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The Saga of Kings, Book I: Hero
Written by,
Vile M.F. Slanders
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"...A Ranger doesn't wait for a call. A Ranger keeps their eyes on the horizon. And when the storm clouds start rising, a Ranger races the thunder to the rains…" - First High Marshal Lilia M. Asimov, Founder of the International Ordained Ranger Corps; her last words recorded before entering the Brink.
-v-
Chapter III: Daedalus Descending
"VAUBAN! FALL BACK TO ME! THEY'RE RETREATING!"
"Come on, girl. Shake it out… They're gone… All gone…"
"-Holy shit…"
"I'm alright, Vauban, I'm alright… Knock it off… Oh my God…"
"...We're still alive…"
"-Wait a minute…"
"Where's the Cap? Where's the Lieutenant?"
"Oh, fuck me…"
"-Oh hell no…"
"-Cap? ...Cap?"
"Heh. Zane… You look like shit, kid…"
"Cap… Your legs…"
"...Yeah. -I know…"
"Oh my God…"
"MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN! TRISH! GET OVER HERE NOW! TRISH!"
"...Heh. Too late for that, Zane… Put the kit back."
"Hold up, Cap. Trish is coming. We'll get you patched up.
"Zane… Just call me Doug. Forget about Captain… Just call me Doug."
"-Captain!"
"Hey, Trish… Heh. Well fuck me… This is what I get… Taking the Fucking Bastard and the one-eyed slut out on Safari in the Long Sway, huh?"
"-Doug, just hold on. Keep those eyes open, Ranger! -I'll get the bleeding to stop..."
"...It was an honor, sir."
"Shut up, Trish! He ain't dead yet!"
"...Zane… Heh. You can't put a bandage over death…"
"-Just hold on, Cap. Just-"
"Let him go, Zane."
"Trish… It's the Cap… He don't die… He's been a Ranger for thirty years! He ain't gonna die now!"
"...Thirty years, huh? Heh. Can't believe I made it that long…"
"Cap, come on man… Just hold on…"
"...Zane… I'm done. This was my last hurrah, kid..."
"-Cap…"
"...Listen, Zane… This is a lesson… And I- I really wish I wasn't the one... -teaching it… to you…"
"-Come on, Doug…"
"...Keep him here, Trish. He needs to know…"
"Will do, Captain."
"...Hey kid, dry those eyes. I had a good haul…"
"Doug, please… Don't do this…"
"I'm not doing it, Zane. It's just happening… Listen… I'm gonna pass out soon… I won't wake up…"
"...Cap…"
"...Just do something for me... would ya, kid?"
"Anything, Cap…"
"...Just keep holding onto my hand until the end… I don't wanna die alone…"
"...Doug…"
"...There are a lot of hopes pinned on you, Zane… Don't give up on the Rangers… We need you, kid..."
"...Doug?"
"-Doug?"
"...Farewell, sir."
"Trish… Is he gonna-?"
"Stay strong, Zane. Honor his memory, and never forget what he taught you."
"Doug, wake up… please wake up…"
"Doug-?"
"-Cap…?"
…
I shot up, gasping. There were sheets wrapped around my body. A mattress under my ass. Plaster walls on all sides, decorated with posters of bikes and bands. Doorways draped in beads. The sound of water falling from a showerhead. It took me moment to remember where I was.
I wasn't in the Long Sway. It wasn't my thirty-sixth mission in the S-ranks.
Doug had been buried less than half a year ago.
And my Echo…
I felt the tears in my eyes. Amber. Pete. Erin. Carlos.
...Brenda…
They had been dead for over three months now… And I was still alive…
"Vauban…?" I moaned through the memory. I heard her get up on the bed. My little girl.
Vauban clambered into my arms, and I buried my face into her bulb. I still had her. My oldest friend. My first Squadmate.
"-Ohgawd…"
…
I had managed to pull myself back together by the time Tammy came out of the shower. She'd missed my episode on account of her commitment to hygiene.
I guess small mercies are still mercies.
"You're awake early." Tammy crawled across the bed to me and Vauban, big teasing smile on her face.
"Old habit." I said gruffly. Tammy just giggled.
"You can take the Ranger out of the uniform, but you'll never take the uniform out of the Ranger, huh?" Tammy nuzzled my ear. I just laughed, even if I didn't feel like I wanted to.
"Speaking of early… You don't have to go to work anytime soon, do you?" I knew that Tammy did. I was grateful that she would be leaving soon. I just wanted to be alone for a little while. The only reason I asked Tammy that question was because I wanted to flatter her.
It worked. Tammy got a guilty look on her face.
"Zane… I'd love to stay…" Tammy started simpering. I snorted.
"Yeah, right… Come on, Officer. You got a duty to uphold. I don't regret that." I gave Tammy the smirk that had moistened a thousand thongs. Part tease, part charm. Half trouble.
All sincerity.
"Oh, my sweet Ranger." Tammy cooed, running a hand over my face. I could feel her fingertips tracing the scars.
"Come on, now. Tammy. This Ranger has a duty to uphold as well." I lifted myself and Vauban off the bed, and made my way towards the bathroom.
"What kind of duty, Zane?" Tammy asked before I had even reached the door.
"The Ranger kind." I shrugged. Tammy blew her lips out loudly behind me, exasperated.
"You know, I got call yesterday… Just before yours." Tammy started. I could hear the mischief in her voice.
"Really? What kind of call?" I pretended to be interested, waiting to hear her out.
Doesn't mean that I was facing her, though.
"It was from a Pokemon Center. In Pewter. They reported that a Ranger had engaged a civilian in a pokemon battle. Which is illegal for a Ranger to do…"
Okay. Now I turned around to face Tammy.
"But when I reported this to a higher office… We got a call from ACE." Tammy was looking at me quizzically.
"Now I don't know what the Spooks told the Chief Commissioner, but after hearing from the Secret Service… We were explicitly forbidden from arresting the Ranger in question." Tammy leaned over the bed, resting her chin on her knuckles.
"Then you called to report civilian interference in Ranger affairs... And I heard the Pokemon Center's lobby music in the background." Tammy's eyes narrowed.
"That is some annoying music." I smiled at her. Tammy was giving me nothing but her raw scrutiny.
"Why did ACE cover for you, Zane? Why is the Secret Service and the Rangers conspiring together?" Tammy asked, with the voice of a brooding Private Eye.
A lousy one. I sighed and pointed to my uniform, draped over Tammy's desk chair.
"Front breast pocket, left side. Tact. pad. Or Pokedex. I don't rightly know what it is yet." Tammy gave me a strange look accompanied by a quirked eyebrow, before she fished through my uniform's specified pocket.
A Ranger with a Pokedex? Yeah, that was something queer.
"This… is a Pokedex?" Tammy pulled out something quite a bit beefier than the standard Pokedex. Actually, it was a modified Military issued Tactical Pad that the Ranger Techs had frankensteined with a Pokedex.
"Custom. It doubles as a hammer and a flotation device." I informed Tammy with a smile. Tammy tried to access it. It locked her out immediately. Then Tammy tried to bypass the access key. It shut off before before she could even get into the login screen.
"That's some pretty robust security systems for a Pokedex." Tammy was looking at me rather suspiciously.
"Military tech. Bring it here." I grunted smugly. Tammy took a good look at the green brick in her hands.
"You could hurt somebody with this thing… Is it really a Pokedex?" Tammy hefted the Tact. Pad, her expression was rather concerned when she brought it over to me.
"Who gives a damn about it being used as a weapon? I'm more concerned about dropping it on my toes." I chuckled as I took the device. I placed all five fingertips from my left hand onto the screen. The device required a fifteen second bio-confirmation before rescinding lockdown. I leaned away from Tammy, and then I entered the passphrase.
The Bastard King.
The device opened up. I accessed my Trainer's Licence. Then I let Tammy take a look.
"What the hell is going on?" Tammy's mouth dropped open.
It was a League approved Licence, with my Ranger identification as the backdrop. But my serial number was headed by three big letters.
ACE.
"High Command had to jump through some loopholes in order to get me into the League. I am certified for competition, as well as for Ranger Service." I let Tammy drink in this impossible License.
"So are you ACE, or a Ranger?" Tammy was looking at me something weird.
"If I was a Spook, do you think that I'd show you that much?" I asked. Tammy swallowed and shook her head.
"So what are you then?" Tammy asked. Her voice had slight tone of accusation.
"I'm the first League certified Ranger." I grumbled. I didn't sound too happy about it.
Probably because I wasn't.
"And they let you use Vauban for competition?" Tammy was incredulous.
"I have three official G.I. mon. All of them are certified for competition." I replied. Tammy made another face.
"What happens when they kill somebody's pokemon in a restricted format?" Tammy asked darkly.
"They had better not." I looked down at the Vauban resting in the crook of my arm. Vauban wheezed up at me, all happy for being acknowledged. Tammy giggled. It was hard for most people to believe that Vauban was a service mon.
She was just too damn cute.
"So why are you competing?" Tammy asked. I smirked.
"That's classified."
"Really?" Tammy asked, jaw dropping again.
"Maybe. I'm not allowed to tell." I teased. Tammy overcame her awe and punched me in the arm. Given that she was a trained Officer of the Law, it was no light tab.
"Careful, baby. Shit." I chuckled. Tammy just sighed, and started fiddling with her hair.
"I have to get ready for work now. You're welcome to stay here if you want. You know where the spare key is?" Tammy asked.
"Yep. And if not, I know how to climb up to the roof. Those skylights don't look like they'd be too difficult to jimmy loose." I smiled at her.
"Don't you dare climb up there, Ranger. This is civilization. We use doors here." Tammy was being serious, which was appropriate.
Because I was too.
"Doors. Fuck. Well, if you don't mind. -I'm gonna go get cleaned up." I grunted. I got myself one hell of a desirable leer as I turned around and entered the bathroom.
...
I got myself and my dirty little girl cleaned. Rangers are creatures of efficiency, so when I stepped under that shower head, Vauban was still tucked under one arm. I had to keep the temperature low for her. Vauban gets queasy if she is exposed to too much hot water. Even though my starvation discipline had emptied her stomach of anything that I might end up wearing, I still thought it best to be considerate of her comfort. I prioritized washing Vauban before myself. I gave her a thorough lather followed by a vigorous scrubbing all chased with a rinse.
Then I kicked her pudgy ass out of the shower and cranked up the heat.
Once I'd washed off all of the fun from last night, I went to the mirror to shave. I stared at my reflection for bit. Not because of vanity. Far from it.
I was staring at the man in mirror, trying to figure how he was still alive.
...
...I suppose that I should give you the abridged version.
On what that Snorlax did to me.
He mauled me. Spat me out twice just so that he could chew on opposite ends, then he roared in the face of the dying Ranger who had put him through so much pain.
Mon aren't dumb beasts. That Snorlax knew who I was. The vindictive asshole wanted me to suffer for what I put him through. The Snorlax wasn't too happy when I recalled Vauban and Cortez before he could kill them. None too happy at all. So he gave me their punishments as well.
And it cost him.
Captain Lewis, Advance Scout of Blackhat Team Seven caught up with my mastication three minutes ahead of Team Seven's ETA. Her Gyarados gave the Snorlax a taste of his own medicine, chomping down on the Snorlax's head with a huge blue mouth. The Snorlax dropped my ruined ass, and Captain Lewis's Absol dragged me away from the fight.
Captain Lewis killed the Snorlax in twenty seconds flat. She had her Scizor cut the Snorlax's gut open in less than ten seconds after that. They pilfered his insides for any survivors, hoping that somebody had gotten lucky and had been swallowed whole.
But luck wasn't exactly on Echo's side that day.
The rest of Team Seven arrived after Captain Lewis had begun to administer basic first aid to the sole survivor. Me. They all thought that was going to die. I probably thought that I was going to die too. I was in a lot pain. So much so, that I couldn't understand what was going on. I was conscious throughout the entirety of it all, just not really coherent.
Captain Lewis kept me alive until the Aerial Units brought a surgeon. Then they sent for another four. I was bleeding in that graveyard for six hours before they finally stabilized my condition enough for me to be transported out of there.
You wouldn't know it, looking at me in a uniform. Just how messed up I am. Tammy got a gander at what my body looks like now. She saw the scars on my torso and arms. She saw what's left of my legs. Though, for all our optical contact last night, Tammy never realized that my left eye is made of glass.
Let's just say, I have a lot in common with my dog now. They ended up using the skin of my ass cheeks to patch up my face. Those surgeons did a damn good job on my face. I've actually been told that I look even better now, than I did back before the Snorlax got me.
But I didn't have enough ass skin to patch up the rest of me. Cosmetics were trivial. They prioritized keeping me alive initially, and when it seemed that they had succeeded in that endeavor, they tried to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again.
The surgeons pinned and wired every bone in my chest back into a whole. They stitched and stapled every muscle back into my frame. They just scraped out what remained of my leg bones. Basically just splinters and congealed blood. Of course, they only even bothered removing the mess in my legs because I insisted that they do so. The surgeons presented me with an option. They could amputate my legs or perform an extremely painful procedure that would likely end in amputation anyways. I made my decision. I'd rather die than lose my legs, so they did everything they could to save them. The surgeons pulled it off. They're still legs, just not very good ones. Most of my hips are titanium bracing. The bones in between my hips and feet?
It isn't bone anymore.
I walk with a limp, or I should. But I made an effort to walk normally, conditioned myself into an agonizing compromise. Just so that Command would see an able-bodied Ranger when they looked at me.
It didn't work. For all my faux appearances, I couldn't cover up my new limitations. I can't disguise the limp when I'm running. Not to mention the other details. That Snorlax punctured both of my lungs when he chewed me up, and I get winded like an asthmatic now. His teeth missed my heart by two inches. The Snorlax cracked plenty of my vertebrae, but he failed to sever my spinal cord. Sheer luck saved me from certain death or paralysis. But the rest of me didn't fare much better than that. The surgeons had to reconstruct my shoulders with three separate operations, just so that I could raise my arms above my head. I underwent some of the most invasive and painful physical therapy sessions that you can't even imagine, just so that I could stand on my own two feet again.
I'm a patchwork man, and you can see the seams. I don't even look whole without my shirt on. And all of it hurts, everyday. And it all will, until the day I die.
...How am I still alive?
…
I guess Tammy digs the scars. They don't look surgical, probably because the Snorlax made every necessary and unnecessary incision for the surgeons. I've creeped out some women, just by taking off my uniform.
Tammy though… I guess she appreciates the marks earned from hard service. She had a wild look in her eye after she overcame the shock. She played with every dimpled pit and waxy range, running those soft fingers of hers over my every dead nerve.
I thought it was kinda sweet actually. I felt kinda touched.
And it made the foreplay interesting. Though I don't kiss and tell.
After I had finished smoothing my rugged good looks out, I nudged a napping Vauban with a toe. She passed out on the bathroom mat after I booted her out of my bath. Vauban rose quickly, and looked up at me, hope glowing in those red eyes.
It was breakfast time, and my hungry Vauban hadn't eaten anything since a hasty breakfast the previous morning. Her starvation sentence has been served. I don't need my little girl getting sick from my abuse.
After dressing myself in last night's uniform, I headed out into the big city of Pewter with Vauban in tow. In truth, Pewter really isn't that big. My hometown of Celadon is massive by comparison. But for a Ranger? Any city feels huge after living in the wilderness for three years straight.
Pewter is one of the oldest cities in Kanto. The city started off as a crude fortress roughly eleven hundred years ago, in the Post-Brink Dark Age. The stone walls of Pewter predate every other structure in Kanto, save for the Pre-Brink erected Memorial Tower in Lavender Town. Within these stone walls, one of the first Post-Brink prolific advances that mankind made rekindled the birth of nationalism. It was the descendants of Pewter City that would one day populate the entire Kanto region, and bring about a geographical unity inspired by their shared ancestry. Pewter was nominated to serve as Kanto's Capital City, though Saffron City won on the premise of wealth and influence. Despite this, Pewter City remains an icon to the Kantonese people, for most of us living in this region can trace our lineage back to an ancestor who survived the early Post-Brink in the relative safety of Pewter City's walls.
Though much of Pewter's history was scrapped in favor of progression, the archaic stonewalls of Pewter still stand. The first stone laid to raise Pewter's walls is an honored landmark of the the local community, and a recognised national treasure of the Provincial Kantonese Government. Just read the welcome sign hanging over the city gates for clarification.
"Pewter, the City of the Stone."
No wonder why the local Gym Leaders of Pewter have always favored the Rock-Type Pokemon.
...
Speaking of Gym Leaders, I should probably clarify why this whole League business upsets me so. The League diction is confusing to me. Every aspect of the League Legislation strikes me as backwards and capitalist.
Look, I'm a Ranger. When I engage in a fight, I'm accustomed to fighting for my life. In that kind of a contest, I'll play as dirty as I possibly can in order to live. But now…
I gotta deal with some bullshit rules of engagement. Ridiculous safety clauses are enforced throughout the standard restricted competition scene. Just so homicidal monsters don't get seriously injured from competing with one another. It's a bit of an adjustment for me to accept, that we, the human species, are trying to limit the amount of damage inflicted on Pokemon.
I'm used to seeing some pretty nasty shit in my line of work, most of it pertaining to the violence that man and mon meet each other with, so some of the League advocated competition just seems so…
Wrong. Ignorant. Even juvenile.
So why do people protect Pokemon, the vile creatures that are naturally inclined towards killing man? Well, truth be told, domestication has done wonders for curbing certain species of mon's homicidal instincts. Even in the Post-Brink, humanity has exercised its natural disposition for subjecting every aspect of nature to our whims. But we need to remember, domestication doesn't pacify every species of mon. Some species possess an inborn desire to dominate that can only be quelled through years of conditioning. Even then, those mon don't follow orders particularly well, most notably the Dragons. Then there are some mon that would rather destroy everything in existence instead of attempting to coexist with other organisms, like the Ghosts. Either way, the whole domestication of Pokemon has had a rather dire influence on humanity's compassion, and thereby afflicted mankind's mentality. Most human beings, living in the safety of their 'domesticated' cities, are under the illusion that Pokemon are innately timid, or even subservient.
These people are idiots. These people believe that an encounter with a feral Pokemon on the enclosed Routes qualifies as a genuine exchange between naked man and wild mon. The enclosed Routes are populated by only the weakest and most insignificant of feral mon, thanks to the Rangers. If the Rangers ceased to maintain the Routes, 'civilized' people would get to experience the kind of Pokemon that the cities only ever get wind of in a slow news week.
The commercial sector doesn't exactly aid the Rangers in raising awareness either. Just look at our entertainment. Some of the creepy cartoons that we allow our children to watch portrays Pokemon as being goofy and inherently friendly creatures. Not to mention the commercials that advertise the latest Dress-up Clefairy Dolls and Rock-em-Sock-em-Machokes. All of this marketing serves as a dangerous and irresponsible medium that brainwashes our children into believing the commercial sector's fetching fantasy over the lethal reality. Those Clefairy Dolls scare the living shit out of me. Do you know how many cases the Rangers have to deal with per year involving Fairy-Types skinning children alive? Too many.
Are you people insane? Do you really want your children to identify a lunatic Fairy-Type as a friend? For fuck's sake, there are caves in Mount Moon lined with human skin! What the hell is wrong with you people?!
Idiocy aside, I'll move on to the shadiest convenience ever designed by man...
-The Pokedex.
The Pokedex is an advanced piece of technology that every competitive Trainer is legally required to possess, as mandated by League Legislation. So why don't Rangers carry Pokedexes? Because we don't need to. Sure the Species Encyclopedia software sounds useful, but every Ranger has that Encyclopedia grilled into their domes back in the Academy. Primarily because human brains operate faster than electronics can. When a hostile Delta-Three is bearing down on you, you generally have to make some split-second decisions. Guess what's not on the roster of split-second decisions?
Whipping out a Pokedex and wasting your valuable life waiting for the Pokedex to process and identify what is about to kill you.
As for the Pokedex's other features? They're all League orientated. Nothing that Rangers need nor want. For budding Trainers out there, let me enlighten you on the nature of the bureaucracy that you're so hell-bent on joining.
When you first receive your Trainer's License, you will start out with a Novice rank certification. This means that you can deny the Trainer's Eyes clause if your opponent is of a higher rank than you. Trainer's Eyes. Basically when your Pokedex communicates with other Pokedexs in the immediate vicinity, which allows Trainers to pick up on the possibility of competition in the surrounding area. Once two Trainers meet bearing similarly ranked certifications, one or both of the Trainers can call a Trainer's Eyes, which essentially forces the other Trainer into a restricted battle. The Pokedex records when a Trainer's Eyes clause has been instated, and turning down a Trainer's Eyes automatically pilferers your Trainer's Account for what it would have cost you to lose the match in the first place, plus a penalty fee of Five-hundred Sandz. Fudging with the Trainer's Eyes software and hardware on the Pokedex can actually get you arrested. Given that most Trainers rely on the Pokemon Center's facilities for keeping their competition mon fit, Trainers generally don't want to tamper with the Pokedex. Seeing as you must provide your Dex for identification and a clearance scan before receiving a Pokemon Center's services, it isn't too hard for the League to identify and punish hackers. So do be aware of the Trainer's Eyes clause, and the associated inconveniences it conjures. I've heard of marriages being lost over it.
Then there is the Trainer Account. You see, Trainers compete for stakes. And the League likes to get their greedy fingers into this business and enforce their presence with their League Laws and their misleadingly benign Trainer's Eyes feature. Which is why the Pokedex is a mandated requirement for any Trainer seeking to compete within the League.
When you purchase your Pokedex, you must also put down an 'investment' of one-hundred Sandz. This 'investment' is transferred into a personalized League financial shares account, i.e. the Trainer Account. You can't touch that money. Despite your account stating that it is your account, the money actually belongs to the League now. Every time you lose a competitive match, ten percent of your Trainer Account's total balance is awarded to your opponent's Trainer Account. Then you have to add a minimum of twenty percent of the account's lost figure into the winner's pool from your own pocket, i.e. the stakes. Five percent of the total amount awarded to your opponent is automatically 'invested' into their Trainer Account. Never to be touched. All of this is recorded and maintained by the Pokedex and the Trainer's Eyes feature.
As your Trainer Account's balance grows, so to does the size of the stakes you risk forfeiting when you lose a match. Every time your account takes a hit, a certain percentage of your balance ends up in another individual's Trainer Account, and every time the money is transferred, the total sum ending up in the National Trainer Account's Gross increases, i.e. the League's market stocks.
When you look at it, regardless of whether you are winning or losing, you are essentially putting your money straight into the pocket of a League official. But to top it off, you're also acting as a stockbroker, doing everything short of payroll for the League staff.
If your Trainer's Account empties because of one too many loses, and you still want to compete, you have to invest another one-hundred Sandz of your own money into the Trainer Account again. Otherwise, the Trainer's Eyes Pokedex feature will identify you as 'broke,' i.e. not fucking worth battling. And to give the League even more control, stakes must be announced and recorded when using the Trainer's Eyes feature. Though on the plus side for the Trainer community, for a mere five percent of the stakes, this legally guarantees the winner's payout under punishment of embezzlement for the uncooperative loser.
In short, the League is the house, and the house always wins. Sure, some Trainers actually make a pretty decent living off of the League's competition, but all it takes is a couple of losing streaks to set you back to the beginning. I'm fond of gambling myself, but the League's methods are so transparent that it makes me feel like a tool whenever I win a match. Yeah, I get to pocket the majority of the cash, but still…
The League's corporate effort to profit is so tangible that it makes me feel slightly ill.
And there are hundreds of thousands of Trainers out there, all blissfully throwing their money at the League on a daily basis.
No wonder why the Indigo Confederacy's Central Government gives the Congressional Throne to the League Champion. The League Champion is worth more than half of their total annual revenue, not to mention, the League Champion is generally more respected than any other political figurehead.
Let me tell you, all that League money and prestige holds a lot of sway in the Indigo Confederacy, as well as the Trainer community.
Which is the whole reason why High Command wants me sitting on that Throne.
...
I made my way through Pewter, looking for a decent Pokemart. While the Trainer's Mart generally had a pretty good selection of travel food for mon, I wanted something a little more palatable than freeze dried nutriment turds.
Pokemarts are the places to go if you are in the mood for spoiling your despicable little monsters. Pokemarts offer everything from massages and aromatherapy, to grooming and fine monster dining. I normally wouldn't patronize a Pokemart, but I was still wrestling with the guilt of recently beating Vauban. Oh, yeah…
I think I mentioned repeatably that I starved my Squadmate as well, didn't I?
So guilt was the motive. If Command wanted to know why I spent some of my expense account at a Pokemart, I could always cover up my real intentions by stating morale. I'm not too worried about High Command coming down on me for spoiling my mon on the expense account, chiefly because I've been ever the frugal Ranger with it. Last night's dinner was the first meal in five days that didn't involve me tracking food down and killing it first.
So I'm below the budget.
The beautiful thing about most mon is that they can digest just about anything. Most Pokemon are omnivores, and some can even eat shit that nothing else on the planet would ever identify as food. Vauban is in the omnivore class. She prefers decomposing plant matter over meat, but she can metabolise both. Cortez is a solid carnivore though, but I supplement his diet with essential vitamins not commonly found in meat. And Darwin… I could feed Darwin my entire Squad's feces, but I have an aversion to such disgusting forms of sustenance, so Darwin gets whatever leftovers I generate other than excrement.
The Pokemart I found was modest enough. No gaudy callers out front, haranguing me with the deal of the day, and no shady alleyways with suspicious smelling dumpsters anywhere near the establishment. I got a lot of peculiar looks stepping into that Pokemart. I was in uniform, and a Ranger is more disposed towards burning a Pokemart and all its mon inhabitants to the ground than actually patronizing the joint.
But once Vauban made her appearance known in the crook of my arm, the store manager put the fire extinguisher back on its cradle.
"Hello! And what could I get you today… Ranger Zane?" The front clerk swallowed on sight of my badge. I dropped Vauban unceremoniously on the counter. She smiled sheepishly up at the clerk, completely throwing him off after the loud thunk her ass made upon hitting the counter.
"Food for the little green shit, and the rest of my Squad as well." I spoke using my typical 'unfriendly to civilians' voice. The clerk nodded nervously.
"Umm… Would you like to hear the options?" The clerk tried.
"Negative. The Seaweed mulch and Tangela chop for the Bulbasaur. Three pounds. My Growlithe will have the smoked Rattata. One carcass. And I'll need to use your Tank for feeding my... Magikarp. The heavy protein and carbohydrate blend. Forty pounds." I placed my order with a dead face and voice, my cold stare triggering the formation of sweat beads on the clerk's brow. He was surprised when I announced a Magikarp on my Squad, but it was nothing compared to the shock he displayed when I ordered forty pounds of fish flakes.
"...Will you… um... want that for here or to go?" The clerk asked hesitantly.
"For here." I growled.
"We have a-"
"Not interested." I cut the clerk off before he could finish his pitch. Quit wasting my time.
"So that's-"
"Affirmative." I was hissing now. This is why I hate shopping. I placed my damn order, cut the marketing and clarification, now make the shit.
"That will be… twenty-eight Sandz… Ranger-?" The clerk seemed a little concerned about whether or not I intended to pay for the food. He was probably worried that I was going to drag his ass across the counter and remind him that his life should be worth at least twenty-eight Sandz. Instead, I procured my expense account's card, and paid for the meal with money rather than violence.
"Okay. By the way, did you want us to bag up the extra fish food?" The clerk asked.
I just walked off without answering. He would see soon enough why I order forty pounds of fish food for a Magikarp. I made my way over towards the Tanks, and found one large enough to incorporate Darwin's bulk near the grooming center.
"Darwin, report." I released my oversized joke into the Tank. The spill catch's sump pump went into overtime to accommodate for the Tank's sudden overflow.
"Darwin, abstain." My voice reminded Darwin that he was a Ranger. And Rangers do not panic flail mindlessly in confined spaces. I heard something glass break in the back room. I fought the urge to chuckle. Turning around, I saw the entire Pokemart staff and the sparse early morning customers all frozen in place, staring at the biggest Goddamn Magikarp that they'd never dreamed of seeing.
"Forty pounds for here." I grunted for confirmation, ignoring the cameras that were being subconsciously raised to slack jawed faces.
…
Vauban made the most beguiling coos as she ate her hearty breakfast. It was a stark contrast to Cortez's efficient and speedy stripping of the Rattata carcass. I had been experimenting with different preparations of meat for Cortez, attempting to discern the pooch's favorite dish, but Cortez approached all food the same way. Like eating was just another task.
Feeding Darwin was almost as amusing as Vauban. Darwin likes to eat, and forty pounds of food disappears pretty quickly when you can swallow ten pounds at a time. Pokemarts probably don't see many Magikarps, especially not any Magikarps that can outweigh a Tauros, so Darwin drew a big crowd. Some people even dared to ask me if they could feed him.
So I bought another ten pounds of fish flakes just for a granny and her grandchildren.
The youngest of the three grandkids actually stuck her pudgy little hand into Darwin's mouth to feed him. Grandma got a little worried about that, but Darwin is well trained. Not to mention, Magikarps don't chew or even crush their food, they just swallow it.
The little girl squealed and giggled as the big fish's raspy mouth tickled her hand. That giggle got me smiling too. There's just something infectious about a toddler's laugh. It gets you deep down with a glowing feeling of fondness.
Once the kids were done feeding Darwin, they predictably moved on to the noisy Vauban. They were going to go pet the 'big-owange-puppy' but when Cortez turned to them, they saw his scar. That put the two older ones off. The toddler just gasped, and asked me if 'Quo-tez was hurt,' before running over to kiss 'da big ouchy boo-boo bewwer.'
I liked that kid. I liked that kid a lot.
Cortez was a little shocked at getting slobbered on by a cooing three-year old. He didn't really know how he should react, though I saw, with no small satisfaction I might add; how conflicted Cortez was from the unexpected affection.
That kid got right down to the deep in Cortez, and fast. You could see it in his eyes.
I think all of my mon were a little sad when the kids and granny left, but they soon got over it. Mostly because I ordered them to. We had a Gym battle to prepare for, and while the meal and company had lifted spirits, we needed to keep our minds focused. I recalled Darwin and left the Pokemart, intent on taking Vauban and Cortez for a walk.
To a place that I'd been meaning to go visit since Brenda died.
...
I was there for the burial ceremony. Echo's burial ceremony. I saw all of it from the confines of a wheelchair. I had a small medical staff at my shadow, keeping close tabs on my vitals. I'd refused my painkillers. I insisted on seeing them one last time through my single uncompromised eye.
It was closed casket. It generally was for Rangers, but this was especially called for regarding Echo. I didn't get a chance to meet anyone. No sooner had the final rites been spoken than I was hauled back to sickbay by my entourage of doctors and nurses. But I saw their families.
Pete was an only child, just like me. His father was single, ex-Military. And no uniform or honors were going to ease the pain of watching his only son buried.
Erin had both a mother and a father, and a little sister as well. His sister was so young, she thought that her older brother was just going to take a nap underground for a little while. She thought that she would get to see Erin again when he earned his next leave from the Rangers.
Carlos was the third oldest in a family of nine siblings. Both parents, three grandparents, a dozen uncles and aunts, all with half a hundred kids of their own. All of them lining up to cast a handful of soil and to say goodbye to Carlos.
Amber had a mother and two sisters, all of them as ugly and as nasty as she was. I found myself wondering if they were only in attendance to discover which one of them had been selected as Amber's beneficiary. Their tears were that fake.
And Brenda…
I never knew that she was an orphan. I didn't know that she lived a solitary life outside of the Rangers. Brenda's only social interactions pertained to her dedicated schooling, otherwise, she lived like a nun. Only one person was there to pour dirt over Brenda's grave. Only one person came to mourn for my sweet Bren.
Brenda's widow, Melissa.
I never learned how they met. I assumed it had something to do with schooling. I never got to speak with her. I didn't know if I want to. I was the Commanding Officer of Echo. I was sole the survivor. Did I even deserve to offer my condolences to Brenda's widow?
Later that week… I found myself thinking. If I had been buried with Echo…
Would my father have come to say goodbye?
Despite burying them three months ago, the grief is still very fresh. So is the guilt. I can't blame myself for what happened. I keep telling myself that. It was the fucking Snorlax, existing in a freaking part of the world that he wasn't supposed to be in.
It was a Goddamn mon that killed my Echo, not me.
But still… I could've done better. There must have been a way for me to save them. If I had just seen it then…
-I can't blame myself. But I can't stop blaming myself. I don't know how the Colonel does it. I can't even sleep without seeing them dying all over again…
-It's my fault. It's all my fault…
...And Melissa deserves to know…
…
I stood outside of their house. Brenda must have bought it with everything she made as a Ranger. It was small, but cozy. Just a simple little pink bungalow, with a colorful garden out front, and a white picket fence separating the lawn from the sidewalk. It looked like somebody's dream. I didn't know if Melissa would be home this early in the morning. I didn't know if she would recognise me. I didn't know if she would even open the door for a Ranger. I couldn't take that first step. I was afraid to. I couldn't cross the sidewalk into Brenda's personal piece of hearth. I dug into my inner breast pocket, and fished out my wallet.
Inside was something that I'd managed to convince Captain Lewis to steal for me. It was discolored. Crinkled. It still had blood stains on it. But the two veiled faces were still smiling. Still crying. It was still Brenda and Melissa on their wedding day.
It didn't give me strength. It only broke me.
"...I'm sorry, Bren… I can't do it…"
The photo disappeared in a snap of my wallet. Tears were running down my face. Vauban was looking up at me, trying to figure out some way of comforting me, while Cortez stayed a respectable distance back, letting me have this moment to mourn.
I hightailed it away from Melissa's house, my limp showing in my haste. I didn't care. I couldn't do it. I couldn't say that I was sorry. I was a coward, and there was nothing worth hiding.
It was awhile before I shook myself out of it. I didn't know where my desperate retreat had exactly taken me to. I was close to the stonewalls of Pewter, in a less popular part of town. I leaned up against that ancient wall for support while I finished piecing the shattered Ranger back into a whole. Then shitty timing caught up to me.
My Tact. Pad was buzzing an alert over my left breast. I dug it out, and spat in disgust when I saw the incoming call's number.
Christopher M. Lebreau. Spokesperson for the Pokemon Fanclub. Private sector political correspondent for the Ranger Corps.
And my personalized PR agent.
I didn't want to answer, but I had to. Chris had been appointed to me by High Command, and his word was backed by theirs. So technically…
Chris is something of my handler.
"Chris." I answered the call, putting it on audio only.
"Yell-ho? Hey, Zane! You in Pewter yet, my aspiring Blackhat superstar?" Chris's default voice was over enthusiastic and patronizing as fuck. I couldn't stand him.
"Yeah, I'm in Pewter." I answered, keeping communication limited to the barest information exchange as was possible.
"Swell deal, kid! Swell deal. Alright, listen up champ in the making-"
Oh, here we go…
"Brock uses Rock-Types-"
Go fuck yourself, Captain obvious.
"So Cortez's flames aren't going to do much against him. And don't even think about using Darwin in the match. You'll just make a laughing stock out of yourself."
No shit, Sherlock.
"Now have you caught any other mon, besides Vauban? If you got your Ranger hands on a Nidoking or Nidoqueen-"
"No, I only have my G.I. mon. And there is no point to me diving into the Frontier in search of the big Nido. The mating season is over and they've made themselves scarce." I cut him off before my eye roll hurt my face. Pokemon Fanclub or not, this guy didn't know shit about the laws of nature.
"Shit, Zane… Goddamnit, kid! I told you to get more firepower before challenging Brock! How the hell is one lonely Bulbasaur going to wreck his novice team? There's a fucking Onix on his novice crew! What is a fucking Bulbasaur going to do against that?! Throw peanuts at it?!" Chris was screaming at me, and I couldn't have cared less. Whenever Chris started freaking out, I just turned up the music in my head. I'd wait for him to lose his temper before blowing him off again.
"Of all the arrogant sons of bitches out there, you Zane-"
"-I can't believe that you didn't listen to me! You stupid motherfucking-"
"-High Command said that you were good, but all I'm seeing is a shitty excuse for a-"
"-So what the fuck are we going to do now?!"
"...Are you EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!"
"Yep." I answered, completely nonchalant, after a measured pause.
"Oh my God, Zane… Do you even want that Black Beret?"
I yawned loudly enough for the receiver to pick up.
"You cocky little shit! You don't get it! I pulled all of the strings I could! I got your match scheduled in between two minor League Premierships! Two different Camera crews are showing up to record and broadcast the big fights! We could've snuck your fight into their programs! I just needed you to make it FLASHY! SOMETHING WORTH FILMING!" Chris was losing it all over again. I stooped down to rub Vauban's head.
"What have you got there, Vauban? Is that a stick of gum?" I used the kiddy-talk on Vauban, receiver still well within the proximity of my voice. Vauban got all excited and gurgled, expecting a thorough case of rough love to be incoming.
And I was happy to oblige her.
"I'm sorry, Chris. Could you repeat that last bit for me? Vauban was playing with some street trash. These little Bulbasaurs are just so curious." I gave Chris a taste of my patronizing voice.
It sounded even more cynical than his.
"I can't believe you, Zane…" Chris's breath was shuddering against his end.
"Who's a good little girl? Who's a tubby little shit? My Vauban, that's who!" I finished ruffling Vauban's bulb, and turned my ruffling attentions onto Chris's feathers.
"You're going to lose, Zane. Even a Novice ranked Gym battle requires a lot of effort. With your credentials in the Ranger Corps, you could have snuck in a powerhouse like a Nidoking! Brock's Onix would have had its hands full trying to put down a Ranger trained Nidoking!"
"Onixia don't have hands, Chris. And I don't like having rapists on my team. So fuck the Nidoking. I might have swung for a Nidoqueen, but the Corps mopped up the vast majority of them this season. It's gonna be at least another three years before the Nidoqueen numbers make a resurgence. Hopefully." I shot his tirade down. I didn't want a Nidoking, and even if I caught a feral, there was no way that I'd have that thing obeying me in week's time. A Nidoking would still be crippled after what I'd put it through in my training regimen.
"...Great. So no flash, and no chance. You already gone and fucked it all up, Zane. Your stupid Bulbasaur is going to get torn to pieces. I hope that you haven't bought into that whole Trading Card Game's Type Effectiveness bullshit, because in the real world, a Flower-Toad doesn't have a chance against an eighteen tonne Onix." Chris was actually growling at me about reality.
Fucking hypocrite.
"I'm not you, Chris. I don't waste my time playing some stupid kid's card game. I am well aware of what does and doesn't work on a bleeding Onix. And you know what? A Nidoking's horn may be able to cleave stone, but their bodies don't take too well to having eighteen tonnes of fucking Rock-Snake falling down ontop of them. An Onix is ranked Delta-Four. A Nidoking is ranked Delta-Three. Brock has the power advantage. Size and strength will not win me the match." I growled back.
"Okay… So what are going to do, then? Watch your Bulbasaur eat shit in the Gym ring?" Chris asked sarcastically.
"You forget that Vauban was born to be a Saboteur Class. Or more likely, you don't know what that is. I just need the Onix to open his mouth roughly four meters away from Vauban, and I've already won." I answered. That got Chris to pause.
"Status?"
"Maybe…" My smirk was audible.
"What kind?" Chris asked me with cold suspicion.
"The Military kind."
"Umm… Zane? They don't allow that in restricted format… You aren't doing what I think you're doing, are you?"
"Requesting unrestricted? The hell I am." I answered.
"Zane, even if you poison that Onix, it will still kill Vauban before septic shock sets in! Even the Military's best nerve agents take a lot of time to work! Time enough for that Onix to squish your toad!"
"You obviously don't know what a Saboteur Class can do, do you Chris? That Onix will never touch Vauban. I just have to make sure that Cortez takes down the Roggenrola and the Geodude before I put my fresh little girl in the spotlight."
"Now you just sound fucking nuts. What the hell can a Growlithe do against a Roggenrola and a Geodude? You can't bite them, or burn them. You're going to get your team killed, Zane." Chris made his dire prediction.
"Unrestricted format, remember? It mean's that Cortez can play dirty." I was smiling like a soulless beast.
"So what does that mean?" Chris asked.
"You'll see the flash. One of the nice things about G.I. mon? They know things that they shouldn't."
Oh yeah, listen to my gurn.
"Do you have a backup plan, just in case?" Chris asked.
"Vauban is my backup plan. Hopefully I won't have to use it."
"You might have to, Zane. Even if Cortez knows some higher leveled fire techniques, I doubt that a Growlithe has the power required to pull them off effectively against a Rock-Type."
"Strategy, Chris. Strategy. That is what's going to win me the match." I replied, cocky as ever.
"Okay, but it's all on you when it goes foul. Remember, Brock is a League Duo-Flame. He's seen it all, and his Championship team could put him on the Elite Four by the end of this season. So be ready to fail, and get your mon killed." Chris predicted my with loss dire certainty. I was really hoping that he was betting money on Brock's victory.
I wanted Chris to take it in the financial teeth.
"Right, well you're on tomorrow evening at two-thirty. Do not be late. If you can actually topple an Onix with a Bulbasaur… That will qualify as flash. See-ya then, kid." Chris resumed using his patronizing voice for the goodbye. I hung up without offering him any of my own well wishes.
Chris didn't like being told to fuck off anyways.
"Well…" I looked down at my happy Vauban.
"Now that Chris has been dealt with, I suppose that I should get myself some breakfast…" I muttered. Vauban belched below me.
"You sick little bitch." I laughed as my foot tumbled Vauban over. She rolled back onto her feet, and playfully tackled my leg.
"Vauban…" My stern voice reminded Vauban of her place. Vauban immediately cut the antics, and shuffled a respectable distance away.
Vauban knew that we couldn't play. But it seemed to be an irrepressible behavior of her's.
"Keep a lid on it, Vauban. I know things have changed, but we are still Rangers. And we will be judged as Rangers are judged." Vauban tensed up, and struggled to maintain a dignified composure. But her watery eyes hinted at just how wounded that warning had left her feeling.
…
Did you really think that I'd torture my Vauban for some sadistic pleasure? Did you perhaps, establish a shallow motive for my continued violence against the sweetest little thing in my life?
I'm only so damn harsh to Vauban because I needed to be.
I need to protect her.
Vauban is a service mon. There are certain expectations of a service mon. Combat, situational, cooperative, compliance, mental, duress, and so many other expectations. Vauban could meet every one of those bars. Every single one except…
Emotional.
I'm as much to blame for it as she is. Rangers do not get emotionally attached to their Pokemon. It isn't just down to bigotry. Emotional bonds prevent Rangers from performing their duties with the utmost efficiency. If we are unwilling to make a call, if we are unable to make a sacrifice…
Then a battle can cost more than just a single mon's life.
A Ranger who gets emotionally attached to their Pokemon is a liability. The way Command deals with such liabilities is as rudimentary as martial corrections can get.
They kill the mon in question, and permanently sever the bond.
I'd kept my bond with Vauban under the radar for as long as I could. All by beating her senseless whenever she slipped. And Vauban slipped on a daily basis. She should have known better. She did know better.
But she couldn't hide it as well as I could. For my first year out of the Academy, Vauban had been on the Proctor's list of compromised mon. I had to beat Vauban within an inch of her life to get her off of it. One psyche examination on either of us would have been all it took to betray just how much Vauban means to me, or me to her. If that ever happens, the Rangers will kill Vauban and make me watch.
Or worse, they'd make me pull the trigger myself.
She is my greatest shame, and my dearest friend. She is the one unconditionally loving thing I have found since losing my family. The one comforting constant that I've held onto throughout every other terrible loss in my career. She isn't a service mon to me.
Vauban is my family.
I can't lose Vauban. I have to protect her. Vauban needs to learn. Vauban needs to adapt.
I need her to get mean.
...I need her to hate me.
…
I ordered fried takeout from a street vendor. The shit was poisonously salty, but a damn sight healthier than the MREs in my pack at the hotel. I stuffed my face full of tempura coated fish, dipped in a sweet and smoky spicy sauce. Compared to MREs, this was five-star dining.
I just barely finished my meal when a familiar voice called out to me.
"Hey Ranger!"
Oh, you gotta be kidding me…
"How did the date go?" The black-eyed kid from yesterday came running down the street. Pewter is a pretty small city.
I knew that he liked me.
"As well as I said it would." I grunted. The kid was panting when he stopped running. He looked up at my severe face with a big ol' grin.
"That was all of fifty meters. Are you that out of shape?" I grumbled. The kid just laughed.
"Well, I'm no Ranger… So yeah… I'm pretty winded."
Kids. Need I say more?
"So did you take on Brock yet?" The kid knew more about my plans than Tammy did.
Probably because I was shit-talking him yesterday, before I damn near eviscerated his Rattata.
"That's tomorrow, now keep your mouth shut on that." I advised the kid with a warning tone. His smile only grew.
"Ranger's Oath!" The kid raised a sloppy salute.
He was trying to brownnose me, and he was going about it the wrong fucking way.
"Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself." I grumbled. The kid's smile faded.
"Sorry… I just thought…"
"Would you stop snivelling? What the fuck are you doing running down the city streets anyways? Don't you have somewhere to be?" I was in full-on bully mode. I just wanted my space. Couldn't the kid give me that much?
"No… I was just looking for you…" The kid fell back.
Okay. That shut me up.
"And why were you looking for a Ranger?" I asked, my tone becoming dire. The kid swallowed.
"I… Wanted to ask you for some pointers…" The kid was properly nervous now.
So was I.
"...What kind of pointers?" I asked, my voice solemn.
"I just… wanted to know what the best plan of action would be… before I went into the recruiter's office."
That made my entire body go cold.
"...You want to be a Ranger?" I asked, slowly. The kid swallowed and nodded.
I just stared at him in disbelief. This was my worst nightmare. Something I'd been dreading since accepting my role in High Command's political agenda.
Why?
Why do kids always try to kill themselves?
"...You're not cut out for being a Ranger." My voice was low. Dangerously so. The kid puffed himself up, as if I'd just proposed a challenge, not stated honest fact.
"I'll bet that you're wrong." He even sounded cocky when he said it.
"No. I'm not. And you are not reporting to any recruiter's office. I will break your fucking legs if I have to stop you." My voice removed any sense of uncertainty. It was deliberately cold, decisive.
I was not being the shitty example that sent this kid into an early grave.
The kid backed up. There was fear in those eyes. Fear, and confusion.
"Why can't I be a Ranger?" The kid asked, voice all soft.
"Because you would die. And I don't want that on my conscious." Truth is ever the harsh bitch, but it was the only bitch I ever loved.
"What if I don't die?" The kid found some pre-pubescent balls, and challenged my assertion with them.
I don't care how stupid your balls are, I will crush them.
"You will. And I've already filled enough graves by being an example. Don't dig me another one." I replied, voice shaking in rage. The kid looked as if he were about to cry. Cortez drew closer, and a look in his eye reminded me.
It was all about the approach.
"Come on, follow me." I growled, turning on a heel and stalking off towards Pewter's south gate, with Vauban close in my shadow. The kid hesitated to follow me, but Cortez damn near took a chunk out of his ass for it. After that, the kid wisened up fast.
When I give an order, you follow it.
I dragged the kid out of the city walls. Just for him to leave Pewter City, he needed a Trainer's License and a mon, or a legal guardian with such.
I had suspended his license and impounded his mon yesterday. I wasn't a legal guardian.
I was a Ranger.
That kid was more safe with me than he would have been with his entire family armed to the teeth behind him, and the city guard knew it.
We headed out on the auspicious Viridian Road. Follow it down far enough, and you would find the Viridian Forest. Further beyond that, the wealthy city of Viridian itself. But we weren't headed that far. I just wanted to talk to this kid in a place that he would feel exposed in.
…
The Established Routes are one of mankind's greatest achievements in the Post-Brink era. Through hundreds and hundreds of years spent toiling in the Frontier, we have carved safe roads from one city to another, all fortified with massive walls and exterior deterrents. The Rangers were key elements in the placement and construction of the Routes, and to this day, the Ranger's Hades Division maintains every stretch of safe commute throughout all of the regions.
The walls themselves are rarely pretty to look at. They're generally nothing more than massive piles of craggy rocks thrown haphazardly together into a winding unbroken mound. The walls themselves don't stop feral mon from trespassing into the Routes, but it does slow them down a whole hell of a lot. The walls are ugly and primitive for a reason. If the wall is breached, by say a Steelix, then the wall's patch-up requires nothing more than the breach being filled with more rocks. No wall humanity can make will ever stop the Delta-Fives and some of the Delta-Fours from breaking into man's domain, so quick and easy repairs have the advantage over the more expensive, more complex, and more robust walls.
Beyond the walls is the Hades's Swath. Five-hundred meters of burned and salted earth, carved with deep trenches dug in multiple rows, all filled with sharp and pointy toys. The Hades Division mops the exterior of the Routes up on a monthly rotation. Their crews are constantly moving around the Region, all in order to keep the Routes' defenses maintained. The Hades Division got their name for some of the methods they used to clear the earth. Burning vegetation down does a good job of keeping herbivore mon out, which in turn keeps the predator mon out, but the Hades Division actually goes a step further by tilling the soil with Magcargos and Muks.
So that shit doesn't ever want to touch that sterile and dead land again.
You can smell the crews coming from klicks away, and though 'civilized' people will bitch and moan unending about the odor of Muk and burning vegetation…
You won't see 'civilized' people dying five-hundred meters beyond the city walls, all thanks to the Ranger's Hades Division.
I've seen the Hades Division at work, and let me tell you, those guys have shitty jobs. Between the Environmental Suits and Pyroclast Rigs that they have to constantly wear, those poor bastards are never comfortable. And they're always exposed to a Muk's Pollutants, which effectively cuts their life expectancy in half.
Excadrills and Sandslashes rend the land and clean up the trenches, while the Muk drag their nasty selves across the earthen wound. Then the Magcargoes chase them all down, cauterizing the toxic gash with their intense body heat. And the Rangers moderate all of it, keeping it all in an orderly and efficient process.
Sounds like fun? I didn't think so.
You have to be plum-fucking nuts to join the Hades Division, but it is a necessary evil if humanity is to maintain what few holds mankind has left.
Other than the Hades Division, you also have the Ranger's Firewatch crews patrolling the Routes, advising travellers as to any dangers currently besieging the road ahead. Firewatch also engages and kills off any feral mon, considered too dangerous for human contact, living within the confines of the walls. Sometimes the Vets have to come out and deal with the specialty cases; such as a Nidoking scaling the walls in search of new territory, or the Beedrill setting up their hives on the Routes, despite the very few pollinating forms of vegetation growing within the Hades's Swath.
That said, Flying-Types, most notably the Fearow; aren't exactly put off by any of the defenses. Which is why Firewatch is specifically trained for dealing with the most dangerous of the Routes' common nuisances. To top it off, the Rangers actually provide habitats within the walls specifically for certain species of mon. Just to provide an incentive for the inexhaustible Rattatas and Pidgeys to stay off of the main road. Ever been warned about the dangers lurking within the tall grass? There is a reason for why that tall grass is around, just as there is a reason for why that warning exists.
If you like danger, then walk in the tall grass. If you like safety, then walk on the Goddamn road.
Unbelievably, Trainers actually assist in the defenses. Their competitive calling actually removes common threats from the equation. Trainers capture or wound so many feral mon that it becomes almost impossible for any Pokemon species to gain a foothold in the Routes, making the roads even more safe for travel.
I would almost respect the Trainer community for their unintentional assistance towards humanity's continued safety, except Trainers keep getting cocky and decide to scale the walls for themselves, before crossing the Hades's Swath in search of the big game prizes still thriving out in the Frontier.
The stupid fucking idiots get themselves killed nine times out of ten whenever they cross into the Frontier.
You need to be either a Veteran Ranger, or a Championship Trainer in order to survive out there.
But kids seem to think that they're ten-meters tall and inedible, and they're the dumb fucks that jump the walls most often.
…
"Look around, kid." I finally spoke after the first klick had been put between us and Pewter's historical walls. The kid took a gander, but he didn't know what he was looking for.
But he saw exactly what I wanted him to.
"This is a Route. A sanctuary of sorts. You're not exactly safe here, but you aren't guaranteed to end up murdered." I headed over towards the Route wall, and began to climb the primitive foundations.
"Come on, higher up. Let's go." I ordered the nervous kid. He looked one way, and then another. As if he didn't want anyone to know about what we were doing.
My hopes that this behavior meant the kid had finally found a sense of caution were dashed a moment later, when the eager youth practically ran up the crags to catch up with me.
It took us all of a minute to climb to the top of the wall. Vauban and Cortez kept up with us, both mon displaying their impressive acrobatic skills, despite their small statures.
"Look over there. See that treeline?" I asked pointing across the Hades's Swath. The kid was grinning.
Not good.
"Yeah! That's the Frontier, isn't it?"
"Yep. That's the Frontier. The backyard of the Rangers." I sighed. The kid was bouncing on his feet. He was obviously curious as to where I was going with this.
I was going directly with it.
"Come on, that's our next stop." I said as I threw my fucked up legs over the summit, and began my descent down. Vauban and Cortez followed me.
The kid didn't.
Very good.
"What's the matter, Cadet? Afraid of heights?" I mocked him from below. The kid looked properly scared now.
Finally. But I am not done learning you yet.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" The kid asked, worried.
"Of course it's not a good idea. But we're gonna do it anyway." I chuckled as I continued down.
"But why? Isn't that dangerous?" The kid looked at me for some kind of reassurance.
But the truth is rarely a reassurance.
"Because Rangers don't always act on safe ideas. Actually… We never do. Now get your chicken-shit ass down here, Cadet." I ordered. Cortez growled at my side.
It wasn't often that Cortez growled. Growlithes are notorious for making a constant racket. It was one of the reasons for why Cortez was so unusual. Part of Cortez's bearing was his silence.
And when Cortez revoked his silence, it meant something.
Something deep.
The kid scrambled down after us. I don't know how much of it was my belittling or Cortez's warning, but that kid moved his ass to get down to ground floor.
"We're gonna cross the trenches. Walk with me further down. When you see a flag, call out. There should be a run of track buried around those flags that we can use to cross the spikes." The kid glanced into the trenches, and fell back instantly. They were a lot deeper looking down here than they seemed up on the wall. And those spikes would give you tetanus just for looking at them.
"Cortez, stay on alert just in case. Vauban be ready for a scrap if big brother Cortez picks something up." I reminded my mon of our location. They didn't really need it, but it was a CO's duty to ensure a certain level of awareness among his Squad.
"I see a flag! Yellow, right?" The kid asked, pointing further south. I squinted my one good eye and nodded.
"That is what we are looking for. Passage across Hades's Swath."
When we reached the yellow flag, the two of us dug the rickety track out of the dirt, and propped it up on a reinforced section of the trench.
"Now keep your feet dead center on the platform. Otherwise the track wobbles, and you may fall right into the trench." I explained the safety rules regarding passage across Hades's Swath with an unconcerned voice, then I walked my gimpy ass across that track at mach two without even shaking it.
"Come on. Now it's your turn, Cadet. Don't keep me waiting."
The kid crossed the track on his hands and knees.
Good. Be afraid.
"Alright. Only another four trenches to go." I was completely at ease, and the kid was already getting the shifty eyes, desperately seeking some escape.
Once we made it across the final trench, I paused for a moment before the frontline of the Frontier.
"Cortez, find me a solo Beedrill. Vauban, prep for an ambush dismantle. Cortez will lead us there stealthily, you will disarm the Beedrill quietly. Kid-"
"-My name… My name is Tony." He was shaking like a leaf. I smiled warmly at him, and patted Tony on the shoulder.
"Okay, Tony. Hold my knife for me." I unsheathed my BAMF, and the kid's eyes grew massive when he beheld the size of my ugly fucking knife.
"Hold it with both hands if it strains your wrist to hold it with just one. And don't you dare drop it." My friendly demeanor disappeared in the blink of an eye when I warned Tony against dropping my weapon. The kid held my BAMF in both hands like an unbalanced club, and I quickly adjusted his form and grip into a more appropriate combat stance.
"Okay, just hold onto the knife nice and tight like. Cortez?"
Cortez was still sniffing. He was doing his usual thorough job.
"I want a scout. Find me one far away from the hive." I specified a target for Cortez. Both the kid and I followed the hound for another southerly klick down the Hades's Swath, before Cortez gave me the signal.
"Alright, Tony. This is how it is going to play out. Once we cross the treeline, you are going to be more silent than you have ever been in your entire life. You will follow my footprints, step by step. Or we will die. Okay?"I was back to being Zane, the friendly smiling Ranger.
The kid turned white.
Excellant.
"Alright Cortez. Ten meters ahead on Poll. Vauban, you're on rear guard. Kid, you are glued to my ass like a dried turd. Unit, advance now."
My order was followed flawlessly. The kid was so scared out of his mind that he had turned over control to me.
Good for him. He might live through this.
I followed Cortez's careful route into the Frontier. I already knew that my Hunter-Killer was proficient tracker, but Cortez found us a mark even faster than I anticipated. Cortez located a lone Beedrill half a klick deep into the Frontier, without incurring any incident on the way, and without alerting the buzzing drone.
That is one hell of a dog, let me tell you.
I signaled to Vauban as soon as the Beedrill came into sight. She moved up from rear guard, her vines already extending. I gave Cortez the the guard signal, and then indicated the kid, who was looking mighty sick on sight of that giant fugly insect and its lethal hardware.
Cortez hunkered down in front of the kid, effectively keeping him in location. Then Vauban and I advanced.
I was unarmed, but completely unconcerned. Even if Vauban only plucked one stinger with the first strike, I could handle anything that the Beedrill could throw at me with my bare hands alone.
I didn't have anything to worry about. I gave Vauban the attack order, and two seconds later, the Beedrill was relieved of his wings. Both me and Vauban followed up together, Vauban's vines tearing off one of the twin needles, and me breaking off the other.
I kicked the crippled insect over and quickly fell back. Just as if it were programmed to do so, the Beedrill lunged at me with its abdominal stinger. I had predicted this, and we were ready for it. I was the bait. And Vauban was the snare. My little girl took the last lethal weapon that the Beedrill had.
The Beedrill was still very much alive, and feeling far more pissed off than in pain. I grabbed the ugly son of a bitch by his neck and lifted him off of the ground.
"Hey Tony?" I called out, ignoring the oozing appendages jabbing at me like they still had their stings.
The kid was frozen up. He was seconds away from puking. I smiled all friendly like as I got closer to him.
"Catch." I put both hands on the Beedrill and flung its ass right at Tony. The kid defrosted a second too late. The projectile mon hit Tony with enough force to knock both him and the Beedrill over.
Tony was screaming his ass off as the Beedrill got its mandibles full of his hair, yet for some reason, Tony had forgotten all about the knife in his hands. The kid just pushed at the aggravated Beedrill and squirmed beneath it, all while the Beedrill stabbed at Tony with his disarmed limbs. I walked over all calm and collected, and pulled the Beedrill off of Tony.
The kid just about ran, but Cortez got a mouthful of his shorts, and dragged Tony to the forest floor; while I flung the Beedrill over into the dirt.
"Remember my knife?" I asked when the kid rolled over and gaped up at me from the ground.
"Use it." I tossed my head over towards the flailing Beedrill. Vauban was harassing him in her own adorable way. My sweet little girl was literally poking the Beedrill with a stick.
Now that is a game that even Rangers will permit to be played.
The kid got to his feet. He eyed the ugly Beedrill on the ground, and then the knife miraculously still in his hands. His eyes shot back to the Beedrill. Then jolted back to the knife.
Beedrill.
-Knife.
Beedrill…
-Knife.
Beedrill?
-Knife?
I could see Tony's frazzled brain working it out with every twitchy glance.
"Come on now. Kill the ugly fucker." I smiled all nice and perty like, as if I'd just suggested that Tony should cut up a cake. Tony retched.
'-I… -I… -I…" Tony couldn't even move his mouth properly.
The kid was completely traumatized.
Mission accomplished.
"Well, okay then. I'll do it." Still smiling, I turned back to the mutilated Beedrill.
And then I proceeded to disembowel that piece of shit mon with my bare hands, making as graphic a display as was possible using every piece of the Beedrill's remaining anatomy.
I was brutal, needlessly so. Even the Vets would have thought that there was something wrong with the Fucking Bastard, had they witnessed me killing that Beedrill as viscerally as I did.
But that was the point. This kid was getting to see the worst of both man and mon in one day.
Tony would never again think about joining the Rangers after that.
I guarantee it.
…
It was mid afternoon by the time we got back to Pewter City. Vauban and Cortez were both resting in their Pokeballs, both had been dismissed shortly after our return to the safety of the Route walls. It was just me and Tony now. One staggering pale kid, eyes still wide and lips tightly pursed. One whistling Ranger, covered head to foot in Beedrill parts. The gate guard gave us one hell of a peculiar look as we strode casually past him, back into Pewter City. I waited until we hit the downtown section before I asked Tony my new favorite question.
"So what did you learn today?" I stopped whistling just to grin at the kid. Tony hesitated for a second. He struggled against the shock for a little bit. I was perfectly content with giving him the necessary time to respond. At long last, Tony opened his mouth to reply...
-And finally blew the grits that he'd been holding in ever since we left the Frontier.
"A valuable fucking lesson." I chuckled. The poor kid lifted his head from the pool of sick, eyes wild and animated by panic. I put a finger on his forehead, and pressed him back into a straight posture.
"...You aren't a Ranger, Tony. Now go find out who you really are." I spoke softly to the kid. He could only nod numbly in response. Then Tony ran away as far and as fast as he could. Fleeing from the psychotic Ranger and his twisted reality.
Despite my satisfaction at that retreat, I did feel a twinge guilty when I realized that Tony no longer liked me.
I headed back to Tammy's after that. I made sure to strip off my gut encrusted uniform before stepping into Tammy's abode, just so that I didn't track any entrails into a civilized home.
Tammy was already back, and as scandalized as all fuck when I walked in wearing only my socks, tank top, and boxers.
"What the hell have you been up too?! Were you stripping for-?"
Just look at my laundry.
"Oh..." Tammy put a hand over her mouth. I just smirked.
"Don't worry, baby. This Ranger is housebroken." I grinned at the cute Officer, still in her uniform.
"Is that… Beedrill?" Tammy asked, looking slightly concerned about one of the larger yellow-and-black striped chunks still twitching on my uniform's shoulder.
"Just another day in the Rangers for Zane Bastard." I chuckled. Tammy swallowed.
"Thank God that it's just a Beedrill… I was worried that it have been a Venomoth-" Tammy began.
"-Say what? Why would it be a Venomoth?" I asked sternly. We still had another month to go before the Venomoth season started in Viridian. Tammy looked at me hesitantly.
"Didn't you hear? Two Rangers were killed this morning by a swarm of Venomoth."
That was all I needed to hear.
I was back in my uniform in the blink of an eye. Tammy just stood there and watched as I suited back up.
"Why the hell didn't my radio go off?" I spat, booking it towards the front door. Forget Pewter City. Forget Brock. Forget the League. Fuck Chris.
The Venomoths had come early to spawn, and two of my fellow Rangers were already dead.
"You're not heading back to Viridian Prime Outpost, are you Zane?" Tammy asked, her voice worried. My hand paused on the doorknob.
"That is exactly where I am going." My voice was a low growl. Tammy shuddered.
"Zane… Please be careful…" Tammy was tearing up. I worked my mouth. I didn't know that Tammy was that attached to me.
"I'll do my best, Tammy, but I hear the call coming in loud and clear. And no Ranger waits for thunder to herald the rain." I stormed out of Tammy's home, and hoofed it for my hotel to reclaim my G.I. pack. After that detail was addressed, my ass passed under Pewter's City gate for the third time today, on my second exit, heading south. Heading towards the sound of the call.
Once more, I was running back into the Brink.
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ACE (AGENCY of CORE EXECUTIVES): Originally the Kanto Region's Secret Service, ACE has expanded into foreign shores to investigate and ensure Kanto's continued national security. Question have been raised as to whether or not ACE still serves the interests of Kanto in both the domestic and abroad sectors, or if ACE has evolved into a shadow nation possessing its own political agenda, free of the Kantonese Provincial Government's authority.
Trainer's Eyes: An electronically automated communications feature of the Pokedex. Always active and impossible to turn off. Trainer's Eyes alerts Pokedex wielding Trainers of other approaching competitive Pokedex equipped Trainers. Used primarily for battling, though hidden software runs behind the scenes to calculate all manner of competitive statistics relating to the Trainer community. The Trainer's Eyes effective radius is equivalent to roughly three-hundred meters.
Trainer's Account: Effectively a share of the League's market stocks, except that the share doesn't belong to the Trainer who purchased it. Used to maintain, moderate, and guarantee the stakes claimed and lost in official Pokemon Battles.
Pokemart: Business that markets all manner of Pokemon fitness accessories, services, and food. Generally regarded as a hotspot for mon-humpers, Pokemarts are often avoided by the hardcore competitive Trainer population.
Trainer's Mart: A generalized retail establishment that deals in Pokeballs, Pokemon Medicines, Survival Gear, Travel Foods, and even Pokemon themselves. Often patronized by the hardcore competitive Trainers, Trainer's Marts also purvey Training secrets at a discount. Because of the wealth of supplies and knowledge offered, Trainer's Marts are generally the first stop for the competitive Trainer when entering a new district.