The only resposne to Isaac's yells was a low groan of pain as the wounded stranger hung limp, dangling on his chains like a marionette with its strings cut. As Isaac's eyes continued to adjust, he would notice matted blood caked in the stranger's black hair, causing what was normally a spiky mane of black to appear as if someone had flattened it against his skull in parts.

The stranger was, of course, Ivan, who had been dispatched to the same high-society party as the Rocket grunt, and for much the same purpose. A series of Pokemon kidnappings in the Mauville area had all converged on a wealthy estate jsut outside of the city limits. A quick review of the estate through legitimate channels had lead to nothing but the local Rangers being told to buzz off the case, with one secretary in particular spinning a fantastical tale of old nobility bending the entirety of their fortunes to the most altruistic of causes.

Characteristically, Ivan had not reacted very well to being told to fuck off, especially when it was in relation to his job.

Through a bit of fast talking and repeated promises to be careful, the more grizzled Rangers had very reluctantly allowed Ivan a chance to infilitrate via replacing one of the kitchen boys that had been persuaded to do the right thing. Everything had been going perfectly, until Ivan's backcountry Sinnoh accent had slipped out at the worst possible moment, granting him a swift clubbing over the head with a nightstick.

So it was safe to say that when the Aipom splashed Ivan awake, the flood of cursing that resulted from the wounded Ranger's drenching was particularly heartfelt. It only took the Ranger a few seconds to discover the same cold facts as Isaac had: the lack of Pokemon and their particular mode of imprisonment. Ivan felt the cold rush of fear drop his stomach into his shoes, even as he fought to keep his expression steady. For all of Ivan's coldness and jaded nature, he had never been thrust into so dangerous a situation completely unprepared. He had always had Merlin, the family Spiritomb, along with him in some capacity, and that very presence had allowed him to fight off the worst of the flight-or-flight responses in his early days as a Ranger.

Now though, he was alone.

Taking a shaky breath, Ivan attempted to wipe away the gunk encrusting his eyelashes the best he could, before replying to the stranger's question. "Name's Ratoz. Kitchen boy extrodinare." Ivan replied sarcastically, gesturing at his torn and stained uniform. It was clear from anyone that was listening that it was the thinnest of lies, his head felt like a Rillaboom had been using it for practice. Then again, he had never been a good liar in the first place.

"Never mind that, where the hell are we? Either somebody's been watching too many old movies, or this is about to get messy."

---

WC: 497