The Next Step

[Jim Raynor]

Ditto spent the next few hours familiarising himself with his new toy. The Mobile Dataverse Device was similar in shape to his Kanto Pokedex, though a little thicker and boxier, its surface a sleek black. He poked about the device with the touchscreen until he was certain of its operation. The upload process seemed to be slow, but as long as he could hide himself while he used it, it was still useful. The other gang members watched him but kept a respectable distance. Ricky didn't, but he didn't know any better. He just prowled around the room, occasionally sneaking a glance at the screen, before wandering off on another random tangent his brain laid out before him.

As he left his office, slipping the device into his pocket, he wondered what Enigma's plans were. Having taken the object she coveted and having stolen away two of his gang members, there must have been retribution to come. Or maybe she was smarter than that, seeing the wisdom in avoiding another conflict. She couldn't profit from it directly, unless eliminating Ditto was considered a profit. Ditto didn't think so, though. Information was her currency, and if she stayed quiet enough, he didn't desire to hunt her down. Not yet anyway. When Team Rocket was finally a force to be reckoned with, it might be wise to pull out any weeds that might grow in his garden by the roots.

A series of knocks echoed in the dusty warehouse.

Ditto turned his neck to the door. "Is someone expecting visitors?"

Vinny stood to his feet, eyelids low. "Nuh. Someone's taken a wrong turn, I bet."

The moustachioed henchman trotted to the door and hauled a double barrelled shotgun onto his shoulder. He slipped the eye cover across and looked out. "Look buddy, you've got the wrong-"

A terrible bang rolled over the walls. Vinny's head jerked back with enough force to lift him from his feet and flat onto his back. His face was an unrecognisable mess of red pulp. Blood stretched around his twitching body.

"Vinny!" Shingles shouted. "No, not Vinny!"

The door exploded off its hinges and a parade of black clad soldiers stormed the warehouse, eyes the only visible facial feature, rifles in tight grips. Ditto dropped to his haunches, as did a giant rock into his stomach, and he scuttled across the floor. Flashlights mounted to the rifles streaked across the warehouse as he slipped through his office door. Boots clapping against the concrete floor seized the air. Ditto couldn't see them, but as he watched the circles of light wash through his window and over his walls, he knew they were searching for something. In all likelihood, him.

Ditto swallowed. This wasn't the first time he'd been in a hairy situation. It wouldn't be the last, either.

White light suffused his body, and moments later he was covered in black fatigues, face hidden beneath a cloth mask that exposed only his eyes. Since he was already in human form, the transformation was a lot quicker than normal; overlaying a new set of clothes over a static body was much simpler. He spied the assault rifle he had confiscated from his gang in case he need a quick offensive option and snatched it up.

Leaping to his feet, he made it to the door and walked out backwards, rifle trained on the room as he did so. "Clear!" he shouted, and fell in with the other troops scouring his warehouse. He watched how they ran; how much weight they put on each foot, the speed, the rhythm, and imitated it. The sweep of a rifle through the air became the blueprints of his own action. He straightened his posture and puffed out his chest to match the uniform stance that the others had taken.

"You ... you fuckin' bastard!"

Ditto turned. Shingles sprinted towards him, a serrated hunting knife in hand, his prolific facial piercings jingling. He hesitated. Shingles was one of the good ones. Quick to dismiss talent over his emotions, but with the right training, he could become a dependable officer in Team Rocket.

Well, he could've been.

Ditto snapped his rifle upwards and pointed the barrel at Shingles' approaching chest. There was no way he could steer this situation, no way he could warn Shingles who he really was. Even if he could, what then? As soon as he took on the soldiers' appearance, he had thrown himself like a twig into a raging river, his own desires lost to the torrential and unstoppable will of the water.

His finger wilted over the trigger. I'm sorry, Shingles.

A quick burst of light flashed from Ditto's weapon and Shingles collapsed midstep. The hunting knife spun and scraped across the concrete in the eerie silence that followed.

He couldn't see who, but a voice reached out over the warehouse. "He's not here. Return to base."

Ditto stuck to his cover, eyes straight ahead, as he stepped over Shingles' limp corpse. He tightened his jaw and followed the line out the door, glimpsing briefly the form of Diesel being dragged out of the building ahead of him.