"I think we can make it better. Stronger. Built on loyalty rather than fear."

A glass is raised, for them to toast their status and their pull. Sometimes it didn't feel real.

When they're done, Chu-e knocks the rest of his drink back, sighing at the burn of it.

"Ah, fuck, I left my phone outside with Prince." He pushes off the counter. "Need it to show you this funny video."

"Wish that enough on its own."

There's a note of melancholy in his tone; he was realistic enough to understand that loyalty in an organization as large as Rocket, with as many unique personalities as they had, would not always be enough. It had been fear to keep him shackled long enough for loyalty to foster.

He shifts when Chu-e mentions the phone.

"Cats?"

Smirking at his guess, he steps away from the counter.

"It will be someday. Blind loyalty doesn't come easy." Which, at the end of the day, is what Chu-e was aiming for. The kind of blind belief and fanatical trust in Rocket, especially the higher ups, that people would lay down their lives for the group at large. Leading through fear would never work.

But if you could manipulate someone enough, convince them they thought of the idea themselves, that it made them happier, that's what Chu-e would feel like they had won.

At the end of the day, Chu-e wanted brainwashed masses who would worship Rocket and what it stood for like gods. They wouldn't need to worry about dissent. It would be tore apart from the inside out before it ever became a problem.

It was fucked up and delusional. Yet so sickeningly possible it was enticing. Just the right kind of push could....

"How did you know?" Grinning, he pushed outside. It was fully dark now, the crowds gone from the street. They were alone. Chu-e made his way for a little alleyway beside the place where Prince had squeezed earlier. Alone. Secluded. What could happen?

"I don't know that I'd want it blind."

He had never surrendered himself entirely to Rocket's conditioning. Gavin thinks that if he had, it would not have been an underboss sharing drinks with an equal but a subordinate putting blind faith in Choi's vision.

It doesn't worry him that their ideals differ. He likes it.

He's thinking surprisingly mundane thoughts about Chu-e's Skitty collection when they turn down a dark alley that stinks of cigarette smoke. His nose twitches, mind craves. His muscles don't react in time to dodge a threat he doesn't see.

A Zangoose, huddled in shadow, leaps with claws extended.

They had not seen Zachary Crane because they weren't looking for him. With the current climate for moles in Rocket, he had seen Merlino and Choi and thought the jig was up. Feeling cornered, he had released his Zangoose and proceeded to attack as soon as he had the chance.

Prince was not in that alley, either. He was lingering in the opposite alleyway, playing a puzzle game on Chu-e's phone.

Chu-e's own thoughts had been on the video he planned to show Cillian Quinn. It was a cute Galarian Meowth who was pouting with glasses on and reminded him of Gavin. It would be pretty funny.

Instead, here comes the Zangoose, red claws extended and ready to rip into Gavin's flesh. Could Gavin handle it? Most likely. He was in better shape than Chu-e. Yet. He didn't have time to think about that, did he?

Chu-e was weak but adrenaline helped. Grabbing Gavin he shoved as hard as he could, put all his weight in it, just enough to get Gavin out of the way.

But it was slow. And Chu-e would be ripped in two instead, claws no doubt slicing him open and ending their night, and his life, prematurely.

It's surprise more than strength that sees Gavin stumble away from Chu-e, staggering back against the wall of the alley.

It's one of those situations — it happens quick, in the blink of an eye, but Gavin sees it as if it had been in slow motion. How easily the Zangoose's terrible claws cleave through flesh like it's paper and crush past bone. How it's not blood that seeps from the wound but something that looks like tar, black and viscous. How Gavin knows, immediately, what this means.

He's already reaching for a pokeball by the time the Zangoose collapses backward, and shadows form the shape of an Aerodactyl covered in similar crystalline growths.

Gavin whistles and points down the alley.

"Kill."

Zachary Crane would be set upon by a DARK PREDATOR, but Gavin drops to his knees next to Chu-e and stems the flow of blood with his own hands. They're steady because they have to be; because this isn't the first horrible shit he's seen, because Chu-e needs to live. He was going to make sure of it.

Another pair of capsules summon an ordinary Claydol and Lucario to his side.

"Help me stabilize him until help gets here. You, get help."

Claydol disappears in a flash, TELEPORTING, while Lucario presses its paws together and begins to send HEALING PULSES and scatters of LIFE DEW toward the fallen underboss. It didn't need to be perfect. It just had to be enough.

With one hand still stemming blood flow, Gavin searches for Prince's pokeball.

They don't need to worry about Zachary Crane anymore. His part in this was significant but small. Short lived, a fool who could have lived longer had he looked before he leaped.

Chu-e, on the other hand, should not be alive. His breathing is wet and ragged, mouth tasting like iron as blood drips past his lips. His body shakes, vision blurry, nerve endings firing off confusing signals that cloud thought. Somewhere along the line, Chu-e's hands find Gavin's, one gripping tight while the other slides up his arm flesh on flesh. His hold is not firm, not bruising, a sign of his weakness- something easy to pull out of if Cillian Quinn so chooses.

Neither of them will notice till it's happened. Crystals in the palm, cold, a quick jab like a needle prick in Gavin's flesh, then it's gone. No more than a quick pinch and maybe a dot of blood.

The words 'Heal Pulse' make him flinch even in his daze, a choked out 'no' barely being spit from his mouth. It's too late. This time, though, the pain he experienced at the hospital does not come. In fact, he doesn't feel much of anything at all other than where the wound is raw; the uncomfortable itchy feeling of his flesh being knit back together through force, slow, not enough for how large the wound is.

Sadly for Gavin, Prince's pokeball is empty- the Gardevoir is oblivious to his trainer's agony at the moment, clear across the other side of the building in the opposite alleyway. Something prickles at the back of his mind which makes him pause his game, alert, the natural abilities of his species kicking in to the distress. It's just distance is the factor.

What Gavin does find, however, is that Chu-e keeps many pokeballs in his pockets. Many more than League standards, and the one that will slip from his fingers is one that, what seems so long ago now, was one the man had been eager to show off. The destabilized shadow feline is left face to face with Gavin, her warped body odd but still vaguely Delcatty like. Her maw is kittenish and cute but the predatory look of a lion is in her eyes. She assesses, sees opening but-

Thankfully for both Gavin and Chu-e, the Shadow process had made Sparklefur a bit lethargic. The fresh blood of the Zangoose draws her attention. Seeing an easier meal, she walks over and hunches down, keeping her face towards the two humans, and sinks her teeth into the soft flesh of the pokemon's throat. Her tail lashes, eyes glued to Gavin as if judging him, waiting, warm blood dripping down her muzzle as she feasts.

Gavin does not sense the threat in Chu-e's touch.

Though he could easily tug his grip from that of his counterpart, Gavin allows it because it signals to him that Chu-e Choi is alive. It's relief he feels as the other traces a hand up his arm — relief, until the gentle pinprick pain of a needle into flesh chills his blood.

He's not a stupid man. A bead of blood mars his skin, and he shivers.

"Chu-e?"

A thread of worry in his tone; was it Chu-e, any more?

But in spite of his reservations, Gavin's loyalty keeps him from abandoning his friend. Bloodied fingers fumble a pokeball until they land on one that calls to him perhaps subconsciously thanks to the creature within.

He meets her predatory stare with his eyes of dark amber, dares her with his gaze to strike. Miasma spills from the palm of his hands and swirls in the alleyway, his corrupt power seeking to pacify threat. It would not be as effective as if Lugia were with them, but he hopes it will be enough. He spares no mercy nor thought for the Zangoose as Sparklefur feeds, turning away from the shadowy feline to monitor its master.

"If you can help him, Sparklefur, do it."

He only hopes real help will arrive soon.

Chu-e has no idea about Cillian Quinn's worry. Doesn't know about the poke, won't know or remember later either, just blinks at the blond man in a dazed confusion at his name being called. He's very tired, suddenly. The blood loss and fast healing is tiring him out more than normal. At least this time he doesn't feel the tell-tail signs of a seizure working in the back of his skull.

Sparklefur pauses in her meal, licks her lips- she is useless to this situation. She is a creature made to kill, after all. Chu-e had ensured her of that.

A tang of psychic energy and a small flare of blue light. The cell phone clatters to the ground, Prince, finally, arriving on the scene. His sixth sense for his trainer had been too hard to ignore. The Gardevoir is on his Trainer in an instant, on his knees, pushing Gavin's hands away with more force than might be needed so he can inspect the wound. Pink is concentrated around his hands, hover just over the wound as he forces the skin back together.

For just a moment, Gavin may see a bloom of black crystal, no bigger than a pinkie nail, before it's swallowed up by repairing flesh.

"Is it-" His voice is slurred, vision blurry, but he can at least make out the shape of his friend. "Is it bad?"

Sheer relief floods Gavin as Prince flashes onto the scene. The underboss is quick to retract his blood-stained hands, feeling no hint of aggression to the Gardevoir.

Gavin does not know what Necrozma sounds like. He does not even know if it can speak. All he knows is that the weak, slurred voice sounds enough like Chu-e Choi to convince him, and Gavin lets out a shuddered sigh of relief.

"It's — bad," he admits. "But you're alive."

He reaches up to wipe the bead of blood from his own arm, says nothing of it.

"I sent Claydol for help. It'll take us back to HQ, unless you'd prefer somewhere else."

He needed medical attention, proper medical attention, but Gavin wasn't sure a hospital was safe after — this.

"Fucking Crane," he snaps, distressed.

Prince could keep it handled for now. This is what he was trained for, after all. He would have, however, agreed that they needed somewhere better than this. A dirty alleyway wasn't the best place to have an open wound if you wanted to prevent infections.

"Are you okay?" And that's slurred too. Chu-e had taken the hit for Cillian Quinn, after all.

Prince moves his hands away from the wound, having done all he can. Chu-e's hands are guided over the spot, pressed down with purpose until the man catches on and puts weight there himself. Like when Genesect attacked back on the sub, Prince tries to press his Telepathy into Gavin's mind.

Should the other accept, the images of the med bay on the sub, a little grainy and soft around the edges, would show. He had a clear pick for where he thought they should go. It was a quick connection.

The Gardevoir's half hand dipped into Chu-e's pockets, pulling out a dozen or so pokeballs. They hovered in the air around him, the pokemon growing more and more frustrated as he seemed to be searching for something. His head was shaken, huffed, and the balls bunched together and shoved back where they had come from. Nothing here to help carry him. It would have to be up to him, Gavin, and Gavin's pokemon to transport him.

Gavin thinks of the sharp pinprick against his skin.

"I'm fine."

Unsettled as he is, at least he's not in the kind of danger that Chu-e Choi faces.

This time, when Prince probes against his mind, Gavin understands what it is that the psychic-type is trying to do. There is resistance not from Gavin, but from Lugia — the telepathic presence is challenged before it is allowed, reluctantly, to invade his thoughts.

Imagery flickers as if struggling against an unwilling mind, but he understands.

"HQ," he confirms. "Thank you, Prince."

Claydol returns to them in a muted flash of pink, spinning slowly.

"We're good to board?" It blinks at him, signals yes.

Gavin nods to Prince, then places his hand on the Claydol's flank and motions for Chu-e to do the same. As soon as both men were ready, the psychic-type would whisk them away in another flash of TELEPORT.