"Shit, man. They have you here too?" It's not surprising. They're working Shred like a dog in anticipation for the war. With the promotion of one of the six Rocket Beasts, the five that remain find themselves shackled with more work than before. "Sorry, dude."

Same with the admins, the scientists, the underbosses, and the janitor, but hey. That's how it goes. War makes busybodies of everyone, after all.

"Look, just give us the intel." Howard leaned over the table, knuckles resting on the cold steel. The admin looked dreadful, with sallow skin and a distant stare still locked on the siege of Dewford. "Cut out the middleman. We can make things very comfortable for you when the war is over."

An offer that would not come to fruition, but lies were plentiful.

---

Shred
PERSUADE

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

It's not fine. You're so fucking tired, man. Why the hell do they have your crippled ass running around doing all this bullshit? Couldn't they get priam conrad to do it? He's the new guy, he should pick up the slack! God, fuckin' Zev Harcourt, man. Must be nice, being the "God General" instead of "Rocket Beast #4". Get to sit in a nice fancy room with a comfy chair you can sit on for hours at...

With a shake of your head, you lean against the concrete wall and pull out your phone. You've already had to interrogate far too many people for your liking, so you're going to take it easy on this one. Sit back, relax, and wait for Howard to figure this out.

"Yeah, dude, like... Just hand it over, yeah? We'll set up you real nice in... Kanto or, Alola, or... Some shit like that."

Idly, the the flashing lights and chirpy sounds of Flapping Spearow begin to leak out from the palm of your hand.

---

howard slayte

Realistically, the two of them should have been on break. They had glassed Dewford, sailed back, and were now forced to deal with this nonsense. Howard should be in his office banging out the logistics for Team Rocket's war while Shred sat around and pretended to watch grunts fuck up interrogation.

Having them both here seemed like... a waste?

It was annoying. The admin's eye twitched. If he had known that he was getting dragged out of bed to interrogate a dozen captives, he would've simply gone back to sleep.

"I think we have a few houses left in Alola, yeah. Set you up with a new name, new life, all that shit. We'll get our best guys on it and everything." Howard frowned. Alola's housing market was a train wreck by this point. It'd cost a penny. "No biggie."

The prisoner asked the same shit again. The admin's eye twitched again. He didn't have time for this.

I'll be back in a sec. Watch him." He told Shred as he slipped out of the room.

---

Shred
PERSUADE

"Yeah, yeah..."

As Howard leaves to handle the bureaucracy, you hold down the fort. Every brick of this fort, from the base of the walls all the way up to the crenellations on the ramparts, they're being held. Where? Down, that's where. And nobody's holding it more down than you are right now.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap-- FUCK! Stupid shitty goddamn game, you should've made that gap! Unresponsive piece of... ARCEUS. You miss Flappy Pidgey. That was a real game, made properly, for the people. Flapping Spearow? Is just a cheap ass knockoff. Flapping Spearow isn't holding it down at all! It's giving it up!

"Stupid fucking piece of shit..."

Grimacing, you start another attempt.

---

howard slayte

Howard Slayte doesn't return for a hot minute, or a hot ten minutes, or even a hot thirty minutes. Either he's dead on the toilet, or those sandwiches that he swiped from Tempest Quinn were laced with laxatives, and the Rocket Beast had finally caught on to the elusive sandwich thief of Rocket.

Either that, or he was vomiting his guts out from his dozen medical treatments. Knowing his sticky-fingered self, it was likely the sandwiches that did him in.

Or he was dead. That'd be a pretty good thing on your conscious. Regardless, this Flappy Spearow is kicking your ass. If Howard hadn't lost your phone in some forgotten Rustboro cavern, you could be playing something actually good.

This shitty game sucks, or maybe your phone is just broken. That has to be it. Maybe if you hit the phone, that'll fix it. When has violence not solved 99% of your problems?

---

THREATEN
Shred

Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptap. Taptaptap-- GAME OVER.

With gritted teeth, you glance over to the door. Where the hell is that prick? It's been like, ten minutes now! He better not be playing hooky on your time, or you swear to fuck...

Taptap. Taptap. Taptap... TAPTAPTAP-- GAME OVER.

Seriously. First, he causes a cave-in that makes you lose Flappy Pidgey, then he borrows your pocket knife and never gives it back, then he almost destroys Dewford and wrecks your friendship with Navy in the process, and now he has the nerve to leave in the middle of your interrogation? What, was there a sudden sighting of the illusive Regicunt that he just HAD to go check out? Why isn't he back yet?!

Tap. Tap. Taptaptaptap-- GAME OVER.

CALM DOWN, OKAY? CALM THE FUCK DOWN! It's probably nothing. There's definitely a reasonable situation. He probably just went to the break room to get a snack, like a Bepis, or a sandwich, or... Wait... IS HE THE ONE WHO KEEPS STEALING YOUR MODEST SOUPS FROM THE FRIDGE?!

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP--

"...I don't actually know anythi--"

"FUCK UP!"

And with all the fury of a Tauros in a china shop painted red, you fling your phone right into the face of the prisoner so hard that both his nose and your screen shatter on impact.

---

howard slayte

The admin's lunch splattered against the side of the toilet as he rose, grimacing.

"Stupid fucking pills." Howard grumbled as he washed his hands and popped another few painkillers. "Don't even work."

A dozen different treatments interacting in a dozen different ways had turned Howard's small intestines into the warzone that Sootopolis would eventually become. Half of these weren't even meant to be combined, but his body was fucking up in so many different ways that there was little to be done but bear it and hope that his heart didn't give out.

He'd kill for a modest soup right now. Or a smoke. He couldn't do either. Howard was beginning to suspect that Shred had gotten out easiest with his scuffle with Regice.

Creak... The door to the interrogation room opened with the archaeologist poking his head in.

"Hey, sorry for the wait. I got some Charjacolas from the vending machine..." His eye stopped on the broken phone and the fountain of blood squirting over the interrogation desk. "Huh."

Howard blinked once, slowly, like he was dealing with a wild predator.

"You... uh... good?"

---

Shred

"Not in the slightest, no."

---

howard slayte