POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: -CLASSIFIED-
"What did you find out?"
I take my precious time depositing my ass into the chair, cycling through the ritual of picking lint off my fur coat, detangling the split ends in my hair, and idly flicking the excess top coat of my nail polish before finally acknowledging his deepening scowl.
"Did I give you permission to speak?" I say.
Cyrus is none too pleased, yet he keeps his objections stifled within his throat.
"Tell me about Charon," I begin.
"His ego is bigger than yours, believe it or not."
"We're done here."
The combination of scraping plastic and rattling chains brings a tiny smile to my lips. I keep my back to him, however, putting one foot deliberately over the other until those sweet words reach my ears.
"I'm sorry! I won't disrespect you again."
"You better not. I'm your only contact with the outside world. If you act like a smartass again, then I'm leaving for good. Understand?"
"Yes…"
Suppressing the urge to grin, I slip back into my seat. Cyrus is glaring down at his handcuffs. At last, he learned that he can only speak when spoken to. How adorable.
I decide to have a little fun with him.
"Apologize."
"For what?"
"One… two…"
"I-I'm sorry."
"What was that?"
"I know you hate me, but please get back to the matter at hand. Please… my head hurts…"
His voice tapers off to an inaudible mumbling, so I cannot catch that last part. Nonetheless, he did say "please" twice, and he sounded genuinely repentant for belittling me.
"Charon," I repeat.
"I hired him as Galactic's leading scientist. He defected from our organization not long before I visited Celestic Town."
"When you attacked my hometown."
"I merely came to examine the Mural Cave. You burned down—"
"Excuse me?"
"Y-Yes. When I attacked your hometown."
After allowing five minutes for him to marinate in his shattered ego, I gesture for him to continue.
"Charon stole confidential information, which I suspect he turned over to the Interpol detective to plant the germ of doubt."
"For what purpose?"
"Money."
"You can't be serious!"
Money, out of all the motivations to sell someone out? It's that simple? Nothing about Team Galactic is black-and-white!
"Where there is conflict, there is profit. War is a business," Cyrus murmurs. "Once you leave your bubble, you'll find that in the real world, sometimes the most heinous acts are not committed out of malice, but of hunger and pressing debts."
My perception of Charon grows less and less appealing by the second. Although he is a sinister old man, his list of sins isn't as long as that of the man sitting directly opposite of me.
"What's with Mars?" I say. "She's incredibly childish, but she stabs people when she's upset."
"Yes."
"You're okay with that? Isn't that wrong?"
"That's how she is. Why should I force her to change into someone she is not?"
Cyrus seems perplexed at my question. As if, according to him, it's perfectly normal to start waving a knife/rifle whenever you lose a petty argument. Goes to show how messed-up he is.
"What did Charon do to her?" he says sharply.
What I can say: "Charon is feeding Mars antipsychotics to keep her docile. He's blackmailing Jupiter, and he reassigned Saturn to housekeeping duties. I have his cry for help right here in my pocket. Oh, and your employees are living robots."
I wield within my aresenal a weapon as old as time: knowledge. Knowledge is what Cyrus so desperately desires in this timeless, frozen limbo.
But what has he done to deserve this precious gift?
Out loud, I say, "Charon has done wonders with your company. Sure, he might be motivated by greed, but he knows how to run a legitimate business."
"Charon has a background in big pharma, not business," Cyrus snaps. "But enough of him. What of my Commanders?"
"They've forgotten about you."
I expect him to call my bluff. And he does begin to do that, until he abruptly drops his gaze, as if overwhelmed by an internal conflict. His hesitation leaves a window of opportunity that must be seized.
"Why were you keeping my Pokemon hostage in the basement?" I say.
"Hostage? I never did such a thing!"
"Then explain why you kept them down there. Explain why you kidnapped me, erased my memories, and emotionally manipulated me into trusting you."
"You are placing falsehood in my mouth!"
I barely keep the anger out of my voice. "You swore by your word."
"I also swear on my life."
Oh, Cyrus. You dirty pathological liar. Your life must mean nothing to you.
When I slam the charred memory erasure device on the table, what little color left in his face fades so fast that he almost slumps over.
"It's not what you think!" he wheezes.
Alas, the water has finally overflowed from the boiling kettle. I haul that bastard up by his collar and shove him against the wall.
The warders suddenly find their bulletproof vests to be verrrry interesting.
"Cynthia, wait!" Cyrus cries. "I-I can explain—"
"You have no right to call me that!" I bark. "I gave you all the chances in the world to explain, yet time and time again you've wasted my time! Rot in your cage!"
To give him a prelude as to how I am capable of making his life hell, I crush his stupid buttons with my fist. The sounds they make resemble not crackling plastic, but splintering wood. Dense, solid materials shattering under a significant force.
When I finally release him, he crumbles down like a broken robot, writhing and coughing. The warders rush to scoop our little actor off the floor. Tossing Saturn's note into the trash can, I storm out of the interrogation room and never look back.
On my way to the League, I notice the appearance of small red dots on Togekiss's white feathers. These stains are fresh. I happen to lift my hand, where I notice a splattering of the same red fluid across my palm.
Why is there blood on my skin? It's not mine… so whose is it?