Two had to admit, the small number of humans squatting in his valley certainly had… personality.

  “I keep telling ya,” cried a man in a blue and white wetsuit with an attached… skirt? I believe that's the word. “We shouldn’t be here! These Pokémon are living with nature – pristine and beautiful! Let’s just find a cave or something, we’ve got plenty of supplies!”

  The muscular man’s deep bellow was met with a much calmer reply, at least in tone; though the words telekinetically conveyed to his ears through the intervening distance weren't loud, Two’s more subtle senses revealed the anger beneath. “Hmph. Of course you would think that, Archie. The reality of it is that these creatures are evolving, working the land and building shelters much like our ancestors did.” Then that veneer of calmness reversed itself; the shorter, slighter human in his thick woolen clothes suddenly pounded the table separating him and his rival, sending game pieces flying… while in his heart, the catharsis actually calmed him. “These Pokémon will become new species, providing diversity to the region and making it more resilient! You have no understanding of progress!”

  “Grr-! Archie, you haven’t changed at all! Everything you say is backwards – they’ve destroyed the original environment in this valley with their agriculture! They’re not evolving, they’re following humanity’s bad example!”

  “Aha!” Maxie pushed his glasses up. “You contradict yourself, regressive brute that you are… Are they living with nature or destroying it?! Hmm?!”

  “You! You did the same thing! And I have a doctorate in marine science, you holier-than-thou egghead!”

  “Oh, you simpleton… Marine science is a bastard conglomeration of disparate disciplines that pales before my doctorate of ecology. I should know, I’m the one who taught you in the first place!”

  The meaningless two-faced – four-faced? – argument continued, and Two shook his head as the pair of humans screeched at each other. Like children. Of course Maxie Matsubusa and Archie Aogiri did actually seem capable of rational thought – just not when they were standing next to each other. It makes me wonder, then, why they seem to stick to each other like glue… The machinations of the human mind truly are an enigma.

  And then there was the man calmly putting the scattered boardgame back in place. He was even stranger – no, he was the strangest by far. More than the two loudmouths, or the solipsistic animal, or the ancient shadow, or even Giovanni himself.

  Cyrus Helio was as thin as a skeleton, and shared the same level of emotive energy; no matter what was happening, he kept the same placid smile. But even that was an illusion; with his psychic powers, Two could tell that the man, in fact, had no emotions at all. The clone couldn't even say what compelled him to move – he had no desires, not even any simple want for food or shelter like a lowly beast. A plant was more mentally complex…

  And yet, he did move. The blue-haired human retrieved a card from the ground, the motion pulling the scar going down his face and into his collar grotesquely, and Two averted his eyes. The clone had heard an extremely abridged recounting of the man from Giovanni when he'd shown off his associates, but the smiling shell with his empty head still unsettled.

  In comparison to him, the last two were more mundane than dirt; Ghetsis and Lysandre were both schemers, though of different breeds, and their personalities were almost refreshing. They, at least, fit the mold of humanity that Two had first seen the shape of during the Indigo War.

  Not that such is an admirable thing, he thought as he looked down from his perch high in the air. Quite the opposite. But it is… comforting, in a way. That Giovanni would consort with them was evidence that he hadn’t managed to completely invert his personality while out of sight. And speaking of Giovanni… I suppose I should get going.

  For a moment he considered teleporting, but the notion was easily discarded. These mountains far to Indigo’s north were one of the only places he could fly freely without the threat of human intervention, and while he’d been feeling increasingly impatient and irritable the solution to such a thing was not giving in and hurrying. So two lifted himself further into the clear blue sky, flattened his profile into an aerodynamic line, and simply accelerated.

  Soon.

  That single word reverberated through Giovanni's body – had been reverberating for days. Soon. Soon he and Mewtwo would master the latter's Mega Evolution, and together with the rest of his team they’d have the power to crush the entirety of the Indigo League in one single, conclusive, irrefutable motion. Soon the various plots of his new underlings would weave together into a single unbreakable line. Soon he, Giovanni Capo, would not only reclaim the authority he'd once held in Kanto – and with thirteen years of interest – but gain a deep foothold towards the top spot of the entire world.

  It made the cold mountain air taste sweet and thick as honey. Soon. A single word, and yet it held so much power.

  For minutes Giovanni watched the sky turn above his head – and then a blue glow, more brilliant than even the mid-day firmament, streaked down to settle with a solid impact behind his back. “Two,” he greeted. “You're a touch later than usual. Any trouble down below?”

  “Lysandre continues to make a nuisance of himself,” the clone replied with little emotion. “He has no respect for anything, and treats my people as though they were common monsters. I am getting increasingly close to throwing him into the sea.”

  The threat was said without any change in tone, and Giovanni chuckled. “Yes, he is unsubtle, isn't he? One would think a man in his profession would have more tact, but it seems his charisma only exists so long as he’s in the frame of a camera.”

  Mewtwo snorted, and for a moment things were still. Then he spoke again, more serious. “He is planning on betraying you.”

  “I'm aware.”

  “Then why?”

  Giovanni could only smile as he turned. “When I first recruited him, the answer to that question would have been ‘to gain access to his resources.’ While Mister Immacula thankfully failed to… beautify the world as he desired, he'd managed to recruit a startling number of followers. Some of which had actual brains in their skulls – startling though the notion might be, given their poor choice where end goals were concerned.” If they'd succeeded… A society made up of only a few hundred socialites and troubled orphans with no survival skills? Pah. They would have been dead within a year. Not that it would have ever actually happened – even if a pair of meddlesome teenagers hadn't sent the house of cards tumbling down, true power would never allow itself to be wielded without effort. Speaking of… “Why, the Mega Stone you now carry was crafted by one of his scientists. Or did you think I pulled it from an empty hat?”

  The clone frowned, a subtle expression for a being with no eyebrows and a lower jaw holding all the musculature of a newborn infant. “…Your words imply that you've found some value in his continued existence since then,” he said, ignoring the human’s question. “Enlighten me, for I can see none.”

  “Really? None at all?”

  “I tire of this rhetorical volleyball, Giovanni. But no; his skills as a trainer are tepid, his manner is atrocious, and his goals not even slightly in-line with your own. And his ‘Team Plasma’ could be easily co-opted by Ghetsis, or even Cyrus – Arcus knows we have too many crazed cult leaders running about.”

  “Are you counting yourself among that number?”

  Again, Mewtwo was silent for a moment. The wind blew, cold and clear, rippling across Giovanni's sturdy coat without penetrating it. “You are dodging the question.”

  The man took a breath, letting the wind in to sting against his throat and lungs. When he exhaled the cloud he produced was dense as smoke. “I am not. In the end, all of our dreams are the same: we strive for control, to grasp the future and twist it into a shape that is pleasing to our eyes.” Then he began walking forward, passing his partner to look down on the valley far below. “Only a few years ago you would have destroyed the world exactly as Lysandre intends to.”

  “That is not the same. My people were exploited, created to be used as weapons and pets. That fool's ambitions are…”

  For once Mewtwo was attempting tact, but it was a wasted effort. Giovanni finished the sentence matter-of-factly. “Stupid, yes. Insane. Nonsense of the highest order.” The clone shrugged as if to say ‘you said it, not me,’ allowing him to continue without comment. “And yet, Lysandre came within throwing distance of success with his mad schemes. As did Ghetsis, as did Cyrus and Archie and Maxie. As did you, and I.”

  Giovanni turned again. “All of us have that mad dream, whether it is to save the world, destroy it, or simply hold it in our hands. That is will, Two, the will to not only believe that the fate of the very Earth itself is ours by right, but to actually strive to make it so. Archie was a middling Pokémon Professor, and Maxie his student-turned-partner, but when New Mauville collapsed their wills in the wake of it transformed them into giants as towering as any legend, titans capable of reshaping a continent. And any number of philosophers speak of the suffering caused by desire, but only Cyrus Helios strove to bind the very essence of time and space in an effort to solve it – all because of the death of his first Pokémon, a fate that befalls one in every five young trainers the world over.

  “Ghetsis, frail as his ego may be, turned a group of drugged wastrels into a paramilitary force to rival Unova’s actual military, and did so under that nation’s collective nose. And yes, Lysandre is a fool high on his own delusions of grandeur… but he got close, Two. Closer than you did, fifteen years ago. Yes, all of us have failed… but we remain unbroken!”

  If the sudden increase in volume startled him, Mewtwo failed to show it. “Grand words,” he said. “And yet these titans spend most of their time playing games of chance and scheming against you.”

  A wave of Giovanni's hand dismissed the words. “They are waiting for the moment to strike – not unlike you, Two. Or have you been accomplishing great tasks in these past few years?” A pause – and then he continued. “Lysandre will make his attempt, and I will do the same. Let strength decide the victor… But enough about the others. You're here to train; let's get right to it.”

  And so they once more spent the day practicing Mega Evolution.

  “Whew,” Clair sighed as she sat. Feels like I just fought the Articuno all over again.

  “Already gassed?” came a teasing voice from the doorway. “It's only the second week, you know. Still over a month of busywork to go – speeches, announcements… and of course the main event.”

  The dragon specialist groped around the surface of the desk, finding and tossing a pen in one motion. It went wide, but it was the thought that counted. “Don't remind me. Lords abound, this season is always so stressful…” And to think I used to tease gramps about his paperwork…

  “Ah, don't worry too much,” Will replied as he stepped properly into the room – wary of further projectiles, as he should be. “People are starting to settle now that things are calmer. The Devon announcement will cause a stir, but so long as Silph doesn't actually rebel everything should be solved by the time the Gym circuit starts up again.”

  A pained smile pulled at her lips. “And-”

  “And if they do make the poor decision to reply with force, we will have very clear and very legal recourse to respond with the same. And without crippling the economy. I'm sure Koichi would be pleased to get some light exercise in, at the very least.”

  The urge to huff out a laugh came and went as she remained slumped, taking advantage of the brief moment away from the public eye to just… stop. I wish I could be that optimistic, Will, I really do. But… “None of them have attacked yet. We were expecting everything to pop off before my dragons got back to full power, but we're almost a third of the way through the Nationals and there's no sign of Rocket, the secessionists, or Silph Company making waves. What are we missing?”

  The League's spymaster shrugged, then took the guest seat. The room had once been Carl Apollo’s office, and the furniture was appropriately decadent – though of course the former Gym Leader’s personal throne was a step above. It irked, slightly; Clair wasn't one for needless comfort, and the padding felt like a waste of money no matter how good it felt against her tense muscles. Will – showing none of her anxiety, the showoff – sank into his own plush chair with grace. “Are we missing something?” he replied, and her mood took a further dip at the rhetorical question.

  “I have to assume we are, Will.” I'd just love for our enemies to turn incompetent at the last second, believe me, but as much as I hate it my job is to plan for the worst. As was his, technically, though the Masked Magician was much better at making it look like everything he touched turned to gold.

  He waggled a finger. “Let's not call every falling star a catastrophe, Madame. The League is a lumbering, many-limbed beast, but that bulk provides resiliency; the criminals and upstarts gunning for our throats lack the resources of a proper government, and therefore staying power. Free the League is beginning to lose support, and Team Rocket has been cut into isolated chunks – even your erstwhile apprentice has been detained.

  “Hoenn and Sinnoh are ready to support us – we simply need to hold out, and the momentum of the status quo will drag things back to neutral. That's usually a bad thing, given we want to improve things, but let's not turn our nose up at the phenomenon while it's to our advantage.”

  Once again Clair felt the urge to let out a huff – and this time she indulged. Silver… What a mess.

  But then her slumped posture straightened. Well, that's life. Kid can share a cell with his mommy – and those stupid, stupid Gym Trainers – for a while, then we'll see about trying again. She stood up and stretched, feeling the reduced muscles on the right half of her shoulders twitch in annoyance. “You're right; no point in worrying. We'll be ready for the full fight, but hopefully one of ‘em will trip up under pressure.”

  And, as if fate were rewarding her, Karen chose that moment to arrive with some good news. “Hey,” the annoyingly laid-back woman greeted as she stuck her head in. “Steven Stone just got here. Should I bring him in right away, or do you need a sec to put your game face on?”

  Archer did not know how long he'd been imprisoned.

  It was a small matter in the grand scheme of things… but given the fact that there were seldom any other things to occupy him, he thought it was a reasonable enough thought to fixate on. Is it still October? Mid-November? Or has my biological clock spun completely out of control, and the Nationals are over and done with already..?

  The lights in his cell weren't on any timer, but attached to some hidden motion sensor; if he lay still they died, and when he stirred they flicked on. He couldn’t say if it was any sort of intentional obfuscation of his sense of time – most likely it was just some cost-cutting tool – but even if not, it was certainly an effective annoyance. My people were to free me before we crush the League and take it all for ourselves. Have I been betrayed? Failed? Or is my mind simply spiralling down towards the black hole of madness?

  The Great Green Shogun – for he was still that, no matter what any law said – sat in his darkened cell, still and silent for what could have been either hours or minutes… and then he laughed, and sprang to his feet. As light flooded the room, spilling out into the hall through a wide strip of reinforced glass, he continued to laugh. “Ha!” How foolish!

  How very, very foolish – as though such a small thing could drive a man mad! No, no; he was only bored. Unfocused. My subordinates are reliable enough to trust with this – Ariana at least, if no-one else. Only a small delay… This is no more than a small delay! The new Team Rocket will surpass the Capo family's wildest dreams, and Giovanni will turn in whatever shallow grave he's dug for himself when the news reaches him!

  Archer continued to laugh – but just as the expression was beginning to run its natural course, a series of knocks accompanied by an angry voice interrupted. “Arcus above, will you shut your mouth?! What even is there to laugh about in this dump, huh?”

  Silver breathed harshly for a few heartbeats following his exclamation, the rest of the cell dead silent. Tetsuro and the other Gym Trainers – former trainers, to go with their former leader – were cowed and sullen, either regretful of joining him or maybe just regretful of being caught.

  And then there was his mother, who despite being treated was still groggy and absent. Her silence was more a reflection of her health than anything like regret – or so he assumed. Again, she wasn't exactly communicative at the moment. Maybe she's finally started living in reality… hah. Fat chance.

  As for whatever kook had been cackling, they were silent too. Almost thirty seconds passed without a single sound entering Silver’s ears save his own heartbeat, and even that seemed muted by the concrete box they'd been stuffed in.

  Then there came a tentative voice, bouncing around the outside hallway from somewhere to the left. “Silver?” It was a male voice, a touch reedy, but not one the imprisoned trainer recognised. “Silver Capo?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  Again, silence – or not, given the way the cell’s other occupants were now shuffling in interest. Then whoever-it-was called again, his raised voice making it through the walls as easily as the laughter had. “What are you doing- no, you shouldn't be here, you aren't even a Rocket…”

  Rocket..? Oh, Arc damn it. The word brought context, and just like that he knew who the other prisoner was. I should've guessed – who else would be in the high-security cells? “Apollo.”

  The reply came as a hiss. “So it is you,” Carl Apollo said, barely audible. “Typical. Even here, I somehow can't escape Giovanni's shadow.”

  Oh, go fuck yourself. But as much as he wanted to, Silver didn't voice the thought. Don't associate me with him. I've never been part of your stupid gang. Instead he stayed silent, having little to say to Carl Arc-damned Apollo – which inadvertently gave the floor over to someone else.

  “Hey, you're the Gym Leader of Viridian, right?” Bindwood – who’d just swept the title of dumbest asshole from Tetsuro by interacting with a terrorist who wasn’t even his parent – questioned. “The Rocket Boss?”

  “Legally speaking, I am no longer a Gym Leader. But yes. And you are?”

  Silver shook his head as the back-and-forth shouts continued, feeling an ache beginning to form along the inside of his skull. “Don't talk to him,” he ordered – or maybe cautioned, since it wasn't like any of these numbskulls had to do what he said anymore. And yet they followed me anyway. Fucking idiots. “It won't look good to the lawyers. There’s no way they aren’t recording everything.”

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  At that Bindwood shot him a sour look, almost refreshing in its hostility. “Why should we listen to you? We got captured the moment we walked in! None of our Pokémon did anything.” Yeah, yeah, rub it right into my stupid face. What did you expect me to do, fight off a couple hundred ghosts with my half-dead team?

  Their ‘triumphant’ arrival had been a complete shitshow; not only had it turned out that not all the Elites were in Viridian, but adding salt to the wound was the fact that it was his own damn fault. The kid wouldn’t’ve been there if I hadn't had Jaws take a nice big bite out of him. And Jiei Enoki hadn't made the same mistake twice; the moment the monk spotted them, a massive torrent of ghosts had poured out of his robes. Silver hadn't even had time to release another Pokémon, and Krueger had been swarmed together with the rest of them.

  And now… where his Pokémon were, Silver couldn't say. Not in storage, probably, given that Rocket had exposed a back door, but that didn't really narrow it down given that point-to-point transfers were still on the table. Again, presumably. Maybe that's down too – maybe my team is still in the building.

  …Not that it matters. They could be sitting right outside the room and reaching them would be about as possible as jumping to the moon. “Will you all shut up?” he yelled, silencing the argument that had been growing even as it fed his headache in turn. “You aren't even getting hit with treason. A year or two and you'll be out, so don't fuck up your futures-” more than you already have “-By trying to escape or some stupid shit.”

  Tetsuro stopped hoisting Woody by the collar and had the decency to look abashed – unlike Bindwood, who only started to sulk. “Not like we’ll ever be able to ever do anything important with this on our records…”

  “Oh, shut up.” “Hey, somebody’ll remember your name at least!” “The Leader's right guys, let's just sit tight…”

  The stream of voices multiplied the pain under the redhead’s scalp – but that trivial concern was blown away as his mother suddenly staggered to her feet. “Archer!” she barked.

  “…Ariana? Hah, they got you too… I suppose that's what made the whelp-”

  “Archer!” Athena Ariana took two gigantic, shaky steps forward to press herself against the window. “We're in the same building as- where are we? Are we still in the League headquarters? The Indigo Plateau?”

  “Mom…” Silver began, only to trail off. The look on the woman's face was intense. For that to be important… Don't tell me Rocket's attacking this place? Why..?

  And Archer’s voice, too, sharpened. “We are. The temporary holding facility for high-risk prisoners, all expenses paid for by our generous tax pokédollars.”

  But… that's stupid. There's nothing here, this is an administrative stronghold; as long as they beat the Elites propping it up when they capture it won't matter, they can just waltz in after Clair is down and take everything. And if they don't beat them first it provides no benefits. Hostages, maybe? That was the only motive Silver could think of to attempt breaking in – it wasn't like Rocket needed top-tier experimental medicine… right?

  As his mother slumped with relief and the Blackthorns started pestering her and Carl for answers, his thoughts continued to churn. And very soon, the headache that had been building was completely forgotten.

  There was a certain, very specific flavour of satisfaction that came from seeing all the moving pieces slot together. “Go down and put numbers one and two from the second wave in now.”

  “Sir.”

  As the peon stepped away, Ghetsis Harmonia Gropius luxuriated in that feeling. So it works as well as I'd imagined. I suppose I shouldn't have doubted, given the efficacy of the original Wedge, but this was Sambus I was contending with… But no, it was completely functional; the dodrio-like bird in front of his eyes was all the proof the sage required.

  It wasn’t exactly like a dodrio, but the fusion of doduo and spearow looked very much like the former's evolution. Interestingly, though it had a full three heads they were all identical; it wasn't two doduo heads and a spearow head, or two heads crossed between the two Pokémon – no, it was three heads whose beaks were thick and curved atop slender necks, connected to a mostly-round body bearing both a tail and tucked-in wings in addition to two long legs.

  So something in the monster is saying three heads, but not four wings or legs. Is it only because doduo gains another naturally? Fusing two magnemite had produced simply a very large version of the same monster, while adding a third made the expected magneton – which appeared to be as far as it could go, as attempting to add a fourth had destabilised and killed the subject. This next test will help us find the limits of the machine – though I do wonder if the original's capabilities were superior…

  As he pondered it the Rainbow Rocket grunt – still wearing his hooligan's outfit with the weepinbell patch, something to correct before they revealed their existence – brought in the next two, which should both contain doduo unless someone had made a mistake. Ghetsis watched through the thick glass separating the testing chamber from his observation deck as the thug made his way towards the machine, slaloming through an obstacle course of scientists, armed guards, and the massive generators powering the entire enterprise. Doduo. What a fine confluence of factors… They were rare Pokémon in much of the world, but the current surroundings made them obvious test subjects for the Gene Wedge – along with the aforementioned magnemite, and diglett, koffing…

  This country really is convenient. Even the laws surrounding live testing are less strict than in Unova… Though I suppose that's my own fault, hah.

  “Here's two more, boss,” the Kantonian said as he deposited the balls into slots within the machine.

  “Very good. Sambus, at your own time.”

  A pause – and then the scowling old reprobate flipped the appropriate switch. The lights dimmed as the generators strained, a lighter rumble coming from the Wedge itself as some component vibrated horribly against its superstructure, and the proper Plasma Guardians raised their rifles.

  It proved unnecessary, for all that Ghetsis enjoyed seeing their well-trained motions; the resulting dodrio – and it was the proper evolution, not merely a three-headed doduo – was ejected as red light, and condensed in what appeared to be a soporific state. Just as if it were freshly captured, the bird simply stood placid for a moment before waking fully – more than enough time for another former gangster to actually capture the thing.

  “We gonna keep going?” Sambus asked, cranking his neck up to meet his master's eyes, and Ghetsis considered the question – only for the obvious conclusion to be reached swiftly.

  “Yes, let's see if it can accept a third.”

  “You're wastin' good Pokémon here!” the scientist countered, waving his hands in a parody of exasperation as if he hadn't been sincerely entranced by his work’s results but a moment ago. “Six hundred, maybe seven-fifty pucks – that's how much you can get for a no-questions-asked dodrio. But you're just gonna melt the thing!”

  “Perhaps… But the power of brute capital can only take one so far, my old protégé. That is the lesson that fools fail to see; money is only as useful as man’s greed allows it to be.”

  “Oh c'mon, don't go off with the philo-”

  “True control comes from ideals!” Ghetsis barreled through, enjoying the put-on suffering that immediately surfaced on his subordinate’s face. “From shared purpose! Giovanni is a powerful man, but he lacks the subtle touch necessary to sway the heart of a nation… Which is where we, Team Plasma, Unova’s truest and most dedicated sons and daughters, will provide! We will protect this nation’s Pokémon, rescue them from the grasp of the evil-hearted populace and set the natural order back to rights!” He raised his staff high, hiding the wince that putting weight on his bad leg caused through long years of constant practice. “For we are their protectors! No matter how the world loathes us, we shall persevere!”

  As a cry of “Plasma! Plasma! Plasma!” went up, Ghetsis smiled. For that, the scene right in front of him, was irrefutable proof that he was right: a good dozen scientists and twice that number of guards, each and every one having once proclaimed themselves to be – and still believing themselves to be – true dyed-in-the-wool Pokémon activists, cheering as they performed the actions that would, almost certainly, result in the deaths of their precious monsters.

  Yes, when an idea casts its shadow upon the human heart, there's no longer any room for anything as weak as the truth. Bill will show up, and I'll happily transform him into whatever ludicrous fuzzball he desires… for very soon, the stakes will be raised to an entirely new level!

  He continued to smile as his damaged hand curled around a Pokéball. The people of this nation are superstitious to the extreme… so I wonder, how will they react to it? What shadow will I, Ghetsis Harmonia Gropius, cast upon Indigo's heart when I reveal mastery over their precious Storm? True, he would have preferred to have obtained all three by now… But someone would bring at least one of the other ‘gods’ to their dance, and thereby seal his victory.

  The ostentatious staff went down, striking the tile with a crack, and as it did the result of their latest experiment was revealed: against the Sage's expectations, the now four-headed abomination lived. “You see, Sambus? Have a little faith!”

  Yes, victory is all but inevitable. Soon that unreliable Mewtwo shall be ousted, replaced by a comforting, traditional local figure, and Giovanni will dance as I direct.

  Within the month, Indigo will be within my grasp, the industrial capacity of a nation very nearly Unova’s equal added to Team Plasma’s arsenal… and soon, the entire world shall follow!

  Once, Cyrus had considered himself the only sane human being.

  But that had been a false belief. It was not the fault of any individual, no flaw or break in their person, that caused madness… No, human beings were sane creatures.

  It was the world around them that caused their spirits to curdle like milk in the evening sun. He himself had not been spared that truth; Cyrus had not been any more sane than the masses of humanity coursing around him in endless streams, not even when he’d held the Red Chain forged of will, knowledge, and emotion in his hand and commanded time and space to return to zero. He had been a crawling worm, drunk on the tepid clarity that was brought by believing that he’d discarded his flawed irrationalities.

  But now he was perfect in truth; what the orthodoxy of the Sinnoh League had considered an ironic punishment, the severing of his spirit the moment that beautiful chain had snapped under the weight of two gods, was in fact nothing but the greatest blessing bestowed to any man to ever walk the earth. In the beginning it had been difficult; he’d had to adapt, months wasted in first a cell and then a hospital cot, machines delivering nutrients into his bloodstream where his purified mind failed to recognise food or drink even when it was placed directly into his mouth… but he had.

  He had adapted, and now the world of strife and pain could no longer touch him with its corruption and incompleteness. Cyrus Helios the mortal man was dead, and Cyrus Helios the prophet had been born like a butterfly emerging from its own former skin. Vital fluid had been pumped through his wings, and now… now he could fly.

  But not quite yet.

  “Check in four,” he spoke, mouth moving without the burden of thought, head as pure and clean as an untouched field of snow even as his opponent first tensed, then went blank, then scowled. Maxie had a spark of displeasure in his eye, easily seen despite the man’s attempts to conceal it – but where that would have once caught Cyrus’s own mind alight with reflected emotion, now there was only peace. Recognition without judgment, cognition without the corrupting influence of the human spirit.

  “Four? Surely not.”

  “I believe it will be four, but perhaps you will surprise me.”

  The mad environmentalist scowled harder, while Cyrus only smiled – and as their game continued, he was not surprised. Neither literally, which was impossible, nor colloquially; he took Maxie’s king exactly as he’d predicted.

  Then again.

  Then again.

  The him of before would have felt satisfaction at demonstrating his superiority, and shame at that satisfaction, and resistance against that shame. He was free of that now, his own internal chains broken – and yet he still won. Not to feel superior, of course, or even to demonstrate it as he sometimes still did to keep his followers in line.

  No, he was currently bashing Maxie’s metaphorical head in because if he didn’t, said construct would swell up like a boil gradually accumulating pus. Which would drive him to needle Archie, which risked revealing their knowledge of his and Lysandre’s hidden plots with the remnants of Giovanni’s previous organisation.

  It was all very predictable, no different from game pieces moving across a board, though of course this board was much larger. Larger, more complicated, with rules upon rules upon rules… Yes, it was a fitting metaphor. That was why he’d allied with the once and again Rocket Boss; as clear as his thoughts had become, Cyrus remained a man. Limited by his own abilities… which necessitated allies, such as the man still holding onto his scowl.

  “Darn it,” Maxie didn’t quite curse. “I thought I had you that time. Again!”

  “Again? Are you certain?”

  The former Pokémon Professor only glared, and so Cyrus reset the board – but halfway through, something even more important than stopping the most murderous of the Colour Generals’ plans presented itself. “Pardon,” he excused himself as he stood. “I've been meaning to speak to Two for a few days, but no opportunity has presented itself. We’ll have to continue later.”

  “Mewtwo.”

  His former name cut through Two’s tired mind with sudden force, and he was unable to suppress the corona of energy gathering on his skin as he turned to see-

  Ah. I was expecting Lysandre; this one is usually more polite. “Cyrus. My name is Two, do not make that mistake again.” I remain proud of my status as a clone, but that ancient Pokémon makes up less than half my EPI signature – which is only half of me. She is no more my parent than the human researchers who collectively donated the DNA for their long-dreamed-of weapon. “What do you want?”

  “Apologies,” the empty thing replied. It really was unsettling, the way it moved and spoke – Cyrus’s voice held a warmth that was not present in his aura, and that disconnect was… jarring. Even an accomplished liar like Giovanni had something behind his eyes, obscured as it was. A spark of life, or perhaps will was the better word, that came through even when Two wasn’t looking for it. “I needed to catch your attention, and using your given name was the most efficient means of doing so. Please, come this way.”

  He turned, and again blue light leapt from Two’s pores… but it was late, almost the dead of night, and he’d spent too much energy activating the Stone over and over to dredge up any proper offense. You think to order me? he attempted, but the thought was toothless. And undercut by a fresher emotion as well; he was, in fact, curious about what the skeletal man had to say.

  Cyrus was in more than one way the most enigmatic of Giovanni's new Team Rocket, his actual past and motivations more… opaque. The aging ground specialist had given Two some information, but where Archie and Maxie ranted about their goals openly and the other two were about as subtle as an artillery strike, Cyrus was quiet and straightforwardly competent.

  So Two suppressed his annoyance and followed, tracing the human's back against the gathering moonlight…

  …Only to be led right to his own home. “Is this some form of joke, human?”

  “Not at all. I merely wished to go somewhere private to have a discussion. May I enter?”

  Hmph, so now you ask me permission rather than simply do as you will? But again, the annoyance was short-lived; Two gestured, and his front door opened. “After you, friend.”

  “Very well,” Cyrus replied, the sarcasm breaking on his placid expression not unlike badly-fired clay meeting a stone wall. “If you insist. I accept your hospitality gladly.”

  It was a novel experience, if nothing else. Two had never properly taken in a guest; his fellows were family, and Giovanni had shown up unannounced. And they all… knew him. There was a casualness that made their presence – yes, even Giovanni's – seem natural even when it came unexpectedly.

  The leader of Team Galactic, in contrast, was a curious mix of scrupulously formal and bluntly rude. He took his shoes off at the door, but also made his way to a chair without even attempting politeness.

  “Very soon,” he said without preamble, “Ghetsis will attempt to replace you with… something else. I have yet to fully understand his machinations, but this I am certain of.”

  “Oh? You're certain, are you?”

  “Yes. I would like to ask you to ignore it, and not retaliate.”

  For a moment the clone came up short. He could only look at Cyrus with narrowed eyes, unable to tell if the soulless creature was attempting a joke. “…You are serious?”

  A nod. “I am. While Sage Gropius is unpleasant to work with, I believe that his goals are compatible with our own. He does not trust you, as your power places you beyond his control, but his actual ill will is-”

  “Enough.”

  With another gesture Two grabbed hold of the human, flicking him through the air towards the exit. “How foolish of me, believing this to be anything other than pointless manoeuvring. Tell me, Helios, are you in league with that fossil… or hoping I'll jump at a shadow and dispose of him for you?” Either way, you will be sorely disappointed.

  As Cyrus hit the wooden flooring and rolled end-over-end twice, Two was pleased to see his expression actually change; the soft smile disappeared, replaced by an utter blankness far exceeding the stoicness of even a granite statue. He grunted as he came to a halt, and was slow to rise despite the fall’s lack of true impact. “I…”

  Slowly, Cyrus stood. He was wary now, at least in body, holding himself low and bent and with both hands near his belt rather than crossed behind his back. “I speak sincerely. Disbelieve me if you will, I only ask that if it does come to pass-”

  “If someone attacks me, be they Ghetsis or anyone else, I will retaliate. Do not ask me to shrug my shoulders and clasp hands with an enemy, Cyrus; this is no children's show where we all put our differences aside before the credits roll. Make a sound argument, or begone from my presence.”

  Infuriatingly, the smile returned. With only the soft light of the early night coming in through the open windows, Cyrus looked like a statue himself; cold blue-grey, his skin and spikey hair the exact same shade, his loose clothing only a touch darker where it wasn't stark black. “I am willing to owe you.”

  And what could you possibly offer me? Two did not say – but it must have been readable on his face, for the shell continued. “Once, I sought to chain time and space to create a new universe. I deluded myself into thinking it a noble cause… and it would have been, had I not tainted it with my own ego.”

  “The point, Helios.”

  “But now… If Giovanni succeeds, I will have the chance to create an even stronger Red Chain. I have already promised Maxie as many empty worlds as he desires, to plunder or inhabit for the gain of humanity and his ego – and I offer you the same, for your people.” Two stilled. Empty worlds? No, preposterous. The amount of power it would take to create an entirely new universe… Not even the Ho-Oh and Lugia could accomplish such a thing. “Tell me, Two, do you not desire a world free of strife? That was my dream, and it remains so. It could be your dream as well.”

  The great psychic was still for a handful of heartbeats – and then he lashed out, splintering the floorboards around the human’s feet. “Leave. I will not say it a third time.”

  And he went, without further words or even a long back. Two was left alone in his home, muscles twinging from the day's training and head awhirl with the impossibility and longing generated by the madman's offer. “Preposterous,” he said aloud. What game is he playing? There must be one, these men are all of a piece…

  But what if it wasn't? Giovanni had yet to double-cross him, so perhaps… Should I take that warning seriously? If Ghetsis is truly planning to usurp me but leave Giovanni in place… What a laughable concept – but just barely plausible, given the calibre of insanity that made up Team Rainbow Rocket. The old fool might actually think he’d survive the attempt… but he isn’t completely senile, so..?

  There had to be some ace in the hole – no, every player at their little table had any number of cards up their sleeves, directed at each other as much as their actual enemies. Madness. I’ve joined an asylum.

  But for whatever reason, the thought made him smile. ‘Let strength decide the victor…’ Hah. A moment's work put his floor mostly back in order, though the fractured wood itself was not repaired. I suppose even the leader of madmen can give good advice every once in a while. I will simply… play it by ear, as they say.

  And so he slept.

  Lysandre Immacula watched the sunrise alone and in silence. At that early hour, where only a fraction of the valley’s inhabitants had risen to begin their day’s work, it was almost possible to believe he’d found himself in some far-flung peasant village – a thing trapped in amber, closed away from time and its decay.

  But of course, it was only a pleasant daydream; the seemingly-isolated place was no more but another creation of the greed and ugliness imprinted on humanity’s heart. Soon, they will feel it; the urge to expand. To take, rather than give. To destroy, rather than create. Soon, even this small valley of intelligent Pokémon would fall prey to ugliness. Mouths would go hungry, parents would abandon children, neighbour would strike neighbour in anger and desperation as their world shrank. Already, he could see the symptoms: new constructions butting up against the walls of their little pocket, fields being grown through winter rather than allowed to run fallow and recover their nutrients. A small lumberyard, whose sporadic use would no doubt increase as natural deadfall failed to serve the whole of the community’s needs.

  But I will fix it, he promised as the sun crested the mountain horizon, so close and so deceptively far away all at once. Everything will be set to right. The useless gaping mouths of the weak-willed will be forcefully closed, and the world made beautiful once again. And eventually, even the concept of want shall disappear, each and every person provided for – no one shall ever cry out in hunger ever again.

  It was a warm promise, burning, invigorating… and despite having made it a hundred times before, Lysandre meant it just as much as the first – as when he'd looked down at a starved-to-the-edge-of-death child, and realised that no amount of money would ever fix things. As the clones and their natural-born spawn emerged from their hovels he continued to watch the sun illuminate everything, its rays bright and clear despite the lateness of the year, his thoughts combusting into a roaring flame. It’s likely that Helios has told that abomination everything – which means that soon, Giovanni will know everything.

  But no matter. People could not resist their natures, and the Rainbow Rocket Boss’s soul was hideous, burdened by greed. He would seek to keep everything within his grasp. It did not matter what Lysandre did; so long as he kept within certain bounds, the only threat was from the other insipidly-named ‘Colour Generals.’ And none of them are my match on a strategic level. Cyrus is intelligent, but lacks backing; Ghetsis has material resources, but no vision beyond the tip of his nose. Maxie will be easily distracted by Archie, who is already under my thumb…

  The only threat is Mewtwo. Luckily the Unovan cripple was already solving that problem for him – no, all Lysandre had to do was bide his time, stoking Team Flare’s flame until the recreation of the Ultimate Weapon was complete. I need only stand before the curtain as my subordinates set the stage, playing the uncharismatic dullard they believe me to be.

  Yes, everything was going according to plan.