Chapter XIV: Golden Boy(s)
The clock struck two – one hour to go. 63 minutes, to be exact, separated Damion from his next meeting point. His skin crawled, buoying between ends of the dilemma at hand. This bed was not just comfortable, but warm; and not just warm, but occupied. There is a distinct difference, he recognized. Her secondary heat baited his breath nearer. Graceful lips danced across her cheekbones. She was fast asleep.
He slipped out to the condo's central area, closing her door with fragility. There he had left his Bag to rest on a velvety arm of the L-shaped couch. Out came a fit from the nightfall wardrobe Steven had gifted him. Possibly his aid was too good to be true. Yet Damion's trust endured. Allies were scarce, after all.
Though their external paths diverged, their internal battles bound them together. Deep down, he and the Champion wanted the same thing. One found an alternative. Another found an alias. He, Damion, stared into his reflective shadow. Past became present. Guilt lingered. He identified it. Moreover, he identified with it. It drove him forward. Thoughts of Skylar pulled him back.
He had one hour to decide between identities. Damion Harrison had been a failure. His amateur movements led to exposure. He pushed others away, perhaps to shield them from his lifeless perspective. While he fancied respect, he denied its full embrace. For what good was respect on a dying planet?
He compared Earth to his free will. Since the day he met Maya, his scope had narrowed paper-thin. All he felt was rage. Destiny enslaved him. The bliss of death held him dearly and held him tightly. Soon it would all be over, for better or for worse. And despite this fateful curse, he would pay his debt daily and pay it nightly.
Nevertheless, Damion Harrison had nothing more to offer the world. He knew he too must evolve. His tattered flesh and broken spirit could never carry the weight of the people. They needed a spark. A child star would not suffice this time. To serve as their awakener, one must reveal their lifelong dream state. Damion Harrison – a fool down on his luck – had not the narrative to grab their attention. Sob stories sold copies not revelations.
But a mysterious martyr meant more. Mystery sparks interest; interest sparks discussion; discussion sparks change; and change begets progress – this was his plan. If his became the face of the evil poisoning this world, then perhaps they would start looking for an antidote.
Forty-four minutes went by. The love he thought he found, though recent and pure, had run its course. All the whispers in her ear were true. Omissions were his only lies. Although they were one in the same, they kept his guilt at bay. The man she thought she knew was withering into self-destructive depths. He hoped he did not pervade her dreams as he had done unto her body a short time ago, though his conscience knew better. Nights like these were not dispelled in a matter of hours, or even days. Love lingered. And so he chose to disappear.
He gazed upon his new persona. Sequenced jewels radiated in her bathroom's fluorescent light. He looked stronger and capable of anything. In this moment, he had to sacrifice control. No longer could he tame his emotions. Mercy reached its limit. Pain did too. Every ounce of who he was he left in Skyler's view. His tread was soft, the sky was black, his heart an ice-cold blue.
He ignored the baffled murmurs of the complex receptionist as he, Damion, emerged from the stairwell, setting his sights eastward. Less than 20 minutes remained. Route 7 was a mere five minutes further. With time to kill, he wondered what, or who, was trying to communicate with him. There was an obvious choice, yet the aura he felt did not match that of the clone. Suddenly he was not alone. An irate voice called to him.
"Hey," shouted Skylar, in nothing but slippers and a nightgown. He kept his legs churning, saying nothing in return.
"Hey, asshole!" Footsteps halted. His mask he did remove. He turned to swallow her scorn.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked with a fist full of clothes.
"I don't believe so," he answered.
"Um, your clothes? You left them at my bedside."
"I'm aware. They're for you."
"Wh-? … For what?"
"To remember me by."
She reached her boiling point. For Skylar, his clothes were not mementos. Each article was worth one figurative slap in the face. From this day forward, any time she saw them they would remind her of his betrayal. She had opened her soul to him. He had taken that soul, wrapped it in a blanket and left it to die in the frigid, finite freeze. Her every word was like a steaming bullet.
Yet he dodged them with dejection. It protected him from feeling. Her guilt trip proved ineffective. She was not accustomed to this level of rejection. So she probed.
"What is it about me; what isn't enough for you?" Skylar cried. He did not rack his brain. There was no right, or even honest, answer. His decision to leave had little to do with her. He justified his actions with subtle clues he left behind. He never told her the complete details of his mission. She and he did not suffer equally. Therefore she could never strive for the same goal.
Once it was clear to her that he could not be persuaded, she reloaded her verbal arsenal:
"Celeste was wrong about you. She said that you weren't different. She told me you were just like all the boys who only wanted to use me for my clout or my goods. But she was so, so wrong. You are nothing like them, and nothing like the man I thought you'd be.
You were sweet, but guarded. Closed-hearted but open-minded. Half the boys I bring home can't even spell regurgitation. But that's okay. Because at least when they leave me I expect it. I guess all of me wasn't enough for you, though, now was it? No, you came in, told me how amazing I was, and how you've never felt this way about someone before and all that jazz. That was some opening act you put on back there.
And y'know what? I knew better. I knew you were impossible to love. But I thought you were worth risking the chance of feeling this empty, gut-punch of a feeling because…well, because… I don't believe in coincidence. Whether we were written in the stars or in some divine fairytale from a parallel universe, one way or another, our paths were meant to cross.
All I want from you is time. I don't wanna change you. Is that what you're afraid of? That's not what I want, I promise. I can forget the bad lies and good intentions. I can forget that stupid mask in your hand. Wait, what is that thing? Ugh, never mind, not important. . . .
I can forget you leaving me out to dry. But I can't… I cannot forget you. I don't need an oversized t-shirt to remind me of the time we spent and the love we made. This is just a thing; it's cosmetic. It doesn't mean anything! But what we have does. Our time is now, Damion. It's right now. I can forget all of this, even my future. Just take me with you."
Tears spilled between them. He approached her with those same good intentions. His heart and head waged war inside him. The former wanted to repent. The latter wanted to revolt. He looked into the currents of her wave-washed eyes. There lay what should have been. So many words weaved across his mind. But none left his mouth. He detached from their gaze. She gave him one last try.
"I let you in," she stammered, "far as I could. Please, Damion. Take me with you."
He wiped the final tear from her cheek. Despite its charm, the warm summer air could not penetrate the ice around his heart. Their gaze resumed, preceding his break of silence. Three words pierced her soul.
"Damion is dead."
She shoved the belongings into his face. They plopped to the earth like a foul school lunch. His eyes flickered open to see her stomping back to Celadon. Birds flipped in his direction. He accepted blame into his heart, for he had broken hers to pieces. This blame found shelter alongside his assortment of neglected emotions.
I need to burn these clothes, he thought as he collected his shirt, pants and vest one by one. He stuffed them into his Bag and pulled out his PokéDex to check the time. 'Twas 3AM on the dot. A few paces ahead marked the spot. On the eastern route he stood with dread.
He looked back to Celadon. The wind played a saddened song. Bittersweet goodbyes flowed from his lips. A sturdy, invisible force interrupted the pivot of his path.
The clone had arrived. He reached for its embrace, gripping its torso like a lost cub to its mother. Mewtwo showed no affection in return. It peeled him from its skin.
"You're a couple minutes early," he welcomed.
"Silence, child," it retorted.
"Oh, right," he corrected, shifting his voice to his mind. "You're a couple minutes early, my friend. It's good to see you."
"I would not be here unless it was absolutely necessary."
"Wh-What do you mean? You told me to meet you here at this time."
"I did no such thing."
"Well, yeah, you did."
"You do not speak for me!"
The boy hovered off the ground. Its eyes turned a fiery blue. His back slammed into the trunk of a nearby pine tree. An impossible weight suffocated his frame until he was numb from neck to toe. The clone struck fear like none before, ripping apart his ego:
"Listen to me well, child. If you bury your enemies along with your emotions, you will not live to know the peace of which you seek. For days I have dwelled upon your nature. Power tempts you as I speak. You have little respect for danger, and even less for me. The bond we shared I thought of as special. Time has shown the opposite.
The man on the mountain will take your place as this world's redeemer. He fights with honor; you fight with anger. It blinds you. No longer will I associate with the stench of human hatred. What a perpetual paradox you are, building this lie from the painful truths of your past. Deny love of its healing component and you deny the very essence of existence – this is what you taught me.
Have you no integrity? Hypocrites may indeed taste success. Yet hunger returns, without warning, without mercy. And when you are loathing in the pigsty that is your mind, crawling to the endless trough for one more sip of vengeance, one more drop of hypocrisy, all you will find is the reflection of a lonely animal.
So, go ahead: Apply your guise. Become one with the darkness, if you wish. But know that I cannot stand at your side and let greed devour me too. I am finished fighting for this world. My faith belongs to Red. My pity belongs to you. This is farewell."
His Trainer Bag popped open. From its womb came the Master Ball. It floated above the clone's orbed palm. Blue psychic light encased the all-mighty sphere. Mewtwo clenched its fist. Their bond shattered before his eyes. His victory insurance dissolved to completion. Thus rage bared its ugly head, consuming the boy, thickening his skull. He rose to confront the clone.
His carbon fiber collar clicked in place. Row by row the mask's jewels illuminated. The former friends glared into each other's souls. Baptized in darkness, he provoked the clone. A digital growl discharged.
"Leave this place," he said with an inflated chest. Mewtwo tightened its stance.
"Quiet, you fool," it insisted.
"I take no orders from a coward!"
". . ."
"If you think you're leaving here unscathed, you are sadly mistaken."
"You dare challenge me – with what Pokémon?"
"No friends. No allies. But my will to fight exceeds your wish to flee."
"Do not test me, child. Peace is my only wish."
"Even peace has a price." He reached into his Bag. A fistful of dollars withdrew. Mewtwo took blows of money to the body and face. It stood unamused.
"How much is your pride worth? Two-thousand? Four-thousand? Ten?" he egged.
"Are you fin-"
"Fight me, Mewtwo. Show me your real power."
"The world will never know my true power." He circled the clone, searching for any sign of weakness he could find.
"Fight me."
"No."
"Fight me, clone."
"No."
"Coward!"
". . ."
"I said fight me!" The supreme Pokémon lost its footing. Though he had shoved it with all his might, the clone indeed remained upright. Patience withered by the second; darkness acted in its absence. The Masked Man was born.
Hence he charged at his former friend. His synthesized battle cry sent sadness down its spine. Mewtwo turned its head in shame, activating its protective blue bubble. He plummeted to the ground. Manic laughter tuned to the perfect pitch as he regained his stance. This troubled the clone.
"I am greater than your pity," he said, reaching towards his opposition. The blue orb aura intensified. He paid it no mind. Mewtwo resisted him further, though his will was much too strong. "I am greater than your leer," he continued. Mewtwo's gaze widened. Sweat trickled from its crown. His pitch-black glove advanced. "I am resistance," declared the man; "I am the darkness you so fear!"
The orb depleted. A demonic grip wrapped around the clone's narrow neck. It squirmed as best it could. He took a deep, digital breath, squeezing with every fiber of his being.
"I did not desire dominion," he explained, the clone's silhouette reflecting off his guise; "only a true friend."
Mewtwo seethed. He betrayed it. Rage manifested. He spewed hypocrisy. It refused all victimhood. The clone restored its liberty. Ancient psychic strength sent him flying.
"So," echoed the clone, blackened clouds looming behind, "you wanted to know my true power?" It crept closer. Omnipotent wrath flared from its aura. The Masked Man elevated with cautious knee. Orbed footprints pressed into the tall patch of grass. A sudden death of wills resumed. The clone gave its closing remarks.
"There stand but few powers more devastating than that of denial. You do not deserve to call me friend. Until you repent, your betrayal will haunt your every move. You are not the greatest Trainer alive. You are not even the greatest version of yourself. Today, arrogance claims victory. But in tomorrow lies a second chance. Will you repent?"
"No," he replied, "I will not."
"Repent, child."
"I refuse!"
"REP—" A gargled shriek commenced. Fangs of a famished Pokémon engulfed the clone's head, stopping its speech short. The two flailed to and fro. He chuckled in spite of the heat of the moment. Mewtwo's psychic power had no effect. Thus it resorted to brute force. It pulled the Pokémon's jaws in either direction. The intruder landed at the man's feet.
"What is it with you and these sharp-toothed scoundrels?!" cried the clone. He had not an answer. The four-legged pup charged at the Genetic Pokémon. Mewtwo ascended inside its protective blue bubble. The canine looked to the heavens and barked with reckless abandon. Mewtwo ignored its call to battle, fleeing with an ominous wind. The Masked Man bent to negotiate with his bold acquaintance.
"Good b-"
He checked beyond its reddish underbelly.
"Yeah, good boy," he confirmed. The pup growled. His, the Pokémon's, species moved in packs at all times. Yet this strong male Houndour trekked alone. The Masked Man asked the whereabouts of his pack. He continued to growl, as did his stomach. He held out his hand to the Pokémon, showing two plump Berries he retrieved from his Trainer Bag. Houndour inched nearer, sniffing and watching and sniffing some more. When the famished beast reached for the Berries, the man pulled back his hand.
"Eating these Berries," he warned, "signifies your loyalty to me. If you do not wish to join me on my quest, you must look elsewhere for sustenance." Houndour's eyes bounced between the Berries and the mask's reflective jewels. He sat back on his hind legs and scowled. The man further persuaded:
"You are alone, like me. Many would say that a lonely man is also a weak one. But loneliness and aloneness are not one and the same. You are strong on your own. I am strong on my own. But together we will conquer those who have forsaken us! With me you will never go hungry, but you will be pushed to your absolute limit. There is an inner strength that resides deep within us that can only emerge through unity. You may not need me, but I do need you, Houndour. Infinite glory awaits; all you have to do is take the first bite."
Houndour stuffed his face with the sweet fruits. The Masked Man supplied his ally with whatever he needed – Fresh Water, Poffins, and a Rare Candy for dessert. He rubbed the Dark Pokémon's head, which featured a skull-like protrusion, and lifted his newfound friend to the luminous Moon. He did not plan to show affection for much longer however. He whispered in the pup's short pointed ear.
"Thank you, Houndour." His red muzzle rubbed against the pitch-black neck of the bejeweled mask. Nevertheless, the canine shook from his Trainer's embrace soon after. He heard a faint sound of footsteps from meters away. He jumped down and yipped in apprehension. The man readied for battle.
Alas, it was but Steven coming to greet him, bearing gifts in either hand. He hushed the rambunctious puppy. The mask released from its magnetic holster. Damion returned.
"Mr. Harrison," the Champion greeted.
"Steven," he nodded back.
"I see you've managed to piss Skylar off – royally, I might add."
"This is true," Damion answered, lowering his head. "I am far from a role model."
"Indeed."
"Why have you come looking for me?"
"I'm here to make good on a promise. These are for you."
"I don't understand why you're helping me… after everything I've said and done."
"Young man, it would be wrong of me to judge you for doing something that I did many times in my youth."
"I don't deserve your help, great Champion."
"I agree. But someone must bring Team Rocket to justice. Since it cannot be me, I will assist you one last time. Please, take these."
Steven handed over a Great Ball and his Trainer ID card. A resilient energy flickered from the Ball. Damion's eyes grew wide with excitement. He inquired about the ID card before pressing the device's white center button. Steven informed the boy that without an ID card his entry into the Ecruteak tournament would be impossible. He risked his reputation by allowing the boy to claim himself as his apprentice.
"Whatever you do," Steven demanded; "please do not do anything reckless under my name." He, Damion, slipped the ID card into his back pants pocket.
"I am no longer a man who makes promises," replied Damion. Steven gave a deep sigh whilst rubbing his eyelids.
"I'm too tired to argue with you, Damion. Just try to do the right thing, okay?"
". . . And what of this Great Ball?"
"I told you that I'd do my best to retrieve your Pokémon. It took some convincing, but I managed to snag one back for you. I figured you'd need your Flying-type the most."
He popped open the Great Ball, and there she was.
"Xatu!" Damion shouted. The hieroglyphic bird cooed and flapped to her heart's desire. "Thank you, Mr. Champion. I don't know how I can ever repay you." Steven walked up to his pupil and extended his hand.
"By saving us, son," he responded with determined eyes. They shared a manly grip. Steven ventured back to his home content with the decision he had made. The Masked Man returned. The night sky's great light began to bleed once more. 'Twas nearly a full red Moon.
He jolted into action, prepping his companions for an endless training cycle. Xatu kept watch in the trees as her Trainer and new teammate battled Pokémon after Pokémon. All bypassing Trainers received the business. The Masked Man mastered Houndour's moves. Their individual talents evolved through teamwork as the night spread darker and darker.
He signaled Xatu to attack Houndour with full force without warning to hone his defensive strength. Whether it was during an endurance exercise or a match with an unsuspecting Trainer, Houndour reveled at the opportunity to harden his will. He refused to fail his friend, taking hits and returning to his feet with regularity. Though his puppy paws grew weary, the Dark Pokémon did not flinch.
"Again!" his Trainer called whenever he missed a beat. "Pain is not our enemy!" He harnessed the beast's full strength, starting with his superior sense of smell. Detection of their enemies was imperative. Being three steps ahead had become a necessity. Siegfried seldom blundered. Artful war was his wish. The Masked Man intended to give him just that.
Intimidation alone would not suffice. A showman like the Rocket Leader had but two attention spans, his goals and his entertainment. Any form of distraction he found heightened his chance of success against the cynic.
Houndour wanted to learn Odor Sleuth, a Normal-type status move that tracks and targets foes. The man accepted. (Houndour learned Odor Sleuth!) They leveled up with rapidity, aligning fallen debris and stones in a zig-zag pattern for agility markers.
As rays of sunshine escaped, their shimmering light thawed the night sky. The Masked Man sought shade. His ally embraced the warmth. A white light surrounded the hound. His snout extended; his legs bulked; his head grew sharply angled horns. Houndoom appeared!
The Dark Pokémon stared into his jeweled reflection. On bended knee, the masked one received many a lick. A red light followed, sheathing his maturing companion.
"Come along, Xatu," he motioned; "it's time to Fly."
They landed at Goldenrod Pokémon Center. While his soldiers healed, stares rained upon him. An alert came to Nurse Amanda Joy-Yuri's desk. There was trouble at the Radio Tower. She asked if his "costume" meant he answered calls to adventure. He concurred, releasing the Mystic Pokémon. A nosy reporter and her cameraman trailed behind them.
They, he and Xatu, floated to the top of the tower. An auxiliary transmitter beeped every few seconds. The earth rumbled below. The duo investigated, descending to enter the radio station. Chunks of tiles and concrete littered the main lobby.
"What happened here?" the Trainer shouted. A citizen spoke up.
"Him – that guy – his Golem used Earthquake against the police dogs. Quick! He's getting away!"
Glass shattered. Xatu took charge. She zipped ahead in pursuit. The Masked Man followed.
"Use Psychic, Xatu," he directed; "hurl Golem into him!" The bird obeyed. Their progress came to a standstill. The perp brushed himself off and addressed the Masked Man as he caught up to them.
"You're too late," he boasted. "Our transmitter is set. We won't fail this time."
"My presence alone is sign of your failure," the Masked Man reciprocated. "When we're through with you, that transmitter will be destroyed and you will be behind bars."
"Fat chance, princess," mocked the perp, holding a clawed grapple device in one hand.
"Watch me! Xatu, attack!" The opposing Golem, a bipedal Rock/Ground-type Pokémon (and the evolved form of Graveler) with greenish gray boulders for a shell and thickset limbs with multiple claws, flung loose rocks at Xatu. She dodged and manipulated them with her psychic savvy. Yet they were but diversions.
The perp lifted his grappling gun, aiming for the hieroglyphic bird. Its giant claw shot out. A tumultuous screech erupted from her beak. The tool burst straight through her heart; its claws ejected and the perp reeled in his catch. Blood puddled underneath her limp frame.
"Didn't anybody tell you not to mess with Team Rocket?"
He dropped the weapon and fled. Sirens approached. The Masked Man ripped the blood-soaked claw from Xatu's chest. A herd of officers sprinted past. One took notice of the horrific scene. He stumbled over his words and attempted to console the Trainer, who gave no response. The Masked Man rubbed the Mystic Pokémon's head for a final time. She returned to her Great Ball, leaving a crimson pulp in her wake. The officer reached for his radio.
"No," the Masked Man exhaled. "What has happened here cannot be undone."
"B-But sir, it is my duty to –"
"It is your duty to apprehend the perpetrator."
"Yes, but –"
"SEIZE HIM!"
His digital roar echoed in the streets. A dark spot amassed 'round the lawman's zipper. Not even a guilty man deserved to watch his Pokémon die. He saluted the victim, mounted his trusty Arcanine and bolted in his brethren's direction. The Masked Man, loosely surrounded by curious citizens, fell to his hands and knees. His screams of agony went viral. He rushed north to the forests of Johto's National Park (where Bug Catching Contests were held three times a week) to gain solitude.
Once alone, he threw off his mask and wept uncontrollably. Houndoom erupted from his Poké Ball, whimpering by his Trainer's side. Many minutes elapsed. Damion retrieved his jewel.
Drunken with rage, the Masked Man pointed to a small patch of dirt.
"Sit, boy," he digitally commanded. Houndoom analyzed the patch in tight circles, eventually plopping onto his hind legs. "Now listen: From this point forward, lapses in focus will not be tolerated." The Dark Pokémon gulped, and then nodded. He towered over his companion, deepening his tone.
"We will live as brothers.
We will eat as brothers.
We will kill as brothers."
Houndoom raised and waved his right paw. The Masked Man bent to meet his shake. As one, they howled at the scorching morning Sun.
