The RESEARCH Team (PLOT)

Red wasn't quite sure what the old man was thinking in that drought of deafening silence, his gun still cocked against the bobble head in front of him, and as long as it wasn't repercussions for him, neither did he care. His mind paused at the revelation of its own indifference and loathing, but it quickly passed as the door finally relented, revealing an almost comically irked Blaine. And what has his panties in a bunch? he mused, somewhat elated to have the riddler and jokester see the tables turn on him. "Not...now," Blaine grated out, soon followed by a concerned yip from his pup growlithe, who went to tending to the old man's hand.

Though the old man's eyes were shielded by the strange spectacles he always wore, Red could tell Blaine's stare was going right to him. "Put him in one of those chairs and make damn sure he doesn't touch anything. I wanna know who the hell this guy really is before we start putting any new holes in him." A gentle press from the end of Red's barrel to the sweaty bowling ball of a head before him did all the talking for him. But since this guy didn't seem too bright in times of crisis, he added a soft -but not gentle- "You heard him. Go." He followed closely behind, keeping his gun trained on the man even as he sat down.

But even as Red was doing his job, Blaine still insisted on playing the paranoid mother. "Where's my Charizard?" Red only scoffed, not paying the man an answer. Surely he saw the giant dragon off to the side on camera? But at the mention, Blaine's charizard strode happily into the room, grumbling happily the only way a dragon could. Taking only a few moments, Red withdrew the pokeball, as well as the bag of items fetched, and tossed it in Blaine's general direction, not particularly caring where it actually hit. Nevermind there were loose dirty needles and such in there. Eh. Blaine could handle himself. Besides, he was doing his precious duty: keeping an eye and gun pointed promptly at the squirrely prisoner.

Elm was deaf to the taut conversation that passed between his captor and the intercom. His erratic heartbeat overpowered the world around him, sharp breath a background track as his mind, quietly imploding, slowly disabled his senses.

He was going to be sick. If not that, faint at the very least.

The professor’s unseeing eyes did not leave the steel door that he faced. His pupils dilated, whites bloodshot, as he felt the noose tightening around his neck. Whatever calm that he thought he’d possessed was a simple delusion, a vain bid to persuade himself that everything was going to be okay.

Of course it wasn’t!

Stupid!

Stupid!

Stu-

The flicker of anger was extinguished in a millisecond as the barrel of the gun edged closer to the back of his head.

Elm’s breath caught in his throat, unable to silence the half-whimper that instinct forced from his mouth. He was shaking again, violently, as the sweat poured only more profusely. Part of him wanted the soldier to just get it over with – end this humiliation, this torture, and pull the damned trigger. But Elm was a coward. He had tried to pull the trigger himself, barrel shaking at his temple – yet he couldn’t muster the courage to shoot. What did he have left to live for anyway?

His wife? His child? They could be waiting for him for all he knew.

His work? The thought made him scoff. How blinded he must’ve been to ardently treasure such trivial information. His life works surmounted to what? A few discoveries that could do nothing for him now.

The sinking feeling that intercepted the sheer terror coursing through Elm’s veins was enough to kill whatever fight the professor held onto. He let his head dip, eyelids scrunched shut as he awaited an escape route from a truly miserable revelation.

"Not...now."

It was the first time that Elm truly heard the other man’s voice. And his words were devastating. He had persuaded himself that death was inevitable, a fitting ending from this world – only to be spared. Elm didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He opened his eyes cautiously, emotive pools looking upon his cruel savior.

The man looked… oddly familiar. The professor couldn't place a name, but the lab coat he wore lured him into a sense of false security – a fellow scholar? He dismissed the idea immediately, reminding himself that these men weren’t his friends. They had him at gunpoint, utterly defenseless in this gloomy fortress. Elm made sure to eradicate his childish sense of hope from his mind altogether.

"Put him in one of those chairs and make damn sure he doesn't touch anything. I wanna know who the hell this guy really is before we start putting any new holes in him." Elm was reluctant to move, unsure whether he still had complete control of his long limbs. But it seemed he had no choice. "You heard him. Go."

Professor Elm nearly collapsed into the steel chair, grateful – for the time being at least – for the support. He straightened up as best he could, trying to exert some sort of control over his overwhelming emotions as he faced his captors. The scientist and the soldier.

Elm dared not speak.

Happy to see his large fire beast lumber into the room Blaine almost missed the toss as his supplies were all but hurled in his general direction, Red's lack of care for any aim obvious. Without even a twitch the scientist's hand reached out and clasped around the red and white ball that normally encompassed his Charizard but let the supply pack fall uselessly to the ground, not even moving to try. His gaze slowly crawled down from the intruder's face to the fallen sack and took note of a few contents that had spilled out onto the floor and began to roll noisily. In particular the needles glimmering out from underneath the chair he previously occupied.

A creepy grin spread across his face as his fingers snapped, the Charizard and Growlithe in the room immediately coming to attention to gaze at their trainer. Looking to the puppy he pointed to the sack and nodded his head towards a cabinet, the Growlithe happily charging for the tasked object and picking it up gingerly by one strap to drag across the floor to a metal storage box on the far side of the room. Blaine knelt down to pick the two stray needles and looked at them carefully, one of them cracked and useless except for as a spare needle tip but the other still in good condition. It was merely filthy. Inside was an unknown factor as there was a strange brown residue still within, dry and flaking off the inside walls as he shook it gently, but it would serve his purpose.

"Charizard, return," he called gently, the small room simply too crowded to keep his large dragon inside any longer. Barely even glancing at the frazzled 'scientist' who sat cowering in the chair, Red's gun still aimed with deadly precision at the man's head, the eldest male strolled over to the pc box and lay the pokeball on a receiver, sending his Charizard back into the storage to rest. Thankfully he had thought to do the same with his Rhydon before Red came back or soldier boy may have had some questions. Silently he moved about the room, never acknowledging either of the other men as he went to work, acting as if the two of them weren't there. Normally this was part of his routine with Red, the boy absolutely hating talking to Blaine, but this time it was more for dramatic flair. How would this intruder take to not knowing what was going on? Of not knowing whether or not Blaine had some horrible design for him or if eventually he would break the silence simply to tell the youth to shoot. For the twitchy patient in the corner this silence would be deafening.

It was nearly an hour before Blaine spoke again, approaching the intruder casually before stopping a scant foot away from where he sat. "Give me your arm," he ordered, a scowl of impatience written across his face. His sunglasses had lowered just barely enough to allow his glare to peek out over the top as he loomed over this 'associate' of Oak, one arm behind his back and extending his right to grasp the offered arm when it came. If it came. Who knew if this mousy man was actually a stubborn boar when cornered? Time would tell but for now Blaine's tone demanded obedience and for the intruder's sake he had better listen. Red's trigger finger looked twitchy.

(I'm afraid I must skip; I'm merely watching and waiting, keeping my gun pointed on Elm.)

As the minutes of deadly silence droned on, seemingly spanning an eternity for the terrified professor, Elm’s emotions fluctuated between the extremes. He never had been good with silence; it’s pairing with a ghastly tension was nearly enough to push his fragile mind over the edge. Elm was clinging on by his fingertips.

He watched the older man busy himself with his work, trying to figure him out without jumping to conclusions too dark to dwell on. He saw the surgical equipment, his wide eyes trained on a particular syringe until that same feeling of nausea came crawling back to him.

Elm averted his eyes to the two fire-types, taking some comfort in their loyalty to this strange human. He couldn’t be THAT bad? His belief that love was the central ingredient to any trainer-pokemon relationship kept him hopeful. The Growlithe was attentive to the man’s silent commands, indeed utterly endearing in his nature to understand and comprehend the intentions of one so different. Their interactions alleviated some of the terror crushing Professor Elm’s windpipe, some.

The small distractions were enough to calm the captive, his trembling gradually weakening in their ferocity until he stilled almost entirely. Yet his vice-like grip on the arms of the chair never softened, instead intensifying until his veins threatened to break through the pale layer of skin that concealed them.

There was no forgetting the soldier’s gun.

Elm caught glimpse of it every few minutes; praying that it might’ve disappeared only to find it immovably trained on him. It kept him grounded in the moment. Where he might usually escape to the comfort of his wandering daydreams or immerse himself in the intricacies of the room – that gun tethered Elm to reality. It reminded him of his mortality.

"Give me your arm,"

He started, unashamedly flinching as his head whipped around to meet the speaker’s gaze. Elm wasn’t even sure how he’d failed to acknowledge the man’s approach, but the sudden order and close proximity had him flustered. He sunk back into his chair, praying that it might swallow him up altogether whilst he mustered the courage to respond.
“…Wh-What?” It had been his immediate response, but not one he had intended to vocalize. His voice wavered, lips dry as his attention shifted from the man’s glare to his outstretched hand, and then finally to the gun.

Professor Elm’s thought process was mapped across his features; the confusion contorting his brow, reluctance tugging at his lip, a glimmer of fight reflected in his eyes before they submitted to carnal fear. He was in no position to argue these men. It seemed he would live a lot longer if he simply complied.

The man seemed to argue his actions one final time before releasing the breath he’d been holding in; and with it, defeated, he held out his bony, shaking arm.

He wasted no time in snatching up the offered limb with such brute force he nearly pulled the unsuspecting man out of the chair. With a wicked smile he pulled the needle hidden from behind his back and pushed it with a firm pressure against the artery in the supposed professor's arm, hard enough to fold the skin around the needlepoint but not quite hard enough to puncture. Yet. Lifting his gaze to meet the eyes of his 'guest' Blaine let out a resonant chuckle from deep inside his chest before splitting his face with a wide grin.

"Now we play a little game," he taunted, giving a little more pressure to the needle as though to prove his point but still not allowing it to break through the protection of the man's skin. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you are going to answer. You have three options for each question. Answer honestly, answer falsely, or pick your fate. Lying has consequences so be careful but answering truthful keeps you safe. Pick your fate consists of getting shot or taking your chances with whatever still remains in this needle and hoping it isn't fatal." Giving a sparing glance to Red the elder scientist used his foot to pull one of the rolling office chairs to him and sat down, never breaking his firm grip on the intruder's arm. He lowered his head to peer over his sunglasses and allowed the frightened man to see just how serious he was.

"So, want to play a game?"

"Now we play a little game," Blaine purred, the threat of the needle against the Professor's arm ever present. Red stood vigilant, if not excruciatingly bored, with his gun eternally pointed at the bobble-headed man. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you are going to answer. You have three options for each question. Answer honestly, answer falsely, or pick your fate. Lying has consequences so be careful but answering truthful keeps you safe. Pick your fate consists of getting shot or taking your chances with whatever still remains in this needle and hoping it isn't fatal." Red couldn't help the eyeroll that nearly threatened to remove the organs from their sockets at Blaine's "rules". Why couldn't he just make things simple? Just a "answer truthfully or be super dead." Why was that so difficult? But then again, this was Blaine after all, and Red had to remind himself that he was grateful for the distraction. At least it wasn't him in that chair.

He caught the spare glance Blaine gave him over his shoulder and the soldier merely locked onto the gaze in acknowledgement. No words needed be exchanged. "So, want to play a game?"

"Now we play a little game."

Oh. That didn't- that didn't sound good, oh no. The words were frightening, and his expression was frightening, and he was almost but not quite pricking his skin. Why didn't he get it over with?

"I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you are going to answer. You have three options for each question. Answer honestly, answer falsely, or pick your fate."

Huh?

"Lying has consequences so be careful but answering truthful keeps you safe. Pick your fate consists of getting shot or taking your chances with whatever still remains in this needle and hoping it isn't fatal."  

He glanced at the soldier--nopleasedon'thavehimshoot--and Elm was tempted to breathe a sigh of relief when Red did not move to use his gun, though it remained, terrifyingly, pointed at him. Without looking or changing his grip, the elderly scientist reached out to pull the rolling office chair over to himself with a foot, sitting down on it.

He peered over the top of his glasses, the professor's breath catching in his throat at the look the man was giving him. Calm, collected, but dangerous and... insane?

"So, want to play a game?"

No, he definitely did not.

But what choice did he have?

I... guess that someone can be kind to his pokemon and still be completely off his rocker... He was about ready to kick himself for not realizing such an obvious thing, sooner.  

What did the man mean? What was all that rambling? Was it as simple as 'answer truthfully or else I will hurt you?' If so, why didn't he just say that!?

... Right. The insanity part. He was trying so hard not to shake now, desperately upending his mind for something to cling to, some thought to help him remain positive.

Well... he didn't really have any reasons to lie so... he should be okay, right?

Right?

He swallowed.  "Ye-yes. Wh-what do- do you want to know?"