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Rhys thought he had seen all manner of strange phenomena when dealing with pokemon, but an auditory trigger to summon a blinding rainstorm was new to him. "Oh, damn it," he cursed as the water began to pour down; he didn't enjoy the rain on his best days, but here - when flames were of critical importance - it was especially unwelcome.
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"I worry we don't have many options, ma'am!" he called back to Elisabeth Fiorelli over the sudden sussuration soaking the sands. Then again, at least there was a silver lining - he could barely see the outline of the Bronzong, and his Typhlosion, like the others, had gone from a beacon of heat to a stuttered flicker, but at least there was some respite from the arid desert. He'd privately enjoy it while it lasted.
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Their foe offered them no such reprieve, however, and so he directed his Typhlosion into a BLAST BURN that pelted the steel surface of their enormous adversary, clouds of steam sizzling up in protest.
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Rhys thought he had been doing rather well, all things considered, with finding a secluded spot away from those he recognized to be a little more...hotheaded than he'd usually prefer. Still, a small copse of trees was a small copse of trees, and he was too confident in his own preparations to notice that others in his vicinity had been afforded the same opportunity until his azure-blue Reuniclus developed a violet tinge.
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He glanced down and physically recoiled, noting the Toxic Spikes scattered about the area. Oz's Magic Guard would prevent the more detrimental effects of the poison, but danger was danger. Before he could act, a woman's voice shouted an attack, and Oz was sent twirling through the air into a nearby tree by the Power Gem of a hostile Nihilego, and Rhys blanched. Of course they'd have Ultra Beasts, they'd have brought their best game just as he had. "Come on, you're better than that," he admonished his pokemon, "Put up a LIGHT SCREEN!"
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The barrier shimmered into existence, ready to ward off another attack. The blow came in the form of a CLEAR SMOG that cast a milky haze across the area, but did little to the defense the Psychic-type had laid in place. Regarding the Nihilego and its trainer with narrowed eyes, offended on the behalf of his pokemon, Rhys snapped his hand forward. "I'm feeling like calamari for dinner."
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The Reuniclus recovered and surged forward, a flickering storm of pink energy battering the Nihilego with a PSYSHOCK as Rhys watched with satisfaction. Wait, was that ameena abadi behind the Ultra Beast? "Sorry! Well, not sorry, but big fan of your work!"
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Rhys was not one for expressing himself, typically, but when his Typhlosion successfully prevented the Bronzong from using its arms to unleash its planned attack, he pumped his fist quietly, down by his side, but enough that his triumph had an outlet.
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Soon, though, it would need another one.
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His companions battered the enormous pokemon with gouts of flame and magma, and while he thought they were making excellent progress, all things considered, the Bronzong had other ideas. As the deep, resonant tolls began to sound, shaking the ground underfoot and suddenly rendering him unable to hear - well, anything at all, really - Rhys clapped his hands to his ears, gritting his teeth.
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His Typhlosion needed no direction, though, responding instinctively with reverberating waves of her own: heat, rather than sound, OVERHEATING in an attempt to silence the maddening gong with rippling waves of its own. One pokemon's token resistance would hardly affect the creature, but Rhys had seen what his own eyes what four trainers acting in concert could accomplish.
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Rhys breathed a sigh of relief as the combined Fire-type assault shattered the Bronzong's barrier. That was one step done - maybe they could get through this, after all. Certainly the confidence and precision of the more experienced Rocket leadership was inspiring; if one learned by doing, Rhys was undergoing a crash course.
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It wasn't a fight for survival, or a battle against some metal-plated kaiju. It was simply a problem to be solved, and they had the calculations.
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His relief at the dispersal of the barrier was quickly replaced by concern as the massive pokemon readied itself for an attack. With a yell, he directed his Typhlosion: "Keep its arms down! Don't let it get momentum for a slam!"
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The pokemon responded with a fiery roar, an ERUPTION bursting forth to slam twin pillars of liquid flame into the Bronzong's appendage-like slats.
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Rhys pulled to a stop as the massive Bronzong erupted from the sands, blinking in consternation. He'd heard about the Dynamax phenomenon, but if this was anything like that, the reports did absolutely not do the real thing any justice.
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He released his own Typhlosion alongside Elisabeth Fiorelli, internally pleased that his choice aligned with hers. That had to be good for something, he supposed. "Don't let up?" he inquired, sizing up the gargantuan bell. "At least it's making itself an easy target..."
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Without waiting for direction, his pokemon launched herself forward in a flame-wreathed FLARE BLITZ, slamming against the enemy's barrier with a sound like crunching glass. He had no idea how even four of them could take on a creature this size, but he'd be damned if he was going to be the one caught coming up short.
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Rhys could comfortably say he hadn't had much experience in the desert, and equally comfortably say that after only a short time traversing the sands he'd be more than amenable to never having to stomp across the scorching sands again. While he had been excited to join Naomi Sato outside the laboratories for - well, for the first time he could recall - the prospect of not making an absolute ass of himself in front of both an admin and an underboss was a daunting one. He'd never so much as seen them before this expedition, and based on the blonde woman's mood souring the very air around her, he wasn't entirely certain that this was a better position, operationally, for him to be in.
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That is, he'd wanted to be noticed, just perhaps in more agreeable circumstances.
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Nonetheless, he carried on, his satchel slung across his back and a carefully-schooled neutral expression shaping his features in a way that he hoped didn't betray his complete misery at the effort of crossing the desert, the sweat beading his brow, and the fact that his clothes were already starting to stick uncomfortably in the wrong places.
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"Keeping up, ma'am!" he offered smartly - and he was. While his enthusiasm may not have been at one hundred percent, there was something to be said for having long legs when it came to treks to the middle of nowhere.

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He had expected something to be done regarding a staging area for the gauntlet, but the arena that had been constructed in Sootopolis put even Rhys' expectations to shame. No mere battle floor, the area posed almost too many options, terrain types, and strategies, wide enough to form a defense but close enough that he couldn't avoid engagement forever.
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Then again, that wasn't the goal of this particular exercise.
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His first order of business was to shuck his coat, fold it hastily, and stuff it in his satchel. White would stick out like a sore thumb against the natural environment, and had he realized this was going to be more akin to guerilla tactics, he would have prepared more appropriately.
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He surveyed the area briefly as he straightened; he couldn't get a bead on many participants, many having already moved to begin their preparations, but the shock of red hair flitting out of his field of vision had to be Aurelie Lefevre, and he mentally cursed. He knew firsthand that she could not only hold her own in a battle, but had an incisive mind for tactics. If any of the other competitors were similarly inclined, the prospects of advancing through the rounds was abruptly that much harder.
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He released Oz and slipped into a nearby copse of trees, the only terrain able to disguise his movements while not backing him against a wall. Maneuvering quietly among the slender trunks, he came to a resting point at length and gestured to his pokemon meaningfully.
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The Reuniclus spun in place, the air in a large cube around them sparkling as the space became a WONDER ROOM. As the visual effect sparkled into nothingness, only a faint distortion in the air remained to signify its presence. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could do in the circumstance, and any advantage was better than none.
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He hoped, at least.

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This was a little weirder than Rhys had expected.
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He'd sought Zev after his last run-in with the one-eyed bombardier, but had expected at best for the other man to respond with some recommended reading - or, if he were feeling particularly generous, maybe the name of another Grunt he could take lessons from. Instead, he was in front of Zev himself, which was somehow markedly more intimidating than their last meeting. Perhaps it was the close quarters, with no open sky above, or the fact that all Zev could and would assess was Rhys himself, with no pokemon to lean on.
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Still, while they warmed up, Rhys recalled why he appreciated Zev's directness: Rhys didn't have to busy himself with fawning or weighing his explanations, he only had to give an answer to the other's pointed questions, and the conversation would run itself. Fine by him, really.
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"No sports," he replied, glancing to the floor. "Some cardio. I do work out," he shrugged - he wasn't a bodybuilder, but he did his best to keep himself in good physical shape; reading enough medical textbooks seemed to have that effect on people. "I just don't know what to do with it, you know?"

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Tavish Rose. Finally, he had a name for the man, and it was one that was somehow at the same time uniquely foreign and so utterly pedestrian he wouldn't have recognized it from the name of his bank teller. Granted, he had not been to Galar - not set so much as a foot outside Hoenn, in fact - but this man clearly had no idea of the kind of enemies he was making.
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That naturally hinged on Rocket actually perceiving him as an enemy and not an annoyance. Rhys getting roughed up - or even killed - wouldn't be more than a blip on the radar of the organization, if it even warranted that, but if actual operations began to be impacted, that would be a completely different kettle of fish.
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His head was jerked to one side, roughly, and he couldn't hold another involuntary cough, the smell of peat and singed grass mingling with the scent of his own blood that filled his nostrils. Being stabbed, he decided, felt a little like being very tired or very drunk. Perhaps both.
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"Whatever," he ground out painfully as the other man rose. He was beyond mustering energy to stand, let alone construct witty repartee. Possibly, if he were lucky, he could bleed to death before Naomi Sato killed him for losing a shipment. That seemed to be roughly his speed, these days.
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A flicker of pink light winked into existence at his side, materializing into a Perry that seemed barely more conscious than Rhys was. The trainer's hand twitched feebly, but it was enough to come into contact with the yellow pokemon. The pair vanished with a final TELEPORT, leaving the wreckage behind as the sirens grew closer.
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If there's a next time, things will go differently, Rhys thought before he blacked out.

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Vindication.
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The other man's screams as Rhys dug his thumbs into Tavish's vulnerable eyes were music to his ears. Perry was down, Rhys was bleeding out, and any implements of healing - pokemon-shaped or otherwise - were in his satchel, which was currently Arceus knew where in the catastrophic melee resulting from the explosion and subsequent brawl.
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His sense of satisfaction was not matched by his strength, however, and while adrenaline might have had him tumbling around with Tavish and not immediately getting beaten to a pulp, the wound at his side, turning an alarming swathe of his clothing an equally alarming shade of crimson, slowly ebbed the fight from him. It was then almost laughably simple for Sir's blow to wrest Rhys's grasping hands from his head, followed by three sturdy blows to his face.
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In an eerie simulacrum of his Alakazam, Rhys could only collapse to the ground. He tried to regulate his heaving chest, but every rise and fall seemed to accelerate the internal substance that allowed his body to function becoming an external substance. His vision blurred, his face bruised and bloody, he couldn't even see the man properly as he grasped his knife, raising it for the killing blow.
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Only a silhouette.
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His mother should be so proud.
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The doctor clenched his eyes shut, the only movement he could muster, an instant before the blow struck. He still hurt like a bitch, though - and as he cracked his eyelids open to take in the unfolding events, his ruined lips curled into an ugly grimace at Tavish's words. "I don't need your pity," he spat, and blood came with it.
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He'd die for his pride. He'd done more for less.

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