Want to read ahead. You know where
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The Kalos Alliance had placed the Cocoon of Destruction under constant surveillance.
Deep within the mountains, another set of eyes watched as well.
Hidden beneath a sprawling cliffside base, Team Flare monitored the same dark cocoon.
Inside Lysandre's office, the air was thick with tension.
The faint hum of machinery blended with the soft echo of footsteps approaching from the metallic hallway.
The door slid open.
A woman in a long black coat stepped inside, her sharp eyes glinting behind round glasses.
The faintest smile curved her lips as she produced a small silver USB stick.
Sird, an envoy of Team Rocket.
She placed the device on Lysandre's desk, her movements deliberate and calm.
"Mr. Lysandre," she said smoothly, her tone both charming and dangerous, "our leader asked me to deliver this to you personally. Consider it… a gift."
Lysandre's crimson hair caught the low orange glow of the room.
His hand twitched, drawn instinctively toward the USB. Yet he stopped himself midway.
"A gift?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes.
"From Giovanni?"
Sird's smile widened.
"Inside this drive lies the method to trigger Yveltal's rage, to make the God of Destruction lose control."
Her voice dropped, soft and enticing.
"Are you sure you don't want it?"
Lysandre's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
He wanted it desperately.
The power to unleash Yveltal could bring him one step closer to his dream of a perfect world.
But accepting it would mean accepting a favor from Giovanni.
And favors from the Rocket Boss were never free.
He took a slow breath, forcing himself to stay calm.
"If I accept this," he said, his tone low and heavy, "what price would I have to pay?"
Sird tilted her head, her expression amused.
"Price? Mr. Lysandre, do you really think Team Rocket is short on money?"
Lysandre's frown deepened.
"Then what do you want from me?"
Sird chuckled lightly, as though humored by a child's question.
"Our leader merely wishes to show goodwill toward Team Flare. We're not here to bargain."
She paused, eyes glinting.
"You misunderstand kindness for manipulation. How disappointing."
Lysandre scoffed. "Kindness? From Team Rocket?"
He leaned forward, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Giovanni isn't exactly known for his generosity."
"Perhaps," Sird said softly, "but even ambition needs allies."
Her words lingered like smoke.
Lysandre said nothing, but his hesitation was obvious.
Sird took a step closer.
"You plan to activate the Ultimate Weapon, don't you? To reshape the world in your image. But without Yveltal, your plan will fail. You know that."
Her tone turned sharper.
"To capture a being like Yveltal is no small feat. Only when it's enraged, when it's drained from its own destruction, will you have a chance to seize it."
Lysandre's golden eyes flickered.
"You've done your research," he said quietly.
"Even about the Ultimate Weapon."
Sird smiled again. "Team Rocket has always been thorough."
For a long moment, silence filled the room.
The faint hum of the monitors was the only sound.
Finally, Lysandre exhaled and reached for the USB.
His fingers brushed against the cold metal before he slipped it into his coat pocket.
"I'll take it," he said, his voice calm but his eyes burning with purpose.
Sird's smile returned, cool and knowing.
"Then my job here is done."
She turned toward the door, but before stepping out, she glanced back over her shoulder.
"Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Lysandre."
Her tone lost its playful charm.
"Our leader asked me to remind you, don't underestimate that man named Samuel."
Lysandre's brow furrowed. "Samuel?"
"On the surface, he's just a historian," Sird said, her voice now sharp and precise.
"But he's more than that. Whatever you're planning, keep him out of it. Some people," she added, a faint smirk curling on her lips, "see more than they let on."
She turned and disappeared down the corridor, the echo of her boots fading into the distance.
Lysandre remained still, staring at the door long after she was gone.
He finally looked down at the USB in his hand.
Giovanni's "gift."
His reflection glimmered on the polished metal, a man torn between ambition and pride.
After a long moment, he slipped the drive into a hidden compartment of his desk.
"Sam… huh?" he murmured, his eyes narrowing.
"We'll see who underestimates whom."
Far from the Team Flare base, Sird stepped out into the rain-soaked night.
Her long coat fluttered in the wind as she pulled out an encrypted black phone.
She pressed a button, the signal scrambling before a calm, powerful voice answered on the other end.
"Giovanni speaking."
Even through static, his voice carried authority, cold, composed, and heavy with quiet menace.
Sird, usually unshakable even in the presence of other regional crime bosses, instinctively straightened her posture.
"Leader," she said respectfully, "Lysandre has accepted the gift. I believe he'll act according to plan soon."
A brief silence followed. Only the patter of rain filled the line.
Then Giovanni spoke again, low and measured.
"Good. Inform Cyrus. It's time for him to move."
"Yes, sir."
The call ended with a soft click.
Sird lowered the phone slowly, exhaling the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Haa…"
She brushed a strand of wet hair from her face, her tone quieter now.
"Even after all these years, that man's presence still feels… suffocating."
Her subordinates approached, their uniforms marked with the familiar red 'R'.
"The job here's done, Commander," one said, saluting quickly.
"Orders?"
Sird slipped the encrypted phone back into her pocket and turned toward the waiting aircraft hidden beyond the ridge.
"We're heading to the Sinnoh Region," she ordered.
"We have a new assignment."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Her team saluted in unison as the helicopter blades began to spin, cutting through the stormy sky.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, in Team Rocket's main headquarters, a lavish yet dimly lit underground facility beneath Kanto, Giovanni sat in silence.
He leaned back on a black leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other.
In his arms, a Persian purred softly, the only sound in the room besides the quiet hum of the air vents.
With his left hand, Giovanni absently stroked the Pokémon's fur, its sleek coat gleaming under the soft amber light.
In his right hand, a glass of red wine swirled lazily, catching reflections from the room's polished surfaces.
After a long pause, he lifted the glass and drained it in a single motion.
His sharp eyes drifted toward the large screen on the wall, displaying a faint map of the world, marked with digital red points.
Kalos. Sinnoh. Hoenn. Johto.
Every region held a presence of Team Rocket, visible or not.
But one name lingered on his mind.
Samuel.
The so-called historian. The man who once stood alongside Rayquaza survived.
Giovanni's grip on the empty glass tightened.
The faintest smirk appeared on his lips.
"You've become quite the obstacle, haven't you?" he murmured.
"Even the heavens seem to favor you."
Persian meowed softly, brushing its head against Giovanni's hand.
"Rayquaza…" Giovanni muttered, his tone low and filled with restrained frustration.
"A creature that even gods fear, and yet, it acknowledged him."
He leaned forward, resting the glass on the table beside a pile of encrypted documents.
His reflection shimmered in the dark surface, eyes sharp, face expressionless, ambition burning beneath the calm.
"To surpass you, Sam…" he whispered.
"To claim the world that even you could not control… that is the only path left."
His gaze shifted to the monitor again, where an encrypted feed flickered to life, a transmission from Sinnoh.
The faint outline of another man appeared: Cyrus, the leader of Team Galactic.
Giovanni's lips curved slightly.
"Let's see if Cyrus, the man who controls the Legendary Trio of Sinnoh, can truly deliver what I need."
He leaned back, petting Persian once more.
"After all," he said quietly, almost to himself, "to conquer the world of Pokémon… even gods must be challenged."
The Persian purred again, tail curling elegantly as the lights in the room dimmed.
Outside the base, lightning flashed across the Kanto sky, a silent witness to the schemes of men who dreamed of shaping the world itself.