2 - The Office

Pokémon League. The organization I work for. Or rather, the organization I control. As CEO, it's my duty to oversee all facets of its operation; to carry out its two prime directives of safeguarding human-Pokémon relationships and regulating professional Pokémon battling to the best of my abilities. Global Headquarters was nominally located in Redwood City, Castor. There were 192 National Headquarters spread throughout the world, thousands of regional bases of operation, and untold number of facilities, gyms, properties, and local nexi of competition. Indigo Plateau was the National Headquarters for the country of Nihon, and one of the top five power-centers of the Pokémon League.

The drive into town was splendid. Traffic was typically easy to navigate, given the hour. Wilkins was not an aggressive driver; he displayed a bottomless patience for the road and its hordes of insane drivers. It was this specific trait I hired him for. Nonetheless, it felt like we practically glided between fourteen-wheelers and SUV's, and the occasional Pokémon serving as land transportation. The only snag was traffic while passing by the largest building in town: the massive, ever-bustling Indigo Arena Complex. Shortly thereafter another large series of buildings came into view.

Indigo Plateau, Pokémon League National Head Quarters, Central Office. I liked the place. It was older, built some four decades ago, and incorporated a much older, more venerable building, the Light of Moltres Temple. The temple was made of granite columns and ancient, twisted wooden beams. HQ itself meshed with the temple, continuing on into a marble and glass façade that rose twenty stories into the air. It was the second tallest structure in the city, lower than the Arena, but both were dwarfed by the mountain peaks looming in the background.

"It's early, no reporters today. Still want around back?" Wilkins asked me.

"Yes, please," I answered. We rounded the complex's exterior and Wilkins dropped me off.

It was a habit of mine to take the temple entrance. There was a sentimental satisfaction in passing between the rough, stone-hewn archways. The building is not so sterile as the Castor Global Headquarters, nor so imposing as that imperious skyscraper. No, these halls are intimate, and comforting, and they have history.

My hand passed over a series of four gashes, a scar from a long ago battle between bitter rivals. The shallow stair steps, built for the architect's wife, a cripple before wheelchairs were invented. Strange and precious gemstones imprinted into the stonework, taken from Challenger's Abyss, deepest point in the ocean. The central chamber, a concentric series of stairs, slopes, pathways, all spiraling towards the dais containing the Flame of Moltres itself.

Legend has it the Flame is the incarnation of the first Moltres forefather. Not true; such a thing is a myth. However, it is no lie to say this particular flame was begot by the Flamethrower dousing of an actual Moltres. A tiny population of the legendary creatures are known to inhabit the mountains not far away. The tale goes that, as a young child, Charles Goodshow befriended a wounded Moltres, brought it down from the mountain, nurtured it back to health, and then set it free. As a sign of thanks, it would return every year to light the ceremonial blaze at the regional tournament. It has not been seen since Goodshow's departure, but the flame has been carefully kept ablaze, without pause, for six years.

It's a great story. Every nook and nix of this place tells such a story. Surely, this place is alive, it speaks to me from across the gap of ages.

Then, sadly, my little jaunt through the temple can be slowed no further, and I must enter the swishing doors of the modern era. The HQ building itself is showing signs of age and use, but not in a good way. 20th century buildings just do not age as well as their medieval predecessors. HQ was showing the signs of wear on every corner, every faded wall, trodden carpet, cramped, ill-conforming office, mangled facility assignment. Attribute that to the several thousand office workers buzzing through its corridors each day, working the architecture to the bone.

Effortlessly transiting security, I was soon on the executive floor and greeting many familiar faces all at once. They crowded around me, causing a little bit of nausea. The allotted time for taking the morning nice and easy was officially over.

"Stone!" "Stone!" "Stone!" "Steven!"

"Hold it! Carol, today's agenda. Blair, nice to see you. Adrian, I'm going to need the GLAC files on my desk. Ned, inform the board members we will be pushing the meeting back to after lunch."

"Sir."

"I know you're busy, Steven, but I-"

"Roger. They'll be on it in five."

"Why after lunch?"

I herded the small army of bureaucrats round the floor, till I had positioned myself in my office doorway. I pulled my two closest assistants, Carol and Leto, to my side.

"Leto, deal with the mob. Carol, in here." Leto, looking hapless, stared after us as we entered the door.

"Why alone, sir?" Carol said hesitatingly. She's so cute when her emotions are stirring. I know she's been harboring a secret crush on me since I arrived. It's a fun game, teasing her emotions with a romance that will never, ever have a chance to be.

"For privacy," I said. She averted her eyes and hid her blushing cheeks with the folder she was carrying. I brushed her bangs aside, and in the same motion snatched the folder from her grasp. She jumped in surprise.

"Don't be silly, my dear Carol, you know I'm married.

"I… I… I would think n-nothing of the sort!"

"Would you? Hmm..." I ignored her stuttered embarrassment, instead concentrating on the files. "Did the TV crew come early?"

"Y-yes. How'd you guess?"

"It's because I'm a genius. Open my schedule up, I want to meet them as soon as possible."

"Yes sir."

I call them the TV crew in jest. They're not reporters, but rather the negotiating officers of the broadcast companies. Our television contract was due for renewal and our board was asking for a substantive raise on our take-away. I aimed to deliver.

Carol busied herself on her laptop while I double-fact-checked our leverage points. Here I am, CEO of one of the world's most powerful organizations, and sometimes I feel like I'm little more than a glorified salesman. The money issues were always my least favorite aspect of the job, but I suppose there was no helping it. I took the job knowing what I was in for… Well, actually… That's not true. Balancing the ledgers was not one of the many issues I was expected to address when I was offered the job. The League continues to have an image problem, not a financial problem.

"Brian really should have taken the job if all they wanted was profits," I muttered, not a little bitter. I scratched my head at the figures. Something didn't add up; my math was wrong.

"Metagross, out." I summoned the metallic quadruped out into my office floor. "Glad I brought you. Crunch these numbers for me, will ya?" I rambled on for three minutes, reciting percentages, clause-adjustment ratios, market factor estimation inputs, and a long list of integers attached to seemingly random letters of the alphabet.

"Calculate that, tell me if the answer is anywhere close to 4.45 billion ρ."

Language was one thing, not Metagross' strong suit. Math was entirely different. Between its four computer-like brains, Metagross could replace our smartest accountant, our lead engineer, and our super-computer, all at the same time. The calculation was complete microseconds after the final figure left my lips: the three second delay in its answer was a courtesy to my human mind, not out of the necessity to complete the calculations.

"Mross."

Hmm. Incredible. It was 4.45 billion pokédollars after all. I showed the file to Metagross. Steady and precise as a robot, it lifted its arm up and traced a doodle across the numbers with a single claw.

"Oh that's where I went wrong. Thank you." Damn. The deficit brought to my attention a percentile cut I hadn't been aware of. Government must've written that into the budget without me noticing, the bastards. I pulled the file together.

There was a knock at the door.

"Leto, I thought I told you to keep the-"

The door burst open. I turned to give the intruder hell, but cowed myself as fast as humanly possible. Entering my office were the only two men who could get away with trespassing upon my workspace.

Gabriel Brach, Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Pokémon League, a.k.a. my "boss".

Keido Takame, no one of worldly importance, but despite that, a fiend and a good friend.

"Gabe! Keido! It's been months!" I said this to the latter.

"Yes it has."

"Excuse me, Stone, I need a word,"

"Just a moment Brach, we haven't-"

"Now!" Brach demanded.

"Piper down! I haven't seen Keido in months; unless the building is collapsing, it can wait half a minute!"

These men were both a pain in the ass. However, one was of the "I genuinely despise this man" variety, and the other was a sly, prankstering son of a bitch that made one smile even though one was getting played for a fool. Take a guess which one was which.

"The television broadcasters-"

"Are here and waiting for an audience. Why don't you go entertain them?"

"They're here? This early?" he gasped. I nodded. "I want to see them," he demanded.

"Leto, where are you?"

The young man showed himself. "Here."

"Show Gabe to wherever you've stashed the TV crew."

"Dragonite Lounge, got it." Brach gave me one last glaring look before he followed Leto out the door. Poor guy, stuck with Brach and the TV negotiators.

"I like that kid. He's not half-bad at battling. Leads with Sigilyph, would you believe it?" I turned to my companion and rival of years long past.

"Don't underestimate Sigilyphs. It's not a bad choice in shutting the hazard leads and the hyper offensive leads down cold." Keido grinned from ear to ear, then grabbed me in an Ursaring hug.

"How goes holy matrimony?"

"Incredibly exhausting," I replied, standing him back to take a look at him.

"Oh yeah?" He gave me a sly knowing look. "Got the cougar tamed yet?"

"Nope, pretty much still the prey in her paws." We laughed. "So what've you been up to?" I asked.

"Strategic Criminal Intervention consulting in Unova. Some whack jobs by name of Plasma thinking global domination."

"Haha, don't they all. They try to use Legendaries too?"

Keido chuckled. "Yep. They don't change, do they?"

"Nope."

There had been an amusing rash of terrorist teams cropping up all over the world, usually deluding themselves about their leaders' purpose and believing ultra-rare "legendary" Pokémon would become their own personal weapons of mass destruction. The leaders were usually insane and the rank and file dredged from the social outcasts, i.e. they look like a cross-section of the dumbest idiots of society. Most were so poorly run that local vigilantes, sometimes young kids even, took them down without needing intervention. It was pretty pathetic all around; their greatest impact was the incredible waste of resources needed to curtail copy-cats. Not since the Rockets' take-over bid six years ago or so had the Pokémon League been seriously threatened by anyone.

"Well, besides the government," I reminded myself.

"So what's on your plate today?" he asked, while browsing my collection of geode crystals.

"Television contract negotiations in the morning. Board meeting in the afternoon. Gym leader oversight in the evening, I believe."

"So, pricks who you need to bleed for money to feed pricks who snuff it up like crack addicts, and then baby-sitting?"

"That is a very concise way of putting it; you are one perceptive individual my good friend." Keido took the wry compliment with a laugh.

"How about you?"

"I'm about to head off to the CRADLE Project office. They're begging for my expertise and with the contract they're offering, I felt obliged."

"How much?" I inquired.

"Oh, let's not talk about figures. Let's just say I might eventually pass you up if I keep getting offers like this. Hehe."

"Haha." We both knew that was never going to happen. As much as I hate money, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sitting on a mountain of investments and prize earnings. Just in the six months of this CEO job, I had already raked in twenty-five times the national GDP per capita. Still, I was barely spending it on anything. A few estates and Pokémon facilities, but other than those fractional expenditures, nada. I don't have the time or freedom from stress I'd like before divesting myself of my fortune. After I retire, maybe then. Maybe I'll find some random charity and turn them into a small Fortune 500 company.

"So, you're busy, what say you and I meet after work. When are you getting off?" he inquired.

"Nine, hopefully," I replied. "You want to go catch some drinks?"

"Nah, battle." Keido smirked. "But drinks after sounds good."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll text you."

"Look forward to it. Be seeing you in the arena," he said, pointing a finger at Metagross as he departed.

"That was your childhood friend?" Carol entered, carrying a stack of papers and computer tablets.

"College rival," I answered.

"Oh."

"We spent most of college chasing the same things: competitions, scholarships, internships, Pokémon, women. Hehehe." I couldn't help but chuckle. "That last one did us in. We were about to murder each other for her sake, and she dumped the both of us. That's when we started to chill off and began bonding. Probably for the better, I got a friend and, thanks to not getting hitched then, now I have the most perfect, most adorable wife in the world."

"Hmph. Like anyone else calls that woman adorable," she muttered.

"You did not just insult my wife," I jokingly warned my secretary.

"No, n-no sir! I only wanted to point out no one sees your wife in that way."

"And in what way do they see her?"

"The word 'bombshell' comes to mind," Carol let out reluctantly.

"HAHAHAHA!" I held my face in my hand while wrenching over. That was funny! That was kick in the balls funny!

"HAHAHAAHAAHHAAA!"

Okay, do forgive my outburst, my sense of humor picks the craziest things to explode over.

"Are you okay?" Carol asked, concerned. I grabbed the petite woman's shoulder, holding her off but reassuring her.

"I'll be fine. Just set that paperwork down. Are the TV pricks ready?"

"Half an hour."

"Okay."

It ran by fast. I used a perplexed Carol to rehearse my pitch lines to. It's not like differences measuring in the tens of billions of poké are riding on this meeting, right? (note the sarcasm).

"Sir," Carol alerted me to the time. 8:26. I picked myself up.

"Show time."