Chapter 8 – Ring

I had made my way behind the ramshackle hut and waited there for all of three seconds before I heard General Harding kicking the front door down. Muffled cursing could be heard coming through the walls, even as the hut's back door began shaking violently.

"Where's the fucking keys?"

"Under the-"

With an almighty crash, the lone window facing me exploded outward in a shower of glass – it was immediately clear that the speaker didn't get to finish his sentence because he had been thrown out through the hut's window.

General Harding sauntered up to the broken window and flicked pieces of glass out of his way, before leaning against the frame.

"Get the idiot, kid. That's who we came for tonight," he said with a smirk. "Kenneth, it's really been too long since we last met. How've you been?"

I got a closer look at the man lying in a bleeding heap on the ground, even as I stepped forward and trapped his arms behind his back. He had a broken nose and a black eye, and General Harding hadn't spent more than ten seconds with him.

"Bloody shit, this is assault and battery!" he snarled, as I hauled him to his feet and he began struggling. "Let me go, you dogs!"

"You wound me, you really do," laughed my boss as he hopped through the broken window and landed lightly on the glass-littered pavement outside the hut. "So, I hear you've been taking some cuts of the earnings. What have you to say for yourself?"

"I know nothing!" snapped Kenneth, as he turned to squint at me through his black eye. "And since when have you brought your little bitches down here?"

"Say what!"

"Relax, kid," smirked General Harding as he came closer to us. "Down here, they seem to think that I'm a nymphomaniac of sorts... like I care."

"Yeah, kid! That man here? Nothing but a no-good kiddie fiddling-"

I nearly went down when General Harding slammed his fist into Kenneth's face hard enough for an audible cracking noise to be heard. The injured man let out a shriek of pain, even as several teeth fell out of his mouth.

"Now, see that's the problem we have here, Kenneth! Idiots like you try to skim money off the government's take and fuck with the ledgers, and then you try to deny it when I get sent down here. What kind of nonsense is this?"

"I tell you, I know nothing! I haven't taken any of your cash!" shouted Kenneth, causing General Harding's expression to change into a pronounced frown.

"Not going to cooperate, I see. Let him go, kid."

"Sir?"

"Just release your grip on him," General Harding shrugged, while he cracked his knuckles. "The stubborn dick's not going to work with us, I think."

"Damn-"

"SHUT UP."

Kenneth ended up with his other eye being blackened instead of finishing his retort. Then, he coughed up some blood after taking a painful-looking blow to the stomach.

"One more thing to settle – I might be many things, but a pedophile is not one of them. Thanks for your understanding, and the missing money is back in its rightful bank account already, yes?" he said disinterestedly, as he wiped his hands on Kenneth's shirt. "Come on, kid, we're heading for our next stop. Make sure you recognize this particular scumbag – half the time I get sent down here, it's his fault."

"Yes, sir," I replied shakily, even as we left Kenneth to collapse to the ground in a shivering heap.

If I had once thought of General Zachary Harding as a hyperactive man who probably wouldn't harm anyone, I certainly didn't think so anymore.

xxx

"So..." General Harding let the sentence hang as we approached a large, warehouse-like building. "I take it you didn't approve of what I did to Kenneth back there."

"I have no comment, sir," I replied evenly.

"Be honest with me, kid. How badly do you think I handled that situation?" he asked, stopping beside a man selling hot dogs from a little cart. "Hmm, those look tasty. Had your dinner yet?"

"With all due respect, sir," I said, eyeballing the vendor's grimy hands with some distrust, "I think you could have handled that drug dealer in a more non-violent way. And no, I haven't had my dinner yet."

"Two hot dogs, please," he told the vendor, even as he turned to face me with an amused expression on his face. "Well, then. Tell me, how would you have handled Kenneth?"

I stared at him. "Excuse me, sir?"

"You said it – the way I manhandled him was way too violent... Not suited for all members of society," he shrugged, as he handed the vendor some money. "So how would you have settled that prick?"

"Umm, couldn't you have talked it out with him?" I asked, even as he prodded me with a hot dog. "Sir?"

"Firstly, the hot dog's for you. Secondly, you can't talk any sense into a drug dealer – it's like trying to violate a law of physics or something. So how would you have done it?" He smirked. "Seriously, the dude owes so much money to so many people that he can't leave this place for the rest of his life without being killed. If not for Dolph's protection, he'd have been killed years ago."

"... I get the point, sir."

"Excellent," he cheered. "Now, take the dog and eat it! You're thin enough as it is, and goodness knows you'd have a nightmare trying to get laid if you're a stick."

"Sir!" I exclaimed, and I could practically feel my face turning red. "Can we not talk about that in public?"

"What, sex?" he asked, assuming an expression of incredulity. "No one down here cares, kid. Watch this."

Before I could say a word, he had turned to the hot dog vendor. "How much do you charge for a blowjob?"

The man didn't even seem fazed by the request. "Whorehouse is down the road, boy."

"See, kid? Told you so," General Harding chirped happily. "Sex is something ordinary down here! Everyone's used to it."

"But still! It's not polite-"

"Politeness can SUCK MY COCK!" he crowed, causing me to jump. The hot dog vendor merely gave us a disinterested look.

I shook my head out of disbelief. "... I give up, sir."

"Good!" He said triumphantly – the effect of his words was diminished somewhat by the fact that his mouth was full – as he walked down the street. "Come on, kid. It's time to help dear old Timothy place his usual wager."

"The mechanic, sir?" I asked, recalling the name.

"Correct – did you manage to scrub all the grease out of your uniform?" he asked me with a grin. "Timothy tends to forget that not everyone wears overalls."

"So just what is he betting on?" I asked, as I opened up the grease paper containing my hot dog. He might have had grimy hands, but the vendor's food did smell good. One bite confirmed that its smell wasn't the only thing that was good about it.

I guessed that I'd worry about the possible food poisoning tomorrow.

"It's 'who' and not 'what', dear. He's betting on a man named Robbins," he said, as he threw away his hot dog's wrapper. "And Robbins is in that building there."

My eyes followed his pointer finger to the warehouse. "A warehouse, sir?"

"It does look like on, doesn't it?" he mused, as he pulled up his hood. "Stick close to me, kid. And try not to look lost."

After a couple of blocks, we made it to the warehouse. Once we stepped past the two burly bouncers at its main door, I realized just why it was located at the Underground. Why, you might ask?

Well, to put it simply, it was an arena for illegal pokemon battles.

xxx

"This is illegal!" I hissed, trying not to stare too much at the numerous pokemon trainers that were casually loitering about in the large building. "Sir, if the authorities raid this place-"

"And just who are we, pray tell?" General Harding laughed. "Relax, kid. Everything here's cool – the government gets a big cut from the bookies, trust me."

"Big enough to ignore a crime that is punishable with the death sentence, sir?" I pointed out. "Please don't tell me the corruption is that bad..."

He gave me a huge grin - you know what I mean. It was none other than the shit-eating type. "It is."

"Well, fuck! Pardon the language, sir," I muttered unhappily.

"What's so wrong about it?" he asked curiously. "Corruption's always been around, so it's really a question of its magnitude."

"But... It... I... This!" I gave up trying to form a coherent rebuttal to his claim. "It's still wrong."

He merely raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Many things are wrong in this world, kid. The trick is being able to differentiate those that can be left alone and those that need fixing."

I couldn't even think of a reply to that one.

"So," he said, shaking his head. "I do believe we were here to place a bet on Robbins for our dear friend the mechanic, Timothy Kirrin."

"If you say so, sir," I nodded, still feeling mentally numbed by everything which I had seen so far – and it wasn't even my second week on the job!

"Relax, kid! Let me introduce you to a couple of good folks around here..."

"Good folks? Here?" a slight chuckle escaped from me upon hearing those words used in the same sentence. "I highly doubt that, sir."

"Well, good and bad are relative, you know. Just ask George Orwell. Ah, here's one of them – oi, Leroy!" General Harding called out, drawing several curious looks. "And what the FUCK are you people looking at?"

"Still haven't changed, I see," said a quiet voice from behind us. I jumped upon hearing it, but General Harding turned around and gave its owner a wide grin.

"Colin!" He said happily, bounding forward and giving the hapless man a big hug. "Kid, meet Colin – he's one of the best Underground trainers Canalave has ever seen."

Colin was a well-built man who wore a military vest over a black T-shirt, and whose forearms were covered liberally in tattoos. His hair stuck out in all directions as if he had been on the receiving end of a nasty electrical shock, and his facial expression seemed to convey an air of boredom.

"My greetings," he nodded, pulling a box of cigarettes out of his vest's pocket. "So, down to business... What's the wager tonight?"

"Fifty on Robbins," my boss replied. "What are the match-ups like tonight?"

"Three rounds tonight," grunted Colin, as he lit his cigarette. "First round's against Chris Connor, and I've seen Bertram and Joy Joy in the pool of trainers tonight."

General Harding whistled. "You heard that, kid? We're in for a good show tonight – Chris Connor, Betram, and Joy Joy will be pitting their teams against each other in the ring."

"Are they that good?" I asked, causing Colin to let out an amused snort.

"Good? Kid, they're among the top ten trainers down here. Chris Connor's specialized, too."

"Specialized?" the way he said it made me feel as though I should have known what it meant. "Sorry, but how would he do that?"

"Specialized trainers only use one type," he replied, as he pulled a small notebook out of his other pockets. "Tough to do that and win consistently, which is why Chris is good – his dark team hasn't lost more than ten matches since we got the ring up and running."

"There are a couple more specialists here, right?" General Harding chimed in. "Brandon, Carol, Akira, and Kurt?"

Colin shook his head. "They all have one differently-typed pokemon on their teams. Those three consider having a move fitting their overall team to be specializing, anyways."

"Ah, yes... the honchkrow with Psychic was Kurt's, yes?"

"So what was your wager again? Fifty on Elizabeth, was it?"

"Fifty on Robbins."

"Cash?" Colin asked, holding out his hand while he shoved his notebook back into the pocket that he had kept it in. General Harding handed him a fifty, which he stashed away in yet another pocket – got to love military vests for their pockets.

"See you at the ringside, Colin," my boss said, as he grabbed me by the shoulder. "Come on, kid – time to get ourselves some good ringside places!"

xxx

The 'ring' turned out to occupy half of the entire building. It was placed at the back, and consisted of a rectangular arena about fifty feet by thirty feet in size. Given that the warehouse had a fifty-foot ceiling, there was indeed a substantial amount of space for pokemon battling – however, despite its size it still presented a handicap of sorts for flying types, according to General Harding.

Around the arena were rows of bleacher seats not unlike those found at the fields of most high schools, and these were separated from the arena by large sheets of industrial-grade transparisteel. A crudely-made sign had been taped to the base of each sheet, assuring members of the audience that 'sit tight and don't shit your pants, these panels are safe'. At regular intervals, bands of metallic netting had been added to reinforce the sheets, giving the whole barrier a sturdy look.

We were quite early, and so we managed to snag a couple of seats somewhere in the middle of the rows and also near the arena's center.

"Good seats tonight," chirped my hyperactive yet dangerously deranged boss – I still recalled his handling of Kenneth clearly, thank you very much. "We'll see both of the trainers, and ALL of the action!"

I had cheered up – a little – at the thought of being able to witness a proper pokemon battle again after all these years. Hey, I guess it kind of stayed with me from the days when I saw none other than Zachary Harding taking on Steven Stone on the television screen. So I was quite excited to be there at the arena, I guess.

For the record, I was still pretty pissed off at my commanding officer. Hell, I guess he was more of a boss than a commanding officer, given the way he behaved.

The bleachers were filling up with all manner of people from the Underground – I could've sworn that I saw the hot dog vendor somewhere in the crowd. Bookies flitted about the bleachers like moths drawn to a flame, picking up bets and informing people about how the odds were like tonight.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice came from the corroded speakers mounted all around the bleachers, "may I have your attention please... We are about to begin tonight's UNDERGROUND LEAGUE!"

It was almost as if a bomb had detonated in the arena. The crowd rose to its collective feet, and members of the audience began shouting out the names of their favored trainers. I didn't know what to do, and so I merely remained in my seat, even as the audience's voice morphed into an almost ritualistic chant. When I gave it some more attention, I realized that the chant itself was gibberish – somehow, everyone's voices managed to blend into a monotonous sound that had no particular meaning in any language that I was fluent in.

"And now, introducing our first contestants for the night... Joy Joy and... Brandon!"

The crowd went completely wild upon hearing Joy Joy's name, to the point whereby Brandon's was almost drowned out completely. However, they did go even wilder upon catching his name. I stood up in my place to get a better look at the arena, and saw that the two trainers had taken their places at elevated platforms at the ends of the arena.

Joy Joy was a mousy-looking girl with pink hair, but who nonetheless managed to radiate a distinct air of confidence. She was already holding an enlarged pokeball in her right hand, and a megaphone was clutched in her left.

"Why does she need that?" I shouted into General Harding's ear.

"Listen to the crowd, kid!" He shouted back with a smile. "She's got a real soft voice, so she needs to it to command her team!"

My curiosity satisfied, I turned to look at Brandon. He was decked out in an oversized hoodie, and his face was concealed beneath its hood. Like Joy Joy, he was already holding a pokeball in his right hand, though he wasn't holding a megaphone like she was.

"Trainers!" boomed the referee from the side of the arena. "I want a good clean match! Three-on-three, no substitutions! Now, begin!"

Even as the two of them tossed their pokeballs into the air and released their first pokemon, the creatures materializing on the ground after spilling out of their pokeballs as streams of light.

On her side of the arena, a roserade waved its roses at the crowd, filling the air with sweet-smelling pollen. For his part, Brandon had released a probopass that was buzzing about excitedly, its three mini-noses spinning around it at a high speed.

"Puspa, Leaf Storm!" Joy Joy's amplified voice called out, causing her roserade to throw both of its arms into air, where countless leaves began materializing.

"Thunder Wave, Magoo!" the probopass flew towards the roserade, even as the conjured leaves began flying towards it and glancing-off its metallic skin. With a shriek, it released an electrical pulse that paralyzed the grass-type where it stood.

"Puspa!" Joy Joy shrieked. "Return!"

"And Joy Joy has returned her roserade!" declared the commentator, upon seeing the grass pokemon vanish from the arena with a flash of light. "What pokemon will she use next?"

The crowd went berserk, even as Joy Joy released her next pokemon – a lucario. Brandon's probopass – apparently named Magoo, of all names – had made its way back to his side of the arena, and let out an electrical discharge upon seeing the fighting-type materialize.

"Anubis, Aura Sphere!"

"Zap it!" Brandon shouted, leaning forward while gripping the platform's railings with both his hands. His hood slipped a little, revealing a messy mass of blond hair.

Joy Joy's lucario fired a pulsing sphere of light at the compass pokemon, which let loose with a Zap Cannon that missed its target completely. The stray lightning bolt slammed into the transparisteel barrier between them and the audience, causing the people there to reflexively duck for cover. Probopass took the hit head-on and was thrown several feet backwards, its three noses flying into a veritable frenzy around it.

"Dance, Anubis, Dance!"

"Draw it in, then Earth Power!"

The lucario jumped into the air and began a Swords Dance, only to be slammed back into the ground by an invisible force. It scrambled to try and regain its footing, even as the probopass' eyes began glowing with energy and the distance between them closed.

"And it looks like we have Brandon's probopass using its Magnet Pull!" the commentator cried out. "Who will get the first blow?"

"Anubis, CLOSE COMBAT!" Joy Joy shouted, as her pokemon struggled to free itself from the probopass' magnetic pull.

"Throw it off!" Brandon ordered, but it was too late. His probopass, too busy trying to pull the lucario in and fire-up an Earth Power attack, took the hits right on its coppery nose. The wall of earth which had been steadily rising up from the ground collapsed under its own weight, burying both pokemon under a mound of soil.

Almost immediately, the audience went silent. The referee strode up to the edge of the arena and squinted at the pile of earth, trying to discern any signs of life. After several seconds, he raised his hand and bit his whistle, signalling that the round was over.

However, as soon as he had turned his back to the arena, the soil heap exploded, revealing Joy Joy's lucario standing over Brandon's unconscious probopass. It limped out of the messy area, and made it back to its mistress' side of the arena. While it looked worn-out, it still managed to stay on its feet, glaring defiantly at Brandon as he recalled his probopass.

"Go, Richard!"

What appeared to be a mass of interlocked gears emerged out of its pokeball, hovering and rotating slowly several feet above the ground. Several eyes were visible on the various gears that made up its body, and a circular ring spun about its body like a hula hoop.

"Shift up!" Brandon called, even as Joy Joy ordered her lucario to use an Aura Sphere on his klinklang.

The steel-type's gears froze for a brief moment and the lucario's attack clipped its side. Within a second, though, the gears had rearranged themselves and started to spin a higher speed. The klinklang fired an electric attack at the lucario before it could recover from its earlier exertions, knocking it out with one hit.

"And Joy Joy is down to her last pokemon!" screamed the commentator as the crowd went berserk. "Who will she pick tonight?"

She answered his question by releasing a galvantula into the arena.

"Arachne, hit-and-run!" she shouted through her megaphone, as the electric spider raced towards its floating opponent, firing arcs of electricity at it all the while.

"Start a sandstorm, Richard!"

Sand rose up from the very ground as the steel-type summoned up a sandstorm as its trainer had ordered it to. The galvantula was not deterred, however, and continued to zap it every few seconds. Soon, visibility was reduced to zero within the arena, as the sandstorm raged against the transparisteel barriers like smoke trapped in a force field.

Out of nowhere, an ear-splitting screech was heard, followed by the sound of metal hitting metal. The sandstorm dissipated almost as fast as it had begun, revealing Arachne the galvantula standing triumphantly over the klinklang, which it had immobilized with electrical silk. Even as we watched, it used the silk to shock the gear pokemon some more, causing the gears to stop moving altogether.

"Klinklang is unable to battle! This round goes to galvantula!" the referee declared, once again sending the audience into a crazed cheering frenzy.

I was awed by the sight – these people were doing something which they knew could get them killed, and yet they didn't seem to care. The audience didn't seem bothered by it, either.

After some thought, Brandon released a camerupt into the arena. As soon as it saw the galvantula, it exhaled a massive Flamethrower in the spider's direction, sending the spider scurrying. Joy Joy called out to her pokemon in an attempt to mount some sort of a counter attack, but it was too occupied with the camerupt's attacks.

The camerupt suddenly rushed forward and slammed its entire bulk into the electric spider, before summoning up a sandstorm that obscured our view of the melee. By the time the sandstorm cleared, the match was over, and Joy Joy recalled her galvantula with a small smile on her face. Brandon was stepping down from his battle platform, and his hood slipped off when his camerupt nuzzled him. I got the feeling that I had seen him somewhere before, but my memory couldn't match his face to a particular moment in the past.

"Sir, do you know him?" I shouted into General Harding's ear, as I pointed at Brandon's retreating back. "He looks familiar!"

"He should!" He shouted back at me. "He's Fen's assistant – helps to train Fen's steel-types by bringing them down here! Usually Fen will come down for himself, but I guess he's occupied tonight!"

I could only blink at him in response to that statement. Apparently, the corruption which kept the Underground running was not an isolated thing, if more than just one of the higher-ups at port control actually came down here on a regular basis.

xxx

"So... How was it?" General Harding asked me as we replaced the cover on the manhole that led to the Underground. "Were the battles fun or what?"

"I... I really don't know what to say, sir," I replied softly. "What we just did... It was wrong."

"Wrong by whose definitions?" he asked, leaning against the alley's wall and folding his arm across his chest. "You seemed to enjoy the sights down under as much as I did, and that's saying something."

I hesitated before answering. "Well, it's the law. Everyone has to follow the law... right?"

"Ever heard the saying 'rules are meant to be broken'?" he said, as he began walking out of the alley. "Sometimes, we can only do the right thing by going wrong to begin with."

I frowned. "That hardly makes any sense, sir."

"Maybe someday you'll understand, kid. And I can't blame you, either – once you've seen the true face of pokemon training, you'll know what I mean," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I trust you know how to find your way back to the hostel?"

"I think I'll manage, sir," I nodded.

"Alright, then – see you tomorrow!" With that, he broke into his usual speed-walking mode, and left me in the alley.

As I began to walk back to the hostel along the darkened streets, Slenderman's words echoed in my mind.

"Pokemon training is not a privilege that you can limit to those with affinities for it."

The law made everything that I had just witnessed illegal. But there at the Underground, surrounded by people who didn't give a damn for the government's laws, it felt so right.

But of course, there was the problem of corruption to be reckoned with. Assuming that General Harding had been right in saying that the government turned a blind eye to the Underground's activities in exchange for a portion of their profits, then it merely served to show that things had gone bad at a much deeper level. After what seemed like a long time, I reached the hostel as I finally began to accept the fact that the government which I had spent my whole life believing in was ultimately little better than its predecessors.

It was then that I decided on what I needed to do with my military career.

Assuming that General Harding would one day vacate his position as the head of the water department, I would probably stand a chance at taking his place. Of course, once I made it into that position of power, things would change. However, I would probably have some competition for the rank, which made things significantly more difficult.

I actually stopped walking for a moment to consider the sheer enormity of the goal I had just set for myself. Harding himself wasn't much of an issue, given his pending time-out. The trainers from the Underground, though, would probably turn out to be a tougher nut to crack – Robbins may have lost, but he had only been defeated after a gruelling twenty-minute battle between his medicham and Chris Connor's spiritomb. And then, there were the others like General Fen who also supported the Underground in their own way.

It seemed that there would be a lot of opposition if any attempts were made to bust the corruption that had permeated into the higher levels of Canalave's government.

Nonetheless, it was with a spring in my step that I made it back to my dorm room.