Hello, everyone. This is my first fic. . .so try not to laugh too hard. And
don't forget to review.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pokemon. Though it would be nice, since I could really use the cash.
PROLOGUE
Rain dripped down from the raven sky. It slowed him down; his boots were caked with mud. Sweat poured freely from his face and arms, with the heavy bag he carried. But no rainstorm, even if it came from Lugia itself, would slow him down. No. He wouldn't let it. Abruptly, he found himself tripping over a branch, he tumbled to the ground, rolling head over heels into a ditch. Mud sprayed everywhere. A family of Sentret squealed in alarm at the intrusion of their shelter and scattered.
The man picked his bag up from the ground, cursing his clumsiness. He had to get away. He was good at this. How pleased the boss would be! How clever he was to pick a raid like this! Forty-eight Pokemon! He'd beaten the gang record for most Pokemon stolen in a single mission. This would earn him a promotion, he thought as he ran through the forest at top speed. Above him, lightning speared through the air, briefly igniting the forest with light.
And then he saw him.
Standing at full six-foot-three, a thin wiry figure blocking the thief's way. Pokeball clutched in hand. Throwing it lightly in his left hand as if anticipating the thief's next move. The right hand's index finger was wagging back and forth as if to say "naughty, naughty."
The thief found his breath cut off. He panicked, but managed to squeak out "g-get out my way."
"Make me," the figure replied grimly.
The thief stuttered. "Oh, oh, you think you can mess with me? I'm damn good at what I do."
"So I hear. That's why they hired me."
"Hired. . .you?" Who on earth would hire this man to hunt a Pokemon thief down?
The figure in front of him nodded very slowly. "Oh, yes. Quite a generous sum in fact. Right out of Mr. Ketchum's own account from the Indigo Corp. Think I'll buy a yacht with it."
Ketchum? Indigo Corp? The thief's eyes widened in realization. His jaw dropped. The Pokemon League had put a sort of bounty on him!
"Whatever they're paying you, I swear my boss can double it!" Pleading. Bargaining.
The shadow man shook his had sadly. "Tempting yes. . .but y'know? They paid me to do the job. And if you check my record. . .you'll see I have a 100 percent satisfaction record."
The thief was sick of this. "You asked for it!" Quick to the draw, he slapped his hand to his belt and threw his Pokeball into the air. It landed in the mud with a sickening splat, then split in half and a pure white light emerged from it. It took on the form of a Tauros, which promptly charged to the man without command. At 40 miles per hour it raced, ready to crush the man's bones into a fine powder.
The shadow man, whoever he was, reacted instantly. A burst of ashen light materialized before him, and a figure blocked the Tauros' path. Tauros skidded to a halt and mooed curiously. It stood nearly seven feet tall, and was supported by dozens of serpentine legs.
No, the thief realized. Not legs. It was a Tentacruel.
"I warn you!" the thief boomed, but not with confidence. "Don't mess with me! I'm good!"
"You," came frank reply, "are no challenge. Your poorly-trained Pokemon brings bile to my throat. You are nothing more than a common sneak- thief, groveling to your boss, pilfering that which you cannot have. You are a failure, from a gang of failures. And now you must compensate for your actions."
"Tauros, run him down!" the thief bellowed, to angry and frustrated now to care what happened.
Tauros howled in rage and flew at Tentacruel, rage in his eyes, ready to spear the overgrown jellyfish with the points of his horns. Closer. . .closer. . . Instantly, Tentacruel's sharp proboscis, a blade filled with poison, shot up. The stomach of Tentacruel grew white, illuminating the forest. The light gathered into a circle, and when enough energy had been stored, the light formed a meter-wide shaft of light. Ice Beam. Which hit Tauros. Right between the eyes.
Tauros cried out in disbelief and fell to the ground. He couldn't think straight, blinded by the frost now covering his face. He thrashed on the forest ground, as if it would somehow alleviate the intense agony in his body. Tentacruel and his trainer observed this without sympathy.
The thief stuttered in horror. "B-but you can't-"
"Oh, but I just did," came the reply. "Hands up, now."
The thief answered with the only gamble he could think of. He ran. Dropping the bag, leaving his wounded Tauros. He didn't get very far at all. Tentacruel's arms snaked their way over 20 feet to wrap themselves around the thief's legs.
With a cry, he fell to the ground again, his face landing in the mud. He was dragged back to the trainer, paralyzed with fear. Wrapped helplessly by the myriad of Tentacruel's arms, he found himself face to face into Tentacruel's cold, glaring eyes. The hook of poison was only centimeters from his lips. He could feel Tentacruel's hot breath on his face, and gulped weakly.
"Please- " he whispered, his voice squeaking in hopelessness, "please don't kill me. . ."
The shadow man grabbed the thief's hair and hoisted him to his feet. "Shut up. Stop simpering like a little baby. I'm not gonna kill you." The man took the thief's wrist and wrapped a cold metal device around it.
It took ten seconds before the thief realized they were handcuffs.
The shadow man spoke. "Peter Reed, for crimes against the Pokemon League and by the authority invested in me by of the Indigo Corp., I am placing you under arrest."
Peter finally found is voice. "Who-who are you?" he asked.
The shadow man responded by taking out a flashlight and shining it on a badge.
Next to a picture of a young man, in bold, red letters, it read:
"Trent Williams: Investigator of Pokemon Crimes."
CASE #0001
DATE: November 16, 2022.
Trent Williams made his way into the Indigo Plateau Offices shaking off the Monday morning rain that had gathered on his coat. Throwing his cigarette into the ashtray, he combed his hand through his brown hair to remove any water. All around him, an incessant swarm of trainers and Pokemon alike made their way through the buildings. Each trainer was registering for the semiannual challenges that took place here in Kanto League.
He watched as three young men carried a Primeape over their soldiers and cheering, obviously having just won a crucial match. A young girl sat on bench, combing out her Jynx's hair for the beauty contest. He heard the awed whispers of young trainers who had just arrived, seeing the splendor of the Indigo Coliseum for the first time.
He remembered times like that. Good memories. Good friends. But that was the past, he reminded himself sadly. And no amount of remembering was ever going to bring back happiness. . .it seemed like a century ago.
Trent was a Pokemon Agent of the Indigo League. He was put in charge of the Investigation of Pokemon Crimes Unit. He hunted down burglars, poachers, even Pokemon murderers. Ash Ketchum, president of the League, often sent his lackeys and bootlickers to him, asking if he'd please investigate this, or see to that. Whatever. It was usually the same. Human scum who brutally hurt or killed innocent Pokemon. . .and sometimes it was the Pokemon who were the criminals. A pity. It was a tough business, but he was a tough man. It wasn't pretty, and often dangerous, but Trent had gotten used to it.
He had learned long ago that it was a cruel world.
As a Pokemon investigator, he was allowed to carry twelve Pokemon with him, twice the number of a trainer. But that was the catch. A Pokemon investigator was ineligible to compete in any contests. It didn't matter a hill of beans to him. He'd given up his dream of becoming a Pokemon Master.
He entered his office, took off his coat, ready to begin the week anew. The rain pattered softly on his window. Outside, some fanatical trainers were in the rain, still training in the parking lot. Two trainers, a male and female no more than fifteen years old, had finished battling, their clothes soaked. They laughed and hugged each other, obviously in love. His eyes darted to the picture on his desk. "That used to be us," he said. "Could have been us." The picture of the woman who was his wife--no, he reminded himself, who would have been his wife--did not respond. He didn't expect it to.
Enough, he thought bitterly. She wasn't coming back.
Time for business. He was to file a case report on the capture of Peter Reed and present it to Mr. Ketchum by noon today. He turned on his computer, which greeted him in its typical voice. "Good morning Trent," said a thick metallic voice. "How may I serve you today?" "Good morning, Porygon. Run word processing, filename. . ." His intercom buzzed, interrupting his command. He turned it on. "Williams," he said nonchalantly. "Trent," said a hauntingly familiar voice said. "I need to see you. Now."
Making his way past the Hitmonlee security guards, Trent adjusted his tie and knocked on the door marked ASH KETCHUM, CEO. "Come in." Trent entered the office of the man who had accomplished so much in his life. In his office, a case of over 30 gym badges was proudly displayed. Certificates dotted the walls like flies, signed by the Elite Four and numerous Gym Leaders.
I could have done the same, he thought. If everything hadn't gone to hell.
Ketchum's dark eyes stared at the folder he was carrying, and giving a look that was the equivalent of staring at Muk droppings. "Trent," he said a subdued voice. "Please. . .sit down." Trent sat in the chair in front of the desk and watched Ketchum struggle to find words.
He knew what was coming. A thief. A murderer. You couldn't find worse scum under a Snorlax's backside. But he was not prepared for what Ketchum handed to him.
The photo was taken in the back of an armored truck. The soldier inside looked as if he'd been through a meat processing plant. His head had been neatly lopped off, and various slashes had been made into the torso, staining the olive military suit with crimson blood. Trent recognized the badges on the uniform.
"That's Colonel Frederick Penn? The 'Nam hero?" he asked.
Ketchum nodded grimly. "He and his Houndour were killed in the back of an armored truck. He was en route to Azure Military Base near Cerulean City, traveling in the back to guard the weaponry. He and his Houndour was the only person to enter or leave it."
"The driver?"
"He was ruled innocent. Trent, these slashes are too perfect for a human to have done. And no man could kill a Houndour so easily. We suspect Pokemon trickery was used. What we can't figure out. . .is who would have a grudge against him. He's an international hero. Loved by all." The Pokemon Master shook his head. "I've seen a lot of terrible acts in my time. . .but this. Senseless. Absolutely senseless." Trent was unfazed. Ten years ago, he would felt the same as Mr. Ketchum did, with compassion for the dead man.
Nowadays he didn't really feel any emotion. Certainly not compassion.
Ketchum managed to find his voice and reached into his desk. "Trent, I've booked you on a flight at 3 PM today. You will meet a man at the airport who'll take you to the base. "You must find this killer. I'm counting on you. " Trent slipped the file under his arm, took the ticket, and prepared to exit the room. And smiled. "Sir. . .with my experience, I'll be back in time for lunch tomorrow."
TO BE CONTINUED. . . .
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pokemon. Though it would be nice, since I could really use the cash.
PROLOGUE
Rain dripped down from the raven sky. It slowed him down; his boots were caked with mud. Sweat poured freely from his face and arms, with the heavy bag he carried. But no rainstorm, even if it came from Lugia itself, would slow him down. No. He wouldn't let it. Abruptly, he found himself tripping over a branch, he tumbled to the ground, rolling head over heels into a ditch. Mud sprayed everywhere. A family of Sentret squealed in alarm at the intrusion of their shelter and scattered.
The man picked his bag up from the ground, cursing his clumsiness. He had to get away. He was good at this. How pleased the boss would be! How clever he was to pick a raid like this! Forty-eight Pokemon! He'd beaten the gang record for most Pokemon stolen in a single mission. This would earn him a promotion, he thought as he ran through the forest at top speed. Above him, lightning speared through the air, briefly igniting the forest with light.
And then he saw him.
Standing at full six-foot-three, a thin wiry figure blocking the thief's way. Pokeball clutched in hand. Throwing it lightly in his left hand as if anticipating the thief's next move. The right hand's index finger was wagging back and forth as if to say "naughty, naughty."
The thief found his breath cut off. He panicked, but managed to squeak out "g-get out my way."
"Make me," the figure replied grimly.
The thief stuttered. "Oh, oh, you think you can mess with me? I'm damn good at what I do."
"So I hear. That's why they hired me."
"Hired. . .you?" Who on earth would hire this man to hunt a Pokemon thief down?
The figure in front of him nodded very slowly. "Oh, yes. Quite a generous sum in fact. Right out of Mr. Ketchum's own account from the Indigo Corp. Think I'll buy a yacht with it."
Ketchum? Indigo Corp? The thief's eyes widened in realization. His jaw dropped. The Pokemon League had put a sort of bounty on him!
"Whatever they're paying you, I swear my boss can double it!" Pleading. Bargaining.
The shadow man shook his had sadly. "Tempting yes. . .but y'know? They paid me to do the job. And if you check my record. . .you'll see I have a 100 percent satisfaction record."
The thief was sick of this. "You asked for it!" Quick to the draw, he slapped his hand to his belt and threw his Pokeball into the air. It landed in the mud with a sickening splat, then split in half and a pure white light emerged from it. It took on the form of a Tauros, which promptly charged to the man without command. At 40 miles per hour it raced, ready to crush the man's bones into a fine powder.
The shadow man, whoever he was, reacted instantly. A burst of ashen light materialized before him, and a figure blocked the Tauros' path. Tauros skidded to a halt and mooed curiously. It stood nearly seven feet tall, and was supported by dozens of serpentine legs.
No, the thief realized. Not legs. It was a Tentacruel.
"I warn you!" the thief boomed, but not with confidence. "Don't mess with me! I'm good!"
"You," came frank reply, "are no challenge. Your poorly-trained Pokemon brings bile to my throat. You are nothing more than a common sneak- thief, groveling to your boss, pilfering that which you cannot have. You are a failure, from a gang of failures. And now you must compensate for your actions."
"Tauros, run him down!" the thief bellowed, to angry and frustrated now to care what happened.
Tauros howled in rage and flew at Tentacruel, rage in his eyes, ready to spear the overgrown jellyfish with the points of his horns. Closer. . .closer. . . Instantly, Tentacruel's sharp proboscis, a blade filled with poison, shot up. The stomach of Tentacruel grew white, illuminating the forest. The light gathered into a circle, and when enough energy had been stored, the light formed a meter-wide shaft of light. Ice Beam. Which hit Tauros. Right between the eyes.
Tauros cried out in disbelief and fell to the ground. He couldn't think straight, blinded by the frost now covering his face. He thrashed on the forest ground, as if it would somehow alleviate the intense agony in his body. Tentacruel and his trainer observed this without sympathy.
The thief stuttered in horror. "B-but you can't-"
"Oh, but I just did," came the reply. "Hands up, now."
The thief answered with the only gamble he could think of. He ran. Dropping the bag, leaving his wounded Tauros. He didn't get very far at all. Tentacruel's arms snaked their way over 20 feet to wrap themselves around the thief's legs.
With a cry, he fell to the ground again, his face landing in the mud. He was dragged back to the trainer, paralyzed with fear. Wrapped helplessly by the myriad of Tentacruel's arms, he found himself face to face into Tentacruel's cold, glaring eyes. The hook of poison was only centimeters from his lips. He could feel Tentacruel's hot breath on his face, and gulped weakly.
"Please- " he whispered, his voice squeaking in hopelessness, "please don't kill me. . ."
The shadow man grabbed the thief's hair and hoisted him to his feet. "Shut up. Stop simpering like a little baby. I'm not gonna kill you." The man took the thief's wrist and wrapped a cold metal device around it.
It took ten seconds before the thief realized they were handcuffs.
The shadow man spoke. "Peter Reed, for crimes against the Pokemon League and by the authority invested in me by of the Indigo Corp., I am placing you under arrest."
Peter finally found is voice. "Who-who are you?" he asked.
The shadow man responded by taking out a flashlight and shining it on a badge.
Next to a picture of a young man, in bold, red letters, it read:
"Trent Williams: Investigator of Pokemon Crimes."
CASE #0001
DATE: November 16, 2022.
Trent Williams made his way into the Indigo Plateau Offices shaking off the Monday morning rain that had gathered on his coat. Throwing his cigarette into the ashtray, he combed his hand through his brown hair to remove any water. All around him, an incessant swarm of trainers and Pokemon alike made their way through the buildings. Each trainer was registering for the semiannual challenges that took place here in Kanto League.
He watched as three young men carried a Primeape over their soldiers and cheering, obviously having just won a crucial match. A young girl sat on bench, combing out her Jynx's hair for the beauty contest. He heard the awed whispers of young trainers who had just arrived, seeing the splendor of the Indigo Coliseum for the first time.
He remembered times like that. Good memories. Good friends. But that was the past, he reminded himself sadly. And no amount of remembering was ever going to bring back happiness. . .it seemed like a century ago.
Trent was a Pokemon Agent of the Indigo League. He was put in charge of the Investigation of Pokemon Crimes Unit. He hunted down burglars, poachers, even Pokemon murderers. Ash Ketchum, president of the League, often sent his lackeys and bootlickers to him, asking if he'd please investigate this, or see to that. Whatever. It was usually the same. Human scum who brutally hurt or killed innocent Pokemon. . .and sometimes it was the Pokemon who were the criminals. A pity. It was a tough business, but he was a tough man. It wasn't pretty, and often dangerous, but Trent had gotten used to it.
He had learned long ago that it was a cruel world.
As a Pokemon investigator, he was allowed to carry twelve Pokemon with him, twice the number of a trainer. But that was the catch. A Pokemon investigator was ineligible to compete in any contests. It didn't matter a hill of beans to him. He'd given up his dream of becoming a Pokemon Master.
He entered his office, took off his coat, ready to begin the week anew. The rain pattered softly on his window. Outside, some fanatical trainers were in the rain, still training in the parking lot. Two trainers, a male and female no more than fifteen years old, had finished battling, their clothes soaked. They laughed and hugged each other, obviously in love. His eyes darted to the picture on his desk. "That used to be us," he said. "Could have been us." The picture of the woman who was his wife--no, he reminded himself, who would have been his wife--did not respond. He didn't expect it to.
Enough, he thought bitterly. She wasn't coming back.
Time for business. He was to file a case report on the capture of Peter Reed and present it to Mr. Ketchum by noon today. He turned on his computer, which greeted him in its typical voice. "Good morning Trent," said a thick metallic voice. "How may I serve you today?" "Good morning, Porygon. Run word processing, filename. . ." His intercom buzzed, interrupting his command. He turned it on. "Williams," he said nonchalantly. "Trent," said a hauntingly familiar voice said. "I need to see you. Now."
Making his way past the Hitmonlee security guards, Trent adjusted his tie and knocked on the door marked ASH KETCHUM, CEO. "Come in." Trent entered the office of the man who had accomplished so much in his life. In his office, a case of over 30 gym badges was proudly displayed. Certificates dotted the walls like flies, signed by the Elite Four and numerous Gym Leaders.
I could have done the same, he thought. If everything hadn't gone to hell.
Ketchum's dark eyes stared at the folder he was carrying, and giving a look that was the equivalent of staring at Muk droppings. "Trent," he said a subdued voice. "Please. . .sit down." Trent sat in the chair in front of the desk and watched Ketchum struggle to find words.
He knew what was coming. A thief. A murderer. You couldn't find worse scum under a Snorlax's backside. But he was not prepared for what Ketchum handed to him.
The photo was taken in the back of an armored truck. The soldier inside looked as if he'd been through a meat processing plant. His head had been neatly lopped off, and various slashes had been made into the torso, staining the olive military suit with crimson blood. Trent recognized the badges on the uniform.
"That's Colonel Frederick Penn? The 'Nam hero?" he asked.
Ketchum nodded grimly. "He and his Houndour were killed in the back of an armored truck. He was en route to Azure Military Base near Cerulean City, traveling in the back to guard the weaponry. He and his Houndour was the only person to enter or leave it."
"The driver?"
"He was ruled innocent. Trent, these slashes are too perfect for a human to have done. And no man could kill a Houndour so easily. We suspect Pokemon trickery was used. What we can't figure out. . .is who would have a grudge against him. He's an international hero. Loved by all." The Pokemon Master shook his head. "I've seen a lot of terrible acts in my time. . .but this. Senseless. Absolutely senseless." Trent was unfazed. Ten years ago, he would felt the same as Mr. Ketchum did, with compassion for the dead man.
Nowadays he didn't really feel any emotion. Certainly not compassion.
Ketchum managed to find his voice and reached into his desk. "Trent, I've booked you on a flight at 3 PM today. You will meet a man at the airport who'll take you to the base. "You must find this killer. I'm counting on you. " Trent slipped the file under his arm, took the ticket, and prepared to exit the room. And smiled. "Sir. . .with my experience, I'll be back in time for lunch tomorrow."
TO BE CONTINUED. . . .