“Of course, Mr. Bee,” Grigori said as he followed the boss-like figure through the town. “It is hard to blame any single person, if any at all, for the fault of those strange Pokémon.”

As Bee had surmised, the Ruinous Beasts were to blame for any rash actions taken at that meeting. Even if said meeting left him confused, ashamed, upset, and any other particular emotion that wasn’t positive, it wasn’t right to direct it at the people. He was just as guilty: One does not tackle the likes of Elisabeth and expect nothing to happen in return.

But that was not why he accepted the invitation. If anything, he wanted to discard it and never dare step into the lives of those above him again. But… that would draw attention in and of itself. Best to do whatever they suggest and hope they forget him afterwords.

“Yet it does make me wonder, if you’ll forgive me… how did things get to as they were?” Grigori stared at the back of Bee's head. “One moment, I’m standing outside the entrance, the next… I’m dragged into the meeting by strange winds from an even stranger creature."

He let-slash-made the man lead. Even after a year and a half of the start of his visitations to this town, its layout still remained foreign. No point in humoring his awful navigation skills. “I presume it showed up without rhyme or reason, but what had you been discussing within the meeting? Maybe something brought up triggered its arrival. And the strange birds...”

---

BARNABY FINCH

Admin Bee would know more about the Jayden Cross situation than Grigori. It sounded like the man spoke from experience, but in that experience, he did not know himself. Nor would he assume. He simply trusted the other and continued following along.

However, once the questioning was turned back on him, Grigori ‘hmmm’-ed and looked at the surroundings. What a place this was, a power plant. He knew someone who’d likely feel at home in here. All sorts of machines to investigate, and systems to tinker with. Not for him, though. It was well beyond his pay grade to know exactly how things worked.

“I’m afraid I know little, and think about it even less, Mr. Bee,” Grigori stated simply. Much occurred during that day, and the birds had appeared much too late for him to seriously consider it.

“I’m sure they have a meaning and purpose, though. Perhaps a sign?”

Sign for what, though? The event could be spun in numerous directions, and at least half of them wouldn’t be far-fetched in his eyes. This grunt would let the rest of them decide and discuss what they meant for Rocket. They’d likely decipher some hidden meaning much faster, more efficiently, and a lot more coherent than his thoughts.

“If you permit it, I’m more interested in your thoughts on the matter,” Grigori said. “And if you’ll allow me to help carry some equipment.”

---

BARNABY FINCH

Omen? That was one view that made sense. After all, crystals that fractured light that began to creep between the cement and every stone were not normal. An omen of dark days and even darker times. But the birds? Those Grigori couldn’t hope to understand more. It required background knowledge he did not have.

Grigori took the bag and continued to follow along, still unsure of what Admin Bee was getting at with this conversation. Universes? Quite a big thing, that. A whole universe.

“That would depend, Mr. Bee,” Grigori started. “Does the death of our universe mean the saving of the rest of them? Or is it just that we can guarantee our survival and little more?”

An inherently selfish thing to consider. If there truly were multiple universes and worlds out there, it would be comically self-centered to save themselves while the rest were wiped out. Subjective, but even objectively. If they each held a different copy of this world, then theirs was only a tiny portion of all potential life.

Their existence would be nestled atop an uncountable mountain of death.

“If our world’s death meant that the rest would survive, I would damn it so in a heartbeat,” he said. “But if it is truly the case that we can only watch as the death of existence barrels our way, it’d be silly to not stick around for the rest of these supposed universes.”

Now the word sounded strange to his ears. Universes, universes, universes. A four-syllable phrase that bounced around in his head and made white noise. This question was an omen: a sign that the conversation would likely go off the rails if he did not intervene. People liked to add stipulation after stipulation until the original point of the question was lost to time.

“But, if I may, I’d like to narrow the scope of this question a touch. Mr. Bee, how would we defend our universe in this supposed hypothetical? A rather tall task, all things considered.”

---

BARNABY FINCH

Grigori did not respond to Admin Bee’s comment for one simple reason: he was not required to. He did not lie, but a lie required him to speak. Silence spoke volumes itself, but its need arose in situations like these. Words damned much harder.

But expressions spoke louder than both, sometimes. Such was the case when Bee gave the grunt a face of dismal hope. Like the environment sapped some strength from his boss to turn his eyebrows down and form a slight frown.

Should they even try?

“Of course,” Grigori responded brightly. He motioned to the ambient Pokémon that paid them little attention, to their surroundings, perhaps even to the world itself, “If not for us, then for all that live and die by our determination. I’d argue the survival of the universe would rise above the squabbles between us and the League.”

Dangerous words, but the harsh, hard truth. The cold universe cared little if they disappeared from it. A dozen deities would likely move on to other things in some other corner of the universe if they did not bother to recreate life as it was.

Death did not ask if they were yellow or purple as they lined up at the gates of hell.

“If it’s any consolation, the world would not remember our failure for long,” Grigori patted Bee on his shoulder. “Nor any of our numerous crimes.”

He did not bother to clarify if that was for the both of them, or just the one of them. That would absolutely paint him a traitor. Instead, he readjusted the strap on his bag. “Who knows? Maybe our attempt to save this world would counter-balance the many things we’ve done.”

“Speaking of,” Grigori let go and gave the man an arm's length of distance. “May I reverse the question again? Even though I suspect to know your answer, I am curious if yours has nuance.”

Soon, they would be inside the lair. Perhaps a self-imposed feeling, but he swore the air grew more electrifying the deeper they traversed. Like physical TV static that permeated the senses. Was the bird inside the power plant with them?

---

BARNABY FINCH

For many others, this would’ve been a good segway into a discussion of theory, interesting viewpoints of their world, and everything else underneath the umbrella. Of obligations, selflessness. One he would’ve gladly done launched into as they stepped into the lair of the bird.

Instead, the strange bird was absent and so was Grigori’s enthusiasm. “Makes sense.”

Fault lied with him, he realized as he nodded along and acted the same as Admin Bee. He should’ve expected such an obvious, straight to the point answer. What else would one of his bosses say? ‘Death to Rocket’? Preposterous.

Instead of a conversation the grunt desperately wanted to have with someone, anyone, he set up various instruments around the perimeter of the nest and kept his mouth shut. Silent, methodical work for a supposedly silent, methodical man.

Whatever Admin Bee asked, he would do as they did their work and eventually left. Peachy.

---

BARNABY FINCH