Chapter 156

The Tower of Blood

Part 3

It was a long shot, but Matt didn't have many other options.

His nerves had failed him, floating through a haze as he yanked open the desk drawers, papers flying everywhere. Walking in on a half dead guy hadn't been an expectation, but by that point, all expectations were lost. Matt was in hell; he got that much. He couldn't be bothered with any other looming questions.

"That's the guy who walked in with Craig," Otto had told him. Craig never left the strangers side, slouched beside him in an exhausted stupor. The Pokemon heaved in the bask of the red emergency lights as Matt hurried.

Mending gel. Was that what Donovin had called it? Matt couldn't remember. Mt. Moon felt like ages ago, and yet the images of the event had burned into his mind. They played for Matt in a passive slideshow as he started rummaging through one of the bottom desk drawers. He pretended he didn't notice the memories, praying for them to give up and go away. They didn't.

"Shrew..." Craig breathed, staring at the river of red along the strangers shirt. Matt could hear said stranger cough with force from time to time, spitting in death's face. He wanted to live, and Matt was compelled to help him. There wasn't any debate about it. He needed to find mending gel.

Hope had almost been lost. It wasn't until the sight of a container of toothpaste that Matt found a slice of resolve. It looked like toothpaste. But the strange logo on its side made him reconsider. It was the outline of a man holding a rifle—military getup and all—aimed down the sights of what looked like a rifle. The words Johnson and Sheffieldwas displayed beside the design. Below, in much smaller text, read All Natural Organic Mending Gel. External use only.

Matt nearly slammed his hip into the side of the desk as he ran around the room, falling onto his knees as he hovered over the wounded stranger. He tore off the protective seal around the cap, staring at the handle of the knife lodged in the poor bastards gut.

"Otto," Matt said in control of his voice, "Do I leave the knife in or out?"

"Leave it in," Otto told him. "The mending agent eats anything that isn't considered 'living', to put it like a four year old."

"Thanks for the consideration," Matt responded. His tone had fallen flat as he focused, carefully squeezing out the gel from the tube. The severed fingers on the floor caught his attention for only a fleeting second, which were nothing compared to what had been witnessed upon his arrival to the 59th floor. "Does this stuff grow fingers too?"

"Again, in simple terms, no," Otto spoke. "And make sure you apply it slowly. You don't need as much as you might think."

Matt did as he was told, taken back a bit from the sight of the knife handle falling on its side. His eyes glued to the remnants of the knife. The stranger inhaled a deep breathe, closing his eyes.

"I thought I was gonna die..." he panted, patting his healed wound. Matt pulled back as the young man in the overcoat reared his head up, looking around. He looked lost. Confused even. As if he himself had no idea what the hell was going on. But there was a realization that came over him. Matt witnessed the frustration the stranger had towards his bindings. "Can you cut me free?"

Matt said nothing, reaching for Windowmaker. He flicked her open with a single whip of his wrist, cutting the zip ties. Though he was confident in his ability, Matt saw no reason to risk accidentally slicing the man he saved open again.

Mr. Overcoat rolled out of the chair, struggling to get to his feet. Matt assisted him, and was thanked. The stranger coughed again. He looked like he was still flirting with death.

"I..." the stranger trailed off, staring at the Sandshrew below him. Craig hugged one of his legs. Even in the thick of it, both Matt and the stranger smiled.

"He's yours, isn't he?" the stranger asked. Matt was busy staring at the bags under the strangers eyes, fighting the urge to take a step back in the unlikely event of getting thrown up on by accident. Instead, Matt nodded.

"Yeah, he's mine."

"I'm so sorry," the young man told him, holding his mangled hand. "You weren't supposed to get dragged into this."

"What exactly is this?" Matt asked without hesitation, motioning towards the window of the office. "Out there?"

The stranger grew distant, losing Matt for a second. Matt watched the stranger shake his head.

"I saw it happen," he struggled. Matt understood the look.

There was no explaining the blood work he had walked into. It would never leave Matt's mind.

"What's going on?" Matt asked, without further clarification. The stranger struggled a bit, having to shuffle over to the desk for support. He kicked the rolling chair he had been bound to on his way over. There was a tug at Matt's pant leg, his attention brought to Craig. The Sandshrew reached both struggling arms upward, motioning with his paws.

Matt bent down and picked up his Pokemon. Craig clung to his chest, refusing to let go. There was no objection from Matt about it. His focus returned to the stranger.

"I have absolutely no fucking clue," said the stranger in the overcoat. The stranger covered his face with his hands. Matt could hear him controlling his breathing. In through the nose, and out through the mouth. "You pissed my boss off—that's all I know. But this—I don't know anything about this."

Matt figured as much. It was obvious then that he wasn't the only one in the dark. Again, after what he had witnessed, was that such a bad thing? No, not really. All that mattered now was cleaning house. Even if he had no idea as to how to do it.

"Otto," Matt spoke to his headset, getting the attention of the stranger, "How many are you counting?"

"Come again?" Otto responded.

"How many armed men are left in the building?" Matt elaborated.

"Hang on..." There was a pause. "It's hard to count them all, but it think it's somewhere around fifty left. I think. They keep moving around, so it's hard to keep track."

Matt closed his eyes.

Never again would Matt even dream of retaking the strange injections he had on Mt. Moon. But they sure would have come in handy.

But there was something else. Time. Slowing down, like some outplayed trick all action movies seemed to be so fond of. And... something else. He struggled, going back to when the masked killer had been burned for what seemed apparently no reason. There was no sense in lying to himself; Matt knew it had been from him. He just couldn't quiet explain why. Or even how, for that matter.

"You've got contact outside?" the stranger asked.

Matt opened his mouth, but closed it.

"Careful," Matt finally spoke. "I haven't forgotten anything."

The stranger looked confused.

"What are you-"

"Your boss," Matt interrupted. There was another pause along with an understanding between the two. The stranger looked to the chair, frowning, finally returning to Matt. He hunched over while he sat on the desk, looking like he was going to fall off.

"Fine," the stranger coughed. He sounded surprisingly compliant. "I get it. You're pissed. Just... are you going back out there?"

Matt nodded.

The stranger looked to the Sandshrew, again frowning.

"At least leave your Pokemon here," he told Matt. In response, Matt glared as he felt Craig cling tighter, burrowing his head into his Trainers chest.

"Not on your fucking life."

Again, there was confusion behind the strangers eyes. Finally, a look of acceptance.

"I can't stop you on that either," the stranger sighed. "Just... at least go downstairs before you take them on. I'd join you but..." He paused, heaving again. Even talking almost seemed too hard for the stranger. "That's not gonna happen. If I leave this room, I'm as good as dead. But we've got our own little Pokemon Center downstairs. Sort of. We don't really..."

The strangers voice trailed off, his head looking upward towards the mangled camera in the corner of the room. Satisfied that it wasn't in working order, he returned his attention to Matt.

"Go to the first floor," he instructed him. "There's a hatch underneath the receptionist desk that you'll want to get into. The code is 7-5-9-9. You might want to write it down. We've got health potions for him and a few Holly Bands for you down there. Some other stuff too, if you're interested."

Matt nodded, saying nothing as he turned around, lowering Craig to the floor. His little monster didn't let go, clutching to his trainer with all of his might. Slipping the capped gel into his pocket, Matt expected an objection from the stranger. There hadn't been, and he was glad; there was no way in hell he was leaving that behind either. If he was going to somehow—somehow—take on a small army, he was going to need everything he could get.

Craig continued to hold on for dear life to his Trainer.

"Craig, you have to let go," Matt told him, lowering himself onto one knee. "I'm not going anywhere. You're going to stay right behind me. I promise you, I'm not going anywhere without you. But I can't shoot if I'm holding you."

The Sandshrew was reluctant, but finally let go. Matt stood back up, moving his rifle from his back and into his hands again, making sure the safety was off.

"Otto, do you think you can lead me downstairs without getting me into a firefight?"

"Absolutely," his friend said through the headset. "It looks like they're all near the top of the building anyway. Though avoid the elevator, just to be safe."

Matt sighed.

"Great," he grumbled under is breath. "More stairs."

"Good luck out there," the stranger said. He was surprised when Matt turned back around and approached him, reaching for his handgun. He extended it to the stranger, making sure the barrel was pointed to the floor. There was some hesitation, but the stranger finally took it.

"Stay out of sight," Matt told him. "You look like you've already been through enough for one day."

The stranger, for a brief moment, offered a smile.

"I really don't like confronting my boss," the stranger said. "But I'll make sure he knows about what you did for me. If... if he's still alive. Maybe he's hiding somewhere."

"Matt," Otto interjected. "I still haven't seen Mr. Esco."

Matt decided it was best not to relay that information to the young man now holding his handgun. What was the point in getting his hopes up?

Feeling as though he had already wasted enough time talking, Matt and Craig left the room, making sure the door latched closed behind them.

Otto assured Matt that he was still clear of anyone wanting to put a bullet in him. He leaned Craig into the side of the receptionist desk for the rather large open foyer. He moved back the rolling chair, hunching down and squinting his eyes.

On his knees, he moved under the desk, rolling aside the pathetic excuse of a rug meant to "hide" what he was looking for. The rug seemed to have been kicked—possibly by a rather frightened receptionist who wasn't used to having a gun pointed in their face. With the rug piece out of the way, he found a pad of numbered buttons. Sweat burned into his eyes as he punched in the code, remembering it perfectly and without a shred of doubt.

7-5-9-9.

There was a click, with a handle extending from the "safe" door. He pulled it open.

To his surprise, Matt found himself staring into a deep pit of darkness that seemed to have no end, light unable to will itself down its unsettling passage. The only thing worth noting was what looked like foot holes for climbing. A built-in ladder for people who didn't care much about their safety. It was going to be a hassle bringing Craig with him. But he'd be damned before leaving him upstairs, alone, in his battered condition.

He grabbed his Sandshrew, pulling him close to his chest. Craig struggled to look up, head bobbing like a newborn baby. His eyes opened briefly before rolling to the back of his head. Fear ran a spike through Matt's heart—Craig died. In his arms. Just like that.

No. No, he was still breathing.

Matt pulled himself together, dragging in air. He lowered himself under the desk once more, carefully climbing down into the hole under the desk. Doing it one handed was a challenge. Taking it slow was the only course of action he allowed.

"I guess there really was a basement after all. I don't have any camera's wherever it is you're going," Otto said carefully. He was heard sniffling over the line. "But I need you to stay focused on what's going on. Not what's down there. Get what I'm driving at?"

Matt opened his mouth to speak, finding himself completely drenched in the darkness suffocating his decent. But he stopped himself. Thinking.

"I'll just focus on getting what I need," Matt complied. "You don't need me to give you a floor plan... right?"

"No, it shouldn't be necessary."

Shaken to the core or not, Matt could still manage to put pieces together. Esco, for better or worse, had a connection to Otto. And the Nash farm. And with everything that had already happened, there was going to be one hell of a headache of legal troubles if law enforcement decided to snoop around. There was no telling what was going on behind the curtains in the Esco Towers. And he didn't want to have anything to do with it. Nor for Otto or the Nash's sake.

His feet finally hit solid ground. It shocked him, gasping. With a sigh, he let go of the "ladder," feeling like an idiot for getting scared of a floor. But after the day he already had, he was willing to give himself a pass. Several, in fact. It wasn't like it was going to matter anyway; he was going to die.

No, he argued with himself, the voice clear and crisp and too real to ignore. You're not going to talk like that. You're getting out of this, in one piece. You're not dying in this hell.

He tried to make sense of the loud voice rattling in his mind, shuffling around aimlessly in the darkness. It wasn't until after the fourth of fifth step when lights popped on. Bright ones, too.

Matt covered his face from the burning glow of the ceiling panels that lit on their own, clenching his aching eyes shut to stop the sharp pain.

"I'll let you know if anyone is coming your way," Otto said, sounding more in charge. "I hope it was worth the trouble."

Matt's vision focused through the white lights of the warehouse of a room, a valley of crates organized, each section with colored tape slapped on their sides. The place was an organized mess. He hadn't the slightest idea what was where. Without thinking, he began to wander forward, eyeing a crate with a piece of black tape. White dots lined its center.

Their were no nails, only hinges and simple metal flaps ensuring closed lids. Matt undid the fitting of the black-taped crate, his fingers lifting the lid just enough to see.

His eyes bugged, staring. It took him a while to properly identify and believe what it was that he was seeing. Although he knew very little, what he did know was from movies. Scarface came to mind.

Matt closed the lid, allowing himself to wander further inside the strange storage room of Esco Towers. He looked all around. Where the hell was he supposed to look?

"This might take me a minute," Matt sighed, moving to yet another crate. This one had yellow tape. He lifted it, unable to figure out what he was taking in. It all looked like junked computer parts. He lowered the lid and moved on, Craig still held against his chest.

Some amount of time went by before he stumbled into a crate with what looked like a Pokeball on the side of it. Curious, he checked it out, listening to the hum of the lights.

How the are they still running? He questioned silently, glancing up at the panels. When he looked back down, he was staring into a crate of stacked racks, all lined with Pokeballs. He blinked. There must have been a few hundred in there. Easy. He reached for one as he pulled his head down. Craig's eyes were shut again. Seeing him like that scared the living shit out of Matt. With a minimized Pokeball wrapped in his palm, he moved on, going a little quicker. Were there any crates with potion pictures? No, that would have been too easy.

There was, however, a clutter of crates with what looked like aerosol spray cans drawn on the side. There were various pieces of tape on their sides, as if the person who'd worked with them couldn't be bothered with order or reason. Upon inspecting, Matt found himself staring at odd looking canisters. Without thinking, Matt popped the minimized Pokeball into his mouth for the use of his remaining hand back, thankful that Otto couldn't see him. It made more sense to hang on to it. Even if it meant putting it into his mouth.

It tasted like plastic and metal as a bitterness tingled down his throat.

He eyed the can he was holding, finding the word Potion delicately etched on the side of the gray canister. There was no design whatsoever. The cap was blue, but that was about it. Whatever kind of potion it was, it certainly hadn't come from any sort of Pokemart.

Matt finally had to spit out the Pokeball, letting it bounce on top of the crate he also rested Craig on. The Sandshrew groaned as he held his stomach. His body shook and shivered, coughing.

"Here goes nothing," Matt breathed, unable to predict the outcome as he uncapped the canister. Finger pressed on its top, he pushed down as a spray covered Craig's body. The Sandshrew shivered again. Matt used it sparingly as he witnessed the blemishes on Craig's body evaporate into thin air. It was as though they had never been there in the first place. The Pokemon sat up a little straighter. Another cough. Then, more spray had been applied.

"You find a potion?" Otto asked. Clearly he had heard the sound of the spray being used.

"I certainly hope so," Matt added in all seriousness. He had grown callous again as he focused on the task at hand. There was a little more life that trickled into Craig's mannerisms. He blinked more with widened eyes, as though pulling from a bad dream. The little Sandshrew looked around the room with little resistance of his neck, looking as fine as ever. He returned a look to his much relieved Trainer. Matt wiped sweat from his face as he sat the health potion down beside Craig. Grabbing the tiny Pokeball, he twisted the top, with the ball growing in his hand.

"Okay," Matt said. "Now I need a Holly Band. You think I can get this Pokeball to work?"

"Using the DNA scanner on the back should work without issue," Otto said with confidence.

"So not having Craig's original Pokeball won't matter?" Matt questioned. "What kind of security setup is that?"

"Your DNA is already linked," Otto explained. "Any new Pokeballs you transfer your Pokemon to will read their DNA code in yours, and vice versa."

Matt refused to question his friend. Again—there were larger things to worry about.

"Whatever you say," Matt said, pressing his thumb on the back of the Pokeball. Pressing down on the small button, Matt felt the needle enter his skin. It was never an enjoyable process. He raised the Pokeball, squeezing its sides as it popped open. Craig was sent inside in a burst of red light—very much like the emergency lighting system his eyes had grown used to. The white lights of the underground were starting to hurt.

Blood. Lights. Pokeballs. Everything red, it seemed.

Matt moved the Will Meter on the back of the ball from blue to green, instantly feeling his Sandshrew inside. He felt restless. But, he decided it was best to keep him away from their shared nightmare, if only for a little while. He was able to search through the crates much faster that way, feeling as though time were not on his side.

"When you find a Holly Band," Otto said, "Don't put it on right away."

Matt paused mid-search, adjusting his headset.

"And why not?"

"I need you to read the serial code on the bottom first," Otto explained. "The jammer in the tower won't allow it to work. Unless you're me, and you know how to get it to work."

"Do I even want to ask how you're going to manage that?" Matt kept opening crates, persistent in his search. "Remember: dumb it down for me."

"Um, okay..." Otto paused. "So, imagine two wave lengths going at slightly altered-"

"You're gonna need to go lower than that, man," Matt said. "I can't think about 'waves' or whatever right now."

Otto sighed over the headset.

"If I punch the serial code in I can made it work," Otto put bluntly.

"Works for me."

Time was not on their side. Clayton knew they couldn't stall for much longer. But they very well couldn't blow the bomb before Gail Company had managed to carve their way through the security system and turn it off. That was their only means of escaping to the roof and finally being finished with the job. And yet, Gail Company didn't seem to move. Like snakes in the grass, merely watching prey. Clayton didn't like it.

He didn't like it at all.

The men and woman, all still masked and armed, waited around the top floors of the building, waiting for the word. They spoke very little, with a shared tension among them. At the very least, Clayton was glad of that. They might have been Team Rocket, but they didn't get flimsy when it came to the messy parts of their job.

Clayton was pacing again, kicking over a box of metal pipes. The unfinished upper floors left little means of comfort, with the crew making due with the work tables and boxes as comfort. The few Trainers seemed rather restless however, talking quietly with one another. Out of all the people Clayton had to work with, it was those assholes.

He thought about the very concept of keeping revolting creatures in containers as he paced back and forth, his gaze moving to the staircase leading to the roof from time to time. While doing so, his revolver had moved into his hand, spinning it on his finger without even noticing. A force of habit that surfaced when he thought too much.

But Gail Company—why hadn't they made a move? Something was wrong. But there was no going back from the plan. They were almost done. Almost.

He looked back to the Trainers again. All five of them were still in a huddle. Finally, he'd had enough of guessing about what they'd been talking about, marching over to them as he clutched his revolver in hand. There was a tinge of frustration in all of their voices, though it was hard to tell who was who. The fruit cakes all dressed up the same too.

Green jumpsuits and matching ski masks. They looked like stupid tree-people with lumps on their hips. Each carried a six-piece Pokebelt, and each only carried one, single ball.

"We having show and tell over here or somethin'?" Clayton barged into their conversation. Their eyes moved to him, all sharp and defiant.

"We're not properly armed," one spoke.

"Our 'Bands still aren't working," another added.

"And we've only been allowed one Pokemon," a third finished.

"And that's because we couldn't risk raising suspicion," Clayton came back, voice full of sarcastic, car salesman charm. "Why? I thought your Pokemon were amazing?"

They said nothing. Clayton rolled his eyes before stomping off.

"This wasn't what the plan was supposed to be," one of them called to him.

"Well, that's life," Clayton went about mocking them again, back still facing the five Trainers as he walked to a crate. He sat down on it, still with gun in hand, letting his body lean forward. "You have to deal with shit you don't wanna. But you're gonna do it anyway. Because I fucking said so. We clear?"

"No, we're not, actually," one of them stepped forward, stomping to Clayton. He was not impressed, watching with a raised bow as the green-covered grunt approached. "We have no protection from anything, and you're going to allow-"

A blast rang around the room as a body fell flat on the floor. Team Rocket members were stunned, freezing in place from the unexpected shot. The other Rocket Trainers rushed to their fallen friend, shaking him and yelling, despite the hole left in his chest. Blood was everywhere, staining their fingers as they desperately tried to shake him alive.

"If any one else has a problem, you can voice it now. I don't have a problem getting rid of anyone else." With a wry smile, he turned back to the sobbing Trainers. "Look, don't get all upset now. We're almost done. Besides, four is better than five, really. Kinda like our own little Elite Four. 'Cause you've all got such great Pokemon. Right?"

Clayton had a laugh to himself. Nobody joined in.

It was a bit different from what Matt was used to, but it was a welcomed change.

The Holly Band fit comfortably on his wrist, the screen of the device offering a modest glow. He tapped on the only "application" on screen, with another screen popping up. The small, moving icon of a Sandshrew danced in the center. It was startling at first; Matt worried it was defective. But the digital Sandshrew continued to move about, showing the health reading at a full bar. The spray, thankfully, had worked.

Matt had used a line of crates as an extended table, having thrown open enough lids to find more than a few extra supplies. A mountain of mending gel was piled on one of the crates, with an array of cans lined on another. The crate of survival packs was a welcomed surprise, and managed to fit a hell of a lot.

Instinct and survival had swept over him, not bothering to question why he'd need so many supplies. Chances were, at best, he'd manage to take them on in small groups. But in doing so would be a bit of a challenge. Even with Otto working the cameras and feeding him information, there was no telling what was going to happen.

"I think we can make it work," Otto spoke him him, his phantom friend still hard at work on the other side of the chaos. "They're still in position, but I just witnessed another murder. One of their own."

Matt continued shoving supplies into the survival pack as he attempted to make sense of the new information.

"Why exactly?"

"They're having some issues of their own it sounds like." Otto went on typing as he talked. At the rate he was going, Matt had to wonder if he was writing a novel while watching the cameras "The Trainers are getting angry about their Holly Bands not working. And the Belt's they've been using still don't seem to be working either."

"So these belts," Matt said as he did one last sweep of the over-sized store room. "You said they work like the Holly Bands, but without needing Pokemon?"

"That's correct."

"So they're probably worried about getting killed," Matt pieced together. There was something mumbled on the other end of the ear piece. Matt couldn't quiet make out what Otto had said, but it was something on the lines of 'no shit.'

"That certainly would make sense," Otto put dryly. "So... quite frankly, you've got a bit of an upper hand here."

"Against fifty guys. By myself. Right, Otto."

"I'm not saying it isn't an issue. I'm just saying that your chances of survival are much higher than they were."

"Wonderful," Matt laughed.

Emotion would take its turn with emptiness, dancing back and forth in a series of swings. Just as he was getting used to feeling his hands again, they went numb. Like the rest of him. His heart rate was far from being set at a stable pace. One moment it would jackhammer, the next drumming gently. It wasn't noticeable one moment, then the next it was all he could think about.

"Hang on a second..." Otto spoke again, sounding slightly surprised by something. "I found Mr. Esco... and it looks like some of the Rocket members found him. There's gunfire, Matt..."

Matt finished filling his pack, swinging it over his shoulder.

"What floor?" he asked—rather, demanded.

Colin Esco refused to hide like a rat in some closet, but leaving so carelessly had been an unmistakable misstep for sure. He had managed to roam a few floors before finding some unwelcome guests. Taking cover had been his only option, pinned down as bullets flew by like enraged hornets.

There was no point in trying to count the bullets—it all sounded like a storm of thunder, never fully ending. It would die down for a second, followed by another wave of deafening yells and gunfire. Refusing to move, Colin held his ground, thankful he had splurged on construction. The bullets wouldn't penetrate, only chipping layers of paint and concrete to reveal the metal plating beneath.

The small cover he had, a small "hall" that lead to an office door, was beginning to wear. There was no chance in moving to better cover. It would have only ensured his death. Praying a bullet didn't ricochet back into him, he held his back to the wall, clutching his large handgun and waiting it out. They had to run out of bullets eventually.

But it didn't.

These assholes came prepared, he thought, chest tightening.

His head snapped around as the sound of an elevator door dinged open. His mouth opened, completely caught off guard by the kid in red rushing onto the floor.

Matt ran out of the elevator as his finger squeezed the trigger, hearing Otto faintly yelling into his ear.

"What the fuck are you thinking?!"

"There's eight guys, Matt!"

"The elevator is a death trap!"

It all seemed pretty distant now that he found himself lying on his stomach, using a toppled vending working as a poor means of cover. He let out a surprised yell as a bullet tore through the side of it, inches away from his face. He crawled backwards, struggling behind more reliable cover, narrowly missing a stray bullet.

He couldn't feel his heartbeat anymore as he sat up, heaving against cover.

It like he was watching someone controlling his body, changing a magazine with shaking hands. Not going in right the first time, he grunted, slapping it into the well. With bent finger, he cocked back the bolt, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself to his feet.

Swinging his rifle around the corner, he pulled the trigger hard. The small line of masked intruders reared back into their own cover, hollering for everyone to keep their heads down. The hallway had been turned into a lopsided trench field of linoleum and shattered glass. Sighting down his rifle, he pulled a few more times, a handful of casing dancing into the hall.

Forced to pull back, he swore, reaching up to his earpiece. He could hardly hear Otto screaming at him over the ongoing gunfire. He strained his ear, trying to pinpoint his friend's voice. Otto kept yelling if Matt could hear him.

"I'm here!" Matt hollered into it. "It's loud as shit!"

"What the hell are you thinking?!" Otto yelled, for what had to have been the fourth time.

"Thinking that I need your help—quit yelling at me!"

Mr. Esco saw his chance, finally finding an opening to dare peaking around the corner. He fired a few shots with little success before being drawn back into cover. He risked another peak, unable to help but take another shot.

A scream ripped through the hallway as a Rocket member fell on the floor. More bullets ripped into the masked man's flesh, a burp of blood bursting from the entry wounds, laying motionless.

There was one down, with not enough bullets to go around. Mr. Esco released his magazine, counting the bullets. Two, with another in the chamber. Cursing, he slapped the magazine back into his hand cannon.

It wasn't going to happen. Not without the kid.

Matt was trying to listen and shoot at the same time—a terrible combination. His ears rang, and nearly everything Otto yelled over the mic had gone unnoticed.

"Seven?" Matt hollered, "You said seven left?!"

"Yes, I said seven!" Otto panicked. "Don't stick out so much!"

"I'm fi-"

Matt heard a bullet fly by, hitting into the wall close to his cover. He made sure to take a step back, reloading his rifle again. He braced himself, firing blind around the corner for as long as he could stomach before pulling back. Protected by a Holly Band or not, the idea of taking a bullet didn't sit well with him. The beating in his heart was noticeable again. But the fear had faded.

"Wasn't expecting backup were you, huh fuckers?!" Mr. Esco screamed into the hallway, taking another shot, clipping the rib cage of one of the bastards trying to move from cover. Matt laid down more cover fire as Colin Esco finished off the wounded enemy.

Mr. Esco's gun finally clicked empty.

"Mother fucker!" he growled, nearly taking a bullet to the neck, pulling back, keeping away from the corner. He looked towards where the kid was taking cover, hardly able to see him with the exception of the occasional fit of firing on his end.

Matt could hear Otto yelling something over his headset as he moved out of cover, once again headed for the toppled vending machine. Bullets sprayed in all directions, Matt cursing as a stray round got too close for comfort.

"Keep your head down, kid!" Mr. Esco yelled over gunfire.

Matt didn't bother with a retort, instead sticking with shooting. He kept his head down, feeling something bounce off of his shoulder. Without time to question, he unloaded what was left in his mag, having the luxury of aiming down the sights. The masked gunners were backing off, the wounded one not being so lucky. Bullets tore through his back, toppling face first onto the floor.

"-More!" Otto screamed over the headset; that much he could make out. Matt wasn't sure exactly what 'more' meant, but he kept firing until his magazine ran empty. He huddled behind his cover, swapping magazines as the enemy fire died down. Only one or two of them were shooting back, the other members attempting to stay hidden behind their respective cover.

"Are you listening?!" Otto screamed over the headset.

"A little busy here!" Matt hollered, again firing blind over the vending machine. Another bullet had tore into it, something bouncing off his leg. He rushed out of cover, laying down more fire as he made his way to Esco, sliding the remaining distance as bullets riddled the floor around him. Mr. Esco helped him up. He looked pissed.

"You're not gonna put a bullet in me, are you?" Esco asked, raising his voice over the noises of battle. Matt shook his head. They were on the same page.

"I'm just trying to get out of here alive," Matt answered, taking the corner of their cover. Esco made sure to stay out of enemy sight, pulling back further in the "hall" towards the office door.

"Kid, I know you're probably tempted to let some anger out on me, but-"

"Hang on," Matt cut him off, taking aim around the corner. Just enough time to drive a round into the back of a retreating enemy. He pulled back again. "I don't think now is a good time to talk about our feelings!"

Mr. Esco was taken aback by the response, but didn't hold it against him. His focus was instead on one of the halls that lead into one of the offices rooms. If he wasn't mistaken, it was their ticket to safety.

"You think you can get us over there?" Colin Esco hollered over the ongoing fire, Matt once again adding his bullets into the mix. A few bullets tore into the legs of yet another masked gunman, who wailed in agony before taking one final bullet to the face. Blood poured from their mask as they plummeted onto their back.

"Where what?!" Matt yelled, back in cover. He dropped a magazine to the floor, with only two remaining. At that rate, he was starting to regret giving his only other gun away. It very well might have been the difference between life and death. Both Matt and Colin shuttered at a bullet came too close to comfort, drilling the floor beside them.

"There's a room that should say A-104 over it!" Colin hollered. "If we can get there, we'll be able to get on a different floor."

Matt snapped the fresh magazine into his gun, racking the bolt back to load the first round. He glanced over to Mr. Esco with a perplexed expression, sweat pouring down his face.

"You're just gonna have to trust me on this, kid!" Esco assured him, forced to yell over the gunfire. "You forget I own this place!"

The floor was filled with smoke from the shootout, making it hard to see down to the other side. Matt couldn't make out the numbers over the doors, almost impossible with the gunfire directed to him.

"Reloading!" A voice yelled down the hall.

His legs took on a life of their own, Matt finding himself rushing out of cover, sprinting for the doorway to a further office. Trying to slide on his knees only resulted in tumbling head over heels, smacking his head into a wall. He pulled himself up behind the cover, satisfied with being a little further along than before. He looked back from where he had been prior, seeing Esco trying to peak around the corner to him.

His heart nearly stopped when a bullet came inches to the large man's head. Thankfully, Esco was graced by lady luck once again.

Matt didn't like it, but he was going to need some help. He let his rifle hang as the gunfire kept going, pulling out Craig's minimized Pokeball. He twisted the top to let it grow, dropping it to the floor. Light flashed from the ball before bouncing back up into his palm.

Craig covered his ears while Matt minimized the Pokeball again, once more holding his rifle in both hands. He crouched down beside his Sandshrew, yelling in order to communicate.

"I need you to grab one of the guns on the floor!" he instructed. Craig saw the fire behind Matt's eyes, feeding into his energy. The Sandshrew squinted with determination, nodding vigorously before heading out for his task.

His little legs ran as fast as they could, bullets whizzing all around him. He could hear his Trainer yelling as Matt opened fire once again, the Sandshrew witnessing a Butt-Face getting hit in the neck. The fresh body nearly toppled over him, forced to curl into a ball and roll to his side.

He extended his body again, a bullet bouncing off his back as he bent down to grab a heavy gun. Using all of his strength, he held it to his chest, waddling back towards his Trainer. He saw Matt bearing his teeth as he continued to fire.

"Fall back!" one of the masked men hollered, the other remaining three following orders. Matt peppered the hallway with lead, managing to clip one of the retreating masked figures in the leg. The woman behind the mask let out a cry of pain, flopping on the floor as she struggled to pull herself to cover. Bullets ripped into the side of her chest, mere feet away from safety before she met her bitter end. Matt kept firing.

Craig made his way around the corner to Matt, holding the handgun up to him. Instead of taking it, Matt pointed to where Mr. Esco was positioned.

"Give it to the big guy!" Matt ordered, keeping his eyes on the hallway.

Craig did as he was told, hurrying from cover to cover to deliver the gun.

Colin Esco was a little bewildered to witness a small Pokemon try to hand him a gun. At first, he thought it was trying to shoot him. Unsure, he took the gun, not sure whether or not to thank the creature. Instead, he settled for unloading the magazine, seeing that it was nearly full. A shitty 9 millimeter—but it would have to do.

He saw his chance to move to the room in his sights, swooping the tiny Sandshrew up with one arm as he sprinted. Matt witnessed Esco blur ahead of him, no longer pinned down by gunfire. He decided it was best to follow, considering Craig was dangling in his arm.

"This way!" Esco yelled. "Before they get their nerve again!"

Mr. Esco killed open the door to A-104, desperately trying to envision the building layout in his mind. Matt followed behind, keeping the door open enough to point the barrel of his gun out. He fired a single round to get the message across that he wasn't playing around. He turned his head, confused to find Mr. Esco tearing into a piece of carpet in the corner of the room.

"Come one, little guy, help me pull this back!" Mr. Esco told Craig. The Pokemon listened, clawing at the carpet until it was no more. Matt saw a figure trying to move in where they were, backing away when Matt fired yet another round.

"You wanna fucking die?!" Matt screamed. "Come on! Step back out where I can see you!"

His voice shook his dried throat, feeling emotion returning again. Pure anger, and nothing more.

Colin was relieved to find that he was right—one of them was where he had thought it.

A strange panel underneath the carpet shimmered before them. It was black with symbols littering its surface. Mr. Esco didn't waste time, turning back to Matt.

"Come on!" He yelled.

Matt turned back around, finding that it was only Craig and him, Mr. Esco nowhere to be see. Craig hopped onto the panel, instantly vanishing.

Matt nearly dropped his gun from the surprise of witnessing his Pokemon vanish into thin air, snapping back to reality as a bullet tore through the door. He fired a few more rounds before finally slamming the shut, rushing towards where the other two had been. Not entirely sure what to expect, he jumped onto the panel.

Everything after that was a blank.

They were in another room. A different room. Much quieter too. Though it looked almost identical to the rest of the conference rooms Mat has seen, this one didn't have men on the other side of the door trying to kill him. He shook his head, hearing Otto yelling in his ear again.

"Matt!" Otto screamed. "Matt!"

"My ears hurt enough as it is, Otto," he groaned, feeling Craig tugging at his pant leg. "Stop shouting."

Mr. Esco was rummaging through a potted plant near the corner of the room, carelessly flinging dirt everywhere. Matt didn't understand why, nor had the time to ask what on earth the man was doing. Craig kept tugging until Matt finally looked down. Wide eyes greeted him. Scared eyes. He knelt down, patting his Sandshrew on the head. Craig smiled back in response.

"You vanished!" Otto yelled.

"I'm not entirely sure what happened," Matt confessed over his headset.

"Fuck!" Mr. Esco cried out. "I swore we kept guns in all of these things! Damn budge cuts—if I ever speak the investors about this, they're getting an earful—I'll tell you that much!"

Settling for the only gun he had, Esco stood back up, hurrying to the door.

"What the hell did we just step on?" Matt asked him, looking back to the strange, black panel.

"Warp pad," Esco responded, as if announcing the temperature outside. Matt ran a blank, as if he should have understood, but didn't. Not even remotely. He and Craig joined Esco to the door, allowing the large man to crack it open for a peak. They were met with an empty hallway. "Let's figure out what floor we're on."

"You're telling me this building has teleporter things?" Matt asked, bewildered. He'd been in the Pokemon universe long enough to have grown apathetic to outlandish surprises, but from time to time, he couldn't help but be dumbfounded.

"Good thing, too," Colin told him before stepping out into the hall. He turned back around to Matt, finally acknowledging the earpiece he was wearing. The Sandshrew was right on his Trainer's heels, as though afraid to stray too far. "Who the hell are you talking to? And how the hell are you talking to them in the first place?" His eyes moved to the Holly Band around Matt's wrist. It looked like it was working. Whoever he was communicating with certainly had insight knowledge that Colin didn't. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

"What floor are we on?" Matt asked Otto over the earpiece, completely ignoring Mr. Esco and his questioning.

"I'm trying to find you right now," Otto responded. A few seconds later he added, "It looks like you're on the 37th floor."

Matt looked up from Craig, facing Esco.

"We're on the 37th floor," he relayed. To this, Esco sighed.

"Fine, kid," he grunted. "Keep your secrets. As long as you get us out of this mess, I couldn't give less of a fuck."

"Good," Matt snapped at him. "Now are we on a good floor or what?"

Mr. Esco was surprised that this was the same kid he drug into his office who looked like he was going to shit himself. Now, he somehow grew a pair and was barking orders.

"Maybe," Colin said through his teeth, keeping his temper in order. "I think there's a stash around here somewhere, if I'm not wrong."

Matt followed the large man, and in return, Craig followed his Trainer. They formed a line as they hurried to a conference room that looked identical to all the others. Matt watched as Collin started tearing through even more carpet. Craig decided to help without even being asked. Seeing that the Sandshrew was far more equipped to tear through the flooring, Mr. Esco started pointing at spots to try, with Craig ripping through pieces of carpet.

"Who are these people?" Matt asked Colin, who in return greeted him with a scowl.

"You think I fucking know?" he barked back. Craig's claw finally hit on something, letting out a 'shrew' of excitement. Colin helped peal back what appeared to be a safe underneath it, punching in a few codes until the door finally popped open. He started pulling guns, boxes of bullets, and some magazines from the floor safe, his hands working fast and his mind working faster.

"Maybe someone you might have also kidnapped?" Matt snapped back.

"Fuck you, you little bastard," Colin growled. "I found you rolling around with my dead son's gun; you better believe I'd do it again if I had to."

"They're regrouping near the upper levels," Otto told Matt in the midst of the tension. "I don't think they're going to budge."

"What do the floors look like?" Matt asked him, getting Esco's attention.

"They're in the unfinished rooms, taking positions. Do you remember the grenade they threw at you the first time?"

"The ones with the weird blue light?" Matt asked.

"Those ones—yeah. We'll, they've got other variations of them it looks like. They're larger versions—generators almost—that they're putting down. They look built to last."

"So what are you trying to tell me?" Matt barked. "I can't even shoot them now?"

"Which means they can't shoot you either. They're moving to melee from the looks of it. They probably think they've got a better chance taking you head on that way."

Frustrated, Matt removed his rifle sling, laying his gun on the ground. It seemed insane to leave his gun behind, but it if was dead weight, there was no point in carrying it.

Unless they turned the generators off. Still, with the lack of ammo he had left, it didn't really matter. He considered it a blessing.

"Well, I aim to disappoint," Matt said into his mic.

"What the hell are you doing?" Colin Esco asked him.

"They're upstairs," Matt explained, Craig still at his heels. "They're using this weird tech that stops bullets. So-" Matt reached for Widowmaker, holding the switchblade in his hands. "-looks like I've gotta work with what I'm given."

Colin Esco looked Matt up and down, as if to see if he were joking or not. The kid wasn't.

"They'll fucking murder you," Mr. Esco informed him. Matt ignored the statement, instead, kneeling down in front of Craig. His Sandshrew looked back at him with a gleam in his eyes, sharing an unspoken connection between one another.

"Buddy, I can't do this without you," Matt told him, holding the sides of his tiny head. Craig nodded, understanding. "We got through Mt. Moon together. And we're getting through this together too. Don't be afraid. Don't let them scare you. Because we're going to show them just who they messed with. We're going to…. Craig, we're going to have to kill them. You've been through more than enough, and it isn't right of me to ask you to do anything else. But if we don't kill them, they're going to kill us. Do you understand?"

Craig nodded once more, nestling his head into the side of his Trainer's palm.

"You've got one hell of a Pokemon, kid," Colin Esco said. "If you weren't going on a suicide mission, I'd join you. But I can't take the risk."

"Whatever," Matt scoffed. "Stay out of sight."

Matt and Craig stepped towards the door.

"Kid," Colin called to him. Matt stopped, turning to face Mr. Esco. "If you make it through this, I owe you. If not, I wish you luck in the afterlife."

Matt said nothing, leaving with Craig as they shut the door behind them.

Stepping towards the elevator, Matt pushed the button.

"Hey, Otto," he said, waiting for the elevator to come to his floor.

"Yeah?"

"Can you put Sissy back on the line?"

"Sure…. Just give me a second."

There was shuffling over the mic before it was passed off, Matt hearing Sissy once more.

"Matt? Are you there?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I'm here." The elevator door opened, with Craig stepping in first. Matt followed, hitting one of the upper buttons. "I wanted to say something while I still have the chance. I don't know how this is going to turn out, and I figure now is the best time to talk. Maybe the last time."

"Don't like like that, please," she begged him, soon crying.

"I just need you to listen…." Matt sighed as the elevator doors finally shut. It started its ascent. "No matter what happens, I want you to know that you mean the world to me. So does Emie, Luna, and everyone else. I really don't deserve the people in my life, and I don't think there's anything you could say to make me think otherwise. I'm really scared right now."

"We all are, Matt…. All of us."

"No matter what happens…." he paused, taking a deep breath as the floor he pushed for was rapidly approaching. "I want you to know that you'll always be my good girl. Could you hand the mic over to Emie for a second?"

"Okay, I will. I love you, Matt…."

"I love you too…."

The mic was heard being exchanged once again.

"Matt?…." It was Emie's voice. It was clear that she was crying.

"I'm here," he told her. "I didn't want you thinking I play favorites."

He chuckled a little, but he was the only one laughing.

"Please don't die…." she pleaded. "Emie doesn't want you to die…."

The floor finally approached.

"I love you, Emie," Matt whispered into the mic.

The doors finally opened.

None of it made sense. Nothing made sense to Clayton, who was screaming at his men in a full blown rage. They were rushing up the stairs, gashes taken out of them, blood getting on everything. He ordered them to go back to the lower floors and hold the line, but they refused.

"You sons of bitches!" he roared. "Get down there and kill the fucker! It's one guy! One guy!"

"He got Max!" one of the Rocket Members sobbed, holding a knife wound running along their arm. "He killed Max right in front of me!"

Clayton grabbed the Team Rocket member by the shoulders, shaking them violently.

"You god damn coward!" he wailed. "All of you are fucking spineless!"

The Pokemon Rocket members remained on the upper floor with Clayton, having been ordered to keep posted by his sides. He turned to them, his eyes nearly bulging from behind his ski mask.

"Two of you go down there and figure out what the fuck is going on, or so help me!"

The blue light of the generators still around them, two of the remaining Trainers did as they were told, making their way for the stairs. The other two stayed put, giving concerned looks to one another, each holding their respective Pokeballs. Clayton had resumed yelling at the retreating grunts, ordering them back down to the lower levels. Some of them complied, the others refused.

Clayton grabbed a metal pipe off the floor, letting out a roar as he swung it into the head of a flustered Rocket Member. They dropped, with a mess leaking out from the back of their ski mask.

"Stay up here, and I'll kill you myself!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

The remaining members, aside from the two Trainers, did what they were told. There was crying, yelling, and sounds of panic erupting from the floors below. Clayton could hardly stand it all.

The job wasn't supposed to go like this. It had all been planned carefully. All the work that had been so carefully placed had all gone to shit in only a matter of hours. As he paced, Clayton could hear more screaming, the two Trainers barking orders to their Pokemon before it became too distant to make out anymore. There wasn't any way in hell one person could take on their small army, let alone Trainers. And without the means of using a gun, it was almost a certainty the bastard who was ruining their plans would be dead in a matter of minutes.

But the shouting kept going. More cries and screams. He wrung his hands together, not understanding how it was possible one person had survived for so long.

Just kill him already! Clayton thought. How are they not dead yet?!

Whoever was mucking up their plans was a professional. But not even a professional could break through the line of defense. They would die. Gail Company would storm in. Then he'd arm the bombs, head out onto the roof when the lock down was freed up, and their escape would come hurling in. It would only be a matter of time. Everything was fine. Perfectly fine.

Clayton felt anger erupt inside his chest as he yelled to the stairway door.

"KILL HIM ALREADY!" he roared. "JUST KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"