Marcus had been Giovanni for exactly nineteen days, and he had already accomplished more than the original Giovanni had managed in what appeared to be a career spanning at least a decade.
This was not a brag. This was a statistical observation. The original Giovanni had spent years building Team Rocket into a powerful criminal organization and then had proceeded to do absolutely nothing useful with it. He'd run some protection rackets. He'd stolen some Pokémon. He'd funded the Mewtwo project, which had then blown up in his face—literally. He'd raided Silph Co. and gotten beaten by a child. He'd sat in his gym waiting for that same child to come beat him again. And then he'd disbanded his entire organization and disappeared.
Years of work. Billions in resources. An army of loyal operatives. And what had he accomplished? Nothing. Less than nothing. He'd ended up worse off than when he started.
Marcus, in nineteen days, had:
Initiated the acquisition of the largest corporation in KantoDeployed a covert research expedition to another continentLaunched a global search for Mega StonesRestructured the Mewtwo project's safety protocolsDiscovered that his Persian possessed some kind of anomalous bond-evolution abilityWon fourteen gym battles without losing a single Pokémon (after the first day, he'd started using coverage moves, and the results had been devastating)Begun training a Dratini that was already showing signs of accelerated growth
And it was only Wednesday.
He was sitting in his office at 6 AM, nursing his second cup of coffee (dark roast, touch of cream, Giovanni's body ran on this stuff like a car ran on gasoline), reviewing the morning's intelligence briefings, when the first report of the day arrived.
It was from the financial division. Subject: SILPH CO. ACQUISITION - WEEKLY UPDATE.
Marcus opened it and began to read.
The Silph Co. acquisition was ahead of schedule.
Way ahead of schedule. Embarrassingly ahead of schedule. So far ahead of schedule that Marcus was starting to wonder if the original Giovanni had ever actually looked at Silph Co.'s financials before deciding to raid the place, because the company was practically begging to be bought.
In the nineteen days since Marcus had initiated the strategy, Team Rocket's network of shell companies had quietly accumulated 11.3% of Silph Co.'s outstanding shares. This was significant for several reasons.
First, it made Giovanni—through his maze of front companies—one of the top five shareholders in the company. Not the largest, not yet, but large enough to demand a seat on the board if he wanted one. Which he didn't. Not yet. Tipping his hand too early would be stupid. He wanted to be above 20% before making any public moves.
Second, the stock price was dropping. Not because of anything Marcus was doing directly—though the insider operatives he'd repositioned within Silph Co. were certainly helping—but because the Master Ball project was hemorrhaging money at an accelerating rate. The latest quarterly earnings report had missed analyst expectations by a wide margin, and institutional investors were fleeing like Rattata from a Fearow. Every point the stock dropped made it cheaper for Marcus to buy more.
Third—and this was the part that made Marcus grin so wide that Giovanni's face actually hurt—three of the board members had already been compromised.
Not through threats. Not through blackmail. Through generosity.
Board Member #1, a man named Haruto Tanaka, had a gambling problem and debts to the Celadon Game Corner that he couldn't pay. Marcus had those debts forgiven—quietly, discreetly, with the understanding that Mr. Tanaka would remember who his friends were when important votes came up.
Board Member #2, a woman named Reiko Sato, was trying to fund her daughter's Pokémon journey and couldn't afford the equipment. Marcus had arranged for a "scholarship" from a charitable foundation (Team Rocket front #47) that covered everything. Reiko was now receiving weekly updates on her daughter's progress from Rocket informants who had been assigned to "keep an eye on the promising young trainer," and she was grateful.
Board Member #3, an elderly man named Jiro Watanabe, had a sick Pokémon—a beloved Arcanine with a rare degenerative condition that no Kanto veterinarian could treat. Marcus had flown in a specialist from Unova (paid for by Team Rocket, of course) who had stabilized the condition and begun a treatment plan. Jiro had wept. Actually wept. And now he would vote however Giovanni wanted him to vote for the rest of his natural life, not because he'd been coerced, but because he genuinely believed that Giovanni was a good man who cared about Pokémon.
Which, ironically, was true. Marcus did care about Pokémon. He just also happened to be a crime lord who was systematically taking over a corporation for his own benefit. The two things weren't mutually exclusive.
The report projected that, at current rates of accumulation and stock price decline, Marcus would reach 25% ownership within two months. At that point, he'd have enough leverage to approach the president directly with a "partnership proposal" that would, in practice, give him effective control of the company.
No raid. No army of grunts. No confrontation with Red in the Silph Co. building. Just money, patience, and the kind of ruthless corporate strategy that made Wall Street look like a kindergarten sandbox.
Marcus signed off on the report, authorized the next phase of stock purchases, and moved on.
The second report of the morning was from Sable, his intelligence chief. Subject: PALDEA EXPEDITION - PRELIMINARY FINDINGS.
Marcus's heart rate spiked. He'd been waiting for this one.
The expedition team had departed Kanto twelve days ago aboard a chartered research vessel flying the flag of a legitimate Kalosian oceanographic institute (Team Rocket front #112). They'd made good time across the ocean—favorable winds, calm seas, only one encounter with a pod of Wailord that had delayed them by half a day—and had arrived in Paldea six days ago.
Their cover was holding perfectly. As far as the Paldean authorities were concerned, they were a group of independent researchers studying geological formations in the region's interior. They'd set up a base camp approximately fifteen miles from the outer perimeter of Area Zero's containment zone—close enough to conduct their scans, far enough to avoid attracting official attention.
And they'd already found something.
Marcus leaned forward in his chair, reading faster.
ENERGY SIGNATURE ANALYSIS - PRELIMINARY RESULTS
Scanning equipment deployed at coordinates [REDACTED], approximately 15.3 km from Area Zero outer boundary. Initial readings indicate presence of anomalous energy signature consistent with subject's theoretical framework ("temporal displacement energy"). Signature is faint at current distance but clearly distinguishable from background radiation. Key characteristics:
- Oscillating frequency pattern unlike any known energy type
- Dual-phase signature suggesting two distinct "modes" (designated Phase A and Phase B for classification purposes)
- Phase A signature correlates with biological regression patterns (cellular age reversal, primitive gene expression)
- Phase B signature correlates with biological advancement patterns (cellular enhancement, synthetic material integration)
- Both phases appear to originate from a single source deep within Area Zero crater
POKÉMON OBSERVATIONS:
Team has catalogued 14 Pokémon species in the area surrounding Area Zero that exhibit unusual characteristics. Three specimens display significant physical deviation from known species profiles:
- Specimen 1: Donphan variant. Significantly larger than standard Donphan. Tusks elongated and curved. Exhibits ancient/prehistoric physical features. Extremely aggressive. Team maintained safe distance.
- Specimen 2: Delibird variant. Metallic coloration. Eyes appear mechanical. Moves with unnatural precision. Team was unable to approach for closer examination.
- Specimen 3: Jigglypuff variant. Fur appears crystallized in places. Vocalizations cause localized temporal distortion (team member Dr. Kira reported experiencing approximately 3 seconds of "time skip" when exposed to specimen's song). Team has been advised to maintain auditory protection.
PRELIMINARY CONCLUSION:
The temporal displacement energy theorized by the Boss appears to be real and actively affecting Pokémon in the Area Zero vicinity. Further scanning at closer range is recommended. Team requests authorization to approach within 5 km of the containment zone for higher-resolution readings.
Marcus set the report down, stood up, and did a small, undignified dance of victory that absolutely no one saw because his office door was locked and the blinds were drawn.
It was real.
The temporal displacement energy was real. The Paradox Pokémon were real. The dual-phase signature—Phase A for ancient forms, Phase B for future forms—matched exactly what Marcus had theorized based on his knowledge of the games. And if the energy could be scanned, it could be analyzed. If it could be analyzed, it could be understood. And if it could be understood...
It could be replicated.
A device. A handheld device, connected to a power source that mimicked Area Zero's energy. A device that, when activated, could channel that energy into a Pokémon, transforming it into its Paradox form—ancient or future, depending on the phase setting. Every Pokémon on his team, capable of accessing a form that was stronger, wilder, more powerful than anything the current world had ever seen.
It was years away. Maybe decades. The technology to replicate an energy signature this complex didn't exist yet—not in Kanto, not anywhere. But the data was the first step. You couldn't build what you couldn't measure, and now they were measuring.
He drafted a response authorizing the team to move closer, with strict safety protocols. The temporal distortion effect the Jigglypuff variant had produced was concerning—if the energy could cause time skips in humans, prolonged exposure could be dangerous. He ordered the team to limit their time within five kilometers of the boundary to four-hour shifts, with mandatory twenty-four-hour rest periods between exposures.
Then he wrote a separate memo to the R&D division, forwarding the energy signature data and ordering them to begin building a theoretical model for replication. Cost was no object. Timeline was "as fast as humanly possible without cutting corners."
He was still riding the high of the Paldea report when his communicator buzzed with a message from the gym.
THREE CHALLENGERS SCHEDULED TODAY. FIRST ARRIVING AT 10 AM.
He checked the time. 7:30 AM. Two and a half hours until his gym duties started. Enough time for a training session.
He grabbed his Poké Balls and headed for the basement.
Training Dratini was, Marcus had discovered over the past nineteen days, simultaneously the most rewarding and most frustrating experience of his entire life. Both lives. Combined.
The rewarding part was obvious. Dratini was adorable. It was enthusiastic, affectionate, eager to please, and growing at a rate that bordered on supernatural. In nineteen days, it had nearly doubled in length—now stretching close to five feet from nose to tail—and its scales had deepened from their initial pale blue to a rich, luminous sapphire that caught the light like polished gemstones. Its Dragon Rage, once a sputtering hiccup of purple energy, was now a genuine weapon—a concentrated beam of draconic fury that could blast a training dummy across the room and leave scorch marks on the reinforced walls.
It was also learning Twister (a Dragon-type move that created miniature tornados), Slam (a Normal-type move that let it use its body weight as a weapon), and the beginnings of Thunder Wave (an Electric-type status move that would be invaluable for paralyzing opponents). Its moveset was expanding, its power was growing, and Marcus could feel it getting closer to evolution with every training session—that same coiled-spring tension he'd noticed in Rhyhorn, except amplified, more intense, like a pot of water just beginning to bubble before reaching a full boil.
So that was the rewarding part.
The frustrating part was everything else.
Dratini was, despite its growing power and impressive rate of development, still fundamentally a baby. A baby dragon. A baby dragon with the attention span of a goldfish, the impulse control of a toddler, and the stubbornness of a mule that had been raised by cats.
Training sessions went like this:
"Okay, Dratini, let's practice Dragon Rage. Aim at the target dummy. Focus your energy. Channel it through your horn. Ready? Go."
Dratini would charge up a Dragon Rage, aim at the target dummy, and then—at the last possible second—get distracted by literally anything. A dust mote floating in the air. A sound from the corridor. Its own tail. The concept of existence. Whatever caught its attention in that critical moment would cause it to whip its head around, and the Dragon Rage would fire in a completely random direction, usually hitting the ceiling, the wall, Marcus's shoes, or—on one memorable occasion—Kangaskhan directly in the face.
Kangaskhan had taken this with the patience of a saint, simply shaking off the purple energy like a dog shaking off water. The baby in its pouch had actually giggled. Dratini had looked mortified for approximately two seconds before getting distracted by a scratch on the floor.
"Dratini. Focus. Target dummy. Right there. The big thing in front of you. It's not moving. It's the only target in the room. Please."
Dratini would nod vigorously. It understood. It was committed. It was focused. It was going to hit that target dummy or die trying.
It would charge up another Dragon Rage.
It would aim perfectly.
And then it would sneeze.
The sneeze would discharge the Dragon Rage straight down, into the floor, where it would create a small crater and send Dratini tumbling backward in a comedic spiral.
"DRATINI."
Chirp. Chirp chirp. (Translation: "I'm sorry! I tried! Did you see how big that one was though?")
It was infuriating. It was endearing. It was a perfect encapsulation of what it meant to raise a young Pokémon—the constant push and pull between potential and immaturity, between power and control, between "you're going to be a Dragonite someday" and "you just sneezed a Dragon Rage into my coffee."
The coffee incident had been particularly tragic. That was a perfectly good cup of dark roast.
But through the frustration, through the misfires and the distractions and the occasional property damage, Marcus could see the progress. Each day, Dratini's control improved. Each day, its attacks hit harder and more accurately. Each day, the little dragon grew a fraction longer, a fraction stronger, a fraction closer to the magnificent beast it was destined to become.
Today's session was focused on Twister. Marcus had set up a series of lightweight targets—hollow balls on poles, designed to test the precision and power of wind-based attacks—and was putting Dratini through its paces.
"Twister. Third target from the left. Just that one. Only that one."
Dratini coiled its body, concentrated, and unleashed a Twister—a spiraling vortex of draconic wind energy that tore across the training room with satisfying force.
It hit every target except the third one from the left.
Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose.
Dratini looked at the devastation it had wrought—five out of six targets obliterated, the sixth standing untouched in the middle of the carnage like the last survivor of an apocalypse—and made a small, questioning chirp, as if to say, "Was that close enough?"
"You hit the wrong ones. All of the wrong ones. You hit every single wrong one and missed the only right one."
Chirp.
"That is genuinely impressive. The probability of hitting five out of six targets and missing the specific one I asked for is astronomically low. You defied mathematics. I'm actually sort of proud."
Chirp chirp!
"That wasn't a compliment."
Dratini nuzzled his leg. It didn't care about compliments versus criticism. It cared about leg nuzzles and treats and making the purple fire come out of its face.
Marcus sighed, knelt down, and scratched behind the tiny horn. "You're lucky you're cute."
Dratini purred—that low, draconic vibration that it had developed recently, deeper and more resonant than its earlier chirps, a sign of its growing maturity. It was getting there. Slowly. Frustratingly slowly, but getting there.
He ran through the exercise three more times. On the third attempt, Dratini hit the correct target. It also hit two other targets and a section of wall, but the correct target was among the casualties, and Marcus chose to count that as a win.
"Good. Good. We're done with Twister for today. Let's work on Thunder Wave."
Thunder Wave was going better. The move didn't require the same precision as offensive attacks—it was a status move, designed to send out a wave of electrical energy that paralyzed the target on contact. Dratini just had to release the energy in the right general direction, and the wave would do the rest.
Dratini charged up the electrical energy (Dragon-types could learn Electric moves because Dragon-types could learn basically everything, which was one of the many reasons Marcus wanted a Dragonite so badly), and released it toward a training dummy.
The dummy's joints locked up, sparks dancing across its surface. Paralyzed.
"Perfect! Yes! That's it!"
Dratini beamed. Its entire body literally glowed with pride, a faint blue luminescence emanating from its scales that Marcus had learned was a sign of strong positive emotion in Dragon-types.
He gave it a treat—a specially formulated Dragon-type Poké food pellet that cost approximately ten times what regular Poké food cost and tasted, apparently, like the concept of happiness made edible—and Dratini inhaled it with the desperate enthusiasm of a creature that lived for two things: its trainer's approval and food.
"Okay, team meeting," Marcus called, releasing the rest of his Pokémon. "Gather round."
They gathered. His team—his weird, wonderful, increasingly powerful team—arranged themselves around him in the training room like knights at a round table.
Persian—Ace—sat at his right, grooming a paw with regal indifference. Her anomalous ability had been the subject of intense study over the past two weeks. Marcus had triggered the bond-evolution (he was calling it "Resonance" until he figured out the official term) three more times, each time learning a little more about how it worked. It was definitely tied to emotional intensity—the stronger his feelings for Ace, the stronger the transformation. And it was getting more powerful each time, lasting longer, boosting her stats higher. During the last test, Resonance Ace had moved so fast she'd created afterimages—visible, lingering copies of herself that hung in the air for a fraction of a second before fading. Her Power Gem, under Resonance, had punched a hole through two inches of reinforced steel.
His Normal-type cat was, under the right circumstances, roughly as powerful as a legendary Pokémon. This was insane. And also incredibly on-brand for the Pokémon franchise, where the power of friendship and love routinely produced results that violated the laws of thermodynamics.
Beedrill hovered at his left, its compound eyes fixed on him with the unwavering focus that was its default state. Beedrill didn't do "relaxed." Beedrill did "ready to kill something at a moment's notice." Marcus respected this about Beedrill.
Nidoking and Nidoqueen stood together, as always. Their new coverage moves had made them exponentially more dangerous, and Marcus had been drilling them in combination attacks—coordinated assaults where Nidoking's Thunderbolt and Nidoqueen's Ice Beam struck simultaneously from different angles, giving opponents no safe option for dodging. The duo was becoming a nightmare to face.
Kangaskhan stood in the back, its baby peeking out of its pouch with wide, curious eyes. Kangaskhan's raw power was already terrifying, and Marcus had recently started training it in Sucker Punch—a Dark-type priority move that let it strike first regardless of speed. A Kangaskhan that could hit you before you moved, with fists that could crack steel, was a Kangaskhan that most trainers should simply surrender to.
Rhydon—formerly Rhyhorn, evolved three days ago in a moment of such dramatic intensity that it had cracked the training room floor and set off the building's earthquake alarm—stood in the corner, its massive body radiating the quiet, immovable confidence of a creature that was basically a living tank. The evolution had been beautiful. Marcus had watched, heart in his throat, as Rhyhorn's body was consumed by white light, its form shifting and growing and becoming, and when the light faded, Rhydon stood in its place—larger, stronger, standing on two legs instead of four, its drill-horn gleaming with the promise of devastation.
And Dratini, of course, curled around Marcus's arm like a living bracelet, alternating between napping and chewing on his sleeve.
"Alright," Marcus said, addressing the group. "Status report. We're nineteen days in. Here's where we stand."
He laid it out for them—not because they understood the strategic nuances of corporate acquisition and covert research operations, but because talking to his Pokémon helped him organize his thoughts, and also because they deserved to know what was going on. They were his partners, not his tools.
"Silph Co. acquisition is on track. Two months to effective control. Paldea team is sending back promising data. Mewtwo project is stable and proceeding with new safety protocols. Mega Stone research is in its early stages—no finds yet, but the geological surveys are narrowing down potential sites."
He paused.
"And we have a new problem."
All eyes on him.
"Red."
The name hung in the air like a thundercloud.
"Red has four badges. In nineteen days. Four badges." Marcus shook his head in reluctant admiration. "The kid is a machine. He tore through Brock, Misty, Lt. Surge, and Erika like they were speedbumps. His team is growing fast—Ivysaur, Pikachu, Pidgeotto, and what the intelligence reports describe as 'an alarmingly angry Charmeleon that set a Rocket grunt's hat on fire for looking at it wrong.'"
Ace flicked her tail.
"He hasn't directly engaged with any major Team Rocket operations yet, but he's been disrupting minor ones as he goes—chased off a group of grunts in Mt. Moon, interfered with the Nugget Bridge recruitment operation, helped some civilians who were being harassed. He's building momentum, and more importantly, he's building a reputation. People are starting to talk about him. The 'prodigy from Pallet Town.' The 'kid who can't be stopped.'"
Marcus steepled his fingers. (Still amazing. Would never get old.)
"If Red continues on his current trajectory, he'll reach our major operations within a month. Pokémon Tower. The Game Corner. Silph Co." He paused. "Well, Silph Co. won't be an issue anymore—by the time Red gets to Saffron City, I'll own Silph Co., so there won't be a raid for him to interrupt. But the other operations are vulnerable. And I'd rather not have a confrontation with this kid until I'm ready."
He looked at his team.
"Which is why we need a distraction."
The idea had come to him three days ago, during one of his late-night planning sessions.
Marcus had been reviewing intelligence reports on other criminal organizations around the world—because a good crime lord knew his competition—when he'd come across files on two organizations that made Team Rocket look like a model of rational, well-managed villainy by comparison.
Team Aqua. Team Magma.
The eco-terrorists of the Hoenn region.
Marcus had stared at those files for a long time, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across Giovanni's face.
Team Aqua, led by Archie, wanted to expand the oceans. Team Magma, led by Maxie, wanted to expand the land. They were ideological opposites locked in a perpetual conflict, each convinced that their vision for the world was correct and the other was a dangerous lunatic. They were passionate, they were committed, they were charismatic leaders with loyal followings.
They were also complete idiots.
Not stupid—Marcus would give them that. Both Archie and Maxie were intelligent men with genuine scientific knowledge and strategic capabilities. But they were idiots in the way that only true believers could be idiots—so consumed by their ideology, so devoted to their cause, that they couldn't see the obvious flaws in their plans. Expand the oceans? Great, that floods the entire world and kills millions. Expand the land? Great, that creates desertification and ecological collapse. Neither of them had apparently paused for even a single moment to think their plan through to its logical conclusion.
And in the games, they'd both been defeated by a ten-year-old. Another ten-year-old. The Pokémon world apparently ran on ten-year-olds defeating adult criminals; it was practically a law of nature.
But Marcus didn't need Archie and Maxie to be competent. He didn't need them to succeed. He needed them to be distracting.
If he could lure one or both of them to Kanto—get them to set up operations, start making noise, attract attention—then Red would have something else to deal with. Instead of tearing through Team Rocket's operations in a straight line, the kid would be pulled in different directions, fighting on multiple fronts, spreading his attention and his energy across multiple threats instead of focusing all of it on Marcus.
It was brilliant. It was cynical. It was the kind of manipulative, chess-master-level scheming that the original Giovanni should have been doing instead of sitting in his gym waiting for defeat.
And there was a bonus.
While Archie and Maxie were in Kanto being loud and distracting, their home bases in Hoenn would be understaffed. Vulnerable. Ripe for infiltration by, say, a small team of highly trained Rocket operatives with orders to acquire very specific items.
Items like, say, the Blue Orb and the Red Orb.
The artifacts that controlled Kyogre and Groudon. The two most powerful Pokémon in the Hoenn region. Forces of nature incarnate—one controlling the oceans, the other controlling the continents, each capable of reshaping the planet with a thought.
Marcus didn't want to use them. He wasn't insane. Awakening Kyogre or Groudon would be catastrophic on a global scale, and Marcus had no interest in destroying the world he was trying to conquer. But having the orbs—keeping them locked away, safe, under his control—meant that nobody else could use them, either. No ambitious eco-terrorist, no rogue scientist, no ancient cult would be able to awaken the Weather Duo, because the keys to their cages would be in Giovanni's vault.
It was defensive acquisition. He was making the world safer by taking the most dangerous artifacts in it and putting them where no one could reach them.
The fact that owning the orbs also gave him theoretical access to the two most powerful Pokémon in Hoenn was just a bonus. A bonus he had no intention of ever using. Probably. Unless things got really desperate. Which they wouldn't. Probably.
He'd spent the past three days figuring out how to make the plan work.
Contacting Archie and Maxie had been easier than expected.
The criminal underworld, it turned out, had its own communication networks—encrypted channels, dead drops, intermediaries, the whole spy-novel toolkit. And Giovanni's name carried weight in those networks. When the leader of Team Rocket reached out, people listened. Even leaders of rival organizations.
Marcus had crafted his messages carefully. Differently for each recipient, because Archie and Maxie were different men with different motivations, and the pitch that would work on one wouldn't work on the other.
To Archie, he'd written:
"I have intelligence suggesting the existence of a Pokémon in Kanto with strong ties to oceanic energy patterns—a potential key to understanding and amplifying marine ecosystems. I believe this information would be of interest to Team Aqua's research objectives. I propose a meeting to discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement."
This was, technically, not a lie. Kanto did have Pokémon with ties to oceanic energy—the Legendary Birds influenced weather patterns, and there were theoretical connections between Articuno's ice powers and ocean temperature regulation. It was a stretch, but it was the kind of stretch that a true believer like Archie would run with, because true believers saw confirmation of their worldview everywhere.
To Maxie, he'd written something similar but land-focused:
"Recent geological surveys in the Kanto region have uncovered energy signatures consistent with the continental formation patterns your research has identified as critical to territorial expansion. I believe a collaborative investigation would yield significant results for Team Magma's mission. I propose a meeting at your earliest convenience."
Again, not entirely untrue. Kanto had significant geological activity—particularly around Cinnabar Island's volcano and the underground cave systems. Whether any of it was relevant to Maxie's insane plan to expand the world's landmass was debatable, but Maxie wasn't the kind of person who debated. Maxie was the kind of person who saw a vaguely geology-related sentence and got excited.
Both had responded within forty-eight hours. Both were interested. Both wanted to meet.
Marcus had scheduled the meetings for today. Separately, of course—putting Archie and Maxie in the same room would be like mixing Groudon and Kyogre, except less dramatically world-ending and more tediously argumentative.
Archie was first, at 2 PM. Maxie at 5 PM. Between them, Marcus had gym duties, training, and approximately forty-seven other things demanding his attention.
He checked the time. 8:15 AM. Gym didn't open until 10. He had time for one more training session with Dratini before switching gears.
"Alright, little one," he said, unwinding the dragon from his arm and setting it on the floor. "Let's try that Twister one more time. And this time—"
He set up a single target. One target. In the center of the room. Nothing else to aim at. Nothing else to hit. Just one target, big and obvious and impossible to miss.
"Hit. That. Target."
Dratini nodded with fierce determination. Its eyes narrowed. Its body coiled. Energy gathered around its horn, swirling, building, compressing—
A dust mote floated past.
Dratini's eyes tracked it.
"DON'T—"
The Twister fired sideways, obliterating a light fixture.
Marcus sat down on the floor, put his head in his hands, and made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.
Dratini slithered into his lap, chirping apologetically, and nuzzled against his chest.
"I love you," Marcus told it. "But you are going to be the death of me."
Chirp.
The gym battles that morning were straightforward. Two of the three challengers were underprepared—victims of the common misconception that the Viridian Gym was "just another Ground-type gym" and could be handled with a Water-type and a prayer. Marcus's coverage-move strategy demolished them efficiently. Nidoking's Thunderbolt continued to produce absolutely beautiful reactions from trainers who thought they were safe behind their Water-types.
The third challenger, though, was interesting.
Her name was Yumi. She was nineteen, from Cerulean City, and she had eight Pokémon with her—a violation of the standard six-Pokémon team limit that Marcus raised an eyebrow at until she explained that she was rotating her team for the gym challenge and only using six in the actual battle. Fair enough.
Her team was smart. Strategically built. She led with a Tentacruel—Water/Poison, which resisted Ground moves and could hit back with Water attacks—and followed up with a Cloyster, an Exeggutor, a Gyarados, a Vaporeon, and a Starmie. All Water-types or Pokémon with Water moves. She'd built her entire team around the assumption that the Viridian Gym was a Ground-type gym and had prepared accordingly.
Against the original Giovanni, she would have won easily.
Against Marcus, she lasted forty minutes, which was impressive, and ultimately lost 4-2, which was respectable.
The turning point was Nidoqueen's Ice Beam against her Exeggutor—the Grass/Psychic type that was supposed to be her Ground-type counter. Exeggutor went down in one hit, four times super-effective, and Yumi's strategy crumbled from there. Her Gyarados—normally a terrifying threat—met Nidoking's Thunderbolt and fainted so fast it was almost embarrassing.
But it was her Cloyster that gave Marcus the most trouble. The thing was absurdly bulky on the physical side, shrugging off Earthquake and Rock Slide like they were gentle breezes, and it knew Shell Smash—a move that doubled its offensive stats at the cost of defense. After one Shell Smash, it swept Rhydon and Dugtrio before Nidoqueen finally brought it down with a combination of Toxic stalling and Ice Beam chip damage.
Marcus handed over the Earth Badge with genuine respect. "That Cloyster is a menace. You should be proud of it."
Yumi beamed—literally beamed, her face lighting up with a joy that transformed her from "serious trainer" to "kid who just got told she did a good job by someone she admired." She was pretty, Marcus noted distantly, in the way that one might note the weather—objectively, without personal investment. She was also, like every other woman in this world, built on a scale that defied rational analysis, her trainer's outfit stretched over a figure that was less "athletic young woman" and more "what happens when an athletic young woman is also a gravitational anomaly." Her hips, in particular, were the kind of hips that could—
Marcus was looking at his badge case. He was organizing his badge case. Very important work, organizing the badge case.
"Thank you, sir," Yumi said, clutching the Earth Badge to her chest—her extremely notable chest, which Marcus was not looking at because the badge case demanded his full attention. "I'll remember this battle forever."
"Good luck at the League."
She left. Marcus let out a breath, returned his Pokémon to their balls, and checked the time.
1:30 PM. Archie would be here in thirty minutes.
Time to go meet an idiot.
Marcus had arranged the meetings to take place not at Team Rocket headquarters—too risky, too revealing—but at a private suite in the Viridian City Grand Hotel, a luxury establishment that Giovanni patronized regularly and that asked no questions about the nature of his meetings in exchange for the substantial sums of money he paid for the privilege of privacy.
The suite was on the top floor, spacious and elegantly furnished, with large windows overlooking the city and a conference table that could seat twelve. Marcus had it set up with refreshments—coffee, tea, water, and a selection of snacks—because being a good host was a fundamental element of negotiation, even when the person you were negotiating with was a buffoon.
He also had security. Four Rocket operatives—his best, hand-picked for this assignment—stationed outside the suite in plainclothes. Not because he expected trouble, but because Giovanni was a careful man, and careful men didn't take meetings with rival criminal leaders without backup.
And one of those operatives was Domino.
Domino had positioned herself by the door, standing at parade rest with the casual confidence of a woman who could incapacitate anyone in the building with one hand while filing her nails with the other. She was wearing a charcoal suit instead of her usual Rocket uniform, and the suit was—
Actually, the suit was doing a remarkable job. Whoever had tailored it understood the concept of "accommodation" at a near-supernatural level. The jacket fit smoothly over her shoulders and waist, the fabric draping in clean, professional lines that somehow managed to look both elegant and functional. The fact that it also had to navigate the topographical complexity of her chest without either gaping or straining was a testament to the tailor's skill. It wasn't hiding anything—the sheer volume that existed beneath the jacket was as obvious as a mountain range beneath a tablecloth—but it was managing the situation with dignity and grace, which was more than most of Domino's clothing managed.
Her pants were—Marcus was looking at the window. He was admiring the view of Viridian City. Lovely city. Great architecture. Very interesting rooftops.
"Sir," Domino said, "Archie's approaching the building. Our spotters have him entering the lobby now."
"Good. Let him come up. Stay by the door, stay quiet, and try not to look too intimidating. I want him relaxed."
"Understood, sir." She paused. "Permission to speak freely?"
"Go ahead."
"Are you sure about this? Archie is... unstable. His obsession with the ocean borders on pathological. And his team, while individually weak, is numerous. If this goes wrong—"
"It won't go wrong. I'm not fighting him. I'm not threatening him. I'm using him. There's a difference."
Domino studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes searching his face. Then she nodded, a small smile crossing her lips. "You've changed, sir."
"How so?"
"You're... smarter. More deliberate. The old Giovanni—" She caught herself. "Forgive me. I shouldn't—"
"No, say it."
She hesitated, then: "The old Giovanni was reactive. He waited for problems to come to him and then dealt with them. You're proactive. You're anticipating problems before they exist and eliminating them. It's..." She looked down, and was that a blush? On Domino? The Black Tulip? The deadliest operative in Team Rocket? "It's impressive, sir."
"Thank you, Domino."
The blush deepened. She turned away quickly, facing the door, and Marcus caught a brief glimpse of her ears turning pink above the collar of her jacket.
He filed this observation in the same mental folder where he stored all the other inexplicable behavior the women around him exhibited—a folder labeled "Things That Are Probably Not Important" that was growing alarmingly thick.
The door opened.
Archie was exactly what Marcus had expected: loud, energetic, and absolutely brimming with the kind of charismatic intensity that made you understand how he'd managed to convince dozens of people to join a criminal organization dedicated to making the world wetter.
He was a big man—not as tall as Giovanni, but broader, with the build of someone who spent a lot of time swimming and lifting heavy things. His skin was deeply tanned, his jaw was square, his teeth were very white, and his beard was the kind of meticulously maintained facial hair that communicated "I am a man of the sea and also I have a very good barber." He wore his Team Aqua bandana even to a business meeting, which told Marcus everything he needed to know about the man's priorities.
"Giovanni!" Archie boomed, striding across the suite with his hand extended and a grin that was roughly 40% genuine warmth and 60% sizing-you-up calculation. "The man himself! It's been too long!"
Marcus shook his hand—Archie's grip was crushing, a dominance move that Marcus countered by simply not reacting, because Giovanni's hands were strong enough to crack walnuts and Archie's power play bounced off them like a Magikarp using Splash—and gestured to the conference table.
"Archie. Thank you for coming. Please, sit."
They sat. Coffee was poured. Pleasantries were exchanged—weather, travel, the state of the criminal underworld, the usual small talk between two men who ran illegal organizations and were pretending this was a normal business meeting.
Then Marcus got to work.
"I'll be direct," he said, setting down his coffee cup with a deliberate clink. "I have an opportunity that I think aligns with Team Aqua's mission, and I want to propose a partnership."
Archie's eyes sharpened. Behind the bombastic personality was a keen mind—not a brilliant one, but keen enough to recognize opportunity when it was presented. "I'm listening."
"Kanto has a problem. The region's marine ecosystems are under stress—pollution from industry, overfishing, habitat destruction. The Pokémon League's environmental policies are inadequate, and the government is too focused on land-based development to invest in ocean conservation." Marcus paused for effect. "I believe Team Aqua's expertise in marine ecology could make a significant difference here."
He was making this up. Well, not entirely—Kanto did have environmental issues, every industrialized region did—but he was grossly exaggerating them and specifically framing them in terms he knew would appeal to Archie's oceanic obsession.
And it was working. Archie was leaning forward, his eyes bright, his hands gripping the table edge. The man was practically vibrating with excitement.
"You're saying Kanto's oceans need help," Archie said.
"I'm saying Kanto's oceans need Archie."
That did it. That one sentence, calculated and deliberate, hit Archie's ego like a Hydro Pump to the face. The man's entire posture changed—chest puffing out, chin lifting, eyes blazing with the fervor of a true believer who had just been told that his mission mattered, that his expertise was needed, that he was important.
"Well!" Archie slammed his palm on the table, making the coffee cups jump. "Why didn't you say so?! Giovanni, my friend, Team Aqua has been waiting for an opportunity like this! The oceans are the lifeblood of the planet, and if Kanto's seas are in trouble, then it's our duty—our sacred duty—to help!"
Marcus nodded solemnly, as though he were hearing the wisdom of the ages rather than the ramblings of a man who had once tried to flood the entire planet because he liked fish.
"I was hoping you'd feel that way. I'm prepared to provide logistical support—facilities, funding, local contacts. All I ask in return is that Team Aqua operates openly in Kanto. Publicly. Visibly. Let people know you're here. Let the media cover your work. The more attention your conservation efforts receive, the more pressure it puts on the League to take action."
What Marcus actually meant: Be loud. Be visible. Be impossible to ignore. Draw every eye in Kanto toward you and away from me.
But Archie heard what Archie wanted to hear, which was: You are the hero that Kanto needs.
"Giovanni, you've got yourself a deal!" Archie stood, extended his hand again, and this time the handshake was genuine—warm, enthusiastic, the grip of a man who believed he'd just found an ally in his noble cause. "Team Aqua will have operatives in Kanto within two weeks. We'll set up base on the Seafoam Islands—perfect location for marine research. And I'll come personally to oversee the initial operations."
"I couldn't ask for more," Marcus said, with a straight face that deserved an Academy Award.
Archie left the suite ten minutes later, practically bouncing with energy, already on his communicator barking orders to his subordinates about "the Kanto Initiative" and "our new partnership with the great Giovanni."
Marcus waited until the door closed, then turned to Domino.
"How did I do?"
Domino stared at him. Her expression was—complex. A mixture of professional admiration, personal awe, and something softer that she was trying very hard to keep off her face.
"You just convinced the leader of Team Aqua to voluntarily come to Kanto, set up shop, draw massive public attention, and do it all thinking it was his idea," she said slowly. "In fifteen minutes. Over coffee."
"Fourteen minutes, actually."
"Sir, that was the most impressive piece of manipulation I have ever witnessed, and I have been a spy for twelve years."
"Thank you, Domino."
She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Are you... are you actually a different person than you were three weeks ago? Because I've worked for Giovanni for eight years, and the man I knew three weeks ago could not have done what you just did."
Marcus considered this question carefully. The honest answer was "yes, I am literally a different person inhabiting your boss's body after dying in an earthquake in another dimension." The practical answer was:
"I've had a change in perspective. Sometimes you wake up one morning and see things more clearly."
Domino accepted this with a nod that suggested she didn't entirely believe him but was too professional—and perhaps too enamored—to push further.
"Maxie in two hours," Marcus said. "Same approach, different angle. Land instead of ocean. Geological surveys instead of marine conservation."
"Understood, sir. I'll refresh the coffee."
She turned to leave, and Marcus—for the first time since arriving in this world—accidentally looked somewhere he shouldn't have.
It was brief. A fraction of a second. His eyes, moving from Domino's face to the door behind her, traversed a path that took them across her body, and in that momentary transit, his visual cortex captured and processed a single, devastating frame of information.
Her rear, in those tailored suit pants, was—
Marcus's brain performed an emergency core dump. Critical information was jettisoned. Non-essential processes were terminated. The visual memory was quarantined, compressed, and buried in the deepest, most inaccessible part of his subconscious, behind seventeen layers of denial and a firewall made of pure willpower.
He blinked.
What had he been thinking about?
Right. Maxie. The meeting with Maxie. Very important. Strategic implications. Must prepare.
He opened his briefing notes and began to read, and if his hands were slightly unsteady, it was clearly because he'd had too much coffee.
The meeting with Maxie went even smoother than the one with Archie, primarily because Maxie was, despite his intelligence, even more susceptible to targeted manipulation than Archie.
Where Archie was driven by passion, Maxie was driven by intellect—or at least, by his belief in his own intellect. He saw himself as a scientist, a visionary, a man who understood the world at a fundamental level that lesser minds couldn't grasp. This made him incredibly easy to manipulate, because all you had to do was present information in a way that made him feel smart, and he would swallow it whole.
Maxie arrived at 5 PM sharp—punctual, unlike Archie, because Maxie valued order and precision the way Archie valued dramatic entrances. He was thinner than Archie, sharper-featured, with red-framed glasses that he adjusted compulsively and a Team Magma turtleneck that he wore with the air of a man who believed that turtlenecks were the pinnacle of intellectual fashion.
Marcus fed him the same basic pitch—Kanto needs your expertise, the geological formations here are unprecedented, I'm prepared to provide support—but adjusted the details for Maxie's specific brand of ego.
"The energy signatures we've detected beneath Mt. Moon and the Cinnabar caldera are unlike anything in the existing geological literature," Marcus said, leaning forward with the earnest intensity of a man sharing groundbreaking scientific data rather than complete fabrications. "The patterns suggest a deep-earth process that could fundamentally alter our understanding of continental formation. I believe you're the only person in the world with the expertise to interpret these findings."
Maxie's eyes lit up behind his glasses like a kid on Christmas morning. Not because of the science—though the science excited him too—but because Giovanni had just told him he was the smartest person in the world, and Maxie already believed that and was simply gratified to hear someone else say it.
"Fascinating," Maxie breathed, adjusting his glasses. "Absolutely fascinating. The continental formation implications alone could validate our entire theoretical framework. Giovanni, if these readings are accurate—"
"They are. I had my best geologists verify them. But they lack the specialized knowledge to fully analyze the data. That's why I need you."
"Of course. Of course you do." Maxie stood, pacing, his mind already racing. "I'll need to establish a research station. Mt. Moon would be ideal—the cave system provides natural shielding for sensitive equipment. I'll bring a team of thirty. No, fifty. The scope of this—Giovanni, this could be the breakthrough we've been waiting for."
"I agree. And I want your work to be visible. Published. Let the scientific community see what you're finding. Let the public know that Team Magma is at the forefront of geological research."
Be loud. Be visible. Be a target.
"Naturally," Maxie said, adjusting his glasses again. "Science thrives on openness and peer review. We'll publish everything."
Publish everything. Draw every eye. Make yourself impossible to ignore.
"Team Magma will be in Kanto within ten days," Maxie declared, shaking Marcus's hand with the dry, precise grip of a man who viewed handshakes as a necessary social convention rather than a genuine expression of warmth. "I'll lead the initial survey personally."
"I look forward to it."
Maxie left. Marcus closed the door, leaned against it, and allowed himself a grin that would have terrified anyone who saw it.
Two eco-terrorist organizations, both led by charismatic idiots, both coming to Kanto voluntarily, both planning to make as much noise as possible, both completely unaware that their sole purpose was to serve as distractions while Marcus consolidated power behind the scenes.
And while they were here—while Archie was on the Seafoam Islands counting fish and Maxie was in Mt. Moon measuring rocks—their bases in Hoenn would be operating with skeleton crews.
Marcus pulled out his communicator and called Sable.
"The fish and the mole both bit," he said. "Deploy the Hoenn teams."
"Already prepared, sir. Team Alpha will infiltrate Team Aqua's base in Lilycove City. Team Beta will hit Team Magma's base in the Jagged Pass. Objectives?"
"The orbs. The Blue Orb and the Red Orb. Those are the primary targets. Secondary objectives: all research data on Kyogre and Groudon. Everything they have—energy readings, behavioral analysis, habitat mapping, containment theories, everything. I want their entire life's work copied and in my hands."
"Understood. Timeline?"
"As soon as Archie and Maxie are confirmed to be in Kanto. I don't want them anywhere near Hoenn when the teams go in."
"Yes, sir. Anything else?"
"One more thing. When the teams are inside the bases, I want them to look for any references to something called 'Primal Reversion.' It's a phenomenon connected to the orbs—a transformation that Kyogre and Groudon undergo when exposed to specific energy signatures. If Aqua or Magma have any data on it, I want it."
Primal Reversion. The Hoenn equivalent of Mega Evolution, specific to the two legendary Pokémon. Primal Kyogre and Primal Groudon were, statistically speaking, among the most powerful Pokémon in existence—gods of ocean and land, amplified to their absolute peak by the energy of the orbs.
Marcus had no intention of awakening either legendary. But understanding how Primal Reversion worked could provide crucial data for the broader "Evolution Beyond" research project. If the mechanism was similar to Mega Evolution—an external energy source triggering a temporary transformation—then the same principles might apply across the board.
"Understood, sir. I'll have the teams briefed and ready to deploy."
Marcus ended the call and stared out the window at Viridian City, spread out below him in the amber light of early evening.
Red was out there somewhere. Growing stronger. Getting closer.
But now, instead of a clear path to Team Rocket's operations, the kid would find distractions. Roadblocks. Two entire criminal organizations operating openly in Kanto, drawing attention, causing chaos, demanding response. Red couldn't ignore them—the kid was hardwired to help people, to fight evil, to be the hero. He'd go after Aqua and Magma because he couldn't not go after them, and every day he spent dealing with them was a day he wasn't dealing with Marcus.
It wouldn't stop Red forever. Nothing would stop Red forever—that kid was a force of nature, as inevitable as gravity. But it would slow him down. Buy time. And time was the one resource Marcus needed more than any other.
Time to complete the Silph Co. acquisition. Time to wait for the Mega Stone surveys. Time to let Mewtwo develop safely. Time to train his team. Time to let Dratini evolve into Dragonair and then into Dragonite.
Time to become unstoppable.
It was 9 PM when Marcus finally returned to Team Rocket headquarters, exhausted but satisfied. The day had been a triumph—gym battles won, meetings successful, plans advancing on every front. He felt like a general surveying a battlefield after a series of decisive victories, knowing that the war was far from over but that the strategic position was improving with every passing day.
He was walking through the ground floor toward the elevator when he became aware of something odd.
The headquarters was not empty—it never was, there was always a skeleton crew on night shift—but the people who were present were acting... strange. A group of female operatives near the communications station were huddled together, whispering, and when Marcus walked past, they all went silent simultaneously, their faces cycling through various shades of red like a display of exotic berries.
He caught a fragment of their whispered conversation before they noticed him:
"—and she said he was inside her for like ten whole seconds—"
"—I heard it was thirty seconds—"
"—Luna said she could feel his heartbeat—"
"—I would literally die. I would literally just die—"
Then they saw him, and the whispering stopped, replaced by a chorus of "GOOD EVENING, BOSS!" that was approximately 300% louder and 500% more enthusiastic than any workplace greeting had any right to be.
Marcus nodded, waved, and kept walking.
Strange.
Further down the corridor, he passed two more operatives—both women, both aggressively, impossibly, architecturally curvy in the way that every woman in this world seemed to be—who were pinning something to a bulletin board. They saw him coming, squeaked, and scrambled to cover whatever they'd been putting up with their bodies.
"Evening, ladies," Marcus said, not stopping.
"G-good evening, Boss!" they chirped in unison, their backs pressed against the bulletin board with the desperate urgency of people concealing state secrets.
Marcus continued to the elevator, rode it to his floor, and walked to his quarters.
He did not turn around.
He did not see the two operatives peel themselves off the bulletin board and reveal what they'd been pinning up.
He did not see the hand-drawn poster, rendered in surprisingly skilled colored pencil, depicting Giovanni in his orange suit, standing heroically atop a cliff with his Persian beside him, the wind blowing his hair dramatically, his jaw set in an expression of noble determination. Beneath the image, in elegant calligraphy:
THE GIOVANNI APPRECIATION SOCIETY
Weekly Meetings - Conference Room B - Thursdays 8 PM
All Are Welcome (But Especially If You Have Stories)
He did not see the sign-up sheet pinned next to the poster, which already contained forty-seven names.
He did not see the smaller note at the bottom, written in a different hand:
Luna will be sharing her "collision" story at this week's meeting. Attendance is MANDATORY.
He saw none of this, because he was in the elevator, thinking about Mega Stones.
Back in his quarters, Marcus released Dratini, fed it, and sat down at his desk for one final planning session.
The Hoenn operation was in motion. Archie and Maxie were coming to Kanto. The infiltration teams would deploy as soon as the coast was clear. The orbs and the research data would be in his hands within a month, if everything went according to plan.
But Marcus was already thinking further ahead. The orbs were important—critically important—but they were just one piece of the puzzle. The Blue Orb and the Red Orb controlled Kyogre and Groudon specifically. They wouldn't help with other legendaries. For those, he needed different approaches.
The Kanto legendaries—Articuno, Zapdos, and Moltres—were the most accessible. He knew their locations. He knew their habits. He knew their weaknesses. A well-prepared team with the right type coverage and enough Ultra Balls could potentially capture them. But "potentially" wasn't good enough. Marcus wanted guarantees. He wanted certainties.
Which brought him back to the Master Ball.
Which brought him back to Silph Co.
Which brought him back to the beautiful, elegant, self-reinforcing logic of his master plan: acquire Silph Co., mass-produce Master Balls, use Master Balls to capture legendary Pokémon, use legendary Pokémon to become the most powerful trainer in the world, use that power to ensure that nobody could ever challenge his position.
It was a loop. A virtuous cycle. Each element fed into the next, each success enabling the one after it.
And at the center of it all, holding everything together, was Marcus—a Pokémon fan from another world who knew where every piece was, what every piece did, and how every piece connected to every other piece.
He wrote in his notebook:
DAY 19 STATUS:
Silph Co.: 11.3% acquired. On track for 25% in 60 days. Three board members compromised. No resistance detected.
Mewtwo: 60% development. New safety protocols implemented. Psychology team en route to Cinnabar. Projected awakening: 4-6 months.
Paldea Expedition: Temporal displacement energy confirmed REAL. Phase A (ancient) and Phase B (future) identified. Paradox Pokémon observed. Higher-resolution scans authorized.
Mega Stone Search: Ongoing. Kalos and Hoenn geological surveys in progress. No confirmed finds yet.
Hoenn Operation: Archie and Maxie incoming. Infiltration teams on standby. Targets: Blue Orb, Red Orb, all Kyogre/Groudon research data, Primal Reversion data.
Red: Four badges. Currently in the Celadon City area based on last intelligence report. Aqua and Magma presence in Kanto should divert his attention within 2-3 weeks.
Team Status:
- Ace (Persian): Resonance ability confirmed and improving. Current estimated power under Resonance: pseudo-legendary tier.
- Dratini: Growing rapidly. Accuracy still terrible. Enthusiasm still infinite. Evolution to Dragonair projected within 30-45 days.
- Nidoking: Thunderbolt integrated. Mixed attacker role fully operational.
- Nidoqueen: Ice Beam integrated. Tank/coverage role fully operational.
- Rhydon: Newly evolved. Adjusting to bipedal movement. Learning Megahorn.
- Beedrill: Speed training progressing. Fastest non-Resonance member of the team.
- Kangaskhan: Sucker Punch learned. Physical power continues to be terrifying.
Personal Notes:
- The women in this organization are acting weird. Whispering, blushing, forming groups when I walk by. Possible morale issue? Should investigate. Maybe they need a raise.
- Discovered today that Giovanni can play piano. Found one in the hotel suite and muscle memory took over. Played Clair de Lune from start to finish without a single mistake. This body has hidden talents.
- Dratini ate my pen. Again. Need to buy more pens. Also need to figure out why Dratini is so obsessed with eating things that aren't food. Is this a Dragon-type thing? Research required.
He set down his replacement pen (the third this week), closed the notebook, and looked at Dratini.
The little dragon was curled on his desk, snoring softly, its tail draped over the keyboard of Giovanni's computer and its nose tucked under its own body in a perfect spiral of blue scales and quiet contentment.
Nineteen days. In nineteen days, he'd gone from a dead Pokémon fan on a couch in Sacramento to the most dangerous man in Kanto. He had plans within plans, schemes within schemes, and a team of Pokémon that was getting stronger every single day.
And somewhere out there, in bases that would soon be empty, sat two ancient orbs—one blue, one red—pulsing with the power of gods, waiting for the hand that would claim them.
Marcus picked up Dratini, cradled the sleeping dragon against his chest, and headed for bed.
Tomorrow would be another day of grinding.
The grind never stopped.
The grind was everything.
He was almost asleep when his communicator buzzed one final time. A message from an unknown internal address, forwarded through Team Rocket's anonymous suggestion system.
He opened it, expecting an operational note or a supply request.
It read:
Dear Boss,
This is an anonymous message from a concerned group of employees who wish to express our deep, profound, and completely professional admiration for your leadership. We have noticed that you have been working very hard lately and we want you to know that we appreciate you. Very much. So much. An amount that cannot be quantified by conventional mathematics.
We have also noticed that you have not taken a single day off since assuming your current level of operational intensity, and we are concerned about your wellbeing. Please take care of yourself, sir. You are very important. To the organization. And to us. Professionally.
Also, if you ever need someone to bring you coffee, or food, or a blanket, or anything at all, at any time of day or night, there are approximately forty-seven people who have volunteered for this duty and would consider it the greatest honor of their lives.
Professionally.
With the deepest professional respect,
The Giovanni Appreciation Society
(This is not a fan club. It is a professional employee wellness initiative. The matching t-shirts are coincidental.)
Marcus stared at the message for a long time.
Then he typed a reply:
Thank you for the kind words. I appreciate the team's dedication. Please ensure all "wellness initiative" activities occur outside of operational hours. And tell whoever is making the t-shirts to use the official Team Rocket font.
He hit send, put down the communicator, and stared at the ceiling.
"The women in this organization are very strange," he told Dratini.
Dratini, asleep, did not respond.
Persian—Boss, who had materialized on the bed at some point during the evening through the kind of silent, cat-like teleportation that all felines seemed capable of—opened one eye, looked at Marcus with an expression of such profound, weary, knowing disdain that it transcended species barriers, and went back to sleep.
"What?" Marcus asked the cat.
Boss purred.
It was not a comforting purr. It was the purr of a cat that knew something its owner didn't and found the ignorance deeply, deeply entertaining.
Marcus rolled over, pulled the covers up, and went to sleep.
Outside, the stars wheeled over Kanto. In the Seafoam Islands, Archie's advance team was setting up camp. In Mt. Moon, Maxie's equipment was being unpacked. In Hoenn, two bases sat vulnerable and waiting. In Paldea, a research team pointed their instruments at a crater full of impossible energy. In Cinnabar, a god dreamed in amber fluid. In a Pokémon Center somewhere between Celadon and Fuchsia, a boy named Red was sleeping with his Pokémon around him, four badges pinned inside his jacket, his journey only half complete.
And in Viridian City, in a bed that cost more than most people's houses, the most dangerous man in the Pokémon world slept with a baby dragon on his chest and a cat at his feet, dreaming of orbs and stones and a future where he stood at the top of everything.
The grind continued.
Even in sleep, the grind never stopped.
END OF CHAPTER 3
Next Chapter: The Hoenn infiltration teams make their move, Marcus finally gets his hands on the orbs, Dratini has a breakthrough (and also eats another pen), the Giovanni Appreciation Society holds its first official meeting with minutes and everything, and Red encounters Team Aqua for the first time and is very confused about why an ocean-themed criminal organization is in Kanto.