The crowd swarms around her, hungry eyes picking her apart as she tries to back away. With a thud, her feet hit the back of a flower bed and she curses under her breath. The man’s grip loosens as he turns to his colleagues to grab a microphone, choosing to ignore her pleas now she was cornered. She wasn’t surprised it was the reporter who was so ballsy and rude – all they wanted was the story and the profit from it. Never to really know her.

The reporter gives a thumbs up to the cameraman as he positions himself next to her. Watching as the cameraman begins a countdown with his fingers, Alison pushes the reporter’s microphone before he can speak, gritting her teeth.

“I said no. Stop. I have nothing to say,” Alison begged, “I’ll do it another day. Just–”

A low voice averts the hoard of eyes from her, heads whipping around to meet the unfamiliar figure. The cameraman pauses his recording with a grimace, the reporter peering over his shoulder. Alison follows his gaze, surpising painting her expression. Seeing the suspect, the reporter’s face contorts into a scowl.

“Who are you?” Not recognising him, he scrunches his nose and waves his hand dismissively, “Doesn’t matter. We’ll leave once we’ve spoken to her. Clear off.” As quickly as the attention had been diverted, the townsfolk and media team turned back to Alison. Relentless. “Right, where were we…”

Alison’s eyes were fixed on the unfamiliar figure. On the only voice that had broken through the crowd to support her. As the reporter began to drone on, his voice slowly became white noise, she stared, pleading. Do something. Anything. Please.

Cillian Quinn

☉

Chaos.

The crowd scatters in a fluster, shouting and screaming as SHADOW MIASMA took effect. Alison stands there stunned, watching as people push past one another and clamber to escape, retreating into their homes or taking to the road in fear. Heart thundering in her chest, she peers over at the figure who had caused this, the one whom she believed to be helping her. Her stomach drops as they lock eyes, his gaze determined – hungry.

God, she hoped he wasn’t after her too.

“Bastard!”

The reporter beside her shoves her shoulder as he runs forward, the cameraman dropping his equipment as the electronics fry in his hand and his vision goes dark. Blindly grabbing at the air, the reporter grasps the camera man by his arm, pulling him roughly as they stumble towards the van. With a yell, the van door slams shut and the vehicle speeds out in a cloud of dust as quickly as it had arrived.

As more and more of the crowd disperse, and the scene grows quieter, Alison's knees buckle as she squats down. Covering her face with her hands, she releases a sigh both exasperated and relieved, mumbling to herself under her breath.

“Fuck. This is the last thing I needed to happen today. Just perfect. Fucking - Fuck!”

Pulling her hands down her face, her gaze flicks over to her saviour standing across from her. She gives him a half-hearted smile.

“Thank you for doing that, as abrupt as that tactic was. I'm sorry you had to–”

Alison’s voice catches in her throat as she takes in Cillian’s appearance. He had changed from when she was last paying attention to him. The remnants of an illusion flicker in and out, revealing a face that plucks at her fight-or-flight response like an ominous bass line. Although no name springs to mind, recognition comes over her like a cold chill.

“Why do I recognise you?”

Cillian Quinn

☉

“Thanks.”

Alison took his hand gingerly, her uncertain eyes dragging up and down his body as she was hoisted up. He seemed sincere enough, but she knew her gut was right to be uneasy. Even the most unassuming things could hold the deadliest poison.

And then uttered his name, and dread washed over her.

Oh. When he meant a PR nightmare, he really meant it.

“What?” her voice was laced with disbelief. Criminal was too kind a word to describe the man standing before her. She’d been warned of his proceedings as an entertainer in Kalos. Of the things he could orchestrate; of the terror he could cause with the snap of a finger. She wanted to believe none of it was true, but she knew better than to be naïve. She knew he was dangerous.

And yet, he had helped her?

“Sorry. Let me guess this straight. I’m to believe that Cillian Quinn happened to be waltzing around Oldale Town, and decided to lend me a helping hand?” Her laugh was dry, humourless. “Right. Do you want to tell me your actual name now, or?”

While her words were mocking, a nervousness was evident in her tone. With every bit of strength she could muster, she tried not to back away. She feared she had been thrown from one viper's den to another.

She knew it was him, and she didn’t know what to do.

Cillian Quinn

☉

Alison regretted every word she had uttered.

The sweetness he had shown her turned sour within seconds, and any smile from her face was wiped clean in an instant. Her mouth slightly agape, she took a shallow breath to calm her nerves when she saw his hand move towards his belt – towards a pokeball.

“I – I apologise” Her widened eyes said more than she could muster. “I didn’t mean to – It was just – I’m – ”

As ZORUA disappeared, DHELMISE’s appearance made her stomach drop. Not an illusion. The real DHELMISE. Her mouth felt dry. She had only heard rumours about his Pokémon, but she knew this one had caused more suffering than most.

As its ‘eye’ caught hers, she backed up. One hand instinctively raised to protect her body, the other hovering over her own pokeballs, her limbs trembling with an anxiety she struggled to hide.

How she wished she had accepted that stupid interview. Better that then the peril she now faced.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she continued, hating how she felt she had to beg. “I'm sorry. Please – don’t.”

Cillian Quinn

☉

Her body was tense as she willed her hands to drop. Despite a reluctance to believe him, Alison allowed him the benefit of the doubt.

She knew she stood no chance against a Rocket underboss, and that any escalation would only end badly for her, not for him. Of what she knew about Cillian, if he wanted to hurt her, it would have happened by now. She'd be dead. But, as she stood facing the underboss, having seen him help her drive out the rowdy crowd that had hounded her, she remained unscathed.

Still in one piece. Still alive.

Head lowered with a timidness she couldn’t shake, Alison’s eyes flickered to his empty palms, to his pokeballs, then finally to his eyes. She had to believe he had good intentions. She had to.

Disbelief flashed across her face at his proposition.

“Help each other?” She shook her head in confusion, her eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t understand – How? Why? You're Rocket. What could I possibly do to help you?”

Cillian Quinn

☉

Alison didn’t move.

At first, she thought it was ploy. A joke. A sleazy attempt at persuading her to sympathise with the crime boss’s ideals; to convince her he was trustworthy.

But as she processed what he had said, her body turned cold.

A wave of nausea washed over. She felt exposed, the wounds she had so carefully tried to hide since the incident suddenly pulled to the surface and reopened, the memories stinging against her skin like fresh cuts.

“How do you know that?”

Her voice came out as a whisper. While sadness swam in her eyes, her tone was coated with a sharpness, a sudden realisation and resentment of trust she now believed to have been broken somewhere in her past.

How else would he have learnt such things?

“And what do you mean by League?”

Cillian Quinn

☉