Zero's next series, somewhere between detective noir and secret agent story!

Welcome to a dry run chapter of my next OC FF series, something not named yet. I'm going for a high-action novel falling somewhere between the "detective noir" and "secret agent" genres, hopefully a grown-up story still with a PG-13 rating.

The backstory is decided and 70% written elsewhere (started and temporarily put aside three months ago), but I'm not going to tell you anything about it (nyah-nyah). Mostly because I want to see if I'm able to just insert the necessary info into the story as it goes. It's a learning experience. On that note, this chapter, if it gets used, would end up being near the beginning-middle of the story. This isn't a prequel, it's a practice.

I welcome any comments or questions to be posted directly into this thread. In time, this may become an actual series from me in the same vein as Delta Effect (which is going on hiatus in a few more chapters), but for now, please enjoy it as-is.

---

"This isn't the usual kind of request we take here at Viridian Research." She said, leaning back in her chair and toying with a metallic pen in one hand. "In fact, it sounds unprecedentedly risky. What exactly can you do for us to make this worth our while?"

"The interests I represent have almost unlimited financial resources available. If you name a price, they will pay it." The man sat rigidly on the opposite side of the table. Sweat accumulated on his forehead, shining like glitter under the bright LED lights of the office.

"If they have so much resource available, then how come they need to outsource their dirty work? Hmm?" She asked, drilling the client more than most.

"I'm sorry, miss..." He said, letting the question hang unspoken.

"North." She said, adjusting the nameplate on her desk. "Monica North."

"Miss North, it's simply not my place to speak of my betters." The man said nervously, pulling his collar to loosen his sloppily-fastened necktie. "I'm only the messenger. The errand boy."

"If you had to guess." Monica asked, leaning forward now. She didn't know if it was the warm gesture, her trustworthy appearance, or good old-fashioned self-unaware good looks, but somehow leaning forward over the desk helped. "What would you say is the reason they don't have anybody of their own?"

"They're uncoordinated." He blurted out. "They disagree on everything, and everyone wants seventy percent of it all."

"I know what that's like." She either admitted or lied. "I used to work for that type. Always looking out for Number One, never able to see a bigger picture. It's a shame." She clicked her tongue a few times to covey pity. "I hate to move directly between these two topics, but what is your group's initial offer of payment?"

---

"And you didn't ask him why he wants it?" Cross asked into his earpiece over the sound of rushing wind as he and his Noctowl soared over the skyline of Castelia City.

"I keep telling you, it's none of our business." Monica's voice replied through the static.

"Yes it is." He insisted. "If he's trying to do something illegal and gets caught, he could drag us down with him."

"We cover our tracks better than that. But you're aware."

He landed in a designated grassy public area of Castelia City's downtown and looked in the direction of Driftveil Mining and Manufacturing's business and research headquarters, easily identifiable during flight by the five story tall DM&M logo glowing orange near the top of the building. "This is a lot of effort to go through just for some corporate espionage." He grumbled, beginning a walking trek to the building. "I hope it's worth while."

"It is. They're only paying money, but I was able to act it up and bump the price up enough to ensure you and I get some nice bonuses."

"As long as I have food and a roof, I don't need money." He explained. "Your end of the deal is coming along rather slowly, don't you think?" He turned a corner at an intersection rather than wait for the crosswalk light to turn favorable. "I didn't join this outfit just for the thrill of the it."

"We're working on it. In the mean time, just take care of the task at hand." Annoyance was manifesting in her voice.

"It's why I'm here."

"That's a good man." Monica said as something hit her desk. "I need to end the call. I'll be around, so keep your comms open. North out."

Cross looked at the earpiece comm's UI on his watch. An ended call became the time, 124 AM local. Almost funny how the numbers lined up, but the timing was perfect. DM&M's offices worked on an all-day nine to five schedule. That said, the division between five to one and one to nine was coming up shortly, and the first step of infiltration would be easier with the ability to blend in and excuse his presence.

12:40 AM Cross reached the front entrance of the building. He took off his nylon jacket and folded it into a his otherwise empty sackpack, and looked at his own disguised appearance reflected in the dark window of a first-floor office. Black tennis shoes led up to wrinkled black khakis, above which was a blue and white checked sportshirt. Sleeves rolled up below the elbow and dark red tie loosely fastened, both done intentionally sloppy. He put on a pair of non-lensing fashion glasses a that looked a few years younger and hipper than his face, and the image was complete. With a forced nervous smile, he would look for all the world like an inexperienced double-time college student and intern.

He walked to the center door that would lead to the lobby and exaggerated his reaction to the high ceiling and expansive granite flooring and walls. In the middle of the wide hall was a polished stone wraparound desk, an information and reception kiosk accessible from all sides. Beyond that, a wide upward staircase leading to an upper landing that resembled an indoor garden.

"Can I help you, son?" The gruff man at the reception desk asked. As expected, his uniform suggested he was security, since a typical receptionist wouldn't have much to do outside of regular business hours.

"Hi, yes." Cross said, his voice half an octave higher than usual and intentionally nervous. "My name is Emile Gibson, I'm here for my first night of interning. I'm supposed to meet up with miss..." Flanders, he knew. "Fleming... Flowers... the HR lady."

"Miss Flanders." The guard corrected. "I'll give her a call and she'll meet you down here with your badge."

"I thought she mentioned something about leaving my badge made up at the front desk." Cross said, trying to sway the conversation.

"I'll give her a call anyway." The man tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and dialed four digits into the receiver, then looked through one of the upper drawers of the desk. He found an already-printed ID badge with Cross' temporary fake name a photograph with only stunt-double similarity and handed it across the counter, where Cross was sure to grab it only by the edges before clipping it to his front pants pocket. "Hi, Carol. I've got... doing better. I think they're coming around... Thank you. Listen, I've got an Emile Gibson down here, saying he has an appointment with you."

Moment of truth, Cross thought. How well did support set this up?

"Good to hear it. I'll send him your way. You too." He hung up the phone. "Fifth floor. If you use that elevator, it will be room 506 on your right. Just slide the badge over the podium here. It's part of a wireless turnstile. It lets us know who comes and goes, and when they do it."

"Smart, thanks." Cross said with a smile. I never would have figured that out on my own. An ID badge that activates a turnstile can also keep track of people by those very ID badges? What a nifty idea.

He went to the same elevator the guard indicated and took it to the fifth floor. When it reached its destination, three second-shift employees filed in. "Going down?" one asked.

"Yeah, but farther than you." Cross lied.

"Big-shot newbie already has a spot in the garage?" Another asked and reached for ground floor on the floor selection panel, not noticing 5 was the only activated button. "I'll never understand it."

The three chattered and gossiped among themselves for the rest of the trip down, nothing that could be utilized in Cross' mission. Once they left, he tried again. Up to the fifth floor, wait for an automatic open and close of the door, then up to the fifteenth floor.

Out in the thinly-carpeted hallway, only every third florescent light was activated. "Monica." He whispered. Every sound around him was sent to his handler via his earpiece's mic: every conversation and footstep and creaky door, with no need to activate a switch or button. "Monica? Are you there?"

"I'm always here. What's happening?"

"Nothing yet. Floor fifteen looks empty of civs and sec. Can you confirm it at all?"

"There's one security person on each floor at all times." She said as the sounds of heavy keyboard typing came over the call. "Your floor's isn't moving. Asleep standing up, maybe. You have a clear path aside from cameras."

"Good enough." Cross said, stepping out of the elevator and doing his best to look lost. He pretended to knock on every door on one side of the hall, putting up the act until he got to the one he wanted: 1509. Keeping the persona of a lost intern, he poked his head in, confirmed the description of the room's layout, and made a beeline through the dark room lit only by the dim fluorescent light filtering through frosted hall windows. He found the desk and computer terminal he was told was being used by the second-lead researcher of the subject at hand, and inserted a USB drive into one of its front slots. The monitor awoke in a splash of blue and a chime sounded the computer's acceptance the peripheral, but showed nothing other than a blank login screen. The USB stick's access light, however, blinked rapidly. Just a waiting game now.

"Our techs are mirrored into the desktop." Monica said. "Keep it plugged and get the other stick in there."

"As you say." Cross replied. The computer chimed again as the second device connected successfully, but this phase took much longer. Apparently the documents themselves were hidden or locked in a larger compression. He examined the desk in the mean time, more out of boredom than a sense of further completing his job. A cork board on the wall of the cubicle had six photographs pinned into it, only one person in common in every picture, likely the employee who sat there forty hours per week. One picture in particular caught Cross' eye, the employee in question posed with a lively young-old man, an arm over each other's shoulders and laughing open-mouthed as if they were best pals. A smoky volcano decorated the background past a city skyline. "This researcher, how much do we know about him?"

"How much do you want to know?"

"Does he have any history working or living anywhere in Kanto, specifically Cinnabar Island?"

Monica's fingers danced on a keyboard on the other end of the line. "Yes, he was once an intern at the Cinnabar Bio-Cybernetic Labs before getting hired by DM&M."

"By chance, did he work with Dr. Blaine Sears?" A human-shaped shadow walked down the hallway on the other side of the frosted window. "Also, hurry up with taking this data."

"Working on it. And yes, Dr. Sears was a Silph Co scientist there at the same time. Anything else, sir?" She asked, growing annoyed.

"Just one more question. Did they have any major discoveries together?" Cross asked. The door cracked open and he ducked under the desk just as the lights came on.

"Actually, yes." Monica said, genuinely surprised. "He and Sears created the Beta version of Porygon almost entirely on their own. Why does this matter?"

"I don't know. It might not." He replied in a whisper, thankful the mic didn't need much volume to pick up. "By the way, thanks for keeping an eye out for the guard."

"If I wasn't distracted by all your important questions, then I would have noticed."

Cross held his breath and waited for the guard leave the doorway of the room and continue down the hall. The computer made a chime indicating an error of some kind. Footsteps came nearer, but the guard didn't say anything into the room or his radio. "Monica!" Cross whispered loudly. "What's on floor thirteen?" He asked as he unscrewed the plastic bolts fastening the side panel of the computer housing.

"Data servers and building maintenance." She replied, speaking quickly. "It must be hard to rent unlucky thirteen to the superstitious types. And we're not done with the transfer yet."

"Doesn't matter, don't ask why." He said as he pulled off the side panel of the computer case. Only one hard drive inside. He yanked it out, pulling the snake of a sata cable along with it. He packed the component into his bag, padded by the jacket he stuffed in earlier. "I need you to set up a getaway for me. I'm going to be outside in six minutes." He set a timer on his watch. "Get on it!" He whispered.

"On it." She answered. "Muting my end, but I'm still here."

The guard's feet stepped into view as he walked to the computer Cross was working on and was then hiding under. A grown man hiding under a desk: it just wouldn't work. The guard leaned down for a closer look once he noticed, and that triggered Cross' reaction. He sprang up from beneath, left-hand punched the man in the upper gut, then brought his right elbow across his forehead, the man was left gasping for breath too badly to speak into his radio. Cross snatched and pocketed the two USB drives from the computer, and ran for the exterior window while throwing forward one Pokéball. "Greenhorn!" He commanded to the Chesnaught within. "Rappel me down two floors."

"Ches'n." The Pokémon answered. As practiced, he extended two Vine Whips to grab Cross around the chest and shoulders as a harness. The man continued his sprint to the window and jumped, both feet out forward, smashing through the pane. Only above the street below for a matter of seconds, Chestnaut's Vine Whips had the perfect length to let him match the maneuver back into the building two stories lower. With perfect timing, Chesnaught released the harness and, moments later, duplicated the move on his own, landing in a deliberate roll, an incredibly graceful Pokémon for his size.

Cross laughed with how well the acrobatics went. "Great job, Green." He said. "They probably think we flew away on the back of a --"

The door to the server room crashed open. A guard and his Houndoom stood in the doorway, blocking any hope of escaping without further conflict. "Stop where you are!" He commanded.

"Can't do that now." Cross said, walking forward slowly alongside Chesnaught.

"I mean it!" The new guard said. He pulled his radio closer to his mouth. "Floor thirteen, visual confirmation!"

"You won't stop me." Cross chided, playing to the drama aided by the howling of wind through the broken window.

"Yes I will! Houndoom, stop that Pokémon!" The guard said as he pulled up his baton and advanced on Cross.

"Chesnaught! Quick Guard and Hammer Arm!"

In one swift movement, the Spiny Armor Pokémon spread his arms, knocking back both security personnel, and bashed the Houndoom with a heavy hand. Cross, at the same time, tried a repeat of the maneuver he executed on the previous guard, only to find the opening punch was rendered ineffective by some kind of body armor under the man's clothes cushioning the blow. Retaliation came in the form of a baton to the side of the head, thankfully cushioned by his ear, though not to say it didn't hurt like a metal pole to the head should. Cross was down on one knee, struggling for clarity, when the guard brought his kneecap up to the infiltrator's face, knocking him prone onto his back and planting one foot on his chest. Okay, considering what I did to his friend, he thought through the pain and blurred mind, I probably deserved that.

"Floor 13, server room west." The guard said into his radio. "Suspect incapacitated." He then looked to Chesnaught, who seemed disappointed in his own inability to allow himself to defend his master against another human.

"Not incapacitated yet." He muttered. With the guard's foot and weight still on his chest, he reached into his pocket for his Elekid Stick and jabbed it to the man's calf, the mild electrocution enough to move his balance off the infiltrator's chest. Cross rolled to the side, pushed himself upright, and burst through the door, recalling Chesnaught to his Pokéball as he went.

"Monica!" He breathlessly shouted as he sprinted down the hall to a stairwell door. "How's the transportation looking?"

No response. He rammed his shoulder into the door and slammed it open, leaping down the stairs at half a flight at a time. I'm doomed without her. I need this connection. Eight flights of exhaustion later she returned.

"One block south." She said. "Security summary says all bay doors and ground floor entrances are locked down, only exception is the front door. Castelia PD is out front because of that."

"Over and out then?" He asked, out of breath and at a second-floor exit of the stairwell. "It'll have to do." He tried to remember the layout of the building: hopefully this door would lead him to the front entrance through the high-ceiling lobby. He pushed the door open just a crack. The stairs down were just a few yards away, the entire building was darkened and silent, and red and blue lights filtered in from the tinted front windows. He knocked loudly on the door he hid behind, but wasn't investigated. "Here's the plan..." he narrated to himself.

He stepped into the lobby, far enough away from the stairs he couldn't be seen by the police outside on ground floor. He let Chesnaught and Noctowl out of their pokeballs. He charged the front door, Chesnaught leading the way and Noctowl following behind. Chesnaught crashed down the reinforced glass door with his Spiky Shield out front. Element of surprise at his benefit, Noctowl lifted him by the shoulders and carried him down the street to exit transportation, recalling Chesnaught to his ball and leaving Castelia's Finest frustratedly throwing down and subsequently stomping on their hats.

"No. Scratch that." He said, still behind the stairwell door. A train of a dozen or so third shift employees filed out of a different stairwell, walking slowly with their hands on their heads in a show of non-aggression and compliance. He checked his assigned ID badge, still clipped to his front pocket, and slid off the necktie and discarded it in a trash bin in the corner of the stairwell. He quietly pushed open the door and put himself last in line, following the lead of the others. One by one, they were matched to their IDs by a police officer and, according to her name tag, Carol Flanders, the Human Resources woman with whom he may or may not have had a meeting scheduled.

"Emile Gibson." Cross said as he advanced to the two people checking identities. He cautiously raised his badge to eye level for examination, as others had done before him.

"Mister Gibson!" Flanders burst out. "I'm glad you made it out all right. I'm sorry today was such a chaotic series of events!" She raised her hand to his forehead, brushing his skin above one eyebrow and to the temple, the pressure stinging with an apparent bruise from the guard's baton and kneecap. "He must have gotten to you. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I was just coming in and he, uh, he got me pretty good." He explained. An elaborate cover story didn't com easily considering the exhaustion and headache.

"What's in the bag, son?" The policeman asked.

"Just my jacket and lunch." He turned around and invited the officer to check the sackpack personally, but the man only bothered to look at the top layer, completely missing the stolen hard drive protected within.

"We'll need a report from you, since you were attacked by the intruder." The officer said. "Talk to our detective, she's just on the other side of the van there."

"Of course." He agreed. "Anything to help get the bad guy." He walked past them and around to the detective, then started a path southward down the road on foot.

"Smooth exit, Cross." Monica's voice serenaded into his ear. "Some of our other guys and gals would have busted down the door and flown out. Good on you."

"You hired me for a reason." He replied, checking his watch. Seven minutes forty-five. More than six but still pretty good. "I see our Abra. Heading home. I'll stop by when I'm settled." One block south of the exit, just as Monica said, the exit transportation waited: a vaguely familiar man sat on a public transportation bench beside his Abra. "How much does a heart weigh?" He asked the man. Cross spent the next few seconds wrapped in light, warping hundreds of miles away to the deliberately empty Warp Room of the organization's headquarters.

---

One cold drink and hot shower later Cross left his room of the HQ dorm to go to Monica's control post. He opened her door to her dark room without knocking, sat across the desk from her, and forcefully put the two USB drives and stolen Hard Drive onto her table. "That was too risky." He said.

"I agree. Factors outside our control, all that. I'll see you're compensated for the unexpected costs of the mission." Monica replied, turning her attention away from one of her many computer monitors shining blue and green light on her face and hair. She breathed deeply and smiled, looking him in the eye. "You handled yourself quite well." She picked up the hard drive and its still-connected sata cable, turning it over to see both sides. "What's this?"

"The data transfer didn't complete, so I wasn't about to leave empty-handed." He said. "It's the hard drive from that researcher's computer."

"We're not thieves, Cross." She said, perplexity painted on her face.

"Right, of course." He said flatly. "We're just spies, kidnappers, interrogators, muckrakers, hackers, and a paramilitary mercenary force. But not thieves."

Monica gently pressed a button on a control panel near her keyboard, closing the door to her post remotely. "I made this all perfectly clear when we recruited you. It's true that we operate in the dark, but that doesn't mean we don't have rules and standard operating procedures."

"And you hired me for a reason." He replied calmly. "Because I can do what you need me to do, and I agreed because you can do what I need you to do. I won't tell you how not to do your job if you don't tell me how not to do mine." He held eye contact with her, neither agent blinking. "Do we still have an agreement?"

"Yes." She replied without hesitation. "You did well. Just behave yourself, okay? We don't want anyone getting in trouble with outside forces."

"I don't want that either." He replied, looking around Monica's private command center from his chair. Desks and shelves filled with books and certificates of all kinds, the furniture either all solid hardwood or a very convincing imitation thereof. "Who requested this job?"

"Can you keep a secret?" The woman asked, smiling coyly.

"Of course. You know I can."

"Well..." She leaned over the desk, smiling and licking her lips, looking away like she was afraid of getting caught with her hand in a cookie jar. "So can I."

"Monica..."

"You didn't hear it from me." She began. "In fact, you didn't hear it at all." She pushed a button on her keyboard and played a soft, jazzy tune over the room's audio a few notches too loud for its own genre. Apparently she had her own suspicions she was being monitored, and took efforts to control that situation as much as possible. "The client would only identify himself as representing certain unspecified interests." She whispered. "It was easy enough to find out who sent him, however. Giovanni Sidon, president of West Kanto Defense Tech, along with the head honchos of other similar corporations have a shared agenda of some kind. They want this research for an extracurricular project."

"Anything connecting to Mercury?"

"Too early to say, but it's quite possible. There are some bread crumbs already, and we may find a few more in here." She said, picking up and waving around the hard drive.

"Let me know either way, okay?"

"Anything for my favorite man." She leaned across the desk and batted her eyes. "You seem stressed from all that excitement. Maybe I could help you relax."

"I just took a police baton to the head an hour ago." Cross said flatly. "The only relaxation I need is medical attention and some sleep." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, Monica was still staring at him through the computer screen lit darkness, smiling. "Maybe later though."

"I'll hold you to it." She said, her smile still present.

He had nothing else to add. He stood from the chair and made for the door. "Good night, Monica." He said before stepping past the threshold.

"Good night." She said, turning her music down and her attention back to her monitors.