The memories never left him alone.
In fact, they haunted him even in his sleep. Visions of hooded men in blue uniforms, swarming him, throwing a rope around Cocoa’s neck. The cuffs that chaffed his wrists, rubbing them raw. And the harsh slap of a gloved hand across his cheek.
Often times, he awoke breathless and covered in a cold sweat. But there was no mother to comfort him; there was only the cold presence of the cell bars, and the colder eyes of the watchman who stood guard before them. “Shut it, twerp,” he’d hiss. “It’s too freakin’ early for this!”
The days blurred into months. Not once did he see Cocoa. Not once did he see anyone other than the guard and, occasionally, Ghetsis. “Hilbert,” he’d say, “it’s a pleasure, as always. Tell me, have you solved the mystery yet? Have you found our King?” To which Hilbert would gulp, shake his head, and await whatever punishment he’d receive that day.
Because that was the wrong answer, and Ghetsis did not like wrong answers.
But there would be no punishment today. Because when Ghetsis sat across from him, greeted him, and asked his question, Hilbert had the answer. So, he nodded. Ghetsis’ eyes widened a fraction before a terrible smile overcame his face. “Wonderful!” he said. “Let’s set off, then. There’s no time to waste...”
Hilbert hated the way the Plasma uniform aggravated his scars. And he hated the way it made him look--in fact, he hated it so much he almost tore it off. But he did not, because he knew that if he disobeyed, they would hurt him, or worse, hurt Cocoa. And he couldn’t have that.
Getting out of the cell was the hardest part. He was so weak from the year he had spent trapped in it that he almost fell to the floor when he left its confines. The guard rolled his eyes, ordered another grunt to give up their Pokemon, and handed the hero a PokeBall.
In it was Liepard. The poor Pokemon shook when it was released, its still-fresh wounds festering under the dim light of the castle prison. S-S-Sorry, it said. I-I-I’m a little... new.
Hilbert’s heart broke a little more.
He reached down to scratch the cat’s ear, but had his hand swatted away by the guard before he got the chance. “As a member of Team Plasma,” he snapped, “You gotta cut that kindness crap out!”
Hilbert glared at him. Rage bubbled up in his gut and, before he could blink, his hands were wrapped around the guard’s throat.
But then he realized what he was doing and backed away in horror.
The guard simply grinned.
nharmonium