TIMELINE CHOSEN.

ECRUTEAK, JOHTO. 1612.

ERROR. REDIRECTING.

RECONSIDERING.

TIMELINE CHOSEN. ATTEMPT TWO.

UNKNOWN, PALEOZOIC ERA.

ERROR. REDIRECTING.

...

ERROR. REDIRECTING.

TIMELINE CHOSEN. ATTEMPT FORTY SEVEN THOUSAND NINE HUNDRED AND FORTY TWO.

SLATEPORT CITY, HOENN, GIDEON GRAVES 's NATIONAL MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY.

CONFIRMED. STARTING NOW.

Allow me to tell you the story of a man.

The story of a man who believed in his dreams more than anyone else, but was driven by them to despair.

His dream was innocent. It was just.

He wanted people to learn about their past, and use it to defend the future. Yet that man was a hypocrite, and could not defend the future himself.

No, not that he could not defend it. He chose not to, out of fear and cowardice.

It was a simple dream that anyone could aspire to, but even the purest of dreams can be poisoned by the cynicism of maturity. This is the truth of adulthood.

Yet he never learned this simple truth. He elected to ignore it. The man was broken in a way few ever are.

It’s impossible to say where the rot began. He could’ve been delusional, truly broken by the realization that following his dream was simply impossible. He could’ve had the passion of a saint, the delusion of a martyr, and the manic desire of a dying man reaching for one last sip of water.

To chase this dream, the man stained himself with evil. He rejected order for the simple reason that the world would not support his dream.

The word for this is ‘villain’.

In order to preserve the past, he vowed to destroy the futures of others. If it meant forsaking one piece of time to ensure the stability of the other, it would be done.

Instead of vowing to preserve, he vowed to destroy.

With hesitation and disgust, he stained his hands dark with the blood of those who opposed him. He did not judge the value of the individual, but instead judged the value of their purpose in history.

He destroyed humanity in order to preserve the past, so that humanity could survive to see the pristine dawn of tomorrow.

Humanity would triumph, after all.

They would win.

We will win.

It was a pity that he realized that to defend his passion indiscriminately meant forsaking love indiscriminately. If he had realized this while he was still learning, he would’ve been saved. Even now, there is a chance at salvation that the man crawls towards desperately.

Yet that is not this story. This is the story of someone who betrayed that message.

Begin simulation.

1. Howard/Howard/Mint

"There are always other universes."
- Zev Harcourt , Sun Sign

It had been an eternity for Father Winter to send Howard to the right time. For Howard, it was only a few seconds. The beauty of time dilation, or something equally asinine. He’d need to ask Naomi Sato or Lulu Flint whenever he wrapped up here.

“Oh boy, this rocks! I can’t wait to confirm my hypothesis about Ecruteak’s imports. I’ll get to see the Brass Tower and the Bell Tower! I’ll use the knowledge I get to impress the Top Champion, and maybe he’ll sign my hat!”

The archaeologist was giddy, deluded and marginally motion sick from his travel through time. He was even more delusional if he thought that kyle lopez would even remotely care about random facts from a hundred and fifty years ago. If it couldn’t help him beat the high score on Varoom Kart 64, Ho-Oh’s Avatar likely wouldn’t care.

That didn’t matter, though. Howard was in Ecruteak! He looked around, preparing to enrich himself in its rich culture. That was odd, though. Ecruteak didn’t have asphalt like this…

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!

A truck barreled down the road towards the man standing in the middle of traffic.

Letting out a shriek, Howard jumped and dodged to the side. He crashed into the pavement, listening as the driver screamed curses at him as he drove off.

“What the…?” Howard looked around, before realizing he was in Slateport City. Immediately, confusion blossomed into rage. “That motherfucker!”

This wasn’t an exotic trip to the past! There was nothing historically relevant to learn here! Trusting the DRK Triad member had been a mistake, especially since the reports all said Father Winter had perished at the hands of Palkia.

If Winter thought that had been painful, Howard was going to find him and kick him in his Unown-D.

Fucker.

Forget the question of where he was. Howard needed to know when he was. Winter could’ve kicked him back a day, a week, a month, a year. He needed to find out, and figure out what to do from here. Eventually, he’d need to be pulled back, right?

“Excuse me… Miss! Little lady!” Howard tapped a young girl on the shoulder and leaned down. “What’s the date? Year, too.”

The girl and her Pichu looked at him with a mixture of confusion and fear. Stranger danger and all that. ■■■■ looked at Howard, eyes flitting towards her Pichu. After a moment, she relaxed. “It’s ■■/■■/■■■■. Sorry mister, I gotta go.”

Howard’s blood froze. No. No. No. This had to be a joke. A horrible joke on him by Winter. When he reached for his phone, Howard saw that the time had corrected itself, as if moving to support the girl’s claim.

Stumbling back, Howard looked down the road towards the National Museum of Natural History. Slateport, today, in front of this building. This was not a coincidence. He wanted it to be one, but he wasn't.

It was worse.

Today was the day that Howard Slayte was recruited into Team Rocket by Beast mint frost .

He ran towards the museum.

GIDEON GRAVES knew how to hire his staff.

Remiel Calcifet, Zekrom’s chosen, would’ve made for a mighty security guard on his own. Unfortunately, the Galarian prince wasn’t here. The former Admin Fox had too many duties to attend to, he couldn’t be Gideon’s dog forever.

In his place was a remarkably well-trained staff. Howard knew several of them from his employment at the museum, that they were all dutiful, trained, and loyal. They’d kick him out in a heartbeat if needed.

That didn’t matter, though.

Howard’s hat peeked through the bushes as the archaeologist stared at the museum’s back door. He knew that several of the museum staff kept the door unlocked for smoke breaks. “HUP!” Howard jumped out of the bushes, before running across the parking lot towards the back exit.

He jiggled the handle. Locked

“Motherfucker. Did Winter lock the door too? Asshole.” Howard muttered as he jiggled the handle again. He looked up at the sky, before flipping it off. The sky didn’t respond. Stupid sky. “The trash guy keeps it unlocked!”

Howard yanked on it, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit.” Howard cursed under his breath. He checked his watch. Four minutes until ‘his’ meeting with Beast Frost. Four minutes until his life as a member of Team Rocket began.

Once Howard became Rocket, there was no turning back.

Historians were supposed to observe history, yet this was one error in the timeline that Howard couldn’t ignore. This was the proof. Joining Team Rocket had been a mistake. It was an error, born of desperate passion.

Rocket did not need Howard Slayte. Howard Slayte did not need Rocket. That was all there was to this story.

He couldn’t even pick the lock. It was secured by an electronic card that all employees had. Most museums used electronic locks nowadays, as they were harder to break into and had built-in alarms.

Wait, card?

Howard opened his wallet. To the shock of absolutely nobody, he didn't have funds on his cash or card to pay the entrance fee, but he did have his employee’s card for the museum. Reaching forward, he swiped it against the card reader.

It blinked red.

“Fuck you.” Howard spat at it. He swiped again.

It blinked red.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck you.”

As he prepared to swipe it the third time, the door popped open as an intern popped his head out with a few garbage bags. Howard didn't recognize him. He must've been let go before Howard had been hired. He didn’t seem surprised to see Howard struggling with the lock. “Card not working?”

“Erm…” Howard blinked, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“Not a shock. They never work properly. Might as well go on in, then. You’ve got your card.”

Howard flashed it, then nodded. He was in a hurry. He couldn’t afford to chat with interns. He had been an intern once. Never again. Hopefully this one didn’t end up like Howard, trying to right an impossible wrong.

“Gotta go. Thanks again!” Howard said as he ran through the door.

Three minutes.

“Um…” The intern scratched his cheek. “You’re welcome?”

He had to stop this. He wouldn’t let himself join Rocket. He had to stop this now, to let himself live a life free of the chains of evil. Howard Slayte was not a bad man. He was a person born of circumstance. He wouldn’t let himself associate with demons and monsters.

Howard was a good man. He was a good man.

“C’mon, almost there…”

His steps clattered on the tile floor as he weaved through the museum towards the Hall of Bones and Fossils.

Two minutes.

This feeling of dread was palpable. It was comparable to the end. He hadn’t felt such an intense feeling since he tore his eye out in that ruin. That ruin which had changed everything for him.

The ruin where he had torn his eye out for the truth of the world. He had ripped it out to save her, but all he had gotten was misery.

The nerves were frayed in his face, now. Even cold wind had caused him pain, before Regice had forced the aversion to freezing out of him. Now, he barely felt the bite of wind or the kiss of snow.

He wished he could. There was nothing left but the scarred nerves. Nothing left but pain and sacrifice.

“No, not again. I won’t lose it all again… Not this time!”

One minute.

Sacrifice had saved her life. His Aerodactyl was alive now because he had torn out his eye. He’d do it again to save himself. Howard deserved a good ending.

Tearing out his eye was the only selfless decision he had ever made. It had maimed him, but he would do it again. He would..

He saw the door.

Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. His boots clicked against the floor as he sprinted towards it. He ran. He ran hard. He sprinted with a manic desperation that he hadn’t shown since Shred had tried to sacrifice himself to stop Regice.

“No, no. Not again. Please…”

He reached for the door. SMASH! Howard crashed into the door, which staunchly refused to move.

He saw the electronic lock too late.

His watch beeped.

He peered through the door’s window, desperately searching for-

Them.

“Cash or card, doctor?” mint frost ’s voice rang out as he offered out his hand.

Not Howard’s hand, Howard’s hand. Himself, from long ago.

It’s difficult to describe looking upon yourself. The mannerisms, the way you hold yourself, these are all things that seem wrong when done by another person, but that other person was Howard Slayte. Who was he to dictate how his past selve acted?

Howard could live with that. He couldn’t live with the man’s face.

Why did he look so happy?

“Cash. I don’t need the bank account looking into my expenses.” His past self spoke to Mint. He sounded so excited. Why did he sound so excited? He had to know that this was a contract for life.

The things humans did in moments of excitement.

“HEY, DON’T DO IT! STOP! DON’T! IT’S NOT WORTH IT!” Howard screamed as he reached for his electronic card. He swiped it against the door’s electronic lock, which blinked red. He did it again. It blinked red.

“NO!” It blinked red.

“NO!” It blinked red.

“STOP IT!” He swiped the card.

Alas, it blinked red.

He tried to swipe again, only for the card to be an unrecognizable wreck. An artifact of another time, destroyed and lost.

His counterpart and Mint Frost shook hands.

Howard slammed into the door. THUD. THUD. THUD. His relatively small body did little to budge the doors. The sound of crashing barely echoed through the actual museum, over the dun of visitors, guides, and audio ambiance playing from the speakers.

“HEY! HEY!” Howard smashed his fist against the window, tears pouring from one eye. “DON’T DO IT, HOWARD. STOP! HOWARD! HOWARD! HOWARD!”

He watched the two of them walk off. Howard Slayte wanted to die.

As he wheeled around to intercept them at the entrance, he came face to face with two security guards. Tall, strong, imposing. They stared at Howard like he was nothing but trash. To a point, he was. He was wretched, incapable of saving himself from his fate.

Time is a wheel, after all. History repeats itself. That was the mantra that he repeated to himself as they grabbed him. At the end of the hall, he thought he saw the intern that let him into the museum.

He sat in a windowless room for an hour. There were questions and inquiries, but the receptionists swore that he had paid for entry to the museum. The cameras said that he had slipped in through the back with a fake card.

Except the card had been genuine, an almost flawless replica.

The only words he ever said were “I made a mistake. I got lost. I’m sorry.” His eye never left the clock in the corner of the room.

They had even let him keep his Pokeballs. When they kicked him out, Howard stared down at them dully. “I could’ve broken that door down with Shirley.”

Why hadn’t he thought about that? He had forgotten that he had his Pokémon. He looked towards the entrance. He could’ve walked back in if the receptionists recognized him. They probably wouldn’t have batted an eye.

It would risk his past self seeing him, but…

…it would’ve been worth it.

“I still have my Pokémon.” He clenched Regice’s Pokeball.

He could correct this. He could change it. If anyone had the right to rewrite history, it was one who understood it.

mint frost, one of Team Rocket’s sharpest minds and Rocket Beast, was just leaving Sawsbucks after recruiting a new member into the organization. Walsh would be so proud of him.

Howard Slayte had come with a hefty price tag, admittedly. Debt wasn’t an uncommon motivator for joining Rocket, but for someone with such an illustrous resume, having several digits of debt was borderline shocking, especially with the League snapping up recruits wherever they could find.

Archaeologists and creatives just weren’t in high supply, he supposed. Pity, they were missing out on some very interesting Tyrantrum facts.

Art. That bubble of rage sparked in his gut, before sparking out. It was hard to get mad on an evening like this. He looked back at the Sawsbucks coffee shop, and saw the neon deer sign.

Pretty. The company had a good business strategy, too.

It was growing colder, though. Surprisingly cold for Slateport. Not that Mint would complain, this was nothing compared to the chill of Kyurem. That frozen dragon which had taken Pokemon he loved and buried them in unbreakable ice.

The most he had ever been able to do was break off the tiniest sliver. A sliver that refused to melt, no matter the temperature.

It was like it refused to accept that its time in this world was limited, and denied its purpose in melting as a result. A stubborn desire to cling to life, to cling to one’s own fate was something that Mint could understand.

Yet Kyurem had frozen his Pokemon. Bucatini was still gone, buried in layers of ice.

Maybe the archaeologist would have an idea. Fossils were preserved and revived from rock, so why would ice be any different?

As he pulled out his phone, he realized that it was covered in frost. The Rocket Beast’s brow furrowed. Frost? He touched his cheek. Frost. He looked up, and saw that the entire street had been covered in ice.

Memories of Meteno stirred in his soul.

A shadow towered over him. Mint turned around.

[break]

A blizzard hit.

Cold.

It was cold.

Freezing.

A shard of ice embedded itself in his shoulder. He pulled it out, and the wound smoked from his body’s heat.

“What…?” The first thought was Kyurem. The second was of pain. Another shard of ice embedded itself in his stomach, where that bubble of hate tended to rest.

The third, fourth, and fifth shards sent him to his knees. The sixth sent his face reeling onto the icy street.

He didn’t feel the seventh shard, only the cold. Only the cold.

⠁⠝⠝⠊⠓⠊⠇⠁⠞⠑.

A Hyper Beam fired. The last words from Michaelis Fisk’s lips were “run, Zaba…!”

2. Declan/Amor/Shred

"Consider this meeting adjourned."
- declan walsh , Disseminate II

“Beast Frost is dead.”

Declan Walsh utters them as he sits at the head of the table, like a Grimmsnarl atop a perch, waiting, watching. The Rocket Boss was a man who said little and saw much. A man who lurked in the shadows, and Hoenn had no shortage of those.

The mixture of Beasts, Admins, Head Scientists, and Underbosses looked at him with a slew of emotions. Fear. Confusion. Anger. Outrage. Disgust. Apathy.

“What?”

“Seriously?”

“Is that so?”

“How could that be!?”

Their shouting became a chorus. Declan raised a hand, and all became silent. They were left with the rippling water, heavy breathing, and rapt attention.

Mint Frost’s death was a terrible crime.

“This information is reliable, then?” Cillian Quinn spoke up. The Underboss was punctual, stoic, and reliable. His miasma seeped into the Cave of Origin, turning the atmosphere into one of brooding, much like Underboss Quinn himself.

“Yes. The only one to know of the incident is Beast Frost’s immediate replacement. Beast Matsubara.”

Kouji Matsubara walked forward, taking a seat at the table. He was one of the grunts charged with defending the Cave of Origin, alongside Shred , Isaac Merlo , and Grigori Sokolov . The three said nothing as their colleague took his place.

“Immediate? You don’t believe it’s too soon?” BARNABY FINCH asked, eye flicking to Underboss Fiorelli, sitting across from him. “I expected a smidge of… mourning for Beast Frost.”

“It’s an outrage!” bryan delarosa spat, slamming his fist into the table, leaving a dent and latticework of cracks. “It’s unacceptable!”

“How did he die?” Elisabeth Fiorelli asked, Wo-chien curled behind her like an ancient, malevolent effigy. “Striking a Beast? If the League were to make such a move, we’d know.”

“That’s not known. All we know is that an entire city block in Slateport was frozen solid. His Pokemon were recovered, but not him. Mint Frost is assumed dead.”

“Is that so…?” Amor Rose let out a wry smile. “It’s truly a shame that he couldn’t stream it for us. It would’ve been… a big help.”

“Caution, Rose.” Underboss Quinn narrowed his eyes. “After stepping to us from the League, I would assume that you know what ‘overstepping’ means.”

The Pressure in the room rose, before Head Scientist Rose scowled and frowned. “Very well.”

“Freezing an entire city block? Could it be Articuno?”

“We would’ve seen it, Admin Cross. It’s something else. If the League truly had killed Mint, they would’ve boasted of it by now. What was Mint doing in Slateport?”

With an exhale, Admin Cross tapped at his phone. His eye flicked from file to file, before nodding.

“He was interviewing a recruit, an archaeologist named Howard Slayte.”

Silence.

“Are we supposed to know who that is?” Underboss Fiorelli asked with a smidge of melodramatic irony. “Why was Frost interested?”

“Archaeologist, geologist, explorer, historian with a handful of PhDs..." Cross tapped his phone. "...language specialist. That’s a lot of published papers, wow.”

“Oh? Is he a Crown Prince by any chance?” Head Scientist Rose said, before quickly being silenced by glares from across the table. A touchy subject. Even Walsh had stared at him.

Admin Cross frowned, then looked up. “Several hundred thousand in debt, on the run from sharks. Mint bailed him out in exchange for him joining Rocket.”

“Several…” (Bryan)

“Hundred…” (Quinn)

“Thousand!?” (Barnaby)

Underboss Fiorelli frowned, unaware of what the big deal was. She spent that much on gowns and other finery all the time.

“It must be quite expensive,” Admin Bee finally said, “to rack up all those PhDs.”

“Indeed.” Head Scientist Rose said, with his expansive company that raked in millions.

“Quite.” Admin Cross said, the CEO of a pharmaceutical company.

“Enough with the act! One of our own is dead, and dead with impunity!" Beast Delarosa clenched a fist. “If we don’t respond, the League will take that as weakness. They’ll run to the presses and sing a song we won’t be able to silence!”

“The museum cameras saw two Howard Slaytes in the building at the same time.” The Rocket Boss steepled his fingers in thought. “There is only one person I know who is that adept at creating faces.”

Everyone in the room turned to look at Walsh. Something in his shadow twitched, a nightmare temporarily given form in the realm of the material.

“He’s an Avatar?” Underboss Fiorelli raised an eyebrow. “Those PhDs did come in handy, it seems.”

“That, or someone is pretending to be him. This Slayte guy doesn’t seem too impressive, but we shouldn’t let that fool us.” Beast Matsubara peered at Admin Cross’s phone. “He did some smuggling, but he hasn’t done well at any tournament. No badges, no challenges. Could be that he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself.”

“Then why kill a Rocket Beast?” Head Scientist Rose spread his hands. “It makes for bad PR. Beast Frost was loved by many. The League won’t be able to protect him if we throw our full weight at the problem. This issue… is transitory.”

“It does not matter.” Underboss Quinn’s frown deepened. “He has to die.”

“Quite.” Walsh said, eyes narrowing. “Beast Harcourt.”

The Devourer inclined his head, his face a mask. This mocking dialogue and childish bickering made him weary. This room was the best place in the region to hear children throw playground insults at one another.

He needed a smoke.

“You will find this man. Hunt him down, and bring him back. Alive. Take some grunts with you. You start immediately, before he can hide. If he was able to freeze an entire city block, it’s likely that there’s more to this man than meets the eye.”

Zev Harcourt nodded, accepting the mission in stride. You took a hitman to a job like this.

“Understood.” Beast Harcourt stood, and pointed towards Shred, Grigori, and Isaac. “You, you, and you. Come.”

The four men left the cave.

Declan Walsh watched them leave. Taking down Mint Frost wasn’t something anyone could do. He was a strong Rocket Beast, with a quick mind and meticulous nature, even if he was frivolous.

How had Mint Frost died?

“This meeting is adjourned.” He dissolved into shadow.

“Alright. Let’s break in and see what the deal is.” You don’t know why you have to do this when Declan Walsh can teleport through shadows, but hey, what could you do? You had way too much to drink last night, too much to snort, and not enough sleep. Frankly, it’s a miracle that you’re still functioning, but that’s what made you Shred Zeppelin.

Your body feels like Galar’s PM. Shitty, corrupt, dying. You’re outside Howard Slayte’s apartment, which is also shitty, corrupted with pests, and soon to have a dying man inside.

Man, you feel pretty shitty for this Howard Slayte guy. Imagine somehow killing a Rocket Beast, only to get stabbed in the back a hundred times and left in a bathtub. It was a pretty bad way to go.

“Isaac, you gonna do it?” You attempt to pawn it off onto Merlo. Not because you hate Merlo, you like Merlo, it’s just that the guy is so nice that if you told him to swan dive off Wyndon Stadium without a parachute, he’d probably do it with a smile.

“C’mon, man. Can’t you do it?” Isaac sighed as they looked up at Howard’s apartment, stationed squarely above a laundromat.

“Mr. Isaac, Mr. Shred, I believe the best thing we can do is put this man out of his misery.” Grigori Sokolov looked up at their target’s apartment with a mixture of pity and sadness. “The system failed him long before we did. It’s a shame that the younger generation has to sell themselves out for an education, only to li-”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck it. I’ll go.” Shred grunted as he walked up the stairs. He could’ve tried to be stealthy and do this under the cover of night, but he was the baddest man on the block. Besides, that’s why there were three of you and one of him.

Sure, this guy had allegedly killed Mint Frost. Allegedly. If someone could take out Frost, they’d probably be flaunting it and swimming in drugs, money, and hookers, and not living above a Lapras Laundromat.

Grigori was right. Killing this guy was a mercy.

You reach the old, decrepit door, and block the peephole. Taking off your shades, you inspect under the door. No shadows of someone shuffling next to it.

You kick the door down and ready your pistol. You hold it up to the darkness, squinting as you wait to adjust.

“Holy shit, this dude is a fucking nerd!” You shout at the top of your lungs as you marvel at the sheer amount of hoarding that assaults your eyes and senses. Funeral urns, statues, and other old and random objects litter the walls, shelves, doorways. It’s like you walked into a museum designed by a modern artist.

The urge to push this man into a locker and laugh is growing by the minute.

You host your gun up and run through the house, checking the bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, and even the tiny closet. If Howard could hide in there, you’d probably just let him go. Anyone who could fit in a tiny apartment’s tiny closet deserved life, as far as you were concerned.

“It’s clear!” You shout, poking your head out the window towards Grigori and Isaac.

“He’s not there?” Isaac asked, frowning. “Harcourt said he’d be there. We’ve been watching the apartment for three days. You’re su-”

“Yes, I’m sure!” You snap back. “I took my shades off and everything. Howard’s not here.”

“Mr. Shred, I’m coming up… Please cover me, Mr. Isaac.” Grigori says as he hiked up the stairs. The older man’s eyes widened as he saw the cabinet of curiosities. “Whoa!”

Isaac followed behind, his coat flapping in the wind. As he saw the inside of Howard’s apartment, he whistled, clearly impressed. For a man who had killed Mint Frost, Howard had a whole lot of random stuff lying around.

“You checked everywhere?” Isaac asked, frowning. “He’s not hiding in that sarcophagus in the corner, or something stupid?”

You roll your eyes as you turn towards the sarcophagus in question. Your breath shortens as you realize that Howard has a literal sarcophagus belonging to an ancient pharoah in his apartment. His apartment is above a Lapras Laundromat. Yeah. Apartment.

It’s solid gold, too. You’ve peddled enough of it and eaten enough food covered with it to know the genuine article.

“This thing has gotta be worth…” You mutter, trying to calculate the thing’s worth in Gimmicoin. “Millions. Billions. Trillions.”

“What Mr. Shred is saying is that it’s very fucking expensive.” Grigori added helpfully. You roll your eyes.

Didn’t this guy want to join Team Rocket for money? Why? The fucker had millions of PD in random artifacts stashed in his apartment! If Rocket sold all of this, they’d be rich as hell! You’d probably get a pretty good bonus, too.

“Why’d he leave it all behind?” Isaac asked as he looked towards a window facing the street. “Did you open that?”

You frown, scrunching up your face to remember. It’s a notoriously unattractive scrunch, but you do it anyway because it’s better than being beaten to a pulp by Harcourt.

“No.” You finally say, walking to it. “Do you think he hopped out while I…?”

Grigori shook his head and pointed. “No.” His finger draws a line across the windowsill. When he raises his finger, there’s a thin layer of dust. “He’s been gone for a while.”

You look out the window. “Shit.”

Isaac went outside to make a phone call.

Amor Rose was a defector from the League, which meant that he was regarded with heavy suspicion, even now. Remiel Calcifet seemed to bear the shame when he switched sides, so Amor would as well.

He stared at a computer monitor meant to detect energy signatures across the region. He designed it to gauge when a portal to Land Hoenn might make an appearance, in a desperate attempt to reach Regidrago, which had fought Groudon to a standstill.

Matias Silph’s Groudon.

A computer to his left beeped, and he peered at the monitor. His eyes widened in shock as he saw what was occuring.

A portal was manifesting, but not from Land Hoenn.

It was manifesting from the Distortion World.

It was born as a guardian unlike any other, destined to lack both a heart and a will.

Due to a calamity that cannot be known, it was sealed away with four other guardians. Its power was great, but it was feared due to the damage it could cause. It was feared due to the energy it contained.

Hoenn was not ready for the power it held within. A power that was found only in one region very far away. The ancient people of Hoenn had somehow acquired that foreign power to defend themselves from the Skeleton Gigantic.

Perhaps using that power was a mistake.

Yet when its ruin resurfaced, it stirred. A great giant in honor of a colossal one, born of a primal element of Hoenn. Its siblings were made of similar elements. Each of them were sealed away for having too great a power.

Hoenn was not ready for them to return.

They would only return to save Hoenn from destruction.

Yet it had returned early, or perhaps it had returned on time after all. Warriors had broken it apart and scattered its essence across three fragments.

It was born as a guardian unlike any other, destined to lack a mind and soul.

Due to an error that cannot be known, it roused itself from slumber. It and its siblings were born to defend Hoenn, yet they had been scattered across different worlds. It was a great error that could not be understood. It was interference by foreign powers.

It lacked a mind and soul. Only the body remained.

Silently, it watched the serpent fly across the distorted sky, dreaming for the day that its purpose would come again. It was lonely. So very lonely.

There was an abnormality in this region. Its sibling of ice had reactivated without it knowing. The land recognized its scent, its feeling, its power. The one of this timeline had yet to activate, yet still it moved.

It was time to begin, then. All five giants were ready.

Begin activation.

⠙⠑⠋⠑⠝⠙ ⠓⠕⠍⠑.

3. Navy/Tsubaki/Howard

"Shit escalates."
- Shred

mint frost was the first man that Howard had ever killed. Ever.

It felt wrong. It had happened almost four days ago, and it still felt wrong. Killing Mint had killed a part of himself. He didn’t know what happened to the Howard Slayte that had been recruited into Rocket, but by killing Mint, he’d get to run free.

Innocent. Clean. Untarnished. A perfect specimen, ready for the exhibit known as history.

Yet retaining that pristine past meant creating a ruined future. His hands were stained with blood, even if he hadn’t pulled the trigger. Regice had done that.

He looked down at its Pokeball, which was frozen in his hand. A thin layer of frost covered it, showing that the chill of Regice couldn’t be contained in a mechanical capsule.

Frost. Always frost.

He sighed and put the Pokeball away. He pulled out his other Pokeball, containing his other Pokemon. Shirley was his first and staunchest companion. Even if Regice dwarfed her in power, this was his strongest link.

Shirley would never betray him. When they were together, Howard’s missing eye didn’t hurt as much.

In a flash, she appeared next to him.

“Hey, girl. Sorry you’ve been stuck in there. Didn’t have a good chance to let you out.” The lie feels like sawdust. If she had broken the door in the museum, he could’ve stopped his past self and Mint from ever shaking hands.

He always felt like a fool in the heat of the moment. He always fucked up when the chips were down. Always.

Yet Shirley accepted the lie, and loved him anyways. She loved absolutely, she loved him without question. She loved him because he had torn out his eye for her.

Shred would’ve known what to do. He missed Shred. He missed Grigori. He missed everyone from Rocket that he had met, and he missed the innocents too. Josh, Eris, Ollie, Yuina, Isaac. He missed them all.

Yet he had burned all those bridges. He had gone back too far in time.

Why here? Why now?

The ship rocked in the waves. Right, he was on a ship. A ship towards Dewford Town. He had stolen Mint’s wallet and used Regice to smash an ATM for a fistful of bills, before skipping town and taking a ship from Slateport to Dewford.

Assuming Rocket didn’t find him first. The first person they’d question about Mint’s death was the person he interviewed. If anyone had seen two Howards, it would’ve thrown the whole thing into jeopardy.

“Grrrrrr.” Shirley growled at him, eyes narrowed and pupils wide. She licked his leg, and he smiled.

“We’re gonna make it. I don’t know how this thing ends, or what. We’re gonna make it. I know it.”

Yet even if he made it back, would he be the same? Would he keep his memories of this culled timeline? He hoped not, lest he find himself unable to look mint frost in the eyes ever again. It was a horrible feeling to have.

“We’re almost there!” Howard pointed at the isle of Dewford on the horizon.

Navy could hide him until this all blew over. Once this was done, he’d make sure to buy the sheriff a truck or something. Hopefully he could convince the man to help him, given they had never even met.

Her god trembled.

She felt it in her bones. Eternatus had roused.

Navy didn’t like her connection with the Ultra Deep Sea, but she couldn’t help it. Hyakkaryōran Tsubaki wasn’t someone to listen to orders about the Sea, even if they came from Dewford’s Gym Leader. Even he knew that having an eye on the real enemy was worth something.

Yet she had never felt Eternatus rumble like that before. It simply did not happen.

Why would a god feel a need to shake? Had it sensed something?

“Navy?” She poked her head into the sheriff’s office, frowning. Navy was typically in three places: his gym, his chair, or his truck. It wasn’t a gym day, and he wasn’t doing his job. Knowing him, he had kicked a duty off to one of his deputies, hoping for one of them to rise to the occasion and take over his position.

That way, he could work on his truck forever.

“Navy?” Tsubaki poked her head out of Dewford’s Police Department, and that he wasn’t there either. Granite Cave, maybe? She looked down at her cell and texted him. When he didn’t immediately text her back, she growled.

Where was he? She was bored, and she had a feeling. Whenever Eternatus twitched, it wasn’t a particularly good sign. The dragon was massive, and even a minor twitch could have terrible consequences.

The Battle of Dewford raged in her mind’s eye.

Heaven.

Hell.

Her eyes flicked to his truck. It was a moment’s decision, but she made it anyway. He could kill her later. She ran to his desk and grabbed his keys.

She didn’t need an excuse to justify her gut feelings. As she drove down the road, she saw a man getting arrested at the docks.