POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: Veilstone City
Everything was set. We would've stormed (Neo) Galactic HQ (for the second time) if Looker wasn't so paranoid. While we have probable cause to apprehend Charon, Looker wanted to tackle any loopholes in his plan. Before he returned to his drawing board, he looked me in the eyes and said:
"Don't do anything stupid."
Minutes drag into hours. All I'm doing is squatting in the bushes with my fingers impatiently tapping Garchomp's Poke ball. In the near distance looms the fortified stronghold of Neo Galactic HQ, the incarnation of the life-sucking abomination of Veilstone City.
You know what? We don't need a whole army to take down some greasy old man. We just need good ol-fashioned justice in the form of flaming boulders from heaven. Charon will never see it coming if I act on the element of surprise.
Yeah. That's the life. Unfortunately, this is a very critical moment. That little "accident" at Foggy Forest rubbed enough salt into the exposed wound, and if I am to mess this up… Looker will give me hell. And that will only be the beginning.
While I mope, something blinks in my peripherals. Coming from Neo Galactic HQ. From the windows on the top floor.
Some kind of glow.
Some kind of unearthly green glow.
Gooseflesh breaks down my arm. There are only 5 things in this world that can emit such a mysterious radiance.
I grab my radio. "Looker!"
"What? Are you still outside?"
"Are the Time Gears all accounted for?"
"Of course! We have the forests blocked off… Oh? What is it, deputy?"
A minute of incomprehensible chatter later, a muffled yelp emerges from the receiver.
"W-WHAT?! You left your post because some weirdo promised you free pizza? And when you came back, the Time Gears were gone?! Listen, I don't care if you got duped—"
"Charon took them!" I yell. "We can't let them fall into his hands!"
"Wait, Cynthia—"
By then I have reached the giant satellites of Neo Galactic HQ, ducking and rolling along the way to avoid being captured by the spinning cameras.
Should I just break a window? Sprint all the way up to the tenth floor? It's very quiet around here, save for the whirring of the drones overhead. Not a single human soul to tattle on me, but those antennae on the robots look suspiciously like lasers…
I guess it's time for the tried and true Champion's Entrance featuring my jet-plane dragon.
When the wall explodes, the sleazy old man spins around so suddenly that whatever gizmo he was holding clatters from his grip.
"You!" he snarls.
"Me!" I snap.
"Don't you meddling kids know to stay out of grownup business?"
I jab a finger to his neck. "Don't you know better than to stalk me into the woods?"
Charon leans against the mahogany desk, appraising me with an exasperated scowl. "Congratulations. You've finally cleared the clutter from that inflated head of yours. But as usual, you're wrong: I wasn't following you. You were following me. Somehow, you've caught on that I wanted something in Foggy Forest."
"The Time Gear."
Charon claps loudly. "Just what I've expected from a nosy, immature brat."
As he speaks, he edges closer to a bulky black pillar in the center of the office, something that wasn't there during my last visit to HQ. In his pocket peeks the antenna of a remote control.
"Where are the Time Gears?" I growl.
"Excuuuuse me, princess? Unlike a certain someone, I would never dare steal a mythical relic!"
With each thinly-veiled lie, a vein throbs in my neck.
"You fell by your own hand," Charon hums. "Honestly, I was very surprised that you were alive on the day of the raid, biting off more than you can chew. You haven't learned anything, girl. You might as well call on your own demise."
"Shut your mouth. You're under arrest, Charon!"
"Am I?"
At that moment, a glass cage drops down from the ceiling, sealing me off. I pound on the thick glass, cursing his name. He simply laughs. I reach for my radio—and groan loudly when I realize that I've dropped it when I was rolling past the armed robots.
"Tsk tsk. Both of you, trapped behind glass by your own doing. The only difference is: you have yet to break, Cynthia."
"I'll rip that tongue off your mouth!"
"Would you prefer the truth to be served on a silver platter then?"
With a smug tap on the glass, Charon ambles to that pillar near the desk. Somewhere in the air is an indiscernible, angry humming. Like static.
"Making faces at me won't let you out," he says.
"Why?" I bark. "Why are you doing all this?" Might as well keep him talking until Looker gets here. Don't villains love to monologue about their schemes?
True to pop culture, Charon props himself into that luxurious chair, his stubby legs planted on the bare desk.
"Why? Money, of course."
"Money," I echo in disbelief.
"What else? I am an adult. True to its moniker, Galactic's grandiose claims are not grounded in reality. All a lofty dream concocted by an impressionable urchin."
"Don't you dare talk about him like that!"
At that, Charon gives me a weird look. "I've had the dubious honor of working alongside him. I know how far his mind had gone. Moreover, didn't you make multiple attempts against his life? You're the last person I would expect to defend that lost cause.
"Anyhow, can you even begin to fathom how much these Time Gears are worth? The world will destroy itself anyway, so why not live a little?"
I can't believe this shit. "You would endanger the whole world just for a few measly coins?"
Charon slaps the glass. I glare at him, unflinching. He seems more amused than irritated.
"Time is money," he says. "What's the point in investing into a lost future?"
If looks can kill, my exasperation would melt this glass like corrosive glue. I glare past Charon to the view outside the floor-to-ceiling window.
Heh.
Charon's smugness drops. "What's so funny, young lady?"
"They're here."
From beyond the Veilstone bund soars a formation of sleek, shiny helicopters. Unlike last time, there are no tanks. Just nondescript black sedans parked on the perimeter of the city. As the leading helicopter approaches, the door slides open for the bumbling detective and his megaphone.
"Looker's here!" I announce triumphantly. "It's over!"
But my mirth is instantly snuffed by a low chuckle. Charon turns to me, his poisonous gaze regarding me like I'm a specimen under a microscope.
"Oh you brash, impudent little princess. It's over for you."
Suddenly, a sickening feeling erupts in my throat. Something hot, searing, so thick that it cuts off the oxygen to my lungs. I can't move. Can't think.
Is this fear?
N-No. I'm tripping. All that can be solved by summoning Garchomp…
"I knew you'd do that."
And right before I can command Draco Meteor, a horrible, deafening wail bursts through my eardrums like a gunshot. White noise blasts from the speakers in the cage, its volume amplified by that remote in Charon's hands.
"Behold, my latest prototype! By calculating the number of frequencies that Pokemon despise, I am able to impose my absolute dominance over them! Your machines of destruction are under my control now!"
That sounds like something straight from science fiction. However, in the present, my Garchomp isn't listening to my pleas, to my attempt to calm down its terrifying screaming. It stalks towards me, rising to the claws of its legs, black froth dripping from its vein-strewn jaws.
"Ah, your precious Looker can't help you now. If he moves, I press this button."
"You'll pay for this!" I screech.
"Yes, you're right… You'll pay for standing in the way of my plans, insolent pest! Long. Live. The. Queen!
"Now, Garchomp! Draco Meteor Cynthia! Afterwards, annihilate Veilstone City with your rage!"
My precious Garchomp's neck snaps back like the blade of an axe when struck against solid steel. The inside of the cage grows very hot. Shimmering with noxious fumes.
Is this it? Will my story end with Charon escaping with the Time Gears? Without my locating the bearer of the Red Sunstone? Without Grandma berating me for my stupid decisions for one last time?
I brace myself for the impact… which never comes. Instead, there is a chasm of silence. Alarmed and greatly relieved, I peek out of the cracks of my fingers.
Garchomp is frozen in mid-attack. Not far off is Charon, who's chasing after his remote control that's soaring through the air as if yanked around by an invisible entity.
And with a high-pitch wail, the device blows up in a spectacular cloud of scrap.
Before any of us can make sense of what the hell has happened, a clear, booming shout rides into the tension-thick room.
"Gallade, Psycho Cut!"
A shimmering blade of psychic power descends upon the cage… and splits it cleanly in half. While I stand there, too stupefied to move, someone pulls me out of harm's way.
"My apologies for arriving late. I had to disarm some nasty traps on my way up here."
Chamomile, mint, and star anise. Only one person wears that herbal salad cologne. I bury my face into that ironed maroon suit. My reflection shifts in his tinted glasses, showing a pale, scared, and unfamiliar stranger.
"Worry not, Cynthia," he mutters. "I'll protect you."
And his name slips from my lips like spring water against a blistering burn.
"Lucian!"