"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck...!"

This sucks. You hate this. How the hell are you supposed to take this thing down? It's even bigger than that fucking whale, and you could barely put a dent in that thing, but now you're supposed to fight something that's, at minimum, ten times larger? This is absurd. How can Pokemon even get this big? What, have they been pumping this thing full of steroids in their little pocket dimension? This is insane.

But hey, in your capacity as a Rocket Beast, you're obligated to try. Who knows? Maybe if you luck out and beat it, they'll let you take it home, like they let howard slayte take that Regice! That'd be pretty sweet, and you'd even be able to rub it in the face of those bastards in the tech division who wouldn't let you have a Dynamax Band because they're "too expensive" and "you keep breaking prototypes during test runs" and--

"DURAAAAAAAANT!"

FUCK, when did Durant get out of his Pokeball?!

As the metallic ant charges forth into the fray, you grit your teeth and rush into the freezing blizzard after him. Darkness flows out of the insect's mandibles and pools around one of the supermassive feet of the Kyurem, several pairs of gloomy tendrils reaching up in an optimistic attempt to restrain it. Is Shadow Hold really the best move to use here? You're not sure, but hell, it can't hurt to find out.

---

zsGV3anW
USING MY FREE SPECTRA REROLL:

Damn. Miss 1/3.
TL;DR - Shred is malding, seething, coping about having to fight this RPG superboss. Shadow Durant rushes in to hit a Shadow Hold on Kyurem's (Left? Probably?) foot.
Shred's Disguise

PURCHASING/REDEEMING

welcome to the poké mart!

3X salac berry (150 PD)
1X type 1 evo, charcadet to armarouge (100 PD)
1X level tutor, armarouge learns armor cannon (Free reward from Ultra Plant: SHG #1)
1X tera shard on meltan - tera fighting (Free from Dream Drop Distance)

HARVESTING

be sure to visit the pretty petal flower shop near rustboro!

1X salac berry planted 2nd december

TOTAL

do come again!

250 PD

"thx"

PURCHASING/REDEEMING

welcome to the poké mart!

1X Custom Pokemon Ticket from Birth By Sleep (0 PD)
GOLISOPOD, MALE, EMERGENCY EXIT - First Impression, X-Scissor, Liquidation, Aqua Jet, Brick Break, Drill Run

TOTAL

do come again!

0 PD

[googlefont=Shadows Into Light]SCENARIO 4; I DO NOT KNOW HOW I CAN FURTHER IMPRESS UPON YOU THAT HIS NAME IS DURANT.

---

As you open the journal you're given, you're taken to a familiar place. A nice little patch of grass on Route 9. Just like before, and the before before that. Of course, it doesn't quite feel the same, does it? When you look over into the distance, you can't see Spikemunth on the horizon anymore. No, there's nothing, nothing but the rubble that your Durant left behind. This is a pretty fucked up dream, isn't it? Like, seriously. That little Snubbull is one fucked fucker.

But, hey, this is important, right? This is your reward for fumbling through all this busywork. Well, this, and whatever transformation happened to your Durant. So, it's gotta be good, right?

"DURANT!"

"Yeah yeah, kill kill, I get it..."

You take a few paces around the place. Pretty strange that it would send you here, of all places. Wouldn't Mount Coronet be a better finale? You literally met God, why does it keep sending you to modest scenes of your upbringing in Galar? If you were the more inquisitive sort, you might try and dig deeper into the greater meaning of this whole strange affair, but honestly? You're not going to fuck with it. It's just not worth it, y'know? Maybe some other scholars can dig deep and figure it out, but you? You're just going to take it as it comes and not worry about it...

SNAP! Oh. There's that loose twig you stepped on it the before-before. Huh. Well, sucks to suck, you guess. No Wimpod for you. But given the whole lesson you learned from that first dream, it's probably for the best---


"HEY, FUCKER!"

"...Huh?"

"YEAH, YOU! THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE? Get the FUCK out!"

"Hang on... Wimpod? Is that you?"

"I'm a fucking GOLISOPOD? Are you insulting me? Are you calling me a LITTLE BITCH? You dumb bastard! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

"DURAAAAAAAAANT!"

"Ah! Hey, HEY! Nooooo! Stop thaaaaaat! Don't hit meeeeeeee! I'm just a little guy! C'moooom, knock it off! Pleeeeease, c'mooooooon, stooooooop! Noooooo, it's my birthday, don't hit meeeeeee on my birthday!"

...Yeah, okay, you feel like you don't have the full context here, but again: Probably best not to worry about it.

[googlefont=Shadows Into Light]SCENARIO 3; NEW DAY. WAKE UP. CHECK THE REGISTRY. YEAH, HIS NAME IS STILL DURANT.

---

You know, when you were told you were supposed to destroy this place, you figured it would've been like, your office? Or the first place you camped at? Or maybe a stadium, at a push? You didn't expect it to be ALL of Spikemunth.

Seriously. Why are all your dream experiences just completely miserable recently? Between getting obliterated by God, fucked around by that Winter Fucker, and having to run demolition on slums, it's starting to get really taxing. Why can't you just have a nice sleep? One where you dream about frolicking with the Mareep, or swimming with the Barboach, or something like that? Instead, you're suffering abstract tortures and being made to perform unpaid manual labour, which is a very concrete and real torture.

"DURANT!"

Durant rips into a lamppost. Mandibles cleave through metal like a pair of hot knives through butter, and it comes crashing down like a fallen tree.

"DURANT!"

Durant slams into a car. The hood crumples and the engine begins to smoke, and before long, a fire is ignited inside.

"DURAAAAAAAAANT!"

Durant does this. Durant does that. You, though? You don't do much. Not much you can do against all this metal and concrete. No, you'll have to leave the slum destruction to your Shadow Pokemon. You'll just have to do the hard part - Staying awake. Or, well, not waking up. If you fall asleep in a dream, does that make you wake up?

Much to think about.

"SHIT!"

CRUNCH!

It's almost surprising, how quickly to move to attack the monstrous Megalopolan. One minute you're sitting down, incoherently mumbling to yourself, and the next, you're delivering a leaping dropkick to the head of the ghoul. You can practically feel his face crumpling underneath your boots, as though you were stepping on an empty tin can instead of the face of a (presumably) living being. In one sense, it's pretty gruesome, but in another? Its actually pretty cathartic. After the day you've had, you deserve it. This? This is your little treat.

As both you and the Megalopolan hit the ground, you quickly scramble to your feet, while the alien writhes around on the ground, probably in a great amount of pain. At the very least, it seems like you took this one down, but the key word there is "this one". You've seen enough zombie movies to know that where there's one, there's more.

"We need to get out of here." You declare, frantically looking around, as though you might find some exit that you miraculously missed. "We can't stay here. It's not safe. Who knows how many of these bastards are around here? We need to get out of here, before--"

You're interrupted by the sound of growling and grumbling coming from all around you. But as you look around, you don't see the monsters in the halls, nor are they emerging from the classroom. No, it's only after a few moments of paranoid glancing, of listening to the groans and moans without a source, that you make your horrifying revelation.

"They're in the walls."

---

Andrea Vaneau

"Kick his ass" is easier said than done.

Seriously, this thing just shook off a direct hit from a Dynamic Punch! It's like it just got hit by a runaway freight train, only to get back up and keep on swimming like nothing happened. As strong as Golurk is, its clear that it won't be enough to just hit hard. No, this thing won't go down from anything short of an intercontinental ballistic missile hitting it head-on, so you'll just have to get creative.

You'll need to be more selective about where you're hitting. The thick blue hide may be the obvious target, but its also the most durable. You're not going to hurt it there, especially not with a blunt instrument. The white underbelly is a more tempting prospect, but trying to attack it from below risks getting caught in the maelstrom, and that's not a risk you want to take with your superheavy ground type. Then, what about the red markings? They certainly look vulnerable, but something in your gut tells you that you really shouldn't fuck with them. Besides, there's another soft and squishy spot on its body thats far easier to hit.

"GOLURK, HIT IT IN THE EYE!"

AFFIRMATIVE.

Once again, the titan shoots forth, taking advantage of the distracted leviathan to soar straight to the eye of the beast and nail it with a Shadow Punch. Sure enough, it proves far more effective, as the massive whale rears back and lets out a loud roar of pain.

And then that pain turns to rage.

And that rage turns to violence.

The entire ocean beneath it seems to rise up in anger, and from the roiling seas comes a gigantic tsunami, a Surf meant to drown both golem and dragon and rider alike. Assuredly, such a death would be a terribly way to go - Thrashed about by a thousand conflicting currents as your lungs begin to fill with water, a breath of air so close you could touch it, yet so far you could never reach it.

Kyogre is many things, but forgiving, it seems, is not one of them.

---

Navy

...You're gonna to do it. You're really gonna do it this time. You're going to kill Howard and then yourself, and you're going to make Grigori watch. You're seriously gonna do it. YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING DO IT...

"...No, Howard. There are no bodies in the trunk of your car." You deadpan. If looks could kill, yours would have atomised the archaeologist in an instant. He would've been reduced to little more than cosmic dust before your blistering gaze. Naught but memories would remain. "But there's definitely one idiot in here, and he's in the driver's seat."

You proceed to slap the man over the back of his head. Then, you flop back into your seat. Arceus, you're tired. You need to go to bed. Preferably for sixteen hours straight.

"Fucking hell..."

Fucking hell.

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov kyle lopez

"Leonard! You contemptible curr! Get away from my associate, this instant!"

THWACK! With a mighty swipe, Chester swatted the plundered the cigarette out from the hand of Lenny, his eyes narrowed with equal amounts of distrust and disdain. What was this glorified thief doing here? This craven, who hadn't even so much as graduated business school? And yet, they still claimed to be one of the twenty-six greatest businessghosts of the modern era! His mere presence here was an insult of the highest order, and it was one that Chester couldn't stand.

"I'm wise to your tricks, you useless bum, and I won't let you peddle them here! Get out of here this instance, before I give you a good and proper thrashing--"

But just like all business, it was a messy affair. No sooner than he had finished his threat did another opponent appear, one far fouler than even this dubious debtor: Donald D. Dollars. That cretin had the gall to show his face, after all he had taken from him? Why were the two of them here, unless...? No, surely not. They were trying to steal even more of his fortune, weren't they?! Well, if they thought that Chester C. Coins was going to be an easy payday, then they had another thing coming.

"HIYAH!"

With a swift yet powerful motion, the Gholdengo unleashed a powerful Wealthy Wallop upon his peers, bonking them both on the top of their heads. Alas, Wo-Chien's resentment manipulation was completely unnecessary here, for nothing could cause the hate of these fierce businessmen to burn any brighter than it already dead. Even the poisonous gas and rancid sludge it belched forth did little to affect them, splattering harmlessly upon their golden bodies as though it were common mud.

You, though? You're in fucking agony.

"Guh... Can't... Breathe...!"

As you choke on the noxious air, you look up to the trio of useless goons standing over you, and you're terrified. Is this really going to be the last thing you see before you die? These fucking lunatics squabbling amongst themselves? No, you can't go out like this. Desperate times call for desperate measures. If this snail wants to play dirty, then you're going to play the cleaner.

Digging a hand into your jacket, you pull out your rarely-used pistol, squirming closer to the barrier of Gholdengho, your sole shield against the stray shots of gunk. You take a moment to line up your shot, aimed between the legs of Chester C. Coins. Then, as soon as you see your opening, you hammer the trigger, firing every bullet you've got loaded right at the centre mass of the Wo-Chien.

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov Elisabeth Fiorelli

Three ships are passing in the night. Two of them have crashed into one another, while the third is sailing on, blissfully unaware of what's going on. And, for better or for worse, you're the unknowing third ship in this scenario.

"A flat, huh?" You thoughtfully stroke your chin as you mull over the prospect. "That's thinking a little too small, isn't it? I'm a big name now. Think about it, Howard: In the who's who of Team Rocket, we're the who. We've all seen the rackets that we're running. We know how much they're making. If we get even a fraction of a fraction of the profit?"

Then you'll assuredly be dead within the month. The coroner's will declare it the most extreme overdose known to man. Nobody will ever have as many drugs in their system as you do the moment your heart explodes. But, failing that?

"I'm buying a house." You confidently declare. "And not one of those shitty nowhere cottages or fuckass cabins, either. Something real big and nice, like a villa, or a manor, or something like that. I've been living small all my life, but now? I'm not some shitty grunt anymore. It's time for me to live large, like I was always meant to."

Then, your eyes flick over to Grigori.

"...No offense. But, hey, with the two of us at your side? You'll be alright. Between his Admin nonsense and my Beast work, we'll make sure of that much."

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

You were expecting an icy reception, but you weren't expecting it to be literally frozen over.

Seriously. This can't bode well for you, can it? It doesn't feel like you're walking into an Admin's office for a meeting, it feels like you're walking into a meat freezer so you can be murdered. Besides that, is it really alright to do this in a submarine, of all places? Couldn't this cause the whole thing to decompress? And wouldn't that kill everyone on board? You suppose there's no point worrying about it. He's probably got the whole room reinforced and insulated and such. Y'know. Probably.

"Jayden." You reply, meeting the Admin's eyes. Then, you blink. First names are probably a little too casual for a first meeting with the higher-ups, huh? Best to tone it down a little. The last thing you need is to dig yourself any deeper. "Cross."

You take a deep breath, and watch the mist pour out from your mouth. Shit, man, isn't this all a bit much? Sure, you're no interior designer, but... Shit, man. Without a word, you bury your hands into the pockets of your jacket and take a few cautious steps forward, careful not to slip on the icy floor. Then, after a pause, you speak up again.

"You, uh, wanted to see me?"

---

jayden cross

"A thousand?!"

Your shock is punctuated by the magazine slipping from your hands and slapping against the floor. You take a moment to do the mental maths: One million bucks divided by one thousand, that's... Fucking hell, a thousandth? He's offering you a thousandth of what you've asked for? You do a little more. A thousand bucks, which'll probably end up divided between you and Lulu, presumably in a fifty-fifty split, and that's five hundred each, which means... Arceus wept, that's just tragic.

"C'mon! That won't even pay my mortgage for the month, let alone find any aliens!" You complain, throwing your hands up and your head back. You're just going to have to put the screws to him a little. Can't get juice from a lemon without squeezing it, right? "You've gotta give me more than that. Hell, just give me a hundred thousand. That's a tenth of what I was asking for! Surely, you can spare that much for a Rocket Beast on an important mission?"

You lean forward, giving him an expectant look. You've already had to cede way more ground than you'd like, but considering the disparity between your request and his offer, then it's unfortunately necessary. But, hey, you're meeting him in the middle, aren't you? Now all he needs to do is meet you there, too.

---

howard slayte