Chapter Seven: Resonance


The haunting sounds of Mozart's Requiem Mass projected though the office of Dr. Michals. Through out his years of life, there wasn't a thing he enjoyed more than this classical music -- so much so that even in a facility filled with the highest stature of technological advances, he still owned an old-fashoned antique record player. His favorite song, the Lacrimosa, from Mozart's Requiem Mass, was second to none.

Dr. Michals sat in an unusually tense position at his grand victorian oak desk -- which occupied the majority of the back wall of his office. His time to relax was running out. His personal office was one of the largest rooms in the facility for any staff member, and he rightfully deserved it. Dr. Michals was added to a number of projects at this facility though special request of whomever ran them. Dr. Michals never saw his higher-ups, and had no desire to find out who they were, they paid well, he was doing what he loved, and best of all, he had the ability to practice science, biochemistry, genetic research, and anything else he pleased without the confines of morality. He would at times feel more powerful than God.

Though, as with everything good, there were some risks. Accidents, contamination, death, and injury were all possibilities. But there was also the much more dangerous risk of...

(Subject_14)

...renegade experiments.

Dr. Michals sat with his back flat against his large, red leather desk chair, and idly fidgeted with his glasses clasped between his hands. His eyes floated around his office, and saw mostly blank space and books. Dr. Michals's had a bookcases utterly overflowing with everything from novels to encyclopedias covering every wall in his office, save for the wall with the door. He hadn't read most of them of course, he was far too busy, but he liked the atmosphere that they brought to his office. It made him feel like any knowledge he desired was before him. Besides the massive collection of thousands of books, Dr. Michals had two old, antique oak chairs opposite his desk -- for meetings and such -- and beneath him sat a genuine persian rug, one of his favorite items in his office. 

His office was neat, precise, and organized, just how he liked it. The books were kept alphabetically on his shelves, and whenever he fancied to read one, he made sure to put it back in the exact same way. His office mirrored his personality -- sophisticated and exact. His desk was far from unkempt as well, everything he needed, pens, files, portable hard drives, or disks, all were arranged in either his drawers, or the small filing cabinet built into the lower part of the desk.

He appeared to be more working out of a small library than a doctor's office.

A computer sat atop Dr. Michals desk, on the far right side -- he'd hate to have the thing obstruct his vision. The computer was merely inches thin, and sat gracefully on top of a crane like neck to adjust the screen. Dr. Michals shifted his weight forward, and slid his chair closer to his keyboard. On the screen, nothing but information relevant to Subject_14 was opened. The first file on his screen resembled a mug-shot. it was Subject_14's picture, first from the front, then from either side, taken pre-Stage One. 

This first image of Subject_14 was quite old, years old in fact. In the photo, Subject_14 had the stubble of an unshaven face, and an expression like that of a dead man, or a lost soul. His eyes were half open, it looked like it took all of his strength just to stand there. It was laughable how weak and gaunt he looked.

It intrigued Dr. Michals how different Subject_14 looked after Stage Seven. He looked somewhat similar to the man in the picture before him, but simply driven to madness. Now that Subject_14 was loose, he was too unstable to be ignored. Dr. Michals would occasionally replay the day of Subject_14's escape, and curse at himself for not taking more preventative measures. A subject under their control managed to escape the most advanced scientific facility in the modern world. It was just so...embarrassing.

Dr. Michals closed the first of Subject_14's files, and went over his Patient History. It read;

SUBJECT_14

Age: Unknown
Gender: Male
Height: 6"2'
Original Weight: 212 lbs
Weight After Alloy Construction: 252 lbs
Eye Color: Green
Birthplace: N/A
Location: Last seen in Stage Nine
Status: Missing

Stage One - Stage Nine History;

Stage One: COMPLETE
Organic Purification and Sterilization
(Details)

Stage Two: COMPLETE
Cerebellum/Cerebrum Reconstruction
(Details)

Stage Three: COMPLETE
Alloy Construction and Cellular Evolution
(Details)

Stage Four: COMPLETE
Biochemical Process Injection
(Details)

Stage Five: COMPLETE
Awake Blood and Tissue Transfusion
(Details)

Stage Six: COMPLETE
Awake Physical Remodification and Alloy Infusion
(Details)

Stage Seven: COMPLETE
Neural Regrowth 
(Details)

Stage Eight: COMPLETE
Psychosomatic Synchronization
(Details)

Stage Nine: INCOMPLETE
Ascension
(No Details Available)

(Show All Details)

Damnit.

Stage Nine would have completed him. It would have made all their hard work pay off. It would have made him functional. Now, Subject_14 was wandering around aimlessly somewhere in the outside world as an incomplete wreck. It was imminent that he was returned, studied and then either completed or discarded. Either this or be killed before he fell into the hands of people on the outside world. 

Subject_14 was their first success of Project_Crucifix. It was amazing they even got as far as they did with him. Dr. Michals knew that Project_Crucifix, if successful, would be the staple item of the facilities research -- both the most expensive, and the more promising. If he could even have one success he would completely surpass anyones expectations for the project. Others, such as Project_Armatus, had had many more successes than he, but just one living subject from Project_Crucifix would mean so much more. Dr. Michals was offered positions on numerous other projects as his failures with subjects increased, but he stayed with Project_Crucifix knowing that it would present the most challenges. 

Because it was so very difficult, Dr. Michals had the best of the best doctors on his staff -- which was the beauty of it. He surrounded himself with the best in order to be the best. He lived for the challenge. Project Crucifix fulfilled his life -- he had became obsessed with its challenges.

Dr. Michals stood up from his chair. It was time. He was assigned to represent Project_Crucifix at the facility's collaborative trails. 'Semideus' as they were called, were only in session when there was a major problem -- and having a Subject outside of company walls was as major as they could get. The Semideus were high-tension, lifeless trials, filled with nightmarish men, aching to see the others fail. Though science was no competition, each project-head would love to see any project that did not benefit their own wither and die. They all strived to be the best -- their hearts were as cold as their souls, and Dr. Michals knew he just like them. 

He'd been to only three Semideus meetings in his entire time working at the facility, each time, it meant the failure of a Project and the termination of the staff. A project could only fail when it met a cretin criteria -- The project had to be beyond repair in terms of relative success, and something of catastrophic proportions by human error must have occurred.

Dr. Michals knew from experience that when one was on trail at a Semideus, one could be found either Free or Condemned. When one was found Free, that worker was able to continue work on his or her project. Being found Free meant that there was still some hope for a success, and it was now your assignment to achieve that success. Being found Free negated all charges against you, and essentially started you with a clean slate.

However, if one was Condemned, their fate was far worse. Their labs would be purged, their data, burned, and their subjects discarded of. As for the staff -- every time Dr. Michals heard of a Condemnation being dealt upon someone, he had never seen those people in the facility ever again. Though he did not know what happened to them -- nor if they were alive or dead -- he surmised it was unpleasant.

Dr. Michals had been an Overseer for the two Semideus prior to his own, and had seen the three doctors on trial being found Condemned. When the verdict was read, their faces turned pale white, and their bodies turned numb with fear. He'd seen some who cried upon hearing their sentence, while remained silent and dignified -- whatever their reaction, they were escorted out of the room, and never seen by Dr. Michals or anyone again.

A Semidues could only be called into session when two-thirds of the Project-Heads and three-fourths of The Superiors consented to it. It was a process of review -- a chance for the doctor to defend himself before he or she was judged. The prior Semidues defendants were found Condemned in a matter of hours. These people who were on trail during Semideus were men and women of science, not law, and so had little idea of how to properly defend themselves. 

Most nervously spat verbiage, and dodged the questions asked of them -- trying to pawn the blame onto others. However, it was the project that was judged, not the individual, so passing blame would never help your situation. Dr. Michals had seen where they had went wrong -- they tried to defend themselves rather than offering a solution. He would certainly hope to not repeat their mistakes.

Dr. Michals felt no remorse for watching his Co-Workers lead to condemnation -- he felt nothing. This time though, it was almost ironic. It was -his- trial, and -his- life.

If you were deemed a failure, you were considered useless by The Superiors of the facility. You were thus-forth expendable, and being that The Superiors wouldn't take the risk of the staff revealing any secrets about their Projects to others on the outside, Dr. Michals would never see these people again. The facility was always careful to make sure no secrets ever left the steel walls of the labs. All the data on the project was burned, except for one final copy of the results to be kept on record -- and only available to those with special clearance to study them for mistakes. Dr. Michals knew that he was the brightest mind ever to work here, as did the a number of other doctors. Hopefully they would realize it would be simply foolish to Condemn him.

Dr. Michals was aware that most of the other project heads had a general distaste for one another. Though they appeared to be pleasant when interacting, most of them would not hesitate in the slightest to stick a knife in the others' back. Though Dr. Michals was an asset to any project he worked on, the other project heads probably would not hesitate to eliminate him. His absence would simply mean less competition for them.

Dr. Michals worked in this hellish world. He did not even know the name or location of the facility he worked in. Yet, it was his life, and he enjoyed it.

As calm as Dr. Michals usually was, he found the skin on his brow perspiring with anxiety of the coming trial. His fret was not for his own sake though -- he wouldn't ever hesitate to make sacrifices for science -- but for the potential of Subject_14. He simply could not be excommunicated from the facility not knowing what could have been. The amazing and unique success that was Subject_14 could probably never be replicated again in his lifetime. He needed to be recovered. 

"Dr. Michals," a female employee said, suddenly peeking her head in to his open office, "they're ready for you."

He looked up from his desk at the face of this unknown employee. She was an average young woman who simply served as an assistant to one or more of the project heads. He'd seen her before, but knew not her name -- she wasn't important enough.

"Yes, thank-you, my dear. I'll be on my way shortly." Dr. Michals responded in a polite and civil tone. "Allow me a brief moment to myself, please."

"Of course," she replied, withdrawing from the office and closing the door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Dr. Michals sighed, and stood up. He waited for the song that was softly playing in the background, the Lacrimosa, strike it's final notes -- which it did beautifully.

The then room fell silent. It was time to go.

He wasn't going to leave the fate of Project Crucifix up to his competition to decide. Dr. Michals decided that he simply must succeed. He had to be found Free in order to finish his work. Even if he wasn't, and was found Condemned, he would find a way to recover Subject_14 though whatever means necessary. This was critical to Dr. Michals. His success in Subject_14 was everything.

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

Ariston's vision began to focus as he awoke to the the steady sound of a constant beeping, one that was frequent and sharp. He began to narrowly open his eyes. His vision reacted unpleasantly and painfully to the bright lights in the room, but after the initial adjustment, his vision slowly began to drawn into focus.

His mind lazily played out effortless and unconscious thoughts though his head. He felt unusually rested and comfortable, along with absolutely no desire to raise himself up. For a moment he assumed that it was just another school day, and he'd awoke slightly before his alarm -- the familiar feeling of wanting nothing more than to sleep for just a little while longer passed over him. Ariston began to drift off into sleep again, but his body and mind were instantly awoken by a terrifying realization.

His heart jumped, and he frantically sat up -- instinctively looking around the room for any answers he could find as to where he was. As he rose himself, a sharp stab of pain hit him, causing him to wince in reaction. He could feel the acute stabbing pain coming from inside of his body, a foreign and sickening feeling to Ariston.

He looked down to inspect the source of the pain to find his right arm in an elongated navy sleeve that hung around his neck. Separate from that, his left arm was wrapped up and down with dull white medical tape. He awkwardly tried to move his arm that dangled in the sleeve, and as he gave it just the slightest of twitches, he was instantly forced to stop an unimaginable electric stabbing pain that shot from his collar bone down to the rest of his body. It was a brief, severe feeling, but it quickly passed as he stopped all attempts to move his right arm.

"What...the hell?" he whispered to himself -- still in a somewhat delirious state --in reaction to his seemingly broken collarbone.

He took a moment to drawn in his surroundings. Ariston sat in a bed, his chest hooked up to a heart monitor -- the source of the beeping that he so casually awoke to -- and an IV needle stuck in his arm hooked up to a bag above his bed. The walls were mostly plain a manilla-brown color with no features upon them. One wall contained a countertop that held numerous boxes and jars of medical supplies. 

The speckled white and grey counter was against the back wall of the room, and contained a dull grey sink along with many other closed drawers and cabinets. Educational, though childish, posters hung around the room. Most were diagrams of parts of the human body, Ariston payed those little attention. Beside him was his heart rate upon a screen, and a large deal of medicinal equipment Ariston was unfamiliar with. The room was shaped as a brownish pained square, with glass windows on most of the sides, and a single brown wooden door on the wall adjacent to Ariston's bed. 

Ariston felt the unsettling sense of fear crawl though his body once again. He hadn't as to how he had ended up in this hospital room.

Raising his seemingly functional, yet bandaged, left arm up to his face, he rubbed his eyes and began trying to grasp what exactly had happened the night prior. The last thing he remembered, he was in the City. Yet, now he was in a hospital bed with broken bones.

He astounded himself by how little he was able to recall from last night. In fact, he couldn't remember any details of the past night at all -- it was simply a blur in his memory. In his mind, he could remember what had happened leading up to him stopping in the street, but then a blank space with no memories at all. That was all he could remember between him then, and him now, in the hospital. Not being able to remember what must have been a major, and obviously dangerous event had began to frustrate him. Ariston couldn't understand how he could possibly have no memory of breaking his bones?

"Knock knock," a familiar male voice said, opening the bland door and entering the hospital room. "Looks like you're finally up, huh?"

Ariston instantly recognized the mellow face of Rorak, in his usual attire entering his room. Upon entering, Ariston saw just how beat up Rorak was too. He had a mid-sized, rectangular bandage on the left side of his face stretching down his cheek, and medical gauze wrapping around parts of his forearms. It was obvious to Ariston that Rorak had seen some pretty serious action last night.

With Rorak present, Ariston's memory began to return. He focused on the single reason he traveled to the city in the first place. Ariston could hear the frequency of the heart monitor beside him increase as panic began to set into his mind again.

"Rorak, what happened t--" Ariston began,

"Your friends, Shane and Conti? Totally unscathed, they evacuated with the majority of the civilians apparently... And come to think of it, are in better shape than you are. Good thing they got out though, last night got pretty hectic on both our ends, as you can see," Rorak continued, casually pointing to Ariston's broken appendage.

The frequency of the heart monitor returned to normal as the wash of calm passed over him upon hearing this news. Ariston could care less about his own broken up condition. He was just glad that no one, save for he, had been severely hurt. Knowing that Rorak, Shane and Conti were alive and well instantly washed away his fears.

"Heh," Ariston laughed, taking respite from his worried mind, "I guess something big happened to me last night.". Once again, Ariston focused his mind in an additional attempt to retrieve his lost thoughts. He paused for a moment, thinking deeply, but alas came up blank. Rorak looked up questionably at the silent Ariston.

"Something wrong? I though you'd be pretty happy to hear that everyone is, you know... alive," Rorak asked in his seemingly ever-present casualness.

"No -- I mean, that's great news," Ariston replied, giving up upon trying to remember, "but I honestly can't remember nearly... anything from last night.". 

Rorak tilted his head slightly to one side and crossed his arms as he listened to the troubled Ariston.

"Not where I was, not who I was with, not even --" he said, pausing to motion to his broken shoulder, "-- not even how I got this. It's the strangest feeling. There's just... a blank space in my memory." 

"I guess it could be some short term amnesia from the damage of the attack. Good thing they found you when they did, I think that yo--" Rorak suggested, only to be cut off.

"Wait... Did you just say attack? And... Found me? Who is 'they'?" Ariston asked, becoming even more concerned with his lost memories. Ariston began to feel heavy with concern for just how close he may have been to death. Rorak didn't seem to grasp the fact that Ariston couldn't remember a thing, and was skipping some quite important details.

"Well," Rorak began again, drawing his explanation back realizing Ariston hadn't the slightest clue as to what he was saying, "from what I've been told by the doctors outside, you were found underneath the business end of two pretty pissed off and mean-lookin' Absols -- who I'm guessing hadn't eaten in awhile, judging by the damage they did to you.". Rorak continued to speak at ease, leaning against the room's door. His tone was that of like a casual conversation about matters of little importance -- it was amazing to Ariston that despite the mortality and seriousness of the subject, Rorak remained unfazed.

"Holy shit," was all could Ariston manage to say.

"Holy shit is right," Rorak added, "you know, you gave the doctors here a pretty big scare, you came close to dying when they brought you in. Good thing they got you here quick too, you've probably been done for otherwise."

Ariston took a moment to himself and began to digest this information. He wondered, had he really escaped dying by so little a margin? Just moments ago, Ariston had been lying half-asleep comfortably in an anonymous bed and feeling relaxed. Yet probably just hours ago, he was only minutes from the morgue.

Ariston had never really though of death as a possibility on his journey throughout Sinnoh. Of course prior to Ariston leaving, his over-worried mother had frequently stressed about the danger of Pokemon attacks and battles, but Ariston never thought a terrorist attack would effect him. For the first time, Ariston began imagining himself in a world where death could be around any corner. He felt his chest muscles begin to tighten as a dark mordant fear crept over him again.

"But listen," Rorak said, exhuming Ariston out of his deep pool of thoughts, "that's all in the past now. You're alive and well -- uh, well, at least alive."

Ariston gave a genuine chuckle at Rorak's usual sense of emotionless humor. With just that, he returned to a relaxed, casual state of mind. Ariston wondered if perhaps Rorak had picked up on his anxiety and attempted to lighten his mood with his unusual sense of humor. Though Rorak's humor was quite mordant, Ariston found it very much amusing how Rorak was so casual about serous matters. At this point, Ariston's body continued waking up. He began to feel more and more sharp, sensitive sore areas around his body. He assumed them to be just muscle fatigue or bruises, and attempted to ignored them as much as possible as he talked to Rorak.

"Alright, well..." Ariston continued, trying to sake off the feeling of pain areas surfacing around his body, "can you at least tell me how I ended up with my arm like this?

"Well..." Rorak started, thinking carefully of just what to say, "...I'm really not too sure, I figured I could ask you that. I'm going to assume that it's a result of the Absols making your arm their buffet."

Ariston spat some unexpected laughter at Rorak's sarcasm once again. The action of laughing caused his broken arm to hurt, but he honestly didn't care. Ariston began to realize that Rorak was truly right in his logic. Whatever had happened, he, and everyone else had come out of it alive.

"So," Ariston began, wanting to change the subject from his injuries to something else, "what happened at the CMTRD after I left?"

The door of the hospital room opened once again, and immediately captured Ariston's attention. A young, female nurse sporting generic hospital attire entered the room, holding the door open as she did. 

"Sir," she began, directing at Rorak, "it's not visiting hours yet, I'm afraid you'll have to leave,"

"Hmm?" Rorak replied innocuously, "Oh, of course, excuse me.,"

Rorak turned towards the door, and followed the nurse out of the room without saying anything else to Ariston. Though, the moment he and the nurse left, Rorak walked slowly in the opposite direction of her, and once she was out of sight, turned around walking towards the room again.

Ariston laughed quietly to himself as he saw Rorak though the windows of his room casually dodge nurses and walk back from whence he came. Rorak, after a few moments, finally entered once again, looking out the door behind him for any more nurses as he did. 

"Anyway..." Rorak said, continuing where he left off. "We were able to take care of things on our end, for the most part anyway."

"What do you mean?" Ariston asked, hoping to get a little more exciting detail than that.

"They -were- pretty tough, I'll tell you that." he continued. "By the time we finally broke though their defenses and started putting pressure on them, whatever they were robbing from the CMTRD had been secured." 

Ariston carefully watched Rorak as he spoke. Rorak's tone had changed slightly from casual to a more reluctant one. Rorak stood with his arms crossed, and his eyes locked on the floor -- Ariston could easily see that Rorak wasn't happy with the outcome he'd gotten last night.

"We got some of them, sure," he continued, "but there were just so many of them for us to handle. Way too many of them escaped for my liking, we just didn't have enough trainers to fight back. The ones we got are going to be interrogated by the Sinnoh Police soon, but...I really doubt they'll tell us anything. It's never been in their nature to willingly give up information, they never have before. So far, none of the ones we've captured have said a single word at all. It's like they're on mute, I guess it's just how they're trained." 

As Rorak continued speaking his tone sloped from his usual easy-going persona and degraded further into sincerity. He sounded similar to when he spoke to Ariston on they way to the city the night before -- calm, yet strong.

"It's really weird, you know?" he continued, looking back up at Ariston, "It's like they're blank slates, just mindlessly following orders, and when we try to get information out of them, they just...shut down."

"Do you have any idea what they took?" Ariston asked, letting himself be intrigued by Rorak's story.

Rorak responded with stale laughter, "Even when the CMTRD -does- find out what was missing, I doubt they'll tell anyone but a few specific high ranking police officers. I'm pretty sure they don't like people to know what they've been working on. Besides, they're in enough trouble with the public -- people have started blaming them for the attack."

Rorak began to drift from his stern voice tone back to a relaxed one ever so slowly as he continued.

Ariston remained silent for a moment. He began visualizing the catastrophic destruction he'd seen nearly everywhere the night prior. Buildings destroyed, many Pokemon and their trainers lost their lives, and he was almost ripped apart by two Absols. It appeared that whatever Team Galactic wanted -- or needed -- they had stolen it, but...

"What could they possibly want so badly that they'd to this?" Ariston asked, continuing his internal monologue out loud.

Rorak shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine,"

Rorak, though appearing outwardly tranquil, was at war with himself on the inside. He'd wanted more than anything to stop Team Galactic from successfully stealing from the CMTRD. Rorak knew that no matter which way he thought about it, Team Galactic had succeeded, and he had failed. In the back of his mind, Rorak wondered if all those people and Pokemon had died for nothing.

"So, how much damage did Team Galactic do?" Ariston asked with genuine grief, breaking the small period of silence between the two. He was reluctant to ask the question, but wanted to stay informed.

"You mean the death toll?" Rorak answered bluntly, "Initial estimates on the news are upwards of 50 dead, and a hundred some wounded -- granted, it's not as bad as everyone feared, but pretty terrible nonetheless." Ariston sighed as he heard this -- so many dead and wounded for just one thing from the CMTRD. Ariston could solemnly not understand what could possibly be so important that people would kill mercilessly for it.

"The most casualties and injuries came from inside the blast zones, where the bombs went off. They causes some pretty major damage around the city, but as soon as the first one went off the evacuations had already began. Team Galactic members were spotted before anything was detonated, and people around those areas had been ordered to evacuate. Good thing too, it probably saved a lot of lives. I'm guessing most people were able to escape, just an unlucky few still got caught in the blasts. That, and a number of trainers were killed along with their Pokemon fighting Galactics."

"All that for just something in the CMTRD?" Ariston continued, the actions of Team Galactic at this point seemed inhuman.

"I'll tell you what, something from the CMTRD isn't just some valuable piece of technology, it's cutting edge stuff." Rorak continued. "Really, I don't have any idea what sort of stuff goes on in there. It's highly secured government contracted technology. I know for a fact that this wasn't just a robbery -- whatever they stole, they knew what it was, where it was, and took it for more purposes than money. The technology in the CMTRD is so secure, I don't have any idea as to how they could have possibly known where to look. I'll tell you this though, I don't think we've seen the last of these guys -- they're planning something bigger."

Rorak had fallen back into a grim tone as he explained. The prospect of Team Galactic returning -- now with the advantage of whatever they had stolen from the CMTRD -- was frightening to both Roark and Ariston alike. Both knew that Team Galactic alone was dangerous enough, but if what they stole was some kind of weapon -- they might be unstoppable.

Rorak glanced outside the room's windows as the two sat in silence, and saw the nurse that had kicked him out earlier approaching. His eyebrows raised as he watched her get closer.

"Uh oh, nurse is back. See you back in Oreburgh Ariston.." Rorak said quickly, instantly dropping his serious tone, and exiting the room in a rush. Rorak walked out of Ariston's room at the exact moment the nurse had turned the corner to see him standing there in plain view. just as the nurse turned to corner to see him in plain view.

Ariston saw the nurses face turn angry as she saw Rorak -- still here. Ariston laughed again as the nurse began an angry-paced walk following Rorak out of the hospital floor. Rorak escaped down the hall with the nurse in hot persuit behind him. Though Ariston laughed dryly at the situation, a part of him was still extremely preoccupied by what Rorak had told him. He'd escaped with his life last night -- but what about the next time he ran into Team Galactic?

Ariston was nearly exhausted from confusion and concern. He couldn't wait to get out of this hospital, and back to his Pokemon. He knew that he'd been extremely lucky this time, in that he and his friends had made it through alive. He knew it astoundingly stupid of him to come to the city in the midst of the attack, but he could take solace in the fact that he had done the right thing in his mind. He'd managed to dodge death this time. Perhaps he would not be so lucky in the future.

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

Dr. Michals's hand sat motionlessly upon the handle of a plain brown door in a faceless hallway. His hand was unwilling to make any effort to open this door, though; the events that would soon take place on the other side would change his career, and life, forever. Dr. Michals knew that if he were to be found Condemned, losing control over Project Crucifix would be the least of his problems, yet strangely, seeing Project Crucifix through was all he cared about. 

Dr. Michals liked to think of himself as an objective man of science, and although he'd been involved with a fair amount of scientific "explorations" throughout his life, he'd never become so attached to one like Project Crucifix.

Project Crucifix wasn't just a commission for him to work on, it felt much like an he was an artist that had chosen to keep a painting rather than sell it. Dr. Michals had grown attached to his work. Back during Project Crucifix's prime, he would stay up countless hours working nearly around the clock to perfect experimentations, he couldn't stop himself from working, he found just the prospect of Project Crucifix so fascinating that every moment he was able to work felt like a privilege. 

Though he failed numerous times, and he had lost Subjects One through to Thirteen, he still felt successful. Journeying to the edge of science, raising the bar for groundbreaking work, and pushing the limits of both himself and all those around him was success enough for him. Project Crucifix demanded that he and all those who worked on it be inerrant at all times. The smallest mistake could cause catastrophic failures, mutation, contamination, or any number of nightmarish things. 

Dr. Michals wondered, perhaps, if the attachment for his work stemmed from within him. Perhaps it was because that he knew something like Project Crucifix was eons out of his league, yet somehow, he managed to make undeniable progress -- and not only progress, but success. The success of one subject surpassed both his and his peers highest expectations for Project Crucifix. The project was mainly to collect data, for future experimentation. A success was never anticipated or expected from Dr. Michals, and that feeling -- the feeling of superiority -- was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. 

Though the success of Subject_14 was a breakthrough, the failure to enter Stage Nine technically made him incomplete. Dr. Michals realized that in the eyes of everyone but he, Subject_14 wasn't a success in the slightest, but a now renegade failure.

The feeling was crushing... to go from being on top, surpassing everyones expectations, and being regarded with the utmost respect, to a failure, now on trial for his life. Dr. Michals wanted to fix the mistakes made, retrieve Subject_14, and resume work on him -- if only they'd provide him with the proper resources to do so. He simply knew that he would be able to recover Subject_14. Ever since the moment he escaped, Dr. Michals had been toiling over methods of recovery. He felt obsessed; it was like he had been working puzzle missing only a single piece that was then taken from him at random. The sense of incompletion nearly drove him mad at times. The long hours of his mind-splitting work, his genius methods, and his glorified creations had all been lost in vain. The very thought of losing his work made his skin burn with regret and anguish. 

Though it was too late for anything to change now. Dr. Michals was enveloped in regret, a feeling he hated himself for.

"Argh," he moaned audibly, disgusted with himself.

Just the thought of feeling so foolish and helpless was enough to boil the blood in Dr. Michals veins. He would not let the feeling repeat, especially in his Semideus. Dr. Michals didn't know anything for certain, but if he was lucky, he'd be able to convince the judges of the Semideus that the remaining team working on Project Crucifix should be focused on finding Subject_14. If he was lucky, he'd be able to be a success again.

Dr. Michals had wasted enough time. He pressed ever so lightly on the door handle, letting the dull metal inside the door release, and pushed. He was instantly greeted by a benumbed darkness, the faint glow of desk lights shined somewhere in the distance. Dr. Michals looked at the path before him with a steady heart. The door was open, now he just needed to walk though it...

After a few grinding seconds, Dr. Michals walked into the dark room, letting the door creep shut behind him. He was past the point of no return; it was time to stand trial.

"Dr. Michals, come in," a male voice spoke comfortably from somewhere off in the room, "you're right on time. Please, have a seat."

Dr. Michals knew this voice, and recognized it almost immediately. Being as this person was the first to speak, he was probably the Judge of this particular Semideus.

As Dr. Michals knew, he would stand trial before five independent project heads, four of which would be Overseers, and the fifth being the final Judge. Overseers would decide on the case, converse amongst each other as to what the verdict should be, and finally submit their vote to the Judge. The Jude only voted in the event of a tie between the four Overseers, meaning he or she would make the final decision. The four Overseers would not question the doctor on trial at any point; that was strictly under the Judges authority. The Overseers would wait, listen, and discuss amongst themselves. Therefore, it was up to the Judge to lead the line of questioning. 

Unfortunate, considering whom it was.

Dr. Michals made his way to the defendant's stand -- a bland, monotone black metal octagon that was slightly raised off the ground. Stretching from the octagon, a raised podium that extended halfway around the raised section of floor. The black octagon, along with the podium, were lined with a dull, purple LED light surrounding their trim. The lights of the podium filled the room with the flat buzzing of lightbulbs, breaking the otherwise congealed silence. The path leading to the defendant's stand was as indistinguishable as anything else in the room. As dark as the ceiling as the lights were, Dr. Michals was only able to see his stand, and the judges bench across from it. His stand seemed to shine out as a beacon in the room, it symbolized a false haven from the darkness, almost welcoming Dr. Michals to come.

Dr. Michals cautiously stepped onto the raised octagon, and rested his hands on the podium before him, staring at the Judge's Bench. The Judges Bench shot straight up from the ground, and split into two lengthly halves. The Judges Bench appeared to be a large, raised desk for both the Judge and Overseers by the way it was crafted. Dr. Michals assumed that the Overseers desks sat an unnecessary six feet off the ground to try and force some factor of intimidation and inferiority to the doctor on trial.

Dr. Michals scoffed at that. He wasn't in the least bit intimidated by the five doctors sitting atop the Judge's Bench. They were all co-workers, no different from he or anyone else.

The Bench was highest in the center, where the single Judge of the trial sat. From there, it symmetrically stretched backwards, slightly depressing at an angle. This would be where the Overseers would reside, two on each side of the Judge. The Judge's bench was essentially a horizontally stretched "V", made of the same black metal, and line with the same LED lights as the defendants stand. All the theatrics of this room felt unnecessary to Dr. Michals, but however pointless, it did create a ferocious atmosphere.

Dr. Michals stood before his peers. These people were in no way his superiors; the fact that he was to be judged by them was just foolish. Dr. Michals strained his eyes to read the small, engraved metal nameplate in front of the Judge sitting tall at the bench. His suspicions had been accurate; Dr. Michals knew he had recognized the voice.

"Shall we begin then, Dr. Laverd?" Dr. Michals asked, with a hint of condescendence. "I'd hate to waste your time, after all."

"Of course," he replied, in his stern, concrete voice, "Semideus hearing A 047Y, hearing defendant - Dr. Michals and his staff - will begin Immediately."

To an outside observer, it would appear that Dr. Michals and Dr. Laverd were on good terms -- friends even -- but their occasional pleasantries and cooperation with each other was nothing more than a false mask. Dr. Laverd was the head doctor of Project_Armatus, which much to Dr. Michals disgust was quite possibly the most successful project to date. As long as Dr. Michals had worked with Dr. Laverd at the Facility, he's seen him as not only a bitter, straight-laced co-worker, but also his toughest competition, and his enemy. 

For as far back as Dr. Michals could remember, the moment he had gotten a success, Dr. Laverd would outshine him almost instantly with a breakthrough of his own. Always, Dr. Michals would create something breathtaking, while Dr. Laverd would create something unbelievable. The prospect drove him mad. 

Dr. Michals knew exactly why this happened; it was the two different ways they worked. Dr. Michals strongly felt that each doctor in his group was responsible for his or her own creations, successes, and failures -- much of the reason he accepted responsibility for Subject_14 -- and when a doctor under him made some sort of discovery or success, the credit was theirs, and theirs alone. 

Dr. Laverd, however, was more of a linear man. Dr. Michals had seen him work with other doctors before, and it was clear that Dr. Laverd felt that the Project Head was the infallible superior of the Project. Dr. Laverd acted as if all things regarding the projects success happened because he catalyzed it. Therefore, if someone under him succeeded, he would immediately believe it to be his own -- the doctors under him being virtually left out of any credit. Dr. Laverd worked as if nothing could happen without him, as if he was the singularity of all the workers around him. He believed that every single success was simply due to him.

Dr. Michals would frequently be disgusted at this territorial, childish attitude; he'd never degrade himself by claiming work that wasn't his. Dr. Laverd even physically represented his personality of a plain, cold man. He had an almost completely shaved head with stubble of blonde hair remaining, and dark lifeless brown eyes. Even though Dr. Laverd would 'loosely' acquire success, he was no fool. Much of his success was truly from his work alone, and brilliant work it was. Sometimes, even, Dr. Michals would struggle to understand the unusual methods that Dr. Laverd pursued in his work. 

Dr. Michals likened Dr. Laverd to much like a filing cabinet with all the information that he could retain and memorize. That was the one skill that Dr. Laverd far surpassed Dr. Michals in -- the ability to retain and understand all sorts of information. Just a simple run-though of a cutting-edge new procedure, and Dr. Laverd would suddenly pick up on it like he'd been studding it for years. The man could piece parts of completly different operations, equations, and medical procedures to produces astounding new ones. Dr. Michals, though reluctant to admit it, was impressed by this keen perspicacity of Dr. Laverd.

Perhaps a weaker man would fade in the colossal shadow of Dr. Laverd, but not Dr. Michals. If there was one thing that crawled under his skin, and twisted his nerves, it was being second best. Dr. Michals would sometimes work double the time Dr. Laverd would, to get the same amount of progress done, just so he wouldn't be left behind. He would stay up for many sleepless nights trying to better himself over Dr. Laverd. If he couldn't be naturally better, he'd simply work harder.

And it worked. The fruits of Dr. Michals work came rarely, but gratuitously when they did. Dr. Michals would sometimes outshine Dr. Laverd for months. The most enjoyable events in these times of success came though subtle psychology and innuendo hints in his everyday speech with Dr. Laverd. While appearing outwardly pleasant, Dr. Michals would rub his success in Dr. Laverd's face. But alas, there was a converse. Dr. Laverd would do the same whenever he had a success greater than Dr. Michals. This back-and-forth pseudo war between them is perhaps why they silently loathed each other as they did. The two had never a single argument, they would vigilantly remain pleasant to one another, always friendly, but silently thinking the worst of their despised enemy. Whenever the two were together, a thick cloud of antipathy surrounded both. Only the two truly knew how much distaste they had for each other. 

Dr. Michals was fully aware that this behavior was petty -- pointless even -- but as Dr. Laverd shared the same extreme distaste for being second best, it was perhaps the only way they could work in the same building without resorting to tearing each other's throats out.

Dr. Laverd cleared his throat as he prepared to dictate, "Please, state your names for the official record," he began.

"Dr. Alvis, Overseer number one," a female doctor said from her position on the bench,

"Dr. Isaeus, Overseer number two," a deep-voiced, aged African-American doctor stated,

A brief momentary feeling of relief passed though Dr. Michals mind. He ha'd gotten lucky on the first two Overseers. While he didn't know them personally, Dr. Alvis and Dr. Isaeus were both competent and intelligent individuals, which was quite a compliment coming from the mind of Dr. Michals. Dr. Alvis was a rather young, attractive female doctor who would usually act friendly when she wasn't working -- though when she was, she was as emotionless and as cold as stone. She wore the attire of a usual female doctor; white coat, high-heeled shoes, flimsily glasses, and of course, her neck-length brown hair that was pulled up, tied and out of her face.

Dr. Isaeus was more of a mysterious person. He was much older than Dr. Michals, and had distinctive a faded, white-grey goatee that gave him an intimidating and seasoned appearance. He was a taciturn of a man, and always seemed to be thinking to himself rather than verbalizing what ideas came to him. He had worked at the facility for a great time longer than either Dr. Laverd or Dr. Michals. Dr. Iseaus was probably one of the most experienced doctors on staff. Dr. Isaeus gave off the appearance and personality of someone who'd seen enough in their lifetime to understand the position Dr. Michals was in now.

Rather than being spiteful and conniving, thus working only to have his work Condemned, he expected that both Dr. Alvis and Dr. Isaeus would made just decisions. Perhaps they would even offer him some shred of kindness in their judgement. 

"Dr. Cronus, Overseer number three," another man announced from the other side of Dr. Laverd,

Dr. Michals didn't know much about this man, unfortunately. He did know that Dr. Cronus was one of the facility's prominent physicists, and so not usually involved in medical work -- much of the reason Dr. Michals wasn't familiar with him. He wasn't sure about the mindset of this doctor however, as was from a totally different wing of the facility, and probably wasn't as informed about Project Crucifix as Dr. Alvis and Dr. Isaeus would be. Dr. Michals wasn't able to visiualize Dr. Cronus's face from the few times that he'd seen the man, and as he sat in the lowlight of the trial room, it made him an anonymous identity to Dr. Michals. This one's judging would be a gamble.

"Dr. Pollux, Overseer number four," the final, male doctor said,

Dr. Michals narrowed his eyes as the sound of Dr. Pollux announcing his name. He being the fourth Overseer was certainly not the outcome he'd hoped for. Dr. Pollux was a highly educated expert on Astronomy, a field that was almost entirely useless for most projects. However, he also had received his Medical Doctorate in Pathology -- the reason he was a member of the facility. The man did not have a highly desirable job. He was essentially the facilities' coroner. It was the job of Dr. Pollux to figure out what exactly went wrong on dead or failed subjects. He would also frequently suggest advice or alternatives on how to improve on the next attempt. The reason Dr. Michals disliked him being the fourth Overseer was because he felt almost certain that the man, being so analytical and unfeeling, would vote against him. Dr. Michals had seen this effect before, dealing with the dead constantly somehow drains the life and emotion out of most sane humans. Dr. Michals expected Dr. Pollux to show no sense of emotion towards Dr. Michals. After all, the man had all the warmth and emotion of a glass of water.

"And of course, Dr. Laverd, Judge," he said, raising his arms ingloriously as if to present himself. "Let us begin."

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

2,523 steps Iota had walked.

He kept count after each step he took in order to distract himself from both the unconscious female in his arms, and the bloody rags tied around his injured side. Although injured, he walked powerfully though the snowy wasteland as if he felt no pain. Strangely, Iota could manage to keep himself focused enough to ignore the stabbing, cutting feeling in his side though sheer power of his will alone. His entire being felt like it was working in unison with his mind. Iota could physically feel his thoughts gracefully flowing through his mind. It was almost as if the gears were finally turning for him. He was in control for the first in as far back as he could remember. He enjoyed the power to manipulate his thoughts to strengthen his body. Iota instinctively knew -- the mind controls the body, and he controlled his mind. Iota focused on blocking out any pain on his body, and thought about nothing else. Though he had scores of unanswered questions as to who -- or what -- he was, he kept focusing on simply continuing to walk forward.

2,527...2,528...2,529...

There'd been nothing since he had begun walking; the tundra where he traveled sported no distinguishable landmarks of civilization, no trails to follow, nor sights in the distance. There was nothing but the cold, heavy snow everywhere.Upon every step he took forward, his foot sank quickly into the deep powder -- making a muffled, compacting crunch as he did. The frigid powder buried his foot, and crept up to his ankle when he would step. Not having a way finite path to follow, or any plans as to where to go, he walked towards the sunset. This way, at least Iota knew that he was traveling west.

2,541... 2,542... 2,543...

Surviving this harsh environment was easier than he'd expected it to be. Walking with a gunshot wound and carrying Blaziken did not seem like an easy prospect, but his body seemed to have reacted to the threat of battle, and strengthened because of it. He shouldn't have been even able to stand, yet his muscles were strong, his breaths were full, and his vision was clear. He couldn't say as to why this was even possible, but whatever it was, he knew positively that something had switched on inside of him during the exhilaration of battle. As his conscious mind focused on the count of steps taken and suppressing pain, his subconscious asked him questions. Just what exactly had happened to him during his battle? Could an 'event' like the one that had killed the poacher happen again unintentionally? Iota paid no care to nature of his actions or whom he had fought, as he was not concerned about these things in the slightest -- he was curious.

2,566... 2,567, 2,56--

Suddenly, something caught Iota's eye. a small blur of an object other than snow appeared out in the distance. This foreign object immediately took his attention and focus away from his tedious task of counting paces. He continued forward towards it, increasing his pace in hopes to find respite from the unfeeling cold. 

Bitter winds contacted his torso, flowing over the lightly colored crucifix shaped scar on his chest. The wind chilled his body, but the off-tone crucifix on his chest was at the moment the only part of his body that seemed to feel any pain. The gunshot wound on his side had long since gone numb, and he was able to focus himself to alleviate any pain he felt there -- though he could no do the same for the mark on his chest. The bleeding from the wound had stopped, but ever since he'd woken up -- outside form wherever he'd been created -- he had constantly felt an eerie wisp of pain there. Nothing unbearable, but ever-present.

The object in the distance grew larger, and Iota began to make out the rigid structure of what appeared to be a run-down, gray house. Iota moved closer still, and began to get a clearer picture of what he saw in the distence.The house looked like it had been just withstanding blizzards for decades -- and just barely made it though each one. It was certainly not idea for Iota nor Blaziken, as it wasn't the ideal place to seek shelter. Though the presence of a home, even one as run down and old as this, did mean he was getting closer to civilization. It was a pleasant turn of events for Iota.

The 'house' had looked like it was abandoned quite a long time ago judging by its deterioration. It appeared to be barely able to stand at this point, but it was a lucky place to find out in the middle of the arctic wilderness. Iota wasn't going to pass this by. He didn't care whether someone was currently living there or not -- as unlikely as it seemed -- he was going inside to stay regardless, until he recovered.

Iota was finally close enough to see the house in detail. It was a two story house with an irksome, pale grey finish to it -- one that had been worn away over the years. Boards lay limp and tiresomely from the the walls. The porch and its respective black overhang appeared to be ready to collapse at any given moment. The windows were nearly all broken, the roof was populated holes -- as did many of the floorboards upon the porch. There was some fragments of a banister around the porch, but it was mostly broken, plain brown wood that lay loosely on the ground. The window shutters were painted a deadening white color that had been chipped away at by the cold throughout the years. However much an eyesore this place was, it was the best that he and Blaziken could hope for.

Iota placed his cold-numbed foot upon the first step of the featureless, broken porch to the house. The boards beneath him gave an unwelcoming creak as he did so. Cautiously, Iota began to make his way up the few steps and onto the porch. Every bit of wood below him seemed overly eager to give way, and break -- Iota did not pay it any attention. He wanted to just get inside and out of the weather before either he or Blaziken froze to death. She still remain limp in his arms unconsciously. Her body, as she was a fire Pokemon, provided him with a subtle, pleasant warmth as she pressed against his body. Her head was tiled aside, and her eyes remained shut. Hopefully, once Iota let her recover inside, she would finally awake.

Continuing onward, Iota approached the entrance to the house. The front door was the same deadened color as the rest of the house, and looked unstable at best. Walking conservatively over the frail floorboards, Iota advanced to the door -- he became increasingly eager to escape the wrath of the winter. Disregarding whether the door was locked or not, Iota shifted his weight to one side, and raised his right leg -- forcing the door open with a stiff, rigid kick. Blaziken stirred in Iota's arms at the sound of old, rotten wood cracking upon the homes' rusted frame, but she remained unresponsive. Splinters fell quickly to the ground as small bits of wood broke off around the rusted locks -- even a child's strength would have been sufficient to break down the weak door.

Iota's lunges were filled with what seemed to be decades of dust and neglect from the interior of the house. He coughed, which shook his damaged, cold body down to its core. He forced himself to quickly shake off the feeling, and began stepping into the cloud of dust that greeted him at the entrance of the house.

He waited for a moment, and listened. Considering no one had yet screamed or raised alarm to his rather unorthodox way of entering this building, he assumed that he and Blaziken would be the only residents currently in this house. Stepping inside, the familiar feeling of an unstable flooring returned to his senses.

Dark as it was, the small portion of light that flowed in though the windows provided just enough illumination to scarcely see. Peeling grey walls which looked painfully old populated the majority of the building. The only features in the room seemed to be two couches arranged perpendicularly to one another in an essential "L" shape aside the left wall, and what appeared to be an long, brown colored antique lamp aside those. Iota couldn't see further into the house -- the lack of daylight inside made it rather difficult at the moment. 

Walking cautiously once again, he made his way through the dust-ridden air to the horrid looking, torn-up grey couches in order to finally lay Blaziken to rest. He took his final steps into the room, and gently, albeit eagerly, laid her down upon one of them. His breaths became heavy with relaxation as he loosened his sore muscles from carrying her. He was relieved to be somewhere with shelter finally, and could begin recovering from his battle. He may have been sore, bloody, and exhausted, but there was a feeling within Iota he couldn't deny. He felt good. He loved the thrill battle gave him, and the response his body had to it. Though it was exhilarating, the adrenaline had long passed. He looked forward to resting.

Laying down himself on the second couch, for the first time in quite awhile, Iota began to finally relax his body and mind. Before he could even realize he was tired, he was deeply asleep.

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

"Nothing at all huh?" Shane asked yet again.

Ariston let a sigh escape, "Nope, not a thing."

Both Shane and Conti had been pestering him about what had happened to him the night before since the moment they left the Jubilife City hospital. Since Ariston's injuries were not life-threateningly severe, he'd been 'politely' hurried by the hospital staff out of his recovery room to make space for the large inflow of other, more urgent patients.

Ariston met up with Shane and Conti not long after he left outside of the increasingly busy hospital. Shane and Conti had managed to escape the night before with only minor scratches and bruises from the mob of evacuees -- nothing nearly as severe as Ariston's broken collar bone.

As happy as he was to be in the company of his friends again, Ariston didn't really want to waste any more time being so far away from his Pokemon who were still in the hospital back in Orebrough. After a short reunion between them, the three decided to head over to the City's east exit with Ariston as he left. Shane and Conti were most likely going to head home to Sandgem, their parents were probably incredibly shaken by the attack.

"Well that's too bad... It sure would have been cool to hear how you got all beat up like this." Shane replied, in a jokingly sadistic way. "Conti and I got the hell out with the majority of the civilians after the first bomb went off." Shane was back to his usual, calm self as he spoke. It was refreshing to Ariston to see his friends in a normal situation again.

"Hell, I called you to say we were going to be heading towards Orebrough to avoid any more danger... guess you didn't quite get that message." 

Ariston laughed at himself in pity upon hearing this, "Yeah, I guess not."

"Next time, how about you try and keep in mind to -not- go to the city that's under terrorist attack?" Shane asked sarcastically.

"Trust me, I admit -- it was pretty stupid. I wasn't really, you know, thinking much at the time -- I just sort of acted," Ariston replied in a light-hearted attitude. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how big of a stupid move going to the city was. He'd been away from his injured Pokemon for almost a full day now, and nearly gotten himself killed. Though, despite this, Ariston still felt he did the right thing.

Shane, Ariston, and Conti all walked in a line down one of the cold streets of Jubilife City. The streets looked the same as they always did for the most part -- tall buildings, dull colors, a pungent city stench, and the unpleasant noise of traffic -- but due to the attack, they'd been forced to take a number of detours down different streets to reach the east exit.

They three had been walking for a little under an hour towards the east exit -- a walk that would have taken half the time if they weren't forced to avoid so many closed and damaged streets. During this time, Ariston was finally able fill Shane and Conti in about the recent events in Orebrough -- His battle with Rorak, his Turtwig, and most importantly of all, his new Riolu. The two reacted in a mild sense of awe at the large amounts of good news Ariston had, jealously even.

"Have you heard anything about Rorak?" Shane asked, with a very slim undertone of excitement in his voice.

"What do you mean 'heard anything'?" Ariston replied curiously. He'd been with Rorak both last night and earlier at the hospital, he wasn't quite sure what exactly Shane meant.

"I heard he had an -insane- battle with Team Galactic members at the CMTRD." Shane continued. "I don't know many details about, but a lot of people around the city are calling him a genius for the way he fought last night. I wish I could get the full story... maybe you can get him to fill you in when you get back to Orebrough."

"Yeah..." Ariston replied, slightly taken aback by this. "I was only there with him for a couple minutes, but left before I saw anything really happen."

Ariston paused to think for a moment. It occoured to him that even though he was really in the center of the action last night, he hadn't a solid guess as to what happened. Even going by what Shane had told him, Ariston found it difficult to imagine what Rorak could have done to warrant such a response from people. Hopefully he could have some questions answered when he got back to Orebrough.

"So what now?" Ariston asked, changing the subject. "You guys gonna head back down to Sandgem?"

"Yeah," Conti said in a depressed tone, "with Team Galactic out like this, it's probably safer not to stay in the city any longer."

Something in Ariston's subconscious flickered upon hearing this. It wasn't what Conti had said, it was how he said it -- he sounded depressed. Conti is -never- depressed. In fact, Conti had been silent for the majority of the time they'd been walking. Shane was the one who told Ariston all about their evacuation, Conti was practically a mute.

Ariston dismissed the thought as the east gate became visible upon the street they traveled on. A part of him was annoyed that he had to make the walk to Oreburgh for the second time in two days -- but another part was happy that he was even able to walk at all after what he'd been though.

"Can't wait to walk all the way to Orebrough...again..." Ariston said to himself under his breath as the three stopped at the cities edge. It was a peculiar place they were at -- the tall buildings of the city seemed to slope down into open space as they moved beyond the city limits. The city looked like nothing more than a jungle to Ariston from here -- he was glad to be back out into open space.

"Well, good luck with everything," Shane said as he waved goodbye, and turned to being walking back, "try and don't get yourself killed... or at least mauled by Absols again."

Ariston gave a laugh at Shane's sarcastic sense of humor, "Yeah, I'll give it a try."

"See you later, Ariston, good luck with training," Conti said, somewhat devoid of his usual infectious energy.

"Later you guys," he replied. Shane and Conti turned around, as did Ariston. They all began walking towards their new destinations.

Shane still acted the same, his usual calm self, but Conti seemed curiously different. It occurred to Ariston that perhaps just the sheer chaos of the attack had rattled Conti's mindset. Maybe it was just traumatic stress -- he'd by lying if he said he wasn't slightly shaken up by what he saw last night.

The path back to Oreburgh wasn't exactly fun to walk, especially with a broken collar bone. Perhaps when he did get back though, and reclaim his Pokemon from the hospital, he could pay a visit to Rorak and get some information as to what happened. From the short while he spoke to him in the hospital, Rorak didn't reveal much about what had happened. Ariston didn't imagine Rorak as they type of person who brags, but gauging by what Shane said, there must be some sort of major story worth telling.

Ariston began walking down the familiar dirt trail that he had traveled on once again, and breathed in the fresh, open air of Route 203. Sure, he'd made this long walk before, but it was a beautiful hike. Route 203 was a wonderfully simple area that Ariston genuinely admired for its tranquility. The path to Oreburgh was almost all open fields that stretched into the horizon both ways with just a single pathway though. So long as he avoided straying off the trail, it'd be unlikely that he'd run into any sort of wild, hostile Pokemon on his way to Oreburgh.

It was a common misconception that non-trainers had to think that wild Pokemon were a sure thing when traveling any of the numerous Routes of Sinnoh. Ariston found it amusing to reminisce about listening to people in his hometown talk about wild Pokemon, and how frightful they were of them. Ariston would be -lucky- to run into anything strong in the wild.

Ariston continued walking though the peaceful fields of Route 203, and finally began to enjoy some time to himself. He let his mind wander back to his Gym battle with Rorak, and the insane thrill that brought to him. He couldn't wait to reunite with his Pokemon and begin training once again. Even though it had only been a few days, he missed being around them.

Turtwig, Buizel, and Luxio would all be great to train, but Ariston couldn't deny that he was most excited about Riolu.

Riolu...

Ariston remembered how she looked as he left her in his hospital room yesterday -- she looked terrified. For this moment, Ariston almost felt guilty for relaxing on his way back to Oreburgh while Riolu must be twisted with anxiety for his safety. Ariston was thankful that Riolu couldn't read, otherwise she would have figured out what he had written on the note before he left.

Ariston still remembered verbatim what he wrote in a shaky, nervous handwriting:

'To whomever reads this, Noah Ariston has gone to Jubilife City for an emergency. If I do not return in the next 72 hours, please be sure to release my Luxio, Buizel, and Turtwig back into the wild of Route 203... somewhere they'll be able to return to their natural habitat. As for Riolu, she will not be able to survive on her own, find her a loving home elsewhere in the city. 
Thank-you, 
Noah Ariston'

He'd been in such a rush before he didn't realize how what he wrote sounded so much like a last will and testament in the event of his death. Ariston figured that the sheer trauma of almost losing his life last night didn't really impact him in a major way yet. He couldn't remember almost anything from last night -- which was still quite frustrating. Perhaps he would be more disturbed at the moment if he could recall what caused him his injuries.

"Heh," Ariston laughed audibly to himself. Showing up with cuts on his face, arms and legs, and a broken collar bone to top it all off might give Riolu a heart attack. It was funny to him, he had known Riolu for a very short time and already she was so connected to him. Sometimes when thinking about her, Ariston would even forget that they'd only just met.

Ariston didn't mind his injuries much at all. He knew he had done the right thing in going back to the City -- wounds would hurt, but an unclear conscience would pain him even greater. He was more concerned of how Riolu would react to his damaged state than his actual injuries. Though, it was nice that the doctors loaded him up on painkillers before left the hospital.

Before Ariston knew it, Oreburgh City was peaking over the horizon once again -- the walk had gone by quicker than he expected it to. He began to see houses around him that lay on the outskirts of the city, and ever so slowly, the return of the familiar city stench. Ariston finally removed his foot from the dirt trail of Route 203 and back onto the pavement of Oreburgh City streets. He was finally back after a hell of a night.

Ariston walked past the familiar buildings of Oreburgh City, but wasted no time taking in the sights. He'd been down this way before, the generic buildings were nothing out of the ordinary. He quickened his pace back to the Pokemon Center -- Ariston couldn't believe how excited he was just to be back to normal life.

After a short walk, the large structure that was the Pokemon Center came into sight. Looking around, Ariston noticed how Oreburgh hadn't changed at all, even with the attack from Team Galactic so close. People remained comfortably walking on the streets without a care in the world. Ariston found it mildly strange.

Regardless, Ariston made his way up to the Pokemon Center and pulled open one of the heavy steel doors -- a somewhat difficult task with one arm gimped. The unusual, foul smell of a doctor's office immediately smacked into his entire body as he got a blast from the air condition inside the hospital. 

Without even paying the least bit of attention to any person, Pokemon or object in the lobby, Ariston headed directly for his room. He walked though the large, populated waiting area and went though a set of doors towards the back of the lobby. This lead him into a bland, off-white hallway that contained many of the hospital's rooms. 

Ariston made his way though the bland hallway until finally coming to a stop at his room, Room 404. The moment Ariston reached down for the handle of the door, a very slight presence of nervousness came over him. 

He tried to shake the feeling, but it remained static. He was unusually nervous for some occasion. Ariston could only think of one tangible reason -- it was feeling nervous about returning to Riolu in his injured state. He felt almost guilty for getting hurt and making her worry though all this time that he had been gone.

He forcibly silenced his worried mind, and turned the handle of the door. Ever so slowly, he cracked the door open, gradually making his way inside. Before Ariston even put a foot into the room, he half expected the familiar voice of Riolu to be in his head. However, there was silence.

Ariston opened the door fully, and finally walked in. The sight made him laugh.

Riolu was face-planted into a pillow, sound asleep on the room's couch -- right where he'd left her. It appeared as if she hadn't moved at all since he had left.

As silently as he could, Ariston began to walk over to her. He didn't want to wake her, Riolu looked totally exhausted. He wouldn't be suprised if she had been up all night waiting for his return. She finally must have dozed off.

Ariston couldn't quite describe what feelings this brought to him. He was having trouble wrapping his head around how this new Pokemon of his could be so concerned with his well being. It felt great to have someone who cared for him so much after so little time together. 

He sat softly beside her, not disturbing her sleep, and laid his head back. He couldn't wait until he could begin training with Riolu. Though he couldn't say why, he just knew Riolu would be a spectacular Pokemon.

Ariston closed his eyes, only for a moment. He just wanted to spend a few minutes resting his eyes and relaxing beside Riolu. Yet before he could even realize, Ariston was asleep.

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

"...and do you assert all the events you have stated before the Semideus to be nothing but the core truth according to your recollection, Dr. Michals?" Dr. Laverd said, finalizing their meeting as Dr. Michals finished surmising the day of Subject_14's escape. 

"I swear it," he quickly answered with a sense confidence.

This was unfortunate. They'd asked him only to recall what had happened upon Subject_14's escape; there was no mention of why it had happened, or how he could fix the matter. In addition, the glazed look upon the doctors faced made it appear that most of the Overseers had already made their decision.

"So, do you believe that Subject_14's escape, in addition to Project Crucifix's failu--" Dr. Laverd started.

"-- It was not a failure, Dr. Laverd, not in any way." Dr. Michals spat, cutting him off. "If anything, the fact that Subject_14 managed to not only escape our facility, and successfully resist any of our defenses just furthers the proof of my-- our, rather, success on this matter.".

"Noted," Dr. Laverd returned calmly, judgmentally quirking an eyebrow.

Dr. Michals felt a warm knot in this throat, his blood began to boil at the arrogance of Dr. Laverd. The sheer audacity of him to casually call his work a failure was the very reason Dr. Michals truly hated the man before him. 

"I think I've heard all I need to." Dr. Laverd said. "Shall we proceed then?"

"Hold on a moment, we've not finished. I've yet to make my defense, doctor," Dr. Michals said cautiously. Surely they couldn't end a Semideus this quickly without even hearing a plausible defense from the defendant.

"I'd say that's unnecessary at this point, and being that I control this Semideus, that's reason enough," Dr. Laverd said cockily.

"Surely this is a tasteless joke, Dr. Laverd," Dr. Michals retorted, a large tone of anger in his voice. "You cannot make a decision not knowing all the facts."

Dr. Laverd rolled his eyes, as if he were speaking to a child, and began writing on a scrap of paper before him. Dr. Michals' knuckles began to turn white as he gripped the podium before him. His heart raced in anger as Dr. Laverd continued to ignore him, and the worst part was, the Judge would have the final say regardless on when to end the Semideus. There was nothing Dr. Michals could do; his fate was in the hands of the four Overseers.

"Overseers, please cast your vote now," Dr. Laverd commanded to the doctors around him, flagrantly ignoring the pleas of Dr. Michals. The doctors surrounding Dr. Laverd shot questioning glances at one another. Even they were slightly offset by this.

"Doctor, perhaps we should continue the trial for a bit longer," Dr. Isaeus spoke finally, speaking what was on every one of the Overseer's minds, "I'd personally like to hear another side of the story rather than just its summary from Dr. Michals. I would prefer to hear all sides of this story, rather than remaining ignorant."

"Dually noted, Dr. Isaeus. However, my decision is not weighed upon what you think, and so I'd like you to cast your vote now," Dr. Laverd retorted coldly. The sheer tone of his voice was saturated in spite for Dr. Michals. Hopefully, the Overseers would catch on to this, and vote in Dr. Michals favor, because if not then Dr. Michals wouldn't have much of a future. Some of the doctors around Dr. Laverd whispered to one another, presumably about the obvious conflict of interest they were witnessing.

"Have you anything to say before the decisions are cast, Dr. Michals?" Dr. Laverd said with a trace of a grin on his face.

Dr. Michals sighed, perhaps this was the dawn of his defeat. Maybe Dr. Laverd -was- better than him.

"Just this: Defeat is not the worst of failures, not to have tried is the true failure. I may have been defeated by the ferocity we crafted into Subject_14's body, but in trying, I made my time here count."

"Wonderful," Dr. Laverd scoffed. "Proceed with the voting based on the facts, and nothing but the facts, Overseers. Please keep in mind that letting personal feelings gage your decision is in direct contradiction to the process of the Semideus."

Dr. Michals stood in silence. The lights below the desks of the Overseers were turned off, shrouding the desks in darkness, save for the seat of Dr. Laverd. He stared at Dr. Michals, his fingers interlaced gracefully, dying to see his enemy be ruled Condemned.

It may have been just moments, it may have been longer, but Dr. Michals stood silently awaiting his fate. A part of his mind told him there was still hope, but alas, that he knew that 'hope' was just a reaction to fear. As he attempted to think logically about his situation, he realized how the odds were just so heavily against him. Even if he managed to scrape two positive votes from the Overseers, Dr. Laverd would then have the final say, and he knew exactly how that would end. He needed three Overseers to judge in his favor, which seemed like a hell of a long shot to hope for.

Hope. It's all he had at this point. Sure, every doctor up there had a human side, but they had been so worn down by the mordant atmosphere of the facility, most no longer had tangible hearts. Perhaps he -had- failed with Project_Crucifix...

...No, he was positive that Subject_14 would have been -- and already is a success. Watching Subject_14 tear though guards effortlessly upon his escape, his sheer acrobatics in simple maneuvers to avoid danger, and his fluid movement seamlessly fused with combat was almost worth all the hardships he'd faced since then. It was beautiful watching him escape, but apparently, he was the only one who had thought so.

Dr. Michals was drawn out from his thoughts as a drop of sweat traveled down his face. Dr. Laverd hadn't moved his gaze since the voting process began; he was staring holes in Dr. Michals. 

If only Dr. Michals could be back in his laboratory, the Lacrimosa playing in the background as he monitored the progress of a successful Subject_14 -- but it appeared that it was a fate he was not meant for. This was reality, and however hard, he had to now face it.

Dr. Alvis, Overseer number one, leaned over to Dr. Laverd and gave him a slight nod. Dr. Michals assumed this was the signal for the end of the voting process. His heart nearly stopped as he waited for the results. He would literally watch his life's worth be voted upon, and then Judged by his enemy.

"Wonderful, we shall reveal the votes in random order," Dr. Laverd said, still content with the grin on his face. "Are you ready, Dr. Michals?"

"I am," he retuned immediately. He may have been scared for his life, but he refused to show it to any of them.

"Very well then, the first is..." Dr. Laverd began, glancing at some sheet of paper upon his desk. Dr. Michals knew what it was, he'd been there before. It was simply the list of the doctors names who were the Overseers. Dr. Laverd would decide himself who would vote at what time. Whatever doctor he chose would simply state their vote and, if they wished, their reason as to why.

All Overseers once again turned on their desk lights, and presented themselves ready to vote.

"Dr. Pollux, I wish for you to go first. Speak whenever you're ready," Dr. Laverd said candidly. He was loving every moment of this. The sheer rush of having this sort of power was marvelous to him.

"Right," Dr. Pollux began, "Dr. Michals, you've served quite a long time here -- longer than I have in fact -- and I don't doubt that you know what you're doing. It's obvious that this was a tragic incident that fell upon your shoulders, and given the situation of your subject's escape, I'd say it's unfortunate that things turned out the way it did here today. Project_Crucifix truly sounded amazing in the beginning, but totally unrealistic at the same time. I never thought you'd get a human body to store the kinds of things you did, it's truly astounding that even one of your subjects even lived. As we work in a facility where most test subjects are Pokemon, and can handle much more stress than a human body, a real live subject from Project_Crucifix sounded like a dream."

Dr. Michals started to feel indifferent about Dr. Pollux's decision. Perhaps he'd misjudged him. He talked as if he sympathized with Dr. Michals, which was quite good for him right now. Dr. Michals did realize however, that all Dr. Pollux had -really- done was offer him congratulations upon having a living subject -- which could even be interpreted as a subtle, sarcastic insult. Perhaps Dr. Michals was was just once again reacting to fear. Dr. Michals quickened heart rate began to jump once again, and his skin crawled with anticipation. Dr. Pollux would be making the first vote soon, and Dr. Michals didn't quite know what to expect. 

Dr. Michals looked over at Dr. Laverd, whose expression had not at all changed since they began, still cocky as ever. His lunges felt tired, almost exhausted even, the stress of the situation was taking its physical toll on Dr. Michals.

"I say all this, because I'm truly impressed with your work..." Dr. Pollux continued.

Dr. Michals held his breath for a moment. He tightened his already firm grip on his stand -- Dr. Michals could feel beads of sweat forming on his neck as he awaited the decision.

"..but the facts are simple. You failed to secure your subject, and people died because of it. I vote in favor of Condemnation."

Dr. Michals felt his heart move to his throat at the last words of Dr. Pollux. His eyes strained wide as perspiration ran down his face... It even appeared for a moment that Dr. Pollux was giving Dr. Michals praise, yet the end game was Condemnation. His skin started to crawl once again as he began to feel physically sick. Dr. Michals continued to stare at the judgmental face of Dr. Pollux whose decision only widened the pleasure of Dr. Laverd. Dr. Laverd simply made a small mark on the sheet of paper in front of him, recording Dr. Pollux's final vote.

Dr. Michals hadn't misjudged that bastard at all. He was a heartless creature who'd had the life and emotion sucked out of him by constantly being surrounded by death. Now, Dr. Michals had the first vote against him. It would be an upward struggle from here.

"First vote for Condemnation confirmed," Dr. Laverd said, trying to hide his joy at this news, but failing as he continued to display his obvious grin. "Let us continue."

Every moment that passed that Dr. Laverd got to see Dr. Michals on the chopping block was pure ecstasy for him. It was a perfect situation, the epitome of what he'd hoped for. His biggest competition, Dr. Michals, would in all likely hood soon be found Condemned. Dr. Laverd felt the almost overwhelming bubbling of laughter at this situation in the pit of his stomach, and struggled to force it down. He had to remain professional for now, and save his celebration for afterwards. Besides, appearing impartial on the decision when he was so heavily in favor of Condemnation would only sweeten the suffering Dr. Michals would go through. After all, he did rightfully deserve it. He had tried an extremely difficult and unrecommended project, and expectedly failed. Dr. Laverd's decision not only went with logic, but his personal feeling towards the man as well.

Dr. Laverd once again looked down to the paper on his desk, and said aloud, "Dr. Isaeus. Please present your vote." 

Dr. Isaeus was met with a slight nod from Dr. Laverd, a clear sign to continue. Dr. Isaeus was also met with a hard, determined stare from Dr. Michals. He may have been behind, but still, showing weakness would only make heighten the pleasure of Dr. Laverd.

"Very well then," Dr. Isaeus said, clearing his throat as he prepared to speak. "Dr. Michals, Dr. Pollux said some very true things about you, upon which I agree. Your near-success on Project_Crucifix shows your competence as a doctor, and as a man of science."

Dr. Michals appreciated the fact he'd called Project_Crucifix a 'near-success' rather than a failure. Though, Dr. Isaeus began his speech by agreeing with Dr. Pollux, who eventually voted negatively. Dr. Michals wouldn't dare assume anything anymore. Dr. Michals couldn't read what Dr. Isaeus was thinking, but once again, the anticipation of his decision was tearing him apart. Dr. Isaeus could either be a kind of man who would empathize with Dr. Michals, or mercilessly condemn him -- feeling no remorse or regret either way.

"Isn't that was science is though?" he continued in his deep, weathered voice. "Taking risks in the hopes of meeting a new, unfamiliar goal? How can any of us judge you for that? I not only appreciate the work that you did, but I look forward to the work you can do in the future. I vote in your favor, Dr. Michals. I vote for your Freedom. Perhaps if more of us were like you, and took on a challenge, they wouldn't be so arrogant."

As he finished his last statement, he shot a very clear glance at Dr. Laverd. The last words he said were an blatant and powerful -- yet hidden -- insult to Dr. Laverd. Dr. Isaeus spoke those words in such a stern tone, it seemed to make Dr. Laverd boil with anger -- yet he dared not retort. Dr. Michals gave a nod to Dr. Isaeus, which was quickly returned by his comrade. He smiled to himself at not only the vote for his Freedom, but the stabbing insult to the character of Dr. Laverd.

It seemed the tables had turned slightly in Dr. Michals favor this time. He'd expected Dr. Isaeus to vote positively, but confirmation was leagues better than flimsy expectations. Plus, the way Dr. Isaeus hid that insult to Dr. Laverd in his speech would surely take away some of the smugness that Dr. Laverd carried so avidly.

"Votes are now at one to one," Dr. Laverd said, his teeth visibly clenched in frustration. "Next Overseer, Dr. Alvis, please continue where Dr. Isaeus so pleasantly left off."

Dr. Laverd reluctantly marked Dr. Isaeus's vote on the same sheet of paper on his desk as Dr. Alvis began to speak.

Her slender, female face carried a dark undertone as the shadows moved across her body from the light upon her desk. During the voting process, after or before one spoke, they were to remain completely silent at all times. If it was not their specific time to vote, their eyes were to be kept forward and their mouthes shut as to prevent any influence on the next doctor's decision. Dr. Iseaus, Dr. Pollux, Dr. Cronus and Dr. Laverd all sat stiffly in silence as Dr. Alvis began her judgement.

She, like Dr. Iseaus, cleared her throat as she began.

"By the extremely brief summary you provided us, as well as our requirement to make this vote so early in the trial makes me question whether I've made the right decision or not. Regardless though, I hope you understand that it was made to the best of my judgement." 

It almost seemed as if she was apologizing for the decision she had made. This didn't sit well with Dr. Michals. The tone in her voice made it seem like she was sorry for something. Perhaps she'd revealed her vote to everyone already simply by the way she began.

"So," she continued, "here's what I know. I know that Project_Crucifix sub-domain, Subject_14, was a potential success."

She spoke with heavy diction and formalities, which seemed odd to Dr. Michals. She even called Subject_14 by his technical name, which was printed as, 'Project_Crucifix://Subject_14'. This was the way all subjects were classified, project name first, followed by the facilities signature sub-domain marking, '://', and then finally the subject and his or hers number. It was quite the use of syntax to speak in such a way. Dr. Michals could respect that.

"But," she said, raising an index finger as she went on, "before you reached Stage Nine, your subject was able to free himself not only from chemical and neural inhibitors, but also break the physical restraints you had placed on him -- and if I am to understand correctly, they were both quite numerous."

"Yes, they were. It would have been both unrealistic and dangerous to place any more restraints on Subject_14 for Stage Nine than we already did. We took the proper precautions when we--"

"-- Please allow her to finish, Dr. Michals, you've had our opportunity to speak already," Dr. Laverd said, cutting off Dr. Michals mid sentence.

Dr. Laverd was attempting an obvious ploy to rial Dr. Michals psyche. Dr. Michals scoffed at the formalness of his own thoughts. That wasn't at all what he was doing. He was being an asshole.

Dr. Alvis sighed, and continued. "So I do not doubt you took the proper precautions on this project. His escape was perhaps, an anomalistic mixture of his own strength, and the fuel of his adrenaline. It was really something no one could have foreseen, and I accept that. This facility does anticipate these kinds of mishaps, and we, as I'm sure you are aware, have an abundance of employees trained to contain renegade subjects. Not only did Subject_14 avoid being overwhelmed by these guards, but he killed quite a few of them -- a task that hasn't been achieved by many escapees nor intruders in the past. This fact, I do believe proves your success Dr. Michals. I think the return of Subject_14 would be a great asset to this facility, and he would certainly help achieve our long term goals. I almost feel that Subject_14 is a requirement for the facility's plans for the future of Sinnoh, and so we certainly need him back. This is why, Dr. Michals, I believe in you."

Her voice sloped down from a stern, logistic woman, into the tone of an understanding friend. She understood like he understood, she believed like he believed. She thought firmly and logistically, yet was open minded -- there were just a few of the traits Dr. Michals admired about her.

"I cast my vote as Overseer number one on the case of Semideus hearing A 047Y in favor of the defendant," she confirmed, with what Dr. Michals believed to be the trace of a smile on her face.

Dr. Michals dared to feel a wisp confidence once again. Though he was by no means in the lead, he needed just a single vote to be a free man. Though, that same vote could turn the decision to Dr. Laverd. His chances were balanced on a knife's edge.

As Dr. Laverd once again recorded the vote for freedom with disinclination, Dr. Michals gave a polite nod to Dr. Alvis as he did with Dr. Isaeus, but with the same slight smile she had shown to him -- a rarity for Dr. Michals to perform. 

Dr. Laverd removed his glasses and began to rub his eyes, brimming with invisible frustration. Dr. Michals knew he was the only one in the room that really understood what was going though Dr. Laverd's head right now. To have Dr. Michals freed after acting so arrogantly would be a monumental, embarrassing defeat on his behalf. Though Dr. Laverd did not abandon hope just yet. As worried as he was, he knew that if the final Overseer voted for Condemnation, the decision would fall to him -- the outcome he ideally hoped for from the beginning. In a way, the two votes for freedom were necessary to get the paragonal outcome. Dr. Laverd couldn't even properly imagine the amount pleasure of personally condemning Dr. Michals would bring.

"I suppose that brings us to you, Dr. Cronus," Dr. Laverd said, not lifting his head from palms of his hands. "Please begin."

"Right then," he began as he sat up straighter in his chair. "Guess I get to go last."

Dr. Cronus removed his glasses, and placed them on the desk before him. Dr. Michals' hair began to stand on end once again as he awaited the final say of the Overseers. There was only one chance of this ending well for him, and that was for Dr. Cronus to vote in his favor. If he were to agree with Dr. Pollux, and vote for Condemnation, the deciding vote would go to Dr. Laverd, and then it would simply be over for him.

"While I respect all of the opinions I've heard thus far from these three admirable doctors, Dr. Alvis, Dr. Pollux, and Dr. Isaeus, I'm afraid I do not completely agree with any of you upon this matter," he continued.

Didn't agree with any of them? His cryptic choice of words made him difficult to read for Dr. Michals -- it was still a fifty-fifty chance for either result. Dr. Michals remained as stern as a mountain as he listened keenly to Dr. Cronus dictate his fate.

"There are a few opinions stated here I can concur with, though" Dr. Cronus explained, sitting at ease in his chair. "For example, I do believe that Subject_14 could possibly be a success, and that it was impressive the odds it overcame to escape from us. Subject_14 was an anomaly, yes, and it took quite the trial of skill to have a success in Project_Crucifix -- a project not meant to be attempted for at least another decade. All valid arguments as to why one would vote in your favor, Dr. Michals."

Dr. Michals took this praise as a double edged complement -- he sensed a 'but' coming soon.

"But," Dr. Cronus continued, confirming Dr. Michals expectations, "it's also true that the action of Subject_14's escape denotes failure on your behalf. It doesn't really matter how much you 'did', it obviously wasn't enough to restrain it, and therefore the fault falls on you alone. One cannot blame our guards, for they wouldn't have been presented with this opportunity for failure without the fault of Dr. Michals and his team."

All Dr. Michals saw this man doing is attempting to buy more time by recapping the arguments that had been said before his. Perhaps he was sure of his opinion at one point, but after hearing other arguments was still debating with himself on which side to take -- hence his stretch for time. Dr. Michals forced himself to curb his analytical mind; it would do him no good to pick apart the actions of Dr. Cronus. He really was powerless right now, which was a feeling that was worse than hell for him.

"So here's the conclusion I've drawn," he explained, "and it centers around a single motif; all these opinions I've heard so far, while I do agree with some, are in the long run extraneous. The reason I say this is because of the circumstances of this trail."

This confused Dr. Michals. How could all the facts and opinions from all of the other doctors be irrelevant? How could you make a certain decision without opinions like those? Dr. Cronus didn't have the same mindframe as Dr. Michals... It was at this point that he realized just how differently a physicist's thought process worked.

"Here is what's important," he said, getting to the point of his argument. "The only reason that you and your team were not immediately reprimanded for your actions is because of the reputation you hold here. You've worked in the facility since your early twenties, if I am to understand correctly, which has given you a long, experienced career here. Over the years you've worked on many important projects, and perhaps none of us, save for Dr. Isaeus, have seen more work than you have. Your reputation is what has carried you this far, Dr. Michals. I'm sure the higher-ups of this facility called for a Semideus rather than immediate condemnation out of respect for the work you've done, and that is simply something I cannot agree with."

Things were beginning to fall apart. It was still too early to tell Dr. Cronus's vote, but his was making heavy inferences as to what his decision would be. Dr. Michals felt his heart rate begin to quicken once again. His breaths became a struggle as he continued to listen, expecting the worst.

"This is why," he began again, Dr. Michals closed his eyes, he knew exactly what Dr. Cronus was about to say, "I vote in favor of equality among all staff members, and therefore I vote for Condemnation."

The room fell silent to Dr. Michals. It was over. He dreaded to look up at the triumphant face of Dr. Laverd as the decision was finally passed to him. Dr. Michals heart had climbed down from its quickened pace into a slow, hopeless one -- he supposed that uncertainty was much worse than punishment. It was an odd feeling, knowing defeat like this, his body was for the first time since the trial began... relaxed. Those final words form Dr. Cronus had sealed his fate. He had done all he could. It was a shame it had to end like this, by the hands of his enemy. It was an almost euphoric feeling now, tranquility even. He knew what his fate would be now, and he could face it like a man.

He opened his eyes finally to be instantly met with the confident gaze of Dr. Laverd, brimming with pride. This arrogant child would be the one to decide his life. It was plain stupid that things had gotten this far out of hand. Dr. Michals still remained externally stern, as to not show weakness. Though internally, he felt like he was being slowly ripped apart. Every moment he had to look at the silent, smiling face of Dr. Laverd watching him savor every moment of his victory was like knives under his skin.

"Well then," Dr. Laverd started, breaking the silence, "according to the protocol of the Semideus, when the vote stalemates at 2:2, the final decision falls down to the Judge. Me."

Dr. Laverd tried with all his strength to hide his smile, but it was useless. He was overjoyed at this, the outcome was -perfect-. He would get to personally vanquish the reputation and life of his biggest competition and enemy, Dr. Michals. Dr. Laverd returned his glasses onto his face, and let out a euphoric sigh as he did. It was time to deliver the final blow in the war between him and Dr. Michals. 

"I hereby end this Semideus," he said, his voice crackling with the sound of suppressed, sick laughter, "and deliver my sentence to the defendant in favor of Condemnation."

"...so sorry," Dr. Laverd added with a smile after a pause, his voice thick with sickening sarcasm.

Dr. Michals started him down, unwavering in his grim expression towards the man. All he could do now was accept it, he simply refused to show any sort of admittance of defeat to Dr. Laverd. Perhaps someone on his team, the six working on Project_Crucifix, would be able to escape the Condemnation sentence, and peruse Subject_14 after he was removed. Perhaps, even though he would be gone, there would be hope for Subject_14.

"Your Condemnation will begin immediately," Dr. Laverd continued, his eyes shining in confident rapture. "I sentence you t--"

Dr. Laverd's smile suddenly vanished and he stopped mid sentence. Dr. Michals had braced himself to hear those words, those final words form Dr. Laverd deciding a punishment, but something stopped him... by the sheer magnitude of pleasure Dr. Laverd got out of sentencing him, whatever distracted him must have been titanic.

A small, green light flickered on the desktop of Dr. Laverd. The Judge's desk was multi-functional, and had a kind of computer built into it which was used for processing documents during the trial, but it appeared he had a call. Only five people had the authority to interrupt a Semideus. The five leaders of the facility, the five who founded it. The superiors.