At the End of an Age

by Ysdraetor

Before Pokemon were friends and companions, they were beasts and monsters- the torment of mankind- and people of all nations rose to stand against them. Now, the barrier between the species finally wavers, and Red, Green, and Leaf must face all manners of threat in their mission to defend the Viridian area, but the blood and horrors of war will change them like they never imagined.

11. The Garden of Smoke and Omens

Chapter 10 - "The Garden of Smoke and Omens"

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"Hello, and good morning, beautiful Viridian City! I'm Stella Evans and this is VCLN. Exciting news, today- heroism in the streets of Viridian City; a local pokémon-owner is being commended for his, and his pokémon's, instinctive bravery. We take you now to Babiri Plaza, where our reporter, Chris Klein, is live and on-scene to tell you more. Chris?"

Riza was in one of the lounges of Poké Compound eating breakfast; it was mid-morning and she'd just awoken some thirty minutes prior. Her dark, auburn hair was still damp from her shower, and hung freely. She'd recently had it cut to fall no more than the length of her neck. She was wearing her sparring gear- an athletic shirt made to breathe and wick sweat, along with sweatpants that complimented her firm lower body, though she didn't pay much attention to that. A headband hung from around her neck, and she had sparring gloves on the table, waiting to finish eating before she put them on. Today was a training day, and the 56 people she'd been teaching martial arts would be arriving to the athletic field in another half-hour; the new instructor had time for a quick snack, before she would begin her warm-ups.

Typically, Riza ignored the politics and celebrity analyses which so often blared from the TV speakers. That morning, however, she turned her head, being inclined towards pokémon and their image. Continuing to eat her eggs and bagel, she focused on a large screen in the cozy room. Others turned to begin watching, as well, and excited murmurs came from those who'd already heard the story.

The perspective changed from the anchor in her studio to a field reporter surrounded by a crowd. Standing alongside the reporter was a man dressed like a street performer, and next to him was a Mr. Mime- a pokémon with an innate interest in miming, of all things, hence the name. The people cheered rambunctiously, and Riza recognized a few bystanders as the camera swept over them before settling on the reporter. It seemed this had immediately become an event for the activists, even though it was still early.

"Thank you, Stella, and good morning, Viridian City! Wow; I'm out here today with local citizen Liam Halweather, and his pokémon, which bravely thwarted a bold criminal act during a late performance from the two, last night. Now, Mr. Halweather- first of all, thank you, and your pokémon, for what you've done. I'd like to ask you to go ahead and tell us all about what happened?" Riza watched the reporter speak with an energy and charisma that could be expected, but when the performer leaned into the mike, he expertly matched that spirit with a velvety voice and mysterious eyes.

"Of course, Christopher, it would be my pleasure! You see, Mimos and I were delivering treasures. Cheers and laughter rung at every stage; we're true animals, and every heart is our cage. After detecting violent action, our senses honed, from years of practice," the man rhymed. He was speaking dramatically, moving his arms in theatrical ways, stepping to and fro in coordination with his pokémon. The mime either silently mimicked or complemented his every move. He continued smoothly:

"Bursting, then, from the masses- some thief, likely to attack us! Of course, we knew- the streets weren't always safe; danger lurks within many a bright place. But our dynamic motion and iron bond ensured that our show will go on! We quickly responded to the threat, together- Mimos worked magic to halt the meddler, and sent him crashing from an invisible wall! We agreed, it was quite the sight and quite the fall! My restless nerves then began to twitch- 'fraid I never could resist a dramatic finish. I twirled- I danced! I flipped and spun! Crime hasn't a chance when two act as one!" Liam executed an acrobatic maneuver of flips and twists to demonstrate both his ability and the way in which he 'finished' the criminal, adding all the more enthusiasm to his impressive monologue.

Around them, the whole crowd roared in admiration. The man and his Mr. Mime were both bowing and waving, openly relishing in the attention, as performers do. The reporter standing with them nodded in awe and let the cheering die-down before continuing.

"Wow- wow! Right?" He asked rhetorically, gesturing as he pandered to those around him. "Listen, I'm amazed at your skill, and it's clear that I'm not the only one! Now, 'Mimos'- that's the name of your pokémon, right? If I can, may I-" he dropped his sentence, outstretching his hand and looking to Liam, who responded graciously, and let Chris Klein approach the Mr. Mime. It shook hands with the reporter as naturally as any human would, beaming and giving a thumbs-up with its other hand. As the crowd absolutely exploded in the background, an even more awestruck then Chris shook hands with the equally vibrant Liam, and the reporter closed-out, turning the program back over to his news anchor, Stella, who commented more on the story.

In the lounge, Riza couldn't help but smile. It was certainly an endearing tale, and she was sure she'd hear more of it. Probably someone would try and arrange for Mr. Halweather to come and perform in the Compound, itself. Finishing her breakfast, she rose from her chair, and filled a paper cup with more coffee, ready to get on with the day.

Walking out into the courtyard, Riza thought about all the things that might need doing. Stopping for a moment, she saw the large statue that had recently been built. It was made of bronze, and had three small trees planted on each side of it, except the front, where a plaque was mounted. Around the trees, people had begun to plant exotic and vibrant flowers, as well. It had been a while since she looked it- it was easier to walk by and ignore the memories it brought. Being in a good mood, she decided to briefly examine it.

A heavy breath pushed from her, as Riza approached the monumental ivysaur- it was a spectacular memorial. The statue was expertly carved, and featured Ivy looking happily upwards. Riza remembered holding a picture to the statue once, and finding that even his spots were finely recreated. The placard on the base of the statue was ornately carved with vines and flowers. It read,

In Dear Memoriam

Ivy

Our Friend, Our Hope, Our Icon

Rest in Peace Among the Stars

Find Eternity in Every Loving Heart

The memorial was sweet, but for those that failed to defend Ivysaur, it was another punch in the gut. For the thousandth time, the Bravo tried to think of an explanation. Why hurt Ivysaur? Or- if Dr. Sigurd was correct- hurt her? He'd told Riza of the picture found in Ivy's body, and for weeks, she didn't know what to make of it. She eventually thought that her old master from Mahogany Town must have found her, and came to return her life to a living hell. For the first time since she'd escaped from Mahogany Town, she was afraid: afraid that she'd be kidnapped and tortured; afraid that her bloody past would come out and no one would want her around; afraid that someone else she cared about would be killed, and it would be her fault. Those terrible thoughts kept her awake at night with a furrow on her brow. But, Riza found, when the dust had settled and the mourning began, more people were there for her than she'd ever imagined cared. Lance, the Bravoes, and almost everyone at the Compound came to her with strength in their eyes and open arms. It overwhelmed her.

Riza thought that no one would want her around anymore, or worse- would fault her for Ivysaur's death. To be fair, there were those radicals who did, but most people saw her as a victim, which was a new feeling, but a welcome one. People brought gifts, took her to dinners, and spent more time with her than ever before, discovering that she was more than a strong-arming mercenary or a lucky vagrant. There were times when she felt weak- times when she was confused, frustrated, and wanted to quit, or run away. A rough past, though, taught Riza the value of hope. If even one person refused to give up, then there was still a chance at things getting better for everyone. As long as they would believe in her, she would believe in them. She still hadn't divulged most of her past. People knew she and the Bravoes traveled for two years through half of Johto to start a new life in Kanto, but she felt like that was enough. The rest of her past wasn't worth talking about.

It had been tragically discovered, just two days after losing and recovering Ivy, and while his life was still being maintained, that Dr. Mossley had died. He was found lying in his bed, fully dressed, with his body uninjured. He'd been positioned in a way akin to a corpse in a coffin, with his hands over his solar plexus, and being otherwise straightened-out. Lance was particularly upset when it was announced, and the mourning began for Dr. Mossley even before Ivysaur had passed. Riza did what she could to be there for him, although she wasn't very good at consoling anyone, at the time. The Bravoes, and many others, maintained that the two deaths were closely related. The timings were too near- the circumstances too suspicious. Some shadowy bastard hatched an elaborate scheme just to torture a pokémon, and a mentally healthy doctor was found dead via lethal injection in his own home.

Forensics indicated that the shot may have been self-administered, but no one believed that, especially with the unknown 'secretary' who was taking the doctor's calls that day. Someone was trying to violently destroy the pokémon activism cause. Wordlessly, and not for the first time, Riza vowed to do any and every thing in her power to stop the mastermind, and those she'd begun to train in martial arts showed the same conviction. Three months had passed since Dr. Mossley and Ivy were buried, and no one had been seriously targeted yet, but Riza intended to be ready when her enemy struck again.

20 paces away, sitting in front of the memorial, was a young blonde girl wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. She was looking up the bronze model, too.

"Morning, Gialla," Riza greeted, trying to lift her spirits. She noticed as she approached the girl that she seemed to have been lost in thought. She was a new addition to the cause, having shown-up just a few days ago. Riza had took it upon herself to start screening new and old members of the Compound, which had made its grounds more exclusive in the past months. Despite the blonde being new, however, Riza was sure she'd already heard about what happened to Ivysaur, and what the pokémon had meant to her, so she tried to approach with some dignity, not wanting pity.

"Good morning, Riza. It's a lovely day, isn't it?" Yellow asked, after noticing the woman who was now in front of her. It was summer, and Yellow had to blend in, so she wasn't wearing any of her pseudo-tactical clothing, but rather a pair of tan slacks, and a white collared blouse with a brown vest over top. Her sleeves were rolled-up to reveal a watch on her left wrist and a bracelet on her right. Combined with a her dark sunglasses, she looked quite stylish, but the look was reminiscent of one of her father's captains.

"Yeah, it is," The Bravo answered with a gentle smile, looking at Yellow's cigarette. In the old days of Riza's participation in back-room arenas, the stands would often billow with tobacco smoke, almost concealing the vipers watching as she beat some other slave to death or faced-off against a dangerous pokémon. The master liked to smoke, too- particularly when meting out his twisted version of 'discipline'; his perversion ensured she remembered who was the more powerful of the two, especially once she'd begun to garner a name for herself.

"Does it bother you?" Yellow asked, seeing Riza's look of disdain. She denied that it did, and so Yellow responded with a quiet nod, before saying, "He must have been quite the pokémon."

"He was my friend," Riza said plaintively. Her harden grey eyes moved back towards the statue. "He was our friend."

"...if it means anything, I'm sorry for you loss," Yellow said with a sigh. Riza thanked her for the sentiment, and asked if she'd ever lost anyone close.

"No, no one close- but then, I haven't had many people become close." Another drag of the cigarette was met with a warm smile.

"Well, you're going to be in Viridian for the next four years, at least, right? The people here... they can get a little rowdy or obnoxious, but they're the kindest, friendliest people I've ever met, and that's not saying anything about how talented and smart they are, too. I think if you stay around, you'll enjoy yourself here; they know how to make everyday an adventure."

"Ha, I appreciate that!" Yellow said with a genuine smile. It was true- she knew they were good people. Unfortunately, Yellow felt that was exactly why she didn't belong.

Riza put a hand on Yellow's shoulder as she departed, having matters of her to tend to, leaving Yellow alone with her thoughts. The clock was ticking on her investigation, and she was beginning to run out of questions, let alone answers. She reviewed the scenario again, looking for something to help her refocus- maybe see something she'd missed.

Three days ago, a truck owned by Rapidash Express Transport Company was hijacked during an evening delivery. The truck was carrying live pokémon, which was not unusual and wholly uninteresting to the common citizen. Pokémon were transported throughout the city all the time, and Rapidash Express was a trusted name in the industry. What's more was that there wasn't a lot to do with a stolen pokémon- they were hard to handle, hard to conceal, and hard to get rid of. Usually.

When the delivery truck was robbed, three Espeon and one Umbreon were the cargo. Incredibly valuable and hard to obtain, these pokémon could sell for tens of thousands of dollars, each. They were docile and good around humans, like most breeds of Eevee, but these were considered to be the most exotic. That they would be a target for thieves was no surprise- the surprise came more from to whom it happened. Rapidash Express was a subsidiary of Viatech Development Company, and that business was an affiliate of Saline Industries- a shell company ultimately managed by the Roquette crime syndicate. No one knew all that, though, except for a few privileged associates of the family. To put it plainly, stealing from the delivery business was stealing from Mr. Roquette, and while it wasn't advertised what businesses were and weren't under his control, most street lurkers knew where his territory was. 'Break his rules, and he'll break you,' as the saying went.

The words weren't just a scare tactic- there were hundreds, if not thousands, of thugs at the Roquettes' beck and call. Having the gumption to steal some of the most commercially valuable pokémon in the country was a big deal, and of course, he found out immediately. Then, he politely asked Yellow to recover the pokémon and to bring the brave culprits to him.

Again, this was three days ago. Yellow, having been 'grounded', so to speak, was not allowed to see her friends- Cloud, Rain, Thunder, and Sky, as their code-names were. It was her father's reaction to Yellow's less-than-appropriate words towards her step-mother. Furthermore, Yellow was not to leave Roquette Manor's premises; she had needlessly strict access to facilities, and under absolutely no circumstance was Kristen to have any knowledge of Yellow's presence.

The teenager took up residence in the attic, stayed under a two-man watch at all hours, and had to ask for permission to go to wherever she needed to go. Yellow was allowed into her father's study and the upstairs bathroom. Before she could go to either of those two rooms, the way would be checked, and Kristen's location confirmed. If the way was clear and there wasn't a prick standing guard, then she had exactly 10 minutes to be back in the attic. Her food and drink would be brought to her by a guard, and was always carry-out, junk food, and bottles of water. There was one guard who'd snuck a flask of whiskey in for her, which Yellow ended-up drinking after a few weeks of prison. She didn't like the taste, but it was still better than half the things she'd drank before, and it gave her a buzz. Every now and then, some guard would get forward and offer to make her stay in the manor 'more pleasant'. Unfortunately, the only one she might have let do so never asked; Yellow wasn't quite used to being around gentlemen- at least, not the kind who were physically just as dangerous as they were attractive. All the same, she'd only done it a few times, and none her partners adequately demonstrated what all the fuss was about.

After three months of her detainment, finally Mr. Roquette relented, and requested his daughter's presence in his office. Kristen was outside the manor, chatting with a friend on the patio, so the way was clear. Her father didn't worry about anyone else who worked in the manor seeing Yellow; no matter what Mrs. Roquette would do to the girl, Mr. Roquette would undoubtedly do worse to whoever spilled the beans. So the glances Yellow got as she walked to her father's office were full of dutiful caution- worry, fear. Times like that, Yellow hated her father the most; when she saw the way he bent everyone to his will. He turned their lives into extensions of his and the control he had gained over Viridian City was insurmountable. She doubted just being his daughter would net her the same ability, if and when he would abdicate from the throne.

She arrived to meet the man, tense and all the more jaded; a guard knocked to declare her presence. Then the door opened and she walked in.

Everything was the same as she'd remembered it from when she was last there, three months ago. A dark wooden desk and dark wooden shelves; a lamp that was off and exquisite furniture lining the brownish grey walls; her father, glaring like some raptor from its perch, ready to devour her in one way or another.

"Good morning," he greeted mirthlessly.

"Ah, is it morning?" Yellow snidely asked. She still had a hard time containing herself; as could be expected, her father wasn't in a joking mood.

"Indeed it is. Best you start keeping track." He then slid a rather thin folder across the desk to her.

"So now I'm your errand girl, again? You need me to steal someone else's pet?" The bitterness of her words was staunched by her instinctive opening of the folder. She didn't realize in time to avoid looking childish, and so pulled out the three sheets of paper with an attempt at a casual scowl. Mr. Roquette ignored her tone, proving she'd lost her touch.

"In fact, you will be reacquiring pokémon for me- four of them. One of my delivery vehicles was robbed. The job... seems amateur, but what they took must be reclaimed."

"Well, what do you know about that? I guess not everyone cowers at your name, after all. Maybe there's hope for this world yet." She flashed him a cheeky smile, after reading the first paper and noting the value of the pokémon stolen.

"You keep sweet-talking me, and I just might send you on another vacation, Yellow."

"Oh, maybe to the pantry, this time? Or, you know, I hear your pool house is lovely this time of year." The man didn't respond to that, though he did give an exasperated sigh.

Yellow continued to look over the meager details she'd been given, undaunted by the risk her own attitude posed to her freedom. The first page only listed the cargo and the driver assigned to the truck. 3 espeon, 1 umbreon- all of them in good health and tame. The driver's name was Thomas Lee Banks, and he was driving from Rapidash Express Warehouse B to 'Poképets Live Storage Facility' to turn over custody of the pokémon to them. The time of the delivery was 9PM, which Yellow found strange, though she supposed her father conducted much of his business at night, and away from curious eyes.

The second page was hand-written, and had a card clipped to the top- it was the driver's ID. He was a Kantonese, fair-skinned male, with black hair and blue eyes; 5 feet, 8 inches tall, had a medium-sized build, and was age 26. He was also now deceased, according to the details on the paper. There were notes about the truck and its contents, the body- how and where it was found- and a report on what the men who found the truck did to track the thieves. Unfortunately that section was woefully short.

Behind that was a third page- a simple outline listing similar incidents as a basis for the suggestion that someone was organizing an illegal pokémon vending racket within Viridian City. There were a total 14 separate, seemingly unrelated, cases noted; however, the past three, including the Rapidash robbery, were all pokémon belonging to affiliates of the Roquette organization in some way.

So... someone's trying to muscle-in on Roquette territory, and they're being pretty bold about it. Half of these are worthless, Yellow thought. Reports of a missing pet Pikachu; a break-in at a pet store resulting in two stolen butterfree and a goldeen; a strange 'accident' which caused a transport from Johto to misplace a Noctowl coming into the city... No way I can track something like that down. But, these last three...

Mr. Roquette seemed to read her mind, as he had before, and said, "First, the councilman's pet Ditto, then the Pokémon Center downtown, and now a delivery truck. My associates expect a certain level of security in exchange for their cooperation. You asked if you were my errand-girl, but I know you see the significance behind this. A lot of my money could be going in to someone else's pockets, and a lot of the understandings my people have could be going out the window. So I need these thefts to stop, and I need the thieves brought to me alive. That's a task deserving of a rising star in the organization."

"A 'rising star'? I only did one job," Yellow replied with confusion. "This seems more like a task for your underboss, or one of the more senior captains."

"That one job you did... was masterfully done. I believe in cultivating talent, so long as it serves me. What's more, my underboss is occupied, as well are most of my captains. I don't keep my most capable men simply waiting around."

"Right," Yellow said with sigh. She looked at her father sternly, again feeling like her glare was just a knock-off of his. "Look, I'll do it, but I want my team, and I don't want to be detained here again."

"You're dictating terms to me?" He admonished, his golden eyes never leaving hers. "If you could be trusted to maintain a sensible demeanor, I wouldn't have to detain you anywhere."

"She started berating me out of nowhere- I think I responded with the utmost sensibility."

"I know what happened, and I'm not interested in your imagined justifications. You undermined her in front of my men, and embarrassed the both of us in front of her friends. You're lucky all I did was lock you away."

"Wait, wait- I embarrassed her? Really?" The girl said with the dawning of a genuine smile. He father only glowered back silently, compelling her to control her countenance. On a whim, she asked plainly, "Why didn't you tell anyone about Harley?"

"That information," Mr. Roquette began, as he reached his hand under his desk, "goes beyond the scope of our relationship."

As he was still talking, one of the guards who was outside opened the door graciously. The boss told him to confirm Kristen's location and to see that the way out of the manor was clear.

"Alright, ok, sorry," Yellow said, feeling the slightest tinges of empathy for her father's loss. "Well, can you tell me where my team is, at least?"

"You're still on probation, so you'll do this alone, with no support beyond what is required. Impress me again, and I'll turn your friends back over to you."

Once more, the two passed seconds just looking one another in the eye. When thugs caught Yellow walking back to her hideout, just minutes after she casually suggested to Kristen that she go kill herself, one of the first things they did was pull her comm-link off her. When she resisted, they hit her in the gut and practically dragged her back to the manor. She didn't receive, or need, any real explanation for what was happening. From that point on, she'd been trapped inside the house, and hadn't had any contact with her team. She tried to get one of the guards to talk, but he said he would need some 'motivation'; alas, Yellow could only come to the conclusion that her father had detained them, as well. Otherwise, they'd probably try to break her out.

Yellow was thinking of something snappish to say when the guard returned and announced that Yellow could securely leave the manor.

"Take this folder- you may need to reference the previous thefts, or the murder site. We can't afford to wait any more than a day to have it cleaned, so I suggest you start your investigation there. If it comes to it, we can track the pokémon later; find the thieves- find the sellers- and we can find the buyers and the pokémon. You've got one week to bring the perpetrators to me. Alive."

Yellow rose from the oak chair dissatisfied with her time limit, but unwilling to try and argue it, knowing that her friend's freedom- and potentially, their safety- was on the line, and the clock. She turned to exit, then a question struck her- it was personal and the guard was still standing in the door waiting to see her escorted out. In a split-second, Yellow decided it needed to be addressed, and turned back towards her father with borderline humility.

"You know, there was something Mrs. Roquette said to me, the last time we spoke. Maybe you've already heard... but I want to talk to you about it, at some point."

He nodded with closed eyes and a heavy expression, understanding by her tone that she meant her mother, whom Kristen had boldly claimed she'd murdered.

"We will, Yellow. Another time." His tone was dry, but his eyes had softened for a moment, and Yellow believed him.

Having nothing more to say, Yellow prepared to leave the manor, having to stop only to go into the attic to change. She put on her 'working attire': black cargo pants, a dark mustard-colored shirt that looked brown or black in low light; heavy, but plain, black boots that covered half her shins, and leather gloves designed to assist in gripping things. She grabbed a light, hooded jacket and threw it, along with some books in a bag, grabbed her cigarettes, and put her sunglasses on. All of the money her father had given her for capturing the ivysaur was still in its briefcase, which she was graciously allowed to keep, having absolutely no use for it until she was allowed to leave, anyway. She took it, too, and nearly glided out of the manor and back into the bustling streets of Viridian City.

A blue sky, a warm sun, and a soft breeze greeted Yellow as she returned to her element. A hundred people on every street moved about, talking and laughing. Some seemed focused and tried to efficiently push through the city. Store owners stood in their shops, waiting for or attending to customers. The air Yellow inhaled was reinvigorating- clean and calming. Locked-away in her father's house, and cynical to the core, Yellow hadn't stopped to think on how good for the mind just being free was. No one to answer to, no one lording over her; no one telling her to be quiet, or be quick, or be anything.

Yellow had the idea then, to make it last forever. I should just get out of Viridian City while I can. It would mean leaving the crew behind, but they would understand. Wouldn't they? I mean, I can't keep living under someone's thumb, no matter what they promise me. For all I know, he isn't even being honest, or there's some catch... and even if he did mean it, what's to stop Kristen from getting someone I'm relying on to kill me? It would only get easier for her. She sighed in the middle of the walkway, suddenly exhausted with all the time she'd spent in her own head. I don't see this playing out well- me living happily-ever-after, like some fairy tale. This isn't kind of story that has a happy ending...

Despite those thoughts, Yellow pressed on about her duty. She'd had those urges before, but somehow never acted upon them. She couldn't explain why, but she had a connection with the city. She was 15 when her father kicked her out, and suddenly the world she knew turned inside-out, and it took everything for her not to give-in. Every day was a battle- against hunger, against the weather, against the scum, against herself and her own inadequacies. She resolved to survive, whatever it would take. She had killed a few people in desperation, and beat others to go after their bosses. She had stolen from good people and bad. Yellow had nearly died trying to make a place for herself out of nothing; the only world she knew was her father's basement. There were books, newspapers, pictures and magazines, but those were never enough. Malnourished, clueless, and totally alone, it was a miracle that Yellow was still alive, at all. A secret part of her was always tired, and eternally aching to succumb. Some nights, when it was too quiet to sleep, she thought about how nice it would be to not have to wake up the next day, or ever again.

The feeling that soared above all that was pride, however. Yellow had won- she made it. While life now wasn't comfortable, she always had enough money to buy food, and a place to sleep with no fear of letting her guard down. Two assassination attempts had been foiled and even the worst hoods around knew not to mess with her. By thwarting eliminating challenge after challenge, she carved her name into the underbelly of the city, and barely anyone even knew who she was.

In her struggles, Yellow made alliances, which turned into friendships; they were all urchins, and understood each other. Thunder was an aspiring thug she convinced to help her rob his boss; with his brawn and her scheming, they ended-up with more money the two of them, put together, had ever had. Rain was a runaway orphan being groomed for prostitution when Yellow broke into a pimp's office. She was having second thoughts, and took the opportunity to escape with the blond bandit. Cloud was another thief who'd gotten in hot water. When Yellow stumbled onto his 'rehabilitation' session and stopped the men working him over, he also decided to stick around. The last to join them was Sky. He was a recovering drug addict who'd left school from a poor home. On the streets, disowned and with no money, he took the hard road and tried to get sober, but some 'friends' made sure that didn't happen. When Yellow went to stop the same peddlers who were using his addiction to make him to do their trafficking, she found him first. He offered to help take them down and had been a part of the crew ever since.

Now they were all on the line, because of her. While she wasn't their actual 'boss', they followed her. Yellow was the one driven enough to make allies with them in the first place. If she left them behind now, what would they do? Trust her judgment and assume it was for the best? Or would they hate her for surrendering, and throwing away everything they'd built together? No matter what Yellow felt, she always came back to these questions, and her indignation. She couldn't take the chance of anything happening to her friends- the only people in the world who gave a damn about her- just because she was scared. She had to get them back, no matter the cost, and hope they wouldn't be too upset with her already. If finding some pokémon thief was the way to do that, then it was already done.

Even taking all the shortcuts she knew, the crime scene in the alley was over two hours away, walking from Roquette Manor. Yellow had foregone lunch in an effort to ensure she got there before anything could happen to disrupt the remaining evidence. Arriving in the early noon, the sun beat down on a crashed truck and its glare made Yellow notice a few construction workers standing around. There were also wooden barricades that read,

CONSTRUCTION IN PROGRESS - HARD HATS ONLY!

A man who was standing in front of the one she was approaching stopped her.

"Hey, you! This area's closed off f- oh, wait. You're the boss' girl, right? Sorry 'bout that, Miss, please come through. " He moved the barrier and let Yellow pass. Another guard came up and began showing Yellow the scene.

"Construction work?" The girl asked skeptically. "That's what you all went with?"

"Yes, ma'am," the 20-something thug said with a noticeable Viridian accent, "On account of us needin' to fix this wall here where the truck crashed. We'll get all of this good and clean, Miss, just like nothin's ever happened to it. Soon as you're done, o'course. The boss already told us what ya doin', so if ya got any questions or anything, just ask."

"Right; thanks," Yellow said as she began to look around.

Moving to the truck first, Yellow saw the large, but simple, Rapidash Express logo- a cartoon rapidash's head with winking eyes and a cocky smile; around that was a spiraling flame which came from the flaming horse's mane. Underneath, in cursive, scarlet letters, said,

When it's gotta be fast, choose RAPIDASH!

The vehicle was a standard-looking box truck, and it was white with flame decals on the bottom. Yellow walked around the whole vehicle, temporarily ignoring the open cargo area and busted driver-side door.

The front-left side of the vehicle was crashed into the wall of a tall, dirty building, ruining someone's graffiti. The first thing Yellow noticed, however, was that the part of the truck in the wall wasn't the only part that was busted-up. The grill looked warped, somehow, and the opposite headlight was broken, as well. It seemed like the car had hit something head-on prior to stopping on the wall. What was strange though, was that there weren't any scratches, except for where the vehicle touched the wall. There were some dents, but the truck still seemed relatively clean. Yellow suspected that the driver may have been chased and hit a road barrier. There was enough damage to suggest a collision, but there were no severe indents into the frame; whatever he hit, it would've been wider than the truck and he would've hit it head-on.

Yellow looked around the area, briefly. There wasn't much to see; it was a large, dingy alley- large enough for a truck to drive through, but being an alley, there was trash lining the sides where pavement turned into building, with no sidewalk, and pedestrian traffic appeared low. No lamp posts or trees to hit; none of the other buildings showed signs of a collision. Assuming the driver was a professional, he probably wouldn't have crashed turning into the alley, either, no matter how dark it was. Maybe if he was spooked, he might have, but it was long-shot. Empty boxes and plastic bags wouldn't have made a dent, affirming to Yellow that the driver was probably being chased and crashed somewhere along his route before ultimately being stopped here. Assuming that the alley was part of his route, to begin with.

The girl moved back around the wreck to the the driver-side door, noting the blood on the inside of it, and a few drops on the ground. It was busted-up, with a broken window, suggesting forceful entry. The problem, though, was a large dent which warped the whole thing, like it had been hit by some kind of battering ram. The door was nearly pulled off its hinges and Yellow could see blood on the steering wheel and dashboard. She looked around for more telling evidence before noticing the seat belt- it was practically broken-off of the seat and had been pulled out a good ways, but was still clipped-in. Could the thieves have just dragged the driver out of the truck without even undoing the seat belt? It would've taken a massive amount of strength- more than any human could muster.

Before asking to see the body, Yellow checked the cargo area. It was, of course, empty. The pokémon were gone, but the portable cages remained as did all of the documentation for the creatures, which was a huge red flag. There appeared to be no signs of a struggle. The truck's doors and the cages had been opened normally, and there weren't any scratches or dents in the entire back of the vehicle. So, whoever wanted the pokémon made sure to be gentle with them, but gave no regard for the driver's life, at all. Most people who took animals, pokémon, or people weren't usually so considerate. But, espeon and umbreon were still pokémon- they could've retaliated fiercely if the robbers were too rough, unlike the driver. Still, Yellow realized, something was off.

Without their paperwork, anyone caught with the creatures later on could be charged with illegal possession and possibly other charges, depending on what they do with the pokémon. In particular, it was strange because these pokémon were so commercially valuable, they would almost certainly be sold to some people who want to flaunt their wealth; having no papers, though, would make that buy incredibly risky. Following the Massacre of the Roses, illegal possession of a pokémon carried a minimum charge of 5 years in jail and a $10,000 fine for each pokémon owned. What's more, usually that charge was connected with others, such as racketeering, fraud, obstruction of justice, and so on. All of the charges Compounded with each other makes crimes like these rare, especially from small-time criminals; no one was that amateur. Could have been that the vandals were scared-off, but how could they have had time to be so careful with the pokémon, then? Leaving the documentation behind was most likely intentional, to some degree, and indicated that legitimacy wouldn't be a concern to any party involved. Yellow scrunched her face in bewilderment as that bizarre scene, and then went to the man who had greeted her earlier to see the body.

"So, we found him over there, stuffed in a box," the man said, pointing to ways across the alley from the truck as he brought a cart with a plastic sheet hanging over it. "An' I do mean, stuffed, Miss. His body wasn't in any kind of... natural position, y'know? Whoever put him like that worked him hard- too hard, like nothin' I ever seen. Poor bastard." The curtain covering the body was pulled-off, and Yellow found immediately that the man was right.

Bruises and lacerations riddled the corpse, and the entire body seemed broken and pulped, more like a human-shaped bag filled with rotten fruit, as opposed to bone and muscle. Blood marred the clothing and hair, and the left side of the man's face was visibly caved-in, with a collapsed eye, deflated cheeks, and a jaw that just hung there, fractured and dislocated. His mouth seemed to be missing teeth, but Yellow could actually see stumps and bits of white on his tongue. Whatever hit him- probably the same thing the broke the door and the seat belt- did so hard enough to shatter the tooth and bone on that side of his face. Given the state of the rest of his body, Yellow couldn't say what exactly killed him, but he must've been dead before all of the damage was done. But why take things that far? The body was more than battered, but still recognizable. Could the assault have been personal? What the hell kind of robbery was this?

Yellow didn't want or need to keep examining the driver, but she noted all his limbs were twisted and snapped, and his neck was broken, as well. Furthermore, the collar and shoulders of his clothes were frayed, but then, the rest of his clothes weren't in perfect order, either. She hastily grabbed the curtain and covered the body again. Yellow felt like this was more than just a theft and a murder. To go to those lengths, while keeping even the pokémon safe, took a certain level of cruelty- whoever did this was making a statement, one which was likely get bolder and bloodier with the next heist.

While the report given to Yellow hadn't prepared her for the level of brutality in last night's murder, the list of other pokémon stolen didn't contain any violent incidents, either. It was strange that, suddenly, a relatively quiet pokéthief would decide to rob and kill in the middle of the city, even leaving the body hidden just to the extent that the average passerby wouldn't notice. Yellow surmised that it was probable this latest incident came from a different thief than at least some of others she'd been told of. There had to be more than one person in the city who wasn't afraid to steal from Mr. Roquette. It was time for Yellow to find some names, and she had an inkling of where to start.

If there's any one in Viridian City looking for pokémon, I bet I can find them at the Poké Compound, Yellow thought assuredly. No way I'm ruling a bunch of fanatics out of this, either. Could be retaliation for what happened with the ivysaur, but they'd have to know it was the 'organization' that did it. Hmph, maybe they do... either way, going there and snooping around is my best bet, and my only lead, for now.

When Yellow departed from the crime scene and set about going to Poké Compound, she remembered how everyone seemed to know each other, and her earlier analysis on the difficulty of hiding in plain sight; so if she was going to go in to the Compound, she'd have to do it right. During her time monitoring the installation, she discovered a method of gaining access to the area- by playing their own bleeding hearts against them. They were a self-righteous group, each member secure in their beliefs and eternally desperate for validation. If Yellow could make them feel special enough, then she could get in, and so she began to devise a plan. Though, the somersaults her stomach performed warned her to eat something first.

After a heavy lunch at a nearby pizzeria and another hour-and-a-half of walking, it was turning into mid afternoon, the sun still high in the sky. Yellow, tired anyway of walking in the heat with her dark clothes, made it to the first part of her plan- a change in wardrobe. The outfits she picked-out were light-colored and bore a certain class that she liked. She also bought some silly pokémon accessories. She was careful and took enough money out her briefcase before she needed it, and her father had been wise enough to give her small bills, which she'd counted during her time-out in the manor. He'd given her $3,000, and she still had about $2,850 left; more than enough to last for a while, even beyond her current operation.

The second part of Yellow's plan was to bluff her way in, with the help of some unsuspecting accomplices. Disguised by her small, but noticeable, pokémon-themed bracelet, Yellow should be able to start a conversation with some enthusiasts in the cafes or restaurants near Poke Compound. All it took was some story about how awesome she thought pokémon were, how she'd always read about them, and how she'd like to finally be more involved in the movement. Personal questions would be answered according to her default alias. A sheltered girl from a rough home in Lavender Town- her father was an alcoholic maintenance man, and her mother spent most of her time studying or working to expedite her nursing career. As such, she was accustomed to spending most of her time alone, and was in-town for the summer staying with an uncle, hoping to make some friends before ultimately moving to Viridian City to attend college in the coming fall. 'Gialla Veracosta' was ready for freedom and just wanted to be as far away from Lavender Town as possible.

Enacting this phase of the plan was surprisingly simple, convincing Yellow all the more how silly the movement was- so eager and naïve were the three boys she approached that she actually got tired of bluffing. They never even doubted the strangeness of a never-before-seen girl coming up to them, specifically, out of nowhere in a crowded cafe and asking about getting in to their supposedly secure facility. Although, they were just teenage boys, and Yellow supposed she'd rather they made it too easy than anything else. Still, she hadn't played the 'cool, hot girl' before, and so tried to act like girls she'd seen in movies. Funny, kind, and- most importantly- borderline flirtatious. The conversation played to the backdrop of other people chatting or working on schoolwork around them.

"I'm telling you, no way they'll back off! We need to be more assertive! I was talking to some people, and I heard that next weekend, we're gonna hold another protest outside of PECA!" Willy, the boy to Yellow's right inside the booth, said.

"Yeah, man, we gotta stick it to 'em. Show 'em we're not just gonna stand back and let them treat pokémon like disposable property- or treat us like a bunch of punching bags!" James replied, agreeing with a vigorous nod.

"Wait," Blake, the third boy, said, looking at Yellow, "Have you heard about PECA?"

"Um, I just know it's the sound a pikachu makes," she said with embarrassed laughter, "But I'm guessing it's also a place, here?" The boys laughed generously at her rouse before Blake proceeded to tell her about the pokéhunters.

"Haha, kind of- 'PECA' is an acronym for 'Pokémon Eradication'-"

"-whoa, I thought it was 'Elimination'-" James interrupted.

"No, both of you are wrong, it's 'Extermination'! And I'm pretty sure 'elimination' starts with an 'I', Jay," Willy said with a laugh.

"You're an idiot, man, it's definitely an 'e'," James replied.

"Anyway," Blake resumed, "It's this kind of guild, or something, where they go out pokémon hunting. They take pokémon from their homes or from other people and slaughter them, or sell them, or whatever anybody pays them to do, acting all the while like they're doing us this great service. Fucking comic-book villains with no decency or humanity- just a lust for money."

"So, they're mercenaries?" Yellow was good at playing dumb. Deception had been a chief tactic for the relatively thin girl.

"Something like that, but worse. They specifically target pokémon, and our so-called 'republic' government supports them- yeah, sure, the police might not like it, but that's just because they wanna get in the business, too. So these ass-hat jokers basically have a sanction from freaking Arborough to 'appropriate' any pokémon they like, so long as it keeps the rich getting richer! I don't know if you know Dr. Woods, but he's this super-rich scientist, and he actually funds them, and uses his knowledge of pokémon to make the job of killing them all the easier! That's why we let those bastards know how disgusting they are every now and then. Especially since they killed Ivy!" He put a fist on the table with those last words, and the other two boys groaned in frustration; Yellow kept playing it cool.

"Wait, who's Ivy?" She asked the increasingly distraught-looking group.

"He was an ivysaur that used to live at the Compound; super sweet and good-natured, but he had dignity, too, you know?" Answered James, forlornly. "And they concocted this crazy plan to break in and pokénap him!"

"Yeah, and then- and then!- they fucking tortured him beyond repair and dumped him in a goddamn trash can, and left him there for us to find. Like, he wasn't anything. Like, if you were to take my coffee and spit in it, and then just give back, as if I'm supposed to keep drinking it! Fucking serious, man?!" Willy flailed his arms in mock desperation with a scowl.

"Woah, you're leaving out the part about the big march," James added. He gave Yellow a proud look, before elaborating, "So, we get a bunch of people- hundreds- to march from our Compound down to PECA. All of us in black, all of us dead silent. Dr. Sigurd had the idea to make a sort-of show of force, and people that never even protested before came out-"

"Ah, Dr. Sigurd runs Poké Compound," Willy interjected to Yellow.

"Right, yeah. So we've got hundreds of people standing outside of PECA, silent. Nobody saying anything. These clowns come out with their weapons drawn, and some people here are thinking they're gonna attack, but you know, I wasn't scared. Anyway, the doctor and Riza talk some sense into the guy- Green, the leader of PECA- and show him the pokémon holding license we had, and they get this sweet look on their faces, like they really couldn't believe it! And the doctor tells them to find Ivysaur or face legal consequences. Well, that didn't work out. We found Ivy... well, the way we said. Broken beyond repair." A sober look returned to his face, and the four continued to talk after Yellow graciously changed the subject.

After about another half hour of chit-chat, they finally offered to take Yellow to Poke Compound and get her a pass, confirming Yellow's hunch that there was an identification system in place. Though the guards were at first reluctant to let a new arrival show-up without an appointment, at the pressing requests of the group, Yellow was accepted in. They told her that she would have to register to be given a pass, and directed her to the offices, each of them attempting to slyly pull her aside and offer to show her around when she was done.

The actual registration process was uneventful. They asked for government ID, took a picture, and made a brief portfolio. After the paperwork was reviewed, routed, and came back approved, Yellow was given a charm with an ivysaur of it, along with an ornate symbol she didn't recognize. She was directed to put it on her bracelet or on a necklace and the have it visible whenever she wished to enter the Compound.

"This will serve as your pass," the clerk helping her said. "We only make them here, so if you lose it, you'll have to come back to this office and file for a new one. Recently, we've been tightening security, so try to keep it safe, and don't go around telling everyone about it. If anyone asks, it's just charm. Got it?"

"Got it," Yellow affirmed. The clerk then highlighted areas on a map that were off-limits, though he noted that armed guards would indicate restricted areas, as well. She was then directed to go up the hall for the final phase of the registration. The whole process seemed to take hours, but the sun was still shining brilliantly in the sky when Yellow walked through the halls, golden sunlight bouncing off her new white shirt from clean windows. She was told to meet with the Head of Personnel Security, Ms. Silver.

As she knocked on the door, a strong voice yelled, "Come in!"

"Hello? Good afternoon," Yellow greeted innocently.

"Good afternoon. You're Gialla Veracosta?" Riza asked warmly. When Yellow nodded, she said, with a smile, "That's a beautiful name. What kind is it?"

"It's from the Sevii Islands- my great-grandfather emigrated from there, and the style stuck." It wasn't commonly known, but there were great storms in those islands just over a hundred years ago- as such, coastal cities in Kanto saw a small influx of the less fortunate inhabitants of the archipelago. Of course, that information was only relevant for her cover, but Yellow liked the name, anyway.

Riza's office was relatively plain and clean. There was a picture of an ivysaur on the wall, and some other, irrelevant paintings, like you'd see in a hospital. The desk was made of fake wood and there were two chairs sitting in front of it. Yellow sat down in one and looked at Riza face-to-face for the first time. A kind of nervousness sat in her stomach- the same kind of dread that comes from knowing you've done something wrong. Yellow pushed it aside and focused on maintaining her cover.

"Very nice; so, my name is Riza Silver, and as you know, I'm the Head of Personnel Security within Poké Compound. What that means is that I'm responsible for ensuring that everyone that walks through the gates is safe, and that they don't present a danger to anyone else, here. Now, don't be nervous, I've already reviewed and approved your registration. But, I'd like for you to tell me about yourself. What is it that's brought you here?"

Yellow gave Riza a long, invented spiel about feelings of neglect, her difficult life in Lavender Town, and how reading kept her mind occupied. She went on to state how she'd always found pokémon interesting, but had piteously little experience with them, and wanted to be a part of a learning experience, while also making new friends. The brunette listened attentively.

"Well, Gialla, that's quite the story," Riza said, matching the blonde's golden eyes with her silver. Then she frowned discernibly. "I want you to know that I don't believe a word of it. In fact, I know who are, and I'm on to your scheme."

Yellow hesitated conspicuously, before asking, "I don't- what game? What do you mean?" Riza held her stare; Yellow said, "Um, maybe you've confused me with someone else? I just got into town a few days ago..."

The Bravo and Head of Personnel Security stared for a few seconds more, before easing her visage into a grin. She then apologized and explained that there was no way for her to know who was up to what, and that the accusation was just a catch-all, in case the registration process failed to identify any potential malcontents. Riza then told an embarrassed Yellow that she was free to go, which she did with false haste.

Of course, Yellow was a more practiced liar than Riza- she'd even used that same tactic before. However, Yellow also saw through Riza simply because she actually did know who the recently-promoted woman was. Straight-forward and aggressive, Yellow knew that if Riza had figured her out, she wouldn't have been so calm about it.

Now that Yellow was securely in the Compound, it was time for the third and final part of the plan: to maintain her cover and either locate the pokéthief or find a method of contacting him. Ultimately, as much as she mingled, going out for coffee, having lunch, learning even more about pokémon and the movement for them, Yellow didn't discover much that was useful, except that the pokémon that were stolen hadn't been brought to the Compound, as far as she could tell. Aside from just hanging around the activists, she also spied on movements into some of the restricted areas during the night, from the same rooftops she had used to plan her infiltration months ago. Yellow eventually visited some of the sites which experienced thefts, as well. The owners of the stolen pokémon confirmed her idea that there had been no violence involved; even one of the people who'd saw the thieves hadn't been seriously attacked.

It had been three days since Yellow joined the pokéfreaks in their Compound, and she had found barely anything to help in her investigation. She would have to switch-up her method soon- rallies, demonstrations, and personal conversations hadn't revealed any sign of the thief or a market for buying stolen pokémon. Perhaps she'd missed something, or perhaps there was nothing to miss. Either way, the clock was ticking and Yellow was running out of ideas. It could come to simply roaming the streets and asking around. She knew some criminal circles which might've been able to help, but they weren't on the best of terms with Yellow and her crew. If it came out that she was alone and in need, someone could escort her right into a trap- a deadly one.

In the late morning, Yellow sat outside, in the courtyard of Poké Compound, hoping inspiration would strike. There was a large memorial before her, of the Ivysaur she'd abducted and returned. A shadow of guilt flashed through her amber eyes, as she read the inscription:

In Dear Memoriam

Ivy

Our Friend, Our Hope, Our Icon

Rest in Peace Among the Stars

Find Eternity in Every Loving Heart

How can you have loved him so much? Yellow thought with a click of her tongue. He was just a pokémon. Imagine if all this effort and affection was given to other people- the homeless, the addicts, the sick... the people who think they've got no way out. Maybe then I wouldn't even be here. Or... I guess if you all were like that, maybe I would... A voice snapped Yellow out of her thoughts, and called her by a strange name. It took the girl a second to remember her purpose there.

After the two finished their morning conversation, Riza left and Yellow wondered about the woman's past. Where did she come from? What had she gone through? What made her so empathetic, or so lonely, that she became such great friends with a pokémon? This weird plant-lizard creature may as well have been from another planet. In a dull flash, Yellow realized that the same dread she bore for her friends was probably what Riza had felt three months ago. This same aching yawn in her gut, like there just wasn't enough time, and too few options- like she was just waiting to find that she'd failed. The fear kept its place in her eyes; she only had four days left. What would her father do to them? What were the men watching her friends doing, now? Suppose any one of them put two-and-two together, and realized how much Yellow and her crew had antagonized Mr. Roquette's men... it wouldn't be pretty, and if Yellow couldn't deliver those stolen pokémon, along with the thieves, then the situation would only get uglier.

Cigarette ash fell onto the ground as a sigh rose from the one smoking above it. The clock was ticking.