As I exited the bunker, the noon-time sunlight momentarily blinded me after the darkness and artificial lighting of the bunker, which was not the most well-lit of places on the best of days. I shaded my eyes automatically, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the light.

The area surrounding the outcropping of reinforced concrete might have once been clear, but it was now overgrown, nature having reclaimed what had once been roads and fences. Here and there, signs of human military presence still clung: here the remains of a chain link fence topped with barb wire, links rotted and pitted by rust and neglect. There, the remains of a small building, a guard post or a shed of some sort, the wood now moldering, the roof falling in. The entire structure tilted at a crazy angle, a situation no doubt made worse by the tree that seemed to have grown out of one of its corners.

The bunker itself had not seemed to fare any better, the concrete surface covered in moss and lichen, precisely why I had chosen this location. The only sign that the structure had been inhabited at any time in the last five years was a lack of rust around the frame of the bulkhead door, a direct result of my attempts to maintain the aperture and keep it in some semblance of working order.

With a slight sigh, I shifted the straps on my bag once again and moved off to what I judged to be the southeast, stretching as I did so. Enigma followed me out into the sun, inhaling through his teeth as the sunlight hit his eyes and wincing at the cracks produced as I moved my stiff joints.

"Alright." I said, then reached around my left side to the side pocket, from which I removed a battered box. It might have once been an olive green, but now the paint was mottled and inconsistent. Any number of scratches and small dents criss crossed the dull surface, but the screen came on as well as it ever had when the power button was depressed. After a moment, the device indicated our exact position down to around a foot or so. Enigma leaned over my shoulder, seemingly intrigued.

"What is that?"

I grunted. "Old military issue GPS device. Took this off a wrecked UA vehicle a few years ago, and they never took the older models off of the system. Had to do some fiddling to make it invisible to other units, but it was well worth it." As I spoke, I tapped a location a few miles north of the southern shores of the JUR, then typed in a few keywords. The device worked for a moment, then indicated a red line leading from our current location east across a large swath of land towards Evergreen, then south and through several different cities, tracing a path for us to follow.

"Ah." He hesitated. "What, exactly, does the acronym GPS stand for?"

"Global positioning system."

I sensed further questions gathering in him, but thankfully, he bit his tongue. I had no doubt that I would be subject to a vast number of questions come nightfall.

"Alright. Trainers and trappers don't often come into this area, owing to the large amounts of damage to the local population of Poke. Despite that, we may run across at least one or two while we're in this valley-" I indicated the depression that snaked east, then south. "Once we're out, however, I expect to run into far more. While no roads or paths into this valley are maintained, there is a Route that traces the northern ridge before continuing east, one of the many thoroughfares between Evergreen and Anderson lake to the north-west. Once on that Route, we'll follow it all the way to Evergreen, a route that I would normally avoid. As to trainers, if we should have the misfortune of stumbling across one, we'll either have to avoid or fight them." At this point, I switched the GPS off and placed it back into its pocket. "One thing you should know before we meet any trainers: do NOT make eye contact. I stress that very much. Eye contact is commonly accepted among trainers as a challenge, and delaying in order to battle someone gives that particular someone a very good chance to notice that you have no Pokedex, no pokeballs, are not giving me commands, or any one of a number of inconsistencies."

I placed one hand on an old log, coated with moss, and leaped over it.

"Some of these inconsistencies we may be able to dismiss as you being a new, inexperienced trainer," I continued, "but even the greenest trainers know how a trainer is meant to behave. You have none of this knowledge, and I cannot coach you in sustaining the illusion without arousing suspicion. The trainer will notice that you seem to be taking commands from your pokemon, or the trainer might notice your lack of equipment or any number of things, and the illusion crumbles.

"Thankfully, trainer etiquette and rules forbade forcing someone to fight, and we will be traveling on a well-used Route with many potential witnesses, so as long as you keep your head down we should be able to avoid most trouble. Any questions?"

He bit his lower lip. "These… Trainers. How many of them exist?"

I took a quick breath in and out, considering. "Well, not as many as there once were. Their numbers have suffered from slow attrition over the years, much of it due to the side-effects of the Forge Wars." I gestured to the surrounding woods, which were strangely quiet: here, a bird song. There, the half-hidden form of a bug Poke flitted through the trees. "The Poke living in these woods have been made casualties, been captured, or have fled against the looming battles. You will find similar areas from the southern shores to the northern ice packs: Poke population has decayed, and with it the number of new trainers."

I let out a small huff as I leapt to the crest of a small ridge, identifiable from the surrounding flora only by the break of green, revealing a stripe of brown. Enigma swung himself over the lip, landing in a crouch before standing and following behind, intent on what I was saying.

"It doesn't help," I continued, "that both sides of the conflict have taken to recruiting experienced or skilled trainers to be soldiers. Many of them die in combat, and further children who might have otherwise followed in their footsteps with Poke of their own have now become wary of a career that is as likely to lead to your eventual death as not. As a result, most of the trainers left are either too young or old to be recruited, or have otherwise been deemed too infirm to serve in a military capacity."

Enigma processed this information for a moment. "So, why are they recruiting from a group when it should be obvious that recruitment from said group would be detrimental to it?"

I shrugged, then ducked underneath a low-hanging branch wreathed in moss. "As frustrating as it is, their reasoning is relatively inscrutable." I kicked a stone, which clacked against a far tree. "For my part, I believe that they can recruit all the normal soldiers they want from the general population, which is nothing to sneeze at, believe me. No, I believe that what they want… Is officers, officers who can lead Poke and human alike. Good officers are hard to come by, and anyone with a talent for tactics is often hauled off to the military headquarters of his or her respective country, leaving few competent leaders to fill out the lower branches of the tree of command. Thus, the recruitment of people, trainers, who have experience leading and commanding a team of Poke. The Gyms are not much more than glorified military testing and training facilities now…"

"Gyms?"

I let out a breath through my nostrils.

It was a few hours before the incessant questions had petered out. Mostly, I was glad for the silence, and my companion seemed to be enjoying the deep woods quite a bit. I observed that the forest was not as devoid of fauna as I had previously assumed: shadows flicked between the trees, the occasional pair of eyes examined us from the tree tops. I took a deep

breath in, then halted in my tracks.

"What?" he whispered.

"I don't…" I sniffed the air again. "… Oil. Oil and exhaust fumes." My ears twitched, swiveling like radar dishes as I attempted to pick up any ambient sounds. What little Poke activity had been in the woods around us seemed to have vanished, replaced by a low rumble that was growing slowly louder. I pulled the GPS out of its side pocket, flicking the power switch.

The screen glowed to life, the small device coming out of sleep mode for a second before displaying a map of the surrounding area.

"Alright, the roads just a few hundred feet in that direction." I pointed forward, and glanced that way: however, the flora clustered in clumps and rough circles was too thick to properly see through, and I was unable to catch even a cursory glimpse of any evidence of human habitation or activity through the brush and plant life.

I fixed Enigma with a look: to my surprise, he looked slightly anxious. His facial expression was just the slightest touch twisted, and he shifted from foot to foot, generally giving the atmosphere of, well, anxiety. I blinked, then shook my head slightly, glancing away again as I did so.

"What I told you and what I explained should hold well enough, but I would still recommend keeping conversations with anyone on the road short, simple and vague. Try not to rouse suspicions any more than is necessary."

Enigma nervously cracked his knuckles, then stepped in front of me, as if leading. I followed directly behind, ready to observe or even step in if need be. As we stepped out of the brush lining the edge of the pavement, Enigma first and myself following almost in his shadow in order to maximize him as cover, a single vehicle blazed by. The white pick-up truck, which looked to have seen better days and, indeed, appeared to have been patched together from several vehicles of differing paint jobs, disappeared down the two-lain asphalt at a rate that I suspected exceeded the set speed limit by quite a bit.

Besides that single vehicle, which had already disappeared around a bend farther down, the roadside was thankfully deserted. The gravel and bare dirt that were typically the sole residents of the edges of the pavement was interrupted only by an ancient, rusted call box, wires cut, rusted door hanging, with graffiti carved into every available orifice. The fact that vandals would go so far out of their way to scrawl on a metal box on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere both galled and impressed me. Having confirmed the lack of any challengers that might interfere with our continued journey, I shot a quick glance at Enigma.

Having seen the same things and come to the same conclusion as I had, some of the tension had left his form: however, he still seemed to possess a certain degree of wariness, his eyes darting back and forth attempting to pick out potential threats. As I examined him, we made a brief moment of eye contact: I blinked and turned my gaze back to the device, which I had yet to turn off. After checking my bearings against the device's compass, and double-checking with the position of the sun for good measure, I turned left down the road and began walking. Enigma, who had looked in the other direction down the road, glanced back, noticed I was leaving, and hurried to catch up. Remembering myself, I slowed for a moment, allowing Enigma to slip in front of me: to a trainer or a driver, we would look like the typical broke or stingy trainer and his Poke. Then, the thought occurred to me that there was absolutely no reason for us to walk. While I had walked every yearly journey there and back, occasionally stowing away on trains if I could help it, I now had a human companion and could, beyond a shadow of a doubt, pass as his Poke, though my confidence that Enigma might pass for a trainer under inspection was admittedly far less than I was comfortable with. Legitimately hitching a ride from a passing vehicle was no longer such a stretch, a fact that my legs were greatly thankful for. My mind made up on this point, I moved to walk besides Enigma instead of behind, the better to explain my idea and how we would go about it.

"Enigma-" I began.

"E."

I blinked and frowned. "What?"

He shot me a sideways glance. "Enigma is, I must admit, rather a mouthful. Simply E is far less… Cumbersome."

"E, then. I have-"

My ear twitched as I heard a car approaching. Hurriedly, I dropped back slightly to give the appearance that… E… Was leading, and that I was following. I shot a glance at the vehicle in question, but it was what appeared to be a four-doored van: to maintain the illusion that E was a trainer, we needed a two-doored pick-up truck with an empty bed. Thus, I let the vehicle pass un-signaled. As soon as it had vanished around the same bed the truck had gone around minutes earlier, I sped up slightly, catching up to E and drawing level with him.

"Anyway… I have a proposition to speed our journey, if your feet have no objections."

E turned his head in my direction. "Alright: you're the boss."

I frowned at that comment- I was no-one's boss, and certainly not his- but let it pass. "At this rate, it might take at least several days to make the trip between here and Evergreen on foot." I pulled out the GPS, flicking it to life, and selected the walking estimate for the pre-planned route. The device estimated that it would take at least three days walking, and I heard a small intake of breath from E: he was clearly opposed to hoofing it, as it were. "However, if we ride for the rest of today, given the speed limit of sixty MPH…" I flicked through some quick arithmetic in my head. "All told, that'd be about one or two days, depending on how close our as-of-now mysterious benefactor can get us and given we have about more-or-less nine hours until seven. If they can't get us all the way to Evergreen today, or they need to turn off between here and Evergreen, stopping at seven would give us more or less an hour to set up camp before nightfall."

E nodded. "Personally, I much prefer hitchhiking."

"Agreed. In any case, you will need to signal the vehicle, as I…" I shot a frustration-laden look at my paws. "Well, I lack the digits required in order to do so. You go about this by making a thumbs-up sign…" I halted, as I noticed E staring at his digits in obvious confusion, then began again. "Alright, give me your hand."

E hesitated for a moment, unsure: before he could decide whether or not to comply, I grabbed his wrist and pulled it down towards my height. While I was an atypically tall Lucario at around four foot three or so, E practically towered over me by about one and a half feet. I quickly shaped his hand, bending his fingers in and pulling out his thumb.

"You signal a vehicle by making this gesture and pointing your thumb in the direction that you wish to go. Understood?" E nodded. "Good. We want a very particular type of vehicle to ride in: specifically, a flat-bed pickup truck with no cargo and only a driver's and passenger's seat. Such a driver would either have someone in the passenger's seat or have filled it with a number of miscellaneous items, and a request from you to ride in the bed with me would not be considered suspicious. In this way, we can avoid the driver speaking to you at length and negate any risk of planting suspicions." My muzzle split into a wry grin. "People have a terrible habit of remembering what they really shouldn't, after all."

"Question." E said. "What is a truck, let alone a PICKUP truck? How, exactly, am I supposed to tell which vehicle matches that description?"

"In this case, thankfully, you will not need to. I can indicate which vehicle is the correct one to signal: all you will have to do is flag it down."

E nodded, seemingly satisfied.

Thankfully, we did not have to wait long for the proper vehicle to appear. While the first was a sports car and the second headed west instead of east, the third fit both requirements: it was a large, heavy-duty, two-door pickup, and it was heading east towards Evergreen. Quickly, I pressed one paw against E's pack: in response, he half-turned and pointed with his thumb down the road. The vehicle did not seem to be slowing, and for a moment I believed that the driver either had not seen us or had chosen to ignore us, but I was swiftly disproven when the driver flicked on their turn signal and pulled off onto the berm. As they pulled to a stop level with us, I examined the driver.

She was a woman, of around middle age: thirty or forty, I would say. A worn flannel shirt, large belt buckle and jeans indicated that she was most likely a hand on, or the owner of, a farm of some sort. In the passenger seat sat a Gallade, his face covered by an ancient brown leather hat with a wide brim, which was propped up against his cranial ridge. As I examined him, he sleepily lifted the brim of the hat, examining us, before dropping the hat back over his face and seemingly falling right back to sleep, his arms folded over his slim chest.

"You folks need a ride?" The woman asked, a smile plastered on her face.

"That would be greatly appreciated, thank you." Replied E.

"Alright. Where you folks headed, anyway?"

"Evergreen."

"Hmm…" She frowned, seeming to turn it over in her head. "Well, I can get you as far as when Route 66 branches off, and then I'm following it south. That good with you?"

E shot a covert look at me, and I nodded. While these two and their vehicle wouldn't take us all the way, the exit for Route 66 was around forty-five miles or so down the road, bringing us that much closer to our destination.

"Yeah, sounds great."

Her grinned widened, if that was even possible. "Then you folks hop in the back, and we'll be on our way!"

Without further ado, I hopped over the edge of the bed, E right behind me. The interior floor was strewn with bits of hay that had somehow clung to the steel without being blown away while the vehicle was in motion, and a single bale of hay and a bucket were currently the only occupants of the space. I noted that there was no openable window between the cab and the bed; all the better, as I did not want E making conversation with the driver, no matter how nice she seemed thus far. Enigma settled down next to the bale of hay, examining it and the dented steel bucket with apparent fascination, while I sat opposite him, then banged my paw twice against the back wall of the cab. With that, we were underway.

It was not often that I traveled in human vehicles. Over the years, I had stowed away in my share of open semis and box cars, but never a car: cars are not exactly the best environs for sneaking aboard. Small space and proximity to driver meant that one would get caught boarding or on it as often as not. However, with E as my ticket, I could now ride such transportation. I looked over at him, but he seemed to have interest only for the scenery flashing by; just as well, really, as any attempts at conversation would be drowned out by the wind roaring past. I settled in against the cab, satisfied that this was much better than walking.

The ride was quite pleasant, for the most part: the hay itched slightly when a piece of it blew in and was caught against me, and the wind was quite loud, but this was much preferable to walking the entire way, which would have taken us about a day on foot. Enigma glanced at me occasionally, obviously bothered by some question or another, only to decide against it on account of the wind, which made me, in turn, quite grateful for it. By the time Route 66 branched off of Route 96, we had traversed nearly fifty miles, a distance that would have taken the entire rest of today and part of tomorrow to traverse on foot: I marveled at modern transportation, though, conversely, it also allowed the front-lines to move much faster than they had any right to. As the truck slowed to a halt and we vaulted over the edge of the bed, the driver rolled down the window.

"Sorry I couldn't get you folks any closer: you trainers have it rough, eh?"

E grinned, which was fine, and replied, which made me nervous. "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you."

She scratched her chin, frowning slightly. "Don't reckon I ever introduced myself." She stuck her hand over the still-sleeping Gallade. Enigma glanced at me, seemingly mystified, and I mimed taking a hand and shaking it gently. A flash of understanding lit his face, and he reached out and took the proffered hand and shook it.

"Elizabeth Tailor."

With that, it occurred to me in a flash that we had never set up a cover name for Enigma: his chosen name was sure to arouse suspicion, and it would definitely be remembered, which I most definitely did not want. I went to speak-

"John." E said, smiling. I let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

"Well, John, I wish you fair travel and good weather." The Gallade offered a half-hearted wave with one hand, but did not lift the brim of his hat.

With that, Elizabeth pulled away back onto the road, then turned off onto Route 66. As soon as she was out of sight, Enigma and I both let out a collective sigh of relief. He grinned at me.

"Well. That could've gone worse." He said. I nodded; all in all, it went rather well, though one thing bothered me…

"Where did you pull the name John from?" I asked.

He rubbed the back of his head with his hand, looking slightly sheepish. "Well, it was mentioned in one of the books that I read that the name John Deerling is often used as an anonymous alias or a name for unidentified people, and I rather latched onto it in desperation." He lowered his hand to his side. "So, what did you think?"

I nodded. "Certainly better to give than your chosen name, though the last name in combination… You might as well give them your actual name." E gave me a questioning glance, and I waved a paw. "No, I'm being facetious. In all seriousness, however: if you must give that name again, you may wish to change the last name to Smith or Anderson, relatively common names that won't arouse near as much suspicion, and will make us that much less memorable."

Enigma tilted his head slightly, seemingly curious. "Why don't you want people to remember us, anyway? You seem rather obsessed with it."

"Tch. It's less directly because I wish to be anonymous, more that it is better if we are not memorable at all. If we are memorable, and something untoward should occur somewhere along our path, we may be pursued for one reason or another. If we are memorable, we might as well be leaving bread crumb trails and red arrows pointing wherever we've gone, where-as if we are forgettable we can disappear easily just by moving on." I glanced at myself. "I have already slightly compromised this by being a Lucario, so we will have to make up for this in other ways."

E nodded, accepting the answer, but almost immediately his satisfied expression was replaced with a questioning one, once again. I sighed; this was going to be a long trip.