"What do you think?" Faust held the ends of his shirt out, properly displaying the print. "Pretty cool, right?"

  Lillian pulled open the drawer of her desk, and muscle memory ensured her hand found the familiar plastic bottle. It was light, and she grabbed her pencil, scribbling a reminder on her notebook to get a restock.

  She scoffed at the action. The Lillian from a year ago would have called her current self a super nerd for daring to take notes. That chick could drown in a shallow pond for all she cared. She had no clue how good she had it.

  The bottle was opened, and she bounced it on her open palm until two white pills were deposited. She threw them to the back of her throat and retrieved her mug of coffee, downing the painkillers.

  It was probably the coffee, but she was already feeling her headache fade.

  "Yo, Kalos to Lil," Faust knocked on her desk. "Are you still in there?"

  And the headache was back. Well, that was just how things were these days.

  "I'm here," she grumbled to her partner. "And we're running a gang, not an outlet store."

  They needed foot soldiers and streets, not tacky t-shirts their boss would probably kill them for wearing.

  "Come on, Lil. Rep's important. We need to put our name out there, and this is the best way to do it."

  He wasn't completely wrong. A strong reputation meant fewer rivals pissing in your alleys and more businesses willing to Ponyta up their fair share. However, they needed to gain it the old-fashioned way by pushing people around and not taking any shit.

  Wearing pink bedazzled shirts would have the opposite effect. She had nothing against pink; her own hair was colored with it, but the shade he'd picked out was offensively pink. It made her want to gag, and she wondered where his style went.

  "Not happening," she said while stomping her boot down.

  Faust rolled his eyes before pulling the shirt over his head and throwing it on a nearby table. It joined a bundle of the other rejects.

  "I worked really hard on all those, you know?" he complained, looking at the pile with a forlorn expression. "Least you could do was say one of them looked good."

  Lillian snatched her mug of coffee again, taking a large sip.

  "Maybe you shouldn't have. Don't you have enough work to keep you busy?"

  Arceus knew she did.

  Lillian glanced glumly at the stack of papers on her desk, which needed her attention. It wasn't very large, but the fact that she had any paperwork at all was a load of Tauros dung. What type of gang had an onboarding process?

  She hadn't even known what that meant before the knowledge was forcibly shoved into her head!

  "Haunter and I already stopped by the Pod's auto shop. Filled all their tanks with bleach. They'll be fuming by nightfall. I made sure to 'drop'," he said, air-quoting the last word, "the cell phone of one of the Simi Syndicate members."

  Lillian released a breath, some tension leaving her shoulders. That was the best news she had heard in a while. With the bosses out right now, they didn't have the manpower to beat back the Scolipede Pod or the others they'd unintentionally riled up. Dragging yet another gang into the fray would give them a much-needed break.

  She idly checked the map pinned to a board on the wall. Those territory lines were all but useless now. With half the gangs in the city at each other's throats, things might be starting to spiral.

  And it was all their fault.

  No, that wasn't right. It was their damn shrimp of a boss—

  Her thoughts stopped cold, and she looked over her shoulder. No one was there, and she waited for her heart to stop beating like crazy before taking another sip of her coffee.

  She was being ridiculous. The boss would tell them when she was on her way back. She was good about staying in touch.

  "Nice," she replied to her best friend, who ignored her earlier reaction. "Now get out of my office."

  Faust gave her a flat look, waving a hand around.

  "It's a desk in the corner of our pad, not an office."

  Their pad that wasn't really theirs anymore. It didn't bother her as much as it should have. Sure, their personal space was much smaller, but the place no longer smelled like wet socks. She hadn't even realized that was a thing until they'd thoroughly cleaned the place out.

  "What about your bookie side?" she asked, picking at something she'd been hounding him about lately. "Did you sign up any more saps?"

  Gambling was big business on their side of the world. There were plenty of legitimate ways to do it, but those came with regulations and taxes. Their shop had neither, making it perfect for the hardcore types—flambeurs, as they called them.

  Faust stuck his hands in his pockets and slouched, looking out the recently cleaned window. She knew that look, and it had stopped working on her a long time ago.

  "Then what are you doing here? The off-season is ending soon, and you needed to build a customer base yesterday."

  Once the circuit season started, everyone and their mother would be a bookie. In order to catch the most business, he needed to establish a presence in the market before demand spiked.

  Or something like that.

  She flunked out of school and had only recently been 'strongly recommended' to complete some required reading, which amounted to those big books you'd find college students lugging around. It was amazing how quickly she could devour one of those when her life may or may not be on the line.

  Boss liked to make her sweat like that. Sadistic little imp—

  Lillian did not look over her shoulder again, but she did massage her throat, ensuring it was still in one piece.

  "But it's sooo boring," Faust whined petulantly, kicking his leg out. "It's all like math and stuff. Why do I have to do any of that?"

  To make money for their psychotic overlords. Duh.

  She didn't give voice to her thoughts, as they'd had this conversation before, and she knew he was being difficult for the sake of it.

  "Because I'm not covering for you if you miss your quota."

  Her partner grinned, putting on that easygoing smile he liked to brag about.

  "Lighten up, Lil. We're sitting in the shade now that we have real muscle behind us."

  Lillian brought her foot up, resting it on her chair and rubbing her shin. The bruise from that ill-fated day had faded, but her memory of it hadn't.

  "Alright, fineeeee," he said, needlessly dragging out the word. "I'll go make some rounds."

  She didn't question the sudden change in attitude, but she did watch him closely as he grumpily went for the door. She waited for his hand to reach the handle before giving a defeated sigh.

  "Faust." Her words caused him to send her a questioning glance. She pointed a finger at him, wagging it up and down. "Don't forget your damn shirt."

  He looked down, seeming to only now just realize his lack of dress. His fingers snapped, and he walked back to the table and grabbed a shirt from the bundle at random.

  Faust was halfway out when she remembered something else.

  "And stop by King's place on your way back. Make sure he's not up to anything weird."

  Leaving the definition of weird up to him was probably a mistake, but she wanted to wash her hands of that particular Pokemon as much as possible.

  "Do I have to?" he asked with a pout.

  "Yes."

  Because otherwise she'd have to. One psychic messing with her brain was enough for her, thank you very much.

  "You owe me, Lil," Faust said, not waiting for her response as he left their store.

  Fair enough. Roxie's latest album had dropped recently. Personally, Lillian preferred Piers' music, even if he was a Galarian bastard, but Faust liked her, and a first edition album would be a killer gift.

  It would be pretty expensive, coming all the way from Unova. Good thing she wasn't going to pay for it.

  Ugh, another thing to do.

  At least the latest order she was given was simple enough. Kalos Queens weren't exactly small figures, and their teams were all well-known. She should have no trouble finding out which ones used to have a Floette but don't anymore.

  Lillian opened up her laptop. She typed on the keyboard awkwardly, using her pointed fingers to click each button carefully. Phones she could do, but why would a punk need to learn how to type like an office worker?

  Her first search netted a grand total of zero results. Saying she didn't find anything wasn't an option, and so she painstakingly reworded her search.

  "Stupid little gremlin," she grumbled after four failed attempts.

  On the fifth, she finally got a hit.

  The link she found led to one of those old forums—the kind that had been around since the dawn of the PokeNet but were now only used by diehard fans. The initial post had a bunch of links that she tried clicking on, but each one was dead. Scrolling down the discussion thread, she began to piece together what they were talking about.

  What in the fresh hell was this?

  "Oh. That looks interesting."

  Lillian would have liked to say she turned and delivered a Sucker Punch to the intruding speaker. In reality, she fell out of her seat and scampered back across the floor, grabbing at her choker.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Why was there a Gym Leader in her office, and why did her smile cause Lillian's limbs to lock up?

  Through sheer will, she managed to wrap her fingers around the Pokeball hugging her neck, only to fall short of clicking the release. Throwing out Krokorok to face one of the region's strongest trainers would probably amount to abuse.

  "Hmm." Valerie, the fucking Gym Leader, crossed the distance between them in an instant. She crouched low, leaned in, and took a whiff of the punk, who desperately hoped she remembered to shower this morning. "You smell delightful."

  Lillian did not whimper.

  She did, however, wish she were anywhere else.

  Obviously, with the exception of Galar.

  Floette's life hadn't been a smooth one. Au contraire, it was a bumpy affair. She'd gone from being on the top of the world to dumpster diving in the span of a week. The shame of it drove her from the cities, which, in hindsight, might have been a mistake.

  Stolen story; please report.

  She'd already known she was a helpless Pokemon, but having to rough it out in the wilds really drove it in. Her outlook on life at the time was, let's say, problematic. Thankfully, another Floette was around to pull her out of her rut.

  Now that was one Pokemon who deserved the title of sage. They'd talked for an hour, maybe two? It was a blur. All she knew was that she woke up the next morning ready to kick the world's ass. The entire encounter was almost like a dream. If it weren't for the keepsake hanging off her neck, she might have thought she was losing her mind.

  Unfortunately, she was very much sane. The same could be said about her present company.

  "Ugh!" one of her minders complained, swinging her fist out in frustration. "This is taking sooo long."

  Floette watched those fists very carefully, making sure to keep her distance lest she be used for stress relief.

  "Oi!" the speaker snapped, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Got something to say?"

  Just keep smiling.

  "Sorry, Miss Mawile," Floette replied cheerfully. "I was thinking about how strong you were."

  And how that strength could fold her in half.

  "Makes sense," Mawile said, stretching out her arm before flexing a bicep. "I'm the greatest."

  Floette mentally laughed at that, her outward expression remaining unchanged. She could tell the Pokemon was tough. However, she'd rubbed shoulders with actual champions, and she knew what the peak looked like.

  Mawile wasn't there. She wasn't that far off, but there was a gap. Not that any of that mattered to Floette herself, as either level of Pokemon would demolish her. Then again, it would be harder to find a Pokemon that wouldn't be able to beat her up.

  "I don't like this either," the dragon said with a snort. "It's one human. We go in and smash them. Scouting is for the weak."

  Floette disagreed. Scouting was sensible as long as it was done by someone other than her. In this case, the head lunatic was doing the job. She'd taken her mini-me, the not-doll, and Carbink. Floette dearly wished that last one had been left behind. He was much easier to handle than these two.

  "Take that back," Mawile replied heatedly, stomping up to the dragon. "Or lose your teeth. Your choice."

  Holding back her groan proved more difficult than normal. This wasn't the first threat thrown around, and it was a miracle a fight had not broken out.

  Just keep smiling.

  "I wish we could have gone with her." Floette lied like her life depended on it. It very well might have, because neither of these two struck her as the 'caring about collateral damage' types. "It's my fault for dragging you all down."

  That wasn't entirely accurate. Gabite would have been left either way, as she was uncaptured. That was surprising to learn about. In all the trainers Floette had met, not a single one would pass up the opportunity to capture a future Garchomp. It just didn't make sense—but then again, neither did murder dolls, so what did she know?

  Nothing, as usual.

  Mawile was the one who'd gotten the 'short' end of the stick. She was here both to help Gabite in case that Dolan wandered by and to keep an eye on Floette herself.

  Apparently, she was a flight risk.

  Which was news to her because she was sure as shit not running off without protection. Best-case scenario, she got beaten black and blue by a random Pokémon. Worst-case scenario, she was dragged back and forced to resume her duty as the 'sage.'

  Blegh.

  No thanks. She'd done her time. They could figure things out themselves—not that they had really needed her in the first place. She was a figurehead that served no purpose other than to eat their food.

  How they hadn't realized she was a worthless mooch was a mystery. Eh, maybe she was being too hard on herself.

  If she had one talent, and it really might just be the one, then it was getting people to like her. She'd love to say she was amazing at it since the day she hatched, a true natural, but she wasn't. No, she worked her butt off for it. She ground day in and day out to learn things like—how to get the crowd to cheer for her, how to earn the maximum points from the judges, how to make her trainer…

  Just keep smiling.

  She was straying. The point was, she was damn good at it. Good enough that in this wide world full of Legendaries and Mythical Pokemon, she would get hers. No one would ever take advantage of her again.

  "Totally your fault," Mawile agreed with her earlier assessment. Floette didn't resist as she was hoisted up, being held up at arm's reach. "Don't you worry, though. Lil'Boss will whip you into shape."

  No, thanks. That sounded like a concussion waiting to happen, and she couldn't spare the brain cells.

  "I wouldn't want to put you out," she said with a cute tilt to her head. "Besides, the time would be much better spent training Miss Mawile and Miss Gabite, right?"

  The dragon finally stopped baring her teeth at Mawile, straightening her back with pride. Dragons were so silly about that stuff. She didn't miss working with them. There had been a Hydreigon on her team, and being around him was like walking on eggshells. One of the heads even had a crush on her. A true nightmare situation.

  "It's super fun with more victims," Mawile said with a grin, dropping her. "You'll get it, eventually."

  What she would get was her peaceful retirement. They would verify she was telling the truth, deal with the poacher, and then escort her into town. From there, her plan was simple.

  Find a retirement home. Not for Pokemon, if those even existed, but for normal, non-tree-breaking humans. She would set up in the garden and bat her big green eyelashes at the oldies and earn loads of food. They were easy marks, and best of all, it would be totally safe.

  A small voice in her head told her she would miss her current squatting quarters. However, she'd gotten enough out of them already, and it was better to move on before she did something to make it all crumble.

  "Her training is not like grandmother's, but she's good. For a human."

  The last bit had been tacked on, as if Gabite had forgotten that detail. To be fair, Floette knew where she was coming from. Simply put, the girl felt weird.

  She was also a nutjob. Floette could admit to believing it for a night, but by the morning, she'd gotten her head straight. What was more likely, that the documents were doctored or that there was actually a cult looking to end the world?

  The former, clearly. She'd seen a case like this before in children who took playtime a bit too seriously. This was a little different, as the child in question could jump over trees and was actively looking to procure one of those human fire sticks.

  A responsible Pokemon might have tried to push the brakes here. Floette was not that Pokemon. She'd gladly ride a train destined for a wreck as long as she knew when to bail. Hell, she'd urge them on if it meant getting to her stop quicker.

  Floette looked at her pack, a pang of sadness hitting her. This would be so much easier with her pick-me-up.

  But noooooooo—this was a dry trip.

  Lame.

  "Kicked your scaley ass good," Mawile said tauntingly at the dragon. "Didn't she?"

  That was the kind of statement Floette would make only if she had a fat life insurance policy, a clear getaway, and a cadaver to leave in her wake.

  The fire and teeth she expected to arrive never did, and the dragon gave a disconcerting smile, jabbing a claw toward Mawile.

  "Yours too. For all your talk, I've never seen you land a hit on her."

  Floette brought a finger to her ear, intent on cleaning it when she remembered she had done so this morning. That raised the question: what had she just heard?

  "I could if I wanted to," Mawile shot back a bit too quickly, her cheeks turning red. "And she's my trainer. Her win is my win."

  Self-preservation protocols dictated that she stay out of it as much as possible. Floette protocols dictated that she stick her foot in it. In the event of conflicting procedures, she drank a few shots and let what happened happen. Sadly, she had nothing on hand, and so she had to make a decision.

  "Pardon, Miss Mawile, Miss Gabite," she said demurely, making herself as small as possible. "But you make it out like Miss Tanya fought you both personally? Not with the aid of another Pokemon?"

  Both Pokemon blinked at her, sending incredulous gazes her way.

  "You stupid or something?" Mawile asked with crossed arms. "Lil'Boss is great at battling. She can beat most Pokemon we run into no problem."

  Okay. Her miscalculation was greater than originally thought.

  Which was fine, as it changed nothing.

  Floette knew she was a useless Pokemon, and from the way the girl looked at her, she could tell the girl knew it too. It was as much a relief as it was terrifying. There was no need to put on airs, but at the same time, the lack of a mask made her feel naked—well, more naked than she already was. Her days of playing dress-up were behind her.

  All that to say, Floette was not worth going out of anyone's way for. To the extent that even betraying her would be pointless. What was there to betray? No, she just had to keep her head down, say what needed to be said, and be quietly ditched in town or near enough. She wasn't that picky.

  She could taste the freedom, and it tasted like her special Oran berry blend.

  It would be only a few more days before she made it a reality. She had this in the bag, and anyone who said otherwise didn't know who they were up against.

  But first, she needed to placate this one. Her mouth had opened to do just that when a foreign thought entered her head.

  'Rendezvous. Two kilometers southeast.'

  The words came accompanied by a flavor of anticipation and an image. It displayed an area at the base of the mountain, with a large oval boulder that could serve as a decent reference point.

  They'd found him then.

  "Finally!" Mawile exclaimed, hopping up and down. "Let's go get em!"

  Floette's hand was grabbed, and the wind began to buffet her as she was dragged along.

  Just keep smiling.