Kanto shared its immediate borders with three other nations: Johto to the west, Sinnoh to the north, and the Orange Archipelago to the south. Theoretically, it had friendly relations with all three: Orange had been a steady trade partner since each nation’s discovery of the other; Sinnoh kept mostly to itself, separated from the rest of the continent by a tiny strip of land filled with large mountain ranges; and though the recent past had been fraught, Johto and Kanto were so closely linked they were labeled as a single nation on many maps.
But that was only the theory, of course. In reality there were a whole host of sticky issues to gum up the peace in our times narrative, not the least of which was the Indigo War of Hoshi’s earliest memories.
“Ooh! Lookit that hit! Go for it, Ryan!”
“D-do your best, Miss Rose!”
And as Hoshi watched Nerine’s ekans take measured Poison Sting potshots against Ryan’s increasingly enraged bagon, he was reminded of one of the primary reasons Kanto hadn’t won that war.
Fucking dragons. Johto had them, and Kanto didn’t – save for the extremely small numbers of dratini imported for Fuchsia’s Safari Zone. It also didn’t have the most direct counter to dragons, fairy type Pokémon, because living in a land with zero dragons and omnipresent poison had slowly drained away what made ‘mons like clefairy and jigglypuff dominant against the former and vulnerable to the latter.
A self-assured voice flew across the battlefield. “Keep charging, Jormungandr! The next hit will end this!”
Only to be countered by stiff determination. “Left. Poison Sting. Back. Back. Poison Sting.”
Nerine’s cap was clenched in her white-knuckled fists, her expression sharp enough to cut glass. Each order came out with stiff precision, a half-second before her ekans actually needed to follow it – it was obvious that she was predicting her opponent’s movements ahead of time, showing a level of tactical skill that was, in Hoshi’s eyes, not just solidly above her opponent, but maybe on par with that of an elite, professional trainer.
Not that Ryan is bad, either.
The rich man’s plan was obvious, simple, and effective: let his bagon build up a Rage from his opponent’s weak attacks, then take it out. The ekans had been nearly knocked out from a glancing blow earlier; his words hadn’t been just a boast, the next hit would end it.
Nerine grit her teeth. “Keep retreating.” The three-foot-long snake, only half the size it would eventually reach as an adolescent, attempted to follow the order – but the battle had been going on for minutes, and it had been sprinting- it had been slithering at max speed the entire time.
And Ryan’s pretentiously-named little dragon seemed to be an endless wellspring of energy. It bounded, closing the distance, heedless of the poison needles digging into its body and face.
Hoshi saw the exact moment the young grunt gave up on her strategy; her face slackened as tension released, blood flowing freely where it had previously been constrained – it almost made her look instantly healthier, the teen’s skin almost glowing. He had seen that look a few times over his life; the face of someone who had decided to throw caution to the wind, and rely on one last throw of the dice. “Wrap,” came the order, a touch of something kin to relief colouring the word.
The snake turned, bared its fangless maw, and the two cold-blooded Pokémon lunged at each other.
The ekans attempted to encircle the smaller creature’s limbs as the dragon thrashed, the two ‘mons grappling in a brief test of strength and dexterity – and then the bagon smashed its bone-plated skull into its opponent, and it was over.
A roar of applause, about as loud as the dragon’s own cries of victory. “Ah…” sighed Puce. “You did your best, Miss Rose! Finishing in the semifinals is super impressive!”
Beside her, Moony pumped his fists. “Yeah! Hardcore! That little guy’s a powerhouse!”
You know, you accused Puce of having a crush on the man, but out of all of us, you’re cheering the loudest.
Hoshi watched the match’s aftermath with a strange feeling he couldn’t name.
Ryan actually returned his Pokémon first, before the little dragon’s continued fury could pose a threat – he left the ball in active mode, a decision that made Hoshi nod as the referee announced the blond grunt’s victory.
He knows what he’s doing. Out of storage mode, his ‘mon will be able to cool off. Nepotism or not, the man was a competent enough trainer.
The teenager returned her own Pokémon, and then the two actually stepped forward to shake hands, something very few competitors were doing. Hoshi strained his ears to catch their words over the gathered crowd.
“My hardest-won victory of the day! Nerine, I can see how you managed to climb so high – your skill as a trainer is head and shoulders above the competition!”
The defeated grunt had a complicated look on her face. “…Thanks. I didn’t expect to make it this far.” A swirl of mixed emotions chased each other across her features – it seemed Hoshi wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to feel – but her voice remained the steady, almost bored rasp he was becoming familiar with. “Win this thing for the five of us, yeah?”
Ryan’s reply was washed out as a second cheer combined with the tail end of the ongoing one – Hoshi turned his head, his expression going flat. Damn, that must be the other semifinal ending. I wanted to at least catch the back of it…
But he had decided to watch Ryan and Nerine’s match instead, and as the two circles – much larger than his own battlefields had been – broke up, he found that he didn’t regret it. “Good match, both of you!” he added to the waning congratulations.
The pair approached, and for a minute the five of them were together in a little huddle. Moony slapped Ryan’s back hard enough to knock the smaller man over, and Puce peppered both semifinalists with questions about their tactics. Hoshi stayed mostly silent – there wasn’t a whole lot he had to contribute, anyway.
Then came the intermission. The male Senior Executive’s voice washed over the crowd. “Two stunning battles! On one side, a brutal beatdown of fire versus water!”
“And on the other, our two up-and-comers duking it out to enter the finals!” his partner continued, before turning to address him. “What do you think, should we do one last speech before the grand finale?”
“Hm?” James turned, oblivious – though if it was real or scripted, Hoshi had no idea. “Are we not already doing a speech?”
“Meow!”
“From the finalists, you dolt!”
The Executive made a noise of understanding. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that?” Then his expression became thoughtful, and he turned back to the crowd. “We wouldn’t want to overdo it, though. Usually we save the hot air for the winner…”
Jessie also turned back to the crowd. “What do you think? Want to hear a few words from our soon-to-be first and second place?”
The crowd asserted that yes, it did, with a roar that wasn’t quite as loud as Hoshi would have predicted, but still cacophonous enough to make his ears ring. Damn. Some of those old people can really holler.
“Magnificent!” she continued. “Get up here, you two!”
----------------------------------------
The house of Sampo was young, as far as families went – or at least, their legacy in Kanto was young. Ryan’s great-grandmother, Ninfina Girasole, had come to the country in 1955, a tale whose every word was engraved into his memory; it had been the one his great-grandfather most loved to tell, before his passing.
Indeed, Ryan knew every step of his family’s legacy in exacting detail. How they settled in Viridian City, how they swiftly took control of the entire textiles industry, how they allied themselves with the local Gym – and later, how they butted heads with the intruding Team Rocket, before replacing enmity with friendship as the western conflict brought about Kanto’s highest highs and lowest lows.
Today is another step in that legacy, one that my own sons and daughters will one day learn.
As he ascended the stage a second time, he exalted in that feeling – today was his first day owning a Pokémon, but in many ways he had been a trainer since he could walk. Another step, taking the Sampo lineage into the future.
He entered the spotlight, the rest of the world washing out against the radiance from above. “Ryan Sampo!” boomed his superior, Senior Rocket Executive James Kidd. “Nineteen years old, and already fighting your way to the top of the pile! Let’s hear some praise, folks!” The man gestured together with his partner, the two mimicking each other with not a single hair out of place as the crowd’s collective voice washed over the five people and one Pokémon standing on-stage.
Ryan’s smile widened. He knew these two by proxy, through their superior, and together with the day’s observation he thought he had a good handle on their actual personalities…
Their praise was overblown, maybe, but sincere. A small knot of fear, that the rest of Team Rocket’s administration would resent his obvious skill, untied itself from around his heart.
Then, like clockwork, the other – Senior Rocket Executive Jessie Oakley – took up the speech. “And on the other side of the coin, our venerable Rocket Executive; please give a cheer for Mister Quirius!”
More applause, similar but distinct in tone; the grunts had put their hearts into cheering for him, while the executives did so for his opponent. Ryan’s smile did not waver. Win or lose, I’ve gathered quite a bit of clout. People will be looking at me for real, now.
“Amazing work, the both of you!” continued Executive Kidd as the noise died down. “But you know what they say: age before beauty!”
“So why don’t you start us off, Mister Quirius? Your last match was quite the upset!”
“A fire type beating a water type? That takes some serious skill!”
“Meow.”
As the elderly Executive stepped forward, Ryan caught a good look at him. White of hair, short up top but with an expansive moustache and beard, deep wrinkles nearly obscuring sharp eyes – mischievous, was the word that came to Ryan’s mind as he observed the man’s expression. Like an old forest fox; not malicious, but more than willing to lead someone around by the nose for a quick laugh. He wore a red suit, as many of the upper management did, but his was worn around the edges, older in style – the man couldn’t be a day under ninety, his back bent forward, though he walked without even a cane.
He cleared his throat, then spoke, revealing a voice as aged as his face implied. “Thank you, thank you. Of course all the real compliments should go to my ponyta, Buckingham – he did all the work, after all.”
“Ah, what humility!” projected Executive Kidd
“Surely you have a little bit to say about your strategy?” continued Executive Oakley. “Move choice? I saw a few things the average ponyta definitely wouldn’t learn!”
Quirius cleared his throat a second time. “Oh, nothing too special, I assure you. But if you’re interested…” The Senior Executives, and the crowd – and yes, Ryan himself, all leaned forward expectantly. “I happen to be friends with a breeder of some skill; I’m sure you’re acquainted with Mister Sukizo? Well, about two months ago I was in the market for a new Pokémon to participate in these little tournaments – Windsor had evolved during the last one, and sadly gotten herself disqualified – and I’d heard good things about the pedigree of his ponyta, so I went down and had a chat…”
What followed was a long, meandering, mind numbing story about how the man acquired his ponyta, which revealed absolutely nothing about its moves, or the strategy its master had employed. Ryan would have applauded if he weren’t so annoyed; from the glint in his eye, the elderly Rocket knew exactly what he was doing.
After about a dozen attempts to wrench the flow of conversation away from the finalist, Jessie threw etiquette to the wind and physically covered the old man’s mouth.
“Magnificent words from one of our most respected members!” She turned to Ryan, expression pained. “Why don’t we move on to Mister Sampo?”
“Yes!” her partner all but screamed. “As the highest placing Rocket Grunt and rookie, how do you feel about the upcoming match?”
Ryan stepped forward. The crowd of less than sixty seemed small against the largeness of the room, filling well under a quarter of the seats – but at the same time, it was easily twice as many people as he had ever addressed.
“I’m feeling confident, sir.” He allowed his smile to turn cocky; the higher ups would find it gauche, but by the time he climbed the ranks many of them would be gone. It was the Rocket Grunts he had to impress, and they were a more hot-blooded breed. “Some of you may think I’m only here because of my Pokémon, but I’ll be sure to show you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what kind of trainer I am.”
The crowd applauded – those who weren’t asleep, at least – and the Senior Executives looked relieved.
“What a wonderful-”
“And brisk!” Jessie interjected, still restraining the older Rocket.
“-Speech by our other finalist!”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“Let’s not waste any more time – onto the finale!”
“Winner takes all!”
“Meow!”
----------------------------------------
Red. A sea of red, enough blood to cover the tallest mountain, soft sand holding it up from below as a black void pressed down from above.
Two moons, shining white, rolling across the horizon like the sea was a soft cushion. A point of blue formed between them, infinitesimally small, only visible by sharp contrast, a single star illuminating the dark sky.
The blue shone, somehow hot, and Hoshi was rent apart.
“Gah!” he gasped, jolting in his chair.
“There we go,” said Moony, and Hoshi blinked dumbly for a fraction of a second before his brain fully woke up.
Oh, that fucking horse story- did I seriously fall asleep? “Ugh. How long was I out? Has the match started?” Or is the old blowhard still talking about his fucking ponyta?
“Naw, we’ve got like a minute to go, still. Bosses ‘r making it fancy; setting up a whole thing.”
He pointed, and Hoshi swivelled in his seat – behind him, in the middle of the room, something like the Vermilion Gym’s Battlegrounds was being set up. Well, a mini version, at least. Apparently the room featured a trap door, because there was now a yawning pit where a section of seating had been, other bits of the auditorium transforming into rock-strewn fields and extremely shallow pools as a smattering of scientists and grunts directed their Pokémon to set things up.
He watched a rhydon conjure a torrent of sand from nowhere, the tiny Sandstorm settling down to create an equally small desert.
Holy shit, there’s like… twenty Pokémon going at it. Hoshi was a professional construction worker, he knew how impressive it was to coordinate something like this, even on a small scale. “Wow, they’re really going all-out – though…” Something about the effort didn’t fit. “I’d have guessed they’d have a dedicated battle room for this sort of thing.” Even my elementary school had one of those.
Moony shrugged. “Probably do, but for sixty people?” …Okay, that’s not a bad point. “Come on, let’s watch!” He started moving forward, and Hoshi threw off the last dregs of sleep before standing – something he noticed more than a handful of other people doing, to his hidden solace. Boring as shit story must have knocked out a third of the crowd.
As he approached, it became clear that the field wasn’t just similar to the Battlegrounds, it was a direct copy – Hoshi could see bits that were just scaled-down replica hazards taken directly from the Gym’s high-tech courtyard. No electrified sections or running water, though. I guess that’s too much to expect, even from this place.
With the increase in size and complexity, it was already going to be harder to see the actual fight; adding big setpieces for a single battle would be ridiculous overkill.
“So,” he said, as they reached the edge of the field. “You think Ryan’s going to win this whole thing?”
Moony replied with a grin. “Fuck yeah! You saw the last fight, little guy took like a hundred Poison Stings!”
“From an ekans, sure.” A really young one, at that. Based on its height, that little dragon’s at least a few months old – it isn’t just a strong Pokémon, it’s older than the rest of ours, too.
The ex-wrestler snorted. “C’mon man, you really think the other guy can win?” He had a cocky grin on his face, and Hoshi had to hold himself back from commenting about his obvious man-crush. You’re acting like him winning does something for us, but it really doesn’t. “Oh, I get it! You want the old guy to win ‘cause he beat the lady who beat you, right?”
“Fuck off. I don’t care about petty shit like that.” He folded his arms. Ahead, past Moony’s overly round face, the finishing touches were being put into place. Two tower-like pedestals were forming; the places the trainers would stand, so they could see everything from on high. “You really think somebody who won with a type disadvantage isn’t going to put up a damn good fight?”
If we compare the three, krabby, ponyta, and bagon, they’re all pretty damn good for unevolved Pokémon. Krabby has its super-strong grip, ponyta is the fastest, and the dragon resists both the other two’s types. I honestly can’t say which would win – except the ponyta did win, against that bullshit disked-up crab, so it must have some way around a type disadvantage.
He was starting to regret not watching the other match. Ryan versus Serine had been a spectacular demonstration of the younger girl’s tactical mind – and Ryan’s less impressive, but not terrible, skills – but the match between the krabby and ponyta would probably have been more educational where high-level battles were concerned.
Moony made another dismissive sound. “Whatever. It doesn’t really matter, does it? I just wanna see them duke it out!”
Arcus, why did I come over with you? Even the teenager would have been a better choice for conversation. Hoshi scanned the crowd, but failed to find the other two rookies; the field was just too wide, and half the people were dressed exactly the fucking same.
“Yeah, I guess we’ll just enjoy the match,” he hissed out, and settled down to wait.
----------------------------------------
“Trainers, are you ready?”
My, they’re really pulling out all the stops. Ryan felt like he was in an actual tournament finale; the grounds had been prepared with a variety of terrains, and he was standing on a passing replica of a real trainer platform. Across from him stood his opponent on his own platform, and their eyes were locked in the powerful fervour that preceded a Pokémon battle.
“I am,” he replied to the stripe-clad woman on the sidelines.
“As am I,” his opponent followed a second later. Ryan felt ever more confident in his assessment of the elderly man as he continued to observe him; though his back remained bowed, so too did his eyes retain that sharpness Ryan had seen on the stage. He hefted a Rocket Ball, expanded and ready to throw.
“Then you may release your Pokémon and wait for the signal to begin!” came a more masculine voice from the other side of the field.
The two instructors had actually traded their Rocket Admin uniforms for authentic-looking League Referee garb, black and white vertical stripes with shaded caps – they were overseeing the match personally, and Ryan couldn’t have been more delighted. He tossed his dragon’s ball, issuing the first order. “Jormungandr, stay still!”
For a moment he lamented that he couldn’t have retained the Rage-boosted strength from the previous battle, but alas; while the amazing healing technology had cured his bagon’s injuries, it could not overcome base fatigue. He had been forced to let his Pokémon rest naturally, lest it emerge from its ball with maximum power and minimum energy.
“One last push, Buckingham.”
Unlike Ryan’s excitable dragon, the pony needed no further orders to stop it from attacking.
“Alright!” shouted the blue-haired Rocket.
“On three!” followed the other. “One!”
“Two!”
“Meow!” said the persian apparently named Meowth, emerging from a spot of fake vegetation on the edge of the field.
For a moment Ryan stilled – why was the persian hiding? Why is it wearing an umpire’s uniform? – but experience in mock battles at his father’s salons won through. “Jorm, hunker down and wait for it to get close!” I won’t be able to catch it straight out. The best thing to do is respond; if it gets close, Bite, if it uses a ranged attack, Rage.
Ponyta could have some respectable firepower, but he had faith that Jormungandr could weather a hit of two – he resisted fire, after all.
But rather than issue a verbal order, Executive Quirius whistled sharply. His ponyta took a few steps back, and Ryan began to get a bad feeling. The grunt I paid off told me he defeated the krabby with an electric stomping attack – surely, he hasn’t got too much more up his sleeve, right?
But the thought failed to provide comfort; a twinge on the back of his neck was telling him he was in danger, and after a second’s hesitation he decided to heed the warning. “Charge it! Latch on with Bite and don’t let go!” Jorm is strong, but with only three moves… he lacks options.
The old man watched the baby dragon charge his young horse, his heavily wrinkled face showing not a hint of concern. Ryan’s teeth grit as something built up. A charging attack? He could feel it, an ephemeral wave that made Jormungandr sprint even harder.
But the size of the field worked in his opponent’s favour. Ryan’s Pokémon dodged through obstacles feverishly, twenty metres, fifteen, ten, and then… finally, Quirius issued his order.
“Solar Beam.”
----------------------------------------
Hoshi watched his coworker descend with middling dignity down the back of the platform.
“Ah, bad luck in the final matchup!” announced James.
“But still, an amazing effort!” Jessie continued. “It isn’t often a rookie gets this far… in fact, I can’t recall it happening a single time!”
“Neither can I!”
“Meow!”
Ryan’s face was a mask, solid and unyielding, not a hint of emotion peeking through as he approached.
“Ah…” Puce muttered. “I want to say it was a good match, but…”
Hoshi tamped down on the urge to snicker; it would have been impossible for him to say something as wounding as the woman’s comment, and it hadn’t even been purposefully insulting. Ryan’s mask slipped just a hair as her soft voice reached him, the edges of his thin lips turning down.
“Aw, don’t say that Puke! It would’a been a real good fight if the old guy hadn’t had a super-strong move!” He growled. “Who ever heard of a fire Pokémon with a grass move, anyway? Must’a had to shell out hard for a TM like that.”
“Actually, it’s not that uncommon,” came a flat voice from behind, and Hoshi startled. Damnit! At least approach from the side, like Puce did! Nerine continued, unperturbed by his sharp look, “A lot of fire types get stronger in the sun, so teaching them Solar Beam to deal with water and rock types is a pretty basic strategy… Though you’re not wrong about it being expensive.”
“Yes, I suppose it was a bit conceited of me to think I could win with a barely-trained Pokémon.” Ryan stepped past them, going for the seats near the stage, and the rest of them followed. “I don’t suppose you’d have had some way to deal with that ponyta, Miss Rose?”
The teenager shook her head. “No, I think I’d have done about the same. Maybe ekans could have hid in the fake bushes… but then it’d have gotten burned out, probably.” She strode forward to give the older grunt a knock on the shoulder. “It was just a really strong Pokémon. Nothing to do about it but train up.”
The blond sighed. “I suppose…”
The five of them were shortly joined by a few other grunts, including Black, and there was some back-and-forth about whether it was sportsmanlike to bring disk moves – TM moves, I’m a trainer now, I should use the proper name – to such a low-power tournament.
“Yeah, it's usually one of the old hands who takes it,” Black commiserated. “The suits get their positions through either money or power, so they’ve got an advantage over us grunts.”
“Sometimes one of the science guys wins, though,” another grunt broke in. “I remember one of them got through three in a row with the same drowzee, just putting everything to sleep.”
“Yeah, then half the executives showed up with mankey! Hah!”
“That wasn’t just some guy, man, that was the other Professor.” The black-clad man shivered. “Gives me the fucking creeps.”
“Oh, come on,” countered a woman. “That’s a hurtful stereotype. Drowzee are perfectly normal Pokémon!”
“You’re only saying that ‘cause you have one of them…”
The light banter continued, and as before Hoshi stayed mostly silent. Even with his brief nap, the day’s adrenaline rush was getting to him. You wouldn’t think ordering something else around would be tiring, but I feel like I ran a marathon. The walk home was going to be brutal with the heat.
“Yo, Suit,” came a voice directed his way, forcing him to perk up. “You even listening?”
Hoshi’s nostrils flared. “Sorry, feeling a bit out of it. First real battles, you know?”
Black laughed, the sound sharp. “Suppose I do, though that was a while ago for me. You did pretty good out there, by the way.”
“…Thanks. And it’s Hoshi.”
Another laugh, and some of his coworkers joined in. “That’s so old fashioned!”
“This coming from the guy named Black,” he grumbled.
Puce looked away. “Way better than Puke, though…”
“Or Nerd!”
“Or Menard!”
The crowd turned Moony’s way, and Hoshi opened his mouth. “That’s your name name, dude.”
“Yeah, but it sucks. My parents should have picked something cool!”
A bolt of amusement went through Hoshi’s side, but before he could take the opening to roast the man a deep, feminine voice rang out from the stage.
“Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen!”
“Somehow we keep misplacing Meowth’s hat…”
“Meow.”
“Anyway! This one’s run a bit long, and we all have other things to do today!”
“So without further ado, let’s present the prize already!”
The two gestured. “Come on up, Rocket Executive Quirius!”
The elderly man plodded his way up the stairs, and soon he was in the spotlight. Dabi stepped forward, and spoke for the first time since ascending the stage.
“I present to you my latest and greatest masterpiece: a fully evolved machoke, a machamp, one of the strongest Pokémon on the planet.”
It wasn’t just his body language; he spoke differently, too. Though it was still the same voice Hoshi knew, the man’s tone had gone from quaking to rock solid, almost arrogant.
The machamp struck a pose, its muscles bulging, its four arms held at different angles to show off each in a different light.
“Thank you, Professor,” Quirius stated, none of the drawling tones he had told his long story in present. “I’ll make good use of him.”
“Her,” Dabi corrected.
“Ah, pardon. Does she have a name?”
“I knew I would be giving this specimen away, so I did not name it. Feel free to choose one for her, if you wish.”
“Hm…” The old man walked deeper onto the stage, approaching the Pokémon. Contrasted against a human figure, the machamp looked even more monstrously top-heavy, its atavistic proportions causing it to resemble a lizard even more than its pre-evolutions.
It had a beak, pale yellow against grey-blue scales fine enough to pass for bare skin, and three red frills along the top of its head. A ribbon of dark envy twined itself around Hoshi’s skull as the tournament’s winner inspected his prize.
I could have won, came a voice that was immediately smothered by no I couldn’t. That ponyta was a menace; it would have jumped up and smashed Zubat right out of the sky, with or without Solar Beam.
“I believe I’ll call you Elizabeth. How do you feel about that, young lady?” Quirius extended his hand, and the machamp looked mildly confused as it mimicked him, receiving a handshake.
“Maaaaa..?” came its incredibly deep, reverberating reply.
The Rocket Executives clapped, and the rest of them took the cue to join in.
“I’m sure you’ll have many adventures from now on!” said James.
“Usually this is where we would have a speech…” Jessie paused. “But you already got one, so we’re giving it to the Professor! Professor?”
Dabi nodded. “I’m sure that everyone in this room can see the potential of this Pokémon – and by extension, the potential that Team Rocket has unlocked.” He pushed his glasses up by the bridge. “Now that I have unlocked the secret of this species’ final evolution, we are one step closer to our ultimate goals.” Then suddenly his voice raised, and Hoshi rocked back slightly in his seat – not at the noise itself, but at Dabi Mokusen raising his voice. “But this is only the beginning! My fellow Professor and I are close to unlocking the secrets of alakazam, with gengar close behind.”
Jessie broke in, “And of course, Rocket has had golem from the start, thanks to our illustrious, prodigal boss!”
"I don't think that's what the word means, Jessie…"
Dabi’s face scrunched, the scientist obviously annoyed at the interruption. “Yes, quite. As I was saying, with these Pokémon Rocket’s ascendancy is all but assured.” His head turned, and again Hoshi got the feeling he was being stared at – but this time, it probably isn’t just in my head. “Assuming our agents are up to the task of wielding said Pokémon. I had my doubts, but today has… put them to rest, somewhat.” From one of his oversized labcoat pockets he drew a ball – a standard Poké Ball, not a Rocket Ball. “Here is… Elizabeth’s ball, Executive. I’m sure she’ll be quite pleased with such a skilled trainer, though I’d suggest coming down to my lab for a full briefing on care instructions. At your leisure, of course.”
Quirius accepted the ball with a shallow bow. “Of course, of course. I’m not too familiar with fighting type Pokémon – hmm, I’ll have to get some helpers…” His voice began to trail off. “Maybe poach a few Blackbelts from saffron… Ah, but I’ll do my thinking later. Elizabeth, return!” The red laser shot out, engulfing the human-sized Pokémon and sucking it in.
James clapped again, just once. “And with that, the festivities are concluded!”
“There will be a selection of refreshments before you go – remember to tip your waiter!”
“Meow.”
“Oh, right. And if our delightfully precocious rookies could come backstage, we’d appreciate it!”
“That means now, you five!”
The two posed for a final time. “Team Rocket, blasting off again!”
Smoke enveloped the stage, and when it dissipated only Dabi was left, coughing into his sleeve.