Chapter Text
2 weeks.
That’s how long he had been in here, right? Or was it 3?
3 weeks since Geosenge, when he had been crushed under rubble, and had nearly suffocated, until he had been pulled out. Not by his loyal scientists, as he had believed at first, or hoped, but by the International Police.
Damn.
2 weeks, maybe 3, wasn’t a long time, but the grey of the prison walls had muddled his brain, his boring surroundings trapped in an unchanging scene. His bed was hard, and probably unclean, but it wasn’t like anyone cared in this pit. It was always cold, unlike his lab, which always had a warm atmosphere. Was he alone? How far in was he? Was this possibly solitary confinement? Probably. He was too dangerous to be kept around others, or at least that’s what they all said.
It amused him, how everyone was nervous around a weakened man who was just in a terrible accident. They must know that he was harmless now, right?
Maybe it was just paranoia, as they probably hadn’t forgotten what had just almost occurred. He also wasn’t alone, however. They had to be on high alert for some reason besides him. Not long ago, he had seen a man pass his window in cuffs, a mess of fluffy white hair upon his head, almost as if a stubborn Altaria had perched there. He had circles around his eyes, and they had locked gazes as he passed. The tired looking man tried to lean back and get a better look at him, but was shoved along.
Hmm.
How interesting.
---
“This place stinks. Do ya keep Skuntanks here or somethin’?”
“Will you shut up the hell up already?”
Guzma snorted. “That was mighty rude of ya. Do ya kiss ya old lady with that mouth?”
He groaned when a sharp hand cuffed him over the head, for the 7th time.
“You really need ta work on ya anger, kid.”
“Shut up. You’re meeting the Professor, show some respect or I’ll toss you back in your cell.”
Guzma rolled his eyes, and attempted to blow a piece of his fluffy hair off of his face. That’s what they all said they’d do, but they never did. Therapist after therapist. They had even tried a self-help program on him! Like that would work. They were probably taking him to see some other old sap with wrinkly skin, greying hair, and that weird old-people smell.
The guard in front of him pulled an impressive key ring off his belt and unlocked the door to a small interrogation room. They led him inside, where he sat in an uncomfortable metal chair and he was handcuffed to the table. After the guards left, he slumped over it, trying to find a comfortable position to lay his head down that it didn’t touch the cold table. Guzma sighed, scooting his chair closer to the table with not too much of a struggle. After a few minutes, he shifted again, the metal cuffs straining against his pale wrists. He squirmed uncomfortably, trying to move them to a better position with no luck. Guzma tugged again, starting to get frustrated. He groaned, an exaggerated noise accompanied by his head smacking on the table.
He stayed like that, closing his eyes after a minute. The soft buzz of the light started to put him to sleep. He had barely dozed off when the door opened with a click, and creaked open. Guzma looked up tiredly, letting his head swing around lazily to look at the visitor.
He felt the heat first, and then a shiver run down his spine. This wasn’t some old bastard who smelled weird, this was a young man, maybe his age, and not too bad looking either, if he did say so himself. Happy eyes were hidden behind tinted glasses, and a bright smiling face looked at him as he sat.
“You’re Guzmania Willow, right?”
Guzma visibly cringed at the sound of his full name. “Yeah.” He muttered quietly.
“Okay, and your birthday is?”
He squinted at the handsome man across from him in suspicion. “May 25th.”
“Alright, and place of birth?”
“Why are ya asking me all these things?”
“Standard protocol. Just needs to be done.”
If he could squint anymore, he did. “Kalos, in Dendemille Town.”
“Okay!” The man smiled, closing up a folder Guzma hadn’t realized was opened. “My name is Professor Kukui, but you can just call me Akamai. Sorry I wasn’t in sooner, I was busy with another, erm,” He cleared his throat and set the folder down on the table. “Another prisoner.”
---
Of all the people they could’ve had him talk to, it had to be Akamai. It had been what, 7 years since he’d last seen him?
His own little brother.
The scamp had matured, he’d give him that. He wasn’t the same little smart-aleck he used to tease. He had become a competent, ingenious young man. Which was good, considering the kid had wanted to join him, to go with him to Hoenn, and be his right hand man.
Archie hadn’t allowed it.
He’d told Akamai to stay home with their aging mother, to keep his ass out of trouble, as she had enough to worry about with him leaving. They’d argued at the docks again the day he left, Akamai crying, clinging to his sleeve, begging and pleading. He had left him on that pier, stone faced, and hadn’t looked back.
Well, he got his comeuppance, didn’t he?
He leaned back, reaching up to touch his recently groomed face. They hadn’t allowed him to do it himself, which he thought was ridiculous, but instead Akamai had volunteered to. His face had been furrowed in thought, biting at his lip as he concentrated. The kid had remembered how he always did it, and albeit a bit choppy at the end, he had done it well.
If only he could’ve made small talk though. Everytime he had opened his mouth, Akamai had given him that look, one that had been mirrored on their mother’s face many times before. He looked just like her when he scowled like that, but Archie was used to being glared at, especially by his scarlet haired rival, Maxie.
Where was he, anyway? He had heard rumours that he and his admins had been picked up shortly after he was, and that none of them had gone quietly either. He wasn’t surprised; even if he didn’t look it, the Magma leader had quite the temper to him.
Bet that explosive fury of his wasn’t doing him much good in here.
---
His knuckles throbbed, covered in small cuts, he soon noticed. The wall was smeared with streaks of blood, ones he hadn’t previously seen. As he came down off his rage, the pain spiraled.
How had he let this happen? The great Maxie, leader of Team Magma, caught and imprisoned. Where were his admins? Were they alright? He had worked himself into a frenzy, thinking of all the things that could have happened to them, and was broken out of it by his fist hitting the wall.
Maxie realized, as he glanced down at his now shaking hand, that he had attracted the attention of someone across from him. He glared, hoping that it would be enough to deter the other from looking, but it was returned, only colder. Maxie stared for a few seconds, the flamboyant asshole across from him losing his cold look, replaced by what seemed to be curiosity in his pale eyes.
He made a rude motion towards the window, almost laughing at the look of disgust that he was met with, and sat back down.
His hand hadn’t stopped shaking, but the pain was fading for now. He knew that by at least tomorrow, there’d be dark bruises all over it. It hadn’t been worth it, really. In his somewhat clearer minded state, he knew it wouldn’t release his admins, wouldn’t free his Pokemon, wouldn’t help him get out. The International Police had them. By now, they would have his base on lockdown, plans in neat folders, instead of messily strewn about an office. Machines would be shut down, the meteorite fragments locked up for examination. Damn. Everything they had, everything they’d built would be gone.
Maybe they’d leave the built-in machine alone. They can’t rip something out of a volcano wall, can they? It wouldn’t be structurally sound, not that the International Police would care about tearing down a natural landmark. If they checked any seals on the back of it, they might trace it back to their providers, who had been paid handsomely.
Their dear friends, Galactic Inc.
---
He had known this would happen. He had been ready, in fact. After his loss at Spear Pillar, he knew that the International Police wouldn’t be far behind. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the means of holding his own; he did. But his admins were beat, weakened and hurt from their battle with the child, and he hadn’t fought back for their sake.
Pitiful. He actually cared about them. The exact opposite of what his mission was. Perhaps it was doomed from the start then. He never had been gifted with good luck.
He had surrendered on the terms that his admins would be given good care, and their building would be left alone, all the while knowing they would violate that agreement as soon as he was out of earshot. If he went quietly, without a struggle, they’d be out sooner on terms of “good behaviour”. It wasn’t his first time to prison, no. He had been in the Sinnoh prison about 10 years ago, as an idiotic child acting out on a whim for attention. They’d released him after his parents had paid bail, but honestly, he would’ve rather stayed in there than face what was waiting at home.
He still felt the sting, reaching up to absentmindedly rub at his cheek. He remembered a sharp ache in his stomach, as he had curled into the corner of his bed. It wasn’t the first time they’d starved him, not at all. But this was the worst of all the times. He hadn’t eaten for maybe a day, and wanted to sneak down to the kitchen, but had been locked upstairs. Cyrus remembered he had contemplated climbing out the window, when something had been thrown, and struck the window with a muffled crack.
That boy. Cyrus didn’t remember his name. It had been too long. He didn’t even live there, he was visiting the region with his mother. But he was kind, understanding. Every night until he left, the boy came around, getting his attention with a pebble or two, where they’d talk, and Cyrus would actually feel like he was special for once, where he’d be distracted from his darkening thoughts.
Arceus, he was so stupid. He realized as an adult that he was only being used to pass the time by him. Simply a toy for when the boy was bored, and not chasing after some skirt.
Now, however, alone in his cell, he didn’t think it would be such a bad thing to have someone to listen to him.
---
“Oh come on sugar lips, can’t you just let me sit without the cuffs? I promise I’ll be good.”
He flashed a smile at the dainty looking professor who had entered the room. He was handsome, he knew that very well. He was sure all the men and women that he had bed in the regions he’s visited didn’t argue either. His flirty grin faltered though, when the man gave him a bored look.
“Monsieur Giovanni, you know that is not going to work on me.”
“Are you sure darling? That isn’t the first time someone’s said that.”
Giovanni’s smile faded altogether when the cuffs clicked around his wrists with a quiet laugh from the man, who sat down across from him.
“Like I said, that does not work on me. You think you are the first one to attempt it?”
“Well, I had to try, didn’t I, dear Augustine?”
The professor brushed one of his raven curls out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. He opened the file he had been holding under his arm, and laid it out on the table. “So,” Augustine began, leaning back in his chair. “Was all of this really worth it for money?”
He shrugged. “Cash is cash. If someone wants something bad enough, they’ll get out the big bucks. It’s no different for Pokemon.”
“Still though, wouldn’t it upset people to figure out that their Pokemon is nothing but money to you?”
“Upsetting people isn’t my problem.”
“Hmm. Here, think of it this way Monsieur Giovanni.” Augustine slid a photo forward in front of him, and he shifted in his chair anxiously. “How would you feel if someone sold your dear Persian? You’d be upset, right?”
Giovanni breathed in deeply, exhaling with a curt sigh. “You International fucks always have to go personal, don’t you?”
Augustine shrugged. “I’m not that involved with the International Police honestly, they only wanted me to talk to you. Figured a kinder soul than some of the detectives would work better. So, how about you tell me where those captured Pokemon are? I’ll tell you how she’s doing.”
He thought about it for a second, then smirked. “You wouldn’t touch her. You professors care too much about Pokemon to do anything to her. So, no, I won’t tell you.”
“You may be right about that, mon ami, but the police force is not so kind to humans, as you’ve seen, and a child wouldn’t do so well in prison.”
A child? What did he care about a child? If some punk’s kid got himself in trouble, it wasn’t his issue. He had more to worry about, like getting out of here somehow.
“...were up to me, I would give him a warning, but of course, I have no input.” His attention snapped back to the professor, who was absentmindedly swirling circles on the table. “Silver does seem like a good kid, albeit maybe a bit mislead, but sometimes that is unavoidable.”
“Silver? Damn, what did he do now?”
Augustine shrugged and set the pen down. “Oh, just grand larceny. He really does take after his father, doesn’t he? A young criminal.”
Giovanni sighed, shifting to sit up straighter in his seat. “Leave the kid outta this, okay? What he steals isn’t your problem.”
“It is when he steals enough to be charged in the 3rd degree. If he went in now, he’d get out when he was about, oh, I’d say,” Augustine sighed. “20? 21? Around then.”
“Why are you even bringing this up?” Giovanni snapped, glaring across the table. “This has nothing to do with Team Rocket or anything we’ve done.”
The raven-haired man realized he’d hit a soft spot, which he truthfully did feel bad about, but knew that it would get him talking. All the International Police needed was a solid confession to the theft of legendary Pokemon, recorded, and they could take him down in court without a problem. Augustine still didn’t understand why he had been asked to come in, however. This didn’t involve him. This didn’t even happen in his region. Besides, he couldn’t intimidate anyone. He was too small, too kind for that, but he was trying.
“Because, the International Police said they have a proposal for you.”
“Which is?”
“If you simply confess to stealing the legendaries, and hand over the names of all Team Rocket members, they’ll drop Silver’s charges. Nothing on record, no fines, nothing.”
From what he had heard about Giovanni, he doubted this threat would do anything, but seeing the way he had reacted, there was a sliver of a chance that it had.
“Please, do think it over, monsieur. It’d be a shame for a child to spend such an important part of his life in a prison.”
Not quite unlike that green haired boy Aurea had told him about.
---
Too long.
He’d been here too long.
The days had grayed into weeks, into months, years.
They couldn’t hold him much longer.
He was too strong.
Too smart.
He was beginning to out-think them.
‘Good,’ he had thought.
Serves them right.
He’d get out, he would.
They couldn’t lock him up forever.
He had felt the pull in his chest.
It had started as a dull ache, but erupted into a sharp pain.
They had to let him go.
He was no longer human.
He was omnipotent.
He was a deity.
He was a god.
And gods could not be chained forever.