‘What makes a Pokémon Master?’
It was a question that Will Zelcovia often pondered, and the one that occupied his mind as he idly flipped a coin. The cavernous expanse of an abandoned Saffron warehouse stretched in all directions, the distant walls little more than a suggestion in the darkness rather than anything solid or real.
Heads.
On its face, it could not have been more insipid; it was comparable to asking what shade of blue the sky was.
Heads.
The sky was sky blue. A Pokémon Master was a master of Pokémon.
Heads.
But that oversimplification was, though true – and, honestly, more profound than it sounded – not the whole picture. “Is it?” he spoke aloud, flicking the polished bronze coin into the air yet again.
His question echoed off the corrugated steel of the room’s walls, and as silence followed Will entertained the thought that, perhaps, he had misjudged the situation.
But no, of course he hadn’t. Another heads revealed itself as he caught the disc in his open palm, and Sabrina Jujuba, Gym Leader of Saffron City, stepped out of the darkness.
“Is what?” came her voice. Chilly in structure, but not cold.
No, it was Will’s smile that was cold. “Come now,” he projected across the empty space, “Are we really going to play this old game?”
Heads.
Sabrina, Gym Leader of Kanto’s Eastern Capital since the age of nine, did not frown. Not a single muscle in her face moved, except those that were necessary for the base mechanics of speech. “I don’t do that anymore.”
His smile stretched wider, completely bereft of amusement. “So you say, Gym Leader.” As though any person, be they purest good or most terrible evil, could resist making use of true mind reading.
The warehouse fell silent for a moment. It really did look completely mundane; Rocket had done a sublime job in hiding it. But Saffron was as much a collection of gang hideouts stacked on top of each other as it was a city, and so an actually empty space stood out. Like a golden needle amid a sea of tarnished silver.
He flipped his coin again, receiving another heads. “Why are you here?” Sabrina asked as the slight sound of bronze striking silk faded to echo.
“The same reason you are,” he answered. “The same reason you’re wearing your battle uniform.”
This time, Sabrina expressed herself with her face, as well as her words; her eyebrows came together, the edges of her lips turning down. Ah, but there’s no spark to it. It’s a mannequin’s expression; no subtle muscle movement, nothing subconscious. Two out of ten – you really need to practice your acting, Gym Leader. “You received a vision as well?”
He almost laughed. As though I could ever. Foresight was already rare, and paired with the amount of power necessary to see more than a handful of seconds… There were maybe ten people on the continent who could boast that combination, and half of them had reduced themselves to barely-functional dreamwalkers from its use. Will’s eyes looked up from Sabrina’s red-and-black clad form, breaking his eyes from her silky black hair and porcelain skin and curves that should have provoked something, anything other than an almost religious terror in him, and yet didn’t.
As though I could do anything other than perform. The abandoned warehouse truly did resemble a cavern; there was a patina of crusty black across its roof, the result of years worth of smoke – the Night Folk had treated this building poorly, as had the gang before them, and the gang before them. He ignored the exact words of her question, choosing to let his performer’s mask slip just slightly; his smile went flat, his shoulders tensing. “Team Rocket is planning something. My operatives are disappearing.” He shifted in place. “Putting certain facts together… I believe they’ll come after you, Gym Leader. Sometime today.”
She nodded. “Yes. We will fight three of them. Someone will die.”
He shivered at the thoughtless certainty in her voice. When one thought the word psychic, it was impossible not to think of Sabrina – whether you were a dogmatic Arcean who sneered and made the sign of the halo, or a fellow mystic who looked up at the highest peak in mingling frustration and awe, it was impossible to divorce the woman from Kanto’s perception of her entire kind.
He hated her for that, nearly as much as he admired her. She was their greatest fears and most fervent hopes walking unashamed, unhidden, unmasked. If Sabrina of Saffron had never existed, people would fear him less, respect him less. He had been a member of Indigo’s Elite Four for eleven years, and yet he couldn’t even conceive of ever becoming a tenth as influential.
No, Will Zecovia was only a magician; standing in the same room as a monster, his card tricks were revealed as nothing more than a sad illusion.
And yet… He flipped the coin again. Heads. Seven in a row, how fortuitous. “What did you see, in those crystal balls of yours?”
Her eyes, both irises a light shade of pink, blinked. Her head tilted, weightless black strands moving as though underwater, moving chaotically but never threatening to cross her face. “You didn’t answer my question, when I walked in. Is what?”
Will’s eyes crinkled at the edges beneath his mask. “Is being a master of Pokémon enough to call oneself a Pokémon Master?” You fought him, didn’t you? The way I fought the other one. Is it just that? There has to be something more – otherwise, why do the rest of us fail?
Sabrina’s frown disappeared. “I cannot say,” she answered. “I don’t even consider myself to be a particularly skilled trainer.”
He nodded back, his gut churning with a dozen emotions brought on by the slight hint of envy in her voice. The grass is always greener, isn’t it? How laughable. I would trade anything in the world to be able to communicate with my Pokémon the way you can, and yet despite having that gift from birth you lack the tactical skill to leverage it. One deaf, the other blind…
The two psychics stared at each other across the empty expanse for a long moment, communicating a novel’s worth of information through the silence.
And then, footsteps. Three pairs, each with a different gait: one long, the other two short. Two with even, self-assured strides, while the third had an almost drunken aspect.
A flash of red as Sabrina’s alakazam released itself, and the dreary building was briefly illuminated by more than the morning sun filtered through shuddered windows. Will saw their fated opponents – and, for a moment, was flummoxed.
An atrocious bowl cut atop a greasy face, white coat partially concealing a sweater vest that toed the line between academic and pretentious. A bamboo cane, twirling through the air as its holder all but waltzed into view to the rhythm of some non-existent beat.
“My Gym Trainers are still in place,” Sabrina distantly noted. “How did you get by them? That shouldn’t be possible.”
Kim Kimigawa? The Porygonamous scientist? The man was a mid-level battler at best, and his two companions were no better. A pair of researchers and someone too inconsequential to even hit my desk. This is who Rocket sent to take Saffron from Sabrina?
But he tucked his second-hand offense away as the trio approached. No, now came the performance. Will’s smile went wide as he took in the two labcoat-wearing men walking a step behind their companion. “Professors Kimigawa and Mokusen. And..?”
The third, leading Rocket sneered. He was the most intimidating of the trio, at least in appearance; aristocratic features marred by a touch of baby fat, black hair streaked with dark, garnet red in a messy ponytail, with irises of that same shade peering out from the crystal-clear glass of a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles. Where the other two wore outfits designed for a sterile laboratory, this man was outfitted in the heavy jacket of a professional battler.
But this was no Ace Trainer; the thick R made no attempt to conceal itself, burning a brighter red – fresh blood rather than wine-dark crystal – across the front of his chest. A bulky machine was worn on his back, like a metallic backpack, and his expression was vicious.
He raised a Pokéball, the tool enclosed by heavy-gloved fingers. “Arlo Aiki, Rocket Executive,” the criminal spat in an equally heavy Unovan accent. “What luck. We’ll be confiscating your Pokémon as well, Elite.”
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“Go go go!”
The police arcanine went through the front door at its Jenny’s hollered order, while a dozen magneton did the same through the second-story walls.
No windows. In hindsight it seems so obvious, but we never even gave it a thought, did we?
At the same time Owen was watching the surface team go in with his naked eyes, he was also seeing the second group do the same through a screen – or screens, rather. They were the only things in the surveillance van besides himself and the police chief; screens and screens blanketing each wall like glass tumours. I’ve never been a part of one of these before. They’ll have heard us by now – I wonder, do they have contingencies for this? The old Rocket hideouts did, but this new organisation is a different animal.
A number of the screens went brilliant white, then returned to darkness – except one, which showed only static. A vibration passed through Owen’s feet as he pressed down on the corresponding button, as though the shockwave had become an ephemeral tether for the van’s radio suite to travel along. “Surge, your camera’s gone. Any issues?”
No response for a tense moment… And then the screen flicked back on to show the aftermath of the electrodes’ synchronized Explosion. “Shoddy junk,” the Gym Leader replied as his body cam bobbed. The view went forward, smoke streaming around Surge’s body as he went from carefully-dug but still naturalistic diglett tunnels to the concrete halls of the Electric Academy’s basement. “Can’t even handle a little shock, not like real gear. Am I coming through now, pencil-neck?”
Owen suppressed a sigh. “Yes sir. I’ll keep quiet so as not to distract you, but don’t hesitate to call in if you need backup.”
A sharp bark of laughter, and then Surge muted himself again. Through the screen Owen saw the Vermilion Gym Trainers fanning out with military precision – even the younger teenagers.
It brought back bad memories, but he shoved them away. War’s over, Owen. And your job is to make sure it stays over.
A minute passed as he and the Police Chief directed their respective agents. The Jennys moved with zeal, taking out Rocket Grunts – In the uniform? Right here, not a hundred metres from the open streets? – so his own Indigo League officials could secure each room behind them. Like high tide gradually devouring a section of coastline, their combined forces took the Electric Academy under their control one hallway after the other.
And yet… “League Inspector,” the chief said, voicing the tension they were both feeling. “Any idea why it’s just grunts?”
Neither the Jennys, nor the League trainers, nor Surge and his employees, had fought anything other than peons. Not a single evolved Pokémon among the lot of them. This has to be a trap – but how?
The old Rocket had liked to stuff the walls of their hideouts with voltorb, according to the stack of notes he’d poured over religiously in preparation for today. But that wasn’t possible here; the walls were, paradoxically, too thick. Wires, pipes, and human-sized passageways were strewn throughout the structure, the components clearly visible to their instruments. There was no room left to hide any explosive Pokémon – and by the same token, it was unlikely they were walking into a gas trap, or anything else hidden in the building’s nooks and crannies.
No. The trick, if there was one, would come from one of the larger rooms. Owen turned the chief’s question around in his head, but no answer jumped out.
If they were fighting some two-bit operation running out of a shop’s basement or something, he would have accepted the situation as a tactical error; the bosses trying to wear the police down before making their escape, when they should have been pushing all together to break the encirclement. But this was Jessie Oakley and James Kidd, two of the most infamous – maybe the most infamous – smugglers in Indigo’s history.
“Most likely?” Owen replied after a moment’s thought. “They managed to catch our scent ahead of time. The grunts are only here to keep the lights on; Jessie, James, and the rest of the leadership are long gone.”
The chief grunted back, and another tense minute of ominously simple clearing passed them by, the only issues for the officers being the labyrinthine layout of the building. Several blue-haired women accidentally attacked each other as they met at poor angles, but so far there hadn’t been any damage a Potion couldn’t fix.
Then Surge found the hostages.
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Koichi Tatsujin disliked flying by Pokémon.
Perhaps there was a witty statement to be made there – something about the fighting type’s inherent weaknesses, as though he himself had inherited his chosen specialisation’s esoteric traits though gradual osmosis.
But in truth, it had nothing to do with his status as a martial artist.
No, he simply preferred the nice, solid aluminum chassis of an airplane over the wild motions of a giant bird – or undulating serpent, in today’s case. Even the most physics-defying Pokémon had to flap its wings, had to bob and jerk with the motions of the wind, had to give over some of its – and its passenger’s – autonomy to nature.
Those were things a plane did not appear to need to do; even if reality did not entirely match that appearance, it meant he couldn’t see the illusion break with his eyes. It irked him, that even the twenty-and-change-foot-long gyarados he was riding on could not completely control its motions as it swam through the sky, flying towards the great stadium in Viridian City’s heart.
As they descended he looked to the side, to see that his fellow Elite, Karen Rosewood, was as laid-back in the air as she was on the ground. She was not riding atop a Pokémon’s back as he and the Champion were, but rather gliding with the aid of her honchkrow. The avian monster affected as leisurely an air as its mistress, flapping its wings only occasionally as it stood on the edge of the hanglider’s rigid structure.
“Drop in three,” Clair called from the front, and Koichi refocused his attention forwards. “Two. One.”
Her dragonite dove, and the gyarados between his legs needed no order to follow. Koichi’s stomach moved to his throat as the three pairs of trainer and Pokémon dropped like lead weights, buildings coming up on either side – and then it abruptly slid all the way down to the bottom of his gut as they leveled out, no more than a foot of leeway between them and the pavement.
The Karate Master let out a breath. Hopefully the rest of today will be less of an ordeal than getting here. The thought brought a sarcastic twitch to his lips, and as the three Elites landed directly in front of the Viridian City Gym it lingered.
As if.
The large courtyard around the building’s entrance had been kept mostly clear, just as Clair had requested; the only people inside were the Jennys and League officials that were securing the area, while the crowd of morning challengers, tourists, and other visitors milled about behind the ephemeral line of government authority. Koichi dismounted, took a moment to appreciate the ability to dictate his own movements, and then walked towards the arching entrance to the Gym as the gyarados disappeared.
“Ma’am,” a League employee greeted as he jogged up to Clair’s side. “Everything is in place.”
“Good. Let’s get this done.”
Koichi came up alongside her, followed closely by Karen, and for a moment Clair simply stood and looked at the imposing stadium with clenched teeth. Despite her words, Indigo’s Champion seemed hesitant to actually step forwards.
He understood why. They were here to ‘congratulate’ the Gym Leader for ‘another successful year,’ but it was entirely possible that the lie had been seen through. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a problem that could be solved by careful deliberation; if people saw the tension in the Champion’s shoulders, the story might break early – and poorly. “Are we going?” he nudged, and Clair’s scowl deepened.
“He must know what’s happening,” Clair replied. “He must. There’s no way he doesn’t have at least one plant, between all the money and political connections.”
Koichi frowned. Then, he did something that was perhaps unwise: he put a full-power punch into the woman’s bony shoulder, not holding back even a little.
Clair moved a startlingly small distance, then snarled. “Hey. Don’t push me, I’m on edge.”
Karen shook her head, her arms crossing as a soft smile curved her lips. “The meathead is right, Clair. Whether Archer knows or not doesn’t change anything. C’mon, I’ve got other stuff to do today.”
Her irreverence hit in a way it usually didn’t, and some of the tension contained in the Champion’s muscles relaxed. She huffed out something that wasn't quite a laugh, then turned to the entrance and walked forward. “Yeah,” she sent back to the Elites following at her heels. “I guess I shouldn’t worry. He’s just a bug catcher, right?”
The sarcasm, too, hit right. Koichi brushed a finger across the balls on his belt. As if.
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Jiei Enoki disliked Goldenrod City.
Even as the emotion passed through his head, the exact source of it remained mysterious. Goldenrod had never done anything to harm him; its buildings were pleasant enough to look at, its streets wide and even and cheerful. The great docks on its western edge were beautiful, harmonising with nature in a way Olivine’s industrious constructions very much did not.
But despite all that, Jiei was uneasy. There is something here, he thought as he walked the streets, a brisk morning fog dampening his robes. Something dark – something else dark, I mean, separate from the Ankoku. Something that wasn’t even hiding, necessarily, but openly woven into the city’s foundations. Goldenrod stank of money, of greed and exploitation.
It was an unkind thought, and he admonished himself for it as he gently opened the door to Extravagant Coffee and Wonderful Pastries. Ecruteak, the home he loved so much, came by its sinister reputation honestly; why did this city unsettle him, when one with literal skeletons in its figurative closet brought only comfort?
The thought passed as a heavyset woman approached. “Hello, sir. Feel free to sit anywhere – should I bring you a menu?”
“Just some coffee, thank you. Might I use the restroom?”
“Of course, I’ll get you the key. Medium?”
He nodded, and took a seat. The shop was heavy with sweet scents, coffee and sugar and bread. I wonder, do the employees know? Are they Ankoku themselves? Jiei knew very little about Johto’s sole ninja clan; that was Karen and Will’s area of expertise, and the rest of them were generally happy to let them handle the… shady side of things.
Really, it should be one of them here… I can’t help but feel I’ll make a mess of it. But the Champion was afraid of being too predictable, and so the dark specialist had gone to fight Indigo’s strongest bug trainer while Will went to bolster Sabrina in the heart of Kanto’s criminal underbelly. Jiei thought maybe that was going too far in the opposite direction, but…
Well, what did he know? His career as an Elite had been spent soundly failing to step into the memory of Agatha Kikuko’s shoes, his efforts paling in comparison to those of his seniors.
A small bush among mighty pines, how could I give advice when their wisdom so evidently eclipses mine?
The waitress brought him his coffee along with the key, and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to procrastinate. The drink wasn’t quite to his tastes, but he savoured the time it allowed him to spend before he would need to do his job.
As the cup emptied it was as though the bitter liquid seeped up into his thoughts, turning them to further melancholy the more he drank – until a voice jarred him back to reality.
“Hello again, sir. Is everything fine?”
No. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to talk to these mysterious people, with their knives and poisons and secrets. “Of course, ma’am. The coffee is quite good.”
The red-haired woman smiled and sat, to his quiet unease. “Glad to hear it. I couldn’t help but notice that you seem sad, though.”
Do I? Unfortunate. He attempted a smile, but it no doubt came out wooden. “Oh, please don’t trouble yourself. I am simply in a… strange place in my life.”
She nodded, solemn. “Yeah, I get that. It feels like things are going crazy – it feels like Kanto’s ministry have all come out as imperialists overnight. My boyfriend was talking to me the other day… he said he was thinking about checking out one of those secessionist rallies. Can you imagine?”
Jiei’s smile became more real as he ceased attempting to inject any happiness into it, the sad expression reaching up to his eyes and down to his chin. “Yes, it does feel like that sometimes, doesn’t it? Like the world has gone mad.” As above, so below. As below, so above. The highest leaf cannot divorce itself from the soil’s bounty, nor can the questing root live without the rays of the sun. “But it is not so. The challenges we face are the same as those of our forebearers; they persisted, and so we shall as well.”
“Zen,” the woman commented. “What brings you down from Ecruteak, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The smile slackened as the melancholy was pushed out. “What gave me away?”
“Oh, who can say?” She tittered. “The shaved head, maybe? The robes?”
The waxed cardboard cup ran empty, and with it his last excuse to linger. “My profession,” he answered as he stood. His hand found the key resting on the table’s edge. “Please excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
The room looked normal. Of course it does. Did you expect differently? A foolish notion, one that caused his lips to quirk even as gastly streamed from his sleeves. “The hidden door, thank you.”
Karen had explained how to get in, but following her instructions proved unnecessary; his ghosts merrily uncovered four separate concealed passages, fiddling with their mechanisms in malicious curiosity. The Heavenly Medium descended down beneath the building, through a locker room, and into the heart of the Ankoku base.
Doors opened ahead of him, his benefactors speeding his way – and making a show of power, of course, since certain people would refuse to respect anyone who comported themselves with a touch of humility. Oh my, I really am in a bad mood. I’ll have to meditate again later… Another door, another, and then he found a knife to his throat. “Hello,” he greeted the woman who wielded it; he could not see her, but the Ankoku only fielded female agents. “I am Jiei Enoki, member of the Indigo League’s Elite Four. You should have been alerted to my coming ahead of time; I would like to speak to the Matriarch.”
The knife stayed in place, not moving in the slightest, and he felt the eerie sensation of spirits pressing against the underside of his skin. Their eagerness to witness potential violence fought with his desire to keep them contained – and, at least for the moment, Jiei’s will won out. Long seconds passed, and then-
“You may step forward. Do not release any Pokémon, or make any threatening moments.” The blade withdrew.
“Thank you.”
He did as he was instructed, passing through another doorway and into a room with many screens taking up three of the walls. An older woman in tight clothing stood in the centre, a mask of dark cloth covering her face. “Jiei Enoki,” she rasped. “The Heavenly Medium. To what do we owe the honour?”
Jiei inclined his head. “Matriarch. Apologies, but I feel the need to answer your question with a question – perhaps a very silly one.” Silence. “Are you aware that the donut shop across from this building is a Team Rocket hideout?”
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Will took his cue. “My Pokémon? Certainly.” A continuous flash as his team revealed themselves, all six of them coalescing from red light in the time it took to blink. “Simply come up on stage and retrieve them, brave volunteer.”
His smile widened in the ensuing silence. “Though I insist you hold up your end of the performance before I dole out the payment.” Arlo Aiki – that name rings a bell. Unovan… Something about the Battle Company A shareholder? A scientist?
A quiet “Hoo!” sounded out, and the Rocket Executive’s expression twisted, his voice dripping with yet thicker arrogance.
“Performance? I suppose you could call it that. But enough talk – I have a trick of my own. Behold the power of Team Rocket, peasants!”
The machine on his back hummed as it activated, and at the same time a ball went first to Arlo’s hand, then to the ground as a wave of something passed through Will’s body. A scizor appeared, and the metallic buzz of its wings joined with whatever the machine was doing – but those sounds were secondary, drowned out by something more distressing: a wet splashing as Sabrina vomited and collapsed to her knees.
“My head,” she choked out, gagging as her hair lost its weightless quality. Her alakazam drifted forward, eyes wide, and Will grit his teeth. He was suddenly feeling nauseous as well – and more importantly, the telekinetic hold he had on his coin had disappeared. But despite the distress of his ally, Will smiled. You think that will be enough? The alakazam still floated, and the jynx at his side did nothing more than trill with curiosity. A mere gimmick – our Pokémon aren’t affected in the least!
“Trick Room,” he called. “You all know how this one goes – but do try and leave something worth interrogating.”
“So it does work,” the other Rocket Scientist – Dabi Mokusen, distinctively short and bespectacled – said as he toyed with his own Pokéball. “I had my doubts, but I suppose not everything you make is a forgery.”
Will’s bronzong engulfed half the room in twisting dimensions as Slowking and Grumpig advanced, their slow motions paradoxically covering more distance as the thickly layered spacial folds blanketed local reality. Another echoing laugh flew through the air as Kimigawa released a hypno and porygon2, Mokusen doing the same with-
Ah. There’s the twist.
A machamp, joined by a kadabra, graveler, and an exeggutor of his own. Will’s bipedal tree looked affronted, ecstatic, and bored as it took in its fellow, its three heads not aligned in the slightest as Jynx and Gardevoir moved to engage the new enemies.
“You’re one to talk!” Arlo cried as two unfamiliar Pokémon joined his scizor. Those are… “As if your work is anything other than your mother’s notes fed through a shredder!” …Golurk and the evolved form of anorith. A ghost and another bug type, unfortunate.
“Imprison!” I suppose I’ll have to let Devon Co. know that someone leaked their proprietary Pokémon. Something to look forward to.
The line of battle went from orderly to chaotic very nearly instantly as the four teams mixed – and then Sabrina managed to release the rest of her Pokémon, and it became even worse. It was actually slightly annoying to have to account for her; while her wobbuffet and slowbro were happy to make use of his Trick Room, her alakazam and espeon needed to be kept outside it lest they slow to a crawl.
A far cry from working with the other Elite Four. But…
But the added firepower was worth it. The scizor was knocked out by a Destiny Bond, the graveler following shortly after as Slowking took advantage of their respective types. Arlo revealed an empoleon which fell to Jynx, and it was in turn replaced by a steelix, the massive Pokémon making the cavernous warehouse seem cramped.
Someone will die. Sabrina’s premonition repeated itself in Will’s head, and for all that he knew foresight to be far from infallible… it simply refused to leave, painting each exchange in a more violent aura than actually existed.
The steelix knocked out entirely too many of their Pokémon before it went down, but while it rampaged he and Sabrina were clearing the field as well. After a minute and a half of furious battle, the two sides disengaged to take stock.
Hm. Not the best showing, even accounting for their psychic dampening machine. Sabrina had come away the worst, with all of her Pokémon save alakazam lost in the melee; her speedy, powerhouse espeon hadn’t fared well on the confusing battlefield, while her more enduring teammates had fallen to either the armaldo’s X-Scissor or machamp’s superlative strength.
That Pokémon is absurdly durable, especially accounting for the type disadvantage. Slowking had barely bruised the thing with his Psychic, which was worrying. Maybe the dampening effect does extend to our Pokémon? Will hadn’t noticed any other signs of that being the case, but it was the only explanation that came to mind.
Machamp was a powerful Pokémon, yes, but Will hadn’t had too much trouble with Bruno’s when they’d sparred.
Questions for later. As the various Pokémon shook off their fatigue – and as Will surreptitiously pressed the emergency button on his Pokégear, just in case – Arlo once again cried out across the warehouse. “Hypno! What are you waiting for?! I’m down to two Pokémon!”
“Ooh hoo! So am I, if you haven’t noticed!”
“So do it! They didn’t even send Rosewood like we feared, so why are you stalling?!”
Will didn’t take his eyes off the enemy, but he did turn his head slightly so he could aim a whisper at Sabrina’s wretched form. Throwing one’s voice wasn’t what most people thought it was – without psychic powers, at least – but the skill did allow one to speak without moving one’s lips.
“Sabrina. You should retreat and gather your Gym Trainers.”
She spat, then shot back in a slightly less practised whisper. “I can’t teleport.” Then- “Or walk, I don’t think. I can barely see.”
Will’s eyes sharpened. “Unfortunate. How is your alakazam doing?”
A moment where Sabrina flinched, no doubt reaching for the telepathy that was currently unavailable for maybe the first time in her life. In her place came a different voice – no, calling it a voice was inaccurate; the alakazam’s communication lacked words entirely.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
It was closer to looking at an architectural blueprint, but even that metaphor was only closer, not close. For a fraction of a second Will knew the state of the psychic Pokémon’s body, physical structures threaded by energy pathways supplying mental fortitude like veins supplied oxygen. It was painful, having the knowledge shoved into his head – his human brain was the entirely wrong shape to receive this sort of sensory data, the fact he was himself psychic making not a whit of difference.
But it communicated what was necessary. The alakazam was doing better than it looked, feigning weakness… But still. “Your alakazam can take you. I can hold out long enough for reinforcements.”
“I know someone will die, but not who,” the Gym Leader replied. “If I run, and it’s you…” She really did look terrible; her limbs were shaking, while her eyes were clouded and far-away. Saliva drooled from her bottom lip, joining the bile pooled under her. “ You asked me… what I thought being a Pokémon Master was. I’ll…” The Rockets’ bickering filled the lull, and while Will wasn’t eager to see what this mysterious ‘it’ they were fighting about was, he was grateful for the chance to regroup and let Slowking regenerate. “Ask you the same thing. Does a Master run away?”
He shook his head lightly, both in answer and to disparage the comparison. “Well, we’ll just have to win, then.” Five Pokémon to their six, unless Mokusen has another member or two tucked into a pocket. Unlikely, but the machine on his back was more than large enough to contain a Pokéball. Interesting that their backpacks don’t match. Contingencies, for if they’d run into the other Elites?
Whatever they were, it was probably best to nip it in the bud. If they’re going to take their eyes off us… “Exeggutor, Solar Beam. Jynx-”
“Oh, fine!” Kimigawa exclaimed. “You’ve convinced me, so stop harping already.” He pressed a button on the bulky, mechanical contraption strapped to his back – a much more cartoonish-looking beast than the ones his companions were wearing – and a radar dish popped out from its top. And then…
Seemingly nothing. Is it..? No, my ‘gear is still working, and my Pokéballs are functional. Well… “I think that’s enough of an intermission. Let’s get back to-”
Again he was interrupted, but this time it was purposeful; Exeggutor’s Solar Beam blasted forth, annihilating every shred of darkness from one side of the warehouse to the other.
Or at least, it did for a fraction of a second. Then the darkness seemed to resurge, affronted, a solid tide of it gathering from the corners to become a liquidy mass. Will’s breath hitched as a new wave of nausea assaulted him, this one more natural – born from fear, rather than the artificial suppression of his brainwaves. No. That’s not possible.
The living shadow raced in from all sides, passing over – through – all of them to intercept the attack. A gengar coalesced, its mere appearance plunging the room back into gloom.
Exeggutor’s beam of sunlight dwindled, dwindled, and died a hair before it touched the fully-evolved ghost.
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The room was probably some sort of lab, once upon a time. It had that look to it; the equipment was gone, but you could tell from the structure. There were exactly twenty people inside, nineteen kneeling, their hands tied, and one who stood – that one had a handgun. The hostage-taker was male, with black hair and a forgettable sort of face. All of them were wearing the Rocket Grunt uniform, though some were missing the hat.
Surge took in all the preceding facts within a fraction of a second as the door opened, and before anyone on either side could react he was already making a handsign. ‘Shock and awe.’
Blitz was paying attention, and so he sent a combo Discharge-Thunder Wave out without hesitation. It washed over the room, and partway down the hallway too before his trainers’ Pokémon grounded the current into themselves.
A strangled “Hurk” erupted from the gunman’s throat as he twitched, the exclamation joined by a handful of others among the group of what looked like hostages, but his stubborn grip kept hold of the pistol. Still, he was occupied, so Surge took the opportunity to muscle past the door.
The Gym Leader raised his rifle as the raichu at his side prepared to fire again-
And they both stopped dead as the twitchy Rocket pressed his gun to the scalp of a man kneeling in front of him. The soldier that still lived in Surge’s head urged him to take the shot anyway, but this wasn’t a military smash-and-grab – his first priority had to be the civilians, and the situation was weird enough that the uniformed men and women might just count. ‘Cease fire,’ he signed, and the sparks coming from Blitz’s cheeks dimmed.
Everything froze for a moment, his people frantically explaining the situation to headquarters somewhere in the background, and for maybe ten full seconds Surge and the Rocket Grunt took each other’s measure. The rifle pointed centre-mass at the convenient red R, the pistol aimed at the hostage’s crown.
He’s got the guts to do it. Damn. Very slowly, Surge opened his mouth. “There’s exactly one way you get out of this, skinny. Put the gun down.” The man attempted a smile, but his facial muscles were askew; the Thunder Wave had hit everything, toe to tip. Surge could see the tension in his shoulders, travelling down to his hands and then his fingers – specifically the one pulled tight against the trigger. “Be rational here, buddy. We’re trainers; we’re not gonna kill ya if you don’t make us. Put it down, nice and slow.”
The crook seemed pretty insistent on playing hardball, just holding the gun in place and smiling softly when the paralysis allowed it. “Captain Surge,” he said, voice as smooth as could be despite his rioting muscles. “Didn’t expect to bag the big fish. You brought kids?”
“I brought trainers, Rocket,” Surge replied. Captain. Nobody’s called me that in a while. “You a military man? C’mon, talk to me skinny.” Looks too young for it, but you never know. Better to keep him yapping anyway.
The man’s smile was strange – almost nostalgic, but also sarcastic. “Hah. The instructors are gonna flip when they find out this thing took out a bunch of teens, but… Well, that’s the game, isn’t it?”
Nothing explosive in the room. Rigged up under the floor? No, Blitz would’ve sniffed it out. “You’re acting a bit cocky there, huh?” Surge knew he wasn’t the best person for this; he was too sharp, his face and voice too powerful. But the police negotiator would, optimistically, take at least a minute or two to get down from the ground floor. He was the guy who was here. “Why don’t you walk me through that. What’s with these guys here?” No Hoshi. That’s…
He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Damn it, kid. Where the heck are you?
A subtle, incredibly resonant sound broke through the room, deep and almost too bass to register. The sound of explosives failing to penetrate a distant wall. Damn it, he cursed again. Got a feeling we won’t be surprising this guy from behind anytime soon. If the Rocket noticed, he didn’t react; his finger stayed on the trigger, the whites his eyes bright and his pupils little more than pinpricks. “Talk it through? Not likely…” His jaw moved without sound for a moment, his eyes dipping fractionally before returning to Surge’s face. “…But maybe. Like I said, I didn’t expect the Gym Leader himself to show up.”
Surge’s smile widened. “Yeah?” Could maybe get him with a Quick Attack… Sweat tickled the bridge of his nose, threatening to pour into his eyes. His hands were gripping the rifle with too much force, but he couldn’t quite make himself ease off – his hindbrain kept saying shoot, and disobeying was an active effort. The balls on his belt shook lightly as the heavier hitters of his team sensed the stress. “You a fan?”
That same smile again. “These guys… They’re not actually Rocket, you know? Like, this guy.” The pistol’s muzzle ground harder into the hostage’s scalp, and Surge could feel the frustration in the bound man’s body, the fear trying to break through a wall of forced calm. “This guy’s actually Inner Ministry. Thought he could fool us. Idiot said he was joining up to feed his kids, but didn’t actually bother to get fake kids. Sloppy.” The word came out with real offence. “That chick over there’s League, the other one’s Geo ‘97. Got three Night Folk right there – guess they thought they could get revenge or some shit. Didn’t work out for ya, huh?”
Each of the hostages reacted differently to being called out; some cowered, while others cursed, and a few just stayed still. Others tried to argue that they were loyal, but the Rocket just continued to smile.
Another failed detonation worked itself up the curve of Surge’s back. C’mon, somebody break the stalemate here. “You seem pretty loyal to Rocket, skinny,” he replied. “Doesn’t seem to me like they deserve it. All the leadership up and left – left you holding the bag.” Get angry. Point the gun at me – or literally anywhere else. C’mon!
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” The grunt’s breath was heavy; Blitz’s Discharge hadn’t been at full power, but a good chunk of the shakes were from damage instead of just paralysis. He dipped again, harder, his whole head tilting down as his expression exuded frustration. He snapped back in place with a chuckle. “Hah. Okay, one evil monologue – just because we know each other.”
Know each other?
The man tilted alarmingly, and Surge’s finger squeezed – but the pistol’s contact with the fake Rocket kept it in place even as its holder stumbled. “Man, you got me good. Was that two moves at the same time? Never saw anything like that way back when – we didn’t know shit back in nineteen-ninety, huh?” He readjusted his footing. “None of us did. We thought- we thought it’d be worth something, you know? That there’d be something at the end. Maybe not a medal, but like… would some cash under the table have been too much to ask?” He laughed, and it was like his esophagus was melting – one laugh came out high, the next low, one childlike, the next the chuckle of a heavyset old man.
What the fuck? Surge wet his lips. “I guess that answers my question from earlier. You’re original flavour Team Rocket.”
“Yeah. Yeah, been in since the old old days. When it was Valentina running the joint. Did the Boss ever talk about her, in your Gym Leader parties? She bought it in ninety-three.” His eyes were wild. “Goldenrod – she was on vacation. No idea how it happened.” Another heaving breath, the Rocket’s lungs not quite able to keep up with normal inhales. “The Boss always thought it was the Blue Bombers, but I think it was nobody. Just a mugging or- or some shit. Damn, I can’t even remember what I was gonna say…”
One hand came up to rub at his scalp, and again Surge’s finger tightened on the trigger – and, again, he restrained himself. “Look man, you’re obviously having a bad time. Just give it up. A cell beats a body bag, right? You didn’t make it through the war just to die here.” Drop it. Drop the fucking gun!
He continued to scratch – and then, still keeping the muzzle of his pistol pressed firmly to the hostage’s head, reached further up and pulled off his entire scalp. Surge blinked, confused for a moment before his forebrain caught up. A wig.
The newsboy cap hit the floor, followed by the black-haired wig. Or maybe wig wasn’t the word; it was hair, yeah, but also fake skin too. A second later more fake skin dropped down, the Rocket peeling his face off and discarding it like a sandwich wrapper.
“Whew,” he sighed. “You get used to it, but it’s always easier to breathe with it off, isn’t it?”
His real skin was more weathered, more in-line with the story he’d been telling. His hair was purple-pink with touches of grey, and it was styled in a swept-back mohawk – a style that Surge immediately recognised, given that he had a picture of it hung on his office wall.
“Huh,” the Gym Leader grunted. “We really have met.”
The man laughed again. Without the disguise his face had an entirely different shape, with high cheekbones that turned his expression into a natural smile. “You remember? Arcus, that was so long ago. Feels like three lifetimes and a side of fries. Ha!”
He continued to laugh, and Surge took the opportunity to surreptitiously unmute his radio. “Pencil-neck,” he whispered, “Where’s the fucking negotiator? We’ve got a damn hostage situation down here.”
A crackle of static in his ear as the inspector replied. “Keep him talking, Gym Leader. We’ve got a few magneton almost in position – be ready for everything metal in the room to go right to the ceiling.”
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They found Apollo in the Gym’s heart, right at the edge of the jungle, and it was immediately apparent that he knew.
For a congratulations from the Champion? He would’ve had cameras around. His Gym Trainers cleaned up and in a line behind him. A slightly less martial suit of armour, one that showed his face at least.
But no. The Gym was dark, with the only light being filtered down through the glass sections of the closed-off roof. The Gym Trainers weren’t even attempting to hide their hostility, forming a blockade on either side of the entrance tunnel and sending jeers at the trio of Elites.
It made Koichi’s palms itch with the urge to throw a Pokéball.
But of course, the biggest hint was Archer himself; he wasn’t just wearing his full ‘Great Green Shogun’ attire, but he’d gone the extra mile and slapped a patch over the heart – red R on black felt.
The martial artist made his way forward in Clair’s wake, noting how now that the ambiguity had disappeared, the Champion was calm. She stopped twenty metres from where the Gym Leader was seated – just on a plastic chair, but with the way he lounged Apollo made it look like a throne.
“Carl Apollo, Gym Leader of Viridian City,” Clair began. “I’m guessing you know why we’re here.”
The figure in green chitin sat silent for a long second. Body double? Could be he already booked it. But no, when he spoke it was in the same voice Koichi was familiar with. “Champion. I’ve always wondered this, but I never thought I’d get the chance to ask.” He stood, the motion smooth despite the thick armour plates covering every inch of his body. “Do you ever have nightmares? Of when Mewtwo took your arm? Do you bolt awake in a cold sweat, the pain of it fresh like it had happened all over again?”
The Dragon Empress snarled. “Really? A crack about my arm, that’s what you’re opening with? You’re under arrest, Apollo.”
The Gym Trainers jeered harder. “I remember my darkest moment,” their leader continued. “Every time I close my eyes. When we got the broadcast off, and… nothing happened. Under arrest… Ha. What charges could you possibly leverage?”
“Treason.”
The crowd’s volume increased even further. “Ha,” Apollo laughed again. “Ha, ha. Treason. Do you expect me to go quietly?”
Clair didn’t mince words; her dragonite and kingdra appeared in twin flashes, the dragons’ displeasure adding to the situation’s menacing air. “I’d be disappointed if you did. The Moltres didn’t put up quite as much of a fight as I’d expected, you know?”
Another laugh from Apollo, the sound growing as his followers’ exclamations went silent. “Ha… The Moltres. What a debacle that was. You aren’t blaming me for that, are you?”
“No. Just the standard smuggling and murder and all that.” Clair’s fist clenched. “The rest of Indigo’s traitors will be dealt with appropriately – but you’re the worst of them, so you get to skip the line.”
“Hah… Do you expect me to feel honoured?” From the Gym- no, from the Rocket Boss’s belt came a full team of Pokémon, entirely different from the ones he used in his official matches.
A houndoom, a golbat, a weezing, a magmar, a misdreavus, and an octillery. Each of them put off an aura of power – this was an Elite-level team. Maybe even a Champion-level team.
More flashes as the lesser Rockets released their own Pokémon, the warbling electronic sounds melting into one as the three Elites were surrounded from all sides.
“You can’t think you’ll win,” Karen commented, her tone lazy. “You’re not deluded. What’s the point?”
“The point?” Apollo waved his hands, gesturing to the massive stadium they were standing inside. “What a foolish question! Does a lord not defend his castle to the very end? When Giavanni failed to return, we almost broke – and yet here I stand, stronger than he ever was! Come, take Viridian from me – if you can!”
The battle began, the tense calm turning to frenzy in an instant. Koichi was bombarded by an overlapping wave of Supersonics from a flock of zu- and golbat – but rather than stumble, he smoothly lowered himself into a horse stance. Fangs gleamed, and he breathed in. They darted for his neck, and he breathed out.
There was the smallest sliver of resistance as his punch met the back of the golbat’s throat, a small slice of eternity where everything froze at the moment of impact. Then the giant bat was bowling over a dozen trainers and their Pokémon as it blasted away.
Koichi shook out his fist. There was no need to tire out his team before the real fight; for this, his fists alone were enough.
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Golden Donuts and Black Coffee, read the sign. The font, colour, and position were all identical to that of the Ankoku cover business not ten metres away. “Do you think it’s on purpose?” Jiei asked.
None of the black-clad women answered. They were silent – completely silent – as they moved, some flitting up to the building’s roof as others positioned themselves under the windows and in the adjacent alley.
Jiei, for his part, made no attempt to hide himself. He stood openly in front of the shop, peering into its dark windows. Closed on Sundays, I imagine. This part of it, at least. “Do you think we should begin the operation?”
Again, his question provoked no response. As if he were a ghost himself, the Ankoku ninja moved without any care for his presence. I suppose that’s to be expected; while they serve the League in theory, in practice they have very few ties to it. I probably don’t register as an authority figure, so much as an annoyance.
Perhaps he should be offended at the slight to his station. Hah, unfortunately my title will just have to bear the indignity. I’m quite enjoying being ignored for a moment.
Ten seconds passed before everyone was in position, and without any discernible signal the Ankoku began. There was an eerie beauty to it – like watching the synchronised movements of Ecruteak’s Kimono Girls, if they were clad in thin black cloth that hugged every curve rather than voluminous, colourful silks. Karen would probably make a lewd comment about me noting that…
As the ninja broke the windows – again, with complete silence – and slid inside, Jiei followed more sedately. This was a point of pride for them, and so he allowed the Ankoku to take the lead; he would only intervene if it was necessary, to avoid hurt feelings. I understand completely. If there were to be a Rocket hideout directly across from Tin Bell Tower, I would feel ashamed to not have noticed – and I imagine it is many times more shameful when one’s profession is subterfuge.
The ground floor of the building continued the mirroring of its sister shop; the tables were arranged differently, but were of the same make, as was the counter that would have displayed baked goods if the place were open.
I wonder if maybe they were just built by the same people. Maybe there’s only the one small collection of secretive architects, responsible for all the hidden basements dotting Indigo’s underworld.
The silly thought released a bit of tension as the entrance to the hideout proper was revealed – and again it was the same as the Ankoku’s coffee shop, a trap door concealed in the bathroom. Like liquid shadows the ninja poured down the opening, and Jiei made to follow-
“Hey,” a voice from the street outside interrupted. “Anybody here? Damnit, I should’ve left earlier…”
Who..? Jiei retreated from the bathroom. “Hello? Ah, I recognize you.” Red hair, slightly shaggy where it cascaded down the man’s head, and large grey eyes set on either side of a pointed nose. “Silver, yes? I wasn’t expecting a Gym Leader.” Clair must have sent him as backup.
The Dragon Empress’s apprentice was familiar to him, but only distantly; Jiei found the man intimidating and aloof, and preferred to avoid his piercing, intense gaze. Said gaze was particularly strong today.
It almost felt like he was being pierced by a sword. The ghosts felt the tension too, roiling inside his body like mating eels.
“Yeah, that’s me. Is it over?”
Jiei shook his head. “No, you’re right on time. The Ankoku just entered – come, let us follow.”
He turned back to the secret entrance, while Silver grunted in affirmation and vaulted through a broken window. “Right on time,” he repeated as he joined the Elite at the tunnel’s mouth. “I guess I am. So, you know what’s down there?”
Not entirely, but… “We believe that Rocket’s Chief Executive has been using this location for at least two years – likely more. I hope the Ankoku can clean things out, but…”
“Should be prepared for a fight, yeah.” The man ground his teeth. “Well? You’re the Elite, get on with it.”
The tunnel, too, was eerily similar to the Ankoku’s. Not necessarily in structure – it twisted in different directions than the one he’d followed earlier – but the ambiance was identical. Jiei drew a calming breath as he prepared himself for battle. I can’t hear anything, but that isn’t a relief. With the distance dampening vibrations and numerous twists doing the same for sound, there could be a raging battle taking place and I wouldn’t feel a thing.
“Hey,” Silver broke the silence. “You know Clair pretty well, right?”
Well is… not the word I would use. “I suppose we’re as close as any leader and subordinate could be.”
“But if you say something, she’d listen?”
“I… assume so?” This is a strange conversation. Silver’s tone was inconsistent, angry one moment and quiet the next. His face was the same, flitting between different expressions. “May I ask why you ask? Are you having issues with her?” I don’t actually know how close they are. I suppose I should be cultivating a better relationship with the Gym Leaders…
He grunted again. “Yeah, I guess I do. Or I will.”
“You-?”
“It’s just – she always thinks shit’s about her, you get me?” Silver interrupted, his voice settling on angry. “Everything. It was the same when she was the Blackthorn Gym Leader – if she didn't think somebody could hack it and they beat her anyway, she took it personally. Like she didn’t go hard enough, and it was her fault they were stronger than she’d thought. It’s so stupid.”
Jiei had no idea how to reply, and so he did not.
“So like… She’s going to try and turn this around. Act like it’s her fault.”
“Her fault that… Team Rocket had a base in Goldenrod?”
“No. Yeah. Whatever.”
This continues to be a strange conversation. “Pardon, senior, but I feel you’re being a bit harsh.” Those intense eyes turned, and Jiei suppressed a wince. “While Clair is not a very personable woman, she performs the duties of Champion quite well. Under her wings, if you’ll pardon the pun, Indigo has flourished. Wild Pokémon attacks are less of a problem than they’ve ever been, and our relations with foreign powers are more stable than… ah, other Champions have managed.”
“Yeah, Lance was shit. But I’m not talking about her as Champion, I’m…” He ground his teeth further.
“You are..?”
Silence – and then, a flash of danger and movement. Jiei blinked and stepped back, but was unable to dodge completely as a fully-grown feraligatr appeared and clamped its jaws around his shoulder, the teeth sharp even as they had yet to become fully physical.
“Ah! You..!” The roiling mass of ectoplasm in his core reached out – and then stilled as the dark energy flowing through the Pokémon’s teeth quieted them, blocking their ability to sense the world. Jiei’s free hand reached in for the Pokéballs inside his robes, his fingers numb with shock and pain, and threw a fraction of a second later.
But his gengar failed to appear. Despite the monk having set them into active mode before even entering the Ankoku’s hideout, the ball clinked to the floor at a fraction of its size. He drew another, but it was the same – forced into stasis mode. “You… What is the meaning of this?”
Silver raised his right hand, showing off a small machine. It had the shape of a television remote, but there was only a single button. An inhibitor? How? Only a small number of League officials were allowed to carry those powerful devices, which had the power to forcefully lock all Pokéballs in their vicinity – not even the Champion would be able to obtain one without a mountain of red tape.
“Like I said, she’s going to try and turn this around. Make it about her.” Silver bent down, picking up the inactive Pokéball. “It isn’t. This doesn’t have anything to do with her, alright? Tell her that.”
“Silver,” Jiei hissed. The pain in his shoulder was immense, the feraligatr's dagger-like teeth buried fully inside his shoulder, upper arm, and chest. It was holding itself back only just enough to not pierce through bone, and as he stuffed his hand back into his robes it was like deliberately pressing hot coals to his flesh. “This is mad. Why side with Rocket?” They had two Gym Leaders, this entire time? How could this have happened? Apollo was one thing, but Silver had been an honorary member of the Blackthorn clan since he’d been a child, Jiei knew that much at least. What loyalty could remain strong for so many years, while being showered in accolades from another?
“I don’t give a shit about Rocket,” Silver answered. His expression twisted in distaste as he spoke, as though the words were sour. “This isn’t about that.”
“Then why-”
“Silver,” breathed a feminine voice from behind Jiei’s back, and he dearly wished he could twist his head far enough to see who made it. “You’re here?”
Silver’s face continued to twist in distaste. “Mom. Yeah. C’mon, the kid’s already called for backup.” He threw his chin, gesturing back down the tunnel as Jiei winced. So he noticed me using my Pokégear. But he didn’t stop me..?
“You shouldn’t have come,” the voice continued. Jiei had a sinking feeling he knew who this was, and that hunch was confirmed as Athena Ariana, Rocket Chief Executive, passed into his field of vision. “I had it handled – now they’ll know about you.”
She was obviously not well; the white dress she wore was stained with blood, and her movement was closer to a limp than a walk. But even injured and no doubt poisoned, the woman carried herself with authority – exactly, he realised, as her son did.
“That ship was going to sail eventually,” Silver shot back, walking away. Then he paused and looked back. “Though I guess I should probably not make it too easy. Jaws, pass me the rest of his balls.”
Sharp claws moved from restraining his torso to digging in his robes, and soon the feraligatr had torn Jiei’s bandolier away. “Your master is throwing his life away,” he attempted, “If you care for him, help me convince-”
A sharp increase to the horrible pain encircling half his torso told Jiei exactly what Jaws thought of that argument, and so he fell silent as his team was given over to Blackthorn’s Gym Leader – or former Gym Leader, he should say.
“We should kill him.” Ariana commented, to which Silver shook his head.
“No. He’s full of ghosts.” He drew a set of leather restraints, fitted them around each Pokéball, and then put the balls in his bag as Jiei watched, helpless between the great crocodillian’s jaws. “But hopefully they won’t follow us too far if he’s asleep.” The remote clicked off. “Stein, come out and use Hypnosis.”
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The Magnet Rise was strong, despite the intervening distance – those vibrations earlier must have been a preparation for this moment, digging down so the collective of magneton could reach far enough. Good job, pencil-neck. I’ll put in a good word with Mayor Denki.
Surge didn’t even attempt to keep hold of his rifle, letting it slip through his fingers as the Rocket, surprised, pulled the trigger. The bullet missed its target by inches, burying itself in the floor rather than the hostage’s head. “RAH!” Surge roared, and his uppercut took the man right in the chin.
It had been a long, long time since he’d had cause to knock a guy out with his fists, but his weekly training hadn’t been a waste; the Rocket flew, his head nearly hitting the ceiling as his pistol did, going straight up and sticking. On the way down Blitz hit him with a baby-strength Volt Tackle, and when he landed he didn’t get up.
“Ha! Let that be a lesson to the rest of you – if a Gym Leader tells you to do something, you’d better do it!” The beating rhythm of Surge’s heart began to slow down as his raichu sat on the hostage-taker’s chest, his cheeks holding another round of lightning. It was touchy there for a second, but we pulled through. “Tetsuro, you’re on blue duty! I want these guys out of the building yesterday! And you..!”
Three large steps took him to where the Rocket was sprawled out. He was, against all odds, still conscious. Guess I am a bit rusty, hah. He stared up a Blitz with a vacant expression, gobsmacked, like he’d actually thought he’d have been able to get away with whatever dumb stunt this was. “Oh,” he said vacantly. “I’m not where I was. That’s bad.”
Blitz hopped off his seat as Surge hauled the man up, another step taking them to the edge of the room. The man’s back cracked against the artificial stone wall, his teeth clacking together and his feet limply kicking as he dangled.
“You said something about an evil monologue,” Surge said in a low growl. “Well? I’m all ears!” The Rocket gaped. “Talk, skinny! Or do you need a third round of lightning, this time at full blast?” They say torture doesn’t work, but I’ve never met a man who doesn’t start yapping when his balls are on the line. “You had some kinda plan! What was it?”
He continued to gape. “The plan..?” Then his brain must have turned back on, because his eyes went from vacant to panicked. “Oh, fuck. The-!”
Then his mouth snapped shut. Surge cracked him against the wall a second time, but he didn’t budge. “TALK, asswipe! What’re you hiding? Don’t think you can hold out on-”
“Not here. Outside. Get me outside and I’ll talk.”
The sudden reversal threw the Gym Leader for a loop – and then Surge’s eyes widened. I wasn’t stalling him, he was stalling me. “Emergency release – EVERYBODY, GET OUT!” he roared, his Pokémon releasing themselves with the command phrase. “Protect! Grab a civvie and-”
The rest of the sentence died in his throat as a voltorb appeared in mid-air, falling up to hit the ceiling with a soft clack as another followed. Surge took a step towards the door.
The man he was dragging spoke, soft now, afraid and despairing. “That was the teleport out. Fuck.”
Another step, and hexagonal panels began to spring into existence. The first voltorb began to glow.
Well trained. They don’t do that unprompted, not in the wild. The thought bridged the gap between one step and the next. No detonator or nothing, just the Pokémon. Somebody must have really given a shit about making this work… Wish my whole team had Protect, hah.
Another step. His people had gotten out, each of them taking a civvy or two with them – while Surge was still dragging the Rocket like an idiot. “Damn.” Not quite enough.
The Rocket gasped – and, in what was probably a combination of hope and a desperate scramble to make his dying words cool, spouted a movie quote. “When you get to hell, tell ‘em Petrel sent ya.”
Surge considered tossing him, but didn’t get the chance. White light – and then nothing.
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The Silver Range had many mountains. Of course there was the one from which the group took its name, but Two found himself repelled from that tallest and harshest of peaks.
As much as he enjoyed speaking to its occupant, the… other one was less easy to stomach.
No, after being driven from Cerulean Cave Two had found a new home, further north than Mount Silver. If either of the great edifices of stone he dwelled between had a name, it was unknown to him, and so Two simply called the space the valley. There was life there, and after years of effort he and his siblings had tamed it completely. Berry bushes stood in neat rows, placed where sturdy pines had been pulled up. Those pines had become houses and other structures, as had the boulders that had once littered the valley floor.
It was warmer than one would expect, enough to be comfortable, and as Two stared down at it his chest was filled with emotion.
Conflicted emotion. For as much as it had been his home for three years, there was a part of him that felt a resentment to it, a fear. Twice now I have been forced to flee from a place I considered mine. Will the valley follow that pattern… or will it simply become my self-imposed prison, a secret space that stands still as the world moves on around me?
Old questions filtered up through the deep recesses of his mind, ones that he had long since considered answered. Who am I? Where am I?
What am I?
There was a sort of sick nostalgia that came with them. Down below, nestled in the community he had created, there was a visitor. A human, one he had not seen for many years. Someone who could be considered his father – not that Two desired such a thing, or that he would choose Giovanni from amongst the large number of candidates if he had.
His appearance had uprooted the uneasy peace that had begun to settle around Two’s mind. Like questing tendrils, the doubts crept up and asked – why?
Why do I hide away? Am I afraid? Content? Do I simply tire of fighting those damnable birds?
He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. These were pointless questions, distractions from the larger one. The one which Giovanni had given him upon the man’s appearance.
“Has your desire for mastery ended?” he had asked, and Two hadn’t had an answer. He still didn’t have an answer, despite seeking guidance from his neighbour and… predecessor.
The air up above the clouds was chilly even for him, and so he reluctantly descended. Mist curved away from his body as he passed through a cloud, and soon his feet touched down on the soft grass that blanketed the valley’s floor. Around him his siblings called out their greetings as they tended the crops.
Two nodded his own greetings, and then made his way on foot. From the fields to the houses, and to one house in particular. There was nothing to differentiate it in terms of construction, save that it was perhaps slightly larger than the rest – and again, the question tugged at his mind. Did I build my house larger than the others because I am large, or because I desired to lord over them?
He could not remember – had not thought to mark out his emotional state as relevant. All he could recall was the seething anger of being driven out again.
The door opened at his touch, and inside he found a strange scene. “All in,” the human playing poker against a ninetails, two nidoqueen, and a copy of himself said as he pushed a pile of dried berries forward. It was the ditto that noticed Two first, turning and briefly revealing its protean nature as it transformed from a copy of Giovanni to one of its fellow clone.
“Giovanni,” Two announced himself. The man opened his mouth, but Two rode over his attempt to speak. “I have given your proposal great thought, and come to a conclusion. My answer is… I do not know.”
The man did not react much to the statement – physically or emotionally. That steadiness, as though Giovanni’s mind was as heavy as any of the mountains surrounding the valley, had been something that Two had briefly admired, and then despised. It had been what had allowed the man to lie to him when he said they would be equals, the sheer mass of his ego masking whether he considered it to be true.
That aspect had not changed over the years; whether Giovanni meant what he said, Two could not discern. So when the man smiled, soft and sharp in equal measure, the clone was wary.
“I’m surprised yet again, Two. I was expecting you to reject my apology outright, but you’ve allowed me to stay. I expected you to accept the stone and then throw me out, and yet you haven’t touched it. And then I took those two surprises, examined them, and expected you to accept my partnership.” The cards were discarded. “You do not know if you wish to rule the world? Again – you surprise me. I have never known you to act indecisively.”
There was the impulse to crush the man into pulp, strong and fleeting and easily passed over. Less ignorable was the melancholy that followed; Two was acting strangely, even to himself. He had even gone to see her, seeking advice. A completely absurd action, both in the moment and in retrospect.
“What can I do to convince you?” Giovanni continued. “Do you expect me to kneel and beg? You’ll be sorely disappointed, if so.”
There it was again, the urge to attack. The surety in the man’s voice, the proud posture… the indication that he did not fear something so much greater than him…
It was enraging. Illogical. Enviable.
Two turned his head, gesturing at the door. “Leave me. I will consider your words further.”
And in a display that the Giovanni of two decades ago would never have made, he obeyed. The human stood, stepped past Two’s still form, and opened the door.
“You should decide soon, Two,” he said to the clone’s back. “Whether you are a man, or a Pokémon. Though honestly, looking at what you’ve built here – the houses, the farms, the fumbling attempts at civilisation – you already know.”
He departed, his nidoqueen following, and Two was left alone with his fellow clones. The ninetails made an interrogative sound, and after a moment’s consideration he nodded. “I suppose.” Telekinesis took him to where Giovanni had left his cards, and Two smoothly entered the game.
Complete garbage. Giovanni had been bluffing with a worthless hand. Two smiled as he rearranged the cards, again with telekinesis. “So? You heard the man: all in. Match me or fold.”
The game went on.
Once, Two had attempted to live as an equal to humans. He had failed, and so sought to place himself above them as their master. He had failed again, and so tried to live as a Pokémon at the urging of Mew.
That had failed as well, more catastrophically than ever before. What was the answer, then? What option existed, besides endless violence and meekly slinking into the darkness?
The ditto called his bluff, and he lost Giovanni’s berries. In that simple interaction, Two found the answer he sought.
No more useless contemplation; it is time to act. If Giovanni is lying, I will simply crush him and leave as I did the first time.
Space folded before his power, and between one moment and the next he was once again in front of the man who had bankrolled his creation. “Giovanni.”
The human’s utterly black eyes blinked, taken aback for the barest fraction of a second before his surprised expression returned to that indomitable smirk. “That was quick.”
“It was. I have decided.” With a casual gesture Two retrieved something else from within his home, a small round gem. It was clear as glass, save for a paired twist of blue and pink that formed a double helix. “Show me,” he repeated the words that had led to his first, least failure all those years ago. “Show me the world you would create with unlimited power.”