Chapter: Karma's a Bitch

XXXXX

I took to walking around the town. The pokécenter was still full of reporters and I didn't feel like trying my luck with Angie. In fact, I was kind of enjoying being alone without pokégirls trying to kill me or even Savanna and Ruri around. It felt nice to be able to just explore on my own without any one paying attention to me. I drifted to the fields on the north side of the town to completely minimize my chance of running into someone. It was divided amongst a rice paddy, a field of corn and the unused portions used for grazing. That was where I finally stopped. However, the sun and temperature kept rising; Hoenn was hot and miserable. My white ass did not belong and I eventually had to take refuge in the shade of the wall.

In one of the fields, a cat like furry was running around and chasing after a flock of chickens. It was oddly cathartic watching the random woman keep failing in such a cartoonish manner. I wiped the sweat off my brow and leaned against the wall. Those chickens were the first animal I had seen. Further away, sheep were stumbling around and lazily munching on the grass. They didn't have fluffy coats of wool so maybe they were goats. I didn't know. They were clumped together next to the wall. I glanced over at the rice paddy and the one scarecrow standing watch. It was brightly colored and looked more like an art project or a shrine. It probably was because there wasn't a single bird anywhere around me. There weren't any mosquitos either, which was quite the miracle.

That killer queen had done a number on us. Four people and their pokégirls, though no had mentioned them, were dead. We were almost on that list. If Ruri was to be believed, she had torn through a lot of the ferals and with relative ease. Then that level 40 killer queen had taken blow after blow and it hadn't affected her. The killer queen had been the Freiza to our Krillin. I remembered the damsel on the roof of the hospital and how she hadn't been effected by any of Ruri's blows either. Just how strong where pokégirls? I tapped the gun at the small of my back, knowing that it was there helped me felt reassuring. The furry took a leap of faith but the chicken escaped out of her grasp.

With the gun at my back, I felt like the playing field had been tipped back in our favor. A pained memory of that little red dominatrix beating on me played in my mind again. But it was only a fragment. I was lucky not to remember most of the beating I had received. My situation paled in comparison to what the girls were going through. Ruri wasn't the type to ponder about almost dying. Or perhaps she was and was simply trying to move past it? I couldn't speak for Savanna either but apparently she had been desperate enough that she was on the cusp of evolving. I didn't know what that meant but Angie thought it to be a very bad thing.

One thing that I did know at that moment: pokégirls were terrifying. The books finally made sense. Humanity had retreated behind walls because the pokégirl menace wasn't just a sickly little girl with a stick in her cunt. They were monsters who could take much more damage than a human. Miraculous skills and magic were at their beck and call. Most dauntingly, they could manipulate your thoughts without your knowing it. I couldn't beat them in strength: mentally or physically.

Which meant that I going to have to beat them with cunning but I wasn't alone. Even if Savanna was forcing herself to come with me; I needed her help. Even if Ruri was almost psychotically ruthless; I needed her help. It was going to take a team for me to survive. The furry lunged one last time and finally got her claws around the chicken. I tapped the pistol again. That was the great thing about guns though, they leveled the playing field. Just as Smith and Wesson had made democracy possible; that gun would make my survival possible. The chicken escaped from her grasp.

"Hey!" it was a low pitched female voice and it broke me out of my head.

She was covered in tattoos and had a rainbow of hair flowing behind her. An agonizing amount of different colors glittered as she walked towards me. Unless some of those designs ended abruptly, she was completely covered in tattoos; her skin was a chaotic mishmash of designs all competing against each other for my attention with barely any bare skin between them. She did a little pose for me and accentuated her figure for me when I stared too long.

"You're that hero boy right?" She winked at me. I noticed she had this blue and white, 4 point, compass rose on her stomach. It was a random observation but it was unique enough for me to recognize among the endless patterns, designs and colors of her skin. That only half of the rose was peeking from above her pants made it more recognizable.

"That's what they tell me," I said, trying not to sound too exasperated. Heroes were supposed to be better at protecting people.

The tattooed woman took it in stride and brought her arm up to her nose as if thinking about something. She had an 'L' on her finger that spelled out 'love' when she made a fist.

"Hmmm. How should I repay you for saving my life, Mister Hero?" she asked. I turned to face her directly and shot her a blatantly annoyed look. She smiled at me over her hand, she was definitely trying to seduce me into something, I think. Maybe, I was over estimating myself. "Hmm, I think you deserve a tattoo."

She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I narrowed my eyes in suspension even though I had always liked tattoos. My Dad had several and I was going to get one eventually after I joined the military. I almost laughed, the military was my plan to make myself useful. The morning was young and I figured I'd give Savanna more time to make her decision. Hopefully, I was giving her more time to truly say goodbye to her mother and her old life. I was about to say 'yes' but I stopped.

"Not Sex?" I asked.

Shouldn't that logically, or what passed for logic in Hoenn, be her plan I wondered.

"Is that an offer?" she asked and started strutting towards me with a sway in her hips. I took a step back. The smile on her face didn't even twitch. "See? You don't trust me enough for that."

"You're right. Stabbing me with a needle is much better," I said.

The woman took it all in stride and pointed her thumb at herself. "I want you to remember what you did here. You saved a lot of people from that Killer queen; my Master included. You deserve a reward and even the greatest night of passion can fade from memory in old age. A tattoo is a constant reminder that you can never forget."

She closed her eyes and nodded to herself in a cartoonish manner. It did nothing to ease my suspicion; it only made her seem like more a ditz. I pulled my pokédex and hit the button.

'PROCESSING…'

Nickname: Tiffany

Registered: Dan Green

Breed: AR-TITS, the Artist Pokégirl

Type: Very Near Human - Near Human

Element: Normal/Magic

Strong Vs: Poison, Psychic

Weak Vs: Bug, Dark, Fighting

Attacks: Cheer, Yell, Cry Wolf, Mystic Bolt, Dispel, Magic Strike, Shell Shield, Sketch, Area Illusion

Enhancements: Enhanced Agility (x4), Empathy, Aura Sight, Sixth Sense (True-self-portrait), Summon (Art supplies), Enhanced Senses (Vision)(x4), Reduced Feral, Enhanced Durability (x3), Intuitive Aptitude (Art), Body Sculpting (Self only)

Ar-tits. Granted, my experience with pokégirls was still limited but it was getting annoying. Who had come up with the names? Sukebe? Maybe, he was off his rocker.

"Who's Dan?" I asked, pocketing the pokédex.

"My tamer of course," she said.

I rolled my fingers asking for more information. I figured I'd humor the woman; going by her full body suit she must've had a lot of experience in tattoos. If it was a ruse; I tapped the bullets on my belt. The holster was tucked into the back lip of my pants so it wouldn't be as obvious.

"But where are we going to go? I don't think you can give me any kind of quality out here in the fields." I asked, motioning to the dirt roads and sticking the other hand into my pocket.

The tattooed woman smiled. "Of course not. We have a shop here in town, beside who wouldn't want a one of a kind tattoo from the world famous Tiffany the Tats."

Thought it said she was an ar-tits? Why the hell did she have a tattoo shop in a small town like this? I voiced that exact thought.

"We do identification marks mostly, the occasional piercing. It turned out lucky for you though didn't it?" she said.

Too lucky, I checked the pistol again. "Lead the way. Miss Tiffany."

"Wonderful," she said and clapped her hands excitedly before doing a full twirl. Her low voice didn't match such a girly twirl. Twisting on the balls of her feet, she sauntering down the street. I followed behind her a little bit for the first fifty feet, keeping some distance to pull the gun if need be. The view was nice too. We started walking back to the center of town and away from the small fields hidden within the wall. Tiffany spun again and locked eyes with me, hands on her hips. She pointed at me accusingly but at the same time being teasing about it. "You think I'm going to attack you don't you?"

"Yes," I answered honestly.

She just smiled and twirled around again before sauntering off.

"Just checking," came her sing song voice. She couldn't quite hit the high pitch she was trying to imitate. "I bet you like the view too."

"I do," I answered with a bored tone and was rewarded with a little kiss blown over her shoulder.

The walk was continued silently until we stopped in front of an obvious tattoo parlor. It wasn't just the simple neon 'open' sign or the giant 'tattoos' painted over the top of the door. The building had painted flames flickering on the bottom of the black paint. Everything about the building screamed 'punk' while every other building in the town had screamed 'dinky town in the middle of nowhere.' No wonder it was shoved as far away from the gates as possible. Tiffany stopped in front of it and waited for me to catch up. Once I had, she immediately latched onto my arm and walked me through the double doors. My other hand drifted to the pistol but I stopped myself.

Inside was a typical tattoo parlor or as typical as they could get. There was a seating area with a leather couch and a television. It was across from a counter with all kinds of piercings available, mostly sexual, if the example pictures were true. A little further back were individual stations and a consulting space with a table and a wall full of designs. It was all decorated in dark tones but more clean than the outside suggested. A sterile smell hung in the air.

From behind a book, a bored male looked towards us, more Tiffany than me. He looked like comic book guy from the Simpsons but with black hair and tattoos instead of yellow skin. Dan-the-tattoo-man gave us a spare glance but continued to read his magazine. Further back a furry poked her head out. She had painted fur and white hair that framed her face. A flat muzzle was on her face that was exotically attractive. Perhaps I was starting to turn into a furry being so drawn to these furries. Once again designs covered most of her but they weren't tattoos or at least they didn't look like tattoos, they moved with her too much. Were they on her fur? She smiled at us.

"Welcome back Tiffany," she said. "That the hero?"

Tiffany waved manically, I was a more subdued and only waved once.

"That's me, the Hero, I'm thinking of changing my name to that. Maybe with two 'e's," I said.

Dan snorted and the furry laughed. Tiffany locked my arm again and dragged me past the furry's booth. "Yeah I'll just be a bit, Jess."

She waved dismissively and disappeared into her booth. When we walked past she was hunched over an empty barber chair, her arms working something I couldn't see back and forth. I didn't really spare it a second thought. Tiffany beckoned me inside her own booth.

It was rather bare though: only the chair, stool and a counter. I was about to ask about that but then I just decided to say fuck it. There was obviously going to be some kind of magic going on. I sat my bag beside the chair and made sure to bend down and get a good look for any kind of trap. The seat bottom looked clear, there weren't any strange indentions on the side of the armrests or the bottom. I double checked for any visible ink, magic was abound and that could mean something like trap runes. There were none I could see but then it could have been invisible ink or something.

Not entirely convinced it wasn't a trap, I made up my mind: fuck it.

I took a seat and stared up at Tiffany. Silence reigned as she formed her fingers into a camera and ran them up and down. Her head was tilted quizzically and she kept flopping it back and forth in thought. Her rainbow, her irises were literally a flurry of color, eyes gave me the critical eye then finally she put her fingers down. "Take off your shirt."

"That's where you want to put the tattoo?" I asked. My true nervousness came not from having to take my shirt in front of an attractive woman, though that was a factor, but from revealing the belt around my waist. Tiffany shrugged her shoulders and gave me a well-yeah look. I pulled off the rag that my shirt had become and draped it over the bag. Tiffany's eyes fluttered at the sign of the pistol belt, the surprise disappeared just as quickly. Just to make my point clear, I pulled the pistol out and placed it on the chair with my finger resting on the trigger well. She was very calm and only glanced at it once. I tapped the gun. "Don't do anything stupid."

She stared me in the eyes and smirked. There wasn't a trace of fear in her eyes. "You won't need that."

"Peace of mind," I said.

Another smile and she dragged her finger down my chest. "Don't get much sun on your chest do you?"

I had thicker skin than that. So I had a farmers tan - sunbathing was the luxury of rich people - I had work to do. I kept up a neutral expression but clicked my tongue in agitation. Was I a little embarrassed by the attractive woman criticizing my body, yes. "Nope."

She strode over and got a closer look, close enough for her breath to sear my chest, it did a nice thing to her tits and the ankh on her right breast.

"You do have nice skin though. Nice and pale. So very pale," she said, switching her tone for the last sentence. Well at least she was switching up the insults and compliments. I didn't respond to her. She ran her hand over my chest and smiled at me again. "Not exactly a carpet of virility here but I'll need to shave it off anyway."

She gave the small amount of black hair between my pectorals a slap and smiled up at me. I started clicking my tongue a few times and tapping my foot a lot. Giving off all the body language I could to display my growing annoyance. "Get to the point Tiffany," I said.

All I got was a sweet smile and she disappeared around the corner to return with a bowl of water and shaving supplies. The next few minutes were a titillating experience as she shaved my chest while smiling and rubbing her fingers and sizable chest over my stomach. She did it the old fashion way too with a brush and a healthy lather. Her white shirt dissolved into a green bra. We both ignored the tent developing in my pants. Strangely, she didn't comment. We locked eyes, she smiled and I policed my expression into neutrality but the blush burned my cheeks.

When that experience was finished she put the shaving tools away and cleaned off her 'pallet' as she whispered haughtily. A tattooing gun simply appeared in her hand. She leaned back and smiled at me. "Alright Mr. Hero, you have a charmanda right?"

I nodded.

"Now you might not have tamed one yet but charmelons are sex fiends and whorizards are even worse." She finished with a faraway smile then she shook with anticipation. Charmelons? Whorizard? Jesus Christ what else do they call pokégirl breeds? Blastits? Tiffany shook with anticipation. "Makes me wet just thinking about it."

"They'll also," her smile died in a nonchalant shrug, "give your dick a nice second degree burn without a cream."

That got a shocked grimace out of me. I did not want burns on my mini-me. Which, by the way was still at attention while I tried not to look at the green pin-up whose head disappeared under her green bra.

"So what do you suggest? A pretty picture that will remind me my pokégirl will burn my junk if I don't wear a cream?" I asked.

Tiffany looked disappointed but that quickly became the all too common smile of I'm-about-to-prove-you-wrong.

"No, I'm going to give you a gift of fire-resistance, no badly burned junk for you, Mr. Hero," she said. I wasn't convinced but she continued. "Now what kind of design do you like? Runes? Biomechanical, Tri-"

I cut her off. "Artist's choice. Just don't make it pink or girly or anything. Actually, make it look like the blessing from a goddess it is."

I winked at her. Tiffany held up her tattoo gun with a smile. Black ink magically filled up the cartridge before my eyes. "Just for that, I'll try extra hard for you."

She turned back to grab something out of the cabinets behind her. I tapped the trigger well and ignored spider web peeking out from her shapely ass. She shut the drawer but didn't look back at me.

"Quick question, what's your pain tolerance?" she asked.

"I don't think it'll effect anything. As long as the design is simple and won't take too long," I said.

She flattened her hand on my chest, trapping some small object between. It felt smooth but there was an edge poking me. I looked up at Tiffany's treacherous smirk. "This will."

The weight of god sat down on my chest. The gun clattered to the floor.

XXX

I was standing in the middle of a town clutching the Garand instead of the AR-15. The bolt was wide open and waiting for a new clip, I stared at it for a second before glancing around. Far from the alleyway, I was down the street from the main intersection with the Garand tucked into the opposite shoulder of my usual shooting arm. A flash of yellow caught my eyes, I turned but nothing was there. I chased the thought away and focused on my surroundings. What looked like a small store was the only light source in the town. It came to me, very slowly, that it was actually the pokécenter. I blinked and sucked in the smell of a gunpowder.

Pain seared my right eye. A grunt of pain escaped as I felt around it, it didn't feel like much an orb was left. Blood, my hand was covered in blood, some of it congealed already. My mind felt sluggish, every thought took a long time to form; was the blood from my eye?

Something groaned behind me.

It was a graveyard. Six bodies strewn out in front of me, left right and center. I took a step forward and stared at a little furry girl with a hole in her chest, center mass, the heart. Another didn't even have a head: face down in the dirt with a bloody mass where her neck ended. They weren't moving as I walked towards the center of the town. Iron wafted up my nose and both my eyes started to burn. Something coughed.

I stopped and looked around for the sound. She was covered in leather: leather vest, leather dress with a slit up the side. A spittle of blood escaped her red lips, I stopped above her and stared. Same long dark hair, high cheek bones, it was all the same except her green eyes were both intact. Blood seeped out from her fingers as she continued to press down on her chest. We stared at each other for a while. I didn't emote at all, she glared the entire time.

"Domina," she said. It was a harried gasp and another trail of blood escaped down her smooth cheek.

A small smile stretched my face, it was too convenient. A domina appeared before me when I planned to acquire one? Only in dreams would that happen. I looked back down at the woman feeling numb. A flash of dainty feet in the corner of my vision drew my eyes away. There was nothing there. I looked back at the woman. Her chest heaved with a cough bringing even more blood through her fingers.

She was very pretty; smooth tanned skin, thick black hair and the soft sheen to her full lips. I started getting some urges that I hadn't felt for a while. Watching her try to fight through the pain and seeing her chest heave because every breath was an exertion brought out something in the recesses of my head. My pants started feeling tighter. She was just lying in the middle of the street completely helpless. So vulnerable as compared to the bitch who had; my thoughts faltered again. She taunted me, she abused me, she hurt me, and she deserved a lot of pain. I smiled, trying to suppress the excited blush that was spreading across my cheeks. Now was a chance to have some fun.

I pulled out a concerned expression and bent down and pried her hand away from the wound. She gasped and, her breathe heaving with every effort, kept mustering failed attempts to resist. Blood was everywhere, all over her chest, filling the ridges of her leather armor. It was almost like a blanket. And even more was still trying to flow. It explained why she could barely move her arms to fight me off. She was losing, had probably lost, too much blood. My every push against her, and every movement of her arms, caused the blood to flow anew. My fingers gently brushed away some of it so I could get a better look.

She swallowed and gave one last struggle. The light in her eyes was fading, but not nearly quick enough. I had complete control over her. Her head lulled as she fought to stay conscious. I suppressed a haughty chuckle and brushed away a lock of lustrous hair out of her face while whispering sweet nothings in her ear. "Shhh. Calm down. It's okay. I'll help."

Apprehension, but then slowly her eyes begin to soften. A small smile lightened my features. Sedated, she relaxed her arms and let me see the wound. The faint traces of fear still lingered in her eyes but there was just enough hope that crushing it would feel exquisite. The wound was glistening in the moonlight, my hands move forward, teasing. She flinched as my finger danced closer and closer. I locked eyes with her one last time, and she kept searching my face. I pulled the armor away gently, trying not to agitate the wound below.

Her armor was skin tight; around the bullet wound, the leather had been dusted with a dark powder that felt rough to touch as I brushed the blood away. I tried to peel her dress away but the quality leather wouldn't budge. As I tugged on the dress, she winced with every movement I forced on her broken form. I was able to see the flesh underneath and her skin hadn't blocked the bullet any better. It had hit her just to the right of where her left breast met her shoulder. It was a clean hit and the bullet had passed right through her. I couldn't see further inside because of the constant flow of blood; it was just everywhere. She whimpered as my fingers found the edge of the ragged flesh. It was a beautiful expression: the way she looked away clenching her eyes shut and her lips quivered.

My thumb finally found the skin beneath, I dug in.

Her eyes exploded at the sensation, her full lips parted as her earlier expression was amplified. My smile fought its way further up my cheeks. Suddenly full of life, she dutifully kept struggling smacking at my arms and clawing at my face. I slapped them out of the way and pushed in deeper. Her eyes widened just a fraction more until her green irises were tiny against the white of her eyes. Warmth washed over my fingers. I slapped a hand out of my face and pinned it to the dirt. I could feel the blood pumping under my fingers, the pulses matched from her wrist to her chest. She was warm against the chill in the air. She kicked me and pain erupted in my ribs. It stole the smile off my face and forced me away from my prize. It hurt but I couldn't get angry at her. I liked her: she didn't forget her part.

I kneed her in the stomach then pinned her legs with my knees. She wouldn't punch me in the ribs again. And yet she still wouldn't scream, just tightened her jaw and kept blinking away the tears that started to flow in earnest. I put all my weight on her, making sure that my knees were biting into her thighs. She kept glaring but there was more panic and agony. My free hand brushed the leather and found the hole. I plumbed those moist depths once again and finally she screamed. It was that same melodious sound but at a much higher pitch. It felt like my face was going to split, it was so wondrous. Her eyes closed and her legs jerked under me. It was a tight fit, I moved my thumb around and teased out the edges. The muscles in her face all fought against each other, every look better than the last. It was gushing the deeper I dug. I stopped and stared down at her, a smile still stretching my face.

Her eyes were more distant now, her life was fading even as the tears fell down her face. Her breathe came in short gasps. Dirt was staining her hair from the desperate fight she had put up. A fight she had lost.

My cheeks stung as I gaped at the blood stained mud, the force of the blow had thrown me off of her. Whiplash had claimed me she hit me so hard. I could feel the long tendril of welts already beginning to form on my cheek. It had come out of nowhere. She clawed at the dirt to try and escape me but the puddle of blood she was leaving behind had robbed her of all her strength. A whip was cradled in her hand, the one possession she wouldn't leave behind.

I suppressed a grin.

"Bad girl!" I jumped on her, digging my knees into her stomach and blood flew from her lips. Coughing racked her body; her retreat had been cut short. A swift punch to the face cracked her beautiful cheekbone open. "I'm in control here!"

I dug deeper into her. She began trying to mouth out something. My smile got even wider. I hooked my thumb up and pulled. She writhed and quaked beneath me continuing to throw her head side to side and clench her eyes shut. I was so hard in that moment and I pressed it against her leg so she could feel just what she was doing to me. She even tried to worm her way out from under me but all it did was make me feel even better.

"Mercy yet? I can keep going," Another laugh escaped me as she kept her jaw tight and refused to let anything past those soft lips glistening red under the moonlight. Yet another finger followed, I started pushing against her flesh. She screamed before she could stop herself, a coarse melody floating into the sky. She bit her lip to keep any more grunts from escaping. Smile ripping my cheeks, I dug deeper, faster, and harder. Pushing the wound deep until I could feel the edges of the bone. Her face twisted even more, full eyelashes fighting against themselves and tears falling out of her eyes. Her whole body was shaking, a final scream erupted from her lips when the sensation became too much. Only one eye managed to flutter open as the last breath escaped her. Slowly, I pulled all of my fingers out and leaned down next to her face. "Hahaha, this much hurt soooo much."

Her eyes focused back into a glare. Green seas of hate against white cracked by blood. I just laughed. A spray of spit hit me in the face.

Recoiling, I wiped the gunk off and stared at it in my hand. My smile faded as I studied the spit bubbles mingling with, and diluting, the blood. It was disgusting. Meanwhile, the smallest smile was on her face: a million moments of satisfaction on her ruby lips. It returned just as quickly. She had a lot of willpower in her; that was good.

I wiped the mess of blood, spit and flesh on her forehead and surprisingly soft hair. The sweat and blood formed bridges of light in her hair. Even splayed out in the dirt, her hair was illustrious and shiny. The light in her eyes was fading fast. Was it time? The fabled last moments where you could see the soul fade? I heard so much about it and felt giddy with anticipation. Still her green eyes flicked, the little brown ring pushing and pulling within them. Her chest continued to heave, in and out, ragged and desperate. She was fighting for every breath.

It was taking too long. Why was she taking so long to die? I wiped the rest of her blood on her face, my fingers dragging her eyelids closed. She pried them back open, the red only made the green pop even more. She looked weaker than ever but still clung to life. Slithering my hands around her throat I started squeezing. A new spark came alive. A pain erupted in my back and a shockwave caused me to cough. She smiled at me with blood covered teeth. In that instance, a realization came to me: she had not suffered enough. There was still too much dignity in dying in the street so quickly. She still needed to suffer. My fingers pried the third pokéball off my belt, covering it in bloody fingerprints.

XXX

What a dream. I woke up staring at a bright light. My shirt was still off and I was glued to the seat with sweat. Rolling my shoulder unglued, I blocked out the light and grimaced. I was still in the tattoo shop but with a new emptiness carved in my chest. It was like a piece of me was missing. I looked down at my chest towards the emptiness that was eating at me. The only change was the tattoo.

The color was vivid but none of the skin was irritated or red. It created a strange paradox of seeing a tattoo look so new and yet not faded. The design was varying shades of grey and black. It covered my entire chest from my sternum to each of my shoulders. A black tower, like a rook in chess, was the center piece and flames spread out from it as if the surrounding landscape was on fire. Tiffany had called herself world famous and I could believe it. She had included the different tones of the flames all the way to the smoke billowing off the fire. I was sure some part of it was magical and that only made me like it more. The skin wasn't even irritated either.

How long had I been out? My entire body ached but it wasn't the same ache as not having moved for a long time, it was more like I didn't have enough energy to move. Even rubbing at my face to check my accumulated beard was taxing. My bag was still there but not the gun. Lulling myself forward I couldn't muster the energy to pull myself up, I had to roll off the seat onto my legs. Even then I had to use the seat for support. I felt weaker than an old man. Eventually, I was able to come up to my full height and stretch. My spine cracked in sequence during the entire stretch. The emptiness didn't subside. I pulled my shirt back on and studied the small booth. I checked under the chair, on the cabinets, and anywhere it might have gone. The gun was nowhere to be found.

She had stolen my gun!

Suddenly, my tattoo didn't feel so wonderful. I would have preferred to keep the gun! Another precious chance had slithered out of my grasp! Anger welled up inside me but I didn't have the energy to express it. The only thing that kept me from closing my eyes and going back to sleep on the floor was that I didn't know where I was. That didn't stop me from resting on my claves and pressing my head against the chair.

"How do you feel?" Dan asked walking around the corner with a rolled up magazine.

I took a deep breath. Something was missing from the center of my chest; not a pain, more like my muscles had just disappeared. It was an extra level of concern on top of my complete lethargy. "Like something is missing."

He chuckled, his entire shirt bouncing with the action. "Yeah, you'll feel like that for a while. Tiffany is the greatest Tats in the world but her method are rough."

I stood and the entire room disappeared into an abyss. Everything spun and swam around me in a flurry of random lights. I swayed uneasily until I found the arm of the seat. The world returned. Dan was still standing there with a magazine in his hand and not offering to help me at all. I put my bag on. He did nothing to stop me.

"What do you mean rough?" I asked.

"Permanent tattoos take days to apply. Tiffany can slash that time down to as long as it takes her to apply the ink," he said.

"Days? How long was I out?" I asked.

He flashed his hands and motioned me to calm down. "8 hours. Relax."

8 hours! What little panic I managed to accrue actively fought back some of the fatigue.

"Where is Tiffany?" I asked, trying to fake sincerity. I wasn't believable at all. I needed to get out of there. I pushed past him and his stupid man ponytail; he let me by without a comment. I glanced into a couple of stalls. "I want to thank her"

"No idea." He shrugged. "I get a stipend every month to let her work. Although, I doubt you want to thank her and I like her more than I like you."

"You're not Dan!" I yelled. My anger had escaped into my voice.

"Jeff Albertson."

"Then who the hell is Dan!" I demanded.

"A client who pays to use my studio. Unlike you." He accused. The furry poked her head out into the center aisle. Her eyes narrow and mouth threatening to snarl at me, mirroring her partner's hostility. Jeff's own gaze hardened. "Now that you're up. Get out, I want to go home."

"Come on man. I want to thank her, when will she be back?" I softened my voice and tried looking remorseful. It was a chance that had long escaped but I did it out of reflex.

"Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you, it's in the contract. I get a check every month to keep a booth open twenty-four-seven. That's why I was here so early after a fucking killer queen attack and why I let you sleep it off in my shop on a Sunday instead of dropping you off outside. Now, Get. Out." He pointed to the door.

The furry stepped completely into the aisle and squared herself at me. I was getting nowhere. The red girl standing in the pokécenter came to me suddenly. Jeff-the-Tattoo-Guy wouldn't be helpful but maybe I could get something out the red girl, she seemed friendlier. I glanced at the door. "Thanks."

The warm breeze of Hoenn had a new chill to it as I stepped out of the shop, I glanced down at the tattoo visible under my 'vest.' Was being burn resistant making me more heat resistant? Maybe that was a sign it was working? Another bout of fatigue hit me. The weight of the world was on my shoulders and the growing pain in my chest wasn't helping.

The sun was just threatening to set; that left a lot of time in the day. It had been out the entire day just like he had said. Unlike this morning, the streets were filled with several people milling back and forth. A disproportionate number of them in blue fatigues. It occurred to me that I forgot to ask Jeff about after-care. Shouldn't I have gotten a cream or something? I looked back into the tattoo parlor and locked eyes with his scowl.

"Worst customer ever!" he said and locked the door with a rude click. He turned on his heels, skulking deeper into the store with heavy steps. Apparently, I did not.

The dream flashed in my head. It wasn't the most extreme dream I had ever had, truth be told. But, I had been having flashbacks all day. The memory of the killer queen flashed in my head.

She jabbed me in the chest with her outstretched hand. "I'd like my daughter back please."

Just to be sure I pulled out my pokédex.

Iscariot, Sean

Age: 18

Residence: Littleroot Town, Hoenn

Status: Active

Rank: 1

Record: 0-0-0

Blood Gifts/Curses: [Classified]

License(s): Tamer

Active Harem:

Charmanda level: 13 Nickname: Ruri

NurseJoy level: 11 Nickname: Savanna

Domina level: 5 Nickname: N/A

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