Before, he would have said no. Now? His opinion had changed.

"Look at me, Makoto." He squatted down to appear in Makoto's peripheral vision as they regarded hands now in symbiosis with otherworldly life. Howard took off his hat and let his hair tumble down to his shoulders. He rubbed the thin streak of white hair between his fingers, thoughtfully. "Does this look like me? This body isn't even mine anymore, Makoto."

Faint lines formed a latticework only reflected in certain lights. Occasionally, red energy would pulse like electricity through a circuit board. He felt less like a human and more like a machine than ever before.

"I'm a stranger in a stranger's home, being forced to puppeteer a body that should collapse into rubble." He reached out and gave their hand a comforting squeeze. "But I'm still Howard, and you're still you."

He met their gaze.

"Tell me what happened."

---

Makoto Kurumi

Something about her gaze annoyed him. Maybe it was the way she looked at him like an object. Maybe it was the way that she reminded him of Elisabeth Fiorelli, the underboss he had crushed under Regirock's uncaring fist. When he closed his eyes, he still felt the sound of her bones crunch.

That sound rang out in his mind as he tapped his fingers against the desk. He vastly preferred the sound of clinking coin to the fragility of bodies. Metal and wealth was eternal, wherein the human life was fleeting. The latter was vastly preferable, though.

Without human beings, there was no such thing as 'wealth'.

"You see potential, I see a terraformed city that requires millions to rebuild. I see people without homes and people looting. There are utilities to rebuild, defenses to construct, and systems to reinstate." Howard leaned back in his chair, inspecting her bracelet as he did so. "The future is in rebuilding the lives of others."

He spread his hands graciously.

"By action, do you mean a part in our war? Or are you simply offering a pulse for the economy I intend to build?"

---

Giselle Moreau

"Ah." Howard's lips slipped into a frown, the smoldering end of his cigarette threatening to die from the lack of breath. "I pry. Apologies. I'm an academic, see. I'm obligated to question things, and sometimes that results in unsavory answers."

Unsavory, true. Yet they had to be asked. If this Kimono Girl's partner had faded from this world, then there was little to be done but honor their memory and move on. The admin made a small note of this prospective Eevee in his mausoleum of remembrance, as a small footnote for the enigma known as Yotsukura Yotsugami.

"As an apology, I can answer your question. I do not think they are the revived corpses of Eevees or their evolutions. I have met Suicune. I have met Entei. I have met the shadow of Raikou. They're thoroughly distinct, though it's like these mockeries of Kimono Girls, dancing on the stage to the drunken crowd of desecrators." He raised an eyebrow, then repeated a thought that he had earlier. "A mimicry of the original can be both distinct from and exceed the original."

Isaac Merlo was an enemy. Josh Devlin was chasing a distant dream. kyle lopez was dead, and Ho-oh had left him behind in the dust, leaving his ashes to dissipate in the wind.

"I hate our Kantonian colleagues more than you will ever truly know." He confides in her for no other reason than their mutual appreciation for myth. "They've ruined everything for all of us."

The cigarette is tossed aside, discarded and forgotten. A burned tool that had fulfilled its purpose before being cast aside. Even if only the nub remained, one could surmise that a cigarette had been smoked, and could thus deduce the circumstances behind its consumption.

Such was the analysis of history.

"Sieging Johto ruined everything. They elucidated the myth and made us aware of the fact that our gods aren't mythical. They're still just Pokémon, at the end of the day. By excising fantasia from the world, myth is just a dated word. Irrelevant."

---

Yotsukura Yotsugami

Blood splattered against his face. Hot. Sticky. The last vestige of life that these people would ever offer to the world of the living. It was their ticket to the next life, whether it was heaven or hell or some cycle of reincarnation. Regardless, the admin hoped that it was better than the world they lived in.

They could sup on the memories of brighter times as their souls flickered and died. When they did so, they left their colleagues behind to suffer from the hammer of judgement. Again, he felt the sensation of holding lives in his palm. It was small comfort knowing that Tsubame would cut them in twain if he ordered it.

Lives had gotten remarkably heavy recently, as had the weight on his shoulders.

"She's right." Cautiously at first, then with more confidence, the admin crossed the battlefield to join his shadow. "Drop them, or join your countrymen who died when we took the city. Lotta rubble. All we have to do is shift a building, and that's another mass grave."

The ground shook again, as if something massive was approaching.

"Lives are cheap." They were not, but this was what was expected of the man who had burned Petalburg. "Drop them."

A titan emerged over the horizon, the size of a building. Concrete was its limbs. Buildings were its arms. It was as if the soul of Petalburg had arisen to possess the city to mete judgement upon those who would resist the will of the world.

Seven eyes lit up, miniature suns in the dust.

"Drop 'em." Pokeballs clattered against the floor. "What would you do with them, swordswoman?"

---

Aoki Hana

"I'm not useless!" He insisted as he glared at Montgomery. "We just have different skills. That's why we're here. Together. Right now."

Human beings were individually worthless, but they could combine their abilities and skills to accomplish grand things. Every region had been raised up by stonemasons and builders, fed by farmers, and ruled by kings. They couldn't exist without each other, just like Montgomery couldn't break into tombs without his help.

Unfortunately, that meant that Howard needed him too.

"As long as they don't throw rocks at my wall, I'm safe." Howard shrugged. "But your group..."

He shuffled again.

"Say their name, Monty."

---

Montgomery James

The man that sat in an office that oversaw annihilation. Miles of buildings that had been reduced to rubble when Regirock had risen from the ground in a grasping attempt to escape from Ting-lu's fear proved that Dynamax was a dangerous, costly thing. With a single attack, Regirock had destroyed most of Petalburg.

A city situated on a verdant plain had been sandwiched between two mountain ranges, caused by a Max Stonefall. This was why he hated war. Destruction was bad for business.

"Admin Fox, at your service." He swirled around in his chair to face Giselle. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he took a long drag and blew smoke up into the air. He missed his submarine office. He had a bunch of cool knickknacks in there to distract himself from business. "You had a business venture that you wished to discuss with Team Rocket?"

Good. He needed the capital.

Outside, the earth shook and rumbled as Regirock shifted debris and ruined buildings. As it passed by the office window, Howard did not blink.

"Spill," he waved a hand, a metal ring glinting on his finger. "I'm listening."

---

Giselle Moreau

Notes are exchanged. Hers was a sparkly piece of pink paper, while his had a small Omanyte in the corner, cheerily waving at the reader. His penmanship was fairly solid, a testament to his inability to type something down on a keyboard or use a computer. Technology was a scary thing, after all.

He was familiar with the oil painter in question, actually. Fern used it in replicas, occasionally.

"Gotcha. I'll do my best. If possible, I'm going to get period-appropriate materials for you. The more historically accurate it is, the better it'll look. Besides, even replicas can outpace the originals if you put enough heart into it." How did one measure the amount of heart put into a piece, though? Was passion a quantifiable thing? "So do your best."

He smiled at her, before glancing over at the Espeon. Whiskers reminded him of Shirley. If the Espeon was as important to Ana as Shirley was to Howard, then the two couldn't be separated.

He took a silent note of that.

"Well, that's that, then." Howard adjusted his briefcase as he took one last look at the stall. There were a lot of good pieces here. It was a shame he couldn't afford any more. "Stay safe, Ana."

He turned away with a small salute, his hand flicking out as he did so. After a few steps, Howard stopped.

"Seriously. This war is ramping up. We already lost Petalburg to Team Rocket. Rustboro and Oldale might be next." His Aerodactyl followed him as he disappeared amongst the stalls. "Have a good one!"

---

Anastasia Harmon

He looks at her, warily bemused. Even so, her excitement was infectious. He hid a fit of chuckling behind a closed fist, before smiling to himself. Sometimes, business was easy. Disturbingly so. It made him feel a little guilty. Once the paintings were made, they'd be sold at auction and private collections would be completed.

Yet even if history was in the hands of a scant few, it would still exist. The great works lost to time that would be reclaimed far outstripped any moral quandaries he had. Knowledge and wealth were the lifeblood of the world, after all. Yet to do that to someone so openhearted made his soul weary.

This was something Admin Delaney would do. Yet sometimes, funds were required. All so Team Rocket could acquire new sources of income.

"Now now, hold on! It's not something that you start at the drop of the hat. Geez, I'll need to get a list of pieces for you to work on..." Truthfully, he could spill one to her right now. His memory for history was like a steel trap. Yet he needed time to approach this. "And I'll need to scrounge up some old paints and canvas."

Expensive, yet Rocket would foot the bill for this particular expense. Plus fern delaney kept much in the back for forgery and counterfeit. If the admin didn't have a bunch of old paints, Howard would be surprised.

His hand hurt. She had squeezed it ridiculously tight during their handshake. Who would've thought that a painter would be so strong?

"Relax, Ana. Breathe." He soothed her as he waited for her head to explode in a massive storm of confetti. "Trade contacts with me. I'll find a studio for you, and you can bring Whiskers along."

He raised an eyebrow as he pulled out an ancient flip phone.

"How's that sound?"

---

Anastasia Harmon

Humanity can escape their limitations. They are an ugly species, lacking the harmony that Pokémon share when they are not dealing with their base most desires. They kill and plunder and murder, but they also built things. In that sense, humans were more virtuous than angels, because they had a choice to be evil and many still chose to be good.

Briefly, he considers telling her his dream of a world that never changes once it reaches arcadia. Then, he shakes his head. She would call him a fool.

Paradise is only thus because it must come to an end.

"I see. I'll practice, then. I already know a few dozen languages, what's a few more?" He chuckles as she tickles the Applin's chin. He decides that he likes Freya, even if he cannot appropriately deem her worth from two conversations. "Maybe we'll become friends."

He does not specify whom.

She speaks of dragons choosing people, and immediately thinks of the ancient machines he commands. Claydols and Golurks and giants. They have no choice. They simply see him as their master and obey.

They are not fallible, like he is.

"If you ever need anything regarding translations or new discoveries, let me know." He smiles slightly as he scoops up the Applin. "A debt is owed."

---

freya morningstar

"There are people in this world who are blessed with an undeniable amount of talent. Their skill is so great that they just... excel in whatever field they choose."

The archaeologist refused to meet Montgomery's eyes as he stroked Shirley's head. She bared her teeth at the gangster, serrated teeth smelling the scent of blood on the older man's body. Her eyes reflected the gangster he was and the vigilante he would one day become. Two sides of the same coin.

"Never got good at battling. I watched all those old flicks of the kids going on journeys to grow strong, thought it could be me."

He shrugged.

"Never clicked." His eye met the gangster's, half of his retina hidden under the hat. "Why do you care?"

---

Montgomery James

"We do not throw tantrums. Underboss Quinn is correct." He nodded to his superior respectfully, cigarette in his fingers as he did so. "And Underboss Beckett is right. The chain of command must be respected."

A trick he can only pull because Elisabeth Fiorelli is alive, and because she was pushing him into a corner. Yet if that was the case, he would use this newfound development to make claims that would otherwise label him as a hypocrite. If Elisabeth lived, then he had not broken the chain of command at all.

How easily the truth waned into lies.

"However." He rose in his seat, slightly. "If we had the Alchemist dead to rights, we should have lopped off her head and sent it to their precious assembly wrapped in a ribbon. Let the League know that their precious gods can bleed."

In this moment, he hates Shred with every iota of his being. When this is over, the Boundless would know his place and orichalcum would shatter like glass. Fortunately, they hate illeana reyes and PENELOPE LIVY far more. They both deserved to die. The latter more than the former, but if Shred was to serve mutton instead of beef, who was Howard to deny him?

"The weight of losing both Head Professors in rapid succession would have broken the League. What did we gain from that ceasefire? How does this push our plans forward?"

He stood up, staring at Walsh. A latticework of red lines shined in his hand as he tapped his cigarette against the table.

"What have we gained in exchange for allowing Illeana to draw breath? She should've followed Velmos into the grave."

---

A NEW ALLY APPROACHES
FUCK YOU WALSH WE WANT ILLEANA DEAD

"The unstoppable human spirit? I respect that, but that won't change anything right now. What can you do with that battered body of yours? My will is stronger than yours, right now."

He slipped off the golem and fell against the ice. His steps caused frozen blades of grass to crack under his heels. His cape flapped in the wind, ice crystals dusting it with a gentle caress as he stood before his golem, facing down the ranger and her team of Pokémon.

"You remind me of the sheriff. He never stopped either, but he at least had the dignity to not destroy himself against a threat he need not defeat. Wait..." He peered at her. This woman was familiar. He remembered an island and a silent vigil for a lost friend. "Long time no see, Cromwell."

Navy was casting a longer shadow every day. The bull erupted in a flash of light, and swung a mighty strike towards the admin and his titan. Regice blocked it with an arm, which fractured with a latticework of cracks.

Tapus. Howard's eye twitched.

Unreliable guardians meant to protect the world, yet all they did was protect themselves. They were awful creatures.

"What is this? Do they think that giving a Tapu to a human is going to make them any more reliable? They're lazy. We call them guardians, but when have they ever protected us, hm?" Regice's pattern flashed as a Blizzard caused the ground to freeze, buffeting the deity with snow. "Turn around, Cromwell. You were kind on the island. Do not destroy yourself for a battle you cannot win."

He paused.

"Leave the bull, though."

---

Genevieve Cromwell
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