"Then it'll be a learning experience for us both."

He pushes away from the wall and steps further into the room.

Gavin does, at least, glance through the consent form once he's got the pen in his hand. Amber eyes scrutinize her checks and balances, seeming to approve as his lips press together and he signs with a flourish.

Gavin Merlino. He's used the name so long, it feels like his own.

"I let Jules blast me with a fucking laser, Saoirse. Fuck me up, in the name of science."

He grins and sits down.

"Why wait?"

Gavin was a man of caution and preparation, but there was little that could be done to prepare for Darkrai's nightmarish powers.

"Think of it as a favour; make sure you get to me before Walsh does."

Though meant as a jest, there's a sharpness to his laughter. If Walsh ordered him to submit to such a test, they both knew that he would.

"We can put it off," he shrugs, "but you wouldn't have left that project with your team if you didn't trust them with it, hm?"

"Then we can do it in mine."

It's not the most comfortable place, but there's nowhere on the submarine that Gavin feels safer. He retrieves a pokeball from his blazer and releases a Claydol.

"Hold on, unless you've got your own."

Gavin presses a hand against the Claydol as it begins to spin, then TELEPORTS.

"I sleep in here all the time."

Granted, it's usually not by choice. He pushes himself hard for Rocket's sake and often finds himself drifting off at his desk when he can't keep his eyes open.

From the window into the ocean beyond, Lugia observes as Gavin pushes open the door. The space is cold, clinical, unfeeling — but it is Gavin's, and tension bleeds naturally from his shoulders as the door closes behind them. For once, he doesn't utilize his Klefki's fairy-lock. Who knew when he'd be waking up?

"How long's this usually take?"

He sits down, leaning back in his chair with a curious look.

"Comforting."

He doesn't sound half as bothered as he should be.

"Whenever you're ready, then."

Darkness swirls around them, hypnotizing, and Gavin watches with fascination.

His eyes slip closed—


—and when they open, he is staring out of a window. The view is of an alleyway three stories up, nothing but dark brick covered in old graffiti, yet Gavin knows this place well. He is in Saffron, in the first place he'd ever called his own.

He turns away from the window; the apartment is small, a studio with chipped paint and greying grout, but the floors have been scrubbed clean and the air smells of bleach, coffee, and cigarette smoke.

He is not alone.

THEO BECKETT sits on the couch, leather-bound book open to somewhere in the middle. He looks up when Gavin turns around; the Kanto admin is younger, here, but with a hardness to his eyes that ages him long before time ever would. Yet the emotion ascribed to the dream is not dread, or discomfort, but a curious content. Gavin is in a familiar space with a man he trusts. He is safe.

There is a furious pounding on the door, and the handle begins to shake.

This is not a dream, but a nightmare.

The door opens, and a bound figure is thrown to the floor like a ragdoll by faceless entities Gavin never focuses on. He can't look away from her. Lulu Flint is only a teenager, with spirited amber eyes and a snarl on her lips. She's saying something he can't hear over the ringing in his ears.

When Theo speaks, it comes through clearly.

"Did you think we wouldn't find her, Cillian?"

Theo slips a familiar blade into the palm of his hand and closes his fingers over its bloodied handle.

"Kill her or I'll kill you."

Gavin always wakes before the deed is done.

The knife is clutched in a shaking hand, Theo's whisper in his ear. 'You know what happens if you fail.' He stumbles forward, closing his eyes as if to block out the horror—


—and comes to, groggy, not in his office but in a familiar room in Saffron.

Ropes. Heavy, binding, making it hard to breathe. Wild eyes glance around the room as if searching for a threat that isn't there. He cannot look behind him but knows what he would see — a single, small window and a night sky full of stars.

He struggles to no avail, flinches when the door opens.

Two men enter. One, to Lulu Flint, will be familiar — THEO BECKETT.

The other is a man she's never met, but perhaps she's seen photos of Silas Blackwell or videos on the news. Unlike in Beckett's dream, Gavin's image of Rocket's former boss is not disfigured. He is whole, healthy, sneering.

Gavin recoils with enough force that the chair almost tips, but no amount of panic lends the strength to break his bonds.

'Kill him or I'll kill you, Beckett.'

Gavin stares up into the grave face of his former mentor, pleading. "I-I haven't done anything, sir — I-I'm loyal, I promise, I've done everything you've asked—"

But Beckett doesn't speak, doesn't hesitate, simply steps behind him and holds a knife to his throat. It's Gavin's own knife. It always is.

"You promised I'd be safe!"

The blade draws across his neck, and his vision goes dark.