His hand flexed under the table again.

Of course he was keeping tabs. Did they finally strike HQ? Was illeana reyes safe? Or had hubris swallow her too? These were all questions that rattled every time someone mentioned Hoenn's name.

"Whatever legendary you're hunting now."

Back then, both within and outside SPECTRA, that's all anyone ever talked about. Which legendary caught their eye. All for what? To be corrupted by a deity beyond their understanding?

Elisabeth Fiorelli wasn't the first victim to make that mistake, and she wouldn't be the last.

Even in Kanto, grunts covet the stories overshore. To be able to bend gravity to one's will, to command waves like your own limbs - there's no matching strength like that. Not to them, at least.

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Again and again, the tip of his blade followed his neck, stilled by the target his words painted. Black and white or white and black, there was no escaping the realities unfolding between them.

They've changed. Time eroded what little they shared, twisting a once simple understanding into a sieges of hatred. Jayden wasn't the Trojan horse Rocket meant him to be.

He was the walking embodiment of the shackles that pinned Felix's legs to the chair. He was the endless stretch of grunt work pinned to his name. He was the morning call that wakes him, the roar of helplessness that wittles his strength, the shadow of Felix's old self staring back in the mirror. Jayden was everything Felix battled, both outside and in, and for that alone nothing but mutual HATRED could be shared now.

Either toward each other, or the monsters they've become.

"I heard Hoenn's strength has improved," jaw tightened, eyes narrowed, he stared at the only thing he could still withstand: the meager window overlooking the nearby convenience store. "Must be true, if you're still here. Wasting time."

"Did you give in too? Like Fiorelli?"

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He couldn't help but scoff.

He had lost Elisabeth Fiorelli to the very thing he knew was coming the moment she'd risen the ranks. The very thing he warned her against.

And, for fighting back, for defending the few principles he still valued, he had lost everything else.

illeana reyes. August Gallagher.

"What do you think?"

He shook his head, his gaze finally fleeing to the decrepit paradise that surrounded them.

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"What do you want, cross," he repeated, gaze unrelenting.

Even beaten and bruised, his chin would never lower. Not to someone who'd left him to die.

To crumble in a place worse than hell. A place removed from the very people that pushed him forward. A place that did nothing but remind him of his failures, of the person life forced him to be. A place that never failed to rob him of what little hope still clung beneath his nails.

"Unless you enjoy just flaunting your rank?"

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Things have changed.

Titles were forgone, shredded without remorse. No longer was he a man bound by his title - this Felix held more freedom than ever before.

"This is Kanto, not Hoenn."

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"what do you want, cross?"

Pleasantries weren't necessary between two daggers. It would only dull the blade, soiling it until no purpose was left.

Dim eyes spilled out from the black curtain of hair, taking careful measure of the man. Friendships and Team Rocket are like oil and water - it doesn't work. At some point, maybe now, one will turn on the other.

For Felix, it wasn't a question of if, but when. His hands flex beneath the table.

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"cross is here to see you. Meet him in commons."

It felt like years since he heard that name, longer since it mattered. In Kanto, Hoenn felt like a spectator sport. Which admin will rise to the top? Wil the foundation beneath their feet crumble, or would they finally take victory from the League. Felix listened, of course, though his interest wasn't has money-driven as the others.

Was August Gallagher safe? Was illeana reyes? That's all he could make out in the haze endless grunt work.

Communication was cut the moment he arrived onto the island. The only solace provided was the fact that Elisabeth Fiorelli had allowed 1 measly hour to prepare arrangements. Ms Burns nextdoor wasn't the ideal candidate, but when time's ticking, you'll take what you can get.

Sweat stained the beaten dog's forehead, sticking strains of black into place. They'd only move if willed, no different than him. As he sat in the emptied recreational room (most were out on a trip to the casino, or the latest set of missions), all he could do was stare at the door.

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