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A sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff scrapes past his throat.
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"The only one conflicted here is you." There's a sneer edging the words. "Don't want to believe I'd kill you if I had the chance? My only regret is that I didn't make up my mind sooner."
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If Raziel was paying attention to the temperature of Gavin's answers, they'd ring true. Whatever regret the ranger felt toward his former friend was not shared. The hatred that burned behind Gavin's eyes was real.
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Had he hit a nerve with the name? He almost smiles.
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"I don't care what you prefer."
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When it's turned around on him, Gavin doesn't so much as sweat. Once, he'd have feared the discovery of his true name. Now? Walsh already knew. It couldn't hurt him anymore.
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"And I don't care what you call me."
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Any carried identification would match the name of Gavin Merlino. If the League searched up his criminal record, they'd find a history under that name. Cillian Quinn had covered his tracks so well that even Rocket's boss hadn't been able to follow them.
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Bravado fades as Raziel removes himself from the conversation, leaving Gavin alone with his thoughts.
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He focuses on his hands, still stuck fast with the STICKY GLOB, trying to loosen its hold on him. If the authorities arrived, he was done. They'd never let a high profile Rocket out of their sight.[break][break]

Gritting his teeth, Gavin uses friction to reopen fresh wounds on his arm, sustained from the Salamence-like creature he'd fought. With the adrenaline from his battle with Raziel fading, the pain nearly makes him pass out — swaying, he draws a shaky breath and presses on. The blood is warm as it spills down his arm, coating it in red. Coating the adhesive in red. Bile floods his mouth and he swallows it down, fighting through the agony with sheer survival on his mind. Any amount of pain would be worth it, if only he could free his hands.

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His ears are ringing again.[break][break]

It would be so, so easy to go to sleep. To succumb to the darkness at the edge of his vision, to be free of the pain that rips through his bleeding arm and pounds in his head. But Rocket has taught him that there are no easy paths to victory.[break][break]

Tears borne of sheer agony leak from the corners of his eyes. They mark a path down cheeks stained with blood from another injury, stinging salt in the barely-closed wound.[break][break]

"Fuck."[break][break]

He's shaking. Pain, fear, anger? It's all the same in the end.[break][break]

Even when blood-slick hands finally slip free of the confining adhesive, Gavin doesn't immediately run. His head is spinning, his stomach churning. He leans forward on his knees, shoulders hunched, hiding the way he flexes his fingers to test their freedom. To anyone looking in, it would seem only as if he had given up. As if the weight of his situation has finally worn him down.[break][break]

As if the minute Raziel spends nursing his headache is enough time for reality to crash down on the shoulders of Rocket's underboss.[break][break]

In reality, he's biding his time. Willing the world to stop spinning. There isn't enough time before he hears the voices. Plural. Raised in greeting to Raziel that Gavin doesn't register in words, only in threat.[break][break]

There was no time. He had to go now.[break][break]

He hadn't sent out any Pokemon because he hadn't wanted to draw any attention to himself. Now, he focuses only on pushing himself to his feet and cursing through the pain that shoots through his arm.[break][break]

Bloody fingers form a slippery hold on a SCATTERBANG, instead, pitching it toward the League. He can't hear anything they're saying. If they tell him to stop, to freeze, to surrender... all of it falls on deaf ears, literally, as the ringing intensifies.[break][break]

He bolts through the terrain, thinking nothing of it... until the blinding agony of fire strikes the back of his leg, sending him to the ground.

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Fire.[break][break]

It's not the first time he's been burned.[break][break]

Cigarette burns, small and out of sight, branded into his ribs. Father's rage had been loud and proud, bruises on his faceand scars on his arm from being thrown into a table. Mother had been more subtle in her fury.[break][break]

He'd cried the first time. Ran to Father, looking for a protector. He'd found punishment, instead, and learned never to cry again.[break][break]

Gavin doesn't cry, but he can't stop himself from screaming as the fire licks up his calf. [break][break]

He rolls over, smothering flames against rocks dampened by his own blood, and lets out a strangled gasp of pain as bloody fingers clutch at seared flesh. This was nothing like the cigarette burns. Fabric sticks to melting skin.[break][break]

A flash of green streaks across his vision.[break][break]

Gavin flinches away from the Zarude, reaching for a pokeball, fully expecting the creature to tear his throat out.[break][break]

He doesn't expect the JUNGLE HEALING. His head clears as skin knits closed and the ringing in his ears fades. He's still in agony, still badly hurt, but the black spots threatening his vision flee before the sunlight of the most beautiful thing Gavin has ever seen.[break][break]

"Temp," is all he manages to choke out.[break][break]

He's hauled to his feet, offering no resistance. Quite the opposite, leaning briefly against the other's solid weight as his free hand grips a pokeball. It belongs to his SHADOW DHELMISE, the ghastly anchor appearing in a swirl of shadow.[break][break]

""Get the fuck out of here."[break][break]

He fully intends to fight, but the force of Temp's request — no, command — chills down his spine. It took a great deal to cow an underboss, especially one as stubborn as Gavin Merlino, but he dips his head in quiet acquiescence as Temp pulls away, taking comfort with him. Yet there is trust, too, in Gavin's willingness to leave the other behind. Trust that Tempest Quinn would come back to him. He looks half a god, wreathed in the flames of the SHADOW FIRE and surrounded by the carnage he'd caused.[break][break]

With the last of the MYSTERIOUS ORE, Gavin puts a physical wall between them to match the verbal.[break][break]

"Rift," he gasps to his Dhelmise, curling his good arm around its anchor to support his weight. "Go."[break][break]

Shadows swallow them as it obeys with PHANTOM FORCE.

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