Steel (Poke)Ball Run
Chapter 2 – VS CONFLICT OF INTEREST
A tumble of books, thick and dusty but mostly new, came crashing out of a tanned sack. Between them, were plastic platings housing metallic discs. Among them were stories and fictions written in places these men had never heard of before; spouting nonsense they did not believe in. Among them were techniques that were unnaturally known and not truly meant to be practiced. The crime these books and strange, metallic discs represented was obvious. No argument could be made as there was not even a scant shadow of evidence that could twisted as thing but damning.
The men sighed.
'It's the troublemaker, Chief. Sandman.' one man lamented. 'You can't protect him anymore. These books - from overseas, foreign man's books - were found in his tent. Irrefutable evidence of his crimes of treachery against our ancestors.'
The Chief sighed. His Second-In-Charge continued to speak. He licked his lips then continued after such a pregnant pause.
'Sandman will receive punishment for his crimes.' the Second-In-Charge decided.
The Chief donned a weary look. He was old. Too old for what was happening. He tilted his head upwards to the sky like he was receiving some sort of divine knowledge before his voice burst from his lungs with a decisive boom.
'For his crimes, he will be scalped! No objections?'
Only from the youth in question. To give chase was to abandon. To pursue was to hunt. To run was to deny all rights to this world but Sandman didn't care. He had ambitions greater than the desert could sprawl. Whether he and his tribe liked it, the Kalosian invaders were here to stay and he was going to do his damned best to adapt to this new frontier: grind against it and change it.
Like mentioned earlier, he had ambitions far greater than what ought to be dreamed in such hopeless and despairing times. With his partner monsters - Pokemon - in tow and hot on his heels, his tribe gave pursuit and chased Sandman.
He and his partner Pokemon - his five, brave partners - raced through a nigh, inhospitable wasteland of a desert. They were a team. Forever and always. But after today's revelations of Sandman's treachery, more so than ever. They were to be key tools in unlocking the path of his potential and revealing his grandest ambitions.
The sand underfoot was soft and worn thin but it blistered and burned like the brightest rays of the sun were piercing the flesh. His leather shoes offered little protection as Soundman and his team sprinted through the sands: a long, simpering wasteland of shifting shafts of sand. But, he knew the temperament of this land. He had been brought up with it, after all, and only had the utmost respect for it. He knew that it would guide him to safety soon enough.
His lungs ached as he ran. Every muscle screamed but he was resistant. This was normal. He had pushed himself harder but with his people, mounted on the sturdy backs of the thick-lidded, black and white Zebstrika their ancestors had brought back from their nomadic origin. Sandman knew that. He cared about that. But he also cared about the future.
Down his bare, browned back came hot and foul breaths that reeked with infernity. Weapons, drawn and posed, glinted in the sunlight and illuminated finely honed steel. That was more than enough motivation to ignite energy inside of Sandman. He pushed himself and his Pokemon farther than they had ever been.
Beneath beating, tough hooves came clouds of dust and it was all too easy to make a false step and be trampled. But, Sandman knew such a day would come. His braids slapped around his face as he pushed himself further through the air and he would continue until the air on his face cooled and became of sweet freedom. Hatred in exchange for something bigger and better than loyalty would ever buy him in this new region owned by strange coins.
An axe swept down. Air was pushed aside. Sandman lunged. His Pokemon followed suit: eager to greet their master's expectations and to escape with their own lives too. Survival instinct and adrenaline flooded them all: kill or be killed beneath a coldly judging sun that burned the environment with its malign benevolence.
From it all, a new running style emerged. Not one taught between parent and child but rather between curious eyes and the pages of an accursed book. Like a bullet launched from a flintlock, Sandman burst forth. His Pokemon followed suit. Soon enough, they had bolstered their speeds to that which the mighty Zebstrika herd following them could not compete with.
It was like some sort of cruel miracle. From it birthed a great escape. The tribesmen behind them yelled and hollered. Anything in the hopes it would slow Sandman and his team but it was all for naught.
Reddish outcrops of rock sprang from the ground and soon the path turned feeble and treacherous. Only those on foot could navigate its nuances. Only those like Sandman could traverse it confidently.
The Chief's Second-In-Charge who donned the skin of a Raticate couldn't help but sneer as he and his Zebstrika broke the front of the herd. He took the lead. His axe was raised but he couldn't bring it down to cut Sandman. He was too far out of reach but just a little further. Just a little more breath and spirit.
He was of Sandman's peers; about the same age. Though it was he who had always been liked and for a position of power, from a young age – childhood even – Sandman had always stuck out. He truly was the troublemaker but this was outrageous: this daring escape unto death. What else would await a blood traitor?
Much apparently given his unique determination. Wouldn't anyone else bow their heads before the blade and accept the glaring charge? But again, Sandman had always stuck out and now, with this running technique, it was apparent that Sandman had some sort of superiority thing: separating himself from all the other children; from the whole tribe and now, by embracing that which would seek to destroy them.
It was despicable.
'Punishment! Punishment! Those who disobey the gods are to be punished!' the other tribesmen yelled; their blood thirst harrowing but Sandman remained dauntless and focused.
'You are unforgivable, Sandman!' the Second-In-Charge howled and it was he who finally managed to breach Sandman's zone of safety that had once surrounded him.
He raised his axe high. The grey feathers that adorned it rustled in the momentum. A crack seemed to appear in Sandman's confident facade as he felt just close death was to brush him.
'Gooon!'
Sandman began to climb the outcrop in the hopes that by going further than his tribesmen's reach, he would be fine but upon hearing such a noise, a deep and dark fear struck a chord within his trembling heart. He craned his head. His eyes bulged.
'In A Silent Way…' he gasped.
His Flygon's wings fluttered as it hissed and spat, made tril-like noises, towards their enemies. Its paws stretched and flexed; showing off its claws. It opened its maw wide and prepared an attack despite not having been instructed to do so.
Whilst In A Silent Way defended Sandman and the rest of the team from their attackers, Sandman continued to climb. His other Pokemon had found ways; his Sigilyph, Early Tymes, and his Cofagrigus, Shadow Show, both heaved themselves and remained in flight and levitation by his face whilst his Mienshao, Me And My Arrow, and his Simipour, That's The Way It Is, scaled the rocky out cliff; remaining at his heels.
A powerful, orange as a flame, light gathered in Flygon's mouth and was then shot off. The beam ploughed through the tribesmen and the ground. Flygon flapped its wings and continued to escape with its master and comrades.
'Don't just stand there!' the Second-In-Charge shrieked. 'Fire your arrows!'
As the Zebstrika brigade regained their footing, the mounted men readied their arrows. They drew them back on time-tested bows.
Sandman's hands gripped tightly onto the rough outcrop. He forced himself upwards even though exhaustion was apparent in his weary demeanor. He hazarded a glance at his Cofagrigus and Sigilyph and concocted a plan.
'Shadow Show, use Protect. That's The Way It Is, use Scald!' he instructed.
Cofagrigus conjured up a shield made of an icy blue light. It surrounded Sandman and the team. The arrows bounced off it effortlessly. From behind this shield, Simipour made its move. Simipour swivelled around; hanging like an acrobat off off the cliff. It pursed its lips and clenched its eyes tighter closed. From its mouth, a stream of fast flowing water exuding steam burst. Simipour hosed down the people and Pokemon beneath it. The attack was not enough to affect the Zebstrika but it was enough to injure the Trainers. The smell of boiling flesh pierced the air.
With the opportunity created, Sandman continued to climb. He reached the peak and a breeze drifted past him. He could see almost all of the desert – the Desert Resort, he supposed, not his words though – from up here. He hefted Simipour and Mienshao up to his side. Cofagrigus and Sigilyph soon joined him. His ever dramatic Flygon zoomed up and covered the sun; casting a shadow over Sandman. He grinned. Then he ran with all his partner Pokemon in tow once more.
The breeze picked up and their footprints in the dust disappeared. The trail quickly turned cold. It was impossible for the Zebstrika brigade to follow as Zebstrika were not known for being able to scale rocky cliffside faces.
The Tribe's Second-In-Charge let go of his prey. He couldn't help but wonder after such a display, what Sandman's motives were and if they had truly grown up together like his memories would suggest.
Sandman disappeared. He kept running and leaping until he got as far as way from base camp as he could go but, apparently, it was not enough. He hefted himself to the top of another cliff with heavy, noisy breaths and came face to face with a very familiar pair of legs clad in thick boots with strands.
He collapsed at that person's feet. Bloody and exhausted. He didn't care. He dizzily looked up to a disappointed face: beautiful with black hair that cascaded around it in messy shafts with a fringe of green. The appearance of his sister; the only one who knew him better than his Pokemon, truth be told.
She let go of a weary sigh. 'I'm taking you home.' she informed him.
She kicked his side. He sputtered and dribbled blood. He keeled over himself and tried to protect himself from her frustrated blows. He deserved it, somewhat. He would admit that as he was perfectly aware that he was a traitor to their - her - tribe. But soon, her blows lessoned until they were harmless flicks and her eyes watered. She got down on her knees and pinned him to the ground so that he had no chance of escape.
'If we apologise together.' she attempted to bargain with him. 'If you promise to the Elder that you won't read those foreign books and destroy those – those things, whatever they. Maybe you'll get forgiveness.' Her voice grew in volume. 'We're going home together, Sandman!'
Sandman took a breath. Now that he could tell she meant no harm, he could breathe. He could relax and recuperate, even if it was for a few seconds. His Pokemon clustered around him. Her own curiously peered at their own.
'You're wrong.' Sandman said and he wiped his bloody nose. He pushed her off and she let him. 'That's where our opinions differ.'
She stared at him, pouted.
'Sis, the foreign man is the "enemy" but… protecting yourself by understanding their culture is another way. Our tribe's way of thinking won't work in these times. Everybody thinks we're being hounded from our ancestor's land but the foreign man's basic concept is "money". There is no such thing as the ancestor's land anymore. This land belongs to the man with the money.'
His sister got up and looked disgusted him. It was etched across her clenched eyebrows and coloured her obsidian black eyes. Still, a small part of her was amused by her brother. Somethings didn't change, apparently.
'You were always like this since you were a child.' she lamented. 'Once you've decided something, you never cooperate with anyone. That's why nobody understands what you're thinking.'
Sandman got up and held out his hand to her. 'Hey Sis, let me show you something.'
His sister was suspicious but he wouldn't abruptly change the topic like that. It had to be connected to whatever was plaguing his decisions. She wandered closer to him but did not accept his hand. He moved closer towards one of the outcrops and with the hand he had offered her, he rubbed his fingertips over bizarre indentions in the cliff face.
His fingers ghosted over perfectly spherical indentations. There was a few of them by his hand. She didn't see what was so special about them but she must admit, it caused her to raise questions. Questions she thought had easy answers.
Then her eyes continued to wander. It was not "a few" but an innumerable many. She gasped as her eyes traced each hole until she got dizzy from counting just how many there were. Alarm rang in her mind. This could only be the tiding of an ill omen. It was almost certain.
She placed her hands among the holes and was astounded by how smooth they were. He turned her head to question her brother:
'What are these?'
'I found the two weeks ago. I still don't know how they were made; they're too perfectly round to have been scraped or gouged out.'
'Were they made by a tool or by a Pokemon?' she asked.
'I found the foreign people's books and discs here.' Sandman continued. 'In order to get the imprint of the perfect sphere, an incredible amount of speed would be need. Speed I would assume goes beyond human machinations or the work of Pokemon.'
His sister's heart skipped a beat. 'Foreign people were this close to camp and you never told anyone?'
'Take it easy, this guy was alone. I don't think he was a bad person. He wasn't looking to mine or harm anyone or anything.'
'And how would you know that?!'
'He was training.'
'Training?'
'Perfect place for an outsider, wouldn't you think? Think like them for a moment. It's basically a wasteland out here.'
Sandman crouched down. Though it had been a while, there was the mark of foreign foot here: strange lines in the ground that shaped a cladded foot.
'Look here, Sis. Only one set of human tracks; plenty of Pokemon though but I don't recall what he had collected; I never saw more than one or two with him but look, there's got to be at least ten types of tracks here – all foreign. Except this mark here.'
His Sister looked over his shoulder as he indicated a dent in the ground with smaller ones by its side. It looked similar to the ones on the ground but not quite as it had those extra marks. It also was quite shallow.
'He ended up running with something heavy in his hand. Stone or iron, perhaps. See, this is where it gets confusing. In those foreign books, I found schematics for items known as "Pocket Balls" and they're used to store Pokemon. I won't believe it 'til I see it but they're fragile as anything, easily crushed underfoot or pulled apart because they're made of something similar to acorns or apricots – Apricorns, I think they're called – but look at these marks.'
'Perfectly spherical.' his sister said, her mind flashed to the images she had seen in those books. She wasn't supposed to have seen them but when Sandman's charges had come to light, she had gotten the opportunity to see them for herself.
'Yes but like I said, fragile. Whatever this foreign man had, it was nothin' ordinary like in those books.'
'Why are you telling me this?' his sister inquired.
Sandman got up and looked her in the eyes. 'Sis, I'm going on a journey. I want to say goodbye. I'm not coming back to the village.'
His Sister quirked an eyebrow. From his concealments on his waist, he pulled out something like a book but thin, torn, and brown-grey in colour. It was covered in words she couldn't read. She was impressed that her brother had taught himself to.
'This is called a newspaper.' Sandman informed her. 'It says, "Steel Ball Race: Opening Prize Money to Be Given to the Winner – 50, 000, 000, 000 PokeYen" and that is more than enough to buy our land back from the foreign men.'
His sister gasped. Her eyes widened. Her brother reverberated with resolute determination.