Oh, hello. Bet you weren't expecting this, were you? :D
Updates to Galaxy Gang will resume; monthly at the very least. I'm hoping you enjoy it; I've gotten a lot of praise and whatnot for it. Thank you for reading.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the concept of Pokémon. I own only the specific characterizations of the canon characters as well as the assorted and individual background characters, along with the plot of this story itself. This work cannot be used, copied, reproduced or otherwise distributed. All rights reserved; Blakeface, The Pokémon Company, Satoshi Tajiri and Ken Sugimori, Nintendo, Gamefreak and Creatures Ltd.
December 17, 2000
43 Malachite Street, Apartment 12
Veilstone City
3:07 PM
Gregori was polishing the tops of the two Pokéballs in his possession when Cyrus stomped into the room, seating himself in his chair in the dining room. He barely took notice of his subordinate until one of the Pokéballs slipped from his slender grasp, and crashed to the floor. It turned in midair and hit the release button on the front, and with the customary rush of light and noise, formed into a Pokémon.
It looked from Gregori to the apartment before finally settling on Cyrus, blinking rapidly. Before either of the two humans could react, it darted behind Gregori's chair, mewling pitifully.
Gregori clucked at it, striking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Shhh, shhh, little one." He spoke to it soothingly in his native tongue, as Cyrus stopped whatever he was doing on his computer setup, looking interestedly to the Pokémon and Gregori. "Buck up, now…that's a lad."
Cyrus stared icily at the little creature in front of him, who was chittering happily at Gregori's touch. Wheels turned in his brain, hidden behind his pale face and sunken eyes.
"A Sneasel?"
"Yes-I mean, yes- sir." Gregori corrected himself, patting the Sneasel thoughtfully on the head. "He has only been hatched three months, sir."
Cyrus scratched his chin thoughtfully as Gregori patted the creature, smoothing back its dark navy fur and two ferociously pink head-feathers. The creature tittered lowly, enjoying the attention. Cyrus snorted, checking the weather and generally ignoring his companion, until his BlukBerry buzzed impatiently.
Casting a glance at it, he saw that some sort of disturbance had registered on the Net, which his organizer was programmed to scout for. Checking the preliminary scans from the PDA, he saw that police and Pokémon Ranger scanners were lighting up about something that had happened on Route 214. Tapping impatiently with one finger on the mouse of his computers, he looked from the PDA to Gregori.
"Scott." He rasped, startling the blue-nette, who was petting the Sneasel in his lap. "I've got a job for you."
Route 214
The thug gripped the steering wheel fiercely. His breathing was ragged; trying to keep himself in check was taking most of his faculties, save for the little portion of his brain screaming at him to escape. He kept stealing covert glances to the woman on the seat beside him, trying not to be so obvious about it.
She was sitting demurely, hands in her lap. Without the distraction of the radio, she seemed to have quieted all the nervous energy she had on the first trip down. Her head was again covered by the outlandish hood, concealing all features but the very tip of her nose.
Now that they were headed back to Veilstone, the thug was trying to remember all possible details about the girl so he could turn her over to his boss. His boss would not be pleased. The woman was not at first assigned to travel with him, the truck, and its containers to Pastoria; he was instead scheduled to travel with an upper-level thug, a friend of his, who would report favorably to the boss and earn the thug a higher rate of pay. Now it was all blown to Nightmare (1). And the boss would not be pleased. If the tough managed to escape this, he'd have a hard time explaining his involvement. And Darkrai's scrawny legs! Was his buddy gonna get it.
"Fuckin' jerk." He muttered before he could stop himself, finally able to dart across the median and merge back into traffic for Veilstone. He immediately tensed, as the woman cocked her head to the side, the hood of her parka rustling quietly.
"Trouble, Padawan?"
"Uh…no ma'am." He replied smoothly and automatically. He didn't put any sort of feeling into the words, slipping unconsciously back to the manner of speech required by the Sinnoh Volunteer Defense Forces, which the tough had served a two-year stint with. It was easy speech that required no more for him to keep his head down and focus on the task at hand. "No trouble at all, ma'am."
She grinned pleasantly. "Good. Stop here, please."
The tough pulled the truck out onto the small shoulder just under the shadow of the Ruined Tunnel. Idling roughly, the thug and the Hippowdon was rewarded by a couple of angry honks from people behind him as they maneuvered around him, heading back to Veilstone, and he was certain that the stares would soon attract some form of police intervention, be it from the Rangers or a traffic cop patrolling the road.
Glancing hastily out the rearview mirror, he was startled when his companion shuffled and shifted, unzipping her coat.
"Padawan," she grunted, pulling the bomb out from under her coat, "be a dear and hold this for me. If you don't let go, it won't go off, promise you."
The thug uncharacteristically squeaked as she shoved the bomb into his lap, showing him where to pinch to hold the starter from striking the military-grade explosives buried deep within the shell casings. He recognized the explosive as C4, an explosive that was small enough to be portable in this matter, but still packed enough power to blow him and the truck to Nightmare-Come. He was so surprised that he missed the woman slipping out of the cab until he heard the door slam and the cab rock a little bit. Breath catching in his throat, he felt his body shake with nervousness. He couldn't even call for help from his radio. He couldn't flag down a passing car.
"Shit!" He openly cursed. Without even realizing it, he unconsciously began reciting a nursery rhyme his mother had taught him, praying for divine intervention from Cresselia. He wasn't sure if his prayers would be answered (as the new moon had passed last week) but it was his only alternative. "O Cresselia, bringer of the moon and light…"
He stopped as he heard a strange beeping noise emitting from inside the shell of the bomb. Frowning, he turned it over as much as he dared, trying not to jostle it too much. As he stared around, he saw what looked to be the view-screen of an MP3 player. Although it was darkened, he could almost make out the recording that was inexplicably playing on the thing.
The thug squinted at the name of the song. "Countdown." He mused, inwardly thinking that it was a coincidental name for a song to be playing at this moment. "Wait…it's only got 5 seconds left into the song…Cress-!"
Route 214
A couple of minutes earlier
The woman smirked as she smugly congratulated herself on another job well done. Zipping her coat back up, she jogged primly to the forest on the side of the road, making sure she'd hidden all the incriminating evidence of herself within the truck. This included her wig and contacts, all the components to the bomb (which was now kind of a moot point)… anything that could lead investigators of the crime back to her.
Granted, the only witness to the crime was, now, effectively silenced.
"Oooh! That was a lot of fun, wasn't it, Snookums?"
The woman turned to the creature sitting beside her, a lean, sinewy purple feline with a smug countenance that matched her master's. She regarded the world with clear blue eyes, tufts of fur falling over the forehead. Mewling in agreement, she nodded as the woman patted her on the head between matching large ears of white.
"And aren't you the cutest Glameow in the world, Snookums?" The woman cooed, rubbing the creature fondly. "And who helps momma out when she does her little trickies? That's right, it's all you!"
Knowing that time was limited, the woman pulled out the peculiar object she'd found buried inside one of the containers that the truck had been carrying. Tucking it into one of the spacious pockets in her coat, she grinned happily, her dangerous smile playing about on her lips.
"Well, we're off to see the Wiz now, eh?" She asked the feline, as they began to walk away from the main road. "And it was so much fun, really! I hope we get to do that again."
She and the feline burst through the trees to find the real Route 214-the one used by Trainers traveling the region. It was a little more than a dirt path compacted by years of people walking on it, etching a permanent smear across the landscape. Well removed from the pavement, it both ensured none of the Trainers would get run over and also provided a clear path from town to town. The woman would use this path to walk the few miles to the last Pokémon Center on route to Pastoria, where she'd find passage back to Veilstone. She saw a couple of other Pokémon on the path, but they quickly darted back into the brush, avoiding her presence. Glameow purred contentedly as she followed her master along the path, looking around with dark, intelligent eyes.
"Come along, Snookums!" She gaily simpered to the Pokémon trotting at her feet. "Momma's got to make a phone call, and get the nice man to come pick us up! And then we'll go home."
She had barely taken more than another ten steps before a raw explosion cut through the late afternoon air, echoing loudly off the Plateau and the forest. Local wildlife cawed, shrieked and cried in alarm, and the sound of a couple of autos smashing into each other followed the initial blast.
The woman grinned.