Disclaimer: Pokémon is still owned by The Pokémon Company, which in turn is owned by Nintendo, Game Freak, and probably others I forgot. The following fanfiction is me playing around in their sandbox, using characters they envisioned and created, except for the odd character that wasn't. I own nothing of this.
Author's Note: This is the third installment in the series started by Wanderlust and continued in Evolving Stratagems. If you haven't read those, it might be better to read or at least skim those first. As a quick reminder, the series diverged after AG192, and the AG-or-earlier cast is aged up by two years across the board. This makes Max thirteen-and-eight-months at the chronological start of the story, but this short prologue is situated somewhere else in the story, as the chapter title implies.
Prologue: In Medias Res
Sweltering heat caused sweat to pool on Max's brow as he finished collecting a good haul of berries. The basket was nearly full to overflowing, filled with Oran, Bluk, Pecha, and even an early few Colbur Berries. He'd put those on top so he could separate them: both of the other two he was travelling with hadn't liked them before, but Max really liked the bitter and sour fruit, and when he'd spotted a tree with them, he'd instantly walked over to see if some were ripe.
Overhead, the sun was playing hide and seek with increasingly larger and darker clouds, making him suspect there would be a thunderstorm before the late spring evening was out. That was not an issue, nor would the rain be. There was plenty of psionic potential on his team to shield them while setting up a tent and manectric would probably lick him silly for allowing her to be out catching lightning. Hopefully before actually going to do that, or else Max would get a static shock.
Waking up, casually bringing a hand to manectric's nose, and then jolting upright was still one of the worst ways Max had ever woken up, and that list was getting ridiculously varied after close to four years of travelling here and there, as a hanger-on and as a Trainer.
When a friend's Pokémon using Yawn on you for pranking purposes didn't even rate somewhere in the top dozen… You knew it was a wild list.
Hopefully, the thunderstorm wouldn't hinder them from reaching Carnation Town the next day. It was right on the edge of what was probably possible to reach in a day, what with Danny's shoes still being new, and Max was itching for a Gym Battle. It hadn't been too long since Blackthorn, sure, but this was the first Fairy-type Gym he would ever visit, rounding out the eighteen Types in all of his travels.
Sure, it was an arbitrary milestone, but it was still one.
He heaved the basket into the air, starting his walk back to their hopefully set-up camp after his momentary reverie. He wasn't too sure how far out he was, but it had only been forty minutes or so since he'd left the others.
For a moment, he thought about asking for a Teleport, but he decided against it. A bit of time alone never hurt, and it was still only like five in the afternoon. None of them would starve if Max was a bit late on getting these berries back for dinner, dessert, and more than a few Pokémon snacks. The heat was a point against it, but it was a forested area, meaning that there was lots of shadow to go around to shelter from the worst of it.
About twenty minutes and a quick dispatching of a couple of hungry Pokémon later, Max noticed a tree he had on the way out; an old cypress that had grown into the heavens, with roots that threatened to trip you over if you didn't pay attention. Max hadn't overly much earlier, but he'd stayed on his feet, and this time, he avoided them entirely, stopping momentarily a moment after to rub his forehead with one hand. Some kind of headache had popped up in the last few minutes, and he wasn't sure what it was from. He'd thought he'd drunk enough water, and he didn't have any allergies or anything…
He shook his head, noting that the pain didn't become worse like it had when he'd had that bout of sinusitis around his birthday. Probably not enough to drink, then. It was a warm day, and maybe he'd lost too much fluid somewhere. He'd have to drain a bottle of water and suffer through it until the hydration kicked in, then.
He resumed walking, entering a delightfully warm clearing about a minute later. The oppressive heat somehow didn't reach here, and instead, it was the kind of warmth that instantly made Max yawn.
One yawn followed another, and Max felt himself stumble, berries flying everywhere as he lost grip of the basket, ground rushing up to meet him.
Warmth. Shaking. Tightening. Cutting. Treebark. Rope.
Rope?
Max opened his eyes, and tried to move his body, only to find out that he was stuck. Bark pressed in his back, his arms wrapped around a young tree behind his back. He felt it now. "Manectric! Sceptile!"
Nothing appeared. "Pokémon are funny," came a voice from his left; lisping slightly. Max's head swivelled, spotting five other humans and a few Pokémon. Two men, clad in clothing he felt he should recognise, were looking at him, and a third person – he couldn't tell the gender – was near his tied-up companions. "They instinctively detect when their trainers are in danger, but in the pokéball, it is crude. They can't detect the difference between falling asleep normally and… unnaturally." The brown-haired man grinned, showing a missing tooth. "We've waited a long time for this, Mister Maple. It's time to answer for your crimes."
That clothing was tantalisingly familiar, but the man's last sentence stopped Max's musing. "Crim…" he said before trailing off, realisation dawning. "You're from Hoenn?"
The second man snorted, though he didn't answer Max's question, instead signalling to the back. A machoke and a scyther moved forward, the Fighting-type heaving Danny onto his feet and taking him along. Unlike Max, he was blindfolded and gagged, and he didn't struggle too much as the machoke half-dragged him along. "You are not the one to answer questions," the first man said softly, snapping his fingers once. A careful slash of scyther's blade cut the blindfold. "Answer mine, or your friend will pay."
Danny seemed terrified, unwilling to speak as scyther pressed the tip of its blade into his arm. "What do you want?" Max spat, shaking his head to get rid of the sodding headache, without success.
"The location of that traitor Reginald, but you won't know that," the second man said, his voice gruff and raspy, like a smoker. "The Izabe gardevoir group. Where did they go?"
The hell if Max knew that. He hadn't asked, respecting their privacy. "You want to get them again?" he said, suddenly realising where and when he had seen the familiar black clothing before. "Use more ralts and kirlia for your machines?"
"It still stings, doesn't it?" came a reply, the first man speaking up again, almost crooning, leaning in. "It must have been terrible, to arrive weeks too late to get your precious ordained starter. And it must have been even worse to find that Pokémon you once wanted to start with on the brink of death." A gloved hand cupped Max's chin, forcing him to look up into cruel eyes. "And you remember that, don't you? Perfect soul-rending agony," the man enunciated slowly, drawing the words out. "What did you say again? You'd rather face yveltal twenty times over?"
A harsh barking laugh followed as rage flared within Max at hearing his own words thrown back at him. He took a breath as deep as he dared with the man's hand on his chin, forcing himself to stay calm. "I'd rather face yveltal over telling you anything, bastard."
The hand moved to his throat; squeezing gently, but firmly, reminding Max of who was in charge. "Oh, yes, teenage bravado. How bland," the brunet said. "We know you don't overly care about yourself, Mister Maple. Your friends and Pokémon on the other hand..."
Danny let out a hiss, and the scyther lifted its other blade menacingly. "You tell us what we want, or your friends start losing blood." The other man walked over to Danny, grabbing him by his blonde hair. "So start talking, or he starts bleeding."
"Or we could work on your other companion. The young are always quick to squeal." The toothless man gestured towards the machoke, which started moving back. "What will it be, Mister Maple? Answers? Or blood."