Mister Fuji’s schedule, June 6th:

-Morning gymnastics (9:00 am)

-Breakfast with Mayor (11:00 am)

-Meeting with Lavender Town Gravediggers Association, on the preservation of the Pokemon Tower (13:00 pm)

-Staff Interview (15:00 pm)

-Notify Giovanni

-Find Vincent

-Get the black pokeball at all costs.

-Arrange for evidence disposal for meeting with Team Rocket, ASAP.

The acquisition of Vincent and the black-topped pokeball, of course, had been arranged beforehand, the second Mister Fuji had been notified that a member of Team Rocket whom he was very much familiar with had just been carried to the Lavender Town hospital.

Two men were sent to pick up Vincent, with four more as backup. While Mister Fuji had known that Vincent was little more than a black-hearted thug, he was not going to eschew caution for the sake of expediency. Vincent may not have been much of a killer, but he was definitely tenacious enough to find a way to escape his grasp.

Mister Fuji had known (through a nurse who had been in his employ at a younger age) that Vincent had suffered severe trauma and that he had been found in an alley, possibly left there to die. Mister Fuji wanted to make sure that his condition was in no way critical; while he did not wish to suffer Vincent to live any longer than he ought to, he didn’t want him dead, either. A dead member of Team Rocket in his town, after all, could lead to some unecessary complications.Mister Fuji was halfway through folding his origami crane, when his phone rang. With spider-like grace, his assistant picked it up for him and brought it to his ear.

“Yes?” Mister Fuji asked and waited for a moment until the man on the other side of the line had ceased babbling. “What did you say? A what in the hospital? Well, that wouldn’t be too hard for you to deal with.” Again, the babbling, now slowly degenerating to whimpering. “Have you secured the target?” A crease, halfway forming the wing of the paper-crane, straight as an arrow and then…

HHssss

“How is he gone? He is wounded. Let me speak to Darryl. Ah, I see.” Mister Fuji said, as he looked at the paper crane, his wing torn, hanging by the side of its body by a mere thread. “How many of you are left? Well, I guess you will have to do. Find him, break his legs, smash his arms and bring him here. And make sure you have the black pokeball with you. Notify me as soon as you’ve got him.”

The crane was crumbled into a tiny little ball the second Mister Fuji’s assistant set the receiver back on the hook. He hadn’t noticed, of course. There was only white fire in his mind, now. A fire that burned slowly, unwavering, boiling the inside of his brain and sending gusts of chill wind down his spine. His expression remained unchanged, of course; endlessly patient, almost unreadable.

“Get me the Gravediggers association.” Mister Fuji told his assistant, as he began creasing a new sheet of paper, the shape in his mind wholly unlike that of a crane. “I need to call in a few favors.”

***

The Snorlax comes at us like a great flesh-train, covered in fur, roaring, swiping its claws madly. Something smashes across my face like a bag of bricks. My right eye sees only the back of the Snorlax, coated in a Magenta film, as I am thrown out of the emergency exit and tumble down a flight of stairs.

My back of the head strikes a railing, causing my brain to rebound against the inside of my skull. The pain radiates outward and is lost in the background of terror that my body’s become, all shattered bone and lacerated flesh. I get up and try to walk down another flight of stairs, when my legs give way. The flight of stairs becomes a maelstrom of grey and blue. A big old EXIT sign seems to beckon.

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This way, Vincent, it says, glowing balefully, its brilliance burning into my tearing eyes. Just a little bit further. Its voice is calm, reassuring, downright Faustian. Safety in exchange for my soul. A warm, remote place where there will be no blood, no broken bone, no terror; just contentment. And all you have to do I reach out and open that door, Vince old-buddy. Reach out and touch us, no faith required, Vince old-pal.

I’ve opened the door, oblivious to the gust of wind on my face, when the Snorlax roars from atop two flights of stairs. I open my eyes and suddenly look down on a three-story fall into an abandoned parking lot. The monkey in my brain screeches, digs its claws into my hind brain and pulls.

Giddy-up, you bastard, Giddy-up you piece of trash!

Running down two entire flights of stairs, I’m half-stumbling, half-dragging my weight down. I pass by a woman in white and see for a moment, Nurse Joey’s mad moon-face, so I punch her before I can stop myself. Through the blood pouring down from her broken nose and her bruised eye, I make out the face of a 30-simething woman, her looks faded before their time. “I’m sorry!” I shout back at her “Took you for somebody else!”

Her face is crushed under the Snorlax’s rolling bulk as it smashes her against the door and it keeps coming back to her. From the fire exit below me, a huddled, screaming mass of people, patients, hospital staff, spill out, their cool and preparedness forgotten in the face of danger. Pushing past them, my fist connects with the face of an orderly, who stumbles back and causes an avalanche of bodies on the stairs. I leave them for the Snorlax (and hopefully God) to sort out.

The security team bursts through the emergency exit, screaming commands at each other, waving tasers and nightsticks around, as if those will do them any good. Might as well have gone up against the Snorlax armed with folding chairs and water guns.

“Secure the perimeter, 3-2-2”

“Go-go-go!”

“Oh my God, oh God, please help, it’s a massacre! A massacre!” I scream out and the histrionics that are tinging my voice are a bit too sincere.

“Please get out of the way, sir!”

“Someone get an evac team here, stat! We need-”

“SSNNNOOORRRLLAAAXX!”

By the time the emergency exit has turned into a bundle of fur, hair and Kevlar patches, scored by the screams of the dying, I’ve already run out to the ground floor and making my way to Acquisitions. The thought of running out the door to the driveway and hoping into the passenger seat of the first poor son of a bitch that’s in my way doesn’t even cross my mind.

I’m hard at work, considering the implications of my new-found morality, as I burst into Acquisitions and look at the mess of machinery, filing cabinets and the thing with hamburger-helper for a face writhing on the floor. Grabbing a swivel chair, I smash it against the window three times futilely, before my legs give way and it crashes through the plated glass.

The caste protects my legs somewhat, but my toes turn into confetti the second I step on them. The pain is a tiny little trill, compared to the symphony of agony that’s taking place in my body at this moment. Looking around, I see rows and rows of pokeballs set on shelves. No time to make them out. Picking up the hems of my patient’s robe, I start shoveling them down and make my way out. Maybe these will hold.

On the way out, I notice the black pokeball, opened and devoid of content. My mind flashes back to the gout of flesh with the consistency of smoke that had poured out of it oh so long ago. As I bent over and add it to the pile, I think of chalk-white teeth, snapping shut over Nurse-Joey’s jugular.

The Snorlax has burst out of the emergency exit and into the ground floor the moment I’m out of Acquisitions. It’s mad-eyed, covered in blood, like something out of a fairy-tale. It tenses up the moment it sees me and unhinges a row of seats with a swipe of its calw, the second it sees me. It’s mad and in pain and it’s just found the bastard that’s made it this way.

“Save me, you bastards!” I scream, as I pour down the pokeballs and let them clatter. Grabbing frantically for them, Pressing the release switches, I watch as the spectrum of red fills my field of vision, coalescing into distinguishable forms. There’s a Scyther in there (not mine), a Pinsir (I call him Freddy), a pair of Eggsecutes, some Butterfries. A Jigglypuff rolls out, sweet and doe-eyed. Three Clefairies, terrified bu battle-ready. A Pikachu, which begins spewing electricity the second it’s released. A Beedril buzzes madly.

I’m halfway through the pile when I realize that this was a pretty damn terrible idea. The Pokemon tumble onto each other, claw and bite and tear into one another. A half-dozen polywags spit jets of water and are struck by psychic Psyduck waves, released during their mad cackling. A Mankey runs up to the Snorlax and decks it on the skull, before it swiped away and thrust onto the wall, cracking the plaster.

Not once during all this time, do I stop to think that maybe what I am doing is a terrible, terrible idea. I just keep pressing buttons, release switches, screaming out:

“Kill it! Kill it! One of you shits just kill it!”

Something coalesces out of the maelstrom and swells out, begins to grow. The second it materializes, its skull crashes through the ceiling. Its tail (big as an ox) swipes at the air, sending pokemon and office stationery flying. It screams and sounds like a hundred leather gloves running across a thousand bass strings.

“GYYAAARADDOOOS!”