Petrel wouldn't call the last few days the worst few days of his life, but they were definitely up there. Between the constant running, relocating, and hiding, it reminded him of his younger days, before he began his stride towards improvement.
His paper cup crinkled in his hand. The bitter taste of coffee tasted so much worse in his mouth.
If it wasn’t for that awful phone call back in Olivine, he’d still just be a scout—someone supposed to probe, not actually work. He would have been able to take his time and enjoy himself, but no!
He’d been assigned to a greater job.
Petrel idly looked around the Violet City street, confirming that no one was paying him any mind. A lone businessman sipping at a drink wasn’t out of place this late in the day. With the sun halfway hidden in a sunset, there was the perfect amount of people milling about. Most were heading home, but some were lingering with friends and hanging out alongside Pokémon.
Unfortunately, Petrel couldn’t exactly relax in that same manner, and he held back a scowl as he thought about everything that’d been going on. Since Olivine, he’d been forced to sneak around and take care of various “mistakes.” He plugged a few leaks in Goldenrod, he cleaned up a mess in Azalea, and now, here in Violet City? Sure, he might have gotten sloppy and let those kids go, but who’d have thought they’d actually go and get help?
Trainers like them were supposed to be cocky. Being so young and winning a tournament should have caused their “strength” to go to their heads. Luring them to a private space worked well enough—naivety was always easy to take advantage of—but that escape? Jumping out of a window?
Nah. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Even if they ran away, they were supposed to look into ways to deal with him themselves, not bring the entire freakin’ League into it!
“Freaks,” he grumbled.
Every time he found a place he thought was safe, Flying Types suddenly started to snoop around. Every time he changed disguises, one of those dumb birds always managed to sniff out the exact place he’d tossed his trash. He barely had a clue as to how those Pokémon were finding traces of him in dark alleys when their species generally stuck to open skies. They hadn’t yet found him, as he was constantly changing locations, but there was something going on, and he didn’t like it.
The worst part of all of this was that Petrel was stuck here. The Boss didn’t tolerate failure, and he was getting pretty close to mucking everything up.
Honestly, he chalked up his pains to the Gym’s Xatu. That fool Walker probably had a bunch of them predicting Petrel’s movements. While he couldn’t figure out how those Psychic Type Pokémon had been so accurate as of late, he at least managed to get a single clue as to how they did it:
When doubling back to avoid a patrol, he’d seen a Gym Trainer digging through a trash can in which he had tossed out an old disguise.
It was the trash he was leaving behind rather than anything specific to him. He’d got himself more freedom to act when he started putting in more effort into not leaving a trail. Rather than disposable prosthetics and stolen make-up, he relied on his classic: a simple suit with his hair darkened and slicked back with oil. To hide his eyes, all it took was a set of colored contacts, and those were always cheap or easy to nick from a shelf. It wasn’t like his face was known, and even if it was, it took only a few out-of-place details to make himself almost entirely unrecognizable.
Now, he could linger on a street. He could watch all the people going home, and he could more importantly keep an eye on a certain group that was all dressed in black.
They glanced around rather suspiciously—they were amateurs, of course. It still let him easily follow them as he crushed his cup and tossed it into a nearby bin.
Unlike him, these people hadn’t mastered a key skill critical to getting anything worthwhile done. It honestly hadn’t taken him too long to figure out, but Petrel considered himself rather adept at it, and he even thought it more important than his skill with disguise.
It all boiled down to timing, in the end.
Timing his words, timing his appearances, timing the patrol routes and figuring out when people wouldn't be around. Most importantly, Petrel knew how to time his plans to be exactly when everyone else was too tired and too slow to act after a long day of work.
Walker must have thought himself especially clever with how he left purposeful gaps in patrols. Petrel wasn't a complete fool. He could see how he was being herded in a certain direction.
Territory he thought safe became unsafe, and territory he thought unsafe mysteriously became safe. It was a constant push towards the city’s edge. Really, it was like they wanted him to escape.
But the thing about an arachnid's web was that most people thought it was inescapable once stuck.
It wasn’t.
The tricks needed to weave a perfect web was something only a master could do, and Walker was not that master. All it took was a teeny, tiny snip to make a web worthless. That, or it took several much larger snips to cause the structure supporting it to come crashing down.
Petrel slowed where he was walking, and the group in dark clothing stopped before a certain store. It advertised herbs and incense—in this city, the items were all mass produced and nothing too special, but even with their short shelf-life, the medicine had a quick turn-around if you could find the right buyer.
One of the men pulled out a familiar Pokéball, and he whispered something to the other people around him. Above, a trainer on a Fearow’s back came to a halt, keeping a close eye on the highly suspicious group of people right as one of its members checked a watch.
Petrel walked right past them, allowing himself to hear a sentence whispered between them.
“Alright. It’s time.”
On cue, he heard light thunder in the distance, and everyone else on the street froze—everyone but Petrel and the men. The man carrying the Pokéball tossed it forward, releasing a Koffing, and a single command pierced the air.
“Self-Destruct!”
Chaos.
Glass shattered everywhere. The front of the shop burst inward. The rest of the group rushed inside and started to scoop everything they could into bags.
From above, the trainer on the Fearow swooped downwards, and all the civilians around began to scream and run. Petrel held back his laughter and joined them in their fearful rush away. He made sure to pay attention to the several other booms that echoed throughout the city.
Nice try, Walker. You’re better off sticking to the skies. Present me with a rigged game, and I’ll just flip the table. A bird’s eye view only hides what lurks below.
It wasn’t very surprising how motivated people could be when it came to free Pokémon. Petrel tended to keep a bit over two-dozen Koffing on him, and all it took was handing over a single one to motivate groups of “helpers” to pull a job or two for him.
None of the people currently involved in the specifically timed robberies were actual grunts—not yet, at least. Most were just gullible fools, down on their luck, easily manipulated by the idea of cold, hard cash or a better future. They were all likely going to get arrested, but if anyone managed to avoid capture, he’d make sure to send a proper recruiter their way.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
But, regardless of their fates, they were doing their job. Whatever carefully planned ambushes the League had in wait for him, Petrel would be able to slip through. They’d need to pull defenders away to take care of the sudden spree of crime.
As Petrel moved between the terrified people running down the street, a pair of Pidgeotto raced towards where the fight was taking place behind him. Coming from outside the bounds of the city, they paid no attention to the lone businessman as he slipped into an alley and began to move block to block. He slowed down, pretended to be panicked without quite running, and everyone else was too worried to think about one more person trying to get home to make sure his “family” was okay.
Empathetic fools.
There were still Flying Types in the sky at the edge of town, but the growing night meant the eyes of those trainers and their Pokémon hadn’t adjusted just yet. They also hadn’t yet switched over to the species that better operated in darkness. They all were tired after a long day’s work, and with so many having left to try to stop the robberies, his trained eyes could see the newly formed gaps in their patrols.
He waited for the perfect moment to send out his Golbat and hop on its back. A use of Fly let Petrel easily hang on as it rushed out of the city, keeping low to the ground and moving with such speed that no one noticed it vanish into the forest at the edge of Route 31.
“Hah haha haha ha! Did you see those dumb looks on their faces! Didn’t even realize they’d been set up from the start!”
Petrel wiped an eye and leaned back. This Golbat had been trained well enough to know how to zigzag through the many trees rushing them by.
“The Zubat I released earlier reported that those kids went this way. Catch up to them quickly, and I’ll make sure you get some extra treats later tonight.”
As far as Petrel was concerned, Pokémon performed best when they fully understood the concept of the carrot and the stick. Teach them the punishment for failure, and Pokémon would become desperate to obtain the right kind of rewards.
The beating of the bat’s wings picked up its pace, and Petrel’s grin deepened as the wind blew through his hair. Golbat was no Crobat—that evolution was practically impossible to obtain—but it was still fast enough that they made good time.
His escape was all but guaranteed at this point. The defenders of Violet City would be busy dealing with all those mooks robbing the city’s stores. He didn’t want to have to push himself—Petrel was a big fan of taking it slow—but he needed to move quickly if he wanted to nab back that Pokémon and head out.
That Porygon was as good as his.
As Golbat flew forward, a few Zubat released the previous night flitted in the air above the forest’s trees. The Pokémon were eyeless, but their unhearable echolocation meant they could cover a large area to search and tell Golbat where to go. At this point, the sun had fully set, and it was dark out. Petrel knew better than to pull out a flashlight. The growing light of the moon would be enough to see as the night’s darkness hid his exact position.
His Golbat rapidly changed directions, following where the Zubat directed. Petrel eventually saw their destination—a campfire in the distance, a tiny pinprick of light just barely visible between the trees.
“Bring me down,” he ordered.
The Golbat pulled in its wings and immediately landed, not slowing down but bringing them to the earth in an abrupt halt that jerked Petrel forward.
“Urgh! You—”
He stopped, breathed in, and shook himself as he hopped off to land on the forest floor.
Careful, Petrel. Don’t want to make too much noise. No sense in alerting them just yet.
He found himself grinning, but that wasn’t a surprise. While it hadn’t been his full intention, half the reason he hadn’t bothered to chase down those kids just yet was so he could experience the thrill of the chase. He only somewhat regretted the mess that formed in their wake.
I’ll be able to enjoy this, at least. A nice beat down is always worth the time. Just gotta be quick before Walker gets too wise. Don’t want any pigs bearing down on me too soon.
As Petrel neared, he sent out quiet signals. Golbat moved to hide itself in the forest’s canopy, and he released that Raticate to stalk alongside him, unseen. The trees’ thick trunks hid the other flashes, and Petrel released most of his Koffing one-by-one. They moved to create a wide perimeter around the campsite, ready to blow the moment any of those kids made the foolish decision to flee while also preparing to search for them if needed.
Finally, for his last bit of set-up, Petrel took off his shirt and wiped the slick out of his hair, feeling much more comfortable now that the black of his real outfit was visible. He took great pride in the tall, red R displayed prominently on his chest. It was nice to have a uniform. It spoke of being a part of something more.
Normally, Petrel would have put on a different disguise and gone through a whole big thing, but given his current rush, he needed to keep this quick before anyone else approached.
Striding forward, he could make out more details the closer he got. There were two tents. The flames of a fire. A pair of chairs set up to enjoy the heat.
Except—
There wasn’t anything more than that.
The more he saw missing, the more Petrel began to frown.
“Stay on guard. Attack anyone who gets close. Not gonna bother monologuing today, so no sense in bothering to wait.”
The fire clearly lit up the campsite, but other than the flickering flames, there was no obvious movement within. Walking right into it, he saw no one else. There weren't any Pokémon. No kids. There weren’t even bags that’d mark them as having wandered off somewhere nearby.
They go to bed or something?
He whistled, and Raticate slashed through the fabric of the tents. As the store-bought shelters collapsed to the forest floor, all Petrel saw were a pair of empty sleeping bags.
“Huh. So you knew I was coming. Whatever. Just makes it more fun for me.”
He licked his lips and flicked his gaze towards the surrounding woods. Normally, he preferred tricks, but if he was already resorting to brute force, a hunt would work just fine, too.
“Don’t you remember what I said?” he called out. “It doesn’t matter where you hide. Where you go. No matter what, Team Rocket’s gonna find you! I’m going to find you!”
He took a step forward and paused when he breathed out. A bit of mist came from his mouth, which was weird. Neither of those kids had Ice Types on their teams.
He rubbed his arms, feeling the bumps forming on his skin. Even with the fire so close, he didn’t feel any warmth coming from its flames.
“...Hm.”
As he redoubled his efforts to look around, he started to notice something a bit unsettling, too.
It was silent. Uncomfortably so.
There wasn’t any wind, and the ambient noises of wild Pokémon couldn’t be heard from a distance, either.
Probably just scared off again. This many Koffing out on search tends to send wild Pokémon scurrying away to hide.
He forced himself to smile, reminding himself that he was dealing with nothing more than some dumb kids. They were mid-level trainers at best and weren’t capable of anything special. Sure, one dealt with Ghost Types, but that brat only had two of them. With Golbat, there wasn’t anything to worry about. Echolocation meant it’d detect anyone who tried for an ambush.
But this chill...
“See anything?” he asked.
Above, Golbat shook for the negative, and Raticate gnawed on a stick. Petrel sent the rat a glare—gnawing helped stop its teeth from growing too long, but Petrel wanted it to have long teeth. The more jagged they were, the more painful Raticate’s bites.
It dropped the wood and looked around to search. Petrel huffed and returned to waiting, but he still didn’t hear anything from the Zubat, and none of the Koffing burst, either.
“Golbat. Come down,” he ordered.
Petrel whistled again, and a thump saw Golbat land at his side.
“We’re taking too long here. We can find those kids later. No, it’s time to go, so we’ll start heading north to where we’re setting up—”
When he heard something crack, Petrel snapped around. He was forced to bring up a hand to cover his face as a dark wind blew through the campsite and snuffed out the fire.
“There!”
Through the darkness, Raticate jumped at where the move came out from behind a tree. Petrel rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the sudden change in illumination, but he didn’t hear the Bite land or any cries of pain.
There was nothing, not even ambient noise. Only the chill in the air lingered. Petrel crossed his arms to cover his hands and warm them up in his armpits.
He stood tall.
Nervous?
Nah, he never got scared.
“Oh? Guerilla tactics?” he called out, sneering. “Nice trick, but that’s not enough. We’re gonna find you, and then you’re gonna learn why it was a bad idea to cross me!”
The forest remained utterly silent, and he stood there, waiting for a Koffing or those kids to stumble into each other. He didn’t have Golbat or Raticate leave his side, just in case, and he paid close attention to where an emergency Pokéball hid in a secret pocket within the nape of his collar.
He expected another attack, but nothing ever came. He strained his eyes to try to see where the Koffing were moving through the woods, but even in the growing moonlight, he couldn’t see where any of them were supposed to be floating not too far away. He supposed he could start searching himself, but with this many Pokémon belonging to him, why bother?
He had formed his own web. Those kids wouldn’t be able to escape. Even if one Koffing fell, the others would notice. The only way the kids were managing to avoid him was if something else had—
“No, no. They’re here. The Zubat would have warned me about something else,” he said, absolutely believing his own words and absolutely not becoming scared. “They’re out here. In the woods. At night. Cold. Dark. And alone.”
He paused.
“And that attack definitely came from them. They’re definitely not being stalked by anything other than me.”
He kicked at the remains of the darkened fire, and a few embers came up only to fade away before reaching the ground.
Petrel rocked on his feet. The pressure was starting to get to him. He needed his Pokémon to find those kids now, otherwise the League was going to notice his absence and use their infuriating Psychic Types to send a trainer his way.
Next to him, that Golbat tried to step closer to him, but Petrel shot it a glare that forced it away. He huffed, continuing to look around.
“I know you’re nearby. What if we have a battle? A real one? No tricks, promise!”
Even though he was smiling, he didn’t feel amused. It wasn’t supposed to take this long, and as he narrowed his eyes, he realized he could no longer see the movement of the Koffing in the woods around him.
“...Raticate, on me. Golbat, we’re leaving.”
Petrel knew when something was off, and he in no way wanted to stay here any longer.
Sure, he’d be leaving those kids behind, but he could deal with them later. He could handle The Boss’s fury as long as he wasn’t captured. Lingering in one place was just a way to get caught. He absolutely had to leave.
Am I scared?
Course not.
People like me don’t get scared.
It was too silent. Too empty. Nothing had been happening, yet his instincts were screaming at him to go. He moved to hop onto the back of Golbat, intending to get the heck out of dodge.
But there was another crack. This time, it wasn’t anything small. An entire branch of a tree broke out of nowhere and crashed to the ground, shattering the quiet of the night with its piercing clatter.
Petrel craned his neck up to see what had caused that break, and upon doing so, he immediately froze.
“Ah.”
Perfect darkness floated within the canopy above, and Petrel could tell it wasn’t anything natural. He stared straight up, straight into it, and too many red eyes to count stared right back down directly at him.