Dirk Yoriko was, on the whole, a fairly contented man. His work was stimulating, aligned quite strongly with his interests, and kept him paid well enough to be worth the time and effort.

  But on some days, being an agent for the Inner Ministry was a hard, thankless, and potentially dangerous slog – and on that day specifically, it meant pulling himself out of a warm bed to search the coldest part of the city for a random house. All so he could try and convince a man to climb out of the hole he’d been enthusiastically digging for himself over the course of months.

  “I can't feel my toes,” Darlan groused as the three of them walked the city streets, the air cold even through the brand new clothing they'd all picked up to better distance themselves from the aged gentlemen seen fleeing the scene of a recent gruesome murder…

  And to make a slightly better impression for a more serious attempt at bringing Hoshi Mutsu on board, of course.

  Dirk remained silent as Jasper let out a sound of frustration. “Well, why don't you complain a little bit more? I'm sure saying it enough times will fix the problem.”

  “I just think we should have gotten better boots…”

  “The boots are fine! Or they should be fine, but…” Jasper trailed off, not willing to voice the words they were all thinking.

  High Minister Jitsu must have let the Articuno out. Why? What could possibly have forced that turn of events? Did Clair uncover things? Did the Doksu turn on us? Something’s gone off its rails.

  It was pointless to speculate, but also impossible not to. The three's fates were tied to that of the Ministry as a whole; on the board of life, they were mere pawns… and yet, simply bowing down to the whims of said fate was not something Dirk or his companions were capable of.

  If they'd been willing to let the dice fall where they would, they would have remained normal gamblers rather than seeking out a higher power.

  “The boots we have are fine,” Dirk finally agreed as Darlan continued to grumble. “The storm will pass within a few days, and then anything that would have kept you completely warm will be too hot. If you're afraid of frostbite, walk faster.” The agent’s comment did little to quiet his friend’s grumblings – but it did make him feel better about his own chilly toes, and so the three made their way to the address they'd been given with commendable speed.

  Thus, they soon found themselves standing before an average-looking house in the Old District. “It doesn't look like a secret hideout,” Jasper said as he scrutinised Second and Sea Park, 0899. “Maybe it's just another Rocket's actual house?”

  “Or they flubbed the address,” Darlan offered, stepping past Jasper’s frowning form. “Who cares, we can think once we’re inside.”

  He led the way as Dirk and Jasper trailed behind, and gave the door three sharp banging raps. “Hello?!” A long pause. “Hm. Guess nobody's home; Jasper, do your magic on the lock while-”

  Without warning the door opened enough to reveal a squared-off face. “What? This is a private residence, and we're busy; if you're selling something, come back when it's not colder than the Dexus’s asscrack.”

  Once again, Dirk let Darlan take the lead. “Hello, we were out looking for our friend Hoshi Mutsu,” his fellow agent and longtime friend said, putting a touch of what Dirk thought of as The Preacher Voice into his enunciation of the technically-still-a-Rocket’s name. “But this cold is really doing a number on us. Must be General Winter waking up a touch early, hmm?” He showed a bit of tooth, the smile saying I know this is a pain and come on, help a guy out all at once. “Could we step in and get warmed up just a touch?”

  Dirk concluded that they’d found the right place when the doorkeeper reacted with overt suspicion; the house was situated in a good neighbourhood, and the three gentlemen took great pains to always appear jovial and harmless. Any normal person would've, at worst, hesitated before sending them away – whereas the man with dark grey eyes very nearly snarled.

  “Oh yeah? You know, I happen to know a Hoshi – if I asked him, would he say you're his friends?”

  Dirk finally stepped in. “More like potential friends,” he answered as Darlan faded into the background. “We recently helped him move house… If he happens to be in, could we get a quick word?”

  There was a tense moment where he was unsure if the man would accede, attack, or simply insist they leave. Dirk considered himself to be a good judge of character, but the mix of emotions written across the Rocket's – and Dirk was sure he was a Rocket now – face were complex and partly hidden by a mask of professional wrath. Then he exhaled through his nose, and the door opened wider.

  “You can take a few minutes. Keep your hands out where I can see them, or we'll have trouble.”

  Relief. “Ah, much thanks, friend.” Dirk stepped through the door, the warm air immediately reversing the numbness he hadn't quite realised had sunk into his face and hands. “We'll try to make it quick, and be out of your hair in-”

  As they passed through the foyer and deeper into the house, he came face-to-face with the man he and his fellows had come to meet – but that wasn't what caused Dirk to pause. Nor was it the other people in the room, or the monsters guarding them, or even the four that smoothly stepped in from side-rooms to block off the exit; he had been quite prepared to endure some level of strong-arming and intimidation when he'd decided to walk into a probable Rocket base.

  No, what stopped him was the cloak of liquid energy rolling across Hoshi Mutsu's body, radiant as the full moon to Dirk’s admittedly tepid senses. He had been a member of the esoteric brotherhood of the Inner Ministry for the better part of two decades, and been awakened to the Father's gift in his blood for about two-thirds of that time – he had met with High Ministers across Kanto, from Cerulean to Fuchsia to Pallet, men who could read the stars like a children's pop-up book.

  But he had never seen anything quite like the aura gathered like stormclouds around the young Mutsu.

  He wasn't- that wasn't there yesterday, Dirk thought, the observation too obvious to hold weight even inside his own thoughts. This, he tried again, this is why I've been made to keep tabs on him since he was fourteen years old.

  It wasn't the largest expression of psychic power the agent had ever seen, not even close; that prize went to Sabrina Jujuba, of course, who he'd watched tear a house – a small house, but a house – from its foundations in order to make room for new construction. It had been from a great distance, but that had only underlined the radiant sparkles shed from her midnight hair to drift upwards in a pillar that must have touched the clouds.

  Nor did it seem particularly condensed or refined, like the High Ministers or the most sane of Lavender’s spirit mediums – no, Hoshi Mutsu was not a second Sabrina… he was likely something far stranger. “Dirk,” the man said, his voice forcing a casual drawl with audible effort. “Sorry for the crowd, but… well, I honestly can't say who you are or what you want, so it seemed the thing to do. Let's talk.”

  “Let's talk.”

  The words rolled off Hoshi's tongue with a lightness that didn't match the room in the least. Black's subordinates and Wendy stood behind the trio of old men while the rest of the Rockets, Hoshi included, stood in front of them – save for Tanya, who was seated off to the side ‘in case of malfeasance.’ It was obvious that the woman just wanted to reinforce her image by being the one person sitting casually, though the senior grunt was forced to admit that the menace being focused on the visitors was enhanced by her presence – and that of the snow-white Alolan ninetails sitting majestically beside her chair.

  Dirk and his two friends – whose names Hoshi had either never relearned or managed to reforget overnight – looked around the gathering with a calmness that his empathy revealed to be genuine. Just like at the apartment, they aren't afraid. What kind of shit do they have in their back pockets to give them that kind of bravado?

  Apparently not the kind that could save them from a surprise Sleep Powder, but that didn't exactly narrow it down. “Hoshi,” Dirk replied, matching the faux-casual tone the conversation had started with. “I was hoping for something a touch more private, but I suppose this will do. Ready to continue our discussion from the other day?”

  “Sure. Why don't I start off; how about you tell me, in your own words and without any interruptions, what the Inner Ministry is – what it stands for, what you're trying to do.” I don’t think I’ll be tempted to join regardless, but let’s at least get things out in the open.

  The three gamblers – though in the more sophisticated clothing they'd swapped their rags for, the title no longer fit them so well – shared a look. A beat of silence, and then Dirk continued speaking.

  “I assume you're familiar with the Provincial Ministry?” Hoshi sent him a do I look like an idiot? face, and the man nodded. “Of course, of course. The Inner Ministry as the Inner Ministry began as a select few within that organization, but their – our – roots go back much farther. For as long as men have walked the earth, there have been those with strange abilities among them; shamans, witches, psychics – even the shinobi of Fuchsia can perform feats some would deem magical.”

  Ninjutsu, Hoshi silently agreed with a nod of his own. I've never seen it, but they say Koga can walk through walls – not sure I believe that specific one, but there's definitely something going on there. Bruno could smash rocks with his fists without even getting bruised, and that’s not… normal.

  “And for as long as people with esoteric power have existed, those who fear that power cast them as devils. Long ago, in the time when Kanto was governed by an Emperor rather than a Shogun or Champion, a conflict hidden in the depths of shadow took place.” Hoshi was tempted to roll his eyes as Dirk’s language became more flowery, but he resisted the urge. Huh, back during the empire… That was what, three-hundred years ago at the earliest? “During this dark battle for the soul of the nation, people with powers such as ours were hounded and oppressed, accused of terrible crimes and of being vessels for evil powers. Such heinous rumours…” The man’s voice dipped lower. “Did, of course, contain a small grain of truth. Psychics are vulnerable to possession, and no more virtuous than any other group of people. And so, to combat both the unjust prosecution of his brothers, and to rein in their darkest impulses, the head of the Saffron Emperor’s advisors gathered the wisest men of the land, and created the precursor to our brotherhood.”

  Hoshi had to suppress himself again – this time in calling bullshit. There’s no way they’d let a psychic anywhere near the emperor. Arceanism had already basically supplanted the previous folk religions, and, uh… The scepticism turned grey as he realised he didn’t know enough history to contradict the man’s story. Hoshi liked history, yeah, but like… military history and economics, not court intrigue from at least three centuries and an equal number of governmental revolutions in the past.

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  Dirk continued. “After much thought and experimentation, the wise men…” Again, a pause, dramatic and melodramatic in equal measure. “Failed utterly in their original goals. The common people were firmly convinced that those with psychic powers were cursed, and the oppression this belief created only fueled greater acts of craven desperation. But, they did find something else: a thread, that connected each man and woman with esoteric abilities. A thread, that led them to a source.”

  One of Dirk’s hanger-ons – Darry, Hoshi suddenly knew, the knowledge congealing with a sluggish lurch that was much more noticeable than how the kingler’s moves had appeared the previous night – took over, his voice with the same cadence. “The ignorant call Him Dexus, but even they speak that false name with knowledge of His true power. The Father, holy Deoxys, is the creator of mankind, and the source of our power.”

  Then the third – Jasper, Hoshi’s mutant brainwaves again supplied, the sensation gross and almost painful – continued. “Those men had, by happenstance, found a god – one who slumbers, still recovering from the depredations of the cruel Rayquaza. He is the source of half the life on this planet, the Father to balance Mother Mew, and despite what the ignorant priests that believe themselves the sole purveyors of Arcus’s will say, Earth’s other life could not exist without His works. How could it, when the bottom of the food chain is dominated by small insects, by algae, by moss and lichen? Pokémon cannot, could not, survive without this vital foundation to life’s pyramid. But-”

  “Common Dexist arguments,” Tanya broke in, breaking Hoshi’s promise at the same time. “I have no desire to hear your insipid spiritual beliefs; get to the point.” I want to be mad, but honestly that was getting a bit tiresome for me too… “After the war, the Provincial Ministries of Kanto and Johto formed – feel free to start there, at the part anyone actually cares about.”

  Jasper bit his tongue, real anger reaching its grasping smoky fingers around his head. Huh, he actually believes. That’s… kind of scary. Tanya hadn’t been wrong; the small population of overt Dexus-worshippers really did all spout the same arguments the gambler had been making. But… I’ve never thought of it as an actual religious thing, instead of a counter-culture thing or a, like, atheists-pointing-out-holes thing. But… I mean, if they aren’t full of shit, or at least only as full of shit as anyone else claiming to know the origins of life and all that… Then maybe..?

  Hoshi’s lip curled. You know what? I’ve got a long slog through the wilderness ahead of me; I can think through this cosmological shit then. “Yeah,” he said aloud. “We’re kind of in a hurry here. Sorry to burst your bubble, you obviously planned the speech out ahead of time, but Tanya’s right – the Inner Ministry, please.”

  It was Dirk who started again, reverting to his normal, slightly scratchy voice. “Heh. Alright, skipping ahead a bit… When the ministries were made, people in the old government, the Pallet League, were the obvious choice to slot into what were basically the exact same duties. And some of them were intellectual descendants of those advisors to the Saffron Emperor, who’d turned into advisors to the Shogunate, then to statesmen as the generations went by. And a few of those psychic ministers decided they didn’t like getting only half the pie, so… Well, here we are.” He shrugged with a grin. “We’ve got political power, we’ve got military power, we’ve got some legitimacy as the inheritors of the Pallet League. We kick out Clair, put somebody else on the throne – there are a few candidates, but the big one is Blue Oak – and then things split back up. Nice and clean, in theory.”

  “…In theory,” Hoshi repeated after a pause. “That’s…” Honestly, I can see it. “How much of the government are Inner Ministry?”

  “In pure numbers? Less than one in a hundred. But that’s not a good measure; most people don’t care who their taxes go to, as long as the number doesn’t get bigger, and by the same principle nobody really pays attention to who signs their checks. As long as we do the job – and make it look like we're decent folk, heh – ninety percent will shrug and go on with their day.”

  Yeah, no, that might be true but I smell bullshit in the numbers. Hoshi grunted, tapping his foot as his thoughts grew more complicated. “That’s… basically what we're trying to do.”

  The man without earrings, Jasper, scoffed. “Don’t compare it.” Immediately Dirk attempted to shush him, but the words flowed regardless. “Your boat’s hit a dead zone, kid. Rocket has no future; even if you somehow hand Clair her ass with all your stolen Pokémon, what then? You’ve got no legitimacy, you’re terrorists – all the Ace trainers will team up and put you in the ground.” Jasper was less bald then either of the other two, retaining enough grey hair for a sad attempt at a combover – and that hair was slick with sweat as he spoke, voice harsh and teeth flashing. “Think about it. What do you have – maybe a score of people, most of them barely even trainers? Maybe some stolen military shit? The Inner Ministry is the only real shot Kanto has of getting back to how it should be.”

  Tanya bristled, Dirk winced, and Hoshi…

  Hoshi felt a laugh bubble up, dancing in his chest as he slowly shook his head. “You really do know me, don’t you? How long have you been watching me? Since I was eighteen? Sixteen, when Dad died? Even earlier?” And then that lurch again, and he could almost see it, the dark, ephemeral threads connecting him to Dirk Yorito, stealing the information out of his head, copying it as it was thought – like a microphone hidden in insulation. This time it actually was painful, pinpricks stabbing into the backs of his eyes in warning as the senior grunt’s body told him his tank was running low. “Fourteen? So two years into his illness… It wasn’t you, was it?”

  The growing confusion behind the trio’s cordial masks told him no, it wasn’t them… But his brain was still catching on something, some detail of what they’d said.

  “Sorry,” Dirk cajoled, genuinely worried that his friend had fucked it up. “Jasper here is a real summer boy, and this weird cold spell’s gotten to him. But honestly, is what he said wrong? Is Rocket really your best option?” His voice went low, questioning, and again there was sincerity to go along with self-preservation and duty. “No shame in getting off a sinking ship. You must’ve thought about it at least once, right?”

  Tanya stood, the rest of the grunts taking her lead and adopting more threatening stances. Guts felt the atmosphere change and gnashed her teeth – but Hoshi put a hand on her crown, soothing the giant rat and finally letting the laugh that’d been building reach his surface. “Heh,” he started, the giggles soft and spaced-out. “Heh heh, heh, ha hah-!” Then stronger ones followed, and for a moment he felt like he had the night before; high off his own power, giddy, his muscles loose and yet strong. “Ha ha hah-!”

  The mood shifted again as he continued to laugh, five seconds and then ten passing as Dirk, Darlan, and Jasper finally let their facades fall to express their growing unease. “Hoshi..?” their leader said. “You, uh, you alright?”

  “Boss?” Kenny followed, his own emotions similar. “You need another nap? That weird psychic shit’s gotta be doin’ a number on ya, can’t be healthy. I know you was talkin’ ‘bout not fightin’ the League back at the Gym, but that was, like, a couple days ago – these guys ain’t actually..?” Convincing you, he left unsaid.

  Casca only locked eyes with him, silent, and Hoshi let the shock of humour leave his system. “…No, not at all. You know Dirk, I have been thinking of jumping ship. It’s been going around in my head for days, a sucking whirlpool. And yet, every time someone else suggests it, there’s this part of me that says fuck you, I’m not a damn traitor. Isn’t that weird? Like, I don’t even like Team Rocket. Most of my superiors treat me like shit, everyone’s fucking crazy, my family’s either dead or on the other side…”

  I just needed to hear it laid out by an opponent to get my thoughts in order.

  He didn’t know what kind of psychic powers Dirk had – assuming he wasn’t lying about having them to try and draw a connection between himself and Hoshi – but if it didn’t include some kind of increased empathy, then he must’ve been loaded up on the normal kind – because the old man’s hand was very slowly positioning itself to draw a mostly-hidden Pokéball inside his thick, felt jacket. Once again, his voice took on some bombast; it even sounded more natural, right at the end. “Hoshi Mutsu. If you reject us now, there might not be a second chance; are you really going to keep digging that grave, young man?”

  Hoshi threw his chin, Guts darted forward – and with a pop and a splash of pure white that blinded his third eye, the three men disappeared. His raticate sailed through the air, teeth closing around air, and then landed with a confused chitter.

  And Hoshi laughed again. “Ha! Teleportation!” That’s why they were never afraid – holy shit, Hypno never mentioned people could do that! The giddiness drained away as he recalled his Pokémon, and Hoshi Mutsu let the puzzle pieces arrange themselves in his head. “They’re going to wait for us to attack the Nationals,” he concluded, voice now grim. The other Rockets reacted to his swinging mood with another bout of confusion.

  …Save for Casca, who nodded, and Tanya, who grimaced. “You think so too?” his girlfriend said. “They knew way more than they should’ve; there must be a leak somewhere.”

  “Probably more than one,” Tanya followed, returning her kingler and queenly, icy ninetails. “With as many people as’ve been captured, Rocket is a sieve. But we’re beyond worrying about that now; regardless of whether we go ahead with the instructors’ plan or not, heading to Saffron is the correct move.” Her fingers flexed, and her next words were an under-the-breath mutter.

  Casca, ever vigilant, caught his look and whispered the executive’s speech for Hoshi’s benefit. “Damn cultists, muddying the waters. If we have any desertions I’ll find that old cueball and freeze him solid…”

  “Okay everybody,” Hoshi sent out to his own grunts. “That was an entertaining and educational aside, but it’s done now. Who’s ready for more camping?”

  Kenny replied with a middle finger.

  Dirk returned to their hotel room, and immediately threw up.

  It wasn’t a mild expulsion either; it was only after twenty seconds that he could finally force a breathful of air into his starving lungs, and then the next one had to wait a further ten. By the end of it there was a red tint to the bile, and his mouth was full of copper and iron set atop the sour taste of acid.

  Still kneeling on the carpet, the agent tipped the single Pokéball out of his coat and rolled it to a dry spot, where it split open to release his hypno. “Tha th’ng,” he choked out, and even before he’d finished the order Psychic Terrain spread across the room to begin soothing his aching spirit. “Good…”

  Only then, an indeterminable but substantial-feeling amount of time since he’d teleported, was Dirk able to turn and verify that yes, he’d managed to keep hold of his two partners through the entire trip. Darry and Jasper were frantically packing; good, they’d have it basically done by the time he was functional.

  Crawling, Dirk gradually retreated from the puddle of vomit. A minute later he rolled over to sit, and then after another he was able to stand.

  Teleportation was not something to be done lightly, even with extensive practice. It would be days before he could attempt it again, days where he would feel blind and deaf and sick to his stomach – but as a means of retreat, nothing else could compare. For another handful of minutes the aging man focused on breathing, before a tap on his shoulder drew him from his meditation.

  Jasper gave him a thin smile as he brandished a toothbrush. “Thanks for the save. I had it ready but didn’t expect that thing to just charge like that.”

  Dirk groaned. “The one upside of this is that I get to skip watching Darry mangle packing a suitcase. How long was I out?”

  “About five minutes!” came his other friend’s voice from across the room. “And I have a system! It works!”

  Dirk and Jasper shared a look, and the latter mouthed the words ‘shirts, then wallet, then pants,’ which brought forth a larger smile.

  As his fellows did the last of the busywork and Hypno pumped out soothing psychic waves, Dirk brushed his teeth. The mechanical motion was soothing, and automatic enough that he could begin to think on the implications of that disastrous meeting. “Darry, you sensed the change in Mutsu?”

  “I think?” came the distracted reply. “You know my senses are worse than yours – but he did feel heavy, I guess.”

  “We need to report that. Celadon is out, yes..?”

  “Yes.” “Obviously.”

  Dirk nodded, then spat. Water from the kitchen sink washed away the bubbly paste and the last of the bile, and when he closed his eyes he no longer saw stars. “Viridian, then?”

  Darren waved him off. “Way ahead of you. Your case’s on the bed, we’re both ready to go.”

  With a huff, the addled man gathered first his wits, then his suitcase. He returned his hypno, stood next to his two friends in a close huddle, and then with another pop the three appeared on the outskirts of the city.

  Darry dropped, bile spewing from his lips, and Dirk took out a fresh toothbrush with one hand and his Pokéball with the other.