Pain came first,
sharp, cold, and biting, sinking into him like needles driven beneath the skin and left there. It didn't ease or dull, only pressed deeper the longer he was aware of it. The cold followed, threading through muscle and settling into bone until it felt anchored there, heavy and immovable.
Mason jerked, and something snapped tight around his ankle. Metal bit into his skin as the chain wrenched him back down, the impact ringing out in a hollow clang that echoed across the room. His breathing came uneven, shallow pulls that never quite filled his lungs, and the realization settled in quickly, something was wrong.
No, everything was wrong.
He forced his eyes open to harsh artificial light. Rows of fluorescent tubes stretched overhead, buzzing with a constant hum that pressed into his skull—not loud, but relentless. He blinked hard, trying to steady his vision, then looked down.
His chest rose in quick, shallow breaths. Small. Too small.
His arm lifted into view, trembling as it moved. Thin, pale, weak—there was no strength behind it, no familiarity. His stomach tightened as the thought came immediately and without hesitation: this wasn't his body.
"What the—"
The voice cut him off. It was too high, too light it felt .
....wrong?
Mason froze, and then the memories came, not gently or in order, but colliding, jagged and overlapping as they forced themselves together.
Warm light filled a smaller room, softer than this one, yellow instead of white. The air carried the faint smell of heat and something cooking, and voices followed—close, familiar.
"Careful with that one," one said, a quiet laugh in the tone. "If you crack it, I'm not fixing it."
"I'm not going to crack it," the other replied, calm and focused. "You said that last time."
"Yeah, and I was right."
"You weren't."
A pause followed before the second voice spoke again. "Two degrees high. You're going to ruin the cycle."
"I'm not—"
"You are. Check it."
A soft click.
"…Alright. Maybe a little."
"Exactly."
A hand brushed across the surface of an egg, followed by a quieter exchange.
"Still intact."
"Told you."
The moment lingered—normal, safe—before it shattered.
The door didn't open; it exploded inward, wood fracturing outward in a violent burst. Splinters tore across the room as boots hit the ground immediately, heavy, fast, controlled.
"Move! Move!"
"Secure the kid!"
Everything snapped into chaos. One of them stepped forward instantly, voice rising
"You're not!"
before the gunshot cut him off and his body dropped. The other voice broke with a sharp, desperate
"No!"
but another shot followed, and she collapsed beside him without hesitation from those who had entered.
"Grab the eggs!"
"Cases first, don't damage them!"
"Take the balls too, everything goes!"
Metal containers were ripped open, trays dragged loose, and hands moved quickly but carefully, lifting eggs into reinforced carriers while Poké Balls were swept into bags, metal clinking as they were gathered. Everything of value was taken. Everything else was left behind.
Hands grabbed him.
"Got him!"
"Move!"
He struggled immediately, panic snapping through him.
"LET ME GO!" A hand slammed over his mouth.
"Shut him up."
Darkness followed.
Mason dragged in a breath as the memory tore away, his chest tightening as the realization settled in those memories weren't his, but they belonged to the body he was now in. He forced himself back into the present, focusing on the cold, hard reality around him.
Concrete walls surrounded him, smooth and worn, streaked faintly with old moisture. Metal fixtures were bolted into place, exposed wiring running in clean, deliberate lines. The floor beneath him was cold and unforgiving, and when he followed the chain down, he saw it locked tightly around his ankle.
He wasn't alone.
Kids were chained across the room, some slumped, some barely moving, others staring blankly ahead with no reaction at all. Mason's eyes moved across them, confusion cutting through the pain as the thought repeated in his mind: this didn't make sense.
A metallic click echoed as the door slid open and two men stepped inside, dressed in dark uniforms with a red "R" stitched clearly onto their chests.
Mason froze.
Team Rocket.
But that didn't line up. They stole Pokémon, not children.
"Bring the next subject," the man with the tablet said.
"From this row?" the other asked, gesturing toward the far side.
"Yes. Continue rotation."
They moved past Mason, grabbing a kid from the far side. The chain snapped loose as the kid struggled, panic rising in his voice. "No....no....please!"
"Vitals?"
"Low."
"Run him anyway."
The door shut behind them, leaving silence that quickly gave way to a low hum that began to build. Then came the scream high, desperate, echoing through the walls before cutting off abruptly.
The hum died, and when the door opened again, the exchange was cold and clinical.
"Status?"
"Subject expired during cycle. Cardiac arrest."
"Any resonance?"
"Minimal. Not viable."
"Mark it failed. Move on."
Mason's stomach twisted as the reality of it settled in. That was all it took just another failure, just another body.
Then the tablet man's gaze shifted and landed on him.
"Next subject."
The second man hesitated. "This one?"
"Prior resonance spike recorded."
"You sure?"
"Check it."
A glance down at the tablet, then a nod. "…Yeah. There it is."
"Unstable, but present. Run him again."
Mason's chest tightened. Not again.
"No, wait!"
They moved anyway, hands grabbing him as the chain snapped loose. He twisted, trying to pull away, eyes scanning for any opening door, distance, anything, but there was nothing. Too far. Too many.
They dragged him into the next room.
It was colder, cleaner. Metal tables lined the center, restraints already in place, machines and monitors flickering with constant streams of data. They threw him down, and straps locked immediately around his wrists, arms, chest, and legs.
"Secure him."
Cold pads pressed into place as gel spread across his skin.
"Baseline?"
"Elevated. Unstable."
"Expected. Begin stimulation."
"Don't, please!"
The machine powered on, the hum filling the room before pain tore through him.
"AAAGH!"
His body seized violently.
"Voltage thirteen point two. Spike detected."
"Continue."
Another surge hit, forcing his back to arch as something built inside him... pressure, expanding, uncontrolled.
"Resonance increasing."
"How stable?"
"It isn't."
"Push it anyway."
The third surge hit harder, and something inside him snapped. The pressure twisted violently, and the structure itself seemed to respond—the machine stuttering, lights flickering.
"What was that?" the second man snapped.
An impact answered, deep, heavy, followed by shouting from beyond the room.
"Move! Secure storage!"
"Grab every case, don't leave the eggs!"
"Take the Poké Balls!"
"Stop them! Don't let them move anything!"
"Upper levels breached," the tablet man said.
"Then we're done here. Cut it. Pull priority."
The machine died, and Mason collapsed against the table, twitching as the restraints released. Hands grabbed him again, but his legs failed completely.
"Can he move?"
"It doesn't matter. He's priority."
They dragged him into the hallway, where chaos had already taken hold. Dust filled the air, lights flickered, and concrete littered the ground. As they passed the holding room, the kids were still there, still chained, still screaming for help.
Mason's eyes locked onto them, the thought hitting hard and undeniable: this was wrong.
The ceiling cracked above them, then gave way. Concrete crashed down, silencing everything beneath it.
"Keep moving! They're not priority!"
They didn't stop.
Ahead, Rocket members rushed past carrying reinforced cases, shouting over one another about egg carriers and storage while bags of Poké Balls clattered as they ran. Another impact shook the corridor, closer this time.
"Outer wall's gone!"
"They're inside!"
A roar followed, deep, alive, and then Mason saw him.
At the far end of the corridor, a figure pushed forward through the chaos, fighting through Rocket members, moving against the current.
Not one of them.
Mason shifted, forcing his weight sideways, trying to slip free as the realization locked in—if he could reach that figure, that was his way out.
"Hold him!" one of the men snapped.
Mason twisted harder, ignoring the pain, eyes fixed on the figure as the distance closed.
Just a little closer...
Another impact slammed through the structure, the corridor lurching violently as the wall beside them ruptured. They stumbled but didn't fall.
"Move!" the tablet man barked.
They dragged him faster, pulling him away as dust thickened and swallowed the corridor. Mason's hand lifted weakly, reaching, but the figure blurred, then disappeared entirely.
The structure groaned around them.
And whatever was breaking through it was right behind them.