And there was her attack: A pounce. A single, effortless strike that let the lioness sink her teeth into Grigori’s neck. Like he asked for it himself, he walked right into the worst possible situation of this conversation. One he knew could potentially happen, but no way to predict.

Underboss Elisabeth was a rightful bi– unpleasant woman.

How the hell did he navigate his way out of her grasp without lying? A near-impossible feat. But the clock ticked, and the orchid watched with bated breath.

“I do not disagree with your assessment of secret desires. But, I would argue that subconscious desires drive us to action more often than we would believe,” he said. Fluff that didn’t answer either of her questions immediately, but let him segway.

“I would say the Chien-Pao acted upon this subconscious desire, rather than any active but secretly kept passion of mine. And if I had to guess upon what the basis of that subconscious desire was…”

Oh, there was a potential out after all. Not a very good one. In all honesty, there was still a non-zero chance that she ordered a secret hit on the man right after or during this impromptu meeting. But the alternative was the silence that damned him, or an outright confession… which did the same thing.

“I will apologize in advance. Ms. Fiorelli, your conduct when around that snail was quite abhorrent. Many grunts complained about your demeanor and were very much unhappy with the situation overall,” he adopted his rigid stance right away, as if to brace himself against the storm. “And all I’ll say is that I did not disagree with them at the time.”

All of this was perfectly true, if damning. For Arceus’ sake, she locked him with howard slayte and Shred inside the private Rocket baths with the damn thing. Downright disastrous, and at least one of them should’ve perished inside there. But Howard is a lucky kind of guy, Shred is constantly ingesting arguably more lethal poisons on a daily basis.

---

Elisabeth Fiorelli

A jolt of panic shot through Grigori’s eyes. Fuck. She knew about the incident with Zev Harcourt, didn’t she? That… complicated things tremendously. That, or it involved the meeting in the Cave of Origin. The one where he tackled her. Which made it extremely personal. Both options boaded ill will for his request.

And both had some higher position pissed off at him.

“I believe I was placed in there because of the incident at the last major Team Rocket meeting. The one where that beast arrived from thin air,” Grigori guessed. The safer of the two options; the one that didn’t get him on yet another shit list. If this wasn't it though... “The one where I assaulted you.”

“Which, I must apologize for… and ask you to understand the circumstances,” he added on carefully. The verbal equivalent of walking on eggshells. “Once that feline showed up, an awful aura filled the room. Everyone was affected, including myself.”

“I will not hide behind the excuse it provides, but rather use it to springboard into an opportunity to explain the situation and tie up any loose ends regarding that situation,” he said. He sniffed once, then twice. He stole a long glance at the pink orchid on her desk. An… orchid, if memory served correct.

The grunt’s muscles relaxed all over his body, and his posture suffered ever so slightly for it. At least the lioness knew how to appear approachable at first glance.

---

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Despite the laughter, Grigori’s heart only sank further as she relayed the terrible news. “I see… I can not disagree with you there. That would not allow for a generally pleasant time…”

Arceus be damned, it seemed neither of them were capable of good tidings this dark weeknight. Maybe it was the general vibe, or perhaps how they initially started their conversation. It could very well be that today was simply not a good day for either of them. Regardless, it felt like a boulder upon his mental psyche.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try one last time. One last monumental effort to clear up this abysmal atmosphere. Even if it was exclusive to the two currently sat at this table, it was better to try than to throw up his arms and call it quits.

“At least we are all aware of the problems. We’re in it together, regardless of affiliation,” Grigori said brightly. “We can… watch each other's backs, and share our experiences in solidarity. That means something to me, even if only a little.”

---

Lulu Flint

A request, or rather, a demand, to meet with Underboss Gavin–Cillian, usually fell into two distinct categories. Both required him to take note of you and your existence. Whether that be from an anonymous source or the follow-up to a threat of doing so, failure to comply was simply not an option. It was never an option, but Grigori felt that little besides death could abstain one.

As to the contents of the meeting, the first reason was to… ask questions. Whether it be about how some operation is going, concerns about the performance of their grunts, or simply about some potential research opportunities. There was generally little cause for concern, but one could never let their guard down. It never took much to cause larger problems.

Which is what the second type of meeting was concerned with: you had fucked up somewhere along the line. Great or tiny, significant or not, if Cillian saw it as a problem, then you’d get to talk with him privately about how much of a fuck up you are. In rare scenarios, rumors cropped up. How some grunts went but never came back. 

Grigori pondered if they’d make a missing person report about him, as he solemnly strolled towards the Underboss’ office.

When he considered that his recent actions for Team Rocket amounted to odd jobs with or for Shred or howard slayte , it certainly wasn’t the first type of meeting. He’d been at the swamp with heavy Megalopolan activity, but there were an equal amount of reports written about the event. His insight wasn’t monumental to its understanding. Absolutely nothing stood out about him in any category, outside of the number of years he’d seen.

But he did distinctly recall a rather hasty talk with Zev Harcourt a few months prior. One in which he acted rashly, but justly, in. However, it had involved beast Zev, and it hadn’t ended remotely positive. No, the only surprise to this was how long it took. The man must’ve been incredibly busy, or he was doing it to get the prior mentioned Beast off his back.

Whatever the case, the grunt finally reached his office. Sweat clung to his skin, barely overpowering his cologne with a twinge of unpleasantness. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, too dry to pry off. With one last prayer to whichever divine being listened, Grigori entered the office.

No need to humor pleasantries. It would be anything but. “Underboss Cillian. You requested to see me?”

---

Cillian Quinn

This wasn’t a no, at the very least. She even remembered Grigori’s name. More likely a sign of concern, but it did not stop him from quickly entering and shutting the door quietly behind him. Now, he was fully submerged inside the den of the beast. Perhaps not in looks, but certainly in demeanor.

Reputations were not changed in a single night, after all.

“I hope not to be intruding onto your business, but I will keep it quick regardless,” he said as he slowly approached her desk. It was easy to see the manila folder in his hands, one that was evidently thick.

While not as easy to spot from a distance, said distance closed before long and became impossible to ignore once the cream-colored folder was laid on her desk. Gently, with much consideration for the rest of the paperwork that adorned her desk. Brown eyes met her green ones, his filled with careful determination.

“To keep it short: I was assigned to the Anger Management Program very recently, perhaps even by your hand,” he put his arms behind his back and stood at attention, “but I disagree with the assignment, and ask to be removed from said program effective immediately.”

“Inside that folder will be records of my previous two assignments to the exact same program, as well as the flying colors that followed my ‘graduation’, as one might put it,” he explained.

If Elisabeth were to open and examine the files, what he described would be exactly as written within the first part of it. Nothing but glowing compliments and certification of his control over his anger. It seemed impossible to suspect him of ever being full of anger and rage.

But if she went any further, she’d see a drastically different story. A history of failure.

While said failure ended around three years ago, history did not hide anything. Back twenty-five years, when he had first been assigned, each review held a wide swathe of dismal remarks. From the nicest yet honest truth to the harshest of criticisms perhaps ever seen in the program, an entire spectrum of how he failed to show any restraint made itself shown.

One that was almost impossible to ignore.

“I understand if you need time to review my case,” he said, “or possess any doubts, Ms. Fiorelli. If you have any questions or concerns, I am here to answer them to the best of my ability.”

---

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Grigori approached the office with only slight apprehension. Sure, he’d seen plenty of bossy admins in his many years of employment. The kind that everyone hated at best, that were to be avoided at all costs, and likely held the record for written complaints to Human Resources (not that they cared either). Hell, he even held proof as to what he was going to claim to Elisabeth Fioreli.

But only a fool entered the lion's den both willingly and without hesitation. They died fast, usually without any clue of what occurred. Perhaps a better fate– the heartbeat in the back of his head felt atrocious. He could only imagine how it’d pound in his chest as he stared down the ferocious beast with fangs bared.

But it was important that he do this. Anger Management? Sure, he had failed the course numerous times. More than he could recall. But the last two times he’d been assigned both willing and not, he passed with flying colors. A role model, even.

So, with one deep belly sigh, Grigori the Grunt knocked softly on the wooden door to Ms. Fioreli’s office. After a few moments, he cracked the door open a smidge. Just enough to reach his head through and quickly take stock of the situation.

“Ms. Fioreli,” Grigori said quietly, “I know I did not make an appointment, but is there any chance we could chat for a spell? Shouldn't take more than a few minutes.”

---

Elisabeth Fiorelli

“Ms. Lulu, nothing as important or esteemed as you, I’m afraid,” Grigori relaxed back into the comfortable chair. No wonder she had such detailed and elaborate thoughts on their conversation topic prior: she was one of the spearheads in the field. He was in the presence of an educated scientist. A twinge of regret stung his heart, yet it passed as quickly as it went.

Perhaps, in another universe, he was just as illustrious. But not this one.

“Just a grunt. I suppose someone has to do the dirty work,” he said. “Might as well be the one who has done it for…”

He joined at the ripe age of sixteen, around a month after that one fight. That would place it at January of the next year… which was… Arceus. A shudder shook his body. “A touch over thirty years.”

His shoulders slumped, “I never thought it would sound as… depressing. Never felt as bad when I thought it in my head.”

The grunt shook his head slightly and forced himself back upright. He could not let the conversation get as dismal as it had been a minute or two prior. This was supposed to be a relaxing night, not a dreary one. “But no matter. Everyone has their part, their song and dance. Has your research gone relatively smooth, all things considered?”

---

Lulu Flint

“They haven’t done it because it would be mutual destruction,” Grigori tossed his own cigarette down to the ground. He ground it to ash and dust beneath his boot. Sugar looked up at her trainer in vague, tired interest. “Furthermore, none of the other regions care enough about Hoenn’s dilemma. Otherwise, Johto wouldn’t have happened. Hoenn wouldn’t be happening.”

Many different factors went into the question of ‘why was Rocket able to get away with their shenanigans?’ It was a complicated fight, an even more complicated dilemma, and overall just a mess of politics and strategy that had led to where they are now. However, the annihilation of the region left everyone out of the race.

Until Johto boasted they had won the war, even if it lost the final battle.

“Perhaps most importantly, and what Mr. Howard was trying to say, is that the League does not care about a couple of grunts causing problems. They do care about named figureheads with sway or responsibility,” he explained tiredly.

How long had these thoughts brewed within Shred’s head? These words felt planned and deliberate, as if they had been thought up years ago but never surfaced. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to arm and detonate as soon as the moment arose.

“And given our records, a leash is the last thing anyone would give us. A bullet between the eyes is the minimum.”

---

Shred howard slayte

For many others, this would’ve been a good segway into a discussion of theory, interesting viewpoints of their world, and everything else underneath the umbrella. Of obligations, selflessness. One he would’ve gladly done launched into as they stepped into the lair of the bird.

Instead, the strange bird was absent and so was Grigori’s enthusiasm. “Makes sense.”

Fault lied with him, he realized as he nodded along and acted the same as Admin Bee. He should’ve expected such an obvious, straight to the point answer. What else would one of his bosses say? ‘Death to Rocket’? Preposterous.

Instead of a conversation the grunt desperately wanted to have with someone, anyone, he set up various instruments around the perimeter of the nest and kept his mouth shut. Silent, methodical work for a supposedly silent, methodical man.

Whatever Admin Bee asked, he would do as they did their work and eventually left. Peachy.

---

BARNABY FINCH

“Unfortunately so,” Grigori agreed. At least this person didn’t directly tell him off for what he said. Perhaps she texted someone underneath the table, and he’d arrive home to someone like Zev Harcourt , who would stomp him out as simply as he did a lightbulb. Perhaps ironically, only time would tell as to what would happen after this day.

Yet as the silence wore on for a few more seconds, realization physically dawned on his face. It was followed by a faint blush of red. He let out a sigh to soothe the soul, “I… apologize, miss.”

“To speak about myself for a moment, I came here to try and escape the troubles of life. Only to drag them to you instead,” he admitted. The hope that he could simply enjoy a night to himself, crushed by his own hand. “It's only now that I realize this. This was not my intention, but that ultimately means little.”

Ultimately, this was not the absolutely worst thing to happen to either of them. At most, he likely ruined the last couple of minutes for them. But it still left a sour taste in his mouth, one that the last dregs of his root beer couldn’t wash down. Not even the apology eased his peace of mind.

“This would be the part where I offer to pay for your dinner, but I saw you take care of that already,” he said. That didn’t leave much for him to do other than a favor. A prospect he hesitated to even hint at– favors in this line of business usually lead to violence and bloodshed.

“Maybe… we should start with names. Since we forgot those. Mine is Grigori.”

---

Lulu Flint

Grigori fared no better than his compatriots against the awful gas that choked them to death. A week-old corpse held no candle to this stench, this acrid odor. He couldn’t help but cough violently. Unfortunately, this only made the problem worse as he sucked in more of that Poisonous gas.

“Mr… Howard… genius…” he managed to get out between coughs and steps. He did his best to follow the Archeologist, but the shots from Shred and the several stupid golden statue Pokémon stopped him very early on. All he could do was arm himself with one of the errant mops that lie on the ground.

“Catch!” He tossed the implement to Howard. With his task finished, he collapsed to the ground. Grudges festered in his mind, and poison filled his bones like cement. Perhaps it was for the best. The grunt could easily take the other two in a fight.

While this happened, Lenny tried to and failed to catch its cigarette midair. “Hey hey hey! You gluttonous glob! Perfectly good waste of a cigarette. This is why Pa never fucking loved you!”

Wait, where the fuck did Donald come from? That bastard owed it money too! Before it could proclaim as much, though, Chester walloped him right good on the head. It held its head and fell to its knees as pain wracked its noggin.

“That’s how you greet a sibling? Wise up to THIS,” it held out a free hand and gathered dark energies in the palm of its hand. Before long, a massive orb of shadow formed and then flung itself right into Chester’s chest. It turned to Donald, gaze full of anger and malice.

“Hey, you useless bastard! Help me get this lousy lumpsum luxury, and we can split it even! No tricks,” it held out a hand to the other golden statue, words nearly genuine. However, it also crossed its fingers behind its back– the oldest trick in the book. So long as the idiot failed to notice, it’d be richer than rich.

Hopefully that weird snail didn’t tell them either. Then Lenny would have to murk it as well, and that’d get very messy very fast. No one fucked with Lenny. No one.

---

Elisabeth Fiorelli howard slayte Shred

“None taken,” Grigori assured Shred. Being a Grunt wasn’t sunshine and rainbows. Someone had to do the menial work, which fell to the lowest rank. They all knew it well enough, and he’d be fine as the only one still in the position. Thirty years ensured some level of comfortability, even if it rested on the perch of a cliff.

But it wasn’t the sudden flipping of the power dynamic that concerned him. Sure, they’d probably be more busy. Sure, they were right in that they could make them help. But… they didn’t give grunt work to higher-ups.

They did stuff that made him more recently be grateful he never rose in rank.

The grunt continued to rub the head of the feline, if only out of his own selfish need. A thousand worries plagued his mind, and this only doubled their intensity. Not even the addicting nicotine could assuage the feelings that swirled in his head. Ones that he could’ve sworn to see flicker behind Howard’s eyes

Not even if the one person he cared about wouldn’t have to worry about his organization ever again.

“Do not fret about me, either way,” he concluded as a puff of smoke chased after his dour words. “After thirty years, not much can phase me.”

For worse. “Besides, I’m not… looking for work, for lack of a better term. Or the others in your ranks to grow jealous of our little group.”

… What else could he possibly say without pissing all over the good mood of Shred or the vaguely positive vibe of Howard? The mental list looked harrowingly empty. “But if you need my help, I suppose I’m always available. If you need.”

“Like a cake,” Grigori quickly followed up. “If I had known about this beforehand, I would’ve whipped one up. Do you know if this little shop has one, perchance? I can grab one if you want."

---

Shred howard slayte

Grigori glanced around, the first time he showed any amount of fearful restraint. As if he wanted to say something, but the consequences prevented it from coming out from the back of his mind. He looked content enough with the people in the small restaurant, or perhaps they were far enough, that he looked back to Lulu with a cautious look.

“I’ll be honest: there is not a chance in hell that Rocket will ever stop using the Tera crystals. Likewise, I doubt the League would either. And a truce on the matter only exists in the mist that you claim to haunt our expedition,” he said, voice barely above the background chatter.

Rocket would never give up something if it had any chance to backfire on them. They were at war, and an arms race was about the best way to come out on top. Furthermore, there only existed so many mythical and otherwise legendary Pokémon to join either side. That left the things that came around from time to time, seemingly out of nowhere.

“League, Rocket– neither will give it up. I’ve been here too long, and seen it happen too often,” he said with a strange fire in his eyes. “Perhaps I’m crazy. Maybe all I’ve said is borderline seditious. But… you know it just as well as I. This is a force here to stay, and it’ll be used as such.”

“I just hope those without a foot in the race aren’t crushed beneath the steps of the giants,” his eyes glazed over, somewhere far, far into the distance. Like he stared at the past itself, rather than his new companion. “Those who choose not to use it, for better or worse.”

Grigori braced himself for a stern warning; he’d done the same with many like-wise minded folk before. He knew the dangers of what he said, even if vague and generalistic. The admins did not appreciate slippery slopes, and the identity of the woman across from him was an unknown.

---

Lulu Flint