POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: Veilstone City


At night, Galactic HQ exudes a different atmosphere. The lights are out, the doors sealed shut. Sitting at the throne of Veilstone, the spiked fortress looms over the oblivious denizens. Watching. Scheming.

The first time I set my sights upon this building, I was impressed, although a bit uneasy. Now I know the truth behind those reinforced walls.

Since I can't get in through the front, I try the Warehouse on the side. As much as I'd love to bust in through the windows, I have to remember that Cyrus doesn't know that I've regained my memories. I have to play it safe. Especially with a dangerous foe like him.

Fortunately, some dumb Grunt had dropped the Key Card on the floor. I'm in.

Navigating through the winding tunnels of HQ brings me back to my Trainer days. Searching for threats. Keeping low to the ground as to not startle the wild Pokemon. Not that they stood a chance against my Pokemon team. There's a reason I've held the crown since I dethroned the previous Champion ten years ago.

Popping out of the damp, dingy basement, I arrive to familiar territory: starry walls, reflective tiles, blackened monitors that during normal hours of operation would be broadcasting Galactic propaganda.

The lack of Grunts makes my stealth mission extremely easy. After a careful review of the environment, I can safely conclude there are no hidden security cameras around. Strange… but I don't dwell on it for too long.

I have a mission to accomplish.


If I am to find any damning proof, I'll find it on the twenty-eighth floor. Therein lies the conundrum of choice: the boss's office or his personal quarters?

His office. He spends his wretched existence in there.

But he might be in.

So his room!

No, he might be there too.

As I mull over my decisions, the hairs on my neck suddenly stand up. In the shadows. He was there the whole time. Watching me.

"I thought you went home, Champion Cynthia."

The mere presence of his voice sends violent tremors to my knuckles. When he steps out to face me, moonlight catches on the golden G. That damned golden G. I want to shove it down his throat.

"Let's talk in my office."

Every fibre of my being screams at me not to follow. I could very well be walking into a trap. But I need that proof. And with Garchomp by my side, I am more than capable of burning this bastard to a crisp.

Just like last time. Only now, I'll torch his bones so he cannot run away.

Once upon a time, this office was a place of entertainment founded in familiarity. Once the rose-colored hue dispelled, I see nothing of comfort in this cold, lonely room.

"You wish to speak to me," Cyrus says.

"Where were you yesterday?"

His response is a smile improperly held together by facial muscles. He seems… happy? No, happiness doesn't look like that. Whatever emotion it is, it's happiness distorted beyond recognition.

"Funny how even the most imaginative of myths contain a grain of truth," he says.

You're not answering the question, Cyrus. You never did.

"I want to ask you something else," I say.

"By all means."

"But you have to answer truthfully."

His eyes crinkle. There is no mirth about it. His silence is a warning, but I still tread forward.

"Have you been lying to me all this time?"

Something moves beneath that carefully constructed mask. Right then and there, I know I have made a decisive move. Although we occupy the same space, the bridge that connected us has been forever burned.

"Have I not been trustworthy?" he says.

"Answer the question."

"If I have displeased you in any way, you should've brought it up to my attention sooner—"

I lunge for his treacherous throat. Then Lucian's words echo in my mind, and I stop myself before my fingers accidently dig into Cyrus's neck. His unprotected neck. The medium joining his spinal cord to his brain.

"You're hiding something from me," I almost growl.

Cyrus steps back ever so slightly. "Why do you believe I am withholding information—"

"Yes or no!"

My voice rings across the office. Cyrus winces. He winces. But it happens so fast that I can't confirm it actually happened, for the look he gives me is cold and collected. Devoid of any familiarity.

"No."

Oh, Cyrus. You filthy pathological liar.

I'm done here. On my way out, I throw open the door… only to realize that it's locked.

Shit.

His footfalls echo behind me. I can't turn around. Closer… closer… The smell of metal scalds my nostrils. A stale breeze rakes down the bristling hairs of my neck…

Then nothing.

Silence.

Almost like a painful decision is being made then and there. Whatever the outcome will be, the consequences will be catastrophic.

Come on, Cynthia, move!

Then Cyrus unlocks the door. He holds it open for me. One hand is tucked behind his back.

Our gazes meet.

I walk away without acknowledging the blizzard burning behind his eyes.

Only when I am halfway across the region do I notice something… or the lack of it: Cyrus had not asked me about my memories.

Not even once.