The Electric Academy was, in its original vision, meant to be the largest university in Kanto, eclipsing Saffron’s Institute of Pokémon Technology half over. It was meant to offer both normal courses focusing on trades, humanities, and science, as well as specialised tutoring for Pokémon trainers – but in reality, it was undercut by a number of issues.
For one, the Celadon College of Arts and Science saw a massive expansion just three months into construction. This coincided with an equally massive labour strike along Kanto’s coastline, affecting not only construction efforts, but the shipping necessary to bring in materials.
If either of these things had not occurred, it was entirely possible that Hoshi himself might have worked on the building – Everheart grumbled about the lost opportunity for a month straight after things started up again. But it was not to be; the half-finished building had sat unused for three months, eating up its allocated funds, and it seemed that the academy would be nothing but a failed dream.
Then, in the early months of 2008, the academy’s land was bought out by a local gentleman of extreme wealth: the chairman of the multi-nation Pokémon Fan Club Media Group. Special contractors were brought in from up north, and the Electric Academy was opened before year’s end – as a private school, accepting only friends of its owner, or the ultra-connected.
That was the story of the Electric Academy that Hoshi was familiar with. But as he had learned, it was not entirely truthful.
The school’s land had been bought out, and the name on the cheque was the chairman, one Yoshi Sukizo. But according to Casca, the money, and the labour, had actually come from Team Rocket.
Not that that’s necessarily what actually happened, he thought to himself as he eyed the wrought-iron gates. Casca learned the ‘secret origin’ from Rocket, so the source is suspect at best.
But as his girlfriend led him through the front doors of the opulent building in the early hours of the afternoon, the doorman in his tailored clothes letting them stroll in without a second look, he was forced to concede that yeah, Team Rocket – or Casca, at the very least – seemed to have the run of the place.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Is the trim plated with gold?”
Casca put a hand to her lips. Today she had painted them cherry red, and the saturated brightness contrasted strongly with her black-painted nails. “I think that’s just bronze? You’d have to have nonsense cash to gold-plate the walls.”
Hoshi grunted, conceding the point. Okay. But still, holy shit, this place is posh as fuck.
The flooring of the halls was polished tile, alternating squares of light and dark marble that reflected the light of the hanging chandeliers like mirrors. He almost felt bad stepping on it with his work boots.
And the walls were no less impressive, though they had more of a nature theme; greens and soft browns were accented with living plants, sometimes so neatly that he couldn’t tell where the architecture ended and living thing began. The architect’s son in him was eyeing the place with extreme incredulity. Didn’t Casca say the place was understated? Understated compared to fucking what?
It wasn’t the most expensive building he could imagine – and in reality the Pokémon Gym was probably more impressive in a vacuum – but it oozed the feeling of wealth, like he had stepped into an ephemeral money-aura.
Is this really just a front? They have to actually teach a few rich assholes, or else none of this makes sense…
A moment later he decided to voice the same question aloud, and in response Casca gave an over-the-shoulder shrug. “No idea. I mean, they probably do, but I didn’t see anyone other than fellow Rockets when I was here.” They walked down another set of halls, passing some pretty ordinary, non-ultra-wealthy looking people, before she continued. “Maybe they’re recruiting rich assholes? I know for a fact they’ve got a few legitimate businesses – I’ve worked in them! – so they’ve probably got the business connections to go with them.”
Hoshi had no coherent answer to that, so they crossed the next handful of opulent hallways without speaking.
Casca led him up a flight of stairs, through a short maze of hallways – carpeted, these ones – and stopped in front of a solid wood door marked Bio 107 in probably-not-gold leaf.
The orange-haired woman was all but vibrating with energy. “Okay, this is it! Now I can’t actually go in with you, but I’ll be there in spirit, okay?”
She leaned forward, and they shared a kiss.
“Don’t worry at all. Like I said, most people who make it through are half-rate thugs – you’re going to do fine.” You know, if you keep insisting so hard, I might actually start to get nervous… “Just remember to cozy up to the instructors – that’s what I did, and I got through smooth as butter!”
She kissed him again, fiddled with his tie, and then he was through the door.
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Hoshi entered something that reminded him most strongly of a bank’s waiting room.
The floor was carpeted in dark red, and one side of the room was occupied by a large, solid counter, a single man loitering behind with a bored expression. The man tilted his head Hoshi’s way – and for the first time since entering, Hoshi looked at someone who was definitely in a gang.
It was almost a relief; a tiny part of him had been afraid this whole Team Rocket owns an entire academy thing was some kind of elaborate joke.
The man wore a black newsboy cap, the puffy-looking thing blending into his similarly black, sleek hair, and a stiff-looking shirt of the same felt-like material. A red R was emblazoned on his chest for all to see, and Hoshi struggled not to let his jaw drop. Arcus fuck, he looks like he stepped out of a photo from the sixties. The only concession given to modernity was the belt of Pokéballs peeking just over the counter’s edge – he counted four of the things, though they looked strange.
“You the new guy?” asked the Rocket Grunt. “Hoshi Kudzu?”
Hoshi opened his mouth, but choked back the reflective insult. It’s grade school all over again. “I’m Hoshi Mutsu, yes. This is the place?”
The man gestured with his chin, and Hoshi realised he had completely neglected to take in the rest of the room; seated along the other wall were three other grunts, two men and a woman. “Sit with the others. You’ll get your uniform today.” He had the sort of bland voice that could only come from working retail for far too long, politeness worn away to expose the dark void underneath.
“Okay.” Thought I would get, like, an interview or something, but I guess it’s just right in the deep end, minute one.
He crossed the room to sit, taking note of his… coworkers, he supposed, as he did.
They were dressed identically, save for the woman being in a skirt rather than pants, the same black fabric and big red R as the counter guy. Their boots also matched: grey leather, with the woman’s going way up past her knees like super-thick leggings. Ugh, those look uncomfortable. I hope this is just a ‘school uniform’ thing, and I can wear my normal shit when I’m… out on the job. The thought of wearing the outfit outside in the heat made him feel like he was drowning, but at least the building was air conditioned, so the thick black fabric wouldn’t make his bones melt. My current getup is bad enough, and I chose it specifically to still let me breathe.
He sat between one of the men and the woman, taking advantage of a set of four empty chairs. His instincts said he should be doing something, examining the other grunts for clues about who to trust, who was going to be trouble, who he'd have to beat down, but the weird unreality of the situation was making his heart pound on his ribcage like a trapped mankey.
Is… is that really it? Not even going to check me out, I’m just in? Here’s your uniform, get to work? He knew that his relationship with Surge had made whoever was responsible for background checks give him an extra-thorough look, but… Not even talking to him, getting him in a room alone to sweat it out? Gangster movies have been lying to me. Danny owes me a refund on all those burnt DVDs.
Minutes passed in mostly silence. The other recruits didn’t seem nearly as anxious – one guy was reading a book, and the woman had a game console out, the bleep-bloops of some arcade classic softly issuing from its speakers.
“So are we waiting for something..?” he said, and immediately regretted breaking the silence as the man to his right, a huge roided-out looking biker type with a shaved head, turned in his direction.
“Waitin’ on fuckin’ Puke, as always.” His too-broad face was pockmarked with acne. Oh yeah, this guy’s on the moon-juice.
Hoshi grunted back, and the silence resumed. Fuck, this is weird and uncomfortable.
He felt off being the only person out of uniform. Could have at least worn something comfortable, but no, Casca convinced me to come in wearing a damn suit and tie, to ‘make a good first impression.’
It was unbearable. He had to say something. With the other two obviously occupied, Hoshi turned to the biker-looking guy. “So, you been waiting long?”
He growled, and Hoshi could easily picture the sound issuing from a territorial primeape. “Like an Arcus damned half-hour. Bitch couldn’t find her ass with both hands and a map.” Ah, so it’s two women and two men. Or three men, with me, I guess.
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Five people, and Casca said they handed out Pokémon once a month, so this was the entire month’s recruits. That seems pretty low. But then again… His construction company recruited maybe twenty or thirty guys a year, and Machamp & Sons was a pretty big enterprise. Let’s say this month’s a good one, or maybe a few wash out, so they average out to fifty a year. And this is just Vermilion; Casca got picked up in Cerulean, and there’s no way they aren’t doing something in Saffron, so multiply that by at least three, and…
Team Rocket was actually pretty damn big, potentially.
“So what’s your deal?” came another growl from his right, and Hoshi realised he had spaced out.
“Huh? Oh, I’m… a construction worker.”
A scoff. “Sure you are, Suit. But I meant, why are you here?”
A dozen potential answers flitted through Hoshi’s brain. I’m in love with a woman. I want Kanto to change. I want to be somebody. “I met a girl in a bar. We talked, and… here I am.”
The man snorted in amusement. “Weak. At least say you’re here to get paid, man.”
Hoshi’s nostrils flared in annoyance. He was glad there were a few chairs between them; this could easily turn into a situation where he would be tempted to take a swing, and that probably wouldn’t end well for him – the guy might not have worked out for his muscle, but it was still muscle. “That why you’re here?”
“Fuckin’ right, man. Plus, who doesn’t want a Pokémon? Even if it’s just a zubat ‘r somethin’.”
His face twisted further. I really hope they don’t cheap out and hand me a zubat. Those things are like the weakest Pokémon I can think of – fuck, at least a weedle would evolve fast. “Yeah, that’s a part of it too. You hoping for something in particular?”
The man’s massive arms crossed. “Machop.”
Hoshi grunted. “Good choice.” Yeah, those are pretty good. I don’t really think of them as battle Pokémon ‘cause of my job, but anything that gets on two Elite Four teams can’t be bad.
“What about you, Suit?”
Hm? “Well…” He hesitated. What kind of Pokémon would I want, if I could choose? He had thought about it more than once, but nothing had jumped out at him. “Obviously the best case would be a dratini or something, but that ain’t happening. Maybe a ground type.” He was probably carrying a bias since the Gym focused on mostly electric Pokémon, but ground had always seemed like a good, solid pick.
“What, like a diglett?”
“I could think of worse. If I could choose, I’d go for a sandshrew. Or-”
His sentence was interrupted by a sudden noise as the door he had entered from crashed open, the solid wood impacting a doorstop set into the bottom of the wall with a sound directly out of an old cartoon.
“Sorry, sorry! I got lost again!” cried some sort of black-clothed gorilla, in an entirely unfitting feminine voice.
“Oi, took you long enough!” the moon-faced man heckled, and Hoshi let his hackles down. Oh. That’s not a gorilla. Just a… very large woman.
She was actually bulkier than Mr. Steroids, though the lack of obvious side-effects made him think she had probably gotten that bulk naturally. Arcus fuck, she reminds me of dad. Her arms are wider around than my legs.
The woman – he absolutely wasn’t going to be calling her Puke, at least not anywhere she could hear – sheepishly scratched the back of her head as Counter Guy finished recoiling. “Sorry…” she repeated.
“That’s-!” The Rocket Grunt gulped, obviously fighting down a near heart attack from the sudden noise. “That’s fine. Just sit down. I’ll be handing out the stuff in a minute.”
She turned, still sheepish, and as she approached Hoshi saw her hesitate as she eyed the seats – there were four empty ones, but she would be forced to sit right next to somebody.
Do I move..? Actually, yeah, this was a good opportunity to distance himself from calls-the-professional-bodybuilder-Puke guy. He half-stood and slid into the seat to his left, putting himself next to Gamer Girl.
If she had even noticed the last of them enter, she didn’t show it, continuing to tap away at whatever she was playing. Magnificent. I’ve joined a group of weirdos… Maybe the book guy over there is at least half-normal.
The huge woman continued to eye the seats with a wince – it seemed Hoshi wasn’t the only one who wanted to stay away from Moon-Face – but after a second she sat herself down heavily in the middle of the stretch of empties.
“Puke, you bitch! I’ve been here like an hour – you’ve gotta start leaving the house early, woman!”
Said woman replied with a soft mutter, before finding her voice. “It’s… still Puce, Moony… Uh, but I did actually start early, I just misremembered the room number, and then got turned around a bit, and the janitor gave me these really vague directions…” Once again, Hoshi was struck by how unfitting her voice was to her frame. She sounded more like a shrinking violet than the sturdy oak her body represented.
Moon-Face – is his name actually Moony, or was that some kind of half-assed banter? Whatever, I’ll figure out everyone’s names later – opened his mouth, but before he could speak the grunt at the counter cleared his throat.
His eyes went forward, and Hoshi saw that while he had been watching the gorillas interact, the grunt had pulled a suitcase from somewhere and set it on the table. Or maybe I shouldn’t label him ‘the grunt.’ We’re all grunts… I think? Fuck, this isn’t like how Casca described her initiation at all.
At least those are probably our Pokémon…
“Looks like it’s your lucky day, twerps,” said the counter guy. “Somebody from out east chickened out, so I’ve got an extra ball for one of you. You can decide how that gets split amongst yourselves, but before that – Ramone, come up here.”
The grunt who had been reading the entire time put his book down next to his bag. “It’s Ryan, you soulless ass.” He was fine-boned, at least in comparison to the two to Hoshi’s right, with platinum blond hair that fell out the edges of his cap in extra-curly rings. Eyes of clear topaz were set above a nose long and sharp enough to use as a steak knife, and lips that were full but extremely narrow.
The overall effect was to produce a face just weird enough it didn’t count as regal; if literally any part had been just a touch more fitting, he'd be a classical Kanto beauty.
“Don’t care. The boss sent something special, so either get up here, or I’ll give it to someone else and put your name on the next caterpie that comes down.”
Ryan stood with a shake of his head, approaching the counter. The suitcase opened, and Hoshi saw that his suspicions had been true; inside were six Pokéballs, their strange design a match for the ones he had noticed on the senior grunt’s belt. Purple, the same dark shade for both the bottom and top, with a few lighter, raised sections drawing away in thick lines from the frontal lens…
Which was shaped like an eye, for some reason. Wow, I didn’t think you could make a Pokéball look evil. Was slapping a big red R on the thing not enough? Designer needed to give it veins so they could get it up?
The senior grunt took the leftmost ball from its indent, passing it to the curly-haired young man, who held it with almost lustful reverence. “Amazing. I can’t wait to use it in battle.”
He turned and began walking back to his seat, but of course the meathead at the end of the line had to open his damn mouth. “Hey,” he mumbled, too loud for it to be anything but deliberate. “Why’s he get special treatment?”
Raising a single brow, the dead-eyed man replied. “Cause he’s the boss’s special little dicksleeve. Now get up here, the rest of you.”
The blond froze in the act of sitting, his expression filled with incredulous fury. Wow, I almost admire that desk guy. You’ve gotta have an impressive amount of not-give-a-fuck to say a line like that cold… Am I gonna see a Rocket-on-Rocket battle on my first day? But in the next moment the fury cleared, replaced by smug self-assurance as Ryan’s long, sharp nose tilted up.
“Be careful. I don’t think Mr. Archer would take kindly to those sorts of accusations – do you?”
The grunt didn’t flinch. “Kid, the worst he can do is kill me.” His eyes turned to the rest of them. “Did I stutter? Get up here.”
Moony made for the counter first, then Hoshi rushed to get behind him. No way am I settling for the dregs. Sorry ladies; first come, first serve.
But when Moony reached for a ball, the senior grunt pulled the case away. “Hey! What gives?”
“This is a little team-building exercise,” the man replied. “Makes it just a little bit more fair; fewer hard feelings. I’ll show you the Pokémon, then the four of you get to decide who gets what – nobody gets anything until you reach an agreement.”
Moony’s face soured, and Hoshi felt a touch of the same emotion. Damn. Though I guess I’d be pretty happy if I was… He glanced back. The nameless girl at the back of the line.
Speaking of the nameless teenager – she was definitely the youngest of them; Hoshi would guess maybe fourteen – she opened her mouth and spoke for the first time. “Sounds simple enough.” Her voice had a slight rasp to it; either she smoked, or she was coming off a bad cough. “Let’s see ‘em.”
Counter guy nodded, and one by one he released the Pokémon from their weirdly sinister balls. They all stepped back as red light gathered back into flesh and blood.
A sandshrew, a rattata, an ekans, a zubat, and a koffing sat on – or floated above, in the poison bubble’s case – the rich red carpet, blinking and turning their heads in vague interest.
“I call the ekans,” said the still-unnamed girl.
“I don’t think that’s in the spirit of things,” replied Puce. “Calling dibs… But if no-one’s opposed, could I take the koffing? I’m not good at remembering things under pressure, and since it’s a poison type that flies…”
“Sandshrew,” said two overlapping voices, and Hoshi turned to fix the over-muscled ogre with a glare.
“I literally said I’d want a ground type a minute ago. Don’t be a dick.”
“Well I don’t want either of the other two.” Moony’s eyes narrowed, and he extended his hand. “Rock-fire-steel?”
“What are you, five?” He wasn’t going to gamble getting a decent Pokémon on a game of chance. “I remember you saying you’d want any Pokémon, even a zubat.”
Actually… Looking closer at the man’s outstretched hand, Hoshi saw the skin was smooth. No scar tissue on his knuckles. Man looks intimidating, but he’s never walked the walk. He threw out his earlier assessment of the man. “I’ll fight you for it. First blood.”
Moony’s nostrils flared. “Wha..? Are you stupid, I must weigh three times-”
“No inter-Rocket fighting,” the senior Rocket broke in smoothly. “Not with your fists, at least.” He reached down to tap the balls at his side. “Words, only.”
Hoshi’s face soured. The edges of his vision pulsed with frustration. I take it back, there’s nothing admirable about this guy at all.
“You know,” said Gamer Girl. “Since nobody wants the last two, we should put them together. Make them a little more appealing.”
For a moment Hoshi and his moon-faced rival considered it. Then, they both spoke: “I still want the sandshrew!”
Sparks flew as their eyes met. “Okay, fine. Rock-fire-steel it is.” Hoshi put his hand out, curling it into a fist. “On three?” The man grunted, and Hoshi counted. “One, two,” he’s a meathead, he’ll choose rock. Or is that just what he wants me to think? No, he’s an idiot, he’ll definitely choose-! “Three!”
Their hands came down. Hoshi had chosen to open his hand face-up, letting his fingers form the licking flames of fire. And the steroid-abusing grunt in front of him…
Shot him a cheeky grin, his hand remaining in the closed fist of rock. Son of a bitch. I should’ve stuck to my fucking guns.
“Glad that’s settled,” said the biggest asshole in the room. “Here’s your balls.”
He tossed them out, and Hoshi consoled himself with the fact that he had at least gotten two Pokémon, even if they were pretty shitty. Actually, maybe this is pretty not-shitty? Zubat is fucking garbage, but if I have a second ‘mon to switch to after using Supersonic…
He tuned out the man’s explanation of how to recall their Pokémon, already more than familiar with the process. “Rattata, zubat, return.”