Pikachu is dead.
She sees its raggedy body strewn across the path. Crimson seeps out from underneath, yellow fur matted with the vile, bitter liquid. Orbs of shimmering ebony stare placidly at the nonexistent. Dead pouches of stored electricity cling heavily onto the distorted, terrified face, fading away. The heavy stench of death lingers in the air, sifting slowly above its victim.
And yet, she wonders, the day continues as if it had not happened.
There is a slight breeze singing a soft melody. Lush, verdant blades tip slightly before whispering amongst themselves. The sky is blue, a perfect blue, relishing all the painful truths unexposed.
But of course, she smiles; the world does not need that right now.
Jessie fingers the slick coating of the trigger, before loosening her grasp so that it falls to the ground with a soft clatter. Her narrow aqua eyes stare icily at the dead creature. Behind her shuffles a pair of nervous feet, twisted with anxiety. His pastel violet hair is damp and tied within odd assortments of knots, twigs and scraps of leaves buried within the mass of oily strands.
"D-dead," his hoarse voice chokes with fear, hands gripping the tattered frays of the uniform. All he receives is a cold, amused smile.
"Yes James. It's dead," she grins triumphantly, seeing her comrade confused and taken back.
Jessie tosses back her sharply cut magenta hair. Her body is still affected. She remembers grimly at the countless memories of being 'blown away out of sight' by the damn runt, forever holding the scars of undying electricity. The pain she carries.
"Why does it matter?" she questions huskily. "It is dead. Just like Meowth. It will start to decompose. Grasses and flowers will grow on top of it. And somewhere, somehow…"a malicious smile forms, "…another Pikachu will be born."
And so it will. It had all come down to this, just the two of them, venturing for what? Capturing a measly little existence when they were the superior dominance? This had been their life. When you had caused pain, you would never sleep.
James tries to present his best smirk, but satisfying his partner is no easy task. His silent, sorrowful eyes steadily watches the girl as her gloved hand picks up the scrawny, limp figure. It drips blood. He hands her the cardboard box, as planned, quavering with uncontrollable fright. She pays him no mind, but smiles pleasantly as the creature is placed in it. The lid is closed.
"For?" he asks nervously. Her smile is unnerving.
Delicate hands finger the satin bow of pink, carefully placing it on top.
He has gotten the package this morning.
His aristocratic look stiffens as he receives the box, gesturing his servants to leave his room. The carnation ribbon tied into a bow gleams, waiting to be opened, and for one the fearless leader anticipates.
"I've never had a present before," he murmurs.
That would be too typical of humanity. Those cruel beings would never be aware of anything going around them. They would never realize wars only drove them into despair and torment, and that all hopes of truly discovering what life meant would end up in death. But of course, he realizes, that is the passive cycle they all grow up in.
Now curious, his fingers slowly pry open the lid. An uncomfortable, disgusting scent wavers into his room, but he ignores it unintentionally. Greedy eyes flash as they-
"Fuck," he whispers furiously.
Compulsively, one hand clamps over his mouth, angrily shoving the box away. There lay a ragged Pikachu, perfectly aligned within the box, with its dead paws clutching a scrap of note.
Life was hell; but the end is sweet.
Giovanni had the nerves of steel and the wills of iron. He could take on an entire army without once backing out.
But he lost his breakfast that morning.