CW: Violence, torture, abuse, crude language/swearing, blood, and a lack of Flygon
Rules of the Street
The desert night remained still as Drake crept along the outer wall of the mansion, footsteps silent on the sandy earth. To his left, the Orrean desert spread out as far as the eye could see. But he only had eyes for the sprawling piece of land beyond the wall to his right. Owned by some wealthy family whose name he didn’t care about, just the safe inside.
In, out. He kept his breaths even as he moved, eyes scanning ahead and his ears open for any errant noise. Finally, he reached the rear section of the wall, furthest from the guards at the gate, but higher than the rest, complete with barbed wire at the top.There were no doubt teleport blockers and concrete stretching underground, meaning burrowing wasn’t an option. Which left the one he’d expected. Climbing.
Steadying himself, he reached to his belt and pressed the button on the lone pokeball on his waist. With barely a glow from the modified ball, a Skorupi appeared. “Barbed wire,” he said simply, nodding to the wall overhead.
Skorupi moved quickly, scuttling easily up the wall. With two snips of its claws, the wire was precisely cut.
“Now the wall,” Drake whispered softly.
Skorupi started back down the wall, tail shimmering faintly with energy. As it descended, it sliced small gashes into the concrete. While Skorupi worked, Drake made mental notes of the positions of the cuts. Twelve feet. He could handle that, he’d scaled worse, in worse circumstances.
Once Skorupi reached the bottom, Drake nodded and returned it.
Then, cracking his knuckles, he dusted his hands with some chalk and started climbing, using the indents as handholds. He moved confidently, refusing to give himself permission to look down, refusing to consider the possibility of failure.
Get in, get out, go home alive.
Holding back his winded breaths, he dragged himself carefully onto the top of the wall, easing aside the barbed wire. He could feel a tightness begin in his chest, but he swallowed it. He kept himself low as possible, quickly scanning the landscape.
A wide lawn spread before him, an oasis of perfectly controlled greenery inside the walls, a colorful testament to wealth. Bushes and shrubs snaked along pathways that encircled the large two story house, and far off near the front of the property, he could spot the dark silhouette of guards.
Gripping the inside edge of the wall, he carefully lowered himself as much as he could, then let go, dropping the rest of the way.
He landed on the grassy lawn behind the mansion. Bushes and trees dotted the area leading up to the back of the house. Wrapping his hands into fists to stop them shaking, he started forward, sticking to the shadows, working his way closer and closer to the house.
Just as he neared the back wall of the house, a noise caught his attention. His breath caught in his throat as he picked up footsteps,
close. Controlling his rapid breathing, he locked his gaze onto a bush just below one of the floodlights around the house, a tiny nook blanketed in shadow.
Darting across the lawn he hurled himself into the shadow of the bush and held his breath. The footsteps drew closer. His chest ached from lack of breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, even as a part of him chided himself. For a single dreadful moment, the footsteps paused. Then they kept moving, right past his spot. Slowly, he let out his breath and relaxed.
Unable to resist, he smirked a little. The best hiding spot was always, ironically, closest to a bright light. Brightness screwed up a person's night vision. Once he was sure they had moved on, he eased out of his spot. As far as he was concerned, the hardest part was now over. The man who lived here wouldn’t be home for another hour, which meant Drake could take his sweet time inside, then get out the way he came. Another easy night.
***
Drake beamed as he slipped through the streets of Phenac, moving swiftly as he could, the pack on his back heavy with his prizes. Athos would be happy, and another success meant more notoriety for The Swords.
Finally, on the outskirts of the city, he allowed himself to slow and relax. A single rundown warehouse lay silent and still, ringed by rusty barbed wire fencing. To a passerby, it looked like one of the many abandoned properties on the edge of Orre’s nicest city, a forgotten attempt to rebuild after recent disasters. To a select few, it was the ‘base’ of operations for the Swords of Justice, one of Orre’s largest and most prolific gangs. But to him, it was home.
After briefly making sure no one had followed him, he worked his way around the perimeter of the fence to a spot where there was a nearly invisible gap between the links, just big enough for a person to squeeze through. Just in the distance, he could see the silhouette of a Hoothoot on the roof, watching him with a mask of indifference.
Once through, he hurried over to the warehouse. It appeared completely sealed off, bars covering the windows and the doors padlocked shut. All except for various false panels around the edges, invisible to the inexperienced observer. He ducked through one such panel, and into the warehouse.
Inside looked anything but abandoned. One side had been cleared out to make a dining area, while another had been walled off to form sleeping quarters. Most of his fellow Swords members were gathered around the tables, having their usual incredibly late dinner, and judging by them still being in their street clothes he guessed some of them must have arrived not long before him. A few waved to him, but most were focused on their meals.
Drake hurried past, intent on getting to the rear, where Athos 'office lay. Or rather, his personal quarters. Athos always reminded them that this wasn’t a business, and it wasn’t his office. The Swords of Justice were a family.
Halfway there, something smacked his ankle hard and he pitched forward, chin connecting with the concrete. Stars flashed across his vision and he groaned as a warmth trickled down his chin. A brief ripple of dizziness passed over him before receding.
“Oh man, that fall looked rough! You should be careful,” the all too familiar voice sounded sympathetic, but Drake could easily pick up the false edge in it. He felt someone grab him by his backpack, hauling him bodily up. Shame crawled up his spine and he jerked away, scowling at his antagonizer.
Victore, quite possibly the only person in the Swords he genuinely hated.
Smiling in a way that never reached his eyes, he proceeded to roughly dust Drake off. “I was beginning to worry. Thought maybe you wouldn’t make it back, buddy. You alright? Your chin is looking pretty rough.”
Drake glared at him, pushing his hand away. “I’m fine.” He stood tall as he could, chest even with Victore’s as he stared him down. He strongly suspected Victore hated him because they were nearly five years apart but Drake somehow looked every bit as old as the twenty three year old. Still, even at nearly the same height, Victore had always been slightly broader than him, a fact he seemed to relish in.
The murmurs of conversation from the other members wound down and he felt everyone’s gaze boring into the two of them. Infighting was strictly forbidden but he sorely was considering paying the consequences anyway, just to wipe the look off Victore’s face—
“Ahhh Drake! You’re home!”
The tension in the room immediately shifted, broken by Athos’s booming voice. A strange mixed relief and fear flooded Drake at his voice, as it always did. Athos was simultaneously their protector and guardian, and perhaps the single scariest man Drake knew. He still remembered how Athos looked when he was talking to other gang leaders or criminals...
He strode across the room, filling the space as he walked. His smile was bright but his eyes iron-hard. He clapped a hand on Victore’s shoulder, and Victore flinched, but remained still. Athos' hand alone was large enough to cover Victore’s entire shoulder.
Several other members quickly focused on their food, but a few kept peeking over. Victore swallowed, a much nicer smile working its way across his face. Even so, Drake knew him enough to pick up on the faint tremor in his tone. “Athos! I was just congratulating Dra-”
Athos abruptly smacked Victore upside the head, hard enough to make him stumble. Drake flinched reflexively. “I’m not stupid, Victore. How many times must I remind you that we are family here? In these walls, we must have no enemies,” Athos loomed over Victore, who for a split second, stood firm, before shrinking back and nodding meekly.
“Of course, I just got a little too heated Athos sir. I’m sorry Drake.” Without another word, Victore slunk back to his seat and returned to his meal.
Drake’s heart quickened as Athos turned back to him.
“I am glad you made it back safely,” Athos said, giving a jovial grin. He patted Drake on the shoulder, a gentle and reassuring touch, and Drake felt himself smiling in return, some of the tension in his shoulders fading. “Come, let's see what you were able to find.”
Athos guided Drake towards his personal quarters, and Drake followed eagerly. The room looked like a casual office, with a shiny wooden desk, a plush chair behind it, and a leather sofa. A single door in the rear led to Athos' own room.
Once the door had closed, Athos turned to Drake. He sat in the chair, leaning back with a slack grin. “So tell me, son, how did it go? I trust the Skorupi I provided was able to assist you?”
Beaming, Drake nodded enthusiastically, warmth filling him the same as it did every time Athos called him son. They weren’t actually related, but Drake didn’t care, given it’d been years since he’d seen his actual parents. Athos had taken care of him when no one else had. “Everything was perfect. Nobody saw me. I got in, and out, and they’ll never even know. Well, until tomorrow at least.” He smirked and handed over his backpack.
“That’s my boy!” Athos took the backpack and unzipped it.
Pride burned in Drake’s chest as Athos thumbed through it, examining the TMs, jewelry, and money he’d lifted from the safe.
Athos set the backpack aside and ruffled Drake’s hair. “Excellent work. Drop off your pokeball, get yourself some food, and rest up.”
***
“Drake!”
Athos' voice cut through the morning chatter at breakfast.
Drake jumped in his chair and glanced across the hall to Athos. His chest tightened in apprehension. He rose from his table, ignoring Victore’s sharp gaze and keeping his head high as he strode across the room to where Athos waited.
“I’ve got a special job for you, Drake,” Athos said as he led the way into his personal quarters.
He stood a little taller. “I’m ready, whatever it is.”
“Good. I have a contact coming into Gateon Port today with an important shipment from Galar. Meet him, pick up the shipment, and bring it back here.” He slid a small phone across the table. “Just be at the port on time, and wait for the call. You shouldn’t have any trouble, so don’t worry about borrowing a pokemon.”
Drake put the phone in his pocket and nodded. He resisted the urge to grin in delight. Athos was trusting him. “Got it.” He started towards the door.
“And Drake?” Athos called.
Drake glanced over his shoulder. Athos fixed him with a hard look. “Don’t screw up.”
***
Drake kept his head down as he slunk through the warehouses along the shores of Gateon. The salty tang of the ocean mixed with occasional whiffs of smoke from the sailors hanging around. A few tourists and citizens milled around, but he ignored them, keeping away from any prying eyes, not that there was anyone around to report him to anyway. Orre might have had an increasing police presence, but it was still too small to cover everything.
Athos had told him once that Gateon had been a much smaller port. Then some group called Cipher had been excised from Orre and driven out, and commerce picked up again. People actually came to Orre and Gateon had expanded into a rather impressive little port city. Of course, Drake didn’t really remember any of it properly. All he had were fuzzy memories of coming here with his parents, maybe for some trip he couldn’t recall.
Finally, he reached the far end of the district, and ducked into an alley between warehouses to wait, shielding himself from viewing behind a broken shipping pallet. He tapped his foot impatiently, flipping the phone open and shut as he waited for it to ring. Just as he was growing antsy, it buzzed. He quickly answered.
A rough voice sounded on the other end. “Meet me at the south end of the docks. Keyword Pickup.”
Beep.
Drake frowned and tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Could you be any more vague?” he muttered under his breath. Rolling his eyes, he pushed off the wall he’d been leaning on and started south.
As he got closer to the far end, he straightened up, trying his best to bundle away his apprehension.
Don’t screw this up. Athos was trusting him with something, something important. He couldn’t let him down. And he was representing the Swords of Justice. He needed to keep his composure. Which meant making sure he showed no weakness.
A lone motorboat bobbed in the water, moored to the last dock. A burly looking sailor lounged on the deck, a wide-brimmed hat shielding his face, though his head was angled just far back enough that he could see from under it.
Drake narrowed his eyes, scanned his surroundings, then casually wandered towards the boat.
“Hey kid,” the man called as he drew near. Drake bristled inwardly at being called kid, but held up a hand in casual greeting. The man nodded back.“You know what a Ratatta’s ability is?”
“Pickup,” Drake replied smoothly.
With a nod, the man leaned over and scooped up a silver briefcase, then stood up, hopping off his boat to meet Drake. He seemed to size Drake up for a moment before handing over the case. “Codes 895463. Tell Athos it's a pleasure doing business. And I got plenty more where this came from, if he keeps his end of the bargain.”
And then, he was gone. He jumped into his motorboat and sped away without another word. Drake couldn’t help but wonder where he’d come from. Lapis Town? Or did he have another ship he planned to meet at sea? Last he recalled, there wasn’t much to encounter beyond Orre’s waters for quite some time.
Shrugging, he brushed the thought aside and hurried off the dock and into the relative safety offered by ducking behind a stack of crates. There he laid down the briefcase, input the code and popped it open. Inside were several neatly organized containers of blue crystals of all different sizes.
EXP Candies. A pretty good amount too.
His bunkmate Milo had talked about them. They were a common training tool in Galar, but also highly regulated to avoid accidental health issues with pokemon using too many. More powerful than a Rare Candy but also something only meant for moderate use. And extremely valuable in Orre what with the resurgence of battling and colosseums.
If the Swords could get a supply going to various shops, they’d make a killing. He shut the case. Athos would be happy. Giving one last glance, he stood up and started north, towards Gateon’s outskirts, where he’d left his motorbike.
He ducked and wove through the narrow alleys between warehouses, content to stay out of prying eyes with his prize. Until a figure stepped in front of him, blocking his path forward. Drake froze, tightening his grip on the briefcase. A man stepped into the light, wearing a casual grin that pronounced a scar on his jaw. He wore a dark blue jacket, but what caught Drake’s eye was the red bandana tied around the upper arm.
Damn. A Crimson Zangoose. One of the smaller gangs trying to control Orre, but no less deadly for their size. He glared at the Crimson Zangoose. “Move,” he snarled.
Show no fear. The first rule of the streets.
The Zangoose's gaze shifted to the briefcase. “Whatcha got?”
“I’m just passing through,” Drake said evasively. “Excuse me.” He took a step forward, glaring down the Zangoose, who stood at least an inch or two shorter. The Zangoose didn’t flinch, in fact he seemed to be smirking. Instinctually, Drake tensed. Footfalls sounded behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see two more grunts emerge from the shadows.
Rule two. Always expect a fight. Always strike first.
Drake swung the briefcase as hard as he could at the first Zangoose’s head. The Zangoose jerked back and Drake’s strike missed. Sharp pain shot through the back of his knee and he crumpled to the ground. Something heavy slammed into his back, flinging him forward. He hit the pavement face first and his vision swam. A knee jammed into his back, pinning him as someone rested almost their full weight on him.
In a panic, Drake tried to gather his arms under him and push free, only for someone to pin his arms out to the side. He squirmed and writhed and spat every curse he knew as he tried to get a look at his attackers. In the midst of his struggle he tightened his grip on the briefcase. If he lost it Athos would be furious-
Then someone grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head roughly to the side. Twisting pain shot down his neck as sunlight from above blinded him. His vision finally cleared and he could make out two Zangoose on either side, holding his arms, and the one kneeling on his back, gripping him by his hair.
“Well well... if it isn’t a Sword of Justice,” the one on his back sneered.
Shame and rage burned inside him as he glared at his oppressor. He jerked again, but the grunts' grips only tightened.
The one on his back leaned over, his face uncomfortably close to Drake, so close Drake could see every one of his slicked back crimson-dyed hairs. His breath smelled faintly of smoke and Pecha alcohol. “What’s in the suitcase?” His voice lost all of its sneer, turning chillingly cold.
“None of your business,” Drake snarled. Now that he had gotten a better look he recognized one of them. Ira, who’d perched himself on his back. One of the Crimson Zangooses’ top enforcers. And bad news. Only three weeks ago one of his fellow Swords had staggered into base, bloody and bruised after a run in with him.
What does that mean for you? A dark voice in Drake’s mind chided him.
Ira looked over to the grunt holding his arm. “Take the briefcase.”
Drake’s heart raced. He clutched briefcase as tight as he could, despite the sweat coating his palms. One of them grabbed the briefcase and jerked on it, hard. Biting back the pain, Drake managed to keep his grip. The grunt huffed, then stood up. He raised one boot, and too late Drake realized his intentions. The grunt brought his boot down, heel first, smashing it into Drake’s right hand.
A howl escaped Drake despite his attempts to quash it. He let go, against his will, and the grunt snatched the briefcase. His hand pulsed with pain, and he felt his eyes begin to water.
No. Get a grip.
Ira finally released his hold on Drake’s hair, shoving his head back to the ground. Drake let himself go limp, trying not to think about his hand, or how badly it hurt or how he couldn’t even move it properly—
“Briefcase is locked, boss,” one of them grumbled. “Keycode and failsafe, and if we open it by force we might damage whatever’s inside.”
Drake watched Ira wearily from the corner of his eye. A cruel smirk appeared on Ira’s face and he leaned onto Drake harder, digging his knee in. Drake gritted his teeth.
“What’s. The. Code?” Ira growled.
Drake frantically juggled options in his mind, keeping his face a mask. Convince them he didn’t know, or lie and give a false code.
Or give him the real one. Not an option. He couldn’t betray Athos. “I don’t know the damn code,” he snapped. “You really think Athos would let me know something like that? I’m just a courier.”
Ira barked a laugh. “I like that answer. I like it a lot.”
Drake felt Ira shift, and he saw him withdrawing a pokeball from his belt. A moment later, a flash of light lit the alley and a pokemon emerged. It took Drake a moment to place the mushroom shaped body and orange chitin.
Parasect.
“Looks like we’re taking you to go.” Ira eased back and made a gesture to the Parasect.
Drake's eyes widened and he thrashed harder, heaving with all his might. A small, concentrated cloud of purple spores filled the air. He held his breath as he kicked and jerked helplessly in their grasp. His eyes began to water and his chest grew tight.
Don’t breathe don’t breathe don’t—
A boot connected with his side and he gasped involuntarily. Dry, sickly sweet spores coated his nose and mouth and he spat uselessly. He felt the grunts holding his arms let go and he lunged forward, trying to drag himself away. His vision swam as he forced himself to his knees, then to his feet, barely able to keep his eyes open.
Run!
His brain screamed at him to make a break, but his body felt... so sluggish... His eyelids drooped and he stumbled awkwardly, grabbing wildly at the wall. He needed... needed to... The floor tilted and he grabbed for the wall and missed.
He never even felt himself hit the ground, just felt the concrete biting into his shoulder as he lay there. Through the dark spots dancing through his vision, he could make out Ira and the two grunts watching him, wearing amused expressions.
Drake clenched his jaw.
No, he refused to go down like this. He managed to get one arm under him and push himself up—
Drake returned to consciousness screaming. Searing, burning fire all over his body- no,
inside his body, electricity tearing through him, seizing every muscle. At some point he realized the electricity had stopped, and his senses slowly swam back into focus. His mouth felt like he’d swallowed sand and cotton, and his throat ached from screaming. He could still smell the grass-like sweetness of the spore in his nostrils.
A dimly lit cave swam into focus, a single lantern and a cave mouth off to his right the only sources of light. Judging by the colors he could see, it was still early in the afternoon. Coarse ropes bit into his wrists, and he tugged weakly at them. He was seated on the ground and his arms were tied behind him, wrapped around a stony protrusion that ran from the ceiling to the floor. His feet were free, but it wasn’t like it did him much good right now. Ira perched cross-legged on top of a crate a few feet away.
Dammit, the briefcase, where was it? Drake scanned the room frantically. Nothing.
Then he saw the Jolteon sitting at Ira’s feet. A few stray sparks still bounced through its fur. Drake stifled the fear in chest and summoned a glare for Ira, whose only acknowledgement was the amused twinkle in his eye.
“You know, I’m really glad you’re so adamant about not giving up the code. My boss gets all pissy about me snatching rats off the street, says it's not worth the trouble. Only for special exceptions.” A sadistic grin spread across his face. “Lucky for me, this is one of those exceptions. Whatever is in that case is pretty special, I think. And my boss will be pretty happy if I get it. So I get to play my favorite game. Shock and talk.”
Jolteon snarled, fur standing on end and sparking.
Drake tensed, fear clawing at his chest and his thoughts spinning. For some reason the only coherent thought was wondering if Ira practiced his speech with his Jolteon beforehand.
Ira hopped off the crate, stood, and stretched. “Jolteon is quite talented at delivering just the right amount of electricity to hurt without causing too much damage. Pokemon are wonderful like that, aren’t they? This would never work right with human tools.”
Tell him. Tell him now and maybe you go home tonight. Drake crushed the voice and shoved it out of his mind. He could take it. All he had to do was think about anything else, anything at all. And if he just held on long enough... Athos would realize he was gone, right? He’d send someone and they’d find him. But until then he couldn’t betray the Swords. After all, Ira had just said the Jolteon wouldn’t kill him.
Victore had explained to him one time how pokemon's techniques affected humans completely differently than the raw version of elements. Usually not lethal, unless a pokemon wanted them to be. Of course, Drake had realized at the time the only way Victore probably knew that was from practice on others. He still remembered waking up in the middle of the night and hearing the faint screams from the basement. Victore seemed so pleased with himself the next morning, and Athos had given him a pat on the back and congratulated him.
So lost was he in the hazy swirl of memories he ignored Ira asking him something, and Jolteon’s approach. Until another surge of electricity leapt across the room. His vision went white and he thrashed in the ropes involuntarily, blood dripping down his hands.
Drake breathed heavily, his body shaking as he cursed himself mentally. He couldn’t afford to be so
weak. Not so soon. When his vision returned again, Ira was crouched in front of him. “Well? Feel like talking yet?”
“I told you, I don’t know anything,” he spat. He snapped his words out, maybe louder than necessary, as he twisted his hands to feel along the ropes around his wrists. The rope was thin, but had been doubled up. Too tight to slip but maybe....
Rule 3 of the streets, always have an escape route. And Ira might have stripped him of the pocket knife he carried, but he’d missed something else. Keeping his face an angry mask was easy as he gently probed the inside cuff of his jacket. There. A tiny sliver of sharp material, hardly larger than a paperclip; a pilfered scrap from a Scyther’s blade. Small but lethally sharp. Exactly what he needed to get out. But he still had to deal with Ira and his pokemon, and he had none of his own.
Mentally, he cursed. It always came down to Pokemon. He didn’t
hate Pokemon, but the idea pissed him off; relying on some fickle being to get anything done. Still, what he wouldn’t give to have one of the Swords loan pokemon. That Skorupi was tiny but its poison so useful... Or the Fearow he’d used a few weeks ago. Hell, even a Spearow would be better than nothing. At least he could get help.
For a moment, he allowed himself to fantasize about getting out of the ropes and kicking the crap out of Ira himself. The fantasy was short lived as Ira backed up and gestured to Jolteon, who took a menacing step forwards. “Last chance, but by no means give me the code on my account. I could do this all day, though I’m not sure about you.” His voice was taunting and singsong. Drake wanted to strangle the amusement right out of him.
“Your boss is gonna be really upset when you fail.” Drake glared at Ira, daring him to continue. “I bet he won’t be happy about wasting his time on me, a
courier, who doesn’t know anything. But go on, be an idiot, it's more fun for me that way,” Even as he said them, he regretted it. He’d meant every word, but aggravating his tormentor would do him no favors. At least it’d felt good. Through Ira’s calm facade, Drake could tell he’d gotten on the Zangoose’s nerves.
Jolteon hissed. Its hackles rose and he could see it prepping another charge of electricity. Drake tensed reflexively, heart racing. It took another step towards him, fury in its gaze over its master being insulted. One step too close. On a wild impulse, Drake threw himself forward and kicked the Jolteon as hard as he could, sending it rolling across the cave floor before it could attack.
Ira leapt after his Jolteon, dropping to his knees by its side where it’d stopped. Drake’s breath caught in his throat. A slew of curses ran through his head. He’d bought himself a tiny reprieve, but at what cost? The blow wouldn’t actually hurt a pokemon, they were way too tough for any actual damage. All he’d done was incur Ira’s wrath.
A moment later the Jolteon’s eyes flicked open. It blinked once, then twice, and turned its gaze upon him. Ira held up a hand, and Jolteon relaxed slightly. Slowly, Ira rose and turned, cold eyes devoid of all his earlier amusement.
Drake suddenly felt very small and alone. He wanted to be home, to hear Athos congratulating him on a job well done, and be back in his bunk, safe. Wordlessly, Ira took two strides, stopping before Drake. He withdrew a pokeball, held it out, and pressed the button.
Light poured out and Drake squinted. A Zangoose stood before him, an actual Zangoose, white and crimson fur gleaming in the light. Its icy gaze shifted to the Jolteon, then back to Drake, but it remained still. Dread crept through him. He worked harder at the ropes, trying to disguise his movements as shifting away from the Zangoose. He winced inwardly as the blade dug into his hand again, but kept cutting, moving faster.
Ira’s voice came out in a low hiss. “Make him pay.”
The only thing Drake saw was the glint of the Zangoose’s claws. Then they were embedded in his left shoulder. He stared dumbly at the Zangoose, its claws, and the red splotch growing under his jacket. Sparks gathered around Zangoose’s paw. Somewhere in the haze of thoughts running through his mind, he remembered Zangoose could also learn Thunderbolt.
***
Salandit cringed as the screams echoed through the cave again, his tail lashing side to side as he dug his claws into the rock. At sunhigh, his nap had been disturbed by heavy footfalls and the vibrations of something scraping on the ground. When he’d investigated, he’d found two humans, one of them who looked like he’d fainted and the other dragging him. They were covered in the strange Scrafty-like shed scales humans usually had, one mostly black and the other blue.
At first he’d assumed they were probably friends, and maybe the fainted one had been hurt in a fight and pulled to safety by his friend. Except that wasn’t right. The one wearing the black shed scales kept screaming and the one with red fur on his head was the one making him scream. Horrible, horrible screams, like a Rattata at a Liepard’s mercy.
Now the sun had sunk behind the rocks and they still hadn’t left. This was
his cave. Where he came to find solitude, and because the little gap in the back of the cave led to a chamber with nice warm rocks. A place other Salandit hadn’t found, where no Salazzle could take his food, and he didn’t have to fight for scraps.
Another strangled howl echoed through the cave.
Leave it be. He chided himself.
Stay out of human affairs and they stay out of yours. One of the laws of the desert. He’d heard the stories of course, about how pokemon working with the humans could get strong, learn how to control their energy in ways no wild pokemon had ever mastered. But he also knew some humans were as mean as a Salazzle. He started to turn around, heading for the tunnel to the thermal vents. Maybe he could get some peace there.
Another guttural cry echoed from the cave's entrance and Salandit curled his tail around his claws, ducking his head. The sound grated at Salandit’s sensitive eardrums and dredged up unpleasant memories of screeching for help in the desert, fending off attacks every time he found food, always competing... The crimson-scaled Krookodile who drove him out of his first home. Silence fell and Salandit’s tongue flicked out.
Blood.
Then another sound, from the Krookodile human. The exact words were a mystery to him, but he recognized the high-pitched tone. Fun. The firesacs on his back pulsed as his anger flared. Red Fur was having
fun. His eyes narrowed and he crept forwards, towards the bend in the cave. He crawled up the wall and poked his snout around the corner.
The human covered in black scales was propped against a stalagmite, head sagging and chest stained with blood. Electric-scent hung heavily in the air, mixed with fear. He didn’t look good at all, more like a Pidgey who’d tried to tangle with a Lycanroc. Red Fur stood in front of him, flanked by his Jolteon and a Zangoose.
Salandit crawled a few feet closer, sticking to the shadows and keeping his firesacks muted.
Just give up, he thought to himself. Maybe if Blackscale gave up or played dead Red Fur would get bored and leave. Then Blackscale looked up at Red Fur. Sheer defiance burned in Blackscale’s gaze, even through his injuries and pain. A spark rippled through Salandit from head to tail when he saw it. How could he look so angry, so strong, when he was losing the fight?
Envy blended with admiration inside him.
I want that.
Something in Salandit snapped. Poison bubbled in his throat and he hissed, flames flickering on his back. The Jolteon’s ears twitched and it glanced over its shoulder. Just in time to get a face full of the worst poisonous sludge Salandit could muster. Before Zangoose or Red Fur could react, he’d drenched the Zangoose as well.
He chittered in satisfaction.
Rule one of the desert. Always strike first.
The two pokemon howled in pain and surprise, pawing desperately at their faces. A stream of angry noises came from Red Fur, who started to reach for something in his pocket, stopped, and then took out two Sphere’s, and absorbed the Jolteon and Zangoose into them.
At nearly the same moment, Blackscale lunged and tackled Red Fur. The two humans roared and screeched in their strange ways. Salandit couldn't keep up, but he kept the poison bubbling inside just in case Blackscale needed help. And then Red Fur did something, Blackscale screamed, and then Red Fur turned and locked eyes with him.
Salandit froze, then raised his tail and hissed, threateningly. Fire burned in his throat. Red Fur moved quickly, snatching something off the ground. Before Salandit could consider any further, a rock flew at his face.
He shrieked as it glanced off his snout. His claws lost their grip and he tumbled off the wall, striking the ground painfully. Blinking, he tried to gather his bearings. Just as he started to get to his feet, Red Fur’s boot crashed into his side. He soared through the air, flailing blindly, then landed and skidded across the floor, finally rolling to a stop near the cave’s entrance.
In a blind panic, Salandit gathered his legs under him and bolted out of the cave.
Stupid. Getting involved with humans was stupid. What had he been thinking? He didn't want to fight, he just wanted to be left alone.
The sinking sun gave more than enough light to see by. His gaze latched onto the only thing out of place among the craggy hills and desert around his home. One of the humans' strange lifeless metal creatures that reminded him of the Revaroom that he occasionally saw patrolling the canyons rested at the bottom of the hill.
Without a second thought he darted forward and sprang onto it, wedging himself inside one of the human sacks attached to the side. He heard more shouting and fighting, from outside, but he ignored it. He’d done what he could. Now he just wanted to make sure he never saw the angry red human again.
***
Drake staggered out of the cave, his shoulder pulsing with every step. He was still bewildered by the sudden appearance of a tiny reptilian pokemon attacking Ira and his pokemon out of nowhere. Maybe a territory thing? He didn’t care, frankly. The distraction had been exactly what he’d needed to escape. Knocking out Ira had earned him a black eye and a finger dug into his injured shoulder, but he’d gotten the upperhand in the end.
Clutching his shoulder, Drake paused to take stock of his surroundings. The cave seemed to be perched halfway up a rocky hill, and empty desert and canyons surrounded him. Where the hell had Ira taken him? Then, far in the distance, he spotted the telltale glow of Realgam Tower against the night sky, and sighed in relief. Phenac wasn’t too far away.
At the foot of the hill, he spotted a motorbike.
His motorbike, stolen by Ira he guessed, to bring him here. He stumbled and skidded down the hill towards it and collapsed against it.
His hands stung as he clung weakly to it, waiting for a wave of dizziness to pass.
Just a little farther. He steadied himself then swung his leg over the bike and started it. He was about to speed as far away as he could when he paused, a cold chill settling over him.
The briefcase. It hadn't been in the cave and he didn't see it on the bike. Had Ira left it with one of the other goons? He felt his hands shaking and squeezed the handlebars harder. If he went back without the briefcase...
Rocks clattered down the hill and Drake whipped around to see Ira emerging, face contorted in rage. Drake didn't think twice before gunning the engine and speeding towards Phenac, drowning out Ira's enraged howls as he left the cave and his captor far behind.
***
Drake's head was spinning by the time he drew close to Phenac. The handlebars were slick with blood from his sliced up hands and the cold desert air pierced his thin day jacket far too easily. His bike ran out of gas before he could circle around to the edge of the city closest to home, so he left it hidden in an alley under a tarp and decided to walk the rest of the way on foot. It'd still be there tomorrow, it was too run down to be worth stealing anyway. He hoped.
Tall apartments surrounded him, ivy crawling up the walls and bars across the windows. The pavement beneath his feet looked cracked and worn. Not the nicest section of town. Judging by the position of the moon it was past midnight, so everyone would be asleep. He just had to cross the city without running into anyone and he'd be home free.
He started forwards, his thoughts drifting as he imagined the warm base and soft bed waiting for him. Without the sting of the cold desert air, he slowly became aware of a pooling warmth along the left side of his torso. Odd. His other side felt fine. At least his shoulder stung a little less. He pushed the thought aside and continued forward.
The alleyway in front of him stretched and warped, and he blinked. It stopped, but the end still felt far away. Unconsciously, he licked his lips. Mews marbles, he couldn't wait to eat a nice warm meal. And put on his thick night jacket. Why had he even come out here without it? Any self-respecting Orre citizen knew how dreadfully cold the nights could get if you didn't have protection. How silly of him.
He stifled a yawn and took another few steps. His legs felt oddly heavy. Probably just tired, which meant he ought to pick up the pace and get home. Athos was probably... He blinked wearily again, his thoughts sluggish. Athos was... His brain searched for the word.
Expecting. Athos was expecting him. He was supposed to be home by now. Had Athos tried to send anyone looking for him? He hoped not, he hated the thought of troubling his leader...
Abruptly he pitched and swayed forward, grabbing himself at the last second on the corner of a dumpster. Something must have tripped him. So clumsy. He never tripped, he always tried to be careful. No matter, he'd be home soon, in a warm bed... Warm jacket... Soon.
With enormous effort he picked up his leg, forcing it forward, taking a step, then another. Soon.... Soon...
Stony pavement chilled his cheek as he lay on his side. When had he decided to lay on the ground? Stupid. He'd better get moving if we wanted to make it home in time.
Just had to get... Further. A little... more...
Dull, throbbing pain in his shoulder drew him out of the haze of darkness into wakefulness. A thick blanket was draped across his body, cocooning him in warmth. Had Athos found him—? His hope faded as he took in the room around him. Unfamiliar walls with peeling yellow paint, a sparsely furnished room with only a desk and a closet with a few of its wooden panels taped together, and a single barred window to his right letting in early morning light.
When...?
Slowly, his thoughts assembled themselves. Someone had saved him. Scraped him off the alley floor, brought him to their home, and patched him up. It occurred briefly to Drake that if they hadn't... Last night probably would have been his last. Death by hypothermia or blood loss, in some random alley, alone.
He looked down, brushing his fingers against his shoulder. Whoever had dressed it had cut away part of his shirt and rather cleanly bandaged it. His hands bore only thin red lines, reminders of the price he’d paid to free himself.
Gently, Drake peeled back a corner of the bandage. The wound underneath had already started to close up, to his surprise. A thick red line still showed but he could at least move his shoulder better than last night. Definitely the work of a pokemon. The Swords had an Audino healer so he was vaguely familiar with the idea, but this work looked like an even higher skill level.
Of course, the wound still stung almost as fresh as when he'd received it. Phantom pain. The one downside of pokemon healing. Small price to pay, he supposed.
Better job than even Elias and Audino he mused. Thinking poorly of the Swords makeshift medic made him uncomfortable. They always did the best they could. Besides, human healing was harder for pokemon than pokemon healing.
But where exactly was he?
His heart beat a little faster and he sat up, ignoring his shoulder’s protest. A quick glance out the window told him that A, there was no way he was getting out that way, and B, he was at least still in Phenac City. The only exit from the room, unsurprisingly, was a door to the left of the bed.
What kind of weirdo puts their bed right beside the door?
Shaking the thought aside, he eased out from under the warmth of the blanket and took a quick stock of himself. His jacket was missing, and after a moment he spotted it hanging from a hook behind the door. Aside from the gash where the Zangoose had stabbed him it actually looked surprisingly clean.
He swung his legs off the bed and located his boots and threw on his jacket. To his relief, his backpack lay nearby too. Clearly whoever had saved him also had some decency he guessed, they hadn’t robbed him blind.
Dummy. As grateful as he was for whoever had helped him, every instinct reminded him he needed to get out now.
Never trust anyone except family. Athos' personal rule.
Drake pressed his ear to the door and closed his eyes, listening. Nothing. Moving delicately, he crept over to the desk and slid the drawers open. Maybe they held a clue as to who'd rescued him... Or something he could snag on his way out. No sense returning home empty handed.
There was nothing in the first drawer save for a dusty pair of glasses and broken watch. Rolling his eyes, he slid open the other drawer. His eyes bulged and his blood turned to ice.
A badge.
His rescuer was a
cop.
He muttered a curse under his breath as he stared at the badge.
Marcel Benedetti. Great. Just great. Being seen by a cop was bad enough, being
rescued by one was even worse.
Shoving the drawer shut, he crossed the room and poked his head into the closet. A slow grin crept over his face as he spied a safe on a shelf. The safe was good, but one he’d seen before, and definitely one he could crack.
Five minutes later, the safe was open.
Jackpot. A whole case of Ultra Balls, a sizeable haul of cash, a pack of Rare Candies, and a set of Hyper Potions. He also noted a few documents and a photo, which he ignored. Papers were worthless in Orre. The real value was items. Things the Swords could use. Moving quickly, he packed everything into his backpack, shut the safe and locked it again.
Everything in the apartment was still quiet, so he risked poking his head out the door. Outside the room looked like a fairly regular apartment. He'd never lived in one but he'd robbed enough to know how they looked. Except this one seemed particularly plain. Only the basics of furniture. A small table with one chair, a rumpled couch with patches, and a kitchen area off to the side. Either this guy was super into minimalist loser or he was a terrible interior decorator.
No sign of anyone, either. He could only guess they'd left for whatever reason. Good. Made leaving much easier. Giving the room one last check, he bolted out the door.
***
Ten minutes later, he was on his bike, dry desert air whipping through his hair and his backpack heavy with supplies as he sped towards home base. For the first time in hours the pressure in his chest eased and he could relax.
Safe. He was safe. Alive.
A few minutes later the familiar district of his home came into view. He stashed his bike in his usual spot, practically sprinting the last stretch until the warehouse came into view. The Hoothoot at the entrance gave him a curious look, then greeted him with a soft churr as he entered.
The chatter of the main room ceased, every eye turning to him as he entered. Drake wilted, pulling the straps of his backpack tighter and ducking his head. Whispers rippled down the hall, and a tension thickened the air. His gaze roved over everyone, hurrying past Victore and doing his best to ignore the older boy's dark look.
At the far end of the room, the door creaked open. Drake swallowed and started forward. Athos stood in the doorway, arms crossed and his face unreadable. He stopped in front of Athos and kept his eyes trained on the ground.
“Come in,” Athos said softly. He wrapped his arm around Drake’s shoulders, drawing him inside and shutting the door. Some of the tension left Drake’s body. Athos sat on his chair, leaning forwards onto his desk. Drake could feel his hard gaze analyzing him, settling first on his empty hands then on his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was calm, even. “What happened, Drake?”
Allowing himself to relax, Drake set his backpack down and pulled out the red bandana he’d taken off Ira. “A group of Crimson Zangoose attacked me. They...” his voice faltered. Zangoose’s cold eyes flashed through his mind, and his shoulder throbbed. “Captured me and stole the briefcase. And then they- he— Ira,” he fumbled for his words, pushing out the thought of the Jolteon. “One of them tried to make me give up the code.”
Athos’ eyes narrowed. “And?”
Drake smirked. “I didn’t tell him anything. I managed to escape and get back here.”
“And the briefcase?” Athos asked pointedly.
“Gone,” he replied, voice cracking. “They took it somewhere else.” Noting the irritation in Athos’ eyes, he picked up his backpack and unzipped it. “But I did get something good, stole these from some cops apartment who-”
“A
cop?” Athos tensed, his jaw tightening.
Drake scrambled to figure out how to explain his story. “It was an accident, but I found us a lot of good supplies and he never even saw me leave so he has no idea who I am...”
Athos rose to his feet and held out a hand. Drake handed him the backpack and sat down on the couch. Wordlessly, Athos probed through the backpack before setting it down on the desk. “These are excellent and will be very helpful. Good job.”
Relief flowed through Drake and he allowed himself to grin.
“But Drake, you understand that losing the briefcase and getting found by a cop is very serious. The Swords are a family, and everything you do affects all of us.” He rose slowly from his desk, stepping around it to stand in front of Drake.
Drake’s stomach twisted as Athos stood over him.
“I asked you not to screw up. I trusted you, and you let me down.”
Hot shame trickled through Drake and he bowed his head. He mentally cursed himself, fighting the lump in his throat.
I let him down. Not just Athos, but everyone. All the Swords. His family. Because he’d been careless. “I’m sorry,” he choked out the words. “Next time I’ll do better—”
Athos' voice cut him off like a whip. “This isn’t about next time! You failed today, and you must not forget the gravity of failure.” In a flash, Athos’ hand shot out, grabbing Drake by the throat.
Drake wheezed and scrabbled desperately to loosen his grip. All semblance of gentleness and care had vanished from Athos’ eyes. With a jerky movement, Athos thrust him across the room. He struck the wall hard, sending pain flaring through his shoulder again as he stumbled. Dark spots danced across his vision. Tears gathered in his eyes but he swallowed them back.
If you hadn’t failed this wouldn’t be happening.
In two strides, Athos crossed the room. Drake saw him raise his fist and his mind blanked. The blow hit his jaw, snapping his head to the side and into the wall. A garbled cry escaped his raw throat and he tried to move away, only to back into the corner of the room.
Athos shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was low, tinged with disappointment. “I asked one thing of you Drake. Because I trusted you, because I saw potential in you.”
Drake shrank back even further and dropped his gaze to Athos’ boots. The words stung deep.
Potential. Athos’ had believed in him, and he’d returned that with carelessness and stupid mistakes. If he’d paid more attention, fought better or just gotten the damn briefcase back, this wouldn’t have happened. It was his fault again, just like always.
Athos swung again, this time striking Drake with an open palm on the other side of his face. His ears rang from the blow. Before Drake could find his bearings, Athos jabbed him in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping as Athos held him up by the back of his shirt. Drake barely felt the other blow, or the kick when he finally crumpled to the floor.
At some point, he realized Athos was talking to him, saying something. Kneeling to look him in the eyes. Drake stared at Athos in a half lucid state, hating himself when he saw the disappointment in Athos’ expression.
“—pains me to do this, Drake. The Swords are my family, and yours. All I want is for us to be strong. And we’re only strong when we stick together and work together. You understand how important that is, right? Our mistakes are not just our own, they are all of ours. Getting seen by a cop like that is serious.” He patted Drake’s good shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “We must be cautious at all times if we’re going to survive and keep our way of life. Do you understand?” The friendly squeeze grew slightly less friendly.
“I understand,” Drake mumbled. A yawning pit of shame still churned in his stomach and every part of his body ached. If he’d just kept himself together longer and made it back... “I’m sorry, Athos.”
The barest hint of a smile returned to Athos' face. “Just don’t do it again.” He ruffled Drake’s hair and Drake felt a weary smile tug at his lips. “Now,” Athos said, standing up and pulling Drake to his feet, “why don't you go see Elias? Then get yourself something to eat and some rest.”
Drake nodded, managed to mumble an acknowledgement, and limped out of the room.
***
The rest of the day passed by in a daze. Their Audino patched him up well enough, and Elias, their medic, commented that his cracked ribs still needed to heal properly so he ought to avoid strenuous activity for a day or two. Elias also asked about the healing job on his hands and shoulder, but Drake brushed him off.
Once Elias was done, he got himself a plate of food and hurried out of the warehouse, away from all the prying eyes and questions he was sure to get from the other Swords. And most of all, Victore’s smug looks.
As much as he loved the Swords, he couldn’t face them right now. Not after he’d messed up. He just wanted to be alone. So he took his food to the one place where he wouldn't be disturbed.
A spot on a roof a few buildings away, where the low wall and piles of rubbish shielded him from prying eyes, but gave him a nice view of the desert and the Realgam Tower, shining in the distance. Getting up proved trickier than usual with his aching ribs and sore body, but it was nothing he hadn't done before. It was worth it once he sunk into the sun warmed pile of cushions he'd stolen for himself and heaved a shaky sigh.
Blissful solitude. Just him and a nice meal.
Halfway through eating he heard a scuffling sound and whipped around, hands already clenched into fists and his body tense. Victore? Some other Sword perhaps, or had the Crimson Zangoose tried to follow him?
To his surprise, a scaly black head poked over the edge of the roof, lavender gaze fixed on him. Drake squinted at the reptilian pokemon. Same species as the one from the cave. Saldnit or something? Salandit? That sounded right.
Either way, Salandit
definitely weren’t street pokemon. They lived in the wilds, in canyons and around Mt Battle and near Pyrite. What was one doing here in Phenac? Unless... “Were you in the cave? Are you the one who helped me?” He felt stupid even asking such a question, considering it meant the Salandit had somehow followed him across the desert all the way here, which sounded ridiculous.
The Salandit slowly nodded, and Drake blinked, stunned. “Wow... ,” he said finally. "Probably would have been a lot harder without your help." Why? Why care about him, why intervene, and then follow him here? He wasn’t important. On an impulse, Drake held out a chunk of meat from his lunch. “Here. You can have this. As payment.”
Its gaze lit up and it scuttled forward, snatching the meat out of his hands and swallowing it in a few gulps. Drake chuckled. “Hungry, huh? Food must be hard to come by in the desert.” It nodded again, then edged closer. A flicker of sympathy grew in Drake. It had been a long time ago, before he joined the Swords, but he still remembered how it felt to be hungry. And alone.
With a shrug, he handed the last piece of his lunch to it. “Take the rest.” Thanks to the Swords, it had been years since Drake had gone hungry, and he could always get more. As the Salandit scarfed down the food he reached out, then rested his palm on its back, stroking it. It paused eating and chittered happily, nuzzling against his hand.
Drake smiled. His gaze once again fell on the horizon as he ran his hand down Salandit’s back. Salandit had risked his life to help him. If Salandit hadn’t acted... Drake shivered in the desert heat. Would he still be in that cave? Unconsciously, he rubbed his shoulder with his other hand.
As he did, Salandit churred happily and curled up under his touch. He looked down at the tiny lizard pokemon. “Thank you.”
