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Skies of Johto,

The sky was clear as Ezra and Karen flew high above the Johto landscape, nothing but forests below them, having left Cianwood City behind half an hour ago. The wind was strong but steady, carrying them eastward as their Pokemon soared through the air. Ezra rode as usual on the broad back of his Pidgeot, the bird Pokemon's powerful wings slicing through the air with ease.

Karen flew nearby, her Honchkrow's shadow flickering over the treetops below as it lazily flapped its dark wings. The journey had been relatively peaceful so far, both of them lost in their own thoughts, a welcome silence settling between them after Cianwood.

Ezra leaned forward slightly, adjusting the saddle straps on his Pidgeot as he glanced over at Karen. She looked contemplative, her eyes scanning the horizon, lost in thought. The setting sun bathed everything in warm hues and it was a calm, almost serene scene - until it wasn't.

Out of nowhere, a sudden whirlwind of cutting air tore through the sky, the force of it staggering and deadly. The whirlwind erupted with an intensity that Ezra barely had time to register before it was upon them. The air pressure changed violently, the world around him turning into a chaotic blur of wind and pain.

Pidgeot shrieked, her wings battered as the vicious air currents slammed into her. Ezra felt himself being yanked to the side, his body jerked violently against the saddle as the sharp, cutting winds slashed at him. Pain exploded across his body as the wind sliced through his clothes and into his skin, leaving behind searing cuts that stung like fire. The straps of the saddle snapped, and before he could react, he was thrown off his mount, tumbling through the air.

"Shit!" Ezra gasped, his voice lost in the howling wind as he plummeted. His heart lurched in his chest as he fell, the ground rushing up to meet him. He twisted in the air, trying to orient himself even as he saw a dark shape spinning wildly above him - Karen's Honchkrow, sans Karen!

The attack had hit Karen even worse. Honchkrow had been knocked off course entirely, its wings flailing as it fought to regain balance. Karen was being tossed like a rag doll, her belt - holding all her Pokeballs - snapped apart, sending the small orbs scattering into the air. She screamed, reaching desperately for them as they tumbled away, but the force of the wind sent her careening downward, out of reach of both her Pokemon and her lifeline.

"KAREN!" Ezra yelled, the wind drowning out his voice as he saw her falling, her body twisting in the air. His mind raced, adrenaline surging through him as he watched her plummet toward the forest canopy below. This wasn't some freak occurrence - this was a premeditated attack, carefully timed and executed. Whoever was behind it had planned it perfectly, knowing exactly how to strike.

They'd known what route they'd be using to fly away from Cianwood…

Ezra made a split-second decision. He reached down, unfastening his own belt, the one holding his Pokeballs. Without hesitation, he yanked it free and threw it with all his strength, sending the belt and the precious Pokeballs arcing through the air towards his Pidgeot who was on her way back to him.

"Pidgeot! Get Karen! Bring this!" He shouted, his voice angry (who dared!) as he tossed the belt toward his loyal bird Pokemon. His Pidgeot, despite her own struggles, dove sharply, her beak snapping around the belt just in time, the bird's eyes flashing with reluctant determination as it turned away from him, and hurtled toward Karen's falling form.

Ezra watched as Pidgeot dove after Karen, clutching the belt in its beak. Relief mingled with fear as he saw Karen's hands reach out, barely grasping on as Pidgeot managed to get underneath her. But the relief was short-lived - his own situation was growing more dire by the second. The ground was rushing up to meet him, the dark canopy of trees drawing closer and closer. He felt the air tearing at him, his body spinning wildly.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the familiar stirrings of power within him. He didn't need his Pokeballs to fight. Better his 'mon protected Karen for now, or Agatha would be pissed… That was the only reason... Besides… He was never without Pokemon, or power. The darkness within him, the power of his aura, surged in response, filling his veins with a cold, controlled energy. He could feel it pulsing, eager, waiting for his command.

Even as he fell, he forced himself to keep calm, keeping his powers in check. He knew they might have watchers - whoever had orchestrated this would be watching to see what he did. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing his full capabilities just yet. But he had to do something, or he'd be pancaking on the forest floor in a matter of moments.

Humans were slightly more durable in this world, after coexisting with Pokemon for so long. Blunt trauma was more survivable. But it didn't mean it would be pleasant. Their attackers no doubt expected to break their limbs with this maneuver, making them defenseless.

"This will be tight," He muttered, his eyes narrowing in determination as he focused his mind.

As he dropped below the treeline, he unleashed his power, a surge of dark energy exploding outward from his form. His shadow, already dark and unnaturally deep, seemed to come alive, stretching and twisting as it shot out from beneath him. It surged up toward the trees, the tendrils of darkness wrapping around the trunks and branches like living ropes trying to slow him down.

Ghostly forms erupted from the shadow, flowing out of him in a wave of dark, ethereal energy. Haunters, Misdreavous, Gastlys, they all emerged, their ghostly forms solidifying as they raced below him, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. The ghosts swirled beneath him, creating a cushion of dark energy that slowed his descent, their forms pushing upward with every ounce of strength they could muster as they solidified as much as they were able, to assist in slowing him down further.

Even with their help, he hit the ground hard, the impact sending a shockwave of pain through his body. He felt the air rush out of his lungs, his vision exploding into a kaleidoscope of black and white spots. The world spun around him, the pain lancing through his limbs like fire. He barely registered the sound of his Pokemon crying out in alarm, their forms fading back into his shadow as his consciousness slipped away.

Darkness enveloped him, his last coherent thought one of grim satisfaction. Karen would be alright. He'd made sure of that. As for himself… Well, if they wanted him alive… He'd make them regret it.

Then the world faded to black.

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Some time later, Johto.

Ezra's consciousness snapped back like a rubber band, the pain and darkness receding in an instant as he woke, gasping, to the cold, sterile air of a cell. His eyes darted around, taking in the bleak, unwelcoming space. The cell was small, no more than ten feet by ten feet, the walls and floor painted in dull, featureless gray.

A single, uncomfortable cot was bolted to the wall, on which he laid, the metal frame rusted and creaking. In the opposite corner sat a bucket, the sight of which made his stomach churn with revulsion as it was not cleaned from previous use. The heavy metal door across from him was a monolithic slab without even a window to peer through, offering no clue as to where he was or who had brought him here.

He sat up slowly, his muscles protesting, his body feeling like a single massive bruise. He tested his limbs carefully, wincing as he stretched his sore arms and legs. No sharp pain, no obvious breaks or fractures, just a pervasive soreness and a lingering fogginess in his head. He let out a slow breath, trying to gather his thoughts, piece together what had happened.

The last thing he remembered was falling - plummeting through the trees, his power flaring wildly as he tried to cushion his descent. And then…Nothing. Blackness. He scowled, his mind immediately jumping to Karen. Had she gotten away? Had Pidgeot managed to spirit her away from their attackers? His Pokemon should at least somewhat cooperate with her if things had gotten really bad. They knew the command structure, and as much as he and Karen butted heads, he had made sure they understood she wasn't an enemy. But even as he thought it, doubt gnawed at him. He had no idea where he was, or where she was.

Would his Ghosts behave when he wasn't around to settle their natural inclinations?

No… He wouldn't think like that. Karen was fine, his Pokemon were fine and well able to protect her, as she would them.

Which was good…

…

He didn't want to anger Agatha by losing her apprentice after all.

Ezra forced himself to his feet, ignoring the protests of his battered body. He moved to the door, running his hands over the cold, smooth metal, searching for any sign of a weakness, doing the same to the walls, but found none. He turned away with a sigh, returning to sit down on the cot. He leaned back against the wall and let his eyes sweep over the rest of the cell. It was almost comically bare, devoid of any clues or hints that might help him figure out where he was. And the more he looked, the more his frustration grew.

"What a coincidence that this happened right after running into Shae again," He muttered to himself, the sarcasm in his tone laced with bitterness. It was too convenient, too perfect. She shows up, all mysterious and flirty, then out of nowhere they're attacked mid-air. He was not inclined to believe in coincidences.

Ezra's eyes narrowed as he studied the corners of the cell, his gaze lingering on the upper edges where the walls met the ceiling. No visible cameras, no blinking red lights or telltale lenses, but that didn't mean they weren't there. He wouldn't put it past whoever was holding him to have hidden them well. He turned away, his mind racing. He could wait and see what this was about, try to play the game, figure out who was behind it. But patience had never been his strong suit, and he had a burning desire to meet whoever had dared to attack him face to face.

He'd like to file a complaint… Vigorously.

He wasn't going to wait around like a good little prisoner. He had a point to make. A message to send. But he couldn't show all his cards…

Casually, he leaned back against the cell wall, his fingers brushing the cold metal of the cot. He closed his eyes, his breath steadying as he reached out with his aura, sending a pulse of intent through his shadow. The darkness beneath him stirred, the cold, familiar energy shifting as it responded to his call. There was a flicker of movement, and then one of the Gastly that had been hiding in his shadow slipped free, its form invisible to the naked eye as it merged seamlessly with the cot and then the wall behind it, becoming completely incorporeal.

Ezra kept his face impassive, his body relaxed, giving no indication of what he was doing. He didn't need to escape right this moment. No, he had no intention of trying to break out without some conditions being met. The last thing he wanted was to reveal too much about his abilities too soon.

He focused on the Gastly, sending it a clear, sharp command. It would move through the walls. Its goal was simple: find and destroy the electrical wires in the area. Knock out cameras, lights, anything that relied on power. Especially around his cell. With a final mental nudge, he let the Gastly go, its presence fading from his immediate senses as it moved away.

Ezra exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm, his heartbeat steady. He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the cold metal of the wall, letting his mind drift. He could feel the cold spreading through the cell, his aura leaking out, the darkness deepening, thickening. His anger simmered beneath the surface, a cold, controlled fury that threatened to boil over. He wanted answers. He wanted to know who was behind this, who had dared to attack him and Karen in such a cowardly manner.

It took almost an hour before he heard the hurried footsteps outside the cell, the sound echoing through the silent corridor beyond. He opened his eyes slowly, a faint, predatory smile curving his lips as he waited. The locks on the door clicked and whirred, and then the heavy metal swung open, revealing a gangly man in a Team Rocket uniform. The man's expression was a mixture of irritation and confusion, his brow furrowed as he glanced around the cell.

So it's them after all… Concerning that they've been after me twice at this point…

"What the fuck did you do, brat?" the Rocket demanded, his voice sharp and accusing. He shivered visibly, rubbing his arms as he glanced around the cell, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. A small Nidoran was at his feet, its body tense and ready, as if sensing something was off. The man looked back at Ezra, his scowl deepening. "You're the only new one down here. How did you knock out the cameras?"

Ezra just watched him, his smile widening as he took in the man's agitated state. He could see the uncertainty in the Rocket's eyes, the way he shifted from foot to foot, his movements jerky and nervous. And more than that, he could feel the fear radiating off him, the way the man's gaze flicked around the cell, unable to settle.

He should be feeling confident, he was the only one with a Pokemon… As far as he knew.

Yet it seemed something in his little monkey brain understood exactly what was going to happen.

"Why is it so fucking cold in here?" The Rocket muttered, his voice tight as he rubbed his arms again. The Nidoran at his feet gave a low, uneasy growl, its ears flattening as it glanced around, its small body trembling.

Ezra's red eyes gleamed as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked on the man's. He let his smile widen, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "Thank you for the confirmation," He said softly, his voice low and almost friendly. The Rocket's eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing his face as he took an involuntary step back, seeing something on his face.

Ezra's smile widened, the glint in his red eyes turning dangerous as he watched the Rocket grunt's fear escalate. He didn't have time to play games. Karen was out there somewhere, who knew if she'd been captured too, or was still fighting… Whoever was behind this had made the mistake of underestimating him - and they would pay the price.

The shadows beneath him stirred, a ripple of darkness spreading across the floor of the cell like spilled ink. They stretched outward, growing and thickening, tendrils of darkness weaving together into a solid, tangible form. The Nidoran at the grunt's feet shifted uneasily, its ears twitching as it sensed the change in the atmosphere. It let out a low growl, its small body tensing as it prepared to attack even without an order.

Ezra barely twitched his fingers, and the shadows reacted instantly. A thick, rope-like coil of darkness shot forward, wrapping around the Nidoran's body before it could even move. The Pokemon let out a startled squeal, its legs kicking out wildly as the shadow tightened around it, squeezing with a slow, relentless pressure. Ezra watched, his expression impassive, as the Nidoran struggled, its growls turning to whimpers as the shadows constricted further, pressing down on its small form, constricting its ability to breathe, intent on knocking it out.

It wasn't the Pokemon's fault it's masters were scum.

The Rocket grunt's eyes widened in shock, his face paling as he watched his Pokemon being subdued so easily. "Hey - what the hell are you doing?!" He shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and fear. He took a step forward, reaching out as if to break it free, but froze when Ezra's eyes snapped to him, the cold, almost predatory look in his gaze freezing him in place.

Ezra said nothing, his focus shifting back to the Nidoran as the shadows continued to constrict. He was curious, his shadow, which had struggled at times to perform certain actions, or at least had been draining to do, was suddenly moving with such ease - so he didn't let up, studying what was going on with a keen eye.

The Pokemon's struggles grew weaker, its small body twitching helplessly as the darkness squeezed the breath from its lungs. The tendrils of shadow tightened one last time, and then, with a final shudder, the Nidoran went limp, its eyes closing as it slumped unconscious within the grip of the shadow.

The Rocket grunt let out a strangled sound, his face twisted in horror as he stared at his fallen Pokemon, obviously assuming the worst. "You… You bastard!" He hissed, his hands balling into fists. "How are you doing this? It's impossible!"

Ezra didn't let him continue. The shadows moved again, a thick, heavy tendril of darkness rising from the floor like a coiled snake. It solidified, the edges sharpening as it hovered in the air beside Ezra, poised and ready. The Rocket's eyes darted to it, his mouth opening in a silent gasp of shock.

Hmm, it seems it responds well to anger and hate. Concerning. But useful at the moment, Ezra thought, studying his shadow as it flexed, following his will without any of the usual strain.

Without warning, the shadow struck, lashing out with the speed and force of a whip. It slammed into the side of the Rocket's head with a dull, sickening thud, the impact echoing through the small cell. The man's eyes rolled back, his body swaying for a moment as if in slow motion before crumpling to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

Ezra watched the man collapse, his expression calm and detached. He hadn't even broken a sweat. The shadow tendril hovered in the air for a moment longer, then dissipated, melting back into the pool of darkness that surrounded Ezra's feet.

"Can't be too overt going forward… At least he'll have a concussion, unlikely he'll be believed even if he says anything," Ezra muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over the unconscious Rocket and his Pokemon. He stepped forward, his movements measured and deliberate, and nudged the man's limp form with his boot. No response. The grunt was completely out cold.

Ezra let out a slow breath, his mind racing as he considered his next move. This was clearly Team Rocket's doing - there was no mistaking the uniform.

He glanced down at the grunt, his expression hardening. He didn't know how long it would take for someone else to notice the cameras were still out or for them to check on the situation, it was kind of pathetic it had taken an hour in the first place. His Gastly would still be moving around, continuing its sabotage; he'd have to use his Pokemon from now on, making the Rockets believe they somehow missed his Pokeballs.

It had been unwise to let his shadow loose in front of a witness. He'd have to hold himself back from now on. For a moment he debated on killing the man... In the end, he decided not to go that far.

With a final glance at the fallen man, Ezra turned toward the door, his mind already working on how he was going to break out of this place. He had a few ideas, and none of them were going to be pleasant for whoever tried to get in his way.

Ezra stepped out of the cell. The corridor beyond was dimly lit, The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something else - something metallic and sharp that set his nerves on edge. Blood, he realized grimly. The whole place reeked of it.

The corridor stretched out in both directions, lined with identical steel doors, each one bolted shut with heavy locks. The walls were bare, painted a sickly, peeling gray, and the floor was scuffed and stained. It was a place that felt devoid of hope, the kind of place where suffering happened in the dark, where no one would hear you scream.

What kind of fucking horror show did they bring me into? He wondered, he knew Team Rocket were terrorists, but this seemed a bit…

Ezra glanced back at the cell he'd just left, the unconscious Rocket grunt sprawled on the floor inside. What have you people been doing down here? He returned, only to frisk the grunt, finding a set of keys, perhaps there are others…

The first few cells he checked were empty, the heavy locks clanging as he swung the doors open, only to find nothing but bare walls and filthy floors. His frustration grew with each one - empty, empty, empty - but when he reached the sixth door, he paused. A dark stain marked the floor just outside, a deep rust-colored smear that spread from beneath the door and trailed down the hallway like some grotesque marker.

Ezra's jaw tightened, I need to know... He reached for the door handle, his shadow swirling around his feet like an angry storm. The lock was stubborn as he struggled with the key, so with a twist of his shadow, he snapped it open with a metallic crack, the door swinging wide. He took a step inside and immediately gagged, the stench of blood and decay hitting him like a physical blow.

He raised his arm, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve, his eyes watering from the foul air. The cell was small and cramped, its concrete walls splattered with dark, dried blood. A single bare light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a sickly yellow light over the scene.

Tied to a chair in the center of the room was a man in a shredded green vest, his head slumped forward, the brim of his ranger's cap stained dark with blood. He was unmistakably a Pokemon Ranger, the emblem of the organization sewn onto his uniform's shoulder. His hands were bound to the arms of the chair, the ropes digging deep into his skin, leaving raw, bloody welts. His face was battered, swollen and bruised, a deep gash splitting his brow. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, but Ezra knew immediately that he was dead.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Ezra's gaze moved beyond the man to the floor around him, where the remains of several Pokemon lay scattered. A Kangaskhan, its once powerful form now reduced to a bloody, mangled heap, its limbs bent at unnatural angles. A Fearow, its wings broken and splayed out as if in a final, desperate attempt to shield its trainer. A Growlithe, its fur matted with blood, its eyes wide and empty. The Pokemon had been killed and displayed around their trainer, their bodies arranged in a horrific tableau of suffering and death.

Team Rocket stole Pokemon, what was this… Waste? This needless cruelty?

Ezra felt his stomach churn, his blood turning to ice in his veins. This wasn't just murder. This was a message. These monsters had tortured this man, made him watch as they killed his Pokemon one by one. Maybe they'd been trying to make him talk, or maybe they'd just wanted him to suffer. Either way, the brutality of it was sickening.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to look away from the scene. His hands were trembling with barely contained rage, his shadow pulsing and writhing at his feet like a living thing, responding evermore to his fury. He bowed his head slightly, a silent gesture of respect for the fallen ranger and his Pokemon. He hadn't really taken Team Rocket seriously, not until now. He'd seen them as a bunch of thugs and opportunists, dangerous but not truly terrifying. He'd been wrong. This was real. This was a nightmare made flesh.

An organization that did this, was not a joke, was not a band of thieves.

Ezra would be the first to admit his morals were somewhat… Flexible.

Lying, cheating and such minor things really weren't a big deal, if people couldn't even figure out you were doing it, what was the harm? But he would stand against anyone that thought this was acceptable.

The cold fury within him only grew, a chilling calm settling over his mind as he turned away from the gruesome scene. His shadow spread across the floor, frost forming wherever it touched, the temperature in the cell plummeting as he stepped back out into the hallway.

He knew he needed to control his power. That he needed to keep it hidden, but his anger was so immense, it was a struggle to hold it back.

He had to find Karen, get her and his Pokemon, and then - Ezra paused, his eyes narrowing as his gaze fell on the cell directly opposite this one. The door was cracked open, just a sliver, enough to let the dim light from the corridor spill into the darkness beyond. He hesitated, then moved forward, his fingers brushing the handle. The door creaked as he pushed it open, and he immediately wished he was too stupid to realize the implications of what he saw.

Obviously the reason for the delay in the guard checking on his cell, was because he'd been busy in here. So busy in fact he failed to secure the door in his rush to see Ezra…

The room was small, with a single flickering light bulb casting feeble light over the single occupant. Huddled in the far corner, curled up against the wall, was a girl. Her frame was thin and frail, dressed in nothing but a tattered dress that was obviously not hers. Her skin was pale, almost gray, and she was shivering violently, her eyes wide and glassy with fear.

Ezra's heart clenched painfully at the sight of her. Bruises covered her arms and face and elsewhere, ugly purple and yellow blotches that stood out starkly against her pale skin. There were other wounds too - cuts, scrapes, things he didn't want to think about. She was trembling, her whole body shaking as she pressed herself back against the wall, as if trying to melt into it, to disappear.

She looked up at him, her eyes widening in terror as she saw him standing in the doorway. Ezra realized belatedly that he must look terrifying, his face hard with anger, especially with his appearance, red eyes and pale white skin and hair. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, to push back the cold rage that was clawing at his insides.

"Hey," He said softly, his voice as gentle as he could make it. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help." He stepped back, giving her space, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. "I'll leave the door unlocked, but don't come out, okay? I'm going to deal with the people who did this. You'll be free soon enough."

The girl didn't move, didn't speak. She just stared at him, her eyes huge and terrified, her body trembling so hard he could see her teeth chattering. Ezra knew he wasn't helping. His presence, his aura - it was all wrong for this. He was too intense, too harsh. Right now, with his anger simmering just beneath the surface, and his scary visage, he was probably the last person she needed to see.

He stepped back, his heart aching as he gently closed the door. She was just a girl. Just a young trainer on her first journey. Caught in something she should never have had to face. He'd seen trainers like her before leaving Lavender Town, young and eager, their eyes bright with dreams of adventure and glory. She should have been out there, exploring the world with her Pokemon, not huddled in a filthy cell, broken and terrified.

He leaned against the wall for a moment, his hands clenched into fists, the shadows around him spreading out, creeping along the floor and walls like a living thing. He was the first to admit he was an asshole. He'd done plenty of things that would offend people, bent the rules, crossed lines. But there were limits, things you just didn't do. This - this kind of evil, this senseless cruelty - it was beyond anything he could tolerate.

Ezra took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He couldn't afford to lose control, not now. He needed to be cold, calculating, precise. Whoever was running this base was going to pay. He was going to make sure of that.

His shadow rose around him like a vengeful spirit, and he let it.

No holding back… This is unacceptable, they can't get away with it…

Ezra's face grew stony, he'd died, the body he was in now, it had died. Death followed him wherever he went. He wasn't enthused about killing, despite taking care of the Rockets that had attacked him previously…

But this…

He straightened, his expression hardening as he pushed off the wall and turned back toward the corridor. He extended his hand, and the shadows responded instantly, flowing out from beneath him like water, spreading and coalescing into ghostly forms. Gastly, Haunter, Gengar, Misdreavous, Duskull, and more emerged from the darkness, their eyes glowing with an eerie light as they hovered around him, their spectral forms shifting and pulsing in response to his rage.

Ezra's shadow moved ahead of him, slipping into his former cell, where the Rocket grunt still lay unconscious. The darkness crept over the man's body like a living thing, curling around his limbs, his neck. The grunt's face twisted in fear even in his unconscious state, his body jerking weakly as the shadow tightened around his neck, then Crack!

Ezra's eyes burned with a cold, terrible light as he watched, his voice a low hiss that sent a shiver down the spine of every ghost in the room. "We're going hunting."

The shadows pulsed, a collective murmur of agreement echoing through the air as the ghosts gathered around him, their forms solidifying as they prepared for what was to come. Ezra's gaze flicked back down the corridor, his expression dark and unforgiving.

That girl - she'd been on her first journey, just a kid, barely old enough to be out on her own. The thought of what she'd gone through, what she'd been forced to endure, made his blood boil. He couldn't let this stand. Not here, not anywhere. He'd wipe this place off the map, and anyone who got in his way would pay dearly for it. There would be no mercy.

He wasn't like other trainers; something he liked to shout to anyone who would hear. Well today he'd prove it, not in the way he had expected. Not how he wanted it, but this was needed. Because unlike other trainers… He wouldn't wait for the law to dispense justice. These people deserved everything that was coming for them.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Ezra moved swiftly down the corridor, his shadows trailing behind him like a living cloak, the cold air of the hallway growing even more frigid as he went. The ghosts floated around him, their eyes glowing with an ethereal light, their forms shifting and pulsing with anticipation. They could sense his rage, his thirst for retribution, and they were eager to carry out his will.

The cameras would be dead, so the only way someone could reveal his powers was if they left here alive. Something that had a very easy solution.

He reached the end of the hallway and paused, listening. The sound of distant footsteps echoed through the concrete walls, accompanied by muffled voices. His lip curled in disdain as he heard the careless chatter. These bastards had no idea what was coming for them. They thought they were safe here, hidden away in their little underground base, far from the eyes of the law and the League. They thought they could do whatever they wanted to people like that girl and the ranger without consequence.

They were wrong.

Perhaps this was why he'd been brought to this world? As a vengeful spirit? Who knew?

He was an inherently selfish person, not the ideal avenger in any manner. But he didn't lack power… Whichever Legendary gave him that boon… He hoped they approved of what he was going to do today.

Ezra glanced at his ghosts, a silent command passing between them. Without a word, the spectral Pokemon dispersed, their forms fading into the shadows as they moved to take up positions along the corridor. They would cover every angle and wait for his word.

He moved forward again, his footsteps echoing softly in the oppressive silence. The walls around him were bare, featureless concrete, but there were stains here and there - dark smears that looked suspiciously like blood. His jaw clenched as he passed a large, rust-colored handprint smeared across the wall beside one of the cell doors. He didn't stop to check inside. He didn't need to. He already knew what he'd find.

The voices were growing louder as he approached the next intersection, a T-junction where the corridor split off in two directions. Ezra paused, leaning against the wall, his heart pounding with a cold, hard fury. He could hear the laughter, the coarse, mocking tones of the men around the corner. They were talking about the girl, their words crude and degrading, each one a dagger to his nerves.

"She was crying like a baby," One of the voices said, a nasty chuckle following the words. "Begging and everything. Can't believe the boss wanted us to keep her alive. Would've been easier to just get rid of her, not that I mind the free service."

Another voice joined in, a deeper, more grating tone. "Yeah, but you know how he is. Likes to keep a few spares around for leverage. Plus, she's got family somewhere in Goldenrod. Might be useful for a trade if nothing else."

Ezra's vision blurred with rage, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had been hesitating still, even for all that his blood sang for vengeance. Him, caring for absolute strangers? Hah, so unlike him, yet he'd been immediately invested anyway. That girl deserved to know her tormentors could never come back.

These cockroaches needed to perish.

He glanced at the shadows on the floor, and they rippled in response, a dark, undulating wave that spread across the walls and ceiling, creeping forward like a living thing. The ghosts moved with it, silent and deadly, their forms flickering in and out of the darkness like wraiths.

Ezra took a deep breath, his mind sharpening to a razor's edge. He stepped out from around the corner, his voice echoing coldly down the corridor. "Hey, assholes."

The reaction was immediate. The men spun around, their eyes widening in shock as they saw him standing there, his shadow stretching out behind him like the wings of some dark, vengeful spirit, crawling over the walls and floor towards them. For a split second, there was silence, the air crackling with tension as they stared at him, their expressions a mix of surprise, confusion and fear.

Then everything happened at once.

One of the grunts - a tall, broad-shouldered man with a leering smile - reached for his belt, his hand closing around a Pokeball. He didn't get the chance to release it. Ezra's shadow shot out like a spear, wrapping around the man's wrist and yanking him towards the wall with bone-crushing force, only for the shadows there to spike, the man meeting a messy end, Ezra uncaring of the splatter as he stared emotionlessly at the other two.

The other two men had managed to release Pokemon at that time, as they backed away, shouting commands. A Koffing and a Raticate had materialized in the corridor, their forms flickering in the dim light. The Koffing's noxious gasses filled the air, and the Raticate bared its fangs, hissing and snapping as it crouched, ready to strike.

Ezra didn't even flinch. His shadow lashed out again, a dark tendril wrapping around the Koffing's bloated form and tightening like a vice. The Pokemon wheezed and thrashed, its gas sacs bulging and shrinking as it struggled to free itself. With a harsh, twisting motion, Ezra slammed it against the ceiling, the impact sending a shockwave through the concrete. The Koffing's struggles ceased, its body hanging limp in the shadow's grip.

"You all are filth, you monsters deserve worse than I have time to deliver." Ezra told the Rockets coldly, even as he showed mercy to the Pokemon. The League could sort out which ones were still salvageable.

The Raticate lunged at him, its fangs gleaming with dark energy. But before it could connect, a Haunter's clawed hand shot up from the shadows on the floor, grasping the Raticate's throat and lifting it off the ground. The Raticate kicked and flailed, but the Haunter's grip was unyielding, its spectral eyes glowing with a malevolent light as it grew out of the floor.

His Ghosts all grew out of the walls and floor at that point, coming out of his ever expanding shadow, the Raticate taking three Hypnosis attacks at once, putting it out of the fight. Meanwhile, one of the Rocket grunts had the sense to flee, and ran straight into a circle of Gastlys led by a Gengar, his screams echoed across the corridor before they ended with a wet gurgle.

Ezra's gaze shifted to the last Rocket grunt, a wiry man with a scar running down the side of his face. The man's eyes were wide with fear, his hand trembling as he held out another Pokeball, as if hoping to ward off Ezra with the mere gesture.

"W-wait! Don't - " The grunt stammered, his voice breaking with panic. "We - we didn't mean -"

Ezra's eyes were like ice, his voice a low, deadly growl. "You're going to tell me everything I want to know," He said, his words sharp and cold, cutting through the man's feeble protests like a knife. "Who runs this base? How many of you are there? Are there any other prisoners?"

The grunt's mouth worked soundlessly, his face pale and slick with sweat. He glanced at his fallen comrades, at the limp forms of the Koffing and Raticate, and then back at Ezra, his expression a mask of desperation and terror.

"I - I don't know!" He blurted out, his voice high and thin with fear. "I swear, I don't know anything! I'm just a grunt, they don't tell me stuff like that! Please, I - I'll do whatever you want, just don't - don't hurt me!"

Ezra's eyes narrowed, his shadow tightening around the man's ankles, pulling him off balance and dragging him closer. The grunt let out a strangled yelp, his hands scrabbling at the floor as he was pulled toward Ezra, his face twisted in fear.

"Wrong answer," Ezra said softly, his voice dripping with menace. "You know something, and you're going to tell me. Or we'll see how long it takes before you're begging to talk."

The grunt's eyes darted around wildly, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "P-please!" He whimpered, tears streaming down his face. "I don't know much, I swear! They - they brought us in a few days ago, said we were going to be guarding some important stuff, some kid the higher ups wanted, and some kind of experiments. There's - there's a lab upstairs. They're doing something with Pokemon, I don't know what! That's all I know, I swear!"

Ezra studied the man for a long moment, his gaze cold and unyielding. The grunt was shaking, his whole body trembling like a leaf, his eyes wide and pleading. Ezra could see the fear in his face, the desperation, and he knew the man was telling the truth. Or at least, as much of the truth as he could give. No doubt 'the kid' in question was him.

He wondered if somehow someone knew about all he could do… But no… How? Maybe it was just enough to know as Lavender did, that he had a knack for corralling Ghost Pokemon…

He let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. The shadows around the man loosened their grip, sliding back into the floor like water. The grunt collapsed in a heap, his body limp with relief, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Ezra looked down at him, his expression hard. "You're going to show me where this lab is," He said flatly. "Try anything funny, and I'll let my Ghosts have you. Understand?"

The Gengar took that opportunity, to get right into the Rocket grunts face, grinning maliciously.

The grunt nodded frantically, his head bobbing up and down like a puppet on a string. "Y-yes! Yes, I understand! I'll - I'll do whatever you say, just please!"

It only took a few minutes to get to the lab level, as it was apparently the level above the holding areas. That… Did not say good things about what they were working on…

He also found it odd… That no alarms had gone off, or that he wasn't being swarmed in Rockets yet. His Gastly should be disabling the cameras, yes, but that alone should have prompted investigation, surely?

The lab level soon stretched out before Ezra, his guide moving ahead, proving himself slightly useful by punching in the codes necessary to enter the area. The place was a cold, clinical maze of metal and glass that seemed to go on forever. The walls were stark white, and every surface gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. The sterile smell of disinfectant mingling with the faint, acrid scent of chemicals, blood and burnt metal.

They had passed a map a few corridors back, its digital display revealing the labyrinthine layout of the facility. It was five levels deep, each floor sprawling out like the roots of some malignant, underground tree. He'd only explored the fifth level, and was now on the fourth, but what he'd seen already made his blood run cold.

This was not a place for research or development in any humane sense. It was a factory of horrors, a place where boundaries were pushed, not for the sake of progress, but for something much darker. A mad hunt for power no matter the means.

He stepped into a large room lined with glass tanks, each one filled with preserved Pokemon body parts. There were wings, claws, tails, and other organs suspended in a clear, viscous fluid that refracted the light in eerie ways. Labels were attached to each tank, detailing the origin and intended purpose of each sample. Ezra's stomach churned as he read them. Some were parts of common Pokemon like Growlithe and Nidorino, but others were rarer - pieces of Dragonite wings, the spine of a Tyranitar, even the spectral remains of a Dusknoir's hand, twisted and still.

But it was what he saw next that truly set his teeth on edge. In the adjacent room, visible through a wide glass window, he saw something that made his breath catch. Human remains, laid out on cold metal slabs, each body marked with grotesque alterations. Some had Pokemon limbs grafted onto their forms - an arm replaced with a Scyther's blade, a leg with the sturdy, muscular limb of a Machamp.

Ezra clenched his fists, his aura flickering like a guttering flame around him. They were trying to create hybrids, to merge humans and Pokemon in a twisted attempt to grant people the powers of Pokemon. And they were using innocent people as subjects, casting them aside when the experiments failed.

Without even thinking about it, his guide fell bonelessly to the floor, his neck broken, Ezra's shadow had lashed out in his agitation. And here he'd thought his anger couldn't climb new heights…

He forced himself to look away, his jaw tight with barely controlled rage. As he moved deeper into the lab, the chilling reality of what had been done here became even more apparent. More rooms held similar scenes, some filled with racks of computer servers and monitors displaying reams of data, diagrams detailing failed experiments and projected outcomes. Others had surgical tables stained with blood, the implements laid out beside them clean and orderly, as if they were waiting for the next subject to be brought in.

He passed one workstation where a series of blueprints were pinned to a corkboard. They showed a horrifying progression - human silhouettes overlaid with various Pokemon parts, each one marked with annotations detailing strengths, weaknesses, and possible applications. A file folder sat open on the desk, pages covered in dense, clinical handwriting describing the fusion processes, the integration of Pokemon biology into human anatomy.

"Monsters," He muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fury. He had to force himself to breathe, to keep his mind clear. Anger wouldn't help him now, not when there were people - living people - who might still need his help. But the knowledge that this place existed, that it had operated for who knew how long, and that it had taken lives so casually - it burned like acid in his veins.

The windows to the lab began to frost over as he walked, a thin layer of ice spreading across the glass in delicate, fractal patterns. His aura was slipping out of his control, the cold of his anger seeping into the environment around him. He had to focus. He had to stay in control, or risk losing himself to the fury that churned inside him.

He turned a corner and found himself facing a large, open room filled with advanced scientific equipment. Banks of computers hummed softly along one wall, their screens flickering with lines of code and data graphs. In the center of the room stood several large, cylindrical tanks filled with a viscous, glowing liquid. Each tank held what looked like the beginnings of a hybrid form - half-formed limbs, distorted shapes that might have once been human or Pokemon, or both.

He could hear voices now, urgent and frantic. The scientists and grunts in the lab had finally noticed his presence, all of them together in this one room for some reason. They were huddled together near the back of the room, almost two dozen of them in total, staring at him with wide eyes, their fear palpable in the still air as his shadow flexed and his Ghosts hovered above him. Several of them scrambled for Pokeballs, their movements jerky and panicked.

"He's only one person!" A man in a lab coat shouted, sending out a Voltorb.

Ezra's eyes narrowed as he watched them, his heart pounding in his chest so hard he could barely hear them. The temperature dropped further, frost creeping along the floor, and the lights flickered as the frost spread to the ceiling.

"Deal with him!" Another of the scientists barked at the grunts, and they moved forward, releasing their Pokemon in quick succession. The lab was filled with the sharp cries of battle-ready Pokemon as they materialized on the floor, their eyes locked on Ezra with the fierce intensity of trained fighters.

Ezra's eyes flashed with hate, even as a multitude of Pokemon attacks came his way, his shadow flowing forward like a great wave, before rising to shield him.

The attacks impacted and the lab trembled as they were stopped in their tracks, the lab around them taking the brunt of it as the attacks bled off into the floor and surrounding work stations. Glass exploding everywhere, one scientist falling to the ground, a glass shard embedded in her forehead.

The wall of shadows receded, Ezra's red eyes wide as he slowly walked forward, "My turn…" He hissed, "Kill!"

His Pokemon flowed forward, exclusively going for the humans, even as his shadow rolled forward to ensnare their Pokemon.

"W-wait!" One of the scientists managed to shout, before a Haunter used Shadow Claw to cleave through the top of his skull.

The lab erupted into chaos, as the grunts and scientists got into each other's ways, as they desperately tried to either fight or flee, shouting orders or begging for mercy, all of it in vain.

Ezra continued to slowly walk forward, his boots crunching on glass as he stepped past incapacitated Pokemon, fighting against his shadow, a Rocket Grunt attempted to tackle him, only to take a dozen Shadow Balls at full power to the torso at the same time, only half a Rocket grunt making it to his feet as he walked past.

"How many have died here… How many have you preyed on?" He raged, picking up a beaker of something bubbling from inside a metal container, and throwing it into the face of a scientist that was desperately trying to fight off his Ghosts with his Zubat.

A tendril of shadow latched onto the Zubat, tying it up, even as the scientist screamed, falling to the floor, the screams soon only turning into gurgles, before they ended.

Ezra would have felt sick, except he couldn't feel anything but ever growing anger. Trainers left on their journey at a young age, because despite everything, it was fairly safe. If you stuck to the routes. And these… Monsters. Had been taking advantage, using them as materials.

"This is taking too long!" He growled, the dozen still remaining Rockets suddenly lifted into the air, his shadow tendrils around their throats, "Any last words?" He told them, before immediately breaking their necks, dropping them like trash onto the floor, "Nevermind, it would be a disservice to your victims to give you even that courtesy."

He looked around at the lab, the captured Pokemon, and everything still burned inside of him.

"I hate this…"

----------------------------------------

Ezra moved through the base like a storm. The hallways seemed to stretch endlessly before him, twisting and turning in a maze of sterile, metal-lined corridors. Every corner he turned, every door he burst through, brought more Rockets, more trainers throwing themselves and their Pokemon at him in a desperate attempt to stop his relentless advance.

His Ghost Pokemon swirled around him, a chilling vortex of shadows and ethereal forms. They moved with deadly precision, responding to his unspoken commands with a grace and ferocity that was both beautiful and terrifying to behold. The Gengar floated at his side, its wide, malevolent grin flashing in the dim light as it released bursts of dark energy toward the oncoming Rocket grunts, sometimes slipping into poison moves to make them suffer instead. The Haunter's disembodied hands darted through the air, Shadow Claws cutting through the chaff as they worked their way up the base, leaving none alive.

One of the grunts stumbled and fell, clutching at his throat as a Gastly had drifted toward him. The ghost Pokemon had phased through the man's open mouth, its vaporous form seeping inside. The grunt's eyes widened in terror, his body convulsing as he struggled to breathe. It filled his lungs with dark, suffocating smoke, while Ezra slowly walked past him.

A surge of movement drew Ezra's attention. More Rockets were flooding into the corridor, their faces set with determination despite the fear that flashed in their eyes. Their Pokemon leapt forward, a chaotic mix of types and sizes - Raticates, Golbats, Koffings, and even a few Arbok slithered along the floor, their fangs bared.

"Keep them off me!" Ezra called, his voice steady even as the air around him crackled with tension. His shadows extended, solidifying into tendrils that lashed out at the Rockets, stealing the rest of their Pokeballs before they could come into play. One of the sharpened tendrils caught a grunt across the throat, sending him sprawling with blood gushing as he helplessly tried to stem it, while another wrapped around the leg of a fleeing Rocket and yanked him off his feet, using him as a flail on his comrades.

The Gengar floated forward, its claws glowing with dark energy. With a swift, slicing motion, it unleashed a series of Night Slashes, the blades of darkness cutting through the air. The attacks landed with precision, knocking the Pokemon back, as a Misdreavous and a few Gastly badgered them with constant Hypnosis attacks, his shadow tripping them up whenever a Pokemon tried to counterattack.

"We surrender!" A rocket grunt called out, even as more and more of their Pokemon fell asleep or fainted.

"Haunter, Shadow Ball!" Ezra ordered, uncaring of the surrender, and Haunter responded instantly, forming a sphere of condensed ghostly energy between its floating hands. It hurled the attack forward, the Shadow Ball exploding in a burst of dark energy as it struck a group of Rockets clustered near the back of the corridor. They were thrown to the ground, dazed and disoriented, his shadows rising above them, and falling on them with deadly intent.

"We have rights! We're surrendering!" The same Rocket screamed.

Ezra waved a hand causally, sending a spiked tendril through his heart, glaring at the dumbfounded look on the grunts face, "The people you used, tortured and murdered here had rights too, I'll give you all the same courtesy you gave them." He told the corpse snidely.

A Zubat swooped down from above, its wings beating furiously as it aimed for Ezra's head. He didn't even flinch. His shadow swatting it away like a bug.

Ezra's eyes flicked over the battlefield, assessing the situation. The grunts were faltering, those still alive, their Pokemon struggling to keep up with the relentless assault of his Ghosts. But more were coming, pouring in from every side, shouting orders and commands as they tried to stem the tide. They were getting desperate, and desperation made people dangerous.

He had to end this quickly.

The Rockets were panicking now, their shouts becoming frantic as their Pokemon faltered. One of the grunts, a woman with a stern face and a Weezing at her side, stepped forward, her expression set in grim determination. "Weezing, Explosion!" She cried, and the Weezing began to swell, its body pulsing with unstable energy as it began moving forward, the woman moving to back away.

Ezra acted quickly, his shadow moving to encapsulate the pokemon and the female grunt, who only managed a cry of shock, as the darkness covered them both, before it shook as the explosion went off, the shadows bulging briefly.

He let it recede, the Rockets frozen in shock at what just happened, staring at the crater in the floor, not much remained of their colleague, a fainted Weezing lying inside the crater.

"Nice try," Ezra muttered, his voice low and dangerous. He turned his attention back to the rest of the Rockets, his gaze icy. "But you're not blowing anything up today, you're not hurting anyone, ever again, this is retribution coming for all of your sins."

His shadow surged forward, spreading out across the floor like a living thing. It snaked around the feet of the grunts, wrapping around their ankles and pulling them to the ground. They struggled, thrashing against the inky tendrils, but there was no escape. The shadows tightened, binding them in place as Ezra advanced.

His Gastlys flitted through the air, their laughter high-pitched and eerie as they moved among the downed Rockets. They hovered over the struggling grunts, their gaseous forms swirling ominously. With a swift movement, they dove down, phasing into the Rockets' through heir mouths or nostrils, filling their lungs with suffocating smoke. The grunts gasped and choked, their faces turning pale as they fought for breath.

Ezra turned his gaze to the remaining grunts, some of whom had obviously lost control of their bowels, his eyes cold and unyielding. "You think you can do whatever you want, don't you?" He said, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can take people, experiment on them, hurt them for your enjoyment, and get away with it?"

He took a step forward, his shadow creeping along the ground, stretching out toward the remaining Rockets. "You're wrong," He hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "You're all so very wrong."

The remaining grunts faltered, their expressions shifting from fear to hopelessness as they took in the sight of the dark energy swirling around him, the shadows that moved at his command. They looked at each other, their resolve crumbling, but there was nowhere for them to run. They were trapped, caught between Ezra's unrelenting advance and the walls of the base that now seemed to close in around them.

The grunts stared at him, their eyes wide with fear and disbelief. They had expected a fight, when they'd been called in to pacify an escaped prisoner, but not this - a force of nature, a vengeful storm that tore through their ranks without hesitation or mercy. They stood still, their Pokemon subdued, too afraid to move, too afraid to even breathe.

Ezra stood amidst the chaos, his eyes burning with cold fury. He was not here to play games, and he was not here to show mercy. Not today.

"Kill." He ordered, yet again.

----------------------------------------

Two floors later,

Ezra moved swiftly down the corridor of the fourth level, or if you counted from the top, the second level, his boots thudding softly against the cold, tiled floor. The air was thick with the lingering scent of smoke and blood, the aftermath of his relentless onslaught through the facility. He was covered in blood - most of it not his own - his clothes torn and dirtied from the constant fighting, even his powers not being able to protect him fully when facing so many people at once. His eyes were hard, his expression set in a grim mask of determination as he approached a door marked "Communications and Security."

A place like that should have more information for him.

He didn't bother with subtlety. With a powerful kick, the door flew open, slamming against the wall with a deafening crash. The room beyond was small and cluttered. A bank of monitors lined the far wall, each screen dark and lifeless. It was clear that his Pokemon had already done their work, ensuring no one could keep track of what was happening in the base. Every camera was down.

A startled yelp broke the silence as a gangly teen with disheveled blue hair spun around in a swivel chair, his eyes wide with fear. He wore the unmistakable black uniform of Team Rocket, though it seemed to hang loosely on his frame, like it didn't quite fit him. His hands trembled as he raised them in a placating gesture. He had a name tag on for some reason, Cecile.

Sounds more like a woman, he thought, some humor seeping through, his exhaustion having dulled some of his anger. The growing horror in the back of his mind at all he'd done quickly shoved back down again. It's necessary… He reminded himself again.

In this world where spirits could turn into Ghost Pokemon, he owed it to them to lay them to proper rest, by avenging the horrors they'd undergone.

"I'm not with Team Rocket!" The teen blurted out, his voice high-pitched and panicked. Such a Cecile.."I-I swear! I'm just... I was just -"

Ezra raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over the boy. He was thin, almost scrawny, and looked like he hadn't slept properly in days. His eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a desperate, haunted look in them. Ezra's expression remained impassive as he took in the sight of the boy, then his gaze drifted to the equipment behind him.

"To be clear," Ezra began, his voice calm and cold, "You're a guy wearing a Team Rocket uniform, sitting in their security and communications room, running their systems. But you're not with them?"

The boy swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "I... I was kidnapped!" He stammered. "I'm from Goldenrod City. I was a whiz with computers, and they - they took me. Executive Proton had me grabbed off the street and brought here to program and run their security!" He spoke quickly, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to explain.

Ezra stared at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was something about the kid - his desperation, the genuine fear in his eyes - that made Ezra pause. He'd encountered plenty of Rocket grunts today, and most had faced him with a mix of aggression and arrogance, sure it had turned to fear quickly, like this guy... But…

Cecile looked like he'd piss himself if Ezra so much as blinked wrong. And he hardly looked the part of a Rocket either.

I'm inclined to believe him…

"Your security is shit," Ezra said dryly, folding his arms over his chest.

Cecile managed a weak, tremulous grin, though it looked more like a grimace. "W-Well, I wasn't exactly trying very hard to make it work..." He glanced nervously at the door, then back at Ezra, his hands still raised. "I swear, I wasn't helping them by choice, and I've kind of kept them from communicating off base or getting a proper report on what's going on."

Huh, no wonder every team that ran into me seemed absolutely shocked about what was happening… He thought. They'd known a prisoner was loose. But they continuously came at him without all their Pokemon loose, having no clue of what he was capable of.

Ezra studied him for a moment longer, then nodded slightly. "Can you lock down the facility from here?"

The boy blinked, clearly not expecting that question. "Uh, yes? I mean, I can, but... Why would you want to? Aren't you trying to escape?" He blinked again, his confusion evident. "And, uh, can you take me with you?"

Ezra's expression didn't change. "I don't want any of them to get away," He said evenly. No one makes it out, no one…

The boy's eyes widened, and he swallowed again, his gaze darting around the room as if he were considering his options. After a moment, he gave a small, jerky nod and turned back to the console. He pulled the keyboard toward him, his fingers flying over the keys as he typed in a series of commands. The computer screen, the only screen operational in the room, flickered, and a list of options appeared, the words "Facility Lockdown" flashing in bright red.

"There," Cecile said, his voice shaking slightly. "The facility is on lockdown. Not even Proton can get out without putting in the proper password." He hesitated, then glanced back at Ezra. "I, uh... I changed the password to FuckURockets.'" He gave another shaky smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

Ezra nodded slowly, the faintest hint of approval in his gaze. "Good."

The boy seemed to relax slightly, but only for a moment. "So, uh, what now?" He asked, his voice still trembling. "Are we... Leaving? I mean, I'd really like to get out of here before they realize what's going on." He hesitated, then added quickly, "And, uh, can you stop looking at me like that?"

Ezra tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. "I have need of a programmer," He said calmly. "You're hired. Stay here until I come get you."

If the guy was good enough for Team Rocket to kidnap, he should be good enough, and with him being saved, he should stay loyal enough to at least perform the start-up work Ezra needed.

More and more his thoughts could pierce through the cloud of anger and hate he'd been under. This would work, he'd take it, something good to come from this day of death and horrors.

Cecile blinked, clearly caught off guard by the statement. "Hired?" He repeated, his voice rising slightly. "I'm not looking for a job right now! I just want to get out of here, and -" He trailed off as Ezra's gaze sharpened, the intensity in his eyes silencing the boy's protests.

"You're hired," Ezra repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. The boy gulped, then nodded rapidly, his head bobbing like a puppet on strings.

"R-Right, hired. Got it." He swallowed again, then glanced nervously at the door. "But, uh, why can't I come with you now? Why do I have to stay here?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow, his gaze cool and assessing. "Do you enjoy seeing dead bodies?" he asked, his voice almost conversational.

The boy paled, his face going ashen as he shook his head frantically. "N-No! I... I've already seen... I mean..." He shuddered, his hands clutching the edge of the console as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. "I've seen enough things here…" He said weakly, looking sick, his eyes going downwards, shame filling his face.

Ezra's expression softened, though only slightly. "Then I suggest you stay here. And wait." He turned, his gaze lingering on the boy for a moment longer before he stepped back toward the door. Cecile watched him go, his eyes wide and fearful, but he made no move to follow.

Ezra moved on, his mind already focused on his next target. The lockdown was in place, the facility was sealed, and no one was getting out. Now, it was just a matter of hunting down every last one of them. His fury burned cold and steady in his chest, a driving force that would not be denied. It was lessened now, but his promise still burned in his chest.

He had promised that no one would get away.

And he intended to keep that promise.

----------------------------------------

Half an hour later, top level.

Ezra strode through the top level of the Rocket base, moving towards the entrance way, everywhere else… Pacified. His boots echoed loudly against the cold floor, each step purposeful and unyielding, cackling laughter followed him as his Ghosts cavorted around him, all of them having immensely enjoyed themselves.

He walked through the last stretch, coming upon a large room with a vault-like door at the end, his Ghosts sinking back into his shadow at his command. It wouldn't do to frighten them too soon…

He wanted to see the moment where they understood just how fucked they were - when he released them all.

Ahead of him, a man with disheveled green hair and what looked like a hastily thrown-on suit barked orders at a group of grunts clustered around the sealed metal door. A large, armored Tyranitar stood beside him, its eyes alert and menacing as it glanced between the man and the assembled grunts.

"Get the damn door open, you useless idiots!" the man snapped, his voice high with frustration. "Tch, what a time to not have a teleporter available..." He ran a hand through his hair with obvious frustration, "I should have you all whipped for waiting until the base is practically overrun before waking me, you cretins!"

At the sound of Ezra's approach, the man stiffened, then turned sharply to face him. His expression morphed into a mask of forced confidence, though his hands still trembled slightly. "You've done well to come this far, young man," He called out, his voice carrying a strained warmth. "Team Rocket could use a man of your talents. You'd surely become an Executive like myself in no time."

One of the grunts looked confused and glanced between the man and Ezra. "Executive Proton, didn't you say to kill him? That he was too scar-"

Proton slapped the grunt with a gloved hand, cutting him off. He forced another strained smile as he turned back to Ezra. "These idiots say the most foolish things," He drawled, his tone thinly veiled with unease.

Ezra tilted his head slightly, a slow, unsettling look spreading across his face. "How many?" He asked, his voice quiet but carrying an undercurrent of chilling intent.

Proton blinked, his forced smile faltering. "Excuse me?" He took a cautious step back, his hand hovering over the Pokeballs at his belt. The Tyranitar beside him shifted, its massive body blocking the path between its trainer and Ezra.

"How many little girls have you destroyed?" Ezra's voice was a low hiss, his eyes narrowing with cold fury. "How many innocents have suffered while you grafted Pokemon parts onto them?"

Seeing him standing here… Suddenly my disquiet for all the death is absent again… Ezra thought, anger spiking again. This was the person in charge. The person that had to have signed off on all the monstrous actions down below.

Proton's face went ashen, his eyes flicking to the door behind him as if considering any avenue of escape. "Tyranitar, deal with him!" He shouted, his voice breaking slightly.

Ezra's shadow rippled and flared out behind him like a living, dark cloak. From its depths, every single Ghost Pokemon he commanded flowed out, their forms wreathed in shadowy mist. "Shadow Ball," He commanded, his voice calm and resolute, ordering every single one of them to attack at once.

In unison, the Ghosts launched their attacks, each Shadow Ball streaking across the room like a bolt of darkness. Tyranitar braced itself, its powerful body absorbing the initial barrage, even as it stomped the ground a earthen barrier rising up. It held its ground longer than any other Pokemon had so far, it's tough hide repelling the onslaught of attacks for a few precious moments. But the sheer force and number of hits eventually overwhelmed it, and with a pained roar, it collapsed to the ground, fainting.

Even with its Dark typing, there was only so much one could do to a barrage of several dozen attacks.

Before Tyranitar could hit the ground, two more of Proton's Pokemon leaped forward from behind it, their protective shields flaring up as they used Protect to shield their trainer. Proton's voice rang out again, high and frantic as he ordered the grunts to attack.

Ezra's shadow surged forward, its tendrils snaking out to restrain the grunts. Each one found themselves lifted off the ground, their bodies held firmly in mid-air by their throats, unable to move. The grunts struggled, fear etched across their faces as they hung helplessly.

Meeting Proton's eyes, Ezra's smile was full of teeth, as a dozen loud cracks echoed across the room, followed by the sound of bodies hitting the ground.

The abject look of fear on the man's face pleased Ezra, even as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. He was putting on a show, but if he was entirely honest. He was beginning to run on fumes.

He didn't even want to know how he'd feel when the anger and hate receded. Perhaps one of the reasons he never once thought of stopping his rampage.

His Ghosts turned their attention to the remaining two Pokemon, their spectral forms darting through the air. The battle was swift and decisive, each of Ezra's Pokemon striking with calculated, overwhelming force. The opposing Pokemon were soon subdued.

Ezra's gaze remained locked on Proton as the chaos unfolded around them, his expression unreadable. The room fell into a tense, uneasy silence as they were left the only two humans alive in the room.

Proton swallowed hard, his face pale and sweaty as he took a cautious step backward. "I-I have connections, money, anything you need," He stammered, his voice trembling. "Just - just let me go. We can work something out. I can make you rich beyond your wildest dreams."

Ezra's lips curled into a cold smile. "So what you're saying is that I shouldn't capture you, that I should kill you, because if I send you to jail, you'll just find a way out."

Proton waved his hands frantically, his voice rising in pitch as he tried to placate him. "No, no, please, you're making a mistake! Team Rocket could do so much for y-"

He was cut off as Ezra's shadow surged forward, dark tendrils shooting out and piercing Proton through his limbs, slowly lifting him in the air as the man screamed.

"You all will be a message to Team Rocket."

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Johto's forests, outside the Rocket Base.

Agatha scowled as they approached the hidden Rocket base, the vault-like door almost indistinguishable among the dense foliage of the forest. The old, gnarled trees loomed overhead, their branches interlocking like a cage hiding the thing under its foliage. How had Team Rocket managed to establish something this vast under their very noses?

The thought sent a ripple of fury through her, but she kept her expression impassive, her sharp eyes flicking over the others. Lance, dressed in his ridiculous cape, stood at the front, his jaw clenched, gaze fixed on the door. She could feel his impatience radiating off him in waves, but it was a foolish sort of eagerness. Always so quick to charge ahead, never pausing to consider the finer details.

So young.

She detested Pryce, but this one was too eager for glory.

Her scowl deepened at the thought the Rockets had something like this hidden away. This took resources, to build, to hide, to man and run. They had severely underestimated Team Rocket, it seemed.

Her gaze shifted to Karen, who was clutching the belt of Pokeballs Ezra had sent to save her. Agatha's scowl deepened at the sight. Why would that boy sacrifice his own strength for another? It was an illogical move for his type, not at all the one she expected from someone like him. It bothered her, this inconsistency, though she couldn't quite place why.

She was still thankful to the boy. Karen had almost been caught too, having to use the boy's Pokemon to escape and notify her. It would take days to find the girls' Pokeballs scattered across the forest. She was tempted to make the girl do it herself, as a lesson to keep her Arceus damned Pokeballs on her person no matter the circumstances.

She tapped her cane against the ground absently, the click as it hit metal, echoing in the stillness. The thought of Team Rocket trying to take her apprentice ignited a cold, simmering rage within her. Karen was hers. She might be a rebellious, headstrong nuisance, but she was still under Agatha's tutelage. To see her taken or harmed was an affront, a challenge that could not go unanswered.

She'd have already torn this base apart if it weren't for the idiocy of the new Champion. Lance, always trying to play the hero. Karen had managed to call for help eventually, once she beat the team sent for her, her voice shrill and panicked.

Unfortunately Lance had been in her office when Karen called, and had heard everything, and of course, the mighty Champion had to make it a grand spectacle. Now they were saddled with this pomp and ceremony instead of swift, efficient retribution.

They should have been here hours ago.

Agatha's lips curled in disdain as she watched Lance give the order. His Dragonite surged forward, its maw opening wide as a massive beam of energy erupted from its mouth. The Hyper Beam struck the vault door with a deafening roar, obliterating the thick steel and sending shards of metal flying through the air. Smoke and dust billowed out, obscuring their view.

"Move!" Lance barked, his voice ringing with authority as he charged forward through the smoke, cape billowing behind him. The League's finest followed in his wake, Karen at Agatha's side, watching, her face pale and anxious.

Agatha trailed behind, her steps measured, her cane tapping softly against the ground. Her heart was thrumming with anticipation, an old, familiar feeling she hadn't indulged in for too long. Her Pokemon hovered in the shadows around her, their forms barely visible, yet their presence tangible and comforting. She was ready, oh so ready, to remind these criminals of their place. How fortunate that their laws afforded no mercy to terrorists. She almost smirked at the thought.

Her old blood was singing to her, asking for her to rip and tear and bathe in the blood of her enemies. Just like old times.

But as they stepped into the base, all thoughts of battle fled. They came to a sudden, jarring stop. Agatha's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene before her. Bodies - Rockets - were strewn across the floor. Blood pooled in dark, gleaming puddles, reflecting the harsh overhead lights. The walls were smeared with crimson, and the metallic tang of blood hung thick in the air.

And there, standing amidst the carnage, was Ezra Kassian. His stark white hair and red eyes made him look almost otherworldly, a ghost among the dead. Blood splattered his face, his clothes soaked in it, making his pale skin stand out even more starkly. He looked like something dragged up from the depths of hell itself, an avenging specter come to reap the souls of the damned.

For a moment, there was silence. Even the League members, hardened and battle-scarred, seemed taken aback, their weapons and Pokemon at the ready, but hesitant to act. Karen was the first to break the stillness, her voice shrill and shocked as she cried out his name.

"Arceus, Ezra!"

The boy turned slowly, his expression calm, almost serene, as if he were standing in the middle of a garden and not a battlefield. He offered them a smile, but it was hollow, not reaching his eyes. "It was like this when I got here, I swear." He said lightly, trying to affect innocence.

Agatha snorted, unable to hold back her disdain. The boy couldn't pull off innocence if his life depended on it. He stood there, drenched in blood, trying to play the part of an ignorant bystander. It was laughable, truly. But there was something about the way he stood, the set of his shoulders, the glint in his eye, that made her pause.

She looked him over slowly, her gaze sharp and assessing. There was a hunger in her, an old, long-buried desire for battle, for the thrill of a worthy challenge. Seeing him like this, drenched in the aftermath of violence, stirred something in her. A dark, possessive feeling took root, spreading like poison through her veins.

This boy… She had wanted him before, she realized, but now? Now it was something more. She gripped her cane tightly, her knuckles white. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and brilliant in a way that few ever were. And that brilliance needed to be harnessed, directed. By her.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across her lips as she watched him, her eyes gleaming with a fierce, almost fevered light. Yes, she thought, her heart pounding in her chest, he must be mine. At all costs.

And then…

Maybe one last good battle.

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