Ok, loyal readers, after a brief lapse due to midterms, I have the next
story. . .so please review. Thanks!
They said that if you ever wanted to go to a place where you could swim in crystal clear lakes, look no further than Vermilion. The seaside city was a paradise, every day the St. Anne would come in, sailing majestically through the ocean waves. Little children loved Vermilion beach, which stretched for miles. Golden sand, a clam blue sea, it was the perfect getaway. Today, a pack of college students hollered like a siren as they ran onto the beach, surfboards in hand, to seize the day. They swam and surfed, enjoying the hot sun.
One kid decided it was time to impress the ladies by showing how he could swim "faster than a Dewgong!" as he put it. And indeed he was, for he sped through the waves and reached the buoy in no time flat. He held onto the buoy and waved happily, feeling great triumph for his own success. Then he screamed, a scream so intense that it echoed down the beach for miles. The students stared in awe as the kid out on the boy hollered with pain, then went under the water, hands flailing. By now other people had come over to see what was the matter. One of his friends immediately dove into the water to rescue him. . .and was flung onto the shore as a huge jet of water pummeled him in the stomach from out of nowhere. He fell to the sand and clutched his chest, moaning and panting.
And then they came like an army. Chinchou. Hundreds of them. Each wearing a frown. One of them carried the comatose body of the swimmer. The Chinchou dumped him on the shore, then bellowed. The Chinchou raised their fins, and jets of water spewed from their mouths. They tacked people to the ground and bit them savagely. Screaming people ran for their cars, but some where zapped by the Chinchou's spark attack. One group of Chinchou managed to break down the lifeguard station, demolishing it into a pile of wood. The lifeguard's Poliwrath was overwhelmed by the group and quickly retreated. The Chinchou kept coming out relentlessly, their antennae glowing with electricity.
Some of the men tried punching them and kicking them, but for everyone they hit another hundred took their place. They were shocked into unconsciousness. And they still kept coming out of the sea. The Chinchou proceeded to the parking lot. There, they cracked open windows by ramming them. Children's screams echoed throughout the whole area. One car exploded when the Chinchou overheated the motor with its Spark Attack.. Some were turned over. It seemed impossible, but there was strength in numbers.
A man charged the Pokemon angrily for wrecking his new convertible. Using a stick as a crude weapon, he began swiping at them. Some of them were caught unaware and were hurled by the enraged man. The Chinchou, with black fury rising in their hearts, all fired a Spark at point-blank range. 100,000 volts sent the man flying 20 feet into air, his skin torched to a crisp. He was dead even before he hit the ground.
In one hour, the entire beach was full of angry Chinchou. And they would not leave. Their leader roared in triumph.
Five miles away, a bunch of Mantine attacked a seaside resort. The St. Anne was nearly sunk when a Cloyster pack leapt onboard and began attacking people. And at a beach house near Vermilion, a Seadra clan forced the house's owner to flee when they invaded. It was an all out Pokemon Water rebellion around Vermilion.
INDIGO OFFICES, Wednesday, 12:30 PM
Trent sat in his office, chewing hard on his pastrami sandwich. Lunch break, where he could finally get some rest. He wiped the mayonnaise from his chin and turned the volume up on the TV. The quarterly battle championship was going on, and right now on the Grass Field an adolescent male with a Lickitung was battling an adult female with a Raticate. The latter was darting around the field nimbly on his webbed feet. It crouched among the tall grass, then leapt out and Skull-Bashed Lickitung with the sound like a firecracker going off. Lickitung was startled, but not defeated. It began to spin around, its tongue whirling around a two-feet radius. The Raticate could not get out of the way in time. It cracked like a whip on his flank, and Raticate fell to the ground, the right side of his body paralyzed.
The referee counted to ten, and Raticate did not get up. Lickitung won, and the two Pokemon were returned. The young man and the woman observed this steadily, and then left the stadium. A good trainer never revels in victory, Trent thought, and they don't whine in defeat. He respected their attitude to the outcome. He changed the channel. . . . . .and nearly fell off his chair in surprise. A helicopter was taking live footage of Vermilion Beach, where a bunch of blue and yellow blobs with golden auras around them. Trent squinted. Ah, they were Chinchou. What on Earth were they doing? The reporter announced: ". . .began two hours ago. Three people have been hospitalized, and they have done over thousands of dollars in damage. They will not speak, and shock anyone who comes within yards of them." The scene then showed the St. Anne being attacked by Cloyster, a private resort under the control of some nasty-looking Seadra and Lotad, and a harbor near Vermilion that was overwhelmed with Golduck. All of them had the look of hatred in their eyes. He watched with distaste as some so-called "trainers" tried to fend them off using Electric and Grass Pokemon. Idiots, thought Trent. There's more to Water Pokemon than spitting, well, water. It was almost amusing to see the Pikachus, Treekos, and Flaafys get overwhelmed thinking they could win by type advantage alone. Almost. He turned off the TV and prepared to get back to work. He had to write a field report on his findings of an Omanyte deposit, when the intercom buzzed. He pressed the button and replied with his usual half-hearted "yes?" "Trent, I need to see you." Trent held back a curse. The boss. He took a last sip of coffee before heading out the door.
Inside the office of the famed Pokemon master, Trent saw Mr. Ketchum arguing madly with someone on the phone. He sat at the door and waited for the conversation to finish. He noticed the picture hanging on the wall behind Ash. There was his lovely wife, Misty; their two children held an Oddish and a Bellsprout in their hands. There was Gary Oak, grandson and heir to the legendary Oak estate. Brock, former gym leader, was also seen with his wife and children. And a variety of Ash's friends whom he had accumulated on his journey to this place. Trent used to curse every time he saw such a sight. It only reminded him of. . .her. They could have had children. And many friends. Like Ash here. Ash finally stopped arguing. "Trent," he said, obviously flustered with sweat dripping down his forehead, "I need to talk to Mr. Davis here."
Trent went up to the videophone and saw a middle-aged balding man in a white polyester suit frantically waving himself with a fan. He spoke in a thick Cajun accent. "I do declare," he moaned as he popped a chicken nugget into his mouth, "they done come over here and they taken over my swampland!" Trent grit his teeth. "Calm down, sir," he seethed. "I need you to slow, down, now." Davis wiped the sweat from his brow and continued. "Mr. Williams, you just got to help me! They done taken over my backyard! They chased away all my guests and they ruined my patio! They had-" "Shut up." "Uh, yessir." Trent felt like a little man with a jackhammer was pounding into his brain. "Who did it?" he managed to grit out. "The Lanturn! They is everywhere!" Lanturn? Trent thought. "Sir. . .do you live at Vermilion Swamp?" "Yes! Yes! I heard you'se the best when you come on down and exterminate them rodents! I pay you well, I do! See here!" He held a huge sum of paper bills in front of him and flipped through them as if to tempt him. Trent became glued to the videophone. That money could get him that plasma TV he'd always wanted. He tried to stop from licking his lips. But then he remembered the pathetic attempts to stop the other Vermilion attackers. "Sir, I may have to decline. There are too many of them, and I only have twelve at most."
"Now you listen, here, boy! You wants this here money, you come on down to my bayou and you get rid o'these here Lanturn!" "I don't do extermination jobs, I-" His boss interrupted. "Trent, there are alternatives to fighting." Trent squeezed his fists so hard his fingernails dug into his palms and began to draw blood. He hated every time someone gave him the little speech about fighting. But perhaps Ash was right here, that there was a way to get into these Lanturn's minds. . .he recalled his Psychology classes at Pokemon Tech. . . His mind clicked like a light switch. He snapped his fingers. "Mr. Davis, you have my full support. I can be at the airport in. . ." he checked his watch. . ."three hours. Does that suit you?" "Yes, yes! Oh, praises, thank you! I'll be a-waiting you at Vermilion Airport! Three hours now! Don't you be late!" The videophone went black. Trent would have kicked the damn machine if it weren't his boss'.
"And what exactly do you have in mind?" Ash asked.
Trent turned around, stared at his boss, his lips a thin slash. "That would spoil the surprise, now, wouldn't it?"
VERMILLION AIRPORT 4:02 PM
A moment ago, Trent's plane had passed over the Vermilion beach and he had seen the angry Chinchou. Local authorities had blockaded the beach, and people were trying to get a glimpse of the carnage. As an ambulance wheeled off to carry the injured away. The cadaver of the poor convertible owner was put on a gurney and sent to the morgue. Crying children were asked my the police what had happened. And trainers could only stare in awe as they prepared to exterminate the Chinchou, only to find strength in numbers blew them away.
Trent certainly hoped the odds were with him today as he got off the plane and looked around. He saw Mr. Davis waving his hands frantically, saying "yoo-hoo! Over here, boy!" The entire crowd stared at him, then at Trent. Trent buried his face in his hands and jogged over the fat man.
"Oh, Trent, I am so-"
"Will you shut the hell up?!" Trent whispered through clenched teeth, flecks of spittle jetting out from between them. Davis stopped immediately. Trent continued. "A Pokemon Investigator works incognito-always. Do you understand?"
Davis stared as if Trent had grown an extra head. "I reckon I do, sir."
"Good. I am glad we understand each other." Trent felt the blazing hot anger subside and drift down his gut through his legs and into his toes. He really had to watch his temper, it would get him killed someday. "Take me to your home. And my name is Ray for now."
"As you wish Tr-uh, Ray." He pointed the way to his limousine. "After you."
The ride took a few hours. Vermilion swamp is adjacent to Vermilion City. Like the Mississippi Delta, it flows out into the ocean, where Vermilion city is. A huge festering swamp stretches for miles here. Most people built houses here in the quiet realm of the swamp. There were no cities, no distractions, no noises. There was peace.
Trent observed the houses built around the time of the Civil War, painted blue and white with rotting wood. The sun was concealed by a thick swarm of trees above, and the temperature made him long for a cool drink. He could hear the call of swamp Pokemon in the distance. Slowpoke, Venonat, Yanma, Nincada, pretty much anything that was lazy or made a lot of noise of flapping wings. They finally pulled up to one of the rustic houses. The family was very well-to-do. On the front porch, two children no more than 10 years old reclined and talked. A Meowth lay curled up below them. They all greeted Mr. Davis as soon as he got out.
"Daddy!" the children screamed, followed by their Meowth. They hugged their father's corpulent legs. "Ah, my children, Roy!" he proclaimed. "They'se gonna be trainers like you some day!" Trent felt like bursting out at the very mentioning that he was a trainer, a dream he had given up on long ago, but kept his composure. It would not do to be seen losing his temper.
"Daddy," said the little boy, "is this man gonna fix them dang ol' nasty Lanturn out in the backyard?"
"Son, this here is the best man that all o' Kanto ever did see! I guarantee we'll be back in the yard in no time!"
Trent was led around the house into the backyard. The grass was thick and wet, and made squishing noises as he stomped on it. The sweet smell of foliage and soil enriched his nostrils, sending soothing messages into his brain. He still ached for that drink. When he turned the corner and opened the gate, he nearly did a double-take.
The backyard was a grassy plain that stretched for about 30 yards before coming to a river, the river that flowed into the ocean and became part of the Vermilion City coastline. There was a swimming pool, a gymnasium for the children, a hot tub, a speed boat, and pavilion. And Lanturn. Lots and lots of angry-looking Lanturn.
"Well," said Mr. Davis, "just look at 'em! Nasty little critters! Lying around on my property! Just sitting their! I tried to get my own Pokemon to get these guys out, but man alive, they'se can shock!"
Trent frowned. Battling would not work, of course. There was another way. He grabbed two of his Pokeballs and walked briskly away from the backyard and down the street,
Davis, fat jiggling almost rhythmically, ran to catch up with him. "See here now! Why are you running away?"
"I don't run away," Trent replied gravelly, wiping his brow from the intense heat. "I need to find a secure spot on the river."
"For what?"
"So I can release my friends here. They're my double-agents."
"What on Earth are you talking about boy? This is--"
Trent put his index finger on his lips, a polite way of telling him to shut the hell up. Davis did so. Trent continued his brisk pace, leaving a struggling Davis lagging behind until he came to a spot by the river that was not infested with Lanturn. In the background, he could hear the buzzing of flies and watched a Taillow flutter through the trees. Magikarp floated through the bayou, in search of food.
The Lanturn were nowhere in sight. He pressed the buttons on the Pokeballs and the split open. Two white shafts of light appeared and formed shapes. One became his Tentacruel, the other was a red blob of a Pokemon, with eight suction-cupped arms to bind its enemies into defeat. Octillery.
Trent regarded the two Pokemon as they slithered into the water. He explained his plan. The two nodded, then dove underwater. By now, Davis had come up to him, panting. "Wh-what was that all about? Boy, you told me you'se was gonna take care of them Lanturn."
"It will be handled," Trent said confidently, pulling out a cigarette. "You know, I am thirsty."
"I-I can have my wife get you some drinks, if you'd like that?" Davis asked.
"I'd like that," Trent said, and headed back to the Davis house. It was up to Tentacruel and Octillery now.
They said that if you ever wanted to go to a place where you could swim in crystal clear lakes, look no further than Vermilion. The seaside city was a paradise, every day the St. Anne would come in, sailing majestically through the ocean waves. Little children loved Vermilion beach, which stretched for miles. Golden sand, a clam blue sea, it was the perfect getaway. Today, a pack of college students hollered like a siren as they ran onto the beach, surfboards in hand, to seize the day. They swam and surfed, enjoying the hot sun.
One kid decided it was time to impress the ladies by showing how he could swim "faster than a Dewgong!" as he put it. And indeed he was, for he sped through the waves and reached the buoy in no time flat. He held onto the buoy and waved happily, feeling great triumph for his own success. Then he screamed, a scream so intense that it echoed down the beach for miles. The students stared in awe as the kid out on the boy hollered with pain, then went under the water, hands flailing. By now other people had come over to see what was the matter. One of his friends immediately dove into the water to rescue him. . .and was flung onto the shore as a huge jet of water pummeled him in the stomach from out of nowhere. He fell to the sand and clutched his chest, moaning and panting.
And then they came like an army. Chinchou. Hundreds of them. Each wearing a frown. One of them carried the comatose body of the swimmer. The Chinchou dumped him on the shore, then bellowed. The Chinchou raised their fins, and jets of water spewed from their mouths. They tacked people to the ground and bit them savagely. Screaming people ran for their cars, but some where zapped by the Chinchou's spark attack. One group of Chinchou managed to break down the lifeguard station, demolishing it into a pile of wood. The lifeguard's Poliwrath was overwhelmed by the group and quickly retreated. The Chinchou kept coming out relentlessly, their antennae glowing with electricity.
Some of the men tried punching them and kicking them, but for everyone they hit another hundred took their place. They were shocked into unconsciousness. And they still kept coming out of the sea. The Chinchou proceeded to the parking lot. There, they cracked open windows by ramming them. Children's screams echoed throughout the whole area. One car exploded when the Chinchou overheated the motor with its Spark Attack.. Some were turned over. It seemed impossible, but there was strength in numbers.
A man charged the Pokemon angrily for wrecking his new convertible. Using a stick as a crude weapon, he began swiping at them. Some of them were caught unaware and were hurled by the enraged man. The Chinchou, with black fury rising in their hearts, all fired a Spark at point-blank range. 100,000 volts sent the man flying 20 feet into air, his skin torched to a crisp. He was dead even before he hit the ground.
In one hour, the entire beach was full of angry Chinchou. And they would not leave. Their leader roared in triumph.
Five miles away, a bunch of Mantine attacked a seaside resort. The St. Anne was nearly sunk when a Cloyster pack leapt onboard and began attacking people. And at a beach house near Vermilion, a Seadra clan forced the house's owner to flee when they invaded. It was an all out Pokemon Water rebellion around Vermilion.
INDIGO OFFICES, Wednesday, 12:30 PM
Trent sat in his office, chewing hard on his pastrami sandwich. Lunch break, where he could finally get some rest. He wiped the mayonnaise from his chin and turned the volume up on the TV. The quarterly battle championship was going on, and right now on the Grass Field an adolescent male with a Lickitung was battling an adult female with a Raticate. The latter was darting around the field nimbly on his webbed feet. It crouched among the tall grass, then leapt out and Skull-Bashed Lickitung with the sound like a firecracker going off. Lickitung was startled, but not defeated. It began to spin around, its tongue whirling around a two-feet radius. The Raticate could not get out of the way in time. It cracked like a whip on his flank, and Raticate fell to the ground, the right side of his body paralyzed.
The referee counted to ten, and Raticate did not get up. Lickitung won, and the two Pokemon were returned. The young man and the woman observed this steadily, and then left the stadium. A good trainer never revels in victory, Trent thought, and they don't whine in defeat. He respected their attitude to the outcome. He changed the channel. . . . . .and nearly fell off his chair in surprise. A helicopter was taking live footage of Vermilion Beach, where a bunch of blue and yellow blobs with golden auras around them. Trent squinted. Ah, they were Chinchou. What on Earth were they doing? The reporter announced: ". . .began two hours ago. Three people have been hospitalized, and they have done over thousands of dollars in damage. They will not speak, and shock anyone who comes within yards of them." The scene then showed the St. Anne being attacked by Cloyster, a private resort under the control of some nasty-looking Seadra and Lotad, and a harbor near Vermilion that was overwhelmed with Golduck. All of them had the look of hatred in their eyes. He watched with distaste as some so-called "trainers" tried to fend them off using Electric and Grass Pokemon. Idiots, thought Trent. There's more to Water Pokemon than spitting, well, water. It was almost amusing to see the Pikachus, Treekos, and Flaafys get overwhelmed thinking they could win by type advantage alone. Almost. He turned off the TV and prepared to get back to work. He had to write a field report on his findings of an Omanyte deposit, when the intercom buzzed. He pressed the button and replied with his usual half-hearted "yes?" "Trent, I need to see you." Trent held back a curse. The boss. He took a last sip of coffee before heading out the door.
Inside the office of the famed Pokemon master, Trent saw Mr. Ketchum arguing madly with someone on the phone. He sat at the door and waited for the conversation to finish. He noticed the picture hanging on the wall behind Ash. There was his lovely wife, Misty; their two children held an Oddish and a Bellsprout in their hands. There was Gary Oak, grandson and heir to the legendary Oak estate. Brock, former gym leader, was also seen with his wife and children. And a variety of Ash's friends whom he had accumulated on his journey to this place. Trent used to curse every time he saw such a sight. It only reminded him of. . .her. They could have had children. And many friends. Like Ash here. Ash finally stopped arguing. "Trent," he said, obviously flustered with sweat dripping down his forehead, "I need to talk to Mr. Davis here."
Trent went up to the videophone and saw a middle-aged balding man in a white polyester suit frantically waving himself with a fan. He spoke in a thick Cajun accent. "I do declare," he moaned as he popped a chicken nugget into his mouth, "they done come over here and they taken over my swampland!" Trent grit his teeth. "Calm down, sir," he seethed. "I need you to slow, down, now." Davis wiped the sweat from his brow and continued. "Mr. Williams, you just got to help me! They done taken over my backyard! They chased away all my guests and they ruined my patio! They had-" "Shut up." "Uh, yessir." Trent felt like a little man with a jackhammer was pounding into his brain. "Who did it?" he managed to grit out. "The Lanturn! They is everywhere!" Lanturn? Trent thought. "Sir. . .do you live at Vermilion Swamp?" "Yes! Yes! I heard you'se the best when you come on down and exterminate them rodents! I pay you well, I do! See here!" He held a huge sum of paper bills in front of him and flipped through them as if to tempt him. Trent became glued to the videophone. That money could get him that plasma TV he'd always wanted. He tried to stop from licking his lips. But then he remembered the pathetic attempts to stop the other Vermilion attackers. "Sir, I may have to decline. There are too many of them, and I only have twelve at most."
"Now you listen, here, boy! You wants this here money, you come on down to my bayou and you get rid o'these here Lanturn!" "I don't do extermination jobs, I-" His boss interrupted. "Trent, there are alternatives to fighting." Trent squeezed his fists so hard his fingernails dug into his palms and began to draw blood. He hated every time someone gave him the little speech about fighting. But perhaps Ash was right here, that there was a way to get into these Lanturn's minds. . .he recalled his Psychology classes at Pokemon Tech. . . His mind clicked like a light switch. He snapped his fingers. "Mr. Davis, you have my full support. I can be at the airport in. . ." he checked his watch. . ."three hours. Does that suit you?" "Yes, yes! Oh, praises, thank you! I'll be a-waiting you at Vermilion Airport! Three hours now! Don't you be late!" The videophone went black. Trent would have kicked the damn machine if it weren't his boss'.
"And what exactly do you have in mind?" Ash asked.
Trent turned around, stared at his boss, his lips a thin slash. "That would spoil the surprise, now, wouldn't it?"
VERMILLION AIRPORT 4:02 PM
A moment ago, Trent's plane had passed over the Vermilion beach and he had seen the angry Chinchou. Local authorities had blockaded the beach, and people were trying to get a glimpse of the carnage. As an ambulance wheeled off to carry the injured away. The cadaver of the poor convertible owner was put on a gurney and sent to the morgue. Crying children were asked my the police what had happened. And trainers could only stare in awe as they prepared to exterminate the Chinchou, only to find strength in numbers blew them away.
Trent certainly hoped the odds were with him today as he got off the plane and looked around. He saw Mr. Davis waving his hands frantically, saying "yoo-hoo! Over here, boy!" The entire crowd stared at him, then at Trent. Trent buried his face in his hands and jogged over the fat man.
"Oh, Trent, I am so-"
"Will you shut the hell up?!" Trent whispered through clenched teeth, flecks of spittle jetting out from between them. Davis stopped immediately. Trent continued. "A Pokemon Investigator works incognito-always. Do you understand?"
Davis stared as if Trent had grown an extra head. "I reckon I do, sir."
"Good. I am glad we understand each other." Trent felt the blazing hot anger subside and drift down his gut through his legs and into his toes. He really had to watch his temper, it would get him killed someday. "Take me to your home. And my name is Ray for now."
"As you wish Tr-uh, Ray." He pointed the way to his limousine. "After you."
The ride took a few hours. Vermilion swamp is adjacent to Vermilion City. Like the Mississippi Delta, it flows out into the ocean, where Vermilion city is. A huge festering swamp stretches for miles here. Most people built houses here in the quiet realm of the swamp. There were no cities, no distractions, no noises. There was peace.
Trent observed the houses built around the time of the Civil War, painted blue and white with rotting wood. The sun was concealed by a thick swarm of trees above, and the temperature made him long for a cool drink. He could hear the call of swamp Pokemon in the distance. Slowpoke, Venonat, Yanma, Nincada, pretty much anything that was lazy or made a lot of noise of flapping wings. They finally pulled up to one of the rustic houses. The family was very well-to-do. On the front porch, two children no more than 10 years old reclined and talked. A Meowth lay curled up below them. They all greeted Mr. Davis as soon as he got out.
"Daddy!" the children screamed, followed by their Meowth. They hugged their father's corpulent legs. "Ah, my children, Roy!" he proclaimed. "They'se gonna be trainers like you some day!" Trent felt like bursting out at the very mentioning that he was a trainer, a dream he had given up on long ago, but kept his composure. It would not do to be seen losing his temper.
"Daddy," said the little boy, "is this man gonna fix them dang ol' nasty Lanturn out in the backyard?"
"Son, this here is the best man that all o' Kanto ever did see! I guarantee we'll be back in the yard in no time!"
Trent was led around the house into the backyard. The grass was thick and wet, and made squishing noises as he stomped on it. The sweet smell of foliage and soil enriched his nostrils, sending soothing messages into his brain. He still ached for that drink. When he turned the corner and opened the gate, he nearly did a double-take.
The backyard was a grassy plain that stretched for about 30 yards before coming to a river, the river that flowed into the ocean and became part of the Vermilion City coastline. There was a swimming pool, a gymnasium for the children, a hot tub, a speed boat, and pavilion. And Lanturn. Lots and lots of angry-looking Lanturn.
"Well," said Mr. Davis, "just look at 'em! Nasty little critters! Lying around on my property! Just sitting their! I tried to get my own Pokemon to get these guys out, but man alive, they'se can shock!"
Trent frowned. Battling would not work, of course. There was another way. He grabbed two of his Pokeballs and walked briskly away from the backyard and down the street,
Davis, fat jiggling almost rhythmically, ran to catch up with him. "See here now! Why are you running away?"
"I don't run away," Trent replied gravelly, wiping his brow from the intense heat. "I need to find a secure spot on the river."
"For what?"
"So I can release my friends here. They're my double-agents."
"What on Earth are you talking about boy? This is--"
Trent put his index finger on his lips, a polite way of telling him to shut the hell up. Davis did so. Trent continued his brisk pace, leaving a struggling Davis lagging behind until he came to a spot by the river that was not infested with Lanturn. In the background, he could hear the buzzing of flies and watched a Taillow flutter through the trees. Magikarp floated through the bayou, in search of food.
The Lanturn were nowhere in sight. He pressed the buttons on the Pokeballs and the split open. Two white shafts of light appeared and formed shapes. One became his Tentacruel, the other was a red blob of a Pokemon, with eight suction-cupped arms to bind its enemies into defeat. Octillery.
Trent regarded the two Pokemon as they slithered into the water. He explained his plan. The two nodded, then dove underwater. By now, Davis had come up to him, panting. "Wh-what was that all about? Boy, you told me you'se was gonna take care of them Lanturn."
"It will be handled," Trent said confidently, pulling out a cigarette. "You know, I am thirsty."
"I-I can have my wife get you some drinks, if you'd like that?" Davis asked.
"I'd like that," Trent said, and headed back to the Davis house. It was up to Tentacruel and Octillery now.