Trinity never assumed he’d become a criminal, but when the crime he was going to commit involved stopping other criminals, that cancelled things out, right?
Truthfully, he hadn’t started his journey to Johto with the intent to bust a pokémon-maiming operation. In fact, he’d come to the faraway region to check out the minimal, but budding contest scene there. Most recently, he’d made his way to Azalea Town. Compared to a place like Goldenrod, there wasn’t much there. Sure, there were some things of note, like the ability to watch poke balls be made, but aside from that, the place felt more like a pit stop in every sense of the word.
That was, until that guy approached him near the Pokémon Center along the way to hawk his wares. 
“Delicious Slowpoke tails!” he’d been told by the overly eager fellow. “They’re a delicacy!”
Slowpoke tails. Trinity was a little baffled. He’d never expected anyone in Johto to consider something from a Slowpoke to be a tasty treat. But what did he know about Johto? He was willing to bite- almost literally, before he heard the price.
₽1,000,000. If that didn’t throw up alarm bells, nothing did. This guy was a liar- and a bad one at that. Trinity hurried on his way to Azalea Town without looking back. Once there, a conversation with the locals vindicated him. As it turned out, Team Rocket- or what remained of it, was running around the place, snipping off the hapless creatures’ tails to serve at a high price.
He’d never had to deal with the likes of Team Rocket in his home region of Unova, but from what he had heard about them, they were a bunch of pokémon-stealing jerks. Honestly, though, while stealing pokémon was terrible, it was nothing compared to what Unovans had to deal with under the threat of Ghetsis.
But there wasn’t much else to do in Azalea Town, so why not bust a splinter group of the pokémon-stealing mafia in between his contest appearances? Maybe it was that Unovan overconfidence rearing its ugly head, but as far as Trinity was concerned, those Team Rocket schmucks deserved to be knocked down a peg for having the gall to try to scam him.
So, without any further delay, he got directions to the nearby Slowpoke Well and made his way over. Knowing how most gangs operated, he’d probably just have to deal with a Zubat or two- nothing his own pokémon couldn’t handle.
Hopping off the base of the ladder, Trinity surveyed the scene. It was dark, but he wasn’t about to risk having one of his pokémon use a move to light the place up- he didn’t want to get caught. His eyes slow to adjust, his gaze landed on a nearby pair of Slowpokes- tailless and even sadder and dopier than they usually looked. They didn’t appear to be in pain, all things considered, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a pathetic sight.
Trinity stalked further inside, the sound of bickering voices drawing him closer and closer to the culprits, no doubt. Soon enough, he found them- a trio of Team Rocket members. They were all wearing black uniforms with a red ‘R’ on the front. One of them was holding a bag, while another filled it with gathered tails. The third, an irritated-looking young man with teal hair, stood and watched. Ducking behind a rock, Trinity listened in, waiting for the right time to strike. 
“Hey, hey, watch it!” one snapped. Trinity guessed it was the one with the teal hair. “Don’t drop that! Do you have any idea how much that’s worth? We can’t get the merchandise dirty!”
“S-sorry, Proton!” one of the grunts eked out. 
“That’s Executive Proton to you! Give that here- you’re going too slow!” 
Trinity raised a brow. He’d never heard that name before. And an executive? Did this guy even know Team Rocket folded? He snickered. 
“Hey, what was that?” Proton asked. “Who’s over there?”
Before long, two pairs of boots thundered over, overwhelming him. The grunt duo grabbed one arm each, dragging him out of hiding and over to Proton, who was now holding the bag of collected contraband.
“Well, well, well.” Proton said, putting his free hand on his hip. “What do we have here? Some bleeding-heart idiot hoping to stop our Slowpoke tail production?”
Trinity narrowed his eyes, trying uselessly to wrench himself free from the grunt’s grasp. For such scrawny, wimpy-looking guys, they sure had an iron grip! “I don’t give a shit about your weird Slowpoke operation! They probably don’t even notice! I’m here because your minions tried to scam me!”
Proton rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on,” he said, reaching into the bag he’d procured from the grunt. “Don’t be so dismissive. Here, I’ll even give ya a free sample. Maybe then you’ll see what all the fuss is about.”
Trinity blinked. “A free sam-ghlp?!”
Before he could finish the sentence, Proton yanked a smaller tail from the bag and slammed it into Trinity’s open mouth. Surprised- and trying not to choke on the giant thing- Trinity chewed and swallowed it, the taste of sweet meat washing over his tongue as it disappeared down his throat. He spat a few times, the rudeness of the act more disgusting than the actual taste.
Truthfully… it didn’t even taste that bad. The memory of it danced on his tongue, flooding his tastebuds. It was sweet, and savory too, a perfect blend. Could use some preparation, though. He could imagine grilling it and smothering it in sauce- and he imagined all the money he could get for it.
His tongue tingled, then his whole face. Any roundness of his features began to melt away, his jawline narrowing and his chin coming to a point. His lips thinned into a stern, serious line, while his nose pulled slightly longer, turning upwards at the tip. He wrinkled it almost instinctively, his narrowing eyes blinking rapidly a few times as if trying to flush out a trapped eyelash. With each blink, his irises altered in hue, their dark tones lightening from brown, to hazel, to an unmistakable and vivid green. 
The green spread to his brows- paired with a merging blue. The arching hairs turned a familiar teal, the color moving to infect his scalp with the same shade. The color descended down the strands, swiftly conquering the tip of his ponytail before beginning to work on the length. His hair retreated into his scalp, hair tie falling to the wayside as his hair became too short to warrant its use. Before long, the locks stopped just past his ears, flaring out on either side of his head, identical in style to the Team Rocket member standing in front of him.
“Um, Pro- err, Executive? D-did you… mean to do that?” one of the grunts piped up, gesturing in bewilderment at Trinity.
Proton cocked his head. “No,” he said, a smile spreading across his lips, “but I’m not complaining.”
The strange metamorphosis spread down Trinity’s neck. He coughed a few times, like the tail was still stuck in his throat, his tones growing deeper and rougher until relief finally came. Yeah. That was the voice of an executive- that’d keep the grunts in line. His head swam with the thought, but he was too dazed to keep himself above water. 
Huffing, his arms tensed, the tingling sensation that once flooded his head returning full-force to his upper limbs. The grunts yelped, letting him go and allowing him to land on his hands and knees. Upon impact, his arms thinned, any excess weight that once resided there wrenched away. Wouldn’t need that anymore- just like those Slowpoke tails. What were the Slowpokes even using them for? They’d just grow back. Some people were so whiny. 
His chest tightened, slight softness firming and retreating into decent, toned pectorals beneath his simple tee. The same tightening sensation gripped his slimming stomach, fat pushed deep into his core until it hardened into a series of light, but solid abdominal muscles, like a diamond under pressure. Trinity winced, delirious pleasure rippling through him. He wanted to ask what was going on, but couldn’t find the words to. Something was wrong, but what? Nothing felt wrong. What was he thinking?
Trinity’s legs slimmed like his arms, shorts growing looser around his thinning lower limbs. The tingling crested his feet, drawing to an ebbing finality at his toes before vanishing completely. Like it had never been there. Like he’d always looked like this. Because he had, right? He was Proton, one of the Team Rocket executives. He was down here collecting Slowpoke tails and-
And what was he wearing?
As if cowering from his thought, his clothes started to shift. While a white, blocky belt wrapped limply around his waist, his baggier shorts tugged down his legs, denim darkening and softening to a more breathable, but formal and uniform black. The material of his sneakers rose up to meet the ends of either of his pant legs, quickly swallowing them as his footwear grew up to his shins. The material turned firmer and rubbery, bleaching white with a single band of red at the top- nice, sturdy work boots, perfect for skulking around this dank well in search of Slowpoke.
Like his pants, his red shirt darkened, material shifting to something similar in make as it too turned black. His sleeves crawled down his arms, stuffing into a pair of appearing white and red gloves that went all the way to his elbows. His new shirt split open at the rising, yellow-lined collar, neckline plunging down to his chest to reveal a thinner, white layer beneath it. A red R, slightly obscured at the top by the open, propped collar, inked itself into the fabric of his top, bold and bright. Yeah. This way, everyone would know who he was. He wouldn’t have it any other way!
Finally, a flat black cap settled atop his head, and the new Proton rose to his feet, adjusting it a little. Ugh, why was he on the ground again? Had he fallen or something? No- most likely a grunt had bumped into him. Damn it. Why was it so hard to get decent help around here?
Pushing the though aside, he glanced to his twin. He smirked, and his equal returned the grin in kind. At least he could count on his double to assist him.
Now, where was he? Oh yeah. Slowpoke tails. And money.
Lots of money.