Among the wreckage that was once a Team Plasma hideout, two figures could be seen scouring the place. One of them was a lady with long blonde hair who looked to be somewhere in her late teens or in her early twenties, of which her most striking feature is her pair of scarlet eyes whose colour is as deep as blood. Even when half of her figure was being partially obscured by the shadows casted by the debris, it was not enough to hide the beauty she possessed. Her companion was a male who was probably younger than her who also had that same pair of blood-red eyes, a strong indication of their familial relationship to each other. However, his hair is jet black in colour.

They seemed to be looking for something, but that is a secret that only they would know.

"Looks like we missed this one too. Damn, this one actually looked fun," the male commented with an excited grin as he idly kicked a small pebble around, letting out a low whistle of appreciation when he spotted that large blood stain on the nearby cement wall. The scrafty beside him shared the same sentiments as it punched the air in front of it in eagerness, pumped up for a fight.

"It's a lot more brutal than the previous ones we passed, at least."

Unlike her unruly younger brother, the elder sister carried herself with elegance, a venomoth hovering silently by her side while a stoutland kept its nose pressed to the ground to pick up on any foreign scent. The elder sister's keen eyes surveyed the scene, already dissecting the clues left behind and piecing out what might have happened before they arrived.

"Think it could be him?"

"Who knows? None of us except for uncle had met him before, and even he doesn't know much about our long lost cousin," the elder sister replied as she walked deeper into the wrecked hideout before deciding that there really was nothing left for them to continue their stay. They had been chasing for clues from Lacunosa all the way to Opelucid ever since they caught wind that an unknown individual had not only somehow located hidden Team Plasma hideouts at their hometown which had eluded even their detection, but had also somehow single handedly destroyed them. The clues they scavenged told them enough that whoever that person may be, he or she was strong enough to the extent that nobody in those Team Plasma hideouts could put up any sort of resistance before they met their end.

"This wild chase better be worth my time," the younger brother grumbled. "All the fights I missed that I could have attended…"

"And I still wonder why I have a barbarian for a younger brother. I'm not expecting you to be a perfect person like Asher, but can't you at least be a little more like Mikhail or Amelia?"

"Sis, it's the Conkeldurr Slam Tournament. I could have been there, winning trophies, thrashing those noobs-"

"Lex, if I hear another complaint out of you, I'm telling Mum."

"... That's unfair."

"Playing dirty is literally what we were taught to excel in, deal with it," the older sister waved her younger brother off as they both made their exits to chase after their next clues. "Whoever this is, he or she is probably still around somewhere. I don't care how you do it, locate him."

"Why don't you do it?"

The elder sister folded her arms across her chest, eyebrows raised in challenge as the sound of her venomoth flapping its wings suddenly became painfully audible, and that was enough persuasion for her younger brother to concede defeat immediately.

"I will do it, I will do it, just… not that, please."

"It might really be him," the elder sister dropped a small fraction of her usual cold persona, catching her brother's attention once more. "Those marks on the wall, it's hard to tell until venomoth revealed it with its powder, but it's probably left behind by a greninja."

"Greninja?" The younger brother perked up immediately, knowing that the pokemon mentioned is a rare species that only a handful of trainers would have. As it is, they were aware that the person which they were searching for also happened to have a greninja in his possession.

"That means-"

"Yes, that's why I told you to hurry up with it. We know he's here in Unova, just not where."

"That bastard, why couldn't he just come to us instead of making us run around like fools looking for him? I'm going to give him a real good beating when I finally get my hands on him," the younger brother gritted his teeth in frustration, almost on the verge of tearing out his hair.

"Please, we all know that you wouldn't win," his sister's words were merciless as she insulted his pride even further, fanning her brother's fumes of anger as they finally culminated into a boiling rage.

"Not you too! I'm strong, geddit?! I'M STRONG-! Don't ignore me, hey! HEY!"


Information is key to winning any battles, especially so for the kind of work I usually do. There are many ways one can go about collecting information, but when time is not on your side there's only one way to collect information in the fastest way possible, and that is to get it to come to you instead.

There are definitely risks involved for using such a method. My usual modus operandi is to collect information without anyone the wiser even if that meant taking a longer time to do so, but at least the chance of me blowing my cover is reduced to the lowest. Now, however, I need the information but I don't have the time, so I have to use the riskier method of putting myself in the spotlight to get information to come to me in order to reduce the time spent collecting it.

In other words, I have to make a name for myself in the Unova underworld. I need to get noticed, I need Team Plasma to notice me, I need Team Plasma to think that they need someone like me on their side, and I need them to approach me on their own accord.

Such an endeavour takes time so it is up to me to shorten it as much as possible. It is well-known in the Unova underworld that Team Plasma employs independent trainers from Unova's underworld; such trainers often act as mercenaries that work for the highest bidders and there's nothing that they won't do as long as the price is right. That would be the new identity that I am planning to craft for myself in my personal quest to remove Team Plasma, a mercenary.

This brings me to where I am now.

Dark alleys, homeless drunkards lying by the sidewalk, children dressed in rags running away and casting cautious glances at me with the intention to pickpocket a wallet or two when the right opportunity presents itself, the typical sight of the kind of place where all sorts of shady people and dealings tend to congregate.

This better be the right place.

I've been to many kinds of places before in order to exchange information. Some of them were located in places like this, others in areas where only the truly influential were able to access, some were disguised and hidden in plain sight like the little shop at Mahogany near to the exit towards the Lake of Rage. Regardless, these kinds of places are necessary and will always be around if my kind of job were to exist.

Humans are social creatures by nature; people of the same type will always eventually congregate to form a community. Just like the situation back in Indigo before Team Rocket reigns supreme after the downfall of Marowak Skull, there are also several notable underground factions in Unova. There are also unspoken rules in their social circle, be it between the factions or between individual mercenaries, in order to maintain the delicate status quo.

What I'm seeking out now is to join the kind of community created for people like me. Guild, association, brotherhood; call it what you want, but people like us will always find a way to gather if we want to survive out there. It's difficult to work alone and you will always need to exchange information with somebody else in order not to die a dog's death. It's something I'm very familiar with, especially in my early days as a spy and a Rocket, although that slowly changed when I was promoted to Elite Officer and subsequently Executive because by then, information would automatically come to me instead on account of my rank. That was the perk for becoming a member of Team Rocket's inner circle.

The place I ended up in was a car repair workshop. Sweaty half-naked men with large bulging biceps walked around repairing various types of vehicles, carrying spare parts around with the help of their pokemon. The sound of whirring engines and machines filled my ears and the smell of grease permeated the air. Many people simply ignored my presence when I entered, and those that didn't simply cast me a wary glance before going on their way. It's a rather big workshop considering the location.

"What ya want, kid."

A large burly man at least taller than me by a head and sporting a moustache walked up to me. I could smell the sweat and grease on him from where I was.

"I heard that this place could give me what I want for the right price," I answered, hands in the pocket of my coat and idly wondering if we could just skip all the needless hazing and asserting of dominance drama. I just want to make some connections, get the information I need, and go.

"If you need a repair or an upgrade to your car or bike, you came to the right place," the man replied while cracking his knuckles as my eyebrows raised ever so slightly to convey my doubts. "If you are seeking something else…"

Everything that happened next, I reacted purely out of reflex and instinct. My senses and my reflexes may have dulled thanks to my failing body, but my skill and reputation as the Rocket's Exterminator were not there for show. As soon as I saw the slight twitching of his right arm I knew he was about to cock his arm back for a punch and almost immediately, even before I could register myself doing it, I had already reflexively unsheathed my dagger hidden under my large coat and strike out as well.

"You are not the boss here," I spoke, voice as calm as it had been since I stepped foot in here, my dagger pressing lightly against his neck in warning where his artery was. Whoever this guy may be, he was definitely not the one in charge of this place. I had managed to dodge his punch and slip past his guard in an instant, which allowed me to hold him at knife point as a result. Someone unskilled like him couldn't be the boss for such a large group of people.

'Stand down,' I signalled to spiritomb and greninja with the near inaudible and unnoticeable tapping of my foot, hidden within my shadows and with Camouflage respectively. My eyes did a sweeping glance and I could already see the workers here already up in arms, glaring at me, with their pokemon ready to make the first strike at the next action I did if they deem it dangerous.

"Get whoever's in charge here. Not to be rude, but there's no way you guys can win even if you come at me all at once. I just want to talk and do business," I reiterated, dagger still pressing against the neck of the burly man and effectively using him as a shield and hostage. I may not be as murderous as I was before because I am no longer a Rocket or a spy, but that doesn't mean that I won't do what is needed to keep myself alive.

"Big words, kid, you gonna regret it," one of the workers nearby growled out.

"If this is how you greet your customers I can see why there's no business here."

"You don't get to tell us what to do, brat!"

The krokorok that was charging at us was immediately sent flying back by the still invisible greninja and that signalled the start of one massive brawl. Not that it mattered much, because we had them groaning and moaning on the ground minutes later. They couldn't fight what they couldn't see.

"I did warn you. Can we start doing business now?"

"Store's not… open today…" One of the guys wheezed out from where he was on the floor. Finally, somebody is willing to talk.

"And under what circumstances will it be open? Maybe if I tear this whole place down?"

"That will not be necessary."

An unfamiliar voice sounded out from the depths of the workshop. I turned, spotting a man roughly in his sixties hobbling out with a cane and with several bodyguards near him. Despite his age and frail demeanour, I can see the signs that spoke of his experiences. Those carefully concealed muscles underneath his shirt that were uncharacteristic of his age, the way he held himself and silenced everyone with just a few words, the small scar near his eyebrows, and more importantly, that look in his eyes.

They are the eyes of someone who had survived and thrived in the underworld.

The old man gave one look at his men around him groaning on the floor in pain before looking back at me.

"Perhaps, you would like to talk business somewhere a little more private?"

"With pleasure."

The old man grinned before turning around and hobbling back in the direction he came from. I took this as his invitation to follow and trailed behind. The old man brought me to his office, a neatly organised and decorated room which was a far cry from the greasy and dirty workshop at the front. Nothing too grand here, but enough to impress. The only thing of note is the aged mandibuzz nodding off on an elaborate looking perch placed near the office table, obviously a companion of the old man.

One of the bodyguards offered some tea to both of us as I took my seat opposite the old man. The old man said nothing and simply drank from his cup. I didn't bother with the beverage offered to me, but merely waited for the old man to finish his drink before we got to the topic of discussion.

"I apologise for the behaviour of my boys earlier, things have been a little tough lately and they were getting a little… testy," the old man finally broke the silence the moment he placed his cup back on the coffee table. "Usually, we are always open for business but there are circumstances now that forces us to only repair vehicles like we portray ourselves to be. I won't bother asking how you found out about this place but if you want to do business with us, you will either have to wait until we are ready to open shop, or show us some sincerity before we can become business partners."

"You said circumstances, so what happened?"

"You are not from here, are you?" The old man smirked and I did nothing to confirm or deny his words. "It's nothing too big but at the same thing, not exactly a small matter too. To keep things simple, Team Plasma's presence has upset the balance of power and it's getting increasingly common for gangs to clash with each other for various reasons. We are simply having a turf war with another rival gang right now and it caused some of our more capable members to be temporarily off the field."

That made sense. The guys who came at me earlier have nothing to write home about and a gang couldn't have been this big if all of them were at that level, there have to be some members within them with notable skills, but if all of them are now involved in a turf war or are recuperating from it then it would not be unusual for none of them to be here right now.

"I don't have time to wait," I spoke after weighing my options. "You said the other option is to show sincerity. What to you, is sincerity?"

The old man raised his right hand to beckon for a nearby bodyguard to come over, bending his body to allow the old man to whisper something in his ear. The bodyguard left the room and returned just minutes later and slipped a photograph over the surface of the table in my direction. I picked the photo up, seeing the face of a big gruff man with long blonde hair and beard. All in all, the very stereotypical image of a biker.

"That bastard in the photo is Jeremy. He leads a biker gang that calls themselves the Black Empoleon and they usually hangout at Tubeline Bridge every night. I don't care how you do it, but if you can remove them from the picture and get them to stop stealing my turf, then we can finally start doing business," the old man elaborated. "As much as it embarrasses me to say this, Jeremy has a larger number of skilled trainers in his gang than I do."

"Black Empoleon? Never heard of them before."

"They are relatively new. Haven't you heard, it's the dark age now. All thanks to Team Plasma everyone here thinks becoming a gangster and getting involved in the underworld is the only way to stop them and is the cool thing to do. Fools," the old man snorted. "If even the League is incapable of stopping them, what else can we do?"

"You lost me at the part where you said people think that becoming a gangster to stop Team Plasma is the only way out."

"You are definitely not from here if you don't even know about this," the old man shook his head in amusement at my comment but still provided an explanation nonetheless. "When Team Plasma finally went through with the attack on Lacunosa, everything changed. They suddenly turned from a large religious organisation to becoming a large religious organisation and a large underground power. Balance was disrupted everywhere, be it on the surface or down here. The League is proving itself incapable of stopping them as time goes on, not that I blame them because it's understandable that it would be difficult to get rid of a religious organisation that has sunk its claws into more than half of the nation's population, but public sentiments and dissatisfaction among the anti-Plasma faction is rising to an all time high. What do you think happens when the government and the League prove themselves incapable?"

"They take matters into their own hands. If the law doesn't serve its intended purpose and there are dissatisfactions, then people will find ways to subvert it. Does that mean that it has been proven that the underworld is better at organising and conducting anti-Plasma efforts?"

"Not on the surface, of course, these kinds of things will never be shown on the news, but if you keep your ears close to the ground you would have heard of how this and this gang and so and so mafioso had recently done this and that to Team Plasma. The fact that Team Plasma had recently become the newest and strongest underworld faction is also a factor; we were all comfortable with the status quo until they barged into the picture unannounced. Not only that, they tried to separate us from our pokemon, now that is something we wouldn't stand for."

The mandibuzz woke up at that very moment before flying to perch itself on the old man's outstretched arm. The old man affectionately scratched the mandibuzz under its chin before turning his attention back to me.

"That somehow turned into a new trend. People who don't believe in Team Plasma's beliefs and trying to prevent themselves from being forcefully separated from their pokemon are starting to turn to gangs to help protect them or create their own gangs to band together, because the law and the police are too inept in protecting them or stopping those fanatics. That's why people say that it's the dark age now, an age of gangs and of religions and disbelievers. Many of the boys you dealt with outside, they are actually law abiding kids who only joined recently for protection because they really had nowhere else to go to. Most of them are not even trainers and all that I did was to provide them a sanctuary where they could be with their pokemon. That's one reason why they were defeated so easily, even if I can tell that you are no slouch yourself."

"And that Black Empoleon, are they supporters of Team Plasma?"

"Not too sure, they are relatively new, but that doesn't change the fact that they are a pain in the ass that I want gone."

I slid across a small folded piece of paper back to the old man.

"I will deal with Black Empoleon. Meanwhile, I need your help to find this person. I need him alive."

"Only a name? That's a tall order," the old man mused but passed that slip of paper over to his bodyguard nonetheless. "But I will get people to track his whereabouts. If you succeed, we will bring him to you."

"Nice working with you," I offered my hand, which the old man took after staring at it for a second.

"Pleasure is mine as well. 'Rusty' Philip, of the White Bones Gang."

"Call me Plague, an Exterminator."


"Nice view, huh," I commented while enjoying the great view from where we were currently at on the Tubeline Bridge for some sightseeing. Weavile easily balanced himself on the handrail while doing some fancy somersaults. Showoff.

I can feel greninja standing beside me and like me, I'm sure he was enjoying the view the bridge provides us as well. It's late at night and there were only a few people still using the bridge at this hour, but this made the silence and the splendid night view all the more enjoyable.

That beautiful silence was rudely broken by the throttling of engines. I turned around in the direction of the noise, annoyed at whoever had decided that interrupting whatever rare chance I had to enjoy such a nice view by having a bike race on the bridge in the dead of the night was a good idea.

The source of the engines revving originated from a biker gang as far as I could tell. They were hoarding up the space on the bridge, racing around, rudely chasing people away, acting like they owned the bridge, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Given the whispers I heard from other passers-by around me, this was not the first time this biker gang had been creating trouble on this bridge.

It seemed that I had found my target, although this did make me wonder if the Opelucid Police Force truly had no idea about this biker gang and what they did, or if they were simply choosing to turn a blind eye.

I heard greninja letting out a concerned croak, and it was then I saw a biker racing his bike at top speed beside a charging bouffalant. Problem is, there was an elderly man in the way which I'm sure that the biker and his bouffalant had not yet spotted. The elderly would not move out of the way in time and neither would the biker and his bouffalant.

"Greninja!"

I felt greninja move, and it was just in time because the biker and the bouffalant zoomed past just right after greninja managed to move the elderly away. The biker and his bouffalant did not seem to notice or care about the elderly and neither did the rest of the biker gang. They were still hooting and shouting, raring to have a race against a bouffalant again and not bothering to check if there would be anyone in the way of their "race course".

"Are you alright?" I asked the old man as I supported him to take a seat at a bench nearby. The old man was visibly shaken, but managed a nod nonetheless.

"Yes, thank you, if it wasn't for you…" The old man shuddered at the thought as silence filled in his unsaid words.

"Is this a normal occurrence here?" I subtly gestured to the rowdy biker gang a fair distance away from us with a slight jerk of my head.

"It started about a month or two back, I believe," the old man replied. "It used to be peaceful here until they showed up on this bridge every night and used it as their race course. We reported it to the police, but these hooligans always disappeared before the police were on the scene."

I glanced towards the bikers, then back at the old man. If I had any doubts before, they are gone now.

"Don't worry, they won't be here for much longer."


Name: Jayce Dandolos

Age: 22

Pokemon Team:

1. Ninetales, female

2. Exeggutor, male

3. Weavile, male

4. Honchkrow, female

5. Umbreon, male

6. Hydreigon, male

7. Drapion, female

8. Zoroark, male

9. Bisharp, male

10. Shiftry, male

11. Porygon-Z, (Nosy), genderless

12. Greninja, male

13. Spiritomb, male