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The Saga of Kings, Book I: Hero
Written by,
Vile M.F. Slanders
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"...The Protocol for the Prohibition of the Use in War of Asphyxiating, Poisonous or other Gases, and of Bacteriological Methods of Warfare…" -Geneva Protocol; enacted Pre-Brink June 17th, 1925. Disavowed Post-Brink; December 22nd, 12.
-v-
Chapter IV: Hazardous Living Conditions
Venomoth.
One of the few non-Pollutant Poison-Types that still maintain a seat on the F5 species list. The F5 list. Anything on the F5 list is designated a danger to all of humanity, as well as being considered an environmental hazard.
F5. Originally a classification system designed by Trainers to identify five species-Types of mon that require extra-specialized preparation or methods to train.
'5' is for the original list's species count. 'F' is for 'Forbidden.'
Or 'F' is for Freaky, Fucked-up, Fucking-nasty, Fuck-life, For-idiots, etcetera, etcetera.
The first Type mentioned on the original F5 list is Psychic. For good reason.
Psychic-Types can cook your brain. But not just in a lethal way, oh no. Trainers who use Psychic-Types run the risk of being controlled by their own mon. A Trainer controlled by a mon can do untold amounts of damage to their surroundings. Generally the more skilled and better equipped the mon-controlled Trainer is, the higher amount of casualties claimed. The Provincial Governments consider the risk of Telepathic control so dangerous that Trainers who use Psychic-Type mon are required to apply for a specialized League certification and attend mandated bi-monthly MRI sessions.
I've heard of some pretty outrageous claims pertaining to Psychic-Type mon. There is a popular myth that flies around regarding Alakazams and their incomparable brainpower.
Rangers use Seeker Class Alakazams in the field, and to our surprise; the Veterans have discovered that the Alakazams are seemingly unable to utilize their massively acclaimed IQs to master something as simple as knot tying.
A Quantum Computer for a brain my ass. Alakazams are stupid shits that just wield an insane amount of Psychokinetic potential. They do not possess the greatest aptitude for Hypnotic-Dictation. Alakazams are nasty in a fight, but far from the most notorious species of the mind-fucking Psychics.
The Psychic-Types that you want to be leary of are the Hypnos and Drowzees.
Those things will screw you up but good.
Hypnos. Holy shit. These freaks have a reputation for hypnotizing their victims into doing some pretty fucked up stuff.
Have you ever seen a Trainer eat their own feet raw? No, I haven't either, but I've seen the medical records pertaining to the event in question, as well as the mon execution report following it.
A fucking Hypno scrambled that Trainer's brain, which resulted in a human being cannibalizing their own body. Regardless of whether it was the Hypno itself that mentally suggested autosarcophagy, or if it was just the incurable insanity brought about by having your brain violated by a mon, neither cause really matters.
The reason it happened was because a Goddamn Hypno started fucking around with a human head. And humans do not react favorably when their brains are picked apart.
And don't even get me started on the Drowzees.
The Vermillion Rangers have a policy for Trainers who take the eastern Route through the Prague towards the coast.
The policy?
Do not sleep in the Prague.
Ever.
If you do decide to pitch camp in the Prague, just to catch a little shut eye…
-Do not scream when you wake up from the single most terrifying nightmare that you will never remember.
Because if you do scream, then the Drowzee standing over you that just ate your fucking dream is guaranteed to bludgeon your ass to death with its chunky fists.
Better to just hold in that scream, pray that the odds favor your survival…
-And then live the rest of your miserable life terminally depressed because that Drowzee destroyed something in your head that allowed you to experience joy.
Most Drowzee dream-eating survivors commit suicide within the first month. So if you ever find yourself in the Prague, where Drowzees are most common, do not sleep.
It is considered unhealthy.
Number two on the original F5 list was the Dark-Types. Which is the primary reason for why the original list was scrapped in the first place. Dark-Types were originally included by Trainers because of the superstitions they inspired. Not because they actually wrecked more shit than any other Type of mon. That said, some species of Dark-Types deserve to be on the F5 list. Zoroarks, Tyranitars, and Hydreigons especially.
Most Dark-Types are innately nervous. They're generally black in coloration, they possess some rather peculiar behaviors, and they're the only living organisms on the planet that can traverse the Distortion without being adversely affected.
We don't know exactly what the Distortion is, or its connection to the Brink, but it showed up around the same time that the Brink Collapsed.
The only thing that we have confirmed about the Distortion, is that the Distortion is the closest thing to a literal Hell that humanity has ever come across.
Humans have gone into the Distortion. Some have even gone into the Distortion intentionally. Very few return. Those that do…
...Well, they're not the same people that they were before going into the Distortion.
A shared feature among all Distortion Pilgrims is insanity. Sometimes the mental imbalance manifests itself as mania. It's usually displayed as dementia. Generally, there will be symptoms hinting at a little bit of both.
In extremes.
The Ranger academy shows all Cadets video recordings of what happens to a human being after they cross into the Distortion and return. Just so that the Cadets know why they don't want to go into the Distortion. The footage my class saw was taken from a series of padded observation cells, so we all had a pretty good idea as to what was going to happen to the Pilgrims detained in the pillow-rooms.
That doesn't mean that we were ready for it.
All of the Pilgrims screamed endlessly about the 'Darkness,' moaned 'Something is coming' ad nauseam, and then started worshipping piles of their own excrement, before tearing their eyes out and offering them to something called-
'Giratina.'
Whatever a 'Giratina' is, I don't want to know. Something from the Distortion, I imagine, but that's all the pondering I will devote to discerning the nature of 'Giratina.' Mostly because those looneys who came out of the Distortion…
-Well, they didn't exactly stop the offerings to Giratina with just their shredded eyes.
And I had to watch that video all the way to the gruesome end in the academy. I'm going no further with the details.
Dark-Types are usually pretty skittish. They don't like being seen, and looking one in the eyes generally causes a panic reaction from the mon in question. They are extremely distrustful of every other thing on the planet, but normally no more dangerous than the equivalent Normal-Type mon.
Dark-Types earned themselves a sinister reputation on account of their edgy behaviors and physical appearances, as well their unexplainable disappearances, followed by their erratic reappearances.
They became known as the Interlopers. Nobody really liked the sneaky Dark-Types or their mysterious ways, and it started all manner of superstitions and taboos regarding the entire species-Type.
This religious hatred was only fortified when scientists and explorers figured out how to accompany Dark-Types in their disappearances.
That is how humanity first discovered the Distortion, and the poor suckers who came back from those preliminary expeditions were reduced to gibbering, self-mutilating, bipolar nutjobs. After that revelation, we decided to follow the Dark-Types' disappearances with a modified deep-space probe instead of living people.
The only thing that the Distortion probe's optical sensors could detect was an impenetrable black void. Thermal, UV, EM, Radar, Sonar, Laser, Motion, you name it. Each and every one of those sensor couldn't pick up anything but a vacant darkness.
And the only thing that the audio recording hardware could hear was static. Mixed with something that sounded an awful lot like chanting underlaid with screaming.
Yeah, we really don't want to follow anymore Dark-Types into the Distortion ever again. Just in case the Distortion really is Hell.
To this day, Dark-Types are still regarded with more suspicion than any other species-Type of mon. And humanity still leans towards illogical hatred instead of rationalized hatred. But if it means anything to you, Rangers actually love Dark-Types. Most Dark-Types are fiercely loyal once broken, and are unique amongst all other mon for one very specific reason. Dark-Types are the Rangers best offense against the single most dangerous species-Type of mon known to man. And that species-Type is coming up soon.
Number three on the F5 list. Poison-Types. Historically justified, if presently skewed.
There are two different kinds of Poison-Type mon. The typical Venomous kind, and the unnatural Pollutant kind.
The Venomous mon species range anywhere from Arboks to Zubats. These kind of mon produce venom, or they have access to some manner of enzyme dispersal. Venomous mon are quite common, and are generally no more dangerous than any other species-Type. They'll just kill you with virulent biological agents instead of physical violence or temperature fluctuations. Even my beloved Vauban is a Venomous mon. Her blood is toxic, and the shit in Vauban's bulb can easily fuck up some of the toughest mon on the planet. Despite their repulsive means of killing prey, Venomous mon don't really bother me, or most anyone else, anymore than non-Venomous mon.
Pollutants though? Those are the same mon that drove humanity almost to the point of extinction following the Brink Collapse.
Pollutants are physiologically comprised out of seemingly non-biological materials. Normally raw chemicals. Really dangerous chemicals. Basically, the Pollutants are sludge given sentience. Most of the Pollutant mon are nothing more than a supercolony of silicon-based single cell organisms that have developed a crude nervous systems via cellular-specialization. Being silicon-based life-forms, the Pollutants have evolved with foreign cellular chemical composites, most of which are allergenic or even mutagenic to the far more common carbon-based life-forms. Trainers who use Pollutants typically wear environmental hazmat suits as casual attire. Even with that level of protection, Pollutant Trainers will regularly end up wretched sick, and they will most likely die young from cancer.
Pollutants eat and replicate in toxic waste. Pre-Brink humanity cooked up a smorgasbord for the Pollutants ahead of their unforeseen arrival. Mankind had been destroying the planet for centuries, generating massive amounts of waste while doing so, well before the Brink even showed up. Back in the day, humanity relied on combustion to supply our energy needs in the Pre-Brink era, which altered the atmosphere with an imbalanced chemistry. We even dumped our refuse into landfills rather than recycle the materials for new purposes, which increased the deterioration of Earth's ecosystem. Then the Brink appeared.
And when the Brink Collapsed, the Pollutants ate all of our trash up.
Which was anything but beneficial.
The Pollutants bloomed. Big time. Humanity's greatest cities were swimming in Muks, Garbodors, and Wheezings. Those mon can kill you just by existing in your immediate vicinity for too long, and we had seas of Muks spawning in the most populous regions of mankind.
And we just kept feeding them. It took us three-hundred years after the Brink Collapse to finally figure it out, and kick combustion as our primary energy solution. We shut down every manufacturing plant and power station over night. We blew up every one of our refineries and fracking pits in the span of a day. Humanity put itself in a Dark Age, just to starve the Pollutants out. Just because we had no other solution that could possibly prevent our species's extinction.
That's how bad the mon were kicking our asses.
Pollutants are still somewhat common in the old Pre-Brink industrial centers, soaking up the caustic materials that are still weathering their half-lives out. Humanity has abandoned these facilities, and indeed, the surrounding lands. But unfortunately, Grimers and Koffings occasionally leave these Pre-Brink manufacturing graveyards, and wander out into the rest of the world. And all these stray Pollutants need to do in order to become a defcon-one threat to mankind again…
-Is dig up some offshoot Pre-Brink waste storage facility, and then start blooming and evolving into plague proportions.
Number four on the F5 list might surprise you. It was put there by the Irish originally, but mankind forgot the lore of the past in favor of reinventing an old concept for profit intended purposes. Thank you, Walt Disney.
I am of course, referring to the lunatics.
Fairies.
Fairies are dissimilar from most other species of mon in one very specific trait.
They'll charm humans with freakishly humanesque behaviors…
-Right before the Fairy graphically murders their human prey.
The Irish were right. Fairies are not benevolent and innocently mischievous creatures put on earth to aid mankind.
Fairies are vicious little psychopaths that will skin you alive just because they enjoy hearing you scream. Fairies will sing an infant child a soothing lullaby, right before they devour said child alive. Fairies will seduce you with the raunchiest of kinky sex, and at the moment of climax, rip your heart right out of your chest; then giggle sweetly while they apply your lifeblood to their faces like it's a cosmetic.
Fairies are evil. Fairies like making humans suffer. It is an inborn trait of the Fairy species to play with their victims in the most sensual and sentimental ways conceivable, before they mercilessly slaughter their prey. Fairies will mirthfully kill humans as if their lives are nothing more than the visceral punchline to a joke. They won't even eat their victims half of the time. Fairies will hunt and kill for pleasure, not just sustenance, and no amount of training can overcome that instinctive behavior. You could wake up one day and realize that you have trained a Fairy for half a century without one Fairy-like incident occurring throughout your entire union, and for no reason whatsoever, your best mon-friend will still make a messy nest for itself in your abdominal cavity later that night while the two of you are sleeping together.
Rangers do not utilize Fairies; just because the Fairy species is inherently unstable. Rangers refuse to use mon that are so naturally inclined to becoming lethal liabilities. Not all Trainers feel this way, and Fairies seem to dig humans just as crazy as they are. Most Fairy Trainers are insane as well, often incapable of differentiating reality from fantasy, and these Trainers are just as likely to hug you as they are disposed towards stabbing you. But the Fairy-Freaks of today are nothing compared to humanity's past interactions with the Fairy-Types.
At least most Fairy Trainers don't practice paraphilia anymore.
Some Fairy species were once used as exotic concubines, just because Gardevoirs, Kirlias, and Florgesia really liked to get it on with humans. We even fucked creepy doll-like mon such as Aromatisseia, Slurpuffs, Mawiles, Whimsicottia, Mr. Mimes, and Azumarills back in the day. It took humanity all of about a decade to wisen up. We stopped making harems out of mon when mon-harems started making delis out of us.
Because of their deceptive and uncontrollable behaviors, as well as their inclination to organize strategically in spite of their various species' differences, Fairies made the F5 list for being a possible threat to more than just the individual human. They are the only Pokemon species-Type that possess the capability to wage war like humanity does.
Number five on the F5 list. Everybody already knows what it is. The very last species of mon that you ever want to encounter.
The Ghosts.
Ghosts are as unnatural as reality can get. There is nothing remotely sensible about the Ghosts. They don't exhibit a single behavior that supports rationality. Unlike everything else in the world, Ghosts didn't evolve to survive and establish dominance within their environment.
Ghosts evolved only to spread misery, terror, and death throughout all of existence.
The Ghosts are drawn to death and tragedy like Mothims to a flame, and when they find that mortal woe, they exacerbate it.
You can't befriend Ghosts. You can't intimidate Ghosts. You can't catch Ghosts. You can't train Ghosts. You can't see Ghosts half of the time, and you can't even permanently kill them without utilizing some pretty extravagant means.
Ghosts do not hunt like any other creature known to man. Ghosts do not stalk and kill their prey quickly and efficiently, like every other predator on the planet attempts to. Ghosts will torture their prey to death, sometimes tormenting their victims for years before finally killing them. Ghosts are fully capable of performing speedy executions, but for the sake of malice, they won't kill quickly. Their alien minds don't even operate using the same basic principles that all natural organisms possess. They aren't worried about survival or reproduction. Ghosts just exist to cause endless suffering.
Life is just sustenance for the Ghosts. All life, human and mon. Having your life siphoned by a Ghost is excruciatingly painful, but the life tap is made even more agonizing by the Ghosts' appetite for emotions as well.
We once thought that life expectancy was primarily determined by how many divisions your cells are programmed to perform, before they cease replication and allow your body to waste away in something that we refer to as 'aging.'
Thanks to the Ghosts and their feeding methods, we now know that there is another intangible factor at play in the passage of life and death.
Maybe there is a soul, I don't rightly know, but whatever it is…
The Ghosts drain it out of their victims and consume it, killing their prey in the process, leaving no ascertainable cause of death.
We can't kill Ghosts with normal means. They exist half in our realm, half in the Distortion.
Simultaneously.
Which means that if you encounter a Ghost, and you dispel said Ghost's corporeal form in our realm...
You didn't kill it. All that you managed to do was temporarily banish the son of a bitch back into the Distortion. The dispelled Ghost will eventually return to our realm, seeking the individual who banished them.
And the Ghost will be ravenous.
And it will feed from you, in a drawn out and excruciating process known as 'haunting.'
Then you have to make a choice. Submit and let the Ghost devour you, or fight back.
Unfortunately, there are only two ways to rid yourself of a haunting.
One, the proper method, is to incite a skilled Dark-Type into pursuing the Ghost through the Distortion; and have the Dark-Type kill the evil fucker inside of the alternate realm as well.
Two, the improper method, is to have another Ghost eat the one haunting you; and pray that the newly empowered primeval spirit doesn't decide to put your ass on the menu next. But regardless of your prayers, it will haunt you.
Most hauntings end in death for the victim, but not before the Ghost subjects their meal to abject agony and puerile hopelessness.
Ghosts have had some pretty adverse effects on both humanity and the world. Even other mon hate and fear Ghosts. Ghosts will eat anything that lives, and torture it beforehand. Some mon can't even hurt the Ghosts' corporeal forms, making themselves just as easy a meal for the Ghosts as we humans do. And Ghosts don't just sporadically appear and start haunting at random.
Not at all.
Ghosts will bait their selected prey.
Ever wonder why parents burn their children's abandoned dolls and stuffed animals?
Because Banettes and Shuppets will haunt those toys, and revisit their previous owners for some nostalgic playtime. Followed by a crucifixion.
Have you ever wonder why you can't purchase purple balloons in stores, and why children are told not to touch said nonexistent purple balloons?
Because Drifloons imitate balloons, just so that they can steal children away on a fantastic flight. Which is followed by a high-altitude strangulation.
Those are just two of the best known examples of the Ghosts and their hauntings. There are plenty of other forms of haunting that are not so easy to deter. Gastlys wake sleeping children in their cribs, and then smother the children when they try to scream. Duskulls play elusive, and guide curious children into the woods, then lose said child in the wild; haunting them while they starve. Litwicks offer a light for lost children to chase at night, and then immolate the child when they are left breathless and panicking. Misdreavia literally sing children to death using their eldritch music to inflict growing depression and lethal illness. Froslassia will offer a comforting embrace to children who become lost in winter storms, if only for the Froslass to linger over freezing their victims to death in their motherly hold. Yamasks will offer their masks to children, and if the child accepts and wears the mask, then the Yamask will kill the child by rotting them from the inside out. Frillish present themselves as a flotation assistance to children in deep water. Once a fearful or tired child grabs hold of the vibrantly colored bell, the Frillish will slowly constrict the child and let them struggle themselves into exhaustion, before drowning the child beneath the water.
Noticing a theme? All of the aforementioned Ghosts all have the capability to instantly kill human adults effortlessly, but they instead target children and torture them to death.
And those are the little Ghosts. The big revenants are much more elaborate in their methods, and much more varied in their victims.
Yet despite all of this, people still attempt to train Ghost-Types.
Now, I know what you're thinking…
"I've seen Ghosts used in competition before, so they can be trained, right?"
No. They can't. Those Ghosts aren't trained.
They're sustained.
There is a way to control Ghosts. I don't know how it is done, nor do I want to. Rangers do not use Ghosts, and neither does the Military. Only the worst kind of self-destructive freaks seek to control Ghost-Types.
It's called 'Channeling.'
It's something of an occult ritual performed by suicidal wackos.
Channeling shares a lot of similarities with demonic possession.
Ghost Trainers do not break the evil spirits in order to get them under their control.
They feed them.
With their own lifeforce.
It is a limited bleed, but the human host effectively imparts a constant dribble of their own lifeforce into a Ghost parasite.
One 'Channel' will decrease your total life expectancy by an estimated twelve years. Multiple 'Channels' will compound that. Most Championship Ghost Trainers limit themselves to a maximum of three Channels, which is still three Channels too many. On top of that, Channeled Ghosts can't be killed so long as their host lives, so it is an irrevocable haunting. Not even Dark-Types can slay a Channeled Ghost. The Trainer acts as an interdimensional anchor, effectively preventing the Ghost from being utterly destroyed.
Which means that there is no escape for Ghost Trainers after they perform a Channeling. That one mistake will haunt the Trainer for the rest of their miserable existence, never to be undone.
While a Ghost devours their host's life, they'll also be sampling their humanity, making the Ghost Trainer into a soulless abomination in the process. Ghost-Type Trainers aren't exactly human after a prolonged Channel. They lose sight of compassion, empathy, restraint, morality…
Pretty much everything that makes a good human. Ghost Trainers end up becoming monstrous and malevolent creatures themselves, just like their Ghosts. And when it's time for a Channeled Ghost to draw the last drop of life from their Trainers…
The Ghost will drag their Trainer into the Distortion to savor that final feast.
In some circles, 'Channeling' has become synonymous with 'Selling your soul.'
There was a time when Channeling was amongst the most severe of social taboos. People who threw in with the Ghosts were commonly put to death for aligning themselves with such hideously evil creatures.
But then we found out what happens when a Channeled Ghost is prematurely emancipated.
They generate a Distortion rift, and drag everything around them into the Distortion along with their dying Trainers.
The more Ghosts Channeled by the condemned Trainer, the more volatile the engendered Distortion rift grows, and any Distortion rift is as unpredictable as all hell.
We don't know if the 'Death Curse' was a clause added to the Channeling ritual as some form of vengeful protection for the Trainer, or if it's just a natural reaction to the sudden influx of life that the Ghost consumes when the Trainer dies; but we do know that killing a Ghost Trainer is a really bad idea. So we no longer execute the damned souls who wield Ghosts.
But we sure as hell would like to.
There is plenty of other superstitions regarding Ghost-Types. Some people believe, due to the Ghost's unnatural existences and their Distortion origins-
-That the Distortion is Hell, and the Ghosts are damned human souls trying to escape it.
Despite the lack of evidence, it has become something of a fervent belief within certain societies.
Lavender Town plays host to the most infamous of the eidolon-veneration cults in the Indigo Confederacy. The denizens of Lavender Town worship the Ghosts as if they were deceased ancestors and fallen heroes from the past. A discernable reason that reinforces the 'Guardian Spirits' belief can be found in Lavender Town's lack of exterior defenses.
Lavender Town is the only human settlement in all of the world to forgo the standard outlying bastion walls.
Lavender Town and its religious inhabitants do not need walls to protect themselves from the feral mon. The Ghosts of Memorial Tower and the surrounding graveyards generate such an overwhelming aura of dread, that it keeps even the Delta-Fives at bay. The haunting in Lavender Town is so prevalent, that the Distortion actually seeps into our realm and warps the surrounding lands. And as if to compound the crazy, the religious hierarchy of Lavender Town intentionally performs Channeling rituals in order to become 'closer to the spirits.'
I still can't believe that the Rangers protect that looney bin from their own religion.
The original F5 list was was scrapped when the Rangers adopted it. We altered the list to only include species of mon that warranted careful handling and specific preparation before engagement. While species-Typing is still a major factor, the new F5 list did away with most of the Poison-Types and the Dark-Types, and inserted the vast majority of the Dragon-Types into the fold. All to account for the Dragon's inborn urge to dominate being far more dangerous to the environment than a Dark-Type's ability to navigate the Distortion.
But the Venomoths are still on the F5 list. Primarily because their migratory patterns and mating seasons can cause just as much damage to the ecosystem as the Pollutants' blooming.
And Viridian Forest is one of the Venomoths' favorite mating grounds.
…
Viridian Forest is a Reserve. Most people assume that the use of the term 'Reserve' still coincides with the Pre-Brink connotation. To a certain degree, it does.
But Reserves do not exist for the same reason that the Pre-Brink Reservations did.
While it is true that humanity has set aside numerous geographical areas for a variety of Pokemon species, the fact is, we didn't part with that land for monkind's preservation.
We only built the Reserves for mankind's preservation.
One of the many adaptations our species had to make when the mon knocked us off our dominant species throne, was an acceptance of the mon's appropriation of our land masses and the distribution of their resources.
I.E. We let the Pokemon take the first pick on the real estate front in order to prevent a conflict that would lead to our extinction.
Our cities were built in the areas that the mon left alone. Back in the Post-Brink Dark Age, we figured out what happens when humanity tries to build a settlement on the mon's turf.
The settlement ends up destroyed, and the inhabitants wind up slaughtered.
Mon come from a dimension where might makes right. Their entire Para-Kingdom has evolved for spontaneous genetic adaptations in order to cope with lifelong conflict. Conflict on a scale that humanity can't even replicate with our most heartless and widespread of wars.
Every mon strives for total mastery. Every one of them is equipped to obtain it. Every last Pokemon seeks absolute dominance, and they will casually kill to establish it.
Mankind has only managed to persist in this altered world, where so many other indigenous species have failed, due to our unrivaled ability to adapt our behaviors in time frames that no other creature alive can hope to imitate. Because humanity has evolved for 'problem solving,' our species alone of Earth's original evolutionary history has endured the Brink Collapse mostly unchanged.
Only a handful of other terran-originated lifeforms have been able to do the same. And most of those species are insects and bacteria.
By giving the mon their space, humanity has found a survival adaptation in appeasement. The Reserves are areas where humanity's secure Routes penetrate the mon's sovereign and chaotic Frontiers. Most of the the Reserves have heavily defended paths that lead from one human haven to the next, but even then…
Humanity's defenses weren't enough to protect us from the mon while we were still in our prime, and our adapted methods certainly aren't guaranteed failsafes now.
So why don't we simply torch the Reserves, and kill every mon living inside of them?
Because we can't. Mon are too diverse in species and tolerances, and they are quick to evolve when confronted with violence. They would survive the destruction of their homestead, and behave like all other life when confronted with starvation and displacement.
If humanity burned down Viridian Forest, every mon living in the Reserve would need a new place to live. As it stands, both Viridian City and Pewter City would likely be next on the mon's list of preferred habitats, due to the surplus of 'food' living in those two locations.
And we do not have the means necessary to deny the mon's advance.
To protect what little we have, humanity is forced to give as much as we can to the Pokemon.
…
It took me four days of easy marching to make my way from Viridian Prime Outpost to Pewter City. Which is a pretty respectable pace for walking. But to get back to the M-straight from Pewter City's gates?
It took me a little more than one day. How did I cover that distance so quickly with only my feet?
I wasn't walking. And I sure as hell wasn't sleeping.
It wasn't the brightest idea. My lungs could barely take the strain, and my legs were left throbbing in agony when I finally stopped for a rest outside Viridian Forest's northern checkpoint.
The Rangers had closed off the M-straight. The only way through the Viridian Forest was by electric train, and tickets for the shuttle were extremely expensive. Needless to say, most folk weren't to happy with the Rangers for the sudden inconvenience.
But people are rarely happy when you try to prevent them from committing suicide.
The Venomoths were still in the early stages of arrival. Right now, there were only a handful of Venomoth colonies, all of which generally clung to the interior of the Frontier. The Venomoth would be resting after their migratory journey. Some had come from the Fuchsia district's Enamour Bay, and others had flown here all the way from Johto's Lake of Rage. The Venomoth were too exhausted for mating, and the early May weather was still far too cold for the germination of eggs. Thousands of the Venomoths were establishing their presence in the Viridian Forest, while tens of thousands were still on their way.
It was the perfect time to strike.
Weary Venomoths do not put up much of a struggle, indeed chilly nights can render them almost comatose, and the Rangers needed to cull as many as possible before the Venomoth began to spawn.
...
Venomoth are notoriously toxic. The Venomoths' white blood is a favored poison amongst the Fuschia Ninja clan, and the tar-like secretion regurgitated by the Venomoths is caustic enough to corrode steel. To top the poisonous bile off, Venomoths are one of the few non-Psychic Pokemon to possess latent Psionic abilities. Namely Cognitive-Incapacitation, granting Venomoths another deadly weapon for their already formidable arsenal. But the most terrifying element in the Venomoth armory is the dusty scales from their wings. Venomoth wing dust is lethally allergenic when exposed to any organism that doesn't possess a natural constitution to necrotoxic enzymes.
Which is pretty much everything that isn't a Venomoth.
Venomoth wing dust is so vile that not even the Ninjas of Fuchsia will attempt extract it for poisoning purposes. It's just too risky. The dust is so fine that it can stay airborne for weeks after being dispersed, and a few centigrams of the stuff is enough to kill you.
Slowly, which is another reason for why the Ninjas don't like it.
A necrotic infection is treatable, but if not addressed within the first three days of exposure…
The septic shock induced by the rotting of living tissues effectively cuts the odds of survival in half. The necrosis is terminal if the infection shuts down your liver.
Those dust scales shed naturally whenever a Venomoth flaps its wings, which is anytime the Venomoth moves.
And when thousands of Venomoth congregate in a single area for the purpose of courting…
You can see the dust falling in glittering clouds, killing everything beneath the Venomoths' shadow.
…
I shouldered my way through a crowd of bellyaching civilians picketing before the M-straight's northern checkpoint. Of course, when they saw my beret, the ignoramuses just about broke out in a riot as they rushed towards me to voice their complaints.
"Open the gate, already! I have to get back to Viridian in-"
"-I have a very important conference to attend, and if you don't let me-"
"-YOU RANGERS ARE ABUSING YOUR ROLE-"
"-Hey! Ranger! Tell your 'friends' in Command to unbar the fucking gate-"
"-I'VE ALREADY PHONED MY LAWYER! WE HAVE FOUND GROUNDS-"
"-I heard the reports! The Venomoth just started showing up! You can't-"
"-MISAPPROPRIATION OF AUTHORITY-"
"-I will hold you financially accountable for any-!"
"-WE'LL SEE YOU IN COURT!"
I lost my temper pretty quickly in that crowd. Vauban was out in a flash, and no sooner had she appeared, than my voice was intoning an order.
"VAUBAN! FIRE A FLARE! LOW ALTITUDE!" Vauban had been released in far more chaotic situations, most of which barely gave my little girl more than a second to react to a life or death crisis.
This wasn't one of those events. Vauban had plenty of time and security to aim her bulb appropriately.
Vauban's flare seed lit up the entire vicinity with a vibrant green blinding light. The seed never exceeded sternum level height. The flash was sufficiently bright and sporadic enough to induce massive headaches to anyone not protecting their eyes. Needless to say, I was the only one in that crowd covering my single functioning eye.
Vauban and I walked calmly up to the gate, ignoring the civilians' groans. Most of them were on their backs, clutching at their eye sockets and bashing the rear of their skulls off of the ground in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain.
I almost pitied them.
"Holy shit! Bastard?" One befuddled Walkout on the other side of the gate recognised me.
"Do I need to radio Command for clearance, or are you going to save me the trouble, Jensen?" I growled to the Firewatch unit.
"-No! I'll pop the gate! Did you just-?"
"Passively restrain a group of rioters? Yes. Now crack the fucking hatch." I grumbled. Jensen quickly punched in his code, and the gate opened.
"For God's sake, Bastard… Somebody might have had a seizure…" Private Jensen could only gape at my handiwork.
"If I was them, I'd be more concerned about a wicked case of sunburn. If they don't vacate that seed's immediate radius soon, the UVs are going to cook their hides red." I was speaking loud enough for the recovering civilians to hear, and to my satisfaction, I watched as the mobile ones put down a lengthy distance between themselves and ground zero.
"Well, at least you broke them up. Some of those people know my mother…" Jensen muttered, apparently grateful that I'd saved him from the task of dispersing his mother's associates. I returned Vauban to her Pokeball with a sigh.
Walkouts, and their misappropriate priorities.
Good to be home again.
"-Wait! Please wait!" The gate was almost closed when one civilian rushed for the breach. I saved Jensen the trouble of restraining a possible family friend by intercepting the man's lunge with a fist to the solar plexis.
"The M-straight is closed to civilian traffic until the Venomoth situation is contained. The Viridian Reserve is currently under martial law. Any attempt to unlawfully traverse the Viridian Reserve will be regarded as a hostile encroachment, and met with the appropriate force. I recommend that you backtrack to Pewter City and purchase a ticket for-"
"-My daughter-" The man desperately gasped at my knees. I froze. The man was crying. And obviously not from my blow.
"What about your daughter?" I asked.
"Bastard, don't you think-?" I silenced Jensen's recital on protocol with a look.
"-Ranger- She's a Ranger-" The man wheezed. I groaned. Jensen was right.
"Your family relations do not grant you any privileges-"
"Dead… She died yesterday…" The man was sobbing now, cutting my rebuttal short. I shot another look at Jensen.
"There were two casualties reported yesterday. What were their names?" I asked Jensen in an iron tone. Jensen swallowed, but found his tongue quickened by my severe glare.
"Sergeant Castella Monovo, and Private Elizabeth Stein." Jensen reported.
"My little Lizzy…" The man was weeping on the ground. His breath had returned, if only to feed his grief. I looked back over at Jensen.
"Are there any available Firewatch units that can escort a civilian to Prime Outpost?" I asked. Jensen shook his head.
"We're stationed at the north checkpoint with explicit orders to maintain our posts. But down the road-" I knelt down and assisted the civilian to his feet, and pulled him past the gate.
"Lock it." I ordered Jensen. The four Walkouts stationed at the checkpoint quickly bolted the maglocks.
"Mister Stein, If you will follow me, I will direct you to a Ranger capable of guiding you safely to Prime Outpost. Jensen, you and the rest of your Firewatch units maintain the perimeter." I was curt with all of them, and headed south as soon as my orders had been conveyed. The civilian hurried to catch up.
I was silent as the pair of us continued down the M-straight. But no sooner than we had left the northern checkpoint in the dust, than the civilian accompanying me spoke up.
"-Ranger Zane? Did you know my daughter?" The man asked, in a heartbroken voice.
"Can't say that I did. Was she transferred from the academy?" I asked. The man was crying without restraint now.
"She just graduated. Infantry. She wanted to serve on the frontlines… I begged her not to…" The civi was collapsing under his grief. I couldn't say anything.
This was just another child in a grave.
I should have been used to it by now.
"Why?" The man pleaded my unspoken question. I still didn't have an answer.
Another father left behind to bury his child.
Why did it come to this so often?
"We're approaching a detachment now. I'll find a Ranger that will see you safely to Prime Outpost." My voice was hoarse, and I struggled to conceal the emotion on sight of a troop. Some of the Rangers were serving as support and wardens, dressed in the standard BDUs. The others were preparing for assault, garbed in bulky hazmat suits. I joined a heated discussion being exchanged between a BDU and a hazmat.
"-They're already fucked! I don't care what Command says! I'm not going back in there to pull their corpses out!"
"The Radio chatter from team seven is still active! They're still alive and fighting! They need reinforcements! You have to back them up!"
"FUCK THAT, YOU FIELD-TECH SHIT! I DON'T SEE YOU SUITING UP TO FIGHT THE FUCKING VENO-!" That was as far as I was letting that hazmat unit go. My fist connected firmly with the side of his head, knocking him out of the debate.
"What's this about radio chatter?" I asked the BDU clad Field-Tech. The Walkout didn't recognise me, but despite this, he smelled a Veteran's attitude in my right hook.
"Team seven is calling for reinforcements. They're stuck in sector Delta, pinned down by the Venomoth. Aviation can't reach them through the Venomoths' haze. -Sir." The Walkout quickly added the etiquette. The hazmat unit was getting back up.
"How long has there been chatter on the Comms?" I asked, getting riled up. The Walkout swallowed.
"Sir… The comms have been roaring nonstop since yesterday morning-"
"Why the hell hasn't my radio gone off?!" I roared, unfastening my radio from my breast and flinging it into the dirt.
"Radio. Now." I demanded of the pale Walkout. He quickly undid his Comm-unit and handed it to me. I opened the channel to hails.
"-WE LOST ANOTHER UNIT! WE CAN'T LAST MUCH LONGER! COMMAND, WE NEED SUPPORT NOW! THE VENOMOTH ARE-" I cut the feed. My civilian companion was bug eyed and white-faced. I thrust the radio back at the Field-Tech, and dragged hazmat unit over to my person, before lifting his ass into the air.
"So you're just gonna let them die, are you Ranger?" My voice had gone lethal. The hazmat unit was too terrified to speak. I dropped his ass in disgust.
"You, Private!" I growled at the nervous Field-Tech.
"Find this civilian an escort to Prime Outpost. Do it yourself if you are able. Corporal-" I rounded on the hazmat unit next.
"You're coming with me. Direct me to a scrub station for suit up. Gather every other available hazmat unit in the area and prepare for a blitz into sector Delta. WE MOVE OUT NOW!" I roared my order, and everybody split. I was on the Corporal's ass without even saying goodbye to the mourning civi.
Three minutes later, I was in my own hazmat suit, and having the environmental precautions checked by the four hazmat units that we had mustered together for the forray.
"Radio ahead to the Delta-Guard. Tell them to have the gate popped. I'm not waiting for clearance." I barked to the Corporal, whose cowardly ass I had dragged into the rescue effort. I was settling in for a foul mood. I had just put on the hazmat gear, and I was already sweating like a Pignite.
"Game plan, unit." I growled as we set off towards sector Delta's gate.
"Team seven is approximately three klicks east of the gate. They've found cover from the Venomoth, but the bugs are using their psionics to break team seven's mental constitution. Team seven were rigging a collection of thermite slow-burners around the swarm, but their Sapper unit was detected by the Venomoth and systematically obliterated. After that, team seven's CO ushered a retreat, but the Venomoth cut them off. Last sit-rep had them holed up in a crevice, half a click east of the Sung river, moments after the CO was KIA." One of the hazmat units informed me.
"Fucking idiots… Why a fucking trench?! The dust will drown their environmentals!" Now I was pissed, and the hazmat suit's claustrophobic interior wasn't helping ease the tension.
"The Venomoths' psionics are affecting everyone's heads. Apparently, team seven's CO killed himself by pulling off his rebreather. He was a Vet. And the Venomoths fucked his brain up good."
"How the hell has team seven lasted this long?" I asked, trucking my ass towards the south.
"A Seeker Class was in the CO's roster. A Kadabra. It's been shielding team seven with a Safeguard. But it's running out of power. The Kadabra is being overwhelmed by the Venomoths' swarm mind psionics. Team seven isn't going to last without that Seeker Class." I waved the info-providing hazmat unit over.
"What's your name?"
"Lance Corporal Christine-"
"Right, seeing as you have a grasp on the situation, Christine, you're my number two. Any of you dumbasses even think about bailing, and I will kill you for desertion. Now list off what we got." I hissed.
"Two Siege Classifications. One Bouffalant, and one Donphan. We have a Zangoose Scout, and an Excadrill Breacher." Christine reported.
"Get that Excadrill and Zangoose out the instant we cross the gate. Hold the Bouffalant and Donphan on standby for engagement. My Hunter-Killer will get us there. We are proceeding with all due haste. Forget discretion. We have the firepower to handle anything that we come across in the Frontier. Get me a radio, stat!" I roared, stretching out an arm. Christine wired her Comm unit into my rig, and I punched in team seven's designated channel from my wrist mounted tactical display. Delta Gate was coming into view, and the Firewatch units on guard duty had already opened the door for us.
"-COMMAND, WE'RE GETTING OUR SHIT PUSHED IN! LAPIS IS ALMOST DONE FOR! I REPEAT, OUR SEEKER CLASS IS FAILING! WE NEED BACKUP-"
"Team seven, this is backup! We read you loud and clear! We are entering sector-Delta as we speak! You need to abandon the trench! I repeat! You need to abandon the trench! Make a rush for the Sung river! We'll meet you there! Do you copy?! Over!" I spoke into the hazmat suit's headset while Cortez, an Excadrill, and a Zangoose joined our numbers.
"CORTEZ! I NEED A HEADING! EAST! MAKE FOR THE RIVER! FIND ME SOME VENOMOTH!" I shouted to my Hunter-Killer, and faithful Cortez responded with all due urgency.
"Backup, this is team seven! We're trying to move out, but some of our units-"
"LEAVE THEM BEHIND! GET YOUR ASSES TO THE RIVER NOW! OVER!"
I couldn't believe that it was my voice making that call. It was by my own order that those lost Rangers were being condemned to death.
My conscious need be the only one to bear the sin.
Then I remembered my Echo.
"Delay previous order! Have your Seeker leave a Safeguard for those left behind! Draw as many of the Venomoth away from the ravine as possible! Tie a rope to the trench and leave me a line to follow! Over!"
No.
I would make it right this time.
I would save the lost Rangers.
Or I would die with them.
"Roger that, backup! We are making our retreat! Over!"
"Get those Siege Classes deployed as soon as we see the river! I want them primed and ready for a scrapping! Slings out now! Cortez-!" I was barking orders to my Rangers first, and then turning to my dog. My four Rangers had traded their knives for slings. Which were useless against most mon, but the delicate wings of the Venomoth didn't take very well to being hit with a fourteen millimeter tungsten ball bearing travelling through the air at one-hundred-and-eighteen meters per second.
"-Cortez! Lead the Scout on intercept! Locate the retreat! We can find our own way! I want you and the Zangoose breaking up the Venomoth! Get the Venomoth off of team seven's tail! Engage to distract, and then get the hell out of there! Regroup with the retreat once you shake the heat! Do it NOW!" I hollered, and both the Zangoose and Cortez tore off into the Frontier.
"DON'T YOU DARE DIE ON ME, CORTEZ!" I roared after my dog, just before his speed separated him from me.
"I can hear the river! Deploy the Siege classes!" A shaggy Bouffalant and a stout Donphan appeared in time with my order. I pulled out my little girl, and added her to the troop.
"Vauban! Use your flares to draw off the Venomoth! Then assist the Siege classes in scrapping the stragglers! Christine-!"
"Yes, sir!"
"-You are going to fall back as soon as the Venomoth are subdued! We are not aiming for a slaughter! Get our Rangers to safety! And don't you dare get my little girl hurt! Corporal-!"
"Yes sir!"
"I'm borrowing your Breacher! My hound and the Zangoose will cover you in the retreat! Vauban! Once we make it to the shore, fire a flare!" We were almost out of the trees, and at the banks of the Sung river. Everything was coming together.
Now it was time to see if I was as suicidal as my last psyche evaluation suggested that I was.
"What's your Breacher's callsign?!" I roared to the spineless Corporal.
"Brass!" The Corporal replied.
"Brass, you are with me! Prepare to separate from the unit and advance!" I shouted at the Excadrill, who readily complied to my orders, and fell in at my side.
It's unbelievable how much more a Ranger some mon are than their COs.
"Fire that flare now, Vauban!" My little girl was just waiting for my command. The flare took off at high altitude, generating a light that could be seen clearly from Viridian City.
"Team seven! Do you see the marker?! Come in, Over!"
"Copy that, backup! We see your flare! We are plotting an intercept now! Over!"
"North or south?! Over!"
"Your flare is north of our location! The Venomoths are breaking off! Something is attacking them! Fire?! Is that-?!"
"CORTEZ, YOU FINE ASS PIECE OF SHIT! GIVE THOSE WINGED FUCKS HELL! -Over!"
"Unit! We are headed south! Get ready for a fight! Christine, you take Command! Brass, you are on my ass! Let's go!" I tore off at top speed, leaving the winded Walkouts in my dust. Vauban was right behind me, and Brass was taking pole. He may not have been a Pathfinder, but that Excadrill's nose was a damn sight better than mine.
"Stay the hell away from the flares in the retreat! Let them draw the Venomoth off you!" I shouted to the unit behind me.
"Vauban, prep another flare! I want it right in the faces of the Venomoth! Fire as soon as you have a clear shot!" Five seconds after that order, we rounded a bend in the Sung river.
And then we saw the silver cloud of all sparkling hell headed straight for us.
There had to be over a hundred fucking Venomoth in that shining haze.
"Oh shit! Vauban now! FIRE THE FUCKING FLARE NOW!" Vauban launched her phosphorescent seed into the swarm, and a blast of light separated the drove of purple wings.
To my sheer relief, nine terran-bound shapes separated from the cloud of silver dust. Eight hazmat suits, and one Kadabra sporting a modified rebreather apparatus.
"Seeker! Sync with Vauban! Use your telekinesis to move the flares! Make it fancy! Draw the Venomoth off of me!" I shouted as soon as the unit came upon me.
"Seeker, give me and the Excadrill a Safeguard! Then all of you follow the north flare! Get the hell out of sector Delta! Don't wait up for me!" The Kadabra looked exhausted and confused, but his mind had been disciplined by the Ranger's training. He heard my order, and cast his shimmering psychic voodoo over me and Brass. We may have been kitted out for environmental hazards, but I wanted every ounce of protection that I could get.
"Vauban, accompany them out of here! I'm counting on you and Cortez to get them home! Go! Start the flare distraction now!" I saw my little girl hesitate.
She didn't want to leave me.
My prompt foot in her face reminded Vauban of who I was.
"GET THEM OUT OF HERE!" I tore off with Brass, and headed straight into the Venomoth cloud. A flare fired overhead, and started dancing wildly in the air, in a fashion that Vauban could never dictate.
The Kadabra and Vauban made quite a spectacle. Enough of one to draw the vast majority of Venomoth across the opposite side of the river.
Bugs like the light. Bugs like moving lights. Bugs like moving lights even more than they like killing me.
"We have an opening, Brass! Find me the rest of the Rangers!" Brass resumed pole, and gave me a heading. I was going to follow him to the ravine, just the two of us plunging into the Brink.
For better or for worse.
…
It wasn't to hard to find a trail that led to the ravine. I didn't even need Brass's nose to guide me.
The Venomoths' wing dust was already killing everything that they had flown over in a clearly marked path.
It was almost beautiful.
The fallout, I mean.
Silver sparkles descending slowly, catching the fading sunlight in a glittering trickle.
It looked like platinum snow, drifting lazily down to the wilting earth.
Then I remembered how lethal this shit was, and the magic quickly lost its charm.
"Come on, Brass. We need to hurry." I begged haste from my steely companion. Excadrills have an insane tolerance for toxins. All Steel-Types do. It was one of the reasons why I had chosen Brass over any other mon available. Both Vauban and the Zangoose had similar toxin-resistant constitutions, but I needed an Excadrill's digging skills.
Because Vauban would never have been able to shift that much dust out of the ravine as quickly as Brass could.
I found the rope. It had been tied to a stump on the bank, and it led all the way over to a glittering pit. Brass dug in without even waiting for my order. That toxic shit was meters deep. The Venomoth must have used their psionics to concentrate the dispersal directly onto the Rangers. Brass reappeared in a flurry of glimmering powder, a pair of hazmat suits in his claws. Brass passed me the Rangers that he had found buried underneath the silver death.
"Ohgawd no…"
The first three bodies that Brass handed to me had their environmental diagnostics displaying dead vitals. I double checked every wrist's tactical display, praying for some bleep of life to wake up and greet the sun.
But they were dead.
So was the fourth.
-But the fifth reached for me when my arms took hold of him.
I was crying as I cradled his head against my shoulder. He was alive. I couldn't believe it. His vitals were irregular, but currently stable. He would need medical attention soon.
But he would live.
The sixth was unconscious, but a few pokes roused her back into the waking world. She was clearly disorientated, probably still reeling from the Venomoths' psionic attacks. I placed her next to the other, laughing with relief when they reached over to hold one another.
The seventh was dead.
The eighth was dead.
The ninth was kicking the shit out of Brass, as the disgruntled Excadrill dragged the panicking Ranger out of the deadly ravine.
"Easy there, Ranger. You're alright. We're getting you out of here." I pulled him up to his feet. He was the liveliest of the three, and Brass wasn't going back into the ravine. Nine Rangers was it.
Six dead.
Three alive.
That and the eight further down the river.
Eleven survivors in total.
"Ease up, Private." I spoke softly, dusting off the Ranger's insignia.
"Are you coherent?" I asked the staggered youth.
"Am I seeing things?" He asked, his voice desperate. I laughed.
"I'll take that as an affirmative. Congratulations. You survived a Venomoth hazing. You're alive, Ranger. Now help me sort the other two out." I turned back to the other two Rangers, and began my ministrations.
"All right, Corporal. Good news. You're poisoned. Your environmentals saved you from the worst of it. We have three days to get you medical attention. The M-straight is only twenty-five minutes away. You're going to live." I clapped the first survivor on the shoulder, and turned to the girl.
"...Oh shit." I hissed. Her tactical display was reading faulty environmentals. I checked every outlet for a breach.
Then I saw the scrubber on her rebreather.
It was clogged with dust.
"Fuck." I spat. We couldn't clean that filter out. That shit was choked deep inside the charcoal foam. She was probably suffocating inside of her own hazmat suit.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" I knew what I had to do, but I really didn't want to do it. She had already been exposed to a heavy dose of the dust, and she needed clean air fast.
"Fuck!"
-And though my exposure was limited, my lungs were in poor condition.
I unsealed my apparatus, and quickly unfastened the scrubbers on my rebreather. Directing the cognitive Ranger to do the same with her apparatus, I sucked in the first poisoned breath.
That shit started burning in seconds.
I was coughing up a lung when we finally replaced her compromised scrubber with my clean one. Then I dragged them all back up onto their feet and pressed them north, towards the still burning flares.
"Are you gonna be okay, sir?" The cognitive Ranger asked me. I gave him such a sarcastic look that it would have made even Einstein feel stupid. Then I returned to my agonized gagging, pushing them all on.
Of all the stupid things I could have done to kill myself, I had chosen the 'inhale Venomoth wing dust' option.
That shit was probably already in my bloodstream, killing me from the inside out as we headed towards the river.
If I could get medical attention today, I might live. But even then…
-My lungs were already shit. A little bronchial necrosis wasn't so little when you only had two functioning lobes left.
Yeah, I probably wasn't gonna make it.
Too bad I didn't care. Let's get these kids home.
We followed the rope to the river, and I just about collapsed right there.
Two steps later, and I was on the ground.
"Sir!" All three of the Rangers were dragging my ass back up, only to watch me topple again.
Damn.
What a shitty way to die.
"Get going… You can't fucking carry me, kid. I'd just slow you down. Head on without me. I have a stupid idea anyways." I drew my knife, and crawled over to the rope. Cutting it free from the stump, I waved Brass over.
"Cut the rope further down. I need a solid length." I wheezed. Brass busted his ass despite my calm demeanor.
I wasn't feeling so good.
Maybe he could tell?
Brass came back eight seconds later with the rope. The other Rangers still hadn't left me.
"Good boy. Now get them safely outta the Frontier." I told Brass.
The stupid mole hesitated. Brass couldn't lead on pole, fight off the Frontier, and carry my ass all at the same Goddamn time. Besides, he might end up carrying one of the Walkouts home if something happened on the way.
"Brass? See my knife?" I asked with a ragged breath. The Excadrill looked at the blade in my hand curiously. Brass caught on when I swiped at him.
"All of you get going. I don't want to embarrass myself infront of you. NOW GO!" That loud 'go' spent what little breath I had left. But that and my hostility got the unit moving. I crawled towards the river, cursing my stupidity.
I waited until Brass had led the Rangers out of sight, before I made to shame myself in the worst way imaginable.
"Darwin, report." I released my giant joke into the river.
You've probably figured out what I was planning to do.
You can stop laughing now.
"Darwin… I paid a lot of money for you… Saved you from getting stuffed and mounted by a megalomaniac... Now you need to pay me back…" I tied a lash to my waist, and tossed one end of the rope into the water. The gaping fish just stared at me.
"I'm gonna die soon, you fat fuck… but I'm not quitting yet. So you fucking make yourself useful for once in your worthless life, and drag my ass downstream. Get us both to the Crossover… I'll radio Command to prep a body bag for me under the bridge…" I was passing out. The poison was setting in. Darwin hadn't moved, nor shown any signs that he understood my orders.
"Command, this is Bastard… Darwin is bringing my corpse to the Crossover. I am inhaling Venomoth dust as we speak. My last request is that you do not mention that I used a Magikarp-" I heard a ringing in my ears, and a white light started blotting out my vision.
"Darwin, start swimming. Now."
And those were last words of the Fucking Bastard.
...
-You wish.
As if a Venomoth could fucking kill me.
...
"..."
"...?"
"It was a stupid idea, Bastard." Colonel Howes's weary voice greeted me as I opened my eyes. A mask was strapped to my face, pumping carbon-enriched oxygen into my lungs. I had an Octillery of IVs dangling from either arm. One glance at my thighs told me why.
I was getting a blood swap. A pair of tubes were buried into both of my Femoral arteries, sucking out the poisonous blood, and diluting my circulatory system with a clean transfusion of donor blood. The carbon being pumped into my lungs was diffusing the Venomoth wing dust through my alveoli, and from there into my bloodstream.
And all of that bad blood was washing away.
"-It worked." I rasped through the mask. I had to swallow just to get spit moving to moisten my cracking throat. The Colonel adjusted his chair so that I could tilt my head to see him.
Look at you, you old man.
You almost look worried.
"I can't believe that a Magikarp saved your life. I'm awarding Darwin with a bloody medal." The Colonel laughed. He didn't look like he'd been sleeping. It was then that I noticed that I wasn't in the sickbay.
My cozy crib was set up in the Colonel's office.
"...How long-"
"Three days." The Colonel cut my question short with the answer. I settled back into the pillows.
"-Did they make it?"
I heard a stack of papers hit the Colonel's desk. Colonel Isaac Howes sighed.
"-Colonel?" I begged.
"You weren't even supposed to be in Viridian, Zane. I gave you a locked-out radio for a reason. Your ass was supposed to be in Pewter, taking down Brock. Not fighting the fucking Venomoth." He was pissed. But I no longer cared. He was working up to something. Something that I didn't want to hear.
"-They died? All of them?" I wheezed, the fear alive in my broken voice. My Cortez. My Vauban. My Walkouts.
All dead?
And I was the only survivor...
Did I fail again?
"Twelve Rangers, a Kadabra, a Growlithe, and a Bulbasaur were collected by the Aviation units just one klick short of sector Delta's access gate. Aviation found another three Rangers and an Excadrill two klicks further in." I stopped breathing. He didn't outright say it. But I knew what the Colonel was trying to tell me.
I just wanted to die.
Why?
Why can't I ever save anyone?
"Everyone of them are in sickbay, and all of them are in a damn sight better condition than you are, I might add." The Colonel sounded pleased.
All the air in my body vacated my lungs in an explosive gasp. I was sobbing in relief.
Everyone was alive.
"You old fuck! Why didn't you just start with that?!" I just about lost the mask in the choking fit that followed my outcry.
"For God's sake, Bastard. Take it easy. You've cleared the woods. We're just waiting for you to recover so that I can have a quiet office again." I heard a guttural chortle. Galapagos hunkered over my bed with an amused look in his eye.
That turtle was fucking huge.
"...Why-?"
"The Venomoth are hitting us hard. Sickbay needs all the available beds that they can get. You no longer qualify as critical condition, so we moved your ass out." The Colonel only answered half of my question.
So why did he move me into his office?
"You caused me a lot of trouble, Zane. Now I have my hands full of paperwork because of your no-show at the Gym. High Command is beating my ass raw for an explanation. And that stupid Mister Lebreau called me up twice just to bitch you out. Twice." The Colonel grumbled.
"Fuck Chris." I spat. The Colonel sighed.
"I was just preparing the final statement. High Command wants to pull your ass out of the Corps, and force a medical discharge down your throat." The Colonel stood up, carrying a stack of papers in his hands.
"But I have the accounts of fifteen Rangers crediting you for saving their lives. Fifteen lives, or a televised Gym battle? Not even the coldest bureaucrat in High Command is going to contest the equity of that exchange." The Colonel dropped the stack of papers on my chest.
"Darwin isn't the only one receiving a medal for exceptional service. You did well, kid. You did damn well." The Colonel put a hand on my shoulder. I swallowed my rotting throat.
"Read that, then get some rest. The four units that you commandeered spoke quite highly of your leadership skills. And the three that you dragged from the dust practically wrote love letters for you. I can procure a box of tissues if you need them for mopping up the tears." The Colonel's mocking voice brought weak laughter out of my ragged lungs.
"Get some sleep, Zane. I'll wake you for the evening mess, just to see if you can tolerate solid food." Colonel Isaac Howes patted my arm firmly, then returned to his desk. Galapagos stood watch over me, like his intimidating presence was supposed to bring me some kind of comfort.
To the turtle's credit, he succeeded. The Fucking Bastard blinked out like a light, and slept the pain away.
…
"On your back again, Bastard?" I turned over from the Assyrian History book I was reviewing, and damn near jumped out of my skin.
"Captain Lewis!" I raised a hasty salute. The Captain's straight line of a mouth didn't even twitch. She completely ignored my salute.
"At ease, Warrant Officer." The Blackhat Scout sat down at my side.
"How are the lungs?" Captain Lewis asked.
"Don't ask." I replied in a grumble. Captain Lewis shook her head.
"You almost killed yourself. Again."
That drew a pause from me. I sighed through my nostrils, and looked away from the Captain.
"Yeah, well this time I got results." I wasn't smug at all when I said it. My voice was close to breaking. The guilt was far from gone.
My Echo…
"Hey. Don't you be getting all long sighted on me. I don't have time to listen to you snivel. Blackhat Team Seven got called into Viridian for a torch and burn. The Venomoth are under control now. I just wanted to see if you had any intent on sticking with your mission." Captain Lewis informed me. I closed my book, and set it aside. Then I turned to the Captain and fixed her with my calm eyes.
"Chris moaned my Goddamn ear off when you ditched Pewter. I understand that you had a shitty plan for tackling the Gym too. Who are you trying to bluff, Bastard? There isn't a single thing that your dog can do to Brock's novice team. And Vauban squaring off against an Onix, with only status as a prayer? Brock would see that coming a klick away. It was a half-baked strategy, pulled out of your ass just to get Chris off your back. There's only one outcome for Trainers who challenge the Gyms as unrealistically as you intended to do. That outcome runs counter to your objective." Captain Lewis stated it all in that no-bullshit-tolerated voice of hers. I wasn't going to argue with her assertion.
Captain Lewis was completely right.
"Captain… I'll be straight with you. I don't want to be a Trainer. I don't want to play in the League. I'm a Ranger. I need to serve as a Ranger." I answered.
"So what does that mean? You don't think that your mission benefits the Corps?" Captain Lewis asked. I chewed on my tongue, but one thing kept bugging me. Well... Fuck it. I was gonna tell her. I'd let Captain Lewis decide if I was cut out for this chicken-shit outfit that High Command had put me in.
"Captain, I drove a kid away from the recruiter's office because I didn't want him to die. How does that coincide with my objective?" I asked. Captain Lewis just stared at me with those ice cold eyes. I didn't baulk beneath them. I met the Captain's ocular challenge with my sole eye. It was a while before the Captain answered me.
"If you thought that the kid was going to die, then I trust your Ranger's instinct. We're not the Military. We fight for the people, not just the politicians. You may not have made another Ranger for the uniform, but you saved a life, Zane. And that is the whole point of being a Ranger." Captain Lewis rose from her chair.
"I talked with your doctors. You're leaving Prime Outpost in two days. You're headed to Viridian. You'll take the shuttle to Pewter, and face Brock for the Boulder Badge. And you will have a real plan of engagement this time. Maybe you should listen to your stupid-ass PR Agent. Chris Lebreau is an idiot, but he knows his field better than anyone else. Beat Brock, make a splash, then it's off to Cerulean City with you. Pus for lungs or not, you're going to answer the call, Ranger." Captain Lewis made for the exit, while I was left to stare off into vacant space.
"You asked me if I still intended to stick with the mission. Doesn't that imply that I have a choice?" I asked, finding myself rather irritated with this Blackhat bitch. Captain Lewis stopped at the doorway to the Colonel's office.
"Of course you have a choice. Did you want me to approve the medical discharge?"
Oh, that was low.
"I'll be on that shuttle in two days." I growled. Captain Lewis left without another word. I gritted my teeth, before returning to a chapter devoted to prehistoric agriculture. My knuckles were white on the edges of my clenched book.
Captain Lewis.
"You fucking cunt…"
…
I left the Barracks a half an hour before the morning horn sounded. Shortly after Captain Lewis's arrival, I'd been kicked out of the Colonel's office, and made to rest my beaten ass with the rest of the Rangers. I wasn't the only one sleeping off a case of necrotoxin exposure. Most of the Infantry units were suffering too, some even worse than me. But the Blackhats had taken the burden off of our shoulders. After nearly two weeks of hunting and corralling the Venomoth by destroying their favorite nesting locations, the Rangers had driven them all into sector Charlie for a Torch and Burn. Forty thousand concentrated Venomoth versus the combined might of Blackhat Teams One, Two, Five, Seven, and Eight.
Venomoths: 0
Blackhats: 40,000
Statistics like that is why I want my Black Beret, and the Blackhats put my accrued credentials to absolute shame on a daily basis.
I have a long way to go before I can call that Brotherhood of Elites my own.
Despite this, I did get to meet some of the Blackhats. Some of them actually wanted to meet me. They didn't stick around in Viridian for too long. The Blackhats had other priority mon to kill. But some of the Blackhats that I talked to filled me with relief.
Not all the Blackhats are heartless wenches like Captain Lewis.
My first stop on leaving the Barracks was the Kennels. Cortez had fared better than me, but still…
You thought that Cortez was ugly before?
You should have seen him after De-Con.
The Rangers had shaved his fur to the roots, and dunked my dog in a chemical bath that made him swell up like a sting. After decontamination, the medics had plugged Cortez full of tubes and purged his system of the poisons, well before the effects started setting in.
The medics were a little surprised at Cortez's resilience, but given his past encounter with the Grimers…
-I think that Cortez could've licked himself clean, and his toxin familiar immunity system would have made him feel none the worse for it.
"Are you cold, pooch?" I asked Cortez as I unlocked his kennel. Cortez's naked body was wrapped in a tight fitting insulated sleeve, which wasn't doing much for him in the brisk May morning air.
Cortez left his kennel, shaking with a shiver. I was not letting my dog get sick from this bullshit. My coat was pulled off, and bundled tightly on that suffering dog. Cortez looked up at me when I pulled away. Despite the indignity of wearing my cumbersome coat, there was a hint of gratitude in those eyes of his.
"Come on, Cortez. Let's go get your little sister up." I sighed, clutching my arms against the chill. I headed off to the Trough with Cortez dragging coattails behind me.
I approached Vauban's Trough as casually as I could. I was just going to kick the foundation as usual, but Vauban's eyes snapped open before I could.
My little girl looked up at me with those watering eyes.
We hadn't seen each other in almost two weeks.
"Look at that. There's something of a Ranger in you yet." I chuckled. Vauban bounded out of the dirt, and rushed over to me and Cortez.
Out of everyone who partook in the sector Delta rescue effort, Vauban had fared the best. The Venomoths' psionics had disorientated her something fierce, but Vauban had fought that off in the first day. She wasn't even affected by the Venomoths' dust. Vauban actually soaked that shit up, and now she had a bulb full of necrotoxin enhanced nasty.
I was hoping that Vauban's cellular metabolism didn't figure out how to replicate the protein structures in the Venomoth's enzymes, but knowing Waterloo's genetic buttfuckery…
That shit was probably irrevocably encoded into Vauban's Saboteur arsenal now.
"Easy, Vauban. Remember where we are." I whispered a warning instead of beating her senseless. Vauban was making face-love to my shins.
She settled down appropriately, but Vauban couldn't hide that hopeful look in her red eyes.
"If it makes you feel any better, I missed you too. Now come on. We've got one more stop to make before the morning horn." I nudged Vauban with a toe, then turned around and headed for the Aquatic Range with my dog and dinosaur in my shadow.
"Well, well…" I smirked at the huge red face on the other side of the Tank.
"If you don't look like the best seven-thousand-and-eight-hundred Sandz that I have ever spent…" I couldn't finish. My hacking laughter prevented me from continuing.
Darwin looked miserable.
The Ranger medics had stripped half of the scales off my fish, and lined his mouth and gills in carbon-soak pads.
The rope that I had cast to Darwin in sector Delta wasn't exactly clean.
Nor was my unconscious hazmat clad body.
You see, Darwin didn't drag my ass downstream.
-That fucking Magikarp ferried me.
"A world first… I have succeeded where no man has succeeded before me. I have successfully ridden a Magikarp through water... and not drowned." I chuckled as I leaned my back up against the glass, and slid down the smooth surface to my haunches.
"Damnit, Darwin… I thought that you were useless. But sometimes…" I looked over my shoulder to the stupid fish.
"-Sometimes I like being wrong." I gave the guileless son-of-a-bitch a smirk, then waved Cortez over.
Reaching for a pin on my coat pocket, I unclasped the Crossed Arms. I chewed on my lips when I looked at that medal.
The Crossed Arms were only awarded to Rangers who went above and beyond the call to rescue their comrades from certain death, at great cost to their own person. Most recipients of the Crossed Arms received their meritorious decoration at burial. Only an act of self-sacrifice could earn you the Crossed Arms.
Regardless of whether it killed you, or not.
"See that, Darwin?" I asked, flashing him the medal. The fish just stared on, seemingly oblivious. I knew better. Even if Darwin couldn't make facial expressions, just him being near the glass was proof enough of his interest.
"That's mine. Thanks for letting me appreciate it." I put the Crossed Arms back on my coat, and fished out my Tact. Pad from the breast pocket. I logged on, then pulled up my mon's certification files and records. Tapping on Darwin's icon, I highlighted the lower left corner of his dispatch, and then clicked 'expand.'
"-And that one is yours." I said, tilting the Tact. Pad over towards Darwin.
On the display, rendered in three-dimension format, was the Ranger's Ray and Star.
A medal awarded to Rangers who displayed exemplary service in times of distress, going well beyond expected normal service.
The Colonel was not joking around.
Darwin had earned his decoration.
My oversized Magikarp didn't react at all. If he cared, Darwin couldn't show it. But that stupid fish had made history.
Darwin was the first Magikarp ever recorded to receive a medal for service.
The previous record setting accolade for Magikarpkind was a celebrity critic's review of Magikarp Soy Aioli and Wasabi Pilaf.
"Well done, Darwin. Well done." I gave him a salute, regardless of the fact that he couldn't return it. But the sentiment was well received. Darwin bumped up against the glass at my back, displaying a curious little affection.
"Darwin, you keep that shit up, and I'll beat you just like I beat Vauban." I meant to make it a warning, but my cold demeanor snapped on sight of that fish's fucked up mouth. I couldn't stop laughing.
The morning horn sounded, and I rose to my feet. All three of my mon were watching me expectantly.
"Darwin, I'm waiting on a blood sample from you. If you come up all clear, then we'll take those pads out of your face, and get you ready to go. Vauban, Cortez-" I turned from my fish to my two quadrupeds.
"-We're heading out today. With or without Darwin. If necessary, Command will send him back to us once he's fully recovered. We're taking the L-straight south to Viridian City, and from there we'll be heading north to Pewter by way of shuttle. Now I need to think of something for the Gym, so if I get pissy on the way, it's because I don't want to deal with this League bullshit. Just giving you two the heads up. I'm probably going to be bitching for most of the trek." I grunted. Neither Vauban or Cortez seemed to shaken by my admission. The Vets were leaving the Barracks, bullying the Walkouts into the morning routine. Viridian Forest was still closed off to civilian traffic, and the Rangers were hustling to mop up the last of the Venomoth. If we could shut them down early into the season, then the Rangers could regroup and prepare for the Stantler and Ursaring season ahead of schedule.
There's no rest for the hands and eyes beneath a Ranger's beret. We are always engaged. We are always unsupported.
But we're not always alone.
I took my coat back from Cortez, and dismissed both him and Vauban to their Pokeballs. I had an hour to dine, before my presence was expected in the Colonel's office for loadout, debriefing, and redeployment.
The mission would resume.
For better or for worse.
…
"Here's your less than standard field kit, Warrant Officer. None of the fun stuff, plenty of the Trainer's trappings." The Colonel indicated my pack on his desk. I shouldered it without a word. Colonel Isaac Howes pulled a Radio from the outerwear tech, and handed it to me.
"One standard long range Ranger Radio. This one is not locked out of nonpriority hails. But you are to check in with local Command and request permission before you even think about assisting Rangers in the future. At some point, Zane, your mission is going to take priority over your standard duties as a Ranger. You will be expected to attend press conferences while your fellow Rangers die in the field. I'm not happy about it, you're not happy about it, but that is High Command's own phrasing. Do not throw eggs at my face again. If those Rangers had died, Zane-"
"-Sir, I would have died with them." I dared to interrupt my Colonel, and his fist hammering down on the desk reminded me that there were limits.
"We're trying to keep your ass alive, boy… Do not go killing yourself for a lesser cause. Trust me, Zane… We need your example out in the private sector. You know as well as I do what is going to happen if you fail in the League." The Colonel growled. I swallowed.
"The draft-?"
"Of course the fucking draft, you idiot! We are running out of men, and all we're going to get from the draft is bunch of belligerent mon-humping pussies who are going to fill more graves than they'll cull mon! The politicians, High Command, me, and you… None of us want that to happen. You can keep that from happening, Bastard. You can save countless lives. And you're going to throw that all away because you are too hung-up on being the Fucking Bastard. Shape up, boy, and do the right thing." The Colonel was pissed. I could feel my face warming.
Maybe he had a point.
The Colonel breathed heavily out of his nose, and then lifted a sheet from the desk.
"Darwin's medical examination came in about half an hour ago. They're pulling the pads out now. He's through the worst of it, and now all the doctors can recommend for Darwin is rest. He needs time out of the Pokeball to heal, so whenever you pitch camp near water, his ass is swimming. The doctors also recommend that Darwin avoids strenuous activities until his scales grow back. Your fish is currently listed unfit for combat, but he always was. You are to retrieve Darwin from the Tank when we are finished here. Next item-"
The Colonel rolled through the manifest, highlighting the important bits, and skipping through the formalities. It took him all of fifteen minutes to finish debriefing me, and setting me up for the long haul.
"One thing I need to tell you before you leave, Bastard." The Colonel released me from my salute, but did not immediately dismiss me.
"You are not heading to Viridian alone. I assigned you an escort for the L-straight. Just in case your doctors are wrong about your lungs." The Colonel looked to me for a reaction.
All I had was a question.
"An escort?" I asked, eyebrow quirked. The Colonel snorted.
"Somebody you haven't seen in a while. I recommend popping any painkillers you have now, before you rendezvous with your escort past Prime Outpost's south checkpoint. Just head down the L-straight. You'll know who it is when you see them." The Colonel had a slight smirk rising on one corner of his mouth.
"Painkillers? What? Are they gonna chatter my ears off?" I asked, concerned. The Colonel started laughing.
"Not exactly…"
...
"You Bastard." Trish sounded livid. I straightened my neck out, the sting on my face hinted at a rising welt.
"-Something I did?" I asked Trish with a smile.
The other cheek received the backhand.
"Something you didn't." Trish hissed.
I won't lie. That second blow put me on my ass.
"-What didn't I do?" I pushed myself off of the ground, expecting the enraged Second-Lieutenant to kick me back down.
Trish surprised me.
She used her fist to floor me instead of her foot.
"You left Prime Outpost damn near a month ago." Trish grabbed my right arm, and dragged me to my feet.
Goddamn, this woman was strong.
"-And?" I asked pleasantly.
A knee to my crotch preceded Trish's answer.
"-You never stopped by to tell me goodbye." Trish said coldly.
Oh.
"Whoops?" I tried, gasping from my curl. Trish made to punch me again, but paused halfway through the wind up. She seemed to think better of it.
Then Trish kicked my shins in.
"Do you mind? I'm already having difficulty walking!" I roared from the ground. That last strike had put me on my side in the dirt. Trish grabbed my uniform by the collar, and hoisted me into the air.
"I mean, shit doll, I missed you too?" I tried again, staving off the headbutt that Trish had been preparing for me with the proper reply. She dropped me on my unsteady feet.
"Oh, you better hope that you die before I make Captain, bitch…" I grumbled, reeling from the beating. Trish just smirked at me.
"Why? So you can pinch me for a squeal?" Trish asked, her voice mocking.
"I figured you were getting off on this." I hissed through clenched teeth. Trish started laughing.
"I missed you, Bastard." Trish simpered wickedly.
"I could tell." I grumbled. Trish dusted my back off, and straightened the shoulders of my uniform out.
"Well buck up, Zane. We have a half of a day's walk ahead of us." Trish turned on a heel, and made her way towards the south.
"We?" I asked, the connotation dawning on me just as I spoke that lonely word outloud.
"Well, the Colonel requested an escort for the Bastard, seeing as we're all still very concerned about his health…" Trish grinned something nasty over her shoulder to me. I was slightly startled by this announcement, even though my brain had already realized the situation before Trish's admission.
"What about Firewatch-?"
"I volunteered." Trish's grin widened.
It might sound awkward, but there was something about this one-eyed woman's evil smile that forced hormone-enriched blood into my genitalia.
"Volunteered to be my escort?" I smiled teasingly at Trish. Her grin disappeared instantly.
"An 'escort,' not an escort."
Damn. I knew that it was too good to be true.
"Oh well. Guess we have to keep it professional then." I grunted, beating off the heat.
"-Well… Casual." Trish amended.
Score.
"-But not in the way that you're thinking."
Fuck.
"Come on, Zane. The day's a wasting." Trish headed off further down the road, and a very compromised Bastard was left to follow.
…
"I still can't believe that you headed off to Pewter City without saying goodbye." Trish grumbled over her Grambar. I was almost finished with mine.
"Well, the Colonel outfitted me himself, and then marched my ass right out of Prime Outpost, so I'm really not to blame." I replied with a chortle. Trish snorted.
"Like you would have visited me even if he hadn't." Trish replied. I sighed.
"In the Shed? Hell no. In your personal quarters? Hell yes." I gave Trish my charming smile.
One-eyed Veteran Ranger or not, that smile completely disarmed her.
"That was a one time deal, Zane. Neither of us knew if we were going to see the next sunrise…" Trish was actually turning red, a nervous grin twitching at her lips.
"And what a sunrise it was…" My voice was just as soft as that smile, earning me a very un-Vet like giggle from Trish.
"Behave, Bastard." Trish ordered. I cut the pillow talk.
"...If Command found out about that-"
"I'm sure that most of Command have been in a foxhole before with a sexy Senior Officer." I smirked at Trish. She began to knead her single eye with a fist.
"You're incorrigible, Zane." Trish groaned.
"Well... Doug knew, and all he did was laugh about it." I snorted. Trish cleared her throat.
"Doug... Zane, I'll be honest. I didn't volunteer to serve as your escort for pleasant chatter. I did so on behalf of an old friend of ours…" Trish swallowed, and I stopped walking.
"The Cap?" I asked, voice soft. Trish worked her mouth.
"Captain Douglass Fitzgerald had… He had high hopes for you, Zane. It's why he took you under his wing. Other than the Colonel himself, no other Ranger stationed in Viridian had served as long as Doug had. He recognised your potential before anyone else did." Trish shuddered slightly.
"You miss him too?" I asked, my voice low. Trish straightened herself out.
"...Doug was my Commanding Officer for eight years. I knew him long before you ever joined up with our little unit. He and I served together throughout the bad and the worst. Captain Fitzgerald saved my life more times than you can count. Of course I miss him, but my purpose for digging up his ghost isn't to share our grief. He left something for you. Two somethings, actually." Trish stated calmly.
I forced the rising lump in my throat down. Trish reached for her knife, and unclasped the sheath from her shoulder.
"As you probably remember, Doug was a bit of a blacksmithing enthusiast. He was rather fond of forging knives." Trish murmured as she handed me the sheath. I took the weapon by the hilt, and released it from its protective cover.
A fine blade, styled after the BAMFs, but with an even broader head, and a wicked curve at its tip, revealed itself to me.
"It's three inches longer than the standard kit, yet two ounces lighter. And a whole hell of a lot more durable." Trish began.
"Why is it red?" I asked, turning the crimson blade over in the sunlight. That wasn't an enamel finish. The red coloration had a natural metallic luster.
"It was forged from the blade-feathers of a Skarmory, and the hilt was carved out of a Cloyster's shell spine." Trish smiled at the look of wonderment on my face.
"How the hell-"
"A Magmortar provided the heat necessary to soften the steel, and a diamond cutter was used to fashion the hilt. The grip is tanned Miltank udder hide, so it's just as tough and reliable as the rest of the blade. Unlike your G.I. BAMF, this knife will not be damaged cutting open a Venomoth. Nor will it have much trouble piercing the hide of a Golem." Trish explained. I coughed in shock.
"-This is too much knife…" I whispered. Trish just laughed.
"Doug spared no expense on it. It is every bit the exquisite masterpiece as it is a refined killing instrument. Doug wanted you to have it when you made Chief Warrant Officer. He thought that it would see you safely to Lieutenant-Captain. But seeing as you were promoted on the same day that you disappeared-"
"-The Colonel never gave me a chance- Come on, Trish! Do you really think that I'd-?"
"-Yet as incredible and valuable as that gift is… Doug's second gift puts it to absolute shame." Trish shut me up with that line. I couldn't even speak. How could Doug's second gift be anything more overwhelming?
Trish reached for her belt, and pulled something small from it. She took my right wrist, and turned my hand upwards. Then Trish pressed something cold and spherical into my palm.
"-Doug… Left something in his will, in regards to you. Something that he knew you would appreciate just as much as he did. Though it's technically General Issue, Doug was the only Ranger that could tame him. Doug taught you how to command him under careful supervision, and I would assume that Doug talked it out with him before he added that line to the will. So I imagine that you have his approval as well." Trish's hand hadn't left my palm. My fingers had yet to close around it.
"-Trish… I can't-"
"Take good care of him, Bastard. Those were the exact words in Doug's will. The Colonel knew well enough who 'him' referred to. Doug saw how you and Vauban got along with one another… I think that Doug wanted him to have a good home should the Captain ever…" Trish pursed her lips.
"-But Trish… This is Doug's trophy… This is his Darwin…" I was choking up. Tears were streaming down my cheeks.
I knew that the Cap had liked me.
But I had no idea that Doug-
"Doug's trophy is every bit as valuable as your Darwin, and every bit as rare. Rare enough to garner the attention of less honorable men. So take good care of him. He is ancient, Zane. Old and crotchety." Trish leaned in to whisper the next line.
"And unlike humans… His species grows stronger with age."
"But-"
"Doug wanted you to have him. Specifically, when you were ready. Both Colonel Isaac Howes and myself believe that the time has come. I already signed over the dispatch. High Command has cleared you for deploying a dual-roled Bastion and Siege Class. Damascus is now your responsibility, Zane."
Trish finally uncovered her hand from mine, and rested both of her palms below my numb digits. I stared down at the silver and white Pokeball in my palm. Its cosmetic distinctions served far more in favor of functionality than aesthetics. A ring of blue beads were fixed into the Pokeball's bulky silver crown. Those beads were the protective casings that housed the extra micro-computers. The extra computing power was required to translate the sheer amount of matter contained within the Pokeball into storable energy, and record the surplus of physiological data that safely reshaped the occupant from the induced molecular compression and dematerialization.
An Ultra-Mass Pokeball.
AKA a 'Heavy Ball.'
"Trish…"
"Damascus probably won't take to your Command quite so readily. He's been around since the Brink Collapse, so Damascus… Has his senior moments. Well, that and his violent moments, but if you can get him to obey you…"
"-Brock won't stand a chance." My hand clenched on the Heavy Ball. Trish smirked at me and leaned back.
"Doug caught Damascus twenty-five years ago on a Safari deep into Johto's Mount Silver. Doug and his team had been called in to eliminate a rampant Delta-Four. You might know the story. Doug was the only member of his unit to return home alive. They were prepared for a lethal engagement with a Delta-Four, but they weren't quite ready for dealing with Damascus. Doug captured him purely out of spite. Doug wanted the mon that killed his Squad to suffer the indignities of being trained by a Ranger. With that kind of naked intent, I don't think that either Damascus or Doug anticipated a sense of comradery forming between the two of them. Keep that comradery alive, Zane. And when next you encounter a Snorlax… Well, with your clever head and Damascus's insane power, you might actually have a fighting chance." Trish cupped my clenched hand in both of hers.
"Doug taught you how to control him. Damascus obeyed you in practice sessions. We hope that Damascus hasn't forgotten Doug's star pupil. Otherwise, Zane… I might have just killed you by giving you this pokeball." Trish sounded nervous. I let my breath out in a shaking wind.
"High Command approved me for this?" I asked in disbelief. Trish shook her head.
"Both myself, Colonel Howes, and Doug's testament vouched for you. And I suspect that your PR Agent's bitch fit regarding your competition preparations had something to do with High Command's decision too. You were really going to challenge a Gym Leader to an unrestricted match, with only one mon even capable of scratching his minor league team? Come on, Zane. Take your mission a little more seriously. Believe it or not, all the Vets are still rooting for you." Trish actually sounded angry with me. I swallowed again. That was news to me. I had expected ridicule from the Vets. Not their support.
"You have an important mission, Zane. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that the outcome of your endeavor will affect the Ranger Corps for years to come. You could save both us, and the politicians from declaring a draft. We need willing soldiers, not conscripted hippies. The Rangers are failing, Zane. And if we fall…"
"-Then the rest of humanity follows." I finished Trish's dark warning for her, decisively adding the fourth member of my Squad to mine own belt. The weight of these words were not lost on me. I felt just as old as the Colonel. I understood the responsibility that I had been entrusted with. This was my duty. I had to buck up, and do what was required of me.
And I had to do it with dignity.
I met Trish's lonely eye with my only eye. I don't know what it was, but there must have been something written on my face that made Trish chew on her lips.
Trish took a quick look further down either end of the L-straight. The road north and south of us was barren. Civilian traffic was currently delayed, and the Rangers were either fighting Venomoth out in the Frontier, or guarding the checkpoints. We were all alone on this stretch of forested road. One hoarse breath from Trish's was all the warning that she gave me. Trish's lips crushed mine in a dominating kiss, and those powerful arms of hers dragged my ass off into the brush for a proper goodbye.
Now I may kiss…
-But I sure as hell don't tell.
…
Trish and I made Viridian City in good time. We might have both been breathless, and in far better moods than we had left Prime Outpost in…
But we made it in one piece.
-That said, we had some pretty close calls.
My SO bandana was wrapped around my neck, covering up some of the bleeding bite marks that I had accrued along the way.
I said it before, and I'll say it again.
Vets with eye patches are fucking kinky. And Trish had given me another fond memory to keep me smiling at night.
"Well, this is where we part." Trish extended a hand to me. I shook it firmly.
"If ever you come back around these parts, stop by and say hello to me and the Colonel." Trish pulled me into a clandestine embrace.
"-And if you don't, I'll emasculate you." Trish hissed in my ear. I snorted, and gave her a firm pat on the back.
"You'd miss it more than I would, and you know it." I grinned, releasing her. Trish took a jab at my ribs, getting one final chuckle out of the both of us.
"Good luck, Zane. Make us proud." Trish lifted a Pokeball, and her Rapidash appeared. Mounting her flaming stead, Trish took off without another word, heading north, back to Prime Outpost.
Back to our home.
"Firewatch, crack the gate. Any rioters I need to be aware of?" I asked the checkpoint guard.
"No, sir. That blew over like two weeks ago. You have a clear shot straight to Viridian City's north gate. Do be aware though, the Rattata are very active right now. We recommend that you travel the Route with a deterrent deployed." I patted my new knife, and reached for my new Pokeball.
Oh, I was gonna show them some deterrence, and I'd clean up that Rattata problem while I was at it. Just you-
"...Otherwise, Zane… I might have just killed you by giving you this pokeball."
-On second thought, let's not do that quite yet.
"Vauban, report." I selected my little girl for deterrence detail. Any Rattata that made to engage me and my own was going to get a little taste of that Venomoth toxin.
"Command has cleared you for admittance. You are free to proceed, Warrant Officer." The Firewatch unit gave me a salute, and I returned it.
Then me and my little girl headed out on our uneventful way to Viridian City.
Now I would have expected trouble on the L-straight or the Route between the Reserve and Viridian City.
I wasn't expecting trouble within the walls of Viridian City itself.
Yep.
That was where I first met the Prophet.
And if you thought that the Snorlax had fucked me up…
-That fat fuck was absolutely nothing compared to TH.
Oh.
My.
God.
…
I dismissed Vauban as soon as I passed under the city gates. Call it a Ranger Courtesy, but a lot of people feel nervous seeing a Ranger alongside their mon in a city.
It's pretty much considered the same thing as walking through the downtown region with a full-auto assault rifle strapped to your back.
Now I may be a jackass that gets off on other people's discomfort, but Trish left me in a good mood, so I was feeling cordial.
I bought a quick bite to eat from a street vendor, and chased it down with a cold ale. After a busy day of strenuous physical activity, nothing hit the proverbial spot quite like Viridian's grilled sweetmeats and tubers on a stick. It was both cheaper and a damn sight better tasting than the shit they served on the shuttle. I'd taken the shuttle system back when I lived in Celadon, and let me tell you-
-There are actually MREs that will make you less sick than shuttle food.
…
Kanto's shuttle system was a relatively new concept in the region. It was a subterranean electric tram system that aimed to connect all of the settlements together in a seamless transit.
It didn't quite work.
Between the expensive production, maintenance, and operating costs, only the wealthiest of the settlements could afford to construct the tunnels, track, and train required to put a shuttle lane down.
Then of course, the Diglets and Dugtrios tore the tunnels apart constantly with their incessant prospecting. Meaning even more money had to go into repairs.
The end result was a ticket price far too high for casual commuting.
Only the wealthy could afford to use the shuttle on a daily basis, and everyone else only used it for vacation plans.
Which meant that the laws of supply and demand only made the tickets even more expensive.
Don't get me wrong. I think that the shuttle system is a great idea, and the people who thought of it and laid it out were geniuses as well as humanitarians.
But the capitalist bastards that funded the effort wanted to profit.
Fuck the wellbeing of humanity, let's put a price tag on it.
The shuttle system was the closest thing humanity had to a secure public commute. I had hopes that one day, the shuttle system would make the risky Routes redundant. But that wasn't going to happen while greedy fucks managed the track.
They did everything they could to generate a profit. They even made half-ass repairs and slipshod patch-ups just to save on the maintenance costs.
And then people died because of it.
One 'unfortunate' accident decreased the human population by over five-hundred souls.
There were lawsuits of course, and a coalition of Rail Inspectors was founded to perform routine safety code checks. And the Rail Inspector's Coalition may or may not have been bought off by the shuttle system's financial offices.
Why am I suspicious?
Because the wrecks just kept on happening.
Greed is such a funny thing.
The Kantonese shuttle system was designed with the purest intent. It was going to save human lives, and grant the population a convenience that had been lost since the Pre-Brink era.
But Corporate douchebags fucked it up, just for personal gain.
Worse, they took something inherently honest, and then made it dangerous.
Just another classic case of, 'The wants of the few outweigh the needs of the many,' to be forgotten by the history books.
For all our evolution these past fifteen-hundred years…
-Humanity still has a long way to go.
…
I made my way to Viridian's shuttle terminal. Viridian is a pretty big city. Lots of money passes through this City, as the wealth makes its way to both the Indigo Plateau, and the crossroads to Johto. Viridian doesn't really have a rich history like Pewter. Viridian City has always just been here. It sprang up back when Indigo became the official seat of the Kantonese Government, roughly five-hundred years ago. And beyond the typical catastrophes that plague humanity in the Post-Brink era, nothing really interesting happened to Viridian City in those five-hundred years. Viridian City was just a prime location for setting up a humble money-net on the only safe junction through the Argent Mountain range that separates the Johto and Kanto regions. And that captured money stayed in town, meaning that the average shop owner's gross income could afford even more comfort than the equivalent business located in commercial Celadon. It was a quaint place to live, possessing all the charm of a village hamlet, and offering all the trappings of the big cities.
No wonder why Viridian City is considered the best city in Kanto to spend your retirement in.
Yep, it's that boring.
...
Viridian never really was a place of hustle and bustle, like Saffron or Celedon, but there's always been something cooking quietly behind Viridian's peaceful scene.
Back in the early days, it was Route construction. Viridian pioneered the Route system with Pewter centuries before the rest of Kanto caught on to the concept.
Right now? The simmering kettle was Team Rocket.
But who cares about those losers?
I know biker gangs in Celedon that can make Team Rocket look like poseurs. If you pissed off one of the Blue Smogs, then the entire gang would gank you and your whole family's asses without blinking, no matter what you offered in reparations.
If you pissed off one of Team Rocket's members, then all it took was a greased palm to save your skin.
Everyone of them was just a white-collared crook with a stupid looking uniform, strutting around Viridian City's alleyways with their pants pulled below their ass cheeks, posturing like hardcore gangsters.
Thank God for them, their black berets are ridiculously chunky and oversized.
Otherwise, they might piss off the classy Ranger Blackhats, and then old Team Rocket would learn a thing or two about real 'terrorist activities.'
Other than Team Rocket though, Viridian was pretty sleepy. Even Viridian City's Gym Leader, Giovanni Delimonto, a businessman and League Quad-Flame, was decidedly underspoken.
His Gym was so rarely opened to challengers, that the League was threatening to revoke his title.
And the League had been whingeing about it for years.
To his credit though, Giovanni ran a tight ship.
He was a Goddamn Quad-Flame Championship Trainer. Giovanni could've served on the Elite Four just by tapping on the right top corner of his Trainer's License-
-Hell, he could have challenged Lance for the Throne, but Giovanni humbly settled for the position of Gym Leader.
He only accepted Championship and Premiership challenges. No Novice, Intermediate, or Major ranked battles were allowed in Giovanni's ring.
And Giovanni would only grant you the Earth Badge if you could topple his Championship team in unrestricted format.
Which, being the same team that had earned Giovanni the fourth flame on his Trainer's Licence, meant that you were as good as challenging a member of the Elite Four for a fucking Gym Badge.
So as you can imagine, there weren't many Trainers who wanted to face off against the Terra King. It was easier to purchase a passport, head over to Johto, and win a substitute Gym Badge from one the pussy-wingers native there.
Of course, if you took the easy way out, and had your eyes fixed on Indigo's Throne…
-You were missing out on an early taste of what to expect from the Elite Four, and the chance to discover if you had what it took to run with the best of the best.
I viewed the experience that Giovanni offered as an invaluable service to the Trainer community, and I was one of the few who saw it that way.
Old Giovanni kept a firm grip on his Gym Leader title with a rarely opened Gym, just because the annual competition paperwork that he submitted to the League proved the statistical lack of Trainers endowed with a spine.
That, and in the Seasonal Finals, Giovanni always proved that he had earned his Quad-Flame by wiping out all four members of the Elite Four.
I can respect a hard-ass like that.
Especially one who's so discreet about it.
…
Getting my ticket from the shuttle office was a cinch. I just walked over to the Season Pass line, elbowed every grey haired, briefcase wielding suit out of my way, and flashed my Ranger's Badge at the clerk. After she scanned my Service Tag, I was free to enter the terminal.
I hate terminals.
You can well imagine why.
I'm underground, being blinded by harsh fluorescent lights, in a cramped cement cell reminiscent of a bunker; save for the nonstop bukkake of loud, flashy, neon adverts, and I'm surrounded by-
-Fucking Civis.
I could barely breath in that noisy hole. There were so many people in the terminal, that it didn't matter how many I shoved outta my way.
There would always be another five who would sporadically appear to replace just one of the defeated, and my poor elbows were getting bruised from hitting all of those ribcages.
I pretty much moshed my way over to a bench, and then relocated the pudgy fucker occupying it by flinging his nachos on the ground.
One look in my stone-cold pissed-off eyes cut his "What the Fu-" just short of the obscenity's final consonants.
I suppose that being a Ranger in uniform with a pair of knives strapped to either collar and a big ol' medal dangling off my right breast coat pocket helped too.
Get out of my seat, you fat Civi.
My fucked up legs are killing me.
I sat down on my legally commandeered bench, freeing up another two spots just by losing the fat fuck, and they were instantly filled with two hairy beatniks who had forgotten to shower this week.
Fuck this.
I'd rather suffer on my feet than smell the body odor and incinerated narcotics that these two reeked of.
I stood up, grinding the toes off of one of the hippies with my heel as I did so, and I started shouldering off for want of higher ground.
I fucking hate terminals.
That's when I noticed a clearing. I did a double take when I saw it. It was so obviously out of place that it seemed profane. There was a good ten-meter circumference of unoccupied space, complete with a row of empty benches, looking mighty cozy up against the terminal walls; just beyond the human sea.
Naturally, I was suspicious.
I couldn't see any police tape sectioning the location off, and one vantage point afforded me a good look at the oasis.
Nope, no sewage on the floor. Just ten meters by ten meters of perfectly good, wholesome and desirable, damn near sexy breathing room.
So why the hell hadn't the crowd moved in to spoil it?
Another vantage point offered me a bit more intel.
The empty space wasn't completely empty.
There was one dark figure sitting smack dab in the middle of it, slouching on a bench with folded arms and a cap pulled down over his eyes.
I could sympathize with this poor fuck's want of solitude, but then his location struck me as eerie.
He was sitting directly in the middle of that open space.
And the wall of tourists had formed a perfect half circle around it.
...Something just didn't feel quite right about that...
I couldn't fathom why every other square meter of the terminal was drowned in human bodies, but this one lonely figure had himself a good ten-meter radius that nobody else would occupy. He was young, my age, older or younger I couldn't tell. Half of his face was covered by the tilted visor of his hat, making it impossible to accurately discern his features or his age. His clothes were exclusively black, save for a monochrome plaid pattern on his skinny pants. His high-collared coat was quilted and thinly insulated, which was odd, given the warmth of this May afternoon. His black cadet hat was crowned by an expensive pair of gray wide framed shades. Everything about his getup reeked of designer winter fashion, and only served to separate him further from the colorfully short sleeve garbed, khaki short clad, and flip-flop shod casual attire worn by the rest of the crowd.
Now, I'm not exactly a people person myself, but there was something peculiar about this guy's presence. As if he wasn't even really there. Every time my eyes wandered away from him, I found myself double taking to make sure that he hadn't just disappeared.
And I wasn't the only one eying him nervously.
As curiosity drew me closer to him, I noticed a gradually declining shift in the amount and volume of civilian chatter. Everybody was trying to ignore him, but nervous eyes kept flicking over shoulders towards his conspicuous person. When I reached the outer perimeter of this stranger's visible space bubble, I witnessed a civilian stray just a little further than me towards the guy.
I watched as this civilian turned sickly white. I watched as wide eyes grew hollow and dead. I watched as rivulets of sweat trickled down the civilian's brow. I watched the civilian struggle for breath as though in panic.
And then I watched as this civilian turned tail and ran.
I looked back at the stranger, completely bewildered. I still couldn't see his face. The brim of his hat was pulled down to his nose, suggesting that he was sleeping in this noisy terminal. I took another step forward, and immediately froze stiff.
Oh…
Oh-
-Shit.
Holy fuck.
The revelation divining this guy's inexplicable solitude struck me with the full force of its supernatural presence. My joints began to ache, creaking like wood even when my limbs were still. Goosebumps rose all along my frame as a clammy chill overcame me. A sudden fever pushed bullets of sweat from my pores, conflicting repulsively with the bone-deep cold. A bizarre sensation seized my chest and throat, and I found myself struggling to breath normally, as though a fear of drowning plagued me in the dry air. And above it all, was an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy and dread, a primal terror compounded by an unnatural emotional depression.
I had just placed my right foot into a Distortion seep. A deep one.
This guy was haunted, by some really heavy shit. My educational exposure to a Ghost's presence in the academy was nothing compared to this. I felt a full fledged haunting, ten meters away from its source. I couldn't peg one spirit responsible for this kind of anomaly. Likely meaning multiple hauntings.
Powerful hauntings.
What the hell was this guy?
He wasn't sleeping. I saw a smile lift the corners of his mouth, as if he was privy to my stunned cognitive functions. Wait…
No.
Not a smile.
A smirk.
Cold. Sinister.
Mocking.
I swallowed hard. I had previously been more than happy to flee his presence, right up until I saw that smirk.
I'm a smug bastard.
There was no way in hell that I'd let this freak one up me without even trying to counter his creepy shit. I took another step forward-
-And felt a whisper of tattered cloth slither across my right shoulder and neck.
...Followed by something painfully cold and tantalizingly sharp pressing up against my throat.
"Pariah, withdraw." The stranger spoke in a breathy rasp, waving his hand in a contemptuous gesture. The invisible blade fell away from my throat, and the serpentine cloth drew a shudder from my person as it slid away. I found myself breathing again, wind drawn in sudden shaking intakes. I was hyperventilating.
My eyes were fixed on the stranger, watching as he rose into a straighter posture from his slouch on the bench. He reached for the brim of his hat, and began to lift it into the proper position. Every one of his motions was heavy and deliberately slow. Every one of his weighty gestures were measured to completion in the lapse between heartbeats, not by the seconds of time ticking by. There was something ethereal about his movements, as if he wasn't actually making them. It almost seemed as if he were some kind of graceful puppet.
The hat was adjusted, and the pale face of the closed-eyed stranger was revealed to me. Pouting lips curved into a knowing half smile, as a silent chuckle shook his frame. A small mole rested on the arch of his shallow left cheek, right below his shadowed eye socket. A sculpted nose and jaw were carved from alabaster in delicate finesse. Raven black hair was trimmed short and evenly draped down either side of his face in subtle sideburns. A smooth brow ascended to a straight hairline, marred only by the blue veins visible beneath the waxy skin.
And then he opened his sleep deprived eyes.
Grey. Cloudy grey.
Pupiless.
The irises we expansive, almost blotting out the whites of the scleras.
And I was staring right into those hellish eyes.
He wasn't blind. He was looking right at me. Those weren't contact lens.
Contact lens didn't make the walls bleed.
It began slowly. Almost unnoticeable at first. Then the entire world started rotting around the stranger. Thick blood welled from the festering pits collapsing the walls and floor. Shadows moved across the ground like smoke beneath glass, phantom fingers reaching out from the void for me. The lights dimmed, and disembodied voices began to whisper and weep. Everything else grew silent, and everything around me grew distant. I couldn't move. I was alone. Imprisoned in this fledgling hell with the stranger. He was decaying before my eyes, his inky bile leaking into the shadows like oozing tar. I couldn't move. I couldn't look away. The stranger was nothing more than a pitch soaked skeleton, necrotic flesh peeling away from his limbs in diseased curls, teeth chattering with an agonized and inhuman moan. Yet those grey eyes remained vivid and untouched, holding me captive in this unreality. The smell… Oh my God, the smell... All the world around us was dying, and the stranger was the cancer at its core, killing the world with his presence alone. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. The shadows crept closer, rising from the ground and forming into monstrous shapes as they approached me. The living shadows were dripping from the wasting stranger, their figures growing stronger and more defined, as his moribund moan grew frail and weak. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.
Then I blinked, and the illusion was dispelled.
I was in a typically well lit and busy Viridian terminal, not isolated in an outer layer of the Distortion.
This realization comforted me, bading air into my paralyzed lungs.
Then I keeled over, and vomited on the terminal floor.
"Well… Can't say that I'm surprised..." The stranger spoke in a soft whisper, his tired voice almost musical with a foreign accent. I looked up from the sick, and avoided making contact with those cursed eyes of his.
"Most people know better than to provoke the spirits, Ranger…" The stranger chuckled. I aligned my beret, face poised with cold dignity. Then I rose and held myself proudly.
As if I hadn't just emptied the contents of my stomach on the floor tiles five seconds ago.
I wasn't going to inquire about his eyes.
I didn't want to know where he got those fucked up things from.
"A Ghost Trainer. Let me see your License." I growled. The stranger closed his unnatural eyes and chuckled noiselessly, before procuring a narrow black leather bound notebook from his breast pocket.
"I'm afraid that my status as a diplomat grants me total immunity to your authority, Ranger." The stranger opened the notepad and revealed an official dossier.
"This is my… Waiver of Immunity, as I'm sure that you are required to request proof of such documentation." The stranger offered the notepad, daring me to cross further into his slice of Hell with a malicious smile.
So I did.
I could feel the Ghosts drawing closer to us. Every paranormal sensation they inspired was dramatically increased by the diminishing distance between me and the stranger. By the time I stood but half a meter from him, I was burning, drowning, freezing, aging, and dying to fall to my knees and beg for an end to the grief and the terror.
But I denied every spirit the satisfaction of my fear. I would not feed them, or display weakness to their Channeler.
"Waiver of Immunity, as assigned to the aforementioned by the High Justiciar of the Indigo Confederacy, yadda-yadda-yadda…" I rolled my eyes as I read past the legal notification. The document was signed by the High Justiciar Adamus Oscarin III himself, warranting full legal immunity to the stranger, but the recipient's provided name was-
"Anonymous. Nice name." I strained a threatening grin at the stranger. He closed his weary eyes and chuckled again.
"Anonymous for matters pertaining to both personal privacy and national security. I can assure you, Ranger Zane… The document is legitimate." The stranger shook his head, as though he was amused.
I wasn't.
"So, Anonymous… What brings you to Viridian? I take it that you're not from Kanto nor Johto, are you?" I returned the document with a suspicious tone. Consular Immunity or not, I was getting some answers out of this freak.
"My business is my own, Ranger." The fucker even sound friendly when he answered me.
"But with a fruity accent like that, you sure as hell aren't from Indigo." I tried the friendly approach, attempting to discern whether or not it it stirred him up as much as it riled me up.
If it did, he didn't show it.
"My accent was inherited from my birthland. I do believe that my ears detect a distinct Kantonese accent from your voice. Your dialect is... Saffron? No. Celedon." The stranger smiled up at me, clearly enjoying the dumbfounded expression that I was giving him. Could he tell where I was from just by listening to my voice or-
"You know, it really isn't polite of you to have your Ghosts digging up info on me." I hissed. The stranger was laughing now.
"Subterfuge, Ranger? Really, I'm embarrassed that you would think me so low as to 'dig up' your personal information with my revenants." The smiling stranger was playing a game with me, and I did not approve.
"You don't spit when you talk, so you're not from Unova. You aren't wearing a talisman of Arceus openly, so it's unlikely that you're from Sinnoh. Your clothes are far too warm to have been bought in the tropical island of Hoenn… Leaving only Kalos. That explains your fashion sense. And I'd bet my paycheck that you bitch about our coffee too." I hit him with a taste of my own logical deduction. The smile changed slightly. Less amused.
A tad more respectful.
"I would never refer to the piddle served in a Kantonese cafe as coffee." The Kalosian snob had just freely given himself away.
"You stuck-up Kalosian drape." I grinned snidely at my new worst friend.
"My effluent Kantonese ape." He smiled pleasantly right back at the Fucking Bastard. I didn't really know where to go from here. I had his nationality pinned, but I doubted that I was going to get anything more out of him by playing nice. I needed to go direct.
"So what kind of Shades are eating you?" I asked, giving him my biggest, meanest, nastiest grin. He in turn, gave me his.
And it left me shuddering.
"The unfriendly to persistent Rangers kind, Mister Bastard."
That was a warning. I didn't know how far his diplomatic immunity covered him, but I had a sneaking suspicion that even without that document, this guy would ice me for annoying him without a second thought.
Now I may be a cocky shit, but I'm only still alive because I know my limits.
And I only press them when absolutely necessary.
"Whatever. This discussion was getting boring anyways. Have a nice visit in Kanto, Mister Crypt. Try not to bitch about the coffee too loudly." I growled the last word as I turned around, and made to stalk away.
A hiss of cloth stopped me dead with a pointy tip pressing up against my navel.
Oh shit...
-Had I gone too far?
"Let him go, Pariah."
I was locked up cold. I couldn't see it.
But I could feel it looking me in the eyes.
I could sense the tip of the blade scraping across my uniform, and its razored edge aligning across my abdomen. I could detect the practice stroke being softly drawn, before the blade rested on my stomach again. I was stunned with pure terror.
It was going to disembowel me.
"Pariah… I gave you an order…" The stranger's dangerous voice was even more horrifying when he was angry. I could almost hear otherworldly screams echoing in his eldritch intonation.
The blade pressed tightly against my gut, before whipping away with a sudden check. When the passing seconds revealed that no body severing blow was to follow, I could finally breathe again. A hoarse voice spoke unseen from behind me, layered with wonder and curiosity.
"He certainly doesn't like you, Ranger… He doesn't like you at all. How very odd…"
I didn't stick around to ponder the oddness of it all. I shamelessly hauled my limping ass and hightailed it away from the stranger and his Ghosts. I left the terminal, and ran as far away from that freak as Viridian's walls could allow. Then I ran south towards Pallet Town, desperately trying to put as much distance between me and the stranger as was possible. I never wanted to see him or his eidolons again.
Too bad for me.
TH had to come back and haunt me.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
