The Company never cut corners. The habit was sloppy, stupid, and wasted more resources and time instead than if they had put everything into their projects the first time. Things were done right the first time because flaws and setbacks hurt. They didn't like that and persistently reminded their employees that they wouldn't like it either if oversight caused a failure. Every part of the project was important, every step was to be followed and double-checked until success was the only possible outcome. It made the Company a feared and respectable force for the few that were trusted to know of their existence, and their influence was more than enough to keep those in line.
Frankly, Alexander didn't care about the politics behind the Company's work, or how influential their work was in the science community and global relations. He didn't care why they decided to make a suit for an apparent interdimensional conflict, or how they had even managed to figure out how to properly test such a thing; he was just glad that their desire for perfection was keeping his organs where they belonged: inside him. The armor was sturdy, flexible, and it was taking one hell of a beating that would have otherwise turned him into mush by now.
Shortsighted? Yes. Were there more important things to focus on? Yes.
The first thing was how his bullets were doing next to nothing. The Machamp took each and every single round with stride, not at all hindered as it approached Alexander. Its skin was rippling as the muscles underneath simply absorbed the force behind every bullet, falling to the floor as flattened pieces of metal without any substantial effect to the monster. The small scratches and gouges were nothing in comparison to the destructive energy the bullets always held, serving to taunt the grunt as he awkwardly backpedaled away from the looming beating.
A dull click ended his cascade of steel- which wasn't very effective, and Alexander ejected the magazine as he slammed in a fresh one before continuing his vain attempt to hurt the creature. He nearly tripped over a chair behind him and dove sideways as the Machamp lunged, getting a fraction of a second of warning that allowed him to slip past as the suit registered the tensing muscles in its legs. The grunt struck a table and rolled over it, crushing glassware as he landed on his feet on the other side. He was already opening fire before he had even touched the ground, but it didn't last long as the superpower pokemon lifted a heavy wooden table and single-handedly tossed it at him like a frisbee.
It passed over the grunt in a blur as he rolled, finding his feet again as the Machamp simply flattened the furniture between it and him. Alexander replaced another spent magazine before there was a brilliant flash in the other room, a reminder that more hostiles were coming. Dodging another hundred-pound frisbee he tried to flee further, cursing as his center of balance threw him in every direction but where he wanted to go. Chairs were tripping him up, and with dread, the grunt ducked to avoid a swing by the machamp, who had caught up to him with ease.
Too little too late did he realize the swing was meant to be avoided. Another meaty hand clamped down onto his Scizor, lifting it and crushing it like a soda can; the attached strap jerked him to his feet before a sweep of its leg took his own out from under him, and the two arms not in use came down on his chest, slamming him into the ground hard enough for Alexander to break through the floor.
The suit was the only thing that gave the grunt a chance to figure out what had happened. The main piece of armor on his chest, already heavily damaged from prior fights, crumpled as it absorbed the impact. The shock traveled through the adjoining pieces of armor before the magnets failed, causing the metal piece to partially dislodge.
It baited me... The grunt registered, twitching as his suit popped. There was another flash of light followed by a deafening crash somewhere beyond Alexander's range of focus; Kara was working on whatever else was attempting to get in through the front and couldn't babysit him.
It's not like she babysits me- I don't need anyone to look out for me. I'm a grown man, not some twerp who can't multiply. We're partners... though, she was technically supposed to keep an eye on me when we... damn it. I don't need to be watched, I can handle myself!
The random thought was shut down by an angrier one.
You're a soldier: man up and focus on the now. Kara's fending off a lot, so quit wasting time. The big ass knife, grab it and stab the thing somewhere soft. It's here, get ready- this place has rattata in the floor? They better not have had a high food rating.
A bunch of startled eyes was watching him, and whether he did it for the hell of it or not, the grunt wheezed: "Any of you chefs cook ratatouille?"
Believe it or not, Alexander got an answer. One of the little buggers perked up, but it could have been his imagination calling as a bulky hand clamped down on his chest plate and reminded him that he wasn't doing a good job being a soldier.
It lifted Alexander by the compromised armor and sucker-punched him as he tried to stab it, letting go and allowing the force to send him into the bar. Stools scattered and the wood top behind him splintered as the grunt stopped, cracking his neck as his head whiplashed into the oak behind him. He froze as his stomach heaved, thankfully empty. The sour taste in his mouth didn't help him focus, but he was adapting. He never swore off his training for a reason and felt some satisfaction as he kicked off the floor and over into the workspace behind it.
Shattered glass crunch under his feet as Alexander landed, closely listening to how the Machamp's heavy footsteps grew faster into a sprint. He went into a roll as a blur of fists simply mulched the area he ducked out of, reeling as he found himself rapidly approaching the remnants of his ride. Leaping up he gripped the crushed roof and vaulted over the SUV's entirety as he went for a set of double doors that would presumably lead into the kitchen, and by extension, a way out.
He heard the bar shatter and metal screech as the fighting type punted the two-ton vehicle out of its way. Alexander banged through the doors and dove over a serving counter, launching things in every direction as he scanned for an exit sign. Spotting it across the room from where he was, he blurred past rows of stoves and shelves as the entrance behind him exploded. A warning displayed on his HUD telling him to duck, and as he obeyed part of the door passed over him and flattened a fridge.
With how useless his best weapon had been against the superpower pokemon, Alexander felt that running was his best bet. Direct combat had been seismic tossed out the window, and his mind was scrambling as the Machamp smashed through the kitchen like a freight train.
He examined how quickly the pokemon was closing in on him as he ran, shutting out the receptors in his head screaming for him to run faster and to catch his breath at the same time. It was a heavy creature, and it was moving too fast to slow down. It didn't need to, seeing as anything that could slow it down would be smashed into pieces. It was looking to crush him against the wall, then. A basic plan, without much thought into how it could fail. Whatever was controlling this creature wasn't actively paying attention, then. Was the ghost elsewhere? It had to be, the reaction times on this thing were too slow for it to be inside of the pokemon, and the plans of attack lacked depth. He couldn't underestimate it, the entity was still powerful. It was managing to keep it controlled, despite being elsewhere and the pain he had inflicted. Alexander felt his lip twitch; he didn't have the equipment to fight ghosts, he barely had the resources to fight the possessed.
He hardly had the energy to fight. The only rest he had allowed himself came from the plane crash and his seizure. Both wouldn't be counted as such by any other person on Earth, but it was the only times where he had not been awake and moving around at the same time; consider it unwilling, but vital, moments where he had stopped moving and thinking. With over a hundred pounds in armor and weaponry, it was a lifesaver.
At least he wasn't alone. With what was happening around the globe, the man knew deep down that many, many fellow grunts were feeling the burn as well. Scratch that, everybody was feeling the burn. The whole world was feeling it.
Alexander dug deep as the final obstacle between him and the Machamp was erased. His foot landed on an appliance beside him as he jumped, hitting the wall beside him and propelling himself away with his free leg. His hand clamped onto a shelf as he pushed upward, twisting himself into a flip. The corner of his vision flashed grey underneath him, disappearing in a crash as he found himself on his feet again.
The walls had only finished shaking when Alexander smashing into the door made them quake again. It was locked. Giving up on the handle he took a step back, hearing the superpower pokemon grunt behind him as it pulled itself from the mess it had created, and slammed his boot into the cheap metal beside the handle. The bolt gave way within the frame and the door flung open, bouncing off the wall as he surged forward to escape.
And then stopped. A plastic shovel was bouncing across the poorly lit alleyway, clattering against the far wall. He hadn't heard it over the ringing alarms from the street but its bright color stood out in the dark as it moved. Something else then moved at his feet. The grunt slammed a hand into the frame to catch himself as a mound of sand shuddered at his feet. Slowly, the grains shifted as it grew a few inches and rebuilt itself; two pieces of quartz materialized to slowly face the grunt. A decade of training to read faces wasn't needed to understand what the furrowing of the dark sand around the pebbles meant, or what was going to happened when a void opened up just under it.
The sound that came out of that sand would have made the weak piss themselves and the strong cower. It caused the Machamp to pause and step back, despite having achieved getting its fat hands around the human's neck.
You haven't caught me yet.
Alexander bared his teeth as he twisted his body back into a healthy position, his knees nearly locking up as over three hundred pounds slammed into them when they hit the floor. Aiming a solid strike into its wrists broke the hold it had, freeing himself before it could recover. The mound of sand did not attempt to go in for the kill while he freed himself, instead groveling after the shovel as if it were a lifeline.
Another took its place instead and began rising into the door frame. With the door blocked he tilted his head slightly, catching an empty aisle he could escape through.
The opening was there, so Alexander booked it yet again. He felt the Machamp recover before he heard its bellow because the floor cracked at his feet, tripping him. He caught himself and went into a slide as his HUD warned him of another airborne object coming at him. The fridge passed overhead without distracting his attention, and he made it a few more yards before he was notified again of more projectiles. He ducked as something knicked his helmet and sent him sideways, bouncing off a stove as the path in front of him was blocked by a table smashing through a row of cooking stations.
Another warning and he admitted he was in trouble. He braced himself as he charged into the mess of steel as the area behind him was sacked, and a moment later he was propelling himself over the row and into the next. He felt the ground hitting his feet when more warnings cropped up, and his eyes widened slightly as something heavy struck his back. The tiles rose to greet him as he smashed into the floor, sliding as his armor jostled and scraped along without any sign of slowing down.
Sparks danced past his vision- sparks that burned and hurt whenever they got too close. They jolted into his flesh as he hit something and came to a halt, burning into his ribs and spine as his chest grew lighter. Disorientated, he rolled and pressed his elbows into the floor, propping himself up slowly and peering down as his chest plate tilted, giving off a final pop as it disengaged and peeled away. It clattered on the floor, falling out of his attention as the Machamp shoved aside some obstacles in its path, striding over and reaching down to grab him.
Its head jerked to the side as something pulverized itself into dust on its temple, clouding Alexander's visor. He had the luxury that was time to drag a hand down his visor and look off to the side, not expecting a geodude to be throwing another piece of concrete at the superpower pokemon's head. It smashed the attack out of the air with ease and took a step towards it, seemingly forgetting his presence with the new gladiator on the field.
The grunt waited a moment and realized that it had indeed shifted priorities, and waited as it began to take another step before acting. He lunged out with his foot and caught the creature in the back of the knee, knocking it down. With his aid given, the grunt struggled backward, dragging himself away from the fighting type so that it wouldn't come back at him.
His eyes shifted back to the rock type as he shuddered to his knees, and with renewed vigor, he focused his remaining energy into standing.
I don't have time to watch.
The Geodude was a lighter shade than normal. His savior was young. Too young to be experienced, and too young to be smart. There was confidence in its eyes that he recognized, so much so that the grunt understood that it wasn't bothered by how little it had damaged the fighter. Rock vs. fighting battles frequently ended with the fighting type blowing dust off their knuckles. And, as the grunt realized that he would still be stuck in the room once the fight was over, the confident little Geodude decided to charge at the Machamp.
Whatever dreams and inspirations its trainer had put in its head were carrying it to the Machamp, to whatever glorious outcome that beat the odds no matter how slim it appeared. The Take Down ended when the fighter grabbed it firmly by both arms and used its other two to crush it into dust.
Mineral formations and pieces of stone scattered everywhere as it dropped the amputated limbs, and without a moment of contemplation, it turned to finish off the human. Everything turned white for it as Alexander squeezed a trigger, unloading a fire extinguisher's contents directly into its face.
Possessed don't feel fear. They're tools for whatever ghost wanted their body for. Sometimes they don't feel pain, either; or at least, they're not allowed to express it unless the ghost sees fit to allow it. It's bottled up alongside whatever soul was trapped within its own body. However, that's assuming the ghost is also residing within the body, using it as a personal vessel. In this case, the spirit was elsewhere doing other things, presumably with a lot of other vessels at once. It had less influence and control over an individual then.
So it couldn't prevent the host's primal reaction to being blinded and choked at the same time.
I can settle for this. If you were something other than a puppet I'd be laughing.
Alexander pushed forward as the Machamp stumbled back, feeling childish glee as it hacked and blindly ran at him. A flurry of fists cut through the cone of white fluff without bothering the man as he sidestepped, letting it careen past him and out of his way. Panic was predictable. There was only so much the possessed could do in its state, and without much effort, Alexander was past it. He eased off the trigger to keep the spray from giving it a hint that he was behind it and returned his attention to hobbling back to where he had originated from.
Another person stumbled into the doorway. Torn flesh marred the side of his head and stained his uniform, but Scott stood firm as he fired upon the Machamp with a rifle he had been carrying earlier. His eyebrows rose and his eyes widened as he did, and the grunt's confusion ended as the world around him exploded.
It had been a long time since Scott had stepped foot in the Corviknight, a night club for the upper class. The last time he'd been here was with his dad before he had found out he was the most corrupt bastard in the Hau'oli police department. Last he heard it had changed hands to a person that gave him the same vibes his pops had way back when, but he hadn't cared. The place had been ruined by the truth. It still looked as nice as ever, at least. The new owner hadn't destroyed it, seeing how the private lobby hadn't changed one bit in the several years Scott had seen it last. Grand, neatly arranged oak tables, chandeliers, red lighting, and a dark band stage brought him back to a time he hadn't thought about in a while.
As for why he was in the private part of the club he had left behind was beyond him. He had sworn off the place and vowed to never set a foot through its doors, but here he was, sitting in one of the leather seats lining the walls...
The Corviknight didn't have seats like that. Or metal armrests.
Scott slowly looked from the sturdy wooden chairs within arms' reach and down, blinking when he focused on a wall of white directly in front of him. It was stained red for reasons he couldn't decipher, and his head hurt trying to figure it out. It wasn't a hangover. His head burned from his ears to his collar bone. Swallowing a painful lump growing in his throat, he looked further down to a bunch of broken plastic and glass, and with a grunt, he pushed at his armrest. A shine off his chest caught his eye as the entire section of plastic and steel fell away from his side, and the man reached up and touched his badge blankly.
I'm in uniform. It's... red. It's all red. Why is it red?
Scott reached around the badge and touched the inky black material on his chest, feeling the familiar coarse feel of the fabric. He was in his normal uniform, with a kevlar vest secured overtop of it. Letting his hand slip from the material his fingers brushed a different texture, and upon inspection, he traced it up to his neck where it was biting into his flesh. Tugging at it a few times to ease the burning he started looking sideways, and the image of the night club started diverging from how he had last seen it.
The untouched portion of the club was lucky compared to what had happened to the rest of it. It was like a bomb had gone off and torn most of the place to pieces.
I'm sitting in a car at the rear of The Corviknight club. It's not my car. I don't know where I got this car, and I don't remember how I got here... The place must have been evacuated.
Scott touched his face and quickly pulled his hand away. "God damn..." The officer grunted and fumbled with his seat belt, freeing himself. He hoped that nobody else had been hurt. He couldn't hear any signs of panic; no sirens or yelling, no normal reactions from a car crash of the likes from which he was waking up.
His first few steps were unsteady as Scott worked off the loopiness he felt. They became easier the more he walked; a good sign all around for any victim of an accident. He wasn't going to leave the scene-no, he had a responsibility to the people and the force to stay on sight for an evaluation and proper action. There were procedures for this. And paperwork. Enough paperwork for it to cross his mind and make the man sigh. He was porked. The force would throw him behind a desk for the rest of his career if somebody was injured. They could hold him accountable for damages if they couldn't afford the legal fees. They'd thrown more than one man under the bus to save themselves. Damn it. He'd worked so hard to get to where he was, and it could all be over in a heartbeat.
The power's acting strange. Why are the lights so bright?
He slowed, looking up at a row of hanging lights above him as they grew harsh. Clamping his eyes shut, he threw up an arm for good measure to block out the glare that burned his head further. A flash later, and the glare ceased, followed by audible pops and tinkling of glass bouncing off the floor. Scott pinched his eyes shut and opened them as the rest of the lights blew. The darkness encapsulating the room made his pulse quicken, and he started speeding for a set of curtains that led to the front.
It all came back to him when he pulled them aside.
Arresting his little shit of a nephew and his friends for vandalism. Driving off the road when the trunk and his belt exploded. The flash mob that engulfed the country and left it in a spasming state of shock. Dropping off his nephew at his house when the looting and hysteria spread. Navigating through the streets of a chaotic Hau'oli to the shell of his destroyed station. Finding half of his commanding officer burning on the front steps. Regrouping at the pokemon center before the military arrived in force. The cobbled-together response to the city's desperate downfall into anarchy. The Palossand. His best friend shooting him in the face.
Here.
A great flash of light blinded Scott, and he stepped back as all the windows at the front exploded inwards. Glass peppered his face before he used the curtains to shield him, and through the billowing fabric, he saw a car thrown fender over fender past the club and out of sight. He'd seen enough. The wall of sand and the lightning was all he needed.
The fear came thundering back, as well as where he needed to be. Scott spun on his heels and went back to the remains of the vehicle. He reached down and picked up the rifle the military had given him: an M16 from whatever reserve they had kept from the last war. It wouldn't do much against the monsters, but it was more comfort at this point. Gripping the steel firmly the officer started running towards an available emergency exit until a great crash from the kitchen area broke his narrow focus.
The man he had been with. The Interpol agent the military had pulled from thin air and thrown into his unit without an explanation. He had left him in the car. That son of a bitch.
Another great crash shook the ornate chandelier hanging above him, and Scott started towards the opening until he slipped. His back protested as he hit the floor, stunning him. Cursing, he put a hand down to rise and felt warmth emanating from the stuff he had slipped in. The iron invaded his nose a moment later and Scott felt his jaw lock as he spun his head around, nearly bumping his nose on the trainer's open hand. The officer flinched and scooched away, finding his grip on hardwood not painted a new color and started rising. Guilt and horror played with his mind as he looked at the ravaged body, feeling acid rising up his throat.
He didn't know the kid's name, or why he decided to fight for a country that wasn't his. He'd been a tourist, that much he could tell. Some sunburned kid that came in with an influx of people that had survived a capsized cruise liner a few miles out from the harbor. Poor kid had been quiet, and after his roster had been documented more than a few of Scott's coworkers had guessed that a pokemon of his had flipped the ship.
It wasn't like he had asked him about it upfront. Scott had the opportunity, but he didn't want to disturb the kid within the first few minutes of meeting him. He instead talked about some of the kid's pokemon and his journey before the riots.
There was a Pokeball still on the kid's belt. It was the geodude the kid had gotten from Rustboro City. The officer paused and tried to not look at the torn flesh around it, and his stomach rebelled as he plucked the orb from its holster. He managed half a step back before he retched on the floor, expelling the remains of his last meal on the expensive hardwood. Shuddering, he looked at the Pokeball and rubbed a thumb over the button. Biting his lip the man lowered his arm and strode to a nearby table, ripping off the tablecloth with a fine flick of the wrists and covering the remains of the kid. Grabbing at the corner of the same table he started shoving it closer, knocking off the glass and silverware he had preserved as he tipped it over, blocking the corpse from sight.
Huffing, Scott enlarged the ball and released the pokemon. A Geodude manifested, and he pointed towards the kitchen and ordered: "Go defend the other officer! I'll catch up!" It looked confused and startled, but it recognized Scott from the little time they'd spent together. It only saw him standing beside a table. So, it listened and charged into the kitchen.
The man slowly looked down at the staining cloth. The kid's parents would never know where their baby was. He wouldn't get to grow up and enjoy everything life could have offered him. He wouldn't fight, marry, or have grandchildren. All he got was a painful death in a foreign land, surrounded by people he never knew.
Scott had to get home.
Spitting out the remaining bile and blood in his mouth, the officer shambled towards the kitchen. A loud crack inside made him pause, and a thunderous explosion on the street shook the ceiling hard enough for the dust to slowly fall from the rafters above. His breathing grew shaky as he sped for the entrance before him, struggling to keep it together as the city he grew to love came apart at the seams.
Stumbling the last few feet, Scott steadied himself against the broken frame. Calling it a kitchen wasn't correct anymore; it looked closer to a scrapyard than a place one would prepare food. The agent was stumbling towards him with a fire extinguisher in hand, looking significantly worse as a Machamp wiped the foam from its face. Two stone arms amid a pile of colorful pebbles told him what happened to the geodude he had sent in first, and the culprit cleared its eyes finally and spun to charge at the agent.
"Don't you dare take one more step!" Scott barked, raising the rifle at his friend. The superpower pokemon had been on the force for over four years, and he had had many drinks and get-togethers with its handler. The same one who'd shot him. The officer felt his heart sink as it ignored him and began to stride after the agent, paying him no attention. He wasn't going to get through to it; the years they'd trained and been around each other meant nothing under the control of the demons outside. He couldn't hesitate because it wasn't. Taking a few steps away from the wall, he put his cheek to the steel and squeezed the trigger, breathing in sharply as he did.
Rotten eggs, he tasted rotten eggs. His lips twisted as the sour taste graced his lips, and he felt all his muscles tighten as the air caught fire.
Oh-
He closed his eyes as the heat nearly cooked them, and a blast of super-heated air hit him like a truck and launched him backward. He felt the floor sliding beneath him as the heatwave washed over, pushing him further along the ground before he struck something strong enough to stop him.
Scott sucked in a breath of hot, acidic air as his chest screamed. He gagged and felt tears running down his face; little trails cooling his skin before evaporating in the heat.
You need to get up right now, or you'll burn to death. Just like the detainees that were stuck in their cells when the precinct went up. You heard what they sounded like, and that will happen to you. Now move.
His muscles spasmed as he shifted his arms, wheezing as he forced them under his chest. He cracked his eyes open to a blurry canvas of red and orange as he pushed, using the screams branded in his head to spark the resolve he needed to push himself up. A muscle twitched and he shuddered, gripping the floor with dirtied nails and heaving his sorry mess of a body into a sitting position. His arm trembled as he rubbed at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, opening them again as something crashed nearby.
The wall where the kitchen had been was crumbling, flames licking up it and engulfing the remains of the bar faster than the officer could track. He could see pieces of burning debris scattered among the rest of the building through the smoke that was filling the room, some glittering through the chrystals from the now fallen chandelier.
Scott gritted his teeth and pressed himself further back, using the studied beam behind him to get him further to his feet. He stood, stooped low as his entire frame ached. His rifle rested by him, and he slowly reached down and picked it up. Growling he rose further, noticing movement among the debris as he did so.
Markus was struggling to rise, shoving off planks of wood from his suited body. Scott watched the agent for a moment before stepping away from his support, putting one foot in front of the other until he was grabbing one of the larger planks and lifting it off his back. He tossed it aside and grabbed a second one, lugging it off the larger man. Another chandelier came crashing down, shaking the floor as the agent shuddered in his attempt to rise. His armor was scorched and charred, and the longer he struggled by the officer, the more he saw how beaten and bloodied it was.
Scott dropped his hand in front of the lowered helmet, noticeably making Markus flinch. The visor started rising, and the officer saw a dark pool of an eye through a missing shard in the glass. He was uncertain and tried again to rise without assistance.
There wasn't time, and they both knew it. Scott reached down and grabbed the man's hand, and the agent held on tightly as the officer struggled to help the heavier man to his feet. His brow tightened in concentration as he grunted, leaning back as inch by inch Markus rose, each going by faster as he found momentum. Taking a step back to keep his balance, he looked up at the visor, ignoring all the fire reflecting off its cracked surface and into the eye of the man that had just survived an explosion.
"I know a way out." He croaked, letting his hand slip free before grabbing his forearm and leading him towards an emergency exit. Before he could reach out and push the bar Markus tugged him back, shaking his head.
"Schmall Paloshand... alleyway." The agent slurred and shook his head slightly, putting a hand to his visor. "Find a different path."
Scott scowled slightly. The agent was pretty banged up to be moving around. He'd worry about it later, now he had to figure out where they could go. The officer sighed and looked around quickly, and a memory of him eating in a secluded room crawled out from a deep recess in his mind. Without hesitating he grabbed a piece of Markus' armor and began leading him to across the width of the club.
Passing a hole in the floor the agent slowed and fell to a knee. He bent down and plucked a large machete from the lip of the hole, and Scott helped lift him back up when his knees started trembling.
Big guy like you can't be slowing down right now. Come on, we're close.
The open doorway was hidden in the dancing shadows from the fires, right where Scott remembered it was. The staircase sucked the energy out of both of them as the heat and smoke increased, but there wasn't another option. It was suffer or die, and Scott wasn't dying. He was getting home.
Sweat ran down his back as he started shouldering more weight from the agent as he lost his energy, and he started to wonder if Markus was going to make it to the fire escape on the roof. He focused on making that happen instead of the ornate rooms they passed, and all the baggage they held over the officer's head. Forcing smoke and fire into his lungs once more, he started leaning forward and forced the both of them to speed up.
The crackling was growing louder by the time they reached the ladder, and with a grunt, he pushed Markus ahead of him. "It's just a few feet up, we'll make it." The Interpol agent looked at him in disbelief and then at the hatch above them.
"Oshawatt you mean, that's a few feet?"
Scott blinked. "Pardon?" A pun. Markus just laid out a shitty pun while they were struggling to not burn alive.
The serious look in the agent's eye didn't betray him what so ever, and with a grunt, he turned and sheathed the machete in a part of his armor before grabbing a rung. He struggled but managed to leave a bewildered Scott behind to stare up at him until he managed to open the hatch.
A shudder running through the building made Scott scramble up the ladder as quickly as he could manage, nearly blind as the smoke found a new exit and billowed out. Holding his breath he found his grip on the side of the hatch and felt his muscles scream at him again.
Not now. You're right here, just a little further.
The officer exhaled and brought in a lungful of smoke, choking as he strained to pull himself higher. His arms refused to budge, and a shallow curse escaped Scott's lips as his muscles locked up. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see.
He almost didn't feel the large hand that clamped down on his arm and hauled him up a few feet. Suddenly the air was cold. Fresh. Scott took in the deepest breath he could before his lungs rebelled and made him hack, and a moment later he pulled himself up and fell out of the hatch and onto gravel.
Silence persisted a moment as his lungs slowly began inviting more oxygen into them, and Scott cleared his eyes again as Markus tried to rise from his kneeling position beside him. He noticed red and orange in his visor before the man struggled forward on his knees, and the officer rolled over to see what was happening.
The buildings around them were aflame. Papers, debris, and sand fell from the sky like snow as Scott crawled after Markus, who he couldn't read as he stumbled towards the edge.
"Wait!" Scott wheezed, finding his hands and knees. "The exit is across the way! Where are you going?"
The officer managed to find his footing and stumbled after Markus, catching up to him at the end of the building. They stood beside the dark neon sign and looked into the streets, shattered and fused with stone and steel and glass. Burning shells of cars belched smoke into the sky alongside the buildings, and among them were pokemon. A Rotom, a few Haunter, a Gengar, a Rhydon.
The same Rhydon that had a dead owner.
Markus cursed quietly as it looked up. The drill pokemon's mouth fell open slightly as it looked for someone that wasn't there, and its eyes widened. The group of ghosts looked up as well, with reactions consisting of surprise, shock, and recognition. The two humans could hear the whine building up in the Rhydon's throat, slowly building in pitch and volume.
The officer noticed the demeanor change in the congregation of ghosts when they turned back to back. The ground shook, and as he leaned further out to see down the street a wall of sand taller than their building stormed around the corner and smashed into a skyscraper-like a river, and the air was filled with a horrific groan as multiple stories of steel buckled and gave. Eyes peered from the river, and another deep crash thundered from the other end of the street as another Palossand arrived. The congregation bristled, dark lashes of energy and orbs of night began forming around them as the sandcastles stormed forward, sweeping through the streets like water and carrying everything with them.
Scott covered his ears as a scream cut through the noise of falling buildings. Normally he would call it a roar, but the sound that came out of the Rhydon transcended his definition of what roaring was. There was heartbreak, hate, and loss in the sound, and Markus nearly fell over before the drill pokemon even raised both of its fists into the air and slammed them into the ground with everything in its power.
Scott lost his footing and grabbed ahold of a letter in the sign as the entire world quaked. Cracks in the pavement turned into gulleys, then ravines. The buildings swayed like grass in the wind, crumbling and falling as great cracks formed in the roof they were standing on. The officer yelped as the sign started coming apart, the letter supporting him breaking free and nearly taking him with it as it toppled into the street below. The earth shuddered again and the street collapsed, dropping dozens of feet as the sewers collapsed. Both Palossand stopped in their tracks, screaming as the earth shattered beneath them and sucked them into its depth, slamming back together as foundations slipped from their mooring and shattered.
The congregation froze as it happened, and spun as the drill pokemon fell with the street. The shaking didn't stop, and another blood-curdling roar rose from the ravine as the shaking grew in intensity and the buildings disintegrated.
Scott couldn't hear himself screaming. Couldn't hear anything at all as his ears quit from the sensory overload. The stones shook beneath him and jumped bruising ribs and making him scream until his vocal cords threatened to give out. Hands far colder than the air grabbed his shoulders and lifted the officer from the roof of the club, and he didn't stop screaming. Not when his city was being torn to shreds.
The officer flew, traveling straight up into the air and above the tallest buildings. He watched as the Coviknight club imploded into a ball of cinders and flame, as the surrounding building fell and buried it under hundreds of feet of concrete and steel. The ground sank, deep chasms rippling through the crumbling city and into the marina, bringing forth more rivers then all the natural canals combined.
Far above the city, two humans and many ghosts watched in horrified silence as skyscrapers fell and the city's landscape changed forever.
"Wh... what do we do?" The Haunter holding a now limp Scott asked. The silence continued for a while longer, with everyone muted by the calamity before them. The shaking hadn't abated, but the officer still turned his head to the marina, being taken apart by sheer force from the earth it resided on.
"The water." The officer whispered, not registering that the ghost that had saved his life was speaking common. The Gengar looked to the beaches and broken Mariana, and the look in its eyes grew even more intense.
"Get the humans somewhere high. Now."