Once more was Grigori dragged out to some city, to help with the search of a mythical, powerful avian. Littleroot was the destination this time around. Except this time, they had their own in the back pocket. Yes, this mission was to be done with one Admin Bee.

Wonderful. Actually, scratch that, he couldn’t tell himself that mentally. That was a lie, and he didn’t do those.

Woeful.

It was also a darkly comedic choice. It bothered him, as he stood in the designated meeting spot. On the edge of the town, but close enough to see the people mill around. It was closer to the end of the day, and stars peeked out from the twilight of the evening sky. How long had it been, since this was once disturbed by the throes of war?

How long until the next war rolled along?

These thoughts and worries ate him alive until he couldn’t bear it any longer. He wandered away mindlessly, still in vision but to a nearby pond. Swanna roosted in the center, and various other birds hovered around the edge. Some harassed a Tympole, while others went for the invasive Magikarp that flopped their way into its waters.

Next time, he’d show up on time instead of twenty minutes early.

---

BARNABY FINCH

This was certainly not in the cards. Like a freight train, Grigori flew back from the sheer force of the Close Combat. His back slammed into the ground and he slid past the cans of vegetables. His body ached, but he pulled himself up to his feet with the help of a shelf.

And they called Rocket terrible people. He hadn’t planned on breaking the unspoken rule between trainers. Pokemon battled Pokemon, and people each other. But this vigilante seemed to have different ideas. Grigori grimaced.

As they prepared their charge, the grunt lifted and recalled his Ursaluna. Of course, this would mean people were free to start leaving the store as soon as they felt confident enough. If this man was going to be flippant, then why shouldn’t he?

“Please stop speaking like a Saturday-Morning cartoon character,” he said as a flash of white exploded in the corridor. While they charged, a Hitmonchan joined Grigori by his side. “But you get one. More. Chance.”

Together, they raised their fists. Champ pulled back a gloved fist and launched straight into the skull of the Shaymin. Flames engulfed his Firey Punch as it flew forward, but Grigori’s remained perfectly normal. Together, both men threw their fists–

Their impacts could’ve rocked the store, if they were Pokémon. He felt flesh bend against his knuckles, but his own skull recoiled from the impact of a fist. The lights flickered inside his eyes, and he once more fell to the ground. 

If the stranger insisted on Pokemon-Human combat, then they would not win. But he’d be merciful and NOT command his own Pokémon to put a hole inside Noel’s chest.

---

Noel Parker

“Nothing major, for the actual lease,” he said as he riffled through the pages. “Just wanted to confirm dates, payments, and the rules between the landlord and the tenants of this apartment.”

From the bundle of paper, he finally settled on the section he was in search of. He pressed hard against the crease and set it over on the other side of the table, towards Annalise. It’d be the boring legal jargon that stated the official payment amount for the whole apartment, the dates associated, and with a few written-in number crunches for what it’d be divided by four.

What he’d pay if signed on.

“What I’m more interested in are the rules not in the lease: between roommates,” he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small notepad and pen. It clicked once and flipped open to a sticky-noted page. “Less formal, but the most important part of a shared living space.”

If one hated the people they lived with, then the signed lease would be more of a prison sentence than a communally shared living quarter. That was most unideal for everyone involved.

“My first question, naturally, is the roommate situation. If I’m not mistaken, I’d be boarding with… whom, Marilee?” He tapped a note into the paper. “And in regard to that, is there an agreed upon Lights-Out with everyone, or just the singular roommate?”

---

annalise henderson marilee beaufort Rory Faust

Note to self: Do NOT mention anything about body parts or bones.

“Well, as far as I’m aware,” Grigori leaned back into the chair, “Mr. Slayte is fairing… as well as he can. I haven’t checked in on Ms. Lulu, I’m afraid.”

The former felt restless, disturbed. The grunt could only imagine what it must’ve been like, to see someone so close to you in such a sorry state. Especially in person. In front of your eyes. Lulu, well, they had no reason to meet. He wasn’t a scientist, and she wasn’t tasked with grunt work.

But if it was meant to be, she would’ve stopped by sometime soon.

“And they are not trying to replace you,” he said. “If memory serves me right, demotion is usually of the violent variety for Beasts.”

Scientists stepped down at some point or another, and Admins could be changed out if ill-suited for the job. Beasts? Better to put a bullet in the back of the rabid mutt's head and let the next one try to bark its little heart out. But he also tended to stay out of the political side of things, so he could be sorely mistaken. Hopefully mistaken. 

“Besides, you are… well suited for the position,” he frowned. Very well-suited. Perhaps a little too much. “Men like you are a rarity. Passionate. Ambitious. Brave.”

Violent. Desirous. Reckless. “You fit in perfectly, Mr. Shred. Everyone eagerly awaits your return-- I think.”

---

Shred

Grigori joined the stranger at the bars, but did nothing but cross his arms and take stock of the environment. Those Megalopolans would surely wish to brain him, like he’d done to one of their comrades. Hell, he still had the hammer used to do the job. They saw that in his hands, he’d likely be put on a stake and brought to a golden brown.

“I would not tempt fate with your pleas,” he said. “These guards might see you as a liability.”

But there were plenty of people. Prisoners, None were immediately identifiable, but he heard plenty of screams from them all. And a massive, elegant bird. Ugly Ward?

Must’ve been a metaphorical ‘ugly’ they saw in him. He saw in himself. Unfortunately, despite his lack of desire to do certain acts, many desired to with him. It was annoying to turn them all down. But he couldn’t turn down the prospect of ‘lunch’, given in the form of mochi. He eyeballed the strange, purple rice sweet with a raised eyebrow.

Before he could react, some stranger voiced Grigori’s own personal doubts. Unfortunately, he had a good enough view to see the bird approach the cell and… do something. He didn’t know, but someone wouldn’t mangle themselves beyond recognition to worm past the bars to get closer to their demise, in the form of a single strike from its wing.

He ate a singular mochi and left the rest rot.

Outside, he quickly fell to his knees and picked up the first shard once the designated Megalopolan gave them orders. He was good at that, following orders. All he had to do was polish the shards? Sure.

But, quite obviously, there was a catch. Do the best, and he could see two other people in the ward. There was extreme danger there, but also extreme reward. If they were here for longer than a single day, then they could ‘meet up’. Make connections. Plot. All the better if there was at least one familiar Rocket face.

So he kept his eyes mostly down and focused on the shards. But they did wander, to the few groups on either side of him and priam conrad . On the left were three main culprits, but they were all only vaguely familiar. Like he’d seen their eyes before, their body types, but had no way to know for sure. Impossible to truly predict who they were.

But the right… he knew those eyes anywhere. Sure, he could still be wrong, but it meant his own eyes occasionally flickered to the right, to the one man he loathed, but also was genuinely glad to know suffered the same fate. Was at the exact same rank as he. If that was Zev Harcourt there, then he could rest easy knowing this wasn’t hell.

That man would be suffering far, far worse than the grunt, if that were the case.

---

Tl;dr
 - Ugly ward? Internal ugliness counted
 - Oh hey maybe don't grab the bars you might end up like that
 - Oh god oh fuck that guys fucking dead that's so fucked up
 - A good grunt gets to work without complains, and he's had 31 years of experience (Wants to get into that three person meeting to help strategize, in case it matters)
 - Doesn't recognize anyone on the left, but he could never forget the eyes of Zev Harcourt (but there is always a chance he is wrong, so he doesn't call out(Get FUCKED Zev I'll out BUSY WORK YOU ANY DAY OF THE WEEK THIS IS MY PRIME))
O8FHwz|s

Grigori felt his muscles tense underneath the weight of the uppercut. It stung like hell, but at least he only had to contend with the connection of one blow. He caught the wide hook, if only barely, and stopped it from getting too close to his face. That’d be bad. His identity might’ve been revealed.

Then he’d have to kill the stranger. That’d be quite tragic.

“Less talking,” he grunted. With Noel’s arm held the best he could, he leaned backward a touch, then launched himself forward. Together, they’d hopefully both collide into the store’s shelf with the ‘hero’ as a cushion.

But Doug could not hope to gain any momentum from the absorption of such an attack. His opponent so small, it was all to easy for little flower to dodge out of the way of it’s awful Blood Moon. Where there was a crater, there wasn’t a Shaymin

“Gruurauahahahaa!” Leaves pelted the massive bear with no recourse. They dug into muddy mats and flesh alike, and left a thousand paper cuts of red in their wake. He was too big, and fell to one knee. Would the mighty tree topple?

No, not yet. His one good eye glared up. past the thick fingers he used to protect his eye. His eye narrowed, and a snort escaped his nostrils. He pulled back, much like the trainer, and shot his massive barrel-ed arm forward.

The bear did not move, but a gust of energy flew forward. It trampled any leaves that were in its wake and sent them to the wayside. That Vacuum Punch cut through the chaff and slammed straight into the Shaymin.

---

Noel Parker

GRIGORI SOKOLOV'S INFAMY FILE

PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE X PRIVATE KNOWLEDGE

INTRODUCTORY BLURB

The Enforcer

Runaway Grigori Sokolov joined Rocket at the ripe young age of sixteen. From then, it's been nothing but ignorant violence and bloodshed. Up until they finally gained victory over Kanto, and he migrated with the organization back to his home region of Hoenn. But he soon learned it was a lot easier to beat up random nobodies than old friends, acquaintances and otherwise familiar faces. That, and a growing sense of being lost made him rethink his entire life.

He sought to be better, as much as his work would let him be. And he thought himself on the path to being a vaguely better person. And then... then...

PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE

WHAT CAN BE LOOKED UP

- Lives in Mauville city with annalise henderson , Rory Faust , and marilee beaufort inside a four-person apartment.
- Has a (fake) profile on the most popular job seeking website. Very bare bones, with only the required information necessary.
- Works for an 'insurance company', but position is hard to find.
- Very little presence online, but active in small clubs around Slateport City and now Mauville City.
- Known pseudo-guardian of june sleigh .
- Self-described 'Champion' of destroying male stereotypes and stigmas.
- Refers to everyone with a professional prefix of 'Mr, Ms, or Mx.'. First name if on good grounds, second if more professional-slash-NOT on good terms. 

LEAGUE KNOWLEDGE

POINTS OF INTEREST FOR THE LEAGUE FACTION

- Like most grunts, there are only vague descriptions of his appearance. Described as 'Fisher', he wears a stereotypical fisherman's hat with numerous hooks and bobbers around the brim.
- Reported in numerous hit-and-runs, robberies, and assaults.
- In the past, has been reported around the area after the discovery of dead rocket defectors. This hasn't been the case for the last two years.

ROCKET KNOWLEDGE

POINTS OF INTEREST FOR TEAM ROCKET FACTION

- Has been with the organization for the last thirty-one years.
- In contention for 'the most frequent visitor of the Anger Management Program' award. Not proud, but not distressed.
- Has a long, extensive job completion history.
- Either due to age or waning interest, his completion history has reached a 'dry spell'. Now does what appears to be the bare minimum for tasks. Started sometime at the start of 2022.
- Has been described as a 'safe face' to lodge complaints about upper management to. This information is kept from the Admins, Beasts, and Underbosses as best as people can.

 - Present during the failed search-and-rescue mission, where the Megalopolans were found. His recollection of events was given to Howard Slayte for a report. Owns several missing person's reports and a strange metallic hammer from the events.
 - Currently employed under howard slayte . Does whatever is requested of the man.

PRIVATE KNOWLEDGE

PERSONAL SECRETS

- Went on the run because he killed his alcoholic father after that man killed Grigori's mother.
- Used to be best friends with Gabriel Sleigh, father of june sleigh . Both joined Rocket shortly after the above happened.
- Has tally marks tatooed on his left arm for each promise he's made to a dead person. On his right is one long, solitary black strip. So far, the only promise he's shared is to 'Never tell a lie'.
- Has doubts about the current Rocket leadership and believes they do not stand a chance if things continue on as they have.
- Also has doubts about Rocket as a whole.

SPOILER: Click to show

- Killed June's father in a fit of rage and jealousy. Made a promise to the man, but he's yet to tell anyone.

Grigori Sokolov had died.

There were no other explanations for the scene painted before him. He lacked his Poke balls, his phone, or any other worldly possessions. He was locked in a cell, with no way to escape and the bare few amenities allowed to those incarcerated. Upon his face was a terrible mask, one he could not piece together.

A metaphor, he presumed. Same with his Kantonian robes. Surely a sign that this was hell. His punishment for all the horrible, horrible things he’d done in that region. All the lives ruined, ended, destroyed. If only he could remember his final moments– were they at the hands of the League, or Rocket?

But, perhaps, this wasn’t hell. It didn’t explain the other person that used him like a massive body pillow, in the small, dingy cot. The only one in the cell, he noted. Was this supposed to be a figment of his past, or an innocent life taken? They also wore a mask, with a massive purple chain attached to–

“So I’m not dead,” he muttered. Fortunately, these Toxic Chains would not be a part of his hell. They’d be steel, and dig into his flesh until he bled out in the cot. Maybe he needn’t worry about his memories just yet. All would be revealed in time.

“Pardon me,” Grigori whispered. He grabbed Priam’s arm atop his chest and tried to pull it off. Even if the other person was asleep, he didn’t have any desire to remain in the cot for a second longer. His old bones ached from the lack of support. Hell, even the bars that encapsulated them would be better for his back.

“I think the time for rest is over.”

---

priam conrad
Tl;dr
 - Grigori thinks he is dead
 - Grigori realizes he is not dead
 - He tries to pry Priam off his body so he can stand up

There comes a time in every man's life where he has to help comfort a friend that's had sexual intercourse performed on their rectum by another friend...

... in the Game of Kings. That was surprisingly charged-- what the fuck was going on in their minds? That went against all the Sexual Harrassment classes they've ever done.

"Mr. Shred, if I may," Grigori stepped away from his spot at the side of the table. The soft thuds of his shoeless feet carried him around and to the side of the Beast. He squatted down and took the cards from his one, solitary hand. And then, he held them in front of the beast at perfect viewing distance.

"Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you," he said. It was too sad to watch him both hold the cards and then set them down to search his deck and then have to pick them up again and then put them down to fuse and--

He flexed his toes in his neon green socks (the bubblegum pink ones were out of stock). He hoped Howard absolutely demolishing Shred in this simple game of cards was worth the comfortability of his feet.

---

howard slayte Shred

PURCHASING/REDEEMING

welcome to the poké mart!

1X Raging Bolt (Thunderclap, Dragon Hammer, Body Press, Thunder, Calm Mind, Dragon Pulse) (0 PD)

 - Excursion 1

 - Excursion 2

 - Excursion 3

 - Excursion 4

TOTAL

do come again!

0 PD

The grunt waved off the cigarette. He’d given them up again, shortly after the incident in Howard’s apartment. After the incident behind the Poke Mart. Besides, he deserved whatever stress due from this fight. Slaughter.

“If it were merely about the quantity and quality of the violence, I would be in charge of Team Rocket,” he said. “Alas, they seek more… fanatical minds, for that position.”

Howard’s hands shook like leaves in the breeze. Gentle, easily disturbed by any outside phenomenon. These were not good people; they sought to slaughter him just because of his ownership of Regice. All the reports painted them in a dark light too. Yet his hands shook all the same.

Grigori looked to his own. Perfectly still, unfazed by wind or bloodshed or the copious amounts of red and pink and white on them. Like rocks anchored to the earth. He pressed his lips and exhaled deeply from his nose. He was fine, and that bothered him. But in the way of a casual observation, rather than an actual profound discovery.

The other beasts would’ve reprimanded Howard for his slight show of weakness. Save Shred, who might’ve made several crude jokes, taken two cigarettes, and kicked the corpses as they continued on. Grigori?

He wondered if it was possible to lose his desensitization to such easy murder.  After several long moments, his hands fell back in line and he recalled Brick. “I am indeed a monster, Howard.”

There were not many ways to finish the admin’s sentence, given the context. And he knew the best answer from personal experience.

“But I am far from the best. I pray you never bear witness.”

---

howard slayte

As Brick obliterated the DRK Triad member that Howard tripped, Grigori fought his own battle. There was one more on his end and the most capable of them all. That’s why they circle-strafted each other, around and around in a circle. The clock ticked, and the hands danced across its surface.

They locked eyes, both certain of the only way this could end– one dead, one alive. Neither acknowledged how Doug incinerated another of the group, how Druddigon turned one into a fine red paste, or how the final one took his own life. That would require a diversion of focus.

And that was immediate death.

The other one, slightly shorter than Grigori, feinted a knife swing. Grigori batted it away with his hammer, careful to keep his actions minimized. The member twirled their knife back and forth between their fingers, a show of skill and uncertainty. Normal grip was easier to deal with but could lead to brute force attempts. Reverse grip was more immediate slashing power yet left Grigori more chance to succeed.

Ultimately, the DRK Triad member settled on a reverse grip and stepped forward. Suddenly, without warning. The dancer stepped off the track and sought autonomy, for it was unwise to remain static.

Unfortunately, Grigori punished the aggression to deadly effect. The first swipe cut his leather gauntlets deeply, and the second scored his flesh. The third sought to dig into his ribs, around his arm. Risky, and it let Grigori push his hammer straight into the other one’s nose.

“Graa!” Steel missed flesh by centimeters, and Grigori dashed around the man. His hammer clattered to the ground with an obnoxiously loud thud, and he wrapped his hands around the other's head. It left him in the perfect place to be knifed, and the blade rose to do so.

Their neck twisted unnaturally before it could become reality. And just like that, they too hit the ground. Alongside the rest of their group, corpses and dust all.

Grigori let go of the breath he unconsciously held, and gulped air like a drowning man water. It was over. They were safe. Howard was safe.

“Five,” he muttered. His arm wiped the red sweat from his brow, and left him as red as the Blood Moon Howard’s Pokémon conjured. “May your souls find peace.”

If only his could as well. “Mr. Fox, are you alright?”

---

howard slayte

Grigori slung the Pecha berries over his shoulder, roughly two-hundred-fifty poke dollars poorer as he trudged along the path in the Petalburg Woods. He felt slightly bad for the brick he sent through the shop's window, in the dead of night. He hoped the insurance would cover whatever he didn't with his money left on the counter.

But it was necessary, unfortunately. Time was of the essence here: he must be fast enough to help, and to dodge any potential Rockets that might also roam these woods. They would not be happy if he was caught not kicking stray Yamper or throwing rocks at the Furrets that ran through the woods at breakneck paces.

Like the two that locked onto him. They snarled as they leapt over fallen logs to maul and maim him. In response, the grunt reached into the sack and pulled out a couple Pecha berries. "Please, let this work!"

They did not. But they did instead get the berries instead of his flesh. They chewed and ate them in record time, but remained infected. This was, perhaps, not the end of the world. Whatever Pokemon chased him, as he readied his stack to crush the Toxic Chains, were a few less that chased the Celebi. 

"I can only hope," he said as he rocked the makeshift pendulum, "that this does anything at all."

Everything after that was a blur.

---

PROMPT COMPLETE: involve a PECHA BERRY in some way. (The first 15 characters will receive 10 mochi; the rest will receive 5 mochi - I AM NOT AT MAX MOCHI PLEASE HELP ME)