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The room was spinning. He could barely concentrate. What did he say? HBIC? His body felt separated from his mind- like witnessing himself in a dream. He's fucking lying. He's trying to disarm me. HBIC?? It was his turn in a situation that he controlled, but knew that position could be easily and fatally lost. If the man really was a fed, that made the situation much more dangerous for Povel. Dizzy, afraid, and running out of time Povel had to make a choice.
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He watched himself set the shotgun down against the inside of the closet with one hand while holding the grenade up in the other. His hand lightly pat around the man's pocket allowing Povel to feel the outline of a wallet. He reached in, pulled it out, and flipped it over. Under a transparent sleeve held an ID. It was covered in holographic and transparent markings as well as a large badge-like emblem, watermarking the right half of the plastic card. Povel had no idea what to look for, but this thing was full of so many security features that it just didn't seem feasible to attempt a counterfeit. It also wouldn't have made any sense for a Rocket member to return to a scene like this with identification even if it was fake. What would be the point?
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Povel looked at the man and back at the ID again- "Gunner Graves". HBIC.. I have to get out of here now. Povel set the wallet on the table and picked up his shotgun.
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The- Povel's sudden talking threw him into a coughing fit- his body's way of attempting to adjust to the situation. Even though his mouth was dry he still managed to send spittle in front of Gunner's shoes. There's nothing here and I didn't take anything either! With two of his free fingers, he reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a grenade pin, squeezed it back into the grenade, and placed it back onto his belt. Povel slowly backed up towards the door while cautiously watching Gunner to attempt his escape.
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Gunner Graves

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Make any moves and we both go fucking boom Povel stayed slinking in his cabinet-hiding position, shotgun pointed upwards in one hand and the other over the spoon of a pin-less grenade, daisy-chained to 4 others wrapped around his waist just in view behind his jacket. He was exposed. His eyes anxiously dart around the room spotting the Umbreon with his hands violently shaking. Povel hadn't had much experience in this situation before.
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I won't end up like your little project over there. He glanced at the body and then immediately back to Gunner- I'm sure you Rocket fucks love getting your 'intel' from children, but I'm no child and I sure as FUCK do not go down like one. Povel's spit flew out as he spoke. The room was spinning. An intense mixture of rage and fear swirled through Povel's blood vessels, pumped through his heart, and sent densely packed in his accented voice.
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Who the fuck is this boy?
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Gunner Graves

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Tek- Show me forward. Tek tweets once, Povel throws his arm into the air, and the obedient Fletchling takes off. Povel sits patiently on a rock, waiting for his companion to return with an answer. A few moments later Tek comes fluttering back, lands on his arm and tweets twice. Thank you. Povel hands Tek a seed.
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Povel stands up from the brush and slowly moves forward out of the tree line. The dense, tropical landscape of Route 119 comes in handy for situations like this. It's easy to move without being seen and in the unlikely event you get spotted, losing your tail is easy. Good for Povel and good for Rocket. Light brushing and mild crunching with his steps were the only sounds for a few hours up until a faint, electrical hum entered the mix.
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A power transfer station with a small, one-room, utility building made of concrete painted white. It's not a very important place, but a few members of some of the rocket squads use it for various things when they needed to get away. Rocket are clever, but they're still an organization with a lot of people- that means a need for common meeting places for whatever their organization's needs are. That also means a possibility for accidentally left behind intel. It's not extremely common, but it's one place in a network of many places on Povel's list.
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Ewa- watch. He sets the Pidove on one of the hand rails near the door. Povel enters the room through the loud, metal door, and turns the lights on. He immediately lifts up his shotgun, not likely to be needed, but you can't be too careful. After stepping forward a bit the smell of a decaying body fills his nostrils. Povel peeked around a folding table in the center of the room to find a man with blonde hair laying on the ground while tied to a knocked down chair.
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Povel squat down next to the boy. So young.. He looked as if he was straight out of high school, a young college kid at most. He also looked thoroughly worn over by some Rocket interrogators. Bluish purple face markings, a broken nose, and large, wooden splinters under his finger nails. He looked in his pockets and around the building- nothing. No identification or trail at all. Povel pulled his phone out and took a few pictures of the body.
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Ewa cooed. Povel suddenly snapped into flight, looking for the nearest cover. A small metal closet was all that was available in the tiny room, but it was his only option. With his slender frame, Povel squeezed into the closet and focused on calming his breath.
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Gunner Graves

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