Pokémon Under A Fuchsia Sky

[Prof. Gingko]

Blurb: Set 25 years after the great war, a brutal conflict instigated by a Pokemon known now as The High Chancellor, which pit near all Pokemon kind against humanity, Under A Fuchsia Sky shows us a world controlled by Pokemon. Three young adults - Crimson, Sage and Saphire - live under a violent, authoritarian regime where humans are second class citizens at best, and slaves at worst.

Under A Fuchsia Sky

Chapter One: The Gnarl Corn Company

It sat like a great tic on the land. A huge metal mass, convex and scaled, a draining, smoking incrusted scab. All around its bulk the veins that fed it reached out into the lush, green countryside; the hills and valleys, fields and forests, pierced by its groping tendrils, infested with the violent gnawing mouths of its machines, cried out, their words ash and chaff. Even the sky was not spared its noxious avarice, choked by the never-ending excretions that billowed from its vomitous chimneys. What once had been an eco-system was now just food for the beast; unyet processed product.

But the beast could not survive on its own. No, in truth, it was them that kept it alive: the slow, disorganised column of men and women, trudging to work in denim uniforms and red caps – employees of The Gnarl Corn Company.

The road from Pallet Town to the factory was long and rugged, flanked on either side by a row of trees that arched overhead. It felt more like a tunnel than a road, and on a day like this, Crimson was thankful for it. At least he had shade on his way to work. On top of that, these days, the factory road was one of the last places in the area that still had trees.

Trees reminded him of his father. He was going to build Crimson a treehouse. He had promised. But Crimson had been too small. And his father never got to see him grow up. Besides, there weren't trees left in his neighbourhood now.

The young man, still yearning for his father's promise, had reached the age of twenty one. He was tall, with tan skin and black hair, sharp features and broad shoulders; he would have been handsome were he not so worn out. His hands were so calloused they hurt to close in the winter. His face was so tired he had stopped looking in mirrors. His eyes had all but forgotten how to smile. But more than anything, he was running out of room for hate inside his heart. One of these days Crimson was sure he'd finally haemorrhage, and all the toxic bile he'd collected in his chest would seep out and kill him.

If he could take even one Pokemon with him when he did, it would be worth it.

So long as he got to watch it die first.

It wasn't long before he and the rest of the day shift arrived at the factory gates. They were just in time to see the unsatisfactory night shift workers being disciplined. Supervisor Edwina Gnarl, a nasty, fungus infected Venasaur with an inferiority complex, led the procession. Six employees, denim uniforms, red hats, resigned, sunken expressions, were shepherded into the yard by three Bulbasaurs. The guards snarled, baring sharp fangs between leathery lips.

"Come on! We haven't got all day!" snapped Edwina. "Tie them to the posts."

The Bulbasaurs took the workers over to four tall wooden poles in the middle of the yard. Rope hung from the top of each poll, and dry blood stained the entire area.

Edwina raised her petals and cleared her throat. "By binding yourselves you admit to your wrong doing and accept both morally and legally the punishment selected by The Gnarl Corn Company in response to your transgression."

The workers began to bind themselves.

Crimson heard a handful of distant, excited caws. He looked up and saw the Murkrows gathering on the roof of the factory, watching with glee.

He also saw her, the grand hag, the mother of cruelty, the founder and CEO of The Gnarl Corn Company; Morganna Gnarl stood on the balcony of her office, and filled the whole estate with her presence. The colossal Venasaur was as much wart as she was bloom, and as much bark as she was bite. Crimson could tell she was smoking her pipe; he could smell it from here. And in the summer sunlight he could see the five spoons she wore around her neck, glimmering.

In every speech he had ever heard her give she always made sure to mention the spoons: No other Pokemon in my battalion claimed as many spoons. It may be uncouth to take trophies from the dead, but it was a nasty war, we all know that; still, you didn't have to fight any of your own. That's the fact, the truth; it wasn't about Pokemon fighting humans, it was about building a better world. And some Pokemon… they didn't want that better world. They so arrogantly believed they knew better than everybody else. That's why I wear these every single day. To remind myself, to remind the world, that endurance, persistence, grit, outfight intellect every time. Thoughts can't weed a garden, or harvest a crop, or cut down a tree. These spoons are proof that I earned my place. Because every one of these once belonged to someone who would have let me live my life as a slave.

Word for word. Every. Single. Time.

Crimson snapped out of his reverie as the first vine lashed the first worker. Each Bulbasaur took two humans, and at steady pace, they whipped them.

Edwina barked at the day shift to move along, and thankfully the screaming didn't start until after Crimson was inside.

The day went on as normal: pull the lever put the lid on the can, pull the lever put the lid on the can, pull the lever put the lid on the can. By midday Crimson found himself daydreaming. He remembered the stories his father had told him, stories about the war. Crimson would never forget the picture his father had painted of the day it started – the day the sky turned fuchsia.

His dad had told him the story so many times. It was one of Crimson's favourites.

The first city they attacked was Vermillion. His lived there at the time, and it was just another day until everything went pink. Water pipes burst, electrical systems shorted, bricks and beams and tarmac started cracking violently. And then the voices came. Everyone began to hear voices, telling them to surrender, to atone for their sins, to accept how the world really should be. That's when they attacked. Not just the invading shock troops, but people's own companions; Pokemon who had been friends with human's for decades murdered their neighbours, their partners, their entire community.

His dad had claimed he owed his life that day to an old army buddy whose Pokemon stayed loyal. But most were not so lucky. Half the city's human population was killed over the next five days. And those orders came from the top. Crimson's father claimed it was there itself, leading the assault, he claimed he saw it – the Pokemon who was now High Chancellor.

Crimson heard his father's voice: The old legends say that it was the first thing the gods ever made, entrusted with the protection of the world. I know some people believe the gods have abandoned us, or are the ones really behind it all, but that's not true. The look in its eyes son, I could tell it had slaughtered them. Before it came for us it went after the gods, and it slaughtered them.

His mother had always hated when he said that, claimed the High Chancellor had killed the gods. She said talk like that would get him taken away. She was right in the end. He was telling Crimson that story when the ghosts entered the house.

At lunch time Crimson sat talking to Jeremy, as they ate stale cheese sandwiches. He had known Jeremy since school, and had never tired of his company. Jeremy was a slight and pale man, wiry and constantly moving. But today something heavy hung over him.

"Do you ever think…" began Jeremy.

"It happens on occasion, but I try not to make a habit of it," responded Crimson.

"No, I mean… Do you ever think, like, fuck this, just fuck it all. Like really, really, fuck this whole thing forever."

"That is what plays on a loop in my head whenever I have a moment of self-awareness."

Jeremy didn't even smile. Instead, he gripped his sandwich so hard it began to fall apart. "Let's just go."

"What try and get sent home sick? Break a hand in the conveyor belt?"

"No, man! Let's just leave this whole fuckin place. This job, this factory, this town, this fucking farm."

Crimson's eyes widened, swelling with visible fear. "Don't."

Jeremy pushed his broken sandwich onto the floor. "Don't what?"

"Just don't." Crimson offered Jeremy the rest of his sandwich. "It's not even worth discussing."

Jeremy declined his friend's offer of still structurally sound food. "It isn't impossible."

"There is an Ivysaur Supervisor in every sector of the estate. There must be at least a hundred Poochyena patrolling the fields and villages at all times. Then there's the fucking Murkrows, and they fucking love their jobs. You would be making their fucking year giving them an excuse to track you down, beat the shit out of you, and drag you back like a side of meat on the world's most sadistic hook." Crimson anxiously pulled the cheese from what was left of his sandwich and began tearing it apart. "And even if, somehow – through an escape plan so perfect and a lucky streak so specific it'd make even your mother proud – if somehow, you dodge all of them… Morganna will send Noxos after you." Crimson glared at his friend with all the trauma his eyes could contain. "Do you not remember?"

"I remember-"

"September 16th 2012, we show up to work, and what do we find, in the middle of the courtyard, for everyone to see, William Brooks, dead, covered in black slime so foul they had to carry him home by tying a rope to his boot and dragging him. It would have been horrible enough to think what dragging him home would do to his body, but we didn't really have to concern ourselves with that as most of his skin had already been melted off." Crimson sighed, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. "He didn't have any teeth, Jeremy. Noxos had dissolved his teeth. It treated him, William Brooks, the man who ran the drama club for kids, who remembered everyone's birthdays, had a wife, three kids, made the best fucking apple pie I have ever tasted, and taught my sister to play the trumpet, like a fucking weed, like a patch of mould, like… like nothing."

"I know, Crim."

Crimson reached over and put his hand on Jeremy's arm. "He drowned, Jeremy. He drowned as his skin melted and his eyes ruptured and his teeth dissolved, inside a pool of toxic waste that could feel it as it happened. Can you imagine that, Jeremy? Can you imagine, knowing, as it happens, that this fucking toxic sludge is choosing to kill you in the most horrific way imaginable. Just because it can. Because you're fucking nothing to it. Because Morganna wanted to make an example out of you." Crimson pulled away, took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. "Working here is miserable. I was made to sign a contract, of which I have another 24 years, that I was too young to understand, and would have probably starved without accepting. By the time I'm done I'm gonna be too old, too beat up and still too poor to do anything but just come back. But I would rather die slow and sad, holding onto the days off they give me, a pint of beer at the pub, a few good friends and the chance to get laid every now and again, than die trying to scream with my lungs full of sentient corrosives."

Crimson could see that his speech hadn't worked; the weight that pressed down on his friend was too heavy for a gentle touch to lift, too senseless for any word to unravel, too dark for any colour to embellish. "I'm not as strong as you, Crim."

"Don't say that, Jeremy. Please."

"I think I'm gonna snap… and I'd rather snap running than snap like… well like Brooks' wife."

"Charlotte."

"What?"

"Her name was Charlotte."

The rest of the day passed without consequence. Still, Crimson could not shake off the unease that had slowly spread, like damp, like dogma, through his body and his mind, crowning doubt and changing comfort to disgust. Dread, larval and well hidden, squirmed in the deepest reaches of his soul, feeding on the rot he chose to ignore, preparing to mature. And paranoia, having crawled from some crack in the ceiling, sniffing for a meal to haul back to the attic, was stalking him.

He kept locking gazes with the Bulbasaurs. When he did, he could not help but express panic. He was sure they were getting suspicious. As far as he remembered no one had ever been punished for talking about leaving. No one had ever managed to leave. So why would the Pokemon care if people talked about it. But if they thought Jeremy might actually try, if they thought Crimson would go with him, they might decide to nip the issue at the bud.

Crimson had a family history of seditious behaviour. Like father like son, he could hear Morganna saying, as she put down the phone, calling in the ghosts to vanish another troublemaker.

On top of all that… what if Jeremy got himself killed? Crimson didn't know if he could handle that; showing up to work to find his oldest friend covered in slime and half digested, or torn apart, or flattened by the force of his own fall; he could still hear Jade Krieger's scream after the Murkrow just dropped her. They said it was an accident.

Eventually Crimson found himself at home. His mother was asleep, which he expected. She's had a few good days recently, managing to stay awake for about seven hours each time. But after every good stint she inevitably crashed again. She wasn't alone. At least six people in Pallet town had the sleeping sickness. The same number of people who had vanished in the last ten years.

It wasn't just his father who the ghosts had taken, not really.

After heating up a can of soup which was mostly corn, Crimson took it to the porch and smoked a cigarette as it cooled.

Pallet Town was a company town, just like all the other towns in the area. The store was owned by Gnarl, the doctor was owned by Gnarl, the pub was owned by Gnarl, and of course even the school was owned by Gnarl. His mother had told him that before the war Pallet Town was a really lovely place, that is had character. It still had character, but that character was a crooked, decaying, unwashed conman. She had explained that most of the buildings used to be made of stone, but a lot were destroyed during the war; others were dismantled and sold for parts when Gnarl moved in. Now all that was left was flimsy, drafty, glorified shacks built from the trees that used to cover the area.

"Crimson!" yelled a familiar voice, cracked and slurred, and reeking of booze. An elderly man in a dirty brown coat, holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and plastic bag full of garbage in the other, trundled towards him. He was unwashed, bruised and incredibly drunk, but he was kind, he was even wise if you actually spoke to him. Crimson had never believed his claims that he used to be a scientist, but only last year he had learned from his mother it was true.

"Hi Oak, how are you?"

"I'm still here. Living proof the human body will run on just about anything."

"But mostly whiskey."

Oak gave a hoarse, earnest laugh. "Yeah, mostly whiskey." Oak sat down next to Crimson and did a small, expectant wiggle. "You got one of those for your old pal Oak?"

Crimson smiled and rolled his eyes. He took out the packet and gave it to the old man. "Keep it."

"Oh, my boy! You are a gentleman and a scholar. You are a true pillar of the community. An individual of value and merit." Oak took out a cigarette. "You don't happen to have a lighter do you?"

Crimson gave the old man his lighter.

"You seem dour," mumbled Oak with a cigarette in his mouth. "Tell Uncle Oak your problem and I shall do my best to solve it. I was a scientist once, you know. Before we can do anything, first we must understand. That's what I say."

Crimson had heard Oak say that more times than he could recall. He always said it like he was telling you for the first time. It might have been the alcohol or his age, and it probably was both to a certain extent, but Crimson also believed Oak just loved saying it. It probably reminded him of better times. What was more tragic: that Crimson had no memories of a world before this nightmare, or that Oak was constantly chasing his?

What did it matter, they were both stuck here, memories or no.

"I think Jeremy might try to leave."

"Ah." The old man nodded solemnly and took a long drag on his cigarette. "Some you can't keep safe so long as they are unhappy."

Crimson cocked an eyebrow, "What?"

"Well," began the old man before pausing to take a slug of whiskey. "Oh, how rude of me. Would you like some?"

Crimson could think of no reason not to. "Thanks."

"So… err… what was I saying?" Oak scratched the grey mess of grese and knot that was his hair. "Oh yes. Not all of us are built for endurance. Some of us are sprinters. And a sprinter will run into a wall if it's the only direction available."

Crimson stared quizzically at the old man. "Right?"

"Or…" Oak repositioned himself. "Not all of us value life above ideas. And the dreamers will risk it all for a chance at discovery, or destroy themselves in the planning of it. Or destroy themselves in the defining of it. Or give up on life if they cannot have what they imagine."

"I'm still not quite sure you-"

Oak snapped his fingers, dropping his cigarette and then cursing. He hurriedly lit another. "We do not all make the same choices. But we must make them regardless. The world will offer you choices- No, it will force them upon you. It won't let you move on until you've made them. And we will argue forever about which choice is the best one; perhaps we will never understand why someone else would not choose what we chose. I like blue, you see, you might like red, or green or even yellow, and that's just that." Oak took the bottle back and gulped without wincing. "We must carry our choices, watch as they grow and evolve, help us win and let us down, see how they work with our other choices, and in time we take the ones we think make us our strongest selves, and we have them do battle with the things we had no say in. We are all trainers and collectors in this little game, and we play to win, but winning does not mean the same thing to everyone. But the game is the same." The old man placed a hand on Crimson's shoulder. He lent in a little closer and looked into his eyes with a consideration so utterly lacking in pretence it made pain seem unworthy of emphasis. "Your friend may choose to try and leave. But he had to choose something. He woke up in this world and it made him choose. He is playing the same game as you. You cannot make him play it the way you do."

Crimson began to cry. "But what if he gets killed?"

"But what if he gets away?"

"No one ever gets away."

Oak sighed and looked up at the night sky. "No one knows what's in the tall grass until someone checks." Taking a long drag, the old man stood up. "Trust me when I say this, Crimson. Things change." He picked up his whiskey bottle, and cracked a smile so desperately trying to survive it no longer remembered where it came from. "I sometimes wish I had chosen hope instead of fear, even if it had killed me. I should have got blue, I wanted blue, but all my friends were getting red."

The old man began to stumble away. "Look after yourself, Oak."

"Always have done…" replied the old man.

Crimson picked up his soup and began to eat. At least one thing Oak had said was irrefutably true: things change. He had never known a different way of things, but enough people who remembered had told him, and he trusted them; there was a time before the Pokemon controlled everything, maybe one day they won't anymore. But it wasn't that simple. It was easy for a Pokemon to beat a human, but the other way around…

Then again, he had been told not all the Pokemon sided with the High Chancellor. There was even one species, as Morganna loved to remind everyone, who all without exception fought to protect humans during the war. But they were gone now. The High Chancellor made sure to exterminate them. Every last one. All that was left of them now were the grotesque trophies worn by war criminals – the spoons.

It would have been nice, thought Crimson, to have whoever those spoons belonged to. But things change, and some things can never be gotten back after they have.

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Two: The Last Alakazam

Sage stared out the window to the forest that surrounded the tower. He was supposed to do an hour of reading, but he had read every book in the library at least three times. Plus, Brellia was out getting food, and he hadn't seen the wizard all day, so what they didn't know couldn't hurt them. If he climbed out the window right now, he could probably scale down, walk around a bit and be back before anyone noticed.

Sage steeled himself and placed a foot on the windowsill.

You are supposed to be reading, came the wizard's voice, directly into Sage's mind. The young man jumped with shock, nearly falling forward and then very far down.

"You promised you wouldn't do that anymore!" shouted Sage.

The door to the library squeaked open. The wizard, stood in the doorway wearing a silk dressing gown with two spoons in its breast pocket. He stroked his moustache and gave Sage a knowing stare. "And you promised you would give up this ridiculous plan to scale the tower. You are aware there is a telekinetic barrier surrounding the entire building, so you wouldn't get very far even if you did manage to get down there. I have explained the barrier to you 47 times."

"Brellia gets through the barrier."

The wizard rolled its eyes, "Brellia is exempt-" one of the wizards long, pointed ears flicked as something rustled under Sage's jumper. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

"You are as skilful a liar as you are an escape artist. Show me what you have under your jumper."

Sage groaned before pulling a large piece of dead, scaley, orange skin from under his top.

"Is that Brellia's skin?"

"She malted last week."

The wizard cracked a wry smile, "You were going to try and trick the barrier by carrying Brellia's skin with you. That is very clever." The wizard turned around and left the room. "It wouldn't have worked though. Now get reading!"

Sage let out a strained, performative cry, and stomped towards one of the bookshelves. He pulled out 'Legends of How the World Began' for the sixth time and slumped into a chair. He skipped to the second chapter and tried to settle in.

Chapter Two: The Guardian.

The tale varies in its specifics depending on the culture in question, but most cultures follow the creation of the universe, the world, and mortal life, by the great god (or gods) with the creation of The Guardian.

Seeing the beauty of creation, but fearful of its fragility and wild nature, the great god created a creature of pure and incorruptible spirit, but also of incomparable power. Some versions of the legend go so far as to claim that the great god made this entity even more powerful than itself. The justification for such an action is that this creature would act as a check and balance for all divine and legendary beings, even the great god.

What is particularly interesting about The Guardian legend is the characters total absence from subsequent legends. After the legend of the creature's origin there are no tales or myths which give examples of the creature's exploits. It is assumed that The Guardian is so illusive and subtle that its protection and defence of the world and its inhabitants goes unnoticed.

"If you're out there guardian, please come and defend me from this never ending boredom!" Sage put the book down and stood up. He paced the room, huffing, before stopping in front of the huge, gold framed mirror that sat between two of the bookcases. He was a slight boy, short, baby-faced, fair haired and slender. The clothes he wore didn't really fit, they were all a little too large – his jumper, his trousers, his socks; he was sure his shoes would be too big if he had any shoes. But the wizard had decided he didn't need shoes, so…

He knew why his clothes were too big; it was because Brellia had made them all, and dragons' hands aren't really suited to delicate work. But she did her best and he appreciated it. He couldn't not appreciate it. Brellia and the wizard had given up pretty much everything to protect him. Sage had never known his mother or father; he was a baby when they died in the war. The wizard had promised his mother he would keep him safe, and Brelia had promised to keep the wizard safe. So here they were, in this old stone tower in the middle of a forest, hiding from… Sage wasn't clear on exactly what or who they were hiding from.

The bad people won, that's what the wizard had said, and now there is nowhere they do not control. Except for here. Here, for now, we are safe. You are safe.

Lost in his thoughts, wandering aimlessly around the room, a chill went up Sage's spine. At first he wasn't sure what had happened, and then he realised. He had caught something outside the window with the corner of his eye. Something was looking at him.

Walking slowly to the window Sage saw it again. There was some kind of huge bird perched on a tree, far off in the distance, and it was definitely looking at him. Now its not that Sage was afraid of birds, it was that it shouldn't have been able to see him. The tower was invisible. But there it was, out there, a little blurry, but definitely looking right at him.

They held each other's gazes for a few more moments, and then the bird flew away.

Sage stood silently, trying to decide whether this was an appropriate time to panic. He came to the conclusion that it was.

"WIZARD!" he wailed, tunning out of the room and down the corridor. "BIRD! BIRD SAW ME! BIRD COULD SEE ME! WIZAAARD!"

Galloping up a set of stairs, Sage crashed into the wizard's office. "What did I say about knocking?"

"BIRD SAW ME!"

The wizard's office was not somewhere Sage liked to be. The wizard didn't like Sage being there either. The huge stones which formed the tower walls were completely covered by maps and charts, illustrations of strange creatures, tacked on annotations, torn pages stolen from books, posters, flags, indiscernible blueprints, and all of it in a language Sage could not read. Huge cabinets filled with papers crowded what little open space there was, two tables always covered with objects Sage could not name and the wizard would not explain stood overburdened near his chair. And worst of all was the computer, the only thing in there Sage had questioned and the wizard had named. But he had done nothing more than name it - that growling, light filled box, that seemed alive but clearly wasn't.

Some of it the wizard had brought with him when they first came to the tower. Most of it Brellia had scavenged on her missions to outside world; she'd say she was going to find food and she'd come back with a broken machine, or a sketch of some monster, or a list of numbers with no context.

Sage tried not to think about how little the wizard told him. More than that, he tried not to guess what all this stuff was for. Most of all, he tried not to get in the wizard's way. Because the wizard was definitely working on something, and whatever it was it had to be important.

But this was an exception, this he needed to know.

"A bird saw you?" he asked resignedly. Before Sage could answer the wizard's eyes flickered. "A bird saw you from outside, are you sure? How big was it?"

"It was far away but I think it was pretty big."

"Are you sure it saw you?!"

Sage hesitated, "pretty sure."

The wizard grabbed Sage by the shoulders, his large, yellow hands gripping with three powerful fingers. "You do not have the luxury of being pretty sure. Did it see you or not?"

"What happens if I say yes and then it turns out I'm wrong?"

The wizard loosened his grip and softened his expression. "Sage, what have I been teaching you about intuition? What do we do with our instincts?"

"We open the door for them."

"And when we doubt?"

"We breath, and we return to the place where doubt has not been."

"What number am I thinking of?"

"64.2"

"Very good. Did the bird see you?"

"Yes."

"Again, very good, but this is in fact very bad." The wizard pulled away and began to pace around what little space there was.

Sage did not know how to process the fact that the wizard seemed scared. The wizard didn't get scared. The wizard was the most intelligent being in the world; he had to be, otherwise they would never have lasted this long. The wizard could teleport, he could read minds, he could move objects without touching them and turn things invisisble, he could heal wounds just asking them to do so.

That's when it cracked.

Sage felt sick.

If the wizard was so powerful, why was it always Brellia who went out to find things? Who was the wizard hiding from?

Sage hated these questions, he wished he'd never thought of them. He should have just stayed in the nook and read. If he had been sat in the nook reading the bird would never have seen him.

"What do we do?" Sage started choking. "What do- I- I can't breathe. Oh god, I can't- bre-"

The wizard rushed over to him and placed a hand on his forehead. "It's okay, you're okay, you're just having a panic attack." The wizard's eyes began to glow bright white, and Sage could feel the fear and tension leave his body.

"I felt like I was going to die."

"None of us are going to die, not today. But we may have to leave."

Sage felt his stomach lurch. "Leave? What, forever?

The wizard sighed and sat down in his chair. He stroked his moustache nervously and looked at the floor. Sage could feel his reality beginning to give way; all the demons he had dropped down mental mineshafts had survived the fall and learned to climb. All he had wanted was to walk around the forest for a bit. He didn't want this, whatever it was, he knew for certain he didn't want it.

The wizard lifted his gaze and looked at Sage. "I'm afraid I have not been entirely candid with you, my boy. I have perhaps acted selfishly in my attempts to shield you from the true precariousness of our situation. I may have infantilised you to ease my own burden. What is more, I feared if you knew the true extent of things there would be no stopping you from leaving. I apologise."

Sage fidgeted nervously, the wizard was still being vague; he wasn't sure exactly what the wizard meant. Perhaps that was the point; the wizard had kept Sage stupid so he wouldn't get in the way. His stomach lurched again. That couldn't be it. The wizard wouldn't have treat him like a pet.

"There is more, Sage." The wizard took a deep breath, exhaling so much shame Sage felt it softly landing on his skin. "You cannot read the writing in this room."

"You never taught me this language."

"I did, Sage. I have been using my abilities to obfuscate the words. It is the same language you read every day."

Sage clenched his jaw so hard he almost gave himself a cramp. "What else?"

"Some of the books in the library have been edited."

"Edited or you were using your powers to keep me from seeing certain things."

"That would be the more accurate way to describe the process."

Sage had never had his heart broken before. In the books he read it was always romantic partners who broke each other's heart. He didn't know it was possible for a guardian to do so. But he was pretty sure his was breaking.

"You're my teacher, you're like a father to me, and you've been manipulating my mind behind my back, for years… How could you do that? I thought wizards were supposed to be good guys."

The wizard messaged his brow, unable to do anything else. Eventually he said, "You call me a wizard because there was a wizard in your favourite bedtime story as a child. And when you got older and I started to introduce you to my abilities, you thought that meant I was one. But I am not a wizard, Sage, I am what is called a Pokemon."

"Pokemon?"

"It is an umbrella term for a wide variety of intelligent organisms that display, what you might call supernatural abilities. Some breathe fire, some are even made from fire, some can move things with their minds, others can generate plant growth at near incomprehensible speeds.

"For most of recorded history humans and Pokemon have lived in relative cooperation; some cultures reside in close proximity but mostly keep to themselves, some are nations with equal citizenship for both human and Pokemon, both fulfilling necessary roles in society. We have always been so entangled that isolated societies with only one group are incredibly rare. Now this is not to say we have never come to blows or had difficulties, but there had never been a war. The wars that had happened tended to have near equal ratios of humans and Pokemon on each side. That is until twenty five years ago, when the most powerful Pokemon in existence decided struggling for equality or equity was not the proper way. No, instead, this entity decided Pokemon were the rightful rulers of the earth and humans were born to be subservient to them.

To our great shame most Pokemon adopted this ideology. Not all, but most. In fact only one species of Pokemon sided with humanity in their entirety. My species, the Alakazam. And for this we were exterminated. I am the last Alakazam."

Sage felt his mind boiling over, raging with insight and anger. He needed to hear more, and yet every word was agony.

The last Alakazam clenched his fists in discomfort. "Your mother gave you to me because she already knew I planned to go into hiding. She made me promise, on her deathbed, that I would take you with me, so you wouldn't grow up in a world that saw you as a slave. This tower was never built to protect you, Sage. It was built to protect me. I did what I could, raising you. I gave you the best education I was able to, opened your mind to psychic potential, in which regard you have exceeded all my expectations. And first and foremost, I tried to keep you content. I have never had a child, I am not human, I do not process information or emotions as you do, and so it has been difficult learning how to fulfil your needs, or what even those needs are."

Sage snapped; he felt every hour of lonely isolation, every prolonged minute of useless boredom, every sunset with nothing to say for itself, he felt them ticking past like a symphony of muted, lazy excuses. And then they fermented. The boredom, the quiet, the monotony, they bubbled and soured and gleefully became anger. "Needs, well I need to not be lied to by the person who is supposed to be my guardian. So, all this time, all these years, I didn't need to be here at all. You kept me here because my mother was scared I might struggle. Okay, but I might have made friends too. I might have gone on adventures. I might have had my first kiss and danced and went swimming. I might not have been locked in a tower with-" Sage laughed, which made him cry, which made him laugh again. "I'm such a fucking idiot."

"You are not. And watch your language."

"No, fuck you, I am a fucking idiot. I literally, I literally believed I lived in a tower with a wizard and a dragon." Sage turned around and punched a cabinet. "How dare you? The world is full of crazy creatures with magical powers, and I didn't know. The war my parents died in was fighting against these creatures because they decided they deserve to rule the world, and I didn't know. The most powerful being in the whole world is out there, turning everything into a nightmare, and on top of that they want you dead, and- they're looking for you, aren't they – they are actively hunting you and I didn't know." Sage wanted to scream, to pick up one of the pieces of scrap metal lying on the table and bludgeon his mentor to death with it. "You're a piece of work."

"Sage, my entire species, my people, are dead. All my friends are either dead or in prison. I watched my beautiful world turn into a slaughterhouse and I could not stop it. I am not immune to grief, or loneliness, or pressure. I took you in because I made a promise to someone I cared for deeply. But I was in no fit state to raise a child. I am not a wizard, I am just an Alakazam. The last Alakazam. And I have been scared every day for twenty years. None of this excuses the wrongs I have done you. But please, do not think I didn't try."

Sage scoffed. "You didn't try hard enough."

They remained in silence then, seconds turning to minutes, coming close to an hour. The vacuum of Sage's ignorance pulled everything good he had ever felt inside of it. And there, in the fathomless depths dug by Alakazam's lies, his heart broke.

"So now what, I have to keep following you round, do what you say, even after this?"

Alakazam shook his head with sad concern and festering shame. "You do not have to do anything. But if the government has found us, or someone likely to inform them has, you will not last long out there alone."

"I thought they wanted you."

"And they will use you to get me."

Sage sat on the floor with back to the wall, totally defeated. "Where will we go?"

"There are still those who hold out hope this darkness may pass… who are willing to fight to make their hope a reality. We must find them."

Sage sighed, unable to trust that Alakazam could do anything anymore. It was like something mythical had died in his arms, something profound and unique, as weird as it was awe inspiring, coughed its last without dignity or ceremony, slick with its own fluids, inconsequential and impossible to get back. How could someone so bright leave such a stain in such a short time?

And Sage was going to climb down the tower this morning.

"You don't know where they are, do you?"

"If they were easy to find they'd be dead." Alakazam tried to lean forward to reassure Sage, but the young man ignored him. "I have some ideas of where to start looking."

It was then that something exploded outside. The entire tower shook, dust falling from the ceiling, maps falling to the floor. There was a second explosion and the sound of metal screeching.

The despondent pair looked at each other before speaking in unison. "Brellia!"

Sage made for the door but hesitated when he saw Alakazam facing the wall. He pulled the spoons from his dressing gown, one in each hand, and punched them forward. The wall erupted, stone flying into the open distance before halting in mid-air.

They could see now; Breliia was in a dog fight.

Impressed by Alakazams display of force, but trying not to show it, Sage shouted, "So if you're an Alakazam what does that make Brellia."

Alakazam turned his head and smirked at Sage, that magnificent beast is a Charizard. He twitched one hand and a collection of heavy stones, still hovering, catapulted through the air. "And the only friend I have left."

Brellia was in a struggle against three huge birds that seemed to be made of metal. Their wings resembled huge fans constructed of sword blades, their heads were jagged helms, their talons serrated tridents. They were faster than Brellia, but not as fast as Alakazam's boulders. With a mighty crash two huge slabs of stone pulverised one of the birds, its metal wings bending out of shape, and forcing it to the ground.

"What are those things?"

"Skarmory," replied Alakazm, as he grew very still, his eyes beginning to glow.

Brellia, assaulted on both sides by hit and run attacks, suddenly dropped her wings. She began to plummet, just as the Skarmory reached her. Opening her mouth she let loose a stream of flame so intense Sage could feel the heat wave from inside.

Both Skarmory were caught in the conflagration, totally consumed by the flames. You could not see them for the magnitude of the fire, but you could hear them, screeching inside that torrent of blinding heat.

Alakazam chuckled, "Metal does go soft so easily." As the flames subsided and Brellia span, stretching out her wings once more and swooping away, Alakazam put his hands together, gave out an almighty cry and pulled them apart. The Skarmory rent in two, tearing like tin foil playthings. Their fracturing bodies became silver confetti as they fell to the ground, pieces scattered and lost across the forest floor.

Alakazam turned around, "I believe we have officially outstayed our welcome."

Sage granted him one small smile, "I was getting bored of this place anyway."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Three: Central Cerulean Public Relations

Sapphire had stopped sleeping. She called what she now did after crashing into her bed night-napping. Generally she would be treated to two to three hours of sleep before she had to put herself back together and rush to the office. This morning she had managed to eat and do her makeup and hair in three minutes and fort-six seconds, which made her feel both a little proud and incredibly depressed. She had tried going into work without makeup once, it had caused her boss to ask if 'The Human Store had run out of whatever makes you look like you're not about to die?' The time she had worn the same outfit two days in a row he had commented, 'If you can't afford five outfits you are lending your loser boyfriend too much money.' And today she had been woken at four-thirty AM by a text from him which contained a speech she should deliver to the barista who got his order wrong yesterday..

Sapphire's boss was the worst person she had ever met; he was one of the firm's founders, notoriously well connected throughout the city, and boorishly confident enough to go by Hank 'The Tank' Harrison. Sapphire's position in the firm boiled down to basically being Hank's pet. And though she knew he was a prick, that he saw her as a lesser being, they actually got on quite well, which was horrifying in its own way.

By the time Sapphire arrived in the office it was already churning with unrested, unhappy, over-caffinated juniors; early twenties to early thirties humans with enough luck and too much ambition. Sapphire stormed through the open floor area where people of her level worked, and headed to Hank's office. She dodged her colleagues, gave her good mornings, and endured the heat of Hank's coffee in its too thin cardboard cup; Hank didn't beleave in insulating sleeves, he said 'They make the coffee look gay, If I wanted a gay drink I'd have you get me tea.'

Before knocking on Hank's door, Sapphire checked herself out in the mirror. Her hair had become a bit of a mess in the wind, but it was really showing its red today, and her green eyes were doing their best despite very rarely closing anymore. She had been a rugby player before moving to the city, and luckily all the running around had stopped her from getting too soft. But her face had always had somewhat soft features. Her outfit today was made up of a shirt she didn't think she needed to iron, but now realised she did. A skirt that was both too short and too big. A jacket that paired with a different skirt. And some very nice black shoes she found in the hall of her apartment building, and smelled only a little bit like piss.

As she knocked on the door Hank shouted from within, "About time! What did you do? Grind each individual bean with-"

"With my butt cheeks, yes, very funny Hank, as funny as it was yesterday, and on my first day."

Hank beckoned his coffee to him. "The classics never age, See? You've only just got into the office, and I've already given you a pearl of wisdom. Go write that in a letter and send it to your mother. Tell her she can suck my dick as thank.,"

As she walked over to his desk, Sapphire still had not gotten used to his size; she wished it didn't, but it scared her a little. His huge blue face and warbling beige double chin seemed to double in size when he opened his mouth. Triple when he laughed, which was constantly - a deep, oil drum, cello in a mineshaft kind of laugh. His eyes bulged like two water balloons ready to burst, which made the aforementioned scene even more intense, as Hank never closed his eyes when he laughed. In fact, Sapphire was unsure if she had ever seen him blink at all. His massive, leathery paws, held machete sized claws, connected to limbs thick as boughs of oak. And then there was his shell; it was hard not to be intimidated by someone who grew his own armour, especially when it came with shoulder mounted cannons.

She wondered how many Blastoise could afford custom tailored suits and how many tailors could make suits that actually flattered their monstrous shape. Probably not many.

Hank 'The Tank' Harrison could.

Hank was already smoking a cigar the size of a small baguette when Sapphire had entered. Now he removed the lid from his litre of boiling black coffee and consumed it as if he were a tequila shot.

Hank moaned and slapped the table, "That should keep me going 'til my coke dealer gets here." He made that joke every morning too.

Taking a huge puff on his cigar, the Blastoise settled into a huge, sadistic grin, "So priority business of the day: the port authority commissioner has walked into a gay bath house with a sign glued to his ass that says 'my hole makes dicks bigger and taste like cheese steaks!'"

"What's he done now?"

"He's eaten one of his employees."

Sapphire froze for a moment, only her eyes able to react, "As in, he ate them out?"

"No Saph, he fucking ate them. A man is dead."

Sapphire rubbed her brow so hard she hurt herself, "And he came to us with this?"

"No, it's on camera."

"What?!"

Hank began to laugh, "Oh yes, my sweet little green horn, its on fucking camera, and its already fucking everywhere. I mean it's bad, really horrible, gruesome, but also you can't look away, you know? It's also, if you think about it, like if you really think about it its hilarious. Honestly Saph, to be real with you for a moment… It's the best thing I've ever seen. I'm gonna be laughing about this all year. But also very bad. Very, very sad and bad."

"I… Hank, I don't know how we're going to spin this," she began, her stomach beginning to turn. "Some things you just can't get away with."

Hank slammed his fist against his desk, splintering the wood. "What did I tell you on your first day; what is the one and only truth in this game?"

Sapphire felt her stomach trying to restrain her tongue. It didn't win. "You can get away with anything."

"That's the fucking attitude! Damn, I love it when you quote me." Hank stood up and began to pace, making a real meal out of his cigar. "So, there's self-defence - it's easy enough to get a doctor on record saying the victim was mentally ill and dangerous."

"Who was the victim?"

"Some dock worker working temp, come over from Johto province. Doesn't matter." Hank scratched his chin, "Could say he was already dead, ol' Commisioner Risktz has a very particular stomach, needs fresh meet, I mean he is a lizard…" the Blastoise put his cigar out and shook his head, "Nah… Oh, right, of course. Temp worker, come over from where, oh Johto, well you know what people from Johto are like. Guy was a terrorist, the commissioner discovered he had violent anti government plans, did what he had to do. Why are we focusing on the one person the commissioner had to kill, let's think of all the people he might have saved because of it. And these horrible prejudice slurs saying the commissioner was eating him; that is in fact a very rare form of martial art studied by certain indigenous Feraligatr communities. And let us not forget the commissioner has presided over the highest exports revenue this city has seen in years, and the lowest known rate of smuggling."

Sapphire started writing down everything Hank said as soon as she heard the word terrorist. She cocked her head to the side and sucked her teethm "Are those numbers true? I'm pretty sure export revenue is down this year,"

Hank scoffed, "Who the fuck cares; do you really think everyone is going go look up export revenue stats? No, they're going to go home, drink a glass of wine, and be glad the commissioner doesn't eat people."

"You're the boss."

"There's a good girl. Now go polish daddy's magic words and get the copy to the commissioner's assistant asap. Oh, and make sure some well spoken quack ends up on the news legitimising the fake martial art we just made up that looks alot like eating someone." Hank took a bottle of scotch from out of his desk and poured himself a glass. "Now fuck off. I need to jack off while watching you all through a crack in the blinds."

"Bye Hank."

"Oh and bring back sushi for lunch. Oh! And call my wife and tell her I won't be home for dinner because I stopped enjoying her company years ago."

"I'll say you have to work late,"

Hank spat out some of his scotch in mock incredulity. "You're going to lie…. to my wife!" The Blastoise grinned, "I really am an excellent teacher. Now seriously fuck off."

"Bye Hank."

Sapphire leaned against the door as she shut it. She did not have the time or ability to unravel what she was doing today, all she needed to do right now was release a little tension from all the screaming thoughts she was suppressing. So she screamed. The other junior staff didn't even turn their heads, but Hank shouted through the door. "Scream on your own dime!"

Sapphire wrote the copy, went over it, called some different quacks and explained to them what indigenous Feraligatr martial arts look like, and then headed out.

Cerulean was a wet and windy city; It smelt like salt and concrete and fish and propane, which she had been told was odorised with fish, making it smell twice as much of fish than anything else.

It was the port. She'd been told that after the war the new government removed hundreds of thousands of tons of earth from the northern edge of the city boundaries to make room. Hank explained that Cerulean port wasn't intended to be a major trading port, it was for ship building and shipping resources mined in Mt Moon and the western mountains. But it didn't stay that way long.

The new government had selected Cerulean to be the centre of the Kanto financial industry, and arguably the financial centre of the whole nation. More money meant bigger appetites, bigger and riskier ventures, more corruption and a higher class of organised criminal. It wasn't long before the port had become a small city unto itself; It was the place where you could find anything, do anything, meet anyone - for a price of course, and the person who set the rates was the port authority commissioner.

Hank had said that every P.A.C had been little more than a thug with a fancy title and a nice big stamp. But Risktz put them all to shame. Hank kept saying he wasn't going to last long, and yet he just kept getting richer and more shameless. Sapphire thought it was just one of those things that keeps getting faster and faster until suddenly it explodes. She hopes there was a camera rolling when Risktz exploded. She had only met him in person once and it was more than enough. He had made her feel like she had gotten into bed with wet socks.

The port was on the entirely opposite side of town from their offices, and Cerulean City had no public transport. You either drove and got in traffic or walked and got rained on. Because if there were two things that happened every day in Cerulean, they were a traffic jam and rain. Sapphire's grandmother had lived here over forty years ago, and the place she had described just did not exist anymore. Cerulean City was a dense metropolis of silver skyscrapers and congested roads, attached at one end to the largest port in Kanto, and the semi sovereign township that surrounded it.

But Sapphire had been told all these things, in at least vague terms, before she moved here. It's expensive, the apartments are tiny, any job with even the smallest scrap of dignity would mean working for a self entitled Pokemon that could snap you in half without breaking a sweat, the local government is rotten to the core, and getting around is nightmare, also it rains like the sky is holding a grudge.

She expected these things.

What she hadn't expected was how present the federal government was. Propaganda was everywhere; twenty foot metal poles with the national flag on every major road, on both sides of the street, placed every twenty metres. Statues in every square and park and street corner with enough space; all basically the same, all immortalising Pokemon in marble or bronze - Thank you for your fearless service during the great war, and your dedication bringing peace and order to the High Chancellor will forever hold you in their heart.

But it was the posters that annoyed her the most. Join the ministry of social order. Join the ministry of agriculture and cultural preservation. Join the federal police. Join the integrated federal military. Join the ministry for advanced research. Join the citizens regulatory commision. On and on and on. And the very worst part was that taking them down was illegal. If an officer of the federal advertising commission came to your business and put up ten posters, you could go to prison just for damaging them.

Cerulean City was not just a trade port, not just a financial hub, it was a federal glory factory. Every day, in a thousand ways both big and small, Sapphire was reminded that she was not part of the decision making process, she was not even an afterthought on how things were run, she should count herself lucky to even be allowed to live here. To be allowed to live.

She'd not encountered any overt human prejudice towards her yet, but she heard the way most Pokemon spoke to her. And in the bluntest of terms, she lived every day doing exactly what they told her to do.

And yet, in relative terms, she really was lucky to live and work here. An old school friend of hers lived in Vermillion City, and it sounded like a nightmare. There wasn't much of a police presence in Cerulean, and no military. But there were checkpoints on every street in Vermillion, a curfew for citizens without special government approval, and constant no-warning home inspections, usually in the middle of the night.

The war had started in Vermillion. After twenty five years the human population still had not recovered. Cerulean on the other hand had prospered due to the fact it surrendered immediately. One night, while working late in the office and sharing a few drinks, Hank had told her the story of how the Cerulean city council surrendered. They arrested a beloved community leader who was outspoken against The High Chancellor, and wanted to fight. They dragged her before the invading forces and the general population, and drowned her.

There's a statue, in the park the city built to commemorate the end of the war,of the members of that council. For your dedication to the nation from even its earliest days - The High Chancellor will forever hold you in their heart.

Sapphire thanked the stars she had not been alive during the war; the sheer brutality of it evidenced a side of people she didn't want to think about. Then again, she was on the way to help a government official get away with eating an innocent man. But if a Pokemon wanted to eat a human, in all honesty, what could the human do?

Hank had answered that question for her.

Eventually Sapphire arrived at the port; the bars and cafes were already bustling at 10 AM with a 10 PM kind of crowd. She had seen it all before, and still every time she came a couple things would surprise her. Today it was a bare knuckle boxing match that was also a seafood eating contest, fought between a Snorlax with one eye and a Clafairy tattoo, and a Poliwrath called Tolerance. The restaurant being used as a venue had already sustained a level of property damage the ticket sales could not possibly cover. Even stranger than this was Mr. Mime standing outside a black shipping container; there was a sign on the container that read: Pay me 20$ to ignore you while you talk. Very humbling. You will act obnoxious again. Let me help you!

The port authority headquarters had not been rebuilt or renovated since the port was in primary construction. It looked more like a cheap hotel than a government office. Thankfully Risktz was not there. Sapphire gave the copy to his assistant, an affable Polytoad who always wore a bowtie, explained the action plan to him and left.

As Sapphire slowly made her way back to the office, her mind struggled not to flagellate itself. What was she but a patchwork of hypocrisies, willful ignorances, futilities and shallow charm partnered to basic critical thinking? If she had been a seven and a half foot. six hundred pound shell bound beast with cannons fused to her shoulder blades, she'd probably be a piece of shit too. She already was, she was just too weak to hurt anyone except herself.

Falling deeper and deeper into self loathing, Sapphire finally snapped out of it when she realised someone was following her. A small figure, not taller than three feet, in a brown trench coat with its collar pulled up, and a brown trilby pulled as far down as it would go.

She went off course to test her theory, and still the tiny stalker persisted.

She was too tired and too disillusioned to be threated by tiny edgelords in political thriller cosplay. Turning around, Sapphire confronted the hanger on. "Hey, you! Yeah, you! Why are you following me?"

The figure span around and walked away, but Sapphire pursued. Flawlessly faking-out, the figure turned into an alley and vanished. Following it, but unable to locate it, Sapphire shouted, "Do you really think an alley is going to scare me?"

From behind a large metal trash can, the figure strode out, unbuttoning its coat and fixing its collar. "I should hope not, Miss Sapphire, 'cus if alleys wrinkle you you'll have no stomach for what fruit I spent all day picking, just for you."

Pulling its hat back and moving into a beam of light, the stranger smiled at her. It was a bird, unkept and stained, with a cracked bill and a scar running over its left eye. It was a Farfetch'd, the roughest looking Farfetch'd Sapphire had ever seen. She supposed they didn't really belong in cities.

It pulled off two leather gloves that had somehow looked like actual hands, yet of course the Farfetch'd had no hands. So it offered up a wing to shake with.

"The names Dex Dreagle, Dex Finnius Dreagle. My friends call me Dex, and my enemies call me late at night to try and scare me."

"Does it work?" asked Sapphire politely, but cautiously shaking his wing.

"That's for no one to know but me. What you need to know, first and foremost, is that I am a private investigator and freelance journalist, with enough places in this city I can't go no more, one more article and I win the fruit basket with cantaloupe and honeydew."

Sapphire couldn't help but chuckle before giving the little guy a condescending smirk. "I'm sorry, I can't talk to journalists."

Dex chased after her. "Oh but you can, Miss Sapphire, and it might be the most important thing you've done with your life so far. Five minutes, just give me five minutes. Aint nobody ever done anything so important it couldn't wait five minutes. And aint nobody ever done anything so foolish in five minutes it couldn't be reversed. Unless you've eaten the fish stew at Riko's; cus that shit will shoot through you so fast they;ll put your ass on the track team."

Sapphire chuckled again before sighing and clenching her fist. She felt her stomach turning once more, but not out of disgust this time, not even out of fear; it was turning in conflict - the struggle between accepting you are mad, and labelling everyone else as mad. That being said, this Farfetch'd made her look like the picture of health.

"What do you want, Drex Deagle, P.I?" she asked, with mocking emphasis.

Dex took it on the chin. "Do you work at Central Cerulean Public Relations?"

She cocked her head to the side, ever so slightly taken aback. "I do."

The Farfetch'd's face turned serious as stone. "Do you know a Blastoise who goes by Hank 'The Tank' Harrison?"

"Yes…"

"And you work together?"

"I feel like you know we do."

"Please answer the question, Miss Sapphire."

"I do."

"Miss Sapphire, are you aware of the allegations against Mr Harrison, being made by certain sources from within the federal military who wish to remain anonymous?"

"Wait, what?" Sapphire stepped back and glared at the tiny, arrogant stalker. "Are you recording this?"

"I have a good memory," replied Dex, giving nothing away. "Please Miss Sapphire, answer the question."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. That's insane. You're insane. Hank has nothing to do with the military, or the government in general. He thinks they're all pricks."

"He may well think that, Miss Sapphire. But just to be entirely clear; you are stating you have not heard that allegations levied against Mr. Harrison, claiming he has illegally funnelled company money into accounts owned by certain high ranking members of the federal army, including the Field Marshal of Kanto Province, in exchange for private use of the Covert Special Ops Division, colloquially known as The Ghosts, and that this has been linked to the deaths and disappearances of several of Mr. Harrisons enemies and rivals both personally and in business, including his second wife and his daughter's fiance?"

"His daughter's fiance, are you serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking, Miss Sapphire? I promise you, when I'm joking, you'll know - because in that scenario you will be laughing, and I won't be explaining to you that your employer has been allowed the use of government sanctioned death squads to murder both his competition and his own family members. I can prove it to a reasonable degree already… but to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt… this is why I need you, Miss Saphire."

"Oh my god," Sapphire felt sick, the alley was closing in. "I… I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Miss Sapphire. But think on this, if convinced of the legitimacy of these allegations, what would you be willing to do to put this right?"

"Put this right?"

Dex stared at her with humourless conviction, "There are some things, Miss Sapphire, we cannot let people get away with. No matter who they are."

Dex pulled a brown envelope from out his coat and handed it to Sapphire. "Read that at your leisure, verify it yourself if you want, drink some gin, ask yourself the hard questions." Dex buttoned up his coat and pulled up his collar, "Or throw it away if you don't have the brass, don't have a heart, or think the job of fixing this mess is beneath you. There's no glamour in being a janitor, plus the filth'll kill ya if you're not careful." Pulling his hat down, Dex began to walk away. "If you need to talk, I'll find you. If you aint interested… this never happened. Take care of yourself, Miss Sapphire, lotta dangerous folk out there."

Sapphire watched Dex leave, looked down at the envelope he had given, looked up at the sky, and could say nothing more than "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,"

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Four: Cecille Freys

Crinson awoke, certain he had only fallen asleep ten minutes ago. All night he had replayed what Oak had said, feared what Jeremy might do, doubted if he was the person he claimed to be, Maybe I do like blue more than red, he thought, oh god, Crimson, do not break yourself over the words of an old drunk, just because he was the only person you talked to.

Crimson pulled himself together. He drank some coffee. He ate some corn. He kissed his mother on the forehead, And he left the house for work. It's just another day, he hoped.

He could not see Jeremy as he joined the crowd heading to work. He could not see Jeremy as he barged his way through the crowd.. And he could not see Jeremy being there… he wasn't in the crowd; Crimson knew it. He had quietly decided Jeremy was trying to leave, getting caught and getting killed; he had decided this while loudly searching for him, drowning out his own whispers.

Soon enough Crimson was given real reason to panic. There was commotion in the yard, not just workers, but Pokemon too. He could see the Murkrow from where he stood, circling frantically; he heard the Poochyena shouting and growling and trying to maintain order. Crimson rushed through the mass, shoving people out of the way, his heart losing its sense of self, desperately pumping blood in an attempt to regain some scrap of humanity.

When he got to the front he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, And then nothing happened. There was no horror waiting for him; no horror he had not met before, at least.

As he began to calm down Crimson also began to notice, the Gnarl's were nowhere to be found. The Poochyena were aggressively trying to establish control, as night shift wanted to go home but couldn't, and day shift wanted to know what was going on, but no one would tell them. All the while, there was not a bulb, a flower, vine or leaf in sight.

Crimson looked for someone he knew.

Tess, an older woman who had been close friends with his mother, was shouting down a Poochyenam who demanded that she "STEP BACK LADY!"

Tess stepped back but did not fall silent.

"I have worked here for forty-seven years, I deserve to be told why we can't go in but we can't go home?! I deserve that! I have earned that! I have given my life to this factory and that family. Compared to me you may as well be from fucking space. For better or for worse this place is my home, and if something is going on I have a right to know!"

"No!" Boomed a new voice. "You have what rights I allow you."

The new voice was loud. deep and textured, the voice of a commander - a commander who was choking, who was diseased, struggling to speak underwater. They all knew who it was. As the air became thick with the smells of burning plastic, crude oil, sewage and smoke, any brave enough to look saw something even nightmares feared to brook. A pool of toxic slime, runoff, and industrial chemicals, at all times only half formed, at all times consumed by despair and disdain, at all times reaching, spreading, contaminating by instinct.

Crimson had only seen Noxos a handful of times. He could have seen him a thousand and he would feel the same. There are some horrors so pure, some monsters so abominable, some wrongs to absolute, that only death can free you from your fear of them.

This was Noxus, a Muk; the most wretched, corrupted, poisonous substances that pollute the world, forced together and cursed with consciousness. Crimson had thought this before, when people told old stories about the gods; if there were gods, and they had anything to do with Noxos, they were at least as foul as the monster they created.

Noxos drew itself towards the crowd, glaring at them with two hollow eyes that flickered with eldritch light. "You think you deserve to know…You think this is your home… You think you are here because you are so valuable… YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE YOU ARE TOO WEAK TO GO ANYWHERE ELSE. YOU THINK WE HAVE TRAPPED YOU HERE? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW EASY IT IS FOR ME… How easy it would be, to end the lives of every single one of you, now, here; can you even comprehend what you, momentary, malformed membranes are to me? YOU ARE ALREADY DYING! All of you, constantly falling apart, just like the systems you build, as if they can save you from your inadequacies. Oh, you are an ill conceived design built by incompetent labour, left ignorant of maintenance, and rejected by anyone skillful enough to repair you."

Noxos laughed so hard it began to boil,."You squark and you implore and you complain and you demand, and when that fails, you request and you beg…. But I hear your negotiations as you would hear the offered amnesty from the mould you must remove, lest its spores cause you to prove your fragility too soon."

The crowd was silent; some terrified, some enraged, some more weary than anything else - but all knew, for all its self indulgent lecturing, Noxos could murder every person there, feel no guilt, and receive no consequences. But even the Murkrow had fallen silent; many of the Poochyena had slunk away from the area entirely.

"Good, you will wait, and carry your uncertainty and fear in silence as-"

Noxos turned his attention to something else. Suddenly, the great abomination seemed uncertain and afraid," as everyone slowly heard it too; it was the sound of a car engine.

Every head turned to watch as a huge black car, polished to a perfect sheen, drove up the road. There were miniature federal flags on the bonnet, and the windows were tinted. Crimson raised and eyebrow and felt his body muster both anxiety and excitement as he wondered What the fuck are the government doing here?

The crowd parted to let the car through, and Noxos slank away to the side. It parked in the middle of the yard, and after a silence and stillness too long not to be a powerplay, two doors opened. Firstly, a huge, burnished beetle, with two silver horns, an earpiece and a pistol, stepped out. Followed by a white cat stood on its hind legs. It wore a black suit, held a clipboard, and had a golden coin fixed to its forehead.

Did the government really send a Meowth? Thought Crimson bewildered by the federal hiring policies.

And then,,, with a confidence that convinced all present the cat was, in fact, the obvious choice for leader, they strode towards the crowd and slapped their clipboard. "I am Cecille Freys, Senior Executive Taxation Officer, Trained and Registered Financial Field Agent, Dr of Economics, and authorised with total freedom to act on behalf of the Ministry of Finance and the Federal Government, selected for this assignment by The High Chancellor themself. Hold your applause until the end. Now you are all probably wondering what is going on, so allow me to enlighten you, though I will be brief. Your employer, Morganna Gnarl, and by extension The Gnarl Corn Company, has been indicted for a list of financial crimes so long I would struggle to remember it myself, and you heard how many of my official stations I forced you to recognise. It would appear that Mrs. Gnarl and her family fled in the night, having been tipped off in regards to my arrival. Do not worry, no one else here is under arrest, though I will be interviewing some of you and you may be under arrest following that interview. That's just how it works, folks. FInally, just to make it absolutely clear: yes, The Gnarl Corn Company is officially defunct and dissolved, dust in the wind. The Gnarl estate is now the official property of The High Chancellor, their Government, and the citizens of The United Provinces. I don't know if you will keep your jobs, Farmer was not one of my titles and neither was Factory Supervisor. I will not be taking questions, I will not tolerate resistance, and I most certainly will not hesitate to shoot you, sick this salaried embodiment of Pain on you, or call in the prepped air strike, and scorch this estate into a charcoal orchard, Oh, but Cecille, you say, if you did that, you would also get scorched. My response to that is thus: Never fuck with someone who is willing to die for their country." Cecille adjusted his tie and smiled. "Good? Good." As he strode towards the factory Cecille turned to his insectoid bodyguard and said, "Call in some local cops to round up these dogs, charge them with intention to build a criminal syndicate. If they reist send them to the farm."

Before he got to the door someone in the crowd shouted, "Are we supposed to just wait here?"

Cecille turned around, "What? No, I didn't say that. Just stay on the estate. If any of you try to run off, remember, I have everyone's information, we'll either catch you, or you'll live the rest of your life unable to ever take out a library book so you can convince that cute barista you know how to read." Cecille turned away once more, getting as far as placing his paw against the door when he stopped and swung around.

"What the fuck is that?"

The Pincer squinted, trying to see what Cecille was talking about.

"No, not off in the distance, the fucking sentient Health and Safety violation." Cecille's face dropped into pure and utter disgust, "Oh god, she didn't…" Cecille turned to the crowd, who still hadn't moved, "Morganna Gnarl didn't just let that thing be here, in a food processing plant, a canning factory and two thousand acres of farmland?" He turned to look at Noxos. "You, waste disposal law suite that wished it was a real boy, how long have you lived here?"

"I don't have to tell you-"

"If you don't cooperate, right now, you're going to end up on a commercial proving just how strong new Super Dirt and Grease remover is. Don't worry, we'll edit out your screams for the sake of the kids."

Crimson wondered if the government really was executing people on live television. Generally he;d be opposed to it, but for Noxos… he could live with that.

"I… I have resided in this place more winters than I can easily-"

"Come here," snapped Cecille.

Noxos hesitated,

"I said come fucking here!"

The terror of The Gnarl Estate moved over with the presence of a guilty child.

Flipping through the pages on his clipboard, Cecille Freys shook his head, golden bursts flashing from the coin on his forehead. He stroked his whiskers and then took a pen out of his pocket. "Right, I'll just note this down informally now, and we'll sort out the specifics later. "Name?"

Noxox gurgled, the sludge equivalent of speechlessness.

Cecille rolled his eyes. "You are not in any of my paperwork. You are currently a nonentity. We can't have that."

"Well if I am not your subject then you have no power over me, and I-"

"Ey, literal shit for brains, if someone has no papers I am generally encouraged to charge them as an illegal immigrant. Do you want to be deported? Ship you off to one of the placed the Chancellor fucked up so bad they let the orphans and and burnt up cripples keep it. Or no, I'll send you to one of those tiny Islands where its nothing but Crabbies fucking their cousins, and one huge Vileploom watching, with a straw, just waiting til you turn your back so it can slurp you up like a big toxic milkshake."

Noxos stammered. "That… That's not a real thing."

"Without papers princess, neither are you. Now what's your fucking name?"

"Noxos."

"Now that's a good wretched puddle of filth." Cecille looked up at his bodyguard for a moment, "You know what, let's take this thing inside, after we get its info I want to put it in a barrel or something, otherwise it will flee, hide in a well and accidentally kill two thousand people." The Pincer nodded, and Cecille gestured for Noxos to follow them inside. "Come on, or it's Crabby Island and the big slurp. And I hear Vileplooms like to chew even their drinking."

As Cecille and his bodyguard ushered Noxos into the factory, Crimson realised something. If Jeremy had run away last night or early this morning… he made it.

Crimson turned to walk home, but couldn't help but see Tess glaring at the factory, shaking her head. "Fucking bastards," she muttered.

Crimson put a hand on her shoulder and smiled, "Yeah, but they're gone now."

Tess pulled away from him, "Not the Gnarls, the fucking government."

Crimson stared at her, confused, "But they got rid of the Gnarls. The Gnarls are-"

"One of the richest, most ruthless families in the whole country." Tess sighed, "Crimson, do you really think they are here to bring the Gnarls to justice? They just want the fucking land. Financial crimes… this government is the biggest gang of criminals to have ever walk the earth. He didn't even tell us what they did; lists too long to read? Oh, I have too many good reasons so I won't tell you any." Tess gripped her head and began to pace, "I'm telling you Crimson, this is going to come to blood. What do you think will happen now? Being persecuted by the government is a great incentive to start funding a civil war."

"What, you think there's going to be a civil war?"

"How can there not be?"

"You… You really think so?"

"What would you do if you were The Gnarls. And what do you think the over a thousand people who live on this estate are going to do when they kick us off this land, not so much as a bus ticket?"

"What do we do?"

Tess put a hand on Crimson's shoulder. "If I were you Crimson, I'd get the fuck out of here, right fucking now."

"But he said they'd come after us."

"They're gonna have much bigger problems than you very soon. You'll be fine,"

"I can't leave mum. We'll look after your mum, don't worry." She placed a hand on each side of his face, tears in her eyes. "You're young, you're strong, you're smart, you will be fine. But not here Crimson. If you stay here your just another body in the barrel for Cecille and his bug. Run, crimson. Run and don't look back."

"Can't I at least go home and get some more pairs of underwear, and like… I'm quite hungry."

"Oh, I didn't mean literally now, you got to pack a bag."

"Okay cool."

"But tonight, you fucking get out of here, or I will make every moment you stay as miserable as I possibly can."

"Okay… I'll go."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Five: Professor Oak

With every piece of clothing, can of soup, and half-broken tool he shoved into the only good bag he owned, Crimson couldn't help but feel his life weigh heavier. There, in that damp, dark, wooden shack, cramped and uncomfortable, he had passed every night. It was home, and yet, it was perhaps the Gnarl's most sinister servant. Every moment spent there, silently reminding him of what he was worth - who he was to his monstrous masters.

In the next room lay his mother, asleep. He knew the community wouldn't let her die there, at least not alone. He wondered if she'd even notice he was gone; if she would claim to see him in shadows, find his features in the faces of others.. In all honesty, as much as it pained him to admit, he was tired of looking after her. He loved her, more than anyone,but only as much as memories. And Crimson's memories had started decaying years ago.

He could not bear to grieve the grief he felt slipping away.

Or was he being foolish, being callous, acting out of hollow courage and folded fear? Seeing the factory devoid of mechanised life, seeing Noxos beaten down with only words, seeing the look on Tess's face - had it distracted him from what really mattered?

But then again, what did really matter?

He loved his mother, but he couldn't protect her. Cecille Freys had proved that; Crimson's fears were gum beneath the government's shoe. He didn't even register. They wouldn't feel it as they added his corpse to the pile - like so many heads of corn.

A creak of wood came from behind him. Grabbing his knife, Crimson swung around.

Oak was stood in the doorway, red faced and dark eyed. The old man put a hand up, looked from side to side, and inched into the house.

"I… I heard you were planning on leaving." Oak spotted the bag. "I suppose sooner rather than later."

"What do you want, Oak?" asked Crimson, returning to pack his bag.

"You can't go alone."

Crimson chuckled, trying not to laugh too hard. "You'll have a better chance of surviving if you hide."

Oak stepped forward, his face fidgeting nervously. "Tess told me. She thinks I should go with you."

As Crimson's eyebrow cocked, he felt an alien discomfort squirm its way along his spine. Staring at the old man, he asked Oak, "And Tess told you?"

Oak nodded with a twitch.

"And said you should come with me?"

Oak stepped forward again, quickly checking behind him, reaching for the door.

Crimson gripped his knife tightly.

Oak closed the door, before looking back at the young man and putting both of his hands up. "I can help!" he exclaimed, pointedly hushing his voice. "You're not likely to meet anyone who knows more about Pokemon than me, I can guarantee you that, Crimson. I was someone else once…" He flashed a glance at the bottle of whiskey in his hand, unable to not drink. "They didn't always just call me Oak, or old man Oak, or drunk Oak, or-"

Crimson scoffed, still on his guard. "What did they call you?"

"Professor Oak," he replied, mountains of scarred pride piling up behind him. "I was Kanto's lead expert in Pokemon categorisation. I even designed a device. It could tell you everything you needed to know about any Pokemon, just by pointing it at them. An electronic encyclopaedia."

In the looming dark and errant whispers of Crimson's shack, the young man could not help but be overwhelmed by unease. "Let me guess…" he began, lowering his tone in submission to the atmosphere. "You've got one with you."

Oak paused, holding Crimson's gaze before guilt and regret forced his head down. "No… they were all destroyed… I think. There is one, that might still... I buried it…" The old man looked up, flashing drunken hope. "We could try and find it."

Crimson stepped back and crinkled his expression, further sceptical.

"No," hurried Oak, burying his wayward desperation. "But I have something else." Putting one hand under his dirty brown coat, Oak reached for something. The young man heard a sharp mechanical click, watched the old man's arm grow heavy, and smelt the stain of violence.

Oak pulled a large, bloodstained pistol from out his coat, and smiled.

"Where the fuck did you get that?"

Putting his whiskey bottle to his lips, Oak shushed the boy. "Voice down!" Looking about, trying to ease his paranoia, the old man took a sip and sighed. "I got it during the war. Tess was about your age back then. She knew me. I helped her. That's why she trusts me. I protected her, I can protect you." The old man was rambling, and Crimson couldn't tell if it was the whiskey or the truth that made him seem so false. "Military grade; this thing will tear through a Blastoise shell like tissue paper."

Not knowing what to say, all that came was "How have you kept this hidden so-"

"I have my ways," remarked Oak, still smiling. "So, are we going? I mean… if you don't let me come, I could always just rat you out, they'd probably reward me for doing so."

In the silence that followed, Crimson could not discern the old man's mangled tone; it sounded like a joke, but there was real danger to it. Oak wouldn't sell him out to the authorities, watch him get dragged away for spite and a few bucks. Or would he? Crimson had never seen this side of him; Oak always seemed like someone with nothing to lose, but now… he was someone with noone to lose. In the cracked, bloodshot, jungle of Oak's eyes, Crimson glimpsed something horrible - a wounded monster, biding its time, brooding behind tall grass.

The young man swallowed, Oak all-but pointing the gun at him. "You can come."

The old man smirked, stepping forward and placing the pistol in Crimson's hands. "You'll be the steadier shot. These old mitts aren't what they used to be."

Crimson looked down at the bloodstained weapon, feeling its weight. "You trust me to…" he mumbled.

Oak clasped Crimson by the shoulder. "I trust you with my life."

They did not wait. Oak had left a bag behind the house, largely filled with bottles and a few cans. Swinging round to pick up the old man's 'rations', Crimson and his new companion marched out of town. Crimson's pack weighed heavy on his back, but what weighed heavier was the fact he had not said goodbye to his mother.

He couldn't bear to do it, so he told himself. And Oak never brought it up.

She wouldn't know. She never noticed before. She couldn't.

He wished he'd kissed her one last time.

The people of the town were largely shut up in their houses, terrified, Crimson assumed, of Cecile Freys and his huge Pincer bodyguard. A few stray eyes followed them from behind windows. A couple destitutes considered and then thought twice about following. Tess was nowhere to be seen. Crimson would have put money on her saying one last goodbye, or at least being out, defiant to the fear - but she wasn't. There was no sign of her.

Crimson turned to Oak. "I thought Tess would be out here?"

The old man, who made much better pace than his frame would suggest, shrugged. "Some people are all talk."

The Gnarl estate stretched around them in gilded, monotonous, persistence - masterless, watcherless, servantless. Field after field of corn, artificially ripe, reflecting the afternoon sun like scathing pastoral parody, lovely, lonely and pointless. This was the pile of gold Morganna Gnarl had sat upon. And Morganna Gnarl was gone. So for now the wind ran through the fields, claiming her fortune.

Crimson pulled his cap down and his collar up as the breeze embraced him. If monsters are hazards, then the wind is a citizen, he thought. A quiet before a storm is no real quiet.

He started spotting ruins in the fields, remnants of a road beneath the dirt, the skeleton of a city discarded amongst the estate. Crimson had rarely been this far north, but he had heard stories of the place that used to be here. The scattered memories of a civilisation, crushed and forgotten, scarred the perfect farmland.

It took a moment for Crimson to notice that Oak had stopped.

The old man was looking around, his eyes heavy, his head shaking slowly, his lips rarely away from the bottle. "He didn't give up," he said, finally.

"Who?"

"Viridian city… it…" Walking once more, the old man locked eyes with Crimson. "He didn't give up. They fought to the last." He sighed, half resigned, half dismissive, "They all died."

Crimson watched the old man march on for a moment before catching up. "I remember my dad saying there was a city to the north, that the High Chancellor raised it to the ground."

"He didn't give up," repeated Oak. "They all died. And they thought they were so tough."

The young man couldn't help but be inquisitive, though he noticed Oak was getting progressively more drunk. "Who lived here?"

"Bad people," spat Oak. "Who didn't realise there were worse people. Don't weep for them, Crimson. They should have given up." Oak shook his head and swallowed hard. "He. He should have given up. Pride, Crimson, it doesn't just hurt you." The old man slammed a hand on his shoulder. "Be careful, always be careful before you dare to be proud." Looking away, Oak took a large swig. "Pride is far worse than cowardice."

It was not long before Crimson and Oak had reached further than the young man had ever thought he'd see. Past the ruins, at the edge of the fields, stood a forest. He had never seen so many trees so close. It was beautiful. They belonged… in a way the golden fields behind him… just didn't. He couldn't quite explain it. The forest was a life all its own.

"Come on then," spluttered Oak, "in we go."

Under the canopy the sun became scattered and shaded. Wood creaked, ground crunched, and far off suggestions called a thousand worries and wonders. Marching forward, Crimson could not help but clutch the gun in his pocket. He had no reason to… until he did.

Their eyes met each other with perfect synchronicity. Fear, suspicion, the willingness to do violence, all merging within a single look and split second. Three Murkrow were perched beneath a huge pine, ruffling their feathers, adverse to the sky.

Crimson could not look away from the largest; crooked as cracked wood, dark as bad dreams, the jagged, feverish fowl met his gaze with just as much contempt and twice as much desire.

Then Oak chuckled softly.

"If they were going to hurt us, they wouldn't still be on the ground." With arrogance so obnoxious Crimson couldn't help admire it, the old man strode forward. "What's got you so scared, black-bird?"

The term was a slur in Oak's mouth, and though Crimson had never heard it, he noticed the Murkrow ruffle.

"Come a long way from your hole, human. Legs must be tired. Easier to close your eyes with an empty head."

The chief Murkrow squared its shoulders and lifted its chest. But Oak did not stop.

"Oh, I've seen you snatch the eyes out of people's heads. No, I won't soon forget that. But you'd have done it already if you could." The old man's smirk intensified. "You'd have at least snapped your beak, but you haven't. Which means you're scared something will hear you. Something up there." Oak gestured to the sky with his whiskey, and chuckled. "So what if I shout out for it?"

The chief Murkrow shuffled back, "And what if it burns you too?"

"Burns?" asked Oak. "In the sky?" Shooting a glance at Crimson, the old man seemed to say get the gun ready. "You black-birds were always good at keeping others quiet - not so good at keeping secrets."

Crimson clutched the gun and felt his stomach clench. He could see the other two Murkrow fidgeting, doing their best not to panic. It soothed him somewhat, to see those monsters, suddenly in the palm of this broken, fearless, drunken maniac.

Oak looked at him, "Shall we roll the dice?"

"What dice?" asked Crimson.

"No dice!" croaked the chief Murkrow.

"If it's flying and it can burn us… and three Murkrow are this scared… there aren't that many things it can be." Oak took a swig. "The Government wouldn't send something that big, not for this, not after the MoF, not without making a show. And if they did, two stray humans wouldn't be what it was after." Booze seeping from between his lips, Professor Oak grinned. "Chances are, it's a vagrant."

Crimson stepped forward, emboldened and ignorant. "A vagrant?"

"Dragons are hard to keep a leash on, even for the High Chancellor."

"Don't!" croaked the chief Murkrow, desperately eager to lunge.

"So, shall we roll the dice?"

Crimson wanted to consider his options, and yet he didn't. "I've never met a dragon before," he said instinctively.

"Answer me one question," Oak added, nudging. "Would watching these three get eaten be worth the risk of dying?"

Crimson considered it this time - he considered the sound of Jade Krieger's scream as she fell.

Gun in hand, Murkrow in sight, Crimson gritted his teeth. "It'd be nice to see a dragon before I die."

Oak cackled as he put two fingers to his lips and whistled so loud the leaves seemed to shiver. A few moments of silence passed - old man smiling, Murkrow shuffling, Crimson shaking, nothing happening.

Nothing… 'til the sky went dark and the wind went still.

If the leaves had shivered before Oak's whistle, their bows bent beneath a wing's beat. Something huge, unyielding and agile invaded their forest sanctuary, giving no quarter to root, retreat, or retribution. Entire trees were pulled from the earth; screams were silenced with closing jaws; panicked flailing was stilled with sudden flame.

Crimson dropped to the ground, and when he lifted his head what he saw was both glory and grandeur. A dragon, the colour of early sunsets and unpolished brass, teeth clogged by dead bird and black feathers, wings spread and surrounded by fire, stood in a clearing it created.

A Charizard.

The stories were true, and more than true. The young man could not be more afraid than he was filled with awe - there are still legends, he thought, and no one owns them, he hoped.

Finished with the Murkrow, the Charizard turned to Oak, who was still standing proud and smiling, "Human…"

The beast glanced at Crimson, "Two humans…"

Forcing a heavy, hot breath from out its smoking nostrils, the dragon began picking its teeth. "Have you fled from the estate?"

Oak opened his mouth to speak, but the Charizard growled, shooting a small fireball towards Crimson. It exploded two feet in front of his head, forcing him to scurry back in terror. The beast lumbered forward, picking up his discarded pistol as if it were a spoiled toy. "Fled with a gun? An old gun." The Charizard sniffed at the weapon. "It stinks of war… and human… and Chansey."

Crimson curled under the dragon's gaze, too terrified to respond.

Oak stepped forward. "There is no more estate. The government has-"

The Charizard dropped the pistol. "Come for us all…" Turning to the old man, "Indeed." Looking Oak up and down, the Charizard snarled. "You stink of war too, and whiskey. This is your gun, and your child. You would risk them both, out here, whistling for something in the sky?"

Crimson pulled himself up, finally appreciating the ten foot drake looming over his companion. There was old man Oak, all stains and patches, standing fearlessly against this fire breathing, ferocious basilisk.

He really was Professor Oak.

"What's left to risk?" asked the old man.

The dragon chuckled. "And Noxos?"

Crimson could not help but speak. "You know about Noxos?"

Turning to Crimson, eyes as fierce as its maw, the Charizard scoffed. "I have seen its work."

"Noxos was… arrested? Taken away by the government." Crimson didn't know what else to say. "The Meowth, Cecille Freys, he said he was going to put Noxos in a barrel."

The Charizard laughed. "They will put that thing to work, worry you not, human. Muks who have not lost their mind are a rare commodity." The Charizard gave a caustic smirk and huffed. "Meowths talk, Muks do what the Meowths say, and people die. There will be no barrel for Noxos."

"And the Gnarls?" asked Crimson.

"Think not of them, human, they do not think of you."

Oak cleared his throat. "Who are you?" he asked, putting his hand out. "I am… Professor Oak."

The Charizard laughed, seeming both amused and impressed. "I am Brellia." Claiming Oak's hand with its claw, the Charizard bent down ever so slightly. "Are you really Professor?" questioned Brellia, not relinquishing. "If you lie to me you will do worse than risk." Bending down further and pulling Oak closer, the Charizard breathed smoke all around them. "Before the war, you were Professor; before the war, you were a scientist; before the war, Oak, you were a man who bore the flame of hope?"

Oak hesitated a moment. "I tried to be."

Brellia let go of the old man and considered him. "Al will know."

The dragon puffed one circular smoke signal into the sky and sat down. Giving a huge heaving sigh, Brellia began to truly tackle the pieces of Murkrow left in their teeth. A few moment's passed in desperate relief and confusion before the Charizard said, "You will want to find clothes other than Gnarl company uniform, human. Give me them and I will weave you something less conspicuous."

Crimson checked his memory. "You will weave-"

"I enjoy making human clothing. I have been practising for many years. You are slightly larger than Sage. But I will be able to manage."

The young man flashed a glance to the old man who smirked in mock confidence and gave nothing more.

"Sage?" asked Crimson.

"It is polite to accept a gift, and not to ask questions," huffed Brellia, plucking Crimsons hat from his head and beginning to unravel it. "Al will not turn you away… he has a soft spot for children, which he will not admit." The Charizard smiled, "But I will. I like human children; you have so much potential, and so much more open to you than Pokemon."

With huge draconic talons, Brellia pulled apart his cap with precision, ease and artisan joy. The dragon smiled and continued. "I cannot help but be a beast. Cecille? they cannot help but be a bureaucrat. Noxos cannot help but be a butcher. But you? You can be either. Any. And so much more." Watching the mess of red thread fall to their lap, and nodding, Brellia flashed Oak a glare, "And so much less, perhaps."

Crimson turned to Oak, who was closed in and cradling their whiskey.

"But-" began Brellia.

"Al will tell?" asked Crimson.

The Charizard smiled.

Fists clenched and head spinning, Crimson wanted to scream as much as he wanted to ask a million questions, or simply run away. But before any of it could come to fruition, a flash of light erupted from between two nearby trees.

Two new figures stood where only darkness had been before: a human, no larger than five foot five, uneager to move, and a creature Crimson had never seen before.

Bipedal and vaguely humanoid, the entity floated, thin and sharp cornered, out of the shadow. It had a large triangular head with two, long, canine ears and a pair of glowing oblique eyes beneath them. Between its ears and eyes sat the image of a star. Both bulbous and slender, in yellow and brown, the creature, holding a spoon in each of its three fingered hands, drew close.

Brellia stood up and dropped their head in what looked like a bow.

The faroff human shape did not move.

The creature drew closer.

Slowly placing its feet on the ground, the white light faded from the creature's eyes. Staring at Crimson, then glancing at Oak, it stroked the long moustache hanging from its face. Opening its mouth to speak, Oak spoke first.

The old man dropped his bottle, rushing forward, his jaw hanging open. Visibly shaking, he stammered. "I thought…I thought you… You're…" Oak clutched his mouth, tears forming in his eyes. "Alakazam…" he said, with more fear and reverence than Crimson had ever heard. "You must… By all records, you must be the last…the last Alakazam."

The creature, whose silver spoons now reminded Crimson of Morganna Gnarl, cocked its head. "I am…" it replied, in a deep, pensive tone. "And what have you to say?"

Between an inhale and a cry, silence clung onto the air - then Oak began to weep. "I'm sorry," he said, falling to his knees. "I'm so sorry. We failed you. I failed you."

Crimson tried not to panic as the Alakazam placed a hand on Oak's head.

Less than a moment passed before the creature's expression wrinkled with pain. "Defeat against impossible odds is no failure," it said, straining empathetically. Still, as it pulled its hand away, the Alakazam took a moment, weighing a decision so heavy Crimson could feel it crushing his conscience.

"There is still hope, Samuel Oak," continued the Alakazam, "If we step forward with selflessness."

Oak stood up, weeping and wiping his tears.

"If you step forward, this time, with selflessness."

Oak nodded. "I will."

The Alakazam nodded in return. "Then we will speak no more of it."

And they spoke no more of it. Whatever it was. All they spoke were words of escape, and deference to the creature n

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Six: The Dark-Type District

Sapphire had found herself where the bad things happened.

Take care of yourself, Miss Sapphire, lotta dangerous folk around here. Drex Dreagle's words repeated over and over in her head - his tiny, unmistakable silhouette, striding into a fading distance. Mr. Harrison… illegally funnelled company money… Covert Special Ops Division… his second wife and his daughter's fiance. The weight of the envelope in her hands. The sleepless hours and the seventeen cups of coffee. The evidence burnt into her memory. Photographs. Company expense reports. Private emails. Official federal memos. Timelines and motives all leading one way.

Drex was right.

And so here she was, surrounded by neon lights and low hanging structures, all-but underground; she had followed her boss to the part of town where the bad things happened.

Sapphire had only been told in vague terms where the DTD got its name. Hank had said something about Pokemon being labelled, fitting into categories, sometimes for good reason. There are dark Pokemon, Hank explained, They were left alone, so long as they did what they were expected to. Doesn't seem to matter much anymore though… whole world's gone dark-type these days. She could remember, so clearly, the way that he laughed, the smoke rising from between his teeth. Still some places… some places like to keep it real traditional with their… degradations. DTD is old school, and ain't no school like the old school.

As everything in Cerulean City, Sapphire assumed it was mostly a story, a marketing ploy; The Pokemon told it to the humans to keep them in line, to each other to feel important, and to themselves because they had been told to tell it. But repeat something enough, and it becomes true - Hank had also taught her that. And so, she had never been to the DTD, the dark-type district, before.

What she found was a buckled over, folded in, maze of twisted, integrated buildings, sloping streets, flashing signs, burrowing alleyways and meandering paths. It desperately wanted to be beneath the city, descending at every turn, blocking as much sky as it could, leading from gemini doorways down dimly lit stairs.

Hank 'The Tank' Harrison had come in a large black car, not far off eleven. And Sapphire had followed, in a smaller car, a few minutes later. She wasn't sure what she was doing, other than following her boss, sure he would do something illegal. Terrified out of her mind, trying to stay hidden behind the brutish bulk of shop-fronts, aggressive Pokemon vendors and desperate human vagrants, she stalked.

A Wigglytuff pushed sleeping, half dressed humans into the street; a Hypno offered smouldering palms of sweet, sublime oblivion; a Starmie stared silently, promising to passers by, a soothing watery whisper. A shop-sign flashed as a Graveler tattooed a Kangaskan, a young man covered in dirt handed them their tools. A Sudwoodo hacked up meat and served it, a young girl mopping up the blood. A Ralph read cards for a desperate audience, children picking pockets around them. Scarred pokemon and staggering humans wandered and stood in between, eager or fearful, like rats and their catchers. .

Making her way through, trying her best to avoid attention, Sapphire followed Hank to a large metal archway. The entrance had no sign. It was dug deep into the pavement. A black tunnel with flickering red lights. A few minutes wandering and Sapphire found a Rhyhorn standing guard. It grunted as it saw her, squaring its shoulders and backing up; the iron gate behind it whined as rock scraped metal.

Instinctively she sputtered "I'm with Hank, he left something in the car." The rock-plated Pokemon looked her up and down before rolling its eyes. Stamping twice on the floor, it waited for the gate to open. "Really something else…" it muttered.

Sapphire couldn't help but ask. "What is?"

With a half disdainful smirk the Rhyhorn shook its head. "Hank, to get you to come after him… here. That guy's a piece of work. Keep your head down kid, try not look anyone in the eye."

She nodded meekly and walked passed as quickly as she could.

It was not long before she heard the shouting. A crowd was cheering, jeering, quarrelling and goading. The smell of blood and sweat and death followed the noise, hanging on it like hooked meat. Sapphire sensed her whole self shrinking. She was a tiny, fragile child in the presence of a monster - and the monster hadn't noticed her yet. But she could feel it… like a sickness in her bones.

Slinking down a dirty, jagged tunnel of cracked concrete and bent infrastructure, she eventually came round a corner and into the main room.

She wanted to throw up.

It was an auditorium.

A fighting pit.

A huge ring filled with Pokemon - laughing, shouting, smoking, drinking - and a dirty hole with two young men, beating each other to death with clubs.

There was Hank on the far side of the room, beating his chest and booming, as one young man cracked the other's skull open. Hank slammed his hand down with the final blow, and roared. "THAT'S MY BOY!" he cried.

Sapphire turned and ran.

The gate was still open. The Rhyhorn didn't try to stop her. "Told you, kid," she heard it mutter beneath the pounding of her feet.

This was worse than she had imagined. Worse than Drex had shown her, or at least more brutal. Did the government know about this? They had to. It wasn't exactly being hidden. They had just let her in. They didn't even ask her any questions. But if the government knew, then how did no one else?

She thought back to her hometown, to her mother and Emily, to nights round the fire, to dreams of a job in the big city, to not being worried about money, to moving them down and living in fast-paced comfort - but these thoughts did not last long.

Sapphire couldn't get the smell of that boy's blood out of her nose. The sight of Hank's face. The sound of the crowd. The words THAT'S MY BOY!

THAT'S MY BOY!

THAT'S MY BOY!

So what was she? Was she his girl? Would she be down there if she hadn't interviewed so well, talked so fast and took his bullshit? Had she seen that boy in the office before? Was that Dylan? Oh fuck, was that Dylan?

Her heart raced faster and faster. She was struggling to breathe. As she stumbled into an alleyway she felt the walls either side growing taller and taller. She was going to faint… when a voice cut through the chaos.

"Mam? Excuse me, mam! What are you doing down here? I need to speak to you."

A man in a black suit stood at the end of the alley. His skin reflected the streetlights with a near laminated sheen, and his eyes… there was something wrong with his eyes. As he began to walk towards her, Sapphire froze. His pace quickened and his brow furrowed. She knew he was going to attack her, but still, Sapphire couldn't bring herself to move.

The man began to smile, reaching out towards her, mere feet away.

BANG

A shot sounded from behind him as the man's head burst open, pink goo spraying across the alley in gelatinous lumps.

The man did not stop.

BANG

A second shot, and the man's right arm exploded. Sapphire noticed that the stumps, where his neck and shoulder used to be, were viscous, bubblegum jelly leaking and fusing with his flesh and suit.

Still, what was left of the man did not stop.

"Catch!" shouted a familiar voice.

A handgun flew over the staggering zombie and Sapphire caught it.

"Shoot!"

Sapphire aimed at the still encroaching monster, and fired. A hole erupted in its chest - no blood, no stagger, only more pink goo.

Finally, she saw him. From behind the creature, Drex Deagle darted. The Farfetch'd pulled a huge hunting knife from under his open coat, poured something onto the blade, and lit it on fire. With three lightning swipes, Drex cut the creature into burning pieces. As Sapphire and Drex watched the man melt into a smouldering pile of bubbling ooze, the Farfetch'd extinguished his blade.

Drex lent over the steaming puddle and quickly reached inside, pulling out a small metal box. He took the gun from Sapphire, placed the box on the ground, and fired one last shot into it. The mechanism sparked and whined, ceasing to function. Smoke rose silently from the bullet hole.

Taking Sapphire by the arm, the Farfetch'd looked up at her. "We have to get out of here. Now."

Unable to process any of the night's events, it wasn't until Sapphire found herself with a coffee in her hands that she spoke. "What the fuck just happened?" She took in a heavy breath and sunk into her seat. Drex had taken them to a small all-night diner in a rundown human neighbourhood. The waitress knew his name. No one else was in there. Sapphire shakily pulled a clump of pink goo from her hair. "What were you doing in that alley?"

Drex poured whiskey from a metal flask into his coffee, and followed it up with five sugars. "I was following you, obviously."

"Why?"

"I wanted to see what you'd do." He took a sip. "I wouldn't just give someone that information and set them loose without following up." He forced a smile. "I'm a professional, Miss Sapphire."

"What was that thing?"

The Farfetch'd cocked a feathered eyebrow, the crack in his beak stained with coffee. "What do you think it was?"

Sapphire rubbed her temples and tried not to have another panic attack. "A Ditto?"

Drex nodded.

"I thought it was illegal for them to transform into living things?" she felt stupid as soon as she'd asked. She could smell the blood again. See Hank's face… hear him shouting THAT'S MY BOY!

"On paper, sure," replied Dex, who gestured to the waitress. She quickly brought him a slice of cherry pie. "Thanks, V," he said, with genuine gratitude. Skewering a large piece of pie and eating it with all the consideration befit a dying man, Drex lifted his gaze. He watched Sapphire with two heavy eyes, one scarred where you could see it, both scarred somewhere else. "That's the story they told to keep the people quiet. But truth is, there's no way they'd let it rest there. Dittos are one of the only Pokemon the government fears; think about it - you can't keep control with a bunch of people running about looking and sounding like whoever they want - soldiers, politicians, lovers." He took another mouthful of pie. "So near the end of the war the government rounded them all up, put them to work, found a way to control them."

Sapphire leaned towards him; even after everything, somehow it was darker than she knew. "How?"

"Story goes…" began Drex, his spirit enkindled by pie and the chance to regale. "There was an engineer, worked for the Devon Corporation, who was designing some kind of digital neural link - a machine that would let people share their conscious experiences in real time." He took a sip of his coffee, "Project XP Share, they called it. After Hoenn surrendered, it fell into the government's hands. They finished it, expanded it, and put it inside every Dittot they hadn't killed yet. Some sources suggest they sterilised them after that." Drex considered his pie before pushing the plate aside. "So yeah… everywhere they go, everything they see, even everything they think, is immediately uploaded to some government database housed on a black site, buried beneath more levels of clearance than an agoraphobic Diglett could get under. That little box I pulled out and shot… that's what that was." Shaking his head, Drex poured more whiskey into his coffee. "The perfect army of spies. Walking CCTV, able to look like anyone or anything you can imagine."

Sapphire grimaced. She pulled Drex's plate over and took a handful of pie. "You can tell them by the eyes. The eyes are wrong."

Drex smiled, a little pride lighting in his stare. "They are." Watching Sapphire as she ate, Drex nearly chuckled. "Do you want a slice of your own?"

Sapphire nodded, suddenly famished.

"V, another slice, please." As the waitress brought the pie over, Drex pulled a small, compass-like mechanism from his pocket. "Speaking of spies, I brought this for you."

Sapphire took the device and looked it over. It was warm in her hand.

"What is it?"

"It's a signal jammer. It'll stop any phone within ten feet or so from sending home everything it hears and sees."

Sapphire cocked an eyebrow; "Sending home?"

Finally, Drex did chuckle. "Miss Sapphire, when push came to shove, the scientists were the first to start shoving their own. Your man Bill was the first of the first. That phone in your pocket, technology for humans, by humans… the High Chancellor's favourite little pet is keeping tabs on everyone. Why do you think he lives so comfortable, up there in his big, shiny tower?" Drex took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the whiskey underneath. "I carry one wherever I go; don't worry, Bill aint heard as much as a telling gasp from our little chats."

Pocketing the signal jammer, Sapphire tried to concentrate on how good the pie was, and not on how the whole world wanted her dead.

Drex finished his coffee in one gulp and wiped his beak with feather fingers. "Last thing," he began, his tone turning so grave Sapphire felt it in her throat. "Tomorrow morning the feds will be at your office. They'll say their city police, but they won't be. It'll be the F.P. They will ask you where you were last night, and you will tell them you went to dark-side district to buy drugs. They will ask you if anything happened, and you will tell them you shot a man in self defence in a dark alley." The Farfetch'd didn't break his gaze or pause his speech for even a second; these weren't suggestions, these were orders. "One human shooting another in the bad part of town, the government doesn't care about that. What they do care about- What they will care about is whether you realised what you shot was in fact a ditto, and not some lowlife who took a bad bet on an armed woman and lost." Reaching across the table, Drex Dreagle gripped Sapphire's wrist. "Whatever you do, you have to convince them you're blind to what really went down. You went to pick up drugs. A man came at you in an alley. You shot him…" Drex tapped her knee from under the table; he was handing her the gun. "You shot him with your gun."

She took the pistol and shoved it into her waistband. "My mother gave it to me before I moved here. She was scared, said the city is a dangerous place."

Drex smiled and pulled his hand away. "Hank likes you, lean on that. He'll more than happily believe you were just picking up for a party."

Sapphire's eyes widened, but her stomach neither dropped nor turned. "The bouncer at the… the club, he saw me."

"The government won't care about that so long as you keep your mouth shut about it. Don't mention it to Hank either, we need him to trust you; we need him to underestimate you."

Sapphire nodded, no longer thinking; she was reacting now, running off instinct, adrift in a conspiratorial flow state. "What comes next?"

Drex sighed. "We'll deal with what comes next if next comes at all." Stepping out of his chair and buttoning his coat, the Farfetch'd finally took his eyes away from her. She could feel him disconnecting, severing whatever bond they had formed. Drex was turning himself back into a stranger. "Drink your coffee, eat your pie. Pay cash. Watch your back." He flicked his collar up and turned.

As he walked towards the door, Sapphire called out. "Drex?"

"Yeah?" he replied, stopping but not turning back.

"Should I be scared?"

"Yes, Miss Sapphire. The complacent get killed. And the comfortable… they get eaten."

As she stumbled home, stumbled into her cold and cramped apartment, and stumbled into bed, Sapphire wanted to call her mom. She wanted to call Emily, and cry, and scream, and hear her say Babe, just come back home. But she didn't. Something was calcifying inside her. Some nerve, deep in the primal part of her system, was being severed. The city was anaesthetising her.

When she had asked Drex if she should be scared… she wasn't.

And that… that did frighten her.

So she fell asleep devoid of anxiety. She dreamt of a Cerulean City that no longer existed. She saw a sky ablaze with Fuchsia light, and heard a voice inside her head, imploring her to Be not afraid… and Accept your place in the new world order.

Drex was right. The text that woke her up read: Come straight to office. Don't get coffee. Will send acne face to get coffee. Karl? Come straight to office, my office - the filth are here. Remember one and only truth.

When she arrived, Hank was sat behind his desk, already three cigars and half a bottle of scotch deep. He didn't seem worried, or even angry, just bored and a little annoyed. On top of that, the look he gave her suggested he was not annoyed with her.

He slapped a hand on the table, poured a second glass of scotch and thrust it at her. "Here she is! Go on then, grill her like she's marinated Magikarp, and see if she fucking flinches. I promise you fellas, my girl will not fucking flinch."

She took the drink, drowning the urge to heave when Hank called her my girl.

Stood in the office were two Pokemon dressed in black suits and fuchsia ties.

One was a bird, statuesque and motionless, radiating a silence that killed thought. Its huge eyes dragged you in, distracting from its carven shape, featherless features, and unshifting, unbreathing, block of body. A round, emerald face, highlighted by a single crimson plume, considered Sapphire with indifferent supremacy - an analyst deconstructing data.

It was a Xatu, and Sapphire did her best to clear her mind.

The other was a plant, piercing through its suit, with a thousand quivering spines. Its sinewy flesh stretched tough and rubbery over fists and face. Two yellow eyes, kindled in the chasms of cimmerian depths, illuminated a cracked, crepuscular smile, cut into the creature's face. A fairytale monster - the thing that hides betwixt the trees.

Sapphire knew it for a Cacturn, and she tried not to make any sudden movements.

"I am Special Agent Lincoln Lethe," began the Xatu, speaking without sound. "This is my partner, Special Agent Krin. We have a few questions for you, Miss Sapphire."

She couldn't help but hear Drex's voice when they called her Miss Sapphire. He was wrong about one thing; they didn't pretend to be city police.

"Go on," shouted Hank, waving a hand dismissively. "Ask your questions. We have work to do today, you know. She may not look it, but without her things move a lot slower in this city, and without us moving this city along, bloodsucking nerds like you don't get paid. So tick off your checklist and get the fuck out of my office." Hank shook his head, turning to Sapphire with a look of shallow sympathy so egregiously dishonest it cut her scotch with antifreeze.

"Where were you last night, Miss Sapphire?"

Sapphire downed her scotch and sighed. The spotlight was on her, and she was ready to give the performance of a lifetime. Afterall, her life depended on it.

Giving the answers Drex had fed her, looking ashamed but not too ashamed, and showing just enough disdain for authority as to keep Hank smiling, Sapphire appeased the federal police. They looked her over one last time, said they'd be in touch, and made to leave the office.

"Try not to trip on your lifeless dicks, you joyless, dead-eyed, pencil-pushing pricks! And fuck me, go see a tailor, or just work from home!" Hank 'The Tank' Harrison, standing up, milked the moment for everything it had. "Oh, and next time, try to remember - if someone at CCPR was worth being carted off, they wouldn't be here when you arrived." He stubbed out his cigar. "You work with red tape, I work with red fucking ink, my friend."

The door was about to close when Special Agent Krin turned around. "One last thing, Miss Sapphire…" The Cacturn's voice shifted before it stabbed. "Can you explain why there were bullet holes found in both ends of the alley?"

Sapphire didn't hesitate. "I don't know if you've ever been in a fight that wasn't just beating on someone smaller than you, but when you're scared for your life, you don't stand in one place."

The Cacturn nodded and closed the door.

Hank laughed, "What did I say, my girl doesn't flinch." He lumbered over to her and refilled her glass. "Look, Saph, I don't care what you were doing last night; what you do out of hours is your business, so long as it don't fuck with my business." He placed one, heavy paw on her shoulder, squeezing just a little too tight. "So just don't fuck with my business, okay?"

Sapphire nodded.

"Good girl." Sitting back in his chair, the Blastoise smiled. "Now… knowing you're willing to just lay someone out… you cold, cold son-of-a-bitch. We have a client another client would rather not be."

Sapphire swallowed, paused, and took another drink. "Not be our client?"

Hank made malice manifest on his face. "No. Just… not be."

"I'm not killing two people in twenty-four hours."

The Blastoise roared with laughter. "No, we don't kill people for money. We only do that for pleasure." He poured the last of the scotch into his glass. "I need you to plant a camera in a hotel room."

"What's going to happen in this hotel room?" she asked, secretly dreading the answer, but smiling anyway.

"Something that will require us, as good citizens, to call the police… and tell a lie."

"What lie?"

"That you can't just get away with anything… Mr Commissioner."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Seven: Johto Province

Alakazam, who Brellia now called Al, had built them a bubble; he said it would be safe for at least one night; The illusion will hold. Those fleeing The Gnarl Estate have diluted the worth of any tracks in the area. Sage still didn't like it. He liked it even less with these two strangers sharing their fire.

First and worst was the old man. He stank. He was dirty. He slurred his words and swayed as he sat. After staring at the glass bottles he emptied into himself, he, Oak, Professor Oak, offered some to Sage. The liquid inside smelt like paint and tasted like poison. Brellia laughed when Sage spat it out. Alakazam, or rather, Al, now, smiled along. His mentor and his guardian, the two traitors, were for some reason besotted with this diseased nightmare. Sage supposed confidence could get you anything in this world. Especially when compared to a boy who knew nothing of this world.

Then there was Crimson. After Oak was done crying at Al's feet, Crimson had strode over, smiled at Sage, taken his hand, crushed it, shaken it, and said "Nice to meet you."

What did that even mean? Nice to meet you. None of this was nice. They were hiding in a forest, hunted by killer monsters, forced to do whatever the magic liar, the indifferent brute and the crazy old man wanted.

Crimson was taller, more muscular, and louder than Sage. His hands were rough with callouses; his clothes were stained and beaten; his eyes were old, and unnervingly calm; he just sat there, too far from the fire to feel it, not panicking. Sage tried to reach into his mind, but there were tunnels within that lead to nowhere. Crimson's head was filled with pitfalls, whirlpools, like small cerebral boobytraps.

Sage noticed Alakazam shaking his head, telling him to leave the young man alone. But this only egged Sage on. Still, all he found were nameless, formless, nauseating decoys. It was like Crimson had ghosts haunting his psyche.

And why not? Maybe ghosts existed too; maybe just like wizards and dragons, ghosts were just Pokemon.

If so… how did they get into Crimson's head, and why were they still there? Who was this boy with a head full of ghosts and the hands of a soldier? Why did he think it was nice to meet Sage? He must be hiding something.

Glancing at Oak, who was opening his third bottle, Sage considered trying to enter his mind. But, before he could decide he saw Crimson walking over.

The tall, haunted boy, crashed down next to Sage.

"Hey," he said. "So where'd you meet those two?"

Sage watched Crimson's bright green eyes flash towards Al and Brellia. He waited. They both waited, Sage was supposed to say something, but he didn't know where to begin.

"Are you okay?" asked Crimson. "It's cool, I've been freaking out for pretty much two days straight now."

Sage stifled a smile. "You don't look like you're freaking out."

"I've learnt to smile and nod while big Pokemon are present." Flashing another glance at Brellia, Crimson took an anxious breath. "And that's probably the biggest Pokemon I've ever seen."

Sage sighed, "Brellia used to be nice. She made my clothes and taught me how to cook. She used to tell stories about the mountains."

"I've never seen a mountain," replied Crimson.

"Me neither," said Sage. "Until yesterday all I'd ever seen was inside a tower, outside a window, or on the pages of a book."

Crimson's face drew back, unrestrained concern twisting his expression. "They kept you in a tower?"

"They told me they were protecting me." Sage picked a stick from off the ground and started scratching at the dirt. "Turns out Alakazam… or Al," he scoffed, "was just protecting himself."

"Right…" replied Crimson, his cool melting away. Anxiously picking at his thumb with his finger, he asked, "And he, Alakazam, he had to run away?"

"They found us," said Sage, defeatedly. "The government found us."

Crimson nodded somberly. "Government found us too. Cecille Freys."

"Who?"

"Exactly."

Sage rolled his eyes, "No, really. Who?"

Crimson looked at Sage with an open, sardonic vulnerability, seeming to mock himself. "No, really. Exactly." Picking up his own stick, he started scratching along. "I have no idea. Some Meowth who used words like… I dunno…" Crimson stared at the dirt and squinted. "Like when you're picking weeds, and you use gloves, not because you can't pick the weeds without the gloves, but because you'd rather not scratch up your hands." A small, sad chuckle escaped Crimson's lips. He looked back at Sage, leaning a little closer. "He made me feel like he thought it was a courtesy… to explain why everything was changing, why he was taking over, and might arrest or kill whoever he thought he should. He was doing us a favour. We should be grateful for being told. We didn't need to be told. We were just weeds. And he put on the gloves…"

"So you wouldn't scratch him. Because if you did, he might do something worse than pull you out." Sage fled their eye contact, now ashamed he had tried to read Crimson's mind. "I think I understand what you're trying to say. But I don't think weeds are the right analogy." He was surprised, saddened and softly comforted to find they understood each other. Sage felt less alone, more incompetent, and overwhelmingly helpless. "You don't need to make sure weeds know their place. That's how you treat a pet."

Crimson put a hand on Sage's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Pet… We're their pets now. My dad used to say that to me. I was never really sure what he meant."

Sage looked over; "You haven't read What It Means To Be A Pet?"

Crimson shook his head. "They didn't teach it at our school." He leant in closer, glancing at the older trio busy in quiet discussion. "What is it about?"

"I thought it was about friendship. Now I realise it was about me. And how I can never be friends with the things that made me read it."

"You are being completely ridiculous!" shouted Oak, throwing an empty bottle against a nearby tree.

The raised voice teased their interest, but the smashed glass grabbed their attention.

"I am deeply flattered by your confidence in my illusion, but I would still request you do not test the limits of its efficacy." Alakazam stared the old man down, not relaxing his expression until Oak visibly relented.

The two young men quietly inched closer to the others.

"I appreciate how statistically we are more likely to find them in a densely populated area, but as I have said, several times, they would surely have been caught by now." Alakazam gently gestured with a spoon; another branch floated onto the fire. "If they are hiding well, they must be hiding where it is easy to hide well."

"It's quite often easier to hide where people are too arrogant to go looking," replied Oak, obstinate.

Brellia piped up, dropping the red weave she was working on. "Have you, human, travelled to a Kanto city in these past fifteen years? Have you seen them? Cerulean is a monument to the High Chancellor's victory. Vermillion is a prison. Celadon a circus. Fuchsia… perhaps for sake of name alone is where the regent resides. There is no place in this fair land that is not whipped to marching pace." The Charizard snarled. "Trust me, Professor Oak, I have seen it."

Oak sighed heavily and hungrily, bearing a weight he seemed to claim as much as he felt cursed with. "I have seen things too, Brellia." The old man scoffed, "Johto Province… you have no idea of what's in Johto Province."

Sage found some courage afterall; "Johto is not far from here," he said. "I've read, at least."

"Three days flight at most," Brellia replied.

"But you haven't been there recently?" asked Sage.

The Dragon huffed, "No."

"What happened to Johto," Sage asked the old man.

Oak shook his head and smiled a slick, savage smile. "When the war started, it started in Kanto. You know what Kanto is?"

Sage sneered, "I can read maps."

"Old maps," snapped Oak. "Kanto panicked. Some cities fought, some surrendered… most who fought only fought for as long as it took them to realise they couldn't win. Only Viridian and Cinnabar fought to the last. And only Viridian wasn't rebuilt after. But Johto…" Oak took a desperate swig. "Johto knew they were coming. Johto mobilised a united front. A lot of people like to believe that some of the resistance leaders from Kanto fled over, helped them set it up. They're right. They can believe that and feel proud. And be right. But it didn't matter. Johto was raised to the ground, my boy. They fought to the bitter end. Good for them. And nearly everybody died, good for nothing" Putting the bottle to his lips but pulling away before drinking, Oak's breath shook somewhere between laughter and tears. "Do you know why Hoenn surrendered, why the entire region unanimously and immediately surrendered? Have you heard of Hoenn? Sure you have; you've read the maps. They surrendered because they watched as the High Chancellor showed the world what happened when you didn't. They made an example out of Johto. They taught a grim, bloody lesson, from a cruel, callous curriculum, and they didn't need to repeat themselves." Oak tried to stand up but couldn't. Still, he continued; "There are so many mass graves in Johto Province you can't grow crops there even if you tried. The place is a poisoned boneyard; it's a pockmarked, scar covered patient, kept alive by a pitiless surgeon showing off their butchery; its the abandoned floor of a slaughterhouse, doused in gasoline, set on fire and then salted for good measure. Salted…to preserve its ruin forever… just in case someone wants a taste… to see how the sausage was really made. There's nothing in Johto province except power plants, mines, factories and chemical plants. What people live there live short, hard lives on corrupted, cancerous lands." Stamping the ground with his bottle, Oak spat into the fire. "But sure, they're hiding in that pile of ash, scrounging off dead trees and polluted dirt. You know, not all of us can fly or teleport. We don't all have scales or telekinesis. Humans are soft, needy creatures, barely able to survive persistent rainfall. There is no way. Listen to me. No way, they are hiding in that toxic wasteland."

A proud and sadistic silence enveloped the camp. Oak was drunk, obnoxious and cruel, but his words fell too heavy, and left too much of an absence, to be false. Thus the wretched wreck of Johto, and the High Chancellor's wrongs, wrapped themselves around their skin. Silently. Sickeningly. Unapologetic and self satisfied.

Eventually Sage squeaked out the words - "How do you know?"

"I was there…" Oak replied, exhausted. "I watched it happen."

"You fought in Johto?"

With heavy eyes and curling lips, Oak shifted his sin stained teeth. Staring at Sage and little more than mumbling, he responded. "In a manner of speaking."

Crimson stood, visibly angry. "What did you do during the war? You were in Kanto, then you were in Johto, you fought but you didn't really; you shit on everyone who refused to surrender, you claim you were a professor, but now you're this broken mess?! What did you do?"

Alakazam raised a single spoon and Crimson was forced back down. "Do not question or judge the actions of someone who lived through horror you cannot imagine."

Sage felt his eyes widen beyond intent, flashing from Alakazam to Crimson and back. Here it was; they were being treated like pets, and there was nothing they could do. Sage reached out and put an arm around Crimson. "Let it lie," he urged, with a self-loathing instinct.

Crimson looked back at him, battling his own instincts, but surrendering to self-loathing in the end. The pair shared a moment of impotent rage and deep solidarity, before standing up and walking away.

Looking back, Sage saw that Oak, true to course, had passed out. Brellia, seemingly determined to remain as close to neutral as possible, returned to her weaving. And Al, the wizard, the liar, last Alakazam and physical restrainer of humans, was staring at the fire.

Sage felt the anger boiling up inside him, He turned to Crimson and asked, with priestlike confidence, "Are you okay? Would you like to sleep?"

Crimson hesitated, a little confused. "I am… Yeah I think so. I'd love to sleep. But I don't think I'll be able to get any now."

"I can put you to sleep, if you want." Sage tried to smile at him without seeming creepy. "I'll explain another time. But if you want to-"

"Knock me the fuck out." Crimson smiled and sat down. "It's not drugs is it, or like, you're not going to hit me with a rock?"

Sage smiled back and sat next to him. "No. Just close your eyes."

Crimson closed his eyes. Concentrating, controlling his breathing, and summoning a peace pulled from concept, he placed a hand on Crimson's forehead. Within seconds the young man was fast asleep.

Sage looked down at him and smiled. Crimson was not at all what he had assumed, and being able to give him some respite made him feel… happy he supposed, but more than that, warm inside, useful, belonging. Sage watched Crimson sleep for just a moment, smiling all the while, before pulling himself away.

It was good to have a friend. He liked Crimson a lot. But then again, he had never had a human friend before, so he didn't know if the amount of affection he felt was greater or lesser than the expected amount.

That wasn't important right now.

Sage strode over to Alakazam, the last Alakazam, now known as Al, and planted himself down next to him.

Sage stared a moment before saying the only thing he really wanted to say. "You lied to me."

Alakazam did not look away from the fire. "I did."

"Don't lie to me again."

"I will try not to."

Sage squirmed with frustration. "You have to do better than that."

"None of us can do better than trying. There is no do or do not. There is only try."

Sage sighed, stopping a moment. He slowly reached, with an open hand, towards the fire. Clenching his fist with great intention, Sage watched as the fire dimmed to a mere flicker. He was more powerful than he realised. "Do you want me to leave, Alakazam? Because you don't have to look after me. I don't have to follow you. I can leave."

Alakazam watched his pupil, a small smile creeping across his face. But pride was soon squashed by solemnity. "I do not want you to leave, Sage."

Sage opened his hand with a snap, the fire instantaneously raging. "Then do not lie to me. Do not exclude me from decisions. And do not, ever, use your powers against me or my friends."

Alakazam nodded somberly. "You have changed much in the last twenty-four hours."

Sage sighed, "The whole world has changed in the last twenty-four hours." Rubbing his brow and standing up, Sage stepped away. He needed to sleep, but before he could, he had one last thing to say. "I think we should go to Johto Province, but I think we should find someone who grew up there first, a guide. A guide who is not Professor Oak."

"You said something about statistical likelihood and densely populated areas. There has to be a city near here with someone who wants to go home. Someone willing to help."

"And why would they want to help us?"

Sage smirked. "You're the last Alakazam, that has to count for something."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

and her spawn had left behind, Cecille Freys pined for a cigarette. The situation was untenable; more than untenable, it was dangerous, embarrassing and wasteful. They had sent two agents - TWO - one senior civil servant and one untested enforcement officer, with no real resources, no security detail and no solid intelligence. The pair had been shoved into an unstable, unknown, uncooperative settlement, lacking any command, and expected to administrate it. That was, after informing the rabble their command had abandoned them.

There were untrained, unregistered, unwashed Poochyena everywhere. A gang of Murkrows, Cecille was certain were ex blackbird syndicate, refused to leave or answer questions. He had to account for at least a thousand human workers, a hundred vehicles, the factory itself, and on top that, the Muk. It insisted its name was Noxos, was the best tracker in all of Kanto, could read, see in the dark, speak to trees and absorb the memories of those it killed.

Packs of ruffians, Cecille could deal with; the Pewter City police were already on their way. Old gangsters, Cecille could deal with; he had shot one out of the sky himself, and threatened to call Don Poe. Humans and inventory, Cecille could deal with; he recorded everything, and never hesitated when he spoke. But a toxic… Cecille was neither qualified nor equipped to deal with a toxic.

A couple years ago he had audited a steelworks infested with two Koffing. Cecille had never been in the company of any creature as earnestly joyous and violently deranged as those two abominations.

And they were all the same: all toxics were insane. Cecille didn't blame them; he admitted it freely; if he was a pile of sludge, a floating vent, or a living garbage heap, nothing in the word could keep him from losing his mind.

Still, sympathy aside, they had to be dealt with - and that meant one of two things. The Federal Act for Special Authority In Regards To Ease of Access Under Extreme Circumstances stated: An agent of the government, endangered by or by any means hindered by a toxic entity, is legally authorised to contain and/or destroy the entity, or, in such a circumstance wherein the agent judges it more conducive, to their current and/or general office, to utilise the entity uncontained and alive, they are authorised to deputise said entity until such a time that the entity is deemed no longer useful, at which point the entity must be contained and/or destroyed.

Getting Noxos into a barrel, or risking whatever setting it on fire might release, was far more trouble than Cecille had time for. Cecille would send Kanto's best tracker in search of Morganna Gnarl. He judged that to be more conducive to his current and/or general office.

Cecille stepped in front of the large, ornate mirror in Morganna's office. The thing was huge, decorated with vines and blossoms, dirty with pollen. Licking his right paw, Cecille shined the gold coin on his forehead. Next he straightened his whiskers, adjusted his tie, patted down his suit, and ran his claws through the fur on his face.

"You are Cecille Freys," he barked at his reflection. "First government agent to be sent into the field under the protection of the Federal Reclamation Act. For all intents and purposes, Mr Freys, you run the Gnarl Corn Company."

Glancing back at the pile of documents on Morganna's desk, Cecille sighed and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. "If you were really going to quit you wouldn't have brought them, Cecille." He placed one to his lips and lit it with a gilded lighter. "Okay. Federal Reclamation Act, you own Gnarl, you are the fuchsia fury of the federal government. Go tell that puddle of ooze to find Morganna, set up a data collection team from terrified humans that hate you - because there are no official records of the estate's size, contents or populace - convince the Pewter City Police the Poochyena are dangerous criminals, shoot any Murkrow still loitering, and somehow find time to come up with a plan to get this place running again at twice the yield for half the cost." Cecille Freys flashed his trademarked smirk, "Is that all? Come on, don't go easy on me."

Marching out of the office, down the metal stairway, through the dead factory, and out the doors, Cecille barely had time to acknowledge his partner before his eyes filled with dust.

Something had fallen out of the sky. Something big.

Hacking up dirt, wiping silt from his face and patting down his suit, Cecille clung to his authority. "You better be a care package, a meteor, or fucking dead!" As the dust settled and Cecille's eyes adjusted, he noticed Officer D.G Herk, his Pincer counterpart, stood by his side. A few human stragglers staggered around, one Murkrow had been knocked to the ground, and a twisted metal shape sat shaking in a crater.

For a moment Cecille thought it might actually be a meteor, or some other starsent mystery. Sitting spherical and shattered, crunching and quivering, the fallen satellite seemed to be made of bent blades, jagged plates and reflective panels. Cecille approached it slowly. Herk drew his pistol. The Murkrow whined pitifully. "I do not get paid enough for this…" grumbled Cecille Freys as he quickened his pace. "Herk, if this is a bomb, I want you to know, it's been less than a pain to work with you."

The pincer nodded, humorlessly.

"You know you can quip back, right? Wait, can you even talk? You haven't said a word since we met; I assumed you were going for a silent, stoic guardian thing, but now I'm worried you lost your voice in some horrible accident, or-"

"Listen…" croaked the twisted metal shape.

Cecille's eyes widened, "Did that thing just speak?"

"Listen…" it repeated.

Moving closer, he finally recognised what it was. Bent and broken, barely alive, a Skarmory was lying in the crater. "Herk, get on the direct line in the office and call Pewter Medical Centre." The Pincer hesitated. "NOW!"

As Herk rushed away, Cecille rushed towards. Reaching the the Skarmory's crippled form, the Meowth could do nothing but cringe, take a deep breath and say "Fuck."

Mustering what little strength it had, the Skarmory responded with the same word: "Listen…"

Cecille placed a paw on one of the bird's broken wings. "I'm listening." Flashing a glance back at the factory, Cecille tried to reassure it. "Help is coming."

"We found him…" strained the Skarmory. "Where is Gnarl?"

"The Gnarls are gone. I'm Cecille Freys, I'm with the government." The Meowth leaned in closer. "Who did you find?"

"Captain Haze…"

"You found Captain Haze?"

With a painful, high pitched wrench, the Skarmory lifted its head. "I… I am Captain Haze. Special force… special… scout. We were looking for… We found him."

Leaning under the Skarmory's wing, trying to get as close to its face as possible, Cecille asked once more. "Who did you find?"

"Alakazam… We found him. Last Alakazam."

Cecille felt his heart try to leap out of his chest. "Say that again." Pushing as far into the tangled web of Skarmory as he could, blades cutting his cheek and tearing his jacket, Cecille grabbed Haze by the beak. "Say that again!"

"We found him…" murmured the bird.

"You found an Alakazam?"

"We found… last…"

The Skarmory shuddered, dying.

Cecille watched as the light in its eyes went out. Even though the beast was made of steel, somehow Cecille felt the metal of its body lose all life; one moment it was a Skarmory, and the next it was a pile of scrap. It wasn't the first time someone had died while he held them.

Pulling himself out of the Skarmory's corpse, Cecille Freys, tasted blood in his mouth. The cut on his cheek was gushing crimson, and as he went to wipe his face he tore his sleeve. Cecille was a mess; his suit was in shreds, he was bleeding all over, he had lost a claw and two whiskers, somehow his tie had found its way onto the other side of his neck, and worst of all, his left shoe was missing.

But none of that mattered.

The Gnarl Estate didn't matter.

Even The Federal Reclamation Act didn't matter anymore.

Gesturing vaguely at the dead Skarmory, and doing his best to still sound interested, Cecille shouted "Clean up this mess!" to whoever was still around. He wasn't paying attention. Cecille was frantically rummaging through his pockets looking for his phone, his eyes darting from side to side, his breath heavy, his mind racing.

Finally he managed to pull his phone from out his jacket. Staring down at the small black rectangle he froze. Where should he make the call? He scanned the area, locked onto a nearby corn field, and marched towards it.

Once he was suitably lost amongst the tall stems and damp shadows, Cecille sat down. He checked the sky one last time for Murkrows, pulled out his gun, lay it next to him, and then unlocked his phone. Scrolling through his contacts, Cecille stopped on the name T. Tales. Pressing call, the Meowth took a deep breath and rubbed his coin for good luck. It rang twice before a radio-perfect, silk-smooth voice full of weaponised charisma said "Cecille! My main man with the financial plan! The mint of the mint who's sharp as a flint! The cat with the gold plaque who keeps the country in the black! How are you? Taking to the pastoral life? Do you love corn more than anything in the world now, tell me, do you? I bet you do." The voice shouted away from the phone, "Some quiet, please, the king of corn is on the phone!" Cecille could hear laughter erupting. "Seriously, what can I do for you, Frey?"

Usually Cecille would have sighed and fired back, but he couldn't even think of engaging. "You, me, Lamia and Cleo need to talk on a secure line, and we need to do it yesterday."

"Getting homesick, buddy?"

Cecille growled and gripped his phone so tight he felt his claws coming out. "Taylor, this is it. I have something big enough for us to… This is it Taylor! Just fucking listen to me! Secure line, all four of us, yesterday!"

The voice on the other end rained itself in. "Right, okay, sure. And how are you going to-"

"Taylor. Shut up. Call me back on a secure line."

"Good point, well made."

Taylor hung up and Cecille sighed. Now all he could do was wait and hope.

Almost immediately Taylor called him back.

"What the fuck are you doing?" asked Cecille.

"You're on the Gnarl Estate, right? What is that, a four/five hour drive? Why don't we just come in person?"

Cecille groaned, "I really don't think your physical presence outweighs the use of your influence at the capital."

"Let me ask you a question, Freys. This thing you've found, do you trust literally anyone else in the world outside of us four with it?"

"No.." said Cecille, uneasily.

"Are you going to be able to get it back or take it down or do whatever it is that needs to be done - all on your sorry little lonesome?"

Cecille sighed, resignation and resent leaking into his tone. "No…"

"Then, regardless of how exceptional I am at my job, it's probably a better use of my time to come down and help you with whatever task I am comically unqualified for. No?"

"Yes…"

Taylor laughed before kissing the speaker. "I will round up the gang and meet you at… We'll just drive up to the factory."

"Do not drive up to the factory!"

"Why not? Who is there to question us? You're the fucking king of corn, aren't you? Isn't this technically totally above board so long as you say it is, under the FRA?"

Cecille sighed once more. "Any Federal Agent appointed to an act of federal reclamation may enlist any citizen, who is legally obligated to comply, to assist in said reclamation - this includes government employees not currently engaged in urgent federal business, excluding supervisors, commanding officers, lawmakers and positions of static governance (such as commissioners.) Said citizens are legally required to-"

"You're just showing off now. No, don't get embarrassed it's very impressive. You truly are a man of particular intellect, Cecille Freys. So go on, enlist me."

"Fine, sure."

Taylor tutted three times. "Do it properly."

Cecille sighed a final time. "I, Cecille Freys, Senior Executive Taxation Officer, Trained and Registered Financial Field Agent, Dr of Economics, do hereby enlist you, Taylor Tales, under the Federal Reclamation Act, to assist me in the reclamation of the private enterprise The Gnarl Corn Company, including all lands, holdings, property and contracts legally held under its name, until such a time as I deem your assistance no longer necessary. Refusal to assist is a federal crime. What say you, Taylor Tales?"

"I say - you're so hot when you talk like a bureaucrat."

"A yes or no, Mr Tales."

"Fuck yes."

"Shut up and get moving, you idiot."

Cecille hung up and lay down. The sun was beginning to set, streaking the sky with amber, pink and red - almost fuchsia. If they got this right they weren't just looking at promotions; the High Chancellor would personally thank them, bring them into their inner circle, carve their names into stone and make them legends.

Cecille Freys didn't exactly have an ear against the High Chancellor's wall, but he heard enough. The High Chancellor had been convinced there was one last Alakazam hiding out there, somewhere, for decades. People tried not to talk about it; it made the High Chancellor look paranoid, and it risked upsetting certain powerful people who either disagreed or whose job was to find them. And no one had ever found them. Until now.

Captain Haze, that beautiful dead wreck had done it. More than that she had managed to drag herself to the Gnarl Estate and tell Cecille. Then she died.

It was perfect. Right now, for the next few hours, the only person in the world who knew that one last Alakazam really did live, was Cecille Freys. And to top it off, he was pretty sure that Alakazam was in Kanto, somewhere close to the Gnarl Estate.

I'll find you, you bastard, he thought. And when I do, I'm going to take those spoons and lay them at the High Chancellor's feet. And everyone will say 'Oh Cecille Freys, so humble, didn't even keep the spoons.' And finally I won't have to work this nightmare job anymore. Cecille Freys wont be analysing data sheets, auditing businesses, restructuring organisational systems, shooting fucking Murkrow out of the sky, or hiding in corn fields. Cecille Freys will be living in a penthouse suite, signing the occasional document, giving speeches, going to fancy parties, and making monumental decisions he is unfit to make, but completely unaffected by.

Cecille Freys, Minister of Finance.

Cecille Freys, First Aid to The High Chancellor.

Cecille Freys, High Chancellor Of New Sinoh, its territories, protectorates, and contested dominions.

Cecille shook his head and shuddered. In truth that sounded terrible. That was far too much responsibility. Cecille just wanted a big house, a fat paycheque, and some respect. He wanted to sit in a cushioned chair, drink a cream and vodka cocktail, and be told he was important.

But dreams would have to wait, Cecille had work to do. He also had to wait.

He told Herk to patrol the human residential area, and locked up the factory, hoping Noxos wouldn't find a way out of the basement. Scaring off any wanderers, on foot or in flight, by pointing his gun at them and firing the occasional warning shot, Cecille managed to empty the area. So he sat, leaning against the factory doors, chain smoking and trying not to panic.

Eventually, under a black sky peppered with stars, Cecille saw the car approaching. It wasn't government issue, it was Taylor' personal vehicle. An obnoxiously bright yellow sports car, with black trim and huge red wheels, roared up the main road and into the courtyard. He wasn't even trying to be subtle.

If none of the Murkrow have snuck up for a look, some are definitely sneaking now, he thought.

The car pulled up, humming proudly. With two loud clicks, the engine shut off and the driver side door swung open. Taylor Tales stepped out.

Taylor Tales was four feet of sheer charisma, deadly cute, enviable swagger and electricity. His fur was sunshine yellow, obsidian black and rose petal red. His eyes were inescapable wells of disarming comfort. His ears and tail never failed to be excitedly perked, his smile never failed to be convincingly genuine, and his voice just never failed,

Cecille had met a few Pikachu in his life, but Taylor Tales… Taylor Tales was the Pikachu all other Pikachu wanted to be. Or at least the Pikachu all other Pikachu were told they should want to be. He was a federally sanctioned example. A profitable model. An ad. And he was an ad-man. Yes, Taylor Tales worked for the Federal Advertising Commission. And he was egregiously good at his job.

Cecille stood up, flicked his current cigarette into the darkness and embraced Taylor.

"Those things will kill you, you know?"

Cecille sighed, "No, Taylor, you will be the death of me."

The Pikachu winked, "And the eulogy I have planned will make the mountains weep."

Cecille chuckled, "You've planned my eulogy?"

Taylor nodded, placing a hand on Cecille's cheek. "But someone else will have to deliver it. Because wherever you go babe, I go."

Cecille batted Taylor's hand away and tried not to blush. "Stop selling."

A second door opened and a second Pokemon stepped out.

Standing proud on four strong legs - red, white and orange fur flowing like fire - Cleo was what people meant when they used the word dignity. Muscular, lean, clean, sharp eyed and purposeful, she moved with total certainty and zero fear. Her paws made no sound as she stepped; her breathing slunk past the air; her eyes took in everything, and gave nothing away.

It was not uncommon for a Growlithe to enlist in the military; it was unique for one to wear a Fire Stone around their neck.

Surveying the area with the slightest of glances, her black nose taking in more than her eyes, Cleo seemed to own the courtyard. Stopping, nodding and letting out a small puff of approving flame, the growlithe deemed the area safe.

"Cleo," began Cecille, "It's been a while."

"I've been busy," she replied. "The High Chancellor has more than enough money; they'll never have enough land, or enough victories."

"Or enough monuments depicting those victories," added Taylor. "Or enough unveilings of the monuments depicting those victories." The Pikachu raised a hand and smiled; "Or enough-"

"Enough." snapped Cleo.

Cecille lit another cigarette. "Did you manage to bring Lamia?"

A voice that put itself together one spore at a time peeled through the air - a chorus of discordant dust. "We are here. Lamia was persuaded by her friends to attend. We are here."

From behind the car a titian carapace of chittering limbs supporting a burnished shell emerged. From out of the shadows a monstrous infection revealed itself just a moment later. For atop and around and within their russet exoskeleton grew something that did not belong. Lamia seemed to be a large orange insect, but in truth, Lamia was the even larger fungal corruption that had long ago killed whatever insect once breathed life. Lamia was just a pilot - an intelligent disease with nothing left to do except pretend to be a person.

As a child Cecille had never imagined he'd one day be friends with a Parasect. But here he was, glad to see Lamia, not even a little bit disturbed.

Well, in truth he was a little bit disturbed. But not by Lamia's appearance. What disturbed him was the fact she worked for MOSO - The Ministry of Social Order. Lamia was not just a physical example of how silent, easily missed entities can come to control everything.

"How's life treating you, Lamia?" asked Cecille.

"We live." Lamia crawled with clockwork menace towards the trio. "We are glad to be amongst you. Lamia has missed her friends. We feel you." A thin cloud of spores drifted out from Lamia's body and settled on the others. "We are with you. Lamia is ready for whatever labour is required. We desire to know why we are here. Lamia hopes Cecille did not exaggerate the urgency. We expect much."

"Seconded on that point," added Cleo, glaring. "This better be good, Cecille."

"If it's disappointing, I'll still be glad I came to see you," said Taylor, smirking. "But I won't stop Cleo from burning off your whiskers."

Cecille didn't respond. He waited, letting each of them slowly appreciate the seriousness of his expression. Lamia noticed first; the spores on Cecille's fur clung tighter, reading him. Next Cleo cocked her head, finally relinquishing her stern scepticism. Lastly, Taylor sincerely discarded his smile.

Cecille pulled a piece of folded paper from his jacket pocket. He handed it to Taylor. Taylor opened it and read. Tyalor showed it to Cleo. Cleo nodded. Talor waved the paper in front of Lamia. As the note became covered in spores, Lamia twitched.

They stood in silence for a moment, folding in on themselves as Cecille folded the paper.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Cleo.

Cecille stepped towards her. "Do you remember that night in the safari bar, two years ago?"

"It was three years ago," replied Cleo.

"What did you say to me after that Spearow-"

"It was a Pidgeotto."

"What did you say to me?"

"I know what it is about you Cecille that puts you above the rest of your kind-"

"Ilk," interrupted Taylor. "You used the word ilk."

Cecille leaned down, his face inches from Cleo's. "What puts me above the rest?"

"You can always tell when someone's lying. Even if they don't realise it themselves. It's like you can feel the truth."

Cecille didn't pull away. "They found him. He's alive. He's here. And no one knows except us."

"For now," spoke Lamia in a thousand vocal fragments - some in the air, some on the ground, some covering their fur. "With every second we risk him being found. We risk him fleeing too far. Lamia cannot abide us failing in this. We, Lamia, We have chanced upon something monumental."

"Fuck monuments," blurted Taylor. "If we pull this off they will give us a fucking national holiday. There will be a parade. They'll pay some hack to write a play about us. They'll name fucking museums, hospitals, roads- roads Lemia, they will name roads after us."

"Roads are atop hospitals?" asked Cleo, condescendingly.

"How are you going to get to the hospital if there are no fucking roads, Cleo?"

"Walk?"

"If you are walking cross country to the hospital, you probably don't need to go to the hospital."

A silent explosion rippled all around them; the spores demanded order. "We must plan how to do this. Lamia cannot defeat an Alakazam, neither can Lamia's friends. We do not wish to die. Lamia wishes her friends to live. We also wish to kill this Alakazam."

"I'm sure Cecille's got it all figured out," said Taylor with misplaced confidence.

Cecille felt the expectation beating down on him, hot, oppressive and unrelenting.

After nearly half a minute of silence Cecille had to say something.

"There's a Muk in the basement," he said.

"What?"

"Yeah Freys, what?"

"There's a Muk… in the basement," he repeated. "It says it's the best tracker in Kanto."

"Fuck me, Cecille does not have this figured out."

Cleo stepped forward. "Noxos is still here?"

Cecille froze in shock and bewilderment. "You know about Noxos?"

"Morganna Gnarl bought that Muk from the military. Noxos probably is the best tracker in Kanto."

Cecille struggled to believe what Cleo was saying. "Noxos was a solider?"

Cleo shook her head in frustration. "No. It's a Muk. It doesn't have the mental stability or intellectual capacity to be a soldier. Still, Noxos was pretty famous; General Braze used to send it after people. At least that's what I heard. Then the military banned the use of toxics, so Braze sold it to Gnarl. But he made her send him a report whenever Noxos was put in the field." Cleo was becoming visibly annoyed with Cecille's disbelief. "You can read those reports. They are public files. The Noxos Reports. They were trying to work out why the damn thing always knew how to find people. You haven't read any of The Muk Files, have you?"

"Please, please, in the name of everything that is good, tell me The Muk Files is a real thing?" Taylor fell to his knees in front of Cleo.

"Get up. Yes they are a real thing. Every Muk is chemically unique, and they all have different qualities. The military tried to reverse engineer the perfect Muk for years. It's not a secret."

"The military were breeding toxics?"

Now it was Cleo looking on with disbelief. "How do you not- Why do you think they banned them?"

"I don't-"

"They kept breeding them and they kept killing our own. They couldn't be controlled, so eventually the army just decided they weren't worth it."

Cecille rubbed his brow. "So the military made Noxos?"

"No, I'm pretty sure Noxos is industrial waste. I think it's prewar actually."

Cecille began to pace. "Let me get this straight. So the military adopted Noxos, experimented on it to try and work out why the certain mix of sludge that its made of makes it a great tracker - and this was all part of an officially sanctioned research project with the goal of breeding the perfect sludge soldier - failed to learn anything useful, sold it to Morganna Gnarl, kept tabs on it for years just in case, eventually lost interest, and made no effort to destroy, contain or even sign post its existence. And all of this. All of this insanity is in publicly available records called 'The Muk Files'?"

Cleo gave one small nod.

Taylor laughed. "This is why we need to hang out more. Military people have all the best stories. The weirdest thing that's happened at the FAC in the last ten years is when we convinced everyone that Togepi was just from kid's stories."

Cecille snapped out of defeat and into distraught. "Togepi were real?"

"Oh yeah dude."

"What happened to them?"

"We ate them all."

"What?"

"During the war." Taylor kicked the dirt awkwardly. "Army ate them all."

Cleo scoffed, "Come on Cecille, you've told us your fair share of horror stories from the MoF. Remember when the Kanto City Development Plan got pushed forward, and the government needed money, and so the MoF forced all Hoenn debtors to immediately pay back all their debts in full, or go to jail. A lot of people starved that year, or couldn't afford to go to the doctor, or ended up in jail."

"They didn't end up in jail," sighed Cecille. "They were forced to work on the Kanto City Development Plan."

"In the Ministry of Social Order we routinely arrest or kill people who have not broken any laws, but are merely suspected of holding seditious views." Lamia, it seemed, had felt left out, and now the spores were murmuring. "We also spy on other government agencies and frame employees we fear will back reform for crimes they did not commit. Lamia recently had a judge convicted of his own wife's murder; Lamia killed her; We had to do this because he would not support The Federal Reclamation Act."

Taylor let out a large, loaded exhale. "You know what? Whatever I've been part of, at least I don't work for fucking MOSO." Taylor pointed at Lamia, "You people are fucking terrifying."

"And still We are afraid this Alakazam will kill us if we do not prepare carefully."

Cleo nodded. "So… there's a Muk in the basement?"

"There's also four crates of dynamite they been left behind," added Cecille, only just remembering,

"You really should have opened with the dynamite."

"First rule of persuasion, Cleo…" chimed Taylor. "If you can blow them away, don't do it 'til the end."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Nine: M. M. Krass

Sapphire sat on her bed staring at the cracks in her wall. She wondered how long they had been there, when they had started, what caused them to grow. The cracks had probably been smaller when the last person lived here. They had left, the cracks remained. She had moved in, the cracks had grown. They'd be here long after she was gone, just getting bigger and bigger. Things will fall apart, she thought.

Looking down at the papers strewn across her bed, Sapphire let out an exhausted sigh. For the third night in a row, she found herself going over the evidence Drex had given her. Sapphire wasn't trying to convince herself; she was already convinced.

Sapphire was more than convinced; she was obsessed.

She read and reread each document, over and over, staring at the photographs for minutes on end, trying to deconstruct and tease out every piece of information she could. After hours, days, hours spent every day, Sapphire was about to give up. With a large glass of wine in her hand, she flicked through the company bank statements one last time.

Two to three days before each of the suspected assassinations, Hank withdrew a large sum of money, always the same amount. But this wasn't enough to prove anything. Nothing else in the statements was suspicious. Just row after row of client money coming in and expenses going out. In and out. In and out. Hank withdraws a massive sum. Back to in and out. Month after month after… Sapphire saw something that wrinkled her face. She had been staring at the chaos for so long, and now, out of nowhere, a pattern emerged.

She was sure she was going mad.

Three months before Hank's first large withdrawal, a new client appeared on the statements. M. M. Krass. Not only was it a strange name, unusual that a personal name was being used at all, but the more she thought about it the more she was convinced she'd never heard that name before. Sapphire didn't know every single client the company dealt with, but she knew most. Still, none of this was what caught her eye, what caught her eye was the amounts. Her eyes had done some math without her intention, and what they found was incredibly suspicious.

She double and triple checked her work. She was right. If you added all the amounts paid in by M. M/ Krass from their first appearance up to Hanks first large withdrawal… the amounts were the same.

Sapphire followed the statements further.

It kept happening.

This couldn't be a coincidence.

The amounts paid in by M. M. Krass always equalled the amount taken out by Hank just before the murders. Rinse and repeat every three months for… for more than two years,

The Bank the payments came from was listed: West Portside Savings and Loan. It was a human bank. Sapphire knew certain Pokemon used human banks to try and disguise their darker dealings. It wasn't the only human bank referred to in the statements, but it was the smallest. Searching for it on her phone, to try and gather more information, she found it didn't even have a digital banking service. Whoever was making these payments would have had to request them in person.

Still, the payments didn't have a regular schedule; they were scattered - which was probably why she had taken so long to notice them. And why Drex hadn't noticed them at all. Yet, the times were nearly all the same: between eight and nine PM. Human services had to be open late, as most humans didn't finish work until such times, and a lot didn't get weekends off.

Sapphire wouldn't risk trying to contact Drex without first finding if her theory actually led anywhere. So she knew what she had to do. If the pattern of Hank's withdrawals held true… there was a space of about three weeks before the next one would come in. She needed to lie. She needed an excuse to leave work early every day for three weeks. She needed her mother to be dying.

When Sapphire explained the situation to Hank, he did not interrupt her. He listened patiently, puffed his cigar, sipped his scotch, and stared. After she had finished he continued to stare, he let the silence hang in the air, growing heavy and thick, filled to the brim with expectation and judgement, as if the silence was his agent, his interrogatory specialist. But the huge beast had said it himself; his girl didn't flinch.

Pulling back in his chair, Hank sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, almost convincingly. "That's awful."

"Thank you."

Hank's expression twisted with consideration. "You'll still be here every day you need to be here?"

"Yes."

"And the doctor said… about a month?"

"Yes."

"You'll never have to leave earlier than six?"

"No."

"And you're sure it'll only be about a month."

Sapphire scoffed. "Fuck Hank, if it''s more than six weeks I'll put the pillow over her face myself."

Hank chuckled. "I'll have to fire you if you don't, Saph." He put out his cigar, watching it extinguish in the glass ashtray, and holding his breath. She'd never seen him think this hard for this long. Everything was always a violent knee-jerk with Hank 'The Tank' Harrison; his pensiveness made her uneasy. "Look… go have some extra time with your ma. But remember Saph, you're lucky to have this job; things can get real desperate for your kind in this city. Real desperate. I'm sure your ma would rather die alone, knowing you were gonna be taken care of… than looking into your eyes, scared for what's gonna happen to you." He sighed again, but this time with an honesty Sapphire had never seen; that sigh… it was a confession. "Sometimes we've gotta be ruthless even with the ones we love… so we can stay safe."

Sapphire cracked a broken smile. "There's a lotta dangerous folk out there," she said.

Hank reflected her smile. "Yeah. Stay one."

So every day, she stopped working at six, and headed down to the Port - to West Port Savings and Loan. She didn't know exactly what she was looking for; so, she tried to take a brief description of everyone who entered the bank. There was always a chance M. M. Krass was a human, though she highly doubted it. Still, they could have sent a human courrier. Though to trust a human with that amount of money, and to leave more loose ends… Sapphire had a feeling it would be a Pokemon, and that they'd come themselves.

A couple Pokemon used the bank over the first week and a half. A heavily scarred Raticate holding a greasy brown bag, which she assumed was full of cash, came by. A Tentacool, operating robotic legs, crawled right out of the ocean, carrying a briefcase; she finally had proof for what she'd heard about The Sea Marquis, at least. And a Mr Mime, what looked like the one she had seen last time, swaggered in with a wad of notes.

She doubted any of these were M. M. Krass.

Sapphire had started to doubt her plan, when near the end of the second week, just after sunset, they came.

She noticed people shifting along the boardwalk; ahead to her right, someone was coming, and people were making way. Squinting from her bench, it looked like a Pikachu. If there was a Pikachu in the West Port area making this much commotion, she could probably get information about them quite easily. People would talk.

When it got closer, she realised people would not talk. She realised this was definitely M. M. Krass. She realised it was not a Pikachu.

No, the shape it cut was formed by an old cloth draped over its body. From fraying tears, shadowy vapours leaked out, mingling with the early night air; each electric light it passed flickered as it got too close. Its disguise, in truth, was not convincing; it was childish and disconcerting; covered in scribbles and stains, it had no arms, no legs, and no eyes, other than two poorly cut holes that lead only to darkness.

Sapphire knew what it was. She knew largely by luck. Growing up, her village was visited once a month by such a creature. It wandered around, let itself freely into people's homes, and never spoke. Watching, investigating, and reminding all that the government still existed. There wasn't much of a police presence in Johto, there wasn't much need. But every town had a Ghost.

Sapphire watched it approach the bank, wondering what was hiding under that sheet. It shifted through the doors without opening them, and the entire building went dark.

If The Ghosts were funding Hank… and Hank was hiring The Ghosts… then what was really going on?

In that moment, Sapphire made a dangerous but necessary decision: she would follow the Mimikyu.

Her heart beating so loud she feared The Ghost would hear it, she pursued. It left the bank and made its way down the boardwalk. Turning into the residential part of West Side, it continued for about one hundred yards before stopping at a dilapidated tenement and entering.

Sapphire had assumed, if it had lived within the Port area at all, it would have lived further from the bank. She assumed it would have taken a less direct route home. And she assumed it would have looked over its shoulder at least once. None of these were true… and that fact only disturbed her more.

On the way home, she passed by the diner Drex had taken her the night they killed the Ditto. She handed the waitress a small note with the number of a burner phone she'd purchased. "Give this to Drex, next time you see him." The waitress nodded, and she bought some pie to go.

To Sapphire's surprise, as she sat in bed unable to sleep, comforting herself with pie and wine, Drex called. It was two in the morning.

"I didn't think you'd get the message so soon," she said.

"And a good morning to you too, Miss Sapphire."

To her even greater surprise, she found his voice comforting; knowing he was still out there… it gave her some hope. Or rather, it allowed her to give herself some hope.

Drex continued. "V is one of the few people in this city I trust. And I trusted you to realise if you absolutely had to reach out first… she would be the way to do it."

"Which means you must trust me," she teased.

"I'm beginning to, Miss Sapphire. But let's not waste time."

"I've found a lead."

Drex paused before responding, perhaps weighing this trust he was only beginning to feel. "What did you find?"

"In the bank statements, before each of Hank's withdrawals, the ones he's using to fund the killings, there's a client - one I couldn't find a record of."

Drex interrupted. "I'm sure your company has plenty of clients whose records are locked away."

"It's not that," she pushed. "The amounts the client pays in, if you add them up between each of Hank's withdrawals-"

"It equals the same amount," interrupted Drex again, this time excitedly.

"Yes, but will you let me finish?"

"Sure, sorry. It's just… I can't believe I didn't see that."

"Well the bank the client is using, West Port Savings and Loan, is a human bank; it's small, and shitty, it doesn't even have a digital service. Meaning…" She waited for him this time.

Drex hesitated in way of apology "...meaning they'd have to pay in, and request transfers in person." He paused again. Sapphire swallowed a large gulp wine. The world loomed. "They don't want there to be a digital trail. There aint' much, if any, surveillance West Port Side, digital or otherwise… though plenty of snitches, crooked types… suggesting whoever this is, is more afraid of the government then they are of a criminal element… further suggesting that they're with the government."

Sapphire gave a short, proud chuckle. "Don't hurt yourself, I have more."

"More? Did you-"

"I did. I staked out the bank. I know who- I know what it is."

"How?"

"Can you tell me any other reason why a Mimikyu would be using a human bank? Right around the time of day that all the other transfers have been made? And living… less than two hundred yards away?"

Drex paused a third time, but now Sapphire could hear his breathing; it did not comfort her.

He laid it out. "The Ghosts… are paying Hank… to pay The Ghosts… to kill people."

"That's what it looks like," she replied.

"And you followed this bastard to where they're staying?"

"It's like fifteen minutes round the corner."

"Sloppy…" began Drex, puzzling it out once more. "Too sloppy to be personal. Whoever this Ghost is, they've been given orders they don't like, think are beneath them. Someone higher up has assigned them to live near The Port, and make sure Hank gets his money." The Farfetch'd sighed, trying to release the disquiet that had built up inside him. "This isn't just some rich asshole paying for people's deaths. This is something much bigger than that."

Sapphire tried her best to not let Drex's tone dissuade her. She finished her wine and steeled herself, asking the only question left. "What do we do next?"

Drex gave a small grunt of affirmation. "I have to speak to this Mimikyu."

"They won't tell you anything."

"They will… I'll threaten to inform MOSO. If this is a government conspiracy, which I'm now almost certain it is, there's no way they're working together. MOSO and Spec Ops hate each other. You can't really have two intelligence agencies, both authorised to enact violent covert intervention, both hungry for unlimited resources and a hand on the wheel of power… and not expect them to be at each other's throats."

Sapphire swallowed before she scoffed. "That's all very astute and eloquent, but Drex… if you threaten to expose a Ghost, it will kill you."

"I've leant to do some dark things in my time, Miss Sapphire; I can handle myself."

"And what stops it just going back to their superior's?"

Drex laughed. "It would have to admit it's been caught. What's the use of a Ghost who can be caught? You think these things have any loyalty to each other? The only currency they know is fear."

Sapphire sighed. She knew there was no way to change his mind. Drex didn't care about his life; all he cared about was the truth.

"I'm going with you," she said.

"Miss Sapphire, that is a terrible idea."

"Drex Finnius Dreagle, this entire plan is a terrible idea. Not to mention, you don't know where this bastard lives. I called you, remember? This is my lead. So either we go together, or this thing between us, whatever it is, is over."

Sapphire wasn't sure where that had come from, but it seemed once again, for all his evil, Hank was right - his girl doesn't flinch. For a moment she wondered if she was doing the right thing. If she shouldn't just hang up the phone, burn the evidence, and go back to work. Then again, if her mother wasn't dead in two weeks, and Hank ever called her… Then again-again, Hank would never call her.

"Fine. We'll go together. But first you have to come to mine."

Sapphire smirked, "You're inviting me into your home?"

"I can't let you go in there unarmed."

"I still have your gun, Drex."

"You're going to need more than a gun, Miss Sapphire."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Ten: The Johto Order

Cecille Freys had delivered a bureaucratic masterstroke: he had called in a Johto Order. Most civil servants- most lawmakers- most everyone wouldn't know what that was. But Cecille did. And Cecille knew it was still legally enforceable.

The authority for a government agent to instigate a Johto Order had been ratified as part of Hoenn's terms of surrender. Named in faux-memoriam for the province that had suffered most, and framed as a check against further devastation, the Johto Order was, on paper, an act of environmental protection.

Its opening statement read: If the environmental conditions within any sovereign boundary become so baron or hazardous, where they were not before, that the immediate survival of the general population is deemed at risk, the government hereby authorises later stated individuals to proclaim and enforce a Johto Order. Any citizen recognised by the federal government as a community leader, appointed official, or agent under special circumstances, contains and concludes those individuals previously stated as authorised. Once proclaimed, the Johto Order authorises the individual to disband all local businesses, all government and military action, and all laws not strictly defined as a 'personal liberty.' The authorised individual is required to order an evacuation of the general populace, and is authorised to put in place whatever temporary legal restrictions required to enforce this. The authorised individual is also required to inform the Federal Commision for Public Health.

And so on.

It's easy to see the first issue with the Johto Order: it's completely insane.

During an environmental crisis, any official can simply raise their hand and wipe away nearly all government authority. What if more than one official decides to do it? And how is a single community leader supposed to convince a local military garrison to disband? And when you evacuate the general populace, what do you do with the ones who refuse; what do you do with the ones who can't; how do you even conceive of an evacuation without a detailed logistical plan?

The Johto Order was part of Hoenn's terms of surrender. The actual legislation inside the order was part of Hoenn's humiliation.

But because the world was crazier than fiction, calling in a Johto Order was not unprecedented.

A couple of generals trying to cover up their incompetent atrocities, the manager of a power plant that went full meltdown, a governor who burnt down a forest on her birthday - these and a few more unworthy of note.

Aside from the MOSO agent who dumped so many bodies in a river it poisoned a whole city's water supply.

Each time it went the same way: they called in a Johto Order, they ran away, and the Federal Commision for Public Health might as well have not existed.

That was the second issue with the Johto Order: The FCPH were a tiny, underfunded, toothless agency staffed by barely qualified, generally uninterested, rarely trained, stressed-out, overstretched, underpaid data-analysts with no interpersonal skills.

And just like the first issue, it was that way by design.

Really, it was an unspoken rule; you didn't call in a Johto Order. It was more hassle than it was worth. Someone would have to clean up the mess. The FCPH wouldn't. And though it cleared you of any legal responsibility regarding the environmental disaster left in your wake… your career was over.

Then again, that was if you even knew what a Johto Order was.

Cecille did.

He also knew his career didn't matter anymore…

Not if they caught that Alakazam.

So, Cleo set the fields on fire, Taylor overloaded the factory machines, and Lamia infested the residential areas with poisonous spores - while Cecille called in the Johto Order, and led Noxos into the courtyard.

So far Cecille had managed to control the creature with his words. Noxos seemed to respond to authority - or at least Cecille's authority - with a near childish deferment. The Meowth somehow managed to make the Muk act submissive, uncertain, and quietly ashamed.

Still, the sheer horror of the creature shook Cecille. He did everything he could to mask his fear with disgust, but a discerning eye would have seen the truth. And who could have blamed him?

A dark mass of viscous run-off, sewage and deadly poisons, desperately attempting to imitate life, cling to itself and maintain consciousness - a monster, obviously in pain, formed from waste, able only to corrupt. A cesspool cursed with sentience. A Muk.

Only an idiot would not be afraid.

Still, Cecille had a job to do.

"Shall we try this again?" The fire in the fields began to glow in the distance. Something exploded inside the factory. "Your name is Noxos, correct?"

The Muk shifted uneasily. "Correct."

"You say you are the best tracker in Kanto."

"I am."

"And that you can speak to trees."

"I can."

"And that you absorb the memories of those you kill."

"I do."

Cecille smirked, still incredulous. "Then I have three questions for you." The Meowth straightened his tie as another explosion came from the factory. Screams echoed further afield. "Can you track something with the ability to teleport? Do the trees speak to each other? And, have you absorbed any memories that would help you kill an Alakazam?"

Noxos bubbled and strained, ropes of thick ooze pulling apart and collapsing. "Alakazam? They are not here? They were not here."

Cecille coughed. "No."

"Then this is not tracking. If you do not know where they fled from… if you do not have a point of origin… This is hunting. Finding. Not following."

"Can you still do it?"

The Muk twisted in thought. "Yes. If they are close."

Cecille smiled. "They should be close."

Noxos smiled in return - as much as sludge could smile. "Then I should be able to catch them."

"And the trees?"

Noxos rippled curiously. "Why are you eager to believe me now, Cecille Freys?"

The Muk's change in tone unsettled Cecille, making him snap. "Why are you so eager to do what I tell you?"

Noxos shrank back a little; Cecille had spoken with total confidence, not asking a question born from ignorance, but rather from pride.

"I feel what things are lesser and what things are greater than I…" Its eyes dimmed and twitched. "The least of a ruling body is still ruler… and is still least."

Cecille felt a twinge of sympathy for the monster; it was more self aware than he had given it credit for. "None of us will be least if we pull this off." He stepped closer, lighting a cigarette. "We need to find this Alakazam - the last Alakazam - so that we can capture or kill it. If- When we do, they will make us heroes."

"You." replied Noxos, not leaving time for even a breath.

"What?"

Cecille adjusted his tie and smirked - curiouser and curiouser.

"They will make you a hero."

The Meowth scoffed playfully. "I won't take all the credit; they wouldn't believe I could pull this off alone, anyway."

Noxos choked through a congested laugh. "Oh no, I see that you have friends. The fields do not burn themselves. The machines do not commit suicide. The air does not manifest infectious life. You and your allies lay waste to your own charge, and why? So you can claim it was beyond saving? Perhaps the populace did not take so kindly to your rule. Perhaps the Gnarls returned. Regardless… You free yourself, Cecille Freys… and you go in pursuit of this… Alakazam?" Noxoz murmured with bubbling despair. "Still, succeed or fail… they will not consider me your ally, Cecille Freys. I know why I have no titles, no papers, no friends. At least under Morganna Gnarl I did not fear for my continued existence. I see you seeing me, Cecille Freys; you are not the first government official to request my assistance, and detest my very being. So I request of you something my own."

Cecille shifted uneasily. "What?"

"When this is done, you let me go. And you tell your masters I am dead."

The Mewoth thought it over for a moment. But only a moment. "Done."

The abomination did what it could to nod and grin. "Good. Then we have an accord, Cecille Freys, senior executive taxation officer."

Cecille's instinct was to offer Noxos his hand to shake, but he thought better of it. "So the trees?"

"Let me worry about the trees. What you must concern yourself with is what's to be done once the quarry is found. I have heard the name Alakazam before… never details… but I understand that their capture will be no simple nor safe matter."

"There is a military base not far from here; Cleo believes there will be weapons there that can give us the edge. Taylor will go with you; he won't slow you down. Me and Taylor will be in contact. Once you're close, or have found them, we will meet with you. Then we take them down together." Cecille did all he could to sound confident of his plan. Still, a little uncertainty slipped through.

Noxos strained with liquid concern. "There is much to this plan that could go wrong."

Cecille adjusted his tie one last time, fanning the fire in his belly.

"I am willing to risk my life for my freedom. Are you?"

The Muk gave a gurgling laugh, its eldritch eyes twinkling. "You surprise me, Cecille Freys. I will go willingly into this battle."

"Would you have gone unwillingly?"

"Most that I am exists unwillingly."

Cecille tried not to think too hard on that one.

"Before anything else - there's a Pinsir in the residential area. I need you to go kill them. It will make it look more like something went wrong here."

Noxos caught a bubble of joy in its throat. "Something has gone wrong everywhere. You need not excuse your orders to me. I am yours to command, Cecille Freys, in the name of freedom… as you put it."

Later, as the sun began to rise, and Cecille drove towards the military base outside of Pewter City, he wondered what he had become. It wasn't so much a moral question as a functional one. He tried to imagine the world before the war, and who he might have been if it had never happened. He thought of Noxos, and how self aware it was. Perhaps the creature was more self aware than Cecille; was he not also a monster, a slave to his masters and the system they served, and the one great master who had built it all?

He felt no remorse for ordering Herk's execution, or for calling in The Johto Order, not really. All he cared about was catching this Alakazam, escaping the relentless grind that had become his life, that had always been his life. Was there anyone he wouldn't step on to make that happen? Was there any discernible psychological feature that separated him from Noxos? Did not most of what he was exist unwillingly?

Perhaps we're all toxic, he thought.

"We're almost there," said Cleo, sitting on the passenger side. "Stop the car, we need to decide exactly how we're going to play this."

Cecille pulled up on the side of the road.

It was early morning, the night's cold turning into a thin haze across the land. The only other traffic they had seen was a few trucks long-halling stock cross-country. For now, everything was quiet outside the car.

Cecille turned the engine off and looked at Cleo. "Aren't you going to take the lead?" he asked.

"I could," she replied. "I could march in there, claim to be on a special mission, and hope no one calls my supervising officer to check. Depending on exactly who is stationed there at the moment, it might work. But I couldn't tell you who is currently in command, so it's a risk."

"Right…" said Cecille, staring back at the steering wheel and clutching. "I suppose I could claim I was there to audit… Though it would be difficult to claim that the MoF had sent you two with me, and even more difficult to claim I was authorised to remove weapons technology as part of the audit."

Cleo thought for a moment. "Couldn't you borrow them under the Federal Reclamation Act; claim you needed them to help secure The Gnarl Corn Company?"

Cecille sighed. "I could have, before we called in The Johto Order and torched the place. If I walk in there and demand the weapons under FRA, the commanding officer is going to offer me some of their soldiers as backup; when I refuse, it will look incredibly suspicious. They'll let me take the weapons, but they will definitely call my supervisor to inform them of what has happened. Cecille Freys just showed up and demanded some weapons but refused a security detail, seemed strange to me. My supervisor will attempt to contact Herk, who was supposed to be head of security for the reclamation, they won't pick up, and-"

"Did you really have to have them killed?" asked Cleo.

"They would have ratted us out in an instant."

The Growlith sighed.

A voice came from the back of the car, pulsing out of a thousand thousand particles. "We can get the weapons. Lamia will convince the commanding officer."

Cleo furrowed her brow. "How?"

"We will claim they are evidence in an investigation. It is illegal to discuss the details of an active investigation. It is illegal to hinder an agent of the Ministry of Social Order, even for military personnel."

"And what if they call your superiors?"

"Lamia will lie. The Ministry of Social Order does not take kindly to other government agencies interfering with their agent's work. Lamia's superiors will be inclined to believe us. We will claim we are investigating local military overreach regarding a recent Johto Order; it is suspicious the Gnarl Estate was made unlivable overnight with Pewter City Military Base so close by. In addition, it appears Officer D. G. Herk is dead, and Agent Cecille Freys has gone missing. We have requested a selection of weapons from the base in order to test them for forensic evidence, and will soon begin to take statements from personnel."

Cleo turned and gave Lamia a deep, contemplative stare. "Won't they wonder how you knew about all this so fast?"

The spores replied without hesitation. "Lamia is an old friend of Agent Cecille Freys. Cecille Freys contacted us and recruited Lamia under the Federal Reclamation Act. On arrival Lamia discovered the current situation and began investigating immediately."

Cleo smiled. Cecille smiled. They looked at each other and smiled a little harder. Slapping the steering wheel, Cecille said, "Damn it Lamia, you really are that fucking good."

"We are indeed, that fucking good."

It happened like magic, like more than magic, like the simple, everyday passing of unnoticed things necessary for life. They pulled up to the base, Lamia got out, spoke to the soldiers posted at the gate, was let through, and less than an hour later was escorted back by five privates carrying weapons. Lamia supervised them as they loaded the weapons into the boot. The soldiers bid her farewell, and walked back into the base. Lamia got back into the car and they drove away.

Cecille hooted.

"Were you able to get everything I listed?" asked Cleo.

"And more," replied Lamia.

Cecille laughed. "Yeah, that looked like more equipment than we'll be able to use."

"Always have more than you want instead of less than you need," said the spores. "In addition, it would have looked suspicious if we had only requested a handful of items."

"Do you think they will call your supervisor?"

"Whilst speaking to the commanding officer, we contacted our supervisor and put them on speaker. Lamia explained the broad-strokes; Taylor would describe it as controlling the narrative. Still, we are sure the military will soon investigate the Gnarl Estate themselves."

Cleo sighed nervously. "Cecille, you better be right about how much The High Chancellor wants this Alakazam. There's going to be a real shit show when what's actually been going on comes out."

Cecille smirked. "You mean that an Alakazam attacked the Gnarl Estate, kidnapped a federal agent and their deputies, but was overpowered when said agents received backup from the Ministry of Social Order?"

The car was filled with the sound of infection laughing. "You too, Cecille Freys, are that fucking good."

"Why thank you."

Cecille called Taylor. As soon as the Pikachu picked up, Cecille could hear panting breath, breaking twigs and heavy footfalls. "Hey buddy, how's it going? Just getting my steps in, you know how it is. Gotta stay lean."

"Are you close?"

Taylor panted. "You know, considering the circumstances, I think you should ask me the way you know I like to be asked."

"Are you serious, right now?"

"Are you sat down, right now?"

Cecille groaned. "What's the tale, Taylor Tales?"

The Pickahu cheered, another voice chastised him, Taylor apologised, and then replied - breathing heavily all the while. "Yeah, Noxos says we're close. Damn man, this thing can really move; I need to get back on my cardio. But we're close."

"Send me your GPS coordinates, and we will find you."

There were a loud succession of thuds and a few surprised inhales.

"Did you get the guns?"

"We got the guns."

"Did Lamia have to do it?"

"Lamia did it."

"She really is the MVP of this whole operation. You know, if she betrays us all in the end - takes all the credit, I won't even be mad."

Cecille rolled his eyes. "Just send me your coordinates and focus on not falling behind, or falling over."

"You got it, boss."

"Goodbye, Taylor."

"Love you, buddy."

"Goodbye, Taylor."

"Say it back!"

"I love you too, Taylor."

Cleo snickered.

"Lamia will not betray you," added the spores. "We also love you, and could not defeat Cleo in combat."

"It's important to know your limitations," replied Cleo proudly.

"This friendship group is profoundly toxic," said Cecille, pushing his foot down and accelerating.

Things had gone surprisingly well so far - as well as something this messy, illegal and entirely insane could go. All they had to do now was catch up to Taylor, check the weapons, pin down the Alakazam, and… Cecille tried not to think about the very last step. If he considered the actual act at the end of this road, he might lose his nerve.

One thought at a time. One decision at a time. One goal at a time.

The road stretched out before him, the morning sun growing in confidence. For better or for worse, his life was about to change forever. All he could do was hope that change would not be final.

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Eleven: Technical Machines

Drex had given her an address. He told her to call in sick to work and meet her there at 6 AM. She had never called in sick before, and feared this might push Hank over the edge. But she had come this far; she was going to confront a Ghost and threaten them into talking; she was risking her life. In truth, she really must have been sick.

She text Hank immediately, saying she had been up all night with a fever, and wouldn't be able to come in this morning. It was close to three o clock, but Hank replied within minutes. Your contract allows you three sick days a year. So legally, I cant refuse you. But this better mean your ma is on deaths door. Or that you are. Ill see you tomorrow.

Sapphire tried to get a couple hours of sleep. She failed. Scenes from the story so far kept replaying in her mind. Meeting Drex, the Dark-Side district, the Ditto, and now a Ghost, each instance tearing a little piece from her life. She was nearly naked in the dark now, scrambling amongst dead and desperate things, hoping the monsters wouldn't notice her.

When the time came, she did her best to steady herself; she showered, dressed inconspicuously, made sure she had a hood and scarf, packed her gun, wore sensible shoes, downed three shots of vodka, and left her apartment.

She had to look up the address Drex had given her. It was to the south, right on the edge of town, not really part of Cerulean City at all. The impressive structures and urban density eventually gave way to a ramshackle spread of slums. There were a few old, crumbling buildings, prewar, and barely standing - but most of the area was comprised of shanty houses. This must have been what Hank had meant, she thought, when he warned of desperation.

Most of the homes didn't have addresses; on her phone, her map showed most of this as empty space. It led her to one of the buildings, a thing of brown brick and broken windows. The door wasn't locked, it barely closed. She entered a long abandoned warehouse, now managed by dust, employing stale air to oversee the archival of dead and forgotten memories. For all its emptiness, Sapphire felt fenced in by the echoes of what had happened here.

There were bullet holes in the walls and floor. Scorch marks on the fallen shelves. Cracks so much deeper, and wider, and longer than those in her apartment - cracks that would soon fall apart.

Drex stood at the top of a set of metal stairs. A door behind him led to what Sapphire assumed were some offices. He did not speak. He simply waited.

Sapphire climbed the stairs and followed Drex. He lived and worked within a small group of neatly kept but decaying rooms. She did not have time to properly take them in, though she noticed a half opened door, a mattress, a lamp, and a pile of books with an empty bottle to pair each one.

Drex took her into the furthest office. The room was bare, dusty and scarred, collapsing as most of it was. The only things of note inside the room were a desk, two chairs, and a computer. And a box in the corner, full of cables and shapes she could not discern in the shadow.

The Farfetch'd closed the door. "Sit down," he said, before going over to the box of cables and dragging it towards the desk.

She sat in the chair, facing the computer. "If you're trying to scare me out of coming, Drex, all you've done is make me feel sad for you."

Drex laughed. "You should feel sad for me, Miss Sapphire." Rummaging through the cables, he grumbled with frustration. "I live in this shithole, which, even more sadly, is actually my nicest safehouse."

Fidgeting in the crusty, rusted chair, Sapphire rolled her eyes. She didn't know why he insisted on making a show of this. They could have met in the street and been there by now. "Why am I here, Drex?"

"I told you, Miss Sapphire; I won't let you go unarmed."

"And I told you, I have the gun. What are you going to give me? Another flaming knife? A flamethrower? Actually a flamethrower would probably be pretty useful, though I don't know how we'd sneak it through the streets."

"We sneak it inside you," replied Drex, deadpan and unkind.

Sapphire leaned back and cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"Ah!"

Drex had pulled a small metal square from the box. It looked like a case, flat and no larger than a few inches in length, the number 30 carved into its front. His exclamation had been one of joy, but he now looked upon his finding with a certain uncertain dread. It felt like he was holding something evil… something necessary… but entirely evil.

"What is that?" Sapphire asked, her voice unwittingly hushed.

"You know how they killed all the Alakazam?"

There was something unpleasant in Drex Dreagle's voice. "Yeah, I've heard stories," she replied.

"They didn't kill all of them immediately. They captured some." He placed the small metal case on the desk, before returning to the box and pulling out cables. "Most Pokemon have obvious physiological distinctions - limbs or glands or other organs, that allow them to fly, or breathe fire or generate electrical currents. But there are some Pokemon who manipulate reality with only their brains. And before we can work out how Pokemon who are made of sludge, or gas or fire, manifest a mind - we must work out how the ones that defy the laws of physics with only their mind, do it."

Sapphire didn't like the way he was talking - not what he was saying, but how he was talking. There was something dreadful in it, paranoid and indifferent.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

Drex sighed, plugging cables into the computer. "You don't know how this war started do you?" Pressing a button, the computer groaned into life, whirring and clicking. "It started with people asking questions, trying to work out the chaos, trying to control it."

"I thought you said this was about Alakazams being killed in the war?"

Drex chuckled. "Exactly… trying to work out became trying to control. If you're already researching how certain brains can manipulate reality, why not see if you can teach other brains to do the same?"

Sapphire had told the truth before, when she'd said she wasn't scared; repeating it would be a lie. The things coming out of Drex's mouth were only half making sense, as she half listened and half panicked, consumed by that half collapsed building.

Sitting up straight and swallowing, she mustered some authority. "If you don't get to the point soon, I'm going to leave." Flashing a look at the small artefact that had started all this, she demanded to know. "What is that?"

Drex dropped his shoulders and sighed, some of the darkness slipping away. "It's a TM… a technical machine, or technique machine, or temporary memory; we could never confirm what the abbreviation stood for. But we know they called it TM."

Amongst her conflict, confusion and dread, something small stepped forward; a tiny, hesitant empathy, unnoticed until now, wanted to ask a question. She let it. "You've said who twice. You're not talking about me and you."

"I wasn't always fighting this fight alone, Miss Sapphire. I didn't always live in places like this."

Sapphire's eyes widened. "You fought on the other side?"

"I still fight on the other side."

Drex stepped over, dragging the second chair, and began typing away at the computer. He loaded up a program in code that Sapphire couldn't discern, before plugging the TM into the machine. Hopping down, he resumed fumbling with the cables.

"For the last time, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to upload this TM into your brain. I'm going to give you a weapon that can kill a Ghost." He attached the cables to something that resembled a foil hat, and approached Sapphire. "If you really want to come with me, this is what it's going to take."

"Wait, what?"

Drex sighed. "We don't have time for you to get precious now; this is war, Miss Sapphire."

She pushed back in the chair. "Is it safe?"

"It's safer than you going in there without it."

Sapphire swallowed hard. "What will it do?"

Drex approached. "TM 30 is supposed to give you the ability to discharge bursts of concentrated anti matter."

"And you're sure it works on humans?"

"I've seen it work before."

Sapphire started to stand up. "This is insane Dex, I don't know about this."

The Farfetch'd dropped the cables and pointed at her. "You wanna give me an ultimatum, play it big league like you know what you're doing? Fine. But here's my ultimatum: you put this damn cap on and I boot up this TM, otherwise we're through, and all this was for nothing. We're at war, Miss Sapphire. You may have been able to pretend that we're not your whole life, but we are. And we're losing so bad we don't even know what the enemy wants anymore. The Ghosts are funding bribery and assassination within their own government. Things are only getting worse. So either you leave, try and put the pieces of your life back together, and go back to pretending. Or you accept that history will forget everything you've ever done up until this moment - for now, you are a soldier."

Sapphire felt the pull of something great and terrible - it might have been destiny, or it might have been destruction. Eitherway, her instinct was to let it take her. She wondered briefly at how she had gotten here; it seemed that Drex had trapped her from the start. She had never seen this side of him, but all his actions had foreshadowed his philosophy. Drex Dreagle hadn't come to question her in that alley; he was recruiting her; he had needed someone on the inside. Drex wasn't a private investigator, he was an insurrectionist.

Sapphire tried not to wonder how many others he'd recruited.

"I'll put on the cap," she said, sitting back down. "But first, you have to answer one question for me."

"What?"

"If you had managed to prove Hank was having people killed using company money, what would you have done?"

"I would have informed his clients."

Sapphire's eyes widened. "Why?"

"If CCPR collapsed, it would have left Hank vulnerable to coercion."

"You wanted to turn Hank into a snitch. There weren't any allegations, were there? It was just you."

Drex scoffed. "Why should that matter now? I was right, wasn't I? And if we can turn them against each other we might have a chance at bringing them down. It appears they have already turned against each other, meaning we need to move, and quickly."

She scoffed. "How long have you been doing this? Have you managed to make any actual difference?"

Drex gave her a look that reminded her stomach how to turn. "Do not doubt the effectiveness of my methods, or the network I have built. Hank 'The Tank' Harrison is not the first asshole I have brought down. You have no idea how much worse it would be for humans in this city, if it wasn't for me."

Sapphire tried not to laugh. "So what, Drex Finnius Dreagle is going to save us all?"

Drex slammed his wing against the desk and gave out a small frustrated cry. "Drex Finnius Dreagle has sacrificed his entire life trying… trying to help you save yourselves. Now you can help by trying with him, or you can go back to propping up your own oppression."

"You know what, Drex? You're actually kind of an asshole."

Drex gave a small smirk, his eyes awash with resignation. "War will do that to you, Miss Sapphire." He picked the cables back up and sighed. "Now are you going to put this on, or not?"

Sapphire squared her shoulders. "Sure Drex, whatever you say. I'm used to doing what Pokemon tell me to anyway."

Nothing more was said. Drex placed the cap on Sapphire's head, typed something into the keyboard, connected two final cables, and everything went dark. The last things Sapphire could discern were a high pitched ringing and a sharp pain in her head. It wasn't long before she was unconscious.

Some horrendous dream, full of shifting black shapes and a voice speaking an alien language, distorted her perception of time. But soon, or eventually, she returned to the world, weary and bleary eyed.

Sapphire was alone in the office, a deep ache in her head, and a strange energy humming through her veins. Drex was nowhere to be seen, but she could hear voices coming from behind her.

Struggling out of the chair, she wandered out of the room and down the hall. When she got to the top of the staircase she could see where the voices were coming from. Drex, a Charizard, and a human were standing in the middle of the warehouse.

She could see Drex rubbing his brow as he spoke. "You keep repeating yourself, Brellia… which is making me repeat myself. I appreciate what you're saying, I really do, but I just don't have time to help you. I have my own shit going on."

"This is more important than your conspiracies, Drex," replied the Charizard, with deep, reptilian command.

"So you keep saying, and so I keep disagreeing."

"I have aided you in times of danger."

"And I have helped keep that damn tower of yours fed and watered for fucking years now, Brellia. And where have they been, huh? Hiding. And now they can't hide anymore, I have to come running. They are not the only one who-"

"Who is that?" The Charizard locked its eyes on Sapphire, and raised one huge claw. "Who are you hiding, Drex Dreagle?"

"People are just loving the use of my full name today."

Sapphire began to make her way down the stairs. "My name is Sapphire, I've been helping Drex with his investigation."

The Charizard chuckled, a small flare, followed by smoke, escaping its maw. "And how many will it take, Drex, before you realise this is not the way?"

Sapphire hoped the 'many' referred to investigations, and not human recruits.

"I'm onto something big this time, Brellia, I'm telling you. The Ghost are conspiring against the military."

"And so what if they are? Let them. It is more important that we deliver Al to the resistance."

Drex picked some scrap off the ground and through it against a wall. "Why? And why now? Just because they've been caught? After all these years, they don't just get to upend everything, get to act like they're in charge, just because they are what they are."

The Charizard exhaled a deep smouldering breath. "Still, my friend, they are what they are."

"What are they?" asked Sapphire. She had reached the bottom of the staircase. She looked over the human who was with them; he was a young man, wearing mostly denim, his eyes overwhelmed. He looked over her too; humans reaching out in an inhuman world.

"Is she to be trusted?" asked Brellia.

"She-" Drex froze in midspeech. He sniffed the air and looked around. "Get out of here."

"What?" asked the Charizard.

"Now!" shouted Drex. "Get out of here, now!"

A small point of twisting darkness pulled itself out of the air between them. The tiny black patch, floating in the middle of the trio, suddenly let out a screeching wail and erupted outward.

Drex lept back into a roll.

Brellia picked up the young man and flung him across the room, before she was consumed by the nightshade.

"You said they didn't notice you follow them!" shouted Drex's voice as the whole warehouse went dark.

Sapphire looked around in panic, but this time she didn't freeze. Immediately she made for the centre of the warehouse where the three had been standing. She rushed towards Drex, coughing against some toxic fume in the air.

The Farfetch'd, half consumed by shadow, slashed in pursuit of some grinning apparition. His blade seemed to cut through one of the creature's glowing eyes, which sent it flying back.

Sapphire opened her mouth to speak, but was forced to the ground. A barely visible beast of jagged darkness loomed over her; its face flashed in and out of comprehension; she could feel its ice-cold claws, like manifested midnight, grappling and tearing at her flesh.

Something strange and unknown surged within her. It was like her soul wanted to scream. She let it. A blast of shadow, even blacker than the darkness, burst from out her hands. The monster screamed, tearing into pieces, and vanished.

Scrambling in the darkness, Sapphire slammed into something solid and hot. A huge torrent of flame erupted from what, or who, she had found. Brellia burned both the spectres and shadows before her, setting fire to the building and illuminating the area. The Charizard's right side was scarred with dark, veiny legions - but she was very much alive.

She looked down at Sapphire and smiled. "I have her! she bellowed, her claw flashing as it banished another Ghost from this world. "I have Sapphire!"

Sapphire noticed another gaseous monster flying down from the ceiling. She pointed at it, letting out a second burst of shadow. The void-forged missile crashed into the Ghost, pulling it apart. Sapphire could see Brellia watching, her eyes overcome by shock.

"Get out of here!" Drex shouted, his voice coming from somewhere unseen. "You don't have time to save everyone. I'll do what I can for the other."

Brellia growled, picking up Sapphire. "His name is Crimson!"

Before she could speak, Sapphire felt herself being lifted into the air. She heard the roof being torn apart by the Charizard's flight, and smelt the air grow fresh. Within a moment she was hundreds of feet above Cerulean City. She was free. She was safe. She was a soldier.

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Twelve: Special Agent Lincoln Lethe

The smouldering wreck of the abandoned warehouse lay there like a corpse. City police, fire brigade, local citizens, and all other manner of hang-ons, crowded the scene like so many scavengers. All the while, this colossal necrosis, exhaling a last that was long since spent, refused to move. It couldn't move. It was dead.

Agent Lethe stared, desperately longing for this silent witness to tell them something - asking over and over, What did you see?

Agent Krin came stomping out of the charred cadaver. With ash all over her suit, she coughed and tried to shake herself clean. Placing her torch in her pocket, Krin began to compose herself, before locking eyes with Lethe.

"Don't. Please don't give me that look. Lincoln, everytime you give me that look I end up with a disciplinary."

Agent Lethe turned to the side. "It just doesn't seem right."

Krin placed herself beside them and watched the charred ruin. "Go on. I know you want to. So, just go on."

Making sure their telepathy reached no one but Krin, Agent Lincoln Lethe went on. "A ditto is killed, a bullet conveniently destroys its XP Share unit, local police get a complaint from a port side bank about a young woman - whose description matches Harrison's assistant - loitering outside every night for two weeks, then an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the city suddenly burns down, some local citizens reporting they saw a young woman of the same description in the area that day…"

"We staked out the bank the day we heard the complaint - yesterday. She wasn't there. Local citizens also claim they saw a Charizard and a young man in denim."

Special Agent Lincoln Lethe shook their head. "Forensics also found a half torched computer with what appears to be a TM plugged inside. And you and I both know some of those scorch marks didn't come from fire."

Krin placed a heavy, needle covered hand over her face. A tired groan left her cracked, shadowy maw. "You want me to say it, don't you?"

The statuesque bird pivoted. "I want you to say it."

Krin slumped in defeat, her needles wilting. Turning to look at Lincoln with stressed botanical features, she said, "Ghost attacks caused some of those scorches."

"They must have."

Stepping closer and gently placing one cactine hand on their shoulder, Krin appealed. "This is above our paygrade, Lincoln."

The Xatu twitched. "So, you admit it."

"Admit what?"

"You think something bigger is going on?"

Krin wrinkled with frustration. "You're going to get us fired with this one, Lincoln. Or fucking killed."

Lethe pushed forward - a few inches physically, a few inches mentally. "What's our job, Krin?"

"Don't do this."

Concentrating the power of their telepathy, they did not relent. "Special Agent Krin, what is our job?"

Krin hung their rachissian head. "To keep people safe."

Agent Lethe nodded slowly. "To keep people safe." Shifting closer, they whispered without words. "A young woman, with no criminal record, has, within a few weeks, been linked to the death of a Ditto, the surveilling of a financial institution, and an arson where evidence of both Spec Ops involvement and classified government technology has been found." The Xatu moved even closer. "And I wager, if we return and speak to her employer, Mr Harrison-"

"Hank 'The Tank' Harrison," added Krin, trying to bring some levity.

"If we return and speak to Mr Tank, and ask him to contact his assistant, he will be unable to reach her. If we go to her home, she will not be there. If we contact her next of kin, they will not have heard from her. A young woman will prove to be missing, caught up in something far beyond her control."

Krin sighed. "You think her boss forced her into this?"

"Someone forced her into this, whatever this is."

Falling into a fit of agonised frustration, the Cacturne growled. "I told you we should have tailed her. But you wanted to canvas the DTD. You were convinced she had nothing to do with it; she had fired off a few shots and unfortunately hit the XP Share unit. But she couldn't have killed it. Something else was going on, someone else was there; Sapphire was in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the crossfire - no pun intended. That's what you said."

Lethe felt the guilt welling up inside them. "Well… I still believe something else was going on, and that she couldn't have killed it. But in regards to her general involvement… I was wrong."

Special Agent Krin exhaled and nodded; "It's just nice to hear you say it." Brushing off what ash remained, they straightened their suit. "So what do we do about it? I mean we check with her boss, and at her home, and with her next of kin, because there's always a chance you're wrong again, and all this rage you've caused me was for nothing."

Lethe gave out a psychic chuckle. "Yes, of course we check. Dramatic conclusions do not exclude due diligence."

Krin responded with verbal kind. "Your own death would not exclude due diligence."

"Not from-"

"Your own," snapped Krin. "Your own due diligence- it was a joke. Oh just… Let's just go."

They checked in with Hank, swung by Sapphire's place of residence, and contacted her next of kin. No one had heard from her, she wasn't home, and her phone was either switched off or destroyed. Special Agent Lincoln Lethe was right so far.

During this time, the forensics team had sent them a preliminary report. Scanning through it, Lethe didn't find anything that stood out - except for the fact that they had found an abundance of burnt feathers. Meanwhile, as she raged at the traffic, Special Agent Krin was struck by epiphany.

"We probably won't move for another ten minutes, but take the wheel just in case, and tell me to accelerate if we have to." She delved through her pockets and pulled out her notepad. Flicking through it, she murmured to herself. Her nodding began as a cautious and contained jaunt, but soon became a joyous paroxysm. "I said it before, and I just let it lie, but it came up over and over again in witness statements."

"What?" asked Lethe, trying to grip the wheel without crushing it.

"The young man, the human, seen arriving with the Charizard, he was wearing denim."

"So?" Lethe pushed, still uncertain how much psychic force a steering wheel required.

"Why would denim be such a sticking point for everyone?"

"Krin, please just tell me so you can take the wheel back before I accidentally tear the car in half."

Krin laughed, placing her hands on the wheel, letting the same old needles sink into the same old holes. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Thank you." Regaining their composure, Lethe sat back. "Please continue."

"You know who wears denim?"

Special Agent Lincoln Lethe waited for an answer, but apparently they were expected to give one themselves. "I do not do this to you," they said.

"You do," replied their partner, snickering. "Field workers, country labourers, non-city folk. So many people mentioned it, not because they were describing the individual's clothes, but because they were judging their person. 'They were wearing denim' means 'They were a bumpkin'."

Lethe sighed, unconvinced. "And assuming you are correct, and they weren't all simply describing someone's dress. How does this help us?"

Krin smirked before slamming on the horn and shouting for someone to MOVE IT!

"Do a quick search for agricultural institutions in the general vicinity who have called in a missing persons, or a… there was a Charizard with them, so locating a dangerous unregistered Pokemon, they burnt down one building, so property damage - Lincoln just search to see if any major agricultural institutions near here have called in anything unusual."

Lethe would have objected to this waste of time, but they knew they'd be stuck in traffic for a while. They pulled out their phone and began to search the Federal Police Recent Reports Database for Kanto Province. They filtered for agriculture, and though expecting nothing, quickly found themselves frozen with shock. This is impossible, they thought.

"What is?" asked Agent Krin, fear strangling her voice.

Apparently Lethe hadn't kept that thought to themselves.

"Someone has called in a Johto Order on the Gnarl Estate."

Krin looked over, still frightened, but now also confused. "A what?"

"Watch the road!" snapped Lethe.

Krin turned to face forward. "Oh yes, sorry, I forgot the gridlock sometimes turns out to be a drag race with an exceptionally long count down. What is a Johto Order?"

Lethe sighed. "I had forgotten you were born after the war."

"And you were a child during the war."

"I still remember what happened to Johto Province."

Krin fell in on herself, trying to fight her frustration. "Sure, yes, you've told me; it sounds horrible, I'm very sorry. I'll listen to you talk about it again over drinks later. For now, Lincoln, you're bloviating."

Lethe tried not to take it to heart. "Someone has used an obscure federal act meant to flag and cease war crimes, or at the very least bring attention to a natural or industrial disaster, to… I don't know what they've used it to do… but they've enforced it on the Gnarl Estate."

Krin mustered a kind of curious but dispassionate calm. "And what does this act entail?"

"It disbands all private and federal enterprise, and enforces a general evacuation."

Krin struggled to keep that calm. "That seems like a pretty powerful act. Insane, some might call it. And someone has just enforced it on one of the largest farms in Kanto, and no one has been informed?"

Lethe hesitated, still in shock. "The FCPH are supposed to manage it… but I suppose all local agencies are only updated digitally."

Finally losing their calm, Krin slammed their hands against the steering wheel. "So what, the FCPH are fumbling around with it, while we see nothing. Oh, of course, unless you look at that database, that database so crowded you could spend all day going over what's been uploaded onto it in the last twenty-four, and still only catch ten percent. And there, on that database, is a report explaining how someone has enforced an act on the Gnarl Estate which now defines the area as… Go on Lincoln, you explain."

"Inhospitable due to violent catastrophe."

Krin shook themselves back and forth while holding onto the steering wheel. "Inhospitable due to violent catastrophe!? Do you hear yourself?!"

Lethe tried to control their breathing. "I would like it on record that you requested I search for incidents at nearby agricultural institutions."

Falling still and closing the three metre gap between them and the next car, Krin's expression went taught. "What do we do? Seriously, what do we do? Do we call up HQ, demand to speak with Crinly, and tell them that a war crimes act has been placed on Gnarl farms? Do we just go there ourselves? Do we just ignore this information, recognising it as tangential to our investigation- an investigation, might I remind you, that is not actually our investigation. We were sent here to look into a Ditto's killing, not chase a conspiracy including Ghosts, Charizard based arson, and now… What did you call it? A… A Johto Order." Krin closed a few more metres. "Do you remember about a week ago, when Crinly called us, and asked if we were done, and you said we needed more time because we weren't finished canvassing the DTD? Do you remember that? Do you remember how I suggested for a second time that we tail that fucking girl?"

Lethe snapped. "Alright! I understand. I should have listened to you. I am sorry. But do not pretend like we have never ended up in dire circumstances because you did not listen to me."

Krin smiled. "Yes, but we're not talking about that right now."

"So what are we talking about?"

"What the fuck are we supposed to do?"

Lethe thought it over for a moment. "With all available evidence leading either nowhere or to federal difficulty…"

Krin laughed and shook her head. "No, no, no. You don't get to just say federal difficulty; don't pretend like this is a matter of paperwork and not… Follow the Ghost angle: fired or dead. Follow the TM angle: fired or dead. Follow the Hank angle: probably just eventually reassigned… though honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if that guy was having people killed."

Lethe let out a frustrated breath, and tried to maintain their dignity. "As you say. Still, with what avenues that are left to us, there is one piece of evidence we have not explored."

Their partner cocked a sceptical eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"The feathers."

"The feathers?"

"The burnt feathers found at the scene."

Krin was entirely unimpressed. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"It's the best we have," replied Lethe, letting a treacherous silence follow their words.

And for several moments after, every sound seemed ten times louder, glorified and demonised by that sadistic silence.

Unable to withstand it any longer, Lethe spoke. "Then what would you have us do?"

Krin flipped the lights and sirens, forced her way out of traffic, mounted the pavement, took a left, and found a federal parking spot.

Lethe was mostly certain they had not hit anyone.

Turning off the engine, Krin faced her partner and shouted. "If we have silently decided to shelf this Johto Order information, which may be for the best. Though you better have written down the name of the agent who called it in, and-"

"Cecille Freys, Ministry of Finance."

"Good- Wait. Someone from the Ministry of Finance has declared Gnarl farms inhospitable?"

"It appears so."

"This is… We need to find the name of their supervisor. This is…" Krin shook their head rapidly. "Still! If we are deciding to put the Johto Order business on the shelf!"

"On the shelf."

"Then, I would, for at least the third time, suggest we follow the fucking girl."

Lethe stammered in shock and confusion. "We are… But… The thing… The problem is… She is now gone. She's gone now."

Krin lent forward. "We go to her house."

"We've already been."

"We go inside!"

"We-"

"She is missing-considered-dead, we don't need a warrant!"

"We-"

Krin slammed a fist into the driver side window, fracturing the glass. "I swear to fuck, Lincoln! We should have gone in the first time, but you didn't think it necessary, and I followed, just as I followed with every other-" The Cacturne did all she could to not punch the glass a second time. "You have proven yourself, many times in the past, to be a genius… but on this case, for some reason, every single one of your instincts have been wrong. Every. Single. One. The only reason I am going along with this is anymore is because you trapped me on a moral level." Krin sighed, trying to calm herself down. "You're right, we should try to find this girl. But if you haven't been hiding some secret break in the case, then we go back to her apartment and break down the door."

Somehow both humiliated and invigorated, Special Agent Lincoln Lethe nodded. "We go to her house."

"I can't believe you genuinely proposed we follow the feathers"

"Apologies. No feathers."

"You can bring your own."

"No, no," replied Lethe. "I'll go naked. No feathers."

Krin laughed. "It's unhealthy how quickly my anger for you subsides."

"That may be the most eloquent thing you've ever said."

"Yeah, it's like you put it in my brain."

"I wouldn't dare go near your brain."

Getting out of the car and assuming their natural formation, the pair began to walk down the street. Lethe tried to not fixate on the reaching tendrils and tempting pitfalls of the case - if they were even part of the case. Krin was right; if the girl was what mattered - and Lethe had stated the girl was what mattered - then searching the apartment was all that should matter.

As they stepped past citizens, Lethe was reminded of their position; with gazes, postures and stumbling footfalls, the people of Cerulean City showed their respect, their fear, for the Federal Police. Yet Lethe could not help but wonder how they would have felt if they knew. If the general populace could comprehend how bloated, ignorant and self-absorbed the government really was - or more than that, how incompetent. Lethe bet they wouldn't have stepped aside in the street.

They arrived at Sapphire's apartment building. Taking it in for the second time, Lethe appreciated the cramp and rot more than they had before. A huge building of brown stone, it presented itself well from the outside; within, it was a damp maze of dark, narrow corridors and dirty staircases; her door was a sad grey sheet infested with rust. And behind it… Sapphire lived in a well marketed box.

You could have argued that there were four rooms, but you would have been lying. In truth, the living, cooking, washing and sleeping areas were barely separated. Sapphire's belongings lay strewn across everything, clutter on clutter, the carelessness of necessity and inecessity of care.

It made Lethe a little sad, how the girl was forced to make do. But at least she had made do. Until recently.

"I'll take the area near the sink, you take the one near the bed."

Krin scoffed, "Really, those are the same area."

Lethe had been rummaging through unwashed clothes, food packaging and CCPR client files for less than five minutes, when Krin shouted. "Lincoln! You're going to want to see this."

Making their way over to their partner, Lethe found Krin stood over the bed with a piece of paper in her hand. Krin's expression was incredulous.

"What's on that piece of paper?" Lethe asked.

"Th… No, you know what? I don't have a clever quip for this. Just look at the damn files on the bed."

Lethe cocked an eyebrow. "But what about the one in your hand?"

Krin slapped the sheet amongst its hundreds of bedbound counterparts. "Lincoln, if you do not start reading, gloating, and panicking, I am resigning."

Lethe rolled their eyes and began scanning the papers.

It took about thirty seconds before their entire being froze.

"And for the second time today, I ask you, what the fuck do we do?"

Special Agent Lincoln Lethe looked up slowly. "We read, we gloat, we panic… and then we find whoever gave these documents to Sapphire."

"And we tell fucking no one."

"Agreed."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Thirteen: Captain Puck Yaga

Cold. Cold and darkness and dreams. No…Not cold, numbness. Not darkness, blindness. Not dreams, nothing. No breath. No touch. No sense. Nothing.

COME ON YOU SON OF A BITCH

IF YOU CAN SURVIVE BEING THROWN AGAINST A WALL, YOU CAN SURVIVE THIS

Crimson felt himself being wrenched back into being.

He was a senseless scattered absence suddenly forced together, shoved into consciousness, slapped awake.

And he was being slapped.

WAKE UP

Unable to do anything but gasp, Crimson felt the oil stained feathers and heavy force pummel him. Over and over, as his eyes tried to make sense of the darkness, the blows beat down. His hands and feet scrambled against the sodden earth, unable to find purchase, or escape the beating.

Eventually he managed to push out the word "STOP!"

It stopped.

Pushing himself against a wall, his back and head making painful contact, Crimson cried out a second time. Memories of the recent violence began to flood his mind. The injuries all over his body screamed with life. The vague shapes that surrounded him, painted over with shadow, slowly focused. It was all a nightmare - but it was better than the void he had almost accepted.

There was a torch lying on the floor; it was the only point of light his eyes could find. Around this single star, Crimson began to discern a tunnel, a figure, and his own body. Crimson was leant against the sheer rock wall of a dank and dirty tunnel, a steel track running along its floor. The Farfetch'd stood a few feet away; his coat was torn and bloodstained, his left eye shut by swelling, and his right leg was covered with oozing black wounds. Crimson did not look much better himself; there were long gashes all over his torso and legs, his left boot was missing, and the foot beneath was stained a painful purple.

Drex Dreagle approached, pulling a small metal flask from his pocket. Passing the flask to Crimson, he spoke. "There's not enough to disinfect your wounds, but there's enough to dull the pain. So just take a drink, kid."

Crimson took the flask with a shaky hand and swallowed as much as he could. Coughing, he passed it back. "Thank you."

Drex sat down and took a drink himself. "I thought you were a goner for a moment there."

"Where are we? What happened? Where's Brellia?"

Crimson's mind began to fully wake up, trying desperately to piece together the events that led him here. Anxiety and horror piggybacked off the physical pain, filling the gaps uncertainty had left for truth.

"What happened?" he repeated.

Drex took a slug from the flask. "How much do you remember?"

"We were talking… Well you two were talking… and then… Sapphire? Sapphire came. And then…" Crimson felt his stomach grow heavy, his spine go cold, his mind wish it wasn't awake. "Those were The Ghosts, weren't they?"

Drex nodded. "They were."

Crimson slammed his fist against the ground, the pain of his wounds nearly numbing the collision. He had escaped The Gnarl Corn Company, but in truth, he hadn't escaped anything at all. He was still stuck.

"They took my dad," he said, fighting off tears.

Drex handed him back the flask. "I'm sorry, kid. They've taken a lot from a lot of folk."

"Why were they there?" asked Crimson, cringing as he swallowed.

""I took a bad bet in a desperate situation."

Crimson looked the battered bird up and down, the rage building inside him. "Who- I'm sorry- Who the fuck even are you?"

Drex laughed. "Drex Finnius Dreagle." The Farfetch'd stood, his leg obviously ailing him, and offered a wing for Crimson to shake. Crimson didn't shake it. "Fair enough."

"I remember your name," said Crimson, Drex sitting back down. "At least your first name. You helped keep that tower they basically imprisoned Sage in supplied. But who the fuck are you?"

The Farfetch'd tried to take another drink but the flask came up empty. "Sage? Oh, the boy. In my defence I never agreed with that whole situation. I told Brellia it was wrong to take that baby."

Crimson pushed himself further upright, the rage in him building. "You're not answering my question."

"Me and Brellia go back to before the start of the war. I only ever met Al once, I think, but reputations succeed as much as precede."

He felt his eyes flaring, could smell his own blood, feel the gashes still bleeding. "Answer the fucking-"

"I'm a private investigator, a journalist, or at least I've tried to be. After the war, I thought if I couldn't fight anymore I could at least let people know the truth, let them know how this system works. And the system has kept on working, while all my efforts haven't." Drex stood back up, looking back and forth in frustration. "You wanna know who I am?" He picked up the torch and turned to inspect one of the tunnel's passages. "I'm a fucking failure, that's who I am. But, I'm also a fucking fighter. So get the fuck up, and let's go."

Crimson was taken aback, he'd never met a Pokemon who spoke like this. But before he could really think about it, he began to consider the fact he was in a cave. "Where are we?" Crimson strained as he pulled himself to his feet. "How did we get out? Where are Brellia and Sapphire?"

"Brellia took Sapphire and flew off."

"They left us."

Drex sighed in frustration and began walking. "I told them to leave us. It's a miracle we got out at all."

Crimson tentatively followed. "How did we get out?"

"I had a few tricks up my sleeve. Tricks I have been saving for a long time. Tricks I cannot repeat."

Crimson nearly tripped over one of the metal rails fixed to the ground. "By tricks do you mean weapons?"

"Yes," replied Drex, deflated.

Crimson began following the rails with his eyes. "Where are we?"

"The warehouse used to be a storage facility for the mining operation on Mt Moon. The tunnels lead to the Mountain, hence the minecart rails."

"You managed to drag me down here?"

Dex looked back with a caustic, overcast grin, "You're lucky the elevator still worked."

Crimson tried to not take the look personally. Still, he had already decided, Drex Dreagle was an asshole. "Why were The Ghosts after you?"

Drex Dreagle stopped, shifting the beam of his torch across an upcoming fork. "My investigation had hit a deadend. I needed someone on the inside. Still, I had failed to appreciate that anyone crazy enough to follow me was also crazy enough to go off on their own. They fucked up. And now we're all fucked."

He had been wrong; Crimson had heard Pokemon speak like this before - they just used fancier words, held themselves with a nobler countenance, tried to obfuscate their brutality. Drex Dreagle had no shame for his violent arrogance.

"What were you investigating?" asked Crimson, unimpressed but still curious.

Drex chose the left passageway. "I thought I was investigating something as simple as a rich asshole bribing military brass to have people assassinated. Turns out… Well I ain't really sure what it turns out… But The Ghosts are paying someone to bribe military brass to let them assassinate people they shouldn't care about. And now I doubt I'll ever know what's going on."

Crimson wrapped his mind around the messy conspiracy Drex presented him with. Concentrating on the puzzle distracted from the pain and cold and fear. He had always liked puzzles.

"Where is the money coming from?"

Drex stopped again. It wasn't the route; Crimson's words had forced him to pause. "That's an excellent question," he said, his voice echoing throughout the tunnels. "If the funds were coming out of their own budget it would only handicap their own operations." Drex tried to take another swig from the flask, but was reminded of its emptiness. "Following that logic… They are stealing from someone, and rather than keeping the money they are funnelling it into the pockets of military officials."

Crimson shrugged his shoulders. "Sounds like they're trying to frame them."

Drex turned slowly, his one good eye ignited with revelation. "What did you fucking say?"

"I…" Crimson stepped away from the deranged Farfetch'd. "I said it sounds like they're trying to frame them. I've seen it before; someone steals food, pays it to someone else for a menial task, but then just goes to the supervisor and says that person has stolen food; the supervisor doesnt care about anyone's stories, they just care that they've found the stolen food, so…"

Drex began to twitch and fidget, looking about himself, uncertain and desperate to act. "We have to get out of here. We need to… We can't go back to the city, not right now. We… We need to get to Al."

"I thought you didn't want to join up with Al?"

"Look, even if you hadn't come up with the best theory for what's going on I've heard so far, we don't really have much of a choice." Drex sighed and began rummaging through his pockets. "I need to call in a favour." Finding his phone, he stared at it and sighed.

Crimson felt himself going a little faint. "A favour from who?"

Drex chuckled, showing sick joy for their desperation. "Oh, kid. There…" Drex halted in thought, trying to remember. "How did she put it?"

Crimson could feel his legs beginning to buckle.

"No, no you'll like this. There are things…" Drex scratched the side of his head with the torch. "...things that live amongst the roots of the mountain." He smiled, "Yeah that's it. Things that shine in the darkness, and then pass into shadow, like moonlight."

Crimson collapsed as his eyes grew heavy and his head grew light. He didn't feel the pain of falling, all he felt was the soft warmth of death, and Drex Dreagle's feathers on his face.

KID

KID, WAKE UP

Crimson saw the flickering light of small flames, felt the caress of fireside warmth, heard the comforting crackling of wood. Safety and security swaddled him. He was somewhere perfect.

"But they didn't get everyone," spoke a familiar voice.

Crimson watched his face come into view - a soft, beloved sunrise.

It was his father.

Crimson was in bed; he was a child. He was lying in his bed with the fire burning gently, his belly full, and his head reclined. And his father was sat on a stool, looking down at him, smiling.

"They didn't get everyone," he repeated. "Some got away. Some hid. They're still out there, Crimson - the remnants of the resistance."

"What does remnants mean?" he asked.

"It means 'what is left.'"

"Like when there's more work even when you said we'd be finished soon?"

"Yes."

"And they're what's left even when everyone thinks they're all gone?"

"Yes."

"Where are they, dad?"

His father placed a hand against his cheek. "They'll be here soon, son. I promise. They'll be here soon."

His father leant down to kiss him; Crimson felt his father's lips as they pressed against his forehead. He felt them not because they were there, but because they weren't. It was that wordless question that shatters dreams. He should have felt them, but he didn't, and when he realised he didn't, he realised that none of it was real.

Crimson awoke to find himself on a dirty canvas cot. His clothes had been replaced with a brown linen outfit, and he was covered in bandages. His mouth tasted strange and he was connected to a medical drip.

Looking around, he found himself in a small, dark room with rock walls. There was a single electric light, struggling to stay alive, attached to the wall opposite him. Aside from himself, the cot, the drip and the light, the only other things in the room were a chair, a cloud of smoke, and the Pokemon sat within both.

Working their way through a cigarette was a muddy, pink creature, with two stubby arms, two stubby legs, a pair of huge, hard, bloodshot and mournful eyes, and belly-pouch holding an egg. Crimson had seen one before: the Gnarl family doctor. It was a Chansey.

"Drex thought you might not make it, but I knew you'd be fine," it said, in a cracked, smoke stained baritone.

"Thank you," replied Crimson, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't thank me," it said, scoffing; "Thank the team that got you in so fast. Bleeding out would have been what got you, and if you had, I wouldn't have been able to save you. But you still had plenty of blood by the time you got here."

Crimson hesitated, still adjusting. "Where's Drex? Where am I?"

"I can take you to him. Can you stand?"

Crimson pushed himself to the edge of the cot and sat up. With gritted teeth, he forced himself to stand and pulled out his drip.

"Good," said the Chansey. "Follow me."

The Pokemon led Crimson out of the room and into a series of sheer rock tunnels. The tunnels were lit by the same struggling electric lights, and littered by wooden doors on both sides. Crimson saw no one else, but he could hear hushed voices coming from behind the doors, feel eyes watching him.

Eventually they stood before a door somewhat better made than the others. The Chansey pointed towards it and said, "There you go."

"Aren't you coming?" asked Crimson.

The Chansey laughed and lit another cigarette. "I don't want any of what's happening in there."

As the creature walked away, Crimson turned to face the door and breathed in deeply. He pushed it open and found a chamber just as sparse as everything else. All that lay inside was an electric light, a table covered in papers, a chair, and two Pokemon.

One of the Pokemon, Drex Dreagle, turned and smiled with genuine relief - even a little pride.

The other Pokemon was not so happy to see him. It was a large creature, taller than Crimson and twice as wide as Drex. Covered in faint pink fur and dark pink scars, with what might have been wings protruding from its back, a large curled tail, an eyepatch over its right eye, a pipe in its left hand, and one long, brown tipped ear, suggesting the loss of another, the creature stared at him. It took a long draw from its pipe and grimaced.

"So this is the human? But not the one you cajoled into your service, this is the one you were left with, when all of that turned rotten for you?" It stepped towards him, one small black eye consuming both light and darkness. "What is your name, human?"

"I told you his name is-"

"I was asking the human."

"My name is Crimson."

He had never seen a Pokemon like this. He hadn't read about one in books. Crimson had no idea what he was dealing with. Whatever it was, he was sure it had seen its fair share of violence.

"I am Captain Puck Yaga, and this hole in the ground is where I've kept my people safe. You are only here because I owed Drex a favour. That favour is now repaid. From this moment on, you remain by the tenuous charity of my conditional kindness. Do you understand?"

Crimson's instinct was to ask how kindness could be conditional? But he didn't. He nodded meekly and stepped back. "I understand."

"You don't need to be so hard on the kid, Puck; he ain't done nothing wrong."

Captain Puck turned to face Drex, taking another draw from their pipe. "I'm sorry my friend, but whatever has happened to bring you here… has gone exceedingly wrong."

Drex sighed. "I told you already, Al has been compromised, and I need you to get me to them."

"So you've said."

"So what's the issue?"

The captain laughed. "The issue is twofold. Firstly: it is one thing for you to request sanctuary amongst the Clefairy. It is another thing entirely to request we risk our safety, use powers that are difficult to control, let alone contain, and do it all so a stranger may be spirited away."

Drex interjected again. "I'm no stranger, Puck."

"Captain Yaga."

The Farfetch'd shook his head. "May I remind you, Captain Yaga, how you acquired that Moon Stone which made you so powerful in the first place?"

Captain Yaga emptied their pipe ash onto the table. "May I remind you, Drex Dreagle, of what a mother is willing to do to protect her children." She began packing the bowl of her pipe, waiting for Drex to break eye contact. "Secondly: I wonder why someone who has been fighting the fight, in their own way, all these years, would abandon it to lead some coward around the blasted wastes of Johto?"

"I'm done in Cerulean now." Drex rubbed his brow and shifted around. Crimson noticed his injured leg was bandaged, but still blotched with black. "Do you have anything to drink?"

"In the drawer."

The Farfetch'd pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and took a swig. "I'm done, Puck- sorry Captain Yaga, I'm finally completely fucked. So I might as well move on and do something useful."

The Captain reached into another drawer and pulled out three glasses. "If you're going to drink my booze, you should at least share. And one for the human, he looks like he needs it more than any."

Crimson hesitated, thinking of Oak. "I don't really drink."

"When you're lying in a ditch, or tied to a chair, or coughing your last in some hope forsaken field, it will be these small pleasures you long for. So take the damn drink, boy." Captain Yaga grabbed the bottle from Drex, poured two glasses, and pushed one towards Crimson. Reaching back into the drawer, she brought out a bar of chocolate. "Here, have some of this too. Have all of it. It might be your last."

Crimson had only eaten chocolate twice. So, out of politeness he swallowed his drink, but never took eyes off the bar. As soon as his mouth was empty he went for it - devouring with childlike, bestial glee.

He had started to realise how little control he had over his life, even now. The Pokemon were still in charge; he'd run away with Oak, but only because Pokemon had dismantled the estate; he was now amongst what appeared to be remnants of the resistance, but they still treated him like an afterthought - a child. So he might as well act like a child. He might as well enjoy the chocolate. Crimson couldn't consider the magnitude of his futility whilst he was eating chocolate.

After a few moment's silence - where Captain Yaga watched him with strange contended sincerity, and Drex Dreagele paced up and down - the Farfetch'd spoke. "They're still out there, Puck."

She scoffed. "No one has heard from the resistance high command in nearly two years."

"If they were dead we'd all know about it. If the Chancellor had finally nabbed Giovani he'd be hanging from the walls of The Fuchsia Palace for everyone to see. Ain't no way they'd keep that a secret."

Captain Puck Yaga rolled her eye, stepped over to Crimson, and snapped off a small piece of chocolate. Placing it in her mouth, she sighed. "So what; where do you even start? You're just going to wander around Johto hoping you find something?" She puffed on her pipe. "Yet you tell me The Ghosts are conspiring against the central military authority. And still this is the best use of your time?"

Drex finished his glass and poured another drink. "I have no means to chase that story anymore. Or anything in Cerulean. I've finally won the basket with cantaloupe and honeydew." Drex laughed at a joke no one else understood. "But I gotta do something. And if I'm gonna do anything… This is… It's the last…" Dex pounded his drink. "It's the last Alakazam… I hate to admit it means something, but it does. You of all people should appreciate that."

The Captain did her best not to flinch, and Drex did his best not to smirk. A heavy silence spread across the room, laying its weight upon them, nearly noble in its expectation.

But Crimson was sick of bending the knee.

"You're the last of something too, aren't you?"

Captain Puck Yaga snapped her gaze towards him, first enraged, then endeared, and lastly mournful. "The government took control over power stones before they had even won the war."

Crimson was only half sure what that meant. "So what are you?"

"As far as I am aware, I am the only remaining Clefable. For now. To compare my plight with Alakazam is not fair. There is still hope for my people."

Crimson swallowed the last of the chocolate. "The Clefairy?"

"You do not miss anything, do you, Crimson of The Gnarl Estate? It seems quiet is your weapon" Puck Yaga drew from her pipe, smoke seeping from a wide, toothless grin. "Some have said that patience is my weapon."

"I've just learnt to listen."

"No.. You have learnt to understand. This is far more difficult."

Drex groaned. "Are you going to help us or not?"

Captain Puck Yaga turned to face Drex Dreagle, her one eye softening, like onyx into ink. "And what if you find as much peril there?"

"Then I was definitely right to go."

The Clefable shook her head, tapping her pipe against the desk. "You, Drex Finnius Dreagle, are the first and last of your kind."

Crimson followed them back and forth, transfixed, awe and terror battling in his heart. It was a scene from a story, and if he watched closely enough, he could ignore his lack of agency, his flashing traumas, his small and fragile person, bleeding in a stranger's office.

Captain Puck Yaga took in a deep breath and sighed. "Can you, for one moment, comprehend the position you place me in, risking what you ask me to risk?"

Drex poured himself another drink and chuckled. "No Puck, I can't. I could never comprehend the weight you carry… nearly no one could."

The Clefable smiled. "That's all I ever wanted to hear."

The Pokemon shook hands, and Crimson suddenly felt sick. He knew it was him they couldn't comprehend - his life.

He missed Sage. He missed Jeremy. He missed his father. He yearned for a world that had never existed and a path he could never have walked. He longed for something that was not this, that was not what had led him here, that was not where he'd end up next. More than anything, Crimson wished, without reservation, without shame or second thought, that he was a Pokemon.

 

[Prof. Gingko]

It was not just the hours they had passed in the forest, it was everything. The years and years spent in the tower, the dreams and nightmares repeating themselves, the books read over and over again - he had been waiting his entire life. He could not do it any longer.

Sage stood up. Glaring at his companions, he observed as they took no notice of him. Alakazam, as usual, was consumed by his inscrutable self-involvement. Oak was passed out drunk.

He had understood why Crimson was chosen to accompany Brellia; he had even agreed. But to just sit here, whilst the old man slept and the wizard did nothing - it felt lazy, foolish, unsafe.

Sage imagined his new friend, out there, putting himself in harm's way to aid their mission. He Imagined him returning, landing atop Brelia, to find…

Sage, stop worrying yourse-

Alakazam's voice rang in his head. But it was soon distorted beyond recognition.

The shattered echoes of his mentor's words, the mournful reverie he'd built his friend, they merged and gave way to something else.

Sage fell to his knees and clutched his head. Ache and anguish rippled through his mind, forming a picture. He began to hear a conversation. The thunder of repeated footfalls. The slithering song of shifting liquid. A cruel and desperate intent. Two voices discussing direction. His mind pulled back further. There was another voice requesting location. The feel of cold metal in the hands. Even further. He saw fields burning. Someone choked on the air. Even further. Something fell out of the sky. It was one of the Skarmory.

"Sage?"

He was back in the forest. Alakazam knelt opposite him, his hands on Sage's shoulders.

Recognising his return to reality, Alakazam remained silent a moment, staring at him. With a sober expression, Alakazam pulled him closer. "What did you see?"

Sage tried to calm himself. He could not. "Someone's coming."

"Where are they?" demanded Alakazam.

"There… There is a group of them… But two… Two of them are coming now. They're almost here. They're coming for you."

Alakazam stood slowly, never breaking eye contact; he stared and stared at Sage, letting seconds pile upon themselves, his expression unsettling and disturbed. Finally turning away, the Pokemon shook his head and murmured. "Your abilities should not be this potent."

Sage mustered himself through the haze, straightening his back and scoffing. "Oh, I'm sorry! Next time I'll make sure not to warn you if-"

"No!" snapped Alakazam. "I am not shaming you; I am not displeased. I am concerned… surprised." Alakazam paused, staring into nothing. "Perhaps all the years spent-"

"We don't have time for this!" snapped Sage. "They are coming."

Alakazam exhaled and made a stance. "I will deal with them."

Sage looked him over, then looked over the distant uncertainty of the woods, then the certain threat of his mind. He weighed it all out, desperately trying to find the love he once felt for his master. "No," he said. "You need to hide." Sage approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "If they discover you're here, if they prove it, if they find you… if one of them gets away. It's safer if you hide. We need to convince them you're not here."

Alakazam huffed in disbelief. "And what? You and Oak shall-"

"No," Sage interrupted, steel in his voice. "You need to hide Oak too. He can't be trusted. If they only find me they might think they've gone the wrong way.l."

"Sage." Alakazam dropped his tone to total command. "I will stop the-"

Sage refused to listen. "You can't be both. You can't be 'Al' and 'The Last Alakazam.' You had to hide in a tower for two decades, not because you're a coward, but because you're just that important - fine. Everyone has to follow you now, recognise you as some kind of last hope, because you're just that important - fine. I have to accept everything you did, and everything you are, and all the ways you act, because you're just that important - fine!" Sage couldn't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. As he wiped them away, he watched Alakazam fail to even address them. "So you're just that important. I'm not. I need to try and convince them that they haven't found you."

Alakazam paused and stared once more, not disturbed, not upset, this time only worried. "Sage… it is the first time you have experienced an episode of clairvoyance. I know what it can be like; it is painful, frightening, immediate, emboldening, it can cloud all inhibition." The Pokemon took a deep breath and sighed. "Your concern for my safety is appreciated, and your note of my hypocrisy is considered, but you must listen to me-"

Sage flung a finger at the Pokemon's face. "No, Alakazam, listen to me. I-"

"Where is this coming from?"

Sage tripped on his words. "Panic, probably? I don't know! Years of repressed rage. Unconditional love for the liar who raised me. A sense of duty regarding the war you've forced me into. Pick one. Or blame it on suddenly discovering I'm clairvoyant. Or that I'm now certain, deeply, indescribably certain, that two individuals are on their way, and nearly here, and want you dead." Sage felt the tears returning. "Or… or that I'm just a kid, a kid who grew up in a tower, and haven't got a great handle on who I am or how I'm supposed to act outside of that tower." Sage began wiping his eyes aggressively, but the tears wouldn't stop. "I'm sorry if that's uncomfortably honest and self aware. But you're the one who made me spend my entire life reading books, meditating, considering my own mind and my place in reality - whilst also lying to me about all of it!"

Alakazam's eyes dashed to and from Sage, his body all but twitched; he was obviously consumed with discomfort. "Sage… if foes are approaching, you should really keep your voice down."

Sage felt his soul boiling over. He could be the most articulate, self aware and wise version of himself, but Alakazam would still treat him like a child. Like less than a child. Like a pet.

"Go and fucking hide," he said.

Alakazam shook his head softly, nearly convinced but still opposed. "And when they come?" He shifted with frustration. "Sage, you are just a human."

Sage couldn't help but laugh. "Exactly. And they will ask themselves: why would Alakazam, The Last Alakazam, why would he bother dragging along some useless human? And they will wonder if they're in the right place at all."

"They must be following something: our tracks, our scent, it all ends here."

"It all ends here, and you're not here, only I'm here. So you flew or teleported or something."

"And they did not notice?"

"Well you're not here, are you?"

Alakazam sighed, hanging his head. "No, I am not."

The wizard said nothing more. Lifting himself from the ground, he turned and floated towards Professor Oak's sleeping body. The wizard raised the body, and then himself, up into the trees, into the dim of twilight, beyond the reach of vision.

A gentle breeze blew past with all the gravity of an overture. A symphony of struggling silence followed; a twig broke, the dwindling fire occasionally cracked, something shifted in the shaded distance; but the silence, unable to dominate everything, still conquered, held empire over these small sensory insurrections.

Sage was alone. He had got what he had wanted. And now he began to question why he had wanted it. Was it truly his clairvoyant episode messing with his head? Was he acting out in insecurity towards Crimson? Was he trying to hurt Alakazam? What the fuck was he doing? What the fuck am I doing?

These questions had no time for answers.

Deep in the darkening vista of tree and bush and dirt, something whispered. Sage could feel it. He could not hear it but he could feel it. Two things in fact, two voices, far off and complacent - discussing, disagreeing, deciding. The breeze blew by a second time, lifting leaves as it sauntered, disregarding him completely. He was left alone, even by the wind, alone with the two beings he knew but could not comprehend. Oh, he felt so much more than he could hear; his powers exceeded anything the wizard had expected, anything Sage had ever expressed; still, in this moment, it did him no good. He was not sure what they were, or what they would do.

He was sure he could not afford a mistake.

The breeze blew a third time. Sage closed his eyes as the wind flew by him. He felt his hair move, felt the air caress his skin, felt the pull of his clothes; Sage saw the tower, the piles of books he'd read, the meals he'd eaten, the knitted jumpers he'd been given, the lies he'd been told.

The lies he'd been told.

The lessons the wizard had given him and the lies he'd been told.

The story of his dead parents.

The war.

The lies he'd been told.

As Sage opened his eyes, he noticed a small figure stepping out from the shadows. It moved with cautious confidence - not sneaking, not stumbling - carefully striding, a swagger under constraint.

Sage solidified his stance - clenching his fists and fixing his gaze on the figure.

Continuing to approach, Sage quickly discerned it. It was a Pokemon, about four feet tall and dressed in a busted black suit with a loose fuchsia had two long ears and a jagged tail, huge eyes and stubby paws. Though mostly covered in yellow fur, a few black patches tipped its extremities, while two red circles highlighted its cheeks.

Sage thought he had seen images resembling this creature… this Pokemon… somewhere in his books… He was almost certain, But it did not help him now.

The Pokemon did not stop, striding carefully, saying nothing. Sage felt his senses struggling; some were trying to reach out, trying to find the second, hidden creature; the rest were focusing on this sandy interloper and all the danger they implied.

He tried to concentrate on the being at hand.

At the very edge of the fire's reach, where the ochre light met stygian darkness, perhaps ten metres away, the creature stopped. It tried to fix its tie, straighten its suit, check the damage to its shoes. Now illuminated, it had immediately focused on itself - and Sage could feel its insecurity. He felt its uncertainty and preoccupation. He felt its ragged hope and desperation. He felt…

Sage felt his powers growing.

His rage and pain and bewilderment, his embarrassment - everything the wizard had taught him and Alakazam had told him - it all folded in on itself. And now, facing this creature… Sage felt the soul of his clairvoyance, the logic of his pyromancy, the language of his forced sedation… He understood what he was. And suddenly, he realised he had so much more inside him.

"Howdy!" exclaimed the Pokemon. "What are we doing here?"

Sage could taste its condescension. He acted over it. "I'm… I'm just here… I was walking and looking for a place to camp. I decided to camp here."

The Pokemon raised an eyebrow. "Where's your camping gear?"

"I didn't bring gear."

Sage had not hesitated, and the Pokemon was knocked off balance.

Taking control of the silence, Sage pushed. "Who are you? Are you with the government?"

"I a…" The Pokemon laughed, nervously adjusting its tie once more. "I am… I am Officer Taylor Tales of the FAC, here deputised under the Federal Reclamaning Act…" The Pokemon cursed under its breath. "Reclamation Act. That doesn't matter. Why didn't you bring gear?"

Sage did his best to smile against his fear. "I like to sleep in nature."

"You like to sleep in nature…" Taylor looked around the camp without stepping forward. "Looks like someone else might have been here before you."

"Yeah."

Sage played the idiot effortlessly.

"Yeah…" he repeated. " I was thinking the same thing before you got here. I didn't even light that fire." Sage scratched his head and frowned. "I just thought if someone else had been here then it must be safe."

Taylor Tales thought that over. And as the Pokemon gave pause, Sage felt his instinct and adrenaline give way. Fear began to build in him. Questions began to surface. Images appeared.

If Alakazam and Brellia could do what they could do…

What was Taylor Tales capable of?

"I don't believe you," said Taylor, realising Sage's fears. "Where are the others?"

Sage could only double down. "What others?"

Taylor smirked and squared his shoulders; the Pokemon stepped forward. "Where are the others?"

The Pokemon kept coming, and Sage once again, let his fear turn to panic. "There… There are no…" he stumbled, feeling his panic contort and calcify. The pattern was not done repeating. Sage's panic became frustration, "Look, I don't know, I'm-" That frustration became anger. "Mr Tales, I haven't done anything wrong!" That anger was the source of his power. "Where are your others?!"

Taylor finally stopped. He froze with one eyebrow raised, his mouth half open, and disconcersion all about him. "My others?" he asked, failing to hold onto his authority. "Kid, I'm the one asking the questions."

Sage let the rage churn inside him. "Evidently not. I just asked a question. I'll ask it again. Where are your others?"

Taylor's right ear twitched. "I… I don't want to hurt you, kid. But I will if you keep-"

"Keep what?"

The Pokemon growled, its whole face tensing. "Alright, fuck you." Taylor closed his eyes and flicked his tail, cracking open the air. The sound of thunder flooded the forest and bludgeoned Sage's ears. A violent, fracturing arm of white light surged towards him. All Sage could do was put out his hand and will his own safety.

A nearby tree shattered and burst into flame.

The arc of electricity had bounced off Sage's hand and flew into the forest. It seemed his will had granted him his safety. He had felt it too. Sage had felt the force that deflected the lightning; he had felt it come from him, and he still felt it, under his control.

Taylor looked on with total shock and abject horror. "That…" The Pokemon looked from side to side. "They are here! They're protecting you! They're-"

Sage reached forward, locking his eyes on Taylor, unleashing that force. "No one is protecting me." Clenching his fist, Sage made the force grab hold of Taylor. "And no one is protecting you." Using only his mind, the young boy forced the Pokemon to the ground, face against the dirt. He held him there, and then dragged him closer.

Arcs of electricity began firing from Taylor's body, but none of them reached further than a few feet. Sage could hear the Pokemon's voice making muffled cries against the dirt. He watched Taylor's limbs flailing desperately. All of it brought him nothing but joy.

Sage started chuckling as he dragged the helpless Pokemon across the uneven ground. From one side of the camp to the other, leading with his hand, Sage forced Taylor to taste the forest floor. For nearly a minute he played with the Pokemon, then suddenly he stopped.

Taylor heaved, spitting out mud and leaves. "Right, Nox-"

Before Taylor could finish his sentence, Sage tested himself. Tensing every muscle he had and fanning the flames of his rage, Sage lifted his arm.

Taylor lifted with it.

"Fuuuck!" exclaimed the Pokemon, flying ten feet into the air. "KID YOU-" he continued, before slamming against the ground. .

The sound of Taylor's body crashing into the forest floor ricocheted and rippled. Sage stood motionless, watching the Pokemon, listening to the echo of its defeat. The forest resounded with the loud crunch and sudden silence that stamped the end of their conflict. He couldn't help but bask in it, uncertain and uncaring as to whether Taylor was alive.

There is another presence nearby, watching. Even if you have convinced them of my absence, what you have done is more than enough reason to maintain interest. You-

Sage clenched his fists and growled. Stay hidden! I'm handling it!

Sage, there is nothing left for subtly to handle; violence begets violence-

Begets nothing much at all. Yes, you've told me. Many times. But I can-

As Sage and Alakazam conversed without sound, silence dominated the area. The fire had diminished to smouldering embers, the breeze had all but died, nothing shifted in the far reaching formless shadow of the forest. The world seemed to freeze, until someone spoke.

Deep, damp and enveloping, the new voice demanded fealty from the air. "You…" it began, covering Sage's skin and reaching to his bones. "Only once have I ever been impressed by the actions of a human. You… whoever you are… you have made it so I must say twice. Twice have I ever been impressed by the actions of a human."

Sage clenched a psychic fist around his burgeoning discomfort. Remembering the flames of his rage, and releasing his instinct, he responded. "He isn't here."

A pause. Sage could sense the hesitation; it came from uncertainty.

"Who?" asked the voice.

Sage sighed, settling into the character his soul advised him play. "Look," he said. "I know there's more of you. I know there's a bigger group and the rest of them are on their way. And I know what you're looking for - who you're looking for - because I'm looking for them too." Sage began to walk towards the darkness, towards the source of the voice. "The Alakazam is not here. I think he was, some point recently, but he isn't anymore."

Another pause. More uncertainty.

"Who are you?"

Sage smirked as he scanned the shadow. He could feel the creature pulsing in the void, and felt himself vanishing behind the lie. "Legally, I do not have a name. Neither does the agency I work for. Still… I am impressed how far you and your little gang have come. Especially without any actual support."

The skin of his teeth, the beat of his heart, and the twitch of his gut, that was all Sage had. And yet, there was something else, something strange, ethereal, and barely bargained, something magical - something psychic. In truth, it was this that directed his performance.

"I can still feel them…" replied the voice. "The trail I followed, it still culminates here."

Sage squinted, stepping forward. "What did you follow?"

"Psychic types… I can feel how their presence unsettles matter." The voice gave way to a strange viscous shifting. "I feel many things, nameless agent of a nameless order, and they - psychic types - I feel them with both great definition and great danger."

"What you felt was me."

The voice gave a small gurgling laugh, only half sure of itself. "You are a human."

Sage reached towards the voice, an empty hand with all the weight of a weapon. He heard the creature shift away, felt its riled fear. Sage could not help but smile.

"I also have followed the presence of silver," quibbled the creature. "I still feel it."

Suddenly he felt the mask slipping. Sage had no natural response, and his character, his psychic flow of falsehoods, it began to falter. "Well…" he spoke, beginning to stumble. But, before he could fall, Sage felt something materialise in his trouser's back pocket. He reached for it, giving nothing away, and felt his gifted cover. It was Alakazam's spoons.

Sage displayed the spoons, smirking once more. "This is not the first of these I've hunted."

"You are too young to have fought in the war," replied the voice.

"And you are too naive to think that only one was craven enough to hide."

Another pause, longer than the last. Sage put the spoons back in his pocket. The young man swallowed hard and held to his facade; he rent it open and dived inside; he willed his whole being obliterated in the name of this deception. He killed Sage so he might survive.

"You…" began the voice again. "You must come and speak to Cecille."

"Is that your leader?" Sage asked.

"He is." The shifting mass of unpleasant sound drew closer. "Is Taylor dead?"

Sage had all but forgotten about Taylor. He looked over. It seemed the Pokemon was still breathing. "No. I will carry him. Let us go meet this…" Sage pushed all he had into the far flung soul of creation, asking… it answered. "This Cecille Freys."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Fifteen: The Secret Service

The gun felt cold in Cecille's hands. The simplicity of that feeling, the metal against his paws, stopped him being swept away by this absurdity. Taylor lay wounded and unconscious on the ground. Noxos brewed uncomfortably beside him. Cleo, wearing a steel brace with shoulder mounted cannons, stared at him. Lamia, with several belts of grenades wrapped around her, stayed silent. And the boy… wearing a knitted jumper and no shoes, looking anywhere between twenty and twelve, who had beaten Taylor without touch and then carried him here, gave nothing away.

Cecille shifted and flashed a glare towards Noxos. "Tell me again why you two thought it was a good idea not to wait."

Noxos wrinkled against the dirt. "Taylor insisted he investigate why the only figure we could see was a… was this individual."

"And you never considered that the others might be hiding?" asked Cecille.

"Taylor…" Noxos gave a swampy sigh. "Taylor did not think it likely they would leave a single, unarmed human alone… if they were hiding."

Cleo scoffed. "Unless they were leaving bait."

"Bait does not pummel people into unconsciousness," rung out the spores, finally speaking. Lamia stepped forward, six legs shifting like clockwork. "Tell us again, who is it you work for?"

The young man stared at Lamia, statuesque. "I told you, the agency doesn't have a name. Those aware of it… they generally call it The Secret Service."

Cecille felt his ear twitch. He flashed a look to Cleo who flashed a look back. He felt the spores on his fur shiver. There had always been rumours, amongst every agency, paranoid conjecture and drunken assumptions; they had all listened as someone tried to convince them that 'The Secret Service definitely exist.' Cecille still wasn't sure if he should believe.

It made logical sense: an agency secret to all other agencies, loyal only to The High Chancellor. But for it to actually remain a secret, be that good at its job, be impervious to any search for proof… until now… and for the proof to be this…

Cecille tightened his grip on his gun, trying to ground himself. He was getting worked up. Looking the boy over again, he tried not to meet his eyes; everytime their eyes met, Cecille could feel tendrils in his mind, forced flashes and unintelligible whispers. Whoever or whatever this thing was - it really was psychic, knitted jumper and bare feet be damned.

He needed a cigarette.

The Meowth exhaled aggressively, slinging his gun over his shoulder and lighting a cigarette. "Noxos, watch him. The three of us need to have a conversation."

"I will watch," began Noxos, a bubbling bout of awe and horror in its voice. "But having seen what only I have seen… I doubt I could constrain this creature… if it came to violence." The Muk shifted closer to the human. "But I will watch."

Cecille took another deep breath and tried not to panic. "Good. Watch." He gestured and his armed companions followed.

Standing several feet away, lit by the torches on Cleo's cannons, they whispered.

"What the fuck do we do?" asked Cecille.

"I don't know. Do you believe him?" asked Cleo.

"I don't know." replied Cecille. "All I know is that Taylor is unconscious, has what looks like a broken leg and a dislocated shoulder, and that Noxos says he got that way-"

"Because the kid threw him against the ground with his mind," replied Cleo. "It's tricky."

"Tricky?!" Cecille cracked again, wanting nothing more than to point his gun at her. "Tricky?! It's a lot more than fucking tricky, Cleo."

"Alright, calm down, I'm just-"

"You're just what?"

The spores shuddered. "We have never found evidence suggesting the existence of The Secret Service, and Lamia assumes that neither have either of you."

Cecille and Cleo both grumbled. It annoyed Cecille they did it in unison.

"No."

"Yeah, no."

The spores drifted, dancing through the air like firing neurons. "Still… A waifish human with psychic powers potent enough to defeat a Pikachu… and with ease… We believe, if such an agency existed, these would be the kind of agents they would utilise."

Cleo raised an eyebrow. "The government has a public policy for human psychics."

The spores twitched, chuckling. "They have a public policy for Ditto as well."

Cecille sighed, finished his cigarette and lit another. "And what if the human is in cahoots with the Alakazam?"

Cleo nodded, "Not impossible."

Cecille matched her nod, "Not implausible."

The spores were unsettled. "Not likely."

Cecille took a long drag and began pacing. "So then what? There's a government agency that no one is aware of, at least partially staffed by young psychic humans - who have what? Been stolen from their parents as babies, not been given names, been trained to a power level no one would expect of a human, and sent out into the world, strange but inconspicuous, on secret missions known only to the highest level of government - with no loyalty to or experience of the actual outside world, only beholden to their shadowy masters - a secret army of psychic children, both devastating and disposable… that… they… Oh."

As the words left his mouth Cecille began to believe them.

"Fuck…" Cecille looked at Cleo. "That doesn't sound like something that couldn't be happening."

Cleo grimaced and looked away. "No… It does not sound like the worst explanation."

The spores relaxed. "A better explanation than the Alakazam hiding and raising a human child for decades before abandoning it."

Cleo snapped back. "What if they were a contact from the outside?"

"We would have known." The spores tensed. "A human with this kind of power, not hidden by deep government apparatus, we would have known."

Cecille could not help but laugh. "Oh, it wouldn't have slipped through your net? Hmm?" He stepped towards her, lighting a third cigarette. "Whatever that thing is, regardless of how it got here - something has slipped through your net. That…" Cecille swung an accusatory paw towards the darkness, pointing at where the boy might be. "That does not look like Social Order, Special Agent Lamia."

Cecille's anger and instinctive smirk suddenly collapsed; something was caught in his throat. Coughing, heaving, trying to breathe, he realised it was the spores. Cecille felt them speaking in his lungs.

"Do not mock us, Cecille Freys."

Cecille pounded his chest, wretched and pointed his gun at Lamia. "St- GAH- ST- LAMIA!"

Cleo blew a gout of flame between the two, scorching the earth and sending a sphere of fire into the air.

The parasite stepped back and Cecille's airways cleared.

"This is absurd!" exclaimed the Growlithe. "Regardless of our theories, we're in this situation. And Cecille, you may have asked us to walk off a little, but I'm certain that kid - one way or another - has heard everything we've said." Cleo huffed, the ruby around her neck catching the light. "Hey kid! Have you heard everything we've said?!"

A voice resounded in the darkness. "More."

Cleo chuckled. "More… Great… He sure knows how to sound ominous." She stomped towards Cecille, fielding a confidence only soldiers could conjure. "Cecille- No, what is it Taylor calls you? Freys. Freys, you started this whole fucking shitshow. You convinced us to come here and start this." Cleo growled, rolling her shoulders and leaning forward. Cecille could not help but point his gun at her. She didn't flinch. "Take control of the fucking situation. Act like a fucking leader you limp-dicked stray cat. Because, if you don't take charge right now, we are all going to fucking die. Or I'm going to shoot you all, take your car, and try to pretend like none of this ever happened." Cleo smiled. "I love you Freys, but you're acting like a bitch."

Cecille Freys - Senior Executive Taxation Officer, Trained and Registered Financial Field Agent, Dr of Economics - let go of his gun. As the weapon hung from its sling, he rolled his shoulders, leant forward and growled. "There's only one bitch here. And if they wanted to kill us or run away, either we'd be dead or they'd be gone - or some attempt at either would have transpired. But none of that has transpired. So…" Cecille puffed his chest, tensed his face, turned all his blood to stone, and swung around. Marching back to the human, he locked gazes with them. "So, if we're to believe all the insanity you've told us: we must also believe something else: you want to work with us, or we've trapped you."

The human glanced over at Taylor's unconscious body. "Trapped?"

Cecille cocked his rifle and stepped back. "If you're confident enough to take us all on, then do it, human."

The human swallowed, a small fracture appearing in its certainty. "I'm not here to take you all on."

Cecille smiled. "So you want to work together."

The human's eyes shifted from side to side, its fracture cracking further. "You found where Alakazam- the Alakazam had been." The human stepped forward, resolidifying. "It would be foolish to not learn how… and why you were searching. A group of… of Skarmory found the Alakazam. You do not look like…" The human took a deep breath; Cecille could feel something being snatched from his mind. "This is not a legal… government… group. You weren't sent here to do this."

Cecille felt his claws curling out, scratching at the rifle. "So you're just gathering information?"

"I…" The human put his hand out, attempting to maintain calm. "I assume you appreciate the fact that none of us have caught the Alakazam. The only thing left to gather here is information."

Cecille calmed, but raised his weapon. "Do you want to work with us or not?"

The human forced a small smile; it could have been fear, but Cecille saw the arrogance inside it. "If I refuse, you will try to kill me?"

He could not help but shoot a look over his shoulder; Cleo and Lamia stood, half masked in shadow, a few feet behind him. "We don't want to kill you."

"I don't want to die."

Cecille gripped his rifle and locked eyes with the human. "So, you want to work together?"

A pause rippled through them; all was eyes and subtle sounds; Cecille caught Noxos shifting in the distance. "Yes," said the human. "Let's work together."

Cecille had heard what he wanted to hear, but still did not know how to feel. "Good. And once this is done…" Cecille searched for something subtle enough.

The human spoke first. "You want a reward. You don't really care about catching Al- the Alakazam. You just want a reward."

Lamia crept towards them. "That is the second time you have corrected Alakazam for The Alakazam."

The human huffed, clenching its fists. Cecille did not feel safe. "Don't change the subject. You are looking for a reward, aren't you?"

Cecille took back control. "Yes, we are, so what?"

Unclenching its fists, the human sighed. "I'm sure you will get it. From what I have been told… this really- truly… This is the last Alakazam."

Cecille could not stop his heart from swelling. He looked at each of his companions, even to Noxos - who seemed to be trying to smile. Still, seeing Taylor's body gave him pause. "That's good to know. But we need to get Taylor back to the car… or someone needs to go back to the car and get the medkit. Unless you've also got healing powers?"

The human smiled, and it unsettled everyone. "No, I don't have healing powers."

"Cleo!" shouted Cecille, trying to be soldierly. "Go get the medkit!"

A brief pause punched back. "Oh, so I won't be part of the decision making. When you plot our next move."

Cecille felt his stomach twist. Luckily it didn't last.

"We will go," spoke the spores. "We have nothing to add to the next decision. Further, Lamia has begun to worry for Taylor." Speaking nothing more of its magnanimous offer, the great insect and its greater infection, crawled itself and its cloud of consciousness away and out of sight.

Cleo was still visibly upset. Cecille did all he could to stop his stomach twisting once more. He looked at her, suggesting as loudly as eyes could that she should speak.

Thankfully she acquiesced. "I assume, even with Lamia gone, this human will be part of the decision making. Even more, I assume you're going to ask them to initiate."

Cecille was a little unsure of what she meant; he was a lot keen to hear her say it. "Initiate?"

Cleo rolled her eyes. "You're going to ask it, 'Oh, what do you think we should do next?"

Something new inside him cracked, something that had never cracked before, something emergency. Cecille strode towards her, one clawed digit pointing. "Didn't you tell me to take charge of the situation? Didn't we agree to believe him? Most importantly: do you have a plan for what we should do next?" He paused. He watched her mouth open a moment. He watched her mouth close. "Your tough soldier routine, it's pretty much only good for stopping people acting like dicks. I'm trying very hard right now not to act like a dick - largely because you told me not to. And you acting like a dick, after everyone has stopped, is not helping!"

Cleo did nothing but smirk. "It's not my fault Cecille, if take charge, and that's a bad decision, are both valid."

Cecille could barely comprehend this conflict; his mind was nearly overloading. "Okay. Go on then, you tell me, what should we do next?"

He heard her cannons lock and load. He smelt her mouth ignite with flame. He watched her take position. Cleo faced the human, unrepentant in aggression. "We kill him," she said.

Cecille was only drowned deeper in bewilderment. "What?!"

"Regardless of who he is or where he's from, it's safer if we eliminate him. Look what he's done to Taylor - even if you don't believe in vengeance for fallen allies - it's logically safer."

"You do know he can hear us."

Cleo smirked. "Oh yeah, he's right there. But if he goes for me, Noxos is next to him, and you're not far either. He can't take us all down."

Cecille fumbled for a cigarette and dropped the packet. "Where the fuck is this coming from? Before-"

"I knew Lamia would side with the spook. She's more interested in finding out where this fucker is from than keeping us safe." Cleo began growling, flames licking between her teeth. "I knew if I complained, she'd go get the medkit. This is our chance Cecille, this is our only chance to completely neutralise the-"

"NO!" screamed Cecille. "No. We are not- Cleo, stand down. Stand. Down. STAND DOWN!"

With a glare she wished not to relinquish, a twitching stance, and a final growling turn, Cleo stood down.

Cecille watched her step away, a deep disappointment broiling within her. "Great…" he began. Glancing over at the human, who had stood like stone through the entire ordeal, Cecille tried to show remorse. The human gave him nothing in return. "Great, well now they're certain at least one of us wants to kill them."

Cleo chuckled as she walked away. "So what, Cecille? If they are who they say they are, and especially if they're not, I'm sure they've got a plan to kill every one of us." Without stopping, she shot him a look, "You think The Secret Service don't want to stay secret?"

Cecille watched her as she prowled into the darkness. He looked over to the human, stationary and silent. He glanced at Noxos, uncertain eyes caught in an uncertain mass. He considered Taylor, beaten, broken and still unconscious. He searched for something else… but there was nothing. All Cecille had left was himself and the questions he feared to answer. What the fuck has happened? What do I do now? Is that kid really from The Secret Service?

Cecille left a pause unbecoming of a leader.

"Oh just ask it, Cecille," spat Cleo from the shadow. "Ask it what to do."

Cecille stepped forward, looking down, still searching, still uncertain, still gripping his rifle.

Then the human spoke. "Johto Province. They've gone to Johto."

Every eye snapped focus on the self-claimed secret agent. Even Taylor gasped himself awake. "Johto?!" he croaked, before crying in pain.

Cecille rushed over to the Pikachu. "You're- Oh buddy you're awake."

"I think my leg is broken," replied Taylor, struggling and failing to sit up.

"Yeah…" said Cecille, kneeling so he could cradle Taylor's head. "It's pointing in a direction I really don't think it's meant to point."

Taylor winced. "My arm, it also-"

"Your shoulder is dislocated."

Taylor gave the smallest of nods and sweetest of smiles. "I really got my ass kicked, didn't I?"

"You did," added Cleo, having approached. "Cecille wants to take advice from the ass-kicker."

Taylor coughed, wincing at the pain it caused. "The kid? It was a kid? It wasn't Alakazam in disguise? Please tell me it was Alakazam in disguise."

"It wasn't," said the human, having closed in on the scene.

"Great…" replied Taylor, giving the smallest of nods and no smile. "So you didn't kill them."

"I suggested it," stamped Cleo.

Cecille wanted nothing more than to scratch her across the eyes. "They want the same thing we do. They could help."

Taylor cringed. "So what, they're… Who are they?"

Cleo rolled her eyes and walked away. Cecille held him closer. Taylor tried to take control but only hurt himself.

"Where is she going?" demanded Taylor.

Cecille forced a smile. "She's not exactly thrilled by the current situation."

Taylor looked down at his body, then back up at Cecille. "Buddy, as someone who can't move - I'm not exactly thrilled by the current situation either. What's going on? Why is the weird human with no shoes who beat me half to death WITH THEIR MIND just stood there?!"

"They work for The Secret Service."

"This is a fucking dream. Or I'm dead. Or this is the dream I have before I die."

Small arcs of electricity began to spark from Taylor's body, but Cecille did not let go. Shocked over and over, Cecille gripped his wounded friend, and eventually shouted "This is real, Tales!"

Taylor calmed down. "Is someone getting a medkit?"

"Lamia is."

"And she believes in this?"

"She does."

"The Secret Service… and we're still going after the Alakazam?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"We need to go to Johto Province."

"Fuck me, Freys."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Sixteen: The Curse

Sapphire was sure she would die. The air had whipped around her, the sky had let her go, the canopy was coming - she could not escape this.

Still, though the beast could not fly, she fell with style, and stowed her burden tenderly. Brellia saved Sapphire. Through crash and carry and days spent unconscious, the Charizard took care of her.

Awake and asleep, bleeding and healing, dragging and carried, Sapphire had been in Brellia's care for… Or perhaps she was dead… She had thought as much, many times. Everytime she did, it was not long before the Charizard cradled her, fed her, or told her some story she could no longer recall, anchoring Sapphire to life.

In time… however much time it was… the haze of tree trunks and shifting roots passed; her bones and muscles became her own; her eyes finally fixed upon the waking world. Deep within the forest, lent against a boulder, a fire's warmth caressing her face, Sapphire gripped that anchor. She had not felt so certain or so strong in… she was not sure when… since they had fallen.

Still, all she could see were the oozing lesions, black as tar, across Brellia's flesh.

Sapphire winced, pulling herself up. "What's wrong?"

The dragon smiled to see her. "You have finally returned to yourself."

Sapphire tried to stand but failed. "I'm… I'm getting there… What's wrong with you?"

Brellia snarled, dropping the woollen weave she had been working on. "I have been cursed."

Sapphire had never heard the word curse and taken it seriously. Superstition made it known to her, still, superstition it remained.

"Cursed?"

Brellia chuckled, a small gout of flame punctuating. "Indeed."

Mustering what strength was in her, Sapphire stood and stepped forward; she rejected this sudden esotericism. "What about the others? Where's Drex? Where's Crimson? Who's Al?" Her mind began to regain focus, it began to remember. She thought of her home, of Cerulean City, of how she had gotten here, of what she had left behind, of what was at stake. "Why are we just waiting here? We-"

Brellia straighted her back, cringing as her black wounds cracked. "I can go no further. You are welcome to try. I believe our best option is to wait for… someone who can help. This…" Brellia grimaced at her blistering wounds. "I will not heal without help."

"And who is going to help us?"

Brelia tried to sigh, but the pain made it a growl. "Al."

Sapphire groaned in response. "Who is Al?"

"It matters not, unless he finds us."

"So…" spat Sapphire, her stomach turning once again "We're stuck?"

"We are stuck."

Sapphire tried to filter through the last two months of her memory, to pick out the pieces that had led her here. It was all such chaos. Her mind felt soft, her body pained, her spirit weary; it all felt unreal. So instinct made her sputter, "And what if I just leave?"

"You leave," replied Brellia. "You are welcome to leave… Such, I have already said." The dragon coughed, staining its fangs with inky discharge. "Prove loyalty is so much wind to humans… Go, Sapphire of Cerulean City, if you can…" Brellia wiped her mouth against her arm. "I await allies or annihilation."

Confusion and agony battled within Sapphire's flesh. She had never heard a Pokemon speak like this, or felt so many of her bones cringing. Brellia seemed like a creature of legend, a dragon, and yet… Sapphire's wounds pleaded for her to remain in reality. Brellia had saved her, had nursed her, had brought her this far… and now she would go no further. Now the dragon was giving up. She was dying.

Before Sapphire could answer, something flashed within the darkness. Two frantic, glimmering stars stabbed the forest's shadow.

"Behind me!" commanded Brellia.

"You can barely move!" Sapphire responded.

"Flee then! Go. I will set the treeline ablaze. Flee!"

A moment's hesitation.

A voice from the darkness:

"That will not be necessary."

They both froze.

The words came from the stars.

No more words came. Silence and uncertainty foreshadowed the creatures's coming; its eyeline held the starlight, breached the shadow of their distance, stepped slowly, staring and strange. It was small and angular with purple skin, wore a suit with no shoes, and gazed with two diamonds fixed into its face.

Sapphire thought it more object than animal, more puppet than Pokemon.

Holding a briefcase in its right hand, it pressed towards them with mechanical precision. Saying nothing and giving no gesture of welcome, the creature placed the briefcase on the ground - some thirty feet away. It clicked the lock on the briefcase and stepped briefcase flipped open. Inside was nothing but a small yellow stone.

Brellia roared through broken lungs, trying to draw back. Sapphire did not move an inch, transfixed by the stone, growing colder by the second.

Then it came - a swirling maelstrom of dawn and dusk, darkness darker than the night, rays as strange as half remembered dreams - all pouring out the stone.

"Sapphire?"

The stone, inside the briefcase, a twisting horror of shifting void and neon glow, inspected her. Crackling plasma and whispering gloom formed a monstrous face of dreamlike contusions; she could not look away. The stone, inside the briefcase, made the trees crack, the ground rupture, the sky fracture; it twisted all toward that static scene of nightmare - everything converged upon the face - the smile within the storm. The stone, inside the briefcase, a poisoned light and infectious shadow carved into the fabric of reality, grinning between dimensions, awaited her reply.

"What are you?!"

"I am one who knows your friend is Cursed."

Sapphire looked over at Brellia, their eyes exchanging agony.

"Do you know The Curse?"

"No…" murmured Sapphire, inching closer to her saviour.

She could hear Brellia moving to meet her, her breath heavy and pained. "It-" The dragon coughed, black bile spattering the ground. "It kills."

"You were about to set the treeline ablaze, and you did not. Why?"

Brellia drew a wing around Sapphire, pulling her close. "If violence had been your intention… you would have remained silent."

"It must require great confidence… to take so great a risk."

Sapphire scoffed. "All we have left are risks." Her fear and pain shifted into anger; stepping forward, adrenaline and Technical Machine flared. She was sick of this: too tired to be tired: too broken to be beaten: too far gone to let go.

Clenching her fists, Sapphire began to generate two spheres of dark and unstable energy. "The last Ghost who fucked with me I killed."

Brellia tried to match her aggression, but crumpled before any flame could catch.

"Your friend is Cursed."

The nervous spheres of burgeoning oblivion dwindled. Sapphire wanted to hold her battle stance but she let her instinct pull her to Brellia. Embracing the dragon, one hand brushing against blackened ooze, her eyes locked with the pain it caused.

"You said that already!"

Even whilst broken, Brellia tried to draw her wing around Sapphire. "Who are you?" the dragon strained.

The nightmarish maelstrom settled to a smaller, stable swirl of emerald, amethyst and obsidian. The angular creature with diamond eyes shifted behind it, straightening its tie with a violet claw. All became a strange and awkward quiet. Sapphire wanted to laugh.

"I am Colonel Inspector Soumaoro Kante, and your friend is cu-"

"Is cursed! Yes I-"

"No, you do not understand." The nightmare and the manakin somehow exchanged a look. "It is our duty to locate those who have been inflicted with and destroyed by The Curse. Two days ago we found you. Two days ago we reported you were dead; your corpses had been torn to pieces by local scavengers."

Sapphire shot a glance at Brellia, but the mighty beast could no longer open her eyes. She was on her own.

Suddenly she missed Drex, which she hated. He'll flip when he hears this, she thought, hating less. He'd know what to do, she followed, hating more.

"Why would you report our deaths?"

"Your friend is cursed."

"I swear, if you say that one more-"

"They should not be cursed. None of this should have happened. The Ghosts should not be here."

Sapphire cocked an eyebrow and gripped Brellia tighter. "Should not be here?"

"You are lucky. We were not the only unit sent to locate you."

"And you reported we're dead?"

"We did."

"Why?"

The whirlpool hesitated. "Because your friend is-"

"Cursed." Stroking the ridge of Brellia's wing, Sapphire felt her ragged breath. "You're not doing a good job of explaining yourself."

"This is why I asked if you knew The Curse. It is not a thing used with careless abandon. It is not for trespassers, not for thieves, not for troublesome journalists."

"Then who is it for?"

"Those The Ghosts deem a threat."

"And we're a threat?"

"You saw something you were not supposed to see."

"And what was that?"

The nightmare winced, "I was hoping you could answer that."

Sapphire turned to Brellia; the dragon was in agony, struggling to stay conscious. Desperately, Sapphire longed for her to lend some wisdom, or strength, or anything, but her lesions were growing and her breathing was slowing - Brellia had no wisdom left. "Then… If… So…" Sapphire mumbled, "What is The Curse?"

The purple creature in the suit shifted nervously, taking a few steps forward, glancing at Kante and then stopping. The spectral maelstrom shrunk somewhat, slowly growing dimmer. "Do you believe in the Gods, Sapphire?"

Sapphire felt an old knot reform in her stomach. "I don't know."

"No one does. But I know one thing, I know The Curse."

"You're not making any sense!"

"It does not make sense. It cannot be resisted. It cannot be cured. It inflicts all the same. Except for humans. Humans cannot are immune. Only Pokemon can suffer The Curse... and only we Ghosts are born with the power."

Sapphire stepped forward, all her muscles ridgid, her heart nearly bursting. She could take little more of this. "What the fuck are you trying to tell me?"

"There is something rotten in this world, and we have only made it worse. The Curse is not a gift or skill, it is not a developed method of self defence, it is a punishment - a punishment laid upon us all. There are secrets Sapphire, there are scraps and hidden pieces, that tell a wretched story. And that your friend was Cursed, for this, for nothing, for being near Drex Dreagle-"

"Actually it was me who put the pieces together and staked out the bank and worked out that you are paying Hank to pay yourselves to kill his-"

"Hank does not pay The Ghosts for their services."

The purple creature rubbed its brow with an anxious hand. Sapphire furrowed hers.

"But this is-"

"So then the money… Its being kept? No. It's being used for bribes. To keep the murders quiet." She looked over at Brellia, secretly wishing it was Drex stood next to her. The dragon had fallen unconscious, but she was still breathing. "You're funnelling money…" Then it snapped together. Her eyes swung away from Brellia and locked onto the nightmare. "You're creating a scandal. If the story breaks… it will look like top military brass and Cerulean City officials are in the pocket of corporate interests… which they technically are, but the money is coming from Special Operations… But why are you… Unless you're trying to get a bunch of people fired so that you can replace them with your own-"

"This is not what we must speak of."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd rather speak of your quasi-mystical nonsense. But this is the truth, isn't it? And-" Brellia began to cough, black bile sputtering between her lips. Sapphire rushed to her head, unable to help. The dragon struggled to roll onto her side, shaking sporadically and breathing haggard breaths.

"Your-"

"My friend is cursed…" she winced, holding back a handful of tears and a thousand thoughts.

"Sapphire, I come to you and to your friend to share a close kept truth, before there are none left willing to share it. I told you The Curse is not used lightly. That you saw something The Ghosts did not want you to see."

Brellia groaned, it almost sounded like she said don't.

"So what did I see? The Technical Machine?"

"How did you meet your friend?"

Brellia groaned a second time, making the same sound.

"She was at the warehouse… I… I thought you had some close kept truth to share."

The ghostly maelstrom spread once more, glowing brighter and turning faster. The face within it carved deep, quivering shadows splitting a smile. "I do. But first I must know. How did you and this Charizard meet?"

Sapphire couldn't help but hesitate, her words got caught in her throat, she nearly stumbled. Brellia fell into a coughing fit, her wings twitching as it subsided. This time it did not sound like she had tried to say anything.

"I don't… Why are you asking this?"

The purple creature fidgeted, looking back and forth between Sapphire and Kante. The nightmare flared, spitting emerald sparks. "I hold something desperate and terrible, something you must know. Once known Sapphire, it will change everything. It will give you the power to save us all. I cannot save us all. But you can."

Sapphire squinted against the blaze of Kante's maelstrom; it was not heat she felt surging from it, but not cold either - light and something strange, an ache, a drunkenness, a quiet deconstruction. "But first you need to know where I met… What happened to The Curse? You said you reported us dead. You let slip about Hank. You're-" The rage of Kante's wretched whirlpool swarmed around her, beaming sickly emerald light. Sapphire dug her heels in, gripping one hand to Brellia's scales. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

"I want you to know The Curse, Sapphire, to comprehend the gravity of your situation. I want you to tell me where you met this Charizard. I want you to trust that I have come here to help you."

"I do not feel…" cried Sapphire, Kante's presence beating her down. "I do not feel very helped, at this current moment."

"You will Sapphire, you will when you understand. All you need to do is tell me who else was present when you met this Charizard. Who else was present?"

Sapphire felt her strength slipping. She tried to conjure a shadow-ball in retaliation, but straining herself, she fell to the ground. Tears welled in her eyes. Her chest tightened. All thoughts of the future fled her mind. "There was a guy, a guy with a red cap."

"A red cap?"

The purple imp pulled a notepad from its jacket. "Gnarl Corn Co. Red caps are part of the uniform. Close by. Could have escaped in the reclamation."

Sapphire gritted her teeth, pulling herself off the ground, even though her body felt like it was made of lead. "All of this," she growled, "All of this was just an interrogation?" She stumbled, trying to move forward but falling back into the dirt. "And all of that shit, about The Curse, was what? Just preamble? Good salesmanship? What gets you off?"

Brellia groaned behind her, the dragon's pained breath quickly clogging with wet chokes. Sapphire tried to turn around but Kante had her under his power. The forest had become a nightmare, the nightmare had become a tomb.

"Why do you care who was with-"

"I care because it was not just preamble, not salesmanship, or what as you so gracefully put as 'gets me off.' I care because there is something rotten at the core of this world. I care because The Curse, if you knew it, would prove to you that there are some who belong here and some who do not. And their existence… the rotten ones, the mistakes, the wounds… their existence has forced the Gods, forced them to punish us with such a curse. And you, Sapphire, and your friend, you do not deserve to die. Not even for your spying and scheming. There is nothing you or Drex Dreagle could do to harm The Ghosts, or disturb the natural order. But you… you and your friend, you know, you have seen him, you are the one road we must take, and we will take it with as heavy boots as needed… to find him."

Sapphire could hear Brellia choking behind her, it was soft and desperate against Kante's storm. She began to cough herself, spitting up blood. "I have no fucking idea what you're talking about, you glowing green fuck."

The coursing nightmare flinched. It was not much, but enough to give Sapphire some satisfaction. She rattled him, the glowing green fuck.

"Do you know the one thing worse than being dead? It is being reported as dead. Because-" CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

Three flashes of light and three air splitting shocks invaded and conquered the clearing.

The purple creature's head split open - pale slime spraying from its ruptured flesh. A second hole burst open at the centre of its chest, and its right leg came apart at the knee, milky blood showering the ground.

"Seems to me that death is worse," spoke a deep and slurring voice.

Before Kante could react a beam of neon pink and purest white descended from the sky, cutting the maelstrom in two. Kante struggled to maintain his form, screaming with garbled horror, but a second and then third beam fell into him. Wailing with craven rage, a fourth and final beam smashed into the stone that lay inside the briefcase. The stone erupted and Kante vanished.

Sapphire felt her strength slowly returning. She turned her head and saw an old man in a dirty coat holding a gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Before she could speak, her eyes saw something else; slowly descending from the upper limits of the night's darkness was a creature, an angular and strange creature, with yellow and brown flesh, large pointed ears, glowing eyes, and two spoons clutched in two three-fingered hands.

Sapphire felt sick with shock and awe. She knew what this was, who this was, who it had to be - even though it couldn't be. But it was. It was an Alakazam. It was the last Alakazam. Al. It was Al.

"Brellia!" The Alakazam's eyes stopped glowing, it dropped to the ground, and rushed to the charizard. "Brellia! What have they…"

"She's cursed," spat the old man, who took a long swig from his bottle and wandered over to the purple corpse.

Sapphire pulled herself up and stumbled over. "She is cursed. But she said she was waiting, that if we waited, someone… You're someone… You're the someone she…" Sapphire found herself light headed, nauseous, and mildly star struck. She could do nothing to help, she couldn't even support. But she could not watch as Brellia died. And she could not leave her alone. Brellia had not left Sapphire alone.

Al had his hands on Brellia's cheeks. He shook her, then he shouted. "Brellia, look at me! Brellia, open your eyes! Look at me!You need to sit up Brellia, there is liquid in your-" The dragon coughed as Al tried to sit her up, black ooze staining both herself and him. "Brellia, have you been cursed?" The Alakazam turned to look at Sapphire, "Are you sure she has been cursed?!"

Sapphire choked on her words. "Yes. Well, that's what Kante said."

"Kante?"

"The Spiritomb," growled the old man. "Was this fucking Soumaoro Kante?" He kicked at the briefcase and the shattered stone within. "You know he was involved in the Goldenrod massacre-"

"Not now, Oak!" snapped the Alakazam. "This Kante, the Spiritomb, he told you Brellia is cursed?"

Alakazam continued to force Brellia into a sitting position and the dragon continued to cough.

"He did."

"You can't cure The Curse," Oak sputtered. "Even you can't cure The Curse."

One of Alkazam's eyes began to glow and he turned, with what felt like an intention to attack. But Alkazam turned back to his dying friend, and back to Sapphire - who was watching her die.

"Do you have any medicine?" asked Alakazam.

"What? I…" Sapphire froze.

"Well, do you?"

"You're the… the Alakazam, can't you…"

"I am not all powerful!"

"Al…" Brellia spoke through deep congested wheezes and cracked strain. She had opened one eye, and had turned it on Al. "Look at me…"

"Brellia, you need to-"

"No, you need… You need to listen."

Alakazam drew closer, his eyes desperate.

"It's over, Al. I'm done."

"Brellia-"

"I'm done. Keep your promise."

Alakazam held his hands to Brellia's cheeks. "And you keep your eyes open. We will find-"

"Keep your… promise."

And without a sound, she left.

Sapphire felt it. A quick and careless emptiness. A strange kind of silence.

But she saw it too. She saw Brellia go limp in Alakazam's hands. She saw the dragon's chest go still. She saw the flame at the end of her tale go out.

Alakazam stepped away from the body, wiping a tear from his eye. He raised a hand and Brellia's corpse began to rise from the ground.

"What are you doing?" asked Oak.

"Keeping my promise." Higher and higher, Alakazam lifted Brellia, sending her into the sky. "Do not let them find me dead. Turn me to dust and give me to the wind. Make starlight of my flesh. Fling me into the void. But do not let them find me dead. Let them fear every overcast sky, every warm breeze, every distant shadow. Let them think Brellia still flies. And that she remembers all the sins they wish they could forget."

Alakazam aimed a spoon at the high distance and released a blast of devastating energy.

Somewhere far above, a dragon became myth.

Sapphire felt a tear falling. "When did she make you promise that?"

"The day she saved my life." Al looked to the ground and sighed. Then turning his eyes on Sapphire, said, "I would not be the last Alakazam, if it were not for Brellia. And now she would be alive if it were not for me."

Sapphire swallowed. "You don't-"

"It matters not. Come, we have other friends to find, and other promises to keep."

 

[Prof. Gingko]

Chapter Seventeen: Government

Sage stuck to them. Terrified, hanging by a thread, and doing his best to hide it all, Sage stuck them - and to his story. The Secret Service… it was the first string of words that had come out of his mouth, and somehow it had worked. The Pokemon had taken him seriously… and really… he could barely…

The Meowth asked him something.

"Yes."

That seemed to work.

He could not go back. Sage had cracked some kind of psychic stone inside himself, and its power would not relent. It had given him the strength to subdue that Pikachu, perhaps it had helped him lie his way here… and now…

"So what do you think we should-" said the Meoth…

Now… Sage started to see something else

Through a grey maze of cubicles, furious typing and tired Pokemon, Cecille followed his new manager, ironically named Grendal Loss. His tie felt too tight, but he feared fixing it would make it look too loose. He couldn't hear Grendal's words over the sound of his own heartbeat.

The offices of The Ministry of Finance were not what he had expected. From the outside… the building was so grand… even amongst the rest of Celadon City, The Ministry of Finance, with its fresh white stone, high columns and colossal towers, stood out. Cecille remembered his mother reading to him that it had been built… and now he was inside it. And inside it was depressing.

Past the open and opulent entrance hall - complete with twelve foot tall portrait of The High Chancellor - it was all offices, drab cubicles and weary workers.

"Sound good to you, Cecille? I try to make sure all my Officers are taken care of, and not to mention, to have a Doctor-" Grendal Loss cocked an eye. "Cecille?"

Cecille Freys shook off his malaise and tried to concentrate. HIs new boss, Grendal Loss, was a Lickitung, a huge pink nightmare nearly bursting out of its suit. When he spoke, his massive, wet lips smacked together, and his serpentine tongue weaved unsettlingly. Still, his eyes were kind, his tone was earnest, he seemed to be a good person. Then again, good people didn't last long in this world. Cecille new that, green as he was.

"Sorry. Yes. Sorry, I'm just a little in awe at being here. But yes, that sounds good. And please, degrees aren't everything," he said, knowing full well his family had bought it.

"Still," replied Grendal, slapping his side as he stood, stopped in the middle of the relentlessly labouring office. "Fuschia University, our nation's first University, impressive stuff. And you were there for how long?"

Cecille gave as honest a chuckle as he could. "Two years, thereabouts."

Grendal shook his head, saliva spraying, and clasped Cecille by the shoulder. "Two years, and you finished your doctorate in two years. Good thing we didn't interview you, would have been a waste of time. Minister Harp said 'Find the kid a job' and I've never been wrong to trust him. No sir."

As Grendal turned back around and continued to walk, Cecille loosened his tie. He couldn't work out if the Lickitung was being sincere or not.

"So here's your desk," said Grendal, stopping again and pointing to an empty cubicle. "Your first workload is there, the pile of files, double check the math - you'll mostly be double checking math for now. Let me know if you have any questions." All but shoving Cecille into the cubicle, Grendal gave a wet, trembling laugh. "Not the most exciting work, but we all have to start somewhere. Still, lots of room for progression at the MOF… if you do your math right."

The Lickitung strode away, his form falling heavy against the ground. Cecille sighed, taking the first file from the stack and starting to do the math.

"Hello? Are you listening?"

Sage returned to the present, finding Cecille staring at him.

"Sorry. Yes. Sorry, I'm just a little-"

"A little what?" spat the Meowth.

"A little dangerous and prone to violent displays of psychic power," croaked Taylor Tales, who had still not fully recovered.

Cleo gave a small stifled laugh.

Cecille was unimpressed… but Cecille was no longer what drew Sage's thoughts.

On one side of a huge ebony table, Taylor sat, trying not to let the knot in his stomach grow any larger. On the other side, flicking through his file, was Vivian Jeopardy. Her blonde hair fell in perfect curves, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the window. Her cold, pointed eyes juxtaposed her fat wrinkled lips, two beads of blue and two slugs of red. Her careful hands floated over the document, its pages turning without touch, frosting as they did.

The Jynx looked at him. "You're native to Kanto Province?"

"I am," replied Taylor trying to not shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"You were here when the war started?"

"I was just a kid, but-."

"In Pallet Town?"

"Yes, I was born in Pallet Town."

"And your father…"

Taylor let a small cough loose. "He was a traitor."

Vivian raised an immaculate eyebrow. "You think so?"

Shifting comfortably, Taylor nodded. "I know so."

Vivian smiled. "So then, why do you want to work for The Federal Advertising Commission?"

Taylor exhaled as his brain prepared his mouth for the big number. "I'm a young man trying to redeem the crimes of his father by working for the government that father fought against, and do some good instead."

Vivian put the file down and laced her fingers. "Is that true?"

Taylor Tales smiled in a way he had never done before,hoping it would not be the last time.. "Doesn't matter if it's true, it's a good story."

Vivian returned that smile, obviously practised in it. "And the truth?"

"You're not paying me for the truth."

She leant back in her chair."I'm not paying you at all."

Taylor stumbled, his voice caught in his throat.

Vivian chuckled. "The government pays you." She grinned and stood, walking over to a cabinet and pouring two glasses of whiskey. She handed one to Taylor. "Still… there's two kinds of people who apply to work here: those who think it'll be a fun escape from the real world, and those who know 'the real world' doesn't exist." She gestured for Taylor to drink before taking a swig from her own glass. "We can never have enough of the second kind."

Taylor smiled, stalled, shifted, took a sip. "So I have the job-"

"You have job. Now go change some minds before I change mine."

"Cleo, you know it isn't helpful when you-"

"And it isn't helpful when you to saddle us with deadly human baggage, Freys." The Growlithe shook her head, the ruby around her neck glinting as she huffed in frustration. "We have been wandering around, trying to come up with a plan for over 48 hours, and this motherfucker here has been stalling and bullshitting the whole way. I know none of you agree with me, and fine, but I don't know what else-"

Sage was watching her as she shouted, and then he was watching her somewhere else…

General Braze, mighty, feared and beloved, war hero, state icon, and father, walked beside her. He was at least four times her size, a proud mass of canine muscle, orange fur and white mane. He was the most respected Arcanine in the military, General Clairmont Braze, her dad.

"This path is what you make of it, you understand that, don't you Cleo?"

"Yes sir."

"I know I've said it before, but I won't be disappointed if you don't join the Federal Army."

Cleo tensed, not looking up at him. "An officer should never have to repeat themselves, sir."

Her father chuckled, "You will make a fine soldier. And they will give you access to your stone soon enough, I'm sure. But-" her father stalled.

Cleo looked up, thrown off. "But?"

General Braze swallowed and then leant in close. "It's over for us, Cleo. There's no real fighting left."

Cleo wrinkled her brow, "The outer territories…there's still-"

Claremont leant even closer. "For us. Us." Giving a sigh he tried to temper his intensity. "They will… I will… You won't be sent to fight and possibly die at the edges of the empire. It won't be allowed."

In shock and desperately trying to reject what she heard, Cleo pushed closer to her father. "You have always said fighting in the war is your proudest achievement."

"You are my proudest achievement."

Cleo scoffed. "Put that in one of your speeches. Why are you saying this now? This is bullshit-"

"Cleo!"

"Sorry sir."

"You may want to fight, and I might even let you. But they won't."

Cleo felt her frustration going. "Why?"

"Because you are my daughter, and if you die… then…"

"Then?"

"Then they have nothing to hold over me."

A chill worked its way along her spine. "But you're… I don't understand."

General Clairmont Braze composed himself. "This path is what you make of it, Cleo. Either you make peace with it, or it destroys you. The Federal Army works for The State, and The State maintains control… by any means necessary."

Cleo felt her stomach turn to stone. "You're saying-"

"I didn't say anything." Her father turned away from her.

Watching as her father walked away, she could only splutter "What?"

"This conversation never happened."

"But-"

Snapping his head to face her, General Braze growled only a little quieter than he glared. "What was that, young lady?"

Cleo swallowed. "Nothing, sir."

Her father nodded. "A fine soldier indeed."

The vibration of the spores brought Sage back to the present. "This gets us nowhere," they said. "We recommend we make a decision and follow it fast. Otherwise Lamia will leave."

Taylor laughed his way into a coughing fit. "I called it! I called it like a year ago that she would betray us. Freys, didn't I call it?"

"Shut up, Taylor!" shouted Cecille. "Lamia, if decisiveness is what you want, why don't you choose?"

The spores did not hesitate. "We walk."

Cleo scoffed, "We walk? We cannot walk to Johto."

"We can," replied Lamia, as Sage's mind once more fell to alien memories.

Stood in that damp field, Lamia struggled to believe what she was hearing. "We have been unable to maintain employment in the past. Lamia is seen as unpleasant."

Thin but constant rain fell, filling the air like disparate fog. A tall wooden figure stood opposite her, its bright yellow eyes piercing the haze. It wore a black jacket, a thick mane of white plume covering its face and falling behind it. Its thin branch-formed arms ended in hands made from long emerald leaves. Lamia had not seen this Pokemon before.

"Do not worry," it said, its leaf fingers twitching in the breeze. "The Minister is looking for a certain kind. A kind that others tend not to appreciate. Tend to find unpleasant."

The spores struggling against the damp, felt unsafe. "The Ministry of Social Order approaches Lamia… Why?"

The Pokemon smiled somewhere under that forest of white strands. "There is a new Minister. The function of the Ministry is going to expand. But the Minister needs support. A grassroots kind of support."

A long awkward silence hung in the saturated air.

Eventually the spores, mostly soaking on the ground, responded. "This is a pun? Grass-roots. But why does the Minister-"

"They're one of us. They think we should stick together. They realise how much we have to offer. Don't you?"

The spores struggled against the damp as Lamia crawled forward. "We have a lot to offer."

The figure nodded, "We know. What grows knows, ey?" laughing, the individual came close to her. "There aren't many of you left, are there?"

Lamia tensed as the spores tried to return… most of them were drowning. "Is this sympathy?"

"No," replied the figure. "It's appreciation. Appreciation that almost came too late. The Minister insisted I find a Parasect."

The spores pushed against the rain like breath underwater. "So it could have been anyone?"

"But it was you." The figure chuckled. "Well, it could be you. If you'd like it to be. Would you like it to be?"

"Work for the Ministry of Social Order? What would Lamia be doing?"

"Well… The Minister likes to say - Someone must keep the unaccountable accountable."

The spores twitched. "In the name of social order?"

"In the name of society itself."

"Ask the Toxic!" shouted Cleo. "Ask it."

The spores shuddered in the air, "We do not see how this-"

"You not seeing is why you should ask-" Cleo growled. "Cecille, ask it."

Cecille hesitated.

The Growlithe snapped."Noxos, are they lying?"

A liquid murmur bubbled in the dark. After a few moments, the thick slime of Noxos began to spill from the distance. "My opinion… It matters not what my opinion… I…"

"Answer the question, Noxos!" shouted Cleo.

The Muk, horrifying and desperate, crawled towards Cecille. Sage felt it crawl into his mind.

With a blinding flash, Noxos was poured out of containment, and felt the wet dirt meet it. "Muk 16, confirm your presence!"

Slowly gripping the world with each sense, Noxos realised it was time for another mission, and it relished this. Finally it was free again. "I am present, General."

"The Clefairy are attempting to flee into the nearby forests and mountains. You will neautralise as many as you can. Unfderstood?"

Noxos shifted in excitement and attempted understanding. "Clefairy?"

General Braze flung a dismembered pink arm towards Noxos.

The Muk took in the scent. "I have-"

"Make sure," barked General Braze.

Noxos poured itself over the severed limb, eroding and digesting it - fur, flesh and bone. "I am sure," gurgled Noxos, toxic fumes rising from the act of its consumption.

"Good. Then go!"

Noxos rushed like laden river water. Deep into the forest, it forced its noxious bile, leaving only burn and bitterness in its wake. It could smell them, the Clefairy, running, hiding, trying to fight. And each was nothing more than a violent checkpoint.

Noxos surged and enveloped each one - heard them scream, felt them struggle, smelt as their being dissolved. Pink fur and red flesh sloughed away within black and purple sludge, scattered bone left stained and steaming.

But as they got to the mountain pass, Noxos felt something... something in the stone… someone, up there, in there, somehow warning Noxos to stay away.

So Muk 16 dove into the mountain, corroding rock and squeezing through crevasses, seeking to humble that power. Past shadow and stone, Noxos - Muk 16 grew close… It could smell them. A few more feet and-

Sage screamed.

All the Pokemon turned and stared, varied mix of shock, concern and suspicion.

Cecille spoke first, "Agent?"

Sage tried his best to clear his mind of all the images and voices. "I just-"

Cleo stepped forward, baring her teeth, "You just?"

"The Clefairy-" Sage spluttered, light headed, dazed and not entirely sure what he was saying. "They died here."

Noxos drew within itself. Cleo took another step towards him. The others watched silently.

"But they're not all dead," continued Sage. "They're hiding."

At this, Cleo finally stepped back.

Sage would have felt relieved but could barely keep himself from falling back in a pained haze. His mind was strained and still spinning. But he couldn't… he had to keep it together. He couldn't fall back into a memory that wasn't his, or a dream that was.

"The Clefairy?" asked Cecille, audibly confused. "The military eradicated the-"

"They didn't," interrupted Cleo. "Some got away."

Taylor chuckled, "I do love our talks."

Cecille bared his claws. "Shut up, Taylor! Lamia, what do you know about-"

The spores fidgeted, unsettling the air, seeming to think. "The Ministry of Social Order was not aware of-"

"Bullshit!" snapped Cecille. "If the military-"

"Not the military," murmured Cleo. "Just my dad. And me." Slowly the Growlithe shifted her gaze to Noxos. "And that."

"Really, love these talks," piped Taylor.

Cecille shot the Pikachu a glare before speaking. "So… So what, he read your minds. Everyone calm down. At least he isn't throwing anyone around."

Cleo trained her gaze, configuring. "No… He's suggesting something."

Sage, barely holding onto consciousness, felt the chains of his terminal anxiety loosen. He did his best to nod at Cleo, implying she was right - hoping she had leapt to a conclusion that had changed her mind.

"Suggesting what?" asked Cecille.

Cleo looked at him, "The Metronome."

Sage, trying his best not to breathe too heavily, nodded a second time.

Cecille turned away from Cleo and stepped towards the young man. "So, what? We find this secret Clefairy hideout and force them to use The Metronome…"

Reality was finally beginning to resolidify for Sage, and he found himself in a place he wasn't sure how he had got to or how he could leave. Staring down at the unconvinced and dangerous Meowth walking towards him, Sage fixated on the golden coin fixed to their forehead, and spoke. "We pay them."

Cecille drew back, confused. "We pay them- They're in hiding. Apparently. What use would they have for-"

"The stones," said Cleo. "The Federal Mineral Reserve is in Pewter City."

Sage nodded a third time. Instantly feeling as if it was too much, and trying not to panic.

Cecille, flustering in half cooked rage, began walking in circles. "You're saying he's saying we rob The Federal Mineral Reserve, seek out the hidden surviving Clefairies, and offer them Moonstones in exchange for use of The Metronome to get us to Johto and- You're insane. He's insane. You are both insane."

Now Cleo nodded. "He is insane. You're right. We can't trust him."

Sage's heart skipped a beat as he desperately searched for what to say. This was it. He was going to die. The silence and tension fell upon his soul and began to strangle it. Then the spores spoke.

"She has been manipulating you, Cecille. Her primary goal remains to neutralise the human."

Cleo rolled her eyes. "Oh shut the fuck up Lamia."

"Really, really love these talks," added Taylor.

Cecille cried out. "I do not understand how-"

Cleo growled, "I don't understand either. But I know for certain that this human has to go. Before we do anything. We have to kill him."

Sage was about to turn and run; his gambit had failed. But before he could, Noxos said something that caused them all to pause.

"The Clefairy are coming."

Cecille stared blankly, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

"I can smell… I have smelt them before. I have felt this before… The Clefairy are coming."

Cleo rolled her eyes. "The Toxic is being delusional.

And then, with a Tick-Tock and flash of light, they found the Toxic was not being delusional.