If there was one thing to be said about working alongside the League rather than against it, of the many assorted things that Silver could scream and rage about, it was the feeling of immense liberation that came with being let loose on the very same people Proton and Archer seemed to think he was unworthy of leading.

He bit back a victorious snarl as he ducked below a houndour’s flamethrower, Feraligatr pouncing forth to weather the storm as his bulwark while he sprinted past. It wasn’t the only threat to be turned away - a Golbat’s passing steel wing spurned milliseconds later by a curved barrier courtesy of Gallade - but was the only one to cast a light over the grunt’s frightened face.

Domino’s Earthen Fist had scarcely been the highest quality trainers around, but they had been loyal, and disciplined enough to stand their ground in the face of real threats.

What they were dealing with here, he thought with grim satisfaction as he released Weavile straight behind a gap in the enemy lines, was chaff. The wretched, the lost, the people with no greater cause in life than service to people who couldn’t care less for them if they earnestly tried.

Weaklings.

There was no time spare to enjoy the grim satisfaction of ravaged enemies before his radio crackled to life with the requisite complaints from his handlers, but he was already moving, instincts for battle far exceeding his desire to hear any more of Iliana’s whinging about his proximity to danger.

Domino would have eaten her alive.

Feraligatr covered his retreat with precise Water Gun sprays as he slid back into the cover of the treeline, gritting his teeth through the way the bark grazed his palm as he moved, though the haste proved necessary as one of the Ball Lightning attacks from the combined might of his handlers lit up the world behind him, casting stark shadows of falling bodies across the canopy.

He jolted, then, as his hand brushed over an empty pokeball at his belt.

Weavile had either escaped in time or his allies had been halfway intelligent enough to avoid him, but he couldn’t be sure. There was a time he’d have left it at that, but the last month or so had been… trying, for a few of his notions of strength.

If his team had thought him weak, or cruel, they'd had every opportunity to surrender to the open arms of the League and become another brand of attack dog, free of a dead man’s inherited sins.

They’d each stuck with him. He had to respect that.

He peered around the trunk, hoping to catch sight of Weavile’s form in the fray.

It nearly cost him his head.

A wing with blurring speed descended on him with murderous fervor and spitting, shrieking rage - one of the Rockets’ broken toys, no doubt. Silver threw himself back, a quick sting of pain running across his face, and the Golbat from before found itself pinned to the tree with a volley of razor leaves, the membrane of its wings torn in countless places but still throwing itself forward, its gaping maw snapping, possessed by unnatural hatred. Whatever cocktail they’d stuffed it with, the wretched thing surged forward against the leaves holding it down, its teeth flashing mere inches from his face.

The stinging was melting away, giving way to a throbbing burn. Blood trickling over his lip, iron on his tongue.

He’d been trained for this. This was what he was meant to do. Why couldn’t he…?

Silver-Friend!

The voice in his head registered but only just. He backpedaled, stumbled, but caught himself just in time for the Golbat to tear free. Though its wings failed to hold it firmly aloft, it was still able to fling itself towards him.

Another blur shot past him. Green.

All of a sudden his view was taken up by close-shaven blond hair and an apoplectic expression on his handler’s face.

“We told you to stay back! What the hell were you thinking?!” Rupert barked, jostling him by the shoulders.

Just beyond the man’s head he could see his Leafeon standing guard by the trunk just in case any Rockets had a last ditch effort up their sleeves.

The Golbat lay in two conspicuous pieces not far off, bisected cleanly through the middle. He tried not to focus on it.

Pokemon were tools. Pokemon were disposable. This was normal.

Would it have stood by the trainer it’d been stuck with?

Pokemon were tools. This was normal.

Would it have given up a free life to protect its master?

Pokemon were disposable. This was normal.

“-ver should have brought you out here. This was a terrible idea.” The ringing in Silver’s ears quieted enough for him to pick out Rupert’s raw exasperation through the pounding of his pulse. “You with me, Silver? The cut’s shallow, just looks nasty. Your Gallade’s gonna patch it up as soon as he can.”

“... ‘M not a fucking poochyena.” He managed to speak through grit and bloodied teeth, silently pleased by Rupert’s lack of reaction when his sharp exhale caused flecks of red to scatter on his stubbled chin. Stern stuff was a necessity for Silver’s respect. “I’m fine. What’s the situation?”

If Rupert didn’t believe him, he did an acceptable job of not showing it, but his furtive stare lingered. He let go eventually, and Leafeon’s lack of warning meant it was safe enough to at least survey the field. “See for yourself.”

It was even more of a mess where he’d been a minute ago than when he’d left it, though now it was a mess clearly in their favour. Once they’d gone loud, the rest of their backup was free to teleport in at their leisure.

The path leading up to the facility’s entrance was littered with dropped bodies both living and less, and it was a testament to the overbearing force the League had brought to the field that all but an unlucky few on their side were standing strong. What few Rockets remained were beating a frenzied retreat within the building’s walls, fully knowing their time was nigh. Several ACE operatives were already inside - which, from what Silver dimly remembered of this place, was overkill enough on its own, even removed from the other assorted League dogs still waiting for their turn.

Under normal circumstances it was doubtful that the League would have spared even half this many forces for such a trifling assault. Unfortunately, he had made himself a useful asset. More than a few of the trainers here were only present to keep a weather eye on him, he knew, regardless of whatever Rupert said to the contrary.

The tactic was simple: keep him focused on the obvious threat so that the other half-dozen were free to act with impunity. It was possible that Rupert himself wasn’t even aware of the arrangement, although he was no fool.

A few stragglers remained outside, to be swiftly rounded up by whatever ACE trainers were nearest. The air was no longer rife with the uproar of techniques being unleashed, leaving them with only the lingering hint of ozone in the air and the upturned earth - dug into trenches and dragged into small hills as though pinched by giant fingers - as evidence of battle.

Gallade flashed into existence directly beside him, the spots of light barely fading from view before he began to fret over Silver’s condition.

Silver-Friend, my apologies, I could not- there was a fiend houn- a houndoom- that toyed with me for some time. I could not reach you, master. Please forgive me - it shall not happen again!

Silver didn’t bother telling Gallade to slow down, not if it meant distracting him from applying the familiar balm of Life Dew to the gash glancing across the bridge of his nose. It had been a chore enough to get him to refer to pokemon by their actual names - god knows he couldn’t give a shit about deciphering psychic babble mid-fight - so he’d let the doting slide for now.

“Seemed relatively tough, that thing.” Rupert added, leaning aside from his radio to give Gallade an appreciative nod. “Good work.”

Gallade had never been the type to scoff, but whatever psychic sound he hoped to convey through the wave of faint derision in the air came awfully close.

Sure enough, if he focused his gaze hard enough, he could just about perceive the prone, beaten form of a houndoom close to the clearing’s edge. He found he didn’t care much if it was still breathing.

It would take far worse to stop me from reaching my master’s side.

Silver felt a flush of heat in his face completely unrelated to the rapidly-closing slice or the drying blood caking his face. No doubt the term ‘Silver-Friend’ would make its mocking way throughout the ACE assigned to him in record time.

Something stirred in his mind.

“Weavile!” Silver blurted, pulse picking up as he scanned the environment all over again, “He was caught in your Ball Lightning, where-?”

Rupert held up a hand. “Yeah, we know. Scared the hell out of us when we realised your plan, kid. Your Weavile’s fine, just a little jittery. One of the bolts came a little too close, got some lingering paralysis going, but it’ll fade. Speaking of - we gave you that radio for a reason. Tell us when you’re going into close quarters. You didn’t need to get involved in the fight at all.”

That was something, at least. He only had the six beings in the world he could actually trust. The thought of losing just one was rapidly becoming unconscionable. Silver slumped back, still glaring.

“Bullshit!” He found himself growling back, not easily accepting the insult to his intelligence. “This was a test, and you can fuck off if you think I’m going back to sitting in a room one step up from a prison cell handing out information that’ll be outdated in a month. Once I run out of intel, I might as well toss myself into the Trench!”

There was a complicated expression on Rupert’s face, then - not quite pity but certainly adjacent to it. He bent to one side to scratch his Leafeon around the neck, the grass type nestling into his side with a delighted purr as he fumbled with what to say. “Trust me, a prison cell is a hundred times better than the Trench. I’d say I don’t wish it on my worst enemies, but I haven’t lied to you yet and I don’t intend on starting now. This was a test, obviously, but it’s one you would’ve passed by following orders and staying where you were told.”

What a crock of shit.

The League would never have let a potential flight risk out on a field operation lightly. It was a risk of reputation, the ACE sent along beside him, the operation itself, and the chance of losing a temporarily valuable asset. Why else would they send him specifically against Rockets that were presumed to be ‘his’ faction?

They wanted to know he was desperate enough for freedom to get his hands dirty. Much more difficult to fight ‘your people’ personally than handing out their proverbial jail sentences from behind a table.

He’d let the man harbor his delusions, though.

“All the same, I’d say he’s proven his loyalties.” Came the voice of Iliana, picking her way seamlessly over the rough terrain towards them. Silver was accustomed to the woman’s severity, so it came as an odd change of pace to see her cracking the beginnings of a smile.

She seemed relatively unscathed, as expected.

“Glad someone thinks so.” Silver scoffed, unable to resist the rolling of his eyes. “Do me a favor and use those exact words on your report, would you? Help me get Ketchum off my back.”

This sort of reprieve was welcome. The outside of the facility was clear of opposition, now, and the last dregs of the ACE trainers had gone inside to perform a thorough sweep of its inner workings. Using the information contained within, they’d get a few more outposts in short order. Maybe more. It’d look good on the paperwork, so he had plenty of reason to be pleased.

“You got out fast. How’d it look in there? Resistance?” Rupert slipped back into business mode, as though he hadn’t been consoling Silver for his show of weakness moments prior. The radio chatter at their belts began to chatter on about clear sectors and subdued opposition, conveying the League’s progress through the building.

Iliana gave a derisive shake of the head, her smirk widening by a fraction. “No, nothing so melodramatic. I just heard a few of our trainers going ballistic about ‘the asset’ rushing headfirst into the splash zone. Thought I’d be better served pulling you from the fire.”

She turned to face him properly, “You’re quite the handful, you know?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Silver huffed, rubbing the bridge of his nose once Gallade stepped away to feel the lack of a scar, though his fingers still came away with crusted flakes of blood. Hardly the worst he’d suffered. There was a reason that Gallade had become so adept with Life Dew.

“ACE Rupert.” A much sharper crackle came from the radio on the man’s belt, and only his, “What is your status? Over.”

Features tightening, the radio was unclipped and brought to his face in one fluid motion as he stepped away from their group. Iliana remained, watching Silver. “ACE Trainer Rupert, reporting. Status is green and our assets are safe and secure. Are you in need of assistance? Over.”

Silver felt himself tune out, walking to the edge of the treeline and trying to pick out the location of the medic’s fallback route where Weavile would have ended up. His pokeball felt all the heavier without anything to inhabit it, but Feraligatr’s bulk cutting through the dead air and coming to a doleful stop before him was a welcome distraction from it.

Iliana was still smiling at him. Openly smiling. It was a little disconcerting, really - he’d scarcely seen her with anything other than a tight-lipped frown.

He let Feraligatr drop to all fours and act as a rest for his arm, magnanimously ignoring that it made for a prime opportunity to scratch beneath his scarlet crests. It was relaxing enough. There was just one part of his routine left that stopped him from embracing the fatigue in his bones. He had to be sure. “I know it’s you, by the way.”

She quirked an eyebrow by way of response, and Silver felt his shoulders sag in relief while she stewed on that particular flavor of confusion.

“Say again?” Rupert demanded, increasingly audible.

Iliana clicked her tongue, humming in consternation and ignoring the raised voices. “Well, this is a little awkward.”

Gallade stood bolt upright.

Rupert barked into his radio, confirming the absolute worst case scenario and freezing Silver’s blood solid. “What do you mean she’s down?”

Silver-Friend, get back!

Iliana’s face twisted in a way completely unbefitting of her features, a vampiric smile belonging to someone else entirely. “You’ve gotten perceptive, boy, well done!”

He needed to move he needed to leave he needed to get the fuck out of here right now!

Gallade lunged forward, close enough that it was genuinely faster than focusing on a Teleport, with an incandescent fury in the azure glow ringing his eyes that was only marred by the naked fear dwelling in them. He came close - so very close - to grabbing hold of Silver’s shoulder and getting them both far, far away from this island with complete disregard for the consequences.

In the realm of Team Rocket, though, ‘close’ did not make for a successful man. ‘Close’ got you lifted bodily from the ground by a Rhyperior, dangled over a gaping maw in the earth. ‘Close’ got you another night spent unable to sleep, hounded through the weeks by Petrel and all the faces he’d wear to find a crack in your shell.

‘Close’ tore a wretched, hacking cough from Gallade’s throat as he stopped just short, fingers outstretched in panic as a Haunter phased into being with ephemeral hands coiled around the psychic’s neck, angular eyes shining blood bright as it layered powerful Curses to bring Gallade to heel.

At the same time, Silver heard his voice call out, “Feraligatr, Hydro Pump, now! Hit Rupert with everything you’ve got!”

He hadn’t said a word of that.

But it was close enough that only he could have known. The order didn’t even make sense, gods damn it! By Feraligatr’s momentary, just half-second of hesitation, he knew it too.

Of all the times to learn how deeply the stolen water type trusted in him, this was the worst possible moment.

Rupert, to his immense credit, spun around the second he heard the fake order go out, and the fact that his attention was focused on the creature using Iliana as a guise rather than Silver himself meant that he’d already figured out exactly what was amiss.

It just wasn’t fast enough to stop Feraligatr firing off that Hydro Pump straight towards him, in total confidence that Silver knew what he was doing. Perhaps he thought they were finally cutting ties and making a break for it. Perhaps he thought that Silver thought Rupert was in on it.

Illumise reacted even before her trainer did, having had eyes on Silver this whole time, just in case. She dove from the canopy, illuminated by a bright Protect screen and buzzing furiously at the turn of events.

As if it would make a difference.

A dark shape crashed into Illumise mid-flight before she could center herself in front of her trainer, its jagged yellow beak parted, primed to bite into the bug’s neck as they collided. The ACE pokemon was experienced, no doubt, but unprepared for such a sudden turnabout.

Rupert tensed, earning even more credit by reacting fast enough to dive aside, but the Hydro Pump ripped past Illumise’s faltering defense and clipped him anyway, sending him careening into a nearby tree in a pile, hissing in agony with a chunk torn from his bicep.

“Stop, stop!” Silver finally managed to choke out. He fumbled with his pokeballs through jittery fingers and shot nerves. The time between pushing the respective buttons and the remainder of his team materializing could have accommodated whole years – years that he didn’t have to spare.

Iliana’s features slid off her face like oil across water. Even knowing it was coming, the woman’s appearance giving way to Petrel’s deceptively genial expression and wispy lavender hair froze him all over again.

Silver’s last few allies appeared between him and his second most frequent nightmare. Leafeon bared its fangs at the new threat, unwilling to pounce with Murkrow closer to her trainer than she was to its own. Magneton whirred dangerously as it adjusted to the sight of the battlefield, and Absol practically trembled with rage. He hoped it was rage, anyway. It would prove much more useful than fear.

Three years.

Three years and he still wasn’t free.

“How?” He choked, “You can’t be here. You–”

“--Screwed the poochyena? Oh, most certainly!” Petrel clapped, unperturbed, “The good missus Jenny earned her keep and then some; I’d have been rotting in the Roost within the week if the boss hadn’t proven it so delightfully fallible so soon beforehand! I can’t say I ever expected I’d get to play babysitter again, but such are the thrills of life!”

His head lolled aside as if noticing the collapsed ACE trainer for the first time, eyes wide and curious. “Oh, but I should really get rid of the distraction, first…”

Silver lurched forward without so much as thinking about it. Murkrow let out a disgustingly human-sounding cackle as it abandoned its prey and disappeared above the canopy once more, barely dodging a Thunderbolt courtesy of Magneton. Leafeon took the window of opportunity to pounce ahead, curling protectively in front of its master.

He and his team arrayed themselves as a shield too. Petrel seemed content to watch, but he was keenly aware that nothing Petrel did was ever as it seemed.

“You really have chosen your loyalties.” Petrel crowed, far too delighted with proceedings for a man that Silver knew he could tear to shreds in a straight battle. “Ariana is going to be heartbroken.”

Silver had to laugh.

After taking a second to consider, Petrel had to shrug. “No, you’re right. That was a stretch, even for me.”

Not allowing himself to be disarmed by geniality, Silver returned Gallade before any further damage was dealt. All of a sudden, the ball was in their court: Rupert was injured, but conscious and protected, the Haunter had no hostages, and Illumise had quite literally Recovered, finding it in herself to replace her ever-present beatific smile with an incensed scowl. “You don’t make it out of this. There’ll be a dozen ACE swarming us in minutes.”

“Oh, I know. And I very much doubt they’ll be as forgiving to me the second time around. This is the end of the road for ol’ Petrel.” He agreed with all his usual capricity, underlaid by a note of something heavier. Wistful? “I had thought to surrender and get it over with, but then I heard something interesting - I couldn’t help myself!”

“Don’t make it out like you give a fuck about me!” He bit back.

“I invested a lot of time into you, boy, don’t be rude. I’m curious to see how my efforts have paid off. It’s probably the last interesting thing left in store for me.”

He could still taste the iron on his tongue, his pulse drowning out the sounds around him. “Surrender. I’m not warning you again, you don’t fucking deserve it”

“Sorry, boy. I’m a big believer in living free, and I happen to know what happens to the poor souls who end up in the Trench.” Petrel said, lightly mocking. “You should ask them what they’re doing to Domino someday, if you think they’ll answer. Suffice to say, that life isn’t for me. Nor’s this one, really, but giving up without a fight isn’t my thing. So how about this? No more games. No more Domino. No more of the boss’ misguided little dregs of ‘affection’. No more League meatshields. You kill me, or I kill at least one of you.”

The laugh from earlier bubbled back up in his throat - brief, manic, and torn.

Well, now.

That simplified matters.

Petrel met his feral grin with a light smile of his own, and for once Silver could detect no deception in it.

“Attaboy, Silver.”