PKMN2K10

by Mr. Dynasty

After a crushing defeat, Ash returns home to rediscover his ambitions as a trainer. Friends and foes both new and old surround him on all sides, but can he find the way to forge ahead and emerge victorious, even as the world grows darker and ever more sinister around him? Language/Violence

14. Chapter XIV

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon.

Chapter Summary: Confused, all alone, emotionally and physically exhausted Ash wonders if he is ever going to find his rhythm again. As Holiday draws closer to his goal, the shadow of Kazuo's suspicion grows ever longer.

A/N: Fuuuuuuuu— yea, I really set after the next one with turbo-speed, huh? Fuckin, last year, and shit. Really, there are a million reasons why. New school. New job. New home. I won't bore you with the details, but either I've been unable to, or unable to find the motivation to get this to you.

Either way, sorry. Here it is. Finally.

---

PKMN2K10

Chapter VIX

"What Separates Us"

Ghetsis stood, flanked, always flanked, by those two lethal figures, their slicked-back hair and cool visage always leering down at him over the shoulders of an already magnanimous figure. It was for that reason, that he always erred on the side of optimism when reporting to the man who had once called himself Plasma King, and was now hushedly referred to as Generalissimo of the Liberation Front, though he formally accepted no title.

Formally, that was. Ein knew the man still acted with the presupposition of a lord, and that, unspoken, it was expected of him to comply with that. Especially by those two who resided behind him. The remnants of the Shadow Triad. Ghetsis' personal aides, enforcers, and spies.

So, playing his part, as he was expected, and truly, as he had come to accept it, Ein bowed politely at the entrance of his employer and liege.

"What news from Orre?" Ghetsis asked, cordially. "Have we acquired Cipher's data on the specimen?

"I've still got a man inside the company. He's reported that he has been assigned to a task force to delve into the lower compound of the facility. That should be where the machine, and the specimen are being held. They're boring their way through." It was all conjectural at this point, Ein knew. Any number of foul-ups could, and would likely result in the mean-time. Still, he did not make that point abundantly clear. He'd learned that, so far in his tenure as a PLF scientist.

Not that Ein felt the need to maintain strict adherence to their code of conduct. He was not truly a separatist. It was just that he understood his position in the structure of the organization. Ein had no trouble at all being a well-paid yes-man. The scientific strides that Ghetsis and the Liberation Front desired were unorthodox, yes, but they were also relatively meager. He'd been hired to hack into Cipher's database, make several line-tapping connections, and data-mine some confidential information, and that was fine with him. As near as he could tell, it was all related to that specimen that Cipher had acquired on Sayda Island, Ein knew, but he also knew, or rather, understood that the find was not within the scientific grasp of anyone currently within the command structure of either Cipher, or the PLF proper, that he was aware of. It was god-stuff, after all. The sort of Promethean discovery that would not and could not be given bearing, except by a truly great mind, the likes of which would only come along once in a few generations. It was bigger than the Mew-cloning experiments, failures all, that Silph Co, and it's subsidiary Team Rocket had tried to keep hush-hush half a decade or so ago. It was potentially a more earth-shattering discovery than the cumulative knowledge of Pokemon, insofar.

The application was the real clincher, though. It would take a mind capable of real, true visionary brilliance to make the discovery mean something, within their lifetime. Like those of Babbage, Descartes, the advent of the knowledge that could be gleaned would be decades, perhaps centuries ahead of its time.

And that was where he would come in. He deplored the applique, truthfully. Theoretic superseded the practical aspects, in most fields, after all. It was generally believed that the comprehension of sciences had far surpassed human ability to manifest it. It was a simple matter of materials, really. In theory, with a material strong and flexible enough, one could lasso the moon, and pull it down to earth. Would technology produce such a material anytime soon? Likely not.

But this discovery was god-stuff, after all. It was just up to him to decide what to do with it.

Rousing him from his thoughts, came the voice of Ghetsis, and the narrowed slit-like eyes of his two henchmen. "Get an updated report."

"R-Right away."

---

"Of course it's workin', bro." Holiday told him over the low band-connection he was afforded on the outskirts of the out-of-the-way locale of Pokemon Corps training camp. "i wouldn't have suggested it, if I didn't think it would work." Holiday, of course, had made him see the merits of purposeful defeat, as a preferable alternative to a more orthodox victory, in light of the conditions that Doc had revealed to him, somewhat hesitantly, almost a week previous. "That said, I'm glad I'm not the one doing it."

"You should try it. I've already lost ten pounds," he said mirthfully, though honestly, it was no laughing matter. He likely did not have ten pounds to lose in body-fat, so that weight had to be coming from somewhere and it was likely muscle-mass. Still, he didn't think it would do to let such an opportunity to jab at Holiday's obviously expanding paunch go by.

Holiday didn't bite, though, and instead, sniped back in a more extreme way. "Just try and stay healthy. We don't need another blowout keeping you from sticking with the Kid, here."

The comment shut the other man up promptly, cutting off his laughter without even the slightest difficulty. All Doc could even manage, was to sputter out a confirmation that he would do just that.

Doc sat staring at the xtranceiver for a long time, after Holiday told him that he had to take another important call, and let him go, the word 'blowout' echoing heavily between his ears. A word he'd been running from for nearly the whole year.

He had tried all this time to put it to the back of his mind as much as he could, because honestly, he didn't want to believe it from the very beginning, but also because he'd wanted to keep it close to his chest. He hadn't even told Holiday that was what had happened, and while he wasn't so much surprised that Holiday knew, since Holiday had a way of digging in, especially if he wasn't invited to, it was like a slap to the face, knowing that he seemed to be the only one who hadn't accepted it.

He remembered standing outside the examination room, calmly buttoning his shirt under the combined consultation of Bruno and Joy, his ears deafened to their voices of protest.

"You said yourself that the injury was minor," He'd pointed out, completing the fastening of the garment, and moving on to another.

Joy held up the x-ray. "No, I said that as it stands, the damage is very minor. Its a very serious injury, and you should take it as such," the head nurse corrected, sternly.

Doc turned to Bruno for support instead. "I'm still strong enough to train with you in the mountains."

It was that look that he was always going to remember. That off-handed regard of both uncertainty and disbelief that had said all too clearly that his sensei did not believe that was the case.

"An injury like this could do more than just end your career, Doc. It could drastically effect your quality of life. I think you should take some time off. Rest your shoulder. You can always come with me again next year," Bruno had offered, trying to seem as though he wasn't shunning his pupil.

"My health isn't a concern," Doc had promised, nearly an exclamation, and most assuredly a plea.

He remembered looking into the face of his immense instructor then, who had always been a wellspring of support and guidance and seeing only doubt, where before there had been none.

"Resistance to Injury is part of your overall health, as well. It's something you ought to take into account." The comment had left him standing there, stunned, just like he was now, gripping his fists tightly.

Joy had chose her moment to intercede, as Bruno left the corridor–and him-behind for Mt. Silver. "Fortunately the cuff tear was only minor, and it shouldn't require surgery. But you will need to mind that you don't do any excessive lifting or..."

Doc shook his head, and unclenched his fists. Holiday had already hung up, but still he spoke towards his X-transceiver, before stuffing it back into his fatigue pants. "My health is not an issue."

At the other end of the recently close connection, Holiday glared at the caller ID display on his transceiver, thoroughly dismayed in his own right.

He thought about not answering, especially since his contact was not supposed to call him here, under any circumstances, but he was well aware of what sort of trouble that would cause him later on, and he had been well aware of how urgent the matter had become, once he'd let slip what he would soon have access to.

He hit the receive key, and locked his features into a tightly sewn veil of distant professionalism, as the figure from his past appeared on screen.

"You're not supposed to be calling me." he muttered, with brisk dismay evident on his voice.

"Are you in yet?" his contact plied, ignoring his droll tone.

"Not yet."

"You said you'd be in shortly when I spoke to you yesterday," the figure said, with almost childlike impatience.

"When I said shortly, I meant it in, like, a cosmic sense," Holiday drawled, though he too was hardly pleased at the nearly full week that had elapsed since his time here had begun.

"We need what's in that chamber, Holiday," his contact reminded him. "You as much as me-"

"I know." Holiday offered corrosively, and clapped the receiver shut without so much as another word.

In a cold rage, he sat both of his palms against the nearby wall, and took a moment. As angry as the sudden call had made him, He couldn't even begin to say how much more displeased he was when he turned around and saw that fucking old-ass man, Grayson standing there, at the rounded corner of the hall.

He flinched backward in surprise for a moment, but then regained his candor the very second his balance returned, and spun on the maintenance man who'd been there listening for who knew how long.

It was a hard thing to catch Holiday red-handed. He prepared, and planned, and set up contingencies, and if all else failed, he was very good at covering his own ass. Still, though, those old eyes didn't shift in the face of his sudden irritation.

"The fuck are you looking at?" Holiday snarled.

With one glance, Grayson said all he needed to. The man looked down at his cross-transceiver, back up at him, and then walked sharply away.

It was so imperceptible of a thing, but the sound of his fearful swallow sounded like a death-knell in his ears.

---

"I'm so fuckin' hungry."

Ash said nothing, at first. He'd stopped commenting almost all together for the past few days. It seemed relatively pointless, after all. Making a verbal note of how much things sucked, did more to make the situation worse, here, than it did otherwise. He agreed, though, since his stomach too was aching, having long since given up the grumbling and churning of days previous. He was now chiefly tired, when he wasn't outright sore.

He gripped the barricade in front of himself, and pulled himself upward, along with the rest of Echo. Well, all of Echo save Doc, who was far out ahead of him. He didn't say anything as he'd watched his adversary above pull himself over, and begin his roped descent. He didn't even bother to groan aloud with his own effort the effort, as he went along, similar to how everyone else was, knowing that it would just compound his already staggering exhaustion.

"So are all the rest of us, Terry," Ash heard Melody say, a little further behind the rest of them, evidently not caring for the complaint a bit, in light of her own struggles.

"I wish we could just find some berries or something growing around here." Glen commented, but halfheartedly, knowing that even if that were the case, they'd never have enough time away from Surge and the instructors to find any, much less spend the time it would take to pick and consume any from the woods nearby. "Some of us are growing boys!" he offered in jab to their female squad-mate.

They'd gone almost a week without food of any kind. Ash, who had never even imagined what that would be like, under the best of conditions, didn't even bother to compare it to his earlier misfortunes on this journey. He just climbed higher. He was hungry, sure. But mostly, he just felt exhaustion. A weakness in his limbs that forced the need to concentrate on what would have been a simple thing for him to do normally, but was now an effort in both physical, and mental aspects. An uncertainty in his grip and a shakiness in his legs that turned this wall, an obstacle he'd roared over on his first day faster than anyone into a daunting, and though he hated to admit it, disconcerting task.

He'd frozen here yesterday, at twenty feet, trembling, frightened and out of any obvious handholds. And here he'd stayed for nearly ten minutes, having the closest thing to a panic attack he'd ever had in his life, too scared to climb up and risk his footing, too scared to come down and lose his grip.

He'd never thought that there was any fear at all inside himself, really, and it had come as a disturbing reminder that this was well outside of his comfort zone. He'd been perfectly at home in some of the most tense battles, and outrageous situations anyone, anywhere had ever been in, and here he was, worried about falling a distance only a little higher than the one he'd willingly dropped from on his first day. Had he really lost that much confidence?

He gripped hard on the outcropping node and forced himself up, just as he'd finally done yesterday, ignoring the upsetting feeling of unbalance and tight clenching fear that welled up because of it. His body was trying to tell him he was too weak and that he was too tired, and that he should not try again until he was in a better state. He refused it, and pushed up with his legs, extending himself so that he could reach the red plastic outcropping of the climbing board just a bit past what would have been comfortable.

Yesterday, there had been no need for Doc to lag behind. Ash had come in dead last, unable to drum up enough courage to attempt to climb any higher, until well after the rest of the trainees had crossed the finish marker. Doc hadn't needed to drag his feet on purpose in order to earn them Surge's Ire. Nor to con Echo Squad out of another days worth of food. He had earned that.

Ash gave an angry bark as he lurched outward toward the next handhold, that evidently scared Terry, who was next to him, and made the older boy falter a bit. He felt overwhelmed with a relief he felt he never should have needed when his fingertips caught hold of it, and it made him snarl all the more.

He was bigger than this! This shouldn't have been a big deal! What the hell was wrong with him? He snatched his grip tighter, and threw himself upward toward the next one, with the same yell of frustration and denial, extending an open palm towards the looming outcrop.

He knew right away that something was wrong. Just that briefest moment of timid, unconscious hesitation, that unwilling desire to sure up the position he had, before going after a new one, stole some of the energy from his legs, and robbed him of the momentum he needed. His scornful sound became a distressed wail as he fell away from the wall empty-handed and began to plummet helplessly.

Glen, below, shifted and pressed against the wall in order to avoid being knocked off as well, and Melody reached out for him, quite sure of her own grip. He flailed just out of her reach, and hurtled past her towards the ground.

Someone caught him, though. Around the waist, halting his descent as though at the end of a rope. The stop was jarring, and propelled him face first into the wall but he clung to it desperately, his whole body now quaking in fear. A long, green vine eased from around his torso and snaked its way back up to the top of the wall, past the remainder of Echo Squad.

Everyone looked up to see Bulbasaur, huffing with the expended energy of catching a falling object that weighed twice and again more than he, but the grass-type seemed more concerned for his trainer, who had not even the fortitude remaining to look up from where he was, his face plastered to the wall, hugging it tightly for the security he had so foolishly taken for granted.

Two immense figures looked onto the scene, from the shadow of a nearby cops of trees. Surge had met Silver before, of course—he doubted there was anyone affiliated with the league who hadn't—but the man did strike him as a bit disconcerting, especially with the powerful stare he was now laying on the struggling trainee before them.

Surge tried to ignore it. He didn't have to justify the Corps to any league spook. This was his operation, and damned if he was going to be second-guessed by a has-been like this guy anyways. "Surprised Ketchum is having such a hard time. He flew over that obstacle on his first day."

Silver didn't offer up any real emotional response to the question. He gave a heave of his giant shoulders. "Didn't think he was scared of heights." He offered, along with the shrug.

"He isn't," Surge said simply. "It's more of a stress issue, I would guess. Ketchum is running on fumes, here. The coping mechanisms a person would normally use to ignore those natural reactions the body faces in dangerous situations are no use to anybody in his situation. At this level of stress even just a small amount of additional pressure, which would otherwise be tolerable can lock the bravest men up. He has to find a different way to convince himself to negotiate that obstacle."

Silver looked on in silence, and crossed his arm, unwilling to offer up anything in response to that revelation. Surge was trying not to read too much into it, but eventually the sour expression on the gray-maned beast of a man's face was too much to tolerate.

They could both see Ash clearly from where they were standing, though the boy was certainly too occupied to make them out. He was quaking so hard that it looked like he was having some sort of fit, and with his eyes screwed shut he didn't look to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Silver made a disapproving grunt, and Surge rolled his eyes.

"Look, I'm not going to stop the operation, or make it easier for his sake. Hell, he's done nothing but make it hard on himself, so far, and maybe that's why he, more than anyone else, has to really struggle, if he wants to succeed here. It may seem harsh, but this is really what the Corps is all about. A real trainer, a real corpsman has to be able to find that extra piece of himself. He has to be able to dig deep within. There isn't really a special type of person, for this training, you know? You don't necessarily have to be strong, or fast, or smart, but you have to have that extra something. Guts. Heart, whatever you wanna call it. If he can't muscle through here, and find the stomach to negotiate that obstacle, then he's not the kind of person the Corps needs." The lieutenant said, crossing his burly arms.

Silver only looked back to the officer, with his own arms crossed, seeming not at all intimidated by the man, for what it was worth. "Why would I have asked you to?" He queried, with a serious look. "I'm here for something else." Silver pointed out the the head of the pack, at Doc, with one meaty fingertip. "A warning from Lance."

"Ash, come on!" Melody yelled, from above, back out on the course her voice knocking him from the oblivious terror he felt, if only partially. "We've got to climb up!" she shouted down to him.

He looked up, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything, or make any move that showed he acknowledged her.

"Melody!" Terry complained. "You're barely half-way up! Why don't you let Glen help him, and worry about making it up here yourself, before you slow everyone else down?"

Melody shot the older male, who had just then crested the top a powerful glare, and looked apt to shoot back a foul remark, but Glen interrupted her thought.

"If she's the closest, shouldn't she go back?" he remarked, trying desperately to make it sound as though he wasn't saying so because he believed he was having enough trouble on his own, and didn't think he could manage to help.

Terry just scoffed at the both of them, and worked himself over the top, out of sight, while Glen made a somewhat apologetic face towards Melody and continued onward.

"Come on!" Melody beckoned down to him. "We've gotta get a move on!"

He was a wreck, and she could see that, just by looking at him, even from this distance, but that hardly changed the fact that they needed to hurry; there were three more trainees, probably some of the last. If they wanted dinner tonight—and she desperately did—they needed to finish ahead of them. She pleaded with him one final time, and then painstakingly made her descent to come to his aid, knowing that even if she went on without him, it wouldn't do any of them a lick of good.

She worked herself beside him on the wall, trying not to leave too much space for the others to muscle their way ahead, if it came down to that. "Ash, c'mon," she insisted yet again, and finally, he answered her call.

"I cant." he said plainly. Only, it wasn't so plain, since it came through chattering teeth. It was plain enough for her to understand though, and she frowned.

"The next handhold is right there." she explained. It was literally close enough for her to reach out and grab, though it was above him.

"It's too far." Ash said, shaking his head furiously. "I can't."

One of the trainees below them was already trying to take up handholds near her ankles. "How did you do it yesterday, then?"

"Yesterday was different." Ash said, as though he were desperately trying to put her off of the conversation. "Today it's too far."

The trainee that had been pawing around near her boot decided it best to go around. Seeing him crest her waist-level, and make his way up past them reminded her of that meal that was sailing out the window. "We don't have time for this, Ash!" She shouted upwards, evidently scaring the crap out of the trainee who'd just passed her. She tried not to seem too satisfied as he faltered, and had to pause to reaffirm his handholds. "Bulbasaur! Help me out!"

The grass-type Pokemon looked down with some concern at the request, but did not falter, extending his vines down yet again, to make some effort towards helping out. She wished she hadn't sent her own Pokemon out ahead, but Melody didn't need much, she just hoped that a safety-line from the top would give Ash the security he needed. The unconvinced look on Ash's face as the young trainer looked towards the descending vines did not offer her much hope.

She saw the second trainer move past her flank then, and that fury rose up in her again. She knew he didn't deserve it, and she felt like a real piece of shit for doing it almost instantly, but she let go with one hand and slapped him hard against the back of his head, bouncing his face off the barricade.

"What the hell are you? You can save the whole goddamn world, but you can't climb up this wall? Chosen One, my ass! Are you a little boy, or are you a fucking man, Ash Ketchum? Coz right now you're looking an awful lot like the first one!"

Any ounce of panic left his visage then, replaced by a look that was halfway between shame and explosive anger. She was sure she would've apologized to him right then and there, if he hadn't just slapped her arm away from him, and snatched the next handhold in line, with silent tears pouring out of his eyes.

"Looks like Ketchum just needed some motivation." Surge said, with confidence, looking away from the scrambling trainer, and turning on the man beside him, to find him already waking away.

Silver left the thicket, in swish of foliage, only his voice echoing back over the silhouette of brown and flame motif he cut into the forest. "I saw what I needed to. Just keep your eyes peeled, alright? I don't need this getting out of hand."

Surge only shook his head with disgust. What a dick!

Ash overtook the trainee that had passed her, and even caught up to the one on top, and was out of sight in no time, leaving her with a miserable feeling in her gut, as she neared the peak. Bulbasaur, at least, had stuck around to help her out, having received at least no contradictory orders from Ash. The sturdy Pokemon tugged her up, just as the third trainer, the only one that had not overtaken her on her trip, crested beside her.

The other trainee, one of the few other girls in the program, repelled down far faster than she could manage. Seeing her pull ahead, and knowing that if she didn't pass her up, that she would buy her squad another hungry night, with her to blame this time, she let herself slip a little faster than she ought to of. She didn't even realize that she'd fallen, until she felt her the back of her head bounce off the hard ground and send her skull ricocheting back to slam against her bottom jaw.

She faltered trying to get up, and felt like she was trying to balance on water. She couldn't let that stop her, though, she knew, and she tried to charge out ahead, but it was no use. She stumbled off the trail and had to catch hold of a young sapling to keep from falling into a ditch. The other girl took off out ahead of her, and she was powerless to pursue at the necessary pace.

Ash stood waiting with the rest of Echo, except for Doc, who was waiting just shy of the finish line as usual, probably making mocking gestures and comments about the moisture leaking down his face. Without even the strength to get mad over it, the raven-haired trainer just looked down at his Pokemon, trying to take a good gauge of himself in the reflection of Bulbasaur's expression. The grass-type looked back at him in confusion, of course, wondering perhaps—just as much as he—what the problem was.

He looked at his hands next, felt them trembling hard, still, even though he was planted soundly on terra firma. What the hell was wrong with him? Why had that happened? He grit his teeth hard enough to hear them creak. Anything to silence their chattering. He wasn't a fucking wimp! He wasn't a little boy! He wasn't!

"I'm not scared," he said, as much to Bulbasaur, as to himself.

"Bulba?" the Pokemon queried, obviously having no idea what his trainer was getting at, as if to imply 'of course you aren't.' Ash wished that he could maintain that sort of faith.

"Man." Terry whined, suddenly. "Here comes the last of them."

"Of course!" Glen exclaimed, throwing both his hands in the air, as the girl, the last of the three who had been on their heels along the barricade came running around the bend and out of the woods, huffing into the finish where she collided with the rest of her squad who seemed quite pleased to have her.

"Freakin' Melody," Terry said with a sigh, as though it were a substitute for a curse.

"Seriously," added Glen, the both of them evidently forgetting they had sent Melody back for him. Not that he disagreed with them, really.

In fact... He shouldered Glen out of his way, and pushed past Terry, marching back out onto the course, in spite of the protest from both his squad, and several onlooking D.I.s. He ignored them, though. Melody was going to give him a bunch of grief about how he was wasting time, and then drag her feet on the last stretch? She was about to get a piece of his mind, now.

He stomped off into the woods, with anger washed across his features, but it wasn't long at all before he was caught dead in his tracks, as he saw her there, wobbling across the path. He could tell right away that something wasn't right. It wasn't until he saw her fall down to her knees and then get up going the wrong way that he realized just what was going on, though.

She held her spinning head as she came back up, and tried to orient herself. It was pointless, though, with everything being so blurry. She felt someone catch her, as she fell the next time, but honestly the only reason she was able to tell it apart from the trees she'd collided with previously was that it gave a little during the impact.

"Come on." someone said, collecting her roughly, and hauling her along. Whoever it was didn't make it far before she tripped them.

"Sorry," she mumbled, thinking she had a good guess at who it was, as she landed on her shins again.

"My foot got tangled up is all." Ash said as he heaved her back up. He was exhausted, but she wasn't very heavy.

"No, I meant, about the other thing," she said, shaking her head in an effort to clear it. It only made it worse, though, and she had to bring her free hand up to grasp it. She pushed away the tugging arms. She needed to stay still. Just a few moments was all. She just needed to reorient herself. "My head hurts."

"So are you gonna stand here and cry about it, like a little girl, or are you going to finish the obstacle course?"

She felt her blood boil of course, as she stared at the two revolving images of Ash's dirty, tear-streaked face. It wasn't overtly mean, but it certainly was not mirthful. She couldn't rightly blame him for the comment, after all. It was her just deserts, so she took them.

"I'd pop you one again, if you'd stand still." she offered pitifully to the trainer, who was quite motionless, though he spun in her eyes. They were both too tired and beat up to laugh, though. They just continued.

When they came to the finish line, something happened that he, had he actually stepped back from the situation, and really thought about, would have realized was actually entirely meaningless, but tired and hurt and spent as he was, just pushed him over the edge.

"You should cross first," Melody offered, giving him a little push as they approached.

He'd already crossed, he knew, and it didn't really matter anyways, since they were all Echo Squad, and it meant the same fate anyways. And it wouldn't have mattered anyways, since Doc was still there waiting, with his toes just shy of the finish line, his insurance policy ready to make sure Ash suffered just that extra little bit.

He nodded and stepped across with a sigh, knowing that it changed nothing, and took up his spot with the rest of Echo. When he turned to watch her step across, though, he was surprised to see Doc had turned and taken his leave from the purposeless vigil as well, with Melody still on the course.

...And it made him furious! Just that he would have the gall to make it her fault, even on a technicality, ate what little patience and decency he had left inside him, and spit it back out.

He heard glen take in a breath, and spun on him, knowing, just knowing that he was going to have to hear some other pointless jab at Melody. "Shut your stupid mouth!" he warned, leveling a finger.

"Hey-" Terry began, but Ash just turned to face him sharply, then hauled off and clobbered him.

It didn't do much good, as Ash didn't recall a time where he'd ever put a closed fist to someone with any real zeal, but it sure as hell didn't stop him from leaping onto Doc's shoulders as he passed, and dumping out several Pokemon from their balls in his wake. Tauros slowed the pursuit up considerably, and Snorlax provided a buffer from the side, while Bulbasaur caught hold of one of Doc's arms with a vine whip attack and prevented him from depositing the trainer riding on his back to the dirt. Or, at least, not quite as quickly as he would have.

By the time Ash fell to the ground though, the melee was on. Melody had jumped in against her two Islander compatriots, battling back Glen with her Pokemon, though she was far too unsteady on her feet to jump into the fray herself. A few fly-by attacks from Glen's Swellow did knock her to her rump, though. Terry was mostly tied up trying to get to Ash, and avenge what was surely turning into a yellowish bruise on his face. Snorlax and Tauros were not having it, though, and even once he brought all his Pokemon to bear as well, he was no closer at getting a revenge strike.

On the opposite side of the near two-ton barricade, though, Bulbasaur wasn't having nearly as much effectiveness on Doc who seemed well versed in just the sort of slips and escapes that made his constricting vines next to useless. Bulbasaur had thus far kept the hundred and eighty pound muscular man from caving Ash's head in, but only just. Still, that hardly stopped Doc's Pokemon, who were numerous and skillful, from using a collective Beat Up move at Doc's command, and rolling over him like a tidal wave.

For Ash, it seemed to go on an on, really. By the time he shoved and kicked his way out from underneath one Pokemon, poorly protecting himself from bites and rakes, he was knocked to the ground by another an pummeled from a different angle. It didn't take any of the steam out of him though, and as he saw his break, he went for Doc's legs, and tried to tackle him to the ground, ignoring the Mightyena teeth digging through his boot and trying to drag him off, the same as the stomps Doc was trying to aim at his fingers.

He'd almost dragged the bigger man down, too, before a Pokemon—or at least, he though it was a Pokemon—more powerful than the rest, caught hold of him, and sent him sailing. Only after he landed hard in the dirt and skidded a near yard did the haze of red before his eyes clear enough to realize that it was Surge that had tossed him.

"ECHO SQUAD!" he hollered, louder than he ever had previously, once the brawl was systematically settled, by the D.I.s and the warning shocks of their Pokemon. Ash could see, even from as far away as he'd been thrown, that the enormous man was literally shuddering with rage. "WASHOUT-EXCERCISE! NOW!"

---

Max flapped his newest purchase back and forth between his fingertips. "Yeah." he said calmly, looking Ralts over. His expression gradually grew into a smile as the little Pokemon flexed and posed. "I think this will work."

"Ralts!" his partner exclaimed, leaping about happily.

He thought about perhaps trying to get a little practice in with it, but Dawn came around the corner of the Violet City poke mart, he slid it into his pocket without a thought, and devoted himself to not seeming like he was paying her too much attention. Polishing his glasses seemed right, so he set to doing that, in an effort to seem mostly causal.

"Hey, Max!" she greeted, "How are you feeling about today? This'll be your first badge, if you win, won't it?"

"Um," he tried to seem like he was thinking about it, then realized that was stupid. He nodded his head after a moment.

"Caught any good Pokemon to use against Faulkner?" Dawn asked. "I hear he shakes down a lot of new trainers, because of the strong defensive type he favors."

"Flying type." Max said. He could've presented a deluge of other facts he'd discovered about Faulkner, or that he knew off the top of his head about flying type in general, but he held fast. His mouth felt a little dry, and he didn't want to stutter.

Dawn frowned a little. Hadn't Brock said that Max was that talkative type? "So what all Pokemon are you going to use against him?" she asked, casually dropping her arm over his shoulder. She figured if he was shy around new people, she would just have to make sure he knew how nice she was. Brock had let slip that maybe she hadn't made the best first impression, what with being so impatient about getting a move on.

"Uh. R-ralts." Max said, suddenly becoming very stiff.

Dawn removed her arm, quickly, thinking that she'd invaded his personal space. She tried not to recoil at the obvious misstep. "Ralts and what else?"

"J-just Ralts." Max clarified succinctly, though he seemed to relax some, after a moment.

Dawn's frown returned, though, and she tilted her head to the side. She didn't need to ask her question, though. Brock was there by her side, approaching from the nearby center.

"Just Ralts?" he asked, incredulously. "You haven't caught any other Pokemon?"

"Um. No." Max said after a moment.

"You mean in all that time we spent on the road, you didn't catch even one single Pokemon?" Dawn added, showing equal disbelief.

"I got distracted, I guess." He said, looking pointedly away.

"Come on, Max." Brock groaned. "Don't put me through this again."

Max's eyes widened, and he slipped his glasses back on, thinking he might be missing something in the finer details of Brock's expression.

"Ash challenged me three times with just Pikachu before anyone could talk some sense into him." Brock moaned.

Max raised a finger conjecturally. "Didn't Ash and Pikachu win, though?"

Brock laid two palms on Max's shoulders. "Trust me when I say that not everything needs to be done the hard way."

"Boy if there was ever a lesson to take away from Ash, that would be it, wouldn't it?" Max offered, hoping to allay the issue.

The three of them shared a laugh then, but respectfully kept it short.

"I think Ralts and I will be just fine on our own, though," Max offered, giving one of Brock's hands a comforting pat.

Brock seemed troubled, though, and gave him a look that did not seem fully pleased by his assumption. Brock suddenly felt very akin to Misty right then. He remembered himself wondering why Misty always took it so personally that Ash made mistakes and judgment errors. Personally, he'd always thought it best to let Ash learn from his own folly. He knew it was a far more convincing teacher than recommendations from him, who seemed at best a detached spectator in the heat of the moment, and Misty, who seemed at best a severe annoyance to Ash.

He definitely didn't want Max to whiff on his first attempt, though. He wasn't sure if he could let one of his friends take another defeat that was sure to sting. Not this soon. Max, though, was sensible, Brock knew. Max could take advice. Loved taking advice, actually. Every little nugget of wisdom Max could get hold of an tuck into his little mental Rolodex, he did so with relish.

"Maybe Dawn and I could lend you a Pokemon" Brock suggested, with an appraising look towards the blunette.

With surprising support—being that she felt the need to provide reparations for her earlier awkwardness—Dawn seconded the idea. "Yeah. That way you can go into an even three-on-three."

Max wrinkled his brows up. "Um."

"Geodude could be just the thing for you! Rock type, good defenses." He snapped his fingers. "I can just pop right back into the center here, and have my brother transfer him over here, too."

"Well," Max started, but Brock was already backpedaling, congratulating himself on being so thoughtful.

"And here," Dawn said, holding out a poke ball in front of him. "You can use Buneary, too! She knows Ice Beam. Should work well for you, right?"

Max hazarded a glance down at Ralts, and they favored each other with resigned looks. "Um. Yeah. Sure." He let her plop the ball into his open palm.

Soon enough Brock had returned and placed a poke ball into his opposite hand as well. "There you go."

"When were you wanting to go give it a shot, Max?" Dawn queried.

"Right now, I guess." Max said, still holding both poke balls as though truly unsure of what to do with them.

Both of the older trainers seemed all that surprised by his answer, but neither did they seem all that pleased by it, if he was reading their faces correctly. He shrugged, and set both of the borrowed Pokemon on his belt, snapping them in place to either side.

Dawn watched him read their pokedex entries over as they walked to the Gymnasium, pouring over move-lists, abilities, type-tables, counting out figures on his fingers, and mumbling to himself as they walked. He definitely had a vastly different approach to Pokemon than anyone she'd ever met.

Brock went ahead of them, into the Gym to help set up the challenge for his novice companion, leaving the two younger trainers in the lobby. When Max looked up from his pokedex, finally, after having only half-acknowledging the breeders departure, he was surprised to find Dawn shouldering up her backpack, and treading away from him backwards.

"I'm gonna go change, alright? I'll catch up with you and Brock in just a minute," she explained, nodding towards the foyer bathroom. Not really knowing what else to do, or having any idea what she really meant, Max nodded his accord, and waited calmly, still wondering what he was going to do with the two poke balls clutched in his palm. He didn't exactly have a plan for how he would put them to use. At least not one as meticulously planned as the one he and Ralts had come up with. He knew Brock and Dawn were trying to help him out, but he wasn't exactly sure how it was all going to work out. Honestly, he still wasn't sure he'd have preferred they just stay out of it.

Still, he tried to take it all in stride, when Brock peeked back through the gymnasium doors, and beckoned him in, with a smile. Brock would never do anything but look out for him, he knew. That was why he'd leapt at the chance to travel with the Pokemon breeder. In all the time Max had known him, Brock had been a perfunctory adviser to Ash, and never once had he done otherwise in that role, either. Brock certainly wouldn't try to undermine his own attempts by trying to do all the work for him, and he had to trust that Dawn wouldn't either.

They were just trying to lend him a hand was all.

"All set." Brock assured him, peeking back out of the main gymnasium. It certainly didn't seem like he was being patronizing.

Max rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "Well, I guess now's as good a time as any."

He let Brock show him into the gym proper, an open-aired courtyard that would've been indistinguishable from a traditional zen rock garden were it not for the demarcation lines of a Pokemon battlefield raked into the sand. In the midst of the picturesque scene stood a young man who seemed as though he might've been a bit older than Ash, though certainly not as old as Brock. The comparison must've inspired some expectation of immaturity in him, he realized, because as the leader turned to face him, taking hold of the upright staff of his wooden rake with both hands, Max was caught off guard by the striking, confident quality of his voice.

"I am Falkner, the Violet City Pokemon Gym Leader!" he proclaimed, with surety. With an open palm extended in Max's direction, he wordlessly asked his opponent to grace him likewise with introduction.

He found his mouth clammy before the pronouncement, but he stuck with it anyways, for fear of seeming intimidated. "I'm Max," he began, thinking of giving an account of where he was from as well but settling with "and I'm here to battle you for a Zephyr Badge," instead. He closed his fist hard before himself with the proclamation, in what was typical junior-trainer style.

To Brock, standing on the side-lines, he looked every bit the hard-charging, confident, and indefatigable young battler Ash had been at his age. He felt his heart swell with pride that he was beholden to it, once more, and yet he felt a twinge of sadness, when he realized that he wished that Ash could've been here to see exactly what he was seeing. He thought that maybe that was exactly what Ash could've used. A little window into his early days-those crazy, impulsive, and unexpectedly successful waxing hours of his career—that Max presented to him, right at that moment. It probably would've done Ash a world of good, in fact. He decided that he'd send Ash a text and tell him all about it, once this battle was over.

Falkner and Max wasted no further time in dispensing with the formalities, and setting to work. Max threw the poke ball laden heavily with Brock's Geodude to the floor, and issued his opening command, just as Falkner let loose with his own Pokemon, Hoot-Hoot.

Buneary seemed a little confused though, when the voice of it's trainer was not the voice it heard. Instead, it was Max who called for an "Ice Beam!" The hesitation cost Buneary and Max dearly, as Hoot-Hoot quickly carried out it's opposite and corresponding order.

"Hypnosis!"

The tiny owl Pokemon emitted a droning, monotonous call, that seemed to invade the ears of all present, making them feel slightly lethargic. The effect was rather more severe on Buneary, however, as following a few more unheeded calls for "Ice Beam!" from Max, the rabbit slumped down onto it's tummy and yielded to it's desire for rest, ignoring the battle altogether.

To his credit, Brock could see, Max didn't panic. He continued to urgently call for Buneary, but didn't twitch or stamp or flail about in the way Ash would've early in his career. He understood what was happening, and was keeping an eye on what his opponent was up to, rather than getting upset at Buneary who could no more help itself than Max could.

It was a good thing too, since Falkner's next act was a bit unorthodox.

"Hoot-Hoot, return!"

Faulkner's Pokemon left the field in a beam of red light, and was replaced in a flash by a Dodrio, obviously one of the leader's favored attackers. He ordered up an immediate Tri-Attack to take advantage of the opportunity granted by Buneary's current state—pronounced by Dodrio's more powerful attacks, as opposed to Hoot-Hoots more strategic offerings—before it was gone.

Dodrio's three heads aligned themselves with uncharacteristic precision, and opened wide their craggy beaks to expel energy of three separate by finely attuned wavelengths.

Max had nearly succeeded in rousing Buneary when the three beams converged, leaving searing marks across the sand from three different origins straight to their singular terminus. The focused beam connected punishingly, sending Buneary tumbling end over end with a squeal of combusted air, and kicking up a tremendous amount of sand.

"Buneary, are you alright?" Max hollered, clenching his eyes shut in the sand-cloud. He worked it over in his mind, even as he waited for a response, unsure if he would even get one. If the sand was that lose, than any pitched battle would certainly create sand-storm conditions. He'd read about those. Any Pokemon that wasn't a rock or steel type would have a hard time dealing with that.

When at last the abrasive sand settled, and he could open his eyes again, he saw that Buneary was not entirely down and out. Even now the rabbit Pokemon was working itself back up to full height, and preparing to re-enter the fray. He opened his mouth to utter some words of encouragement, but someone from behind beat him to the punch.

"B-E-A-T Beat 'em,
B-U-S-T Bust 'em
Beat 'em, Bust 'em,
That's our custom!"

He half-turned, and then poorly withheld an open gape at what he saw. Dawn swished back and forth, with feigned punches, each of her fists a star-burst of silver pom-pom, as she cheered on her Pokemon from the sideline, in full cheer-leading regalia.

"C'mon Buneary, let's adjust 'em!" she finished, rotating her left arm, and delivering one final punch for spirit, before giving Max—who was now staring at her fully—a sly wink. That's what she'd meant by change.

"Another Tri-Attack!" Max heard Faulkner holler, and spun, to issue a return attack, but Buneary was already on it, scampering rapidly across the sand to close the distance even as it's frosty blue glow accumulated in preparation.

The Ice Beam and Tri-Attack passed each other, and for a moment it appeared as though Buneary had dodged the Dodrio's attack, rushing past the point of convergence and to safety, but the subsequent explosion of tripolar energies colliding sent the poor Pokemon sailing, anyways.

Fortunately Buneary's Ice Beam struck home as well, freezing two of Dodrio's heads together and to the neck of the third which hung heavily. The super-effective attack probably would've been a one-hit knockout, but Max could see, as he withdrew the unconscious Buneary from battle, the obvious signs of burning, which Max knew lowered a Pokemon's capacity to inflict damage, as well as causing the expected residual pain.

"Thanks Buneary," Max said quietly, determined to show his appreciation for the hard-fought effort, but unwilling to turn and face Dawn. He clipped the ball she had given him back to his belt, and brought forth his next one.

Faulkner had returned his Dodrio to it's ball, though, and sent out Hoot-Hoot, immediately catching his Pokemon with Hypnosis again, due to the slight hesitation of unfamiliarity, putting it soundly to sleep. Rather than withdraw Hoot-Hoot this time, Faulkner switched to Confusion, in an effort to gradually wear down Geodude with blasts of psychic energy.

Brock was surprised again, when Max neither lamented the turn of events, nor lost his temper. Max, like he, knew that Geodude's defenses would hold.

No such attack would've been enough to defeat the hardy Pokemon of Pewter City Gym, after all. Max only issued his order, as Geodude emerged from sleep, weakened but unwounded. "Rock Throw!"

Brock's Pokemon picked up a solid chunk of stone and hurled it with deadly accuracy. Though Max was well away of a Hoot-Hoot's precision sense of timing and high speed, even he was surprised with the near miss.

Rather than retreat as Max might've expected, the Hoot-Hoot swooped aside and delivered another Confusion attack on Faulkner's orders. The next incoming rock did not miss, and smacked Hoot-Hoot clean out of the air.

Max hollered for a followup, but it didn't come with any rapidity. Hoot-Hoot falteringly made it back up onto one foot, and took to the air again, leaving Max confused.

Though, likely not as confused as Geodude. The insidious attack having taken it's secondary effect for which it took it's namesake, Geodude wobbled around, disoriented, and for a moment, Max thought for certain that the rock-type would bean him with a rock in it's confusion.

True to his previous form, Faulkner withdrew the wounded Hoot-Hoot, and sent in his third Pokemon, a very powerful and regal looking Pidgeot. He wanted to urge Geodude to use Rock Throw, to issue a command that would bolster and focus the tottering boulder but before he could, he was again beaten to it.

"Yeah, Yeah,
Do We Rock?
Yeah, Yeah,
Do we Take it to the Top?
Yeah, Yeah,
Are we ever gonna stop?"

It was Dawn again, flailing and pointing her pompoms and shaking her skirt side to side. Knowing that he had to stay focused with Faulkner's strongest Pokemon on the field, his staring was far more protracted this time.

"No way! Go-o-o-o Geodude!" she cheered from behind him, as he turned once more to face the field.

He thought for a moment that Dawn's support had had a sobering effect on Geodude—since it certainly had an effect of one sort or another on him—but by the next moment, he knew he was dead wrong.

He called for a Rock Throw, but he knew as soon as Geodude brought both arms to the ground, and hunkered low, that a Rock Throw was not what was happening. Instead, a weak Magnitude attack shook the outdoor arena, which only served to upset their footing, since Pidgeot was a flying type and thus was, by nature, out of contact with the ground.

Faulkner, who seemed to have been biding his time, strategically, was now presented with an interesting idea. With a wry smile, he gave his order. "Mirror Move!"

Max was blown away by what happened next, and found himself explaining it before it even happened. "Geodude used Magnitude, a ground type move that is completely ineffective against the flying-type Pidgeot. So in response, Pidgeot uses Mirror Move, a high level move that replicates the last move used by your opponent, and since Geodude's rock-type nature makes him weak against ground type attacks, Pidgeot essentially helps Geodude finish itself off."

It all happened exactly as Max predicted, down to the letter. Pidgeot grasped firmly onto solid ground with it's talons and issued forth a tremor that was immensely more effective than it's counterpart. Geodude went down in a pebbly heap.

"What a brilliant move." Max lamented as he withdrew Geodude. The rock-Pokemon had done good work, though, and he gave the ball a conciliatory pat, before stashing it on his belt.

Brock and Dawn had given their help. He accepted that. Buneary and Geodude had gotten their licks in, even though they hadn't been able to put away any of Faulkner's Pokemon so far. Still, he felt a sense of relief as he grasped the Nest Ball that contained his Ralts This was something he'd actually planned for.

On the sidelines, though, Brock and Dawn shared looks of worry, and disgrace.

"That didn't exactly go over how I planned it." Dawn whispered, aside. Her look made it clear to Brock that she had expected more to come of the help she'd offered. Though the touted Ice Beam had hit it's mark, KO's were clearly what counted here, and that was a burden even he felt.

"Tell me about it. Geodude didn't even manage to take out his weakest Pokemon" Brock moaned.

They both realized they were leaving Max to his own devices here, devices that were notably weak against flying-type attacks, for one. Unproven and untested, for another. Theories were great and all, but real experience had to come in to the formula somewhere—just as Ash had discovered trying to get by on panache and determination alone—the key was practice!

Forgetting herself, Dawn nearly missed her cue when Ralts popped onto the battlefield, but quickly caught her tempo—once more interrupting Max, unbeknownst to her—and set to motion.

"Salt makes ya thirsty,
Pepper makes ya sneeze,
But when it comes to battlin',
We make ya buckle at your Knees!"

Max turned, following the display, to issue his own words of support to Ralts, but Unfinished, Dawn shouted and gesticulated with all of her might, as though trying to physically dispense her misgivings. "Go Ralts! Go-o Ralts!" she cheered, leaping high into the air with a flourish.

With a bit of frustration, Max turned from Dawn and back to his baby Pokemon, and nodded. "Alright Ralts, just like we talked about, okay?"

Dawn nearly turned blue with shame when she realized that in the throes of her cheer, she'd disrupted Max long enough for Faulkner to send his Hoot-Hoot back out.

Brock and Dawn shared a crestfallen groan as once again, Faulkner beat Max to the punch with an order for "Hypnosis!" and once again, Max's Pokemon fell into serene sleep.

But hearing their wail, Max reminded them that "Ralts' ability—Synchronize—reflects status effects back at the opponent. If Hoot-Hoot puts Ralts to sleep, it falls asleep as well."

Sure enough, Faulkner's Hoot-Hoot fell limply as well, inextricably lulled to sleep by it's own deviousness, until such time as both Pokemon awakened.

Brock took very little relief in that, however. If Max believed he would wait patiently, and then order Ralts to attack once he woke back up, he evidently hadn't been watching much of the match so far.

But Max had been watching, and so he was desperately trying to rally his Pokemon back to consciousness, even as Falkner yet again swapped out Pokemon as had been his MO throughout the battle. This time he switched to Pidgeot, and called for a Whirlwind attack which the flying type issued forth with a few flaps of it's enormous wingspan.

Huge, coiling clouds of sand came along with the wind, and buffeted both he and his Pokemon, and he was very thankful for his need to wear glasses at that moment, as coarse sand whipped his face, and the hands he elevated to protect it.

He heard Brock and Dawn make sounds of grief behind him, but he did not panic. Whirlwind was not a flying type move, and even enhanced though it was by the artificial "weather" this arena imbued into the attack, it would not be enough to finish Ralts All he had to do was weather the storm, so to speak.

"Now, Ralts!"

Crack!

The powerful sound startled everyone. Perhaps they'd have expected it from Ash and his Pikachu, or maybe even from a larger and more intimidating Pokemon, sure, but hardly from a Ralts. Still, nobody could deny that a Thunderbolt had just shot out from the dust cloud and struck Pidgeot unerringly—for how could it have possibly been fast enough to dodge—right in the beak.

The powerful blow resounded with the wavering rumble of a lightning strike, and left the two competitors standing on more even footing, perhaps footing that was slanted in Max's favor.

Faulkner may have had three Pokemon to Max's one, but all three now were injured, and severely. Pidgeot didn't look like it could take another hit like that, and the gym-leader doubted any of his other Pokemon could either.

Max felt confident as he watched the bird-trainer flinch from his game, refusing to switch out Pokemon, and pressing the attack to its fullest. "People say you can clip Flying-type Pokemon's wings with a jolt of electricity... I won't allow such insults to bird Pokemon! I'll show you the real power of the magnificent flying type! Wing Attack!"

Pidgeot recovered from it's mid-air stagger and tucked into a dive, preparing to slash at the grounded grass-type with it's wing-tip in a fly-by strike. This time the move would be super-effective, and this time, it would finish this upstart trainer for good, Faulkner believed.

The attack never struck home, though. By the time Pidgeot went into it's terminal trajectory and began the dive, Ralts was gone. When the huge bird Pokemon doubled back, and made another pass, Ralts vanished yet again. Max tried hard to contain his grin

Faulkner realized what was happening, though. "Teleport." he hissed under his breath. He signaled to his Pokemon with an outstretched hand. "Aerial Ace!"

Max held in a breath. This was the moment of truth. This would determine whether he went on to win, or fail. He pushed his breath out in one final preventative measure. "Lucky Chant!"

He and Ralts both closed their eyes. There was no point in either of them leaving them open. Even if there was enough visibility to see anything, amidst the sand, Aerial Ace always hit it's mark. Max could hear Ralts making soft, rhythmic noises, and hoped that Lucky Chant would be enough to mitigate, or at least reduce the possibility of a one-hit knockout.

There was a sharp whistling sound, as Pidgeot cut the air like a cruise missile and blasted into his unseen Pokemon through the dense cover of airborne sand, kicking even more of the harsh substance into the air.

There was a tense silence, as Pidgeot reappeared at the opposite side of the cloud and took off into a looping climb that brought him back around to Faulkner's side of the field. "Looks like the wind is with us," the leader commented dryly.

The sand seemed to twist about and hang there in the air, obscuring the fate of his Pokemon for far too long. Faulkner waited, and Max did not call out, fearing—understandably—that if Ralts called out to him in return, it would inevitably mean exposing himself to another Aerial Ace attack, visible or no.

Dawn could see the need arise, and it was a great effort to fight through her tension, in order to meet it. It seemed like her vast reservoir of inspiring rhetoric had gone dry. She bit her lower lip. Max needed a cheer right now, more than ever!

"What's another one I know—c'mon Brock, help me out here!" Dawn hissed, trying to obscure her uncertainty with a pom-pom. "He needs a great cheer! Something specific! "

Brock hardly saw how he could be helpful in this regard, but still he offered his thoughts on the matter, in spite of his own tensions. "Maybe something about flying type Pokemon?"

"I'm cheering for him, not against him," Dawn harrumphed.

"What, you don't know any good digs?" Brock blinked.

"Digs?"

"Yeah you know. Like, stuff to mock the opposition."

"You mean, like, be mean to Faulkner?" Dawn asked, in stark dismay of the notion. Cheering was about cheering your friends on, not jeering at the competition. If that was the case, they'd probably call it "Belittling" instead of "Cheering!"

"Well, I'm not saying you should talk bad about his mom or anything, but-"

"No, wait that's perfect!" Dawn interrupted, slamming a pom-pom down into an open palm.

"Thought of something good, then?" He really hoped it wouldn't be about Faulkner's mom.

"Watch me work it, Brock." Dawn replied confidently, and spun sharply away, with an address towards the opposite end of the field this time. She leveled a pom-pom towards Falkner, and jostled her shoulders in time with the words.

"There was a little Pidgey, who sat up on a wall,
cheering for the other guy, he had no sense at all."

As she completed the couplet, she shook her head sharply.

"He slipped right down from 'top that wall, fell and bumped his head,"

For this part she dropped her hands down in a cascading motion.

"But when he came back up again, this is what he said:"

She reversed the motion to complete this phrase, then launched into a flurry of motions, now directed towards their young companion.

"Go, go, go ye mighty Max!
Fight, fight, fight ye mighty Max!
Win, win, win ye mighty Max!
Go, fight, win, until the very end!"

Max visibly swelled, though he didn't look back for fear that it would give his blush away. He seemed to grow half a foot taller, as he yelled out triumphantly.

"Thunderbolt!"

The same deafening crack stole out from the sand, just as it settled, to reveal Ralts glowing white with the gathered energy of the TM-taught attack. It struck home hard and Pidgeot plummeted like a stone, assuredly knocked out.

Dawn and Brock leaped into the air and caught each-other in their joy, while Max gently reigned himself in to finish the job. Faulkner tried to rally his Dodrio, but the half-frozen bird couldn't even hold it's heads up, much less direct a competent attack. A thunderbolt struck it, and put it down, along with the still-sleeping Hoot-Hoot.

"I understand... I'll bow out gracefully," Faulkner acquiesced with a sigh, and tended to his defeated Pokemon, as Max rushed to meet his own, midfield.

"Yeah!" Max cried, throwing Ralts into the air and catching him again several concurrent times, in congratulations. "You kicked butt, Ralts!"

"Raaaaa," the Pokemon managed with delirious happiness, weathered by it's victory but still willing to share in the revelry.

Max returned his Pokemon with a dauntless grin, and made for the opposite end of the rock-garden. He heard Faulkner muttering to himself over Hoot-Hoots recumbent form. Max tried to hide his exuberant expression

"...For pity's sake! My dad's cherished bird Pokemon..." The young man extended a poke ball and returned the KO'd owl Pokemon, then turned to face Max, starting as though continuing a conversation they'd been having in earnest the whole time. "Well, a defeat is a defeat." He paused to dig in his kimono, and offer a gleaming metallic badge. "Take this official Pokemon League Badge, to show that you were victorious."

Max took the badge with a nod, then stepped away, returning to where his friends were. He felt his smile returning in magnitudes as he approached them. He didn't offer them much. Just a "Thanks" to each as he deposited their respective poke balls back into outstretched palms. With a slightly amused expression he withdrew a TM disk from his pocket and placed that into Brock's hand as well. Still, he kept quiet, content with his own personal victory, and marched back through the complexes front gate ahead of them, turning the Zephyr Badge over and over between his fingers.

"You know, he kind of made us look like fools for doubting him." Dawn said, with a slightly put out, but still impressed look, as she followed their younger companion out at a distance.

"No doubt, there." Brock acknowledged, looking down at the poke ball in his hands. "Is there still egg on my face?" he asked, glancing over.

"Only here." Dawn explained, indicating his whole visage with a twisting gesture of her hand, and a quiet laugh. "Me?"

"Oh yeah." He said with equal mirth, as he walked alongside her. "You've got it everywhere."

---

Misty sat in her high-backed chair, reclined slightly, but biting at the nail of her pinky. She was watching her Pokemon through the two-way mirror that comprised nearly an entire wall of her office, and she wasn't overly proud of what she was seeing.

Granted, she could understand that there was something to be said for hands-on training. And yes, she did understand that she was having to be a little spotty right now with her time, because of all the issues needing her attention at the moment—Gary's nearly daily interruption of her regimen seemed like only one of the many things demanding her time—but still she was not happy with what she saw.

The same scene lay before her that had a week previous, and not a single improvement had been made. Gyarados and Kingler still pushed each-other to a level entirely beyond the rest of her Pokemon's capabilities, in a never-ending display of one-upmanship. Starmie and Staryu though competent at carrying out tasks generally milled about, or remained sedentary without instruction, while the rest of her Pokemon either did the same, or acted mischievously when they believed they were not being overseen.

Now, she considered herself a realist, in that she certainly did not expect progress to make itself. In fact, to the opposite effect, she'd always believed that inaction led to stagnation and regression. Still, she set her standards at a lofty height when it came to matters concerning her beloved Pokemon, and she did feel some disappointment in not seeing those standards met.

Though, were one to believe this discontentment to be directed at her Pokemon, they'd have been mistaken, surely. For it was certainly herself and the predicament before her that taxed her mind.

"Training isn't something that happens all on it's own, ya know," she explained mockingly to herself, reinforcing the lesson, even as she typed away at a requisition order for a new pump monitoring system—yet another task keeping her from her Pokemon

It was a mechanism she relied on often to do her more introspective thinking. Actually, it was one of the reasons she'd had this office built with insulated glass, and on the inside of the concrete substructure of the arena. She had been ridiculed often before by her sisters for talking to herself, after all, and with the monster responsibilities on her shoulder the idiosyncrasy did not lessen with her inheritance of the lead position within the gym.

She welcomed it, though. It helped her sort through her thoughts most of the time, and even when it didn't, it usually helped her feel better, even if it was just because she got the opportunity to rant at someone who actually listened.

"I need to find some freaking time, is all," she griped, bemoaning the mountain of work left to complete yet. "It's like being a gym-leader is getting in the way of being an actual gym-leader."

She granted herself that. Her complex, and truthfully, the cerulean legacy itself could have been said to be in something of a rebuilding period. The Sensational Sisters themselves may have been hot shit, but this gym, and reputation she wanted it to have as a complex that doled out fierce competition to those that came through town looking to earn a league badge, was only yet beginning to be established. The Gym had always been an attraction, yes, but under her sisters control it had never really been known for it's potent battling.

She wanted better than that, though. In both categories. She wanted Cerulean Gym to be a place where not just trainers, but everyone wanted to be. A place where just your average person, who might otherwise have littler interest in Pokemon battling would enjoy, and perhaps—and this point was very important to Misty, truth be told—begin to foster a liking for, an interest in, at the very least, Water Pokemon, which she herself held above all others.

At the same time, she wanted to elevate her battling to such a level that the Gym, and her home town would become synonymous with the sort of overwhelming skill, and powerful presence that would make the place truly revered as the best. Not that she wanted to scare trainers away from here, of course—that was her bread and butter after all!—but she certainly didn't mind at all if wannabe hot-shots and big-mouths went home crying without a badge, either.

"Problem is, finding enough time in the day to do both," Misty acknowledged.

Truthfully, they were severely under-staffed, that much was true. Misty literally ran everything with her own two hands, with only very half-hearted clerical and custodial work from her sisters. There were a million different ways to impress upon a person just how completely and utterly the day to day operations of this gym relied on her. She had talked herself blue in the face trying to get almost all of them across to her sisters.

"With them it's always 'Hire someone!' or 'Find some boy to do it, if it's so hard!'... Sheesh," She remarked, careful to add the proper distasteful drawl, and chipper overtone to indicate Violet and Lily respectively.

She'd always resisted the idea of hiring additional help, and it was for no single reason. There was more to it than just the fact that gym coffers had up until recently been low, with the ongoing renovations. And to be honest, there was more to it even than the sense of enjoyment she got from being able to say to her sisters "I am the Cerulean Gym."

There was the fact that she felt uncomfortable putting something she regarded as more than her own responsibility, but rather as her own livelihood into someone's hands who cared no more about the place than the dollar amount on their next paycheck. Her sisters might have been lazy bums sometimes, but at least they still gave a shit about her, even if they only phoned it in around the gym. Not to mention, she liked very much the idea that the Gym was something of an heirloom, and had always been, since it's beginning, a family-operated establishment. Granted, the Gym itself had grown somewhat in scope, since the days of it's inception, beyond the scale which it would generally be considered tenable by a family the size of her own. Still, she was reluctant to take that step, perhaps just as much because she enjoyed the idea, as not wanting to be the one to break that familial tradition.

She'd made all this known to her sisters as well, time and time again, of course, but that certainly would not slow the tide, the zeitgeist of this new fortune that had befallen them, and what it meant for the Gym, and—perhaps most importantly to those in question—their position within it.

They'd dragged her into the living room yesterday, shoving her into the overstuffed recliner unceremoniously sweeping aside the contents of the coffee-table, and laying a stack of papers before her. She'd known what they were going to say before they all plopped down in a row across from her, and spat it out.

"We think it's time you looked into hiring some help."

She'd made a whiny sound, and squinted her eyes as she rolled away from them, trying to be as deflecting as possible to the issue, but honestly, they'd caught her at a moment where she had just been thinking about how busy her upcoming week could be. When she finally let the roll of her eyes take her back to the sight of them, she was displeased to find that they weren't going to let the issue slide for the sake of not causing an argument. Usually she could just make it clear with a gesture or two that the idea rubbed her the wrong way, and they'd pretend that they were only joking.

Still, they were sitting there, staring right back at her with intensity, each of them regarding her as though she were some chief political figure, to whom they had presented their consultation, and were expecting a critical decision from.

Daisy's serious look might've been sincere, actually. Daisy frequently said things like "You're going to age badly, if you keep working so late," or "All this stress is going to give you white hair," which, she supposed was Daisy's way of emphasizing the importance of something, even if it was a little cockeyed in it's approach. Violet and Lily may as well have had pleading looks on their faces, instead of concerned ones, though. She knew her middle sisters were mostly concerned with themselves, and freeing up their time at the gym to go and do as they pleased with their afternoons.

And really, she couldn't blame any of them, she supposed. They all had careers of their own, that really didn't include this gym in any huge capacity. Still, she tried not to let that fact influence her opinion too greatly. It wasn't as though they hadn't ever caused her any huge inconvenience, or anything.

"There's fifty applications, here." Lily explained.

"We've been taking them for like, the past six months," Violet noted, trying to seem unimpressed, and apparently providing these figures just for that reason, as she soon clarified: "It took that long just to hunt down fifty people willing to work for you."

Misty shared a flat, and likewise unimpressed look with Violet then, who merely stuck out her face at the end of her neck mockingly.

"We really think you should give these a look, baby sis," Daisy stated plainly, her voice lacking none of the stern quality required to halt the fight before it started.

"With that many to choose from, you should totally be able to find at least a few you like, right?" Lily asked, her smile so obviously hinging on a positive answer that Misty almost found it comical.

She'd given into their desires, eventually, though it had taken them nearly two hours of what she called nagging, and they called convincing to finally break her spirit. Though, her concession of the issue was not without reservation, and certainly not without condition.

At any point in the process, she was one-hundred percent free to change her mind about the whole thing, she'd made them swear, and every portion of the interviewing and hiring process, down to the last, was entirely up to her. Her sisters would not so much as make a peep about who and how she decided to select the applicants, or so they promised.

She gave a small sigh, as she jostled through the three orderly stacks of printed information, each held together by a binder-clip, hoping that somehow she'd find a flaw significant enough to merit dismissing the whole matter.

The first potential candidate for employment Ensign Parker, former Kantonese Navy, first name Lesley, which Misty assumed was why the man simply preferred to be addressed as Ensign Parker, or just Parker. She'd brought him in for an interview just yesterday, and had been both thoroughly impressed, and thoroughly dismayed at the imaculacy of his resume.

Six years of decorated maritime service, discharged with honors. Following that, two years of civilian service as a Pokemon League liaison for the Rangers in Sevii, along with all manner of official commendations for exceptional Pokemon training, and battling, both in and out of uniform. He even had an official recommendation letter from Mr. Goodshow, the president of the Pokemon League for "Commendable service and Citizenship".

Parker himself was a man just past thirty, but with a rigid body that more resembled a professional swimmer, than the expected paunch of a junior grade officer. She wasn't going to come right out and tell anyone that he was pretty easy on the eyes with all those abdominal, but she'd caught her sisters making muted cat-calls through the arena door, when he'd stripped down to his speedo, and taken a few timed laps at her request and she had not been too inclined to stop them.

Superficial aspects aside, Parker was very well qualified for the job, and seemed to have all the aptitude she desired as well. He'd spoken at length about his service as liaison to the Pokemon Rangers with some pride, and it did somewhat impress and reassure her that this was a man who had put his vessel and life on the line to help defend ranger conservations efforts from Pokemon poachers.

She essentially had no choice but to hire him.

The other two Diana and Briana were two younger girls, closer to her age who she had nearly dismissed on sight, if not for that reason alone, than for the fact that their resumes indicated heavily that they were coordinators. The two girls had each earned top-sixteen honors in both the Kanto and Johto grand festivals for the past three years running, and were consistent performers in their field, who were not at all afraid to admit that they regarded her older sisters as idols. She evaluated them to be near exactly the type of people she didn't want working at the Gym, almost immediately.

However, she'd been forced to eat those thoughts humbly, once she'd investigated a little more to find out that the pair had been volunteering as Water-Pokemon care-specialists at the Daycare Center outside of town for longer than she'd actually been a trainer, and had actually wanted to work at the Cerulean Gym since they were eight years old.

Admittedly, she'd spent the next hour or so, quite unprofessionally telling and listening to stories concerning water Pokemon, either onerous ones that Diana and Briana had been responsible for, or that Misty had encountered throughout her early adventures, and her gym-leading career.

She did feel as though she'd gotten a good measure of the two girls, though, and quite simply, she had a good feeling about them.

Still, she felt that hesitancy rise in her, as she looked over the paperwork. She still felt uncomfortable with the idea of lending the responsibility of the gymnasium, even in part, to others not kin to her. She brought a hand up to rub the side of her face, as she lifted her gaze up to the two-way mirror, once again, and surveyed the rabble of her unattended Pokemon

"Time to step outside your comfort zone, I guess."

She had a responsibility, after all. Not just to herself, but to her Pokemon as well. If she wanted her dream and her career to flourish, then of course it was tied directly to them. If she wanted them to improve and thereby, her prospects, then her first responsibility was to them. She had to be a better trainer, and the best way to do that, right now, was to become a more accessible one. And the way to do that, was this!

Now that she had rationalized it, she realized, as she looked down to confirm the numbers, that she was already half-way through dialing.

---

When Ash had heard washout-exercise, he had assumed it to be a task which would involve a bath of one sort or another, and had he been in any real shape to think about it, he'd have seen that in a way, it was. A mud-bath was a sort of bath, after all.

The five of them stood three feet apart in a column, facing toward and away from one another, alternatively, so that only one of them would be facing no one. They stood in this way at the bottom of a ten foot hole, that had to of been at least half-full of feet mud in some places. Unfortunately for Ash, he seemed to be enjoying the deeper end, where mud came nearly to his jawline, and he had to keep treading in place to keep himself from sinking.

He was not however, the odd man out, and so he'd been placed so that he was looking directly at Terry, and had been quite surprised at the severity of the black eye he'd given the orange islander, at first. The exercise was not, he soon came to learn, simply standing in the cold, saturated mud. Through instruction from Surge, they'd managed to haul a very heavy and lengthy log up from the muck—which Ash, at first, could not believe to be anything other than a section of telephone pole—and were thereafter instructed to hold it aloft at the full extension of their arms.

Though the fulfillment of the command left the log listing a bit in his direction due to disproportionate height, the task had seemed simple and straight-forward, if a bit mucky. Once they'd been holding the nearly eight-hundred pound log aloft for ten minutes or so, his opinion had started to change. He'd thought about letting his arms bow a little, until Surge caught Glen doing the exact same thing, and received a massive electrical jolt for their trouble. It certainly hadn't helped them any to slope shoulders, either, as now Surge was keeping a pretty close eye out for this phenomenon in particular.

The minutes seemed to drag out into an hour, and the hour seemed to drag out into eternity, as the soreness in their arms turned to fire, and that fire turned into a tearing, rending agony that was evident on every last one of them.

There wasn't as single one of them who was silent, not even Doc. He was groaning and snarling just like the rest of them, as they held aloft what had become seemingly as heavy as any collective burden they had ever known.

Glen's face was twisted and lined with pain, and he knew his own had to be the same. He couldn't see Terry's face, but he could tell by the quaking set of his shoulders that it was probably similar. He could hear sobs from the other side of Terry, obscured from his sight, and they sounded too feminine to be anyone's but Melody's. He wished he could see Doc from here, wished he could see the look on his face—bask in it a little—but there was nothing to balance out that soft, injured moan and squeal coming from Melody, and it cut him to the core.

He had to dig deep within himself then, for it seemed like almost everything this week had piled itself together into some leviathan thing that lay casually over-top his values, and pinned them soundly to the bottom of his heart. The terrible feeling of not knowing, not believing, and not truly accepting what had happened to him, and why it had happened. It was a truly monstrous thing that had lived in the pit of his gut, as of late, and told him in no uncertain terms to keep his head low. And for some reason, he'd listened, too ashamed of the what might've been, and the unfortunate consequences of his own rash actions to dare do otherwise.

Ash Ketchum had come very close to dying over the past week, he realized, and it was not due to lack of food, lack of sleep, or even the fatigue and painful overexertion that he was having to cope with now. Had he let this go on for one second longer without saying something—doing something—he was almost sure he really would have died. Ash Ketchum would've passed on, even if this physical body had completed it's task, and left the mud-pit.

Because Ash Ketchum didn't let things like this happen. Ash Ketchum always, always stood up when something wasn't right, and this was far from right. Glen, Terry, they were okay guys, even if they ran off at the mouth a little. Melody was strong willed, and a bit arrogant, but she was essentially good. He was sure even Doc had redeeming qualities, though he had no real idea what they might've been.

He felt the words swell in his mouth, ready to fly from it like the righteous opening volley of a retaliatory attack—yes, that fit nicely—a retaliatory attack on this harsh, cruel invader of his homeland of inner solitude, surety, and comfort that this week long endeavor into corps life had been for him.

And words did fly, swiftly and sharply, but they weren't his.

"You're some sort of monster!" Terry exclaimed, with a harshness wrought of both pain and avarice without any reasonable outlet. "You're going to kill one of us! What the hell is this stupid course supposed to be about, anyways? So far we haven't learned anything- except how to be miserable! You want one of us to die?"

It didn't seem that far-fetched, at least not to anyone who was in the pit. Every one of them was shaking to the foundations with the strain and the effort of holding the log over their heads, and it didn't seem to Ash that he'd ever hit this level of exertion before. It seemed that one of them just might succumb at any moment.

Surge only regarded the comment with a sort of contemptuous disregard that told them that Terry's concern was nowhere near the mark. The seriously unimpressed look he favored them all with right then told Ash, at least, that in no uncertain terms, that Surge could have come right down there and relieved the lot of them of their burden, just to show them what sissies they were being. Rather than say so, though, he just laid on the misery.

Surge had been all barks and snarls so far, so it seemed a little disconcerting to them that he would suddenly speak so evenly. Maybe that was why it hit Ash so hard. "I have never, in the sixteen years I've been teaching this course, seen such an unsatisfactory group of young people as you five. Those of you who do show any measure of skill or aptitude waste it trying to compete with one another, and those of you who just might be able to get by on tenacity alone waste all of that on griping. These courses and exercises are supposed to teach cooperation, efficiency, and stamina. Instead, you intentionally sabotage my training, and each other in ways I've never even imagined, and I was pretty sure I'd seen it all. You've turned this whole program into a mockery, and that ends today. I've tried tried taking things away, I've tried working you to the bone. And while none of you have done anything outrageous enough for me to eject you from the program, I'm out of options.

"So, either I'm going to get blood from a stone, or I'm going to keep squeezing until I get rid of you. Either way, I'm going to walk away from this with with an operational squadron, and not this miserable bunch of slobs I've had to watch all week." Surge harrumphed, deeply resigned. "So If you think I'm a monster who's doing this for his own satisfaction, and it makes you want to climb out of that pit, RTB, and pack your shit up, please Iuakea, stop wasting everyone else's precious time, and do so."

So that was it, then. It was all out there on the table. Surge wanted them to give up. None of them were surprised when the Terry and Glen both did. The Log practically slammed down onto the remaining three's shoulders as the two islanders clambered up out of the muddy pit, and were ushered away by D.I.s.

Ash hadn't even considered the possibility that he could just quit. He'd thought of it as somehow more binding than that, but the Pokemon Corps was just a peace-keeping service, not unlike the Rangers. It was an elective vocation, not a branch of the military. He felt a little silly, when he stopped to think about it. He could've backed out of this any time he'd wanted, with just a word. He could've saved himself the heartache and the misery, and all this tearing, searing pain that wracked every fiber of muscle he had, currently. Hell, he could dump his end of the log, and use what little strength he had left to haul himself out of here, and be safe and sound at home in just a few days time.

But as good as that sounded, as crushed and defeated as he felt, as ready to concede and shrink away as he was, he knew, even as he watched Terry and Glen bail out on them, that he couldn't. He heard, and saw clearly for the first time, Melody, who's visage seemed somehow as saddened as he ever remembered seeing anyone, and as angry-ugly as any hard-ass DI he'd seen all week. It wasn't the way she was looking at Glen and Terry, that scathed him, because that look seemed more than just upset. It seemed somehow Like she'd accepted from the beginning that this was inevitable, but she had been hoping against hope. There was a misery there, certainly, but it was nothing compared to the look she gave him.

There was just so much expectation there-and how could there not be? He was, if how she claimed to feel was true, a proven hero, right? Her look said so much to him, teetering there between desperately hoping for confirmation that he truly was what she believed he was, and absolute resignation in the face of one final discontentment, after the loss of her compatriots. Both she and he, it seemed, were aware that if he left, there wasn't a chance in hell that the remaining two Echo recruits alone would be able to hold the log up, no matter how strong Doc was, and her look told him more than anything, that she was counting on him—desperately counting on him—to stay.

In that moment, standing there, both their faces covered in mud and streaked with sweat and hot, agony-fueled tears, something silently passed between them.

With her expression alone, she was calling upon him to be that hero again,and without really intending to, without even being cognizant of what he was doing, he had somehow already accepted the responsibilities of that mantle.

Yes, Ash Ketchum lived.

His head wanted more than anything to get up and climb out of that hole, and to get the hell out of here as fast as he could, because every second in this place was breaking him, little by little. His head could validate running away, and had been trying to, for nearly a week. It might've seemed like cowardice, but this was getting him nowhere, and earning him nothing. He could limp away from a lost battle with Doc, and forget about his stupid pride. His head told him that, but his heart...

His heart heard those silent pleas for help in her eyes, and held his legs fast. He had grown a lot, he knew, but there were still parts of him that could only surrender so much. He could rely on pragmatism to a point. It was the smart, adult thing to do, to walk away from a conflict slanted in the oppositions favor. It was responsible to look after yourself, keep out of trouble. It had been a lapse of those things that had gotten him here, in this situation, and into this mess. A heavy dose of pride and arrogance, in a moment of blind fury. It wasn't going to be pride that held him here, though. Ash Ketchum still held on to what made him who he was, at his core.

Melody and he had nearly turned on each other like hungry Houndour today. And truthfully, though they'd had their differences since meeting up again, he could tell that these were Melody's conviction on the line, and that no amount of stubborn tenacity on her part was gonna keep that log in the air, if he backed out now.

He thought about how hopeless and dejected he'd felt after losing faith in himself in Sinnoh. He'd given it everything, and not just come up short, but failed to even place within the bracket.. He knew that there was nothing more demoralizing, nor painful than to fall so short of par, when your sights were set for success. He wondered if having someone else to blame for his lack of success would've made it better. If they failed this... whatever it was—test, objective,punitive measure—Melody could almost certainly pin the blame on terry and glen, and almost certainly, they would be deserving of it. Still, he thought, that did come with the converse alternative that success, the same as failure was likewise out of her hands, at least to some extent.

All Ash knew was that he didn't want to be party to another person's misery, for any reason, if he could help it, especially when it hit so close to home. The truth of it, was that here and now, they needed to work together as a team and as a unit, even if they, for the most part, hated each other's guts.

The Pokemon Corps was just about the most awful thing he could think of, but maybe he could tough it out for a little longer if it meant doing good by Melody.

He would just have to suck it up. Ash Ketchum wouldn't stand idly by while someone's dreams got stomped on, even if doing otherwise meant he had to cooperate with Doc. He just hoped he could get Doc to cooperate with him.

He lifted his legs in tandem, stomping downward to gain a surer foothold. He was glad he'd tied his boots so tightly, because the muck nearly pulled them off regardless. He heaved the log up off his shoulders, and pushed it up as high as he could, which wasn't very high at all, but seemed more than enough to reassure the other two, who likewise made an effort to duplicate his move.

Melody's grimace could not have lessened, in light of the sheer weight she was hefting, but something about her stare told him that she appreciated the effort.

Doc's sudden groan of agony struck them both by surprise though, and they began to falter as the largest of them swayed sideways in the mud, bared sidelong by the weight of the log he could no longer support with both arms.

Ash could see his right arm slump grotesquely at the shoulder, and wrist flopping uselessly to the mud, even past Melody who was nearly dunked below the mud with the sudden sway, the surface rushing suddenly up to her neck.

He looked up to the log over his head, and did the only thing he could do. When it rolled to the side, he refused to yield to it's inertia, and instead pulled it. He pulled it so hard and so sharply that Doc simply lost his one-handed grip on it, and it came crashing down onto his neck and back, as it hunched him low.

It didn't feel as painful to Doc as he knew it likely was. He felt numb, now, mostly. A sharp pop of searing pain had preceded a numbness. A dull, cold and unsettling sensation had washed throughout his body, emanating from his shoulder that he dared not inspect too closely. The sensible part of him that was still there, felt that he must've been lapsing into a state of shock.

To force himself back into sensibility, he took a look around trying to find something to focus on, seeing as how he could only manage to cradle the log there in the crux of his neck, having not the strength to shrug it off. Still, Ash yelled at him. "Don't let go!" he screamed. "Do not let go!" Ash didn't have to say what it would mean if he didn't. It hardly mattered, though. The log would likely push him under the mud, before he could get out from under it. He was just so...distracted.

How was Ash holding up all that weight on his own? Melody was practically buried in the mud and likely concussed aside from that, and so desperately lacking the good sense to properly apply what little strength she might've had left. For that matter, what strength could Ash still have possessed? He was holding up what had to amount four or more times his own body weight at this point, which just didn't seem possible, much less likely, given the conditions. And where the hell was that blue flicker coming from?

He didn't even recognize it as a person anymore, once the slow, stupid feeling fully took hold of him, but he kept seeing that blue color, on and off, flaring up in a set of eyes across from him. Such a mad-dog, piercing blue. Now he could swear it was there again, disconcerting and bright, even though he knew the kid had beady little brown eyes. When he blinked, and tried to look closer, it was gone.

"Help me!" Ash's face screamed, voice ragged with strain and effort.

The face, reddened and filthy screamed it's plea again, and a third time, before he straightened his back, and looped his good arm over log to keep it steady, taking back his end of the burden. Though he didn't have the presence of mind to know it, he'd hefted it just high enough for Melody to get back under it, and add her own limited reserve of strength back to the effort.

The didn't see Surge's look become one of contentment, or hear him shout for his D.I.s to, "Get my people out of there." All they knew was that suddenly, their heavy burden flew away, and they were being lifted up and out of that awful place. Doc and Ash both lost consciousness almost immediately after.

Melody only had the strength left to limp along, watching as Ash' boots scuff awkwardly along in the dirt behind him. Two D.I.s carried his limp frame along, one hunched under each arm to keep him upright. Beside, Doc bobbed up and down on a stretcher, one arm in a tightened canvas sling.

Halfway back to the compound proper, she stopped and threw up. There was nothing in it—save watery bile and more than a little inadvertently swallowed mud—but her body protested its presence just the same.

She swooned coming back to her feet, and a massive arm caught her before she careened into one of the D.I.s carrying Ash along. Surge stooped and collected her in a firefighter's carry, and laden with the three fallen young people, the Corpsmen returned to base.

---

A/N:Yes, I know, Synchronize doesn't really work that way, (technically neither does Confusion) but fuck it, it made for an interesting little battle, so I rolled with it.

"Uh, not really, it was pretty much like all your other battles: Repeated uses of the same status effect, followed by convenient lapse of judgment on part of the antagonist, and miraculous win on part of the protagonist."

-Sigh- Quit busting my fuckin' balls, alright?

Anysomehow, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I really do want to say that the updates will be coming along more steadily, but yanno, fool me once and all that. Either way, I hope everybody enjoyed it, and is looking forward to the conclusion of this arc, come next chapter.