The Next Step

[Jim Raynor]

Ditto flung the door open, smacking it against the wall. He stumbled into the warehouse and looked about in the dim light. The beginnings of Team Rocket turned their heads at the racket, sitting together by their beds on the adjacent wall of the massive building. Ditto patted his blazer pocket, making sure the device that he went to a great deal of trouble to procure was still there. He felt the bulge and stood shakily on his feet.

His gang stood and hurried over to their leader. Ditto blinked rapidly, staving off the effects of his last battle. Diesel was at the forefront, hard concern in his eyes. Shingles came up beside him, his myriad piercings glistening in the light that trickled in through the open door. Vinny was in the back, his trademark apprehension scrawled over his face. Ricky crouched beside Diesel, grabbing the toes of his boots, rocking back and forward while staring wide eyed at Ditto.

No Skaggs. Just as he thought.

"What happened?" Diesel asked.

"I closed my business transaction," Ditto said, puffing. "Now find me a place to sit down."

Vinny dragged a wooden chair across the concrete floor and Ditto collapsed onto it. Shingles closed the door and set the locks that lined the wall like a buttoned shirt. Ditto breathed in deep, doing his best to ignore the stuffy scent of mothballs and dust. He slouched into the chair. His entire body thrummed with aches and fatigue. The battle for the device had escalated far faster than he would have expected, and it almost cost him his life. If not for the rogue soldier's seemingly benevolent act, it most certainly would have.

"Are you OK, boss?" Vinny said, rubbing his moustache with an index finger.

"I will be," Ditto said.

Diesel gazed at the door. "Skaggs and Tor took off a while ago. They said they had some stuff they had to take care of, but their stupid grins gave away their secret. I tried to talk some sense into them-"

Ditto raised his hand. "It's fine, Diesel. Those two miscreants would have rebelled sooner or later." He grimaced as a sudden sting awoke in his shoulder. "Now, at least, we need not concern ourselves with them."

Shingles frowned. "You killed them?"

"No," Ditto said, leaning over his knees. "Actually, I misspoke. Tor is dead. I electrocuted that fickle moron until his skin was as black as my well polished shoes. I've no idea where Skaggs ran off to, nor Enigma, who was the mastermind behind the plan to betray me. They escaped in the ruckus." Ditto furrowed his brow. "But if I know them, they'll emerge from the woodwork eventually."

Team Rocket went silent for a time. Ditto wondered if they were contemplating their former member's deceit or death, or maybe realising the gravity of their situation, that their new leader did not mince words. Though they probably already knew that after Ditto had ousted Diesel as the leader of the gang.

"Get me some water," Ditto said to Vinny. The portly gang member nodded and walked off into Ditto's office, where the only tap was located in the warehouse. Ditto had to make some renovations to this place one day.

"So, what's the plan now?" Diesel asked. "You've got your device."

Ditto ran fingers through his jet black hair. "I've sent out a message into the Dataverse advertising Team Rocket's many ... talents. If luck smiles on us, we'll get some work through it. In the meantime, we must begin recruitment in earnest, while building Team Rocket's image to the greater audience of Coruscant, perhaps even the Omniverse."

Now that he was down two members, Ditto wanted to prioritise the burgeoning of his ranks. Four gang members, one of which was certifiably insane, was far too small-time for his liking. No, in order to one day bring the great Omni to his knees, Team Rocket had to span hundreds, maybe thousands of members across the Omniverse. Coruscant was the first step, but Ditto had a feeling it would be the hardest. While he hadn't investigated the other verses with much scrutiny, he didn't think such police states existed elsewhere. If he could crack Coruscant, then the rest should be relatively easy.

"But you're gonna use your device, right?" Shingles asked. "I mean, you went to a lot of trouble to get it."

"Oh yes," Ditto said with a smirk. "I've got big plans for the Dataverse."

[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.

[Jim Raynor]

Ditto moved stiffly with his new platoon that flowed out the broken warehouse door. Vinny's boot caught the light and caught his eye, but he quickly snapped his head forward again.

A black van awaited them down the alleyway. Two grunts hoisted Diesel by his thick biceps and hurled him in. The van visibly sagged as the thug crashed onto the floor, the suspension squeaking beneath the weight. Several of the troops climbed into the van and slammed the door shut. The wheels squealed and the van darted down the street. A second getaway vehicle rolled into the vacant space, and Ditto followed the remainder of the strike force into the back. The van sped off in hot pursuit of the first, but their presence went unnoticed completely by the neighbourhood, if not ignored entirely.

Ditto crouched in the cramped space, the van jostling over the uneven road. Silence reigned inside, except for a brief murmur from Diesel. An equally brief rifle butt to the criminal's forehead ended any further noise.

His eyes studied the grooved and etched surface of the rifle in his hands. Team Rocket, such as it was, was gone. Tor, Vinny and Shingles were all dead. Skaggs had abandoned them for his girlfriend Enigma. Ricky ... well, even if he wasn't dead, he wasn't capable of a single cogent thought. Diesel was all he had left. It was at least fitting that the crew member with the most talent would survive the longest. As he rocked to another bump in the road, Ditto couldn't help but think that all of his time and effort in the Omniverse was about to be lost to this mysterious invasion.

And who were they, anyway? No insignias on their uniform gave away anything. Ditto had limited knowledge on any armed forces in Coruscant outside the white armoured troops of the Empire. He had two guesses, and he didn't like the result of either; it was either an elite troop of the Empire, come to claim the device that he harboured instead of the rogue soldier, or Spook Eye had finished screwing around with him. One way or another, he was no doubt an unintended prisoner of one of his foes. He hoped to pick up something from the other soldiers; banter, mostly, but their steady breathing was the only indication of life.

The van stopped, forcing Ditto to dig his flat boots into the floor and tense his legs. The side door slid open and the troops clambered out, leaving Ditto and one other soldier left in the van. He looked at Ditto expectantly as he bent down to grasp Diesel's arm. Ditto fought back a 'tch,' strapped the rifle to his back, and slung Diesel's other arm over his shoulder. The extra weight set Ditto's teeth together as he struggled to move the behemoth out of the van without succumbing to the pressure, nor exposing a lack of discipline and strength inherent in these black ops soldiers.

As Ditto planted his foot on the sidewalk, he gazed up at the building the troops were entering. It was the same building that Ditto had stolen Cyborg's communicator from, and the last time Tor had helped him before turning his back on Team Rocket. The building stretched a few stories into the sky, sunlight glistening on the dusty windows. A trash can had collapsed and spilled its contents over the alleyway on the right. It looked like any other craphole apartment block on Tier 5. Hiding in plain sight was obviously a mantra for this Spook Eye.

So Spook Eye had found Team Rocket's hideout. As Ditto hauled Diesel's limp body up the short flight of stairs and through the door, he pondered how the rival gang boss had discovered his warehouse. The obvious answer was Enigma and Skaggs, but it seemed like a fast retaliation for what had transpired between them. He had expected a reprisal from Spook Eye eventually, but something seemed off about the swift execution.

Ditto and his assistant dragged Diesel past the watchman who had given Ditto pause when he had tried to infiltrate as Cyborg. This time he didn't even glance up from his magazine. Judging by the scantily clad human woman on the front cover, his attention was captive no matter what happened in front of him. Ditto gave him a sharp, hard glare to satisfy the itchy anger in his gut and moved on.

They came to the three sets of doors again. 'Storage' on the left, nothing on the centre door, and 'Basement' on the right. Reading Ditto's partner's movements, they were heading to the basement. Ditto opened the door with a free hand, quickly slapping it back on Diesel's imposing arm, and gingerly lowered the gang member down the winding staircase.

The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting a gross amalgamation of their shadows that flashed and hid with each tick. The tiled floor gritted beneath Ditto's boots, with streaks of dirt and blood criss-crossing in equal measure. He parted his lips and breathed through his mouth to avoid the coppery, musky odour that suffocated the air.

Ditto and the other soldier staggered down the room, passing a row of steel barred cages on either side of them. Most were empty, though none were clean. The soldier stopped at the end and swivelled to face an open cage. Ditto followed his lead and hurled Diesel into it, his bulky body crashing onto the tiles with an audible thump. He stayed still. How hard had they hit Diesel to keep him unconscious this long?

The soldier swung the cage door closed, the hinge protesting the entire way. It clicked into place, and the soldier shook the bars to ensure the door remained shut. He turned Ditto once he was done.

"That's done. Let's head back out."

Ditto nodded curtly. "Lead the way."

They strode out of the cage-lined corridor and headed towards the staircase. Ditto curled his fingers into a fist. He didn't want to leave his final asset locked in a dungeon in the custody of his greatest enemy. What if they tortured him? What if he gave up his secrets? Not to mention he hated leaving such untapped potential, potential that could be better utilised in Team Rocket. Ditto stole a glance over his shoulder. He had to think of some plan to get him out.

Ditto's shin hooked on something as he stepped forward and he found himself hurtling towards the floor. He threw out his palms, but his cheek slapped the tiles with enough force to bounce his head. The muscles in his forehead pulled taut as the bewilderment retreated from his mind. He looked over his shoulder to find his foot caught over the soldier's shin, and the barrel of his own rifle pointed directly at the back of his head.

"What are you doing?" Ditto cried out.

The soldier narrowed his eyes. "You aren't one of us."

He flipped the rifle and slammed the butt into Ditto's face.

[Jim Raynor]

Ditto's eyes fluttered. For a moment, he sat in vacant bliss, unaware of where he was. A throbbing heat pulsing at the back of his skull quickly tore him from his reverie and into the present. He squinted against the low light, able to see his arms and hands as dark, featureless silhouettes before him. A spot of the steel bars resistant against the crawl of rust over its surface reflected the poor luminance in the room. Ditto breathed in; stuffy, mildewy air mixed with faint copper brushed through his nose.

He looked to his side. A clump of shadows barely rose and fell in time with a steady breath rate. It didn't take a rocket scientist to tell who that was.

"Diesel."

The blobby black mass shifted around. A quiet grunt boomed off the grimy walls, intensifying what was a small sound.

"Diesel. Wake up."

More shifting, until a blurry oval arose atop the mount of inky blots. "What?"

"How long have I been out?"

The shadows rolled about, but Ditto couldn't make heads or tails of the movement. "A while. A few hours, maybe. Hard to keep track of time with no clock or sun."

Ditto caressed the dull ache at the back of his head. It flared as soon as his fingers made contact, and he pulled them away like he had touched a hotplate. He hissed through clenched teeth. "Have they come to check up on us?"

"No. Haven't heard a peep since the guard slammed the door shut and turned off the lights."

Ditto stood and treaded carefully to the bars. He ran gloved hands down their surface, feeling the flaky rust peel off in segments, brittle and old. Tightening his muscles, he tried to pull the bars apart, but despite their age, they held fast. He took a step back and kicked the bars, knocking thin chunks of rust off with each impact. The bars oscillated and creaked but again, stood firm against Ditto's efforts.

The tiles squeaked behind him. "Why don't you just trans-"

"Shhh!"

The room went silent. "What?"

For all of his worth, Ditto often forgot that Diesel was still a street thug. He didn't always see the the smaller parts that made up the whole. "We're being watched."

"How would you know?"

Ditto turned sharply to face the huddled black void. Diesel's outline was growing sharper as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. "This is Spook Eye. If he saw through my disguise, then there is definitely more to this room than we know about."

Diesel didn't speak after that revelation. Maybe he was absorbing a lesson from him. There was no way to know if Ditto was right, of course, but under these circumstances he wouldn't chance revealing his big secret to his biggest enemy.

Without the ability to transform, Ditto was out of options but to wait out whatever fate Spook Eye had planned for them. The cage would hold him in Giovanni's form, clad in black fatigues. He paced back to the wall, planted his back against it and slid down to his backside. He stayed that way for a few hours more, the silence punctuated by an infrequent grunt or phlegm clear from Diesel. It seemed they wanted him to stew, but patience was Ditto's specialty.

Part of him wondered why he and Diesel weren't killed on the spot. Torture perhaps, or an opportunity to draw information out of them. Unfortunately, the two weren't mutually exclusive. They had no issue with killing Vinny instantly, and shooting Shingles in front of the assault team rose no eyebrows. Ditto could see himself having strategic value, since he was identified as a mole and likely little else, but Diesel should've shared the same fate as the others. Maybe he had pissed off Spook Eye, and had a special 'reward' coming for him.

In any case, while not on his terms, this was a great opportunity to finally see this Spook Eye face to face. Whether or not they were planning to present them to him, Ditto was inside a holding cell of his gang. There must be some way to find Spook Eye from the inside.

A loud bang shattered the silence at the top of the staircase. Measured steps clomped through the dungeon, each louder than the last. The fluorescent bulbs flickered and buzzed as a figure reached the base of the stairs, the sudden rush of light searing Ditto's eyes. A guard dressed head to toe in black fatigues, minus a cover for his eyes, marched down the corridor of cages, rifle in hand.

The soldier reached Ditto's cage, jammed a key into the lock and twisted. The door creaked open. With the barrel of a gun in his face, Ditto sat motionless. Diesel shifted, but the gunman didn't readjust his aim. At least he wasn't jumpy.

"You two," he barked. "On your feet. Time for some interrogation."

Ditto rose to his feet, Diesel following in a slower motion. The guard stood back and let the captives walk through the cage door, hands in the air. He poked Ditto in the back with his barrel, and the two Team Rocket gangsters started their forced march out of their jail.

"Interrogation." Ditto glanced over his shoulder. "Enlighten me, mindless goon. How did you come to the conclusion that I am not one of you?"

"Eyes forward," was the stern reply.

Ditto obeyed, but he wasn't done. "It can't be the suit. It's identical to everyone else's. I doubt it was my movements, since I'm such a fantastic mimic. Perhaps it was-"

"It was your gun," the soldier broke in. "It had no flashlight. And it was a different model. Now shut up and walk."

"Ah," Ditto said curtly, voice low. The one aspect of his disguise that he couldn't tailor to the situation was the one aspect that gave it all away. Shame.

As Diesel ascended the staircase, Ditto couldn't help himself but try to push the guard's buttons again. "What sort of interrogation does Spook Eye favour, hmm? Electro-shock? Water boarding? Sleep deprivation? Making people wait pointlessly in a darkened room? Because if it's the latter, I can assure you that-"

The guard kicked Ditto in the back, knocking him onto the pointed edges of the stairs. Ditto groaned at the dull pains that radiated in thin lines over his chest. A cold, round object pressed against the base of his skull, soothing to the relentless pulse of his previous injury.

"One more word out of you, and I'll blow your brains all over the stairs. Got it?"

Ditto scowled, but stood in silence. I'll be sure to kill you first.

[Jim Raynor]

Ditto climbed the curling stairs, Diesel's lumbering form ahead of him and a gun wielding guard jabbing him in the back with the rifle behind him. His teeth flattened together until they shook. The skin about his nose tightened into a deeply etched scowl. He felt the beads of sweat oozing from his forehead and clinging there, driving an itch in his mind that wanted to transform into a Rhydon and shred the guard into fleshy confetti. His breathing sharpened, opening the only outlet for his rage, but the quickening of his breaths only intensified the mind rattling urge to react.
 
His eyes darted from side to side, searching for some implement he could use to belt his captor with and escape. The featureless brick walls offered nothing but cracks and dust.
 
Calm down. Ditto took a long breath, expanding his torso out like a balloon, and jetted it from his nose. His short temper wouldn't help him out of his situation. His scowl relaxed, but his furrowed brow remained as a connection to his rage. Being consumed by it would ruin any chance he had, but drip feeding it to himself allowed sharper thought and decision making. Plus, if the opportunity to attack revealed itself, he could open the barrage and flood himself with it, basking in a torrent of fury that would make him a deadly and uncompromising assassin.
 
Yet such a chance remained elusive. His talent for shapeshifting gave him the tools he needed to become such a feared and powerful being, but exposing it to anyone not only destroyed Giovanni's use as a disguise, but usually involved his adversaries tightening security. While Ditto found that social engineering could defeat almost any security system, the smarter enemy could plug this exploit as well. Whoever Spook Eye was, Ditto intuitively knew he would bolster defences to the point where infiltration would be nigh impossible.
 
Diesel's thick legs came to a halt. "I'm opening the door now," he said, lowering his hands to the knob.
 
The guard nestled the rifle's end into the small of Ditto's back. "Try anything and this guy dies. Then you'll be next."
 
As the gangster's sandpapery hand wrapped around the doorknob, the entire stairwell rattled. Thin clouds of dust, unsettled from the shake, fell upon them. Diesel leaned closer, his eyes tracing lines across his vision.
 
"What are you doing?" Ditto said.
 
"Listen," Diesel said in a hushed tone.
 
Ditto stared at the ground and focused on his hearing. Beyond the door, muffled bangs and tinkling trampled over muffled shouting.
 
"It would appear that your secret hideout isn't as hidden as you might have hoped," Ditto said to the guard, grinning. Man, that felt good.
 
"What?" The cold rifle barrel left Ditto's back and the guard zipped past him.
 
An instinct cried out in his mind, and Ditto wholeheartedly agreed with it. His hands dropped onto the guard's shoulders. Spook Eye's henchman turned his head as Ditto hurled him backwards, his body rolling and crashing down the staircase. Bullets screamed from the rifle as the guard tumbled down towards the basement, but they only found targets in the well aged brick around them.
 
"Quick, let's go!" Ditto urged to his last gang member. "It won't take him long to get back up!"
 
Diesel didn't need another prompt. He barrelled through the door shoulder-first with Ditto in hot pursuit.
 
Ditto entered into the foyer, a thin shroud of smoke layered over his sight. The smell of burned rubber and blood intertwined in the room. Two searing headlights bore into the room from the far side, making it nearly impossible to see anything else. Ditto squinted, kicking a discarded pistol on the ground. As he picked it up, it fell from slippery fingers. Ditto rubbed his index finger and thumb together before his nose and sniffed. Blood.
 
Again he grabbed the gun, wrapping his slick fingers carefully about it, and hurled it at one of the spotlights. It hit with a satisfying shatter. Ditto relaxed his eyelids and blinked against the remaining beam of light.
 
The front walls of the building had been obliterated by a interposing garbage truck, its single headlight unwavering, the driver's side door swinging open. Bodies lay about the ground, some flat on their faces, others hunched over rubble. Two assault rifles lay near the garbage truck, the spent casings of their ammunition gathered in two glinting piles.
 
"What the hell happened here?" Diesel asked, batting away the dust cloud.
 
As if responding to his voice, a figure came bounding from behind the written-off garbage truck. The shady figure burst through the smoke, his silhouette burned away by the headlight.
 
Diesel laughed. "No fucking way!"
 
Ditto could barely believe his eyes either. There stood Ricky, crouched on his haunches like a gorilla, smiling and giggling. He looked around the room. Did he do this? Was he some kind of idiot-savant or something?
 
"How?" Ditto said, dumbstruck. "How did you do this? How did you find us? Where'd you get the garbage truck from? Do you even know how to drive a truck?"
 
Ricky grimaced and stuck his pinky finger in his ear, twisting it like he was forcing a screw into place.
 
"You ain't gonna get a straight answer from him, boss," Diesel said.
 
Gunfire erupted from behind him. A jolt of adrenaline shot down his spine and he dived forward. He rolled to his knees and slid behind a chunk of fallen wall. Diesel and Ricky charged past him and out the ruined building. Diesel, to his credit, stopped behind the garbage truck and looked to his leader.
 
"Come on, let's go!"
 
Another round of bullets whizzed past. "Come out here, you bastards!"
 
Ditto peeked over the top of his cover. The soldier walked slowly, steadily, rifle in arms. A red line ran across his cheek, revealing a small segment of his face beneath the mask. His head spun towards Ditto. Stomach squelching, he ducked down again.
 
"Go!" Ditto said. "I'll take care of him."
 
Diesel looked to the soldier, back to his boss, and then stole away into the night.
 
With no direct line of sight, Ditto was free to transform. He needed something fast and agile, while being able to strike from distance. He closed his eyes and felt his body shrinking into its new state.
 
He poked around the side of his cover, bushy tail bristling. The soldier crept forward, though the remaining headlight of the garbage truck appeared to hinder his search. Ditto skidded out, pursued his lips, and pressurised jet of water exploded forward. The guard turned at the sound and caught the Water Gun attack square in the chest. He flew into the far wall, audibly grunting as he crashed to hands and knees. The rifle had fallen from his grip, but was only a stretch away.
 
Ditto sprinted on Squirtle's stubby clawed feet along the wet trail left by his attack. He sucked his body into the shell and bounced along the ground, letting the slick track thrust him forward. A few moments later, he collided with the soldier's boots as he tried to stand, and he slammed back into the hard, dusty floor.
 
Popping his limbs and head from his shell, Ditto scooped up the rifle and jammed the barrel beneath the guard's chin.
 
"I knew I'd kill you," Ditto said in a croaky voice. "Even if you didn't pose a threat to me at all, I knew I would kill you."
 
He pulled the trigger. A flash of light and splatter of blood painted across the floor for a second, and then all was forgotten.
 
Ditto transformed back into Giovanni, ignoring the requirements for the black army fatigues since his cover had been blown, and strolled out of the building and onto the pavement.
 
As he looked up to cross the road, his throat tightened. During his daring assault, two black vans had pulled up and emptied their cargo onto the street - a strike team clad in black, rifles drawn and trained on Ditto's chest.
 
A splintered chorus of "Don't move!" and "Stay where you are!" repeated over and over, but Ditto had already raised his hands above his head.
 
"I don't suppose you gentlemen saw a burly vagabond and a mentally ill criminal charging down the street towards me, perhaps looking to assist? No?" The soldiers surrounded Ditto in a tight circle. "Lightning doesn't often strike twice."
 
Someone kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to the ground. The familiar feeling of a rifle butt smashing across his temple sung loud and clear as everything else dulled into a single, numb blackness.

[Jim Raynor]

Ditto eyes fluttered. Black. No, not quite. Something black had been wrapped around his head, but tiny pinpricks of light lined the darkness around him. Some sort of hessian bag. It rubbed against the side of his cheek, coarse and itchy.
 
His first moment conscious again seemed like a nanosecond as the next lurched into view; the crack to his temple. Ditto sighed lowly at the heavy pounding in the side of his head, as if his captors had set a little person with a small hammer to slam it into his temple in rhythm with his heart beat. He swallowed and focused on his surroundings.
 
Hands gripped the underside of his biceps and hauled him out of a sitting position, holding him in a limp stand. Ditto didn't want them to know he was awake. They might begin questioning, or worse, torture. With the bag over his head, they wouldn't know the difference. He let his head droop into his chest.
 
"He's still unconscious," a voice to the left said.
 
"Well, he's had enough time to rest," the man on the right said. "Wake him up."
 
A solid set of knuckles drove into Ditto's gut, launching the breath from his lungs. He slouched in their grip, his chest convulsing as he gasped for more air. Ditto balled his fists as a new ache registered in his abdomen.
 
When he got free, he would slaughter ever last one of Spook Eye's goons to a man. Every. Single. One. To be treated this way, especially by humans, was intolerable. It yanked on every last nerve that he had. First, though, he had to work out where he was.
 
"There. Pretty sure he didn't sleep through that."
 
"All right, scumbag," the right sided voice said. "We're taking you somewhere. You'll walk but we'll guide you. Try anything funny and we'll see how tender we can make you. Understood?"
 
Ditto scowled. "Just get on with it."
 
The two guards pulled on his arms so quickly he felt his shoulder joints pop. Ditto alighted on his feet and walked, following the pushes and pulls of his captors. They walked down a hallway, turned to the left, turned again six steps later, stopped still as the ground beneath them rose upwards, then walked straight for quite a time until they halted again.
 
Three loud wraps on a door bounced off the hallway walls. A sharp click preceded the smooth whoosh of air rushing out of a sudden gap. "Yes?"
 
"Spook Eye's 11 o'clock here to see him," the left guard said.
 
"Spook Eye?" Ditto said. He couldn't help himself. The surprise mobilised his mouth. He didn't expect to have an audience with his leading rival.
 
The same four knuckles ground into his stomach, re-igniting the steady bruised pulse. Ditto growled.
 
"No speaking unless spoken to, damn it!" said the voice.
 
"Yeah yeah," the female voice moaned. "Put him there and get out."
 
Ditto walked into the room, and a fresh blue light splashed through the tiny gaps of his hessian bag. A solid object hit the back of his calves and he fell into a hard chair. Before he could even breathe, hands quickly bound Ditto's wrists to the chunky armrests, followed by his ankles. He tugged on them tight; some sort of leather strap, judging by their yield and smooth, slippery touch.
 
"Wait here," one of the guards said. A sharp laugh rose above the quiet. "Well, you don't really have a choice, do you?"
 
Ditto thought better of a riposte and bit his tongue. He didn't need another coward punch.
 
The door clapped and the locks clicked. He heard footsteps walk past him to the far side of the room. The female voice spoke again. "I'm sure you'll see him soon."
 
With that, Ditto was left to himself, staring at the miniature gaps in the bag's fabric, breathing in his hot breath as it rushed back at him. Outside the muffled ring of a telephone and the calm buzz of the air-conditioning, there was no sound in the room.
 
What was Spook Eye planning to do to him? Was he making him stew again, like he did in the jail cells? Or was he that busy that he was going to be late to his own appointment? Then again, Ditto had no idea what time it was.
 
He could transform, rip his binds apart and fly out the nearest window, but then his secret would be firmly in the open. Besides, an opportunity to see Spook Eye in person was not one he was about to hurl into the trash. The next chance to converse with the crime lord might not be under such peaceful circumstances. Sure, Ditto was tied to a chair, but it was better than standing over a dead soldier with a field of dead soldiers behind him.
 
The click of a door handle cut through the air so suddenly that Ditto tensed his muscles. After it closed, two heavy footsteps moved towards Ditto and stopped in front of him. He saw the black of his suit block out the centre of his hessian bag gaps.
 
"So," he said quietly, not a hint of emotion in his voice, "we meet at last."
 
Ditto kept his lips together. The only thing that left him was his breath through his nostrils.
 
"Perhaps not in the most civilised of circumstances, that's true," Spook Eye continued. "But then, there's nothing civilised about what you did to my outpost."
 
Ditto smiled. A brief chuckle lit in his chest and stayed there.
 
Spook Eye's shadow shifted. "Funny, is it? I suppose it would be. It's quite the headache to get property insured on Tier 5. High risk and all of that. But I'm sure you were aware of that."
 
That voice was so familiar. Where had Ditto heard it before?
 
"Then again, I admit, I had a laugh at your expense. The fledgling empire of 'Team Rocket' ... to think, it was just a ragtag collection of talentless wallet-snatchers and hot-headed thugs listening to a man in a suit." He stepped to the far wall, where the most intense blue light radiated from. A window, probably. "It seems my informants placed you on a higher pedestal than you warranted. I sent far too many men to eliminate that supposed threat."
 
Ditto's brow set low. "And yet, you still didn't kill them all."
 
Spook Eye tone stayed level. "Yes, I heard. Diesel. I must admit, with the right head on that man's shoulders, he would make a perfect janitor."
 
Ditto made a mental note of that. Unlike Shingles and Vinny, Spook Eye's men had subdued rather than killed Diesel. There must have been a reason, but the gang leader was tight-lipped about it.

"And-"
 
"The crazy one?" Spook Eye interrupted. "True, I didn't expect him to have enough sense to attempt a rescue in the way he did. I'm not even sure how he didn't get shot in the initial raid on your warehouse. Still, he's as unpredictable as he is helpful. If a shiny piece of tin foil rolls past him on the street one day, he'll chase it to the edge of Coruscant and beyond."
 
"No," Ditto said, though he had meant Ricky. It just felt good to make himself seem smarter than his enemy for a moment. It was the only aspect of their conversation where he won the point. "I meant me."
 
"Ah, yes," Spook Eye said, clapping once. His shadow darkened the outside light. "You're a different case compared to the others though, aren't you? You didn't eke out a life on the streets, mauling whoever got in your way just to survive. You stumbled into this universe with a suit and a superiority complex and decided to bully some brainless brutes into working for you. Not many men with a balanced sense of self-preservation would do that. There's plenty of opportunity in the upper tiers of Coruscant. Why sink into its seedy depths when an honest, hardworking man could have what he wants in a safe, protected environment?"
 
Ditto narrowed his eyes. Spook Eye was analytical. He'd been studying Ditto with the same precision, the same hunger, attempting to piece together his motives. How much did he think he knew?
 
"Some men prefer the seedy depths," Ditto remarked. "Why make an honest buck when you can make two dishonest ones for the same effort?"
 
Spook Eye stepped back. "I know much more about you than you think I do."
 
"Please, enlighten me."
 
"You're an imitator," Spook Eye said. "You don't have an identity of your own, so you take to stealing the identity of others. To what end, I can't see yet. Perhaps it is as simple as running your own crime kingdom. There's plenty of perks, after all. But from what I know about you, I'm willing to bet that your goals are much loftier than that."
 
Ditto's patience was at breaking point. "Just get to the point and shoot me, already."
 
"Shoot you?" Spook Eye said. "Whatever gave you the idea that I would shoot you?"
 
That voice! Who owned that damnable voice?!
 
"At least let me see your face!" Ditto said.
 
A pause. "Oh, I intend to. I just enjoy making people sweat."
 
Spook Eye moved forward, blocking all light from the room. The bag tugged upwards, sliding against Ditto's skin as it rose. The edge of the bag caught beneath Ditto's nose, but a powerful rip tore it painfully up and around it, freeing his head. The cool caress of the air-conditioning attended to the sweat on his face, but it did nothing to soothe the molten lava that spilled into his gut.
 
Ditto stared face-to-face with Spook Eye, and realised in a horrible second why the voice was so familiar.
 
It was his.
 
"Perhaps now you can see why you aren't dead yet. It isn't every day that one finds out that his rival looks exactly like himself."
 
Giovanni smiled, but it did not touch his eyes. 

[Jim Raynor]

Ditto's blood went cold. Giovanni. Here. Standing right in front of him. The Giovanni who funded the project that ultimately gave Ditto life.
 
The Giovanni who apparently was his greatest nemesis in this universe.
 
He stared, incredulous, unable to clasp the composure that so swiftly fell apart upon laying eyes on the Team Rocket boss. His throat dried up, eyes unblinking and wide, heart thundering in his chest. It took him a full ten seconds to have a thought that wasn't holy shit it's Giovanni holy shit it's Giovanni.
 
This was the man that Ditto worshipped, that he aspired to be. Every other human brought bile to the back of his gullet, but Giovanni was a man of vision, of ambition. Giovanni sought to manufacture the ultimate life form, and he succeeded in Ditto. He just didn't understand it, obviously, since he spent so much time and so many resources on bribing Mewtwo. Forgivable, though. As much as Ditto wanted to hang, draw and quarter Mewtwo, in his base form he was a more impressive sight than the shapeless shapeshifter.
 
But what did he do now? Did he confess to Giovanni, revealing his true form, and tell him everything? Or did he keep his mouth shut, ignoring the mobster's barbed threats, protecting the small racket he had struggled to develop so far? Both appealed in equal measure, though the thought of siding with Giovanni awoke childish glee and appeased the burning need for approval from his hero.
 
His 'father' had remained silent for the last ... how long had it been? He had simply stared at Ditto, as if expecting a momentary lapse of concentration. Maybe an eye twitch, the bite of a lip, even a sudden explosion of admission. Ditto couldn't decide what to do as sweat beaded on his face despite the cool air.
 
Giovanni lost the mirthless grin, keeping his steely gaze on his doppelganger. "So ... you must hail from my universe. Perhaps even Kanto. A die-hard fan, or someone looking to usurp my name and prestige to further their own goals?"
 
Technically, it was a resounding yes to both of those questions. Ditto swallowed, but an arid throat made the motion feel like trying to pass a tennis ball. He had to think of something, anything, that wasn't admiration or blind panic. He needed a plan. Why did his sense flee him now, when he needed it the most? He loved the crime boss, but he was all too aware of the brutality of his MO.
 
Giovanni turned to the huge window, making up the entire left wall, and strode to it. He grasped hands behind his back and peered out into the decaying society that was Tier 5. "Do you know why I do what I do?"
 
Ditto wanted to answer, but he had nothing clever to say. Even a yes seemed to tie his tongue in knots.
 
"I hail from a place that seeks to turn wild and savage beasts into children's pets," he said, eyes not leaving the window. "The Pokemon of the world do not deserve the kindness of humanity. They stand in our way and fight back every step of our progress. Most can kill a man without much effort. A Weedle for example, a small worm no taller than my knee, could inject enough poison into me with its barb to stop my heart in minutes. And yet we let these things flourish in the woods and fields next to our towns."
 
"And that is one of their smallest order. An Onix, a snake of rock and earth twenty seven feet long, could crush an entire town if it so chose. People see these monsters as something to befriend, to coddle, to bond with." Giovanni spun back to Ditto. "But I see the terror they can inflict. Team Rocket wasn't established to steal and rob and murder. Those were the unfortunate methods I had to enact, since my views were not widely held. Pokemon had to be dealt with harshly, if humanity was to survive."
 
Giovanni walked back before Ditto, each step measured and confident, hands sliding into trouser pockets. "So it intrigues me that someone has taken the name of my organisation and stolen my identity. For such an unpopular and wanted gang as mine, it is indeed interesting to find out why someone would associate themselves with it."
 
Ditto was running out of time. Giovanni wasn't going to stay patient with him much longer, and this was the most patient Ditto had ever seen him. But no option was palatable. All ended a scheme or an ambition. Perhaps it was best to be truthful, if every choice was a poor one. At least then Giovanni would know what Ditto had put himself through to imitate the great man.
 
"Giovanni," Ditto finally croaked, his throat parching further as he spoke. "I'm ... I'm your greatest fan."
 
Giovanni smiled, genuine this time. "I gathered."
 
Ditto groped for words, still resistant to spilling his identity. Instead, an idea came to him. If Giovanni is so free with information, maybe I can weasel some more out. "Why are you doing ... this?" Without hands to gesticulate, Ditto made use of his eyes, rolling them around the room.
 
"Establishing myself as a crime lord?"
 
Ditto nodded, saving his raw throat from a word he could motion.
 
"Why not? It's what I know how to do, and I'm great at it. Money and power are never undesirable."
 
"But without Pokemon," Ditto said, "your organisation has no purpose. No end goal."
 
Giovanni's countenance didn't change, though Ditto noted a sharpness to his eyes. "Times change. I'm not in Kanto anymore. If a goal is no longer achievable, then the smart man picks a new one." He leaned in closer. "Now, I think I've done enough talking. It isn't polite to hold your tongue when asked a question."
 
"Why did you-"
 
Knuckles crashed into Ditto's jaw, painfully cutting off his sentence. Pain throbbed in his mouth, a warm trickle of blood running down his chin.
 
"Enough questions," Giovanni said, his voice low.
 
"OK!" Ditto shouted, louder than he intended. "Look, I'll tell you." Why did Spook Eye have to be Giovanni?
 
Taking a breath, Ditto settled. The best lies, he had heard someone say, had the truth at their centre. "I founded Team Rocket here. I remember how great it was in Kanto, and I hate the fact that Omni stole me away right when ... uh, I was just enjoying my life. My plan was to build Team Rocket into a force that could rival him, starting by taking over Coruscant." He paused, sniffing. "A lofty goal, I know. But I'm not the tyep to just sit around and mope."
 
"Who were you in Kanto?" Giovanni said, tone still threatening.
 
Ditto clenched his teeth behind sealed lips. He couldn't say. At first he thought it'd be releasing to tell Giovanni all about him, but then the memories came flooding back. Memories of talking to other humans in his true form, and the scorn he got just for not being one of them. Imagine what Giovanni would think if he saw Ditto's gelatinous, blobby body. Panic set in. He had to get out of there!
 
Breaking his golden rule, Ditto shone with white light. Giovanni took several cautious steps backwards as the Pokemon's body reconfigured itself. The binds about his legs and arms broke beneath the bulging limbs as they expanded. A tail jutted from his back, snapping the chair in two. Several moments later, the Giovanni clone had vanished, replaced with a tall, orange skinned dragon.
 
Giovanni goggled, mouth agape. "A ... Dragonite?"
 
Ditto regarded his 'father' for one more second, then jumped through the glass window, shards falling with him. He set out his wings and fled into the skies.
 
Damn it, that was close. He didn't want to do that. Transforming in front of anyone gave away his most useful trait; anonymity. Giovanni knew Ditto was a shapeshifter, and since he stupidly chose another Pokemon form, it wouldn't take long for Spook Eye to put two and two together.
 
Ditto glanced once more over his shoulder. Giovanni watched him flee from the window, unmoving.

[Jim Raynor]

Ditto rolled another sip of coffee around his mouth. A throng of humans scampered past on the sidewalk, daylight barely breaking between them, stern-faced and in a hurry. Beyond the veil of people, he could hear the sound of hovering cars zip over the road. He tipped his head back and watched the ant-like progression of other flying cars following an invisible road high above, an unblemished blue sky behind them. And every now and then, enforcing the peace and order that Tier 1 was famous for, Ditto spotted the white plate armour of the stormtroopers, black rifles in hand, expressionless helmets surveying.
 
He managed to find the same coffee shop he supported on his first visit to Coruscant, though he sat in a different seat. A half dozen of empty mugs littered his table. The view matched his expectations; clean, sterile, uneasy quiet. It may have been true that Tier 1's surveillance reduced freedom to a mock ideal, but no one would knife Ditto in the back for his wallet here. On Team Rocket's home floor, a knifing might be preferable to the other methods the muggers employed down there. Still, building a criminal enterprise there offered a greater chance of success.
 
Bringing the coffee mug to his lips, Ditto slurped another mouthful of his latte macchiato and ran his thumb over his Pokedex. How far he had come in such a short time. He established Team Rocket, tracked down a powerful virtual teleporting device, infiltrated his enemy's headquarters ... and found out the leader was his mentor.
 
He couldn't keep ignoring it. Eventually he would have to stop drinking coffee.
 
Sighing, he plunked the mug onto its saucer and shoved it into the drained congregation he had already accumulated. This wasn't an easy choice. His eyes, inch by inch, crawled back to the Pokedex screen.
 
WANTED: DATAVERSE UPLINK DEVICE
The device's location is currently unknown. It is speculated to be in the possession of an unidentified Pokemon trainer, responsible for property damage and assault on Tier 5. There is a bounty for the safe return of the device. The thief may be dealt with by any means deemed necessary.
 
His eyes lifted back into the undulating crowd. Coruscant was after him. They knew, for a fleeting moment, where the stolen device was. They even knew somehow what a Pokemon was, when Ditto thought his kind were relatively obscure here.
 
That complicated things. Team Rocket had already taken a heavy blow, being reduced to three breathing members. Spook Eye, who turned out to be Giovanni, had raided their headquarters, so he wasn't safe from his rival gang either. After all the effort he expended to procure that blasted device ...

Yet every moment he clutched it, he risked discovery by an unsympathetic dictatorship or an unscrupulous gang. And now that Ditto had read the wanted notice, his concerns grew heavy enough to prick his attention.
 
Of course, surrendering the dataverse uplink device to the proper authorities would be simple. The notice had clearly stated that the thief had not been identified. Ditto could turn up as his regular Giovanni self and hand it in, make up some cock-and-bull story about how he rescued it, and retrieve the reward. Probably some good standing with Coruscant, too.
 
And if he wanted to smooth things over with Giovanni, delivering the device while wearing his skin meant that Spook Eye benefited from the arrangement too. The Empire would no longer be hunting for the device that one of his operatives was using, and to some degree he would be recognised as its saviour. Maybe then, Ditto could really talk to Giovanni. He'd see his creation for what he really was. A selfless hero, the greatest Pokemon that ever lived, devoted to the great Giovanni. Ditto smiled at the thought, his father welcoming him with open arms.
 
That settled it. Ditto snapped his Pokedex shut and pocketed it, while patting his breast pocket. The dataverse uplink device was still there. Humming to himself and telling himself that this was the best course of action, he dived into the current of people and headed to the first administration building he could find.
 
He had only been walking five minutes when he found what he was looking for. Climbing the stairs, Ditto reached the counter, put on his charming smile, and waited for the receptionist to greet him.
 
"Good morning sir, how may I help you today?"

[Jim Raynor]

There. It was done. As he picked out his footsteps down the stairs of the administration building, the hurried streets overburdened, he realised just how much he went through to get that stupid device, and how much he lost.
 
Ditto travelled through the digital realm of the Dataverse, scoured the seedy depths of Coruscant for naive thugs to build an empire, fought against a mercenary and a rival gang, and had what to show for it? The reward was nice, but even in just claiming the mobile dataverse device, three men had died under his watch, another turned traitor, and the remaining two were out on the streets alone, their warehouse all but compromised.
 
Ditto slipped into the foot traffic and mulled over his options. The Empire wouldn't be looking for the device now that it had been handed in, so both he and Giovanni were safe from prying eyes and secret agents. But even as he thought of his esteemed father, his gut cramped. The major competitor against Team Rocket was the new gang that Giovanni began. How could Ditto ever compete? It would be a herculean effort just to saddle the right mindset to take on the only human he held in high regard. But that ignored the fact that Giovanni was vastly experienced in running an organised crime ring, whereas Ditto had so far only played the part. He had done a great job considering his lack of training, using his guile and resourcefulness to establish the gang as he had done, but Giovanni was already leagues ahead of him.
 
Plus, Team Rocket as it was barely existed. Diesel and Ricky still haunted the lower tiers somewhere, scuttling off into the night after Ricky freed them from Spook Eye's detention centre. Maybe they could rebuild, but they needed so much so quickly to even stand a chance. They needed more recruits, since the majority had been killed and another had betrayed them. They needed a new headquarters, since Giovanni located it and breached it with little effort and no warning. If Team Rocket were to reform, if Ditto was to stake a claim to that famous name again, they would need a new home. All the while, they would be running from a competitor better resourced, staffed and informed.
 
Turning himself into Giovanni, throwing himself on his mercy, popped into his thoughts as well, but it was much less palatable. He yearned for that man's approval, to be recognised as the ultimate Pokemon birthed from his cloning attempts, but Ditto was pretty sure how such a meeting would turn out. At the least, the shapeshifter would have to prove his worth to Spook Eye, demonstrate his usefulness and convince him why Mewtwo was only a pretender compared to him. Showing up to his office after being a prisoner and shattering an expensive pane glass window would already be a black mark against his name. That would also mean the end of his Team Rocket gang, and all the effort he expended developing it. That definitely rubbed him the wrong way.
 
Every option tightened the knot in his stomach. Thinking only drove his misery deeper into the mire. He needed to stop and take a breath. Though only there moments ago, his mind still buzzing from the after effects of his previous cups, the coffee shop called out its siren song as his eyes fell upon it again.
 
He sat at his chair once more, watching the steam curl from the lip of his coffee mug, trying to silence the rabid battle of thoughts. Taking a ginger sip, Ditto's eyes trailed the digital signboards that plagued the skyline, neon temptations beckoning those with the currency to spend big. He watched advertisements for flying cars, sleek and pearlescent, scattering clouds as they dived through the sky. Massive high rise buildings spruiked their prestigious apartments, complete with heated pools and a commanding view of the top tier, for a price Ditto recoiled at.
 
As the coffee remaining in his mug shrunk, Ditto's eyes settled upon a board that arrested his attention. A sprawling ocean glistened in aqua and navy, sunlight banishing the visual divide between the water's surface and its sandy depths, a tropical island of golden shores and leafy interiors the only decoration for miles. A price flashed on the screen, but Ditto paid it no mind. That untouched paradise soothed his aching mind like ice to a burn. The gentle cresting of the waves, the spotless crystal sky, the complete and utter absence of other people ... it tugged at him, awakening a yearning to visit such a splendid place.
 
Maybe a holiday was exactly what he needed. After the stress of being abducted from his home universe and dumped here, only to foster an organisation that was in tatters weeks later, his nerves were tangled and far too active. Lying on a sun drenched beach, cocktail in hand so cold that the cup perspired down its length, the rhythmic crashing of waves filling the air ... he could just see it now. The perfect escape.
 
Ditto sprung out of his chair and noted the location of his tropical nirvana. The Vasty Deep. The location for its gate, which Ditto presumed to mean portal, was within Coruscant. With still a puddle of coffee left in his mug, Ditto strolled out of the cafe with renewed purpose. He could feel the warm kiss of the sun on his skin already.