Ascension
ACT TWO - DUST OF DREAMS
Chapter 1 - A Bunch of People Talk to Each Other
The ghastly winds passed through him, filling his bones with a morbid winter. The surrounding imagery of green leaves mixed with crimson flames painting the landscape a vivid crimson. He felt something cold and dark and painful shoot up his spine, but he ignored it and kept on running.
And then it happened.
Large metallic horns rose from the ground and impaled his chest forcing a metallic, guttural screech—
Red's eyes shot open, a horrifying scream trying to escape his throat trying to move his hand in front of him to avoid the blood dripping off the white ceiling—
He blinked.
White ceiling?
He looked up. Yes, the blank whiteness above him was still above him. He tried to move again, tentatively testing his body.
It was futile. He could not move. That was when he remembered.
That's right. I'm safe now.
He still couldn't believe it. That he had managed to survive. That he had made it out alive.
Not that this is much better. He thought pessimistically as he stared at the white ceiling above him. Can't move, can't speak and all I can see is white.
Between the whiteness above his eyes, and the oxygen mask covering his face all mobility and vision was limited. It was horrible and restrictive and made it impossible to reach the itch that had suddenly developed on the bridge of his nose.
This was probably the fifth time he had opened his eyes. A fleeting period of consciousness before the growing headache forced him back into the comforting embrace of sleep. He'd have welcomed it if not for the nightmarish dreams that were torturing his mind and soul.
I'm being moved. Again.
Blurry shapes and images filtered past him.
Another surgery?
The shape would always talk to him— surprisingly earnest given that Red gave no indication that he was even listening. They would then take him to another room, and then, another slightly bigger shape would talk.
When he woke up next, he would find himself back in the first room. Or so he assumed. After all, all the rooms had white ceilings.
How silly, he thought deliriously. How will people be able to tell one room from another?
Once again, the throbbing pain began to assault his head. Why was this happening to him? He didn't deserve this! He was actually beginning to consider the pros of resisting sleep this time. Hesitantly, he closed his eyes...
…
...
Blood spread all over the grass, covering it like canvas, the translucent crimson droplets falling like rain. The grotesque, marred face of Skarmory tore open, revealing the alien, monstrosity that twisted and turned— light crimson, trusting eyes fell upon him—
"Will you kill me too?"
Red screamed. It seemed that not even losing his consciousness would give him salvation. The nightmares twisted as they filtered in and out of his mind, playing with his emotions, his dreams, his fears.
At this point, death might be a relief from this endless cycle of nightmares. Or maybe he was actually dead, and this was just some kind of past-life karmic joke cast upon him by those he had failed? Come to think of it, it was almost ironic that he would end up back in a hospital bed.
I'll definitely go insane if this continues.
He tried to move his body, and felt his skin flare upon contact with… well, whatever was touching it. At the very least, he could move the fingers of his... left hand? or was that right one. It was hard to be sure. His mind was a cesspool of contradictory thought-processes and the constant battering from his nightmares didn't help either.
He let out a sigh, even as his eyelids began to close once more.
…
…
...
Mawile's jaw tore open from the inside, with Scyther's blade came out, blood-stained in its—
He screamed again, the image being far more vivid than before. Something was different though. He could hear his scream. His heart palpitated dangerously as he slowly opened his eyes. The ceiling looked the same, but then again, it always did.
The oxygen mask, however, was conspicuous by its absence.
"Hello, Red." An extremely familiar, masculine voice spoke up. Curious, Red turned his face to his right. His neck hurt, but he was past caring at this point. "So nice of you to join us.
Professor Oak was leaning across his bedside. Right beside him, sat Delia— her eyes puffed up and red.
...Crying? But she never...
"Was it too much to ask for you to go through one forest without it going up in flames?" Delia croaked.
Red just stared. This was hardly the first time his mother had been angry with him or yelled at him. But crying? Not even the incident back at Pallet had made her cry. In front of him at least.
"I…" He opened his mouth to speak. For once, his quick wit failed to generate an automatic response.
"Eight days? It's been eight days?"
Even to Red's exhausted mind, it sounded ridiculous. Then again, considering how many bouts of relapses and nightmares had assaulted him, it might well have been. Add that to his mother's… overly-aggressive concern and it was starting to crawl into uncharted territory. The fact that his mind still tormented itself about the fate of Mawile and the rest didn't help.
The elder man chuckled softly. "Well, eight days and… thirteen hours, if we're being specific. I've been here on an off and on basis. Delia has been here ever since.. we got the news."
She has…? But… what about work?
This was confusing. He was used to his mother's absences. Her constant presence, along with her badgering over him healing above everything else had felt a little odd. Conspicuous even.
Is this going to be a repeated thing from now on? What's wrong with her anyway? Doesn't look like she's been sleeping properly.
"Are you— are you okay, son?" Delia stammered, her words getting tangled as she tried very hard to not break down into sobs. "I thought I had lost you. I don't know what I'd have done if something—"
"Don't worry Mom," Red spoke, the steadiness in his voice surprising even himself. "I'm… still here."
"My little boy's all grown up," Delia tried to laugh softly, her eyes brimming with tears.
"I'm sorry... Mom, for all the trouble," Red answered. His head was slightly spinning even now, making it slightly difficult to concentrate. "You really didn't need to put off your work for—"
"Just— Just stop right there. Please.," Delia chastised him softly. "Now tell me, are you still in pain? Do you want to rest for a bit? Get some sleep?"
Sleep? If only…
"Nah… just a little... headache. Why does my body feel so heavy? And my legs… I can't feel them at all." Red tried to look around and noticed the apparatuses connected to his form. "What's with those? Am I… am I going to be okay? And Mawile? Is she okay? What about the others? Are they—?"
Oak raised a finger. "Yes, you're going to be okay, and no, nothing's wrong with your team. They are perfectly fine and are currently on the hospital grounds. The only person you need to worry about is yourself."
"But—"
"Trust me." The old man replied, his voice soft but stern. Somehow, Red couldn't find in himself to refute him. "Delia, we should leave. The doctor's—"
"I'm sure they can allow us a little more time." It looked like leaving Red's bedside was the last thing she wanted. "He has just woken up, and if he doesn't feel like sleeping, someone has to be here to keep him company."
"Delia," Oak requested, his voice a little firm this time, "You know the doctors only allowed us an hour after all of the—"
"But what if he needs something?" The woman countered fiercely. "This isn't Pallet town, professor. What if he needs something attended, or is in pain, or has another—"
"Delia!" Oak replied in an imperious tone.
"Mom," Red pleaded, a little befuddled from the strange back-and-forth conversation and his impending headache, "it's okay. I can just rest for a while."
Delia gazed at his face with a searching look. Even after a thorough search, she seemed not to find what she wanted. "If you're…"
"I'm sure," Red muttered, staring straight at her, his eyes meeting her gaze. "I'll be fine." He turned towards the man he trusted above everything else. "My team's okay, right?"
Oak looked at him with something akin to sympathy before his face straightened. "They are. Get some rest for now. It's quite late. I'll see if I can bring Mawile with me tomorrow."
"What about the rest of my team?"
Oak faltered momentarily. "Well, I doubt everyone will be allowed but I'll see what I can do. Even so, one at a time will probably be the most I can manage. Hospital rules, I'm afraid."
Red casually watched the door close as Oak left, before letting out a pronounced sigh, chortling mirthlessly, as he allowed himself to sag into the bed.
"Well, I guess I didn't die after all. Fancy that."
The moment the door closed, Oak discarded the genial smile from his lips, replacing it with the well-practiced expression he had crafted during his time as the reigning Champion. Frankly, it was surprising how easily the expression formed on his lips. Something he hadn't had to use for years but even so, the muscle was there, ready to contort at the slightest exertion.
"Professor—"
"Not now Delia," the man spoke with authority. It almost sounded like a reprimand, but Delia knew better. She nodded and quickly stepped out of the way, leaving the professor to walk out like a man possessed. Oak had barely crossed the corridor before the platoon-leader of a Ranger squad noticed his presence and saluted in earnest.
"At ease," Samuel gave them a brief nod. "My ward is to rest for the time being. I'd like to be kept in the loop when he's put through the interrogation."
The ranger, a brown, curly-haired man in his early twenties, nodded swiftly in response. "Of course. Considering Mr. Ketchum's state, we can extend his medical delay up until he is physically fit to answer our questions."
"It's fine," Oak waved, "The doctors have assured me that he'll be fine in a day or two. But I must ask, surely the other girl had been interrogated?"
The ranger nodded. "Already done, yesterday in fact."
"Was she heavily injured as well?"
"Not so much injured as traumatized." The ranger paused, "We had to... sedate her."
"I see," Oak frowned. "Well, as long as you don't cause Red any further... mental trauma, I have no problems with the interrogation."
The ranger looked up in surprise. "I must admit, this is kind of new. High-profile cases tend to not to go this smoothly. You are being awfully cooperative, considering it is your ward we are dealing with."
'My concern for my ward and my duties to Kanto are two completely different things. That being said, I'd rather not have too much public interest fall onto this issue."
The head-ranger caught Oak's eye. "Do you mean sir," he questioned, suppressing his wariness, "that you want this entire interrogation to be… hushed up?"
Even the other two rangers were looking at Oak with a surprised glance. While it was not very surprising to see the wealthy play their cards to manipulate the bureaucracy for their benefit, Samuel Oak was practically famous for his lack of political motivations. For him to actually interfere in such matters...
"Not exactly," Oak spoke up before the men could delve deeper into their personal theories. "What I want here is to solve the entire issue without any major involvement of the press. I'd like to avoid the spotlight if possible. If there is a felony, then let the transgressor be punished. If it was an accident, then let appropriate measures be taken. I won't stand in the way of justice."
The head ranger smiled. "Of course." He turned towards his squad-members. "I'll take care of it. You may leave."
Promptly, the two squad members saluted and left.
"That said," Oak went on, "I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a rundown of the transpired events. From what I understand, my ward was found with a certain Miss Waterflower at the site?"
The ranger nodded. "From Misty Waterflower's statement, she had contracted Red Ketchum to aid her in the capture of… some bugs for a school project. The amount was agreed to be eight thousand."
"Standard trainer agreements, I assume? Witnesses?" Oak inquired.
"None whatsoever. It was a vocal agreement at best. If he doesn't admit to it, it's not even legally valid."
Oak frowned. He had not expected Red to enter into contractual agreements with anyone. Usually, only trainers past the mid-intermediate stage were offered such deals. That said, he didn't think the boy was the kind to lie about his own trainer status— not that it'd stand with verification.
Still, why anyone would offer a contract to a rookie was beyond him.
He looked up. "I am assuming that the contract has more relevance to the interrogation?"
The ranger looked a little shifty. "It's just that… Gym Leader Michael Waterflower was most insistent upon transferring the amount to Mr. Ketchum's account, as payment for an official contract."
Oak arched an eyebrow. Michael Waterflower was known for many things. Magnanimity was not one of them. "Then?"
"He left for Cerulean with his daughter via teleportation."
"That quickly?"
"Mr. Waterflower was… not very cooperative towards the interrogation. Gym Leader Brock was away at Indigo Plateau, and you weren't in Pewter as well. Mr. Waterflower did seem to be in a hurry—"
"Even though this was a ranger squad investigating the issue?"
"...he was very much in a hurry."
"..."
"..."
"This is going to be one of those days, isn't it?"
"Seems so," the ranger replied with a mirthless grin.
The professor sighed. Michael Waterflower was known to be a family man through and through. But he hadn't known the man to be this rash. A little bit on the arrogant side, but not irrational, and certainly not a fool.
"His daughter explicitly stated that she was the one that offered Red the job?"
"Yes, sir."
Oak frowned. What kind of idiot offered a no-badge rookie a job like that? Between the sheer size of the forest and the large number of possible predators lying within, the idea of young, inexperienced teens walking through it was practically asking for trouble. That was why the league had spent an inordinate amount of time creating well-defined, rookie friendly paths throughout the Viridian Forest. Even so, there was a Ranger squad posted at all times on forest duty. Just in case.
"I can forward a copy of the interrogation report to you if you wish."
The older man shook his head. "That is a non-issue, unless my ward is accused of something… bad. A brief summary would do."
The ranger nodded. "They were there for no less than three weeks."
Three weeks. Of course! Three weeks in the heart of a bug-infested forest was such a great idea.
Oak schooled his expression. "Any concerns?"
"Besides several encounters with wild beedrill, and one… narrowly-avoided pinsir attack, nothing spectacular." The ranger drew a sliver of amusement from the older man's pallid expression. "You should be proud to know that your ward did a good job in evading the pinsir herd."
Oak sighed. He really should have looked at the interrogation report. Then again, it would give him an extra headache. Maybe he should just quit it all and leave for a sabbatical? Sinnoh was good this time of year.
"And a scyther." the ranger continued, as if oblivious to Oak's rising annoyance."From what I understood, it was your ward that took down the scyther as well. With bug-sprays no less."
"Of all the stupid and ridiculous—" Oak stopped himself midway, before taking a deep breath in an attempt to control his emotions. "Forgive me, the past few days have been rather… exhausting. Please go on."
"I understand, sir," The ranger replied apologetically, "It must be tiring, what with the recent events in Pallet."
Oak winced at that, but didn't say anything. Obviously the ranger had heard about that. It was the biggest tabloid material for the past week.
THE SCREAMS OF PALLET—MASSES CAUGHT IN NEGATIVE ENTHRALLMENT. A DERANGED PSYCHIC OUT OF CONTROL?
Then again, a town full of people clutching their heads with agony, while reliving their worst memories for over thirty seconds would obviously make it to the paper. He supposed his own name and association with Pallet Town didn't help matters. And just when he had been able to contain the… problem, a second tragedy had struck.
"This is the Pewter General Hospital. We have a trainer called Red Ketchum admitted here. Heavily injured and has been sent to the ICU. Our servers list you as his sponsor so—"
That was eight days ago.
"When we arrived at the site, we found Miss Waterflower unconscious and bleeding. She was close to a dead feraligatr, alongside a somewhat-disoriented starmie. My team had to subdue it before we managed to collect the girl."
"And Red?"
"He was found several hundred meters away from the girl. His situation was… rather extreme. We half-expected the boy to be dead, what with—"
Oak raised a hand, looking down, "Spare me of the details. Did the girl mention why she was found like that?"
"Miss Waterflower… was injured while fighting a criminal."
Oak did a double-take. "Criminal?"
The ranger nodded. "From her statement, both her and Mr. Ketchum were attacked by Team Rocket. So far we have established charges on illegal pokémon experimentation and trafficking, charges on murder of pokémon using weapons, and at least one attempt-to-murder charge upon the individual she named."
"Which is?"
"Travers. His full name is Travers Brooks. Son of Gregory Brooks, the former Gym Leader of Cerulean City. He was later arrested for poaching pokémon in Shoal Cave, Hoenn. Evaded prison and declared missing by Hoenn Police force. The official record on the man says he's dead."
"So a dead man, found working for Team Rocket and attacks the daughter of newer Gym Leader?" Oak asked, narrowing his eyes and rubbing the top of his nose. "How dramatic."
"Actually, there were two. While the one she fought was indeed Travers Brooks, he had another accomplice. A man she called Meyers. He was found close to Misty Waterflower, with an arm missing. The post-mortem indicates that he died from blood loss."
"Any further details?"
"I have two squads currently in the forest. I'll inform you if we get any leads into Team Rocket."
"You think there might be… a base somewhere inside the forest?" Oak leaned forward.
"We have enough reason to believe that," came the swift reply.
Interesting. Go on."
"We have no official record on him. It's possible he was from another region. We have yet to send for a query, but considering the people involved, we have put that on hold until the interrogations finish."
"I'm glad that the matter is in safe hands then," Oak replied.
"It's my job."
"And the evidence is verified correct? Standard psychic confirmation?"
"..."
"What?"
The ranger worded his next sentence carefully. "Mr. Waterflower insisted that his daughter be taken for treatment first. We're currently operating on the data we got from her… brief interrogation."
"She wasn't offered treatment?" Oak raised an eyebrow. It was standard procedure for the wounded— innocent and accused alike —to be sent for emergency healing before the interrogation began. "I thought that the hospital had a wing for that."
"Private medical treatment." The man corrected.
"Ah," Oak exclaimed softly. "Make sure to check for psychic manipulations then."
"Are you possibly suggesting—?"
"I'm merely stating that it is exceedingly natural for a victim to suffer trauma after such an episode, and to choose psychic healing as an option to cope with stress. It is quite natural that such psychic treatment might inadvertently... affect her personal memories. As such…"
"Understood sir."
"Am I to assume that the criminal in question was arrested? I'd like a copy of—"
"Travers Brooks had been found at the other site, several feet away from Mr. Ketchum. Dead."
"...Dead?"
"He had a deep, penetrating wound from the chest that cut through his heart. The weapon— some kind of blade —nearly tore him in two, bisecting him through the shoulder."
Oak felt something stir from deep within him. Mutilation and death wasn't something new to him. Finding dead bodies of trainers was quite a bit more commonplace back in his time. But after all those years of throwing that life away, it was like revisiting an old wound, a half-forgotten nightmare of a sort.
"Forensics revealed bug cells inside the man's body, providing evidence that the man was killed by the scyther."
Oak grimaced, massaging the tip of his nose. "I assume the scyther will be put up for rehabilitation?"
"That… was to be the case," The ranger replied carefully. "It is just that, the scyther is registered to the young Mr. Ketchum."
Oh lord. Oak closed his eyes. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing "This means that Section 142 C Penal Code applies—"
"It would, sir, but the presence of a wanted and dead criminal has… changed things. I'm not exactly sure how much of that can be explained as self-defense, so Mr. Ketchum's statement is vital."
"You'll have it at the earliest," Oak promised.
"We appreciate your aid, sir. Shall we leave the rest for tomorrow?"
"No, I might as well just hear the end of it. Perhaps you—I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
"Tyson sir," the ranger replied, "Tyson Wells."
"Right, Tyson, please continue."
"We found several dead pokémon on the site, as well as several highly injured ones. From Mr. Ketchum's pokédex, it seems like all but two of the surviving pokémon were registered to him." Tyson paused momentarily. "A mawile, a skarmory, the scyther, and a… shellder."
"And the others?"
"A… divergent growlithe. We thought it was a Shiny, but the League database showed otherwise. It had a shock-collar on its neck, and was significantly injured. That said, its regeneration was phenomenal. It recovered from all injuries within the first day of treatment."
"... I presume that this is where the charges of illegal experimentation and cruelty come in?"
"Precisely," Tyson nodded.
"Petty crime is one thing, but an experimental hybrid? Just how low can one get?" Oak muttered under his breath.
"Actually, from Miss Waterflower's statement, it was herself and Mr. Ketchum that found the growlithe in question. She spoke about your ward's decision to help it get rid of the shock-collar from the Pewter City Pokémon Center."
Oak couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for Red at that.
"The criminal, Travers, then demanded the return of the growlithe, claiming it belonged to them. Mr. Ketchum resisted, questioning its shock collar which led to—"
"More trouble than it was worth," Oak finished for him. "I thought Red had better sense than to fight a bunch of criminals. It's the ponyta incident all over again."
"Based on his actions alone, he has the potential to be a Ranger." Tyson offered.
Oak grimaced. "I was hoping he'd take after me instead."
"You want him to dismantle two criminal-organizations?" Tyson whistled lowly, "In that case, don't let me stop you, Professor."
Oak groaned. "I was talking about being a researcher."
Of course," The ranger agreed. "In other news, Mr. Waterflower has placed a negative citation on Mr. Ketchum's official record, signed under his authority as the Cerulean City Gym Leader, citing the Trainer's..." Tyson winced, "—utter lack of regard for his charge's safety and negligence in his duty by placing her in direct danger."
"Lack of regard?" Oak was flabbergasted.
"I know," Tyson groaned. The man seemed to remember his talk with the Cerulean gym leader, and from his expression, it must have been unsavory. "He seemed to think that as a trainer, Mr. Ketchum should have shown more self-preservation and considered the life of his companion and contractor, rather than face criminals in what was clearly a suicidal attempt to save a 'common growlithe." Tyson paused, wincing at the withering glare on the former Champion's face.
"And the girl should have known better than to hire a rookie-level trainer for the job," Oak lashed out. "Surely the daughter of a reputed gym leader would have that much common sense?"
Tyson looked conflicted. "I did inform him that there were no standard contracts involved."
Oak closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he spoke in a calmer, softer tone. "And what are the chances that Mr. Waterflower would take your advice?"
"Not very high."
A ghost of a smile formed on Oak's lips. "That's fine by me. If Michael Waterflower wants to play hardball, I'll be happy to return the favor. You said he left a review regarding my ward's… lack of professionalism over his daughter's safety, correct?"
Tyson nodded.
"Remind me, son," Oak went on, "What is the minimum price for hiring a security escort?"
Tyson widened his eyes as if realizing where this was going. "Around— around five hundred an hour, sir. But only trainers mid-intermediate or higher can opt to be one."
"Yes, we'll return to that little detail later," Oak opened his eyes, brushing Tyson's concerns off, "my ward was there with Miss Waterflower for… three weeks. If my math is correct, and it always is, then the amount is two hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars. Considering that Mr. Waterflower has claimed a security issue, I'd like to see him send the remaining amount first. Ranger Tyson, could you perchance send an official redressal letter to Mr. Waterflower, signed by my ward, demanding the minimum payment of two hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars. In return, Red will freely accept the negative mark on his profile. After all," Oak was smiling now, "—lack of professionalism cannot be overlooked, regardless of who it might be."
Tyson was trying very hard to keep the shit-eating grin from his face. "That can be easily arranged, sir, but a negative mark this early is not exactly beneficial to Mr. Ketchum's profile, especially if he wants to become a freelancer in the future."
"Yes," The former Champion almost seemed to be at peace. A neutral observer would have described it as serene.
But the truth was quite different, and from Tyson's expression, he knew it too. This was the false calm before the arrival of a particularly vicious thunderstorm.
"Now that the matter of payment is done away with," Oak replied, the smile still floating on his face, "we need to consider the charges on Miss Waterflower for conning a rookie trainer into a job that is laughably higher than his pay grade. You said that the girl admitted that it was she who demanded Red's services, and not Red, who applied for it, correct?"
"Correct."
"Ranger Tyson," Oak drew a deep breath and stood tall, "I'd like to file an official complaint against one Misty Waterflower, daughter of Michael Waterflower, on charges of misrepresentation of the nature of aid needed, charges on usage of non-standard contractual agreements, and putting my ward in lethal danger. I'm sure a copy of Red's medical condition can be easily fetched from the hospital records."
"That can be arranged." Tyson's eyes betrayed his outer composure.
"Of course, considering that my ward is a rookie-level trainer, there are additional charges on Mr. Waterflower for trying to inflict damage on a trainer's future. I wonder what this speaks about the current Champion's regime if his gym-leaders are setting precedence for tarnishing a prospective freelancer's reputation to feed their personal ego."
Tyson chuckled openly at that.
"If Mr. Waterflower is willing to settle the argument out of court… please redirect the mail to my office. I'll make sure to have my assistant accommodate him."
"Right away, sir." The ranger stood tall and saluted.
Oak sighed. The pettiness of some individuals never ceased to amaze him. "I only hope that this matter stays within these boundaries. There's blood in the water, and sooner or later, the vultures will start circling. I'd rather not have to get involved in the squabble and power plays of gym leaders. I can only hope that the Pewter City Gym leader won't side with him out of a sense of… professional courtesy."
"Now, why would I do that?"
Oak and Tyson whirled around to face the incomer. There, standing at the doorway, was the Pewter City Gym Leader. The man was heavily-built, easily over six feet tall in height, with a square-jawed face, and a darkish complexion. The man casually allowed himself in and gave Oak a curious stare.
Oak chortled mirthlessly. "Brock Pebblemann, I believe?"
"We haven't met before, but I'm a fan." Brock nodded respectfully. "My younger brother Forrest wants to apply for an apprenticeship under you, especially for the Mt. Hideaway project."
Oak's eyes widened. "A budding archaeologist?"
"Yes," Brock shook his shoulders. "Forrest has always been an overachiever. He's currently apprenticing with Devon Corp in Mt. Moon, but he should be finishing his contract by the next five months or so."
"Then why bother with an apprenticeship? He should qualify for a full-time job."
"His work has mostly been around fossils, and he's really into… ruin exploration.."
"Ah, I see," Oak mused, "when he's done, ask him to come and see me."
"Thank you." Brock nodded gratefully, "My brother will be excited to hear that."
Tyson coughed.
"Right," Brock addressed the ranger, "Is everything under control? I heard about the forest fire, but I thought it was some minor skirmish at best." He passed a knowing gaze at Oak, "Clearly that is not the case."
"Clearly," Oak answered in an unhappy voice.
"I suppose I should just start from the beginning," Tyson mumbled.
"That will be appreciated," Brock added.
The next day...
"When you mentioned meeting me later, I didn't expect... well, this."
Oak chuckled at the boy's reply. The man had shown up with Ranger Tyson to the hospital ward given to his student. "Part of the legal process I'm afraid. This is Ranger Tyson Wells, Head of the Rescue Squad situated in Pewter. His team was the one that saved you. He has some questions for you."
That attracted Red's attention. The man Tyson, seemed fairly young, around his early twenties if he had to guess.
"I… thank you, Ranger Tyson."
"It was our job," Tyson waved away. "Besides, it would speak ill of our competence if some thug could get away with killing people and destroying—"
The knife speared into the Ariados, slipping through its chin bones, right through the face. Blood spurted out like a never-ending—
"—public property," The man finished. He glanced at the sudden paling of Red's features and abruptly paused. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Ye—I'm—I mean, I'm alright. Sorry," Red croaked, slowly edging towards the glass of water next to his bed. With the apparatuses removed from his body, he was feeling much lighter. The headaches were still annoying, but the intensity was less than earlier. That or he had built up endurance against them.
Neither seemed like a happy prospect.
At least I can move my arms and legs. That's four more limbs than I thought I'd move again.
Oak pushed himself off the chair and lifted the glass. "Wait, let me help," he offered, slowly holding the glass towards the boy. Red held it with his bandaged hands and took a sip.
"Sorry," Red offered, "the—the headaches come and go at the most inopportune—"
"It's alright," Tyson offered, passing a wary glance at Oak. "Well then, Mr. Ketchum. I was told that you were fit enough to go through the investigation. Professor if you want—"
"No, No it's okay," Red faltered, "please go on. You saved my life after all. The least I can do is answer some questions."
"In any case," Tyson took hold of the conversation. "We do need your cooperation. This may be hard for you, but I'm going to need you to recount your experiences in the forest. We'd like a detailed statement over what happened to you, and one Misty Waterflower, how you ended up where you were, and lastly, what caused the fire. "
"Misty…. She's alive? Is she okay?" Red interrupted with a question. To think that she was alive sent a jolt of elation through his heart. He had given up on her survival after seeing Travers and—
"Miss Waterflower suffered a minor concussion on her head, as well as severe mental trauma. Physically though, she's fine. She has given us her version of the events. However, she had no memory of the fire."
"She's here?" He asked weakly, his headache returning with a vengeance.
Tyson shook his head. "Her father has departed for Cerulean City for her treatment." The ranger replied in a strained voice. Clearly he wasn't used to continuous interruptions when he was asking the questions.
"Red," Oak advised, correctly reading the ranger's expression, "I think you should focus on answering the questions first."
"Uhhh… sorry," Red apologized, "I was just… please go on. I'll do my best to answer."
"Much appreciated," The ranger replied stiffly. "Did you offer to catch bugs for Miss Waterflower before your onset into the forest?"
Red frowned, wondering why such a question would take priority over some of the more relevant points. That being said, he determined it was safer to simply go through whatever the man wanted. Ranger Tyson didn't seem like the chatty type.
"She did. I accepted."
"What were the terms?"
"I'd help her catch four particular bugs, and in return, she'd pay me eight thousand pokédollars. She paid me three thousand in advance, and the rest would be given on completion."
"And did you? Finish the job?" Surprisingly, it was Oak that asked the question.
Red shook his head. "Barely. I got just two. Everything went downhill from there." He glanced at Tyson, "why is that important?"
"Mr. Waterflower forwarded a sum of eight thousand to your account yesterday. The transaction has been acknowledged by your pokédex."
"Uhm… that's nice of him, but I'll send the extras back when I get my Dex back, I suppose." Red muttered, more to himself than to the ranger. "But once again—"
"We were just reconfirming the situation," Oak intervened, "Tyson if you would?"
Tyson nodded. "Sure. Miss Waterflower has given us information consisting of two men, identified as Meyers, and Travers Brooks. Her statement mentions that Meyers died in front of her own eyes. It also implicates a certain growlithe and yourself for his injuries—" The man glanced at Red's wide-eyes— "She has detailed her struggle with Brooks up until she passed out after receiving a head injury. We need you to fill up the rest of the picture. Be advised that this is an official interrogation and anything you do or say can be held against you in criminal court. You have the right to remain silent during a question but the interpretation will be considered appropriately."
Red blinked.
Then blinked again.
He slowly twisted his neck towards Oak, "Uhm…. old man, am I in trouble?"
"That depends," Oak gave him a stern gaze. "Have you done anything wrong?"
"I…. I only acted in self-defense."
Oak paused for a moment, as if considering his words. "Then simply speak the truth. Your memories might be verified via a League-sanctioned psychic if they find any discrepancies in the investigation. Simply be honest and allow me to handle the rest."
Red swallowed. "...Right."
"What happened when Meyers followed you into the forest?"
Red looked away towards the wall, his eyes distant. "I… Meyers wanted the growlithe, and told us that it belonged to them. I didn't want them to capture it again."
"Why?"
Red looked at the ranger, right in the eye. "The growlithe had a shock collar on it. Are you trying to tell me that I should have given it to them so that they could torture it more?"
"Miss Waterflower has mentioned about how you talked about its shiny-ness, and its relevance as an unusual pokémon," Tyson remarked casually. "She has also stated that you brought that up when they demanded you let it go."
"And what of it?" Red shot back, his eyes glaring daggers at the man for his obvious insinuation.
"Did you choose to give priority to the capture of an uncommon pokémon, over the safety of your and your companion's life?"
Red stayed silent at that.
"Red?" Oak coaxed.
Red grunted, unhappy at the implications of the question, "I only brought up the 'shiny' issue to stall for time, hoping the dog would get the idea and run away. It was pretty useless though. I ended up flat out telling it to run." He looked up angrily, "I promised that I'd save it, and no, I had no clue that they'd be obsessed enough with the growlithe that they'd try and kill us for it."
After what seemed like an eternity, Tyson's harsh countenance shifted into a smile. "Well, that confirms it, professor."
"Yes," Oak sighed in elation, "I suppose it does. Will it be enough?" He asked the ranger.
"It should, to counter Mr. Waterflower's review, should he go ahead with his…"
Oak waved. "Go on."
A nod was the only response he got.
"What happened after you ran into the forest?"
"The reality of the situation exploded on me," Red admitted, his voice lowered. "We, that is, Mawile and I, were attacked by a… I think it was called zangoose?"
"We did not find a zangoose at either site."Tyson refuted immediately.
"It didn't happen next to the tent," Red fought back, "Next thing you're gonna say is that Meyers didn't lose an arm too, since it wasn't found on the site either." It didn't matter that this was a ranger he was giving the stink eye. The line of questioning was beginning to feel invasive, and more importantly, the disregard for what he had been through was beginning to get on his nerves.
"Red?" Oak warned imperiously.
The teen scoffed before shifting into a monotone. "There was a dead machoke as well. One that Meyers had sent to get the growlithe. We found it in pieces when we were trying to find our way out in the darkness."
"Go on," Tyson prompted calmly.
"We…." Red closed his eyes before opening them just as quickly as the horrific sight of the mutilated machoke flashed in front of his eyes, "heard a scream…. Meyers screaming, I think, and we began to run."
"To save him?" Tyson asked with an arched eyebrow.
"To save ourselves. Did you expect me to try and save the person attacking me and those I care for? What kind of idiot do you—?"
"Red—"
"—I ran hoping that I'd find growlithe and then we'd escape to the tent. The forest is a rather dangerous place." The monotone had returned.
Oak sighed. This was going to be a long day.
In a different building inside Pewter General Hospital
Delia strode through the near-empty corridors almost absent-mindedly. Things had been going south ever since her baby boy had left Pallet. Yes, Red was fourteen, but if she was to be honest, she had never really seen her boy grow up. She had been content for him to be at home be healthy and to be frank, given everything he needed and then some. He had wanted Mia as a pet, and she had given it to him without a thought. Sure he had put it as 'my friend Mia', but it had made no difference in her mind at the time.
And yet, she had ignored the most fundamental thing about being a parent.
I did not give him time. My little boy grew up faster all by himself because of it.
…
No. He grew up faster despite it. Mia and Red—two babies in my care, and I messed up with both of them. Guess I wasn't mother material after all.
Delia suppressed the sudden shudder that sent a jolt down her spine. It had been eight days since the event, but she could still remember it vividly.
The blackness engulfed her mind, thinning the lines between reality and illusion. She opened her eyes, only to find the world disappear. All there existed, was darkness, and a dreary winter creeping up her mind like frost, freezing and burning her very soul…
An undefinable sorrow gripped her, crushing any and all brightness from her mind. Thoughts that she had buried in the depths of her heart, thoughts that made her stay awake night after night, thoughts she tried to ignore by immersing herself into her work—all of them forced their way past the bottleneck that was her will, destroying it.
Obliterating it.
And then the screams began.
It was almost like rushing through her entire life in a nutshell, experiencing all those memories, those thoughts, those sick twisted experiences she'd not wish on her enemies. Delia was stuck, tears trickling down her cheek, as one nightmare after another made a constant assault on her mind. How she had disappointed her father—how she had lost those she considered her own—how she had been carried away in infatuation and lust over that man—the man she had resented every single day in her life and yet never thought about—the manner in which she had thrown up barriers between herself and her son—how Red had suffered—
Delia's head jerked, throwing her out of that twisted, wretched, hideous experience. Her face full of sweat, she pressed against a wall, trying to catch her breath. Ever since that day, her traitorous mind would keep going back to that day, that experience. Kaz had helped a lot but it still relapsed on occasion.
This served to reinforce just how dangerous mental attacks were.
She let out a sigh of frustration and looked around for her destination. Spotting the nameplate on the half-opened door, Delia let herself in.
"Has there been any developments, doctor?"
"Miss Ketchum," the man looked up in surprise, "we were just about to send a message through the reception unit. Though I must say I'm surprised to see you here. Is your son better now?"
"He's healing," Delia pursed her lips." Thank you for asking. But I'm here to ask you about Mia."
The medic stood up from his chair. "Your kirlia has been getting better. She's still unconscious, but the seizures have stopped. The frequency levels of her psionic spasms have been getting down too. It's not completely safe yet, but the worst has passed."
Delia felt a burst of elation in her chest. It seemed her hypothesis was correct. Getting her in close proximity to Red had indeed produced a positive reaction in Mia. It had been less than a day since Red had fully woken up and already Mia was already showing signs of returning to normalcy.
"Something tells me you expected this to happen, Miss Ketchum."
"I… had a few conjectures."
"Like?"
"I… really can't say. It's against my employer's policy to talk about the details of my work." Delia gave him a half-smile. "Protocols, you know?"
The medic looked slightly amused at that. "Either way, it seems that our services were unnecessary after all. Your kirlia managed to bring herself back under control."
Or proximity to Red made her do so, Delia mused.
"I'm still thankful for your aid. How long do you think she will be unconscious?"
The medic pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Our records show a steady rise in her reserves. We can attribute at least some of it to the Chansey egg serum."
Delia frowned. It was an established fact that Chansey eggs were highly nutritious, often better than chemically-prepared food supplements. They also caused a rise in endorphins and DZ, a dopamine-analog found in pokémon. Back in Pallet Town, the serum had been able to slow down Mia's motions, but just barely. But here…
"I suppose you are right, Doctor Leff," Delia spoke up after a moment. "Can I… Can I meet her?"
"You can, but I'd advise you to postpone it till her levels get normal."
"Okay. I'll do that then." Delia turned to walk out.
"Miss Ketchum."
She stopped, before turning back slightly.
"...yes?"
"I did happen to check your credentials, and I know you are a researcher on psychic-types. I also that this kirlia is one that caused a major psionic disturbance in Pallet Town."
Delia stilled.
"I'd be grateful if you exercised a little more rationality next time. You brought in a Level 4 security hazard into Pewter City without going through the proper channels. I do not know why that creature calmed down here, but were you not associated with… certain people, you'd have been reported to the Ranger Squad. "
"... I understand." Delia muttered, before leaving the room.
"You're most welcome." Doctor Leff replied to the now empty room, before allowing his eyes to move back to the newspaper.
"While Miss Waterflower's testimony is in line with your statement, I find it rather difficult to believe that someone could go on that long without an arm," Tyson commented impassively.
Oak lifted a finger, stopping the scathing retort that was likely about to be spat out by his ward. He recognized that look well enough. "I understand your concerns, but you probably haven't dealt with Team Rocket before."
"What are you talking about?" The ranger looked quite confused.
"We've dealt with cases like this before. It's very hard to get information on Team Rocket, but we managed to capture a few grunts, several years ago. They were... interrogated and from what we learned, all of them go through a process called the initiation."
Tyson looked surprised. "The initiation?"
"A process that every grunt goes through when he becomes an official member of Team Rocket. It makes them more… durable and from what we have seen, faster reflexes as well. "
"So what exactly happens in this initiation thing?"
"We don't know," Oak admitted.
"You don't know?" Tyson asked incredulously."How can you not know? Why wouldn't you ask such a basic question?"
"It wasn't for lack of trying, "Oak sighed. "When our interrogation didn't turn up results, we used a powerful psychic to go through their memories. Unfortunately, the memories of the whole process were… gone."
"Gone?"
"Wiped away completely. We decided to bring in even more powerful psychics to try and reconstruct the memory if possible…"
"And?" Tyson pressed.
"And nothing," Oak sighed. When we came back to continue the interrogation they were both dead. A heart attack, of cause unknown."
"Obviously a coincidence," Tyson said dryly.
"Yes, well, anyway, the point is, both in and out of the field, do not judge Team Rocket by human standards."
"..."
"The other man, Travers," Red interjected."He tried to inject something into the other guy. Seemed to think it would save him."
Oak nodded thoughtfully. Red had been so silent that he had forgotten that he was in the room.
"Team Rocket does tend to use drugs quite viciously"
"Drugs?" Tyson asked intensely.
"Mmmm." Oak nodded. "Some of them were even developed by us. For example, several years ago, they used A-22, a drug created to mitigate sensory overload by neutralizing pain receptors, and increase blood coagulation at the site of injury, specifically created for the Chiron Brigade."
"The…" Tyson nearly choked at that.
"What's the Chayron—?" Red spoke up, curious.
Oak paused for a moment. "It's a team that works alongside the Champion to help mitigate threats above Level 8."
"Which are?"
"Classified," Tyson interrupted with a half-glare, obviously unhappy that the former Champion had been so willing to talk about intelligence info and bureaucratic know-how to an apparent rookie.
Oak winced at that. Clearly, he was losing his touch. That, or he was simply used to explaining things to his student. Either way, he was in the wrong. "I suppose my age is finally getting to me." He turned to Red, "I'd advise you not to mention that little tidbit to others."
"...sure." The teen replied.
"Sir," Tyson addressed the older man, "would you be willing to vouch for the authenticity of this miraculous drug? A single signature should do."
"I cannot claim that the drug used by the criminal to be the same as the one I mentioned. But such technology did indeed exist in the past. And we have seen Team Rocket use things that are very similar." Oak sighed, "We cleaned out the entire department after the leak. Half of our security protocols started because of them. Despite our efforts, we still find traces of Team deep in our system." He momentarily remembered the fake doctor Pym, who had deceived Ritchie Kent and recruited him within Team Rocket. The Doctor Pym that didn't exist.
Just how deep does it go? First Pallet and now Viridian. Too much is happening to close to each other… something doesn't add up.
"That should do." Tyson agreed,before turning back to Red "What happened after you escaped with the growlithe?"
Red closed his eyes. "I was able to reach the tent.. Travers was sitting on the ground, and Misty was standing a little further away."
"Standing. Not fighting."
Red shook his head. "No. Travers… he wasn't trying to kill us. Or well, at least not then. I think he was waiting for his partner to return with the growlithe. I told him what happened to his partner, and he forced us to stay there until he could verify Meyers's condition."
"Miss Waterflower described a form of webbing used by the Ariados."
"Webbing," Red snorted. " He called them Toxic Threads."
"Did you try to break out?"
"The ariados was holding us hostage," Red looked at the man incredulously, " I'm very fond of living. Thank you very much. Skarmory was in the air, but she had better sense than to mindlessly charge at the ariados in such a situation."
"Your let your skarmory gauge threats and respond accordingly without orders?" Tyson asked skeptically.
"Of course she can, I trained her," Red quipped, as if that explained everything.
Oak rubbed the tip of his nose, hoping that Tyson would stop poking at Red's every sentence, and conversely, for Red to stop taking offense at every word that came out of the ranger's mouth.
It's like dealing with a bunch of children.
"Red, can you please just stick to the explanation? Ranger Tyson isn't trying to antagonize you. He is simply conducting his investigation."
"Maybe if I'd have been allowed to meet my half-dead team instead of having to go over everything I ever said, things would go differently."
Oak sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just get this over with."
"Meyers came in and collapsed. He was blabbering," Red's expression sobered"and then he accused me and Growlithe for his condition and then..."
"And then what?" The ranger leaned forward.
Red looked up. "And then he died."
Tyson slowly stood up from his chair. "So the man pushed through a condition like that for a minute or so— after he crawled through the forest for god knows how long —and then the effects accelerated, causing death." He wrinkled his nose, "Do you have anything else you'd like to add to your statement?"
"He wasn't in the condition to compose his own epitaph if that's what you're concerned about," the teen replied scathingly. "Believe me, Travers didn't seem big on eulogies either."
"Red!"
"No nothing of any importance happened." Red sighed, clearly irritated, before continuing in a monotone. "I utilized the moment to solve the current problem."
Inwardly, Oak had to marvel at his ward. Despite being stuck in a situation like that, and seeing one death after another, it was a surprise Red hadn't lost his calm. Emotional testimonies were almost always overly exaggerated, but Red… he was never very emotional to begin with.
"Mawile employed Icy Wind to shatter the threads, and give us a chance to escape.."
Good thinking.
"It was a mistake."
Or not.
"What happened?" Tyson prodded.
"Travers," Red uttered the name with distaste. "Skarmory would have easily taken the ariados down, but he released a pinsir. Between the two, they managed to take Skarmory out of the field, leaving us alone to deal with." He paused for a moment. "Even so, it was still okay. I mean, we were two against one. What was the worst that could happen, right?"
Oak winced.
"And then he released it."
"Released what?"
Red swallowed. It didn't seem to help. Clearly the boy was imagining whatever had followed. Even his voice had reduced to a whisper.
"Golem!"
Oak shared a momentary glance with Tyson as the teen continued to speak, the mirthless smile on his face twisting into an expression of anguish. "It was—I was being insanely stupid. I thought it was just a rock type. Between Mawile's typing and Misty's water types, we would hold our ground. At least until Skarmory could return to us."
He looked away. "It is surprising that she managed to survive in the first place. In all honesty, I thought she was dead. Maybe that croconaw did know its stuff after all."
Oak looked bitter at that statement. Something that the boy picked up on almost immediately
"What's wrong? You did say Misty was alive and okay, so—"
"Mr. Ketchum," It was Tyson that answered in his stead. "Misty Waterflower was found, fallen on the ground, bleeding from her temples and unconscious. She was hit on the head with the gun Travers had on his person. There was a feraligatr near her with a hole bored through its head. Dead."
For once, the teen had nothing to say.
Sometime later…
"I might be overstepping my boundaries, sir, but I think your ward has terrible luck. People travel through Viridian forest every day and survive, and he gets nearly killed half a dozen times."
Oak chuckled mirthlessly. "Red's special that way. On that note, you really didn't have to be that difficult with him."
"Just following protocol sir," Tyson replied unapologetically. "You know as well as I do how Gym Leaders tend to be, and Mr. Waterflower's not known for his accommodating behavior."
"Or for his humility," Oak muttered under his breath. "I still cannot believe that the boy was insane enough to do what he did. Taking on a mightyena of all things with a shellder? All to save that growlithe?"
Tyson nodded agreeably. "I've been a ranger for five years, and I've yet to find myself in such a precarious situation. I'll admit that this is the first time we've heard about a trainer being ambushed by Team Rocket or any other criminal in the Viridian Forest."
"And how many of those trainers went off the beaten track into the deeper parts?"
"More than you'd believe," Tyson chuckled.
"So it's just Red's luck."
"For better or worse," Tyson quipped.
"I'm confused whether I should be thankful that Red managed to survive, or enraged that he tried those methods. Hitting a Mightyhena with a shellder? Jumping on top of an Ariados? People have died for less."
"Technically he'd be dead if we didn't reach him. Or if you hadn't coughed up the cash for extra treatment."
Oak gave him a blank stare that told Tyson everything the man thought about his contribution.
"..."
"..."
"What happens now?" Oak asked, "As I told you before, I want the matter solved with discretion."
"Well," Tyson looked like he was considering what to say, "The growlithe could technically be held accountable for Meyer's death, but the man is a criminal and from your ward's statement, he was electrocuting the beast. It can be played as an act of self-defense. The scyther though, it's more complicated."
"I thought Travers Brooks was officially dead. Can you be held guilty for killing a dead man?"
"Is this because the scyther belongs to your ward?" Tyson interjected suspiciously "For all we know, the scyther could simply have a murder-happy disposition, considering it tried to kill Mr. Ketchum—"
"Only after Red captured it with bug repels." Oak shot back.
"—and then killed Travers Brooks—"
"—after the golem attacked it on his command."
Tyson did not speak again, as he stared at the esteemed former Champion. "You are really going for your... ward. I suppose we can make it an exclusion then. Of course, Mr. Ketchum has to agree to keep it at personal risk. If the scyther is found guilty of future crimes, Mr. Ketchum will be held responsible."
"That goes without saying," Oak responded. "Are we done here?."
"Almost," Tyson leaned forward. "Gym Leader Brock asked me to inform you that he will be taking charge of the golem. Something about being the best person to deal with a rock-type that has undergone conditioning like it has."
"Conditioning?" Oak raised an eyebrow.
Tyson shrugged. "Beats me. Something about rock-types and their fickle loyalty. Apparently, the golem has been… conditioned to obey anyone that holds its pokéball, regardless of the holder."
"So it is possible that Travers did not own the golem?"
"It is a valid assumption," Tyson agreed, "The Gym Leader clarified that while the golem's strength level is barely above average for its kind terms, its mastery over Rock Polish is comparable to the Gym Leader's own golem."
"I suppose the expert has the last say on the subject," Oak quipped. "I'm in favor of that. As long as I get ownership of that growlithe."
Tyson arched an eyebrow. "Winners, keepers?"
"Not… essentially," Oak replied with slight hesitation. "My ward risked life and limb to save a creature— experimental hybrid or not. I doubt he'd take it well if the growlithe ends up in a different prison after all it has been through."
"Sir, I respectfully suggest that you not take the matter personally, but to throw away a possible scope of intelligence research to appease a young boy—"
"I'm not pleasing anyone," Oak clarified, "The growlithe is an experimental hybrid— an illegal existence, and I understand that. Analysis of its blood will give the League intelligence on what Team Rocket is working with. That said, we also need to see the true capabilities of such a creature, and that can only be achieved in the field. Not inside a laboratory."
"You mean—"
"I have some ideas. I'll need to call a few favors, but I think the situation can be turned towards everyone's benefit."
Tyson looked like he wanted to object, before his face morphed into a mask of resignation. "...Yes, sir."
Kellan Namba had worked as an assistant under the infamous researcher Colress, notorious as the Wickedest Man in the world, for over five years, before the centennial-genius had vanished off the surface of the planet in a cataclysmic explosion that wiped out several hectares off the north-west coast of Hoenn.
Declared fugitive by the Hoenn League, Kellan had run from place to place, working for one power-hungry businessman or another. After several years trying to keep his head off the political grid, he had been recruited by a rather surprising individual, from an even more surprising organization—one with access to one of the most upgraded lab facilities in the world, on par with what he was used to, back when he worked with Colress himself.
That was seventeen years ago.
Today, Kellan Namba was one of the chief researchers in the entire organization, or at least he'd like to think so. As per the rules, he was unaware of the identity of the other researchers, just like they were unaware of his presence in the organization. Team Rocket believed in keeping information on a need-to-know basis after all.
Not that Kellan minded. As long as he got to pursue his research, humanity could destroy itself. It was why the Growlithe was such a significant development. A Fire-type with a synthetic Acid-typing, along with the possibility of limitless regeneration. So why couldn't Proton see its relevance? Kellan had yet to construct a hypothesis on its evolution, or indeed, if it could evolve at all, but he was confident that the creature would in time, be able to face off one of Proton's hydreigon as an equal.
He'd know. He created it.
Now only if Proton stopped being… unreasonable.
"Sir Proton," He genuflected, "I understand why you might feel… unhappy about recent events, but I'm confident that you'd understand my reasons if you'd look at—"
The rest of his words died down in his throat, as Proton fixed him with a calm stare. It was one of the man's quirks. For someone so trigger-happy, Proton was a rather soft-spoken guy. In fact, people unaware of his identity could paint him as a flower-loving pacifist.
It only took a single glance at his penchant for active devastation to reassess one's opinion about the man. As it was, everyone in Team Rocket feared the mythical and non-existent wrath of Admin Proton.
At such proximity, Kellan couldn't help but stare into the man's strangely fascinating eyes. They were heterochromatic, one blue and one white— the combination somehow raising an unexplainable uneasiness inside his gut. He couldn't put a finger on exactly what it was, he couldn't help but wonder if he had overlooked something extremely vital in his zeal.
"Namba," the Admin spoke in a dangerously calm voice, "it has been brought to my attention that you've wanted to be a part of Project Apotheosis for a long time now."
"Yes," Kellan wasn't sure where this was going, but he'd be damned if he lost a potential chance to become a part of it. He had wanted in, since the plan was launched seven years ago, but instead, he had been pushed into Project Nihilo instead. Not that he disliked where he was, but Project Apotheosis… Anyone who was anyone in Team Rocket wanted to be a part of it.
"And about the newest… venture we have going on, in Pewter?"
The Collapse protocol, sir?" Kellan offered. Truth be told, he didn't know a lot about the proceedings about this newest venture in Pewter city, save that it was an amalgamation of over a year's worth of careful planning and shaping of events. The details were not out in the open—things rarely were that way in Team Rocket—but there was no doubt it was extremely significant.
"The Collapse protocol," Proton went on agreeably, "has been running under complete confidentiality. Every step meticulously planned. Every line carefully drawn. Every bit of leaked intelligence… carefully controlled, before letting the dogs of the League sniff it out. All to throw them off on a different scent to keep the main operation running flawlessly."
Kellan nodded, unsure where the discussion was leading.
"And now, right when we are on the penultimate step, Team Rocket activity registers on the grid." Proton stood up, his hands raised animatedly as if holding a large advertisement banner in his hands. "Viridian forest in flames. Attack on children, by the big bad Team Rocket."
Kellan swallowed.
Proton turned to face the man. "I'm told that there were three successful specimens to be transported. The growlithe…." Proton seemed almost reluctant to speak of it, as if even mentioning it was causing the man endless pain, "the growlithe was deemed missing, and you sent people after it. What happened to the other two?"
Kellan gulped. "There was a gligar, and an eevee, sir. The gligar and eevee were in another room, away from the growlithe. We've managed to recover the gligar. It was heavily injured, but after healing it, I made sure to transfer it personally, through secured channels to Pewter Base."
"Not Viridian." It wasn't an accusation, just a fact.
"I… thought dealing with Brock was easier than Giovanni," the man professed, before hastily adding, "...sir."
"And the eevee?"
"The room exploded, sir. We assumed it was caught in the fire."
"And the growlithe escaped."
"Yes."
"And you… sent some of the best people Team Rocket had to offer behind it."
"Yes."
"Knowing that it was a fire-type and running amok in the middle of a forest."
"...Yes."
"With a squad of rangers on active patrol duty all around."
Kellan just swallowed this time.
"Especially," Proton's lips curled into a disarming smile, "knowing that the Collapse Protocol, centered in Pewter, is just one step away."
"...yes, sir." Kellan answered, "the growlithe was a success and I wanted to give it to you, sir. As such, it was paramount that it be caught before it was spotted by the League."
"Ah, and despite all your planning, your actions caused the death of a prominent Grunt Captain, my student—my student—" the man's voice kept getting harsher with every word, "causing a large forest fire, and now your precious growlithe is in the hands of the League."
"I... had believed that a grunt captain would have been able to handle such a simple…." The scientist paused midway, faced with an angry glare. Clearly it was the wrong thing to say.
"Travers was many things, but incompetent… he was not. What did you order him to do?"
"To… capture the specimen. Kill it in a last case resort."
"And to do that, my student attacked a ward of Samuel Oak— Samuel fucking Oak—as well as that Waterflower's daughter. And now, Samuel Oak—the bogeyman himself— is in Pewter. Do you realize how your one single action has messed up everything Team Rocket has been working on? That I have been working on?"
"I… had no idea, sir, believe me, I—"
"Where is the information about this growlithe? I assume you have its files somewhere in this… mess?"
"We have it in our servers, sir." Kellan offered hopefully.
"All of it?"
"All of it," Kellan swore, "I personally ensured we had a soft copy for every single research added to the local servers."
"Good," Proton muttered, "transfer the data to my private servers. I assume with the information you have, we can have an army of these… successful specimens?"
Kellan looked like he had seen a ghost.
"...?"
"Actually sir," Kellan considered every word, knowing he was treading on dangerous grounds, "I do have blood samples, but all three of the original specimens were infertile. We tried to recreate them, but the newer ones kept dying. The moment they tried to use an attack— hurkkkk!"
Kellan Namba felt himself lifted from the floor, and raised to the admin's level, meeting his infamous heterochromatic stare. "Go on. Please?"
The fingers constricted a little more. Kellan struggled, but somehow continued to speak. "They suffered spasms when using an attack, and then they died."
"Ah," Proton replied airily, as if talking about the weather. As if he wasn't currently strangling a man by the neck. As if said man wasn't gasping for air, coughing badly but yet, keeping himself from touching him. "A fluke then. All three were flukes. Years of resources spent on flukes, with the extra bonus of spoiling the Collapse Protocol."
Kellan coughed violently, now valiantly trying to keep Proton from crushing his windpipe.
"Sir—one last—"
"Tell me," the Admin repeated, a nonchalant expression floating on his face. "What should I do with you?"
"One last—last chance, sir—"
"Now the League will come, and they'll start an investigation. Samuel Oak's presence will draw Lance in. And just like that, the Collapse Protocol will... collapse." the man smiled bitterly. "Like a house of cards."
"—last—last—"
"Last?" Proton paused, looking at him curiously. For some reason, Kellan felt like a bug being studied by a researcher. "Last what?"
"Last chance— serum— work,"
Proton let the man fall down. Kellan dropped to the floor, coughing madly.
"Explain."
"Give me one day—twenty-four hours, sir. I'll get you a working blood serum for the successful specimens. At least the growlithe if not others." The scientist professed.
"Twenty-four hours you say?" Proton seemed to pause at that. "And a working sample?"
"Yes— yes, sir." The man rambled.
"Do it in twelve. Disappoint me and—"
"You won't, sir. You won't be—cough—disappointed."
"Good," The admin replied airily, before stepping past him. He took three steps before pausing again, "Also, I want all data transferred to my private server in an hour."
"I'll do that in thirty minutes."
"Hmmm," Proton smirked, "Godspeed then, Namba. Godspeed."
Several hours later…
"This should work! This has to work!" Namba muttered, his frame shaking from fear and anticipation. He had gotten twelve hours worth of borrowed time from the terrifying Admin—twelve hours to prove himself worthy and continue his research. As soon as Proton had deserted the compound, Namba had seen a squad of grunts scurry in.
Not that he could disagree with them.
With the forest fire incident, the League had dispatched two squads of Rangers into the forest, sniffing around for evidence of Team Rocket activity. The wrecked remains of the warehouse had already been located, and from what Kellan knew, there wasn't much time before the rangers would trace their way to the main base, even if the majority of it was constructed underground. Rangers weren't stupid, and any moron with a magnemite could fry the circuitry that kept up the illusion of forest cover in the area.
That was why the grunts had been busy, meticulously removing any and all necessary and expensive equipment from the base, putting them into folded-space containment units, before teleporting them away with a team of highly trained psychic pokémon. Within the first three hours, the entire base screamed empty, something that did nothing to quell the growing pit of despair within Kellan's stomach.
All of this because of that damned growlithe.
The biochemical constitution of the current sample in hand seemed remarkably similar to the growlithe's own blood serum. 99.3% similar, in fact. The point seven difference was because of an extra modification—a touch of inspiration if you will—that allowed an easier assimilation of said serum into the test-subject's genetic structure.
This should work. This has to work. This has to—
Steadying his hands, he drew the serum into an injection syringe, before reaching for the first test-subject. The growlithe was tied to the table, its mouth shut, its body injected with a drug that reduced its flight-or-fight responses.
"Now let's see…" He pushed the syringe into the pokémon, making the creature yelp in slight pain.
And he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Nothing yet. All vitals steady. No sudden fluctuations in reserves.
The growlithe mewled in pain, and for once, Kellan felt his throat constricting. His fingers grabbed the edges of the table.
Still no fluctuations All vitals steady.
The machine behind him made a sound, making him close to jumping out of his skin.
"Subject P02 successfully assimilated. No fluctuations. Will begin processing the altered genomic sequence in 3…"
Kellan let out a sigh in elation. He had done it. The new formula had worked. Of course, the creature would need to get used to the changes of its altered constitution before he could proceed with further tests. But he knew—he knew—this had worked. This, this had really worked, and now he'd—
Wait.
Rushing to the terminal he tried to contact Proton.
He was answered after three rings.
"Yes?" The ever-calm tone did not help Kellan's nerves.
"Sir, this is Namba. I—the serum—"
"Get to the point, Namba. "
"The serum, sir— it worked."
There was a brief silence on the other side of the line. "Successfully?"
"I am certain, sir. The test subject successfully assimilated the improved serum. Physical tests will have to wait until the subject is conscious."
"I see." The Admin seemed almost… sad. "Is that all?"
"All—what—I mean, I reported the news of my success to you."
"I see," The Admin replied, "and have you relayed the new data to my servers?"
"Already done, sir." Kellan went on, trying to sound as subservient as possible. "When will I get teleported to my next base?"
"Your next base?" Proton asked airily, almost like he was confused at the question. "I thought you seemed quite at home where you are."
"Yes but—"
"Lord Proton," Kellan heard someone else speak, "the rangers are within 200 meters of the boundary."
"Wait, WHAT?" Kellan was surprised at the urgency in his own voice. "Rangers? Where?" He questioned hysterically.
A damning silence answered his query.
"Sir, Admin— Lord Proton, please forgive me for my —but rangers? Where?"
"Sir Proton?" Kellan begged.
"Yes, Namba?"
"When will—will I get—wait, you never planned on getting me out, did you? Did you?"
Kellan didn't know, but he could feel Proton smile from the other end. "Do you know the oldest lie in politics?"
"What does it matter? Just get me out of here!" Kellan was rambling, rushing to the door, only to find it—
Locked?
He wiped his card again.
Damn. Why is this not working? Another glitch? At a time like this?
He glanced at the terminal, a low static playing through the speakers. He didn't know how, but an eerie sixth sense told him that Proton had not, in fact, hung up on him.
"You cannot let them take me. I have too much information. I have so much research that Project Nihilo—"
The rest of his words died in his throat, even as Proton maintained a damning silence on the other side.
The call was still connected.
"You—you bastard! How can you spit on me and my contribution like this? How can—?"
"Namba," The airy, nonchalant voice answered. "Do you know the oldest lie in politics?"
"No and I don't fucking—" Kellan wiped the card for the seventh time.
Locked.
"WHAT IS IT?" He yelled. "What's the goddamned lie? Tell me."
He could feel the other man smile. "I'm here to help you."
Beep.
"What the—wait—hello? Hello?"
Kellan stared at the screen which was no longer responsive to his commands.
Access Denied.
His brain literally rebooted at that, before it struck him.
"You… What have you done? You… planned this? That's why all of this ain't working! Damn you Proton! You son of a—"
The sound of a miniature explosion gave him pause.
"EVERYONE! STAY CAUTIOUS!" He could hear someone bark orders, followed by several sounds of people rushing through the base. The rangers had arrived. Proton—that son of a bitch had made him take the fall— his project would be scapegoated, conveniently taking all the heat off Pewter. Only someone like Proton could cannibalize one of his projects for another.
But I just sent him all the data. Namba's eyes widened as he looked around at his lab. His empty lab. Whatever research could be found would be enough for the league to reconstruct that experimentation had gone on here, but no more. Namba fell to his knees.
"Heh! Is this all my years of effort have amounted to? Well guess what Proton, you may have my research, but I have my mind. You made a mistake here. You left me alive. I'll seize immunity from the League and bring your fucking Collapse Protocol down before your very eyes. I will—
Beep.
"What— what is that sound?
Beep.
The terminal buzzed before swapping to a video feed. It showed the area directly outside— a group of Rangers breaking open the door. There were six of them, with probably more behind, all of them with red lights attached to their helmets, and a riot shield on one arm, with pokéballs on the other. He could see several magnemites hovering, with a nidorino, an umbreon and several—
Growlithe.
How ironic. Kellan noted cynically, as the constant beeping sound kept going on and on. For some reason, the rangers didn't seem to hear anything, and the opaque glass wall kept him from being spotted as well. Kellan yelled and banged against the glass barrier, but the 10-inch thick barrier held, regardless of what he tried.
Beep.
"He's…. He's rigged the entire base. He's—"
Beep.
Kellan kept on yelling, kept on banging, kept on hoping against hope that someone—anyone would find him, get him out—someone would listen to his words and get out and save—
His terminal rang again allowing a single number to float across the screen.
05:22 PM.
"What—" He began before the truth hit him.
Twelve hours.
"Heh! Help indeed."
..
..
BOOOOM!
The world around him turned to fire and ash, and Namba knew no more.
We hope that you enjoyed the chapter. If so, please fav/follow us, and more importantly, do review. Feedback gives us the motivation to write.
If you have something to share with us, or just want to talk to us about our stories, join us at our Discord Server - discord .gg/hqWqhtW (Remove the space)
You can also support us and our work on Patre0n at patre0n.c0m/theBlackStaffAndNightMarE (replace the 0 with o)
Thanks once again, and we hope you continue to enjoy our stories.
~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~