Curtain Call: 4

John felt himself lucky, all things considered, as a grunt shoved him into yet another unfamiliar and somewhat intimidating room. Neither color nor furniture adorned it. Stark white paint stretched from seam to seam. White walls. White ceiling. White floor. And somehow the builders still managed to shape out the depth defying color into a room that resembled the curvature of a pendulum. Glass lined the farthest and longest curved wall. Darkness lay beyond it. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Was this place real or just a horrific figment of the imagination? After defying expectation, defeating his opponent, and damaging the Cage with his performance, John expected something a little more back alley and bloody.

"Here." The grunt threw something at him. John turned around and caught his pokebelt clumsily in his chest. The grunt motioned at the center of the room. "Stand there and release your pokemon." He then slammed the door shut, making the wall a solid white once more. Man, these guys were pushy. First, they force him to use his pokemon to fight, then demand he withdraw them after the fight, and now release them again with nothing to fight. It would have been easier to let John keep them out, but then again, he wouldn't want a prisoner walking around with a war tank either. After Lopo's brief but notable performance, security in all fashions swarmed the Cage. Grunts, their pokemon, and their special reserves lined the bars, waiting for their exit.

Sure, the duo could have tried to fight their way out in a show worthy of Bonnie and Clyde. But even with Lopo's strength, they wouldn't have made it far before being overwhelmed. Besides, John wasn't going anywhere without the rest of his party. He counted the pokeballs strung along the belt. All were in place and undamaged. That in itself was worth staying for.

The trainer then slowly turned around to face the curved glass farther in the room. He limped lightly, the adrenaline withdrawal sending his body on a painful spiral deeper into the depths of distress. Old wounds resurfaced but they were hard to see under the fresh layer of more recent additions. There was the ice burn on his shoulder, fire burn on his leg, broken mountain side body, and the guiding knuckles of his escorts. Thankfully, Whey had redone his bandages to remove the wood stain before he left for McAlister's. His limbs may have fallen off without them. At least, he had his personality, right?

Considering who you asked, even that was questionable.

John slowly walked up to the curved wall. He couldn't see much through the tinted glass, only the suggestions of shapes and colors. Whatever this strange room was, it seemed to be on a stage set in some sort of small amphitheater. A crescent of steps, mirroring the shape of the curved wall, led up to several small booth like compartments at the top. People moved, sat, and stood within them. One or two used the pathway at the bottom to traverse from booth to booth. John was sure they could see him much clearer than he could see them but no one paid him much attention.

So this was what it felt like to be the unpopular exhibit at the zoo?

John looked back into the white room. Grooves along the floor indicated tracks where the walls could be moved to change the size and shape as needed. The floors were recently sterilized by the flat shine and smell. Why, he didn't really want to know. It churned his stomach with bad memories. John glanced upwards. An outer plastic shell protected the florescent lights. No paint on the walls. No decorations. Isolated and alone, there was nothing but himself to catch the eye.

John tapped on the glass. Thick, double walled, and pokemon proof. Stand there and release your pokemon, the grunt had demanded. Stand there, release your pokemon, and show this shit show what your worth, was what John heard. But at least, he was worth something. He wouldn't be alive otherwise. The trainer sighed and snapped his belt around his waist. Release his pokemon or have the grunt do it for him was the more accurate interpretation. You didn't have to be an ace trainer to know that forcibly trying to control a pokemon without its trainer caused more problems than if the trainer commanded the pokemon themselves. Complying with their demands was exactly what big brother wanted, and would no doubt spell out his doom, but it was still his choice.

John unfastened Charles' classic ball and enlarged it. Two cameras in the back corners refocused. Several people in the theater started to move, signaling a silent change to whatever was about to happen next. John had no clue what that specifically was but, the longer he kept his pokemon in his hands, the better. Marco, Lopo, and Charles, they were all he had left in this timeline, and he wasn't going to endanger them by being stupid. Besides, keeping secrets and shrouding his opponents in mystery wasn't really his style. Better to have all the cards on the table because, if you're destined to lose, you're going to lose no matter how you play it, so you might as well be honest about it. Two life lessons in one.

John tossed up the ball and held out his arm. When the energy streamed out, it fell over his arm, slipping over and pulling back better than taffy in a machine. Surface tension pulled the energy together. Charles materialized, draped over John's arm like the rag doll he was. Aria taught him that pokemon party trick years ago. It came in handy when one didn't want to materialize on electrified ground or in this case, stand on your own two feet.

Charles was still asleep in a dream so deep a referee could have called it a faint. John snuggled the linoone close to his chest and caught the classic ball as it fell. Miraculously, it stayed in his grip. Adrenaline was a God send. So was the pokemon warming his chest with body heat. John carefully put the ball back into place and removed another. Partial coordination had returned to his fingers but they were still stiff with cold and moved slowly. He wouldn't risk dropping a pokemon in haste. Not now, not ever again. Marco materialized after Charles. He soared into existence, spanning the length of the room in his opening flight. Leave it to the megalomaniac to showboat in a life or death situation. Lopo followed less dramatically. He materialized facing John, eyes as black as his fur. The only depth within them was created by the fluorescent lights above. They glimmered across his eye the same way moonlight highlighted his ribbed armor in the dead of night. It was almost skeletal.

Marco chattered in annoyance at the lack of perches and cut across the room. He banked close to John's shoulders, saw Charles, and quickly turned away. Refusing to touch a talon to the floor, he settled on the next available spot. Lopo's head tilted as the pidgeotto perched on one horn. The houndoom quickly shook off the disrespect before it turned into offence. Marco chirped at the rejection, making sure his tail slapped Lopo in the face on his way out. He then retreated to his usual perch.

John turned a cheek into the feathered breast as Marco landed on his shoulder, staying close to his neck to avoid clutching the burn inflammation. Normally, the bird pokemon kept his distance when Charles was in John's arms. The linoone often found the need to sling himself across the opposing shoulder and admire Marco's tail. It wouldn't have been a problem if the rushing pokemon didn't like to rub his face along it so much. But right now, sharing the space was better than the dark and stormy secondary option brooding in front of them. As long as Marco's tail and crest could drape at full length, he would be happy. Especially since he was so popular with the ladies recently. One in particular, which brought John to the second nest ball on his belt.

Marco cocked his head as John held it up. Even Lopo took a moment to examine it. From appearances alone, both could tell it wasn't part of the usual gang. The shell was immaculate compared to Marco's. Quality goods and quality materials for a better quality pokemon and far superior trainer. John barely held its weight in his hand. It burned worse than his back and leg combined. Two pidgeotto they had said. One of which, was none other than Athena, Liam Valenis' proud pokemon.

John would go to hell for this. Its path freshly paved with a good intention. He never should have taken the ball from the table. One didn't double cross Liam Valenis, let alone steal a pokemon from him. He could try to convince the ace that it had been an accident, but at this rate, he'd be lucky for a swift and painless execution. What a great way to repay the man who saved his life. Hiding the pidgeotto was impossible. The goon squad already analyzed his belt in the lounge. They knew Athena was here, assuming she was his. John owed it to her more than anyone else to know the situation, and until he could get her home, she was his responsibility. He took a deep breath.

Inhale. Exhale. Horns first. For the love of Rangers, John hoped it wasn't talons first.

"Alright, everybody," he announced. "Let's stay calm and offer no resistance. It's going to be a shock when she comes out."

John glanced between his pokemon before settling on Athena's ball once more. He held his breath and pressed the release. The ball sprang open. Energy spiraled upwards, growing wider with each spin before the materialization broke off with a flap of the pidgeotto's wings. Athena shrieked into existence. As if knowing the hand that released her was foreign, she took off as fast as she could, flying the length of the room in a millisecond. She banked, avoiding a near collision with the indistinguishable white walls only to plow into the glass with the ferocity of desperation. Her wings never hit the floor. She circled once more.

"Athena, please, calm down!" John yelled. It was one thing to release a bird pokemon in confinement. It was another to do it without the trust of their beloved trainer. At this rate, Athena was going to kill herself. Marco chirped but the female's shrieks were only calling for an ace that was nowhere to be found. Beak and talon scratched the ceiling and floor trying to find an escape. John ducked as she streaked by.

"I know I'm not your trainer but you have to listen, please!"

Fear turned to fury as Athena dove for the closest pokemon. Lopo ducked and John received a face full of feathers. Marco took off with another thrill, hoping the much larger and powerful female would displace her anger upon him and his crest of feathers. It was enough to free John before any damage was done. Athena rocketed away along the curved window, a wing attack streaking the glass behind her. It matched several other failed attempts to break free crisscrossing the walls. Moving too fast to stop on her own, Athena threw a gust out in front of her to avoid running into a corner. It pushed her away from the wall, backfired, and rushed over John and his pokemon. Lopo's ears fluttered. They pulled tight against his head as the attack passed. The houndoom had had enough. He lowered his head, crouched down, and jumped into a vertical pounce.

"Lopo, no! Don't hurt her!" John yelled.

Athena banked away from the assault with a spin. Lopo lazily missed. His horns crashed into the ceiling, blowing out one of the fluorescent lights. It sparked and flickered out, darkening the room with a nauseating strobe. The houndoom landed on the floor without a sound. He shook glass and plastic off of his coat. It tinked against the floor. Athena squalled and continued her maelstrom of irritation on every surface imaginable, including living bodies. Charles hiccupped himself awake.

With a little loud music and the greasy smell of fries, John would have thought himself in a bar fight at McAlister's. Marco landed on his shoulder again, wings flapping and beak clapping, in no way helping the situation. It was practically home sweet home. John closed his eyes in a slow deep inhale. He took it in. Took it all in. The time jump, kidnapping, slapping currents of air, flailing feathers, strobing lights, popping electricity, grunts, and squawks. It was up to him to make things right. John opened his eyes, set Charles on the ground, and tightened the string of his tattered pants.

Piece of cake.