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Pokémon Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: The Phantasmagoria

Chapter 46: JACKSON'S AUTO PARTS AND REPAIR, LLC

Z2H

Junior Trainer
Chapter 46

JACKSON'S AUTO PARTS AND REPAIR, LLC

Worn rubber wheels squealed against glossy concrete, one uselessly spinning about, occasionally halting all movement. He scoffed and gave it a kick of his boot as he pushed the large metal cart forward.

Sparks flew all around like exploding fireworks, dying by his feet. Shrieks and loud bangs of metal on metal - he passed through a hallway of gray, swinging the cart over to a section marked by yellow perimeter tape. His baggy, sunken eyes narrowed at what he saw.

The battered old boombox on a plastic table drowned out the racket of active equipment with harsh rock music. He saw a thin man in a black tank top seated by the table, more invested in the distorted tunes than the scattered papers and other documents surrounding him.

He wheeled the cart over to the man before promptly yanking the cord of the boombox out of the wall outlet. "The fuck, man?" he said, turning to his bemused colleague. "Y'all know we're supposed to get these out by midnight."

"I'm on break, Miles - can't ya see?" the other man responded.

"Your break ended fifteen minutes ago, didn't it?"

The man laughed in his face. "And what are you - the fuckin' boss now? He ain't here yet, and them boys from the harbor ain't gonna pick it up till midnight like ya said."

"Boss put me in charge until he's back, and that means my ass is on the line if these cars don't go, Tucker."

Tucker shook his head in dismay, sighing as he stood up and took his cigarette from the ashtray. He took a long drag, blowing smoke into Miles' face, "You've become a real teacher's pet since your promotion, haven't ya?" he said.

Miles waved the smoke away, stifling a cough. "And you've become a real lazy piece of shit." He gave a toothy smirk. "Guess that's why I'm handin' out orders instead of you."

"Yeah, yeah whatever. Let's get this over with."

Miles returned to pushing the cart as Tucker followed behind. On the other side of the room were vehicles of various sizes, colors, and models. They were laid bare - steel and aluminum panels removed to reveal parts of the chassis framework. Miles stopped as he slid open the small doors of the cart and wiggled a wooden board out of place, revealing its true contents.

Firearms - painted an obsidian black and expertly assembled from what he could infer. They ranged from handguns to SMGs, shotguns, assault rifles, and even a few grenade launchers. Other components and accessories lined the shelving above the sleek, deadly arsenal.

Tucker whistled behind him. "Looks like a big shipment. Where's it going?"

"Some place in Europe - east, I reckon," Miles responded, slipping on a pair of leather gloves.

They each grabbed a firearm, wrapping them up in black cellophane and bringing them over to the door, with the other side panels leaning against support columns. They packed the firearms into the styrofoam padding nestled inside, before sealing the hidden departments with more foam. Some weapons had to be disassembled, separated across the chassis, and wedged in unseen places.

"Europeans…" Tucker sounded out as he stuffed a sawed-off shotgun into a door panel. "What they know 'bout this firepower?"

"Hell if I know," Miles said. "They make them good cheese and chocolates, though."

"With a belly as big as yours, no doubt you'd know."

"Shut your damn mouth and load up the stuff."

The two men resumed their work, taking more pieces off the skeletons of the vehicles. Miles followed Tucker close behind as he worked, checking off and scribbling the discrete locations onto a fake manual. For each complete vehicle, he placed its belonging manual into the glove compartment.

"Be careful with how ya place 'em," Miles warned as Tucker slid himself underneath a car on a creeper. "Last time those immigrants at the dock spotted a barrel pokin' out through a panel some idiot left without a screw."

Tucker rolled back out to glare at him. "And ya think that idiot was me?"

"Alls I'm sayin'… Boss got real angry 'cause of it. Lotta money and effort spent makin' sure no one saw a thing."

"Boss probably knows who, and it's why all them down by the waterfront live in them waters now, heh."

The sound of double doors being thrown open alerted Miles as he snapped his head to the source of the noise. "Well shit, speak of the devil." He saw three men enter the warehouse, striding toward the offices on the opposite side of the room.

Tucker hastily got up, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and concealing it out of sight. "Two hours before he usually arrives, too," he grumbled.

"And look at that…" Miles pointed at one of the men with short brown hair and a troubled expression. "The fuckin' cop - I don't believe it."

Tucker shook his head. "And bringin' him here, too."

"If we all go down, at least we know who did it…"

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It was like entering the belly of the beast.

Robert's eyes were constantly snapping around the room, scanning and surveying all of the activities taking place. Legal to illegal, bodywork being done on expensive cars to scores of elite weapons being stuffed into chassis laid bare and stripped of essentials. The shower of a thousand sparks and the cacophony of power tools buzzing and humming in his ear.

He eventually snapped out of his stupor as Jackson led them around the warehouse, sweeping his arms and smiling as if he were touring a house. "… and this is where the magic is made," he said. "Five vehicles a day at the minimum go through here. My product goes in - it gets delivered locally, across the state lines, and even internationally. Every month?" Jackson stopped in his tracks, turning to grin. "Roughly five hundred firearms and other goodies bein' sent out to my customers."

Robert's jaw almost dropped. "Five hundred… a month?" His previous estimates were way off. "How long has this operation been in order?"

Jackson resumed leading them through the worksite. "This whole gig? Took three years to get it up and running, and it's only gonna expand from here on out - once we take care of this SPMC business."

A popping noise scattered Robert's thoughts as he turned to glare at Rorke, who was loudly chewing his gum and looking around - visibly bored. "So why am I being given the tour with the cop when I know this place like the back of my hand?" the young man questioned.

"'Cause if you wanna earn that number two position and make the money of a number two, I expect you to learn how I do things."

Rorke blew another bubble. "Number two? I think number one suits me more."

Jackson ignored the comment, looking at Robert. "This ain't the only shop I got. Few more across Charleston do work like this with a skeleton crew during closing hours. I also own a few car washes where most of the generated cash gets washed - no pun intended."

"The one on Lavender Hill, you own that?" Robert received a nod. "I've been there a few times."

"Nice place, ain't it? Clean, mostly legal and I employ only civilians there."

It was mind-boggling to think that even without knowing, he had entered Jackson's turf; participated in his schemes well before he sank deep into them. It unnerved him knowing just how reach and growth this man had in the city, and how ambitious he was about it.

"You're gonna tell the cop everything about this business?" Rorke jeered. "Why don't you just record it all for him to take back to police headquarters?" He tapped Robert's chest and leaned in. "Maybe they're already listening… What's up, guys!" he yelled into an imaginary microphone.

Robert shoved the young man away. "Watch it, kid. I'm not wearin' a damn wire, and I'm not a mole."

"And I'm supposed to trust you suddenly?"

"I don't give a shit about your trust. Next time ya touch me, you won't be so lucky."

"Oooh - good cop and now bad cop! Jack, I think I like him better than Miles and Tucker already."

Jackson laughed as he led them through another set of doorways. The sounds of banging metal and droning machinery were replaced by shuffling papers, mouse clicks, and their muffled footsteps on the off-white, shaggy carpet. "I see you two are gettin' along swimmingly. We're almost at my office."

Robert scanned this new office environment, spotting mostly empty cubicles and empty desks. Those who were occupied barely acknowledged their swift presence besides a few sets of shifting eyes before they resumed their mysterious work. He wanted to stop and ask them questions, but he quickly stopped that train of thought. That type of life was behind him now, and there was no going back.

A scarlet-haired woman in a casual olive green dress intercepted them in the hallway. She wore a wide smile that he could only describe as cold and corporate. "Mr. Lachaise! It's nice to see you this morning," she said in a saccharine tone. "Mr. Banks called earlier about a meeting; I told him to call back in an hour."

"Thank ya kindly, sweetheart," Jackson responded, brushing past her. "I've got to break in some new guys, though. Send a few coffees into my office, will ya?"

"Of course, sir."

Robert briefly pondered the woman's background as she walked away. Was she aware of the true nature of the business she was in? Was she just a civilian secretary like the employees at the car wash? The click of an opening door halted these thoughts as Jackson stood before a walled-off section in the corner of the offices.

"Shut the door behind ya."

Robert waited for Rorke to enter before he did just that. It was a spacious room, reeking of smoke. A grandfather clock was ticking away beside a window drenching office equipment and piles of paper in sunlight. Jackson lit up a cigarette as he walked over to a nearby desk, leaning on it as he smirked madly. "Now onto brass tacks," he said, "You've seen how my business operates; what I've got at stake here from the SPMC."

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"You're an arms dealer, clearly. Wouldn't it have been beneficial for you to work with the mercenaries?" Robert suggested.

"Manufacturer, actually. My product is assembled in good ole Charleston. And yeah, it would be a sweet deal to supply the SPMC - and that's because I did. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself." Jackson tapped the whiteboard behind, gaze darting to Rorke wandering the room. "Listen up and listen well, kid. This is for you, and I ain't gonna repeat this shit again."

"Huh?" Rorke quickly set down a potted white wallflower he picked up. "Yeah, go ahead - I'm listening."

Smoke billowed out of Jackson's lips. "Let's flashback to two years ago. Laws were being passed in the South reformin' police, bolsterin' the rights of some companies and emergin' markets - yada, yada. A bunch of bureaucratic bullshit to try and kickstart the economy of this swampland, known as the SEIA."

"The Southern Economic Incentives Act…" Robert grumbled, a bad taste left in his mouth. "I remember the day it passed. Lotta departments got defunded 'cause of it."

"Right, right." Jackson scowled at Rorke's bored expression, snapping his fingers to get the young man's attention. "It sounded nice on paper, but nestled in between all those good things was a loophole. A loophole strong enough to give legal protection and bigger freedoms to companies lookin' to protect their assets. Any company founded under the SEIA could employ their own personal army without much restrictions, and flash forward two years to now - armed mercenaries patrollin' warehouses and banks at night. Better to rely on trained killers than your local policeman."

Robert scoffed at the notion. "And what's your part in all of this?"

"A lot of mercenary groups started croppin' up to capitalize on a fleetin' opportunity. I also saw one myself, seein' that they needed firepower. For two years I did business with these groups."

And for two years Robert was out on the streets picking up the pieces left behind by out-of-control mercenary groups. Hunting down weapons in the hands of criminals given to them by the man standing before him. He hid his disgust and hatred for this fact behind a well-maintained poker face.

Jackson took a long drag. "I made a lot of money with these mercs… But a lot of good times gotta come to an end." He tapped the whiteboard on the wall behind him. "Not so long into this frenzy did the SPMC form under James Falden, buying up many of the groups and mergin' them into his." Scrawled across the whiteboard was various information about the SPMC. Locations of their headquarters, facilities, and regional territory control. "When the SPMC emerged, I was fine in continuin' business as normal."

"And what changed?"

"The SPMC doesn't operate like any regular merc group. They're not just hired guns - more like a militarized yet still corporate gang. They have their own interests, just like I do. And they'll take over, rob, and do hits on anyone they perceive as a threat." Jackson's stare lingered on Robert. "I think out of everyone here, you know about that."

His teeth gnashed as his hands clenched to fists. "Yeah…"

"Six months ago, some good workers of mine were supposed to sell a few crates to the SPMC. Two of them ended up dead and another in the hospital after fire was exchanged in 'confusion'. Three months later, another incident and a half-hearted apology." Jackson snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray. "I ain't fuckin' stupid; I can see the writin' on the walls they're lookin' to take what's mine. But if they're expectin' little resistance, they're dead wrong."

"Another enemy to smoke? I'm down," Rorke chimed in. "As long as we're making some dough while we're at it."

A weapon manufacturer and a mercenary organization going to war on the streets of Charleston spelled nothing but disaster in Robert's mind. Every rational thought screamed at him that embroiling himself in this was a terrible decision. But the ink had already dried; his die was cast here, beside Jackson. And he could only hope this would lead to peace of mind for himself and his son.

But none for the soul.

"Now that we're done with the history lesson, let's get down to actual business." Jackson tapped the whiteboard again, trailing a finger under a listed name. "Wyatt Banks - sole VP of the SPMC. Manages finance and the whole business section of the company. He's also the main guy I conduct deals with over there. And today happens to be the day he and I meet at the waterfront to discuss the details of our next transaction."

Rorke suddenly clapped. "Sweet! What's it gonna be - kidnapping and ransom? He's kind of a powerful guy, so they'd pay a lot for him, right?"

"I like your spunk, kid, but there's an easier - far more effective and simple way to deliver a message to the SPMC."

While Rorke seemed too eager to jump into the fold, Robert was unsure of what his old friend had planned. But he was in no position to advise against a stubborn man like Jackson, who was now technically his boss - his only voice. It left a bad taste in his mouth.

Jackson slapped his hands on their shoulders, grinning cockily. "I'm countin' on you two; we're the dream team for this."

"I don't know, Jack," Robert said. "It's been a long time steppin' away from this thing. You may be bettin' on the wrong horse here."

"I've seen you in action before, James. Won't be long till you're just the way I remember ya."

"Maybe I can show this old horse a few tricks or two, then," Rorke added.

"Yeah? Is gettin' shot and bleedin' to death one of 'em?" Robert fired back.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Jackson glanced at the clock on the wall. "We've got a few hours till the meetin'. In the meantime, I've got a few more facilities in the area y'all should know about."

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The armored truck jostled and rocked, worsening Robert's already churning stomach. An annoying popping noise to his left confirmed Rorke was still chewing his gum the entire drive here. As the vehicle rumbled to a sudden stop, he steeled his nerves for whatever was about to unfold, ensuring his service pistol was secured against his waist.

Jackson glanced back from the driver's seat. He smoothed out his black leather jacket. "Look alive, ladies. Few of my men are already here."

Car doors popped open to a frigid sea breeze as the three men stepped out of the truck. Robert swept an alert and watched gaze around the chipped stone docks. Bright yellow beams of headlights shone across the dark waters crashing into a fine salty mist as the squawks of seabirds clamored overhead. Robert shivered in the nippy weather as he followed Jackson to the crisscross of headlights.

White-striped orange construction cones and perimeter tape obstructed their way; tall, immobile cranes, bulldozers, and large piles of dirt and rubble overlooked the area. He could see Jackson's henchmen ahead, leaning against their black SUVs, decked out in similarly colored garb. He could see the faint outline of body armor beneath their clothes.

"Don't say anythin' when he comes out," Jackson warned. "Just stay by me - not a word comes out."

"You got it, boss," Rorke said, making a sealing motion with his lips.

Jackson stopped at the sound of a revving engine nearby, signaling for them to do the same. The shadow of a vehicle passed by them briefly before a long black sedan rolled to a stop near the parked SUVs. A tense moment passed before the doors of the sedan swung open. The first thing Robert saw was the end of a wooden crutch poking out. He heard grunts of frustration as a gray-suited, balding man struggled to wriggle his way out from the back of the vehicle. When he finally succeeded, his scowl was replaced with a cheery smile as his gaze found Jackson.

"Jacky boy!" the man cried out, using both of his crutches to hobble over to them. "Ain't it such a nice, cold evenin' for this exchange of words?"

"Could be better, Wyatt," Jackson replied. "How's the leg?"

Wyatt briefly flashed him a scathing look before settling on neutrality. "Could be better? 'Cause I've had better days. Well, better days before them goons of yours decided my ankle was target practice."

"I see I'm still apologizin' for that mishap. I cracked the idiot responsible good - seventy-five percent tax on his next payment that goes to you directly."

"Ain't that swell, Jack. And as far as I'm concerned - water under the bridge. But it's come to the attention of the partners that you're cuttin' us short compared to your other customers. We're not gettin' what we used to get at the beginning of this relationship. At a certain point, a relationship becomes more than it's worth - y,'know?"

"A supply issue," Jackson explained. "It's been rectified and we should return to normal numbers within the next month."

Robert could tell Jackson was lying through his teeth. As he stared at Wyatt, his mind raced. Could this person be the one behind the murder of Angelica? The one who called for the hit to take place? His fingers rattled against his side, itching to pull out his pistol and waste this product of a monstrosity. But he resisted such desires, believing Jackson would tell him if that was the case. He scolded himself for even considering this course of action.

Had he really regressed back in so little time?

"Good, good." Wyatt leaned on a crutch as he pulled out a cigarette pack. "James is thinkin' 'bout an expansion out of the states - Mexico or some other spic place, maybe. We'll need every ounce of firepower we can get."

"I'm happy to provide, then. Have ya decided on a price for next time?"

"Before that, another thing. James and I want to know what the hell is going on exactly?"

"What's going on exactly?"

Robert's gaze drifted to three sets of headlights in the far distance, looming over the meeting. He felt himself tense up again.

"This is the second time your guys have opened fire on us for seemingly no damn reason," Wyatt said, sticking a cigarette between his lips.

"I assure you these are just bumps on the road rather than any slight against the SPMC."

"Need to re fuckin' train your guys," Wyatt mumbled, lighting up. "Last thing I need is my other leg catchin' a stray."

Jackson laughed. "You won't need to worry 'bout your legs anymore."

"Oh?"

Without warning, Jackson withdrew a handgun from his jacket and fired a bullet directly into Wyatt's temple. As the suited man crumpled to the ground, he followed up with another two shots into his chest. "They're comin'!" he yelled, motioning to his henchmen by the SUVs. "Miles! Tucker! Get fuckin' ready!"

Robert's eyes darted from the body of a suddenly dead Wyatt to the three sets of headlights in the distance that were now speeding toward them. His heart racing, a thump of something metallic against his chest brought him back to reality. Now cradled in his arms was a black rifle, courtesy of Miles. He looked over in a daze as Rorke gladly grabbed a shorter carbine himself from Tucker.

"I'm digging the action but maybe a little warning next time?" Rorke suggested, releasing the safety of his weapon.

"Shut up!" Jackson snapped. "Find some cover!"

His senses now focused on only survival, Robert sprinted over to crouch behind a concrete barrier, keeping his ears attuned for danger and his head on a constant swivel. The roar of engines grew louder as rubber tires squealed to a stop. His finger hovered above the trigger of his weapon as he waited with bated breath.

The doors to each armored truck flew open as sets of boots thudded against the ground and a swarm of men in light gray tactical outfits flooded out. They immediately raised their weapons without any words and fired.

The war had begun.

Projectiles whistled above Robert's head as he remained low. Bits of the concrete barrier were blasted away by sporadic fire. When a window arose, he peeked behind his cover and fired a few shots of his own at a pair of fleeting soles. The recoil kicked him like a horse as he slumped back, catching his breath.

Amidst his own breathing, he could hear everything around him. It was a war zone - orders from Jackson being barked out, men screaming as they fell down - extinguished in an instant. The smell of gunpowder and smoke that smothered the swaying docks. It threatened to break him right here and now, but all he could think about was his son; what he was really fighting for at this moment.

Robert collected himself before he delivered another volley of shots. Most of the concrete barrier was riddled with holes, so he ran through a hail of gunfire to his next available position. His back was against Rorke, the young man finding no trouble in returning fire at their foes.

"Need a mag?" Rorke propositioned, motioning to the bag of full magazines on the ground.

"Not yet… On your left!"

Rorke heeded his callout and put an end to the mercenary trying to flank them. "Hey! Thanks, blue!" he cheerfully exclaimed.

Robert did not respond, more focused on not dying. He waited for the gunfire to die down before firing himself. More black SUVs pulled up to the scene in the form of backup as Jackson's henchmen stepped out, opening fire.

Duck. Shoot. Change magazines. Duck. Shoot. It was starting to become routine to him.

A bullet that nearly grazed his jaw alerted him to a mercenary encroaching on their right. Sliding over to a better position, he took this foe head-on. It was a constant back and forth between them - a dance of life and death.

While his enemy hid behind a parked loader, he could see a boot sticking out in plain sight. Switching to a tactical stance, he fired one round at it, puncturing it. The mercenary stumbled out of cover, trying to lift his weapon up. Robert gave him no chance and fired a few shots that riddled the man's chest and neck. Sputtering out blood, the mercenary fell backward - dead.

Time slowed down to a crawl around Robert as the severity of his actions settled in. He had just taken a life. After thirteen years of vowing to never do it again, he had broken this promise to himself. A bullet whizzing past snapped him out of his stupor as he got to cover. Thinking about it further would only hasten his demise.

The SPMC mercenaries seemed to recognize their huge losses and quickly retreated back to their vehicles. Those who were not picked off before they could make it piled their wounded into the trucks and sped off into the night. What had felt so agonizingly long had ended abruptly.

Robert could now hear his panicked breathing clearly before Jackson's victorious chuckle filled the air. The adrenaline in his veins was still pumping. In a rage, he stomped over to the laughing man. "What the fuck was that, Jack?! You never told us we'd be gettin' into a firefight!"

"I'm a firm believer in learnin' on the job, so consider this as your trainin', James," Jackson said before he whistled loudly. "Rorke! Get over here!"

Rorke trudged over, sweeping a hand through his blond hair and balancing his rifle over a shoulder. "So that was pretty quick. We sent those mercs packing, didn't we?"

"We sure did, kid," Jackson replied. He walked over to the body of Wyatt, chuckling again as he kicked the man's shiny shoes. "I'm sure them ratfucks got my message loud and clear."

"Is that what we were here for? Just to kill this guy?" Robert questioned. His hands were still shaking as the weapon he carried rattled.

"Not exactly." Jackson knelt beside Wyatt, digging through the man's pockets. "Just need… Here we go." He pulled out a sleek-looking black card with nothing but a barcode on it. "Fuckin' jackpot," he said, pocketing it.

"So, uh, mission accomplished?" Rorke presumed.

"Mission accomplished, kid. But we've still a lot of work ahead of us if we're gonna dismantle the SPMC." Jackson whistled again, waving his men over. "You two will be dropped off somewhere near my shop. We made a hell of a noise here and the police will no doubt be here soon."

Robert surveyed the mayhem they left behind. His stomach twisted in knots. "What about the bodies?"

"All they'll happen upon is mercs killing each other - nothin' new in this city."

"Ain't that the truth…"

A black SUV parked beside Jackson as he tapped one of its mirrors, signaling for them to enter. "You'll hear from me soon. Now get lost."

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The truck jostled and rocked, worsening his already upset stomach. He stared out the windshield at the vast, empty road that seemed to never end. Bored, his eyes wandered to the passenger side windows, watching with a vacant gaze as the sprawling oak forests whizzed past, like a fading memory.

"You'll be on your best behavior, right?"

He bit the inside of his cheeks, wondering why this house was so far away from seemingly any civilization. He hoped it was, finding the air of the countryside so much fresher than the city.

"Son, look at me."

Liam sighed as he looked at his father, who was taking turns watching the road and eyeing him. "Yeah, pa?"

"I know ya don't know these folks, but they're good people. The husband's workin' most days, so you'll see his wife around the house while you're here."

"Is she nice?" Liam paused. "Like ma?"

Robert swallowed, pausing a moment as if to ask that question himself. "She's an odd woman but she's nice. I reckon you'll like her."

The boy slumped in his seat, playing with his seatbelt. "Why do I need to be watched over like some kid? I'm grown enough to watch myself."

"'Cause ya need an adult around when I'm not around. And your aunt is in Florida right now, so she can't."

"But why can't ya hire someone to come out to home? And why can't we go home?" Liam complained. "I don't like the new place…"

"'Cause it could be dangerous, son. These- these people that did that horrible thing could be targeting us, targeting you. I can't allow anythin' to happen to ya."

"What do you mean? Why would they wanna do that to us? What did we do to anyone?"

"Liam, I don't-" Robert slapped the steering wheel in exasperation. "Let's stop with the questions right now, okay? Just know this is a safe place and you'll be taken care of while I'm gone for a day or two."

"… Okay."

The long ride resumed in silence as Liam pouted. However, his stare lingered on his father's face, noticing a stain of red on his jawline.

"Pa, ya got somethin' on your face."

Robert formed a curious look, scratching his face until he scraped off the strange residue. He stared intensely at it before wiping it off on his shirt. "Ah, just some… paint from work."

"Y'all paint at this new job?"

"Yeah, uh, we paint houses across Charleston. In fact, this house we're headed to is the house of my new boss."

Liam laughed to himself. "Pa… From a cop to a house painter. Grandma always said it was, uh, 'honest work, though."

Robert sighed. "That's life for you, son."

Though he could not read the mind of his father, he could tell by the man's disturbed expression that there was more he was unwilling to tell him. Unwilling to shed light on the truth of his mother's death. Maybe he was reading too much into things, but it felt this way.

"We're close. Remember what I said."

Liam groaned. "Be on my best behavior - I know."

He saw the man smile for the first time since the incident. "Good boy."

The blue pickup truck took a right as it rolled into a gravel-paved driveway. Liam had his face glued to the passenger window as he drank in the sights of the large, almost mansion-sized house. "Woah… Is your boss, like, super rich or somethin'?"

"He owns a few businesses in the city, so he's pretty well off." His father glanced over. "I'm gonna go now. Are ya goin' to be fine here?"

"I… I'll give it a try if the folks are nice."

"That's good enough for me." Robert reached over and opened his door for him. "I gotta meet with my boss in the city. I'll pick you up here tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, pa."

Liam hopped out of the truck, watching it reverse down the driveway and cruise down the lonely road until it was out of sight. Turning back around, he now stood before the imposing abode, feeling a bit overwhelmed by it.

It was truly in the middle of nowhere - not a single other house or structure in sight. Rustic looking and surrounded by green, open plains and forests teeming with flora and red maple trees. He could see a pond not far from the house - thick with cattail and milkweed. There was just a mailbox beside the driveway that had white-painted letters across it above the postal numbers.

'LACHAISE RESIDENCE,' it read.

The steps up the porch groaned under his weight as he stood by the entrance door, giving it a firm knock. He waited patiently, seconds turning into minutes as nobody came to answer the door. He tried peaking through the obscured blinds, knocking a second time as well.

But still nothing.

Partly out of frustration, he tested the doorknob. To his surprise, the door opened with an echoing creak. Pushing it inward, he entered the home and shut the door behind him. A quick scan of his immediate surroundings proved his worries correct.

'Nobodies here… But pa said someone was.'

"Hello?" he said. "Hello! Y'all here?"

Nothing.

Shrugging, he wandered around, first entering the kitchen. He was hungry but felt it was too rude to check their refrigerator or scavenge their cupboards. He then entered what appeared to be the living room, complete with lavish white furniture that looked almost factory-new. Though his stare lingered on the widest television he had ever seen.

'How'd this guy get one to be so flat-lookin'?'

He chalked it up to a perk of the odd house. With no one around, the eerie atmosphere it exuded was skeeving him out. It was cold too, like he was walking through someplace abandoned. Before he decided to check the second floor for signs of anyone, he picked up a framed photo on one of the tables in the hallway next to the staircase.

Pictured were a man and a woman at what appeared to be an altar, a podium behind them. And from the black tuxedo and frilly white dress they wore, he inferred this was a wedding photo of sorts. Their smiles in the grainy photo were stretched wide, almost contagious as he remembered looking at his own parents' wedding photos once. There was handwriting in cursive below the photo that took him a minute to decipher.

'My little… wallflower.'

Liam ascended the steps to the second floor, first opening the door to what looked like the homeowner's bedroom. Checking first that no one was asleep in the king-sized bed, he headed toward a room further down the hall.

Inside it was a stark contrast to the rest of the clean, sterile house. Colorful paint was splattered across the translucent sheets covering the walls and floor. His widened eyes were treated to the sight of dozens of canvas paintings on stands, hung up on the walls, or propped against another in the corners of the room.

He wandered around, analyzing each illustration that caught his attention. Many of them had nature as a focal point, depicting abundant landscapes of sun-drenched meadows, starlit forests of pine and firs, and gardens of white flowers. They all looked so stunning, so lifelike yet fantastical in scope that seemed beyond the realm of their world.

'These things could be a museum…'

However, the pieces that one could consider 'abstract' seemed beyond his understanding. What looked like a heart constricted by rose thorns had dozens of bleeding cuts inflicted upon it. Another that looked like a shadowy figure with syringes sticking out of it reflected in the rearview mirror of a car. Frustrated by his inability to grasp any of this, he chose to leave this place of boundless creativity and continue exploring.

The last room in the house he had not been in was just before him. Cartoonish-looking cutouts of various animals were taped to the door, piquing his curiosity. The door swung open as he entered, caught off guard by what he saw.

A child's room.

Some of the walls were painted a baby blue, though ended with a single flat streak across barren white as paint buckets remained on the floor - dry. The dark purple ceiling was full of big and bright-looking stars. Plushies of flying saucers, astronauts, and other soft or plastic toys littered the room, gathering dust and cobwebs. There was a crib at the far end of the room, a crib mobile of rockets spinning lazily. Cutouts of bubbly-looking letters above it spelled out a name.

'APOLLO'.

This room made him feel the strangest of all. There was a palpable sense of crushing pressure and loss to it all, and he felt like he should not be here like he was entering a shrine or some forbidden place. It dredged up familiar feelings he did not want to dwell on, nor did his father want him to. Before he could make his swift exit, however, the sound of faint humming made him freeze in place.

'Hummin'… Someone's here.'

He could tell it came from outside as he put his ear to the glass window in the room.

'I'm not crazy - someone actually is here!'

Relieved he would not have to stay all alone in this creepy house, he raced out of the room and down the steps. He found a door leading to the backyard of the home and opened it, stepping outside. For a second time, he was in complete awe at what he saw.

'Holy cow! What is all this?'

A sprawling garden stretched a good distance across the plains. A stone pathway dotted by pink blazing stars was encased by thick layers of perfectly trimmed green hedges and rose bushes. Tweeting songbirds zipped around, landing on tall, marble statues of Romanesque human figures and sputtering sprinklers cooling the abundant greenery. A pleasant floral aroma filled the air that he sniffed gladly, replacing the dankness of the house. A short brick wall encased this wonderful oasis from the untamed wilds.

Much like the painting room, this garden felt to be a place of passion and wonder. He wandered through the path of hedges and over a small curved bridge built atop a man-made stream strewn with river rocks that cut across the garden, laden with bulrush and pickerelweed.

Past the bridge were multiple flowerbeds of blooming roses, hydrangea, zinnia, and marigolds. Fat bumble bees buzzed around, visiting flower after flower. Pollen and petals were scattered to the fair winds, making his nose twitch. The faint sounds of earth being dug up followed by more humming caught his attention.

'That hummin' again - it's close.'

Crossing another bridge and an arched entryway of flowery hedges, he saw her. Down on her knees, a thin woman of pale skin and long blonde hair was digging up roots near an incomplete flower bed with a small shovel. She wore a white sun hat and a white long sleeve covered by an apron stained with earth. The woman seemed far too engrossed in her work to notice him walking up.

"Hello?"

The woman jumped a little before she looked up, revealing her golden amber eyes. "Hello," she simply said, her voice soft as snow.

"I'm…" The words died in Liam's throat. "My pa dropped me off here. He said I had to stay here till tomorrow. And you're… you're, um, Mrs. Lachaise, ain'tcha?"

The woman wiped her hands on her apron, brushed aside her hair, and stood up. She smiled warmly at him. "Yes, I am. And you must be Liam."

He scratched his neck. "Uh, guilty as charged, Mrs. Lachaise."

"You don't have to be so formal. Please, call me Elena."

"Elena…" Liam sounded it out, mirroring her smile. "Nice to meetcha, Elena!" He stepped forward to offer her a handshake.

Elena laughed with mirth - like how an angel would, he thought. She accepted his gesture, shaking his hand. "Your father did mention you were a gentleman, and it appears he wasn't incorrect."

He beamed at her approval. "My ma taught me all my manners - bless her soul."

Her pleasant expression waned. "… I was told about your mother. It was a terrible and evil thing what happened to that poor woman, and you have my deepest condolences - you and your father."

"… Thanks."

Liam's heart lurched in his chest, a bitter reminder from this world that it was not all beauty to behold, but also complete loss. He was still in mourning, and he was unsure when he would get over it and move on, if ever. His father wanted him to eventually, but how could anyone lose someone so close and just let go? It spun not just his life out of control, but also his father's, no matter how much the man said otherwise to him.

He blinked, a bothering tear caught in his eye that Elena noticed as she closed the distance between them and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to cry. You have no reason to hold back your feelings for me."

He shook his head, forcing down this influx of emotions. "Nah… I've been sad enough for the past week. I wanna…" He inhaled and exhaled. "I wanna be happier. I don't know how I'll do that, but I wanna at least try, y'know, like how my pa is doin'."

"How old are you, Liam?"

"Twelve. Gonna be thirteen in two months."

"You're very mature for your age. I wish I was able to control my emotions back then as you have." Elena gestured to the flowerbed she was working on. "But tending to this garden helps me put my mind off things."

"This garden is really somethin' Mrs- Elena," he corrected. "Did ya set this up all by yourself?"

"I designed the layout, but my husband laid the groundwork and helped plant everything that you see here today. He's a very sweet man past his rough exterior."

"I'd like to meet him since my pa is workin' on paintin' houses with him. He seems like nice folk, like you."

"He is a busy man. But I'm sure he'd love to meet you someday." She sighed. "I'm sorry for bein' such a rude host. I should have been inside to greet you, but these wallflowers have been giving me quite some trouble."

"Nah, it's cool. This place seems pretty hard to manage from what I've seen."

Elena's stare lingered on him, perplexed. "I know young boys don't seem to enjoy gardening much. But what about you, Liam? What do you think of it?"

Liam gave it some thought. "Well, shucks, I guess I do think gardenin' is mostly a thing for girls. But my ma had her own garden in the front lawn with strawberries and carrots that she made me help her with each spring. It was kinda fun, but I always liked bein' in the wilds more."

"The wilds?"

He swept a hand across the wilderness beyond the brick wall and grinned toothily. "All that stuff out there! Y'know, bravin' the woods, explorin' and findin' cool places. I was in the Boy Scouts, and it taught me to appreciate this big ole world we live in. Mother Nature and all her creations gotta be protected and stuff like that."

Elena tracked where his wandering gaze went, frowning. "That's a very noble cause to believe in. Very few people in this world care for its wonders that enrich us. Though leavingthis house is somethin' I… I couldn't do it myself." She glanced back at her incomplete flower bed. "Liam, would you mind assisting me with these flowers?"

"Oh, uh, sure!"

The boy plodded over to the plot of rich soil. Beside it was a green watering can and flower pots with white wallflowers in them. He knelt and waited for Elena to show him what to do. She grabbed one of the potted flowers and placed it before him. "You have smaller hands than I, so I want you to transplant these flowers from the pots to this bed. First, gently pick up the flower's roots without damaging them.."

He reached into the pot, feeling the stringy roots sticking out through the soil. When he felt he had a firm grip on it, he pulled the whole flower out.

"Good. Now carefully place it into that dug-out hole. Make sure the roots are evenly spread out and not clumped together."

It was a tight fit, but he managed to fit all the flower's roots in the hole snugly.

"Perfect. Now we pack the soil around the flower and secure its place."

She assisted him in spreading the nutrient-rich dirt around the flower until it was sealed in its spot. "Now this flower has a new home - a better chance to grow," she said, smiling. "Use the watering can beside you and let it have a drink."

Liam took the heavy plastic can and tilted it slightly over the wallflower. A small shower of water covered its white petals and healthy green stalk. He smiled at what he had done, earning a sense of accomplishment.

"I'm sure if that flower could speak, it would be thanking you."

"Ya think?"

She laughed tenderly and gestured to the numerous other potted flowers behind him. "If you would like, you can continue my work. I am regrettably quite tired today."

"I'd be happy to! This is kinda fun actually."

"Would you like some sweet tea? I can prepare some as thanks for your assistance."

He fondly remembered days when he would run back to his home after playing and his mother handing him a cold glass of sweet tea. "I've been fixin' for some the whole ride over. Yes, please!"

She smiled and nodded before walking back to the empty house. He watched her go briefly before returning to his new task.

'I thought these folks would be some rich snobs, but Mrs. Lachaise is really nice. Bless her heart, that woman.'

He took another wallflower and deposited it into a hole, covering it in soil. What he thought was boring before now felt peaceful and relaxing. Maybe it was just a part of growing up, he wondered.

'If only you could see me now, ma, after I told you I hated gardenin'.'

It sure felt like honest work, like the work his father was now doing. In some way, he knew that both of them could get past their grief. Like these flowers, they could grow and adapt to their new lives. He felt like that was something his mother would say.

Liam grunted as he picked up the watering can and got to work watering the flowerbed.

image


Liam watched the oak trees sway in the harsh gusts of wind through the grimy, cracked windows of their room. He slid a paw off his flickering orange scarf, a tingling sensation lingering on his nerves. He scowled, hiding his bitter demeanor from the Pokemon chatting just behind him.

"I got a whole bunch of goodies here from the old days, sis," Roark said, opening one of the drawers of a desk. He cackled as he pulled out several broken, dusty Wonder Orbs. "Oh, you're gonna like the story of these babies!"

Gloria frowned, fanning her tails. "It's not another story of someone getting hurt again, is it?"

"If you count someone's sanity, heh." He tossed the cracked orb up and down in his paw. "We used to have little 'prank wars' when things got slow around the HQ. I was quite the menace back then at it."

Liam cocked his head back, now wearing a smirk. "More than you are now?"

Roark grinned and pointed a claw at him. "Watch it, Dusclops." He turned his attention back to Gloria. "Anyway, I planted a bunch of these around the HQ. Around dart boards, in the sinks, on chairs, and in even the beds of some unlucky 'mons. Created such a stir that Feraligatr broke into here one night and smashed all my remainders." He shook his head. "Five thousand Poke down the drain 'cause of one angry gator."

"Dusclops..." Liam stood. "What does that one even mean?"

"They only got one eye!" the ruse fox responded before shrugging. "I don't know - maybe. It's been a while since I've seen one."

Gloria sighed. "Could you, um, pick a less insensitive nickname for Liam? It's not something he chose to have."

Roark seemed to not be listening as he rifled through more contents of his past. Only when his fur stood up on end from a sudden drop in temperature did he turn around.

"Roark…"

Liam placed a paw on the Ninetales' side. "It's okay, Gloria. It's all in good fun, right?"

The Zoroark held up his claws. "I thought it was funny - still do. But since sis could probably now turn me into an ice cube if she wished, consider it dead and buried."

Her many tails wagged. "Thank you!"

"In fact, I feel pretty darn good now," Liam said. "Coming back to y'all was the best decision I could've made."

"Where did you go when you ran away from Empyrean?" Gloria asked. "You still haven't told us everything."

"Well… Y'all know I was hunting down Jackson, or at least tryin' to. It felt like days I was running, exhausted, and starving, but I didn't care. I had to find him and… I don't know what I'd do if I did." Gloria pressed a paw to his chest in support as he continued. "Eventually I lost track of him at Swanna Lake and…" He paused. "Then I walked over to a village called Lunanescent Grove, and I met a Ponyta there. She and her brother - that Council Corviknight - helped me escape from the Council's guards. She, uh, reminded me a lot of you, Gloria."

She smiled sweetly at this. "She sounds like a nice girl, then. At least you had help even without us there."

Roark whistled. "Look at that - she's slowly growing an ego. I couldn't be more proud."

Liam laughed and continued before Gloria could comment. "I fought some Council guards before we got away. I admit - I almost gave up at this point. But Ponyta and Corviknight convinced me to keep fighting. To go back to y'all and do things the right way."

"And the freaky-looking scarf you're wearing?" Roark questioned.

"That's…" Liam's mouth hung open. "It was a gift. From Ponyta. Corviknight gave me the eyepatch and Ponyta gave me this scarf."

"Hey, free stuff is always nice, even if it's creepy old stuff and probably cursed. Oh! And speaking of free stuff…" Roark pulled out a metal flask from a drawer. Shaking it, his ears popped up when he heard the swish of a liquid inside. "Hehehe - can't believe past me left behind a little present." He opened the flask's cap and gave an experiment sniff. "Ooh… Definitely the hard stuff."

Gloria grimaced as Roark took a swig of the mystery liquid. "Could you not try to get drunk right now? Scizor has some important things to tell us soon."

"Heh, if Scizor is making a speech, then I'll need all of this to get through it. His record back at the guild was forty minutes on 'job listing etiquette'. Which was totally Shaymin taking them all and then just not doing 'em."

"So, Roark, what's it like being here?" Liam changed the subject. "This used to be your home for, like, ten years, right?"

"Just about. And it's… bittersweet, I guess. Feels like yesterday this place was buzzin' with activity - jobs to do, things to file. I was okay with this place being left to rot - too many memories - and none of the old friends to relive it with. But at least it's got a new purpose now. Met a lot of great mons here; lost a lot of 'em too on that damn mountain…"

Liam caught the slight bitterness in his usually jovial tone. "You guys really trust that Zoroark? He's why the Rescue Society was destroyed, right? Why this place was abandoned, too."

Roark downed what remained of the flask and set it down, collecting his thoughts. "I guess it's easier to trust someone than forgive them now. We're all on this mission to stop Jackson together, and if Zoroark can help us, then we need that help more than ever."

"He's right, Liam," Gloria said. "There's a lot more important things right now than just our feelings. Zoroark and the Rescue Society are offering to give us that help we need."

Liam scowled, frustrated by their reasoning. "I… I can't say I like it, but I can see why y'all think that."

There was a knock on the door before it opened. Long, wispy tendrils of a white mane floated into the room before Zoroark lumbered inside. "Team Requiem. And Roark," he said.

Gloria faced the Ghost-type. "Is there something wrong, Zoroark?"

"Not at all. But two Pokemon have just arrived here on Mudsdale - a Braixen and a Monferno. I believe these two are- or were members of this guild of yours?"

Gloria gasped before she sprinted past Zoroark and out of the room. Roark gave Liam a knowing look before running after the Ninetales.

The halls were bustling with activity as members of both the Rescue Society and Grit Ruin Excavators carried building supplies throughout the decrepit building. Bit by bit, the old headquarters was being restored to its original condition. The trio headed to the main foyer near the entrance just as the double doors swung open and two Pokemon entered.

Braixen backed up at the sight of a Ninetales running at them. "G-gloria? Is that you?" She had seconds to react before the Ice-type barreled into her. "Oof! Okay, it's you!"

"I was worried about you guys!" Gloria exclaimed, hugging Braixen tight.

The Fire-type returned the gesture, burying her neck in white fluff. "We missed you guys, too."

Gloria pulled back. "How did you find us?"

"Those Mudsdale… they got like some sixth sense when finding their pack. Ran into some Drilbur retracing out steps and they showed us," Monferno explained, looking around. "Wow, this place is a real dump. Couldn't you guys have picked a better place to hunker down in?"

"Mony!"

"What? It's true, Braix."

"He's right - it's a dump, but it's our dump," Roark said as he walked over. "Welcome back, Mony."

"Still as annoying as ever I see, Roark," Monferno replied. His eyes widened at the Lucario also making his way over. "Woah… Is that you, Mr. Personality? Hehe, you look like you went through a lot."

Liam's eye twitched as he forced a smile. "You could say that. I know I ran away from the guild, but my head's clearer now."

"And that eye of yours, is it actually…" Getting a nod from the Lucario, he winded. "Shit. You and Gloria have to tell all the exciting deets on what we missed. Our trip wasn't that exciting - just a little visit home."

Braixen bowed her head. "We should… apologize. We weren't thinking clearly after we escaped from the Council; we left you alone when we should've stuck together."

"Yeah…" Monferno grumbled. "So I hope you guys don't have a stupid plan on taking on Yveltal and the Guildmaster, 'cause we're with you now." He reached over and grabbed Braixen's paw, gripping it. "And if I know one thing, these guys are gonna need a skilled doctor."

She smiled. "And they'll need someone really dependable, too."

An unmistakable 'clack' noise on the chipped flooring resounded throughout the foyer as heads turned to the source. Scizor was making careful strides toward them. Stomping behind him were Garchomp, Aggron, and Tyranitar. Monferno and Braixen's eyes widened at his appearance as the Bug-type cleared his throat to speak.

"Braixen. Monferno. It is wonderful to see you both present and well," he said. "I assume this means you will be working with us?"

Uh…" It took a few seconds for Monferno to get past his initial shock. "Yeah, we're sticking around for good."

Scizor smiled earnestly. "Then we are all ready for the meeting." He turned. "Garchomp. May you gather all the Pokémon in the building and tell them to come here?"

"Consider it done, Sciz," she said before whistling to her comrades. "Let's go, ladies."

"Aye, ma'am," Aggron stated.

Tyranitar harrumphed.

As Team Drarosteel departed down the halls and minutes passed, swathes of Pokemon began filing into the foyer. This continued until the walls of the entire room were lined with chattering Pokemon. Excadrill emerged from the crowd and waved. "All of y'all hush up!" he yelled over the ruckus, pointing a claw at Scizor, who stood at the center of the gathering. "This here bug has some mighty important things to share with ya! So keep them mouths zipped and listen up good!"

The volume of the voice in the room died down to hushed whispers and murmurings.

"Thank you, Excadrill," Scizor said.

"S'no problem. Ya have the floor now."

As the Ground-type hustled over and blended with the crowd, Scizor stayed still. Just like before, all eyes were now focused entirely on him, like a bright spotlight beaming down on him. And yet their gazes were not ones of apprehension or apathy, but of curiosity and concern. They were willing to listen to what he had to say, and he was willing to tell things beyond their imagination.

He found Garchomp in the crowd as she flashed him an assuring, toothy smirk; his heart fluttered with newfound courage.

"I know all of you here are wondering why I am speaking to you," he began. "You have many questions and I shall seek to answer them as best as I can."

There was a pregnant pause that followed.

"I've conducted much research in the past few days we have been here, and what I am about to share could alter all of our plans thus far."


My little insects, come see the web we've woven! Untangle these thorny roots that ensnare and guard the gates to paradise!


Want to discuss anything related to The Phantasmagoria with the author himself? If so, send a friend request to my Discord linked below!

Discord: z2h2z

Next Time: A Glimpse Behind The Curtain
 
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Chapter 47: A Glimpse Behind The Curtain New

Z2H

Junior Trainer
Chapter 47

A Glimpse Behind The Curtain

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Liam crossed his arms; his attention, along with everyone else's, was honed in on Scizor as the Bug-type spoke.

"Now, I understand many of you present do not know who I am, or what the goal was that the Cosmic Quilt Guild sought after. I am- or was this guild's head researcher and advisor. And the shared goal of everyone at the guild was to eliminate the threat of the Mystery Dungeons from this world."

Looks of astonishment jumped across the faces of the crowd. A claw from a runtish-looking Drilbur rose into the air. "Why were y'all doin' that? What's wrong with them dungeons?" he asked.

"The rate at which new Mystery Dungeons form is slow enough to go mostly unnoticed, but it is a slow killer of our world. The more land the ley lines consume, the less for us. And the lives stolen by these manifestations..." He visibly stiffened, a quiver in his pincers. "But recent developments have proven there's not just the Mystery Dungeons or the ley lines threatening the world, but our Guildmaster - Jackson - the Shiny Lucario you may have all heard of." Scizor paced around his given space. "It's clear to me that Yveltal is under the control of Jackson. How, you ask?" He sighed, contemplating his next words. "I believe he is controlling Yveltal through the usage of the ley lines themselves. The orange lines wrapped around Yveltal's body - Jackson's ring - it's connected somehow."

'So he knows…' Liam mused in his mind. He brushed his paw along his golden scarf. 'I'll have to be more careful.'

A few gasps resounded from the crowd. Roark stepped forward, cocking an eyebrow. "You said that before in our cells, but you never really elaborated on it. Care to explain further?"

"It's been shown through our findings at the Entercard Research Station that Legendaries can be physically harmed by the presence of the ley lines - headaches and whatnot. Therefore, it is not out of the question that ley lines could also warp the minds of those it clings to."

"And you think it could, like, brainwash those other Legends, too?"

"… Possibly, yes."

The crowd was stirred into a ravenous frenzy by such a claim. Only when Garchomp loudly stomped her feet did they simmer down. "He's not done yet! So relax!" she roared.

"What I believe is most concerning besides Yveltal is what Jackson is after - these artifacts. What we uncovered at the dig site at Criss-Cross Creek, and attempted to find at the Glacier Peak Palace. I've done a lot of research on this matter, studying old tales, rumors, and mythos about Legendaries of the past."

"For multiple Kyurem to have guarded it for generations, it must be very important, right?" Gloria suggested.

Scizor nodded. "Undoubtedly so. And what I'm about to say might be outlandish, but bear with me. Kyurem referred to the artifact as the 'essence of Arceus'; that Legendaries were meant to protect this essence and entrust it to a future generation. And if what Kyurem said is true… to bring Arceus back into this world. The physical makeup of the artifact we saw at Criss-Cross Creek was golden, metallic, with a green gem encrusted into it; it was as if it were a fractured piece of something greater. And I believe now that it was part of Arceus' wheel."

"Arceus' wheel?" Gloria replied.

"Yes. While Arceus himself was vastly more powerful than any other Pokemon, this structure attached to him is what gave him most of his strength. From what information I've gathered about Arceus' 'wheel', it was what gave Arceus the strength and ability to form the entire universe, to manipulate matter and the very structure of our existence…" In the ensuing silence, he took out what appeared to be notes from his red saddlebag, glossing over them. "The physical description of Arceus' wheel in the old legends and the description of the artifact we saw are strikingly similar as well. I'm more than confident in this assumption that the artifacts are indeed a fraction of Arceus' wheel."

The crowd that had previously been set ablaze was now deathly quiet, the weight of his words settling in. Stepping forward, Liam spoke in a tone of concern. "And, uh, if y'all are right about these things being some part of Arceus, why exactly does Jackson want 'em?"

"A good question - one I'm still not certain of. But if Jackson understands the importance of these artifacts as we do now, then he may be seeking to change the world- no." Scizor shook his head. "To change the universe - the very makeup of our existence, if he can manipulate them for his own doing."

"But… What if we got 'em first?" Liam entertained. "What if we got all the artifacts together instead? What would we do with them?"

Those gathered seemed to ask this question themselves as they looked around in thought. Scizor ended their curiosity with a raised pincer. "We're getting ahead of ourselves. Our efforts should focus on keeping them out of Jackson's reach before deciding what to do with the artifacts. What I believe is more pressing is…" He sighed. "There is something else I must share, and I would like to apologize for keeping this from you all."

Monferno crossed his arms. "As long as it's not another amazing surprise like the Guildmaster has for us…"

Braixen frowned at her partner before flashing Scizor a reassuring smile. "You can tell us, Scizor; we'd understand."

"Thank you, Braixen," Scizor said. "I know what I've explained thus far has been difficult to grasp, but bear with me again. It is regarding what Kyurem mentioned to the group exploring the Glacier Peak Palace; that another group had already taken the artifact long ago, correct?"

Gloria nodded. "Kyurem told us that they were called the 'Alignment'. It can't be the same group we know of today, right?"

His stare lingered on her momentarily. "During our expedition to the ERS, there was a Projection Crystal found and viewed - its contents kept secret by me, the Guildmaster, and Garchomp." The dragoness bowed her head in apparent shame as he continued. "What we saw was another group of Pokemon attacking the Legendaries. They wore armbands, swearing allegiance to an Allmother and an Allfather. It can be assumed this group was the Alignment." He flipped to another page in his notes. "And during the guild's expedition of Celestial Mountain, the Followers of Life there spoke of conflict with Pokemon wearing armbands that came to the mountain. This is also where the Magnagate Investigation Project was located - a previous Legendary research station."

Roark shook his head, crossing his arms. "So, wait. Let me get this straight - those weird 'mons who made the Eden Theater - they've been to all these places like a million years ago?"

"A few thousand years extending to the present if the Followers Of Life were correct in their claims, yes. The evidence is substantial in suggesting that the group of the past and the one we know of today are the same."

"So what's the deal with them? They're religious kooks, that's for sure. But why do they wanna know all the stuff that we wanna know? And take the stuff we wanna take?"

"As to exactly 'why' and 'how' they know of these sites, or the importance of them, it's apparent from their interactions with others that they were and still are willing to use force to obtain them. We already know they might have one of the artifacts, but they could have the others." Scizor tapped his chin. "And perhaps those mercenaries that stole the initial artifact we found were employed by the Alignment."

"If these artifacts could change so much about our world, is that why they want them?" Gloria said. "They want to do something with them like Jackson does, right?"

"That is to be assumed, yes. But their motives remain mysterious exactly."

"What should we do next, Scizor?" Braixen asked. "This sounds all so confusing…"

"It's clear now that there are multiple factors at play here. It's not just Jackson or the Council we should keep an eye out for, but also this Alignment. As for the artifacts, I believe we should refer to them as 'Arc Fragments.' Securing them before Jackson does is vital in preventing anything from happening to our world - I'm sure of it."

"And that's where I take over," Garchomp grumbled as she stomped over to Scizor, surveying the crowd. "Listen up, everyone! All of you are gonna be designated to investigate certain areas of Celestic for these fragments and also scouting for signs of Jackson or the Alignment's presence!" she roared aloud, placing a talon on Scizor's shoulder. "Show this 'mon here the respect he deserves and help protect Celestic and the future of all Pokemon! All of us here aren't just lay down and let that damn Lucario or the Council step over us!"

"She's right, y'all!" Excadrill exclaimed as he stepped forward. "If we don't find them Arceus thingamijigs and figure out the bigger picture here, then we're plumb outta luck! And you could kiss explorin' and treasure huntin' goodbye if this whole world goes away, too!" He straightened his tie, hardening his features as well. "I ain't ready to let that Lucario do what he wants to our world, and y'all shouldn't either!"

"That goes not just for everyone here, but everyone who wants to protect this world!" Garchomp jumped back in. "I want teams all across Celestic searching for these Arc Fragments, investigating the Alignment, or tracking down the whereabouts of Jackson and Yveltal! Now, are we just gonna sit around and wait to get arrested by the Council or petrified by Yveltal, or are we gonna get out there and show 'em we're not backing down?"

Electricity was in the air as the nervous murmurs and whispers among the crowd turned to feverous cheering and confident bellows. Liam had to hand it to Excadrill and Garchomp; they knew how to rile up Pokemon for a cause, even if it was ultimately pointless.

'They don't understand…' he lamented. 'That they're fighting against their only chance for true happiness, for a better world.'

"Form groups and figure out what you'll be doing!" Garchomp continued. "Then speak to me and Scizor to get assigned!"

'Now's my chance.' He cleared his thoughts with a shake of his head before turning to the Ninetales and Zoroark beside him. 'I need them with me. We need to get inside that city.'

"Guys, listen to me," the Lucario began. "We should be the ones to investigate the Alignment."

Gloria frowned. "If what Scizor said is true, and what Kyurem said was true, then they've known about this stuff with the Arc Fragments for a long time."

"I don't know, sis," Roark said, crossing his arms. "The Pokemon in armbands being religious weirdos - believable. But all this stuff about them with the Legendaries in the past? Seems like just some old rumor."

"Why would Scizor and Garchomp lie about what they saw?"

The fox shrugged. "Maybe they didn't realize what they saw."

Liam cocked his head. "Really, Roark? Out of everything you've seen in this world, this isn't something believable? This is where you draw the line?"

"Hey, kid, I'm a rational guy. And I know this world can be nuts, but this just seems more strange than the usual insanity on this rock."

"I think Scizor is right," Gloria rebutted. "Kyurem wouldn't lie to us either, and what I heard in one of the Frisms in the palace, someone was speaking about an 'Allmother' and 'Allfather'. Those are important figures in their religion, right?"

Liam nodded. "That's right. And that's confirmation they have what we need. If there's any chance of getting the Arc Fragments, it's through the Alignment."

"You seem pretty certain of this, kid. You're sure we should dip our claws into this business?" Roark questioned.

"I'm more than sure. And if Jackson is thinking the same, he won't be far behind us." Liam clenched a paw tight, smirking. "We need to figure out what the Alignment is hiding before he does!"

"I agree!" Gloria yipped, her tails wagging. "And think of all the things we could learn about them! Not just their technology, but their culture and origins!"

Liam knew the Zoroark could not resist their contagious excitement for long, especially when Gloria was caught up in it. He watched as the old fox visibly mulled it over in his head before letting out a drawn-out sigh.

"If the dream team wants to do it, who am I to stand in the way, huh?" he said.

Liam smirked. "Trust me, Roark. After our run-in with their ambassador at the Eden Theater, we have a lot of questions to ask ourselves."

"And if it's true that they're searching for the Arc Fragments, then maybe they could help us keep them safe, too!" Gloria suggested.

"Okay, okay, no need to keep selling me the pitch - I'm in." Blood red claws clasped their shoulders as Roark chuckled, jostling them. "Sit tight. I'll deliver the news to Scizor that we're gonna hunt down some cultists."

"We don't- We'll, they're not cult-" Gloria tried to say before Roark sauntered away, groaning in frustration. "You'd think my brother would care a lot more about learning stuff when the world could be at stake."

"That's what makes him so charming, and also annoying," Liam shot back. "He just goes with the flow."

The Ninetales turned to him. "Do you think Scizor is right about these 'Arc Fragments' things? Roark told me you even held one of them before it was stolen."

"I did, and it was… weird." The feeling was indescribable to him. The way its invisible energy danced along his senses and lifted his aura tassels, he had never felt it before. It was a sensation he yearned to experience again, and if everything went according to plan, he could. "They definitely hold some kind of power. And keepin' 'em out of Jackson's hands- paws is pretty darn important now."

Roark pushed past the other forming groups of Pokemon chattering in the foyer, making his way over to Scizor as he chatted with Garchomp. "Hey, Sciz!" he called out.

Scizor glanced over. "Roark. I assume Team Requiem has made up its mind on which lead to follow?"

"Yeah. Apparently, losing an eye made that kid extra keen on the mission. Instead of going after Jackson, he wants us in on this Alignment mystery."

"Liam?" Scizor said with surprise, shifting his eyes to stare at the Lucario in the background. His gaze lingered briefly before his attention returned to Roark. "Team Requiem has always been very resourceful, so I have no doubt they could take up this task. I assume you would join them in this endeavor, of course."

Roark smirked. "Oh yeah. Y'know, big brother and all - can't let that little sister of mine out of sight for too long. So, any tips on where we should start with this, uh, investigation?"

"An investigation into the Alignment will prove difficult with the Council looking to recapture and arrest us. Naturally, the methods we would use in the guild are unattainable, so we must be more… stealthily about it."

"Stealthily, huh?"

Garchomp rolled her eyes. "What Sciz is trying to say is that we need to somehow sneak some 'mons into their organization, figure out what they're up to, where they're holed up. The sooner we figure that out, the sooner we can figure out their real agenda. Think you and Team Requiem can do that, Roark?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" Roark fired back. A white light encased his body as his Zoroark form morphed into a tall Garchomp before swiftly reverting back to normal. "I know how to be stealthy, trust me."

Scizor smiled. "We can see that. Since we have our faith in you, your team will be the first to commence the investigation once we find an entry point."

"I'll let the dream team know. Thanks, Scizor." As Roark turned to head back, the words of Scizor stopped him.

"Actually, Roark… There was something else I figured we should talk about."

Roark spun around, "And I figured we might as well get this out of the way, too."

"I wanted to apologize for, er, what I burdened you with - the responsibility of keeping my- Team Moonlight's dream alive." Scizor rubbed his pincers together. "It was selfish on my part, but I didn't see a way out from my position, so-"

Roark stopped his spiel with a raised claw. "Let me stop you right there. You don't have to apologize and junk; you did what you thought was best in a tough spot. But now you're back, eh? You, Garchomp, and Excadrill seem to have things locked down."

"That is true, but… Things can't return to how they were before. I didn't agree with Jackson's decision to have you only run errands and the occasional job listing in the guild when you first joined. I knew of your background and believed your talents were being wasted even back then."

"Talent being wasted? Come on, Sciz - I was just another member of the Rescue Society. I did my part when I was needed and now it's gone - I'm done with that."

"But the Rescue Society isn't gone anymore, is it? And from what Zoroark told me, you were the most respected member in that organization, right behind Bisharp."

"Did he now?"

Scizor nodded. "While Garchomp and I will try our best, we'll need someone to lead these investigations. Since Team Requiem insists on pursuing the Alignment, this investigation would be under your supervision.

Roark scratched his chin in apparent thought. "I don't know… Me barking out orders to 'mons? Didn't feel right and doesn't feel right now."

Garchomp lightly shoved him with a talon. "C'mon, Roark. You're a respected 'mon from the guild; we could use someone resourceful like you to keep things in line."

"I guess, uh…" Roark shifted his eyes to find Zoroark among the crowd of chattering Pokemon. He saw the Ghost-type giving out inaudible commands to his group of Rescue Society members. He let out a sigh, smirking slightly. "Heh, I guess if others are giving it their all, who am I to sit back like before? All right, Scizor, you won - you got me."

"Thank you, Roark," Scizor said earnestly, giving a slight bow. "When we find a lead on the Alignment, you'll be the first to know."

"You're putting a lot of faith in this old fox, huh?"

"Sciz can see things in 'mons, Roark," Garchomp answered. "Clearly, he's seen things in you if he's this persistent."

Roark chuckled as he spun back around and walked away. "We'll see!"

"Thank you, Roark!" Scizor yelled behind him.

Pervading thoughts trailed his wake before he was side by side with Liam and Gloria once more as they talked to another. He threw his arms around their necks and pulled them close to him, chuckling again. "You won't believe the promotion I just had!" he hollered into their ears. "Ten years in the making, sis."

Gloria wriggled her way out of his grasp. "You did?"

"Yep," he said, jabbing a claw at his chest. "You're looking at the leader of this whole Alignment mystery investigating group… thing?" He shrugged. "Scizor insisted, so who am I to rain on his parade?"

A smile split her muzzle. "But that's great! We can have more Pokemon join us now!"

"Hey, maybe I like keeping this dream team just a trio," Roark argued. "If we're gonna be sneaking into their little club, it's easier this way."

"Who said anything about sneaking in? Why couldn't we talk with them first?"

"A situation like this one isn't so delicate, sis. We need what they apparently have, and I don't think they're the type to give it to strangers."

"I just think…"

Liam tuned out their back-and-forth jabbering as his mind wandered, his paws gripping the scarf of pure energy wrapped around his neck. He focused hard, drowning out the voices around him until only he was heard.

'Hey! Do you hear me?' he called out in his mind.

His scarf flickered a bright yellow as hushed whispers filled the void. They coalesced into a familiar, silky voice that then spoke to him with clarity. "… Yes. I can hear you, my dear."

Liam breathed a sigh of relief. 'Were you able to hear what Scizor told everyone?'

"I can only hear thoughts such as these, see the things your mind conjures. I am… limited in this regard."

'He said that the Alignment has one of these Arc Fragments - the pieces we're looking for. Is that true? Do they have one?'

Silence reigned momentarily. "Yes. The Alignment is in possession of one of these 'Arc Fragments'."

'And now Gloria, Roark, and I are expected to find out some way to get it from the Alignment. Either by sneaking in, or talking to them, or… I don't know!' Fear suddenly gripped his senses. 'But if Scizor and the others get the Arc Fragment before me or Jackson can, how could we get it back? They won't use it for our dream… They won't use it to better the world!'

His breathing became erratic as he started hyperventilating, a wave of panic washing over him as his vision blurred. Failure to secure it would mean the demise of their dream, missing that fleeting chance to make everything right again.

He could not let that happen.

"Please relax, Liam," she assured. "That will not happen. We will secure this Arc Fragment and cement the birth of paradise with it - I promise that."

His heart relaxed as his breathing slowed. 'Sorry… All of this is just so overwhelming.'

"I will speak to Jackson and inform him of this mission of yours. He has long known of the presence of the Arc Fragment within the Alignment. Getting to it is not the hard part, but prying it from their hands is."

'That's where he's going next, right? To deal with the Alignment.'

"No. Jackson has other matters he must attend to across the continents of this world. This task of infiltrating the Alignment and retrieving it will be left to you for the time being."

It was a demanding task to put upon his shoulders, but he knew there was no other choice. He had to find it if paradise was to be created. 'Is there anything you can tell us about the Alignment that could help us reach the fragment inside that city?'

"There is something important you must know about my history in this world. The relationship between the Alignment and me."

'Relationship? What do you mean?'

"Thousands of years ago, I finally awoke after so long in slumber. I was now in control, but I was limited, as I am now. I scoured the lands for a Pokemon that would hear my voice call to them, as you have many times before. In a small village, I found an Infernape willing to hear my message, to hear my plea for paradise. He listened, obeyed, and gathered others to search for what I sought for so long - completion."

The gears in Liam's head began to turn. 'Wait… What you're saying is that you…'

"Yes. To the Alignment across millennia, I am known as the Allmother."


image



Gallade blinked.

He stared long and hard at the visibly anxious reflection of himself staring back.

'Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.'

He reiterated these breathing exercises that calmed his frayed nerves, now just as they had back when he first started training as a soldier. In a way, today felt almost the same as then.

'But this time… I don't have her beside me.'

Stepping away from the mirror, he entered his plain-looking bedroom and grabbed the pristine-looking rifle lying on his bed. Slinging its straps over his shoulder brought about a churning feeling in his stomach that worsened his feelings from before. It was just in case, he reminded himself. It had been years since he last fired it, and not once had he fired it upon another. Throwing the strap of his saddlebag over his other shoulder, he hoped he would never have to.

Today was the day of the 'Sweep', an unofficial term coined by soldiers of the Alignment that were ordered to march the city streets and confront any known dissenters. Gallade vividly remembered his early days as a mere trainee, witnessing Pokemon ripped from their homes and arrested, belongings picked apart, and privacy erased by scores of invading soldiers.

Which is why it was so strange that Blaziken asked him to come along for another 'Sweep'.

'He knows I don't like these activities… I told him that while we were in training together. Is this to test me? To see if I'll break?'

The commander wanted him in his elite unit, and no doubt, today was another chance for the Fire-type to convince him to join despite his previous rejection. But he remembered what the Allfather had warned him of.

'Blaziken's planning something - a war, the Allfather said. But what is it truly? Is he going to make the Alignment fight that Lucario?'

It did not sit right with him being left in the dark on this matter - something he could agree with Heliolisk about. Reminded of his closest friend, a certain distaste was smothering his senses.

Gallade made sure he had everything ready before he walked out of his bedroom and went down the stairs. Shutting the door to his home behind him, he was struck by the ubiquitous buzz and blue glow of the neon lights all around him.

'He's getting obsessed with the idea of being part of Blaziken's unit. Why isn't he happy where he is? Doesn't he know what he's casting aside if he gets accepted?'

It frustrated him. Everything about their lives frustrated him. To grin and bear it, to serve and live in these cold caverns for their entire lives, it was his warning hope for paradise that endured.

'I'm starting to sound like Gothorita now…'

Congregating on the foggy streets, soldiers of the Alignment were discussing among themselves before they noticed his arrival. An assortment of cheers assaulted his ears before a scarred Blaziken pushed aside the Pokemon like a parting sea. He saw the brief flash of a smile upon Blaziken's beak before he was enveloped in a tight hug.

"The ambassador decides to grace us with his presence on this fine day!" the Fire-type bellowed.

Gallade quickly freed himself from the hug. "It is, ah, a pleasure to see you as well, commander."

"A not-so-professional greeting, but we're friends among comrades. Isn't that right?" He asked of the soldiers beside him, getting a roar of cheers in response.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask; that he wanted to demand out of Blaziken. But his mouth remained closed, offering only a nod and sparse words. "Of course, commander."

'What is he hiding? What is he not telling me, telling us?'

His shoulder being bumped into scattered his thoughts as he glanced over to see Heliolisk grinning at him, clutching his own rifle. "Surprised you actually came out of your hole," he said, turning to face the soldiers. "This guy is such a nerd, he read a whole book from the surface of the rain!"

Gallade returned the favor, bumping his shoulder into his. "You want me to tell them how much you talk about a certain Ghost-type?"

The soldiers 'ooh'ed and cackled as Heliolisk blushed. Loud whistling cut them off as all eyes focused on Blaziken, a sudden stern expression on his face.

"As much as these pleasantries are humorous, we are here on an important mission. Safeguarding the integrity of our faith and ensuring the security of our beautiful home. Today, the nonbelievers and traitors to our glorious cause face righteous justice and swift action!" Blaziken finished with a tight clench of his talons to the sounds of more ravenous cheers. "We have many stops today, and the Allmother does not entertain dallying about. Come! We will march through the streets and let all the Pokémon walking beside us know that we are delivering her word and wrath!"

Stirred into a frenzy by their commander, the riled-up soldiers quickly got into rough formations and began stomping across the paved road. Blaziken led the charge, guiding them through the city of dazzling lights to their first target. Gallade flowed with the motions around him, yet lacked the enthusiasm his comrades shared. His mind was too focused on what the Allfather had told him.

"Hey," Heliolisk whispered into Gallade's ear as he walked beside him. "This is my first time doing a Sweep, y'know? Any tips?"

'Tips… Try to not join or get ordered to? He has to know what we're doing, right? What we're going to do to Pokemon just living their lives.'

"Just… keep your head down," Gallade advised. "If the commander wants you to take charge, you do it. And don't get too riled up; we're not here to hurt others."

"Yeah, yeah, protecting the Alignment. That's what this is all for." Heliolisk grinned as his neck fan flared up in visible excitement. "I heard the commander was gearing up for another Sweep, and I couldn't believe he asked me to join!"

"So that's how he got you?"

"Yup." Heliolisk stared blankly at him. "What's with the face?"

Gallade looked forward, making sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation before speaking. "It's about what the Allfather told me the other day. He said that Commander Blaziken isn't following orders."

"Not following orders? What do you mean?"

"He's acting on his own authority now, and he wants to start a war with any of the Alignment's enemies."

Heliolisk flinched. "A w-war? Have we ever been in one before?"

"Our records suggest otherwise, but we now know how unreliable they are. If the commander is looking to fight, it's going to be soon - I'm sure of it."

"If he is, then why hasn't he said anything yet? To the public or to the soldiers?"

"I don't know. Maybe so the Allfather is caught off guard? Or one of our enemies?" Gallade shook his head before stopping in his tracks and laying a hand on Heliolisk's shoulder. "Listen. I know the future is uncertain right now, but I need you to promise me something."

"Promise what?"

"That you won't get swept up in all of this. I don't know what Commander Blaziken is planning, but I don't like it. And I don't know what I'd do if you got involved."

"Okay, okay, I won't! Sheesh, you lay it on thick sometimes."

Gallade smiled. "You're my brother. Just remember that."

Heliolisk returned the gesture. "Same to you."

The streets were calm and barren at this particular hour. Gallade attributed it to the visible entourage of soldiers slicing their way across the city. He remembered ducking into alleyways whenever a 'Sweep' occurred in his district.

As the group came to a sudden divergence in the road, a string of lights attached to a metal post flashed a rapid red. They could hear a great rumbling in the distance, like a pack of thundering Tauros dashing across the plains.

"The locomotive is coming!" a Breloom shouted.

"It's the locomotive! Stay where you are!" another soldier added.

In the distance, plumes of black smoke jettisoned from the tops of chimneys. From across the set of iron tracks was a goliath snake of black steel that was barreling toward them. The great roaring of its engine made their bodies and even the earth itself tremble as a loud whistle screeched to signify its arrival.

Misty vapors shrouding the tracks were split into a rush of wind as the Coalossal-shaped head of the locomotive steamed past, whizzing carriages and containers of coal attached to it. Gyrating coupling rods and axles pumped and rotated the numerous wheels attached to the grand mechanism, blasting out excess steam.

Just as swiftly as it came, it went just as fast, the locomotive vanishing into a cavernous tunnel beyond the city. The flashing red neon lights dimmed before reverting to their natural light blue.

"Keep going!" Blaziken ordered. "Our first visit is in the Anthesis District."

Strips of orange light and flowerbeds of white wallflowers past the locomotive tracks signified the borders between districts. The drab-looking and visually indistinguishable homes were lined side by side in long blocks, lit up by the occasional street lamp. Opened curtains were shuttered, and doors were closed when they passed by. Gallade could hardly tell these houses apart from his own, but Blaziken seemed to know exactly where to go.

Blaziken stopped in front of one of the homes. "Right here. This is one." He retrieved a sheet of parchment from his saddlebag. "Breloom. Here is a list of others in the area. Take a squad and perform your own searches."

"On it, commander!" the Breloom cried, taking the parchment along with a few other soldiers with him.

"Gallade."

Gallade perked up at his name being called. "Yes, commander?"

"Knock on the door. This Pokemon was once cleared to visit the surface. However, it has come to our attention that he owns unauthorized material from the surface - outsider books," Blaziken explained. "I'll assume you remember how these searches are conducted."

"I understand. I'll begin right away."

Flanked by soldiers on both sides, Gallade swallowed the bile building up in his throat and made his way toward the home's entrance. He gave the door a loud yet brief knock before waiting for signs of activity. A few seconds later, a Toxicroak opened the door and immediately grew a worried look.

"H-hello. Is something the matter?" he asked.

"Sir, we're going to have to conduct a search on your residence," Gallade answered. "We'll need you to step outside as we search."

"Hey, wait! I've done nothing wrong-" Toxicroak was cut off as the barrel of a rifle was pointed at him by a Marowak beside Gallade.

"Sir, please step outside while we proceed with the search," Gallade repeated, pleading with his eyes for the Pokemon to do as instructed.

Swallowing thickly, the Toxicroak hesitantly stepped outside as Gallade and the soldiers entered. The home was a cluttered mess of stacked books and scattered parchment still wet with ink from a nearby quill. They quickly got to work sifting through all of it. Gallade knew each book and scrap of parchment produced by the Alignment would contain a symbol signifying its origin, making it easier to deduce works of the outside world.

As he scoured for evidence, Gallade could feel a smile growing. 'This Pokemon is as interested in the outside world as I am. It's wonderful to see a fellow budding scholar.' His smile waned. 'If only it were in better circumstances.'

He found books of famous authors within the city, of poets that described the unmatched beauty and majesty of paradise. He found the works of the renowned Slowking among Toxicroak's collection, recognizing a few of the poems that Gothorita once shared with him.

'I thought all of his work was lost when they were removed from the Archives…'

Gallade checked his surroundings to make sure none of the soldiers were watching him before he stuffed the tiny book into his saddlebag.

"Sir! We found something of interest!" the Marowak soldier exclaimed, holding a book high.

Dropping what he was holding, he walked over and grabbed the book from Marowak. He instantly noticed the lack of a symbol staining its cover. 'The Continents Of Esse…' He flipped through the pages of the book, confirming his suspicions. "This is evidence. Anything else?"

"Over here!" A Raticate cried.

Gallade found more and more books from the outside world, and the case was solid. Reading the inked parchments, he deduced that Toxicroak was creating copies to distribute to others in the city. He lamented what came next, gathering most of the smuggled texts and parchment and piling them in a separate corner.

"Get rid of them," he ordered before stepping back outside. With a single nod to Blaziken, two soldiers grabbed hold of a defeated Toxicroak's shoulders and began hauling him off.

"Deliver that criminal to the nearest guard station!" Blaziken yelled before glancing at Gallade. "Impressive work, Gallade. But I'm afraid there are many more traitors to root out today than just this one."

There was always more. Always an enemy to their cause.

"I understand, commander," he said. "I just… I just wish there was another way than what we're doing to these Pokemon."

Blaziken was silent for a tense moment as he wondered if he had said the wrong thing. "… It's not an easy task to decide what we need and what we want. The Pokemon of this city, the true believers of paradise and the Allmother, do not need these frivolous texts that serve only to cloud their minds from their true need in this lifetime. The pursuit of knowledge is a want. But the pursuit of paradise and a better tomorrow for all - even those outside of this Alignment of ours - is a true need."

Gallade bit his tongue from rebutting his claims. "That's very wise of you, commander."

Blaziken smirked. "Come now, brother. There are plenty of other houses to visit tonight."

The next few hours went by in a daze. The marching down the street, the shattering of the illusion of privacy, the Pokemon being dragged from their homes and ripped from their families. But the worst of it was seeing Heliolisk enjoying himself with the other soldiers, who found these escapades almost entertaining. They laughed and joked between each arrest, even posing for any unaware children wandering the street that they came across. It worsened the forming pit in his stomach.

Static spewed from the loudspeakers dotting the district before a distorted melody flowed from the speakers. It signified the end of a day, the beginning of curfew, and their last visit. The final home they visited was a clear step above the rest. Tall, ornate, and with its own personal garden. Clearly belonging to a family of higher status within the party, Gallade could only wonder who, and what they did to deserve what happened next..

"I'll conduct this one personally…" Blaziken uttered in a dark tone.

His soldiers followed him up the steps of the abode as he knocked the door harshly with his enclosed talons. Seconds passed as nobody came to answer. Another harsh pounding, yet still nothing. Blaziken then gave a slight nod of his head to the Marowak beside him.

The butt of a rifle slammed against the door, chunks of wood flying off with each repeated hit. With a single blazing kick from Blaziken, the door was blown inward as soldiers poured inside the home.

Gallade did not enter, paralyzed where he stood. He could not see anything, but he heard the sounds of commotion. The unseen scuffling continued until a bloodied Sceptile was thrown out of the doorway, tumbling down the steps and collapsing onto the street. Blaziken and his soldiers stepped out soon after, encircling Sceptile as he struggled to stand, falling to his knees.

"Commander, what's going on?" Gallade questioned. "What did this Pokemon do to warrant this behavior?"

"This Pokemon was once the personal bodyguard of Ambassador Simisage," Blaziken said, kneeling in front of Sceptile. "Isn't that right? These fine soldiers here were once your brothers and sisters, and you betrayed them for your own survival."

"I didn't-"

Sceptile could not finish his statement as Blaziken kicked him in the stomach. He grimaced at the curled-up Grass-type. "During the premiere of the Eden Theater, this… wretch was supposed to guard Ambassador Simisage during the event. Instead, he chose to work with the mercenary clan at war with the Alignment and sell out the location of the ambassador."

"No!" Sceptile squirmed. "I didn't- I mean… I had no choice! They captured me before… They-"

"You chose to work with the devils that wish to tear apart our faith, to break our covenant." Blaziken kneeled before him again, grabbing Sceptile's arm and ripping his armband off. "Only because of the intervention from a shepherd did Simisage survive the attack."

"I didn't… I had no choice. I had to work with them."

Gallade did not know what to think as he stared down at the pitiful Pokemon. He was angry to think such a respected Pokemon like Simisage was threatened because of his actions. But to be captured by the mercenary captains he knew very well, he most likely was telling the truth.

"You all… have no idea," Sceptile muttered.

Blaziken scowled. "Excuse me?"

"We're ALL caged down here!" Silence followed as pained laughter spilled out of Sceptile. "We've been trapped down here… for hundreds of years! All of our families have lived and died here for centuries without… anything to show for it! We haven't ever… ever gotten close to reaching paradise. Because… because it doesn't exist."

The air was tense as Sceptile laughed again, interrupted by a fit of coughing. Hardened glares from all sides were laser-focused on the Grass-type as he switched his demeanor.

"Don't you all see that?! This is a prison!" he screamed. "You do these horrible things to Pokemon every day of your lives and think you're helping us?" He threw frantic, pleading looks at the soldiers surrounding him as tears streamed down his face. "How do you see what you're doing as what the Allmother desires?! I-I'm not the insane one here! You all are!"

Looks were shared among the soldiers, some confused as if to absorb any of what Sceptile screeched, yet nothing was said. Meanwhile, Blaziken was burning a hole deep into the Grass-type's forehead with a smoldering, hateful glare.

Sceptile's voice trembled as he slowly rose on shaky feet. "And all of these Allfathers… They've been lying to us for years! And the Allmother…" Blood was spat on the ground. "She's not real and never was-"

"HEY!"

Heads snapped in the direction of Heliolisk as he raised his rifle, walking toward Sceptile. "Shut your damn mouth, traitor!" he yelled. "You tried getting our own ambassador hurt or killed for your own selfish reasons, and now you try to denounce the Allmother herself?" His claws hovered over the trigger. "A devil like yourself… has no reason to live!"

Blaziken intervened, grabbing and lowering the Electric-type's rifle. "That's enough, Heliolisk. There is no point pouring out one's emotions to a wretch like this." He glanced at Breloom and Marowak. "Arrest this Pokemon so he may see proper justice for his betrayal."

Mixed emotions clouded Gallade's mind as he watched Sceptile being dragged away by his comrades - no fight left in him.

'What could cause a Pokemon to act in such a way? Was it selfishness like Heliolisk and Blaziken said? Or perhaps madness… from being down here.'

After so long without hope, without guidance, without a future, and without their paradise, it was enough to make anyone go mad. But was Sceptile truly mad? What they did tonight to so many Pokemon was unthinkable in the outside world. But all he could do was watch as it happened, and participate in it if he was asked.

"I must say, I appreciate you coming out to join us today, Gallade."

Gallade snapped out of his stupor as Blaziken stood before him. "Ah… Yes, commander," he said, bowing slightly. "It was an honor for you to request my assistance."

Blaziken chuckled, holding out Sceptile's armband. In a flash of blue flames from his furry wrists, the piece of cloth was incinerated into ashes and swept down the cold streets. "Today was an important day in rooting out the traitors and enemies of our glorious cause. Now…" He smiled. "We can proceed unimpeded."

The uneasy feelings returned. "Proceed… with what?"

Blaziken chuckled again. "In time, Ambassador Gallade."

His unblinking stare of pure apathy and even an ounce of disdain caught Gallade's attention. He could think of only one reason for the look. "About your proposal of me joining your elite rank, I…"

Blaziken raised a talon. "There's no need to explain yourself. You have important work to conduct under the Allfather. We all have our duties to uphold in the struggle for paradise, brother."

"I see…" The look never left the Fire-type's face. "I… I must be going. It is quite late for me, and I do have some paperwork from the heralds of each district to go over."

"Of course - I won't take any more of your time. I just wish today was a reminder for you of how things once were when we were enrolled together."

Gallade remained silent, offering no remark as Blaziken whistled and rallied his soldiers beside him. They marched down the streets once more, a series of echoing stomps feared by many. Gallade half expected Heliolisk to stay by his side, watching as the Electric-type trailed behind and conversed with them.

Day by day, it was becoming less surprising.
image


The velvety curtains were drawn, bright spotlights turned on, the crowd whispering and gasping softly in anticipation.

Theater was always a spectacle in the city, drawing eyes from all the districts. And throughout the ages of the Alignment, plays and shows were the best way to translate their emotions and desires into art.

Gallade was no different. When he first saw film through the newly invented projector, he was dazzled by its potential. Growing up, he would spend what little money he had to attend the latest plays and reenactments of important history.

It made sense to export the culture of their home to the outside world theater in the form of the Eden Theater. He lamented its destruction - the bright spot of a tainted track record wiped from existence by a force of evil.

Gallade scattered such distracting thoughts from his mind as he adjusted his green bowtie - the one piece of apparel he decided to wear at an event dominated by rich, well-dressed Pokemon.

"Tut tut… the one thing you choose to wear and it lacks any style," a ghostly, feminine voice behind him said.

He shivered as an almost invisible apparition floated through his body. "Stop doing that, Mismagius. You know I hate that."

Of course, she would be here in a place like this.

The Ghost-type cackled as she fully manifested. "But that's why it's so amusing!" She twirled, showcasing her new dazzling black and white dress draping off her ghostly form. "It's a shame Heliolisk isn't here… I greatly miss his red, blushing face. He would think I would look simply ravishing."

Gallade smiled. "Like a Tamato Berry, right?" His smile waned. "I thought of inviting him, but it appears he's celebrating the results of the Sweep with the commander and his troops..."

"You sound rather bitter, darling. Is that the case?"

"No, no - it's not that. It's just… Heliolisk was never a fighter. I always protected him growing up. And I just don't know if he's ready to pursue being an elite among Commander Blaziken's ranks. He should continue being an ambassador, growing his skills in speech and not combat."

"He's growing up, darling, as are you. He wants to prove himself worthy in the eyes of his commander, as I'm sure you do with the Allfather. Are you sure these feelings come from your mind and not your heart?"

Gallade gripped the railing of the balcony he stood on, looking out toward the empty stage in thought. Was he being overly protective of his friend? He knew he could be overbearing sometimes, as big brothers are, but he felt like something was different this time.

"It feels like we're splitting apart, and there's nothing I can do to stop it," he admitted. "I don't know why or when it started. But he's changed… and I don't know if it's for the best."

Mismagius floated beside him. "Hmm, and haven't you changed, darling?"

"Have I?"

"You tell me, Mr Ambassador," she ended with a wink.

Despite his change in role, he did not change his ways. His motivation and goals remained resolute. And yet his mind battled with his heart constantly, testing his faith with each passing strife. Seeing his best friend grow distant and the promise of paradise seeming so fleeting was rattling his soul within.

He sighed. "Everything about the present seems so uncertain. With what's happening in the outside world and with the commander, I don't know what's going to happen, and that terrifies me."

Mismagius huffed. "You need to unwind a little, darling. This is the right place to let go of all your silly responsibilities!"

"Unfortunately, I'm here for business. The Allfather requested my presence here." Gallade pointed to a gallery higher up in the theater.

"Ooh, the Allfather? Why didn't you say so!" Mismagius floated in front of him, waving her frilly appendages. "Shoo! Shoo! You have important work to do, Mr. Ambassador!"

He scoffed. "Thanks for the pep talk, Mismagius." He leaned away from the railing and began walking toward a staircase.

"Anytime, darling! … Oh, and please let me know when Heliolisk is available!" she quickly added.

Gallade laughed to himself as he ascended up the steps, excusing himself whenever he bumped into members of the elite. Wading through the crowds of Pokemon, he eventually stood before the steps leading to the Allfather's personal gallery. Blocking the entrance to it were the Allfather's personal guard in shiny prismatic armor. He was glad not to ever have to wear anything so bulky in his position.

"State your business," a Watchog guard barked.

"The Allfather has requested my presence at this time," Gallade said.

Watchog glanced at the Stoutland guard to his side before stepping aside. "You may enter."

Gallade hustled up the steps into a dark hallway lit by strips of neon blue light. There was another guard at the end of the hall, preventing access to the balcony as she stood in his way.

The armored Weavile crossed her arms. "It's nice to see you alive and well, Ambassador Gallade."

He smiled and nodded. She was an old friend of his in his days as a soldier. Reliable and had a heart of goodness, unlike the other Weavile he had the misfortune of running into. "Weavile. I must see the Allfather."

"That so?" She angled her head back, getting an inaudible reply before returning her attention to him, smiling. "Go ahead."

Gallade brushed past her and walked into the room. It was luxurious - fit for the Allfather. Plush chairs and couches with a superb view of the theater stage. Various unopened drinks you could never find in the city. He could see the Frogadier near the gallery's golden railing, lacking his regalia in private as usual.

"Frogadier, I am-"

A webbed hand being raised stopped him. "Wait! It's about to start!"

Amused by his great leader's sudden eagerness, Gallade positioned himself by Frogadier's side and patiently watched the stage. The lights in the stands dimmed as the crowd grew quiet.

A semi-transparent sheet was lowered from the ceiling. At the side of the stage, various Water-types hidden away spewed a mist-like fog that rolled across the stage. Behind the veil of a sheet, lanterns illuminated blurry, shadowy figures that ebbed in and out of focus. They were winged, with glinting, jagged, sharp teeth and tiny eyes. The crowd gasped in horror at their appearance.

Gallade was never scared of Shadowplay, even in his youth. Instead, the craft of it intrigued him. The illusion of horror was created by nothing but lanterns and shadows of puppets, tricking the minds of all who watched into seeing something more fantastical and horrific.

"Somehow, these shows calmed me down as a child," Frogadier said, eyes glued to the stage. "Whenever I was scared, my father took me to see one, and even set up this exact theater just for me."

"He was a great Pokemon - a great leader," Gallade added.

"And I'm not…" Frogadier glanced over. "Gallade, the reason I called you here is that I need you to promise me something."

"And what is that?"

"Promise that you'll stay by my side whatever happens next." Flinching at the strange look Gallade gave him, he continued. "Er, I know that sounds vague, but it's becoming more and more clear every day that Commander Blaziken and the district heralds are moving against me."

"The district heralds, too? Is this the result of the commander's meddling?"

Frogadier shook his head. "I'm not certain, but at this point, I don't know who I can trust. Not even my personal guards seem to have faith in me anymore."

"You'll always have my faith, Frogadier. The path to paradise can only be lit by the Allfather and the Allmother. She chose you to be that guiding light - remember."

The Water-type grimaced and looked away. "… It's happening soon. Soldiers all across the city are being prepared for a war. I can't sway the commander who leads them to step down. It's coming whether or not."

Gallade felt weak in the knees hearing that. He stepped backward until he could fall onto a chair. He sank into its comforting texture, mind spiraling with each second. "Is there truly nothing that could change his mind?"

"No."

He scowled. "He doesn't have the right to disobey the Allfather. And the Allmother will see this and rightfully put an end to his disrespect!" Gallade waited for an answer that never came. "Right?"

Frogadier was watching the show play out instead. Occasionally, his face would twitch in an array of emotions that betrayed his neutral expression. "… Thank you for coming today, Gallade. Even if it, uh, ultimately means nothing, I'm glad to know you're still by my side."

"Always…"

A small laugh came from Frogadier. "I always loved this part."

Gallade flicked his attention back to the play as it began to pick up steam. Currents of electricity sparked above the stage as the various shadowy figures appeared to face each other in battle. Flashes of light accompanied each 'hit' along with a spray of more haunting mist. Rumblings of distant thunder wracked the quiet thunder, adding to the visceral scenery.

But Gallade could not think of the show, only what true horrors awaited them. Frogadier had warned him of the brewing storm before, and now it was set to come.

'What can I do? What can we do? If a war is to happen, the Pokemon of the outside world will uncover the existence of our home… and then what? Can there be coexistence, or will they enact justice on us like the Allfather believes?'

Feeling the square bulge in his saddlebag, he opened it to retrieve the book of small poems by Slowking. If Shadowplay was Frogadier's method of escapism, these poems would be his.

As he cracked open the pages, he was hit with a sense of nostalgia and a deep sadness in his heart. Gothorite was the one to show him the work of Slowking. Her free-spirited and rebellious nature blossomed from reading his poetry, and she wished he would as well. There was one poem in particular that was her favorite; he flipped through the pages until he found it, reading it aloud in his mind.

'Stalactites hang high. Forever. An invisible sky with no moon or stars to guide us, only slick tongues.

Hopeful eyes and desolate lives, burdened by dreams nary possible. And yet we wonder. Through eons in this prison of stone and faith, we wonder…

How. Why? When. Ever. If.
'

image


"Hehe, stay here, Reshiram!"

"H-hey, wait, Shaymin! Let's discuss a plan first!"

Shaymin rushed past the Legendary, dashing toward the fields of swaying Gracidea. The thought of getting revenge on Yveltal was too great for her to think of anything else. Nearing the pinkish red flowers, she brushed her grassy back along its petals and absorbed its innate energy. In a flash of white, she grew in size as furry wings sprouted from her head.

"Hey, Fury!"

Shaymin's joy was immediately cut short upon hearing that voice. Turning around, she saw Brash and Careful walking over. Not wanting to talk to them any longer, she readied herself to take flight.

"Woah, woah, relax, mate!" Brash said. "Careful and I just wanna know what's going on. First, you wake up, then run off, and now you're just gonna leave again?"

"You don't have to know!" she snapped. "Listen, I've got unfinished business with Yveltal, and there's a Seed Flare with that birdbrain's name on it."

"Shaymin!"

Reshiram came stomping over, shooting daggers at her as she flapped her wings. "Do you just up and leave any time you want without thinking?"

Shaymin shrugged. "Pretty much. Now are we gonna get to chasin' Yveltal down or not?"

"It's not that simple…" Reshiram glanced over to see the Brash and Careful. "Oh. Hello again."

"We… We just wanted to know if everything is okay," Careful said. "Fury- um, Shaymin - her eyes are a bit puffy."

"No, they're not!" Shaymin roared at the meek Pokemon, causing her to squeak and hide behind Brash. "Now get lost! This is private business between me and this big sheila."

"Tch. Whatever, Fury," Brash retorted as he walked away. "C'mon, Careful."

"Bye, Miss Reshiram!" Careful said as she followed her friend.

Reshiram made sure no one else was eavesdropping before she spoke. "I know you want to go after Yveltal, and I do too, but we need a plan before we do anything."

"And what's this great big plan?" Shaymin questioned.

"First, you mentioned some 'guild' earlier. Are you a part of a guild in Celestic?"

"Uh… Yeah. I was- I mean I am. Or-" She shook her head and sighed. "It's complicated now. And the only way I can contact those blokes is broken, I think."

"Broken… Is it like a device?"

"I guess. It's made of wires and electricity, and that junk. Got damaged when, uh…" Her thoughts trailed. She destroyed it in a fit of childish rage - her only source of communication. "When Yveltal attacked us."

Reshiram tapped her chin with a wing claw. "Hmm. I do know of a Legendary that is rather adept with devices that commoners use. Maybe if he takes a look at it, he could fix it. He could even help us track down Yveltal, too."

"And what kind of 'mon could do that?"

"Uh, best for you to just see him yourself. Anyway, I'll meet you near the village entrance. When you're ready, we can meet him, and if he agrees to help us, we'll figure out our next move from there."

Shaymin shook her head. "Y'know, you're a strange Legend. First one I've met that decides to go on an adventure with some Shaymin she met and isn't some uptight cunt."

Reshiram blinked and took a step back. "Um. Thank you? Please, uh, be ready when we meet back up."

With a flap of her long alabaster wings, Reshiram took off into the skies. Shaymin laughed at the Legendary's reaction for a brief moment before shooting off back to her house.

Entering her wrecked room, she began sifting through the remains of her emotional tirade, stuffing anything unbroken and valuable inside her green saddlebag. When everything was zipped up, she bid her room one last look.

'If everythin' goes bad like my last encounter, it could be the last time I see this dump.'

There was a passing thought in her mind to leave a note for her parents to find in case she never returned. But she shot down such an idea; she would never leave anything up to possibilities.

She was going to take Yveltal down. She was going to get revenge for Leafeon.

Stepping back out into the shining sun and warm breeze, she picked up a light pace and bolted off a nearby cliff to start gliding. She sorely missed this feeling. Aiming toward the village entrance, she came to a stop near a patiently waiting Reshiram.

"I assume you're ready?" Reshiram asked.

"As I'll ever be, mate." Shaymin sniffed. "Bloody skies are lovely today. Good weather to fly in."

"We'll head off right now. I know the way to this Legendary I told you about, so just follow me."

"Pfft. I'm a Shaymin! I know all the routes to Legends on this rock. But fine, lead the way, your majesty."

Reshiram rolled her eyes and took off into the skies without another word. Shaymin did the same, neck and neck with the Legendary as they tore through the skies. Soon, the Shaymin Village was far behind them, soaring above an endless ocean of sparkling waves and distant landmasses.

image


The squeal of a rusty metal door opening woke Weavile up as she squinted her blurry vision in front of her.

'Time to face the music…' she mumbled in her mind.

The sound of leathery scales sliding on stone stole her attention. Seconds later, a steadfast Serperior wearing a gilded crown slithered into the dungeon. Before Bisharp could react, she coiled around his hanging form and squeezed him tightly, restricting his already meager movement.

"Bisharp!" Weavile cried. "You fucking snake…"

Serperior cackled. "I'm afraid your jabs mean nothing in your position, my dear Weavile." She increased her death grip on Bisharp, producing a wheezy groan from him. "Mmm, but if you wish to talk more, I'd be more than happy to squeeze the blood out of your boy toy until he's dry…"

The metal door swinging open again brought Weavile's attention back to the entrance. The golden fur and apathetic expression belonging to this new arrival told her exactly who it was.

"Here to finish… the job?" she said. "Hope you like digging some more, then. Maybe I just remembered… a few other locations I stuffed it in, hehe."

Jackson stared for a moment. "I have another job for you."

"Oh yeah? What's the pay?"

"The payment is that your friend lives." He motioned with a paw to the entangled Bisharp. "If you fail this job, I will allow Serperior to do whatever she wishes."

Serperior laughed again, flicking her forked tongue and revealing her long fangs slick with venom. "Oh, yes… And I will make sure to savor every moment of our time. Won't we, dear Bisharp?"

Weavile clenched her teeth. "Okay, okay. What's the fucking job?"

In Jackson's other paw was a cloth armband with a symbol of an orange flower splintering off in different directions. He tossed the armband onto the ground in front of her. He then knelt to meet her hateful gaze.

"I hope you're good at playing a character…"


Beyond the veil of this curtain, faces just like yours. Lives just like yours, wishing and praying for more than what they were born into.


Want to discuss anything related to The Phantasmagoria with the author himself? If so, send a friend request to my Discord linked below!

Discord: z2h2z

Next Time: Shock And Awe
 
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