Howard moves fast, but your hand moves faster.

You grab the archaeologist by the neck, tight enough to choke him, but not enough to suffocate. That might seem like a meaningless difference to him, but for you, it's a world of difference. With all the hate burning in your blood and the adrenaline pumping through your veins, it takes tremendous restraint to not crush his windpipe.

And with every second that annalise henderson and june sleigh get further away, your grip on the situation grows looser and tighter at once.

"HOWARD." You snarl, looking him in the eye with barely hidden disdain and undisguised incredulity. "SHE'S ON THE OTHER SIDE. SHE'S AN ENEMY. SHE CHOSE TO BE HERE. SHE TRIED TO FUCKING STAB ME. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

---

howard slayte

Shred was correct. Those two women had wounded him. Marred him. If anyone on this planet deserved the right to rage and hate and spit and snarl with pointed teeth, it was Shred Zeppelin. It had been Howard's idea. Why did Shred need to suffer for it?

"Guh...!" There was no distinction between choking and suffocation when on the receiving end. There was no way to determine what was rushing through Shred's mind. "Wounds... heal..."

What a stupid thing to say to a man who would never look the same again. What a stupid thing to say, given the warmth of sight that once cradled in his socket was now replaced with a cold, uncaring stone. Wounds healed, scars did not. Shred Zeppelin would always be scarred.

It was his reason for being.

"Grigori...." Howard's voice was a rattle as he choked. He made a promise. He could keep this. Shred would not kill him. They were friends. Allies, rejected by the world. Yet every day, the Rocket Beast was even more distant from the man he had once been. "His daughter..."

june sleigh. The words were a choked gasp.

---

Shred

"...What?"

Grigori's daughter? No. Surely not. How? And why? And, and, and...

Too many questions flood your mind. You can't even begin to answer one before two more hit you. You try to look for an explanation, but you just can't find it. You try and reconcile the Grigori you know with this Grigori you've been presented with. Grigori, the loyal and kind yet unassuming Rocket Grunt. Grigori, the distant and uncaring and emotionless father.

Your hand slips off Howard's neck and moves to grab your head. Thinking about it makes your brain ache. Like trying to solve a puzzle when the pieces are constantly changing. It just doesn't make any sense. How could it possibly make sense? Your eyes flick back to Howard, your previous anger dulled by newfound confusion.

"Explain."

---

howard slayte

Shred's arm left Howard's neck. Air filled his lungs, which crackled like paper bags. He could've stopped Shred, but it wouldn't have been right.

I deserve this.

He looks like this because of me.

Your dream is dead because I killed it.

Yet still, the admin clung to life like a incessant scab. He clung to life because he wanted to live, but that desire evaporated around Shred. It curdled and died because the admin had come to a conclusion when Shred had been in that hospital bed with charred flesh fused to the sheets of his bed.

Shred's body disgusted him. It was a funhouse mirror into Howard's failures. He had lost an eye because of himself. Shred lost everything because of him. Grigori had almost lost his adoptive daughter.

"He..." Another breath filled his lungs. "...almost killed me for hurting her. Broke down my door. Super protective. It's not rocket science."

Another breath and wheeze.

"If you had killed her, he would've killed you, and you would've tried to kill him." Another breath. Grigori Sokolov would've hated to see this. "You would've failed."

---

Shred

A nerve is touched.

"DON'T--"

Anger fills your mouth like venom, only for you to swallow it back like bile. The taste is wretched. You'd have preferred to spit it out, but where could it have gone except where you don't want it to go?

Still, a few drops spill from your lips.

"--You tell me what I would and wouldn't do." You hiss, glaring down at the pleading archaeologist as though he were no different than the dirt he was grovelling in. "Don't tell me when I have and haven't failed. You don't have the right."

If Howard Slayte, Rocket Admin, wants to play the historian, then so be it. But he can't also play the prophet, too. He can have his cake and he can eat it, but he can't eat his cake and have it.

You won't let him.

"...Fucking... Why the FUCK is Grigori's daughter even here, huh? If he's so goddamn fucking protective, and you've gone and fucking whitelisted her, and, fucking... WHY, the FUCK, is she HERE?!"

---

howard slayte

"Sorry." He cringed at Shred's screaming. "You're right."

But Howard was right. He knew it in his heart. If Shred fought Grigori now, the Rocket Beast would lose every time. A lifetime of vice had dulled the blade of a man with great potential. In an attempt to pursue liberation, Shred shackled himself with the failings of man. Grigori Sokolov was a peerless blade by comparison.

Why hadn't Grigori accepted the position of Rocket Beast? It would've been easier for him.

"I don't know why she's here! I don't know her!" He lied as easily as he breathed. He knew exactly why June was here, even if she herself didn't know. The Giant Chasm and Area Zero held great appeal to the League, but that wasn't why she was down here. "But what do you want Grigori to do? Lock her up? Wrap her in chains?"

June was here because of him. Because of that visit to the hospital. He could never admit that to Shred, though. If he was a prophet, he would've never structured that visit as he had.

He rose up, cringing in spite of Shred's voice thundering in his ears. He gave the beast a shake.

"Tell me right now that you'd wish that on anyone. Tell me that. Tell me you'd confine someone for reaching for more than they're given!"

---

Shred

You look at Howard.

There's a cocktail of emotion brewing in your eyes. Confusion swirling amidst anger swirling amidst hesitation. Swirling and swirling and swirling, saying so much and so little at the same time. But whatever seeds of doubt he might've tried to plant are quickly suffocated in the sullen dirt. Soon the roiling waters settle, and you find clarity beneath the surface.

And that only makes you angrier.

"You sound like them right now."

You smack Howard's arms off of your shoulders and shove him back, leaving a crimson handprint upon his chest. Then, as soon as he stumbles out of arm's reach, your anger explodes once more.

"This isn't a FUCKING TROLLEY PROBLEM, Howard, it's REAL FUCKING LIFE!" You howl, reaching up to hold the gaping wounds on your chest. The bandages around your face are starting to come loose. Hints of your lipless mouth and the bleeding teeth underneath poke through to the outside world. "It's not fuckin'.. Ghhh.... There's OPTIONS! WE HAVE OPTIONS! THOUSANDS OF FUCKING OPTIONS! So why, are you, fucking, acting like, the only choices I have, are KILL HER, or FUCKING DIE?!"

---

howard slayte

His breath came out wheezing as his lungs rattled in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears. Blood roared, obscuring all noise but the primal roar of the corpse that stood over him. Lipless. Hideous. Vindictive. Shred Zeppelin had been beautiful, but that beauty had been ripped away, and this was what remained.

This was what Howard had caused. This was his legacy.

Howard fell to the ground with a crash. Blood stained his clothes. Howard spat out a globule onto the dirt below, before looking up. He rose to his feet.

"Because in her mind, those are her only two options. We will chase her. She will fight back. Eventually, one of us will accidentally kill the others." Howard's voice was ragged. Rejected. Contemptuous. He did not want june sleigh to die. Yet when faced with the weight of Rocket, her options were limited. "Shred..."

His voice was a whisper.

"...are those not your two options when dealing with Palkia's Avatar? Kill her, or die?" Howard's eye flashed. "Penelope, too. Kill her or die. We are not free. Choose.""

---

Shred

[googlefont=Rubik Burned] We are not free.

Or, rather, what he ACTUALLY means: You are not free.

With a scream of pure rage, you punch Admin Fox as hard as you possibly can.

"I'M NOT A FUCKING SLAVE!"

---

howard slayte

He took the hit. He fell.

It was the right thing to do. He deserved this. This was his fault. This was right. This was worthy. This was the only way that Shred's vindication could be repaid.

I deserve this.

Howard's head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. Rage made the Rocket Beast mighty, and what a fine cup to sup upon. Wrath coursed through his veins, charred and blackened, even if his body was on the verge of collapse.

Clatter. A Key Stone rolled against Shred's boot. Howard looked up at him.

"Feel free yet, Shred?" A gaping eye socket, red and bloody, stared back at his friend. "Breaking your chains?"

A cold wind erupted behind Shred as soon as the admin was struck.

---

Shred

"Fuck you, Slayte."

You speak the words with utmost bitterness, with complete contempt. There is no mirth, no joking around, no banter. This isn't exasperation or mockery or anything of the sort. The disdain is pure and unfiltered. It comes straight from the heart.

The frigid wind washes over you, but it does little to cool your burning anger. Instead, having been sufficiently quelled by the wanton act of violence, it retreats back into the battle. It lets itself be capped once more, for it knows that it'll come out again. It doesn't know when, or how, or why, but it knows. Pressure always builds, and it always needs to be released.

But for now, it is content. You, on the other hand, are not.

You hit one of your Pokeballs like it owes you money, releasing the Claydol inside. As you do, you spare one glance back at the Admin. What does he know about freedom? About breaking chains? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.

"I'm done here. Find your own way back."

With that, you turn to your Claydol, and not a moment later, you Teleport away.

---

howard slayte