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Like an ocean, the garbage dump stretched over a huge area. Instead of a fresh sea breeze, it gave off a smell of rotten food scraps, burnt waste, sweat, and excrement. The acrid smell stung the nose from afar. Like an ominous warning that said: this far and no further.

Those who nevertheless followed the well-trodden path in the shadow of the city became eyewitnesses to the decay. On a hill behind the slums of Lumiose, a gigantic garbage dump spread. An area the size of 20 Pokémon stadiums, it was said. Like a colorful waterfall, it dragged down the steep slope and greedily spread out on flat ground.

Between dozens of small tents and rotten containers, shady characters roamed in the rising spring sun. Some were up to their shins in paper, wood, cloth, and aluminum cans. To withstand the cold, they wore several layers of clothing.

They were "scavengers" who searched for recyclable pieces in the meter-high mountains of garbage. Things that could be sold or reused. Hundreds of people tried to earn their living here every day under adverse conditions. In this way, about 2 Pokédollars a day could be made; good collectors sometimes even made up to 14 or 15 Pokédollars. That was enough for a hot meal, even if it wasn't sumptuous.

Sal knew that it was up to Guillaume whether someone could be good or not. The garbage dump was divided into zones. Not everyone was allowed to collect where the valuable garbage ended up. Sal also knew that Guillaume's little empire had once started with a few tents. He had come a long way. The makeshift shelter had become a complex suburban ecosystem.

In addition to humans, Pokémon such as Zigzagoon and Poochyena also rummaged through the mountains of garbage in search of food. The dirt had attracted Trubbish, Grimer and Koffing, which flourished in the adverse circumstances. Carrion-eating birds such as Murkrow, Pidove or Pidgeon, on whose wings the dirt stubbornly clung, had long since lost their fear of humans. They had all found a common home in the dumps.

The dumps. This is how the garbage dump was affectionately called by its inhabitants. Between the omnivores, scavengers, and hunters, the dregs of society cavorted here. The dumps were a refuge for the hopeless, the failed, and the criminals. Sal wasn't sure which category she was most likely to belong to.

Although it was spring, the cold still had a firm grip on Lumiose. Sal was happy when she could lie in her sleeping bag in the evening. It was warmer than walking around during the day. She used two thin mats as a base, with a woolen blanket on top. She used two sleeping bags, but never pulled them over her face. Bernard had once taught during her first winter: "Never pull anything over your face. If you do, your head area becomes moist from the breath. When it's cold, everything has to stay dry."

Wetness was deadly in the cold season. Bernard had also explained to her at the time the cold was transmitted much faster by water. Spending the night outside was a dangerous thing. Especially for someone like Sal. The fifteen-year-old girl was slim, poorly nourished, and had no significant body fat as additional protection from the weather.

She wore a thick parka over her sweaters. In addition, a hat, scarf and gloves. Long underpants were hidden under the jeans. Sal only took off her shoes for washing. They were her only suitable piece of clothing and she didn't want them to be stolen.

The cold months were a challenge every time because it was all about dull survival. She had to be dressed thickly enough not to cool down. Even at sub-zero temperatures. Nevertheless, she had to be careful being able to react quickly if someone tried to steal her belongings.

Her improvised tent in the middle of the dumps was not much more than a collection of makeshift poles and clothes. But it helped Sal maintain a low level of dignity and privacy. She lived in one of the better zones. Nevertheless, incidents occurred again and again. Bitter experience had taught her to sleep with her head and arms on everything she owned. So, she could notice immediately when someone tried to steal from her.

Occasionally, strangers kicked or peed against the tent. Sal had long since become accustomed to this. Worse were the Rattata. At night, when everything else was quiet, one could hear them especially well. In the past, Sal had placed leftovers of food in front of the tent in hope the rats would eat them and leave the girl alone.

Unfortunately, that had only led to more of them coming. They were a plague that could not be overcome. Guillaume had tried to fight them with some Purrloins and thus only shifted the problem. In addition to the rapidly multiplying omnivores, thieving pranksters were now also thriving in the dumps.

"Come, it's time to get up", she turned to her companions. A little, lizard-like Pokémon and a small, cat-like Pokémon crawled out of their sleeping place.

The dark gray lizard was called Corry. She had an elongated mouth with black, pointed teeth and narrow purple eyes, resulting in a mischievous expression. On her back, she had a reddish stripe that reached the tip of her tail. With nimble and dexterous movements, Corry crawled onto the outstretched hand and joyfully climbed over Sal's arms and shoulder. Sal had learned from Guillaume that her reptilian companion was a female Salandit. That was after she had met Corry a few months ago and liberated her in a spontaneous action. Since then, the little lizard had not left her side.

Sal felt a sense of hunger in her mind. It almost seemed to Sal that Trix was actually talking to her.

"Don't worry, we'll get something right away”, Sal replied. Trix was her longest companion, her best friend, and a Pokémon who had telepathic abilities. Although Trix could not utter human words, she could convey her feelings and intentions as shadowy concepts to Sal's thoughts.

Trix looked like a Purrloin now, but she wasn't one. Not only did Trix possess the gift of telepathy, but she could also transform into other Pokémon, or humans if she wanted to. Trix was a true illusionist and Sal's best-kept secret. Neither Sal nor Guillaume had been able to find out what kind of Pokémon she was. Unfortunately, there was no book that they could simply look up.

Trainers were selfish people and carefully guarding their knowledge of Pokémon. They shared it only for something viable in return. If Guillaume was right, Trix was extremely rare – and valuable. It was another reason to keep her existence a secret from others. The only reason, Guillaume had probably not stolen and sold her was her use. She was more worth to him alive. In addition, Sal suspected, he was probably afraid of being caught by the government. Stealing or selling Pokémon without a license was a dangerous task.

Suspiciously, Sal eyed a dark corner of her tent. "Yo, Spooky! What happened tonight?"

Gloomy, dark purple gas floated from the corner of the tent and wafted in the air. The ominous face of a Haunter slowly became visible. The white, piercing eyes gave the Pokémon, which appeared to consist of pointed teeth, a head, and two claws, a dangerous appearance. Sal didn't know anyone else who dared to own a Ghost Pokémon.

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'And I wouldn't be able to do it without Trix,' she thought. There was something about Trix that could suppress the Ghost Pokémon. Haunter answered her question with a choppy, ugly laugh. Joyfully, his head moved up and down like a bouncing ball. Sal cursed. Such a reaction did not bode well.

With nervous tension, the girl opened her tent and stepped out. She was greeted by a biting cold. Sal had to blink to get used to the brightness. She lashed her scarf and put a hood over her head. Her breath deformed into small clouds. The sun had already risen and tickled Sal's face. The sunrays did not care about the dreariness of everyday life and bathed the misery that surrounded Sal in bright light. In the depths of her pockets, she groped for the crushed pack of cigarettes.

"Corry, you so sweet?" Sal mumbled. With her thumb and index finger, she clutched a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Salandit was still on her shoulder. At the tail end of the reptilian-like Pokémon, a small flame began to prance. Sal turned her head to the side and used the fire to light the smoldering stem. She took a deep breath and expelled the smoke through her nose. When she started smoking, Sal just wanted to suppress her hunger; by now it had become a habit.

At first glance, she didn’t find anything unusual in front of her tent. But the excited voices of Paul and Henri caught her attention. Sal had learned that homeless people were easy victims. Before she met Guillaume, she had slept at the old train station. Back then, people were lying next to each other at a distance of two meters or so. It gave her a false sense of security. She still remembered the pain in her ribs when she woke up because a group of teenagers found some fun in kicking her awake.

"What's the matter?", she asked Paul and Henri. Out here, people supported each other. There was no other way. Not if you wanted to survive. Those who harmed the community harmed themselves. And those who benefited the community were rewarded. Guillaume made sure of that. That's why Sal had a tent, unlike Paul and Henri.

"Bonzo", Henri replied short and weary. He pointed to a body lying on the ground. Blue lips, pale complexion, closed eyelids that would never open again. It wasn't the first time Sal had seen something like this. If it was cold, this could happen quickly.

"Shit", Sal said. Her gaze wandered to the half-emptied liquor bottle lying next to Bonzo. Inside it, the remaining alcohol had become a lump of ice. She assumed the idiot probably got drunk and then fell asleep without a blanket. A surefire way to die. When it was cold, you needed a clear head to survive. Alcohol was dangerous. It clouded the mind and led to bad decisions. In addition, it only warmed you from the in- but not from the outside.

“Was Bonzo the reason for Spooky's joyful excitement?”, thought Sal. A shudder ran down her spine. She tried to get Bonzo’s lifeless image out of her head and turned away. Haunter feasted on fear and anxiety, on misery and death. It was his nourishment. The dumps were a perfect hunting ground for his gruesome nature. Ever since Spooky had turned into something else that night, it had always stayed by Sal's side. Just like in the old days. Now it kept the terror of the streets away from Sal in a different way. Haunter was her bodyguard.

“I wonder if he watched Bonzo's last moments?”, wondered Sal. It was one of those questions she didn't want to think about. In her mind, Haunter’s drooling image formed. How he jumped up and down in joyful excitement over Bonzo, who was getting colder by the minute. She imagined Haunter enveloping Bonzo in his gaseous body, gaining strength, and enjoying every second of his Victim running out of breath. She felt nauseous. She was painfully aware that Haunter was evil by nature. But it was her necessary evil. That was the law of the dumps. The strong preyed on the weak.

In search of something eatable, Sal roamed through the dumps. Trix trotted by her side. Haunter had merged with the garbage under her shadow and Salandit hid in a worn-out backpack to protect herself from the cold.

Sal hated the cold months. They reduced man to his primal instincts. In addition, Sal felt her scars when the temperatures dropped. Then it could happen that parts of her face became numb and the area under her eye became uncomfortably tense. She still suffered from the burn scars she got when she was a baby.

Her back, on the other hand, itched unbearably. The itching was worse than the numbness, for it made Sal remember the dark despair she had felt every time the cane ripped the skin off her back. Since Sal fled the orphanage four years ago, she struggled to make ends meet on the streets. It was too short a time to forget the things that had been done to her in this terrible place. A feeling of confusion was transmitted from Trix.

"Thought of the past", Sal muttered. "I dunno what I’d done without you. Really not."

Sal felt soft fur snuggling against her leg. This was not an illusion, but real.

"It's okay, Trix. Sooner or later, we gonna run away, leave the dumps behind, and live like we want to. We... just need to hold on a little bit and get stronger", Sal said. She pulled her scarf down and sucked in the cold, cutting air. It was time to confront one of their problems.

"Let's hurry. I'm sure he's waiting", she said. Undoubtedly, being a sergent of Guillaume had its advantages. This meant not only a better place to sleep but also prestige, and a reputation. Something like that was worth a lot in the dumps, where there wasn't much anyway. But it also meant that Sal was faced with high expectations. Each concession demanded a corresponding equivalent.

Guillaume's shelter was in the heart of the dumps. It was a demarcated area that integrated corrugated iron, wooden slats, and lattice fences into the mountains of rubbish and was reminiscent of a mixture of construction site and robber's den. The only visible access was a concrete tube that protruded like a cigar from the mouth of a particularly large pile of waste. Sal was small enough to pass through the tube in a crouched position. If she had been just a little taller, she would have had to crawl. This is how Guillaume preferred to receive his visit: bent over or on all fours.

As soon as she entered the secret shelter, she was stared at fiercely by his guard dog. Benoit was Guillaume's right-hand man and reminded Sal of Granbull. Probably, it was due to the pronounced cheek and jawbones of the muscular man. In addition, Benoit behaved like a dog-type Pokémon: loyal, cunning, and always ready to strike if his master let him off the leash. Sal tried to avoid him as best as she could.

"Hey, boss! Sal is here", he yapped. Sal nodded silently at Benoit, walked past him, and approached Guillaume's arena, which occupied most of the shelter's space. It was probably the only place in the dumps where you could actually see the ground and didn't want to wonder what the slightly springy ground was actually made of. The arena was slightly larger than a volleyball court and resembled an oval. The combat area was fenced knee-high by wooden boards nailed together.

"Show him, Grimer!", came the voice of a man standing in the arena. He was pitted against another Trainer in an illegal Pokémon battle. Sal didn't care. Her concern was for the powerful man who stood at the edge of the arena and beckoned her to him without taking his eyes off the fight.

"Look at the two of them," Guillaume urged her, his gaze fixed on the fighters. He had the voice of someone who had spent the last twenty years in a whiskey cellar. His wild beard was streaked with some gray hair. Experience of decades of struggle for survival was written all over his face.

"I appreciate their tenacity", he commented on the fight, "they have their sights firmly set on their goal and give everything to achieve it. They are ambitious... reliable. Important qualities to go far. When I look at them, I know exactly where I stand. I can count on them. I really appreciate that."

He averted his gaze from the combatants and fixed Sal with the gaze of a predator. "You're late."

"Bonzo's dead", Sal said, staring at the ground. She could literally hear Guillaume pursing his lips.

"What a bitter loss for all of us", he said dryly and turned back to the fight. Sal did the same, trying to watch the ruler of the dumps out of the corner of her eye. However, he didn’t give her another look and only spoke again when Grimer and his coach were defeated by their opponents.

"Not everyone who competes here has what it takes. Not everyone... is up to the task. If someone wins, someone else has to lose." Guillaume paused meaningfully before turning his head in Sal's direction.

"You're working in the city today. Benoit will instruct you in the details. And now be a good sergent and... buzz off." He shook his hand in Sal's direction. As if he wanted to chase away an annoying fly.