Chapter VII: Wishing Well

Damion regained form in a less than serendipitous environment. Murky, foul-smelling water penetrated his senses. This scent was dreadful and suffocating. He scanned his hands to identify the sloppy substance they were drenched in. There was no need to examine any closer; it was dung. A large pride of Pokémon had to be somewhere nearby. But Damion was more concerned with his unlucky situation.

"C'mon, man!" he complained. "Really? This is where I'm supposed to be right now, covered in Pokémon poop? You've got to be kidding me bro, wow." The boy found dry spots on his pants on which to wipe his palms. His journey to find an exit was soundtracked by sloshing steps and redundant mutters.

Although its corridors were rather narrow, this cave stretched farther than it seemed. So many paths to traverse left Damion stumped. After several minutes of hopeless trekking and backtracking, the vexed Trainer stumbled upon the fecal culprits. A pack of Slowpoke gathered at the end of one hallway. The insensible pink quadrupeds held blank, emotionless stares. Their white-tipped tails tapered towards their heads. However, some of the Slowpoke's tails were chopped off.

Damion now knew exactly where he was. Near a town called Azalea (in his home region of Johto) resided what is known as Slowpoke Well. Legend had it that a Slowpoke's yawn reversed an area-wide drought some 400 years ago. Since that time Slowpoke had become a symbol of hope and friendship for the townspeople.

Chopped tails were a sign of Team Rocket. A couple years back they bum-rushed this well to sell loose tails for profit on the black market. For reasons unexplainable, the product boomed, bringing turmoil to the wild Slowpoke and their habitat. The bandits were dispelled from the well by a powerful Trainer. Some of their tails grew back, but many of the Dopey Pokémon remained affected.

Surveying the group, Damion saw an opportunity to expand his Pokémon team. Slowpoke were far too simple in the head to comprehend conversational human language. So he decided to ask one of his Pokémon to translate.

Dragonair's elongated body, though flexible, would find the well's dimensions restrictive; Haunter's Poison typing meant it was weak against Slowpoke's Psychic-type attacks; Xatu's energy was depleted. Thus the boy's only logical choice was Umbreon. As a Dark type, Umbreon was impervious to psychic attacks. Additionally, its glowing rings would help brighten the otherwise dim underground shaft.

"Time for round two, Umbreon!" Umbreon appeared and the pink Pokémon took notice.

Damion bent down to give his friend instructions. "Okay, Umbreon, this is what I need you to do: Go over to that group of Slowpoke; determine which one is the strongest and ask if it would be willing to challenge us to a battle. Can you do that for me?"

"Bree, Bree-on!" the Moonlight Pokémon agreed. Slowpoke and its evolved form, Slowbro, were among the least self-aware Pokémon in the world.

However, when a Slowpoke came in contact with an Item called a King's Rock, its brain activity reached its maximum potential. Instead of evolving into a Slowbro, it became a Slowking, a top-tier Pokémon species in terms of intelligence. It would be a fine addition to Maya's search party, though King's Rocks were hard to come by.

Several moments passed before Umbreon completed its task. The Slowpoke were nearly impossible to converse with even for another Pokémon. Eventually one of the pack members put two and two together, stepping forward to battle.

"Finally!" said Damion. "Thank you for accepting our challenge, Slowpoke. If you lose, you will be stripped from your home, friends and family. Do you understand?" The Dopey Pokémon's expression shifted from blank to alert upon stepping forward. Nevertheless, Damion's statements went in one ear and out the other.

"Alright, whatever," he said, continuing the battle. "Umbreon, use your Bite attack!" The catlike creature sprinted towards its foe. Slowpoke stood its ground, timing its move perfectly. As Umbreon closed in, Slowpoke readied an attack. It spewed loads of yellow string from its mouth which wrapped around Umbreon's head, causing it stumble and fall. The Dark-type joggled its head round and round, trying to remove the sticky substance.

Its struggle brought a daft smile to Slowpoke's face. Damion was astonished. "Slowpoke negated our only Dark-type attack with its Disable move," he remarked. He needed an alternate strategy. "Claw that string off your head, Umbreon!" His Pokémon obeyed. The Trainer instructed his companion to use Sand Attack. After a 180-degree turn, Umbreon shoveled dirt at Slowpoke with its hind legs.

Slowpoke retaliated with a Confusion attack. Using psychic powers, the Dopey Pokémon prevented itself from being doused with dirt by halting the projectile in midair with its mind. It returned the dirt to its foe. Because of Umbreon's Dark typing, the telekinetic counterattack bypassed its target. Damion could not shield himself, however. A cloud of dust engulfed him.

This is going to be much more tedious than I anticipated, he thought. The uproar of battle, along with the boy's chronic coughing, caught the attention of two passersby: a muscly man and a petite woman. She emitted a snarky tone.

"Hey, kid! What are you doing down here? How did you not set off the trip-wire alarm?" she grilled. Damion fanned away the last bit of dust.

"Huh? Who are you?" The woman ignored Damion's response to chastise her partner.

"Tim, you oaf; I knew I couldn't trust you to secure the perimeter!"

They sported motorcyclist gear – fluorescent dyed hair, ripped denim jackets, high-lacing military boots. Cliché skull and foreign-language tattoos covered their arms and necks. The man held a shovel over his shoulder. A walkie-talkie and two Poké Balls were fixed to his hips. As for the woman, she carried three Pokémon; a jet-black whip hung over her right leg. To interrupt a wild Pokémon battle was dishonorable in the Trainer community. Everyone knew that. But these two seemed clueless, if not fishy. Damion broke up their bickering.

"Hey! I asked you a question."

"We asked you first!" the woman retorted. The boy loathed her childlike response.

"Never mind who I am. Why did you interrupt my battle?" Damion asked.

"We've blocked this area off. This is our turf! I won't ask you again: How did you get down here?"

"Destiny brought me here. What are two Bikers doing shoveling underground?"

"That's none of your business, twerp. Get out of our way or face defeat! The choice is yours."

"Umbreon, let's rock and roll."

The Moonlight Pokémon needed no such cue. Since the supposed Bikers first appeared, it ferociously growled at them. Umbreon dashed in front of Damion, showing its battle stance. Despite the woman's threat neither of the shady characters reached for their Poké Balls.

"Is this not a battle?" the boy wondered. Their grins were malicious.

"We only use our Pokémon when they're absolutely necessary. We can handle you and your little pussycat ourselves." As those words left her lips, a chill fluttered through Damion's body. These were Team Rocket Grunts disguised as Bikers. He called them on their bluff.

"If not for your systemic cowardice your disguises might have worked, Team Rocket."

"Bravo, kid. You figured us out. I hope you know we can't let you leave this well."

"Fight me like an adult, you scum. Then we will see who makes the rules."

"Timothy, let's make waste of this runt!"

"Umbreon, Quick Attack!"

The Dark-type zigzagged in the imposters' direction, tackling their legs and causing them to fall. This was the lone move Damion called for his Pokémon. Umbreon's subsequent attacks were strictly freelanced. It continued to lay dizzying strikes until each Grunt was visibly injured. As the woman was slow to get up, Umbreon took hold of her hair by its teeth. The man, apparently named Timothy, tried but could not get an angle to attack the Pokémon with his ninja stars.

Umbreon dodged Tim's sharp projectiles by using his colleague as a human shield. When that game grew old, the Dark-type hurled the woman in the air, spun around and kicked her with sinewy strength. She crashed into her colleague. Soon they were met with a barrage of debris.

"Okay, you asked for it!" yelled the woman, throwing a Poké Ball.

"Toxicroak, punish that pipsqueak!" From her Poké Ball came a fully-evolved fighting frog. Small scythes protruded from its wrists. They were ruby-colored, as were its throat sac, upper lip and middle toes. The remainder of its skin was a cyan blue trimmed in black. A mischievous smile rested permanently on its face. Toxicroak was part Poison and part Fighting types. As a fighter, it had the advantage over the Dark-type Umbreon. Damion needed to be careful, yet he was not.

"Umbreon, use Sand Attack!" The poison frog's maize-colored eyes filled with dirt.

"Wipe that crust out your eye, Toxicroak, and use Bulk Up!" she coached. Toxicroak concentrated its energy inward, flexing every muscle in its body.

"Umbreon, use your Quick Attack once again! Aim for its throat bubble!" Umbreon raced towards the Fighting-type. The woman's battle call sparked the Trainer's memory.

"Toxicroak, take the hit!"

The Moonlight Pokémon slammed into Toxicroak's chest, leaving it vulnerable to a direct attack.

"Toxicroak: Revenge!" Glowing scythes jabbed into Umbreon from above. The blow left it on the verge of fainting. Umbreon staggered to its feet, holding on to its last bit of health.

"Return, Toxicroak," said the female Grunt, sending the Toxic Mouth Pokémon to its Ball. This confused the boy.

"Giving up already?" he taunted. Her villainous gaze brought fear to the boy's eyes.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she teased. She uncurled her whip and cracked it straight into Umbreon's eye socket. It flailed and squealed in pain.

"You monster!" Damion shouted. "I will wipe you from this Earth!" With his teeth clinched, he reached for his Dusk Ball. But before he could release his Pokémon, he collapsed to his knees. Ninja stars had sliced open his shins.

"Now, Penny!" Tim instructed. The woman, revealed as Penny, swung her whip at Damion.

The tip of the whip coiled around his wrist, cutting off circulation. Penny pulled back on her weapon, yanking the Trainer's shoulder out of place. Damion's Dusk Ball dropped from his hand. Haunter appeared, yawning from its slumber. The ghost was facing towards its Trainer; Haunter jokingly brushed his hair.

"Haunter, please," said Damion, whimpering. Haunter had never seen the boy in pain. It charged at the culprits with rage and fired multiple Shadow Ball attacks in their direction. The Rocketeers dodged the explosions and retaliated.

"Mightyena, get in there!" yelled Tim, chucking a Poké Ball. A black-gray wolf hound appeared with an expensive Rare Bone around its neck. "Use your Fling attack!" The Bite Pokémon ripped off its Rare Bone with its teeth and hurled the Item at Haunter. Fling, a Dark-type move super-effective against Ghosts, gained power based on the attacker's held item. When used with a Rare Bone, Fling dealt massive damage.

Haunter fainted with one wallop of the valuable bone.

"Well, that was exciting," Penny quipped. Tim picked up his shovel and joined his colleague over by Damion. "What was it you said earlier about us being scum?" she mocked. "Now look at you. You and your Pokémon are pathetic!" The boy drowned in guilt. If he could not defeat a couple of Grunts, Maya would never be safe. Although they did not fight fair, there was nothing he could do now to stop them. He chattered still.

"I swear on my mother's grave, you will pay for what you have done here today," he said.

"Put him to bed, Timmy," she replied. The burly man lifted his shovel and whacked the boy across his head. He was out cold. The Grunts flipped Damion over onto his belly and hogtied him using Penny's whip. Tim threw the unconscious Trainer over his shoulder on their way towards the well's exit. He handed his shovel to Penny. She snatched the walkie-talkie off his hip.

"Well Team to Base, do you copy?" she beckoned.

". . ."

"Well Team to Base, this is Penny. Do you copy?"

"Er-hem! Yes, my love, I hear you. Is there a problem?" a charming voice said.

"Not anymore, boss. But we encountered an intruder in the well. We don't know where he came from."

"An intruder? I thought I told you t- . . . Never mind. Is the situation resolved?"

"Yes, sir, it is. He has some pretty strong Pokémon for a kid."

"Hmm. . . What kind of Pokémon?"

Tim butted into the conversation.

"Hey, boss! It's Tim."

"Timothy, darling! How do you do? Tell me about this child."

"Uh, he's a black kid. . . a little shorter than me . . . Oh! And he's got cornrows in his hair."

"And?"

"And. . . He had a Haunter and an Umbreon. The Umbreon was pretty tough. But Mightyena took out his Haunter with one hit!"

"As it should; it's a Dark-type fighting a ghost. What else can you tell me?"

Penny pulled the walkie-talkie close to her mouth.

"And he's cute, boss. Very cute."

"Bingo! You know me so well, Penny. I'll have to pay him a visit in the near future."

"We found him trying to catch a Slowpoke. They must not have liked him very much since they didn't attempt to stop us one bit!"

"Ha! Such idiotic creatures. Throw him in the cellar for safe keeping."

Penny and Tim griped with a sigh.

"But boss," Tim complained, "we just spent hours covering that up so no one would come near it. There's a literal mountain of poop on top of it!" Penny reiterated his concern.

"I don't pay you to whine; I pay you to do what I ask! Get your butts back over there and start shoveling," the voice said. They lowered their heads in agreement.

"Yes, boss," they said in unison before receiving an apology.

"I'm sorry for yelling. If you two weren't so beautiful, I'd punish you for letting an intruder into your jurisdiction. However, if you do what I ask, I'll let you off the hook. For now. Give me a status report when you're finished. Over and out." Penny handed the device back to Tim.

"Ugh! I don't want to be down here a minute longer," she complained.

"Tell me about it," he agreed. "Let's ditch this place and grab some grub. I'm starving."

"And potentially lose this job? Nope, no way."

"C'mon, what's the worst that could happen?"

"What's the worst that could happen? The boss would find out and scar us for life, that's what."

"Please, look at me. The boss doesn't stand a chance!"

"You have no idea the kind of power the boss wields, do you?"

"Do you?"

"I've only heard stories, but none of them had happy endings."

"Still, I think I'd come out on top. Let's just go, get us a couple to-go plates, come back and finish this thing later."

"Lifting and eating are all you care about. You wouldn't make it one day without this job."

"Yeah, I know… Let's just get this over with."

The Grunts stared longingly at the temptation of the outdoors. Above the well's ladder, Tim noticed his trip wire intact.

"You see that?" he exclaimed. "Look! My trip wire is still there." Penny's eyes squinted.

"Where? I don't see it." He vaguely pointed to the opening.

"Right there! It's clear so it's hard to see, but if you get a good angle I promise you'll see it." She inspected the ladder, using her hand to block the Sun.

"Now I see it. Huh, that's weird." She swiveled her view to Damion. "That kid must be a magician or something. I don't know how he could've avoided that." They shrugged their shoulders. As Penny took her first step to follow Tim to their assignment, a puck-sized stone knocked her out of stride. "Hey! Who did that?" A second stone succeeded it. Tim dropped the boy and warned his associate.

"Penny, be careful! If one of those hits the trip w-"

The well's opening collapsed upon detonating. A pile of rubble crushed Penny beneath its weight. Tim attempted to rescue her by removing each brick and boulder, but he needed help. Detaching a Poké Ball from his holster, he called upon his Ground-type ally.

"Excadrill, I need you!" This mole-like Pokémon stood on two feet. Three red splotches lay diagonally across its chocolate-brown midsection. Rigid, burrowing blades replaced what would be fingers. It was a stout species with short legs and narrow feet. Its thin, white face took shade underneath a jagged blade that extended from its forehead. Excadrill was born to bore.

"We've gotta save Penny! Use Dig, Excadrill," ordered Tim. The Subterrene Pokémon straightened its body, spinning like a drill into the pile of rock. It drilled a hole big enough for Tim to reach in and grab his workmate. "Keep digging, Excadrill. Get us out of here!" Tim placed Penny across his shoulders and let his Pokémon lead the way to freedom.

When the Sun graced Tim's skin, another disturbance awaited him. Standing alongside a tiny turtle Pokémon named Shuckle and a shell-tailed Slowbro was an irritated senior citizen. His sleek, white hair tucked behind his ears. Wrapped in a tight teal robe, the man had a full brown sack hanging from his waistband. Fiery eyes and thick brows fixated on the imposter cyclist. He confronted his opponent.

"So it was you who threw those stones, old man!" Tim said.

"That's right, it was us," the elder confirmed. "My Slowbro sensed danger at the well so we scoped it out. I thought I told you scoundrels to leave my town alone."

"If you came to save the boy who snuck past our trap, he's still alive down there. We're leaving this dump of a town."

"Boy? What boy?"

"Never mind. . . Gotta go!"

"Not so fast, hooligan! Slowbro, use Scald on his Excadrill; Shuckle, use Rock Tomb to stop him in his tracks!"

Piping-hot water, to which it was highly vulnerable, steamed off the Ground-type's frame. Surrounding the Rocket Grunt's feet were free-forming slabs of rock. They rose to the sky, trapping the goons inside.

"You old fool!" Tim yelled. "These rocks will suffocate her!" The elderly man could not have cared less. Approaching the Grunt, his words showed no mercy.

"I hope you two rot out here. My patience has run dry. This well will be a punk-free zone, even if I have to rebuild it myself! Y'hear?" A wad of spit flew into the old man's face. He transferred the waste to his sleeve. With a crazed gaze, he responded.

"I oughta melt your face off for that. On second thought, I think I will. Slowbro: Scald att-" A voice from afar intervened.

"Hold it right there, Kurt!" the female voice shouted. "This is officially a police matter. Step away from the perpetrator!"

Slowbro's attack halted as it, Shuckle and their experienced Trainer were joined by a small fleet of Police Officers. Deputy Miranda Jenny took charge of the situation.

"Alright, Kurt, since you handled part of our job for us, I'll forget I saw you threaten this man." Kurt crossed his arms while maintaining his composure.

"Typical copper," Tim snarked. "Always going for what's most convenient." Jenny rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please. You know nothing about real police work. Looks to me like the only thing you're good for is being a menace." Slowbro waddled over to the deputy with its signature blank expression.

"Slow-bro, slowww." She smiled in return.

"Well, hi there, Slowbro," she said, gently rubbing its head.

"Slow, slow, bro." It turned its head towards the well. Tim continued to yammer.

"You know you can't touch us, right?" he taunted. "You can cuff us, sure. But our boss has connects. We'll get off scot-free. And there ain't nothin' you, gramps, or that meddling kid can do about it." Deputy Jenny's face jumbled.

"Who is 'us'? And what kid are you talking about? I need straight answers, now!" Tim only grinned. Slowbro turned to face the gaping hole. "Jackson, Montoya: See what's down there," she directed.

"Yes, ma'am!" The two officers cleared away rubble, switching on their flashlights. Damion lie atop the well's damp floor yet to move or come to. "You might want to see this, ma'am," said Officer Jackson. "We got a kid unconscious and hogtied down here." Jenny peered into the opening.

"Well, get him up here, please," she said. The remaining three officers formed a line to help carry the boy. Upon surfacing, Damion's identity stunned the deputy.

"This boy was trying to stop you?" said Jenny to the Grunt.

"Yeah, that's him," he replied. "He somehow got past our trap."

"So, you beat and tied him up like a game hog?" she countered. A sinister smirk faded back into Tim's face.

"Nobody steps on our turf." The force veteran shook her head in disgust.

"Alright, boys, clink 'em up."

Before they began, Officer Montoya posed a question to his superior. "Uh, ma'am, didn't he say there were two of them? Eso un hombre grande," Jenny placed her hands on her hips.

"So what?" she gloated, "We have Arcanines." Kurt interjected.

"Officer Jenny?" he said, raising a finger.

"It's Deputy Jenny, but yes?"

"Sorry. Deputy Jenny, what do you plan to do with that boy?"

"We will leave him at the Pokémon Center nearby and after he wakes I will question him."

"The Pokémon Center? That's no place to care for a human being! Why don't you let me and my granddaughter tend to him?"

"I know that boy. No offense, Kurt, but I don't want him getting away."

"Look at him. He's not going anywhere. I'll hold him hostage till you're done with these scallywags. Whaddaya say?"

"Hm. Okay, fine. I'm not sure how long my interrogation will take."

"I got nothin' but time, m'dear."

"I'll meet you at yours in a few."

Two officers untied Damion from the Grunt's knotted whip and carried him to Kurt's house in Azalea Town. They laid him across an old cot Kurt retrieved from one of his closets and returned to the crime scene.

"Who's this, grandpa?" a gentle young voice said. Kurt pointed to where the girl came from while poking around his kitchen's drawers.

"Look in the storage for my smelling salts. This boy needs reviving." Moments later, she held out her hand, poking her grandfather's shoulder with a small cardboard box. He pulled out a paper-wrapped capsule from the box. Flicking his wrist back and forth, Kurt prepped the inhalant. As an ammonia-based awakening agent, the smelling salts released an astringent vapor when snapped in two.

Damion's brain erupted with energy as he twitched awake. Two unfamiliar faces hunched over him. With concerned breaths Damion surveyed the room. He was in a ranch-style living room that doubled as a workshop. Apricorns, Johto's native fruit, of all colors were scattered across each of three wooden tables. Blades, sharpeners and tools for painting and sculpting gave the space a rustic allure. No television set or computer was present. The young Trainer felt cozy for some reason. He knew he had nothing to fear.

"Who are you?" Damion asked. "I feel like I should know who you are." Both Kurt and his granddaughter stood up straight.

"The name's Kurt of Azalea Town. I am Johto's acclaimed Poké Ball smith. This is my granddaughter, Maizie."

Damion furrowed his brow before introducing himself. Maizie looked to be around 14 or 15 years old. Her hair ribboned into vertical pigtails. She had red rosy cheeks and a friendly smile.

"Maizie – I've never heard that one before," said the boy.

"Don't look at me;" Kurt replied. "I'm not the one who named her."

"Technically, I wasn't looking at you."

"Oh, okay! So we got a wise guy?"

"Ah! Ouch!"

"Hm. You're in quite a bit of pain, young man. We're here to help! Where's it hurt?"

"My shoulder, I think it's out of place."

"Alright, Maizie, it's show time. Get 'im from behind and see what you can do."

The teenagers giggled at Kurt's oblivious lingo.

"What are you two laughing about?" said Kurt. "I don't recall tellin' any joke."

"It's nothing, grandpa," Maizie said. "You're just funny, that's all." He shook his head in disapproval.

"I remember the days when you'd be laughing with me not at me," Kurt remarked. Damion grunted during the girl's realigning process.

"Almost got it," she affirmed. A subtle crunching noise signified completion. The Trainer tested his shoulder by slowly revolving his arm.

"Feeling better?" asked Kurt.

"Yeah, I am actually," Damion told. "Thank you for looking after me. You didn't have to do this. I'm grateful."

"Don't mention it, young pup! I saw how helpless you looked back there and figured you could use a hand."

"Again, thank you. My head is throbbing, though. Do you have any aspirin?"

"Nope! Don't believe in any hoity-toity pills; they make ya too dependent. Peppermint oil does the trick. Grab some, would ya, sweetie?"

". . ."

"Ah, wonderful. Thank you, Maizie. Here you go, wise guy. Two drops should do it. You fall and hit your head?"

"Nah, man. If you look close enough, you can probably still see the shovel imprint in my skull."

"Yeesh. They got you good, huh?"

"They got me more than good. It's weird – my whole life I've been fortunate enough to never break a single bone or even injure myself badly. But these past few days have left me in ruins."

"What happened down at the well, kid? The cops have those bonehead Bikers in cuffs."

"The cops showed up? For once, I'm glad. But those weren't Bikers, Kurt."

"Whaddaya mean they're not Bikers? Are ya blind?"

"I see just fine. Those were Team Rocket Grunts in disguises. They jumped me while I was trying to catch a Slowpoke."

Pent-up rage of yesteryear shot through the old man's veins. Images of Rocket Grunts kidnapping innocent Slowpoke for profit surfaced to the front of his memory. Kurt was Azalea's protector. His home was known for being a town where people and Pokémon lived harmoniously.

Team Rocket had been trying to stifle this harmony on and off for years. The Poké Ball smith had reached his limit, though he doubted Damion's words. Maybe it was all in his head. He did get whacked in it, after all. How could he be so sure they were posers? They looked like any other vandal Bikers Kurt had come across, possibly more mature and threatening.

But the old timer had seen this boy's kind before, one who thought he had all the answers. Kurt lived by this saying: You don't know what you don't know. He directed his doubts at the boy.

"I've seen my fair share of Team Rocket bums," Kurt said. "He didn't look the part."

"Have you considered that was the point?" proposed Damion.

"So you think their outfits were some elaborate scheme to frame Bikers? Doesn't add up."

"Sure it does. Have you noticed how often Bikers are on the news?"

"Look around you, brother. D'you see a TV anywhere? That thing just melts your brain."

"I agree. But the image of Bikers is still a hot-button issue nonetheless."

"Yeah, it is – for a reason! I've had to fend off too many graffiti-loving, trash-talking hooligans in my day. I'm sick of them!"

"No group of people is entirely bearable. I'm just saying they're represented unfairly in the media."

"Yeah? Well, agree to disagree."

"If you knew what I know, you might think twice about them."

"I'll tell you what I know. I know you smell like the devil's backside, and I can't stand it any longer. Take off those nasty clothes and jump in the shower, if ya don't mind."

"I could use a shower. Thank you. But before I hop in, do you think you could take a look at something?

"Oh! Do you have Apricorns for me?"

"No, I don't. I'm sorry."

"Well, that's a letdown."

"Um, anyway, I have something in my Bag that you might be able to help me identify since you're a Poké Ball smith."

"Hm, alright, sounds up my alley. Whaddaya got?"

Damion reached into his Bag for his spray-painted Ball. He handed it to Kurt, explaining that the black coloring smelled like paint.

"Yeah, I can find out what kind of Poké Ball this is for you," Kurt assured.

"Thank you," said Damion. "I've been wondering for days."

Kurt got out his reading glasses and gave the unusual Ball a full inspection.

"This will come right off," he said. "There's some turpentine laying around here somewhere. Take your shower and it'll be done when you are." The boy nodded and followed Maizie's lead to the bathroom.

It was nothing special, but at least it was clean. Walls made of wood resembled that of a lodge sauna. The sink was an odd powder blue. A rusty faucet dripped and dripped. He chuckled when he noticed the shower curtain's pattern. Happy Slowpoke heads spread from edge to edge. Pungent cologne and cleaning product wafted through the air as the hostess closed the lone window. Damion pulled back the curtain and hesitated. Maizie gave him the go-ahead.

"There's soap and shampoo already in there," she pointed.

"Okay cool, thank you."

"Oh, and the knob is simple. Pull to turn the water on, push to turn it off. Hot is left, cold is right."

"Easy enough."

"And the purple bottles on the side are my girly body washes and conditioners. You probably don't want to use those."

"I dunno; I might need to after all those poop angels I was making."

"Hahaha! Ew, that's gross!"

"I'm kidding, of course. But I will be using a healthy amount of soap, if that's alright."

"You're funny. That's fine, though. Use as much as you need!"

"Thanks again, Maizie."

"No problem. Just leave your clothes on the floor. I'll come replace them with one of my grandpa's robes while your stuff is in the wash."

"I'm surprised y'all have a washer and dryer."

"I know, right? Laundry machines are the only ones Grandpa trusts. They haven't let him down yet, so he says."

The teens exchanged laughs and smiles on her way out of the bathroom. He pulled out the water valve knob. An inviting stream of lukewarm water cascaded down his arm. He turned the knob to the left, gauging the perfect temperature with his palm before entering the tub.

When the water reached optimal comfort, he disrobed and began his cleansing process. His favorite soul tune played in the form of a whistle. Steamy water soothed his aching head. The Trainer tried remembering what all happened in the well. Most of it was fuzzy. He kept washing and whistling in hopes of sparking his memory.

I remember battling the Slowpoke. It would have been a great addition. Leveling it up would have been a pain, though. Why did I spawn in the well? Was I meant to get hit in the head with a shovel? Maybe that was a wake-up call. I'm in over my head. I still have no idea where Maya is. My skills have failed her, and her family. But what will be gained from quitting now?

Damion's fist clenched while he reflected on the harm Team Rocket did to him. He and his Pokémon had trained hard these past few days. No amount of foul play could keep them from their goal. The boy remembered what Penny had done to his loyal Moonlight Pokémon.

Wait a minute, he thought.

"Where's Umbreon? Where is Umbreon?!" Without stopping to think he rushed out of Kurt's bathroom in nothing but a towel.

"What the!" yelled Kurt. He dodged the concerned Trainer's beeline out of his front door. Droplets ran down his skin as he stopped in his tracks.

"Looking for this little fella?" said Jenny. Embarrassment finally caught up with the boy. The Sun's rays warmed his body. He scratched between his braids and answered her.

"Well… um… As a matter of fact, I was," he said. Kurt launched a robe at his house guest.

"Here. Have some decency," he said. "That's Deputy Miranda Jenny!" Damion caught and applied the garment.

"I know who she is. We've met once before."

'Twas not the fondest of meetings. A grudge match of glares ensued. Umbreon wiggled out of Jenny's hands to reunite with his friend. He licked the running droplets off Damion's calf, rubbing up against it with his face and neck.

"I honestly appreciate you returning Umbreon to me," Damion said with truth in his eyes. The deputy uncrossed her arms to reply.

"Just doing my civil duty. However, that is not the only reason I'm here." Damion considered a defensive stance. The last thing he wanted was to get mixed up with her again. She did not know his mission. All she understood was protocol.

"Why don't we all come inside for a chat?" Kurt added. "Drinks are on the house!"

Three ice-waters went untouched for many moments. The energy indoors was imbalanced. Kurt did not want to steal the room. Jenny did not want to come off presumptuous. Damion refused to initiate a discussion. Silence took the lead.

Kurt got up from the floor, grabbing for his chilled beverage. "Welp, I've had enough awkward for one day. I'll be in the back reading if you need me." The rivals watched anxiously as the old man fulfilled his statement. Minimal eye contact increased the tension between the two tenfold. Deputy Jenny broke the mold.

"You look pretty beat up. Can we talk about what happened at the well?"

"There isn't much to say," he guarded. "I battled a Slowpoke; those two goons jumped me; I got hit in the head with a shovel – end of story."

"Whoa, okay, back it up. Before you battled the Slowpoke, how did you get inside the well?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. So why should I tell you?"

"You should tell me because I have a job to do and I'm trying to help. There is justice to be served."

"There is indeed. And I will be the one to serve it. They have bruised my body, but Team Rocket cannot bruise my spirit."

"So, is that your thing?"

"Is what my thing?"

"Assuming every act of violence is the work of Team Rocket."

"Is your thing assuming every act of violence has nothing to do with them?"

"I base my judgment off of evidence. It's what gets the job done the right way."

"What is right will always be subjective. Destiny brought me here, and it will continue to guide me."

"Give me a straight answer. How did you get inside the Slowpoke Well?"

". . . I appeared there by way of a portal designed by the most powerful Pokémon of all."

"Hahaha! Pardon my rudeness, but I gotta admit you were right. I don't believe a lick of that. That must have been some kind of hit that perp laid on you."

"Laugh all you want, but I will achieve my goal sooner rather than later."

"Uh-huh. Look, I don't have time for your antics. The Sun is setting soon. You should stay here for the night, Damion. I insist."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I insist. Like I said, I have a job to do. I will get to the bottom of this one way or another. But don't let me catch you sneaking around or tampering with our operation tonight. Or I will have you arrested for obstruction of justice. This is my case. Do I make myself clear?"

Damion was a vacuum of emotion. He responded with nothingness – neither a face nor a blink, simply an empty gaze. The lawwoman scoffed, departing with the idea that the boy was a lost cause. He rose to his feet and walked in the direction of the laundry room.

While the dryer rattled and tumbled, Maizie sat on top of the washing machine beside it with headphones over her ears. She removed them when she noticed Damion. He recognized the song coming from them. It was the same tune he covered in the shower. "Only for the Brave" by The Second Chanseys it was called. They chatted about the song for a few moments, chiming in on their favorite part.

"I'm not brave!" they sung. She loved it for its melody. He loved it for its irony. It spoke to him.

The dryer buzzed. Maizie hopped down to fetch the boy's clothes for him. Damion did the honor instead and thanked her for her hospitality. He returned to the bathroom to change. His reflection drew him closer before he exited. He noticed his hair was frizzy and tattered, and a lump had formed on his head.

He wanted to once again ask himself what his purpose was, but knew asking such a question at this point meant nothing except weakness. The song he earlier hummed frequently brought him comfort. Not one to overindulge in the arts, he sparingly sought guidance in them, for he trusted in their ability to inspire and evolve throughout many of life's avenues. Battling, at times, was an art to him, a means to bring joy, awe and knowledge to all who partook in it. If ever that art was tainted by an outside power, he held an inherent desire to make it clean again.

Damion snuck off to Azalea Town's Pokémon Center, but not without Maizie stopping him first. He had packed all his things and looked as though he had no plans to remain in town for much longer. The curious girl searched for the meaning of this.

"Hey, Damion, where are you going?" she asked. Guilt set into the boy's heart. Looking back, he knelt to re-tie his shoe.

"To the Pokémon Center," he replied, standing back up.

"You're all packed," she noted. "Are you not staying the night?" The Sun was nearly set. Exotic purples, pinks and oranges were the sky's dying light. Her question anchored in his soul.

Where he would go he had no clue. He could not muster an excuse not to stay. Leaving now would likely end with his wrists in cuffs. The deputy had little patience for his mission. She was surely waiting for him to rebel.

He concluded his body and mind had been through enough trials in the past bundle of hours. Damion turned and faced Maizie.

"Can you braid hair?" he asked. She informed him that she was more than capable of fixing him up. "I'm not leaving," he assured with a smile. "I just have a couple calls to make. Then I'll come back." She grinned in return.

"Maybe we can jam out some more when you get back," she said.

"I'd like that," he said.

He walked to the Center's video phone and set his Bag next to the machine. He dialed Clair's number. She undoubtedly worried, but that was her expression of love. Her voice sounded relieved. He did not tell his godmother about the well. Rather he asked of her recent happenings. She was glad to hear his voice and could not wait to tell him the good news:

"Skylar called. Don't mess this one up!"