Mission 01
"The nature of pokemon are even more chaotic than we think. When watching them in the wild, they take on the personality that nature intended; survive, adapt and populate. But if you throw humans into the equation, the pokemons' personalities reveal a malleability that one could never find in the rest of nature. More so than humans, Pokemon seem to take on a mentality that mirrors what they interact with. As an example, a Pokemon raised by an innocent child, the Pokemon will view the child as a friend or, in rare cases, a sibling. Going to the opposite end of the spectrum, if the influence is a thug or "law-breaker," then said Pokemon will tend to find enjoyment in whatever lawless or cruel activity their human does, typically having a master-servant relationship. There is also the "trainer": the human who attempts to nurture the strengths of the Pokemon and teach them society's "Right and Wrong." Balancing between kindness and force, these Pokemon are taught to use their power only when all other means to solve an issue are exhausted. These Pokemon are the most conflicted, for there are many facets of right and wrong."
- Excerpt from "Pokemon Personalities: Yours or Theirs?" in Pokemon Journal Monthly
The ride on the Magnetic Train was rather bumpy. Zeke stumbled out of the train. Wobbling slightly, he made his way to a sturdy wall. He hadn't been this unsteady since that class he had taken in sea battles back at the academy. The memory brought a chuckle to his throat and a smile to his face. When he had gotten his land-legs back (another chuckle, another memory), Zeke hefted his duffel up to his shoulder and headed out of the station.
Goldenrod was as busy as the last time he was here, if not busier. People bustled about their daily lives. From his left he felt the sea breeze blow in, carrying the cries of birds, the surf and the voices of the people at the beach.
Deciding to wander a bit, Zeke headed out to the main street. Being one of those big cities held together by tourism, Goldenrod's main street consisted of only four lanes: two heading north, and two heading south. The remaining space was sidewalk, which were constantly filled with people doing... well, the gods knew what.
Shifting his duffel again caused Zeke to look down. Beneath his boot was a crumpled poster. Looking around, Zeke noticed the rest of the pavement was litter-free. Bumping a couple passerby, Zeke knelt down and picked up the poster. In large, gaudy letters, the poster read:
SEE THE MARVEL FROM ACROSS THE SEA!
SEE YOUR HOME TOWN FAVORITES FACE OFF AGAINST THE MYSTERIOUS FREAK OF NATURE!
At the bottom, in smaller text, was:
FIGHTS HELD IN GOLDENROD CASINO.
"'Freak of Nature,' huh?" Zeke scoffed.
He had seen Pokemon from Kanto to Unova and everywhere else in between.
"Why not..."
Folding up the poster and pocketing it, Zeke started his search for the casino.
The casino wasn't that hard to find. Being one of the four biggest buildings; two being the Radio Tower and the Magnet Train Station which were next door to each other, and the third the Goldenrod Dept. Store, was the tallest. Of course the sign with "CASINO" in flashing neon lights made it easy.
Zeke's duffel shifted again, so he adjusted the strap as he walked into the building, the sliding doors iSWOOSHING/i open for him.
With all the gamblers, it took Zeke a while to find the main desk. There was a relatively long line at the desk, yet not five feet from the, what, clerk?, was a young woman in an outfit with "Goldenrod Casino" printed on the front. Ignoring the line, Zeke walked up to the woman.
"Excuse me. Where's the fight being held?"
The lady immediately looked unsteady. "I'm sorry, sir. But I'm not sure what you mean," her eyes shifted left and right.
Zeke took a long shot. "According to this flier," he pulled the folded up poster from his pocket and set it on the counter, "there are fights being held here. Now, from your expression, Pokemon pit-fights aren't exactly legal here and a lot of people would suffer greatly if I just happen to slip this to a police officer."
The woman looked around again, probably to make sure no one was eavesdropping.
"Follow the back wall," she whispered fervently. "Beside the copse of planted trees is a poster hiding the button. You'll have thirty seconds."
Zeke was about to ask, "Thirty seconds for what?" when the woman called loudly, "Excuse me, ma'am! Might I be of assistance?"
Taking it as his cue to "scram," Zeke glanced around for a wall and a copse of potted plants.
Being a fairly large building, it took Zeke a good thirty or forty minutes to find those damn trees. He found the poster, some gambling prize advertisement, and scoured it and the area around it for the "hidden button." Not finding anything looking remotely like a button, Zeke dropped his duffel and sighed in exasperation.
Rubbing his face, he felt the stubble on his face and remembered the sailors and cooks with goatees and soul patches. Passively, he thought about growing a goatee. "Might look good on me..." he mumbled.
As he bent for his duffel, a play of light and shadow caught his eye. A wrinkle in the poster was practically invisible unless viewed from just the right angle. Zeke lightly ran his fingertips over the wrinkle and felt a bit of the wall wiggle. Using the pads of his middle and ring fingers, Zeke pressed the "hidden" button. There was a faint sound of stone scraping stone to his right. A startled step back and Zeke saw stairs fall into alignment leading beneath the floor.
'Thirty seconds,' Zeke remembered and quickly descended the steps. Reaching a curve in the stairway, Zeke heard the steps move again and almost began to panic. Looking up, he saw that only the steps directly beneath the opening had closed.
A dull roar echoed off the walls, which grew louder as Zeke continued down. The noise was monstrous when he reached the bottom. It was so loud the steel door separating the stairwell and the pit vibrated angrily. Zeke grabbed the handle and opened the foot-thick steel door, which swung in easily on well-oiled hinges.
Spectators, betters, degenerate gamblers all; their screams and roars and jeers hit Zeke like a brick wall. He was pretty sure his ears were destroyed. Movement caught his eye and he looked left where a woman who had dyed her hair three different shades of blue was waving her arm to get his attention. Closing the door, Zeke stepped up the desk.
Her mouth moved, but all Zeke could hear was the insane, droning voices down in the pit. The blue-haired woman's mouth moved again and Zeke thought he caught "ear piece." Jerking his thumb to his ear and shaking his head, Zeke tried to convey that he could not hear her. The woman rolled her eyes.
She opened a drawer, pulled something out in a clutched fist and stuck out her hand to Zeke. He slid his hand, palm up, under the woman's. Carelessly, she dropped the item into Zeke's open hand. It was a pair of blue ear plugs. Picking one up between his fingertips, Zeke saw that the earplug had tiny circuitry beneath the squishy, blue padding.
Zeke looked at the woman again, who pointed at her ear. Taking the hint, Zeke crammed one plug into each ear; his eyebrows raising as the noise from the pit muffled.
"How's your ears feel?" a staticy female voice echoed in the sudden quiet in his head.
He looked back up at the woman behind the counter who wore a smirk that had Cheshire-cat potential.
"Still kinda ringin'," Zeke replied with a small grin.
"Well, that's what you get for coming down to the pit without proper ear protection," the woman said with a chuckle. "So, can I help you with something?"
Zeke adjusted his duffel. "Found this flier on the road and wanted to see the so-called 'Freak of Nature'."
The woman's face flattened. Zeke could tell a serious line had been crossed.
With a deep sigh the woman stood and swung herself over the desk. A quick glance at the poster, she then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it behind the desk.
"Call me Lynn," she said offhandedly. Stopping at the top of a staircase, Lynn glanced over her shoulder at Zeke. "You comin'?"
Zeke kept three steps behind Lynn as she showed him where everything was and how the pit worked. Lynn took the bets after the sparring fights. The fights ran similar to a tournament. There were other, etiquette rules that Zeke ignored to some extent. One rule interested him, though. "Anyone may fight."
Lynn finished the impromptu tour down at ringside.
"Betting is about to start, so I'll leave you here," Lynn gave Zeke a coy smile. "Enjoy the fights."
These pokemon fought like animals. Fire flew, Claws gouged, teeth tore and fists pounded. More than once the losing fighter had to be carried out on stretchers or gurneys.
Finally, the Main Event. The "Freak of Nature" Zeke had been wanting to see. Watching all the fights had made him somewhat queasy, but he assumed, he ihoped/i, these pokemon were well compensated.
A portly man stepped into the cage. Using whatever frequency the earplugs were on, the man made the announcements.
"And now! The fight you all have been waiting for! I am pleased to give you the 'Freak! Of! Nature!' Blaziken! From! Hoooennn!"
Zeke had seen Blaziken while he was at the academy, but none of them looked like this one. Overall it looked normal, though the V-crest of feathers on its head was cropped short. Normally a Blaziken's beaked face is covered in fine, red feathers; this Blaziken's face, however, was encased in a bony mask. Among its other curiosities, there were four fingers instead of three and both hands, forearms, shins and feet had what looked like either hardened feathers or protruding bone covering the outsides like greaves and gauntlets.
"Aaaand his opponent! Hailing from our very own Goldenrod! The undefeated champion! Maaaachaaaamp!"
It was obvious how much the Machamp had been trained. Plenty of scars were scattered across its body, but beneath the skin and scar tissue, you could see the thick, corded muscles that twitched with every move – Zeke figured it flexed them like that for effect.
Machamp removed his championship belt and hoisted it up with his upper arms. Cheers echoed off the walls, mixing together into a bone-vibrating roar. Passing the belt to his trainer, Machamp caught the trainer's startled expression; diving to his right just as Blaziken's kamikaze-style flying kick rocketed toward him.
Dodged, Blaziken crashed heavily into the chain link cage.
Guards slammed the cage doors quickly and set the padlocks.
Blaziken glared at Machamp from where he knelt on the mat. That cocky grin irritated him. Pushing off with his hands, Blaziken popped up, landing expertly on his feet. Taking measure of their opponent, Machamp and Blaziken padded around the cage, circling each other, waiting to see who would make the next move.
Showing a lack of patience, Blaziken rushed in, bringing his right leg up into a powerful kick. Catching Blaziken's leg, Machamp gave a leering grin as he held the wiry leg between his two left arms. Bouncing slightly, Blaziken twisted, snapping a small kick at Machamp's head.
Easily blocking the kick by catching his left ankle, Machamp tucked Blaziken's other leg against his body, holding it with his two right hands. With a grunt, Machamp hoisted Blaziken up and slammed him back down, knocking the wind out of his opponent. Flexing his muscles, Machamp lifted Blaziken up again, began spinning around, and hurled him into the cage wall surrounding the ring.
Blaziken got up on his elbows, dazed still from the attack; not knowing he was being stalked by the behemoth he had dared challenge.
Grabbing a fist-full of coarse feathers, Machamp dragged the scrawny challenger to his feet, held him a moment to be sure he was steady, and used Cross Chop, driving his thick hands into Blaziken's ribcage. He knew this match was finished. Bigger enemies had fallen to this move; there was no way this foreigner could withstand it. Raising his arms, Machamp turned to his trainer and headed back to the gate he had entered from.
Blaziken got to his knees shakily, coughing up blood. Looking up at the back of his opponent, the roar of the humans around them rumbled in his body. Memories of insults and phantom jeers made anger boil in his stomach. Machamp's cocky smile sent Blaziken over the edge.
Growling, Blaziken slammed his fist against the mat. Pushing himself up into a sprinter's position, he ran, skidding to a stop just shy of two feet behind Machamp and swung a Blaze Kick into the side of Machamp's right knee, bringing the "Undefeated Champion" to his knees.
On his feet, Blaziken dashed to the cage wall, jumped on to the fencing, and used the recoil to propel himself into the air. As he rose, he used Ember, bombarding Machamp with a steady stream of fist-sized fireballs.
A small attack like Ember did little more than singe the fine hairs on his arms. Once the heat died, Machamp dropped his arms and looked around, then up. Blaziken hovered over him, right foot ablaze. Minutes stretched as Blaziken descended upon him.
Burning heat and the power of a ten-foot drop behind the stomp – plus Blaziken's weight added to the attack – Machamp's ribcage didn't stand a chance.
Blaziken looked down at his opponent, felt the crushed ribs under his foot; one thought shot through his mind as quickly as the battle had seemed to end: iI think I killed him/i. The roar of the crowd around him crashed in on him as he stood, making way for the medics to check over Machamp's wounds. His trainer was there. Crying and screaming as muscular humans held him back so the medics could do their work. Turning his head, All he saw beyond the cage was the yelling, grotesque faces of humans. All yelling. Cheering. Booing. Except one. A young male in the front row leaned on the fence that kept the voyeurs away from the ringside. He didn't cheer. He didn't boo. He simply stared. Stared at Blaziken. There was knowledge in his eyes. A hint of disgust. And, surprisingly, sorrow. That look he gave made something squirm in Blaziken's gut. Was it shame? No, it couldn't. Blaziken glanced at his "trainers." Greedy smiles scrunched their faces. They wouldn't have wept if he had been beaten. Not like Machamp's trainer. His "trainers" had won a very large sum, judging from the size of the bag they were handed. Blaziken moved to join them, but something made him look back at the other male. That expression of knowing-disgust-sadness still on his face as he picked up the bag at his feet. His gut squirmed again.
He was wrong.
It was shame.
END