Nine-To-Five Bastard

"You bastard!"

I leaned down and patted the boy's head. "It's my job, kid."

He growled, but he couldn't do much on the ground. His Pokeballs sat securely in my belt, a nice addition to my collection. I didn't expect much from him, but his Growlithe seemed to have potential.

I walked back onto the path, leaving the young Trainer with a few bumps and bruises. They will heal. Looking at the Pokeballs, I thought about what he said. I guess one could consider me a bastard, being on Team Rocket, but that's not what I set out to be.

I worked hard to make a decent living, just like anyone else. I considered myself a businessman, with a medial job and paperwork to write. I had a family I came home to and ate dinner with.

The only difference was that my job entitled me to be a bastard.

Sure, some men are bastards on their days off, but rarely is it required of them. I didn't let it get to me. I was a human being, the same as anyone else, who didn't let his job interfere with his personal life.

I didn't steal or kill Pokemon on my off-hours.

But if I told that kid this, he wouldn't care. I was still a bastard to him and anyone else I hurt on duty. I was evil and malicious.

But that's only nine-to-five.

I can't make this