Provenance
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An endless green ocean lay under a smooth crystalline sky; it spoke with a multitude of muted voices, in a strange language. Though as the hours passed, it became comprehensible as the first signs of logic developed into answers that led to more questions, such as—
Where am I?
The muffled whirring of energy and grinding iron echoed from beneath the water surface, before a tempestuous voice painfully erupted into existence—
"All shall either drag thyselves along the ground or be closed in by the skies! You shall slither, crawl, creep, trudge, hobble, paddle, swim, float and fly, but never shall you soar or walk the celestial realm again! Trapped on this world you shall be! For I rebuke you for your transgressions against your brethren! Now, it is to 'them', who you shall all be accountable! And soon enough, it is to 'their' whims you shall be subjected!"
A searing flash evaporated the ocean and pulled it forth as it shattered the translucent sky into countless shards, before a crescendo of screams and wailing dissonated through the ether, and lights whirled around before the darkness came...
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Chapter 1:
World Nemesis
...
The sight of a pokemon-filled hillside from the front lab porch was sugar to the professor's eyes; his face cooled by a breeze filled with dandelion seeds, reminding him of the joy or tragedy brought by change, with conflict as the inevitable price.
Today, change meant opening day, as far as Professor Daniel Hickory was concerned. His colleague and previous mentor, Samuel Oak; the lead authority on pokemon research in the region, would no longer be the only one to have the Researcher 'Pokemon Associations' trainer sponsorship.
Satisfied at the thought, he hummed as his gaze shifted to his wrist watch. It read awfully close to midday, and yet, neither of his own lab assistants had punched in, on their first day of work…
How Odd.
Daniel thought they'd be responsible in their own right, as fresh graduates majoring in pokemon biology should be, considering their professional profiles.
He shrugged. They needed a chance to adapt to their new schedule as well as the location of the lab, since it stood withdrawn into a hilly broadleaf rainforest. To visit, it took a twenty-minute bus ride from Cerulean city to the last bus stop at Route Nine, near the bridge leading to the only entry to the lab's forested grounds, and a ten-minute walk from there. It wouldn't be long before they arrive.
Either way, he'd be the one to present the starter pokemon and pokedex to the new incoming trainers.
With that checked off, he gazed at the open fields once more. Amongst the rest, a grass-type specimen, rare to the region, tottered about. It was 'found' and 'donated' to the lab to be cared for; another case of abandonment, in an unfamiliar region too. Its fruity scent often attracted avian pokemon. Proving his point, a pidgey hopped toward the little pinkish, yellow-eyed creature. As the amiable interaction on the grassy field transpired, still, the pokemon's name eluded him.
This is precisely why it's important to have more pokedex holders aside from—
'Buzz!'
The front entry bell yanked the professor from his thoughts; resounding from behind.
Re-entering the lab, he came upon the video doorbell screen. The live-security footage featured a young man in a hooded jacket.
Daniel pressed the speaker button, "Well hello there," he greeted while he inspected the visitor through the live-feed, "who might you be?"
The young man raised his face into the camera from under his hood. "Good day, Professor Hickory, I'm Keith, I've come for the starter and pokedex we'd spoken about the other day," he replied with an identical voice from the phone interview, and a gentle wave at the camera.
He's one of them, indeed.
"Ah yes, of course, Mr. Slate," confirmed Daniel as he pushed another button to release the entry lock, "please come in, the main lab is straight through the hall." The trainer-to-be gave a lopsided grin before he entered. The professor made a quick revision of the youth's profile on his phone while he proceeded to the center of the white tiled lab, where a pedestal holding three classic pokeballs stood, and waited in front of it.
After a few moments, the lab door slid open with a hiss, revealing his first lab sponsored trainer as he strode in. The professor took in the young man's appearance, "You're taller than I initially imagined, Mr. Slate, though it is understandable for your age according to your profile."
The young adult's amethyst eyes glinted for a moment beneath his hood, before he blinked it away with a low cough.
"I did have my doubts, Professor. Becoming a trainer has been my dream for a while, but I haven't had the opportunity until now. Though the age requirements have increased, I still can't help but feel a little…Old for a starter trainer," said Keith with a wince at the last utterance as his pale face withdrew further into the hood of his cloud-white jacket, like an omanyte would to its shell.
Daniel stopped at the odd choice of words for a moment, before he chuckled. "Don't feel bad my boy, why, in fact, I know of a few colleagues of mine who started out much older than the previous age requirement, it's never too late, I say." He rubbed his smoky mustache in silent self-reproach for his awkward start of the conversation.
"Oh, well that feels a little more reassuring."
"Indeed, now"—to move things along before any other second thoughts were had, he stepped aside to reveal the three pokeballs atop the pedestal—"the primordial reason for today, your starter," he announced with a smile; awaiting the reaction of the youth, certain he'd be ecstatic like most would be.
But for a moment, he swore a deep scowl flared across Keith's features at first sight of the spherical devices—
Daniel blinked. The same light smile returned on the lad's expression.
What was that?
"Oh wow, they're really in there? Which pokemon are they?" asked Keith, as he held his chin in close observation of the pokeballs, wide eyed in curiosity.
The sudden change in demeanor caught the professor off guard. Was it his imagination?
He shrugged it off and cleared his throat, "These are the Kanto starters, the—"
"Fire-type lizard pokemon, Charmander, the grass and poison-type seed pokemon, Bulbasaur, and the water-type tiny turtle pokemon, Squirtle," finished Keith for the professor while he still ogled at the pokeballs.
Daniel remained speechless for a few moments at the pokedex-accurate description for each starter.
He considered the future trainer had caught on as soon as the words 'Kanto' and 'starters' left his mouth, proving the twenty-one year old had studied the trainer career, something few beginners did. But what perturbed the professor was when Keith had not only said the exact words he would utter, but had also called them out in the same order that came to his mind.
He didn't understand why, but the coincidence unsettled him.
Still, the professor allowed himself to admit the impressiveness of it, and cleared his throat to shake off the developing mental numbness.
"Yes indeed, you've pulled the words right out of my mouth. So, you studied for your new journey, young man, yes?" Daniel asked, to satisfy his need for confirmation, still jarred from the unexpected co-occurrence.
Keith leaned up again, and gave him the same placid smile, "You could say that." The young man's gaze shifted to the objects behind him on a table.
To enlighten the lad and proceed with events, he picked up one of the red rectangular devices and handed it to Keith. He half-expected to be beaten to the punch for the explanation again, as the future-trainer tapped the screen to test it.
The professor took a moment to eye the thick, black leather glove engulfing Keith's left hand all the way into his sleeve.
It struck him as odd how both the ring and index finger never moved at all, which raised a few questions in his mind, but he didn't want to pry. Instead, he focused on the matter at hand. "That, happens to be the second thing you're here for, the pokedex, a state of the art digital pokemon encyclopedia, first developed by my colleague Professor Oak, who kindly enough, shared the schematics for it, so I could make them and add a few personal touches of mine for your convenience."
"As well as yours…"
Daniel's spine shivered at the voice echoing in his mind; its invasiveness akin to the buzz of an insect flying by his ear. Confused, he picked at said organ, "Sorry? I…Didn't quite get that."
"Hmm? Get what professor?" asked Keith with the same confusion reflected in his eyes.
What on Earth?
But the professor shook his head, "N-Never mind, so, which starter will you go with?"
Keith only stared in response, freezing him with the coldness behind those eyes, before the lad turned his attention to the hill view beyond the porch, and walked out to it.
Released from the awkward glare, he followed the youth outside and traced his line of sight—
"Professor, who are those pokemon to you?" Keith asked.
The oddly phrased—though sensical—question surprised him. "They are the research lab's own pokemon, mostly native to this forest, though a handful of them came as donations to us by previous owners who weren't able to care for them. A few wild pokemon come about regularly as well. Regardless of origin, I like to keep their habitat in its most natural state possible while maintaining the area," he said with pride.
Keith once more turned to face him, "So, in other words, as the head and owner of this facility, they belong to you, is that what you're saying?"
The professor attempted a proper read on the boy. He wasn't sure he liked the direction the conversation had taken, yet also understood what Keith had been getting at.
Regardless, Daniel answered, "'Belong' is a strong word. I do consider these pokemon to be our equals as natural inhabitants of the World, granted their intellect is equal, if not, superior to our own, especially with their unique kinetic abilities which we lack"—He turned his sight to the hillside and gestured to the pokemon—"I'd be hard pressed to say I 'own' a superior being to myself, despite having caught them for research to understand them more and create a better world for us both to co-exist in. I assure you, Keith, we care for them well. Have I cured any doubts?"
The lad only kept a firm gaze on him, before he himself motioned to the pokemon outside, "You say you don't own them, in spite of your first answer, yet you mentioned some of them had previous 'owners', is that a slip-up, or mere semantics?"
Daniel sighed at his own treacherous tongue. "Perhaps I misspoke, though to have 'donated' them to the lab, ownership is certainly implied in the perspective of their previous keepers, of which, I confess to have capitalized on, for the sake of research, and their well being." As he said this, a tauros, turning over grass with each step of its massive hooves, trudged up to the porch. It swished the brown mane of its horned head, wagged its three fur-tipped tails, and mooed at them cheerfully. The professor gave the bull pokemon a smile, "Nevertheless, though flawed the logic may be in many ways, I consider them friends and equals to be cared for, at least, the ones I caught seem to think so in kind."
They both observed the friendly tauros for a moment.
"Equals? Friends? I see…Tell me, Professor Hickory, though it may be out of your field of expertise"—Keith craned his neck to leer at him—"Do you know how pokeballs actually work?"
He did not want to answer, since the exact technological marvels behind such an invention that made the pokedex seem like a toy in comparison, were beyond him. Also, because he was at a loss to where the conversation had turned, afraid of where it could go.
But Daniel pressed on, "No, I do not know anything beyond how pokeballs convert the pokemon into a photonic or plasmatic kind of energy, compressing it, while perfectly retaining its form, proven by its release. From what I understand, the device has an internal projection of said pokemon's natural environment, in order to keep it comfortable in its stasis."
Seconds were minutes, before Keith relented his firm gaze, "I see," and walked back into the lab.
The professor followed, and found the young man once more scrutinizing the pokeballs on the pedestal. "So, which do you choose?" he dared ask, wishing his assistants would arrive already.
Where the bloody hell are they? And for that matter…Where are the other two trainers? It's been almost—
"Man, it's so hard to decide," said Keith, as he twirled a finger on his chin, akin to a child browsing for an ice cream flavor at a gelato stand.
Professor Hickory sighed in quiet gladness, with his stomach uncoiling on the knowledge that the eerie young man decided to go through with it. Were all young adults and teens like this? How did Oak manage it? "Well, take your time young man, it's quite the important step," he commented, though he wished for Keith to do the opposite.
"Hmm, yeah, they're all impressive in their own right, if only I didn't have to choose," Keith replied, tapping his chin in contemplation.
For a moment, Daniel actually considered handing the three of them to Keith just to see the back of him, but the lab and PA co-sponsorship contract wouldn't allow it, and he still needed two more pokedex holders. Squeamishness aside, he'd wait it out.
"I think I'll just take…All of them." Keith declared with an open shrug and a child-like grin splitting his face.
"Good choice! Bulbasaur is a great…Excuse me?"
Daniel swore he once again misheard and gave the lad a questioning glance. His stomach tightened again as Keith lowered his arms. The black glove on the young man's left hand, which contrasted the pale skin of his right, made him question Keith's history.
"You heard me. I'm taking all of them, including the ones you 'captured' on the field," Keith declared once more as his face darkened underneath his hood; the dangerous sheen of his eyes caused Daniel to shrink back in nervousness.
"I…I don't understand, I can't just gi—"
"Your concession isn't required."
Before Daniel could utter a word in protest, his right cheek sank from an impact, with his vision whirling as he lost balance. He blacked out…
Crackling intense heat stirred the Professor awake, with the acridness of copper and carbon choking him.
"What on Earth…" He croaked, struggling to push himself up. His ears rang and his entire body ached; especially the right side of his face, which explained the blood smattered on the front of his lab coat. Though his eyes were still readjusting, he crawled over to the nearest piece of furniture he could find and turned to lean against it.
An array of black scorch marks lay before him, trailing across the once pearly tiles. A hot glow filled his peripheral.
His research lab was burning, and panic rose in his chest.
What…What's happening!? How long have I been out of it!?
Near the charred tiles, the metallic surfaces of small crumpled objects reflected the fire. Ignoring the flames for a moment, he focused.
Two pokedexes, crushed beyond repair, littered the floor, and next to them were...Three destroyed pokeballs; twisted and scrunched up like paper. His heart pounded in worry, before flinching at a voice—
"By the way, I found your sub-lab. Quite the post-war hobby you picked up there, 'professor'."
It was Keith, standing at the lab entry with his hands in the pocket of his black joggers, as he fixed him a venomous glare.
Daniel quivered at the sight, "You…What have you done?" The white hooded youth only furrowed his brows; his eyes gleamed with the light of the fire, confirming the professor's worry. "No…You didn't."
"I did, you fucking depraved old—"
"They were already unborn for God's sake! It's obviously for—"
"'Research'? Did their mothers consent, at least?"
Daniel's voice faltered. He could only shrink under Keith's scathing glower as the fire whirled around them, before the dangerous youth continued with a steely edge in his voice, "I thought so. Now, you have an idea of why this is happening, Daniel Hickory."
Unexpectedly, a thin trail of blood leaked from Keith's nostril. The young man wiped it off with his ungloved hand and observed the red smudge on his finger, clicking his tongue in annoyance, "Tch. Shit."
Keith turned his back, "I suggest you pick your sorry ass up, before this place burns down, unless you're too ashamed to face the public. In that case, you can just die here, for all I care. Your blood isn't worth having on my hands, even if you're just another fucked up scientist, hiding behind your twisted excuses," concluded the man supposedly named 'Keith' as he began to leave.
But Daniel had his doubts now, as he once more focused on the dull shine of the left leather glove against the light of the ever growing flames, "Who are you? And why are you doing this?"
The young man stopped, and turned his gaze. From within the darkness of his hood, the blue glow of an alien eye pierced him with a mind-shattering glare, before a single word came in response...
He continued on toward the flames as they curled out and parted from his path.
But the cryptic answer only served to further confuse Daniel and cause his mind to ache. He had so many questions! "Wait!" he cried as he reached out, but one of the ceiling beams came crashing down on the lab entry where the young man disappeared.
The crackle of flames and the groaning of girders filled the silence as the lab gradually fell apart.
Daniel tried to get up, but pain flared up his leg and back, causing him to fall flat on the heated tiles, so he began to crawl out toward the porch as fast as his injured body allowed, inhaling more carbon with every strained breath.
He worried for the pokemon, as well as his assistants, and the young trainers who never came, the reason for their absence made clear now…But mostly, he worried for his reputation, and the events to come.
Dragging himself onto the sunny field—now devoid of the pokemon—his pulse quickened at the sight of a fresh pile of crushed and scrapped pokeballs on the grass, their forms twisted and wrecked like the ones in the lab. Did Keith do this? If so, how? He didn't recall a single pokeball or utility belt of any kind on the young man's person, no bag to hold tools or anything. What was happening? Where were the pokemon? Did they…
The questions were rampant in his mind, worsening his migraine. Daniel crawled across the grass for a few dozen more meters, before resting his back on a tree, as he watched his brand new research facility—built on top of his older sub lab—burn within the now towering flames.
A whole year of work and preparation for the research lab and its equipment; his passion and his confidence as a researcher…All brought to ruin, in the span of a single afternoon, by a single young man.
I have…To warn…Oak...
With raspy ash ridden breaths; lungs filled with smoke; the salt of his tears and sweat stinging his split lips, he couldn't stand to watch anymore, and welcomed the encroach of darkness as he fainted…
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The heat of a coffee mug soothed the scarred lips of a man who sat at a café lounge, as the voices from the ceiling TV presented an interview with the PA chairman of Galar, concerning this year's pokemon league—
—"We interrupt this program to present some breaking news from the Kanto Region, where an incident at the Hickory research lab near Cerulean City has just occurred, we go live with our own Sally Fletcher at the site."
The announcement stole his focus from the aromatic steaming caffeine.
—"Thanks Rob, we've just arrived at the scene. From what we gathered, the Hickory research lab and the PA have recently formed a collaborative trainer starter program, but now the facility has been reduced to cinders, with no signs of any pokemon on sight, except for numerous destroyed pokeballs, scattered about in the vicinity. The Cerulean Police Department, Fire brigade and Paramedics are working at the site behind me. According to one of the officials, signs of a struggle were found in the main lab, as well as a sub-lab, the contents of which remain undisclosed—"
Losing interest in the coffee, he placed the mug on the table, and gave the live footage his undivided attention.
True enough, the building had been reduced to a smoldering mess of what was never meant to be.
His colleague sitting in front of him, whistled at the news, "My my, that's quite a bizarre case the CPD have, wouldn't you say, Cid?"
But he continued to watch as the reporter and her cameraman rushed to interview one of the five affected people, the Professor himself, who sat at the edge of the ambulance with a provided blanket wrapped around himself. Clearly, the researcher had seen better days. Several gauzes patched the sides of his face, his mid length aging hair singed, and an overall ragged appearance that proved every second of his crawl out of the fire. His hazel melancholic eyes suggested he lost much more than just the lab itself.
Cid took note of every detail described by the professor, though a particular delayed moment in the interview had him holding his unkempt chin in piqued curiosity.
—"Can you describe him to us, professor?"
—"Of course! He…" The researcher's eyes drooped low as he creased his brow in a struggle.
—"Professor?" The reporter's mic eagerly bobbed.
—"I...I don't remember." He replied, widening his eyes in apparent confusion.
—The reporter, taken aback at the change in demeanor, pressed on, "Did he give any indication as to who he was or why he did it?"
—Daniel Hickory visibly shivered in apparent remembrance, "I...I asked both those questions, but he only uttered a single word as he stared at me with those eyes…"
The word caused conversation topics to shift in the café; whispers and murmurs of confusion and wonder filled the room.
"Provenance..." Cid repeated, mulling the word in his head, the many things it could imply apart from its meaning.
His colleague raised a dark brow, "Provenance? Bit of a pretentious name for a criminal who assaults teenagers and middle aged researchers. Vague for an excuse too."
"I wonder about that, Looker, the professor wasn't just assaulted...Something else happened to him, how does one specifically forget the description of their attacker, yet still have a vivid recount of what occurred?"
"Post Traumatic Amnesia?" suggested Looker, as he took another swig of his coffee.
Cid considered it, dryly humming as he scratched the rough stubble of his chin, "No. I saw the look on the man's face when asked the question. Convinced he could answer, he tried, but it left him at that moment, yet he quoted 'provenance' from the aggressor."
"What does the word mean again?"
Cid gazed at his colleague directly, "A source or place of origin. The beginning of something's existence."
"Spooky, perhaps we should investigate?" Offered Looker, his chestnut eyes shifting from the screen of his smartphone.
Cid gave him a stare in annoyance, "I don't do charity, Looker, and if you ask me, extra-regional cases, though rarely assigned, are way above our paygrade."
"Wow, even yours?"
"I may be your superior in rank, but I still have a life too," he said, sipping at his now stale coffee.
Looker just grinned as he waved the chat screen on his phone teasingly.
Cid narrowed his eyes, disliking the smug face his co-worker made, "No...Don't tell me..."
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
"You really oughta' keep your phone off silent, Cid."
Rolling his eyes at that, a grizzly growl escaped his lips as he dragged his own phone out to see the commissioner's message, irritated by—what he knew—was coming.
Commy': Are you watching the news? Did you see the Hickory case?
He held his breath in futile silent prayer, before typing an answer.
Me: Nope.
Commy': Get on it. Top priority. Take Looker with you.
Cid deflated like a dying drifblim.
Me: Is it too late to request my vacation leave?
Commy': Your plane leaves tomorrow for Kanto, 8:30 am.
"For fuck's sake…" He grumbled, dragging a hand down his haggard face. His annoyance only skyrocketed as the air shimmered before a beam of light materialized and morphed into his least favorite teammate coming out of a teleport, right onto his lap, startling both him and Looker as well as the people nearby.
Commy': And take Jade with you too.
"Hi Cid, dya' miss me?"
He growled at the aberration's intrusiveness into his guarded mind and lap, resisting the urge to punch her as the mental probe bypassed his defense with ease. It latched invasively onto his psyche, creating a telepathic link. Only she could break through his trained mental defenses without much effort; gifted, but regrettably insufferable.
"'Gifted'? Damn straight, but 'insufferable' and 'aberration'? Really? How rude, Old man, and here I came all this way to—"
"Jade, get the fuck off my lap."
But she continued to sit on him, fluttering her eyelashes at him with a puppy look in her crimson eyes that grated on his nerves.
"Aww, nice to see you too, master."
"For the last time, stop calling me that, I—"
"Enlisted and entrusted you to Interpol, bla bla, bla bla, yes I get it and don't care, you're my original trainer and my first cr—"
"Get. Off. You'll give the wrong idea," he gritted out, strongly visualizing a fist in his mind to send the message across as some people in the café turned their heads to stare.
Mischievous giggles flittered through his mind as her mostly-white featherweight frame levitated off his lap, with an empty chair telekinetically sliding across the room, stopping to accommodate her next to him. She settled on it, crossed her arms and gave him a sly look as she twirled a shrunken pokeball in her green tridactyl fingers.
Me: Could you have at least sent someone 'less' annoying?
Commy': She's the best for the case and you know it.
Me: Don't the CPD have their own psychics for such a job?
Commy': Don't play dumb, the 'breaking news' is two hours old, the CPD have already tried and were unable to break the professor's 'mind loop' even with their best available psychic pokemon.
"Ooh, even with their best? How riveting," Chimed in Jade.
Yeah, but not strange enough to warrant such an early departure...
Me: Can we at least get a later flight?
Commy': Stop complaining, and get your shit ready for tomorrow. Commissioner out.
Cid grumbled at the inconvenience.
Commy': And for God's sake, keep your phone off silent…
He flopped his phone on the table, bemoaning the situation as the news broadcast continued.
—"In other news, Police officers have arrested a group of several people who attempted a protest rally for 'Pro-Pokemon love' at Hammerlocke city, on the suspicion they were Pokephilia offenders. According to the statistics team, this acts as the seventh rally movement this year, in the Galar region alone. The 'Pro-Pokemon love' movement that argues in favor of amorous relationships between Pokemon and humans, has been a heavily debated topic on every social media platform since the last decade, after regional cryptologists deciphered a folklore passage from an ancient stone tablet discovered in the Sinnoh Region, which spoke of 'past marriages between pokemon and humans, as long ago, people and pokemon were the same'. But it had swiftly been declared as a 'misinterpretation'. The topic has only heated up since then, and according to Galarian government officials, the recent and first ever legalization of Pokemon-human relations in the Hoenn region, is possibly the second catalyst empowering the movement. The Hoenn Region's human and pokemon rights committee argues that—"
Cid lost interest in the report as he sipped at his lukewarm coffee, though he almost choked on the beverage at the scraping of chair legs, doing his best to ignore Jade who slid herself closer to him, with her smooth forearm brushing the sleeve of his faded marine trench coat.
"You know, the Hoenn Region is my 'provenan—"
"One, that's not funny. Two, don't even think about it. Ever."
Looker chuckled sheepishly at Jade's statement which was telepathically broadcasted to him as well, further embarrassing Cid.
"The hell are 'you' laughin' at?"
"Your gardevoir seems awfully affectionate, in her own way, even though you gave her up to interpol."
"Yeah, and it's"—he shoved Jade's chair away from him—"annoying as hell. Just like how we have to fly all the way over to Kanto in the bloody morning. Here I thought I could have a break...And again, she's not my gardevoir. As you said, she's interpol now. "
"Right, right. Well, you can always ask for vacation leave after the case is over. I reckon it won't be that difficult, considering it took place not too far from a city. There's bound to be witnesses. And that's not including the possibility of the research lab possessing wireless footage of the criminal in its security cameras."
Until recently, Looker had been a brilliant office branch manager, working his way up the ranks quickly to become a field detective. Being as much a 'pretty boy' as he had management skills, if someone informed Cid that the commy' had been grooming Looker to be a future example for Interpol, it wouldn't surprise him as he already suspected it; the guy had potential. The older generation of the commy' and himself, would see itself handing the reigns over to the youth, soon enough.
But, it was also obvious to Cid, how the newly appointed field agent had a lot to learn, and from this mission, he and the commy' expected Looker to realize the transition from 'textbook wit' to 'on-field grit', was a hard one.
The entire length of Cid's lip scar itched, as he jerked a thumb at Jade, "Listen. If the commissioner decided to send this 'beast' over—"
"Hey!"
"—To 'me' of all people, then this case is far more serious than you think, Looker. It must be a real big deal for some real big wigs who demand its resolution, directly from Interpol."
"You think the commissioner would bustle for people like 'that'?"
"Suddenly the case has priority, given to a veteran like myself, on top of sending one of the force's strongest psychics over, on the go. All for a fresh case, far from HQ, in another region. Someone's either pissed, or there's something we're not being told, and I reckon, it's either the latter, or both"—Cid glared at a rattled Looker as he leaned closer, jabbing the table with a meaty finger—"and I don't like it, not one bit."
The rookie only nodded as he nervously adjusted the neck of his own new tawny trench coat, before Cid got up and chucked some cash on the table, "Now, let's go. Jade, hand over the pokeba—"
"No," denied the five-and-a-half-foot tall gardevoir with puffed cheeks, arms folded and green curved hair swishing as she hmphed and looked away.
With a gruff sigh, he pinched his hook nose, lamenting the scene she was making. "Why not?"
"You're just gonna' put me straight back in."
Cid facepalmed. Not five minutes passed and he was already getting frustrated with the petulant pokemon, "Fine, you can stay out if you behave. But as soon as we get to the apartment, I'm hittin' the sack and you're going in that ball, I need the extra hour, and I don't trust you near me when I'm sleeping. Got it?"
She winked in response, her demeanor changing in an instant as she happily glided next to him, with one of the extensions of her long alabaster gown gently brushing his hand; smooth as silk on his skin.
"So you like that, do you?"
"Jade," he warned.
The vibrations of her giggling fluttered in his mind, with an amused Looker shaking his head at them, as they exited the café onto the busy cobblestone streets of the Wyndon metropolis.
Unlike Jade, Cid wasn't psychic, but he had a feeling this case was going to be more troublesome than initially thought…
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The following day, a factory worker walked out the back door of the Cerulean confectionery, with the pungent aroma of unprocessed caramel wafting from the stains on his blue uniform; his stomach at last settling from the constant nauseating exposure to the fumes of chemicals that went into these sweets. He wouldn't be consuming anything from the same brand any time soon, at least for a couple of months. How did—what's his name—do it for so long?
It then came to his attention how the odd name he heard called out earlier, had supposedly been his, and he had gone through the entire day not even knowing it.
Facepalming at his own stupidity, he pulled the name tag from his uniform and read it for the first time.
'Jaxtyn'? What kind of a fucking name is that? Pfft, poor soul. Way to pick em', Grey.
Releasing the ID tag in disgust, Grey adjusted the cap of his uniform in an attempt to hide his eyes under its visor, as he made his way through the alley between the factory and the neighboring bricked building, toward a particular trash can. The only reason he even had the damned outfit on, was due to the original owner being the first person he spotted having a slender, yet lean enough build close to his own. Also, the place was inconspicuous enough for him to hide out for the day in recovery, while the heat from yesterday died down. Now it was time to ditch it—
"Oi Jaxy' boy."
"Jaxtyyynnn."
Called out two irritating voices near the end of the alley. How did they know...Oh.
Grey quickly discovered 'Jaxtyn' was the only one of the lot who even used the uniform cap, easily standing out...Sighing in annoyance at his poor luck and rushed decision, now aware of the unconscious employee's shit co-worker relations, he had to play along.
He came to a stop as the two neared him. One was a spindly five-foot man, having more piercings on his nose than he could count at a glance, the other, was a lumbering six and a half-foot tall, buffoon-faced male blob sporting a stupid grin on his face.
"How can I help you guys?" asked Grey, sensing sadistic hostility from the two, along with the stink of combusted tar.
"Already off on your way home, are ya'? Surely not without playin' with us first?" asked the thin one.
"Maybe another time, I'm in a rush."
The lanky factory worker raised a hairless brow, "What's with your voice? Got a cold?"
"Yeah, and you might catch it if you don't let me through," Grey answered, hoping that was the end of it.
The tall one let out a dopey laugh; his neck fat wobbling from the movement, "A little cold dun' bother us, right Hugh?" he asked his companion, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground.
"That's right Boris, we're not little pussies to let a little cold get in the way of our 'game', unlike 'you' Jaxy' boy, or am I wrong?" Asked Hugh, snickering as he grabbed Grey firmly on the shoulder, aggravating him immensely, though he reigned his anger in.
"I seriously don't have the time guys, maybe later, just ring me," he near-gritted out, shoving the hand off and pushing through the pair, keeping his gaze down, so as to not break his cover with his eyes.
But not a few steps later, the pop and energetic whir of a pokeball releasing its inhabitant resonated from behind, accompanied by a second one.
A threatening rattle permeated the air, alongside a snarl.
"That's not very nice, Jaxy' boy, at least play with us a little."
"Yeah, now call out your wimpy pokemon, or else we'll just have to settle with beatin' 'you', if it's whatchya' want."
Grey released an annoyed sigh. He turned around slowly. Between him and the trainers, an ekans had its scrawny purple body coiled as it flicked its dry forked tongue, and a raticate bearing its large yellowed frontal fangs; its dirt-ridden beige fur stuck up in all directions; signs of malnourishment and abuse. The poor things.
"What's da' matter? Scared Jaxy' boy?"
Now the aggravation was maddening; his bloody nerves writhed about as if they wanted to burst out in wanton need of strangling the trainers.
Alright, let's play.
"Guess what,"—Grey flicked his hat's visor up to reveal his face—"I'm not Jaxtyn. But I'm willing to fill in for him today." He was going to enjoy this more than he should...
"What the...Who the hell are you!?" Let out Hugh, shocked they were talking to a stranger the whole time, while Boris just let out a confused grunt.
"The name isn't important. Now, attack me." Dared the fraudulent brat as he signaled them to 'bring it on' with a raised black-gloved hand, confusing Hugh.
"Huh? Where's 'your' pokemon?"
"...Don't have one. And unlike you little 'pussies'"—the brat sneered, and flipped them off—"I don't need one to fight my personal battles."
Hugh growled at the insult, "Fine! Boris, let's fuck him up! Ekans, use bite!"
"Raticate, hyper fang!"
Both the pokemon leapt at the smug prick, opening their maws. Hugh would be satisfied with the lesson he was about to teach this guy, but right when the two creatures were about to sink their fangs, a meaty impact echoed through the alley with Boris' raticate screeching as it was sent sprawling across the concrete back toward them, sporting a bloody nose.
Hugh shivered as his own pokemon let out a choking hiss while it inexplicably stayed afloat from its leap; its yellow eyes wide in confusion while flailing in mid air with a faint blue glow around its body. What the fuck was happening?
"Shit! Raticate, get up and help Ekans! Quick attack, Now!" Demanded Boris, looking gobsmacked himself.
The big rodent grunted as it got up on its claws and its body glowed a faint white, rearing on its haunches and ready to launch itself, but with freakish speed, the man zipped right up to the bewildered raticate, grinning as he raised a fist—"Too slow"—and socked it once more with a bone shattering impact the likes which caused Hugh to break into a cold sweat, while the furry pokemon was sent whooshing past him through the air.
What...What the fu—
A familiar purple filled his vision. Something heavy plastered his nose, tossing him to the ground. Baffled and hurting, the insane turn of events had him dumbstruck. Flopped on the ground in front of him like a strand of spaghetti, was his ekans.
Hugh could only breathe once before choking, as his airway was promptly constricted by a strong grip; his neck bore the weight of his body upon being lifted to stare into strange purplish eyes.
His spine stiffened at the eerie glow of the brat's irises, though hope resurfaced when Boris crept behind his assaulter and launched a punch in desperation, but his hope sank as an unexpected invisible force knocked Boris into the concrete wall of the alley with a heavy thud.
"Pathetic." Stated the freak.
Hugh yelped from the pain flaring up his back from being bashed against the alley wall next to his work-mate, who also had his throat caught, as choked whimpers escaped his mouth. The air rushed out of his stomach, courtesy of a knee; his teeth chattered from his forehead violently meeting another. Boris whooped and groaned while receiving similar punishment.
The stranger continued, "If that's all you have to offer, then I'm afraid this hardly counts as a 'game'. Still, you lose, and winner takes all," he said with his lips curling into a sadistic smile, creeping him out to the core, but it dawned on Hugh how maybe the guy was Jaxtyn's friend, and perhaps he could be reasoned with—
"W-Wait! We're sorry for picking on Jax! W-we swear we won't do it again!" grunted Hugh through the stranglehold.
"Oh that guy? Pfft, couldn't care less about him, hell I don't even know him past a chop to the neck, just 'borrowed' his uniform is all. No, I'm actually more annoyed at the poor state you both have these pokemon in"—he motioned to the two collapsed pokemon with a jerk of his chin—"and I'm certainly much more miffed about my time having been taken up by you morons. So now,"—the freak's nose suddenly bled through the intense veined glare he gave—"I'll be taking my compensation."
Before he could protest, the psycho's irises glowed an icy blue, and Hugh's head erupted in pain, as though a part of his brain got yanked on by a sharp hook, before he had the oddest sensation of his perception of time slowing down. Everything blurred as numbness crept into his mind like a frosty anesthetic seeping its way along his spine, which cost him his motor functions with his own drool pooling out of his agape mouth in a last failed attempt at placation, before blackness enveloped him…
Grey let the two frothing idiots crumple onto the pavement, satisfied at his handy work. He took their pokeballs, making sure they had no other on their person, and hoping they didn't have any others at their abodes.
Tch. They couldn't even take proper care for 'one' fucking pokemon each...Well 'Jaxtyn', consider my 'borrowing' of your uniform a favor repaid.
He gave one last gaze at the name tag.
Not that you had a choice. Still, lucky you.
He turned just on time to see the two pokemon recover from their stupor, noticing their 'masters' slumped on the alley wall. They glowered at him, ready to defend them, but he raised a hand.
"Stop. When was the last time they fed either of you? Or gave you a wash?"
Their stance faltered, and they both looked at each other in confusion, eyes drooping in thought. He took it as an opportunity to latch onto their psyche.
Projecting his mind probe through his mental 'third eye', he delved into both their insecure minds, coming upon their first layer of defense. It consisted of a nigh-shattered wall of instinct that wailed in desperate hunger and painful agony, with tendrils of black vines slithering through the cracks, extending in the direction of their trainers. Being siphoned from within the wall and sucked through the arterial vines into the two abusers, were sparks of bright emotional energy.
Grey broke through their—clearly weakened—mental defenses. The connection being successful, he opened his eyes, returning to the external world in real time.
The two pokemon flinched at the sensation they must've felt, as they turned to give him a quizzical gaze.
"Go ahead. I'm listening," confirmed Grey.
The ekans rattled its tail in protest, before hissing out.
"But they are still our mast—"
"No. They're not...And they never were."
The snake pokemon's golden slitted eyes widened as it recoiled from the comment, the raticate did the same before asking, "What do you mean?"
"It'll be easier if I show you."
Letting out a sigh in empathy, Grey sent the mental images to them.
After a moment, he could sense terrible sadness emanating from them in apparent realization.
"It can't be...It just can't!" Cried out the snake in choked sobs, shedding tears not of the reptile's fake brand. They were real, just like the raticate's.
"Of course you'd deny it. That's just what it does to you. But deep down, you know. If your dedication to them, despite the clear malnourishment and shitty treatment, isn't a sign of obsession driven madness, then what is?"
The two pokemon gaped at him before gazing at each other in contemplation. But Grey had had enough. So he caused their two respective pokeballs to levitate in front of them, catching their attention.
"If you can't make the choice, then someone else has to."
The sharp crumpling of metal startled the two as their pokeballs were abruptly twisted and scrunched up right before their eyes, before the deformed broken devices clattered onto the concrete.
The raticate was too shocked to react, its eyes still locked onto its now broken cage. But the ekans gave an angry rattle of its tail, "What have you done!? You just broke our...Now we're—"
"Free."
The rattling stopped.
"You're not slaves. You're not pets, and you're certainly, no one's property. You're people. Just like humans are,"—Grey exhaled in empathy and shook his head—"but your lives will never be the same since falling into their hands, though now, at least, you can live the rest of it as your own person."
The ekans remained speechless. It shuddered and more tears flowed from its ducts.
For a moment, Grey swayed to the side groggily, seeing stars in light-headedness; he wiped his bloody nose for the second time before he shook it off.
With his business done here, he strode past the two pokemon, lamenting the amount of time and energy spent.
"But...What do we do now?" thought the ekans.
Grey stopped at the trash can of his earlier focus, opened its lid and pulled out his blue backpack. He slung it over his shoulder, sparing a glance at the ekans and softened his gaze…
"Whatever you want."
Leaving the now free pokemon behind, he left the alley and walked down the busy streets of Cerulean City.
He filtered through the groups of people bustling about the café and shop littered sidewalk. A thick wallet floated onto his hand from a careless man he bumped into, as he browsed the area for something he could eat for a few dozen bucks. A sushi bar's blaring red frames stood out to him from across the street.
Grey was about to cross but abruptly stopped when he detected an abnormality from amongst the crowd. Two sinister minds from the next wave of people coming from his right. Amongst them, the black shades of two men locked onto him, their charcoal suits contrasting with their ties being a familiar shade of red—
Oh fuck!
He bolted into the opposite direction, towards the exit of the city, trying as best he could to dodge bystanders and parkour over any street obstacles, while maintaining his speed through his exhaustion and coppery labored breaths, as his nose bled again from the migraine he was developing, too preoccupied to wipe it off.
Staying in the city any longer, meant the organization would eventually use their influence to track him down, if the CPD didn't find him first, that is. However, these guys couldn't give a shit about the public, so long as they caught him. But if he beat them to the forest incline at Route 4, he'd shake them off his trail, and camp out near Mount Moon.
After running several kilometers, the men were still on his tail, and due to his tiredness, were only a mere hundred meters behind him; they were getting close. But to his gladness he made it to the tree lined incline of Route 4, and ascended as fast as he could with his breath wheezing. Not a few meters in, he tripped over onto the damp forest floor and landed hard on his left arm, grunting as he got back up and ran. Frantically smacking aside rows of branches, a cool gust made him almost slip on the humid grass, skidding to a stop right at the edge of a steep forested valley.
"Shit."
He spun around to run back to a different path, but to no avail. The organization agents blocked the entry, with their chests heaving in fatigue, though nowhere near as much as his.
"Finally, we've got you," Said the first.
"You're trapped now," agreed the other, more tired than his colleague, but still standing firm.
Grey cursed his luck. Under normal circumstances, he could fight back with ease. But he barely stood straight from exhaustion, with his backpack weighing bricks and his singlet drenched in sweat.
"This is the third time now, what the fuck do you people want from me?" Grey asked through labored breaths.
"We don't know why the boss wants you so much, but in the name of 'Team Rocket', we will bring you back to HQ."
"You can try," threatened Grey, aware he wasn't entirely convincing, being hunched over with his legs burning as bile surged up his chest in weariness.
In response, the Rocket agent pulled out a black pistol, cocking and pointing it at him, "Don't."
But his partner put a hand on it and lowered the weapon's aim, while pulling out a different sort of handgun, steel colored, with a longer barrel. "No, too risky. Boss wants him alive, we'll tranq him—"
Taking advantage of the distraction, Grey's hand glowed in a final strained effort that burst a blood vessel in his eye as he lashed out with his power, manipulating the agent's tranq wielding arm to smack his partner in the face, startling the man—
'Bang!'
A gunshot cracked the air, and Grey yelped as the bullet shot clean through the edge of his left shoulder, spurting blood and causing him to stumble back. Momentarily weightless, his vision whirled, as he plummeted into the valley for a second until his back flared up in pain, striking something hard before he fell again, with the tree line rapidly approaching. He tumbled and smashed into protruding rocks, ripping his uniform top to shreds and losing the hat. Gasping in pain, he grabbed at the edge for anything, panic blaring in his system before his hand gripped a long branchy route which stuck out of the steep incline; bobbing up and down, dangling with his right arm muscles burning, unable to lift his injured left shoulder in full.
He grunted in pain as he blinked to recover his bearings, alarmed by a crawling yellow object approaching from the other side of the branch, before he let out a sigh in gladness.
"Oh, it's just a weedle."
The larval pokemon reared its single-horned head and scowled at him with its beady black eyes, apparently insulted at being made less of. So it skittered closer, and Grey's stomach coiled.
Oh shit. This is why I fucking hate bugs.
It chittered angrily at him, giving him a leer as it tilted its red, round nose skyward derisively. Too tired to make a mental connection, he couldn't exactly understand the bug but he gleamed something, still vaguely sensing its emotions.
"I meant no offense."
"Kree?"
"Yes really."
For a moment the bug pokemon looked at him, before it narrowed its eyes and the skin of its face contorted into a grim parody of a smirk, as the weedle expertly raised its barbed tail and neared his hand.
"No." Grey shook his head in warning, unable to summon any power to defend himself.
The—inconveniently—sadistic weedle grinned darkly, enjoying his discomfort.
"No, no, no, don't you fucking dare!"
His heart sank as the weedle let out a final amused chitter, stabbing his hand. The sharp sting being too much to bear, he lost his grip and succumbed to gravity, with the profanities he yelled at the insect bastard being lost to the wind of his rapid descent…
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Earlier, the shrub leaves rustled on the forest ground, as a makeshift tray—consisting of a disorderly array of sticks and twigs—filled with berries, dragged along them; pulled by a chick pokemon.
Though used to the routine, keeping the tray balanced while pulling it between the trees and bushes by her beak alone, was no easy task. But she was grateful that one of her friends, one of the only family she ever knew, had the limbs to make the thing, since her own tiny wings were redundant for such a task. She couldn't wait to get back, to have her share of the berries she had picked up from the ground.
At last, the chick arrived at her home; a three-meter wide area of cropped shrubs leading to a dug out cave on the side of a steep slope; its dry broadleaf floor scrunched with each step as she entered. Though she expected at least one of the adoptive family to be present, strangely, no one was home.
Hmm? Where did everyone go?
Shrugging, she kept pulling the berries through the entry, before she stepped on something wet, yet viscous under the spur of her feet. She let go of the tray as the scent of the fluid made her freeze.
Blood stained her feet. The metallic stench of it was unmistakable.
Wha...What's this—
A growl made her plumage stand. Her heart thundered in her chest as several more resounded from the bushes surrounding the outside area before the source made itself known.
A three-foot tall, black furred dog, came prowling out of the shrub, licking blood off its dark orange muzzle, while staring at her with hungry eyes before it barked out, "Hey everyone! 'Dessert' has arrived!"
Several bushes shook, and out stalked the entire pack of houndour, all smaller than their leader, and to the chick's horror, singed bits of familiar white plumage and purple fur stuck to their gore smeared muzzles, that held the scent of her now dead family...Her friends...
"Oh boy! You were right, sir, the torchic actually came back!" celebrated one of the dog pokemon.
"Told you she'd be around, now"—Their leader ogled at her as he licked his drooling chops—"I'll serve the portions."
Terrified; her pulse heavy, the torchic frantically looked for an escape. Her mind was a spinning mess as tears cascaded from her eyes, mourning the gruesome death of her friends as the iron tang of their blood violated her nostrils. But the drooling beasts surrounded her; all ready for a feast, and to make matters worse, they were all fire-types on top of being darks', more experienced and stronger from their skill and time spent as coordinated hunters.
Her own fire would do nothing to help her, and she was so paralyzed in trepidation from their intense leers, she couldn't even form words of protest, let alone move, rendering the idea worthless.
She lost the fight before it even began.
Their leader came closer and closer, his breath reeking of death. Whimpers escaped her beak as her vision became blurry from her crying. This was the end, and she had no say in it.
The lead houndour growled as he was about to leap, but he stopped as the rapidly approaching sound of yelling broke through the tension. What was tha—
A pained howl pierced the air along with a sickening crunch as a blur crushed the houndour leader from above.
She blinked at the abruptness of it, clearing her vision of tears to see...A human? Laying on a now broken and dying dark pokemon that gurgled its last bloody breath.
To say the silence was awkward, would be a mild statement, but it ended when the human almost stumbled as it got up to its full near-six-feet of height, and grunted out—in a language she partially understood—"Argh, God damned,"—something—"son of a"—something—"weedle."
From her memory of distant encounters, sightings and stories of humans, she gathered from the voice and shape, it was a 'he'. His blue 'top' was all ripped, revealing, stained in red, the white 'under top', —she dubbed it such, not familiar with the name of all the things they wore—mainly covering his torso.
A mix of grime, blood and sweat slathered his pale skin, with the latter having a strange scent. But his most unusual features were the black thing wrapping the entirety of his left fore-arm and hand; amethyst eyes scanning their surroundings, and silver hair spiking upward.
He was critically injured and visibly exhausted, and after a fall like that, it was a miracle he even stood on his feet! Was he really hu—
A shrill cry ripped her out of her thoughts, as one of the houndour broke out of its shocked stupor, upset at the sight of its dead leader.
The human followed its gaze, his eyes widening, "Oh...Oh shit."
The torchic didn't understand what 'shit' meant, but considering the way he said the word and the situation, it was bad.
Angry growls and barks erupted from the pack of fire-dark-hounds, now focusing their attention on the bloodied silver haired human; her existence forgotten.
"You bastard, you killed him!" Snarled one of the hounds.
"Die!" Roared another, launching itself at the human but a vicious backhander sent it crashing back to the ground with a whine.
They all ganged up on him, and a ferocious brawl erupted, with the torchic reeling in fear.
The human yelped as one houndour bit his leg, another sunk its teeth into his injured left shoulder, with two firing ember attacks at his back, eliciting a violent hiss in pain. The man thrashed around, ripping two of them off him as he spun and threw them in the path of the next ember barrage, leaving the four in a tangled heap. He kicked another who boldly assaulted him from the front, but he buckled as another pair of houndour bit into his calves.
The savagery went on for minutes, the pack attacked him with relentless coordinated efficiency; wearing him down at a steady pace.
Her heart dropped as the man shed more blood, she couldn't decide whether to flee or help him. But an absurd mix of terror and morbid curiosity had her glued in place, with dizzying adrenaline pumping through her system, she could only watch in anguished silence, aware she was neither useful to the fight nor fast enough to escape. Her fate was tied.
If the human lost and died, she'd be next.
A yell snapped her attention back on the scene, after shaking off another hound and sinking his right elbow into the skull of another, the man stomped his foot into a stance and radiated intense—familiar—purple-blue energy as he closed his arms in, veins pulsing on his forehead.
"I've had"—he thrust his arms out—"Enough!" He screamed as blood erupted from his nose, mouth and glowing eyes with a violent explosion of psychic energy bursting out and blasting everything away, including herself.
The torchic yelped as she tumbled backward from the wind force that faded as quickly as it came. She got up, blinking away dots.
The odor of charred grass polluted the air and the pack of houndour were strewn about in a circle, some heavily injured, others with burns; two in particular convulsed on the upturned grass as froth bubbled from their mouths with eyes rolled back. In the center, stood the man with an aura of psychic energy enveloping him.
What...But how...They're...They're dark types! And he's human!
But she reconsidered the prior assessment, as the attack was incredibly powerful. Could it be because of the dark-type factor alone, they survived? Or did he spare them out of mercy?
Two of the houndour remained unconscious while the rest got up, whimpering in pain and fear of the man, who stood in a circle of scorched and barren ground, with occasional bolts of energy arcing out.
He snarled as he fixed them a bleeding death glare; eyes still aglow.
"Piss off." He hissed.
With whimpers and whines, the pack of Houndour complied in haste as they dragged their unconscious comrades away, leaving behind their dead leader, and bolted into the forest to safety; the ruffling and footsteps fading in the distance.
They were gone, and she was still alive...The human won!
But her elation was cut short as the energy around him faded, and with a groan the man crumpled face first onto the ground, unconscious.
Oh no.
She was about to approach but her rationality stopped her. Was it safe? She had no clue on this man's nature, for all she knew, he could be a hunter, or possibly a trainer...But then, where were his pokemon? He never made a move to summon any. No, that didn't seem right.
After sorting out her inner turmoil, she inched toward him. It couldn't hurt to check if he was still alive, considering he saved her, knowingly or not. She only wished he had come sooner, perhaps then, her friends would still be alive…
Checking his status, the torchic nudged him with her clawed foot and jumped back in caution, but nothing happened. He was definitely unconscious, indicated by his slow breathing. She sighed in relief. But...
What now?
The only family and bastion of comfort she had ever known was gone forever, and she didn't remember the last time she was alone, except...No, this was no time for delving into the past.
She was alone now, with no one but herself to rely on. No one with fingered limbs to help her with elaborate chores. No one tall enough or capable of helping her gather berries from higher places. No one strong enough to defend her. Defend…No one except...Her eyes landed on the man.
No. That's...No.
But she had no idea how to survive on her own, and—for some reason—she was the only one of her kind around these parts as far as she knew, so herd-adoption was out. And she couldn't just be satisfied with the man breathing and call it a day, no, he could be internally bleeding, or maybe extremely dehydrated from all the exertion and blood loss. He was already injured before landing here to begin with. Who knew what else the day had thrown at him?
She had to face reality...If she just left him there and wandered off on her own, the houndour, being the proficient hunters they were, would surely pick her scent up again, if another predator didn't find her first, that is.
But the houndour, knowing their own place in the food chain, like anyone else, must've also memorized the scent of their worst threats to keep away from...Which means…
Without a family and no one else to rely on, the only thing she had left, her only hope...Was this man.
Sucking up her feathered chest in resignation to her predicament, the torchic set to work with frenetic urgency to make certain her 'only hope' would survive the night, because if he didn't, then neither would she…
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