ACT ONE - IMMOLATION
Chapter 9 - Mawile, the Kidnapper
Somewhere in Viridian Forest
Growlithe crouched down on the floor, his deep crimson eyes staring past the shackles of his cage. Just like every other time in the past, the procedure incited an uncomfortable feeling of vertigo in him. The rock-cut contraption that was his cage was slowly taken out of the underground basement and lifted to the upper floors. The discomfort finally stopped, as his cage came to a screeching halt. A few moments later, the door to his cage slowly started rising, allowing him to exit. Just like always.
Any other creature would have taken the opportunity to flee, to escape the torturous solitude of this prison. But Growlithe knew better now. He had already tried to escape when he was younger, foolishly thinking that his captors had perhaps forgotten to lock him in and left the gate open. Growlithe preferred not to think about what happened next. Needless to say, he had not tried to flee in this manner again.
This was not an outlet for his freedom. This was a death-match and his ticket to survival. Then again, when survival simply meant staying locked in the basement, it didn't sound very enticing. Nevertheless, Growlithe slowly pushed himself out of it, leaping into the large rock arena spanning several yards in radius. He felt his legs hit the floor and hissed in pain.
Growlithe were creatures that were naturally used to running around, and the development of their hind limbs was dependent upon their physical exercise. Down in the basement, all Growlithe had was a large chamber, a place where he lived with a few others of his kind. It provided just enough space to lie down or walk around, but definitely not enough to run. As a result, his limbs had grown weaker with time, forcing him to develop other modes of combat. It was imperative for his continued survival, and staying alive required him to get through constant battles to the death with these… creatures that those men-in-white threw at him.
Growlithe didn't blame them. After all, those creatures were captives, just like himself. They were slaves— pokémon who were bred in captivity, and would most likely die in captivity as well.
Growlithe, would not.
It was something of an instinctual drive in him. To escape, to be free, to get out of this white-walled maze, and run out into the warm world outside. Growlithe often dreamt of the world outside. What would it be like? Was it filled with men-in-white, experimenting on creatures for their sick amusement? It did not matter. Even if it was the last thing he did, he would be free. And to achieve freedom, Growlithe needed two things— to stay alive, no matter the cost, and to gain strength.
A sharp throb in his leg drew him out of his thoughts.
Right, the deathmatch.
He had been in several other of these matches, and he'd won every single time. His continued survival was proof of that. Several of his opponents were houndour. For some reason, the men-in-white loved making him fight houndour. He remembered facing a sandshrew once, and then there was a cruel-looking poliwhirl who had nearly beaten him to death. Most death-matches were difficult, and more often than not, Growlithe had been injured, but he had preserved. He had won. And he would win again. Right until he got strong enough to rip his way out of this prison. But now he was weak. He would have to comply if he wanted to survive. He would have to—
"Subject X-13," Growlithe heard a man-in-white speaking from behind the glass-protected balcony on the edge of the battleground. Nothing to be surprised about. It was part of the usual procedure.
"Natural move set, Fire Fang, Acid and Flame Burst. Lack of Poison moves so far. Inculcation of Smog TM has resulted in a mutated acid version, codenamed Acid Smog. Acid Smog is the only synthetic move recorded so far."
Pause.
"Observation— consistent victories against poison-types without getting poisoned. Inference— immunity to poison. Observation— energy reserves increase when exposed to flames. Inference— Flash Fire ability active. Observation— the subject has shown muscular and surface-level regeneration, far beyond the natural capabilities of its species. Complete regeneration from a Level-4 injury in less than five hours. Inference— Ability, Regenerator."
Another pause.
"Out of all other subjects in Basement 105, Subject X-13 has shown positive reports upon the inculcation of B-17 DNA, and consequent adaptation to it. Skin color— minor discoloration. Light purple fur. "
Growlithe was beginning to get irritated. Why did they list this every single time he had to fight?
"Physical stamina lower than a standard growlithe. Observation— signs of physical weakening of limb muscles from lack of exertion. Recommendation— physical exercise and observe if it impacts behavioral and physiological changes."
Well, of course, he would have lower stamina than a normal growlithe. He was barely allowed to leave his cage, forget about exercise.
"Significant reserves. High affinity for both fire and acid-based attacks. Mutation of natural Smog into Acid Smog supports this hypothesis. Further testing with intermediate-tier moves to test reserve-limit and efficiency is recommended. Observation— psychologically submissive to orders. Observation— no reaction to poison-type TMs. Inference— lack of poison ability, though subject demonstrates extreme immunity from it, possibly a byproduct of regenerator. No reaction to dragon-type TMs suggests that the previous hypothesis of all traits carrying over is false. Continued survival from mutations indicates that adaptability is active."
The man in the white coat gave one last look at the growlithe before speaking up again.
"Qualified for the final test before transport."
There was a sound of something metallic being dragged from somewhere, and soon enough, a second contraption arrived on the other side of the rocky battleground. Growlithe squinted warily as the cage swung open, trying to analyze his opponent for the next battle. It was a large red crustacean with two large pincers on either of its forelimbs. More importantly, however, it reeked of the sea.
A water type then. Growlithe cursed internally. Not built for speed though judging from its legs. Considering the pincers and the obvious exoskeleton, he inferred that it was probably some kind of water-bug.
This was a deathmatch, but more importantly, this was his final test. Should he win, he'd be sent to another location, which meant getting out of this white-walled prison. He knew this because several other creatures from the other cells of the basement were also transferred from time to time. It was fascinating to think of how much one could learn simply by keeping their ears open. And for all the cruelty these men-in-white and their workers demonstrated, they weren't exceptionally sharp. That, or perhaps they didn't consider pokémon intelligent enough to understand what they were saying. Or they just didn't care
But Growlithe did care. Should this final test come to a successful completion, he would be locked up and kept in custody for two days, away from the rest of the herd down in the basement. A few days later and someone would arrive and take Growlithe away to the Base, as they called it. He didn't know where that was, and if his plan went perfectly, he'd never need to either.
But first, I need to kill this bug-thing.
Without further ado, he opened his mouth and released a tiny clump of flame.
A probing attack.
The crustacean raised his claws and deflected the incoming barrage without so much as a scratch.
Strong armor? Is it a steel-type? Growlithe reevaluated. No, there would be some melt from the flame.
He circled the pokémon cautiously waiting to see what it would do. The beast watched him for a brief moment before it opened one of its pincers and launched a torrent of water at him. If not for his weakened legs, Growlithe could have easily dodged it, but that was not to be. The torrent of water slammed into his abdomen, causing him to whimper as he was thrown against the wall.
I was right. A water-type with a hard exoskeleton. Growlithe cursed, trying to push himself up. Well, fire attacks were out of consideration. That exoskeleton was probably strong enough to throw off a Flame Burst, and most water-types had an abnormally high moisture content on their surfaces, weakening fire moves even more.
Need to get in closer.
Had the pokémon been made of flesh, he could have harmed it with enough fire, typing be damned. But a water-typing with an exoskeleton was a tough nut to crack. Perhaps something along the lines of a Flamethrower could melt through it, but as high as Growlithe's reserves were, he hadn't gained enough control to bring forth something like that. Not yet.
Acid it is then.
He pushed himself up on his legs and took a deep breath to steady himself. It always helped, or at least he thought it did. Growlithe leaped ahead and opened his maw, releasing a thick, dark-purple smog outward, propelling it towards the crustacean
The corphish looked at the purple gas-cloud and pushed itself backward. It evidently recognised the technique. Keeping its eyes on growlithe, the corphish lifted both pincers and launched twin jets of water at the smog, diluting it.
Had it been poison gas, it would have worked out exactly the way the corphish expected it to. But this was acid, and an extremely corrosive one at that. Over the course of his life, Growlithe had seen his acid melt rock, metal and almost anything else. It was why he had a special collar made up of a special alloy on his neck— everything else had been corroded by his Acid Smog.
The collar also acted as a means to put him in line, releasing an electric current straight into his body— easily enough to induce temporary paralysis on his person, but not enough to cause severe damage. After all, damaging what was essentially a successful experiment after hundreds of failures would not be treated casually.
The Acid Smog, despite the mild dilution, fell all over corphish's body, and much to the crustacean's surprise, a tiny hissing sound began to be produced as the corrosive substance began to burn through the outer layers of its shell. It would be a long time before it would eventually corrode through the skeleton, but the shock it felt from watching its outer layer essentially start dissolving was more than enough to throw the corphish's mind into discordance.
Taking advantage of its distraction, Growlithe slowly moved into Corphish's blind spot. For some reason, he was able to move through the acid with almost no problem. In the next instant, he opened his jaws open as wide as he could, allowing his corrosive acid to fill his mouth before bitting into the corphish's back. Its exoskeleton, while tough, simply melted under his acid, causing the corphish to screech in pain and fury.
This only made Growlithe bite down harder, inwardly rejoicing as he penetrated its exoskeleton with his fangs.
And then he ignited them.
The crustacean swayed and tried to throw him off, but with the acid corroding him from the outside, and the flames now burning him from the inside, Corphish could do nothing. Growlithe continued its latch on its back as its trashes weakened before it finally stilled. He held on for a few more seconds, to make sure that it wasn't playing dead, before tentatively releasing the creature's neck and slowly backed away.
Growlithe panted, still eyeing the dead pokémon, feeling somewhat tired as the adrenaline faded from his body. He had won and survived. Which meant he would be transferred to the Base. Today might be the last chance he would get to escape. He would have to—
Hisssssss…
What is that? Growlithe wondered for a moment before looking at a series of sinister-looking perforations along the walls of the battleground. They were releasing a gas, which quickly interacted with Growlithe's own senses.
Sleep Powder… and Stun Spore? I should have… The thought remained unfinished as the small creature collapsed, unmoving.
His senses were active. Well, most of them anyway. His sense of touch had gone awry, and the paralytic effect of the stun spore was keeping him from moving. His eyelids flickered— enough to let him know what was happening, but not enough for others to deduce that he was awake. The fact that his entire body was paralyzed probably helped too.
He'd need to throw it off as soon as possible. It would not do to destroy his sole chance of escape because of a little paralysis. Unknown to the workers in special bodysuits, Growlithe's body began working, producing minute amounts of acid. He needed the paralytic chemicals gone, and while he couldn't work on the chemicals directly, the affected tissues were fair game. Ironically, it was probably for the best that he was paralyzed right now. The corrosion of his inner tissues would likely cause him to spasm otherwise.
Two more humans— dressed completely in black —entered the room after that, firing those metallic strips from their wrists. He knew how those worked— they would first bind his mouth shut and then clamp his forelimbs and hindlimbs together, preventing any chance of escape. He was used to this treatment. At this point, any attempt at escape would be in vain. The paralysis slowly starting to lose effect but he remained unmoving
Not yet.
He knew what was next. First was the needles— they'd poke his body with them multiple times. He had thought they were going to cut him up when it first happened, perhaps as some sick game that humans played but he soon realized that their goal was in the small bottles they kept filling. With his blood.
Why these humans needed to keep taking baffled him but he healed quickly, so it didn't really matter. Besides...
If I pull this off, then none of this will matter anymore.
"Will that be all, Doctor Namba?"
The man in black, Growlithe noticed, seemed to be talking to the man in the white bodysuit.
"It should do. This specimen has been a success. The serum we have from this one will now undergo further testing. We need to see if we can use the serum to replicate our results on other growlithe. Regardless, we need to preserve this specimen. It remains incredibly valuable until we replicate the results. It will be sent to Ranch-6 for safekeeping. "
"And if the serum doesn't work?"
The doctor scoffed. "If not, it can always be used as breeding stock. Worst comes to worst, we'll have to vivisect it for further study. Though Proton has expressed his interest. He is weirdly interested in these… synthetic creatures.
"It can hardly move." The man in black spoke up.
"It hardly needs to," The doctor snorted " It can always undergo rehabilitation in the reserve if necessary. Now take this thing to the warehouse. Move it to Base F9 first thing tomorrow. Along with the eevee and the gligar. Is that clear?"
"Crystal."
"Excellent," The doctor stated as he left the lab. "Get this one dealt with."
Before Growlithe could figure what that meant, a thin needle penetrated his skin, right beneath his neck, sending a searing pain down his spine.
What was going on? Wasn't he going to survive? Wasn't he supposed to be transported? Wasn't he— Had they known that he was awake all along?
At this point, it even hurt to think. Growlithe was almost happy to fall back into the gentle darkness.
...
…
…
The first thing that Growlithe noticed was his lack of pain.
Normally, whenever he had been injected with a strange drug, the pain would last for days. It was the sort of thing injected into captives that acted up or tried to escape. When Growlithe had experienced the raw pain back at the white-walled maze, he had thought that he had been caught pretending and had been sentenced to death.
But, he hadn't, and the pain…
Oh.
His acid had worked in a sense. He had literally corroded some of his own tissue to burn out the aced. This was made harder by the fact that he was heavily resistant to his own acid. Regardless, whatever he had been injected with seemed to have dissipated which is why he was awake. From what he could ascertain, most of his wounds seemed to have regenerated, but before he checked any further, something else caught his attention.
He was not in the white-walled maze anymore.
It was a dimly lit room of some sort. He wished he could see more, but his cage didn't exactly give him a birdseye view of the situation. The two black-clad humans were sitting in chairs a little away from his new cag, but the white-robed ones were thankfully absent.
Growlithe did not like the whitecoat humans.
His current cage looked like it had seen better days, and probably wouldn't be too difficult to break through the main problem though was the large boulder-like creature. It had two large hands protruding out of the central rock, and while Growlithe was reliably certain that his acid could corrode it, it would take time. More than enough time for the rock-type to kill him. He glanced back at the two men, who seemed to be engrossed in some human form of recreation.
Growlithe thought a bit about his current situation. He smelt something pungent nearby, which was probably a Koffing, but past that, he could smell the earth and tree sap. The inference was clear—he was out of the maze, and probably somewhere in the middle of the forest. Did that mean that this was his chance of escape? Could it be possible?
He needed to be sure. His limbs still ached, but that was something he was used to. While the cage might be laughably easy to get out of, there was still the added difficulty of doing so without triggering everything else. He wrinkled his nose again.
It smells disgusting.
"Hey, Colin," One of the men spoke, "You do have some meatloaves, right? Can't let it starve to death."
"Yeah" The other man responded. It's in the back.
"Say," The other human— Colin or something —said as he started making his way to the back of the warehouse, "if the doctor or any of the executives found out that we aren't taking the specimens to the reserve, and instead, giving them off to the… the..."
"Don't be squeamish about it, Colin." The first man spoke. "We're selling them to the Kanto League. You know that that's the only way out of this dump. It will grant us immunity."
"But… you know… it's the League. What happens if the whole thing crashes and burns? We're gonna be the ones picking up the pieces if the league decides to bail on us."
"That's not gonna happen," The man sounded a little less confident this time, "That's why I'm doing this through a mediator. We transfer the gligar first. It's a sickly little thing. Don't know what the crazy bastard finds 'successful' in that one. If the league thinks it good enough, then we can barter for immunity in exchange for information about the base, and get a higher price for the eevee and the growlithe. I know a man in Celadon who'd purchase that little son of a bitch for a high price."
"Who's this mediator?"
" He's… a friend. Don't worry"
"I don't…"
"Stop being so negative. We should celebrate. Even if this entire deal with the league falls apart, we can just transport the other two to the reserve. They're animals, you know. Accidents happen. We can just say it died somehow. As it is, the doctor barely looks into the basement."
"You've got a point there," Colin mumbled.
"Yeah, so why don't you fetch us one of those wine bottles? It's not like we have anything to do unless the customer arrives."
And so it continued. For one hour. And then the next.
The movements over the earth had ceased completely. Growlithe didn't really understand how, but he had always been rather… sensitive to such motion— the slightest vibrations enough to give him an indication of another's presence. Of course, his olfactory and auditory senses were sharper and more useful, but given how he had grown up, the third sense had been a boon.
No movements at all. Not even the rock-type seemed to move. The two people were still there, presumably sleeping. It was time.
A pair of crimson eyes lit up. The two men were still there, but the graveler wasn't. Had it rolled off in its sleep? Or perhaps it had been returned to its pokéball.
From what his senses told him, it was dark outside.
Perfect.
With exaggerated slowness, he lifted his head, liberating a thick, viscous substance from his mouth. It wasn't the same Acid Smog he had used earlier. This was a concentrated version of it, superheated to extreme temperatures to create a highly corrosive substance. It was the only thing he had been able to keep to himself, and not display during those death-matches.
The vile stench of the vapor permeated the room, slowly diffusing into the air. The important part was that the metal cage had almost been fully corroded. Just a few seconds more and there would be an open gate for Growlithe to break out of.
Freedom was near.
"Eh!" One of the men moved in his sleep. "Such a vile stench. That weezing of yours got out again. Return it, you moron."
Growlithe felt hysteria coming down on him. If the humans realized what was going on, he would probably be killed. There was no time to waste any longer.
It was time for action.
Without further ado, he exhaled again, burning his way through the rest of the rods, leaping out of it, fighting an irrepressible urge to woof in joy of his new-found freedom.
"Put that weezing away, Colin." The man spoke out, a little louder this time.
"I don't have it. It's in the other room." Colin mumbled, wrinkling his nose as the smell got to him as well.
Growlithe didn't stick around. He was finally free. Silently, he leaped out of the chamber and ran out, his paw-pads dampening the sounds his feet made while running. He crossed the outer corridor and reached a second room, with a large metallic gate in the center, and walls all around.
Dead end. I cannot climb out of this. Burning my way out will take too long. What do I—?
The answer was right there, floating a few feet above him.
Koffing and weezing.
There were two of the former, and one of the latter. All three levitating above the ground, snoring away happily. They seemed to be connected by some sort of tube system. At the very least most of the gas they were releasing was being collected.
Their vile, stinky, poisonous and more importantly ignitable gas.
For the first time in a very long while Growlithe smiled.
Mawile was having a bad week.
An excruciatingly bad week to be honest. It had all started with her own vexation with Shellder's impudence, something that had led them to encounter the orangette Misty, and things had only spiraled downward from there. Red, like the doofus he was, had agreed to provide his services and catch her those bugs in return for a meager amount of money. Mawile had almost face-palmed when he had agreed without even bargaining over the contracted amount.
And had lost his, and Mawile's independence and peace of mind in the process.
It had been slow and subtle in the beginning. The orangette had put on high airs and pretended to lord over Red when it came to decision-making. That had led them through a wild goose-chase for two days before Red had grown a spine and revolted against her, though Mawile liked to think that it was her personal tantrums that had gotten to him and made him realize the truth.
And look, in less than half a week's time, they had gotten two of the bugs captured. Mawile shuddered to think what would have happened if Red had allowed Misty to lead the way all this time. With the way her luck worked, she'd still be circling the forest. You'd think that the experience would be enough for Red to identify the cause of his troubles— the orangette —and force her to let him do his job and keep her mouth shut. But no, he still kept talking to her, and the orangette kept mincing words back.
Clever girl!
Of course, Mawile knew it all. She understood that the orangette had simply changed tactics. It was practically Deception 101. Lording around didn't work since the environment wasn't suitable. Pretending to be high-strung and a snob didn't work as well for similar reasons. That was why the orangette, Misty— a name Mawile had come to hate —had changed tracks and was now trying to woo Red for his affections. It had become so unbearable that Mawile had decided to retire to her pokéball and rest for a while, clinging to the futile possibility that an extended exposure to the girl might point out the truth to him.
After all, if you pummelled someone in the face enough, sooner or later they understood that you were not to be trifled with. Exposure to the orangette shouldn't have been any different. Any sensible individual would probably understand that.
Right?
She couldn't have been more wrong.
Apparently, over a day had passed since Mawile had returned to her pokéball. Since then, the two humans had nearly been impaled by pinsir— Mawile didn't know what they were, but she supposed that they'd be strong enough to incite such a reaction —and apparently Red had saved her in some peculiar fashion. When he had finally released Mawile and company later in the evening, they even had a tent ready, and what was worse —the orangette would be sleeping in their tent.
Mawile had a strong suspicion that this orangette had access to the more chaotic energies and was somehow ensnaring Red. What else could explain the fact that Shellder liked her? Both freeloaders, both having the eerie similarity of attracting Red's attention through dubious means, and most importantly, both being sources of headache for her. At least Shellder was good at Double Team and had this weird water-type move under progress. All Misty did was bark.
It drove her mad. For one moment, she had even considered eating the orange monster up, but Red would be very angry and she didn't want to provoke him. She had the experience of an annoyed Red, and knowing him, he could come up with some pretty innovative ways to punish her.
Thoughts of the notebook flickered through her mind.
Shaking off the morbid thoughts of sinister possibilities in the near-future, Mawile considered the more immediate concern that was plaguing her. Well, not just her in general, but the entire group.
Someone had stolen their food. Their dinner had vanished from right under their noses. Red hadn't painstakingly cooked food for her, Skarmory and 'the freeloaders' just so that someone could prey upon it. Mawile wouldn't have minded if it was only Misty's food that had been stolen. She was just awful and deserved to have her food stolen. In fact, if Mawile was teaching someone how to steal, Misty's food would be the first target.
After all, every thief needed to grow into their maturity and while it was important to dream big, it was essential to start small. Start with lesser, insignificant things, and steal from those who deserved it. The art of theft was no simple technique and needed to be honed with due diligence. She'd know.
But to steal from her? That was sacrilege, and Mawile wanted to pronounce judgment on this depraved pervert, whoever it might be. She'd tear their impudent hide off their skin with her jaw for this transgression and—
"Mawile, stop frowning at your bowl and eat it. I'll make something nicer for you in the morning." Red's voice shook her from her train of thought.
"Mawa?"
She spared a moment of her attention on Red to see if he had anything else to say, before the little bowl of standard poké-food and two poképuffs attracted her attention. Without another word, she silently gobbled up the poképuffs before glancing down at the center-provided poké-food with extreme distaste. Red's cooking was far better than this, and while she could always pray on some bugs the following day, Mawile couldn't help but feel cheated.
"Come on," Red tried pleadingly, using what he perhaps thought was his puppy-dog face. "Even Skarmory's eating it. In the morning, we'll see if we can find whoever stole our food."
Of course they would, Mawile mused, vindictive thoughts prowling in her mind. She'd find out the identity of this thief and then inflict her displeasure. She'd ensure that the message properly sunk in. Nothing a couple of Iron Heads couldn't achieve. It was almost a mystery just how effective a good slam did when it came to delivering one's opinion on lesser beings. Too bad that Shellder had a near-impervious shell to protect it, and the orangette was lucky enough to be a human. Not that it'd help her in the long run since she'd certainly—
"Mawile?"
Oh for goodness sake! Not wanting to displease her trainer, she scrunched up her nose and gobbled the rest. She'd plan later when Red was asleep, and this Misty creature was sleeping as well. Knowing her, she'd probably snore like Mabel, and not allow Mawile any sleep. She felt a particularly strong urge to eat Misty's head before glancing at Red and sighing in resignation.
The things I do for Red.
Two days later
It had been a bad idea. Well, that wasn't totally Red's fault, since Mawile herself was also to blame for it. Come to think of it, it was totally her fault. What had she been thinking, putting Red in charge of dealing with such a situation? Red, who had allowed a dumb mute to latch on to him for days for no good reason, and then had spent money on TMs for it to actually develop talents. Nature itself dictated that it deserved little more than sinking to the bottom of a river and remaining a pebble for eternity.
This was also the same Red who had allowed that cunning orangette to take heart from Shellder's success, and latch onto Red for her own devious reasons. And Mawile had given him the job of preventing a near-invisible thief from stealing her food.
Yep, it was totally her fault.
There had been a repeat of the theft the next day afternoon. The morning had gone well since Red had been wonderful. He had given her two extra poképuffs for breakfast. As she often swore, Red was wonderful. Mawile had then, helped herself to a couple of random bugs that had unfortunately wandered around their tent. Nothing fancy, just a couple of caterpie and a weedle. Come to think of it, she needed to avoid preying on weedle unless there was a lack of alternatives. Those tiny pointed horns were rather sharp and if Mawile hadn't been careful, she could have injured herself.
Mawile shuddered at the ominous possibility for a second, before returning to her doleful reminiscence.
Most of the day hours had been spent in her practicing a rather interesting technique Red referred to as Flash. Of course, Red being Red, had described it using large and wordy formats, before Mawile had imperiously turned to Skarmory for some… interpretation. Turned out 'gather energy and blast it' worked pretty well, despite the alarmingly simple description. However, like all of the moves Red had made her learn (not that it had been a bad thing), Flash also had a secondary, albeit much harder derivative.
Steel energy, much like fire, was extremely luminous, and if molded into a condensed state, could actually serve as a constant source of energy. Once created, the tiny light-ball (as Mawile preferred to call it) would provide light for as long as a constant input of steel-energy was being infused. Red had said something about reflective surfaces and some other jargon, but the point was, the ball made light.
And it was a big pain in the jaw. For all she cared, she could create a single light-ball, and let it burn for a while, and upon extinguishing, she could procure a second ball in a second. Why that seemed like an outrageous and inapplicable suggestion to Red was anybody's guess. No, he insisted on her being able to maintain a constant and steady connection to the light ball. She was really beginning to hate it.
Yeah, Red was wonderful on occasion, but he was also a brat. At times. He was lucky that she favored him.
Either way, it was a completely exhausted and tired Mawile that had turned to a delicious lunch only to find that the large piece of preserved steak that Red had cooked had vanished. Right beneath her nose. Literally. Everything that she had been looking forward too had vanished in a whiff of air, and that was all there was to it.
Red had settled for a confused look, while the orangette and her pet croconaw had begun to blabber something obviously unhelpful and stupid. Shellder had kept up its best impression of a non-sentient organism and Skarmory… she had been a little more pragmatic and flown into the forest to hunt.
Slamming her jaw at every single nearby rock, pebble, or flower wasn't particularly helpful in finding the thief but it did make her feel better. That said, it probably made it clear that Mawile was not above impressing her wrath on inanimate objects. Even Misty and her faithful Croconaw had stopped their nonsense blabber after that.
At least Red had the sense to get her some poképuffs from his considerably depleted collection. Had he mustered a little bit of courage back in Viridian, they might have gotten back Mawile's treasure chest, but that was neither here nor there.
The next day had been a repeat of the first, and just as she had anticipated, the food had vanished before either of them could have done anything. That said, there had been some progress. From what Mawile understood, the thief was an alarmingly fast creature, who also employed deception (like any self-respecting thief would). A high-pitched noise had flooded her eardrums, inducing extreme discomfort and causing Mawile to clench her teeth in extreme irritation. And before she knew it, the discomforting sound had vanished, as had their food.
Red had stared at the leftover kitchen equipment for several minutes. Perhaps he had been hoping that staring at it for long would cause food to materialize. Not that she could blame him. Magic happened, right?
Mawile had helped herself to four weedle that afternoon, furiously crunching their horns with extra emphasis. Just another cast off a little of her ever-growing anger. Either the thief would show itself and claim responsibility for its actions, or Mawile was going to be the reason for weedle's addition on the endangered species list. Of course, the universe had failed to conjure up dark clouds or spark ominous lightning at her proclamation like it rightly should have.
But enough was enough, and she had forced Red to finally act on it. They had put Croconaw (and the inconspicuous Shellder) in charge of the tent, to look for this insolent thief. It had seemed like a good idea. For all Mawile knew, the thief was probably a few yards away, lounging in peace and helping itself to Red's hard-cooked food. After a lot of convincing on Red's part (and some well-timed glares from Mawile), the orangette had finally settled in releasing her Starmie (a dull thing if any) and set out to look for the thief by herself. Skarmory had simply flown upwards to keep track of everyone while also trying to look around for the thief.
Three hours later
The entire hunt had been useless, apart from the two average caterpie that served as an impromptu snack for the evening. After that atrocity committed by that one giant variant, Mawile had been a little too eager to inflict her displeasure on others of its kind. Metapod were quite… hard, and thus, boring, and butterfree lived past her reach.
The purpose of the above show of frustration was actually quite obvious. There had been no sightings of said thief. Whoever it was, seemed to be made of air, like the mute's clones. Mawile had the sneaking suspicion that Shellder was the actual culprit, and was using his clones for such malice. Knowing Red's gullibility, he'd probably not even consider Shellder's hand in the crime. Misty was obviously too much impressed by Shellder's deception to speak against it.
"Tough luck I guess," Red muttered, as he walked next to Mawile, "I've got to give it to him. This thief is good. We got no trace of it at all."
Yes, thank you very much. You have a wonderful talent for stating the obvious. Mawile thought furiously, though keeping her scathing answers to herself. She didn't want to feed on sub-par food for dinner, which was why she had been rather… active during the entire hunt. She'd probably make Red give her a couple of poképuffs before calling it a night. Not that it was too difficult. Just a little bit of her charm and Red folded like a pack of cards. He was wonderful that way.
"Don't worry." Red tried to placate her. "I have something in mind. Whatever this thief is, it's obviously too fast to be human, and knowing where we are in, it is obviously some kind of pokémon. I'll cook a bigger meal tomorrow, and regardless of whether we get to eat it, we'll catch this thief."
Mawile couldn't care less about Red's newfound conviction, though she tried to smile encouragingly. Growth should be encouraged, even if it was doomed to failure.
"Well, at least we got back safely," Red muttered, seeing the bright lantern glowing outside the tent in the darkness. "Want some of the center pokéfood? It really isn't that bad"
Mawile shook her head.
"Poképuffs then?" Red sighed. " I do have quite a few left over"
Nod.
Finally.
At least something good would happen to her today. They would be delicious she decided. Good enough that she'd forget about her horrible day and just indulge in their delicious perfection Without further ado, she sprinted past the couple of trees between her and Red's tent, where she was sure lay Red's backpack, and somewhere in or around it, was her favorite packet. Why, she could even forget the entire useless experience of the hunt as long as she had—
Mawile's thoughts came down to a screeching halt. Her face vivid with pure horror as she stared at the oblivious Croconaw draped all over the floor.
Wasn't Croconaw supposed to be on guard, while we hunted?
A single vein crept up her forehead, as an ominous premonition flooded her senses. Without delay, she sprinted into the tent, searching through Red's belongings with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, before she her worst fears came to light.
Her poképuffs were gone.
And something inside her shattered.
With a feral cry, Mawile raised her jaw, literally leaping towards the oblivious Croconaw, her eyes red with rage at the loss of the thing she was currently craving the most. Perhaps on introspecting this event in the future, Mawile would arrive at the conclusion that it wasn't so much as the loss of her poképuffs, but her loss of control on the situation. The experience over the week inside the forest, her growing irritation and the lack of good food, were coming together much like an unstable mixture boiling in a cauldron. The present event, it was simply the last twig dropped into it, and the result was a powerful explosion.
Three layers of steel-energy wove across the surface of the black jaw, as Mawile leaped towards the sleeping water-type, the energies crackling on the surface of her jaw promising lethal injury if not outright death to the victim. From the other side, Misty yelled in shock and fear, but Mawile paid her no mind. Vengeance would be hers and she'd get it, carved out of—
"Return." Came a cold voice.
A thin red light impaled into her body from the right, and Mawile turned, still in mid-air, as she recognized Red standing a little further away from her, his pokéball in hand. For one moment, Mawile was flooded with feelings of utter betrayal and confusion, before it shifted to rage as she tried to ignore the feeling of being sucked into the pokéball. She'd have her vengeance upon Croconaw, and no pokéball would stop her. Mawile let out a feral screech and pushed herself forward, her entire momentum being dragged out of her, as she fought against the suction of the capture device.
The red light faded, and Mawile dropped down to the ground, a few steps away from the still oblivious Croconaw. Every single muscle ached as if she had just ran a marathon. A part of her over the suction powers of the little device. It was almost like running up a steep hill.
But that was for later. Revenge was first. She pushed herself up and raised her jaw to bring it down.
"ENOUGH!" Red yelled. "That's enough of your rage. Calm yourself!"
Mawile snarled back.
"Croconaw is not sleeping. He's unconscious." Red barked. "Look for yourself."
Mawile didn't want to care. Croconaw had failed in his job of keeping guard. The water-type was sprawled upon the ground, with his forelimbs pressed against his large ears. Come to think of it, the clumsy creature had been more than just irritated the last time that discomforting noise had been used by the thief.
Mawile grunted noncommittally.
"Whoever's stealing our food has probably used that high-frequency sound on Croconaw, and he's proved more vulnerable to it than anyone else among us. If anything, it was my mistake to leave him alone for guarding." His eyes narrowed. "Are you going to attack me for that?"
Of course not! Mawile snarled in her own tongue.
"I'll get you your poképuffs when we get out of the forest. Instead of directing your anger at Croconaw, direct it where it's needed. Catch the thief next time. " Red chastised.
"Your pokémon is a savage." Misty hissed from her position, running towards the still unconscious Croconaw. "She should be sent to the reserves and detained until she's civilized."
"And you," Red snarled back, surprising Misty by the venom in his voice, "before you go on about Mawile's shortcomings. What were you doing, screaming around like a dumb idiot? Do you have a pokéball or not? Why didn't you return Croconaw when I was trying to hold Mawile back?"
"How can you even—?" Misty began, only to be shut up as Red raised a hand.
"I was not finished."
"But you can't just—"
"You can't attack people." Red finished for her, silencing her midway. "That will be made very clear. But, Mawile has been frustrated over weeks over the theft of proper food. For better or worse, you also voted for Croconaw to stand guard over our meals, without realizing how it might have turned up for him. Mawile thought he was being lax. Lax over something that caused her to lose something important to her, and she retaliated."
"But can't you just see how feral she was?"
"I didn't see her attacking you, but I remember Croconaw attacking me when we first met," Red retorted cooly, shutting her up. His expression hard, he turned towards Mawile to ask—
"Mawile?"
Mawile stormed out of the tent, boiling in rage. Red was an idiot, a blithering idiot to have taken the Orange and her stupid croconaw's side. Why did he try to defend them, if it meant opposing her side? She furiously stomped on the grasses, swinging her massive jaw all around in anger, almost wishing to find something to slam it against. It wouldn't help with anything, but logic was the last thing on her mind.
Perhaps she could consider quitting her change of plans and return to Plan 1— deserting her human trainer the moment they were far from Pallet Town. It wouldn't even matter. She had been strong earlier, and her recent battles had proved that she had gained even more strength. The Ursaring back in Viridian could swear to that. Stupid Red could stay with the stupid orangette and the stupid annoyance for all she cared. She was free, and that was all that mattered. As far as the forest and its bugs were concerned, anything that displayed aggression towards her would get introduced to her jaws, and would then become her dinner for the night. Come the next morning, she'd probably feast on some poképuffs from Red's bag and then—
Well, that wasn't quite right. She was walking away, and that meant no more poképuffs. Then again, she could simply eat a bigger bug and feed herself. Red could do whatever he wanted. It wasn't like she cared or anything. Besides, it wasn't like Red did anything for her and—
The image of Red taking a defensive stand against the Fearow to protect her came to mind. That was swiftly replaced with him trying to swim through the waters of the river, ensuring Mawile's own safety before his own. Then there was the way he got he poképuffs, tended to her wounds, laughed with her and cuddled her. How he would frown good-naturedly when Mawile would shake her head and avoid his cooking, and then he'd give her something delicious as compensation. How he would—
Mawile shook her head. This was getting complicated. She wasn't supposed to start getting attached to her human trainer. But he was no longer just a 'human trainer'. He had become Red, and she had begun associating his presence as a permanent fixture in her little life and—
…. Stupid Red.
Come to think of it, she might have exaggerated her response back then. Red was obviously telling the truth, and Croconaw was a dopey little piece of shit, easily driven to unconsciousness. She'd know. The water-type was exactly the kind of creature that deserved to get deceived.
But now she had snarled at Red in anger and demonstrated an unpleasant attitude towards him. She didn't like it, but it was no less true.
She… She couldn't leave him. She didn't want to leave him. He was the first person to accept her fully for what she was. She'd have to make it up to him. Perhaps… perhaps she'd work a little harder on the Flash technique and—
Mawile looked up and blinked.
A large lavender face with a big, black nose blinked back.
Well… this is new!
Freedom, Growlithe mused, was overhyped.
For a captive from birth, freedom had been an impossible dream, the guiding star in an otherwise hopeless life. The desire to be out of the white-walled maze, away from those men-in-white, and leap off into the large, ostentatious world outsideë that was essentially all that was driving him. Considering that escaping from the white-walled maze was something he had never succeeded in over the years, he hadn't really given much thought over what he'd do after he acquired said freedom.
It had been over six hours since he escaped, and given the dramatic ending, it was obvious that the men inside the quarters would be searching for him by now. Knowing the humans, they likely had multiple aces up their sleeves, and could possibly find him despite the distance. Had he been a normal Growlithe, he could have run faster, much faster, and probably been out of the forest by now. Then again, had he been a normal Growlithe, he'd have never been born and bred as a captive in the first place.
Something shifted around him, and for a moment, Growlithe feared that he had been caught. Had those men-in-black found him? Would they capture him, drag him back to the white-walled prison all over again? Mutiny rose in his heart, as flames inundated within his maw. His crimson eyes blinked in the dark, sensing the body heat of the organism so close to him.
And stopped.
This wasn't a human. It was too small to be one. Growlithe sniffed. It smelled of grass and pollen, and a few other scents he didn't recognize. A grass-type then? Come to think of it, he hadn't really eaten anything since the final test, and who knew how long he had been unconscious? Besides, the entire escaping had taken a lot out of him, and he needed some sustenance.
Killing for sustenance. This will be a first.
Back at the white-walled maze, he had been fed with quality food. The men-in-white didn't starve him, not in the least. If anything, he got more than enough food, and as such, his only kills had been limited to the death-match arena. But now, he'd have to kill for food. A curious thought, but ultimately, not of importance. He might have been bred in captivity, but some primal senses never left.
Growlithe opened his mouth and let out a small clump of flames, half-charring the grass-type. It was, he mused, a surprisingly easy win. The little grass-type, which Growlithe now recognized as a tangela, raised several of its vines, trying to keep him off, but Growlithe was in no mood for games.
These… pokémon are much weaker than the ones in the maze. He thought in contempt. Had they made no effort to improve because there were no captors?
Freedom has made them complacent. Weak.
Dodging the haphazardly thrown vines with ease, he released small amounts of his Acid Smog, enveloping the grass-type within it. As expected, the tangela squeaked and hissed in pain, feeling its vines burn as they made contact with the corrosive vapors.
Time to end it.
Without further delay, Growlithe leaped right into the smog, and bit into the tangela's head, killing it instantly. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was until now.
Time is of the essence. They could be nearby.
He quickly finished his first meal, before continuing to walk through the forest. Running was hard, and his leg muscles were aching from the earlier affairs, so a long walk would have to do. He was still hungry but he couldn't afford to stick around. He had to keep moving.
This is enough to continue for now. Not enough to be fulfilling.
A few meters away, a bush rustled.
Another pokémon? Food?
Growlithe almost laughed at the sudden shift in world view. It was almost frightening how quickly he was becoming a part of the larger world.
Is this what it means to be free?
The bushes rustled a little more.
Still… it's probably best to be careful.
For the second time, Growlithe was thankful that the pads beneath his feet subdued most of the sounds from his footsteps. He slowly crept towards the bush, making sure not to alert whatever was inside. The bush was still rustling. He used his paw to slowly push the foliage aside, ready to belch out acid at the slightest provocation—
And came face to face with a tiny, overwhelmingly cute, ivory-ish creature.
"Maw?" Said cute creature tilted her head, almost in confusion.
Growlithe let out a soft bark. He hadn't exactly expected to meet something this… cute, in the middle of a giant forestland. Then again, what did he know about the workings of the world? But, something about this creature seemed… off.
Growlithe sniffed.
So that's it.
The creature in front of him didn't belong to the forest. She smelled of flesh, and human and something sweet. Something… endearing, and yet, there was a lingering smell of grass.
A traveler perhaps?
Growlithe was no expert, but even he could guess that someone so… vulnerable would probably perish by herself. But the smell of a human… could it be…?
"Are you here to kill me?"
The creature tilted its head in confusion. "Are you the one who stole my poképuffs?"
…
…
"Poképuffs?"
"You mean you don't know?" The strange pokémon widened its eyes, before looking at him in... pity? "How can you… not know?"
Not an attacker then. Growlithe inferred. "Who are you?"
The cute little thing tilted its head to the other side in confusion. It seemed to do that a lot. "I'm Mawile."
"Growlithe."
"I know. What's an annoying puppy like you doing in this forest?"
Growlithe frowned. Annoying puppy?
"I am… trying to get out of the forest."
"What happened? Your trainer desert you or something?" The Mawile asked, her voice filled with disinterest. "You do look… a bit dopey.."
"...Dopey?"
Mawile sighed. Growlithe assumed that the conversation was going nowhere. A part of him really wanted to get away from the forest as fast as he could, but there was no telling how long it would take. He had no idea how big the forest was, so perhaps this… Mawile could help him? He needed to be sure.
"Dopey, as in… easy to manipulate. Like my trainer, Red, my trainer. Just so you know, he's wonderful, and gives me poképuffs whenever I want them."
"Is that a pokémon? Red?"
"Human." Mawile corrected him. "He's my trainer."
"What's that?"
Mawile blinked. "What kind of rock have you been living under?"
Growlithe though back to his prison for a moment before replying. "A white-walled one."
More blinking.
"Though… I was transferred to some dark building with high walls and an iron gate, so I can't really tell you about that one. It was very large." Growlithe paused. "But, what does that have to do with a… tryner?"
"Trainer." Mawile corrected. Growlithe had a sneaking suspicion that even this Mawile felt that the discussion was going nowhere. "So you escaped or something?"
Ah. this was familiar ground. Growlithe felt happy. "Yep. Just a few hours ago. Yourself?"
Mawile blinked again. She sure loved blinking. That, or it was a deeply ingrained habit. "I. Didn't. Escape." She spoke as if she were trying to educate a child. A deplorably, unintelligent child. Then again, Growlithe was pretty much a newbie as far as freedom was concerned, so he didn't mind.
"Then?"
"I am here with my trainer, you doofus. My human trainer."
"Human…. Trainer?" Thoughts of men-in-white injecting him with things that left him burning in agony came to mind. "And what does a human trainer do?"
"Well, I fight for him."
Fight…. Memories, recent and old, came to mind. Fighting off a red water-type, getting bound and strangled by a vicious Arbok…
"And he has all those thingies, they get injected into my mind, and I learn new moves…"
"..."
"And training, lots of it. Red's practically obsessed with training, but I don't mind." Mawile chattered on. "I like training. Sometimes I get hurt and everything, but Red has those berries and sprays that get me back to my feet and I continue."
Growlithe stepped back in horror. From what he could deduce, the mawile creature in front of him had suffered through the same cruel existence as he did. Fighting opponents in deathmatches in return for food, and getting injected with all sorts of things that produced strange reactions in his body. What was worse, was that she was almost happy with her condition, almost like it was nice. Perhaps this poképuff thing was used to modify her thought process?
Growlithe made up his mind. It would delay him, but he couldn't leave someone to suffer like he did. Though he didn't understand why he wanted to help her so badly. While he empathized with his fellow prisoners, he never felt any great desire to help them.
"Do you want me to help you escape?"
And there she went blinking again. "Escape?"
"Yeah. We can run away together. You don't have to suffer through that painful existence anymore. I ran away, and so can you."
"So you are a stray?" Mawile asked. "But you don't know about human trainers, so it's obviously not… the usual."
"What does it matter? We can run, and we can escape? I can protect you, and you can have my back in the strange, dangerous world out there. We don't have to suffer anymore."
"... Oh, I see. Another strange one. Just my luck." Mawile muttered.
"Huh?"
"I'm not trying to escape, you silly doofus. I have a trainer, and he's wonderful. Granted, we don't see eye to eye on a couple of things, but all of that's because of 'Orange', and not Red's fault." Mawile stepped back and looked away, scoffing as she did, before continuing. "And mind you, I'll get my vindication on Orange before she knows it."
"Orange?"
"Yeah, a woman, a vile beguiling witch, ensnaring upon my poor human trainer, and making him dance to her will."
"That sounds ominous."
"Doesn't it?" Mawile's emotions felt contagious, what with the way she looked at him with bright, spirited eyes and for a moment, Growlithe felt his heart flutter, what with the way those bright eyes seemed to pierce into his soul.
"So… what are you going to do about it?"
Mawile scowled, kicking the grass beneath her feet in defiance. Personally, Growlithe thought it was cute. "I'll figure something out… Red is easily pleased, and while he's a bit angry with me right now, I'm sure I can make it up to him. When I do, he'll praise me and forget about Orange."
"And this Red… human, you want to keep getting abused by him?"
Mawile blinked again. Must be a deeply-ingrained habit, Growlithe affirmed.
"Red gets abused, he's not the abuser you dummy. That's why the mute… and the Orange can get so much out of him. Though Skarmory is much better, albeit too boisterous for her own good. But don't worry. I'll catch up to her level soon." Mawile paused. "Anyway, what about you? Where are you from, stray?"
"I'm not a stray." Growlithe corrected. "I fought for my freedom and escaped. Speaking of which, do you know how to get out of the forest?"
"Red might know. He's got a map after all."
"I don't trust humans, and neither should you." Growlithe retorted. "Humans mistreat us, and inflict heinous torture on us. Why would you stand and suffer, when you can embrace freedom like I have?"
"...Freedom?"
"Yes. Freedom. It is glorious. I can go wherever I like, eat whatever I want, and no one can bind me." Growlithe went on in what he thought was his most inspirational voice. "You are tiny and vulnerable but I can protect you." He never noticed the sudden, almost eager shaking of the black protrusion on the back of her head.
"...really? And what if some other humans catch you?"
"I'll burn them."
"They have water-types you know."
"Cruel creatures. Inflicting slavery upon us pokémon. I had thought that I was unnatural and therefore held captive. Now I find the entire world captive."
Mawile muttered something like 'idealist' and 'go figure', but Growlithe was too engrossed in his spirited speech for freedom against oppression.
"What do you mean you are unnatural?"
Growlithe almost grinned, or whatever passed for a grin. "I have some… special abilities." He frowned, his cynicism catching on quickly, realizing that he might just have overspoken, "though that might be because of those humans experimenting on me."
Mawile seemed to be in serious thought, making him wonder what wheels were turning in her little mind. Finally, she let out a sigh and nodded at him. "My trainer does not experiment on me, and he takes good care of me too. Perhaps you can meet him. He will probably help you."
"No human can possibly help me. Humans only exploit and torture."
"But you told me that you'd help me get back against the Orange."
"I never…." Growlithe denied in hesitation, stepping back a little.
"You mean you won't?" Mawile stressed, her cute charm returning with full force. That, along with her puppy-dog eyes and the way she pronounced 'mawwww' made it really hard for Growlithe to deny the little creature. He lowered his eyes, looking away for a moment, before slowly turning back in silent resignation. "Okay, I might be… I mean… I'll always protect you."
Growlithe didn't understand why he was so attracted to the creature. It was almost supernatural. He didn't really know a lot about mating, but perhaps he could see a future with this Mawile. From what he could understand, there was a high probability that her human trainer was being bewitched by this Orange, and Mawile would be left alone, all by herself. Perhaps, then she would see that he was right.
After how his own life had been, it was rather surprising since he could almost see himself as Mawile's protector, keeping her safe from the evils of the world. Perhaps, he could contribute to a future with her, bonding over their individual pasts. He noticed the black protrusion on her back move upwards and guessed that it might be a sign of her shy acceptance. Gathering a little more courage, he pushed his head towards her, in an attempt to—
WHAAAAAAAAAAM!
Growlithe unceremoniously dropped down to the grassy floor, the powerful Iron Head ripping his consciousness from him in a single attack. His paws flat and spread out on all sides, he lay on the grass. Unmoving.
Mawile let out a soft giggle.
Finally. She thought to herself. I thought he was never going to shut up. Stupid idealistic thing… but it might suit Red. It looks a little different from normal, but Red probably won't notice.
She remembered meeting a couple of growlithe back at Pomace Mountain. Mabel had this business of floral decoration going on, and one of the clients had two of those horribly loyal puppies, clinging religiously to every single word their trainer uttered. Back then, Mawile had thought of them as sub-intelligent species in general, but after her recent experiences in traveling with Red, a growlithe seemed like an ideal addition. This one was rather dopey, so perhaps it would take a liking to Red. Fletchinder of the same feather and all that.
Now all I need to do is get this idiot to Red so that he can capture it. Seriously, I thought humans were supposed to be notorious for capturing and enslaving pokémon. Currently, the only one enslaved is Red, if Shellder and Orange are of any indication. Skarmory was practically my gift to him for being a good human, and so is this growlithe. I'll have to let him catch a pokémon on his own next time.
She allowed herself a moment to bask at her own sense of magnanimity.
Mawile sniffed. Hopefully Red would be happy with this. She just made up on her part by getting him this puppy. Reciprocation and all that.
He better praise me for this. Asking him to let go of Orange and her stupid is probably asking for too much, but maybe I can get some poképuffs when we get out of this stupid forest. I deserve that much at least.
Mawile thought of her trainer's gentle head paths and warmth. And cuddles. She decided. Nice, soft warm cuddles.
She looked down at the unconscious puppy. It would be a mess if it woke up before she managed to drag it all the way to Red. She tapped the now unconscious growlithe a few times.
No movement.
She punched its nose.
Still no movement.
Well, it looks unconscious enough. But just to avoid issues….
She whacked it on its head two more times, and then after a moment of doubt, hit it a third time for good luck. Satisfied with her temporary solution, she pushed her jaw beneath the furry beast, with Growlithe's face and frontal limbs hanging in front of her face and sides. Confident with her technique, Mawile began to walk.
Perhaps, she mused, this is what they called returning in triumph.
Meanwhile, in Pallet Town
"This seems to be a serious issue."
Delia sagged down on the chair, lips pinched, staring at the marble floor. Ever since her encounter with Mia's… strangeness, she had been completely distressed. Of course, the Ralts-line were creatures of emotion, so Mia feeling a little empty after Red's leaving was not completely unexpected. That said, she had never imagined it to go this far.
"Are you… completely sure?" Samuel asked, slowly pacing across the floor "Perhaps it is simply the effect of the recent events taking a toll out of you."
"It is not that." Delia refuted. "I am a psychic researcher, professor. I know better than to make snap-judgments. I have considered every possibility, every side effect, and even my own… shortcomings as a parent, but nothing adds up. I even went to a psychiatrist to verify my hypothesis and it stands true. Whatever happened, it was caused by her, whatever this is."
"Can you expound on that? Your theory about it."
"Mia is faking. She is actively suppressing herself from being happy, and detaching herself from everything around her that brings her happiness." Delia replied, pursing her lips. "I know what you are thinking, I have considered that as well. Kirlia are supposed to actively feed on happiness from their surroundings, so what Mia is doing is literally anathema to her kin. There is a reason that the ralts-line is not used in battle. Causing pain to others literally hurts them. Ordering a gardevoir to harm something is like trying to order a charizard to eat its own arm."
"And you think that Mia is experiencing that because Red left on his—" Oak began skeptically.
"It might sound childish if you consider it in that manner, but that's not the way Mia sees it. A Ralts, ninety-five percent of the time, grows up amongst its own kin, amidst derives their happiness from. It is literally the feedback loop that fuels their growth. A trained ralts will usually derive its happiness from the surrounding humans and pokémon. Mia, on the other hand, has spent almost all her formative years with Red. I think she has subconsciously been feeding on Red, exclusively."
"You mean—"
"I mean that Red's decision for leaving on a journey, and leaving Mia behind might have had graver consequences that we had anticipated. Especially because in his enthusiasm— from what I understand —Mia has been feeling that she has been deserted, substituted, and left alone. Her source of sustenance in terms of joy is gone."
"And so..." The elderly professor asked.
Delia looked uncertain. "Upon my exposure to her… strangeness, and subsequent research into the matter, I came across a certain article, made by a freelance researcher in Johto. The article had a lot of redacted text and mentions related to legendary myths, which is probably why it was rated lower in terms of authenticity. I was able to contact this person over it, and he mentioned something that he called The Shift."
Oak stopped pacing. "What—what did you say?"
"The Shift?" Delia repeated, a little surprised at why the senior researcher looked… flustered at the mention. "Have you heard the term before?"
Oak rubbed the tip of his nose. "Who's this person?"
"Someone named Eusine. I checked on the International Database, and it seems that he's somewhat… scoffed at, by the majority of the research world, though he gives the impression of being a history buff, from the way his texts talk about destroyed civilizations, ancient myths, and trapped deities." She paused for a breath. "Though, he has also worked on an international scale, and seems to have co-authored several books in the past with prominent figures in our world."
Oak looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.
"Something wrong?"
"No… nothing. Nothing yet, anyway. What did Eusine tell you about Mia's condition?"
"He couldn't." She admitted, "though he did mention several references about a pokémon, usually of an esoteric type, to embrace 'The Call', and undergo a change. He calls this phenomenon The Shift."
"And what do you think about it?"
"I… am not sure. If my knowledge is correct," she spoke in a clinical fashion, "then the Kirlia line thrive and develop proficiency in psychokinetic powers in response to amassing positive emotions from their environment. In fact, one can even say that happiness is their sustenance."
"Not from their trainer?"
Delia laughed mirthlessly. "Come now, professor. Surely you jest? Humans, in general, live way too complicated lives to actually experience pure happiness, and even if we do, it is certainly not enough that a creature like Kirlia can feed upon it and grow. That said, they do have powerful bonds with their trainer, and are influenced by them in all sorts of ways."
Oak nodded, accepting her line of thinking.
"Also, you need to consider that trainer deaths," she paused at that word, her throat constricting for a moment as she remembered her own son's plight at the hands of a malevolent starter— "are commonplace in our world. If a kirlia's sustenance were to be limited to her trainer, chances are that she'd perish alongside him."
"But that doesn't happen."
"Exactly." Delia put in. "What makes Mia different is that she has substituted her source of sustenance from her surroundings to my son. She is still taking in nourishment from the environment, which is why she is still alive."
"Then her strangeness is—"
"I have been thinking about it, though my theory seems rather far-fetched, even to myself, if I'm being honest."
"Humour me then." Oak offered. "I'd still like to hear it."
"From what Kaz told me, Mia feels… substituted, by the mawile you gifted my son. Emotional creatures that they are, it is entirely possible that she, intentionally or not, had tried to latch on to someone else, to substitute Red, at least for the time being, for her sustenance. The only other human she is close to, besides my son, is me."
"Go on."
"But at the same time, Mia feels more strongly about everything, and that amplifies whenever Red is concerned, so it is possible that she mimicked Red's own feelings, and then sent them to me, only significantly amplified."
"You mean through—"
"Synchronize," Delia answered. "Seems like she is finally starting to show her ability, though with the way she is using it, and her strangeness, I'm unsure how the ability will manifest itself in her."
Oak stayed silent for a while, trying to comprehend the implications of whatever his assistant had just claimed. Even though it was merely an educated guess, the implications were… staggering. And then there was the—
"What about Eusine? What did he say? About Mia faking happiness?"
"He thought that Mia, in her attempts to substitute Red, which was synonymous to happiness for her, is now imbibing the opposite of it."
"You mean… sorrow?"
Delia took a deep breath. "I think she has changed the very source of what she feeds on. She is diverging from her entire species. The Shift."
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