A.N./ This chapter has some suggestive content.

The outsider slowly adjusted to band life, and her fellow toxtricity tried to establish a role for her to perform. However, it all felt the same for each role. Another toxtricity performed it better than she. A bad-tempered amped toxtricity named Scavenger said that a toxel could perform his job— stealing other pokémon's goods— much better than the outcast. It didn't help that the recently evolved low-ender was taught not to steal, but Scavenger didn't bother to hear the excuse.

They also lacked shame. Forager told explicitly how many partners she had slept with to try and have an egg. She succeeded with a cinderace who lived in the east near the ocean. No pokémon back in the forest described to a relative stranger details about pokémon they mated with. Even her old grandfather wasn't fazed to explain past relationships in his, as he put it, "frisker cycles." The implication made the outcast's stomach turn— the elders back home stated that their dirty sheets weren't to be aired in public. Then again, she wouldn't have been born unless her own mother left the band's safety for a genetically sound mate. Her father could be any suitor of similar structure, as she reasoned he wasn't a toxtricity.

The excessive mating obsession was derived from their want to return to their previous numbers prior to the consequences of their inbreeding and schism. Two cycles after their upheaval, raiders attacked them unawares in a skirmish so egregious that no bandmate spoke of it. If she asked a single related question, the toxtricity simply said, "The Premier might answer that."

Sentinel approached the outsider lingering on the red, clay-laden soil of the commons. "Outsider... you're with Fisher today. It's all you're good for. All else you're incapable of." She tried not to let Sentinel get to her, but the Premier's sister had nothing good to say of her. She appeared perpetually angry or annoyed whenever she caught the newcomer's eye.

The recruit sighed. Fisher wasn't too bad to work with. She was quiet and focused only on fishing. The outsider pondered if Fisher ever got bored of her job. Such a menial task would lead one's mind to wander. What did Fisher think about? As far as the outsider could tell, she had no mate, as Hunter was her long-time friend and the Premier ditched her. She was either fishing, in her den, or in the common area. The outsider didn't think she had a fling outside the band. Did she leave the territory, even for a few hours?

The newcomer left the communal zone and the glare of Sentinel. She headed into the forest bordering the lake, inhaling the fresh, woodsy scent of the numerous coniferous trees. She found Fisher at her usual spot, hugging the bank of the lake on the deep side, as the newcomer had learned. She managed to pull a magikarp from the water and place it on a pile of several fish already. Menial task, yes, but without it the band would be ravenous in no time, and hungry toxtricity were a mean lot.

"Fisher," the newcomer called.

The pokémon in question looked up at her. "Little cousin," she greeted.

The two low-enders fished in areas far enough from each other not to arouse suspicion from the fish. Neither said a word to one another until mid-afternoon, after their piles swelled to the point that hungry bird pokémon might attempt snatch them. Usually, Hunter would have appeared to return the catches to camp, but he still hadn't shown up. It ended up that one toxtricity stood guard over a pile while the other low-ender carried one heap to the common grounds. At the final load of the day, the outsider asked to carry the few remaining fish to open a window to a much-desired conversation with her cousin.

"Fisher, what happened between you and the Premier?"

This caught Fisher's attention immediately and stopped her in her tracks. She had been in a daze from doing her task, but now her demeanor reversed. "That... that is over."

"I'm aware. But why?"

"Why do you ask?"

It was strange for toxtricity here to have their guard up, given how open their relationships were. "Your band wants to replenish its numbers. Yet... I see you're often alone."

"It's simpler that way."

Fisher was like talking to a wall, but the outsider knew that she had to find some cracks in it. "So how did the Premier complicate things?"

"It wasn't him. It's my fault." Fisher looked pained, her downcast eyes staring at a fallen branch on the ground below her.

The outsider felt guilt rise within her for broaching the subject. However, the cryptic conversation was cut off by the bane of the outsider's existence, Sentinel. "C'mon you two. Back at camp. We need that food. Now." She offered them a scowl before walking in the direction she came.

Fisher stood there, a grimace on her face, and her cousin featured a similar look.

"I can't stand her," Fisher said.

"Why is she stalking us?"

"It's because you're here."

The outsider felt a pang of indignance. However, Fisher resumed speaking. "She's getting worried."

"Worried about what? I still haven't trained—"

"Hey there girls," a voice cut in from somewhere within the foliage. Rounding a spruce tree was Hunter, who finally decided to show himself. Draped around his neck was a pilfered rope-like ornament and hanging from it at spaced intervals were bug pokémon that he caught to help feed the band. He looked at the pile of fish the younger low-ender held and said, "Let me handle those."

"Oh, thank you," she said. She handed the amped toxtricity the load and she grinned at him as their eyes met. The outsider sauntered to the commons with Fisher and Hunter. Fisher spoke no more about their previous conversation and only talked to Hunter, who might as well be her mate for how close the two were. Upon returning, Hunter distributed the remaining food to any toxtricity who hadn't received their share. He saved a large arrokuda for himself, which he shared with Fisher.

She watched the two friends eat near the cliff and groaned. Walking up to them was Forager and her son. Fisher gobbled her fish down and turned toward Forager, saying something to her before focusing on her son. Forager nodded, and whatever this was about caused Fisher to smile. The low key toxtricity kneeled and took Forager's son into her arms in a rare instance of compassion displayed by the usually distant low-ender. Forager's son flailed his arms in protest as Fisher nuzzled him, but Fisher herself was joyous as Hunter touched the toxel's head and said something to him. Many of the toxtricity bet that Forager's son was going evolve into the amped form.

The nameless low-ender looked at the scene with envy, a tight knot forming in her chest. She wasn't officially part of the band, as she had no role-name. Sentinel barred her from interacting with the toxel, although there were only three in the band right now, with Forager's being the oldest. Toxtricity culture made no sense. In other settlements, the guests were treated well. Luckily, she purloined enough berries to hold her over when Sentinel wasn't supervising. Today she resolved to end this unfair treatment and find out wherever the Premier was. She began to head toward the cliff face but was stopped in the center of the communal zone.

"Hey there," she heard a male voice from behind her. Her brain analyzed it belonging to a complementary form. The condescending tone indicated the voice belonged to Scavenger, who was a few cycles older than she and Sentinel's eldest living son.

She promptly turned around and said, "I'm on task. Can this wait?"

"No," he said. She expected this and the outsider rolled her eyes.

"Ah, Sweetie," he flirted. She wanted to cringe. Yet she wasn't going to give him the leverage. He stepped closer to her. "You can get accepted among us very easily."

Her face fell, and her pulse quickened as she detected a threat. She wasn't liking where this conversation was going.

"None of that. You'll ruin your face if you continue looking like a grouch."

"My face is fine as is, I assure you." She began to walk away from him and refused to meet his eyes.

"I agree," he shouted, blocking her path.

The outsider looked at him in surprise, giving him the response he wanted. He accosted, "Are you fresh, sweetheart?" He grabbed her arm roughly. He gazed into her eyes like he wished to read her mind.

She flung her arm to break his grasp. "Don't touch me," she growled. "You've no right to ask me that question, you…."

"Continue," he taunted, his eyes smoldering. "I find it flattering."

Others nearby caught on to the harassment and to the outsider's relief, two of them approached. Noticing her repulsion to his touch was also Forager, who left her son with Hunter and Fisher. The elder amped toxtricity walked in her direction.

Two low-enders intervened, both younger than she. The older one was Taylor, a female, and the other Mason. "Brother, you know the newly-evolved are off limits until they finish training," Taylor proclaimed.

"Dumb rule," Scavenger said. "Made by someone just as stupid."

"Er… no, since our uncle knows suckers like you would take advantage," Mason mentioned, looking miffed.

"I call first dibs." Scavenger pointed at the irritated low-ender and stuck his chest once with his free hand. The notes he played meant, "She's mine."

"Rules or no, she hasn't agreed, so leave her alone," Forager announced from behind them.

Being rebuked by the elder made Scavenger reconsider. He shoved his younger siblings out of his way, stalking off to the forest to sulk. The newcomer grumbled under her breath about Scavenger. Before he was annoying and puffed up, but now he was even worse than his mother.

"Sorry about him," Taylor said. "He's mummy's favorite and thinks he's hot shit."

A laugh burst from the outsider. "True." She smiled and then said, "Thanks a lot. Sometimes I feel like I'm left to the mandibuzz."

"Is that a pokémon in the south?" Mason inquired, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.

"Yes. They're bird pokémon and are…" she hesitated, "Scavengers, yet even they're more hospitable than your brother."

"Will you stay with us to play?" Forager asked, cutting between the two siblings.

"No, unless you want your ears to bleed," she objected with a wan smile. "I'm heading to the cliff to see the Premier."

"Oh," Mason said, looking at his sister. "Well, you see, the den's easy to miss. Do you want someone to lead you there?"

"I remember where it is," she said with feigned confidence, looking at the looming rock adjacent to the commons. She didn't want a crowd to accompany her when her goal was to privately speak to the leader.

"Best of luck," Forager said.

"Hope he can do something for you," Taylor said. Forager and Taylor nodded in farewell, and Mason awkwardly waved. She thanked the three and turned around, walking toward the cliff. She began to head up the elevated slope.

She wandered up the rocky path, its grade gradually increasing. Some stalwart weeds grew where the toxtricity didn't tread. At its pinnacle she met tiny plateau and turned, heading up a dusty slope like the one below, but this one was notched several feet farther into the rock. Although the sunlight no longer touched the cliff, the rock retained much heat.

She focused on her distant past, conjuring her early memories to locate the Premier's den. The leader's den was complicated to reach. One had to go through an access point and then she believed she needed to walk down a corridor. She had only gone that way once while still in her mother's arms.

The Premier's scent was difficult to distinguish among the other males. It didn't help that most of them were closely related, although the Premier wasn't related to her, so he had to have a degree of separation from her, since he had been with Fisher. The caves were ranked by hierarchy, which meant the lower members resided in the top tiers and those senior in the easy-to-access bottom dens. The Premier's den was an exception to the rule.

She was going to annoy any band members not otherwise occupied, as she needed to investigate each shallow cave. Many caves were empty, since their numbers were lower than cycles prior. Thankfully, most of the band was in the common area to charge and play with each other, but they would return to their dens after dusk. She hadn't seen the Premier around the lake, in the forest, or on the common grounds all afternoon, leaving her at the mercy of Sentinel. Nor had she heard his playing, for his sound was twangier than the other amped toxtricity. Many of the band members' sounds echoed against the stone as their evening playing commenced.

She looked in about fifteen dens so far and was halfway up the cliff face. She doubted the Premier would want to walk up any farther to his place to rest. Perhaps she missed something? She detected his scent a tier down, but the dens yielded nothing.

She descended a bit and then scanned the rock's face for anything she might have missed. She kept walking on the third-tier plateau to where the rock curved in such a way that the common grounds were no longer visible. She studied the rock's rusty striations with interest until she discovered a shallow indent that barely left a depression in the wall. However, examining it closer, she discovered a straight, narrow seam like a blade had sliced through it. Her stomach fluttered with butterfree as she realized she was looking at a hidden door. The door looked just like the rock face, and she doubted toxtricity made such a thing. The other dens either had no doors or they were blocked by scraps of wood or piles of stones.

Seeing no handle, she pressed against the door, but it didn't budge. The adamant door refused to move when she shoved it again. She groaned and then banged on the disguised entrance. She wasn't going to go back without a word from him. "C'mon Premier, I know you're in there!" She thought she sounded too harsh, so she leveled her tone and said, "I want to talk to you."

The newcomer lingered against the rock for several minutes, questioning if the band leader heard or if he determined she wasn't worth his time. She clutched her arm as her tempered flared, her thoughts telling her she was stupid to be worthy of this. She wasn't a member, the band owed her nothing, and they were adamant in their ways. She shook her head, declaring the operation a failure, but then she heard the door's locking mechanism sliding into its recess. She spun around, glad her intrusive thoughts were wrong, and the door opened inward to reveal an exhausted Premier. His electric frill flickered erratically, and his color wasn't robust as usual. He blinked several times and then forced a smile. "You can come in. Well… uh, follow me." He turned and headed down a stony passageway. The outsider hesitated, feeling something was amiss. She entered, closing the den's door behind her.

She headed down a tunnel no different from her recollections and entered a room which was illuminated by the fading daylight as well as the two pokémon within. The den was quite compact despite belonging to the chief toxtricity. Across the chamber from the tunnel were three rectangular slits in the rock which operated as windows. She peered out of them and deduced she was high above the ground. The vantage point allowed one to view the harsh scrubland to the east.

Leaves, fruits, and flowers from poisonous plants sat upon a stained wooden table a foot from the tunnel to dry, as well as some salted strips of fish. Three polished stones reclined on the table: They were colored pitch-black, cyan, and blue. She recognized them as a dusk stone, a dawn stone, and a water stone. For what reason did he have these?

Sitting near them was one of the Premier's arm bands. The other one was reduced to pieces of leather and fabric on the floor nearby. She walked over the middle of the table and picked up the intact one and then looked at the mess on the floor in puzzlement. Why was one ripped apart? She replaced the token of his authority and turned in the Premier's direction opposite.

There was a proper bed made from wooloo fleece and eldegoss string topped with a ruffled, cream-colored blanket. The Premier returned to the bed and slumped down on it. "Excuse my mess," he said breathlessly. "Excuse me." A chipped clay cup held water infused with belladonna berries on a square-shaped rock near the bed. The Premier reached for it and drank, looking listless.

"Are you okay?" she asked, uneasily standing in the middle of the den. There was nowhere to sit but on the floor or on the bed.

"Past difficulties plague me sometimes." He waved his free hand like shooing away a trespasser. "Not my fault. No. I haven't been sleeping."

"It seems like you are sick…" she said, looking at the food as well as the Premier's physical condition. "Have you sought Medic?"

He snorted. "You… you know poison-types can't get illnesses. Right? We don't get 'em."

"At least physical ones. You look haunted by a ghost. Something's giving you trouble, you said?"

He sighed. "Of course, I said it… I've some lingering issues from that time. It's why I need my sister with me still. It's my weakness. They know it. I get like this from time to time."

"Oh," she said, rubbing the back of her head. "Should I leave?"

"Yes," he declared after thinking it over. "I thought I was better than this. I'll be like this a while. Not myself. No. Not myself."

The outsider cocked her head. There had been times where the Premier spoke like this, like he was talking to a third party… or himself. The rest of the band didn't draw attention to this behavior, so she didn't either. Going forward, she resolved to understand what happened to him.

"Come to the lake tomorrow evening. Then we can speak better. Or I can speak better. You're all fine…"

The outsider agreed and left the den before the band leader became any more awkward to remain around.


The young low key toxtricity rested on a boulder nearby a sprawling sycamore which shrouded her in darkening shadow as the sun sank lower into the sky. The nearby mountain had blocked the brilliant orb an hour ago, and now it was she who was producing light in the woods. A shelmet crept into her field of view, but once it noticed the toxtricity the bug-type gingerly fled from her sight. She exhaled. She had no desire to hurt the thing, but the snail knew not to mess with the toxtricity who owned this forest.

"Fisher?" a feminine, silky voice asked to her right.

The outsider turned her head and noticed a graceful liepard approaching her as she sat. The feline pokémon didn't shrink like the shelmet did, and if she knew Fisher's name, the outsider guessed she got along with the toxtricity.

"No, I'm not Fisher," the outsider said.

The catlike pokémon sat a few feet from her and sniffed the air. "You have a female's scent… who are you? Only Fisher would come out here this late."

"You can't tell us apart?" she asked the pokémon.

"Not quite, every low-ender looks the same to me. However, the Premier and Sentinel I always know. They wear accessories."

She sighed. "To answer your question, I'm… nobody."

"Nobody?" the liepard asked, narrowing her eyes. "How can that be?"

"I've no name…" the outsider said. "Which is why I'm waiting here. I agreed to meet the Premier here so I can discuss that."

The liepard blinked in confusion. "You had to be called something," she purred.

"Yes… Toxtricity. But I never lived with a band, other than when I was young."

The liepard scrunched her face in the beginnings of a snarl. "Then I'm afraid our conversation ends here. Premier says outside toxtricity aren't supposed to be told about the band's workings."

"She already knows," a recognizable male voice said, coming in the direction of the toxtricity settlement.

"Premier, about time you showed!" the outsider hollered.

The amped toxtricity skirted a sitrus berry bush and entered the little glade. His appearance was more vigorous than yesterday, and his frill emanated brightly. Unsurprisingly, he wore a sole band on his right arm. "I got caught up with some ponyta-shit with my nephew." He stuck out his tongue and approached the two females. "Nice to see you, Liepard."

"Good evening, Premier," she said. "I guess you want to be with the lady?"

He nodded and the liepard flicked her tail before turning away. "Farewell, then."

Once she was out of sight and the darkening forest concealed her, the outsider asked, "I hope you're here for another reason than what she was thinking about."

"Ah… she's promiscuous. Those felines usually are."

"Like we're not? Your sister had how many children now?"

"Nine." He started counting with his fingers. "Two are dead. One has been missing for three cycles." He switched to his left hand and held it up. "This many left the band."

"Now I'm guessing her eldest gave you trouble," she said, standing up.

"Scavenger. He's older than you and still acts like a toxel, whining and all."

"I like her youngest two."

"Well, Hunter's their father, and both are better behaved because of him, and Fisher, who practically raised them."

The outsider laughed at this. The Premier asked, "What's so funny?"

"You pretty much admitted your sister is a bad mother," she said.

He placed his hands on his waist. "Well, that's harsh. Although she had to play mother long before she had her own babes. Our mum died not long after my birth. Now she's getting up there in age, and just doesn't care like she used to. She wants no more low-enders, so if a toxel is showing the signs, it's a lost cause to her."

The outsider sighed and quipped, "That's sad, since she is one."

"All right." He waved his arm as if to clear the air. "Enough of that. What did you want to discuss?" he asked, taking the stone seat she abandoned. She leaned against the adjacent tree and gazed up at the sky.

"If I'm going to be taken seriously here, I need a position, Premier. I'm being treated like dirt. I get everything last, or I need to get it myself. No one will train me, and that's my main reason for being here."

"Ah, I understand. Yet," he looked embarrassed and rubbed his left arm. "I never told you that you can pick a den. Where do you sleep?"

"In the cabin to the east," she assured him. "I like how quiet it is there."

"You like that rickety old thing?" The Premier chuckled and said, "I'm surprised it's still standing!"

"Back home I slept in a wooden hut in a forest, so… it's like I'm still there. I might have been disliked by most of the pokémon there, but that was my safe spot. Although the cabin needs repairs and a new bedroll."

"I see, I see," the Premier said. "I'll take care of that. Now, as for your position… everyone here knows how to do everything better than you. Well, besides one thing." The outsider looked at him and nodded.

He continued, "You got here, and we can use a navigator. One of my nieces, like I told you, went missing, and we couldn't locate her. Beyond our narrow territory here, we're lost."

"You need to expand your horizons," she said. "If you stay in this little corner, your band will suffer eventually."

The Premier quailed. "We already have, and me, especially. I can't believe I let you see me like that yesterday. Like some bumbling idiot. I can't believe I thought it a good idea…."

"Premier!" his conversation partner shouted. "You were just doing it again. I noticed the band doesn't hold that against you, and I don't either. Whatever you went through must have been hard. But I feel the band respects you for it."

"Well," he began, relief washing over his face, "Those are some kind words." He looked at her and smiled with a shimmer in his eyes. It might have just been a trick from their emanating electricity, however.

Nonetheless, she averted his gaze. She asked, "Now, back to the topic?"

"Yes. We need someone with your skills." He rose and faced her. "How exactly do you tell direction, for one?"

"For starters, the sun."

The Premier nodded. "It rises in the east, and sets in the west," he said automatically.

The outsider concurred. "It does, but that's an easy one." She dislodged from the tree and asked, "Know anything else?"

The Premier racked his brain and said, "Moss grows on the north side of things."

She put up a finger in approval. "Usually. The north side stays wetter, and moss likes the damp since the sun's always in the southern part of the sky."

The Premier inched closer to her and said, "So that's the reason. I never thought about it. Then again no one here really did."

She laughed and said, "Well, there's something I want to show you." She looked at the sky, which was rather cloudless. "We'll have a better view from the lake." She focused on the Premier and asked, "Will you follow me?"

"Of course, I know we won't get lost."

They shifted through the foliage. The forest was inky from the lack of light since the sun set over an hour ago. The two toxtricity lit up the area like moving beacons. After walking through the undergrowth and happening upon some rushes, they met the lake, their view open to the north and west. The breeze was light, which formed tiny ripples on the water's surface. A few cumulus clouds dotted the sky above, but not enough to distract the outsider from her task.

She turned and directed the Premier's attention. She pointed at a "W" formation in the sky. "Look there. See those stars that look like a zigzagoon's coat?" She appeared as if she traced the formation with a finger.

"Where?" he mused, trying to locate it.

They stood next to each other, shoulder to shoulder. She instinctively wrapped her arm across his back and clasped his right shoulder. The recruit felt the tingling of his frill on her arm. She guided him to it using the longest finger of her left hand. "Oh, okay," he said.

"Now, from that point, go across… and there. See that star?"

"Yes."

"No matter the season, that star is visible. It's always in the north."

He nodded and held a satisfied expression. He kept his eye on the north star. "I'll need to remember that."

"There's another way to find it. See those stars there? The ones dipping down? Those two at the end… follow them up, and you'll get to the same star."

He tried it out for himself, succeeded, and asked, "Who taught you this?" His face was inches from hers.

The shadows obscured her flushing complexion. She broke free of the close contact and stood a foot from him. "A psychic pokémon. Reuniclus."

"The same one that you let access your memory?"

"I trusted him. He helped me a lot."

"What if the sky's cloudy? Like it is most of the time?"

"Then the foliage says a lot. I usually rely on that more. The stars change throughout the four-season, and I still haven't been able to understand them the way Reuniclus does. He's been around a while, though."

She continued, "Here's your next lesson: The southern side generally gets more light. Trees are a good way to spot this if you find one standing alone. Oftentimes the southern section grows out wider, while the northern half grows more vertically. They all are trying to soak up the sun's rays most efficiently."

His mouth remained parted in bafflement. "How much more can you tell me?"

"I can find examples, but it's dark."

"All right." He clasped her arm, which startled her. She looked at him. "The band needs to call you something besides 'Outsider'."

She perked up with delight. "Agreed."

"Now… hum. Perhaps Guide? No, that's bland. Pilot? No, our kind can't fly." The Premier laughed. "I'm not good at naming my band members. Perhaps you have an idea? It will be your name here, after all."

The outsider looked at the stars, admiring them as she thought. "Director," she said with a smile, turning her face toward the Premier.

The Premier nodded. "A great title; authoritative and precise. All right then, miss Director, if anyone needs to get to an unknown place or if we need to find someone outside our turf, you're our lady. I want to learn all that you know. In return, I will train you."

The Director. She officially had a spot in the band. She felt a sense of gratitude suffuse though her chest. "Thank you," she said. She gently pushed away his arm.

"My pleasure," he responded. "Now… Mason will enjoy fixing up that cabin for you. Taylor can give you some fresh blankets, too."


Three weeks later, the Director was growing frustrated with the Premier and his unforgiving sister. The trio stood in the forest, in the same narrow glade, where they argued concerning the youngest and her training.

"I can perform the move. Wasn't that the goal?" the young low-ender protested.

Sentinel ignored her and told her brother, "Can she even slap? She'll fail at being a low-ender more than she already has been."

The Premier looked at his sister dubiously. He placed a hand on his chest's organs and declared in a stringent tone, "I…I told you. I can't teach her that. We went over this. Will you teach her?"

"No!" she burst, as if asking her was an insult.

Performing toxtricity's signature move—which to other pokémon was their loud, notorious one— was paramount. Overdrive was like a discharge attack that added striking the chest's organs to produce electrically amplified sound waves. Yet, to the Director's own kind, it wasn't enough. She had to perform the technique in tune for their approval.

"She sounds like a squealing whismur who just lost its mother," Sentinel said, folding her arms across her chest and glowering at her brother.

The Director noticed during these sessions the leader never refuted his sister. At times the Director wondered why Sentinel simply didn't lead the band in the first place, not that the young low-ender ever wished for that. Sentinel was older than the Premier and had heirs to inherit his title. The past that blighted him still might be the reason for his having no recent mate and no children in the band present.

"I wasn't around toxtricity for four-seasons," the Director explained, trying not to sound too cross. "I don't remember low-enders playing specifically. My mother was amped like him." She looked at the Premier, her helpless gaze asking for his help in the matter. "How should I know what I should sound like?"

Thankfully, the Premier was more constructive. He stood before her and rested his hands on her shoulders. He took a deep breath and said, "First, you got too much feedback. Second, you are too tense. Your tones are too high for a low-ender. You need to relax."

"Can your sister at least lay off a bit?" she asked.

Sentinel laughed and then said, "You sound terrible. It grates my ears! At this rate you'll end up like your cousin."

The Director learned that her cousin, Fisher, was childless for she was barren from familial inbreeding. If toxtricity cannot play well mates of their own species often rejected them. "Thanks, I appreciate that," the Director spat.

"Not now," the Premier scolded. His irritation increased during these sessions whenever his sister showed up, as her ridicule didn't help his apprentice. He flashed a rare grimace at his sister and said, "Don't speak about Fisher like that, Sis. You know better."

The Director wordlessly hissed at Sentinel's base jab. Sentinel was envious of Fisher now for her good relationship with Hunter. Sentinel's nasty attitude toward her youngest children made her former mate ditch her.

"Sentinel, leave," a gravelly, tired voice expressed.

The Premier hadn't spoken, and the only other bandmate that could tell Sentinel to shove off was the oldest one. The band often played in the shared area, but the Director was so bad the band exiled her to the forest where the trees and foliage could buffer her shrill noise. The three toxtricity observed the elder, or to name him properly, the Senior Medic, hobble toward them.

"She didn't grow up alongside toxtricity," the ancient low-ender said. "Her ear can't quite detect tune yet."

The Director felt inundated with relief. "This is what I've been telling you for days!" She looked at the two band leaders.

"What do we do?" Sentinel asked. "Wait until she'll understand it? If she can?"

The Medic looked the snarky toxtricity in the eye and repeated, "Leave, Sentinel."

Sentinel's lip curled and she stalked toward the common grounds. "I'm wasting time here, anyway," she said as she left.

"And you," the Medic said, pointing at the Premier, "Need to be patient. She's not going anywhere."

"I might if Sentinel doesn't quit it," the Director said.

The Medic shook his head. "I doubt that, Lass. Now shut up."

The Director still felt faked out whenever she considered that this old toxtricity was her grandfather. She assumed since her mother was dead her grandparents were too. Yet, being a medic clearly had longevity benefits.

"If she can make horrible noise, teach her boomburst," the elder suggested.

"Now?" the Premier asked, looking sideswiped. "But what about her playing ability? We need that addressed."

"She'll get better the more low-enders she hears. Not like we're short on them," he said. "No one's going to haul her away, sounding like she does."

The Director became fed up and said, "Okay! Stop telling me I sound terrible."

"I was telling him that, dear," the elder said, looking at the Premier. "Not everything is all about you."

She rolled her eyes. "If so, the band would leave me alone for once. And I wish everyone would stop talking about me like I'm not here. Ironic that you have a navigator now, yet no one wants my guidance."

"You must earn the band's respect first, lass," the elder said.

"Which translates as I must do everything the way the band wants me to," she replied. "I haven't lived here a moon and you want me to be just like the rest of you."

"Like what?" the Medic asked. "Like toxtricity? Miss, you've no doubt noticed that your behavior has changed since you evolved."

"It has?" she hissed. "Or must it because so many pokémon distrust us for being punks through and through? Which came first?"

The Premier stepped between the two contesting family members. He looked at the Director and said, "We don't know who started it. We're infamous for our noise, but that's the very thing that prevents us from being wiped clean from existence."

The Director blinked and ceased her rant. "Is that true?"

"Lass," the elder started, "Psychics can't focus when bombarded by our racket, and all pokémon but us can't translate what our—" he strummed his chest— "playing means." His notes conveyed the words, "Listen to us."

"Wait," the Director said, holding up a hand. "Is that why you're so wary of ditto?"

"Indeed," the ancient low-ender said, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Some smart enemies of ours try and wheedle one in here to figure out our other means of speech."

"Which is why playing in tune is so important," the leader said. "The ditto can't get our sounds right, despite what form it copies."

This realization, which the Director wished she noticed earlier, hit her like an earthquake. Her kin were trying to help her integrate into the band and be taken seriously by any other toxtricity she might encounter. She blushed and pressed her palm against her forehead. "I see," she said.

"We've not met a case like you before," the band leader claimed. "The youngsters understand this threat of invasion and grasp these concepts much faster."

"They also see and hear playing daily, since birth," the Director added. "Yet, it's no surprise they know nothing outside of their bubble. But… boomburst. What is it?" she asked them.

"This," the Premier said as he cast his arms out and emitted a wall of noise right at the Director. She instinctively covered her face with her hands. She had no chance no contemplate why he demonstrated the attack on her as it assaulted her hearing. The "boom" part of the move's name revealed itself as she felt the percussion reverberating in her own body. The move hurt, but it wasn't as bad as she expected, especially coming from the band's strongest member.

After the attack finished, the young low-ender breathed heavily, but she remained standing. After she steadied herself and caught her breath, she hollered, "You used it on me! Damn!"

"The attack packs a wallop," her grandfather explained. He approached her and handed her a sitrus berry that the Premier reserved in case of an injury. "You handled it well, so… you're an independent one."

The Director popped the bland berry into her mouth and her saliva melted it down. After swallowing she felt relief. "Why'd you attack me?" she asked the band leader.

"The move is destructive, and it's best for you to know what damage you can inflict. Not to mention, like he said, it shows you're a toxtricity that isn't as affected by sound-based attacks. Most of us aren't as strong unless we're surrounded by other toxtricity."

"Those are our abilities?" she asked.

"Yes. Which is why I want you to learn this move," the elder said. "We noticed your overdrive was powerful, but we didn't know if you were operating on minus or punk rock. You have the latter."

"Why are they called that?"

The elder smiled. "Ah, you sure like a story. For low-enders it's minus, for the amped it's plus. Opposite charges attract, you see."

"Punk rock?" she asked, holding back a laugh.

The Premier joked, "Remember how bad I am with names? That's for most of us punks, you know. Each species names their own, and we decided to call ourselves punks, but for cycles now other pokémon use it as a slur. So, we decided to call ourselves something practical and literal— toxtricity. Not too much to debate there, same for toxel."

"I get it now," she said, looking at the cliff that contained their dens. "Am I stronger with that ability?"

The old low-ender shook his head. "No. We are stronger as a group, but alone, you are stronger if you use a move that produces noise."

She shrugged. "Small compensation if I sound like shit."

"This move is supposed to sound jarring," the Premier explained. "The worse, the better. You must use it mindfully, or else you can fall trees and rocks."

"Or blow apart a mountainside," a smirking Medic said. "Make sure you aim it at a target."

The Premier walked in front of her. "It's not difficult for us to perform. Overdrive is harder. Do what I did. Visualize waves of sound hurling at your target and be as loud as you can. Your sound will be deeper, of course."

She cocked her head and asked, "There's no need for tuning with this?"

"None," he said, shaking his head. "A select other pokémon can perform this too."

"Are you my target?" she asked, her eyes widening.

He didn't answer her directly—another toxtricity quirk— and said, "I didn't attack you for no reason."

He sounded self-assured. She retorted, "You think I'm weak."

"No," the band leader said. "Remember you're just evolved, and I've cycles on you."

"So… still weak."

The Medic clucked his tongue and repeated, "Not everyone is thinking about you, lass. Your own kind surround you. We're not rubbernecking like you're an oddity."

"Then what are they thinking about?" she challenged, since he said this twice.

The elder chuckled. "Who will be their next mate."

"That doesn't include you," she told him.

"No longer," he admitted. "I had enough children, and I've outlived them all." He appeared distant for several seconds.

"Wait, all of them have perished?" she asked with surprise.

The Medic nodded slowly. "Don't forget. Most of the band was and still are… badly inbred. How I'm still here is a miracle."

She looked at the Premier. "So, Fisher's mum passed too? How do you know?"

"She fled with her followers, but they overestimated their strength in the outside world. Plus, they had no clue where they were going, but now we solved that problem." The Director swore he winked at her. "After seven cycles, the survivors, if there are any, have gotten too old to pose a threat."

The Medic coughed.

"Not saying you're useless, Elder. But you know a thirty-something-cycle toxtricity isn't going to threaten anyone."

"Thirty-four," he clarified.

"Aren't we lucky to reach thirty?" the Director asked as she suddenly captured the discolored spots, varicose veins, and sagging skin on her grandfather's body.

"Yes… I've noticed that the low-enders usually live a bit longer though." He put his right hand on his left shoulder and patted it twice.

"Since they aren't so brash," she said with a laugh.

"Hey!" the Premier shouted. "Well, you low-enders are a bit slow. We were training here, remember?"

"Of course, how can I forget!" she cried, slapping her hand against her forehead. "So here it is!" She turned toward the Premier, curled in toward her torso, and then she summoned horrid sound waves and attacked him, catching him off guard like he had done to her.

The Premier's face contorted with shock as the move landed. He remained standing but he vainly tried to cover his auditory openings behind the spike on each side of his head. The Director knew the attack not only affected one by ear but collided within the target's body like a ricocheting projectile.

Behind her, the elder clapped. "Great first try."

"I had to vent my frustration," she said with a devious smile.

"You got it down," the Premier said as he hobbled over to her. Despite flaunting his strength, she managed to injure him. He put his hand on her left shoulder to steady himself. He looked her in the eye and said, "Now you're on your way. All we need to worry about is your playing."

"Once I do that, I'm all set!" she announced, pumping her fist into the air.

"Set for what?" the Medic asked, his head cocked like he could prophesy her response.

"I never intended to stay here," she said. "I wanted to be trained, that's all."

The elder shook his head. "Where will you go, Lass?" he asked. "You already said your foster band doesn't want you back. You were lucky that dragon let you escape with your life. You might not be so fortunate next time."

"And you said many pokémon you met on the way up here took you for a scoundrel," the Premier added. "Will you wonder about alone again? Here the band supplements your safety. Eventually, they will come to like you."

She was flabbergasted that they had listened to those details of her initial story from a moon ago. Although the Premier listened to his band mates and earned the band's respect from it… which was the primary reason the Director guessed his sister wasn't solely in charge. "What about your sister? She hates me."

"She's in her twenties now, and…" he turned his face away, closing his eyes. "She needs to be replaced."

The young low-ender struck her chest in shock. "What? You'll tell her to piss off?" That was the most welcome news she'd heard since Dragapult agreed to help her evolve.

"Ease up," he warned. "She helped raise me, and she's been there for me my whole life. It's no easy decision of mine. Just that, with how we're structured now, her eldest son is next in line unless I have the heir."

The Director gaped. She grasped what her grandfather told the Premier earlier. No wonder why Scavenger wanted to claim her as soon as possible. She felt a gnawing sensation in her chest, and she stuttered, "Yet… why don't you have a mate?"

His eyes softened. "The leading low-ender always trains the other ones. Yet I've been training you. My sister doesn't like you for a good reason."

Fisher's words about Sentinel and the Premier's words coalesced, striking her like lightning. "I'm threatening her position because you're… interested in me?" The words tumbled out of her mouth, feeling tense and far away.

"Naturally," he admitted, studying her expression. The Director felt her face burning, and she pushed away the urge to flee. "Fisher is infertile. You're the last of your grandfather's immediate line, who are related to former Premiers. I've fought too hard to hand it to my nephew when I die. The band will decline and might not survive."

"I'll leave you two to discuss this," the elder said, and he politely turned back and staggered toward the common grounds.