General Velmos was not a good man. That was the perspective of a scientist who simply observed as hundreds of Pokémon were crushed under the uncaring gait of Ultra Beasts that ravaged other worlds.

Alba Evovae was heartless, but his heartlessness was a manifestation of the scientific mechanisms that ticked away in the scientist's brain. He could not comprehend good or evil, only progress as he reached for his dream. Who was Howard to deny that of him? Alba had his opinion, and it was as valid as many others.

For better or worse.

"He was a man." The Rocket Underboss, Head Scientist, Rocket Admin, and Rocket Beast gave the procession an air of formality that it deserved. That even if Rocket had dragged Velmos down from his ivory tower, shattering the dream of his people as he fell, filing his teeth down to nubs and stripping him to a shadow of what he once was.

Jules still lived, though. The admin would have to visit him soon. He owed Howard answers about the war in New Mauville.

"He fought his war against us for his people. He lost. We write his eulogy now." The admin left his iconic hat behind, instead tying his hair into a sharp ponytail. He blinked once, slowly. "He was our enemy, the Megalopolans' hero. His journey across the stars has ended, and now..."

The admin took a snapshot of Velmos in his mind. There was a story here. One that deserved to be chronicled.

"He and those who remain here shall share the same sky as us."

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VELMOS TIME

The turnout is better than you expected. Two Underbosses, a Head Scientist, two Admins, three Beasts (yourself included), and a handful of "grunts". All and all, not bad. The absences are about what you expected, though. Elisabeth Fiorelli was never going to bother showing up, and Zev Harcourt... Well, probably for the best he didn't rear his head. Wouldn't end well, would it?

The mood, on the other hand, is far more tense than you'd thought. It's clear that you peers had rather mixed views of the General. Though, while some are content to simply bite their tongue and feign sympathy, it seems THEO BECKETT thinks now, of all times, is a good time for a lecture.

"When it's done on my money, and my time, and my effort? Then I will have as many funerals as I damn well please, Underboss." You reply, a civil facade barely concealing the snarl of disdain underneath. "And there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

You won't let yourself be desensitized to loss like all the others. You'll mourn everyone who dies on your watch. Alone, if you have to.

A hush falls over the murmuring Megalopolans, and you glance back to the crowd. A few figures stand and approach a podium, a little more decorated than their peers. Friends of the general, no doubt, here to eulogize their comrade. You might've been content to listen, had Beckett not gone and poisoned the mood. Instead, you find your solemnity is replaced with irritation.

Pulling a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket, you fish one out. Back in Galar, when you were too poor to afford proper sendoffs for dead friends, you and the boys would gather round and light one up in honour of the fallen. While you're no longer a broke little burnout wasting away in Galar, it still just feels... Right, somehow. Granted, the doctors warned you off smoking, but fuck those pricks. It's a special occasion, and you've more than earned it.

Pulling on a loose bandage, you manage to slip the cig into your mouth, before holding out the pack to offer to whoever else wishes to indulge.

"But if it's any consolation, TB, then I'll say this: I intend to dig more graves for the League than I do for Rocket."

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@mourners in chat???