Prologue, Part Two: Often Start…
"When we get to Coumarine," Zayn started as he stroked Ghost's back, "can we get some pizza?" The puppy gnawed on his fingers as they filed in line.
Rhodette nodded as she fished the train tickets out of her purse. It had been several hours since they had breakfast; getting some pizza for a late lunch sounded like a great idea.
"Maybe we can get some ice cream afterwards, too." As she handed the conductor their tickets, the train doors whooshed open and a crowd of people began to make their exits.
"So, does having Ghost mean I'm a pokémon trainer now?"
Rhodette glanced down at her son and ruffled his unruly brown hair. "I think you'll need to practice with him first before you start dreaming big."
"Have a great day, ma'am." The conductor handed her the stamped tickets and tipped his hat as they waited for the passengers to debark.
"Come on, sweetie, let's—"
Zayn looked up when his mother didn't finish her sentence...and froze.
Two tall, imposing men in black suits and dark sunglasses were blocking their entrance to the train.
"Miss Harker?" the man on the left asked, while the man next to him pressed on his earpiece and mumbled, "We found them."
Zayn looked to his mother, fear clutching at his chest, only to see that the woman who never seemed to be afraid of anything was immobilized by the same fear that gripped him. "Mom?"
At first it was only a whisper, so low that he had to strain to hear her above the shouts of the people behind them. Her lips quivered as she backed away from the men, her suitcase falling from her grasp with a thud as her arms went limp beside her.
"Reapers," she murmured, and suddenly time seemed to slow to a crawl.
He watched as the thugs in the suits lunged for Rhodette, shoving people aside as they stepped off the train. Lips moved and arms rose in anger as the startled crowd protested and shoved back, driving a thin barricade between Zayn and his mother.
Ghost squirmed in his arms and yapped wildly, as if he sensed the danger that was slowly unfolding around them and aimed to do something about it.
Zayn stumbled backward as one of the thugs—a bald man with an old scar across his chin—reached for his arm with a burly hand, tripping over his mother's suitcase and landing hard on his back. The wind rushed out of him, and in that instant time sped back up.
His mother was weaving in and out between people, eyes frantically searching for an exit as the other man in the suit chased after her. He was a slender man, with slicked-back hair the color of sand and eyes as blue as the ocean. His cheek boasted fresh bloody scratches the size of fingernails and his sunglasses were crumpled somewhere beneath the swarm of confused people, but there was a look to his eyes that did not speak well of his mother.
Zayn looked on, helpless, as the man grabbed an item off his belt and tossed it into the air. A blinding red flash popped out of the pokéball, transforming moments later into a tall white ape with black claws and eyes as angry as its master's. Zayn's eyes widened in recognition as people screamed and dove out of the rampaging pokémon's way.
"Get her, Vigoroth!"
The ape howled, beat its chest and broke into an awkward gallop, its knuckles pounding into the cement like hammers as it shouldered unsuspecting tourists aside.
"Zayn, run!"
Rhodette's shrill cry over the commotion drove him to his feet. Swinging his backpack at the bald man's face with all the might a frightened twelve-year-old could muster, he smacked him square in the nose, dislodging his sunglasses to reveal cold gray eyes, and without missing a beat Zayn shoved himself to his feet and bolted through the crowd.
"Ghost!" he cried out as he ran, looking back to see the little houndour bounding after him, a tiny barrier between his new friend and the man that wanted to catch him.
Leaping over turnstiles and sliding around a corner, Zayn finally made his way to Lumiose Station's entrance. Stopping just long enough to catch his breath, he chanced a glance back.
A sea of people stood between him and the loading docks. Shouts rose up from the other side of the station as the vigoroth tore past the ticket booths, knocking a lady in a white dress dotted with pink and yellow polka dots to the ground. Her pink furfrou yapped at the insult as an elderly gentleman struggled to help her to her feet, but his mother was nowhere in sight.
He felt a tug on his pants leg and looked down to see Ghost gazing up at him, ears alert and bright yellow eyes full of concern.
"I'm OK," he reassured the pup, willing his heart to slow its rapid pace. "I'm OK."
After a few moments, as his heartbeat calmed and the world had stopped spinning, Zayn scanned the crowd for his mother. Surely she got away; she had to have gotten away!
"I don't see her," he muttered. Ghost whimpered at his feet.
Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Zayn called out in shock as Ghost scampered to the left to avoid a swift kick from a well-placed boot.
"I found the boy!" the bald man with the gray eyes—a Reaper, his mother had called them—hollered into the earpiece. "Get the woman!"
Zayn twisted this way and that, trying to wrench loose, but the man held fast to his t-shirt with an iron grip. "You won't get away that easy, punk!" His voice was thick and flat, and there was a red blotch across his brow where Zayn's backpack had hit him.
Zayn caught sight of two men in polo shirts and khakis handing out flyers by the station entrance and waved to them. "He-help!"
The bigger man looked over, nudged his partner with an elbow and they both started making their way towards Zayn. He smiled, relieved, as the bald man turned around. A smirk played on the man's thin lips as he tightened his grip. "Not today, kid."
"What's going on over here?" one of the men, a lanky guy with piercing green eyes and a pointed goatee, shouted. The shorter, huskier man slowed his pace, pulling a phone out of his pocket and dialing into the keypad. "Yes, Lumiose police?" Zayn heard him mumble into the handset, and his hopes soared to the ceiling.
Out of the corner of his eye Zayn saw the bald Reaper open his suit jacket and reach around to his belt. Quick as a whip, he tossed a pokéball into the air. After the red light subsided, a tall pokémon in red-and-black armor stood between Zayn and the would-be rescuers. Silver sharp-edged pincers lined its ribcage, and its arms and legs were chiseled into fine sword points.
"Bisharp, don't let them pass!"
The bisharp grunted and slapped the flat of its bladed hands on the golden axe blade protruding from its helmet. Narrowing its eyes, it cast a glare in the do-gooders direction that froze them in their tracks.
"Meet me at the train," the Reaper ordered into his earpiece as he snatched Zayn by the nape of his neck and steered him through the crowd. Sirens could be heard on the city streets, barely a whistle above the noise in the station, but they were growing closer by the second. "It's time to go!"
"Let. Me. GO!" Zayn kicked and squirmed, trying to break free, but the man's grip was unyielding.
"Cut it out before I knock you out!" His fingers dug into Zayn's shoulders as he shoved a man with spiked green hair and more piercings in his face than flesh out of their way. "Bisharp, let's move!"
The bisharp swung around them and cleared a path through the crowd, and for the first time after the men in suits came after them Zayn caught a glimpse of his mother.
Rhodette was standing next to the benches where he had found Ghost, her arms pinned behind her back by the sandy-haired Reaper as the vigoroth fought back anyone from the surrounding crowd who tried to help. Her eyes were moist with tears, but when she saw her son moving towards her, accompanied by the bald man and his bisharp, Zayn could have sworn that her heart missed a beat. Any sliver of hope he had felt earlier vanished in that moment.
"Why are you doing this?" He heard his mother whisper as Zayn and his escorts drew near.
The sandy-haired man smirked, his gaze sweeping over Zayn like a vulture examining its prey. The blood from the scratches on his cheek made him look even more sinister, and brought out a certain gleam in his eyes. "A debt is owed, and a debt must be paid. You know our motto, Roe." He leaned closer and whispered something in Rhodette's ear, his lips still drawn in that terrible smirk and his cold blue eyes never leaving Zayn.
Rhodette's eyes widened in horror, and she started to writhe and scream. "You will not touch my son! You will not touch him!"
"You forfeit your life and the lives of those you love when you leave the Shadow Syndicate!"
Zayn could feel his own heart skip a beat as fear and anger fought for control over him. What could these men want from them? What did they ever do?!
Once they were in front of his mother and the sandy-haired man, the bald Reaper forced Zayn to his knees. His bisharp and the vigoroth formed a wall between the two men, keeping the people at bay as the sirens grew louder.
"We need to make this quick, Garren," the bald man quipped as he reached behind him, his hand grabbing at something tucked in the back of his trousers. "The cops are almost here."
The sandy-haired man, Garren, nodded and reached behind his back. "You knew this was coming, Roe," he stated as he withdrew a flash of silver from a holster on his belt. "And now the lovely people of Lumiose will know you for a traitor, as well."
"A gun!" Someone in the crowd shouted. "He's got a gun!"
Suddenly, the plight of Zayn and his mother was no longer a concern for the denizens in the train station as they nearly trampled over each other in their fright. Zayn had never seen a herd of people move so fast in his life. He did not have to look to know that the bald man held the same silver pistol in his hands, too.
This was it, he thought as tears welled in his eyes. He looked to his mother for strength, but saw only tears and a helpless frustration reflected in her face. This was the end.
Zayn lowered his head as the weight of the gun barrel pressed against him, a soft click as the hammer was cocked vibrating on the back of his skull. He was going to die here, he was going to die and he didn't even know why.
"Sorry, kid," the bald Reaper whispered, though there was no sympathy in his tone. "It's nothing personal."