Chapter 2

Both rain and Pokemon had always been good things to Cavan Coy of the Rebellion, but having a sopping wet bug drop onto his head in the dead of the night while on watch duty was not exactly the peace he'd been expecting from the night's thunderstorm.

Cavan wasn't afraid to drop the occasional colorful word into his speech, but he sure did paint a rainbow with his sentences on that particular occasion as he screamed out into the night air and flung the creature off of his crown of jet black hair with both hands. It flew through the air and tumbled into a patch of weeds, squealing the entire time and flailing its thin legs upwards like an upturned Tirtouga once it had landed. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was indeed stuck quite hopelessly, as a bug missing two legs cannot flip over quite so easily. A short laugh that could almost be called a bark escaped him as he turned the bug– a Spinarak, evidently– back onto its stomach and gave its abdomen an awkward pat, muttering an apology to go along with it. The fair-skinned Rebel wasn't easily startled and a confident young man, so the idea of being frightened by a Pokemon hardly a foot long was nothing short of embarrassing to him. At least he was on watch alone tonight; strangely, not one unfamiliar person had been spotted in the woods for the last month, and their leader had ordered for the amount of people guarding the well hidden entrance to their base be dropped to one. Everyone had appreciated being able to rest longer, but the peace was unnatural. And why wouldn't it be? The thick forest was a popular hotspot for the government and trainers alike for one simple reason– it provided cover.

It was the only place with trees for miles, and even though it was huge, it had once been much bigger. Over years, the diverse Pokemon habitat had been logged away by greedy companies and real estate agencies. Now, the wooded land was surrounded by fields of oddly colored grass beneath a purplish sky filled with smog for as far as the eye could see. Factories pumped filthy smoke into the air, and the sheer amount of chemicals that were produced had killed the fertility of the soil. Nothing much more than unkempt weeds would ever grow there again. Even in the heart of the timberland, the mighty trees– some of which were hundreds of feet tall– were dying at a slow but steady rate. And in a world where everyone was simply trying to keep themselves alive, who would want to take care of mere plants? The withering shrubbery was a good hiding spot for either a fleeing trainer or a patrolling government official.

At the very least, the tunnel entrance was well hidden among the dying shrubs and undergrowth, some of their leaves of which he had to brush from his hair as he stared down at the shaking dual type. It had a small leather handbag looped around it, and seemed to know exactly what was inside of it and what it wanted to do with it. It bounced up and down with frantic chittering and turned circles, nudging the waterlogged bag towards him. Hesitantly, Cavan picked it up. Then he noticed a small mark that reflected in his crystalline blue eyes. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, and if you didn't look hard enough in the dark, it just seemed to be a stain. But the trainer knew the scent, and his eyes widened. It was fresh blood.

"The hell is going on here...?" he muttered. Cavan had quite basically been told to guard the entrance until the next person came onto shift, stopping and alerting the others only if a suspicious figure passed by. He had most definitely not been told he would have to deal with panicked Pokemon and their bloodstained purses; or whatever this thing was. He paused and stared at it harder. "Wait a second. This isn't leather..." There was no flexible feel to it. It was made of something else altogether– but what?

The bag was oddly crafted, made of some foreign material he couldn't identify for the life of him that deflected rainwater with ease, and was strapped down with what looked to be a genuine gold clasp. The letter A was engraved into the metal and rusting away with obvious overuse. Though a tiny part of him wanted to pocket it for himself, he knew better. This was an odd thing to come across, and it was his job to report it to one of his higher-ups as soon as possible. Trust was an important factor in the Rebellion; they'd already had three people in the last few months ditch them for the supposed 'safety' of being on the government's good side. So, although he was reluctant to do so, he didn't open it. He'd take on a hired hitman over the leader of the Rebellion any day. He stood, turned, and stopped yet again. He'd almost forgotten about the small creature that had brought him the bag in the first place!

The Spinarak was still stuck in the undergrowth, one leg caught in a thick strand of grass, and struggling to free itself, though its squeaks were drowned out by the wind. The Rebel rubbed his temple with his thumb and forefinger and sighed dramatically. Could a bug type do anything by itself? He laughed to himself as he crouched down to pull it from its prison of greenery. Yes, yes it could. His partner would vouch for that. As soon as it was untangled, the dual type thanked him with a long string of high-pitched chitters that Cavan quickly cut off by pressing a finger to his lips.

"Okay, look. I don't know if you belong to a trainer or something, but you did bring me that bag, and it looks pretty important. If you'd like to come with me, I think I could jump through a couple hoops. But you've got to stay in my backpack for awhile if you do, got it? For all we know, there's a microphone hidden on you or something. What do you say?"

The small arachnid's two beady black eyes expanded so intensely that Cavan was apt to wonder if it was sick, and it squealed with joy as it practically flung itself straight into his backpack laying half-unzipped on the ground. A couple good wiggles and it was inside. The Rebel laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head, totally baffled with the night's events.

"I guess that's how you catch a Pokemon."

"This is ridiculous!"

A sickening crunch resounded throughout the tent as the commander lost his temper. In just a mere moment the chair he had been leaning against and clutching with tight fingers was missing all four legs. They had snapped under the pressure of him pushing down on it. His chest heaved with frustration, and he dramatically dropped the destroyed piece of furniture to the ground, green eyes glittering in withheld rage. He was a trainer of imposing stature, carrying himself with pride and standing a head taller than the man in the meeting chamber, with smooth dark skin and jet black hair that spiked near the bottom to give him double the frightening edge. Everyone in the headquarters gave him a wide girth when he was in this kind of mood... the commander was not one to be trifled with.

"How do we ever expect to find him in this weather? For all we know, that bastard is dead and rotting away in a ditch by now!" he hissed as his gaze snapped to his companion. Present in the tent was one of his few good friends– Anthony, the Head Scout of the Rebels. He looked tired and somber as he spoke.

"Easy, Garren, easy. We're not going to get anywhere so as long as you're upset. We need to keep clear heads in a situation like this." Anthony Krauss, for once, was not smiling. His gentle brown eyes were mirthless, instead filled with solemn worry; and who wouldn't be worried right now? Lark, one of their best scouts, had been gone for days past his scheduled return date without any form of contact. Everyone feared the worst for the chipper young man, and a cold gloom had fallen over Shelter. The mocha-colored man wrapped his fingers around a thread on his shirt, playing with it endlessly, and tucked a loose strand of his amber hair behind his ear. It was normally kept in a small, tight ponytail, but today, he had lost his only rubber band and was forced to leave it down. Garren glanced up as his friend fidgeted and grunted softly, his expression softening. His deep voice was a rumbling waterfall filled with loose gravel, moving slowly and articulately, as he made his next statement.

"If Lark dies, we lose more than just a good teammate. We lose any information he might have gathered about the Obsidian Project, and..." His voice broke here ever so slightly, and he looked down a little. "Perhaps even Leon's spirit."

"No. The general wouldn't let this define him. He isn't that kind of leader," Anthony insisted a little too quickly. Garren bit his lip so hard that it began to bleed. The crimson drops slid down his chin and dripped down onto his hands, now resting against the table. He stared at them in silence for awhile.

"Perhaps Everest was right. The Rebellion is on a downwards spiral to defeat," he murmured. The wiry older trainer slammed his fists down onto the table, startling Garren into quieting. He looked startled as Anthony came right up to him, staring up into his face with passion burning in his eyes.

"The Rebellion is nowhere near falling. We're stronger than ever, Gary, and you know it! Don't give up yet. Please. We all need you right now." He rested a hand on his chest and stared up at him plaintively. "If the others find out that you don't have any hope left... everyone else will lose theirs, too. We need strong leaders now. Leaders like Leon, Kaen... and you. This is nothing like your usual attitude! I want to see the Garren everyone knows and loves. I want to–"

The heavy entrance flap to the meeting tent was thrown open, effectively ending the debate between the two and drawing them apart, and the silhouette of a lesser known trainer, Cavan, appeared, eyes wide.

"Commander Garren, sir? I've found something I think you'd like to see."

Savior had been stuck in his new friend's backpack for what felt like ages before he finally tasted fresh air again. He tumbled to the ground with a confused squeak and hit dirt, a dizzy feeling coming over him. The Spinarak managed to shuffle himself into an upright position and glanced around, seeing a strange new person crouching before him. He had spiky red hair and was quite tall, speaking in a soft voice to him... hold on, what was he saying? Startled, the dual type began to pay attention.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever be able to walk the same again, but I will do my very best," the man insisted with flat emotion in his dull eyes. They were a gentle hazel color that blended into his pale face. Savior liked them. Why was it the eyes of a human he always seemed to be drawn towards? Perhaps it was because they held emotion– emotion that Pokemon simply could not portray in the same way. But these ones were different. They were filled with pain... withheld pain, as if he didn't want anybody to know how he really felt. The arachnid tilted his head curiously, and the trainer did the same. "You look confused. I said I was going to design you prosthetics, no? The commander's orders. Come along, now, so I can take measurements. I have a lot to do right now besides tend to bugs."

The Pokemon did not 'come along,' however. He still did not understand what was going on. What was a prosthetic, and how would it help him walk? Why did this human seem so flat and sad? A tiny chitter of question escaped him as the man turned his back. For a moment, he was silent, as if considering whether or not to say something. Then he continued walking.

"Hurry up," he growled. There was an edge to his voice so threatening that Savior snapped to reality and shot after him as fast as an uneven Spinarak could carry itself. He'd ponder about everything he'd experienced today at a later time.

Right now? What was important was that he kept his promise. He was going to help Lark and his friends, no matter what.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Normally, I always include an author's note at the end of each of my chapters, but for some reason, I didn't add one to the opening of Shelter. From now on, I'll be trying to keep in touch via these A/N's, so expect plenty of them. My first and foremost thing to mention is how much I apologize for the wait! This ended up taking far longer than I expected, and even now, I'm not too happy with how the chapter turned out. But I wanted SOMETHING to be available so that you all could know that no, I'm not dead; but I do in fact have a terrible tendency to spontaneously pump out three chapters in a week during a burst of inspiration... or lose my zest for a long while and not post a chapter for two months and then say nothing about it. Please do bear with me, and keep in mind I will probably end up rewriting or heavily editing this chapter. Next order of business– I am SO HAPPY with the characters that were sent in! They're all beautifully designed and have unique personalities, and I can't wait to let their stories unfold in this tale... thank you everyone who has decided to stick by me in this journey! I hope we'll all be able to trek through it through the ups and downs. Please enjoy the unveiling of our first three (well, technically four) OC's, and please do follow, favorite, and review!

~FuriousDedenne