On a nice, emerald patch of grass, Grigori planted himself down.

The breeze gently grazed the land, and distant trees swayed softly. Beams of warmth coated him in their radiance, and distant Pokémon acted in the distance. None dared bother him, for the cruel whims of other trainers had taught them caution. Even the normally unstable paradoxes did little more than glare him down from the safety of distance.

Summer infiltrated his nostrils with the aroma of grass, pollen, and bustling life. Unlike some, allergies were not a struggle he had to contend with. Combee danced from brightly colored petals in their strict dance, and one buzzed faintly to his side. They too did not bother him, but for more innocent reasons. The sickeningly sweet nectar was vastly more important than a wayward soul.

This was nice...

“The offer of assistance is greatly appreciated, but it will have to wait until the lunch break is over,” Grigori explained. The current hustle and bustle was to escape the sun and rest in peace, rather than to proper fix things. but it was hard to see it any other way. “There is no work to be done right now.”

“As for a timeline…” Grigori glanced back at the worksite. He absently rubbed his chin and carefully assessed the progress. “I’ve only a wildcard guess, but if we’re lucky and things go smoothly, this row might be done within a month, perhaps two. Three if the architects change the blueprints. Again.”

It had caused a great deal of stress the first time. A second time would end in mutiny, and riots. They might tear the whole thing down again.

“For a more accurate assessment, I recommend a proper foreman,” he motioned to the side, where they also sat and watched. However, unlike Ameena, they wore the standard safety helmets and boots.

“How about your efforts, Dr. Ameena?” He turned his attention back to the researcher, hands held behind his back. “After all, these are but physical matters. Cities will be destroyed and rebuilt, but your work will make permanent progress in our understanding of the world.”

He had attempted to read some of her work, but Howard and his own lack of scientific knowledge made the endeavor a hard one.

---

ameena abadi

Barely, just barely, Grigori caught the hand of Temp. His foot did not sink further in, which mattered little when the entire thing threatened to collapse in on itself. “Mr. Quinn, what is happening?!”

Unfortunately, the tables turned quite quickly. The entire situation became an anomaly as the grunt soon found himself to be the one that kept them from certain death. Temp fell, and his foot was the anchor that let them live. Above, debris rained down from a–

Maw. Maw? The pieces slid into place like they slid off the tongue they rested on.

“That was a saliva or mucous of some sort,” he said to Temp. “To ensare us! Why did you not tell me of this before we started to cross?!”

It would have been nice to know before they became the lunch of… whatever this Pokemon was. But then wasn’t the time to argue. While one hand braced Temp’s in a desperate attempt to keep him alive, the other reached for his belt. Which of his six could help with the situation at hand?

It was rather obvious. When something needed to evaporate, Scizor was always capable. The red insect materialized from a flash of white. Metal clacked together as it quickly took stock of the situation. Grigori pointed upward, “Please, buy us time!”

Scizor nodded, and then it raced up the ‘pathway’. It’s Bullet Punches at every step would hopefully dissuade the creature from thinking they are food. For now, Grigori grabbed Temp with both hands and attempted to haul him upward.

“How do we free ourselves?” He asked through strained teeth. It sounded like Temp had an inkling of their situation– surely he had a solution as well? “And hurry!”

---

Tempest Quinn

Grigori stopped.

He tried to move his limbs, but they did not obey his orders. Hard as a rock, even his neck stiffened upon her command. Try as he might, there was nothing to be done. Not a nerve in his lips tried to open, to scream, to question, to ponder.

In all senses of the term, he ceased to be a person, but a golem to command. And thus, she did. Without knowing how his arms finally moved. But once more, not in a way he controlled. They pivoted the boat around, and rowed in the opposite direction. They were going back.

“I will not tell anyone about…” he finally said. An agreement to her desire. He tried to say what he would not talk about experimentally, but they left his mind as soon as they threatened to spill.

This was the power of an Avatar. No way around it. Unbeknownst to him, the Champion of Hoenn had gained powers beyond his understanding. Yet as he rowed away, he knew that this was going to remain under wraps.

There was no way to fight the will of her honeyed words, desperate as they were.

“Have a good day.”

---

Melody Miro

Across the scene, timers rang out. Bells, chimes, whistles, physical screams of excitement, groans of relief. A symphony of controlled chaos, yet all for a common goal. Grigori himself kept calm and reserved, but he let his handful of nails clatter back into the box all the same.

Beneath the sapphire blue sky, the clock struck noon. For construction workers across Petalburg, the blessed time had arrived. Ordained by Arceus itself. One hour of relief, of food and deliciously cold water. Some flocked to work trucks, and others began to huddle around cheap fans and water gallon jugs.

The grunt, instead, opted to visit the remnants of Petalburg. Not all had been destroyed. Some infrastructure had come out relatively unscathed. They’d been fixed first, if only to offer some normalcy to the people who remained.

Across the street was one such place. A very limited selection of stores remained, but remained they did. Usually occupied by the overseers, foreman, and…

Sometimes, on rare occasions, the cream of the crop of Rocket. For one reason or another, they procured spots at these little stores. They watched progress for many reasons. Boredom, being told to, waiting for noon to pull away select grunts for other matters.

“Good…” he glanced at his wristwatch. It now read twelve-o-one. “Afternoon, Dr. Ameena. What brings you to our productive worksite?”

howard slayte likely hoped it was to wait for her turn in the guillotine. He’d heard the groans and complaints about her ‘experiment’ plenty. To a nauseous degree. “Anything I can do to assist you?”

He hoped the sweat that caked his simple t-shirt and jeans did not smell atrocious. It was only natural, underneath the hot sun and under such physically demanding conditions.

---

ameena abadi

“I’m afraid I can not.”

Absolute shutdown of the notion. The idea survived a grand total of two seconds before it’d been brutally slaughtered. Its limited contact with reality was short and miserable. Much like this conversation.

Much like Annalise. He couldn't ignore it, even if he tried. Because of him. His heart throbbed.

“Ms. Annalise, Ms. June is… in a vulnerable spot,” he said. “She already feels abandoned. It would be dangerous to leave her now.”

For better or worse, it had not been him that directly caused her to push people away. But his actions meant he had to help her through the bumps and hurdles. howard slayte came to mind. Who knew what she’d do if left to her own devices.

“But this is not about Ms. June,” he sighed. “Ms. Annalise. I’m truly. Deeply. Vehemently sorry for my actions. This is the last thing you want to do. We both know it. And you are the one to pass judgement.”

“But you can not run away from the problem. Hide from it. It needs to be addressed properly, or it will continue to haunt you until you do,” he said. Even if June was not the conversation topic, she had a way to worm back into his life. “I’ve watched it happen time and time again.”

“If not for my sake, then yours. Do not close the door on your emotions. You need not hide.”

---

Grigori Sokolov

Such was the cutthroat way of Rocket. You had to take responsibility first and risk having your name attached to failure, or wait and risk having success branded under a different name. For most, it was the most dangerous game but well worth the risk. Grigori had yet to play.

He had joined Rocket for his own personal desire, and now would rather be dead than have his name attached to any horrific atrocities.

And speaking of…

“I was there as well, Mr. Quinn,” he said. His grip on the bag tightened. In the distance, he could still hear the rain against the rising surge. “We were doomed from the start. There was no chance, once the League cosigned themselves to helping Kyogre.”

Which would not have mattered, if Rocket had never dared set foot in Hoenn to begin with. Most failed to notice the domino that set everything off. He could not.

He had been part of the force that put it into motion.

But once again, he did not say such. “Perhaps, if you’ll allow me to speculate, it was a sign. The will of the gods is absolute. Our qualms are ultimately secondary in their eyes, and Kyogre was merely the reminder of the realm we tread.”

Much like the bridge they tread. It groaned, and Grigori raised an eyebrow forward. “That’s… not standard, is it?”

His foot sank into the ground, and he yelped suddenly. “Mr. Quinn!”

---

Tempest Quinn

Construction was more physically intensive that murder, Grigori found out the hard way. Early hours, nonstop action, and a surprising amount of mental labor as well. It took a lot of willpower to know what was needed for a job, where to put said supplies, the whole nine yards. Or perhaps it was the newness of it all. He'd never done this sort of work before. It was refreshing.

Unfortunately, he had the help from one Mr. Shred . 

"Mr. Shred, can you please hand me the handheld power saw?" he snapped and pointed straight to the rusty, worn down saw. Rocket could afford to wage a war, but funds for new equipment were always being micromanaged and watched with careful eyes. Did howard slayte do this on purpose, or had he pawned it off to one aspiring business major?

Sweat poured down his brow, and he wiped it away with his only free hand. A carpenter's pencil clung to his teeth, and the faint taste of graphite painted his mouth something foul. It mixed terribly with the smell of sawdust in the air. Construction occurred all around them, yet their miniature microcosm of action felt isolated from it all. People worked hard, but few as hard as him.

"Mr. Shred?"

At least, he would be if he had the power saw in his hands.

---

Shred

When all they possessed were hammers, then all their problems looked problematically similar to nails. But Grigori kept his mouth shut and nodded along. “I see…”

Xerneas’ death would go down in history as a necessary sacrifice. It would only be fitting for its sibling to die a needless, violent death. With a bang and fanfare, without dignity nor grace. But when was it not the case?

“I suppose you are not wrong,” Grigori commented. Temp’s eye contact was inquisitive, but he would find only the eyes that listened and the face that watched. It betrayed little of his damning thoughts, tucked away to be never seen. “I can only pray that it will be willing to work alongside us.”

The ones that spurned it away. He did not bring up the idea that if they attempted to kill it when there was a League party around to intercept, then they could just as easily attempt to befriend it. That had to be a thought his bosses had, right? What better motivator than murder?

"And speaking of work, I wouldn't attribute Petalburg entirely to Mr. Howard's actions, Mr. Quinn," he said. It sounded like he was a key factor, but there was a lot to a thing like a battlefield. Many moving parts ensured success more than a single soul. "To be frank, victory was assured when the League decided to engage on Sootopolis, and our Kanto forces moved on to Petalburg."

Howard's head was large enough as was. The grunt felt it in his bones. He would not contribute to its inflation more than necessary. Not after all the death experienced that day, in that city. Caused by their hands. 

He could only hope Howard struggled to sleep since that day. The alternative was much worse.

"What was more surprising was our failure in Mossdeep. Were you there, Mr. Quinn?"

---

Tempest Quinn