Ascension
ACT TWO - DUST OF DREAMS
Chapter 13 - The Big Uneasy
"Aren't you just the cutest thing ever?"
Ritchie held back a sigh as he patiently carried the crates from the van into the shop. For the past couple of days, this had been his primary responsibility after Butch placed his team in the main marketplace— Benteng, as the natives called it. Astrid, being the conniving thing she was, had quickly claimed the sales counter, leaving him and Trip in charge of all the heavy lifting.
Literally.
Plus, it was the middle of summer. As he was sweating all day out in the sun, Astrid would sit behind the counter and smirk at him from time to time. It was so unfair.
"Ah, you want one of those?" came her cooing voice. "I'll get it for you."
There she went again, acting all cute and friendly with the unsuspecting customers. Even he had been initially fooled by her act during the first few weeks of initiation into his team. He thought she was harmless and innocent.
A single mission was enough to teach him otherwise. It explained to him, in no unclear details, why even Trip, the buffoon from Unova, feared her.
Astrid was Scary. With a capital 'S' and all that it entailed.
From the other side of the curtain, he could see two people standing over the counter, with one likely being Astrid. Ever since the delegates had started pouring in for whatever event was about to commence, the shop had been overwhelmed with customers.
Ritchie had tried asking Butch what was happening, but all he got in response was a dry, annoyed stare. Trip completely ignored him, and Astrid would always give him one of her annoying smiles— the ones that meant she knew something he didn't.
Nobody told him anything!
"Don't be a slowpoke, Kent," he heard Trip scoff as he brushed against his shoulder, hefting a giant crate on his shoulders from the van into the backroom.
"Sorry," Ritchie mumbled, before walking up and putting his own crate on the floor. "What exactly is in this anyways?"
Trip shot him a dark smile. "Pastries for sale. What else?"
He eyed the Unovan, but didn't reply back, opting instead to glance at the crate in front of him. He knew he wasn't the smartest of the bunch; that much was true even back in Frodomar City. But the thing was, when you were slow, you learned to pay attention. Hear things properly, ask something twice when in doubt, practice things over and over until he could do it in his sleep.
His pokémon had been inculcated with the same habits.
And now, he was in for his very first serious Team Rocket mission. For better or worse, this was going to be the greatest mission of the decade, enough that Admin Proton— notoriously called the Black King amongst grunts and Executives alike —was leading the mission himself.
Something to do with Pewter City.
At the same time, an international event of some sort was taking place.
Putting two and two together wasn't really difficult, even for him. Ritchie had picked up on hearsay about the League demonstrating something at the event, so chances were high that Team Rocket wanted whatever it was. Or even needed it, if he'd understood things right.
He was going to be part of a heist on an international stage. The entire world would be watching.
And he wasn't sure whether to be awed or utterly terrified about it.
Butch had told him in no uncertain terms that things could go FUBAR at the drop of a hat, that failure was not an option. In fact, he'd gone ahead and given every one of his team members a hefty bonus in advance to ensure they gave it their best.
And it wasn't something as simple as money either. Say what you would about the man, but he had the 'carrot' portion of the carrot-and-stick approach down to an art form.
Ritchie pulled out the pale-white shard from his pocket, running his fingers over its bumpy texture. This was his incentive. His carrot. His chance to prove himself worthy in the man's eyes. And his pokémon's.
A Moonstone shard for Princess.
He'd been carrying it around in his pocket ever since Butch gave it to him, waiting for the right moment to finally use it. Princess, his cute little nidorino, was currently in the middle of mastering Fury Attack, a move that required finesse and control over his aggressive nature. The move channeled one's primal rage into a tunnel vision, removing all mental limitations that the user instinctively cast upon themselves. In short, it traded sanity and control for complete use of a pokémon's physical prowess for a short period of time.
Nidorino were aggressive by nature, making it all the more difficult for Princess to fully master the move. But once he achieved it, Ritchie would be glad to present him with the Moonstone shard, allowing him to evolve into his final form.
A part of him hoped the evolution would happen after the heist, when everything was calm and controlled. But knowing his luck, things were bound to become messy, and the raw strength of a nidoking would go a long way in making sure he was unscathed getting out of what was to come.
"No way, I'm getting you a single jar. That should be enough for you."
Ritchie silently scoffed. It was just another one of those happy-go-lucky kids with too much money to spend coddling their teams. The voice felt strangely familiar, but he'd been hearing new voices all day since they'd set up shop two weeks ago. After a while, all the annoying greenhorn trainers sounded the same.
It was probably nothing.
"That's just extortion and you know it," the voice continued, exasperated. "You can't expect me to buy all that. That's a year's worth of poképuffs."
"She's definitely a cutie," he heard Astrid laugh. "I didn't think her species existed in Kanto."
"Kalos, actually," the customer chuckled. "And yeah, she can be quite the handful." Said handful snapped at him if the sharp biting sound was any indication, causing the trainer to chuckle at its antics. "Oh come on, I promised you one jar and now I got you two— hey put that away, that's beneath you, Mawile—"
"Mawawawaa!"
Ritchie stilled.
An icy feeling spread from his heart across his chest. His knuckles went white, as if frosted at the ends.
His fingers felt lifeless.
The crate slipped from his hands.
With a loud Thud!
"HEY!" Trip yelled at him from the other side. "Don't just go dropping stuff like that. You wanna get killed or something you little—"
"Behave, you two!" Astrid shouted from the front. "Sorry," she apologized. "These stockboys aren't worth the pain they give me. Been dropping things left and right all day."
The trainer— Red, Ritchie finally realized —laughed it off. "No worries. I used to be clumsy like that too."
"Now that just sounds like a lie," Astrid demurred with a polite chuckle. "Is that all you need?"
Mawile— Red—
Ritchie's entire world had frozen over. One moment, he was listening to the trainer and his mawile banter out front with his teammate, and in the next, his mind was racing down memory lane. Back to the moment when everything had gone horribly wrong.
Sparky— injured, lying on the bed, awaiting death—
Zippo— mutilated, screaming—
That face. That voice. That horrible creature and the bastard it belonged to—
Red, he repeated to himself. Red Ketchum.
Before he knew it, his fingers were reaching into his belt. Sparky's pokéball was already enlarging in size. Just a single click of the circular button on the front, and Sparky would be—
The firm grip on his shoulders gave him pause, making him turn around.
It was Trip.
The Unovan slowly shook his head, looking more grim and serious than he'd ever seen.
The message was clear.
But Ritchie refused to acknowledge it.
How dare you? He wanted to scream. How dare you try and stop me when the one who took everything from me is right there? His face had already twisted into a hateful caricature of itself, his eyes wide and brimming with tears as his teeth gnashed in silent fury. He saw Trip's lips about to move, but before they could, his own hand was already tightly gripping the curtain.
With a show of strength, he tore it from its eyelets and rushed towards the counter, finding—
Nothing.
There was nobody there. He was gone. The mawile was gone.
"You're looking for those two, aren't you?"
Ritchie spun back around, vitriol on his lips ready to—
SLAP!
Astrid's palm met his face in a resounding smack. Gone was the cheerful sales girl over the counter, now replaced by the calm and ruthless person he'd learned to recognize as his team leader. And judging by the expressionless look on her face, she was mad.
"What were you going to do? Run after him? Attack him in broad daylight?"
Her words made no sense. She— they had no idea what he had gone through. What had happened to him and why— they didn't know what the basta—
"Just tell me where they went," Ritchie snarled back, ignoring his stinging cheek. "The trainer with the mawile you were talking to. Where'd they go?"
"That way," Astrid casually pointed north.
Ritchie didn't waste another second in the shop. He rushed forward, pulled the front gates open, and—
Astrid pulled on the back of his shirt, choking him as the cloth strained against his throat. With one swift motion, she threw him back into the shop, against the wooden counter.
Ritchie gave it no thought. He attacked her. Snarling in anger, he held her arm— the one that held his collar — and drove her against the wall, his face mere inches away from her stoic visage. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? I just need to go find that son of a—"
"You won't," came the emotionless reply.
"I didn't ask for—"
"Here is what's going to happen," Astrid spoke, her ocean-blue eyes never leaving his angry face. "You are going to let go of my hand right now, and then calmly step aside. If you don't, things are going to go very bad for you. And trust me, you do not want that to happen."
From the hissing sounds behind him, Ritchie could tell that Trip's serperior had been released, ready to attack him at the slightest signal. Slowly— very slowly —he let go of her hand.
And then took a step back.
"I— I'm sorry," he gritted out.
"You better be," the blonde snorted, dusting off her clothes as she frowned in distaste. "And what the hell took you so long?"
Somehow, he knew the latter wasn't aimed at him.
"I was caught by surprise," Trip retorted. "How was I supposed to know he'd go all crazy like that?"
Astrid huffed, turning back towards Ritchie. "And you. Are you going to go crazy again?"
"It was—" Ritchie gasped. His throat felt completely parched, but he pushed on. "That guy— he was my height, right? Black hair, with a mawile?"
"And what's your point?"
"He's— he's the reason I got pushed away from being a normal trainer! Into Team Rocket!"
"And what's your point?" she coldly repeated, crossing her arms.
Ritchie stared at her incredulously. "That's all you have to say about it?"
"Red Ketchum. Samuel Oak's protégé. You had a case filed against you for an unlawful attack against an unregistered rookie." Astrid arched a perfectly curved eyebrow. "Same guy, right?"
"You— you know?" he asked, flabbergasted. "You knew it was him, and you let him—"
"Of course I knew," she said. "I read your file. We both did."
"What?" Ritchie felt his knees wobble. "Where?"
"Butch's office." This time, it was Trip who answered. There was a hint of glee to his words. "He gave it to us to read. The idiot's guide to becoming a grunt, he called it."
"Trip," Astrid sighed.
"Just teasing," the Unovan smiled, raising his arms up in mock surrender. "Come on, Serperior. Some of us have actual work to do."
There was a flash of red light coming from behind his back as Ritchie felt the serpentine creature return to its pokéball, but with the oppressive tension in the room, it felt no emptier than before.
"You know what else I know?" the blonde dispassionately continued. "He's been in town for about a month. Made waves in the Pewter gym. And that explosion on the mountain earlier? That was him, doing something with Samuel Oak. So yes, I know exactly who that was. I know about your foolish encounter with him all those months ago. And I know you have a bone to pick with him."
Astrid looked down at him like he was dirt on her shoes.
"Seriously, Ritchie. Grow up."
"You don't get to tell me—" Ritchie began hotly.
"Yes. I. Do," Astrid hissed, poking a finger against his chest to punctuate each word. "You were the one who attacked him. You were the one responsible for your team's condition. You were the one responsible for whatever crap deal you accepted to join Team Rocket. But that's all in the past. You try pulling any stupid shit with Ketchum from now on, and I'll report you directly—"
"Butch already—"
"—to Admin Proton," she finished. "And before you ask, I do have the authority. I'm the leader of this unit, and Admin Proton is heading up this mission. Not even Butch can save your sorry ass if Proton is in the way. Now, do you understand?"
Ritche couldn't help it. He gulped.
And nodded.
"I want you to say it."
"I— I do. I understand," he whispered, eyes downcast.
Astrid glared at him for a moment, her eyes brimming with intensity as she regarded his features.
And then, like a switch was flipped, it all vanished.
"Wonderful," she beamed, her charming salesgirl face back in full blast. "Now off you go. I have lots to sell and customers to handle. Oh, and no lunch break till two."
"No wonder Trip calls you scary," Ritchie murmured.
"Hm? Did you say something?"
He vehemently shook his head, returning to the crates.
I know nothing about him.
It was all Red could think about as he trudged back to his hotel. Ever since Professor Oak shared his war stories with him, he couldn't help but realize truly how little he knew about the kindly gray-haired man. Most people knew of him as both a world-class researcher and a powerful once-Champion of Kanto-Johto. Having worked on the same ranch as him, Red knew quite a bit more. He knew how much he cared for his pokemon, how his gentle demeanor practically never cracked, how he missed his son and daughter-in-law, how distant he felt from his own grandson.
He knew Oak the human along with Oak the professor and Oak the trainer.
But this was the first time he'd ever heard of Oak the warrior.
And the Wataru will come for me too.
If the clan had the gall to go after a then-High-Elite trainer like Oak, who was well-connected and powerful enough to wage an all-out war against them for his pokémon, then would they really not try to snatch away his newly acquired dratini? Sure, the old man had said the rules were different back in his time, but Red doubted he could do anything about it if Champion Lance Wataru himself came up to him and demanded his pokémon. Facing Travers in Viridian was one thing, but a Champion, especially one who was his childhood inspiration, was something else entirely.
It wasn't like his team could deal any damage to his horde of beasts anyways. Mawile was far from a heavy-hitter compared to dragons, Shellder was… Shellder, Growlithe was weaker than the rest of his species because of the abuse, and Dratini was a baby. The only three that could really fight were Skarmory, Scyther, and Mia.
The same trio he used to take on Oak's Dragonite.
Though, I suppose it was Mawile who really won in the end, he mused, glancing down at Mawile, who was carrying not one, but two jars of poképuffs— one resting in her tiny stubby arms while the other was hanging by the large teeth of her black jaw. The little fairy would occasionally stop in her tracks, put the jar down with the air of a kangaskhan handling its baby, take a deep breath, and pick it back up.
Then she'd continue to walk, before doing it all over again.
Red fondly chuckled. He loved each and every member of his team. But the fact still stood, they were hopelessly outmatched against a single dragon, albeit a Champion-tier pokémon. What hope did he have against an army of equal and lesser dragons?
Suddenly, he felt a feather-light touch on his mind.
Trust Mia to keep constant track of his emotions, even after partaking in such an exhausting fight. Even while resting inside her ultra ball.
With everything that had happened between him and his little sister figure, Red had to admit he was a bit worried about her. He wasn't stupid. He'd seen Brock's reaction. He'd seen Oak's. Hell, even Drago had been glancing at her from time to time when Oak was talking about his past back on the mountain. Adding that to everything he himself had experienced in his dreams, and seeing that version of Mia— creating worlds and annihilating them with nary a thought —it made him wonder just what had happened to her.
He felt another feather-light touch.
Reflexively, his fingers caressed the ultra ball he wore as a necklace. For some inexplicable reason, he held the suspicion that Mia couldn't actually be contained inside a standard pokéball. It wasn't so much as a matter of space, but rather the ability to distort the ambient energies that allowed pokéball technology to function. Mia needed something stronger and more robust to keep someone of her nature within and that was despite her residing inside it willingly.
"I know, Mia," Red sighed aloud. "I'll try to worry less, I promise."
At the end of the day, he received the gym badge from Brock Pebbleman. It was time for him to continue his journey. Well, after the Pewter event was over, since the Mt. Moon Adventure Course was temporarily on hold until then. Not that he could complain, really. The event had attracted all sorts of important people from around the world like Gym Leaders, Elite Four, possibly from other regions too.
If he played his cards right, this could be the opportunity of… a lifetime…
It was like the world froze over.
The afternoon light reflected off of the long, silky black hair of the girl in front of him as she walked by. He didn't know what it was, but there was just this otherworldly glow about her.
Red wasn't quite sure why. He hadn't managed to see her face, and for all he knew, he'd never even seen her before. So there was really no reason to notice her. And yet, there he was. Halted in his tracks, unable to so much as twitch as the black-haired girl walked past him. And all he knew about her was the strange pressure that clung to her like a cloak. Almost like something told him that things could turn very bad if he chose to go after her.
It was almost as if he were looking at—
Mawile bumped into his leg from behind.
"MAWAWAA!" the little fairy expressed her annoyance, small hands on her hips. Rather loudly, in fact.
That broke the spell.
The brunette turned around, likely searching for the origin of the sudden noise, and met his eyes.
Purple met red.
And Red stared, his eyes lit up in recognition. Dressed in a long-sleeved red shirt and knee-length maroon skirt with leather shoes was the one person Red had often dreamed of meeting, ever since he'd set his sights on becoming a pokémon trainer. The youngest person in the world to have won a League Conference, as well as the youngest to have been promoted to the position of Gym Leader.
The Psychic. Sabrina.
She was a Master of the psychic-type, and a wielder of a wide array of psychic abilities— claircognizance, telepathy, telekinesis, psychometry, levitation, and likely even more. At the mere age of thirteen, she displayed enough psychic awareness to rival a newly evolved kadabra.
Now, she was just sixteen.
With his birthday coming up in a month, that would make her just a year older than him. So much success, at such a young age. It was enough to give anyone a complex, with him being no exception.
Plus, he may have had a slight crush on her growing up.
"Sa— Sabrina?" he croaked.
More like full-on infatuation. Not that he'd ever admit to it.
"Ah," she responded, staring at him with an inexplicable gleam in her eyes. "Do I know you?"
Red inadvertently took a step forward. "Yes— no— I mean— I'm Red Ketchum. I'm here with Professor Oak."
Way to go idiot, he internally chastised himself. "Sorry," he quickly backpedaled. "That came out all wrong. I mean, you are Sabrina of Saffron City, right?"
Sabrina merely tilted her head slightly, looking at him with the air of a researcher studying a rather peculiar specimen. "Did you know that your thoughts are veiled?"
Red blinked in confusion. "My… what?"
"Your thoughts," Sabrina repeated in a willowy tone. "They are veiled. It is most vexing."
He took another small step forward. "And, is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"I'm… not sure." She scrunched up her face. "You do not seem to be a psychic. The threads are too fresh, too raw. And yet, your unfettered thoughts are completely blank to me. My own threads should be able to commune in harmony with yours should I try. But they aren't. And I am. Trying, I mean."
"Maybe they just don't like my, uh, threads?" Red tried.
She merely blinked, before continuing to stare at him in an unsettling way. Red had to admit, this was not how he'd anticipated his first meeting with Sabrina to go. Meeting the wildly famous prodigy face-to-face, she was wildly different from what the media portrayed her to be. He had only ever seen her on stage, so to speak, trouncing opponents one after another with her incredibly powerful alakazam.
But now, he was meeting her in person. Seeing the… quirky side of the Saffron City Gym Leader.
"Possible," the psychic Gym Leader bit her lower lip. Red found the sight endearing. "But that's not the odd bit."
"It's… not?" asked Red, who was already finding the entire topic of invisible threads more than a little odd.
Sabrina just shook her head, still looking at him with a peculiar expression. "No. The odd bit is that when my threads try to commune with yours, yours go into a cannibalistic frenzy. They start eating mine."
"I… see." He didn't. "Alright, well I guess that's a little odd. I'm not really—"
He felt a slight tug on the back of his jeans.
"Uhm, sorry," he paused with a lopsided grin on his face. "This is Mawile, my starter. Mawile, this is Sabrina. She's the Gym Leader of Saffron City, and a very powerful trainer."
"I'm not going to steal your poképuffs," Sabrina immediately replied. It took him a second to realize that she was actually addressing Mawile, not him.
Mawile merely narrowed her eyes in response and offered a terse nod.
Red felt his jaw drop as he oversaw the entire interaction. "Can you really hear her thoughts that clearly?"
"It's rather easy," Sabrina answered, turning her gaze back onto him. "That is, if you know how to listen. The limitations of speech mostly lie on the human side than pokémon when it comes to human-pokémon communication." She crouched and slowly patted Mawile's head, who graciously accepted the affectionate gesture, mollified that the newcomer wasn't interested in her treats.
Red fondly gazed at the ongoing interaction, before pausing. Acting on a sudden whim, he whipped out Shellder's pokéball and enlarged it. "Can you tell me what Shellder is thinking?"
He ejected the water-type out.
And just as expected, the clam performed a weird somersault in mid-air, before clamping itself onto his hair as if magnetically drawn to it.
Sabrina blinked.
"He— uh, he does that often."
Shellder squeaked.
Sabrina blinked again.
"It's weird things like that that make me wonder— I mean, can you tell me what he's thinking?"
The psychic Master stared at the water-type in silence, who kept chewing on Red's hair as if nothing else mattered. Red watched as her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed, giving Shellder her undivided focus and attention.
Shellder squeaked occasionally but otherwise did nothing. Even Mawile stayed silent, observing the interaction as she nibbled on a poképuff.
By the fifth second, Red was wondering if his hair would catch on fire, given how stern and unwavering Sabrina's focus was.
Shellder kept chewing on his strands in bliss.
Finally, Sabrina turned her eyes away.
"Well?" he asked hopefully.
"I'm—" The girl looked adorably embarrassed. "That creature is peculiar. It was like I was receiving answers to questions I did not know existed, in a language I have yet to learn."
Red was taken aback by the odd reply, easily ignoring the squeaks from both his water-type and his starter.
"Where did you catch this one?"
"In Viridian City. It was my first—"
"MAWAWA!"
"I mean," he backtracked, deciding not to embellish his story. "I didn't really catch him. I was swimming, and Shellder latched onto me. He's been very… aggressive about not returning since then."
Shellder squeaked again.
"I find its thought patterns impossibly vexing," Sabrina ground her teeth. If he had to guess, he'd have thought the all-powerful psychic human was sulking.
"Do you read minds often?" he suddenly blurted out, immediately cursing himself for asking such a personal question to someone he'd just met. And a celebrity, no less.
"Of course not." Sabrina looked somewhat taken aback. "That would be highly illegal."
"But… you just said you tried to read mine."
"...no I didn't."
"Yes you did," he tried again. "You even said my thoughts were most vexing."
"Surely you're mistaken."
He gave the brunette a deadpan stare. "…Right. So is this something you get to do often?"
"Depends," she offhandedly replied as she continued to scratch Mawile's head, just above her forehead where the black jaw sprouted. And Mawile seemed to welcome her ministrations with the air of a content skitty. "Although I passively sense the minds around me and see flashes of possible futures, reading a mind is classified as a combat skill. Aside from circumstances authorized by the League, I only use the ability in gym battles. It's an efficient way to sort through all the riff-raff."
The fact that he himself was probably classified as riff-raff was not lost on him.
Red's eyes widened as her message sunk in. "Then how does anyone win?" he gaped. If she habitually foresaw how battles went or read her opponents' minds, then she could simply nip things in the bud from knowing how her challengers would fight.
Of course, if she did that, then the future she saw was now obsolete and a new future would be created in its place. But if it was rendered obsolete, then how did she see it in the first place?
"Paradoxes are overrated," Sabrina quipped. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have assumed she'd just read his mind. "There is a quality similar to inertia at work. Once a significant event has occurred in Time, there is a strong tendency for the event to happen. The larger, more significant, or more energetic the event, the more it tends to remain as it originally happened, despite any potential interference."
"And the riff-raff are part of the less energetic events?"
"Mostly."
Red frowned, wincing as he tugged at Shellder to let go. "So what you're saying is that there's some sort of Law of Conservation of History?"
Sabrina giggled. Giggled. "I've never heard it phrased quite like that, but it's accurate enough. In any event, overcoming that inertia requires tremendous energy, will, and a measure of luck. You'd have an easier chance manipulating present events to carry out a Future."
"That almost sounds like destiny."
"Yes, I suppose destiny is one way of putting it. Those in the know have a different name for it." Sabrina looked forlorn as if she wanted to say something, but the words simply wouldn't come out. Strange.
"As in?" Red helpfully prompted.
Once again, Sabrina began to stare at him with unbridled curiosity. "How strange you are, Red Ketchum. Tell me, do you know why your mentor chose to set up his little Pallet Project on the outskirts of Viridian Forest when he could have settled anywhere in the entirety of Kanto?"
She paused for a moment.
"…Or for whom?"
The silence that followed was damning.
The congregation sprawled several dozen acres of land, encompassing most, if not all, of the new Pewter City. The organizers had left most of the Benteng as it was, allowing the natives to decorate it according to their own customs. With the entire event centered around the Pewter Museum of Natural History, the place was brimming with people clad in expensive suits, bodyguards in black patrolling every corner, and League personnel performing thorough checks on everyone in the area.
For Samuel Oak, it all reminded him too much of his days as the Kanto-Johto Champion. Even back then, high-brow parties hadn't really been his thing. Too many spoons and forks, if you asked him.
And of course, parties meant drinks. But he didn't like being drunk. The few instances it happened, his recollection was spotty at best, but he was still fairly certain he wasn't any more charming than usual when he got that way. If Agatha's accounts were to be believed, he was more embarrassing than anything else. Parties also meant music, but he was never one to sit and listen to a tune. It was a prime opportunity to network, and even flirt if the occasion arose. But when you were the Bogeyman, most people preferred to stay out of your gaze.
No, parties weren't his thing. He favored reading, staying in his lab, going out on jogs with his Arcanine. Most people would call his lifestyle boring, but he found it worthwhile.
He was simple like that.
But instead, he was here today. At the big League event. On the second out of three days, with the actual unveiling of the Mu cells only happening at the tail end of it all. Normally, he'd show up at the last second, stay for the important bits, and promptly leave. But he didn't get to do that this time. Not when he was the host.
"Reminds you of the old days, doesn't it?"
The feminine rasp was dusty, with weariness, dark amusement, and a little bit of mummified coldness all mixed in. It was a voice he could recognize anywhere. A voice he hadn't heard in years.
"Agatha," Oak replied softly, relaxing as he felt a hand rope its way into his own. He could see her shadow slowly entwine around his own and consume it, growing a little darker with every passing second.
The woman's wooden cane rapped against the ground as she stood beside him, staring at all the noise and traffic and bustle around them. "So much life. It makes me want to throw up, maybe even hope for a little bit of tragedy to shake things up."
"At least it brought you out of the castle," he airily replied. He had too much experience with the likes of Lavender Town to be surprised by its resident crone's thoughts anymore. "I doubt Lance's meetings get your attention."
Agatha cackled in response. "That child has miles to go."
"To be fair, he has kept Kanto safe for quite some time."
There was a low, quiet snort. "Two decades of peace has made him weak. Victory has ultimately defeated him." Her startlingly pale eyes bore into his grey ones. "He lacks bloodthirst. When he first rose to power, I thought he would become like Ghetsis before him. Strong. Ruthless. Ready to crush nations under his boot."
Agatha slowly shook her head. "I watched the boy for years, wondering whether I'd see vestiges of the primal dictator that ruled Kanto before him. Instead, what do I find? A newer, weaker generation of children in a soft, controlled world. Kids with nothing to do but fight one another in mock-battles, who have forgotten why they should fear the fangs and the claws, the cold and the dark."
Her eyes glinted despite the oppressive miasma that almost seemed to cling to her.
"And that's… bad?"
"Bah! Where is the value when life is so easily kept?" Agatha spat the last word. "Lance's weakness is evident. Look at this mockery around us. He takes a puppet and makes it a gym leader. He shares power among the weak and undeserving." A cold sneer overtook her face. "It is a surprise I have not withdrawn my protection and closed the doors of Lavender to the League already."
"Why haven't you?" Oak quietly questioned.
He heard Agatha cackle once more, only this time it had the promise of something sinister behind it. "Have you not felt the stirring? Something very ancient and yet unseen has stepped into this reality. It drove my kin wild." She paused, shooting him a side glance that would have made a lesser man wet his pants. "It has been strenuous, holding them back from tearing your precious Pallet apart."
Oak whipped his neck towards the old crone— or at least tried to. Instead, he found himself bound. His neck would not turn, his arms would not move, and his feet lay fastened to the floor by something cold, hard, and unseen. The shadow beneath his feet grew longer, much longer, until it twisted around him in a circle and merged into his own. It was as if the shadows had coalesced her will into something tangible. Like a psychic Disable that had nothing to do with the psychic framework around you. This was far more simple. More subtle. More rudimentary.
And more dangerous.
What held him down was pure, undiluted will— the same kind he suspected backed up events presaged by momentous phrases like 'Let there be light'. It was far more than human, beyond simple physical strength. Even if he'd been a machamp, he would have been just as helpless as he struggled to tear himself free.
"So tell me, he who was once King," the crone spat. "Why have you allowed the blight to exist?"
Oak's mind raced in a multitude of directions. There was no doubt what Agatha was referring to, but at the same time, he didn't know if it— if she —was dangerous enough to trigger apocalyptic reactions in Lavender Town. Regardless of the present government's actions, it was no secret that the ancient clans distributed throughout the continents had an Early Warning System at work. One that kept the Abyss from taking over and reducing the entirety of humanity to a mindless husk.
The House of Appleby in Ecruteak City of Johto and its current Head Morty, for instance, held the vigil against the Shedinja insurgency. It was for that reason they hosted an annual bug-catching contest in Johto. To keep the nincada population to the barest minimum. The Anistar family of Kalos, on the other hand, bred children with powerful offspring, employing xatu and meowstic in mass droves and doing everything to keep the world's future from swaying towards the Empty Night.
There were other entities that dealt with less of these nightmarish things and more of the technically weird ones. During his reign as Champion, Oak himself had taken up a position in the System's Tree, setting up Pallet Town in the vicinity of Viridian Forest. His job was to keep an eye out for any paranormal activity originating from a certain pond. The last time he'd stepped into the area had been seven years ago, when a portal had opened up on the water's surface, connecting Viridian forest to Johto's Ilex Forest.
But personally, Samuel Oak had never thought anything could trigger the defenses set up in Lavender Town. After all, the key places in the Kanto-Johto subcontinent were secure. Fire ruled over Mount Mortar, with the Eternal Flame burning bright atop Indigo Plateau. The High Priestess of Sevii had made sure Ice had settled there. Lightning had vanished off the surface of the continent, choosing to streak through the skies of Joule in Kalos after the events of three decades ago in Cerulean City.
Even in a worst-case scenario, where the Beast of the Volcano returned to Johto, the old Houses of Silver Town knew how to properly deploy the Ancient Overlord into action.
To think that Lavender Town of all places would be triggered by a psionic burst was so far beyond unexpected that Oak was ready to call it a major malfunction. Sure, the situation surrounding Mia and her evolution was far from normal at best and worrisome at worst, but he doubted it had devastating consequences. At least, not enough to get someone like Agatha riled.
"Are you telling me," he began, firmly aware of how strong Agatha's will could be, "that a mental outburst from some fairy frightened you enough to make you come to Pewter?"
Agatha made a sour-sounding noise in the back of her throat. "Anything that can trigger my kin like that is no menial outburst, Samuel, fairy or not. I heard the most interesting stories on my way down. It seems your new protégé commands the blight now. You allow him to bask in your protection while he profanely spits upon our efforts to keep the subcontinent from being utterly destroyed."
Oak had heard enough. He could deal with nearly everything people threw at him, but he drew the line when anyone, old friend and Elite Four or not, accused him of complacency. He didn't have enhanced powers like Gym Leader Sabrina or the power of the Dragon tongue like the Wataru. And he certainly didn't have reality-warping powers like what Agatha and her ilk possessed.
But that didn't mean he was weak.
Far from it.
Like every other creature of flesh and blood, human and pokémon alike, he too had Aura. Of course, he was no Bruno, capable of using it to smash through boulders like they were cardboard, but channeling his will through it was most certainly within his limits.
Aura was not something one could quantify or measure. It interacted differently with different things, depending on the circumstances. In this case, for example, Oak knew exactly what his Aura would do.
Agatha and her shadow were strong. Too strong. But he wasn't hopeless, nor was he willing to let anyone— friend or not —walk over him.
Oak willed himself out of the bonds. There was no pushing, no attempts at breaking out of the manacles that shackled him. He simply thought of the bonds no longer existing, imagining himself to be instantaneously free.
And Agatha's shadow no longer constrained him.
The old crone let out another cackle, though this one was tinged with mirth and satisfaction. "It seems the old flame hasn't died out yet. How surprising!"
Oak panted, his lungs burning every time he drew breath. Breaking himself out of her hold had taken quite a bit out of him. It took monumental effort not to just keel over and groan in pain from his aching ribs.
"And no. It was not the outburst that caused my arrival in Pewter this evening." Her shadows twisted and distorted into all sorts of strange, incomprehensible shapes. "I came because Olympe, matron of Anistar City of Kalos had a revelation. One pertaining to yourself and Kanto."
He arched an eyebrow at that. In general, prophecies were pretty wooly stuff. Most people, a psychic had once explained, were like pebbles floating in a stream. They existed at one point at a time, occasionally swinging back and forth with the jostling currents. And then there were creatures like xatu, whose existences were akin to a long thread, suffering through constant jerky movements throughout its surface. That allowed it to experience more of the stream than the average pebble.
It was how they could make predictions of the future, what with living somehow in both the present and the Time Ahead. It allowed them to deliver small, cryptic messages to tweak said stream while not disrupting its flow.
Just hearing about the concept made his head hurt back then. Just like it did now. Time stuff was never pleasant.
"What revelation?" he warily asked, knowing he'd abhor the answer.
Even Agatha looked a little pained, something that made him feel even worse. "She proclaimed that should you take part in this congregation, you shall most assuredly perish."
Anyone else would have panicked at having their death predicted, but Oak digested that little tidbit like they'd been talking about the weather. He knew his old friend Agatha too well that something as blasé as his death wouldn't even register on her mind.
Agatha was odd like that.
Instead, he calmly waited for the other shoe to drop.
Agatha fixed him with an unsettling, unblinking stare. "She also claimed that should you not take part in this congregation, then everyone in here will die."
Executive James was having a terrible time.
Ever since his girlfriend and colleague Jesse had been selected for an undercover mission in Cerulean City a year ago, life had become hard. A Grunt-Captain for over seven years, James Masters had lost all hope of rising in the Team Rocket ladder. But with the recent death of Travers Brooks, especially with the Collapse Protocol underway, James had found himself quickly promoted to the rank of Executive.
That was the good part.
As well as the bad.
As an Executive, it was now his duty to ensure all Team Rocket activity in relation to the Collapse Protocol was perfectly planned, synchronized, and executed. A task that was far more strenuous than it appeared to be, forcing him to work his ass off for twenty hours a day, keeping his eyes on the seven different screens in front of him.
And then that blasted Samuel Oak just had to go and cause an enormous explosion, throwing all long-ranged communication into haywire for several crucial minutes. As if his worries hadn't been astronomical already.
"Is everything in order, Executive?"
James paled. He looked up to see the slightly annoyed, impatient visage of Admin Proton just before him. "Si-si-sirr?"
It took everything he had not to cringe. Whenever he was nervous and faced with overwhelming authority, he began to have a crippling stammering issue. One that was not conducive to proper conversation, especially with matters of such import.
"Is everything in order?" Proton repeated, scowling.
"Ye-ye-yes sir. It is, si-sir."
Proton glowered at him. "What is our status at Diglett Cave?"
James withheld a wince. The Team Rocket cohort at Diglett Cave was in a rather precarious position. Once a large mining complex on the outskirts of Pewter City, the entire area had gotten crushed under its own weight because the equipment had damaged a diglett colony, resulting in severe retaliation from the pokémon horde residing below ground. The parent company, Altru Inc., had faced tremendous losses and shifted to Violet City in Johto to continue operations, leaving behind a desolate and dilapidated industrial unit.
Today, the place was registered in the name of a scrap-dealer. But beneath multiple layers of fallen concrete was an underground set of labs where TR personnel worked day and night for the fulfillment of their given objectives.
But with the sudden tenfold increase in League security forces and ranger patrols, it was becoming increasingly difficult to carry out missions from that particular complex. For James, who was in charge of maintaining continuous correspondence and fluidity in movement from that location to the Pewter Base, it was more than mildly worrisome.
The fact that Senior Executive butch had left that madwoman Cassidy in charge of the unit didn't help matters in the slightest.
"Well?" an irate Proton pressed.
"Ev-everything is in or-order, sir," James lied. "We are receiving communications from them."
Technically, the latter was true. He had mostly been able to repair and counter any losses in signal transmission, and had been able to restore communication in less than an hour after the strange explosion.
The fact that Cassidy had turned off her transponder and was off the grid was a completely unrelated issue. The fact that the same Cassidy had threatened to feed him to her crobat if he ratted her out was another.
At this rate, he was going to get an ulcer from all the stress. And then what use was becoming an Executive?
"I want no issues this time," the Admin growled. "As it is, the Boss has brought Petrel into the mission, despite my repeated assurances."
That Admin Proton loathed Petrel was the worst kept secret in Team Rocket. Even though the former was an Admin and had the entire organization's resources at his command while the latter was… well, a freelancer, they equally had the ear of Team Rocket's ever-illusive Boss. James had no doubt that Proton had seen Petrel's face, but knowing that man, it was likely a mask. Something to don, then cast aside when the deed was done.
The Man with A Thousand Faces.
The Chameleon.
He was an expert in camouflage and illusion, working only with a specific group he called his Pack. It was rumored that only the Boss knew his true face, and that everyone else he showed himself to had only seen one of his many aliases and appearances.
If Proton was a name that conjured up images of a fire-breathing monstrosity coming to destroy you, then Petrel was the invisible demon that would climb out of your own shadow and strike you in your heart. Proton was the sledgehammer— blunt, effective, utterly devastating. Petrel, on the other hand, was the hidden knife, ever present where you least expected it, waiting for the right moment. Proton could rage at you, punish you severely, or even outright kill you. But Petrel…
Petrel would make you wish you were dead.
James knew that better than anyone else.
"Pe-pe-petrel?"
"And his three beasts," Proton added. "The Boss is worried about Oak's presence, which is why Petrel and his beasts are to be brought in if any complications arise." The Admin leveled him with an irate stare. "I hope you understand how important it is that everything goes according to plan."
James gulped. "Cry-crystal."
"Good," he drawled after a prolonged silence. "I have Ariana in the event crowd performing recon. Pass all updates from her directly to me."
"Of— of course, sir."
Proton glared at him for a few more seconds, before deciding it was enough and moving on. James sat in his uncomfortable leather chair, his eyes never leaving the screens in front of him. Slowly rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out a small device. A cutting-edge piece of technology developed in Unova that represented the future of communications technology.
They called it the XTransciever.
Pressing a single button, James held the device close to his ear. Routers and networks be damned, this thing could connect him to anywhere, anyone, and anytime while staying off of the League's radar.
After three rings, there was finally a click.
"Yes?"
"Everything is in place," James replied, his stammer no longer present. "Proton has set up lures in two stations. One in the mountains above Benteng, and a second near Pewter City Central. Our men at Diglett Cave are standing by."
"Good. What about the inside man?"
"Ariana Ortega. She has a… tool suitable to infiltrate the event."
"Do you have what I asked for?"
"One of the docents will be made available, sir," he replied. At this point, he may as well be taking a restaurant order. "Any particular name you'd prefer?"
The man on the other end chuckled. "The usual will suffice."
"Alright, then," James smiled. "Welcome to Pewter City, Mr. Pym."
Oak let out a heavy sigh.
Was he really expecting anything different from a cryptic warning that Agatha of all people chose to personally deliver? Frankly, he was surprised that Kanto would still exist by the end of it all.
It was enough to remind him why he hated prophecies in the first place. For one, they were no help at all. Whether he took part in the congregation or skipped it, chances were that the thing would probably get blown sky-high anyways. Even if he were to make sure that Daisy, Red, Delia, and the Parthenon officials escaped the zone, that still left a plethora of people in danger. Friends, associates, correspondents, League officials, and who knew how many delegates of worldwide importance.
All people who were there because he, Samuel Oak, chose to personally invite them.
That made them his responsibility.
Besides, as renowned and psychically aware these Anistar City dwellers may have been, they were still prophets. Even with all the power in the world, having a finger on every possible temporal outcome was simply not feasible.
Plus, the risk of imminent death didn't exactly affect him the way it once used to. Not that he wasn't scared. It actually did, in that sort of horribly uncertain way that left him with nothing to dwell on but his fears. But he'd beaten risks before. And he could do it again.
No, the real issue he had was getting pushed around. Whether by clans, Leagues, criminal organizations, or destiny itself, he had never allowed anything to determine what he was going to do. To overrule his own faculties and sense of direction.
And he certainly wasn't breaking that habit now.
Still, I might need to facilitate some of that paperwork for Red in advance. Not to mention, his lips twitched, I need to make that call very soon.
Oak glanced towards his right. After relaying the message, Agatha had immediately faded away in that eerie way she always did. Noticeable, but never actually seen. Nothing new there, as she was always one to suddenly and mysteriously depart.
But if something dangerous was truly afoot in Pewter, he needed to be ready. And with the event underway, releasing Dragonite out in public wasn't an option. That was just adding kerosene to the fire, and large-scale destruction wouldn't be the answer here. He needed something more precise.
A scalpel, where a sledgehammer wouldn't be as effective.
Reaching into his pocket, Oak pulled out a worn-out ultra ball, and chuckled fondly.
"Guess it's a good thing I brought you along. Isn't it, Orca?"
Editor: Solo Starfish, the best goddamn starfish the world has ever seen.
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