Disclaimer: Pokemon and all related characters and elements is copyright to somebody else. We own Pearl Town and a few of our own characters.
Swashbucklist's Intro: This story of ours came out of Neoflame's request to write a Pokemon fanfic, and also out of my aspiration to co-author a story (even if that second author has to be my brother, whom I see every FRACK-ing day). One character was inspired by Harpo Marx, the greatest pantomiming comedian who ever lived. The other character is apparently Neoflame's own snarky, lazy, neo-heroic alter-ego, possibly inspired a little by Captain Jack Sparrow and the standard strain of lead heroes from the anime and webcomics he entertains himself with. That, or he may just be a Gary-Stu. Which means I've got work to do. There are also a few villains you may recognize if you watch a lot of movies.
That is all.
Neoflame's Intro: Mmmmmm ... cookies. And PIE! Can't forget the pie.
"At Least It Can't Get Any Worse"
Chapter 1: Something Wicked This Way Comes
It was nighttime. The Pokemon League Elite Four Headquarters glimmered slightly, reflected in the lenses of a pair of infrared binoculars. These binoculars were held in the hands of a man in a black uniform with a red R emblazoned on the front. Laying on his stomach, hidden in shadow underneath a wave of ferns on the edge of a ridge, he looked down at the building. A silent team of nearly invisible shadows was moving stealthily toward the building's entrance far below.
"Squad 'A', move in," he whispered into his walkie-talkie.
The shadows made their way down the slope and proceeded toward the building's rear entrance. They slid like a black river of quicksilver, making sure every step they took was completely soundless with ninja-like swiftness.
The man on the ridge grinned with satisfaction. The grin vanished as one of the shadows tripped and went rolling and tumbling down the slope, knocking over some if his teammates. He winced, hearing scuffing and thudding sounds from his earpiece accompanied by curses. He lowered the binoculars to the dirt and shook his head sourly.
Less than a minute later, he received a confirmation that the security sensors were off. A smug grin spread across his icy features once more. "That's more like it." As the shadows proceeded inside, he pulled a mask from his pack and tugged it on.
Bud Reynolds, an overweight, bespectacled janitor was finishing off his night duty. He pushed his mop back an forth, making his way backward down the darkened hallway that led to the Pokemon League HQ's central ventilation room. The end of the hallway from which he'd been backing away with his mop had long since dissolved into shadows. Bud heard an ominous click. He paused, staring into the hallway's thick veil of darkness, then went back to mopping. But a pattering of rapid footsteps drew his attention again. Someone was coming.
Seconds later, three shadowy figures charged into view. They raced up to him, silent and menacing. Their boots made almost no sound, even on his squeaky, freshly-dampened floor.
The mop handle slid from Bud's slackened fingers and seemed to fall in slow motion.
The two rear-flanking shadows raised their silenced weapons.
The mop clattered to the floor as Bud took a step back.
Drawing closer, the lead shadow raised his M-16.
Bud raised his hands...
... and in one, he held a ring full of keys. "Right on time," he said to one of the Special Ops Rockets.
One of them snatched the keys and proceeded with his partner to the ventilation room. Bud turned his back so that the remaining Rocket could knock him unconscious. He'd been told that this would make it appear as though he'd put up a struggle, and would free him of suspicion. He had also been told that after quitting the workforce tomorrow he would find two million dollars in his bank account. But with his back turned, he didn't see the Special Ops Rocket shoulder his M-16, draw a handgun from his holster, and fix a silencer onto its barrel.
The two Special Ops Rockets unlocked the ventilation room and stepped inside, ignoring the sound of the pistol shot behind them. They unhitched two straps of pokeballs from their belts that contained the pokemon needed for this operation. Keeping their pokeball straps and their guns at the ready, they set to work unfastening the vent grates.
While the two Rocket operatives worked, the Pokemon League HQ's most unknown and trustworthy security measure blinked its eyes. It stood directly behind the Rockets, completely invisible, with a devilish grin on its face. The Gengar belonged to Agatha, naturally. It spent most nights slinking through the building's shadows, playing good-natured tricks on janitors like Bud. But not tonight, obviously.
Smoothly and silently, it faded into the wall and took off, shooting like and invisible cannonball through the next few rooms and sending a psychic warning into the minds of the sleeping Pokemon League Champions. All four were alerted simultaneously. They jumped from their beds and flew about their sleeping quarters, scooping up jackets, capes, and pokeballs, preparing for whatever suicidal interlopers were stupid enough to break in to the headquarters. Their headquarters, for goodness sake.
Agatha and Lance stepped swiftly out of their rooms and into the lushly carpeted bedroom lobby, fastening cloak and cape. Bruno leaned out of his door, naturally bare-chested. Lorelei's door didn't open. Instead, she leaned out from behind Bruno. "What's going on?" she asked, far too alert for someone who had just woken up. Apparently, neither she nor the rock trainer had been sleeping.
"It's Gengar," said Agatha. "He's signaled me that there are intruders in the main hall and in the air-circulation room."
Sheathing his sword, Lance swooped his black cape over his shoulders with a flourish. "Well, we'd better go see what they want. It'd be awfully rude of us to keep... them ..." His banter trailed off and died as he saw Bruno and Lorelei, both half dressed and standing in the same doorway.
Agatha muttered, "Get dressed you two," and headed off.
Back in the ventilation room, the three Rockets had released their pokemon: a virtual army of parasect. The Rockets removed the now-unfastened covers to the vents, put on their gas masks, and the pokemon did the rest. A continuous stream of parasect darted into the metal tunnels. Their hundreds of insect feet made a thunderous racket as they swarmed throughout the entire complex, unleashing sleeping and paralyzing attacks that filled the shafts and poured into every room and hallway of the building.
The leader of the Special Ops Rockets tapped his earpiece and signaled for the rest of his team to move in.
Lance, and the now fully clothed Lorelei and Bruno, made their way toward the nearest security checkpoint. Before they reached it, however, Agatha stepped from the shadows to block their path. "We need to get out of here, now," she said urgently.
"Why? Just who's out there that we can't handle?" said Bruno.
"They're using the ventilation system to spread paralysis and sleep attacks," said Agatha. "Let's move before ... !" Her sentence was cut short as a cloud of orange dust abruptly exploded through the ceiling vents directly over her head, causing her to jump back. She saw Lorelei staring at something further down the corridor, and turned to see more of the same orange powder spilling in. The elderly Ghost trainer was instantly lost in the dense wave of powders and gasses.
Lance dove forward, vanishing into the cloud, and immediately reappeared with the short old woman's limp form under one arm. "Move it!" he shouted.
They took off in the opposite direction, rounding a corner, only to see the path ahead of them already flooded with the orange-yellow dust. "This can't end well," said Bruno.
They drew out several pokeballs, Lance grasping the one containing his dragonite, and tossed them. But before the pokeballs had left their hands, three claw-shaped metal objects flew out of the powder-filled darkness and clamped down on the devices, sealing them shut.
Before their useless pokeballs even hit the floor, the toxic dust enveloped all three standing trainers. It filled their lungs despite efforts to hold their breaths. Slowly, as each trainer's resistance was broken one at a time, the Elite Four Champions collapsed in the carpeted hallway.
A few moments passed. Through the slowly fading powders, three groups of Rockets emerged wearing black stealth suits, with gas-masks covering their faces. Half of them had machine-guns raised. Two in the back were arguing, one of them covered in dirt and scuffs from tumbling down the slope outside. Once it was confirmed that all four Pokemon Masters were down, the Rockets lowered and secured their weapons. They all began pulling off their gas masks, except the one who'd lost the argument in back and was now tying his shoelace.
The leader, wearing a pair of field binoculars around his neck, stepped forward and peered down at the defeated heap of Pokemon Masters. He nudged one with his toe. Then he peeled off his mask and a deeply satisfied grin creased his hard face. His cackling laughter echoed throughout the building.