Author's Note: Thank you to everyone thus far who has submitted their OC's! Your characters will certainly provide an interesting mix to the story! I implore you all to be patient with your submissions, as updates to this story might be irregular at times and some of your characters will not be able to make an appearance until much later in the game. Also, Froakie and Chespin have been taken, leaving Fennekin for Zayn...Oh? What's this? It looks like I've decided to open up an additional THREE more Lumiose starter spots! SIX starters?! That's crazy! That means that Charmander, Bulbasaur and Fennekin (I've decided to give Squirtle to Zayn, to complement his houndour's fire-type) are up for grabs! Claim one now before they're gone!

A Reaper's Interlude

The spiraling skyscrapers of Unova's Castelia City rose up from the land below him like iron-tipped fingers as Garren soared overhead toward the setting sun, navigating his staraptor with practiced ease.

His blood was still pumping from the excitement that had unfolded in Lumiose City's train station just two days prior—the weight of the pistol in his hand, its metal smooth against his skin; the screams of the crowd as they fled in fear; the look on that boy's face as he took the life of his mother with a single bullet. The ripe scent of blood still clung to his nostrils, though in truth he would not be able to smell anything for at least a few more days, when the swelling subsided.

Garren laughed aloud, raising his arms up high as the wind whipped through his unbuttoned blue blazer and tousled his hair. His first real mission as a Reaper had ended in success, and the cost for such a victory was no more than a broken nose! He felt as if anything were possible!

Staraptor, feeding off of the energy that its master was resonating, stretched its wings and climbed higher into the air.

"Garren!" Rolan's voiced boomed into his earpiece. "Quit showing off and get down already!"

"Aw, come on Rolan!" Garren protested, laughing as he steered Staraptor past Castelia's sprawling metropolis and out towards Nimbasa City. "Didn't you feel just so damn good after your first Reaper mission?"

Static echoed in his ear as he waited for the bald man's reply. "Rolan?"

"Mr. Shadow wants to see you."

Garren's high spirits suddenly down spiraled as he cursed under his breath. "Don't you fuck with me, Rolan." Usually Spektra, the boss's right-hand operative, would pass along any commentary or missions to the appropriate administrator, and the orders would trickle down from there. But for Mr. Shadow to ask for him directly…

"I wouldn't make him wait any longer if I were you." The static resumed, but Rolan's voice never came back on.

"Shit!"

Garren grabbed a fistful of Staraptor's feathers and yanked him into a hard right. The pepper-gray hawk cawed in pain as it took a sharp dive. In the distance, the famous Rondez-View Ferris Wheel of Nimbasa peeked above the city's skyline. He was almost there.

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It was dark out by the time Garren had set foot inside the Lucky Ball Casino's doors. The shrill laughter of first-time gamblers and well-seasoned high rollers alike as they tossed back another shot of liquid encouragement and rolled their life's savings across the tables bombarded him as soon as he entered, accompanied by a fast-paced mix of musical ambiance blaring from all corners of the room.

Shouldering his way past a group of intoxicated gentlemen rooting on their buddy as he slammed down the handle to one of the slot machines, Garren made his way to the far back corner.

As he passed by the bar, a thick hand grabbed his arm and yanked him aside. "You're late."

Garren whirled around to see Rolan downing the last of his beer, his gray eyes shaded behind a fresh pair of sunglasses.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Garren hissed.

The bigger man ran a hand over the smooth top of his scalp and cast Garren a sidelong glance, taking in his appearance with a raised brow. "And you're sloppy." He adjusted the silky black tie that hung from his neck as he stood up.

Garren hurriedly buttoned up his jacket as he followed Rolan up the stairs in the far back, his hands shaking as they were frisked by a man even huskier than his escort and then allowed entry through a hidden door in the back wall.

Rolan stopped just on the inside of the door and pointed down the dimly lit hallway. "Straight down this hall, fourth door to the left," he instructed, patting Garren's shoulder. "Knock three times and wait for his permission to enter. He's expecting you."

Nodding, Garren continued down the length of the hall alone, stepping cautiously as he wondered with a nervous mind what was to be expected once he stood before the head of their entire organization. If rumors could be trusted, then he was not likely to find smiles and congratulations on the faces of those that awaited his arrival.

His fist trembled as he gave three sharp raps on the plain wooden door. Combing a hand through his disheveled hair, Garren mentally ticked off the seconds before he heard the dreaded word mumbled from within: "Enter!"

Stepping inside, Garren bowed his head in courtesy and held his hands behind his back, determined to keep his gaze locked on the points of his scuffed black boots. "You summoned me, sir?"

"It's Garren, isn't it?" The voice was smooth as silk, yet the tone somehow reminded Garren of a Persian—while beautiful to look at, it possessed a certain edge about it that made you think twice before rubbing it the wrong way. "Garren Reed?"

"Y-yes, sir." He silently berated himself for stuttering.

"You were a drug pusher for us not that long ago, prior to your promotion. I believe congratulations are in order. Not many Shades make it up the corporate ladder, so to speak. You must have great potential in you."

Garren felt the tiniest flicker of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, sir."

He heard a voice whisper something in the dark and, despite his better judgment, curiosity bade him steal a quick glance up.

The room he was in was smaller than he had pictured, and sparsely furnished. He took notice of a potted rubber tree plant in the corner to his left, and two large oil paintings—one of rolling blue mountains beneath a setting sun, and the other of a bustling cityscape in the dead of night—hanging on the walls to either side. There were two plush red chairs a few feet in front of him, and beyond that an ornate wooden desk. A large half-open pokéball was carved into the desk face, as if it was frozen in mid-throw, and the letters "Lucky Ball" and "Casino" were etched in beautiful cursive, framing a semicircle around it. There were several monitors adorning the back wall, televising the goings-on of the casino floor, and a tall standing lamp in the far right corner that emitted a soft glow.

Sitting behind the desk, thick arms folded over the surface, sat a broad-shouldered man with dark skin and darker eyes. His jet black hair was parted methodically to the right, and though the lamplight only illuminated a part of his face, Garren could make out the faint outlining of a scar that curved from the corner of his lip up across his left temple and disappeared into his hairline.

An imposing figure, Garren could see just exactly how this man lived up to his name.

When he realized that he must have been staring for too long, Garren averted his eyes back to the floor.

There was a deep, guttural chuckle as Mr. Shadow linked his fingers together and rested his hands beneath the cleft in his chin. "Don't be afraid, boy," he spoke, though Garren took it more for a command than a suggestion. "You can look up."

Hesitantly, Garren raised his head until his eyes met squarely with Mr. Shadow's. It was then that he noticed the woman beside him.

Her platinum blonde hair was pulled up into a tight bun, and though she was gowned in a figure-fitting lime green dress with silver and gold bangles clanking on her arms, there was no mistaking those mesmerizing violet eyes or those lush red lips.

"Spektra, here," Mr. Shadow continued, gesturing to the woman leaning beside him, "has informed me that you just recently took on your first Reaper mission."

Garren nodded, adjusting his stance and willing his nerves to calm. This was not the reception he had been expecting, but he dared not drop his guard. "That's right, sir. The Harker woman."

Spektra leaned down and whispered into Mr. Shadow's ear. "Ah yes, I remember her. A pity to lose such promising talent, but we all know what our commitment to the Syndicate entails."

A debt owed is a debt paid. Garren recalled, with no small sense of pride, those same words spoken that day at the train station. It had been exhilarating, his first role as executioner. While pushing the trademark drug of the Syndicate had kept him busy on the streets, he looked forward to many more Reapings ahead of him. Killing people gave him a bigger thrill than Black Dust ever did.

Mr. Shadow leaned forward, his eyes burning like heated coals in the lamplight. "It has been brought to my attention, Mr. Reed, that you have failed to honor that code."

Garren felt the ground give way beneath his feet. "Th-that's impossible!" He had assassinated the Harker woman in plain view. It had been a public display of her treason and of the strength of the Shadow Syndicate. It had been executed by the book!

Unless…

His eyes narrowed as realization dawned on him. "The boy."

"The boy," Mr. Shadow echoed, leaning back in his chair. "You did not fully collect the debt, Mr. Reed. And you were almost caught in the process."

Garren shook his head, defiant. "But Rolan, he was—"

"As our newest Reaper, Mr. Payne was there to evaluate your performance. Nothing more."

His hands were trembling again. Garren inhaled deeply, telling himself to stay calm. He could still fix this. The boy would be no problem for him. He was a Reaper now, not some lowly grunt! "The kid is no threat, sir. Give me one more week and I swear I'll—"

"You had your chance, Reaper." Spektra stepped forward, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor. Garren turned his gaze to her, an unfamiliar heat flushing his cheeks. "Your orders were clear, and you botched it."

Mr. Shadow clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Spektra, play nice." He shot the Reaper a sympathetic grin, though Garren found little comfort in it. "It was only his first time."

Spektra smirked, her nose wrinkling up at him in contempt as she placed a well-manicured hand on Mr. Shadow's shoulder. "Even so. Luckily, our latest project is almost ready for a trial run."

Garren raised a brow, puzzled. "Project?"

Mr. Shadow tsked again, waving a finger at the Reaper. "The boy is no longer your concern." Then, pressing a button on the side of his desk: "Machoke, please escort Mr. Reed out. I believe Mr. Payne is waiting for him with a new assignment."

No sooner had he finished his sentence than a tall pokémon with skin the color of ash and muscles as big around as a tree trunk opened the door behind Garren. "Mah!" it choked, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him out into the hall.

"Wait, Mr. Shadow!" he exclaimed as he struggled to free himself from the pokémon's grasp. "I can fix this! I can—"

Mr. Shadow waved, his lips still twisted in a grin as the office door slammed shut. Once they were alone, he leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Spektra, where do we keep finding these...boys!"

"There, there." Spektra patted his shoulder as she took a seat on the corner of his desk. "Between that foolish Team Rocket group and society's idiotic desire to become a pokémon trainer filling their heads, they aren't exactly lining up at our doors."

Blowing a gust of air out of his nose in a small sigh, Mr. Shadow reached up and grabbed her slender hand. "Let's not dwell on it, then." Raising her hand to his face, he gingerly brushed his lips against the smooth skin. "Now, my dear, I believe we still have a debt to collect on. How do you propose we handle this young Harker boy?"

Spektra laughed, a clipped throaty sound, and traced his scar with a purple fingernail. "Well," she started, cupping his chin in her hand, "we can't send any more Reapers after him, that's certain. If we give it time he may forget, but then we would appear weak. No, our best option would be to prep our project and make sure it's ready."

Mr. Shadow's brow lifted in a sort of childish curiosity. "Our project?"

"It's a good a time as any," Spektra said, a gleam alighting her violet eyes. "After all, why send a man to do a child's job?"