[nospaces]

[attr="class","spiral"]The Ultra Beast remains oblivious to the uncanny fascination Anya applies to it. Between the customs and cultures of the Megalopolan’s that used to own it, her unhinged reaction to its every movement is tame in comparison. Even after Fernando finds her attention unnerving at worst, unfazed with the fanatic stare behind her visage.

“Only the best,” he whispers, daring to reach out and run his hands against the back of the Pokemon’s head. It’s inflated mood puts him at ease but he doesn’t dare interfere with its eating.

Without missing a beat, the Poipole seems like nothing more than an average Pokemon. Despite its toxic origins, the antidote has dulled its sense of aggression. All it has now it a latent power bundled up by a softened personality.

“Poipole!”

And it swallows another whole. This time however, it floats over to Anya’s lap, reaching out for her hand as if expecting another.

“I trust you’ll make good use of this opportunity.”

Without any other obvious uncertainties, Fernando allows his head to crook in a wide sweep, giving her area a second glance. “I’ll keep you posted as things come up.” His eyes settle on what he can only presume to be future test subjects and he wonders how she’ll exploit him. It’ll involve the Poipole poison, undoubtedly, but to what extent?

“But things have been picking up. An unknown Pokemon seems to have sprouted from a meteor we found in the Falls. I’ll keep you posted about that as well.”

[attr="class","spiral"]A quick Pavlov method of taming the creature seems agreeable. Positive reinforcement proves more than ample in getting the domesticated Ultra Beast to work in tandem with the Ex-Rocket scientist. Although the conditions of the Pokemon around it is a cause for concern, the Pokemon’s origins numb it to the questionable treatment of those around it. Make no mistake, despite the treats it inhale today, the Pokemon was born a carnivore.

Fernando finds a pit of disdain well up in his stomach when she teases him. How much of it is true and how much of it is to placate him. Before, it would’ve never bothered him. As long as there was at least the believable illusion of a mutual want, even if only physical, he could abide by it.

But now that it’s business, the turmoil of how much of this is just the means to an end. As fun as entanglements can be, the mental fortitude of being wanted, the validation that comes in satisfying someone’s need, it’s the most succulent part of the hunt for him. Empty sex, tarnished with an underlying pull, brings no satisfaction.

“I’m sure you’ll make due.”

His own smirk sits there to hold his confidence against his own self doubt.

“In fact, I’m counting on it.”

His departure comes shortly after. After all, Fernando is a busy man. There’s a region to run with very few capable hands there to assist. Leave too long and it just may burn down.

“Next time, expect me upset.”

At the end of the day, he is still a man of affection. He steals a kiss when the opportunity presents itself, a brief peck that bordered on something more but torn away before he could commit.

[attr="class","spiral"]“Hmph.”

There is satisfaction in validation. An almost juvenile joy blossoms from the seeds of serotonin that sprout from Anya’s text message. As tasteful as herart is, it does nothing for him. A visual representation never matches the real thing and Fernando is a hunter above all else. Admiring someone for their beauty is below him. And yet, he still saves the picture to his phone, stashing it away in his default ‘private’ folder.

Any trophy, no matter how in consequential, belongs in the trophy cabinet.

A little more than three weeks pass until their next meeting.

Work doubles up and the region destabilizes once more. This time, their threat comes from within. The League devours itself due to their own suspicions, unable to discern friend from foe. As the only person with both common sense and an infallibility to be ‘the enemy’, it’s up to him and Kim to bridge their people together once more.

What Fernando brings to the table this time is a few records of other Ultra Beasts and the discoveries of various Adventours around the region. He suspects she has little interest in the latter but documents it more for his sake than anything else.

Time winds down and the setting sun allows them to swap places. The invite is for her to meet him. To keep things private, his condo in Lilycove awaits. A floor, room number, and address is given. Fernando can’t be bothered to leave his work for more than a couple minutes at a time.

[attr="class","spiral"]"Kendra."

He expects her and no one else. A surprise visit now in unwarranted and will be met with the councilman's unabetted rebuke. The folly of hindering him in one of his 'moods' is offset by the procedure catcall he whistles to the door at her name. This makes their in-person contact since her promotion is dotted with a new penname, alphabetically structured to each encounter.

Next time she will be Lisa.

Today, she will be his help. Fernando never quite leaves his office but he still greets her nonetheless—at least it looks like him. One of his many dittos copies both his dress and form, left forearm bruised on the inside and covered in a purple welt. It pulses as if alive, distinctly discolored in a way that makes it obvious that the source is not poison. It prove just as sinister, all the same.

It stares at her, beady little dots for eyes, before chirping in a high pitch, "Dit!"

Fernando remains in his office, sleeve rolled up onto his shoulder, struggling as his arm is restrained onto his chair's armrest. The way his injury pulses seems less alive, in tandem with his heartbeat, skipping a thump on the rare accord. She can hear him gritting his teeth, wincing as his Porygon2 scans him once more.

[attr="class","spiral"]"Fifteen minutes."

Fernando squeezes out a grunt as he bites back the need to kick out the chair from under him. Whatever pain he feels is amplified by the fact that this proves to be his greatest failure. He should have known better. Played it more carefully. Impatience, laced in his trust for the supernatural, comes back to recollect its toll in the form of a malignant infection.

The beaming light from his Porygon's eyes come to an end as the scan completes. A lot of the data proves inconsequential, riddled with too many unknowns for him to derive a hypothesis of substance. But, now that it's done, populated onto the display mounted on the wall, he can free himself of being a test subject.

"How good are you with a scalpel?"

There's a good reason he can't turn to anyone else. Beyond the blight that proliferates his skin tone is a relic that Fernando will literally kill to keep secret. He's come too far to let it loose now. Anya, who has more to lose than him, a phantom he thinks he can cull should it come down to it, is the only one he can trust. Not because he believes in her but because he believes she'll be nothing more than a cold case, should the need arise.

[attr="class","spiral"]“Jirachi’s Wish Tag.”

The way he grits through the nauseating feeling of her tools probe through skin and flesh means every word has to be concise. They’re labored into existence—an apt answer that discloses just how important this means for the both of them. It’s precious enough that Fernando is putting his own body on the line but only to a degree. “Pain is fine,” he buckles against the PSYCHIC, “but not worth permanent damage.”

The King comes first. Without him, all this means nothing.

Too think he can overpower either Pokemon is a fool’s assumption. But having to hold someone down for a prolonged amount of time is a war of attrition. Whereas they must maintain their focus, hold themselves to a certain standard, to preserve control, all he has to do is flounder against an invisible force until he can find a crack.

His wailing comes in deep seated grunts filled with hatred. Doing this without proper anesthesia can only be handled by the truly insane. For Project Avalon, Fernando will be anything and more. Much like Anya, his fascination with his life’s work goes beyond the psyche.

Pulling out the runic paper reveals a vestige of flesh and muscles fibers. They cling as if truly alive, a second skin for the paper, and the ruination of his wish. It continues to pulse, mildly lit, tapering off as it becomes dormant once more.