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Povel was facing the inside of the sedan, bent over and fiddling with wires from the ignition as he finished connecting them to the explosive device. The door was open and the light on the inside of the car lit him up with a dull orange glow.
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"What are you doing in there?" He had not expected anyone to show up at this time. Povel couldn't see person calling out, but the voice did not sound friendly. He felt a frozen chill and his eyes widened with shock. He had to get out of there.
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All without saying a word, Povel tried his best to slowly and casually lean back up out of the car's driver seat area. Still facing the car, he slowly reached for the sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun in his coat. Once he found his grip he checked his feet and shuffled slightly to get into a better position. The sound of the loose gravel grinding against the tarmac was loud. His heart was beating fast and his neck was throbbing. Povel clenched his jaw and grit his teeth as hard as he could.
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With a sharp pivot, Povel pointed the gun to where he thought he heard the voice.
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BOOM BOOM
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Povel took off in a sprint, dashing between old parked cars. He couldn't tell if he hit anyone, but it didn't seem likely. That's okay- all he had to do was get away. He scurried around looking for the appropriate cover and distance to find a place to reload.
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jayden cross

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Povel took a long drag of his nearly burnt-out cigarette, held his breath, closed his eyes, and let the smoke out into the air. It was dark and humid- most people were comfortable inside their homes. Normally Povel would be as well, but his recent meeting with Gunner Graves had given him a burst of energy that he did not want to have go to waste.
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He was at the parking lot of an old mechanic shop. It's hard to find parking in the city, and even closed shops still got lots of 'business' if they have a few parking spots available. There was a newer-looking car he had noticed a few days ago that had taken one of his favorite spots. He hadn't given it any mind since no one ever parked here for very long, but this car stood out due to it staying there for days.
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After a bit of snooping around, Povel was able to determine that the car was being used as a drop point for Rocket. Different people would stop by to access the car, but no one ever drove it away. Sometimes there were documents, other times weapons.
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Povel dropped his cigarette onto the pavement, ground it out with his shoe, and pulled out a window punch. It wasn't very loud, a quick "tick" and a sharp crack was all it took before he was able to push out the remaining, broken glass. Povel opened the door and dug around under the steering wheel. A nice little ignition car bomb would satisfy his cravings for the night.
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jayden cross

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Excellent.. that café sounds perfect. Povel gently grabbed Gunner's note and tucked it into his jacket. This is the start of something promising Mr. Graves, he added, sharing a sincere and relaxed smile with Gunner.
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Povel turned to the bookshelf and took another copy of the widow's memoir. Then I'll see you there. He straightened himself up and brushed passed Gunner as he exited the narrow corridor between the bookshelves. He got himself checked out, the librarian at the counter serving him weird looks the entire time. He didn't mind, all he could think of was progress.
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Povel stepped outside into the bustling streets where car horns, sirens, voices, and other city-noise filled the air. The sky was overcast, and a light sprinkle of rain began to fall. Povel was hidden in the crowd once again, hopeful to make himself known with the help of his new friend. He was confident that with time that Rocket's triumph in Fallarbor's fall would soon become the catalyst for their worst nightmares.
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Gunner Graves

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No! Povel exclaimed more loudly than he intended. His limited understanding of the technology fueled his discomfort with using cellphones. Concerns of being tracked were important, but there were also a few moments during his work where he had to be as quiet as possible- Some of those quiet moments were unplanned and the ringing or buzzing of a phone could have jeopardized everything. His paranoia worked too strongly against him effectively rendering them useless.
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Povel surveyed the room after his outburst. Sorry- no phones. Not unless it's a pay phone. It would be best if we could have designated drop points or meeting spots. Given our proximity and ability to accidentally run into each other, this shouldn't pose an issue, right?
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He was starting to feel somewhat of a weight off of his shoulder, not just because of the human connection he so desperately needed, but in his mind he might have just gained a really important ally in his campaign against rocket. Public is good, but I think something with a bit more background noise would be better. Who knows how many more accidental outbursts might happen.
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Gunner Graves

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Shortly after Gunner's smile had faded away, Povel's grew as if it was being stolen from him. Nothing that would land either of us in any trouble I assure you. That wasn't exactly true, but Povel wasn't about to let that get in the way of his attempt to get what he wanted.
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I only need locations. He attempted to add as much confidence in his words as he could to help convince Gunner this wasn't a big deal. Things like main supply roads, outposts, camps- that sort of thing. I like working alone, but there are certain things that I can't get because of my lack of resources. Povel could be resourceful, but one thing he was very good at was understanding his own limits. Understanding a broad, high-level tactical understanding of Rocket's movements was not something he could do by himself. This was something that could only be done at scale.
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Look if it really bothers you- I don't even need anything specific. What I need is a better understanding of what goes on at Rocket at an organizational level. Gunner had already proven to him that Povel didn't know enough about the campaign by pointing out Sootopolis and Kanto earlier. You said you can't give information freely- that's fair. That means there's a price right? He knew that wasn't the exact meaning of the phrase, but weaseling his way closer to his goal was the only thing on his mind. Which are you.. Agent? Special agent? No.. I bet you're head special agent yourself aren't you? I could help you get a nice, cushy promotion! You wouldn't ever need to mention my name. I told you earlier didn't I? I'm a ghost.
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Povel's smile widened as he spoke and his crooked teeth began to show, overlaid in front of his snake-like tongue. What do you say, head special agent?
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Gunner Graves

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Gunners handshake was warm, secure, and supportive to Povel. It felt like letting a weight off of his shoulders. He spent so much time mentally sifting through people to categorize them as enemy or background noise. He may have almost forgotten how to see people as any type of source of benefit- least of all as something that could provide comfort. A simple, friendly gesture is what Povel had been missing for years.
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No I.. Povel averted his eyes in shame. I haven't been back home yet. Mentions of bakeries and family gatherings sounded close enough to the past reality of what Fallarbor used to be before the invasion, but those memories were so far away to him that they almost didn't seem real anymore. Fallarbor to Slateport.. That's a funny coincidence. We seem to migrate to similar places pretty often.
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The shared experiences and sudden comradery that Povel felt with Gunner loosened his tightened muscles. He was made tipsy by the pleasure of safety. It was enough to take a small risk. In a soft, firm voice, Povel spoke with him. Mr. Agent... Mr. Graves. I am starting to think that perhaps our initial meeting was not an accident. Please allow me to be blunt- you have information that I need. He looked at Gunner with serious intent, tired eyes pressing against Gunner's, never blinking or skipping a beat. Maybe you didn't intend to follow me to the shed or this library, and maybe you really didn't know my name. But I see you. I know that your career path requires a very specific skillset, and I believe that you see me too. You know what I am. A dark silence crept through the bookshelves and into the corridor where they stood, one that was shared only between the two men facing each other.
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We have the same enemy Gunner. Will you help me?
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Gunner Graves

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Rocket maintaining a foothold in multiple cities for years wasn't something that Povel wanted to admit to himself, and the mention of it made him wince, like a finger was being pressed into an old, aching wound. Rocket had the strength of a smaller militia during the Fallarbor invasion, and the damage they did back then was beyond devastating. Is that so.. almost seven years..
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-I wasn't there to defend my home- Before Povel had a chance to give another pointed response, he was halted with Gunner's revelation. His mouth was slightly open and eyes tilted downward. Despite all of the time that had passed since his home was attacked, Povel was never able to properly process any of it. The trauma of what he experienced lived in him like a poison- one that only seemed to get stronger with time.
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Povel held his books firmly and recalled their first meeting. There were plenty of times where things could have gone south, but for one reason or another, slightly more mistakes than usual, and dumb luck, fate was able to bring them together.
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The paranoia and fear of being watched had melted away. The agent that Povel feared had morphed into someone that resembled a brother that had been found after being lost for decades. Your home?.. You- yes I was there.. You lived there? When? This was the first time Povel had knowingly spoken to anyone from Fallarbor since.
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He hadn't ever really anticipated what it would be like to have time be distant enough that the invasion would be transformed from a living nightmare into history, but it shocked him how normal everything was. Being in an orderly building with quiet strangers, sounds of paper pages flipping and distant coughs. It felt excruciatingly mundane and lonely.
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He wanted to scream and shout and cry but was trapped in the reality of public expectations. Two men stood in front of each other, trapped between bookcases, ensnared by some of the strongest emotions a human might be able to feel.
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He reach his hand out towards Gunner. A warm and friendly offer to shake hands and perhaps restart. I am Povel.
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Gunner Graves

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Mr. Shotgun.. Povel huffed silently. Please.. we both know you're smarter than that. He was firmly convinced that Gunner's presence was a demonstration of power, a sure sign he was fully aware of Povel's identity and background. An intimidation tactic to let Povel know that he could be found whenever HBIC wanted to find him. Has the nickname grown on you?
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He sighed. If he was right, there wasn't any point in playing dumb. You won't learn anything new from these. They'll all tell you the same thing; Rocket moves quick and crude. They don't care about holding territory, especially with how they bomb the shit out of everything, but sometimes they get lucky and hold onto their spoils for a month or two. From a tactical point of view, they attack the most vulnerable, unguarded places at random to keep pressure and maintain their threat.
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Povel eyed the book, contemplating whether to return it to its place. No, these books will mostly tell you about their brutality. They'll tell you the scent and taste of concrete once it's been blasted into the air. On the back cover was the author's portrait, alongside a brief memoir identifying her as a widow and survivor of the invasion. From a human point of view, they just love killing.
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Povel glanced upward towards Gunner. Hmm.. perhaps you could learn from this. He extended the book towards Gunner. For you, Mr. Fed.
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Gunner Graves

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Povel took a slow, deep breath. He wasn't sure how the man found him, but to be honest it wasn't unexpected. A member of the HBIC would have enough resources to find anyone they wished with enough time- Povel had just hoped he would have a little more.
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Regardless of what the man was actually here for, Povel knew that reacting to Gunner with any speaking volume other than library-appropriate would draw in of a lot of unnecessary attention. I don't know yet.
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Without breaking contact, Povel crouched down to pick the book up. It was splayed open; pages facing the ground. He grabbed the book's spine with his right hand, allowed the pages to fall as to naturally unbend themselves in the right direction, then closed it with a soft thud. Then, he stood back up. We'll see how true it really is.
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You're Gunner, yes? He was tense, but remained cooperative in tone. You didn't answer my question. What do you want from me?
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Gunner Graves

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It took a while for Povel to get used to living in Slateport. For most of his life he had lived in small countries with even smaller cities. The streets were perfectly grid-shaped and there was always a crowd to be found- a vast difference compared to the quiet, natural-winding roads of his old village. Living in a big city wasn't without its benefits though. The ability to hide in the crowd was important to his own safety, Povel was convinced. Plus there were other nice public services.
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The library in the city was very nicely maintained and had loads more literature available compared to where he had previously lived. Another benefit, and arguably the most important, it was free. Povel wore his work's signature navy blue jumpsuit and on top of that, his trench coat jacket. The jacket was open, barely covering the name tag on his uniform reading "Sanitation Team: Po-".
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He had a few skills that he needed to brush up on, and the recent events that happened in the forest had suddenly shifted their priority to be very high. He already had a few books tucked away in his left arm: "Evasion and Escape FM 21-77" and "Improvised Munitions Handbook TM 31-210". They were watered-down civilian editions of military education handbooks, but it was still somewhat surprising they could be found in a public library. He had another he was interested in: "Fallarbor Under Siege: A True Account". This one was just for fun.
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As Povel pulled the book out, he felt the warm presence of another person turn the corner. Excuse me. Just passing by- and in an instant that warmth transformed to cold. Povel finished pulling the history book out of the shelf but his shock caused him to drop it onto the floor.
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Before he even had a chance to read FM 21-77- Povel had been ambushed by the fed for the second time. Povel's fight or flight response was kicking in, with the urge to flee rapidly taking a strong lead. What the fuck? What the fuck do you want?
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Gunner Graves

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