*Chapters are broken up into parts for easier reading. Think of the (-0-) marks as commercial breaks.*

ŚIVA

Mahogany Town is one of those places that acts how it looks. Mountains rise up on all sides, shielding the good country folk from the dangers of the modern world. The homes and mom 'n' pop shops are all built from dark, ancient wood, with roofs that slant downwards like open books. Way back during the Conquest, Mahogany Town was a breeding ground for ninjas, warriors of principle that waited in the shadows and struck when their prey was weakest. They're gone now, wiped out by years of peace and technology, but Mahogany Town never stopped fighting.

"Go, go, go!"

"Crush him!"

"Fire, light him on fire!"

The crowd nearly tore out the railings over the battle pit as beasts clashed for their entertainment. The creatures' trainers stood over the pit, issuing commands, faces red and eyes wide. There was money on the line for them, lots of money. The challenger: an elephant, barely as high as your hip, its back calloused like armor. The veteran: a blue bear with a wreath of fire about its shoulders. The bear dropped on all fours to spray torrent of flame from its throat, but the little elephant rolled up like a tire and ripped across the ground in a dark blur, cutting through the fire like it was water from a garden hose.

"Hey! Hey, girl! Can I get another shuck?" A man approached my makeshift bar beneath the stairs.

"Hundred P," I called over the noise.

The crowd erupted, as if cheering for my incredible pouring skills. The man handed me a wad of money and took his ceramic of berry wine, "Damned good fight, girl,"

Another tip, another battle, another dozen cups of shuck. The cycle continued for a full three hours before the audience wore their selves out and one pokémon was left standing. Tonight's victor was a tall, middle-aged man with sparse hair. His weapon of choice: a pikachu, a yellow rabbit-like creature that could generate electric currents from its cheeks. The little guy won the night by zipping around the pit until its opponents tired out trying to keep up. In the blink of an eye time, the pikachu charged its body with electricity and threw itself to fry one opponent after another. The crowd started clearing out as soon as the fight ended, exchanging goodbyes, lost bets and endearing insults. Some went upstairs, but most took the secret exit round back, which opened to an unassuming shed in the woods behind town. A few people stayed behind, including the winner and his pikachu. He carried his tiny companion in his arms.

"Got anymore shuck?" he asked.

"A little," I said, poured him a small, but heavy cup. I didn't understand why one would want to drink half-digested berry juice from a mollusk's stomach in the first place, but I didn't understand most things adults did. With slightly corrosive properties and an astonishing alcohol percentage, shuck was basically poison, illegal to sell, but legality never stopped us from anything.

The pikachu hopped up on the table to peer at the shuck jug. I hid it under the table, scratched the creature behind its pointy ear.

"Pika," it squeaked happily.

"He likes you," said the pikachu's trainer, "are you a trainer?"

"If only," I muttered, "Are you?"

"Been training since I was eleven," the man took out his wallet to flash his official Pokémon League Trainer's License, the slip of plastic that allowed one to battle pokémon legally.

"So, if you're a certified trainer, what are you doing down here?"

"You kidding? This is where the money is. You gotta jump through a lot of hoops if you wanna make it big in legal combat. What about you? What're you doing down here?"

I tapped the shuck jug with my foot, "This is where the money is,"

The man smiled, "A regular Team Rocket you are,"

As if summoned, Ms. Oda came sauntering down the stairs. Her dog's nails rapped on the iron steps. Way up north, there are ghostly pokémon that that look like women and freeze men alive just by looking at them. They must be related to Ms. Oda. A lithe, good-looking woman that never smiled for more than a heartbeat, she gave off an icy wind wherever she went. She was the overseer of our operation, sent to collect admission fees, dole out prize money, to recruit talented trainers into her organization, and to make sure the authorities kept their noses out of our business.

"Congratulations," she said, shook the winner's hand, handed him a brick of cash.

He examined the money and stopped himself from commenting on the weight.

"I know it's more than the five hundred thousand advertised," said Ms. Oda, "Think of it as an invitation. There's even more where that came from. Let's talk - Baskerville, go watch the door."

Ms. Oda's short black dog scurried up the stairs. It was a creepy thing, basically a baby hellhound, with steely ribs and a helmet sprouting from obsidian-sleek fur. No doubt it'd been loosed on countless poor bastards that didn't pay up on time. I followed it up through the trap door.

It was always jarring, climbing up from an illegal battle pit into a lackluster small town souvenir shop. The hellhound sat by the door, watching the early morning darkness with a keen eye. My husky-voiced mamoswine of a boss checked at a clipboard at the front counter, "There you are, Śiva," she said, "Good haul tonight?"

"The biggest so far,"

"It better have been. We won't be seeing much more of Team Rocket,"

"What do you mean? I thought you liked your kneecaps," I asked, "Oh, and can you count this?"

"Har, har," she shuffled and cut the stack like wrinkled cards, handed me an unimpressive pile of bills, "There you go. The rest is for our babysitter downstairs. And I mean that I'm breaking off our deal with Team Rocket. It's not safe anymore. The battle club in Blackthorn City got busted the other day and I'm not looking to get shut down. I already talked it over with Oda. One more fight night next month and our business is concluded. I don't want to put you in the line of fire. You won't be working that night."

"But-" I protested. I could almost feel the money slipping through my fingers.

"Plus, they ask for more every month. I can't keep a shop open with that burden. Well, speak of a dusclops. I think now's a good time to go, Śiva. I'll see you tomorrow. Send my regards to your mama and that dinosaur of yours,"

Ms. Oda came slinking up the stairs and I figured now was as good a time to bow out as any, "I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Alpine. Goodnight, Ms. Oda,"

If someone says "Johto," the first things you probably think about are autumn trees and yellow windows in mild night air. Johto nights are the quietest in the nation. They're a time to shut off your brain and listen. All the trees and vacant lots bustle with the music of kricketots, the scratching of spinaraks weaving their webs, the hoothoots and noctowls cooing secret codes across the September chill. A huge noctowl passed overhead with barely a sound, eyeing me like I was a rodent for the snatching. A chill rattled down my spine and it wasn't the night air. I'd been feeling like owl food for the past few months, a small creature caught in the claws of something large and dangerous. It wasn't like I didn't know what I was getting into when I applied to work at the shop. Like the movies say about Team Rocket, once you're in, there's no getting out.

(-1-)

"I really wish you'd find another place to work," Mom complained, "It's dangerous there. You know what happens to kids who go to jail,"

"Do you know the odds of getting picked for the Arena?" I replied, face in the fridge, "Plus, now I can pay for Laksmi's treatment."

I dug around the fridge until I found a nearly empty medicine bottle and a tub of leftovers.

"Eevee," Mom whispered.

"Yeah?" I said, hitting a randomly selected number on the microwave.

"I think we need to consider that Laksmi might not get better,"

I immediately welled up, "Mom, no,"

"It might be best for her to rest. She's been through so much,"

"We can't give up on her,"

"Ee-"

"Don't call me that when you're being serious. You know I hate it!" and so I stormed off to bed without my supper.

Laksmi lifted her head like a big green periscope. She lay curled up on my bed, her massive weight straining the metal frames to creaking. "Niu," she yelped in that foghorn falsetto unique to dinosaurs. In its prime, a meganium sports a ruff of flower petals at the base of its neck, as big and strong as shields. In the spring, the petals would give off a sweet scent and attract pollinating bugs. Now, Laksmi's pedals were dry, scentless, and her saurian bulk had wilted into loose skin. The cold months were always hard on plant-based pokémon, but this was something else.

"Open up, girl," I said, loading a dropper with medicine.

"Niuu," she protested.

"Please, I know it tastes bad, but it'll help,"

She reluctantly slackened her big jaw, revealing even rows of tiny teeth. I dripped the last few drops onto her tongue and the medicine dispersed. She shook her head like a rogue fire hose, but listened to my shushing and settled down with a snort.

I hugged her tight, "There, it's okay, I'll take care of you,"

Her neck draped over my shoulder, "Niu," she cooed, "Niuuu,"

"Get some sleep. We have to see the doctor in the morning,"

She gave an unhappy snort. I crawled into the sliver of extra space in the bed and turned on my GameNav to line up candy-colored pokémon heads for high scores, but my mind was somewhere else. When Mrs. Alpine shut down the club, it would be lights out. I could never rack up enough cash without Team Rocket money. I think Laksmi knew I was worried about something because she let me hug her big neck until my eyes got heavy. Without knowing it, I fell into a nightmare about a screeching noctowl of enormous size, barreling down on me faster than I could think.

(-2-)

A flying shark torpedoed just past my left ear when I stepped into the Pokémon Center. You can't walk into one and not have something to talk about the by the time you left. Pokémon Centers don't look big on the outside, just two-storey red roofed buildings with lots of glass. Inside, they function like little towns, where man and beast live together in chaotic harmony. Though mostly used as veterinary offices, they quadruple as kennels, conference halls, and rest stops for traveling pokémon trainers. The building echoed with shoe squeaks and the cries of exotic creatures. If you ever wanted to come face to face with anything from household pets to dragons, fairies, ghosts, jungle beasts and great birds, just hang out at a Pokémon Center. A mammoth tromped by the waiting area while a pair of blue rabbits played water tag across the waiting room floor. If I wasn't here on a monthly basis, the menagerie would have been amazing. I sunk into a couch in the waiting room, turning Laksmi's poké ball in my hand.

I never got used to poké balls. I know all about matter-to-data conversion and stuff like that, but I can't wrap my head around it, storing a five-foot, two hundred pound dinosaur in a capsule the size of a baseball? There was a point where stuff stopped being science and started being magic. I watched the nurses scurry back and forth, pink, egg-shaped pokémon waddling behind.

"This just in," said a voice from the far end of the room. A janitor rushed to turn up the wall-mounted TV. Every eye turned to the screen. "We have an exclusive scoop on this year's Arena. Recent leaks report that the first two contestants have been chosen." A pair of photos popped up onscreen, while the anchors dished on their rap sheets. One was a really fit girl only a year older than me, arrested for punching a lucario, like actually punching a pokémon right in its pokéface. The other kid didn't look like a criminal at all, a soft fat boy, eyes all pink and puffy in his mugshot, like he'd just been crying. I missed what his crime was, but whatever he'd did, it couldn't have been that bad.

The room set to muttering while the screen played violent highlights from last year's contest. That was my cue to open up out my GameNav so I would have something else to look at. I wasn't totally against the Arena, it was entertaining for what it was, but I could never watch it without covering my eyes for half of it. Those were real kids and pokémon killing one another in there, not actors, not video game renderings, real people with no control over what was happening to them. Pokémon fought each other in the wild all day every day, but people? Kids?

"I'd put my money on her," said a boy, leaning in to look at my screen.

"Yeah, me too," I replied, half-heartedly.

"You into battling?" he asked. A poké ball appeared in his hand, a challenge.

"I don't have a license,"

The boy lost interest in me and focused on the TV. The TV went back to its previous programming, a nature show where some crazy ranger went around the forests Fiore tackling the biggest, toothiest pokémon he could find.

"Why is it fine to make pokémon battle for the cameras," I blurted, "but it's wrong when the TV companies aren't making money off it?"

He looked at me like I was stupid, "They make have to make sure no one's using pokémon for the wrong reasons,"

"But people die in the Arena. How is that a right reason?"

"Who cares? They're criminals,"

Maybe it was because I'm a criminal, but that hurt like he'd called me something awful and personal.

"Ms. Cāndī," a nurse appeared in front of me like a ghost, "The doctor will see you now."

There was no good news. All he could do to slow the disease was to write a yet another prescription. He was just doing his job, but I had to suppress a deep desire to punch him. We could heal mortal wounds with a spray of Hyper Potion, we could shorten hospital stays to five minutes on a healing table, even bring extinct species back to life with little more than a laptop and a stray bone, but mortality always found a way. There was and will always be disease. I didn't even stop by the pharmacy. Insurance wouldn't cover Laksmi anymore and it would be 100,000 P for a bottle of liquid that I couldn't pronounce the name of. I went home to find out how much a bike went for these days.

(-3-)

With the exception of monthly fight nights, Just a Souvenir Shop really was just a souvenir shop, where we sold everything from locally made Rage Candy Bars to fake ninja weapons. People rarely bought anything, but that meant lots of free time for we loyal employees.

"Oh, did you see that?!" Juniper jumped up from his portable TV, biting his fist. An announcer cheered wildly over static, filling the backroom with noise.

"I don't want to know," I forced myself not to look, instead committing myself to uselessly scraping a sticker gun over a box of Silph Co. health potions.

"So this guy's got a charizard, right?" Jun explained anyway, "And the other trainer is using a blastoise. You know how fire type pokémon are weak against water types?"

"Does this story end with someone dying?" I said.

"Yeah, but it's awesome,"

"Whatever," I rolled a cart of potions out to stock. When I returned, Jun was still talking.

"So anyway, the blastoise is blasting his water cannons like 'Whoosh!' and the charizard blocks the water with his wing," he mimed raising a shield, "then he looks around his wing and breathes fire all in the blastoise's face. It was brutal." He adjusted the bunny ears on the tiny TV until the image cleared up enough to tell what was going on. An orange dragon with one tattered wing had his jaws clamped about its opponent's neck. The huge blue turtle helplessly sprayed water out of the cannons sticking out of his shell, all in graphic slow motion. The camera cut to two kids about my age, a girl choking the life from a much younger boy.

"This is gross," I said. There was a reason I avoided reality TV. They'd do anything to get you to watch.

"Don't worry, they censor the highlights. Plus, the girl doesn't actually kill the guy, his heart stops when his blastoise dies. That's how it works in the Arena. They inject you with tiny machines, so you die if your pokémon dies and visa versa. You know how it works."

"Whatever," pokémon dying was the last thing I wanted to hear about right now.

A pair of commentators appeared on the screen to discuss what they'd just seen, "Really good show of tactics by Miranda and her charizard, but a nasty end for Colin and that poor blastoise. If you remember from last year, Miranda and Colin were allies until the going got tough and Miranda fried their other teammates in their sleep, which Colin, who had barely escaped, was not a big fan of. You guys at home voted for Miranda as your favorite villain last year and from her record-breaking kill streak, it's easy to see why."

"Look, Josh, I think we all feel for these kids," replied the other commentator, "The Arena doesn't compromise. You get picked, you have to fight. You could always be a bad choice away from a nasty end."

"Now that's a lesson for the young'uns. Be on your best behavior, kids. We've got thirty-four more contestants to pick."

The camera angle changed, one of the commentators turned to look at the audience, "That's right, so stay tuned to the Silph Network, where we keep you updated on the action around the clock."

The program cut to commercials and I lost interest. "Juniper, use price tag attack," I threw Jun the sticker gun and went out on my break.

Our town was infamous for its privacy and looked the part. Autumn trees veiled wood facades and shop windows, dropping leaves like flame-colored moths dying in the daylight. Under the shade, people went from point A to point B with no pit stops, each of them keeping their business to their selves. We weren't paranoid, we just prided in our ability to mind our own beeswax. In Mahogany Town, you're trained in privacy from childhood. Kids in other towns grow up playing tag or baseball. Mahogany kids play guessing games, hiding games, and Spot the Ninja.

If you've never played Spot the Ninja before, I highly recommend it. Basically, when you're at a busy place like a street or a school hallway, you pick a person in the crowd that could be a hidden assassin. Next, you choose their victim in the same crowd and figure out a way that your ninja could kill their target as quickly as possible without getting caught. It's a good way to keep your mind off things. If someone notices you looking at them, you lose.

It was lunch hour, so there were plenty of players to work with. I glanced up my ninja and target, then down at my GameNav to avoid eye contact. The plan was coming together smoothly until someone-something looked me right in the eye. A pair of rubies glittered from a shady tree across the street. I froze. It was watching me, a huge noctowl, perched stock-still. It wasn't even noon.

"Pick the guy in the hat!"

My heart leaped up my esophagus. Jun stood over me, holding a paper coffee cup and a pack of cigarettes.

"You made me lose," I complained and snatched the coffee from him.

"You lost as soon as you started. Look, you can't kill anyone right now. That lady's yanma will see you right away,"

He pointed to a local woman walking a three-foot-long dragonfly. I scanned every tree by the street. There wasn't a noctowl in any of them.

"I guess,"

"You'd make a terrible murderer, Śiv'," he thumped a cigarette loose of the pack and lit up.

"Whatever," I said, committing myself to thumbing away at my GameNav, "You're supposed to be working."

"Smoke break - And coffee break, hand it over," he took back his coffee, winced as he swallowed too much at once, then washed it down with a long pull of smoke. He tipped the smokes in my direction, "Want one?"

"It's bad for you,"

"Everything's bad for you. We just have to pick the bad things we like most."

"Are they even bad things if that's the case?" I said.

He pondered for a second, "You make my head hurt, woman."

As big a dork as he was, Jun looked cool when he smoked. He was at the Hotness Crossroads, that weird place where you can't tell if a boy was cute or not. Tall and stringy, he didn't look like much, especially with his natural green hair bunched up into spikes at the front. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't into him. He wasn't my type. Plus, he was seventeen, a whole two years older than me.

Jun changed the subject, "How was the pit last night?"

"Not so loud,"

"Sorry. Who won?"

"Some old guy with a pikachu," I murmured.

"Really? Like, pika pika? How much did he win?"

"Five hundred thousand, with a bonus bribe,"

"Helix," Jun sighed, "What I could do with all that money."

"Yeah. It's a lot," I sighed back. There was a pause, then a light bulb snapped on in my head, "You ever thought of competing?"

"Hell to the no," he laughed, "I'll stick to trading cards, thank you,"

I giggled, despite my disappointment, "You're so cool,"

"Yeah, screw you too, now give me that. I'll show you what a high score looks like,"

You need a trainer's license to catch, train, and battle pokémon, but you don't need anything more than a letter to the local shelter to adopt one. Bobbles was one such pokémon. Mrs. Alpine told me that she found him in the backroom after opening the shop one morning, that the big guy must have mistaken the back door of the shop for a cave. He was the store-pet-slash-sometimes-employee ever since. He held a crate in his flipper-like arms while Jun and I stocked the candy aisle. The only adequate way to describe Bobbles was as a tall blue blob with flappy arms and a squinty face. If you caught him off guard, you could get a glimpse of his tail, a flat black stub with staring eyes. No, really. Wobbuffet tails have gaping eyes that flit around nervously, like they're always afraid of something. In primary school, for whatever reason, they say to never, ever touch a wobbuffet's tail. Creepy appendages or no, Bobbles had never harmed anyone, we loved Bobbles. He wasn't a ton of help around the shop, so his job mainly consisted of standing around and going, "Wabbawabba!"

"You could, you know," I started, out of the blue.

Jun turned away from his tiny TV, now stationed on the shelf next to him, "I could what?"

"Wabbawabba!" went Bobbles.

"Enter the contest next month," I said.

"I'm not crazy, thank you,"

"Why not? No one's gonna be there because of the lottery. It's perfect,"

"Why are you so keen on this?" he said, then remembered, "Oh, right. Sorry. Your meganuim."

"So, will you do it?"

Jun turned up his TV to tune me out, "Just bet on something,"

"I can't bet if I'm broke,"

"I know where this is going and you know I can't get behind you doing it yourself,"

My face went warm, "How did you know I was thinking that?"

"Because I hang out with you on a daily basis. Don't do it, Śiv'. You could get fired, and then what?"

"Alright," I said, "I won't,"

(-4-)

October passed at a snail's pace. I spent nights thinking, my days watching Laksmi get sicker and most evenings were spent alone with Bobbles in the pit, teaching him to throw a punch, something I barely knew how to do myself. I had to at try, so if Laksmi finally went, I'd at least have that, I'd have done something about it. Her skin was browning slightly, and her leaves had gone pale around the center. They looked dry and sun-bleached. I'd taken the night off of work on the excuse that I had caught something from Laksmi. It was nonsense, but my two co-workers bought it.

"Do I look battle-ready?" I asked, turning to show off my thrift store leather jacket and jeans. Laksmi snorted amusedly.

"You're an asshole,"

She croaked a laugh.

I thought I looked tough for my height. The black leather complimented my dark skin tone and I looked like a zigzagoon in all the eyeliner I smeared on my face. A pair of fingerless gloves completed the look. I read that it was important to look formidable to help with morale.

I hugged Laksmi, "Wish me luck, girl."

"Niuuu," she said, and pressed her nose against my forehead.

I felt her cheek, "I love you too. I'll save you, I promise."

"Where are you off to?" said Mom, the moment I left my room.

"Going out. Jun is off tonight too," I lied.

"I thought tonight was one of those- those meetings."

"I'm not working there tonight,"

Mom twisted her lip, "Well, just in case, you should ask the guardians,"

"Fine," I groaned, but didn't fight it.

Like most people in Johto, Mom was super into religion. We thanked the Forest Guardian before dinner, saluted the Ho-Oh bird in the morning, and asked the Great Beasts for protection whenever we were going on a journey or felt stressed. I knelt before the shrine by the front door, a cubby decorated by a small brass pagoda, topped by three four-legged creatures, one cut from a red fire stone, in the center, a blue water stone, and the last was yellow thunder stone. My brother once dared me to lick the thunder idol, which got me a numb tongue for a whole day and a scolding from Mom. I never disrespected the Guardians again, less because of the electrical shock and more because of Mom's religious meltdown. I didn't believe in spirits and stuff, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't give me a little comfort, "Hear me, guardians of smoke and mist and cloud. My name is Śiva of the Cāndī clan. I am to leave my dwelling and tread open ground. Protect my honor from scorn, protect my soul from impurity, protect my body from harm. I beseech only this," I half expected an answer when I lit a stick of incense and placed it at the foot of the tower. The way the stones glowed, you could believe they were alive. I pocketed the water stone idol and went out the door.

(-5-)

No one was in the shop but Ms. Oda's dog, but the floor rumbled with muffled voices. I slipped into Mrs. Alpine's office to snag Bobbles's poké ball, then headed downstairs. As expected, barely anyone showed up. Only twelve people signed up for fight night, including myself. The crowd of spectators was thinner than usual, too. Jun glared at me from the shuck table. His gaze was like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

I found Ms. Oda, jotted my name into the lowest slot on her clip board, all without saying anything to her. She raised hew perfect, straight brows at me, "Really?"

Mrs. Alpine came barreling through the sparse crowd, "Whoa, whoa, what're you doing?"

I looked away over my shoulder. I was a kid caught stealing a cookie before dinner.

"Śiva," she urged with a mother's softness, "You're getting wrapped up in something-"

"It's alright, Hilde," said Ms. Oda, "She is eligible to enter,"

"You-" Mrs. Alpine growled, a finger to Ms. Oda's chin. The mobster wasn't fazed in the slightest. Mrs. Alpine stomped off upstairs.

"Good luck," Oda purred as she slinked off.

I figured it was best to go ahead and deal with Jun. I sat on the shuck table to brace for a wave of guilt. He looked around, took a gulp of shuck, "You lied,"

"I lied," I said, "But I had to. This is my only chance,"

"I'd say something harsh, but you know I suck at staying mad at you,"

"You're not mad?"

"Sorta mad,"

The lights dimmed, a spotlight shone on Ms. Oda, leaning on the ring. As much as I hated her, it was easy to see why people ate out of her hand. With her cold eyes and bright lips, she looked like a queen among commoners, "You sick bastards actually showed up," a short round of cheers and laughter followed and stopped as soon as she spoke again, "How about we just shut up and get this show going?" whoops and hollers, "First up, Viole and Frei. Viole and Frei, take your places at the white lines and arm your poké balls,"

A man and a woman, both around their 20's, stepped up to the white lines on either side of the ring. At the sound of the gong, the contestants threw their poké balls down the pit. The balls snapped open and Pokémon leapt into action. A big purple bat with four wings faced off against bug with a man's posture, made entirely of red metal. The bug struck the air with its huge, crab-pincer hands, darting all around the ring with the help of its glassy wings. The bat danced around its head in circles and ovals, crosses, and figure eights, while their trainers issued commands like generals both losing a battle. My stomach tightened into a knot. I knew the snap was coming any moment, the screech and a crack of bone.

Jun rested his hand on my shoulder, "You don't have to do this,"

"I have to," I lied, "I have to try," but as I said it, I cradled my face in my hands, trying not to hyperventilate. Bobbles could actually die here. I didn't know how to battle. Who was I kidding?

The death blow echoed throughout the whole room, a horrible crack, like a twig. The bat was called back into its poké ball just as it began to scream, but it was clear that there was no saving it now. The crowd gasped, then made some noise for the victor. Shuck flowed and sloshed.

"Give me some," I said. Jun filled a cup for me and I knocked it back. It tasted like mixed berries and sulfuric acid. The effect was almost immediate, a melting sensation, slow submersion.

"Next up, Śiva and Cyan, stand at the white lines and arm your poké balls."

I swam to the painted line on the close end of the ring, the crowd noise dulled by my pulse and shuck. Like one of those naked dreams, I was exposed, unable to protect myself, a thousand quick judgements flying at me like oncoming stones. A poké ball appeared in my hand and I hit the button to prime it for throwing. My opponent smirked at me form the other end of the ring, a girl I've never met before, a leggy blonde with a nose ring and inked arms. The gong seemed to echo for a small eternity, but the ball stuck to my palm.

"Throw it!" someone cried. Other voices joined in, "Throw the ball! The hell's she doing? Fight! Fight!"

Miss Oda's voice sparkled over the rest, "The contestant must throw her ball within the next fifteen seconds or be disqualified,"

"Thow it! Throw it! Fight!"

I held onto the idol in my pocket, tracing the cold lines of waxy rock, squeezed my eyes shut to spike the ball into the pit. The ball snapped open like a mouth, releasing a white cloud of energy that coalesced into Bobbles. The ball boomeranged back into my hand. My bones rattled in the crowd's laughter. Never have I wanted to throw up harder than I did in that moment. Every muscle in my body went weak, limp, like a kid that wet herself on the playground. My eyes burned. Bobbles smiled obliviously and saluted the crowd. Even Ms. Oda chuckled from her place beside the pit. She accepted a block of money from one of her cronies, whispered something, and vanished into the crowd. I wish I'd taken a second to figure out what that meant, but now I was responsible for Bobbles's life and Laksmi's.

My foe's pokémon punched the air and shuffled his feet readily. I'd seen hitmonchans on TV. They looked like short, thin people with tan skin and a crown-shaped crests on their heads. They were born for boxing and trainers outfitted them for the occasion with a toga and gloves.

The hitmonchan's trainer pointed and cried out, "Varazdat, mach punch!"

"Bobbles-!" I began, but the words caught in my throat. Bobbles took a boxing glove square between the eyes and wiggled like a doorstop. His face slapped into Varazdat's chest, sending the boxer staggering back. Wobbuffets lived and died standing. It was a scientific impossibility to knock one over, for better or for worse - in this case, worse, or so I thought. Varazdat, ignoring the blow, closed for another punch. The fist came in around the side, sending Bobbles in wild circles. There was a loud smack. Varazdat's arm spun back as if it had punched a moving car. The boxer retreated slightly, bewildered.

"Bobbles, sit tight, I'll think of something," I cried down. His black tail looked up at me, then shifted its eyes side-to-side, awaiting the next blow.

My opponent shouted, "Varazdat, bullet punch!"

There was a sound like a gunshot as Varazdat seemed to teleport across the pit, fist first. Bobbles's body snapped back and forward in an arcing blur. The hitmonchan went rolling backwards until he hit the wall.

"You're doing it!" I shouted, "We can do it, Bobbles!"

He turned around to salute me, leaving his tail exposed.

"Turn around, turn-" I cried. A round-ended javelin, Varazdat's fist launched up from the ground and back down into Bobbles's tail.

I gasped. You never, ever touch a wobbuffet's tail. Never. Bobbles hunched over, growling, hissing, whimpering, like a mother with a wounded baby, "Wwwwwwwwa, waaaab, wabba, wabbaaaaa,"

My opponent cracked her neck and knuckles, "Finish him, Varazdat! Focus punch!"

Varazdat stood back, closed its eyes and tensed. You could almost see the energy building, like a boulder pushed down a cliff.

"Bobbles, come back!" I held up his poké ball, "Come back! Please!"

He didn't listen, just stood there and seethed. The crowd muttered, mourning the poor, brave wobbuffet and cursing the stupid little girl who thought battling was just a game.

"Bobbles, it's okay! Come back!"

A tan streak shot across the pit, but the punch never came. Varazdat tugged at his arm, caught in a pair of blue flippers. He pulled away, desperately throwing punches with his free hand, but Bobbles didn't notice them. His blue bulk lowered back, a rubbery catapult. Varazdat cried out, beat at his captor's eyes, mouth, his arms.

"What are you doing, Varazdat?" said the trainer, "Get out of there. Mach punch! Mach punch!"

Varazdat was my enemy, but he was going to die if I didn't do something. "Bobbles, don't! Wait, stop the fight," I yelled, but my voice was lost in the uproar.

Bobbles was halfway to the floor when he let go of Varazdat's arm but there was no time to escape. The boxer stared open-mouthed as Bobbles's face crashed into him with locomotive force. Varazdat flew off his feet and smashed against the wall. He slid into a heap onto the floor contorted like crushed bug. Bobbles smiled and saluted, "Wabba,"

The noise was like a tidal wave. People shook my shoulders, rattled the ring, pushed and shoved each other. Shuck spilled all over the floor. I wordlessly called Bobbles back into his poké ball. Mrs. Alpine put a hand to my back and guided me through the crowd, up the stairs, and out of the shop.

"You had no right to take Bobbles," she said, "He could have gotten seriously hurt,"

Between the October air on my sweat-dappled skin and the chill down my spine, it could have been January. "I'm sorry," I murmured.

"You're not going back down there."

"But I have to fight the next round," I argued, but my heart wasn't in it. I was in the wrong here.

"Jun said he'd give you tonight's tips for Laksmi. I should fire you," she sighed, "But your heart's in the right place."

The door jingled and out came Ms. Oda. She glanced to her sides, a poké ball in one hand.

"What?" said Mrs. Alpine, coldly.

Ms. Oda threw her poké ball at the ground and out came a huge blue bat, its mouth hanging down to its legs. She held onto the base of its wings, "Our business is concluded" she said, then blasted off. The noctowl shot into the air after her in a flurry of leaves.

"She knew we'd be loose ends. It's a setup," muttered Mrs. Alpine, disbelieving, "Śiva, get out of here. Go anywhere but home. I'll get Jun."

"What's going on?" I said. I rotated the idol in my pocket, hoping in the back of my mind that the great blue guardian would appear to save me from what was coming.

"You know. Go. Now," she growled before vanishing through the door.

I power walked like the wind down the sidewalk towards the bike rack, until I remembered that I sold it to a shop for one thousand two hundred P. Instead, I just kept walking, trying to look innocent, despite my wide eyes and shaking hands. Jun could catch up. He'd be fine, we could plead innocent if something happened. We could claim that Team Rocket forced us to do it. Jun would catch up. Things could sort their selves out. I just had to walk. Dammit, walk!

"Śiva!" Jun called out.

Jun came jogging my say, a relieved half-smile on his face. I let him catch up.

I should not have stopped for him.

- Pokémon Arena -

Welcome to to Academy. Here, you will prepare your minds and bodies for participation in Pokémon Arena, the nation's number one reality TV show! Here you will forge new friendships and rivalries, destinies will be decided, some will come out on top, some will be underdogs... You've each been given a poké ball. The pokémon within will be your partner for the rest of the contest, so you'd better learn to get along! Good luck! - Next Chapter: "Someone's P.C."