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The Saga of Kings, Book I: Hero

Written by,

Vile M.F. Slanders

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*T...T...T...T*

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"...Du Ut Des… (...I give that you might give…)"

-The Golden Rule.

-v-

Chapter VIII: Non Es Amicus Meus

"Do I have to read every blood-soaked page of this? Or has High Command finally granted me the clearance to kill your heartless ass instead?"

"I'm sure that you're familiar with your own regiment, Colonel Howes. You are permitted to peruse the documentation at your discretion."

"...So that's ACE's spineless way of telling an old-timer like me to buck the fuck up and swallow a load when I'd rather chomp down on the tip..."

"..."

"Item number one. Corporal García."

"..."

-.-

Name: Carlos S. García

Service Tag: 19782242

Division: Ranger Corps; 2nd Infantry Battalion

Designation: Infantry (Support Unit)

Regiment: Viridian PO-03

Current Rank: Corporal

Blood Type: O-Positive

Sex: Male

Ethnicity: Hispanic

Eyes: Brown

Hair Color: Black

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 172 lbs.

Age: 17

Status: Single

-Official Statement: Born 1501, December 11th; Cerulean District, Jonas Hospital. Attended Cerulean's 3rd Precinct Public School in 1507; Graduated from Cerulean's 3rd Precinct Public School with a 2.3 GPA in 1515. Enlisted into the Ranger Corps in 1515, spent one year in Saffron's Fort Carren Academy. Finished basic training 14th in his class of 89 cadets. Applied to Viridian PO-03 in 1516 with the intention of completing Advanced Combat Training and Command Set Skills. Makes regular use of his Leave, and his corresponding course grades have since plummeted. Proctor notes exceptional situational awareness and quick adaptation to rapidly changing circumstances; However, a lack of determination and a perchance for practical jokes damages the unit's chances of ever achieving a position of command.

-Official Consensus: Of every Junior-Regiment unit made available to ACE's selection, Corporal García has spent the most time in company to Warrant Officer Bastard. Interactions between the two have suggested a camaraderie that is rather lacking in Warrant Officer Bastard's other peer relationships. In tapped radio communiques between the two, Warrant Officer Bastard has even offered coaching and reassurance to Corporal García, and Corporal García has expressed a certain admiration for Warrant Officer Bastard's duly achieved accolades. ACE's Analytic personnel have determined that Corporal García is the closest article that Warrant Officer Bastard has to a confidant.

-Verdict: Though the relationship is far from ideal, Corporal García remains our best "fallback gauge" should any other Echo Units expire before Warrant Officer Bastard manages to establish a relationship with his command. ACE has recommended Corporal García as a definitive Echo candidate, and Ranger High Command has approved ACE's recommendation.

-.-

"What a waste of a halfway decent Infantry unit. Like I'm not already short on footsoldiers…"

"..."

"Item number two. Navigations Specialist."

"..."

-.-

Name: Erin M. Stilts

Service Tag: 14556764

Division: Ranger Corps; Office of Intelligence Affairs

Designation: Navigations/Logistics Personnel

Regiment: Viridian PO-03

Current Rank: Private

Blood Type: A-Positive

Sex: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Eyes: Blue

Hair Color: Blonde

Height: 6'0"

Weight: 162 lbs.

Age: 16

Status: Single

-Official Statement: Born 1502, May 8th; Celadon District, St. Mary's Hospital. Attended Celadon's 4th Precinct Public School in 1508; Graduated from Saffron's 3rd Precinct Public School with a 3.6 GPA in 1514. Enlisted into the Ranger Corps in 1516, spent two years in Saffron's Fort Carren Academy. Finished basic training 37th in his class of 78 cadets. Graduated from Intelligence Acquisition and Navigation 4th in his class of 18 cadets. Applied to Viridian PO-03 in 1518 with the intention of Frontier Expedition and Cartography training. Makes regular use of his Leave, and while his corresponding course grades have been maintained, his commitment to duty has suffered. Proctor notes rapid information processing and exceptional test scores, though the ability to apply his skill set in the field under duress has been quoted, "disappointing." Proctor recommends deployment to a secure Command under a tolerant Commander.

-Official Consensus: Due to the nature of Echo Squad's "mission," a Logistics and Navigation Specialist is required for appearances. Ranger High Command approves the deployment of Private Stilts due to their assessment of Private Stilts's disposability.

-Verdict: Given that the selection of candidates is limited to individuals who display a lack of commitment to the Ranger cause; ACE selected Private Stilts primarily for his skillset, rather than any other definitive synergy with Warrant Officer Bastard. Though we do not expect this coupling to foster an ascertainable relationship between Private Stilts and Warrant Officer Bastard, we have isolated Private Stilts from the list of candidates for one simple reason; Similar to Warrant Officer Bastard, Private Stilts displays a fondness for historical texts. ACE believes that this common ground could potentially pave the way for an emotional attachment forming between Warrant Officer Bastard and Private Stilts. ACE has recommended Private Stilts as a possible Echo candidate, and Ranger High Command has approved ACE's recommendation.

-.-

"Yet another unit that I don't have enough of, being fed to the dogs for your agency's political games. So how does ACE manage their payroll corrections? Do they assassinate any Operatives who dare claim their pensions at retirement? Scratch that. I don't want to fucking know."

"..."

"Item number three-? Oh my God. I can't believe that High Command approved this…"

"..."

-.-

Name: Brenda H. Eckleson

Service Tag: O-3589814

Division: Ranger Corps; Uniformed Surgeon's Service

Designation: Field Surgeon

Medical Certifications:

-Class-2 Pokemon Physician/Pokemon Surgeon

-Class-3 Human Physician/Human Surgeon

Regiment: Viridian PO-03

Current Rank: Lance Corporal

Blood Type: AB-Positive

Sex: Female

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Eyes: Blue

Hair Color: Brown

Height: 5'6"

Weight: 118 lbs.

Age: 16

Status: Married

-Official Statement: Born 1502, July 27th; Pewter District, Hestia Delivery Clinic. Attended Pewter's 4th Precinct Public School in 1508; Graduated from Pewter's 4th Precinct Public School with a 4.0 GPA in 1514. Enlisted into the Ranger Corps in 1514, spent one year in Saffron's Fort Carren Academy. Finished basic training 42nd in her class of 109 cadets. Entered into Saffron's University of Medicine in 1514 on the G.I Bill with the expressed ambition of becoming a multi-species medical practitioner; presently attending courses when on Leave; current University 3.8 GPA. Applied to Viridian PO-03 in 1517 with the intention of "Offering aid to the wounded". Makes regular use of her Leave to attend university courses in both Pokemon and Human medical fields. Proctor notes exceptional application of medical skills, the ability to operate effectively under duress, and "stalwart" determination at the surgeon's table. However; situational awareness is lackluster at best, willingness to engage hostile Pokemon is nothing short of non-existent, unit becomes emotionally compromised when faced with adversity, and Proctor harbors suspicions of servicemon coddling. Proctor recommends immediate remedial combat conditioning and an investigation into servicemon coddling allegations.

-Official Consensus: Viridian PO-03 Command has confirmed the relationship of a sexual nature in regards to Lance Corporal Eckleson's and Warrant Officer Bastard's interactions. Though Warrant Officer Bastard's list of sexually active partners is almost obscene in its enormity, Lance Corporal Eckleson is currently the only confirmed Junior-Regiment Unit known. Whatsmore, records indicate repeated trysts between Lance Corporal Eckleson and Warrant Officer Bastard, as well as Warrant Officer Bastard's expressed civility in social interactions with Lance Corporal Eckleson. This feeds reason to suspect the development of a healthier relationship between Lance Corporal Eckleson and Warrant Officer Bastard than that of Warrant Officer Bastard's other sexual partners. ACE has pressed Ranger High Command against their own reservations regarding Lance Corporal Eckleson's utility as a Surgeon and the projected fatality rate of the Echo Initiative. ACE believes that Warrant Officer Bastard harbors prolific enough emotional ties to Lance Corporal Eckleson which could very well compromise his ability to act as a Commanding Officer.

-Verdict: ACE has assured Ranger High Command that this sacrifice is necessary. Despite Lance Corporal Eckleson's potential service utility to the Ranger Corps, no other Echo candidate can fill the role of an "emotional liability" as well as Lance Corporal Eckleson can. ACE has recommended Lance Corporal Eckleson as a definitive Echo candidate, and Ranger High Command has approved ACE's recommendation.

-.-

"...You people are fucking sick…"

"..."

"...Item number four. And here I thought that my heart was already broken…"

"..."

-.-

Name: Peter M. Samuels

Service Tag: 18699845

Division: Ranger Corps; Office of Intelligence Affairs

Designation: Communications Operator

Regiment: Viridian PO-03

Current Rank: Private

Blood Type: O-Positive

Sex: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Eyes: Brown

Hair Color: Brown

Height: 5'5"

Weight: 141 lbs.

Age: 16

Status: Single

-Official Statement: Born 1502, December 21st; Vermilion District, St. Augustine's Military Hospital. Attended Vermilion's 1st Precinct Public School in 1508; Graduated from Fuchsia's 6th Precinct Public School with a 3.2 GPA in 1515. Enlisted into the Ranger Corps in 1516, spent two years in Saffron's Fort Carren Academy. Finished basic training 69th in his class of 78 cadets. Graduated from Radio Communications and Relay Management 1st in his class of 23 cadets. Applied to Viridian PO-03 in 1518 with the intention of "building up his radio identity's rep". Unit makes regular use of his Leave, and is currently undergoing remedial PT courses. Proctor notes excessive nervousness even in contained situations, and frequent hesitation when given commands. Proctor recommends immediate reevaluation of unit's service in the Corps, and has suggested martial consideration of unit's honorable discharge under the premise of questionable mental constitution.

-Official Consensus: Another Echo candidate selected for his skillset rather than a previously established relationship with Warrant Officer Bastard, Private Samuels also possess the notable distinction of "Echo's variable." Due to his innately timid nature, Private Samuels will likely develop an adverse relationship with Warrant Officer Bastard; Though it has been noted of late, that Warrant Officer Bastard has exhibited mentorial behaviors in his interactions with individuals of a specific disposition. Most definitively, individuals of a emotionally compromised disposition. Though it is unlikely compared to the alternative, the possibility remains feasible that Warrant Officer Bastard could develop an amiable relationship with Private Samuels.

-Verdict: Due to his mandated skillset and his "variable" distinction, Private Samuels tops the candidate list of ACE's selected Echo Communications Personnel. ACE has recommended Private Samuels as a possible Echo candidate, and Ranger High Command has approved ACE's recommendation.

-.-

"I can't believe that you're making me send this kid out on a suicide mission when he shouldn't even be wearing a fucking Beret…"

"..."

"...Item number five. Oh look. A little ray of sunshine in this shitstorm of inhumanities..."

"...?"

-.-

Name: Amber E. Hail

Service Tag: W-2131624

Division: Ranger Corps; Department of Martial Engineers

Designation: Field Technician

Technician Qualification Grade: Class-5

Regiment: Viridian PO-03

Current Rank: Petty Warrant Officer

Blood Type: O-Negative

Sex: Female

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Eyes: Brown

Hair Color: Red

Height: 5'10"

Weight: 99 lbs.

Age: 31

Status: Single (Divorced: Formally Married)

-Official Statement: Born 1487, January 1st; Cerulean District, Jonas Hospital. Attended Cerulean's 1st Precinct Public School in 1493; Graduated from Cerulean's 4th Precinct Public School with a 3.2 GPA in 1501. Enlisted into the Ranger Corps in 1502, spent two years in Saffron's Fort Carren Academy. Finished basic training 93rd in her class of 113 cadets. Graduated from Mechanical and Electrical Engineering 27th in her class of 27 cadets. Applied to Viridian PO-03 in 1504 with the intention of serving the Corps. Makes regular use of her Leave, though no complaints pertaining to unit's lawful absence has ever been recorded. Proctor refuses to offer any recommendation other than an immediate discharge from the Corps. When pressed for the Proctor's reasoning regarding a martial discharge recommendation, Proctor was quoted, "Medical, honorable, or dishonorable? I don't give a shit. Just get it out of my uniform."

-Official Consensus: Ranger High Command's own recommendation, ACE seconds Warrant Officer Hail's inclusion on the Echo Initiative. Easily the most hostile relationship Warrant Officer Bastard has maintained in the Ranger Corps, Warrant Officer Hail will likely serve as a "stress test" in Warrant Officer Bastard's first official Command. To ensure that Warrant Officer Bastard's ability to refrain from compromising the mission with his own prejudices, ACE places their faith in Warrant Officer Hail's ability to provide Warrant Officer Bastard with a constant source of controversial behavior.

-Verdict: Negotiations with Ranger High Command proceeded fluidly and concisely. ACE has recommended Warrant Officer Hail as a definitive Echo candidate, and Ranger High Command has approved ACE's recommendation.

-.-

"...I take it back. Not even Amber deserves this…"

"..."

"...And of course, item number six. The Isaac to my Abraham. Only I doubt that some higher power is going to mercifully stay my blade…"

"..."

-.-

Name: Zane Bastard (Birth name: N/A; Awaiting confirmation)

Service Tag: W-2110573

Division: Ranger Corps; Special Operations

Designation: Field Technician/Combat Engineer/Special Operative

Technician Qualification Grade: Class-3

Ordnance Requisition Clearance: Class-5 (Currently suspended)

SO Security Clearance Levels:

-Confidential Level: Permissible

-Secret Level: Discretional

-Top Secret Level: Restricted

Regiment: Viridian PO-03

Current Rank: Petty Warrant Officer (Promotion to Chief Warrant Officer pending)

Blood Type: B-Positive

Sex: Male

Ethnicity: Mulatto

Eyes: Hazel

Hair Color: Black

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 189 lbs.

Age: 17

Status: Single

-Official Statement: Born 1501, June 5th; Saffron District, Renault's Private Hospital. Attended Warwick's Independent School for the Gifted in the Celadon District in 1505; Graduated from Warwick's Independent School for the Gifted with a 4.0 GPA in 1514. Enlisted into the Ranger Corps in 1515, spent two year in Saffron's Fort Carren Academy. Finished basic training 1st in his class of 82 cadets. Graduated from Mechanical and Electrical Engineering 1st in his class of 19 cadets. Applied to Viridian PO-03 in 1517 with a request to switch designations from Field Technician to Combat Engineer under the premise, "Field-Tech is for pussies. Give me the hardcore shit." Unit has made negligible use of his Leave. Proctor notes exceptional situational awareness, exceptional performance under extreme duress, exceptional practice of tactical analysis and tactical deployment, exceptional commitment to directives, exceptional leadership element, exceptional adaptation to rapidly changing circumstances, flawless physical performance, and record setting achievements in unit's every field of practice. However, unit displays certain sociopathic behaviors, such as: Extreme aggression when interacting with his peers; a blatant disregard for martial etiquette when addressing his peers; frequent elitist and/or demeaning remarks while in uniform; a complete lack of social graces in recorded civilian interactions; is openly hostile in any confrontation, including those between the aforementioned unit and his superiors; and an investigation into the unit's private activities has revealed severe emotional trauma brought about by family separation, as well as confirmed cases of servicemon coddling. Proctor recommends that the unit's servicemon be executed if the unit fails to correct his own behavior regarding the training of his servicemon, and similarly recommends that a psyche evaluation be administered to validate the unit's mental stability. On a personal note, the Proctor quotes, "Zane Bastard is the best damn Ranger that I've ever seen in all my years of training cadets. The Corps has never known a soul so committed to the Ranger's cause as this crazy kid is. So it is with a heavy heart that I must acknowledge the simple truth: this Zane Bastard is also the single shittiest human being that I have ever met in my life."

-Official Consensus: Warrant Officer Bastard remains the best candidate for the Ranger's Core Advocate in Operation: Wounded Hearts, despite Ranger High Command's fervent search for a substitution. One of Warrant Officer Bastard's most notable career goals is his expressed dream of earning a Black Beret and serving on one of the established Blackhat Teams. Ranger High Command has already placed Warrant Officer Bastard on the Prodigy's List as a future Blackhat member. Not only does this young Ranger embody the very goals of the Ranger Corps, he possesses both the drive and the skills required to succeed in his Blackhat venture. Though Ranger High Command has unsuccessfully tried to dissuade ACE of Warrant Officer Bastard's involvement in Operation: Wounded Hearts, no other candidate they have suggested from the Ranger Corps' Junior-Regiment has anywhere near the Core Advocate potential of Warrant Officer Bastard.

-Verdict: Against Ranger High Command's own reservations, ACE has mandated Warrant Officer Bastard's inclusion into Operation: Wounded Hearts as a Core Advocate. The Echo Initiative will test Warrant Officer Bastard's leadership element, as well as his tactical capabilities, and his resilience to trauma. At the conclusion of the Echo Initiative, Operation: Wounded Hearts will either possess its Ranger Core Advocate, or a postponed initiation date until another possible Core Advocate candidate from the Ranger Corps can be procured.

-.-

"...I don't like it."

"I don't remember permitting you to have an opinion on the matter, Colonel."

"Listen here, slick: I don't give a shit what ACE tells me to do. My orders come straight from High Command-"

"And High Command has already approved of my authority, Colonel. I'm afraid that your bureaucracy has colluded with ACE in this matter."

"Well tough cookies, junior. I blow High Command off on a daily basis, and I have absolutely no qualms about blowing your ass off as well."

"If I may offer you a bit of advice, Colonel Howes? It would be in your best interests to cooperate with ACE in this matter."

"Son, the kind of shit I've seen in my forty-six years as a Ranger would make a squishy little fuck like you run screaming home to your momma, just to suckle every drop of nurturing comfort from her tit again. Your thinly veiled threats mean absolutely nothing to me; and on a personal advisory from me to you, Agent? Galapagos ain't napping in the back room. You keep threatening his Commanding Officer like that, and I won't even be able to stop my Blastoise from twisting your head right off of your navy-blue clad shoulders and shoving it straight up your military-posturing ass."

"Very well, Colonel. I grant you permission to have an opinion."

"..."

"..."

"...What kind of assurances do I have from ACE that will guarantee this situation's containment?"

"Is there a problem with the Echo Initiative, Colonel-?"

"Is there a fucking problem, Agent? ACE and High Command are ordering me to send a squad of my Junior-Regiment Rangers out on an intentional suicide mission without first informing them about it; my best Junior-Regiment Ranger is probably going to die for no Goddamn tangible reason; a pushead from ACE is impersonating a Military Official in my office and putting me on a leash; and ACE just informed me that a fucking Delta-Five has been delivered to the designated Frontier coordinates in my martial jurisdiction… Does any of that sound like a fucking problem for a Regiment Commander of a Ranger Outpost, Agent?"

"...If I may ask you something personal, Colonel Howes? As his Colonel, do you believe that Warrant Officer Bastard will fail or succeed in the Echo Initiative?"

"I haven't got a fucking outfit in my regiment capable of tangling with a Goddamn Delta-Five. My only D5CU won't take orders from a single fucking Ranger under my command. And you're sending a group of kids out on a safari to dance with a Goddamn Snorlax. It's not that I don't have faith in Zane. It's that I cannot possibly conceive of any of them making it through this alive."

"Well, if Zane Bastard fails the Echo Initiative, then he clearly isn't the soldier that ACE needs."

"...I'm half tempted to kill you myself right now, High Command's authority be damned."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"That's him."

"Right. Now you play your fucking game as an Aide, Agent. This is my Ranger. I'm going to be the one relaying the information to him. That scarred-up Growlithe had better be the best Goddamn hound in the world… Because if my Rangers do end up dying for nothing… Then even if it's the last Goddamn thing that I will ever do... I will hunt you down, so that Galapagos and I can rotate shifts curb stomping your fucking skull in."

"..."

"Come in."

"..."

"Warrant Officer Zane Bastard, Reporting to a summons."

"...I failed the Echo Initiative. It all started out according to plan..."

"..."

"...Their plan."

"..."

"...I did exactly what ACE intended for me to do. I took command of an inexperienced unit, and through their reliance on their CO and my bullying antics as their CO…"

"..."

"...I got down and deep with every one of them…"

"..."

"...Then that Snorlax did exactly what he was supposed to, just not quite the way that ACE had intended…"

"..."

"...I was supposed to kill them. I was supposed to command every member of my unit to break off in separate divisions in the retreat, and one by one…"

"..."

"...I was supposed to kill them… I was supposed to use them as decoys, all for the fucking success of the mission…"

"..."

"...I was the fittest. The smartest. The best prepared. I was the one that stood the best chance of surviving…"

"..."

"...They wanted me to play the game, and turn my Echo into chess pieces… And for me to throw everything on the board at the fucking Snorlax, just to save The White King…"

"..."

"...And I couldn't do it…"

"..."

"...Ohgawd…"

My mother…

-All my little wounded monsters left behind in Cerulean.

My mother…

-The Devil not three shuttle cars behind me, holding some inextricable chain over my fate.

My mother…

-The lie. The hidden truths.

My mother…

-ACE. The Ranger Corps. Betrayal.

My mother…

-The Ghost haunting my ass from the Distortion.

My mother-

-Is dead.

...Why?

Her smile… I could still remember her smile… That feeling of warmth. That feeling of love. That feeling of security…

Her smile…

...Now reduced me to tears…

-The Ghost haunting me, feeding from my misery.

There's no time to grieve. I can't afford to be weak right now.

Be him.

Be strong.

Be invincible.

...Be the Fucking Bastard.

...

I was gonna fucking kill him.

I don't care if every Secret Service in the world had failed before me. Someway, somehow…

...I was gonna find a way to fucking kill the Eidolon King.

And no sooner had I entertained the thought, then it was that my shuttle car's already unbearable temperature began to dramatically elevate another couple dozen degrees.

"...Are you listening to what I'm thinking, Thanatos?" I hissed to the Ghost haunting my ass.

The other passengers stationed on my car had already given me a wide berth. Most of the shuttle's commuters had forsaken their seats in favor of standing in the center aisle. But even with that feeble effort of distancing themselves from me, I was still drawing a lot of attention. The kind of attention that nobody feels comfortable garnering. A crowd of pale and sweaty faces all fixed on me, swarms of dead eyes staring at my person, a chorus of dry mouths rasping on the hot and dry air…

Dealing with a haunted Ranger wasn't something that my fellow passengers had agreed to in the terminal's ticket booth. The civis had managed to weather the onslaught of supernatural misery rather admirably thus far. But after four hours of increasingly agitated paranormal activity, the poor bastards were only seconds away from panicking.

"As soon as we get to Vermilion, I swear I'm gonna punch that creepy fucker right in between-"

A sudden sputter and hiss interrupted my venomous line, and the following roar of Ghostfire heralded the unnatural grey glow that began to fill the the shuttle car's interior. All of the electronics and lights flickered off, and the long shadows cast by the seats whispered and writhed with the abominable, as TH's opera lantern took upon corporeal form above my person.

After Thanatos's little appearance, and the appropriate amount of my fellow passengers' screaming, the shuttle car was surprisingly spartan.

Not many civilians wanted to stick around their purchased seats after a soulburner had made its unhallowed presence known.

-Not that I could blame them.

Not many Rangers wanted to hang out with a Chandelure either.

"Zane! Oh, do excuse me! I only have the one cup! Allow me to ring for another. I'm afraid that I wasn't expecting your company after such a vehement display in Cerulean!" TH slowly rose from his seat when I stepped into his private car unannounced.

-I still don't know how anyone can manage to sound so sincere when they're wearing such a cruel smirk.

"Not my choice. Rail authority's request." I growled, taking a chair in TH's private car, far from his occupied dining table. The Devil of Kalos reseated himself while shaking with one of his silent chuckles. The entire private car was already blacked out, courtesy of its prolonged exposure to TH's massive Distortion seep. The only source of illumination for the shuttle car's interior was the occasional tunnel light flying past the windows. I could barely see TH drinking his coffee amongst all the shadows.

"Well, it is rather more convenient for us both-"

"-Cut the bullshit and call your fucking soulburner off. I didn't come to this car for any reason other than getting rid of this fucking Ghost on my ass." I spat over TH.

Interrupting the Eidolon King was a move that I came to regret almost instantaneously.

"Zane, please. If you would be so kind as to allow myself to finish speaking, then we could prevent these little accidents from occurring altogether…" TH sighed into his coffee cup.

I would have cut him off again, just to be spiteful, but I had to take a moment to acclimate myself with the new setting imposed upon my person. Which was on my back.

-As I was being crushed up against the ceiling.

"I've got a better idea. Fuck you."

I'm a slow learner. When I want to be.

"Pariah, release him." TH rubbed his eyes in exasperation as I fell to the floor.

"...What is it with you people of Kanto?"

"What is it with you and your freaky fucking Ghosts?" I retorted, picking myself off the carpet.

-But Pariah would rather me stay on my hands and knees.

"Pariah, do contain yourself. There is no further point in punishing him. The Ranger would likely go to his undignified grave screaming obscenities. Leave him be." TH's tone implied that the Eidolon King was growing weary with the show.

The unyielding pressure exerted on my shoulder blades loosened ever so slowly, and I was permitted to rise to my feet.

"Gee, and here I thought that your fucking wraith was throwing me around the car under your orders." I growled, looking over my shoulder to the invisible Ghost standing right behind me.

I couldn't see the freak, but I could sure as hell could feel his presence. Even amongst Ghosts, Aegislashes radiated the most peculiar of Distortion seeps. In Pariah's penumbra, one was subjected to an almost curious feeling…

...Of unworthiness.

"You are contriving a most dangerous assumption. Not every spirit of mine answers to their master with complete obedience." TH was glaring past my shoulder as well, and a rather displeased tone had soured the Eidolon King's voice.

"I was wondering if you two had made up yet-" I couldn't have made my voice sound anymore snide if I had wanted to.

But that unseen sword edge pressing up against my throat might have inspired a slightly more respectful tone from my future person.

"Pariah… Abstain at once. You are embarrassing me in front of my guest."

-Or, you know, maybe attempting to murder his guest?

The blade fell away from my larynx, and that unworthy sensation faded away with it.

"For the love of the Crown… I swear that Ghost is going to be the death of me…" TH groaned, massaging his forehead with a knuckle. I was testing the waters again, but this remark of his paved the way for a jab from me.

-And the Fucking Bastard couldn't resist the dark humor anyways.

"Was that intentionally phrased so as to sound ironic?" I asked in deadpan. TH snorted.

"Perhaps… Either way, Zane-"

"-Why is your Godforsaken Chandelure haunting my ass?" I growled over TH.

Like I said. A slow learner.

"I was about to explain that." TH glared into the far corner of his private car, just as that aura of unworthiness made its resurgence.

"Zane. I understand that assigning one of mine revenants to act as your bodyguard may have its-"

"-You call this fucked up shit bodyguarding?!"

My ass. A wall. And one big angry Ghost.

-Enough said.

I woke up on my belly in TH's private car. A quick ocular sweep of the joint told me all of one thing.

-I was alone.

"You fucking cunt…"

My head was sticking to the carpet, thanks to the pool of blood that had accumulated beneath my face.

"Goddamnit..." I growled, pressing my hand against the dried gore crusted on my left temple. I attempted to rise to my feet, but the sudden vertigo floored me for even trying.

-Yeah. I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Pariah had not been particularly gentle in his last assault. That asshole of an Aegislash hadn't been very gentle with me at all.

"TH… I'm gonna fucking kill you-"

A roar of Ghostfire interrupted me, and I dropped my head back into the bloodstained rug with a groan.

-I still had TH's babysitter looking out for my unconscious ass. Ode to joy.

"...Why the Chandelure? Why the fucking soulburner?" I started beating my forehead off the puddle of blood.

Of all his Goddamned Ghosts, why would TH assign to me the one that I hated the most?

-Probably because Theron enjoyed being a subtle dick.

"...I'm gonna fucking kill you."

TH never returned to his private car. Meaning that I had the joint all to myself, and the soulburner haunting my ass, for the remainder of the voyage.

I hadn't a clue where TH had disappeared off to, nor had he left me a message of any sort within the compartment, so I helped myself to his private car's bar and emptied the entire stock of hard liquor within the first two hours.

Seven hours later, a more or less sober Zane Bastard stumbled his way off the shuttle car. Upon leaving the underground, I found my haunted self in Vermilion City's exterior civil processing and identification station.

Vermilion City.

The fact that they call it a "City" fucking astounds me.

Vermilion City isn't a city. You can tell that just by looking at the outlying defenses.

Sure, there's a perimeter wall. Almost three times as high and as twice as robust as the standard city wall, and decked out in state-of-the-art pneumatic turrets. And did I mention that Vermilion City's walls are ugly? Like barren concrete slabs positioned with raw military efficiency ugly?

What about the City Guard? Yep, Vermilion has one of those too.

Except Vermilion's version of the of the City Guard plods around in mobile-assistance exoskeletons, just because the Military's defensive units like to flounce around the city with their cumbersome 25 mm pneumatic autocannons.

Those guns haven't been used for live combat in almost thirty years, but hell if they and their heavily armored operators don't make for a welcoming sight.

To note: All the scary-ass techno toys that the Ranger Corps has deemed "too unreliable" for our rugged Frontier work?

-Those are all the staples seen on both the Military's recruitment posters and their APUs stationed within Vermilion Bastion.

Yep.

Vermilion City isn't a City.

Vermilion City is Kanto's Military Stronghold with a civilian sector stationed right in between the Military's Head Offices and the terraced portside fortress.

-So Vermilion City isn't exactly a tourism hotspot.

All of Vermilion's human traffic is generally limited to the Military's rotation of recruits and the immigrants passing through citizenship processing.

Nothing quite like stepping off a ship from Unova, after having fled that nation's perpetual state of self inflicted genocide, only to be greeted by all the warm faces from the Kantonese Military.

-And their huge fucking guns.

There's a reason why crime and civil disobedience in Vermilion is the lowest recorded in the nation.

-Because Vermilion City's Military Governors placed the entire city under Martial Law thirty years ago when a fledgling Indigo Congress ordered for the Military's dissolution of power.

And that declaration of Martial Law has stood in effect ever since.

Yep. The Military didn't quite feel like parting with all of its political power.

If you get caught stealing in Vermilion?

-Court Martial. Even for Civilians.

If you get cited for Indecent Exposure?

-Court Martial. Even for Civilians.

If you get reprimanded for failing to salute a Superior Officer?

-Court Martial. Even for Civilians.

If you are suspected of drug trafficking, sex-trade, smuggling, piracy, illicit marketing, grand larceny, impersonating an Officer of the Military, murder, rape, arson, embezzlement, Tauros stampeding, etc…

-Court Martial. As a formality. Followed by your public execution. Even for Military personnel.

Vermilion City is not a kind place for anyone unfamiliar with martial etiquette or individuals with a penchant for unseemly social adherences.

That said, if you can conform to the Military's dogma, keep your nose out of official business, and maintain a quiet and dignified existence…

...Then Vermilion City is one of the safest and cleanest cities that you'll ever find in the entire world.

The schools and hospitals are staffed by trained Military personnel, so your health and education is guaranteed to be propagantastic.

The streets are meticulously kept clean by the civilian sector, and that cleanliness is constantly maintained by the Military personnel.

Parades are a common affair, and there's always something amazing to see ported at the docks.

Whether it's a multi-million Sandz Hoenn Luxury Cruise Liner on a refueling stop, or one of the Military's Destroyer Class Wailords careening in the shallows for a thorough defouling.

-And Vermilion City's bars serve imported booze on tap. Not to mention the local cuisine covers a wider expanse of culinary genres than just your plain-jane Kantonese.

So if you prefer a busy, disciplined, secure, and modest life…

...Then Vermilion City has what it takes to sate your spineless appetite.

I fell into line with my fellow passengers upon exiting the shuttle's terminal. Actually, I more or less staggered there. And when I finally regrouped with the tunnel weary crowd basking off the shuttle's gloom in the early dawn air...

...Thanatos's Distortion seep made damn sure that nobody wanted anything to do with my tipsy ass.

We were still outside of the city walls and waiting for the Military to process our group of visitors. My Ranger Badge wasn't going to earn me any favors here. Serviceman or not, I was going to have to stand in line with all the civilians and fumble with my identification documents.

But a rather burly and unpleasant smelling Military grunt wearing a Corporal's insignia and accompanied by a Reconnaissance Class Murkrow, took my intoxicated ass by the shoulder, and wordlessly steered me into a much shorter line.

Right behind his smug majesty, TH.

"So good of you to have finally arrived, Zane! How was the shuttle ride? A bit dreary?"

-Goddamn, that evil smile of his was gonna make me sick.

"The trip would've been a whole helluva lot better if some grave-humping asshole hadn't sicked a pair of his Ghosts on me." Haunted or not, I could still answer TH's pleasantries with my own, and every word of mine was accompanied by a Ranger's spitting grimace of a grin. TH just chuckled, before pressing a small black leather case into my hands.

"You'll be wanting that shortly." TH smiled at the bemused expression on my face.

"So what is this? The VIP line?" I grunted, ignoring the black case in my hands and gazing around.

"...Not quite." TH shrugged as my eye fell upon an overhanging sign that denoted our line's designation.

-F5 Processing.

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me…" I groaned, glaring further up the line.

"Just one of the many nuisances of traveling alongside the spirits, Ranger." TH idly droned.

A purple robed ninja with a gas mask draped around his collar. A heavy-set middle-aged women decked out in jewelry fashioned from twisted cutlery. A scarred up man wearing a short cape and body armor festooned with the Blackthorn clan's black-faced-dragon insignia. A twelve year old girl wearing absolute pink, who was vividly engaged in a conversation with her Clefairy doll. And a trio of blue Hakama donning nuns, all fixing their lifeless eyes on TH and me, clearly perturbed by the presence of another Channeler who didn't hail from their religious community of Lavender Town.

-The freak line. Reserved exclusively for the suicidal whack-jobs who take it upon themselves to train the environmentally hazardous types of monsters that are generally better left for dead.

"...So not even the Eidolon King can escape due processing, huh?" I glowered at TH, whose shoulders shook with a silent chortle.

"Not without inviting needless bloodshed and inspiring further distrust. Diplomacy is a social stipulation that I support, Ranger." TH pleasantly replied.

"Well, at least you won't be lonely in Vermillion. Judging from their looks, I think those Lavender Town nuns are popping lady boners for you-" I was speaking loudly enough to be heard by the rest of our line, all while gracing the pale faced trio of feminine Channelers with my nastiest grin.

"-Not too hard, Pariah." TH silently interjected.

Then my face was in the dirt again, as that fucking invisible Aegislash silenced me with a shield bash to the rear of my dome.

"I apologize for my associate's crass remark. He appears to have sampled a tad too much indulgence on the shuttle ride here." TH politely addressed the chuckling line, directing the closing statement towards his unsullied fellow Channelers.

"A Kantonese Ranger and a Kalosian Channeler. Interesting combination." Pariah's oppressive weight withdrew from my person as the purple robed ninja moved in to assist me to my feet.

"-Not my choice in combinations." I growled, dusting off the front of my coat.

"You're his assigned escort?" The ninja asked, as he adjusted the shoulders of his robe.

"Obviously. The Ranger Corps are understandably leery of my prerogative in Kanto. As such, they have assigned one of their units to monitor my activities." TH explained to the ninja.

"You're on the Ranger's F5 Blackwatch list? What the hell did you do to deserve that?" The Fuchsia ninja's eyes widened.

"...Nothing that I care to discuss in an introductory conversation. But on the topic of the F5 Blacklist, would you kindly explain to a foreigner how the Fuchsia separatist movement is progressing?" TH smiled at the ninja, who visibly balked at the mention of the separatist movement.

"...That's none of your concern." The ninja recovered from TH's insinuation just a moment too late.

"...Never received the clan's covert social training, did you, rebel?" I asked with a grimace. The ninja glared at TH and me, before turning his stony face towards the front.

"Curious that a separatist would attempt to enter Vermilion, given the Military's political relationship with the Kurosawa Clan…" TH murmured in that pleasant tone of his. The ninja began to shake.

"I wonder why he wore the classic robes. Wouldn't it have been easier to sneak into Vermilion under the guise of a civilian?" I carried on in a suspicious voice.

"...I'm not here on a separatist mission, and my record clearly states-" The ninja began.

"-I'm more interested in what your criminal record doesn't state, Mister Hashimoto. An improvised chemical explosive designed around a Wheezing charge? Detonated in downtown Fuchsia? Fourteen killed and thirty-seven more wounded? Such destructive actions warrant honorable mention on the F5 Blacklist…" TH shut the ninja up for good with that one. I could see the murderous purple bastard itching to run.

"Nevertheless, as you have previously mentioned, your criminal record is free of even suspicion. An excellent record for your admittance into Vermilion. Which in turn, is excellent news for your reunion with your son. I do hope that his ship arrives in port safely tomorrow. The waters between Vermilion and Olivine are reputed to be rather treacherous…"

-There's nothing secret or sacred to TH. No blow is too low, and no mannerism is too condescending. The freak can tear down anyone with his words alone, which was being demonstrated in TH's exchange with the Fuchsia ninja.

"...I'm sure that he'll arrive safe and sound. Thank you for your concern." The ninja regressed into his clan's imperialistic formality when he closed the conversation, and then quickly left the F5 line in favor of a lonely stroll into the northern Gouge.

Leaving me to glower at the Eidolon King as we waited to be processed.

"...A Ranger escort, huh?" I muttered in an undertone.

"Your station in the Corps affords us with a convenient diversion from your official agenda with ACE." TH answered me in a whisper.

"Right. How much longer do you think that bullshit line is gonna last?" I growled.

TH made a quick head count of the remaining individuals in the F5 line.

"Not much longer, Zane. Not much longer at all." TH grinned.

-That grin meant trouble, as I would soon come to learn of my "supervised ward."

TH didn't pick anymore verbal exchanges with the remaining members of our line. Though the progression was held up by the fairy girl, who somehow managed to maintain a three person conversation between herself, her Clefairy doll, and the Inspection Officer who was concerned about the legitimacy of her minor's Training license. After the insane little twerp had been detained by the Military for a pending review, the inspection advanced more or less casually.

-More or less casually, forbearing TH's colossal Distortion seep fucking with the street lamps and the entire line's disposition.

I was beginning to realize why the people of Kanto had graced his malevolent person with the moniker, "The Hole."

-Theron just kind of sucks the life out everything around him with his existence alone.

I'd stomached TH's Distortion seep several times in the last month. Fuck, I'd suffered prolonged exposure to his radiance of freaky shit. But after the first half hour of idling in hell had passed, even I was beginning to see things that weren't actually there.

-What kind of things?

The kind of shapeless shit whose very image terrifies you in your forgotten nightmares. The kind of evil crap that lingers in the far corners of your awareness, the gangly fucking figures that disappear when you try to look at them directly. The same kind of crazy and elusive apparitions whose every unnatural movement brings a crawl to your skin and a chill to your blood.

Yeah, standing in the Eidolon King's presence was akin to a cocktail of emotional depression and a bad LSD trip. It wasn't something that I wanted to repeat anytime soon in the future. But unfortunately for me…

...It was gonna be a while before Theron and I parted ways.

The only individuals not adversely affected by TH's aura were the Lavender Town sisters, but they had never once peeled their dead eyes off his pleasantly smiling face. I didn't know if the trio was checking him out or sizing him up, there was that much sheer blank emanating from their hollow expressions.

When the dumpy middle aged Psychic Trainer moved on through the admittance gates, the three Channelers finally broke their ocular contact with TH in order to address their own identification and documentation. The sullen Inspection Officer looked about as happy as a rain cloud after having dealt with the Fairy Trainer's conniption fit, but who could blame a motherfucker for getting angsty when it's his job to handle freaks like these on a daily basis?

-I could blame the selfish son of a bitch. If it wasn't for Thanatos haunting my ass, then I would have been able to utilize the standard line. If I had used the proper line, then I could've been within the Vermilion City walls by now. And if I was in the fucking ugly walls right now, then I could've been sampling the Military's warped idea of hospitality.

Who gives a fuck about the unhaunted Inspection Officer? His job was just temporarily miserable. My life was looking absolutely hellish for all of the foreseeable future.

"...You ever gonna take this Ghost back, TH? Cause I would really prefer it if both you and your lamp just went ahead and threw yourselves in the sea without me." I spat, as the Blackthorn Dragon Trainer ahead of us was approved for admittance.

"In due time, Zane. All in due time." TH chided, before stepping forward to take his place at the Inspector's booth.

"Identification, passport, proof of F5 registration, and stated intent for your visit." The Inspection Officer grunted at TH without even looking up from his paperwork.

"Confidential." TH replied. The Inspection Officer glared up at TH after tossing his pen aside in irritation.

"Identification, passport, proof of F5 registration, and stated intent for your visit, now." The Inspection Officer growled. TH only smiled at him.

"Do I have to get security involved with these proceedings? Or are you going to procure the requested documentation?" The Inspection Officer hissed at TH.

I could feel something like tattered fabric brushing up against my side when the Inspection Officer locked eyes on TH's shades…

"I would advise you against such a conspicuous action, Sergeant Weisman." TH stated cooly. The Sergeant worked his mouth. There was a casual authority in TH's voice, bringing a pause to the Inspection Officer's deliberations. Well, both TH's tone, and the invisible-yet-disturbingly-detectable host of misery-hungry Ghosts closing in around the booth were bringing a pause to the Sergeant's inquisition.

"What's with the sunglasses? The day is still a little too new for a fashion statement, don't you think?" The Sergeant was treading carefully now. He had a suspicion that he was dealing with something unusual here, but even so, the Inspection Officer had a duty to perform.

"My apparel is worn as a courtesy. And you need not concern yourself with my compromised sight. I can see quite clearly in the dark." TH grinned. I was doing my damndest not to shudder at that last remark.

"Take them off. Now." The Inspection Officer knew that he was getting fucked with, but he needed an official statement authorizing TH's clowning around before he would even consider letting this freak off the hook. So exercising his questionable authority was the Inspection Officer's only recourse for retaliation.

"Very well." TH sighed as he removed those fancy fucking shades, and then met the Inspection Officer's glare with those naked grey eyes of his.

-I should've warned the Inspection Officer. He was just trying to do his job, and TH was bleeding him out for a laugh. That kind of shit just isn't right.

The Inspection Officer held TH's gaze for almost half a minute. The transformation was unbelievable. The Sergeant's ruddy complexion turned ice cold white, before shifting to sick as shit green. Then those stunned eyes just about popped right out of Inspection Officer's head. I could've sworn that this Skinhead was starting to lose weight, 'cause those cheeks of his went hollow and those temples sank right up against the sphenoids of his skull. Bullets of sweat rained from the Skinhead's brow, and a slight quiver to his frame hinted at the encroaching climax…

...Before the Inspection Officer blinked, and freed himself from TH's twisted vision of hell.

-To his credit, the Skinhead didn't vomit. But the rolling in his adam's apple certainly told of the struggle he mounted to hold down his lunch.

"...Do you know what the penalty is for assaulting a soldier in uniform?" The Inspection Officer managed to choke a threat at TH through the lingering grits in his throat.

-I'll bet it's not a black eye for minors…

"Insignificant in comparison to the punishment for interfering with an ACE Executive's right to unbarred passage…" TH repositioned his shades over those cursed eyes, and deftly supplied the Inspection Officer with a black leather wallet.

There was a badge in that wallet, alongside some kind of registration card.

If the fucking Skinhead thought that he'd had it rough in TH's horror-gaze, then it was nothing compare to his reaction upon reviewing TH's decorum.

"-Vice-Marshal?!" The Inspection Officer froze solid with his own hissed exclamation.

My ass locked up on the spot as well.

-When did Theron Halcyon become a fucking Executive of ACE's bureaucracy?!

"There will be absolutely no documentation pertaining to myself or my associate. All surveillance records of this encounter will be destroyed. You will not speak of this to anyone. Consider this entire exchange confidential… And know that high treason will be the charge brought against you for violating that confidentiality." TH waved me over to his side.

"If you would provide the good Inspection Officer with your badge, Agent…" TH somehow managed to sound oh-so pleasant when he addressed me, even with all that rank smug radiating from his nasty grin. My eyes shot down to the unopened black leather bound case that lay forgotten in my cold hands.

-Oh, hell no…

Yep. There it was. If it was a forgery, it was a damn good one. My trained Special Operative eyes couldn't locate a single missing hint of legitimacy.

An ACE Agent's badge.

-With my service tag written on the registration card.

I offered the the badge to the Inspection Officer, but he'd already seen enough. He handed us our VIP papers and returned TH's badge, before the Sergeant hastily waved us through processing without another word.

"...Why couldn't you have just given him the badge and none of the lip?" I shuddered when TH and I were ushered over towards Viridian City's civilian access gate.

"Really, Zane? Don't tell me that you've never abused the authority of your station for entertainment before?" TH smiled at me.

-Now I was beginning to feel sick.

I couldn't defend myself from that accusation, and TH knew it.

"...How did you so tastefully phrase it back in Lune? Ah yes. You are one messed up son of a bitch, TH." TH was living my numb disposition up. He had me cornered like a rubix cube.

"...I guess that makes us two messed up sons of bitches, Zane." TH was shaking with that creepy signature silent chuckle of his. And I was just barely managing to move my feet in pace with his.

-After what I'd already gone through in my self-reflected comparison to Misty Willows…

...I was far from comforted to learn that there was a possibility even worse than the Tomboy Mermaid's example.

"Vermilion City. What a novelty." TH remarked upon our admittance to Vermilion main.

-I had to agree with my haunted "Executive." Vermilion City is most certainly a novelty.

You will you never see another urbanized fortress quite like it.

The architecture of Vermilion City defies comparison. It's almost as if an innovative architect fashioned a mold for a breathtaking metropolis…

...Before the Military poured concrete into this architect's mold, and then follow it up by draping patriotic flags from every eave, as though they were attempting to conceal the foreboding hideousness of it all.

-It didn't work. Every building looked like an unpainted prison. Every structure was a sloped sided block without any meaningful windows to speak of. Beyond the flags, Vermilion's decorum was rather sparse, although there was no shortage of antique howitzers and model MBTs on display at regular intervals along the main.

"I can't believe that they call this a city…" I muttered, glaring down a procession of Class A garbed Skinheads, who were marching their way across an intersection further down the main.

"Is it really that ugly?" TH asked, removing the shades from his eyes and partaking a sweeping view of the vista. Thank God he wasn't looking my way.

"...Oh my."

-Yeah, TH. It really is that ugly.

TH replaced his shades with a weary chuckle, and stared further down the main. At the far end of Vermilion's central lane, the Naval Port could just be seen through a distant gap in the buildings.

"Well then, I suppose that we should-" A minor buzzing cut TH off mid sentence. Smiling to himself, TH slowly drew out his pager, before glancing at the display with a snort.

"It's for you." TH grinned, handing me his communications device. I took it from him with a cold sensation burrowing into my bowels.

-Zane. Arizona Street, M2114. Sixth Floor. Suite 518. Your ETA: Twenty minutes.

"Duty calls, Agent." TH was smiling like a devil when he took his pager back from me.

-Yeah. Now I really was scared shitless.

"...What do you mean: Agent?" My nervous voice asked, as I indicated my Ranger's beret.

"Hurry now, Agent Bastard. Don't keep your Executives waiting. Oh, and do tell the Nine Lives that Theron Halcyon sends his best regards." TH smiled, waving me away.

"Thanatos, direct Zane to me when ACE is through debriefing him. And kindly wait outside the meeting hall. I'm quite sure the old Nine Lives hasn't forgotten about that little incident in Lumiose…" TH turned his back on me, and headed east on his merry way towards the civilian sector.

"What the hell is going on?!" I shouted after TH, but the Devil of Kalos didn't pay my person any heed. TH just carried on alone, leaving me in the street with nothing more than his thrice damned soulburner.

"...Right. Well at least I have you to light my way, Thanatos." I sarcastically growled to the invisible Ghost.

TH's fucking lamp responded by violating the mundane realm, as Thanatos burned a hole straight through the fabric of reality with that vile opera lantern of his alight and sputtering.

"...Yeah, yeah. Fuck you, and the fuck who Channels you." I spat at the Chandelure hovering above me.

Thanatos hissed his flames at me, but TH's orders prevented the wraith from doing anything more.

"Goddamnit. I could really use my dog right now…" I grumbled, trying not to think of my missing mon as I headed south towards ACE's designated coordinates with Thanatos in tow.

I made it to the locale with minutes to spare. The meeting place was an Embassy. More specifically, the Kalosian Embassy. Why I was rendezvousing with an ACE Agent here was beyond my comprehension. But no sooner had I pushed open the entrance hall's front door, then it was that dear old Thanatos faded back into the Distortion, and took his bloody haunting with him.

As I stepped out of that Ghost's Distortion seep, I was vividly reminded of what life is like without a wraith bleeding you for your emotions. The physical sensation alone felt as if I had been sloughing through thick mud all day, and then quite suddenly, I was was weightlessly striding across firm ground again. But the emotional sensation of relief?

-I almost started crying in joyful disbelief at just how wholesome the world feels without the shadow of a Ghost clouding your perception.

Fuck the Ghosts. I don't know how anyone can tolerate Channeling them. One day's worth of haunting was almost enough to break me, but a lifetime bonding?

...Yeah. Just fuck the Ghosts, and the crazy nutjobs who willfully feed them.

I went straight for the elevator when I reached the embassy's granite lobby. The security personnel stationed at every corner and doorway acted as if I wasn't even there. Which meant that I was in the right place.

ACE wasn't gonna let foreign armed forces waylay one of their Agents, even within that foreign nation's own Embassy.

As soon as I entered the elevator, the liftman punched in the sixth floor button and fixed his eyes on the wall. He wouldn't even look at me, or speak a word as the lift took us to the preordained floor. This was about as discreet as ACE could get. I was out in open and in plain sight, my appearance far from inconspicuous in a Ranger's green BDU while I walked right through the Military's provincial city state…

...And yet, inexplicably, no one dared to take any notice of me.

The doors to the elevator opened, and I stepped out into a softly lit lacquered wood and red velvet gallery hall. If the lobby had borne hints of grandeur and wealth, then this hallway possessed a more personal aspect of that projection. This was the residence level for the Embassy's ambassadors and visiting diplomats from the Kalosian nation. These were people who were accustomed to the highest luxuries. But the prosperous are always few in number, so there was all of eight doors in this one hall, meaning that it didn't take me too long to find Suite 518.

I stopped right before the stained mahogany door.

Was I supposed to walk right in, or knock first?

-Was there a secret code?

...Probably, but I just hammered out the classic six-note knock of jokes as I calmed myself against the uncertainty.

-That calm didn't last very long.

I began to feel a ringing in my dome, and I immediately retaliated to the mental invasion by rehearsing Quintus Horatius Flaccus's ode, "Treacherous Girl."

-There was no way in hell that I was letting ACE get another psion into my head.

I had managed to detect the fucker when it tried to reroute my synapses, all in its effort of shutting down my faculties, but my repetitive mental processes wasn't exactly making the psion's job easy. Everytime it tried to interfere with a section of my brain's electrical activity, another node would kick in to compensate for the hot wired nerves. And as soon as the psion tried to pin down those compensating synapses, the nerves it had just shut off would arc back into production, and continue carrying on with the music as if nothing had happened.

But denying the psion's mental invasion wasn't only preserving my own self-dictation. Mon's brains are nowhere near as complex as a human's brain is. Locating, pinpointing, and subjugating crucial cognitive nerves with extremely fine tuned EM emissions is hard enough for a psion to perform on a dumb beast. But humans have a lot more rational activity heating up their lobes than any other critter found in nature. Failing to weave an electromagnetic net over my evasive brain wasn't just consuming the psion's reserves of Bio-EM charges.

I was tongue-tying the psion's own brain as its limited perception struggled to comprehend the impossible neurological functions that were eluding its every attack.

-Poetry. You can render brain fucking psions absolutely helpless with poetry.

They just don't grasp such a complex and abstract concept, which can trigger every rational faculty within the human mind, even when it's being repeated ad nauseum directly into the mon's own neural receptors.

The battle lasted all of a minute before the presence in my head withdrew. Which meant that whatever psion had been poking around in my dome had one hell of a mental constitution. Most psions give up within the first ten seconds if they can't put a leash on you in that time frame.

But this was ACE, and their Waterloo bred and trained psions were every bit as tenacious as their Agents.

-Speaking of which…

The door to suite 518 was opening. And judging from the violent rattling of the doorknob, the greeter wasn't very happy with me. That, or they didn't quite know how to handle a doorknob gracefully.

Or it could have been "Option C."

-Both of the above.

My greeter wasn't human. As a matter of fact, my greeter just barely registered as a living thing to my startled brain.

Doug's knife was out of its sheath and swinging for the psion's eyes, just as flurry of tentacles lashed me to the opposite wall.

Grey, dessicated membranes peeled away from its rosy internal tissues, and a dirty beak snapped open between the tiny gelatinous eyes that were hollowly staring into my livid glare. The head was almost human in its construction, minus the bulging pectoral cranium and the massive ragged fenestra pits that served for cheeks.

-And every other similarity to a human visage was utterly dismantled by the wreath of a dozen three-meter long muscular hydrostats, which were blooming out from the base of its skull like a grotesque and living hairdo. And each one of those boneless appendage had me pinned up against the gallery's lacquered wall.

A Malamar. One of the most fucked up species of mon which combines the distinctive traits of Interlopers and psions alike. They're the only known species of mon capable of interdimensional psionic manipulation, and as such, Malamars are prided by Secret Services across the globe for their inherent double-whammy capabilities in covert applications and interrogations.

-But I wasn't really thinking of that right now. I was too busy trying to kill one of the most disturbingly ugly creatures to have ever been seen by mortal man.

A Malamar's physiology is reminiscent of a bloated cephalopod that was first dredged up from the ocean's abyss, and then left to rot in the baking heat of the sun for a few days.

-And they smell just about as good as the previous analogy would suggest too.

"Agent Bastard, if you would kindly disarm yourself, then Lugosi would feel obliged to release you."

-Oh fuck me. That was a Kalosian accent. Not a tune that I wanted to hear after having dealt with TH's sinister dialect for a whole Goddamn day.

"I really like your doorman. But he's a little too personal for casual greetings, don't you think?" I grumbled, directing my manacled knife-wielding wrist towards its sheath. Lugosi unravelled the tentacles pinning me to the wall, and stepped back as if to usher me into the abode.

"Lugosi is a she, and she is rather proficient in her duties." The Kalosian drape was quick to correct me for my improper quote of gender regarding his Malamar.

"Well it ain't got tits, so why the fuck should I care about your squid's sex?" I made sure to plant a high velocity elbow into Lugosi's thorax as I strode past her. I wasn't about to show an ounce of respect for a mon whose first social prerogative was to brain rape a caller.

"That is besides the point, Agent. Lugosi, continue to broadcast interdimensional interference. I don't need our newest Vice-Marshal catching wind of our presence here." Lugosi waddled in after me, crawling on a tsunami of her hydrostat appendages, before occupying a corner near the door. I entered the sweet digs of my host, and discovered that despite the cozy stained wood and polished granite ambience, ACE had valued their operations over the indigenous aesthetics.

Rivers of naked cables and walls of computer displays jury rigged the entire technical interior to a series of massive humming servers. Walking over a tunisian carpet almost killed me, thanks to all the Goddamn ankle-catching wires strewn about. You could barely see the Embassy's finery beneath all of the bleeding-edge clutter. But even so, one archaically carved wooden five cornered dining table sat nestled near the shuttered windows. Two leather upholstered wingback chairs had been arranged around this barren table.

One seat was empty.

The other seat was occupied by a formal brown trench coat, which was worn by a grey templed man.

"Vice-Marshal Looker, Chief Executive of the Watchdogs and ACE's Head of Foreign Operations. Please be seated." The Vice Marshal rose from his chair upon my entry, and didn't reseat himself until I had taken my position at the table.

"...So you're the Nine Lives?" I asked in a dry tone. Vice-Marshal Looker's face darkened.

"...Theron Halcyon is aware of my presence in Vermilion?" Vice-Marshal Looker asked cautiously.

"Looks like it. Vice-Marshal Halcyon wished for me to send the Nine Lives his fondest regards." I answered with a smirk. I was detecting an edge in these deliberations. An edge that had been given to me by the Eidolon King.

-And I had no qualms whatsoever about pressing TH's edge against a Vice-Marshal's throat.

"...This is an unfortunate development, but not entirely surprising." Vice-Marshal Looker sighed.

"-I take it that you two don't exactly get along?" I asked with a grin. Vice-Marshal looker fixed me with a set of ACE Executive hardened eyes.

"House Halcyon has dubbed me the Nine Lives for their nine unsuccessful assassination attempts. You are speaking to the only man that Theron Halcyon has endeavored to murder and failed in doing so. So to answer your question, Agent Bastard: it is rather difficult to maintain a healthy relationship with an individual who has expressed his personal interest in overseeing your private execution within the Distortion." Vice-Marshal Looker informed me.

"What the hell did you do to piss TH off to that extreme?" I was still grinning, and doing my damndest to enforce TH's likeness in my mannerisms.

-And it was getting under Vice-Marshal Looker's skin.

"I assumed a crucial role in orchestrating Sinnoh's last assassination attempt on Theron Halcyon. Truthfully, I was essential to a specific context of the operation. A context that Theron Halcyon found most… disagreeable." Vice-Marshal Looker replied. I raised both of my eyebrows in response to the Vice-Marshal's explanation. Something didn't quite add up.

"...Sinnoh's last assassination attempt? So the entire Sinnoh Parliament bought the farm, but one measly ACE Executive still lives? That seems kind of shady, don't you think? I mean, if TH can singlehandedly wipe out a couple hundred government officials within the security of their home turf, then how hard would it be for TH to kill a single exposed ACE Executive when the Halcyon family already has tabs on that Agent? That sounds really suspicious to me. Almost as if TH wants you alive for something…" Oh, there was an evil twist to either corner of my mouth when I fed Vice-Marshal Looker that last bit.

But the Vice-Marshal had located his cool. We were getting off topic, and our conversation was far from pleasant to his Kalosian palate, so Executive Looker wielded his bureaucratic authority to get us back on point.

"Regardless of his motivations, I still live, so my agenda remains unchanged. Now, we must discuss business, Agent Bastard-"

"-You can call me Warrant Officer or Ranger. I'm not having any of this Agent crap." I growled over a Goddamn ACE Executive, besmirching both his authority and power.

-Why the hell would I risk my life pissing off one of ACE's Vice-Marshal?

Because Theron's edge had left a mark. I had been the one to have brought down that edge on a ACE Executive.

-And I had come out on top.

...So now I was testing waters. I needed to know:

-Just how invaluable to Operation: Wounded Hearts did ACE consider me now?

"While you are covertly operating within the field, Agent Bastard, your agentive title should be denoted by the colloquial Ranger, or Warrant Officer. But while you are subject to the security of your superiors, you will be addressed as Agent. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" Vice-Marshal Looker was already at patience's end with me, and his dry tone did little to hide it.

"Crystal clear, Vice-Marshal Looker." I ground out between clenched teeth.

-Too valuable to outright murder, yet disposable enough to restrain with etiquette regulations and statute limitations.

"Good. While I realize that you were indoctrinated within ACE's agenda without former knowledge or consent, you must realize the gravity of your circumstance. ACE is not the Ranger Corps, Agent Bastard. We adhere to a far less lenient structure of expectations. Do not dissuade yourself from the merit of those expectations, nor should you expect absolvement for failing them." Vice-Marshal Looker laid out the groundworks for me.

"Forgive me for my insignificant Special Operative training regimen, but what limitations should I expect as a lowly Operative in ACE agenda?" I tried to bite back the venom in my voice, but that shit is pretty hard swallow when your service is being forced into a bureau that you would rather have absolutely nothing to do with.

"Our expectations will be familiar to any of Indigo's Special Operatives, albeit with even more fastidiously enforced codes of compliance. Needless to say, Agent Bastard, you will only question directives for principle clarification. Never should your duty be considered a topic for debate. I've read your service record, Agent. The countless pardoned indictments that you acquired within the Ranger Corps would merit charges of insubordination within ACE's prerogative. So consider this your only warning. We do not tolerate any form of non-compliance, and we handle such controversial personnel cases as we handle all forms of liabilities." Vice-Marshal Looker inclined an eyebrow my way, stressing a response from my person for clarification.

"-Termination. Got it." I growled, satisfying the Executive's standards.

"Very good. Now that you're familiar with our policy, we shall move onto the mission status. Theron Halcyon." Vice-Marshal settled back into his wingback chair, and fixed a pair of heavy eyes on me.

"Am I to assume that Vice-Marshal Halcyon is a subject for suspicion?" I asked, loosening my aching jaw.

"An intuition hardly worthy of praise. Correct. Despite his newly acquired station and his expressed agenda, Theron Halcyon is ever the epicenter of dissension. While some of ACE's Executive division considers Theron Halcyon's promotion a form of conciliation, many others amongst my peers view it as a matter of confidence. A confidence that cannot be trusted." Vice-Marshal Looker procured a pair of coffee mugs from an ewer and carafe tray situated beside him, before filling both with the morning brew. Passing a steaming mug my way, the Kalosian Vice-Marshal imbibed his java in long drags.

"Some of us believe that our Director may have acted rashly in his judgement pertaining to Theron Halcyon's contributions to our agency, and given the enormity of our purpose: an individual as influential and as immutable as Theron Halcyon poses a threat to our operations that cannot be understated. As such, operating within the Director's approval and my ordained role as the Chief Executive of the Watchdog Division, I have incorporated your services for Theron Halcyon's continued surveillance." Vice-Marshal Looker drained the last of his mud, before filling his mug with another hearty dose of black gold.

"Is the coffee not to your liking?" Vice-Marshal Looker paused in his administrations of sugar and cream to observe my untouched mug with worry.

-Fucking Kalosians. They're the only people who will discretely threaten your life and subjugate you into their service before expressing concern for your comfort.

"It's fucking delicious. So you were saying something about me being a Watchdog?" I sarcastically replied without sampling my beverage.

"Correct." Vice-Marshal recovered quickly, and proceeded to lay out the track.

"Your primary objective remains unchanged. You will still represent the Ranger Corps within both the eyes of the public and the competition scene of the League. However, your secondary prerogative, of which bears no less significance, is the surveillance of Theron Halcyon's activities as a Vice-Marshal of ACE. I must highlight the prominence of your position. Theron Halcyon has only allowed one other individual this close to his person. You are ACE's best chance at determining Theron Halcyon's motivations, as well as relaying such information to the appropriate offices. Myself, specifically."

"So I'm TH's proctor?" I grumbled, finally taking a lick of my coffee.

-Fucking Kalosians. They just can't make a normal cup of coffee. It has to be so fucking rich and bitter that any who are unaccustomed to such casual intensities end up reduced to sputtering and hacking asthmatics after just one gulp.

"Hardly. If anything, you should consider Theron Halcyon your proctor." Vice-Marshal Looker waited for me to regain my breath before continuing.

-His fucking coffee had more kick to it than rotgut whisky.

"Excuse me?" I wheezed past my snared throat.

"Part of Theron Halcyon's active assignment is both your political and League mentoring. Contrary to his immoral actions, Theron Halcyon is quite savvy in matters pertaining to public appeal. And Theron Halcyon is regarded as one of the world's most powerful League competitors. Even Unova's Fuhrer Adler has expressed an abiding respect for Theron Halcyon's battle prowess, and Holy Matron Cynthia Labelle refuses to answer Sinnoh's vengeful outcry for a benedicted challenge against the Eidolon King. Theron Halcyon wields both power and skill that few can compare, and none have yet willfully contended. And this same Theron Halcyon has accepted you as his League understudy." Vice-Marshal Looker elaborated.

-That explanation shut me up.

"Has there been some misunderstanding?" Vice-Marshal Looker asked.

My face wasn't exactly lit up like a christmas tree, and my dole expression wouldn't have inspired Leonardo Da Vinci with anymore aesthetic drive than a bucket of cold mud. So the Executive's line of questioning was understandable.

"...You want me. To learn. From. Theron. Halcyon… Right. Let me go pick up a copy of Lavender Whispers, and then I'll apply for a Channeling. Once I get my first Ghost, it'll be one inhumane act after-"

"-Are you quite finished?" Vice-Marshal Looker interrupted my deadpan rant before I could hit the punchline.

"I'm not exactly keen on being the Oak to TH's Breitbarth. TH's only social interactions seem to revolve around destroying anyone unfortunate enough to be near him. And I haven't got a clue for how I'm supposed to apply his Distortion hyperdynamics to my own particular style of competitive battling. Namely the style I like to call: Ghost-free." I retorted.

"ACE doesn't expect you to wield any revenants. But limiting Theron Halcyon's possible contributions to your League development by simplifying his accolades-"

"-I get it. I'll learn from the dick." I cut my Superior off in a blatant display of anti-Kalosian courtesies. Vice-Marshal Looker, however, seemed unconcerned with my crass dismissal of social protocols.

"I'm aware that this assignment will be an unpleasant experience, but it will ultimately benefit you in your League preparations. Now onto the matter of your Porygon-Two, Alexandria." Vice Marshal Looker pulled a case out from under the table, and procured a glossy new Tact. Pad from its confines.

"This is your new Field Prepped Quantum Analyst Device-"

"-Pokedex is easier to say." I grunted. A slight smile lifted the corner of Vice-Marshal Looker's weary mouth.

"Very well. This is your new ACE issued Pokedex. Version one-point-eight. It is virtually identical to your current issue, though several components have been altered for increased Distortion scream resistance. On the subject of quantum discrepancies perpetrated by exposure to-"

"-Tell me what it does, not how it works." I cut off Vice-Marshal Looker again, but this crude interruption was not met by idle amusement. One very pissed off ACE Executive was glaring cold murder at my person, and I was suddenly overcome with a morbid curiosity regarding quantum computations and their pre-programmed security contingencies.

"...As I was saying, your current model lacks the sophistication required for surviving prolonged exposure to interdimensional emissions. ACE assigned Central's entire AI technical division to the resolution of corrupted quantum computations performed during spatial-mass fluctuations. One of our Quantum Programmers was able to realize an ingenious sequence that will permit for active computations and even transmissions within the radiant parameters of an active Distortion rift. Though rather limited in its data transferal, the upgraded variant of Alexandria will be able to function during mass exposure to Distortion anomalies. By flash-burn replication of his own quantum matrix within cyberspace, Alexandria will sporadically generate an infinite influx of clones, each bearing a dissimilar and singular simplistic function-"

Vice-Marshal Looker droned on and on about the fancy black box and its soon to be ever more irrepressible Porygon-Two, while I tried not to nod off during his techno babble lecture. When the ACE Executive was finally finished regaling me with my newest anti-privacy apparel, Vice-Marshal Looker requested my old Tact. Pad for AI transference, and proceeded to to introduce Alexandria into his new home.

"That sums up our agenda in regards to your Watchdog status. Now onto an article that pertains to your primary objective within Operation: Wounded Hearts." Vice-Marshal Looker handed me my new Pokedex, and lifted another item out from underneath the table, before popping the clasps on a familiar looking aluminum briefcase. Pivoting the black foam interior my way, I stood face to face with a pink and white multi-paged dispatch, and a silver crowned bulky Pokeball, replete with a tiara of six blue gems.

"The current members of your League Team will be returned to you in intervals pertaining to their recovery. I am told that your Growlithe, though currently unfit for competition, will be sent to Vermilion's Military kennels via Aviation later this evening. You are permitted to reclaim your Hunter-Killer at any time favoring your discretion. The Ivysaur is expected to be returned to you in similar condition two days past tomorrow, alongside the Magikarp, who is also medically unfit for duty. While the Onix… was only recently restrained by the Blackhats so that the medical personnel could properly administer to his fractured carapace. Forbearing any further violent outbursts, Damascus will be reunited with you within the week. Which brings us to the fifth member of your competitive team." Vice-Marshal Looker removed the dispatch from the briefcase, and handed the material to me.

"ACE's relationship with Chimera Industries has culminated in your inclusion with one of Enzo Davinci's personal projects. Project Atlas, as Enzo has dubbed it." Vice-Marshal Looker began. I was perusing the thicker than normal dispatch, when my lone eye locked onto the denoted species of GI mon.

"You've got to be shitting me…" My voice had gone hoarse.

"That was our first reaction when Enzo Davinci announced a margin of success in Project Atlas." Vice-Marshal Looker confided.

"-I thought that they were supposed to be impossible to domesticate!" I roared, slamming the dispatch on the table. If he was shocked at my passionate outcry, Vice-Marshal Looker didn't let on about it with anything more than an extended pause.

"...According to Enzo Davinci, impossible is just a challenge that no one else has been able to overcome." Vice-Marshal Looker calmly replied.

"...I'm gonna kill it. The first thing that I'm gonna do when it-"

"Project Atlas represents almost forty years of publicly funded research and development for the domestication of this particular species. Before Enzo, there was Professor Oak. Before Professor Oak, there was Doctor Fuji. Enzo's predecessors failed. Enzo however, has successfully managed to repress the instincts that drive this species, without adversely affecting its metabolism-"

"-What a fucking lunatic! That's the first thing that needs to be repressed! I damn near got eaten by one of these things! And if this fucked up monster came out of Waterloo-!"

"-Project Atlas was undertaken by Waterloo specifically for warmon applications. You don't honestly believe that ACE or Chimera are so reckless that we'd entrust the private sector with the first batch of domesticated Munchlaxes, do you?" Vice-Marshal Looker shut me down mid freak out.

"You're the only League Certified Trainer to have possession of a registered Munchlax. A Munchlax that underwent the same genetic refinery that its Military siblings did. There was a grand total of twenty-three Munchlaxes projected for beta testing. Only eighteen survived germination. Another two expired from birth complications. And another four died during the following neurological operations. Leaving only twelve. You have been entrusted with number six of the original twenty-three. The other eleven are currently undergoing Waterloo's combat preparation training. ACE rushed number six out of Military service and transferred its dispatch to the Ranger Corps. You will need to first complete your new unit's basic training, before moving on to the more advanced combat curriculum-"

"-It's never gonna live that long. It'll come out of that Heavy Ball just once, and then I'm gonna leave whatever is left of it for the worms." I hissed, hand clasping Doug's knife in a white knuckled grip.

"Project Atlas represents a financial investment beyond your scope of reckoning, Agent Bastard. We of ACE expect you to recognize this asset's net value, and to exercise the strictest level of precautions when handling your newest squad member. If the dispatch hasn't specified the details, Number Six is still an early juvenile, so it is quite delicate." Vice-Marshal Looker was giving me another one of ACE's warnings. But I was taking a stroll down old Memory Lane, and just coming up on the intersection of Hell Drive and Irony Road.

"...Five of my Squadmates were murdered by one of these things. Five of my friends. Five people who looked to me to keep them safe. Five Rangers that I failed." I could feel the hot tears in my eyes.

-This wasn't fair. This wasn't right.

My mother had been dead for sixth months, and the agencies responsible for promptly informing me had only made the information known last night at swordpoint.

I had just been made into an ACE Agent against my will, and told to either comply with ACE's directives, or risk certain peril.

I was stuck following a malevolent prick around, who could kill me or anyone around me at anytime for any reason without any consequence, and this same twisted and demented sadist was dropping heavy hints at my status as a political pawn.

-And now this. A living sin being thrust into my balled fists. A breathing monument to my greatest failure being forced into my care. The spawn of a monster that I hated with an unrivaled and abject loathing was now being shoved down my throat, alongside a naked threat intended to dissuade me from violating ACE's confidence.

Fuck ACE. Fuck the Rangers. Fuck Operation: Wounded Hearts.

-Fuck the fucking world.

I was gonna kill this piece of shit, even if it meant my own death.

I was gonna maim and slaughter the monster that had maimed and slaughtered my Echo.

I was gonna torture this progeny of the fiends who had tortured me.

-Vengeance.

It was all that I cared about.

It was my only escape.

It was the only recourse I would even consider.

-Death to all of Snorlaxkind. Death to every one of them.

"You will take this Heavy Ball, Agent. And you will swear to cherish its occupant like that of your own child... Or you will not leave this room alive. Last chance." Vice-Marshal Looker had finally cast aside his Kalosian courtesies, and revealed the cold-blooded and inhumane ACE Executive disguised beneath the cordial exterior.

"...Fine." I spat, grabbing the Heavy Ball and adding it to my empty belt with a twitching hand. Every livid centimeter of me was shaking in rage.

I'd leave this room with the Heavy Ball alive.

-But Vice-Marshal Looker could carry through on his death threat after I had finished avenging my fallen Echo.

"Chimera has committed every asset of their polysynaptic brown adipose tissue development to this particular batch of Munchlax. Like every warmon produced by Waterloo, the subject in question possess artificial genetic augmentations that distinguish it from its natural counterparts. Enzo Davinci himself has openly acknowledged that this restricted distribution serves primarily as a test bed. We are unsure as to what manner of behavioral or physiological complications may arise during Project Atlas's promotional stage, but Waterloo has provided all of their Munchlax recipients with a manual documenting the possible altercations. And in your case specifically, Waterloo has taken an even greater step to ensure the highest achievable success rate for their public prototype unit." Vice-Marshal Looker continued, oblivious to the fact that I was beyond giving a fuck.

"Numerous commercial organizations situated in Kanto's every urban locale have been sufficiently fortified with your Munchlax's dietary necessities. A list of such commercial organizations has been provided with your unit's dispatch. You are to meet with a Waterloo representative in Vermilion's Washington Precinct Pokemart at nineteen-hundred hours today, and to receive formal training on specific care provider techniques that will be required-"

"-Just how young is this thing?!" I spat, flicking saliva across the table with my vocal outburst. Vice-Marshal Looker met my deadly glare with his no-bullshit-tolerated gaze.

"Waterloo recorded Number Six's date of birth seven months ago. Since that date, your unit has undergone extensive surgical alterations to its cerebrum, as well as Chimera's growth enhancement therapy. With sustained release from its Heavy Ball and regular access to its required nutriment, Number Six's evolution cycle is projected to begin within a month." Vice-Marshal Looker overloaded me with the unnecessary details.

I didn't need to know anything about Waterloo's inaccurate evolution epoch estimations.

-A corpse's only "evolution" is decomposition. Everything else is irrelevant.

"Now onto the final matter. Your relationship with Vice-Marshal Halcyon." Vice-Marshal Looker began. I was glaring cold blooded loathing at his person, while still wrestling with the rage of our former exchange.

"What relationship?" I growled. Vice-Marshal Looker caught the hint.

-I'd be happier if TH was fucking dead too.

"I am aware that your first encounter was devoid of pleasantries, and every following exchange has built upon that template, but Theron Halcyon displays an almost uncanny ability to reverse individual opinions regarding his person. Every word spoken by Theron Halcyon should be regarded with suspicion of motivation. Every single word. His revenants can detect and relay to him every crack in an individual's disposition, and Theron Halcyon is not above manipulating those inherent faults to his advantage. Do not trust him, or any discussed material pertaining to his past. Theron Halcyon does not possess a conscience. Every action he takes in contradiction of the former statement is a ruse deployed to garner favor. Know what you are dealing with, Agent Bastard. Theron Halcyon is not human. He has far more in common with his soulless wraiths than he has with you or I." Vice-Marshal Looker had assumed his most deadly of serious voices for this address. I didn't doubt a word that came out of Executive Looker's mouth, but I was still applying his TH suspicion formula to my present Vice-Marshal's own motivations.

-Why was Vice-Marshal Looker so worried? Was he afraid that TH would stab ACE in the back again, and that I'd team up with him to do it?

Fuck that. I wanted nothing to do with either one of them. And if such an event was to eventually come to pass?

-Then this lowly pawn of a Ranger was gonna make himself scarce, and let the two of them duke it out for their political game board.

"I'm well ahead of you on that one, Vice-Marshal. Now before I return to my duties, is there anything else we need to discuss?" Oh, listen to me. Calmly stating commitment to duty while entertaining plans for a G.I. Munchlax's unauthorized evisceration. I probably sounded pretty suspicious myself.

"My closing recommendation pertains to your new Tact. Pad. I have uploaded all of ACE's relevant material regarding Theron Halcyon. I suggest that you outfit yourself with my personal armory of information. That way, you can at least meet the Eidolon King on a level turf. Good day to you, Agent Bastard." Vice-Marshal Looker rose from his chair, and inclined his head towards my person in a polite nod.

"Can't wish you the same, Vice-Marshal. Don't start humping your squid until I'm on the elevator. I don't want to hear the squelching on my way out." I grunted, shoving my Tact. Pad and the Munchlax's dispatch into the front pockets of my coat.

"You people of Kanto…" I heard Vice-Marshal Looker mutter in exasperation, as I hoofed it past the stationary Lugosi, and shoulder my way through the suite's exit.

After a silent repetition of my prior trip through the Embassy, I marched straight out the front doors…

...And stepped right into the grey light of Thanatos's Ghostfire.

The Chandelure's haunting came creeping back upon me, but that corporeal lamp wasn't focusing his attentions on my person.

Those burning seraphim eyes of his were aimed up at a shuttered window on the sixth floor of the Kalosian Embassy, while the Ghost above me lightly sputtered with a hiss of flames.

"Is Looker watching us?" I growled to my least favorite revenant. Thanatos turned away from the window, and fixed his damned angelic visage upon me with a soft clattering of his glass beads.

"...So whose side are we on, Thanatos?" I quietly asked of the possessed stained glass and precious metal lantern.

Thanatos's light dimmed, and the hovering wraith moved to take point ahead of me, indicating that I was to follow him back to his liege with a slow whirl of his antique frame.

"-Why did I even ask you?" I spat after the soulburner, as my marching boots dodged the writhing shadows that Vermilion City cast in the light of Thanatos's Ghostfire.

A coffee shop.

TH was just another stereotypical Kalosian.

Imbibing his espresso macchiato in neat sips, while sampling his semolina brioche with an odd compliment of Relicanth caviar, calamata olives, and barhi dates.

The fucking Chandelure seemed right at home above such a repast, as Thanatos and I entered the almost empty Cafe.

"I brought your lamp back." I grumbled, praying that TH would finally call off his wraith.

-No such luck.

"Ah, Zane! What is your preferred cup? No, no! Let me guess... Serveuse! One caffe affogato!" TH was actually smiling. Well, he was always smiling, but this was a different kind of smile. A weird kind of smile for TH to be wearing...

-I should specify: TH was actually smiling in a way that didn't insinuate a sick pleasure at someone else's discomfort.

"Of all the places to find a genuine barista cafe in Kanto, I would never have expected Vermilion City! What a refreshing taste of home!" TH was completely out of character, which was throwing me for an absolute loop.

"Your caffe affogato, Lord Halcyon." Yet another distinct Kalosian accent presented itself to me in the voice of our waitress. She was a young thing, likely Kanto born, and uneasy as all hell to be serving the haunted figure in dark shades.

-But the way she said "Lord Halcyon" implied that her apprehension wasn't brought about by TH's Distortion seep.

"Merci bien, Mademoiselle Anne." TH swept off his black cadet hat, and inclined his head in a gentlemanly bow.

"J'étais heureux de le faire, Roi Fantôme!" The waitress was beside herself with nervous giggles. You could tell that TH's Distortion seep was affecting her, but the cute little blonde was far more taken with the man responsible for her unnatural discomfort. Even so, she still made herself scarce rather quickly.

"So are you gonna tap that Kalosian ass, or can I give it a shot?" My own voice didn't sound quite right. Despite my lewd commentary, shock had deprived me of my aloof disposition.

"I would commend the endeavor if you were to abstain from defiling any more virgins with your uninhibited carnal desires, Zane. Particularly Anne." TH never missed a cordial beat, as he slid the caffe affogato across the table and towards me. Nothing I could say was going to rain on his parade. TH seemed genuinely happy to have found an individual from his own nation.

"I do hope that the Nine Lives didn't trouble you overly much. He can be rather… circuitous at times." And there was the smirk that I loathed and feared.

"...So he tried to kill you?" I asked in an undertone. TH just chuckled.

"His failure to do so hardly grants Vice-Marshal Looker's case any distinctinction. Assassination attempts were a daily occurrence in my life not so long ago. No…" TH settled back into his seat with a snide curl twisting his cruel smirk.

"It was the means that Vice-Marshal Looker employed which sickened me to no end. After his desperate maneuver failed, I reversed my expressed passivity in such matters and assumed… a far more aggressive position when dealing with political assassinations." TH grew quieter as he continued, but that nasty smile never diminished for an instant.

"-Sinnoh." I whispered. TH shrugged with a chuckle.

"Executing a single ACE Executive, or the individuals engaged by the other agencies involved, would not have conveyed a sufficient message. The fate of Sinnoh's Theocratic Parliament served as a warning to any other organizations that would dare stoop as low as Sinnoh had…" TH stated matter-of-factly.

"And you let one of the key members of that assassination attempt live?" I choked. I hadn't touched my beverage yet. I couldn't believe that I was discussing a massacre with the ghastly event's perpetrator.

-I couldn't believe that TH considered this casual conversation.

"I've shown mercy in the past. Not often, and never without some form of enforced consequence, but I need not murder every individual that wishes me ill." TH returned to his meal with a relaxed air, while I stared at him in disbelief.

"...Looker seemed to believe that you had it in for him. Something about a personal vendetta? Like him getting beheaded in the Distortion kind of vendetta?" I pressed on when my voice had returned. TH chortled through his olives.

"Did he seem… rather haggard?" TH asked slyly. I swallowed.

"As I have stated before: My mercy is not without consequence. Let the good Vice-Marshal Looker waste away in dread of my retribution. Lord willing, should the two of us ever meet in person… Well… He won't be known as the Ten Lives after that fateful encounter." TH finished his espresso, and moved on to a kettle of tea.

"You should finish that caffe affogato before the cream melts, Zane." TH indicated my untouched cup with a lackadaisical gesture.

-Yeah. Sure. First just let me figure out how to breath again…

"I understand that you have a very busy schedule today, what with your newest teammate and all, so I shan't keep you Zane. Thanatos, I thank you for your service. You may return to me now." TH idly commanded of his soulburner, finally freeing me from Thanatos's haunting.

Thanatos crackled away into the Distortion, leaving my sweat glazed hide crawling from the unnatural sound. TH rose from his seat, after laying down a King's tip for Anne upon the table, and then left the cafe without speaking another word.

Leaving me completely flabbergasted when TH's Distortion seep had faded away with him.

-What the hell was that all about?!

"Are you an associate of Lord Halcyon's?"

I jumped out my skin when that timid voice sounded above my shoulder. Poor Anne spilled coffee all over the floor when my hand connected with my knife hilt.

"-I'm sorry! I-"

Yeah, Anne and I were apologizing to each other at the same time. Normally I'd use this seemingly awkward moment to my advantage, but I wasn't feeling all that horny right now.

"Let me help you with that." I left my seat, and made to assist Anne with the cleanup, but the spry lass mopped up the spill in three deft strokes.

"There's no need. I'm ah, I'm sorry for-" Anne was looking for an escape, but my curiosity regarding recent events was compelling me to detain her.

"-You asked if I was one of TH's associates?" I baited my hook with the obvious lure.

-Bingo.

"...You were accompanied by Perdition's Glow when you arrived, were you not?" Anne paused in her retreat to sate her own curiosity.

"Perdition's Glow? You mean Thanatos? Yeah, TH temporarily assigned his soulburner to me as my… escort." I fought off the chills. Not having that Ghost plaguing my shadow was a boon still fresh to my shaken demeanor.

"Escort? Why would Lord Halcyon assign one of his holy revenants to a Kantonese Ranger as an escort?" Anne was looking at me skeptically. I just shrugged.

"I dunno. TH and I just met. Hell, I didn't even know he was a noble Lord until-"

-I was interrupted by an explosion of laughter from Anne.

"You didn't know?! Quel imbécile! He is Lord Theron Halcyon, Le Roi Fantôme! The rightful King of Kalos! Not this Tee-Atch, vous philistin!" Anne damn near spat at my feet with her last line.

-Yup. Definitely Kanto born. Anne would never have made it to adolescence with a head firmly connected to her neck had she been raised in Kalos with a temper like that.

"Damn girl. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" I tried to give Anne my one-million Sandz smile, but there must have been something in my teeth, 'cause Anne wasn't having any of it.

"Casse-toi, salope!"

-Okay. Now the girl's spit was running down my left eyebrow.

"Keep that shit up, and you're really gonna turn me on." Enter one big ol' nasty Ranger grin for a particularly scandalized Kalosian harlot.

After that line had turned her face red, Anne pretty much chased me out of the Cafe with one of the most colorful strings of french profanity that I would have never expected to hear in Kanto.

I would have been chuckling about my most recent of pick-up failures, but there were way too many dark thoughts haunting my mind to permit such flights of self-depreciative humor. Moments after having being driven to the streets of Vermilion City, my visage set into a concrete expression of cold intentions as I wiped Anne's spit from my face. Taking one good long glare at the new Heavy Ball on my belt, my jaw worked itself till my teeth had been ground into dust, while the rational part of my brain tussled with a dangerous passion.

Finally breaking off my hateful glare, I stepped off on my right foot, and marched north towards Vermilion City's gates.

I had made my decision.

ACE could do whatever the fuck they wanted to do to me.

-But I wasn't their pawn, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna put up with this twisted shit.

...There was no way in hell that I was gonna nurture the beast that had killed my Echo…

The Gouge. This massive fault splits central Kanto in half like a buttcrack, starting from northern Cerulean and stretching all the way mid-south to Vermilion City. Saffron City is nestled on a highrise of the fault's floor, affording that sprawling metropolis with a far more hospitable climate than the land smothered in the oblique fault walls' shadow.

Kanto's Gouge serves as just another startling reminder of how crazy ol' Regigigas just about tore the world in half during the late Terra-Divide.

You can't move a continent across half the equatorial breadth of the globe in a week's worth of time without leaving an impression. There's a reason for why Regigigas is regarded as the most infamous of the Lima-Threes.

Regigigas could have destroyed the entire world when he merged the South American landmass with the Asian continent's east coast. That event should have killed everything on the surface of the earth.

-But miraculously?

Earth didn't vent its newly exposed mantle into the atmosphere, and life on this planet was permitted to persist.

At least, we assumed that such an event would expose a massive portion of the Asthenosphere, which would first evaporate the oceans, and then the following global anomalies brought about by both the lack of the ocean and the colossal burning wound in the Earth's surface would have rendered this planet incapable of supporting life, but good ol' Regigigas…

...He didn't need to go as deep as the Asthenosphere. Regigigas basically just shook the granite continental layer of South America free from the basalt layer of the oceanic crust…

...And then Regigigas proceeded to push the world's biggest rock across the pacific ocean's abyssal plain.

Life on this planet was spared courtesy of a Lima-Three's cost-cutter. It would've taken too much of an effort for Regigigas to fuck Earth the right way by digging all the way down to Asthenosphere.

That said…

...Even Regigigas's cost-cutter still fucked us up good.

You can't move an article with that much mass across a planet's surface without incurring some pretty violent repercussions. The seafloor between South America's original point of origin and its current location is marred with both mantle breaching scars and continental debris. So most of the original South American landmass is scattered across the pacific ocean's abyssal plain. And as for the South American continent's point of origin…

Well, we're fourteen-thousand years past the Terra Divide, and ships still won't cross that area of the pacific ocean. Despite Regigigas's half-hearted attempt at killing the planet, he still managed to open up some pretty deep rents in the Earth's crust. There is exposed mantle in South America's point of origin, just not enough to bring about a Hadean cataclysm that would end life on this world…

...But still enough to fill a continental expanse with toxic gases and a nearly boiling sea.

None of mankind's seafaring vessel have thus far been designed with a hull that can resist temperature expansion to that degree, and an atmosphere constituting of high concentrations of sulfur dioxide and hydrogen sulfide is anything but breathable.

-We're just grateful that only one contained area of the Earth was so adversely affected by the Terra Divide. Contemporary humanity believed that Regigigas could've similarly fucked up the entire planet.

And the crazy repercussions of the Terra-Divide still scar the world to this day.

The massive continental crack known in Kanto as "The Gouge?"

-That's just where the South American Landmass buckled halfway into its relocation.

And the Gouge is one weird environment, let me tell you.

The Gouge itself spans damn near a thousand-kilometers from fault wall to fault wall, and everything between those walls are subject to entangled climates, due to the sheer depth of the fault floor and the incredible altitude of the fault walls.

The entire Gouge acts as a "Storm Canal," where the warmer northern tropical storms of Cerulean funnel down and meet the cooler southern tropical storms of Vermilion.

-But if you think that these two different tropical storms make it universally wet in the Gouge, you'd better think again.

The core of the Gouge is an elevated plateaux, which may be lower than the fault walls, but it's still higher than the heavy clouds that bring tropical weather across Central Kanto by means of the "Storm Canal."

And this plateaux has enough altitude to defy the stretching shadows of the fault walls, meaning that the baking heat of the sun pounds the plateau's surface every hour of every day.

The end result is a wet trench that is too cold to qualify as tropical, and a plateau rising from its center that matches the definition of an "arid desert."

Swamps and Badlands nestled side by side in queer harmony.

-That's the Gouge.

Depending on your elevation, you'll either be standing in woodlands, bog, slough, or desert. And all of this diverse terrain can be experienced in a geologically insignificant four-hundred kilometer range.

And just like every other compacted diversity of environments, the Gouge's indigenous mon roster defies comparison.

-We haven't even documented every species of mon occupying the Gouge. Just about any species of mon can locate a habitat that suits their inherent preferences within this one tectonic fault.

And the sheer expanse of locales means that the dwindling Ranger Corps cannot monitor the entirety of the Gouge. We have one Outpost south of Cerulean, two Bastions situated in Saffron, and one Outpost north of Vermilion.

Everything in between the Frontier Outposts and the City Bastions is no man's land. One-million-nine-hundred-and eighty-seven-thousand square kilometers of uncharted hostile territory. The Frontier of all Frontiers. Potentially the most dangerous location on Earth for humanity.

-The Gouge.

...I just can't think of a better place for killing a Munchlax.

I had left Vermilion City's northern gate far behind me. Taking the Frontier trail north towards Saffron, I sought a location free of other eyes. Trainers were still commonplace, but my Tact. Pad had me listed as "Unincorporated," so the Trainer's Eyes didn't register me as a Trainer with a competitive mon roster.

Which looked pretty suspicious, seeing as no Ranger worth his blood would dare enter the Gouge undefended. Fortunately, there wasn't only Trainers on the north road. An interesting spectacle was up for review, as a detachment of Skinheads and Greenbacks alike were marshaled together in order to operate the southern Gouge's patrols.

The Skinheads were receiving their Frontier training from the Ranger Corps' Commanders, and the Rangers were substituting their personnel shortages with the Military's junior regiments. It was one of the unusual features of Vermilion. The Military Governors actually gave a pair of council seats to the Ranger Corps, and afforded the local Ranger Corps with all the respect due an allied military division. Contrary to everything that the Infantry of both separate marshal divisions propagate, the Greenbacks and the Skinheads are pretty tight as allies. Sure, the Skinheads love to brag about their guns and bombs, and the Greenbacks love to remind the Skinheads that there's no such thing as action in the Military, but our two Governmental ordained militias can see eye to eye on one article:

-The necessity of violence.

Yep, I may view the Ranger Corps as the superior fighting force when compared to the Military, but it doesn't mean that I'd turn down a Skinhead's assist in a firefight.

-And if you could somehow keep a Skinhead and me from discussing the dissimilar effectiveness of our two separate marshal divisions, we'd probably get along swimmingly.

But the Bucket Hats are the Bucket Hats, and the Berets are the Berets, and ne'er should the two convene.

So it is written, and so say we all:

-Praise be the Corps, and fuck the fucking Military.

I was getting some looks from the Ranger divisions of the patrols, but not one unit dared break formation to address me. You could tell that some of the Greenbacks were positively itching to point me out to their Commanders.

The Fucking Bastard was in Vermilion. Which could only mean one thing:

-Lieutenant Surge was next on the Fucking Bastard's "Gym Leaders that needed to be fucked-up list."

That contest was guaranteed to generate some interesting conflicts between the Skinheads and the Greenbacks, let me tell you. But fortunately, my presence in Vermilion was currently known only by a few active duty Rangers. It would take about a day for the rest of Kanto to figure out my present location.

Giving me one day of solitude to avenge my fallen Echo.

Moving deeper into the Gouge, I came at last to the final checkpoint. Vermilion Prime Outpost was dead ahead, and beyond that, stretched untouched kilometers of the Gouge's Frontier privacy.

But I wasn't using the Ranger's established checkpoints to cross the border of humanity's land and the mon's turf. I didn't want to deal with the Corps or their Frontier access procedures right now.

So I scaled the Route walls, and crossed the Hades's Swath, before plunging into the Gouge's overgrowth as good as naked.

No Cortez. No Vauban. No Damascus. Not even Darwin.

Just my standard kit, my beret and BDU, a pair of knives, and one cold blooded intention.

Clasped to the mag-lock on my belt. Sponging up a charge for its microcomputers from the BIOS interface locking it to my hip.

A Munchlax's Heavy Ball.

-Both the past purveyor and future recipient of every foul memory and horrible emotion that currently threatened to tear me apart.

I was walking with them again.

They were right behind me when we crossed into the Frontier as a single unit.

Carlos at my back.

Brenda right behind him.

Erin and Pete on either side of her.

Amber on the rear.

We were heading for Frontier Charlie.

They were scared as all hell.

Yet they marched on, every hope they bore for survival was pinned upon my shoulders.

...And even though I now knew what was going to happen to us…

...I still couldn't stop marching…

The dream wouldn't let me undo what had already been done before.

I stood in that clearing for what felt like an age.

Staring at the Heavy Ball in my hand.

They were still with me.

My Echo.

Everyone of them had taken their positions around me.

I could hear them all speaking to me again. Snippets of the conversations that I'd held with them back when they were alive…

Our unit had died.

Every one of us had been murdered.

Yet one of Echo still carried on.

Broken. Defeated. Wounded. Shattered.

...Lost.

I was the spirit of vengeance. I was the embodiment of Echo's loss.

One crippled Ranger.

One angry, hurt, and frightened soldier.

But I wasn't alone. My Echo was here.

-And they were going to help me right this one wrong.

I didn't say a word as I drew Doug's knife from its sheath. I never gave a command as I released the trigger on the Heavy Ball.

The Pokeball's beam hadn't even begun to condense when I dropped the Heavy Ball, and drew my second BAMF.

The Crossed Arms on my breast clinked when that crude knife's hilt brushed up against the medallion's pin.

I didn't deserve that decorum.

I had failed my Echo. They had died, and I had lived.

The Crossed Arms wasn't awarded to survivors.

The honor hanging from my coat was awarded to martyrs.

Today…

...Today I was gonna earn my medal.

Today, I was gonna be the martyr.

Today…

...I was gonna see my Echo again.

The beam began to materialize after a painful five second delay. Both of my knives fell into position, as I assumed a rigid stance.

I could see them dying again.

Carlos crushed underfoot.

Pete ripped in half.

Amber's disoriented eyes looking up past the gun barrel held between my hands.

Erin and Brenda screaming, right before they both disappeared…

And me…

Firing every remaining round in my gun into the fat fuck's dome. Screaming obscenities through the unheeded river of tears as I tossed aside the empty gun and drew my knife.

Charging straight for the Snorlax without any thought for my own self preservation.

The roar that shook the earth when my knife sank into the fatty belly.

The cruising paws that took me by my shoulders and hefted me into the air like a pebble.

The smell of its rancid breath as that gory mouth opened, and the hot wind that deafened me with yet another roar.

The teeth that punctured every inch of my body, and the jaws that had broken every bone in my chest and legs.

I was there again.

I was right there.

And that Snorlax…

...Had only just begun to take a form free of his Heavy Ball.

Standing three meters tall from his splayed toes to the tiny triangular auricles of his ears. Three meters wide at the gut, shrinking by half a meter above and below that at the most. Thick and heavy forearms dangling from the soft and narrow biceps. A powerful pectoral thorax stationed right above the swollen fatty abdomen. A bluish-black coat of coarse hairs running down the muscular back. A downy cream colored fur stretching from the stubby tail and up to the elongated chin. Two yellow tusks jutting out from the canine roots of the lower jaw.

A Caniforms's black button nose and snouted lips merging with a Homininae's bulky rostral ridge.

It almost looked like an obese hybrid of the old Earth's now extinct Ursidae Family and Gorillini Tribe.

-A Munchlax. The miniature version of a Snorlax.

For just one moment, I locked up.

It was real.

It was standing right there.

My tormentor.

The horror and anger flared throughout my being until all I could see was red, and all I could hear was a dull ring. Every dead nerve in my scars lit up with a wet heat, as the memories rekindled that bodily agony again.

My Echo, dead.

My body, ruined.

My mind, haunted.

My future, damned.

And this monster…

...This thing…

...Was responsible for it all.

I took one step towards the Munchlax, knives raised for the kill…

...And the quivering Munchlax fell onto its side with a yelp.

I locked up again.

-I hadn't even touched it, and the Munchlax had just tumbled over…

...As if it couldn't stand on its own four feet.

As if it were wounded...

As if it were completely helpless…

...It was a baby. It still had its milk teeth. The mammalian infant's eyes hadn't even opened yet.

The Munchlax was making a piteous racket on the Frontier loam, rolling and flopping this way and that, as though it was searching for something.

I couldn't move.

I was expecting a monster…

...Not a child looking for its mother.

I clenched my teeth and hefted my blades as I stepped forward again.

Then I saw the scars, weaving a sinister pattern around the Munchlax's posterior cranium.

I knew what those fine red contours and evenly distanced tracks denoted. I had marks just like those scrawled all across my own body.

-Surgical scars.

...What the hell had Waterloo done to this thing?

-Why the fuck did I even care?

Gritting my teeth, I sheathed my standard BAMF, and grabbed a hold of the prone Munchlax's left ear with my spare hand.

I didn't need to fight this beast.

This Munchlax was practically helpless.

-All I had to do was execute it.

Doug's razored edge found the Munchlax's throat, and my face twisted with the rage when my hands refused to carry out my will.

-No.

...I couldn't do it like this.

-The Snorlax didn't show me any merciful quick death.

...Why the hell should I spare its child of the same agony?

Should I gut the Munchlax alive?

Stab it to death?

Beat it to a fatty pulp, and then hack the bruised remains into bits?

...Or just open the abdominal cavity, and then abandon the infant Munchlax in the hostile Frontier to bleed out?

I couldn't make my mind up.

...I don't know why I couldn't just do it.

-Why was I trying to stop myself?

One look into the Munchlax's sealed eyes filled me with a cold hollow that hinted at something's absence.

I was trying to stop myself, because he was dead.

...Because the Fucking Bastard was dead, just like his Echo.

Meaning that it was only me in that clearing.

...And Zane just couldn't bring himself to murder a helpless child.

"Do it, you piece of shit…" I spat at myself.

Doug's red blade pressed back up against the Munchlax's throat. The little fucker swatted at me when the edge drew blood.

It was what I needed. I needed an excuse…

Just show me that you're a monster.

Prove to me that you aren't a motherless child.

"Come on, you fucker!" I grabbed the Munchlax by the lower jaw, and lifted his chin away from his jugular. Infant or not, the Munchlax was still a monster.

And Rangers killed monsters. No matter what their age was.

Doug's knife lifted above my head, as I angled the blade for one clean and heavy stroke.

"NO! DON'T!" I tensed up when the dream brought her voice back to me.

...Brenda…

"You don't understand! They're still alive! They're only babies!"

-The Nido pyre.

"Don't kill them, Zane! Please… Please don't hurt them!"

I could see their horrified faces again. I could see the terror and pity in everyone of my Echo's eyes. They didn't want to see any children burned to death by my hands. My Echo didn't want to be the monsters that murdered infants after their birth.

You have to look, Zane. This is your duty. You have to watch…

You've seen this before. You know that you're prepared for it…

You can't run anymore, Zane…

My own words… The very same words that I had spoken to Brenda, while a litter of Nido pups were immolated under my orders…

...Those same words…

...Came back to haunt me.

...So I looked at the ghosts of my Echo. I fulfilled my duty to those fallen Rangers. I watched as all the grief that I had inflicted upon them broke everyone of those kind souls...

I had seen this before. I knew that I wasn't prepared for it.

...And I couldn't accept vengeance as my only escape…

Doug's knife fell from my limp hand. I hit the ground rump first, feeling more uneasy than I had ever felt before.

-Was I a coward?

...Or was this just empathy?

The Munchlax's massive head pivoted on a scent. Those sightless, closed eyes fell onto me. That black button nose sniffed desperately at the air.

And with a frightened groan, the Munchlax placed its huge head into my lap, and curled its massive body around me.

I couldn't do anything. Breathing escaped me. I couldn't kill this Munchlax…

...But I sure as hell didn't want it touching me.

A panicking Ranger took a hold of the castoff Heavy Ball, and a compromised Zane made the hideous abomination disappear in a flash of red light.

I was hyperventilating when I stared at the Heavy Ball in my hands.

I felt sick. I felt terrified.

The dream began to fade, and all of Echo's voices drifted off into the distance…

And I was alone.

Yet again, I was all alone.

"Cortez."

My dog looked up at me from the kennel. He knew something was wrong. Maybe it was the hollow voice. Maybe it was the vacant stare. Maybe it was the slump that crushed my invincible disguise.

I didn't even try to hide it. I didn't even look like the Fucking Bastard anymore.

Haggard. Beaten. Limping on his crippled frame. Not one of my present concerns warranted an illusion worth entertaining.

I couldn't even look my scarred up dog in the eye.

The kennel master opened the gate, and a gimpy Growlithe staggered out into my arms.

We were in full view of the Military's Reconnaissance division.

A disabled Ranger, and his wounded Hunter-Killer.

A Martial Trainer, and his GI Growlithe.

A boy, and his dog.

Cortez knew that I needed him. It must just be animal thing.

It must just be a family thing…

...But no judgemental audience was gonna stop me from holding my dog.

"Alright… Alright…" I swallowed the choke in my throat, and wrestled a shuddering breath into my lungs. I lifted myself back up into the dignified posture expected of my person. Cortez, ever the soldier, followed his CO's suit and took his disciplined position at my side. Most of the Skinheads were still eying us something funny when Cortez and I marched out of the Kennel yard. I didn't pay a single quirked brow or stink eye any heed.

Fuck all of you.

You can't even dream of having a family as tight as mine…

Cortez and I exited the Military compound and came out onto the public streets, before we made our way south down Vermilion main.

"Did the medics treat you well in Cerulean?" I asked my dog in a guarded voice.

Cortez sneezed at me.

"I'll take that as a no." I chuckled, grateful to have my silent second in command back at my side.

"Cortez, I need to fill you in on some details. We got a couple of issues that you need to be aware of." I came to a stop beside a decommissioned hulk of an antiquated Main Battle Tank. This ugly mechanical beast had once carved death and destruction across every modern battlefield that humanity had ever fought in. Though such artificial weapons were made of metals, the exterior armor of the Tank seemed more akin to concrete. Cold. Hard. Dense beyond belief.

I sat down on the steel plates that wove one track of the MBT's isosceles trapezium treads. The massive one-hundred-and-ten millimeter smoothbore barrel above my head was aimed up into the sky, as though in a salute. The Tank's olive green paint and cameo brush tones accentuated the olive coloration of my own BDU, hinting at this weapon's jungle terrain history.

These MBTs had once served as intrinsic elements for the defense of humanity's supremacy.

...And the little orange dog at my hip represented the alien monsters that had triumphed over that supremacy. The irony of how mankind had come to rely on these same invading monsters for our survival did not escape me.

Evolution.

Even humanity could adapt at an unbelievable speed.

"We have a mission update, Cortez. We're keeping close tabs on a very powerful and dangerous individual. Now, I know that you've never met him, but I might have made mention of him in the past. His name is TH. He's a mass murdering, inhumane, and soulless freak. He commands a host of Championship Ghosts, so you need to be ready for some freaky levels of paranormal activity. Normally, I'd spare you the agony and keep you sequestered in your Pokeball, but I need you at my side, Cortez…" I shuddered, and Cortez moved his bandaged ass closer to me.

I had my number two's support.

"That's item one. But I also need your help somewhere else, Cortez…" I reached down for my belt, and lifted the new Heavy Ball from its clasp.

"We have… a new squad member. And I don't think that you or Vauban are gonna like this one anymore than I do. But we're stuck with him, so we all have to buck up, and stomach this load of bullshit…" My voice had gone hoarse with anger, as I struggled to repress the rage that clenched every muscle in my neck and shoulders, and shook my gnashing teeth in a jarring breath.

Cortez was eyeing me warily, but he wasn't nervous for his own sake.

My dog was worried about me, and Cortez's obvious concern was enough to help me win the fight.

"We're going through hell again, Cortez. I'm walking us right into the Brink…" I swallowed, putting a shaking hand on my dog's head.

"But I'm gonna get us all through this. We're all gonna get past this with-" Cortez cut me off by biting my hand. It was more of a nip than anything else, but it still shut me up. My mismatched startled eyes lowered to meet Cortez's mismatched calm gaze.

He was telling me, in the special way that only Cortez could.

We were gonna get through this. I wasn't leading this shitty operation solo.

I had my family at my back, and none of them were gonna leave me behind.

"You're a better dog than I deserve, Cortez… I've caught myself thinking that so many times… I even said it aloud a couple of times… But I've never told you that before, have I?" I asked Cortez, as my voice began to crumble. Cortez sneezed at me again, and fixed me with a warm green eye.

-Cortez knew that he was better than I deserved. But he still wanted me to serve as his CO.

"Damnit Cortez… You'd make for one hell of Colonel, you know that dog?" I slapped my pooch's neck with a smile. Cortez gave me another sneeze, followed by a sarcastic glow to his purple eye.

-Colonel? Now I was just insulting Cortez.

"Well, Cortez… You know the situation. And you get to meet our newest squadmate first. Come on. I've got a scheduled appointment with a Waterloo sponsored Pokemart to attend." I grumbled, pushing myself off the MBT. Cortez gave me the lead, before falling in behind his weary CO.

I put my mask back on, and wrestled the limp back into a steady footfall. Appearances still counted for something, and my Cortez had given me the strength I required to girdle ACE's yoke with dignity.

I didn't doubt for a second that this shit was only going to get worse before, and if, it ever got better.

But I wasn't alone anymore.

And that camaraderie was all I needed to find myself when I felt lost.

"...Cortez? What is it, boy?" I stopped in my tracks and turned back towards my dog. I had only just noticed the sudden lack of dog nails clacking across the the smooth Vermilion streets.

Cortez had come to an abrupt standstill. He was sniffing at the air, and an almost whimsical expression came across my dog's scarred up face, before a painful clench killed the budding look of hope in those mismatched eyes.

"Cortez, what is it?" I asked, my own voice worried. Cortez shook himself firmly, and lifted a shaking paw. Forcefully planting that paw on the ground before him, Cortez took one reluctant step towards me.

"...Cortez?"

Cortez slammed his eyes shut, and lowered his head as the next step brought him even closer to his CO. Then with a visible force of effort, Cortez mastered himself against whatever was eating him, and my dog fell into step only half a pace behind my left flank.

"Are you gonna be alright?" I asked, my concern plain to Cortez's Hunter-Killer ears. But Cortez didn't acknowledge me. He wouldn't even look at me. Cortez had withdrawn into himself, and I knew that pressing right now wasn't gonna help him.

"Alright, Cortez. If you need to… Aw, just fuck it. You know what I mean." I put a comforting hand on Cortez's neck, and gave my dog a gentle rub. Cortez glanced at me for a second, and I could see a new wound opening up in my dog's eyes. But his quick glance was the only hint that Cortez was gonna give me, before my soldier mustered up his facade, and stood every bit as unbreakable as his CO, when the two of them marched their way towards their next destination.

And for all our outwards invulnerability…

...Neither one of us was fooling the other.

We were running a bit late for our appointment with Waterloo. Not that I really gave a damn, but upon entering the Pokemart's front door, I still endeavored to appear all hot and bothered just in case someone was waiting to hand me a shitstorm.

-Five seconds later, I really found myself wishing for a shitstorm, instead of what I got.

"Zane!"

Yep. Guess who?

One red leather suit coat. A massive pair of neon orange shutter shades. A hideous neon orange scarf that clashed horribly with every other garment that he wore. He was reeking of cologne and hair care products, and his face was painted in enough makeup to give him the appearance of a china doll.

Old Fuck-Nuts in the flesh.

-Not who I was expecting.

"Chris." I grumbled, ignoring the manicured hand being thrust at my person.

Christopher Motherfucking Lebreau.

-And here I thought that my life couldn't possibly get any worse.

"Zane… We have to work on your presentations. This is a handshake. You know what a fucking handshake is, now shake my fucking hand." Chris groaned in exasperation.

-Better idea.

"Would you break down and cry like a little bitch if I just broke your hand instead?" I gave Chris that nasty fucking grin of mine. Even a fucktard like Chris wasn't gonna test the eager kind of crazy lighting up in my eyes.

"For the love of God, Zane… Don't do that when Indigo's Channel Four interviews you…" Chris pressed his thumb and forefinger beneath the shades and started rubbing his eyes.

"So what are you doing here?" I grumbled, wondering for a second if this was an unwanted coincidence.

-It wasn't.

"I hightailed it out of Saffron after our mutual friends alerted me to your location, and informed me that you'd be at this Pokemart tonight. I'm orchestrating Indigo's interview for you. Vermilion is gonna play host to Indigo's Channel Four and their rundown on the Bastard. I was also advised to bring a camera tonight. Some of our mutual friends suggested that there might be something worthy of coverage occurring here." Chris filled me in. I just sighed.

"So you don't work with Waterloo?" I asked. Chris made a funny face.

"Waterloo? What the hell does Chimera's warmon division have to do-? No fucking way." Chris dropped the last bit in a dead stun.

"Yep. That's why they told you to bring a camera." I grunted.

"A new mon on your roster? What kind?" Chris asked, suddenly as excitable as a schoolboy.

"Not one that I want." I growled. Chris's cheesy smile widened.

"Something dangerous?" Chris asked, his voice nearly cracking from the anticipation.

"-Hardly, and yet at the same time, unbelievably dangerous." Enter a new voice and a strange face. One heavyset woman with a tangle of brown hair and a smattering of facial acne barged in on the conversation, and extended a warm hand to me.

"Doctor Leslie O'Hare. Waterloo Developer. And you must be the Bastard." The smiling woman announced. I shook her offered hand in numb shock.

"Yeah, that's me." I replied, still trying to adjust to the transition.

"And who are you?" Leslie asked Chris suspiciously, who stiffened up at the question.

"Chris Lebreau, Spokesperson for the Pokemon Fanclub, and Zane's PR Agent?" Chris sarcastically announced, as if Leslie should have know about it before hand.

"Right. Okay. Zane. Have you met your new Squadmate yet?" Leslie ignored Chris's indignation, and turned back to me with a question.

"We've been… formally introduced." I growled. Leslie quirked a bushy eyebrow at my obvious hostility.

"Did something go wrong?" Leslie asked, an edge of worry creeping into her voice.

"I take it that you haven't reviewed my service record?" I asked, my teeth gritting over every spoken word.

"Can't say that I've had the honor-" Leslie began all pleasantly curious, but I wasn't gonna let her finish.

"Then let's not go there, and let's just get this fucking over with already." I muttered. Chris, Leslie, and even Cortez was eying me oddly now.

"Well… If you insist…" Leslie seemed slightly off-put by my behavior, but I was beyond caring. Chris and Cortez were only becoming all the more anxious now. Chris was starting to fidget: because he couldn't wait to see what my new mon was, and Cortez was getting nervous: because that dog knew me.

And that defeated tone in my voice did not bode well with my dog's ears.

"I assume you're here to take some pictures?" Leslie turned to my PR Agent. Chris was practically bouncing on the leather heels of his cowboy boots.

"Of course! What level of exposure should I adjust for?!" Chris went fucking nuts as he riffled through his red leather attache case.

"I'll leave that decision up to your photography discretion, Mister Lebreau. Zane? Shall we?" Despite having to deal with the weary asshole in a Ranger's beret, Doctor O'Hare still did her physician best to deal the blow to my person softly.

"Let's do this." I mumbled, gingerly removing the Heavy Ball from my hip.

Chris's eyes widened in dawning awe when he saw the model of my new Pokeball.

"Right this way, please. I've set up a nursery in the aromatherapy ward. We'll have a bit of privacy while I instruct you in the proper maternal techniques." Doctor O'Hare punctuated the awkward statement with a grin.

"Whatever. Just as long as I don't have to breastfeed the fat little fuck." I growled, pushing past the camera fumbling Chris in pursuit of Doctor O'Hare.

For some strange reason, my vehement utterance made the Waterloo Developer laugh.

"Okay, Cortez. Try not to freak out." I warned my hound. Cortez tensed up at my side, and fixed a wary purple eye on the Heavy Ball in my hand. Chris was lining the camera up on the designated release platform. Which was a huge and cozy mattress normally utilized in big mon aromatherapy.

"Fat fuck, report." I hissed, releasing the Heavy Ball's trigger. The beam condensed on the mattress, and the five second delay began.

Cortez started growling the instant it took form on the pad.

"Oh my stars…" Chris whimpered as the camera fell from his numb hands.

One fat fucking Munchlax. Inside a building. Within a fucking city.

-An unprecedented event.

"Number six! Number six!" Doctor O'Hare quickly moved to subdued the flailing Munchlax, but the hideous primordial sloth of an infant was succumbing to a panic attack.

"-A little help?!" A desperate Doctor O'Hare looked over at me after the Munchlax just about threw her off itself with one of its noisy bucks. Doctor O'Hare was doing her damndest to soothe the beast with her soft words and a gentle hand.

-And any Ranger could tell you that such an approach was doomed to fail.

"Cortez, hold position and chill the fuck out." The Fucking Bastard hissed to his agitated Second in Command. I marched my ass right over to the flailing Munchlax and the worried Doctor murmuring sweet nothings in his ear. My hands deftly intercepted the Munchlax's baying maw, and my teeth bit down hard on the Munchlax's black button nose. One loud squeal and buck later, I managed to reverse the Munchlax's reflexive backpedal by positioning every kilogram of the gigantic animal right over his unstable rear legs.

That Munchlax hit the ground hard enough to send a dull tremor through the concrete floor. And one very pissed off Ranger was right there on top him, appealing to the infant's desperate survival instincts by crushing his sapling thick larynx in between my iron palms.

"Calm the fuck down now." I growled, positioning my weight over the Munchlax's head, smothering the terrified monster.

-And miraculously…

Zane Bastard proved his aptitude in properly handling infant monsters.

The fat fucker did exactly as I commanded of him. The Munchlax had given up. Where a Doctor's calming words had failed, a Ranger's enforced futility had succeeded.

Submission.

-It's a language that I'm well versed in.

Now that I'd proven my dominance, the Munchlax was assuming the fetal position.

"...Well… It seems that… You have a handle on it…" A startled Doctor O'Hare was looking at me something nervously. The Aromatherapy ward had begun to accrue an audience due to all the commotion. Chris eventually managed to close his gaping mouth long enough to perform his PR Agent job, and ward off the onlookers. Chasing a crowd of employees out of their own Aromatherapy ward with an attitude rank enough to insinuate a correlation between their curiosity and cardinal sin, Chris finally plied his skillset towards doing something other than pissing me off.

"Are you kidding me?" I snorted at Doctor O'Hare when Chris slammed the Aromatherapy ward's door shut on the retreating faculty.

"-This piece of shit is child's play compared to a Nidoking." I spat, loosening my death grip on the Munchlax's throat. Doctor O'Hare tittered meekly.

"That's right. You're a Special Operative in the Corps, aren't you?" Doctor O'Hare's eyes darted to the stained SO bandanna wrapped around my left bicep.

"Like I said, child's play." I grunted, pulling myself off the prone Munchlax. Chris returned to the fold with a renewed expression of disbelief plastered on his face.

"Holy shit… A fucking Munchlax…" Chris put a hand over his mouth in awe.

"One of the first domestic units. That said, Enzo still gave his prototypes the milspec genetic refinement process. We'll get into the science later, though. Let's first work on establishing the care-provider and dependant relationship between Zane and Number six. Have you named him yet, Zane?" Doctor O'Hare asked. A nasty grimace overcame my countenance, as a pair of suggestive titles appealed to my ironic sense of justice.

"I was thinking Orestes. But maybe Deuteronomy would better suit my expectations. You know that one passage? Twenty-one, eight, twenty-one?" I sarcastically suggested.

"Twenty-one, eight, twenty-one… Doesn't that passage advocate the stoning of disobedient children to death?" Chris asked in confusion. I snorted.

"Yep. The bible is a beautiful template to live by, ain't it?" I replied. The Munchlax began to whimper.

"Um… Okay, well… The sooner you select a name for him, the sooner he'll have something to respond to…" Doctor O'Hare was clearly uncomfortable with my choice in Munchlax names. Truth be told, I had no intention of naming the fucker after a mythological proponent of matricide, or an unquestionably immoral old-testament passage.

-That's more of TH's theme. Unlike King Creep, Zane Bastard has taste.

"...How about Machiavelli?" I asked, alluding to the father of modern political science with my next suggestion.

"Is that a reference to The Prince?" Chris asked me curiously.

Color me surprised. Old Fuck-Nuts knew his history, and was proving smart enough to correlate the name's implication with my new mon.

"...Upon this a question arises: whether it be better to be loved than feared or feared than loved?" -Nicolo Machiavelli: "The Prince," Chapter XVII: Concerning Cruelty and Clemency, and Whether it is Better to be Loved than Feared...

"Kinda what I was thinking, yeah…" I grumbled reluctantly. Doctor O'Hare started tittering again.

"Well, the name is substantially more positive than your other suggestions…" Doctor O'Hare smiled.

-I don't know about that...

"Fine. Mac it is then." I sighed, looking down at the quivering mass of hate at my feet.

"Alright. Zane, can you persuade Machiavelli to come out of his curl? We need to feed him. Soon." Doctor O'Hare asked tentatively.

Well, I know how to make mon fear me…

-That's a form of persuasion, right?

"Machiavelli, get your fat ass up." I kicked the huddled Munchlax hard in the forearm.

Mac scrunched up even tighter.

"Machiavelli, mess time. Now." Another boot, this one aimed at the head with a higher velocity.

Mac moaned and tried shuffling away from me.

"WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, MAC?!" My spitting mouth was scant inches from Mac's shriveled ears. Mac started panicking again.

"If you make me fuck your shit up again, THEN THIS TIME I AIN'T GONNA STOP HURTING YOU WHEN YOU HIT THE GROUND!" My hands had Mac by the neck, and the bucking infant tried to locate his feet. But I knew why Mac was trying to stand up.

Mac wasn't rising to obey me.

Mac was trying to escape the scary Ranger who was hellbent on turning his life into one shortass black and blue blur.

Mac hadn't even put down three meters before I kicked his knees out and fell on his squealing ass with both of my dukes swinging.

It was all coming back. Echo. The Snorlax. My mutilation. Their deaths.

It was all coming back to haunt the Ghost of Echo, as he ransacked his fists, and ground his boots into every tender inch of the Munchlax.

I hadn't beaten a mon this big since my Spec Ops graduation.

...And it would've felt fucking amazing if it wasn't for the hot tears in my eyes.

I had totally lost it. I could hear them screaming again. The pain was alive in every dead tissue, screaming agony throughout my every horrid memory and fatal perception. I could feel that roar reverberating across my ruined body, jarring my every cold and bleeding hole.

I was there.

...And it wasn't going to be the shocked Chris who pulled me out of it. It wasn't going to be the frantically screaming Doctor O'Hare who caught my hand when it drew Doug's knife.

There was only one person in that room who could reach me through my haze of animalistic violence and overwhelming grief.

Cortez pulled my ass off Mac in a display of his Hunter-Killer finest. Take down techniques were the lifeblood of pack hunters, and Waterloo had only perfected that inborn tactic. Cortez had me disarmed and on my back before I could even process my sudden relocation.

And there he was.

Both paws on my collars. Those big teeth of his were bared before the tip of my nose, while a guttural snarl billowed me with his hot and foul breath. One angry green eye met my lone functioning one. An orange mass of pissed off striped fur and a huge ugly scar.

-My Cortez.

...Once again reminding his CO of his place.

"...Are you gonna keep me pinned all day, or are you gonna let me do my job, Cortez?" I hissed up at my second in command. Another snarl told me that my response had been registered as the wrong answer.

"...I'm cool, pooch. I'm cool." I kept my tone level, and Cortez's black hackles quivered. But those naked teeth were still holding their position over my exposed throat.

"...Cortez… Let me try again." I whispered in a calm voice.

The green eye softened, and the orange weight on my chest withdrew. I lay there on my back for a moment, just staring up at the white ceiling, before I finally sighed and pulled myself into a sitting position.

Cortez was right there at my side. He might have been a bit disappointed in me, but my dog wasn't gonna let that come between family. I didn't even know that my arm was around Cortez's shoulders until after I had already buried my face into his white mane.

It was just another one of our moments. One of those moments where we both cast aside the soldier for the other.

One of those moments where Cortez and I gave each other the real us.

"Alright… Let's try again." I shuddered as the moment came unto its closure. Lifting myself to my feet, I ignored the bewildered and stunned looks I was receiving from Doctor O'Hare and Chris. I took my heavy steps over towards the terrified Munchlax, who trembled at the sound of those boots drawing ever closer.

It really was just a baby. A big, lost, hurt, helpless, and terrified infant.

Mac had seen my Fucking Bastard side…

...Now I had to show him my other side.

"Mac. Relax." That voice was every bit as decisive as before, but the anger in it was long gone and dead. One bruised knuckle of mine fell upon one shuddering ear of Mac's.

"I ain't gonna hurt you, unless you give me a reason to hurt you." That bruised hand was doing its best to soothe the agitated beast below it. I had an idea of where a Munchlax's sweetspots might be located, and I gauged my new mon for a reaction as I probed the soft tissues of his ears, face, and neck.

"Come on, you fat bitch. Quit your crying already." It didn't matter what I said at this point. It only mattered how I said it.

Even Zane Bastard could curse in a soft tone.

"Come on, show me a weakness…" My hand was joined by the other, and together they adjusted my massage technique by assaulting both of Mac's ears simultaneously.

-Bingo.

Mac went dead silent and absolutely still. Then that massive head of his started lifting from the curl. A bit more vicious rubbing brought about the onset of synchronised rocking from Mac's fatty frame. Then that wheezing mouth of his started opening along its black seam, and chords of saliva started dripping from between his nasty teeth.

"Yeah, every monster has a tender spot, don't they?" I grimaced.

I wasn't ready to open up to this monster. I couldn't bring myself to forget about what his kind had done to me, and those close to me.

I wasn't going to stop hating Mac for being a Munchlax.

But he wasn't the Snorlax that had taken so much from me…

...And that was a start for both of us.

"Can you move Mac over onto the mattress? I don't know if we can move the supplemental nursing system over to him…" Doctor O'Hare had finally found her voice. I don't think that the Waterloo Developer had expected a spectacle quite like this when she had set up her little show.

"Okay, Mac. Come on. Follow me." I moved both hands behind the joints of Mac's lower jaw, before tugging him over towards Doctor O'Hare's mattress. The fat fuck staggered on his unsteady feet, but a scarred up Growlithe wedged his nose into Mac's ankles, and pushed the infant Munchlax in the right direction.

Mac collapsed a few times before he made the mattress, but Cortez and I both ushered him back onto his feet, and guided the blind beast forward. When Mac finally fell into the mattress, he hunkered down as though for a nap, but the wary tilt to his ears meant that he still felt absolutely miserable.

"You know Ranger… There's something to be said about your methods…" Doctor O'Hare was looking at me in a mix of amusement and awe.

"I've never seen a Waterloo Wrangler earn compliance from a Munchlax so quickly." Doctor O'Hare laughed as she shook her head.

"Can we just carry on with this?" I was absolutely spent. Emotionally and physically. I didn't care about praise or incriminations right now. I just wanted to get this over with.

"Absolutely. Now, we've set up an artificial nursing system for the Atlas Munchlaxes. Both the formula and its dosages have been specifically tailored to each individual's genetically projected needs. Too little milk will generate complications with the rapid growth therapy. Too much milk will engender anomalies with the polysynaptic brown adipose tissue's artificial weave… You do know what I mean when I say polysynaptic brown adipose tissue, right Ranger?" Doctor O'Hare smiled at me as she untangled a massive rubber nipple from an Octillery of infeed tubes.

"Polysynaptic brown adipose tissue. AKA: Stimulipids." I grunted. Doctor O'Hare whistled, as if the word itself was the sexiest thing she'd ever heard.

"Right in one, Ranger. Next question: Are you wearing deodorant right now?" Doctor O'Hare asked me that as if it was a casual question. I stiffened up.

"Look, out in the Frontier, pleasant smelling deodorant is a luxury that can get you killed. So maybe I'm not in the habit of-"

"-Perfect. Rub this in your armpit." Doctor O'Hare interrupted my indignant spiel before I could finish. Oh, and she was offering the rubber nipple to me with a smile.

"Excuse me?" I asked, my jaw going slack with shock. Doctor O'Hare's grin widened.

"We want Machiavelli to identify your scent as his maternal care provider's. If he smells your body odor on the artificial nipple, Mac will be fooled into thinking that you're his mother." Doctor O'Hare elaborate. Chris made a retching sound in the background.

"Odour of Ranger? In the little guy's mouth? That's just nasty!" Chris gagged. Doctor O'Hare shook her brown tangle of hair in irritation.

"It'll taste a damn sight better than a mother Snorlax's teat sweat. Trust me, I worked around the big momma, and her smell was foul enough to warrant gasmasks. Zane will taste like mild cheddar in comparison to momma's reblochon." Doctor O'Hare was still waiting for me to grease up the rubber nipple in my armpit, but the change in conversation had piqued my curiosity.

"What happened to the momma Snorlax?" I asked. Doctor O'Hare shrugged.

"That's classified information, Ranger." Doctor O'Hare replied.

"So that means ACE." I grunted, stripping off my coat and pealing off my undershirt. Doctor O'Hare's eyes widened.

"Oh my God…" A hand found its way across Leslie's gaping mouth when my bare torso revealed the scale of my disfigurement.

-What's the matter, Doctor O'Hare? You can work around foul smelling monsters with a smile on your face, but the sight of a mutilated Ranger makes you feel squeamish?

"Jesus Christ, Zane… I didn't think it was that bad…" Chris whistled in the background.

"You ever get chewed up, Chris?" I spat over my dimpled shoulder.

That venomous line shut Chris up tight.

"What… What happened?" Leslie was turning pale as I buried the artificial nipple in one hairy armpit.

"What do you think happened?" I growled, glaring down at the Munchlax on the mattress. Cortez parked his ass my toes, and leaned his back against my knees.

"...You don't mean…" Leslie followed my hateful glance down towards the miserable Mac.

"A Snorlax masticated Zane back in Viridian. That's why he's registered in the Wounded Hearts Project." Chris softly explained.

"Why don't you just hand out my life story on a paper pamphlet, Chris?" I spat. Chris sighed. His noisy exhalation was one part exasperation, and one part resignation.

"Zane… Sooner or later, the world is going to know your life story. You might want to get comfortable with the prospect of fame right now, because before too long? Everybody is going to know that you're a disabled Ranger." Chris was trying to be gentle about it, but those words still filled me with a nauseous dread.

Hailed as a war-wounded hero…

...The very thought of that social stipulation sickened me to my core.

"I'm not a hero… And I'm not a cripple." I muttered, sounding more like an angry child than anything else.

"You have time yet, Zane. Take the adjustment in increments. But it's best that you accept the reality of your situation." Chris was still using that respectful tone, and it was making my skin go cold.

"Does that smell Zane enough for Mac?" I grumbled, thrusting the artificial nipple back towards Doctor O'Hare. Both her and Chris caught the hint.

I was done talking about myself. Let's not keep going down that dark path.

"I'm sure it smells delicious. Now see if you can get Mac to accept it." Doctor O'Hare backed away from my rank offering, a halfhearted grin splitting her face.

-Oh. I had to feed the fat fuck.

"Mac, it's mess time." I sighed, pulling the top half of my uniform back on. Cortez left his supportive position at my feet, and I knelt down beside the unhappy Munchlax with his evening meal in hand.

"Dig in, fatso." I lifted Mac's chin up from his curl, before rubbing the artificial nipple over his lips.

Mac didn't hesitate for second. His genetic programming dictated Mac's response, and the greedy beast just about wrestled the artificial nipple from my grip.

"BEHAVE ASSHOLE!" My fist came down on Mac's nose, and the pitiful monster choked on the formula filling his throat. Struggling to take the nipple from my hands again, Mac discovered the painful repercussions of such bold behavior.

"DON'T TOUCH ME WHEN I'M FEEDING YOU, YOU UGLY FUCK!" I proceeded to beat Mac's face in, until he resumed submissiveness. Then I presented the nipple again to the cautious Munchlax. Hesitantly sampling his meal, Mac practiced an ounce of self restraint.

"Good. Do what I say exactly how I say it, and I won't kill you in your sleep." My voice was stern, but calm. Mac began to grow a bit more aggressive with the nipple, but a growl from me sedated his advance rather quickly.

"Day one, and you're already communicating… That's not bad, Zane. That's not bad at all." Doctor O'Hare sounded impressed.

"So what happened to his head?" I asked, indicating Mac's scarred up dome with a jerk of my neck.

"Waterloo had to make some neurological alterations to the Atlas Munchlax's cerebrum, in order to curb some of their species'… behavior." Doctor O'Hare stumbled in her search for an adequate term for describing a Snorlax's environmental interactions, but I already had a damn good understanding of this species' "behavior."

Snorlax Fun Fact Number One:

When they're awake, Snorlaxes are eating. When they're eating, Snorlaxes are mindlessly murdering everything around them in order to sate their massive appetites. When Snorlaxes aren't murdering everything around them, they're sleeping off their binge fits.

-That's Snorlax behavior. That's practically it. If you look into their mating practices, you'd understand what an accursed miracle it is that the Snorlax species hasn't cannibalized themselves into extinction yet.

When Snorlaxes meet one another in the wild, the result is never pretty. But come the Snorlax mating season, the females gorge themselves into a coma and release pheromones potent enough to offset the male's hunger pains. Lured by the scent of a chubby female, male Snorlaxes mate with the sleeping female before passing out from exertion. The female temporarily rises from her coma to eat her mate, before hibernating throughout the entire pregnancy, birth, and early maternal period of her cub. When a Munchlax cub is born, it nurses from its mother's unconscious form until the the cub is strong enough to get the hell away from her.

Because if a baby Munchlax is still hanging around the den when mommy wakes up…

...Then Mommy makes herself a tasty little snack out of her baby Munchlax.

Snorlaxes. They're either sleeping or eating. That's what they're programmed to do.

-That's all they're programmed to do.

And that extremely simplistic and savage genetic mental coding is what makes their species absolutely impossible to domesticate.

"Unlike Professor Oak's approach of lobotomizing the regions of the brain associated with appetite, which resulted in an unresponsive Munchlax that starved to death, Enzo actually attempted the reverse of Oak Laboratories' continuation of Dr. Fuji's suppression theory." Doctor O'Hare began her dissertation on Waterloo's domesticated Munchlax project.

"Instead of removing portions of the Munchlax's brain, Enzo first attempted to restructure the Munchlax's hypothalamus in order to incorporate more complex behaviors in an individual Munchlax's repertoire of social interactions. While we recorded deviations from the standard Munchlax behavioral patterns, none were prevalent enough for Chimera to pronounce a stabilization of the species." Doctor O'Hare began fumbling around with her kit, perusing through a collection of demonstration specimens and Waterloo progression logs.

"So Enzo went back to the drawing board. After Project Leviathan failed so dismally, Enzo became obsessed with developing a functional field model which could incorporate Project Leviathan's artificial stimulipid weave…" Doctor O'Hare located the specimens that she had been searching for, and procured a set of latex gloves and a dust mask for herself, Chris, and I.

"Wasn't Project Leviathan suppose to be Waterloo's attempt at splicing stimulipid production genes within the DNA of a Destroyer Class Wailord?" Chris asked, adjusting his neon orange scarf for the mask.

"That's correct. Unfortunately, the dietary requirements of a Wailord is monumental as it is, and despite the stimulipids' unprecedented combat applications: they do alter a subject's metabolic rate rather adversely-"

"-Yeah, I heard about that. Four Wailords starving to death despite the fact that Waterloo was intravenously pumping tonnes of krill into their stomachs? That flop must have cost a fortune." I interrupted Doctor O'Hare with a snort. The Waterloo Developer sighed, and opened a specimen container.

"Yes, Project Leviathan's failure cost Waterloo a fortune. But we took what we had developed in stimulipid muscle structure imitation from Project Leviathan, and applied it to our Hariyama, Azumarill, and Walrein Projects. I'm sure you've heard about the success of those models?" Doctor O'Hare pulled out a transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator from her kit, and positioned it next to her specimen container.

"Yeah, I've followed every one of Enzo's public projects. I must say, those Azumarills are staggering! The fact that Waterloo was able to restructure the stimulipid deposits into an adaptable weave-!?" Chris started off on one of his Pokemon Fanclub tangents, but ol' Fuck-nuts was brought to a sudden stop when he saw the bloody yellow lump of nasty that Doctor O'Hare had extracted from one of her specimen containers.

"Those models proved that it's possible to artificially restructure stimulipid deposits within Pokemon that are predisposed to stimulipid production. It's a very rare trait in the Para-Kingdom, but there are a handful of Pokemon species that can naturally generate polysynaptic brown adipose tissues. The list of combat applications for stimulipids is incredible. Resistance to thermal fluctuations; improved immunity system responses; dramatically enhanced physical strength and constitutions: That was our basis for pursuing Project Leviathan. With their massive deposits of white adipose tissues, a Destroyer Class Wailord infused with Waterloo's artificial stimulipid weave would have been nigh-indestructible and possibly up to six times as powerful as the natural analogue." Doctor O'Hare paused in her explanation while she inserted a pair of the transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator's probes into the bloody hunk of fat held in her hands.

"But after the prototype Wailords succumbed to their extrapolated metabolisms, Waterloo was forced to set their sights lower than Project Leviathan's ambitious goal. As we discovered, introducing encoded stimulipid production into non-stimulipid producing species only results in a catastrophe. So that's when Enzo proposed Project Atlas." Doctor O'Hare paused again in order to fumble with the settings on the transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator.

"Let me guess… Take the Para-Kingdom's stimulipid specialist species and introduce your revolutionary fat tissue structure into its genetic code?" I sarcastically stated. Doctor O'Hare nodded.

"Out of every Pokemon species to exhibit stimulipid production, the Snorlax species has quite literally evolved for extreme stimulipid exploitation. Every tangible application of polysynaptic brown adipose tissues occurs naturally within the Snorlax species. From the stimulipids' muscle-emulating polysynaptic reflexes; to the brown adipose tissues' rapid and indefinite tissue replication; to the fat deposits' severe temperature resilience. Snorlaxes inherit all of it, and their species possess the largest stimulipid deposits thus far encountered by zoologists." Doctor O'Hare set aside the wired fat sample and turned to both Chris and I.

"Well, the Snorlax species' behavior is a direct result of their evolutionary stimulipid exploitation, so what did Waterloo do to counteract it?" I grumbled, shooting a glance down at the snoozing Mac.

That Munchlax was looking a whole lot happier now that he had a stomach full of milk. Mac had nodded off into fat fuck dreamy land shortly after I had finished feeding him, leaving Doctor O'Hare free to elaborate on Waterloo's Project Atlas without any fear of infantile interruptions.

"Enzo has a reputation for impulsively acting on ludicrous ideas, but his madness is more often than not an exercise of absolute genius. Instead of limiting the Snorlax species' behaviors, he sought to expand them. Ergo… Machiavelli's cerebral mass is almost twice as expansive as his natural counterparts' are." Doctor O'Hare stated with a barely contained excitement.

-That admission locked me up cold.

"...You mean to tell me that Enzo made an unstoppable hyper-instinctive gluttonous death machine intelligent?!" I damn near shouted the last bit. Doctor O'Hare swallowed.

"Your hostile reaction is the entire reason why Waterloo elected to keep Project Atlas Top Secret during the development phase. Some outspoken individuals within the private sector wouldn't understand what Enzo is attempting to achieve-"

"-Well, I wonder why!?" I sarcastically shouted with both of my arms cast wide, and a stunned look of cynicism worn plainly on my face.

"In order to promote a Trainer's altruistic interactions with the Snorlax species, we needed to endow the species with a neurological template that is far more complex than their natural design. We'd never engender anything but mentally handicapped beasts if we replicated the Oak Laboratories' cerebral reduction operation. Enzo recognized the problem with Doctor Fuji's procedure, and developed an alternative method for domesticating the Snorlax species." Doctor O'Hare patiently explained.

"By making them cognitive?! Is Enzo off his fucking rocker?!" I wasn't gonna quiet down anytime soon. Enzo Davinci: a confirmed lunatic. Let's give one of the world's most destructive Para-species the ability to adapt their behaviors. Like they weren't already lethal enough as dumb fucking beasts.

"It's the only feasible way to domesticate the species. In Enzo's defense, every other Disaster Index Classification can be trained because of their ability to rationalize dominant relationships. From the Gyaradosia to the Salmance species, from the Tyranitars to the Hydreigon species. All of the most dangerous species of Pokemon can be made to understand authority. That's all Waterloo did to the Atlas Munchlaxes! We didn't give them any more cognitive capacity than what was absolutely necessary for achieving that end!" Doctor O'Hare was at her wits' end now. She could tolerate a Ranger's crude behavior with a pleasant smile on her zitty face, but if anyone dared to question the ethics of scientific advancement…

...Doctor O'Hare would release her inner zealot.

"And do you know why they call the Disaster Index Classification the Disaster Index Classification?!" Unfortunately for Doctor O'Hare, she was dealing with a representative from the polar opposite school of rational zealotry.

"Given enough time, we can alter the species so that they reciprocate benevolent human behaviors! Chimera has made colossal advancements in the field of Draconic conditioning! The Chimera Dragons are the most stable examples of their-"

"-You hear that Cortez? Gale was fucking stable. And he just about killed you in a restricted match over a tiny flesh wound-"

"-That was an isolated incident! You can't formulate a judgement for every Chimera product based on the extreme behaviors of just one sample-!"

"-BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Enter Chris with his outdoor voice. I had to give my PR Agent props. He could yell almost as loud as I could.

And Chris could get results. Both the agitated me and the irritable Doctor O'Hare shut the fuck up on the spot.

"Doctor O'Hare. Continue with the demonstration. Please." Chris sounded only minorly patronizing when he spoke, but his snide inflection had an effect. Doctor O'Hare's angry face shifted from a splotchy red to a shameful burn.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spout propaganda-" Doctor O'Hare began.

"-Well I did." I cut her off in a dead man's voice.

"That's enough out of you, Ranger. For God's sake, Zane… LEARN SOME FUCKING DECENCY ALREADY!" Chris was shaking mad, and for some fucked up reason…

...I was actually feeling guilty about it.

"...Sorry." I grunted at Doctor O'Hare, trying, and failing, to man up to the situation.

"Let's just put it behind us and finish this up. Okay…" Doctor O'Hare drew a deep breath, before focusing her attentions on the wired fat culture.

"This sample represents your common brown adipose tissue. It's known for carrying trace amounts of stem cells as well as fatty aminos, so it serves the body as a caloric energy deposit. Typically, you won't find a culture of brown adipose tissue this large in an organism. Most lifeforms store their excess calories in the form of white adipose tissue, also known as: fat." Doctor O'Hare lifted the transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator, and began twisting the polarity dials.

"As you can see, there's no change in the brown adipose tissue's composition when it is subjected to an electrical charge. It's just a collection of fatty acids, used by the body for only insulation and energy storage." Doctor O'Hare removed the transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator's probes from the lump of fat, before sterilizing the leads. Putting the fat culture back into its container, Doctor O'Hare procured another specimen container.

Unfastening the pressurized lid and removing another sample of significantly darker fat, Doctor O'Hare inserted the sterilized probes into the new culture.

"This is Waterloo's polysynaptic brown adipose tissue, replete with our innovative adaptable amino weave. This culture was taken from a Walrein, which is the closest Snorlax analogue thus far developed by Waterloo. Now when I introduce an electrical charge to the culture…" Doctor O'Hare adjusted the transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator again.

-The lump of fat twitched.

"We observe a nerve spasm reaction. But when I adjust the voltage to the neurologically dictated parameters…" Doctor O'Hare toggled the transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator's settings.

-The lump of fat folded in on itself with a disturbingly quick reflex.

"We observe a drastic change in the culture's physical composition." Doctor O'Hare explained the obvious.

"...That's freaking incredible…" Chris murmured through his dust mask.

I had to admit: It was pretty impressive witnessing a hunk of fat imitating a muscular reflex.

"And now if I specifically tune the voltage within the artificial amino weave's conductive parameters…" Doctor O'Hare carried on with the freak show.

-The fat loosened up, and oozed out like an amorphous puddle, before clenching up into a wrinkled ball that was roughly one-third of its original volume. Another twist on the transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator's dial turned the fist of fat into a spire, before it resumed its puddle-like state of amino ooze.

"...We can finetune the stimulipid structure into whatever form or composition we want it to emulate, dramatically enhancing the Atlas Munchlaxes' combat potential with an adaptative tissue layer." Doctor O'Hare finished the demonstration, and removed the probes from the Walrein culture, before packing the whole ensemble away.

"...So Mac is loaded with that crazy dancing electric jello fat?!" Chris exclaimed in the worst possible graphic phrasing.

"Forty-three percent of Machiavelli's total body mass is comprised of Waterloo's enhanced stimulipids. We've done everything from redesign the amino and neurotransmitter structure, to dramatically increasing the brown adipose tissue's stem cell composition ratio. All of Mac's fat exhibits more adaptability than conventional muscle tissues, and contains eleven times as many active stem cells than the conventional brown adipose tissue comparison. In other words: Mac's fat serves as energy storage, insulation, locomotion, and complex tissue maintenance. Mac can regenerate all forms of complex tissues needed to heal any manner of wounding, including amputation, and our adaptable amino weave means that all of Mac's fat structures can serve as additional muscle power." Doctor O'Hare explained. I looked over at the napping infant in awe.

"...So he's not only going to be smarter than your average Snorlax, but a shitload more robust and powerful as well?" I asked with a shudder in my breath. Doctor O'Hare started laughing quietly.

"Unbelievably more powerful than your average Snorlax. Enzo based the amino weave's concept on Koga Kurasawa's Shi No Mizu. You know, the ultra amorphous Muk that the Kurosawa Ninja clan practically worships? Enzo is fascinated with that Pollutant's nigh invincibility." Doctor O'Hare added.

"So Mac is a Snowball?" Chris asked in amazement. Doctor O'Hare quirked an eyebrow at Chris's unusual question.

"League lingo. Snowball denotes a competitive Pokemon classification which strategically utilizes its adaptative traits for becoming ungodly powerful. Generally, Snowballs require a lot of time to set up their defences, hence the moniker: Snowball." I explained to the confused Doctor. Now Doctor O'Haire turned to me with a bemused lift to her left cheek.

"...As in, rolling a snowball down a hill?" I tried again. Doctor O'Hare shrugged with a chuckle.

"My God, I thought you worked at Chimera Industries, the competitive Pokemon production company? Snowball as in: A small problem that becomes a massive problem once it starts gaining momentum?!" Chris exploded. Doctor O'Hare burst out laughing.

"I'm from Waterloo! We use a completely different nomenclature for classifying our warmon than what our competitive branch markets to the League! But if it means anything to you, your Snowball Competition Classification translates into Waterloo's Juggernaut Warmon Classification!" Doctor O'Hare was laughing her ass off. I shot Chris a disgruntled look.

"You know, I've always thought that the League had shit taste compared to the Ranger Corps. So tell me, which one sounds more imposing: Machiavelli the Snowball, or Machiavelli the Juggernaut?" I grumbled to my PR Agent. Chris just sighed.

"I give up… I just fucking give up." Chris muttered.

Doctor O'Hare just about passed out after her next bout of cackling.

By the time Cortez and I were finally able to leave the Pokemart, the sun's first angled rays of light hinted at the encroaching dusk. One crazy day lay behind us, and yet many more insane days were scheduled to come. Mac was back in his Heavy Ball, but unfortunately, that wasn't going to last.

Doctor O'Hare had given me more obligations than mere parenteral duty for my unwanted Munchlax. Chimera Industries had also provided me with no end of extra curricular activities:

One: Mac was not allowed to eat anything other than his prescribed formula, all because Waterloo didn't want any excess nutrition screwing up their stupid amino weave. And given the Munchlax species' fondness for gorging themselves on every edible and inedible substance, glutton deterrence was going to be a full time job for me whenever Mac was outside of his pokeball.

Two: Mac could only receive his formula from the designated Pokemarts strewn around Kanto. And I was to continue nursing Mac with my pit-nipple, in the hopes that imprinting would affect Mac's mental development. If I wasn't going to be within range of Chimera's endorsed establishments, then I would have to radio in for Chimera Aviation Units to deliver Mac's formula in the field via air transit.

Three: Due to the Atlas Munchlaxes' status as prototypes, and the unpredictable consequences of their cerebral enhancement therapy, I was officially recognized as an Atlas Project Beta Tester. Meaning that I had to keep a written log recording Mac's every interaction and exchange with the world around him, as well as a log of my own interactions with the fat little pusfuck.

Four: In order for Chimera's rapid growth therapy to work its magic, Mac needed to be outside of his Heavy Ball for at least eighteen hours a day.

-So I was pissed beyond all previous belief.

And on top of all that, Chris had me scheduled for an interview rehearsal first thing tomorrow morning.

Good fucking lord. How the hell was all this shit supposed to work out? Who was gonna watch Mac eat civilians and log his calorie intake while I attended Chris's fucking interview rehearsal?

"...I wonder if I can talk TH into babysitting Mac for a couple of hours. I bet prolonged exposure to TH's Distortion seep would render a Munchlax comatose. That, or maybe Pariah will just cut Mac in half for me… Though I doubt that I could make either scenario look like an accident…" I was in a ripe mood, and Cortez had wisely decided against intervention this time. He walked right at my side, completely ignoring the venomous Ranger towering over him.

"Why didn't ACE just secure me one of Waterloo's Salamencia? The Military's Ophanim Class may be the single most hazardous monster in the service, but at least they're only guaranteed to frag their COs half of the time!" I was nearly spitting with rage, and Cortez started picking up the pace.

"Or a fucking Siege Class Garchomp! No, fuck that! Dragon-Sharks are way too cuddly! Those bastards only grow four meters tall, so let's make it a Goddamn Breacher Class Druddigon! Those trog fuckers weigh almost as much as a Rhyperior, and they've got the Garchomps' height trumped by three whole fucking meters! Imagine the luxury, Cortez: Our whole squad getting the shit murdered out of them by a Goddamn dragon! But fuck no! We're all gonna get eaten alive by a fucking Snorlax instead!"

Cortez was running now, and the Ranger rant storm was having to sprint to keep up with him. I still couldn't believe that Enzo had gone ahead and weaponized a posse of Munchlaxes before going even further by increasing the size of their brains-

-Wait a minute…

...Why was my Hunter-Killer running?

"Cortez?" I asked in concern.

-My hound only started running faster.

"CORTEZ! HALT!"

Yeah, right. Like that was gonna work.

My dog started putting down his full tilt, and my crippled ass was soon to be left in the dust.

"CORTEZ! I GAVE YOU AN ORDER!"

-And he didn't even hear it. Cortez disappeared around an intersection in a bandaged blur of orange. For a pooch with broken ribs, that Growlithe could still fucking move.

"Cortez-?" I came to a breathless stop at the intersection, looking down the Growlithe free road for any hint of my rogue Hunter-Killer.

-But that dog was long gone.

"What the fuck is going on?" My voice whimpered as a cold fear tied knots in my gut. Cortez had just left me. But Cortez never left me! That fucking soldier had stood by my side all the way from the Snorlax catastrophe on! Why the hell had Cortez ditched me?!

"...Was it something I said?"

Oh, panic was making me think irrational thoughts, as this desperate Ranger tore off in a blind pursuit of his missing dog.

A bandage-covered and scarred-up Growlithe moving at mach two makes for quite a scene in Vermilion. Service Growlithes are a common sight in the Military's provincial city-state, but those Growlithes are always accompanied by their COs, and the Military's Hunter-Killers are always the spitting image of canine loyalty.

So I had no problem tracking down my own Hunter-Killer with only eye-witness reports pertaining to a maverick service hound. Although I was held up by a patrol of Skinheads who withheld Cortez's heading just so they could berate a Greenback for his poorly trained service mon. Before I'd even managed a "just tell me where the fuck he went" off, the Commanding Officer of the Skinhead Squad was offering his own Growlithe Hunter-Killer as an example of the Military's superior servicemon training. After the blowhard had provided me with the requested coordinates, I made a brief comment about the Military's policy on matching bootlaces, and the Skinhead CO looked down at his feet just in time to witness his superiorly trained Growlithe finishing up some doggy business on the CO's right boot.

Leaving the Skinheads behind to flog their selectively-urinating Hunter-Killer, I proceeded to the next heading, and found myself at the gated entrance of a public park.

And there he was.

Sitting right at the gates. Mismatched eyes peering past the threshold. As still and as silent as I had ever seen him.

My Cortez.

I made for my disloyal dog with a heavy heel in either boot and the preamble of a vocal thunderhead working the muscles of my clenched jaw. Cortez must have known that I was coming at him with a shit storm, but my dog didn't even twitch his ears. Cortez didn't even turn around to look at me as I approached.

...And I found myself coming up short when a handful of paces separated me from my hound.

Cortez was just sitting there, completely enamored with something beyond the gate. Just staring intently into the park. My feet hesitated to move, and my curious eyes followed Cortez's pointing nose.

Of course there were people in the park. It was early evening, and families were out and about, making the most out of what they could in the fading light of day. Dozens upon dozens of social communes littered the green knolls enclosed within the park's stone walls, but Cortez was ignoring each and every one of them.

-Except for just one pair.

Just one…

That pair…

...Cortez couldn't take take his eyes off that pair.

I was just as silent and as still as my dog. I was just watching them from Cortez's lengthening shadow.

One was an auburned haired woman, maybe a decade older than myself.

And the other was a brown haired boy, only a year or two beyond toddler.

A mother and her son, playing frisbee in the park.

I didn't say anything to Cortez. I didn't move out from under his shadow. I just watched him, as he watched them, and a peculiar sense of familiarity made its appeal to my empathy.

The minutes carried on as we stood there, just waiting. Just waiting for the boy and his mother. Just waiting for the pair to take notice of the Growlithe watching them. But the minutes whispered by, until the laughing woman and her gleeful son packed up their hamper, and finally made for the park's exit.

Cortez began to move. I could just barely see the roll of his throat from my vantage point, but my dog had been static for so long now that I couldn't have missed an orange hair falling from his striped coat. The smiling pair was drawing closer, and Cortez began to shuffle his forepaws nervously.

I could feel the anticipation knawing at some unspoken inhibition of mine, some unknown fear that plagued me for the wellbeing of my dog, as those two drew closer.

The mother and her son were coming before the gate, animately discussing their favorite flavors of ice cream with one another. Any second now, they'd reach Cortez, and both me and my mysterious dog would have an answer for this unusual dilemma.

The mother and son passed beneath the iron arches of entwined ivy held aloft the open gate…

...And then the giggling duo walked right past Cortez without so much as a passing glance.

Cortez didn't turn around to follow them. Cortez didn't whine to draw their attention. My dog just stood there, staring straight ahead into the park, as both the woman and her son carried on down the road behind me, until even the echos of their laughter grew faint and distant.

Cortez just stood there, trembling as if he were coming down with a cold.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and approached my shaking dog as quietly as I could.

"Cortez."

Two mismatched eyes turned over his scarred shoulder to look at me. One green eye was lost, and the swollen purple eye was grieving. Cortez barely recognized me. He couldn't fully grasp who I was. Why was this strange Ranger speaking so softly to him?

"...Come here, pooch."

I lowered myself onto a knee, and spread my arms out to my wounded soldier. Cortez swallowed hard with a little half shake to his head, before that amazing animal gingerly walked over into my embrace.

"Take it easy…" I whispered as Cortez collapsed into my arms.

"Easy, boy… easy..." I cradled his trembling jaw against my shoulder, and pressed my cheek against his brow.

My invincible soldier. My indomitable spirit. My indestructible friend…

...Was falling to pieces in my arms.

"I'm sorry, Cortez…" That broken voice brought a pained wheeze from my dog.

"I'm sorry, boy…" I tightened my hold on Cortez, and drew him closer to myself.

He was absolutely devastated. He didn't have a mask strong enough to hide this grief behind. For the first time that I had ever seen…

...My Cortez was lost.

...And my soldier needed someone to help him find himself again.

"...I'm here for you, boy… You know that I'm here for you." I withdrew from my sniffling hound, and lifted his chin so that those hurting eyes were level with mine.

Cortez's green eye held my single eye's gaze. I was blind to the purple eye. Blind to his scarred side. But I could feel that hot, knobby, bare skin against my palm. I could feel the waxy dimples rise and shrink against my hand with Cortez's every breath.

He was a reflection of me…

...And as I was coming to learn…

...Cortez reflected a lot more than just the scars of his human companion.

Cortez had a lot more in common with me than even I had dared guess.

"Zane."

Oh, that voice couldn't have come at a worse time, or that awful sensation that heralded his cruel presence.

-But what did I expect?

Ghosts don't revile tragedy.

They hunt for it like starving rats.

And when the heartless eidolons find that mortal woe…

...They can't help but exacerbate it.

This was not fair to my dog. This wasn't fair at all. Couldn't Cortez have his time to grieve before I introduced him to the Devil that haunted me?

"TH."

My voice was as calm as I could keep it. Despite the injustice of it all, I was not gonna be the one to torment my dog with a shitty example.

I expected a smirk to greet me when I turned around. I was prepared for the telltale shaking shoulders of his silent chuckle. I was expecting a host of Ghosts to be standing in his wake, every wraith grinning at me and my wounded dog, gloating over the shackles that bound us to him.

...But there was only Theron and Pariah, standing side by side.

Only a blackened King, and his even blacker Knight.

They stood perfectly still. No emotions shown to alter their appearances. A respectful audience to this personal scene.

Two dead souls spectating the living's trauma with forlorn and hidden eyes.

"I hope that we haven't come at an inopportune moment." TH inclined his head with an apology.

"It's always an inopportune moment with you, TH." I held the venom back, but the accusation still stung the Eidolon King ever so slightly. I saw the barest hint of Theron's recoil at those bitter words, and Pariah's protective stride forward confirmed that my insinuation had opened some haunting wound on the Eidolon King.

"Pariah." TH halted his Ghost's advance with a gentle voice. The whirling shrouds converged and calmed around that hulking figure, before the towering Knight fell back to his King's side.

"Very well, Zane. I will meet you at the Portis de Paris when you are ready." TH turned to leave, but I wasn't letting this shadowy bastard call the shots in front of my tortured pooch.

"No, you won't." TH paused in his farewell, and turned back to me with the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"I've got a new obligation to attend to. Call it a baby problem. Either way, no five star hotel is gonna let my Munchlax chew up a suite. I'm booking a room on the waterfront. And I'll be sleeping on the floor, because where we'll be patronizing: it'll be healthier than sleeping in the sheets." I met TH's pleased smile with a grimace, and a tiny hint of red began to glow in Pariah's vacant core.

"Of course, Zane. It was quite presumptuous of me to manage your Vermilion accommodations. So if this is to be goodnight, I would be pleased to see both you and your hound delivered to the waterfront. Shall we be on our way?"

Goddamn, I really hated that vile smirk.

"Whatever makes his highness happy." I answered in a snide and childish tone, starting off towards the southern port. Cortez hurried to my shadow, warily following me in my footsteps.

And there were those fucked up chuckles of TH's, rising to greet us at our approach.

"Come Pariah. Walk with me." TH pleasantly droned as he fell into step beside myself, and the shrouded Knight took position just behind his King's right shoulder.

"So this is the brave Cortez? I must say, that is quite an impressive scar… Earned through loyal service, was it not?"

I didn't answer TH. I kept my dead eyes fixed straight ahead, doing my damndest to ignore the Devil at my shoulder.

"Quite the companion you have yourself, Zane… Quite the companion indeed…" TH gazed back at my staggering dog, whose suffering was now being compounded by both TH's fucking miserable Distortion seep and Pariah's oppressive shadow.

"Leave my fucking hound alone, you soulless freak." It wasn't a growl. It wasn't a hiss. It wasn't a plea.

It was an order, given to the Eidolon King in Zane Bastard's tone of command. TH's eyebrows raised above the rims of his shades, and another set of chuckles rocked the Devil's frame.

"Do tread carefully, Zane… You've seen the examples of those who've come before you. Mademoiselle Misty Willows may have fallen to her reckless ambition… But was not Monsieur Brock Aissatou also destroyed by his own compassion?" I came sudden stop, and forcefully restrained every fiber of my being from slugging TH right in between those smug as fuck eyes of his.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" I growled. Oh, I was pissed now, and the whole gathering knew it. That minor red glow of Pariah's lit up with his rabid pupil, and Cortez put himself between myself and TH, before that hound tried to push me away from the Devil in human skin. But I held my ground against Cortez, TH, and the livid Aegislash who was cooly drawing his blade from the Distortion.

TH made one of his lazy gestures towards Pariah, and halted his Ghost's rising sword. Turning his attention onto Cortez, the Eidolon King stripped away his shades, and met Cortez's fucked up eyes with his naked own.

"TH…" I hissed, growing even more furious for TH's obvious assault on my dog. But that pissed off Aegislash made it known what my intervention would cost me, as red-eyed Pariah unravelled his ruined sword.

"As I said, a remarkable companion." TH smiled down at Cortez, before sealing his cursed eyes. Prematurely freed from TH's vision of hell, Cortez only wretched on the first breath of his renewed wind.

"Truly, a Knight worthy of his King." TH replaced his shades, before looking back up at me with that same pleasant smile.

"Are you threatening my dog, TH?" I repeated that furious line. TH just snorted, and shook his head in exasperation.

"It was a warning, Zane. Not a threat. Learn from those who have failed before you, lest you follow them down their damned paths." TH sighed, and proceeded forward.

"And what kind of warning was that!?" I spat after the Eidolon King and his colossal wraith. TH froze in his stride, and turned back to me with the Devil's own grin twisting either corner of his mouth.

"Just a friendly bit of advice, Zane… From one King to another…" TH's nasty smile couldn't have made my skin crawl any more unpleasantly.

But those insinuating words of his…

...Chilled me to my very core.

"Goddamnit, Mac…" I didn't even look at the alarm clock. I didn't need to know what time it was to justify this outrage. It wasn't that it was too early in the morning to put up with Mac's whining bullshit.

-It was just that every time I actually started to nod off, that fat fucking Munchlax woke me back up by pissing and moaning.

Parents who claim that tending for infants is one of the most incredible experiences ever, have completely forfeited the lessons of hindsight in favor of nostalgic sentiment.

Because from my first hand experience?

-Raising babies just fucking sucks.

I tossed off the gritty sheets and stomped my way over to the braying Munchlax in the corner. Mac was crying out as if the whole world was coming to an end for no tangible reason whatsofuckingever, and momma Zane had already put up with enough of this infantile bullshit to last a lifetime.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!" I roared for the ninth time this morning, planting one heavy handed fist right into Mac's howling snout.

-I should have known better than to do that.

After flogging Mac four times in a row for this same kind of shit, I should've figured it out.

My senseless beatings weren't gonna shut Mac up. They were only gonna make him cry even more.

"For the love of God…" I spat through my clenched teeth, fists balled at my sides. My disciplinary punch had only inspired a new octave of shrill from Mac for his early morning bellyaching.

"Mac… If I have to kill you for some peace and quiet… So help me God…" I was hitting the red, and that stupid Munchlax was too fucking oblivious to understand what momma Zane's grim tone meant for his health.

A growl sounded out behind me, and a furious Ranger whirled around to face his pissed off number two.

Cortez was running on less sleep than I was, and his foul mood might have been the result of that.

But my Growlithe wasn't bearing his fangs at the Munchlax who had woken him up yet again.

Cortez was glaring daggers at his CO, clearly insinuating that I was being an obstinate prick with those mismatched eyes alone.

"What do you want me to do, dog? Snuggle with the noisy fucker?!" I growled back at Cortez.

Cortez snarled right back at me, and punctuated with a pair of angry barks.

-That was a "Yes."

"You're fucking kidding me…" My livid eyes came down on Cortez, and he met my glare in an ocular stalemate. I wasn't gonna blink anytime soon, and neither was Cortez. I'd had it with this bullshit on so many levels, it was a fucking miracle that I wasn't salivating insane yet.

And Cortez had stomached so much of my bullshit, it was a wonder that he hadn't ripped my throat out yet.

"Are you gonna challenge everything I do, Cortez?" I hissed. My number two answered in a bark, before taking an aggressive step forward.

-Whatever. I'd already had enough of this shit.

"I don't get you, dog… Sometimes I don't get you at all…" I muttered, turning my back on my pissed off fire-breathing mutt, before kneeling down next to Mac.

"Mac, would you please shut the hell up?" Momma Zane chided softly as he stretched his tender arms out for a Munchlax's bleeding snout.

"Really Mac, I want to kill you in the worst way imaginable… So you'd be doing yourself a favor if you'd stop providing me with excuses right fucking now." Momma Zane cooed sarcastically as he rubbed Mac's brow. Mac hiccupped, before his brays broke down into a feeble whining.

"Yes Mac. You're not safe. Not one bit. I've been fantasizing about your disembowelment ever since I first read your dispatch. I want to bury a knife so deeply in you abdomen, that not even Waterloo's-"

-Auntie Cortez cut Momma Zane's soothing ministrations short with another growl.

"I ain't beating him, Cortez. So just let me have this." Momma Zane muttered, as a huge fucking Munchlax curled up around him.

-Peace at fucking last.

But now I had a new problem. There was prison of snoozing fat on all sides of me, and a heavy fucking Munchlax head drooling in my lap.

"I don't like you touching me, Mac." I growled, but the fat fucker had already passed out. I tried to shift Mac's dense jaw off my legs, but a massive pair of Munchlax mitts halted me alongside Mac's soft whine.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I hissed at Mac. How many times did I have to beat Mac before he figured it out?

-Apart from his untimely death, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with Mac, and yet little fucker was still warming up to me.

Cortez settled his scarred self at the Munchlax's expansive outer perimeter, before gracing me with caninekind's smarmiest expression of smugness.

It took me a few minutes of silent glaring before I could finally muster up a command to shake my self-satisfied hound off his moral high ground.

"Well, seeing as I'm kinda grounded on pillow detail… Would you kindly fetch me my Tact. Pad, Cortez?" I growled at my treacherous number two. Cortez sneezed at me, but deftly made to fulfill my request.

After fumbling through my discarded coat for the appropriate article, Cortez returned to fatty ground zero with the device that I had asked him for.

"I still don't know why you tag along with my dysfunctional squad, dog…" I grumbled, accepting the Tact. Pad from Cortez. I expected my Growlithe to answer me with another snort, but instead, my mysterious old Cortez chose to withdraw into himself with a peculiarly awkward display.

"...Is there something going on with you, Cortez?" I asked, my voice worried. But the pooch turned his dogged eyes away from me, and stared off into empty space.

"...Something to do with that woman and the boy?" I asked.

Cortez's vacant eyes only grew even more distant.

"Are you gonna tell me when you're ready?" I asked, and Cortez jolted back to the here and now with a start.

Cortez was pleading me with those eyes. He was begging me not to press.

"...Alright, Cortez… Alright. Just let me know if you need help…" I sighed, turning from my wounded dog and focusing my attentions on the Tact. Pad.

"Alexandria. Bring up ACE's records on Theron Halcyon." I ordered of the device.

A split second later, I was looking into the digitally rendered grey eyes of Kalos's most wanted.

"Hello King Creep… Couldn't wait to fuck up my sleep, couldja?" I grumbled to the mugshot header. Scrolling down from the top image, I perused TH's official bio, before plunging into his ACE dossier.

"Holy fuck…"

There was a fuck ton of information regarding TH. A whole Goddamn library's worth. Everywhere he'd been, everything he'd worn, everything he'd eaten, everything he'd said, everything he'd done for a whole Goddamn year had been recorded by ACE.

-Well, just about everything. Numerous data entries were separated by massive time gaps, often filled with the curious explanation of: Distortion Mergence.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I grumbled, selecting one of the highlighted info lapses for clarification.

"...You've got to be shitting me…"

-Distortion Mergence. ACE's little technical term for a Distortion sojourn. Meaning that TH was a fucking Pilgrim.

-Of repetitive Distortion visitations.

Which meant that TH should've been tearing his face apart with his own fingernails, and praying to piles of his own feces. Nobody walks into the Distortion and returns with a semblance of rationality. Nobody takes a trip through the nothing realm and comes back sane.

"That ain't supposed to be possible…" I muttered, clicking on another directory link in hopes of an explanation.

-What I got was a synopsis of Typhon, The Maelstrom. TH's huge fucking Jellicent.

"Typhon is believed to serve Theron Halcyon in a variety of functions, the most significant of which is Typhon's suspected ability to engender pocket dimensions within the mechanical parameters of the Distortion. By means of constructing micro-universes that can support life, we of ACE believe that Typhon is capable of providing his Channeler with an enclosed ecosystem, which would allow for secure commute throughout the Distortion's deepest cells…"

"Oh. Dear. God."

-It was no wonder that Brock had lost to TH and Typhon. If that Jellicent could generate a Goddamn personal-universe in the nothing realm, then what the hell could it do here on fucking Earth?

"If I recall Agent Matusik's info banter correctly, Pariah is supposed to be TH's second strongest Ghost… So does that make Typhon the big cheese? Alexandria, redirect me to TH's big one." I ordered.

A split second later, a new synopsis was revealed to me. And even without looking at anything more than the header, my guts had already turned into cold liquid.

-It wasn't Typhon. Which meant that the universe-engineering-jellyfish was at least number three on TH's roster of World's Most Powerful Wraiths. But I was still slightly familiar with this particular spectre.

Exodus, The White Shadow.

TH's fucking Gengar.

I knew a little bit about Gengars. They may not have been the most common of Ghosts, but TH was far from the only Trainer to have Channeled one. Here in Indigo, Agatha Poe of the Elite Four, and Gym Leader Mortimer Dumari of the Johto Division had both Channeled Gengars for competition. But no Gengar that I'd ever heard of could compete with legends like Pariah and Typhon in the department of eidolon prowess.

-Yet this synopsis was about to show me a Gengar that could.

"Exodus, House Halcyon's Eidolon of War. Though Exodus has passed from Keeper to Keeper throughout House Halcyon's many generations of continued service to the Kalosian Crown, very little is known of this particular wraith. Certain Kalosian legends connect this Gengar with King AZ's theory of Mega-Evolution, and though numerous confirmations of this virtually unknown practice exists within Kalo's historical documents, only one occurrence of Exodus's Mega-Evolution has ever been recorded within the last two centuries. Wielded by Theron Halcyon in Kalos's 932nd League Seasonal Finals, Exodus assumed the semblance of his religious mythos under the order of his Channeler. Though Video Records of the event-"

-Video Records was highlighted. I clicked on the link before reading any further. I was instantly redirected to a grainy monochrome display. From what I could discern of the video's shoddy resolution, it was a panning shot of a colossal white room, decorated with towering corinthian columns and massive mosaics of stained glass. Four figures stood upon a titanic central dais at the core of this white cathedral, and a sea of spectators filled an amphitheater arrangement of stands above a gilded coliseum.

The camera focused on the four figures located on the coliseum's center stage, and I could just barely discern the blackedout likeness of TH standing calmly in the challenger's corner, right behind a whirling cloud of pitch-black smoke that was wearing the bloodiest grin I'd ever seen.

In the opposite corner stood two women, both of whom were garbed in white. One of these women was adorned in a bejeweled couture gown, and sporting an ornate tiara upon her pixie cut permed black hair. This figure was clearly human, and she was standing both fierce and haughty in her Champion's corner. The other white woman standing ahead of the Champion was incredibly tall, though unseemingly gangly, and her anatomical proportions were alien in their parameters when compared to the human physique. I could see an arrangement of white horns arching back from the corners of her black rimmed eyes, and below her slim thorax bloomed a bridal gown that seemed eerily membranous in both its appearance and animation.

The black cloud of grinning smoke before TH was a Gengar.

And the willowy white woman standing before the Kalos Champion had to be some kind of mutated Gardevoir. There's only a handful of anthropomorphous mon on earth, and only one Para-species possess that pale coloration and those bizarre anatomical distinctions. But there was something wrong with this Gardevoir. It was freakishly tall in comparison to its species' average dimensions, and several of the Gardevoir species' telltale features were profusely exaggerated on this peculiar specimen.

The crummy video made it impossible to tell, but it looked as if the rose-horn of this Gardevoir's thorax had split in two and curved outwards at an oblique angle. The masque's bouquet was unnaturally expansive at the eyelashes, while the gossamer gown's hemline was dramatically bouffanted at the waist, before cinching down into a bell like figure at the ankles. Every Gardevoir that I'd ever seen had possessed a far more modest and trim gossamer gown, not too mention a singular thorax rose-horn.

A rapid french commentary accompanied the otherwise silent video. A dub of the commentator's spiel filled the subtitles, as the countdown for the final round of Kalos's 932nd League Championship match began. Both competitors had priorly been reduced to their last mon. According to the subtitles, Kalos's Reigning Champion had committed her trump card against TH in a desperate effort to reverse a losing battle. Apparently the Champion's trump card had served her well, seeing as her mutated Gardevoir had finally annihilated TH's Typhon, before finishing off his Pariah; but now the Champion's Gardevoir stood opposed to TH's most powerful revenant.

-Exodus, The White Shadow.

For whatever reason, the commentator didn't actually think that TH would trigger the artificial mutation of his Gengar-

-No. Scratch that.

The commentator was praying against TH's deployment of the Absolute White Shadow.

I didn't know if it was just for theatrics or genuine desperation, but the League commentator's french was marred by a nigh hysterical tone, and it altered the dubbed subtitles with an entirely different inflection than what I had originally perceived as mere drama.

Then the blacked-out figure of TH slowly lifted his right forearm until it level with his eyes, and drew back his coat's right sleeve…

-While the commentator began to sputter panicked nonsense…

And then TH pressed the forefingers of his left hand against a bangle on his exposed wrist…

-Before Exodus let out a scream of that eldritch laughter, and exploded with an all consuming nebula of blackened smoke.

Exodus's cloud swallowed everything within the cathedral. TH, the mutated Gardevoir, the opposing Champion, the massive dais, the crowded stands, the entire coliseum… all of it was smothered by the billowing nebula of black smoke.

And when that opaque vapor reached out and engulfed the cameras…

...The video feed turned into static amongst the screams and chanting of the Distortion.

It wasn't the best thing to watch after midnight. Even a Ranger's aft section puckered up icy-tight when shown that level of paranormal activity. I'd seen videos of Lance duking it out against Blaine, back when the Ignis King had last attempted to reclaim his Crown from the Dragonic Usurper, and that entire Championship match had absolutely nothing on the horror and awe inspired by ACE's abridged Kalos Championship finale.

Static was all that remained on the recorded stream. Whatever Exodus and TH had done, it had wiped out the Distortion resilient cameras and God only knows what else. But regardless of the means utilized, TH's battle with Kalos's former Champion had concluded with a certainty.

TH had defeated a Champion. Theron Halcyon had claimed a League Crown.

And as I was about to find out…

...TH had done a whole lot more than just that.

"Holy fuck…"

I'd switched track back onto the Eidolon King's profile, looking for something other than ACE's records of his freaky fucking Ghosts. But why I'd decided to check the tab marked "Casualties" for comfort was beyond me.

There were three tiers of casualties on that tab. One was entitled "Financial Assets," the next was entitled "Diplomatic Assets."

-And the last one was entitled "Personnel Assets."

And there was a ten klick long list of names under "Personnel Assets."

Forget about the twelve digit figure under "Financial Assets." Who cares about the roster of compromised relationships under "Diplomatic Assets?"

There was damn near three thousand different people chalked up as "KIA" on the Personnel Assets' tier. All of whom had been murdered by TH himself or directly ordered for execution by his sovereign decree.

-And as my eyes wandered down the list, I began to notice a disturbing trend.

Every name listed was connected to ACE or a foreign Secret Service in some manner or fashion. Field Agent, Analyst, Outside Consultant, Informer, Executive, Retired and Active… Each and every name was exclusively tied to one regime's espionage division or another.

And despite the scale of this list, the portent regarding each individual's occupation revealed to me one chilling detail. ACE had only recorded relevant personnel to their agenda on this list, which in turn begged the question:

-Just how many civilians and overtly commissioned personnel had been slaughtered by TH?

Just how much blood really was on his hands?

"...I can't believe that I was standing next to him… Holy fuck… All these people-?" I was rolling sick. I couldn't believe that TH's Sinnoh coup was still regarded as his most heinous of crimes. I was looking at a Goddamn record of genocide, and a better half of the world didn't even know who TH was…

-I couldn't speak. I could hardly breathe. The shock had left me numb. To hear about TH's murderous exploits was one thing…

...But it felt like something entirely different to scroll through the list of names and faces that belonged to his victims. It was so easy to refer to the unjustly murdered as mere casualties when you stripped them of an identity…

...But it was something absolutely heartrending to look into the smiling eyes of so many dead souls.

"Come on, fatty. You gotta learn how to walk if you ever want to escape me…" I growled, kicking the unbalanced Mac towards the door. Mac just whimpered, and staggered for the garage's exit. We'd bedded down at a mon-friendly hotel, which had advertised expansive lofts for Trainers with big mon…

...At a discount price.

"Holy fucking hell, I am not sleeping in this hole again. I don't know who patronized this dump before us, but they must've brought a Wheezing with them, 'cause this dive smells foul." I grunted as I wrestled Mac's uncoordinated legs into a wider spread, centering his gravity for balance while stressing the joints of his knees.

Mac was shaking like a leaf as his legs threatened to buckle, but Momma Zane wasn't gonna tolerate any form of failure, and the Munchlax already knew what happened when you hit the ground without permission.

"Want some more boot marks on your ass, Mac?" Momma Zane hissed dangerously in Mac's ear. A pitiful whine was Mac's only answer.

"Cortez, straighten out his front mitts. I'll kick him from the rear. We'll make this Munchlax walk as if his life depends on it…"

-Which was an accurate statement, given my waning patience.

Auntie Cortez followed through on my directive, and after Cortez had nipped Mac's front mitts into position, Momma Zane planted a boot on the giant infant's rump, and pushed the Munchlax towards toddlerhood.

-Which didn't quite work as well as Momma Zane had expected.

"Goddamnit, Mac!" Momma Zane was giving the quivering blob of weeping fat a thorough flogging with his feet, and Cortez was letting him do it.

-Within reason.

As soon as Mac got back up on his feet, Cortez gave me the warning growl, and I returned to my furious duty straightening Mac's ass out.

"Mac, you're either gonna learn to walk when I trigger your malfunctioning self-preservation instincts, or you're gonna die when that fails. Now put that fucking foremitt of yours down half a meter ahead you, before I beat you on general principle." I growled. Mac just whined at me.

He was still too young and naive to understand my orders. Complex phrasing was gonna be about as effective as crude phrasing, simply because Mac had neither the experience or cognitive functionality to correlate my behaviors with my verbal commands.

-So in order to communicate with a baby monster, I had to speak a language that baby monsters could understand.

"Cortez, clip his heels." I ordered of my number two.

And a snarling Growlithe chomped down on that Munchlax's shaking front ankles.

Blind Mac put down a heavy lunge, and slammed right into a concrete wall with enough force to shake the room.

"Better Mac, much better." Momma Zane cooed fondly, stroking his crying Munchlax's ears.

"Now would you aim for the door, please?" Momma Zane simpered as he muscled Mac's nose into facing the door, while Auntie Cortez licked at the bleeding wounds on Mac's ankles.

And one snuffling Mac miraculously stumbled towards the door with his first official baby steps.

"That's a good start, fatty. Keep it up-"

-And then Mac fell chin first on the floor.

Once again, Momma Zane was kneeling down to pick up his baby Munchlax with an exasperated sigh.

"One step at a time, Mac. Just one step at a time." I grumbled while Mac burrowed his whimpering head into my abdomen and lap.

I got Mac out the door after a half an hour of alternatively babying and bullying him. Despite the fact that we were on a coast, this was Kanto's southern coast. Summer may have been fresh in this hemisphere, but this was still the far south.

So it was still pretty cold at the break of day in the Vermilion sector. Cold enough that my breath crystallized in the brisk and salty air. But it was warming up in the rising light of the sun, and the entire city was smothered in a deep gray mist. So from my location on the waterfront's cobbled lower terrace, I couldn't even make out the naval docks just thirty meters south of my position.

But a part in the fog briefly revealed a gray light illuminating the mist over the water, and a dark figure who was leaning up against the terrace's iron railing, as his shaded eyes peered south towards the unnatural gloaming.

TH was waiting for me.

"Cortez, hang back with Mac. Let him rest up a bit. I'll handle this alone." I swallowed hard as I gave that command in a dead tone, and Cortez put himself close at my knees.

"Don't challenge me on this one, Cortez. I've handled him solo before, and I'm gonna have to do it a crap tonne more in the future. Just keep an eye on Mac." I grumbled, and marched off towards the terrace railing alone.

"TH." I growled as I came to a halt but a few paces away from him.

"Good morning, Zane." TH murmured from his post without turning around to face me. I shuffled uncomfortably behind him. Something about TH's inflection made my skin crawl. It wasn't his typical snide tone. He sounded tired, and curiously pensive.

"Taking your Lamp out for a walk?" I grumbled. TH straightened up, and waved to me with his left hand.

And that's when I noticed the gnarled claw that TH had for a left extremity. Every time before, I'd always challenged the Eidolon King smirk to smirk. But now that TH wasn't facing me, I didn't need to focus solely on his countenance.

"What happened to your hand, TH?" I growled as I came to stand beside the Devil of Kalos.

"Oh, this?" TH sighed, holding up his scarred and mutilated appendage. Half of the tissues on the insides of his fingers were missing, and the hollow of his palm was twisted and warped by the most unseemly of scars.

"...This is where I once held the fire of the Gods…" TH chuckled, though there was something self-demeaning to his tone.

"Did Thanatos do that to you?" I asked, inclining my head towards the soulburner hovering over the water.

"Of course not." TH muttered as he clenching his hand shut, and shifted it into the folds of his coat.

I was looking at TH oddly now. Something wasn't right with him. I'd never seen him this introverted before. I'd never seen him this self conscious before.

I'd never really seen him act human before.

"...How old are you, TH?" I asked, suspicion plain in my voice. TH just snorted.

"Why don't you just consult the Nine Lives's dossier for an answer?" TH snidely responded.

"...Because I'd rather ask you." I growled back. TH jerked slightly in surprise. Finally turning around to face me, the Eidolon King adjusted his shades.

"I must apologize for my former outburst, Zane. I'm afraid I haven't been… sleeping very well." TH muttered.

-I couldn't tell. The swollen and bruised circles around those eyes could been seen through the silhouette of TH's shades.

"...Your age?" I pressed, trying to appear aloof. TH just smiled sadly and shook his head.

"My age is inconsequential, though if it pleases you to know, I have been on this earth for eighteen years now." TH murmured, turning back to his wraith.

"So you're one year older than me then. Next question." I grumbled. TH just started chuckling again.

"You want to know how many wraiths I channel?" TH snorted.

"Would you not do that?!" I hissed, getting all kinds of pissed off, thank's to TH's violation of my mental sanctity.

"Again, I must apologize. I'm afraid that it's become something of a habit." TH murmured softly. My face twitched in anger. I couldn't stand this fucking phantom scan TH kept subjecting me to. TH drew a long and silent breath, before the Eidolon King preceded his answer with a weary sigh.

"...Five wraiths." TH whispered.

"Holy-fuck. Five channels? You're gonna be a corpse before you're even thirty years old." I breathed out in shock.

"Given the appetites that some of my revenants need sate, I will be united with the Distortion well before thirty, Zane." TH casually stated it all, as though his premature death meant absolutely nothing to him.

"Well, don't expect anyone to mourn over your empty grave. Why don't you make it six Ghosts and just save us all the wait?" I growled.

"Pariah. Desist this instant. Let him speak as he sees fit." TH sighed.

-I froze solid. There was a huge fucking shadow looming over me, and a swordpoint pressing into my left shoulder blade.

"Pariah, please. Just leave us be for now." TH's voice was shaking, but it wasn't quivering in anger this time.

TH was struggling just to maintain his dignity as he fought some manner of internal battle.

"You've killed thousands of people before, TH… What's one more fucked up life worth to you?" I hissed, pressuring TH with his own Ghost. And Pariah responded to my insinuation just as I had anticipated. That sword pierced through my coat's shoulder and began to bury its point into the scar tissue of my back.

"PARIAH! I ORDERED YOU TO LEAVE!"

There was the naked TH I was looking for. There was the human being beneath the Devil's exterior. There was a bleeding and vulnerable mortal hiding just behind that monster's indestructible mask.

Pariah's blade withdrew from my shallow wound, and a Distortion rift peeled open as thousands of ropy tendrils poured out into the physical realm.

And now it was my turn to freak out, as another TH calmly strode past the Distortion rift's event horizon, and came to stand between me and the other TH leaning on the rail.

"Pariah, you have disgraced me yet again. Consider your duties to me suspended. Demeter, thank you for your service. You may return to the Distortion with Typhon and Pariah." The new TH addressed both his Knight and his doppelganger in a smooth tone. The first TH's visage began to dribbled like hot candle wax, as the doppelganger's face split apart with the creaking grin of a disguised spectre. A flurry of dead flies poured from that hideous splintered maw, and a single red ball of vile light melted away the remaining human ruse, as it rose above the oozing brow of TH's doppelganger.

"This meeting has been long delayed, Zane." The real TH murmured as both his doppelganger and Guardian marched off into the waiting arms of Typhon. When the Jellicent's slithering rift had sealed behind TH's departing Ghosts, I was left with only Thanatos for company in our audience with the true Eidolon King.

"...What the hell was that?!" I burst out when I could finally speak. TH just chuckled, before he resumed the same rail leaning stance that his doppelganger had originally assumed.

"One of my revenants. A puppet of mine, crafted by my sweetest Demeter." TH murmured as he rubbed his shadowed eyes.

"The likeness is astonishing, is it not? Many would be assassins of mine have been deceived by that elaborate decoy." TH smiled at me.

"...A body double?" I asked, finally overcoming my shock. TH nodded.

"More of a perfect reflection of myself, an extension of my being whose mannerisms and appearances are dictated by mine own. Though I suppose that a body double would suffice for a concise explanation. It's something of a necessary precaution in my life." TH sighed, before turning towards his Chandelure's illuminated hiding place.

"Curious that he wandered here… I wonder if my dear Thanatos once visited Vermilion's coast in the past… or maybe the sea just reminds him of something…" TH continued on with his musings, as if freakish body double revelations were informal occurrences.

I however, was still struggling to adjust to the transition. But the new line of dialogue was catering to a certain discipline of mine. A discipline related to anything non-secular.

"You don't seriously believe that your Ghosts were once human, do you?" I snidely remarked. TH smiled, though his eyes still remained focused on his distant wraith.

"Who was she, Thanatos?" TH called out softly.

The far off Chandelure's light began to dim, and the corporeal image of TH's soulburner faded away into the Distortion, leaving behind only the grey glow of his soulfire.

"So it was a woman… My dear Thanatos…" TH murmured sadly.

The blood turned to ice in my veins.

"To answer your question, Zane… Belief implies a reason to doubt. What I have seen has robbed me of my every doubt." TH turned to me, that same weary smile playing upon his lips.

"...I know that they were once human. I know that they once knew of life…" TH turned back to the distant glow, his saddened smile fading along with the strength of his voice.

"...What do your eyes see, TH?" I asked, warily stepping into a train of conversation that I had little want to pursue. TH burst out laughing at my question, collapsing against the railing with his explosion of mirth.

"I'm surprised that it took you this long to ask, Zane! That's the first question I'm often regaled with at my every introduction!" TH chortled as he forcefully repressed his amusement.

"...I see a world very different from the one you see, Zane. I see the ends of all paths in my vision. I see the manifold conclusions of every event, and the decay of every living thing with these eyes." TH lifted himself off the rail and looked directly at me. I couldn't repress the shudder as those cursed eyes fell upon my person.

"...Even now, Zane… I see the destinations of your every path. I see the repercussion of your every footstep. I can see each and every possible manner of your death with these eyes…"

-I've got no shame in admitting it. I staggered where I stood when he told me that.

"...I see the world as the Ghosts do. I see the passage of time before the epochs have even been realized. I see a world devoid of beauty… I see a world dying of cancer… I see a world where futility is a tangible presence, and where each and every living creature naively staggers onwards towards their own destruction, while each and every one of them are blinded to that very end." TH glanced at me, and the ghost of a smirk twisted his smile.

"Well, almost every living creature…" TH chuckled.

I swallowed hard. For whatever reason, after having seen the world in TH's eyes, I didn't doubt his claim of rotting visions.

-But I did doubt TH's perception of it.

"So you can see the future?" I asked, my voice twisting with derision. TH sighed, and shook his head, as though he was disappointed with my question.

"I see time, Zane. Time and possibility. Not a guaranteed outcome. Not the definitive future. Just every possible end. Just every possible path. Nothing my eyes reveal is certain, for every action we take in the present alters the course of every path fashioned in the time to come. What I see today will be vastly different from what I see tomorrow. So no, I do not see the future as you define it." TH answered in a weary tone.

"Sounds useless when you phrase it like that. Actually, it just sounds miserable and fucking maddening." I snidely replied. TH leaned on the rail, and focused his cursed eyes on the faint glow that his invisible soulburner still radiated.

"It is more of a curse than a blessing, particularly when certain fates have been inscribed in stone. Namely my own…" TH whispered. I followed the Eidolon King's distant gaze over towards Thanatos's sequestered roost.

"...You really think that you're gonna become a Ghost when you die, don't you?" I snorted next to TH. The Eidolon King smiled disparagingly, yet those grey eyes of his never left his hidden Lamp.

"I know what my doom is, Zane. That is the futility of my fate. When it is my time to pass into the blackened lands-"

I wasn't gonna let TH finish. I started laughing my Goddamn head off at the sheer idiocy spouting from TH's mouth.

"Excuse me. I'm so sorry. I thought that I was holding a conversation with a soulless, depraved, hateful, but intelligent human being. Yet it seems that I was fucking wrong about the last part." I cackled. TH turned to me with a slight smile still lifting the left corner of his mouth.

"Then tell me, Zane… What are the Ghosts?" TH posed me with a question of his own. I stopped laughing at once.

"They're physical manifestations of the Distortion-"

"And where do they come by their sentience?" TH cut me off with a growing grin.

"-You call that sentience?" I retorted with a scowl, jerking my head over towards Thanatos.

"And a seculier man wouldn't?" TH asked in an amused drawl.

"Whatever you want to call it, it isn't human-" I growled.

"-Isn't it though? Have you ever known a species other than humanity to practice jealousy, sadism, and self destruction?" TH carried on with that pleasant tone.

"That's not the only thing that makes a human being human, TH." I spat in disgust.

"No. But those are some of our species' most distinctive of primordial traits. And the only organisms known to share those abstract behaviors are the Ghosts-" TH countered.

"-Last time I checked, science reserved the definition of "organism" for entities that display the intrinsic characteristics of life. Ghosts don't meet that criteria-" I interjected.

"-Unrelated semantics, though if you will pardon the inaccurate usage of the term organism-" TH began.

"-No, I won't." Obstinate to the grave. I was born a Ranger, and I'd die a Ranger. Fuck every other social etiquette outside my clandestine upbringing.

"Very well then. If I am wasting my time-" TH sighed.

"-No. Continue. I want to tear your ridiculous belief in an afterlife to the fucking ground." I growled. TH fell back against the rail, and fixed me with another one of his cordial smiles.

"Then answer my question factually, Zane. What are the Ghosts?" TH asked. I ground my teeth into dust. This was the weak point in my argument. My answer was every bit as fallible as the answer given by those who practiced eidolon-veneration.

"...We don't know. Science hasn't reached a conclusion on that subject yet." I grumbled.

"What of Newcomb's theory pertaining to electrical pattern repetition entangled within the Distortion's timescapes?" TH posed a trap to me with a polite smile.

"They disproved Newcomb's electrical imprint theory centuries ago. Since then, we haven't formed a hypothesis with a sound enough basis to explain the Ghosts' existence." I spat. TH chuckled again.

"So your seculier belief has no more substantial support than my personal observations. I know what religious views best align with my theory, Zane… But are you willing to accept that your scientific dismissal of eidolon-veneration is based upon your own shallow religious adherences?" TH asked. I worked my jaw before I answered. And when I answered TH, it was with a level tone and a careful elocution.

"I accept that both our established perceptions are flawed on the basis of insufficient evidence. But that said, I'm morally inclined to dismiss the religious viewpoint on a personal bias." I answered with as much diversion as I could.

"So you do concede ignorance?" TH asked, his nasty grin revealing the failure of my ploy.

"Yeah. I concede to knowing just as much as you do." I answered. TH started roaring with laughter again, but this was clearly an expression of derision at my response.

"I told you before, Zane… I don't believe. You do. I know, and you don't." TH's laughter winded down into chuckles.

"Whatever. Read Catullus XVI for my reply." I growled. TH fixed me with an amused eye, before turning back towards the sea.

"Catullus XVI? That is such a vulgar ode, but I confess a certain fondness for the message that Catullus relayed in between the crude refrain." TH murmured.

"-I will sodomized and face-fuck you. Who said that old Rome's lyrical poets had to be decent?" I grinned. TH snorted again, before shaking his head.

"Why am I not surprised that you would only praise the ode for its crass phrasing?" TH muttered.

"That isn't the only reason why I adore Catullus XVI. I admire Valerius Catullus's vulgar challenge of social norms. It takes balls to stand up before an olympian athlete, and declare him no greater than a poet." I answered in a cool voice. TH lifted an eyebrow my way, before he humbly inclined his head towards me.

"It seems that I misjudged you, Zane. Yet again, I must apologize for my rude interpretation..." TH rose from the rail, and gave me his undivided attention once more.

"...So you really think that we become Ghosts after death?" I asked TH. The Eidolon King rubbed his eyes with a groan.

"That is a common misconception propagated by the eidolon-veneration cults. No, we do not all become Ghosts after death-"

"-Only the Godless and wicked, right?" I interrupted TH with a condescending grin. The Eidolon King raised a mutilated hand, and dismissed my interruption with an irritated gesture.

"Once again, you apply biblical edicts to a completely uncorrelated subject. No, not necessarily the Godless and wicked… But rather those who in life, elected to align themselves with the denizens of the Distortion." TH stated.

"That means Channelers only? What an exclusive little club! So you and all your Ghost worshipping buddies can continue torturing the rest of us after your own fucked up deaths? Sounds like a swell deal for you freaks, am I right? I mean, you obviously get off on tormenting everyone around you, and by your own beliefs, you've already guaranteed that you'll be able to do it for all eternity! What a swinging recruitment campaign! Channel a Ghost and become an immortal sadist! I can foresee armies of degenerates rallying around that dogma!" I broke out in a rant, and TH calmly sat back and bathed in it, while his smile grew all the more derisive as I carried on.

"...Yes, I'm sure to your warped religious perception, Distortion convergence resounds with the classical message of a self-fulfilling paradise. But if eternal sadism really is so sweet, Zane… Then tell me why my beloved Thanatos still weeps?" TH asked, as he looked to the dim light of his soulburner.

That line shut me up for good. I could've argued further, quoting the Ghosts' fondness for entertaining deceptions, but Thanatos was a channeled wraith. Meaning that the Chandelure could only act within TH's sphere of sovereignty.

So unless TH was deceiving himself by permitting for Thanatos's delusions, Thanatos wasn't acting out his peculiar behaviors.

If TH was right, then Thanatos was genuinely expressing a humanesque desire for privacy in his grief.

"...I'm done with this fruitless debate. We've established absolutely nothing in this argument." I growled.

"Quite the contrary, Zane… We've both learned something new and enticing from this conversation. And I do hope that you'll partake of such exchanges with me in the future." TH murmured from his position on the railing.

"How hard is it to kill you, TH?" I asked in a perfectly casual voice. Regardless of this morbid question having been asked straight out of the blue, TH only raised an amused eyebrow at me. Lightly chuckling as he unzipped the collar of his quilted coat, TH nevertheless answered my insensitive query.

"Technically speaking, I'm no more difficult to kill than any other man, Zane…" TH smiled at me as he straightened out his posture.

"But those who guard me have insured that my death belongs to them alone…" TH's voice changed into that horrid chorus of octaves. Every time that eldritch intonation rasped from TH's throat, it made my fucking bowels loosen. A child's voice mocked me in time with the furious baritone of an old man, while the voice of a sobbing woman moaned in agony as TH simultaneously spoke their every tongue in perfect unison.

But while that ghastly voice plagued my ears with its unnatural cacophony, a spectacle on TH's throat held my eyes captive in horror.

There was a long and ragged scar drawn across TH's larynx with the aging red signature of a blade's slashing wound. But right above the Eidolon King's adam's apple, in the center of that scar, writhed a swollen and knotted mass of blackened veins.

"-And what the hell is that?" I asked, trying to hide my squeamish countenance.

"That is the closest they have ever come to killing me, Zane… That is where they almost succeeded. But my sweet, sweet Demeter wasn't about to forfeit her prize to mere mortals…" TH smiled warmly at me as he tenderly stroked the knot of hardened black veins upon his throat with a thumb.

-Now I was feeling sick enough to puke.

"...You let a Ghost live in your throat?" I choked. TH shrugged, before he mercifully concealed that hideous mark beneath the zipper of his coat's collar.

"At the time, Demeter's seed spared me of mine untimely death. Now that the wound has healed, I keep her gift within me. Though it no longer serves a medicinal purpose, it would be quite demeaning of a King to dismiss his guardians' service without any form of recompense. In return for her steadfast commitment to my wellbeing, I have allowed my precious Demeter to feed from my flesh as well as from my life's essence." TH's voice returned to its standard musical rasp when he finished explaining the vile root in his trachea.

"That's just fucking sick, TH…" My face went clammy and numb, while my stomach staged a revolution against the rest of me. I was probably turning green around the gills, but I didn't really care about appearances at this point.

There were limits to what qualified as courtesy, and TH's masochistic allowance to his wraiths had surpassed the ordained borders of decency.

TH had brought the parasitic relationship between himself and his Ghosts to a whole new level of profanity.

"As a King, Zane… I willingly bleed for my subjects. As a King… I am obligated to impart mine absolute loyalty to those who grace me with their absolute loyalty." TH waved towards the sea, and a moment later, Thanatos appeared above his mortal liege with a roar of soulfire.

"Now, you and I both have our duties to attend to. I wish you the best in your endeavors, but before I bid you farewell: I would extend an invitation to you, and your company, for a leisurely repast with myself tonight." TH lowered his cadet hat, before addressing me with a polite smile.

"Will I be dining with a Ghost's puppet, or the Ghost's puppeteer?" I asked suspiciously. TH smiled proudly at me, as though pleased with my question, while the grey light of Thanatos grew more intense and penetrating.

"Myself of course. You have more than earned my trust." TH bowed to me, and turned on a heel.

"And what if I say no?" I ground out before TH had taken more than three paces east. TH just kept right on walking, but he still offered an answer to me.

"You won't say no, Ranger. Face it, Zane Bastard… I've earned some semblance of your trust as well..." TH chuckled.

"Don't start flattering yourself. I'm not your friend, TH." I growled.

The Eidolon King just sauntered his creepy way off into the opaque fog, until both his darkened silhouette and his soulburner's unhallowed light had faded away into the heavy mist.

But even after the Eidolon King had disappeared into the gloom, I could still hear the skin crawling cadence of his unrestrained laughter.

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APU(Armored-Personnel-Unit): The Military's offering of canned meat to the mon. Decked out with heavy weaponry capable of cutting most fleshy mon in half, APUs are standard fireteam support units in occupation warfare. While the armored exoskeleton and massive gun strikes many as appealing, the inefficiency, required regular maintenance, and "sensitive" hardware limits the gear to urban conflict and perimeter defense. The Ranger Corps has pressed for a Frontier adaptation of the tech, but unfortunately, none of the proposed Frontier APU Harness prototypes can adequately function within the diverse and ever changing terrain that the Rangers call home.

F5 Blackwatch: All of the people that you never want to meet have their names listed here. These freaks are recognized as priority threats to society, having gone one detrimental step further than merely training hazardous monsters: by willfully utilizing such hazardous monsters in widespread domestic attacks. Most individuals on this list are either wanted criminals or under suspicion of 1st degree murder with an F5 mon. Names topping the list include Unova's own Fuhrer Adler and the Chief of his Governing Council, Chancellor Ghetsis. The name currently ranked as the highest threat native to Indigo is none other than the infamous boogeyman: Doctor Fuji. A fugitive of the law for over twenty-five years, Doctor Fuji has been charged with Crimes Against Nature and the Reckless Practice of Medical Science. Doctor Fuji is wanted in connection to the almost mythical Mew-0 Project, whose expressed goal was the resurrection of an extinct species of Lima-Two. As if murdering human beings with living bio-hazards wasn't enough, a madman in a labcoat actually wanted to play God and risk our species' annihilation by reviving a monster that could have killed us all.

Stimulipids(AKA: Polysynaptic Brown Adipose Tissue): My sci-fi explanation for Thick Fat, Huge Power, Stockpile, Belly Drum, Rest… Basically all of the canon's set-up shit that was desperately hankering for an explanation. If you don't like it, then you can settle for magic. But I'm not that cheap. -P.S. I'm so totally not knocking on the fourth wall right now.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Chapter VIII was originally going to cover everything from the Cerulean-Vermilion shuttle trip to the post Vermilion Gym battle. However, after having written nearly 40,000 words and just barely reaching the halfway point of Chapter VIII...

...I had a conflict of conscious. While smashing my own record does sound appealing: I, as an author, just couldn't justify an 80,000 word chapter. So here's to a split in the story. Here's for that much needed pause, so that my audience can pursue a life outside of my novel length chapters.

More is coming. Maybe not very soon, but I've found a decent pace. So I'll see you all at the Vermilion City Gym.

-But only after we've all sloughed through 30,000 words worth of build up and dissertations.