Chapter 14: I feel venom-enal today.

Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Monday, January 24, 2011

Type: Poison

I felt my internal clock turn. There was a period joke in here somewhere, but I was too classy… Nah, fuck that I wasn't too classy for a period joke. No shame, especially in my own mind.

I rolled my eyes at my internal monologue and sighed. Titania would have slapped me silly for being uncouth. "Unbefitting of the master of the Queen of Fae," she'd say. I missed her, even if she didn't quite understand why humans thought jokes about genitalia were funny.

My aura welled up and turned like a great cog, slotting in a new type for the day: Poison. Again. But there was something different this time. As I looked through the mental catalog of pokémon available to me, I frowned. I didn't recognize some of these pokémon.

Grafaiai? Glimmora? Iron Moth? Unfamiliar names. Where were they coming from?

And… was that a muscle car?

I took a deep breath and entered the by now familiar state of meditation. Knowledge that wasn't my own streamed in as I opened the floodgates. Paldea? It was certainly an interesting region. The name niggled at a barely there memory from years ago about a region that was and was not. I'd read about them but hadn't had the chance to visit. Even after a decade of wandering, the world was a big place.

They were best known for… I fished out the information I needed. For fucking with time? What?

I frowned. Dialga was not exactly the peaceable sort, nor did he take insults to his pride lightly. But perhaps their affairs weren't quite enough to draw his eye? I hoped so, for their sake.

Brave? Stupid? Yeah, I was going with stupid. These "paradox pokémon" were going to be interesting if nothing else. The "Iron Moth" looked like some sort of cyborgized volcarona and it had lost its bug type in favor of poison.

I shrugged. Whatever reason Arceus decided to open this region to me in particular, I supposed it didn't matter. Their troubles were not my own. All that mattered now was that I had greater options.

X

I glanced at the clock: 12:35 AM. I could go to sleep. I should, but there was one more thing I wanted to do. Nestled in my lower bunk bed, I opened up my laptop and dimmed the screen so as to not disturb Mark.

Future-Emily told me a great many things, some good, some bad. This Dinah Alcott girl was one I'd be checking up on. Likewise with Coil. If he really was the sort to target children, then I'd be happy to start getting creative…

But not now. I didn't want to spread myself too thin and there were so many things that I couldn't solve just by punching harder. The city wouldn't improve itself just because I "proved myself" or some shit. One thing at a time.

Future-Emily was my friend, arguably my best friend, and an aura user, that meant something. She came first, which meant getting her a full, legally valid identity, a job, and a life outside of our shared hideout. Future-Emily told me that Faultline was a trustworthy source for information and papers, but I couldn't be sure. Faultline was a friend to her, but that didn't necessarily mean she'd be the charitable sort with a stranger. So it left the question of how I could go about contacting her without coming off too strong.

Did she even have PHO? She had to, she received mercenary contracts in some manner after all, but I didn't know her handle. I doubted that was the kind of thing any old rando could look up. After some thought, I had another idea.

I found the Palanquin website. It was a fairly standard affair with what I'd expect of any club. There was a menu up top that listed the following: About Us, Events, Rentals, Live Music, and Food. I browsed the site curiously for a bit. It was well-polished and user friendly, making it abundantly clear that Faultline ran a tight ship. Either someone on her team had a flair for web design or she'd gotten a competent marketing firm to do it for her.

The footer menu contained what I wanted, a Contact Us page. I opened it up to find her hours, seven days a week, 5 PM – 2 AM, her address, as well as a phone number and email. I saved the phone number just in case; if I didn't get a response, I'd call her after school. I learned my lesson from Parian after all.

Taking the email address, I quickly drafted an email to one Melanie Fitts, the supposed owner and director of operations of the club. She was either Faultline herself, or she was an unpowered friend who owned the club on paper to put some deniable distance between it and the Crew's less-than-legal ventures.

I began to type, minding myself to be more tactful than I usually was, then froze. How would she verify that this was indeed Menagerie and not some imposter? I considered it then settled on using PHO.

Logging on, I made a post. In the Los Angeles section of the boards. I didn't know if anyone in LA knew me, but it'd probably be dismissed as the ramblings of a drunk idiot.

Topic: Useless Thread

In: Boards ► United States ► West ► California ► Los Angeles

Menagerie_Official (Original Poster) (Verified Cape)

Posted On Jan 25th 2011:

Hello, city of angels!

I have a joke for you guys. And no, it's not your shit taste in sports teams. Okay, so here goes:

An animal rights activist got upset when I told them I wash my fur with people shampoo instead of dog shampoo.

I don't know why she got so upset when I told her it's fine because it's been tested on animals.

I swear I'm not drunk, guys. ;)

Dear Ms. Fitts,

Greetings, I hope this is a good way to contact you. Unfortunately, I'm afraid this has little to do with your fine establishment. My name is Menagerie. To prove I am who I say I am, I decided to post a nonsensical joke in the Los Angeles section of PHO. Please find it [here].

I am reaching out to you because I heard that members of Faultline's Crew like to frequent your establishment and I was hoping you could put me in contact with her directly. I understand this is somewhat unorthodox, but I felt that a meeting arranged by yourself would be more palatable than me simply barging in when they are relaxing.

I can be reached at this email address or through PHO. Please let Faultline know that I would be amenable to a business arrangement.

Sincerely,

Menagerie

I read it over. I felt like I was back in Hoenn drafting emails for Steven. I once bet him that I too could become Champion if I wanted. He, in his typically pompous manner, told me I couldn't even do his secretary's job, never mind handle the administrative burdens of being Champion. So, for one week, I followed him around and gave his secretary a long overdue paid vacation.

I lost that bet. Turned out, saving the world and ruling it took entirely separate skillsets.

My eyebrow twitched as I remembered his smug, condescending smirk. If all his fancy, silk ties somehow got shredded to ribbons, who could say how it happened? Certainly not I.

A part of me wanted to stay up to see if she'd reply, but me being awake wouldn't make her respond any faster so I forced myself to turn in.

X

I woke up the next morning to a direct message on PHO from Faultline.

FC_PMC: Menagerie. Ms. Fitts passed on your message. You were fortunate that I happened to be in town. She has agreed to host a client meeting at the Palanquin. Come by on any day this week at 11 PM. Try not to disturb the guests.

I rolled my eyes as I got ready for my morning run. I was almost positive that Melanie and Faultline were the same person now. She wasn't even trying very hard, just paying the barest nod to the unwritten rules. It was laughable the kind of charades capes sometimes insisted on playing.

I shot her a reply and got ready for my morning run.

Menagerie_Official: Thank you for your timely response, Faultline. I'll be sure to visit discreetly.

I got to school in good time. I was halfway across the quad when a typically grumpy brunette accosted me. I was surprised Amy'd bothered with a collared shirt this morning. A tie too. She wasn't the sort to put effort into her appearance. She usually grabbed the baggiest sweater she could and told any of Vicky's vapid hanger-ons to piss off.

"Yo, Ames. You're looking… preppy."

"Shut it," she growled as she dragged me off somewhere quiet by my elbow.

"You're pinching a little hard."

"Shut. It. You're why my PHO is blowing up, you dick."

"In my defense, Vicky's the one who told everyone you like stroking my trunk."

"You started the fire."

We were behind the gym. A group of four freshmen saw us, then turned the other way when Amy leveled them with her patented "I'm going to turn your entrails into out-trails," glare.

"Okay, so you're a little upset because I made fun of you online and Vicky joined me in fanning the fire. Right?"

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not upset."

"Slightly grumpier than usual. Whatever. What's that have to do with finding me alone though?"

"Go out with me."

"Excuse me?"

"Go. Out. With. Me," she gritted out each word as if she was pulling teeth. Then I saw something truly unusual. Under all the huffy grumpiness, she was blushing. Full on rosy cheeks.

I didn't know Amy Dallon had feelings. I snorted, almost but not quite hiding a laugh.

"Sorry, sorry," I apologized, "but you don't like me."

"I don't."

"Okay, good. Just thought I'd make sure because you… know how relationships work, yes?"

"I do, you dick."

"Not exactly endearing yourself, Ames."

"Blake, I swear to God-"

"Okay, fine. Done being a dick. Please explain?"

She took a deep breath. "Vicky wants me to go on a double date with her and Dean. I need you to come with me so Vicky doesn't saddle me with some idiot who thinks being nice to me is somehow going to impress my very much taken sister."

I frowned. "So… Go with you to watch your sister and Dean suck face…?"

"Pretty much."

"No thanks."

"It's either you or Menagerie, you know."

I raised an eyebrow in confusion. "I am Menagerie."

She shot me a smug smirk. "Vicky doesn't know that. She's convinced that we'd make the perfect couple. So? What's it going to be? You can come with me as Menagerie or you can come with me as Blake, but you're not leaving me with yet another mouth-breathing retard from the football team."

"I could just… not go. You've done a great job of telling me all the reasons why it'd be a horrible experience. Why would I go at all?"

Amy looked rather unsure of that herself. "Because… misery loves company?"

"Amy…"

"Blake, come on!" she whined, whined. I was learning much about my grumpy friend. "It won't be that bad so long as we both know we're going as friends and don't expect anything else."

"Sure, the first time. But what about the second? Fourth? What if I actually want to date someone?" I asked rhetorically. "I'd be that asshole who cheated on Panacea."

"Blake, do you even have anyone you're interested in?"

I thought about it. Several girls popped into my mind: Emily of course. Sabah. Crystal. Amy herself if I was being honest. "Your cousin's super hot," I said with a wry grin. Amy promptly kicked my shin. "Ow! You asked!"

"A girl you have a shot with."

"Oof, oww… Your words… they hurt… but point."

"So?"

I sighed. The things I did for friends. "Hypothetically… When is this?"

"Saturday."

"Fine," I said. Great alpaca above sent me here… apparently so I could help a teenage girl get a fake-date so she wouldn't disappoint her sister… God, what the fuck was wrong with me?

"Yes!"

"Can't you just tell Vicky that you don't want to go?"

"You try telling her no."

"I do. All the time."

"Yeah, well, you're a heartless monster whose soul is a shit-covered wasteland of bitterness and disappointment," she deadpanned.

"Wow… projecting much?"

"No take-backs."

"Fine, I'm a man of my word. But… What if I went as Menagerie?"

"Blake, no."

"Blake, yes."

"Why?"

I forgot that for all of Amy's experience as a cape, she wasn't a fighter nor law enforcement officer. She didn't have to deal with any of the complexities of an identity. She's always had New Wave to hide behind, a strong support base to deter any aggressors.

"Amy, think about it. Going steady with you makes me a target and Blake doesn't have powers."

"Half the reason for this is so we can get rid of the stupid rumors about me and Menagerie," she huffed.

"Yeah, well, I'm not willing to get attacked for rumors. I can fight, but what about my orphanage? I don't have an invincible sister to watch my back for me."

"Why would anyone even go after you if you date me?"

"You know why," I said patiently. "You're a very valuable cape. No one's gone after anyone you cared about to get your service because they all have powers and can defend themselves. What happens when you visibly care for someone who doesn't have powers? Who has no support base?"

"Fine, I get it," she acquiesced. "You're going to have to turn me down at lunch then."

I blinked. "Wait. You're making us both late for class because… you're too shy to ask in front of people?"

"We needed to have this conversation in private, Menagerie," she hissed.

"Fair, fair. I'm sorry. I'll turn you down and then ask you out as Menagerie. Done?"

"Done… Ugh, this is going to suck."

"Hey, look on the bright side. You can fondle all the trunks you-OWW!"

She stomped off, leaving me clutching my shin in pain.

X

I slumped forward into my chicken nuggets, exhausted. It was only noon and I already felt drained. School had never been my strong suit, but why did it feel like Menagerie was a bigger part of my life than Blake?

"So, Blake," I heard Vicky say as pushed Amy into the seat next to me. "What do you think of Amy today?"

I looked at her and started to connect the dots. "I don't know…"

"No wrong answers."

"Promise?"

"Yup," New Wave's golden girl chirped with a cheery smile.

I stuffed a nugget in my mouth and picked up my tray to leave. "You're a lying liar who lies. There definitely are wrong answers. I'm out."

I kept walking, but Vicky had me by the back of my jacket so I wasn't actually getting anywhere.

"Come on, Blake! Look how pretty my sister is!"

Amy grunted something I couldn't hear but was probably insulting. She glowered at me, daring me to comment.

How could I turn down a challenge like that?

I took a seat and made a show of looking her over. "Well… it does look nice. The collared shirt and sweater go well together."

"Right?"

"Yup. It says, 'I have daddy issues and would probably consider being spanked by my teacher for better grades,' without actually saying it. Bravo."

"Blake!"

"Blake, that's harsh," Dean frowned, ever the good guy. "It looks like Amy put a lot of work into that outfit."

"I put a lot of work into that outfit," Vicky pouted.

I rolled my eyes and finished off my coke. "Yeah. I know. I can see Amy trying not to die laughing."

"Ugh, you two are way too alike… But that's a good thing, right, Ames?"

It was now her turn to feel awkward as all hell. She coughed to try and control her snickering. "Alright, fine. You. Me. Date. Saturday," she drawled, leveling a disappointed glare towards Vicky. "Happy, sister?"

"Eeee! Amy asked someone out?" one of Vicky's hanger-ons squealed. I didn't remember her name… B-something… maybe…

That sent them all into a gossiping huddle of teenage girls dense enough to make even Palkia nervous.

I was all too happy to pop their bubble for them.

"No."

"No?" Vicky questioned, as if she'd never heard the word before.

"Yup."

"Wha?"

"No, I refuse to go out with you," I told Amy. Then I shot her a devious smirk that conveyed all my schadenfreude at her unwittingly setting this up for me. If she wanted to make my life harder, I'd be more than happy to return the favor. "What would Menagerie say, Amy? Everyone knows you're his girl."

Amy lit up like a Christmas tree, undecided between kicking me in the dick and laughing. She couldn't say anything though. If she denied it, it'd look really weird when I showed up to the double date as Menagerie.

"They're just friends," Vicky said, "right, Ames?"

"…"

"Right?"

"…" Her face met the table with a wordless groan.

"Ames, you told me you weren't interested in Menagerie," the blonde prodded. She then whipped around to face me. "Wait, how did you know?"

I shrugged. "How can I not? It's all PHO's talking about."

"They're jokes though! At least, I thought they were jokes… Why didn't you tell me?"

Amy grumbled something but did not rise. I wondered if her cheeks could give her a fire typing at this rate, like a pikachu, but with more arson.

Funnily enough, it was Dean that saved her from further embarrassment. It just might have been the first time she was glad for her sister's boyfriend.

"Vicky," Dean said soothingly, "relationships are complicated. She probably denied it out of impulse because everyone on PHO was so insistent on being nosy about it. You can understand, right?"

"I guess," she huffed. "We're talking about this later, sis."

"So no fire-doggo threatening me?" I asked with a cheeky grin. Not even another kick to the shin was enough to diminish my smile.

My daily dose of chaos satisfied, I decided to bow out, leaving Amy as the sacrificial lamb to the ever-hungry rumor mill of Arcadia. I took my customary bus ride to the Camacho Clinic, helped out for a few hours for school credit, then had my evening to myself.

Well, not quite. All that meant was that I could pay Sabah a visit and finally shape my tyrantrum scales so that she could get me a finished product.

I gave her a call.

"Sabah? This is Menagerie. Are you available today?"

"Yes, I am. I convinced my professors to make this a part of my graduating grade so it's not as though I'm not being productive."

"Great, I'll be dropping by in a few minutes if you don't mind."

"Of course not. Wyatt 205 this time."

"See you there."

I smiled as we hung up. The enthusiasm she had for fashion was impossible to miss. It was the same kind of passion I saw in the likes of Cynthia and it was honestly hot as hell.

I shook my head. All that talk of dating and fake-dating and what not was clearly getting to me if I was starting to think about Sabah that way.

I stood inside a 7-Eleven parking lot, helmet on and looking like any other biker here to fill up on gas. I got a few suspicious looks but no one outright called me out as a cape.

I wondered if I'd miss this anonymity once I got my armor.

Then I polished off the rest of my kitchen sink Slurpee and tossed it into the trash before stepping out onto the street. After all, why not test out some of the new Paldean pokemon?

I spread my arms out and shouted, "Shift, revavroom!"

I grew. And grew. And grew. Not up, at least not more than a foot or so, but outward and behind. Hands became wheels that looked like they were carved from stone, because they were, even as six exhausts crowned my new body. Two more exhausts, several times larger than the rest, flared out behind my wheels.

I was a muscle car, a revavroom, one of the few poison and steel dual types from Paldea.

From what I could glean of it, it was a pokemon that devoured toxic chemicals in rock and soil to convert them into gas. It was a remarkably strong pokemon physically but fell rather short on ranged options.

I wondered if I could access my cell phone in this form. Most cars had speakers these days, right?

My cylindrical mouth curved into a gleeful crescent. It was as expressive as I could get in this form. Didn't matter. I'd just express myself another way.

I let out a roaring laugh that came from my exhausts as much as my mouth as Highway to Hell played in the background at max volume. Where was the sound coming from? Where was my cell phone? How was a pokemon's hardware compatible with a cell phone from a completely different reality?

"Who the fuck cares?" I roared. "Great llama be praised, we're BURNING SOME ASPHALT BABY!"

I raced through the streets, singing one of the most iconic AC/DC songs at the top of my lungs. Turned out, revavroom as a species were tone deaf as fuck… Something about the steel chassis and eight cylinders made sound reverberate wonderfully, but it messed up any attempt to keep a steady pitch.

Sure as hell didn't stop me.

"No stop signs, Speed limit, Nobody's gonna slow me down~~

Like a wheel, Gonna spin it, Nobody's gonna mess me around!

Hey satan, Payin' my dues, Playin' in a rockin' band~~

Hey mumma, Look at me, I'm on the way to the promised land!"

I revved my engine. "Shift Gear!" I shouted, briefly interrupting my song. Steel type aura coursed through my body like jet fuel and I felt my entire body optimize itself for speed and offense as I literally shifted gears. I became an unstoppable steel comet, a cavalry charge that could shatter any wall before me.

"I'm on the highway to hell, Highway to hell,

I'm on the highway to hell, Highway to hell,

Don't stop me~~"

Faster. Louder. There was a fire inside of me that demanded I go faster, a need for speed. Heh. It was tempting to smash through everything in my way and make a straight line for the university, but I held myself in check.

When I turned into the university lot, I drifted a good twenty feet before hopping onto the plaza in front of Wyatt. Or, I would have, but a blast of red energy knocked me back. Not enough to hurt, but there was a significant heft to it.

"Hey, you realize some of us have class, right?" Crystal growled, her dazzling blue eyes leveled in an accusing glare.

I rolled my lone eye and revved the engine. "What's that, sweet-cheeks? Can't hear you over these bossin' beats!"

Her eyes twitched and every one of her fingers began to glow with an ominous red light. "Excuse me?"

"What? Can't handle this beat?"

A dark look crossed her eyes. "Keep it up and I'll give you a beating."

I leaned back, somehow managing to stand on my rear tires. I held out my stone-like tires and shrugged helplessly. "Ey, I'm just saying, you're revving my engines, ey?"

"I… What?"

"I'd like to slowpoke your cloyster."

"Huh?"

"You put the double-D in doduo."

"I have no idea what you're saying."

"Are you from Kanto? Cause you're one legendary bird."

"Are you done?"

"Can I make your jigglypuff sing?" I said, whistling out of my cylindrical mouth. It wasn't really possible to wink with one eye, but damn it, I tried.

"That sounded vaguely dirty," she accused, but the lasers pointed at me were fading so I took it as a good sign. When in doubt, baffle them with bullshit.

"What can I say? I'm a toxic fella."

"I… Are you okay?"

Then I felt the familiar twist of my power as the timer ran out. I stood there, in front of Wyatt Hall, staring up at one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen in this life, and thanked every god I'd ever met that my helmet covered the atomic red on my face.

The roaring high of revavroom left my system like a poison purged from my veins, leaving me with naught but burning humiliation.

I swallowed thickly. It figured that a muscle car would have such a… bombastic… personality.

"Menagerie?" Crystal asked, now a bit of genuine concern in her voice.

"I'm so-" No. I didn't have to apologize for being a pokemon. Pokemon were free spirits. "My mental state has somewhat influenced my interaction," I said instead.

I walked towards Wyatt Hall, stiff as a board.

"Wait wait wait, you said all those things because you were a big bad muscle car?" I could hear her barely holding back a chortle. "You just-Hahahahahaha!"

She flew alongside me, laughing all the while. I could practically feel the fire coming out of my ears. My face was so hot it started to actually fog up the helmet visor.

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"Please stop," I begged.

"Why? I'm a legendary bird, right?" she crowed, waggling an eyebrow. "Talk about zero filter, huh?"

"Please."

"Hehehehehe, so what are my double-Ds like again?"

"Mercy…"

"Why, Menagerie, I thought you had a thing for my baby cous."

"I will give you my firstborn child to never bring this up again."

"Hehehehe, sorry, this is too good. Is this really how you feel? What exactly is a cloyster, hm?"

Lance, when he was drunk off his ass, once tried to give me advice about women. He told me that the best thing to do when caught out flirting terribly was not to apologize, but to double down. "Be a dragon. No shame. No fear. Push through until your shit flirting becomes a sincere compliment."

He… wasn't all that bright… Clair promptly took me aside and made me swear to forget everything he ever told me on pain of her dragonair crawling up my ass.

But… Perhaps he had a point? Surely the Dragon Master had to know a thing or two about navigating his way around the ladies?

I stopped and turned to her, catching her briefly off guard. She hovered there on her side. I placed a hand on her shoulder and gently but firmly rotated her around until her eyes were level with my own.

"Crystal, you are an incredibly beautiful woman and I have nothing but respect for you both as a woman and as a heroine. I don't doubt that you receive plenty of catcalls and though what I said was inappropriate and influenced by my transformation, I did not mean to cause offense. Please take them in the intent they were given."

"I… huh…?"

I walked up the stairs, leaving her utterly baffled at the sudden shift in my behavior.

Hey, maybe Lance was onto something after all?

I walked up to Sabah's workshop, still flabbergasted that I'd somehow salvaged a shred of dignity. I wasn't pushing my luck; best I move on before the blonde downstairs recovered and thought to come find me.

I pushed open the door and greeted the short Arabian girl in the corner. She was stooped slightly over a sewing machine, working her way through what I assumed was a bit of padding for my costume.

"Hello, Sabah," I greeted. "I hope the commotion downstairs didn't distract you?"

She turned to look at me with a gimlet eye. "Then why did you cause it? Do you ever show up like a normal person?"

"Me? Normal? Please."

"Yeah, thought not. What do you think of my hair extensions?"

"They look good," I said honestly. "They match well with your hoop earrings and choker."

"Thanks. So, work?"

"Work."

She got up from her seat and rummaged around in the closet before returning with a set of scales in her arms. As big as some of those were, they positively dwarfed the short girl and I reached out to take them off her hands.

Looking closer, I saw that some of them had neat lines drawn in black. They were meticulous, not a single edge out of alignment.

"Did you draw on all of them?"

"Yes, you can cut them, right?"

"Of course. But Sabah, this must have taken hours."

"Thanks, it's good to be appreciated. It's not any trouble though. This is my semester project, remember?" she said with a gentle smile.

"Wow, okay. I can get it all done in an hour or two."

"Really?"

"Yup. Stand back."

I'd already thought about which poison type pokemon could do this job. Seviper had an amazingly sharp tail, but I worried that it wouldn't have the coordination with a single limb to make fine incisions. Sneasler could climb mountains, but its claws were geared towards hooking and pulling themselves up rather than severing stone.

No, there was only one non-legendary poison type who had the grip strength, cutting strength, and intuitive precision to pull this off. I just hoped I wouldn't do anything… excessive… again.

I took a large step back from Sabah and thanked whatever university dean assigned a double room for the workshop. "Shift, drapion!"

I fell to four legs and let out a predatory growl as jagged armor covered me. It was a royal purple and lavender, almost beautiful if only it weren't on a pokemon called the "ogre scorpion."

A tail longer than my entire body curled up over my shoulder like a bazooka, if a bazooka had a pair of wicked-sharp stingers that doubled as pinching claws.

Outward facing fangs spread from my upper jaw, seemingly serving no purpose in actually chewing prey. I knew them to be used for tusking during mating season. They contained some of the most virulent poisons known to man, though drapion typically handled their affairs with strength alone.

"H-Holy… M-Menagerie?" Sabah asked nervously.

I relished the tremor in her voice. I was the king of the desert, the demon who ruled over all in his domain. I was-

No.

I squashed down the dark type instincts of the drapion line. The ogre scorpions were brutish and ferocious, but they were also prideful, so prideful that they never used poison unless forced to. Bullying the weak, delighting in Sabah's fear, that was unacceptable. Even had I not been burned by revavroom's personality, I would never have let drapion have its way.

"It's me, Sabah," I growled. My voice came out as a guttural rasp, a promise of barely restrained violence even when I was at peace. I reached out and grabbed one of the scales with my tail, holding it steady while my Sniper's nature allowed me to carve into it with perfect precision.

"Oh… I'll… I'll let you work on that…"

I watched her scurry back to her seat with a pang of pain in my heart. My friends should never fear me. I promised myself I'd do something nice for her later.

"Holy fuck, what the hell are you?" I heard behind me.

I sighed. I'd only been working for a minute. "Hello, Crystal."

"Menagerie?"

"No. I'm the hermit crab you flushed down the toilet when you were a kid, come back for vengeance."

She stared at me, then hovered to Sabah and wrapped the small girl in a hug. "Say, Sabah, wanna hear what Menagerie said?"

"Oh, come on!"

"Hehehehe. Eternal. Blackmail."

"I'm kind of curious now," Sabah giggled. "Was this downstairs?"

"Yup~"

"Crystal, didn't you say you had class?"

"No, I said some people had class and you were being disruptive," she corrected. "I was just coming back from a patrol actually. Why? Aren't you a little too eager to be rid of me?"

"I'll buy you ice cream if you leave right now," I grumbled.

"Nope. I'm not Amy. You can't just bribe me with food."

"Whatever, you're just going to be bored out of your skull."

"Ehh, I'll stick around until then. Seriously though, what the hell is that form?"

"Drapion. It's a lone predator that has enough strength in each claw to rip open cars like paper."

"Ooh, so high-tier brute then? What else?"

"Enough poison to murder every single person in the city by taking a bath in the aquifer," I deadpanned.

She blinked. Then twice. Then a third time before gingerly letting go of Sabah. "Okay… Your monsters are scary…"

"Very. Please do not touch the spiky. You will die."

"N-Noted. No weird changes in your personality?"

"I'm still me, always. Some pokemon just behave with fewer restraints than others. Things like morality or core personality still remain the same," I explained.

"I'm going to sit here and watch, no offense."

"That's fine. Mind turning up the music while we work?"

Sabah shrugged. She'd quickly gotten over my appearance and browsed through her laptop for a song she liked. "Any preference? I don't have AC/DC, sorry."

I coughed awkwardly. "No, that was… It doesn't need to be AC/DC. Something to jam to while we work is good."

She put on some Bad Canary. "It's okay, right? You don't think the song will make you crazy?"

"No? Why would it?"

"She was a cape who got arrested for mastering someone," Crystal explained. "It's bullshit though."

"Ah, I remember. Nah, the song's fine."

We listened to her entire collection while we worked; Sabah was apparently something of a fan. I shifted back and forth a few times and Crystal left once she was sure I wasn't going to eat my armorer or anything stupid like that.

A few hours later, we were finished. I shifted back for the last time and set the prepared plates in predetermined piles. I'd made sure to wipe every single one of these down with a rag, just in case there was any residual poison that leaked from my claws.

"Thank you for all your work, Sabah," I told her. "How long do you think it'll take to put my armor together?"

She picked up one of the pieces and turned it over in her hand. "Wow, these are really well-cut. I didn't think you could get so precise with pincers."

"Drapion are like that. Really strong, really angry, and somehow also really good at cutting only what they mean to cut."

"Well, I'm going to have to put it all together so… a day or two?"

'That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Sabah."

I was about to start heading out when I got an idea. I did say I'd do something nice for her after all. "Sabah?"

"Hmm?"

"Was there anything you wanted from me? Like for materials. I can give you some silk, become a snake that can shed its skin, give you poisonous stingers…"

"Umm… Is everything you have poisonous today?"

"Yeah, that's the theme. I mean, the silk and the snakeskin won't be, but you know."

"How about some silk then? Some rich girl in Immaculata had her parents commission me for a dress for her spring formal dance coming up."

I nodded. "That sounds great. You can get your name out there and brag about how you're the only designer with silk from me."

"Yeah. I've been getting a lot of new commissions lately," she said with a shy smile. "It's thanks to you. People know that I'm making your costume so they pay more attention to me."

"Good. I've seen your catalog. You deserve the attention."

"Thanks."

"So, shift, ariados!"

The spider was familiar to me. I put aside its impulsive need to spin traps. I then climbed the wall and presented my abdomen so it was level with Sabah's face.

"Come closer. No need to be scared."

"Said the spider to the fly," she murmured under her breath. Still, she took a deep breath and came forward.

"Alright, you know where spider silk comes from, right? I squeeze, you pull," I deadpanned.

"What? Eww!"

"I mean, where'd you think silk comes from?"

"B-But…"

I flipped around and let out a hearty chuckle. I then spat out a wad of silk from my mouth. "I'm joking. I can spit the stuff too."

"Y-You!" she yelled, flustered and not sure what to say.

"Me!" I cheered.

"You're impossible."

"I'm a man who turns into a giant spider. Tell me you wouldn't mess with as many people as you could if you were me."

"I wouldn't. I have this thing called maturity."

"Never heard of it."

She let out a tired sigh. "You're worse than my brothers. Okay, so just… spit?"

"It'd help if you had something to wrap the silk around so I can give you ready-made spools," I told her, all business again.

"Okay, let me get you a stick or something…"

We spent another hour doing that. She gave me a broom I could wrap my silk around. Then when I finished with that, she handed me one of those long sticks with a hook on the end used to pull down blinds from tall windows. She'd pull the stick out of the newly made spool and hand it back to me to cycle out.

By the time we finished, I'd expended enough silk to cover the room in an ankle-deep layer. Maybe twice over. She really knew how to make tight bundles and corrected me several times. It helped that unlike Emily, she wasn't scared of spiders, just a bit weirded out.

There was caution, as anything with a pulse should have when approaching a spider big enough to hunt elephants, but she got over it quickly and worked with swift, deft movements.

"Thank you so much for these, Menagerie," Sabah said with a big smile that lit up the room. "I don't even know how many outfits I can make out of these. Ten? Fifteen? How well will the silk dye?"

"Very," I replied. Johtoans had been using ariados and spinarak silk for millennia. "You're going to have to experiment, but I know for a fact that it can be done."

"That's great. I can't wait to get started."

"You really love fashion."

"Huh? Oh, of course. I love fashion so it doesn't sound like work to me."

"I'm glad you found something you love doing," I said honestly.

"Say…"

"Hmm?"

"How would you feel if I gave some of this to Parian?"

I blinked. Then I remembered that it was Parian who introduced me to Sabah in the first place. I nodded agreeably. The blonde did deserve some thanks from me, as well as a small apology. "Of course she can have some," I said. "In fact, I'd be happy if you could take some to her and apologize."

"Eh?"

"When we first met, I wasn't really as established as a hero yet and I approached her immediately after a show on the Boardwalk. I think she might have thought I planned to attack her."

"Oh, I think she's over that now."

"Still, say sorry for me?"

"Okay, I will," she said as she packed everything up into storage. "Good night, Menagerie."

"Good night, Sabah."

I glanced at the clock. It was nearly 9 PM. I shrugged. If I headed to the Palanquin, I could order something and enjoy the club for a bit while waiting for 11 PM before meeting up with Faultline. Or I could go to sleep and visit another day, hoping for a type that wasn't so readily lethal or intimidating.

No. I'd done a lot today, but the night was young. Why turn in when I could knock one more thing off my to-do list?

One transformation into a zubat and a five minute flight later, I stood on the rooftop across the street from the Palanquin. It was located just off the north end of the Boardwalk, not quite in the tourist district but close enough that it wasn't much of a walk for thrill-seekers.

The club stood at the top of a low hill, making any intruders easier to spot. Assuming Faultline was as tactical as Future-Emily described, she'd probably chosen the real estate specifically for this reason. This hill was the only territory she claimed and despite being just outside ABB territory, Lung didn't seem all too interested in contesting it.

The exterior of the club was made of red brick and exposed pipes, giving it the look of an old-timey building that had been refurbished. Considering where in the city this was, it probably used to be some shipping company's office space.

Like any popular club, there was a sizable line of people looking to get in. A burly fellow dressed in black stood as the bouncer. I smiled as I watched some clearly underage girl get shoved aside; good to know Faultline ran a tight ship.

Funny as it was, that posed a bit of a problem. Faultline asked me not to disturb the patrons, which meant avoiding my usual bombastic entrances. I too wanted to keep a low profile for a business meeting; Faultline was very much considered a villain and I'd rather avoid questions about why a hero required her services.

I couldn't just march in there, but nor could I take off my helmet and pose as a civilian to enter, not least of which because I was also underage.

I shrugged. This was precisely why I kept litwick as my chosen form after all. One whispered aria and I was the adorably mellow ghost type.

I took in a deep breath and extinguished the wick. The flame absorbed life force to burn and the last thing I needed was causing widespread bouts of anemia on the dance floor. Sweaty activity, alcohol, and loud music did not mix well with vitality-draining powers.

I sank into the shadows and climbed down from the rooftop. Five minutes and three horribly hummed renditions of the Mission Impossible theme later, I was inside one of the men's bathroom stalls in the Palanquin. It was remarkably clean for a club and decorated in black marble with brass inlays, one more sign of the owner's meticulousness.

I was inside and had caused not a single disruption, as promised.

Now, should I unmask to enjoy the club? Faultline didn't know I was here yet, I hadn't even told her I was coming; I could easily just put the helmet back on before texting her after grabbing a bite to eat.

Or, I could just grab a milkshake or something at the bar and drink that while I waited. Would it be weird to sip at a milkshake in a bar wearing a motorcycle helmet?

I opened the door of the bathroom and stepped outside into the main club area. The music was loud enough to send reverberations through my body that were felt in my bones as much as heard in my ears.

I found myself bobbing to the beat. The song was some generic pop-punk blend that relied heavily on a strong bass and some kind of electronic instrument I couldn't identify. It was the kind of music that was universally popular, soulless trash, but the kind of soulless trash that stuck around in your head.

It made me wonder if Sabah would enjoy this kind of scene; the song wasn't too different from Bad Canary's music she played while we worked.

I squeezed through the pulsing crowd, shimming with the beat and squeezing myself through like toothpaste. Eventually, the mass of drunk college kids deposited me at the other end in front of the bar.

The bartender was a woman in her mid-twenties wearing a pressed, white collared shirt and an elegant black vest that hugged her slim curves perfectly. A black bowtie and a confident smirk finished the look.

She glanced at me with a look that said she'd seen it all, making not one comment about the helmet. "Hey there, what's your poison?"

I froze. I was a professional homeless man in my past life. Bars weren't exactly my kind of scene. The few times I'd been, it was always with Steven, Lance, or someone else who could do the ordering for me. "Ah… Sorry, first time here. Got a menu?"

She slid one over. It was a black, faux leather book embossed in the same brass logo that was everywhere. Faultline clearly took cues from cabaret clubs.

"Cookies and cream shake please. And some finger food… Can I try your garlic parm fries?"

"Of course, you want that shake dirty?"

"Umm…"

"With alcohol."

"Oh, no. I'm trying to keep a clear head tonight."

"Suit yourself, biker-boy. One cookies and cream and garlic parm fries. That'll be $18.29."

I handed her a twenty and made note of how thin my wallet was getting. I had roughly $1600 now, thousands gone after a single month of being a cape. Though to be fair, I'd used that money to provide for Emily. Money well spent.

Fifteen minutes later, the same snazzily dressed bartender placed my food in front of me with a coquettish smirk. "Here you are, handsome."

"Handsome? You don't know what I look like."

"When a lady gives you a compliment, hon, you nod and take it."

"Dinner and sage advice? You might be onto something."

She wandered off to serve another customer. It wasn't five minutes after that that the seat next to me was taken by someone else. She was a slim ginger with flawless skin and wide, expressive blue eyes.

She turned and gave me a once-over. I nodded towards her and shoved a fry through the gap in my helmet. Her lips quirked into a smile.

"You know, you can always take off the helmet," she said with a quiet chortle.

"I'm hideous. You'd all run away screaming if you saw my face," I replied dryly. "Really a matter of public safety."

"Ah, I see, so you're just doing us all a favor, hmm?"

I slurped some shake and nodded. "Yup. What brings you here?"

She shrugged. "I came with a friend but she went to go suck face with a guy she just met in the corner. I don't really want to be a third wheel, so here I am."

"Fair enough, though I think your friend should've at least given you heads up if she was planning on meeting up with someone."

"Ehh, it's not planned. What about you, helmet-boy? Do you sit in random bars and eat in the most inconvenient way possible?"

I saw no reason not to tell her. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh, should I leave?"

"Nah, you're good. I have an hour or two to kill anyway. What's your name?"

"Anne," she said. She had a pretty smile, a cute blend of innocent and mature. "Most people give their own first before asking someone else's name."

"My bad, Menagerie."

Her eyes widened. "Bullshit. He wouldn't be here."

I shrugged. "Suit yourself. You don't need to believe anything I say."

"Nononono, you don't get to drop a name like that and leave it. Prove you're Menagerie."

"The great alpaca who sits beyond time and space blessed me with incalculable power. I shall not use it in vain," I intoned.

"Ugh, fine, whatever. Be that way, helmet-boy."

"Menagerie."

"Helmet-boy until you can prove otherwise."

I rolled my eyes. "Suit yourself."

Anne ordered some food for herself, a small plate of nachos and a tumbler of gin and tonic. "So, what's the great Menagerie doing in a club like this?"

"Meeting someone."

"Ooh, a date? Aren't you with Panacea?"

I snorted, almost choking on a fry. The fact that some random college girl already bought the rumors tickled me pink. "Hehe, nah. I don't think Panpan's the sort for this kind of scene."

"Hmm, not even a month and already meeting other girls? What would she say?"

"'Good riddance,' probably. Or something to that effect. Besides, who says we're dating?"

"Right… Well who else are you meeting? Unless you're the kind who wants to get high off Newter whenever he decides to show?"

"Nah. Hero. Say no to drugs and all that."

The two of us shot the breeze for a while longer before someone else sat down on Anne's other side. He had slicked back black hair that was starting to droop a bit from dancing and a gray, striped shirt. The most eye-catching thing about him was the band-aid on his cheek that I suspected was more cosmetic than anything.

"Yo, lady, a glass of whiskey!" he hollered over the music, making me roll my eyes. It wasn't that loud here but maybe he went a bit deaf temporarily from the dance floor.

"Hold up, give me a sec," the bartender told him as she mixed some kind of fruity drink and topped it with a lemon.

She moved on to make a rum and coke before passing it to someone who'd been waiting longer. Then a screwdriver, and then another gin and tonic. It was nearing 10 PM and the bar was starting to fill up a bit as the dancers started to tire and dropped by to hydrate.

"Hey, whiskey! Give me one neat!" he yelled impatiently.

Anne looked at me and our eyes met. I could see hers roll like pinballs.

Then the man with the band-aid leaned towards her and said in a harsh whisper. "Some people, right? Can't even get a man a drink."

"Some people," she muttered. She turned in her seat to face me, though I suspected it was more to send him a message than any desire to keep up a conversation with me. "So, I heard you've been by the college a lot. How's the costume coming along?"

"Oh, so now I'm Menagerie?" I said with a chuckle, though not loud enough to carry.

"Work with me," she hissed.

I shrugged. "Sabah's a great designer. She said she should be done with the costume in a day or two."

"Huh. It's made of those weird red scales, right? I saw Laserdream peel it from your tail one time."

"Tyrantrum scales. Snom silk, lycanroc and ninetales fur too. I'm really looking forward to it."

The bartender finally got around to serving the college kid. "About time. You're not gonna make any tips with that attitude," he sniped.

She did about the best thing she could and didn't engage him at all. Staring at him placidly, she asked, "Whiskey, neat?"

"Yeah."

"…"

"Well, what're you waiting for?"

"The brand. Jim Beam? Jack Daniels? You want bourbon? Scotch?"

That caught him flatfooted, probably because like with most young people, he likely never had more than a few glasses of whiskey in his life. Asking him to name a brand was a great way to shut him down. Then he sideyed the attractive redhead next to him and puffed himself up again.

"The good stuff. Top shelf."

She quirked an eyebrow as he doubled down like an idiot. "Good stuff? I recommend Laphroaig Islay scotch. We have a few bottles, but I'm sure I can get you one of the better ones."

"Yeah, that's what I'm about," he nodded smugly, shooting Anne a confident grin.

The bartender reached up and pulled down a fancy-looking bottle. I was no expert like Steven, but even I could tell that wasn't something a random frat boy could afford. "10 year Laphroaig peat scotch whiskey. This what you want?"

He tossed his card on the table. "Yeah, that's the stuff."

She shrugged and poured out an ounce. "One Laphroaig, neat. That'll be $138," she drawled as she snatched the card before the price could even register.

"One thir-WHAT?"

"Top shelf stuff, exactly what you wanted."

"Bullshit! I'm not paying for that!"

"I asked. You demanded top shelf. I showed you the bottle. You still insisted. If it's in the glass, it's yours," she said uncaringly. "Drink your shot and don't start anything messy."

"Fuck you! I'm not paying for this shit!"

She slid the card on the counter. "Already been charged. Good day, sir."

"Wha-" He whirled to us. "Can you believe this bitch? Hey, get me your manager!"

I looked at the bartender who'd already turned away. Her shoulders were quivering, just shy of busting a gut laughing at the poor bastard. My eyes trailed to Anne who stared at him like he was something stuck to her boot. She said nothing, but the way she scootched the stool away from the idiot making a scene spoke volumes.

I didn't think I'd ever seen anyone strike out with a girl this badly before. I genuinely didn't know if I should feel bad for him or join the bartender laughing at him.

I felt bad for the idiot. But then again, I lost all respect for him the moment he decided to double down on his idiocy. Messing up is one thing, but causing a scene like this wasn't okay. I had the feeling that the barkeep would have been happy to guide him through a quick lesson on whiskey types had he been more pleasant.

More importantly, Anne scootched away from him and into me, close enough that she was practically in my lap. Her body language couldn't have been clearer if it was written in neon lights.

I polished off my milkshake and leaned into her. "Would you like to switch seats?"

She let out a sigh of relief. "God, yes."

I stood and walked over to her other side, letting her slide into my stool. The loud one didn't take that so well.

"Hey, fuck's your problem?"

Ignoring him, I turned back to Anne and searched for a conversation topic. Didn't matter which, just anything to establish familiarity. "So Anne, what'd you say you were studying again?"

"English literature," she said, coming out a little forced. "My godmother, Professor Hebert, was a huge inspiration for me and I wanted to be just like her. She taught English at the university."

"Was?"

"She passed away a few years ago. My kid sis and her daughter are good friends."

I winced. "Sorry to hear that. I think she'd be proud to have gotten you interested in her major."

"I'd like to think so, though I don't think I'm going to do this as a career. Not much money in it, you know? And a girl's gotta eat."

"Oh? What're you thinking about then?"

"Law. Daddy's a lawyer so I'm studying for my LSAT," she told me, though she raised her voice a bit louder when she said her dad's a lawyer. If she looked behind me to lock eyes with the guy who'd been trying to impress her, I chose not to comment.

Like the last half dozen times, he didn't take the hint. Face red and clearly a bit drunk, he swept the glass of expensive scotch off the table and grabbed me by the shoulder. "Oi, don't fucking ignore me, punk!"

A dozen different pokemon flashed through my mind like the pages of a book, but no. I stamped down the impulse to shift. Frankly, I was poison today. Their general mentality was… not kind to idiots.

"Please let go. You were making my friend uncomfortable."

"I wasn't doing shit. It's not my fault the bitch charged me a hundred for a drink!"

"She asked you-" I sighed, giving up. I turned to the barkeep. "No, not doing this. ma'am, can you please call the bouncer?"

He leaned closer to me and I could smell the alcohol in his breath through the helmet. "You think you're hot shit fuckface? You think I won't kick your ass?"

"I'm sure you will. You look like a man who knows what he's about."

"Fuck you!" he yelled before pulling back a fist.

'What did he want exactly? I told him what he wanted…' Steven said I should just let drunk idiots have their way and nod along. To be fair, he was mostly talking about Lance and Drake, and they were silly drunks that sang sea shanties in the middle of the street while their pokemon died of embarrassment, but it wasn't like I had a wealth of experience to draw on.

I sighed. If I let the idiot hit me, he'd probably just break his hand on my helmet, because of course he was too drunk for anything but a haymaker. I twisted subtly so I could catch the hit on my forehead and turn with the blow.

Maybe if I let him have one, he'd leave… I could hope…

It never got that far because a burly, black man with a shaved head and an equally dandy suit as the bartender's grabbed him by the elbow. He wore the club's signature black suit jacket and had managed to walk behind the drunkard without alerting him, though that admittedly wasn't a tall order.

The bouncer had the least impressed look I'd ever seen on someone's face. "Alright,' he rumbled, "you're done."

"Let go of me. I'm gonna kick his fucking ass!"

"Yeah… I doubt that…" He then bodily picked up the rowdy clubber into a fireman's carry and ignored the ineffectual punches landing on his back. "Menagerie?"

I nodded. "That's me."

"What kind of shampoo do you prefer?"

I stared at him uncomprehendingly for a while until I remembered what I posted last night. "Oh, animal tested. Sorry about this, I tried not to cause a scene but," I said, waving to the guy yelling about lawsuits or somesuch.

He smirked back. "You were more patient than a lot of other capes I've seen. Hell, probably more than Faultline. She would've laid the idiot out five minutes ago."

"Wait, you're really Menagerie?" Anne gasped.

"No," I drawled. "I'm just a really good fake. Like a Vegas Elvis."

"That's so cool, so you're really getting your costume in two days? I need to go talk to that Sabah girl."

"Please don't bug her. Unless you've got a commission to throw her way. She's busy enough as it is."

"I might at that… Emma's birthday's coming up so I might commission something from Sabah. She won't admit it, but she's actually a big cape-nerd."

I had no idea who Emma was so just nodded along. "Suit yourself. I gave her a bunch of silk from some of my monsters."

"Ahem," the bouncer coughed. "Menagerie, it's a little early, but Faultline's agreed to see you upstairs."

"Ah, sure, thanks. How do I get there?"

"Let me drop this fool outside and I'll take you up," he said, lumbering off.

Anne looked at me and snagged a napkin before jotting down her number. "Here. Anne Barnes. Next time you're at the uni, come give me a call, okay?"

Somehow, I didn't think this "Emma" was the only cape-nerd in her family. "Sure, no promises…"

The music faded entirely as I walked upstairs. It was almost unearthly just how good the soundproofing in this club was, one more nugget of evidence pointing to this being Faultline's HQ rather than just a trusted contact.

The upstairs area was actually divided in two. The first was yet another bar, though with some better decorations and a "black label" feel to it. There was some smooth jazz flowing in the background that was a big contrast to the electronic beats downstairs.

The second was like it, though clearly marked for private use. It was one part lounge and one part living room, with comfy couches and warm lighting. I got the distinct feel that this wasn't just a super-exclusive space, but actually meant to be lived in.

Did Ms. Fitts live here or Faultline? I rolled my eyes. She was barely even trying.

There, I was greeted by a woman who sat lounging on a corner sofa. She wore a welder's mask, a long dress that was slitted on the legs to make movement easier, and combat boots that she rested on the coffee table.

Faultline. She gave off the air of someone who liked to be in control. From everything I'd seen so far, her, or I supposed "Ms. Fitts," was a woman with meticulous taste who went out of her way to appear professional. Whether she was Ms. Fitts or not, it made me wonder why she'd decided to meet me here and with a clearly less-than-professional posture.

Before I could ponder more, my eyes were drawn by Gregor the Snail, a Case-53 who looked a bit like some kind of Team Rocket experiment. I pitied him but made sure not to react to his appearance in any way. The last thing I'd want if I were him was pity.

"Please close the door and take a seat," Faultline said.

"Thank you for having me, Faultline."

"You don't do subtle, do you, Menagerie?"

"I do, though I hold no responsibility for drunk idiots."

"Fair enough. As you have surmised, I am Faultline. My colleague is Gregor. Can I get you anything to drink?"

I took a seat across from them. It really was a great couch. "No, thank you though. Your chefs know how to make a great shake."

"Glad you've enjoyed yourself. Now tell me, why did you want to meet with me?"

"I have a business proposition for you if you don't mind. I understand you have access to people who can craft an identity."

"Oh? And what makes you say that?"

I gestured vaguely around us. "Please don't play coy. You managed to set up this club after your affairs in Philadelphia. There has to be someone working behind the scenes to make sure the papers are all where they should be."

"Melanie is an old family friend of mine," she drawled woodenly. She wasn't even trying to be convincing.

"Yes, and I'm sure she does a wonderful job of running this place. There are others who are your accountant, legal counsel, logistics, hiring manager, and whatever else goes into running a business. You cannot be everywhere after all, and the life of a mercenary doesn't exactly leave you with free time."

"You'd be surprised. In fact, I'd say the benefit of being a mercenary is free time. I can choose my hours." She leaned forward. "But fine. Let's say I know some people. What are you looking for?"

"An identity."

"You want a fake? You can surely acquire some alcohol on your own."

"Not for me. A friend."

"A friend…"

"Actually a friend, a girl. I need the full shebang. Birth certificate, driver's license, passport, school history, even a social security number if you can swing it. I can't get this from just anyone off a street corner."

"Ah, your visit makes more sense now. And what do you offer for my services? A complete legal identity fabricated from nothing will cost you upwards of $18,000."

I whistled. That… That was a significant sum of money, but I couldn't say it was unreasonable for a complete history rewrite. I didn't even know where to start haggling because I'd never done this before. The Champions were my friends and I was the aura master. I wasn't exactly a man who needed an introduction…

"Will you take an IOU?" I asked sheepishly.

"Cute. But no."

Gregor spoke up for the first time. His voice was surprising in a pleasant way. It had a rhythmic, almost lyrical quality to his deep timbre that made me think he'd be great at singing. The accent was strange too, not American, though I didn't know enough about this world to place it. "Faultline, perhaps we would be willing to consider alternative payment methods?"

She hummed in thought. "Perhaps…"

They worked well together, a good cop, bad cop scenario in negotiations. Faultline was the pragmatic one while Gregor sought to appease and reconcile where he could. I wondered briefly where Newter and Labyrinth were. If they weren't here, it probably meant they were watching from afar just in case things went south.

"$18,000…" I wondered how many hideouts I'd have to hit to get that kind of money. I wasn't a fan of the idea. Sure, I'd started out by raiding a Merchant depot, but I hadn't done so since. It was poor rewards for time better spent elsewhere.

But with Emily's ID thrown into the balance?

"I can get you the money eventually," I said. I'd have to be much more aggressive about it, but I wasn't unwilling. The hardest part would be gathering intel on stash houses.

"I'd want it as soon as possible. Half up front and half upon delivery of the papers," Faultline replied. "If not, we'll have to settle for other arrangements."

I nodded. I couldn't expect Faultline to work according to my schedule and she didn't become a merc by doing things for free. This was something I wanted for Emily as soon as possible.

"How long would forging these papers take?"

"A week or two to get in contact with the right people, grease the right palms, and access the right servers to make sure electronic records match up."

"Healing."

"Oh?"

"You asked for alternative arrangements. This is obviously what came to mind. I can offer you healing of any injuries. I can purge poisons. Everything short of a genetic disease."

I sank back into the couch and allowed myself a breath. I hated negotiations. My first impulse was to just ask people what they needed and help them get it. This was something else I'd never learned in the past; most just gave me what I wanted.

I sighed. I missed my old world; it was truly a kinder place.

"If you cannot offer the $9,000, I believe healing would be a suitable alternative," Gregor interjected.

I looked at him, then at his boss. Gregor was hard to read with his appearance, but not impossible. There was interest there. No, calling it interest wasn't enough. There was a barely disguised fascination with my offer.

'Why?' I wondered. He was healthy as far as I could tell. He either knew someone who needed healing and couldn't go to a hospital or…

Himself.

It was one of the great mysteries of this world. No one knew where Case-53s came from or how they were formed. No one, not even Amy, had ever managed to alter a Case-53. She'd told me once while we were shooting the breeze in the doctor's lounge. Her power provided her information about biology, but because a Case-53's biology was so nonsensical, she had a hard time understanding them.

Not that she'd ever do anything with brains at all. If their mutation was related to their coronas as Amy seemed to think, then she'd never break her code by altering them.

In that context, Faultline's standoffishness made some sense. She was practical to a fault and I was a stranger who healed for free. If she wanted a discreet arrangement, she'd seek to get me in her debt.

That was assuming Faultline gave a damn about her subordinates of course. Or, even if she didn't, she likely wouldn't mind some leverage to hold over her men. That was what mercenaries did, right?

I looked her over again. No, that didn't seem right. She was standoffish with me, but the care she showed for her business was self-evident. As a mercenary captain, her men were her business. She'd want them taken care of.

And even if it turned out that I couldn't fix a Case-53, she'd want a discreet healer on-call.

Not about money, about building a business relationship, a foundation so she could call in a favor later…

I had to hope I was reading her right.

"Two weeks to get the documents, with nine grand up front, right?" I began. I could play along. I wouldn't mind giving Case-53s back their lives. "Here's my offer. Four sessions of complete healing, one for each member of your crew."

"Denied. You heal for free. $4,500 per healing is too much," Faultline said stoically, but I had the sense that she was smiling. And why wouldn't she? I was finally playing her game.

"I'm considering marketing healing to select clients anyway. And you're not paying for healing in itself; you're paying for secrecy and exclusivity. You can't exactly come find me at the hospital."

"True. By that token, you're also paying for exclusivity. There aren't many who can pull together a false identity in just two weeks."

"So the two factors cancel out then?"

"Indeed."

"I can look for someone else. You can't be the only one with contacts. You have no one but me unless you're dumb enough to try to kidnap Panacea."

"True, but I'm more convenient. You're new to the scene and it shows. If you had other options or understood protocols when dealing with PMCs, you would have reached out through appropriate channels, not my shell company's website."

I frowned. She wasn't wrong and there would be no point pretending otherwise. I was out of my depth here. "Six sessions, $3,000 per."

"Even ten. $1,800 a session."

We went on back and forth like this for a while. We talked more about the price and just how it was determined. We talked about what Emily might need and why.

Almost two hours later, I was about to agree. Anything to get this over with and get out with Emily's papers. But… They were still villains. I had to at least extract a few promises.

"No murder, rape, or kidnapping."

"You're adding conditions on my affairs?"

"If you want healing to be on the table, yes. Otherwise, I return later with $9,000 instead and pay in cash."

She snorted. "You have no idea how to negotiate."

"No, which is why I don't bullshit around. My word is my word, no more and no less."

"That's fine. We are mercenaries, but we tend to be quite picky about our clients. Obeying the unwritten rules as we understand them is a part of that."

I nodded. "And you won't commit crimes in Brockton Bay."

"Besides this forging?"

"Besides this forging."

"Also agreeable. We don't take jobs in this city. Or New Hampshire if we can help it. We like a bit of distance between our two businesses."

I was about to accept, then I felt it. There was a faint tremor that had nothing to do with the loud music downstairs.

The clock struck midnight and whether I liked it or not, it was time to let go of the poison type.

My mind was filled with dozens of ethereal creatures, beings whose power could never truly be understood, not even by the advanced sciences of my old world. The moon outside held an unusual allure to me, a warmth I'd never noticed before.

Fairies… Just like Titania…

My soul formed a crystal of power, a tiny little gem as radiant as the full moon. Just like when I connected to my litwick form, I could feel it, a source of raw potential that was impossible to put to words. It would allow me to access a pokemon's template, something to fall back on when I could access no other.

I shelved it for the moment.

I turned back to Faultline to continue our conversation, but then I felt it again. There was another tremor that had nothing to do with my soul. Faultline and Gregor felt it too because they both froze like statues.

Then, the world began to shift. The walls started to ripple before huge swaths of white replaced the warm wallpaper. Then more and more of our surroundings were replaced by padded walls in symmetrical, quilted patterns.

"What's going on?" I asked. I readied a form immediately just in case this was some kind of elaborate ambush. I didn't think Faultline would, not after two hours and here in her HQ, but…

She and Gregor bolted to their feet. They began to walk briskly, not towards an exit, but towards what I assumed were their quarters on the third floor. "I'm sorry, Menagerie, we'll have to pick this up again."

"What? We were about to-"

"Later. One of my subordinates needs me more. I need to put a stop to this before her power leaks downstairs."

That brought me to a pause. Newter couldn't do this, which left Labyrinth. She did this somehow.

Faultline… Faultline cared. Her usual professional detachment was gone, replaced with iron determination.

Author's Note

This chapter was released just after Scarlet/Violet came out, which is why there is a small segment about new pokemon Blake does not recognize. Chat wanted to know how they'd be added to the story, if at all, and this was my answer.

It also had a wild 20-1-20 sequence of rolls, part of which is that second permanent pokemon. The rest comes next chapter.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.