Chapter Text
Riley paused at the door to the office and rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. “Hey, boss, you got a minute?”
He knew full well that he was supposed to be free right now. But recently, Boss Emmet’s “breaks” seemed to be mostly consisting of working. Not on the subway—breaks were breaks and blurring the line between them and work was out of the question—but on some other project, clearly. It was part of Riley’s growing mental folder of evidence.
The sudden burst of rescheduling and checks to make sure all the stations were mostly self-sufficient. The refreshing and codifying of new guidelines that had been unwritten standards for years. His own recent promotion—which, not that Riley wasn’t excited about that, but all of it together pointed to something.
Emmet lifted one hand and drew a circle next to his ear, the silent signal for go on, I’m listening.
“You’re, uh. Leaving, aren’t you? Sir.”
He still didn’t look up, but his head tilted slightly. There was a moment of silence.
“Because-“
“Yes- well. I am not… leaving. Not stepping down. I am… taking a…” fingers rapped against the table as he thought. “Holiday?”
“Oh.” The first part of that was a relief—Riley definitely didn’t want to be the boss of everything, and he wasn’t super keen on seeing who the transit authority would send down if nobody was promoted—but the explanation… on the surface, it was completely reasonable. He certainly deserved one, with all the work he did. And he probably needed one, after Boss Ingo’s disappearance and the subsequent upending of the entire subway that had demanded all his time and focus to manage, and left him no time to himself. But something still seemed… off, for some reason.
“Can I ask… why, sir? I mean, um. Do you have. Plans?”
“Sinnoh.”
“…What?”
“I. Am going. To Sinnoh.” He waved a hand like he was dismissing a thought, and finally looked up at Riley. “I cannot run the trains from Sinnoh!”
“Uh, yeah, no, that makes sense. Why… why all the way to Sinnoh?”
He looked back down again. “Eat your lunch, Riley.”
That meant he was dismissed and the conversation was over. “Yes, sir.”
Galactic Boss Cyrus was not given the benefit of an alarm.
The Galactic Headquarters was meant to be impenetrable, and had the security to match, and nobody had ever really expected they’d face any problems, not at this stage—their guards were battle-ready, and why would anyone bother raiding the office of an energy company, anyway? So an “alarm” probably would have consisted of someone shouting into the PA, or possibly just breaking down his door in a panic, and neither of those things happened.
Instead, he was in the middle of unwrapping his lunch when the doors to his office were slammed open by a person he didn’t recognize.
“Wh- what the- who let you in here? Did-“
Any initial suspicion that he’d forgotten a meeting was dashed when the stranger took two deliberate steps across the room and lifted a Pokéball. He bounced it once, twice, in his hand.
“You are Cyrus?” His smile was distinctly not friendly.
He knocked his chair over as he stood up. “Guards!” he shouted in the direction of the door.
But the man in white did a half-shrug. “No guards!”
“What?”
“No guards! All the guards are taken care of!” The statement rung like a bell. He almost looked prideful. “Now it is your turn. Battle me.”
What had been a random trespasser suddenly became something much different. Cyrus picked his first Pokémon off the shelf under his desk. “What do you want?”
He sent out Sneasel. His opponent led with a Haxorus. “I am Emmet. You are Cyrus. You have a plan to end the world.”
His stomach dropped, almost pulling his focus away from the battle. He led with a Screech, planning to set up for an Ice Punch. The Haxorus took the opportunity to Dragon Dance.
“How do you know about that? Nobody is supposed to know about that.”
“I researched,” he said, cordial as if he were discussing the weather. "You are not denying it?”
Fuck.
Haxorus, now faster than him, Dragon Tailed before he could get a move off, knocking Sneasel off the field, and he was forced to choose a new Pokémon. He went with Crobat. “It’s a little late for that, I suppose.”
Dragon Dance again. Cyrus started to order a Supersonic, hoping to use those attack increases against his opponent, and then paused to question the wisdom of confusing a Haxorus that was about three feet and one flimsy desk away from him. He opted for Poison Fang instead, and, thankfully, the secondary effect took.
“You will do this using the power of Sinnoh’s deities. Still true?”
“Yes. I don’t know where you got this information, but there’s no point in denying it, is there?”
A Dragon Claw—almighty, that was a one-hit. Damned Dancing. At least Haxorus was poisoned now. He sent out Honchkrow. His opponent Dragon Danced again despite the bad poisoning, just to add insult to injury.
“Dialga and Palkia, space and time. You have found a way to capture them. Yes?”
Night Shade. It was effective, but not enough, and once again, a single Dragon Claw put Honchkrow down. He sent out Sneasel with little hope—no way in hell could he be faster at this point. Cold sweat was starting to bead on the back of his neck. “Yes, yes, you damn- what is it you want?”
“You are going to capture Dialga and use it for your own ends. You are clearly an evil person.”
He recalled Sneasel, putting a bite in his voice he didn’t really feel. “And, what, you’re here to play hero? Stop me before I even get started?” He raised his hands to either side, exposing his chest. “Capture me? Kill me? Well, go on, then! Congratulations! You’ve left me nowhere to run!”
The man in white was still fucking smiling.
“No.”
“What?” He lowered his hands slightly, caught off-guard.
“You are evil. But! Our destinations are very close.” He recalled Haxorus and took a step forwards, across the makeshift battle field they’d been using. “I need to find Dialga, too.”
“What? Why?”
He reached inside his white coat—Cyrus flinched, despite himself—but what he withdrew was a sheet of printer paper, which he held up, displaying what was printed on the front. He leaned forwards and squinted to read it.
“Who is–?”
"Are you following the archeology in your region?”
“…Not… closely? Most of it’s not open for public viewing– what does this matter?”
He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, smile waning slightly, like he was being forced to explain something to a child. “A long time ago—a verrry long time ago—there was a crisis in Sinnoh. Nobody knows what it was. Only that Dialga and Palkia were involved somehow.” His eyes were open again, and the electric determination in them made Cyrus flinch for a different reason. “I need to go back there.”
The paper was refolded and returned to its pocket. Cyrus stepped back again. “So you’ve come to raid our research, then? If so, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. We’re still in early stages–”
“I want,” now impatience was creeping into his voice, “to work for you.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he started to chuckle humorlessly, shaking his head. “Well you’ve got a funny damn way of showing it. Breaking and entering, beating all my guards, demanding a battle and calling me evil? Why on earth would I trust you?”
The remaining space between them was crossed in two steps. “This was a demonstration. Of my ability. Until you find Dialga, we want the same thing. Your goals are mine. I would do anything you asked. If it got us closer to our destination.” He lifted the right side of his coat—opposite from the pocket with the letter—and Cyrus saw six Pokéballs hooked on his belt. A full team. And he’d only needed one to beat him. Almighty.
“And when we did find Dialga…”
“Oh. Then I would stop you.” His grin gained fangs, for a moment.
Cyrus leaned back against his desk, considering the carpet. This was… an interesting situation. He was the strongest trainer in Team Galactic, without question, and this stranger had beaten him—and an entire building of guards—without breaking a sweat. That fire in his eyes… that single-minded determination… he knew how powerful that could be. What kinds of things a man might do in service to it. And to have that kind of leverage on someone so strong…
The only issue was his caveat. The end of the proposed arrangement. As things were now, they almost certainly stood no chance once he turned on them. But… then again, nothing was stopping him from simply coming back once they got closer to their goal and taking what he wanted, if Cyrus refused him. And maybe by keeping him close, he could sway him, or sabotage him…
“Do you need to think about it?” the stranger asked. His voice had returned to the perfectly cool, even tone it had been at the beginning, any hint of impatience or frustration vanished from it.
He looked up. “What did you say your name was?”
“I am Emmet.”
With a slow nod, he lifted one hand, extending it for a handshake. “Commander Emmet. Welcome aboard.”