Deafening booms echoed through the mine shaft as the Onix thrashed its body against the walls. The snake writhed and convulsed, its massive body thrashing wildly. Enormous cracks could be seen widening upon its segmented body as black blood poured from its wounds. Pebbles and stone fell from its craggy hide as it struggled for breath. Dirt rained down from the ceiling as the wooden support beams had splintered under the Pokemon’s mighty weight. The air filled with the deafening sound of its anguished hissing, as if a thousand steam engines whistled in unison. With a final shudder, the stone serpent fell silent. Its body went still, and the mine shaft was left in a deep, mournful silence.
As the air cleared of settling dirt, a slightly hunched form could be seen. The figure relaxed its posture and stood, coming up shorter than the average adult human. Its grayish-violet body seemed to steam as its visibly bulging muscles deflated. Crimson tissue shrank until it was hidden save for glimpses that lay in red rows on the Pokemon's extremeties. The Machoke gazed in silence as if contemplating the majesty and power of the fallen magnificent beast before it, now forever still.
The beast it just slain on behalf of its master.
A muffled voice called from further up the shaft. “Well done, Rooster.” A beam of red light enveloped the Machoke. “Return to me.”
The owner of the voice was a stolid male in his late 20s. A deep green mask covered his face as two gray eyes peered from grimy, cracked lenses. A hose protruded from the center of the mask and ran down to an oddly shaped pack upon the man’s chest. His shirt collar is oddly torn, what was formerly a band about the man's neck was torn open with missing sections on either side. The material appeared frayed and shredded as if torn. Normally black leather boots were currently brown as the man cautiously advanced upon the corpse before him.
Pausing every few feet, the man listened carefully to his surroundings. With the support beams damaged in the Onix’ death throes, there would be little time to escape if the packed dirt ceiling suddenly gave way. Slowly and cautiously the man continued, gingerly stepping forward. Upon reaching the craggy body, he withdrew a large pickaxe from the bag strapped to his bag.
“Good thing it fell facing us.” he muttered under his breath.
Raising the metal implement over his head, the Machoke’s master swung down as hard as he could towards the crest that topped the deceased Pokemon’s head. Each swing was deliberate, centered just behind the crest where the stone was weakest. It took a considerable amount of time before the man saw any progress as he frequently paused in his work to again listen for the telltale sounds of mine collapse.
After what seemed like hours, the crest finally broke free and came to a thud upon the dirt floor. Abandoning the now dulled pickaxe, the man lifted his prize and shrugged it upon his shoulders before fleeing as quickly as he could to the surface.
Upon breaching the depths of the cavernous mine, the Trainer is immediately surrounded by a throng of cheering men as he hoists the Onix’ crest aloft. The crowd churned around him as he made his way across the workyard to a small cabin. Before the doors of the cabin waited the foreman, his burly arms crossed over his chest. The triumphant Trainer came to a stop several feet from the foreman, dropping the stone pillar onto the ground before his feet.
“Jobs done.”
“I can see that.” the foreman growled. “Shame you didn’t get buried under the rubble. Fighting inside the mine was damnably stupid and repairing the damage will be expensive. Who is going to pay for that, huh?”
“Not my concern.” The Trainer’s voice was still muffled by his mask, but was loud enough to be heard by all nearby. “I advised that we redirect the Onyx to the shafts that have been mined out, but you refused. Your request was the removal or destruction of an Onix that was threatening mining operations. Collateral damage was inevitable. Regardless, I have completed your request. The target has been destroyed.”
“Fuck you, you pretentious asswipe. You’ve just cost us tens - no - hundreds of thousands of dollars for this stunt. I’m going to make sure the League fucking pays for this shit!”
“Again, not my concern.” The Trainer shrugged while one hand drifted to a red and white ball attached to his belt. “But if you ask me…” He thumbed the ball idly as the miners around him began to step back. “I bet those costs are still probably less than the payouts to the families of the dead and the total shutdown of all ops in the area, let alone the losses from having to find a new site that is equally rich in coal and ore.”
The foreman licked his lips, his eyes fixated upon the Pokeball. “I’ll take up my grievances with the League.”
“Suit yourself.”
Eyes rapidly flicked between the Trainer’s masked face and the ball. “See yourself out.”
An audible sneer was the final exchange. “Don’t mind if I do.”
----------------------------------------
Dean Rogers took a deep breath of the fresh air. Now that he was alone in his hotel room, he had finally relaxed enough to remove the gas mask from his face. The scent of laundered sheets and the bourbon in his glass were a welcome change from the musty filters within the chest pouch. Kicking his feet upon the ottoman, Dean took his first sip and relished the bite as it tipped down his throat.
Idly reaching over to the phone on the small table next to him, Dean picked up the receiver and began to dial. He smacked his lips in pleasure as he continued to enjoy his beverage while he was patched through.
“Operations. State your identification number.”
“Romeo-Sierra-fife-two-seven-niner.”
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
There was a pause as the representative on the other end of the line found his file. Static bursts could be heard along with a background murmur and the rustle of pages.
“Confirmed. Hello Dean.”
“Hey yourself. This Marla?”
“You oaf! Marla’s off on Tuesdays, and you know full well who I am. It’s Sandy.”
“Apologies.” Dean covered the mouthpiece so his smirk wouldn’t go through. “Calling in to report a successful subjugation.”
“Subjugation, huh? Redirect out of the question then. Any injuries?”
“They declined the idea. Negative on injuries. Rooster tanked the big ol’ snake like the champ he is with barely a scratch.”
Sandy sniffed on the other end. “What about civilians or yourself?”
“Nada, unless you count the bodies from before I showed up.”
“How many?”
Dean paused, swirling the alcohol in his glass as he contemplated for a moment. “Six got buried when the Onix first breached. Three more got crushed when it went wild. The idiots tried hitting it with pickaxes and shovels. Two others died and about fifteen or so got injured when they tried to retrieve some equipment.”
“Got it. What about collateral damage?”
“Prick of a foreman said a couple hundred thousand worth.”
“Dean!”
“Oh pfah, the most that would happen is a tertiary shaft gets temporarily closed off until they can reinforce the area with brick instead of wood this time. I’m betting it’s closer to a couple thousand tops.”
“You mean to tell me that they were still using wood?”
“Yes ma’am.”
There was another ruffling sound as Sandy presumably took hasty notes. Meanwhile, Dean grimaced as he went for another sip but found his glass empty. Setting the empty cup on the table, he picked up the base of the phone and tucked it under his arm as he made his way to the room’s minibar.
“Alright. I made a memo for an inspector to give the place a visit. Anything else to report?”
“Nah.”
“Great. Two thousand five hundred will be deposited into your account.”
“Much obliged, Sandy dear.”
“Now, you’re staying in Pewter, right?”
“That’s right. Hotel Crag. Cushy little place, they got a nice selection of the ol’ firewater too.”
“Don’t drink too much Dean…there’s another job. Little place south of you called Pallet Town just put in a request.”
“Such a taskmistress. And here I’m itchin’ to get home to the wife. Missing that fabulous behind of hers.” A sardonic grin plastered itself on Dean’s face as he refilled his glass for the second time.
“Dean!” Sandy squealed over the phone. “Not while I’m on the clock! You know they audit these calls!”
“Sorry hon. Couldn’t help myself.”
“Behave yourself, mister.” came the retort. “The job shouldn’t take too long. They’ve got a Raticate problem.”
“Rats, huh?” Dean mused. “How far away?”
“About two hours if you charter a ride. I know you prefer walking, but if you go through the forest it may take you a full day. No paths, no trails, and the locals steer clear for a reason.”
“Two day job at most then. Leave tomorrow morning first thing, investigate, and out by the next day.”
“That was my estimate too. Leaves you plenty of time to get home for your son’s birthday.”
“How about the pay?”
“Looks like the town had to scrape together the bounty. It’s a bit on the small end even for a job like this. Five hundred plus any expenses and lodging while on the job. But there’s a small caveat…”
Dean frowned. “What are my restrictions?”
“They’re still primarily a farming and fishing community despite recent growth. They are concerned about their fields since any damage to their crops could really hurt their bottom line. They’re offering a bonus of another five hundred if collateral damage is minimal.”
Nodding to himself, Dean ran over the possible scenarios in his head.
“I think I can handle that. Maybe I'll take my family on vacation after this job.”
“Oh Dean, you sap. I’ll see you when you get back. Stay safe and don’t underestimate the job. You heard what happened to Jones the other day. A Bulbasaur impaled him and left him hanging from a vine.”
“I’ll pick up a few extras. Don’t worry, Sandy, I’ll be safe.”
“You better, mister.”
“Yes ma’am.”
With that, Dean hung up the phone, letting the receiver clatter back upon its base. The spiral cord immediately began to twist on itself. Dean stretched before taking out the pokeball that held his Machoke.
“Alright soldier. We’re gonna go hunt ourselves some Raticate.”