𝕬𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓
ACT II - DUST OF DREAMS
Chapter 20 - Ghosts of the Past
The key is to provide just enough resistance to keep them busy, but not enough to require Ace Squads.
Astrid bit her lip. That was what Butch said to her when he made her Situational Commander of the grunt force in Benteng. Her primary objective was to lead them out of their 'shops' and lay siege on the League security forces patrolling the area. The Executive had drilled into her head that she and her team were in no shape to take on an Ace Squad. Rather, the idea was to serve as a very efficient distraction, one that was definitely breakable but time-consuming, while more significant things took place inside the Museum.
Balance was key.
There was just one tiny problem.
With the growing commotion inside the Museum, the patrolling Benteng officers became spooked. Now, their teams of growlithe, poliwrath, machoke, and magnemite were treating everyone who moved as a hostile force. It was an 'attack first, ask questions later' mindset.
Astrid would've been impressed, if it wasn't so goddamn inconvenient for her.
What she needed was a distraction.
But what? What can I possibly—
Her thoughts screeched to a halt as her eyes fell on Ritchie. More specifically, on the shard of moonstone in his hands. The fool had been taking the shard out from time to time, whenever he relaxed between shifts or thought nobody was looking. At least he hadn't been crass enough to start fondling it or something. Still, given how often his hand was inside his pocket, she could never really be sure.
I need to bleach my fucking brain.
Shaking her head, Astrid glanced towards the hideously purple monster he creepily addressed as Princess.
A proverbial light bulb lit up in her mind. It was finally the right time to do it.
"Ritchie," she called out, grabbing his attention immediately, "we need a way out of this. At this rate, we'll all be sitting ducks." She subtly flexed her fingers as she walked towards him. "It's only a matter of time before they realize who we are and nab us."
"Wh–what do we do?" Ritchie gulped. Why Butch recruited this buffoon onto their team, she would never understand. Rumor had it the newbie caused a problem with Oak's protégé and survived. But if that were true, then clearly the mythical rage of the Boogeyman was exaggerated by the masses.
"I've got an idea. It'll be risky, but it just might work. All I need is—" she snatched the moonstone shard from his hand, ignoring the obnoxious 'Hey!' from him as she stabbed the conveniently dozing Princess with it.
Right in the asshole.
For a moment, nothing happened. The nidorino in question slowly blinked as it woke up. But as the seconds went by, its eyes widened as it finally registered the shock from the moonstone's energies interacting with its own physiology.
But before the process even had a chance to begin, Astrid grabbed it by the hindlimbs and flung it into the middle of the street, where all the League forces were patrolling.
One by one, they looked towards the twitching nidorino. Then one observant soul pointed at its rear.
Every face in the vicinity paled.
Red stared at the intruder, confusion and disbelief welling inside of him. Why this man would disable a crowd of the most accomplished people in the world, including the current Champion as well as Kanto's Boogeyman, and introduce himself like he was part of the festivities was beyond him. Did he have a death wish?
The man was tall— taller than the old man even, who was easily six feet. He was broad-chested and carried his weight with a ponderous sort of dignity. With his hard, steady eyes and listless brown hair, he looked to be about forty and had all the comforting charm of a dental drill.
"My apologies," Proton amended. "I forgot, more than one is needed to hold a dialogue."
He snapped his fingers.
A breath Red hadn't known he was holding forcefully escaped his lungs, and a wave of nausea bowled him over. With the rest of his body still disabled, Red's head reeled back like he was bludgeoned, hurting his neck in the process.
"Fuck!"
From the sudden chaos and pain-filled groans populating the audience, he wasn't the only one who felt this way. With everyone now capable of speech again, voices were raised and tension spiked dramatically as an explosion of scathing remarks and angry comments were focused upon the trespasser. With the exception of one individual.
"Mmmph! Mmpfffhh!"
Champion Lance stood as he was, completely disabled and unable to make any noise beyond bare attempts at grunting. And given the subtle tremors in the dragon tamer's body, he was trying really hard to fight his way out of the body-bind.
Proton chuckled. "Patience, Lance Wataru. As a dragon-tamer myself, I understand your need to be in control. But trust me, it's only going to get more exciting from here."
Lance protested vehemently, but neither he nor anyone else could do anything.
Proton snapped his fingers a second time, and the full body-bind was firmly back in place. Red's head snapped back to its original position, and he could barely budge it a centimeter. Just what was powerful enough to cause a mass Disable on this scale?
"Right, so here's the deal," the trespasser called out. "You're all insane for trying to resurrect an ancient predator here on international television. Was Lance not getting enough attention? Just because he's a superhero-obsessed five-year-old, it does not mean the League has to cater to his every whims."
The Champion continued to grunt and show his displeasure.
"Quite naturally, we— that is, Team Rocket —decided it would be too dangerous to leave in your hands. And so from here on out, we will be taking over your little experiment. From this moment onwards, Mewtwo is ours."
Oak remained silent.
Red inwardly wondered whether the murderous Legendary could hear Proton's words, and if so, why it wasn't reacting in any way. Maybe the old man really did plan for contingencies, and it simply wasn't powerful enough to get past his countermeasures.
One could never tell with Samuel Oak.
"Speak, old man," Proton growled. "Do not pretend to be a weakling in my presence."
"Be sensible," Oak reprimanded, like he was speaking to a child caught stealing a cookie. The sheer surprise Red felt from the interaction gave him a mental whiplash. How was he speaking? Did the Disable not work on him?
"The Birth Pod," Oak went on, "is currently releasing intermittent bursts of raw power, enough to vaporize everything within a square mile. You may have gotten the drop on us, but if you tinker with the Pod and make the wrong move, everyone in here will die."
Proton barked out a laugh. "Is that right?"
"Seven. Empyrean. Units." Oak's voice was deathly calm as his stormy grey eyes bored into the Admin's. Red was no expert, but from what he could infer, Pewter Museum was currently sitting on top of a devastatingly powerful psychic bomb.
"You would truly invite the world's audience to preside over something so dangerous?"
"You mean witnessing the birth of an ancient creature whose power and capacity is unprecedented in human history?" the old man mocked.
That gave the Team Rocket Admin pause.
And then, Oak did something even more terrifying.
He smiled.
"It's up to you to decide whether I'm bluffing or not. If you're wrong, Pewter City will go up in flames. And, as you pointed out, we are on international television and you are holding VVIPs from all over the world hostage. If a single person gets a scratch, you will have the entire world gunning for your organization. Nowhere will be safe." His upper lip curled. "Team Rocket will be finished."
Proton took a step back, and then laughed.
"Samuel Oak," he grinned, "I've heard tales of your prowess. They say you decimated the Wataru with your bare hands, while their army of dragons could do nothing against your indomitable might. Then there's what you did to Colress, and how you took Natural Harmonia—"
"Enough!" Oak thundered. Red had never seen him so infuriated before. "You cannot beat me into submission simply by knowing things. Leave now, and this incident can be overlooked as a mistake. But if you continue down this path—"
Red couldn't hear the rest of it, as something incredibly strange happened next.
Gravity vanished for an entire half-second.
Every single thing not fastened down firmly, himself included, rose several inches into the air. Then, an enormous power— probably all that stolen gravity, if such a thing was possible —slammed down somewhere in the outer periphery of the Museum, as if it were a gigantic, invisible anvil hammering into the ground. Red could hear stone columns outside the Museum shatter and fall into stony pieces.
Once it was over, Red fell back to the ground on his knees. A wave of exhaustion hit him like a sledgehammer, and the Disable's restrictions made it hurt ten times as much without any leverage to absorb the force.
In between the utter devastation and a great plume of dust and debris came the sound of footsteps— agitated, coordinated movements as half a dozen men wearing black tactical uniforms, each followed by magnemites, stormed the room. Meanwhile, every other person— including the Champion, members of the Elite Four, and Gym Leaders —remained petrified under the Disable.
Unable to react.
Unable to move.
Unable to stop the enemy troops from approaching.
With an almost mechanical efficiency, the taskforce members took their positions along the wall, with their magnemites floating next to them.
"FIRE!" a troop member barked.
The noise that followed was a fuzzy cloud of clacks, hisses and whumps.
It was over in three seconds. Each and every Ace trainer hired to provide security for the event dropped to the floor, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing. The rare few still moving after they fell got hit by a second spray of electricity straight to the head.
The silence that followed rang as loud as a thunderclap. But Red only had eyes for one man in the hall.
Samuel Oak's face was twisted into naked, ugly, absolute rage. His body became so rigid, so immobile, that Red felt afraid even though he wasn't the target of the anger.
"I will end you," Oak hissed. "I will end you mercilessly."
"There you are," Proton gleefully pointed a finger at Oak's face. There was even a tinge of reverence in the Admin's tone. "Kanto's Boogeyman. I knew you were still alive underneath that pitiful grandfather façade. Do whatever you want, old man, but your time is past. These days, you're nothing."
"Who are you?" Oak's voice had gone down to a whisper. "You know things you shouldn't. Secrets I personally went through painstaking effort to destroy. Where did you obtain such information from?"
"First hand," Proton practically purred. "Do you remember Ghetsis? The man you drove out of his own kingdom? Tell me, you senile old fool! Do you remember my father?"
Every pair of eyes in the crowd widened. Lance's looked like they would pop out of his skull at any second. And Professor Oak… he looked like he'd seen a ghost.
"Ghetsis was—"
"My father," Proton snarled. "The man whose throne you usurped. The man who was forced to flee Johto while weaklings," he spat in Lance's directions, "and imbeciles took his place. Champion?! What a joke! But now I, Proton, true heir to the Wataru, have come to take back what is rightfully mine."
He met Oak's defiant gaze. "And you will not stand in my way."
The magnemites, their mission accomplished, now directed their eyes towards the audience.
A stunned silence permeated within the hall.
Red gulped.
"Now choose, Samuel Oak," Proton wolfishly grinned. "VVIPs from all over, or Mewtwo?"
The relationship between the nidoran-line and moonstones had always been shrouded in mystery. Like many fairy-type pokémon, they required a moonstone in order to trigger their final evolution into a nidoking or nidoqueen, depending on gender. And yet, unlike other pokémon such as jigglybuff, togepi, or even the elusive clefairy, their final forms displayed no fairy-type abilities. This strange dichotomy had puzzled researchers and trainers alike for decades.
Until a researcher named Rudolph Spencer came up with and proved a very interesting theory.
When a jigglypuff evolved into wigglytuff, the moonstone completely disintegrated into powdery dust— all of its ambient energy was used up in fueling the evolutionary process. But when a pokémon from the nidoran-line evolved, the exact opposite happened. Instead of turning to dust, the moonstone shard became larger, as if it had somehow gained more energy in the process.
Through trial and error, Spencer proved that the nidoran-line had a latent fairy-nature, which explained why the little poison-types were capable of manipulating fairy energies in small amounts. Evolution to nidorino or nidorina increased that ability by a substantial degree, but also halted the growth of their poison-nature— they remained short, but possessed more power in their tiny bodies than pokémon double their size. However, upon exposure to a moonstone, this fairy energy was extracted from its body, resulting in rapid progress of its poison-nature and triggering its evolution.
Astrid knew all this. She had to, considering her own little psychic-type required a moonstone shard of its own. Luckily, her friend Ritchie had just the right ingredient to supercharge a small shard into something that would be enough for her own purposes.
His nidorino. Princess.
Astrid winced as the nidorino let out a shrill scream with the moonstone shard still impaled into its anus, glowing as it dragged out every bit of the creature's fairy-nature. She had no doubt the creature emerging from the process would be utterly devoid of fairy-energy. It could only be described as a monster that walked on two legs, with no more intellect than a primeape suffused with utter rage and penchant for destruction.
And so she watched on with morbid curiosity as the nidorino howled in agony. Intense rays of white light began to break free of the creature's purplish hide. Its body thickened with layer upon layer of muscle. Bones lengthened, organs shifted, and its internal physiology constantly reoriented itself as the pokémon slowly remade itself from the inside-out. Thick, burly limbs burst forth where tiny paws used to be, and a single sharp horn burst out of its head.
The League's security forces surrounded the nidorino, their batons and pokémon ready to face a powerful predator. But for all their competency, she knew they wouldn't dare hurt a pokémon undergoing evolution.
People with pesky morality issues were predictable like that.
Astrid glanced towards Ritchie, who was frozen stiff at the sight. Idly, she wondered whether he would rush out of the shop like an idiot in some misguided attempt to save his pokémon from the 'cruel, merciless police'. If nothing else, it would actually make the distraction even more compelling.
The last of the nidorino's agonizing transformation was its giant tail. As the thick mass of raw muscle shot out from its behind in one stretch, it dislodged the noticeably larger moonstone shard with overwhelming force, launching it far away. Right into her awaiting hands.
It couldn't have gone better if I planned it myself. Astrid smiled. Oh wait. I did.
The beast's clouded, furious eyes met Ritchie's, but there wasn't an ounce of recognition in them.
Then, the newly transformed nidoking threw its head back and roared.
Red couldn't believe his ears.
Ghetsis— the man once at the helm of the Wataru and, by extension, the power behind the throne of Kanto and Johto. It was the same man Samuel Oak had once defeated, setting him on the path to becoming the most feared man on the continent. That Ghetsis.
And this man was his son.
Red tried twisting his neck, but failed. The hostages in the room ranged from elite clans to business magnates to a whole range of illustrious researchers, breeders, and distinguished members of the Kanto-Johto League. And that wasn't even getting into those from other nations. If the old man didn't bend to Proton's wishes, then they would all die. But if he conceded, then the Parthenon, and Kanto as a whole, would be seen as acquiescing to the threats of a terrorist.
Either way, it painted a gnarly picture in front of the entire world.
He could still feel Mia's distant presence flutter across his chest like a soothing balm, trying to suck the negative emotions out of him. But for the first time, he resisted. He needed to feel the anger, the frustration, the fear. Because fear was good— fear begot caution, and caution begot survival.
And if nothing else, Red needed to survive this ordeal.
He didn't know why, but he suddenly thought about Cynthia. He wondered whether the annoying Blackthorne was safe, and whether she managed to find her friend Rin. The girl had come all this way to meet her idol in hopes of getting a job. Would those hopes now perish in vain?
Red himself wanted to become Champion, like the great Samuel Oak himself. Would he perish as well? Mawile was waiting for him at the ranch. Mia would be inconsolable without him. Skarmory had trusted his judgement ever since she'd become part of the team. He had yet to show Scyther what a good trainer was like. He hadn't delivered Growlithe his promised freedom. He still wanted to prove to everyone that Shellder had untapped potential. And Dratini, the child Drago trusted him with, hadn't even started her journey.
Would— would he fail everyone? His own mother Delia wasn't even here. Would she have to find him dead? Just like back then with the pikachu?
Would it all just… end here?
Just like that?
"Ah, here she comes," came Proton's ominous voice.
Red's gaze flickered to the stage. The first thing he saw was Oak's face looking ashen, like he'd seen a ghost. He tried craning his neck as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, but to no avail. The noise grew louder and louder, until finally, he could see—
He gasped.
Sabrina!
Only, she wasn't there by herself. She was walking forward with her head bowed, flanked by two Team Rocket personnel. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and a collar was fastened around her neck, not unlike the one he'd found on Growlithe back in Viridian Forest. Seeing Sabrina treated like… like a slave made bile rise up in his throat. He pushed back and thrashed against the Disable with all his might.
The psychic bindings held firm.
But the effort wasn't fruitless. Somehow, he was able to push his line of sight just a little bit further right, just enough for him to a blonde-haired girl wearing all black—
Cynthia!
Standing in front of her was a woman with red hair tied into a ponytail and jet-black eyes, wearing the same black tactical uniform as the rest of the soldiers in Proton's taskforce. Team Rocket. And yet, something was odd. The woman seemed completely at ease as she talked to Cynthia, as if they knew one another. How the hell did she know a Team Rocket member?
"Sabrina," he heard Oak whisper, drawing his attention once more.
Sabrina whimpered, but the gab on her face kept her from speaking. For the first time, she looked less like the Saffron City Gym Leader and more like the sixteen-year-old girl that she was.
Incapacitated. Tormented. Powerless.
It made him sick to the stomach to see her, his crush, being treated like this. It was— it was—
He tried thrashing around again. It didn't work.
He strained his vocal cords as much as possible to scream. But not a sound escaped.
Mia! he thought loudly. Mia, help me! Mia—
Still nothing. Other than a thin, fluttering feeling that maintained a steady presence near his heart, there was practically nothing else he could feel. Mia's constant presence, something he'd grown accustomed to during his time in Pewter, was oddly muted.
"Please," he heard Oak beg. He'd never heard the old man sound so weak and vulnerable before. "Please don't do this. She's just a little girl. She has the right to live, just like anyone else."
"Oh, but I am letting her live," Proton airily replied. "Only, it won't be the false façade you and your underlings created for Sabrina. Oh no, I am far more fond of the original thing. The true Sabrina. Experiment One-Oh-Niner-Galaphorn-Seven. Second successful integration to the Natural Harmonia Gropius."
The Team Rocket admin pulled out a slip of paper and began to read it aloud.
"Recover."
Sabrina began to twitch. Her fingers spasmed and her back painfully arched.
"Mischief."
She screamed into the gag and doubled over, falling onto the ground. The redhead did not seem to care.
"Takeover."
Sabrina shook. Really shook. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her hands strained against the cuffs that held her hostage. Droplets of blood began to splatter on the floor, dripping from her mouth.
"Civilian."
The gag was sent flying out of Sabrina's mouth from pure psychic force. The cuffs shattered like glass as she threw her head back and screamed—
"Seventeen."
…
Utter silence reigned.
Slowly, Sabrina closed her mouth and stood up, her face held in shadow as she stared at the floor. She took a step forward. Then another. Then again and again, as she approached the stage.
Proton looked down at her with pride in his eyes. "Welcome, NHG Sabrina. Here are your assigned orders." He cast a malevolent glare at the crowd. "If Samuel Oak does not aid us in transporting Mewtwo safely, then kill…" His eyes roved over the crowd until he found Red. "Kill his dear protégé. Destroy his mind. Obliterate Red Ketchum."
In that moment, all Red could feel was a primal sense of fear.
Cassidy stuck to the shadows as she crept into the Pewter City Ranch. As an Executive herself, she was more than capable of taking down whatever guards Brock Pebbleman had placed to protect the locale. Normally, she'd have waltzed through the place without a care in the world, attacking whatever hopeless defenses were unfortunate enough to stand in her way. But with all the foreign delegates storing their pokémon here, Pebbleman probably hired an Ace Squad or two. More importantly, rock-types were the predominant pokémon at the ranch, which meant even the slightest disturbance could trigger a full-scale alarm and attract the attention of every guard and patrol unit in the area.
Hence, the skulking and discretion.
The entire ranch was deathly quiet. Even the lights were switched off to allow the pokémon to rest in the natural darkness of the night. She could hear the soft beating of her golbat's wings as the creature glided soundlessly, its large eyes scouting for any witnesses— in its own vicious mind, prey. Her beloved winged friend had a fetish for killing other people and pokémon, and Cassidy saw no reason to curb its tendencies.
Besides, it was cuter that way.
The bigger question at the moment was—
"If I were a semi-competent Gym Leader, where would I keep a murderous golem?" she asked herself.
The simplest answer was the inner chambers of the ranch, near Brock's own personally trained pokémon. The golem was Travers's magnum opus, so she doubted a rock-expert like him would let it roam in the wild with others. No, he'd have it locked up and preserved somewhere safe.
Cassidy doubted Brock knew the secret commands that activated Golem, from a passive giant to an avatar of wanton death and destruction. Still, she wouldn't put it past the man to identify there was something odd about it.
Nodding to herself, she snuck right into the inner chambers.
And there it was.
In the dim lighting, she could see it in the distance. Heavily chained to the wall, Golem looked utterly content in its captivity. With all four of its limbs fully retracted into the shell and only part of its head still sticking out, it appeared very much like a gigantic rocky cannonball.
Strangely enough, there was no guard. Not one.
Cassidy narrowed her eyes, and then shrugged. It wasn't her problem. All she wanted to do was to unchain it and put it back into Travers's custom-designed pokéball, specially created to hold Golem. It was a task that only took a few seconds. Once that was done, she would be able to unleash—
"Are you done day-dreaming, or do you need another minute?"
Cassidy twisted her head to the left to locate the source of the dry wit, only to—
WHAM!
Something overwhelmingly heavy and thick and invisible slammed into her, flinging her off the ground and against the nearest wall. The right side of her body bore the brunt of the damage, and Cassidy dropped like a stone to the floor. Spitting out a glob of blood, she reeled in shock as she looked up at the perpetrator.
Delia Ketchum. Samuel Oak's right hand, and the mother of the blasted brat who had killed Travers. Oh, she knew all right. It didn't take long for her to drag the truth out of those spineless League rangers.
Delia casually sauntered towards her fallen form without a care, her creepy Mr. Mime doing its patented wobbly walk beside her as it moved its large, creepier hands through the air in strange motions. Behind them was a strange creature that looked like a gardevoir with a twisted color scheme floating in the air, while a skarmory and scyther stood on the ground, staring at her like she was prey. Shaking its head was a small, exasperated mawile that was slowly rubbing its temples.
Cassidy tried to reach for her belt, where all her pokéballs were, but she couldn't. Separating her hand and her poké-belt was another invisible wall, much like the one that sent her reeling.
Goddamn Mr. Mimes.
No matter. She still had her prized golb—
CRUNCH!
Cassidy swallowed as she turned around, only to find her golbat— whatever remained of it —currently on the floor, with one of its wings inside the maw of a purple growlithe—
Purple?
Her face became ashen.
This was it. This was the very same pokémon that Travers had been tasked with capturing. So how—
The purple growlithe bit into the golbat again, this time breaking the bones over her bat's right eye. There was a squelching sound as dense, colorless liquid erupted from the now-dead golbat's mouth.
Cassidy glared at Delia Ketchum. "What— what do—"
"What do I want?" the woman finished, crouching down until her face was clearly and completely visible, even in the low light of the chamber.
She remained silent.
"Normally, I'd be happy with just getting myself and my son, and maybe the Professor, away from this godforsaken place and returning to my work at the lab. But then again, we don't always get what we want, now do we?" Delia chatted nonchalantly. "Like, I'll be honest. Samuel has worked really hard for this night and you're all so hell-bent on ruining it. I happen to know for a fact that you fuckers have something terrible planned for tonight, and I want to know what."
"Oh?" Cassidy grinned, blood staining her lips. "Is that all? Want me to give you a massage too?"
"Nah, I'm already feeling pretty good," the researcher replied, her casual expression doing nothing to hide the anger and cruelty in her voice. "I'd rather just make you my bitch."
Delia grabbed her by the back of her head and slammed her face into the ground.
"Now, tell me everything."
Editor: Solo Starfish, the best goddamn starfish the world has ever seen.
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