Chapter 4 - Part Four

Lyra’s fingers relax around the cap; removing one hand to run through the top of her head. She can feel dried strands of hair already parting from the damp hair beneath; rising up a little bit. She grimaces a little, running her fingers along her hairline. Did she always have a widow’s peak, or…?


No. No she didn’t. That realization alone was enough to excise the temptation to look in the mirror. She wouldn’t lie to herself - she wasn’t strong enough to confront the woman that would be staring back at her. Her hair… Would do what it wanted to. Even if she wanted to style it; her hair ties were abandoned on the top level of the subterranean facility - probably already swept away and discarded. Team Rocket was nothing if not efficient about getting rid of things it couldn’t use. 


She puts the cap on; and even for as familiar as it feels… She also feels nauseatingly obedient. It was part of the uniform, after all. Even if she understandably would stand out in the base, she just felt like another grunt in a uniform.


She hears a knocking - and finds a cold-looking grunt leaning against the doorframe. “The administrator wants to see you.” she orders, waving Lyra along. Was that grunt just waiting for her? Lyra supposed that would definitely be plausible - she wouldn’t put it past Ariana to keep tabs on her… To say nothing of the apparent lack of privacy around the dorms and showers. “Follow along. Pay attention to the path - the administrator wants you familiarized with the layout of the facility as soon as possible. While she didn’t mention any repercussions if you fail to do so…” The grunt looks down a little, then back up. “The administrator can be exacting.”


Lyra felt a chill; and she can’t tell if it’s the grunt’s words, or the last of the warmth of the shower fading from her body. 


The unwittingly-conscripted trainer was much more cognizant as she navigated the labyrinthine halls now than when she’d last left the test chamber - hell, more than when she was just running to get away from Ariana. Learning the halls would be useful… For more than just doing what they were telling her, right? Her mind wandered back to when she’d first been freed from the chair - when she imagined she had options; the illusion of choice Ariana so-magnanimously dispelled her of. They seemed ready to just accept her as some browbeaten minion - and, given what she’d gone through, she couldn’t blame them for taking her as demoralized into obedience. In a sense, she was. But… That was useful. If they thought she was ready to play by their rules, then she had time to use what she learned to her advantage. Maybe escape? 


But, even then… It wasn’t as if she could fix this alone. One step at a time, she told herself.


“We’re here. See yourself in.” The grunt motioned to a door with a red stripe on it - peeking through a window upon it, she can see Ariana standing behind a desk - her back to the door. She seemed to be holding something; and Lyra can hear her voice, albeit muffled. The grunt was already walking away when Lyra opened the door; earning her a look from over Ariana’s shoulder. The red-haired admin smiles, then resumes speaking.


“And it’s based on those findings that I believe we’re acting prematurely. I don’t think he’d want to come back; as we are now. If we postpone…” Ariana pauses. “This is insurance. Eliminating the margin of error. The Lake of Rage should’ve proven that.” Crassly, the administrator grunts. “Two weeks, then. And, about the Celadon revival project…” Ariana pulls a phone away from her ear, tilting her head. “Proton?” Silence. She scoffs, setting the blocky device back on its wall-mounted cradle. 


Lyra tilts her head; but the immediate response she’s given is one of open arms and a wide - if sinister - smile. “My my - looks like it only took a little soap and water to wash off the last of your imperfections.” She walks around the desk, bracing one arm under her breasts and supporting the other with one hand. A finger curls beneath her chin as she looks Lyra over - observes her as one would a work of art. “And a new wardrobe, of course. Blast that Proton - if he didn’t have me doing his job, I could’ve overseen this personally…” 


Lyra gulps. The last image she needed in her head was Ariana joining her in the shower. 


“But, nevermind that. You look well on your way - and you’re already showing just how bright you are. After that last tantrum, I wasn’t sure you’d cooperate.” She leans in, chuckling. “Maybe you’re growing up quicker than I gave you credit for.” Stepping back, she motions toward a chair opposite her desk. “Sit.” she orders; walking around to a seat of her own. When Lyra lowers herself into the wooden chair, it gives a soft and plaintive creak - and the claustrophobically-tight arms built into the chair hug uncomfortably against her thighs. 


Ariana pulls out a drawer on her side of the desk, and pulls out a handful of items. The first makes Lyra’s eyes light up - a PokeGear. Her PokeGear. Its vibrant pink coloration was the same as she remembered it… But, as though Ariana registers the familiarity, she turns it over. The maintenance panel on the back is… Decidedly different. It’s a stark black; and beyond the plastic seems to have been melted together with the rest of the device - making it impossible to remove. The next thing she pulls out is… A belt, followed by three Pokeballs and a keycard. The ball in the center is a Net ball - just looking at it makes her shudder.


“First thing’s first. We took the liberty of modifying your device. Its clock is functional, but the phone can only operate via local communications. Second-” She motions to the keycard. “you’re being entrusted with access to the primary sublevels and deeper sublevels; but until further notice, no surface access.” She motions to herself. “Frankly, I find much more comfort in climate-controlled research facilities. While I can’t mandate it, I do hope you find similar solace.” There’s a pause before she motions to the balls. “If not, don’t get any ideas about tanning your lovely complexion away. We burn.”


Lyra’s brow cocked. We? She… She looks down at her hands, folded in her lap. Obviously there was more going on with her body than simply getting older and chubbier, but this was the first time Ariana had addressed it so… Explicitly. 


“Ohoho… You seem conflicted.” Ariana teases. “Never you worry. Our… Connection was not premeditated, but think of yourself as lucky.” Lucky? Lyra gives a breathless chuckle. “No matter what came of the experiment, we were always going to see it through together. I was prepared to supervise study in any regard… And as your supervisor, I’ve been given a more intimate lens into your condition than either of us could have asked for. I know myself better than anyone else…” She trails off. “And now, I’d wager I understand more about you than you do yourself. I would offer for you to trust me...” Ariana leans back, picking up one of the Pokeballs. “But trust is simply something to be exploited. Take that to heart.”


In a way, Lyra knew she was already preparing to. She wanted to deceive Team Rocket. She’d already stolen a Pokemon, and… This whole nightmare began when she broke into their facility in disguise. The parallels Lyra was drawing between herself and the villainous gang weren’t making her any happier. Ariana broke her from her train of though as she continued.


“These are to be your tools. That useless Koffing, the disposable Voltorb, and... “ The Net Ball. “The first successful test subject of the Forced Evolution Initiative. Although… Given recent developments, I suppose a distinction should be made in the project.” Ariana taps her chin, then waves it away. “Consider this the second project you’ve been assigned. Further research into its training and proper rearing - perhaps reproduction… Mass production…? Hohoho.” 


As Ariana picks up the belt, Lyra can notice some wiring along the inside; and subtle green lights. The administrator affixes the three Pokeballs to the belt beside the buckle, then offers it to Lyra. She doesn’t give an order, but… Lyra understands what she’s asking. Lyra feels the belt she was already wearing slide underneath her protruding gut, soon to be replaced - and from there, she clips the keycard and modified PokeGear to the side opposite the Pokeballs.


“As much as I’d love to supervise you, my duties lie elsewhere. While tempting to begrudge them… Responsibility is simply a fact of adult life. If you haven’t learned as such already… Perhaps today will well and truly initiate you. You’re due for your first official occupational responsibilities as a member of Team Rocket.” Lyra looks up curiously. For as much as Ariana went on about duty and responsibility - she hadn’t exactly made it clear what those were. In some morbid way, Lyra was a little curious. “This is just a temporary position, but…” She leans down, picking up a piece of paper and holding it up. Lyra tries to see what’s on it…


But she has to squint to see it; much like the tags on the uniforms from before. It’s… Directions. She thinks.


“Follow these directions,” Phew - Lyra feels relieved. At least her eyes were still working… Even if she had to strain them a little more. She rubs them both as Ariana continues. “and relieve the current person on duty. They’ll instruct you as to your duties, and you’ll spend the next four hours working, followed by an hour long meal, and then four more hours of labor.” Nine hours? Lyra sinks a little in her seat. She didn’t even know what she’d be doing, but from the snippets she’d gotten from other grunts, she wasn’t looking forward to it. “After which - you may report to me. Following that… You have the remainder of the day to do with as you wish. Adulthood affords a degree of freedom, you know.”


She hands the note over to Lyra, who takes it sullenly in both hands. Ariana stands, and bids Lyra to do the same as they both move to the door. Ariana motions for Lyra to advance… And to open the door for her. Obediently, Lyra does so; prompting a sinister grin from the admin. “Remember - as part of our experiment, you’re representing both of us. It’s instrumental that you make us look good.” she warns, setting off down one hall - and according to her instructions, Lyra was bound for the other.


She begins to walk away… But slows down as the sound of Ariana’s heels finally fade out of earshot. The trainer balls one hand into a fist, and slams it against the wall. Her teeth grit - in frustration, and mild pain. What was wrong with her, she thinks. Ariana was just walking all over her; ordering her to do this and that - and she had the confidence to do so not just out of arrogance, but because Lyra knew full well she was setting a precedent with how easily she came to obey. If she wanted to deceive Team Rocket; if she wanted to escape, she’d have to engender that confidence… But it wasn’t as much of an act as she wanted it to be. It wasn’t like she was pretending to go along with all of this… She just was. She was too weak to resist; as a trainer and as a woman…


As a woman. She drops her hand to her side, shaking her head. She still wasn’t used to thinking of herself like that; but both Ariana’s insistence in doing so and there simple reality of the situation made it hard to think otherwise. She was more of a woman than some of these grunts - she thought bitterly. Young, delinquent, vivacious and… Amorous. Lyra’s cheeks flush as she recalls the showers.


To take her mind off of it, she looks down at the instructions… Then down further as she has to bring her face closer to the page to make it out. She’d never had any troubles with her vision before - why now…? It seemed like objects several meters away were just fading into an anomalous blur, and things close to her were simply losing clarity. She finally and begrudgingly advances, following the directions until she came upon a wider hall; terminating in a pair of double doors. Before she even had a chance to open them, they were forced open as a grunt pushed a cart through; loaded with cardboard boxes.


Much like the others - a situation Lyra simply didn’t want to grow accustomed to - the woman pushing the cart was younger than her. Younger than some of the other grunts; even. Her hair was a dark shade of teal, and she grunted as she pushed the cart forward. “Hey!” she calls, the cart slowing as she removes one hand - doing so simply to wave Lyra aside. “Outta tha way!” 


Lyra hugs the side of the wall as the grunt passes by, eventually coming to a stop in the middle of the hall. She advances toward, Lyra, looking her over. Lyra stood an inch or two above the grunt - which truthfully made her feel a little self-conscious. Eventually, the grunt pokes Lyra’s soft stomach, causing her to flinch.


“Looks like you’re takin’ over for me, tubby. ‘Bout time.” she grumbles, locking the cart’s wheels and leaning against it. “Boss lady called ahead. Ten minutes ago. Shoulda been outta here ten minutes ago, but…” She rolls her eyes, tilting her head upward. “Anyway. You’re doin’ receivin’ today. Gonna be a helluva workout, so maybe it’ll do ya some good.” Again, the grunt jabs Lyra’s stomach, prompting her to brace her hands over it. Her brow furrows; and the look of frustration on her face makes the grunt chuckle. “Hey, you’ll thank me later. Go on in,” The grunt points to the double doors. “I’ll be back in a few.” As Lyra shuffles off to the doors, she can hear them murmur “A few too many…”


Stepping in through the doorway, Lyra can’t help but balk. It’s clearly some sort of warehouse, but… Not a particularly well-organized one. Cardboard boxes and metal crates litter the floor, alongside derelict machinery; some of which seems partially disassembled. There’s a few racks in place along the walls suspending even more storage containers above ground level - but nothing above five feet. The lofted racks sit empty; dusty - evidently a result of a clear lack of machinery to access them. What isn’t stored on the racks simply finds a home on the floor; creating a maze. Lyra almost trips over a stack of collapsed boxes as she takes her first step inward; only narrowly avoiding falling flat on her face. 


True to her promise, the grunt returns a few minutes later; finding Lyra sitting on a crate. “Hey! That’s sensitive equipment, get your fat ass off!” she shouts, prompting Lyra to jump up. A clear look of scorn on her face, she shoves a clipboard against Lyra’s chest - it clatters to the ground before the startled trainer can react, prompting her to get on her knees to gather it - and the scattered papers - back up. “Ugh - what tha hell does tha boss lady see in you?” she whines.


When Lyra has clipped everything back into place, she looks up - apologetically and expectantly.


“I got other stuff ta do, so I’ll keep this short. All a’ these boxes got a code on ‘em. Find tha boxes that’re on that list, put ‘em on a cart, check ‘em off, and haul ‘em to tha lift. Easy enough?” Lyra nods, and the grunt shakes her head. “We’ll see. Try not ta break anythin’ - it’s your fat ass on the line if ya do.” She turns on her heel and marches for the door; aggressively shoving it open, and leaving Lyra alone.


Alone, and biting her lip. Like the elevator guard, she wished she had the slightest ounce of her confidence. Moreover; she wished she had one person… Just one, that didn’t talk down to her. Somebody who didn’t see her as an experiment, or as new blood, or as… Lyra places a hand on her stomach. She hadn’t had this weight - this body! - for more than a day, and already she was feeling self-conscious about it. For better or worse, she was starting to understand Team Rocket. Their loyalty wasn’t difficult to earn… Theoretically. Clearly they were kept in line by fear; by strength… And Lyra hated that she wished to earn that; if only for a reason as superficial as expelling that omnipresent condescension. 


Lyra stands up shakily, bracing one hand on her back. She tucks the instructions into the bottom of the clipboard, and… Begrudgingly, begins flipping through the list, trying to get to work.


It was as she began that she came to realize that the work she’d been tasked with wasn’t particularly… Cerebral. She supposed that was fitting; given as dim-witted as some of these grunts seemed, but it didn’t make it any more tolerable. She squinted at the sheet as she looked over the codes on them. They didn’t have any particular order, but as she read them through, she began to pick up hints of a pattern. They all began with a single character - C, S, M, or… 5; then a space. After that, two numbers, and three digits following that; which she found no significance in. She started looking around the boxes on the racks - at least they were close to eye level, but she didn’t find many. 


With a plaintive whine, she lowered herself onto her knees, beginning to check through the boxes on the floor. She spent most of the first hour searching before she found one box; and at least figured out - roughly - where each of the different prefixed boxes were in the warehouse. After that, the search was minimal… But lifting promptly became the task at hand.


Lyra realized that even if she’d had quite a… Taxing run during her escape attempt, she hadn’t gotten a good read on her new body’s limits - fatigue and pain had been dulled by the adrenaline rush; followed immediately by unconsciousness. The only thing that lingered past her blackout was a bit of soreness in her joints - especially in her feet. All she could hope for, as she maneuvered an empty cart past a twisting walkway formed by scattered boxes, is that she could handle another three hours of the task.


… Followed promptly by another four, she reminds herself.


Finally, she locates her first box. It’s unsealed - and as she pulls the cardboard flaps apart, she has an idea. If they were putting her by their supplies, maybe she could gather some of her own? Given, she didn’t have a bag, but she could squirrel them away in this Rattata’s nest of a warehouse, and retrieve them later. She opens the box…


And finds a handful of disassembled computer towers inside. Her hands tighten around the cardboard; near to crushing it before she stops herself. She didn’t wonder where this temper of hers was coming from - all she’d suffered through made it rather clear to her. Justified, even. If nothing else, it was the one thing she could fault herself or feel bad for. Folding the flaps back into place, she lifts it up with a soft grunt, and places it on the cart. Lyra takes a deep breath afterward, patting off her gloves. There - that wasn’t so hard. 


The second box wasn’t too far; and hey - that one was pretty easy. The third; piece of cake.


Lyra began to feel a little twinge in her back after the tenth. After the fifteenth, her arms felt a little tired - and even a momentary break she took to search around some more didn’t alleviate the fatigue. All the back-and-forth around the warehouse, looking for boxes in their respective categories, was beginning to take its toll on her legs as well. How much time did she have left, now…?


Lyra checks her PokeGear. Two hours, forty-five minutes. Damn.


Things didn’t get any easier from her from there. After the thirtieth box, Lyra removed her cap and wiped some sweat from her brow. Her fingers were sore; arms aching and back not faring much better. The cart itself was getting fuller, and she felt forced to push it back into the hall simply because she needed a break from referencing the list. It was becoming harder and harder to reference it - even being typed, she was having more and more trouble discerning the 5s and Ss. What would happen if she delivered the wrong thing? It was her fat ass on the line, after all. 


Lyra winces as she pushes the cart through the doors - and not because of the physical pain. The grunt’s stinging remark haunts her, lingering on as she continues to push the cart. 


She can’t tell if she overloaded the thing or not - it moves slowly and only with great force; requiring her to put her back into pushing it. Most of what it was carrying wasn’t particularly heavy either; the only reason it particularly hurt for her to lift was simply the constant up-and-down repetition. Lyra is well aware that if she were… Normal… This kind of thing would be a breeze, but as she was, she had to strain to move it down the winding halls. She slowed down further every so often to reference a map of the facility she found among the papers on the clipboard - directing her to the elevator. 


When she finally arrived, she expected to be greeted - but, no such luck. Was she supposed to bring it up further, herself? No - the teal-haired grunt from before was having just about as much trouble pushing her cart; and she came back much too quick to have gone up a floor. Unsure and unsupervised, Lyra leaves the cart wedged against the wall; out of the way and ready for… Whoever was supposed to pick it up. She grabs the clipboard off the top, making her way back to the warehouse. As she does, she can’t help but lower her hands to her stomach, scratching around her underbelly… And, though her back protests, leaning down to scratch at her legs. She wasn’t sure why - but for the past hour, she’d been feeling particularly itchy. She just hoped it wasn’t any sort of chemical leak - those metal boxes looked sketchy to begin with - or a further.. Experiment Ariana was subjecting her to. She wouldn’t put it past the old hag-


Lyra whines softly. She supposed it wasn’t appropriate to think of Ariana that way - not out of any sort of respect, but… It wasn’t like she was much younger than the Rocket admin. She softly scratches her stomach as she passes back into the warehouse.


There was still another cart left for her to fill - so she wasted no time in starting the next checklist. With the exceedingly simple nature of the task, Lyra had at first hoped she’d have ample time to think - to put her mind toward other pursuits; even toward formulating an exit plan. But, even for as easy as it was, the parsed-out instants where she needed to dedicate some modicum of focus to the task at hand made her thought process stilted. It was considerably easier for her to simply… Not bother focusing on anything else. She could tune out; just do the job and let the time tick by. 


Of course, doing the job at hand still wasn’t getting any easier. She began to take quick breaks between lifting boxes - to straighten out her back and try to give her arms a rest. Even doing that, she found herself breaking into a sweat; and if she cleaned herself off, more sweat came to take its place. It seeped into her uniform - which mercifully was too dark to show any particular stains, but her face was flushed and glistening. She was sweating like a Piloswine in a sauna. 


Eventually, she finished a second list - and that at least meant she’d get to get out of the warehouse for a bit. Admittedly, she’d given up her plans for scrounging through boxes for supplies - nothing seemed useful; most of it was machinery, devices, or books she couldn’t understand. If one of the boxes she was hauling had something useful - like Pokemon, potions, or something else… She wasn’t aware, and didn’t have the energy to look. Lyra pushed the loaded cart back to the elevator - and found an empty one waiting for her. For a moment, she was relieved she wouldn’t have to do that work… But she supposed it was pretty pathetic that she was doing any work for Team Rocket to begin with. She pushed the empty cart back - much more easily, with as light as it was - but by the time she arrived back at the warehouse, her PokeGear began to ring. A call?


Lyra tips her hat up, wiping some sweat from her brow as she looks down at the device. The built-in clock was flashing - it was break time. Even if it was a little… Dull, she supposed her strategy for passing the time worked fairly well. Too tired to do much else, she drops the clipboard on the cart and shoves it in through the doors, wearily making her way to the break room… And scratching at herself as she goes.


The route to the room feels familiar. The path she takes reminds her of her frantic flight from Ariana - but what truly drives the recollection is the fact that the walls around her have begun to blur. She can hardly see where she’s going; but she knows she’s making the right turns. Eventually, the sight of a doorway - or what she believes to be one - leads her into the breakroom. Exhausted as she was already; the walk here was disproportionately draining. She squints as she looks around the room, and mercifully, none of the vague shapes before her stand out as an actual person. For the moment, she was… Alone. 


Lyra finds a seat at the table - the same seat she’d taken during her escape, but as her sore legs found some rest, she found her situation considerably different - now, she had no inclination to leave. She turns in her seat, leaning against the table and supporting her head in her hands. She hadn’t realized she’d been panting until now - and perhaps it was simply being cooled down by walking through the halls, but sitting still made it clear how hot she was. Her body felt radiantly warm against her tight uniform; to say nothing of the moistness she felt gathering around her - beneath her arms, behind her belt, between her breasts… Even around her gut. Just because that was those were the densest concentrations of sweat didn’t mean they were the only ones, however - her hands in her gloves and feet in her boots were uncomfortably sweaty; and her entire body felt sticky - much too much for this dry, climate-controlled coolness. 


Furthermore, sitting still made it clear that the sweat wasn’t just causing discomfort - it was giving rise to a… Noticeable scent. One that made Lyra’s head sink lower in her hands. 


Before she could dwell too much upon it, her gut lurched - giving off a soft; low growl. Lyra perked up - she realized she hadn’t eaten anything… For the whole day. Maybe that’s why she felt so exhausted? She made out the shapes of vending machines against the walls, and moved over to them. Mercifully, the slot to insert bills and coins seemed to be replaced with a black panel and welded shut - at least the food was free. 


More likely it was stolen; but Lyra tried very hard not to think about that as she tried to read the selection. 


The trainer’s forehead was nearly butting up against the machine before she managed to make out the images on the machine. It seemed to be a model she’d seen in Goldenrod before - holding hot food; while the machine next to it was for drinks. She ran a hand across the machine until she found the right button for a hot dog, then repeated the same process for a lemonade on the machine opposite. The latter came instantly, and when she looked up from retrieving the canned drink, she caught a glimpse of somebody entering. 


She couldn’t make out too much about them; but they definitely weren’t a grunt. They wore a white coat, and… Glasses? A scientist, probably. They found a seat on the far end of the room, seeming to take a break from whatever they were working on. Lyra jumps as she hears a sharp ding! from behind her; and the soft sound of a plastic panel receding as her meal is presented. 


Retreating to the table, Lyra started to eat. The food was… Serviceable. Dry, a little flavorless - but it was food. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was the extent of their availability - but she supposed, if she wasn’t too exhausted, she could take her time to look around after she was ‘free’ for the evening. Maybe even look for an escape route, or… No, no. She was much too tired to do something as arduous as that. Lyra’s primary aspiration for the day was simply to return to the dorms, take a nice, warm shower, and rest up. She could worry about escape tomorrow. 


Lyra closed her eyes and took a sip of her lemonade. When the sound of a sharp click reaches her ears, she nearly spits it out. Looking to the doorway, she can hear the familiar sound of Ariana’s heels, and despite her greatest hopes, the red-haired woman veers from her path into the break room. Even unable to make out the breadth of her features, Lyra can tell that she’s got a smug look on her face. 


“Now, there’s my new favorite colleague.” she coos sinisterly, walking forward - but stopping just out of Lyra’s current range of clarity. “How’re we enjoying our first day of real work?” She crosses arms, awaiting a response, but before she receives one, Lyra can make out the admin tilting her head. “What’re you doing there…?” she muses, leaning forward.


Lyra immediately leans back - but Ariana presses forward. 


“Were you squinting?” Lyra nods. “Why? Is-... Are... “ She retreats, shaking her head. “How many fingers am I holding up?” She raises a hand - and Lyra leans forward and squints to make it out, but the grumbling executive pulls it away faster than she can manage. “Hmph. That tells me enough. Interesting…” Ariana raises a hand to her chin, crooking a finger pensively and looking away…


Then, she perks up.


“You.” she begins, pointing to the scientist. “Give me those.” 


“E-eh?” he grunts, tilting his head. “What-”


“Your glasses. Give them to me.” The man reaches up and takes them off - fumbling and nearly dropping them to the ground with as much as he’s jittering. Ariana moves forward, grabbing the glasses in one hand, and the scientist’s collar in the other. He squeals at first - but as Ariana brings the glasses closer, it’s clear that she’s just using his clothes to clean them off. 


She releases him with a harsh shove and moves back over to Lyra - before she can muster a protest, she plants the glasses on her face - and Lyra flinches back as she clearly sees Ariana’s quizzical face staring at her, less than a foot away. 


“Better?” she muses, stepping away. Lyra is prepared to nod, and manages to swing her head downward before she’s hit with a wave of dizziness. Bracing her hand against her temple to keep the glasses steady, she looks back up. While she can definitely see clearer… Perhaps it’s too clear. Obviously this man had a much different prescription than how her eyes were devolving, so it made everything look… Odd; but at least she could see a little better.


Looking up to Ariana, she’s not sure if that’s a good thing.


“Wonderful.” she begins, puffing out her chest. “If it’s not a perfect fit, then… I’m sure you’ll get used to it. If any unforeseen developments arise, do contact me.” Lyra can see the panicked scientist scrambling out of the room; bumping clumsily against the doorframe as he makes his exit. Ariana seems to pay it no mind. She looks up and away from Lyra - who follows her gaze to a clock. “Damn. I have to get back to the upper level.” She takes a step away, then raises a finger. “And if you see that scientist again, make sure to discipline him in my stead. I’m unsure what project he’s working on, but he brought a foul stench into the break room with him.”


With that, Ariana briskly departs - and once more, Lyra is alone. 


Alone, sweaty, exhausted, and wearing unfamiliar glasses; for the first time in her life. The realization of it all is… Demoralizing, as she stares down at the crumpled remains of plastic from her meal was delivered, and the half-empty can of lemonade. She feels that temper rising back up in her, and she balls her hand into a fist, but… She’s too tired to bring it down; so she lets gravity bring it limply down to her side. She leans against the table, weakly raising a hand to poke beneath her gut and her belt, scratching that resurgent itch. 


Her PokeGear beeps - reminding her that she only has a half hour left until she’s got to get back to work. The only hope Lyra has, if purely momentary, is for it to end quickly.