Efufufu! I can't believe the amount of speculation I've been getting about Mayor Jennifer Stockman! You'll have to wait and see what role she's going to play in the future (although it's pretty apparent by now...subtlety is not really one of my strong points.../rolls eyes/)
Anywho. Chapter Three. Coming at ya.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. I do however, own this story, and the specific Original Characters spelled within as well as the characterizations of the Team Galactic Members. This story cannot be used without my express written and verbal consent.
December 15, 2000.
26 Rockslide Avenue, Mayor's Residence.
Veilstone City.
8:47 AM.
Mayor Stockman bolted upright in her bed, her heart beating frantically. For a second, she tussled with the huge blanket on her bed, trying to figure out where she was.
After a few seconds, her eyes adjusted. She was in the Mayor's Mansion. In bed.
She exhaled and slumped down on the pillows, rubbing at her eyes.
The things she saw in her dreams were not normal, by any sense of the word. Some might say that she was a Channeller; some would call her psychic. Others would say she was downright insane for even bothering to admit that she could 'see' what others couldn't.
She had visions of the future (as cliché as that might sound to her critics). She saw death, destruction, people screaming in pain and Pokémon crying for their slain masters. For a moment, the mayor shivered, trying to regain her composure. After a while, she began to reflect on her vision, like she always did.
Truthfully, Jennifer was glad that her family's obsession with Psychic-Types, predictions and prophecies had not been passed to her. This was not to say that she ignored her dreams; no, too many of them had come true to be passed off as ordinary dreams. So she heeded the strange images seen in the dreams, but rarely could she act upon them.
For example, just last year, she'd had a dream that a faceless stranger would try to take over the world using a variety of means and people; in Johto, a strange man wearing a mask of crushed up Gym Badges had attempted to assassinate the Elite Four of that region a month after her dreams had taken place. Two days later, her dreams had involved two mysterious Pokémon, one an orange and teal humanoid and the other a gigantic green Ekans, that fought an epic battle over a futuristic city somewhere far away. (This one had yet to come to fruition, but Jennifer had no doubts that it would indeed come to pass).
No, she watched the images in her dreams and tried not to think about all the impending disasters. Including the train-wreck of a career her political life was turning out to be.
With that thought at the forefront of her mind, Jennifer sat up and turned on the lamp next to her bed, snatching up her glasses and her journal. Quickly, she penned down the most recent dream in this venerable book, like always, and then reflected.
She had seen the silhouette of a man standing atop a mountain, surrounded by a veritable corona of psychedelic light that rolled behind him in waves. This man, although she couldn't see his face nor any of his other features, exuded power. This in itself was not the worst part of the vision. It was seeing the other two figures flanking the man. One was another man, slender, with an almost feline elegance. Jennifer could see his face and dress clearly.
The other was herself.
That was apparent immediately. She sketched a quick scene in her journal to be able to remember it correctly and clearly. Then, after seeing the woman's hairdo on the pages, began to doubt herself.
Scrambling out of bed, Mayor Stockman moved to the full-length mirror and gazed into it. She twisted and turned, positioning her body just so….a model's exhausted slump, with hair pulled up just so, one hand on her hip. She took one hand and grabbed her hair in a bunch, pulling it back in a severe bun that seemed to stand upright, then cascade down in the back to form a short Ponyta-tail.
Although she had the pose down, Jennifer couldn't capture the absolute horror she'd seen from looking at her…doppelganger, for lack of a better word. She turned; maybe the pose was incorrect?
"The glasses." She whispered to herself, staring hard at her reflection in the mirror, and the odd hairstyle she'd seen on her doppelganger.
Trembling, Jennifer reached up with her free hand and extracted her horn-rims. The change was almost immediate.
Unconsciously, the Mayor felt herself straighten, and a cruel commanding smirk appeared on her face. A dozen emotions hit her at once, and she stumbled back, turning away from the mirror. The smirk seemed to haunt her eyes, even though she'd closed them in a hurry.
"No." Jennifer muttered. "That's not me."
Hurriedly, she scribbled out the figure on the page of her diary that carried her image, slashing violently at the page with her pen. When she was satisfied the image was sufficiently covered, she slid the journal back in her bedside table drawer and put back on her glasses.
She decided to wear her hair down for the day.
December 15, 2000.
Adamantium Avenue
Veilstone City
10:56 AM.
Cyrus led Gregori out the doors to the outside world, holding the heavy metal doors open for the weakened man. The blue-haired man wouldn't admit it, but his ribcage was smarting furiously. It was taking all of his strength just to stand, and he was grateful for Cyrus opening the door for him. Gritting his teeth, he stepped into the clear December morning, clutching his right side underneath the heavy fur coat.
Cyrus muttered aimlessly to himself as he carried his briefcase and the small parcel containing Gregori's effects. Predictably, his companion had entered the jail with only a few things: of them, two Pokéballs, a wallet, several letters from someone named "Natalyia" Cyrus considered normal; it was the small golden cube that had caught his interest. His BlukBerry had been buzzing angrily about it all morning. Cyrus paused for a moment to open the PDA, letting Gregori catch his breath by leaning on the side of a building for a moment.
"Where' we headed anyway, Boss?"
He took a final pull from the last cigarette that Cyrus had given him, ignoring the sharp stab from his ribs.
Cyrus didn't reply for a long moment as his faithful PDA ran through the scanning program he had installed himself. When he was satisfied with the results, he pocketed the phone and turned to Gregori.
"You must be healed. You will go to the hospital." He replied tersely.
Gregori snorted. "Yeah, sure, whatever."
He grabbed his parcel out of the other man's hand and walked away, his shoes making hardly any noise on the deserted street.
Cyrus smiled as he watched the other man stalk off angrily.
"Consider this a test." Cyrus called.
Gregori whirled around, glaring angrily at the other man.
"A test of what!"
Cyrus grinned creepily again, his mouth curling in a cruel smirk.
"A test of your loyalties."
Gregori bit back a sliver of pain from his sudden movement. Clutching the parcel in one hand and his aching ribcage, Gregori had to admit that the other man did have a point. He couldn't do anything of what Cyrus had told him would happen if he had a couple of broken ribs.
"Fine." The blue-nette snapped. He turned sharply on his heel and began walking down a side-street, his feet slapping on the pavement. Cyrus watched him go for a long moment before withdrawing his BlukBerry from his pocket and checking on the program he'd been running to scan his companion.
December 15, 2000.
43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12
Veilstone City
1:24 PM
Cyrus had begun preparations for a late lunch when his doorbell rang insistently from the apartment door. He cast a cold glance to the perpetually grinning Mismagius at his side, and the creature disappeared into thin air.
It wasn't long before the door had opened of its own accord, and a tentative voice called into the apartment's small antechamber.
"Hello? Mr. Helios?"
Cyrus checked to make sure that his suit was impeccably straightened (it was of course meticulously clean) and stepped from the kitchen into the spotless formal living room. He gently touched the glass door that opened from the small lobby-esque space by the main door, admitting a man into his apartment.
"Ah, Mr. Terovstein." Helios announced to the other-wise empty apartment in his cold, formal tone. "What can I do for you?"
Cyrus ushered the man into the living room, sparing a glance of distaste towards the door where he knew his Mismagius was hidden.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Helios." The kindly old man stuttered. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"
Cyrus spared a cold glance to the door to the kitchen as he helped the man onto the couch. He himself sat down opposite the man, in an elaborate wingback chair facing away from the dining room and the engaging computer setup.
"You are not, Mr. Terovstein. May I inquire to your visit?"
The old man stuttered for a moment, straightening his glasses above his dull green eyes. "Well, Mr. Helios, I've unfortunately gotten a few complaints about your residence."
Cyrus raised an eyebrow just so his companion wouldn't think him odd for having no reaction. "Oh? Pray tell."
The old man didn't catch the slightly dangerous tone the blue-haired man had adopted, and continued by reaching into the pocket of his sweater. He extracted a few papers from the ancient piece of cloth, and, pushing his glasses further on his nose, read aloud.
"As you know, Mr. Helios, we have a strict policy here about no Pokémon. Unfortunately, several of our residents have complained about a Ghost-Type that floats around in their own apartments, bothering them, before disappearing into your apartment. I've gotten this from no fewer than three residents, Mr. Helios."
This time, Cyrus's eyes did flash in anger before he was able to stifle his response again. He quickly turned back to the old man, who didn't seem to have noticed.
The front door chose that exact moment to slam and break the silence of the room. The old man jumped, and Cyrus cast a dangerous glance to the front door.
"Oh dear, what was that?" The apartment manager asked, clutching the papers containing the complaints to his chest.
Cyrus rose to his feet, his brain buzzing urgently. "It was nothing. Just the wind. A storm is coming, Mr. Terovstein. Might I suggest that you return to your own apartment?"
His voice was soft, yet commanding, and the apartment manager felt like he had little choice in the matter. He shuddered, looking out at the snowstorm driving down from Mt. Coronet. He shakily allowed the much taller blue-nette to help him to his feet and to the door.
"Yes, you're quite right. I just wanted to remind you, Mr. Helios, of our policy. I'm sure that we won't have to discuss this again."
"Don't worry." Cyrus replied silkily, glancing again to the door. "It will be taken care of."
The door shut behind the old man with a snap, and Cyrus gritted his teeth together impatiently. He glanced around the apartment, noting the absence of his Mismagius.
"Come here." He hissed, and the Ghost-Type wisely stayed hidden just out of reach. Cyrus turned his head to the side as the first of the snow began falling, dancing snowflakes from Mount Coronet.
"Come HERE!" he roared suddenly, and the Mismagius popped into view beside him, doing its best not to look like it had done anything wrong. If it had feet, it would have been shuffling them back and forth, like a child caught stealing cookies.
"I don't want to see you again." Cyrus hissed through clenched teeth. "Go to the Mayor. That is your task. When she comes here, you are released. Do not try to return to me."
With that, he walked into the kitchen to finish his lunch.