Twin2, reading you all loud and clear! I am glad to be back! I just spent a week on the Tablelands and it was freezing. I couldn't breathe properly because it was in the mountains and there. Was. No. Internet. That's why the last update was late: I meant to put it up before I left, but forgot. Not to mention I was stuck with bitchy classmates and had a mental meltdown over my camera, which I lost for about half a day before finding it again.
Phew. This was up later than it should have been, as I had another week of school camp to deal with. A different camp. I hate my teachers. But at least I couldn't see my breath condensing every morning… because before the Tablelands venture I'd only had that happen to me twice.
I live in a hot climate. I do not like cold.
You can thank my sister for getting this up so quick – I actually got writer's block less than 150 words in. She solved that problem… so a big thankyou to Twin1's stubborn, head-on way of looking at things to make me get a move on and stop trying to be so goddamned subtle.
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Ten: Told You
3rd June, summer
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BOOM.
Wing grinned and Rowan rolled his eyes. "Always with the explosives," he muttered placidly. "Firefly."
Wing stuck out her tongue, the eleven-year-old Trainer rising to the surface again, and recited: "There is no problem that cannot be fixed with a suitable application of explosives."
He shook his head and kept running. Occasionally, Wing would help him with Skyler missions, insisting that she owed whatever Team they were trying to squash at the time a blow or two. But somehow, in between every time, Rowan managed to forget exactly how much the young Master knew about bombs.
They were sprinting down a corridor, one of possibly thousands in the underground base. Wing's staff flashed as she whipped it forwards and bounced ahead to keep her balance and speed at the same time. The Master had found a store of ammunition and within seconds had created a small bomb. With a timer. So, true to her usual explosive form, she decided to set it off in the nearest office to create a distraction.
So now they were running along, hoping no one was following, and wondering how the hell they were supposed to find Brendan. Although Wing was also wondering if there was a section of the base to deal with plant life…
"D'you know where they keep the gardening stuff?" she asked her companion idly.
"What the hell?" he asked flatly, taking a corner at a skid and dragging her around it. "Why in the name of Mew herself would you want a garden trowel at a time like this?" They clattered down a set of stairs, Wing bouncing down them four at a time and using her staff to get more air time. Rowan noted she was careful never to land on her bad leg.
When they landed at the bottom the Master began to move swiftly down another passage, sighing condescendingly. "Dearest Rowan, have you ever heard of fertilizer?"
"Yes." He looked faintly annoyed as they took another random turn. Sparks squeaked: she was starting to lose her grip on Wing's bobbing shoulder. "What does that have to do with it?"
Wing lost her patience. With Rowan, with herself, with "These Mew-blasted doors!" and smashed a thin metal one off its hinges with a powerful kick. As she stormed through the door, she barked over her shoulder, "Rowan, fertilizer contains ammonium nitrate. Ammonium nitrate is extremely… reactive, let's say." Her eyes glinted wickedly, and Rowan could only sigh.
"Only you," he muttered.
Pretending to take offence, the Master slammed one shoulder - the one Sparks was not sitting on – into a large, heavy door, and was very surprised when the door broke under her strength instead of her entire arm. She wasn't nearly as surprised as the officers they'd interrupted, though.
"What the f-" one began, before Wing's spinning kick put him out of commission.
The Master landed neatly, her eyes glinting. "What in the name of Celebi are you doing?" Rowan asked, deadpan.
"Improvising." The young Master then leaped out at another man and buried one fist in his stomach, the other rising in a swift uppercut that made his teeth snap painfully together. Winded, he dropped to the floor.
Rowan shrugged and kicked a young man who was coming up behind his Master friend in the chin. A punch to the side of the head and he was down for the count.
There weren't many of them, and three were already down. Wing's staff, temporarily forgotten, now swung through the air to smack someone painfully across the chest. The Master whipped it around, using her shoulder as a fulcrum, and whacked her opponent in the back of the head with the other end. He fell like a stone.
The two faced each other, grinning. "Well, that was a bit of excitement I didn't count on," Wing remarked brightly.
"Where'd you learn to kick like that?" Rowan asked, panting. "It's a requirement for us Skylers, but what about you?"
Wing shrugged airily. "I joined a dojo for a couple of months – not long at all. But after that experience, every dojo I visited, I practiced. Figured self-defence to be useful." She winced and shook her left hand slightly. "I still can't punch right, though."
Rowan shook his head in admiration. "You really try everything, don't you?"
Wing shrugged again, leaning on her staff. "Maybe. But not everything suits." Her eyes sparked.
Rowan wanted to ask, but a low groan from one of the five men they'd knocked out alerted them to the fact that he was coming to. He turned around and knelt next to him, ready to pin the man if he tried to make a break for it. "Who are you?" he asked clearly.
Groan.
"Who are you?" he repeated.
Groan.
Ooookay… He gave up on that question – it was fairly useless, anyway. "Where are you keeping the Trainer?"
Groan.
"You're really not getting anywhere, Rowan," said Wing idly.
"You could help!" he pointed out crossly.
Groan.
Wing groaned.
Rowan glared at her, then turned back to his captive and poked his chin. There was a bruise already coming up from where Wing had punched him. He was curled slightly from her stomach-punch, too. "You must hit really hard," he remarked absently.
Wing's sharp yell was his only answer, and the Skyler agent whipped around.
The Master was gripping her side with a vicious look on her face, scowling at the man she had first kicked. He was standing again, rubbing the side of his jaw. A red welt was rising where she had struck. Sparks's wings were starting to quiver, the feathers rising agitatedly as the muscles began to shake, begging to be set free, but Wing shook her head slightly, a bare movement, and the feathers flattened.
"Let's question this one," she said through gritted teeth. "He's awake and kicking."
Rowan nodded and left his current attempt lying on the floor, still groaning occasionally. He moved up to Wing's side, and glanced down, trying to see where she was injured, but she tossed her head at their target, shifting his attention. "Where are you keeping the Trainer?" Rowan asked clearly.
The man looked them over and laughed. "Now why would I tell two weaklings like you something like that?" he taunted.
Wing moved before Rowan could stop her, dropping her staff, and pinned the guy to the wall by his throat with one hand. The other still held her side, shielding whatever injury she'd gotten from view. "Because otherwise I won't let you breathe," she growled, her voice harsh.
He coughed, obviously trying to get loose, but Wing had her thumb on a pressure point in his neck. "Go ahead. Try it. I'd love to cause you pain."
Rowan had never had Wing along with interrogations: whenever possible, it was considered a good idea to leave the girls of the team (or in Wing's case, outside contacts) out of situations like this one. The leaders of the team considered the girls, while good fighters, to be too pitying for this sort of stuff.
And there she goes, proving us all wrong, again.
The man stayed frozen, glaring at her for several long, terse moments, before it became apparent Wing was tightening her grip. He finally yelled out, with what little breath he had left, "He's two doors down from here! On the left! They didn't want him to escape!"
But then again, Wing is far more ruthless than any of the girls. She knows what it is to hang between life and death, and she knows how to get what she wants out of her enemies.
"Thank you," said Wing graciously, and jabbed the pressure point hard. The man slid down the wall, bruised and unconscious, but alive. "Now was that so hard?" She turned, picked up her abandoned staff and started to walk out the door. Rowan followed her, thinking, Wing is completely unpredictable. You never quite know what she's going to do next.
As if reading his thoughts, Wing turned right.
Rowan sighed. "I don't even really want to know why, but somehow, I can't help asking: why the hell are you going that way?"
"The guard lied," she answered flatly. She paused in front of one of the doors and looked at it. "What do you think?"
Rowan looked at the door as well, but unlike Wing, he looked beyond. "He's in there," he declared.
Wing didn't even bother to ask how he knew that. "You'd better get it open, then." Anticipating his reaction (aren't you going to just break it down?), she said, "I might hurt him. You'll have to pick it."
Rowan, realising that her thinking was quite rational, rolled his eyes and pulled out a set of lockpicks from his pocket.
Seconds later the door was open. "Two tumblers," he complained. "You'd think they wanted us to break in!"
Wing nodded, suddenly looking slightly dizzy. "We better get out of here, fast," she muttered, ducking her head. The gold and white cloth on her head was starting to slip, letting wisps of black hair fall forward.
"Hey!" The shout got Rowan's attention off his friend for a minute, and he glanced into the cell. A boy of maybe fourteen was sitting on the only bench in the room, looking faintly annoyed. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with," he growled.
"I'm assuming you're Brendan," Rowan remarked, moving over to check the boy's chains.
"Yeah, that's the brat," Wing agreed, raising her head. Brendan scowled.
"Hey, aren't you that girl who was in that valley? Why aren't you still there?"
Wing snarled slightly, making Rowan wince from where he was fiddling with his lockpicks. "Two reasons. One, the valley got flooded. Two, we're busting you out. Be glad I owe Birch a favour." Her voice seemed to be fading. She's thinking, Rowan decided. On how to get out, I hope. The chains fell off Brendan's wrists and he rubbed them, looking amazed.
"Come on," Rowan ordered him. "We have to get you out of here, fast. Can you walk?"
The Trainer nodded, looking somewhat insulted. "But we have to find where my Pokémon are first. I can't leave them behind."
Rowan nodded in agreement. "Of course not. Wing, do you –" He cut himself off. "I hate her."
Wing had taken business into her own hands. Again.
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A girl with long black hair limped down the corridors, eyes flickering suspiciously from side to side. Her Pikachu-like Pokémon perched on her shoulder, sniffing elegantly. When they came to a fork, the human was pointed down the left path, and followed the Pokémon's instructions without hesitation.
Finally they came to the storeroom door. The Master turned the handle, breathing out in relief when she found it wasn't locked, and stepped inside.
Crates and crates of Pokéballs were stacked around her. Wing felt horror welling up inside her. They were all stolen – every layer was marked with a Trainer's name. Too many of them were even familiar names.
Shaking with anger, she strode down the aisles until she found Brendan's six Pokéballs. They were familiar – she knew they were his.
But then, as she turned around, she could hear the cries of Pokémon. Thousands. How many Pokémon were trapped in here, when they should be with their rightful masters? Their friends?
Wing clutched her head with one hand, trying to block out the sounds that only her mind heard. I swear I'm cursed. I can always hear the Pokémon. All of them, pain or anger, love or hate, free or caught, inside Pokéballs or running wild, I hear them calling. And it's giving me a headache.
Her Sparkachu patted her head consolingly, hugging her ear. Some people say I'm lucky. That I can understand my Pokémon better than anyone on the planet. Understand what really goes on. But it's a curse. Every time I can hear them but not help them, it's as if my heart is breaking.
Every cry she heard sapped her of just a little more strength, and Wing slowly sank to the floor, barely conscious. I can't help them… but I have to…
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Rowan raced along the corridor Wing had passed only a few moments beforehand. He was following her, tracking her signature. It was Rowan's own secret: the ability to track someone by their individual signature. Wing's… he knew hers so well. Having to track her down when they were both younger had imprinted her signature into his mind. She had stopped moving, finally, and he was catching up. Then it pulsed with pain. He knew she was more hurt than she'd let on back in the guardroom, but he'd let her keep her pride.
But when he slammed through the storeroom door, it was definitely a shock to find her sprawled on the floor.
"Wing!" he cried, kneeling beside her and supporting her back. Swiftly he checked her pulse: soft and unsteady. She was pale, too pale.
Brendan had noticed all of the Pokéballs and was turning red with anger. "Inventoried like shop stock," he hissed, stalking away, eyes flicking from left to right, looking desperately for his Pokémon.
Wing's eyes flickered open. She didn't know why, but Rowan's presence muffled the screams. "Po – Pokémon," she croaked. "Thousands. Escape." Her words barely made sense and her eyes flickered, changing colour. Brown deepened to black, paled to blue, swirled into purple, changed to red through orange, gold, green –
He tore his eyes away from the kaleidoscope to look at Sparks, who was tugging her Master's sleeve restlessly. Rowan knew that symptom: eyes changing colour meant Sparks was in pain, or in trouble, or something similar. But the Sparkachu was fine.
"It's not Sparks," she whispered. "It's… everyone." Her fingers twitched slightly, the tiny movement indicating the Pokéballs stacked around them. "They're all so sad."
Rowan's grip tightened slightly. "You hear them all?"
"All. Always." Her pulse was steadying, held in check by Rowan's presence. He always seemed so… safe. "Can Argyro Teleport them out? Once they're out of my hearing, I'll be okay."
Rowan didn't stop to question her but nodded and took out the Kirlia's Pokéball. "Argyro!" he called. The Kirlia formed and bowed elegantly, showing her respect for the two humans on the ground. "Can you Teleport all these Pokéballs out of here? Back to the Skyler Base?" The Kirlia nodded confidently. "Okay. Tell Cedar that these are stolen and they need to be returned."
Brendan came sprinting back towards them, shouting, "My Pokéballs are gone! They're not in their slots!"
"Shoot," Rowan hissed, suddenly remembering why they were here. "Argyro, wait." He laid Wing back down on the floor, not noticing her trying to get something out of her pocket. "We'll find them, don't worry, Brendan."
He moved away, and the absence of his presence nearly knocked Wing unconscious as the screams began to echo strongly once more. Suddenly her pocket was that much harder to deal with, and slowly, she took her hand away from her still-burning side to wrestle it open.
"Ro… Rowan…" she coughed. Her friend turned around, and saw her holding out six Pokéballs. Instantly he was back by her side, taking the six orbs from her trembling fingers and handing them to Brendan. As the Trainer relievedly clipped them back to his belt, the Skyler agent suddenly realised there was blood on Wing's hands.
"Argyro… go," she managed to whisper.
The Kirlia shouldn't have listened to the order of another Trainer, but it did. Every Pokéball in the storeroom glowed with blinding light, before vanishing along with the Psychic type. The movement, basically of the Pokémon disobeying Rowan's previous order, distracted him long enough for the Pokéballs to get out of Wing's hearing.
Wing inhaled sharply the second they disappeared, and her eye colour snapped back to its usual brown. She stood up quickly, hiding a blush at being so weak. "Sorry…" she muttered. "There were too many. I couldn't control the pain, it just knocked me over." I hate not being able to control this. I could get into this situation again, and if Rowan wasn't around, I'd be in serious trouble.
Rowan stepped back to give her some space. "Don't worry. I know the feeling." She shot him a curious look which he returned steadily.
"Not that this isn't cute or anything…" said Brendan boredly. Wing turned away as Rowan jumped and flushed. "I'd like to get out of here before we get caught again."
Wing nodded, hand moving to cover her side again. "Right."
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Riding Takara again, Wing waited, pulling her mount up in midair to hover. She looked back. Three… two… one…
BOOM.
She moved alongside the other two Trainers riding Toria. They stared at her in shock, glancing back towards the smouldering island.
Her face was expressionless. "I told you ammonium nitrate made a big bang." But it only took four seconds before her fourteen-year-old-against-the-world grin came back, and the Master swooped into the sky.
Waves roiled below them as the sea hissed angrily, lashing out at the island and carrying the debris far from the original explosion site. Smoke issued from various blazes and structures collapsed in mounds, once wood and steel, now so much scrap metal and charcoal.
Rowan couldn't hide his smile. "Firefly," he muttered, watching her dive towards the waves. Brendan watched them both and shook his head.
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Twin1: Right, my sister is being weird and acting too polite to say this, so it's left to me. Brace yourselves. If you do not review, I will do my very very very best to extract revenge. Consider reviewing payment for reading this story. Twin2 has got FIVE reviews for this totally cool story and that is NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!!
Twin2: This isn't your story. Why do you care?
Twin1: Two reasons. First; you're my sister, and I instinctively stand up for you. Secondly; I'm sick of you being all forlorn when no-one reviews. I want my gung-ho crazy psychopath pyromaniac back. REVEIW OR ELSE!!!