The door — a thick portal of heavy metal, windowless — swings open as if on its own accord. Only the faintest pink shimmer of a disengaging FAIRY LOCK offers hint.

Gavin sits behind his desk, unsmiling.

"Enter." A command, not a request. "Sit."

The room is cold, the air thick with an intense PRESSURE that makes it hard to breathe. When the door closes behind him, Isaac might notice the sudden absence of outside sound. Metal floors, metal walls, a metal desk barren of any trinkets or glimpses into the personality of the man behind it. There is only a laptop, currently closed.

Should Isaac wait for Gavin to speak, it's a long moment before he does. He scrutinizes the grunt with narrowed eyes of amber, pinning him like a Butterfree behind glass, stoic expression erring on the side of displeasure. If Isaac does try to speak, or after the moment passes, he at last acknowledges, "Merlo. You know why you're here?"

It was always best to get their own assessment of how much danger they were in.

Gavin's office is steeped in fear, uncomfortable by design. Isaac Merlo's discomfort is both evident and expected.

"Correct." He's read the report, but, "I want to hear it in your own words: what went wrong?"

Greyson Connors. That's what went wrong. Gavin knows as much, but he's interested to see what far-fetched excuses might be pulled from the woodwork.

People got desperate when they were scared.

Gavin listens in absolute silence. It might not be clear he was listening at all but for the intensity of the gaze that remains fixed on Isaac Merlo. He is very still, wisps of miasma the only movement as they're stirred by his breath.

There's a long pause after Isaac finishes speaking.

"Your backup," is all Gavin says, when at last he breaks the fragile silence. "How long did it take to arrive?"

It's impossible to tell what Gavin is thinking; his expression does not shift from its chilly stoicism.

Fast, but not fast enough. Isaac insists their competence, but Gavin's thoughts are elsewhere. Perhaps if we were to set up a more intricate network for teleportation in a nearby safehouse. A grunt shouldn't have been given command of the place, but even so...

"Were there any deaths?" League were unlikely to go in for the kill, but a collapsing warehouse posed a significant threat to life and limb. "Arrests?"

No deaths.

A comfort, however small.

It's marred by the news of the three who hadn't made it out. Gavin remembers the first time he'd been captured by the League, in Kanto, when such a fate often ended in a Rocket assassination. How frightened he'd been. Does Isaac Merlo expect that same fate to befall the grunts who'd been left behind, knowing Gavin's roots could be traced back to Blackwell's era?

"If you'd have gone back for them, it would have been four arrests. We must know when to cut our losses." His deep voice is flat, devoid of sympathy. Here, he wears the façade of underboss. "What do you think will happen when I'm done with you?"

His golden gaze is fierce, unwavering.

It's always an interesting thing, to see how someone new to Gavin's disciplinary methods answers such a question. Some would fall back on pride, on anger, worsening their impending punishment with every breath. Some abandoned pride in favour of emotion, begging for mercy that they weren't yet aware they'd even need. Some were apathetic, as he had once been. Whatever you think is best, sir. His own go-to answer, when Kanto's shackles had bound him.

Some, like Isaac Merlo, are merely matter-of-fact.

"I need no further discussion. Enforcement is my specialty."

But what Isaac is too frightened to realise is this: Gavin remembers his days as a grunt, cowering in fear of those who'd governed his fate. He remembers the helplessness of failure beyond his control. He remembers the hollow resignation as he'd been ordered to place his hand flat on a desk, the blade of a knife driven clean through the palm of his left hand, the years of physical therapy and surgeries to restore its use. Even now, as he gestures with his speech, the ugly scars are clearly visible.

"You've been reprimanded. Your understanding of where you went wrong is sufficient. You didn't give yourself command of that warehouse; I will want the name of the superior who did." A fool, they were, to place such responsibility in the hands of grunts alone. "You are not ready for command, but you've proven yourself more capable than the grunts you led through that battle. I will accompany you on your next mission assignment to assess if your competence is genuine, or fabricated. We'll go from there."

Gavin, too, is matter-of-fact.

"Any questions?"