Gavin shakes his head, then remembers the recording.

"No. As I said, I've only recently discovered the ability, and I've yet to determine if it's possible outside of Mt. Pyre."

There's something dark in his eyes, then.

"Not that I'm opposed to testing it on human subjects, should we acquire one."

Gavin watches the aides scatter, feeling no pity.

His gaze flicks back to Natalie.

"There's definitely some kind of empathetic connection. I can tell when it's angry, and I think it can tell when I'm in any kind of distress. It's very protective."

His lip quirks, fond.

"We can communicate, yes, telepathically or otherwise. It usually chooses telepathy."

Cillian Quinn

an aide comes from the backroom wearing gloves and a surgical mask.

'dr. fairchild, we're ready.'

natalie nods then turns back towards the underboss.

"i see, that's quite interesting. most would kill to communicate with their pokemon the same way, much less a mythical one like yours."

she nods to herself, standing. with a the back of her foot she moves the wheeled stool back and out of the way.

"mr. merlino we will pause the questioning for now, while we conduct the lumbar puncture. because of the nature of our testing, we can not provide an anesthetic."

natalie pauses the recording before moving to the side, allowing gavin the ability move past her, should he so choose.

Gavin's lips purse with doubt he doesn't voice.

But Rocket has indoctrinated him with pain and suffering. There had been no anesthetic when Chu-e had stabbed him in the shoulder, or Theo in his hand, or when Marie had fired a laser at him.

"I've had worse," he drawls, and stands.

Pain would be endured in terse silence, for it is what he has been taught.

Cillian Quinn

natalie guides him to the table, a hard metal slab of nothing special. it'd offer no comfort. no warmth.

"please lay down and hug your knees to your chest. try to place your head between your knees."

as he does, an aide rubs a cold solution of amber colored alcohol. another hands natalie a five inch (thirteen cm) needle.

"you'll feel a sting and some pressure. i want you to focus on the bond between you and lugia. tell me what you feel afterwards."

she slowly places the needle between his third and fourth vertebrae, careful to avoid the bone. that pain would be cruel and unusual. more than she advocated for. it pierced the flesh and, once she found what she was looking for, began to extract the spinal fluid.

all the while natalie hummed a cheerful little tune.

There is never warmth or comfort. In a way, this familiarity alone reassures.

Gavin complies because he has been taught to.

As instructed, he thinks of Lugia. Of its power, of miasma swirling at his feet as Rocket gathered round, of the overwhelming sense of peace that had settled over him upon hearing its deep telepathic timbre for the first time.

Pain is endured with a sharp intake of breath and nothing more.

"I feel like I've had a needle shoved in my spine."

There's a dry hint to his tone, but he's entirely serious.

Cillian Quinn

"i imagine it would," she responds dryly.

she removes the needle, an aide applying a small gauze to the site to control bleeding. she hands the syringe off to another for processing.

"tell me how lugia feels."

she monitors the wound, assessing gavin's potential healing factor. was it accelerated?

He can feel its distant anger, always, a pressing influence against the mind. So subtly does it feed into his own, enhancing the most volatile of his emotions. Frustration, jealousy, paranoia.

He doesn't know what Lugia is thinking; it doesn't share.

He settles on, "Annoyed."

Cillian Quinn

unhelpful.

"i see. after a moment you may uncoil yourself."

she gives him room to stand, should he wish. a number of the aides are moving about in a frenzy. whether preparing testing equipment, or sampling what has already been taken.

she ignores thme.

"once you're set, we'll move to the MRI."

Pain presents itself in the firm clench of Gavin's jaw as he stands, an ache radiating at the base of his spine. It will cause discomfort for a while, he imagines, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before.

He keeps visible wincing to a minimum. What could be easily read as stubborn pride holds deeper connotations.

"I'm set," he says, immediate.

Cillian Quinn

"embrace your miasma. quickly."

natalie says quickly— basically off-the-cuff.

next to her, an aide appears, holding a silver tray out. atop, an obsidian coated M9 sits on it. lazily, she grabs it and points the gun at the underboss.

what better way to test ones reaction speed than to do the unexpected?

she pulls the trigger.

He does not need to be asked twice.

It swirls around him and like a drug, he breathes it in. Adrenaline hits like a shock directly to his bloodstream, pupils dilating with it, amber irises dark with a mixture of suspicion and expectation.

Then she picks up a gun, and he's already moving.

A sharp hiss of breath as he inhales, muscles coiled like those of a predator as he adopts a defensive stance. He prowls, eyes sharp on the gun in her grip.

"What the fuck are you playing at?"