The RESEARCH Team (PLOT)

For a moment, Elm was unsure whether the stranger had seen him. The idea seemed ludicrous. How could he not notice a half-crazed man in a tatty lab coat, arms flailing and voice hoarse with desperation, running towards him? He met the man’s quite vacant eyes, a feeling of unease suddenly overcoming his earlier hope as the stranger seemed to finally register the situation. And he did not take kindly to it.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Even without the man’s gun trained on him, Elm wouldn’t have questioned the order. He froze dead like a frightened animal in the headlights, staring at the possibility of a premature but thankfully sudden death. His jaw hung open a fraction, mouth dry whilst his own frantic heartbeat pounded relentlessly in his ears.
“Okay… O-Okay,” His mutterings were too faint to hear, oozing with a strange combination of fear and pitiful reassurance to the hunter. Ironic considering it was most definitely his nerves in need of settling. Nauseous, he felt the warmth of the giant fire-type behind him to remind him that he wasn’t doing this totally alone.

Rationality managed to surface as Elm forced himself to stand straight though his legs had turned to jelly. He raised his head to allow the man to see he was, contrary to popular belief, perfectly sane, before proceeding to hold up his hands.  Small eyes tried valiantly to keep their position on the man’s face, rather than the barrel of the gun threatening to end his life; and for the first time in his life, Professor Elm could find nothing to say. The silence surrounded him; a fitting coffin.

"Drop your weapon, civilian. State your name, put your pokemon back and give me a reason why I shouldn't shoot you here and now." His command, flat and completely unsettling to the professor saw a bead of sweat slowly descend down his forehead. He hadn’t the courage to wipe it away. Instead, his eyes darted to the gun still hanging limp from his hand. Elm’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, only then becoming aware of what a terrible state he was in. It was a welcome reminder of social normality, injecting a momentary calm in the panicked scholar. “O-Okay,” He hurriedly obliged, crouching to place the weapon on the ground with a soft clack before slowly returning to his previous position.

Military personnel, Elm presumed amidst the chaos of his mind. His silent observations of the stranger’s mannerisms and behavior was keeping him grounded; brain planning intelligible responses at the realization not everyone was happy to have company. He felt stupid, realizing that his desperation for a savior could may well cost him his life.
“M-My name is Elm – Prof-Professor Elm,” Whilst the words formed a strong answer in his head, spoken with clarity and rigor; the emerging result was quite pitiful. Part of him cringed away, though panic numbed the sensation of growing humiliation. It can’t get any worse. Clearing his throat, he cast a sideways glance to the pokemon stood loyally, albeit uncomfortably aside him, and contemplated the human’s second order. It took a moment of internal argument, before Elm sighed and obliged, returning the creature to its pokeball.

“I-I’m from Johto. I helped trainers, uh… I studied pokemon…” The panic was creeping into his tone more blatantly, the pace of his speech growing faster and faster as he struggled to remember what the man had asked in the first place. “Oak!” Elm exclaimed suddenly, everyone had heard of the legendary Professor Oak and his connection to man seemed a useful bargaining chip at the time. “Professor Oak – h-he taught me. We were friends in fact- good friends. Surely you’ve heard of him?”

On reflection it was of little relevance as Elm, unnerved by the silence, continued to fill the space with the ramblings of a desperate man.

“I’ve been out here fo-for months. They wanted me to study the infected bu-but then – shipwreck. I-I-I don’t know how I got out alive – don’t know why I’m still alive now! I mean-” He gave a short, unkind laugh at his own expense. “Look at me! I-I was never going to hurt you- I would never. I- I couldn’t,”

Professor Elm caught himself, gasping for breath as he found his attention had shifted immovably to the barrel of the gun. He briefly wondered whether it would be kinder, even easier, to just… die. Suicide had crossed his mind before, but he was a coward. He could never go through with it. Defeated, he let his arms flop to his sides – the intense terror wearing off to render him thoroughly fatigued,

“…I’m sure we could help each other,”

Blaine had a sad smile on his face as he gently lay the cloth over the dead, face still contorted in fear, forever frozen in its final moments of life as evidence of what had been done to it. The experiment had been a success, running exactly the way it always had, and the child would have survived the experience if the shock of witnessing its new form hadn't sent it into shock, stopping its heart cold. The elder male let out a regrettful sigh, actually hoping that once of his experiments would understand for once and let him help them. But after they turned it was always the same. Shock. Fear. Anger. Betrayal.... How many had he put down over the years simply because in their altered state they had become more dangerous than they were when they were alive?

And the worst part? Autopsies and further test proved that they held a new resistance to the virus if the host body had been infected during transformation.

It why he wanted the undead so badly but he had learned quickly that the longer the infection had been within the host, however, the more of their mind was gone and turning them into his experiments only made them more like rabid beasts than living dead. The virus halted, but whatever damage was already done. Saddening really. Expecting Red any minute Blaine gently picked up the small body and cradled it close to his chest, the slight feathers of the Piplup's back tickling his forearm as his coat sleeve road up. It never seemed to change.... but Blaine knew he could not give up his pursuit of the cure. And once his messenger came back with his 'parcel' the experiment could take its next step and he would finally get his vaccine. Red and his honor code be damned.

Disposing of the poor child in a magma chamber just outside the lab the senior scientist watched as the body caught light and slowly sank into the molten rock, the light from the flames dancing across his shades and hiding well the tears brimming in his eyes. He never wanted to hurt Pokemon or people in his pursuit of redemption, but having been so close to the cause of the epidemic he knew that he had to do whatever it took to get the world back on track, before Ragnarok became factual rather than myth. The last of humanity and the pure taking the final stand against the god-like undead, a battle that would likely wipe out the rest of the world and plunge them into eternal darkness....

No. It had to be stopped.

Wiping his face on his sleeve Blaine pushed himself to his full height with the support of his cane, tilting his head back and allowing the heat from the underwater volcano to wash over him Blaine steeled his resolve. His face set into a firm line he whirled around, coat swishing behind him like a windblown cape, and marched back to his lab. He had preparations to make for his 'guest' and as long as Red was gone he was going to see to it that they were ready. Where the hell was that boy anyway?

The squirrely man stopped immediately when Red's rifle rose, his forehead almost instantly breaking out into a sweat. He stuttered out an acquiescence, letting the small mouse gun in his head go limp. Red's eyes watched every jerk, every panicked breath the man took with cold analysis. Fear saturated the air around the stranger, anxiety kept his body trembling. Obviously, this man wasn't a threat, or he was a very, very good actor. But it seemed that the man remembered that Red had demanded information, rather than just pull a firearm on him, and began to speak.

“M-My name is Elm – Prof-Professor Elm,” he began, seeming to realize that he'd already made a few mistakes by charging a military grunt with both a gun and a pokemon. He returned the typhlosion, essentially disarming himself completely. But Red's defenses remained firm; there was no way he was getting caught off guard. The name itself meant nothing to Red, and the lack of a response seemed to egg on the professor's panic.
“I-I’m from Johto. I helped trainers, uh… I studied pokemon…” Voice crack, quivering lower jaw, eyes darting. He was looking for something, any information to quell Red's steel bloodlust. The soldier's eyes narrowed; something in him, a predatory side of him tightened his hold on the trigger by a fraction. A weaselly, sniveling waste of a human. People like him were bait. Something to keep the enemy gnawing and occupied while the more worthwhile people ran.

“Oak!” the stranger suddenly exclaimed, as if coming across a lifesaver. “Professor Oak – h-he taught me. We were friends in fact- good friends. Surely you’ve heard of him?” The only change in Red's expression was the slight quirk of a brow. He knew Oak? Well, technically, just about everyone did. The legendary professor lived well up to his description: legendary. Known in even the furthest regions of the world, it was hard to believe Oak knew this chattering bobble-head. Still, he didn't recognize Red; that meant he wasn't from Kanto at all, solidifying his Johto origins. And if he said who he said he was... Red's mind thought back to the infuriating coded message, a small, dark smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

Looks like Blaine was getting his "clean hooker" after all.

“I’ve been out here fo-for months." Elm continued, the silence proving too much for the terrified professor.  "They wanted me to study the infected bu-but then – shipwreck. I-I-I don’t know how I got out alive – don’t know why I’m still alive now! I mean-” A curt, terrified laugh caught his throat, his voice near hysterical.  “Look at me! I-I was never going to hurt you- I would never. I- I couldn’t,” Red watched, as always, as Elm's desperate panic finally gave way into a grim sort of acceptance, his arms lowering to his sides in a defeated limp gesture.

“…I’m sure we could help each other,” he finally stated, looking like a trapped rodent facing its own looming cat.

...More than you know, little man...

Red's assault rifle lowered, then swung backward to rest on his backpack. He strode forward, pulling out his personal handgun, pointing it at Elm's now drenched forehead. "Mount the Charizard," he ordered in a staccato bark, placing himself behind the man and following him back to the dragon, taking the mouse gun from Elm's limp, moist grip. "Keep your hands on his neck at all times. Do not turn, do not speak, do not pull out your own pokemon. Failure to restrain yourself will result in me shooting you, do you understand, Professor?" Every word was a recited, memorized growl, the orders an unenthusiastic word-vomit. Once the man boarded the dragon, Red mounted behind him, his pistol digging itself deep into Elm's ribcage. Without another word, Red gently nudged the dragon with his heels, urging Charizard upward. The dragon grunted, then launched itself into the air, all too ready to return to the bunker.

It was torture.

Whilst Elm’s mind ran wild with a sickly concoction of painful and beautiful memories, the silence between the two men only drew tauntingly on, beckoning the man’s psyche to its breaking point. He couldn’t take it. It was suffocating the shaken professor, cutting off whatever glimmer of hope he’d deluded himself into believing he’d found. This man was cold – a stone wall, an analytical drone staring him down. Elm was shrinking into the ground, quietly trembling as the combined strength of the soldier’s stare and that cruel silence wore away his defences.

The moment the man moved, a fluid motion which saw his rifle perch soundly against his back, Professor Elm’s legs nearly gave way. Relief slammed into him, the confirmation that he wasn’t going to die proving a sensation almost too powerful for the scholar’s slender frame to bear. He caught himself however, sucking air into his deprived lungs as he valiantly attempted to gather himself. He may have succeeded hadn’t the stranger’s sudden approach plunged him back into a state of subdued terror.

It wasn’t a rifle, but the barrel of a second firearm was now pressing into the creases of Elm’s sweaty forehead.

"Mount the Charizard,"

Elm couldn’t speak, staring cross-eyed at the handgun as an incredible heat filtered through to his skull. His eyes, battered glasses slipping further down the length of his nose, now focused on the man who controlled his fate.
“O-Okay,” The professor didn’t trust himself to ramble, instead offering the shaky agreement as he was marched towards the patient fire-type. It was about the only thing that Elm didn’t fear. Pokémon he understood – it was his own species he found alien.

"Keep your hands on his neck at all times. Do not turn, do not speak, do not pull out your own pokemon. Failure to restrain yourself will result in me shooting you, do you understand, Professor?" Had he been rehearsing? Professor Elm was suddenly struck with the feeling that another unfortunate survivor had heard those very words – but why? What good was a hostage in this day and age? Where was he being taken? Questions threatening to spill out from their internal prison, Elm barely noticed he had been relieved of his weapon.
“… I understand,” He cleared his throat, rationality slowly replenishing itself as he saw the opportunity to save himself. If this man wanted him dead, there would be no need for conversation at all – Elm knew he’d be bleeding, skull split open, on the ground five minutes prior to this very moment.

Obediently, albeit rather clumsily mounting the Charizard, the professor’s moist hands rested lightly at the creature’s neck. He had flown a number of times before but it wasn’t a pastime he particularly enjoyed, especially when the mount belonged to such a man as the one who currently held a gun to his ribs. Elm flinched away at the jab of the barrel, silencing the question he so dearly wanted to ask. Where are we going?

The dragon took off, Elm’s grip tightening on the creature’s neck as he found himself a prisoner to a complete psychopath.

It would have been easier to deal with an undead.

Blaine was getting antsy. Red had been gone a notoriously long amount of time and it was starting to wear on the older male. He had already paced a firm path into the floor and wrung his hands to near pretzel like formations. He didn't do anxious well, never had.

While Red was a pain in the elder scientist's ass he was still someone to talk to. It took a lot of work but eventually Blaine was always able to weasel his way under the youth's skin and get him to yell or argue back. It wasn't much for communication but it served him well enough. He tried not to use the translators because he didn't want them getting destroyed but he always had one on hand if he needed it. But the thought that drove him mad at this current moment was that his Charizard was still out there. Did Red have no respect for other people's Pokemon? Really.

Currently to occupy his mind and his time he had let out his Growlithe, the puppy Pokemon hopping around and barking to try and get the former Gym Leader to sit down. It wasn't working and it was driving the puppy crazy. Finally the little one grabbed Blaine's ankle within his sharp little teeth and Blaine let out a loud yelp, the Growlithe running underneath a desk to try and hide from any anger. But the man knew he could never hurt his little Growlithe. "Come here big guy," he cooed, kneeling down and waving his hands towards his chest. The small fire type crept slowly out to make sure it was safe before barreling into Blaine's chest for a hug. "I'm sorry I had you worried." Burying his face into the soft warm fur of his Pokemon Blaine allowed himself a small moment of peace, allowing his mind to wander away from the present if only for a little while.

At least until a sharp, stabbing pain shot from the base of his neck up into his head. He dropped his Pokemon and held his head in both hands, pressing hard against the sides and temples to try and get the new throbbing ache to go away. He hadn't felt anything this strong since back when....Oh shit. His eyes widened behind his tinted frames and Blaine jumped to his feet as quickly as his age would allow, moving to the security desk Red used to monitor the few cameras they had set up around the perimeter along with one or two outside the base. 'Where the hell are you Red?!' he hissed in his mind, almost desperate to have the warmongering youth with him. 'If you don't get here before him then I am screwed!' That kid better have a damn good excuse when he finally got here, too.

The flight was long and quiet, save for the sound of the wind rushing past them and Charizard's wings beating against it. Red's gun remained firm against the professor's lower ribs, the soldier noticing more details about the man he'd suddenly taken hostage. He still wore a lab coat, one dirtied with life in the outdoors; its white stained a tawny sort of color, frayed and threadbare on the edges. While the coat was full, the winds made it easier to see his slight frame, giving some indication that food was not terribly available. Not surprising. He certainly looked the part he'd claimed to be, the stink of fear blowing directly into Red's face as they flew back to the bunker. Red's lip curled as the smell refused to leave him.

Disgusting.

As Red's gaze glanced downward, his thoughts went to the man's future with Blaine. He wasn't exactly sure what the crazy old fuck would do with a person, but for the stranger's sake, hopefully, he'd told the truth about knowing Oak. It might give the crazy scientist some reason to hold back... or more reason to torture information out of him. Either way. Blaine didn't like liars, and his fate as one would be much, much worse than a timid professor. In either case, Red wasn't sure whether or not he cared if this sniveling, shriveled sack of meat lived or died. At least him being there would divert Blaine's riddles away from Red for the time being.

It wasn't long until they landed, the landing itself a bit harder than normal on account of the extra weight. Red dismounted easily, slipping off and backing away a few steps to allow the professor some room to dismount himself... and to keep a better eye on him. Charizard glanced backward, waiting for his next command, to which Red just nodded. The dragon nodded back, then began walking toward the entrance of the caves. Red stepped forward a little to gain the professor's attention, gun still trained on the squirrely man, and said simply, "Follow him. Don't speak."

It was another long scene of endless caverns, copies of themselves in a seemingly never-ending labyrinth of empty, hollow corridors. There was no life at all, not the breath of the wind or the sound of rushing water. It was still as death in the caves, the only sounds the echoes of their own footsteps. Red calmly followed behind the professor, gun still aimed at the man's head, eyes focused on his hostage and the surroundings. He doubted any Infected had wandered in during the small window since his last patrol, but it was always better to be on his toes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Charizard stopped and moved aside to reveal a large heavy steel door; a door that looked like it was built to withstand just about anything. "Knock," was Red's simple, soft order.

His eyes flicked upwards, waiting for the camera in the corner to move. Once it did, he said in a tone that could be described as "disgusted" more than anything, "I have your fucking 'hooker'. Open the door."

Elm found the icy jab of the wind in his face the perfect way to restore a temporary tranquillity within his erratic mind. His thoughts drifted away from the subject of his imminent death and instead set about warming his failing sense of hope. He wasn’t dead yet and it seemed illogical and totally sadistic for a killer to bide his time. Even a man who treated him with such hostility wouldn’t waste his time contemplating such a matter.

The Professor had significantly calmed, sucking up his sheer terror and blind desperation in favour of a more restrained concern for his wellbeing. Busying his brilliant mind with ways to escape this predicament and appeal to whatever humanity still lurked within this soldier, Elm, despite his best efforts at distracting his nagging fear, wasn’t allowed to forget his identity as a hostage. Hyperaware of the firearm probing at his side, he knew that his calm was only flitting. The moment they landed, his emotions would crash into him like a wave once more.

Elm was right.

The Charizard came to a halt, standing firm on solid ground as the Professor took a sharp inhale in preparation for the next stage of his kidnapping. He heard the man’s boots thud against the ground to his left but refrained from making any sort of eye contact. Keep it together. Professor Elm would take his time.

Clammy hands leaving the creature’s next – their position completely unchanged from their original starting point – Elm followed his captor’s example and dismounted with a stumble in his step. Pushing his glasses back to the bridge of his nose and giving the lapels of his dirtied lab coat a quick tug, the scholar looked up from his bedraggled appearance to the callous drone soon to dictate his actions.

"Follow him. Don't speak." Gulping, not trusting himself to speak in fear of falling victim to word vomit, Elm quickly nodded his head in understanding.

It was a strange place, a maze of dimly-lit corridors set in the discerning backdrop of a cave. Quite a fitting home for the soldier. There was nothing to look at as the Professor obediently stumbled after the fire pokemon, his eyes looking for some sort of distraction from that terrible silence. He tried to memorize the various pathways, building a vague internal map to keep his mind occupied as the stillness of the place began to nip at his heels. It was dead. Totally lifeless as the Professor’s breath escaped heavily, faster, to break the unending silence.

By the time they reached the door, Professor Elm was near-hyperventilating. His face was re-moistened with a thin layer of sweat, hands lightly trembling against his sides as he stared up at the ominous entrance. He didn’t hear the soldier’s command over the screeching within his own head; didn’t hear anything to leave the man’s mouth as dread overcame and numbed his senses.

What was he to face? Was this how it ended? Fed to rabid undead? Locked in these damned caves for all eternity? Die here?

Any concept of his fate being anything but horrific had vacated from his entire being, Elm left expecting the worst as the seconds only allowed his mind to take more and more illogical jumps. Left staring fearfully at the cold steel separating him from no-doubt a painful demise, Professor Elm found himself reduced to a mere child – no, smaller than that.

Elm was a rabbit, already crippled, caught in the headlights.

He was pacing again. The little Growlithe had long since given up getting him to stop and sat quietly in the researcher's chair, eyes following his human companion as he wore a path into the floor. The pain in his head was slowly growing stronger and he knew that if he didn't get Red's ass back here soon he was going to have a whole other kind of visitor and one that was capable of far more destruction than the edgy soldier boy. It wasn't until a soft electronic ping followed by a hollow knocking caught both of their attentions that he stopped his nervous habit, the Growlithe's head perking up to look at Blaine while the former Gym Leader moved towards the console to turn on the outside camera's remote access. Shifting the view he witnessed Red standing at the door with his Charizard and what appeared to be another human. Where had he found one of those?

"I have your fucking 'hooker'. Open the door."

Red's disgruntled voice came crackling through the comm system and Blaine couldn't help but bark out a laugh, the loud sound startling his Puppy Pokemon and sending it sailing off of his chair with a spin, lowly growling at his master for the upset. The elder man cooed gently and rubbed the Growlithe's ears before standing back up the console and flicking a small silver switch. "I expected you back hours ago," he jested, not needing the screen to know the expression that would grace the soldier's face. "And I see you still didn't get that bath so tell me, why should I let you in when you didn't finish your chores like a good boy? Hm?" He never could resist an opportunity to piss Red off.

There was a pause between Red's announcement and Blaine's reply; likely from the latter trying to regain his breath from laughing. Legends, he hated that man. "I expected you back hours ago," the voice jeered back cheerily on the PA, only gaining Red's normal scowl. "And I see you still didn't get that bath so tell me, why should I let you in when you didn't finish your chores like a good boy? Hm?"

The soldier's gaze narrowed as he glared upward at the soulless camera and its equally soulless pilot. "He said he knew Oak," was his simple reply, allowing himself a ghost of a smirk. "But I can just kill him and take it later." He brought up his rifle to the back of the man's head, prepping the gun for a rapid fire. Though he didn't care whether or not the self-proclaimed "professor" lived, having something like leverage over the crazy old fuck was somewhat refreshing. "...You know... if he's useless."

"He said he knew Oak,"

Even as he pushed the code to unlock and open the doors a million different scenarios slammed into Blaine's head, each one progressively worse than the last as to why some lackey of Oak would be stumbling around his secret labs. Did Oak know where he was? Was that old codger going to try something again to get Blaine to stop his research? He was trying to help people and Pokemon! He was just willing to go further than Oak was to get the results needed to save lives. That old bastard only cared about making himself look like the most important man in the world, he probably wanted to see what Blaine had accomplished so he could take it for himself and claim the cure. This spazzy idiot was just a decoy....had to be....Damn that Oak!

"But I can just kill him and take it later....You know... if he's useless."

Blaine's mind snapped back to the present, face twisted in a hateful scowl as he settled his gaze on the new lab rat. He lowered his head so his gaze was hidden behind his trademark sunglasses, eyes trailing slowly from the intruder's face to where Red's gun perched almost prophetically against the man's skull. It was so tempting to just let Red do it, to not have to worry about that bastard Oak interfering again with his work, but he had to know for sure if Oak even knew where he was or if this spaz really was that stupid in getting lost. "Not...now." he groaned out, fists clenched at his sides so tightly that his nails were beginning to puncture his palms. His Growlithe yipped frightfully at the scent of blood, running up to Blaine to gently lick at the back of his hands hoping to get his fingers to release.

Straightening up the former Gym Leader raised one arm and pointed to one of the metal tables against the wall, eyes still trained firmly on Red. "Put him in one of those chairs and make damn sure he doesn't touch anything. I wanna know who the hell this guy really is before we start putting any new holes in him." Oh yes, but as soon as he got his answer Red could feel free to do whatever he wanted with the intruder. But first, "Where's my Charizard?"

Red wasn't quite sure what the old man was thinking in that drought of deafening silence, his gun still cocked against the bobble head in front of him, and as long as it wasn't repercussions for him, neither did he care. His mind paused at the revelation of its own indifference and loathing, but it quickly passed as the door finally relented, revealing an almost comically irked Blaine. And what has his panties in a bunch? he mused, somewhat elated to have the riddler and jokester see the tables turn on him. "Not...now," Blaine grated out, soon followed by a concerned yip from his pup growlithe, who went to tending to the old man's hand.

Though the old man's eyes were shielded by the strange spectacles he always wore, Red could tell Blaine's stare was going right to him. "Put him in one of those chairs and make damn sure he doesn't touch anything. I wanna know who the hell this guy really is before we start putting any new holes in him." A gentle press from the end of Red's barrel to the sweaty bowling ball of a head before him did all the talking for him. But since this guy didn't seem too bright in times of crisis, he added a soft -but not gentle- "You heard him. Go." He followed closely behind, keeping his gun trained on the man even as he sat down.

But even as Red was doing his job, Blaine still insisted on playing the paranoid mother. "Where's my Charizard?" Red only scoffed, not paying the man an answer. Surely he saw the giant dragon off to the side on camera? But at the mention, Blaine's charizard strode happily into the room, grumbling happily the only way a dragon could. Taking only a few moments, Red withdrew the pokeball, as well as the bag of items fetched, and tossed it in Blaine's general direction, not particularly caring where it actually hit. Nevermind there were loose dirty needles and such in there. Eh. Blaine could handle himself. Besides, he was doing his precious duty: keeping an eye and gun pointed promptly at the squirrely prisoner.

Elm was deaf to the taut conversation that passed between his captor and the intercom. His erratic heartbeat overpowered the world around him, sharp breath a background track as his mind, quietly imploding, slowly disabled his senses.

He was going to be sick. If not that, faint at the very least.

The professor’s unseeing eyes did not leave the steel door that he faced. His pupils dilated, whites bloodshot, as he felt the noose tightening around his neck. Whatever calm that he thought he’d possessed was a simple delusion, a vain bid to persuade himself that everything was going to be okay.

Of course it wasn’t!

Stupid!

Stupid!

Stu-

The flicker of anger was extinguished in a millisecond as the barrel of the gun edged closer to the back of his head.

Elm’s breath caught in his throat, unable to silence the half-whimper that instinct forced from his mouth. He was shaking again, violently, as the sweat poured only more profusely. Part of him wanted the soldier to just get it over with – end this humiliation, this torture, and pull the damned trigger. But Elm was a coward. He had tried to pull the trigger himself, barrel shaking at his temple – yet he couldn’t muster the courage to shoot. What did he have left to live for anyway?

His wife? His child? They could be waiting for him for all he knew.

His work? The thought made him scoff. How blinded he must’ve been to ardently treasure such trivial information. His life works surmounted to what? A few discoveries that could do nothing for him now.

The sinking feeling that intercepted the sheer terror coursing through Elm’s veins was enough to kill whatever fight the professor held onto. He let his head dip, eyelids scrunched shut as he awaited an escape route from a truly miserable revelation.

"Not...now."

It was the first time that Elm truly heard the other man’s voice. And his words were devastating. He had persuaded himself that death was inevitable, a fitting ending from this world – only to be spared. Elm didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He opened his eyes cautiously, emotive pools looking upon his cruel savior.

The man looked… oddly familiar. The professor couldn't place a name, but the lab coat he wore lured him into a sense of false security – a fellow scholar? He dismissed the idea immediately, reminding himself that these men weren’t his friends. They had him at gunpoint, utterly defenseless in this gloomy fortress. Elm made sure to eradicate his childish sense of hope from his mind altogether.

"Put him in one of those chairs and make damn sure he doesn't touch anything. I wanna know who the hell this guy really is before we start putting any new holes in him." Elm was reluctant to move, unsure whether he still had complete control of his long limbs. But it seemed he had no choice. "You heard him. Go."

Professor Elm nearly collapsed into the steel chair, grateful – for the time being at least – for the support. He straightened up as best he could, trying to exert some sort of control over his overwhelming emotions as he faced his captors. The scientist and the soldier.

Elm dared not speak.

Happy to see his large fire beast lumber into the room Blaine almost missed the toss as his supplies were all but hurled in his general direction, Red's lack of care for any aim obvious. Without even a twitch the scientist's hand reached out and clasped around the red and white ball that normally encompassed his Charizard but let the supply pack fall uselessly to the ground, not even moving to try. His gaze slowly crawled down from the intruder's face to the fallen sack and took note of a few contents that had spilled out onto the floor and began to roll noisily. In particular the needles glimmering out from underneath the chair he previously occupied.

A creepy grin spread across his face as his fingers snapped, the Charizard and Growlithe in the room immediately coming to attention to gaze at their trainer. Looking to the puppy he pointed to the sack and nodded his head towards a cabinet, the Growlithe happily charging for the tasked object and picking it up gingerly by one strap to drag across the floor to a metal storage box on the far side of the room. Blaine knelt down to pick the two stray needles and looked at them carefully, one of them cracked and useless except for as a spare needle tip but the other still in good condition. It was merely filthy. Inside was an unknown factor as there was a strange brown residue still within, dry and flaking off the inside walls as he shook it gently, but it would serve his purpose.

"Charizard, return," he called gently, the small room simply too crowded to keep his large dragon inside any longer. Barely even glancing at the frazzled 'scientist' who sat cowering in the chair, Red's gun still aimed with deadly precision at the man's head, the eldest male strolled over to the pc box and lay the pokeball on a receiver, sending his Charizard back into the storage to rest. Thankfully he had thought to do the same with his Rhydon before Red came back or soldier boy may have had some questions. Silently he moved about the room, never acknowledging either of the other men as he went to work, acting as if the two of them weren't there. Normally this was part of his routine with Red, the boy absolutely hating talking to Blaine, but this time it was more for dramatic flair. How would this intruder take to not knowing what was going on? Of not knowing whether or not Blaine had some horrible design for him or if eventually he would break the silence simply to tell the youth to shoot. For the twitchy patient in the corner this silence would be deafening.

It was nearly an hour before Blaine spoke again, approaching the intruder casually before stopping a scant foot away from where he sat. "Give me your arm," he ordered, a scowl of impatience written across his face. His sunglasses had lowered just barely enough to allow his glare to peek out over the top as he loomed over this 'associate' of Oak, one arm behind his back and extending his right to grasp the offered arm when it came. If it came. Who knew if this mousy man was actually a stubborn boar when cornered? Time would tell but for now Blaine's tone demanded obedience and for the intruder's sake he had better listen. Red's trigger finger looked twitchy.

(I'm afraid I must skip; I'm merely watching and waiting, keeping my gun pointed on Elm.)

As the minutes of deadly silence droned on, seemingly spanning an eternity for the terrified professor, Elm’s emotions fluctuated between the extremes. He never had been good with silence; it’s pairing with a ghastly tension was nearly enough to push his fragile mind over the edge. Elm was clinging on by his fingertips.

He watched the older man busy himself with his work, trying to figure him out without jumping to conclusions too dark to dwell on. He saw the surgical equipment, his wide eyes trained on a particular syringe until that same feeling of nausea came crawling back to him.

Elm averted his eyes to the two fire-types, taking some comfort in their loyalty to this strange human. He couldn’t be THAT bad? His belief that love was the central ingredient to any trainer-pokemon relationship kept him hopeful. The Growlithe was attentive to the man’s silent commands, indeed utterly endearing in his nature to understand and comprehend the intentions of one so different. Their interactions alleviated some of the terror crushing Professor Elm’s windpipe, some.

The small distractions were enough to calm the captive, his trembling gradually weakening in their ferocity until he stilled almost entirely. Yet his vice-like grip on the arms of the chair never softened, instead intensifying until his veins threatened to break through the pale layer of skin that concealed them.

There was no forgetting the soldier’s gun.

Elm caught glimpse of it every few minutes; praying that it might’ve disappeared only to find it immovably trained on him. It kept him grounded in the moment. Where he might usually escape to the comfort of his wandering daydreams or immerse himself in the intricacies of the room – that gun tethered Elm to reality. It reminded him of his mortality.

"Give me your arm,"

He started, unashamedly flinching as his head whipped around to meet the speaker’s gaze. Elm wasn’t even sure how he’d failed to acknowledge the man’s approach, but the sudden order and close proximity had him flustered. He sunk back into his chair, praying that it might swallow him up altogether whilst he mustered the courage to respond.
“…Wh-What?” It had been his immediate response, but not one he had intended to vocalize. His voice wavered, lips dry as his attention shifted from the man’s glare to his outstretched hand, and then finally to the gun.

Professor Elm’s thought process was mapped across his features; the confusion contorting his brow, reluctance tugging at his lip, a glimmer of fight reflected in his eyes before they submitted to carnal fear. He was in no position to argue these men. It seemed he would live a lot longer if he simply complied.

The man seemed to argue his actions one final time before releasing the breath he’d been holding in; and with it, defeated, he held out his bony, shaking arm.

He wasted no time in snatching up the offered limb with such brute force he nearly pulled the unsuspecting man out of the chair. With a wicked smile he pulled the needle hidden from behind his back and pushed it with a firm pressure against the artery in the supposed professor's arm, hard enough to fold the skin around the needlepoint but not quite hard enough to puncture. Yet. Lifting his gaze to meet the eyes of his 'guest' Blaine let out a resonant chuckle from deep inside his chest before splitting his face with a wide grin.

"Now we play a little game," he taunted, giving a little more pressure to the needle as though to prove his point but still not allowing it to break through the protection of the man's skin. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you are going to answer. You have three options for each question. Answer honestly, answer falsely, or pick your fate. Lying has consequences so be careful but answering truthful keeps you safe. Pick your fate consists of getting shot or taking your chances with whatever still remains in this needle and hoping it isn't fatal." Giving a sparing glance to Red the elder scientist used his foot to pull one of the rolling office chairs to him and sat down, never breaking his firm grip on the intruder's arm. He lowered his head to peer over his sunglasses and allowed the frightened man to see just how serious he was.

"So, want to play a game?"

"Now we play a little game," Blaine purred, the threat of the needle against the Professor's arm ever present. Red stood vigilant, if not excruciatingly bored, with his gun eternally pointed at the bobble-headed man. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you are going to answer. You have three options for each question. Answer honestly, answer falsely, or pick your fate. Lying has consequences so be careful but answering truthful keeps you safe. Pick your fate consists of getting shot or taking your chances with whatever still remains in this needle and hoping it isn't fatal." Red couldn't help the eyeroll that nearly threatened to remove the organs from their sockets at Blaine's "rules". Why couldn't he just make things simple? Just a "answer truthfully or be super dead." Why was that so difficult? But then again, this was Blaine after all, and Red had to remind himself that he was grateful for the distraction. At least it wasn't him in that chair.

He caught the spare glance Blaine gave him over his shoulder and the soldier merely locked onto the gaze in acknowledgement. No words needed be exchanged. "So, want to play a game?"

"Now we play a little game."

Oh. That didn't- that didn't sound good, oh no. The words were frightening, and his expression was frightening, and he was almost but not quite pricking his skin. Why didn't he get it over with?

"I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you are going to answer. You have three options for each question. Answer honestly, answer falsely, or pick your fate."

Huh?

"Lying has consequences so be careful but answering truthful keeps you safe. Pick your fate consists of getting shot or taking your chances with whatever still remains in this needle and hoping it isn't fatal."  

He glanced at the soldier--nopleasedon'thavehimshoot--and Elm was tempted to breathe a sigh of relief when Red did not move to use his gun, though it remained, terrifyingly, pointed at him. Without looking or changing his grip, the elderly scientist reached out to pull the rolling office chair over to himself with a foot, sitting down on it.

He peered over the top of his glasses, the professor's breath catching in his throat at the look the man was giving him. Calm, collected, but dangerous and... insane?

"So, want to play a game?"

No, he definitely did not.

But what choice did he have?

I... guess that someone can be kind to his pokemon and still be completely off his rocker... He was about ready to kick himself for not realizing such an obvious thing, sooner.  

What did the man mean? What was all that rambling? Was it as simple as 'answer truthfully or else I will hurt you?' If so, why didn't he just say that!?

... Right. The insanity part. He was trying so hard not to shake now, desperately upending his mind for something to cling to, some thought to help him remain positive.

Well... he didn't really have any reasons to lie so... he should be okay, right?

Right?

He swallowed.  "Ye-yes. Wh-what do- do you want to know?"