~(C)~
If there were any way in which Dennis Kondo was an improvement from the late James Soba, then it was that he was far more open with the public in terms of market endeavors and business policy. He was officially made CEO of Silph Co. about two months ago, and he's since made countless interviews with the press.
Kondo was a pale man with long, straight, black hair. His resting face looked cold and lethargic, but he compensated for it by having a fluent speaking voice and a pretty damn awesome looking red bow-tie that he wore with his suit. Not to mention that his decisions as CEO certainly appeased him.
Kondo was currently speaking with an interviewer on a famous online Pokémon news show titled The Pokémon Report. It was a video-call: Kondo was sitting in his office at Silph Co. while the host, a blonde-haired trainer named Kevin Olsterwich, conducted the interview from the studio.
"Kondo, thanks for joining us today," Kevin said to his guest.
Kondo nodded and said, "Thank you for having me."
"So, Kondo, I have to admit, you've left us reporters a little bit starved of progress to document with the Silph Co. business. We've all been sitting at the edge of our seats waiting for the first big announcement from the first new CEO in over thirty years. And yet, ever since you were given the position two months ago, it's been nothing but crickets. Sorry to start off strong, but what's the holdup? Is it simply the settling in that's slowing the company down, or…?"
Kondo chuckled at the question. "Ah, so that's what this interview is for?" he said sarcastically. "Poke me into a corner and make me defend my honor already, now?"
"No, no no, it's just—"
"I'm just pulling your leg, Kevin. No, actually I'm really glad you asked me that: I'm sure that's on everyone's minds. And to an extent you're right: it takes time to get used to being the leader of a major corporation. Obviously conducting innovation isn't the only thing that I do: there are several other responsibilities that I need to attend to basically around the clock."
"Mmm hmm."
"But a much greater issue that I've faced is that our research budget has been running a deficit pretty much ever since Soba started working on the Master Ball project. Now, normally, with big research endeavors like this, it would be an innovation cost, and the expectation would be that after a year or two, we would make that money back in profits from the new product or revised recipe or what have you. However, as you know, I don't intend to distribute any Master Balls to anyone, so obviously, we're not going to be making any money off of them. We're still feeling the effects of the amount of time and effort that Soba put into it, and we're waiting for smoother waters to settle in before we start pushing for anything new. Hopefully, though, if trends continue, you will see new products being developed in a few weeks' time. Once we can afford it, I want the R&D budget to be as high as possible."
Kevin nodded. "So…by keeping the Master Balls off of the market for trainers and scientists, that's negatively impacting your company, it seems. From a purely business perspective, it sounds to me like that's not a very good idea, wouldn't you think so?"
Man, does Kevin want to get a Master Ball on his hands that badly? he thought. Two questions in and both of them were quite hostile.
"Well, Kevin, there are a couple other factors that you need to take into consideration," Kondo answered. "First of all, if it were me running the business two or three years ago, I wouldn't have made the decision to invest in the Master Ball in the first place. If you're going to call something bad business, call that it."
"Yes, but a lot of people are saying that the least you should be doing is distributing a few Master Balls to certain people like researchers and professionals, if only to help out Silph Co."
"No. First of all, if we decided to distribute a very limited supply of Master Balls to a very limited number of professionals, then our increase in revenue would be so small that we wouldn't even put a dent in the deficit that we're facing. And with all due respect, if a CEO makes a bad business choice, then it's not the responsibility of the successor to build on that bad choice as a means of compensation. The Master Ball project was a bad idea and I personally told Soba that it was a bad idea before he passed away. Young Pokémon trainers don't need them, Pokémon masters don't want them, and anyone who cares about Pokémon shouldn't accept them. The only positive that came out of the Master Ball was that it gave us more publicity and recognition for a short time. My policy for this business is going to continue being to put the Master Ball behind us and to look forward."
"Alright, then. Now, stepping back a moment, you said that you hope to push forward with some new product ideas hopefully within the next few weeks. Does this mean that you have some ideas already planned, and if so, are you willing to share any with us?"
"Without giving away any company secrets, yes: I do have some ideas planned," Kondo said. "First of all, as a bit of an apology for letting so many trainers down with my hardened stance on this pesky Master Ball debacle, I plan on improving our Luxury Ball to make it more affordable for inexperienced trainers and more comfortable for the Pokémon. I also…"
Knock-knock-knock!
That sounded urgent. He paused the video, took off his headphones, and walked over to see who was at the door. His mother was already there and promptly opened up. Gradually approaching, he saw that they were two men in buttoned up lab coats standing outside. One of them he immediately recognized: it was Professor Oak, the head of the research lab that dad worked at. The other man had a recognizable face, but he couldn't quite attach a name to it.
His mother could, though. "Oh, hello Fred. Hello, Professor."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Garland," Oak said sternly. "Can we come in for a moment?"
"Um—may I ask why you're here first?" she asked.
"We have some important news for you to hear, and it may take a bit of time to go through all the details."
"O…kay. Come on in, then. Would you like anything to drink?"
The two entered and shook their heads. "We're okay, thanks," Fred replied.
Mrs. Garland, his mother, led the guests over to the dining room table, where they sat down and waited for the others to join them.
"I…I suppose we'll just jump right into this, shall we?" Oak said once they were all comfortable.
His body shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He recalled his father mentioning that Oak didn't like using phones for communication. He preferred to contact his affiliates in-person as often as possible whenever there was something worth mentioning to them. But he still couldn't help but feel uneasy about these two entering their house to give them important news. He had the feeling it wasn't going to be good.
And, in fact, he was right.
"There was an accident at the lab," Oak said. "One of the machines in Juniper's wing suffered from a catastrophic malfunction and the generator exploded."
"Oh, wow, that sounds pretty scary," his mother said in a concerned voice. "Is everyone okay?"
…
Silence. Neither of them seemed to have an answer to that question, and he could feel his heart beating faster because of it.
"Professors?" his mother asked again, more sternly this time. He could tell she didn't like their silence either. "Who got hurt? Where is my husband?"
More silence. What the hell? These guys come into our house telling us that we need to hear this, and now they're not talking? C'mon! If you have something to say, then say it. I get it: it's bad news. But let us know what's going on, damn it! Just…don't tell us that he's dead. Please don't tell us he's dead.
Mom took a few deep, upset breaths and repeated, "Where. Is. My. Husband?"
Fred shook his head and gently said, "Mrs. Garland…there's no easy way to tell you this."
Damn you! His hearing began to grow fuzzy. And not the dizzy, discombobulated fuzzy. It was instead a noisy and ear-piercing type of fuzzy. Every sound that emanated from the room made his head hurt, and every incomprehensible word that came out of the scientist's mouths caused his eyes to water with irritated pain. He heard what they were saying, but he couldn't understand them. Nothing made sense, all of a sudden—and yet, they were saying so much all at once that he couldn't handle it all. He covered his eyes, trying to push away the tears, trying to push forward and listen to what these professors had to say. But damn it, it was so hard and so difficult to hear them! Please, just….
Just….
~(C)~
When Charmander woke up, it was sudden. He instinctively tried to sit up, so as to push himself into the world of the living, but…something internally was keeping him still, if only for a few seconds. He was…emotional. Overcome with grief. And it stopped him from thinking straight. As he lay there, he sobbed silently to himself, tears staining his face, not completely certain why he was feeling this way. It was as if this new memory of his had directly instilled into him the emotions that his former self went through at the time.
After a few breaths, he came to his senses and turned his body around to face the ceiling. He emitted a sigh, wiped his eyes, pushed himself into a seated position…
…and clenched his chest as a sharp pain passed through it. Wincing, he looked down at his body. A certain mightyena claw had lodged itself into his flesh, piercing deeply through the skin around his heart. Oh, damn it. A brief glance over at Snivy's bed let him know that it was still fairly early: after all, there was still a sleeping Pokémon on it. Of course, the clock on his night stand also told him that morning was still several minutes away, but his partner apparently often woke up before anyone else in the platoon, and Charmander never found out exactly when that was. As long as he was still asleep, he had time to remedy this predicament.
He reached around his bed for his satchel, trying to keep his upper body relatively still along the way. Once he got a hold of it, he pulled it up to the bed and quietly fished around inside for some bandages. After a while, he found some cotton pads and some medical tape and called it close enough.
Setting the supplies aside, Charmander braced for impact. He pressed his right hand against his chest around the lodged claw, and grabbed onto the claw with his left. He held his breath, and pulled.
The necklace dislodged itself from Charmander's torso with relatively little resistance, but relatively decent amount of pain and blood. As he watched the coin-sized gash in his chest slowly fill up with the liquid, he instinctively grabbed a handful of pads to press against the wound, wincing in pain all along the way. The pads quickly soaked up the red pool on his torso, but they were still dry enough to act as a bandage. He pressed the pads against his skin for a few seconds to let them stick a bit better. Afterwards, he unraveled some medical tape and made a bunch of strips that he used to clamp the pads tight. When he was done, the pain had receded, and the placebo of accomplishment brought a smile to his face.
In immediate retrospect, the cut was probably a lot smaller than he perceived it to be. But it was certainly still a jarring thing to wake up to. Much to his grief, all of the oran berries he had were in storage, so he couldn't spoil himself with one to get him to the start of the day. So he set his satchel back onto the ground and lay back down in his bed. He considered taking the chance of getting in another sleep-cycle before Snivy woke him up, but he realized that he was already too awake to commit to the gamble.
In the meantime, Charmander decided to make some use of his time. He got out of his bed and made his way to the bathroom to get a glass of water. The platoon's dormitory was quiet—as quiet as it usually was when Charmander made his way to bed at night. Coupled with the darkness, it almost caused Charmander to second-guess the fact that the day was dawning outside.
In the bathroom, Charmander filled up his canteen and set it aside. His tail-light cast a shadow of his body onto the mirror, but refraction and reflection lit up his front enough for him to analyze the damage that was done. The bandage was well enough placed; it looked like it would hold for as long as he needed, and the tape work was done symmetrically enough to make him look presentable. His necklace hung leisurely beside the bandage, the main claw still stained with a coating of blood. You inadvertently give me my nickname, and then you inadvertently give me this. What am I going to do with you? he thought sarcastically at the personified mightyena claw. He decided that it would probably be best if he took the necklace off before bed every night. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened to him, after all.
Charmander took a few large sips of water on the way back to his room. The sting of his cut was still bothering him, but he certainly dealt with bigger boo-boos in the past.
Snivy was rustling in his bed when Charmander returned. He sat down across from his partner and waited giddily as he watched Snivy wake up. First came the stretch, then the yawn, then the eyes opening, and then…the stillness.
Snivy rubbed his eyes and blinked a couple of times. "Well…" he said wearily, "this is a surprising sight to wake up to."
Charmander chuckled. "You're telling me," he replied.
Snivy sat up and stretched again. "What happened to your chest?" he asked whilst doing so.
"What happened, Snivy, is that the mightyena that I slew is actively seeking vengeance on me, and clawed a hole in me while I slept."
"Wait, so…that was the necklace?"
"Yup. I guess I slept on it wrong or something."
Snivy yawned and scratched the back of his head. "Wow, I…I know you're a sound sleeper, but I'd expect you to wake up to something like that before it damages you too much."
Charmander shrugged. "In my defense, I was having one of my memory dreams, so I wasn't really…'attached' to by body."
"Ooh, another memory returned to you? What happened this time?" Snivy asked as he pushed himself out of his bed.
"My, uh, father died in a laboratory accident," Charmander responded.
Snivy looked taken aback by that response. His eyes widened slightly, and he fished briefly for words to say. "Oh…I'm really sorry to hear that," he eventually decided to say.
"Well, I never really knew the guy, so it's not too big of a deal."
"It still kind of sucks, doesn't it? I'm sure you…knew him 'deep down' or something like that. And if by some crazy circumstance, you found yourself with your memories returned and on your way back to the planet you came from, then your dad won't be there to welcome you back."
"Oh, quit being so melodramatic."
"Melodramatic? Charmander, you just found out that your dad died. I mean, I'm not saying you're underreacting or anything, but at least have a bit of decorum for your own kin."
Charmander mulled over those words for a second, and then sighed solemnly. "Yeah, you're right," he conceded. "It's a shame that he's gone—whoever he may be."
Snivy grabbed his cape at the edge of his bed and threw it over his shoulders. "Here's hoping your next memory comes with some good news. Hey, while we still have some time before we need to get working on the bell tower, do you want to head over to the pub and grab some tea with me? I'm buying."
"Uh—Snivy, we have a shared income."
"That doesn't mean I can't buy the drinks. Come on; it'll help you wake up."
Charmander stretched and yawned, his body asking him to take him up on the offer. "Alright, let's go then."
It was still dawn. The sunlight was right on the verge of crawling up over the horizon. The morning sky failed to give Charmander the bubbly warmth that the sunsets tended to give him, but the sun nonetheless still managed to brighten the sky with an array of oranges and blues.
Charmander tapped the badge that he clipped to the strap of his satchel to make sure it was still in place. Six days had passed since the undercover rules were lifted, and he felt like he was just starting to get used to the sudden shift in agenda. Zekara spent less time at the Information booth and more time patrolling around the streets, probing the edges of the minds of those who entered and exited the town. Honchkrow, the banker, implemented tighter lockdown on his gold reserves. Most of the bank's money was now kept in an underground bunker, and he doubled his required reserve ratio from 15% to 30%—essentially keeping him from making any more loans to anyone. The exit door to the Training Camp was actually removed, and Kangaskhan had been making Will Box requests from anyone interested. Additionally, the 90% tax was completely lifted. The Training Camp had enough money in their reserves to operate comfortably for at least another month, according to Machoke. The number of operational scouts had increased dramatically, and their search domain had contracted to only the region west of Cherish, as well as the immediate surrounding land. There was confirmation of activity in the forests by a few of them. A few of the birds spotted a large group of Pokémon within Chesto Forest, but none of them was brave enough to get in close to gather more information for the Camp.
At first, many of the Campers were concerned about the sudden change in legislature; they knew that all of these amendments and revisions could only be in preparation for a potential invasion. Lately, however, their minds began to ease up. It had been three days since the scouts had last seen anything suspicious in the forest, and Zekara reported zero Arashi members anywhere around town this entire time. With the prolonged looming silence, many were starting to get the impression that it was a false alarm, and that an upcoming ambush attack was far from likely. Still, there was a sense of tension that Charmander couldn't help shaking off. He didn't want to let his guard down just yet.
The pub was much more active than Charmander had anticipated. It was certainly no saturday evening crowd, but there were enough heads the room to incite some light chatter. Of course, nobody was drinking anything heavy. The place was more like a glorified café than anything else.
Snivy sat down at the nearest two-person booth and Charmander sat across from him. There was a window to his right, opening up to the outdoor street. He gazed lazily at the tree with the tealights, watching as the gentle morning wind shook the edges of the branches.
The waitress arrived only a few seconds after they sat down. She was a Quilava with bright, purple eyes. "Morning, Snivy," she said. "I see you dragged your partner here with you. Will he be having the same thing as you?"
"That's right," Snivy said. "Chesto leaf tea, as usual."
Charmander added, "You know what? I think I'm going to spoil myself a bit. In addition to the tea, can I have a small glass of that oran smoothie that Scoper likes so much?"
"Sure thing. I'll be right back with those."
As she walked away behind the counter, Snivy turned back to Charmander and said, "Hey, are you ready for the campfire meeting tonight?"
"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot that it's been a week now since the last one." Charmander looked up in contemplation. "Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I still think I sound like I've been practicing on and off for about a week, but I enjoy singing the songs enough that I honestly don't really care how I sound."
Snivy smiled. "You've got the spirit of a musician."
"Nah, I just have good taste in music."
The comment caused Snivy to chuckle. "You've got a point there. But still, not a lot of folks I know like being in front of an audience, even if it's just a small group of Pokémon you know."
"I suppose it's too early for any nervousness to kick in. All things considered, though, it's not like I'd be judged on my performance. We'll just be singing around a campfire with some friends."
The Quilava made her way back to the table and gently said, "Here you are," as she placed the glasses on the table. The tea was in a clay mug that was slightly wider than it was deep. The oran smoothie was in a narrow, tall, transparent glass. Charmander thanked her for the quick service and she smiled and nodded in return before making her way elsewhere.
Charmander started with the smoothie. It was delicious—he downed it fast enough to give him a small brain freeze—but he preferred the texture and flavor density of the berries instead.
"Hey, Charmander," Snivy said as he set down his cup. "I was thinking: we should do something together some time—besides working on our missions, that is."
"Uh, yeah, alright," Charmander responded. "Anything in particular you had in mind?"
"Yeah, actually. You haven't been to Amber Falls yet, have you?" he asked.
"I've been to a total of three tiny villages in my entire life, and currently, only one of them is still standing, so no," Charmander reminded him. "I've heard of the place, though. It's off to the west, right? Along the coast?"
"Yeah," Snivy said. "There's a mystery dungeon that leads right to it. It's about a two hour walk to the city if we go through."
"Is the dungeon tough?" Charmander asked.
"Eh, kind of. It's a stamina challenge more than anything. The creatures aren't tough to overpower, but it takes a bit of time to get through it."
Charmander nodded. "Sounds doable. So, what's at Amber Falls?"
"The orchestra is going to put on a big concert in about three weeks. I think it'd be nice if you and I went to it. Y'know, you could really make use of a dose of regional culture."
"Yeah, that's certainly true. Your folk songs and the cute little statues here are all that I've got in the culture department here on this earth." Charmander took a sip of his tea. It didn't taste like Chesto berries at all: it was more aromatic and subtle than the nuts that he once ate as a stimulant during his time in the forest. "I'd love to go."
"Very cool!" Snivy chimed. "I think you'll like them. I heard them once before about two years ago, and man: it was like nothing I've ever heard. I can only imagine that they've made some brilliant new masterpieces."
Charmander grinned. "Y'know, you never struck me as the the type of Pokémon to listen to classical music."
"Well, I wouldn't call it 'classical,'" Snivy said. "The compositions are probably going to all be brand new."
"Oh, really?" Charmander asked.
"Yep. The conductor is also a pretty well-known composer. He's a Hawlucha that goes by the pen name 'Sunny.'" Snivy took another swallow of his tea and said, "Anyway, if we make enough money during these next couple of weeks, we'll easily be able to buy a couple of tickets to see it."
"Shouldn't be too difficult, should it?" Charmander asked. "How much does a ticket cost?"
"About 20,000 coins for a really good seat; about 10,000 coins for the lesser ones," Snivy explained. "And you're right: it should be easy for us to raise that much now that the tax is gone. But we ought to keep an eye on how much we have nonetheless." Snivy took a quick glance outside and pursed his lips. He then downed the rest of his tea in a few gulps and reached into his satchel. "Alright. Let's get going soon. We don't want to be late."
"Alright, then," Charmander said. As he calmly drank the rest of his beverage more briskly, Snivy took a coin out of his satchel pocket and placed it on the table. Without another word, the duo exited their booth and made their way to their final day of work for the bell tower.
~(C)~
Upon its last leg of construction, the bell tower stood modestly below the outlining trees in the landscape. As a matter of fact, it would hardly qualify as a tower to Charmander's perspective. It was a bit taller than the statue above Kangaskhan storage—just high enough for the bell to poke itself above most of the surrounding forest trees. Its height made enough sense, of course; it was a small enough town that it'd be unnecessary to make something that loomed higher than a cathedral. Plus, the production was rushed ever since the incident with the Treecko who lost her eye. Perhaps some bits of the blueprinting were revised at the last minute. But still, it felt strange, being able to look at the top of the tower without needing to bend his head.
Charmander's job was to do the woodworking for the bell frame. With a party of five other Pokémon, they sawed and sanded the rods and supports, shaping the simple pieces and assembling them together with dovetail joints, nails, and glue. The final product looked roughly like the hanger for a cobblestone well: an upside-down U-shaped body had been reinforced on each edge with angled supports, and at the feet of the structure were two simple planks keeping it standing. Despite it being such a simple design, it took four hours to finish, giving them just enough time to start an early lunch.
Charmander had some leftover salad from dinner last night. He prepared it ahead of time in a convenient container that he bought from Kecleon that kept the contents inside cooled and preserved. Sitting against the right wall of the tower, he ate by himself. Snivy was still busy working and would be for the next half hour. Were there enough room, the construction of the frame would have been done at the top of the tower. But instead they had to make it on the ground and have it carried up by a separate crew. Snivy, having the vines to help pull the contraption to the top, was asked to help carry and install it.
Charmander did a few vocal exercises quietly to himself in preparation for the mini-concert that he'd be doing with Snivy later that day. He hummed the harmony lines of certain songs as he chewed the greens of his lunch in rhythm.
When he saw Victini approaching him out of the corner of his eye, he immediately became self-aware of the idiotic display of his practicing and stopped. "Hey, Victini," he said modestly.
"Afternoon, Locket. You're not going to enjoy your lunch with the rest of your platoon?" Victini asked as she walked over to Charmander's side.
Charmander shook his head. "Nah, I've got my own thoughts to occupy my mind right now."
"Hmm….A lot's been on your mind lately, then?"
"Yeah, I guess so. This past week really threw me for a loop, I suppose. And, y'know, it's nice to get a bit of quiet time every now and again. Anyway, did you have something that you wanted to say to me?"
Victini sat herself down next to Charmander and said, "Yes. Yes, I do. As a matter of fact, this is pretty good timing. I've been meaning to catch you while you were alone like this for a while now."
Charmander raised a brow of curiosity, holding his fork in place above his salad. For a mad moment, he thought that Victini might've been preparing to be flirtatious. "Why's that?" he cautiously asked
"I've got some personal advice to give to you—from one Pokémon to another. And you're probably not gonna hear it from anyone else."
"Oh." Charmander's cheeks tinted red at his internal stupidity. "Well, your words of wisdom haven't failed me yet. I'm all ears."
"Locket, I'm guessing you know that the rumor about you being a human in the past has pretty much spread throughout the Camp?" Victini asked.
"Yeah, I'm aware," Charmander said. "Although I wouldn't really call it a rumor. I believe it myself, after all."
In response, Victini only nodded and grumbled thoughtfully, looking downward and placing a hand on her chin.
"What, you don't believe me?" Charmander asked. "I thought my natural human instincts were made clear when I punched you instead of scratched you last week."
Victini shook her head. "I don't know about your past, but in the very least, I believe that you believe you're right. And if that's the case, then things could spell trouble for you."
Charmander blinked. "How so?"
"It makes you a target. We don't have a lot of insight to go on with the Arashi, but we have reason to believe that their cause has something to do with humans."
Charmander grimaced. He knew that much was true. As a matter of fact, assuming Absol was right (which he was still a bit reluctant to do), he probably knew a hell of a lot more about the Arashi's intentions than all the other Training Camp members combined. Still, ever since the incident with Dewott, he felt that he wasn't in any real danger. Or, if he was, then perhaps Absol would warn him about it ahead of time. "So you think that the Arashi would target me first if they attacked?" he asked.
"I don't know for certain," Victini replied, "but I think it's a good idea for you to try and be safe."
Charmander nodded in agreement. "Okay….How do I do that?"
When there was no answer, Charmander looked over to see what was keeping her. She was still sitting there, back against the wall of the tower, but she was staring sadly and distantly into the endless forest ahead of her. Her frowning mouth opened up slightly, and with soft words, she spoke, "I'm worried, Locket."
"…Worried?"
"Worried. Never been more worried in my life. The…the attacks that we've faced in the past—the reason for why this tower is being finished now in the first place—they're not going to be the last that we see. And they're not going to be the worst. I don't care what the scouts say: they're stationed nearby, preparing an attack, and it's going to happen soon."
"What makes you so confident?"
Victini put a hand on her forehead and looked down. "I suppose you could call it gut feeling, or paranoia, but according to what's been reported, they've disappeared. They saw a band of Pokémon moving this way in the woods, and now they suddenly vanished? I don't think so. Maybe they're hiding out somewhere or maybe they've concealed themselves somehow, but they're not gone. At least, I don't think so."
"Okay, so…assuming you're right, this Camp will see its first homefront attack. I'll take it we fight back?"
"Or run," Victini added. "If we underestimated them, we might have to give it all up."
Something about the way she said that made Charmander feel peculiarly smaller. "What?" he said. "That's not what you said last time. Isn't our Training Camp among the most powerful forces against the Arashi?"
"Yes. And the Arashi itself is the most powerful force against us," Victini explained. "It's possible that they know who they're up against better than we do. But either way, it'll hurt us. Many of our Campers are going to die, and many of them are going to kill. And when that happens, the only ones that we'll have left are those who are strong and dedicated enough to fight with us to the end." Gently, she placed a hand on Charmander's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "Now, Locket, I'm not going to tell you what you should do in lieu of all this, but I will tell you this: you have a lot to lose and you're among the most likely to lose it. Standing above your home, eyeing down the greatest threat to your life that you have ever encountered—that is not a place and time to be having regrets. Anyone who has more pressing agendas than protecting our Training Camp and our community should leave now while they still have the chance."
Charmander dropped his jaw slightly. He dropped his fork into his container and stuttered, "Victini, are…do you think I should run away?"
Victini rose to her feet and sighed. "I think you should do what makes sense to you. Your obligation to this Training Camp is only as significant as you make it out to be. You're a tough fighter and you're only getting tougher, and you'd be a lot of help to us for when the time comes. But you need to decide for yourself what risks you're willing to take." At that, Victini turned around and began walking off. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll make the right choice."
Charmander's mind began to flutter, and it wouldn't stop fluttering for the next several hours. Was…was she serious? This was certainly telling. If the head of the Training Camp was advising him to seriously consider leaving, then there must have been some incentive to go that Charmander never realized in the first place.
Every time he walked down various paths of potential consequences, they always brought him back to the same dilemma: Snivy. He was the predominant thing keeping him attached to this Camp. He remembered Snivy telling him a while ago that given the choice between staying with him and staying with the Training Camp, he would choose the latter. Charmander couldn't deny that he had attachments to everyone else—the rest of platoon 4, Flux, Cedar, Victini, Machoke, Kangaskhan, etc.—but he knew that it was working alongside Snivy that compelled him into this duty, and it was working alongside Snivy that kept him there. So, the question remained:
Was he ready to give him up now?
~(D)~
Although Abra had created an area of shielding over the encampment, preventing unwanted eyes from catching wind of the party (much like the one that he pretended to have before they relocated), they decided to settle in a particularly dense section of the canopy. Dozens of sycamores and oaks fanned their branches and leaves beneath the cerulean sky, darkening the undergrowth in an endless shadow. Dead trees and amputated branches dotted the ground wherever roots and grass and bracken failed to stake their claims. So uneven was the terrain that it was nigh impossible for the crew to find a single patch of land that was flat enough for their prison to stay even with the ground. It leaned to one corner, and it would rock unsteadily if Dewott shifted his weight from one place to another.
Since they had settled within the forest land south of Cherish three days ago, little attention was paid to Masquerain and Dewott by Weavile and the others. Captors fed them less frequently and gave them less water, and the shit bucket still had yet to be removed for cleaning. With every passing day of malnourishment and inactivity, Dewott felt his body succumbing to frailty. Everything was still sore as a product of the rocky, bumpy ride, as well as the poor treatment of his wounds from his encounter with Kangaskhan, but his thighs were particularly pained. His body struggled to find the appropriate minerals necessary to regrow his scalchops, and while they were close to full-bloom, they sapped away more of Dewott's strength in the process.
Masquerain was hardly faring well either. He hadn't spoken a single sentence since Absol last visited them. Without the passing of words to bide their time, the two found themselves burning the day away by sulking and sleeping, waiting for something to be seen or heard from outside the confines of their bars that might better catch their attention. Their prison was by the southern edge of the encampment, and though they were close enough to see the fighters wandering from one place to another and hear distant commands being given, the atmosphere was dull and inactive.
But as chance would have it, today would have a mildly interesting twist. A Pokémon approached from the encampment, and it wasn't the Sawk that typically threw berries at them on a daily basis. Instead it was the dreaded Weavile, with Abra and a Hawlucha accompanying him.
"Hello again, Dewott. Masquerain," Weavile called out as he scaled the bushes and rocks to get to them. "I'm very sorry for being so neglectful to you two. In my defense, I am actively conducting what is currently the most important operation for the Arashi at the moment, and it takes a lot out of me."
And immediately, Dewott hungered for them to just turn around and leave him and Masquerain in relative peace once again. To try and make their encounter as short as possible, Dewott stayed quiet and let Weavile do the talking.
Weavile knelt down to meet his captive at eye level once he reached the front of the cage. "We're going to be conducting the attack soon," he said to them. "Machoke's Training Camp will fall and we will have the human Charmander in our grasp. As for what I will do with you two once I have him, I'm afraid I haven't made up my mind yet. One thing's for certain, though: I can't simply let you go—at least not yet. I don't trust that you won't try and kill me or Charmander in our sleep, and I don't trust that my body guards are powerful enough to fend you away from either of us. I'll tell you what, though: if I decide not to have you two keep me company, then I'll make sure your deaths are swift, painless, and unexpected. How does that sound?"
Dewott remained in protested silence. Just try and hold onto us while you're occupied with Charmander. This prison isn't strong enough to contain us forever.
"I thought as much," Weavile said with a sigh. "Well, sulking miserably is a fair response, I suppose." He stood back up. "I'd best be on my way soon. The dark-types will be returning soon with more information for me to put to use. But before I leave you two again, there's one small thing that I need to straighten out." Weavile glared at Dewott with a frown. "Don't think I haven't noticed those new shells growing out of your legs, Dewott. I'm afraid I can't let you keep those. Hand 'em over."
Growling in disappointment, Dewott placed a hand on each scalchop. "I can't," he said. "They're still growing. They'll be glued to my body until they finish."
"Mmhmm," Weavile muttered to himself. "This is nothing personal, Dewott, but I'm afraid I don't believe you. Hand them over to me or else Hawlucha here will do it for you."
Dammit, why can't you just listen to me for once? "You'll only end up wasting your time if you try to take them from me."
"We'll see about that. When I unlock the cage, you are to walk out, turn around, place your hands on the bars, and stand still. And don't try doing anything clever. Abra wouldn't like that. I want your hands in the air when you step out, you understand?"
"Yes, Weavile," Dewott said defeatedly, placing his hands behind the head. "I'm not stupid."
"Good." Weavile had a key hidden in his hand the whole time that Dewott failed to notice. He pushed it into the lock outside of the cage door and turned it. Slowly, it opened. Dewott begrudgingly walked out of the cage and turned to face it. He resisted the urge to stretch his body and simply followed Weavile's command, placing his hands against the wall of the cage.
Dewott flexed his legs as Hawlucha began pulling on the scalchops, in hopes that tightening his muscles would help keep them in place. He wore a hidden scowl as the Pokémon behind him helplessly tugged away—not because of the pain it brought him nor because of the indignity of the position, but because he feared that they might actually take them from him. Those scalchops were the only thing securing him a successful escape. He had been testing the prison bars, and he knew that with some patience and some strength, he could cut through them. All he needed was something to cut them with. Within two days, they'd be ready for removal, and he could make his escape while they were busy battling the members of the Training Camp. Without the scalchops, though, he may as well toss the whole idea.
After a few seconds, Hawlucha gave up, much to Dewott's relief. "He's right," he said to Weavile with a sigh. "They're not coming off."
"No, I still don't believe it," Weavile responded. "You're being too nice, Hawlucha. Try again, and this time, take them off. I don't care if you have to tear up his skin; just do it."
"…Yes. Alright."
Dewott braced for round two. This time, he did scowl in pain. The Hawlucha was much more persistent, anchoring his feet on top of Dewott's for leverage and pulling so hard that he felt his heels lifting off the ground The muscles around his scalchops flared up. But, like a splinter contained deep within the flesh, he felt them slowly being pulled from his body. No! he thought to himself. Hang…on!
And then, with the grace of a cracking whip, all tension was released. Dewott emitted a loud growl of agony, and his legs collapsed, leaving him huddled on the ground, groping the bloodied patches of fur that were once covered up by his natural weapons.
"That's more like it," Weavile said. "Now, Dewott, we'll just hold onto these for you. Hawlucha, show him back inside please."
Crippled by pain and hopelessness, Dewott found himself being tossed headfirst back into his prison. The door closed behind him. And that was it. There was nothing more he could do. His one chance of escape…ripped away from him. Now, his fate was sealed—bound by Weavile's will. He and Masquerain were finished. They lost.
"I suppose this is going to become a regular thing, isn't it?" Weavile asked. "In another week, you will have another pair of shells growing out of you, and I'll have to take them away again. Even though I don't think you'd be able to do anything useful in there with them anyway, I don't want to take the risk. To save my breath ahead of time, I'll remind you once again, Dewott, that it's nothing personal. Well then, I'll be on my way. I probably won't be seeing you two until after the siege, so I bid you farewell."
"Weavile…one second," Masquerain said in a hushed, defeated voice.
The voice caught Dewott by surprise. For a moment, he dismissed his physical and mental agony and listened. Weavile's footsteps weren't present, so Dewott assumed that he was willing to pay attention as well.
"All things considered, I want to see your plans with taking care of the Training Camp succeed as well," Masquerain continued. "But I don't think you're strong enough."
"We're more than strong enough," Abra responded. "We outnumber them by more than two-to-one. We'll beat them into submission even under conservative approximations."
"Perhaps you'll win the battle, yes, but what do you think it's going to cost you?" Masquerain asked. "Follow through with this attack and your entire battalion will be reduced to nothing but a meagre handful of Pokémon. You're fighting against valiant, courageous, and gritty soldiers and you're fighting them on their own territory. You may take them down, but you'll be on your knees by the time you do it."
"What's the alternative?" Weavile asked. "Sit around and wait for some better opportunity? You ought to know by now that that doesn't work."
"You're right, but a bloodbath isn't a good idea either. Look, I don't know exactly what it is you should do. But if I were you, I would start thinking about this. I would work out a way to get what we want while keeping bloodshed to a minimum. That's all I'm saying."
Weavile sighed. "With all due respect, former General, I'm in charge now. I will command in a way that works for us. Thank you for your words, but I don't think I needed them. Now, goodbye, you two."
As Weavile and his crew walked away, Masquerain let out a sigh. He and Dewott crawled to the back end of the cage where there was a higher elevation and lay down. A couple of hopeless tears fell from Dewott's eyes. What lay ahead of him was now a curious mystery, riddled with uncertainty and fear. One thing was certain, though: whatever their future was, it couldn't be good.
~(C)~
…Yes. Yes he was.
He mulled over his fate for the next three hours. Should I stay or should I go? was the question that incessantly pounded at his mind, and it seemed that no matter how much thought he put into it, he wasn't satisfied.
He tried to convince himself that it was the right idea to stay and fight. He made an internal list of pros and cons to abandoning the Training Camp to see how things stacked up. Pros:
He wouldn't be distracted from learning more about his past and the factors that caused him to get here in the first place.
He had the strength and the confidence to hold his own by himself at this point.
He wouldn't be at risk of capture or death by the Arashi.
He had the potential to meet a lot of new faces.
He could return to the Training Camp afterwards if he wanted.
…
Cons:
He'd have to leave Snivy, Flux, and everyone else behind.
…
The opportunity cost of staying was simply too high. He got what he wanted from the Training Camp while it was still functioning properly, and he helped it in whatever way he could while he was present. Now that the tables were turning, there was too much risk and too little reward in staying behind. It was time to leave.
He then spent the next couple of hours pondering the more pragmatic question: when and how was he going to do it? Would he just up and leave one day without telling anyone? Would he leave tomorrow? The day after that? Where would he go? What would he do from there? How would he feed himself?
He worked out some broad strokes after his session of thinking. It'd probably be best to leave soon: two days from now sounded appropriate; that would give him enough time to say his goodbyes to everybody and accommodate himself for the journey ahead. It would also give him enough time to plan out his trip to Amber Falls, where he'd stay until he figured out what to do next. If he ended up bringing half of the money that he and Snivy earned along with him, then he'd probably be able to live comfortably for at least a few weeks. In that time, he could return to Spirit's Refuge and learn more about his past with the aid of the spirits that resided there. He could also probably figure out how to become more self-sustaining: getting a job, working out a new schedule, etc.
Before he knew it, Charmander found himself at the dinner table with the rest of platoon 4. They had a recipe that he'd never seen before that night. The main entrée was a broiled, savory fish. Several ginger-glazed fillets adorned the plate as they lay on a bed of steamed rice. Nomel slices were provided for optional flavor as well. On the secondary plate was a mountain of spaghetti with mushrooms, kale, onions, garlic, gogoat cheese, and an oily sauce intermingled between the strands. Instead of a salad was a soup: the table shared a pot of creamy corn chowder, cooked with melted cheddar and diced onion, and seasoned with cumin for bite, shallots for flavor, and parsley for aesthetics. And lastly as usual, a bouquet of hot garlic breadsticks sat in the center of the table. Seeing this as a great opportunity to distract his mind from the looming thoughts that Victini had injected hours prior, Charmander stuffed his face and spent the next half hour focusing on eating the food before him.
"Alright, campfire time!" Scoper shouted as the platoon made their way to their feet. "Let's jam. Charmander, you ready to make your debut?"
"Uh…yeah, I think so," Charmander replied, nervously rubbing the back of his head. Should I let them know about my plans now, or should I hold it off until later? he wondered.
"Don't be bashful," Snivy said. "Your voice blends pretty well with mine." After giving Charmander a reassuring smile, he turned to the rest of the platoon members and said, "Why don't you guys go on ahead? Charmander and I can do some last-minute preparations first."
"Yeah, sure," Dragonite said. "C'mon, you guys, I remember the way there."
Charmander faced Snivy as the others walked off. Snivy headed for the exit himself once the others made their way far enough ahead. "Alright, now that they're out of earshot, let's quickly review our 'show.' C'mon; we can probably talk about this on our way there."
I should tell Snivy before anyone else, Charmander thought. I may as well tell him now. The damn minstrel reads me too well; he'll know something's up if I try and hide it from him for any longer. "Can we actually put that on hold first? There's something important I need to talk to you about."
A confused, yet solemn gaze suddenly adorned Snivy's face, and he slowed his pacing, as if expecting this to be a long conversation. "Sure. I'm all ears."
"Remember the conversation we had when we were in the mystery dungeon for our first mission?" Charmander asked.
Snivy took a second to scan his mind. When it seemed like the memory came back to him, he closed his eyes and nodded. "I haven't changed my mind," he said.
"I don't expect you to," Charmander replied. "I haven't changed my mind either."
"So…you think it's time for you to go?"
"…Yeah. Victini actually gave me the idea. She spoke with me at lunch, and she's pretty confident that we're going to see an attack soon. And I don't think I want to be here when that happens. Machoke's Training Camp has done its job for me: I'm stronger, more confident, and more knowledgeable about this world because of it. Now, I don't have much more to gain from staying. I love helping others out, and I love working with you, and I love everyone and everything in this Camp, but…well, not only can I be exploring my past instead if I only had the time to do so, but I'm also not sure how much longer all of these great things are going to last even if I stayed."
"Do you really think this attack is worth worrying about that much?" Snivy asked.
"Yes," Charmander said. "Like I said before, I don't think the Training Camp can handle a full-out Arashi attack. It'll cripple us. And Victini seems to think that as well."
"I…I see," Snivy said. "I suppose I shouldn't bother trying to persuade you to stay. In all honesty, your decision makes sense….When's moving day?"
"Since tomorrow's going to be a free day, I figured that I would spend that time saying goodbye to everyone, and getting myself prepared. The next day, I…I think I want to do one last mystery dungeon with you. Once we're done with that, though, I think I'll head out before dinner. I'll spend the rest of the day travelling on the road to Amber Falls. From there, what happens to me is a matter of what I find there."
"Amber Falls is a couple hours away from here, and that's if you decide to brave the dungeon by yourself. I'd tell you that you should leave in the morning and not at night, but knowing you, you'd probably have no trouble."
"Oh, hey, that reminds me," Charmander said, "I hope we can still see that concert despite this."
"Well, if the Training Camp is going to collapse at the hands of the Arashi, it might be a bit more challenging. But I'll stay optimistic: I hope so too."
"So…you're not angry or upset about this at all?"
Snivy shook his head. "I really wish you would stay, but your choice is your choice. This goes without saying, but you know I'm gonna miss the hell out of you."
"Let's save the mushy goodbyes for later, alright?"
Snivy simply smiled.
Looking around, the two realized that they had made their way outside. Snivy suddenly slapped his face and said, "I forgot to bring my lute up."
"I'll go get it," Charmander said. "It's beside your bed, right?"
"Yeah, thanks. You know your way there, right?"
"Yup. Oh, and don't tell the other guys about me leaving just yet, alright? I want to do it myself."
"Yeah, of course," Snivy said.
"Thanks. Now, you go get the crowd warmed up; I'll be right back."
As he turned around and made his way back into the Camp, Charmander let out a sigh of relief. That certainly went smoother than expected, he thought to himself. One down, many more to go.
As he passed through the main lobby, he ran into Flux and Cedar, who were making their way to the dormitories from the cafeteria. "Oh, hey you guys," he said to them. "Are you going to go to the campfire meeting tonight?"
"We would," Cedar responded, his eyelids sagging slightly, "but tomorrow's an early day, and we want to get some sleep."
"We did a lot of work today too," Flux added. "Three missions in one dungeon! I'm really tired now."
"Flux? Tired? I've never heard of such a concept," Charmander said. "Cedar, if your partner's worn out, then you must be on the brink of collapse."
Cedar yawned. "Tell me about it. Sorry to miss out, but I couldn't stay awake for it if I tried."
"Alright. Good night, then. I'll see you two tomorrow."
Charmander noted that he needed to talk with them tomorrow at some point. Of all the Pokémon to whom he wanted to say goodbye, they would be the toughest to track down at any given point. They'd also be among the toughest Pokémon to say goodbye to in the first place.
When he entered his room, Charmander found the lute right where Snivy had indicated. He grabbed it and made his way back outside. Keeping the delicate instrument close to his body, he navigated through the woods to their dedicated campfire spot. Because the fire was already lit, it was easy to locate. Snivy sat at the head of the campfire—right where he was yesterday, and there was a tree stump reserved for Charmander beside him. The rest of platoon 4 was sitting disorganized around the fire. All eyes were on him. All mouths were completely silent.
Forgetting about most of the thoughts that preoccupied his mind, Charmander felt a wave of nervousness flush through his body. They couldn't be this eager to hear us, could they? he wondered. I thought this was just going to be a simple get-together, like it was last time. "So…" Charmander started as he made his way to the seat and handed the lute to Snivy. "Shall we begin? Snivy, what do you want to start with?"
Snivy slowly took the instrument from Charmander's hands. "Um…I don't…I don't really…."
"Hey, you know what?" Dragonite suddenly exclaimed. Her voice was ever so slightly shaken, as if it were cold out. "We have to get up early tomorrow to see the grand opening of the bell tower, and it's already pretty late."
What? It's still dusk, Charmander thought.
"Oh, yeah, Dragonite's right," Scoper responded. "I think we should just end this session now and reschedule it for later."
"Yeah, I like the idea," Glide said.
What the heck is going on here? Charmander wondered. "O…kay," he said suspiciously. "So, tomorrow?"
Glide winced slightly. "Tomorrow? That's, uh…I—I don't, um…."
"Tomorrow's our free day," Cap said. "We have, um…other stuff that we could do that day. Maybe the following night?"
Charmander frowned anxiously. "I'm—I'm not going to be around on the following night, though."
"Oh. Well, then…I guess we cancel it for this week?" Dragonite inquired.
"But…." Charmander bit his lip. Can't you just give me one more night to legitimately hang out with you guys? "Why can't we do this tomorrow? If anything, the free day seems like the best time to have it."
"Um…maybe," Cap stammered. "We'll see what happens. Anyway, I'm going back to the Camp. Good night, everyone." And, without another word or gesture, he scurried off back to the town, stumbling over a rock along the way. The rest of platoon 4 promptly followed suit, evacuating the area. Tide was kind enough to extinguish the fire, but otherwise paid no mind to Charmander or Snivy before she left as well.
"What just happened?" Charmander asked. Snivy was still sitting beside him, holding his lute, staring blankly into the distance. "Snivy, did…you didn't tell them, did you?"
After about two seconds of nothing, Snivy blinked and turned to face Charmander. "Wha? Uh—no. I didn't say anything."
"Then…what's going on? Did something happen that I missed?"
Snivy shook his head. "No, not really. I think…y'know, now that we're out here, it doesn't seem like a very safe place to be with the Arashi potentially right at our doorstep. Maybe they just didn't want to admit that they were nervous?"
Knowing everyone in platoon 4, Charmander didn't buy it. If they all collectively got nervous and decided that they wanted to back down from the meetings until the tension cleared, then they would have told him. He felt like they were trying to hide something from him; and Snivy was in on it too.
Charmander shook his head and sighed. "Maybe," he said, figuring that he wouldn't be able to reason much more out of him. Defeated, confused, and offended, he walked back to the Camp. It was a shame: he actually felt pretty confident about singing to them.
