Ashes, Ashes

Ashes, Ashes

"Do you think we'll do great things?"

He asked me that a day before. At the time, I couldn't answer him. The ambition never really occurred to me.

"Maybe," I had simply replied.

His eyes still sparkled. "Why else would the executives assign us to guard this shop? We're no lowly grunts – they're forced to watch that stupid basement-base."  

"Shh, that's supposed to be a secret."

"I know. I'm just being optimistic, I guess. Can't blame me, can ya?"

A day ago, two of us were selected to watch the "Poke Mart" of sorts in Mahogany Town. Why? Simple – Team Rocket was using the basement of the shop as a, erm, base.

Needless to say, I was one of those chosen. No, I am not a Grunt – those guys don't get an identity, a decent Pokemon team, a funeral...basically, they're just tools. But I was different. And so was he.

The first morning, we set up. It was the first time I had ever talked to him, and yet we conversed as if we were best friends. It was strange, yet I couldn't deny a sort of friendship blossoming.

By the afternoon, we had a functional "Poke Mart". I think we were going for the illusion of a real shop – though we had little supplies. Some Grunts gave me a couple Slowpoketails to sell, but I may have priced them a bit high. No one really came in, besides a nosy kid with a backwards baseball cap.

The brat approached me, eager to check out the supplies, but left after suspiciously glancing at my partner. Maybe it was something he said.

"Heheh! The experiment worked like a charm. Magikarp are just worthless, but Gyarados are big moneymakers!"

I hiss for him to be quiet. For all we knew, the executives could have been watching. Not that they monitor our activity every second of every hour – just knowing that if they need to be, they can be right behind you. They can slit your throat and make it look like an accident. Yeah, pretty much any Grunt will tell you how terrifying they are.

Anyway, the kid did leave after a while, and we decided to relax for a little. The Magikarp radiation project was taking place north of Mahogany Town. The idea was to send out a special audio wave – one that only affects the Fish Pokemon – and mess with their chemicals, forcefully turning them into gruesome Gyarados.

Cruel? Yes. But smart? Most definitely. Some stinky fish were a small price to pay for such wealth.

"Hey. Should we worry about that twerp?" He asked me as I was going through inventory.

Not really thinking about it, I shrugged and mumbled, "'Don't think so."

He turned to me and laughed. "Yeah, some snot-nosed kid shouldn't be much to worry about!"

"Indeed." I replied with a grin. "So, what brought you into Team Rocket?"

It was just a light question to make conversation. But he looked down, saddened, and silence fell between us.

When I noticed something was wrong, I instantly fretted, "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize-"

"No," he whispered. "It's okay. Truth is, I used to be part of a fighting dojo – the one in Saffron City? But since Kiyo-sama – the Master – left, all his pupils were out of work. I heard several of my peers went to find him in Mt. Mortar...but their corpses were discovered shortly after."

I swallowed hard. "Wow."

"Yeah. But I...I just couldn't find the courage to chase after Kiyo-sama. He abandoned us, after all. Jobless, I roamed the streets of Saffron, until I overheard the talk of Team Rocket's possible return. I figured such a prestigious team would welcome someone who doesn't need any self-defense training. That's probably the reason I'm not a grunt now." His fists shook as he spoke, as if he felt hatred for Team Rocket, as well.

I really couldn't imagine why, though. They had given him a home, a name – a purpose. What more could he want?

But then, he started to laugh. "So that's how I ended up here. And why I have ambition. I never want to be that weak again."

I nodded. It made sense. "We can do great things. And we will."

"You're optimistic suddenly."

"Must be your past. It inspired me," I joked with a soft chuckle.

He glanced at me expectantly. "So. What's your story?"

Nerves gnawed on my insides. I had never bothered to share my past – not that it was as dramatic or exciting as his – with anyone. By revealing it, would I be forming a bond I may regret later?

"I have never been one to get close," I muttered, "to anyone. I prefer to keep my distance."

He nodded and laughed lightly. "It's cool, you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I know how troubling pasts can be..."

"No, it's...it's not that." I found my own fists shaking. "It's no big secret. It just would seem...like I'm failing Team Rocket. Like I'm not doing my job, if I start making friends."

He looked a little crestfallen, but nodded again and asked, "What, you think Rockets aren't capable of making friends?" His tone was not accusatory, nor defensive; he was just curious.

I shook my head. "You recall the rule, do you not? Giovanni drilled it enough times to us. 'If bonds are made, weakness is spread, and Team Rocket has no use for weaklings.'"

He's a little shocked, as if he had forgotten about that part of the Rocket's code. "Right...I almost forgot. Sorry. Let's just concentrate on finishing this, I guess. And then I'll see you at the top." Determination shimmered in his eyes.

I smiled, despite myself. "Sounds good to me."

And, just like that, everything went back to the way it was. I continued counting the inventory, and he simply stared at the walls with a bored expression. It was as if nothing had happened.

Without warning, the door to the shop fell to the ground. In the doorway, a man stood, his foot outstretched and a cape flowing behind him menacingly. His spiky hair seemed to glisten blood-red in the evening glow. On his face was a look of raw anger and pure hatred.

My mind racing and heart pounding, I barely shrugged off my fears and managed to say, "W-welcome...can I h-help you?"

His burning eyes glared into mine, and he took a step forward.

"W-we have a fine s-selection of merchandise, if you're interested...!" I sputtered. The man turned his head towards my cowering fellow Rocket, and clutched the PokeBall at his belt.

His boots clopped on the ground once more, getting closer to the other side of the room. I could almost feel my companion's terror.

We could handle random Trainer kids. But this guy seemed like a definite threat, and didn't look hesitant to end us on the spot. I believe that's what scared us the most.

"P-please look at our selection of TinyMushrooms!" I choked out. But of course, he ignored me and took another step forward.

The stranger then threw the PokeBall into the air. A blindingly bright light exploded in the air, and took the shape of a tall creature. When the light finally dimmed down, the monster stood in its place.

Dragonite, I thought, had always been perceived as gentle giants. But not this one. Its claws were razor-sharp, and its muscles bulged with what looked like years of hardcore training. I could almost see the bloodlust in its eyes.

My companion shivered as the Pokemon closed in on him. I could only watch in horror, finding myself unable to speak.

"P-please," I finally choked out. "We'll give you what you want."

The man barely acknowledged me, pausing briefly to lock gazes with me, and returned the direction his Dragonite was facing.

At that moment, the kid with the backwards baseball cap returned. He stood in the doorway, surprised to see the scene in front of him. After getting a better look at him, I deduced that he couldn't have been more than 11 years old – barely qualifying him as a Trainer.

"L-Lance?" He asked, a little frightened.

N...no way...! The man who busted in a few moments ago...could he really be the Dragon Trainer, Lance? It made sense, what with the high level Dragonite and overall confident look in his eyes.

Lance gave the kid a slight nod, and a small smirk tugged at his lips.

"Dragonite, Hyper Beam."

Time seemed to slow down.

The beast threw its head back and gathered yellow energy in a tight ball around its mouth. Within seconds, the ball had grown almost too big for the Pokemon to manage; without hesitating, its golden head was shot forward, projecting the powerful energy in the form of a beam.

When the attack hit its target, I found myself unable to look away.

My companion was enveloped in the energy instantly, and the merchandise shelves near him toppled over. As he screamed his lungs out, the stench of rotting flesh filled the air. I was slightly thankful that the beam had covered him from view, preventing the horrifying image of his body melting, layer by layer, to be seen. Though that didn't stop me from imagining the nightmare-inducing state of his body.

And suddenly, the screaming stopped. The attack had not quite yet discharged completely, yet he stopped yelling in pain. Could that have meant that he no longer felt the agony? Or that he was simply not there anymore?

I received an answer seconds later, when the beam ceased.

There, in front of the fresh holes in the wall and broken Potion bottles, he sat - broken, bloody, and wheezing lightly. Bile rose in my throat as I watched him cough, fresh blood spurting from his lips.

His mouth moved slightly, as if he was trying to say something, but all that came out was dried air. His eyes were glazed over with pain, and he was barely holding himself up.

I swallowed hard, trying not to show emotion. Damn it all, this is why Rockets aren't supposed to make friends! I thought bitterly, feeling tears blur my vision.

Dragonite gave a roar, and was promptly returned to its PokeBall. After it disappeared in a flash of red, I focused my attention back on my, er, 'guests'.

"What took you, Gold?" Lance asked, as if he hadn't just nearly ended another human being's life.

"S-sorry," the kid choked out, unable to take his eyes off the pitiful sight in the corner.

Lance shrugged it off. "It's alright. Just as I thought, that strange radio signal is coming from here."

I felt my heartbeat quicken. How do they know about the transmission? Did something happen at the Lake of Rage? I wondered, panicking.

The Dragon Trainer then walked towards me, the kid following like a lost puppy. Eyes widening further (if that was even possible), I scrambled out of his pathway. What if he tried to kill me, too? I felt sweat trickle down my forehead at the thought.

As they walked to the right side of the store, Lance slammed one of his boots on the ground. "The stairs are right here," he mumbled, and sure enough, it was the exact spot that led to the basement. The floorboard crashed below, revealing the staircase.

I couldn't believe it. How...could they have found it? Even I had forgotten about it a couple times since we arrived.

"Gold, we should split up to check this place. I'll go first," Lance instructed the younger boy, who nodded firmly. With a nod in return, the Dragon Trainer disappeared down the stairs.

The kid, who I presumed was called Gold, hesitated. He glanced back at me, his eyes cloudy.

Not that I cared much about him, anyway. I was still in shock, trying to comprehend all that had happened in the past few minutes. "Arrgh...you found the secret stairway..." I rasped, wondering why I was worrying about our stupid hideout; after all, my companion was about to croak.

I could see it in Gold's eyes – he wanted to ask about the other Rocket. He wanted to help. But he seemed afraid. After giving one more sympathetic glance, he rushed down the stairs after Lance.

Finally alone, I crawled over to him. "A...are you oka-" I began, but my words were cut short at the sight of him.

His condition, obviously, had worsened. Thick red blood was now seeping from his mouth, leaving streaking stains in his clothes. His eyes were sunken into his skull, it seemed, and were half-closed. His breathing came in labored rasps.

I found I had nothing to say. Only thoughts of defeat crowded my mind.

I tried moving him into a more comfortable position, but he let out a hiss of pain as soon as I touched him. As I let go, he collapsed onto the ground, his face tasting the floor. And slowly, his eyes grew duller and duller, until I was certain there wasn't any life in them anymore.

"I was brought into Team Rocket as a teenager," I blurted out. I had no idea why I was rambling to a half-dead man, but I didn't really care anymore. "My parents never had much expectations for me, so I thought I could prove them wrong by becoming someone here."

He never gave me a sign of acknowledgement, and yet I continued. On and on, for the next few minutes – all about my career with Team Rocket. I talked until my throat hurt from overuse.

And when I was finished, I checked his pulse. I wasn't surprised when I didn't find it.

It was hardly fair – we had lives, did we not? Even Rockets, the seemingly 'evil' members of the human race, had beating hearts. We breathed, we loved, we laughed, we felt pain. Didn't Lance think about that pain when he commanded his Dragonite to attack us? Did he feel anything as the Pokemon's beam went through my comrade?

Tears slipped down my cheeks. Despite the code of Rockets, despite my desires to hide my feelings, I still cried. It wasn't fair. His ambitions, his dreams...what were they now but a pile of discarded hopes?

I leaned down and whispered to him, "Know this – you were the only person I could consider a friend."

I sighed and looked once more at his broken body. He looked more like a discarded doll than anything else. I suppose that's what he truly was (and by that logic, me as well) - just a tool for those stronger to use and discard at will. If his death had taught me anything, it was of my own small, pitiful role in the world.

"I guess I'll never see you at the top."

Because we were never meant to go that far.