It had been quite some time since Grigori had been a part of arson. Back in Kanto, one of two things kept him out of it: the pyromaniacs took the job in the hope for a quick fix, or it was just something that happened. The former their early days, and the latter when they finally started taking over.

But he knew how they worked generally. Lots of gas, a dark night, a getaway vehicle, and a simple spark. His signature disguise felt stiff and hot once the air conditioning died out, and his many lures on his fishing hat jangled against each other. It felt silly. Out of place and character.

Especially since Zev Harcourt was on his left. Zev Harcourt. That one. The very important one. Why was he doing such a simple job, and why had he invited one of the worst people for it? Old age made him not as nimble or light, and the dark hurt his eyes. He strained to see anything but the dimly lit street ahead.

But it mattered not now. They were here, and they waited patiently for the signal. Nothing to be done but accept the fact and move on.

“Understood,” Grigori whispered back. Curt. Brief. But the silence hurt his soul. “Any security we must worry about? Overnight staff? I’m afraid I know little about this specific building.”

Last time, he had ample time to prep and scope out the place. Now, he was blind in every sense of the term– and a mistake would only spell doom for his life, let alone career.

---

Zev Harcourt

“Best to bring the support, Mr. Harcourt,” Grigori said. The sudden attention gave him pause, but he pressed forward regardless. Pride was a slow, insidious killer. “While I am confident I can handle the nurses on my own, there is no reason to risk it. Have them on standby in case something happens.”

It only ever took one slip up, one wrong move to create a cascade effect. One question became two became three, until an entire building knew of some commotion elsewhere. Even three nurses had the potential to call the authorities if he was unlucky enough.

And if he was lucky enough, he could have the building ablaze, all the people and Pokémon inside ample time to save themselves, and be well on their way into the night. But that was not something he could nor should try to aim for: they might not be the direct enemy, but they were a part of the League.

The crime of existence was often a grave sin, for them.

“Where would be best to start the fire, if I may ask? I presume somewhere in the center, in maintenance or an equivalent,” he proposed. Wherever the most flammable material and oxygen combined to form a near perfect fire starter.

---

Zev Harcourt

Grigori took the Poke ball with a confident hand. Chandelure? Perfect for the job. “Understood, Mr. Harcourt.”

“Then I’ll begin,” he said. The van door clicked opened, and hot air rushed to fill the space. The grunt hopped out of the vehicle and shut the door gently, as to not make much noise. From there, he snaked his way alongside the vehicle to the back side.

From the back, he stole two moderately sized red gas cans. Their liquid contents sloshed as he softly closed that door as well. Then, he was properly off. The alleyway continued on for a short bit until it opened into a small, secluded, yet open space. Similar openings branched off onto more open street, but his target was in the center of it all.

A dimly lit neon sign punctuated the dark space. It cut through the black and his senses, blinding to his freshly adjusted eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow as he gently tried to open the door. It wasn’t from the heat.

No dice. He set down a canister and pressed a button on his earpiece, “Mr. Harcourt. Back door is locked. Deploying countermeasure.”

Overcommunication beat no communication. One of his Poke balls clicked open and released a Mimikyu onto the filthy street. Her head bobbled awkwardly to the sides as it looked to her owner eagerly. “Unlock the door, please.”

Her neck bent to ninety degree angles as she furiously nodded, and then a shadowy tendril emerged from underneath the cloth head. Bright red lit its path up to and inside the frame. Tumblers churned and pins shifted.

“Did you secure blueprints? I’ll need directions to the records room,” he asked. Unfortunately, even if the Poke Center proved to be as small as his living quarters, he found it hard to navigate out of a paper bag. Let alone a building as potentially complex as a Pokémon Hospital. It was impressive that he didn't try to break into the wrong building, all things considered.

---

Zev Harcourt

“Understood,” Grigori said. Moments later, a soft click cut through the gentle hum of the neon sign. He recalled the Mimikyu before he gently pulled the door open. Soft lights lit the way forward into the building, which he took after grabbing the second canister.

The back was clean at least, dirt obfuscated in the shadows and corners of the hall. Bulletin boards clung to the walls, notices and alerts and rights hung in neat, organized lines. Steps for care, rights as an employee. He gave them second glances as he tiptoed around the area.

Not the doors on the right, aptly labeled what Zev described. He took the left.

And immediately flung himself to the other side of a cracked door. That was the break room, alright. And inside were two of the three described nurses.

‘I need to find another fuckin’ job’

‘Oh come on, it ain’t bad here.’

‘It’s boring, though. Doesn’t help that Gus gave me three overnights in a row. Three! What’d I do to piss him off?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Say, you remember that page in the office someone left behind? Something about a–’

‘Yea, yea, I get it already! Shit, you do one prank and everyone thinks you’re an asshole…’

‘Well…’

Thank Arceus, they didn’t notice him. Grigori took extra precautions to ensure his payload did not make any unwanted noise. Even better, when he left the small bridge between the break room and the overnight kennels, no one was to be seen. It left one unaccounted for, but if he was lucky, then it wouldn’t matter.

But unluckily, the records room had the light on, and he could hear the clacks of a keyboard. Someone was typing up a storm, furiously jamming their fingers into the keys.

“Mr. Harcourt, two nurses in the break room. One in the records room. Permission to deploy your Chandelure to distract the last nurse and any Pokémon in the kennels?”

He spared a glance towards the wall of cages. Most of them looked empty, but a few had clipboards that dangled beneath the ones with closed doors. And thanks to the pitch-black light, it was nearly impossible to see what they had in store-- but one looked distrubed by his mere existence, rustling inside the cage the more the seconds passed...

---

Zev Harcourt

Thus, he did not. His body shot forward and one hand grabbed the nurse by the mouth. The rest of his body forced her back into the office, where he quickly shot one hand forward. Straight into her jaw, once, then twice. It was the second hit that did the job, and she soon fell limp in his grasp.

Footsteps down the hall, not far but definitely too close for comfort. ‘Something goin’ on out here? You good over there?’

‘Just leave ‘er be,’ the other voice called faintly. ‘Probably just realized she got the shitty part of the night shift.’

‘... Yea, probably right. Dumbass volunteered though,’ the footsteps receded alongside the voice. Grigori let out the breath he inadvertently held and carefully set the unconscious nurse against the wall.

“Target neutralized. Pokémon distracted. You were right– this place is prime kindling material,” Grigori relayed. Dozens upon dozens of not even filing cabinets, but labeled boxes. There had to have been at least five rows, and each one looked jam-packed with records. No wonder they were digitizing– they didn’t have the room to not.

Quietly, he went back out to the man room and retrieved the first gas can. Once he returned, its contents were slowly and methodically poured out onto as many of the files as possible. A trail led back to the main door for safety. He could light and run as soon as the situation called for it.

It did not take long for the fumes to leave him dizzy. Once the can produced droplets of gas, he set it down and stepped outside. As he retrieved the second can, he buzzed back in.

“Almost done. They suspect nothing. Please advise on what to do with the remaining personnel,” he said. His gaze flicked to the Chandelure, and he motioned his head to the office. Be ready, he seemed to say.

---

Zev Harcourt

His heart rose slightly from its cavernous pit once Zev said what he did. He was suspecting and bracing for a ‘leave no survivors’ or something alike, but this? An entirely welcome change of pace. They were the enemy, but not so much as to warrant immediate execution to their cause.

But to say that would be suicide in the literal sense. Instead, he nodded to himself and set down the second gas can. Ethanol invaded his nostrils and senses, but it was easy enough to signal the Chandelure to light the room up. As it did so, he walked over and took the collar of the unconscious nurse.

“Understood. Fire started, will be outside shortly.”

Flames took hold immediately. Smoke trickled out, but soon enough turned into an oppressive cloud that followed him outside. Pokemon began to howl, and he walked past the cages. The nurses could get them out in time. Maybe. Hopefully.

And soon enough, the fire alarms followed.

“Start the van.”

Chairs scrapped against the tile, and the nurses rushed out of the break room. “What the–”

But they had no time to question him, the stranger who dropped the luggage and burst into a sprint. Down the hall, and he took a turn straight into the wall.

“Stop right there! Did you do this?!”

His head snapped around. Only the corner of his eye could meet their gaze, hard and cruel. Confused. Shocked. It stung his brain and fried his nerves. Several long seconds ensared him, and only the rattle of cages and yelling from the third nurse broke him from its spell. He tried to form words, a threat, a promise, anything. Instead--

“I-I'm sorry.”

He didn’t wait for their response. He banked towards the exit and shoved it open roughly. Sirens jumped in volume as the door slowly closed. Thankfully, he did not hear footsteps. Zev would not hear the passenger door open, but the back door instead.

“Go!”

I'm sorry? Why did he say that?

---

Zev Harcourt