XVII
Brutal Swing
The night Simon left Houndoom with Shiri, he caught the last train out of Celadon to Saffron City. It was nearly midnight when he got to Saffron. He had been fortunate to find a room free at the Pokémon Center nearby, and there he crashed into a long and dreamless sleep.
He woke late; the ringing of his cellphone brought him back to the land of the living. He rubbed at his eyes and peered down at his phone. He didn't recognize the phone number but answered it nonetheless.
"Simon speaking," he said, his voice thick.
"Simon Harron," an unfamiliar voice spoke. The man on the other end of the call sounded irritated. "I believe we had an appointment set for an hour ago."
Simon shot up into a sitting position, his eyes falling on the clock on the wall. It was nearly ten in the morning.
"Mr. Kaliber, my apologies," Simon said quickly, pushing himself off the bed. "I shall be at your office within fifteen minutes."
"Better make it ten," the man snapped. The call ended.
Simon let loose a long string of curses as he swiftly changed his shirt, shorts, and socks. He was out the door in record time and tore through the streets of Saffron, jogging as fast as he could.
He was fortunate that the Pokémon Center was not far from Rocket Mall. Once upon a time, the great skyscraper had been the headquarters of Silph Co. After the incident with Team Rocket, the company made plans to move their base. They headquartered in Lavender Town for several years before moving into a large and extremely secure skyscraper in Vermillion City.
After Silph Co. vacated the building, a rich entrepreneur from Unova by the name of Vance Kaliber bought it up and converted it into a multi-story mall. Dozens of stores, many luxury brands, were installed where offices had been. Several of the floors were opened up, allowing for a spacious food court, a roller rink, and an arcade. The final two floors of the building were the offices which ran and oversaw the day-to-day operations of the mall.
Vance Kaliber was the chief executive officer of Rocket Mall. He was also a high-level administrator of Pokémon Labs, Inc. Rocket Mall competed directly with the Celadon Department Store, yet they were essentially owned by the same parent company.
Simon cut through an alleyway and came out on the main street on which Rocket Mall sat. It was known locally as Battle Street. Every day, dozens of street battlers would congregate outside the mall, watching and waiting for pokémon trainers to pass by to challenge. Scrapping with trainers both new and experienced was a common way to make money.
Not a great amount of money. In fact, it was hardly enough to live on, especially given the cost of living in Saffron City. With the number of street battlers around at any given time, one would be lucky to see two or three battles a day. Most trainers carried only pocket change. And not everyone that came to the mall was a trainer in the first place.
Simon tried to keep his eyes on the great glass doors of the mall as he passed by the battlers. A couple called out to him, trying to lure him into a battle, but he pretended not to hear them. Just as he reached the door, he saw in the reflection of the glass a ghost of himself.
A young man stood across the way, leaning on a streetlamp. He had dirty, greasy blond hair down to his shoulders, a creased black t-shirt and torn jeans covering his heavyset frame. He couldn't be older than twenty, but the weariness in his face added years.
Simon's chest ached. He wasn't even sure if that was a real person or part of his imagination—a memory become all too real.
He didn't have a moment to spare, however. He walked into the mall and took the elevator straight to the top. He entered into the receptionist office of Vance Kaliber sweating, unshowered, off-kilter. He was struggling to catch his breath, his chest tight and his heart racing.
The receptionist, a plump young man with rosy cheeks and curly brown hair which hung over his brow in loose ringlets, raised his eyebrows at Simon. He sat leaning against his desk, his chin propped up on his hand. He wore silver rings on each of his fingers. "Um, you good?" he asked in a high, attractive voice.
"Quite alright," Simon said, taking in a deep breath. "I'm here to see Mr. Kaliber. I had an appointment."
"Oh, you," the young man said flatly. "You're lucky he's still going to see you. Anyone else would be turned away if they showed up as late as you."
"Of course," Simon said tightly.
Hitting a button on the phone console beside him, the young man said, "He's here."
"Send him in," came the terse reply. The young man looked at Simon and nodded toward the frosted glass door to his right, making no effort to stand.
Simon passed through the door into a spacious office. Bookshelves lined the walls, the thick spines all matching each other. Vance Kaliber sat behind a weighty mahogany desk, sipping at an espresso in a fine porcelain cup. His black eyes met Simon's immediately, planting Simon on the spot.
"Marlena tells me you're her best man," he said neutrally.
"I'm not really the one to judge that," Simon said.
Vance Kaliber scoffed, setting his espresso cup down. "Well, I've seen you in action myself. Despite your lack of punctuality today, you do seem to be halfway reliable." He stood, moved from behind his desk, and gestured to the low table set with a pair of fine leather couches. "Do have a seat."
Simon breathed out and sat down. Vance Kaliber sat down across from him, sitting forward, his back stock-straight. He was a thin man, with a smooth, angular face. His brown hair was cropped short, his face clean-shaven. He looked younger than his fifty or so years. Like Marlena, not a hair or thread was out of place on his person or on his fitted black suit.
"Marlena tells me you'll be doing a distribution," Simon said.
"Oh, yes, indeed," Vance Kaliber responded. "We do them rather often here. We've never had an issue. No, that's not the reason I've asked you to come here."
Simon narrowed his eyes. "Then why am I here?"
"I have recently hired on a new catcher, but he needs…" he trailed off for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "He needs in-depth field training from a seasoned expert. From what I've seen, you are just the man to show him the way."
"Training," Simon repeated incredulously. "I don't really do that."
"Well, you are today," Vance Kaliber said. He stood and called out, "Verity, come in."
The receptionist passed through the door, his arms folded over his chest. Standing, he was quite short. He glanced between Vance Kaliber and Simon, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.
"My son," Vance Kaliber said to Simon in explanation. "He's been looking for any opportunity to get out of this office. I imagine he will find this excursion exhilarating."
Simon glanced to Verity, catching a subtle roll of his eyes. Something told Simon that Verity did not ask for this.
"With all due respect to you and your son, sir, I am not a babysitter."
Vance Kaliber's jaw tightened for a moment before a cold smile spread over his lips. "And Verity is not a baby. He is a twenty-year-old man. And my newest catcher. But fear not, I will make it worth your while, Mr. Harron. I will double your usual wage."
Simon wished the mention of more money held no interest for him; he had long enjoyed financial stability ever since he joined Pokémon Labs, Inc. But a former rich boy who had endured a brief yet intense period of real poverty could not look upon money trivially. He remembered the ghost from his past he spotted on the street and a chill ran down his spine. Simon should have gotten up and walked out of the office; he should have refused Vance Kaliber's offer and thrown it back in his face. But he didn't.
What was it that stopped him? Fear. Weakness. Possibly even greed. And of course the old practice that was pounded into him in childhood to want to please anyone of consequence.
Perhaps it was a fitting punishment, then, that Simon found himself walking through Battle Street with Verity ranting and raving about his father and a new capture target to find and contain.
"When I said I wanted out of the office," Verity said, starting the moment the two of them were in the elevator and out of Vance Kaliber's hearing, "I meant something, like, actually fun? I've got a good eye for business, you know. Dad could have given me one of the actual stores in the mall to oversee. You know we have a Boutique Couture? The only one in Kanto! And sure, it's a Kalosian company, but I can actually speak Kalosian, you know, and I'm sure I know their selections better than any of their actual sales people. This blouse is from there, isn't it grand? And you see these loafers? Also from Boutique Couture, although I imported these from the original store in Lumiose City. They never have a great selection of shoes here. It's almost always boots, and never any heels. You think Kantoans would want a nice heel. If I ran that store, I'd make sure they got plenty of heels in."
Simon felt a pressure behind his eyes begin to build. "Verity, do you have a pokémon?" he asked, breaking in through the waterfall of chatter.
"Oh, yeah," he said, his interest and animation dropping. He held up a special sort of poké ball, the top half coated in rose gold and the bottom in white gold. "Father gave this little thing to me for my birthday. It's cute, I guess. I'm not really into the whole pokémon thing, though. It can be so messy, and I'm definitely an indoors sort of person. A businessman."
"That's fine," Simon broke in again, wishing to avoid another outpouring about the fashion business. "What pokémon do you have?"
Verity pursed his lips, then tossed the ball into the air with a flick of his wrist. A sylveon emerged from the ball, landing gracefully on small paws. She looked up at Simon, mewing softly. Despite the situation, Simon smiled. "She's beautiful."
Verity shrugged. "Yeah, it's cute. I don't really know what to do with it, so I've never trained it. Makes for a nice pet, I guess. Dad did tell me it's good for battles, but I don't like battles or pokémon training."
Simon fought the urge to grimace and kept his gaze on Sylveon. The bizarre urge to don his catcher glove and steal her away came over him. The glove felt warm in his pocket, as if beckoning him. He was almost certain Verity wouldn't even care.
"Trainer!" a voice called to them. Simon and Verity both looked to the owner of the voice: a tall, lanky woman grinning with determination. "Come on, let's have a battle."
"I'm no trainer," Verity said, returning Sylveon to her ball. "But this one is." He bumped Simon with his hip.
The trainer turned her gaze on Simon, a poké ball in her hand. "Alright then, you."
Simon glowered, although his anger was for Verity. "No, thank you," he said flatly.
"Trainer code says you can't turn down a battle," the trainer replied. She released a rhyperior onto the street; the large pokémon blocked the way, and behind Simon and Verity, another trainer had approached. Curious eyes glanced their way, and some people slowed their walk or stopped entirely to watch the match that was brewing.
Simon's stomach twisted into knots. He hadn't stopped sweating from his dash to Rocket Mall, but now the sweat turned cold, sending chills down his back. "I-I don't really…"
Verity shoved Simon forward, causing him to stumble. When Simon righted himself, he turned on Verity with a glare, but saw a perverse sense of enjoyment in Verity's dark eyes. "Come on, Mr. Simon Harron, you're supposed to be training me. Show me how a real Labs catcher battles."
"Harron?" the challenger trainer repeated, her blond eyebrows raising. "You're not related to the Circhester—" Simon didn't allow her to finish her question. His own anger boiling over, he snatched the ridiculous poké ball out of Verity hand's and released Sylveon onto the battlefield.
Verity's eyes widened, but he didn't protest. Simon squared his shoulders, planted his feet, and allowed himself to be lost in anger. That, at least, would keep the anxiety at bay. He didn't know exactly what moves Sylveon had, but he didn't have to. If Vance Kaliber had given this pokémon to Verity, she was in all likelihood a developed pokémon.
Which meant she had one move all developed pokémon had.
"Sylveon," Simon called out, his voice rusty and distant in his own ears, "Shadow Rush."
Despite being a small fraction of the size of the rhyperior, Sylveon lacked any sense of intimidation. At the command, she braced her small, lithe body. Her eyes seemed to dim, as if the pokémon was disappearing inside of herself, and a subtle violet glow came over her body. Then she rushed forward, moving at a remarkable speed. Rhyperior could do nothing to avoid the attack, as Sylveon was upon him in the blink of an eye. She slammed directly into his armored midsection. A normal attack would have bounced off, but Shadow Rush was no normal attack. Upon impact, the violet glow transferred from Sylveon to Rhyperior. His armor could do nothing against the attack. He was tossed backward, buckled, and fell to the ground.
The crowd which had been growing grew silent. Rhyperior's trainer gasped, her eyes bugging out as watched her great pokémon fall. Even Verity was stunned into silence.
Sylveon did not come away from the attack unscathed; she stumbled, but stayed on her feet, her eyes still unfocused and distant. At this sight, all the anger and irritation Simon felt immediately melted, replaced by shame. He returned her to her ball as the challenger trainer approached Simon. She dug into her pockets for a wad of bills, but Simon held up a hand. "Don't worry about it."
She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "But you won. It's only fair."
"I didn't want to battle in the first place." He turned away from her as she shrugged, and he shoved Sylveon's ball back into Verity's hands. "I'll assume that was a satisfactory demonstration," he said coolly. Verity only nodded in response. Simon glanced at the remaining spectators, many of them shocked at the display. He saw several people with their phones in their hands. Bad sign. The Shadow attacks were meant to be secret, and now several people had footage of one.
Simon was close to a panic, and he exhausted what little willpower he had left to maintain himself. He grabbed Verity by the arm and marched him toward an alley, putting as much distance between himself and Battle Street as possible.