"Since when were Pokémon allowed to own their own pets?" the farmhand muttered, driving his pitchfork into another steaming pile of Miltank manure. One of the Milzard calves frolicked around his boots, its stubby wings flapping.

The other farmhand jerked his chin toward where the Charizard crouched possessively over its mate, watching its young.

"You wanna be the one to take that thing’s favorite toy away? Your funeral," he said. "Come on. We'd best go get her another cigarette before she starts bellowing again."

You're god damn right, thought the Miltank with a scowl.

Like many young men his age, the Miltank had joined Team Rocket for a dream of power; the ambition to ascend the ranks of criminal enterprise until he himself had underlings beneath him, to kill and maim and steal as he desired. But in his wildest dreams of power, he'd still known that even Giovanni, the kingpin, feared the Elite Four. And now, above even the Elite Four, was Ash, the true Pokemon Master.

But above him? There were times when even the Master's commands to his most powerful Pokemon, the Charizard, were mere suggestions.

Only one animal could claim complete mastery over that beast. As the Man Ball situation worsened, Ash found himself calling on the Charizard almost daily. But if he wanted to pull it away from its young, now he had to ask for permission.

The farmhand returned with a pack of cigarettes and slipped one between the Miltank's thick bovine lips. After a stern glance from its mate, the Charizard dutifully maneuvered its tail to light it.

There had been sacrifices on his ascent to absolute power, the Miltank conceded. But look at him now. Nobody could deny that he was on top. Or that the cities of Kanto still stood only through his supreme beneficence.