Footsteps sound outside the cell, and Orion glances up. Given the circumstances, Tam Fawley is the last person he expects to see. Alarm seizes in his chest, rendering him breathless.

"Tam."

Arceus, how was he going to get himself out of this?

You're not. He knows it before the Captain even opens his mouth, and the level expression worn by the other does nothing to tamper Orion's certainty. He'd been given a second chance and he'd blown it in spectacular fashion. You're done.

The anger with which he'd defended himself to the officers who'd booked him in has since deflated, and Orion cringes from the accusation.

"I know," he mumbles, "I'm sorry."

It wasn't Tam's fault he was a walking disaster.

mission: cut one's losses

Choi's Pokémon are fortunate; Orion's bloodlust is only for him. There's a sick, frightening sense of accomplishment that claws in Orion's chest as he watches Perseus slam into his target with all the force of an oncoming train, screams going up from the gathered civilians in tandem with a cloud of dust and sand.

When it clears, what Orion sees is the stuff of nightmares.

What are you?

He refuses to back down.

"Fuck you."

Perseus grunts as the SKY UPPERCUT connects, the pink hues of his fur and PSYCHIC MEMORY installed into his RKS SYSTEM enduring the attack with relative ease. The Z-MOVE had taken a lot out of the Sivally, but for now it remains on its paws and fires back with a PSYCHIC-TYPE MULTI-ATTACK toward the bipedal bunny. Altair contends with the Altaria, a clap of THUNDER heralding lightning's strike.

Altair snarls as sharp thorns dig into his paws and vines attempt to twist around his limbs. Embers flicker around parted jaws before a FLAMETHROWER erupts from his maw to sear the entangling roots. Though the NIGHT SLASH had been successfully blocked, FIRE clears a path for Orion's up close and personal revenge.

He's still getting used to his prosthetic, but that doesn't stop him from punching Chu-e square in the mouth.

It's an odd sensation, a brief sink of metal-into-flesh before a jolt reverberates through the artificial limb as if he'd punched a wall. He's so furious he doesn't think to question that this might not be a side-effect of the new arms unusual sensations. He's seeing red.

"I'm going to kill you, motherfucker."

Titanium fingers flex and flash in the sun as a pokeball drops into his hand. Perseus needs no introduction to Chu-e Choi. The Silvally remembers, and it hates.

"Break his neck."

With a BREAKNECK BLITZ, the Silvally aims to do just that.

She understands.

He can hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes. Whether or not she'd since adjusted to the jarring sensation of taking a piece of one's life back was irrelevant. What mattered was that at one point in time, she'd been just like him, maybe just as scared and just as vulnerable.

Muscles tense involuntarily as the Rotom approaches, nerves that weren't used to their new attachment firing up and causing metal fingers to twitch in want to curl. And then, as the Rotom settles into the prosthetic, those fingers do curl, and Orion feels the sensation of knuckles pressed against his palm, the bend of his elbow as he jerks his arm in shock, the brush of fabric against what wasn't skin but almost felt like the real thing. When he closes his eyes he can nearly pretend that he's whole again.

The warm sensation of tears sliding down his cheek isn't new, but for once he forgets to feel ashamed of it.

His movements with the arm are sharper than can be considered natural, but he moves. Altair makes a soft rumbling sound in his throat, somewhere between a whine and a cat's purr, before getting up to nudge Orion's metallic hand with his muzzle. Fingers uncurl, adjust, and with certain rigidity stroke through the Pokémon's white fur.

"This is what I want." The strange sensation of the Rotom's conscience interfacing with his own doesn't bother him in the least. His voice is choked with emotion. "I'm sure."

@isaac thinks he's doing those Pokémon a favor. Orion? He doesn't care. Not about the Pokémon — each and everyone one was sacred and deserving of protection, even those belonging to criminals — but about the reason behind the thievery that sends up a red flag for Slateport's Rangers on standby.

"Lykos en-route to the Lower District. Five minutes out."

Chatter on the radio from other Rangers reveal he's the closest, and so it falls to him to intercept as Isaac carves a path down moonlit streets.

"Tianyi, get us up to the rooftops."

The TELEPORT executed by Orion's ALAKAZAM finds them on the roof of a squat apartment building in the lower district, a good vantage point of the streets that sprawl below. In the tranquility of dusk, it's not hard to spot the motorcycle. When the runaway Rocket takes a turn down a narrow, isolated road, Orion sees their chance.

"Cut him off."

Another TELEPORT sees the ALAKAZAM warp straight into Isaac's path.

Orion exhales, shaky. "Okay."

He'd done this before, in the previous fittings, but the sensation is no less strange than the first time. It's a bit of a struggle to find the right angle and pressure with his remaining arm and his cheeks turn red with the anxiety of eyes on him during such a personal and intimate experience. Eventually he manages, the jolt of nerves connecting making his heart jump in tandem.

It's OK. You're OK.

He can't quite figure how to flex his fingers, but the elbow bends stiffly under his desire. It's not the same. It's not enough. Panic threatens, but he reminds himself of what his therapist had told him. You don't start hiking by climbing a mountain. He'll get used to it. Maybe the Rotom will help. That he can feel when he shifts his weight to look at the chipper Ghost-type and his arm bumps against his thigh is a sensation that makes heat burn behind his eyes. He'd resigned once to never feel it again.

He finds himself looking to @nikita in this moment of intense vulnerability, perhaps searching for someone who understands. Her serious expression lies in stark contrast to Mason's cheerful demeanour but that's comforting in its own right. She knows what a big deal with is.

"I'm ready."

Orion's smile is tight as he glances at Mason. "Hey. I think we are, yeah."

A glance is spared to the Absol flanking him at we, Altair leaning his weight against Orion's hip in order to offer silent support. The Absol's intelligent red eyes sweep over the other two in the room without hostility.

"His name's Altair."

Orion sits down in the chair, adjusting his weight until he's comfortable. Altair pads to his right side, allowing Mason or Nikita to approach, and sits down with a soft huff. The surgery to graft the socket onto his left shoulder had gone well, with Orion religiously following all of the discharge orders given. It's... weird. But not bad.

"So how does this work?"

Orion can't stop shaking. It had been in anger, at first, so overwhelming that he hadn't felt the pain of Chu-e Choi's retaliation behind his white-hot rage. Then it was the come-down from the adrenaline, limbs shuddering as clarity and pain returned in equal measure.

Now? Now he's just scared.

He's never been to jail before, no less for assault on a civilian. They'd treated the former councilman with a degree of sympathy on account of his obvious trauma and repeated insistence that said civilian had been the one to imprison and mutilate him, but they'd still believed Choi in the end. That was more humiliating than being handcuffed and booked into the Slateport Police Department, honestly.

He'd been on the job when they'd arrested him, too, necessitating a call to his ranger captain Tam Fawley. Chu-e Choi has already taken everything from him, and now he's going to strip him of his dignity and his job, too.

mission: cut one's losses

Orion, too, sees a noticeable shift in demeanour when the cheerful Yamper pads into the room. He laughs softly at her excited bark, rigidity melting before fondness.

Clover? He smiles. "Cute name."

The dog bed and poster make sense with the context he now has. His smile, too, is fleeting... but it allows a glimpse into the man he'd been before the incident. Guarded but not hostile, anxious but not aggressive.

Orion shakes his head, and sees himself out.

Orion has no desire to participate in the festivities. If anything, it annoys him that his assigned patrol along Slateport beach was so much more crowded than usual, children and Wingull screaming in tandem and the raucous laughter of those spectating the Mantine surf grating on his ears. He might've begged Tam Fawley for reassignment if he wasn't so determined to prove himself an asset.

It's almost over. One more day.

At least he has Altair for less grating company. The Absol pads calmly at his side, stopping occasionally to poke his nose into some discarded treasure of the sand, at one point nearly earning a pinch on the nose from a Krabby that had burrowed in deep. A red service vest marks the Disaster Pokémon as a service Pokémon, too, warding off what determined folks weren't deterred by superstition alone.

A sudden, deep growl catches Orion off guard before Altair lowers his head, sharp horn lowered in a particular direction.

"What's gotten into you?" The Absol is his oldest companion and incredibly well-adjusted, not one to be distracted nor ruffled by strangers. "I know there's a lot of people, but..."

He trails off when he spots him.

He sees red.

Next thing Orion knows, he and Altair both are making toward Chu-e Choi with a purpose. The Absol strikes first, lunging right for the throat with a vicious NIGHT SLASH.

They're several steps along in the fitting process, the fourth and final fitting to be precise, and Orion's no less nervous than he'd been the first couple of times. There's something more nerve-wracking about the finality of this step, even though @nikita and her team had assured him there was no pressure to commitment until he was satisfied with the product.

Anxiety almost makes him back out of the scheduled appointment, but a quick call to his therapist helps get him re-aligned in his mental state. That he might be allowed to take his Absol indoors now that Altair had passed the required exams to be registered as a service Pokémon hadn't occurred to him until the level-headed voice on the other end of the line had suggested it. Many people, especially in Hoenn where superstitions ran deep, found discomfort in the presence of the Disaster Pokémon. A harbinger of ill omen, but the bright red service vest promises only a balm to Orion's frayed nerves.

He's surprised to see @nikita again, but not disappointed.

"Hi." That feels a lackluster greeting, but he can't think of what else to say except, "Thanks again for doing all this for me."

It's her job, but his gratitude is real.