He lost count.

Count of rooms. Count of stairs. The numbers didn't matter. They fled his mind at the first cries, the second glimpse of flesh and stone becoming one.

It wasn't a secret among the survivors as to the fate of any captured people or pokemon, but... Owen didn't want to think of it. He couldn't form any kind of strategic evalutation of how these poor beasts were treated. It beggared the mind. His skin prickled with unease and disbelief at the closed door with its miniature window, the first of sheet metal corridors. He was not a man to cast feeling on others, but.

But he hated them. He wanted to hurt them.

A wild screech sent tremors through his heart. Owen gasped and looked down, away, anywhere. He wanted to run. Coeur. He'd left his best friend alone. In this - place.

But this was the first time Owen had seen it for himself. And who knew? Observation could be useful, if he ever got back to base, mind intact. And so the man edged himself up, curling fingertips into the windowsill, taking his time and cursing under his breath. He peered into the room.

A long, cream tail thrashed up, down. A green coated fellow paced around the debased cat, scribbling on a clipboard - no, a datapad. The screen's glow lit the hospital mask and the dark hollows of her eyes. He could see the bend of her outfit now, close to the waist but still less revealing than expected.

Owen took in everything he could. And then he dropped. Legs numb, unfeeling, his stomach felt like cold, scrambled eggs.

But through the thick door, and the floor that continued from hallway. Footsteps. Clicking, the heels of hard shoes, purposeful and heading straight for him.

His arms were working. Owen pulled himself up, clinging to the doorframe.

But his legs still did not. Tasting the rising panic, acidic on his tongue, Owen tried to take a step. A pitiful, rasping mew from behind the window, and he couldn't hold on anymore. He let go and slumped. Made a token effort to pull himself out of the doorway. Slid a few inches on polished floor.

Owen could feel it. This was the moment, the one every refugee knew may come one day.

But he wouldn't go without a fight. His knuckles showed yellow and pale beneath the skin of his fists. This would be a deed for all, for everyone who'd ever suffered at the hands of Flare. A small, but deliberate blow.

He wanted this woman to come out. Owen twisted his neck as far as it would go, fixing the space he imagined would appear when the door opened.

He listened.

The footsteps stopped.

A light scuff on the ground. Cool air flowed from beneath the metal, a gap for ventilation - and, he imagined, out of incompetence. Why, if he just had a gastly -

"YyyyOOOOoooowlll!"

The shriek rose the hairs on the back of his neck. Owen's legs turned to jelly.

An annoyed sigh. Grit grinding underheel; footsteps. Away from the door. His heart thudded. Staring down, unable to blink.

"Will you last much longer?"

A loud hiss met the feminine voice, along with a sharp scraping sound. Owen paused, put his face to the door and peered under it. Cool, dry air blasted his eye, but he blinked furiously to overcome it. His heart thudded again, but this time, with a will.

It was a persian. An angled face, black nose and thick whiskers sprouting from the muzzle. The tail he'd seen was dragging on the floor. Its curled end was dark grey. Stone.

Intelligent red eyes met his, so quickly, as if it had been waiting for him. Owen knew every method, every trick to gain a pokemon's trust from the moment of their birth to the often savage ends of their wild cousins' lives. But this one?

It initiated. It blinked, slowly. He blinked back. And then it arched its neck, stared up and out of sight - perhaps at the woman, whose black shoes stood in that direction - and snarled.

Red crackles of light fizzled in and out of its fur. The gem imbedded in the cat's forehead seemed to glint with a strange power.

The persian bared its fangs, tongue curling in to protect the vulnerable throat.

But as it released the power - as the scientist woman staggered awkwardly back - the cry died. Stone grew up with astonishing speed, freezing it dead. Still. A fantastic statue of the pokemon stood in a fearsome pose, eyes fixed somewhere down and to its left.

The residual power disippated as if it was nothing. And the Flare agent held a datapad loosely against her leg, other hand on hip.

Owen didn't wait to hear the crowing over another dead innocent.

His feet finally obeyed the fear jumping in his chest like a thunder wave, and the breeder was off, leaping one foot at a time with extreme care to land soft.

It was harrowing, and in the contained atmosphere of the buried base sweat crawled out undercollar to make his skin itch. Owen didn't pause to scratch, but from time to time did try and mop the salty fluids from his face. The sleeve of his garment was waterproof. He didn't miss the absurdity of the situation, but the memory of that cold, chiseled face, frozen in fear and fury forever killed his wish to lighten the mood.

There were more crimes against nature, further grotesqueities, but Owen hardened his heart against them. There was a purpose for his visit here. A way to save some, to redeem a little of the human spirit involved in this madness.

And eventually, Owen found his chance.

-stonetostone-

The impassive yellow faces shone flat and dull in the unnatural lighting. Covered with fingerprints and a few strands of blond hair, he could nevertheless see himself, rounded and strange. The pale, thinned lips, wide eye whites and blurry outline seemed obvious to him. The man staring through and into him moved something around in his mouth.

A third fellow was holding up Slate's arm, running a small device uncomfortably close to skin. He didn't seem to notice the smell rising from between the folds of the scarf tied around his shoulders.

They continued to say nothing, unless there was a mind-reader somewhere to bridge the gap and make their new captive nervous.

It was cold. He didn't mind.

-stonetostone-

He didn't believe in a higher power. Never went to church. Felt convicted in his lack of belief when the world ended.

Yet his ears popped and he could have sworn to hear choirs of angels in the dark of the place he was looking for.

Owen couldn't breathe. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he swallowed, crouching behind a bookshelf. Heat hammered in between the pops and he rubbed his chest.

This was it. A new chance. He didn't dare hope, but some force of joy and adrenalin gripped him tight until he squealed. Just a little bit.

The breeder glanced around the shelf and blinked in the low light. Unless he'd breathed in something that messed with the mind, all of them were there. Numbers uncounted. Shining, gleaming metal balls, a variety of coloured hemispheres. A drop of moisture tickled the hairs on his chin. Owen rubbed the itch away and closed his mouth. A blankness took the points of his face.

This was it.

Any kind of technology, eyes and hands, might rest in this place. His first slow step deeper in made no sound on the carpet. No stone or steel, nor wood. Owen wondered if this was deliberate, but the waiting pokeballs pulled him forth, eyes shining in the dim fluroescence of a light outside the door.

They sat behind a film of glass. Some didn't shine at all. Owen flinched. His eyes skated away from the grey grain of a heavy stone and squinted at the case. A display stand? His breath caught.

Brains as scrambled as his finger movements, he scrabbled for the lock. It was small. A latch, meant for show, ridged in the shape of a pyroar's face. He dug a nail under it.

Pulled. It clicked.

The case swung open.

He couldn't. Bare to touch them. A palm skittered over the smooth surface of a - what was it - a moon ball. Strange to see in Kalos, but he knew of suppliers who created perfect facsimiles, so perhaps that was it. Those thoughts disappeared in a rising burst of joy as he held it in two hands, smiling at the perfectly painted crescent moon.

"I'm going to get you out," Owen said as matter-of-factly as he could. His throat clenched. There it was. Warmth, a mild buzz in the steel.

Like a pokenav, you could always tell when it was still alive.

Twelve pokeballs to a case. Two or three - stones - in each batch. There must have been a hundred cases, all lined with red velvet. Some had to be smashed open. He apologised in hushed breaths to the little ones who fell as he broke their chains and smashed the thin wooden legs.

Noise didn't matter. Nothing mattered but for clasping each one to his chest, whispering praise and condolences to them.

Thirty were cold. He gathered those, too.

Soon five cases piled high in minimized balls, and Owen stared at them. His legs held steady. The second-to-last stage of the plan held true now. Now, it was time to turn the fangs of justice against the - the foul criminals, those murderers!

Without a further thought, his hand lashed out. Caught the first ball on the pile. The whitewash glowed eerily in his grip and Owen looked down at it, his face caught in the rictus of a smile.

"It's your time." Your chance.

It flew up, maximised, and split open. The bright flash threw black and blue spots in his vision and the impact of something made the floor tremble.

Heavy breathing blew hot air over his face. Owen gave his head a vigorous shake and blinked hard. A big, round object made his eyes cross, only inches from his nose.

"Rrrrraaaagghhhr..."

White eyes stared through him. Faint tinges of red streaked across them. Bloodshot. Owen stepped back, tread muffled. It didn't react.

Huge. Bipedal, small arms, a round blue domed skull surrounded by wide spikes. It had fearsome fangs protruding from a closed mouth. It waved its head with casual strength, nostrils flickering in the depth of its chesty breaths.

Owen knew what it was. His heart leapt like a wingull.

"Rampardos..."

The wide head stopped. It didn't turn to look at him, but Owen knew it was listening. A strange tilt of the flat-topped head drew his gaze but the breeder forced himself to look at those unnerving white eyes. "I'm Owen. I'm a Breeder. A friend."

Silence. It wasn't making those loud, huffy sounds anymore.

"You're in a secret base, with other captives, and probably left to die." His tongue felt strange and he was talking too loudly, but it rushed out and he couldn't stop. "I'm with the resistance. The only hope for you, for your kind, and I'm here to rescue you. I'm letting you-"

It rushed forward. His chin snapped back. Owen almost yelped but the fear, thankfully, silenced him.

Its blank face shoved into him. He couldn't feel any muscle in the towering rampardos, but it was a rock type, and he knew how hard the skin of those beasts could be. A deep rumble from within the living fossil had his heart skip a beat, the flutter of skin as nothing against stony hide. "Please, please ram- pardos," Owen gasped. The sharp point of what he guessed to be a knee spike easily pierced his waterproof jacket and drew a line through the skin of his chest.

Its jaws opened. He saw the round mouth, the small, sharp fangs rimming the hungry throat and those two huge chompers angled to crush his skull -

He couldn't move. Couldn't - breathe. It pressed closer. A terrified scream in his head, squeezing his eyes shut against a bright flash, something warm and thick collecting in the back of his throat -

Red. Softer. Owen stared.

Gone.

An impact.

Owen sat on the carpet. His back pressed into the wall that the pokemon had tried to - to crush him against. As if he was a twig. Like he deserved it.

Something touched his knee. He jumped. It retreated, but he could still feel it. Somehow.

"Spoii."

Soothing. His heart jumped again, as it had been for the past hour and a half. Mid-leap it settled. A cool, warm hand drew it to still and to beat like the living thing it should be. Owen gasped. It felt so good. His heart. His Coeur.

"Coeur."

"Spoin."