Clang!
The iron door shut behind him, a jarring metallic ring filling the room.
Andrew stumbled onto the cold, stone floor, quickly veering to the right and pressing his flippers up against the wall to maintain his balance.
The Marshtomp let out a sigh before looking up at his cell. It was reminiscent of the one he was held in a year ago underneath the Grandeport Guild. The floor was a patchwork with rigid stones of varying shapes and shades of gray. They were cool to the touch. But under Andrew's feet, they created a sense of coziness and comfort.
The walls were the same gray but each had a uniform, rectangular shape. The only thing separating them from the floor was a thin layer of concrete at their bases. The cell was dark, the only light coming in from a small window high on the back wall. Preventing a potential escape were three thick, impenetrable iron bars.
I bet that isn't even the outside. Probably some idiot's office.
There was a stack of hay in the left corner, an uninviting excuse for a bed. Above it was an empty sconce mounted to the left wall. It was a sad, pathetic fixture, crooked and barely hanging to the wall. It was covered with flaky, green rust.
Andrew slid down onto the floor and rested against the wall.
"Well, this is it."
Don't say it.
"I'm going to say it," he insisted to himself.
But it's never true.
He looked up at the window. The thin beams of white light weaved through the bars and onto the floor of the prison cell. They seemed to circle Andrew, crisscrossing along the rigid stones and up the wall, but never touching Andrew. It was as though they fled from his moist skin.
"I'm going to die."
The sound echoed softly through his cell.
"Going to die… die," the room whispered in agreement.
Andrew shut his eyes. Chloe's final moments were burnt into his retinas like a film reel replayed over and over. He saw her face, the look of shock and dread as her body crashed through the window. Like a ship sailing over the horizon, the Flaaffy slowly phased out of view until she disappeared entirely. She had left Grandeport.
The image was vivid and crisp, as though he was still in that moment. Andrew opened his eyes, to see her there.
Chloe? Chloe! His mind called out. He could almost see her, as though she was right there. Andrew could practically feel her presence, hear her voice. He was so close. She was almost at the tips of his flippers. But still, the Flaafy evaded him. He squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to restart the moment.
Nothing.
He looked out the castle window, finding no trace of her left. Just a small, red dot on the grass where her corpse had laid.
His eyes flew open again.
Andrew looked down at his chest to find it heaving up and down. He placed a flipper on the center of his chest. His heart was racing as fast as it ever had, threatening to break through his chest.
Chloe, come back, please. Chloe!
However, he had little time to contemplate his emotions as loud metal screeching interrupted him. The Marshtomp craned his head to see the heavy cell door creak open, scraping across the stone floor. Andrew pushed himself up.
Felicia entered, the Lucario looking down at him with a stern glare. She raised her paw. From the hall outside, a Bisharp grabbed the handle and slowly swung it shut, leaving the two Pokemon in the room alone.
"Do you have any questions about your situation?" Felicia asked with a nonchalant tone.
Andrew scowled. "Yeah. Firstly, why are you such a bitch? And secondly… What the hell is going on?!"
"We conducted a thorough investigation into the death of Chloe Flaafy, and we believe there's enough evidence to convict you of her murder. I had you arrested so we can finally end this whole mess."
"End this whole mess?" Andrew repeated, wringing his flippers. "Look, I know that I've made some mistakes, but this is insane! You're going to ruin my life."
Felicia shrugged, her expression unchanged. "You brought this on yourself. I gave you plenty of opportunities to fix your behavior, but you refused each one."
"But I–"
"You can't expect me to let you murder people, Andrew. That isn't what we're about," the Lucario interrupted with a low growl in the back of her throat.
Andrew turned away from her as his expression fell into a deep frown. The Marshtomp began to shake and breathe heavily. He bit his lip and used every ounce of his willpower to stop from bursting into tears.
She sighed. "I apologize that things had to end like this, Andrew. I assure you that this is not what I wanted when we began our current arrangement, but you forced my paws."
"No I fucking didn't," Andrew muttered. "You could have just fired me and I would've gone. I'm done. I'm so done with all of you. I just want to leave, I just want to run away, and you wouldn't have given a shit if I did. You enjoy this. You enjoy making me suffer."
Felicia let out a chuckle, a spiteful grin appearing on her face. "Perhaps you should have run before you decided to kill poor Chloe."
Andrew whipped back around to face her. He grimaced. "I didn't mean to! You know I lost control and I wasn't actually me and therefore–"
"Save it for the trial, Andrew," Felicia humphed.
"Why do you even care?"
"About you killing the Flaaffy?
He crossed his arms. "Yeah."
"I don't."
"Then why are you torturing me?" the Marshtomp groaned.
Felicia rubbed the bottom of her snout. "Because you betrayed my trust and embarrassed me. You embarrassed the whole council and Grandeport's governing class by acting like a child. I can't let that slide. If we show weakness and complacency, inevitably our enemies—the guilds, foreign powers, usurpers, whomever—will try to overthrow us."
"I hope you get overthrown," Andrew pouted as he pointed a finger up at her.
The Lucario rolled her eyes. "I appreciate the sentiment… but I believe we're out of time. I have to make some… arrangements in preparation for your inevitable conviction. I'll see you in court."
Felicia turned back toward the door and knocked on it twice. It was loudly dragged open as the two Bisharps stood behind the frame like an iron wall. Without so much as a glance back at Andrew, Felicia stepped outside the suffocating cell.
"I hope you die!" Andrew shouted as she disappeared through the door.
However, he was met with no response as the Bisharp pushed the heavy door shut once more. Andrew was alone.
"Goddamnit," he whispered to himself. "This day can't get any worse."
You realize something terrible is going to happen now, right?
"Shut up."
He stood idly before beginning to pace the perimeter of the cell. The Marshtomp quickly found himself muttering under his breath, though unable to understand the words coming out of his mouth. They weren't even words, just meaningless sounds almost resembling something like that of language.
He kept pacing around, and around, and around… and around. The whole room seemed to be spinning. Andrew's legs suddenly felt weak and tired. Their sturdy muscle bones seemed to melt and pool around him, bringing down Andrew's whole torso. He stumbled over to the pile of hay and collapsed.
The hay did little to soften his landing. Andrew had landed lightly, preventing any lingering pain, but the hay was barely more comfortable than the stones. Their hardness could still be felt through the minimal padding. And worst of all, they were unbearably itchy.
Andrew sat up and reached over his shoulder to relieve an itch plaguing his back… only for a new one to form on his legs and tail fins.
"Gah!" Andrew yelped, shooting up from the hay.
But the hay did not release Andrew from its stringy grasp. The thin, yellow strands stuck to the Marshtomp's moist, adhesive skin. Even as he leaped out of the wretched pile and struggled and brushed them off, he was not relieved from the itch.
"You monsters!" he yelled as loud as he could, shaking his body every which way like a wet dog, strands of hay flying off.
By the time he had finally rid himself of the hay, the cell was a mess. Bits of hay circled Andrew in the center of the room, preventing him from sitting anywhere without being tortured by the bits of dead grass.
He stomped his foot on the stone ground. He looked to the window, out at the white light.
"Why Arceus? WHY?!" he yelled at the top of his lungs
He weaved around the mess of hay and pressed himself against the wall, feeling its cool embrace. "Nobody deserves this. Not even me."
But Andrew had little time to wallow in self-pity as the eardrum-piercing screech of the iron door opening emanated throughout the cell again.
I don't care. Fuck you, Felicia, I hate you! You've ruined my entire life and now I'm stuck in this jail cell like a stupid fish. I'm a fish. A stupid fish in her goddamn tank.
"Andrew?" a male voice asked softly. "It's me."
There was a pause. Andrew could not hear any footsteps, the Pokemon seemingly standing in place. After a moment of quiet, the door screeched shut.
I know I've heard that voice somewhere before. I almost want to see who it is.
"Uh, are you planning on looking at me? I'd really appreciate it."
With a huff, Andrew slowly turned to face the mysterious voice. Standing in front of the door stood a Grovyle with a loose blue tie and an awkward grin on his face. He held up a claw and waved.
"Andrew! It's been a while," he exclaimed. "Or should I say, Mister Marshtomp! Mister President Andrew Marshtomp!"He grabbed Andrew's flipper and yanked it in a crude emulation of a handshake.
Andrew pulled away before rubbing the appendage. "I… recognize you."
"I sure hope so!" said the Grovyle.
Andrew tapped his foot. "I'm trying to remember where I met you."
"I was your lawyer, kid. George, remember?" the Grovyle questioned with a twinkle in his eye.
Andrew rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I know you're my lawyer. Everyone here can't stop reminding me how screwed I am…"
"No, no!" he uttered as he shook his head. "I was your lawyer. Back when you got arrested by the guild, does that ring a bell? Trial with old judge Drampa? I think he died…"
Andrew beamed in a moment of realization. "Ohhh! George! Yeah, I remember you. You were one of the first Pokemon I ever met."
The Grovyle tilted his head, giving the Marshtompa a strange look.
"...In Grandeport, I mean. Of course," Andrew continued before clearing his throat. "Anyway. Yeah, I remember that dumb trial. The trial that… I lost, and you were my lawyer…"
George tugged at his tie and tried to suppress a gulp. "Oh, you know how it is. The past is in the past. Nobody's perfect, et cetera et cetera. I don't work as a defendant for that old guild anymore these days anyways, y'know, because it closed. Oh wait, didn't you close it?"
"I uh… did many things! You know how it is. The past is the past" said the Marshtomp, tugging at his bowtie.
George shrugged. "Fair enough. It's like the old lawyer saying goes, can't win 'em all!"
"You need to win this next case," he groaned as he crossed his flippers. "My life depends on it."
George stuck up a clawed finger, as though to give a thumbs up. "Don't worry, kid. I'll make sure that you get out of this whole thing scot-free! In fact, that's why I'm here now. Let me just get the final details I need for this case so we can craft a real strong argument."
The Grovyle scanned the cell. "Hm… Would be nice to have a table in here or something."
"I'd like a bed."
George scratched the back of his neck. "Good luck with that one. They won't even give us a cabinet in the office break room."
"That's just stupid," scoffed Andrew.
"No big deal!" George declared with a toothy grin. "I could use some exercise. Let's begin, shall we?"
Andrew nodded in agreement.
"So, it looks like the prosecution is going to charge you with first-degree murder. That's pretty serious! Basically, they think that you planned the murder of Chloe Flaaffy and killed her yourself by intentionally pushing her out of your office window. Is that true?"
The Marshtomp turned away.
"I… didn't plan anything out," he muttered. "It just… sort of happened. One moment she was in front of me, the next she had been pushed out the window. I'm not even sure I was the one who did it."
"Hm… Let's assume for the purpose of this case that you were the one who murdered her," George said, contemplating aloud to himself.
"But I didn't kill her."
The Grovyle clapped his hands together. "That's the spirit!"
"Oh god, I'm going to be in jail for the rest of my life, aren't I?" Andrew uttered. He shook his head in disbelief. "This is terrible! I don't deserve this!"
George put a claw on Andrew's shoulder. "Kid, I can tell you're feeling a lot of strong emotions right now, but let me tell you something that will make you feel a whole lot better."
"What is it?" asked Andrew, looking up at him.
George took a deep breath. "Of the thirty-seven public defendants in the office I work at, I was the only one willing to take your case. Everyone is convinced that no matter how good your lawyer is, you're going to end up behind bars."
"How is that supposed to make me feel better?!"
"You didn't let me finish!" snapped George, pressing harder on Andrew's shoulder. "You see, because none of those cowardly lawyers wanted your case, you have me. Now, I don't mean to brag, but I have the best track record in the office. I've basically never lost a case since I got this job as a public defendant. Well, give or take a few."
"How many are a few?" interrogated Andrew, narrowing his eyes.
George wore a sheepish smile. "Well… only fourteen, I think."
"And how many Pokemon have you represented?"
George took his claw off Andrew's shoulder and scratched the side of his leg. "Uh, thirty-two? Maybe thirty-three."
Andrew covered his face and began to shake his head. "No, no, no… This can't be happening! This isn't fair!"
"I'm just going to, um…" George tentatively murmured before stepping backward. "...I think I'll go get us some dinner! Yeah, it's getting a bit late now. Be back in a jiff!"
The Marshtomp uncovered his face in time to see George knock on the door. It opened, and he hastily darted out of the room as the door shut behind him.
Andrew turned around to see the white light outside the cell. It had grown dimmer, and the room had grown a bit darker with it. The light still refused to touch him. Andrew let out a long sigh, looking up at the stony patchwork of the ceiling.
What can I even do?
The thought lingered in his mind, nagging at the forefront. He scanned the cell for a potential escape route—an imperfection—anything that could reveal a secret passage out of his confinement.
But there was nothing.
The small window seemed to grow farther from Andrew the longer he stared at its three imposing bars of iron. It had become impossibly high. To him, it seemed as if it were over thirty, forty, over fifty feet away from his small form. He reached up at it to no avail.
The door creaked open and George returned, carrying a tray of food in each claw. A notebook with a pencil slid into its spiral binding was firmly clamped down between the Grovyle's jaws.
"Youm knouwm whamt thear'ymt sawymminmg amoumt mihm!" said George.
Andrew shot him a deadpan stare.
The Grovyle opened his mouth and the notebook fell to the floor with a plop.
"Looks like they don't have any interest in bringing a table in here. Oh well, I suppose we'll just have to sit on the floor," George sighed. He began to claw at the loose strands of hay with his toes. He shuffled around, creating a circle just large enough for him and Andrew to sit without touching the dead grass. The Grovyle lowered himself, placed the trays down, and tapped the ground to signal Andrew to sit.
The Marshtomp groned, but reluctantly went over and sat across George. The Grovyle pushed over a tray of food.
The tray was made of wood with jagged edges and a few splinters peeling off around the corners. Luckily, the tray's center looked smooth enough. The food itself was hardly plentiful. There was a single, round slice of white, dough-like bread. It was barely bigger than Andrew's fingers put together.
Upon picking it up, the Marshtomp pressed into it. It was cold… and damp. The bread sagged in his grasp, as though gravity would take hold of half the piece within seconds.
There were also a dozen berries on the tray. They were a faded red, well past their prime. Several of them appeared punctured and were weeping a sticky, similarly colored substance onto the tray.
"At least the guild prison food was pretty good."
"Yeah…" George sighed as he pushed his tray away. "I'll be eating dinner at home. The food's an alright snack if you get it the day they prepare it. Unfortunately, they're not going to make any more for at least another few days."
Andrew humphed, dropping the soggy bread back onto the plate. "Looks like I'm not getting dinner tonight. Or ever again."
"Hey, don't say that. We're going to get you out of this," George reassured, picking up his notebook and readying his pencil.
The Marshtomp grumbled. "Easy for you to say."
"I'm confident about this case, Andrew. They want this trial to be a spectacle, which is why they're using a real jury. At least, that's what I've heard. But it's all for show. The council's case against you is pretty weak."
Andrew poked at one of the berries, causing more juice to leak out. "How do you know that for sure?"
"I don't," George said, cracking his knuckles. "But it's plausible enough, and it's the only situation I can actually get you out of. No point in planning for a rigged trial."
The Marshtomp carefully picked up one of the more vivid berries. It was soft. He placed the berry into his mouth and bit down on it. The taste was mostly sweet, though with a hint of sourness. The chewed-up berry slid down his esophagus with a gulp.
"Could've been worse," he choked out.
George shrugged. "Better get used to it. You're not on trial for another week, and the real prison food sure isn't better than this."
"Great," Andrew huffed.
The Grovyle tapped his toe-claws against the floor. He began to whistle as Andrew put another berry into his mouth.
"Anyway… Let's begin," George prompted. He flipped to a new page in his notebook. "Before we do this for real, I need you to do something."
"And what might that be?"
George's brow narrowed. "I suppose reputations like this just come with being king, or president, or whatever it is that you were. But you've made a name for yourself as being a total liar."
"Hey!" yelled Andrew. "I don't lie!"
"That was a lie," George corrected.
He whined. "No it wasn't!"
"Whatever you say, hahaha," George laughed, quickly jotting something on his notepad. "But for this next part, I need you to give me a truthful account of what happened on the night you killed Chloe. It's the only chance we have at lying you out of prison."
Andrew took a deep breath. "Fine, I'll tell you exactly what happened. Not that I was planning on lying to my own goddamn lawyer, but because you insisted…"
"Begin!" George said in an almost whimsical voice, holding out a claw.
The Marshtomp cleared his throat. "It had been a rough day, I think I got chewed out by the council over something stupid. Doesn't matter. Point is I was already pissed."
"Already… pissed," the Grovyle repeated, writing in his notebook.
"It was getting late when Chloe came to my office. Our relationship had always been a bit… rough, but apparently, she couldn't handle it anymore. She came to me and told me that she was resigning, something that she'd threatened to do before. I got mad, she got mad back at me–"
"Who started the fight?" George interjected. "This is important."
The Marshtomp wracked his mind, rubbing his fingers together. "I think it was me, but it might have been her. I can get a bit angry sometimes."
"Do you have anger issues?"
A wave of heat ran over Andrew's body. He felt a rumbling in his stomach. "Excuse me?!"
"Do you have anger issues?" George asked again, looking down at his notepad.
"I do not!" the Marshtomp roared.
'I do not… I do not…!' his voice loudly echoed off the cell walls.
George smirked. "Really?"
"How is this important to anything?" Andrew questioned, pushing his flippers against the ground.
George flipped to a new page in his notebook. "All information is helpful. If we can prove that you have an anger problem, it could help us prove the idea that what you did to Chloe was a crime of passion and not premeditated."
"Crime of passion? I'm not passionate about it! It was a mistake," said Andrew.
George chuckled. "That isn't what that means. A crime of passion is when you commit a criminal act in part due to intense emotions. Like for example, anger. They're not charging you with manslaughter, they want murder in the first degree. So, if we can prove this whole thing was a crime of passion, we might be able to get you off the hook… kind of."
"Kind of?"
"Well… Manslaughter's still a crime. We'll figure it out as we go," explained the Grovyle. "Continue your story."
The Marshtomp nodded. "Okay… We got mad at each other, but it didn't last. I don't remember. I think I said something to her that calmed her down, which calmed me down. And everything was good for a few minutes. But then Chloe just had to tell me that she had leaked our whole payment arrangement to the press. Now that made me super angry."
"Mhm," George hummed, scribbling some more.
"I mean, me and Chloe never liked each other all that much. But I thought we had an understanding not to backstab each other! What the hell was she thinking?" Andrew shouted, his voice beginning to grow in volume again.
His lawyer cleared his throat. "Andrew, focus."
"Right," he sighed. "That's pretty much everything. I got super mad, so mad I couldn't tell what was happening. One moment I was yelling at her the next…"
The Marshtomp paused. "She was gone."
Andrew stopped speaking. George took a few extra moments to finish scribbling down the last of his notes. "Is that it?"
"Yep."
George crossed his arms. "Are you sure nothing is being left out?"
"Yeah."
"Alright then!" George said cheerfully. He grabbed his tray and stood up. "It's getting late. My wife's going to kill me if I get home past six again. Our kid just hatched a few months back, so she's probably pretty exhausted."
Hatched? Weird. Creatures that come from eggs are creepy.
"Oh, congrats… I think?" Andrew remarked, standing up.
George smiled and nodded. "Much appreciated. Your case is going to be my priority because you were the president and all that, but I still have some other clients. I should be in here at least a couple more times before your trial."
"Thanks," Andrew groaned, looking at the window to see the light was almost all gone. He could barely see George standing a couple of feet in front of him.
George began marching toward the door and waved back. "I'm off~!"
Andrew didn't say anything back. George knocked twice on the door, causing it to magically open. Light streamed into the cell and George's silhouette loomed over Andrew.
"Good luck!" cried George.
Andrew waved a flipper as the door slowly slid shut, cloaking him in near-darkness once more.
Good luck, Andrew though. The words repeated in his mind. Haven't had much luck lately. No reason for that to change now.
The Marshtomp sat back down and stared at the tray of food. His stomach rumbled, a small pain in his abdomen urging him to eat despite the unappetizing selection. He picked up the remaining berries and placed them into his mouth, downing them one by one. The sour, barely tolerable taste lingered on his tongue.
After a moment, his stomach rumbled again. The pain barely let up. His eyes turned to the soggy lump of bread sprawled on the tray like a Sawsbuck run over by a car. It had accumulated stains from the berry juice, pink spots present on its edges.
"I hate my life."
Andrew grasped the bread, the slice having grown even colder and more stale since he had last touched it. He brought his other fingers in for support as he slowly lifted the bread toward his face.
His eyes squeezed shut. With one swift motion, the Marshtomp shoved the entire slide into his mouth and hastily began chewing, hoping to sneak the taste past his tastebuds.
The taste appeared nonetheless. It was horrible.
The edges of the bread were fragile and soft like putty, oozing through his teeth and down his throat. The center was hard, freezing, and crunched unnaturally under his teeth to create a disgusting contrast.
Andrew began gulping, forcing the bread down his esophagus. After a minute, it was all gone. He had eaten his dinner, miraculously.
"Oh. My. God. That was literally the worst thing ...I have ever eaten. In. My. LIFE!"
He paused and waited for some form of reaction, from somebody. Anybody.
The Marshtomp's only companion, however, was the darkness. Not knowing what else to do, he looked at the door.
Maybe a guard will let me see some real light or something.
Despite his protests, the door didn't budge. Nobody was coming.
Andrew pushed the tray several feet away. With a relenting groan, he slowly lowered himself down onto the floor and rolled onto his back. The ground was anything but comfortable, a dull ache quickly overcoming his backside.
Beats the goddamn bed they made for me. Assholes.
However, a wave of drowsiness still came over him. The light quickly faded and disappeared. With a yawn, Andrew shut his eyes as the room fell into total darkness.
Really? This again? I'm not in the mood to see him.
I didn't even get to see the black void dissolve in front of me. Instead, he found himself basked in the white light of Arceus, the infinite, bright void stretching beyond what his eyes could see. Floating in front of Andrew was Arceus, staring out past the human's tiny form.
"What do you want?" I asked, an aggravated tone in my voice, which echoed back to me.
But Arceus ignored him, continuing to stare out as if he weren't there.
Andrew waved his arms, trying to get the god's attention. "Hey!"
Slowly, Arceus' gargantuan head lowered to observe the human.
"Greetings, my child. It's quite a fine evening, is it not?"
"Evening? I guess I am asleep right now…"
Arceus hummed. "Yes. Your journey has taken an unexpected turn. But alas, do not give up hope. For I will bestow upon you my blessing and you shall–"
"Give up hope? Everything's terrible!" I interjected. "You keep telling me that you're going to make things better, but they keep getting worse!"
"Patience, my child," the god spoke with a calming rumble. "All will be revealed in time."
I don't believe him. After all this time, after all that I've been through, how was I supposed to accept that he was looking out for me? I guess I'm not dead… I think. That's something. But it's hardly a high standard. I stared at my human arms, running my dexterous fingers across one of them. It almost felt real. It was so vivid… Where was I?
"Me," Arceus said.
"Oh, right," Andrew grumbled. "I don't believe you're God."
He let out a booming laugh. "And why might that be, my child?"
"Because God hates me. Actually, no. God doesn't give a single damn about me, he never has. If you really were God, assuming he exists, you wouldn't have brought me here. You wouldn't have tortured me! You're just my god-damn imagination."
"Perhaps… Perhaps would be beneficial not to ponder just how this situation affects you, President Andrew," Arceus said tenderly.
"Not think about it? Do you even hear what you're–"
But as he began to yell at Arceus, the creator Pokemon disappeared.
The human was left alone in the void.
"Not think about how it affects me…?"
The void began to shake. Black cracks formed between the sheets of pure white. They grew larger and larger, taking hold of the surreal space.
The Marshtomp merely sighed.
"...I'll consider it."
AN: A trial! Haven't we seen this one before? Regardless, I do hope it goes well for our fishy friend. Arceus only knows what would happen if it doesn't…
Two more chapters left after this. Trust me, I'm already drafting the monster of an author's note that chapter is going to have. It's been a crazy journey. But, I'll shut my mouth until then.
Thank you to DoomHuntley, DaGamestar, Zee102, and Sonic Ramon for your collective continued support. It's always appreciated. And also from you. Yeah, you.
Feedback of any kind is always appreciated, though I'll admit it might not be too impactful at this point. I'm still always happy to hear it, though. Comments are appreciated as well! I always respond.
Always.
Until next time.