Well, you suppose this was bound to happen eventually. Honestly, you're a little surprised it didn't happen sooner. Skimming that Skeledirge off the top from your smuggling runs? Egregious, but it somehow went unnoticed. Yoinking that Mega Accessory? Even more egregious, but you didn't get caught on that, either. But trying to pocket that Shiny Axew? That was pushing your luck, and as it happens, you don't have that kind of luck to push around.

But you suppose you still have some to spare, because you're getting off pretty light for it. A few verbal lashings that you couldn't give less of a shit about, and a hundred hours worth of mandatory training over the course of the month. They're not even making you give the sucker back! The only logical conclusion you can possibly reach is that you really ARE just that good.

Still, you've got to work off these hours sooner rather than later, so here you are...

"Hey, you." You approach the other woman in the training facility, only for your brain to stall out. Shit, what was her name again? Did it start with an M? Mar-something? You idly click your fingers a few times, before giving up. Fuck it, you'll just go for what. What's the worst that could happen? "You're Mareanie, right? Shred Zeppelin, reporting for community service."

---

Marza Volchitsa

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttt...

Lucky for you, it seemed you overestimated just how much electricity was coursing through these wires. Closer to omicron volts of epsilon energy, capable of powering Hoenn for a few days, maybe. After a solid few seconds of shocking wall torture, the current runs dry and you collapse backwards onto the ground, smoldering like an overcooked hotdog. It takes a few seconds more for you to regain some measure of consciousness, letting out a crispy groan as you clamber back up to your feet. That... was rough. That definitely killed a few brain cells, and you don't have too many of those to spare.

Would've been REAL NICE if someone had helped you out there, wouldn't it?

"Thanks for the save." You dryly remark, not even bothering to make eye contact with either Howard nor Grigori as you stagger over to the makeshift zipline. "Real swell of you. Ten-out-of-ten teamwork. Fuck me, I miss the Shredettes... At least they were hot..."

Attaching your hook to the cable, you shuffle forward and allow gravity to carry you down to the other side of the zipline.

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

Compared to your experience in the Ultra Deep Sea, the few minutes you've spent in the Ultra Plant have proven themselves a completely different kind of terrible. The air here feels like how licking a battery tastes, and it looks like the aftermath of licking a battery, too. All of that is to say, the air is full of static, there’s a constant low buzzing in your ears, and you’re pretty sure there’s silhouettes dancing on the darkness of the horizon.

What Team Rocket could possibly want from such a miserable place, you have no idea, but clearly they’ve got some vested interest in going to Hell. After all, why else would they send you here, and why else would they have you wage a war in… Fuck, where did you fight that war? Dewford? Was it Dewford…?

Not the point. The point is, they clearly give a shit about this. Why else would they send the three of you here? Well, you know why they’d send Grigori. Grigori is competent. He does good work. Not much of a talker, but you’ve got to grade on a curve, and that curve is named Howard Slayte. Frankly, you’re fully expecting Howard to die here. He’s had a good run, but after years of avoiding mudslides and cave-ins, he’s pushed his luck too far. There’s no way someone this clueless is going to waltz into the nightmare realm and walk out in one piece. If there was ever a time for Arceus to kill this man for his indolence, it was here and now, and if Howard somehow survived, you’re taking it as proof that God is ignorant and uncaring and possibly non-existent, RKS be damned.

”Y’know, these cables are probably worth ten times more than those shitty urns you keep blowing your paychecks on.” You retort the archae-paleo-fucker’s sarcastic comments, approaching a nest of cables as you do so. ”Like, really, think about it: This shit’s probably carrying omegavolts of zeta energy that could power all of Hoenn for years, and it's just sitting here for anyone to take. Just gotta grab one and rip it off the--

Heavens knows why you actually stuck your hand into that nest of cables, and heavens knows why you actually tried to rip something out. Perhaps you were just trying to mime, and didn’t expect such an innocuous-looking mesh of wires to actually be live. Perhaps you were just absentmindedly acting out the same words coming out of your mouth. Perhaps you really are just that much of a dumbfuck. Either way, the result is the same, and if you thought licking a battery was bad, then oh boy, oh boy, get ready for this…

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!

”--GYAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

---

PROMPT 01 - Get Electrocuted [COMPLETE]
howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

PURCHASING/REDEEMING

welcome to the poké mart!

2X Preemo Gachapon, 1 Rock, 1 Water (https://pkmn-hoenn.boards.net/thread/35215/shreds-gacha) (300 PD)

TOTAL

do come again!

300 PD

Shred Zeppelin

Rocket | Beast | Bastard

Shred Zeppelin. The man, the myth, the legend. And, a Rocket Beast.

You’re arguably the biggest success story to come out of the organisation in years. Conquering Kanto? Nah. Taking over Sootopolis? Nope. The crowning achievement of Team Rocket is that you, a deeply unremarkable middle-aged man with few appreciable skills, did this. You, of all people, overcame the odds, defied expectations, and managed to make it to the top.

…At least, that’s the version you’re going with, anyway. The truth is probably less flattering and more sinister, but hey, what you don’t know can’t hurt you, can it? And you’ve got far too much going on to be worrying about what can’t hurt you.

For starters, this Beast stuff? It’s actually pretty tricky. You’re basically responsible for hundreds and thousands of grunts, and its your job to make sure they don’t fuck anything up, which is proving… difficult, to say the least. Plus, you’ve got this alien parasite hunting thing on the side, and that’s no walk in the park, either. That’s to say nothing of the dozens of other little projects and hustles and favours and distractions that constantly interrupt your day-to-day business. It’s busy work.

But hey, the pay’s good, so you can’t complain.

MARK OF THE BEAST
“Mark of the Beast”. Sounds cool, doesn’t it? It evokes demons and wrestlers and death metal bands and shit. What it doesn’t bring to mind is micromanaging grunts to make the higher-ups outlandish demands actually tenable. You’ve had to do so many training sessions that you might as well have a teacher’s licence at this point. But hey, recruitment and instruction are hardly the worst gigs in the world. When you help the youngblood, it doesn’t just look good on the reports, but it makes you seem like a cool boss, too. And as far as you’re concerned? That means it’s all upside, baby.

VICE CITY
When you’re not being a Rocket Beast, you’re busy enjoying life to its fullest. Sometimes, that means playing a fun little video game with an Admin, or enjoying a spot of friendly Pokemon battling with an Elite Four member. Usually, though, it’s very debaucherous, very illegal, and taking years off of your already meagre lifespan. Still, live fast and die young and all that. Nothing wrong with living your life like a candle in the wind… Huh? What do you mean that wasn’t what the song was about…?

GALAR
Oh, lord.

Look, you’re from that shithole, but it’s not really relevant, is it? Goodbye Galar is over and done with, and even that was a pain in the ass, because you already said goodbye to Galar fifteen years ago. Besides, what’s even left to say? Spikemunth is a shithole. The royalty are cunts. It hasn’t had a good prime minister in years. You’re done. You’re over it. You’re not heading back anytime soon.

TOXIC CHAIN: YOU CAN (NOT) KILL OKIDOGI WITH HAMMERS
The incident that took place under Route 119 was, to put it lightly, incredibly fucked up. It was fucked up beforehand when nobody knew what was going on, it was fucked up during it when you had to fight off those man-eating aliens with a highly infectious parasite, and it’s especially fucked up after it when said aliens disappeared without a trace. They’re still out there, somewhere, and nobody else with the ability to do anything about it is doing anything about it. So, nothing else to do but to do it, right? It’s up to you to find them, kill them, and break that chain before it can cause any more problems, and you’ll call in as many favours as necessary to make it happen.

DINOSAURS
You just think these Paradox Pokemon are pretty neat, innit?

Relationships

League

• Navy: One of the “good” ones, though that's not a high bar to clear. You get along like a house on fire, especially when it comes to Pokemon battling. The two of you've got a pretty cool rivalry thing going on, but if the League ever figures out you’re actually a Rocket Beast, it’s probably over. Best to hope that doesn’t happen, then.
• Eris Halla: You will do everything in your power to avoid ever having to meet with this cursed child again. If you’re ever burdened with the misfortune of encountering her again, then it can only be interpreted as the illest of omens.
• MATIAS SILPH: Fucking bastard wizard.

Rocket

• howard slayte: Your best friend, which is kind of tragic, if you think about it. Still, you manage to make it work. He brings out the best in you, and you bring out the worst in him. He’s just like every girlfriend you’ve ever had in the past twenty years… What? No, he’s not your boyfriend. You’re not gay, and he’s not, either… Well, you think he’s not gay. He did kiss a man that one time… Look, that’s not important, okay? Stop being weird about it.
• Grigori Sokolov: Even if the word rests on your tongue, you’ll never find the courage to call him “brother”. Oh well. Not like he’d care to hear it, anyway.
• Lulu Flint: Uh oh.
• Xenon Antheil: The only surviving (you think) Shredette. You think she might be some kind of futuristic lunatic nightmare fascist, but she’s also a surprisingly good kisser. Overall? Hard to say how you feel. Really depends on which head you’re thinking with at the time.
• Kouji Matsubara: What the fuck? Why is he so much older now? And how did he get so tan all of a sudden?
• Elisabeth Fiorelli: Pretty hot.
• Zev Harcourt: Hasn’t responded to any of your texts since your first mission together, but you think that might be because you hallucinated his phone number. Still, he seems like a nice lad.

"...Fuck me sideways."

Well, this is going to be a lame way to die: Crushed to death by rocks, or obliterated by a magic crystal, or maybe even both at the same time. Personally, you were always hoping you'd get blasted by a shotgun, or mind-melted by a Psychic type, or overdose on heroin, or something like that. Instead, this is the way you're going out. Everyone in hell is going to make fun of you for this. They're never going to let you hear the end of it.

The cracks spread outward, blossoming from the crystal and spreading to the ceiling and the walls. You're really starting to wish that Howard had just took one for the team and ate the concussion. Maybe you still have time to club him over the head before you both perish? What else are you going to do, get out of here in one piece? What are the odds of that?

WARNING: Structual instability detected. [ENGAGING HIGH-SPEED WITHDRAWAL].

Apparently so. With one hand, Golurk scooped you up as though you were the world's most foul ice cream, before tearing the zipline out of the ground and slinging it over its shoulder as though it were the world's dirtiest rucksack. Then, with all the elegance of a runaway freight train, it proceeded to barrel forth, crashing back the way it came, and causing even greater structual damage besides. But, hey, it was already going down, right? Making it come down faster can't make it get much worse.

"HOWARD? HOWARD?! ARE YOU DEAD?! I CAN'T TELL!"

---

howard slayte

"Life's not fair." You casually retort, rubbing the sore spot on your forehead. "You think we'd both be in the literal mines right now if life was fair? Well, I guess you probably would, wouldn't you? Guy like me, though? I'd prefer if I never had to think about the mines ever again."

At a certain point, you're just saying words for the sake of saying words. Whether or not they mean anything, that doesn't really matter. You just need somebody to fill the dead air, and if it comes down to you and Howard, then you know who you'd rather listen to.

Tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap.

Ah, they really don't make them like they used to. The computer gaming experience really did peak at Flappy Pidgey. Endlessly replayable yet compact in size and simple in understanding. Easy to learn, hard to master, a floor low yet a ceiling high. Plus, this shit pumps the dopamine out of your brain like it's a kilogram of cocaine. It was a real shame that they took it off the markets, because this was the top of the mountain. Doesn't matter how many more gigabytes they slam into the executables, because it doesn't get any better than Flappy Pidg--

"GYAHH!!"

You shriek out in pain as the Cosmic Power hits your eyes, even managing to penetrate your cheap sunglasses to scorch your retinas. Ooooh, this fucker! This fucking fucked fucker... He thinks he's slick, doesn't he? Thinks he's clever? Well, he isn't! He's a dumbass and a cretin, and YOU'LL show him who's the clever one here!

Grabbing the Baltoy in a semi-blind rage, you proceed to rear back, before flinging poor, innocent Crumble as hard as you could towards both Howard. Of course, there's a slim chance that you miss, and instead end up hitting the Tera crystal, causing it to blow up, eviscerate Howard, and cause a cave-in that traps you under a few tonnes of stone, crushing you and causing you to suffer a slow and agonising death through suffocation. But, hey, what are the odds of that?

---

howard slayte

EXPEDITION TEAM

FAREWELL, MY FREE ADVENTURERS!

CHARACTERS: Shred howard slayte Grigori Sokolov
EXPEDITION #: first time for all parties
SELECTED PROMPT #s: 01, 04, 07, and 13.
TREASURES BROUGHT: N/A.
NOTES: Shred will be bringing Mega Evolution for his Grimmsnarl and his Paradox Pokemon (Slither Wing and Great Tusk). Otherwise :worryreview: no notes

Ah, Cinderace. Truly, if there ever a Pokemon that symbolised the Galarian spirit, it was the burning bunny. Of all the beasts one could encounter in the wild, never were there a more unruly and competition-obsessed hooligan known to man. They probably even had a shitty rabbit queen and a shitty lupine economy and a crippling nationwide addiction to hops-based alcohol. Truly Galarian, through and through. There was a reason they were a typical choice for starter Pokemon, though your family didn't have the cash to get you a laboratory-appointed starter, so you had to settle for Toxel.

Not that you mind, mind. Watching the Scorbunny and the Raboot aimlessly kicking around rocks, you're getting the vibe they don't make good company. Yeah, you enjoy Mundial Raihandino Soccer 64 as much as the next guy, but not much more. You couldn't even imagine having to play with it all day, every day...

Hm. You've almost caught yourself out of trying to catch one.

Key word being, "almost".

---

yu1Giy8T

It's a hard fought battle, and a battle hard won. Reshiram is felled, and Zekrom is victorious. By proxy, that should mean you won too, but you've felt more satisfaction winning games of Tic-Tac-Toe than you have winning this fight. It's astounding how little weight killing a legend has in this place, even compared to something as similar as battling Moltres in the S.P.E.C.T.R.A Trials. There's probably a reason for that, though you couldn't possibly say what or why it is.

The Light Stone is tossed your way, and you catch it in your palms. It's warm to the touch and caused a weird tickle at the back of your skull, but otherwise, it just seems like any other rock. Even if it was worthwhile, it wouldn't matter, given you can already feel yourself being disconnected from the simulation. So, you cast it off the edge of the tower like a shotput, and watched it plummet down into the sea of clouds.

"Mhm? Yeah, sure."

You have questions, of course. Anybody who went through this kind of experience would have questions. Do you care enough to want them answered? Nah. Frankly, you could give less of a shit about the mysteries your organisation faces. The only question you need answered is when your next paycheck is coming. As your body shimmers and fades away, you take one last glance at the towering form of Zekrom, the black dragon looking onward to the horizon.

There was one just like it in that weird dream you had, wasn't there? Weird. Even that one felt realer than this one did. It's pretty fucked up, but again, that's a question you don't care to have answered...

---

BARNABY FINCH

Toxtricity was victorious. Shred Zeppelin is the winner.

But the elation of a battle hard won doesn't last more than a second. The moment its killed, but its not because the detective called back his Iron Valiant. No, it's the second after, where the crackle of electricity in the air fades, and the lizard immediately collapses backwards, spirals in his eyes and a gaping wound across his chest. It's a reminder that no matter how far you've come, you're still so far from where you want to be. If Navidson had been more ruthless with his knight, would you have even won? Or would it just be another notch in the long, long list of losses you've had in your battling career.

Oh well. No point being a sore winner, is there? Besides, you got the adrenaline rush you wanted, and you got your win back. Stifling the urge to complain, you return Toxtricity to his Pokeball. He fought hard and fought well. You'll have to celebrate his accomplishment later, but for now...

"Well, that's that, isn't it?"

Walking away from your spot on the pitch, you head over to the camera, and quickly retrieve your "research footage". Frankly, given all the sandstorms and electricity, you're not even sure it'll be remotely helpful, but hey, it's good to have, isn't it? Maybe some Rocket Scientist will cream their pants and pay out the mouth for it. More likely than that, they'll yell at you for providing such terrible material and you'll end up back on the racketeering circuit for the next few weeks. Either way, you'll find some use for it.

Hardly the time to be thinking about that, though. Not when the sirens are sounding in the distance. It's time to slip away and vanish into the night, before you end up sleeping in handcuffs.

"Time to blow this joint, yeah? See you around, bud."

---

Navy

"I'm fuckin' peachy, mate."

You're fucking pissed and in intense pain, but you're not dead, so you suppose you can't complain. At the very least, you're just about done here. Luigi's been taken care of, his Pokemon have been disabled, and Slowbro has done a bang-up job of filling this pizzeria with bullet holes. Speaking of which, you quickly recall the gunslinger before he can fire off another wayward shot. He might've well done his job, but he also did it as loud as possible. No doubt all the racket was going to attract some unwelcome attention, and you definitely don't want to be around when the pigs show up.

"Alright, you fat fuck." You hiss, leaning over to counter to leer down at the wounded man. "We're off. You got twenty-four hours to accept our terms, or else we'll be back soon. Ta."

With that, you step backward, sparing a glance over to Grigori, before making a vague gesture towards the iron wall of a man and the exit door.

"C'mon, let's get out of here."

---

Grigori Sokolov
zq|NjKrK

Frankly, you're not paying much attention to the "stuff" going on across the chasm. You could care less about the delicate art of smacking fragile crystals with tiny hammers. If it was with a big hammer? Maybe, maybe you could get into that. But a small hammer? Nah. You're not one of those torture freaks that Rocket seems to attract. You don't need to know all the interesting places you can stick a nail. Personally, you're fine with keeping it simple, stupid. Just club someone over the back of the head and be done with it, which, coincidentally, is your "stuff"

But this "stuff" isn't your "stuff", and apparently, Howard's "stuff" is a timely process, so it's time to waste time. Stifling a yawn, you reach into your pocket and fish out your phone. You probably won't get wifi down here, but that's fine with you. After all, you never deleted Flappy Pidgey. You'll just turn off your brain and tap your cracked screen for a few minutes.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap. THUNK!

"AGH!" You yelp, your entire body flinching as a gemstone domes your forehead. Is this what it's like to get shot in the head? You have to say, it's more shocking than it is painful, and once that shock fades, irritation quickly surges to replace it. Time to stomp out this funny business before it gets out of hand. "Oi! Any more of those hit me, and they're being taken out of your cut, got it?"

There. That should keep that poverty-stricken fuck in line. Well, unless he values his goofs and gaffs more than making his rent this month, and honestly, you wouldn't put that past him. But, that's that. Now, where were you? Ah, yes...

Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap...

---

howard slayte