Disclaimer: You used to let me own the mons, yo

Whenever I aaaasked you tooo

Let me own the mons, yo

Actually, wait... that isn't true.

OOOOOOH OOH OOOOH!

Chapter 45: A Pokemon Prof.

Seats, same as the last time I was in this radio booth, recently cleaned, likely by the maid from the third floor. Cleaned, yet worn, springs beginning to poke at the cushioning. The Radio Station is on hard times. Scraping by. Likely hoping that an interview with me will garner them some much needed revenue. They're probably not wrong.

The host, name Cecil Atwell, age 45. Beginning to exhibit early signs of male pattern baldness. Is starting to gray, and recently: the tips of his hair are off color from the roots, meaning he isn't practiced in applying the dye as of yet. Has gained about ten pounds but is wearing the same pair of slacks he wore when he interviewed me two years ago, so he's still in denial about it. Indent around the stomach indicates he's been sucking in and bearing with the way it rubs him.

"Hello one and everyone and welcome to Good Morning Maxilla, I am as always your host, Cyn-Cyn-Atwell, and today we have a very special guest. You know him, and you either love him or loathe him. He's the Pokemon Prof., the Fearless Freedom Fighter, one of the most intelligent and well-studied men on the planet, Mr. Douglass Redwood!" The use of intelligent and well-studied in the same sentence isn't perfect redundancy, true, but still belabors the point too much, in my opinion. "Thanks for coming on the show today, Doug."

"Yes, well, thanks for flying me out here, I suppose." I forced a smile, drumming my fingers impatiently on the desk in front of me. "It was convenient."

"Right, right, you said you were traveling this way anyways, right? What for?" Cecil's voice oozed with false bravado and practiced schmaltz, much like the cheese danish he'd had for breakfast had oozed onto his cornflower blue tie without him noticing.

"I can't share many of the details." I clucked my tongue. "Suffice it to say that my expertise is needed to help with an investigation in Highbank. My grandson will be escorting me to the border of Ginli once we're done here."

"Good! Good, always best to travel in groups these days."

"I agree. The Blue-Eyed Killer can pick us off faster if we clump up."

"A-HEM!" Cecil coughed and cleared his throat, trying to smooth over the barb I'd thrown out. I pictured him puncturing his foot on it instead. I laughed. "Anyways, Doug, so you're here to talk about your new book, right?" He held up my most recent publication, a 457 page collection detailing the results of five years of study, stupidly illustrated by a broken vase with Pokemon-faces on the cover. "Shattered Illusions: The Lies We Tell Ourselves About The Treatment of Pokemon." He laughed and set the book down. "I have to say, Doug, your research is often controversial just by its content, did you have to make the title so pop-sciencey and inflammatory?"

"That was a decision made by my publisher, not me. You should know I'd never name a serious research piece's title after something as banal as the prophecy of Agatha." I had initially rejected the name outright, only conceding when he produced irrefutable data suggesting that more people would read my findings if a, as he called it, 'click-bait' title was appended to it. Primitive mammals, humans, in their desires for entertainment. Sometimes I can't believe I'm one of them. "It's true enough, though. Using a cold analytic eye, I have managed to overturn some of the most basic tenets of belief that many of us, including myself of course, have ingrained in us from youth."

"Never one to stray from unpopular opinions, are ya Doug?" the oaf chuckled.

"I don't care about what's popular, I care about what's correct."

"Yes, yes, that's practically your motto, we know." He chuckled, leaning over the microphone in a resigned slump. "I know you don't want to spoil too much, but do you wanna give us an example, Doug? Something the listeners at home will understand?"

There's not much on the planet that's more irksome than being asked to cater to pedestrian minds, but I'd long since learned that the profit margin increase from it was justification enough. "Let's start with Pokemon Storage systems, shall we? Marvelous feat of modern science, being able to digitize and hold a Pokemon's entire body structure in stasis for an indefinite amount of time. It's actually absurd we haven't come up with something like it for use in the medical field."

"Sounds like a good thing so far."

"It does at surface value, doesn't it? And when we all started our Pokemon journeys when we were ten, we were outright encouraged to catch as many Pokemon as we could. Toss them all into the PC, they'll be fine, nothing will happen to them, right?"

"Of course not! The PC system's perfectly safe, we all know that."

"There's no need to intentionally act like a buffoon to help me make my point." I had known from his tone of voice that he had been perfectly in earnest, but... well, I didn't really care. "First of all, some basic penetration testing has revealed that Pokemon centers that don't keep their security patches up to date are vulnerable to having their stored Pokemon corrupted, stolen, or downright destroyed. In addition, there are instances where Pokemon storage systems have gone down for extended periods of time and the original data is lost. The Pokemon are, for all intents and purposes, dead until they're restored from back-up, which poses all manners of Ship of Theseus problems and...well. We won't get too tied up in the philosophical implications.

Suffice it to say that my team was interested into what the physical implications of such restoration are, and the results... well, they're not pretty. Of the Pokemon we looked at, only 50% seem to have been restored 'perfectly', with no significant changes. 20% of Pokemon had physical changes of varying severity, from a change in markings to a shrunken limb, and 25% of Pokemon seemed to have had their actual natures changed; shy Pokemon had become suddenly bold, cheerful ones had become somber, etc. Very concerning results, if I must say."

The host gulped and looked towards the production booth, trying to see how much longer it would be until they could break for commercials, I'm sure. "And the other five percent?" he asked, wisely bracing himself for an answer he wouldn't like.

"Oh them? They were dead. Restored to a point where their bodies made no sense and couldn't properly reconstitute. Horrifying thing for a trainer to crack open his ball and find, right?"

"Wow that's... wow..." I'd captured the morbid side of his attention with that tidbit, but rather than embrace it, he actively tried to alleviate the feeling. "But that's just if things are mismanaged or catastrophic failure occurs, right? Your day to day interaction with the storage system is completely safe for Pokemon, right?"

I let out a long sigh, leaning directly into the microphone to make sure Cecil could hear the saliva pop in the back of my throat. "Let me ask you a question. How long is a trainer legally allowed to keep their Pokemon in storage?"

He blinked. "I... I don't really understand."

"Of course you don't, but try and follow. Keeping a Pokemon in storage keeps it physically healthy as long as there are no catastrophes, true, but it is still forced captivity. I'm asking you what you assume the legal limit is before the government steps in, calls it cruelty, and forces the Pokemon to be released to the wild."

"Oh... um... ten years? Fifteen?"

"There isn't one." I let the statement ring for a moment. "A Pokemon trainer, on capturing a Pokemon, is legally allowed to keep that creature digitized and in captivity for the rest of his life. One of the studies my team and I did for this book looked into the damage that is inflicted on Pokemon's psyches after being held for so long. We combed over the storage records for Highbank's massive storage facility and were able to get permission from the mayor to release no less than two hundred Pokemon who had been in a digital state for more than fifty years.

The results were heart-breaking. Many of the Pokemon, even when taken back to their original capture points, were so unfamiliar with their environments that they didn't know what to do. 80% of them failed to incorporate into any sort of community structure and wound up living solitary lives... 40% of them were dead within a year of release, so ill-suited they were for the wild after having been absent for so long. There were even some Pokemon at the center whose storage algorithms were so old we had to reverse-engineer the reconstitution process. One of them was a Misdreavus whose original trainer ID was that of Amos Lovelace, commander of the Salvout Ghost Corps from almost a hundred and twenty years ago."

"Oh my God..." The production booth was now waving at Cecil to stop the broadcast, but he had become far too invested now. "That's horrific. Isn't there... any sort of way to force Pokemon to be released? Someone needs to start a petition."

"The only way a Pokemon may be released without consent of that trainer, under our current laws, is if the trainer passes away. That's how we managed to free those Pokemon in the first place." I tapped my fingers against the desk, hoping the buffoon would cut to commercial break before asking the obvious, topical question.

"So... there's a lot of Pokemon being freed these days, huh?" Of course he asked it. Idiot.

"I think that's about where we wrap up," I said curtly.

"Right... right, yes, we're going to head to commercial break, but when we come back..." He promised the listeners that there would be some famous person promoting their next movie. The name didn't register to me, but it wouldn't. I got up from my chair when the 'On Air' light faded and shook Cecil's hand, giving him a final thanks for giving me the 'privilege' of being on the show before getting in the elevator and heading to the lobby.

"... yes, around ten years old, blonde messy hair. Last seen wearing a red and white cap and school clothes... yes, thank you." A young redhead was at the front desk, speaking to the station's receptionist. A missing person report from the sound of it, though the tone of her voice wasn't distraught enough to indicate it was one of her family members. I almost passed her by completely, but she was accompanied by a familiar face.

"Axel?" The boy's face lit up and he waved with both hands, calling for me. I gave the boy a once-over, then clucked my tongue. "Which Pokemon?"

He cocked his head. "Sorry... what?"

"You have a Pokemon in the hospital, yes? Which one is it?"

He laughed, scratching behind his head. "I don't know how you do it, Professor, but spot on. It's..."

"Oh please, do allow me to explain, it's been too long." I liked Axel. The vacancy of his mind provided an ample foil for my brilliance to shine. "There are one, two, three, four Pokeballs on your belt, to start off with. Now, you may ask: "Professor Redwood, shouldn't that make sense? The last time you saw me I only had four Pokemon.' But then we look at here..." I grabbed his right arm and yanked it up, showing where holes had been punched into the sleeves of his jacket. "New jacket, purchased at a boutique on seventh street in Woodale, which I know because I like to keep up to date on the scarves in their catalog and this is an exclusive design for their shop. You and I both know what these holes are from, which means a certain tool of mine has been used recently, which means you've caught another Pokemon. Glad to see it still works."

I released his arm. "That means you should have at least five Pokemon, yet there are only four balls, meaning that one of them isn't actively being used. You've tucked it away, perhaps, keeping it safe. Releasing the Pokemon is unlikely and uncharacteristic for you, and the Pokemon having died doesn't seem likely seeing as you aren't exhibiting any signs of grieving. Thus, hospitalization, multiple days. So I'll ask again. Which one?"

Axel clapped and laughed, eyes shimmering with amazement. Simple man to amuse. "Medici. He took a pretty big hit protecting us and wound up with a huge gash across his chest. We flew him out here a few days ago." He nodded. "I tried to go see him at the Center on the way up here, but they said he was out and about already, so I'm pretty relieved. Ah..." He placed a hand on the redhead's arm. "Professor, this is my friend Amber. I've talked to you about her before, yeah?"

"Ah yes... the childhood friend, correct? You're the one responsible for that extraordinary Cyndaquil of his." I extended my hand, genuinely interested in this girl, who was far younger than I'd expected... such a skilled breeder, and younger than Axel? Absurd. "Douglass Redwood. It's a pleasure."

The girl smiled politely and took my hand, shaking firmly. "Thanks for that. It's nice to know that Axel was at least thinking of me all those years he was in Cliffkiln, where we didn't know if he was alive or not."

"Oy, oy, I've apologized for that! And I have a phone now, see? See?" Axel waved his cellphone, also newly purchased from the lack of scratches it had, as if it would placate his companion. "You can call me any time you want to make sure I'm still breathing now, stop guilting me over it."

"You've got two years of heartache to make up for, buddy," she said, pinching his cheek but smiling, nonetheless. "But yes, Qwill is something, isn't he? I wanted him to be the very best starter Pokemon anyone had ever had, so I really poured my all into figuring out his diet and raising him appropriately."

"Having a Smeargle as its father was a good call, as well, to make sure it possessed a higher than average intellect. Though I would have thought it was impossible for it to learn Trace, given its species. How did you manage that?"

"Well, you see, I started by..."

"GRAMPS! Yo, Gramps! There you are!" I sighed, cursing Dome for not protecting me from my grandson for long enough to learn the lady's secret, but ultimately couldn't stay too angry. There's a certain joy you get in your chest when you're around your grandkids, and when Arthur bounded up to me, I couldn't help but reach out and clasp him around the back, hugging him best I could, even as he towered over me.

"Arthur, good timing, I've just about wrapped up my interview. Are we ready to go? They called me again this morning, they're quite anxious to get me across the border as quickly as possible."

"Can we wait another day, Gramps? I may have found a traveling companion for us," he winked. I rolled my eyes... while it was the 21st century and my grandson had every right to fool around with as many women as he'd like, there was still something inherently grating about the whole ordeal.

"Who is it this time, hm? Finally fulfilled the dream of finding those eager, buxom twins of yours?"

"Not today, but damn well close!" he laughed, clapping me on the back. "I don't know why, but the Woodale Gym Leader is in town... Vanna Albright? We had a lot of fun like a year ago, and I'm thinking she'll be more than willing to pick up where we left off. Sure as hell as hope so, anyways, she was friggin' amazing."

Then Axel punched him. Amber and I gasped in unison as Arthur reeled back, nursing his jaw and chuckling, pulling his hand away to see if Axel had broken the skin. No such consequence. "Let me guess..." he said, straightening up and looking Axel in the eye. "You're the bloke she's traveling with now, and you're unwilling to share? Typical."

"I don't know if what you're saying is true and I don't care." Axel was angrier than I thought he had the capacity to be, trembling on the spot. "But you don't talk about Vanna like that, you got it? You'll give people ideas about her."

So Axel wasn't remaining loyal to Becky, from the Poke-Pizza Stop? Unsurprising, as they were never really an item, but I did find it amusing that he'd found another woman to set his eyes on so quickly.

Arthur found Axel's reaction amusing as well, chuckling even he rubbed his jaw. "Look, kid, I understand you think you're being chivalrous and whatnot, but Vanna's an adult, ok? There's no shame in what adults do with one another behind closed doors, and I'm not giving anyone any ideas they didn't already have."

"Shut up!" Axel yelled, and Amber grabbed his arm, holding the boy back. "She's not like that. Maybe she was, but not anymore, there's no way she'd just..."

His voice cut out for a moment, and Arthur took his chance to strike. "What? She wouldn't just up and leave you? Is that what you were going to say?"

"No, I... that's not..."

"Kid, look, I know you might enjoy having her around, but she needs a man, alright? And if you haven't been doing the job, well you've only got yourself to blame."

"I'm not a kid." Axel clenched his fist, and then removed a Pokeball from his belt. "And I'm not going to let you just walk up and take Vanna away after all we've been through." He shoved the ball inches from Arthur's face. "Pokemon battle, you and me. The winner..."

"The winner lets her make her own damn decision, yeah." Arthur grinned. "Alright. I don't know what exactly we're settling with this, but I'm game. I'll meet you out in the square in three hours... need to take the old man here out to lunch first." He curled an arm around me. "Right, gramps? I know you're dying for some Kimchi Emboar belly, right?"

"Oh yes, the absolute exquisite dining experience that is the Maxilla food carts has been on my mind all day." My voice dripped with so much sarcasm it was practically a faucet. I reached out and shook Axel's hand. "Good luck. Try to keep a lid on that temper, ok? It's going to get you in trouble one of these days, so do be careful, will you?"

Axel nodded silently, and Amber grabbed him tightly and began to calm him down as I left the station. I couldn't help but feel bad for the boy: he had no idea what he'd just gotten himself into.

Inigo

I spent the walk to Maxilla playing with the Pokeball I had strapped to my waist, a simple vine whip acting as my belt to fasten it to. It was a curious fashion, and uncomfortable. I am uncertain how human beings walk around with strips of fabric tied to themselves constantly.

I was also uncertain about what I would do once we reached the Maxilla Pokemon center, even when we were walking into the lobby. I found my heart beginning to beat against my chest as we reached the desk, and as Axel peered down at me. "Alright, buddy. Thanks for carrying that thing, but it's time to get it some help." He reached his hand down and I froze, staring at it.

Shelligan was right, this I knew. What to do with this Tyrannitar was Axel's decision. Yet as I continued to stare at his hand I began to feel rebellious for the first time: this was not what I wanted. I suppose I could justify it by stating he only had two gym badges but... my respect for him was not going to magically grow because of a few pieces of metal.

Axel noticed. He knelt down and got to my eye level, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Inigo? What's wrong?"

I shook my head furiously, clenching the Pokeball in my hand. This creature was beyond saving. The safe and merciful thing would be to just let it die. Toss it into the mines to be buried among the loose stone.

Axel refused to permit that, however. "Inigo, give me the ball." He still did not understand. Had not seen the dead look in the creature's eyes that I had. He assumed that he would be able to rehabilitate the creature the same way he had myself and others, but he was wrong. I started to make noises of protest, waving my hand at Axel, trying to get him to understand despite the language barrier.

"Do it now, or I'm putting you in your Pokeball, Inigo."

It was the first time he had ever threatened that. I wanted to lash out and strike at him, I will not lie, but I buried my rage and did my duty as his Pokemon, handing the Pokeball over at his command. I did not like it, but as Shelligan had said: it really was not my choice.

Afterwards, Axel left us to our own devices, scaling the mountain with Ms. Vanna to head to the Maxilla radio tower. Shelligan grabbed at him before he left, pointing at Dragonette's Pokeball. Axel paused and began to protest against the Squirtle's idea, but the resourceful entertainer began to pantomime his intentions, pointing up the slope, then pretending to shovel food into his mouth.

Axel's face broke into a grin, and I felt myself growing angrier. This idea was far worse than mine... yet he approved. "Promised to take her out to lunch, eh Shelly? Well... ok. I suppose we'll be right around the corner if anything happens."

The Pokeball dropped to the ground and the Skarmory burst into vision, its broad wings taking up nearly the entire pathway up the mountain before it realized where it was and curled them close to its sides. Now it only consumed half of the pathway. People gawked and gaped at it as they passed by, the bird easily twice and a half the size of most humans... which was yet smaller than it had been even yesterday. I thought perhaps my eyes had deceived me but... it was indeed shrinking, a visible result to Death's decreased sway over the bird.

I wondered briefly if I'd been over-sized when Axel first captured me. I would have to ask Shelligan.

"Wow!" Dragonette was peering over the edge of the pathway, gazing at the large crowd of people darting to and from the churches beneath. "Look at all the people! I could jump down there and snap so many of their spines at once except I won't because that's killing people but I totally could if I wanted, you know?"

"You need not tell us every time you have a killing urge." My temper had been shortened considerably. "Believe it or not, it does not come up often in average conversation."

"Oh... ok." She ducked her head a bit, then teetered around to look at Shelligan. "Noodles? You said there were noodles we had to eat here and I'm still not entirely convinced that it'll be worth the wait but I'm also excited for it."

"Of course, my dear, of course! Allow me to be your guide as we ascend to the peak of Mt. Maxilla, and the peak of culinary artistry!" Shelligan curled into his shell and began to roll like a wheel up the slope, occasionally popping out of his shell to do a tail stand or a front flip. Dragonette laughed in wonder and it sounded almost... pure. As if the shade she had been was gone completely.

I became lost in self-absorption at the thought, my arms crossed and numbly following along. Was it truly that easy? This must be some sort of trick... some play by Death to make us think that Dragonette was recovering, then to convert her back into Deathwing when we were vulnerable. Yet... there was already a play in motion to convert Amber's Totodile, I knew... not that the creature would be able to do much even if it did. Would Death really run two gambits at once?

It was a question of how much she respected or feared Axel, I suppose... or how truly limitless his time and energy was. Or perhaps I was underestimating Axel's abilities? This was at least the third time he had done this, to my knowledge... perhaps the practice he had gained allowed for an effective and quick rehabilitation.

Perhaps I was a fool to doubt his judgment. But not even a month ago, that Skarmory had snapped my legs in twain, and not even a week ago, that Tyrannitar that was being healed back at the center had nearly clawed Medici in half. I could not help but feel that my trainer was starting to grow arrogant.

"And here we are!" Shelligan said with a flourish, and I raised my head, curious to see what masterpieces the Squirtle had promised. In front of me were three food carts, each selling various flavors of noodle, one of which had a Chimecho happily bobbing in front of it. Cheap, quick lunch food for the working class... food court fare.

"Oooh..." The corners of Dragonette's mouth had begun to salivate. "Those smells... I take back everything I said, this is going to be amazing. I told myself!"

I prayed it was at least palatable.

Author's Note

WOOOOOOOOO!

We got to one hundred reviews! Much thanks to Dii10star for helping we here at Amaxing Fan Fiction Inc. to achieve this milestone! The next goal is 150. START TYPING SLAVES.

Nah, nah, it's all good. Also, Dii10star actually attempted to answer the question about the disclaimer from chapter 32! Unfortunately, the song is not from Sister Act 2, so no points this round. Feel free to try again, though!

Viva la feminism?