ACT ONE - IMMOLATION
Chapter 12 - A Grunt's Life
Two days later
"Are you sure that is safe?" Misty asked in apparent calmness, though it was obvious that she was trying hard to not to freak out. After the disastrous turn of events post the interrogation, scyther had been a giant bruise all over. One of his scythes had been fractured, and both wings had suffered bone damage. The attack on its lower abdomen must have caused some fractures as well. Red had spent several hours creating one of his special Full Restore variants—aided by a not-so-enthusiastic Misty—for the poor brute who lay unconscious, half-buried in the ground.
After his impromptu treatment, Red had wasted no time in placing the unconscious beast inside his pokéball, which had 'dinged' instantly, verifying a successful capture. Misty had asked him if he was going to keep the scyther around and force him to become a member of his team, but that wasn't Red's way. Instead, he was going to give the pokéball to the Rangers on the other side of the forest.
That had been the idea, at least up until an hour ago. Said change, was in fact, the reason why Misty was panicking so much.
"Don't worry," Red answered. "He's not exactly in a position to cause further damage." He glanced at said offender, who was currently sitting on the ground, with a forlorn expression on his face.
Earlier in the morning, Skarmory and Mawile had requested, in their own way, that they should be allowed to speak to the scyther. The two pokémon had played their own variant of twenty-questions with him until they got the point across. Well, that or they had simply gotten tired of explaining and Skarmory had literally plucked the pokéball out from his waist with a jab, and Mawile, like the precocious little expert that she was, had released the bug from within the confines of the capture device. The scyther immediately tried to flee only to fall, realizing that his wings and his feet were not in any condition to assist him in that endeavor.
"But you were the one who told me how fast scyther were. Why aren't you worried at all?"
"Because I trust my team," Red replied without hesitation. "Skarmory has proved— several times now —that she can protect me," He crooked his head in the bug's direction. "They spoke to it, and while Mawile doesn't like scyther, Skarmory seems to have taken his stubbornness a little too personally." He ignored the squawk that Skarmory made to his comment. "They seem to believe that they can perhaps… convince him, I'll act accordingly."
"And you are happy to be led around by your pokémon's antics?"
The confused glance that he sent her should have been a signal. "I trust my team."
Right. Then again, it's not unexpected.
"What?" The nigh clueless trainer asked.
"I was just questioning the logic behind keeping an antagonistic, not to mention incredibly fast bug on your person at all times." Misty snapped. "Are all pokémon trainers unhinged, or is it just you?"
Red shrugged, momentarily glancing at the scyther. "I can see where you're coming from, but something about that scyther… bugs me. I can't put a finger on it, so if Mawile and Skarmory are up to something, I want to see where it goes."
"Huh?" Misty replied eloquently.
"Those attacks he used. None of them are standard attacks learned naturally by the scyther line. Believe me, I checked," Red answered, "Most scyther end up abusing their speed and bladed body-physiology to remain uncontested in the wild. Nothing new about that. But a scyther learning Steel Wing? Naturally? Not to mention using that vibration technique to create those high-pitched noises?"
"What about it?"
"I checked it out," Red answered, raising his pokédex. "It's called Bug Buzz, and it creates sonic waves through vibration. Though, a scyther using it is remarkably… uncommon." He snorted. "I dare say it was inoculated via TM and train."
"It isn't someone else's pokémon too, you know. Unlike what happened with the growlithe, it showed a successful capture." Misty refuted.
"It did, which is why I don't think he's someone else's pokémon. I think…" He looked at his friend. "I think he's been abandoned."
"Abandoned?" Misty asked, her voice rising. Either her friend was so too good at deduction, or she was missing something. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Scyther are apex predators," Red answered. Though his tone made him seem like was talking to himself rather than to her. "And yet, it goes after cooked food? And then those moves, and that… that rage, I felt towards me, almost as if it were angry for me doing something to it, something… unforgivable."
"But… are you sure you aren't overthinking things?"
Red blinked. "Why is the concept of an abandoned pokémon so… strange to you?"
"Because it isn't a caterpie, or a pidgey or anything commonplace." Misty almost exploded. "I'm hardly an expert, but even I can tell you that that pokémon over there, is trained, powerful and dangerous. You'd have to be crazy to abandon something like that."
"I know…" Red muttered. "He doesn't look like he has been abused, but… it's odd. Logically, I should simply report him to the rangers, but it didn't try to attack until we captured it. It stole food, true, but that's all. Does that sound like a vicious wild animal to you?"
"I get.." Misty ventured, "I get that you want to take care of it. But this is a scyther. It is dangerous."
"Yeah, but," Red finally seemed to find words for what he was feeling. "Someone like that doesn't deserve to be abandoned. It's strong and has the potential to become even stronger. The thought that someone can take a pokémon out of its home, push it to acquire such a diverse skill set, and then throw it away like yesterday's trash… It triggers me."
Misty sighed before giving up on the argument. Clearly a losing battle.
Neither of the two had any idea that a certain bug had been listening in to their conversation, a frown on his injured face.
The first three days had been an exercise in futility. It wasn't like Travers had been expecting anything else. As a senior grunt-captain, he had a team of six under his command instead of the usual three, though the doctor had added four more of his own guards to help him accomplish the mission. The grunts with flying-types had been ordered to maintain aerial surveillance over the entire forest. The rest were currently combing through the forest, actively searching for the fugitive.
It had sounded like a reasonable strategy back then. There was just one tiny problem.
He had overestimated his own patience and his ability to deal with Meyers.
For the nth time, Travers cursed his decision to keep the other man with himself instead of letting some other unfortunate sap take up the curse.
"—But seriously, you'd think that someone like Butch would be a little more high-and-mighty, ya know? It's like he's practically planning his retirement or something."
And he just. Never. Shut. Up.
Travers sighed again. He had been doing that a lot lately. "He's an Executive and one of the best. The fact that he's taking interest with the grunts means that something caught his eye. Stop being so obsessed over it."
"But still…"
On second thought, Travers noted, he should remember to put up Meyers's annoying tendencies up for review. It was… unprofessional. Unmanly too.
"Meyers, for the last time. Stop obsessing over Butch. He's not your Squadron leader. You are not under his Executive authority. You answer to Namba. Stop being such a fangirl," He raised a finger to stop the other man from retorting, "and I know how much you want a Magmortar, but no. Unless you manage to catch a wild magmar you might as well forget it. And that's assuming you can afford a magmarizer with your pitiful salary."
"But you know just how much I—"
"Shut up!"
"but I just—"
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up," Travers hissed, making the other man pause in his shenanigans. "Look," He pointed at the scene in front of him with two fingers, or more specifically, at the oddly colored growlithe sprawled on the ground.
"Do you think that's the one we're looking for?" Meyers asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the clearing in front of him.
Travers snorted. "Unless purple growlithe are common…"
Mayers opened his mouth.
"— Don't answer that. It was rhetorical."
There were two tents present, with two teens— one male and one female, and a group of pokémon. He could recognize the scyther sitting down on one side —an oddity but it didn't exactly register in his mind. There was a croconaw dozing in the corner, sitting with its back against the tent. A mawile and most importantly, a skarmory. And a little away from both of them, was the growlithe in question—dazzling white manes, the slight lavender-ish fur with dark brown stripes on its body, just like the camera recordings had shown.
Croconaw and skarmory. Probably a Johto trainer. And a mawile? So the other one is from Hoenn then. That makes it difficult. Trainers from other regions are usually monitored.
"Engage in direct battle? What are your orders?" Meyers's voice shook him from his thoughts.
Travers frowned. He wasn't exactly someone who'd run head-first into battle, and preferred to do things covertly. There was simply no point in throwing up a ruckus and messing the entire point up. Perhaps he could have Ariados trap them first and then—
"I'll deal with them," Meyers stated conclusively. "Let's go. It'll be fun!"
"Wait we need to— goddammit!" Travers cursed, seeing the other man race ahead.
"Fuck," He cursed again, before stalking after him.
There's always somebody about to ruin your day, if not your life.
Red was reaching his limit. The first week had been pushing, but at least they had progressed to a significant extent, capturing the pineco and the ledyba with ease. They hadn't been noticed by the pinsir herd and had ended up making camp in an open clearing, where they spent their time waiting for a venonat or two to appear.
A week had passed since then.
It hadn't gone as planned. Instead, they had been ambushed by a scyther strangely hell-bent on stealing their meals. One thing led to another and he had found himself with this odd-looking growlithe as well. One that was shiny too. And they still hadn't found a venonat.
Red sighed, his eyes moving across the clearing before settling on the growlithe.
Strange.
Growlithe were creatures that were almost perpetually in motion. As annoying as a growlithe was practically an idiom back at home. But this one? It seemed content to lay low and observe him like he was an interesting specimen. Sure, it was injured, but most of its injuries had healed by the first day, and three more had passed since then. The runt should have been jumping around, and not be a brooding, observing, calculating thing. Occasionally it chatted with Mawile of all people, and on others, it sat and watched him with a peculiar expression. The aura of confusion on the creature was almost palpable. Call it instinct, but he almost felt like the growlithe was looking for something, and was getting more and more frustrated by its lack of appearance.
He had played with the idea of catching the growlithe for his own. Growlithe weren't exactly something one needed to catch, per se. Feed it a few times and it would probably follow you around for the next few months. Hell, it was harder to get rid of a pet growlithe than to catch it.
Annoyingly loyal, that's what they were.
Not that growlithe were bad captures. While their power reserves were lower than the average charmander, they were compensated with their high mobility. You'd never see one of them using Flamethrower, but Flame Charge was pretty common among the trained ones. The real problem though, lay in their evolution.
A charmander-in-training would normally evolve into a charizard by its second year. A ponyta was faster than growlithe would ever be. And plus, most of them evolved into rapidash, taking their speeds to extreme levels. Most growlithe, never really evolved into arcanine. Then again, knowing the beast that an arcanine was, it was almost fair to think that growlithe and arcanine were unrelated.
Spanning reserves at least thrice that of a charizard, a natural arcanine was an apex fire-type monster. They could outrun a rapidash any day, and their bulk was enough to allow them to utilize most physical attacks with ease. Arcanine were perfect, and just as rare. In fact, there were only three naturally-evolved arcanine in Kanto, as far as the official records— one of them belonged to Oak. Fire-master and ex-Elite Four Blaine had the second one. The third one's trainer had passed away and was now a resident of the Charicific Valley in Johto.
Nowadays, most arcanine evolutions were forced through a synthetic wonder known as a Fire Stone. It worked on principles similar to the Thunder Stone, and supplied a tremendous amount of fire-power into the growlithe, triggering its evolution. The issue was— not only did the growlithe need to be trained to be powerful enough to withstand the evolutionary process, it also required a minimum of three Fire Stones to evolve. This made them one of the most expensive evolutions known to mankind, and therefore, not economically feasible for the average trainer.
And therein lay the problem. As much as Red hated allowing a shiny pokémon like that walk away, there was very little he could do about it. He could not afford its evolution. Period.
Perhaps I can send him to the old man. He'd be happy to study a shiny. And once I earn enough, I can always get him back. If I still have a place on my team for it.
That brought him to the other point— the scyther. He had to admit, whatever Skarmory and Mawile had told the bug, had worked. The scyther was sitting on the ground with a grumpy face, though it was clear from his body language that had no signs of hostility. In fact, it was almost like the scyther's emotions were dumbed down, replaced with something akin to sorrow. It didn't help but fuel his abandonment theory even more. Not that there was any way to confirm it. He liked his life too much to get himself killed in an attempt to talk with the bug-type.
But there was something else, something he hadn't really talked to Misty about. Silently, he lifted the Dex from his belt and looked at the log. The details were still there and would stay there until he updated it.
Scyther, the mantis pokémon. Scyther is blindingly fast. Its blazing speed enhances the effectiveness of the twin scythes on its forearms. This pokémon's scythes are so effective, they can slice through thick logs in one wicked stroke.
Known moves: Fury Cutter, Bug Buzz, Steel Wing, Metal Claw, Agility and Night Slash.
Night Slash, Agility and Steel Wing— those three moves stood out the most. Not because of their superiority, but because it was quite impossible for a scyther to learn those naturally. No scyther required those moves in the wild— it practically screamed human intervention. He had played with the idea that perhaps its trainer had perished in some kind of conflict, but if that was the case, scyther would still be listed as a captured pokémon. Which lead some more credit to his theory that it was abandoned and officially struck out from the trainer's roster.
He didn't know what to think about that.
The more pragmatic part of him did wish for the scyther to be a part of his team. Such a talented creature living off bugs was an insult to its ability. While the scyther's trainer may have abandoned it, Red was sure that he could turn it into a perfect monstrosity. Into something that would incite fear into the strongest of pokémon. Before that, however, he needed was to ensure its willingness to join his team.
I wonder what Skarmory and Mawile talked to him about.
"Hmmm!" He got up, tired of his introspection. By his estimate, they were getting close to the periphery of the forest. They had yet to even see the other two on the list, and this place didn't seem like an ideal location anymore. Perhaps they should start traveling again. Maybe he'd have better luck elsewhere.
"Hey Misty," he called out at the girl who seemed engrossed in trying to perfect Shellder's pressure manipulation. While her initial attempts had ended up in vain, Red had to admit that she was persistent.
Between the two of them, Shellder had begun to gain some familiarity with the technique. All that remained now was to develop enough muscle memory to use it at a moment's notice, and Shellder would have an offensive move in its arsenal. Along with Double Team and Shellder's ability to leap, it was actually possible for Shellder to be of some use in battle.
"Yeah?" Misty responded, her hand still stroking Shellder.
"I think we should start off tomorrow morning for another spot. I don't think we'll get any venonat here."
"But then, how will we get one?"
"Heh!" Red chuckled, rubbing the back of his head, "I meant we can start looking in other places. It seems my idea didn't work out as expected."
Misty sighed. "This is such a drag."
"Unless you want to keep waiting inside this bug-filled forest for another week, it is the only available option on the table," Red chuckled again, "though I must say, you've been dealing with this entire bug-catching thing much better than I anticipated."
"Uh-huh? And what did you expect?"
Resting his chin over his left palm, he put up a thinking pose. "Oh, I don't know… hmmm, perhaps you'd have a caterpie falling on top of your shoulder, and you'd have sped off to the opposite side of the forest, screaming your lungs out."
Misty's forehead ticked. "Say that again?"
"Ah, ignore that," Red backpedaled, not wanting to experience her mood shifts again.
"Anyway, we should really start packing," He glanced at his watch. "Looks like it'll be evening in an hour. We should start out early tomorrow.."
"My, my, two little trainers all alone in the forest." An unfamiliar voice called out. "Do your parents know that you're having fun together?"
Red and Misty instantly turned towards the right and saw two unfamiliar people stepping towards them. Both of them wore military uniforms, similar to the ones used in the police force but lacking any seals or identity badges. The younger of the two, a man with unkempt white hair and black eyes, gave a mocking grin.
"What are you lovebirds doing in such a dangerous place. Wouldn't a park be a better place to hang out?"
Misty's face turned an unflattering red."What the hell are you babbling on about? Red and I are just— and who the hell are you anyway?"
"I'm Meyers," the white-haired man chuckled, "and this is my partner Tra—"
"I believe we should skip the introductions and get to the point." The other man— short, brown-haired with a forgettable face —interrupted him.
"Damn right," Meyers chortled. "He's always a bit fussy over covert rules and stuff. Anyway, don't get your panties in a twist, little lady."
He grinned at Misty, who seemed to get increasingly enraged by the second, "we don't wanna disturb you from whatever you've got going on in here." He paused, wagging his eyebrows at her, before eyeing the Skarmory with greedy eyes, "though I must say, you've got a good choice in pokémon. That Skarmory's worth a great deal. How 'bout a trade eh, kid?" He stared pointedly at Red. "I'll give you a fair price."
"Not interested." Red waved him off, his stance completely stiff. His instincts were screaming at him that he was in danger, reminding him of the time when Ritchie had attacked him in Pallet Forest. "Unless there's anything else…?"
"Easily miffed, ain'tcha?" Meyers chortled at his reaction. The other man muttered something back causing him to laugh out again. "Fine, to the point then. You see, we're looking for a growlithe— white manes, lavender-ish fur, a runaway from our… warehouse. Kinda like the one lazing about over there."
Said growlithe was already pushing itself up from the ground, readying itself to start running at the first chance.
"See? It recognized us." Meyers spoke again. "We need that back, and we'll leave you happy and free to.. Get back to whatever it is you were doing." Mayers wagged his eyebrows again, almost as if he was worried that they wouldn't get his point.
Misty blushed in embarrassment at the obvious implication, her expressions quickly flipping between a choleric gaze to open hostility. "What the hell are—?"
"Misty," Red beckoned in a sharp tone, his eyes never leaving the two men in front of him. Their dress codes reeked of history with the military, effectiveness over style and comfort. Probably some kind of goon-for-hire, from some criminal organization, if their behavior was of any indication.
"So kid, what do you say?" Meyers asked casually, extending his hand out. "Why don't you toss us the growithe. We may even reward you a bit. Good job finding him and all that"
"Not happening." Red retorted defiantly. Mawile, who had obviously understood the underlying tension in his voice, hopped up to his side and glared at the two men. Skarmory, on the other hand, was staring at them cooly, her sharp eyes in patient wait for any sudden movement that might count as a threat.
"Listen, kid," the brown-haired man addressed Red for the first time. "You might have caught this growlithe, but don't get so attached to things. It's just a fucking growlithe. You can find one on the streets. Fill that pokéball of yours with something that can actually earn its keep."
"Of course," Red replied evenly, his eyes locked on the brown-haired man. "But it's got a shock collar on it. Why did you put one on it?" He arched an eyebrow. "It's just a growlithe, after all."
"My God, are you fucking retarded?" Meyers took out a pokéball before tossing it in front of him. A humanoid creature wearing a shiny, metallic belt on its belt stood tall, flexing its biceps as a form of intimidation.
A machoke, huh? Red mused. So negotiations have fallen. And now we turn to violence.
He casually made a nod towards Mawile who began to prepare an Iron Head.
The brown-haired man sighed before turning towards the other guy— Meyers, and nodded, before plucking out three pokéballs from his pocket. "Kid, I've been in this business when you were still in diapers. Believe me, this is only going to get worse from here."
Red considered the man's words. The pragmatic part of his mind did point out that he wouldn't gain anything from making a stand here. He did not owe the growlithe anything. Mawile might have hurt it, but he had healed it in return. He had given it good food, taken care of its problems—
He stilled.
"...either way, don't try to run around. You need to get some rest, and we aren't going anywhere soon. Don't worry, worst comes to worst and that asshole returns, we'll protect you."
He had promised growlithe that he'd help it. And believing in his words, the puppy had stayed with them.
Fuck Red cursed. If I had just let it leave… If I hadn't seen it.
It was too late. If he let it go, he would probably be haunted with nightmares of the growlithe looking at him with its big upturned eyes. Steeling himself, he took a good look at the man in front of him. From his looks and words, the man was a veteran in his late twenties— probably more dangerous than anyone he had faced before.
He had managed face-off Ritchie and his team with just Mawile, even though he had gotten a little bit of unseen aid from Kaz. But back then, he was untrained and had no working relationship with his starter.
Things were different now.
Skarmory can take hits with remarkable ease, and Mawile can manipulate the field. Maybe if they work together….
He cursed himself from not training them to fight in teams. He'd need to look into that in the future. For now, he needed to somehow escape the present dilemma.
Obviously, relying on the growlithe was not an option. Scyther… was an anomaly, and it'd be better if he simply kept a wary eye at the bug. It had not attacked him so far, but there was no assuming that it wouldn't take advantage, should an opportunity present itself.
If only the growlithe could be taken into the pokéball, we could make for a run using mist as a distraction. If it escapes on its own, then we can divide their attention, and probably defeat them.
He did a quick headcount. He had Mawile and Skarmory. Shellder was… effectively useless, unless it could act as bait or something. Misty had a starmie, which could be useful, but her croconaw was too sluggish to make an impact. On the other hand, the two men looked considerably experienced and their pokémon would be overwhelming in both quality and quantity. Giving up and running was the better option.
He glanced at the tense growlithe from the corner of his eye. Why doesn't it just run away? At least that'd help….
"Stalling wastes everyone's time, kid. Make a decision, or we'll make one for you." Meyers yelled. The machoke flexed its muscles again.
Think fast… Red told himself. He needed to stall some more, hoping the puppy would take a hint. "I… I found that growlithe in the wild." He continued looking around hoping to get some inspiration from his surroundings.
Misty, curse her, looked like she had seen a ghost, or worse, another crawling bug, and was imitating a rock. He allowed himself to take a moment to wonder how the girl had managed to survive so far by herself.
"What's your point?"
"It was bleeding, and injured, and I used a lot of my medicine on it." He glanced back, only to find the growlithe staring at him with something akin to shock in his eyes. "More importantly," he went on, "it's a shiny, and growlithe or not, that's rare. You want me to give away something like that for free?"
The brown-haired man crooked his head. "You want compensation, eh? You got balls, kid. I'll give you that. But consider this a lesson. Don't get attached to things. Forget it, and walk away. Learn to judge when something is worth it. You'll lose much more than just some medicines and a shiny."
"Damn straight," Meyers interjected supportively, laughing at the teen's attempts to appear strong and in control.
"You— you're Team Rocket, aren't you?" Misty suddenly spoke out of nowhere. Even Red was surprised at that revelation. This was Team Rocket? He had, of course, heard about the nefarious group of thugs, attacking civilian population from time to time, and robbing factories and industrial equipment.
"Looks like we're famous, Travers." Meyers laughed, ignoring the other man's scowl. 'Yeah girl, we're the big bad Team Rocket, and if you don't shut up and leave, it will be— actually, don't bother. We'll just take what we came for and leave."
"Meyers, stop wasting time," Travers said, shaking his head. "This is supposed to be the easy part."
"Right, just a second. So, what will it be?" Meyers turned towards Red, who seemed almost disappointed at them.
"Don't give me that creepy stare, kid." The man called out in indignation. "It creeps me out."
Creepy stares are supposed to creep you out. Red mused. "I'm not really experienced at such 'cloak and daggery' activities, but is there usually this much talk?" He pushed his left leg into the ground, kicking soil at growlithe, who still didn't get the memo—" like what the hell is something like Team Rocket doing with a growlithe? Shouldn't you be… fighting the League or something?"
"That one's got a big mouth on him, Travers. I'll shut—" Meyers began.
"Allow me," Travers interjected, gently shushing the other man. "Alright, enough conversation. To business."
"Good," Red replied agreeably, sending an eye-signal at Mawile, who nodded in acknowledgment. In less than a second, a Mist expanded outward from her surrounding the entire place. Between the dull white camouflage and the lack of sunlight, it was practically impenetrable, even for Skarmory's eyes.
Twisting his head, he glared at the growlithe and yelled, "and why the fuck aren't you running already?"
The growlithe blinked twice, before it hit him. It twisted its body around, began to leap off, away into the forest.
"Yeah," Red answered with a grin, facing the Rocket member, "now let's get down to business."
Travers sighed.
"Why doesn't anyone ever do things the easy way?"
"Capture the growlithe," Meyers commanded the machoke who leaped into the forest right behind the fleeing fire-type, leaving a swirl of dust in his wake.
The things they make me do. And all for a goddamn growlithe.
"You've bitten off more than you can chew, kid. My machoke will capture that growlithe. All you've managed to do is waste our time. And we don't like people who waste our time." He grinned savagely.
"Why do you even think your machoke will catch it?." The teen asked.
"Feisty little thing, aren't cha?" Meyers clenched his jaw. Machoke were not known for their eyesight, and considering just how large the forest was, there was a high chance that the growlithe would evade him.
Not on my watch, Meyers cursed, bringing out an electronic device that looked like some kind of remote controller. He pressed one of the buttons and grinned wolfishly.
Further away, the growlithe let out a painful howl.
"Found it."
Smirking, he began to sprint in the approximate direction of the howl, leaving a perplexed Red Ketchum in his wake.
Red watched the man sprint past him, his mind locked in a deadlock. Knowing Mawile's shenanigans, and his own wretched luck, he had developed some basic eye-signals for Mawile to understand and act appropriately. Most of these were based around distractionary maneuvers. The Mist had served excellently, and for a moment, he thought that he had gained an upper hand.
And now, he was the one in a mental deadlock. The man had sprinted into the forest, and the machoke was already there. Chances were that the guy had multiple pokémon on his person, while growlithe was alone. His heart told him that he should run after him, but his mind pointed out that it would leave Misty alone with the other guy.
He glanced at Croconaw, and then at the pokéball in Misty's hands, and then back towards Croconaw. Making a decision, he turned towards the avian in the air, and yelled out, "Skarmory, keep them busy for a while, will you?"
Skarmory nodded before moving to stand in front of Red. The regal avian crooked her head, staring at the other man, and the ariados next to him calculatingly.
Misty though, seemed both perplexed and exasperated at his decision. "Red, use your head," she yelled, "those are experienced criminals. That man can kill you!"
"Only if I die!" Red countered back as he sprinted into the forest, with Mawile following swiftly behind.
Misty's eye twitched.
"Yes," She almost roared, "that's what killing you means."
As someone who had always chosen the coldness of pragmatism over the warmth of blind hope, Growlithe was never a believer in fate. It was simpler for him. What he wanted, and what happened, depended upon several variables, and the result was the solution called life. Most events could be shaped by factors that were mostly susceptible to change when considered the right way. Escaping was a matter of deliberate planning and choice, and it had worked. Sure, he had not considered the mawile's intervention, nor the manner in which it would cause a wrench in his plans, but it was something beyond his control. His interactions with Red and the rest after getting healed were anything but that.
The restore potions had been a lifesaver. Growlithe had always known about his insane regeneration capacity, and constant exposure to electrical shocks had taught him how to redirect the regeneration to function out of order, depending on what he needed first. It was dangerous, but it had always been his ace in the hole, and something he had kept secret from everyone so far. The restoration potions had substantially boosted his abnormal regenerative powers to new heights healing almost everything about him. Sure, his legs were still frail and he would need a lot of physical activity before he could run like an ordinary growlithe, but it was better than it ever was.
And that brought him to the current scenario.
He had instantly recognized the two men from their military uniforms since the ones at the lab wore something similar. The fact they were staring at him kind of made it obvious. Growlithe's original plan was to flee into the forest, but knowing those men, it would probably be an exercise in futility. Speed wasn't his forte, analysis and planning was. That, and his ability to regurgitate acid. And so, he stayed silent and watched the two men banter with Red.
He had heard Red state out a myriad number of reasons for standing against the two men, but frankly, his reasons weren't in tune with what Growlithe knew about the teen from his personal observations. The teen hadn't made the slightest move towards capturing him. Instead, he had fed him thrice a day, and added more nutrient potions to bolster his regeneration. And not just him, but the scyther as well, despite the unusually disdainful and grumpy nature that the bug displayed.
Red was strange, but he was a good kind of strange. And if Growlithe had to choose, he'd probably stick to his chances with this human than anything else. At least, it would get him out of this forest, and give him some exposure to the world outside. Worst came to worst; he could always escape. He had escaped the prison, so escaping from the new human should be no different.
What do I do now?
Morality would probably indicate that he'd stand on Red's side and fight off against the two men that wanted to capture him, but Growlithe hadn't survived all this time by being moral. The scyther would probably take the opportunity to escape. Mawile… was quick on her feet, but not a runner. There was a time and place for her talents and this was not it. Red was stupidly naive and moral, so he would probably get eaten somewhere. Taking advantage of the situation was the pragmatic thing to do.
It was hardly personal.
The real question would be the aftermath of that choice. Should he abandon Red, there was a high chance that Red and his company might drop their defensive stance, and allow the men-in-black to chase after him. Growlithe knew that he couldn't outrun them, and all it would take would be a single hit to render him incapacitated. And when that happened, there would be no one to come and save him.
And then Red twisted his neck and yelled, "and why the fuck aren't you running already?"
Had Growlithe been a lesser creature, he'd have probably broken down into tears at such an open display of pure-hearted behavior. Fortunately, he was not, and knew when to take advantage of such emotional responses. He saw the mist envelope the area, and almost woofed in joy. Jumping off the ground, he turned tail and raced into the forest— weak legs be damned.
I'm going to make it! Finally!
Growlithe made a silent prayer for the human as he continued to run. Maybe all humans weren't as bad as he tho—
And then out of nowhere, he felt pain.
The shock-collar activated, and several hundred volts of electricity penetrated his skin. His muscles spasmed and Growlithe skidded into the ground, bruising his forelimbs as he sagged into the grassy floor. It was fortunate that he was no stranger to pain, or he would be unable to think. It hurt that much.
He felt his regeneration kick in, numbing the paralytic effect of the electrocution, and dulling the pain.
I'm no longer mobile, so fleeing is just a slow death. A battle it is then.
Growlithe knelt in a crouch, allowing his weight to rest on his hindlimbs. From the vibrations on the forest floor, it was obvious that something large and heavy was quickly approaching him. His maw shut and ready with an attack, Growlithe calmly waited for his assailant to arrive.
He felt the boisterous machoke appear before he even saw it, grunting in its throaty voice, as it jogged towards him. Clearly, any concept of subtlety was lost on this muscle-for-brains. For a moment, Growlithe entertained a silly thought about his own species. Were normal growlithe air-heads too, because they thought with their legs instead of their brains?
Growlithe's stray thoughts were interrupted by the approaching machoke. It had seemingly located him and was currently aiming a hard punch at Growlithe's abdomen. Considering his own frail self, Growlithe was sure that a single punch would take him down.
Wait for it.
Right when the punch was about to land, Growlithe put all his strength into his hindlimbs and leaped. Right onto the hand that was about to pulverize him. For a second he looked up at the obviously confused pokémon. Right in the eye.
And then Growlithe smiled.
Eat Acid Smog, bitch.
He opened his mouth and doused the unfortunate creature with as potent a version of his Acid Smog as he could possibly produce.
Right in the face.
The machoke hissed in pain, as the corrosive vapors gnawed at his flesh, eating their way through it. Never one to waste an opportunity, Growlithe bared his fangs and tore through the very hand he was clinging on, his sharp fangs, lined with corrosive acid, tearing and burning their way through flesh. The machoke tried to grapple him, but it had already lost most of the mobility in his arm. And it didn't seem to be able to make its own decisions under pain.
Stupid thing.
The last thing it saw was the bared fangs of its prey approach its throat.
I fucking hate this.
It was almost funny. One moment he had charged ahead into the dense forest intent on capturing the growlithe. Doctor Namba had been rather insistent that the growlithe must be caught alive, and only in the worst-case scenario was that he was allowed to kill it. Obviously, the worst-case scenario involved coming across a Ranger Squad, and Meyers was sure that encountering a bunch of rookies did not qualify. Besides, with machoke already on the growlithe's trail, he'd probably be back at the base before midnight.
Now though... He didn't feel as confident as before. The entire place was damp and dark. The mist had certainly not helped, and with the dense outgrowth all around, it was slowly bordering along the lines of discomfort. He couldn't even hear the soft thumping of his machoke's feet.
Probably gone far away. Did the growlithe really run that far off?
Doctor Namba had been quite particular. The growlithe was precious. It could spew acid from its mouth, and was quick to regenerate from bruises. There was nothing in the description about its vulnerability, or lack thereof, as far as electrical shocks were concerned. Besides, it wasn't used to constant running, so it would probably try to hide somewhere.
I'm beginning to hate myself for not bringing the poochyena.
"CHWO - OKE!"
Meyers stiffened. That was his machoke's voice. No, that was Machoke screaming. In pain. A shiver ran down Meyer's spine, the eerie silence that dragged on after the sudden scream giving rise to an odd feeling in his stomach.
Fear.
"Machoke? Machoke, are you all right?" Meyers yelled.
Silence.
"Ma— Machoke did you get it?" He tried again.
…
There was no sound of feet stampeding upon the grassy floor. There were throaty grunts, no sound of the branches being pushed by something large walking through them. There were no bugs buzzing in the dark, nor anything else that gave any semblance of life.
Just the grim darkness, and the silent rustling of the surrounding trees.
"Shameful!" He muttered, "being afraid of the dark."
His left hand reached into his waist, and took out a pokéball, releasing the beast within. The white, bipedal feline that stood before him was visible despite the lack of illumination. Then again, zangoose fur contained some kind of phosphorescent compound, that emanated a soft glow in the dark. Something about allowing the offspring to spot their parents in the night.
The zangoose let out a low growl.
"It's me," Meyers established his presence with his voice. "Stay sharp. Attack anything that moves. "
Inwardly, he was wishing that he hadn't entered into such an obscure zone, but returning empty-handed would speak ill of his prowess.
The zangoose growled a second time.
"What is it? Do you sense something?"
The feline wagged its jagged tail upwards, sniffing around like the very growlithe it was there to catch, before signaling towards the right.
Yes, this will do.
With soft steps, Meyers walked ahead, taking care not to produce any sudden noises. There, roughly four meters ahead, stood the precocious teen, with his mawile standing right beside him. With the way the creature was glowing in the darkness, he presumed that it had some modicum of control over the Flash technique.
Mawile are deceptive, and this one looks trained.
"Zangoose," He whispered, "get close and use Night Slash. Target the abdomen."
Zangoose shook his head towards the teenager.
"Incapacitate him if necessary. Try not to kill anything, especially the mawile."
The feline nodded, before leaping into the darkness. Meyers could feel the rush of adrenaline pumping into his veins, invigorating him. Regardless of whether he might catch the growlithe, he was not letting the teen go without paying for his obstinacy. His eyes shone with a slight hint of malice, as he sensed the zangoose leap from branch to branch in near silence.
Time to hunt.
Meanwhile
Travers stood on the spot patiently, a lackadaisical expression on his face as he waited for the mist to slowly disperse away. This wasn't normal mist and would dissipate with the departure of the caster— in this case, the mawile. Truth be told, he was rather surprised that a mawile of all things, held this level of affinity with ice. The little tricksters were rather devious, and this one's trainer seemed to enhance its capriciousness.
He glanced at the skarmory maintaining a keen eye over his own movements. Beside him, his faithful ariados stood guard. Should the need arise, the ariados could very well engage the steel avian for a while. More than enough time for him to release his other pokémon. As a grunt captain, it was his duty to keep a team of six on his person at all times, but he had gotten a little… overboard with his recent training, which was why he was currently down to four. But it didn't matter—his other pokémon was more than capable of ending the fight immediately.
I seriously hope that it doesn't come to that. These are pretty green trainers after all.
"Aren't you going to attack me?" The orangette asked.
Travers arched an eyebrow. "Do you want me to?"
He passed a second glance at the avian in the air and arched his hands over his head. "Meyers has gone in, and he'll be out with the growlithe soon enough. I have no reason to fight you."
Misty folded her arms over her chest. "Red's gone in there too. He'll stop your…"
"Meyers," He supplied helpfully. "And I wouldn't be so sure of it. Unlike me, Meyers is a hands-on kind of guy. It's almost ironic, since your boyfriend—"
"Red's not my boyfriend!"
"Indeed?" Travers frowned. "Off-putting. You seem like a hands-on kind of girl. Your friend— Red was it? He's more… like me. I noticed his stalling tactic. Too bad that the growlithe lacked the facilities to understand his words and run away. Five more seconds of the Mist could have facilitated his escape better."
The orangette gritted her teeth in annoyance.
"Are you…. Are you looking down on me? I have pokémon too, in case you are getting any ideas." Misty replied irately.
"Do I seem to give that impression? Forgive me. I'm more of a… reconnaissance kinda person. Observing army personnel, deceiving targets and taking them out, that kind of thing. More of the 'cloak and daggery' kind of activities that your friend was talking about. Speaking of which, daggery isn't an actual word."
"Stop rambling." Misty almost rebuked him, before her expression changed. Probably, the girl had just realized how stupid it was. "Why are you after that growlithe? Even for its shiny-ness, it cannot be worth so much as to send goons after it."
Travers laughed at that. "Now, now, mind your manners. That is what separates us cultured people from... goons did you say? As for your question, that growlithe is… special. It's unfortunate your boyfriend decided to poké his—"
"Red's not my boyfriend!" Misty hissed vehemently.
"You really have quite a pair of lungs on you." He sighed. "I should have left Meyers with you."
The girl remained in place, as he glanced in the direction his friend had sprinted off. "I really hope he finishes quickly. Speaking of which," he turned towards Misty, "you shouldn't hope for your friend's safe return. More so, if he continues to fight."
"Just shut your trap." Misty hollered. "I— I'll fight if I have to."
"No thank you," Travers calmly sat down on the grassy floor. "Fighting a greenie is no fun at all. I'll wait till either of them shows up."
Back Inside…
Growlithe pushed himself off the ground, his claws still sunk into the machoke's flesh. He had just bitten into its muscular shoulder, tearing it off from the rest of its body. It felt good. Hunting a strong creature, feasting upon it, even when facing a battle of survival was… exhilarating. It woke up something primal inside him— something had emerged from its shadowy cave, never to return to the shadows.
His red eyes emanated a sinister glow.
From the sounds, he knew there were others nearby. The sounds of footsteps and the agitated branches were enough of a clue that there was a tree-dweller around.
Probably not a water-type. Flames it is, then. I cannot match its speed, but what if it runs out of branches?
Worst-case scenario—he'd be caught in a forest fire. No big deal. He could absorb flames just fine. The same wasn't true for humans, nor the tree-dweller. Besides, the orangette had two water-types, but he doubted even those two would be powerful enough to bring a forest fire under control. Not to mention Red was—
Growlithe cursed. Apparently, the first example of nice behavior had woken up some of the growlithe-genes within him. There was simply no other explanation of why he felt beholden to a human of all things. Even from this distance, he could see the mawile glowing like a torch in the darkness. For someone that claimed to be the exemplar of subtlety and trickery, it was uncertain as to why she was glowing like a flashlight in the dark.
Oh right.
Red.
Growlithe sensed the other predator leap off to the next branch. It was quick— he'd give it that much —but Mawile could deal with it. Currently, his senses were drawing him towards a different scent. One that he was familiar with back in the lab. One that was human.
Though this time would be different. This time, he would be the predator.
And the human would be his prey.
The moment they had entered the ever-growing darkness of the forest, Mawile patted herself on the back for allowing Red to get her started on Iron Defense. Similar to Flash, the layer of steel energy emanated a soft glow in the darkness, enough to cover a wider range without the immense luminosity. It was exactly what she needed to give herself visibility in this forest.
It was also what made her a target.
"Mawile, do you hear that?" Red asked her, his fingers tightening around a sharp twig. Mawile wondered where he had picked that one.
She jerked her head. She wasn't a nocturnal creature, and as such, she was at a disadvantage. Whatever was around her, was clearly laying a trap. Neither she nor Red could fight in the darkness.
This is going to be difficult.
"Ready your Iron Head, and use diversionary tactic F," Red prompted. Mawile widened her eyes at that. Yep, that one could be of some use, especially with the darkness in the forest. Her present condition would only reinforce it.
She allowed a small smirk grace her lips.
The creature in the darkness rushed from the branch to her right into the sky, before leaping into the left. Mawile felt that she saw a reddish glint before a large shadow rose up from her behind. She sensed Red clenched the twig in his hand, ready to wave it over as a defense, and felt the creature draw near her.
She let go.
And the world was inundated with blinding light.
Meyers brought his hands in front of his face, shutting his eyes tight as blinding light exploded in the middle of the darkness. He had been ready to watch the zangoose bring the teen and his mawile down when that little explosion had ruined his plans. Zangoose could function in both daylight and darkness, but it took them a while to get adjusted to either extreme.
The mawile really couldn't have timed the Flash better. The zangoose hissed, and lost its control, dropping to the forest floor, rubbing its eyes.
Shit. I need to run damage control. Now.
His fingers clenched the next pokéball on his waist, ready to throw his next battler out to play. Yes, Arbok was exactly what he needed to control the situation. On second thought, he probably shouldn't have sent the zangoose out in the first place.
That, and Arbok makes me uncomfortable. He mused to himself, raising the pokéball that contained the vicious serpent—
And a pair of vicious claws came out of nowhere and slashed at him. Meyers paused for a moment before he slowly turned to look down at the stump that used to be his arm. For a moment, he couldn't understand what had happened.
Is that… my hand?
His entire body felt numb. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. Meyers moved as if possessed as he slowly bent down moving closer and closer to the arm on the floor. His mind started feeling clearer as the numbness started fading.
I— I was attacked? What hit m—
And then Meyers knew pain.
This is… surprisingly simple. Growlithe mused to himself, his padded paws silencing his movement. His legs were weak, so while he couldn't run fast, he could be stealthy. Here, in the darkness of the forest, it was his stealth that was becoming his weapon.
Interesting. Every single day of freedom teaches me something new about myself.
Back at the prison, the only thing he had was pain. Pain meant that he was alive, that he drew breath, and that he had lasted another day. Pain meant that the deathmatch was on, or over. Pain meant the embrace of sweet, dreamless sleep, of freedom, of a world away from these white-walls, a world where he could live a happy life. Pain meant the start of a new struggle that would bring him one step closer to the freedom he demanded.
That was until he had escaped the prison, and stepped into this eternally-large forest.
The feeling of soft, raw flesh of the tangela had been… exhilarating. Growlithe was no stranger to meat, but eating warm flesh, with blood trickling out of the tissues while he feasted on it was incomparable. It was nothing like the cold loaves of meat that the prison guards had pushed into his cage two times a day. But while the tangela had been an unsuspecting prey, the machoke had been a predator, and just some moments ago, he had torn into him with a viciousness Growlithe didn't know he had.
It felt good. Very good. His primal instincts begged for more. And Growlithe was only too happy to oblige.
The human—Meyers or whatever, seemed afraid. Growlithe could almost sense the fear in him, but he wanted more. He wanted to taste it. Those men-in-black were always the ones with the weapon, whether it be through the damned collar on his neck, or through those steel rods that electrocuted him upon contact.
Oh, how he hated them.
He saw the deceiving little trickster explode out into bright light, catching the feline off-guard. Even Red was holding a stick—Growlithe almost chuckled at the sight. To think that the human thought that a stick would keep him alive. Red was naive, but he was a good kind of naive.
He considered Meyers again.
He saw the man's fingers reach into his waist, and bring out a second pokéball. Another mindless creature perhaps? Ready to serve its torturer until death took them apart? Mawile he could understand—benefits of a naive and less-heartless master. But them?
Disgraceful. Perhaps a life of freedom in the world has made freedom seem… less in their eyes. Is that why they are confined to mindless beasts that cannot move without their master's command?
That would not do. Growlithe wanted to hunt, wanted the prey to fight back.
He glanced at Meyers again.
And hunt he would.
Without preamble, the canine leaped towards the unsuspecting man, claws drenched with corrosive acid, and brought it down on him, ripping off the portion below the elbow. The cut wasn't clean by any means, with broken bones and torn tissue latching against the upper fragment. The rest of it unceremoniously landed into the grass, the pokéball flung away unused.
Growlithe watched his tormentor stumble around. He seemed to be completely ignoring his own injury.
Do humans not feel pain?
Come to think of it, he had never actually seen a human get injured before.
And then Meyers screamed.
Growlithe watched in bemusement as his prey let out one howl after another, before collapsing onto the floor, still cradling the injured stump that remained attached to his shoulder.
His eyes met Meyers's own.
I can almost smell his fear.
The retracted claws stretched out, as a single paw dug into the man's chest. For that moment, Meyers was no mere human. Rather, he was a representation of all the humans that had ever hurt him— the ones that imprisoned him and kept him captive. The ones that performed experiments on him regardless of the suffering and torment it caused him. For every broken bone, for every single time Growlithe had to suffer in silence—
No longer.
This was his tormentor, and today, he would be his prey.
I could get used to this.
Growlithe's eyes glowed in the color of blood, and he tore towards the man's neck, as Meyers released a gut-wrenching scream.
The feline was already in motion before Mawile's jaw slammed into the ground.
She was fast. Quite fast, Red noted. But the feline was faster. Using Flash had been a good idea, even if it did blind her momentarily. By the time his eyes had readjusted to the dark, Mawile was already airborne, aiming for the white feline on the floor.
She ended up missing, by several inches in fact, as the creature latched onto the nearest trunk, before leaping onto the next branch. He couldn't see Meyers, so the pokémon was probably running on instinct.
If only I could scan it. What are the chances of encountering a non-native here of all places? I really need to look into the non-Kanto natives the next chance I get. For now...
"Mawile, aerial countermeasures."
The deceiver pokémon nodded, taking the offensive. The white feline snarled and leaped down towards Mawile again, its long, sharp claws coated with tendrils of darkness. Something feral shone in the feline's eyes as it snarled in fury before pouncing at Mawile from atop a branch.
That has to be Night Slash. Is this some kind of dark-type?
He didn't know a lot about dark-types or their move sets other than the common Bite, and its evolved and infinitely more dangerous version— Crunch. He had come across Night Slash while reading about Bite. It had been nothing short of fascinating.
Despite being a physical attack, a dark-type move didn't rely upon causing maximum damage at first strike. Instead, it focussed on transferring some of those black tendrils into the victim upon impact. That accomplished, the victim would show increasing signs of sluggishness and disorientation. And these attacks could stack over time, with each move draining the targets stamina and reserves. Once the victim had wasted itself away, the dark-type would pounce upon it.
Night Slash, Bite, Crunch—they came in different variations and methods, but the underlying principle was always the same. An injection of those tendrils— or Dark Energy in layman terms and the rest was history. It was what made Dark-types so utterly dangerous. It was also what gave them the reputation of being evil.
"Mawile, it is about time!" Red yelled, hoping she'd catch the urgency in his voice, "don't let it hit."
Thankfully, his starter obliged without a second thought. She instantly dropped the Iron Head she was preparing, and launched her open jaw into the air, liberating a wave of electrified energy.
The Thunder Wave tore through the space between them, catching the feline off guard. The white creature spasmed mid-air, before unceremoniously dropping to the floor. Even so, one of its sharp claws did manage to scratch past Mawile's jaw and draw blood below her left shoulder. It was a tiny cut, easily treatable, but it had caused her to bleed, and some of the darkness from its claws had passed through.
Mawile hissed in pain, and answered it in the only way she knew how.
With Iron Head.
Which, quite unfortunately for the feline, landed straight on its head.
Meyers tried to calm himself by breathing in deeply. It did not help. The air almost refused to enter his lungs.
What is happening?
A slightly metallic taste filled his mouth as he coughed.
Blood. He realized. My own.
Mayers gathered whatever little strength he could and began to edge away from the creature stalking him. This was no growlithe. This was a predator and it was slowly walking towards him, clearly enjoying his suffering. A muted scream left his throat before he felt padded feet land upon his chest.
Meyers shivered, fully expecting to die.
Is this how it ends?
He slowly closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the growlithe deal the final blow. It never came. Instead, something slammed into the beast, leaving a loud hissing sound in its wake. After what seemed like an eternity, he slowly peered his eyes open.
I'm— I'm not dead?
His Arbok had somehow released itself from the pokéball during the entire event, and had attacked the monster—he refused to call that thing a growlithe —with extreme prejudice.
"Arbok!" Meyers breathed fearfully, as his eyes met the malevolent stare of the serpent beside him. Arbok had always been an oddball, and he couldn't really claim to have any control over it. It reeked of killing intent, and for a moment, Meyers wondered if he had simply chosen one torturous death over another.
A moment later, the arbok lunged forward, Meyers almost let out a scream— for one horrifying moment, he thought the Arbok was charging at him —but to his elation, the vicious serpent simply slithered over his body, impressing its massive weight on his form, before lunging at the canine, who bared his fangs and dodged the attack. Arbok slammed into a tree trunk, smashing the trunk into several pieces, before sweeping it off the ground with a lash of its tail, and bared its fangs.
Drip.
The sound of deadly venom dripping off its fangs was distinct. He had seen a taurus die within five minutes of being bitten.
Meyers felt his vision fade as the sheer agony overpowered his senses. It hurt so goddamn much that he just wanted to fall unconscious. He slapped himself. Hard. He needed to stay awake. He couldn't afford to lose control, not if he wanted to survive.
"Get him!" The words started out as an order but ended up as a slurred plea. "Wrap that bastard up—" The rest of his words jumbled as a particularly bad jolt of pain ripped through his body. Mayers felt himself fading into the darkness.
Focus on the pain, he told himself. Pain is good. Means you're still alive.
The serpent hissed savagely, flaring its hood outwards. The strange patterns on its belly shone in the darkness, and for once, the growlithe seemed transfixed with fear. Meyers could hear it whimpering in the darkness.
This might be my chance, Meyers thought to himself. Ignoring the jolts of agony that came with the slightest movement. The growlithe was engaged, and he probably wouldn't get another opportunity. He needed to escape. The world could go to hell, but he needed—
Disorientation gripped his mind before another pang of agony brought him back.
He needed to escape, and he—
He froze as he felt something hit his other hand. It was the controller, the one that manipulated the growlithe's shock collar. He had imagined that a single electrocution would render it paralyzed for hours, and as such, had returned it to his pocket.
Meyers saw the growlithe leap onto his arbok from above.
A cruel smile etched itself on Meyers' face. He had lost an arm to the canine, and he'd be damned if the growlithe didn't suffer for it.
Snarling, he pressed the button.
Zangoose, the cat-ferret pokémon. Zangoose usually stays on all fours, but when angered, it gets up on its hind legs and extends its claws. This pokémon shares a bitter rivalry with seviper that dates back over generations.
"A zangoose, huh?" Red muttered, scanning the unconscious pokémon on the floor. Mawile was currently inspecting it, and while he had pretended not to notice, she had actually slammed her jaw on its face and back twice after its initial incapacitation. For once, he didn't comment on her violence. This creature had come at them with the intent to maim, if not kill.
"Does it still hurt?"
Mawile hissed, almost as if the mere memory of the little wound was causing her pain. Red smiled gently, before pulling her into his arms, causing the little thing to coo into his chest in elation.
"I doubt we'll be able to find growlithe or that ass—"
An inhuman scream hit his ears.
Meyers.
He seemed to be in danger and Red certainly did not want to get mixed up in it. The forest was filled with monstrous creatures after all. Clutching Mawile tightly in his arms, he ran into the darkness, hoping he was getting closer to the tent—
And fell on the ground face-first.
He groaned as his hands slid across the ground.
Why is it so slippery?
He rubbed his fingers together, feeling an unusual greasiness.
"What is this?" He wondered, "Mawile, can you Flash?"
Mawile did so, without hesitation—
Red nearly threw up in horror.
Blood. So much blood. And it was everywhere.
He stared at his red-stained hands as another wave of nausea washed over him.
The body— if it could be called that— was barely recognizable. Less than a quarter of the face remained. The rest had been hacked and ripped apart brutally. Turned out that the thing he had slipped over was actually an eye socket that had rolled further away from the body, and was now inches away from his legs, with dark red blood pooling all around it, already blackening.
Panicking, he threw his legs outward, kicking the eyeball away from him. Pushing himself back into a bush, he lost all control before throwing up.
Even Mawile looked nauseous.
He could hardly keep himself from shaking in utter horror. Mawile moved towards him, ignoring the brutality on the floor, and slowly rubbed her head against his chest. A part of him felt a tiny bit of solace in that comfort. Clenching her closer, he slowly backed away, compulsively shutting his eyes in attempts to remove the image from his eyes.
"What—what could have—?"
It didn't help. If anything, the image of the mutilated pokémon kept reinforcing itself every time he closed his eyes.
"What could have done—do you, do you think—" Red's eyes widened in recognition as he went on, "Growlithe? Then… do you think that this is the machoke?"
Mawile shrugged her head. Growlithe were canines, so it was quite possible for them to hack and rip into their prey. That said, even she agreed that this particular specimen had been rather vicious in its methods.
"Let's— let's go," Red shook his head vigorously, not wanting to think about the matter for too long. He needed to get out of this forest as quickly as he could.
Meyers watched the growlithe gnash its teeth in agony, as electricity jolted through its nerves. The canine had just leaped over the serpent to strike from above, only for the timely electrocution to make it lose its coordination and unceremoniously drop to the forest floor.
Four times! That shit's gonna be deader than dead when I'm fucking done with it.
"Crush it, Arbok. Make it suffer" Meyers grinned maliciously, before coughing up blood.
He somehow managed to pull out one of the syringes from his waist pocket, all the while biting into his tongue to keep himself from screaming his lungs out. Pain endurance was a fundamental part of his training regimen, as was knowledge of basic first-aid in an emergency situation. Granted, this took the concept of a first-aid to an extreme, so he'd have to make do with what he had. Tearing off the cap, he plunged the syringe into the remaining stump that was his arm.
Not wasting time, he pulled out a pair of capsules and swallowed them. These were painkiller-pills, containing potent analgesics as well as nutrients, and were specifically engineered by the League for their Ace Corps. It was a good thing that Team Rocket had its roots deep inside the bureaucracy.
Mind's going on tangents. I've lost too much blood. Need help.
Without preamble, he lifted his head and— "ARGH!"
Something shoved into him from behind, sending him flailing down to the ground. Right onto his injured arm, letting out another grunt of pain. The anesthesia was working, but it wasn't there yet. Somehow he managed to turn over, ignoring the mess that was his arm, to look up.
The kid?
"What the fuck do you—?" he screamed another jolt of pain hit him.
"Sorry," The teen muttered, "I meant to say stop, but I punched you instead."
He saw the teen momentarily wince at his amputated stump before a furious hiss from Arbok attracted his attention. The mawile had ripped into Arbok's abdomen from behind while it was coiling around the growlithe, and slowly crushing it to death. The growlithe had nearly succumbed to the pain, and he would have thought it dead if not for the slight twitches every now and then.
The sudden attack had the arbok screeching in agony, and it had instantly released its prey. True to its viciousness, the mawile kept slamming its jaw over the freshly mutilated region, causing Arbok to hiss in pain, before fleeing towards the forest.
I need to do something.
Meyers tried to get to the controller, but the teen kicked it out of his reach, towards the mawile who instantly shattered it to pieces. Incomprehensible horror dawned on him.
"...What have you done?"
"Saved someone I promised," the teen snarled back, "Growlithe deserves to live, and you're not going to take that away from him."
The kid rushed towards the fallen canine, lifting him up in a fireman's carry. Once he was sure of his hold, the teen rushed out of the clearing with the mawile tucked into his arms.
"Dammit!" He cursed, watching the group leave. Even at the cost of his own hand, he'd be damned if he allowed that brat and that growlithe to get away like that.
With his diminishing strength and one remaining arm, he began to push himself up.
Travers hated waiting, especially when it came to something so simple.
This was supposed to be an in and out job. A search and retrieve. The target? A growlithe of all things. Yes, it was an experimental hybrid, but not only was it physically weak, it was even equipped with a shock collar.
Meyers is more incompetent than I thought.
"Hey, orange girl?"
"Don't call me orange girl!"
Travers winced. Did she have to be so loud?
"Fine then, what's your name?"
"Misty Waterflower," the orangette answered pridefully. Then again considering what the name represented, that wasn't very surprising.
"Waterflower eh? Daughter of Michael Waterflower?"
"You know my dad?" Misty narrowed his eyes.
"Anyone in my business would know that fucker," Travers answered with a laugh, ignoring the glowing red of purple on the girl's face, "Anyway, just how competent is your boyfriend? It's not like Meyers to take so long."
"Shut up. Red won't go down so easily," The girl shot back, "He'll kick your friend's ass."
"I should tell you he's not really my friend. Worrying about him is more of a professional courtesy," He halted as he heard footsteps near the tent.
"Ah, here he comes. Well, it's been nice chatting with you, and good luck with your not-boyfriend when he—"
His words died down his throat, as Travers subconsciously stood up, at the sight before him. It wasn't Meyers. Instead, it was the teen— Red, covered in blood and a dead-looking growlithe on his shoulders. The mawile was trudging close behind, obviously exhausted.
"Where is Meyers?" Travers asked, his tone sounding like a formal command. The teen almost flinched at his voice before catching himself and glowering back defiantly.
"Red!" The orangette howled before rushing towards her companion concern clouding her features.
"Get Inside. Talk later," Red breathed, as he slowly put the growlithe on the ground. The fire-type spasmed a few times at the movement, before shifting to placidity. The teen tilted his head towards the girl and spoke, never leaving Travers's eyes, "We're leaving. NOW. Take what you need."
"But—"
"NOW."
"You're not going anywhere without handing that growlithe to me. Or before Meyers gets back for that matter," Travers refuted sternly.
"Your friend lost an arm." Red taunted, "If you really care about him, you should try to save him. If you run you might make it. And what the hell are you doing standing like a fucking stone?" The teen snarled his last words, directing them towards the girl, "I told you to take what is necessary. Do it NOW."
Misty seemed to shake back into motion at the boy's sharp tongue. She ran towards her tent, and began to pack her backpacks, tossing in whatever she could find, before proceeding to do the same with Red's own.
"Useless," Travers sighed, "None of you are going anywhere."
He slowly moved out of his relaxed stance, his fingers closing towards his own waist.
"Skarmory!" The teen yelled at the steel avian, who had taken to the air, "attack anything that is hostile!" The skarmory screeched back, its gaze fixed on Travers.
He says Meyers lost a hand. A bluff? Even if it is, I can't call it. He'll escape if I let him out of my sight. Even if Ariados stands guard, the skarmory will attack, and that can be problematic.
"Lost an arm, you say? Well then, I'll need to go bring him back. Why don't the two of you to stay here like good little kids. It's much more fun when everyone is obedient, no?"
"Try me!" The teen hissed, clearly perturbed and not in the mood for small talk. "Misty, are you done?"
"I'm done— I'm done!" The girl— Misty —yelled back, perplexed and fearful at her friend's change in attitude. "Croconaw, come into your pokéball and—"
"No one is going anywhere!" Travers reinforced his point, "Fuck! Why doesn't anyone ever do things the easy way?" He hit the floor with his boots twice, as the ariados snapped into action. "Let's make them dance!"
It happened in an instant. One moment the ariados was opening its jaws, and the next, it shot several strands of silky material all around the place, creating a meshwork. The strings were thin and shined with something purple on them. Travers almost smiled, seeing the teen—despite his anger—stop and cautiously stare at the strings, instead of trying to tear through them like most of the morons his age might have done.
He'd make a nice grunt. Maybe even push up to a Captain in a few months, if he's diligent enough. Too bad it turned out like this.
Travers raised a hand as the skarmory was swooped down towards the strings. For some reason, the skarmory paused in its descent.
Did it recognize the threat on its own? He raised an eyebrow. He hadn't seen the kid give it any instructions. This was becoming interesting. How did the teen manage to survive keeping something with such high independence on his team?
How… peculiar.
"Those aren't normal string shots, kid," Travers elucidated, "those are Toxic Threads. Even a small nick will cause serious issues if left untreated." He grinned, "Nifty little thing, right? Also, I'd avoid touching them as well. Strong as steel, I tell you, but feel free to test it."
Seeing the orangette suddenly freezing in her tracks was almost worth it. Now, she was doing a peculiar little jig as she did her best to balance on one leg.
He allowed himself a moment of amusement before he turned back to the more interesting kid.
"Kill the boy if that bird attacks."
The teen— Red —glared at him balefully.
"Now then," Travers grinned, glancing at the scyther who seemed disinterested as ever. "You stay where you are. Easy right? It's that simple. No one has to get hurt." He glanced at Red appraisingly. "Well more hurt than you already are."
Red gnashed his teeth.
"Now be a good boy while I go look for Meyers." He gave a sly grin at the girl, "I'm leaving you all alone with him." He paused for a moment, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
"The hell are you—" Misty growled before she was interrupted by a strangled gasp.
Travers' eyes widened as he turned towards the tent. It was someone he had become intimately familiar with over the past several days. Except he was covered in blood, and barely able to stand. And instead of his arm, there was a bloodied stump.
"Meyers!" He breathed.
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