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Four months ago.
Cyrus found it silly, really, that two children had the audacity to break into his base like this. Who did they think they were, G-men? Foolhardy, clumsy police officers? The heroes in those frivolous fairy tales he was told as a child, out to "save the world?" Their brazenness was ridiculous. If Cyrus cared even a speck for their failed attempt to overthrow his mighty organization, he would have laughed. But he hadn't laughed for twenty years, so why should he laugh now—and over something so incredibly thick that a laugh would not have even been warranted, much less worth one? Cyrus merely and offhandedly wrote off their daftness as teenage density performed with adult-like consequences. They were young, but they had committed a wrong against him, and they would suffer for it.
Why, in Arceus's name, did they desire to save a world that thrived on ugliness and stupidity? This human world had no endearing qualities; nothing that Cyrus felt made it worth living upon. In fact, it baffled him as to why any person or Pokemon so loved this planet Earth enough to stand in the way of the logic and reason of Team Galactic. His team, after all, only desired to replace this imperfect earth with a more stable and intellectual one by eliminating the ignorance and brashness that so suffocated its atmosphere. What, he asked, was there to save? And if there really was something to save in the eyes of this Earth's inhabitants, why would they send two children to do their deed? He understood now why N and Team Plasma so despised the human beings as a race and wished to eradicate them—the vast majority of the species was dull-witted and too quick to react, rather than calculate their moves. Cyrus shunned being called one.
But, even in his emotionless and aloof spirit, he did find these children… interesting. The boy and girl—perhaps no older than sixteen, a reprehensible age Cyrus remembers well—wielded skilled command of their Pokemon, controlling them with fluid orders and counterattacking his grunts with ease and comfort. Of course, their assault was poorly planned as they were outnumbered, and they did not know the layout of the Team Galactic base, which ultimately led to their downfall and capture. The pair worked together as an oiled team, using each other's Pokemon in rotations of offense and defense. Their strategy of battle was indeed clever, Cyrus had to give them that—but they were still merely children and were too young to fully develop their aplomb in battle. Cyrus knew that even if they had managed to reach him, he would have crushed them easily.
The boy was short for his age, but powerful—he had worn a jacket inside the base, but had discarded it later on in favor of lighter weight, and muscles bulged and shuddered on his biceps. A thick beret, suited for winter conditions, covered a light head of scraggy, sandy brown hair, matted from sweat and reeking with the common odor of determination and fear. Upon apprehension, he grew agitated and lashed out at Cyrus's grunts as they held him, sharp kicks and wild biting flying from him in a rage. Cyrus did not know the boy's name—he had refused to talk to his enemy. For that, Cyrus had to admit some level of respect.
The raven-haired girl, on the other hand, maintained eye contact with the Galactic leader and calmly answered his questions. Her mellifluous, supple voice did not quaver in trepidation, and neither did her dark vision stray from his. Though her hands quivered—the embrace across her chest where she held a wide-eyed and skittish Piplup in her arms—the girl was quite adroit at hiding her terror of Team Galactic. Her name was Dawn, she said, and she understood that her and her partner had been thwarted and that they were to be taken as prisoners. However, she did try to bargain with Cyrus for their lives, but
Cyrus assured her that such action was not necessary.
They would be kept alive.
Not released, but kept alive.
He had no use for the boy—thus, as they were carried away, Cyrus noiselessly beckoned for his sole right hand Commander, Saturn, to send the boy to the underground prison where other insurgent outsiders and rebel Team Galactic members were locked away. The prisoners would enjoy a source of fresh amusement. It would keep them quiet, occupy them from speaking of insurgence.
"Does the girl go with him?" Saturn asked.
Cyrus stared at the retreating back of the female radical, her long hair sashaying against her torn and bloodied pink overcoat. The side of his mouth twitched downward in displeasure. She was a compliant, obedient young woman—but she would have to be punished as well. He could not favor one over the other.
Still, there was something about the girl that intrigued him. Bothered him. She was not like the rest of the idiots that were impudent enough to think that they could overpower Team Galactic with resolve alone—when those fools were captured, the strength of their so-called will disintegrated as they wept and begged for their lives or fought with the panic of caged animals, as the boy had. When the girl was met with defeat, she did not relent and observed her loss with grace.
It was almost as if she did not expect to win.
That uncharacteristic humbleness in girls her age disarmed Cyrus. Why did she act this way? What influenced her? How were she and the boy related? Cyrus had thousands of questions. He was curious. Curiosity, to him, was not an emotion and simply a human response to something he did not understand. Being curious brought about the desire for discovery—and discovery yielded knowledge.
He welcomed curiosity. And his curiosity was piqued.
"Keep her up here," he told Saturn. "I have plans for her."
Cyrus found it silly, really, that two children had the audacity to break into his base like this. Who did they think they were, G-men? Foolhardy, clumsy police officers? The heroes in those frivolous fairy tales he was told as a child, out to "save the world?" Their brazenness was ridiculous. If Cyrus cared even a speck for their failed attempt to overthrow his mighty organization, he would have laughed. But he hadn't laughed for twenty years, so why should he laugh now—and over something so incredibly thick that a laugh would not have even been warranted, much less worth one? Cyrus merely and offhandedly wrote off their daftness as teenage density performed with adult-like consequences. They were young, but they had committed a wrong against him, and they would suffer for it.
Why, in Arceus's name, did they desire to save a world that thrived on ugliness and stupidity? This human world had no endearing qualities; nothing that Cyrus felt made it worth living upon. In fact, it baffled him as to why any person or Pokemon so loved this planet Earth enough to stand in the way of the logic and reason of Team Galactic. His team, after all, only desired to replace this imperfect earth with a more stable and intellectual one by eliminating the ignorance and brashness that so suffocated its atmosphere. What, he asked, was there to save? And if there really was something to save in the eyes of this Earth's inhabitants, why would they send two children to do their deed? He understood now why N and Team Plasma so despised the human beings as a race and wished to eradicate them—the vast majority of the species was dull-witted and too quick to react, rather than calculate their moves. Cyrus shunned being called one.
But, even in his emotionless and aloof spirit, he did find these children… interesting. The boy and girl—perhaps no older than sixteen, a reprehensible age Cyrus remembers well—wielded skilled command of their Pokemon, controlling them with fluid orders and counterattacking his grunts with ease and comfort. Of course, their assault was poorly planned as they were outnumbered, and they did not know the layout of the Team Galactic base, which ultimately led to their downfall and capture. The pair worked together as an oiled team, using each other's Pokemon in rotations of offense and defense. Their strategy of battle was indeed clever, Cyrus had to give them that—but they were still merely children and were too young to fully develop their aplomb in battle. Cyrus knew that even if they had managed to reach him, he would have crushed them easily.
The boy was short for his age, but powerful—he had worn a jacket inside the base, but had discarded it later on in favor of lighter weight, and muscles bulged and shuddered on his biceps. A thick beret, suited for winter conditions, covered a light head of scraggy, sandy brown hair, matted from sweat and reeking with the common odor of determination and fear. Upon apprehension, he grew agitated and lashed out at Cyrus's grunts as they held him, sharp kicks and wild biting flying from him in a rage. Cyrus did not know the boy's name—he had refused to talk to his enemy. For that, Cyrus had to admit some level of respect.
The raven-haired girl, on the other hand, maintained eye contact with the Galactic leader and calmly answered his questions. Her mellifluous, supple voice did not quaver in trepidation, and neither did her dark vision stray from his. Though her hands quivered—the embrace across her chest where she held a wide-eyed and skittish Piplup in her arms—the girl was quite adroit at hiding her terror of Team Galactic. Her name was Dawn, she said, and she understood that her and her partner had been thwarted and that they were to be taken as prisoners. However, she did try to bargain with Cyrus for their lives, but
Cyrus assured her that such action was not necessary.
They would be kept alive.
Not released, but kept alive.
He had no use for the boy—thus, as they were carried away, Cyrus noiselessly beckoned for his sole right hand Commander, Saturn, to send the boy to the underground prison where other insurgent outsiders and rebel Team Galactic members were locked away. The prisoners would enjoy a source of fresh amusement. It would keep them quiet, occupy them from speaking of insurgence.
"Does the girl go with him?" Saturn asked.
Cyrus stared at the retreating back of the female radical, her long hair sashaying against her torn and bloodied pink overcoat. The side of his mouth twitched downward in displeasure. She was a compliant, obedient young woman—but she would have to be punished as well. He could not favor one over the other.
Still, there was something about the girl that intrigued him. Bothered him. She was not like the rest of the idiots that were impudent enough to think that they could overpower Team Galactic with resolve alone—when those fools were captured, the strength of their so-called will disintegrated as they wept and begged for their lives or fought with the panic of caged animals, as the boy had. When the girl was met with defeat, she did not relent and observed her loss with grace.
It was almost as if she did not expect to win.
That uncharacteristic humbleness in girls her age disarmed Cyrus. Why did she act this way? What influenced her? How were she and the boy related? Cyrus had thousands of questions. He was curious. Curiosity, to him, was not an emotion and simply a human response to something he did not understand. Being curious brought about the desire for discovery—and discovery yielded knowledge.
He welcomed curiosity. And his curiosity was piqued.
"Keep her up here," he told Saturn. "I have plans for her."
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SOULESSNESS NAVIGATION PAGE:
Prologue: [link]
Part 1: Here
Part 2: [link]
I'm making the preview pictures myself. Picture will reflect who the part's/scene's POV is in. Explanation given. Now make me a sandwich.
I CAN'T STOP WRITING THIS. I LOVE THIS SHIT. I DON'T CARE IF NOT A SOUL IN THE WORLD READS IT. I AM IN LOVE.
Brief summary of this chapter:
Sex with little girls.
If you say so, sir.
This is word dysentery. It keeps coming.
I have to get this story out of my system. Please bear with me while I pound away furiously with Akatsukishipping infatuation.
I Got a F*cking Golden Ticket, Hoes,
Original work by Silent--Protagonist. This may NOT be reprinted or distributed without my written permission.
Characters (c) Nintendo
Prologue: [link]
Part 1: Here
Part 2: [link]
I'm making the preview pictures myself. Picture will reflect who the part's/scene's POV is in. Explanation given. Now make me a sandwich.
I CAN'T STOP WRITING THIS. I LOVE THIS SHIT. I DON'T CARE IF NOT A SOUL IN THE WORLD READS IT. I AM IN LOVE.
Brief summary of this chapter:
Sex with little girls. If you say so, sir.This is word dysentery. It keeps coming.
I have to get this story out of my system. Please bear with me while I pound away furiously with Akatsukishipping infatuation.
I Got a F*cking Golden Ticket, Hoes,
Original work by Silent--Protagonist. This may NOT be reprinted or distributed without my written permission.
Characters (c) Nintendo
© 2012 - 2024 Silent--Protagonist
Comments8
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I bow down to you silent--protagy.... *sigh* how i wish i could write this well...
GOD DAMN HERE I COME CHAPTER TWO~
Im hoping this story makes me like Dawn btw >
if there is anyone that can make me love a character i want to believe its you... however i know you can make me hate them just as easily. <3
sex with little girls huh? I may not mind
GOD DAMN HERE I COME CHAPTER TWO~
Im hoping this story makes me like Dawn btw >
if there is anyone that can make me love a character i want to believe its you... however i know you can make me hate them just as easily. <3 sex with little girls huh? I may not mind