A/N: If you're enjoying this story so far, you may like the audio readings I'm doing on pokémon stories of the authors who first inspired me. At the time of this posting, I'm doing NightDragon0's "Dragon Riders: Kaze No Kaeru" on YouTube, complete with music and sound effects.
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"Let's say that Silph has managed to perfect a new Master Ball," he started, looking down at his hands intently. "We'd have to take it away from them, because it falls outside the pokémon registration system. Otherwise, they and whoever else has a Master Ball would be able to capture as many pokémon out there as they wish, and we wouldn't be able to do jack about it."
"Correct. The Master Ball is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands."
"Yeah, but here's my question." Kenta gripped his fingers together harder, bracing himself as he let the words tumble out of his mouth. "Who can we trust to be the 'right hands'?" He looked up and stared Shin directly in the eyes. "In less than two months, we'll take possession of almost every trainer's hard-earned pokémon. Can you imagine how many Tyranitar, Slaking, Milotic, and Dragonite we're going to have? Those are just examples. And now, on top of that, we've got the Master Ball, which is guaranteed to catch even legendary pokémon in one go."
Shin's face was impassive. "Keep your voice down," he mouthed, and leaned closer until he was only two inches away from Kenta's face. "You can't let anyone know you're thinking such things," he whispered. "Nobody, do you hear me? Now, listen closely. I share your sentiments. I'm certain many people do. But we can't just go spitting such words like you're doing right now, especially at this time. It will have to be done in the politically correct manner, at a later date. That's how the system works."
"There's a total power imbalance between the government and the people," Kenta whispered back, furiously. "But we can halt it somewhat, possibly this very hour. If the Master Ball does exist right now, its makers are the only humans in the world who know its perfect design. If we get the opportunity, I say we destroy it."
"It's no use, Kenta," replied Shin in a sad tone. "You can't keep forbidden knowledge locked away forever. Remember Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We were bound to have atomic weapons someday, and there's no turning back now. The Master Ball is no different." He stood up from the bench and looked down at Kenta. "Someone will harness its power. We just have to do what we're told as soldiers, and hope that our government superiors are indeed 'the right hands' for holding such a weapon."
Kenta smiled bitterly. "That's ironic, coming from the guy who just gave me the key to the city in a pocky box."
"It's a funny old world we live in. Time to move in, Sergeant." Shin motioned him to rise, and Kenta unhappily did as he was bidden, knowing the conversation was over. The two police officers waded through a sudden crowd of pedestrians, and when the group was past, the glass double-doors of Silph Co. loomed before them. Ignoring a flamboyantly-colorful "closed" sign, they pushed the doors open and were met with a small gust of warm air.
The first floor of Silph's interior was vastly occupied by a great water fountain in the center of the floor. In the room's corners, and other various places, potted flowers and trees stood sentinel. A constant breeze swept through the room, and Kenta suspected that it was because of air pressures coming from temperature differences between the cold fountain water and the heating system. It sure has a relaxing effect, he thought, as he and Shin approached the receptionist's desk. It makes you feel serene, and lowers your guard. Most visitors probably don't notice, for instance, the glare of camera lenses within the tree leaves. We'd best be on our toes.
The receptionist received Kenta and Shin with an artificial-looking smile, sitting rigidly in her chair and observing them with a bowed head and upturned eyes. "Can I help you, officers?" she asked in a brisk tone. Shin took the lead, reaching his left hand into his uniform and pulling out his badge. "Lieutenant Daisuke Shin," he spoke in an equally business-like tone. "We received a notice that two other officers are already here, with malfunctioning equipment. Could you please call them down to the lobby for some quick repairs?"
"Ah, that's unfortunate," said the receptionist airily, ducking down and reaching under her desk. "Thankfully, your friends won't need to be bothered to come down. I've got your stuff right here." Kenta's heart skipped a beat as she held up two military ear-microphones, wired to their battery cases. There was no reason, none in the world, why she should have them under normal circumstances. Even as he and Shin exchanged a horrified glance over the reality of the situation, the secretary held out her hand.
"I'll have yours, now. It's off for the moment, but it'll work again as soon as I've given my superiors notice. Please don't waste time, now. The military will get suspicious if they decide your radio has gone dead, too. At any time, we can blow this building sky-high with the number of Electrode we're holding in here. Think of the hostages. Do the right thing."
Kenta knew better than to assume this woman was bluffing. Heart pounding, sweating from every part of his body, he handed his communicator to Shin, who in turn handed both to the receptionist. "Good," she muttered, placing them onto the counter, still within reach of the officers. "Now disarm. I'll take those utility belts you've got." Again, after waiting for Shin's confirming nod, Kenta did as he was told, and handed over his pepper spray, handcuffs, his taser, and worst of all, his gun. The receptionist took the weapons more hurriedly than before, and tossed them on the floor behind her, out of everyone's reach. She turned her eyes on Shin.
"If you want to keep a hundred lives safe, you will do exactly as I say. Your communicator will be back on in a moment. Tell whoever's on the other end whatever it takes to keep them believing that everything's going smoothly. Don't try anything stupid. Our technology is better than yours. We just might be able to read minds."
Kenta stiffened as the receptionist turned to him. "As for you . . . go to the third floor. Take the elevator. Someone will there to escort you to your destination. I expect your cooperation, too. No releasing your pokémon at any time, is that crystal-clear? The consequences will be the same. Go."
There was nothing to be done. Kenta felt his legs move automatically, as if he weren't controlling them, and he headed for the elevator numbly. Desperate to keep a level head, he forced himself to analyze his foe in his mind. One thing was for sure: Shin's suspicions about Silph were dead-on. Not only had these people anticipated their coming, but they had defeated Shin and himself as soon as they'd come in through the door. Now they were on their own, without anyone from the force to back them up. They couldn't even use their pokémon. Kenta knew better than anyone that pokémon training was different as a police officer. If anyone's fingers but the original trainer's touched the pokeball, the pokémon inside would know automatically to go berserk on the stranger. He'd taught this "first priority" training to Spear the Beedrill, his Shelgon, Bolt, and Bakuphoon, his ever-reliable Typhlosion. What impressed and depressed Kenta was the fact that the Silph receptionist had known not to ask for his pokémon. In a way, pokeballs were like grenades. If they weren't thrown after activation (his own touch), they would explode open by themselves. His pokémon knew to assume the worst. His enemy knew how to avoid the worst.
As the elevator doors opened to receive him, Kenta looked back for a moment at Shin. The receptionist was holding the communicator speaker to his mouth, and both were standing stock-still. However, as the elevator doors closed, Kenta heard Shin begin to speak in the distance. "Sir," he said in a casual reporting tone, "This is Lieutenant Dai-" Before Kenta could hear any more, the doors shut firmly in his face. He reached out and pressed the "3" on the button pad, and it lit up in recognition. The elevator began to vibrate, and Kenta felt his weight shift as it rose steadily to higher floors. Once the elevator had confirmed he was on floor three, Kenta braced himself as the double-doors slowly parted before him.
...
Midnight, January 1, 2008, proved to be one of the darkest nights Japan had ever experienced. All over the country, television sets sat with a blank screen, showing nothing but the miserable reflections of whoever happened to be sitting nearby. Nobody's lights were on. Nobody's house made a sound. From the humble town of Pallet to the mighty Pokémon League HQ, pokémon fans of all ages sat in the shadows of their homes, brooding sulkily. While some were quiet, others were vocal, though their complaints were unheard by anyone other than themselves.
"Training will never be the same again," muttered a seventeen-year-old boy, lying on his couch and watching a feeble attempt at fireworks through the window outside his house. He looked down at the things he was holding; in his left hand was a red cap he'd worn for four years straight during his pokémon training days. In his right hand was a bottle of sake, which he'd attained illegally by having a vagrant buy it for him. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a great drink, stopping only when he had to gasp for breath. As he belched, his companion in the next chair over looked at him with a mixture of disgust and concern.
"Don't you think you've had enough, Takeshi?"
"Blow me. If I die from alcohol poisoning, I'll be the happiest bastard of this year." Takeshi glared at the colorful fireworks bursting merrily in the sky just outside his window. "Pfft. Happy New Year, my ass."
Most households in the active pokémon regions of Japan were more or less the same way. New Bark Town was no exception. While Mr. and Mrs. Nyna halfheartedly celebrated the coming of a new year with two drinks in the kitchen, Hibiki remained alone in his room, reflecting on the events that had ended 2007 so bitterly.
Kenta was gone, reported missing a little under two months back and presumed dead after the Silph Corporation incident. An officer from the New Bark police division had stopped by at their house several hours after the event, looking somber and holding his hat in his hands. His mother hadn't stopped crying for hours after the news, and his father had gone into a daze. Hibiki himself remained hopeful for a while that Kenta would miraculously pull out of this mess as he'd done a few years in the past.
One particular incident of Kenta's trainer day heroics stood out in his mind. Back when he was sixteen, Kenta had rescued Johto's legendary god of electric-type pokémon from the nefarious Team Rocket, with the help of friends. During that time, he'd risked being crushed and eaten by the foe's Steelix on several occasions, and had nearly been electrified to death by the very creature he was trying to save. Somehow, Kenta, Marina, and Juni'chi had all pulled through, but it could have turned out much worse.
Unfortunately, Kenta's luck hadn't held out with Silph Corporation. The news revealed that they had indeed been holding blueprints for the Master Ball's design, and though the government had seized the information and successfully arrested all known perpetrators involved, Kenta hadn't made it. The criminals had put up a tough fight to keep their precious information, all in vain, but not without consequences. Hibiki had gotten to see Kenta's coffin at a quiet memorial service, empty, but still symbolically woeful. All that remained of his brother's memory was his room, and the Munchlax he'd captured in the Sinnoh region and given to Hibiki as a present.
Less importantly, but still devastating to a certain degree, remained the fact that disheartened so many other trainers on this gloomy night. Hibiki checked the clock, 12:08. It had been eight minutes since pokémon trainers all over Japan had lost every pokémon they'd ever captured, save two. Hibiki felt sorry the trainers who'd suffered under G.R.I.P.'s new decrees, but he couldn't fully pity them. He hadn't become a pokémon trainer thanks to his mother, so he hadn't lost anything. He'd even gotten to keep Kenta's Munchlax, under the condition that his father register as a pokémon trainer and re-adopt the plump little creature under his own name. Munchlax also had to wear an Everstone on his collar at all times, and he'd often tried vainly to eat it. Hibiki had grown closer to the pudgy little pokémon over the last month, because Munchlax was still originally Kenta's pokémon after all.