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The Saga of Kings, Book I: Hero
Written by,
Vile M.F. Slanders
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"...Aequa Lege Necessitas Sortitur Insignes Et Imos... (...Fate, by an impartial law, is allotted both to the conspicuous and the obscure…)" Quintus Horatius Flaccus, a Roman lyric poet, Born December 8th, 65 BC. Died November 27th, 8 BC.
...Yet his words live on...
-v-
Chapter VI: A Confluence of Fates?
"It's confirmed. Halcyon has gone rogue."
"...Son of a bitch. I should have listened to Oscarin…"
"Sir, the League reports state that there were witnesses to the event, other than Brock Aissatou and the Pewter City Gym staff."
"Do we have any names?"
"Most aren't worth mentioning, but this one caught our attention."
"...-"
"-Not possible."
"The League registry confirmed his presence during the match."
"Does Halcyon know?"
"That we don't know. With his Ghosts, anything is possible."
"This can't be a coincidence. They were supposed to be playing on two completely separate game boards! Why did Halcyon jump into the Indigo League? Was he planning this from the start?!"
"He may have ulterior motives. He is a Halcyon after all."
"What is he doing, announcing his presence through the fucking Indigo League?! Now the whole fucking world is going to find out that we offered asylum to a global war criminal!"
"..."
"Why would Halcyon go into the League?"
"Sir?"
"...This is Theron Halcyon… If he wanted the world to know about his presence in Indigo, then he could have just made a scene massacring Pewter's population… Why broadcast it through the League?"
"...?"
"...He knows."
"Should we recall the White King?"
"...This jeopardizes everything… But if Halcyon did know, then why didn't he just kill the White King?"
"...Sir?"
"...Unless he doesn't know…"
"...Are we going to scrap Operation: Wounded Hearts?"
"..."
"Sir?"
"...No."
"..."
"...We still have the upper-hand. We can't do anything about our loose cannon, Halcyon… Not yet, anyways. Have we ascertained the whereabouts of the White King?"
"We have our field operatives scouring Pewter City for him now."
"What about Alexandria?"
"Alexandria's last transmission was cut off by Distortion interference. If the White King was exposed to a heavy enough dose of the Distortion's scream, then it might have forced Alexandria into stasis."
"...Son of a bitch. What about the Black King?"
"Halcyon disappeared after his match with Brock. We have the Whitetails combing the Distortion for a lead, but Halcyon knows his way around that hell better than anyone else alive. If we do find anything, it will more than likely just be a false trail."
"So our two Kings are MIA?"
"Correct."
"...What is Halcyon trying to do?"
"We have our Analysts digging through the archives. We're trying to establish a motive. But for all we know, Halcyon's Ghosts may have finally claimed his sanity. He could be going wildcard."
"No, Halcyon is up to something. He set us up, and now he's playing us all for fools. We're grasping at shadows... I never should have approved his request for asylum. I should have supported Arturia…"
"Speaking of Arturia, the Kalosian King made contact with Oscarin about an hour ago, around the same time that the Indigo League announced Halcyon's presence in Kanto."
"Adamus Oscarin? Why would the King of Kalos contact Indigo's High Justiciar?"
"Assassination. King Arturia had to have known which office Halcyon went through for securing his asylum."
"...Oh fuck."
"Sir… Are we looking at a possible war with Kalos?"
"Get on the horn. I want an audience with Arturia ASAP. We need to figure this Halcyon situation out."
"We've already attempted to establish contact with the King of Kalos. Arturia shut us down the instant the Crown found out where Halcyon disappeared to."
"Is this what he's trying to do?! Start a war between Indigo and Kalos?!"
"Halcyon? It's feasible. Our Analysts are researching the possibility."
"Why? He turned down the Kalosian Throne. Halcyon had a chance at killing Arturia and claiming the Crown… And he walked away from it… How would instigating a war between Indigo and Kalos benefit Halcyon? He has us running in circles, damnit!"
"Sir… What do we do now?"
"...-"
"-...We cover for Arturia. The High Justiciar died from a tragic accident-"
"-A Halcyon Shadow ganked Oscarin in full view of the public offices. We can't cover up a Distortion rift appearing out of nowhere and dropping itself right in the middle of Indigo's Supreme Judicature-"
"-THEN MAKE SOMETHING UP! WE ARE TRYING TO AVOID A WAR WITH KALOS!"
"Yes sir!"
"...-"
"-...Pull the Whitetails out of the Distortion. We're not going to find the Black King in his hell. I want field operatives on the ground hunting for his ass. If anyone comes into contact with the Black King, they'll talk about it. Try as he might, Halcyon isn't inconspicuous in the sunlight. And he's not running from us. He doesn't have any reason to fear us... And we still need the Black King."
"If the field operatives do manage to locate Halcyon, what is their prerogative?"
"...Establish contact. I want answers, and Halcyon isn't going to give us any. So we are operating off of any hints that he drops."
"I'll disclose the directive at once. Is there anything else that I should tell the field operatives?"
"...-"
"-...Tell them to locate Bastard ASAP. We may need to fall back on the White King if Halcyon keeps playing his game in the League."
"Yes sir."
"Wire me a feed to the Analysts. I need to-"
"-Sir!"
"What is it, Looker?"
"This passport just came in from Vermilion City's Sea-Port-of-Entry Office. Do you think it has any correlation with Halcyon?"
"...?!-"
"-How the hell did she get out of Kalos?!"
"House Le-Faye must have smuggled her out of Arturia's custody. That, or even House Halcyon. House Halcyon is the most likely suspect. They have the means necessary to move their Shadows anywhere unnoticed, and not all of the Halcyons are loyal to the current Crown. The Halcyons might be trying to win their King back-"
"-I want the Watchdogs following her every movement! She had to have know about Halcyon's whereabouts beforehand! She couldn't have crossed two oceans in an hour! If she's looking for Halcyon, then something else might be going on! We have a possible lead. We are following it to the Black King."
"Yes sir."
"Get your ass in Vermilion, Looker. I want you on this one personally."
"Right away, sir."
"...-"
"-...This is going somewhere… This is leading up to something. Something that we didn't anticipate..."
…
We all stood clustered together outside of the Pewter City Gym.
Just the four of us, completely disregarding each other's personal space.
The ginger's heels were practically on my toes, and the lass was standing shoulder to shoulder with me and Peacoat.
I don't know how long we stood there, just soaking up the normal world.
None of us even remember the trip through the Pit access tunnel.
There was only one thing running through our brains, torturing us with memories.
Pariah…
Typhon…
TH…
They had almost killed us.
We had been held captive in a Distortion sub-cell.
Why the hell hadn't we started mutilating ourselves yet?
How were we still sane?
"...What do we do now?" Peacoat's voice was breaking from desperation and shock.
At least he could find his voice.
It took me two unintelligible gurgles to locate mine.
"Follow me." Grunted one very shaken Ranger.
I dragged the other three to a grungy restaurant in the downtown sector. The place looked like the sort of establishment that derived the ingredients for its cuisine right out of the alleyway.
In short, it was a dive that served its customers dysentery topped with botulism.
Good thing we weren't going there for the grub.
Ol' peacoat caught right on to my line of thinking when the waiter finally arrived to offer the dive's beverages.
Together, we ordered one of every alcoholic drink on the list. It didn't matter if it was whiskey or wine, we wanted it served by the pint.
The waiter got a little surprised when he asked the two sickly kids for their preferred beverage.
Peacoat and I just repeated our orders for the kids.
Fuck underage drinking.
Heavy suppressants are about the only thing that can ward off the aftereffects of exposure to a Distortion scream. We all needed to get blind drunk as soon as possible if we wanted a prayer of forgetting the horror that we had just played witness to.
Despite the less than homely settings that the four of us had elected to get inebriated in, we still drew a lot of pissed off looks. Peacoat and I ushered the choking kids into hastening their consumption, less the police show up and book us all for a misdemeanor. So it came to be, that Peacoat and I guided the two stumbling children to their designated homes, and then he and I fled both the seedy restaurant and the distraught guardians. We'd done our best for the ginger and the lass, but I did not envy their parents in the least.
Trying to calm those two panicking kids down enough to get them to leave a well-lit room was going to be a heartbreaking experience for their families, and likely one that take would both counseling and time. Hopefully the trauma wouldn't manifest itself in some kind of psychosis. Getting sunk into a Distortion sub-cell can fuck with even the most rational of minds.
And after having been in one myself?
I can personally attest that there is just something wrong with that place that registers on the primal level.
There's just something not right about that infinite empty hell.
Now that the kids had been returned to their respective homes, both me and the silent Peacoat needed to take care of ourselves.
Which meant that neither one of us was gonna leave the other anytime soon.
Never leave a man behind.
In the Ranger Corps, that phrase generally means, 'Make sure that your brothers are dead before you leave their bodies behind to be eaten by the mon.'
But in this situation, it meant that while one set of eyes were closed, the other set of eyes were wide open and watchful.
In hindsight, it was kind of funny that I didn't get Peacoat's name until two whole days later-
-But despite the delayed exchange in formalities, we still got a room together in a hotel.
...Don't say it.
-It was nothing like that.
Anyways, I would've preferred violent sodomy over what Peacoat and I put ourselves through in that hotel room.
Every light went on, the open doors were adjusted and the furniture was relocated so as to minimize the shadows that they cast, mattresses were leaned up against the walls at angles parallel opposing light sources, our small mon came out in force, and the hotel's service counter was hailed with a request for every alcoholic beverage provided by the establishment.
I volunteered for the first watch, while Peacoat drank himself into a coma. Then it was eighteen hours of drying eyelids and numbing senses for this Ghost-fearing Ranger, before Peacoat woke up for his end of the shift.
Neither one of us really knew what we were going to do if a Ghost did decide to show up. Our best counter against an invading shade was to dispel its physical form, but even then…
All of our preparations amounted to nothing more than an obvious security blanket.
-And truthfully... We'd take whatever faux comfort that we could afford, just to stave off the madness born in terror.
…
"Ow."
That was all I could say when I opened my eyes. The warm light of the hotel room was antagonizing my senses.
"...You awake?" A groggy Peacoat croaked.
"Unfortunately… Oh, my fucking head…" I placed a hand over my good eye.
"Are you sane?" Peacoat asked. I coughed.
"Well, I am a Ranger, aren't I?" Vauban worked her way under the crook of my elbow.
"That's a 'no,' then." Peacoat snorted.
"What about you?" I asked, throwing Vauban off of me.
"I haven't started cutting myself or seeing things that aren't there yet, so… I think I'm sane." Peacoat actually sounded humorous.
"What day is it?" I grumbled, lifting my stiff frame off of the floor.
"Almost seven pm, two days after the Gym." Peacoat answered.
"Crap… I need food." I grunted, staggering across to the bathroom.
"I'll call the front desk. I'll have them deliver whatever they serve here." Peacoat offered.
"-Fuck that. I'm going out as soon as I smell halfway decent." I was in a ripe mood. But a hangover and a sleep-kinked neck will do that to you, even without the empty stomach.
Fifteen minutes later, this Ranger was clean-cut and washed, suited up in a fresh uniform, field kit strapped to his shoulders, mon returned to their appropriate Pokeballs, and ready to leave the somewhat sour smelling hotel room behind.
"Are you coming with me?" I addressed the peacoat with an impatient tone. He shuddered when he looked over to the room door.
"What's your name?" I asked, watching the peacoat hesitate over leaving the room.
"...Derek Browlowski." The peacoat answered. I sighed, and sat down on the floor across from him.
"Okay, Derek. We've been holed up in this hotel for almost two days now. If a Ghost wanted to haunt us, I think we'd be feeling some kind of paranormal activity already. And that creep from the Gym has probably skipped town by now. You and I are both scared out of our wits, but we both appear to have maintained our sanity. Now a sane individual would realize the futility in remaining locked up in a hotel room. That, and our wallets aren't bottomless. So we have to man up, and get the hell out of here before our paranoia really does drive us insane." I offered my coaching to Derek in a fashion that appealed to his Analyst rationality. It would be a shame if this Analyst wasted himself away in this hotel room.
But I had not revealed an even more prevalent motive for my want of Derek's action.
The truth was…
...I really didn't want to step outside alone.
Derek swallowed hard, before he tightly closed his eyes and hugged his knees while rocking back and forth.
"...Derek. We have to live. This isn't living. Now come on." I slapped the side of Derek's head with an open palm, jarring him out of his anxiety.
"I'm starving. I want junkie food and soft drinks. It's gonna be a while before I can even look at a bottle of booze again." I stood up, dragging Derek up by his peacoat's shoulder as I did so.
"If you don't walk yourself out, then I'll kick your ass through the door, Analyst." That was an unsoftened promise from the Fucking Bastard. A Ranger's threat had best be taken seriously, and Derek was wise enough to heed it. Needless to say, my nervous compatriot scurried ahead of me to the door.
In the absence of the spirits, an irritated Ranger poses a genuine need for concern.
…
That first breath of Pewter's evening air tasted like salt and honey in my stale mouth. Judging from Derek's deep intakes of breath, he too was sampling the clean city air. The two of us stood there in front of the hotel's pavilion, just soaking in the descending sun and fading sky. This was what we needed. This was what we had been missing.
Beautiful earth.
"Well I'm feeling better already. You?" I elbowed Derek after a good five minutes of standing had passed. Derek actually managed to chuckle.
"Hell yeah. Now let's get some grub before the sun sets." Derek returned my gesture with his own elbow. I decided to pass on the presented excuse to escalate and slug Derek in the gut, seeing as my constitution favored the promise of a hot and greasy meal.
We found a grillhouse easily enough. Derek ordered a stack of smoked ribs, while I demanded that the bloodiest and largest burger on the menu be outfitted with every spicy condiment and every cheese available.
Did I want bacon added to that order?
How is that even a question?
Yes, cover that mess in bacon, and then drown my burger in the grease. Keep pouring on the sauce until it looks unappetizing.
Then add some pepperoni.
Derek got himself one hell of a laugh when I placed my order. True to my Ranger disposition, I wasn't going to wait for a waitress. Talking over the greeter's protests was second nature for the Fucking Bastard.
Just make it easy for the both of us, and write it down now.
I pay you for a service, not for a wait.
"You really have a way with people, don't you Ranger?" Derek snorted when we were seated.
"Give me what I want, and nobody gets butthurt." I replied. The uniform was back on. No doubts or inhibitions were betrayed in my disciplined countenance.
"Have you ever considered that a more… civil approach might achieve better results?" Derek was plying his Analyst trade on my mannerisms.
I had growing a respect for this League aficionado, so I didn't immediately bite his head off for questioning my less than appropriate social etiquette. Besides, an Analyst would never be satisfied with a simple 'No'.
"Efficiency is my goal, Four-Badges. I'll enforce that goal in any interaction that I partake in." I hoped that a rational response would shut him up, but Derek smelled a debate in my logic.
"You're forgetting to factor human animosity in such interactions. An unwilling servitor may not provide the most efficient resource." Derek started his logic train's engine.
"Then they're gonna get an earful from me." I closed the debate with my obstinate retort. Derek rubbed his eyes with a chuckle.
"I take it that you don't like people?" Derek mirthfully asked.
That paved the way for a pause from me.
"...I don't think that I would say that. I think that humanity is a beautiful thing. I want it to endure and expand. I just… I'm not the best with people." I grunted. Derek looked at me quizzically.
"Why do you want humanity to grow even more? Don't you think that we've come far enough?" Derek posed his question not so much as a personal belief, but more of a counter statement to my own desire.
"We were once the supreme species on this planet, Derek. We once held this world in our palms. We were on the cusp of interplanetary colonization before the Brink appeared. Who knows what humanity could have achieved if the mon had never shown up…" My voice trailed off into a wistful longing. I was sounding hopelessly sophist, but it was a personal passion of mine.
"But you do know what we did to this planet in our expansion, don't you?"
I sighed.
The paradox of my desire.
"We damn near destroyed it." I grumbled.
"So would you support the planet's destruction for humanity's expansion?" Derek didn't phrase his question as an accusation. He seemed genuinely intrigued by this development.
And in all honesty…
I was rather pleased to have finally found a soul who shared and challenged my philosophical pursuits.
"I don't think that wanton destruction is necessary for development. The one good thing to come of the Brink Collapse was a reason for mankind to adapt our behaviors. Post-Brink humanity defeated a Dark Age and reshaped the new world to reflect the old world. Despite the travesties that befell mankind in the post-Brink, we've still held true to the old world values. Sure, from time to time, both the government and technological advancement regressed some, but every dictatorship eventually collapsed when the populace realized that a strong totalitarian government was no longer necessary for the species's endurance. Humanity wasn't broken by the Brink Collapse. We were tested by it, and we became stronger when we triumphed over the chaos. We've used different means to achieve this era of prosperity than the means we utilized in the pre-Brink, but the end result is humanity's expansion and the world's preservation. We are finally beginning to return to our original dominance, though now we are endowed with a sense of responsibility for the well-being of our world." I couldn't believe that I was spilling my guts out to a relative stranger in a public setting. But peacoat had his own skill in dealing with people. It wasn't until he answered my analysis that I realized just how much Derek served as a social polarity to my own civil inadequacies.
"Yet how long do you think it will be before humanity regresses into a selfish animal and seeks to secure their own interests at the expense of the world?"
Derek was referencing human nature.
Strife is our ally.
Contentment our enemy.
History records the best of mankind in eras of discord.
And history records the worst of mankind in eras of peace.
"With a well structured government, and a properly educated population, humanity could curb the beast indefinitely-"
"-Indefinitely? Don't use that word in reference to human nature. You're only detracting from your own thesis with such ignorant terminology."
"Well we have to try something! We know what the problem is, we have the ability to address it, so why couldn't humanity rise above their own nature?"
"It was humanity's attempt to defy nature that almost destroyed the planet in the pre-Brink era. Nature is a balancing act. We can't escape our own nature. Somewhere down the lines, an organization will possess the resources necessary to influence the entirety of humanity back into regression just for the sake of personal gain. Look at the history books. How often has something wonderful been ruined by human selfishness?" Derek asked.
"The Byzantine schism comes to mind. If the leadership of the Roman empire had set aside their political infighting, then a unified Roman nation would never have fallen to the Visigoths. And if the Romans had persisted beyond the Catholic reformation, humanity could have avoided the first Dark Ages altogether." I referenced my favorite ancient culture in my response.
"How about Europe's vengeful Treaty of Versailles damning the Germanic nation into poverty, which bred animosity amongst the German people, leading to the rise of Adolf Hitler and the start of World War II?" Peacoat offered.
"While we're on the subject of World Wars concluding in more wars, it pays to mention that American idiot, Harry Truman. That fucking buffoon practically invited another two wars in Asia, and the Cold War era when he threatened Stalin with the Atomic Bomb. A fucking world leader threatening to nuke another world leader over what was essentially a contest in the ideal form of government? Say what you want about the monster Stalin, but he was a far more capable leader than President Truman. America was the tyrant in that scenario, not Russia." I sounded venomous, and ol'Peacoat could only shake his head with a laugh.
"Well, we got a little side tracked, but we have established humanity's inability to overcome their basic nature, even in times of peace following war. So how would the future world of humanity altruistically cope with their inherent nature?" Derek asked. That one stumped me.
"...I don't really know if that's even possible. Humanity is just a complex animal after all. Survival is still our primary motive in every action. The preservation of the species is the root quantifier in our every behavior, no matter how far flung our behaviors seem from the natural mold." I reasoned. Derek shrugged.
"That thesis could be argued, but I would rather offer an answer to the original question. It may be beneficial for both the world and humanity if we never reclaim our dominant species title. Maybe everything would be better off if humanity just conformed to this new world's standards. There's nothing wrong with a humble existence, Ranger. Our species doesn't need to grow into a cancer again." Derek elaborated, betraying his own beliefs with his softened voice. But just as Peacoat had pointed out the flaws in my beliefs, I was ready to highlight the flaws in his.
"...Maybe it would. But then you are forgetting to factor in basic human nature again. We will establish dominance, or we will go extinct in its pursuit. History shows that the human animal has never settled for less than supremacy. So rather than dream of an impossible utopia, we need to embrace our own chaos, and adapt ourselves to counter its consequences." I replied. Now my response had stumped Derek. It was a long while before either one of us spoke again.
"...Sometimes I hate reality…" Derek groaned, burying his face in his hands. I snorted.
"And that same dissatisfaction is why I'm so short with society. If travesty inspires change, then my goal is to create as much controversy as I possibly can to influence humanity's transition into the ideal dominant species." I confided to ol'Peacoat. He snorted at that one.
"Really? I thought that you were just an ass for the sake of lording your own self-imposed superiority over everyone else." Derek jabbed. I chuckled.
"That too."
Another comfortable silence stretched on following that little jest. Derek and I were content to sip at our beverages and await our meals. Right up until our stomachs voiced their concerns regarding the current issue.
"What the hell is taking our food so long? Did they have to butcher the bloody Tauros for your ribs?" I asked Derek.
"With as long as we've been waiting, it seems more likely that they had to slaughter and smoke a Grumpig's belly cut for your burger." Derek retorted.
"Naw. It's all your fault for not placing your order at the front desk like I did. Give a business establishment an centimeter, and they'll take-" I paused mid sentence when a ringing filled my ears and numbed my senses. The look on my face must have hinted at my sudden discomfort.
"Are you okay?" Derek asked me, curious as to the sporadic change.
"I have to go check something."
That was my voice...
-But I wasn't speaking!
"Check something? Like what?" Derek asked.
"Ranger business. I'll be back momentarily."
Was my mouth was moving in spite of my own will?
Something had repressed my self dictation!
How far did it-?
The sudden bodily rise from my chair answered the incomplete question adequately.
I had lost all self dictation.
Something else was controlling me, and I was helpless against it. The academy's mental training procedures proved a useless counter to the sudden cognitive assault. Mentally rehearsing Catullus XVI and contemplating prime numbers did nothing for me.
I didn't know if this was psionic subjugation or spiritual possession.
I hadn't a defense for either.
Had TH's Ghosts returned to reap what they had spared?
I walked right past the front counter in a steady gait. I couldn't even find a foothold to use in order to imply my plight to the casual passersby.
I was completely under something's spell, and my one-way awareness was coming along for the ride. That raised a new question.
Why hadn't my captor simply blacked out my awareness?
Wouldn't it be easier to maintain control if I was unable to rationalize my sudden lack of self dictation?
Across the street and halfway down an alleyway later, I got my answer.
And the identity of my captors.
"Ranger Zane Bastard, I'd like to apologize for the sudden invasion. But discretion in the public sector must be observed. You understand that this is only a precaution to avoid arousing suspicion, should any other eyes witness this meeting, correct?" A gray haired man in a tweed suit informed me. He wasn't alone.
A young hairy faced hippie in a tie dye shirt and cargo shorts stood behind him. A bulky man wearing a peculiar clash of denims and a white turtleneck stood at the tweed's shoulder. His crew cut, dead eyes, and muscle mass hinted at a military background.
And the fourth member of this odd collection was a midget hoodlum equipped with the baggiest assortment of identity concealment punk apparel imaginable. I couldn't even see his face.
Well, I could see his face, but the image failed to register in my conscious mind. I knew that he had a face, and I knew that he was looking right at me, but I couldn't for the life of me process his physical appearance.
"Igor. Let him go." The tweed suit ordered. The hoodlum shrugged, and my self dictation returned in a tingling sensation. Then the psionic short-term memory scrambling ceased, and I could identify the Hoodlum's facial features.
It wasn't a hoodlum.
It wasn't even a human.
The bottomfeeder fishlike face of a Medicham looked up at me from the hood.
"Ranger Bastard, I hope that your faculties are capable of discerning who we represent?" The tweed posed me with a challenge.
Oh, I know who you are, fancy pants.
My blood had already gone cold with the revelation long before you revealed your ugly little Medicham.
"ACE." I whispered. The tweed inclined his head.
"Agent Stockholm, Whitetail Division. Or a Headhunter if you prefer the colloquial term."
-Oh shit.
I was a dead man.
"If you will follow Igor and myself to our safehouse, then the other two agents will join us in due time. We have some questions for you, Ranger. And we hope that you might be able to provide us with some answers."
For a ACE Headhunter, Agent Stockholm wore the tweed well. He was ever so polite in his phrasing.
And not one softened word did anything to comfort me.
"Can I take your silence as consent?" Agent Stockholm asked.
"-I'll come." I choked. The Emboar in a turtleneck snickered.
"Relax kid, we're not going to kill you." The hippie chuckled. The tweed was smiling at me too.
"Take it easy, Ranger. Like I said, all we have is some questions. This isn't an interrogation. Nothing that we will ask you is going to jeopardize your morality. This has everything to do with the recent event at the Pewter City Gym." The tweed informed me.
Okay…
Now I wasn't going to shit my pants.
But I might need a clean pair of undershorts just to be safe.
"Igor, start screening. I don't want anyone to recognize our faces until we get into the safehouse. Agent Denethor, Agent Matusik, give us a fifteen minute lead. Arrive separately in five minute intervals. Igor will cover your approach." Agent Stockholm ordered. His Medicham, Igor, began his mental voodoo, effectively erasing every record of our existence from any bystanders' minds that we came across in the journey to the safehouse.
"Yes sir." The crewcut and hippie answered in unison.
"Sorry Ranger, but you haven't been cleared for the location of ACE's Pewter City HQ. Are you ready?" Agent Stockholm turned to me.
"...Just pinch me when it's over." I grumbled. The other two Agents laughed.
"Igor, wipe the slate." Agent Stockholm ordered with a smile.
And those were the last words I could remember before that Medicham telepathically shutdown my senses and claimed my dictation for himself.
…
A painful twist on my right cheek roused me from the single most pleasant sleep that I had experienced since infancy.
"He said to pinch him when it was over." The military ape chuckled as he released my face from his torquing vice grip.
"Goddamnit, I said a pinch! Not a fucking face-lift!" The Fucking Bastard woke up in a spitting fury. I was sitting on a chair in a surprisingly domestic dining room. White walls, a wooden table and buffet, a carpeted floor, and even an ornamental bowl of fruit replete with matching candlesticks greeted mine eye upon my return to self awareness.
"Holy shit… I expected something a little more…"
"Don't worry. The interrogation equipment is prepped in the basement." Crewcut grinned at me while I struggled to correlate ACE's presence in this tame and homely setting.
"So I'm not going to end up in the basement later? ...Or maybe in a sack out in the Frontier?" I wasn't joking around, and my nervous voice confirmed it. Agent Stockholm took a seat across the table from me.
"As I stated before, Ranger, this is only an inquiry. Not an interrogation, and not an execution. I think that you will be pleased to learn that your tribunal was disbanded following your match with Brock. Although ACE Central did wish for me to stress upon you that any future security leaks perpetrated by your person will be severely punished." Agent Stockholm was every bit as clear cut and proper in the advisory as his tailored tweed suit suggested of his mannerisms.
"So what do you want to know about the freak with the grey eyes?" I asked. Agent Stockholm approved of my intuition.
I knew that ACE wasn't interested in the events of my match with Brock, controversial though it may have been. ACE wanted information pertaining to the walking apocalypse from Kalos.
"Did you establish contact with Theron Halcyon?" Agent Stockholm asked.
"That's his name? Is that what 'TH' stands for?" I asked.
"TH is just an abbreviation of his moniker. The world knows Theron Halcyon more commonly as 'The Hole'-"
"-Cute nickname. Who did he piss off to get that stupid title?" I interjected with a smirk.
Not one of the Agents were laughing at my gibe. If anything, every face in the room darkened.
"I'll assume that you know absolutely nothing about Theron Halcyon?" Agent Stockholm asked in a patient voice.
The smile faded from my face.
"Other than the fact that he's a fucking freak who almost killed me twice, and he's apparently the Reigning Kalos League Champion, no. I don't know a damn thing about him." I admitted. Agent Stockholm drummed his fingers on the table.
"For the sake of a serious discussion, I will enlighten you as to the nature of Theron Halcyon. He is a war criminal. Every nation between Unova and Johto has tried at some point to assassinate Theron Halcyon. Every attempt has failed. The last reported failed assassination attempt was perpetrated by Sinnoh. Did you hear about the 'accident' that killed the Sinnoh Theocracy's entire Parliamentary council little less than a year ago?" Agent Stockholm asked me.
"Yeah, something about a carbon monoxide leak and a faulty alarm system…" My voice trailed off.
Agent Stockholm wasn't suggesting what I thought that he was suggesting…
"That was a cover up. Everyone in Sinnoh and Kalos knows what really happened. And not a soul in either nation wants to discuss it. Theron Halcyon circumnavigated the Sinnoh Theocracy's security detail by utilizing a passage through the Distortion, and then The Devil of Kalos announced his previously unknown presence in Sinnoh by summoning up one his Ghosts to drown the entire Parliament within their own provincial estate. They had no forewarning and no countermeasures in place for Theron's retaliation. While Typhon and Theron filled the Parliamentary Chambers with miasma, his other Ghosts haunted and systematically slaughtered the platoon of Templars that were rallied in the effort of saving Sinnoh's doomed leaders." Agent Stockholm paused and cleared his throat with a cuff over his mouth, before he continued on with his account.
"And then to add spit to a festering wound, Theron Halcyon desecrated Sinnoh's most sacred landmark, Spear Pillar, by having his Ghosts tear open a sustained Distortion rift at the summit of Mount Coronet. The entire peak is now haunted by a variety of malignant wraiths. And if you know anything about the Sinnoh Theocracy's canon… They believe that the Ghosts are demons, so the primeval spirit's presence in Sinnoh's most sacred monument is an inexcusable affront to their religion." Agent Stockholm gave me the abridged account.
Shortened or not, this revelation made my icy skin crawl.
"...One man… brought down the entire Sinnoh Parliament?" I gaped at Agent Stockholm.
"So now you understand why we don't laugh at your jokes regarding Theron Halcyon?" Agent Stockholm sought some form of confirmation from me.
He was going to have to wait.
I was still trying to get past the shock.
"Why was Sinnoh trying to kill TH?" I asked.
The crewcut Emboar behind me cleared his throat.
"That's need to know-"
"-Other than the fact that Theron Halcyon is regarded in Sinnoh as the antichrist for training Ghosts? The King of Kalos but a mark on Theron Halcyon's head. With a huge payout to any nation that could claim it. For the death of Theron Halcyon, King Arturia was willing to part with a seaport archipelago that would have offered any other nation in the world a strategic location for a naval base." Agent Stockholm overrode the turtleneck's assertion.
Apparently ACE had chalked me up on the need-to-know basis.
Which only made me feel even more nervous.
Was I a bigger part of this investigation than a mere informant?
"So why didn't TH kill this King Arturia then? If TH can slaughter a roomful of government officials and get away with it, what's to stop him from killing a single King?" I felt like these people were speaking a different language. None of this seemed real. None of it made sense.
"...The political situation in Kalos is… interesting to say the least. Half of the nation supports King Arturia's claim to the Crown. But the other half would rather have Theron Halcyon on the Throne. It seems that for the sake of national stability, Theron Halcyon has avoided open warfare with the current leadership of Kalos." Agent Stockholm informed me.
Yeah, that cleared everything up.
Half a nation wanted to put a genocidal soulless monster on a Throne and call him King-
-Theron Halcyon was a political contender for the Kalosian Crown?!
"What is wrong with Kalos?! Why would anyone want a freak like TH to be a King?!"
I couldn't believe my ears.
Fortunately, ACE was there to guide me through my sea of political ignorance.
"Because King Allan Arturia is a tyrant whose paranoia and shameless abuse of power has weakened the Kalosian nation, and the Kalosian revolutionaries want that to change. Unlike King Arturia, Theron Halcyon isn't a coward. And he has a reputation for amending problematic situations effectively, if not ethically. A better portion of the Kalosian peasantry and aristocracy desire a strong leader on the Throne, and Theron Halcyon is currently their best defined article. Of course, if Theron Halcyon became King… It would shift the balance of power out from ruling House Arturia and disperse it among the other Noble Houses. The succession of Kings has always provided the Nobility with opportunities to claim some portion of the Crown's power, so the Noble Houses stand to gain influence from the current regime's transition as well." Agent Stockholm laid out the floorplans for such a controversial succession, but Agent Stockholm's foreboding pause and wary demeanor hinted at a more unpleasent motivation for such a revolution.
"...And if you believe certain Kalosian doctrines regarding the destiny of Kings, Theron Halcyon has a ceremonial claim to the Throne that House Arturia hasn't dared match for three centuries. One of Theron Halcyon's Ghosts is a revered symbol of the Kalosian Royalty. In the Kalos of old, these Ghosts were reputed to only serve Kings, or those fated to become Kings. It was traditional at every coronation in the Kalosian Crown's succession for the new King to summon and attempt to Channel this Ghost in a display of his religious legitimacy. A successful Channel proved the successor's ordained right to the Crown. A failed Channel resulted in the beheading of a would-be King. Ruling House Arturia disavowed the practice three-hundred years ago when they lost four of their family members to a single coronation. After House Arturia's controversial political maneuver; that Ghost hasn't been seen on earth since, right up until Theron Halcyon summoned one for himself, and then successfully Channeled the eidolon."
"Kalos traditionally sanctions a Ghost to elect their Kings? ...That's the single best reason that I've ever heard of to justify ridiculing religion. I thought that Kalos was a developed country." My snide voice commented. Agent Stockholm brushed his clean shaven chin with a knuckle.
"Be that as it may, Ranger, Kalos is still a powerful nation. Other than Unova, Kalos represents the single greatest military threat to the Indigo Confederacy. Regardless of our personal views on their religion, it is best that we of Indigo acknowledge and respect the archaic practices of our neighbors, if for no other reason than to avoid hostile confrontations brought about by trivial disputes." Agent Stockholm motioned to the turtleneck.
"Agent Denethor, this conversation has left me parched. Would you pour us some drinks?" Agent Stockholm's cordial order belied his apparent authority.
Agent Stockholm was obviously in charge here, and he was debriefing me on this 'Theron Halcyon'.
Now I'm no fool, and neither is ACE. They wouldn't waste their time telling a lowly Ranger like me these secrets without having a motive in place beforehand.
"So what does this have to do with me?" I asked, fixing a severe eye on Agent Stockholm. He pursed his lips.
"Not to alarm you, Ranger Bastard, but if Theron Halcyon continues to compete within the Indigo League, there is a distinct probability that you and he will eventually cross paths. It is essential to Operation: Wounded Hearts that you become the Indigo League Champion. Not Theron Halcyon."
Okay.
That summed it up.
And don't mind if I do feel alarmed.
That freak is so far above my class that it would be laughable to even consider the two of us competing against one another in the League.
"But for now, Ranger, you don't need to worry about Theron Halcyon. ACE is doing everything in our power to remove him from the League. But in order to succeed on that front, we need every scrap of information that can be procured regarding Theron Halcyon's activities in Kanto. Can you provide us with everything that you've observed or learned in your interactions with Theron Halcyon?" Agent Stockholm asked me.
"-If I may interject, sir? It would be prudent if I was allowed to review Alexandria's condition as soon as possible. Rebooting model P2-04 could take a while. Depending on the amount of damage the Distortion scream dealt to his core diagnostic systems… Alexandria could require a complete overhaul." The hairy hippie moved forwards. Agent Stockholm gestured to me.
"Ranger Bastard, if you would provide Agent Matusik with Alexandria, then one of ACE's AI technicians can begin Alexandria's maintenance immediately." Agent Stockholm requested.
I had completely forgotten about the multi-million Sandz worth of supercomputer lying comatose in my breast pocket. But I'd been terrified witless, drunk, unconscious, or hungover these last two days.
Who could blame me for neglecting my little conniving pain in ass AI?
"Alexandria hasn't responded to my bio-signature. Did the Distortion scream damage him or the Tact. Pad?" I asked as I dug out my Tact. Pad for Agent Matusik.
"The Tact. Pad has a crude circuit breaker installed, so I doubt that the Distortion scream overloaded the circuitry. But Alexandria was never even tested for Distortion exposure. There's no telling what the interdimensional pulses did to his tesseract-lattice programming." Agent Matusik took the Tact. Pad from me, and sat down on the far end of the table, before procuring an aluminum kit from underneath his chair.
"I thought that it was all just EM waves screwing with the circuitry. How could the Distortion scream affect a Porygon?" I asked. Agent Matusik laughed as though I'd said something cute.
"If it was just EM, a Porygon wouldn't be affected. The quantum fluxes generated by a Distortion rift causes temporal discrepancies at the event horizon. These temporal discrepancies effectively warp time and space with gravitational fluctuations, which in turn, simultaneously halts and accelerates the exchange of hexadecimal information processed by sophisticated computations, overlapping and and repeating the same line of code ad nauseam in the span of-"
"-I think that you lost the Ranger at 'hexadecimal information,' Agent Matusik." Agent Stockholm mercifully interrupted the geyser of technobabble spouting from the hairy faced hippie.
"Sorry. I was trained as a field-tech. Not a quantum programmer." I apologized for the glazed look in my eye. Agent Matusik snorted.
"You know how the Distortion scream can render most living organisms insane?" Matusik asked me.
"Yeah, I do. Unfortunately…" I grumbled.
"Well, the same basic principle applies to computers. Everything thus far invented by man operates within the realm of time and space. When the Distortion breaches the realm of time and space, it negates these two natural constants. Humanity perceives this event with a sudden sense of displacement. This displacement triggers an innate panic response in our physiology upon returning to realm of time and space. Sometimes, this panic response collapses our psyche so completely that we are stripped of our rationality permanently. The same is true for computers, which are simply incapable of computing within the absence of time and space. In short, the Distortion scream completely obliterates the sequence of codes that dictate a computer's programmed responses to input stimuli. I.E. The machine dies." Agent Matusik gave me the layman's version.
"So Alexandria is… dead?" I asked, not the least concerned for the fate of my Porygon partner.
"If he is, then one of the advantages of being a computer is mechanical restoration. We have backup copies of Alexandria's quantum logic banks and precoded algorithms. We can fill the empty husk of Alexandria's Tesseract-lattice matrix with a brand new Alexandria model, based entirely off of the old data that developed the original. We hope that Alexandria is still alive though. We lost contact with him shortly after the first Distortion scream that Pariah generated when he tore open the Distortion. Any transmissions that Alexandria attempted to broadcast back to ACE Central during Theron Halcyon's match with Brock could still be stored within his quantum logic banks. That information could be instrumental in tracking Pariah's movements throughout the Distortion. If we can figure out how to follow Theron Halcyon's Ghosts in their realm, then we can have a means of following Theron Halcyon's movements in our realm. We would be stripping The Eidolon King of his shadows using his own Ghosts. So any quantum observations pertaining to Theron Halcyon's Ghosts is an invaluable asset to ACE's search effort. And it looks like our little Alexandria is-" Agent Matusik lingered over the analysis, giving the carbonated beverage laden Agent Denethor a blissfully silent return to the dining room.
"-KIA… Goddamnit." Agent Matusik swore. Lifting what looked like a holocaster from his aluminum kit, Agent Matusik entered a combination on the holocaster's minuscule display.
"Athens, help me out." Agent Matusik grumbled to the holocaster, as the holoport illuminated with a spectrum of photonic beams.
But Athens wasn't a contact of Agent Matusik, stationed within the quantum programming department of ACE Central.
Athens was Alexandria's little sister, a much later Porygon2 model.
Alexandria was model four of fifteen from the original Porygon2 project.
Athens was model nine of fifteen from the original Porygon2 project.
And let me tell you, whoever programmed the Porygon2's personality matrices was one messed up son of a bitch.
'Cause Athens started bawling her eyes out the instant she caught sight of her dead brother's Tact. pad.
"Athens, come on babe… We can bring Alexandria back. Just like we did with your little brother Troy, remember?" Agent Matusik cooed.
Apparently the altruistic intentions of the Porygon2's personality matrices were more effective on some people than it was on others.
'Cause if it was Alexandria grieving over a dead Athens, I would belittle the stupid computer mercilessly in order to hasten the restoration of his younger sister.
Making a computer that cries is just a waste of time.
Who the hell thought that such a juvenile behavior would have been a beneficial addition for a fucking computer?
"So are you going to bump uglies with your holographic robot after you're done kick starting Alexandria, Agent Technophile?"
It seemed as though Agent Denethor shared my disdain for inefficient AIs.
"Lock it down, both of you." Agent Stockholm interrupted the exchange before Agent Matusik could retort.
"Ranger Bastard? Your report on Theron Halcyon?" Agent Stockholm returned the setting to an appropriate mood with his request.
"I don't have too much to say on the matter, I'm afraid. TH didn't speak a single word for his entire stay in the Pit. All TH did was smirk and slaughter Brock's Championship team. That, and salute Brock at the conclusion of their match. Oh, and he almost killed me, though I don't think that TH was actually intending to murder me. I have a sneaking suspicion that he just didn't care whether I lived or died." I stated calmly.
"In what manner did Theron Halcyon attempt to harm you?" Agent Stockholm asked, concerned.
"That fucking Jellicent of his pulled up a lake of miasma and flooded the Pit with it. I didn't even know that miasma could exist outside of the Distortion-"
"-It can't. Well, not normally." Agent Matusik interrupted me. I looked at him intently, my curiosity holding his gaze to mine.
"It's probably better if I rephrase that statement. Miasma naturally occurs within the Distortion, but if one attempts to remove that ether from the immaterial plane, then the miasma will seep directly back into the Distortion. Typhon has the ability to 'retain' the miasma in our dimension by polarizing his own Distortion seep. Theron Halcyon's Ghosts are not 'normal' Ghosts by any means. Three of them are Halcyon Heirlooms. The Halcyon family has been collecting and consolidating the world's most empowered wraiths for over a millennia. Typhon is unique amongst all Jellicents due not only to his size, which is inconsistent within the Distortion anyways, but primarily because Typhon possess an unrivaled affinity for Distortion manipulation. If the Ghosts had quantum engineers, then Typhon would be the eidolon equivalent of Werner Heisenberg and Erwin Schrodinger all wrapped up in one. That Jellicent knows more about Distortion superfluidity and interdimensional continuity than any other Ghost thus far encountered and recorded." Agent Matusik halted the eruption of exposition, but only for the shallow intake of breath that he required to continue his assault on my cochleas.
"And believe it or not, Typhon isn't even TH's trump card. Exodus brings the Distortion amalgamations to a whole new level by completely ignoring Newcomb's third law. When Exodus's potential Distortion affinity was realized by the scientific community, it forced us to rethink everything that we had previously established on protractive Distortion rifts. A millennia's worth of hyperspace research and thesis development, all rendered inaccurate and obsolete by just one Ghost." Agent Matusik elaborated further.
"Well, I only saw Pariah and Typhon in the match. They may have been as different in appearances as Ghosts can get, but both of them were absolute nightmares in their own rights. That fucking shield and sword Ghost does not like me in the least, and after witnessing what it did to Brock's Rhyperior, I can shamelessly admit to never wanting to see TH again." I shuddered.
"The Aegislash doesn't like you? What do you mean?" Agent Stockholm was suddenly alert. Something I'd said had tipped the ACE Agent off.
"Aegislash? Never heard of that mon before…" I muttered.
"That's because Aegislashes have only ever appeared in Kalos. And even then, only ever in the possession of Kings. Pariah is the legendary Ghost that secured Theron Halcyon a claim to the Kalosian Crown. In Kalos, the Aegislashes are also known as The Guardian of Kings. According to the legends surrounding the Aegislash, any King in possession of an Aegislash will never know a rival to his sovereignty, unless another King with an Aegislash challenges them for the Crown. To the Kalosian people, Pariah stands as an irrefutable testament to Theron Halcyon's invincibility and his divine right to rule." Agent Matusik was a veritable fountain of anomalous information.
"So I take it that this Pariah is freakishly powerful?" I swallowed hard when I asked that question.
"He's the second most powerful Ghost on Theron Halcyon's team, though when you consider how Theron's other Ghosts do battle, sheer power isn't the only defining factor they utilize for establishing supremacy. Quite frankly… Demeter is the one that scares me the most, and Theron rarely uses her in competition." Agent Matusik was an Analyst. He had to be in order to justify his knowledge concerning foreign League information.
"The second most powerful Ghost in a collection of the world's strongest revenants? And I pissed it off? That's great… That's just fucking great…" I fell back in my chair, anxious as all hell.
"How do you know that Pariah holds some form of animosity against you?" Agent Stockholm asked me.
"Maybe because Pariah tried to disembowel me against TH's orders?" I replied.
Every Agent in the room jumped into overdrive.
"-Is Halcyon losing control of his Ghosts?"
"-Are you sure that Theron didn't just stage the scene-"
"-Was there any other witnesses to the event?"
"Hold up, hold up! One at a time, please!" I threw my hands in the air. Every Agent was wearing a severe look.
"Is TH losing control of his Ghosts? I'm not the person you should ask for that analysis. I don't know enough about eidolon-Channeler relationships to even guess at that one. TH got all pissy when Pariah ignored his first order. Pariah obeyed the second command, but I'll tell you, that Ghost wanted me dead. TH expressed his own bewilderment regarding Pariah's disobedience, so I don't think that it was staged. As for other witnesses? It happened in Viridian's shuttle terminal, but Pariah was invisible at the time. A terminal full of eyes would only see me and TH, and most of those eyes were averted." I explained.
"You mean to tell us that you had contact with Theron Halcyon prior to the Pewter City Gym?" Agent Stockholm asked, shock plain in his voice.
"Yeah, almost six days ago. I met TH in the Viridian shuttle terminal." I reported.
Every Agent exchanged a look.
"Did you converse with Theron Halcyon in the Viridian shuttle terminal?" Agent Stockholm asked.
"We umm… Had a casual exchange..." I summed up lamely.
"The details, please. Starting from the beginning. Every word and action that you can remember." Agent Stockholm requested.
"...Well, you've been in terminals before, right?" I asked.
"Frequently. Proceed."
"The Viridian terminal was the standard miserable mess. People were everywhere, and there didn't seem to be a private area in that entire God forsaken hole. But then I found one. A big one. And TH was sitting right in the center of it. So naturally, I went in to investigate."
"You thought that it was wise to investigate a clearing in a shuttle terminal when The Eidolon King was the cause of it?" Agent Matusik asked me.
"Until the Pewter City Gym, I didn't know anything about TH. So I approached him out of ignorance."
"What did you do when you came into contact with Theron Halcyon's Distortion seep?"
"I locked up. I wasn't expecting to meet a Ghost Trainer in a Viridian shuttle terminal, if you get my meaning. That's when Pariah made his presence known with a sword edge up against my throat."
"And then?" Agent Stockholm asked.
"TH dismissed Pariah, and then I made the mistake of looking into TH's eyes."
Yeah, that got a reaction.
The whole room shifted uncomfortably.
"You stupid motherfucker…" Agent Denethor whispered as he fell back against the wall. Agent Matusik leaned forward, jaw dropping.
"What did you see-"
"-Irrelevant. Continue, Ranger Bastard." Agent Stockholm cut off Agent Matusik's eager question.
"Well, after I was done puking my guts out, I asked TH for proof of his Trainer's License, as per protocol when a Ranger encounters an F5 Trainer." I explained.
"And he provided you with his License?"
"Negative. He provided me with a Waiver of Immunity. With an anonymous identity."
"Did you actually walk into the penumbra of Halcyon's Distortion seep?" Agent Matusik asked.
"Affirmative. I was all of a meter away from TH when I reviewed the legitimacy of his legal document."
"That explains Alexandria's transmission blip six days ago… Alexandria's broadcasts were getting scrambled by the Ghosts..." Agent Matusik murmured.
"You actually decided to stand face to face with the Devil of Kalos? And then challenge his authority? That was ballsy." Agent Denethor grunted.
"What did you discuss with Theron Halcyon during your review?" Agent Stockholm asked me.
"I was attempting to discern his identity. I mentioned a few lewd nationalistic stereotypes, and TH let slip that he didn't approve of Kanto's coffee. So I pegged him for a Kalosian."
"And then?"
"I pressed him for more information regarding his Ghosts, and then TH dropped a discrete death threat my way, just because I was annoying him." I replied.
"And that's when Pariah attacked you?" Agent Stockholm asked.
"Not quite. I might have taken one last jab at TH before walking off. Pariah wasn't gonna let me have the last word though."
"You insulted The Eidolon King after he had already threatened to kill you? Are you suicidal?" Agent Matusik was completely flabbergasted.
"Maybe. I thought that I could get away with it, but Pariah was ready to correct me for that thought. That freaky Ghost took his time fucking with me, which seemed to piss TH off even more."
"Word for word. What did Halcyon say to you during Pariah's assault?" Agent Stockholm leaned across the table, his tone deepening with dire consequence. I shuddered, and called up the vivid memory.
"Let him go, Pariah. Pariah, I gave you an order. He certainly doesn't like you, Ranger. He doesn't like you at all. How very odd." I was actually holding myself when I finished speaking those words. Just remembering how TH had rendered me completely helpless in the Viridian terminal was kicking the old trauma back into my conscious mind.
"...I swear that his voice did something weird when he got angry… I swear that I could hear people screaming when he got mad…"
I swear that I recognized those screams.
I swear that I knew who those agonized and terrified voices belonged to.
Echo.
My Echo…
"Ranger. Snap out of it. No one here is going to offer you a box of tissues. So suck it up, and shake it out." Agent Denethor growled behind me.
That was an order.
Given to me in the tone of command.
That tone gave me something to hold on to.
Something to pull myself out of the hole with.
"Theron Halcyon found Pariah's behavior odd? Agent Matusik, your analysis?" Agent Stockholm turned to the tinkering hippie and his Porygon2.
"Well… We don't know much about Aegislashes, given that they've been absent from the Kalosian Court for the last three-hundred years, and prior to their exile; the Royalty didn't exactly allow any scientists to research their Aegislashes… Really, all the information that we have on those particular Ghosts are the Kalosian legends. According to the Halcyon Thelemalibri, the Channeling ritual for Aegislashes is unique. Usually, to perform a Channeling ritual, you need a Ghost, a supplicant, an inert Distortion seep, a conductive Hendecagram, and a… sacrifice. You place the Hendecagram in the radius of the inert Distortion seep, put the supplicant at the core of the Hendecagram, supercharge the Ghost by feeding them the sacrifice, and then you introduce the empowered spirit to the supplicant, which thereby invokes a haunting between the Ghost and the supplicant. And finally, you just let the conductive Hendecagram circuit-break the haunting, while the inert Distortion seep reverses the Ghost's life-siphon... The end result of which, is that the supplicant becomes the Ghost's Channeler." Agent Matusik popped open a bottle of water and guzzled the contents in a split-second. Tossing aside the empty beverage, Agent Matusik proceeded to establish himself as ACE's poster child of verbal hurricanes.
"Some pretty whacked out stuff happens in the final stage of the ritual. The supplicant starts speaking in tongues, the Ghost starts becoming something… anthropomorphous in appearance... and then a series of ceremonial oaths are extracted from both the supplicant and the Ghost. Both of their vows are spoken through the Channeler's mouth. The last bit is slightly religious, but there is a time frame after the Channeling ritual's completion where the Channeler… seems to embody the 'personality' of their new Ghost. Fledgling Channelers say and do some really freaky shit for the first few hours following the ritual. The Channeling process itself is actually scientific. But the last scene's piece-de-resistance has yet to have been explained by science. We have no idea what's transpiring between the Ghost and their Channeler in the afterglow. The whole shebang has kind of supported the eidolon-veneration dogma, and we haven't been able to prove or disprove their beliefs yet."
Agent Matusik was a human encyclopedia. I caught myself wondering if he was single. A man like Agent Matusik should have born with bookmark embedded in his brain. He needed a pause switch just so that I could keep up with him.
"An interesting lecture, Agent Matusik, but I'm afraid that your reputation for verbal tangents remains undisputed. So answer me concisely this time; How is an Aegislash's Channeling ritual any different from every other Ghost's?"
Agent Stockholm may have been a patient man, but even a patient man could only tolerate so much info-babble.
Agent Matusik went red around the gills.
"From what is recorded in the Halcyon Thelemalibri, the Aegislash Channeling ritual requires an unspecified additional component. That, and the Channeling circle starts off by Channeling a Doublade. Somewhere along the ritual's lines, the Doublade becomes an Aegislash. Then the newly formed Ghost either bows before its King, or lops his crowned head off. Unlike every other known Ghost species, Doublade-Aegislash evolutions do not occur naturally. An Aegislash can only manifest through human intervention. And even when Channeled, Aegislashes remain maverick spirits. This trait is also unique to the Aegislash Ghosts. The Aegislash chooses their King, and they are only loyal to that King. But Aegislashes can still act independently of their King's wishes. Though normally, this defiant behavior is only ever exhibited when an Aegislash's King endangers his own life. The Aegislash will ignore its King's commands, and endeavor to spare their King from his own self-destructive behaviors. Also, when the King dies, their Aegislash disappears into the Distortion with them, never to be seen again. No other Ghost does that. Otherwise, the Halcyons would have a couple of Aegislashes kicking around in their Heirloom collection, seeing as in Kalos's past; it was House Halcyon's noble duty to oversee and perform the Aegislash summoning coronations."
So much for the abridged version. But I wasn't drooling at the end of this explanation, so for Agent Matusik…
...I guess this ascertation counted as concise.
"That's a weird fucking Ghost…" Agent Denethor muttered.
"So Aegislashes are rather distinct in their behaviors?" Agent Stockholm asked Agent Matusik.
"To quote the Halcyon Thelemalibri, The Aegislash stands alone as the Knight amongst spirits, loyal to the Crown before every other statute. The Guardian of Kings will protect his sire from all adversity, even those meted by the King's own hand. Nor shall death separate the Knight from the King, for at the hour of succession, the Crown shall pass into hands of the living, but the Guardian of Kings will accompany his lord into the blackened lands, forevermore to guide and ward his soul-bound King." Agent Matusik recited. I looked over my shoulder at Agent Denethor.
"These Halcyons like making their Ghosts sound romantic, don't they?" I asked. Agent Denethor sputtered a snort.
"Nor shall Death separate the Knight from the King… Makes you kind of wonder if the Aegislash Channelers get a special taste of hell before their Ghost kills them… Ugh..." Agent Matusik shuddered.
"As you've previously mentioned, Agent Matusik, this is all based off of legends. So forgive me if I add a grain of salt to the Halcyon Thelemalibri's account. But some of the Halcyon excerpts mention peculiar behaviors that seem to coincide with Pariah's outburst in the Viridian terminal. Maybe the Ghost is sentient. Maybe our Ranger Bastard aggravated Pariah when he insulted Theron Halcyon. Either way, what this does tell us; is that we had best adhere to extra precautions when dealing with Theron Halcyon. We thought that his Ghosts were under his total control, but apparently one of them can act for itself." Agent Stockholm summarized.
"Ranger Bastard, do have anything else to add on the subject?" Agent Stockholm asked me.
"No sir. That is everything I can offer." I replied.
"Agent Matusik, what is Alexandria's current status?" Agent Stockholm asked his underling.
"Not good, sir. Athens and I are reconstructing his tesseract-lattice matrix as we speak. We haven't even begun recoding him yet. This could take hours, even without factoring in the Distortion scream contingency update." Agent Matusik reported.
"Can Athens finish the reconstruction and system updates through cyberspace?" Agent Stockholm asked.
"Absolutely. Once we reset Ranger Bastard's Tact. Pad, I can even assist Athens remotely. I can have the Tact. Pad running again in ten minutes. Once a functional Alexandria reintegrates with the Tact. Pad's quantum drive, he'll automatically install the Distortion scream contingency software into the device as well." Agent Matusik replied.
"Good. Start booting up the Tact. Pad at once. Ranger Bastard-" Agent Stockholm turned to me, extending a hand across the table.
"-Thank you for your assistance in this matter. ACE appreciates your valuable input, and we at ACE would also like to congratulate you on acquiring your first Indigo League Badge. Keep up the good work, Ranger. You're going to save a lot of lives." Agent Stockholm informed me as we shook hands.
"It's my honored duty, sir." I replied. Agent Stockholm smiled slightly.
"Sorry to have ruined your evening meal. We put a tag on your League Analyst contact in Pewter. Igor will direct you to him. Lights out, Ranger." My eyes slammed shut as that seemingly absent Medicham took over my mental functions again. Despite my multiple psychological invasions, the disturbing identity of TH being revealed to me, and the soon to be resurrected Alexandria being returned to me…
...I still felt pretty content.
ACE didn't want to kill me anymore.
That was a load off my plate, let me tell you.
…
"Where the hell have you been?"
My vision returned with the rest of my senses when Derek called out to me.
God, I hate psions…
Derek and I were sitting at an outdoor coffee shop located in one of Pewter's outlying western precincts.
"Got a priority hail from High Command. Sorry about ditching you with the bill, but I'll pay you back." I answered, shaking the heebie-jeebies out of my limbs.
"What did Ranger High Command want?" Derek asked me, passing a styrofoam container my way.
One cold, soggy burger awaited my dining pleasure.
"Sorry, Derek. That's classified information." I reported, tearing into my revolting meal.
Fuck, I was hungry.
"Okay… I guess…" Derek chuckled nervously.
"It's boring procedure anyways, Analyst. Think of it as a weekly checkup." I grunted past a mouthful of oily mush.
"I get it, I get it. But I do have to ask. What are your plans now?" Derek looked at me curiously.
I sighed, and set down my disintegrating burger.
"I'm leaving Pewter City tomorrow afternoon. Me and my squad are headed for Cerulean next, so we've got the Crescent Valley to slog through before we make it to the Mount Moon shuttle terminal." I answered.
Derek fluttered his lips in disappointment.
"What?" I asked, slightly irritated.
Derek shrugged.
"I'm headed towards Viridian next. I got my passport for Johto. I'm crossing the Argent border to ply my skills against the Johto Gym Leaders." Derek answered glumly.
"Dude! Wait till you try out the food in Johto. I got to tell you a little traveling secret. If the menu is written in Kantonese, skip the joint and find an establishment with a line of locals out front. You can only get a genuine taste of Johtonene cuisine-"
"-Are you sure that you don't want to see Johto?" Derek asked me.
I froze.
Was Derek suggesting-?
"...I hear the woman in Johto will do anything, and you can legally get laid in public at one of Goldenrod's Paper Lantern Festivals…." Derek added, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth.
He wanted to travel with me?
I was an asshole!
Who would want to travel with an asshole for a companion?
"...Derek, I'd love to attend a couple of Goldenrod's orgy festivals, but High Command hasn't cleared me for the Johtonene Gym division…" I swallowed.
"...Well shit... That's too bad." Derek muttered, slowly rotating his espresso on the counter of the coffee shop.
What the fuck?
"Derek… I gotta ask you something myself now. Why do you want me to travel with you?" I asked, curious.
Derek shrugged again.
"You've got a lot of promise, Zane. I thought that I might be able to brush up your League education with my Analyst trade. That, and I thought it would be kind of fun, facing Indigo's Victory Road with you. I know it sounds dopey but... You know…" Derek drained his espresso.
Actually…
I did know.
"Yeah it would be kind of cool. I think that we'd make for a pretty dynamic duo. So why don't you come with me to Cerulean? I didn't see a Cascade Badge in your peacoat." I nudged Derek with an elbow.
Derek just laughed.
"No, man… I can't go back to Cerulean. There's a warrant for my arrest there." Derek snorted.
"What?!" I started, looking at Derek in sheer disbelief.
Derek kept on laughing, leaving me to wonder if he was just yanking my chain.
But then-
"You remember that speech you gave the Loft regarding the sale of poached mon in the Blackmarket? Well… Hard times occasionally necessitate illicit activities…" Derek said nervously.
"You dirty scamming motherfucker. I trusted you." I joked, laughing my ass off.
"...It wasn't my finest hour, but… The pay was damn good." Derek looked at his empty espresso whimsically.
I motioned to the coffee crew behind the counter, and indicated Derek's vacant cup.
A fresh espresso found its way into Derek's hand.
"You got greedy, didn't you?" I asked.
"Shit. I was terrible." Derek groaned.
"Who busted you first? The Cerulean cops or the Blackmarket bosses?" I asked.
"The cops set up a sting. I could smelled the trap, but the Sandz was right there…" Derek shook his head and sighed.
"In a way, that week behind bars curbed my appetite for easy money. But I wasn't sticking around Cerulean to spend twenty years of my life in prison. So I skipped on bail, throwing everything I had at the court just to stay out of the penitentiary until my trial, and then I immediately fled to Fuschia so that I could hole up with one of my close contacts in the Kurosawa clan until the heat blew over." Derek put a hand over his eyes.
"I don't know, man… It was an eye opener for me. I originally jumped into the Blackmarket to fund my Analyst schooling, but somewhere along the lines… I got caught up in the scene." Derek chuckled.
"Well, based off of the contents of our previous discussion… I think you might have learned a valuable lesson from the ordeal." I said.
Derek chuckled.
"Yeah. It just came at one hefty cost... I have family in Cerulean… And they're not well enough off to afford a shuttle pass to go as far as Saffron. So…"
"Fuck, dude…" I murmured, shaking my own head in empathy.
Derek's story just sounded like a road of shitty luck.
"I deserved what happened. But I never wanted to hurt my family like that. So phone calls are all that we have now. I tried wiring them some cash for a shuttle ticket to Saffron, but the Cerulean cop-shop was keeping tabs on my movements. That money went straight into my bounty." Derek leaned on the counter, and stared bleakly into the Coffee shop's inner compound.
"I miss my folks… And ever since I eloped, I've been avoiding my contacts in the Blackmarket. My lot has been pretty lonely since that crap went down in Cerulean." Derek's glazed eyes stared off into the distance.
"...At least you can still talk to them…"
Derek snapped out of it and looked at me, curiosity carving furrows into his brow.
"Is your family…?"
"They're as good as. My dad… Heh… He- He really didn't approve of my career choice. He wanted me to carry on the family trade. He told me that I was a disgrace, and that I was gonna get myself killed. My dad told me that he put his own future aside for me, and that I was shitting on him by joining up with the Rangers…" I mumbled, punctuating the fucking awful memory with a shuddering intake of breath.
"My mom… She was crying her eyes out. She thought that she was gonna lose me. My mom tried to hold me one last time before I headed to the Saffron academy… But my dad…" I choked a bit, and then punished myself for even speaking of this shit.
I knew better.
I was over this.
...Wasn't I?
"Hey… Take it easy, Zane. Just give it time. Your dad will pull his head out of his ass sooner or later. Every family has fucked up history. But family always forgives. Your parents will call you someday."
"-He wouldn't answer my calls from the academy. He had Silph Co. block all incoming calls from the Corps. I even tried getting a hold of my mother through one her friends… But that fucking asshole bought all of her friends off…"
I need to stop.
I needed to stop doing this to myself right now.
"Zane. Chill. I'm telling you, dude. They'll come back to you. Trust me." Derek was patting my back now. I took a deep breath, and pushed the rising tears back.
I don't want pity.
I don't want to remember it.
"It would've been nice, traveling with you, Derek. It would have been a lot of fun. But I answer to High Command, and you have your own dreams to chase. And anyways, who knows?" I looked at Derek with my real smile on.
"We may still enter Victory Road at the start of the Seasonal Finals, side by side."
"That's what I wanted to hear." Derek punched me in the shoulder, a grin working its way up to his ears.
Brotherhood.
You didn't have to wear a beret to know what that was.
And right now, a little bit of mutual support was something that I needed.
"...Listen… Derek…" I pursed my lips together.
"Yeah, Zane?" Derek fixed me with a calm eye, probably hearing something deep welling up in my voice.
"...I've got something that I need to do before I leave Pewter. I tried to do it before, but… I just don't have the nerve to do it alone. Could I ask a favor of you?" I swallowed.
Derek gave me the thumbs up.
"Anything you need, Zane."
"Thanks, Derek. Would you meet me at the Jade precinct's Pokemart tomorrow around eleven-hundred-hours? I have to pick up my Magikarp from the Pokemart, and then I need to talk to someone." I said, slowly calming down, despite the new-old worry coming back to haunt me.
"Who do you have to talk to?" Derek asked, looking at me something pensive.
"...You'll see. It might… It will get emotional, but I need to say something to someone… I just hope that she'll hear me out…" I worked my mouth.
"I'll be outside the Pokemart at eleven o'clock tomorrow. Don't worry about it, Zane." Derek slapped my shoulder firmly, just as the bill came down from the folks behind the counter.
I snatched it up, and paid for Derek's coffee with my own money.
"Does that cover the burger?" I asked, tossing down a tip.
"It's more than enough, Zane. Now let's get to a fucking hotel. I hope you don't mind, but I want separate rooms. Your Bulbasaur snores. Loudly." Derek laughed.
And I could laugh with him.
"Alright. Let's call it a day." I grunted, pulling my ass of the stool, and heading off for want of a quiet night's sleep.
…
"Holy FUCK!" Derek's jaw dropped when he saw Darwin in the Tank.
"Darwin, this is Derek. Derek, this is fatass." I introduced Derek to my fish with a smug grin.
"That's a fucking Magikarp?" Derek covered his gaping mouth with an open palm.
"The single most expensive pile of canned fish that you ever will see. My Darwin." I gloated.
Darwin bumped his lips against the glass, eagerly flapping his pectoral fins when he saw me approach.
"Your scales are almost back, chunky. And it looks like you gained another tonne. Shit. How much bigger can you get, Darwin?" I laughed, pulling out his Pokeball.
"We got the Boulder Badge without your lazy ass, so you're gonna be pulling double time in the field to make up for that shitty excuse you call service. You ready for the League, you worthless piece of Skitty bait?" I growled.
Darwin started winding up for a breach.
In a tiny room.
With me in it.
That stupid huge fish could only land in one location if he actually managed to breach the Tank.
On me.
"ABSTAIN, YOU FUCKING IDIOT! ARE TRYING TO KILL ME?" I roared, backing up into the wall.
Darwin floundered just short of the water's surface.
"Darwin, you are dismissed!" I smiled when I recalled my crazy fucking Magikarp into his Pokeball.
"Goddamn you stupid fish… I missed you too." I chuckled when I returned Darwin's Pokeball to my belt.
"Holy crap… When that thing becomes a Gyarados…" Derek had a hand over his hammering heart.
To Derek, there was no 'if' about Darwin's evolution.
That Analyst had already ascertained a 'when'.
"Darwin is gonna be scarier than all of hell. When Darwin and I make our appearance at the Indigo League Finals, Lance Drakengard will die of DVT from a blood clot related to his terminal penis envy." I smirked. Derek shook his head, laughing his ass off.
I sighed.
"...You ready, Zane?" Derek asked softly.
It took me a moment answer Derek.
"...Let's get this show on the road." I muttered, heading off for the Pokemart's exit.
…
It was 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.
Brenda's dream.
My Bren's home.
"Zane… Is this-?" Derek asked softly when I locked up.
"This was her home… This was where she was going to live… This…" I was choking up already, and I hadn't even crossed the white gate yet.
"A comrade?" Derek asked quietly.
"Yeah…" I answered, my voice shaking.
But not just a comrade.
A friend.
An innocent.
A lover.
A dreamer.
A hope.
A responsibility…
"She died under my command… She died because I stuck my nose somewhere that it didn't belong… She died because I failed her…" I could hardly breath through the grief.
Derek swallowed next to me, before he moved forward, and approached the white gate…
And then Derek opened it, and stood aside for me.
Derek didn't have to say anything.
It would have been harder for me to move if he did.
I limped my way through that gate, my indestructible appearance forgotten when I heard Brenda's giggle again.
"I got married!"
The first step...
"...But you know what you're doing-"
The second step.
"You don't understand! They're still alive! They're only babies! Don't kill them, Zane! Please… Please don't hurt them!"
The third step.
"We'll be fine tonight, Echo. There's no reason to fear."
The first pause.
"Zane, I trust you. If you tell me that everything is going to be okay-"
The fourth step.
"Zane… Don't worry. I'll be with you tomorrow. I'll be right beside you the whole way. I'll be strong for you."
The wedding photo coming out of my pocket.
"This is Melissa."
The second pause.
"I'm going to get you back to Melissa, Bren. I promise you."
"Zane?"
"...What if Echo Squad's Ghosts are still here?"
I closed my wallet on that ruined picture with a snap. My breath was coming out in short gasps. Derek was beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder.
"Come on. You're almost there." Derek whispered gently.
I sucked in a shuddering wind-
-And pushed myself up to the door of the Bungalow.
I froze when I reached up to knock.
The I took another deep breath…
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Derek and I stood there, waiting for an answer.
After a minute had passed, I tried again.
"Please… Please, Melissa… Answer me…"
Nothing.
"Maybe she's just not-" Derek looked around, and then stopped mid sentence.
I turned to inspect what had cut my foil off.
Oh no…
"...I think we came a little late…" Derek murmured.
It was leaning up against the inside of the picket fence. Like someone had relocated it, just to prevent any further attention being paid to it.
A Realtor's sign.
With a tag dangling from the bottom.
Written on with the lonely red word-
-Sold.
"No…"
"Zane?" Derek sounded worried.
No.
No. This can't be happening.
I pulled out my Tact. Pad, and punched the Realtor's advertised number into the display.
On the third ring, somebody answered.
"Hello, this is the Pewter Estate-"
"-Is this Joe Mallory?" I asked, voice desperate.
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm looking at one of your Realtor signs that designates a Joe Mallory as the real estate agent who brokered the Eckleson residence. I need to talk to him." I was begging on my end of the line.
"Are you representing-?"
"JUST PUT JOE ON, GODDAMNIT!"
That got me some results.
Less than thirty seconds later, a new voice hit the opposite feed.
"Hello? This is Joe Mallory. I understand that you're calling in regards to the Eckleson residence?"
"Forgot about the residence! Listen! There was a girl who lived in this house- Melissa! Melissa Eckleson! Where did she move to?" I was choking on my own voice.
"I'm afraid that I only deal with clients-"
"THIS IS FUCKING RANGER AFFAIRS, MISTER MALLORY! NOW IF YOU CANNOT PROCURE ME THE INFORMATION THAT I REQUESTED, THEN YOU WILL DIRECT ME TO AN OFFICE THAT CAN!"
My stack was blown.
I was ready to get High Command on the other end if need be.
I needed to know where Melissa had gone.
"Stop yelling at-"
"-You hang up this phone on me, motherfucker, and a G.I. Onix is gonna be waiting for your ass at your place of residence. Quit dicking around with me. Now answer the Goddamn question, or start perusing your own business catalogue for a new home."
My voice was deathly serious.
I needed to know.
"-Listen, I don't know where Melissa Eckleson went! All I know is that she put her residence up for sale a couple weeks ago and applied for a Trainer's Licence! She mentioned something at one of our discussions about making an escape out on the lam! I don't even know if she's still in the Pewter-Viridian district anymore! She just disappeared after we brokered her joint!"
Disappeared?
"Does anyone else know where Melissa Eckleson might have gone?" I asked, my voice growing even more desperate.
"I doubt it. Like I said, Melissa just disappeared. The police issued a missing persons warrant about a week ago, when someone else reported her as absent. Nobody knows where Melissa Eckleson went."
No.
Somebody had to know…
"I'm sorry that I can't be more help. But if that concludes our exchange, then have a pleasant day, Ranger. Goodbye."
Click.
"Hello?"
A dead line was the only thing that answered me.
That was all she wrote.
"Goddamnit." I pulled the Tact. Pad away from my ear and glared at the idle screen.
"Well, Zane… What now?" Derek asked me softly.
I was silent.
I couldn't believe this.
I could finally do it…
And now I couldn't.
"Zane?"
"The Crescent Valley." I spat. Derek grabbed me by the arm.
"Hey… calm down. Just take a moment, okay? You're beating yourself up over this-"
"She died, Derek. She died. My soldier. My responsibility. My Brenda. She died…" I was hyperventilating.
Derek swallowed.
He knew that he couldn't talk me down from this.
"Zane? If I give you my number, would you promise not to turn it over to the Cerulean cops?" Derek asked.
I wrestled some deep breaths down my windpipe.
"...Yeah. Yeah, I can make that promise." I answered when I could speak.
Derek took my Tact. Pad out of my hands, and registered himself under my contacts list.
Alexandria let him, that stupid little computer even pulled up my number for Derek.
If Derek was surprised by my Tact. Pad's apparent sentience, he was tactful enough to keep it to himself.
"Give me a call if something comes up. Or just call me if you want to talk. I'll give you a buzz when I get my fifth Badge. If only to rub it in your face how much catch-up work you're gonna have to do in order to keep up with me." Derek grinned at the end, causing something funny to well up from my throat.
It was a laugh.
A real laugh.
"...Okay. I'll be eagerly awaiting that call. Just to tell you that I earned my sixth Gym Badge before you got your fifth, Peacoat." I punctuated my retort with a fist to Derek's shoulder.
Derek, laughing his ass off, returned my gesture in kind.
I hope that I run into more like you, Derek.
People like you give me hope…
"I'll see you to Pewter's eastern gate, but that's as close to Cerulean as I'm gonna get." Derek chortled as the two of us headed past the picket fence.
"Shit… You have to cross Mount Moon before you even enter the Cerulean police's jurisdiction. You finally got tired of my bullshit attitude, didn't you Four-Badges?" I snorted.
Derek just kept laughing.
I still felt like absolute shit.
That wasn't gonna change anytime soon.
-But I wasn't alone with that feeling anymore.
And that alone gave me a reason to smile.
…
I groaned as I slowly regained consciousness. My nose itched from where all the grass and dirt had buried itself into my nares.
I put my scraped palms on the sun warmed earth, and pushed myself off of my gut.
And as soon as I straightened out my elbows…
-My face was in the dirt again.
"Goddamnit…"
I knew that this was going to be hard. I knew that my life was going to enter a whole new order of hell. I though that I knew what I was getting into when I made that bold request of Brock.
I should have just sucked it up and taken the Gym Leader's citation and fine.
ACE's punishment for my failure in the Pewter City Gym would have been more humane and dignified than this.
The fucking Intermediate-Twos were going to kill me.
RUMBLE.
Or more specifically…
My own fucking Onix was going to kill me.
"Damascus… You piece of shit…" I wheezed, rolling onto my haunches.
The crowd of Trainers was long gone.
They broke and ran when Damascus plowed his profanity-spewing CO into the ground.
That stupid ornery rock-snake was taking a dirt nap in the ammonia-rich soil of the Crescent Valley.
I could see exactly where Damascus had buried himself.
You could hardly miss it.
The entire field that had played host to our last Intermediate-Two battle was ripped to shit.
Damascus did not like getting torched by a Magmortar.
Damascus did not like it at all.
"You fucking insane senile old snake…" I grumbled, pulling myself onto my feet.
My elderly Onix ignored me when I approached his mound.
...
Onixia don't age. Technically, they can live forever; provided that disease, violence, or calamity does not bring them unto death first. Most Onixia only last for about five-hundred years before one of the above claims them. A properly old Onix is recognised at eight-hundred years in age.
And my Damascus was approaching two-thousand-three-hundred-and-thirty-four fucking years in age.
Damascus was easily the oldest living mon on earth. He had arrived on this planet following the Brink Collapse's first wake, meaning that Damascus had fought with humanity at the peak of our species's technological warfare prowess. Damascus had lived through that bloody era, scrapping with the humans and his fellow mon in the eternal conflict that we call nature.
During our Dark Ages, while humanity waned, Damascus and the mon waxed. And following those uncertain years up until the present, Damascus had been fighting everyday of his long-ass life against both the men and the mon, maintaining his title of dominance throughout every field and every confrontation.
Then roughly twenty-five years ago, a spiteful Ranger, who would later be known as Captain Douglas Fitzgerald, entered the Mount Silver Valley with a squad of Rangers Vets hellbent on ending Damascus's reign of terror.
The end result of that conflict surprised both participants.
Four of the five Rangers wound up KIA when Damascus brought half a mountain down on them.
And Damascus ended up incarcerated within a Ranger's Heavy Ball when the sole human survivor swore vengeance against the snake responsible for the deaths of his men.
Captain Douglas Fitzgerald had a weird sense of humor. Anyone who knew the Cap could tell you that much. But when the Cap announced to the Corps that he'd be making a dog out of a tyrant...
-High Command just about sent the Captain's ass into an asylum.
Onixia are ridiculously difficult to train. Comes from reigning superior for ages untold, I guess. But trying to train a Onix as old as Damascus…
How the hell was Doug gonna break that ancient belligerent snake into the Ranger Corps?
You know that old saying?
"You can't teach an old dog new tricks?"
Well, my Cap put that idiom straight into the dirt when he cracked old Damascus open like a book.
None of the Rangers could figure out how Doug had managed it.
But that Onix answered to my Cap's every command.
And I learned how to earn obedience from that snake by following my Captain's instruction.
I guess Doug knew that I could do it, after seeing me and Vauban working together.
You see, Doug figured Damascus out pretty quickly.
As I stated before; Damascus, being an Onix, doesn't age. Not really.
But two-thousand-plus years of violence can scar the most enduring minds.
Despite his cerebral physiology weathering the onslaught of time exceptionally well…
Damascus had lost his mind to all those recorded experiences.
Onixia can live forever, but that doesn't mean that they should.
Damascus couldn't tell what day of his life he living at any given moment.
Sometimes, Damascus was Damascus the Ranger, willfully following the orders of his human CO.
And sometimes…
Damascus was Damascus the King of Mount Silver, enforcing his superiority over every other lifeform that dared to draw breath in his presence.
Doug had his hands full trying to learn the complex creature that was Damascus.
And bizarrely enough…
All it took from Doug to curb that rabid beast, was a little camaraderie.
And a lot of classical music.
Damascus was so accustomed to constant conflict, that this old snake didn't know what to make of the bold Ranger who stood so close to him without having any ascertainable form of weaponry on hand.
Though Damascus was plenty pissed about being shouted at by a human, that rock-snake didn't see any sense in wasting his time killing my Captain.
And despite his original ignoble intents, Doug was able to exploit Damascus's lack-homicidal attitude long enough to establish a trust. A two lane road of trust, that afflicted Doug as emotionally as it afflicted Damascus.
It took years. Damn near a decade. But when Damascus and Doug finally hit it off-
The oldest mon in the world was recognized as a Ranger.
To be honest, I still don't know who was in charge.
Damascus or Doug.
They gave each other as much command in their relationship as they gave obedience to one another.
From High Command's perspective, it seemed like a compromise.
But that compromise got some incredible results.
There are only a handful of Onixia in the Ranger Corps. There's even less in the League Registries. Onixia are relatively rare as a species, and most Trainer encounters with the Onixia don't leave many human survivors. Compound that with the cost of maintaining, feeding, and training a foreign silicon-based organism of an Onix's size…
...And in order to afford training an Onix; you have to be either one filthy stinking rich motherfucker, or a Ranger capable of authorizing a G.I. dispatch.
Yep.
Damascus wasn't cheap to keep in the Corps. Granted, my snake could get most of the dietary resources that he needed from eating dirt, but some of the minerals that were absent in Damascus's daily clay feast…
...Costed more than silver on the market, ounce per ounce.
-And Damascus swallowed that expensive shit down by the tonne.
Damascus only needed a heavy infusion of jadarite once every twelve years, but the cost of manufacturing and mining the quantities that his metabolism required…
-Let's just say that if you added up the cumulative salaries of every active Ranger in the Viridian outpost during that twelve year span…
...You still wouldn't even cover half of the cost it took to purchase the amount of jadarite that Damascus's health demanded.
So in order to keep Damascus on the payroll as a Ranger, Doug had to make that snake worth every ounce of his jadarite and then some.
And that's exactly what Doug did.
Damascus was the Viridian-Pewter district's heavy hitter back when Doug held his reins. Back then, if a "Black handle" callsign went out in Viridian, Command would call in Doug and Damascus before they called in the Blackhats.
Damascus was a bonafide D5CU, and his tunneling skills combined with his sheer mass and impenetrable carapace made Damascus an even greater asset to the Corps when he assumed the role of a Bastion Class.
Bastion Classes are pretty rare themselves, and usually only reserved for the Onixia species in the Corps. If you want a mobile fortress that could laugh off the blows dealt by a Nidoking pack, while offering a strategic platform for infantry units to safely engage the Nidoking from-
-Then you want yourself a Bastion Class Onix.
Doug made Damascus worth his weight in jadarite.
But that all went to shit on my thirty-sixth mission in the S-ranks. Back when I was a member of the three man unit known then as Team Eleven…
We were deployed into the Long Sway with a standing safari mission to slay all the Ursaring mothers and cubs that we came across in those brown grasslands.
Unfortunately, the Ursaring season corresponds with the Stantler season.
And unknown to Team Eleven, a sudden flooding of the Sung River caused a deviation in the Stantler's migratory patterns.
Doug and I woke up to Trish screaming something about an approaching army.
Damn near three-hundred Stantlers had entered the Long Sway in search of a passage across the Sung River.
And those horny, rutting, territorial and angsty motherfuckers weren't putting up with the shenanigans of any mon or Rangers that stood in their way.
Damascus formed a living wall for us to hole up behind.
And then the Stantlers started jumping that wall, eager to kill the squishy little Rangers who were just trying to wait for the herd to pass.
We had to adjust our tactics accordingly.
Team Eleven went on the offensive.
I don't know how many Stantlers were killed by Team Eleven, but it was enough to turn a swath of the Long Sway red with their dismembered corpses.
And at the end of my thirty-sixth mission in the S-ranks, I no longer cared about keeping a tally of all the mon that I had killed.
Because at the end of my thirty-sixth mission in the S-ranks, I witnessed my first Ranger casualty.
After being gored through the crotch by a charging Stantler, Doug took another Stantler's hooves to both femurs, splitting his Femoral arteries open on the shattered bone.
And when the remaining members of Team Eleven drove the Stantler back, it was shortly there after that my Captain bled to death in my arms.
While the rest of Team Eleven, including Damascus, stood by in attendance.
Damascus fled the Long Sway after that. Trish and a team of Ranger Vets were deployed with Damascus's Heavy Ball, and given the mission of bringing a G.I. Onix back home…
But as far as Damascus was concerned…
...The Ranger Corps wasn't a home without his Doug.
Onixia are weird animals. They're incredibly apathetic when nothing's bothering them, and insanely violent when something provokes them. We don't know anything about their breeding habits, actual population numbers, where they get their rare dietary resources from, or really much of anything about them at all; chiefly because most of an Onix's life is spent a solid klick underground. But we do know of two very peculiar behaviors that are associated with the Onixia species.
One, they're cannibals. Because the earth's geological environment doesn't exactly provide an Onix with an abundance of certain necessary minerals, Onixia will happily hunt and eat members of their own species to make up for the lack. There's few things an Onix likes eating more than another Onix.
Two, they mate for life, and a pair of Onix progenitors will zealously raise and protect their own offspring.
The first trait isn't all that weird in the world of mon, but when paired with the second trait…
...It comes across as a bit of a natural contradiction.
And the Onixia family bonds aren't broken when the babies leave the nest.
Even after three-hundred years of separation, mommy and daddy snake will still make a hole in their territory for one of their visiting baby snakes.
Doug used that family trait to bond with Damascus.
Just think of two-thousand-plus years of a solo snake waging war on the world.
Then one day, that snake is removed from the age old world of mono-sided conflict.
Quite suddenly, that snake is no longer alone in their war.
Suddenly, that snake has a family, working to promote and defend him.
And suddenly…
...That snake finds a purpose beyond just killing and eating.
I don't know how Doug was able to imprint himself upon Damascus as a member of Damascus's family.
I just know that my Captain did it.
It takes a special kind of personality to work with Damascus.
That snake was stupidly picky about who he would put up with yelling at him.
Neither Trish, nor even Colonel Howes could safely make Damascus carry out a single command that they gave him.
Only two Rangers could order Damascus around, and not get killed in the process.
One was Doug.
The other was me.
It seems that I possess the personality that Damascus will accept in a partnership.
Maybe it was the cockiness, because Doug had that in spades too.
Or maybe it was just something deeper to both of us that Damascus could sense.
Maybe it was my own want of a family, and my commitment to that family.
I don't know.
All I do know, is that I made Doug cry in joy when I gave Damascus an order to dig, and dig that Onix did.
Previously, Damascus would only dig for Doug.
Doug's single greatest fear was for Damascus's fate after Doug's own death. The Rangers weren't liable to tolerate an unbroken Onix in their numbers any longer than the aforementioned Onix would. So when Doug finally departed, it seemed pretty likely that Damascus would too. But then I came into the scene, and that fear was put aside for another generation.
But after Doug's death in the Long Sway; when Trish and the other Rangers brought Damascus back to Viridian Prime Outpost, Damascus wasn't a Ranger anymore.
He was the King of Mount Silver, and these puny humans were trying to fuck with his head.
Without Doug's guidance, Damascus became as unpredictable and as dangerous as all hell.
Damascus wound up in cold storage, officially listed for indefinitely.
And Damascus would have likely remained there, if not for one obscure line in Captain Douglas Fitzgerald's will.
"Take good care of him, Bastard."
Doug had left his legend to me.
To train, to instruct, to utilize, and to guide.
To protect, and to serve.
Because Doug knew that Damascus needed something to save him from his own long past.
Because Doug wanted the snake that killed his men twenty-five years ago to live a fulfilling life.
It wasn't easy for me.
To Damascus, I wasn't Doug.
I was just the next best thing.
And I had my work cut out for me, proving to Damascus that I was worthy of his respect.
In hindsight…
...I'm amazed that Doug's old snake gave me so many chances after I failed him, again and again.
…
"Damascus. Report." I growled, kicking the shifting earth below me with a grimace on my face.
The dirt stopped moving.
"That means get up here, asshole…" I spat between clenched teeth.
Nothing.
"You old fuck. We had a good thing going. Six matches in a row. Technically seven. You were kicking the ass, and I was taking the names. We had a fucking horde of Trainers following us around, just to spectate an Intermediate-Two battle worthy of a Gym ring. You were fucking beautiful, tearing Pidgeots outta the sky and whipping Torterras into the heavens, but then you got bitchy when that Magmortar singed your ass. You damn near killed another mon in restricted format. Do you have any idea what that would have done to us?!" I paused to draw a deep breath.
"I WOULD HAVE BEEN PENALIZED FOR MON-SLAUGHTER, AND THE LEAGUE WOULD HAVE THROWN MY ASS OUT OF THE SCENE! THEN THE RANGERS WOULD HAVE KILLED YOUR ASS FOR BEING A FUCKING LIABILITY TO THE WOUNDED HEARTS PROJECT! YOU COULD HAVE FUCKED IT ALL UP!" I was screaming myself hoarse at the silent ground.
"GET YOUR ASS UP HERE, DAMASCUS! I AM NOT DONE-!"
-RUMBLE.
...Oh shit.
-Those tremors beneath my feet were not a good sign.
"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE-!"
-BOOM.
My ass was flying high on the snout of my Onix.
Damascus ripped a new rectum in the earth's crust when he barreled it out of the dirt to hit me with all the force of a runaway shuttle train.
My closing thoughts before I crashed into the ground was the simple self-beration-
...When was I gonna learn?
…
I wasn't out for very long. Maybe twenty minutes. But I came out of my stupor groaning like a sore bitch. It took me longer to pick myself up than it did for me to wake up.
But when I did-
RUMBLE.
The Great Wall of Damascus was on all sides of me. My white snake was half buried in the soil, sponging up his dietary necessities, yet seemingly concerned enough for me to erect a defensive perimeter around my unconscious ass.
Or maybe there was just more ammonia in the soil underneath me.
Who knows?
"Oh, that's sweet of you, Damascus." I started off all pissed off and sarcastic.
"You'd actually protect my corpse after killing me? Does this mean that I'm forgiven?" I feigned a tear, and wiped it away dramatically.
RUMBLE.
"Yeah, fuck you too, you asshole…" I grumbled, reaching into my front coat pocket for my Tact. Pad.
"Alexandria, play me Beethoven's Fifth. Start a loop on the Classical Station. Put it on shuffle. And keep the 1812 Overture off of the playlist. Damascus gets all kinds of crazy when he hears the cannonades." I instructed my computer.
It wasn't long after the well-known four note opening motif that Damascus pulled his head out of the ground, just to listen all the more closely to one of his favorites.
It was just another crazy trait belonging to my crazy old snake.
Damascus liked music.
But not just any music.
Ironically…
Classical music.
Or more specifically…
Anything with stringed instruments, namely pianos, violins and cellos. Guitars were alright, but Damascus didn't care for bass.
It had to be acoustic, and it had to be invocative.
"Follow Beethoven's Fifth with Yasunori Mitsuda's Radical Dreamers. That one almost makes Damascus cry." I grinned wickedly at my snake.
Damascus was perfectly silent and still.
He was somewhere else, somewhere where he didn't feel the need to be an ass.
Damascus was at peace.
It was as easy as flipping a switch.
The secret to staving off Damascus's backlog of foul history was all about keeping the snake engaged.
If I could keep Damascus focused on the here and now, then I didn't have to worry so much about him flipping out in the next Intermediate-Two battle.
"Cortez, Vauban, report." I released two more members of my squad, before setting my Trainer's Eyes status to 'Recovery Mode'. As long as my Tact. Pad remained stationary, I could refuse any Trainer challenges under the premise that both I and my team were settling down for a kip.
In other words, we weren't taking any calls, so go ahead and forget to leave a message at the beep.
"Vauban, come here. I want to check that Ekans bite you got earlier." I grumbled, sitting down and pulling out my trauma kit.
We were all exhausted. We'd made it roughly four klicks deep into the Crescent Valley, though we had started our journey into it almost twelve hours ago.
The distance we had covered might have sounded pretty shitty, but this was the Crescent Valley.
One of the most infamous Trainer highways in all of Kanto.
In order to get from mid Kanto to West Kanto, you had to cross the eastern branch of the Argent Mountain range. The safest passage across the eastern branch was through the Crescent Valley, which was situated between Mount Moon's outlying terranes. Though the geological layout of the Crescent Valley itself did not afford the settlements with an ideal terrain for building a shuttle system, Mount Moon could provide a vanguard stratum with a sufficient amount of limestone layers that permitted for the shuttle system tunneling.
Loosely translated into layman's terms, it was completely infeasible to build a shuttle system connecting Pewter City with Cerulean City, so the Kanto shuttle system financiers had elected to construct one as close as they could to the designated settlements.
Cerulean City's shuttle terminal started within Cerulean's city walls.
But Pewter City's side of the the shuttle terminal…
-Began fourteen klicks east beyond the Pewter City walls, in a little settlement known as Lune, which was located deep within Mount Moon's foothills.
Our destination was Lune, obviously. I had intended to make the trip in one day, but I should have known that because of the active Trainer's Eyes feature in my Tact. Pad…
I was never going fight my way through the Crescent Valley and into Lune in just one day.
As the safest Route connecting western Kanto with mid-Kanto, the Crescent Valley was a superhighway of tourists and Trainers alike.
You couldn't take five steps into the Crescent Valley without getting a dozen pings for a Pokemon Battle.
We were swimming in Trainers, some of them were just looking for something to do, and others were looking to accrue League heads.
And as much as I wanted to make Lune in a timely fashion…
...There was no way in hell that I could afford to pass on all those competition propositions.
Literally.
I financially couldn't afford to get penalized by the Trainer's Eyes for bailing on challenges.
I was now ranked among the Intermediate-Twos, which meant that my team was no longer squaring off against hordes of barely trained Rattatas and freshly caught Weedles.
We were starting to enter the big leagues.
As an Intermediate-Two, I could still accept or pose challenges to the Intermediate-Ones.
In the Intermediate-One battles, I was able to deploy both Cortez and Vauban quite effectively.
There was some stiff competition for the two, but we remained undefeated throughout every match.
But then we were approached by my fellow Intermediate-Two Trainers.
And just like me…
...They were packing some heavy artillery.
Vauban and Cortez were not ready for the Intermediate-Twos.
Clevers strategies and the Ranger's martial training could only go so far against the sheer power that some of the Intermediate-Two mon possessed.
When my first match against another Intermediate-Two resulted in my Vauban lead squaring off against a giant fucking Torterra…
...I calmly called a substitution before the first blow was dealt, and swapped in big daddy Damascus to level the playing field out.
But Damascus didn't quite level the playing field.
He fucking destroyed it.
That Torterra started sweating bullets the instant Damascus dived below ground.
It's a pretty standard strategy for the Onixia.
Go below ground where your opponent can't hit you…
-And then throw their ass a klick high into the sky when you launched yourself up out of the ground beneath them.
The League calls it-
"Getting shafted."
Because if you don't have a mon capable of engaging an Onix below ground…
...Then you've already lost.
That Torterra landed hard on his back when the stone obelisk known as Damascus erupted from the soil beneath him.
My previously Bulbasaur-mocking opponent flagged his forfeit.
I guess he didn't have a Druddigon on his Intermediate-Two team.
Cause if anything else was to follow an Onix into their turf below ground…
It would have been the same thing as committing suicide.
Damascus and I shafted the next four Intermediate-Two Trainers into submission. The fifth Trainer had a bit of a surprise for us, and I'm not talking about his rare as hell Dragonair lead either.
A fucking Braviary, who wisely decided to stay well clear of Damascus's burrowing antics.
But Damascus had been around for two-thousand years.
He knew how to handle an airborne pest like a Braviary.
My beautiful snake just hunkered down into a coil…
...And then just let the Braviary wind himself in the effort of scratching Damascus's indestructible carapace.
After having a small mound of boulders dropped on him, Damascus started to get bored.
So I broke out Alexandria, and pulled up Pachelbel's canon in D minor…
And my snake lifted himself out of his coil, just to start swaying in time with the gigue.
Then that tired Braviary slipped up on a raking strafe…
-And my Damascus plucked that sorry bird right out of the sky by the tail feathers, and flung the Braviary's ass into the dirt.
So much for air superiority.
I have total field supremacy when I deploy my Damascus.
Unlucky Intermediate-Two challenger number six was probably trying to figure out why this Ranger had a posse following him around.
A group of Trainers and tourists were clustered together, all jumping in unison with a cheer when Damascus shafted challenger number six into the history books.
It was a fucking beautiful thing, watching Damascus destroy the uniform earth.
There was just something about the rattling tremor that followed the long, anxious calm…
Then the sound of that angry rumble, heralding Damascus's incoming trajectory from below ground, my Onix aiming for that one-hit takedown…
And the fucking explosion of dirt when the previously solid land gave way to my gorgeous snake.
I think I've mentioned before that my Damascus looks like an exquisite art piece?
He's so stunning and unique in appearance, that most people can't believe that Damascus is an Onix when they first see him. He doesn't have the horn, the coloration, or the crags normally associated with his species.
But Damascus has the Onixia's attitude in surplus.
And one shafting was all it took to prove it.
Damascus is only three meters longer and four tonnes heavier than Diorite, Brock Aissatou's Championship Onix. That may sound like a lot, but given the massive physiological scale of the Onix species…
It was pretty much the human-equivalent size advantage of a measly five pounds in weight and ten centimeters of height.
Damascus probably isn't even the biggest Onix recorded in the League Registries.
But Damascus is the oldest mon known to science.
And two-thousand years of incessant conflict has endowed my snake with more warfare sagacity than any other mon in the Indigo League Registry.
Now if I could only figure out how to get Damascus to utilize that accumulated wisdom without having him regress into the King of Mount Silver…
-Then I could sweep half of the Indigo League with just one mon.
Those six Intermediate-Two victories inspired me with a false sense of confidence.
Damascus was playing by my rules, and taking my orders.
How could anything possibly fuck us over?
We were fucking invincible, and every Trainer that we crushed ended up filling out the ranks in our growing fan club.
Chris Lebreau would have been proud of me.
I probably could have led that group of Trainers right into a Recruiter's office.
But then, Intermediate-Two challenger number seven showed me how misplaced that confidence was.
When his second mon hit the field, I just about laughed myself hoarse.
It was a fucking Magmortar.
That paunchy flaming duck-clown was gonna be blazing his way into the stratosphere when Damascus shafted him.
But the instant I gave Damascus the order to burrow, that devious Trainer revealed his hand.
He ordered his Magmortar to rush in towards Damascus's new tunnel…
...And then to fill the earthen channel with flames hot enough to melt sand into glass.
It was a pretty clever strategy.
That Magmortar was going to cook my snake inside of his own tunnel, using the earth around Damascus as insulation; which would concentrate the heat below ground.
Unfortunately for all the participants involved, Damascus did not take well to getting burned.
Not.
One.
Fucking.
Bit.
When Damascus violently erupted up out of the flaming earth…
He was no longer Damascus the Ranger.
He was the King of Mount Silver, fighting some long defeated Fire-Type opponent for supremacy.
Damascus arched his descent so as to land on the Magmortar.
I thought that my snake was going to crush the flaming clown to death.
But that Magmortar was well-trained.
The Magmortar got out of the way just in the nick of time, managing to evade a projectile Damascus before my snake could squish him beneath all of that rock-hard weight...
-If only to take an Onix's powerful tail to the chest, flinging that Magmortar at mach ten across the field. And then the King of Mount Silver raised himself up into the sky to finish off his fallen opponent...
When Damascus balanced his entire mass on just three tail beads, I knew what was going to happen.
Damascus wasn't hearing my orders to abstain.
My snake was going to kill that Magmortar like I would a bug.
I did the only thing that my terrified brain could think of.
I rushed into the center of the fray-
-And put myself bodily between the crippled Magmortar and the falling tower of Damascus.
The Magmortar almost cooked me alive.
He may have dying in a few short seconds, but that Magmortar was going to do as much damage to the Onix who killed him as he possibly could.
-Fortunately for the Magmortar, Damascus, and me…
Damascus's blue eyes widened when he saw a Ranger meat-shielding the Magmortar.
And my snake was able to remember who I was.
And in doing so…
...Damascus was able to remember who he was.
It was quite the scare, even when Damascus adjusted his descent to avoid landing on me and the Magmortar.
Everybody watching the event went deathly silent.
It was pretty obvious that I didn't have complete command over this insanely dangerous Onix.
A point that was proven minutes later, after Damascus had suffered enough of me bitching him out…
...And made his ire known to all, when Damascus headbutted his CO's foul-mouthed and shouting ass into the dirt.
Everybody started panicking.
That crazy Onix had just killed his Ranger CO.
Let's get the fuck outta dodge before that angry white snake kills us too.
And the best part of the whole affair?
I was dumb enough to challenge Damascus to a second round.
There was no way that this pissed off Ranger was going to beat his own Goddamn Onix in a bitch-fit.
And the conclusion of my second challenge to Damascus brought us all to where we lay now.
In Damascus's coils, setting up camp for the night.
The Lune settlement, still ten klicks east of our location.
And a fucking army of Trainers between us and the Lune shuttle terminal.
I almost said, "Just fuck it all," right then and there.
But then Radical Dreamers came on the musical loop.
And just like Damascus…
I found a slice of peace in the acoustically evoked emotions of one of my favorite songs.
…
"God fucking damnit. I thought that we'd never see it." I growled to Cortez.
We were in the Frontier, and my hound was pathfinding me a safe route to the Lune settlement.
We had scaled the Route walls roughly an hour ago, and crossed the Hades's Swath into Mount Moon's Frontier. Sector Beta. The closest Ranger outpost was eight klicks north-east of our location.
In that single hour, Cortez and I had crossed an even greater stretch of the Crescent Valley than we had in all of yesterday.
The absence of Trainers hastened our journey considerably.
That said, I wasn't looking at the Lune settlement when I finally spoke to Cortez.
I was looking at the majestic Mount Moon.
"You know, when we're done with this League Business… I think that I'm gonna put in for a transfer to the Mount Moon Prime Outpost. Just look at that mountain…" I murmured in a breath of wonder.
It was beautiful. The grey-green foothills merged with the silver terranes at the blue base of the smooth sided mountain. The snow-capped peak still withstood the early spring weather, crowning the top of Mount Moon with a lustrous white veil.
"Goddamn… The Indigo Plateau has nothing on that mountain. Give me a moment, Cortez. I want a picture of this." I murmured. Cortez sat himself down at my ankles, looking up at that mountain with his standard calm expression. A fresh coat of orange fur had started to grow back on Cortez's left side, but the pink shade of his skin could still be seen underneath that bristly layer.
"Come on Alexandria, tell me that your personality matrix has something for this…" I mocked my Tact. Pad as I raised it to eye level, and angled the internal camera on Mount Moon.
Alexandria followed my photoshoot with a series of awed coos and whistles.
"Knock it off. Quit trying so damn hard." I growled, sliding my Tact. Pad back into my pocket before Alexandria could respond.
"What about you, Cortez? You have anything that you want to say regarding the moment?" I asked my dog with a cheesy grin.
Cortez just sneezed loudly, rolling his head when he did so, before heading off without waiting for my command to lead on.
"I'm losing it, Cortez. I never had it with Vauban, Damascus has tried to kill me thrice now, and you just blew me off. Darwin deserves his medal for exemplary service. He's the only one still fucking loyal to me." I joked with Cortez as I took off after him.
Cortez stopped advancing so quickly just to glance over his shoulder at me.
His green eye was giving me a look of approval, and his fucked-up purple eye was looking at me with a smile.
"I never asked you about your opinion regarding our mission, Cortez. Vauban and Darwin go where I go, and do exactly what I say when I say it; but you? Why are you still with my dysfunctional squad, dog?" I asked.
Cortez just kept leading on as if I wasn't holding a conversation with him.
"Come on, Cortez. Throw me a bone here. I've been trying to figure you out ever since we first met. But you haven't given me diddly-squat except more mystery." I casually threw a stick past Cortez's shoulder, trying to see if I could get a reaction out of him.
No dice.
That dog didn't even care.
"For fuck's sake, Cortez… You're worse than me. You don't have to wear the uniform for every second of your life, you know."
Cortez stopped walking.
I came up short behind him.
Finally, a confirmed hit.
"Cortez? You want to tell me something?" I asked.
Cortez started quivering.
And it wasn't the cold.
My hand went to Damascus's Heavy Ball.
We were in the Frontier. If something was sneaking up on us-
-False alarm.
Cortez turned around, and walked right past me.
I turned about, and followed that dog's movements with my eye.
Cortez slowly approached the stick that I had thrown past him earlier…
...And then Cortez carefully picked it up in his mouth.
Before that fucked-up dog brought the stick back to me, and dropped it at my feet.
I could only stare at him.
Cortez swallowed nervously below me, taking my hesitation as a bad sign.
Then I bent low, and picked up the stick-
-I held it in front of Cortez's nose…
...And then I flung that stick into the brush.
"Go get it."
Cortez bounded off in pursuit of the stick, leaving me beaming when he came back with it.
I fell to a knee before my amazing dog…
And I held his head against my shoulder when he approached me.
"You're a good dog, Cortez. You're a good dog." I felt something warm pooling in my eyes. Cortez's short mane offered itself as the ideal place to hide my face.
I was choking a bit, and my dog was acclimating to my expression accordingly.
"Okay. Okay, come on. Enough of that." I pulled myself away reluctantly, but kept a hand under Cortez's jaw.
And I held his watery gaze with my own.
"We're not alone out here, Cortez. And both you and I know it. Now just one last game of fetch before we carry on." I murmured, reaching for the stick.
But Cortez put his paw over the stick before I could grab it.
I chuckled when I looked into his calm eyes.
"Okay. Maybe later then." I ruffled my dog's head, and slapped his scarred rump when he moved past me to resume the lead.
But I wasn't done with my hound yet.
"Do you have a song that you like, Cortez?" I asked, pulling out the Tact. Pad.
Cortez looked at me like I was crazy.
"How about we try something new? It's not my favorite genre of music, but it kind of suits the setting." I was smiling like an ass when I punched in the new channel.
An accordion started wailing out to a bouncy little gammaldan polka.
"Do you want me to try yodeling as well?" I asked Cortez with my shit-eating grin on.
My dog sneezed at me, and tore off into the eastern Frontier, leaving me to chase his ass in cackling pursuit.
…
Mount Moon.
The second highest peak in the Argent Mountain Range, whose scale is topped only by Mount Silver.
Looking at this gorgeous sierra with a minorly trained geologist's eye…
It was hard to believe that this colossal mountain range was all of fourteen-thousand years old.
Under natural circumstances, the tectonic movements required to forge mountains like this would take millions of years, but in the century following the Brink Collapse...
There was nothing natural about the earth's disfigurement.
Regigigas. Lugia. Groudon. Kyogre. Palkia. Dialga.
Just to name the most infamous of the Lima-Threes.
They reshaped the face of the earth when they waged their war of supremacy on humanity and each other.
While Regigigas and Groudon duked it out on terra firma, Lugia and Kyogre beat the piss out of each other in the ocean blue.
Regigigas wielded the tectonic plates like Goddamn folding chairs in his brawl with Groudon, while the fucking God of Fire raised a new era of vulcanism to combat the Walking Mountain.
And Lugia reshaped the flow of the oceanic currents, all in the effort of trying to drive the King Orca out of the sea; while Kyogre matched the Abyssal Deity by melting the polar ice caps, adding more water into the oceanic currents than Lugia could psionically dictate.
Then all four Lima-Threes met at the coasts, and all hell broke loose.
It's amazing that our world still stands after that century of destruction.
It's staggering that humanity lived through it.
But the continents that we knew in the pre-Brink…
-Had all either been reshaped or lost in the Lima-Three's one-hundred years of strife.
What was left of the Australian continent became Hoenn.
The shattered and sunken remains of Europe became Kalos.
The burning ruin of North America became Unova.
The newly formed South American tectonic plate slammed into the desolate wastes of Asia, forming the Kanto and Johto regions respectively.
Greenland just disappeared for that century, when Dialga and Palkia, the Gods of Time and Space; chose that location to serve as their battleground. And the landmass that was puked out of the Great Northern Distortion Rift nearly a hundred years after Greenland had disappeared…
-That became Sinnoh.
"The Terra Divide," brought about by the waring Lima-Threes.
Thank God, that after a hundred years of rampant destruction, they all disappeared.
Nobody knows exactly where the Lima-Threes went.
There's a fucking supercity in Kalos, built inside one of Regigigas's footprints.
His last footprint.
Regigigas faded away into the Brink mid-swing with Lugia.
At least, that's the common theory.
Around the same time that the Lima-Threes disappeared, the Helios Brink Observatory located on the southernmost edge of the Oceania Reef recorded a massive vacuum of Brink event-continuity.
For whatever reason, it seems as though the Lima-Threes were recalled to their dimensional planes of origin.
Right after they fucked the world over.
What was left of humanity struggled against the lesser mon in the days following the Lima-Threes' eviction. Nearly two-hundred years later, the final summit of the International Congress of Governments sanctioned the Blackout Act, and before anyone knew it-
-Humanity was subjected to the Dark Ages by executive decree.
The cultures that rose from that ruined world would become the provincial Governments that we know today.
The rugged and live-in-the-moment people of Hoenn built themselves a proud nation through sheer social tenacity. The old Tribes of Hoenn are still very much the head of the Hoenn Democracy's governmental proceedings, and they have maintained a relative peace between their separate Tribes for a millenia.
The zealous freaks of Sinnoh, believing that they had been spared the Terra Divide by the divine intervention of Palkia and Dialga, constructed a Theocracy based off of that mythos. Though when you consult the Black Books of Sinnoh's one hundred years in the darkness…
-It sounds like they got the raw end of the deal.
But the crazy people who live in Sinnoh still worship the monsters that nearly killed them all as deities; apparently for not completely destroying them. At least, that's the Kantonese outlook on their religion. The Sinnoh Theocracy has painted a far more romantic scene of their Divine Lords, Palkia and Dialga.
Unova, having always been a nation of paranoid and self-righteous imbeciles equipped with more guns than wits, devolved into absolute chaos following the Terra Divide. A Stratocracy eventually took hold in Unova, but only after the population had quenched their thirst for senseless violence. Now, the barbaric people of Unova swear loyalty to their Fuhrer, whose every incarnation has promised the superior people of Unova the conquest of all the other nations for centuries ad nauseam.
Kalos, in its sudden return to the historical Dark Ages, took comfort in the return of the ancient monarchies that had once maintained a level of peace throughout troubled-old-europe's first Dark Ages. Curiously, Kalos also developed the strictest set of social expectations for their people, designing a nation where courtesy is practically enforced by law. The caste system and oligarchy are actually well respected in Kalos; but a society governed by social adherences is a two-sided beast. I'd love to visit Kalos to see what is regarded as one of the most beautiful nations in the post-Brink era, but if I did go there; then I'd likely end up beheaded for my excessive use of profanity.
Johto and Kanto? Due to the two distinctly separate cultures being suddenly thrown together as neighbors…
Well, we both had a pretty rocky start. Especially with each other.
The people of Asia have always been a peculiar lot. Quick to adapt to new technologies and ideas, but reluctant to part with their traditions.
And the people of South America? We've known hard times pretty thoroughly before. And because of our pre-Brink experiences, we weathered the post-Brink better than most other nations.
Both Johto and Kanto are populated by similarly hardy, industrious, and proud people.
But when you put the two together?
...We've had quite a few wars.
I'm not even going to recite who won which war, and who started the next war.
That's all counterproductive to humanity's continuation.
I'm not going to bash warfare either.
It actually did humanity some good in the early post-Brink.
We were desperate enough to revive old world technologies, and adapt them to this mon infested world, just to have an edge over the opposition.
The Governments on both sides of the Argent range utilized the wars between Johto and Kanto to unify their separate nations to a cause, and that unity was maintained in the eras of peace; if by nothing else, then by the fear of future wars.
But when Johto stabilized under the Imperium, and Kanto developed a functioning Socialist-Republic…
We didn't need to keep killing one another.
We had secured our people's futures in these scarred lands.
The next stage for humanity's development was global unification.
But just like the pre-Brink humanity…
...Post-Brink humanity still refuses to see eye to eye.
All of the nations have gone to war with one another at some point in time. Some alliances have been formed in those wars…
...Some have even lasted, like the Sinnoh-Kalos Concordant, and the Indigo Confederacy...
But the time for man unifying against unified man is over.
We need to come together as a single people, united to a shared cause; and face the real threat to humanity.
-The mon.
Though that's all probably impossible. As humanity's fossil record reveals…
Man has always hunted man.
And for all of our species genius…
Humanity still cannot separate themselves from the natural animal known as man.
…
Cortez and I left the Frontier on sight of Lune's walls. This was a completely new settlement in the Kanto region, whose formation had been financed by both the Pewter and Cerulean districts, and surprisingly, also by Giovanni Delimonto.
While Cerulean and Pewter had put down the funds for the shuttle system and perimeter walls, Giovanni Delimonto funded a side project on the slopes of Mount Moon.
There were three Stellar Observatories on Mount Moon. All of them built by Giovanni Delimonto. Two of the Observatories had been constructed on the highest altitudes of Mount Moon, but do to the dangerous weather patterns and indigenous mountain mon species, both high altitude Observatories were rarely awoken for use. They sat up on the snow covered peak collecting dust, with only a treacherous cavern system linking them to the lower portion of Mount Moon.
As far as most people were concerned, Giovanni's business attempt at reawakening our old-world technological wonders was just as ambitious as it was foolhardy.
It did look like a complete flop, given that neither high altitude Observatory had been utilized for over three years, but still…
...I can't fault Giovanni for trying. Without the movers and shakers of humanity, mankind would have never discovered fire.
But after the technical failure of the two high altitude Observatories, Giovanni, being the stubborn genius that he is; elected to fund a third Observatory. This one would be a low altitude Observatory, protected by the Lune settlement's perimeter wall.
And this Observatory would never close.
The cosmological fascination that Giovanni's low altitude Observatory inspired paved the way for Lune's soon to be exclusively cosmophiliac population.
Everything about the settlement reeked of space odyssey.
The scant few streets were named after Astronauts and Cosmonauts alike.
"Yuri Gagarin Drive" shared an intersection with "Buzz Aldrin Road."
The only corporated establishment in town, other than the low altitude Observatory's Planetarium and the shuttle terminal, was a bar by the name of "Mir's Orbit."
Yep.
Thanks to the Pewter-Cerulean shuttle terminal, and Giovanni's lower altitude Observatory and Planetarium…
...Lune was a tourist trap.
But one of the new rising additions to Lune's intrigue, was the recent discovery of mon fossils permineralized within the Asian derived limestone that comprised Mount Moon's stratum.
A good portion of the Brink's inorganic expulsions had covered the Asian continent before the fallout reached any other landmass, and when South America had slammed into the eastern coast of Asia's tectonic ridge, the merging landmasses formed the Argent Mountain Range, pushing all of that alien limestone towards the surface.
So not only could you visit Lune for a weekend in the mountains and a cosmological education…
...But you could also brave Mount Moon and its tunnels for rare and extremely valuable mon fossils.
Fossil prospectors could make a fortune that would last a lifetime if they discovered a mon fossil with a salvageable permineralized DNA structure.
Scientist such as the likes of Professor Breitbarth, Professor Oak, and Doctor Fuji would bid themselves dry in the scientific race to discover and identify new species of ancient mon.
And daft lunatics like Chimera Industry's own Enzo Davinci would cough up whatever those scientists asked for, just to get his crazy ass hands on extinct Pokemon DNA.
That psychopath was the chief financier of the Cinnabar Lab's Fossil Revival Project, and as Brock Aissatou could attest…
-Enzo's resurrected fossil mon kicked ass in the League ring.
…
Cortez was dismissed as soon as we crossed beneath Lune's western gate. My dog was drawing a lot of attention on account of his scarring, and to spare Cortez the peculiar looks, I put him back in his pokeball.
I called Vauban out to take his place, deciding that a stroll through Lune's domestic precinct might do my chubby little girl some good.
There wasn't much to see on our way to the shuttle terminal. Cortez and I had made Lune right after sunset, after another successful sneak through the Frontier and our first devious alternate route past the Crescent Valley's expansive Trainer community.
I was a little worried when I saw the line spilling out of the terminal's subterranean entrance and out into Lune's sparsely situated commercial district.
I couldn't elbow my way through this crowd.
People were already packed like Finneon in a can on the entry steps.
And it wasn't just a one way flow either.
Frustrated tourists were shoving their irritable standee counterparts out of their way in their retreat from the terminal.
"Hey, what the hell is going on down there?" I asked one couple that managed to wrestle themselves free of the human wall.
"The damn shuttle is offline for repairs! The fucking Diglett tore up the track, and now we won't be able to leave Lune until sometime tomorrow after the rail authorities repair the line!" The tourist was frothing at the gills, and his wife looked no happier.
-But given the mess that they'd just crawled out of, I couldn't blame either one of them.
"Alexandria, connect with the shuttle main. I want a sit-rep on the Lune-Cerulean track ASAP." I ordered upon retrieving my Tact. Pad.
It took Alexandria all of four seconds to confirm the tourist's claims.
The Lune-Cerulean shuttle was out of commission.
"MOTHERFUCKER!" Looking at the scheduled repairs and testing procedures, as well as the time of vandalism, I could see that I was going to spending the night in Lune.
And I wouldn't have had to, if Damascus hadn't knocked me out twice yesterday.
"You stupid fucking piece of shit snake…" I hissed, glaring at his Heavy Ball.
I just wanted to get to Cerulean, and check in with Blackhat Team Seven's HQ. I was supposed to have been there tonight, but if this didn't beat all…
"Alexandria, get me a line with Captain Lewis. I bet she's gonna find some way to blame this whole thing on me." I grumbled.
Alexandria did I as I commanded, paging Cerulean Blackhat HQ with a priority hail and a request for a private comm.
"Warrant Officer Bastard, what have you to report?"
So much for hello.
"Captain Lewis, I regret to inform you that my Cerulean ETA has been delayed. The Lune shuttle is MIA. The Digletts ripped up the track, and now I'm sitting in Lune with my thumb jammed up my ass for the next sixteen hours." I reported. I heard Captain Lewis grunt on the other end.
"Right. Well it's not too important. I'll have Chris Lebreau reschedule your Gym match with Misty Willows for next week. Look's like you're going to spending some quality time in Cerulean, Ranger. I hope that you use it wisely. Is there anything else you have to report?"
Color me surprised.
Captain Lewis wasn't going to bitch me out.
"Nope. I'll report to Blackhat Team Seven HQ first thing when I arrive in Cerulean."
"Good. Over and out." Captain Lewis closed the line, and I put my Tact. Pad away.
"Well Vauban… That didn't go as planned. Thank God. Now let's get into that bar. I'm still feeling pissed at Damascus…" I worked my jaw, and stalked off towards Lune's lonely tavern with Vauban in tow.
…
"If you ain't twenty-sixth division, then you ain't shit!"
Those were the first words that greeted me and Vauban when we stepped into the bar. They were shouted out in a chorus, accompanied by cheers. I hadn't even walked halfway to the counter before another rallying battle cry sounded.
"If you ain't fourteenth division, then you ain't shit!"
A swift survey of the establishment's tables provided me with the details. A pair of the military's finest squads were patronizing the joint, same as me. Roughly eleven Skinheads in total. One squad at their table in the far south, and the other squad situated at the western wall.
They seemed to be postulating over the supremacy of their separate infantry divisions.
What a bunch of pubes.
Everybody knows that the entire military is comprised of pussies.
Nobody joins the military looking for action.
Otherwise, they'd have put on the Ranger's stylish beret instead of the military's birth control bucket hats.
I lifted Vauban up onto the bar while I waited for the bartender to ask for my preferred poison.
It felt like a gin and tonic night, so go heavy on the lime.
"If you ain't twenty-sixth division, then you ain't shit!"
Scratch that.
I was gonna need something stronger than tonic.
Put some vermouth in that gin instead, and call it a martini.
"New transfer to Mount Moon, Ranger?" The bartender asked me as he mixed my martini in a cobbler shaker.
"Just passing through." I grumbled, glancing over my shoulder to the loudmouthed Skinheads.
"Don't mind them too much. They just graduated. Our little community hosted the military's sworn-in ceremonies. Those two units have been at it every night for the past week. They're about to get shipped out to Fuchsia, so we won't have to deal with their hyperbole for much longer." The bartender informed me.
"Well, I'm only here for the night. At least that's what they said at the shuttle terminal. Goddamn Digletts are wreaking havoc with the tracks again." I grunted, taking the first sip of my mixed liquor.
"If you ain't fourteenth division, then you ain't shit!"
Man, that line was already getting old…
"That a G.I. Bulbasaur? I've never seen a Ranger with a Bulbasaur before." The bartender was doing his hosting best to draw my irated glare off of the Skinheads.
"This here is my Vauban. She's the first Bulbasaur ever dispatched to the Rangers. Technically she's a Saboteur Class, but the Rangers don't have much use for giant bio-bombs, so my little girl here just rolls as a support unit." I explained, ruffling my wheezing little girl's head.
"You both look pretty done in. You see any action on your way to Mount Moon?" The bartender asked.
"Are you kidding me? The Crescent Valley is crawling with Trainers. We were getting pinged left and fucking right. It took us two days just cross fourteen klicks." I grumbled, draining my drink and presenting the empty glass to the bartender for another.
"Getting pinged by Trainers? You're not really a Ranger, are you?" The bartender sounded amused.
"Excuse me? Did you miss my badge? My SO bandanna? My knives? Or maybe you missed the giant Goddamn sparkly Crossed Arms dangling off of my left breast pocket?" My voice was dipping into the danger mode.
"Those could be props… Although it is pretty risky wearing that badge. You know that it's illegal to impersonate an active duty Ranger, right?" The bartender warned me.
My Tact. Pad was out, and my Trainer's License was being pulled up as the bartender whipped out my next martini.
"I think that I'll have my next drink on the house." I growled, tapping the ACE header on my serial tag.
That shut the bartender up.
Normally, an ACE Agent wouldn't flippantly flounce their ACE certifications to the public outside of their relevant jurisdictions.
But technically, I wasn't an ACE Agent, so I could abuse the implied authority of my ACE stamped License as much as I wanted to.
"IF YOU AIN'T TWENTY-SIXTH DIVISION, THEN YOU AIN'T SHIT!"
For the love of God…
"Who the hell wants to be shit anyways?" I audibly growled over my fresh martini.
The sound of eleven seats being suddenly and aggressively vacated answered me.
The bartender started backing up.
"What's this? An off duty Greenback and his adorable little flowerpot?"
There was a pair of the military's junior-division squads standing right behind me, all unified against this lonely Ranger in their mutually wounded pride.
I continued sipping at my martini casually, not even turning around to pay the Skinheads any heed.
"You got something you want to say to us, Ranger?" Another Skinhead piped up.
"Nope. I think you boys have adequately demonstrated your pride in serving an outfit of shit." My voice sounded annoyed, and the Skinheads were getting even more pissed off by my apparent immunity to their intimidation tactics.
"Why don't you step outside with us, Greenback?" One Skinhead offered, his voice all friendly-like. I put my martini down, and lazily turned around to face the music, a mocking smile of ease playing on my face as I leaned my back up against the bar.
"Outside? What's wrong with the current setting? Too much potential action in here for you?" I asked the lead Skinhead with that smarmy smirk plastered on my face.
"That's a good point, Ranger. Why don't we just beat you senseless right here?" Another Skinhead answered my smirk with his own.
Vauban growled a reason for the Skinhead.
"Behave, Vauban." I warned my little girl, while the Skinheads fell back with a jeering whoop.
"The Ranger's flowerpot is packing some attitude! Why don't we prune the bitch after we're done emasculating her Ranger? She won't need that pretty little bulb once we rip her Greenback's dick off!" A Skinhead chortled.
That was it.
You do not insult my little girl.
I turned back to the bar with a iron look in my eye.
"Vauban-" My dead tone began.
"-Hold my drink. If you spill one drop of my free martini, then I'm gonna take it out of your hide. Let your CO handle this." I ordered, passing my martini into Vauban's awaiting vines.
Then I kicked out my bar stool, and caught it by the legs in one swift motion.
And then I broke off the padded seat of that bar stool when it connected with the lead Skinhead's polished dome.
I didn't last too long against ten infantry units. I'd knocked their leader out with the first blow, and then I whipped the shit out of their frontline with the emancipated legs of the bar stool, but the trained military personnel didn't waste too much time overcoming their shock at my unexpected assault, and they respond with the appropriate disciplined reaction.
My ass was dog piled up against the bar by the remaining ten infantry units, their fists flying into every inch of my person.
And I was answering their blows with my own at every available opening.
Sadly, there wasn't many openings that I could take advantage of.
My public flogging ceased for a moment, while my dazed ass hit the floor.
A pair of hands lifted me off of the wooden slats of the bar floor, and my eye regained its focus on a Skinhead's waxy crown, right before his fist slammed into my brow, putting me back down on the ground.
Another set hands picked me up.
My fists clenched.
I was ready this time.
No sooner had my person straightened out, then it was that I sent my retaliating swing.
Then my eye focused on the red beret dusting my shoulders off.
And my fist slugged the face of a bottle-wielding Skinhead who was sneaking up behind that red beret.
Another Ranger had jumped into the scrap to assist my beaten ass.
Correction.
Three Ranger Vets had entered the brawl looking to support their solo act on the front line.
I may have been punch-drunk and injured, but I sure as hell wasn't sitting this one out.
We were fucking Rangers.
It didn't matter that none of them knew who I was.
It didn't matter that these Vets were twice my age.
It didn't matter that I came from a foreign station.
It didn't matter that I had started this conflict.
Rangers never let one of their own fight alone.
We have each other's backs in all meetings of attrition, no matter what insignificant social stipulations separate us.
And these four Rangers were gonna prove that by taking on all comers.
The pubes from the military didn't know what the fuck they were dealing with.
Three Ranger Vets and one technical Ranger Vet versus ten fresh slabs of military graduate meat.
Despite our disadvantage of numbers…
These four Greenbacks gave the Skinheads absolute hell.
We were standing on a squad of unconscious Skinheads when the rest of the bar's patrons had suffered enough spectating.
There was a martial dispute being settled at the front counter.
It must have looked like fun.
Because soon after I bagged my third Skinhead…
...Everybody in the whole fucking bar started swapping blows.
The country yokels were taking turns beating each other's faces in.
The tourists and Trainers were connecting with one another over the tabletops in airborne tackles.
And the Skinheads were pushed back into private sector's fray.
True to the military's training, the Skinheads knew their CQC curriculum.
But training was all the Skinheads had.
The Greenbacks had both the experience and the attitude to back our punches up.
And we sure as hell weren't pulling them for the unseasoned Skinheads' sake.
Consider this whooping we're giving you a martial adherence to your clandestine preparations.
Think twice before you fuck with the Ranger Corps again, you military cunts.
The bar wide battle might have continued rolling on until only one group was left standing, but a hunched back old geezer whipped out a Pokeball and released his Tauros, before threatening to have his bull trample the lot of us for ruining his and his wife's fifty-second wedding anniversary.
The bar settled down pretty fast when that cow started braying and stomping his hooves. The tourists and Trainers found their seats as if nothing had happened between them. The yokels bumped elbows and raised toasts to one another. The Skinheads pulled their comatose comrades out from under the Greenback's feet, while all four Rangers glared at the pissed off Tauros, just daring him to make a move.
"Return to your posts, Rangers." The gruff voice of Ranger Vet Lieutenant barked from my left side when the Tauros was recalled into the old man's Pokeball. And adhering with my superior's order, all four Greenbacks pivoted about in perfect unison, and placed our orders on the counter.
"That's my girl." My severe voice growled when Vauban leapt up from behind the bar, and handed me my uncompromised drink.
Vauban was worried about me. I could see it in her expression. But Vauban recognized the berets around me. She wasn't about to expose her tender side in front of all these cold eyes.
"Warrant Officer. You ever consider locking down your mouth?" The Lieutenant Vet asked me, while a shit-eating grin split his face wide open.
"Fuck that. I have an opinion, and God forbid that I ever let a man live in ignorance." I replied.
That earned me some chortles from the Vets.
"Are all the Walkouts from Viridian Outpost as cocky as you?" The Lieutenant asked me.
I pointed to my SO bandanna, and then gestured to the Crossed Arms medal on my chest.
"I'm no Walkout, Lieutenant. When was the last time you saw a Walkout with these decorations?" I asked.
All three Vets froze.
"Holy shit-"
"No way."
"-You're the Fucking Bastard, aren't you?!"
Whoa.
They knew me?
"How the hell does Mount Moon Outpost know my name?" I asked, startled.
"Are you shitting me!? There isn't a fucking Ranger Outpost in all of Indigo who hasn't heard of the Fucking Bastard! You're that tough ass motherfucker who got mauled by a Snorlax and fucking walked it off! Kid, you're a fucking legend in the Corps! Bartend! Get the Fucking Bastard another drink! All of his rounds are on the Mount Moon Ranger Outpost!"
The Lieutenant was beside himself, and his unit was cheering loud enough to drown out the rest of the bar.
"I should have known it was you when you turned around to face the Skinheads-!"
"I thought that you'd be bigger-"
"-When did you earn the Crossed Arms?!"
Drinks were being shoved my way, and all the commotion was drawing a crowd. Even a group of the Skinheads had broken away from their moaning comrades to investigate the Rangers' outrageous behavior.
"I earned the Crossed Arms almost two months ago in Viridian Forest, fighting off the Venomoth." I replied. The Rangers exchanged a glance.
"What did you do to earn it?" The Lieutenant asked me, curious.
The entire crowd drew in closer. I swallowed. I wasn't so sure if I approved of this attention...
"...I inhaled a Venomoth haze in order to save a compromised unit of Rangers from the dust…" I answered hesitantly.
Even the tourists and Skinheads made a noise for me.
"Holy shit… First a Snorlax mastication, and then a Venomoth dusting? Can anything fucking kill you?" The Lieutenant asked me in awe.
"A fucking Snorlax chewed on you?" A Skinhead erupted in disbelief.
"Good God, you wankmaestro! This is the Fucking Bastard! Learn who your fucking heros are before you insult them!" One of the Rangers just about attacked the Skinhead over his ignorance.
From where I was sitting…
...This was just fucking weird.
I wasn't a Goddamn hero.
I had just lived through shit that had killed other Rangers.
"And after all that, you still serve the Corps as an active Ranger?" The Lieutenant asked me.
"I'm still on the payroll, though my designated objective has been altered due to my… condition." I answered self-consciously.
"What does High Command have their Fucking Bastard doing now?" The Lieutenant asked.
I cleared my throat.
"They have me… representing the Corps in the private sector…" I grumbled, downing my martini.
"...I'm the poster child for the Wounded Hearts project." I summed up as I slammed my empty glass down and glared at it.
"Shit kid, after what you've been through… Just wanting to wear that beret speaks volumes of your dedication. No one's gonna hold the Wounded Hearts project against you." The Lieutenant picked up on my body language pretty quickly.
"What's the Wounded Hearts project?" A Skinhead asked.
"It's an assistance program for disabled Rangers who still want to serve in the Corps. It's a relatively new division. Not many Rangers want to stay in the Corps after the mon have torn them apart." The Lieutenant answered.
"What? You're a disabled Veteran?" The Skinhead sounded shocked.
He was struggling to soak up this personal information pertaining to my health and status. He couldn't believe that I was Ranger Veteran. Probably because I was even younger than he was.
I didn't answer the Skinhead. I just carried on drinking the offered booze.
"Shit, I'd have never guessed it. You kick a lot of ass for a disabled Ranger." The Skinhead tried to make some respectful amends.
"That's because he's the Fucking Bastard, you twat! If a Snorlax couldn't ice him, then what chance does the fucking military have?" One of the Vanger Vets exploded.
"Come on, now. Let it go. I'm not too sore about it." I grunted, trying to diffuse the drama. I was feeling pretty fucking awkward.
These people were damn near revering me.
I didn't like it.
Not one bit.
"By the way… How's your head feeling?" The Lieutenant asked me.
"I take it somebody's fist fucked up my good looks?" I joshed, grinning like a motherfucker.
"Well, you look pretty messed up. You got a nice little hematoma forming between your eyes." The Lieutenant chuckled.
"Yeah, I can feel a concussion rising in my noggin. Aw well. I ain't worried about it. I've slept off worse." I grunted, tucking into the next drink.
Tough guy boasting was something that I could comfortably entertain in front of a crowd.
"You're gonna sleep it off? I don't think so, Ranger." The Lieutenant laughed.
"Naw, I'll just have Vauban whip the shit out of me if I start nodding off. My little girl takes good care me, don't you, Vauban?" I smiled down at my nervous Bulbasaur.
She gurgled back at me.
"Vauban was your Role Call mon?" The Lieutenant asked me. I nodded.
"This sweet little thing has been by my side through it all. I honestly don't know what I'd do without my floral shit-stick." I rolled Vauban roughly onto her side, and spun her around on the bar. When she came to a standstill, Vauban pulled herself back onto her feet and uttered a happy burb.
"Awww…" A tight cutie from the Trainer's group, who was endowed with one of the finest asses that I'd ever seen, cooed at Vauban's gasy expulsion; bringing about another chorus of laughs from the establishment.
"I gotta ask you about something, Bastard… Darwin. Is he real?" One of the Rangers asked.
"My bigass Magikarp? Yeah, he's real. What have you heard about Darwin?" I asked, curious as to how much of my story was known throughout the Corps.
"I heard a rumor about a Munchlax sized Magikarp earning a medal for exceptional service in the Corps. I just assumed that it was all hooey, but then someone added a line specifying this Magikarp's CO as the Fucking Bastard. So my scepticism was put on hold." The Ranger said.
"Yeah, my fat fucking joke saved my ass from the Venomoth, otherwise the Crossed Arms would have been embossed on my tombstone. Darwin is as real a legend as a Magikarp can get." I clarified.
"You train a Magikarp?!" One of the Trainers looked at me with an expression that was borderlining ridicule.
"Yeah, a Magikarp that can actually swim upstream while ferrying an unconscious Ranger on his face. Don't you dare diss my Darwin." I growled.
"That doesn't sound like a Magikarp… Are you sure that it isn't a Seaking?" The Trainer asked.
"I think that a Ranger can tell the difference between a two-hundred year old Seaking and a fucking obese Magikarp. Yeah, Darwin is a Magikarp. But he's gonna be the biggest, scariest, fucking ugliest Gyarados that you'd ever hope to see when I get his ass to evolve." I snidely replied.
"What other crazy shit do you train?" Another Trainer asked, the blatant overuse of profanity loosening everyone up.
"Well, there's Cortez, my scarred up Growlithe. He's kind of the Number Two in my squad. Cortez is as reliable and as loyal as all hell. My dog deserves better than me, but he sticks with us all the same. And then there's Damascus, my geriatric Onix. If you've been in the Crescent Valley recently, then you might have heard some horror stories regarding Damascus. He's been giving me no end of grief ever since he joined up with my unit, but that fucking rock-snake is damn near invincible. So we've elected to put up with his senile bullshit, instead of dumping his ass off in the middle of a lake." I answered.
"A Bulbasaur, a Magik- A Gyarados, a Growlithe, and an Onix… That sounds like the start of a Championship team…" One Trainer murmured.
"That's a big fucking outfit for one Ranger. Do they all have specializations?" The Lieutenant asked me.
"Vauban is a Saboteur, Darwin is currently Sub-aquatic Reconnaissance, Cortez is a dual Pathfinder slash Hunter-Killer, and Damascus is a dual Siege and Bastion Class." I answered.
"Hell, that's practically everything short of an Interloper and an Aviation unit! What the fuck has High Command outfitted you with an army for?!" The Lieutenant asked me in shock.
"The Wounded Hearts project. High Command has me competing in the League-" I started to grumble.
But the crowd cut me off.
"-WHAT?!"
That was the whole damn bar; from the Rangers and the Skinheads, to the Trainers and the tourists.
"...High Command wants me to represent the Corps in the private sector. The League offers us an appropriately media-supported basis, and it allows me to hone my battling skills in a controlled environment; while providing a flexible enough schedule for me to support the Corps on the front lines." I explained to the gathering.
"That's fucking crazy…" One Ranger muttered.
"They let a mon-killer compete in the League? But article twenty-seven specifies-"
"-That article doesn't apply to me, or my G.I. mon. My squad and I have been testing beta-stage legislation ever since we accepted this mission. There's a distinct possibility of future disabled Rangers competing in League. It's all dependent on the outcome of my mission." I cut off the League diction spouting Trainer, and filled him in on my cover story.
"It sounds like the perfect outfit for the Fucking Bastard. If anyone can topple the League, it's the Ranger's own Zane Bastard." The Lieutenant fixed everyone in the bar with a dangerous eye, letting them all know that his assertion was not up for debate.
"How far is High Command aiming for you to go in the League?" The luscious assed Trainer asked me.
Okay, it was my ACE Agent game time.
Put that scowling face on.
"High Command will settle for a couple of Badges. They just want to prove that the Rangers can control their G.I. mon for the League's competition standards. But on a personal agenda? I'm going all the way." I answered, draining my fourth drink, and pushing the rest away.
Too much indulgence was dangerous, given my current situation.
I didn't want to get drunk and say something stupid that would give ACE an excuse to gas me.
"All the way? You mean the League Seasonal Finals?" A Trainer asked in surprise.
"I mean Lance's Goddamn Throne. That fucking Snorlax cheated me out of a Black Beret. Now the only way that I'll ever be measured worthy of that calling, is if I can top the Dragon King." I growled, switching to ice water as my beverage of choice.
"You want to be a Blackhat?" The Lieutenant asked me in bewilderment. Everyone in the bar was looking at me funny now.
No.
Those expressions weren't funny.
They were unnerving.
Was that admiration?
"Goddamn, kid… You're a fucking Ranger alright. Holy shit… If we had more like you…" One of the Vets was actually getting teary eyed.
This was just fucking wrong.
"I've wanted that Black Beret since I was five. I joined the Corps in pursuit of my Black Beret. And I'll either die wearing one, or I'll die earning one."
It was rather morbid for an inspirational quote, but inspire my audience those morbid words did indeed.
Which only made me feel even more awkward.
Having that sexy Trainer putting her shaking hands on my arm might have gone somewhere fun in normal circumstances, but right now…
...I just wanted to be left alone.
"Thanks for the drinks, sir. And the backup." I chortled, tossing a hefty tip for the bartender onto the counter.
"I'd stick around and jaw-jack with you all, but my head's killing me, so I think that this Ranger is gonna toll the bell." I raised a salute to the Lieutenant, but he refused to answer it.
"At ease, Bastard." The Lieutenant ordered. I self-consciously lowered my unaccepted salute.
Then the unthinkable happened.
The Lieutenant and his Veteran unit raised their salutes to me, and the Skinheads behind the Rangers followed suit.
"It was an honor meeting you, Ranger Bastard." The Lieutenant announced in a firm voice.
I returned their gesture, and released them all from their salute, choking up when I did so.
I'm not what you think I am…
"The honor was mine, Lieutenant." I murmured, turning on a heel and booking it for the door. Vauban was right on my tail when that door closed behind me, separating us from the crazy world that we were creating. I kept marching until I found a quiet part of town, free of any eyes and ears. I came to a gasping halt at a shadowed street corner.
"Vauban…"
Vauban pressed her flank up against my leg with a soft groan. She knew that voice. My little girl knew who I was at that moment.
"...What are we doing here?" My voice gagged as I fought back the tears.
…
I wasn't going to be sleeping for a while, due to the rising bruise in my brain, so I needed some way to occupy my time until tomorrow's shuttle ride to Cerulean.
But the Lune settlement didn't offer much in the way of distractions this late at night. Other than the bar, the only available facility was the Mount Moon Planetarium. The lower altitude Observatory stayed open throughout the late night and early morning, providing the public with a magnified showcase of the universe's cosmological events.
It was suppose to be pretty boring, but star gazing was something that I actually enjoyed, and the opportunity to visualize the celestial bodies' movements closer than the naked eye could naturally observe was greatly appealing to me.
Due in part to the late hour of the night, and the infamously tedious star-show, the Planetarium was almost empty when I bought my ticket from the counter. I elected to try out the dehydrated ice cream, and the Torchic-noodle-soup-in-a-tube for my midnight snack. Even if humanity hadn't been above the earth's atmosphere for a millenia and a half, we still held onto our age-old fascination with interstellar travel, and we eagerly replicated as much of that bygone era's trappings as we could in this age's diminished grandeur.
Slurping lukewarm and congealed Torchic noodle soup from a toothpaste tube isn't exactly most people's idea of a sophisticated zero-gravity meal, but I was sampling a little piece of our species's proud history when I snapped off the tube's cap with my teeth, and sucked in the greasy contents.
But the dehydrated ice cream?
Why can't I buy this shit at a grocery store?
Why didn't my G.I. MREs have this tasty shit inside their brown plastic packages?
Dehydrated ice cream works, man.
It just fucking works.
Needless to say, I was completely alone when I sat down in the star-show theater. As per Planetarium policy regarding mon in the theater, Vauban was returned to her Pokeball, but I had Alexandria keeping tabs on my vitals to help me resist the sleep.
The show was every bit as exciting as it was cracked it up to be. Just a perfectly silent spherical room with a projector casting images captured by the low altitude Observatory against the domed ceiling. A sizable orrery was suspended from the center of the concave skyhead, and the motions of the orrery's planets and sun reflected the movements on the OMNIMAX backdrop, adding a further element of wonderment to the experience for me.
It was serene, which was exactly what this weary Ranger wanted. I put myself in the center row of seats, affording a choice angle of both the orrery and the OMNIMAX display. I must have sat there for the better part of an hour, just staring at Jupiter and Uranus; until Alexandria propositioned a series of questions for me, pertaining to my knowledge of humanity's aerospace explorations.
I actually indulged the little shit by taking his quiz, scoring a ninety-seven percent on a hundred-and-thirty odd subject multiple choice questionnaire.
I would have scored higher, but I kept mixing up the names of the space shuttles 'Challenger' and 'Columbia,' and then I totally botched one question pertaining to the nickname of the hypergolic UDMH fuel source that played a part in the Nedelin catastrophe.
So sue me.
I'm only human.
I was rather enjoying myself, arguing with Alexandria over whether or not Joseph Shea's inadequate safety procedures during the Apollo I mission's hasty test launch had been the sole cause of Apollo I's downfall, but then something happened.
It took me a moment to process the sensation.
At first I tried to ignore it.
Then I realized what it was.
And the revelation locked me up cold.
I couldn't believe it.
Was he fucking haunting me?
My concussion delayed my response, but I still reacted fast enough to find cover before he even entered the room.
Oh God, IT was him…
TH.
Strutting casually into the OMNIMAX theater with a large styrofoam cup in one hand, and a paper bucket of popcorn in the other.
He actually ate food?
Apparently... he did.
TH sat down a couple of rows further ahead of my hiding spot, munching on his popcorn and sipping from his soft drink.
He seemed completely oblivious to my sequestered presence.
He was totally silent, gazing up at the screen, his grey-rimmed shades placed upon the brim of his hat.
And I was sweating through his Ghosts' presence; all of their awful intentions made known to my biology in a complex series of symptoms, each attributed to a distinct bodily illness invoked by the malefic vices that all Ghosts harbor against mortal-kind.
I needed to leave. Now.
But if I moved, then TH and his Ghosts were sure to notice me.
If they hadn't noticed me already...
So in risking futility; I chose to crouch on the fringes of the theatre, hiding between a chair and a divider, just waiting for something terrible to happen.
I didn't have to wait long.
"You can come out of the shadows now. You should know better than to utilize such mediums to stalk me." TH announced softly, and my heart stopped beating.
He knew where I was…
Then I heard the footsteps, and I realized that TH hadn't been speaking to me.
Three familiar figures made their way down the theater's center aisle, after first ensuring that the theatre's only door wasn't going to be opening any time soon.
"Theron Halcyon." The curt voice of Agent Stockholm greeted the Devil of Kalos, as Agent Matusik and Agent Denethor came to stand at either side of their Executive's person.
"Good evening, Agent Matthew Noel." TH stood up, and cordially acknowledged the ACE Agent with a humble bow.
Agent Stockholm stiffened.
I don't think that Agent Stockholm was expecting TH to know his real name.
"I don't believe that we've met before?" Agent Stockholm asked TH.
TH just smiled at him.
God, that smirk was hideous…
"So to what indulgences of mine do I attribute this unexpected visit from ACE?" TH simpered, but one look at his smirk betrayed his illusion of ignorance.
TH knew why ACE was hounding him, and everybody in the room realized it.
"We have some questions for you, Agent Halcyon. Mostly pertaining to your recent security breach at the Pewter City gym." Agent Stockholm began.
Now I was frozen stiff.
TH was working for ACE?
"The Pewter City Gym? Oh yes. Of course. I'm sure that the Director is quite… upset with my rather crass public performance in Pewter." TH sounded apologetic, but that smile twisted his vocal sentiments with its mocking insinuations.
"Why did you announce your presence in Kanto, Agent Halcyon? Were you not the one who originally requested anonymity for your asylum?" Agent Stockholm asked. TH just shrugged.
"I did request anonymity. How else was I to enter your borders peacefully? The late Adamus Oscarin III proved rather… difficult to convince of my humble intentions." TH was still using that courteous voice, yet every discreetly sinister mannerism of his detracted from his sincerity.
"So you are aware of what happened to Adamus Oscarin III? That information hasn't even been made public yet." Agent Stockholm asked.
"Really, Agent? Just who do you think you're talking to? I saw the manner of Adamus Oscarin's death the moment I laid eyes on him." TH sounded amused, and his words chilled the blood in my veins.
What did those fucked up eyes of his see?
I wasn't the only one terrified by TH's disturbing implications.
All three ACE Agents shifted uncomfortably.
"So what exactly are you trying to do, Agent Halcyon? Not one Analyst in ACE believes for a second that you entered the Indigo League for recreational purposes. Are you attempting to undermine ACE's credibility worldwide?" Agent Stockholm asked.
"Oh, ACE doesn't require my assistance in that regard. Your agency has done a phenomenal detail of degrading their own credibility in the international scene. Speaking of such matters, how fares Allan Arturia?" TH's voice sacrificed the cordial air, and assumed one far more cynical and demeaning.
"So you expected King Arturia's political reaction to your presence in Kanto?" Agent Stockholm asked, his voice growing cold.
"Well… When you know Allan Arturia as well as I do… His behaviors become rather… predictable." TH chuckled.
"Just what are you trying to accomplish, Halcyon?" Agent Stockholm was losing his cool. TH was getting under his skin, and just from observing the interaction…
...TH made unnerving ACE Agents look like child's play.
TH didn't answer Agent Stockholm. Instead, the Devil of Kalos turned his back to ACE, and sat down in his chair.
"Are you going to cooperate with ACE, as you originally agreed to?" Agent Stockholm asked.
TH said nothing.
"ACE will uphold our end of the bargain. Your patience is all that we ask for. We guarantee that you will have the appropriate resources and support for your return to-"
"-Thanatos." TH whispered, waving his arm above him a lazy gesture.
The orrery sputtered and hissed as the sun at its core ignited with a grey flame.
Cold, sterile, grey light filled the room; killing all the electronics in the theatre as a Distortion rift opened, and one of TH's Ghosts made its presence known.
That wasn't a model of the sun sitting in the center of the orrery.
It was a Goddamn Chandelure, pouring its unhallowed light over the entire theatre.
The fucking soul-burner's light was bad enough, but the shadows it cast were even worse.
The shadows of the entire room crawled with something vile from the other side.
I hate Chandelures above all other Ghosts just for that one fucked up trait.
The shadows come to life in the light of a soul-burner.
That Chandelure's cracked opera lantern was pieced together in a stained glass relief of a angel's tranquil face, but the gemmed seraph's gaze glowed the with Chandelure's own yellowed and bloodshot eyes. The pupils and irises were absent in those ghostly orbs. A Chandelure sees the world around them with their cursed light, not with their eyes.
The Chandelure's extremities flickered as tongues of grey flame ignited along the rows of candle wicks that ran parallel down the six coiling tarnished silver arms of an ivy-fashioned candelabra. Six curtains of red and white glass beads were draped in descending chains between all six arms, linking the blackened and leaved limbs together in a glass loom; altering the flow of grey light through the jewels' prismatic gleaming. The Chandelure's vacant eyes focused on this alien world, before the beaded crystal veils softly clinked together in a minor dissonance when the Chandelure turned to face its mortal lord.
"Tell your Director that I must contemplate the proposed time frame of his generous offer; and if your Director desires any future audiences with my person, then he can kennel his dogs and approach The Black King himself." TH murmured, placing emphasis on the words, The Black King.
It was a message.
A message for ACE.
"How much do you know about Operation: Wounded Hearts?!" Agent Stockholm hissed.
TH snapped his fingers.
And the whole room went cold.
Five shadows rose from the slithering spaces in between the Chandelure's light to answer TH's summons, while that haunted beacon in the orrery faded away, until only the glow of its grey soulfire remain amongst the celestial bodies.
Five opaque shadows arranged themselves around TH.
Five human shadows standing guard over their King.
One was a headless man, holding himself against a bodily seizure, while a muffled laughter sounded from something cradled in the cross of his arms.
One was a man viscerally pierced through the left breast, a gaping wound that separated the bones and tissues of his ribcage from sternum to spine; his darkened form rattling with every wheezing breath.
One was a stooped old woman, whose unstable limbs, rickety figure, and phlegmy cough inspired a dread of some crippling illness greater than mere age.
One was a choking man whose head and arms were cast back, his long hair swelling and falling in an unseen ether; all the while his body was slowly drifting in the air, possessing an animation similar to that of a drowned corpse.
And the final one was the silhouette of a man shaking with an unheard scream, while a wavering heat mirage burned away at his bound body.
"I'd advise you to return to your Director with my missive, Agents… Or I'll have your silence serve as my herald to ACE instead." TH spoke in that courteous voice again, belying the warning that he had provided the ACE Agents with.
Not one of the ACE Agents were sticking around.
They broke and ran for the sealed door, fleeing TH and his Five Knights.
I wish that I could have followed them.
But my legs and mind were numb.
I couldn't move.
I could barely think.
I could only stare in horror at the Five Shadows and their King.
Did those shadows belong to TH's Ghosts?
"We are alone now. Finally…" TH muttered in exasperation. Sinking into his chair, TH relocated his grey-rimmed shades from the brim of his hat, and mercifully placed them over his cursed eyes. Taking a leisurely draw from his beverage, and sampling a fist full of popcorn, The Devil of Kalos eased back into his late night pastime.
"...You can come out now, Ranger. As I have previously stated, we are alone."
Every Ghost's shadow turned to my hiding spot.
Oh fuck me…
TH waved his hand, and the shadows of his wraiths faded away.
Except for two.
The Chandelure returned to its post at the center of the orrery.
And the hulking black shroud, sword, and shield of Pariah rose from the Distortion to swaddle the heart-cored Ghost.
"It's funny how we keep running into one another… It almost feels as if our repetitive convocations were... Fated." TH chuckled to himself, before setting his beverage aside.
"Ranger, please. There is no further use in hiding. The ACE Agents have left this little town of Lune altogether. You need not fear discovery."
Yeah. Hiding wasn't doing me any good.
And I couldn't abide running now.
That wicked voice was issuing a challenge.
A smug challenge.
And I would answer that challenge.
I straightened up, and adjusted my beret.
Then I marched right up to TH's row of seats, and I pointedly ignored the giant Ghost with the sword when I stood face to face with the Eidolon King.
"You do know that there's a penalty fine for releasing your mon in the theatre, right TH?" I growled, jerking my head over towards Pariah.
TH silently laughed into his fist full of popcorn.
"Have you forgotten my Waiver of Immunity, Mister Bastard?" TH chuckled.
I rolled my jaw in response.
"Please, have a seat." TH motioned to the chair next to him.
There's no fucking way in hell...
I sucked in a deep breath through my nostrils-
...Steeling myself accordingly-
-And then I sat down next to the Devil of Kalos, and helped myself to his popcorn.
TH watched me stuff my face with his junk food, an amused look crossing his visage.
"The popcorn is rather vile, isn't it?"
I swallowed the stale mass of salt and butter, almost choking on it when the starchy shit passed down my cold, dry throat.
"I've eaten worse." I grunted.
TH chuckled, and relaxed into his chair.
"So Thanatos, huh?" I glared up at the Chandelure in the orrery.
"My beloved soul-burner, yes." TH murmured, following my gaze.
"He makes for a crummy cinema. But then as I recall, not many were fond of the Grecian God of Death." I grumbled.
"A fellow scholar of mythology? Interesting. I picked his name, actually. I'm rather partial to it." TH chuckled beside me.
"Well, you have shitty taste then. Who names their mon after the fictitious deities of ancient cultures?" I growled.
"A hopelessly romantic antiquarian. But tell me, Ranger... Who names their Pokemon after a lost era's conquerors and men of science?" TH retorted in that polite cadence of his.
"Smart, handsome, well endowed, and fucking serious motherfuckers." I replied.
TH actually leaned over his lap for want of breath when he laughed.
He seemed to think that I was funny.
The creepy fuck.
"Dear me, you people of Kanto… When will you ever learn decency?" TH cackled.
"Coming from you? That's fucking rich." I growled.
TH stopped laughing abruptly.
TH straightened out so suddenly, that I was forced to consider the possibility of his Ghosts disabling my temporal awareness.
"And just what do you know about me, Zane Bastard?" TH asked, curious.
That you're a freak-
"...More than I want to know." I answered.
A smile formed on TH's lips. But this wasn't the malicious smirk of The Devil of Kalos.
This was something else…
This was something personal…
"Fair enough." TH murmured, settling back against his chair.
I was silent.
TH's sudden shift in mannerisms had given me something to ponder.
Or they would have...
But sitting there next to him, my mind wasn't exactly functioning according to rational procedure.
Escape.
-The door, only ten meters behind me.
Escape.
-The grey eyed freak, sitting to my immediate right.
Escape.
-The big ass Ghost with the big ass sword at my left, watching my every movement, standing one meter away from my person.
Escape…
"This is an awful cinema, is it not?" TH violated the brooding silence, giving me a cause to jump. Waving his arm in a welcoming gesture to his soul-burner, TH banished his aptly named Chandelure from the confines of the orrery.
-Before the roar of soulfire sounded above us, and Thanatos reappeared overhead to cast his pale light across me and the Eidolon King.
I glared at TH. Thanatos's new angle offered us an even greater swath of the writhing shadows.
You fucking dick...
"I wanted to congratulate you on your victory against Gymnase Meister Brock." TH whispered, his Kalosian accent even more apparent with the foreign elocution of Gym Leader.
"I must say, it has been quite a long while since I've witnessed such a devious stratagem deployed in a Gym challenge. Or spectated a conflict so entertaining…" TH chuckled.
I swallowed.
"Thanks. Coming from the man who almost killed me with his Gym challenge, that means a lot." I gave TH my own smirk.
Hint:
Fuck you.
TH cleared his throat with a smile.
"I'm terribly sorry for that little altercation. It was not my revenant's finest day. Usually, mine Typhon is such a passionate wraith in his artistry. Honestly, I'm almost embarrassed for his halfhearted performance in that battle..." TH smirked right back at the Fucking Bastard, handing me his own demented version of 'fuck you.'
"You are one messed up son of a bitch, TH." I said it slowly in deadpan, wondering what his response to my accusation would be.
I was ready for anything.
-Just not for what happened next.
The fucker reached across my uniform and grabbed the medal dangling from my left breast.
"The Crossed Arms? How quaint. Whatever went through your head when you deigned it necessary to forfeit your own life for your fellow man?" TH asked me in that polite tone.
I shoved his hand off my decoration, and glared at the Eidolon King for his impertinence.
"Something that would never cross your Godforsaken mind." I growled.
TH snorted.
"How little you know about me… Quite the pity for your decorum, such a merit was bestowed upon one so unworthy of its credence. If you had only discovered such respect for another's life sooner… Your Echo might still walk amongst the living…"
-What?!
No…
You didn't-
How did you-
"F-fuck you-" I was panting when I spoke those words. My whole person was shaking with the rage and the grief.
Pariah's red eye lit up in the cavity of his heart, and a maddened pupil fell on me; that red glare was radiating with the Ghost's rabid hatred.
I didn't give a shit.
"Y-you… would fucking dare…" The tears were boiling in my eyes when my voice broke.
My hand connected with the hilt of Doug's knife.
This little fucker had crossed the line-
Nobody makes shit of my Echo…
Not in front of me.
Not fucking ever.
I never got Doug's knife free of the sheath.
I couldn't move fast enough to keep up with TH's Ghosts.
Pariah hefted his sword above the shroud, and that massive blade fell towards me with an impossibly swift downwards stroke.
"PARIAH!"
The blade halted less than half a meter from my brow.
I was frozen stiff, staring up at that ruined edge, hand still grasping the leather-bound grip of Doug's Knife.
TH was furious.
And so was his sword-wielding Ghost.
"You are dismissed, Pariah." TH spat through clenched teeth, his voice becoming fucking weird with the howls and the screams again.
Pariah didn't move.
"I. Gave. You. An order. Now go." TH's voice was no longer human. A multitude of different livid octaves hissed from the same mouth. Nothing on earth could utter that hideous intonation with a living breath.
Nothing, save for The Eidolon King.
Pariah checked his stroke, and lifted his blade back into a resting position.
And then TH's huge fucking Ghost swung his sword so damn fast that I couldn't even process Pariah's actions until after he had stormed off into a Distortion rift.
Then the sword-torn Distortion rift sealed, leaving only Thanatos and I as the lonely subjects in TH's court.
"I must apologize for my prior statement, Ranger." TH whispered, his raspy voice returning to what passed as normal.
I turned to him, the fear, anger, and grief still very much inscribed on my face.
"That was quite low of me. Inexcusably low of me." TH murmured, a new emotion inflected in his voice.
He actually sounded…
...Sincere?
"I will take my leave. I wish that I could offer some parting condolences, but I have little want to trouble you any more than I already have. Good evening to you, Mister Bastard." TH stood up and made to leave, while Thanatos faded away into the Distortion, as the the Eidolon King marched straight past me.
TH paused right before he made the aisle.
"However..." The Devil of Kalos pivoted on a heel to face me.
"-I think that I shall offer you my pleasantries instead." TH extended his hand to me in a gesture that I had absolutely no want to mimic.
But I couldn't ignore the challenge that danced in those shade hidden eyes.
I rose from my seat, and took TH's frigid palm in a firm handshake.
"Though a foreigner I may be, I still feel statutorily obligated to serve as a representative of our illustrious brotherhood's highest echelon. So at the conclusion of this conclave, as the Reigning Kalos League Champion; I, Theron Vergil Halcyon, both officially recognise and heartily embrace your kindred spirit into our venerated fold. Welcome to the Indigo League, Ranger Zane Bastard…" TH whispered, that wicked smirk crawling up the left side of his face.
Then TH released my hand, and disappeared off into the shadows of the silent theatre.
He didn't use the door to leave.
Theron didn't like opening doors for himself.
TH's Ghosts bore him away on a Distortion rift, sparing me of both his and their cursed presence.
And at last, I was free.
I was free of TH.
Free of his Ghosts.
Free of my charades.
Free to collapse on a theatre chair.
Free to curl in on myself.
Free to break down and weep in secrecy for the ghosts of my lost Echo...
...
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
...
Distortion Scream: An event that occurs whenever the Distortion breaches the material plane. Due to the temporal/mass fluctuations generated by a Distortion rift, a peculiar set of acoustic notes are perceived by any audio receptive organisms beyond the Distortion rift's event horizon. Accompanying this acoustic "scream" is a sudden influx of null-matter and dead-time. These overlapping interdimensional mediums effect any and all material/organisms that operate through sequential reactions. Though the Distortion scream is rarely harmful on the anatomical level, the psychological aftereffects of temporal/mass displacement can lead to a variety of abnormal and often self-destructive behaviors. In the rare recorded cases where physiological damage was sustained from exposure to a Distortion scream, subjects developed curious abrasions on the extremities of their bodies. These abrasions held certain taxonomic similarities to human bite signatures and human fingernail scratches.
Halcyon Thelemalibri: The Halcyon Thelemalibri is regarded as one of the most extensive eidolon-veneration texts written in the modern world. Containing vast quantities of information pertaining to the nature of the spirits, the Halcyon Thelemalibri is essentially a collection of scientific notes and poetic expositions that have been developed, collected, and elaborated on by the Kalosian Noble House Halcyon. The original documents pre-date the post-Brink Dark Age, implying that the Halcyon Family has been experimenting on the Ghosts well before the first recorded Channeling ritual was performed. The contents of the Halcyon Thelemalibri have been adopted and adapted by almost every other eidolon-veneration cult that formed in the post-Brink era, diffusing the Halcyon Family's spiritual knowledge throughout all of the provincial regions.
Lima-Three: Military lingo for "Legendary Tier Three." The Lima-Threes have been absent from the earth's ecosystem for the past fourteen-thousand years. The Lima-Threes were the most aggressive proponents of the Terra Divide, effectively reshaping the continental structure of the earth for all time to come. Though many nations revile the Lima-Threes for the destruction of the natural world, certain subcultures revere these impossible monsters as deities. The most popular example of such pagan-veneration societies is none other than the Theocratic nation of Sinnoh. Though the Lima-Threes have all but disappeared from the present-day earth, the lesser Lima-Twos and Lima-Ones remain active within mankind's sphere of existence. Throughout the post-Brink, these lesser "Gods" have repeatably brought destruction to both the environment and human society; though thankfully, nowhere near the same scale of the planet altering Lima-Threes.
...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Happy Halloween?
