On Halloween night back home in Lavender Town, Morty would spend the holiday administering candy to trick or treaters and assuring that the Pokemon Tower's graves weren't disrespected. Even though he was a child himself at the time, he felt a greater duty to the dead than to the pandemic of sugary gluttony. It was stupid him. If he wanted candy, he could just ask his parents or buy some. But the costumes were fun to look at, though he'd always been too late realizing the time of year to partake in that portion.
Often times, his night would end with him sitting atop a tree outside of the tower, keeping vigil until sunrise with Gastly by his side.

That was years ago, though, before his family moved to Ecruteak and way before he had opted to enroll in Rocket Academy.

He recalled this memories of Halloween justice and nearly scalping graverobbers as he watched Proton kick a child to the ground outside the entrance to Dark Cave. The small boy let out a shrilling shriek—the high pitched, ear shattering cry that only children could emit.

Proton kicked the side of his head. "Oh, shut up! Let go!" He tugged viciously at the full bag of candy tightly clenched in the small hand. "I said to let go!"

Morty hated the noise. He heard enough of it inside his head, the least he asked for was some peace and quiet in the outside world. If things grew too loud, it was if something inside of him would wake up. Something that twisted the ghost trainer to its demented ways and bring about every twisted thought that had crossed his mind. His shoulders tensed, but eased upon feeling the air around him cool with Gengar's presence. That's right, we have something to do here.

After tasting a boot to the face once more, the boy whimpered in defeat and released his spoils of the night, then scurried away into the dark woods once from the older boy's grip.

"Too easy." Proton began scanning through the bag of hard earned treats, plucking out a candy bar and opening it. It had been like taking candy from a baby. Oh, wait.

"Proton, perhaps we should focus on the task at hand?" Morty was beginning to question the academy's choices when pairing up students for these practice missions.

"Oh, lighten up!" Proton tossed him a Snickers. "I didn't plan on spending my Halloween in Lavender Town. All these kids—I forgot this place was so busy this time of year!" It wasn't as if he had any different plans back at the dorms. He would have probably sneaked out of his room that night to go assault children and steal their candy, anyway.

Morty unwrapped the chocolaty, nuggety treat and took a bite. "It wasn't always such a…tourist attraction. There's so much more to this town than what you'd see on a single night. Or there was."

"Oh? You know this place, then?"

The blond nodded. "This is my hometown."

Proton sneered. Morty was from Lavender Town? No wonder he was such a freak! But so was Proton. So this partnership could work beautifully. Their mission was simple enough. They were to observe and write a report on the newly built Radio Tower. If possible, they were to infiltrate it and create a map of the inner layout; Team Rocket had been hoping to carry out an operation there some time in the future. Tonight just happened to be the perfect night to carry out such a mission. There was a thick coat of ominous mist throughout the entire town, the sky was filled with clouds that blocked out the moonlight, and the only people present in the tower would be maybe a radio host or two with it being Halloween.

"So, is it true that they knocked down some kind of Pokemon graveyard to build the tower? " Not that Proton cared; he just would rather Morty say something rather than stare at him with those blank, amethyst eyes. How could anyone not know? There'd been a huge fuss about it, and the footage of channelers being dragged out of the tower forcefully had circulated the news for weeks. One of those crazy women even scratched out a policeman's eye, supposedly.

The other teen nodded. "Yes." He turned to where the tower stood, barely visible in the hazy town below them. "The spirits are restless because of the travesty. They seek vengeance. Their souls-corrupted by corporate greed."

Proton blinked. Yeah. Morty was definitely a fucking freak.

"Well, are you going to do something about it?"

"I plan to."

"What're you gonna do?"

"Why are you concerned?"

"Well, we're partners, so I need to know what you're doing. Y'know, so we don't fail this thing if one of us gets into trouble."

Morty pulled his scarf to his lips, then turned his head from the tower to the green haired boy who was in fact his partner. Getting into trouble? Neither of them looked to be too physically strong, at least not enough to fight off anyone bigger than them. But strength in numbers was an advantage, and it wasn't as if either of them would exactly fight fair. They just had to be careful.

"I want to leave a message for them." He spoke softly. "A message for the man who ordered this tower to be rebuilt and the graves of Pokemon decimated, on behalf of those that they so recklessly dishonored."

Violent acts? This definitely sounded like something violent, and had Proton interested enough. "Go on."

"I'm going to find the highest up employee there that I can and make an example out of them. Do their will. It isn't as if I'll get in trouble for it, or as if Team Rocket won't ever order me to take a life in the future."

Proton let out a chuckle. He would much prefer to be paired with a lunatic than someone that didn't have enough backbone to stab an attacker to save their life. He'd seen too many spineless students back away in criminal classes during drills. Those were the people that weren't going to last in Team Rocket. Not like himself; he enrolled in a life of crime for the amnesty and the money, and if he had fun while doing it, all the better! "Alright, then, let's get going."

x~x~x~x~x

Neither questioned whether or not the other had taken a human life before, despite its relevance to the task at hand. Both had committed their fair share of atrocities, due to their own lack of mental wellbeing. Proton's being a sadistic bastard and Morty being borderline schizophrenic with his own twisted tendencies. Though Proton was proud of his feats and found fun in them, Morty was more morally driven. As morally driven as murder could be, anyway.

They approached the tower through the thick fog, going unnoticed as most of the town's inhabitants and visitors were attending the Halloween festival in the center of town. There was a single light shining through the top floor of the Radio Tower. But wasn't that the president's office? Was this person actually working on a holiday? Oh well. Better opportunity.

When the two Rockets in training entered the ground floor, Morty noticed that it was nothing like he remembered. Even the inside had been remodeled. The wooden floor and memorials of Pokemon had been ripped from the ground and replaced with a cushy carpet. In the corner of the room, where the grave of a Growlithe had been, was now a thin plasma TV set atop an expensive wooden stand. He could remember it so plainly, the marble grave with the epitaph of a girl's best friend. The small, frail child kneeling in front of the grave, tears streaming down her reddened face, questioning to herself, "my Growlithe, why did you die?"
The spirit of the loyal Pokemon had whimpered at her, trying to use its transparent tongue to lick away at her tears.
It was a sight Morty could never forget.

"Hey, you think it'd be easier to go up the stairs and see who's got their light on?" Proton whispered, seeing as they had been heading for the elevator.

But the blond teen didn't even hear him. Without a second thought, he charged over to the TV stand and kicked the expensive electronic to the floor, then proceeded to stomp the screen, shattering it to hundreds of pieces. They were screaming right now. They couldn't stand this reminder of human atrocity, and they were going to assure that Morty carried out their revenge.

"Morty, what the fuck?!" Proton scurried behind him, linked his arms under the other's shoulders, and pulled him away sternly, just as he'd practiced in class a few days ago. "You're going to make too much fucking noise!"

"Yes, you're right." Morty eased up, and the other released him from his grip.

"Damned straight I'm right. Seriously, I wanna break shit, too, but—"

The lights flicked on, and a heavyset man in business attire stood by the elevator. "What in tarnation is goin' on?!" He demanded, walking over to the two boys with a stunned look on his face, then quickly turning his attention to the heavily damaged television. "Th-that was a two thousand dollar set!"

Proton's eyes lit up. It seemed that their prey had come to them! What luck! He withdrew a knife from his belt and had no trouble slinking the man's side to wrap an arm around his shoulder, pointing the blade right at his neck. "Don't scream or I'll slice your neck open."

Morty remained unmoved. "Who are you and what are you to the Radio Tower?" He intended to carry out his own form of justice. It was by his choice, but they guided him. As they had his entire life.

"Why, I'm the president, of course! The CEO! I built this facility myself, young man!"

It was indeed him. This was the person—no, the thing—that had disrespected the dead for the last time now. The thing that had made millions by having graves bulldozed and memorials uprooted. The thing that deserved to be tossed to those he desecrated and eaten alive like a bleeding animal thrown into a pool of Carvanha. He felt his stomach sink, his heart beating so intensely that it felt as if it'd burst from chest any moment now, followed by a cracking noise between his ears, and then the voices flooded his thoughts. There were too many to keep track of individually, and they collided into an internal sea of screams and pleas.

Yessss, Morty, that's him! That's the one!

Morty, it still hurts…

Make him pay for us. Please!

There's thousands of embezzled dollars in his office, just so you know.

Where is she? Do you know? Please, help me find her—

Look at that smug look on his face!

The medium in question held the side of his head, wincing, his ears ringing, barely able to hear as Proton asked him if he'd rather off this scumbag himself. He just nodded; everything sounded as if a gunshot had been fired right next to his head. From his pocket he pulled out a boxcutter and pushed the blade out. His pupils shrunk into his eyes as he sloppily ran towards the sitting target. Proton skipped out of the way, not wanting to get caught in the blonde's fury but happy to witness the entertainment of a lunatic chopping someone up.

Morty drove the blade into the man's juicy, sweat moistened neck and sliced forward without hesitation. He couldn't hear him gurgling for breath and coughing as crimson splattered around the room. They weren't satisfied yet. It wasn't enough that this man die. No, he needed to suffer as they did. Have his body ripped to shreds and tossed around like any disposable pieces of garbage. He couldn't even hear himself at this point.

"Don't you hear them, Mister President?!" He was laughing now, sitting atop the large body, continually stabbing him, driving the blade in and out of his stomach as if he were tenderizing a large piece of steak. The wealthy man was shaking now, his body spazzing as he tried to choke out words. Proton just stood in the corner of the room, watching, arms crossed, a shit eating grin on his face. This guy was more exciting than he'd anticipated. He was losing his goddamn mind over some gravestones, but Proton wasn't about to comment on it.

Morty continued jabbing, stabbing, gouging, slicing, dicing, and driving the boxcutter over the body until his blade dulled in a matter of minutes. He had replacements, and quickly filled one into the device. He panted, sweat dripping from his chin, his own body shuddering as the voices slowly began subsiding. How long had they gone on for? His victim was now porous, his insides visible, a pink organ here and there poking out from the wounds. His eyes were closed and mouth still agape with a stupefied look.

Morty drove the blade into his jaw, slicing his mouth open. "No. There is no rest for someone like you." He calmly stood, fetched a stapler from the front desk, and promptly stapled the corpse's eyelids up-exactly three on each eye. He took a step back to admire his handy work, his clothes splotched in drying red, and Proton clapped.

"I gotta say, Morty, you're fuckin' nuts!"

Morty gave a soft smile. The voices had calmed down, at least, and he was sure that the man's spirit was getting just what he deserved right now. He didn't want to look, though. His head still felt heavy. "Says the person who watched without a word."

Proton gave a shrug. "This guy got any money on him?"

"Oh, right. There's a large sum of money in his office."

"Really? Sweet! Let's go, then!" He darted into the elevator, no longer seeing any reason to practice stealth, and Morty followed suit. Sure enough, once they arrived on the top floor and plumaged the CEO's office, they found a locked drawer full of wads of money. They had to bust it open with a crow bar, but it was there. Noise wasn't an issue now, supposedly, so Proton hadn't hesitated to slam the weapon into the cheap desk until he punctured it.

Unfortunately, this brought the attention of a secretary that had been staying late to finish up some work. "Sir, are you alright?" She stood in the doorway and gasped at the sight of two punks robbing the office before turning her back to flee.
Proton let out a "shit!" and grabbed her by the hair before she could dash back to the elevator. It looked like he was going to get to have his own share of fun tonight, though much shorter lived than Morty's. He made quick work of the girl, dashing his knife through her chest, humming the tune of a Poke Flute. With a gash through her chest, she fell to the floor and bled out with struggled gasps until her life had left her body.

He would have liked to have more time to have more fun with it, maybe tape her mouth shut and pull out her pretty red fingernails with pliers one by one-but if she was here, then other staff could be, too, and they couldn't risk being caught like this. Especially if someone were to call the police. They weren't equipped to deal with professionals. Proton grabbed the woman's purse, unzipped it, dumped its contents of makeup and accessories onto her body, and then began stuffing the cash into it before slinging it over his shoulder in style.

He looked over to see Morty sitting on the desk, watching him attentively. "What?"

Morty shook his head. "Nothing."

"This getting you hard or something?" He smirked, half joking.

Morty shrugged, trying to keep his composure. "I feel that perhaps it's more of the adrenaline produced in the situation."

"Bullshit." Proton moved closer. How could the other say something like that? What a lame excuse! This was Proton. He was sexy. He was slender with just the right amount of muscle. He was fucking irresistible to men and women alike!

He palmed Morty's crotch bravely. Sure enough, he had a hard on. "Ha! I knew it!"

The blonde's face turned red and he quickly looked away. "Don't…" He mumbled. "I don't do that sort of thing. It's reserved."

"For what? Love? Romance? Heh." What a joke. To Proton, sex was sex and it was the only thing he could think of that would make this night complete. He'd already robbed a kid of junk food, witnessed a gruesome murder, collected thousands of dollars (which he planned to pocket all he could), and killed someone himself. And if he could get laid now, this would be the best Halloween ever.

"I'm not sure myself." Morty really hadn't thought about it. He knew that he was aroused by things that would sicken normal people. That there was a certain feeling in the bottom half of his body when he watched Proton take the life of the corpse that was now laying lifeless on the floor. It'd lasted only a few seconds, but the memory was vivid enough to replay through his mind.

These feelings that ran through his body—no one else had been around for long when he'd feel them. He'd retreated to his own space to take care of himself or wait on it to subside, but now Proton was here in front of him, in his face, tempting him to give into that lustful sin of the body that he'd always been apprehensive of. Staring into the teal eyes now inches away from his, Morty felt his normally cool demeanor start to shrivel up.

"Then if you don't know, what's the problem?" Proton whispered soothingly, moving a hand over to his cheek and rubbing a blood stained thumb over his fair skin.
They were both sexy. They were both turned on by this demented evening. And they were both hormonal teenage boys. He couldn't find any issue with this at all.
Morty had no answer to that; he couldn't think like this. Thoughts weren't forming correctly, and he kept staring at Proton in a state of shock. Impatient for an answer, Proton moved in to kiss him, locking their lips together and moving his tongue against the others.

Morty felt his heart about to burst again, but not in anger or agony this time. It was something else entirely. He eased into it, closing his eyes, trying to follow the other's lead. Proton still tasted like the unnamed candy bar he'd opened earlier, and Morty's mouth still resembled the Snickers Proton had tossed him. He let out a quiet breath between kissing, trying to remember to breath. God. This was so awkward for him.

The situation escalated, Proton soon latching his arms around Morty's waist and lightly grinding into him. Morty was seeing stars at this point, trying to compose himself all the while wondering just what he was doing.
Proton broke the kiss and wiped away the thin thread of saliva that bridged between their mouths. "C'mon, let's head back before someone else comes in and calls the cops."
No sooner than he'd said that did blue lights flash outside the window, and the sound of the elevator rising echoed throughout the empty hallways. The woman he'd slain must have given someone forewarning of suspicious activity, or perhaps one of the radio hosts on a lower floor heard the commotion.

Proton secured the purse around his shoulder. "Guess we're taking the stairs."