Chapter 23
"Noctowl is going to make a full recovery," Professor Oak announced to the dozens of nervous Pokemon around him. "His wing was not broken, just a fracture. I've patched it up. And from what I can gather from his constant 'who-whoing' he most certainly knows where that beast took Brock."
Pikachu narrowed his beady eyes in thought. He had only gotten the chance to speak with Noctowl momentarily before Professor Oak rushed the bird into isolation. That is where Noctowl had been for the past twenty four hours.
During that brief conversation however, Noctowl had clearly conveyed that he had successfully trailed the beast through the forest, across mountains, and over much water; until at last arriving at an enormous jungle -- one consisting of countless miles of grotesquely disfigured tress. The beast had stopped finally there. It had quickly disappeared into some sort of unusual hole in the ground with Brock. As Noctowl had turned, preparing to fly back to Ash, he was suddenly bombarded with some kind of pellets or rocks. He was injured horribly. Only somehow he had managed to make it as far as the Viridian Woods before ultimately collapsing.
Noctowl was about to relay the precise location when the professor interrupted. He had insisted that Noctowl needed to be left alone so that he could be properly treated.
For the past day and night the professor would not allow any of the other Pokemon to even look at Noctowl.
Pikachu possessed the exact amounts of patience as his trainer did:
None.
When Ash's life was on the line Pikachu's patience level was at a negative quantity. He was using every ounce of self control to keep from shocking the professor into a coma and taking off with Noctowl and the others. . .no matter if it were in Noctowl's best interests or not.
"So," the professor continued proudly. "I am going to call Officer Jenny now. She will most certainly want to accompany me."
Pikachu flinched at the professor's last word. What did he mean by 'me'? Why did he not say 'us'?
Pikachu felt Charizard's sweltering frame move in closer behind him. Charizard stiffened anxiously. Pikachu wondered what his old friend was thinking?
The professor waltzed proudly to his vidphone. He was undoubtedly in the highest sprits he had been in days. "Should I call Delia first, I wonder? No, no time to spare. The sooner Gary is back home safe the better! Officer Jenny will finally have a way to track this monster!"
"Pika?" Pikachu piped up, scampering over to the professor.
"What? Oh, Pikachu, this is a job for the authorities. Humans. Not Pokemon this time. That beast has proved to be far too great a foe for any of you. And-"
The professor never got to finish his sentence . . . for Charizard's fist had came thrashing down upon his head. The professor was unconscious. From the look of the Goose bump swelling on his forehead he would stay that way for a good day!
Charizard snorted proudly, steam whistling from his nostrils. The gesture relayed what all of Ash's Pokemon were thinking: The beast has also proved to be a foe far beyond humans.
It was going to take a Pokemon to defeat a Pokemon. Pikachu grunted gaudily. That beast kidnapping trainers was unacceptable. It was a personal crime to Pokemon everywhere.
Pikachu also had a dreadful feeling that Ash was also gone now too; and that went beyond personal.
All of Ash's Pokemon looked to Pikachu now; their loyal eyes brimming with anticipation.
Pikachu exhaled carefully. The first thing they needed to do was talk to Noctowl. Pikachu had sent Pidgeot on an imperative errand. Once she returned they would have more allies . . . and then. . .
"SIZOR!" the alarmed screech detonated through the front door. "Sizor-Siz!"
Pikachu, heeled by all the others, rushed through the house to locate the source of the panicking cry.
"Pika?"
Gary's Sizor stood weakly in the door frame. His metallic body was trembling and drenched in his own gore. Sizor's eyes seared into Pikachu's instantly.
"Siz . . . " in his claws Sizor protectively clutched Gary's belt with six pokeballs.
Bayleef was just in time to catch Sizor as he fainted.
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Consciousness does not always return gradually. Nor is it always welcome. In some situations the mind itself wants to remain shielded from the physical world. But the mind cannot hide forever . . . no matter how great the desire may be.
This was Gary's case.
Awareness crashed brutally against him; forcing its vigor upon his paralyzed mind. It consumed him physically, reviving his unwilling senses.
Gary's eyes fluttered open. Nausea struck him first -- the wretched sensation of nausea.
What happened to me! His mind began crumpling as panic up-surged within him.
Gary's eyes absorbed the stainless white ceiling. He inhaled, immediately commencing to gag. The room reeked of horrible bodily odors. Sweat . . . blood. . .
The air was dense; it seemed to weight his lungs down with every trivial gasp. The humidity itself was heavy with blood. Gary tasted the bitter metallic taste in the back of his throat.
He strained his body into a sitting position; dry heaves at once overpowering him. He was unable to vomit despite his attempts. He had nothing in his stomach at all to lose.
He steadied himself after a short moment. Gary's frame rocked woozily.
I'm in a hospital? Around his sick bed was a sheer plastic curtain. He saw the silhouettes of a handful of Revivalists. They worked quietly at a small sort of laboratory across the room. There were several other sick beds aligned next to his. All of which were occupied, but Gary could not identify any of the other patients for they were not facing him.
What happened to me . . . it's all so unclear. . .
Gary leaned forward again, a crippling pain bolted up his arm. White-hot blotches fire worked before his eyes. Gary focused his attention on his left forearm. An intervenes needle was inserted; a clear liquid was slowly dripping inside of his blood steam. That's right. . . I gave blood . . . or rather they TOOK my blood. . .
His eyes instantly connected to his right forearm. A black bruise was present. The Revivalist who drew Gary's blood did so rashly -- barely taking the time to locate the sturdiest vein. Then the Revivalist had decided to drain him of more than a small pint. Although Gary had fainted before they had finished with him, he was certain of the fact that they had gotten greedy with his blood.
He shook his light head feebly. His right arm was throbbing from where the draining had taken place. It was an astounding endeavoring just to maintain consciousness right now. On top of the putrid smells and the conquering pain, Gary was starving. The hydrating solution being instilled inside him was aiding his thirst; but his mouth still felt arid, his throat was bone-dry.
"He done?" Derrick was suddenly standing outside of Gary's curtain. Another Revivalist approached him. A doctor I assume?
"Yes. We have all the blood we need," the doctor answered flatly. "You'd best give this kid some juice to drink. If you don't you'll be carrying him back to his cell."
Derrick huffed loudly with annoyance, but turned to a small cooler and began rummaging through it. He returned in a short moment and opened the curtain holding a tiny can of grape juice. Derrick hissed through his teeth, peering downward at Gary. Although Gary could not see his eyes, he could feel them fuming upon him, penetrating his already wilted nerves.
What is his deal? He absolutely despises me. His resentment of me . . . it exceeds hate. I really think that Derrick wants to see me die. I'm not afraid of him hurting me. But I am afraid of what he might do to Misty. There is no way I will stand for her suffering any more if I can help it. This cult is clever. They knew I could not be threatened. Not without my Pokemon. So they place me with this girl I hardly know. . . A girl that is my old rival's best friend, his coach, his. . . Gary closed his eyes bitterly, unable to finish his thought. It's almost as if they were setting me up for this. To . . . fall like this. How could they possibly know me so well? How could they possibly predict how I may or may not wind up feeling? Or. . . Gary's thoughts reeled. . . . Or, did they have any idea at all? Is this whole set up random? Did the pieces just happen to fall where they did . . .? Did The Seer just get lucky at my expense. . .? I can't stop thinking about Misty. Worrying about Misty. This isn't like me. This isn't like me at all.
Derrick extended the can of juice towards Gary.
Gary hesitated; but his parched mouth compelled him to accepted the cold beverage. He clutched the can weakly, his fingers barely able to grip hold of it. He managed to bring the liquid to his lips and gulped it down quickly. He cherished the numbness it at once granted his lips.
As Gary drank the doctor stepped toward him. The doctor seemed to be examining him. "Hm. . . let him sit a spell longer, Derrick. He's not well yet. Not enough to walk."
"He's plenty able," Derrick snapped. "Don't pity him!"
"It is NOT pity," the doctor shot back. "I am doing my job. He cannot physically make it yet. Besides," he added. "The Seer has his eye on this one. No harm should reach him. It would be VERY unwise for us to harm him at this stage . . . in the games."
The Seer has his eye on me? What the hell? Why me?
As though able to scan Gary's personal thoughts, Derrick spun furiously towards him. "The Seer has his eye on ALL of the round one winners. Do not think for a second that YOU are special, Oak!"
"Sure," Gary spoke coarsely. He felt slightly stronger as the juice filled his stomach. He only hoped that he would not become physically ill and lose it. "Hey," Gary faced the doctor. "Who needed my blood anyway?"
The doctor shrugged, his tone was bland. "Another trainer, name is Ash Ketchum."
ASH!
"What?" Gary entailed nervously. "What happened to him?"
Derrick released a sinister snicker. "He got a little too demanding. Reminded me of you. I don't like being reminded of YOU."
Each fine hair on the back of Gary's neck suddenly pricked. A horrific chill racked his spine. If Gary hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that the frigid whiskers of a Dewgong were scraping down his tail bone.
"Where is he? What the hell did you DO to him?" all recollections of Gary's own suffering vanished. "WHAT! Where is HE!" Gary's rage manifested, he could not control the demand in his volume.
"One more word and it's 'bye bye' Waterflower," Derrick spat curtly.
"No," Gary continued confidently. "You won't hurt her. After all didn't you just say that The Seer has his eye on EVERY round one winner? That includes Misty, Idiot."
Derrick forcefully gripped Gary's sore right arm. He pressed his thumb unmercifully against the bruised flesh. Even through his gloved hand, Derrick's nail drove into the tender skin. Gary tried to conceal his distress, but an aching grimace distorted his features.
"Oak," Derrick sneered, amused by Gary's agony. "I can hurt her plenty without killing her," he laughed gruffly, releasing his grip. "Or. . . I could always take her out of your cell and put her some place else. . ."
Someplace . . . else?
"Maybe she can share a cell with her old pal, Ash Ketchum. How does that sound instead?" Derrick could barely control his laughter.
Ash? No way. I don't want Misty where I can't see her . . . where I can't know for sure she's safe. . . I am going to protect her. I want her with me. I know that I'm capable of keeping the Revivalists focus ON ME and away from her. I want her with me. Not with Ash. He can hardly handle this on his own. That much is clear. He'll never be able to look out for Misty too. She is an incredibly strong girl. But . . . but she needs me to get through this! Or . . . maybe I . . . need her. . .
A raw trace of guilt pinched his heart. I promised Ash that I would keep her safe . . . and I will. I wonder though, does he really like Misty? Damn, why I am even thinking about THIS now!
Gary's jaw clenched. His inner turmoil was agonizingly obvious.
"Predictable, Oak." Derrick scoffed. "Controlling you is becoming easy. Anyway, you look well enough now. Let's go back to your cozy cell. We can tell Miss Waterflower all about your good behavior. I'm sure she'll be dazzled to know you are finally burning out." With that said Derrick unhooked Gary's intervenes tube and jerked him to his sturdy foot.
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"Who's left in here to take this Ketchum kid back to his cell?"
"Derrick left. And I'm busy with another patient."
"He can't stay here. Get someone to escort him back. He's taking up valuable space."
"Yes, Doctor. I'll dial up an extra hand."
Ash stiffened upon his sick bed. He had awoken several minutes ago as a doctor was removing a needle from his arm. He had been receiving blood . . . someone's blood. . .
Ash shuddered. The mere inkling that some strangers fluids were now coursing throughout HIS body disturbed him. He was grateful to be alive . . . but on some level he felt he had been violated. Who gave these people the right to infuse him with a stranger's blood? Who gave them the right to beat him up . . . to starve him . . . to kidnap him and all the other trainers!
I did the right thing coming here, he assured himself. I just gottah stay tough. I just . . . just . . . never imagined anything could be this awful. I was certain that once I was reunited with Misty and Brock that somehow we could work together. Figure something out, like we ALWAYS do. But . . . it just keeps getting worse. . .
When Ash had first awakened, after being abducted by the beast, he found himself in this very sick ward. From that point The Seer had introduced himself and then explained to Ash that he was now gambling with Misty's life. His decision to obey or disobey would shape her fate. Ash had, of course, agreed to oblige The Seer's will. He was next rushed directly into the battle arena where he had watched a handful of battles before engaging in his own.
Ash shivered again. Details of how he had wound up in this current sick bed flooded his memory. Sometime after Brock's battle a shrouded man who called himself 'Derrick' had come to him. Derrick had roped him and began dragging Ash towards what he promised was 'his very own cell'. Ash was appalled by the idea of being locked up in some cell. Derrick had argued with him, insisting that all of the trainers were living in such conditions. Still, Ash protested; screaming that he would not go with Derrick unless he could talk with Misty for a moment -- hear from her own lips that she was okay. Derrick apparently had one hell of a tempter. Without any warning he began pounding Ash with his fists. Ash had blocked out almost instantly . . . awaking here.
"I- ah, um, I'll take him to his cell," a timid male voice arose from the doorway.
"Okay, fine," the doctor responded. "I appreciate and accept that offer. You Rocket's are not completely useless after all."
Rockets. . .?
Ash strained his eyes to peer through the blurry curtain surrounding his bed. A figure was quickly approaching him . . . a figure clad in a Team Rocket uniform . . . figure whose lavender hair suspended freely to his chin. . .
Ash's pupils amplified, sucking every detail of this familiar character in. A short gasp escaped him. "J-J-Jam-!"
"Shhhh!" James swiftly whipped the curtain to the side. His green eyes were blazing with warning; a finger was pressed firmly to his lips, signaling Ash to. . . "Shut it!" James hissed beneath his breath.
Ash blinked with confusion, but remained silent; deciding that James was likely the most trust worthy person in this room.
Team Rocket? Are they behind this? Is it possible? But, they are not Revivalists too . . . are they? They aren't dressed in black. . .
James exhaled carefully, relieved that Ash had kept silent. He met Ash's bewildered eyes with a set of concerned ones. James gently took Ash's hand and lifted him to his feet.
"Just work with me here," James spoke so low, Ash could barely hear him.
Ash simply nodded as a reply.
James cleared his throat. "Hm, dumbo little kiddie fool," he projected his velvety voice as though the Team Rocket motto was about to be recited. "Haha, look at you! Time to go into your freezing and miserably dire cell."
Ash avoided James' eyes; he was not certain how to react.
James raised a rope and looped it loosely around Ash's head. "Ha, tight and painful! I see the suffering in your eyes!"
Ash glanced down at the rope; it was so lose it looked like a necklace five sizes too big. Ash cocked an eye brow at James; the Rocket sent him a pleading stare.
"Ouch, ouchie!" Ash wailed, mustering his very best acting talents.
James nodded and led Ash through the sick ward. Not a single Revivalist acknowledged them as they moved.
In a moment they were out of the sick ward and advancing slowly down a winding corridor. Now that he was moving, using all of his muscles, Ash's limbs ached. His rib cage felt especially tender. What did Derrick do to me?
James proceeded silently for a moment longer. The hand holding Ash's leash was shivering nervously, causing the rope to accidentally chafe his throat.
"James?" Ash whispered at last. "What are YOU doing here?"
James halted momentarily, he turned to Ash frowning. "Team Rocket is being blacked mailed the same as you."
Ash shook his head, "I don't understand. I didn't see you battle. . ."
"It's not like that. They have our boss. . ." James rushed his words as though something far more pressing needed to be told. Only he trailed off, not adding anything more.
"You don't want them to know that we . . . uh, know each other?" Ash asked.
"Of course not," James squealed. "I'm not your biggest fan, Twerp, but I'm not one to stand by and watch child abuse. But I know that doctor wouldn't let me take you to your cell if he thought there was a chance I'd be somewhat kind to you. Revivalists don't tolerate kindness."
". . .Thanks."
"There is something I need to warn you about, Kid. Something you can't even breathe a word of to ANYONE. Understand?" James' eyes were burning from the severity of the announcement to come.
"Okay," Ash promised quickly.
James sighed, relieved. "There is a meeting tomorrow-"
"I - I know," Ash sputtered. "All the round one winners-"
"Yes," James shot impatiently, "but I am going to tell you something that they won't be telling you. Jessie, Meowth, and I did some snooping -- after all that is our specialty. We happened to eavesdrop on a conversation between that Seer and some of his assistants . . . they. . ." James gulped loudly. "Uh, do you want the good news or the bad news first?"
Ash shifted fearfully, his brain spinning. "I-ah- I-I guess the good news . . .?"
"They ARE going to free the losers when this is over."
Ash expired an oppressive breath; genuine cool relief engulfed his system. "Thank God! The trainers won't die!"
James did not share Ash's joy. Instead there was a stiffness in his fair cheeks, a sudden hollowness in his eyes. James' barren face caused a frigid pit to form instantly in Ash's belly.
"J-James?"
James swallowed hard, he eyes closing weakly as though submitting to an unseen foe. "The winner of the tournament . . . the winner . . . dies."