Disclaimer & Discussion: I don't own Pokémon blah blah. I said this in the first story of the series. Speaking of which, this story is part of my "A New Type of Trainer" series, and takes place after my first entry "The Tragic Youth Where It All Began." This story could technically be enjoyed without reading that one, but if you want the full story you should read that one first.
Some additional warning, this story will feature more violence than the previous entry, as well as some fantasy drug use (that is to say, the use of drugs that do not really exist). There will also be much more dialog, and not all of it will be friendly, and some sexual innuendo/events could turn up (nothing explicit though, this will not be a lemon). For that reason I've decided to upgrade the rating from T to M just to be safe.
A New Type of Trainer:
The Devil's Bounty
Chapter One: A New Lead
It was a windy evening, with a gorgeous sunset painting the foothills of Mt. Coronet where I stood on a small stone outcropping. I had positioned myself there for the view of the area, there is no shortage of potentially dangerous Pokémon in those mountains. As a side effect, my long black coat billowed beautifully in the stiff wind, which I appreciated even if no one was around to observe. In my line of work it pays to look ominous. The scowl on my face probably bumped me up from "ominous" to "malevolent," however. I'd been there for over an hour, waiting for a contact.
Spitpyre, my loyal Blaziken, seemed to share my impatience. He was out of his Pokéball, standing at my back to watch the rocky slopes so we'd see trouble coming from any direction. I could feel warmth radiating from his direction, frustration has a tendency to make him flare up. A quiet croak let me know he'd rather be kicking another Absol in the face than standing around doing nothing.
"Don't take it too hard big guy," I said over my shoulder. "You remember, he does this every time. Grumbling about it won't make him show up any faster." The kickboxing chicken didn't sound particularly comforted by the reminder, but he silenced himself and returned to warily scanning the hills around us. We'd already had to smash through a small flock of Golbat while passing through a cavern, two Gravellers, and one extremely ornery Medicham in order to reach the area specified for the meeting.
I was halfway through a scan of the area to my left when I noticed a large round rock that hadn't been there during my last sweep just moments prior. I tensed, nudging my Pokémon with an elbow to get his attention. Spitpyre has been leading my team in battle for years, it took him only a moment to figure out what had changed by following the direction of my gaze. I held him back from attacking, while the newly appeared stone could be a sneaky Geodude, it hadn't attacked yet. And my contact had some rather odd habits.
"Greetings, Devil!" called an exuberant voice, full of enthusiasm even pitched as it was in a stage whisper that wouldn't carry much past Spitpyre and myself. The Blaziken relaxed, knowing there was no threat the moment that oddly enthusiastic voice spoke. How strange this might have looked had anyone been there to see it, a talking rock is not something you see often. We ambled over to the rock, all appearances making it seem that we were in no hurry despite our recent frustration.
"Looker, you need a new hobby," I said with a chuckle. Mock him as I did, the guy is good, even up close the stone appeared no different from the dozens of others nearby. "It seems a bit extreme to call a meeting way out here, where there are no observers, and then come in a disguise like that to boot."
"No such thing as too much precaution," he said from inside the shell that comprised his costume. "You know the agency doesn't like us being seen talking to you," he chided me gently. I don't mind their desire to distance themselves from me much, I'm just shy of being a criminal myself at times. Hell, I was a vigilante, technically, before I started collecting bounties on wanted criminals. The police have no desire to get just anyone started on bounty hunting, nor do they like to appear incapable to the public. That's where Looker came into the picture, the International Police assigned him the task of dealing with me, a go-between of sorts for when they had a job that suited my talents.
"You might be right, but really this still seems like overkill. But hey, you know my opinion on overkill," I replied to his teasing tone, patting the hilt of my sword for emphasis. Though I wasn't sure he could see me in that disguise. "There's no such thing," we said together, and then shared a laugh, Spitpyre joining in with the crowing squawk that serves as laughter in his species. "Besides, if you really wanted to make sure no one figured out you were meeting me for business you'd stop calling meetings here," I said, indicating the area. Looker was involved fairly heavily in the fight against Team Galactic back in their day, even personally arresting their second leader Charon when the old man tried to reorganize the group as gangsters rather than cultists. Possibly as a result of his presence when Ex-Sinnoh Champ Lucas took on Team Galactic at the Spear Pillar atop the peaks, he's very fond of Mt. Coronet. He's got some quirks for sure, but that makes him amusing. He and his Croagunk are not half bad in a fight either, though like many police officers he's just too soft on his foes to be really dangerous.
"True enough, I suppose I really should switch up the location a bit more often," he replied, sounding thoughtful. The man takes the weirdest things seriously, and defines serious very differently than I. Hell, he once met me at the Pokémon Daycare over in Solaceon while disguised as a Nidoking. The man can take anything seriously in the goofiest ways.
"Well, what did you need to talk to me about that was too sensitive to discuss over the PokéGear?" I asked, indulging my remaining frustration a bit. "I'm on the job at the moment you know, that rich asshole from Sunnyshore is paying me to track down a Mareep that escaped from his daughter," I reminded him. "Probably would have turned him down, but the kid was heartbroken. Wasn't her fault, she was battling an Electibuzz outside of town and the damn thing stepped on her Pokéball just as it released her little pet. Electricity bypassed the insulation in the housing and fried the system, ball stopped registering the Pokémon. Thing panicked and ran for the hills, probably thought she'd released it on purpose."
"That's a sad tale," the rock replied. I'd done this song and dance with Looker before but let me tell you, it takes a lot to get used to conversing with all the nonsense he dresses up as. "I can see why you took that job, your heart is always in the right place where children are concerned," he mused, half to himself. A pang went through my heart, images of a burned, dying Treecko stabbing into my mind. Looker knows a little about my past, though I've kept it private from the rest of his agency. He should be honored to know that much, he doesn't even know my name, which he doesn't take personally. No one knows my real name. Besides, Looker is a codename too, I have no idea what his real name is either. "It's a difficult thing, tracking down one specific Pokemon that has been released, on purpose or otherwise. I hate to take any time away from your goal, but you'll want this bounty," he said, tone going serious now. The rock rolled backwards a bit, revealing a file folder Looker had somehow managed to deposit underneath it.
"Unless its someone particularly nasty, I think I'll pass," I began, reaching down to pluck up the manilla folder to at least humor him. "The guy I'm working for offered enough to pay the rent on my office for a full year, and I don't wanna let the kid…" I trailed off, spotting the name on printed on the folder. "Down," I managed to say in a near whisper as a dark fire, never really dead, sprang to full life again. Spitpyre heard the tone of my voice and croaked in response. He knows when I want something dead. Luckily, he's smart enough not to conclude I meant Looker.
The name on that folder? Arabella Ragno. I knew before I opened it that inside the file would be an image of an attractive redhead with a faded facial scar. The info listed with it would state the woman in that mugshot had a prior arrest in Kanto on charges of theft, assault, and attempted murder. Word had it she was also tied in some way to a protection racket in Celadon City at one time, as well as a prostitution ring. It would also note she escaped custody before trial with the assistance of fellow Team Rocket grunts, presumably ordered or at least approved by their boss. I knew the file would state that she had fled the country soon after for Johto, staying loyal to Team Rocket right up to the date they disbanded the second time. I'd cobbled together my own file on her since learning her name. "You found her? You have a location?" I asked, tearing the folder in my haste to get it open.
"Indeed, we have reliable intelligence from an informant who works at the new place I told you about in Jubilife. He claims that she has set up an operation somewhere in the Jubilife area, though he was unable to explain what the purpose of that operation is. I wanted to investigate directly, but my superiors stated that this might be out of my league," he said, grumbling a bit. While I agreed with them regarding Looker battling any of the trainers I remembered from my worst childhood trauma, I had to agree with him in that investigating quietly was well within his level of competence. They really should have let him at it, but I wasn't complaining. The intel might have been useful, but I'd have chafed waiting a second longer to start hunting her. "You know as well as I what her past suggests she might be up to. We want you to track her down and bring her in," he said, a subtle emphasis flavoring his speech that clearly said without additional words "Don't kill her."
I scoffed at that. Spitpyre went even further, letting out the same terrifying snarl he'd have used at the start of a fight. His toe-talons flexed menacingly, gouging deep furrows in the stone he stood on. Whether he had visual on us or not, Looker let out an audible gulp before I soothed the fighting bird down.
"So its not a dead or alive bounty then," I said, not dancing around the subject as he had. "You know I can't make any promises about that. If she puts up too much of a fight, she may not leave me much choice." I held up a hand and spoke further to forestall any reply, continuing with "But I'll try. I want information on her partners anyway, and she can't give me that if Spitpyre has cooked her up and fed her to Bruce." A grim smile flavored my words. I'd just told Looker I would try to let one of my hated enemies live, true. But I never once said I wouldn't have her maimed and crippled before I brought her in.
"Alright, you're hired then. Remember, you kill the suspect you blow your payday," Looker said, more sombre than I'd ever heard him in the past. He knew I didn't do this job for the money alone. "Get to work, PokéMercenary," he called to me as I recalled Spitpyre and sent out my Staraptor to take flight.
I walked into my office without bothering with the lights, though it was quite dark by the time I arrived. I don't keep much in there, just a desk with a PC, a couple of file cabinets, a coffee machine on a small corner table, a coat rack in the opposite corner nearest the door, and a couple of comfy chairs for clients. With so little filling the relatively spacious office it had been easy to get a feel for moving through it in dim light, and I didn't plan to be there long. A couple of steps in I snagged my travel pack from the coat rack. I keep a number of useful items in my coat at all times, but hunting down Arabella could take longer than its capacity could handle. I checked the bag's contents by touch as I crossed the room, making sure I had adequate healing items, antidotes and the like. Then I stepped up to the map that hangs beside my one window.
I was able to make out the map, if only just barely, by diffused light from the window. Jubilife City, home of the Pokétch Company, Jublife TV, and any number of less well known businesses lay to the southwest of my office in Eterna City. I knew where it was, of course, having been there many times since I moved to Sinnoh, but that wasn't why I stopped to look. I was studying the surrounding area, taking note of potential hideouts and residences I knew of nearby the city. Nothing really jumped out at me, but I made sure to scribble notations to check on a few locations using the Memo Pad app on my Pokétch. That about covered my needs, except informing my other client there might be further delays in completing his job. I decided that could wait, he knew finding his daughter's missing Pokémon would be a lengthy process already, and I'd ring him up on my PokéGear if need be. That left travel to Jubilife as my only concrete task, so I locked up on my way out, already palming Big Bird's Pokéball for use.
Travel by air is an odd experience, though I'd long since gotten used to it. At least Big bird was large enough to ride astride her, so long as I kept myself prone to cut wind resistance. I shudder for those poor people still flying with the assistance of smaller Flying-types, dangling from tiny talons. Even though they're plenty strong enough to pull it off, that always looked uncomfortable to me, especially those poor souls flying on a Natu. It was less pleasant than usual on this trip, the wind was still blowing strong as we took to the air. It sped the trip along a bit, since it was blowing from the direction of Mt. Coronet towards the western coast, but that had the side effect of causing my coat to constantly billow against my back. I was shivering within a few moments, but I ignored it and focused my mind on forming a plan of action.
This was hardly the first time I had been asked to track someone down. A decent chunk of my living comes from bounty hunting, with the occasional runaway teen or lost child for good measure. On the other hand, I'd been hunting the Ex-Rocket and her cohorts, with varying degrees of effort, since I was 17. I'd never had any success before, so despite finally having somewhere to pick up the trail I suspected strongly that I'd hit another dead end if I didn't work this case the smart way. As Big Bird started to descend, I thought I had a first step in mind.
I got an early start the next day. By the time we landed in the city's designated area (directly in front of the Pokémon Center as usual) it had been close to midnight. Not the worst time for finding people of a less than legal persuasion, but I'd also spent most of the previous day hiking through woodlands and rocky foothills, battling and searching. Their unique qualities make it possible to rejuvenate Pokémon almost instantly with the right technology, but sleep is the only thing that will do for a human.
Refreshed and alert, I left the hotel where I spent the night and started across town towards the location of Jubilife's newest attraction, a small gambling establishment. Game Corners, as such establishments are known, are a controversial business in any region, particularly since they often allow kids to come in and blow every penny they own as surely as they allow adults to do the same. They're normally limited to one successful location per region due to the difficulty of getting one off the ground, and its not unheard of for them to have criminal ties even after they reach a sustainable level of business. Kanto's Game Corner nearly went out of business after their status as a Team Rocket front came to light, and smart decisions by the new management had only barely saved it. Sinnoh already had a decently successful Corner in Veilstone City, so it seemed unlikely this smaller business would take off if history was to be believed. I didn't care much if they made it or not, I knew Looker's informant was there.
The place was, to be blunt, kind of a dump. It had been renovated from an old warehouse not far from from JTV's global uplink broadcast tower, and aside from some flashing lights on the sign out front it still looked like it should be full of crates and barrels rather than gaming opportunities. Two doors led inside, one to the prize exchange area, the other into the casino area proper. I took the door on the left inside, scanning the faces of everyone present. I'd have liked to have one of my Pokémon walking free with me in case of hostility, but sadly that tends to be frowned upon in this sort of place. Too many people try to cheat using their mons, and violence is easier to contain with the few extra moments it takes to throw a ball at your disposal. They probably wouldn't have liked my katana either, but I had it thrust nearly vertically through my obi, not so much as tenting my trenchcoat as I ambled in.
The interior still smelled like a warehouse, dusty and dank. The floors were bare wooden planks, faded and scuffed in many places. The ceiling was lower than I'd expected, oppressively so. It had the necessary showy lights and bells in place, but even they looked cheap and poorly maintained. This was not the sort of environment that made people want to stick around and gamble. Whoever owned this joint was sure to go out of business in a hurry.
Business was not booming, which would be no real surprise this early in the day even in a fancier establishment. A bored money changer sat behind a wire cage, waiting to turn money into gaming coins. A security guard in a dingy uniform sat on a stool at the rear of the room. Only two customers were in evidence, both blue-haired old women playing the slots. I spotted the man I had come in to see after some searching, presiding over a roulette table. He was short, with a tangled gray beard and a few missing teeth, wearing an ugly floral shirt and drab slacks. He was not pleasant to look at, but I wasn't in this place to enjoy myself.
"Marty?" I asked quietly as I loomed up over him. He'd been idly spinning the wheel to amuse himself, when he saw me coming he dropped the ball onto it. It didn't land right, the wheel sent it spinning off to clack off of the nearby wall. The security man was eyeing me suddenly, but I ignored him. "We need to talk."
"Who're you?" he asked, voice slurred. His breath carried the rancid stench of Gloom pollen, which is often used in battle to perform Poison Powder due to its toxic qualities, mixed with the slightly less rotten scent of Gloom nectar. I sneered with distaste, I knew of only one reason why someone would purposely ingest even heavily diluted Gloom secretions. Several Grass and Poison-type Pokémon (as well as a few Bug-types) secrete toxins that can, in the proper amounts, have any number of effects. They can be hallucinogenic, narcotic, they can act as stimulants or depressants. They can get you high as a soaring Pidgeot, is what I'm saying. The effect can be amplified by having the spores and seeds bombarded by a Psychic-type using Psybeam, infusing the product with the trippy confusion that that technique causes. A mix of Sleep, Stun, and Poison Powders that has been through this treatment while in a liquid base is the most popular, called Nectarz on the streets. It's illegal as all hell to make, use, or sell these products of course, but also highly difficult to police. The government refuses to ban trainers from owning the types associated with this drug manufacture, and rightly so, but as long as they are allowed there is really no way to stop the abuse of their abilities. That alone was enough to disgust me, but Marty took it a step further. Most people prefer Pokémon like Parasect or Carnivine, which are both potent and sweet smelling. Exeggutor is a favorite in that trade due to its dual types, it can use Psywave to amplify its own spores and seeds for the best effect. No one would use Gloom, unless they were desperate or masochistic. Or both. But it did lend credence to his intel, in a way. A man into "herbalism" of this sort would be in a position to learn something about local crime.
"They call me Devil," I said, passing one of my business cards across to him. "I hear from Looker you know something about Arabella Ragno," I said, voice dropping to a whisper too quiet to carry over the clacking of slot machines behind me. "I want to make sure you told him everything, he's awfully trusting sometimes for a secret agent."
"Wha…? Devlin? I dunno no Devlin, place a bet or get out," was his reply. Fucker was too stoned to understand me, even my name. That annoyed me. I reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, meaning to give him a shake for good measure, but found myself preempted. The security guard dropped his own greasy hand onto my shoulder and gave me a shake before I could lay a finger on Marty, trying to force me to turn around. I considered resisting on principle, but he wasn't likely to give up.
"I'm trying to have a conversation here, do you mind?" I asked in a low snarl. I was frustrated, years of searching with no progress and now this just as I was getting somewhere. Always with the delays.
"You don't converse with the employees with your hands, sir," the guard said, somehow removing from his voice any of the respect the word sir would normally carry. "And you haven't bothered to stop by the coin exchange yet, which means you ain't gambling. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave," he continued, and I noticed that when he wasn't slumping in a chair he was actually a pretty big guy, roughly my height and stout with it, if also a little doughy around the middle. He also had on a thick leather belt with three clips for Pokéballs on his right hip, and he had his hand on that hip. The message was clear, he didn't have a ball in his hand but he could get one in a hurry if he needed it.
"I'm only going to say this once," I growled. "Take your hand off me and walk. I'm in no mood for this, you pick a fight with me and I won't go easy." I eased my left hand down to grip the lapel of my coat, steadying it so I could snag one of my own Pokéballs in a hurry if need be. That was when the beefy guard decided to sucker punch me.
I jerked backward from the waist, the punch sailing just past my chin, and shot my left foot out to hook the guard's ankle. When I straightened from my dodge, I yanked my foot back, sending him tumbling to the floor. I was surprised when he managed a sloppy roll, coming to his feet and throwing the first ball in the same motion. That was interesting, I had figured this place for something shady from the moment I came in but he was sending a single mon in accordance with League rules of engagement. Unless he was just overconfident. The ball opened in midair, spilling out a jagged bolt of red energy which quickly solidified to show me a Pelipper, its wings opening and flapping forcefully to hover before me. It let out a brief cry, almost a grunt, keeping an even distance between me and its trainer.
"Very poor choice buddy. Lucky, it's playtime," I said, drawing and flinging the second ball from the top in my team's lineup. I used a sidearmed throw, putting plenty of force behind it. The Pokéball flew straight under the flapping bird, striking the guard directly in the crotch. When Lucky emerged behind the Pelipper, the guard was not amused, glaring silently with teeth grit around his pain. Lucky, on the other hand, was quite amused. With a brassy shriek of a roar he immediately focused on the bird as it reoriented itself to face him. "Charge and Discharge, non-lethal voltage," I called out to him.
Sparks and miniature lightning bolts flickered down onto the electric cat's mane and star-shaped tail as he gathered static electricity from the air around him, concentrating and amplifying it with his natural bioelectricity. The Pelipper saw this and dove at him, water dribbling from its bill pouch in preparation to attack. Too slow. Lucky threw back his head, loosing another roar as he released the excess electricity he had charged up. Arcs of energy spewed outward, most fastening onto the attacking bird with one or two touching themselves to the guard. Muscles contorting from the shock, the Pelipper's momentum carried it past Lucky to crash to the floor beside the now paralyzed guard. They were both out just like that.
"That double strength weakness to Electric-types must be a bitch huh? Well, damn. I didn't even get to see his other two mons," I told the now purring big cat as he prowled over to stand beside me. "Good job," I praised him as I resisted the urge to pet his ears as congratulations for the ease of his victory. This soon after using Charge he'd probably zap me by accident. Still had to praise him, even if he hadn't done so perfectly in the fight. Luxray are very proud creatures, failing to stroke their ego after battle is asking for trouble.
I used the toe of one boot to roll the guard over and make sure he was alright, then looked up to see the reactions of those around me. The moneychanger was on her knees hiding behind the counter, trying not to be noticed. Smart girl, though really she should have taken the opportunity to flee or summon help it was better than attacking. The old women were still dropping coins into the slots nonstop, seemingly too deaf to have noticed the commotion and too absorbed in their gambling to see the light show. Marty was standing slack-jawed, though I couldn't yet tell if it was my performance, the trip he was on, or both that were the cause. "Well Marty, that was entirely too quick to be satisfying. Care to fight it out, or should we just talk?" I asked him with one of my more wicked grins, pulling a pack of cigarettes from one of my coat's voluminous pockets and lighting it with a flick of my custom red lighter.
"Ok, let's talk," he said, suddenly seeming much more sober. Violence has that effect on me too. "But not here. If we leave while Greg is out, they won't know where I went. If they know I'm talking to Looker and his people they'll kill me," he said, hocking back a wad of mucus. I was seriously hoping this didn't take long, the bastard was disgusting me more every time I looked at him.
I let him lead, Lucky still free of his ball to prowl along at my side. We made no secret of the fact that we were escorting him unwillingly. If the local cops got involved it could be inconvenient for me, but I wasn't interested in getting Looker's informant killed. At least not while he was still potentially useful to us. If Arabella's people asked around after this, they'd get reports of Marty being taken against his will from the Game Corner, with a Luxray and a scary dude with a sword making sure he went. As such I kept a hand on my katana, seemingly ready to draw at a moment's notice. Lucky also glared at anyone who came too close, eyes glowing as he looked through their gear to evaluate threats. Everyone left us alone.
Eventually we came to a cheap house, a one story stucco place that didn't fit with the rest of the city at all. As we drew closer, I saw it was actually set up as a duplex, explaining how Marty's clearly desperate ass could afford the place. No one with money to blow on even a small, ugly house does Gloom-based anything.
He unlocked the door on the left, though it took him no less than five tries to find the right key. On a ring of four keys. Figure that out. I followed him inside, where Lucky curled up in front of the door, eyes focused and glowing. With his ability to see through solid objects, the big Luxray would be ready to pounce before any threat could even begin to open the door.
"Don't forget to sweep the rest of the building now and then buddy. Being alert is only worthwhile if you're alert to all avenues of attack," I reminded him, getting a grumpy snort as if the cat wished to remind me that he knew that. Satisfied, I looked around.
If the inside of the Game Corner was a bit of a dump, this place still made it look like a vision of wealth and class. Dirty laundry was strewn everywhere, along with many empty (and half empty) takeout and pizza boxes. The sink in the tiny kitchen alcove was almost a solid mass of dirty dishes and mold. The smell nearly knocked me on my ass. It was a sty. Those who abuse the products of Grass and Poison-type Pokémon tend to let everything fall apart eventually, but damn this guy was at rock bottom.
"Sorry 'bout the mess," he mumbled, a bit sarcastically. "It wasn't s'bad a month ago, but... Arabella cut me off when I fumbled a shipment for her," he explained, almost seeming to be truly apologetic now. "She made sure I didn't get anything from anyone else to tide me over, to boot. It got like this while I detoxed... and when I caught my own Gloom and got high again I didn't care enough to clean it back up." He plopped down on a threadbare sofa, sending up a cloud of glistening green and red dust. Shit, the man was living in a Gloom nest, no wonder he was so addled. He wasn't just taking it directly, he was soaking up the pollen and such just living here.
"So Arabella's into drug manufacture and sale now, is she? Funny, you didn't mention that to Looker in your last report," I observed dryly. "Guess I was right, coming to double check."
"That's not why she's setting up here. I was buying my shit from her through a distributor in Goldenrod, over in Johto, years ago. She hired me on when she found out I had a Dealer's License to work in Game Corners earlier this year. Her operation here isn't anything to do with the drug trade," he explained, a bit more coherent now. Of course if he had been a junky as long as he just admitted, the flow of Gloom pollen in the air around him would probably have something to do with that. Addicts are often under the illusion that they can deal with life more effectively when they get a fresh dose. I, on the other hand, was getting mildly dizzy and the stench was atrocious. I let Big Bird out and gave a command to use the Defog technique.
"Thanks, I can breath again," I said after she had forced the pollen out of the air and back away from me. She gave a gentle, low pitched version of her usual shriek before returning to her ball. "So, its not about drugs you say? Care to tell me how you know that if you're not clear on what the operation is?" I asked menacingly. "Or how you could be clueless about what you're doing here if Arabella hired you specifically for whatever game she's running?" I continued, letting him know his bullshit was being called. The look on his face told me his habit had killed his ability to think lies like this through. Shit, if Arabella tipped to this asshole's problem she'd replace him for being an unneeded risk, even if she didn't know he was an informant. And then her Swalot would make a meal of him.
"Alright, you got me there. Arabella... she's not a very original girl," he said, idly rooting around for something under the sofa. "She and the others are just rehashing old cons and jobs their Teams put together back in the old days," he explained, finally coming up with a rancid smelling joint, which looked to be rolled with all-natural (and somewhat better smelling) Carnivine leaf. "Can I get a light?" he asked, and I was distressed to see a twitch had come into his face.
"If I light that, it's gonna be by asking my Blaziken to use Flamethrower. Want me to do that, or you wanna wait till I'm gone to kill what's left of your brain?" I asked. "Either way its gonna wait till I hear what I need to hear, but if you really want me to par-broil you it can be arranged." He flinched at that, placing the unlit joint in an ashtray nearby.
"Fuck man, calm down. I'll tell you what's up, no need to get psycho on me," he took a deep breath, which turned into a coughing fit. I waited, a bit impatiently. "This new Game Corner is just a front. No surprise, the Rockets did the same thing in Kanto. Big difference, they don't have a rich as hell benefactor funding every little thing, so its a craphole." His ability to insult anything in that manner unironically was amusing, but I was more interested in his information than his hypocrisy. "You noticed how low the ceiling was in there? You did, I can tell. There's construction going on up there, in the attic they made when they put the new ceiling in. The entrance is hidden behind the counter in the prize exchange, I hear. Never been there myself. Arabella plans on putting a fighting arena up there. Not standard battling, Pokémon will be set on each other with no trainers, no healing, and no mercy. One more thing for customers to bet on," he said, almost sounding sad.
"That sounds like a smaller scale version of what Cipher was doing over in Orre," I said, grinding my teeth a bit. Lucky let off a growl, picking up my anger as easily as Spitpyre would have. I've killed Pokémon in fights, or for food when I was stuck in the wild for an extended period. I certainly never shy away from a thick Tauros steak for dinner or a batch of scrambled eggs of most non-Bug species for breakfast. But pit-fighting, using confused, angry Pokémon with no guidance and no healing is sick.
"Like I said, they ain't so original. They've been in business quite a while though, and they're getting away with it. They don't go out shouting "We are Team Whatever and all Pokémon exist for our glory!" or stating their goals and such like the other Teams did. The mons who win enough in the fight club upstairs will then get used as prizes in the Game Corner's exchange, but that's just the start," he paused, making a face. "They're going to put transmitters on their Pokéballs to get access to the PC storage box that Pokémon is placed in. You know it'll happen eventually, especially as uncooperative as those poor creatures are bound to be by this point. After that, they can take whatever gets deposited in that box at will as if its their own."
That rocked me back on my heels. My own boxes are passcoded, to prevent tampering and theft by hackers and super nerds with loose morals. A lot of trainers do. But with that kind of transmitter in place to bypass security...
"Now that is original," I said, running a hand over my hair almost nervously. The implications of that sort of mass theft were beyond anything I'd known. For a moment I pictured what could happen if these transmitters managed to get into boxes belonging to, say, the Elite Four or any of the Champions. By the Creation Trio, imagine the horror that might be unleashed if someone like Arabella managed to get into ex-Champion Blue's boxes, or worse yet, Red's. Without having to waste time on training and conditioning their Pokémon, the criminals could have monsters at their command more powerful than anything the common trainers could throw at them. Now that was terrifying. Confident as I am as a trainer, I'm not sure I could handle myself in a world like that. "That explains what Arabella is doing dicking around with small-time shit like Game Corners. What else do you know?" I asked, fighting to keep a tremor out of my voice.
"Not much, really. They haven't got things done upstairs yet, they have to work on it at night to keep customers from wondering what's going on up there. Why they didn't just finish it before they opened up, I don't know. Maybe they needed the income. While they work on the premesis, they're getting the attractions ready. Not sure where or how, but they're getting the Pokémon for the fights together. Arabella is overseeing that personally. She told me herself, she wasn't gonna let me have any more Nectarz until she finished up and got back from wherever she went," he groaned, looking longingly at the joint he'd set aside.
"Why didn't you tell Looker all this?" I asked, resisting the urge to lean against the wall. Who knows what might have been caked on up there?
"Looker... he's a good cop, s'far as I can tell. But he's got loose lips. Fucker introduced himself to me by walking up and declaring he was an agent of the International Police. Was worried word would get back that I was spilling if he got anything too juicy from me. You... you're different. I get the feeling you cut loose ends with that sword there. Wouldn't be shocked if you cut me down with that sword on yer hip," he said softly. Almost wistfully.
"Why're you spilling so much if you expect me to kill you off now that I don't need you?" I asked, honestly curious. Most people in his position, believing what he did, would have stretched things out, tried to buy time with offers to find out more. Anything to not get sliced in half or worse.
"Cause I hate that bitch Arabella," he said, eyes lighting with an oddly defiant streak I hadn't expected to see there. "I know what I am, and yeah I see it sickens you. It sickens me too. But I'm hooked as hard as a Magikarp on a Super Rod man, and she uses it. She punishes me with it. She doesn't even fucking pay me anymore, she just shoots some Nectarz my way and calls it good enough. Well fuck her. I want to see her taken down," he declared, almost rising.
"Good. I'm putting her down for good," I said, waving him back down. "And you'll have helped. I don't think it'll be very good for you in the end... but what the hell, couldn't hurt. Get yourself to rehab sometime... and keep that card I gave you. If they find out you talked, gimme a call, I'll do what I can to keep you safe. Looker too, I'm sure," I said. I left before he could express an opinion. The look on his face said he'd only turn me down.