The station in Slateport's Upper District was of nicer fare than Gavin was used to dealing with; Malcolm's family had money, so it wouldn't have done to throw him in with the unwanted trash of the streets.

Luckily for Adrian Malcolm, corruption could be found almost anywhere in Hoenn.

The man who leads Gavin to Adrian's holding cell is a real officer, well aware that Gavin was not a real legal representative. He'd been the same man to take the fingerprints and information of a silent, brooding figure who appeared for all the world to be the real Adrian Malcolm. The man beneath the illusion would be well compensated for entering his own information into the League's database to be scoured and scrutinized.

No DNA match. No evidence beyond the shaky recount of a survivor whose memories were, tragically, months out of date.

The man who stands outside of the holding cell is not the one that Adrian had met in the seedy underground — but his voice, deep and reassuring, remains the same. "I'm sorry for the wait, Mr. Malcolm; it appears it was all a misunderstanding."

"You're free to go," the officer chimes in, unlocking the cell.

Gavin remembers, vividly, the feeling of being a rat cornered in a cage. Never again.

He stands off to the side so as not to block Adrian Malcolm's exit, keeps pace with the wary trainer in place of leading him. True to Adrian's suspicion, a car awaits on the curb. Gavin shakes hands with the officer before they exit the building and walks around to the vehicle's opposite side, sliding into the back and opening the other door from Adrian from inside. The driver in the front seat offers no acknowledgement beyond nodding to Gavin through the rearview.

"Mauville," he requests, and the engine purrs to life.

Cracking open his window, Gavin pulls out a pack of cigarettes and silently offers one to Adrian before returning them to his jacket. When he exhales, wisps of purple-black smoke curl from his lips. The car turns off the well-travelled main road.

"I admit, I thought you'd never call." Yet true to his word, Gavin had kept the line open. He takes out the contacts that had colored his irises a deep, pleasant blue, blinks his natural amber before sliding his glasses back on. Though his hair was brown, not blonde, with the spectacles he was far more reminiscent of the supposed battle boss Adrian had met. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions. I'll answer what I can."

He takes another drag of his cigarette, eyes half-lidded.

"That depends entirely on you."

If Adrian weren't booked with a lighter among his possessions, Gavin would offer his own for a light before returning it to his pocket. He takes the occasional interest in the scenes outside the tinted window, but otherwise maintains focus on his reluctant guest.

Almost casually, he asks, "Do you have any idea who I work for?"

"Self-employed, with these kind of resources?" He chuckles low in his throat, then shakes his head. "I'm flattered, but no. There is someone above me."

Outside, it begins to rain, and any silence is filled with the steady rhythm of windshield wipers. Gavin does not miss the soft drum of fingers on fabric, notes the tension and decides against drawing further suspense.

"I am a representative of Team Rocket." A biker keeping pace with the vehicle turns off toward the repaired cycling road, and Gavin's gaze lingers on the still-visible scars of war. There had been another war, once; one that had brought Slateport to its knees and scarred Rocket's reputation much as Guzzlord had scarred the landscape. He looks back to Adrian. "I work in recruitment."

Gavin doesn't appear offended. His amber gaze remains steadily on Adrian Malcolm's as the other grits his teeth and snaps challenge.

"Of course I remember." How could he forget? He had promised to look into the incident, after all. "Do take a breath before you go for my throat; I'm not done. I understand your... mistrust." Though Gavin did not name his Pokémon and kept always in mind that they could be disposed of at a moment's notice to the benefit of Rocket, he was not immune to the righteous fury of revenge. He thought often of Necrozma, how much he'd like to crush it into dust for what it had done to him. "Things were different in our organization, when the incident took place. Different management, different intel — a lot to dig through, understand."

It sounds as if he's about to deliver bad news, but Gavin motions to the driver. When they stop at the next lights, the man retrieves something from the glove box and hands it back. Gavin rifles through the files and retrieves a photograph.

"Familiar?" He hands it to Adrian, and the vehicle's overhead light is turned on for a better look. Ahead, the streetlights turns green, and the vehicle resumes its steady route toward Mauville proper. "I intended to learn of his whereabouts before I contacted you but, circumstances being what they are..."

He shrugs, setting the rest of the files in his lap.

"Empirio Saiga."

Gavin spits the name like a curse, storm gathering in his gaze. His disdain for the man's love of violence was absolute. Emma Wolfe, Chu-e Choi, even Gavin himself... they were killers because they had to be. That was how Gavin viewed it, regardless of whether it was right.

Empirio was a monster.

"One of ours, but not one of mine." Could he even claim to be theirs, any more, when so much in Rocket had changed? "He's been M.I.A. Not the kind of person I want coming back, working with us. He's the kind that would've worked for Blackwell."

Was it surprising, he wonders, to hear a Rocket speak that name with such venom? Silas Blackwell had once been a name to inspire terror in League and Rocket alike.

"It's more than you had before."

With the identity of the dog-killer confirmed, Gavin hands over the file he'd balanced on his lap. His gaze is intense and unwavering.

"It's no small thing to out one of our own." More so for Gavin, who valued Rocket as a family and loyalty above most. But every family had skeletons in their closet, monsters to purge, and Rocket was no exception. "I hope you understand that."

Inside the file, Adrian Malcolm would find everything Rocket knew of the man: any aliases he'd been known to operate under, what Pokémon he was known to possess along with their movesets, as well as any other information deemed relevant by their intelligence department.

"I think you ought to consider it. It's different than it was. I've worked for them a long time," and he pauses to let that settle, the implication of Kanto in the weight of his tone, "and I've seen it change. We look out for our own. This," with a vague gesture toward the file, "is only a sample of the things we could do for you. But this isn't an ultimatum."

They're closing in on their destination, car tires slicing through puddles of rain as it pulls into the massive city complex that was Mauville.

"This was a favour. We expect discretion, silence, and for you to repay it in kind if given the opportunity." His tone attempts to soften the severity. He knew what it was to hold looming debt in one's heart. "But it doesn't have to be more than that."

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note: what's in the file / how extensive it is, obviously up to driclone!