Sabre cursed his damn luck and his foolishness.

Of course the giant wooden gates that blocked Blackthorn City's entrance were closed. Of course the guards wouldn't let a soul pass unless they were of "ancestral blood". Of course they did not budge, even after hearing the worst and most vulgar threats possible.

Blackthorn was a goldmine. Everyone from Kanto to Sinnoh knew it and everyone wanted a piece of the gold-crusted, diamond filled pie. Not only was the city incredibly wealthy, with stories of untold riches buried in the mountains, but legend said the waters were filled with the most rare and powerful Pokemon. Some that Johto citizens have not seen in centuries.

Dragons, the stories claimed. The strongest, fastest, and deadliest dragons on this side of the region, if not the earth. Dragons that descended from their gods and spoke in an ancient tongue that could level cities with a single word.

The problem? Only people of Blackthorn ancestry were allowed in. Outside business was conducted at the gates and ended with little conversation. The citizens of Blackthorn did not travel outside — not even for local festivals — and remained within the city walls.

Allegedly, ten years ago, Blackthorn had considered opening their gates to allow the world in. But barely a year passed and Blackthorn immediately shut their gates forever, remaining isolated from the rest of the region like a sleeping giant resting on the mountaintop.

Sabre thought his charms and smile could grant him easy access. Or give him the ability to scale a wall. What he did not count on were the absolute humorless guards and impenetrable walls that seemed to stretch into space. Forget digging under — the mountain rock was too hard to get into, and even if Sabre found a cave, there were tales of violent whirlpools dragging unlucky souls down into the depths.

"I'll be in and out in five minutes," Sabre said, trying to keep a straight face as one guard stared him down, "I just really want to see it! People come all over to see it!"

"No outsiders come here," the guard shot him down. "Leave or accept your fate."

Even their accent reeked of arrogance and brutality. As if speaking the Johto language was beneath them. Sabre wondered if they held secrets in whatever ancient tongue that could help him as of now. However, it didn't make the promise of death any less palatable.

He can't waste any more time on this. He was to report back to Team Rocket within a day about the field assignment in Mahogany. But it was bullshit that he walked around an entire mountain — three straight days' worth of walking! — just to be turned away.

Someone in Mahogany Town claimed there was a path made of ice that led right into Blackthorn, but only the gym leader had access to it. Sabre had no choice but to kick rocks and bemoan about his damn luck.

Turning around, he stared at the long mountain road ahead. His legs turned to jelly at the thought of going over the steep rocks and cliffs again, but he had no choice. Either die here or die from going AWOL.

After about two miles into his descent, Sabre could feel the treacherous mountain wind pick up. Damn this place! Blackthorn was home to vile, torturous winds that whipped around roads and curves, able to knock a full grown man into the endless ravines below.

How could anyone live here?

"No Pokemon is worth this," Sabre muttered as he ducked into a tight crevice to keep him still. "Even a mythical dragon!"

"Trying to snatch a dragon from the Dragon Clan? Bold. You're too late for those kinds of tricks, however. They're wise to them now."

Sabre squinted through the dust and wind, seeing a figure cloaked in red standing before him. The winds barely disturbed the figure, save for the flapping of the fabric, and the Rocket agent couldn't help but feel a little impressed.

"How?" Sabre asked before dust kicked into his throat, "How…?"

"Ah. Easy. Camerupt is quite heavy when it's called for," the stranger remarked, standing aside to reveal a large camel-like Pokemon, "Quite grounded. You are truly out of your element, Rocket agent. But the winds will pass. Dragons lose interest after a while."

What a weird dialect. This guy wasn't local, but he sure knew a lot. However, as Sabre regained focus, the torrential winds died down once again, and he could stand upright. The agent slid out of the crevice, finding his feet numb from the blistering air.

"Thanks," Sabre muttered before stiffening, "How did — I mean, I'm not."

Camerupt snorted in reply as the strange chuckled. Sabre finally inspected the man, noticing just how tall he was. Good grief, this man could leap a mountain with his long legs. The cloak fell upon the mountain ground like a priest's robe, stretching outwards to give his stature a more imposing look.

It was hard to see his face in the direct sun, but Sabre could make out some red hair and a glint. Maybe from glasses?

"I'm not stupid. Try that," the stranger remarked. "Rocket has some nerve coming here after what they did almost ten years ago. Do your superiors know where you are?"

Truthfully, no. Sabre thought he could do this in a day and come back with a slew of Pokemon. Team Rocket did not touch this sacred mountain. Not even with their mitts deep into Mahogany Town and the surrounding tunnels going towards Goldenrod City. It was the one place not even Team Rocket's influence could penetrate.

"I won't tell if you don't," Sabre muttered, wiping the dirt from his eyes. "Doesn't matter, anyway. They locked damn thing up. Won't let anyone in."

"For good reason. Had they discovered your affiliation, they would have killed you," the stranger said, "Brutally, might I add. They have an ancient execution ritual where they let you choose which whirlpool to jump into — one filled with hungry Magikarp and one filled with mischievous Dratini."

"Well, the Magikarp wouldn't be so bad."

"Where there are Magikarp, there are Gyarados. Gyarados have a tendency to be… messy eaters. The Magikarp are opportunists."

"Then the Dratini."

"They're quite playful. They drag you down to get a better look at you and drown you as they toss you about with their long bodies. I'd go with the Magikarp, personally — something I once had to give a lot of thought to," the stranger commented. "Still. You are out of your element. Rocket should scuttle away to grimy gutters and scuffle over territory with the League."

Sabre glared, hot as ever. Damn this man for speaking ill of Team Rocket. "What are you, some historian? How do you know so much? You read about this place and Team Rocket in books or something?"

Part of the man gestured towards the mountains. "I know my way around. I also know Team Rocket well enough that Archer would be a suicidal son-of-a-bitch before showing his face here. So, what are you doing here?"

The Rocket agent glanced up towards the mountain path. "I heard of a Dratini living here. One with Extremespeed. That they're all over. And nobody else in Team Rocket has a dragon. So…"

"Team Rocket must recruit idiots like you if you thought you could take one of those."

"It was worth a shot!" Sabre snapped, "Damn, all I get are useless fucking Rattata or Pidgeys half the time! Trainers give 'em away at this point! A dragon would put me at the top!"

Camerupt snorted again, adding salt to Sabre's rage. The agent glared daggers at the dopey looking creature as the stranger petted Camerupt's head. In seconds, the stranger dug into a side bag hanging off the Pokemon's hind leg.

"Do you believe in fate, Rocket agent? I came across a dreadful, horrible, twisted ocean to mourn someone I lost. I do this every year around the same time," the man said, pulling out a small Pokeball from the satchel, "And yet, almost ten years to the mark, I meet you here."

"Did I ask for your story at any point in time?" Sabre derided.

"No," the stranger presented the ball, "This is what you seek, yes? This is a Dratini, straight from the Dragon Clan's own ancestral line. The egg was laid ten years ago, but only hatched recently."

Everything in Sabre's breath suddenly held weight as it pressed hard against his chest. Was this man lying? Was it… really a Dratini in there? A rare, beautiful, powerful Dratini? One from Blackthorn's coveted bloodline of powerful, legendary dragons? And this man was just announcing it?

"How much are you selling it for?" Sabre wasn't interested in paying, but pushing him off the cliff after snatching it.

"I'm giving it to you. Mind, this Dratini knows Extremespeed. Only the Dragon Elder's family can possess this," the stranger said plainly, as if it was nothing, "Fair warning. It will not listen to you, Rocket agent, no matter how hard you try."

"Bullshit!" Sabre scooped up the Pokeball straight from the man's hands, "How did you get this!? Are you a Blackthorn person? Look, if you can get more—"

"Ground below us, no. I'm from Hoenn. If those guards catch me, they would throw me into a whirlpool without a second thought. Archer might run from what he has done, but I fully embrace what I do," the stranger cut him off.

Sabre finally got a long look at the stranger's face. It looked familiar — the pointed face, the red hair… the glasses… but the eyes glowed like coals in a fiery flame. Like there was some hidden, powerful force behind the face, as if the body was a mere puppet on strings.

There was even a symbol on the cloak: some black mountain in the shape of an M.

"Who are you?" Sabre questioned, now hiding his fear with extreme suspicion, "Why call me stupid, then hand over a rare Pokemon?"

"Fate commanded me, Rocket agent. I have come every year to this spot with the egg and nothing happened. Months ago, I was walking through one of Hoenn's caves and without warning, it hatched. The little Dratini burst forth, as mischievous as they say. Ready to find the waters they crave down here," the stranger explained, barely able to contain joy at this point. "It seeks something else."

"Me?"

"No, you daft idiot. A trainer's soul. One that destiny predetermined. These Dratini are special, you know. The ones that are descended from the dragon gods that formed this area. They reign as kings over other dragons. Only the Royal Dragon Family has the trainer souls they seek — so, when ten years approach, the Dratini hatches and bonds to a member of the family. The next true heir, so to speak," the man continued, now smiling at the thought, "And here, I thought Miriam… I thought we had lost."

Sabre didn't have a clue what this nerd was rambling about, but he knew that Pokemon were dumb and given enough pain, they would follow anyone. Including any Dratini that may or may not have ancestral ties. He cradled the Pokeball into his hands, feeling the immense power surge through his palms.

Truly, this was special.

"Anyway," Sabre said, trying to move this guy along, "Thanks for the Pokemon. I'll put it in line."

The stranger laughed, "You can try. Admittedly, another reason I gave that to you was petty."

"Is it another story?"

"It has another story behind it. But let Archer see it. It'll give him conniptions. How that wretched medical student hated dragons. I can't imagine his disgust ebbed in the slightest. Oh, I would give anything to see this Dratini grab him by the short hairs — but! Alas. I have my rituals," the man jostled at the thought, "Perhaps soon, I will no longer make this journey alone."

"... Yeah, okay," Sabre muttered. What was this guy on? He talked like a windbag giving a sermon. "Sure. Bye."

"Blessed be the earth. Come, Camerupt."

With that, he left Sabre with a goldmine. Perhaps his luck was undeniable.

x

"Just because you're sick doesn't mean you forgot how to read," Prima said, shoving Yellow's assignment back under her nose. "Ridiculous that I have to cater to this. One morning off and you're back to being dumb as a rock."

"I'm not a rock," Yellow mumbled.

"Then act like you're not a rock," Prima shot back, "Page one hundred and one. Let's go over this again, since you're clearly not getting it."

However, the door flew open without warning. In seconds, the spoiled prince known as Silver trotted through as if he owned the place. Prima immediately turned around to him, dropping her sour attitude to a bright and cheerful one.

"Young Master Silver!" her voice cracked from a falsetto pitch, "Why, I did not know you were to arrive! Is Madame Ariana escorting you today?"

"Since when do I check in with you?" Silver shut her off, oozing with entitlement. "I'm here to let Yellow escort me to the training room. She practically begged me."

The girl stared at Silver as if he had grown two heads, barely able to keep herself from throwing another punch. Prima clasped her hands as if she was fawning over the boy, maintaining her go-lucky and peppy attitude.

"Oh, of course! Yes, yes, she mentioned that!" Prima had no qualms throwing Yellow under Silver's heel, "Perhaps you know where your—"

"Are you still talking?" Silver interrupted, "I have things to do. Let's go, Yellow. My father would not want me to be late for my training. He insisted."

Before Yellow knew it, she was dragged out of her tutoring room and the door slammed shut behind her. She allowed the boy to pull her down the hallway before Yellow jerked her arm away from Silver.

Silver scoffed, "I wouldn't do that, Yellow."

Yellow glared, "Don't call me Yellow."

"I can call you orange, red, blue, or green if I want and Father would beat you for not answering to any of them," the cool retort whipped back at her, "You know that you're outnumbered here. One word and Father would have your head."

He was right, but damn, he was insufferable when he was. "What do you want, Silver?"

"Shouldn't you address me properly? Or should I let Father know what you did?"

Yellow flinched, looking up at the cameras. What a horrible brat, using it against her like this! Slowly, she felt her spine straighten as she bowed against her will before retching out a proper salutation to the brat.

"What can I do for you, Young Master Silver?" Yellow said, wanting to vomit all over again.

"You're going to escort me to the training rooms. Archer is mighty difficult about me being there, and he's turned that nasty hag against me. However, I checked the rules." Silver seemed so proud of himself. "If I have a reason to be there, I can be. Even Archer wrote that out. So you're training against me. Thus, a reason."

Sounded too simple, even for Yellow. She shook her head, sighing.

"Luna won't buy it."

"And why not?"

"Because I don't spar yet. Luna says my bones aren't strong enough yet."

Silver waved it away. "Fine. The Pokemon training room."

"Luka won't let me battle a real Pokemon."

"And why not?!"

"Because I only started battling holograms."

Silver looked like he could kill her. "Why would my father pick up such a useless girl!? Are you being quite serious?! I do not appreciate being lied to! Tell me the truth now!"

Yellow could only laugh. "I'm not a good Rocket. Was that your plan? I would get you into these areas? I can't even get in. They would rather toss me out!"

His scowl deepened, "You're really dumb. Come with me. We're going to my room."

Yellow looked disturbed, "But…!"

Silver grabbed her arm again, dragging her protesting body down the hallway. The Executive hallway appeared within a few warp tiles, making Yellow tremble at the thought of being caught there. However, the heir gave little thought as he pushed through the locked gates and down the way.

In a few minutes, Yellow saw a new door she hadn't seen. One locked up even tighter than hers. Silver pressed his hand against it, allowing the door to slide open effortlessly as he pushed her inside.

Now trapped as the door hissed shut. Her hands felt sweaty in her gloves as Silver blew past her.

"We can talk now," Silver announced, as if he was the final say. "There are no cameras in my room. Father forbids it. He believes I need my privacy."

Yellow still looked up cautiously. "Really?"

"Yes! Now," Silver pointed at her, "Shut up. Act like someone smart for once."

Part of Yellow wanted to be insulted, but this was one of the worst places to have that feeling. She watched Silver tread into his room before he whirled around to stare at her again. Yellow could feel the hitch in her throat as the heir chucked a random knickknack at her head.

"Follow!" He barked, "Dummy! I walk, you follow!"

Rude. Yellow stepped carefully into the room, seeing a grand scene lay out before her. A huge bedroom filled with the most wonderful things that would grace any child's imagination — toys, books, dolls, colorful artwork…

And masks. Masks of all different sizes and colors. Some scary, some fun. Yellow had seen a mask before, mainly when the forest Pokemon would put on clay ones and play with her. But these were intricate and quite beautiful.

Silver caught her stare. "Don't touch them!"

"The masks!"

"Yes! I like masks. My grandma gives me one every time she sees me! She's going to come soon, she said," Silver said, flinging himself on the bed. "Grandma bosses Father around. She said so. That's why I can have masks, even if Father hates them."

Yellow blinked, now curious. "What's a grandma?"

"It's an old lady. She's my Father's mother," he gave a haughty scoff, "You know nothing. How do you not know I have a grandmother? She made Team Rocket and Father took over. Like I will one day!"

Made Team Rocket? Who can make a Team Rocket? Yellow subdued her confusion as her thoughts were drowning in the sea of toys. They were perfect — many even appeared new — but hardly played with. Silver's commitment seemed to be very short for these items.

Even if she couldn't touch the masks, there was an infinite number of other things to choose from. Yellow extended her hand out towards a doll before Silver barked at her again.

"Don't touch! You're not to touch my stuff!"

Yellow frowned, "What am I to do here then, you…"

Silver stared hard at her.

"... Young Master Silver?"

"You're my operative now," Silver answered after accepting her submission. "So you're here to plan with me. Or rather, carry out my plans. Do what I say too, or else. That's why you're here."

The young girl's mouth twisted up in confusion. Operative? What was an operative? Was it like a grandma? Or… something worse? There were so many names for so many things here. In Mother ForMother Forest is not here.

… In other places, it was much simpler.

However, Yellow could gather what Silver really wanted. A servant. Like Lancelot.

"Why should I?" Yellow questioned, looking at the masks again, "And why go through all this trouble?"

Silver crossed his arms, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I realized after you hit me, I can't get into the training rooms. Or anywhere else. Father is overprotective of me. I am special, I know, but I have to grow up too! Nobody in Team Rocket will do what I say unless I gain power too. That's where you come in."

"Me? Out of all of Team Rocket? Why not make Lancelot do this?"

The boy gave a hollow laugh. "Lancelot is stupid. He is Archer's little puppy. He reports back to Archer about everything. He's supposed to be my Executive, but I don't want him. I want to make my own Executives. You're dumb, but you can punch people. Lancelot is dumb, and he doesn't punch anyone."

Yellow thought it was some odd logic, but Team Rocket worked in mysterious ways. She moved up from biting to punching. Perhaps Silver thought she was some crude warrior that could intimidate others. That was going to be a delusion from here on out.

"I punch you and I get to be your Executive? That's weird."

"It worked for my mother. So Father says."

Mother? Yellow's brain churned out the statement, trying to think who that might be. However, after a few minutes, the light dawned on her and she jumped on her heels to find her balance again.

"Wait… Is… Madame Ariana… your mother?! My master?!"

Silver threw his hands up. "How could you not know!? You're hopeless! Mama takes care of me when Father is gone. She lets me do whatever I want and praises me for it! I kicked the dentist a while ago and she thought it was brilliant! She says I'm special."

Yellow thought her ankles had broken off at the foot and toppled her over. Absolutely surrounded! A double-whammy of a punishment to be sure — and from loving parents of an incorrigible little brat! No hope for her here! None at all!

Does Silver ever not get anything? He had a grandmother, a mother, and a father! No wonder all of Team Rocket threw themselves at his feet! A worthy bloodline indeed!

A drowning pit grew in her stomach. Silver took her silence as an opportunity to keep jabbering on with his grand plan.

"So here's how it'll work," he stated. "You will be my operative. You will come here and we plan together."

"Plan what?"

"Whatever I want! Getting into the training room, stealing stuff… whatever I think of! And you have to be quiet about it! Archer is already suspicious… he came around asking why I wanted a playmate. Ha! I fooled him," Silver said, excited now, "Father will see that I can run Team Rocket soon enough! And when I finally take over, I will have an Executive of my own making! Not Father's, not Mama's, and definitely not Archer's! Mine!"

Whatever Silver's head got filled with, it must have been the dust kicked up from patting himself on the back so much. Yellow knew she was to be an Executive — Lancelot told her as much when she first came here — but by Ariana's teaching. It was clear Silver wanted things done differently.

Ambition was a family heirloom here.

"But I'm dumb." Yellow carefully stepped around Silver's excitement. "You said so yourself. You don't like me."

"I don't have to," Silver corrected her, "But you're the only one I have. So. I have to make lemons from lemonade, like Father would say. I can topple Lancelot and Archer by using you."

"What's lemonade?"

"Shut up. I have to think of a plan to get into the training room." Silver scooted off the bed. "Sit there and wait for my orders. This will be our base of operations because it's private. Nobody will bother us here."

Yellow frowned. Maybe she should have confessed to Archer and gotten this over with.

x

"Hey, Lancelot! Aw, kid, it's good to see ya!"

Lancelot perked up when he heard Petrel's voice, but he still bowed. Petrel waved it off with a smile, patting the boy on the shoulder.

"Shucks, no need! We're old buddies!" Petrel said, bending over, "Kid, you're growing more and more every time I see ya! You'll be taller than Arch one day — and much more handsome!"

It was a compliment. Lancelot knew that. But it still felt uncomfortable, like an itchy wool blanket over his skin. He blankly stared at Petrel, unsure what to say or do next. Half of his brain stopped short of a quick apology while the other half was feverishly trying to undo his mistake.

"Yes, Master Petrel… ?" Lancelot teetered off in his voice, eyeing the ceiling.

The Executive stood up straight. "Hey, come with me downstairs in field operations. You can help corral my agents."

Field operations. The man's man world that was out of Lancelot's reach. That was a place where men spat, peed everywhere, smoked tobacco, and traded drunk stories while doing long shifts. Truth was that Lancelot loved the idea of going down there with Executive Petrel by his side. They would finally accept him as a true Rocket agent and not as a "ratcatcher" or whatever monikers he earned.

Archer, however, detested field operations. He made his opinion of the "common rabble" clear. Those agents were lowlifes and Petrel was their king. He preferred Lancelot in white, pearly clothes with clean hands. Spitting and public urination had no place in the ivory crested towers of Archer's world.

"You're better than degenerate drunks on a power trip," Archer told Lancelot once when Lancelot asked to go, "Besides. You're a child. Children do not interact with adults like that."

"But they don't take me seriously, Master Archer," Lancelot defended his choice, "If I am to be an Executive, they will not listen to me."

"Team Rocket agents are like the tide. Their opinions change depending on the sky and the mood," his master said. "It will be your skill and aptitude that cement your destiny. Not trading cigarettes and women over a field assignment."

It wasn't a wonder why field operations had no love for Archer. In fact, many people hated him. But they feared him more than the other Executives — sometimes, even more than Giovanni himself. So perhaps there was truth to his master's words.

Still. Lancelot yearned for a connection. He felt so alone here. Archer expected him to be a fully grown man with the total obedience of a dog. Giovanni wanted an Executive powerful enough to defend Team Rocket's legacy. Ariana could hardly stand to look at him, blaming him for Silver's "stolen destiny".

Petrel was his only connection. But it wasn't enough. The Executive was away so frequently. And Petrel would never betray Team Rocket, not even for Lancelot's happiness. Everything inside the boy's brain knew that.

For a moment, Lancelot thought that Yellow was something. She was a child, much like him. Imbued with powers, much like him. But Silver had her now. Leaving Lancelot all alone once more, waiting for his dues to be paid.

It wasn't Lancelot's fault. He couldn't control when he was born. So why did everyone blame him for it? Everyone except Petrel, that is. Or maybe Petrel blamed him a little too, and he felt so guilty about doing so.

"Master Petrel, I can't go," Lancelot said, more glum than solemn now. "Master Archer would punish me."

Petrel seemed to understand right away, plastering on a big smile as he patted Lancelot's head. "Maybe next time, then! I sure would like to see you down there! You'd do well with me! Archer has his head up his ass too far if he thinks he gets you when you're eligible for induction!"

Lancelot laughed, but he knew Archer planned that future day down to the minute. A spot reserved on the special agent team reserved for Kanto along with a chosen codename and desk assignment. He even knew that Archer already ordered and carefully stored a blue bandana to present to him once the induction was complete.

He remembered when he was four years old, Archer once knelt down beside him and tied a blue string around the toddler's wrist.

"When you're old enough, you're going to wear my color," Archer explained to him. "When you are even older than that, you will have your own color. But for now, you are mine and mine alone."

"Master, it's tied tight," Lancelot complained as he wiggled his hand.

"Good. It will be even tighter when you are officially inducted into Team Rocket. When you are part of the glory of Giovanni," Archer assured him, "You are my legacy, Lancelot. Every mistake I have made so far, you will fix. You are penance, Lancelot."

Lancelot recalled not knowing that word. He remembered frowning at Archer, who was uncharacteristically sentimental. The urge to ask questions was still apparent in Lancelot, but Archer did not indulge him.

"Am I special, Master Archer?" Lancelot felt his hopes rise.

Archer did something that the toddler had not seen yet.

He smiled. But not cheerfully. Rather, in a sad way that could make someone cry just by looking at it.

"No," Archer said, "You're a servant, Lancelot."

That was the first time that Lancelot recalled true, wretched disappointment. The kind that grabs hold of someone's throat and squeezes out through their chest in a constricting embrace. A sort of menace that sprang up in a mind and taunted the victim daily about their self-worth into a piteous, frightful state.

As Petrel left, Lancelot felt his face melt back into stony sadness. It was difficult to walk back to his assigned room, especially since Yellow did not appear to be around. Perhaps she already traded up Lancelot for the rambunctious Team Rocket heir for company.

"This is better for you," Archer's words rang in his head, "Servants must focus on their responsibilities."

He always said that. It was annoying. Perhaps Archer was right, but it didn't take the hurt away. Lancelot pulled his head back up before heading down towards his bedroom once again. At least he could be alone in his room for a bit to decompress.

However, before he knew it, Archer was waiting for him by his bedroom door. Lancelot curtly bowed, suddenly wondering if his master discovered the malfunction in his bedroom door. But before Lancelot could greet him, Archer motioned him back down the hall.

"We have something to discuss at my office, Lancelot," Archer stated. "Drop your things off and come."

No point in resisting and no point in looking forward to his meager time alone. Lancelot dropped off his books and followed behind Archer towards Archer's office. It wasn't too far of a walk — something that Archer himself planned when Lancelot was first brought to base as a newborn — but it was a hassle when the boy was dead tired.

Archer allowed the door to open and Lancelot saw the same thing he had seen for almost ten years. An immaculate office filled with books and organized cabinets, ranging from medical textbooks to accounting papers. Diagrams of the human body and various Pokemon anatomies hung across the wall. Several jars filled with preserved organs and intact fetal Pokemon were on display across from Archer's desk, along with observations for each jar.

There was a new jar — an Abra. Archer always seemed to get new jars or swap them out. Still creeped out Lancelot, even if he couldn't hear those thoughts any longer. Lancelot remembered when he was a baby that he was terrified of the preserved corpses.

Enma and Fulor were sitting in large, comfy canine beds near Archer's desk. Incubo was sleeping in a crate, clearly worn out from his constant spying on the children. Lancelot could only figure that Enma and Fulor were so proud of their gestapo-in-training puppy.

Enma bared his teeth at Lancelot before the boy glared at him.

"The little bastard graces us again," Enma snickered.

Better to ignore him. Archer hated Lancelot talking to his dogs. Lancelot took his normal seat in front of his master's desk, keeping himself still as Archer slid his hand over a familiar device.

Electronic planner. Oh no. What was Archer planning to change now? Every time Archer pulled thing out, it suddenly tasked Lancelot with extra activities.

"You're rather moody, Lancelot," Archer commented. "Something I should be aware of?"

"No, Master Archer," his student shook his head, "I am just tired."

"This wouldn't involve Amarillo and Young Master Silver, would it?" he pressed. "A bit of jealousy?"

Like hell Lancelot would admit such a thing. "No, Master Archer."

"What did Petrel ask you earlier?"

Did Archer review the tapes that quickly? Lancelot sighed, knowing he would have to confess to that one. After all, this was just a setup. Archer already knew what he asked and was forcing Lancelot to tell the truth.

"He asked me to join him in field operations. I said no," Lancelot admitted. "I said I wasn't allowed."

"Very good. You know I hate you mingling with crudeness. Petrel is good at his job, but I don't want you picking up bad habits," Archer said, taking out his stylus. "Why Petrel constantly undermines me, I don't know. But it's important you understand where you belong."

"Yes, Master Archer."

"Now onto the business. Ariana and Master Giovanni have pointed out gaps in your weekly schedule. If Amarillo has time to lollygag, then I am not appropriating you correctly as well," his master claimed, "I have changed your schedule to accommodate housekeeping tasks."

Lancelot knew better than to argue. But he still stared at Archer as the Executive used the stylus to begin the adjustments. He could see his daily slots start shifting around like a delicate puzzle that only Archer truly understood.

"Tuesdays and Friday evenings, you will report to the inventory taskmaster after training. For two hours, you will do whatever is assigned to you, be it maintenance or inventory," Archer said. "We will extend our Sunday lessons one hour into the evening. On Saturdays, you will have extended evening training. Alternating Wednesdays, I will extend our anatomy lessons for two more hours."

"Master Archer, I have schoolwork and…"

"I suggest you find time, Lancelot. I am giving up my hours for this as well."

This time, Lancelot couldn't help himself. He just couldn't! It rolled up from his belly and off his tongue before his mind could catch up. After all, Lancelot was working off so little sleep and relaxation.

"It's not my fault Master Giovanni disagreed with you and I shouldn't be blamed for Amarillo getting to play," Lancelot retorted, absolutely knowing that his master was carefully planning his punishment with every word. "Why should I do more work? Why can't I play too?"

Archer slid his stylus back in the case. "I am so glad you found out today, of all days, that the world is not fair, Lancelot. Imagine if I let you go on a few more years without that being imparted to you."

"I do everything you ask and—"

"That is a hefty statement, Lancelot. Are you sure of it? Would you like me to list all the things you have done versus what you disobeyed me on?" Archer countered, "I am not in the business of making the world fair for you, Lancelot."

Lancelot didn't hide his bitterness as he held his jaw tight. Archer bent his wrist towards him as if to mock his moodiness, almost goading him into blurting out more things to warrant a terrible punishment. Even Enma and Fulor, who were quietly spectating, hoped for an outburst to entertain them.

"You suddenly seem to have a lot of opinions on how I raise you, dear boy," his master commented, "And instead of taking a step back like I have always shown you, you make ugly little faces at me."

The boy tried to force his face to straighten out, but he couldn't. It hurt too much.

"Well, Lancelot? Finished?" Archer asked. "My office is no place for a tantrum."

"Yes, Master Archer." Lancelot lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Master Archer."

"Good. Don't let these emotions control you, Lancelot. You are a smart boy," the Executive said, "A wrong emotion can hurt you or worse, kill you. Learn to step back and analyze why you feel that way so you don't feel it again."

Lancelot was so damn close to leaving. So damn close. He could feel his feet hit the floor. He could smell his room and bedsheets. But he couldn't stop himself from blurting out the exact wrong thing he could say at the moment.

Even if the intention was to disarm Archer for once.

"I wish they would kill me so I wouldn't be here," Lancelot said rather nonchalantly, as if it was idle conversation or some form of dark humor. However, the boy suddenly froze into a dead-eye gawk as Archer drew upon silence.

No. No. Lancelot didn't say that. He wouldn't be so stupid. Not to Archer. He wouldn't be so careless with his words or strange chitchat. He wouldn't say it in a normal voice and in a normal tone that couldn't be misunderstood. He would not even say it with a hopeful, wishing look in his eye that made it seem possible.

Enma looked towards his master, curious about how that was going to garner a reaction. Even Incubo woke up, peering out of his crate. Fulor snickered under her breath, panting slightly from the laughter.

Archer set aside his electronic planner before tutting gently. "Ah. I see."

Lancelot panicked now. He could sense something coming. Something bad, something horrible. His master was not very chatty or imparting some lecture on him. He wasn't even striking him across the face.

"I didn't mean it, Master Archer." Lancelot flew into groveling. "It was a joke. A bad joke. I didn't mean it. I haven't eaten or… or…"

"Lancelot," Archer smiled now — the same charming, damned smile that showed Archer's true feelings and meant shit was going to go down — "I want you to communicate these things to me. I worry about you, my dear student. I should have seen the signs. Outbursts, talking back, the mood swings…"

His student wildly shook his head, "No, no. I was kidding. I heard someone else say it, Master Archer! I never—"

"Shh, Lancelot. Sit down and take a deep breath." the man's voice was oddly calming. "I will call for an escort to the medical wing. If you're joking, we'll see if that's true."

Lancelot swallowed. His mind went blank. Fear seized him. Isolation. He'll go to isolation again. He already went into isolation when Yellow repeated the "feral" hearsay during her first week here. Isolation was the worst, but it was much worse when Archer handled it.

Out of all the punishments, isolation was the worst. The worst of the worst. Lancelot would truly rather be dead than in isolation under Archer's eye.

"Don't put me there, Master, please," Tears welled up in Lancelot's eyes, "Please, I was just joking!"

"A nasty little bit of gallows humor, then. A boy of nine shouldn't have that sort of thing running through his mind," Archer remarked, pressing the intercom. "You'll thank me for this later."

There was one thing that Lancelot did in a split second that was far, far more dangerous than saying that so-called joke. Something that he knew he shouldn't do in any circumstance, and he swore not to do again.

Enma caught on quickly, drawing into an evil grin as his teeth bared.

"Don't do it," the Houndoom cackled, "I'll catch you."

Lancelot couldn't listen right now.

He ran as fast as he could away from Archer.

x

Yellow felt her eyes get heavy as Silver paced around his bedroom. Good grief, how long did scheming and planning take? Did Giovanni also take his sweet time coming up with a plan as well?

"Are you done yet?" she muttered, groaning. "I feel like I've been here for hours."

"Genius takes time. You wouldn't know that because you lived in a forest," Silver shot back. "Besides, I have to account for the steps. Father says that the best plan is the one that has accountability."

It was dinnertime, Yellow knew. How exhausting. She blew out some air, wondering if she could sneak out while Silver was still on this slow roll.

However, a loud alarm broke her out of her thoughts. Panic seeped into her skin as Yellow had flashes of the burning forest once more. Silver seemed less jumpy, appearing annoyed at the incessant wailing.

"Just when I was almost done!" Silver complained, "Deserter."

"Deserter?"

"When someone makes a run for it and they're not supposed to. It's the same for escaped prisoners and stuff."

Yellow frowned. "Does that mean I can leave?"

"No! Ugh. Stay until the alarm goes off, dummy," Silver jeered. "You need to read books or something."

"You should read… stuff besides books! Like people!"

"You can't read people!"

"I can read Pokemon's minds!"

"That's not the same thing!"

And around and around they went as the alarm continued on.

x

Lancelot knew his window was short. Extremely short, if not already gone. He was unprepared, panicked, and rattled from the blaring alarms.

"Not the vents. They look in the vents," he muttered, touching every warp tile he could. "I can't go into the chutes. Oh no. What have I done? What have I done?"

Barking. Archer sent the Houndooms. Of course he sent the Houndooms. He always does. That's how he finds the deserters. They could track a man clear across Johto in the thickest wood and stormiest weather.

Lancelot tried to think. He could turn himself back in and let Archer do what he wanted. But he didn't want to go back into isolation, especially now. He made his bed, so he might as well lie in it forever and ever.

The doors were sealing shut now. Lancelot had no choice now. He had to go through the vents.

Kicking at a vent cover, he saw they were bolted shut. Unraveling his whip on his belt, Lancelot looped the loose end around the grate and pulled at it. With some give, the bolt came loose, and he could squeeze himself inside.

Hopefully, Enma wanted to drag this out instead of finding him quickly. Lancelot crawled using his elbows, inching across the vent. The hot air flamed his face, making him regulate his breathing so he wouldn't pass out from the heat.

It was a long crawl from his experience.

His foot pressed against the metal plate, trying to find a hollow vent. If it was hollow, there was another room. That would put some distance between him and the Houndooms. Not nearly enough, but some.

"Where's that stupid room?" Lancelot mumbled, using his foot to press against more. "Has to be around here. I'm on the…"

The heat was rising. Burning now, actually. Lancelot could feel the metal singe his skin.

"Come on, it…"

It shouldn't be this hot. It can't be running at this temperature. It never ran this hot. His gloves melted against his fingertips. Lancelot blew on them to cool them, but it wasn't working at all.

The realization hit him. Archer was burning him out of the vent.

"No, no, no!" Lancelot flew into a frenzy, moving around like crazy to avoid a scalding death. "No! No! No! Don't! Stop! Stop! Master Archer, please, please! I'll be a good boy, please don't! Please!"

Metal melted a few feet in front and behind him. Before he knew it, Lancelot dropped into the now-cold air as he collapsed on the ground. Snorts and growls surrounded him as Fulor's jaws snapped around his belt and Enma's jaws snapped around his shirt collar.

"Get off me, you fucking horrible dogs! You fucking, shit-ass, mangy mutts!" Lancelot screeched, flailing as the Houdnooms jaws sank deeper into his clothes, "Rot in hell, you goddamn runts!"

Lancelot tried to kick Fulor to free himself, but Fulor grabbed hold of his ankle and pulled him apart. Enma held him steady as Lancelot was now stuck in a split position.

"You were too easy this time," Enma complained, snickering again. "Vents again? So easy."

"We should lock him up in a little cage and make it real hot again," Fulor suggested, now toying with the boy's body, "Or split him in half. What do humans call it? A wishbone?"

"You nasty, horrible shi–"

"Lancelot," Archer's voice made him clam up, "Where did you pick up that cute and colorful set of vocabulary words? I raised you to be a gentleman."

Lancelot slacked, knowing he was in it now. Enma and Fulor released him, sitting at attention as Archer whistled at them. He could see Archer looking over him before glancing up towards the vents in the wall.

"That will have to be fixed. Something that will cost time and money," Archer sighed as if he was disappointed, "All because I showed great concern for you. Selfish and reckless child. Whatever did I do to deserve you?"

The alarm went off and silence filled the air. Lancelot could hear his breathing, forcing himself to face what he had done. It was the best thing to do. Having courage was all he had left in these situations.

"I suppose this was inevitable," Archer commented. "You are deep in mental distress. I can overlook the running away as simple panicking. You didn't mean to run away from Team Rocket. But I cannot treat it any differently."

"I'm sorry, Master Archer," Lancelot said, staring up at the ceiling and praying he could fall into the sky. "It won't happen again."

"Of course it won't. I am so concerned for you, Lancelot. A few days in isolation should quell this," Archer said, grabbing Lancelot's torso to swing him upward and carry him. "You will feel better afterwards, Lancelot. You always do, even if you don't think so."

"Master Archer, please, I'll do anything. No isolation. Beat me, make me work harder, not…"

However, Archer cradled his head and smiled once again. That charming, twisted smile that spelled out exactly what Lancelot should expect in his future.

"Do remember who did this to you, Lancelot. Who set you off into this jealousy and depression. I am only concerned for you. But the world is unfair because of someone else, not because of me."

All the poor boy could do was accept his fate.