"Alright, sure. What're friends for, if not to sign checks with five or more zeroes? Don't tell Cillian Quinn or Zev Harcourt if you plan on using it for stupid shit." Howard felt the instinctive buzz over the Rocket Beast's name as his mind omitted it from existence. "I don't want to be sharply questioned in a cell."

Tap. Tap. Tap. The Aerodactyl pen tapped against the table like a gavel. It was just a pen he had gotten in grad school. Just a pen. Yet he had dragged it with him from unemployment hell to Rocket Admin. It was a piece of individuality that he kept with him. Rocket could take everything, but not that.

Not the proof of his passion.

"I'm going to tell you why." Howard's handwriting looped, creating five zeroes and a one. The loops spiraled into a signature for Howard Slayte. After a moment, he crossed it out and replaced it with the name Galarian. He was still struggling with that signature.

He wondered if Admin Fox, his predecessor, had this issue. Had he eventually signed paperwork under Fox, instead of Remiel? Would Galarian come as naturally as Howard Slayte, some day?

He hoped not.

"I'm giving you the money because, if you do use Grunts, I want you to be better to them than our bosses were to us." Howard's eye was unblinking. Serious. "We need to be better, and I don't want you to be confined to the bullshit I am as Admin. This check? It's a ticket from me to you, for you to chase this however you want. Just bring back results."

He ripped the check—Shred's ticket to freedom—from his checkbook, stood up, and passed over to the sofa. He held out the check.

"Got it?"

---

Shred Zeppelin

Howard would rather overdose on a Shiinotic's spores than fight his smoking buddy.

Admittedly that was because he didn't want to lose his supplier of legal substances. Shred Zeppelin was a good secondary supplier, but Howard was pretty sure that he simply beat up teenagers, stole their weed, and ran off into their night. Such lofty goals were that of Rocket Beast Shred Zeppelin.

"I didn't bring him! He ate my copy of Brycen-Man Six: Lost in Castelia!" Howard wailed at Desiree. The longer this tournament went on, the more he spiraled. His nerves were frayed at this point. At least he was fighting Desiree. He liked Desiree. It was hard to hate anyone you smoked a strange foreign herb from another dimension with.

Herba Mystica really did hit different.

"No Murder Roulettes today, I promise. It was pretty cool though, yeah?" Howard beamed at her. His emotions were like the Thundurus storm raging through Lilycove. He jumped from one emotion to the next, a whirlwind of emotions as Howard was forced to remember the events on Route 119. "Congrats on the Minor League Gym, by the way. Maybe I'll swing by for a visit with Serizawa."

The Larvitar let out a puny roar as it stared down Gloss.

"Want to take a smoke break after this?"

---

DESIREE BLOOMS
3/3 (NO MECHANIC)

"Ollie!" Howard let out a gasp, then screamed internally. He had thrown hands with the Head Ranger off the island north of Dewford a handful of months ago. 'Throwing hands' wasn't correct, actually. It was more like an awkward waltz between two shoe connoisseurs.

Ollie's kicks were still immaculate, but the archaeologist didn't know what to think about the Head Ranger. It had been pretty easy to defeat a Cubchoo, but Howard didn't consider their fight to be anything more than a disaster.

"Let's have a nice sho- fight. Fight. I said fight." Howard's eye blinked as he glanced at Serizawa. The menace was hardly listening to him, instead rampaging through the battlefield with brute strength and a prayer. There was no strategy, only an angry gremlin that had folded Howard's knees twice since this tournament had begun.

"You ready, Head Ranger? Go easy on me!"

---

ollie morales
3/3 (NO MECHANIC)

"A member of the Elite Four...?" Howard fell to his knees as he entered the arena, soul leaving his body and evaporating into mist as his eye fell upon one of Hoenn's top pop sensations. This tournament was rigged. Howard had thrown hands with many people during this tournament: Gym Leaders, random Rangers, the Head Ranger, and a homeless person.

Elite Four? This was the first time that happened. He had to give credit where credit was due, though. Michael Navidson knew how to pick them.

He had heard that most of the Elite Four was completely deranged. Matias was a war criminal, at the least. Being a pop star was almost as bad as that.

"I gave Navy my hat, once, y'know? I think that's worth a signed copy of M.M, don't you think?" Howard clapped his hands together and bowed his head to Melody. "Oh! If I win, can I get two signed copies?"

It'd sell for a lot on the interwebs, most likely.

---

Melody Miro
3/3 (NO MECHANIC)

"I DON'T KNOW!" Howard's voice wailed across the arena. "They've got the wrong Howard! I checked the register for the tournament, and they think I'm Howard Slate! Without the y!"

Howard hadn't even fought in that many battles. Occasionally, he'd get dragged up whenever the actual Howard Slate failed to make an appearance, and he'd fight in Slate's place. Howard didn't even bring anything noteworthy to the tournament. Atlas was at home, Shirley was napping in her Pokeball, and Celpho had recently gotten struck by Thundurus's lightning bolt.

Serizawa, his Larvitar, was all that was left. The little bastard had recently destroyed a dumpster in a fit of rage, and was now sitting in the middle of the arena, growling.

"Let's just get this over with. A nice, clean fight. Maybe we can catch a game after this is over, yeah?"

---

Josh Devlin

Fuck this. Fuck the Kyurem. Howard saw figures in the distance warring against the colossal dragon. People warred against it, and prophecies were uttered. Was this dragon uttering the truth, or an interpretation of one that it deemed just? Prophecies. They always bit people in the ass. There was a reason misinterpreting prophecy was a popular tale in myth. A glimpse into the future became the chains that bound the mind of anyone who dared to look beyond the present.

The ground shook. Howard fell, scrambling from the dragon. Getting to his feet, he saw Kazimir.

"I'm not-" He stopped and turned to face the dragon. No running. Not yet. He had to witness what this would result in. It had to be chronicled. It had to be remembered. "Very well. A truce. Let's keep this ceasefire brief, yes?"

The Pokeball flew through the air, and opened with a flash. The temperature dropped lower in the presence of a glacial shard, its Clear Body making it seem almost mirrorlike in appearance.

[break]

"Hyper Beam." A voice whispered from behind the helmet.

After several beeps and patterns flashed across the entity's face, a Hyper Beam blasted forward.

---

MASKED HOWARD
FINE Kaz GOD I'll team up with you
Switching Claydol with Regice
Using Hyper Beam



1WmX9vrZ

Lilycove was packed. The Vital City Tournament had supercharged the city with a festive air. When people flocked somewhere, it didn't take long for vendors to come to peddle their wares and sell them to the gullible. It was an exchange of currency, of culture, of history.

Howard Slayte reveled in it. He loved haunting stalls filled with wares from pawn shops. Occasionally, he found a treasure there that he could sell to a museum for his monthly rent. Now, he simply did it for the fun of it. Rocket filled his pockets, so he filled his heart with the joy of shopping and treasure hunting.

Yet in this precise moment, he wasn't looking for something, as much as he was someone.

Freya Morningstar was in the city, and he intended to find her. He had wanted to get his copies of Dragonology signed, and after seeing the prices at online auctions, it almost seemed easier to risk all of Rocket's resources to raid Ever Grande, drag her out, and force her to sign.

At least then, he wouldn't have to pay for shipping. Alas.

"Excuse me! Miss Morningstar! Councilwoman!" Howard waved a thick stack of books as he cut through the crowd towards her. "Hold on..."

He took a deep breath, then his eye sparkled and gleamed as he looked at Freya.

"Can you please sign my Dragonology Compendium? I'm a big fan of your work!"

---

freya morningstar

Awkward. Howard thought to himself as he stood next to the Head Ranger. Awkward. Awkward. Awkward.

Hadn't they just tried to kill each other a handful of months ago? It had been a strange encounter, admittedly. There had been a lot of screaming, compliments of attire, shoes, more screaming, and a Cubchoo. Frankly, Howard had almost forgotten about his skirmish with Ollie. It had just seemed like such a fever dream that Howard had assumed it never happened.

Yet here they were, surveying Fortree's terrain.

Still, awkward. Howard didn't know what to say to the Head Ranger. So far, he had simply said little, followed orders, and looked down. Hopefully, it would be mistaken as Howard being in awe of Ollie's presence. The Head Ranger was a hero. Hoenn had no shortage of those, Howard was slowly beginning to realize. He half-expected to run into Fernando Silph at a Torchic-Fil-A or something.

"The... Tera Crystal phenomenon here is somewhat new. It's a result of a crashed spaceship." Howard's voice was quiet, and he tried to inject a stammer into it. "I-I was on the spaceship that these came from. The one from the Bloodmoon Beast incident, yeah? As it flew, it dropped these crystals, and now they're rooted deep."

Tipping his hat, he turned to Ollie.

"I don't think they can be extracted."

---

ollie morales

Howard had finally met his match.

He had crossed mountains, rivers, deserts, an erupting volcano, a swamp with a violent bear, an island with a sentient iceberg on it, and had crossed his apartment without turning a single light on. The archaeologist was, in many ways, unstoppable. In even more numerous ways, he was very stoppable. Battling, for one, was an instance where he was unfathomably stoppable. Yet for once in his life, Howard was in awe.

In awe that he had finally found a fan of kyle lopez that was bigger than him.

Howard had Kyle Lopez bobbleheads, keychains, a traffic ticket with the Top Champion's signature on it, the elusive Kyle Lopez coin that had only been minted once, and a copy of Varoom Kart that had allegedly been signed by Hoenn's finest. Hell, he had even eaten the elusive Ho-Oh Microwave Meal that had been sold on late night television.

Noah Faber? He was a Kyle Lopez superfan.

Howard was screwed.

He hadn't even signed up for this tournament. He was covering for some Howard Slate that he had never met due to a tournament hiccup. Fighting Verdanturf's Gym Leader? Difficult. Nonetheless, it wasn't like he could run away now. He had a basic shred of dignity to protect.

"You ready to square up?" Howard waved at the Gym Leader from across the arena while his Larvitar ate a rock. "Is there a surrender flag I can wave for when you thrash me?"

---

noah faber
HP: 3/3
MECHANIC: NONE

"Wait, no! Stop!" Howard shouted as he was shoved onto the stage by a pair of burly security guards. "You've got the wrong guy! I'm not actually fighting in the tournament. I just got lost on the way to the bathroom!"

"You're Howard Slate?" One of the burly guards asked him.

"Yeah, I'm Howard Slayte! But there's a mistake! I'm not that Howard Slate! There must be some mistake! Maybe there's another Howard somewhere?"

The two guards looked at each other, then at Howard, then at his opponent standing across from him. They snorted, then kicked Howard into the arena.

"Right. Enjoy the tournament. Weirdo."

Howard rubbed his eyes in annoyance. Didn't they get that he wasn't Howard Slate? He was Howard Slayte. They were two entirely separate people! Yet he couldn't exactly escape the tournament now. He'd have to throw hands for a little bit, before finding a way out of the tournament when the chance arrived.

"Alright. Let's boogie! Serizawa, ready to rumble?" When asked, the Larvitar let out a high pitched roar, clearly ready to face any challenger. Howard looked across to see his opponent. Immediately, Howard's face fell. "You've gotta be kidding me."

---

aaron faust
HP: 3/3
MECHANIC: NONE

Howard very much wanted to get his shit. The issue is that there was a massive chasm of trauma between him and the delivered funeral urns in June's hands.

There was also a door, the threat of Grigori looming over him, his secret identity as a member of Team Rocket, nerve-wracking guilt, fear, and a case of mild indigestion. All of these things were folding together into a great piece of origami that made Howard not want to open the door. Doing so would be meeting the consequences of his actions. It would be reaping what he sowed, and sowing a massive Golurk cannonball to the face did not grow into anything worth reaping.

It grew into a sleepless night. Several, by Howard's count. And crying. Lots of crying.

June could leave. She could leave right now, if she knew that Howard had zero clue how to leave a one star review. She'd leave if she knew that she could kick his artifacts off a cliff, safe in the knowledge that Howard would still leave a good rating, even if she burned down his apartment.

Alas, she didn't know.

There was only one thing to do.

Crreaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak... The door slowly shuddered open. Howard's single eye peeked out, staring at June with trepidation.

"H-hey, June... Long time no see." The door creaked open slightly more. "You look... well."

A lie. She looked terrible. Worse than when Howard had shot her with a cannonball. The guilt was crawling up again. Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. Why did he have to feel guilty about this? It was eating him up. It was like Grigori was on his shoulder, whispering into his ear.

"...come in." The door opened wider.

---

june sleigh

"Fossil wars. It's amazing what people will believe when they think it puts them above other people. Galar wanted to discover new species, so they made four Pokémon out of four different bones. People wanted it to be real, so it was."

In a way, they were similar to Tera Crystals and Interdream Mist, which created illusions out of the immaterial. Fictions that people decided to place faith into. It reminded him of the Megalopolans on Route 119, who had used this mutual delusion to create a ship capable of flying through the sky.

"We'll take every crate." Howard decided, looking up at the sky, then down to another crate. "Old Ambers. Heh. Yeah, we'll take these too. I know a seller in Sinnoh." They had already come this far. There was no need to pick and choose when Rocket simply took what it wanted. Hearts, minds, sanity, soul. There was no need to distinguish when everything belonged to Rocket.

Glory.

Several crates began to float into the sky, a testament to his Claydol's power. They stacked themselves cleanly on the edge of the pit. While Howard had never been good at training Pokemon for combat, he was good at using them for excavations. Crumble had been one of his first Pokémon, and the Claydol maintained its utility even now. It was a wine that grew better with age.

"May I ask a question, Underboss Quinn? Two, actually." Howard frowned and shook his head. "Am I allowed to call you Cillian? Does that get me written up?"

The first question.

---

Cillian Quinn

"Because I don't view it as the truth, little lady. I view it as fact." The two seemed similar, but they weren't the same. There was a truth that was universal to humanity, but few would ever learn it. Howard placed value on both, on a accurate historical account of the world.

Yet he could not contribute to that account. He was simply a historian, observing the actions of greater people. Plus, Eris Halla was wrong. Howard Slayte was a liar, and he was a coward. If he wasn't one, he wouldn't be in Rocket. He would've accepted her offer on that island. He would've been free.

Yet he was more trapped than ever.

"Little lady, what're you-" She hugged him. "-doing...?"

This felt wrong. He didn't deserve this. He made sure to betray nothing on his face. His lip didn't tremble, and his eye didn't shake. Instead, he simply hugged her back. A moment of affection was a beacon in a harbor of observation.

"You're right, I can. Let's go home." Howard squeezed her hand, then gestured towards the fossils. "Help me gather them? I'm getting old, y'know? My knees aren't doing too well."

He smiled wryly, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"If only I had a reliable little helper..."

---

Eris Halla