Upon finding herself waking up, Isle's very first thought was one of surprise and confusion. When the heat had come at the camp, in the brief moment before she lost consciousness, she was convinced it was a White Spine attack and that she was without a doubt dead for her betrayal. But here she was: alive, and as far as she could tell, uninjured.
Isle's second thought had her wondering where she was. She was no longer restrained or tied up, but confined to a more proper, perfectly bare jail cell. Sturdy stone walls surrounded her, and a large metal door represented the only entrance. A small, barred window far above on the door streamed indirect sunlight into her cell; while it was large enough for her to fit through if it didn't have bars, punching them out would be neither quick nor quiet.
Isle finally stood. "Anyone there?" she called through the window, keeping a neutral tone. "Where am I?"
"In jail," a voice called from outside, down what sounded like a hallway on her right. It was masculine and gruff, but there was no indication of what type of Pokémon produced it.
"Oh wow, thanks," Isle said, making sure to infuse her voice with as much sarcasm as possible. "I had no idea. But why? For what?"
"Hrrm," the voice hummed hoarsely. "No point in playing dumb here, I'm afraid. I hear it's an open and shut case against you, though I'm only the jailer. Besides, I don't have time to play along. Your daily visitor will be here soon, and I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you awake."
She? If her "daily visitor" was who Isle suspected, she wasn't sure if she should be relieved or terrified. If Callula was visiting her each day, her ability to sustain other Pokémon would explain why Isle felt perfectly fine after however many days of unconsciousness were needed to establish a daily visitor. Still, if it was Callula, she could have simply healed Isle in an instant rather than only removing her need for food. Perhaps she didn't deserve that, having betrayed the White Spine.
Regardless, Isle had nothing to do but wait—wait and listen. Closing her eyes, she focused. She couldn't hear much of anything, really; there was almost no indication of anything outside of her cell. When she listened very carefully she thought she could hear the crackling of fire, though the air smelt only of cold stone.
Soon, Isle was jolted out of what had essentially become meditation when she heard a strange, out of place noise. The dull roar that could only be created by dozens and dozens of Pokémon speaking at once suddenly filled the cell, but it was only a moment before the silence returned just as abruptly. If Isle had to guess, a door to the outside was briefly opened.
Her jailer spoke once again—this time in a quiet voice, and to someone else: "Morning, ma'am. She's awake."
"Oh, excellent!" came the familiar high-pitched tones of Callula. She sounded perfectly cheerful, as always. "Would you mind leaving the building, as discussed with the sheriff?"
"Yeah, I got the orders," the jailer said, very clearly uncomfortable with the prospect. "I have to say, you must be quite the important Pokémon to secure an interrogation alone with a prisoner."
You have no idea, Isle thought. More importantly, the use of the word interrogation concerned her. If Callula truly was coming to interrogate her, Isle regretted not at least attempting an escape, however ill-advised; an interrogation would be extremely uncomfortable for the both of them. But it was too late now—Isle briefly heard the crowd outside again, meaning the jailer had left and Callula was already on her way. Isle backed away from the door and looked up to watch the window.
Between the bars, a Comfey gently floated into her cell and lowered to settle at eye level. Her tiny eyes were indecisive as she apparently waited for Isle to speak.
"Hey, Callie," Isle said, allowing herself a smile. "I hear you've come to interrogate me."
"That's what I'm meant to do," Callula said, the worry in her voice a perfect match for her expression. "I haven't decided if I'm actually going to yet."
Isle was flooded with relief—Callula didn't outright hate her, at least. "Well, why don't you bring me up to speed while you think about it?" she offered. "Is this an organization prison?"
"No, this is a normal prison. You were temporarily turned in for your bounty while it's decided what to do with you."
"It's a point of contention?"
"Sort of. Giratina wants you dead, but the White Spine thinks you may have useful information. They're having me interrogate you for now, but if end up winning the debate with Giratina you'll be moved to headquarters."
"So it's a debate of whether to kill me and be done with it or torture me and then kill me, eh?" Isle said with a rueful smile.
Callula only appeared more upset as she floated ever closer to Isle's face. "Oh, my sweet Isle," she whispered, her words brimming with hurt and grief. "Have you truly betrayed us? Was all your belief in our cause merely a lie? Was our friendship?"
"No, I… I just learned something, that's all. I couldn't…" Isle trailed off. With Callula so close she could see it, carved into her forehead. Her mark of Giratina. Somehow, Isle had forgotten her own. She blindly felt at her chest for it. Her claws became slick with blood as they ran through the grooves in her flesh, and a prickle of pain reminded her it was her very being that was marred by the mark. It had represented a kind of sick pride for her in the past, but now it only reminded her of all the blood she had spilled in the name of the false cause that was Giratina.
Almost reflexively, Isle raised her claw to hold it just above the skin. She clenched her teeth and held her breath; this mark disgusted her, and it was time to get rid of it. In a single violent motion, she slashed downwards.
While there was an initial flood of white-hot pain, her body very quickly numbed the worst of it. At the sight of blood, Callula gasped and begun spinning in a circle. A pink sheen surrounded the fairy/grass-type; she was healing the wound, and once she had finished, Isle ran her claw over where the mark had been. She was satisfied when all she felt was smooth, unmarred skin. It was gone—she was free.
"Does that answer your question?" Isle asked harshly, flicking her wrist to splatter her own blood onto the cell floor. It would be much easier for Callula to move on if she could rationalize it as Isle simply having always intending to betray the White Spine—the brief sincerity earlier was a serious misstep.
Bafflingly, Callula didn't respond, instead opting to float down to Isle's still bloody claw and try to grab it.
"What are you doing?" Isle asked, pulling her claw away.
The Comfey continued to grab at it without saying a word.
"Callie," Isle asserted, again pulling the claw out of her reach.
"Oh, for—I'm trying to get you to cut out my mark too. I didn't want to say it out loud because now Giratina is going to be yelling in my ear until you get around to it."
"What? You don't have to do that!"
Callula's eyes narrowed with focus. "Ah, look, just—you think you're doing the right thing?"
It was more a statement of fact than a question, and Isle found herself already telling the truth. "Yeah, but—"
"Then why wouldn't I want to?"
Isle paused. That was a really good point. Staying under Giratina was much, much safer than becoming a fugitive with her, but the Pokémon she had spent hours on end talking about ethics with would, in an instant, choose the more difficult but moral option.
Still—Isle couldn't help but feel like she had decided much too fast. "You don't even want to hear what I learned first?"
Callula had brought both hands to the side of her head and closed her eyes. "I trust you. Now please hurry up," she begged.
Isle could remember Giratina's voice while he was being betrayed. He didn't raise it, yell, stop, or even pause—he just talked. When most of what he said consisted of graphic and well thought out threats, focusing was extremely difficult for someone who was, until very recently, a devoted follower. Isle pitied that poor Riolu she had confided in—she wasn't even sure how intelligible her crazed warnings were.
Isle finally stopped stalling and reached towards the tormented Comfey. She only used a single point of her claw to excise the mark, as would a surgeon. Callula appeared to feel no pain, only relief within which she basked for a moment before healing herself. This time, she emitted green light indicating a grass-type technique.
"You are pretty dense sometimes, my dear," Callula said with a weary smile once she had finished.
"I wasn't exactly thrilled to condemn you to the life of a fugitive."
"I know, my dear, I know." Callula took a moment to float up near the cell door's window. "Now what's the plan to escape? I can get us out of this cell, but then what?"
"What? How should I know?"
"Oh, come on now. You might not be the badass Isle, assassin of the White Spine anymore, but surely you still escape prisons as effortlessly as waking up in the morning?"
"I haven't seen outside of this cell. I don't even know what town we're in. How can I come up with a good plan?"
"Ohh, what's happened to you?" Callula asked with mock pity. "The Isle I know would have learned all she could from here, manipulated the jailer into giving away everything!"
Isle rolled her eyes. "I gave up on escaping when I realized I'd only be able to knock out the bars slowly and loudly, and when hearing scentless flames told me the jailer was a powerful fire-type. Besides, you overestimate his willingness to talk to me—and mine to him once he mentioned you'd be visiting soon."
"Fine, then. Since you're lazy, I'll be your informant just this once," Callula grinned. She was very clearly enjoying this: as the primary medic for the White Spine, she had enjoyed a high clearance and a good understanding of the organization as a whole. However, she almost never saw any action, meaning an opportunity to act as Isle's partner in crime was beyond exciting for her.
Callula cleared her throat as she adopted an overly serious and professional manner. "We're in the aptly named Tradetown. This cell is the back left cell in a hallway of six total, though the rest are unused. The jailer and sheriff share an office space at the front but the sheriff is never actually around. What else do you need to know?"
"So much. How much time do we have? Also, how do you plan on getting me out of this cell? I imagine the jailer took the key with him."
"The sheriff is a White Spine spy, and she made it clear to the jailer that entering the building while I was interrogating you was grounds for losing his job. He won't be coming back in anytime soon. There's no one nearby with Giratina's mark either, so retribution from that angle will probably take a few days. Getting you out of the cell is easy: I'll use ally switch."
"Ally switch? Since when can you do that?"
"It was part of my medic training. I don't exactly advertise it since the element of surprise is half of its effectiveness."
"OK. Where precisely is the jailer and what species is he?"
"He's just outside the front of the jail, leaning against the door frame, I think. He's an Emboar."
"Mmm, perhaps we'll avoid fighting him, then. Are there any windows that aren't nearby the entrance of the jail?"
"One at the end of the hall, opposite the entrance. It has both bars and glass, though."
"And what precisely are the limitations on ally switch? I'm not familiar. Do you have to see my whole body? Can it be done through glass?"
"I only need to see part of you, but there needs to be empty air between me and that part."
"I see. Now, let's talk long term. Did anyone else escape the camp?"
"Yes, actually. Against all odds, the leaders flat out fought their way to safety. From what I heard, they're just relaxing in a town to the east with no apparent plans of leaving. Believe it or not, your target escaped as well. A Charmeleon managed to withstand the initial heat wave and snuck away with her. It seems they escaped to the mountains, and thus far the White Spine hasn't been able to find them."
"She actually managed to survive...? Heads must have rolled."
Callula nodded. "I actually claimed that the Scizor unfortunate enough to have stood in their way at the perimeter had been punished enough for his mistake. Unfortunately, I guess things don't look especially good for him now that his most vocal supporter is betraying the organization."
"Well, best of luck to him, I guess. That's about all I need to know. Do you want to do this the easy safe way or the risky fun way?"
Callula's face lit up with mock offense, all professionalism gone in an instant. "Why Isle, it's offensive that you'd even ask. Show me the fun way, of course."
Isle returned her grin. "Excellent. Listen closely..."
Despite the festivities in town and resultant joyous noise washing over him, Birex the Emboar was in a bad mood. He didn't understand—sure he was the jailer and he didn't need to be privy to every little nuance of a decision made by the sheriff, but something didn't sit right with him this time. Locked away in his jail was the most notorious killer for hire in the region. If anything he was surprised that he was given such a high-profile outlaw at all considering the jail was more designed to give troublemakers or petty thieves a scare, but for there to be no further security? Not so much as a single guard? It didn't make sense. And of course it fell to him to sit in the jail while Esmeralda enjoyed browsing the many stalls of Tradetown, despite the fact that she was the one that insisted they had to jail such a dangerous outlaw. Perks of being a sheriff, he guessed.
The strangest aspect by far, however, was the Comfey. He had asked, of course, but he was apparently allowed precisely zero information about who she was or why she was receiving such special treatment. He wasn't even to know her name. That combined with the regular visits to heal a prisoner were strange enough, but when he was told that she was to be allowed entirely private meetings with her—to the point that he had to stand outside where he was unable to hear anything happening in his jail—Birex could scarcely contain his rage. He could still remember his fire flaring, warming his neck—but still, he couldn't complain. A jailer was only meant to maintain the jail.
A sharp rapping underneath the overpowering noise of the town grabbed Birex's attention. Behind him, the Comfey gave him a tiny wave from behind the glass of the entrance door.
Birex opened the door for her. "Done, then?" he asked politely.
"Done for now," she said with an apologetic smile as she floated by. "I didn't get what I needed, so I'll be back tomorrow. Thank you for dealing with this."
Birex shrugged, not wanting to snap at her. "Have a good day then, ma'am," he said. He turned his back to lumber inside, pulling the door closed behind him to return blessed silence to his jail. He went directly to his desk, letting himself down onto the sturdy wooden stool. Finally, he reopened the book he was halfway through and leaned back, ready to relax again.
"You didn't cooperate, eh?" he called down the jail hallway.
He was met with only cold silence. Birex frowned. Only then did it occur to him he didn't know what the Comfey's interrogation would consist of. Could the Weavile be unconscious? He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but it was his job to check.
With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet once again, not ten seconds after he sat down. He moved down the hallway towards the last cell on the left, but he didn't even make it halfway before he realized something was seriously wrong. The window in the cell door was empty, the bars completely absent. Without hesitation Birex dashed to the end of the hallway, immediately craning his neck to look through the door's window.
On the stone floor was a collection of small metal dowels—the window bars, each one violently punched out of place if the warping of the metal told him anything. Among them was the uncoiled, stretched out body of an unconscious Comfey.
Birex turned to look at the front of the jail. He could see nothing through the windows but the distant crowds of shopping Pokémon—the other Comfey was already long gone, and he was beginning to suspect that neither she nor his Weavile prisoner were what they appeared. Still—as Birex pulled the key ring from his trusty belt before unlocking the door and entering, he acted under the assumption that there was a Weavile assassin still in the cell, watching and waiting from a blind spot.
Despite his precautions, Birex found the cell to be empty save for what he had already seen. He knelt down and nudged the fairy/grass type with a large claw, hoping to rouse her.
The Comfey didn't react to his prodding in the least—she must have taken a lot of damage. Birex scooped her up and left the empty cell as it was, returning to his desk. He laid her out on the wooden surface before sitting down and leaning back in his chair. As he waited for the Comfey to recover, he considered what he had just seen and committed it to memory.
"Ah, damn it," the Comfey winced a minute later, cradling her head. The curse was strange to hear from a Pokémon that had, up until now, been nothing but proper, polite, and cheerful.
"What do you remember?"
"H-hold on." The Comfey grasped her flower-crown tail, repairing the circle her species normally always maintained. She then floated up and, a few feet off the ground, began spinning. The green energy surrounding her told Birex that she was using synthesis, a grass-type ability, to heal herself.
"OK," The Comfey said once she had stopped spinning. "What was the question? And... what happened?"
"I was hoping you could tell me that."
"I... I don't know," the Comfey struggled, again cradling her head—this time out of confusion. "I was talking to her through the window, and she... I don't understand—she jumped up, and her claw reached through the bars. Just phased right through like a ghost-type. I think she knocked me out, just like that."
"Damn it," Birex cursed under his breath. "I'll be back, I need to warn the sheriff."
"Arceus, I need to report this too," the Comfey said, her eyes suddenly wide. "W-what happened? What do I say?"
"They somehow captured the wrong Pokémon. That wasn't Isle the outlaw at all, that was a Zoroark. Probably entirely unfindable by now."
"What? But where's the real Isle?"
Birex ignored the question, rushing towards the door. Time was of the essence, and if the Zoroark was excessively cocky, there was a chance they'd be staying close.
Isle was alone, crouching on a tree branch in the forest northwest of Tradetown. She had been there for around ten minutes and, as planned, Callula was finally approaching from the direction of town. True to her nature, the Comfey swayed back and forth rhythmically as if dancing to some invisible rhythm. Granted, this likely reflected her actual mood if she had actually managed to hoodwink the jailer.
"Did he buy it?" Isle called from her tree branch before jumping to the ground.
"Of course," Callula said, flashing a bright smile. "Like I had a sale on cell bars."
"I wish I could have seen it," Isle sighed dramatically as she approached. "Excellent timing on the ally switch, by the way. I don't think anyone in town even realized that a Comfey suddenly became a Weavile."
"You were so right that it would work. I don't know how you could possibly have known that he wasn't going to be blocking my vision entirely."
"I didn't. That's why I had you say you were going to come back tomorrow. If it failed, we could have simply tried again without consequences."
"OK, but there was so much that could have gone wrong afterwards. I don't understand how you could have known any of it would work out."
"Hmm," Isle considered. Callula's eyes were burning with curiosity and suggestion. "Want to hear about why it worked? Learn some about how a dark-type thinks?"
"Yes please!" she chirped, perking up.
"First, the plan relied almost entirely on the fact that the jailer was going to trust your testimony. He might not know of your position in the White Spine, but he knows that you're trusted enough by the sheriff to receive a private meeting with a prisoner like me. Then, the whole situation was designed for him to come to the Zoroark conclusion on his own. The apparent two Comfeys, the 'reaching through the bars' line—jailers and the like are always well-versed on a Zoroark's capabilities, so something like a dark/ice type reaching through solid matter is immediately going to ring alarm bells about illusions. The idea is that I, a Zoroark, was knocking out bars before you came, using illusions to make him unable to see or hear it as he sat nearby. Since he came to that conclusion himself, he's so much more willing to believe it than if you spoon fed it to him."
Callula's eyes focused as she took her time to digest the dense information. She had asked shockingly little questions about the justification for her story, so she was likely thinking about the implications for the very first time. It took her a bit, but eventually she asked the right question.
"Wait, but Zoroark can't maintain illusions while unconscious, right? So you couldn't have been one, even from his perspective."
"A flaw in our little play," Isle acknowledged with a nod. "He could have realized that at the time and rationalized it somehow, but I think it's more likely it didn't occur to him at all. Jailers aren't exactly known for their intelligence."
Callula giggled, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, come on now. I'm sure he'll figure it out sometime."
Isle smiled. "I sincerely hope so. Not much point in it if he never realizes how thoroughly fooled he was."
Callula's face fell, her smile evaporating a bit too soon. "...I guess we'd better get going, then. Start our lives as fugitives."
"Yeah... you said the ex-leaders of the Explorer Coalition are in a town to the east? How far, exactly?"
"About two week's travel. But why?"
"We're going to see them. I want to ask them for help."
"Why?" Callula repeated, full of confusion. "There's no way they'll trust us, is there?"
"I think the Sceptile will be willing to hear me out, at least. It's not like he'll feel threatened."
"If you say so. May I?" Callula asked as she floated up above Isle's head.
Isle didn't understand what she wanted to do, but she held still and allowed it. Callula curled herself around Isle's head, tucking her entire body behind Isle's red crown. To any observer from the front, Isle would simply be wearing an entirely normal garland. Isle liked it, she thought: the subtle weight of Callula's body on her head was strangely reassuring.
"OK, we're—" Callula began, though Isle jumped at the voice directly next to her ears. "Sorry. We're good to go," Callula continued with a subdued whisper.
"What makes the most sense for the next step? Hornsey?"
"Why?" came the whisper. "Can't we just stay away from towns entirely? Take no risks?"
Isle shrugged. "I realize you're able to give me enough energy that I don't have to eat, but it's going to be very taxing on you when I'm traveling the whole day. We're fugitives now—we need to be ready to fight at any given moment. So, we need food. I'd also like to get a new mask."
"If we stay hidden there's very little need for me to be combat ready, or for your mask. They'll struggle to track us if we stay away from spies in town."
"I still want my mask."
A brief pause before a sigh tickled Isle's hearing. "OK. If you've got a dependence on it, we can go."
"Will you be OK if I use the treetops?" Isle asked. "You'll have to hold on tight, but we'll travel much faster."
"Let's try it."
Isle leapt up to a tree branch. Beneath the rush of air around her she was fairly sure she heard Callula gasp with surprise, but she managed to stay attached. Hearing no protest, Isle leapt again and they were off—their destination, the town of Hornsey.
As she jumped from branch to branch, the intermittent rush of air against her skin filled Isle with the electrifying thrill of freedom. She had been locked up, restrained, or otherwise unable to move as she pleased all day every day since she was captured more than a week ago. Even before that she had Giratina giving her orders within her mind, and nearly every action she took was in service of him. Now, for the first time in years, she was entirely free to do whatever she felt like. She was going where she wanted, and she was with whom she wanted. It was exhilarating.
They had left Tradetown at about noon, and it was early evening before Isle was finally approaching Hornsey. The first hint was the smell—despite the fact that there was not much breeze to speak of, the smell of burning coal was present miles away. It intensified steadily as they grew closer to Hornsey itself, and by the time Isle could see buildings through the trees she couldn't help but crinkle her nose at the horrible scent.
Isle found herself a branch overlooking Hornsey and crouched on it for a vantage. Sturdy stone buildings populated sturdy stone streets—a total of about fifty, all surrounding a gaping hole in the earth. It was a typical mining town with nearly every building, citizen, and resource based entirely on the mine. It appeared nearly deserted, with only the occasional Pokémon entering or leaving the mine.
"We're here," Isle said under her breath. "Are you awake up there?"
"Ugh," Callula spat as she detached herself from Isle head, floating down to eye level. "I always hated this town. I don't know how any of these Pokémon stand the smell for one day, let alone live here."
"Rock and fire-types," Isle shrugged. "Freaks of nature. Are you feeling OK after the travel?"
"I'm fine, actually. For how fast we were going I expected it to be much scarier... it was kind of fun, actually. I was actually expecting us to arrive after night—if you can manage to keep up that pace, you'll be attacked by the Explorer Coalition leaders within only a week."
A chuckle escaped Isle. "How do you feel about doing some scouting?"
"Scouting? What kind of scouting?"
"Scouting out the best way to rob the larder," Isle said, pointing a single claw down towards the town.
A frown appeared on the face of the tiny Comfey. "Can't we just ask for help?"
"Weren't you the one talking about how we shouldn't expose ourselves?"
"Yeah, but—" Callula began defensively. Then she caught herself, continuing more calmly. "I don't know. Mining towns typically keep strict inventory. If something goes missing they'll know, and I imagine the quartermaster will be punished. Worse case we could even get someone fired."
"Our need is great. But fine—if you need to try asking for help, do you at least know where the spies are?"
"Yeah, they're both miners. Since we're here during a mining day, if I go now I'll be able to ask around without them seeing me."
"Fine. Go ahead, but keep an eye on possible ways to steal. We'll have to fall back on it if you can't convince anyone to give you help"
"OK! Agent Callie is on the case. I'll look for you here once I'm done."
Isle watched the Comfey float down towards the mining town. As far as missions went, it was remarkably safe. Anyone that may be after them wouldn't reach Hornsey anytime soon, and Callula knew which Pokémon to avoid in town. There was no reason whatsoever something should go wrong, but... Isle still had a terrible feeling. In the case that something did go wrong, Callula was not remotely equipped to escape, and fighting alone was far from her specialty. She would be entirely helpless.
Isle sighed and scouted out her options. The trees were crowding in around Hornsey, always threatening to return it to the wild. This meant that there were ample branches available to help her watch the town, some even stretching out above the buildings' roofs. With a slow, careful method, Isle made her way across the puzzle of wood, trying to stay as close to Callula as she could.
