A/N: A strange Pokemon fic set in the world –yet proceeding both of them- of "Two Paths to One End" and "The Guilty and the Innocent". It's really more of a plot bunny I'm submitting to than a serious writing attempt. This had a few chapters to it, and then the outline runs out. When the outline runs out I may continue, I may not…

Kasan Soulblade

A Show of Faith

Prologue:

Eyes flicked across the paper, two pairs of them across the same page. One pair was steel grey the other black. Both were pitiless men, cold, cruel, calculating. The paper rustled again, as it was flared open then folded close. The owner of the steel eyes -his face much like his Bosses' in that it was lost in shadow- blinked and made like he hadn't been reading the paper. Even scanning over the Bosses shoulder was a death sentence some days; like everything else, life and death depended on the old man's mood.

"So many shows of faith... He strives to endear himself to the public. As if the multitudes would even bother to raise a hand and save him once he crossed me."

The man behind the desk reached over his folded paper and killed the lamp, plunging the once amber tinted room into darkness. Black suits, they both wore those. The men were differentiated once more by rank and power; this was made obvious in their uniforms. The morbid coloring was universal to everyone in the Bosses employ, but the style was not. The man behind the desk sported a glossy black suit, cut in the styles favored by businessmen. The other older man who stood made do with a pant and shirt combo made out of a rough and tumble material suitable for his status as Grunt.

There was a click, the Grunt tense, then relaxed as a speck of fire came into being right by the Bosses hand. Small fire lit, the man tugged at something long and brown that was tucked into his vest picket. Setting cigar in his mouth, he lit it, and the red speck of light flickered and went out. Smoke was swift to fill the room, checking his gag reflex the older Rocket stared blankly ahead, and waited.

"Ah, William Katzchet." The black haired rocket boss murmured. Somehow smoking and talking at the same time. "You're on report again, are you?"

William swallowed and stared ahead, stared at nothing and though he wasn't a man who put much in faith he mentally prayed.

Maybe the boy Leonardo luck was catchy, because there wasn't a tell tale click of a gun being drawn and the safety lifted. Maybe it was the prayer, maybe it was nothing more than the Bosses rare fits of magnanimous nature that he picked up after he'd been with his wife a while…

Whatever the reason, death at gunpoint was held back for another day.

"I've a special job for a green faced Rocket like you."

"A… job?"

"A special job for a spineless incompetent like yourself, you might even enjoy it." Black eyes, so dark they reflected whatever they looked at were marked with a smear of red. The end of the cigar, slowly smoldering, at least that's what William told himself. "I want you to find my errant son and shake him down for information. He's been too lax in his duties and too laconic in his reports. Remind him what he's forgotten, if you would."

Despite the wording that made it a request Will knew what it was. He'd just been given his orders. He knew what those flat mirror eyes promised him if he screwed up. He was given an order, and there'd be hell to pay if he failed again. Indifferent to the older rocket's shaken state, Raphael Satoshi Giovanni reached over, and with practiced ease tapped the ash of his cigar tip into the awaiting tray.

"Get out."

William fled, not once looking back.