Chapter 3: The Poison Division
The shrill blast of an alarm jolted me awake at 0500 hours. Blinking away the disorientation, I took in the still unfamiliar surroundings of the Team Rocket barracks. My muscles ached from yesterday's training, a stark reminder of my new life's physical demands.
Oddish was already awake, its leaves quivering in the cool morning air. It watched me with large, unblinking eyes as I prepared for the day. The Team Rocket uniform felt less stiff now, as if adapting to my body.
"Another day ahead," I said to Oddish. It gave a small nod, its leaves perking up slightly.
The base bustled with activity as we made our way to Sub-Level 3, Room 42. Other grunts hurried past, their faces a mix of nerves and determination. The corridors were a maze of concrete and steel, punctuated by the occasional grunt hurrying past on some errand. The air was stale and cold, carrying the faint echo of distant machinery.
Room 42 was a vast laboratory space, filled with scientific equipment more suited to a university than a criminal hideout. The air held a sharp chemical smell, mingling with the earthy scent of plant-type Pokémon. One table held a collection of vials filled with liquids of various colors, each labeled with scientific names I didn't recognize. Another station featured a terrarium housing several Ekans, their scales glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights.
A woman in a white lab coat stood at the front, her piercing gaze sweeping over us. Her vivid purple hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Beside her stood a Vileplume, its massive flower emitting a sickly-sweet aroma.
"Welcome to the Poison Division," she announced. "I'm Dr. Fane, head researcher. You're here because you've shown aptitude for poison-type work or your partner has poison capabilities."
Her eyes lingered on my Oddish before continuing. "We develop new toxins for various Team Rocket operations. It's dangerous but essential work."
Dr. Fane outlined the division's current projects. I found my attention drawn to the workstations around us.
"Your first task: extracting venom samples from our Pokémon subjects. Pair up, choose a station, and follow the instructions provided. Begin."
I partnered with a nervous-looking girl named Aria, whose Zubat clung to her shoulder. We approached a station where a Bellsprout was secured in a containment unit. Its vine-like arms were carefully restrained by soft, padded clamps, and a collection vial was positioned near its mouth.
"I'll handle the Bellsprout," I said. "You manage the collection vial."
I examined the Bellsprout, noting its darting eyes. Following the instructions, I gently massaged the base of its bell-shaped head. The Bellsprout tensed, and a faint sheen of liquid formed in its mouth.
"Vial ready," I told Aria.
Applying a small electrical current to the Bellsprout's stem, I triggered its reflex to expel a stream of liquid. Aria maneuvered the vial to catch the toxin, her hands steady despite her earlier nervousness.
The process required precise timing. Too much stimulation could harm the Bellsprout, while too little would result in an insufficient sample. I focused intently on the Bellsprout's reactions, adjusting the stimulation as needed.
As we worked, I noticed changes in the venom. The initial clear, slightly viscous liquid gradually took on a greenish tinge. I made a mental note, curious about the toxicity variations.
"Well done," Dr. Fane's voice startled me. She had approached silently. "You have potential, Harley."
"Thank you," I replied.
As Dr. Fane moved on, Aria leaned in, whispering, "Is it true you didn't react during the oath ceremony?"
I glanced at her, seeing a mix of fear and curiosity. "That's not relevant to our work."
She flushed and turned away. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's just... people are talking. They say you're like a machine."
The description didn't bother me, but it made me wonder how others perceived me. Was my demeanor an asset in this environment of calculated precision?
The morning continued with similar tasks. We moved to an Ekans, carefully milking its venom by allowing it to bite into a covered beaker, its fangs piercing a synthetic membrane. The aggressive creature required careful handling to avoid accidental bites. Its scales gleamed under the harsh laboratory lights as we worked, its forked tongue flicking out periodically to taste the air.
Next, we tackled a Skorupi, which required gentle pressure applied to its tail to express venom from its stinger. The skittish Pokémon needed calming before we could begin the extraction process. Its hard exoskeleton clicked softly against the containment unit as we worked, its pincers opening and closing reflexively.
By lunchtime, we had collected an array of venoms, each meticulously measured and cataloged. The samples varied in color, viscosity, and potency, showcasing the diverse capabilities of poison-type Pokémon. Some were clear and watery, while others were thick and opaque. The colors ranged from pale yellow to deep purple, each hue potentially indicating different toxic properties.
As we filed out for lunch, Dr. Fane addressed the group. "Your work today was satisfactory. Report back here at the same time tomorrow. Dismissed."
In the mess hall, I ate my bland meal, surrounded by the chatter of other recruits. The food was unremarkable - a protein of questionable origin, overcooked vegetables, and a starchy side that might have been potatoes in a previous life. I contemplated the morning's work, finding the precise nature of the tasks oddly engaging.
The next few weeks followed a similar pattern. Mornings in the Poison Division, afternoons spent in combat training with Oddish. Each day brought new challenges, new toxins to analyze, new battle strategies to master.
In the lab, we progressed to more complex extractions and analyses. We learned to synthesize basic poisons, combining different venoms to create more potent compounds. The air was often thick with acrid fumes, and we all grew accustomed to working in protective gear.
I observed Oddish's gradual improvement in our training sessions. Its Acid attack grew more accurate, its movements more agile. We worked on combining Sweet Scent with surprise Acid attacks, creating a strategy that often caught our sparring partners off guard. Yet I also noticed its increasing unease in the lab, especially around the contained Pokémon used for venom extraction. Its leaves would droop slightly when we entered Room 42, and it seemed to shy away from the terrariums housing the poison-types.
One evening, about three weeks into our new routine, I found a note in my locker. The paper was crisp and white, the handwriting precise and angular. "Report to Lab B tomorrow, 0800 hours. - Dr. Fane"
The next morning, I made my way to a restricted area of the base. The corridor leading to Lab B was noticeably quieter, with fewer grunts about. A sense of secrecy hung in the air, almost palpable. The lights here seemed dimmer, casting long shadows along the sterile hallway.
I approached a heavily secured door, its surface adorned with warning signs and a biometric scanner. Placing my hand on the cool surface, I felt a slight tingle as it read my palm print. The door slid open with a soft hiss, releasing a waft of cold, antiseptic-scented air.
Lab B was a stark contrast to the main laboratory. While the main lab bustled with activity and Pokémon, this space was eerily quiet and meticulously clean. The workstations were immaculate, each instrument precisely placed. The walls were lined with advanced equipment I didn't recognize, their displays glowing with complex readouts.
Dr. Fane stood at a workstation, her eyes sharp behind protective goggles. "Harley, your work these past weeks has been impressive. It's time to put your skills to a more... advanced use." She paused, then added, "I've arranged for you to be excused from afternoon training sessions. This project requires your full attention."
I nodded, acknowledging the weight of this new responsibility. The loss of training time with Oddish was a concern, but the opportunity presented here was clearly significant.
She gestured to a series of sealed containers on the workbench. Each held a different Pokémon - a Vileplume, a Weezing, and a Tentacruel. Unlike the Pokémon in the main lab, these specimens seemed unnaturally still, their eyes glazed and unfocused. The Vileplume's petals were dull and lifeless, the Weezing's usual noxious fumes absent, and the Tentacruel's tentacles hung limply in its tank.
"These are our primary subjects," Dr. Fane explained, her voice clinical. "We've been combining their toxins to create something unique."
She held up a vial filled with an iridescent liquid. The substance seemed to shift and swirl of its own accord, catching the light in mesmerizing patterns. "Our latest iteration. A neurotoxin affecting both Pokémon and human nervous systems. Potent, fast-acting, and nearly untraceable."
I studied the vial, watching the liquid shift colors in the light. "What's the goal?"
Dr. Fane's lips curved into a cold smile. "Control, of course. Imagine incapacitating both trainers and their Pokémon simultaneously. The applications for Team Rocket operations are... extensive."
She handed me a thick binder of notes and formulas. The pages were filled with complex chemical equations, biological diagrams, and meticulous notes in various handwritings. "Your task: assist in refining the formula. Increase potency, reduce detection risk. You'll work under my direct supervision."
As I began to leaf through the binder, I felt Oddish shift uneasily at my feet. Looking down, I saw it staring at the contained Pokémon, a faint tremor running through its leaves. Its eyes were wide, darting between the immobile Pokémon and me.
For a moment, I hesitated. The implications of this project were far-reaching and undeniably dark. This wasn't just theft or battling - this was chemical warfare. A small voice in the back of my mind whispered that this was wrong, that I should feel something - revulsion, fear, anything.
But as I turned back to the formulas, that voice faded away. In its place came a familiar sense of focus, a detached fascination with the scientific challenge before me. This was a puzzle to be solved, a problem that required my full attention and capabilities.
"Where do we start?" I asked, looking up at Dr. Fane.
She nodded approvingly. "We'll begin by analyzing the individual components. Run a series of tests on each toxin, measuring efficacy and onset time."
I set to work after reviewing the relevant notes in the binder. I measured microliter quantities of toxin components using a calibrated micropipette, steadying my hand as I transferred the liquids into separate test tubes. The iridescent sheen of the combined toxin caught the light, and I made a mental note of its viscosity as it slid down the glass.
I prepared a series of dilutions, creating a gradient to test efficacy at various concentrations. Each dilution was labeled with an alphanumeric code, which I recorded in a logbook along with the exact ratios used. My handwriting was neat and compact, filling the margins with additional observations about color changes and reactions between components.
Moving to the spectrophotometer, I analyzed each sample's light absorption properties. As the machine hummed, I watched the numbers flicker on the digital display, mentally calculating the correlation between concentration and absorption rates. I graphed the results immediately, my pen moving swiftly across graph paper, plotting each point with exacting precision.
Next came the bioassay tests. I carefully exposed cultured cells to each dilution, timing the onset of cellular changes with a stopwatch. Through the microscope, I observed and documented the progression of cellular degradation, my eyes never leaving the eyepiece as my right hand scribbled time stamps and descriptive notes.
Throughout the process, I maintained a sterile environment, cleaning equipment between tests and disposing of hazardous materials properly. The lab's ventilation system hummed softly in the background, ensuring that any stray fumes were quickly removed from the air.
Hours passed as I compiled data, cross-referencing results to identify patterns and anomalies. My focus never wavered, the outside world fading away as I immersed myself in the work. The contained Pokémon occasionally stirred, their movements sluggish and uncoordinated. I observed them, noting their reactions as part of the data collection process.
It was only when Dr. Fane announced the end of the shift that I realized how much work I had done. My back ached from hunching over the lab bench, and my eyes felt strained from peering through microscopes and analyzing data readouts.
"Excellent work today, Harley," Dr. Fane said as I prepared to leave. "Your attention to detail is impressive. I think you'll be a valuable asset to this project."
"Thank you," I replied. "I look forward to continuing."
As I made my way back to the barracks, Oddish trailing silently behind me, my mind buzzed with formulas and chemical reactions. The ethical implications of what I was doing rarely crossed my mind. To me, it was simply a task to be completed, a problem to be solved.
In my quarters, I sat on the edge of my bunk, absently stroking Oddish's leaves. It surprised me by leaning into my touch. The room was quiet save for the soft rustle of Oddish's leaves and the distant hum of the base's machinery.
"Quite a day," I murmured.
Remembering the missed combat training, I decided to use the remaining daylight hours productively. "Come on, Oddish. Let's practice."
We made our way to the enclosed courtyard. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the worn concrete, and I could hear the faint sounds of the city above us.
"Let's work on your Acid accuracy," I said, setting up makeshift targets using empty cans and broken pieces of equipment.
Oddish launched glob after glob of purple liquid, its aim improving with each attempt. I observed its stance, noting the increasing stability in its posture and the growing precision of its attacks.
As the sun set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, we switched to evasion techniques. I tossed small pebbles, instructing Oddish to dodge while maintaining an offensive posture. Its movements became more fluid, leaves swaying as it deftly avoided the projectiles.
"Keep your balance," I called out. "Be ready to counter-attack at any moment."
The training session continued, each exercise building upon the last. I pushed Oddish to its limits, observing its responses with clinical interest. Its movements became sharper, more precise, though fatigue showed in its drooping leaves.
As darkness fell and the compound's floodlights flickered on, casting harsh shadows across the courtyard, I ended the session. Oddish stood before me, breathing heavily but with a noticeable air of accomplishment. I could see, although tired, its leaves seemed to stand a little taller.
"Good work," I said. "We'll continue tomorrow after lab work."