"Good morning, Pollie," Sheridan greeted. She was standing in front of her desk in her usual olive-green blazer and skirt, hands clasped in front of her.
"Good morning, Mrs. Sheridan," Pollie nodded. She stepped nervously into the warden's office, her bandaged hand hanging at her side.
"As you're aware, you were recently given the opportunity to become a guard here while furthering your training to become a full-fledged agent in the field. As you're also aware, things got quite out of hand...literally. Team Rocket drew the rest us into a fight, leaving you to capture the fugitive alone. You succeeded at first, but she got away."
The corners of Pollie's mouth turned as she looked down. She had failed.
"After speaking with the other members of the task force and those involved on the day of your test...I concluded that you are capable of handling the job. Congratulations Pollie, you are now a guard of...this unnamed prison, and your sole duty is keeping inmate 001 in line. Keep working and training and you'll make it out into the field."
"But...I failed," Pollie said, surprised.
"No one is completely equipped to handle...Morai," Sheridan answered. "But you did well given that her attempt at escape was put entirely on your shoulders while we were occupied. Had you not stopped her, she would've been as free as a Pikipek."
Sheridan handed the new guard her official name tag and gun with an almost motherly smile.
"I was thinking..." Pollie said, "that we should make some Morai-specific adjustments to the uniforms...and weapons."
"Already setting out to make changes, I see," the chief laughed, gathering her things and heading for the door. "Come by later and we'll talk. Right now I've got a doctor to visit. Take as much time as you need to let your hand heal."
"Actually, I was thinking about checking in on...inmate 001...now. My hand is healing just fine, and I think the risk is minimal."
Sheridan's smile turned into a frown. She walked back to Pollie, who was confused at the gesture.
"There is one thing I must warn you, about," she said. "Holding grudges is a deadly game. If your work is centered around getting revenge, you will never be satisfied. You're a guard, not a harbinger of personal justice. If you hit her to settle a score, she'll only find a way to hit back harder and it will end in eventual bloodshed from you both. You have one job. Is that understood?"
"Y-yes, Mrs. Sheridan," the new guard stammered.
"Good. Now, I'm sure she's hungry for her first good meal since arriving back here. Take a nurse with you to check up on her physical condition."
Pollie, in her new official uniform, stepped through the door with a confident smile, an Aether employee following behind her.
"Morai," she said, plate in hand, "It's time for—holy Miltank..."
The guard stopped in her tracks, holding her other arm out to keep the employee from walking any further. Morai was on the ground, slumped against the end of the bed, her chest heaving under her own uniform. She had managed to claw and pull until she got the strange contraption off of her head. Her mouth hung open, saliva dripping onto the ground, and her red eyes were the most visible thing in the dark room.
"Step outside," Pollie whispered to the other employee. It felt good to say it as she took her gun from its holster. "I'll take care of this."
But the Aether employee didn't leave.
"Morai," Pollie warned. "Let her go."
"Oh, I'm not hypnotized," the employee replied in a voice that sounded just like her normal one. "I just don't want to leave you alone to deal with...her."
Pollie looked from her to Morai, who sat still and looked back at her with unblinking red eyes.
"You've gotten masterful at that, but I'm not buying it. I'm not giving you three chances either," the guard said, pointing her gun. "You've only got the one. We can talk about it. Just let her go."
"Let me sleep, then," the dark figure whispered. Her eyes hadn't closed the entire time.
"These aren't sedatives, Morai. If she takes another step it's going to be just like it was on the beach."
"Shouldn't people get punished for not following the rules?" Morai whispered. "She was stupid enough to do what hundreds of posters say not to. I teach her a quick lesson and get what I want, then I'll be compliant. It's a simple exchange."
"You're breaking the rules," Pollie replied, taking a step forward, quickly shifting her eyes from Morai to her new puppet in case either one made a move. "And you're the prisoner."
"I wouldn't come any closer," Morai whispered, licking her teeth. She sat hunchbacked like some sort of predator ready to spring into action.
"You're pretty limited in what you can do right now and I have a gun that'll humble you in a second. You're not in a position to make threats."
"My claws and teeth are still sharp. I can still do damage with handcuffs."
Pollie reached for her radio, calling for Sheridan to come down. She carefully stepped closer, Morai waiting for her to step within reach. As soon as she did, Morai lunged and the hypnotized employee hooked an arm around her neck from behind. Morai felt the cold barrel of a gun against her neck.
"Just a taste," she whispered. "I'll make you look the best guard in this prison. I just need a—"
"Let. Us. Go," Pollie interjected, pressing the gun into her neck. Morai sighed and let go of her hold on the employee, who dizzily stumbled outside. "Now let me go."
"You don't understand," Morai said. When the new guard didn't move, she let her go and clumsily retreated to her bed.
"Holy..." Pollie whispered, shining her flashlight to reveal the shredded sleeves of Morai's uniform, the skin underneath covered in bite marks.
"If you can't get it from others, you get desperate," Morai shakily explained.
"I need to treat those," Pollie said, sitting down in the chair behind the line of safety. "That's the first step. But I'm waiting until Sheridan gets here."
Morai sat licking her wounds like a Houndoom. Pollie shook her head.
"I guess Giovanni is pretty smart," she sighed, stretching her legs out and crossing her feet. "His scientists are, at least. That stuff puts you at the top of the ladder, but when you fall, you really fall. All the way down to the bottom rung until you can get your next fill. It's easy enough in the free world, but right here? He knew you'd end up here at some point, meaning that without his help you'd have a hard time getting back out. He set a trap and you stepped right in it."
Morai didn't answer, but she stopped licking her forearms. It wasn't the same, anyway. She sat quietly in the darkness, knowing Pollie was getting her own fill of revenge as she watched her in such a pitiful state.
"It was a deal I willingly accepted," she hoarsely replied, falling back onto her pillow. It was taking her longer to speak. "After the first time, anyway. I'll give him that first time, but in the end, he was the one left bleeding."
Pollie sat and tapped her foot for a few moments before taking a sharp inhale.
"Look, I know it's way out of bounds to ask this, but he's the boss of Team Rocket, the biggest and most profitable criminal organization in the world...did he taste like it?"
Morai actually chuckled, despite her condition.
"I think what people eat and drink is reflected in their blood, at least when I taste it...He did taste gourmet."
Surprisingly, they both shared a laugh.
"How's Maria?" Morai asked.
"Upset because she can't see you," Pollie answered honestly. "And she's definitely tried."
"I think it's best she doesn't," Morai sighed. "If I were you, I'd tell her to leave."
"She wouldn't be able to. Team Rocket is searching out anyone with a connection to you. Sheridan's got an eye on everyone that falls under that umbrella, and everyone that's here now isn't authorized to leave without her permission...Does your family know?"
"Know what?" Morai asked.
"The extent of what you've gotten yourself into?" Pollie replied. "When was the last time you saw them?"
"...I don't know. I've lost track of time..." the prisoner replied. "I don't even remember their faces, and no specific personalities come to mind anymore. They've all just...faded into the sea of black sand that makes up the rest of my memories. They might've forgotten me too."
"...Morai, that's—"
"Alright, what's going on?" Sheridan asked as she walked into the room, turning at the foot of Morai's bed to face her with a stone face. Pollie shot up from her chair.
"This monster is pretty simple," Morai replied. "It needs one thing. One thing and it'll go back to being kept chained up in some dungeon."
"...No," Sheridan replied.
"But—"
"Pollie, fix her up and send her the medical wing."
"Sheridan!" Morai growled. "You can hate me all you want. But you won't break me. All of this will fade into obscurity in time. What matters is the present, and at present I need...well, you know what I need."
The warden walked up to her prisoner and leaned in close, looking her in the eye. Morai's eyes continued to glow amongst the dark and gloomy room, and the stress of her confinement and unbearable thirst had clearly taken its toll.
"What do you need, Morai? Say it."
"Just a taste..."
"Of what?"
"Of blood," the prisoner whispered, leaning in further. "Warm, fresh, blood from the veins of someone in this prison. Sacrifice an employee you don't particularly like, come back down when you get a paper cut...or hey, you've already done it!"
Before Morai could hypnotize her, Sheridan put her gun to her prisoner's neck and pulled the trigger. Still, the two seemed to have been caught in a draw. Perhaps the chief's instincts kicked in before her awareness did, or Morai still hypnotized her after being shot. Either way, Morai tried to make do of her fleeting consciousness by getting what she had been after the entire time. Pollie jumped in to stop her, of course, and her attempt was unsuccessful. She didn't fight after that, knowing that unconsciousness was a gift given her circumstances.
"You brought waffles," she whispered to Pollie, her eyes fluttering as she began to fade away, the smell of vanilla and maple reaching her nose amidst the dusty aroma of her cell.
"Someone put in a good word," the guard said.
Morai found herself in the Realm of Dreams. She felt the same as she did before, but she had been sapped of all her energy. Past Morai was in the same position she had been left in before, sitting quietly by Light Morai's statue. She opened her eyes to find her counterpart sitting beside her.
"Just show me a nice one. Please," Morai asked, not looking at her. Past Morai sighed and obliged.
They appeared in the middle of a fine dining restaurant, and Past Morai silently went to sit down at an empty table. Morai watched as her memory self, Giovanni, Proton, and Archer appeared in the doorway. The room was warmly lit with a jovial yet fairly quiet atmosphere, and the smell of wine and spices saturated the air.
"Wow," Morai said, nodding in appreciation of Giovanni's taste. "We all can just...walk in here? No one cares?"
"Not when you're the reason for their success," Giovanni explained with a smile.
"This restaurant has more than good food if you know who to ask and what to say," Proton leaned in to whisper after catching the momentary look of inquisition on Morai's face. She gave another nod that was followed by a small laugh. Why hadn't she guessed that herself?
"You're a bit of a standout, but don't do anything rash and you won't turn many heads," Giovanni added as they walked through the room to a cozy table in the corner. As she sat looking over the menu, no image of delectable dishes could drown out what she really wanted. What she really needed. The Mask Maker had gotten used to the sting of serum in her veins, but she was still struggling with the near-constant thirst for blood. She had been scanning the room since she arrived, searching for someone whose unfortunate future injuries wouldn't ruin whatever connection Giovanni had to the people of this place.
"Are you alright, Morai?" Giovanni asked. The trainer snapped out of her wondering to realize that she had been gripping the table with such intensity that her claws had dug into it.
"If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll be right back," she whispered before hurrying off to the restrooms. Morai locked the door and loosed her tie, leaning over the counter as her knuckles turned white from gripping it so tightly. Her labored breathing drowned out the sound of faint jazz music playing in the main area. Saliva dripped from her mouth into the sink.
"You've got to get a grip, Morai," she whispered to herself. She looked up into the mirror at her red eyes.
"Get out of my head," she snarled, pointing at her reflection. "You can't control me. I'm going to win this fight."
She stared at herself in the mirror for longer than she meant to, nearly hypnotizing herself. Then, in her bloodthirsty delirium, she saw her reflection double.
"Why fight in the first place?" her doppelgänger said, putting its hands on her shoulders. "We're on the same team, you and I. This is what you need. It's what you want. Why deny it? Why deny who you are for the sake of some made up illusion of control? Relax and give in, my friend, and relish in that delectable, life-giving taste of blood."
Morai fell against the wall and let her legs give out. She had begun to smile, and that smile turned into a quiet laugh, as if she held a secret between herself and her split soul.
"Perhaps someone should check on Morai," Giovanni suggested back at the table before taking a sip of wine. Proton stood up and headed towards the restroom before hearing a muffled scream in the kitchen. Alas, the doors were opened to find Morai standing in the midst of chaos, just finishing off one of several staff members.
"I couldn't help but sample the off-menu cuisine," she mumbled with a smile, letting the man fall to the floor. The others were dazed and confused, trying to find the strength to get up amongst the puddles of blood forming on the floor.
"Morai..." Proton said, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand quickly reached for his gun when The Mask Maker looked at him with a sense of ill-intent. "Let's be reasonable about this, now. We can fix this. We'll get you back to headquarters and—"
Morai didn't wait for him to finish before attacking. The executive raised his gun, but this one contained real bullets, and, hardened criminal or not, he couldn't shoot his friend. His attacker swept him from his feet and knocked the gun out of his hand. As soon as they hit the ground she went for his neck.
"Morai!" Giovanni yelled. When Morai didn't respond, he took out his pistol and shot into the ceiling. The jarring sound seemed to snap her out of her daze.
"Proton," she whispered, shaking the unconscious executive as he lay in her arms. "Proton!"
Giovanni knelt down and checked his pulse.
"He's fine," he sighed. He got up and surveyed the cold room. With his backed turned to Morai, a smile crossed his face.
"I'm trying to control it in situations like this," Morai explained. "But it's just so...strong. I hope I didn't ruin whatever you had going on here."
"Don't try to control it," the boss said, turning around to face his unknowing weapon. "Embrace it. It's who you are."
"But the owner—"
"Wouldn't be here if it weren't for me," he interrupted. "It's alright, Morai. I'll take care of it. These people will have some time off in the hospital. They're easily replaceable, but you aren't...you're one of a kind. Don't feel bad for it."
Archer had cleared the area, save for one last couple and the two Morais from the present who couldn't be seen.
"Oh my, what happened?" a woman asked. She stood up from her table and Morai's eyes widened in silent recognition.
"Anabel," she whispered. The man beside her was Looker.
"Nothing worth worrying about, ma'am," Archer replied with a smile.
"Well, we best be on our way, then, I suppose," Anabel said. The executive nodded and headed back his boss in the back room.
"Now's our chance!" the agent exclaimed in a sharp whisper. "We can get them all!"
"The boss of Team Rocket, two of his trained executives and his psychic mind-controlling pet with a taste for blood. Our chances don't look great and we'll blow our cover," Looker said.
"If we call for backup, wait, then hold them off until it arrives, we might have a shot," Anabel argued.
"I understand the potential prize, but the potential cost isn't worth it," Looker replied. Anabel sighed and they moved to hide behind the bar. "I think Morai's arrest is coming soon, but not today. According to Emma, Olympia said so."
In the cathedral turned prison, Sheridan had walked in on the doctor in the midst of his pondering and pacing about the room.
"Doctor," she greeted with a stern voice that instantly tore him from his thoughts, "In the months you've been here, what have you accomplished?"
"Research takes time, Mrs. Sheridan," the man replied with a sigh. "And hypotheses are more difficult to test if there is no test subject. Even among Pokémon, none of them can compare to Morai as far as how each substance will affect them. Still, I've made strides in the process of balancing her soul. I—"
"Balancing her soul?" Sheridan scoffed. "The soul is a concept, an idea we made up to explain our behaviors and what happens after we die. You can't hold it in your hand, and corrupted as her soul may seem, you can't change Morai by trying to balance something that isn't there."
A slight frown crossed the doctor's face, but he wasn't surprised at Sheridan's disagreement. It's what everyone had done.
"With all due respect," he said with a nervous chuckle, "the people in her head would prove otherwise."
"Have you seen them?" Sheridan asked. "In person? Of course not, because they're also nothing more than conceptual, something Morai could've made up. That serum affected her brain in many ways, which could include making her very...imaginative. If you're wasting your time conducting research on nonexistent things, perhaps the International Police—perhaps my husband—sought out the wrong doctor."
"Please, Mrs. Sheridan, give me time!" the doctor pleaded. "I believe I'm close, but with no real subject, even I can't achieve the end goal we all want."
Sheridan pinched the bridge of her nose, putting a hand down to lean onto the counter.
"Are you...asking to make Morai the sole test subject of your mad science?" she asked.
"It's not mad, it's—oh, never mind that. Yes, that's what I'm asking," the man eagerly replied. "You've already taken a more serious approach to her rehabilitation, but I think you know deep down that it can't be achieved without chemical means, and I can't do it without the patient herself."
Sheridan sighed, looking down and tapping her foot as she was forced to make a decision.
"Alright," she finally sighed.
"Thank you. I already have the paper," he said, retrieving a paper and pen from a drawer and sliding it toward her. "There are...risks, of course, but I can assure you that I'm not negligent or reckless."
"So...if you kill her, my name will be right here, allowing you to have done it," Sheridan sighed.
"You have my word that I won't intentionally put her in danger that I don't deem necessary to the cause. The cause being her own rehabilitation, of course."
Sheridan picked up the pen, hovering above the line.
"Everything worth doing has risks, Mrs. Sheridan."
If I had lost my daughter to the same curse Morai has, would I risk her life to bring her back, or try to help her as she is?...But Morai isn't my child. She's a prisoner. A prisoner who has spilled the blood of countless people and won't step foot outside this place again if things don't change.
The warden shook her head and quickly scribbled her signature onto the paper.
"You'll have to make do with the materials you have now, seeing as how no traffic in or out is allowed," she said, dropping the pen carelessly onto the desk as if she also were dropping the weight of what she had just done.
"I'll do what I can, though I hope that ban is lifted soon," the doctor said with a sigh. "Thank you, warden. I'll prove to you that you made the right decision."
Sheridan went to leave, stopping before she stepped through the door.
"If you break her more than she's already been broken, you'll never see the light of day again, either," she warned.
"Of course," the man replied. Once the door shut, a smile crept across his face.
"Finally!" he quietly cheered, retrieving a bottle and glass from his workspace. "Perhaps I can finally prove the existence and duality of the soul! I can raise a hero from the dead and even save mankind from its own treachery."
Morai woke up in the hospital wing, her wrists and ankles predictably locked in restraints. What she now considered to be a curse again had become unbearable. It made her want to crawl out of her skin, but she resigned to accepting her situation instead of trying. As in most other peculiar situations she found herself in, she often accepted that it was her own actions that landed her there. Still, her vulnerable state made her anxious.
The door opened, and the prisoner groaned at the burly silhouette of The Doctor.
"Never happy or at least content to see me!" he scoffed. "I helped you in Alola. It was your own rubbish efforts that put you here again."
"I know, I know," Morai sighed. "But you are a doctor, and I'm a scientific anomaly. The two don't usually get along well...unless you can give me—"
"Oh no, no, don't go there," the man replied with a chuckle. "I was just reprimanded by the warden for the very thing you're going to suggest. Besides, I was trading for cooperation before, but that's not a problem at the present. I, too, want to see what happens when you can't supply the demand your serum-addled brain gives you."
Morai shook her head. "I should've known," she sighed, clenching her fists. "You go to whoever offers the most scientific opportunity. You have no true loyalty aside from your dedication to the sciences that everyone else has left alone and deemed to be mad. I suppose I can't fault you, since I'm also only loyal to myself. We walk separate paths, but we're both walking them alone."
The doctor nodded, as if to agree. "I need some of your blood. That's all," he said.
"Well, I can't fight. Get it over with," Morai sighed.
"It might help to close your eyes. At least you won't see it."
"I can smell it," Morai lamented. "Almost taste it. But my own isn't as appetizing anyway. It wouldn't be enough."
After the doctor collected what he needed and left with a terse thank you, Sheridan entered right after him, tray in her hand.
"Waffles and iced water. Your favorite. Eat it," she said, undoing the strap around one of her wrists. "You get one free hand. Don't make me regret it."
Morai scoffed, fork in hand. "Am I supposed to thank you now or something?"
"No. You need to eat," Sheridan replied, pulling a chair from the corner and taking a seat. "I think it will help."
"I've lost my appetite for everything except what you're keeping me from getting."
"That's a shame. You need to eat like a normal person anyway," Sheridan flatly replied. "You've got a free hand and something to do instead of lying here in silence."
The prisoner sighed and began poking at her waffles. She had to admit that they smelled and looked good, suggesting that the resident chef was still in business and willing to serve Morai food after all she'd done. Still, her usually voracious appetite had gone away, fading away to allow for the silent voice of her scientifically engineered instincts to scream at her.
"Where you there when I was arrested?" she asked.
Sheridan shifted in her seat a little, a bit taken aback by the sudden question.
"Yes," she said. "In fact, I helped carry you to the van, then to the helicopter."
"Oh...I guess you were another face in the crowd then before I met you. What was I like?" Morai asked, beginning to eat her breakfast...or lunch...or even dinner. She didn't know what time it was, nor did she care.
Realizing that an explanation would allow time for Morai to eat and distract herself, Sheridan began to speak. "Well, it was the first time pretty much anyone had seen you without your mask. And after you said that you were the Champion, well, I kept comparing the mental image of her to you. The Champion was a friendly young hero who had worked with the International Police on several occasions, putting her life on the line more than once to save my fellow agents. But you...you were...different. Sharp teeth and claws, red eyes, wild hair, scarred and bruised from fighting. I hardly believed it until tests confirmed that it really was you."
The prisoner nodded, chewing a mouthful of waffle and washing it down with the water she'd been given. "I've never heard that before," she sighed, setting the glass back down on the bedside table.
"I know, I know, but Morai, so many people knew the person that came before you. She was so caring, so sweet yet determined. You have to understand that seeing someone change like you did is...jarring! Even I, who didn't know you personally, was shocked."
"I've been good at wearing masks," Morai said. "The face you saw wasn't true or real. I—I mean she—was being eaten up inside because she felt as though she had formed relationships under false pretenses, but if she took the mask off, no one would love her anymore. But then her outsides were forced to match her insides."
The warden didn't say anything else. She knew that arguing for the umpteenth time was futile.
