#analyzernejiki

Thorton pouted to himself for what seemed to be the 500th time that night, and Violet’s eye twitched in anger as his whine reached her ears yet again. “Just because my reputation is in the shitter doesn’t mean that you can just throw everything away too, Mr. Frontier,” she recited, fixing her lipstick carefully in one of the Factory’s dusty mirrors. “You have a legacy to uphold.”

That remark seemed to hit home, and Violet began to feel a little guilty as Thorton’s ensuing silence seemed to span eons. Turning towards her partner for the first time in an hour, the Gang Member let out a gasp as the Frontier Brain straightened his new black suit disinterestedly in the mirror, fidgeting with an electric-green tie. His admittedly handsome new look immediately triggered Violet’s teasing instincts, and she slithered over to him clothed in her familiar dress of royal purple. 

“Where are the codes, secret agent?” she barked from behind Thorton, grabbing both ends of his tie and tightening its hold around his neck. The Frontier Brain had a chance to roll his eyes before he began to get red in the face from the lack of oxygen. “C-come on, Vi…knock it off…” he whined, tapping her hand as if to say uncle. As the Nighthawk’s tie noose loosened, the panting Thorton sighed as Violet rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek, her dexterous fingers redoing his tie. 

“Not gonna lie here, Skeleton Boy…but I like the new look,” she murmured, standing back to admire Thorton’s sharp new appearance. “I didn’t think you had any fashion sense, but you’re just full of surprises.”

“And you’re always full of compliments, Vi,” Thorton retorted as Violet leaned down to rest her chin on his shoulder. “You know, we could skip the Frontier event tonight,” she began with a grin. “But in return, I want you to act as my butler while wearing that outfit instead.”

“No thanks,” Thorton murmured in response, a small grin on his face as he shrugged off Violet’s suggestion and headed for the door. “Suddenly, going to this thing sounds a lot better…and if anything, you’d be my maid.”

“Hey, get this... Thorton from Sinnoh’s battle place came to challenge the subway! He’s bound to run into one of the Subway Masters. Isn’t that just amazing? He’s an authority in his own league, isn’t he? That’s a sight I don’t want to miss...”

Certainty in one’s own beliefs is practical to a fault. In all of the credence entrusted to one’s ears, the margin of distinction between fact and mere hearsay can become a touch too liberal. As with a shipment delivered with half its cargo missing, a message relayed after much unwitting modification would, logically, be as fatal as a trainwreck. Case in point: 

“Yo, listen. Some kid called Morgan, or Thorton - one or the other - showed up to take on the Subway Masters. Word is, he’s some Sinnoh big shot who beat down some thug trainer on the Single Line without breaking a sweat. Bet he’ll get his hands on the Subway Master in no time flat--”

The door to Gear Station’s central control room flings open with enough force to send it rebounding from the door bumper. It delivers a mean left hook to the face of the depot agent emerging from the other side, who, one bruise richer, heroically recovers his bearing, only to hit the floor next upon encountering a Durant with his ankle. The iron insect clicks its mandibles at the impertinent treatment, scuttling to elect an inconspicuous corner. The commotion, however, does not go ignored by the depot chief on duty. 

“Are you alright?” Gloved hand extended, Ingo gently helps the blubbering newcomer to his feet. “Catch your breath. What’s the meaning of this urgency?”

“You gotta stay out of sight for at least one night, boss,” the depot agent stains his sleeves helplessly with nose blood, before meekly accepting Ingo’s handkerchief. “Some Sinnoh gangster is coming to start a fight with you. The passengers said he took some roughneck down in one hit. I have no doubt that he’s after you next!”

“Calm down. Come what may, there is no reason for me to abandon my post when the threat endangers the Subway passengers as well. You mentioned Sinnoh. Did you get a name?”

“Y-yessir. Norton... no, actually, it was Thorton.”

“... ...”

With all the time consumed in the process of correcting the misunderstanding among his staff, Ingo manages, for once in his meticulous career, to come close to missing his own train. In the clutter of inner frazzle, the arrival of his well-anticipated scientific guest is something of a guilty sight. Ingo maintains his usual effigy of a specialist, his demeanour betraying not a single impresion of the mishap caused by his wet-behind-the-ears employee. 

“Welcome to the Battle Subway! I have been waiting for you. I am the Subway Master Ingo. I was the one who answered the request you forwarded in regards to the technological fieldwork you wish to conduct at Gear Station. It is a pleasure to oblige you in person at last, Thorton.