Here it is: an early update with another chapter installment. This chapter and the next are both critical, since I am about to splay most of the story's holes and questions within their contents. Yes, even the littlest details are important, since they could come back much later in the story.
This installment's disclaimer is identical to the previous chapter. I claim ownership to this fan-fiction work and this fan-fiction work alone.
Now, tally on and read. Please submit a review once you have finished; suggestions are still welcome.
THE GENETICIST'S NOTEBOOK
By A.G.M. Mendelssohn, 2005, 2006
Chapter Three
Change of Point-of-View—2:23 A.M, Residence of the Narrator
I'll be perfectly honest with you—I've had better nights. I don't know if it was because of the anxiety that loomed over my chest or the bad combination of caffeine and spacial nausea earned by riding several vehicles at dangerous speeds, but I can tell you this much: sleep didn't come easily for me on this particular evening. Normally, I would just hop onto the mattress, crawl underneath the comforter, and I would be out in less than two minutes. On this evening, however, I rocked back and forth beneath my bed sheets, unable to find a comfortable spot upon which I could welcome what my mother had always called "Clefairy-land slumber." My breathing was shallow and labored, and my forehead was thick with sweat—it was as if someone had turned the thermostat way up before I went to bed. Even the abnormal silence of the city streets couldn't lull me to a peaceful rest—quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. It made me feel quite alone, more vulnerable to some unknown enemy hiding in the nearby shadows…and of course it didn't help ease the stress that I felt at the moment. Scattered thoughts swirled around my head, and indefinable voices whispered nonstop in my ears…
Nobody likes to be uncompassionate to a lady in tears…always remember that, Jenny…
Welcome to the Viridian Police Department…I am happy to see you join us today…
The Lunar Theory remains today the most controversial topic of scientific study…
Has the IBI taken care of this Frederick Becket? Is Redhill the new executive…?
I'm sorry, Lieutenant Jennifer…your father was killed in a riot in Celadon…
The capsules mustn't fall into the wrong hands…and if they do…!
Where is Chief Bluefield? Call the IBI, immediately…!
Damn forty-eight-hour shifts…
Where am I?
My thoughts refocused in a heartbeat, and my visuals were slightly blurred, skewed by some sort of light in the distance. A few blinks of my eyelids told me I was in a strange place—a place that was most certainly not my bedroom. I quickly sat up in my bed…actually, not my bed, but a bench, upright and rigid and made out of some sort of stone. I nervously glanced at the space around me. I was sitting against the wall of a large circular room…everything made of the same granite that I sat on. It somewhat reminded me of those ancient temples I had frequently seen on television documentaries, with the massive pillars, torches, floors, and the high-arched ceiling. It was hazy and surreal, and the only source of light was upon a small pedestal resting in the center of the room, glowing with bright dynamic.
Is this a dream? It must be…
Odd…as I squinted towards the light, the anxiety that had previously throbbed through my mind seemed to…melt. Vanish. The glow was subtle, but it was not an eerie sort of light. It was more like the welcoming aura felt by a burning fireplace, a warming feeling that soothed away the troubles of life…a peaceful sight. I breathed a calming breath. I was safe—but not for long.
A figure stood near the pedestal of light, garbed in a monk's robe, and stooping over slightly, as if in reverence. Hands clasped as if in prayer, the figure approached the pedestal, unhurried yet seemingly eager in a quiet anticipation. But this quiet anticipation was one of a foreboding sense…evil intentions lingered near. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. This monk was up to no good.
Soon reaching the source of the light, I saw the cloaked individual raise his right hand. Muttering undistinguishable words under his breath, he lowered his hand…and the light was gone. It was quenched quickly and violently, like a candle. A sigh disappointment welled up within my chest, and all my anxieties came rushing back. As darkness closed in, a scream of anguish bellowed forth…I shut my eyes, turning my head from the sight. For a while I kept them closed, unwilling to stare upon the terrible darkness that reigned all around, the wailing plaguing my ears. It wasn't until the tortured cries began to fade that I thought it safe to open my eyes…
The dream had changed. I was no longer in the temple. Instead, I was staring at a small, round table, delicately set with a white cloth. There were several vases, prettily decorated with different colors, the insides holding flowers of many varieties, several lupines, roses, and other types. A crystal bowl rested in the center of the table, sparkling slightly by a ray of light shining through it. As serene this may sound, what was in the bowl wasn't nearly as placid. In fact, it pretty much ruined the entire sight.
Within the bowl laid a tiny Cyndaquil, curled up and deathly silent, its mouth slightly open. A silver knife was lodged into its head, the flowing trickle of blood refusing to ebb, filling and staining the crystal bowl with a rusty red…. I held my stomach and tore my eyes from the horrific scene, instead looking towards the sky.
My eyes met the face of the moon. There were no other stars in the sky, just the single nighttime orb, shining a pale glow that sent shivers into my spine. The moon's eyes stared upon the earth with a sad and craving gaze, a mournful smile upon its inhabitants. It was detached and lonely, and its lips had an air of a passionate secret. A secret it so badly wished to tell…but could not, for fear of a violent demise… Shadows loomed on the world below, and a Mew flew by the moon, throwing it a glance of haughtiness and smug pride, as if it were happy of the moon's painful and desirous anguish. The moon's secret involved the catlike creature, and the Pokémon was more than glad to keep it hidden. For if the moon ventured too close to the world, even to whisper the truth it retained, the earth would not live to see another day—destruction would befall upon the land, for the moon would come to stunning crash, an apocalyptic impact…
The Mew floated away into the distance, leaving the moon by itself in its silent lament. I watched this peculiar vision in awed interest, thrown by the realistic sadness painted on the moon's face…yet all a dream? What could this possibly mean…?
It took a moment to realize that I was not alone—there was something nearby, watching me as I had watched the moon. I returned my gaze to the table with the dead Cyndaquil…but it had gone. A Vulpix was there instead, sitting on its haunches, staring casually at me with curious eyes, the grayish moonlight upon its reddish fur. Each of its tails at rest, the little fox stared at me and nothing else, examining me closely as if I were the most interesting thing the world had to offer (of course, everyoneknows that isn't true). It cocked its head wryly, studying me at every angle, the presence of a human apparently a rare and previously unknown occurrence.
I shook my head, wearily rubbing my eyes. When I looked upon the Vulpix again, it had gone away, a Meganium in its place. It was not staring at me as the fox had, but it was examining something that rested at its feet, a solemn expression on its face. The flower-like pedals around its neck drooped in a wilted state, and the antennae on its head were bent into a broken position. The creature overall looked like an aging plant about to die back into the ground, surrendering to a heavy and morbid death. Wondering what it was that made the Pokémon so somber, look so old, I peered closely at the object…
It…it was an officer's cap, crumpled in a heap…how strange. Unusual, I thought. Highly unusual…
A rush of wings filled the night air. The Meganium looked up, and with a panicked yet silent squeal, leapt back the way it came, into the forest and out of sight. I, however, turned to see what had made such a sound. I gaped at what I saw—another Pokémon. Mystical and dragon-like, wings beating a majestic rhythm, I bore into the eyes of a massive Dragonite. Not a ferocious face, either. It had a friendly sort of character on its snout, and it greeted me with a happy smile—a tad creepy, I may add. It sustained a humble bow in my direction, as if allowing me to climb upon its back. I looked around uneasily, wondering how much more of this dream world I would have to encounter, and climbed onto the dragon's back. At once, it took flight into the sky, gracefully cutting through the silent space. It soared over the earth that slept below, the sad and secret moon overhead, above the clouds and rain. It was an odd experience—quietness all around, yet the flight felt so…real—beyond a dreamlike state. I could almost feel the wind in my hair, the biting coolness of the dark air as we past over the still forest.
Eventually, the Dragonite began to sweep downwards, swooping low into the thick trees of the woodland. It soon came to a stop at a small clearing, bending forward once more so I could disembark. I climbed off the dragon, and immediately it departed into the air without another glance.
I raised my hand slightly; I didn't want it to go, to leave me here alone in this forest. But it was too late, for the Dragonite had already gone.
A slight rustling to the left caught my sight. Nestled amongst the bases of the trees, the Meganium and Vulpix had returned. They paid me no attention, for they seemed to be conversing over a serious a matter, as if the whole world depended on the outcome of their discussion. The Vulpix's muzzle uttered words I could not hear; the Meganium replied in an equally muted sound. I began to grow frustrated at my lack of hear, straining to listen to words that I knew wouldn't come.
Quite abrasively and unexpectedly, a horrible screech dug into my ears. I wrapped my arms around my head…and when I looked again…the Vulpix and Meganium were no more—they laid lifelessly on their sides, a vacant expression on their faces. I swallowed the urge to cry out and instead tried to approach the corpses…but something stopped me.
The ground had become unstable…I was rooted fast to the soil. The earth seemed to have taken on a substance like mud, or quicksand. I issued a scream…I was sinking fast into the loamy vein, the world consuming my body as it had to many others…Terror gripped at my heart as I breathed my last…
But no…the sinking had stopped. A hand of some sort had halted my progress into the earth. I felt myself being pulled out from the adhesive trap, slowly being torn away from the world that would have been my downfall….
The hands set me back onto to the stable land. Grasping my chest, I looked up to mutter some sort of gratitude to my rescuer…
A Typhlosion stood before me, gazing into the sky with quiet eyes.
I followed its stare to the heavens—the moon, as pale and sad as it had always been.
Strange…it appeared to be closer that I had initially thought it to be…oh, no….
Could it be? Was the moon…?
Falling…coming closer and closer to the earth.
It would kill us all…
Terror returned to my throat as I shielded my eyes, bracing for the devastating impact…
But it had gone…the whole dream world had gone. I was alone once more, darkness all around…
I was back in my bed, safe beneath the covers; the dream faded to a mesh of blurs…. My eyes opened, and I stared with owlish comprehension at the ceiling, sweating profusely, my pulse settling back to its natural pace.
Is it over?
Despite the fact my neck was sore and my spine felt like it was twisted to unnatural proportions, I sat up from where I laid, wincing from the stiff discomfort. I kneaded my eyes wearily, taking slow and careful breaths. When my heartbeat had returned to normal, I pulled myself out of the bed, unable to return back to sleep. I paced around the room for awhile, thinking.
A Dragonite…a Vulpix…a Meganium…the moon…. Thoughts bounced around my head. What was this all about? I hadn't had a nightmare like this since I was a little girl, growing up in Cerulean City. It was rather disturbing, the images that used to creep across my mind's eye. They appeared to be serene for one moment, and then, with a blink of an eye, it was a vision of impending doom. Well, at least my mother and father was alive back then, to bring me comfort after thesenightmares had settled…
Fresh air blew softly in through my open window, and it made me feel a bit better. There're just dreams, I told myself. Meaningless visions. They cannot hurt you. It'll be best if you just try to forget about them...
Sliding on a bathrobe and a pair of Azumarill slippers—a birthday present from my sister—I opened my bedroom door and made my way downstairs to the kitchen, subconsciously tapping the walls as I climbed down the stairway. I threw up many thoughts to distract myself: I silently congratulated myself on the wise investment for this house; it only cost a half million Pen for the fireproof lining, so I would never have to worry about waking up to a nasty billow of smoke, ash, and flame. The redesigned flooring and waterproof furniture and appliances came pretty cheap as well, or so my tax agent told me. Obviously I had treated myself with the Platinum Pyrite 4000 wall-screen television, as well as the leather-bound sofa and the carpet imported from eastern Orre. Not that I could go crazy with my expenditures, of course, since my salary as an officer failed to cover all my daily finances. After all, I still had several loans to pay off to the Corporation of National Finances, and they've recently taken to knocking on my door for a good old-fashioned audit.
As I stepped onto the linoleum of the kitchen, Growlithe, who was lying down by the main entrance, perked up with a look of interest, surprised to see his trainer up so early in the morning.
"Growlth?" He questioned concernedly.
"It's all right." I reassured him. "I'm fine. I just didn't get a very good night's rest, that's all."
"Lithe." Evidently worried, he stood up from his relaxed position and followed me into the kitchen.
I clicked the nearby light switch, the reliable solar energy efficiently filling the room. Opening a cupboard, I plucked a jar of coffee from a shelf. The ancient phenomenon of remedial comfort, I thought, pouring the whole lot into the instant coffeemaker.
Tossing the can away in a recycle bin, I picked up yesterday's newspaper that was folded on the cherry-wood table, hoping to find something to distract my mind from my recent night terror.
The headlines of the Viridian Paradise Times emblazed across the top of the paper: "Prime Minister Nero Criticizes Johto President Tartuffe." Bah, again with Nero and Tartuffe? I dropped the paper back onto the table. A little rift between the two officials didn't really matter anyway; the Kanto, Johto, and Orange Isle regions had become an unbreakable alliance ever since the infamous and bloody Rocket Empirical War. If the history books are accurate, the three regions joined to overthrow a certain tyranny that threatened a great portion of the world. This tyranny was known as the Rocket Empire, a powerful nation that had captured and enslaved many surrounding regions for well over six hundred years. Apparently, those were some dark days, as technology and social development fell into a slump, kind of like the so-called Dark Ages of the Old Timeline. Anyway, the people of the Kanto, Johto, and Orange Isles gathered together a great number of troops and powerful Pokémon. They united and overtook the Empire's excruciating armies, and Emperor Stern found himself forced to resign his authority. From that moment forward, those three regions were known as "The Trio of Celebi," since their brave actions had basically reversed the times of tyrannical captivity, freeing half of the world as we know it. Nowadays, though the government decays and politicians become corrupted, I highly doubt that the people of Kanto, Johto, and the Orange Isles will break away from a millennium of social unity—Regional Pokémon Tournaments and Contests are a big sign of that.
Of course, despite the fall of the Empire, many loyalists of Emperor Stern still existed, all the way up to this day. Like the Trio of Celebi, they also joined together as one group, though their numbers were somewhat depleted. They continued their cruel and ambitious projects underground, away from the prying eyes of the law…thus the birth of Team Rocket. A living remnant of their Empire's dying glory, as well as a pain in every law enforcement's side in the world. They've come on and off over the centuries, performing everything from petty crime to full-fledged terrorism. They've made their name well known—these days, everyone would recognize the phrase "Team Rocket," and if you didn't, you would be branded as a socially inept Dunsparce.
But I've got to stop this lecturing; I sound like a Saffron University Professor, for crying out loud…how incredibly silly of me. That's what I get from watching too much of the History Channel.I glanced outside the kitchen window. Darkness was all around, with shadows on the various lampposts, most of their bulbs burnt out. I checked on my coffee—it was still brewing, frothing black and thick into the clear-glass pot.
I noticed my authoritarian Poké gear was still lying on the kitchen counter. A sudden thought returned to me: contact the IBI, and report the entire Laboratory incident before it is too late. Team Rocket could be behind this, for all we know. The world could be at stake… I checked the clock—it was almost three in the morning. A part of me commanded to wait until the daylight hours, to avoid calling at such an absurd time, yet another part of me urged that now was the time, and this report could not wait another hour, or minute. I sighed, finally deciding I just might as well do this now and get it over with.
I picked up my Poké gear, flipping over its screen and activating the power. Now let's see...ah, selection-number nine: For Confidential Use Only. I couldn't suppress a quiet smile—confidential use indeed, seeing as it was the actual telephone link to the IBI central headquarters. For me, it was a big incentive for maintaining an authoritarian status for several years without a single mess-up or unprofessional incident (I won't mention the wrecked motorcycle earlier this evening). Only a handful of officers ever received this link, and not even my sister had this sort of power in the police force. Apparently, Bluefield decided her record wasn't as clean as mine was—that was the Pokémon Center incident, of course.
In the past, almost every cop in the world had access to the communications line of the International Bureau of Investigations, stored underneath selection nine on their Poké gear. But ever since the Celadon Charge Crisis and the onslaught of rampant callers it brought, the IBI enforced every single police department in Kanto, Johto, and everywhere else to limit the number of users to a small and private selection: the Chief and one officer of his or her choosing. Seeing as half the IBI's receptionists were about to cut their ears off, it was for a good reason. Besides, the over-distribution of their communications link resulted in a bit gaping hole in their security, leaving them wide open to an attack from underground organizations such as Team Rocket. For discretion's sake, that whole crisis forced the IBI to relocate several times before it was finally safe to show their faces again. Yeah, there was really no safe haven—what a mess that was.
So, nowadays, only the most trustworthy and cleanest of officers would be able to contact the agency (I being one of them), in order to avoid the troubles they had faced in the past. And jeez, did they have times of hell! But alas, that account in itself is a whole different story…
I entered number nine on the Accessories Selection. At once, the screen refreshed itself, changing into a blue background with further instructions on the front: "To confirm the authenticity of the user and the security of the requested agency, please enter your eighteen-digit identification number. Please recheck the accuracy of your number before striking the enter key, or else, for security purposes, this function will be instantly disabled." I carefully tapped each number into the mini-computer, slowly reciting the series over and over in my head. A single error would permanently deny me access to the IBI, so I took my time entering the digital code. As you can clearly see, the Identification Confirmation Security was upgraded a great deal ever since the Celadon Charge Crisis. No chances were being taken this time around.
After locking in the last digit and rechecking the number several times, I pressed the enter key. The screen refreshed once more: "Number Valid—you are Officer Jennifer of 154 Morfic Avenue, Viridian City, Kanto." I frowned slightly at the misprint of my family's name as more text appeared: "Your call will be processed through several undisclosed governmental satellites and sent through several cities before the connection is established. This will prevent you call from being traced and/or intercepted. Your identification and the agency's security are ensured."
I activated the earpiece of the Poké gear as various mechanical sounds whined in the background. I sat on the kitchen counter, somewhat apprehensively awaiting the sound of an IBI receptionist. Growlithe, meanwhile, appeared to be pacing the linoleum floor with a nervous stride, a subtle whimpering from his throat. He seemed to be troubled, deeply bothered by something unseen, as if trying to track down a scent he had just recently lost. Evidently not finding what he was looking for in the kitchen, the Pokémon left the area without ever taking his eyes and nose from the ground, moving on to the den. That's unusual, I thought, Growlithe has never acted this way, never looked this disturbed. I wonder what's bothering him…?
"This is the International Bureau of Investigations," announced a tinny voice on the other end of the line, "receiving a call sent by Officer Jennifer of Viridian City, Kanto. May you please confirm who is speaking on your line?"
My wondering thoughts instantly disappeared. "This is Officer Jenny," I said, making sure to emphasize my name correctly, "who sent this call to the IBI in regards to the particular events that took place earlier this evening."
"Very well," said the voice, badly riddled with static. "Please pardon the reception of the call, as our satellites are undergoing interference due to the increasing amounts of television signals."
"That is fine." I dismissed the makeshift apology. "I just called to tell you—"
"Please state your business with International Bureau of Investigations." The voice plowed on as if I hadn't even spoken. "A brief report will suffice, so that we will make an appropriate dispatch if the situation calls for such."
I paused, taken quite aback by the receptionist's impolite professionalism. "Well," I began, categorizing my thoughts before speaking. "I was calling to place one of our Department's investigations under your authority. It involves the murder of the world-renowned Andrew Thomas Pine—"
"Andrew…Thomas…Pine…" repeated the voice. I could hear the rapid tapping of a keyboard as he spoke. "A geneticist sponsored by the Kanto Federal Government, also a gracious donator of Chansey to all Pokémon Centers, a winner of the Nobel Prize of Science, and a suspect in the Triple C incident…hereby dead?"
"Um…yes," I stated somewhat uncertainly, since the voice was moving along very speedily. "I am also reporting a break-in of the Viridian Genetic Research Facility. There is a potential theft of DNA specimens and—"
"Ooh, a break-in of the Viridian DNA Laboratory? The one that the Kanto Government has provided funds for over the last twenty years? The one holding the most prominent line of genetic research? Broken into, did you say?"
"Yes, and…"
"It is a good thing you called," completed the receptionist, the sound of the keyboard heavy now. "If what you say is true, this will be on every news channel you can think of. Especially since that whole mess we had several years ago with Celadon City, it's good to know that Blue…uh…your Chief has the humility to accept help from higher professionals. Redhill will be pleased."
"That's nice," I replied, wishing I had an easy opportunity to report everything I needed to say without being cut off every few seconds. "Also, I—"
"Missing DNA specimens would probably be linked to our long-standing case…our boss had always called it the 'Experiment.'" The voice raced at a speed that would have put a Rapidash to shame. "Quite a private investigation it is, seeing as only a few people on our agency actually know what it's all about. This'll get a big stir if this leaks out to the press. Ah, whatever. Our boss won't be too fussed about it, seeing as half the material the media reports is fictional gibberish anyway. Now what were you saying?"
I took a deep breath. "I was about to tell you the description of the murderers' getaway vehicles, since I was the only witness of their escape. They were a bunch of helicopters—"
"The connection is breaking up," interrupted the voice, as the digital hissing began overpowering the sound system. "That is all I need to hear. We have the perfect agent for this sort of scenario. Actually, he is the only agent we have for this sort of scenario, and he's been a valuable asset to our organization over the last couple of decades—more importantly, he can't be replaced. We will dispatch him to your police department as soon as possible. Please expect a visit from him; you can tell him your entire story. His name is L—"
Crick.
The voice was cut off abruptly, leaving nothing but meaningless static.
"What?" I asked, raising my voice unnecessarily, even though I knew it was no good. "What's the agent's name? The name…? Hello?" I waited a few moments, and allowed the buzz to continue in my ear. Finally, I grimaced, lowering the earpiece. "Aw, forget it."
I shut off the power on my Poké gear, tossing it back on the kitchen counter. Oh, well. I'll figure it all out soon enough. I mean, a name's not all that important, is it? Yawning with a weary strain, I stretched my arms and shoulders left and right, ridding the fatigue from my body. Seeing that my coffee was done, I removed the pot from the appliance, pouring a cupful into a chipped mug.
I opened the refrigerator, and searched for something to munch on. I moved aside the contents of the storage space—a leftover Farfetch'd, a bowl of Shellder-and-Kingler chowder, some Miltank milk, and several jars of preserves dating back who knows when—until I settled upon a bottle of green olives ("Pure, fresh, and organically grown in the Mediterranean Regions!"). Closing the fridge, I took the jar along with my mug of coffee into the den, where the television was.
I set my post-midnight snack on the coffee table. Now, where was the remote…? Ah, there. Over three thousand channels awaited me on the big screen, recently installed into the west wall of the living room. I settled down into the leather sofa, turning on the Pyrite.
I sipped my caffeine-laden drink for a half-hour or so, watching random programs on different networks. Believe it or not, there was a significant lack of entertainment in anything I watched. Not even the documentaries or news channels could keep me interested, though I did see several (different) reports on the break-in of the Viridian Genetic Research Facility. One claimed that Andrew Wine (a serious misspelling his last name) committed suicide by jumping off the research building. Another insisted that the government had personally sent for Pine's assassination. A third decided to say that Pine was poisoned by his long-lost twin brother (I'll tell you now that Pine didn't have a brother), jealous of his fame and wanting to steal the glory all for himself. A fourth was perhaps the most amusing of all: apparently, Andrew Pine was eating a crumble-berry cake at his workstation and choked on a berry. Rushing around in panic, he accidentally fell off the roof into the parking lot. I won't even begin describing the holes that report contained, but I'll leave it at this: they had a personal interview with Andrew Pine's corpse, asking stupid questions as if he could respond.
I changed the channel…a replay of the Tonight Show with Erika Amaryllis. I paused, my finger over the remote.
"So, are the rumors true, Samuel?" asked Erika. "I've gotten tips from reliable sources saying you're going to be retiring one of these days…"
The white-haired professor smiled. "Well…" he began, "perhaps I will. It isn't a definite decision. But this whole Lunar Theory Controversy may put a dent in my years."
"Like the Saffron Lions did to the Cerulean Waterflowers?" prompted Erika with a wry look.
Apparently, this was a joke regarding to baseball. The audience bellowed in tremendous laughter—I could see at the top of the screen a gigantic sign that read "Laugh."
I grimaced, switching the station. No wonder Erika's ratings were going down.
"It's time to play…" announced a voice, "THE MONEY DEAL! Win fabulous prizes ranging from ONE BILLION PEN to a single half-Pen. With your host, Clint Coleman!" The audience applauded as some good-looking, handsome guy walked on the stage.
I clicked the remote several times, jumping to several different channels.
"Next week, on Pride and Prejudice…"
"Pikachu will love you more if you buy our products…CONSUME!"
"The Ninetales's Curse has proven to be this year's Best Overall Program on DNT, PLM, DNM, and NBC. Truly it is worthy of an Emmy…"
"And so, the bus was tagged out, but poor Jimmy would never walk again…"
"Othello has killed…Othello will kill again…"
"TURN OFF THAT DAMN CAMERA! NO MORE COVERAGE! GET OUT OF MY FACE, YOU—!"
A familiar voice startled me, causing me to drop the remote and almost my coffee. I stared at an enormous close-up of Chief Bluefield's red complexion. His eyes were practically bulging from their sockets.
"Mr. Bluefield," ventured a brave reporter. "Would you believe it to be wise to contact a more professional agency to investigate the tragic murder of André Pintip—?"
"A HIGHER AUTHORITY WILL BE CONTACTED IF NECESSARY!" shouted the portly Chief. "THIS CASE IS GOING ALONG JUST FINE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, AND I DON'T NEED TO HAVE CAMERAS SHOVED IN MY FACE DURING THE PROCEEDINGS! WE'RE GOING TO CLOSE THIS CASE AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE, AND IF MY WIFE COOPERATES, WE'LL HAVE THE DEATH SENTENCE ON THIS VICIOUS MURDERER WITHIN A WEEK'S TIME! NOW, GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!"
The camera rolled around a bit, and a large door suddenly appeared in front of the screen.
"You heard it here, folks," the reporter said to the camera, her name entitled Frieda Cunningham. "Obviously Yosemite Bluefield is disturbed over the tragic death of André Pill…sorry, I mean Alex Pin. His whole reputation rides over the single truth yet to be revealed: Will he apprehend the murderer, or will he look like a complete idiot like he just did no more than ten seconds ago? Only time will tell. I am Frieda Cunningham, of the CNN."
Looks like Bluefield's taking a beating, I mused. He's too proud to contact the IBI…but I already saved him the trouble. It'll probably be better for him, anyway. Another episode like that and his coronary heart disease could catch up to him. Winifred Bluefield would be devastated…
Picking up the remote, I changed the station once more.
The History Channel showed black-and-white images, drifting across the monitor. "The House of McClancy remains today the longest surviving family line in all of history…"
I paused, somewhat interested.
"They are a family that has wandered on both sides of the law. One generation they are a family of charity and generosity, another they are a proud and indifferent clan. In one generation, they prove to be able politicians, aspiring leadership and unity amongst the community. In another generation, they are cruel and barbarous tyrants possibly linked to Team Rocket and the Celadon Charge Crisis, striking fear into everyone's hearts. Indeed, they are a family of diversity. In fact, it is rumored that they have survived the ages as far back as to the days of the Old Timeline, but historians have not found any reliable records of this being true…"
I found my eyes drooping, despite the excess amounts of caffeine in my system.
"The first McClancy probably adopted the last name for security purposes. He was christened the name Adam Morrison, but by providing valuable information on a murder, he was placed under witness protection and had his name changed to Theodore McClancy. This was probably four to five thousand years ago…"
The pale glow from the television screen was lulling me to sleep.
"But then…the great fire of…it was the most horrible year for the McClancys…Abigail McClancy…Tiffany McClancy…scientists they became…. Now, modern-day Leopold McClancy involved in the Triple C…the McClancys' whereabouts are overall unknown, protection provided by the government…secrecy purposes…the Lunar Theory…and…fifth year… It was the last time…finding the nugget that made them rich…the universal monetary system of Pen…."
"Lithe! Growl…LITHE!"
A great howl from Growlithe snapped me into an upright position, rendering me more wide-awake than the coffee had. I looked wildly around—the coffee had spilt on my front—I heard muffled noises, coming from hallway…I was not alone. There was an intruder inside my home.
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Change of Point-of-View—3:41 A.M, Residence of Officer Jenny
Damn that Growlithe. I should have known better than to casually barge in without intercepting the target's defense. I had to leap into one of the side rooms in order to avoid obtaining serious burns, as the Pokémon had attacked with a Flamethrower technique.
"Lithe! Growl…LITHE!" The fire pup barked in a territorial snarl, bounding forward and lodging its canines into my leg. The warm flow of blood began to seep one of my pant legs.
I grunted in condensed pain, shaking the dog back and forth. "Get off, you miserable brute!" I whispered furiously. "Get off!" With a wild kick, I heaved the Pokémon into one of the hallway's walls…but the impact in itself didn't completely faze it. In a moment it would come after me again, more enraged than ever. Besides that, at any second the target would come rushing down the hallway, to investigate these battle cries—not exactly the tactical advantage I had hoped for, obviously.
Despite the injury I perceived in my leg, I managed a grim smile. Time to fight fire with fire. I pulled a Poké ball from my front pocket, activating it and releasing my own Growlithe in a flash of light.
"Growlithe!"
Now, to incorporate a little strategy Giovanni had taught me. I quickly stepped backwards into the side room—it appeared to be a laundry room—and muttered to my Growlithe to follow. At once the Pokémon obeyed.
"LITHE!"
The target's Growlithe sprung for another attack—for a moment, we appeared to be cornered, trapped in the little room…but all part of the plan.
I dropped out of the way…my Growlithe defended in a rush of paws and teeth. I rolled forward as the target's Growlithe flew by me, distracted with my own Pokémon. In half a heartbeat I had slammed the door shut, trapping them both in the laundry room, the sounds of a ferocious battle, snarls, and yelps muffled through the fireproof walls.
I fished from my pocket a little invention of mine—the permanent lock. Actually, not a lock, but more like a hairpin in appearance. I hastily shoved the pin into the doorknob's keyhole and turned until the lock snapped in place. Perfect…no one could open the door now, not even me. It was permanently sealed in place—the only way to get in or out was to smash the door down, which could not be done; the whole house was virtually fireproof. Alas, those two would fight to the death, as it is the nature of a Growlithe…
"Who's there? Show your face!" A female's voice beckoned forth somewhere down the hallway, near the kitchen, main entrance, and the den. I was quite ashamed of my failure to keep this mission clean, the second strike on my record this evening. I grabbed from my belt a throwing dart filled with a potent tranquilizer. I approached the woman down the hallway, taking carefully aim…and then I threw the dart with swift speed, the air whistling as it flew.
Unfortunately for me, the woman was on her guard. She ducked out of the way, and the dart buried itself into a wall, missing the target.
I swore, gritting my teeth. I pulled another needle from my belt, approaching more quickly this time. The officer lept up from her crouching position and began retreating back to the kitchen, where I assumed she would contact company I much preferred not to arrive. I tossed the needle in a true aim…
The dart punctured the female's lower neck. She trotted perhaps another three steps before her legs had completely turned to jelly. She sunk down onto the linoleum and was out in matter of seconds, her eyes glazed and unconscious.
I issued a triumphant grin. My Superior would be pleased. Indeed, I was rather impressed by this woman's bravery; not a single scream or cry for help. That made things much more convenient for me. Finding the first needle, I extracted it from the wall, stowing it away in a safe container in one of my pockets. I listened intently: the howls of the dueling Pokémon were slowly dying away…
Good. Other officers may find the remains of a couple Growlithe suspicious, but if everything works according to plan, that scrap of evidence is of no concern…irrelevant to the plot. I briefly returned upstairs, to retrieve the body carrier I had brought with me. True, it was very risky to sneak in through the lady's bedroom window, but it was the only one I could open without worrying about unbreakable glass—it was the only one unlocked. Wide-open, in fact. If it had been locked, it would have made my task considerably more difficult, with that Growlithe sleeping by the main entrance.
I sighed, carefully transporting the limp woman into the bag, zipping it up all the way. Nothing was easy—if the woman had been in her bedroom when I got through her window, I would have been able to just take her out right then and there, without this unnecessary struggle. Ah, well.
I exited the same way I came—through the bedroom window. As it turned out, it was another convenience for me, since the portal was sheltered near an alley and therefore wouldn't be prone to attention. For my sake, there was no need to worry about being seen. Balancing the carrier on my shoulder, I slid down my special-designed operations ladder—tiny, compact, and almost invisible—and folding it up with my left hand, my right hand bearing the weight.
That being done, I carried the woman to the limousine. I purposely parked it in an alleyway a couple of blocks down the street, as to avoid suspicion. I avoided lights of any sort, including the lampposts, and stayed to the side streets and untraveled lanes. Soon reaching the vehicle, I opened the backseat door, piling the luggage into the extra passenger space. I shut the door, with an air of smile—content, mind you. Content of a job well done.
I slipped into the driver's seat, placing a bottle of champagne into the chiller, something for my enjoyment when I got back to the base. I inhaled in a happy breath, starting up the silent engine and backing up onto Morfic Avenue. Those instructions on Giovanni's note: 154 Morfic Avenue, Viridian…Witness abduction. Despite the slight difficulties I faced, this was a relatively easy task. The evening hunt was over, and I alone was the victor.
Part one of Phase Two was hereby complete. Most excellent.
And that's where we leave off! Again, if you wish, please submit a review and/or message, including any suggestions or ideas you might have. Thanks.
- A.G.M. Mendelssohn