A/N: Game-canon Red doesn't talk, but Pokemon Adventures Red does.

Months passed. I trained my pokemon and stole more, discarding the ones that were weak or disobedient. My bulbasaur evolved into an ivysaur, which has a much larger diet. I also own a ponyta and an eevee, the ponyta stolen and the eevee bred in our laboratories. When I wasn't training, I was being taught pokemon basics and made to memorize as many pokemon and tactics as I could.

Once I had received news from Xavier telling me of Professor Oak trying to contact Silph Co. to solve a misunderstanding about the Bulbasaur I stole; rumor was his grandson with the flaming orange hair believed I had accidentally picked up the wrong pokeball, but Oak thought I had intentionally stole it because the pokeball I'd left was empty. It wouldn't have fit the story of a trainer; a trainer wouldn't have thrown an empty pokeball into battle, of course. Oak had apparently been quite insistent with the receptionists, who had eventually kicked him out. I found this story amusing.

As for affairs within Team Rocket, things were going well. The higher-ranked members seemed to respect me enough for a thirteen year old kid; occasionally a few would look at me in contempt, but were soon enough informed that I belonged there. The grunts knew nothing about me and otherwise had no idea that I existed; there were too many grunts, and with their own greed and ulterior motives, they rarely made acquaintances with each other. As far as they knew, I was a grunt who had my own reason for sticking with Team Rocket. I found it sad that they had joined for their own petty reasons. But I suppose that was why they were grunts to begin with— never more, for those above them knew what they were doing.

There was discussion that I be allowed on my first group mission; after all, I had done well enough on my own thieving retreats, never getting caught. Those who looked down on me argued that I was too young, and those who thought of me as a child but competent argued that I had done nothing to put myself under suspicion. The argument had gone back and forth and back and forth, and eventually ended with the resolution that I would be dressed like a grunt. The ones on my side reassured me that it was to protect me from being singled out. The ones who disliked me would loudly mention in the halls that "that child needed to learn some modesty anyway."

Perhaps I did. Colton certainly didn't think so, though. In fact, he'd laughed for twenty seconds straight, then recounted his success in his first mission.

It turned out that he'd had no right to say, as he'd gone on a three-member mission. "To compensate for your dignity being smashed," Xavier had told me with his fingers making large air quotes, "they're sending you on a thieving mission that doesn't involve anyone but grunts, so you won't have to obey any low-ranked officers at the site. I told them that didn't make any sense, but they insisted."

"That's even worse. Any mission with just grunts must be unimportant."

"Oh no, that's the one part that you've gotten wrong. The success of this mission is crucial to another mission to be carried out in six days. Your mother herself has coordinated the plans for that one."

That made me pause. "But what's my target?"

"A valuable technical machine. Dig. She's relying on you and the five other grunts— so do it well and she might take notice."

"I'll do it."

"Great. It's not an overnight mission, so just get your pokemon ready and report to Departures the day after tomorrow. Oh, and Services has your grunt uniform ready."

I sighed. I'd still be dressed as a grunt, despite the importance of my target.

I couldn't believe I had been stationed as guard. Guard! None of the breaking-in or stealing for me. They said it was because I had the most reliable team of pokemon, but really! I fumed silently as I kept watch.

Eventually, something exciting decided to pop up; a witness who happened to be a trainer, defeating the other two guards within minutes. I put a hand on my pokeballs just as the trainer locked eyes with me.

He was familiar. That must've been crazy, because he was no more than twelve, and there were plenty of twelve-year-old boys that owned pokemon. But his squirtle... I racked my head, searching for when I'd seen it before. Squirtle. It didn't look like a pokemon that could be found around here. It looked exotic, even, next to all the ugly rattatas and pidgeys.

Ah! On that mission! It was one of the pokemon sitting in Oak's tiny laboratory. I remembered it because there were only three pokemon there. I'd taken the one next to it— Bulbasaur.

Was he a friend of the professor? I had no more time to think before he challenged me, and I found myself rushing to toss my ivysaur's ball.

I remembered the lessons I'd been taught. Grass would beat water. Excellent. It was luck that he'd taken a water-type from that pitiful three-pokemon lab.

I stood in disbelief as he commanded one pokemon after another. From squirtle to a large pidgeotto to the snake-like ekans that was so popular among grunts, he'd clearly established command over his well-trained team. My last pokemon, poor battle-trained eevee, was slowly dying of poison as the foe's ekans hissed. Probably in laughter.

If nothing— not my crushed confidence or my failed role, I had bought enough time for the other grunts to evacuate. The trainer had won against me, but he hadn't stopped the mission. Would that be enough when the higher-ups evaluated and argued over my performance? That scared me almost as much as the trainer's pokemon.

The boy approached me. I skittered back with my hands up to my chest, afraid that he would try to take me somewhere. His ekans had not been recalled into its ball, something that I did not fail to notice when it trailed after its master. I did not want to be bitten by a snake.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the boy said. "I think your pokemon suffered enough. They were strong, but they didn't trust you."

Seeing the boy's face up close reminded me of something else. The day of my first mission. It's a memory that's unforgettable, though the details seemed to have slipped a little. Now I remember. He's the boy that followed Old Oak into the lab at that time. I pulled my hat down a little more, not wanting him to see my face. He doesn't seem to recognize me. No doubt I was only a messenger to Oak, of no importance to him. Hopefully. I took no chances and continued to back up. The boy with the red hat— Red, I started to refer to him as, did not follow. He may be trying not to frighten me. Then I reminded myself that wishful thinking wasn't healthy here; he'd just fainted all my pokemon. My well-trained team...

"I noticed you were about my age," the boy Red said. "You shouldn't be a servant to Team Rocket. You have a whole life ahead of you, and you don't have to stick with them, you know. Those other people— thirty, forty year old grunts, they chose to work for Team Rocket, and look how far they've gotten. They're grunts, working terrible jobs like stealing from people's houses. Nobody respects them, but they still do it. You don't have to. Don't end up as a grunt fifteen years from now."

I'd continued to back up as he had talked, but I'd hit a wall. I stopped, but Red still didn't approach. He just kept talking.

"Everyone looks down on grunts, even the people that command them. They must think really little of you as a person, sending you out to do jobs like this. They don't even take into account that you're still a kid. They just want the job done."

I wanted to retort that he was just a kid too, unaccompanied by parents all the way out to Cerulean from Old Oak's lab, but I didn't want him to hear my voice. No doubt that could be used against me, to recognize me.

I didn't have to stand here while he talked. I had failed my role as a guard, but the mission was complete. My hand ran over the button on my last pokeball. Xavier's golbat is not useful in battle, but it is fast enough to get me out of here. I released the golbat and zipped into the air. I looked back down at Red, afraid that he might be giving chase on his pidgeotto, but he just looked at me as I flew away. On the way back to the base, I wondered how they'd treat me. A failed first mission, or a hero for stalling the trainer? I realized I was shivering, afraid of the verdict. I didn't like the feeling and wondered if I'd feel like this after every failed mission. Did I want to work in fear of reactions for my entire life?

Then I reminded myself that this mission was not failed. It was a large success. I did my job and stalled the trainer. It doesn't matter if my pokemon fainted in the process, right?