[attr="class","topimage"]

[attr="class","textbox"]Isaac couldn't help but wince at Doug's statement.[break][break]

Two years ago. He was younger. He was stupider. He'd just gotten decimated in a fight with a common poacher, who at that time seemed like the strongest person his universe. She entertained his attempts at stopping her, so long as he went to the sub after. All he had to do was listen to what they had to say.[break][break]

There were plenty like him on the sub; frustrated, disaffected, listlessly drifting beneath a world they'd slipped through the cracks of. There were plenty like the poacher; opportunists who didn't mind hurting others if it kept them a step ahead of the rat race. There were plenty like those he'd later grow to fear; monsters that thrived in a world where others died beneath their heel.[break][break]

He wondered how many of these young men and women would come in as he had, only to come out broken into Walsh's latest attack dogs.[break][break]

What Rocket had to say made sense when he didn't have the full picture. He'd been failed, or failed himself. The specifics didn't matter when there was only one escape in the darkness. Dahlia's League seemed deaf to their cries. They called for interdimensional genocide as the only way to save Hoenn's skin, while Rocket put on a show of being the only ones fixing things. It seemed perfect.[break][break]

It was a veneer that fell apart in moments, not because it wasn't working but because Rocket's higher ups grew bored. They wanted action. They wanted blood. They wanted power, the type they couldn't skim off of being the better man but the type they could take for themselves. Littleroot was the scapegoat. Meteno was the key. What misguided little idiots like Isaac thought was immaterial.[break][break]

He'd thought the ends justified the means. Then he realized what he thought Rocket's ends were couldn't have been further for the truth. The means existed to serve the ends, and they did so with as much greed and gluttony as Walsh himself. Trust shaken, a region plunged deeper into war, and all because Walsh and his inner circle Wanted.[break][break]

In a world where the weak served the strong, did bottom feeders like him and his fellow grunts even rate? Or were they just cannon fodder?[break][break]

He scanned the crowd, trying to gauge their reactions. He knew they wouldn't say a word. Not while they were together. Social pressure went a long way towards hiding the truth. Instead, it was their body language he kept an eye on. Who perked up eagerly? Who paled at the thought? Who averted their eyes, as if afraid of facing the truth that had been put down in front of them?[break][break]

He wished he had more time. He wished he could speak to each and every one of these grunts on their lonesome. But Doug would have to return to camp soon, and he'd need to focus on getting everyone back alive. Who knew if he'd get the chance to talk with them after? Who knew, if he was even able to, if it would be productive? It would never be enough. No single person ever could be. And yet, for now?[break][break]

"That's enough."[break][break]

3MQd06Sk