Chapter 50

"Inheritance"

"What is this trash?"

The humans were cursing me. I knew it.

"Trash? Do you know how much equipment I lost trying to catch her? Four bikes, two RVS, the entire circuit board in the truck, all the anti-pokemon devices, even the pokeballs. Everything with a god damn microchip, sensor or circuit, fried like a nuclear EMP. That makes her worth more than all that put together."

The two men standing near the warehouse loading docks looked at me. Arms crossed, shoulders hunched, eyes small and shady, neither approached despite the metal cage they kept me in. The human slashed in dirt and camouflage curled his lips at me. The other sported a black and red uniform. He came over from within the warehouse to receive us.

"Bullshit," he scoffed.

Well hidden in the nearby shadows, crates, and cigarette smoke, what remained of the hunting party that imprisoned me shared a glance. Unbeknownst to the newcomer, they had him surrounded.

"You're telling me you lost a whole convey for a single mightyena?"

I recognized the feel of the name. Even when uttered by such despicable lips, I must answer the summons, so I lifted my tail a little higher and held my head a little lower to further emphasis the line of my back. My muscles tensed. Every fiber of my being was brought to careful attention, especially my eyes, but it was an empty threat. All Spirit and blessing and energy were void within me. Fighting off the hunters to save the Touring Bulls used up what remained of my capabilities as a fighter. The innate elemental power of the wild no longer coursed through me. The wild finally cut me off once and for all. Still, one of the members of the hunting party recognized the implications of my posture. He elbowed one of their youngest members. Then, another hunter on the other side. The young one along with the two others got up. The big scruffy Beta looking figures walked over to the oblivious pair of conversing men to guard them. With eyes on my cage and hands on their belts, they did not trust me even at this distance, nor I them. The young one positioned himself closer to my cage to deescalate the growing hostility. He was the only hunter I did not growl or snap at because he kept my water dish full, did not throw my meals at me, and never forgot to clean my cage.

"We lost a shit load of pokemon too," the hunters in the background chimed in, agitated that their efforts were marginalized by a low-ranking skeptic.

"Frankie lost his whole party."

"I hadda toss two of mine."

Several nods bounced in agreement around the group. Fingers tracked empty slots in their belts. Others, fresh cigarettes.

"Then train them better, dumbass. Frankie can join the League for all I care," the man in the uniform chided, suddenly very small between the two Betas when they glared down at him.

A man built like a Ring Bear stood up from the crate he was occupying, but his neighbor slapped a hand on his shoulder to set him down again. The neighbor then threw his cigarette butt on the concrete with a dash of sparks and stalked over in the man's stead.

"You want proof?" the stalker snarled, rolling up his sleeve. "She almost took my freakin' arm off."

He ripped off a large white bandage and thrust out his arm, revealing a symmetrical pattern of bite marks on his forearm.

I was proud of that one.

The uniformed runt of a human shied away from the puss that started to run down Stalker's arm. The rest of the hunters eagerly joined in now that the scent of blood was in the air.

"Big Mike lost a few fingers," they started up, ready to show off their wounds, but the runt did not survive this pack of underground humans through trust.

"You sure Big Mike didn't get caught in one of your traps?" he quickly fired back.

"You callin' me a liar?"

Stalker jabbed his arm closer, and with one of the Betas as his backup, the two suddenly became one in pressure and presence. Unable to retreat because of his responsibilities, the runt revaluated his approach.

"Then how'd you catch it without any gear?" he questioned, trading blatant distrust for speculative reasoning.

"Chains, man. Fucking chains," the original negotiator whispered, alluding to a story of untapped conspiracy.

With buggy eyes and a history of credible yet uncanny encounters, he snagged the runt's interest. These were two packs, the hunters and the men in the warehouse, working in some alliance at the crossroads of their territories. They built a relationship over the exchange of creatures like myself. The runt looked at me again, more cautious than before.

"Alright, fine, what about the scan?" he asked, waving away the tension and moving business forward.

The hunters loosened up, eager to validate their suffering with statistics. They were not worthless. I was merely exceptional. The negotiator motioned at the young one who hurriedly grabbed a device from the transport trucked backed up to the dock. The other creatures stacked in cages inside the trailer banged around in agitation whenever a human approached. The young one jogged over and slowed when he came up to my cage. All of the hunters watched, interested to see if the young one would lose his luck today. The lesser the human rank, the more dangerous the task they received, but assigning the young one to care for us creatures was a wise decision because he was the only one who could ever squeeze out a little trust from us. The young one carefully adjusted his tempo, calming himself and gauging my current temperament. He adjusted the pressure of his presence and attention. He was the only hunter to have a semblance of balance within him even if it was rooted in fearful respect.

I glanced at the young one. The others tensed with growing excitement as the likelihood of violence increased. The young one slowly crouched down, keeping his eyes out of mine and body turned away as if I was not the focus of his attention, but rather, something on the ground. He pointed the scanner at me while keeping it close to feign his purpose and avoid resembling the posture of the electrified sticks the others like to poke and prod and harass us creatures with. He neared the line of my patience, but never crossed it, so I had no reason to growl at him. The device beeped, but I was used to such things by now. The young one stepped back just as carefully as before. Only when he shifted away did he stand up at full height and speak.

"It's almost done. Coming up now."

When the light of the screen lit up his face with the results, he paused.

"Stop messing around," the negotiator barked. "What's her level?"

The young one recovered, snuck another glance at me, and jogged over to the pair. He broke out in a sweat when he presented the device. The negotiator looked at it and sprayed a mouthful of spicy poison from the metal flask he was sipping. Curious and somewhat alarmed, the runt grabbed the screen and turned it toward him. He shoved it back at the young one with a suck of his teeth.

"I told you to replace that broken piece of shit," he admonished of the hunters. "It's why the pokemon you bring in keep losing battles. Bad pair ups from bad readings."

"We know better than that," the negotiator chuckled, sharing a joke in rigging that hoisted many a scheme to new heights.

He then pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to the runt. Debauchery was just as effective at building comradery as fighting battles. The negotiator even smiled when he lit the stick for his fellow lowlife. The two worked a drag before looking at me again. The runt tilted the glowing red end in my direction.

"I thought the number one rule to poaching was to catch pokemon that look pretty. Biggest, baddest, eclectic and all that."

"Looks can be deceiving," the negotiator reminded, turning a nasty smile at his friend, because their entire livelihoods revolved around falsehoods that occasionally had a bite of truth mixed in to keep the game going.

This time around, I guess I played the teeth.

"Alright, alright, what's her move set then?" the runt asked.

"Hell if I know."

They both blew another stream of smoke, this time, in the young one's direction, signaling his involvement once more. He began pulling up the information. These things, he worked with easily. A crowd gathered around. The hunters lined up to look at the device because they trusted nothing but their own interpretations. The only thing saving the young one from being mobbed was the pressure of the higher ranking four around him. He paused again and tilted his eyes in my direction.

"Out with it, Tick," the negotiator barked.

The young one was too engrossed with the results to flinch.

"Bite. Crunch," Tick started to list.

The runt nodded at each, expecting as much.

"Tackle. Body slam."

The negotiator scrunched up his nose, a bit disappointed.

"These scans tend to peg similar moves if the attack signature isn't distinct or refined, especially for wild pokemon," he tried to bolster, but the young one kept going.

"Leer. Snarl. Howl."

"Wilds can also have a wider range until they get a trainer that hones them in and cleans up the moves."

"Thunder fang. Fire fang. Ice fang. Super fang. Psychic fang. Poison fang."

"Holy shit," Stalker interrupted, hovering over Tick's shoulder. "He's not kidding."

"Roar. Swagger. Rest. Rain dance."

"You're not looking at it right," the runt automatically dispensed.

"Double team. Fake out. Scary face."

The two Betas pressed up against Tick, shielding him while pushing in both shoulders at the same time so that they could take a look.

"Play rough. Sunny day. Take down. Dark pulse."

"You're just reading off of a mightyena's move list."

"But the format's different," Stalker piped in, explaining the layout of the screen when they switched between the two categories.

"It's like she's the mother of all moves," Tick whispered, fascinated. "The origin of-,"

"Would you shut the hell up," the negotiator scolded. "Give me that."

He snatched the device and took a look, evaluating, pausing, and turning an eye up at me just like Tick did because what he read validated what they all experienced the day they captured me. Stalker and the others simultaneously shuffled back a step, leaving Tick out in the open again. The Betas fell into proper shadow behind him, Tick, the only hunter to handle a monster. Finally, a little respect in the ranks. Good for him.

"Let me see," the runt snapped, taking the scanner into his hands again.

He scrolled through the information, finding only what was important.

"Her PP is zero for everything. She should've regained something by now even if she was exhausted. I told you this thing is busted."

He slapped it into the negotiator's chest. The hunters pulled back their lips, sharpening their scowls, but remained where they were because another more ferocious opponent was on its way over.

"The Appraiser's here. We'll let him decide," the negotiator delegated, glancing over the runt's shoulder with a jab of his chin.

The runt jumped out of his shoes and separated from the negotiator with his tail between his legs to make room for the Appraiser. The negotiator also made way, although, not as courteously. The Appraiser was a short slim man with a gaunt face, pointed nose, and dark sagging eyes. He wore a crisp black suit with shiny shoes, a mantle, and brimmed hat to match. His attire set him apart from the others by several generations although he might have been as old as I was given the cane he walked with. The jewel at the top was impeccable. A single overpoweringly simple ornament to reflect the Appraiser's style of judgement. He bypassed the others and looked straight at me, holding my gaze without reservation.

Now, this human was dangerous.

"Is this the specimen?" the Appraiser asked, tapping forward with a rhythmic click of his cane on the ground. It sounded like the contemplative click of a claw.

"Y-yes Sir," the runt stuttered.

The Appraiser came forward, further parting the men, the workings of the distant warehouse, and the world itself to connect himself to me. Tick was the only one to fall into step in case the Appraiser wanted to see the results of the scan, but a man like that did not need such devices. When they stopped in front of me, I calmed my hackles and did not show my teeth. To do so would tell the Appraiser things about my condition that the others did not notice yet. To be indiscernible was my greatest weapon against him in this cage. Neither of us blinked as we stared at one another. Slowly, the Appraiser leaned closer and looked me over. I ignored all that came and went around us with poised focus. I pretended the young one was not there despite my discomfort that the two should be so close. I would give this enemy no advantage. No hint as to my thoughts. I was mightyena as they called it. Nothing more. Nothing less. The Appraiser scratched a claw oh-so delicately against the door to my soul, much like a tickle. It was all he needed to gain access.

After another quiet moment, when I did not answer the door, he finally pulled back and straightened out. Tick shuddered out an exhale. The Appraiser then turned his back to me and walked between the two men again.

"This specimen is disqualified," the Appraiser announced.

The pack of hunters bristled with shouts and snarls and curses. The Appraiser stabbed his walk to a stop, killing the rebellion instantly.

"You know the rules of pit fights," he coldly announced. "No pokemon entered shall be captured, coded, or baited. These pokemon shall be taken fresh from the wild without training or coaching. Those with a history of human influence shall be banned from participation."

"Boss man, you don't get it," the negotiator suddenly stepped in because not even an Alpha like status like the Appraiser could deter him from his purpose. "This mightyena-,"

"Has a collar," the Appraiser finished.

Shock rippled through the hunters, paralyzing them from head to foot. In that grim moment of enlightenment, the Appraiser took one last look at me. He adjusted the jewel in his palm ever so slightly before leaving to scrutinize the next specimen. The runt glanced around at the hunters before scurrying away into his hole. The negotiator recovered first. He spun around, limped over to my cage because of the bite I gifted his leg during capture, and uncharacteristically shoved his face close to the bars. Compared to the Appraiser, it was nothing but a nuisance. Spotting the collar, he immediately whirled upon Tick and struck him in the face.

"How the hell did you miss that?" he shouted despite the fact that they all did.

Most of the time, I forgot it was there too. But when the negotiator struck the only part of that young one that was still light, I lost my temper and leapt into the bars, snarling and biting and spiking my mane with such fuss, I jarred the heavy metal cage I was confined in. The two Betas went swiftly into action. They each whipped out a sparking baton and prodded me with them, keeping contact much longer than usual because I refused to go down right away. When I did, it was their only chance to get close.

"Take it off!" the negotiator screamed.

The one to normally do such things anyway. Tick pulled out a pocket knife, flicked it open, and reached through the bars. He cut the collar and yanked it off by the time I opened my eyes again. He sat back and held it up so the others could see.

"Well, shit," someone grumbled in the back.

"That explains a lot."

"Like hell it does."

"Who'd throw away a monster like that?"

"Look at her, she's ancient, that's why."

"Isn't that a tracking collar?"

"Is it one of ours?"

Tick examined it a little more closely.

"Doesn't look like it," he commented.

"Too expensive," Stalker added, hovering over Tick's shoulder again.

The negotiator snatched it up and walked away. The rest of the hunters avoided my cage now that I was up again. A few followed the negotiator for closer inspection of the device. Each with their own solution to the problem.

"Is it supposed to be blinking like that?" One of them asked, observing a light on the inside of the device that was normally covered.

The negotiator honed in on it. He found a serial number embossed beside it.

"Think it belongs to the park troopers?" one of them suddenly proposed. "Don't they monitor, map, and track those things by location in real time?"

The negotiator slowly raised his eyes to the men. They raised theirs with him. The negotiator suddenly dropped the collar as if it were some dangerous, poisonous, dirty, taboo, electrified thing.

"Load up the pokemon right now," he harshly whispered. "We're getting the hell outta here. I didn't lose half my shin for this bullshit."

In an instant, the hunters started packing up. Many hurried outside of the nearby exit door, tucking away trinkets and cigarettes. I had to give them credit, they knew how to retreat. All equipment and personnel were nearly clear by the time the negotiator stormed back to my cage. Tick quickly came to attention.

"What about her?" he asked, risking a glance down at me.

"I'm not going for broke," the negotiator answered. "Load her up with the rest. Team Fang is paying good coin for pokemon to use in their experiments, wild or not."

"You mean Dragon Fang?"

"A gang's a gang and a grunt's a grunt," the negotiator bitterly reminded with a glance over his shoulder at the shadows of the warehouse pack.

He then looked at Tick and I again. Already in my cage, he leaned in close to the young one instead, locked eyes, and jabbed a finger in his chest with a flash of teeth.

"And a poacher's a poacher," he threatened. "Don't you forget it."

Because what made Tick special in his pack when it came to handling us creatures was also what made him dangerous. The negotiator then left to check on progress, abandoning Tick to his task. The young one went limp, disheartened to know my fate. It was one thing to have me fight for my life as I always did. Another to have me tortured and tested. My misguided young one teased his belt and looked at me with impish longing like My Man once did, but a commotion deeper in the warehouse startled him out of the thought before it could completely develop. Sharp cries rang out, striking the heart of warehouse operations faster than a lightning bolt.

"Police!" they shouted and echoed.

The humans went into such a frenzy, it was as if a herd of Stantler encountered a hunt howl. It was not far from the truth as a new group of uniformed humans raced through the warehouse from the front towards the docks, shouting commands while brandishing weapons and creatures that helped subdue the grunts and other gang members along the way. Many fights broke out. I caught glimpses of them as Tick and one of the Betas risked their safety to grab the bars of the cage and haul me back into the trailer. Their rough handling slammed me into the other cages, but the hunters were now the hunted and had no time for respect.

The Beta hopped out to find passage another way. Tick crouched down in the back with us creatures, struggling to ensure our stability as the engine roared to life and the breaks hissed free. Had the poachers not gone on alert just minutes before, they might have left me behind to escape with what profit they could. I did not know much about pack wars between humans. The chaos and screaming and scrambling were confusing, but things had been that way ever since the poachers captured me. These new raiders made it to the docks by the time the truck started to pull away. They wore black outfits and gear with white lettering. A select few were more lightly equipped.

One of them wore a familiar color pallet with a mountain logo on it. The black vest around his torso matched the armor of the more aggressive members of the poacher hunting party, but My Man was still My Man, and I would always recognize him no matter what he dressed in. He ran up to the open floor space near the dock from the side with a scanner like device in his hands and abruptly stopped at the spot the runt and negotiator had been. His stillness was mesmerizing in the deluge of clashing bodies, especially when he looked down at his feet and saw my collar on the floor. He slowly bent down and picked it up, tenderly, carefully, feeling the clean cut in the band.

He stood back up, the discovery wearing off, and held the collar next to the device. They blinked in unison before changing color, a match. My Man's Spirit flared so passionately it would have reached out and found mine had I not lost my might. Had I still been Mother. My Man turned his head and looked back inside of the warehouse because all of the evidence told him I was already appraised and on my way to a pit fight or to be auctioned or butchered. The grunts would not have bothered to remove the collar if I was to be rejected and disposed of immediately. Had he turned the opposite way, we would have caught eyes for a fraction of a second. Just long enough for him to recognize me. But the truck pulled away from the dock unseen by the raiders, missed for easier prey.

Tick finished his work and ripped the tarp down to conceal the back of the trailer. As the corner fell into place, I watched My Man disappear behind the veil. First, his head as he looked into the warehouse. Then, his torso as he turned to race back into the fray. Down a little, his fist as he clutched my collar tight. Finally, his feet as they ran in the wrong direction to save me. But that was OK because now I finally understood My Man's purpose. Although these darkened humans had come and altered the workings of the wild, the Spirit sent those like My Man to confront them. To create balance. My Man was more than capable of meeting the challenge. He was mine after all. I trusted him the same way I trusted the pack to not only survive, but thrive without me in it. When he picked up my collar, he took up my mantle. It did not matter that he was not Mighty Hena, only that his heart was filled with the Spirit. That was the true pack. My Pack.

And it was beautiful.