Disclaimer and Discussion: Hello again everyone. Its been a bit longer since I continued this story than I'd really expected, my apologies for that. My original intent to write a slice-of-life story for Pokémercenary Devil set between larger entries sort of fell flat. Twice, even. They might do for noodle incidents, but as actual stories they were boring and overly long winded. Between that, moving, and my laptop dying suddenly I hadn't really been of a mind to work on any sort of fic until today.

But enough about that, as of today Devil's quest continues. This is of course the second full length story in my "A New Type of Trainer" series, and follows the events of "The Devil's Bounty" which in turn followed "The Tragic Youth Where It All Began." If you haven't read those yet, I'd recommend doing so before you go any further than this one. I'm maintaining the rating at M, for some rather gruesome violence and allusions to the more mature subject matter that came up in Bounty.

Oh, almost forgot the disclaimer. I of course do not own Pokémon. At all. Not even a little. Do not own a thing to do with it. You're reading this on a fanfic site. You know the drill. That said, I give you...

A New Type of Trainer:

The Devil's Favor

Chapter One: Contract Killing

I sighed, loudly and as obnoxiously as I could manage. Unless my Pokémon could hear me from within their balls, I might as well not have bothered. The sharply dressed would-be client sitting across the desk wasn't listening, probably choosing to ignore my less than enthusiastic response to his blathering. Sitting primly in my comfortable but plain office chair, dressed in an expensive suit and bright power tie, he didn't look the type to really listen to anything.

I probably should have paid more attention. Business had been slow for over two months, after all. Well, even "slow" is honestly rather generous. Nonexistent would be more honest. Its one of the downsides to my profession, when things are going well and everyone keeps their nose clean no one needs a Pokémercenary. Considering the last official job I had been hired for, and how rough things got towards the end, I'd initially welcomed the lull. Just a few quieter, easier jobs would be nice. Or so I'd told myself. I just hadn't expected said lull to be so long. After recovering from a pneumonia-like condition I'd developed from one too many encounters with Poison-types, I'd spent the first two months since I captured Ms. Arabella Ragno working on my own time. During the events leading to her capture, I'd gotten wind of some of the people who worked for her. Tracking down and capturing a few fairly small time pimps and dealers had filled some time while I got back up to full strength. No one had called me for work since I handed over the last of them.

So, as I swung my boots up onto my desk and half-listened to the droning speech filling my office, I really should have been paying attention. I didn't need the money from any particular job very badly, not after the large to excessive payments I'd already earned from previous work. But looking around my too-clean office, anyone who's ever known me would see I needed something to do. Some distraction, almost anything would do in the short term.

I briefly checked in with my ears, confirming that yes Mr. Allen, who wanted to hire me, was still babbling on about one of his employees he wanted me to find and take care of. He'd been embezzling from Mr. Allen's company apparently, not the sort of crime I'm used to hearing about. I tuned him back out, listening only intently enough to be aware if he shut up, and let the thought that had been bothering me float across my thoughts again.

She hasn't said a thing to them, I thought firstly, followed closely by And they still haven't let me talk to her. Ragno had turned out to be a tougher cookie to interrogate than the International Police had guessed. According to my contact with them, a strange man with the codename "Looker," she had not in fact said a single word since being taken into custody. Four months of total silence was far more hardcore than anyone they had experience with. And, perhaps unsurprising considering my personal history with the woman (not to mention that I am not a cop, lawyer, or any other profession that gets access to accused criminals), they wouldn't let me anywhere near her. Before I could start grinding my teeth over the issue, my guest interrupted my line of thinking.

"Mr..." he began, then hesitated.

"No Mr," I told him. "It's just Devil." I suppressed a smirk. Even surly from lack of action, intimidating people still amuses me a bit.

"Yes, Devil. Right," he smiled, a bit shakily. "Are you still listening? This is a rather urgent matter, but you seem to be..." he trailed off again, probably choosing words more tactful than "daydreaming" or "zoning out." Assuming anyone so self-important used such casual language.

"My apologies if I seem inattentive," I didn't even try to sound like I meant it. "I have some urgent matters of my own that are regrettably beyond my ability to do anything about at present." I cast my mind back a few minutes, reviewing the words my ears had caught despite my total lack of comprehension as they were said. "I understand this employee of yours, one George Martin, embezzled a rather large sum of money," I went on, although from the figures Allen had quoted it really wasn't much compared to the company's net-income. They apparently produced some of the more expensive alloys for manufacture of Poké Balls and compatible PC uplinks. That's a very profitable business. "What I don't understand," I forestalled him from getting going on the matter again, "is why you're bringing it to me rather than the police."

"Well, a great many people bring you this sort of work, rather than the police, do they not?" he responded. "The police themselves even ask you in on investigations and the like, from what I hear." Which was true, of course. Except that the sort of criminal people want me looking for aren't normally white collar thieves. They also don't generally look like a healthy ten year old could knock them over, as the man in the photo Allen had showed me did. No, whether its the cops or anyone else who calls me, its usually to deal with someone or something they're not sure the cops can handle.

"That's not a 'why' though, so much as a 'why not?' Mr. Allen," I took my feet off the desk and sat upright. Allen leaned away a bit at the reminder of how much bigger I was than him. "Do tell, why do you want me on this job?"

"I hear things... they say that some of the people you go after don't make it into custody alive," he laid the truth out there. And then blanched as I stood up and glared at him over the desk. "Don't get touchy about it," he managed to sound more reproachful than afraid, which I might have admired if it hadn't come more from the wallet than the backbone. "You're a mercenary, you do what you get paid to do."

"You've got the wrong idea of what a mercenary does buddy," I growled. "Yes, you do the jobs you get paid to do, but the best thing about it is you get to pick what tasks you will or won't do. What contracts you do or don't take. Oh, you might starve if you only get one kind of offer and turn 'em all down, sure. But if you're only getting one sort of offer, you suck at the job anyway," I laid a hand on the first Poké Ball in the little rack on my desk, watching carefully as the indignant expression my tone and phrasing had caused faded from the asshole's face.

"I checked you out before I came in here," he finally said in a near whisper. "Its on record, you've killed men before."

"Yep, women too," I reminded him. "And considering you found a record of it, you know it was all official. Investigated. Otherwise I'd be in jail you twit," I sneered. Although in actuality, the folks in charge didn't know about every person I'd been forced to take down permanently while on the job. The police take a dim view of such things when I'm not working directly for them, under their authority. "Let me put it into nice, simple words for you. I am not a hitman. Now..." I sat back down and slouched, dismissing any importance he might have once thought he had, "Get out of my office." He stood up slowly, face red with anger, and opened his mouth to argue. Perhaps make some threats, possibly of a financial nature. He never got the chance, a quick knock interrupted, followed by my office door swinging open.

"I'd do as he says, if I were in your shoes," said the older man standing on the left with a mild Kanto accent. The blonde woman, younger than he, just nodded. Allen spun towards them, apparently deciding these would be the perfect targets to work off his frustration at being denied.

"Who the hell are you? Have you been eavesdropping? I'll have you know..." I didn't care what he'd have us know. I picked up my sword, still sheathed, from it's stand beside my desk and prodded him sharply with the tip of the saya, shoving him into a stagger headed in the general direction of the door.

"That's Lorelai, formerly of the Indigo Plateau Elite Four, on the right," I introduced the first of the new arrivals in a malicious tone. "And that's Professor Oak on the left, maybe you've heard of him? Ex-Indigo League Champion? Most famous Pokémon Researcher in the world?" I paused to flash a wink and grin at Oak and Lorelai while Allen's back was to me. As he turned back to face me, I put on a scowl and leaned on my sword like a cane, picking up the ball containing my Blaziken to bounce lightly in my palm. "Oh," I stepped out from behind the desk, "and why are you still here again?"

"Well, now that he's gone," I put a genuine smile on for my new guests, "Have a seat. Can I get you two anything? Coffee?" I set my sword and Spitpyre's ball aside, now that I lacked anyone to intimidate. Oak accepted, still chuckling a bit. Allen's quick, stumbling departure had been fairly amusing. I busied myself fetching coffee for him and myself while Lorelai contented herself with ice water, dragging over the only other chair in my small office. Once settled, I brushed the photo and one page of information on George Martin off of my desk and into the garbage with some satisfaction before turning to my guests. "So, what brings the two of you to Sinnoh?"

"We're here to see you," Oak took the lead. No surprise there, I've only met Lorelai a few times but she has always been a quiet one. I found myself arching an eyebrow, surprised. I'd been expecting them to have some sort of work for me, while I quite like both individuals we're not nearly close enough to merit social calls even if we lived in the same region. We don't exactly move in the same circles after all. But, I hadn't expected their business with me to be their sole reason for traveling to Sinnoh either. "Its not something we wanted overheard, you see," the older man explained. Oak may study Pokémon for a living, but he knows people almost as well. He'd seen my thoughts written on my face and posture even as I had them.

"Something sensitive enough not to trust PokéGear then, I take it?" Lorelai nodded, sipping her ice water. There were clinking sounds from the glass, her hand was shaking, knuckles white. Its tough to tell with Lorelai, but that was enough to know she was absolutely furious about something. I automatically checked the distance between us, Lorelai is ex-Elite Four for a reason. I did not want that fury to be directed at me.

"We'd rather no one be aware of some of the details, beyond anyone who's already involved," she confirmed aloud. As I'd have expected her smooth, rich voice held no sign of the anger her hands betrayed. Seemingly perfectly controlled, even her islander's accent was nearly imperceptible. It's a pretty common trait, in those who specialize in the Ice-type, though you'd never know it from our own Ice-specialist here in Sinnoh. Despite the calm inflection, I detected a hook in what she'd said. She was concerned about the recently departed Mr. Allen, who did after all seem like the type to listen at doors. I waved a hand in acknowledgment and turned towards the small closet in the rear corner where all my office supplies are stored.

"Lucky, I need a security sweep out here," I called softly. At once, the unlatched door swung outward as my Luxray stalked into the room. Oak gave me a surprised look, though Lorelai naturally betrayed nothing. Not many people let their Pokémon walk free these days, and there were six balls on my desk. But I've brought down too many nasty people, many of whom have nasty friends. I like to have one of my team ready to go when I'm sitting down to work. "Have a look around big guy, lemme know if anyone's got a glass pressed up against the wall or anything."

The big cat walked a circuit of the room, his eyes glowing as he looked through solid matter to see beyond it. You can't hide from a Luxray that wants to find you, not so long as its eyes are in working order. After a few moments, Lucky sat down in front of the door with a disappointed huff that signaled the all clear as well as any words a human could have spoken. There was no one nearby to fight with, it said. Lucky was hard up for action as well.

"No eyes or ears nearby except ours," I translated for the two humans watching the predator in the room. They turned back towards me and nodded, Lorelai perhaps looking a little put out. A goodly portion of her team are half Water-type, after all.

"Good, good," Oak looked a bit less happy, now it came down to discussing business. "We need you to look into something for us, a theft. We have of course taken the matter to the International Police already," he winked at me, so I knew he must've overheard at least that much of Allen's request. "But we think you need to be involved as well."

"Its related to a contract you've taken with us in the past," Lorelai helpfully explained. I went still for a moment in recollection. I'd done a handful of jobs for Oak over the years, once tracking down a hacker who'd stolen the latest Pokédex software the old scientist had created, another time finding one of his Pokédex helpers who'd gotten lost outside Lavender Town. The man is an excellent judge of character, and sees the potential of any given child or Pokémon very quickly. But everyone picks a lemon now and then. Lorelai I'd only worked with once.

"What's happened at the preserve?" I asked. The preserve was important. Set up some years ago by the very people seated in my office, it was a completely private wildlife rebuilding site meant to breed the increasingly rare Lapras back up to a healthy population. The powerful, yet gentle beasts barely put up a struggle when attacked, whether it be by a trainer who desires them for their team or collection or someone looking to make a profit from their meat and valuable shells. They needed all the help they could get. Helping secure the preserve when it was first established on the northern side of Floe Island was one of my proudest memories.

"Theft. Murder. Nothing good," Oak had steel in his voice. Lorelai wasn't the only one feeling rage. "Two of the game wardens are dead. Fifteen young Lapras are missing. We need you to come back with us and help us find out what the hell happened out there."

"Let me get my coat," I said, not even bothering to finish my coffee as I stood up. "Either of you have a Flying-type with you? We can get down to the water-front in Canalave and hire a boat before the sun sets if you do."

I grinned as they hurried to join me in locking up and leaving. I was pissed off, as you can imagine. But I'd be a liar if I said it didn't feel good to have someone who deserved a beating to look for.