Prologue: The Wheels Begin To Turn
PC Robert 'Bobby' Moore had been a respected member of Unova's police force for years now, and guarding the Nacrene City museum was one of many duties he had performed for the local community. He'd been brought in shortly after the first incident there, when Team Plasma had stolen the skull from the giant Dragonite-esque skeleton displayed in the middle of the museum, and had served his city admirably. Since that fateful day, when the house of Harmonia had announced their intentions to the world, he'd sacrificed his nights to keep watch over the timeless artefacts on display, the fossilised Pokémon, the rock that appeared to be from a comet, tools from ancient tribes and some of the first apricorn-based Pokeballs ever made among them.
As he patrolled the perimeter for what seemed like the 100th time, Bobby thought how absurd it was that the museum didn't even have a door, so there was nothing stopping someone simply walking in and taking things. But then, if they'd installed a door with a fairly complex lock, he'd be getting less pay, although he would at least get a decent amount of sleep. At this point he noticed the beam of his torch had vanished.
"Bugger, torch must've died again," he grumbled, reaching into his shirt pocket to find the spare batteries. As he did so, Bobby heard something behind him, a metallic sort of sound, and from the corner of his eye saw a glint of light, something reflecting the moonlight coming in from outside. Instinctively he reached for his gun and turned around to confront his adversary, but he saw nobody.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" he yelled. Still nothing. "Come out with your hands up!" he bellowed. Again there was no response from the possible criminal. "This is your last warning! Come out with your hands in the air and drop your weapon!" he ordered. As before, the mysterious would-be criminal did not comply. Bobby fired off a warning shot, hoping that might flush them out from their hiding place, but only succeeded in lodging a bullet in one of the steps leading up to the library, which had been a Gym before Team Plasma had first attacked, after which the Basic Badge was relinquished to Cheren Lenoir, who had assisted the hero, Hilbert Blair, in his quest to prevent the conquest of Unova. Still keeping a watchful eye for any sudden movement, he cautiously made his way forward, but had only made a couple of steps before feeling the cold, hard steel of a knife blade against his throat. The last thing he saw as the blade pierced his jugular was a large plume of smoke erupting from the other corner of the museum, and three shadowy figures moving towards the plinth upon which the Dark Stone had been placed...
Dr. Taggart had never been a morning person, but when duty called he could hardly ignore it. As the shrill tone of his work X-Transceiver rang out, he groggily reached out for it with his right arm, knocking several items off his bedside cabinet in the process, including his unwound alarm clock.
"This better be worth my bloody time," he grumbled as he brought the X-Transceiver closer to his face. As he saw who the call was from, he let out a loud belligerent groan before answering.
"What've yae woken me for?" he enquired, blinking to break the crusted layers of rheum around his eyes.
"You've got thirty minutes, Taggart," his superior, the stern and stony-faced superintendent Roger Aspinall, warned. "You better start bucking your ideas up, lad, or your arse is out the door! Honestly, if this is the best Glasgow can offer I dread to envisage what that city must be like."
"No need tae imagine it, the place is a bloody warzone! Me and Euan were the lucky ones getting transferred here," Taggart said.
"Yes well, Euan's been here for five hours already, while you've become practically nocturnal! I'll not repeat myself, Taggart, just make sure you're here in thirty. We need to start immediately."
"But wait, wha-" Before the weary forensic scientist could even finish his sentence, Aspinall had clasped his clamshell X-Transceiver shut, leaving the Scot alone and in the dark as to exactly why he had been awakened. Sighing, Taggart slowly slid out from under the duvet, his shoulders drooping, and walked towards the bathroom, reasoning that there was no way he'd be getting back to sleep, so he might as well start his morning now. Breakfast was optional at this point, at the very least he could easily pick something up from the Raffertys just up the road, but he would first have to take some time to look somewhat presentable in front of the superintendent. After all, if he'd gone through the trouble to call him personally, that meant he was missing something huge.
"Mornin' Taggart!" Euan McTavish greeted his colleague enthusiastically, wildly gesticulating in a manner that wouldn't look out of place directed by David Lewandowski.
"Bugger off," Taggart grumbled, hardly acknowledging his fellow Glaswegian. This is how most mornings started, so it came as no real surprise to anybody at this point, least of all Euan, yet still he persisted in wobbling around like an Airdancer in an attempt to cheer up the incredibly dour Scotsman. As usual, Taggart strode onwards towards Nacrene Police Station, just a couple of streets down from the Museum, which had been cordoned off in the early hours of the morning. Then again, to Taggart, that could have been any time in the morning.
"Late again are we, Jim?" the young copper on duty at the entrance chastised him. Taggart could never remember the lad's name, but there were rumours abound that he was sleeping with Bobby Moore's wife behind his back. Obviously nobody spoke of these rumours when the man in question was present, as thus far it had been a long, happy and successful marriage barring the infidelities on those long nights when he patrolled the premises of Nacrene Museum, but nonetheless it was widely known of.
"Yes, I know, laddie, it's well past time you were in school," Taggart quipped. "Does your mammie know you're cuttin' classes?" The lad's face remained straight, like a brick wall with a hint of bum-fluff.
"At least I'm here on time every morning," the young lad retorted. "Anyway, you'd best go through to the boardroom, there's a meeting scheduled to begin in twenty minutes. Aspinall says I'm to make sure everyone else is here before we begin."
"So you're not just waiting on me then?" Taggart enquired. As far as he knew, everyone else in the force was usually punctual, although occasionally Sharky might turn up late, dripping wet, his pearly whites glistening, a terrifying bloodlust in his eyes, although that might just be a lingering anger at the kids on Route 3 for pushing him into the pond on his way to work yet again.
"We've seen nothing of Sid Sellworth," the lad informed him. Sid was a conniving weasel of a man, who some said had literally sold his mother to Satan, which raised questions from many as to how he ever made it into the police force. Taggart paid it no mind, as far as he cared the creep could peddle as much stolen junk as he wanted so long as he wasn't conspiring to steal a few kilts or anything of that ilk.
"Like that bloody matters," Taggart said. "He's probably off helping some little ex-Plasma buggers steal Pokémon off old grannies. Anyway, best be headin' in, everyone else is probably in there already."
"I'll join you shortly," the lad called as he passed through the door into the shabby little station. The only rooms in the station were the boardroom, where many executive meetings took place, the kitchen and a unisex bathroom which was literally just a toilet and a sink, all joined by a small corridor. Straight ahead was Taggart's destination, he crept towards it and slowly opened the door, hoping relieved that he was, for once, there before the meeting had started.
"Ah, there you are. How nice of you to join us at last," the superintendent said. "We're about ready to begin, just waiting on a couple more." Taggart looked around, noticing several empty seats around the table. Sellworth and Euan McTavish were still absent, as was the lad still on duty out by the door. Curiously, PC Moore's seat right by the end was also conspicuously empty, which came as a surprise to Taggart, as Moore was the most dedicated policeman he'd ever known in his time with various forces, always prepared to work overtime at the Museum despite the fact nothing had been stolen in nearly five years.
With not much else to do, Taggart took his seat and took a quick glance at the rest of the force. Sharky was, as usual, dripping wet. Despite the advice of others he still took the same route every day and more often than not ended up soaked to the skin thanks to a group of unruly youths. Most of the others he barely saw or spoke to, although Taggart identified them through their odd quirks, and he was blessed with the good fortune to be seated next to the only woman on the force, the lovely Naomi Wadsworth, one of the most intelligent individuals he had ever known. She was currently working towards her PhD in criminal psychology and it was her duty to craft an accurate image of every convict and vagabond in the city. Had he been a decade younger Taggart may have pushed his luck and potentially put his career on the line to spend a night with her, in fact he would have given anything for the chance to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and run his fingers through those plentiful auburn locks, but the years had not been kind, cursing him with premature flecks of grey and stress-induced wrinkles, so his fantasies would forever remain just that.
Soon the others had arrived, sans PC Moore, which was most unusual considering his devotion to the force. Taggart suspected something was amiss, and his suspicions were about to be confirmed by the Superintendent.
"Some of you may be wondering why I gathered you all here this morning," Aspinall began, "and why PC Moore hasn't joined us. Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that PC Moore was found dead in the Nacrene Museum this morning." Cries of horror and sadness rang out all around the room, save for the lad seated besides Euan, who no longer would have to hide his affections for the deceased's widow. He had been much loved by the force and community for his diligence and his absolute devotion to keeping the museum safe. He had never missed a single night shift at the museum since that day almost five years ago, when the nefarious Team Plasma had stormed into the museum and made off with an ancient dragon's skull.
"And what, may I ask, was the manner of his untimely death?" Taggart found himself asking, preparing for the worst.
"I'll say this much: Hawes had to wade through a pool of blood to get to work this morning." There were more utterances of exasperation and anguish as the terrible truth began to emerge.
"So, you could say... there's been a murder!" Taggart said, as he did every time he came across a mutilated corpse, which seemed to be surprisingly common. For a Glaswegian it was just another day's work.
"That's an incredibly insensitive way of putting it, but yes, PC Moore was in fact murdered," Aspinall answered sourly. "Wadsworth, I want you and McTavish to examine the body. Cause of death seems to be blood loss from a horrific neck wound but I'd like you two to have a closer look just in case there's anything else we can gather. Take a few samples, see if we can get a match for the weapon. As for the rest of you, Phidd and Chiddink, you two stand guard and apprehend anyone attempting to enter the crime scene. Abbott, I understand you know the deceased's wife well. I think it's best if you break the bad news. Adamson, there's some CCTV for you to have a look at..."
"It won't encroach on my beliefs as a Christian will it?" Adamson asked. That one always had to be difficult, bringing his faith into every debate as though it were important. Now he was allowing it to get in the way of an investigation involving his own colleagues.
"Unless Christians are banned from viewing images of sins, no," Aspinall replied. Adamson abruptly rose and left despite not being officially dismissed, presumably to visit the museum and view the CCTV footage in Hawes' dusty old office. Taggart had been sent there a few times during his stay n Unova, and it amazed him that Hawes still kept one of those big chunky televisions with the built-in VHS. The husband of former Gym leader-turned fossil hunter Lenora Stone always had been a bit of an eccentric, fascinated with the old, hence his position as assistant director of the Museum.
"I suppose the rest of you are dismissed to do as you please. Look for any witnesses, scour the area for clues, take photographs, anything that may assist us in catching those responsible. Oh, and Taggart," the superintendent finished, "from now on I want you here at eight o'clock sharp or you'll be on the next ship back to Britain!"
"Aye, sir," Taggart affirmed. Muttering curses under his breath, the Scot shambled out of the boardroom along with the rest of the team, not at all ready for the day's work ahead of him.
Author's Notes: This chapter is obviously just leading into the main story, once I finish editing the first proper chapter that will go up too. This particular chapter relates to a reoccuring plotline our main cast will encounter so it's not completely pointless. Any feedback is appreciated. You lucky people can expect a new chapter once a week throughout the summer, with the exception of a two-week hiatus in August when I'll be somewhere with no wifi. After that, I'm starting my third year of uni so it'll be a lot more difficult for me to find time to write and updates will likely slow to a crawl. I might also prepare something special for the release of X and Y, we'll see.