to keep the family business and his last-remaining family alive even when it'd be so easy to let all of it crumple and pave his own path as Pokémon Master Silver.

"You're not serious, Pops; all the crap I did for you, and this one damn—"

"This one mistake has cost our HQ its integrity, many fine Pokémon, and many semi-useful Grunts," Giovanni interrupted.

"Yeah, I know, I trained most of those fools, but you're not—"

"I really can't believe all of my fatherly advice has culminated this."

"YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!" he shouted, finally losing his cool. Giovanni didn't flinch at all, but he did finally shut his trap. "I know I made a mistake, but Pops, I'm twenty-eight-Arceusdamn-years-old; I don't need you calling me out like a little brat, alright? Secondly, what fatherly advice? The last thing I remember you telling me is to not shake the bars on my crib. Thirdly, you're underestimating the brats that broke into HQ in the first place. That kid that was with the Legendaries eleven years ago? He was there, and his virile friend kicked me hard enough to send me to the gynecologist."

"Just as he had done eleven years ago?" Giovanni reminded him. He ground his teeth together.

"I wasn't expecting it then, and I wasn't expecting it now, but I swear on Mom's grave that that kid's gonna be lying on one of our lab tables within the next two days."

"He better be, because—cough, cough—if not, you'll be there instead," he said, his coughs wracking his weak body. Silver snorted, turning away.

"What a great way of greeting your only son, Pop," he muttered as he walked away from Rocket Boss Giovanni.


"I wish you wouldn't rile Giovanni up so much."

"Morning to you too, Ari," Silver smirked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I love that boot-shaped bruise on your face; is that the new style?" She scoffed, affronted, as she groomed her gross Arbok. "Hey, where are you co-workers…Diesel and Atom?"

"Petrel and Proton?"

"Yeah, yeah. I hate one of them, you know, the flamboyant one; he keeps telling these damn Trainers our passwords. He's the reason we're always changing 'em, and why I can't ever remember 'em!"

"Petrel is a work in progress," Ariana said defensively. "Not all of us can be as perfect as Giovanni's son, you know."

"I'm not perfect, Ari; I just seem that way." He sat down in HQ's rec room, which consisted of a coffee machine, flat-screen T.V., cute little café tables, and plenty of other pointless things Team Rocket had too much money on hand to purchase, and took a gulp of his coffee, relishing the burning feeling it left in his throat.

"Well, I haven't seen much of you these last three days," she said, sitting in the seat opposite to him and fluffing her hair. He remembered how she tried to ask him out on a date a few years back; he refused and told her that she had about as much character depth as a two-bit arcade game, and for the rest of the m she barely even looked at him. (He also started finding globs of poison in his coffee, but that was another, more painful story.)

"I was…occupied. Not all of us like being here, y'know."

"But you live here, don't you?"

"Technically." And technically, he owned about five other houses in Hoenn, Sinnoh, and Kalos. There were some perks about having the underworld's boss as your dad, including the fact that cash never seemed to run dry. "Hey, don't you technically have some detective work to be doing? You and Asher and Gasoline and Molecule?"

"Archer, Petrel, and Proton," she corrected, offended. "At least learn your own associate's names, boss."

He finished his coffee with a grimace, standing up. "Don't call me boss, alright? I'm not the boss until Pops finally kicks that old bucket—which he won't be doing, by the way."

"He's old and he's terminal, Silver; face facts already," she called as he started to leave, pushing the double doors open.

"Facing facts isn't really my forte," he called back. "But alliteration is, if you're curious."

He passed through the repaired halls (which were only repaired so quickly because of Team Rocket's aforementioned overflowing pockets) and headed down to the research wing to his old pal, Computer Nerd #12. The man was forty-something with a greasy ring of brown hair around his balding head and large bifocals. He seemed to be one of the debtors that Giovanni roped in; Silver wasn't sure since he never asked. He went to Twelve's cubicle and dropped his elbows down on the corner of his fast food-infested desk, causing him to jump in his chair and nearly take out twelve thousand dollars' worth of computer equipment.

"Hey, buddy," Silver grinned. Twelve returned his geniality with a curt and slightly-fearful nod. "Did ya do me that favor I asked?"

"O-Of course, Silver sir," he stammered, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he loaded his files. Silver, being Giovanni's son, wasn't the novice with hacking, but if something happened he'd rather that some nameless slave to Team Rocket take the blame than himself. "A boy named Aristotle checked into the local hospital in Goldenrod City three days ago, just ten minutes after the intruders escaped from here." He quickly printed the information and handed it to Silver.

"Good, good." He patted the man's shoulder. "Just for this, I'll knock a thousand off of your debt."

His eyes lit up. "Really? You'd do that, sir?"

"Sure I would. Now get back to work." Silver turned away from his quiet rejoicing, pulling his Xtransceiver from his pocket and dialing a number.

"Archer speaking," a uniform voice said on the other end. Silver had to sigh at that.

"Archie, cover for me, will ya? I'll be taking a little trip."

"Silver? That you? No I'm not going to cover for you again."

"Please?"

"No way!"

Silver stopped at a corner and looked around before whispering, "I'll tell everyone what really happened to that chocolate mousse at the Christmas party."

Archer was silent for a few seconds. "…You mean it?"

"What do you think?"

"Fine, fine! I'll cover you!"

"Thanks a bunch, Arch."

"Can I know where you're going at least?"

Silver went to his bedroom where Ariana, as per his orders, had retrieved clothes just like the ones he wore back in the day and laid them out on his bed. He grinned. "I'm going to visit an old…friend."


Goldenrod was about as crowded as he remembered it. The last time he went there was about two decades or so ago, back when Giovanni still cared a little more about his family than the family business. They went to the amusement park, ate Castelia Cones, and had playful little Pokémon battles with Silver's little Cyndaquil. He shook off the memory and shoved some indistinct bills at the cab driver.

"Keep the change," he said, climbing out. The driver thanked him, surprised, before driving away. Maybe he gave him a little too much of a tip, but it didn't matter anyway; the money he didn't get from Giovanni's exploits he could regain from battling some poor idiot Trainers. They usually paid awfully well, especially if he flashed an Amulet Coin for whatever reason.

Something about the grand city in the nighttime was soothing, even for a monster like him. He took some pleasure in the bright lights and the joyous citizens and the overexcited Pokémon hanging around; it was that kind of carefree stuff that he missed in his childhood and led to him being, well, Silver today. (Not to blame Giovanni; after eleven years of soul-searching, he realized that he probably would've ended up crappy even without his old man's help.)

"Umbreon!" A full-grown Umbreon started pawing at his jeans. He bent down to pet it, which was when its Trainer, a ten-year-old boy with crimson hair like his and wary eyes, snatched it up into his arms.

"Denny, you shouldn't walk up to strangers like that," he chided his Umbreon. Silver scratched his head.

"'s alright; I'm a Trainer too, ya know," he said, gesturing to his PokeBall belt. The boy watched him carefully. "The name's Si…Simon. What about you?"

He hesitated for a second, then he muttered, "Jenson."

"Alright… You're a Trainer then, Jenson? Battling Gyms and such?" Jenson nodded. "This one is Whitney, right? You challenged her already?" He shook his head. "Well, good luck, then."

"Wait," Jenson said when he started to turn away. The heavy crowds of Goldenrod started to push them apart; Silver just shrugged helplessly and kept moving.

Luckily, the cab driver dropped him off close to the hospital. When he walked in he was bombarded with the lack of noise in there; people were in the waiting room juggling their PokeBalls nervously or the non-Trainers were talking to each other, anxious. He approached the receptionist's desk and put on his best "I'm a trustworthy young gentleman" face.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said to the young blonde receptionist, "my best friend had a terrible accident three days ago, and I just heard about it; I was wondering if I could go see him?"

"Of course," she giggled, obviously infatuated. She checked her computer. "What's his name?"

"Aristotle."

She checked the database. "Aristotle, Room 425. Here." She handed him a pin-on nametag that read 'VISITOR.' He flashed another smile at her before walking away, getting onto the elevator at the end of the hall. He got in with a taller man with mint-green hair and Trainer's clothes that hit the button for second floor, and Silver hit the button for fourth. Quiet elevator music played as it ascended.

"What are you in for?" the man asked. Silver shrugged.

"Accident." I only wish I'd seen it happen, he added silently. "You?"

"Same thing." He got off when they reached second floor, leaving Silver on his solitary journey to fourth. The elevator dinged and he stepped off, scanning the plates next to each room's door.

"415," he read aloud, walking down the hall. "Sixteen…seventeen…ack, this is gonna take for—okay, twenty…twenty-one…twenty-three…twenty-four…" He stopped in front of room number 425, which was when that girl that racked him came out of the door in a hurry. She stopped once their eyes met, clenching her fists.

"I already burst your grapes; what more do you want, huh?" she snapped angrily.

"You're in good shape," he said sardonically, noting how tired and bedraggled she looked. "What, your boyfriend's in worse condition than I thought?"

"He's not my—ack, what do you know." She pushed him backwards which, considering how angry she looked, was letting him off easy. "Get out of here now. It's 'cause of you that Aries is in that room now, and if you don't start movin' right now you'll get your own room here, got it?"

He reached behind his back surreptitiously. "Oh, yeah, I got it."

She raised her eyebrows doubtfully just as he found the right PokeBall and pressed the button. The red beam materialized just behind him, but before she could react Silver's Alakazam knocked her out; Silver caught her just before she hit the ground, sitting her down and resting her against the wall. "Stand guard," he commanded his Alakazam before he entered the room.

Something about Aristotle seemed so small, like he was still a kid. He was asleep (or maybe sedated; Silver wasn't sure) with the covers pulled up to his chest. His clothes were folded on the nightstand so Silver could see the bandages around his left shoulder, and when he leaned forward he could see his left hand—or rather, his lack of left hand; he remembered finding Aristotle's misplaced limb at the edge of the warp panel. If Aristotle had been a Team Rocket member, who were all well-versed in teleportation via warp panel, he would've known that when one's molecules were moved, anything outside of the energy field was left behind, which included extremities like hands or feet and a chocolate bar that one time Silver used it.

"Poor you," Silver sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's because of you that Pops is cracking down on me—well, more than usual. You're just a weak kid; by yourself you're nothing. I don't understand how you bested me back then, or how you bested me three days ago, but it doesn't matter; no, it doesn't matter, because I'll best you, Aristotle, and your funny little friends."

He inadvertently stepped forward and felt something under his shoe. He looked down and saw Mew curled up next to the bed, fast asleep. He clenched his fist and his jaw but didn't make any moves against her—for the moment, at least. Aristotle, on the other hand, was another case.

Aristotle had messed up his chance with the Legendaries eleven years ago and messed up his already-shaky relationship with his old man. He wanted to punch him, at the very least, but…he couldn't. Not like that. He went as far as clenching his fist and throwing it but he stopped before his knuckles even touched Aristotle's nose. "Gah," he groaned, digging his fingers into his scalp. "What's going on with me…? I never used to be this damn soft." His Xtransceiver rang, bringing him out of his self-loathing. He checked the Caller I.D. and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah Pops, what's up?"

"This is Archer speaking."

"Archie! What's going on?"

"We need you right now. Your little pet is out of control."

"You mean…? Alright, I got it." He shoved his Xtransceiver into the recesses of his pocket and snorted at Aristotle. "One of these days…"

On his way out, he bumped into a second Trainer, knocking his hat to the ground. "My mistake," the man said, bending to pick it up.

"Yeah, it was," Silver snapped. He watched the man straighten up and his eyes widened. "Dear Arceus, not you."

"Not me what, Silver?" he taunted, fixing his hat on his head. "It's a hospital, you know; anybody can visit anybody, unless, say, that anybody is the son of the underworld's crime lord and one of the main reasons why the patient is a patient in the first place."

Silver shifted his entire body to him, shoving his hands in his pockets and letting out a breath. "You always were a real bastard with information; I just hope for your sake that it's not getting out there."

"Don't worry, your dirty secrets are as safe with me as they've been thirteen years ago."

"They better be." With that, he stomped away, leaving Aristotle's second visitor to his own devices.


Team Rocket's HQ was in a bigger mess than three days ago, except this time it was just the Grunts and executives scrambling, not loose Pokémon. (Which, as a side note, they only regained a third of; the rest were either scattered via the warp panels or, er, put down.) A few Grunts shakily directed him to the Battle Room, which was the large empty basement floor used for Pokémon training and such. He descended the stairs to find his old friend telekinetically choking Ariana.

"S-Silver," she stammered, her face turning blue. "P-Please…make it…s-stop…"

"I don't know," Silver said flippantly. "That's the prettiest I've ever seen you."

Still as rotten as ever, huh, Silver? Mewtwo jeered, releasing Ariana. She fell on her knees coughing and sputtering.

"Still as callous as ever, huh, Mewtwo? What are you doing here anyway? I thought you disowned us or whatever?"

Oh, don't have any misconceptions; I made my disownment very clear, it said. I just wanted to talk to you, and with you on one of your daily excursions, I felt that causing a ruckus was the only way to get your attention. You were never one for sitting down with a nice cup of tea, you know.

"Well, I've nothing better to do now; I'll indulge you, Mewtwo." Mewtwo smirked and snapped its fingers; Ariana instantly vanished. "Convenient; you should teach me that trick—you know, for future reference."

Ha-hah. A circular table from the rec room appeared in the middle of the floor with two fancy hand-carved chairs and a porcelain tea set. Silver raised his eyebrows. You said you would indulge me, did you not?

"It seems like you've picked up a sense of humor in the last five years." He pulled up a chair and Mewtwo pulled up the other. "What is this, Earl grey? I hate that crap and you know it."

No, black tea, it said calmly, using Psychic to pour both of them a cup. Black like our hearts.

"You really do know me; I love my meals with a side of allegory." He added a generous amount of sugar before taking a sip. It wasn't poisoned, he could say that much. "What, no side dish?"

I wouldn't want you choking, it said, smirk widening. Silver took another drink before setting his cup down.

"What happened, Mewtwo? I thought you've become quite fond of speaking aloud."

That is…part of what I wish to bring up. Mewtwo lifted its head, which was when Silver noticed a long and dark scar on its neck. Now he was fully interested. As I said, we need to talk.

Silver grinned, then he became completely serious. "Alright then, talk."