POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: Veilstone Galactic HQ
A storm of emotion flashes across his face: Surprise. Disbelief. Disappointment.
"Sleeping pills. The high and mighty Champion of Sinnoh resorts to under-handed tactics to defeat her enemy."
Scowling, Cyrus dumps out an entire bottle's worth of substituted pills and crushes them under his heel.
"Who corrupted your inflated head?"
Even with the wind blowing in my favor, this bastard still finds a way to get under my skin. Whatever. The gig might be up, but his reign of terror is over.
"Are these really sleeping pills?" Cyrus says.
"Does it matter?"
"You would poison me without a second thought. If there's one thing that never changed, it's your contempt for the consequences."
Cyrus shakes his head, as if deeply insulted. What gives him the right to lecture me like so?
"How many?" he growls without looking at me.
"How many what?"
"I am not stupid. How many reinforcements did you bring?"
Huh. I guess I did underestimate him a tiny bit.
"We've got HQ surrounded."
"And my Commanders?"
"Apprehended as soon as they left the building."
Cyrus wordlessly turns to the window. The dusty Veilstone skyline is black with helicopters. Far below, squad cars line the evacuated streets as agents in bulky vests file into position with guns drawn.
"It was you who pulled the fire alarm," he mumbles.
"Enough talking. I'm bringing you to justice!"
Garchomp appears at my side, steam crackling from its jaws. We both returned for revenge. And we'll each have a share of deep-fried Galactic bastard.
When Cyrus finally looks at me, his eyes are so cold you can freeze in that blue. Even his voice is frosty enough to form polar ice floes.
"Justice? Do you think the pain and suffering of this world will be eradicated once you've put me away?"
"It's a start."
"As usual, you are woefully ignorant to the bigger problem. You were given life. Anyone given life should be able to live it to the fullest. Why must we suffer? If sorrow is a natural part of living, then I reject it altogether. You. Me. We do not deserve to endure needless pain—"
"You're not going to indoctrinate me into your doomsday cult," I snap.
Garchomp lunges for Cyrus's throat. His Crobat swoops down from nowhere, parrying the lethal strike with poison-dipped wings.
While our Pokemon duke it out, I tackle Cyrus to the floor. He coughs in my face, showering droplets of blood into my eyes, and slips out from beneath me.
"Motherfucker!" I hiss.
The door flings open behind me.
"Cyrus of the Team Galactic!" Looker yells into his megaphone. "You are under arrest! Hands in the air!"
The windows explode from the force generated by the whirling helicopter blades. Glass and shrapnel rain down the sky. Searchlights hone in on Cyrus, who glowers and gnashes his teeth.
Though cornered, he shows no intention of surrendering.
Suddenly, something gleams against the evening sun. A wire? No, it's… a beam of light. Originating from an agent's sniper rifle. Fixated to the back of Cyrus's head.
The only sound from that fired bullet is the sickly crunch of penetrated flesh. Cyrus spins around to witness his Crobat falling at his feet.
For a while he just stands there, staring at his bleeding Pokemon with his mouth open.
In my long, illustrious career as a Pokemon Trainer, never have I seen a Pokemon be shot down. Guns and Pokemon exist in separate spheres of society that must never meet. For the unthinkable to unfold before my eyes is… highly upsetting.
"Why did you shoot the Crobat?" I bark at Looker.
"The Crobat jumped into the line of fire!" he yelps. To his radio transiever, he says, "I need the Med Unit! Pokemon down!"
Meanwhile, Cyrus drops to his knees and gathers his bat into his arms. His own blood runs into that of his Pokemon's, staining his shirt and hands a dark red. The blaze of defiance no longer burns in his eyes. Left behind is a blank, unfocused darkness.
"We've got him!" Looker says.
The agents move closer. Cyrus does not resist. Before the handcuffs snap over his wrists, two latecomers crash the show.
"Don't start the party without us!" Volkner says.
"Sorry. Interpol was being difficult," Flint grumbles.
"Better late than never!" I say.
Their voices awaken something deep inside Cyrus. When he raises his head, he flinches violently—as if experiencing an adverse reaction to those two's presence. At once, his demeanor changes: his bloodied hands tighten into fists, and when he snarls, his lips peel all the way back to his skull. From how tightly he grinds his teeth, his bones might as well snap under the strain.
"The hell's wrong with him?" Volkner says.
Cyrus then whips out a remote control from under his vest. As we gape, frozen with shock, he holds his little toy higher for all of Veilstone to witness.
"Put that down!" Looker squeaks.
"He's bluffing," I say. "Like hell that's a real bomb!"
"There are four bombs under this building," Cyrus says calmly. Dangerously so. "One has the potential to evaporate a lake. Combined, all of Sinnoh will sink underwater."
"You're not going to press it. You don't have the balls."
Is it right for me to goad him on in a tense situation like this? The thought did cross my mind, but only as an afterthought, like a scrape of cabbage left over from a stir-fry.
Cyrus barks out a laugh that borders on hysterical. "You've hurt my Commanders. You've hurt my Pokemon. And now you've brought back the past to hurt me again. You think you know me as well as you claim? My dear Cynthia, you've never cared to know me at all!"
"This guy's crazy!" Flint hisses.
"You took the words right out of my mouth," I say.
It's all or nothing now. If I don't stop this lunatic, everything I know and love will be ripped away from me.
So I raise my hand and proclaim the finishing blow.
"Garchomp! Draco Meteor!"
Time stands still. When our gazes connect, the fear in his eyes echoes that which had shone so brightly back in Celestic Town.
Then time flows again, and the meteors collide into Galactic HQ. Unable to withstand the brunt of the assault, the twenty-eighth floor collapses. Followed by the twenty-seventh, the twenty-sixth… down, down like a stack of paper disintegrating under a falling knife set ablaze.
Long after the tremors subside and the billowing clouds of dust disperse does the full extent of the damage present itself. Floors and ceilings have burst open, walls charred a blackness that can never be scrubbed away. The hole yawns all the way to the ground like the entrance of an abyss. At the very bottom lies a deep sheet of ash, still smoldering.
Somewhere within the deathly silence, I hear Looker motioning frantically for the helicopters to move in.
"Dig Cyrus out! Bring him and his Pokemon to the hospital at once!"
"You did it," Flint whispers.
"You sure did," Volkner adds, his face unusually alert.
When the moon appears in the sky, it projects a silver halo over the metal skeleton of what had once been a bed. Combined with the twisted hand jutting out from the rubble, it makes for a ghastly reminder of the price paid for my decisive victory.
Next arc posted on main page. Old Notebook arc.
