Chapter 1: Crimson Legacy
Darius Pent honed his eyes on the man browsing the Technical Machine section on the third floor of Celadon City's famed Pokémon department store. From his metal bench, he could watch the middle-aged scientist undetected with the aid of the newspaper that covered most of his face. Darius tracked him by the unsightly mop of greasy, black hair that bobbed each time the man pulled new merchandise from the shelf.
The scientist, Beau, looked up and glanced around the room through his thin-framed glasses. Darius lowered his eyes to the paper that shielded him from suspicion. While waiting for the man to move towards the checkout line, he reread the newspaper cover article.
Those damned fools, Darius thought. He pressed upon the newspaper, creasing it, nearly tearing it.
They were damned fools for thinking the past was behind them.
Darius retraced the large, bold headline with his eyes, then the tagline, focusing on the words to block out the pervasive noise of the Celadon department store: "FIFTH SILPH CO. LIBERATION ANNIVERSARY—Legacy of a Hero Celebrated, Remembered." While the article succeeded in explaining how the hero known to the world as "Red"—a code-name given him by the Indigo Plateau's Pokémon League—single-handedly brought Team Rocket to its knees, the journalists had written it in a celebratory tone that belied the threats and injustice he knew festered upon society like an oozing wound.
The inaction of the police and the League had allowed Giovanni and most of his followers to escape.
Darius would not tolerate such injustice. Those criminals would not elude him.
As his target would soon discover.
A sudden vibration jarred Darius. He reached for the Pokégear on his belt and slipped it in front of the newspaper. A message showing no sender ID displayed upon the screen.
[Have some information you will find interesting.]
The tone gave away the identity of one of Darius's informants who purposefully spoke as indirectly as possible. A clumsy, but decent, way of covering their tracks should the authorities discover them.
He sneaked a glance at Beau, who loitered about in the aisle in front of him, and typed on his Pokégear while the man picked up more Technical Machines.
[This had better be important.]
At last, Beau stepped towards the cash register, just within Darius' sight. The line of three people dwindled down to one.
[Wouldn't contact you if it wasn't. Drop whatever you're doing. This takes priority.]
He typed another message as the woman in front of the scientist gathered her purchases into her bag.
[Busy. I'll get back to you.]
Darius peered over his newspaper as the cashier swiped the man's credit card. The persistent Pokégear buzzed again.
[Your call, your regrets.]
The Technical Machines paid for, Beau began to walk towards the stairwell. Darius stood, folded the newspaper, and tucked it into his jacket pocket. His fingers flew across the device's keyboard as he walked.
[I said later. Target on the move.]
He reclipped his Pokégear to his belt, adjacent to the three Pokéballs on his right side, and shadowed the man as a specter might stalk a graveyard visitor, the sound of his steps swallowed up by the din of the department store.
His unwitting guide swung the door open hard enough to resound against the doorstop, then moved up the stairs at a jogging pace. Darius stopped the door with his palm and slipped through, guiding the door back to its frame so that it shut without emitting so much as a click from the door latch. He listened to the reverberation of the man's ascending steps, discerning which floor he was headed to by the number of steps and the pitch of their sound. They were on the third floor, and the number of steps far exceeded the number required to go up even two floors.
He's heading for the roof, Darius deduced. Perfect. This may go easier than expected.
Darius stretched his legs as he climbed the stairs three-at-a-time in near silence, leaving an echo so diminutive that he could barely hear it. Upon reaching the rooftop door, he placed his hand around the long, steel handle and eased it clockwise, like a thief turning the dial of a safe. After turning it fully, Darius pressed his shoulder against the door, setting his foot in the corner of the doorway so as to catch it and keep it from making noise.
He saw a sliver of the afternoon sky through the crack of the open door, the white cottonball clouds rolling towards the southern sea. Darius slipped through the door and slid it closed, the clicking of metal sliding past metal drowned out by the pronounced hum of the vending machines along the northern railing. He saw that the roof was vacant of anyone else but Beau, a rare but fortuitous occurrence at the Department Store.
The scientist grumbled as the machine beeped, but failed to accept his credit card swipe, and then cursed loudly when his second swipe failed.
Darius crept up from behind.
"Crappy junker, work!" Beau growled, slamming his hand against the glass. "Why does the department store put these on the roof, anyways? Idiots." He moved to another vending machine.
Another swipe at a different machine produced a beeping acknowledgment. The mechanical arm inside the glass arose to the lemonades, extended, clamped around the plastic cylinder, retracted, and released. The lemonade plunged, then landed into the withdrawal slot with a pair of clunking sounds.
"Finally!" Beau bent over and grasped it through the slot.
In a heartbeat, Darius pulled two Pokéballs from his belt and opened them in flashes of white light. The trilling cries of his Pokémon filled the air as they emerged. A long-necked bird with a slender, pointed beak and a neon-colored, six-legged arachnid flanked Darius's target.
"What the—? What's happening?" Beau dropped his lemonade as he whipped around.
Darius returned the capsules to his belt as he uttered a command to his Fearow and Ariados.
"Alva, Shelob, delta formation."
The Ariados clacked its mandibles together as it raised its hind quarters, firing a stream of sticky webbing. The white, sinewy fluid stifled Beau's scream, covering his mouth and entrapping his torso in strands as thick as rope. Once the webbing surrounded the target like a cage, Alva the Fearow flapped its mighty stork wings and grasped the strings of webbing with its talons.
"Perfect execution," Darius commented. He allowed himself to smile as the man's eyes whitened and his muffled attempts to scream for help increased with his thrashing. Darius looked to Alva and said, "Fly."
Alva crooned, then ascended in a slow spiral.
"Well done, Shelob. Return." The trainer returned the Ariados to its ball and took out another from his belt simultaneously with a call of, "Dyna Blade, come."
Another avian materialized with a shriek, sweeping its black wings back in a majestic flourish. It stood at nearly four feet high in a proud pose, its crest displaying a noble white-on-black-on-white pattern. The only noticeable hue on its primarily shade-heavy plumage was the tuft of scarlet feathers that hung over its face like a human hairstyle. The Staraptor tilted its head as it turned to regard Darius, who was busy wrapping his hands in gauze.
"Fly, Dyna Blade," he stated, lifting his hands above his head. "Follow Alva."
Although the Staraptor demanded respect as a powerful bird of prey, it possessed under half its master's weight, and could not bear Darius upon its back. Instead, Dyna Blade emitted another shrill chirp as it took flight, and then alighted upon Darius's hands. It clutched them in its powerful talons and took off with a rapid flapping of its wings.
Darius felt the thrill of flight on the cool spring wind that whipped his long bangs and rippled his jacket behind him like a cape. The steady beating of the birds' wings carried Darius and the scientist above Celadon's towering skyscrapers and the Pokémon trainers thronging in the streets below, unwitting witnesses to his successful capture. The Pokémon Center and police station lay to the east, appearing as small as huts from his lofty position. Yet Darius knew better than to dally and allow the police to chase him in a helicopter, a near-impossible situation to escape from.
The trainer verbally directed Alva northward towards the isolated groves north of the city, with Dyna Blade in close pursuit. As they cleared the final rows of apartment buildings at the city's perimeter, Darius ordered his birds to descend until his feet began to skim the brushy tops of the trees beyond the city. When he spied a small clearing in the forest, the young man instructed his Pokémon to land there.
As Darius approached the ground, the air filled with a constant, vibrant buzzing sound. He signaled to Alva and Dyna Blade to glide the rest of the way, stifling the noise of their wings whipping the air. When at last his feet touched down upon the cushiony forest floor, Darius silently directed Alva to drop her cargo against a nearby pine tree. After the herring-like bird released its grasp on the stringy web cage, Darius returned his Pokémon to their respective spheres, which he then clipped to his belt.
He reached towards the holster on his belt and extracted a knife.
The military-grade monstrosity gleamed in the sunlight, pristine teeth poised like the fangs of a shark.
Darius traced the blade tip along the man's neck a centimeter away. As he moved it up the jawline, the prisoner twisted his head away as far as possible, but Darius maintained the blade's distance until the razor-edged weapon rested upon the man's cheek.
Beau's eyes widened behind the glare of his glass lenses as his entire body went rigid. As Darius stepped closer, his muffled shouts dwarfed the ever-present hum of the forest.
"Calm down and listen," the young man said, his voice even-tempered, yet commanding and low, just above a whisper. "I'm going to remove the webbing from your mouth so you can speak. Quietly. I'm sure you've noticed the buzzing sound."
As Darius paused, the vibration that was ever-present in the grove deepened, seemed to come from everywhere at once. As a Celadon native, he knew that the local Beedrill did not need to be as numerous as they were in the Viridian Forest to stir into a swarm of relentless, stabbing, piercing death.
He allowed for the Beedrill buzzing to fill the next few seconds. The man was drenched in sweat—rivers of it poured down his face, soaking his t-shirt. Beau swallowed, hard, and offered a feeble nod in reply.
Darius sliced through the stringy webbing, allowing his prisoner to inhale sharply through his mouth. He tucked the knife back into its scabbard, then slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.
"What is it you want from me?" the man gasped at last, his voice hoarse and dry.
Darius steeled his eyes, bearing his gaze upon the prisoner. "Answers. And I suggest you provide them before the Beedrill grow restless."
Beau blasted Darius's face with hot air. "What could I possibly know?"
"As the designer of Silph's prototype Master Ball, you know plenty," Darius shot back, his expression remaining unflappable.
The scientist shook his head. "I wasn't the only one on that project. Plenty of people lent a hand in its development. I don't even know most of the details. Silph kept information compartmentalized, need-to-know only."
"As project lead, you had the need-to-know, and now so do I."
"I'll lead the police right to you." The man's eyes narrowed, becoming hidden behind the flare of his glasses. "I can scream at any time. And if you think you can torture information out of me, their forensic scientists will trace my blood to your weapon."
Darius tilted his head back as he let out a sharp, staccato laugh. He patted the knife holster at his side. "This is a mere toothpick compared to Beedrill stingers. I'll leave it up to you to estimate how many of those will rush in to greet you long before anyone can come to your rescue."
He watched Beau's Adam's apple rise, then plunge. The scientist's eyes widened, and were now visible around the lens glare. With a new understanding established between them, Darius cut through the silence again.
"You may as well tell me what you know, considering Silph disposed of you to protect its image. Turns out it looks bad when the mind behind the Master Ball leaks information to Giovanni and turns coat."
"T…that's absurd!"
"Absurd, but true. A trusted eyewitness." Darius retrieved the newspaper from his pocket, opened it to a picture of Red from the anniversary article, and shoved it at the man's face. "There's also security footage confirming his statement. Or is that absurd, too?"
The man lowered his voice to a mere whisper. "I… I was scared… so, I pretended—"
Darius jabbed Beau's chest with his index finger. The newspaper fell to the forest floor.
"You pretended to be a loyal Silph employee. You pretended to be an upstanding citizen—"
"—No!" Beau interjected, his tone rising. "You don't understand—"
"—Pretended to create the Master Ball to better society, even as you sold the technical details on how to make it to the Rockets. Became one of them," Darius continued. "Took off with Giovanni's tainted money when Red uprooted their scheme and moved to Celadon to hide in plain sight."
"What's it matter to you?" the scientist retorted. "It isn't like I've done anything against you."
"The authorities let far too many Rocket scum like you slither away. I work to rectify that."
"What, wannabe hero wants to be like the legend? Tie up the cops' loose ends?"
"More like make a noose." Darius stared through the man's eyes and into his soul. He could practically feel the chill running through his prisoner's spine. "The only question is whose neck I tie it around—yours, or your former boss's."
"Who are you?!" the prisoner cried out, his voice rising.
The unending vibration in the air thickened, and Darius kept completely still. From the corner of his eye, a yellow-black striped hornet the length of his forearm flew past a tree twenty feet to his right. As if noticing Darius's reaction, Beau imitated a statue, neither moving nor breathing. The Beedrill looked like an insectoid fighter jet, its sleek body darting around trees in tight proximity. The conical stingers that protruded from the ends of its arms and abdomen appeared like warheads ready to rocket towards them at a moment's notice.
Darius felt his heart hammering his ribcage as the Beedrill flitted from tree to tree. He weighed his options as the killer insect seemed to float, drifting its way through the forest, sometimes drawing closer, sometimes away. The trainer knew that if it noticed them, it would attack within seconds. He could crush a single Beedrill with ease, but if the commotion drew dozens, even hundreds of the massive hornets…
Fleeing would become the sole option, leaving Beau to a grisly, certain demise—an acceptable outcome for the criminal, except that Darius needed to know who within Silph Co.'s power structure had sworn fealty to Team Rocket. The former Silph scientist was his only remaining lead.
The air continued to buzz. The Beedrill's stingers exuded malice as the loathsome insect gradually banked to its right.
When the loathsome insect began to fly away, Darius let out breath he didn't know he had held.
The scientist still looked petrified, and resumed breathing only seconds after the Beedrill vanished behind the trees. Beau shut his eyes, turned his head away. His pointed nose became a mountain peak from which sweat continued to cascade.
Time to push him while he's rattled, Darius thought. Before another outburst causes a swarm.
"Who knew about your allegiance to the Rockets? Did the board authorize you?" Darius pressed, his voice remaining level and cool despite what had nearly transpired.
"I never talked with anyone inside Silph about what I did, only the Rockets!"
"Then why were they regularly meeting with Giovanni and his associates before the takeover?"
"I don't know, I swear!" Beau's voice quavered as tears intermingled with the sweat dripping from his nose.
Darius did not allow any hint of anger to flicker through his expression, but he felt irritation gnawing his nerves raw. He needed answers that this spineless twit clearly did not have, Darius knew now. He could proceed to torture Beau to make certain, but the coward didn't have the mettle to withhold anything under the pressure already applied to him.
His thoughts turned to Silph Co.'s vice-president. The bastard had kept the truth out of his grasp again.
Darius reached for Dyna Blade's Pokéball, recalling the bird in a flash of light. As he lifted his hands to the sky, the Staraptor gripped his hands in its talons.
Darius did not summon Alva.
Beau opened his eyes at last at the sound of the bird's cry. His face turned ashen.
"What are you doing? You said you wanted answers!"
The trainer turned his back on the former Rocket double-agent.
"Answers you claim not to have. I don't have time to waste on worthless people. Farewell."
"Y-you can't leave me here! I'll die!" Beau's voice barely cut through his profound sobs. "Please, have the decency to take me to the police, at least!"
Darius snorted.
"You'd like that, getting off easy."
He looked to the east to the distant, towering skyscrapers of Saffron City that rose just above the trees. His mouth formed a lopsided smirk.
"No, I have a far better use for you."
Leon sat at the mahogany conference table with his fingers interlaced to form a bridge that upheld his chin. With the board members absent, the table seemed vacant. Even the Silph insignia statue, now resting upon a smaller side table, no longer obstructed the view across the conference room.
He could clearly see the President's mustache bristle as the old man regarded a newspaper.
"Try as I might, I can't get that horrible day out of my head," the President said. "And it doesn't help that the media takes every opportunity to remind me of it."
Leon offered him a sly smile. "The public yearns for excitement, and journalists provide it. You ask too much if you expect them to merely report events and seek the truth behind them."
President Silph regarded him with a furrowed brow and flushed cheeks.
"Easy for you to say! Where were you while Giovanni held me captive inside my own company?!"
Leon weighed his options, keeping silent. He would not jeopardize his position by arguing over the President's emotionalism. He had worked a lifetime to reach vice presidency, given up too much.
The Silph executive decided upon waiting out his superior's frustration rather than challenge it.
After a moment, President Silph exhaled, then rubbed his domed head.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to lash my frustrations out on you, Leon. If anything, I owe you my thanks for answering those reporters' questions for me."
Leon waved the affront away. "Do not trouble yourself, President Silph. It tries even the greatest of minds to publicly relive one's worst memory."
"Sadly, my mind and my body are not what they once were," the President replied. He gestured to himself. "All this worrying only induces stress. Someday I will retire, use what remains of my life to dote on my grandchildren. Once the new Centropolis branch proves stable, I'll step down and hand you the reins to the company."
The vice-president allowed himself to smile as genuinely as any would-be inheritor to a corporate empire could to his predecessor.
"I'm sure you will find your best days are ahead of you, and not behind, President Silph. I will personally ensure the transition remains smooth."
A pregnant pause ensued between them. President Silph looked to the newspaper again and shifted it as if he intended to read more. Yet, after a moment, he folded the paper and set it aside. He returned his focus to the vice-president.
"Do you spend time with your family these days, Leon?"
The question seemed tangential, but Leon knew better. The old man sought assurance that his legacy would endure and the company remain stable after he left. He needed to entertain the old fool's insecurities.
He adjusted his suit's cufflinks, focusing upon them as a means of remaining unflappable. "My daughter's graduation was three weeks ago. You know how independent she is, and she likes to keep busy. I don't believe she'll mind."
"…And your wife and son?" the President pressed.
Instinctively, Leon fought the gut reaction that twisted within him. He maintained his placid expression, neither turning his gaze aside nor moving any facial muscles to acknowledge his true thoughts.
"…I'm afraid I fail to see how the question relates to Silph's future," Leon said at last. "I assure you that I won't be missed while I visit Ria. I'll be able to focus all of my efforts on the company's success."
"I see," the President replied, nodding. "My apologies. I won't bother you with such questions again. You've more than proven your worth at Silph, Leon. I wish you unending success in the future."
"Your understanding is appreciated, President. I thank you for your support."
President Silph loosed a sigh. "Well, enough about that. Have you seen the forecasts on the Pokéball market? Seems mildly promising."
Leon nodded. "There may be cause for opti—"
He trailed off as he noticed the President's expression change to fear, eyes seemingly locked on the window behind Leon. The vice-president pivoted his leather chair, just in time for a person to collide with the window from the outside. The executives stood almost in unison.
A bespectacled man entrapped by spiderwebs remained plastered to the window, his terrified pleas for help muffled by the glass. Leon recognized his repulsive slovenly appearance—it matched the image of the Master Ball's designer.
He saw a note stuck upon the webbing that covered the scientist's chest.
You can't hide the truth forever, Leon, it read.
Behind the former Silph employee, a young man hung from a Staraptor's talons. His gaze fixated upon Leon, the boy's loathing was palpable even in silence. Leon said nothing, responding only by pocketed his hands in his dress pants as he looked back.
After several thick moments of glaring, the trainer ordered his Staraptor to depart. The bird peeled away from the Silph Co. building and headed south.
"Leon! Is that—"
"I'll handle this," Leon said, watching the trainer shrink into the distance. "You should head home."
The president's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I'm afraid we haven't escaped the media's limelight just yet."
After delivering his message, Darius flew south to Vermilion Port. He switched birds part-way after landing briefly to walk a mile under the cover of lush foliage, and then took to flight again. Avoiding any police sightings, he landed when he heard the rushing surge of the frothy Vermilion City waters.
The crowd around him bustled to and from the port. The air filled with the noise of their chatter, the crashing of the waves, and the deep-bass blasts of the ship horns.
A thin, whispy fog rolled in as Darius gazed at the choppy sea. His flinty gaze pierced the mists by willpower and the silent, icy rage storming within him at the thought of the Silph vice-president's interference. He had found and exposed every traitorous scientist involved in the Master Ball program, but Leon's unseen hand blocked him from finding evidence of any connection to the company's board.
Five years of frustration.
Darius did not allow his fury to boil, as emotions detracted from the objective logical process he prided himself on. Yet humans could draw power, inspiration, and determination by them when utilized well. Hot rage ruined thought, but distilling a calculated hatred of evil had long proven useful to him.
Remembering the earlier texts, the trainer pulled out his gear, eyes lingering on the screen. Though he loathed being in another's debt, it would take all of his efforts to bring Leon down, and Darius had run out of leads. Being no fool, he would not permit pride to keep him from seeking a solution, even if it meant acquiring help.
[Ready now] the trainer typed.
A few moments passed, his beating heart keeping time.
The device reverberated. A new message appeared on the screen.
[About time. What happened?]
[No valuable intel. Another dead end. Unless you know something.]
[Old codger says to contact him. Sounded excited, urgent. Says it'll help you out.]
[What time?]
[Contact him directly ASAP. Secure connection only.]
[This isn't amateur hour] Darius replied, and ended the conversation there.
He got up to find a secure network to hack. Whatever Professor Maxwell Willow had to tell him, Darius knew there would be a catch involved.
Author's Note:
This chapter is dedicated to my loving wife of four years. I adore you, Rachel. Happy anniversary : )
(3/24/13)
This chapter took way longer than I wanted to complete. It was tricky figuring out how to introduce my character, Darius, in a memorable way that would connect him with my readers. I hope I've succeeded in doing that.