Beast Shred Zeppelin.

It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Even just thinking about it puts a stupid smile on your face. As far as you're concerned, this has been a long time coming. Twenty years spent trying to carve out a place for yourself, and you're finally seeing the results.

You walk along the familiar Rustboro streets, cigarette hanging from your mouth as you stroll along. Wealth, fame, power, you've attained all this and more. But, what to do with it? You haven't much thought about that yet. A new house is definitely in order, but after that? Maybe you'll spruce up your wardrobe a little, or start schmoozing around the nicer bars and clubs? You don't know just yet, but that's fine. You've got a month before your new-and-improved paychecks start rolling in, so you have plenty of time to think it over.

"Howard!" You arrive to the alleyway with a grin, taking up your usual spot opposite to the archaeologist. "I know, right? Pretty fucking sweet. Everything's coming up Zeppelin!"

Then, a pause.

"Gregory? Huh. I didn't think he smoked."

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

Well, this was the place. Grigori unmounted his bicycle and walked towards the back half of the Pokemart. A weird, yet fitting location to find Shred and howard slayte on this not-particularly-interesting day. Quite the place indeed, but perhaps now wasn’t the best time to be crouched behind a Pokemart. He donned his woolen mittens and pulled his new red coat over his shoulders more.

But why? Perhaps there was some news to be shared amongst themselves. That made the most sense, but why it needed to be relayed here was beyond the grunt. Old habits die hard, and for some, they could never really be killed.

Grigori knew all too well.

So, he rounded the corner and approached the other two, bike in tow. He leaned it against the wall and walked to the other two with hands deep in his pockets. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

Howard already got started on the smoking, it looked. His heart skipped a beat, but he did not let that stop him. Not every smoke needed to include heavy, awful topics.

“You both seem comfortable with this alleyway,” he said, voice muffled by his coat, “I’m surprised you don’t have a spruce up with decorations. It’s what everyone else is doing these days.”

---

Shred howard slayte

Of course Shred was happy with this. Anyone would be.

This was the type of promotion that grunts lusted after. No more tight, cramped bunks in the submarine. No more menial duties that were far below their paygrades. It made life in Team Rocket substantially more bearable. It was like being a prince of Sootopolis, or something equally fabulous.

It also meant you were in the spotlight. Shred and Howard would be revealed to the Pokémon League, once the League learned that Rocket's highest seats had been filled. Howard would remain hidden. There was a way for him to survive this.

He was different from Shred Zeppelin, and from Team Rocket.

He was not a monster.

"He does." Grigori had done so when he broke into Howard's apartment and threatened him. "It's just for special occasions, like birthday parties or football games. Besides, he should know what's about to happen."

As Grigori approached, Howard's heart froze slightly. He still owed that apology, and he suspected Grigori would squeeze it out of him, no matter what.

"This is where we did our artifact drops, back when we were grunts." Howard said as he dragged a cigarette, dangling two more. "I suppose that we can't do it here, anymore. We've been..."

---

Shred Grigori Sokolov

"--Promoted!"

Besides the exclamation point at the end of that declaration, there isn't much fanfare to the announcement. Personally, you'd have preferred a big orchestral sting and a shower of confetti, and maybe a crowd to vigorously cheer for you, too. Alas, this is not a massive auditorium, but an alleyway behind a Pokemart. Your musical accompaniment is the wind, your confetti is the occasional drip of rainwater from the gutter above, and your audience is Howard Slayte and Grigori Sokolov, so you suppose you can't expect too much.

But, c'mon, you expected a little more than this! This is supposed to be a celebration, but Howard looks like he was just told that the interest rate on his student loans would be doubling. Do you really have to rely on Grigori to carry the good vibes? Grigori, a man who you've never seen any amount of excitement for anything for as long as you've known him? Sure, his back is broad, but it's not THAT broad.

Still, even the dour mood of your peers can't rain on your parade, and it. Arceus knows it won't stop you from bragging about it, either. You take a quick puff of your cigarette, clear your throat in an obviously theatrical manner, and pick up where you left off.

"That's right, you're looking at Rocket Beast Shred Zeppelin." You point a thumb towards yourself, grinning your most Beast-like grin. "I've fuckin' made it, boys. I'm moving up in the world, boys! Money, women, fame, drugs, respect, everything that I could possibly want and more. Hell, before you know it, I'll even be able to afford a real house to live in!"

Truly, you're on top of the world.

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

Both of them were promoted? This is news, certainly. Perhaps even good, in the eyes of Shred. He looked on top of the world, and Grigori trusted that he knew it. Howard, though. He doesn’t look exactly pleased with the situation. Perhaps cigarettes were saved for the unspecial occasions after all.

But perhaps not all was storm clouds and colorless skies. A movement in his red coat got the grunts' attention away from the other two. Slowly, a mass presented itself and crawled its way up the chest area. As soon as it reached his neck, a small head popped out from his color. A Skitty, eyes barely open and a yawn on its lips.

Grigori rubbed its head while he fished out his own cigarette from his coat pocket. The last in the pack. The last forever, hopefully. He had already told the shop he bought it from to not sell him more. “Mr. Shred, you have my congratulations. The position is… well suited for a man of your, skills. You were practically born for it. I’m sure you’ll do adequate for the position.”

No lies told, no stains upon his conscious. “And Mr. Howard… well, I’m glad that…”

His mind went back to their conversation in Howard’s apartment. Hadn’t he promised to keep June safe? Was this what he meant? Doubts tickled the back of his head. Any hope to salvage his attempt at a congratulation fell apart.

“You’ll do great at whatever you set your mind to.”

Flick, Flick. The tube lit up, and smoke poured from its tip.

“So where does that leave our merry little group?”

---

Shred howard slayte

Howard's eye locked with Grigori's. It was a gaze with meaning. All it took was a glance at the senior grunt for Howard to come to the same conclusion that Grigori had. June. The topic was a loaded gun between them. Easy to reach for, dangerous when grasped. It wouldn't take much to start a rehash of what happened in Howard's apartment.

Even the fluffy adorableness of Skitty would not save their relationship. Howard suspected that it was on the verge of collapse, even while Shred blundered about, blissfully unaware of the straining relationship between the two.

Howard didn't know if he wanted to slap the Beast or strangle him. Maybe he'd do both.

"I'm sure you can strongarm yourself into a flat at Sootopolis. They'll want the best for Beast Zeppelin." Howard waved his cigarette around like a magic wand, as if attempting to magic the deed to a million PD house from thin air. "Hell, I'm getting an office. You can crash there."

Shred was too hyped for June Sleigh to dour the mood, Howard realized. He smiled and shrugged.

"Nothing changes. Grigori, we can both order you to hang out with us. Except now you get paid to." If Shred was right about one thing, it was the paychecks. Howard's soul had left his body when he had seen the extra fistful of zeroes that his new position earned him. "It's just more work."

Work. Crimes.

---

Shred Grigori Sokolov

Three ships are passing in the night. Two of them have crashed into one another, while the third is sailing on, blissfully unaware of what's going on. And, for better or for worse, you're the unknowing third ship in this scenario.

"A flat, huh?" You thoughtfully stroke your chin as you mull over the prospect. "That's thinking a little too small, isn't it? I'm a big name now. Think about it, Howard: In the who's who of Team Rocket, we're the who. We've all seen the rackets that we're running. We know how much they're making. If we get even a fraction of a fraction of the profit?"

Then you'll assuredly be dead within the month. The coroner's will declare it the most extreme overdose known to man. Nobody will ever have as many drugs in their system as you do the moment your heart explodes. But, failing that?

"I'm buying a house." You confidently declare. "And not one of those shitty nowhere cottages or fuckass cabins, either. Something real big and nice, like a villa, or a manor, or something like that. I've been living small all my life, but now? I'm not some shitty grunt anymore. It's time for me to live large, like I was always meant to."

Then, your eyes flick over to Grigori.

"...No offense. But, hey, with the two of us at your side? You'll be alright. Between his Admin nonsense and my Beast work, we'll make sure of that much."

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

“None taken,” Grigori assured Shred. Being a Grunt wasn’t sunshine and rainbows. Someone had to do the menial work, which fell to the lowest rank. They all knew it well enough, and he’d be fine as the only one still in the position. Thirty years ensured some level of comfortability, even if it rested on the perch of a cliff.

But it wasn’t the sudden flipping of the power dynamic that concerned him. Sure, they’d probably be more busy. Sure, they were right in that they could make them help. But… they didn’t give grunt work to higher-ups.

They did stuff that made him more recently be grateful he never rose in rank.

The grunt continued to rub the head of the feline, if only out of his own selfish need. A thousand worries plagued his mind, and this only doubled their intensity. Not even the addicting nicotine could assuage the feelings that swirled in his head. Ones that he could’ve sworn to see flicker behind Howard’s eyes

Not even if the one person he cared about wouldn’t have to worry about his organization ever again.

“Do not fret about me, either way,” he concluded as a puff of smoke chased after his dour words. “After thirty years, not much can phase me.”

For worse. “Besides, I’m not… looking for work, for lack of a better term. Or the others in your ranks to grow jealous of our little group.”

… What else could he possibly say without pissing all over the good mood of Shred or the vaguely positive vibe of Howard? The mental list looked harrowingly empty. “But if you need my help, I suppose I’m always available. If you need.”

“Like a cake,” Grigori quickly followed up. “If I had known about this beforehand, I would’ve whipped one up. Do you know if this little shop has one, perchance? I can grab one if you want."

---

Shred howard slayte

"The only thing this shop has are those Alcremie cakes that come from a sweatshop in Orre." Rustboro's Pokemart selection wasn't the best, and it also didn't help that Howard couldn't 'legally' buy any of those cool items that people with Gym Badges got. Well, he had one badge, but that didn't get much. "We'll rain check it for Sootopolis, yeah?"

Shred wanted to live big. Howard wanted to live quietly. Grigori wanted to live, free from sin. It felt like the beginning of a tragedy, in which the conclusion would have them all crashing down.

That would not happen. It couldn't.

"Shred..." Howard looked at him. This man, who had given him everything before running off to fight Regice. Was this the reason? Had he wanted to live his largest in those final moments? Or had Shred simply enjoyed the freedom to choose, and chose to go out in a final display?

Why, then, had Howard chased after him?

Damn him. Damn Shred for willingly drinking from this chalice and damn Grigori for his behavior.

"Don't be too infamous. The League will want us now. We're big names, and that makes us valuable. If we don't want to get caught, we'll need to play our cards wisely." Howard's eye bore into Grigori, their argument fresh in his mind. He knew. "Those in our ranks do not care about us. We're recent promotions. My only hope is that this isn't a mistake."

---

Shred Grigori Sokolov

"Yeah, well, the League can get bent."

There's a shift in your tone, a change in your expression. Your joy recedes, and an uncommon seriousness comes forth to replace it. Fuck it, right? Why should you bother trying to keep the mood up if nobody else is happy? You've just stepped forward into the next era of your lives, and Howard is too busy walking on eggshells to enjoy it. Meanwhile, Grigori is all too content to be a social dead end, completely unwilling to show anything but the bare minimum of emotion. If they want to act seriously, then fine, you'll act serious.

"Why am I supposed to act like the League is our enemy of all a sudden? The League has always been my enemy. Them and their committees, and their subcommittees, and their review boards and their directors and their councils and their conferences, they can all go fuck themselves. Actually think about it, Howard - If the League actually wanted to catch us, they would, wouldn't they? If they wanted to destroy Team Rocket, they could! They'd could rouse an army and march on Sootopolis, or they'd launch an attack on the submarine, or assassinate Declan Walsh and let power struggle do the rest!"

You grip tightens, and the cigarettes breaks apart and crumbles to ash between your fingers.

"But we are here, aren't we? Because the League won't. They don't want to destroy us. They want to beat us down and chain us up and make us fit in. They want us to defect to them and admit our way of living is wrong, and theirs is right. They want us to be cogs in their machine, and for what? So we can do what we're already doing with twice the hours and half the pay? All so we can make the rich and power even more rich and even more powerful?!"

You pause. Take a step back. Take a deep breath. Then, you takes off your sunglasses and look Howard in the eye with raw, bitter conviction.

"I won't let them put a leash on me, Howard, and I won't let them scare me into hiding from the world, either. I was born to live wild, and pure, and free, and I won't let them stop me."

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

“They haven’t done it because it would be mutual destruction,” Grigori tossed his own cigarette down to the ground. He ground it to ash and dust beneath his boot. Sugar looked up at her trainer in vague, tired interest. “Furthermore, none of the other regions care enough about Hoenn’s dilemma. Otherwise, Johto wouldn’t have happened. Hoenn wouldn’t be happening.”

Many different factors went into the question of ‘why was Rocket able to get away with their shenanigans?’ It was a complicated fight, an even more complicated dilemma, and overall just a mess of politics and strategy that had led to where they are now. However, the annihilation of the region left everyone out of the race.

Until Johto boasted they had won the war, even if it lost the final battle.

“Perhaps most importantly, and what Mr. Howard was trying to say, is that the League does not care about a couple of grunts causing problems. They do care about named figureheads with sway or responsibility,” he explained tiredly.

How long had these thoughts brewed within Shred’s head? These words felt planned and deliberate, as if they had been thought up years ago but never surfaced. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to arm and detonate as soon as the moment arose.

“And given our records, a leash is the last thing anyone would give us. A bullet between the eyes is the minimum.”

---

Shred howard slayte

"Nah, they could crush us. They have the industry of Hoenn behind them, and some of the strongest trainers in the region." Howard kicked a rock, which clattered against the pavement. "They're letting us keep Sootopolis. Soon, they'll move on it."

"That will decide everything."

Grigori had years of experience, he was correct. The League was a giant, large and lumbering. By the time it got into motion, by the time its committees and subcommittees and regulatory boards agreed that Team Rocket was evil, it was too late. Team Rocket would disappear into their submarine and pop up somewhere else.

That was the freedom that Shred Zeppelin wished for.

"Rocket will not give you freedom. The League will not give you freedom. Are you blind? Do you think Rocket will let you leave after this? You'll end up in a cell, or dead, or worse. They expect everything from you, from me! There's no freedom here."

Howard laughed, and looked up at the sky. What a lovely night, with all the stars in the sky.

"I've always hated Rocket." It's a whispered confession. "Everyone here has traded their humanity for something else. Everyone but me, anyway."

At least he still had his passion. Archaeology would guide him. It was all he needed.

---

Shred Grigori Sokolov

You give the two a look.

It's the look of a fervent activist that's been told the politician he's rallied against has been elected to their third term. It's the look of a child that's been told they have to turn off their game console and go to bed. It's the look of Shirley when she's not allowed to sleep on the couch, or Sugar when she doesn't get her bowl of cream. It's the look of an innocent man being told by the judge he's guilty, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary.

How easy it must be, to pretend that all change is impossible. How easy it must be, to act like the status quo is a wall too high to climb and too wide to walk around. How easy it must be, to act like knowing the lie and choosing to believe it somehow makes you better than others that neither know nor follow.

Then again, what did you expect from Howard and Grigori? Two people who'll never see the world like you do. One man who might as well be drifting through the turbulent ocean on a ship without sails, and the other...

You're not better than me, Howard. You're not more human than me. Thinking that makes you less human than all the rest. CUNT.

The words rest on your tongue for a moment, ready to be said. And yet, they never are.

"...Whatever. See you later."

You simply shake your head, turn around, and begin to walk away. You didn't know what you were expecting. Nothing, really, but well... Seems like even that was aiming too high. Tch.

Oh well.

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov