Chapter 6: Romance Dawn I
The sea stretched out endlessly, a vast expanse of blue under the midday sun. I leaned against the railing of the old cargo ship, taking a drag from my cigarette.
The boat rocked gently, a rhythm I had gotten used to over the past few days. We were halfway to Kanto, heading for that secret island Team Rocket calls home just outside Johto.
I exhaled, watching the smoke drift into the salty air. Name's Ace, Grunt #4007 if you go by the books, but I prefer Ace. Keeps me sane in this line of work.
Alola was a goldmine. Those locals, they're too trusting, too caught up in their little paradise.
Made it almost too easy for us to slip in, posing as tourists with big smiles and bigger bags.
The kids were the simplest to snag. A promise of candy or a glimpse of some rare Pokémon, and they followed us like Mareep trailing a shepherd.
The Pokémon took more effort. Traps, stealth, a bit of muscle, but we got the job done. I smirked, thinking about the haul we pulled off.
A Mimikyu, a pair of Alolan Vulpix with those icy coats, and even a sacred ritual dragon Kommo-o. Rare stuff. The kind of catch that would make the boss's eyes light up.
The boss. I chuckled at the thought of him. He's a real piece of work, always decked out in suits that scream for attention.
Bright pink, loud purple, neon green, colors no sensible crook would touch, but he wears them like a badge of honor. It's his thing, I guess.
Loves the spotlight, thrives on it. These new prizes we're bringing back, especially those Pokémon, they'll have him grinning ear to ear.
Might even toss me a "good job, Ace" if I'm lucky. A promotion's a stretch, but a guy can dream.
What nobody in Kanto or Johto knows is that we're the ones stirring the pot.
Team Rocket's been fanning the flames, leaking fake intel, funding skirmishes, keeping both sides too busy to notice us cleaning out places like Alola.
It's why we hit there instead of Kanto or Johto. Those regions are locked down tight, soldiers and trainers sniffing around every corner. Alola? Wide open, ripe for the picking.
A whistle cut through the air, sharp and insistent. My shift. I stubbed out the cigarette and headed below deck, down to the brig where we kept the hostages.
The air turned thick and damp as I descended, the smell of sweat, blood, piss and fear hitting me hard.
The ship's hull had rust creeping up its sides, but it held steady enough for this trip. The brig was a mess of makeshift cells, old shipping containers patched with steel bars.
Shadows flickered in the dim light, and the stench of salt and misery clung to everything.
I grabbed a tray of rations, basic stuff like bread and water, and started my rounds.
The Pokémon were caged up separately, some pacing, others just sitting there, quiet and defeated.
The kids got their own cells, eyes either wide with panic or dull with resignation. I tried not to look too long. Makes it easier.
Teach was down there, Grunt #4052, lounging against the wall like he owned the place. He's a talker, always got some story to spill.
"Hey, Ace," he called out, eyes glinting with that gossip-hungry look. "You hear about that kid we picked up in Alola?"
I clenched my jaw, sliding a piece of bread through a cell slot.
"The one who killed Thatch? Yeah, I heard. Little bastard took out ten of our guys with a knife, then got Thatch with a stick. Right through the eye."
Teach whistled, leaning in. "Popped it like a grape. That's cold, man. You and Thatch were tight, right?"
I nodded, my gut twisting. "Yeah. Known him since basic training. Good guy, didn't deserve that. Kid's a fucking animal, ranting about some Citra chick. Probably his lover or something."
Teach grinned, oblivious to my mood. "Operation Chief thinks he's got potential. Says once we tame him, he'll be a real asset to Team Rocket."
I snorted, shaking my head. "Tame him? I'd rather feed him to the Sharpedos. He's a loose cannon, Teach. You don't tame a rabid Houndoom."
Teach shrugged, crossing his arms. "Chief knows best, I guess. Probably why we hit Alola, too. Kanto and Johto are too busy beefing to care what we're doing out there."
I nodded, still fuming. "Yeah, heard Oak's got Kanto's army on high alert, and Johto's Pryce is mobilizing their noble clans. Both sides are itching for a fight. Makes Alola a sitting Ducklett."
Teach lowered his voice, like he was sharing a conspiracy. "And nobody suspects we're the ones poking the Beedrill nest. Boss's plan's working like a charm."
I smirked, though it felt forced. "Long as it keeps their eyes off us, I'm not complaining."
Teach chuckled. "True. But that kid? I bet they're eyeing him for something big. Maybe an enforcer."
I glanced toward the cell with the Alolan kids.
They were huddled together, some sniffling, others crying softly.
One stood out, a boy with wild hair and a glare that could cut steel. That was him. The little shit who killed Thatch.
His eyes locked on mine, and I felt my blood boil, like he was daring me to come at him. I shook it off and kept moving, but that look burned into me.
The rounds went quick after that. The Pokémon barely stirred as I slid their food in, just stared with those big, sad eyes.
The kids were worse. Some begged, some cried quietly, some wailed and others just sat there, too scared to even touch the bread.
I kept my face blank, like always. No point getting attached. They're just cargo, I told myself. Just cargo.
Teach kept yapping, going on about the kid again. "You think he's really that dangerous? I mean, he's just a kid, right? Can't be more than thirteen."
I gripped the tray tighter, my knuckles white.
"Doesn't matter how old he is. He killed Thatch. You take out ten guys with a knife, one with a stick through the eye, you're not a kid. You're a dead man walking."
Teach laughed, but it was nervous. "Yeah, well, better he's our problem than someone else's."
"The sooner they're gone, the sooner we can rest," I said, and started back toward the cells to double-check the locks.
That's when I heard it, a low voice from the kid's cell, sharp and venomous. I turned, and there he was, the wild-haired one, gripping the bars, his lips curled into a sneer.
VAAS
I sat there, eyes locked on that skinny freckled pendejo as he glared at me through the bars, thinking he was some big shot.
He didn't know nothing, just another dumb fucker in a cheap uniform strutting like he owned me.
And that fat, sweaty, bearded fucker across the room, smirking like he was king of this rusty shithole.
I leaned forward, my voice slicing through the quiet like a blade.
"Hey, you skinny pimpled piece of shit, when I get out of here, I'm gonna carve you up, nice and slow, make you scream for Citra to save you. Then I'll gut your fat, ugly amigo over there, let him bleed out like a pig."
I jerked my chin at the slob lounging across the room, his smug face begging for a knife.
Pimples' eyes blazed with murder, and he charged over, ripping the cell door open with a screech that made my ears ring.
"You little bastard!" he roared, grabbing my shirt and slamming me against the wall so hard my teeth rattled.
He didn't stop, his fists crashing into my gut, my face, each hit fueled by rage. I tasted blood, felt my ribs creak, but I laughed, a sharp, ugly cackle that echoed in the brig.
The other kids around me lost it, wailing and crying like a bunch of scared sheep, their noise clawing at my brain.
He yanked me up, pinning me to the wall, his fist cocked back like he was ready to end me.
"You killed Thatch, you piece of shit!" he snarled, his voice shaking with hate. "I should snap your fucking neck right now!"
"Ho! We got fucking Shakespeare over here!" I cackled out loud.
I grinned wide, blood dripping from my lip and a cut inside my mouth. "You think that hurts, hermano? You think you can break me? I've killed men twice your size with my bare hands. You're nothing. Nada."
I leaned in, close enough to smell his cigarette stink. His fist tightened, and I saw it in his eyes, he wanted me dead.
I laughed louder, daring him to do it.
And I have to admit… that turned me on a bit. Just a little bit.
And it made me remember our newly minted sacred warrior.
How is Jason doing now, hmm?
I know he's dead, Citra told me but…
WHAM!!~~
I just got another punch, this one's on the eye. Yehp, that's gonna leave a mark.
Then a sharp voice cut through the brig.
"What the fuck is happening? Edward? Portgas! Stand down!"
A bastard radiating an aura of 'I-own-this-place-don't-fuck-with-me' stood at the entrance, his glare cold and commanding.
Pimples froze, his fist trembling, then dropped me to the floor like a sack of rocks.
I hit the ground hard, pain shooting through my back, but I kept laughing, letting it bounce off the walls as he slammed the door shut and stormed off.
He shoved me to the floor, through the bars and I hit the ground hard, pain shooting through my back.
I didn't care. I laughed again, louder, letting it bounce off the walls as he slammed the door shut and stormed off.
I watched pimples and latino santa get chewed out through my one good eye, enjoying every second of it until some annoying wet sounds started messing with my moment.
I turned to the sniveling brats around me, their tears making me want to smash something.
"Why you crying, eh? You think those tears are gonna get you out? You think someone's coming to save your sorry asses?" I shook my head, voice dripping with disgust.
They cried even more.
This is why I fucking hate kids.
I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes, letting the words roll out like a promise.
"Did I ever tell you what the definition of insanity is?"
"Insanity is doing the exact same fucking thing over and over again, expecting shit to change."
"That. Is. Crazy."