Hello everyone, it's Bardothren again. Wow, putting up messages two chapters in a row, aren't I industrious? Anyways, this is mainly to ask a favor of you guys. I was floundering to come up with a good plot and not really sure where I wanted to take it. But suddenly, my brain cobbled up a few disparate ideas, and before I knew it, I had a chapter written and an idea in my head for a plot that seemed very creative to me. However, I'm not perfect. If you think I've gone off my rocker, please let me know so I can head back to the drawing board. Preferably tell me why, so I can watch for it in the future.

Thanks!

And a quick parrot update – his name is Pancho, and today (well, yesterday, since I just passed midnight where I live), he tried to take a bath in his water dish. When I got him an even bigger bowl of water to splash around in, he wasn't having any of it. Figures.

And a writing update as well. I have another story in the works, but I'm waiting until I finish this one and give the new story a once-over before posting it. I have high hopes for that story, and I want it to sparkle when I put it on here. Alright, that's enough out of me. For those of you keeping score, the word count on this chapter is 2,329 2,327. Enjoy!

Future Bardothren: looking back, no one said I was crazy, and I've had some people tell me that the story is awesome. I'll call that a win.

Yes, the parrot still prefers baths in the water dish. Also, the chapter dropped two words in the revision process.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Peter sat in the chair across from Gregory Mason. The opened letter sat on the Commissioner's desk, in its own private space next to stacks of reports and complaints. The paper had overlapping brown circles across its surface from their coffee mugs.

"So, your only lead for the past three weeks is a 'resonance,' as the Lucario put it?" The Commissioner tapped the handle on the mug and took a deep breath. "I hate to be the one to say this, but I think it's time to pull the plug."

Peter's fingers clenched the Sudoku book in his pocket, and he shifted in his seat. Only a couple blank pages remained. "If Bruno's been dead for weeks, as everyone would have me believe, why hasn't Team Rocket made a move yet? They got all those men back from Stonebough, and all they've done is a few petty robberies."

"I'd hardly call twenty million petty, Peter." Mason scratched at his beard. "It's more likely that Team Rocket is waiting for the WK to make the next move. They have a position of power, and they don't want to risk losing it by moving blindly."

"That, or they're waiting for Bruno to crack under what interrogation techniques they're using," Peter countered. "They have no idea what Lucario are or how many they're dealing with. Not to mention," He added, his words dripping with venom, "You know they'd rather not destroy a valuable tool." His stomach roiled and his hands shook. With an effort, he made another Sudoku grid.

Mason scratched at his goatee and leaned forward. "I'm afraid you'll have to set aside this investigation for a while. I'll need your full attention on whatever happens during this meeting. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Peter said. His throat felt dry and raw, and his eyes burned. "And we're going through with the meeting?"

"I don't see what choice we have," Mason grumbled. "And it's not like public opinion can get any worse. They're sick of all the waiting, and so am I."

"We don't need the Knights," Peter said. "We've done just fine without them."

"That was before the colossal fuck-up at Stonebough. If we don't get results this month, the next election cycle's going to be a shit-show, and we'll be at the blowing end of the fan. So, we're working with the WK, assuming their terms are reasonable."

"And if they aren't?" Peter asked numbly.

"Then we let the WK raise hell and hope we can take out the Rockets while they're distracted." Gregory drummed his fingers on his desk and said, "If you're lucky, it might be the perfect opportunity to get Bruno back."

At that moment, the door opened. Elder Bayron, flanked by Kolar and Jarem, stood behind him. They stared at Peter and glanced away when he turned to look at them.

"Elder Bayron, what do you think of working with the WK?" Gregory asked.

"I know little of politics," the Elder said, "But from what I've learned, your course of action seems wisest. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"But who's their enemy?" Peter said as he stared at the Commissioner. "Seems more likely to me they'd be interested in taking down the government than the Rockets, whatever they say."

"We don't need any more enemies than we already have," Mason said. "If they cooperate, then well and good, and if not, we better hope they deal with the Rockets first." He rubbed his temples with one hand and took a long swallow of lukewarm coffee with the other. "Look, I know it's bad, but it's the hand we've been dealt, and we have no choice but to bluff our asses off and hope it works, or we go flat broke." He shrugged. "If anyone has any better ideas, I'm all ears."

The room fell silent for a moment. Then Gregory Mason clapped his hands loudly enough to make a soft echo of applause off the walls. "I think we've discussed this enough. Our meeting with the WK is in five minutes, and we better be ready to greet our guests. I'll do all the talking, unless any of you are asked specific questions. And Peter, please be civil."

The group exited the room, walked past a line of empty offices and a conference room with four armed officers on standby before entering the adjacent room, a small meeting room with ten chairs and a long wooden table. A fresh pot of coffee, a pitcher of water, and a cooler of colas were set underneath the table's edge, and bowls of mixed nuts ran down the length of the table. Peter poured himself a cup of water, drained it in one swallow, and picked a few pecans out of the nearest bowl. Commissioner Mason poured himself a cup of coffee, as did the Lucario.

The door opened, and a dark-skinned police officer motioned for five hooded figures to enter. Each wore long white robes that touched the floor and round white masks attached to the hems of their hoods. Darkness obscured the eyes behind the holes.

The first to enter was a head taller than Gregory, and had to walk bow-legged and hunch-backed through the door. The second had to stoop, the third grazed the top of their head against the doorframe and hastily adjusted their hood, the fourth walked through comfortably, and the fifth was the shortest, not even coming up to Peter's shoulder. They seated themselves on the side of the table nearest the door, with the tallest in the center.

"I presume you are the leader?" Gregory asked the shortest. "I've seen all your televised speeches, and I must say, I still have no idea what you're really after."

The tallest shook their head. "Do not presume," they said with a soft, deep voice. Physiology is an illusion that blinds us to the truth that we're all the same."

The Commissioner blinked and turned his gaze towards the speaker. Though his head stayed still, his eyes darted up and down, taking in the figure's monstrous height. "My apologies. So, might I ask your name?"

"Names are illusions as well," said the figure of middling height in front of Elder Bayron. Their voice was a perfect match to the other speaker's. "We are all brothers, born of the same planet and raised by the same society. Call us what you will, but remember that names divide what is otherwise united."

"Then I'll call you Middle," Gregory said, "If you really don't mind. Are we here to discuss philosophy, or business?"

The shorter one chuckled, and said, with the same raspy baritone, "We don't mind going straight to the point. We offer information critical to apprehending key members of Team Rocket, along with our assistance in combating their criminal affairs."

The shortest chimed in with matching voice. "And in return, we have a few conditions. You've already fulfilled one of them."

The Commissioner's eyes narrowed. "Why did you want Peter here?"

There was a hint of a smile in Middle's voice as they said, "We aren't interested in Peter. It was just the surest way to get the Lucario here."

Jarem and Kolar stiffened, while the Elder said, "For what purpose did you wish to meet me?"

"We were curious," said Middle. "Team Rocket has taken quite an interest in your kind, more than we expected."

"Then you know what happened?" Peter said. The Commissioner scowled at him, but the tallest said, "We have eyes and ears all over the city. Very little escapes our notice."

"What about your other demands?" Gregory asked. He took a sip of coffee, grabbed a handful of nuts out of a bowl, and chewed them all at once. He swallowed and said, "There's no sense in having this conversation if I can't accept your other terms."

"We have two terms," the taller one said. "First, we want you to cease all investigation into our activities. We can scarcely help you if you're confiscating the weapons in our warehouses."

Commissioner Mason grimaced and nodded. "I can deal with you after the Rockets are finished. Next?"

"We want a new law passed." The shortest figure took an envelope out of his robes and set it on the table. "That contains the details of our proposal."

Gregory undid the clasp and slid the papers into one hand. As he read through each one, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched, and he glanced up at the figures. Peter's thoughts drifted off, and he stroked the pages of his Sudoku book.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked. "None of this makes sense." He filled up his coffee mug and let it sit in his hands. "None of your speeches ever once mentioned Pokémon rights."

"We preach equality for all," said Middle, "and Pokémon are, by far, the most poorly treated brethren on the planet. They have no representation in the current government, have minimal legal protection, and are subject to poorer working conditions without their consent. The pokéball is the symbol of that oppression, and adding a voluntary escape measure, the manufacture of which is thoroughly detailed by the reports you just read, is the first step to true equality."

Peter's glanced up. Though the billowing robes revealed nothing of the figures' emotions, Gregory was fidgeting with his fingers, and his eyes darted around the room.

The tallest figure adjusted his robe and said, "As to why we have refrained from making our intentions clear sooner, we needed political support, and we needed to recruit members to aid in our fight against Team Rocket."

Gregory shifted nervously in his seat. "But you used Pokémon to guard your warehouses. Dozens died in that raid two month ago."

"They volunteered for the task and knew the risks, as did the humans," said the shorter.

Gregory snorted. "Can Pokémon really volunteer? Can they really understand what they're fighting for?"

"You're sitting next to three Pokémon that are capable of human speech, rational thought, and intelligence equal to your own," said the shortest. Peter didn't move, but he felt uncomfortably aware of the three Lucario sitting on their side, wearing white raiment reminiscent of the Knights' cloaks.

Gregory opened his mouth, but the figure cut him off. "Before you tell me they're a special case, you should know that many Pokémon are more intelligent than they appear, once you bridge the language gap."

"I take it you have evidence of this?" the Commissioner asked. His voice quivered, and he licked his lips.

The shortest turned towards the others. "If you would be so kind?"

The tallest unbuckled their mask from their robes and pulled the stiff hood back. Underneath was a Chatot, ruffling its brightly plumaged feathers. A Bluetooth earpiece stuck out of the right side of its head. Then the figure undid the buttons on the front of its robe. A Blaziken, crowned with long white feathers, stared at the humans with predatory blue eyes. A mouthpiece hung from the inside of the robe.

Three more figures, in descending order of height, opened their robes. A Scizor, a Hitmonchan, and an Electabuzz revealed themselves in turn, and each had a Chatot partner and a wireless audio connection.

The Blaziken spoke, and the Chatot translated. "We've been speaking to you this whole time, but you could never understand us."

Gregory Mason paled, and his coffee mug shook in his hand, but Peter felt a strange thrill. He asked, "Are all Pokémon as intelligent as you?"

"Not yet," said the Electabuzz, "But more become aware. It won't be long until we all have the gift of knowledge."

Gregory shot Peter a sour look and turned towards the hidden figure. "Are you one of them as well? A Smeargle, perhaps, or a Pikachu?"

The shortest removed their robe. Beneath was a short man, middle-aged, with a gray mop of hair, a beak-like nose, and eyes that glowed in the incandescent light.

The Commissioner relaxed into his chair, but the three Lucario stiffened. Kolar stood and backed away from the table. "What the hell are you?" Elder Bayron asked.

The man raised an eyebrow. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Well, this is a surprise. At least I know why Team Rocket took such an interest in you."

Peter and Gregory both looked from the man and the Elder. "What's going on?" asked the Commissioner.

The man smiled at them. "I do apologize for the deception, but I felt it necessary to keep my identity a secret. Well, have a look."

The human features vanished. In their place was a grotesque mask of patchy black hair, blobs of lumpy pink slime, and misshapen facial features. Two eyes were half-buried beneath the lumps on its brow, the nose sagged over the lips, and one ear had drooped all the way down to the chin. Peter gagged on his coffee, and the mug slipped from Gregory's fingers. A large brown stain spread across the table. Jarem scooped up the papers before they were soaked.

"There's two ways this can end," the gruesome Pokémon said. "Either you can embrace the inevitable change, or it will be forced upon you." A shiver ran up Peter's spine as the thin, cracking voice brushed his ears like a Murkrow's feather. Panic settled over him as the thought of Pokémon rioting, smashing streets and tearing down buildings, flooded his brain. But then he thought of Bruno, of eating breakfast with him, watching movies, walking on patrols.

Peter opened his mouth, but the Commissioner broke the silence first. "What the hell are you?"

It smiled and said, "I'm what humans made me."

Peter glanced at the Pokémon around the room and asked, "Who are you? What is your name?"

It chuckled. "I don't like names very much, and a monster like me can never be a 'who', but I did have a name once. I was Subject Nine, but I would prefer it if you call me N."

Changelog

12/23/18 – minor edits

12/26/18 - continuity fix