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The Saga of Kings, Book I: Hero
Written by,
Vile M.F. Slanders
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"...Nemo Me Impune Lacessit... (...No one provokes me with impunity...)" -Motto inscribed upon the Kalosian Royal Crown.
-v-
Chapter V: Living On Prayers
Pewter City...
The City of I've been here before.
-Moving on.
My first stop after leaving the midnight shuttle was a bar. I needed some stiff drinks.
A lot of them.
I was still afraid.
I was afraid to sleep. I was afraid to be alone. I was afraid of black clothing.
I was afraid of the Goddamn shadows.
That freak from the Viridian terminal was still fucking with me. I couldn't get it out of my head. I kept seeing it whenever I closed my eye.
His grey eyes.
Watching him die in the most unnatural way.
That fucking smile making my life worth less than shit.
I had been fucking helpless.
I'm never helpless.
I always know what I'm doing.
-But I couldn't do anything…
I don't know if it was the Ghosts. I don't know if it was those eyes. I don't know if it was watching him die. I don't know if it was that smile…
But all I heard…
...And all I saw…
-Was my Echo…
After fleeing the terminal in Viridian, I ran halfway to Pallet Town before I hit the ground in panicked exhaustion. Then I crawled my ass through the dirt and up a tree, just trying to hide myself in the foliage. And I cried. I couldn't shake it. I could even find enough sense call up Vauban for support.
I was in the Long Sway…
-And everybody was dying all over again…
And I was helpless.
…
I woke up. It was early morning. I was huddled on a bench. My head was trying to kill me, and my cotton tongue was doing its damnedest to choke me with its vile taste.
"Fuck…" I pushed myself up. The bar I had patronized last night was right behind me. A collection of empty bottles rolled off of the bench when I moved.
Guess I didn't close when the bars did.
And I was living it raw.
"-Fuck…" Trying to stand up was a bad idea. The whole world flipped over when I did. Until this moment, I didn't know that it was possible to be both inebriated and hungover at the same time.
Once this morning's binge had painted the Pewter sidewalk with hops, I wiped my mouth off with a hand and flicked the phlegmy froth my fingertips.
I was hankering for a toothbrush after that one, let me tell you.
My last memory from earlier this morning wasn't all that grand.
Just a bottle of gin with the base raised to the ceiling, and my lips on the brim.
That was it.
I might have made the news last night, and I'll be damned if I could remember any of it.
It wasn't until I found a public restroom with a graffiti-carved mirror that I saw the bruises and cuts on my face.
Yeah, I had made somebody's news last night.
…
I stood on the Pewter City Gym steps. Talk about a hole in the wall. You could've mistaken this place for a laundromat.
It wasn't until I barged in and strutted halfway to the counter, that I realized-
-It was a laundromat.
I chuked all over the floor of the establishment in surprise, apologized to the startled clerk behind the counter, and then quickly left.
Now I was standing on the Gym steps. And this place looked like the Pewter City Gym. It was fashioned out of the same crudely cut stones that comprised the Pewter City walls, and was nestled in the city's northeastern corner. Most the surrounding city's precincts had buried their history in the pursuit of modernization, but the city's Gym block looked exactly the same as it always had, back when this rude building had served the city as the militia's barracks.
This part of the city didn't even have street lamps on its cobbled road, that was how traditional the Pewter City Gym Leaders kept it.
Though the Gym itself was simply hideous in its unapologetic simplicity and unrefined architecture, there was an inexplicable charm to the otherwise foreboding establishment.
Especially for me.
The coarse walls of the Pewter Gym had been erected to weather the onslaught of both the mon and the ages, and here it still stood, eleven-hundred years after the first stone had been set.
A functioning testament to humanity's ability to resist all adversities.
I crossed under the Gym's stone porticus and pulled open the heavy wooden door. Whereas the Gym city block itself had maintained the illusion of antiquity, the interior of the establishment was lit by electric lights and filled with modern conveniences. A lobby stationed with comfortable sofas and a cinematic theatre played a loop of clips detailing the Gym Leader's triumphs and accolades. The speakers blared a bass heavy rock song to scenes of revived fossil Pokemon destroying both Lorelei and Bruno of last season's Elite Four, before providing a list of dates when Brock was available for Gym challenges. His schedule rotated once every five days, and a quick look revealed that Brock wouldn't be publicly competing for another three.
I headed to the front desk, trying to conceal my drunken status.
From the look given to me by the clerk, I could tell that I had failed.
Then I remembered that I was in uniform, and that wary stinkeye probably had something to do with me serving in the capacity of a mon-killer.
"Can I help you, Ranger?"
Yep. She hated me just because of my profession.
I could live with that.
"I'm here to register for a Gym challenge." I answered curtly. That caused a double take from the clerk.
"A Ranger in a Gym battle? That's cute. What, do you actually think that you can kill Brock's Pokemon?" The snide four-eyed bitch was treating me like a belligerent child.
"Well, shit happens in unrestricted formats. Now are you going to provide me with the legal disclaimers or not?" I gave her a toothy grin. I wasn't going to waste any of my considerable charm on this broad, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let her rile me up either.
"Oh! Of course! Just as soon as you provide me with your League issued Trainer's Licence… You do have a certification for League competition, don't you Ranger?" Oh, that sarcastic whore was giving me the witch's grin. She was operating under the assumption that the League's ban on Rangers competing within their bureaucracy still applied to me.
I was about to get one hell of laugh.
I procured my Tact. pad and pulled up my Trainer's License.
"Be sure to pay close attention to the first three letters on my serial tag." I smiled all nice-like at the glowering clerk, who seemed to think that I was wasting her time.
But it was the other way around. One look at the ACE stamped on my serial tag froze her stiff.
She thought that I was a Spook.
And she had just been lipping off to a member of the secret service.
"Um... -I, ah... -I…"
Oh yeah, she was stammering and turning pale now.
"Just put my name on the next available challenge date, and I might forget about all of this around lunchtime." My evil smile was audible in my intonation.
The bitch had no further words to spit at me. It was just the klickety-klack of a keyboard and a nervous lip chewing from her ass.
A printer next to her console buzzed into life, as a series of documents were fashioned bearing my credentials.
Handing me the sheets and a pen, the wide-eyed and pleading clerk satisfied my request.
"Now was that so hard?" I gloated.
The clerk could only shudder.
She passively observed my review and signing of the Gym's disclaimers. Everything proceeded quietly right up until I arrived at the section that requested my predilection of challenge.
My pen skipped past the "Restricted Format" header, and my signature found its way beneath the "Unrestricted Format" portion.
"You might want to start off on restricted. Your License ranks you as a Novice. Unrestricted is normally only requested in the Premiership and Championship-" The clerk shut right up when she looked at my face. My impatient eyes had finally conveyed the message.
I knew what unrestricted format was.
All bars removed, and all bans put a side.
A Pokemon battle with no safeties engaged, where anything goes and mon dying was casually regarded as an 'unfortunate outcome.'
It was everyday life for a Ranger.
"Two days from today, correct?" I asked, handing the clerk my signed documents.
"Your match is scheduled at five-thirty pm. Challenger number four of five. A former applicant requested a private match at the end of the day, and any late applicants will have to adhere to the policy. The doors close at five o'clock in the evening. No spectators save for other challengers are permitted within the Pit after then, nor will any challengers present at the time of closed-doors be authorized to leave before the final match's conclusion. Please arrive before five o'clock, and do be aware that it is a three kilometer hike to the Pit." The clerk filled me in on the trivials after giving me the only meritorious answer.
"Glad to hear it. Enjoy the rest of your day." I said it with a smile, causing the clerk to wilt. She handed me my copy of the disclaimers, and then I headed back out into Pewter.
"Call Fuck-nuts." I instructed my Tact. Pad once I was out on the Gym stairs. A hail was sent to the contact, before a disgruntled Chris Lebreau answered the phone.
"Zane, is that you?"
"Oh, don't worry Chris, I'm just as happy as you are to be hearing your voice." I replied, eyes already rolling.
"You take care of your Gym registration?" Chris asked.
"Just finished. I'm in the ring two days from now, challenger four of five. Scheduled at seventeen-hundred and a half hours. Private showcase, so no cameras." I listened to Chris's brain snapping in the background.
"A private showcase?! What were you thinking, requesting a private match?! WE NEED YOU ON THE AIR, YOU IDIOT!" Chris was flying off the handle.
"Wasn't me, shithead. Another applicant request private. It just so happens that my match is scheduled after closed-doors." I answered Chris in my unconcerned voice, knowing full well how much Chris enjoyed being blown off.
"WHAT KIND OF STUPID FUCK WOULD REQUEST A PRIVATE-"
"-I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT THIS IS HAPPENING!"
"-WE NEED PEWTER TO HOLD OFF THE CURFEW-"
"-GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THERE, AND TELL BROCK-!"
I had already buried my eyes in a hand. I still had a throbbing headache, and Chris's shouting wasn't making it any better.
"Chris, this is the way it has to be. Unless you want me to sit on my ass and wait for the next available session, which may or may not have camera crews for the other challengers, I have to take down Brock in a private setting." I grumbled. I heard Chris break something on his end.
"You don't get it, Zane… I got you a camera crew! They're nothing major, and they're independent of any televised syndicates, but we could have at least started your competition portfolio with some footage of your early League career! Think about what that footage could be worth if we ever do a documentary!" Chris was winding down. He was that frustrated with me.
Good.
I must be doing something right then.
"Chris, I have an idea on how to make this work to our advantage. A private match is absolutely ideal for what I have in mind. Trust me, I'll make a flash, and somewhere down the lines, someone's gonna see it." I said. Chris just sighed.
"Please tell me that you've worked out a better plan than just poisoning Brock's Onix?"
That actually made me smile.
"Trust me, Chris… That Onix is my last concern right now. I'd be more worried about the fallout if I were you." There was a long silence after that.
"I'm checking the League registry now… Yep. Your name is already listed under the Pewter City Gym challenges- UNRESTRICTED?!"
There goes another gasket on my PR agent.
I wonder when his heart will finally rupture.
"There's a reason for that, Chris…" My tone implied a warning.
"-I'm sure there's a reason for it. I just looked up your League certified team. Vauban, Cortez, and Darwin. You're fucked, Zane. You are totally fucked." Chris was utterly burned out.
"You know what is funny? What that roster you're looking at doesn't show you." I was grinning when I said it.
That drew a pause.
"Zane, if it isn't registered, it can't compete. So if you finally got your hands on some G.I. firepower-"
"Chris, review section eight of High Command's adopted League Certified Ranger Doctrine, then cross reference that material with the League Legislation's adherence to foreign registries. Most notably, check the footnote pertaining to Wallace vs. Will from six years ago. Then correlate the Hoenn League registry with that date. Look up Wallace's team. Then add it all up." I was chuckling by the end.
"Give me a second." Chris actually sounded intrigued by my recommendation. It took him about five minutes to review the highlighted material and correlate the data. Giving me the time required to find a vendor who could provide me with a brew to ease the hangover.
"...You clever Bastard." Chris was genuinely impressed.
"-It's risky, and you'll only be able to pull it off once in the League… But it's brilliant."
"Worst case scenario? I get cited for kiting. But even then? I can contest it under the-"
"So that's why you opted for unrestricted! Holy shit, Zane! If you pull this off-"
"Then I can make Brock think that he's punishing me, when in reality, Brock is actually giving me exactly what my PR agent wants." I summed it up for Chris, throwing in a little hint at an ulterior motive. Chris wasn't going to ask what it was.
Chris liked surprises.
The freak.
"Okay, you have a game plan this time. And this one could cause even more controversy than Vauban toppling an Onix if it gets out. Make sure it gets out." Chris said.
"Affirmative. Now does this mean that I won't have to deal with your bullshit until Cerulean?" I asked. Chris just laughed.
"That depends. Now go fine tune your battle strategy, Zane. Buh-bye." A click on Chris's end gave me the solace that I'd been dreaming of.
"Go fuck yourself, Chris." I told the silent Tact. pad mournfully. I went to put it away, but a sudden temptation stopped me.
"Alexandria. Scan Pewter City's residential phone listings. Call Tammy. And don't pretend like you don't know who I'm talking about."
…
"Well, look at you." I smiled as my date arrived at the disclosed location. Tammy dismounted her electricycle, and made straight for me with worried eyes.
"Catch you on lunch break?" I asked, noticing her Policewoman's uniform.
"Yeah… Zane, you look like somebody beat you up!" Tammy reached up to prod a bruise below my eye.
"I think somebody did. I can't remember." I just chuckled, brushing the minor wounds off.
"You're drunk!" Tammy cried out, noticing my one bleary eye and my sickly complexion.
"Was. I'm hungover now." Check one big ol'smile for the aspiring Inspector.
"Who asks a girl out on a date when they're hungover?!" Tammy cried out, scandalized.
"Tough, handsome, smart motherfuckers who haven't seen the most beautiful woman in all of Kanto for a whole month?" I gave Tammy that charming smirk that I'd been saving just for her.
Tammy slipped. She wanted to be angry with me, but the flattery had left its mark.
Namely in the bashful fluttering of lashes and the rising blush.
"Well… It has been a while." Tammy's voice was a cautious warning.
But she wasn't fooling me.
"A while? Girl, I saw you every time I closed my eyes... But it only made the longing worse."
Tammy giggled when she punched me.
Score.
She loved the sappy shit.
"...At any rate, sorry for being barely presentable. I had a bit of a… disturbing occurrence yesterday." I muttered.
"What kind of-"
"-A Ghost Trainer. Leave it at that." I swallowed. Tammy's eyes widened.
"Did you get-"
"-Haunted? No. Oh God, I hope not… but it was… an extremely unpleasant encounter." I shuddered in the warm morning air.
"Do the Rangers know about it?" Tammy asked nervously.
"From the vibe this guy was sending me… The Rangers can't legally do a thing about his presence in Kanto. Please Tammy, can we not bring this up? I don't think that I'll be sleeping for a month after what happened yesterday..." I wasn't feigning the begging expression on my face, or the pale skin.
Even in the broad sunlight, I was terrified of the mere memory.
"Okay… Um… Maybe this a bad time to break it to you?"
Oh God, please don't tell me that you're pregnant-
"-You're not going to like this place…"
-Dodged that bullet.
"Let me guess… Vegetarian, right?"
"Maybe?" Tammy looked embarrassed.
"Tammy, I'm a Ranger. It doesn't matter if it's rotting flesh or rotting vegetable matter, I'll eat it with a smile."
"Zane, that is so gross!" Tammy slugged me in the shoulder, nearly bowling me over with her fist.
"Easy, woman! Goddamn, save it for the bedroom!"
Tammy and I situated ourselves on opposite ends of a booth. I suppose that some people would have called us picturesque. Me, a strapping Ranger in his uniform; and Tammy, a sexy Police Officer in hers.
But if someone decided to raise a camera on Tammy and I, the offender would find their photographic device suddenly thrust up their asshole.
Don't take my picture if I don't ask you to.
"So you made it." Tammy whispered. I shot her a curious glance.
"The Venomoth situation." Tammy clarified.
"Yeah, that was a trip." I snorted. Tammy swallowed.
"I tried calling you through Command, but they said that you were indisposed-"
"-Fucking lazy ass Walkout Comm Officers… Indisposed my dick! I was in a fucking bed for most of the month!" I was genuinely pissed off.
Telephone sex would have been a great way to pass the time while I recovered.
"In a bed? I thought that you- Oh!" Tammy caught on to the implication shortly after she'd opened her mouth to start talking.
"Yeah. In a bed. I only saw action on my first day back. Then it was all bedrest and bloodswaps for Zane Bastard." I shrugged. I'd survived the ordeal. No sense making a scene over it.
Tammy didn't quite share my opinion though.
"What happened?"
"I inhaled a lethal amount of Venomoth wing dust. No big deal."
Both of Tammy's hands clapped over her mouth.
"...Oh my God-"
"-Tammy, I'm fine. I feel just as shitty as I did before the Venomoths poisoned me. You don't have to-"
"-Zane, you could have died!" Tammy exploded across the booth.
Holy shit.
She was crying?
"I listened everyday to the casualty reports… I called Command as often as I could-"
"Tammy, relax. Did you really think that a fucking Venomoth could kill me?" I gave Tammy my cheesy grin, hoping it would end this awkward moment before it became too public.
In truth, I was touched.
But I was feeling ragged guilty too.
"Zane… What if it had killed you?" Tammy asked. I sighed.
"Then you would have heard my name on the casualty reports."
"Don't joke like that!" Tammy glared at me, but one look into my weathered expression told her that this was no jest.
"It happens, Tammy. It happens a lot. This Venomoth season hit us hard. Viridian actually needed backup. Did you hear about the Blackhat Strike we had to call in for?" I asked. Tammy withered into her padded booth.
Our appetizers arrived, lightly oiled and seasoned breadsticks with an accompaniment of tossed cashew and beansprout salads.
My appetizers disappeared in matter of minutes.
Tammy's remained untouched when I finished that meager course.
"Tammy, come on. I've seen enough tears this past month. Could you smile for me? Please?" I punctuated my heartfelt plea with a shit-eating grin. The sudden transition broke through Tammy's inhibitions and forced a swelling of giggles from her.
"Fuck you, Zane-"
"-In public? Again? I'm game." Big ol'smile for my red faced date.
"-Don't talk about that so loudly." Tammy started off pretty loud herself, but ended in a sharp whisper. Her nervous eyes were darting from one end of the restaurant to the other.
But she was smiling, even if it was an embarrassed smile. I chortled and leaned back. Tammy started on her appetizers, while I just eased into the setting.
This was one of the first peaceful non-boring moments that I had experienced this month. I wanted to enjoy it. Unfortunately-
"But anyways, Zane… I listened to the casualty reports. A lot of Rangers died this season, didn't they?" I buried my face into a hand and massaged my eye sockets.
Tammy didn't know when to quit.
"So is it really as bad as they're letting on?" Tammy asked softly. I sighed.
"It's worse than that." I replied. Tammy looked at me in shock.
"So the whispers about the draft-"
"-I'm not talking about that." I interrupted Tammy. High Command wanted to keep that under the radar for as long as possible. Just to avoid social upheaval.
"Listen, Tammy… It's bad. Really bad. So bad that High Command has me working with ACE in the League. Now don't be spilling that out. You'd piss off me, the Rangers, and ACE if the public ever got wind of it. Now, the Rangers and myself won't do anything to you. But the Spooks? They have a pretty heartless methodology. For your own sake, please… Don't go digging into this matter." I had to quell her curiosity now, before Tammy's aspiring Inspector nose buried itself into something that she didn't want any part of.
"But why is it so bad?" Tammy asked. My palm found my face. I was that exasperated.
"Because we are losing the fight. The Rangers don't have the support we need. We can hold the mon off now, maybe even for another decade, but we are in decline. If we don't address the personnel problem now, the world our great-grandparents grew up in is gonna come back to haunt us." I answered grimly.
"You don't honestly think that it'll be that bad, do you?" Tammy tried to jest about the dire portent with a nervous grin.
I just shook my head.
"No, I don't think. I know. The Frontier will be right up against the city walls, and humanity will be under constant siege. Again." I grumbled. Tammy licked her lips, and fearful look tightened her brow.
"So what do the Rangers intend to do about it?" Tammy asked.
"We're trying to raise awareness." I answered. Tammy just laughed.
"Trying? Zane, the recruitment adverts run nonstop. It's almost annoying. Most people tune them out anymore-"
"-Most people are idiots." I growled. Tammy quirked her head with an incredulous expression on her face.
"Well, I'd agree with you on most fronts-"
"Really? Only most? Which ones don't you agree on?" I asked. Tammy stiffened.
"The one that we're talking about for starters." Tammy replied in an icy tone. I snorted in derision.
"Right. Then you're just part of the problem. Another ignorant cog in the social machine that's milling out it's own demise." I growled.
"Are you really just going to write society off like that, Zane?" Tammy asked.
"Well, society hasn't exactly provided me with much else to go on, so-"
"-You need to pull your head out of your ass, Ranger." Tammy spat. I sat back in my booth.
If Tammy had a suggestion, then I was all ears.
And I was ready to poke gaping holes into her suggestion too.
"The problem with you, Zane… Is that you approach everything like a Ranger does. It's always do or die with you. There is no inbetween. You don't empathize with anyone not wearing a beret. You don't even try to view the world from their perspective. You'd just rather write them up as a lost cause." Tammy was panting in a fit of passion.
It seemed as though Tammy had been wanting to get this off of her chest for some time now.
Can't say that I was surprised.
She knew me, after all.
"Think about it from a civilian's perspective. People are born in the safety of the city walls. They stay well inside those walls for most of their lives. They are raised alongside all manner of mon that humanity has domesticated for advancement and convenience. Children grow up watching cartoon adaptations of their favorite Pokemon. The commercial sector hits society from every angle with mon-affiliated entertainment products. Children attend a school system, where the League is all the rage amongst their peers and teachers, and everyone of them dreams of becoming the League Champion. They grow to adulthood in this setting, becoming more and more absorbed by this walled off little slice of paradise. Imagine that for a moment." Tammy took a deep breath, before pressing on.
"Then imagine that one day, these civilians turn on the telly, and there's this guy in a red beret telling them that they need to join the fight against the mon. That humanity needs to wage a war against the ever present threat poised by the murderous and bloodthirsty Pokemon. Guess what? This ever present threat?" Tammy paused for effect, and stared right into my eye.
"Where is it? The Pewter City walls have only been attacked by wild mon a grand total of twenty-three times in the last fifty years. Not one of those attacks breached the walls before the Rangers and the Trainers fought the mon off. What kind of threat do the mon poise when there is no reinforcement to support the recruiter's claim of danger? People are going to look down at the Skitty snoozing in their laps, see a Pokemon that loves and adores them, then look at the Ranger on the television and call him fucking nuts." Tammy winded down. I sat there, working my jaw.
It was a rational set of circumstances that Tammy had provided me with...
-But it was too much for me to swallow.
"...And all the while, the Rangers are killing themselves out in the Frontier, just so people can live this illusion. Go ahead. Ask me to separate myself from that. Tell me to forget about all the Rangers… All my friends and family who have died to support these people. Regardless of the people's want for peace, Tammy… Want isn't enough to secure it. I've seen the price of peace. I've played my role paying it. I won't forget them. Not ever." I was fighting back the tears.
Tammy knew me well enough to see them.
"-I'm not saying that you're wrong, Zane. I just think that you and the Rangers need to assume a different approach when dealing with the private sector. People aren't Pokemon. You can't just force them to understand." Tammy whispered.
"Which is why I think that they're stupid." I added venomously. Tammy sighed.
"What you think isn't always accurate, Zane. And that imprecision will lead you onto the wrong path. You want to save humanity? Then you have to understand it from the whole. Not just a Ranger's perspective."
That left me speechless.
Tammy had scored a registered hit.
A deep one.
I had to take a moment to collect myself before carrying on.
"-I don't know any other way, Tammy…"
"-Then learn one." Tammy shot at me.
Hit.
The distant look on my face betrayed the turmoil that Tammy's assertion had left me with. She respectfully gave me a moment to brood, before Tammy decided to change the topic.
Slightly.
"So are you going to tell me why you dragged a kid out into the Frontier now?" Tammy asked. I looked up in shock.
"-We got a report on the same day that you bugged out to Viridian to deal with the Venomoth. Some parents apparently had to console their child after he was attacked by a Beedrill. Out in the Frontier. And accompanied by a Ranger with a Bulbasaur." Tammy looked at me severely.
"How is Tony doing by the way?" I asked, pleasantly. Tammy drummed her fingers off of the table.
"The kid is fine. Shaken up, but fine. Now why did you do it?" Tammy asked. I swallowed.
The irony was almost pathetic.
"Because he wanted to be a Ranger… And I didn't want him to die."
"What do you mean by that?" Tammy asked, her voice growing irritated.
"I meant that I didn't want Tony to become a Ranger. He's not cut out for it, and I didn't want to be the recruiter who put him in a grave." I grumbled. Tammy froze.
"...You're a lousy recruiter, Zane." Tammy snorted.
"Yeah… Well there's a reason for that…" I stared at the far edge of the table, not really seeing it. I was at the bloody ledge. One little push was all it would take now. Even now, I could hear it. I could see it. I could feel it coming back-
"...I heard about your first Command… I'm sorry, Zane…"
That was the push.
I got up from my seat, and quickly left the table.
I ignored Tammy's wounded outcry of my name.
I could barely hear it as I pushed open the restaurant's door.
My hobbling feet were pounding down on the pavement, as I breathed their names again.
Amber.
Pete.
Erin.
Carlos.
Brenda...
I was done.
I wasn't a recruiter.
I wasn't fit to be a Ranger.
High Command wanted a hero.
-But I'm no hero…
Else I'd still have my Echo...
None of this made any sense…
...And I feared it never would.
…
I rose from the mattress. Vauban rolled off my chest. A nearly naked Cortez was at my side in an instant, separate, but supportive.
"Fuck me… How long was I out?" I grabbed my bedside clock.
It was Eleven-hundred-hours.
I had lunch with Tammy at Twelve-hundred-hours.
"Oh shit…"
I had slept a whole day away.
So much for the Ghosts.
I suppose that my body and mind could only tolerate so much abuse before my being collapsed from sheer exhaustion, the haunting spirits be damned.
"Come on. We're getting out. Now." I grumbled. I was still in yesterday's BDU. I had simply fallen on my bed after I had hastily settled my stay at the hotel's front desk.
Vauban and Cortez fell into stride at either side of me, and I took leave of my purchased room.
I passed straight through the hotel's lobby without even a parting glance.
I had an obligation to attend to.
Setting a steady march into the downtown region, I headed off towards a familiar locale in Pewter.
Well, by familiar, I mean to say that I have been there once before.
Just a Ranger's favorite haunt.
The old Pokemart.
It was the same establishment that I had patronized before in my last visit.
There was a new clerk behind the counter this time, who was slightly less nervous about a Ranger's presence than the previous one.
"How can I help you, Ranger?" He was younger than me, and clearly naive of a Ranger's disposition towards Pokemarts and their clientele.
"I need to rent a Tank. A secure one. Large." I reported. The Clerk froze.
"Umm… Rent a Tank?"
"As in me paying you for continued use of a Tank? Yes." I grumbled.
"I uh, I'll get a manager for you. One sec." The Clerk disappeared into the rear room, leaving me to simmer at the counter.
"...Cortez?" I looked down at my hairless scarred dog, working my mouth. Cortez looked up at me.
"You look like shit. Just thought that you should know." I said it deadpan.
Cortez lifted a paw and flicked it twice.
Affirmative.
That got me chuckling.
"Mister Ranger?" A new voice from the counter called my attention away from my dog.
"You can keep it at Ranger." I turned about to address a plump balding man.
"I understand that you wish to rent a Tank?" The manager was ever so polite in his perplexity.
"Affirmative." I answered. The manager crossed his arms.
"Is there a reason for why you wish to rent a Tank?"
"My fish needs time out of his Pokeball. He was injured in duty, and his recovery requires prolonged R&R." I replied. The manager frowned.
"Aren't there-"
"He needs to regrow his scales. A Pokemon Center can't just staple new ones on. And I will not dump him off at an understaffed Daycare center. I need a secure location for his Tank, because he is quite valuable." I gave the manager the abridged version, hoping that it would answer any further questions.
"What kind of fish are we talking about?" The manager sounded intrigued now.
Here comes the punchline-
"A Magikarp."
The manager slumped with a look of exasperation.
He thought that I was yanking his chain.
"If that's the case, just fillet the fish and catch a new one. Look, we're trying to run a business here. If you Rangers are that bored-"
I interrupted him with a slammed palm on the counter. My cold gaze kept his mouth shut. Slowly removing my hand from the counter, I pointedly slid the previously palm-concealed Expense Account card across the glossy surface with an index finger.
"It needs to be a big Tank. Preferably one in a locked room."
The manager was dumbfounded.
He wasn't so sure that I was joking anymore.
"The lease is negotiable, though it will be within reason. As well as the Tank, I will also be purchasing seventy pounds of your heavy protein and carbohydrate blend per diem. Not to mention regular doses of ganoid scale rejuvenation tablets. But if your business isn't interested in my patronage, would you be so kind as to direct me to an establishment that would?"
Despite my authority as a Ranger, I couldn't just commandeer a Tank from a business without martial law being imposed before hand, and given the unusual nature of my proposition, the manager was well within his rights to simply tell me 'no'.
So this is me being unwillingly charming.
I think the term most people use is 'civil'.
"How long will you be needing the Tank?"
-The bait had been taken…
"No more than a week, if even that."
The manager rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Well… We might be able to work something out…"
-The hook has been set...
"Good. While we work the details out, chalk me up a pair of the daily specials for the other two members of my Squad. One all meat and the other mixed. With extra teriyaki."
...Now reel them in.
Less than half an hour later, the manager was directing me on a tour of the Pokemart's rear facilities. It never ceases to amaze me when I discover just how big the invisible infrastructure of a facility really is.
But the novelty is short lived.
"-All of this is just simple storage of course, but we have a aromatherapy clinic right over by the main office-" The manager was highlighting the establishment's single most boring details with all the candor of a Silph Co. Tour guide.
It was annoying, but I smiled and feigned interest.
We had already settled on a price.
Now the manager needed to win my customs.
'Cause I was offering him some good fucking business.
"-This room is generally used for moist storage. As you can see, it does have a padlock, and only the managers and the store owner have access to the key. This is where I think we can set up your Magikarp's accommodations-"
The manger fumbled with a keyring dangling from his waist.
"I hope that key doesn't find its way into some less than obscure location when it's not on your person." Try as I might, I couldn't keep the suspicion out of my voice.
"On our off-hours, we lock it in a combination safe. Only the managers know the combination. I assure you, Ranger Zane, that your Magikarp will be quite safe here." The manager waved my concern away with a carefree gesture.
That alone inspired some sense of confidence in me.
"I hope so, otherwise I will be taking this establishment to court over a lost sum of seven-thousand-eight-hundred Sandz…"
Hint:
It had better be secure.
"-What kind of Magikarp are we talking about?!" The manager was flabbergasted by my warning.
"The eats seventy-pounds of food a day, and wears a fucking medal for exemplary service kind of Magikarp." I answered.
The manager froze stiff.
"...A big fish?" The manager asked warily.
"Bigger than a Goddamn Tauros." I answered with a smile.
"Umm… Right. Well then… Over here we have the old employee break room. I'll have the staff clear it out at once-"
…
"Darwin, report." I released my decorated Magikarp into the massive Tank that had been rigged together in the repurposed breakroom.
"Oh my stars..."
Yeah, the manager was impressed.
"Abstain, Darwin." I gave my customary order upon his release.
The flopping ceased instantly.
"Your ass is on R&R, Darwin. Now I know it's cramped, but the aerator and sump pump will keep a steady supply of oxygen-rich water moving over your gills, so you can just consider that abstinence a standing order." I tapped the glass of Darwin's Tank when I gave him the sit-rep.
"I'll be back to feed you later. If something comes up and I'm unable to tend to you personally, the staff here will see to it that you are fed." Darwin swam closer to my fingertips on the glass, and I quickly removed them.
"Get your fat ass better soon, Darwin. I'm gonna have you squashing Caterpies with that fucking bulk when I break you back into the combat regimen." I gave my fish a salute as a formal means of farewell, before backtracking my steps towards the storefront again.
"Okay girls, that's enough." I dismissed the pair of Pokemon masseuses that had been thrown in as a complimentary service of the Pokemart.
The attendants were both males, but I had secured my interests with the manager.
Now I could go back to being the Fucking Bastard.
Vauban was sad to see her spa treatment go.
Cortez was grateful that the invasive prodding had finally ended.
My dog did not take well to being caressed.
Especially not with all of his hair still missing.
"What am I going to do with you, Cortez?" I chuckled as my ugly pooch fought off a case of the heebie-jeebies. Vauban was wilting next to him, gazing longingly at the retreating masseuses.
"Buck up, Vauban. I might need your help with something soon, so wipe that forlorn expression off your face. You and Cortez are going to assist me with welcoming a new squadmate of ours. And both of you had better hope that it's not a contact greeting."
That got my dog and dinosaur's attention at once.
…
I looked north, back towards Pewter City's south gate. I had put down roughly four klicks of distance between me and the archaic city.
It probably wasn't far enough.
Two klicks further south down the Viridian bound Route, and I came upon one of the many knolls that broke the Route wall's otherwise uniformly parallel stretch.
Descending down the far side of the knoll into an enclosed grassy habitat, I found an ideal location for the introduction. Maintaining a respectable distance away from the Route wall itself, I steeled myself for the confrontation that awaited my discretion.
"Vauban, Cortez-" I looked down to my two mon, a nervous expression worn openly on my face.
Both my mon were struggling to conceal theirs.
"-When he comes out, do not make any sudden moves. And no matter what he hits me with, do not intervene. At all. If we piss him off too much, then it will likely be the Snorlax all over again. And I really don't want to radio Command and call in a strike against my own mon. Just stay cool, take whatever he pelts us with, and pray that he remembers who I am. If this is one of his bad days…" I shuddered, failing to inspire myself or my mon with confidence.
Vauban was bug-eyed and quaking.
Cortez swallowed hard and locked his legs against the tremors.
"Doug… Please be right about me… just this once…" I murmured, lifting a Heavy Ball from my hip. I paused before releasing the occupant.
I needed a moment to summon my nerve.
"Okay… here we go…" I took a rattling breath, and pressed the Heavy Ball's release trigger in time with a bold new order.
"Damascus, report."
As the beam of white light condensed and calibrated in accordance to my fourth mon's expansive dimensions, I found myself begging-
-Please don't destroy the Route walls…
-Please don't kill me...
...Please?
…
The whine of an electricycle stirred me from my daze. I gingerly signalled to Cortez.
Intercept, and guide her to me.
My limping hound took off at my command. Vauban was nestled below my chin, a massive bruise had discolored her entire face. I gently prodded her away, and fought my non-compliant body for routine dictation.
I struggled to pull myself into a sitting position, gasping as the world throbbed in my white vision.
Come on, Zane…
Put on the tough guy face.
"Zane?"
Here we go-
"Zane-?! OH MY GOD!"
A perfectly dignified reaction.
"Hey, Tammy." I smiled up at the shellshocked Policewoman.
"Oh my God… What happened?!" Tammy was turning white as she rifled through my field pack and whipped out my Trauma Kit.
Three seconds later, she was mopping the blood off of my brow.
-Well that explained the dizziness…
"It's just a facial abrasion. They bleed a lot. I'll be fine." I almost fell over when she touched me.
So much for the tough guy reassurances.
"Come on, Zane. Stay upright. Keep that gash above heart level… Oh my God…" Tammy got a good look at the rest of me.
"Zane, I need to call a medical evac unit. Just give me-" I grabbed Tammy's arm, and pulled her back down.
"They're just bruises and cuts. Nothing is broken or torn. They're just flesh wounds, Tammy. I'll be alright once we stop the bleeding…" I rocked unstably in place, fighting to maintain my impaired cognitive functions in spite of the blinding pain and rising daze.
Tammy didn't say anything, but she continued her ministrations as I had requested.
This probably wasn't the best way to apologize to her after yesterday's lunchtime fiasco.
"How long have you been bleeding like this?" Tammy asked. My head rolled before I could answer. Tammy caught me before I hit the ground.
"-I'm fine, I'm fine! Just about blacked out again, that's all-"
In retrospect, I guess I wasn't all that 'fine'.
"Just get my legs wrapped… Thank God he missed my femoral arteries…" Tammy didn't waste a second of my life. My pants came off, and the various bruised slashes were bandaged in a matter of minutes.
"...Zane?" Tammy looked around the sloping knoll with a terrified expression on her face.
"...What the hell did you do?"
I fixed my unfocused eyes on the ruined terrain.
"Oh-"
Command was gonna kill me…
"...Whoops?"
The sod covered knoll was devastated by deep gouges and wide scrapes. Huge portions of the earth had been rent and flattened by something colossal. But the gem of destruction that was sure to consume several paperwork filled hours of my life-
"...Well, at least he didn't knock it down…" I murmured.
A section of the Route wall had collapsed. Though technically not a breach, it was a compromise in the Route's defenses. With a heavy sigh, I reached for my radio.
"Command, this is Bastard. Do you copy? Over."
Pause. Then-
"Bastard, this is Command. State the matter of your hail. Over."
Well, better get it over with now…
"We have a structural discrepancy in the eastern side of the Route wall, six klicks south of Pewter City. Habitat P-13. Recommending Hades Deployment ASAP. Send out the heavies, some of the rocks are pretty big. Over."
I was cringing when the radio buzzed with Command's reply.
"How extensive is the damage? Estimated Hades personnel required? Over."
"Five Machokes at least. Probably an Excadrill or two. Only the interior of the wall was affected. Outlying structure is mostly intact. At least a day's duty with coordinated Hades supervision. Over."
-Please don't ask me, please don't ask me-
"Have you ascertained the identity of the vandal responsible? Over."
-Shit.
"...It was myself and Damascus, Command. Just a field exercise gone awry. The situation has been contained. No casualties to report. Over."
Here we go...
"Roger that Bastard. Hades unit has been deployed. Command expects a detailed account of the affair in question by nineteen-hundred-hours today. Failure to meet the deadline will result in martial supervision. Hope it was worth it, Bastard. This is Command, over and out."
Fuck.
"What time is it, Tammy?" I asked nervously.
"Four o'clock in the afternoon." Tammy replied.
"Right. That gives me and Alexandria enough time to at least compile a draft. I need to get back to town, fast." I punctuated the plan by trying to stand up.
I took Tammy to the ground with me when that failed.
"...Okay…" I murmured from below her.
"-I might need a little help." I admitted.
Tammy just laughed.
…
"Is there anyway we can leave out the part where I threw a rock at him?"
"..."
"-Come on, Alexandria, we don't need to tell Command that-"
"..."
"-Quit being a finger pointing prick, and help me figure this out!"
"..."
"He threw my ass up against the wall! What was I supposed to do?"
"..."
"-Illogical response?! Listen here, you stuck up shitty little excuse for a-"
"-Zane, who the hell are you yelling at?" Tammy poked her head into the bathroom.
I had commandeered her private facilities to serve as my personal office space.
"-My Tact. Pad?" I tried.
Tammy's brow furrowed.
"Who is Alexandria?" Tammy asked, folding her arms, and giving me the stinkeye.
I quirked an eyebrow. Tammy's behavior seemed a bit peculiar, given the line of questioning-
-Oh.
Are you kidding me?
Did Tammy really think that Alexandria was another woman?
"Not who you're thinking of." I snorted.
My Tact. Pad had something to say on the matter.
"..."
"Go to hell, Alex."
Tammy crossed the bathroom in a lunge and tore my Tact. Pad out of my fingers.
"Whoa, Tammy! Slow down-"
The Tact. Pad locked her out instantly.
As if it knew what was happening…
"What the hell?! What kind of security programs does this thing have?!" Tammy screamed, gritting her teeth in frustration as the bio-recognition diagnostics effectively killed the device.
I just started laughing.
"Bring it here." I smirked at the scandalized Policewoman when I waved her over. Tammy glared at me, and then reluctantly returned my Tact. Pad.
After my identity had been confirmed via my biological signatures, I popped open the holoport at the top of the device.
"Come on out, Alexandria." I chuckled.
A multi-colored series of beams flashed out of the holoport, and a three dimensional visual representation of Alexandria appeared above Tammy's bathroom sink.
It looked like a featureless magenta and teal rubber ducky with perfectly smooth curves and two oversized and expressionless eyes.
"-Is that-?!" Tammy couldn't finish. She couldn't even get her words past the awe.
No wonder.
Just because of Alexandria, my Tact. Pad was worth even more than Pewter City's marketable real estate gross.
Way more.
"Tammy, this is Alexandria. Alexandria, this is Tammy. Say hi, Alexandria."
Beep-boop-clickclick. Replied Alexandria.
"...A Porygon?!" Tammy could only gape.
"Version Two-point-'O. Codename; Alexandria, one of ACE's little contributions to my mission."
A Porygon2, to be precise.
Which is even more valuable than Damascus and Darwin's combined net worth.
"One of the fifteen original models. His coding is not cut-and-paste linguistic pasta. Completely self-sufficient and photonically corporeal outside of cyberspace due to his core metaphysical tesseract-lattice quantum programming. Don't ask me what the hell any of that means, cause I don't know. This ain't no hacked and replicated flashburn-cycle Porygon-Z. Alexandria is the real McCoy."
Beep-boop-whoopwhoop! Alexandria did a little dance, spinning his feet and rocking his frame, all while playing corny inspirational music off of my Tact. Pad.
"Cut the static, Alexandria. Nobody likes an attention whore."
Wop-wop-whaawp… Alexandria produced a series of descending notes to better reflect his crestfallen appearance.
"-ACE gave you a Porygon?!" Tammy found her withheld breath in an explosion of disbelief.
"They didn't give me one, per say. ACE just assigned Alexandria to me as a sort of technical assistant. He's really not that useful at much anything else-"
-Wa-wei-we-wai! Alexandria cried out in indignation, eyes furrowing and feet pattering in anger.
"-You're fucking useless, you AI sim. You can't even conceive of a means to get my ass out of hot water because you're too concerned with providing an accurate record of events. Command is going to have my head for today's little catastrophe, and YOU'RE going to be the one serving it to them on a gilded platter." I growled.
...Wheep-boop… Alexandria slumped in depression.
"Zane!" Tammy cried out mid coo, slapping my injured shoulder, apparently ashamed of me for my callous treatment of a fucking computer.
"Oh, come on, Tammy! That's just a personality matrix! Alexandria doesn't feel shit. He just responds to verbal stimulus with empathetic reactions for his operator's sake. Something about promoting altruistic relationships with the operator. It's fucking creepy." I glared at Alexandria, whose only response was to play an audio recording of an old-timey steam-engine whistle, which was punctuated with a nuclear explosion.
-All while portraying a very angry emoticon on his face.
"Like I said, fucking creepy." I never stopped glaring at Alexandria.
The personality matrix selected a miffed expression for Alexandria, and the stupid little computer harrumphed at me.
"Whatever. Get your ass back into the Tact. Pad, and compute a rational excuse for why Damascus was so violently aggressive that doesn't involve me antagonizing him." I clicked the Rescind template on my Tactical Pad, and recalled Alexandria into its quantum hard drive.
"..."
"Yeah, fuck you too, Alexandria." I slid the protective visor over the Tact. Pad's display before the impish little Porygon could get another word in. I shook my head and turned to Tammy.
She was still gaping.
"...A Porygon?" Tammy mouthed. I sighed.
"Yeah. A Porygon." I grumbled. Tammy closed her mouth. Then she swallowed.
"...What is your mission, Zane? High Command and the League approves a Ranger for competitive battling, ACE just hands you a flipping Porygon for personal use, and for all I know; this Damascus could be one of the Sinnoh region's Dragon-Gods, granted to you by the Arceus Theocracy… What exactly is your mission?" Tammy was looking at me with all the fear and incredulity that one would express if I had just provided a logically reinforced mathematical equation that effectively quantified the moon's tectonic layer into a sodium and dairy-fat derived edible medium.
-I let Alexandria phrase the previous line. AIs are absolute Slakoth shit at providing condescending analogies.
I just sighed at Tammy.
She knew this much.
I might as well tell her.
"My mission is to tackle the League and make a public scene deposing the Kanto Gym Leaders, before usurping Lance from his Throne." I reported in a dull tone.
Tammy blinked.
"-Just to save the politicians and the Ranger's some face by becoming a cultural icon that will draw people into the recruiter's office of their own volition. All so that the Central Government doesn't have to reinstate the draft." I slumped under the ridiculous connotations that my explanation inspired.
Tammy sat down on the sink. She could only stare at me with distant eyes.
"-So you're essentially a warmonger's puppet?" Tammy asked. My hand connected with my face in a gesture of shame.
"...That is what I have been led to believe, yes." I answered. There was a long pause.
Then-
"-I can't believe you, Zane…"
I inhaled deeply.
"-I know… It's painted in shades of moral ambiguity, but it's necessary, Tammy…" I murmured.
"...You sound like you're trying to convince yourself of that, not me." Tammy whispered.
No.
It wasn't necessary.
It was just the best solution.
"Tammy-"
"-Shut up, Zane. I don't want to hear anymore." Tammy cut me off, her voice far less frail than my own.
Fair enough.
I didn't want talk about it either.
"-So what now?" Tammy asked, once my silence had been thoroughly observed.
"What do you mean?" I swallowed.
Tammy's watering eyes met mine.
"What are you going to do with me?" Tammy asked fearfully.
I froze.
What was she talking about?
"You just told me the entire gameplan, revealed what I can only assume is Indigo Government secrets, betrayed the agencies involved, clarified that that your apparent mission is just a farce so that some unsavory politicians can secure their reelection platforms… All within the mic range of an ACE issued Porygon-"
-Oh shit.
"Oh FUCK!"
How could I have been so stupid?
Was it the blood loss?
It had never occurred to me that Alexandria could be eavesdropping on my every exchange.
How could I have fucked up so completely and in such an obvious way?
"Tammy, listen to me! They aren't going to hurt you! I promise!" I was desperately begging for her to stop crying, pleading for Tammy to calm down.
But how could I make that promise?'
This was ACE.
And I had just compromised the mission.
My ass was just as liable for a burn notice as Tammy's.
"Tammy, listen-"
"GET OUT!" Tammy shrieked when I drew near.
"TELL THEM THAT I DON'T CARE! TELL ACE THAT I WON'T SAY ANYTHING! TELL THEM THAT I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"
That stopped me cold.
"Tammy-?"
"GET OUT!" Tammy pushed herself up against the wall.
She was afraid of me.
I had just endangered her life with my naivety.
Tammy had every right to be afraid of me.
I left without another word. I ran as fast as I could. Tammy's cozy house faded away to the crowded Pewter streets.
I had to run.
I had to get away.
But I knew that I couldn't hide from ACE.
-Especially not with one of their Porygons enclosed within my breast pocket.
"-Alexandria!" I pulled open the Tact. Pad's visor.
Alexandria was waiting for me.
'Maintain position within Pewter City. Do not attempt to leave Pewter City. Any attempt to leave Pewter City will be interpreted as an act of treason.'
That stopped my running.
"...Alexandria? What is going to happen?"
The machine had become my master.
All at the flip of a switch.
'Awaiting determination.'
I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see an ACE hitman sneaking up behind me.
I don't know what I was looking for.
Anybody could be an ACE operative.
And I'd never see them coming until it was too late.
"...Alexandria, what are they going to do with Tammy?"
'Awaiting determination.'
"Awaiting determination?! Just give me a straight answer, you piece of shit!" I wound up to fling my Tact. Pad into a building's wall.
An incoming call on my Tact. Pad stopped me.
I checked the caller identity.
ACE Central.
Oh shit.
"Ranger Zane Bastard reporting." I answered the hail with a trembling voice.
"You done fucked up, kid." A smug voice on the other end informed me.
"Yeah, about that... Listen-"
"-Nu-uh. You listen." The ACE agent chided me.
I was respectfully silent.
Or terrified silent.
Actually both.
"You were explicitly ordered not discuss the core objective with anyone not already involved with Operation: Wounded Hearts. Actually… As I recall, you were sworn to secrecy on the matter. How the hell did you forget about that? Don't answer. Teenagers think with their fucking balls when they should be using their fucking brains. You've been calling this girl ever since you first arrived in Pewter City, and you slipped to her. And you were dumb enough to do it in front of Alexandria too." The ACE agent actually sounded amused.
That made me feel even more terrified.
"Look, I know it sounds like a cop out, but I'm not thinking clearly right now. Damascus and I-"
"Yes, we know all about your little domestic dispute. Alexandria has already divulged the details to us. I always knew that you Rangers were reckless, but after what happened between you and Damascus? You're fucking suicidal. And breaking your oath of secrecy only proves it. Well done."
I couldn't win.
This guy had my ass up against a wall.
There was no way that I was talking my way out of this one.
"Look, people are going to figure it out! This isn't a secret! This is practically transparent! How is one Police Officer knowing a liability to the mission?!" I was begging, and my tone reflected it.
"Of course people are going to figure it out. We're actually counting on it. But we didn't want them to add it all up until you made a move against the higher caste of the League. That's why your official dossier lists you under the pretense of the 'Wounded Hearts Project'. You're just supposed to be a Ranger learning to cope with your PTSD by competing in the League. It was all part of your cover. And now you just blew it. Somebody outside of Operation: Wounded Hearts knows. And now ACE has to mop up the mess you made."
"Tammy will stay quiet! I swear she'll stay quiet-"
"-I'd be more worried about my own skin if I was you, Ranger. A Police Officer can be sworn to silence. A liability like a boasting Ranger doesn't seem to be able to respect his own oath of silence."
That smugness was poison in my ears.
"-What's going to happen?" I asked in a shaky voice.
"Well… You're being pulled up for reassessment as we speak. A Tribunal is being convened for the proceedings. While in truth, it was a minor and easily repaired breach, your inability to respect your own sworn oath to ACE reflects rather poorly on your credibility. I would advise you to cooperate with ACE in the Tribunal's convention, otherwise-"
"-I got it." I answered in a numb voice. The agent was silent for a moment.
"On a personal advisory… I would also recommend proving your ability to remain an asset to Operation: Wounded Hearts. You have a Gym challenge tomorrow. The outcome of that challenge could heavily influence the Tribunal's verdict. If I were you, Ranger… I would approach that Gym challenge as if my life fucking depended on it."
-Mercy from a Spook.
This world was devolving into madness.
"Count on it." I replied in the firmest voice I could muster. The click of a closed line signaled the end of the call.
I stared at the Tact. Pad in my hands with a cold detachment carving lines into my expression.
"You know what, Alexandria? Fuck you."
Budup-bump-bump! Alexandria replied with a digital display of a raised middle finger.
I stared at the Tact. Pad in disbelief.
Did the stupid Porygon actually think that this was funny?
...No.
-Of course Alexandria didn't.
That was just the programmed response of a machine's personality matrix.
Alexandria didn't know what 'funny' was.
"Fuck my life." I whimpered, staggering off in search of a decent hotel.
…
Well.
Here we are.
The Pewter City Gym.
Sixteen-hundred-hours.
Just a three kilometer subterranean hike beneath the City walls and under the Hades's Swath to Brock's Pit.
And a possible ACE executioner waiting for me in that tunnel with a black sack and a bottle of Methoxyflurane.
Yep.
This had all the promise of a good day written all over it.
I only needed to provide proof of my identity to the front desk before I was ushered into the Pit's access tunnel.
…
The Pewter City Gym had originally served Pewter as the city's barracks back in the post-Brink Dark Age. Back in the days when the Trainers, Military, and Rangers all served together in the defense of humanity.
Back before the social divisions separated that brotherhood, and the divided pieces became the various social norms in these 'peaceful' days.
Originally, the city militia was just comprised of simple Warriors. When our guns became too dangerous to wield against the mon, we needed a new weapon platform that could meet the mon on their evolutionary terms.
That's how the first Trainers came about.
We used the mon to kill other mon.
A pretty clever solution.
All it took was domestication.
They weren't called Trainers back then. They were just called Guardians. Men and women who fought off all threats using their trained Pokemon.
As time progressed, the roles of the Guardians began to adapt.
Some Guardians manned the city walls, and prepared defenses against the raids perpetrated by other human tribes, in both the interior and exterior of the City walls. They became the Military.
Some Guardians headed off into the Frontier, taking the fight to the mon in their own turf. Setting up their camps in the most dangerous field known, these Guardians gave their all for the purpose of drawing the mon's attention off of the settlements. They became the Rangers.
And some Guardians found a unique role, one that's purpose could easily be underestimated by a rudimentary glossing through a history book. These Guardians became sportsmen.
There's just something awe inspiring about a Pokemon battle...
There's just something about watching a pair of monsters tearing each other apart that appeases the human soul.
Hell, we've been making a sport out of violence since our earliest days. From the Gladiators in the Roman Coliseum, to the UFC Competitors in the Pre-Brink International Cage Matches, humanity has always appreciated violence for its adherence to our primeval origins.
Sports do not really sound all that necessary in a post-apocalyptic scenario, but they were essential for fostering peace in times of hardship.
A distraction from all your woes, a moment outside of your misery, a unity formed by a body of cheering spirits, all of whom share your rabid obsession for violence.
Sports are an intrinsic element of mankind. They let us indulge our animals in a controlled setting so that we can preserve our humanity throughout every other social medium.
And the Guardians of old proved that in their training sessions, whether it was breaking a new mon into service, or enhancing the combat capabilities of an old one…
...Training mon made for one hell of a spectacle.
People flocked to watch mon beat the tar out of one another, all while their Guardians screamed obscenities and death threats for failure at the feral combatants.
Naturally, when an audience forms, they start making demands.
And when the crowd outnumbers the players…
The players cave into the demands.
It was the very first rule of the League:
"Do it for the audience."
Before long, Guardians were being pulled off of 'active duty' just so that they could compete in this new event that the people had dubbed-
-The League.
An event that pitted a Guardian equipped with a maximum of six trained mon against his brothers and their mon.
Guardian versus Guardian.
Monster versus Monster.
As the League progressed through the various stages of violence, the spectators picked out their favorites based mostly off of combat prowess.
And when a favorite rose above all the other favorites in the final event of the League…
...The people called that Guardian "The Champion."
-Just because he was the strongest, most clever, most disciplined, most driven, and most entertaining Guardian the people knew.
This of course, meant that the Champion had influence.
And people who desire power, always collect individuals of influence into their agenda.
Enter the early City Governments, and the first League Throne.
Put a Champion on the Throne, and puppet his mouth into speaking your words.
And the people will listen to their Champion.
And they follow him blindly to whatever end.
That is how the first League started. There has been eight incarnations of the Kanto League in the one-thousand-and-seventy-five years that have passed since its founding. But they all trace their linage back to the early post-Brink Dark Age, and that first Champion. By bureaucratic procedure and due government process, the League and the Central Government eventually went their separate ways.
-But the League has maintained their provincial Throne, throughout the entire post-Brink.
...And as humanity dispersed and expanded…
-So to did the League's influence grow.
...While the Government's power waxed and waned.
In short order, the League promoted stability and expansion, while the Government struggled to find a unifying purpose.
To say that the League controls the Government is pure fantasy.
The League is more of an entertainment syndicate anymore.
-An extremely profitable entertainment syndicate.
And money, and those who have it, will always hold some level of sway over those in Governmental power.
Meaning that the League Throne in the Central Government isn't just traditionally ornamental.
It is still traditionally powerful.
While most of the Champion's sovereign privileges have been stripped away by due process of Governmental development, the Champion still holds a powerful and unique right.
The veto.
It's the one authority that the Central Government has never been able to wrestle from the League's mighty clutches.
The Champion can effectively force any bill proposed by the Senate Councillors back to square one by simply giving it the thumbs down.
One veto per bill.
-But if the articles of the bill changes in the revaluation of the Senate…
It's considered a new bill, and the Champion can veto the entire address all over again.
Which effectively allows the League to halt all Governmental progress until it conforms to their interests.
That is a lot of firepower for an entertainment syndicate.
And the League has not been stupid with their abuse of it.
They've always found some way of garnering public favor for the use of their veto.
They know how to win the hearts and minds of mankind far more effectively than a politician.
Which is one of the reasons why the League has grown so powerful. So powerful, in fact, that the League effectively ended the Kanto-Johto war thirty years past by simple use of public empathy.
And then they moved their Throne right into the newly formed Confederacy Congress.
Making them all the more powerful.
And all the while, the people of Kanto and Johto cheered the League on-
-Every ambitious and power-mongering step of the way.
No wonder why the the League Champion is considered a Hero.
The Champion is the figurehead of the League.
The Champion is the symbol of the League's commitment to the people and their money.
...And just as he was back in the early days of the post-Brink Dark Age-
-He is still the people's Champion.
…
The access tunnel to the Pit was originally dug for the use of the Ranger-Guardians. A quick and secure means of moving from the City and into the Frontier. But when the first League formed in Pewter City…
The access tunnel was connected to a new architectural design in the post-Brink era.
The Pit.
The very first Kanto League Coliseum.
Due to the dangerous powers of some mon, the early Pokemon Battles had to move out of the City walls. The most logical location for such erratic and destructive battles was the Frontier, but civilians couldn't very well traverse the Frontier safely to the training grounds.
That's when some smart motherfucking Guardian with a team of Onixia just went ahead and dug out the early foundations of the Pit.
He was executed for damaging the vital city access tunnel, but the impression he and his rock-snakes left did not go unused for very long.
The Pit proved to be a cleverly designed Training center.
Eighty meters deep, and almost a full two kilometers in circumference, the early Pit offered the Guardians an outlying secure facility that was connected to the city via the old access tunnel for breaking and rearing their mon.
Hence the origins of the title:
Pokemon Gym.
It wasn't long before civilians started using the access tunnel to watch the Guardians at work.
And it wasn't long after the civilians started arriving, that the League was hosted within the Pit.
Modifications were made, naturally. Several layers of tunnels were carved into the sheer walls, so as to offer enclosed seats to paying spectators and the League Guardian participants.
And the sport grew into a mighty syndicate.
But the League Pit remained unchanged, simply because of tradition.
Right up until five-hundred years ago, when the League moved their headquarters out of Pewter and into the newly formed Governmental providence of Indigo.
A new, larger, more elaborate coliseum was constructed-
-And the Pit seemed doomed to become an unused historical icon.
Or it would have, if not for the Pewter City Gym Leaders desiring a choice cut of real estate for their Gym challenges, that is.
Thanks to the conservatively minded people of Pewter, the Pit still adheres to its original function.
It is the home of the Pewter City Gym Leader's mon, and the center stage for all his exhibition matches.
Living history, if you will.
If I ever become a Gym Leader, the very first city that I'd choose to serve as my base of operations would predictably be-
-Cinnabar, cause the island women there are smoking hot.
...But Pewter would come close second, just because of the wealth of history contained within its walls.
I tried to entertain such ruminating thoughts on my journey to the Pit. I tried to distract myself with the historical appeal.
But I still peered deeply into every shadow, and eyed the flickering lights nervously.
If ACE had decided to ice my ass, this tunnel would be the prime locale for an execution.
A series of iron gates blocked off the various interconnected tunnels to the Pit Channel.
Those tunnels had once been used by the early Rangers to circumnavigate mon attacking the city walls, and lead forays directly into the mon's flanks.
Those tunnels could be utilized to drag my corpse out into the Frontier, leaving no witnesses any the wiser.
Yeah.
I was feeling pretty exposed in that tunnel.
It wasn't until I saw the light at the end of the Pit Channel that I dared hope to see the sky again.
I left the access tunnel in a nervous panting, arms and legs quivering in the Pit's Entry Chamber.
Thank God, I was alone.
A sudden cheer sounded from above me, and I could hear human voices shouting out with unrestrained enthusiasm.
I could see the Pit from where I was standing, past an arched porticos that connected the access tunnel to the Pit. The red sandstone walls of the Pit filled the scope of my vision beyond the porticos with the ancient structure's deepest foundations.
Another cheer sounded, and I turned to a staircase, carved out of the red sandstone itself.
And then I took those stairs under heel, and proceeded up to a later renovation of the Pit.
The Loft.
The highest seats in the Pit.
Traditionally reserved for the League Challengers.
I opened the age-old wooden door, and stepped into a sunlit minor amphitheatre.
Two faces looked up at me from the benches.
One was a girl much younger than me, attempting to appear older than she was by prodigious use of makeup and feminine enhancing accessories.
The other, a man at least a decade older than me, was wearing a peacoat and a few day's unkempt stubble on his jaw.
"Take a seat, Ranger! They're almost done!" The peacoat waved me over with an amiable gesture. The girl just ogled at the handsome uniformed Ranger who had barged unceremoniously into the Loft.
Sorry, lass.
No can do.
I like my woman with matured breasts.
"So what brings a Ranger to the Loft?" The peacoat asked me as I sat down on the bench behind him and the lass.
"What do you think?" I grunted, displaying my typical ire for conversation.
"...Well unless there's a Beedrill swarm about to descend upon the Pit, I can't really think of any other reason." The peacoat chuckled.
"I'm here for the same reason that you came to the Loft for." I answered calmly.
The peacoat whipped around.
"-You're joking."
"Nope."
Now the lass was turning from the match in the Pit, curious as to the line of conversation.
"How?" The peacoat asked, jaw hanging loose in surprise.
"Watch." I answered, nodding to the Pit.
There was a match currently in session. Judging from the participants, it was a Novice's challenge.
A tiny Meowth was running circles around a perfectly stationary Geodude.
The Geodude wasn't wasting any effort in pursuing the agile Meowth.
There was practically nothing that a Meowth could do to the rock-hard gray carapace of the Geodude.
By waiting the Meowth out, the Geodude could easily weather any feline attacks, and then launch his assault when the Meowth was exhausted from the futile battery.
A look at the Battle Screen provided me with the opposing Trainer's identities.
Brock, of course, was the home field Champion.
And his opponent was none other than a twelve-year old ginger, battling under a minor's License, and he was far too prone to fist-pumping for no apparent reason whatsofuckingever.
The look on the kid's face seemed to suggest that he was feeling grossly over confident.
Maybe he had a strategy-
"It's nice to see that he's got such spirit, but two mon down and we haven't seen a hint of brains."
The peacoat affirmed my original suspicion.
The ginger didn't have a fucking clue what he was doing.
"I did even better than he did! I actually took out Brock's Geodude!" The lass piped up, fluttering eyes at me, looking for some reaction.
"Shit. Just a Geodude? Couldn't handle the Roggenrola? What a bitch."
I just tell it like it is.
Now stop having creepy fantasies about me.
You ain't old enough for that.
The peacoat burst out laughing.
"You did pretty well though. I was surprised that your Bellsprout had enough power to constrict Brock's Geodude into submission. But watching your attempt at beating Brock's Roggenrola with your Magby wasn't so inspiring…" The peacoat offered some condolences to the crestfallen lass, but followed it up with some well founded criticism.
"Well, it was my last mon… I had to do something…" The lass moped.
"You could have tried superheating the Roggenrola's carapace, then following it up with a precision strike. Roggenrola's don't have much surface area. You might have been able to crack the carapace using a mix of thermal shock and impact." The peacoat elaborated. I looked at him with a touch of admiration.
That was originally what I had planned on using Cortez for…
"Are you an Analyst?" I asked the peacoat. He snorted.
"I guess you could call me that. There was a time when my career choice seemed laughable. But then Enzo Davinci figured out how to make billions in the field." The peacoat replied.
"Well, Chimera Industries pioneered the competitive breeding scene too. Enzo's mon are common fare in the League finals. I'd love to have just one of Enzo's Dratinis…" The lass whispered in a voice of breathy longing.
Both me and the peacoat just laughed.
-But for different reasons.
"-You'd need a millionaire's fortune just to be able to afford a Chimera Dratini, not to mention the Dragon's-"
"-That Dragon would eat you alive, starting from your asshole and chewing its way up to your soft little throat-"
Both me and the peacoat stopped midstream, and looked at one another grinning.
"-That too."
We both said it at the same damn time.
I found myself liking mister peacoat.
He really wasn't all that bad, but given that he was an Analyst…
Peacoat knew a damn sight more about mon than your average Trainer.
"So are you up next?" I asked the peacoat. Peacoat was silent as he casually unbuttoned his coat, and flung his right side vest-wing wide.
Four Gym Badges were pinned to the inside of his coat's right breast wing.
One of them was the Boulder Badge.
"Well hot damn. You already took down Brock and three other Gym Leaders. One more Badge to go before you hit Major rank?" I asked. The peacoat buttoned up his apparel.
"Actually, I beat Brock in a Major rank challenge. Per request." The peacoat smirked.
"Nicely done." I gave him of my rare impressed smiles.
I could respect a man with balls.
Especially one who isn't afraid to gloat about it.
"So what rank are you?" The peacoat asked me. I snorted.
"Novice. They don't even give me the option for requesting an Intermediate challenge." I grunted. The peacoat laughed again.
"You'll get the Challenger's Rights eventually. Everybody has to start off small. Even Rangers." The peacoat approved of my spunk, but his reasoning fell on deaf ears.
"We'll see about that." I smiled. The peacoat cocked an eyebrow.
"Got something special planned?" The lass asked, finally getting over the skulking fit that she had been entertaining ever since the peacoat and I had expressed our opinions regarding the likelihood of her ever possessing a Chimera Dratini.
"Maybe. I'll give you just one hint. My challenge isn't restricted." I answered.
The peacoat let loose an impressed whistle.
"That's ballsy. Gonna risk losing your mon so that you can pull off some unorthodox strategy?" The peacoat asked.
"Wait and see." I grinned. The peacoat chuckled, and turned back to the field.
"Well you're challenger number four of five. We haven't seen number five yet. Were you the one that requested a private match?" The peacoat asked.
I shook my head.
"Was it anyone else here?" I asked.
"It wasn't me, and it obviously wasn't number three. Otherwise they would have declared lockout before his match." The lass said.
"It most certainly wasn't me. I don't have the money or influence required to request a private Gym challenge. We're probably going to be forced into spectating some rich kid's Novice ranked battle. Maybe he'll have your Chimera Dratini, gal." The peacoat teased the lass.
"Well, you've got yourself a half-an-hour to go before curfew. You leave now, you might make it to the Pewter Gym lobby before closed doors." I pointed out. The peacoat shook his head vehemently.
"Are you kidding me? I watch these matches hoping to learn something. I beat Brock today at his Gym in a Major ranked battle, but if I actually make it to the Indigo League finals this year… I might have to square off against Brock's Championship team. In unrestricted format. I need to know everything I can about Brock and his strategies, if I want so much as a prayer against him in the League finals."
The peacoat was most definitely an Analyst.
Desperate for every scrap of information possible regarding his opponents.
...And willing to sit through tedious Novice matches in order to sate that appetite for knowledge.
That's why most people laughed at the Analysts.
It just looked like a waste of time.
But anyone in the service can sympathize with an Analyst's goals and commitments.
Information provided by both the Military and the Ranger Analysts have saved countless lives before.
If the Ranger's equivalent of a PKMN Trainer Analyst could do that…
...Then who am I to judge the Trainer version?
"So how far does your education go?" I asked the peacoat. He chuckled again.
"I've only been competing in the League for three years now. But I've been studying League strategy and plotting international training trends since I was thirteen. You could say that I didn't start scrapping until I had all my eggs in a row." The peacoat shrugged.
"That sounds boring. The Rangers taught me the hard way. Taking orders to scrap first, and then taking orders to study second. But then I made Warrant Officer, and now I'm supposed to study first, and then give orders to kill mon second. Just comes with the position of Command, I suppose." I was being surprisingly open with the peacoat regarding my history.
It must have had something to do with me fearing for my life…
I didn't want to think about ACE, and these conversations were a brilliant distraction from my predicament.
"Warrant Officer?! Chief or Petty?" The peacoat surprised me with his knowledge of Ranger ranks.
"Chief Warrant Officer Zane Bastard." I replied with a grin, pointing to the double-block insignia on my shoulder.
"-At your age?!"
"-Your last name is Bastard?!"
Both the lass and the peacoat walked all over each other with their personalized shouts of disbelief.
"Yes, Chief Warrant Officer at seventeen. I'm gunning for Lieutenant-Captain before eighteen." I chose to answer the peacoat's question.
The lass's question wasn't all that important.
"Then what are you doing with a Novice ranked Licence?" The peacoat shook his head in awe.
"Been asking myself that same question." I chuckled.
"So you have Frontier experience?" The peacoat asked. I felt my smirk getting bigger.
"Enough to qualify as a Veteran. Why do you think I requested unrestricted? It's what I'm used to." I replied. The peacoat and lass exchanged a wide eyed look.
"Are your G.I. mon registered in the League?" The peacoat asked me.
Well…
-I don't know if I'd say that...
"Yep. You were pining for a Chimera Dratini, girl? Guess what?" I looked over at the Lass with a smarmy expression plastered on my face.
"Two of my mon come from Chimera Industry's Waterloo division. The other two mon come from Hell."
Oh, shit yeah-
-Try that piece of pie out.
And I'm gonna be smug about serving it too.
"Fucking Rangers and their fucking G.I. mon! Well, actually… Come to think of it, you've earned it by putting on that beret. Thank you for your service, Chief Warrant Officer Bastard."
Peacoat knew how to get into my good graces quickly. He even offered me a legitimate salute.
I was happy to return it.
"At ease, Four-Badges. You're not in uniform." I joked about martial etiquette with the peacoat.
Regardless of whether he understood the implication or not, the peacoat still laughed about it.
"Oh-! Brock is finally making a move!" The lass went into a tizzy over the event in the Pit.
We all focused our attention on the Pit.
Both me and the peacoat silently agreed about Brock's move.
It weren't nothing special.
Brock's Geodude hefted a decent sized rock off the sandy floor of the Pit-
-And then flung it right at the panting Meowth's head.
No prizes for guessing correctly at what happened next.
Gym challenge over.
Brock: 3
Ginger: 0
Fucking pathetic.
"Well, Ranger… It looks like you're up next." The peacoat smiled. I snorted.
"So what do I do, head on down now?" I asked. The peacoat shook his head.
"No, they'll call challenger number four when it's time. Brock needs to reorganize his Novice team for a fresh match. He only has like thirty Geodudes…" The Peacoat chuckled.
"Damn. Anything I should know about the ginger?" I asked, watching the kid shake hands with Brock, before he turned around and left the Pit. Presumably on his way to the Loft.
"He's annoying." The lass scowled. The peacoat laughed again.
"He's just naive and exuberant. Get's fired up real easily, so don't engage him in any aggressive conversation. Half the shit that comes out of his mouth is nonsense, and the other half is ego." The peacoat filled me in.
Shit.
That ginger sounded a lot like me.
We probably weren't gonna get along.
"Well fuck me. There goes the neighborhood." I chuckled upon hearing a rapid pattering of footfalls on the Loft's stairs.
The door was flung open, and a meter tall redheaded nothing dashed right in, mouth already flapping.
"That was such bullshit! How is a Meowth supposed to beat a fucking Geodude! Tibbles gave it his best shot, and all Brock had to say about it was, 'Come back when you're ready!' Who the hell does he think he is!?"
Yep.
Ginger was already rubbing me the wrong way.
"Brock Aissatou, the fucking Pewter City Gym Leader?" I offered the ginger an answer in deadpan.
The ginger just froze on sight of me.
I heard the peacoat's palm connect with his face at high velocity.
Yeah.
I answer bullshit with bullshit.
Get over it.
"What's a Ranger doing here?! The Loft is for challengers only!"
"-He is a challenger. Now just sit down and chill. You're still running on a battle high." The peacoat answered the ginger before I could make a sarcastic reply.
Way to cockblock my fun, Four-Badges.
"I couldn't crack Brock's Geodude… All three of my mon came up short." The ginger moped when he sat down between the lass and the peacoat.
"Well to be perfectly fair, your lineup was poorly designed for fighting Rock-Types. A Pidgey, a Kakuna, and a Meowth? Not one of your mon had a hope in hell of getting through a Rock-Type's carapace. You have to bring the right mon for the right fight if you want to beat a Gym Leader." The peacoat patiently explained to the ginger. I just laughed.
"A Kakuna? Against a Geodude? Did Brock equip his rock with a flyswatter just to drive the point home?"
Look, I'm a Ranger.
We punish idiocy with belittling so people stop being idiots.
All because the mon punish idiocy with evisceration.
Belittling saves lives, and don't you forget it.
"Well… It was a highly questionable match-up, but I don't think that I'd jump to that extreme…"
Four-Badges was trying to defuse a redheaded bomb before I could even set the charge.
A fucking ying to my yang.
My respect went up another notch for good 'ol peacoat.
"The thing is, kid, you need more variety on your team. A Persian could potentially trump a Geodude, and a Pidgeotto could definitely give Brock's Novice team issues, but… What were you going to do against an Onix? Even if your three mon were fully evolved, they'd have their hands full trying to drop a Gym Leader's Onix. You need some color on your team. Unless you're trying to design a mono team for the League's specialist consideration, I'd suggest a mon with bulk and power. If you get yourself a Nidoking-"
"-Scratch that, peacoat. The kid wants a Nidoqueen. Not as fast or as strong as a Nidoking, but they are a whole hell of a lot less temperamental. And they can stomach a lot more abuse than the males." I threw in my half-Sandz. The peacoat gave it some thought.
"Actually, given how nimble the rest of your team is, I think that the Ranger is right. A Nidoqueen would offer even better synergy with your lineup than a Nidoking would. But you'd still want a sweeper of some sort, and nothing you currently have qualifies..."
"Well, sticking with his indigenous Viridian-Pewter district theme… How about a Scyther? They can move fast and hit hard. And if you can get them right out of the egg with an offering of honey and butter, a Scyther will probably throw in a lifetime supply of BJs for you and your entire family as well." I said it with a cheesy smile. The peacoat covered his mouth against a chuckle.
He still had scruples about discussing anything sexually orientated in front of children, but he was too good natured and too humorous to not laugh at my crude joke.
"A Scyther? Wouldn't a Tauros be a better pick?" The peacoat countered. I shrugged.
"Tauros start off pretty solid, but when it comes to easy picking sweepers? You just can't beat a Scyther. Just go to Viridian Forest during their mating season, bribe a Walkout to secure you a big egg, and within a month, you'll be nursing a scary fucking Scyther for a pittance. That, and a Scyther's got adrenaline glands the size of melons. They get pumped up with one of their bladed courtship dances, and a Tauros ain't got shit on a Scyther. Aim for a female. They get bigger and meaner than the males."
It was then I realized that I was handing out training advice to a rookie Trainer.
What was I thinking, telling him to bribe a Walkout for a Scyther egg?
I could get him killed!
-Or incarcerated...
"Honey and butter?" The ginger asked me, clearly interested.
Both the lass and the peacoat were looking at me pretty curiously as well.
I swallowed.
"Old Ranger trick. The sugar and fat overwhelms a Scyther's metabolism. They get sluggish and dopey, making them that much easier to domesticate. That, and Scythers get pretty partial to whomever brings them the sweet stuff." I answered.
"They're still aggressive as fuck though, so use a firm fucking hand whenever they get angsty. Otherwise your Scyther will sharpen its blades on your spinal column." I added that warning, praying that the kid would forget about my sweeper suggestion.
Instead-
"How much would it cost to bribe a Ranger for a Scyther egg?"
The fricken lass asked me that question.
She wanted a murderous giant fucking praying mantis as well?
Where did I go wrong?
"...Five Sandz at least. Anything over eight Sandz and you're getting jipped. Check the chorion for a yellow zigzag pattern on the seam. That's how you'll know that you're getting a female." I answered reluctantly.
The peacoat's eyebrows damn near met his hairline.
"Eight Sandz for a female Scyther egg? That's the bargain of the century! I've seen freshly caught feral Scythers going for four-hundred-and-fifty Sandz in auctions before! And an egg for only eight?" The peacoat was beside himself with this trade secret.
"That's why you have to bribe. It's easy as hell to smuggle an egg out of the reserves, but it's damn near a capital offense for a Ranger to traffic in feral mon, or their offspring. If you do get yourself a Scyther egg, just say that you found it glued to a Route tree. Otherwise, the Rangers will come looking to bag the mon that they missed. And don't even think about trying to make a business out of bribing Rangers. It ain't all that hard to track rare mon across the blackmarket. You start selling juvenile Scythers to shady dealers, your ass is gonna wind up with a visit from the local Police. Just get one for personal use, and never mention how you got it." I was hissing in a whisper.
"I am so getting me a Scyther now…" The ginger grinned.
"-Get in line." The lass giggled.
Oh, fuck me.
I was supposed to be recruiting Trainers into the Ranger Corps…
...Not advising Trainers on how to use the Rangers for securing dangerous mon…
-And Alexandria had probably just recorded the entire affair.
I was a dead man.
"Trainers of the Loft, be aware. We are initiating lockout procedures. Any individuals wishing to depart before our two final challenges should accompany the recording staff back to the Pewter Gym. I repeat, this is your last chance to depart before the final two challenges are completed. Proceed to the entry hall if you wish to leave now." The PA system echoed across the Pit, and Brock headed off to prep his fresh Novice team. A small group of the Pewter City Gym staff were pouring into the Pit, stripping cables and cameras out from their roosts.
"Well, I want to see what the Ranger is planning." Peacoat shot me a smirk.
"I'm sticking around. I want to see his G.I. mon in action." The lass cooed.
"I don't have anything better to do. I mean, it isn't the Scyther's mating season yet, is it?" The ginger asked me.
"Give it four more months." I grunted. The kid looked flabbergasted that he was going to have to wait four whole months just to break the law and get his Scyther.
Maybe he'd forget about it and move on in that time.
Though he probably wouldn't…
"Final call. The last group is leaving now. If any former challengers wish to depart before the conclusion of the fifth match, this is your last chance." The PA system blared out again.
"Man, they're laying it on pretty thick. Is it always like this?" I asked the peacoat. He started for a moment, a pensive look crossing his face.
"Actually… no. They genuinely sound like they want us to leave…" The peacoat mused.
"Well they can't make us. The daily challenger's privilege, remember? We can even watch the private matches, just so long as we don't record them." The lass threw in.
"Why does the League give us that privilege?" The ginger asked, curious.
"-For the League Analysts-"
Both me and the peacoat were saying the same damn thing at same damn time.
Again.
If we kept it up, people were gonna think that we were an item.
Too bad his boobs weren't big enough to satisfy my needlessly epicurean tastes.
And his genitalia wasn't inverted internally.
And his facial hair was hideous.
-I could go on…
"Challenger number four, please report to the Challenger's Block in the Pit. Your match with Gym Leader Brock is scheduled to commence in ten minutes. Challenger number four, please report to the Pit." The PA system summoned me for my match against Brock. I sighed and rose from my bench.
"Good luck!" The lass bade, blowing me a kiss.
No, kid.
I ain't into you.
Come back in three years when you don't need to stuff your bra.
"Better offer that luck to Brock. This Ranger is running on crude spite." I smiled, heading off to the Loft's door.
I just about made it too.
Yep.
That's when I felt a familiar and disturbing presence.
And I heard his designer shoes slowly clicking their way up the Loft stairs.
"-Oh, not you…"
Cold. Aching. Burning. Drowning. Unworthy.
Terrified.
The Ghosts were getting closer.
Everybody in the Loft went quiet.
We could feel him coming.
Challenger number five of five.
My old 'friend' from Viridian City's shuttle terminal.
Mister Crypt.
My hand was frozen stiff less than half a meter away from the Loft's doorknob.
Those slow, clicking footsteps stopped just short of the Loft door's opposite side.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't even breath.
I could only wait for him or his spirits to open the door...
-But nothing of the sort happened.
He was just waiting there…
He knew that I was on the other side.
-Was he waiting for me to do something-?
...Or was he just trying to freak me out?
I heard the grinding of leather heals on sandstone.
He was getting impatient.
My hand finally found animation in dread…
I grasped the handle of the door…
...And then I pulled it open, and stood aside.
Mister Crypt sauntered right on in without even glancing at the Ranger who had just served him as a commissionaire.
He was still wearing his fashionably black funerary garb.
Being that close to him and his revenants…
-I could feel my bowels loosening.
It wasn't until he had taken a dignified seat on the rearmost bench of the Loft that I realized…
He'd hidden those fucked-up eyes of his with those fancy fucking expensive shades.
Not that I cared too much about that right now.
-I needed to figure out how to walk again…
"Challenger number four-"
-I jumped out of my skin, and so did every other pale face in the Loft when the PA system called for me once more.
Well, almost everybody jumped…
...Except of course, our Mister Crypt.
"-Please report to the Challenger's Block immediately. The final preparations for your match are being made now."
With a quivering intake of breath, I moved one foot out of the Loft's doorway, and followed it with another. Then I closed the Loft door behind me…
...And I shamelessly fled the Ghosts in panic as I hastily descended down the Loft stairs.
…
Brock Aissatou.
The Pewter City Gym Leader.
ACE Hitmen are coming for you…
-Don't think about that…
Mister Crypt, watching you from up in the Loft…
-Definitely don't think about that.
Unrestricted format. Vauban dying…
-Brain? Are you just trying to make me cry?
Your crazy, stupid, reckless, career jeopardizing strategy…
-Focus on Brock now. Come on, focus…
You can feel those creepy eyes of his, looking down at you from the Loft, can't you?
-Brock. Gym Leader Brock. That is the only thing I need to worry about right now.
Failure.
-That too.
You are so dead.
-Optimism damnit! Give me some fucking optimism!
This could work…
-Yeah?
...If reality wasn't a thing.
-Fuck you too, brain.
Gym Leader Brock…
-Thank you, for finally getting your fucking priorities straightened out.
Brock Aissatou, the Pewter City Gym Leader, stood but ten rapidly closing meters away from me. I had just managed to my get giddy nerves and addled brain under control again, when Brock extended a hand to me in greeting.
"Ranger Zane Bastard." The twenty-four year old Gym Leader had a voice just as gravelly as the skin of his preferred species-Type of mon.
"Gym Leader Brock Aissatou." I shook his offered hand firmly.
"This is your first Gym Challenge, isn't it?" Brock asked as we released each other from a bone-breaking handshake.
"Affirmative." I grunted. Brock smiled.
"Well I've been through the League finals three times now, and I'm hoping that my Championship experience has prepared me for this. This is my first time fighting a Ranger. Go easy on me, would you?" Brock spoke in a hoarse drawl, not all that dissimilar from Colonel Isaac Howes's.
Except that Colonel Isaac Howes knows what enunciation means.
"Hell no. I ain't cutting you any slack, Gym Leader. You're gonna get to see how a Ranger fights today."
I answer shit-talk with shit-talk.
The definitive language of sportsmen and servicemen alike.
Brock was laughing.
He approved of my adherence to the laws of manliness.
"Looking forward to it, Ranger. By the way, seeing as this is your first official League match, I thought that I'd offer you a small token of mercy." Brock stepped back.
I was all amused ears.
"I'll give you this one chance to rescind your unrestricted format request. There's no point in losing your mon, Ranger. Take it slow in the League, and don't get too ambitious. Otherwise, we tend to lose the things that we'd rather keep."
Brock was talking down to me about risks and sacrifices?
I could school him in matters such as these.
"I thought that I already said it, Gym Leader. I'm treating you to spectacle from the Corps. Don't ask me to rain on my own parade."
Enter one dangerous Ranger grin.
Brock's face hardened.
"Are you sure that you're willing to go through with this? I won't be holding back, Ranger." Brock warned.
I snickered.
"Neither will I, Gym Leader." I smirked in his cold face.
Brock loosened up, and then shrugged.
"Your funeral, Ranger."
And with those parting words, Brock Aissatou turned around, and slowly stalked off to his ledge.
Brock Aissatou was a pretty big guy. No where near as big as Vermilion City's Gym Leader, Lieutenant Surge, but Brock was definitely number two in the mass category when it came to the Kanto League Gym Leaders.
Lieutenant Surge is a freak of nature. He's closer to three meters tall than he is to two meters tall. And ol' Surge has a shoulder span wider than I am long.
Brock may not have been built like a soda machine on steroids, but at least Lieutenant Surge wore a shirt.
And a clean pair of pants.
Brock was only wearing a baggy pair of sutra pants, which were coated with mud, and held to his waist by a length of braided rope.
No shoes.
No shirt.
No shame.
It had something to do with Gym Leaders and their trademarks.
I suppose that Brock just wanted to show off that impressive physique of his.
Now, I'm fucking cut up like a serviceman. I got me plenty of bulk, but it's all in proportion to my frame. I'm not the stockiest or the tallest human being in Kanto, but I'm noticeably above average in both dimensions.
Brock looked like a stupidly tall, gangly framed motherfucker who had decided to start pumping the iron late in life.
Brock's muscle mass was far from being proportional to his frame. I doubted that he could cross both arms across his chest, and still manage to touch his shoulders with his fingertips.
Brock had focused entirely on beefing up and toning out, neglecting the development of the ligaments that would allow him to make more efficient use of that mass.
But Brock was one big, bronze-skinned, almost-naked, slant-eyed, famous as hell motherfucker.
And I was just a crippled Ranger with a gauze headwrap beneath my beret, flouncing my tough guy speech at him.
Brock had me pegged for a poseur.
I had him chalked up as a meathead.
And funny enough…
-I think that we both liked each other.
...At least for the first fifteen minutes of our match.
Then I kinda fucked up my chance at nurturing a healthy relationship with Pewter City's famous Gym Leader.
What's that old saying?
Something along the lines of-
"Friendships are the cost of ambition?"
-I think that's the one.
Either way, I was living by that archaic wisdom.
Literally.
I couldn't afford to lose.
ACE could very well be preparing to straight up ice my ass and dust my dick in the likely event that I was unable to defeat Brock.
I was prepared to fight as dirty as I possibly could in order to live.
Fuck friendship.
My life was on the line.
Just like it had been so many times before, back in the S-ranks of the Ranger Corps.
In a way, ACE's none too subtle death threat had put me in the perfect state of mind for a battle.
-Now I just had to remember not to draw my knife and rush into an engagement at my mon's side.
...And I can tell you this-
-That disciplined clandestine urge was a lot harder to repress than it sounds.
…
The Battle Screen lit up in the Pit. The first image to hit the feed was the Indigo League crest. One dramatic flash and thunderclap later, my pretty mug was displayed on my Trainer's Licence, as well as a list of my League credentials.
Other than that handsome relief of my masculine facial features, there wasn't much to look at on the Battle Screen.
Just a green rimmed Novice License, and and a grand total of five prior Trainer challenges recorded by the Trainer's Eyes.
My victories were displayed with a paltry number five.
-And my losses were displayed with a nice round zero.
Even with a flawless ratio, five League certified victories amounted to absolute shit.
Especially given that this was a Gym challenge.
To say that my League credentials appeared amatuer would have been a compliment.
I looked woefully unprepared for this confrontation.
But my Trainer's License didn't reveal my records in the Ranger Corps.
Otherwise, I wouldn't be fighting Brock in a Novice ranked battle.
My stunning and panty-moistening portrait was pushed to the right side of the Battle Screen, as Gym Leader Brock Aissatou's Trainer License took the spotlight.
It looked ridiculously unfair putting that License next to mine.
Rimmed in platinum, befitting Brock's status as a League Finalist.
And his two Flames lit up in the upper right corner of his Licence.
Brock had defeated eight Gym Leaders to secure his right as an Indigo League challenger.
He had to conquer the Victory Road Trial, just to take a swing at the qualifying rounds of the Indigo League Seasonal Finals.
Brock had to crush another qualifying competitor, just to earn that platinum rim, before Brock could finally enter the real war at Indigo.
Squaring off against the other League Finalists, Brock made the quota victor rank twice, wiping out two members of Elite Four in the process; which earned Brock his Duo-Flame decoration…
...And then Koga Kurosawa came along and molested Brock's rock-hard ass out of the third quota victor position.
That was Brock's curtain call in last year's 1,074th Indigo League Seasonal Finals.
He returned to Pewter City after the post-finals to resume his duties as the Pewter City Gym Leader.
And Koga Kurosawa, along with Giovanni Delimonto, claimed both the third and the fourth quota victor titles…
-Before the two Quad-Flame Gym Leaders entered an accord, rather than duke it out for the chance to challenge Lance.
Giovanni disappointed his fan base yet again, and opted to drop out of the League Seasonal Finals and return to his station as Viridian City's Gym Leader, without challenging Lance for the Throne.
And Koga empowered the Kurosawa ninja clan when he booted Karen Crawley's ass off of the Elite Four and onto the curb, before assuming her role and title as one of the strongest Trainers recognised by the Indigo League, and then followed it all up by naming his daughter Janine as his Fuchsia City Gym Leader successor.
Of course, Giovanni and Koga had themselves an exhibition match before the closing ceremonies. Koga took out four of Giovanni's Championship mon with his signature poisoning antics…
...Before stone cold Giovanni mopped the League ring with all six of Koga's Championship mon.
There is a reason for why so many people want to see Giovanni Delimonto challenge good'ol Lance Drakengard for the League Throne.
There is a reason for why so many people call Giovanni Delimonto 'The Terra King,' despite his brow never having been crested by the League Champion's crown.
Everybody wants to see the Dragon King fall.
And the commonly accepted thesis states thusly-
-That Giovanni Delimonto is currently the only Trainer in the Indigo League Registry who has a chance in hell of bringing Lance's sovereign ass down.
It is speculated by the League Analysts that there are currently only three Trainers in the Indigo League Registry that have the potential to usurp Lance from the Throne.
First, there's Giovanni Delimonto, the only actively competitive Throne-contender in the League Registry. But despite having secured the opportunity to challenge Lance for the Throne in the last six League Seasonal Finals, Giovanni has repeatedly stepped away from that contest.
Then there's Enzo Davinci, whose League legacy is borderline scandalous. He dropped out of the scene originally to build his mon-marketing-empire, Chimera Industries. And he's just too busy being fucking crazy to ever consider competing in the League again.
And the final name on the Throne-contender list is a former League Champion himself, a generation removed from Lance's succession.
Samuel Oak, 'The Sage King,' who stands alone amongst the Indigo League Champions as the only Champion to have ever retired from the League Throne before death or succession takes them.
Old Oak is still technically an undefeated Champion, but good luck getting him to compete in the League again.
The kindly scientist doesn't exactly see eye to eye with the League hierarchy.
And neither faction wants anything to do with the other's policies anymore.
From those three names, not one desires the League Throne. High Command and ACE want me to add a fourth name to the Throne-contender's list, and push that name into challenging the Reigning Champion Lance for the League Throne.
That name?
-Ranger Zane Bastard.
Or as I envision myself,
'The Bastard King.'
Yep.
Ambition.
I was born with it, and I'll likely die from it.
Speaking of which…
I need to humiliate a certain Pewter City Gym Leader in a certified League Gym challenge before I can even entertain the thought of planting my ass on that League Throne…
…
"Well, Ranger… You should know what my Novice team's lead is." Brock grunted from across the field. Brock was answering to the League Codes regarding Gym Leaders and their challengers.
As the home field Champion, Brock was code-bound to reveal his first mon to the challenger, giving his opponent the advantage species identification.
Of course I knew what Brock's Novice lead was.
It was always the same damn thing.
A fucking ugly Geodude.
Brock sent his lead out to the field. The Gym Leader's body language was displaying all the enthusiasm of embracing a routine.
"Number Seventeen, give the Ranger a salute!" Brock hollered to his numerically-identified Geodude, who responded to Brock's request by raising both middle digits at me.
...Just for that-
-I want me a Geodude.
Both Brock and I were grinning when I answered his lead with my own.
"Vauban! Report!"
Out from my end of the field popped one cute little Bulbasaur, looking quite comical with a giant bruise on her smiling face.
"Well then, Ranger… It's fighting time." Brock grunted.
Like I said-
-A total meathead.
"VAUBAN! POP A FLARE!"
"SEVENTEEN! HUNKER DOWN!"
Vauban fired off one of her phosphorescent seeds, and Brock's Geodude buried itself in the sand.
Brock was playing cautious.
A cocky Ranger generally has the muscle to back the speech.
Brock needed to know what I was planning.
I shielded my eye in an elbow when Vauban's flare ignited.
Brock wanted to know what my Vauban strategy was?
A gut full of carbohydrate rich goodies, courtesy of my friends in the Pokemart business…
...And Vauban's Waterloo enhanced chloroplasts being exposed to ultra-dense UV rays.
No sooner than my stage had been set, then it was that my Vauban rolled over onto her side with the sweetest little monster yawn that you ever did hear.
Brock was just staring at me.
What the hell was I smirking about?
Why was my mon taking a nap in his Pit, just twenty meters away from his Geodude?
Vauban and I had talked it over.
It just seemed like the best approach.
"Seventeen…" Brock feigned a command, trying to make me slip and reveal my hand.
No dice, Gym Leader.
Enjoy this smug smile.
"SEVENTEEN! FULL ON ASSAULT!" Brock roared, his options reduced to calling my bluff.
I didn't give Vauban a counter directive.
I just folded my arms and chuckled as that Geodude tossed off its sandy cover, and wobbled his way over to Vauban on his rocky palms.
Vauban didn't stir from her nap.
-Until the Geodude was upon her.
Seventeen raised both fists above his craggy dome-
-And then Vauban got up and spun that Geodude around with her vines at a speed that just seemed unnatural.
Vauban took off in a cloud of grit, disguised as a bluish-green blur.
That's my girl.
Both Brock and Seventeen were struggling to figure out exactly where Vauban had disappeared off to.
I didn't even know where Vauban had gone. She was using the giant rocks of the Pit floor for cover.
Now Brock knew what he was dealing with.
A blitzing guerilla fighter.
My Vauban.
"SEVENTEEN! STAND READY!" Brock roared to his Geodude, and both the Gym Leader and the mon scanned the field for any sign of Vauban.
I took a quick gander at the flare.
We had roughly ten minutes to go before it burned out or touched down.
Brock was watching me like a hawk.
If he couldn't see my mon's movements, then he could wait for an order of mine to reveal Vauban's location.
Too bad for Brock…
...Vauban and I had talked it out beforehand.
"THERE SHE IS!" Brock roared to his Geodude, but his mouth had only just finished pronouncing the third syllable when Vauban's speeding form reached Seventeen.
Vauban ran past Seventeen's stony ass without even touching him.
Seventeen had locked up.
What the hell had just torn past him?
The poor Geodude was that surprised.
Then that Geodude heard the zip of Vauban's trailing vines in the sand-
-Before Seventeen looked down just in time to see his hands being wrapped in thick green chords.
And now that Geodude was moving faster than he'd ever moved in his life.
-Dragged behind the green bullet that was my Vauban.
She had Seventeen in a noose, and that Geodude was choking down Pit sand at mach ten.
"VAUBAN! BUST A NUT!" I roared to my little girl, and Brock hollered something to his mon.
I didn't hear what Brock shouted.
I don't think his Geodude did either.
I could barely hear my own ears ringing over the repetitive crack of Seventeen's face impacting the Pit stones at peak velocity.
-Vauban was slamming Seventeen's ass off of every rock that she passed, as my little girl booked a lap around the perimeter of the Pit.
Seventeen couldn't mount much of a defense against Vauban with all that shit hitting him at high speed, but he wasn't quite suffering yet.
Geodudes are fricken tough.
We needed to split Number seventeen's carapace wide open if we wanted to do some real damage to him.
…
Rock-Types.
Synonymous with "tough as fuck."
Rock-Types are ridiculous. Most species of Rock-Type mon genetically exchange speed and wits for rugged bulk and crazy power. The single most common feature of all Rock-Types is their carapace. Comprised of feldspar, quartz, and calcium carbonate, this carapace arranges those mineral components into crystalline lattice structures, effectively making some of the most robust naturally occurring armors to have ever been discovered on a living organism.
There are two different taxonomic classifications within the Rock-Type index.
There are the standard Rock-Type mon, known as the Bioliths, which sit quite cozy in the pre-Brink's originally established phylums.
And then there are the unusual lifeforms known as the Minerals.
Bioliths are pretty much like every other kind of mon, taxonomically speaking. They have blood in their arteries, brains in their skulls, and organs in their body cavities. Evidence procured from the mon fossil records suggest that the Biolith's carapace was one of the very first survival adaptations of the early mon. It is the predominate feature of everything that we've dug up thus far from the Brink's old inorganic expulsions. Over time, Pokemon evolution stripped this trait from most modern day species, in an effort to exploit the 'speed' survival realm that most early Bioliths left untouched.
But as far as evolution is concerned, there is no point in fixing something that isn't broken.
A good deal of modern mon species still hold on to that early-era evolutionary design:
-The Rock-Type's Carapace.
And the Rock-Type mon have used that impressive armor to establish dominance in almost every environment that they inhabit.
Then we have the Minerals.
These guys are just plain fucking weird.
As far as we can tell, whatever world every other mon evolved from…
-It wasn't the same world that birthed the Mineral mon.
Just like the Ghosts and the Pollutants, the Mineral mon defined a whole new taxonomic phylum back in the early post-Brink era.
The closest living relatives to the Minerals are the Pollutants, seeing as they both share that distinct silane structured chemical code that substitutes for the standard carbon-protein based RNA foundation intrinsic to all other lifeforms.
The defining difference between the Minerals and the Pollutants?
The Pollutants are just symbiotic super colonies of crude single-celled silicon-based lifeforms.
The Minerals are complex multicellular silicon-based lifeforms.
They're so different in terms of taxonomy, that humanity had to separate the Pollutants and the Minerals into their own distinct phylums.
Silicon-based lifeforms.
Weird fucking things, man.
Ammonia resides inside of their cell membranes instead of water.
Silicon, zinc, carbon, and iron comprise most of the solids in their cellular structures.
And that shit carries over into the large scale.
Meaning that Minerals have tissue structures more akin to alloy composites instead of the standard meaty softness of most 'normal' carbon-based lifeforms.
In short, Minerals are built like rocks from the inside out.
Unlike the Bioliths, the Minerals' carapace isn't just an armor comprised of dead tissues and metabolized dirt worn solely to protect their vital organs.
A Mineral's carapace is a multi-functioning organ, handling respiration, locomotion, circulation, and digestion.
Semipermeable membranes.
That's how the Minerals get the elements that their cellular replication requires, and how they move those materials around between their cells.
Almost exclusively through permeation.
Minerals, just like the Pollutants, don't actually have a shelf life.
In short, they don't deteriorate when they age.
But being complex multicellular organisms, Minerals have something that the Pollutants don't.
A complex nervous system, and the silicon-life based version of a brain.
Minerals are wired just like every other living thing on this planet. Kill, eat, grow, mate, repeat.
They possess the exact same level of rationalization potential that the separate complex carbon-based lifeforms do.
The Mineral mons' hardware is just a whole hell of a lot more robust than the carbon-based lifeforms' organs are.
Brock's entire Novice team was comprised of Mineral mon.
You can't even hurt these things until you crack their carapace.
-And a Mineral mon's carapace is stupidly tough.
…
Vauban was flogging the shit out of Seventeen. We hadn't even made a dent in his carapace yet, but Vauban had probably permanently damaged that Geodude's brain with her incessant pummeling.
It must have funny to watch from the Loft. At the scope offered by that height and distance, the spectators could probably see Vauban's grinning face in her crazy fast dash.
"VAUBAN! ENOUGH PLAYING AROUND! SHATTER THAT GEODUDE!" I roared a fresh order to my little girl. Brock folded his arms and waited.
The Geodude couldn't free himself from Vauban's vines. Brock had two choices.
One, wait it out, and hope that Vauban couldn't crack his Geodude.
Two, bench his Geodude, and remove him from the match.
Substitutions could only be called when mon were not currently engaged.
And Vauban's siege on Seventeen was ceaseless and drawn out.
Vauban found what we needed to split that Geodude open.
Brock's own Pit had provided.
A big.
Sharp.
Rock.
Can you crack a walnut with another walnut?
Well, Vauban and I were going to test it out, substituting the walnuts with a Geodude and a rock.
Vauban came to a sand spraying halt right before the stone in question-
My little girl lifted that heavy Geodude almost ten-meters high into the air with her fully uncoiled vines…
And then Vauban just let Seventeen dangle there, giving him a few seconds to look at the Pit from a bird's eye point of view-
-Before Vauban brought Seventeen's ass down with a whip of her vines right against the jagged edge of that rock.
-That sound made even me wince.
That blow could not have felt good, carapace or no carapace.
And my merciless little girl was winding up for another whipping.
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
WHACK.
My balls were climbing up into my stomach, that's how uncomfortable that sound made me feel.
That carapace was soon to be fucked.
I had no way of telling if Seventeen was unconscious yet, Vauban was swinging that Geodude around so violently that I could barely make his shape out.
"Enough."
That was Brock.
I'd left the Gym Leader with little other option.
Brock had elected to bench Seventeen before Vauban could kill him.
I said that I'd give Brock a spectacle…
And that was just a teaser.
Novice rank.
Pffft.
I'd just destroyed a Gym Leader's Novice Geodude like it was child's play.
Don't underestimate me, Indigo League…
I'm gonna spill ink all over your legislation regarding League certified Rangers by the end of the day.
Brock put his Geodude back into a Pokeball, and then dragged a line through the sand with his toe.
...I think he was smiling.
"Fine game, Ranger. But I think that you might be batting a little high for your rank."
Brock was catching on.
Good.
I needed his help fixing something.
"Well then, Ranger, are you going to make use of one of your substitutions?" Brock asked, looking up from his toeline in the sand with a game face on. League Code gave me the right to substitute my mon before Brock could send out his next mon out.
I looked over at my little girl, who was gazing longingly at me for some sign of approval.
I granted it to her with a cheesy grin.
"Nope." I answered Brock.
...I was only going to need one substitution to finish playing Brock for a fool, anyways.
Brock tightened up.
"Alright then. Next one up from me." Brock wound up his pitch, and released the second mon in his Novice roster.
The Roggenrola.
Unlike the craggy structure of the Geodudes, Roggenrolas are compact, smooth sided, and shaped like a dodecahedron. They don't have much in the way of grapple points, and those angled sides could deflect direct impacts away from a Roggenrola's dripping core.
That yellow core may have looked like a good place to hit, but it was just about as rugged as the rest of the carapace.
My hammering antics weren't going to crack his mon.
But that yellow core was still susceptible to attacks.
And even more susceptible to certain attacks than the Geodude was.
That ammonia damp yellow core was the closest thing a Roggenrola had to a mouth.
And the old strategy that Koga Kurosawa had used to kick Brock's ass out of the League Finals last season was going to revisit the Pewter City Gym Leader in his own Pit.
"BLUNDER! GET ROLLING!" Brock gave the order, and his goofy looking mon used its kicking feet to roll its bizarre body across the Pit to my Vauban.
It moved pretty fast for a Rock-Type.
-Not as fast as Vauban, though.
"Blow him a kiss, Vauban." I chuckled.
She knew exactly what I meant. My little girl waited until the Roggenrola was almost upon her, before Vauban's bulb started quivering.
"BLUNDER, GET OUT OF THERE NOW!"
"-WITH TONGUE, VAUBAN!"
Vauban tore through the sand on intercept with Blunder, just as the Roggenrola attempted to divert his heading.
No sooner had Vauban made a tumbling tackle for the rolling Roggenrola, then my little girl's bulb puked out a cloud of yellow glittering pollen. Both Vauban and Blunder were caught in the fallout. Contact established at ground zero.
Vauban wasn't affected by her own pollen, of course.
-But even with his foreign biological origins, that Roggenrola was soaking up a cocktail of Waterloo's weaponized toxins.
Waterloo had the foresight to equip their Saboteur Classes with a hydrochloric agent.
-Which does not agree particularly well with a Mineral's physiology.
Not very well at all.
That shit was going to start breaking Blunder's cells down into Mineral soup by destabilizing the silicon structures that formed the very foundations of his genetic code.
That Roggenrola was already fucked.
He was going to start melting like a wet sugarcube.
-All it was going to take was time.
"BOOK IT, VAUBAN! TIME IS NOT OUR ENEMY!" I was already gloating. Blunder was beginning to shake as the hydrochloric agent hastened its assault on him by soaking through the Roggenrola's dripping core.
Brock had witnessed a Mineral's reaction to hydrochloric exposure before.
Thank you, Koga.
Bringing back fond memories, Brock?
No?
I didn't think so.
Brock was pissed.
You don't expect military grade toxins to be utilized in a Novice match.
You don't expect a Novice ranked Trainer to request unrestricted format so that they can legally use those lethal toxins.
You don't even expect a Novice ranked Trainer to have access to that level of dangerous shit.
Here's a hint, Brock…
-I'm not a Novice.
...And this 'match' is going to prove it.
"Get off the field, Blunder." Brock benched his Roggenrola on the spot.
There was no way that Brock's rock was going to keep up with my Vauban.
My little girl could book it to one end of the Pit and take a cat nap while she waited for Blunder to sizzle down into a puddle.
Brock could still save Blunder if he got his Roggenrola medical treatment ASAP upon release from the Pokeball.
It was the same behavior that Brock had displayed back in his last season's League Finalist match with Koga. The Pewter City Gym Leader was trying to save his mon instead of killing them for a victory.
If Brock had sacrificed one of his Championship mon to Koga, most League Analysts agreed that Brock could have won the fight. But that was all moot, because exploiting the other Trainer's behavior is all part of the League scene. Koga got inside Brock's head, and then the Fuschia Ninja fucked with the Pewter City Gym Leader's morality.
-And now I was playing mindgames with Brock, bringing all that bad history up.
I'd forced a Gym Leader to bench two of his mon.
And the closest that Brock had yet come to scratching my grinning girl, was the minor scrapes that Vauban had sustained in tackling Blunder.
I was making a mockery of Brock's Novice team in his own Pit.
For a Gym Leader-
-This situation was fucking humiliating.
But now Brock had seen my full hand regarding Vauban.
I had shown Brock everything that my little girl could do.
And his Onix was guaranteed to be in a whole nother league seperate from the rest of his Novice team.
Wrapping Vauban's vines around an Onix would only end in the death my little girl.
Toxin was out of the question.
Brock would see it coming a klick away, and the Gym Leader would have his Onix prepared to counter or avoid Vauban's Saboteur strategy.
To the casual eye, I was relying on my Bulbasaur to get me through this match.
To Brock's League Registry educated eyes, he knew that I was relying on a Bulbasaur to get through his challenge.
Brock knew what kind of mon I had congregated together to form my Squad.
Vauban, my pain in the ass Bulbasaur.
Cortez, my Growlithe, who was nothing more than some tasty snake bait to an Onix.
And Darwin, my Magikarp, who couldn't even coordinate a fall from a four meter height onto a meter-wide target.
All Brock had to do was take out Vauban, and then the rest of my Squad would fall like dominos.
And now the Pewter City Gym Leader knew my little girl's limitations.
...But what Brock didn't know-
-Was that my Squad now included a fourth member.
...And Brock didn't know this-
-Because the Indigo League's Registry hadn't updated in time.
So technically…
-I wasn't allowed to use my fourth Squad member.
But technically…
-I could.
I had a drum of ink to overturn in the League Legislation.
This could bite me in the ass so hardcore that if ACE did kill me, they would effectively be dealing a mercy blow to my newly miserable existence.
But if it worked...
-Then I might actually get myself exactly what I wanted…
It was a risk that I was willing to take.
"Okay, Ranger. You had your fun. I'm actually quite impressed. But I'm afraid that regret is a dish served in the coldest repast. You should have taken my offer. Forfeit now, and I won't have my snake smear your cute little Bulbasaur across the Pit. You can come back and challenge me when you're ready for the real show." Brock's voice was going low into the danger zone.
He was mad as fuck.
And I was about to make him even more irate.
"Hope you don't mind, Gym Leader. I'm gonna need you to fill out some paperwork for me after I'm done wasting your Onix. A lot of paperwork." Big 'ol cocky smile for my opponent.
Hint:
Fuck your courtesy forfeit suggestion.
You've heard my thunder.
Now prepare to reap my whirlwind.
"I want to apologize in advance for what's about to happen, Ranger. Are you going to call a substitution?"
Brock had no idea what he was stepping into.
"Nope." I answered, disregarding my chance to switch in another mon.
Not yet.
I had an impression to make first.
"Fine. Shale. End this charade." Brock lifted his Onix's Heavy Ball, and released the star of his Novice team.
The beam of light condensed into a massive figure, taking three times longer than a normal Pokeball to format and reform the sheer scale of Shale's physiology.
And there he was.
Shale, Brock's barely legal Novice Onix.
The devourer of so many Novice ranked Trainer dreams.
I couldn't have been more disappointed.
I had been led to believe that Shale was a mature Onix.
But the rock-snake in front of me was just a juvenile.
A mere six meters long. All of nine tonnes in weight.
Not even a full century old yet.
Chris had been yanking my chain.
This was no Onix.
It was just a flippin baby.
I'd bet that Shale's eyes were still soft to the touch.
Shale probably still had a pair of nerve clusters just a freaking centimeter deep beneath the carapace in either corner of his mouth.
I bet that this Onix hadn't even lost his first horn yet.
And I guarantee that he didn't have a taste for Mozart either.
What a disgrace to Onixiakind.
Doug would be ashamed.
Doug had taught me everything he knew about Onixia.
The Cap's old Onix was four times the size of Brock's pathetic piece of shit.
"Actually, Gym Leader… I think I'll use a substitution now. Come on back to me, Vauban." I pissed Brock off even more with a delayed substitution. My carefree act was all part of the impression that I was trying to make. Vauban hightailed it over to my ankles.
Shale may have been tiny for an Onix, but that rock-snake anatomy conjured up foul recent memories for my diminutive bruised-faced Vauban.
Brock folded his arms with a scowl.
I was toying with him.
-And Brock knew it.
I lifted my Heavy Ball with a silent prayer.
-Please remember me…
"Damascus, report."
-One.
Big.
Beam.
Of light...
-A five.
Second.
Delay...
-And...
There.
He.
Was.
-Oh.
Fuck...
-I had totally forgotten...
...Just how big he was.
Brock's jaw fell right off his face.
There was no way in hell that this massive thing had come from a Novice Trainer's Pokeball.
There was no way in hell that a Novice Trainer had the know how or balls required to command a bloody Onix like that.
My stand in for Darwin, who was currently too busy stuffing his fat face full of fish-flakes in a rented Pokemart Tank.
Damascus, Doug's fucking ancient Onix.
"Damascus?"
Rumble.
-Okay, if he wanted to kill me, he'd have done it by now…
"You ready?"
RUMBLE.
He knew who I was.
-Thank God.
...What a pretty snake.
Even Brock, the Kanto Rock-Type Master, had to take a breathless moment just to admire Damascus, who was casting his huge fucking shadow over the quivering Shale.
Shale was a young Onix, with a gritty gray carapace, and a meter long crude horn.
And little Shale was just plain fucking ugly compared to Damascus.
Damascus was a dull white in color. Age and a lifetime of abuse had weathered his carapace into a glossy sheen.
Damascus's horn had broken off an eon ago, and it never bothered to grow back. But instead, the old battle wound had raised an intricate crystalline jade scar where the horn had once been. Other than looking gorgeous, that green scar didn't do much else for my snake.
Whereas the young Shale had jutting features and jagged angles wherever his flatten planes met, Damascus's entire face and beaded body had been worn rounded and smooth ages ago.
Damascus looked like a string of pearls compared to Shale, who like all young Onixia, resembled a dirty necklace of craggy pebbles.
-And then Damascus shifted, and the light caught his namesake's symbols, etched in faint gold across every pearlescent meter of him.
Massive grainy whorls, cast in a King's metal, could just be seen in the fading light of day.
Damascus steel.
Those glorious patterns were the inspiration for this Onix's name, and that name was given to him by a blacksmith Ranger.
I couldn't even look at this snake without tearing up.
You would never believe how close this beautiful monster had been to my deceased Captain.
...And I had the memories to prove it.
"Damascus…"
My voice was hoarse, just from remembering Doug's laugh again.
"-Let's finish this quickly."
RUMBLE.
Shale shrieked when that white mountain fell on him. Grandpa snake was gonna eat baby snake for fucking breakfast. The two had barely connected in a one-sided slaughter when Brock flagged his forfeit.
-We had won.
...Maybe…
"DAMASCUS! ABSTAIN!" I roared it as loudly as I could, trying to get my Onix off of Brock's, before Damascus bit Shale in half.
I couldn't believe it when that majestic serpent lifted himself off of Shale, and slitherer his sparkling bulk slowly over towards us. Wrapping those glimmering coils of his around Vauban and me, Damascus greeted us like we were his own offspring.
"Nicely done, Gramps." I patted Damascus's side with a heavy hand. I don't think that he could feel it, but Damascus saw my hand falling on him with those milky blue eyes of his.
Damascus knew what my gesture meant.
"...Nicely done…"
"Ranger."
That was not a happy voice.
"I want a word with you, if you don't mind."
Brock.
Was.
Pissed.
"Alright. Damascus, Vauban, shake it out. You two handled the mon, now your CO has to go duke it out with the Gym Leader. Don't pick a fight with each other while I'm dealing with Brock." I sighed as I left Damascus's coils and marched right past the trembling Shale.
That infant Onix was scared out of his Goddamn mind, but his injuries weren't all that bad, given that Brock and I had separated our snakes before Shale ended up dead.
I could smell the ammonia blood when I stepped over Shale's twitching tail. Damascus had nearly killed him.
A couple of crushed beads may hurt an Onix like a bitch, but in time, the little Shale would recover from his mauling to compete again.
Brock was glaring at me something fierce when I came to stand before his folded armed, muscular figure.
"Nice Onix. How old is he?" Brock may have wanted to snap my neck, but he couldn't help but praise my snake.
"The Rangers took a core sample a few years back. We reckon that Damascus is well over two-thousand years old." I answered.
Brock quirked an eyebrow.
"Older than the Brink?" Brock asked, surprise plain in his voice.
"The Brink is what dumped Damascus here. He was probably already an old boy when the bombs were still falling." I replied.
My tone was dry with reverence.
"That is one old snake…" Brock looked at Damascus longingly. With a bit of League training, a gem like Damascus could be the flagship of Brock's Championship team.
"Damascus was my CO's… And now… Damascus is mine…" I murmured, still hearing Doug's stupid jokes in my ears.
Brock may have been a meathead, but he could hear the grief in my voice, and see the memory in my wet eyes.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Ranger. Your CO must have been one hell of a tenacious son of a bitch to have tamed an Onix like that. But-"
Here it comes...
"-I'm denying your victory in my Gym today. Sorry Ranger, but what you just pulled is something that the League refers to as kiting. Your registry didn't list an Onix in your roster, and a Novice ranked Trainer isn't even allowed to own one. I'm halfway tempted to revoke your License when I write your citation, but because your Bulbasaur actually beat the first two of my mon, I'm just temporarily suspending your participation from the League."
Shit.
That almost sounded familiar.
I think I might have said something like that to Tony…
Well, Karma is a bitch…
-But.
...Karma is not my bitch.
"Well… Damn. I didn't want to do this, but… I'm afraid that I'm gonna have to contest that citation, Gym Leader." I kept my face dignified with an honest expression.
The time for rustling Brock's beehive was over.
Now I had to show him my dirty hand.
"Under what grounds?" Brock growled. I took a deep breath.
"Under the League's clause regarding adherence to foreign registries. You see… I'm technically a Indigo League certified Trainer… But I'm also a sworn Ranger." I began my reiteration softly.
"The Rangers aren't a foreign League-"
"-No, but we have our own form of Pokemon Registry, recognised by the League. Under article four, which was added after the controversy that Wallace of Hoenn inspired when he crushed Will in the Indigo League Seasonal Finals six years ago, Wallace defeated Will by using a Sharpedo that wasn't in the Indigo Registry. But Wallace's Sharpedo was recorded in the Hoenn League Registry. Because of the conflicting Registry accounts, the I.A.S. ruled in favor of Wallace, claiming that because of Hoenn and Indigo's differently scheduled Registry updates, any foreign League Registry would take precedence over the hosting League's Registry. And in section eight of High Command's adopted League Certified Ranger Doctrine, you will find a very specific line that states-"
I had to pause for breath.
"-Due to the implementation of G.I. Pokemon in the Indigo League Registry, the pertaining G.I. Pokemons' dispatches will henceforth be regarded as a 'foreign Registry,' so as to avoid violating League Code twenty-seven, regarding the use of servicemon in League Certified-"
"-I got it. Thanks." Brock spat.
I took another deep breath.
I didn't dare smile yet.
"There is still one problem though, Ranger."
Yep.
There was.
And this one wasn't covered by vague League policies and beta-stage legislation.
"You are ranked as a Novice Trainer in the Indigo League Registry. You are not even allowed to own an Onix at the Novice rank. Maybe the Rangers have a different merit system for determining Trainer accountability, but that doesn't carry over into the League. You are still looking at disqualification for the unlicensed use of an Onix in a Novice ranked battle. Not to mention a minor citation and a penalty fee for violating the Species Clause Conduct. So what have do you have for that?"
Not a good sign.
I needed Brock on my side.
But it sounded like he wanted me to burn.
"Brock… The only thing that I have is an example of my performance in your Pit today. Vauban ruined your first two mon in fair combat. Damascus obeyed my commands, regardless of the green rim lining my License. That… and I did request unrestricted, just so that I could prove a point." I looked Brock right into his cold eyes.
"I am not a Novice, and you damn well know it."
Brock cleared his throat.
I worked my mouth.
Then-
"I can't let you go unpunished, Ranger. Regardless of your skills, you still have to climb the same ladder that everyone else does. You are not walking out of my Pit without some form of disciplinary action." Brock warned.
Okay…
Here goes nothing…
...And everything.
"I have an idea regarding my punishment, if you'd like to hear it." I proposed.
Brock tilted his head.
I'll take that as a 'proceed.'
"Bump my License up to Intermediate-Two. It will make my early League Career a living hell, but it will also give me leeway to deploy Damascus in future engagements. My solution kills two Spearows with one stone."
Brock laughed.
-Oh fuck me…
"You know how much red tape I'd have to go through in order to do that? You need three Gym Badges to earn Intermediate-Two. Why the hell should I put myself through that pen and paper shitfest for you?" Brock demanded an answer from me.
I could think of a few reasons.
-To get Chris off my ass?
-So Damascus doesn't get bored?
-So ACE doesn't kill me?
-For the future of humanity?
"Because I earned it, Gym Leader, just as I have earned everything that I have ever had." I reached up to my face, and pressed a fingertip into my glass eye. Pivoting the fake iris into the corner my socket, I stared at Brock with my one good eye.
The Gym Leader took a step back.
Not many people could see it, and I generally refrained from letting people know just how broken my body is.
I didn't want pity.
But I'd give Brock an example of what I had been through if he asked for it.
"...Okay." Brock muttered, once he'd pulled himself back together.
I adjusted my fake eye back into the proper position.
"You'll get your Boulder Badge, and an Intermediate License. Just so that the next Gym Leader you face makes a fucking scene out of your ass. Good luck with taking on the Intermediate-Twos with just your ancient Onix and a prayer, Ranger."
Brock didn't loosen his crossed arms.
I had secured my first Badge.
And I'd be getting my Intermediate License.
-But I sure as hell wasn't getting a farewell handshake.
Aw, well…
Maybe in the League Finals…
"It was a pleasure challenging you for the Boulder Badge, Brock. Don't strain yourself lifting, meathead."
I smirked when I presented my salute to the Pewter City Gym Leader.
Brock just sighed, and shook his head, before the Pewter City Gym Leader motioned for me to leave.
I pivoted on a heel, recalled Damascus and Vauban to their Pokeballs, and then headed for the Loft.
And that's when I saw him.
I'd almost forgotten about you too, damnit…
One black figure, mercifully wearing his pricey shades, was leaning up against the left outside column of the Pit's porticus.
Even with those shades hiding his eyes, I could still feel that creepy fucking gaze from halfway across the Pit.
I was going to have to walk right past that freak just to leave the Pit.
Goddamnit, I really didn't want to deal with his bullshit Ghosts right now…
I finally felt like I could live again…
I approached the stranger cautiously. It seemed as though Mister Crypt was just casually waiting for his match with Brock.
I stepped right into his Distortion seep, wondering if that Ghost with the blade was going to try beheading me this time.
I could feel the fucking creeps reaching for me from the other side…
I marched right past the stranger's figure, trying my damndest not to look at him.
But I couldn't help it.
Some crazy masochistic urge lifted my bold eyes to his concealed ones.
A slow smirk crawled up one corner of his mouth, and the silhouettes of those grey eyes could been seen through the tint of his shades.
Excuse me, Mister Crypt.
I'd just like to go sit down without drawing your freaky fucking attention.
I strode into the Entry Hall of the Pit, rounded a corner in the ascent chamber, and then booked my ass up the Loft stairs, just begging for a space clear of Ghosts.
…
I entered the Challenger's Loft, slamming the door behind me. The other three Trainers sitting on their respective benches were all giving me the stinkeye. I just smirked at each and every one of them, and then sat down on the center row. No sooner had my ass been adequately situated, than the ginger puke had to pipe up.
"Brock's gonna cite you for kiting." The little shit said it like it was gospel. I just snorted.
"No he's not." That pissed the ornery little fuck off.
"What's he going to do?" The old boy in the peacoat asked. I smiled at him.
"Bump my License up to Intermediate."
"-You're kidding me!" The ginger was gonna blow a gasket. The peacoat snickered.
"Man, Brock is letting you off easy. If I tried to pull a stunt like that, I'd probably get my License revoked for the remainder of the season." The peacoat was shaking his head. Now it was the cute little thing in the push-up bra's turn to open her pretty mouth.
"How did you get a Novice License when you own a trained Onix?" The skinny lass was looking at me in awe.
"Damascus is a new addition to my outfit. The League only updates the registry on the second Tuesday of the month. Only once per month. The last time they updated the registry was the Tuesday before last. Damascus was assigned to me only three days ago, which technically forbids his use in League sponsored competition. But due to his status as a Ranger, and some loopholes in my League certification, Damascus's G.I. dispatch qualifies as official League registration." I smugly confessed.
"Fucking Rangers and their fucking G.I. mon… Now the League is gonna have to reconsider the legislation because of you." The peacoat thought that it was the funniest damn thing ever.
"You still cheated." The ginger was glaring at me like I had just kicked his Meowth in the groin.
"Yes I did. And I'm gonna get away with it too." I gave the kid my evil grin, knowing that my crazy eyes and nasty look would shut his riled ass up.
I looked back out to the Pit. The stranger had taken his position in the field, arms folded and completely unconcerned. Brock was in his corner, mopping his brow with a towel and taking a long hit from a cigarette. The Battle Screen was blank. They had yet to start their match.
"He do anything weird while I was gone?" I asked the Loft. Everybody just shuddered.
"If you mean something other than exist? No. He just sat alone on the top bench and didn't bother to say or do anything." The peacoat answered. The lass was holding herself something tight, looking down at the stanger like he was her worst nightmare made flesh.
"What is he? When he came in, the whole Loft became-" The lass could only retch, which more than adequately described the stranger's effect on the Loft.
"Never met a Ghost Trainer before, have you?" I asked the girl. She rose from her curl and looked at me all bug eyed, while the obnoxious ginger next to the peacoat turned white.
"So that's what it was…" The ginger whispered. He crossed his legs and bent over his lap in a suspiciously awkward posture. He was trying to hide something. Then I noticed the wet spot on the ginger's pants.
As far as I'm concerned, soiling yourself in the presence of a Ghost is a perfectly dignified reaction.
I almost felt bad for the stupid ginger.
"What about you, Four-badges? You ever meet a Ghost?" I turned to the peacoat. He had his hollow eyes fixed on the stranger down in the Pit. He swallowed, and then jerked his head in a twitchy nod.
"Outside of Saffron. Got pinged by a Lavender Town Channeler on the Grey Mile. Freaky asshole had a Dusclops." The peacoat muttered.
"Did you win?" I asked, curious. He blew his lips out in a sarcastic sputter, like I'd just asked him something stupid.
"Are you kidding me? I forfeited the match right after he took my first mon out. I could have won if I had kept at it, but I don't want to get haunted. If he was a poor sport about losing... -You don't take that risk when battling a Channeler. You just let them win and pray that their Ghosts aren't hungry." The peacoat answered.
"Don't have a Dark-Type, do you?" I asked. The peacoat shook his head.
"Well, shit. You wanna talk about citations? The League Legislation should just ban Ghosts from competing." I expressed my sympathy for the peacoat's misfortune. The poor fucker just shrugged and shook his head wordlessly.
"I wonder what's taking them so long?" The lass spoke up. I blew a heavy breath out of my nose and settled back.
"I was wondering the same thing." I murmured.
"Distortion seep. It's probably playing havoc with the electronics in the Pit. That creepy bastard is giving off one big sink." The peacoat threw in. That got everyone moving a little closer together.
Myself included.
"-Hell, the Channeler that I fought seemed normal enough, right up until I handed him his winnings. I couldn't even feel his Dusclop's haunting until I was standing right on his-"
The Battle Screen blinked on, interrupting the peacoat. The Battle Screen was booting up its operating system, giving us another few seconds of agonized waiting. Then the stranger's foreign Trainer Licence hit the feed. And everybody jumped out of their skins.
It was was rimmed in platinum.
A League Finalist.
This was a Championship Match.
Every eye in the Loft shot to the upper right corner of the Licence, just as the first Flame flickered into life.
It was followed by a second Flame.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
Then every person sitting in the Loft collectively shat their pants.
The Fifth Flame lit up.
-No.
Fucking-
-Way.
A Penta-Flame.
"...Where the hell is this guy from?" The peacoat was the first among us to find his weak voice.
"-Kalos." I gasped. The peacoat leaned in towards the Pit, his jaw dropping to the floor.
"...Oh my God… That's TH…" Both hands covered the peacoat's gaping mouth. I hadn't a clue what he was talking about. His eyes had grown so wide that the incredulous expression stretched his pale face into a waxy gleam.
"The Kalos Champion..."
"-The Eidolon King."
...
TH.
Don't even get me started.
-That freak…
...No.
-I'm not going there.
...Not just yet.
But that Gym battle with Brock was what set everything off.
My Gym Battle.
The end result of TH's challenge to Brock wasn't recorded as a battle.
It was a slaughter.
Brock was a Duo-Flame Championship Trainer.
He had beaten two members of the Elite four to earn those Flames.
TH was a Penta-Flame.
He had wiped out the Kalosian Elite Four and bested a League Champion to set that blaze.
-And he was Theron Halcyon.
AKA 'The Hole.'
Even Lance was terrified of him.
-Simply because TH was invincible.
And I'm not just talking about his flawless competition records in the League either.
Everybody wanted his head on a stake.
-And nobody could claim it.
Every day of TH's life was threatened by assassination plots and attempts, perpetrated by every government organization on the planet.
The Death Curse and its casualties be damned.
TH was a walking holocaust.
He did whatever the fuck he wanted to, killed whomever he wanted to, when and wherever he wanted to-
In genocide proportions.
-And nobody could touch him.
One, TH was an offshoot nephew of the Halcyon Noble house, which served as the Kalosian version of the secret service, granting TH a formidable ally in the political sector.
Two, those Ghosts guarded TH's ass like a fucking interdimensional army.
Every single assassination attempt had been foiled by his shade's unnatural awareness and supernatural powers. The failures were so humiliating that the provincial governments just decided to throw in the towel. 'Cause after the bloodbath that TH visited Sinnoh's Theocratic Parliament with…
...Yeah, nobody in power wanted to piss TH off after he single-handedly toppled a regime.
Funny enough, those guardian spirits of his seemed to be the only things that could kill TH.
All we had to do was wait for them to finish haunting him off.
But the damage that TH could do to the world in that timeframe was worthy of an epic.
A Brink Collapse Epic.
Of course, just like the average Kantonese denizen, I didn't know any of this back then. I didn't know anything pertaining to the offshore politics or the overseas Leagues. All I knew was that there was a foreign Champion who had appeared in Pewter City bearing a challenge for Brock's Gym Badge.
And I was gonna get to see how a Champion fights.
It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I was actually stupid enough to get excited about it.
I honestly thought that this was going to be an awe-inspiring educational experience.
And I was fucking wrong.
TH's battle with Brock was a nightmare to spectate.
It just about killed me and everyone in the Pit.
Those Ghosts were bad enough when they were holed up in the Distortion.
But when TH woke them up for a fight…
Oh.
My.
God.
…
Brock strode out to his ledge, a sweat towel draped across his bare shoulders.
Now Brock and I may have had a recent bitch-fit regarding my less than honorable conduct, but I had to give that squinty-eyed muscular fuck props.
He was facing TH off like a man.
Cool.
Calm.
Collect.
For all the good it was gonna do him.
Abiding by the League Code, Pewter City's Gym Leader sent his mon out first, giving the advantage of species identification to the challenger.
And what a mon it was.
Brock's Championship hardened Rhyperior.
Twenty-four tonnes of sheer rippled muscle protected by a heavily armored brown carapace.
Monkind's tessera-pedal exaggeration of the earth's long extinct Rhinocerotidae family.
It was equipped with a helical meter-and-a-half long shearing horn, robust enough to lead a charge straight through a Route wall-
-And then breach through the opposite Route wall all in the same dash.
The Battle Screen named that bulky five-meter tall beast Quartz.
-And the look on Quartz's face meant that she didn't take any guff from TH.
Now it was TH's turn.
But he didn't make a move.
We all just sat there, chewing off our nails, waiting for TH to summon up one of his horrors for battle.
But TH just stood there and smirked down Quartz like he was her opponent.
And the seconds ticked by…
Finally, Brock had tolerated enough of nothing happening.
He shouted something at TH, something that we couldn't make out from our seats in the Loft.
But TH didn't do a damn thing, and the waiting resumed...
-Right up until the unbelievable happened.
Brock gave Quartz an order to attack.
And there was still no Ghost on TH's end of the field.
That Rhyperior dropped to all fours, and tore her massive feet into the sand, ripping an earth-shaking line towards TH in a full speed charge.
Everybody in the Loft stood up in shock.
-Was Brock going to kill TH?
...As if Brock could.
That Rhyperior came to a sudden stop just one meter short of TH, and by the bucking of Quartz's hindquarters and the collapse of her bow, it was obvious that her vicious maneuver wasn't intentional.
Quartz had been forced into a violent standstill.
And a jaw-jarring ring of stone striking metal reverberated off the rock walls of the Loft.
We all rushed to the ledge of the Loft to see what had stopped Quartz from smearing TH across the Pit.
Not one of us knew what to make of it.
It was artificial. Thin. Triangular. Comprised of tarnished bronze and weathered iron. About two-meters tall and half as much wide.
And it was standing between TH and Quartz like an unshakable wall.
TH didn't even make an attempt to evade Quartz's charge. He was unmoved throughout the entire assault. His arms were crossed, his back straight, his heels positioned comfortably together.
And that wicked smirk of his had never shifted.
Then something weird happened to TH's mon.
A flurry of black tattered cloths reached out from behind the metal plate and wrapped around Quartz. That ghostly fabric was animated by the frenzied slithering of snakes when it violated Brock's struggling mon.
And those strangling banners left their mark on Quartz when she fought them off.
Quartz's carapace was burning just from contacting those streamers. Dark whorls faded and reappeared all across the Rhyperior's hide, leaving smoldering acrid cracks wherever they arose.
Quartz had just been cursed.
And the hex was already killing her.
My eye was fixed on the plate of metal when Quartz fell back to the halfway mark between her and Brock. I couldn't even fathom what the hell it was. It looked ornamental with all those tarnished bronze filigrees etched into the rusty iron. But the most peculiar design was the repoussed central boss detailing a crescent moon inlaid with turquoise, and a carved ivory egret nesting at the lune's vacant core.
Then I realized what the plate of metal was, just as the repousse fractured at the center and parted horizontally, revealing a cluster of slit-pupil steel eyes. Bloodshot. Blinking. Living. Eyes.
That metal plate was a massive escutcheon.
And that was only half of the Ghost behind it.
The Distortion opened up. It was a small rift, but we could still hear the screaming and chanting all the way from the Loft as the world was dragged towards that tiny black hole. A tatter of cloth descended from the shield, and buried itself savagely into the rift.
And then it drew a colossal flamberge from the depths of the Distortion.
It was three meters long. Either edge was chipped and pockmarked. The tip of the blade was broken off, leaving only a cruel shard for the point. The ricasso was bound in a loose knot of frayed red fabric. The pommel of the sword was linked to the shield with a tassel of that eerie black cloth. The fuller was interlaid with cracked turquoise beads and an age-stained ivory relief of a feather. That sword was every bit as decorative and as worn as the shield. They were a matching set. The pair appeared to be an ancient analogue of some ruined armory; the ceremonial property of an elegant King of yore.
The Distortion rift sealed, ending the dimensional vacuum and bringing the chorus of mad voices to a close. The massive blade was raised, and it came to a rest in the shield's bouche, leveling the jagged tip with the wounded Quartz.
Then the black streamers took upon a hulking shape between the shield and the sword.
I could barely see what it was.
The streamers were whipping wildly, concealing and diffracting the thing beneath the shroud.
Then an ethereal gale cast the fabric loose for but a second, and I saw what it was.
And my terror-numbed mind forced the vision out.
The connotations invoked by that shape were too horrifying for me to accept.
I had never seen this Ghost before.
I had never even heard of such a mon-
-If it even was a mon…
My dry eye was drawn from that abomination and up towards the crackling Battle Screen, seeking some form of enlightenment.
TH's Ghost was identified by the League records. No species was listed. Only the name.
Pariah.
The same Ghost that had almost disemboweled me, just days before in Viridian.
How the hell did TH control that?
TH rocked slightly with a chuckle. His shade-hidden eyes were staring down Brock, even as a red light lit up beneath the shroud of his Ghost, just off center of its core.
And that light looked straight at Quartz with a rabid twitching pupil.
Quartz was in bad shape. The curse was working its rancor all over her body. The cracks were turning ashen gray at their edges, peeling away Quartz's armor in wispy flakes, while black smoke wafted from the fissures in idle curls.
But Quartz was a Championship heavyweight. A little curse wasn't going to kill Brock's lead before Quartz obliterated the opponent standing in front of her. This was just another day in Quartz's life. Just another wound accrued to scab and scar.
This was exactly what Quartz had been born for.
Competition.
And though that Ghost was standing huge next to TH, Quartz towered over it with her sheer mass.
Raw power is the favored trait of any Rock-Type.
Just as it is with their Trainers.
Brock roared a command.
He wasn't worried about Quartz.
This situation was exactly what Brock lived for.
And both he and his mon shared that unrestrained desire for victory.
-That dry need to dominate.
It was the link that bound all Champions and their Pokemon together, as they persevered through every tribulation for that bloody end.
All Champions, except the unnatural adversaries arrayed against Brock and Quartz.
The Ghosts don't care about winning.
They're only concerned about inflicting as much grief and suffering upon their victims as is mortally possible.
To TH, Brock wasn't even an opponent.
In those cursed eyes, Brock was just another plaything.
-And Quartz was TH's means of exacting his entertainment.
TH never gave Pariah a command. There was no need for such mundane communication. Pariah's will was governed by his mortal lord. That Ghost was just a shadow of its master. And when the master makes his move…
...The shadow is bound to imitate.
Quartz loosened a mighty bellowed, and such was the volume of her roar that it jarred the pebbles of the Pit into a rattling cacophony below her gutteral decibels. Flexing her thick arms, Quartz tore a stone the size of a refrigerator up from the floor of the Pit. Effortlessly lifting it in one palm, Quartz took aim at Pariah-
-Then Pariah's shroud whipped wildly forward, caught in that nonexistent gust-
-And a distorted echo of howling wind sounded in time with the shifting of his blade.
Pariah was suddenly crouched before Quartz in a motion that no eye witnessed.
His blade was cast aloft his form, held static in the finish of Pariah's unseen upwards stroke.
Quartz dropped her rock.
She staggered.
Then a trickle of red raced from a fine line connecting her right hip to her left shoulder.
Pariah rose, as he lowered his blade into a resting stance.
Then Quartz reeled backwards beneath a geyser of her own blood.
Brock recalled his mon into her Pokeball before Quartz even hit the ground.
Everybody in the Loft was staring at the lonely Ghost that stood in the crimson center of the Pit.
Every mind was frozen stiff, our comprehension dulled in the process of that impenetrable and resounding-
-How?
How had Pariah dropped a Championship Rhyperior with a single blow?
How had a sword cleft a mountain in twain?
I don't even know why Brock bothered to confine Quartz into her Pokeball.
She had only seconds left to finish bleeding out when Brock released her next.
Quartz was already dead. There was nothing that anyone in the world could do to save her from that lethal wound.
Pariah had cleaved Quartz's heart in half with his stroke.
He waited silently on the field like a chess piece, inanimate and surreal.
Then TH flicked his wrist in a lazy gesture.
-And Pariah slammed his sword's jagged point into the sand.
Before a giant Distortion rift opened up beneath Pariah to swallow the shroud, sword, and shield.
The rift was dragging the entire Pit into the Distortion. Reflex saved my beret from being consumed by that hell, while my radio screeched aught but static, and the Battle Screen whined and flickered off. The Distortion's scream was killing our tech as it drew all of existence into the nightmare realm.
Brock answered at once, raising a new Pokeball to shoulder height. A jade and beige parapodium appeared from Brock's pokeball. Knobby roots burrowed into the sand, saving the mon from the nightmare's pull. A prostomium separated from the base of the mon, and ascended on a sinewy stalk. The pink chaetae lined pedicel of a Cradily's bud split open to reveal the multicolored core and the barbed prehensive stigma. Brock's Cradily refused to budge, waving its vivid stigma around in an acoustically overwhelmed hiss of challenge. Then the voices from the Distortion became muffled, as something breached the rift to answer that challenge.
A mass of white snakes poured out of the rift, grasping the sand surrounding the void with all the sinister vigor of a spider's appendages.
"Oh, hell no…" The peacoat at my shoulder could barely choke out those words in a frail whimper. I looked at my pale compatriot with renewed dread. That voice didn't bode well in my unnerved consciousness. Four-Badges knew what was coming.
"-Not Typhon…"
My eyes shot back to the rift, as more snakes poured out. But I was just beginning to realize that TH's next Ghost was not merely the horde of serpents that I initially perceived it to be.
Those snakes were ropey, segmented, flat.
Each was tipped in a ragged red feathered frill.
Then I heard the moan, mere seconds before Typhon pulled its crown from the Distortion.
Blue.
Translucent.
Massive.
First the bell rose slowly from the rift, followed shortly by the medusa. As the medusa's white bouquet surfaced, the revelation pertaining to Typhon's identity struck me with all of its vast horror.
Those white things weren't snakes.
They were the oral arms of a Jellicent.
The haunters of the deep sea.
The ethereal grave wrights of mankind's aquatic vessels.
-And the Ghost that TH had used to drown both the House of Coronet and the House of Epoch within the Sinnoh theocracy's Parliamentary chambers.
Typhon.
What a stupid name for an apocalypse.
Typhon hauled the remainder of his being from the abyss.
That bell was a perfect sphere. A colossal organ carved with the wrinkles and crevices of a brain swelled against the interior of the bell, filling the shimmering intramural brine with a disturbing spectacle.
Hundreds of red lights flickered and flashed from the confines of those cerebral grooves, each focusing on a feature of this realm before fading away and reappearing in another fleshy furrow. Those red lights were eyes, blinking and glaring at the unmarred world beyond the Distortion with hate.
A ballooned and ribbed white collar separated the bell from the medusa, and four pale veiny petals drifted below the blue horror in swaying motions.
The bell alone measured a jaw-dropping forty meters in circumference, and the medusa stretched on for another thirty meters beyond that.
But the oral arms writhing from the tattered medusa were reaching out in a staggering sixty meters of length.
Now I knew that Jellicent could get big...
-But I never knew that they could get that big.
The Distortion rift collapsed in on itself, and the spectral coup of Sinnoh was released from its black prison.
Typhon raised itself into the sky, undulating its body in slow rolling motions, ascending towards the Pit's horizon with a marine grace. Once Typhon had floated its mass free from the confines of the Pit, the medusa fanned outwards, concealing the heavens with Typhon's size alone. The medusa's spread covered such an expansive area, that the evening sunlight was eclipsed by Typhon's veritable scale before the warming solar rays even touched the Pit.
We were looking up at the biggest nightmare the world had ever known, our minds simply incapable of digesting this ludicrous scene. Typhon's alien form and supernatural existence drowned the entire Pit in a blood chilling dread.
Typhon didn't even look like a mon.
It didn't even look possible.
That Ghost looked like something from a completely different world.
Typhon moaned in that horrid voice again, ignoring the stunned Cradily beneath his shadow.
Then the oral arms spread wide-
-And the medusa's core bloomed out like a rotting lily, revealing Typhon's bizarre maw.
No.
That wasn't a mouth.
It was a hole-
-That led straight into the watery depths of hell.
Typhon made a sound.
But not a sound known to man.
A horrifying sound.
It was a concerto of the Distortion's chorus and Typhon's cry.
The deafening slurp of water being sucked down a drain.
The dying moan of some oceanic monstrosity.
And the gurgling rumble of Typhon's loathing and malice.
The Pit began to fill. Shadows were summoned forth from the stone walls and the sandy floor, all of which rose to take upon smokey three dimensional forms. The summoned miasma rippled in the dry air with the likeness of ink drops diffusing and clouding into clear water. Typhon was reshaping the terra milieu into a design more closely resembling his own preferences.
It was no longer Brock's Pit.
Typhon was turning the Gym's earthen ring into a Distortion lake.
And everyone in the Pit was trapped by the stone walls when the miasma levels began to rise.
Brock didn't waste a moment of his life.
Another pokeball released its occupant, and an Aerodactyl bore Brock to safety on its leathery thirty meter wingspan before the tide even licked his toes.
We weren't so lucky.
Peacoat and I grabbed the two shocked kids and backpedalled against the wall with them clutched tightly in our arms.
The cloudy shadows had just spilled over the ledge, and the Loft was filling with the Distortion's warped mockery of water.
If that shit even touched us…
-We were dead.
Just another group of casualties for TH's track record.
Just four more souls lost to the Distortion's Prophet.
The miasma drowned the first row of benches.
Then it rose past the second.
It stopped just short of the third.
Leaving us just two rows of cover from the misty white hands reaching from the shadowy wakes.
We weren't even watching the battle between TH's Typhon and Brock's Cradily.
We were watching the shoreline, just waiting for those hands to stop wringing and beckoning…
-And to start grabbing and pulling us under the miasma.
It wasn't until Typhon released a descending constellation of broken blue flames that we were able to address the confrontation with our shaken perceptions.
The Distortion's decaying fire fell on Brock's Cradily with a loud wailing of human tongues.
Brock's Cradily could withstand submersion in the miasma due to its aquatic constitution, but the raining stars conjured up by Typhon was not recorded in the prehistoric photoautotroph's expansive roster of inherent tolerances.
Nothing alive appreciates being burned by Ghostfire.
Those flames didn't erupt in a flash of brilliant light and heat, or even engulf the rocky weed in flames.
They worked much more slowly than that.
Cradily was cursed. Rotting flames smoldered across her shape, rising and falling in blue flares from beneath her hardened cuticle.
That fire wasn't burning Cradily's exterior-
-It was cooking her from the inside out.
Brock recalled his mineral reed, before Typhon's next attack could finish her off. Brock's Cradily was benched and removed from the match, if only to save her from the consequences of TH's unrestricted challenge.
There TH stood, the sole living thing in the lake, untouched by the apparitions inundating Typhon's cistern.
Looking calmly up at his azure mothership, arms casually folded and a pleasant smile playing on his lips.
TH was slaying Championship mon like it was an amusing pastime.
He didn't have a single concern worth expression, despite the risks associated with his unrestricted match.
Why would TH even care about his Ghosts?
Brock couldn't kill them.
The Gym Leader hadn't even managed to scratch one yet.
Brock was forced to engage TH and Typhon from the indigo wings of his Aerodactyl, now that his Pit was submerged beneath the miasma.
Brock was two mon out.
He'd used one of his three substitutions.
His opponent had claimed the field, without forfeiting a single asset in the maiming.
Now Brock needed to make a mark, before the riptide of Typhon dragged his Duo-Flame status down into the abyss.
Brock released his legendary trump card.
Even a reclusive Ranger like myself recognised that ancient bipedal figure, that scuffed trilobita carapace, and that massive pair of finely honed sickles.
Lithe, The Harvest Dancer.
Brock's star Kabutops.
-The mon that had single handedly shredded through Bruno's entire Elite Four Championship team last season to earn Brock his second Flame.
In comparison to most of Brock's Championship mon, Lithe wasn't particularly large.
He was even shorter than Brock.
-But those man-sized sickles and and those sleek razored plates were married to a graceful analogue.
The Harvest Dancer.
The Riverborn Reaper.
Lithe, the Primordial Danseur.
And Typhon had provided Lithe with his crucial theatrical environment.
A reservoir of fluid.
Brock's Kabutops breached the surface of the miasma with his silent plunge.
Lithe took off in a circular descent, orbiting around Typhon in the Distortion lake at a speed of roughly forty-three knots.
That Kabutops was fucking fast.
Typhon released another moan, and Distortion flames formed at the red tips of his oral feathers.
Brock roared a command, and Lithe put down another eruption of speed, juking in his revolution in order to evade the seeking flames of Typhon. The flames congregated in a cluster, moving on intercept with Lithe's orbit.
That Kabutops dodged every single one of them like it was child's play.
Lithe was displaying the agility and grace that had earned him his status as a legend.
Brock was pulling out all of the stops.
He wanted his Pit back.
Typhon conjured up another volley of flames, but Brock was finished with the defensive tactics.
The evasion antics had provided enough time for Lithe to procure the information that he needed.
Brock and Lithe were preparing for an assault.
While dodging every incoming flame, Lithe's sickles had been vibrating at micro oscillations, using the miasma as a sonic medium for calibration. Lithe was trying to gauge the physical parameters of Typhon's resonant frequency, all for augmenting the slicing capabilities of the Kabutop's cleaving edge.
Now that the fine tuning was adequately calculated, Lithe's pulsating sickles could rend Typhon's physiology at the molecular level.
Not every Kabutops had an ear for music.
It was the skill that made Lithe so proficient.
-And it was why they called him the Harvest Dancer.
Lithe jettisoned himself out of the Distortion lake-
-Both elbows pressed up against his abdomen, sickles protruding below him with the edges facing up.
-And the Riverborn Reaper tore through Typhon like a prehistoric bullet.
Lithe was already angling his follow-up upon reentry into the lake-
-While the mothership Typhon deflated and descended.
Lithe's next strike cut half of Typhon's medusa clean off of the falling monster-
-And the blinding subsequent blow split open Typhon's bell when Lithe's trajectory met its completion.
Lithe.
Watching him battle was less of spectating a cage match, and more of observing a ballet.
They called him a danseur for a reason.
Typhon was finished. The seemingly uncontestable nightmare had finally met its match.
-But one look at TH's smirk told us otherwise.
The salvo of Distortion flames intercepted Lithe on the fourth hewing bout, forestalling the raize of Typhon.
Lithe returned to the miasma, roasting with an internal fire.
-And a halo rift surrounded the severed Ghost.
The shadows and hands born from the miasma rushed forth to embrace their fallen master. Typhon disappeared into a blackened cosmic orb, compressing the abomination's mass down into a third of its original size.
Then the halo rift dissipated with the suddenly expanding cosmic orb, and the shadows withdrew back into the miasma.
The orb ruptured in an interdimensional shockwave.
Revealing Typhon.
Full scaled.
Unsullied.
The halo rift had undone all of Lithe's clever blade work.
TH didn't command a host of primeval spirits.
He was the architect behind a congress of heathen gods.
Typhon released a new roar, and the Distortion lake trembled at its master's voice.
A fresh element was added to the Distortion seep, as all the world grew darkened.
A night so thick that it defied light's existence invaded the Pit with a sudden tide.
-And the cries of the Distortion could be heard as though from a distance.
We were all trapped within a sub-cell of the nightmare realm.
The only light within this abyss was Typhon's hundreds of flashing red eyes, and the blue flames sizzling out of Lithe.
A sudden nebula of luminescent violet mist formed, filling the weeping dark with an eerie aurora.
Then the entire cloud of violet haze converged and imploded around the suspended Lithe.
The blue flames eating Lithe from within turned black-
-And Brock's legendary reaper crackled and burned away into the Distortion with an agonized scream.
With the same moan that had heralded its arrival, Typhon cast off the unhallowed abyss, and gave way to the sallow light of day.
And Typhon stood alone with TH in the Pit.
There was nothing left of Lithe.
Not even ashes.
Brock's Aerodactyl flew over TH, and something white descended from the strafing mon at the turn in its pass.
It fell slowly, almost indolent in its downwards sway.
-Then Brock's sweat towel landed at TH's feet.
We of the Loft had forgotten that this was a League match.
Who could fault us for that?
We had just played witness to a vision of the world's end.
But that white towel summoned us back into the setting with its simple connotation.
-Brock had forfeited the match.
TH waved his hand again, and the sea of whispering miasma sank beneath the sand. Typhon's colossal form darkened with the shadows, as the Distortion bore him silently away.
The real world embraced us in all of its glorious warmth and light, the sublime sensations inspired by its return seemed almost new and unreal to those of us in Loft.
The Aerodactyl touched down before TH; as a gasping and weeping Brock fell from his mount's shoulders.
The two men just stared at each other in that gods forsaken battleground, neither regressing from their respective demeanors.
Then TH rotated on the balls of his feet, connecting his heels in a click, while his left arm fell loosely to his side in time with the clapping of his right fist against his left collar.
-Before The Devil of Kalos deftly extended his right fist at shoulder level towards Brock, displaying the salute of the Kalosian Royal Guard.
With the parting formality addressed, TH turned on a heel, and sauntered his way out of the Pit without even speaking a word.
Leaving Brock to mourn for his ruined Championship team.
And leaving those of us still sane within the Loft to dread the coming night.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
…
Novice Rank: Denoted by a green rim around their Trainer's License, Novice rank Trainers are virtual beginners to the League competition. The vast majority of 'Challenger's Rights' are denied to Novice ranked Trainers due to their inexperience with League Codes and Species Clauses. Novice ranked Gym Battles limit both the challenger and the Gym Leader to a grand total of three mon, three substitutions, and the most extensive list of Species Regulations.
Intermediate Rank: The immediate Trainer rank following Novice, Intermediate Licenses are rimmed in blue. Intermediate rank comes in two stages:
Intermediate-One: Awarded to a Trainer who has earned two Gym Badges through League certified competition. Beyond being recognised for higher levels of competition, Intermediate-One Trainers are still denied the vast majority of 'Challenger's Rights' for the same reasons Novice Trainers are. Adjusted Species Regulations grant Intermediate ranked Trainers a higher tolerance for competitive mon species.
Intermediate-Two: Awarded to a Trainer who has earned three Gym Badges through League certified competition. The Intermediate-Two ranked Trainers secure the first set of 'Challenger's Rights' for displaying an understanding and adherence to the League Code Species Clauses. The roster of applicable mon species in Intermediate-Two competition is expanded, allowing for more powerful mon to be deployed in League certified competition.
One of the first 'Challenger's Rights' secured by Intermediate-Two ranked Trainers is additional Gym challenge options. Most notably, Intermediate-Two ranked Trainers can request Major ranked Gym challenges in order to further expand the roster of applicable mon-species to that of a Major ranked Gym challenge.
Major Rank: The immediate Trainer rank following Intermediate-Two, Major Licenses are rimmed in red. Awarded to a Trainer who has earned five Gym Badges through League certified competition. Full access to the 'Challenger's Rights' is granted to a Major ranked Trainer. The roster of applicable mon species in Major competition is dramatically expanded, allowing for most species of mon to be deployed in League certified competition. Major ranked Gym Battles limit both the challenger and the Gym Leader to a grand total of four mon, and three substitutions.
Premiership Rank: The immediate Trainer rank following Major, Premiership Licenses are rimmed in white. Awarded to a Trainer who has earned seven Gym Badges through League certified competition. All Species Restrictions are removed from Premiership competition, though the Pit-Point system is now implemented. Major ranked League certified competition limits Premiership Trainers to a grand total of 300 Pit-Points for determining their League registered Premiership teams.
A species of mon possessing the competition equivalency of a Pidgey decreases the Pit-Point's total count by 25 points.
A species of mon possessing the competition equivalency of a Butterfree decreases the Pit-Point's total count by 50 points.
A species of mon possessing the competition equivalency of a Vileplume decreases the Pit-Point's total count by 75 points.
A species of mon possessing the competition equivalency of a Arcanine decreases the Pit-Point's total count by 100 points.
A species of mon possessing the competition equivalency of a Dragonite decreases the Pit-Point's total count by 150 points.
Premiership Trainers can utilize anywhere from two to six mon in League certified competitions, the number of applicable mon is determined by the Pit-Point system.
An example:
A Premiership Trainer with six Butterfrees effectively drains their entire reservoir of Pit-Points, but maxes out their team's roster limit by utilizing weaker species of mon.
A Premiership Trainer with two Dragonites effectively drains their entire reservoir of Pit-Points, but maxes out their team's power potential by limiting the size of their team's roster.
The Pit-Point system was designed to test Quantity versus Quality, and a Premiership Trainer with six Butterfrees can legitimately challenge a Premiership Trainer with only two Dragonites in recognised League certified competition.
Championship Gym challenges can be requested from Premiership Trainers, which effectively revokes the Pit-Point system.
Championship Rank: The immediate Trainer rank following Premiership, Championship Licenses are rimmed in gold. Awarded to a Trainer who has earned eight Gym Badges through League certified competition. All Species Restrictions and the Pit-Point System are removed.
Championship Trainers use only the strongest species of mon in League certified competition.
Most League Codes are unobserved in Championship ranked competition. The remaining League Codes can be removed altogether by declaring unrestricted format.
There are absolutely no League enforced limits in unrestricted Championship ranked competition. Only the strongest mon and cleverest Trainers can survive in sustained unrestricted Championship ranked competition.
Unrestricted format is generally declared as a formality, given that the fatality rate of Championship mon is considered excessively high.
Declaring unrestricted format effectively frees both participants from legal action being pursued by either party upon the death of a Championship mon.
Championship ranked matches remove all roster limitations from the participants, effectively allowing a grand total of six mon to be used in League certified competition, yet the three substitutions limit remains applicable.
League Finalist: The immediate Trainer rank following Championship, League Finalist Licenses are rimmed in platinum. Awarded to a Trainer who has earned eight Gym Badges through League certified competition, survived the Victory Road Trial, and who have successfully passed the qualifying round in the League Seasonal Finals.
The final restriction pertaining to the limit of substitutions is removed from the League Seasonal Finals, otherwise the same formula that is applied in the Championship ranked matches is also applied in the League Seasonal Final matches.
Unrestricted format in the League Seasonal Finals is enforced by League Code.
League Flame(s): A new five tiered-system of rank is added to a League Finalist's License upon defeating one member of the League's Elite Four. After a participant determined quota of Finalist matches have been won, a League Finalist can call one member of the Elite Four to a challenge. If the League Finalist proves victorious against their first Elite Four challenge, another bout of Finalist matches ensues, until a certain quota of remaining Finalists have been defeated. Upon completion of the second quota of Finalists, the quota victor can challenge another member of the Elite Four. The process repeats until the quota victor is defeated, or every member of the Elite Four has been bested by a quota victor. Upon securing their Fourth Flame, a quota victor can replace any member of Elite Four at their discretion, or challenge the League Champion for the Fifth Flame and the League Throne.
Gym Leader: Any League Finalist can apply to the League for the role of Gym Leader. The only stipulation for succession is that a Trainer must defeat a current Gym Leader in the post-finals of League Seasonal Finals, and they must utilize a team recognised by the League as a 'Type specialist team,' or what is more commonly known as a 'mono team'. A bare minimum of five Pokemon on a mono team must share the same species-Type index. The sixth mon, or 'the wildcard' can be of any species-Type, and is generally reserved for a species-Type that counters any and all weakness shared by the the mono team's declared specialty species-Type.
Upon defeating a previous Gym Leader, the new Gym Leader inherits their predecessor's Gym and station, though the Gym's species-Type specialization will reflect the declared species-Type utilized in the defeat of the previous Gym Leader. Due to the mono team requirement, few challenges are presented for Gym Leader succession. The 1075th Gym Congress of Indigo: Kanto Division is comprised of Brock Aissatou, Misty Willows, Lieutenant 'Jackie' Surge, Erika Valhallen, Janine Kurosawa, Sabrina Jahanshah, Blaine Breitbarth, and Giovanni Delimonto.
Elite Four: Quad-Flame former League Finalists who stand highest amongst all Trainers as the best of the best; save for the League Champion. Elite Four members commonly rotate or are replaced at the end of every League Seasonal Finals. Due to the constant Elite Four rotation, most long standing members wield mono teams in the event of succession. Once ousted from the Elite Four, any prior member can challenge a Gym Leader in the post-finals for a League recognised station, consequently justifying the frequency of mono teams utilized in the Elite Four. The 1,075th Elite Four of Indigo is comprised of Koga Kurosawa, Bruno Endfield, Agatha Poe, and Lorelai Nikitin.
League Champion: The League Finalist who secured the quota victor rank four times, defeated the entirety of the Elite Four, crushed the opposing final quota victor, before challenging the League Champion-
-And then proved victorious against the most skilled and most powerful Trainer recognised by the League.
The Reigning Champion replaces the former Champion, who at that point, must wait for the next League Seasonal Finals to challenge and defeat the newly formed League in order to reclaim their title, or alternatively, challenge a Gym Leader in the post-finals to secure a station recognised by the League.
League Champions are rarely challenged by the Quad-Flame League Finalists, for the simple reason of that Fifth-Flame's connotation.
The Champion of Champions. The Alpha of Alphas. The King of Kings.
Only the most powerful and most intelligent Trainers can even hope to defeat the legendary League Champion.
The League Champion's reputation of prowess, the exhaustion and sacrifices experienced in the Quad-Flame's ascent, and the risk of losing everything thus far accrued, save for a decorated License; is all sufficient reason enough to ward off any challengers for the League Throne.
The Champions survived the very same League gauntlet that is imposed upon their challengers.
The Champions bested the Elite Four in due process through trial of combat.
...And the Reigning Champion defeated a former Champion at their prime to top it all off.
The League Champion is the highest rank achievable in the League, and its merits and privileges are countless.
There are currently three active Penta-Flame League Champions, both reigning and former, recognised in the Indigo League Registry.
The Reigning Indigo League Champion, Lance M. Drakengard.
AKA: "The Dragon King."
The Former Indigo League Champion, Blaine L. Breitbarth.
AKA: "The Ignis King."
The Indigo League Champion who served prior to Blaine L. Breitbarth, and the only League Champion to have ever retired from the Indigo League before death or defeat, Samuel J. Oak.
AKA: "The Sage King."
Indigo League Registry Update: The Reigning Kalos Champion has been confirmed actively competing within the Indigo League Registry. Due to to the Station-Recognition-Agreement of the I.L.A. (International League Association) The Kalosian League Champion's rank is also recognized and recorded here.
The Reigning Kalos League Champion, Theron V. Halcyon.
AKA: "The Eidolon King."
…
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Taking the "Pocket" out of "Pocket Monsters…"
...One chapter at a time.
