Grigori finally spoke, after the entire long, arduous trip back. “No, thank you. I will settle for the stool.”

A little bit of selflessness, a little bit of restlessness. There was much to think about, even if his bones ached and his back complained as he set his back against the concrete. About the Chamber of Desires, of the vote, about everything. His mind churned, chewed on the doubts and knowledge inside his brain. He also physically chewed on some deep purple mochi. Once again, only the singular one. So be it, if he starved to death.

Unfortunately, though, even he was unable to fight off the exhaustion for long. And soon enough, his body slumped further and further into the stone, until his eyes finally closed and he lost consciousness.

–

But only for a moment.

When his eyes fluttered open, he was no longer in the prison. And for a change, his mind felt less obstructed too. He did not know this strange landscape, nor the people that inhabited it. Megalopolans, some of them recognizable. But that’s not what gets his attention, from an alleyway.

It’s his fellow prisoners that he takes notice of.

So… if Howard and Shred were actually here…

His feet carried him forward. Down, in a straight path. He did not know where to look, nor did he have a destination in mind. If he attempted to try and ‘navigate’, he’d just get more lost than before. If he saw a fellow Rocket, he simply ignored them. Some called, and their calls were wasted.

For there were plenty of League affiliated people here too. Thankfully, none of them June. He might’ve seen Annalise in the distance, but it was best to avoid her. Now wasn’t the time. Maybe during the next day, when they returned to clean more crystals.

Unfortunately, he did run into someone vaguely worth the effort of talking too. jayden cross .

But, maybe, anyone was better than no one. And he was alone. And they were alone, and would be alone. Any port in a storm, he supposed. From behind, he closed the distance. “Mr. Cross.”

---

Tl;dr
- Does not sleep on the cot, but does fall asleep on a stool
- Eats ONE Mochi
- Wakes up in dreamland and wanders, hoping to see Shred and Howard
- Instead finds a lonely Jayden Cross (don't worry about it)
- Says his name as a greeting

How could one forget Meteno? World-wide obliteration was hardly an event that Grigori could push from his mind. Yet he did it all the same. Maybe because the reality of it all was too much. Too nonsensical. Like a fairy tale, except without the happy ending.

More like an adult’s rendition of a fairy tale: bittersweet, and left a foul taste in the back of his throat.

And when Howard both claimed that the lives of the people of Dewford held value and then damned them to a terrible fate, the bittersweet taste bubbled. He pushed the archeologist’s hand off his shoulder and returned to the counter. “Of course, Mr. Fox. These people are not livestock. I would agree: you are not a butcher.”

“You’re a Rocket Admin, and these people are obstacles.”

The phrase came out much more violently than he anticipated. “They are a means to an end. Granted, Eternatus sounds like a massive threat– but is there truly, impossibly, no other way? One that doesn’t potentially wipe out half a coastal city?”

Conflict would be violent. Messy. The seawater would be stained red, and the beaches would become the graves of countless souls. They’d dig up their bones for decades to come, and slowly, their families would find the truth to the deaths of their loved ones.

“What do you even hope to find, in Dewford? In the Ultra Deep Sea? Did Eternatus consume a weapon that only the Regice can wield? And can your golem, alone, stop the colossus that is this god?”

---

howard slayte

“Mr. Bee,” Grigori greeted. His tone flat, and his gaze still focused on the pond. The innocent Pokémon went about their business without care in the world. How nice it must’ve been. Or maybe not– perhaps they’d be victims of war as well. Or worse– forced to join in the conflict by some trainer.

“I appreciate the compliment, but I would be lying if I spoke the same about my thoughts on you,” he said. “I have been busy with personal matters, work– always something.”

Moving. Helping june sleigh , helping howard slayte , helping Rocket. Not only the truth, but a very believable one. But, it was a surprise to hear that his boss thought about him more than he the other.

“May I ask why that is? Have I lagged behind my peers in the sudden, grueling training regime?”

Unlikely. If anything, he was one of the lucky few who hadn’t had some injury, or doubt, about the whole thing. It was obvious why: War was here, and it would spare no one. He could feel it in his bones.

As if on cue, one of the Swanna finally claimed what it’d been hunting for. A Tympole slid down its gullet in one clean gulp. The rest were not as lucky or uninterested, with one that managed to puck it up between its beak only to fling it across the pond. The grunt grimaced. Even if it was the cycle of life, he did not have to be content with it.

---

BARNABY FINCH

Grigori wrote down the information as it was fed to him, his pen licking the page at a modest pace.

‘Solo-room, next to downstairs bathroom. No furnishings.’
‘Relaxed bed-time schedule. Open to conversations via text about noise.’

Not his preferred method of communication, but he supposed he could always just walk over and talk with the others anyway. Not like the distance was grand, a journey into an entirely different city. It also meant they probably communicated via text for most things. “Noted. Apologies, Ms. Annalise. I must’ve gotten something mixed up in the messaging.”

“Next question: chores. Are there set guidelines for each member, or is it changed weekly, or something in between? And the food situation-- essentially the same parameters as the chores.”

He leaned forward, his eyes locked with Annalise. His eyes cut through hers, deep into her brain. All his focus went into her soul as he waited for a response. This was the most important aspect of this living situation: would they try to brute force it all onto him, lie and let him find out the hard way, or be honest and upfront about it?

---

annalise henderson marilee beaufort Rory Faust

By the time they finally arrived to the Chamber of Desires, Grigori’s knees buckled ever so slightly. He was not a man destined for flight. Even worse was when his sandals slapped and rubbed against the floor. So close to the ground, yet so far away.

But, finally, they arrived to their destination. The stifling mask fell around his neck, alongside everyone else’s. His doubts were confirmed: his ward was filled to the brim with familiar faces. Zev Harcourt , jayden cross , Elisabeth Fiorelli , BARNABY FINCH , and his own roommate annalise henderson . So many important people in just one room. And yet, he knew there were many more elsewhere.

If one wanted to, they could wipe out most of the top dogs of Rocket with a single coordinated attack. But yet again, the Megalopolans had other plans. That’s why they lined up to look inside the mask. Even worse, he watched as a few tried not to. How they struggled against the chain, against their warden, and against Velmos.

How futile it was. Thus, when it was his turn, he put his face into the mask. Just a brief peak, nothing more. Except…

---

SPOILER: Click to show

It was beautiful. Dastardly so. There he was, in his favorite folding chair. Next to a campfire, with a dozen so other people. He could feel the ethereal warmth provided, even if he was not truly there. Grigori himself sat surrounded by friends, family. True friends, not the ones aligned with the insidious red ‘R’ on their sleeve. No, it was people he knew all too well.

june sleigh . His heart leapt to his throat. She was there. She looked… happy. At peace. Sure, there was a violet toxic chain around her throat– alongside everyone else. But the woman was entirely relaxed. She was talking to friends, old friends of her father. None of them looked stressed, as they warmed themselves by the fire and roasted hot dogs and dined on S’mores. He had a plate right in front of him with three alone.

But the first words he heard from her mouth sent a chill through his nerves. “It’s great to not have to worry about Rocket anymore.”

His tongue felt heavy in his throat, and air struggled to get into his lungs.

“Oi, you can say that again! Bastards deserved all they got coming to them.”

“Oh, that Elisabeth bitch? I bet she had that stupid smirk up even as the platform dropped. But she ain’t around, so who cares?”

“Poor shame, what happened to that Jayden fellow. But he had his chance.”

But, then, why was he here? He had done far, far worse than them. If not in reality, then in the metaphorical sense. He’d been around longer than most of them, yet here he was as happy as can be. The paper plate felt impossibly heavy in his lap.

“But I’m sure glad they didn’t just throw people on the ropes willy-nilly,” a hand slapped against his left arm. “Ain’t that right, Grigori?”

“Yea,” June crossed her arms and leaned back into her own chair, a chuckle on her lips, “it was a surprise, but… I know it must’ve sucked. Feeling trapped there. But, hey, not like you ran away, or tried to get out of it. And hey, before you know it, you’ll be done with your remedial shit and you’ll be a free man!”

“Hell, maybe even Dad will come out of his grave and forgive you himself,” she said wistfully. “He’d like that. But I’ll just have to do it for him, right now. Besides, I know you didn't want to kill him, that night. It is what it is.”

---

Something snapped. His face peeled away from the kalediascopic mask. Sweat poured down his sickly white face, and he gulped in air like he'd never breathed before. He was out, he was safe, he was free from that-that...

Dream.

The word gave him pause, concern, fear, pleasure, joy, gut-wrenching depression, and every other conceivably related emtion in the human vernacular. Why did he... want that? Maybe such a future was in the cards. He could be happy. Have the live he deserved. Maybe not the one from his dream, those months ago, but... the next best thing? One that belonged to this reality. This universe.

But thirty-one years of trust, loyalty, absolute obedience to Rocket, clashed violently with this hope. It did not need reason, nor elaborate phrases. His mind flashed to his conversation with howard slayte , in Dewford.

It was treason. That dream had Rocket dead, but him alive. He must go down with the ship, for that was his purpose. Grunts were not afforded mercy, or these temptatious desires. If Declan Walsh, or Cillian, or Elisabeth, or any of his superiors knew of this, what he saw, what his apparent 'true potential' was...

His life was forefeit. So why did his heart yearn regardless?

These doubtful, horrendous thoughts followed him into the showers, where he disrobed and placed himself squarely underneath the stream of water furthest from everyone else. His hands did not stop shaking, no matter how hard he pressed them against the wall or his skin, and his once authoritative eyes fell to the ground in fear.

Fear that his bosses could see into his soul.

---

Tl;dr
- Grigori doesn't like flying
- Damn that's a lot of his bosses here. Ain't that fucked up
- Sees that you MUST see into the mask, so he only gives it a small peak
- After the fact, he falls for the ruse
- In the showers, he keeps himself very far from everyone else (for now) and hopes that no one asks him what he saw while he wrestles with this new piece of information about himself

fNOyMOWc

“So that’s what the Ultra Deep Sea is…” Grigori said. It made sense, in retrospect. Not too many locations had a heart beat. Walls that felt more like tissue than rock. Deposits moist in liquids that felt anything but natural. Hindsight was 20/20, yet he felt stupid for not reaching such a conclusion before this moment.

Ultimately, it was irrelevant to the actual matter at hand: if it ‘woke up’, then the region would see destruction in a way it’d rarely had before. The meteor came to mind, and this surely rivaled it. At least, if it worried Howard this much– how could it not worry him as well?

“But…” his gaze fell to the floor, hopeful he’d find the proper words there. Unfortunately, all he saw was brand-new carpets, perfectly installed wood panels, and a multitude of boxes that held incredibly expensive relics.

Howard’s friend and beneficiary had put him into a rough spot, but it ultimately fell to the archeologist to know when to say no. “This is a problem with very few answers. And none of them kind, Mr. Slayte.”

“As I see it, you have three realistic options: tell the Underbosses and Mr. Walsh you took this offer as an advantage to spy on the League,” his eyes met Howard. The grunt felt a tension unlike any other, and he was back in the office with Mr. Quinn. They both knew that wouldn’t happen, but stranger things had been done by the admin.

“You could also be honest and explain the situation. Hope they view the threat of Eternatus in the exact same lens as you do. What I recommend, but…” he trailed off. They also both knew what would happen if they didn’t. Howard’s face and name would end up on a missing persons report, and that’d be the extent of his legacy. “And the third option– which is the worst one. It may seem appealing, but it will only bring you grief and misery later down the line.”

“Hide this fact, and hope they never find out.” Unfortunately, he had a strange feeling in his gut. That they both knew what’s exactly what he would do. “Highly unlikely.”

Such was the price of treason against Rocket and all her glory.

---

howard slayte

By the time the attack is done, Grigori rested underneath the fallen debris of a light fixture. Thankfully, the Solar Beam had evaporated any of the electrical wiring that surged through it. That meant as he desperately pushed the fixture off his back, he wasn’t electrocuted for his troubles. “Champ…?”

Unconscious, leaned up against the remnants of a shelf. Right. He’d taken the brunt of the blow to protect him. Grigori dug his hands past the sharp metal and broken glass to his belt, and then recalled the fainted Pokémon. He rubbed the red, dusty exterior thoughtfully, then threw his arms forward.

Little by little, he dragged himself forward, until he was entirely free from the light. And then, he pushed himself back off the ground. Third time today. This wasn’t close to the record, but it certainly made the top ten.

He could hear sirens in the distance, which left him little time to stare down his opponent. They both looked like dust, blood-caked messes who’d been put through the wringer. Odds were they both lacked the energy to continue their fight. One little slip, and the mistake-maker would perish.

But he took all the time allotted to stare Noel in the eyes. It was important. “You’ve done my job far better than I could’ve ever hoped to. Remember this, the next time you decide to unleash such an attack in a place like this.”

And then, he broke eye contact. He hobbled past Noel, towards the back of the store. This had been a rather successful job, all things considered. He still had the register funds in his pocket, and the populace would surely feel less safe after this. Especially since the damage had been caused by one of their own.

---

Noel Parker

Grigori gave Shred’s comment a short, brief, but polite chuckle.

For his declaration, he gave him a dangerous look. The tension suddenly materialized, and it felt thick in the back of his throat. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Then, he exhaled just as slowly.

Shred was upset. Pissed, He had every right. If the rumors were true, then he’d died in that fight. And death was quite the setback. Revenge was a natural reaction, and it wasn’t something he could realistically stop Shred from wanting. Positionally, Shred outranked him as well. Furthermore, violence against the League would be encouraged anyway.

All the grunt had over his fellow friend was experience. But, perhaps, that could calm the storm, if only a little. “I understand your sentiments, Mr. Shred.”

“And I think your anger is justified,” he followed up quickly, his hands intertwined. A brace for the hell that might follow. “Yet, if I may offer some advice from my own experiences…”

“This is not a path that you want to travel. Turn your frustration into something, anything else. But do not let it fester into revenge.”

---

Shred

Figured. This seemed like the perfect location to bite the bullet. He let the bone clatter back to the ground and pulled himself upright. “I’ll do so when we are sure we are through exploring this small area.”

How such bones ended up in this cave would ultimately determine just how safe they were inside of it. They could’ve starved to death in here or holed up with no means of escape. Could’ve bled out. But from what? A fellow human, or a Pokémon?

Worst of all, though, was the concern he kept to himself for now: what if they’ve walked into a den of sorts? Narrow passage allowed for easy defense, and one could worm their way outside if necessary. He imagined it was easier, the more flexible the limbs. Best of all, it was relatively secluded. Odds were low that another creature stumbled upon this place.

With any luck, this was an empty or otherwise abandoned cave. But the presence of the strange goo did not inspire confidence. “If I must presume, that would be… probably the discharge of a beast of this realm. Perhaps from a Poipole, or Naganadel. Do not let that touch your skin under any circumstances."

Thankfully, Laurence was as aware of what the slime was as himself. Any of the scientists at Rocket would’ve gone into a detailed, horrific description of how this would melt the flesh or burn the skin into a crisp, charred black. One of the few good things of this trip thus far.

And that wasn’t about to change. There was a noise, a strange rubbing between strange walls and… something else. Grigori could not see it from behind the massive lump of brown fur, but Freddy heard it as well. He growled low, and held his big arms out wide.

“Mr. Laurence,” the grunt gave the doctor a stern, dark look, “I did not wish to speak up earlier, but… what are the odds we’ve entered the end of a creature that wishes to consume us?”

Unfortunately, his darkest fears rung true in his head. His entire body tensed up, and he faced the entrance of the cave once more. He could see the massive, horrid stinger breach the darkness of the opening. Freddy lowered his head and snarled louder, which only served to let Laurance see the Naganadel as well. It's awful gaze met every single one of the members in the cave, and it hissed at the intruders.

"I think we have overstayed our welcome."

Energy started to build up from its maw, and it wasted no time in trying to claim its next meal. A Dragon Pulse echoed out and came straight their way.

PROMPT COMPLETE: Involve the venomous adhesive of a poipole or naganadel.

---

Laurence Whateley

‘Our lives’ sat on the tip of Grigori’s tongue, but he kept it hidden behind his lips. It was quite different to be nice to the admins and beasts when you were not among them, as opposed to be on the same rank. Fake formalities, but on an entirely different level. He didn’t have to work with them every day of his life.

Howard was bound to them like the keystone to his empty socket.

“For a god, I’m afraid I can do little more than whatever you order, Mr. Slayte,” he said. A deity? Well, well beyond his jurisdiction. Of a person, of a grunt, or even a friend. But he’d try. “Those are not an enemy I am familiar with.”

“But I am quite familiar with Rocket, Mr. Fox,” he crossed his arms. Hrm. The statement felt in conflict with itself. What suspicions could Rocket hold for such a move? If anything, he figured it’d be the League at the admin’s doorstep in the middle of the night. With them, enough questions to unearth even the slightest of contradictions.

“It would depend entirely on whom you’ve created such an opportunity for, and what said opportunity is,” he stepped forward and turned his back to the glass. “Because there are some things, and some actions, that there is no saving anyone from.”

Treason, for starters. Seldom few members of Rocket were gifted televisions or beach homes from loyal League members. “Please, Mr. Fox, spare no details. What's the situation?”

---

howard slayte

How many Meltan’s existed in Hoenn?

How many ancient, steam-powered Poke Balls?

Grigori swore he could hear screams from the likes of howard slayte and Shred from the hole. While he had no way to know for sure, he could pick out those voices like needles from haystacks. The agony and emotion within them sent shivers up his spine. His blood ran cold, and all he could do is link hands with priam conrad and THEO BECKETT and watch.

Rocket had taught him the price of defiance. Indirectly, through the targeted assassinations of defectors. Directly, through the harsh words and promises of Cillian Quinn . He was never worried about himself being a rule breaker.

It was those who couldn’t hope to control themselves, or victims of circumstance, that he internally wept for.

And when the other two wards were shown off, and a choice given, he opened his mouth to object. To say that no vote was directly required for them. It was entirely optional.

Then Navy opened his mouth. ‘Punish our ward instead!’

‘I vote for the Dummy ward. The insolence of its ‘heroism’ should not be spared.’
‘Please, please, please, please! Don’t waste this opportunity for us! Dummy!’
‘I vote… Dummy. Better that fewer people should suffer, even if it’s not a very large difference.’
‘Dummy ward.’

He recognized most of these voices, save the first and the last– the former he had no idea. The latter, he didn’t want to be correct.

Slowly, he closed his mouth. Even if they were all as naked the day they’d been born, he’d hold the same face of realization, of disappointment as he did behind the mask. They had been given a choice, and they all took it for an order. That, or he misunderstood just how much the Megalopolans took this ‘game’ seriously. Regardless, they would not get a vote from him.

With a firmly shut mouth, he waited for them to be taken to the Chamber of Desires. Even in the face of consequenceless suffering, he would not take the opportunity. To play was to lose, and he would not let them win.

---

Tl;dr
 - Ugly Ward
 - Grigori is sad his friends are sad D:
 - Goes to voice his lack of vote to inspire confidence, but clearly everyone else has different ideas
 - He knows where some of these different ideas come from, but others he either doesn't know or doesn't want to know
 - Doesn't yap a word and waits to be transported to the CHAMBER OF SIN (Abstain)

Grigori did not want to relive the pain that was Dewford. Thus, he didn’t offer any commentary or insight. Howard was an expert in history, and Grigori a master of all the wrongs he did. They likely shared a similar experience and thoughts, if only from different perspectives. A conversation for the sake of it.

But loyalty? That could be an entire area of study for Philosophy. One he desired to give input on, but lacked the academic credit to ever hope of it.

Not that it would stop him. “A good question. It would depend on who is asking.”

He set his glass on the counter and turned around to the sand. What beautiful sand. What a beautiful view. It matched the colors of League perfectly, and likely the faction of the ‘sheriff’.

“While my answer might change, they will all be the truth. I hold loyalties to many a people, and many a belief. For Mr. Fox, him and his own loyalty to Rocket. For Mr. Slayte, him and his academic ventures. For Mr. Howard…” He stopped. Frowned. Right, his original answer no longer worked. All because of him. Would today be the day they opened that chest, buried underneath the corpse of the name?

“Him and his desire to do the right thing, no matter how hard or impossible it may seem,” he said. “So, sir, may I ask which face you wish to put on today?”

He may not have the book smarts of his boss, but he made up for it in street smarts. People smarts. And that let him, occasionally, read Howard like an open book.

---

howard slayte

Grigori pulled himself back up from the store ground. That’d surely leave a mark on his skin, but there wasn’t any time to dally. He rubbed his face alongside his foe, then put one arm onto the cool metal rack. With the shelf as support, he shambled along the path until the final declaration of intent.

“Easy? You broke one of the biggest unspoken rules in Pokemon battling,” he said. That wasn’t Grigori could look over or conveniently ignore. Even if the Shaymin did it without the word of its trainer, it should not have been so keen on doing it without prompt. “But I can’t disagree.”

One hand gripped the nearest can, baked beans, while he gave Champ another look. They locked eyes and nodded at the same time. They could feel the slow funnel of energy. One would have to be immune to stimuli to be ignorant of it. If that attack went off, then who knew what kind of damage it’d do to them? To the store?

To anyone still inside?

Besides, with the ability for civilians to leave uninterrupted, law enforcement was surely on the way. It was not a question of if, but when. Thus, he stood on his own and raised the can. Together, he and Hitmonchan ran forward for one final attack.

Champ arrived first. He dodged to the left, but quickly dodged back to the other side. But then, with one final quickstep, he tried to shoot past Noel on his right. With a raised fist, he tried to shoot forward to deliver a quick, effective Bullet Punch onto the rodent.

And where did Grigori come into play? Well, no matter what Noel did, from trying to stop Hitmonchan, or keep his eyes on Grigori, there’d be a flying can of baked beans with his name on it. It soared through the air at quite the speed, aimed at center mass. The man behind the throw kept on going forward, straight for the trainer.

Once more, he threw the punch to end all punches. His entire weight followed his arm, his fist aimed directly as Noel’s upper chest. Would they have been fast enough? Or would they be turned to dust by the Shaymin’s attack?

---

Noel Parker