Chapter Two

Jubilife City had never seemed deserving of its moniker. The city of joy sounded wrong, when describing a town that topped the charts in so many categories. While it arguably did have Sinnoh's Best Skyline and for sure earned Most Skyscrapers and winning Tallest Buildings was a shoe-in given the presence of not only the Global Terminal but also the iconic TV Station and the brand new 'University of Sinnoh at Jubilife City' Sky Campus.

But good Groundon, it led the charts on the nation's drug-related incidents, was in the top three of homicide cases and boasted the highest rate of high-school drop-outs. That good old U of S chose it to be to host its flagship location was made even more ironic due to that. Millions into a beacon of higher learning were pumped into a city that itself provided an ever decreasing amount of freshmen.

Having spent a total of one night at home, hugging mom and eating pops' food, felt like a bad decision now that I'd exited the Jubilife Central Station and was left in the tall shadows cast by the monoliths that line the busy street. I should have stayed longer. Mom said so too, when I left early that morning to catch another blasted train. Pops understood though, I hoped, if I correctly understood the way he'd gazed at me silently that same morning and gripped my shoulder tight before I left.

So, there I was. Back in Jubilife City for the first time in months. Just me and the ugliest bag in history, filled with supplies for doing the outdoorsy things I'd always detested. That last time I carried with me these two large canvas totes filled with flyers and posters featuring my brother's smiling face. The Jubilife Central Station had been one of the places I'd hung several up, permission being granted by management after I explained the situation. I could steel feel the pitying looks of those commuters, holiday-goers and other random bystanders as I worked. Their stares had weighed almost as much as the mountain of papers I'd been carrying did and my soul ached at the thought of it.

My brothers' posters weren't there anymore when I got off the train at noon. Just some advertisements in bright colors, promoting concert tours and 'epic' Pokémon tournaments and even some stupid Pokémon fan club that was opening a local chapter. The lampposts outside were similarly bare, save for some stickers and the usual crap that people somehow felt compelled to scribble on public property. Conspiracy theories and racist Sinnoh Pride bullshit was offset by multicolored pride flags and the hugging heart mascot of the Sinnoh Empty Hearts Foundation. For some reason it struck me, not seeing my brother's MISSING, PLEASE CALL posters. The world had kept turning in the months that I'd been gone and with it they'd left my brother behind.

I shook my head, trying to physically make those dark thoughts disappear. No use for them now.

Oberon for some idiotic reason was not cleared to wander JCS, but once we left the premises I let him out in a flash of red light. His collar I switched for a harness that went around the protective bone that shielded part of his back. The contraption was ugly as sin, but at least I'd found a nice white one that contrasted well against his dark fur. Written on either side and on the front in a bold gleaming white font, was Working Pokémon: Do Not Approach. That, I hoped, would at least be obvious even to the most idiotic of trainers I'd encounter in the wild. Though, given my estimate of their average intelligence, that might be too generous an opinion.

We garnered nearly as many looks as we did after disembarking the Wallace. Stink-eyes and double takes as common as folks giving me a wide birth, sometimes with the aforementioned nasty looks firmly in place. But I'd take my chances, screw them and their narrow-minded views, there was no way I would walk these streets alone. Last year, I had at times been surrounded by family and volunteers as we scoured the city and hung our posters. Then, good samaritans had flocked to me to try and show their selflessness, their good hearts and kind souls.

Now, even they evaded me like a leper.

Not that Oberon helped the issue, with his sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight and his red eyes glaring balefully at each hapless passerby. He resembled every stereotype ever written, and then some.

Gradually the streets widened while the skyscraper grew taller and more modern as we moved from the old part of Jubilife to the more modernized city centre. A developer's wet dream, it had gone through so many stages of being torn down and rebuilt that nothing of the old town remained. Highrise hotels and glistening casinos were offset by monstrously tall apartment buildings and beehive-like offices that housed thousands.

It was insane.

My hotel for the night was at the Diamond Drive; the central street around which Jubilife had formed itself ages ago. It had been named differently back then, only being renamed when the price per square footage of buildings neighbouring the road started eclipsing the cost of buying high-carat diamonds. It had sparked a gauche naming convention leading to the Diamond Hotel; Diamond Plaza or even Sparkling Diamond Casinos becoming the trend for naming buildings. A copyright lawyers' paradise, this narrow stretch of an already awful city.

Thankfully, my hotel was just another subsidiary of Rouchecourt International with some boring, basic name that did not bear remembering. I breezed through the check-in process as the bellhop went off with my one, sad piece of luggage. He'd expect a tip later, of course, for carrying a single backpack through an elevator ride.

I was handed my keycard with minimal fuss, but caught the look the young woman shot my Pokémon. She was quickly shushed by her pale-faced manager, which was the only reason I didn't give her a sneer of my own.

Fucking bigots.

My room wasn't much special. They favored a more modern approach to interior decorating, making it all a little stale. The fresh flowers, at least, were a nice touch that added a splash of color to the monochrome palette chosen. The orange lion's tail and the red hippaestrum made me snort, because of course they'd be put in an arrangement like this. At least there some hydrangeas included, those I liked more even if the overall effect of the bouquet was somewhat chaotic.

The standard please keep large, flammable or toxic or otherwise dangerous Pokémon contained placard hung next to the door, a small map of the nearest emergency exists directly beneath it. Both were done in stylish matte grey, a rather basic modern twist on the old hotel staple. It earned another snort though, while I patted my belt for the other pokéball attached there. In a flash of gold sparks, Titania materialized in front of me.

I had scarcely let her out when she rushed forward with a fierce cry, only to come to a slow stop when she saw the hotel room. Empty, save for me and Oberon, she quickly turned her gleaming red eyes at me for a long moment. She turned away after a minute or so, stomping over to the carpeted living section and flopping on it belly-first.

"I know," I told my purposefully purchased Larvitar as I started looking at the options for Pokémon food on the room-order menu. "Trust me, Tanny, I know."

Walking out of Jubilife City had to be the highlight of the entire city. The taxi towards the northern edge of the city proper gradually traded smooth asphalt roads for shabby concrete ones, the amount of potholes increasing the further north we drove. Eventually the signs on the edge of the road began saying You are now leaving Jubilife City; please visit us again as we neared one of the formal city exits. My driver parked over on the side at an empty parking lot bordered by a gas station, a 6-18 convenience store and what looked like the backdrop of a police procedural drama but proclaimed itself to be a Sinnoh Central Trainer Lodgings location. To me it just looked shabby and even the brick exterior radiated a heightened chance of catching tetanus just by looking at it for too long.

I paid the driver, tapping my card against the scanner on his meter with a low ding, then watched him speed off back towards the city proper. It meant I could let Obie out of his pokéball again, which I did. His harness was still on, not having removed it since yesterday, and his short tail wagged eagerly as he gazed up at me.

"Yeah buddy," I sighed. "Almost there."

There was an overgrown sidewalk next to the road that led further north towards the actual border building. Every crack housed its own collection of weeds and random flowers (potentially also weeds) that seemed to thrive in what little space they had. The amount of houses also gradually grew less, as did the cars that occasionally passed me by. I counted a few Sinnoh Ranger Corps vehicles in their distinctive camouflage green paint job; interspersed with off-terrain vehicles that were likely privately owned. Eventually, even the road disappeared and cheap concrete slabs made way to a well-worn dirt track.

It was only another thirty minutes before I finally reached the large brick building that marked the edge of the city's boundaries. They had not only planted a thick line of trees to actually visualize the border, but there was a tall concrete wall also. It had cracked and fallen down in places, mirroring the state of much of what I'd seen of the city's outer edges, and the barbed wire on top looked rusty. It wasn't a welcoming sight, in truth, but very few of the bigger cities actually looked pretty when you got to their borders. There was a reason for them, after all, and it wasn't drawing in tourists.

Te building itself was large and seemed to stretch towards me in an U-shape. Cameras were mounted to the red brick walls and the windows on the 'legs' of the U were all covered by drapes. If I had to guess, that would be the barracks and other rooms kept in use by the Ranger Corps. But truth be told, I had no clue.

The central building was taller than its front-facing wings by a good two stories. Capped with a copper roof, brass letters above the double doors proudly proclaimed it to be Jubilife North Gate 04 - Pedestrians Only. There were warning signs next to the door itself, forbidding visitors from a wide variety of things and insisting on identification being held at the ready. The doors themselves looked deceptively normal, but I could see the little stylized C in the corner. Made at the Canalave forges, most likely. Tempered glass made to withstand anything even the worst of abuse, only Lavaridge reliably produced higher-quality glassworks. I'd bet my nicest shoes that the doors themselves were only made to look like wood but that, if you scraped the paint away, you would find solid steel.

Another camera was placed directly above the door, lens aimed straight at anyone entering. It was clear that, no matter where you went, people could be watching you. I had no doubt that there were more hidden cameras scattered across the property, but to be fair I had no issue with them. I had nothing to hide, after all.

The doors opened inward and their heft was another thing belying their actually structure. They were heavier than I usually found wooden doors to be, if I really had to think about it, and that was another point in favor of my "probably made of steel" hypotheses. The room the doors let me into was not much warmer than it was outside. The floor was paved with yellow-ish linoleum tiles, some of which with questionable various-colored stains, all of which stood out in the overly bright light coming from the many ceiling lights. There was a large laminated map on a concrete pillar smack dab in the middle of the room right in front of the entry, but I paid it no mind.

Entry to Route 204 / Customs was clearly written on a blue sign from the ceiling above a long desk sectioned into individual work places. There was a little queue in front of it, a wide assortment of people waiting for their turn at the desk. Each of the narrow cubbies was surrounded by glass and had one of those little microphones built in their protective glass covering. Only one of them was open for business, and I could spot a bored looking woman seated behind the glass.

I joined the line behind a heavyset teenager laden down by a backpack that must weigh as much as, if not more than, he did. It made me both fear for his spine and admire how he obviously had to be insanely strong to even hoist that thing over his shoulders. There was loud music coming out of his earbuds, something kind of scream-y, and the patches sewn on his pack proclaimed him to be a Ride and Die Toxhead; whatever that meant.

Riding and not-dying seemed a much more safe plan, but to each their own.

Slowly the line move forward and I watched as each person left the little lobby-like area. The variety of people did not disappoint, with most of them dressed heavily for outdoor activities and appearing well-packed. I wasn't the only one with a Pokémon out also, spotting an intimidating Luxury at the front of the queue and some smaller, unfamiliar ones either on or next to others. The teen right in front of me at one point turned around and glanced at Oberon, who was seated at my side with his ears at attention, then turned back. That, I had to admit, was the least offensive to his presence I'd seen since setting foot on Sinnohan soil.

"Next," a tinny voice eventually called. The teen left through foggy glass doors to the right of the desk, vanishing into a hallway, an I stepped forward.

"Please hold your trainer ID against the scanner." The woman glanced up from her computer for a moment before breaking eye-contact.

The scanner I hadn't seen before, but it was built into the front of the desk itself at waist-height. A little glass screen, it stated please place your ID in front of the machine in clear font. I did as asked, the plastic on my League-issued card still shiny and smooth, and watched the edges of the scanner turn blue, then pulse green with a ding. I put the card back in my wallet, trying not to look at the ugly photograph of my uncomfortable face on it.

The woman typed a little on her keyboard, which was an ungainly mechanical thing that meant every tap of her fingers on a key was accentuated by a heavy clunk.

"First time?" She asked, not looking up while still typing. I somehow got the feeling it wasn't a question as much as a statement.

So I nodded, before following it with a verbal confirmation. "Yeah".

"Okay, so listen closely. As this is your first time travelling through this area, I have some brochures for you."

Soundlessly, a section of glass bordering the surface of the desk suddenly vanished downward, creating a narrow gap. A manicured hand slid four folded pieces of glistening paper at me,

"Here you will find our Critical Route Information Packets, or CRIPs if you want to use the lingo and sound like an idiot doing so, which is a series of four informational brochures I am legally obliged to give to you. Number one provides a list of all key informational numbers for the local ranger teams, emergency services and relevant League point of contact. Number two has your usual local information on the area and shows designated mustering points in case of an emergency and other safe spaces."

She spread the brochures out, pointing at the one numbered three. "This is an overview of local regulations, warnings and region specific issues. Number four here-" she tapped at the last of the brochures, "is a copy of the overall Sinnoh League Guidelines on Trainer Conduct. You will only get that once, because that one is in place all over the country."

I fished around in my pockets to grab my phone, which I unlocked to open up the Official Sinnoh League App. "Can't I just download them, because I already did that yesterday, so I have them all saved on my phone anyway."

I made a broad gesture at the papers. "I mean, save the environment and all that? Use less paper?"

The lady snorted, tapping the brochures with her sharply filed red nails. "Sweetie, I am legally obliged to give you physical copies on a first visit. I don't give a shit what you do with them after, that's all on you. Me giving them to you is where my influence ends, so just take them and head off. If you don't, I am to deny you passage and it goes on your record."

Not seeing any sense in arguing with her, I did as instructed and took the phamplets. The glass slid back up from the desk immediately, leaving the woman fully encased once more. I folded the little paper brochures in what had been my last empty pocket on my own ugly bag, then headed for the sliding doors.

The hallway had some of those basic motivational or cartoony informational posters tacked on each wall, interspersed with cardboard boards with what looked like more personal messages left on them. I stopped at one, snorting at a request for the pretty blonde water trainer to give the guy with the Staravia a call, with a phone number written on the bottom. Damn Dialga, that sounds like a surefire way of getting on every scam-callers and telemarketing firm's list.

At the very end, near a set of doors that did not even try to hide the fact that they were reinforced, was another corkboard. This one made me stop also, freezing me in place when I saw my brother's face staring back at me. I'd remembered one of his trainer buddies had asked for permission to hang up posters of his own and here in front of me was tangible, age-worn proof that he'd done so. What shocked me was the amount of other faces surrounding my brother's miniature, but even that paled in the face of what I surmised after looking at the uniformly sized photographs with their names scrawled beneath bold font declaring them to be MISSING and a phone number to call if found.

They had so many missing people that they'd set up a system by which you could hang their posters. There had to be dozens, each individual broken down to photograph, a name, an adjective and a series of numbers. Some were even more worn than my brother's little paper poster, paper gone yellow and dirty whereas others were obviously new. There was no conscious thought that made me grab my phone and use the shortcut to go straight to my camera app. I snapped as clear a shot as my top-of-the-line phone could provide, using every single megapixel to immortalize this single cork board and its haunting contents. I had to take a step back to get it all in the frame and that realization made me swallow a lump in my throat.

It wasn't like this wasn't a known statistic. With the average starting age; the very job description and all related dangers, this whole sheding had more occupational hazards than being a fisherman at the Lake of Rage.

I pushed past my melancholic thoughts to open the even heavier doors that led to the outside, although I had to hold the doors open to the next unfortunate soul as my time staring in the hallway meant the person behind me in line had already caught up to me. We shared one of those close-lipped smiles before the man set of in the direction of a thick copse of trees, while I just stood in front of the back of the Gate building, squinting at the surroundings.

A flash and I had Titania out in front of me again, where she promptly let out a high-pitched little roar.

"Sing it, sister," I hummed when I went to pat her tough green hide. "You know what you're here to do, Tanny. Keep close, okay?"

I unclipped the leash attached to Obie's harness, straightening it while I was at it. The letters proclaiming him to be at work were nicely visible and promised to be highly reflective at night. Tanny had no such harness, but then again she was not a working Pokémon under the definition of the law.

Obie was.

"Go seek," I called, pointing at the dirt path in front of me, the "official" route to Floaroma Town to the north. Oberon obediently took up a slow trot ahead of me, head hallway between the ground and its usual position as he tried to separate the scent trails he was doubtlessly picking up.

Where Growlithe can remember any smell they've even been introduced to, making them invaluable to search and rescue operations, Houndour and Houndoom had a less well known ability. They had the unique ability to smell corpses. As true opportunists, they either hunted themselves or scavenged of others' kills. Evolution had made it so that they grew uniquely attuned tracking the dead and precision breeding and careful training had led one former policeman for in Johto with a disdain "the establishment" to breed them exclusively attuned to the smell of human remains.

Oberon had been purchased from him, tailor-made for my mission. The authorities had failed to find my brother alive and had no intentions of looking for him if he'd died. If they didn't, I would. Most Dark-types had the affinity, but Houndour and Houndoom to it to an art form. They could accurately find anything from the recently deceased to skeletal remains, if left in the open.

I would rather find my brother alive, but I was a realist if not a pessimist. The odds were against him, had been after that first week of his disappearance. So I did my father proud and hoped for the best, while preparing for the worst. Oberon was that preparation, that safeguard that I prayed I would not need. But if the worst had happened to Kyle, that one thing we all feared and reality told us was the most probable anyway, then I had Oberon.

I would find my little brother.

A/N

Some liberties are taken with city and Pokémon descriptions/abilities.