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Corrupt Authority (Pokemon fanfic, starring G/S's Kenta)

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Kenta.....
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« on: August 19, 2009, 10:10:49 pm »

So I've recently gotten back to Aisenfield, and I see there's been a slump in activity.  Until I can get back to my comic, this may help a little bit.

*****

Corrupt Authority

Pokémon are creatures of unconfirmed origin, bearing elemental powers of epic proportions. They stand superior to most other animals on the planet, and are to be regarded with utmost respect for their capabilities. Hell, if they all were to join forces tomorrow, it wouldn’t be farfetched to suggest that pokémon could overcome people and take charge of this world. But what have we humans done with these magnificent creatures? Rather than worship them as the gods they are, we have enslaved them, and forced their natures for the sake of petty sport.

Six pokémon to a trainer. Unlimited holding space to store the other, unneeded captives. Billions upon billions of yen invested each year on capture balls, potions, and other devices created for the sole purpose of promoting perverted tyranny over innocent creatures, in the name of greed. And to think, we’re teaching our children that this despicable evil is not only acceptable behavior, but somehow honorable? What have we become? Where is our shame? Whatever happened to virtue?

It must be stopped. It MUST come to an end!


***

"Put on your raincoats, front row folks, because Brendan's Swampert has just summoned a tidal wave from the field's pool!"

The roaring of the stadium crowd was drowned beneath the mighty echo of rushing currents as a wall of water stacked itself between the two pokémon combatants. A gargantuan blue creature leaped upon the Surf attack it had created, and from ten feet below, its rocky opponent stared up with a mingled expression of defiance and horror. One moment later, the massive wall of water smashed relentlessly down upon its victim, crushing the target into the dirt. As the water drained, the blue creature stood victoriously over its fallen foe. The referee held up his flag.

"Adamanteres is unable to battle. Swampert is the winner!"

As the stadium erupted into cheers, Valtor vaguely heard an indignant voice issue from behind him.

"Will you turn that television down? You have the volume up WAY too loud."

"Sorry, Mom," the fourteen-year-old replied without taking his eyes off the luminous screen. "It's hard to keep it constant. The commercials are even louder than this match, and the stupid people in the audience keep screaming at the top of their lungs. Kenta must be going deaf out there."

"Have you seen him yet?" called a masculine voice from behind Valtor.

"No, not yet, Dad." Valtor turned briefly away from the T.V. to observe his father, who was standing on a stepladder in the middle of the living room with a lightbulb in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. "You're still working on that fixture?"

"I'm getting there, but this damn ladder-"

"Nathaniel!"

"Sorry Selena- this ladder is wobbly, so I'm going to have to tighten it up first. Who's winning, by the way? Birch, or that girl from the Herron Region?"

"Well, Rosette was winning. But now they're tied with-"

***

"-one pokémon left on each side, and the tension is rising as we all eagerly await the sight of Trainer Rosette's final battler!" roared the commentator over the din of the crowd. Down in the stadium's third row, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the spectators, two young men sat side by side waving banners with the Hoenn League symbol stamped upon them. Kenta Daitan, a fairly long-haired man with a youthful face, turned jubilantly to his companion in glasses and a traditional kimono. "You see, Curtis? What'd I tell you, dude? Didn't I say this would be the greatest match ever?"

Curtis Kuchinana, who at age eighteen was a year younger than Kenta, looked down at the mess of popcorn at his friend's feet, which Kenta had spilled when leaping out of his seat at Swampert's defeat over Adamanteres. "I'm glad that your hero is making a comeback," he said collectedly. "But you're acting even less mature than usual, Kenta. I've never seen you so pumped up over a match before."

"We should savor every moment of this," Kenta mused, leaning forward in his seat and watching as the female champion from Herron tossed her last pokéball down onto the battlefield. "Dont forget, we're viewing the last big match of the year. The toughest of the tough pokémon."

"And Rosette summons Revelashine, the All-Seeing pokémon!" cried the announcer, as a glowing quadruped with enormous eyes appeared before Swampert. "Well, Brendan has fought this whole match against unfamiliar pokémon from the elusive Herron region, but now his Swampert wages war against a newly-discovered type! Who will take home the trophy; the pride of the Hoenn region, or the first Champion of the mysterious Herron land?"

"Time to get the cops' input on this," muttered Curtis with a smirk, eyeing Kenta cheekily. Kenta returned the grin with an apologetic smile. "Now, now, Curtis. That's classified information."

"Oh, bull crap. Come on, Kenta, don't dangle it over my head."

"You're right," Kenta laughed in defeat, "what kind of a friend am I? Alright, the Herron pokédex is still under construction, but we know that there's at least one official new type, possibly the ONLY one. It's called the Light-type, and Revelashine is a third- evolution pokémon of that attribute."

"Uh-HUH." Curtis adjusted his glasses and watched with interest as Rosette's Revelashine charged down the field at Swampert in a burst of golden light. "He looks kind of puny for a third form. How are their stats?"

"Better than average. You could say he's like an Ampharos, or a Nidoqueen, or critters like that."

"Oh, okay. Basically, he's like the first pokémon you'd get in your party who remains reliable throughout the whole region?"

Kenta took his eyes off the match for a moment to look at Curtis in wonder. "That's actually a really good observation," he marveled. "Are you sure you don't want to come work for Silhouette someday?"

"Nah," said Curtis, watching Swampert bulk up its chest and absorb slam after slam from its glowing foe. "I can't stand taking orders. I get enough from Grandpa already, y'know? He takes more apricorns than he can handle, and then I get stuck with a majority of the load because his hands are getting too old and shaky. He's always yelling at me to- woah, did you SEE that?"

Down on the battlefield, Brendan's Swampert had unleashed Bide, drawing back a fist and mashing it into Revelashine as the glowing ball of light shot past. The skull- shattering blow sent its unlucky target skipping over the field like a flat pebble on water, and only the arena wall brought Revelashine to an abrupt and resounding halt. The crowd let out a collective “ooh!” as they cringed at the brutal attack, and after a few seconds, the referee raised his flag.

“Revelashine is out of the match. The victory goes to Swampert!”

The crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheering, and everyone bounded to their feet. “That’s it!” came the announcer’s excited, booming voice, “This year’s tournament is finished! Brendan Birch of Littleroot Town has defeated Rosette Cedars of Russet Town in the deciding battle for the pokémon international championship, with a final score of six to five! Well done, trainers, well done!”

As the announcer continued to issue congratulations to all of the League finalists of 2015, Kenta took his eyes off the two pokémon gasping on the battlefield and looked instead at their trainers. The defeated Rosette Cedars was no longer on her command platform, but he could see her sliding recklessly down the side of the battlefield wall towards the spot where her fallen Revelashine lay. Her down-turned face was invisible under the hair which covered her eyes, but Kenta could guess she was probably in great emotional pain. Was it from losing the final match? No, too petty. It was Revelashine. How badly hurt was the poor bastard? That final Bide attack had been overkill. He’d been smashed harder by Brendan’s Swampert than almost any other pokémon that Kenta had ever seen in his life.

Almost, but not quite. He’d seen worse.

On the other side of the field, the champion himself stood in a hunched posture with his fingers gripping the safety bars of his platform. Because he was seated much closer to Brendan than to Rosette, Kenta could actually see the young master’s face. Brendan’s eyes were glazed over as though in stupor, yet alive with an absolute battle frenzy. Kenta could see his teeth; though they were bared and clenched tightly together, Brendan appeared to be chewing on something. Being a major fan of Brendan (to the point that he’d actually dressed up as him for the match), Kenta had observed Brendan’s zen-like battle state in the past, mostly through the television set. He chewed nothing during battles, lest it hinder his vocal commands. Yet here he was, chewing on all the pressure that came with a major pokémon battle, rather than letting the pressure eat him up. That was the cost of being a good trainer. In order to bond as one with your pokémon, you simply had to empathize with their pain, and bear the emotional grinding mill of six exhausting battles in a row. From what Kenta could tell, Brendan was still catching up from somewhere further back in the battle, perhaps from when his Gardevoir was pressure-hosed by Rosette’s Narwill, or when his Slaking had been incinerated by a devastating Flame Pillar from her Liegorin. He bore the pain from it all. Soon enough, he would also bear the pain of the dentist’s drill for ruining his own teeth.

“Man, what a match!” beamed Curtis, as the spectators around them began heading for the exit. “The ending was a bit anticlimactic, though. I thought Rosette’s last pokémon would’ve lasted a lot longer than that.” He looked at his friend, who appeared to be in a trance as he stared continually out at the battlefield before him. “Hey, Kenta. Kenta. Officer Daitan. Look, that woman’s being harassed by somebody!”

“What? Where?” Kenta tore his eyes away from Brendan and stared intently at Curtis. The latter raised his hands and smiled. “Ha ha, I kid. You were in a daze.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Kenta grinned punched him playfully on the arm. “Don’t do that, man. I thought you were serious.”

“Hey, ow!” complained Curtis, rubbing his arm. “That was hard. You know what? I was about to tell you something good, but I don’t think I will, now.”

“I’m sorry. What is it?”

Curtis pointed down in the battlefield, where a PKTV Network crewman with a camcorder was coming around with the camera pointed at the audience. “Didn’t you say your brother was watching? That guy down there is about to pass us. Since it’s a live broadcast, nothing will be censored . . . want to moon the camera, or give him the finger or something?”

“Nah.” Kenta lowered his head a little and turned to get in line with the retreating crowd, feeling suddenly depressed. “I would have, earlier. But there’s no point now. I’m going to go before the street gets too crowded.”

“Eh? But he’s right here! . . . Kenta!”

***

“Mom! Dad! Brendan won! Brendan won!” cheered Valtor, bouncing up and down in front of the television. He turned around and pointed eagerly at the television, and his mother moved forward to get a closer look at the screen. “Well, isn’t that nice?” said his mother, semi-interestedly. “Kenta was rooting for that young man. I’m glad for him.” She knelt down so that she was head-level with Valtor, watching as the television switched pictures from an overhead view of the stadium to an up-close shot of Brendan’s impressive face. “Look at him. They’re about the same age, aren’t they?”

“Look at who?” asked Valtor’s father from behind. “Did they just go by Kenta? I can’t see, dear, you’re blocking the screen.” His wife cast him a casual glance; he was sitting on the second-highest rung of his ladder. “You really can’t see from there? Aren’t you supposed to be fixing that bulb?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I get to be an official trainer when school’s out next year, right?” Valtor asked his mother forcefully, using the television images to emphasize the visions of his dreams he’d repeated to her a thousand times in the past. She smiled wryly at him. “The deal stands, young man. You have to graduate middle school with all A’s- no exceptions. And learn to feed your Munchlax regularly- have you done it today?”

“Yeah, I have,” Valtor replied with the same determined fervor. “I’m responsible. I could’ve left four years ago, and you know I would’ve been fine.”

“You wouldn’t have even had enough money at that point,” his mother reminded him gently. “Valtor. Why are you so anxious to leave us like this? When I let Kenta go at age sixteen, you can’t imagine how much I missed him every day afterward. Stay with me. With your father and older brother gone all the time, I need you to be my man of the house.” She looked at him with imploring eyes. “Won’t you reconsider?”

“Mom . . .” Valtor looked at her helplessly. “Listen, I-”

Without warning, the television suddenly went snowy, and a moment later, an anchorwoman appeared on the set with the words “emergency broadcast” taking up the bottom quarter of the screen. As Valtor looked on in surprise, the woman glanced uncertainly at something off the side of the camera, then hastily redirected her attention to the audience. “Hello, and good afternoon, Japan,” she started, “PKTV apologizes for cutting into your usual program time. We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special announcement live from the Government Restrictive Institute on Pokémon. Please do not turn your television sets off for the next twenty-”

“What’s going on?” asked Valtor’s father, leaning forward on the ladder. Without warning, the ladder suddenly lurched over and shook the living room floor as man and contraption crashed to the ground. “Dad!” yelped Valtor, immediately forgetting the broadcast, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he answered in an offhanded tone, glancing for a moment at the ladder. The metal was twisted at a bizarre angle. “Son of a ****. It’s broken. But more importantly-” he knelt down in front of the television, “what could G.R.I.P. possibly have to say that’s so important as to warrant an emergency broadcast?”

“-go now to Department Chair, Silvaki Kurisawa,” the announcer was saying, and the camera changed from the PKTV newsroom to a completely white room with a speaking pedestal and several microphones at center shot. Behind the pedestal, an increasing group of middle-aged men and women wearing suits and formal dress were taking their seats in fold-up chairs. A single man took his place at the pedestal, with his hair combed completely to one side, and wearing particularly small spectacles just below his eyes. To Valtor, the tops of the glasses gave him the look of a man with unnaturally thin-slitted, glaring eyes, while the lenses magnified the bags under his eyes to a larger size than usual. He took on the appearance of one who had been fighting something for a long time, and had become weary because of it.

“Pokémon owners of Japan,” Kurisawa began in a solid voice, as blue flashes from cameras illuminated him, “I come to you today with both sorrowful and joyous tidings. To begin, let us first set aside every impression we’ve ever had of those mysterious, remarkable creatures called pokémon. Just for a moment. Now . . . consider their origin. Remember that ninety or so years ago, our parents and grandparents beheld a meteor shower above Mount Moon, carrying the bacteria which mutated the genetic codes of all animals in the vicinity. Mount Moon, the very center of the nine pokémon regions, gave birth to pokémon on that fateful night.”

Wait a minute . . . isn’t that just a theory? thought Valtor, as he and his parents watched the television set in silence. Nobody truly knows where pokémon came from. He’s going on with this theory as though it were absolutely the only explanation.

“Ninety years. That’s how long it’s been. We’ve had electricity longer than we’ve had pokémon. Yet instead of carefully investigating these amazing creatures for the last century, we have been taking them for granted and ignorantly using them however we please. We’ve been most fortunate that, in all these years of handling the fire, we have not gotten burned.

“At least, not all of us. But I’m afraid this is when the sorrowful tidings come. As some of you may remember from last week’s news story, Pokémon Trainer Suzu Yukinari lost the use of both her hands when attempting to harness a Rapidash in her local ranch. And a month before, the late Yahiko Tskune was electrocuted to death by a wild Raichu, during a failed attempt to capture it. He was eleven. Of course, let us not forget the various orders of rogues who have tried exploiting pokémon to achieve their own ends. Rocket. Magma. Aqua. Snagem. Cipher. Galactic. Innuendo. Do any of these names ring a bell? Countless casualties and thefts have resulted from irresponsible trainers having pokémon available to do acts of evil which would have otherwise been almost impossible.

“But be of good cheer, for now it is time for the glad tidings! G.R.I.P., after years of debate and reasoning, has achieved cooperation with the whole Japanese government in a joint effort to make this land a safer place for all. Effective January 1, 2016, new conditions for pokémon training will be set down. Some renovations will result from these plans, and some hopeful future trainers may have to wait a couple years longer before making their journeys, but for the most part, nothing will change.”

What’s that supposed to mean? wondered Valtor furiously, staring at the television screen in a panic as Kurisawa was handed a piece of paper by one of his associates sitting behind. Renovations? New conditions? An age limit? He bit down hard on his lip, barely feeling the sweat slide down his temple even as the blood trickled through his inner mouth. I think the government’s about to screw me, big time.

***

Kenta’s mind dimly registered the sound of his cell phone ringing as he and Curtis pushed their way slowly through the tightly-packed stadium chambers. Pulling it out, his eyes widened as he recognized the music: Metal Gear Solid, death theme. Looking around quickly, Kenta noticed a door marked “DO NOT ENTER: EMPLOYEES ONLY”, leading in to a food concession booth. He waved Curtis over, and the two of them broke off from the main crowd and stopped at the door. Kenta raised his phone. “Sorry Curtis. I gotta take this.”

Before his friend could nod any confirmation, Kenta ducked through the door and knelt to the ground, facing the wall. “Hello?” he muttered into the phone. “Sergeant Daitan here.”

“Kenta Daitan,” came the familiar voice of his laidback acquaintance, Captain Wester Arcada. How are you? How was the match?”

“It was great, thank you, sir. Brendan’s Swampert was amazing.”

“I just heard about it myself. I’m very glad that your hero got to take the trophy home.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“. . . are you all right, my boy? You don’t sound nearly as happy as I thought you’d be.”

“It’s just . . . no, it’s nothing.”

“Oh, come now, you can tell me, Kenta.”

“Alright.” Kenta sighed. “I didn’t tell anyone about the broadcast that’s airing right now. I couldn’t stand thinking about it myself, and I didn’t want anyone else thinking about it either, until they’d have to. Valtor . . .” Kenta cringed as he spoke. “He’s probably watching his future fall apart, even as we speak.”

Captain Arcada was silent for a few seconds. “Valtor,” he said, finally. “That’s your younger brother, right?”

“Yeah.”

“ . . . I’m sorry, Kenta. I truly hate disrupting your happiness with reality.”

“It’s fine, sir,” croaked Kenta miserably, hurriedly wiping away a threatening tear that was welling in his right eye. “So, um . . . not to be hasty, but why did you call me?”

“Yes, about that . . .” Arcada laughed nervously. “Again, I’m sorry. I know it’s your day off, but it seems we ran into a slight problem with the Silph Investigation. I . . . I don’t hear any noise in your background, are you alone over there?”

Kenta, who upon hearing the word “Silph” had involuntarily swallowed a great gulp of air, tried not to choke as he responded with a hammering heart. “Alone. Yes. Yes, I am alone, sir.”

“Good.” Arcada’s tone changed to a much more official manner. “As you might remember, you and your partner, Lieutenant Shatu Shen, were to be the backup team in case Dei and Sosuke ran into any problems.” Arcada cleared his throat, then continued. “Their communication equipment went dead about fifteen minutes ago. We haven’t heard from them since. We’ve no reason to suspect that their lives are in jeopardy, neither from previous dealings with Silph, nor the officers’ dialogue before the radio failures. It could just be equipment malfunctions.”

Equipment malfunctions. Kenta seriously doubted that. Maybe the rest of the army believed Silph Corporation was no threat, but he’d heard otherwise from his partner, Shatu. Lieutenant Shen had been a Saffron City resident during the time of the Rocket Takeover Incident six years ago. His best memory was a recollection of the time a traitorous Silph scientist had sent an Electrode at him, and threatened to blow him to pieces on the spot. Shatu was convinced that guys like him were still employed there amongst the normal employees, and over the months he’d worked with Kenta, he’d convinced the latter as well.

“We need you,” Arcada continued, “basically just to walk up to the front desk and ask for Dei and Sosuke. Simply for standard procedure. If they are indeed experiencing some technical malfunctions, Lieutenant Shen will have replacements ready for them.” He paused, then spoke again more gently in his casual tone of voice. “I’m sorry it had to be you two, at this time. We would’ve sent someone else, but . . . well, as you can imagine, the G.R.I.P. people needed a large chunk of the force present for their own protection. No trainers will take kindly to Kurisawa’s announcements. Rumors are buzzing around here that someone actually tried to shoot him not too long ago.”

“If I may ask, sir,” Kenta pressed, trying to return to the mission he’d just been given, “do you have the time to be waiting for me? It’d take me over an hour to get to Saffron by plane. What if the worst case scenario is realized?” He didn’t need to say more. To be honest, he was surprised Arcada hadn’t addressed this topic already. In the worst case scenario, officers Dei and Sosuke would have uncovered proof of Silph Corporation attempting to recreate the illustrious Master Ball. However, they would also have been caught by Silph masterminds and held captive before being able to relay the information to the Japanese military. If this were to be confirmed, the job would be out of Kenta’s hands, and the S.W.A.T. force would be called in.

“We are always prepared for the worst,” came Captain Arcada’s smooth reply to Kenta’s question. “Head to the Ever Grande K-9 Growlithe Unit. A Pidgeot will be stationed there to fly you to Saffron. The navy reports excellent weather; if all goes well, you could be in Saffron in twenty minutes. Any questions, Sergeant?”

That meant it was time to stop asking questions and get moving. Kenta saluted automatically, in spite of the fact that he was crouching on the floor, and his superior couldn’t see him anyway. “I have my orders. Sergeant Daitan, moving out.” Kenta closed the phone in his hand, thought for a moment, then turned and opened the “Employees Only” door, to be met with Curtis’s inquiring face. “Listen,” he said quickly, looking him seriously in the eyes, “I’ve just gotten a very petty mission, which could turn out to be more serious than it’s being treated. I need to leave you, but I just want to make sure you remember-”

“I know, I know,” said Curtis, without smiling. “If anything happens to you, I need to get rid of the stuff in your closet and under your bed.”

“Yeah. And keep your eyes open to everything that’s going on around you, okay?” Kenta waved to him before turning and sprinting towards the exit. “Stay well.”

“Same to you, Kenta.”

***

“The following pokémon training conditions are to be met by the first of January 2016, starting at midnight,” stated a woman's monotonous voice, as words appeared on Valtor’s television screen in place of Kurisawa at the pedestal. “First condition: no minors may be registered as trainers. Only adults with a completed high school education will be legally recognized as responsible holders of pokémon.”

What?!” roared Valtor at the set, causing both of his parents to jump beside him. “That’s not fair! They can’t do that!!”

“Second condition: henceforth, all trainers are limited to two pokémon per trainer, except for special circumstances. Exceptional situations will be provided at a later date.”

“WHAT?!” Valtor bellowed again, even louder than before, managing to cause his parents to jump a second time. “TWO pokémon?? I can understand their wish to keep trainers from having unlimited pokémon, but they’re going way too far!”

“Third condition: Uber pokémon, or pokémon with exceptionally high power levels, are no longer permitted to any trainers except military officers. These pokémon include . . .”

“Is Kenta a military officer?” asked Valtor’s mother from behind him, to his father. He shook his head. “I don’t think his rank is high enough. That’s probably why they make him keep an Everstone attached to his Shelgon at all times.”

“-All current trainers, be advised: all boxed and party pokémon are scheduled to be sent to rehabilitation centers, where they will learn how to live in the wild once again. G.R.I.P. recommends that you start thinking now about the two pokémon you wish to keep. Preteen and teenage trainers may register online to keep their pokémon temporarily detained until-”

“I wonder if Kenta knew about this,” Valtor muttered aloud, thinking so hard that his temples began to throb. “He was never a big pokémon collector. He just sought a pokémon to commemorate every region. His Beedrill represents Kanto, his precious Typhlosion is Johto, Shelgon stands for Hoenn, and he gave me my Munchlax as the Sinnoh pokémon. Okay, think, think . . . he hasn’t been keeping the Beedrill with him lately, which is understandable, I guess . . .” Valtor’s eyes widened. “Wait, of course! That leaves him with only Typhlosion and Shelgon. Two pokémon. He did know about this!” Valtor punched the carpet furiously, and his mother and father inched silently away from him. “He knew, and he never told me! That jerk! What kind of a brother keeps these things from his only sibling? He’s nothing but a selfish ass!”

“Now Valtor, calm down,” said his father in a reasoning tone, placing his hands up disarmingly. “We don’t know that Kenta was told anything in advance. He’s still only a foot soldier.”

“That’s right, Valtor,” added his mother, in the same calming voice. “Why don’t we call him? He’s still in the Hoenn Stadium, so he wouldn’t have seen- where are you going?”

Valtor, who’d gotten up to leave as she was speaking, looked down angrily at her. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. Not for another five years, at minimum. There’s no need to keep it hidden, Mom, I know you’re happy that they’ve just blocked me from my life’s biggest ambition. Smile, why don’t you?” With that, he turned away and darted out of the living room and up the stairs. His parents listened to the door slam, and looked miserably at each other.
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Recently discovered Pathfinder (modern D&D). Thanks for introducing me to the concepts all those years ago.

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Kenta.....
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« Reply #1 on: August 19, 2009, 10:22:16 pm »

Compared to being hovered around in the tight clutches of his Beedrill, Spear, Kenta found Pidgeot flight to be much less claustrophobic. Having never ridden on top of a giant bird before, he’d initially expected falling off to be a constant problem. Yet the Pidgeot’s training made the flight a pleasant experience rather than a worrisome one. Kenta felt weightless, free, as though he weren’t being supported by anything, and any fear of heights was nullified to the thrill of being alone in the skies with the cold wind blowing through his waist-length hair. As his mount dropped altitude over the many building roofs of Saffron City, Kenta made a mental note to travel by air more often, as long as he was on a strong pokémon’s back.

Kenta’s enormous feathered transport landed gracefully at the end of a one-way street he recognized, blowing dust everywhere as the wings pumped rapidly to secure a smooth landing. He’d barely leaped off when the Pidgeot took flight again, rising about twenty feet up and then bursting off into the clouds like a bullet. He watched the great bird go, never ceasing to be impressed by the awesome might of pokémon, and almost didn’t notice that his phone was vibrating. Shaking himself back to reality, he pulled it out of his pocket and raised it to his ear. At the same time, he began to jog down the familiar road towards the looming Silph building in the distance.

“Hello?”

“Kenta? It’s Mom.”

“Oh, hey.” Was it just his phone, or did her voice sound congested? Kenta’s stomach flip-flopped, as he considered what she’d probably just heard on the news. “Is . . . is everything all right?” He paused. “Mom, are you crying?”

“No, no . . .” There was a silence, and then his mother’s voice returned, stronger than before. “We were watching the match you’d attended when the television suddenly changed to a live broadcast from G.R.I.P., and Valtor . . . Valtor, he . . .” She stopped again, and Kenta could hear her swallow over the phone. “Valtor heard some things that caused him to go out of control. He shouted at me. He’s never done that before in his life.”

“ . . . Oh.” Kenta subconsciously slowed his pace to a walk as he tried to think of a response. He’d known for weeks that this phone call would be coming, yet now that it was here, he had nothing. No advice, no words of comfort, nada. He didn’t even know whether or not to feign ignorance of the Japanese government’s restrictive policies on pokémon use. His only wish now was to somehow comfort Valtor. He desperately wanted to be done with the errand he’d been sent on, so he could rush home to New Bark Town and put a consoling arm around his brother’s shoulders. Valtor would never get the chance to experience the life of a pokémon trainer now. He might get to have a mock shot at the adventure much later in life, but it wouldn’t be the same.

“Kenta,” whispered his mother dolefully from the other end of the line, “What should we do? Your father and I aren’t nearly as close to Valtor as you are. Only you can talk to him now. Can you be home soon?”

Kenta looked up; he’d reached a crossroad intersection swarming with cars and trucks. Directly on the other side of the road stood the Silph building itself, its front entrance blocked from view by the constant flow of traffic. The traffic light was changing, and he hurried to make his reply. “Mom, I’ve been given a small task by one of my bosses. I’m in Saffron City right now, but this shouldn’t take long. With any luck, I can be home in a few hours. Valtor should’ve calmed down a little by then.”

“You may be upset by the news also, Kenta. I just thought I’d warn you.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you soon. Love you, Mom.” As Kenta snapped his phone shut and pocketed it, the cars before him halted and the crosswalk appeared almost magically. Standing on the other side, with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, was an elderly man in police uniform whom Kenta recognized immediately. Sprinting to the other side of the road, he halted and saluted his superior subtly. “Lieutenant Shen. Sergeant Daitan, reporting for duty, sir.”

“At ease, Kenta,” muttered his companion quietly, and the two officers strode smartly towards a nearby park bench surrounded by a group of pecking Pidgey. They’d barely sat down when the latter reached into his side pocket and pulled out a box of chocolate snack sticks. “Here. Have some pocky.”

Kenta reached out and took the box, noticing it was bulging at the sides even before he felt the hefty extra weight tug his arm down. He pulled open the side tab and glanced a peek inside, then stared incredulously at his partner.

“Shatu, what is this? Are either of us supposed to have one of these?”

“Yes,” said Shatu matter-of-factly, not looking Kenta in the eye. Kenta shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. Within the pocky box was a S.W.A.T. lockpick gadget. It was about the size of a large Swiss army knife, and among the devices was a switchblade, a heavy-duty wire cutter, the actual lockpick, a lighter, and a laser. Kenta shook the military appliance into his pocket and discarded the empty pocky box, knowing full-well that he could be charged for treason if caught in possession with the lockpick by another officer. He looked at Shatu, bemused, and raised his eyebrow. “Is that all you have for me, then? No smoke or stinger grenades? I’ve heard those are useful.”

“We can’t be too careful, Kenta,” said Shatu in low voice, looking at the main front doors of Silph out of the corner of his eye. “D’you think it’s an accident that our communicators would die in the very building where the Master Ball is being made? I’m not going in there with reliance on any electrical devices, and my partner will do well to follow my example.”

Well, there goes my taser, thought Kenta. Any combat situations will require deadly force, now. We sure have a lot of power.

“Shatu,” he said suddenly, as a thought came into his head. “Before we go in, I’ve got a hypothetical question.”

His companion smiled. “I like that sort of thinking. Ask away.”

Kenta clasped his hands together. This thought had been on his mind ever since he’d first been told about G.R.I.P.’s intent to seize thousands of trainers’ pokémon. He had never voiced his opinion, out of fear that he’d sound disloyal to the military. The thought hadn’t gone away since then, but buzzed in the back of his mind like white noise as he’d sought constantly to preoccupy himself. Now, he needed to get it out. And there was nobody, nobody he trusted more in the militia than Shatu.

“Let’s say that Silph has managed to perfect a new Master Ball,” he started, looking down at his hands intently. “We’d have to take it away from them, because it falls outside the pokémon registration system. Otherwise, they and whoever else has a Master Ball would be able to capture as many pokémon out there as they wish, and we wouldn’t be able to do jack about it.”

“Correct. The Master Ball is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands.”

“Yeah, but here’s my question.” Kenta gripped his fingers together harder, bracing himself as he let the words tumble out of his mouth. “Who can we trust to be the ‘right hands’?” He looked up and stared Shatu directly in the eyes. “In less than two months, we’ll take possession of almost every trainer’s hard-earned pokémon. Can you imagine how many Tyranitar, Slaking, Milotic, and Dragonite we’re going to have? Those are just examples. And now, on top of that, we’ve got the Master Ball, which is guaranteed to catch even legendary pokémon in one go.”

Shatu’s face was impassive. “Keep your voice down,” he mouthed, and leaned closer until he was only two inches away from Kenta’s face. “You can’t let anyone know you’re thinking such things,” he whispered. “Nobody, do you hear me? Now, listen closely.” He swallowed, and Kenta barely heard a man mutter “faggots” as he was passing by. “I share your sentiments. I’m certain many people do. But we can’t just go spitting such words like you’re doing right now, especially at this time. It will have to be done in the politically correct manner, at a later date. That’s how the system works.”

“There’s a total power imbalance between the government and the people,” Kenta whispered back, furiously. “But we can halt it somewhat, possibly this very hour. If the Master Ball does exist right now, its makers are the only humans in the world who know its perfect design. Them, and nobody else. If we get the opportunity, I say we destroy the ball.”

“It’s no use, Kenta,” replied Shatu in a sad tone. “You can’t keep forbidden knowledge locked away forever. Remember Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We were bound to have atomic weapons someday, and there’s no turning back now. The Master Ball is no different.” He stood up from the bench and looked down at Kenta. “Someone will harness its power. We just have to do what we’re told as soldiers, and hope that our government superiors are indeed ‘the right hands’ for holding such a weapon.”

Kenta smiled bitterly. “That’s ironic, coming from the guy who just gave me the key to the city in a pocky box.”

“It’s a funny old world we live in. Time to move in, Sergeant.” Shatu motioned him to rise, and Kenta unhappily did as he was bidden, knowing the conversation was over. The two police officers waded through a sudden crowd of pedestrians, and when the group was past, the glass double-doors of Silph Co. loomed before them. Ignoring a flamboyantly-colorful “closed” sign, they pushed the doors open and were met with a small gust of warm air.

The first floor of Silph’s interior was vastly occupied by a great water fountain in the center of the floor. In the room’s corners, and other various places, potted flowers and trees stood sentinel. A constant breeze swept through the room, and Kenta suspected that it was because of air pressures coming from temperature differences between the cold fountain water and the heating system. It sure has a relaxing effect, he thought, as he and Shatu approached the receptionist’s desk. It makes you feel serene, and lowers your guard. Most visitors probably don’t notice, for instance, the glare of camera lenses within the tree leaves. We’d best be on our toes.

The receptionist received Kenta and Shatu with an artificial-looking smile, sitting rigidly in her chair and observing them with a bowed head and upturned eyes. “Can I help you, officers?” she asked in a brisk tone. Shatu took the lead, reaching his left hand into his uniform and pulling out his badge. “Lieutenant Shatu Shen,” he spoke in an equally business-like tone. “We received a notice that two other officers are already here, with malfunctioning equipment. Could you please call them down to the lobby for some quick repairs?”

“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” said the receptionist airily, ducking down and reaching under her desk. “Thankfully, your friends won’t need to be bothered to come down. I’ve got your stuff right here.” Kenta’s heart skipped a beat as she held up two military ear- microphones, wired to their battery cases. There was no reason, none in the world, why she should've had them under normal circumstances. Even as he and Shatu exchanged a horrified glance over the reality of the situation, the secretary held out her hand.

“I’ll have yours, now. It’s off for the moment, but it’ll work again as soon as I’ve given my superiors notice. Please don’t waste time, now. The military will get suspicious if they decide your radio has gone permanently dead, too. At any time, we can blow this building sky-high with the number of Electrode we’re holding in here. Think of the hostages. Do the right thing.”

Kenta knew better than to assume this woman was bluffing. Heart pounding, sweating from every part of his body, he handed his communicator to Shatu, who in turn handed both to the receptionist. “Good,” she muttered, placing them onto the counter, still within reach of the officers. “Now disarm. I’ll take those utility belts you’ve got.” Again, after waiting for Shatu’s confirming nod, Kenta did as he was told, and handed over his pepper spray, handcuffs, his taser, his cell phone, and worst of all, his gun. The receptionist took the weapons more hurriedly than before, and tossed them on the floor behind her, out of everyone’s reach. She turned her eyes on Shatu.

“If you want to keep a hundred lives safe, you will do exactly as I say. Your communicator will be back on in a moment. Tell whoever’s on the other end whatever it takes to keep them believing that everything’s going smoothly. Don’t try anything stupid. Our technology is better than yours. We just might be able to read minds.”

Kenta stiffened as the receptionist turned to him. “As for you . . . go to the third floor. Take the elevator. Someone will be there to escort you to your destination. I expect your cooperation, too. No releasing your pokémon at any time, is that crystal- clear? The consequences will be the same. Go.”

There was nothing to be done. Kenta felt his legs move automatically, as if he weren’t controlling them, and he headed for the elevator numbly. Desperate to keep a level head, he forced himself to analyze his foe in his mind. One thing was for sure: Shatu’s suspicions about Silph were dead-on. Not only had these people anticipated their coming, but they’d defeated Shatu and himself as soon as they’d come in through the door. Now they were on their own, without anyone from the force to back them up. They couldn’t even use their pokémon. Kenta knew better than anyone that pokémon training was different as a police officer. If anyone’s fingers but the original trainer’s touched the pokéball, the pokémon inside would know automatically to go berserk on the stranger. He’d taught this “first priority” training to Spear the Beedrill, his Shelgon, Bolt, and Bakuphoon, his ever-reliable Typhlosion. What impressed and depressed Kenta was the fact that the Silph receptionist had known not to ask for his pokémon. In a way, pokéballs were like grenades. If they weren’t thrown after activation (his own touch), they would explode open by themselves. His pokémon knew to assume the worst. His enemy knew how to avoid it.

As the elevator doors opened to receive him, Kenta looked back for a moment at Shatu. The receptionist was holding the communicator speaker to his mouth, and both were standing stock-still. However, as the elevator doors closed, Kenta heard Shatu begin to speak in the distance. “Sir,” he said in a casual reporting tone, “This is Lieutenant Sha-” Before Kenta could hear any more, the doors shut firmly in his face. He reached out and pressed the “3” on the button pad, and it lit up in recognition. The elevator began to vibrate, and Kenta felt his weight shift as it rose steadily to higher floors. Once the elevator had confirmed he was on floor three, Kenta braced himself as the double-doors slowly parted before him.

***

Midnight, January 1, 2016, proved to be one of the darkest nights Japan had ever experienced. All over the country, television sets sat with a blank screen, showing nothing but the miserable reflections of whoever happened to be sitting nearby. Nobody’s lights were on. Nobody’s house made a sound. From the humble town of Pallet to the mighty Pokémon League HQ, pokémon fans of all ages sat in the shadows of their homes, brooding sulkily. While some were quiet, others were vocal, though their complaints were unheard by anyone other than themselves.

“Training will never be the same again,” muttered a seventeen-year-old boy, lying on his couch and watching a feeble attempt at fireworks through the window outside his house. He looked down at the things he was holding; in his left hand was a red cap he’d worn for four years straight during his pokémon training days. In his right hand was a bottle of sake, which he’d attained illegally by having a vagrant buy it for him. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a great drink, stopping only when he had to gasp for breath. As he belched, his companion in the next chair over looked at him with a mixture of disgust and concern.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Takeshi?”

“Blow me. If I die from alcohol poisoning, I’ll be the happiest bastard of this year.” Takeshi glared at the colorful fireworks bursting merrily in the sky just outside his window. “Pfft. Happy New Year, my ass.”

Most households in the active pokémon regions of Japan were more or less the same way. New Bark Town was no exception. While Mr. and Mrs. Daitan halfheartedly celebrated the coming of a new year with two drinks in the kitchen, Valtor remained alone in his room, reflecting on the events that had ended 2015 so bitterly.

Kenta was gone, reported missing a little under two months back and presumed dead after the Silph Corporation incident. An officer from the New Bark Police Force had stopped by at their house several hours after the event, looking somber and holding his hat in his hands. His mother hadn’t stopped crying for hours after the news, and his father had gone into a daze. Valtor himself remained hopeful for a while that Kenta would miraculously pull out of this mess as he’d done a few years in the past.

One particular incident of Kenta’s trainer day heroics stood out in his mind. Back when he was sixteen, Kenta had rescued Johto’s legendary god of electric-type pokémon from the nefarious Team Rocket, with the help of friends. During that time, he’d risked being crushed and eaten by the foe’s Steelix on several occasions, and had nearly been electrified to death by the very creature he was trying to save. Somehow, Kenta, Marina, and Juni’chi had all pulled through, but it could have turned out much worse.

Unfortunately, Kenta’s luck hadn’t held out with Silph Corporation. The news revealed that they had indeed been holding blueprints for the Master Ball’s design, and though the government had seized the information and successfully arrested all known perpetrators involved, Kenta hadn’t made it. The criminals had put up a tough fight to keep their precious information, all in vain, but not without consequences. Valtor had gotten to see Kenta’s coffin at a quiet memorial service, empty, but still symbolically woeful. All that remained of his brother’s memory was his room, and the Munchlax he’d captured in the Sinnoh region and given to Valtor as a present.

Less importantly, but still devastating to a certain degree, remained the fact that disheartened so many other trainers on this gloomy night. Valtor checked the clock: 12:08. It had been eight minutes since pokémon trainers all over Japan had lost every pokémon they’d ever captured, save two. Valtor felt sorry the trainers who’d suffered under G.R.I.P.’s new decrees, but he couldn’t fully pity them. He hadn’t become a pokémon trainer thanks to his mother, so he hadn’t lost anything. He’d even gotten to keep Kenta’s Munchlax, under the condition that his father register as a pokémon trainer and re-adopt the plump little creature under his own name. Munchlax also had to wear an Everstone on his collar at all times, and he’d often tried vainly to eat it. Valtor had grown closer to the pudgy little pokémon over the last month, because Munchlax was still originally Kenta’s pokémon after all, and the last living memory of him as a trainer.

Of course, there was also Marina and Juni’chi, who called the house sometimes, but Valtor wanted nothing to do with them. Marina always sounded close to tears over the phone when Valtor talked to her, and he suspected that she’d had a major crush on Kenta back during the good ol’ days. She was depressing to listen to. Juni’chi, on the other hand, frightened him somewhat. Although they looked nothing alike, Juni’chi seemed to almost consider Valtor a smaller version of Kenta, and treated him as such. He’d ask Valtor about Kenta’s team, and compare it to his own, then offer to battle Valtor when they were both old enough. At that time, Valtor would use Kenta’s pokémon, and the match would be two-on-two, and blah, blah, blah . . . the guy was just plain ignorant. Valtor couldn’t hate him though, because in spite of his strange requests, Valtor got the feeling that this was Juni’chi’s way of coping with Kenta’s absence.

Something clicked to Valtor’s left, but when he glanced over to the other side of the room, all that he saw was the blackness of night outside through a raindrop-dotted window. He shifted his weight on the bed to a more comfortable position, so that he was fully facing the window, and stared dully as his own image reflected partially in the glare of his room’s lamplight. Hmph. It’s the coldest season in Japan, and we’ve got rain tonight. Well, no fireworks for New Bark Town. I wonder if the snow will-

At that moment, Valtor’s reflection in the window vibrated wildly, and his walls came to life with a humming din. He sat up straight in bed, immediately awake and heart hammering, and his reflection also shifted to reveal something large and blue moving outside of his window. Out of the blackness, a human fist suddenly appeared and knocked thrice on the window. “Valtor!” came a muffled voice from outside, veiled by the noise of the vibrating walls and the rattling window. “Valtor!”

Nothing could have prepared Valtor for this. He shrieked in terror at the ghastly apparition hovering from just outside his window, and fled the room still shrilling at the top of his lungs. Tearing down the stairs, skipping every other step, Valtor dove into the kitchen and hid under the table, pulling down the tablecloth to hide himself. Dishes left out on the tabletop came crashing down to the floor and broke all around him, but he could care less at the moment. Shaking from head to toe, he lay curled on the floor, hardly daring to breathe. Looking around the kitchen floor for something to use as a weapon, possibly a long shard of broken glass or a dish fragment, his eyes stopped on a familiar-looking black backside. Munchlax was standing in front of the open refrigerator, frozen in guilt, one paw on the door, and the other holding a plate of leftover New Year’s cake. Valtor’s brain clicked.

“Munchlax!”

He grabbed hold of his pokémon’s paw and hauled the bamboozled Munchlax away from the refrigerator and into the living room to where his mother and father had been drinking sake. “Mom! Dad!” he shouted insistently, shaking both of their still, toppled- over forms on the couch. Neither responded, and when Valtor stood and listened for a moment, he could hear both of them snoring gently. They were out cold from drinking. He was on his own.

With some hesitation, Valtor made his way slowly towards the stairs again, stopping short when he heard a loud bump issue from his room just overhead. He turned to Munchlax, who was chomping down his stolen New Year’s cake, and looking very content in spite of the ruckus going on all around him. Valtor stared at his gluttonous pokémon, almost impressed at its total lack of fear. “You are incredible," he muttered. "How can you be so relaxed at a time like this?”

Munchlax finished the last of the chocolate cake, licked his fingers, and burped in reply to Valtor’s question. Valtor sighed. “It’s your nature, I guess. Well, I’m not feeling so calm at the moment, so how about you take the lead? Wait, hang on.” Valtor dashed to the kitchen, and returned a moment later holding a meat cleaver clasped in both hands. He and Munchlax inched up the stairs quietly, and Valtor leaned close to his companion’s ear and cupped his hand. “Okay, here’s the plan,” he whispered, heart still pounding uncontrollably in his chest. “If it’s a ghost, you cast Shadow Ball on it. I’ll go find any of Kenta’s spare pokéballs and try to capture it, so we don’t cause any more damage to the house than we have already.” He narrowed his eyes. “On the other hand . . . if it’s a burglar, we’ll attack together. Let’s show this guy not to underestimate the Daitan name, just because Kenta’s gone. Are you ready?”

They’d reached the top of the stairs. Valtor summoned up as much courage as he could muster, and peeked around the corner. He nearly fainted in shock. Standing in the hallway, arms crossed and smiling confidently, was a young man with long white hair wearing a brown traveler’s cloak that covered the rest of his body. “A question then, Valtor,” he said in a soft voice, and Valtor’s heart gave yet another jolt as he recognized the voice. “What if I’m neither a ghost nor a burglar? Did you have a plan for that?”

Valtor stared at him. But it was impossible. How could it be? ". . . Kenta?”
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« Reply #2 on: August 22, 2009, 09:48:51 am »

“Miss me?” His brother shed the cloak, and Valtor noticed he was wearing peculiar clothing underneath. Normally, when Kenta wasn’t in his officer uniform, he wore long shorts along with his favorite jacket with the front-pockets. Now, however, he wore a body-hugging, half-sleeved maroon shirt and dark-blue baggy pants with black stripes. In other words, the exact clothing of Brendan Birch, the current Pokémon League champion. Valtor wouldn’t have noticed the significance otherwise, but Brendan’s clothing choice had become a recent trend, in spite of the cold weather. After all, he was an idolized trainer to many people aside from just Kenta.

“Kenta, you . . . you . . .” Valtor couldn’t bring himself to speak. Kenta walked up to him and wrapped his arms around the younger brother tightly. “If you’re not going to give me a hug,” he said with a smile, “I guess I’ll just have be the one to do it."

Valtor returned the embrace, finally getting his senses back, and Munchlax joined them, making the squeeze suddenly and uncomfortably tight. The three of them let go, and Kenta stood back and put a finger to his lips. “Mom and Dad aren’t awake, are they?” he whispered. “If they are, I need to hide in your room until they’re asleep.”

“Huh? Well . . .” Valtor checked briefly down the stairs, but heard nothing going on. “They’re out for a while. Too much sake. Kenta, it’s you!” he shouted in a burst of emotion, finally able to get out what he’d been meaning to. “Where have you been? We thought you were dead! Do you have any idea-”

“Come here.” Kenta stopped Valtor and motioned him into his room. “Sorry, but you can let it out in a second. I need your sheets first.”

Stunned, Valtor followed Kenta into his room, then nearly passed out for the second time that night. In the middle of the floor, taking up most of the room, lay an enormous blue dragon with red wings, sopping wet and breathing heavily. Valtor stood and stared down at it, unable to even move until Kenta threw a corner of his blanket at him. “Here, take that and cover him. We need to get him warm,” said Kenta urgently. “It wasn’t snowing out, thank goodness, but it was still pretty damn cold.”

Valtor did what he was told, and helped Kenta wrap the blanket around the dragon until only the head was showing. Cautiously steering clear of the reptilian beast’s mouth, Valtor inched to his bed and hauled himself onto it. Opening his own mouth wide, he closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment on simply breathing to calm himself down. Feeling the weight shift on his bed, he turned and looked up at Kenta, who was seated beside him. His brother looked down at him, his smile back on his face. “Okay, now you can say whatever you wanted to.”

“I . . . well . . .” Valtor pointed down at the dragon on the floor, which was watching the two of them while Munchlax stood nearby staring at it. “Kenta, what is that?”

“That?” Kenta followed Valtor’s finger to the dragon’s head. “That’s Bolt, of course!” he said perkily, reaching into the pocket of his brown traveler’s cloak. “He evolved into a Salamence.” Pulling out a reddish-pink cube, Kenta tossed it to Bolt, who caught it in his mouth. Valtor gaped at the creature in wonder. “That’s Bolt?! But . . . but he looks completely different!”

“I was shocked at first, too,” Kenta laughed. He stopped laughing abruptly as Munchlax stood before him and held out a demanding paw. “Oh. Hi.” Kenta held up his hands and shrugged. “Sorry, Munchlax. That was the last one.”

Munchlax looked blown away. A moment later, he clenched his fists and began turning red, a growl rippling up in his throat. Valtor jerked backwards in fearful realization of what was going on, and turned to Kenta in desperation. “Aaaah! Kenta, watch it, he’s going to use Selfdestruct!”

“Wha-?!” Kenta went rigid, then hurriedly reached into his pocket and yanked out another pink cube. “Here! Here! I lied, look, I’ve got another one!”

Immediately, Munchlax’s enraged expression subsided into glee, and he snatched the block of food from Kenta’s hand and chewed happily on it. The two brothers let out a sigh of relief, and it was Kenta’s turn to gape at Valtor’s pokémon in astonishment. “He knows Selfdestruct?! When in the hell did he learn to do that?”

Valtor shook his head. “I dunno. He just did, during one of his temper tantrums. He gets furious if we forget to feed him for prolonged periods of time, or if he’s denied a treat he really wants. You caught a real winner that time, Kenta.”

“Heh.” Kenta smiled and closed his eyes. “Go figure. Well, he’ll have his uses yet.” His expression changed dramatically, and suddenly he was completely serious. Valtor had never seen him so grim before, and he looked away from Kenta so he wouldn’t have to match him eye-to-eye. “So . . . wh-what’s up, then, bro?”

“Well . . . I can’t stay here long, that’s what’s up.” Kenta got up from the bed and turned to look at Valtor’s window, which was still open and letting in cold air. “There’s a reason I flew in through your room, rather than just using the front door, Valtor.” He held up his brown traveler’s cloak, and pointed to the Brendan Birch garb he was wearing. “There’s a reason I dyed my hair white, and why I'm not wearing my usual clothing.” Looking warily at the door, Kenta reached into his left pocket and slowly withdrew a purple-colored pokéball with an “M” imprinted on it. “And there’s a reason . . . that I’ve got one of these on me. Do you recognize what this is, Valtor?”

Valtor shook his head, looking curiously at the ball. It didn’t appear any different than the other capture balls he’d seen before, at least not in size or shape. For all he knew, it could’ve been a creatively-decorated Great Ball. However, Kenta held the ball with utmost caution, and regarded it with a keen eye. “This is called the Master Ball,” he said quietly. “It holds the absolute power of capturing any pokémon in the world without fail. You could consider it a weapon as strong as the strongest pokémon known to man.”

Kenta’s eyes were intense, and Valtor could’ve sworn they were almost glowing. He felt afraid once more. Why was Kenta showing him this?

“Bro?” Valtor swung his legs under the bed nervously, still looking upon the Master Ball. “That’s cool, but . . . how come you have it?”

“Because nobody else other than you knows I have it,” Kenta responded, tucking the elite pokéball back in his pocket. “Otherwise, it would be taken from me.” His smile returned, and he ruffled Valtor’s hair. “But I know I can trust you. That’s what I’m doing from now on- only going to people I can trust.”

The brothers looked at each other, and a lasting silence ensued. After several long seconds, Kenta suddenly grabbed Valtor’s shoulders. “Brother,” he said meaningfully, once again matching eyes with him. “I want you to come with me.”

Valtor stared at him. “Come . . . with you? Where?”

“Out of New Bark Town. To change the world back to the way it was.” Kenta let go of Valtor’s shoulders, and instead knelt down by Bolt’s head. Pulling Valtor’s quilt over the dragon’s scaly forehead, he began carefully rubbing the Salamence dry. “Like I said,” he muttered, “I can’t stay long. If Mom and Dad get involved, it’s all over. You’ll understand later, but for now, just take my word on it.”

“So you have to go. And you want to take me with you,” Valtor repeated. “And it’s okay if I get involved, but not Mom and Dad.”

“I need you,” said Kenta, looking earnestly at Valtor, “for many different reasons. Mostly for your companionship. It gets lonely as an anonymous nobody.”

The Salamence looked at Kenta indignantly, and he grinned apologetically. “Sorry, Bolt, you’ve been a great friend.” He looked around. “Hey, uh . . . got any paper and pens?”

“In the desk. More importantly . . .” Valtor spread his arms to indicate just how lost he still was. “What do you mean, an anonymous nobody? What’s with all the secrecy, how come you’re dressed up, why can’t you just stay here and let us be a family again?”

“I can’t answer that,” replied Kenta, scribbling something down on the paper, “unless I get your cooperation. If you want to stay here, I understand. After all, I did sort of jump this on you out of nowhere. Please, just don’t tell anybody about my disguise, and especially not about the Master Ball. I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

As Kenta pulled on his traveler’s cloak, alarm jolted through Valtor’s body. Kenta really meant it. He was going to disappear again.

“Wait!”

Kenta looked at him.

“What if . . . I do come with you? How would I explain it to our parents? ‘Dear Mom and Dad, sorry for running away’?”

To this, Kenta smiled his usual cheerful grin. “Running away?” He held up the paper he’d just been scribbling on.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Daitan:

I have kidnapped your only other son. The elder Daitan brother put MY son in jail a while back. Now that he’s out of the way, I demand three hundred thousand yen to bail my boy out again. Simply put, it’s my son for yours. You have a month from today to get the cash. On the first of February, meet me by the Oran Berry Tree in the forest east of Cherrygrove. Be smart, and keep all of this to yourselves.

-Anonymous


Valtor stared incredulously at Kenta. “Three hundred thousand yen?” he whispered loudly. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much to put on our parents?”

“The army will cover it,” said Kenta, pulling the blanket off of Bolt’s immense body and tossing it back onto the bed. “That money was supposed to go towards my college funding. Now that I’m dead, Mom and Dad have to use it some other way. Hopefully, we’ll be done with what we’re doing before then, and won't need it anyway.”

“And what exactly are we doing?” asked Valtor. Kenta chuckled. “You’re in, then? The first thing we’re doing is getting you to the place where you’re being held hostage.” He held his arm out the window and into the night. “Going this way? Or would you rather take the stairs?”

***

It was about one o’clock in the morning when Kenta and Valtor arrived in Violet City. There had been no time for Valtor to ask Kenta questions, because he’d been too busy hanging on for dear life as Bolt flew them through howling winds and low-visibility fog conditions. When they finally landed in the still and silent town, Valtor was exhausted from the adrenaline trip of flying, coupled with the fact that it was hours past his bedtime. He watched through blurry eyes as Kenta reached into his right pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a Swiss Army knife. Looking up, his mind barely registered that they were standing right in front of the door to an old Summer school called “Earl’s Pokémon Academy.” Jiggling the knife inside the lock, Kenta clicked it open, then pulled the door aside. Valtor looked down the dark hall within.

“Isn’t this breaking and entering?”

“Not if you’re here against your will, and I’m not a living person.” Kenta stood aside. “Besides, we haven’t broken anything. In you go. You too, Munchlax, Bolt.”

The two humans and pokémon made their way inside, and Valtor took a moment to marvel at Bolt’s strength. Munchlax was a heavy little furball. How the Salamence could lift him, and two other people at the same time, was beyond Valtor. Then again, he’d had more surprises thrown at him this one night than he could handle. He couldn’t even prioritize the important ones over the unimportant now. A wave of exhaustion swept over him. Now wasn’t a time for thinking. He needed sleep.

***

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

“ . . . Wugh?”

Kenta watched as his younger brother slowly opened his eyes from sleep. He himself was sitting in a comfortable recliner, while Valtor lay on the floor, using his traveler’s cloak as a blanket and Munchlax’s belly for a pillow. Valtor glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, then looked at him. “Where . . . are we?”

“Good morning to you, too.” Kenta waved his hand at their surroundings. Nearly the entire room consisted of nothing but rows of bookshelves, and a few study desks at the center. “This is the Academy library,” he said breezily. “It’s a little dark and cold, but you could forget about that in an instant if you find a good book to read.” He glanced down at the pages of his own book: ‘Physics and the Pokéball: Secrets Defogged.’ “But that’s the catch- the book has to be good. I don’t understand the half of this jibber- jabber.”

Kenta noticed Valtor scrunch his eyes as he tried to read the book’s title. “You’re trying to find out how pokéballs work?” he asked. “What for?”

“Knowledge is power.” Kenta closed the book and tossed it aside, his brain fried from reading. “But it’s no good if you don’t get the material. I was hoping something with a tenth-grade reading level would be enough to get me through this.” He grinned apologetically at Valtor, but the latter only returned him a cold look to show he was not amused. Kenta sighed unhappily. “Look, Valtor,” he murmured, “I know I’ve been vague with you up until now, and I’m grateful that you’ve followed me anyway. If you want an explanation, you’ve earned one in full.”

Valtor smiled, at last. “Yes, please,” he whispered politely. “I’d like that.”

...

It took most of the morning for Kenta to reveal everything to Valtor. When he’d finished saying all that he could, and answering every last one of his younger brother’s questions, he repeated his previous request with an outstretched hand.

...

“Now you're caught up. Will you still help me?”

Valtor took his older brother’s hand and shook it firmly, reinforcing his resolve with a meaningful smile. “I’m with you to the death, Kenta. To the very end.”

Kenta laughed nervously. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Finish up your ramen noodles, and we’ll get going.”

***

From Violet City, Kenta and Valtor flew southbound for Azalea Town on Bolt’s back. Kenta sat at the forefront, holding onto the Salamence’s neck and watching the treetops below for signs of their destination. Munchlax clung to Kenta’s back, pointing down eagerly every so often at the berry tree sites and whining in disappointment when they sped right past. Behind them, Valtor took inventory of all the items in their sack, somewhat reluctantly. He didn’t want to spend a second longer on it than he had to, rooting through his backpack when he could be holding onto someone so as not to fall.

“Kenta, we already went through this stuff back at the summer academy. We know what’s in here.”

“First rule of the military, Valtor: always double-check your stock. The tiniest missing thing could put the whole mission in jeopardy.”

“All right, all right. I’ve got your old uniform here, including the hat with the wig, the brown cloak, a fresh pokéblock dispenser, three Revive potions, a small variation of berries, all 4,000 yen of my allowance savings . . . why’d we bring all of it at once?” he asked, looking up. “Should we really be putting all of our eggs in one basket?”

“It’s the only way the basket can be effective, my man,” replied Kenta merrily. “Uh, I know that didn’t make much sense, but screw it, you know what I mea-”

“Uh-oh!” Valtor pulled frantically on Kenta’s sleeve, and he turned automatically to behold an unplanned, and certainly unwelcome sight. Behind them, flying about fifty feet away, hovered a uniformed officer on a Pidgeot, holding a megaphone in his hand. “Shoot,” muttered Kenta, dropping his jolly manner at once, “bogey at five o’ clock.”

“He’s gaining on us!” cried Valtor, already panicking. “What should we do? What should we do?”

“Get that cloak on!” Kenta responded hastily, pointing to Valtor’s backpack. “I’ll do the talking. You be ready for anything.”

“Attention, trainers on the Salamence!” came the officer’s voice in an artificially- amplified voice from behind them. “This is the Johto Sky Patrol. You are in possession of an illegal uber pokémon, as defined by the Government Restrictive Institute on Pokémon. Land immediately at the nearest forest clearing for questioning. This is an order!”

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” whimpered Valtor, fumbling with the cloak and finally wrapping it around himself, “we’re so busted! We’re going to be arrested already, before we even get to do anything!”

“Pull yourself together, Valtor!” barked Kenta sternly. Valtor immediately fell silent, and Kenta pointed down at a nearby clearing of trees, indicating Bolt to land. “Don’t worry,” he said more gently over his shoulder. “It takes a cop to know a cop. I can handle this. Deal with him firmly, and don’t show fear for a second. Keep your face covered. We’re going down.”

Once both parties had landed and dismounted from their respective pokémon, the officer approached Kenta and Valtor with a hint of a smirk on his face. “Smart boys,” he said briskly, “you knew you wouldn’t be able to outrace a Pidgeot.” He held out his badge. “Now! Which one of you fellas wants to tell me how you came by a Salamence at such a time as this?”

“He’s mine, sir,” said Kenta, standing stiffly at attention. The policeman sneered at him. “Not for long, he isn’t. Don’t you watch the news, kid? Aren’t you aware that you’re breaking the law by being in possession of an overpowered pokémon? It’s been the news for almost sixty days! Even lower law enforcement officers aren’t permitted those.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” said Kenta loudly, adopting the same official tone as the officer. “Bolt is my friend, not my possession. At any time he wants, he can leave me and return to the wild.”

The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Now look here, smartass,” he said more dangerously, pointing a finger at Kenta’s face, “you’re in enough trouble already. Cheeking the police doesn’t help your cause. Let’s see some identification before you go and make any more wrong moves.”

Valtor glanced at Kenta fearfully, but Kenta’s expression didn’t change. He only shrugged. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have it on me.”

The officer was quiet for a moment, then turned on Valtor. “And you?”

“N-no.”

“I see.” The cop removed his cap, scratched his balding head. He replaced it, wearing a mock-pitying expression on his face. “Well, I’m sorry to say this, but I’m going to have to ask you two boys to come with me to the nearest police station. But before you do that, please hand over the Salamence’s pokéball.”

At this, a smile appeared on Kenta’s face for the first time since landing. “Again, I’m sorry sir. I don’t have it on me.”

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “Where is it, then?”

“It’s actually in a lot of places, by now,” Kenta responded, picking up his foot and examining underneath. “There’s probably even a little bit still stuck in the sole of my shoe. What do you think? Can you still see a piece? Something keeps sticking my foot whenever I walk, and it’s bugging the hell out of me.”

The officer’s expression changed to one of mild bewilderment, and to Valtor, it seemed like his first show of weakness. “You smashed it?” he asked disbelievingly. Kenta nodded, and his cheerful grin was suddenly gone as swiftly as it had come. “Yes. And would you like to know why?” he asked, subtle danger now echoing in his own tone. Valtor took an involuntary step backwards; he had never seen Kenta this way before. There was anger, and then there was ferocity. Kenta balanced between the two with chilling composure, and it made Valtor shudder involuntarily.

“Because I don’t like it when my friends are stolen away from me. It’s one thing if they leave on their own will; I can accept that. But when they’re kidnapped, and I have no say in the matter . . .” Kenta’s eyes flashed, and Valtor saw the cop reaching for his utility belt. “Well, I tend to stop thinking about the consequences of my actions. Emotion trumps reason. What is law crumbles to what is right.”

“No more threatening language out of you, or I shoot,” the officer warned, holding his taser out at Kenta. Eying the weapon, Kenta let out a short laugh and turned so that he faced the cop sideways. “Ha. Big man, with his electric gun. Getting back to my little rant . . .” He pointed to the pokéballs on the policeman’s belt. “I know how the tagging system works. You’d have taken away all my pokémon if I hadn’t beaten you to the punch. No genie without a lamp, you know what I’m saying?”

Valtor heard a crackling noise and saw Kenta twitch; the officer had activated the taser. However, instead of falling to the ground in a fit of spasms, Kenta remained on his feet, a death-glare burning on his face. “But you did manage to take the friend I’d known the longest,” he hissed, clenching his hands into fists. “And God only knows where he is now, and what you people are doing to him. Give him back.”

The officer activated the taser again. Kenta didn’t even blink this time. “Give Bakuphoon back to me. He’s not your tool for control. He’s my valuable friend!”

Kenta really wants his Typhlosion back, thought Valtor, watching unblinkingly as the two officers stood off. I was never a trainer, so I can’t fully appreciate the bond they must’ve had. Still, Kenta’s serious about this. He’s like a mad mother Ursaring right now, who’s lost her cub.

“Why isn’t this working,” mumbled the officer, staring down at his taser and shaking it. Replacing the stun gun in its holster, he drew out a pokéball instead, looking at Kenta with the face of a cornered animal. “I don’t know what you are,” he snarled, “but electricity-immune or not, you’ve broken several laws and resisted arrest.” The patrolman tossed his pokéball onto the ground, and in a burst of light, an enormous brown creature with layered hide like knight’s armor appeared. Valtor recognized it immediately as a Tyranitar, and he swallowed painfully as it let out a deafening roar. “The Dragonite of the Johto Region,” Kenta had called it. At minimum, the monster was at level fifty-five, and would’ve learned some of its most devastating moves by now. The average pokémon trainer would’ve been considered tough with level thirty pokémon on his team, but this was simply overkill.

Kenta observed his foe’s pokémon coolly as dirt rose out of the ground around the Tyranitar and burst apart into sand-sized pieces. “Special ability: Sand Stream,” he muttered. “So then, these are the kinds of pokémon they’re letting you guys have today. You get your own climate and everything.”

“This is your last chance,” the officer demanded over the rushing din of the sandstorm. “Stand down, or I’ll order him to attack!”

Valtor looked from Tyranitar to Kenta, and stared in surprise at his expression. It had changed again; now Kenta had a glint in his eye and a determined grin on his face. There was something nostalgic about the expression, and as he watched, Valtor suddenly had a burst of vision from the past, as if he were looking at the sixteen-year-old version of Kenta again.

“Now that’s more like it,” beamed Kenta, taking a few steps back. “It sounds like you’ve just challenged me to a pokémon battle. I accept . . . and Bolt is my choice for this match!”

The cop pointed furiously at Kenta’s Salamence, as the enormous dragon pokémon flapped heavily forward and confronted Tyranitar. “Resisting arrest, you leave me no choice. Tyranitar, Rock Slide!”

“Bolt, Protect! Evade the stones!”

Never in his life had Valtor seen a high-level pokémon match, at least not live. It reminded him of the old Godzilla cartoons he used to watch on television as a little kid. The Tyranitar’s enormous tail buried itself in the ground and lifted out rocks the size of watermelons as if they weighed nothing. Yet in spite of his size, Bolt wheeled skillfully around each and every stone as it was catapulted at him.

“Alright, time for the counterattack!” barked Kenta, pointing at the Tyranitar’s neck. “Strike below the chin! Aerial Ace!”

Immediately, Bolt disintegrated into thin air and reappeared directly in front of Tyranitar, speeding into him with the force of a small truck. The foe pokémon wheeled, but knelt and regained its balance a moment later. Kenta gritted his teeth in disappointment. “Darn it! We still missed.”

“Is that the best you’ve got?” roared the officer from the other side of the battlefield. In contrast to his stiff and formal attitude a moment ago, being in the heat of the fight was drawing out all of his human emotions that came with instinct. He, too, was alive with battle fury. “I see you’ve taught your Salamence a couple of TM moves. You’re not the only one, though. Tyranitar, slow them down with Thunder Wave!”

The great tank of an enemy pokémon raised its paws, and a shockwave of electricity pounded through the air towards Bolt’s side of the field. For a third time, Kenta withstood the electrical energy as if nothing had happened, but Bolt shuddered and flapped painfully to the ground, obviously stunned.

“Speed is our edge, and we’re not losing it!” barked Kenta. “Eat the berry, Bolt!”

“It’s too late, I have you now!” shouted the officer victoriously. “Tyranitar, take it down with Stone Edge!”

“Too slow!” Kenta retaliated, as Tyranitar lifted its great tail to full height to smash his Salamence. “Bolt, Brick Break!”

In a second’s time, Bolt skull-rammed Tyranitar in its diamond-shaped gut, twisting the foe’s body in a forced awkward angle. Then Tyranitar flew backwards with all the force of a falling meteor, slamming heavily into a pine tree with a resounding crack. With its back-spikes holding it fast to the wood, the great tank of a pokémon hung uselessly, unable to do anything but drop its head limply as consciousness left its body. To the three humans looking upon the defeated creature, it looked as though it had been crucified.

A spooky silence followed in the forest clearing as the sandstorm wore down, having nothing to keep it going. The defeated police officer gaped disbelievingly at his beaten Tyranitar, then with apparent effort, looked back at Kenta. Valtor, who was too busy staring in shock at Bolt, also turned his attention to Kenta. Incredible, he thought, as Kenta walked up to his Salamence and rubbed its head with a jubilant smile. Between Bolt and Kenta, there’s an unfathomable amount of force on our side. We may really be able to pull this off, after all!

“People . . . people like you,” the policeman breathed, looking at Kenta with wide eyes, “you’re the reason we had to let G.R.I.P. take over trainers’ pokémon. It’s because of you rogue trainers, who defy authority with your power.”

“Not me,” said Kenta softly, scratching underneath Bolt’s neck while he looked at his fallen opponent. “It’s because of what G.R.I.P. has done, that I fight you. But I am not a criminal, and I can’t have you identifying me as one.” He glanced behind him, at Valtor. “Come on over here.”

Valtor began to move forward at the summon, but Munchlax waddled past him, and only then did he realize that Kenta had been calling the pokémon. However, Kenta’s eyes met his a moment later. “You too, Cloaked Assistant. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Kenta looked down at Munchlax, who was now standing beside him. He pointed at the officer, who was motioning to his Pidgeot and not looking at them. “Yawn.”

Munchlax’s mouth opened wide, and Valtor saw a strange mist leave the fat little pokémon’s jaws. It blew over to the police officer and his Pidgeot, just as they were standing side-by-side. In an instant, both slumped to the ground, and the cop looked up at Kenta through half-closed eyes. “What . . . did you . . . do to me?”

“You’re going to sleep for a while,” Kenta responded cheerily, his usual smile back on his face. “No hard feelings, but you have to stay here for now. I don’t want you calling for backup as long as I’m still anywhere nearby.”

The patrol Pidgeot flapped its wings feebly, and Valtor wondered if it was attempting a last-minute Whirlwind attack to keep out of danger. The officer’s eyelids drooped, yet he remained focused on Kenta with what little he had left of his consciousness.

“Who . . . are you?”

Kenta took a dramatic half-bow. “Why, I’m Brendan Birch of course.”

The officer could make no response. His body went limp, and he began to snore heavily. Beside him, his Pidgeot lay with its wings spread wide, looking as though it had just been shot down from the sky. Kenta patted Munchlax’s head with a smile, murmured “good work,” and knelt down beside the sleeping officer.

“Just a little business to take care of, and then we’ll be off,” he announced to Valtor, handing him the policeman’s I.D. information. “Here, find someplace to drop Officer Takinawa’s badge where he won’t find it. Maybe hold onto it until we’re back in the air, then let it fall wherever.” He pointed towards Tyranitar’s pokéball, which was lying on the ground where “Officer Takinawa” had tossed it. “Crush it to dust, Bolt,” he ordered his dragon pokémon. “I’ll give you the Pidgeot’s ball in a second. Looks like this guy only had two pokémon on him. I guess even higher-up law enforcement has to follow that new ‘two pokémon only’ regulation set down by the government. Let’s hope so, it’ll make things a little easier on us . . .”

“What’re you looking for?” asked Valtor, standing over Kenta to see more clearly what was going on. Kenta rolled Officer Takinawa’s body over so that he was lying on his other side, then shook his head. “Weird. He hasn’t got a pistol. Do you see one, Valtor?”

“No, but I can tell you why.” Valtor held up a finger, happy to know something that Kenta didn’t, for once. “They said on the news that, in exchange for police officers being allowed uber pokémon, lethal arms would no longer be used for law enforcement.”

“. . . Oh.”

Valtor looked at Kenta, trying to glimpse his face, but Kenta had turned away. “That means less people will die each year,” he said quietly, with the smallest hint of shame in his voice. “The whole of Japan is switching from guns to pokémon, because of G.R.I.P.’s actions. Maybe . . . maybe they’re not all bad in what they’re trying to do.”

“Kenta . . .” Valtor put a consoling arm around his brother’s shoulder, despite being nearly six inches shorter than him. “It’s like you said. We’re not criminals. Let’s keep to opposing what’s bad, and hanging on to the good.”

“Yeah.” Kenta looked down at him and smiled faintly. “G.R.I.P. has some of its priorities right. We’ll do what we can to make them all right, okay?”

“Okay!” Valtor climbed onto Bolt’s back, as the Salamence was tramping busily on the broken fragments of Pidgeot’s pokéball. “Munchlax, it’s time to go!”

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« Reply #3 on: August 26, 2009, 05:47:20 pm »

About five minutes later, the Daitan brothers had resumed their flight as it had been before they’d been called down by the cop. Valtor raised Officer Takinawa’s badge over his head and tossed it down into the treetops below, then leaned back and rested against Munchlax’s torso. “I’ve got a question about the battle, Kenta,” he declared, looking behind him at his older brother. Kenta looked back at him invitingly. “Fire away.”

“Bolt and that Tyranitar were about the same level, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Kenta patted the Salamence’s head fondly. “Bolt may have been a little bit higher. We’ve been through nine circles of Hell over the past few weeks.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Valtor waved his hand impatiently. “One Brick Break knocked that Tyranitar completely out of the picture! Was that really just a regular attack?”

“Sure. It was just a little something I had a friend pick up for me in Celadon Department Store.” Kenta knocked his fists together, symbolizing impact. “But you’ve gotta realize stats and type advantages if you’re ever going to be a pokémon trainer someday, Valtor. Bolt’s Attack stat is his pride and joy, and Brick Break is a physical move. But more importantly, it’s Fighting-type.” Kenta punched the air animatedly. “And against a pokémon with a type combination of Rock and Dark- boom! That’s a quadruple weakness. All clear?”

“So why’d you do an Aerial Ace earlier?”

“I was hoping to knock his item off.” Kenta reached into Valtor’s bag and pulled out an oddly-shaped shell on a string. “See this? It’s a Shell Bell. This is the perfect thing to have when you’ve got a really strong fighter pokémon on your team, but no healing items to keep up its health. With every attack you make, it restores hitpoints to your pokémon.” He made a grimacing face. “If that Stone Edge of his had hit first, Bolt would’ve been crushed, and Tyranitar would have probably risen to full health. That was a closer match than you know, dude.”

Kenta’s comment set off another question in Valtor’s mind. Still seeing no sign of Azalea Town in the distance, he let it go freely. “That sure was close. How’d you know to give Bolt a Cheri Berry in advance? I didn’t know Tyranitar could learn Thunder Wave.”

“Ah, yeah . . .” Kenta scratched the back of his head, looking uncomfortable. “Again, good thing I did, huh? Here’s what you should understand, Valtor.” He pointed his finger upwards, to indicate he was “making a point.” “The pokémon follows its trainer’s personality, if the two are close. I’ve been told that I’m a jolly kind of guy by many people. Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know. Marina tells me you were always cold-shouldering her.”

Kenta twitched at hearing Marina’s name, turned a little red, then shook his head rapidly. “Beside the point! Anyway, Bolt here also has the ‘jolly’ nature, which appears to make his fire breath weaker than usual, but his speed higher. So he’s pretty darn agile.”

“What does this have to do with the Cheri Berry?”

“I’m getting there!” Kenta held up his finger again. “Bolt excels in speed. But if we were ever to lose that edge, we’d be toast in battle. The quickest way to do that is for the other trainer to hit him with a paralyzing effect. I never know when that’s going to happen, so I usually have Bolt keep a Cheri Berry in one of his cheeks at all times.” He saluted Valtor briskly. “A good cop is ready for anything.”

Valtor eyed Kenta carefully. “I’ll say you were ready . . . you must’ve anticipated being shocked by that officer’s taser, too. How’d you avoid being fried by that?”

“Well that’s-” Kenta stopped, noticing something out of the corner of his eye, then twisted completely around so that his back was to Valtor again. “Look!” he said distractedly. “There’s Azalea Town, dead ahead. Hold on tight, Valtor, we’re going down. You too, Munchlax!”

***

Over its years of being a quiet little town in the middle of nowhere, Azalea had become overrun on the outskirts with thicket bushes and wildlife. Since it was the first day of January, all plant life was dead except for the surrounding evergreen pines and the cold-resilient Pecha Berry trees. Even the town’s Slowpoke population, which matched the humans as closely as kangaroos did Australians in numbers, was nowhere to be seen on the streets. The only signs of life were two woodcutters returning from the Azalea Forest to the west, and one middle-aged female jogger wearing headphones.

Bolt hovered to the ground in a backyard behind a particularly traditional-looking Japanese house, which appeared on first impression to be hundreds of years old. Kenta leaped off the Salamence’s back, and bade Valtor to follow him while keeping a hand on the dragon pokémon’s head. “You stay here, Bolt. We can’t risk anyone seeing you in the open, even if there is practically nobody out today.”

They walked around to the front of the house, with Munchlax waddling slowly behind, and Kenta knocked on the door. He turned to Valtor, poking a thumb at it. “Don’t be surprised at anything you may hear, when old Kurt answers. He’s a little out of it in his senior age. But don’t worry . . . we go back, Kurt and I.”

The door slid open, revealing a young man with a pokéball in his hand, holding a hammer in the other. He stared in shock at the two strangers on his doorstep, partially at the youth in Kenta’s brown traveler’s cloak, but primarily at Kenta himself. “Y-you!” he stammered. “But . . . but you . . .”

“Curtis!” said Kenta sternly, pointing at the pokéball in the other man’s hand, “What do you think you’re doing, answering the door with that in plain sight? Have you forgotten what I told you?”

“Uh . . . oh! Sorry. Get in, quickly!”

Kenta reached out and pulled Valtor through the threshold of the sliding door, and Curtis pulled it shut behind them a second later. The three of them stood looking at each other for a moment, and Curtis pointed at Valtor. “Erm . . . who’s he?”

“Oh, him?” Kenta patted Valtor’s shoulder affectionately, giving Curtis a reassuring smile. “We can trust him. He’s my younger brother. Valtor, this is Curtis Kuchinana, a personal friend of mine, American exchange student, and apprentice to the pokéball master craftsman, Kurt.”

“More like adopted grandson,” coughed Curtis. “Kurt’s getting on in years, and he thinks I’m his actual blood relative these days. My real last name is Sanders.” He looked at Kenta seriously. “But- you’re alive! How did you survive the Silph Incident?” Curtis looked at Kenta’s choice of dress. “And why’re you wearing Brendan Birch’s clothing?”

“There’ll be time for that later,” said Kenta hastily, checking around the room to make sure all the window shutters were closed. “Curtis, is your grandpa in? I really need to talk to him about something. It’s very important!”

Curtis didn’t answer. Instead, he stood with his shoulders slumped, and his eyes gazing dully downwards, an expression of misery pasted on his face. “Grandpa . . . isn’t here,” he said despondently, staring at the ground. Kenta looked at him interrogatively. “Not here?” he repeated. “Well . . . where is he, then?”

“He’s been taken to the local jail.”

Valtor heard Kenta gasp. The two brothers looked at each other, then back at Curtis. “Why’s he in jail?” asked Valtor nervously. “Did he do something wrong?”

“Of course not,” insisted Curtis angrily, glaring at the door. “Those pigs issued a decree about three weeks ago, declaring that custom-made pokéballs were no longer allowed to be made without a permit. Can you believe that crap? We’ve been following a tradition for more than seventy years, hand-making apricorn pokéballs for needy trainers since before Professor Samuel Oak received his first Charmander. They can’t just step in now and halt our life calling!”

“You weren’t able to get a permit?” asked Kenta, watching as Curtis stomped his way moodily over to a workman’s bench in the far corner of the room. The latter shook his head, his back turned to the Daitan brothers. “Only big merchandisers like Devon and Sierra Mana can get permits. We’re just two people, keeping an ancient way of life in practice to this day.

“Anyway, Grandpa declared the decree pish-posh and went right on with making apricorn pokéballs.” Curtis held up his arms, as if trying to reason with an invisible enemy. “You have to understand- he feels old and useless, and needs to do something to keep his hands busy. When the fuzz found out he was still working, they came in one night and just took him away. I tried begging them to let him do what he wants until his arthritis made him too clumsy to carry on, but they wouldn’t listen.” Curtis covered his face with a hand, looking ashamed of himself. “Then they hauled him off to the police station about six blocks away. They let me remain free, with a warning to keep my nose out of mischief. Lousy bunch of high-and-mighty . . .”

Kenta cleared his throat. Curtis stopped immediately, and waved his arms frantically in front of him in apology. “Oh, no, I don’t include you with them, Kenta!”

“And it’s just as well you shouldn’t.” Kenta gave him a small smile, winking at Valtor. “Curtis, we need a favor. My brother and I have two pokémon that are outside the government’s tracking system, and they’re both getting pretty darn cold without a pokéball to stay in for the winter. Do you have any apricorn balls we could use for storage?”

“Oh, um, sure. Two unregistered pokéballs coming up.” Curtis shook his sleeve, and three different-colored pokéballs immediately rolled out and bounced to the ground. He looked down at them, grinning innocently. “Sorry, heh, heh, heh. When I heard you knocking, I panicked and shoved ‘em up my sleeve.”

“You’ve still been carrying on apricorn-crafting?” gasped Valtor, amazed at Curtis’s daring after having the police visit his house. Curtis smirked proudly. “Like I’d stop working in Grandpa’s absence. He’d create a pokéball out of my skull! I visit him in jail every day, and he always asks me about my progress.”

“Really?!” Valtor’s jaw dropped in amazement. He barely felt Kenta push one of the apricorn balls hastily into his limp hand. “You must have over a hundred custom- made pokéballs done by now! I mean . . . three weeks is a long time! Where do you store them all?”

Curtis looked at Valtor with a hint of skepticism in his eyes. “Um . . . well, I don’t know if I should be telling you that . . .”

“Classified information?” asked Kenta playfully, observing the green pokéball he’d chosen from the three on the floor. “Curtis, this Friend Ball is amazing. I can’t wait to try it out on Bolt.”

Valtor looked down at his own ball; it was colored black and white, and seemed a bit bigger than Kenta’s Friend Ball. Curtis walked up to Valtor and pointed down at Munchlax, who was eying the refrigerator in the northern corner of the room. “You’ve got a Heavy Ball. Go ahead and re-capture your pokémon in it. Un-cork the top, and give it a good toss.”

There was a plug in the top of the Heavy Ball, and Valtor twisted it off before letting the ball fly. “Hey, Munchlax,” he muttered, “think fast.” In a flash of light, his gluttonous companion pokémon was gone, and the Heavy Ball lay dormant on the floor. Curtis gave a triumphant bark of laughter, and picked up the Heavy Ball with a delighted grin on his face. “Worked like a charm! Here,” he said, giving it back to Valtor, “there’s one captured pokémon that those pigs won’t be able to warp away from you. Use it well.”

“Thanks, Curtis,” beamed Kenta, tossing the Friend Ball to himself. “I don’t suppose there’s any way we can repay you, is there?”

“Well . . .” The young pokéball craftsman pushed his glasses up his nose, not looking directly at either Kenta or Valtor. “I don’t suppose . . . if it’s possible . . . could you somehow get poor old Kurt out of jail?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Kenta shot him a thumbs-up. “Leave it to us. Valtor, let’s get a move on.”

“Wait!” Curtis held out his hand. The brothers stopped at the door, and Kenta turned and looked back at him. Curtis looked bewildered. “Just like that?” he asked blankly. “You’re really going to rescue him?”

“Of course,” said Kenta, grinning at him. “After what you’ve done for us, it’s the least we can do.”

Curtis continued to look at Kenta with a strange expression, then shifted his eyes slowly to Valtor. “Something’s going on,” he said slowly, crossing his arms and watching the brothers. “Kenta, you came here because you wanted to talk to Grandpa. You’re in disguise, so you obviously want people to continue thinking you’re dead. And the only reason you’d want to consult Grandpa is because he knows the deepest secrets about making pokéballs.” Curtis raised an eyebrow. “Training and capturing pokémon in secret? It’s almost as if you’re operating under the radar . . . Sergeant.”

“Perceptive as always, Curtis,” laughed Kenta easily, shaking his head. “Like I keep saying, you’d make an awesome detective if you were ever to work for Silhouette.”

Curtis tried, and failed, to conceal a smile. “I’d just like to know what you’re up to,” he said in a sincere voice, looking down and kicking his foot back and forth. Kenta gave him a wave, as he slid open the door. “Don’t worry, Curtis. I trust you. Before the day is out, we’ll be back to tell you how the jail visit went. Then I’ll give you your answers.” He stepped outside, moved to shut the panel door, then paused, thinking. “Oh, and Curtis, don’t let anyone find out you’re making pokéballs. Unless, that is, you want them to know.”

Kenta let the door shut with a snap, and Valtor’s last glimpse of Curtis was the abashed-looking young man performing a somewhat-shoddy salute, wearing a determined expression. The brothers looked at each other, and Valtor shot Kenta a thumbs-up, grinning excitedly. “All right! Phase one complete!”

“You said it, bro,” Kenta smirked, twisting his fist playfully in Valtor’s hair. “But we’ve still gotta get to Kurt, and see what we can do about this Master Ball. Get my uniform out of the pack, would you please?”

Valtor removed his school backpack and zipped it open, remembering almost instantly where in the bag Kenta’s military getup was folded after having taken inventory on it twice. “Here you go,” he said, handing Kenta the pants, jacket, and police cap with the wig sewed around the edges. His brother accepted the clothes in his arms with a self- satisfied grin. “See? Look at that,” he said, turning around and trotting off. “When you double-check inventory, you know where everything is when you need it later.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get you. See you in a minute.”

Kenta returned from Curtis’s backyard a short while later, looking to all the world like the cop he once was. Valtor marveled at how well the wig suited him; the only difference from before was that Kenta now appeared to have shorter hair. In actuality, he had it tucked away in his hat, still dyed white and all compacted together in a tight bundle. Even after first impression, Valtor still couldn’t tell that the wig was fake.

“You look . . . very professional. If I didn’t know better, I’d behave around you.”

“Oh, ha, ha. You’d better watch it, kiddo, or I may have to use the pepper spray!”

The brothers began their walk down the empty street of the chilly town, and Kenta busied himself with shoving Brendan’s clothing back into Valtor’s backpack. Looking at Bolt’s Friend Ball and considering it for a moment, Kenta shook his head and pushed it in as well. “It’s not your old Luxury Ball,” he muttered, “but it’ll hold you fine just the same. Stay in the bookbag for now, buddy, this next mission’s a covert operation.”

Seeing a police building about five blocks off in the distance, Valtor pointed it out to Kenta. “Wow! It really is close by. What can I do to help out?” he asked eagerly. Kenta stopped, and Valtor halted next to him, looking to his brother for instruction. Kenta’s face was impassive.

“. . . I hate to say it, but you won’t be able to come with me for this one.”

Valtor looked at him, mildly surprised, and a tad bit disappointed. “I can’t? Then what’ll I do?”

Kenta pointed to a tiny building across the street, titled Hikita’s. “I ate there once with Bakuphoon, back during my trainer days. Go ahead in, and order us some chicken and rice for lunch, while I’m away.” His head was lowered. “Sorry, Valtor. We can’t afford to be seen together in front of the police. It’d be too suspicious.” He looked his brother directly in the eye, glaring passionately at him. “Understand this. If I fail this mission, or if I ever get caught when I’m not with you, I need you to stay where you are, and not come after me. Deny you know me, if you’re called as a witness. Will you do it?”

Valtor looked at him, horrified, and after a long pause, barely nodded. “I’ll do as you say.”

“I won’t be long.” Kenta smiled at him. “We’ll be eating together while the food’s still hot, count on it.” He patted Valtor on the shoulder. “See you in a half hour or less.”

***

Azalea Town’s Officer Jenny was reading the morning paper at the desk of the police station when the door jingled and she saw a figure entering in with a stride to his step. She straightened up out of her seat and saluted her fellow officer smartly, as the custom went.

“Good . . . late morning, Jenny,” Kenta said with a brisk smile, returning the salute. She relaxed and looked him up and down guardedly, putting a hand under his chin. “Good morning. Let’s see . . . do I know you?” she asked with an eyebrow raised. “I can’t explain it, but you look . . . awfully familiar.”

“Fa . . . miliar?”

Officer Jenny suddenly snapped her fingers, her face brightening. “Aha! I thought I recognized your face. You’re Kenta Daitan, aren’t you?”

Kenta tensed, gritting his teeth to keep from giving his shock away. No! She knows who I am? Have I been found out already?!

“Oh, come here, come here!” cheered Officer Jenny elatedly, putting out her hand and beaming enormously. “I had no idea you’d become part of the force! But after that incident three years ago, I’m not surprised. Congratulations!”

Relaxing on the inside, Kenta put out his hand and shook Officer Jenny’s gloved one, grinning modestly. “Eh, heh, heh, I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Who could forget?” Jenny pumped his arm continuously, still smiling widely. “You and old man Kurt were something else, when you went down and rescued all our town Slowpoke single-handedly from that horrible Rocket tail-cutting operation. I should’ve known it was only a matter of time before you became a real officer!”

“Y-yeah,” said Kenta, flexing his fingers a bit in Jenny’s grasp as his hand continued to be rattled up and down. Getting the hint, she let off, and saluted him again proudly. “So! What brings you back to Azalea Town, Officer Kenta?”

“Well, it’s funny you should bring up the past,” said Kenta, scratching the back of his head casually. “I believe you have Kurt Kuchinawa himself in your holding cells, right now. I need to interrogate him, if now’s a good time.”

“Oh.” Officer Jenny’s face fell. “Yes, go ahead. Now’s a good time all right, but trust me, the bad times are imminent.” She pointed out the glass doors, through which Kenta had entered, to the empty streets outside. “There are a lot of angry pokémon trainers out there- or should I say, former pokémon trainers- who are still waking up this morning to realize that their pokémon are really gone. It’s the quiet before the storm, I know it. Be careful, Kenta, there may be quite a few rioting incidents in the next couple of weeks before everyone’s used to this new system.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” answered Kenta, waving as he pushed through the door leading to the back of the police station. Yes, there’s going to be trouble all right, he thought grimly, heading down the hall towards the cells downstairs. But with any luck, we can resist assertively without being flat-out violent. People with hope are a lot more reasonable than people without it.

As Kenta passed the jail cells, a couple of the prisoners leered at him, and one made a hacking noise in his throat, as if to spit up a ball of mucus at him. “So,” came a sneering voice from a cell he’d just passed, “the little hero returns.” Kenta stopped, staring straight ahead. He vaguely recognized the voice, as the speaker went on cynically. “Come to take something else away from us, huh? I can’t imagine what more you could want.”

“Do you think I’m here to talk to you guys?” he asked quietly. A splatter of of spit landed a few inches away from his shoe, and he smiled bitterly. “Well . . . you’re right. But wait your turns, okay?”

“Who’s that?” came an elderly, wheezy voice from the furthest cell at the end of the room. “I know that voice from somewhere . . . you’re not Curtis though, are you?”

Kenta stepped in front of the bars and looked through, smiling at the man he saw on the other side. “Hello, Elder Kurt,” he said, pulling up an interrogation stool sitting against the wall and seating himself on it. “You’re looking good for your age.”

The short and balding man gazed keenly at Kenta with a pondering hand over his mouth, and his eyes widened in recognition. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, breaking out in a semi-toothless smile. “It’s the boy with the Cyndaquil from back in the good old days. You’re taller than me now!”

“Heh, at this point, Maisy probably is, too.” Kenta pointed over his shoulder. “I meant to ask Curtis about her, but it slipped my mind. Is she still with you?”

“No, she’s been home with her parents.” Kurt shook his head sadly. “It’s just as well. I wouldn’t want my granddaughter seeing me in here like this. It would break her little heart.”

That’s it. Play the heartstrings!

Kenta leaned closer to Kurt’s cell and lowered his voice. “But you didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispered in a reasoning tone. “You were just doing what you do best- helping pokémon trainers during their journeys, and keeping alive the tradition that your parents started.”

Kurt snorted. “It doesn’t matter anymore. The good days are over, anyway. It’s just as well that I’m confined to this cell . . . at least I can be ignorant of the outside world, as it is these days.”

“Oh, don’t say that. We’re just going through some hard times. It’ll get better.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m offering you the chance to continue doing what you do best,” said Kenta calmly, reaching into his pocket and feeling around for what he was looking for. His fingers passed over the cold metal of Shatu’s lockpick, and rested on the cool cylindrical sphere which never left his side. Pulling it out, he passed it through the bars to his jailed companion. “Do you recognize what this is?”

Kurt stared down at the Master Ball in Kenta’s hand, then picked it up in his own and examined it with fascinated eyes. “But . . . but . . . where did you get this?” he whispered loudly, his voice choked with awe. “This is the World Wonder of Japan!”

“Yeah, and soon the world may very well wonder how we became the next WWII Germany,” Kenta said dourly, narrowing his eyes. “You may not know this, but our government seized all data on the Master Ball after shutting Silph Corporation down two months ago. On top of that, they’ve got over ninety percent of all the trained pokémon in Japan, and the few remaining people who can still be legally considered trainers have barely any power at all.

“Do you understand what I’m getting at? Led by G.R.I.P., the government now has control over an obedient army of super-creatures who can do virtually anything. They don’t need us normal people for anything but work. How long will it be before some corrupt politician attempts to become a ruler with this new power? What will we do, then?”

Kurt looked horrified. Around Kenta, he could hear eavesdropping prisoners muttering to each other. He caught little bits of words and phrases, such as “got a point,” “never liked them,” “conspiracy theorist,” and “I knew it!” Ignoring them for the moment, he focused his eyes on Kurt, who was still grasping the Master Ball. “Maybe I’m just paranoid, but there’s no excusing the fact that we have a major power difference between the government and the people of Japan as of this morning.”

Kenta pointed at Kurt’s gnarly hands. “That’s where you come in. Kurt, you’ve got the experience and wisdom needed to analyze the Master Ball to the fullest. I need you . . .” He annunciated his words intently. “To duplicate it.”
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« Reply #4 on: August 29, 2009, 08:16:06 pm »

Another nice work, Kenta. It's nice to read your writing again. You've got some interesting concepts going for the "pokemon in the real world" idea, adding a more mature spin to things while still closely adhering to the concepts already laid down by the games and T.V. show. So far you've kept things dynamic and progressive, never leaving a dull moment. One thing I like (even though Munchlax has been the only real example of it at this point) is the level of personification you've given the pokemon in your story. As for the characters themselves, I see you have Kenta playing a more experienced role now that he's representing his G/S/C form, while Valtor plays more of a "human" role to balance out his older brother's cool-headed front.

It's intriguing, since while you're bringing a more realistic perspective to Pokemon, you're still following the same battle system as that of the games rather be more realistic in that aspect as well. (Tyranitar uses Thunder Wave to reduce Salamence's speed, Salamence's Jolly nature lowers its special attack capabilities, etc.) I will point out, that might not apply as well to your style of story as it would to something a little more lighthearted, and sometimes it may go so far as to contradict the "real world" feel that you're creating.

In any case, I'm enjoying the story. You've got a lot of creative ideas that you're bringing in, and I'm sure there are more to follow. Grin
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« Reply #5 on: September 01, 2009, 05:37:37 pm »

Why, thank you, Terak!  And might I just say, it's very good to see you back.  I appreciate your constructive comments and support; it shows that somebody cares.  This is one of those times that I have to be arrogant and say "damn it, I KNOW this is a cool idea!"  My biggest problem is that I haven't considered my audience; there aren't that many people who can really appreciate this story.  But it's very encouraging to see that at least you do.

***

“ . . . . . Duplicate it, you say.”

“As many times as you can.”

Kurt shook his head. “Even if that were possible, I can’t expect to do anything in here. That Officer Jenny woman comes to inspect my cell every day, she’ll find any new item that I’ve got.” He shook his head a second time, with a defeated expression. “I can’t even be angry with her. She does seem to feel sorry that I’m in here, after all the years we’ve known each other in this town.”

Is that right? Hmmm . . .

Kenta put his hand through the bars of Kurt’s cell, a solemn expression on his face. “I can free you, right here and now,” he said seriously, as Kurt looked at him. “But afterwards, you’ll have to be on your guard like never before in your life. You’re going to be visited by the police again, and criminals too, along with all sorts of other people you’ve never seen before. And you will have to deal with all of them in the exact right way, to avoid being imprisoned again, or worse. Nevertheless, you may be the difference between a free Japan or an enslaved Japan, in the near future.”

Kurt grasped Kenta’s hand immediately with both of his own, placing the Master Ball back in his palm. There was a gleam of excitement in his glazed old eyes. “Now, who do you think I am?” he asked gruffly, mirroring Kenta’s expression with a wrinkly smile. “When trouble arises, I don’t hesitate for a moment. Throw your worst at old Kurt, and just see what happens!”

“That’s the attitude I remember you by.” Kenta turned away from Kurt’s cell and looked down the prison hallway at the other cells containing offenders of the law. “Then I’ll be back in a minute to get you out. But before I go . . .” They’re all Rockets. Leave it to Team Rocket to make us require an entire police station for pokémon-using felons alone. “You guys heard everything, as I intended you would. Now you know what’s going on. What you choose to do with this information is your call. My name is Kenta Daitan, and as of this moment, you may consider me your ally.”

“And why should we do that?” came a challenging voice from a cell one spot over Kurt’s. Kenta approached it, feeling a sudden tingle of hope for some reason, and beheld a rather short young man at approximately his own age glaring at him. “You got me arrested back during the Lake of Rage incident,” he said angrily. “What reason do I have to trust you?”

Hey . . . I remember this guy. He was the short kid whose mask was always slipping off because he couldn’t tie it on properly. At that time, he was only fifteen years old . . . and yet he owned a Crobat. That one creature proved to be one of the toughest opponents a Rocket has ever thrown at me.

“You’re right.” Kenta reached into his pocket and pulled out the lockpick Shatu had given him a couple months back. “How can you know if I’m really trustworthy or not? Well, the fact is, you can never be sure.” He pointed at the Rocket with the butt of his lockpick. “What’s your name?”

“ . . . Yosuke. Shimera Yosuke.”

Kenta smiled humorlessly. “I see. Well then, Yosuke, here’s what you can do now.” He flipped open the lockpick’s blade, pointing it in his own direction. “You can stab me right here and now, for being a lying troublemaker. Technically speaking, I’m already one anyway.” He snapped the knife blade back in, and flicked out the lock-picking device. “Or . . . you can wait until the right moment to break out of here. You know these guys better than me, so take the ones you trust with you.”

He pushed the lockpick through the bars, into Yosuke’s hands. The latter looked stunned, and Kenta felt a little surprised at himself for what he’d just done. Nevertheless, he kept up his calm act, knowing he couldn’t afford to show weakness. He’d rehearsed this scenario already, and now that it had come, he had to pull it off correctly. “You’ll have no pokémon once you make it back to the other side, but that can be arranged, Yosuke. Come see Kurt and Curtis at the last house west of the village, before Azalea Forest. To show that you’re a friend, give them the password, which is . . .”

Kenta made sure nobody heard him, as he whispered a single word to Yosuke. Moving again to leave, he stopped, nearly forgetting something, and backtracked to Kurt’s cell. “Sorry,” he said, putting his hands together apologetically. “I need to catch up with my brother once I’ve gotten you out, so I’ll leave you with this.” Once more, he transferred the Master Ball to Kurt, who shoved it into his kimono inner pocket. “I should tell you, there’s something you should know about that ball . . .”

***

Valtor stood outside of Hikita’s restaurant, leaning against the wall and holding the bagged chicken and rice in his left hand as he watched unblinkingly for any signs of movement from the police station. He didn’t know how much time had passed when two people finally did emerge from the front doors in the distance and headed in his direction. Straining his eyes to see who it was, Valtor’s heart leaped for joy when he recognized Kenta in the police uniform, and the elderly Kurt marching merrily alongside of him. He sprinted across the street and towards the two of them as fast as he could without dropping his food, and stopping in front of them, he leaned over and panted for breath. Kenta and Kurt looked down at him, and the elder turned to the younger.

“Your brother?”

“Yes, Elder. Could I talk to him for a few minutes?”

“Take as long as you want, but I need to get home!” Kurt bustled on past Valtor, positively glowing, and walking with a spring in his step. Both brothers watched him go, then turned to look at each other. Kenta glanced down at the bag in Valtor’s hand. “Oh, you got it! Well then, let’s go back in and eat, I’m starving.”

“Kenta, you . . . you did it!” Valtor jumped at his big brother and hugged him tightly, overjoyed and relieved to see that he’d made it back out with the old prisoner. “How were you able to get him past the building’s police?”

“Oh, simple,” said Kenta, as the two of them headed back towards Hikita’s. “I lied a little. Remember how Curtis was telling us about that recent decree, stating that nobody could make pokéballs without a license?”

“Yeah.”

“Decrees aren’t actually laws around here, they just become laws later, after going through the system. The police can only expect cooperation until then, but they’re not allowed to outright arrest anyone for breaking the decree. Azelia’s police force acted too early in this regard.”

“Hmm . . .”

They’d reached the restaurant door. As they went in and seated themselves at a table, a thought came to Valtor. “Could it be that they acted early because they’re afraid?”

“Afraid? Heh, they wouldn’t like you using that word.” Kenta opened the brown paper bag, and pulled out box of chicken and rice. It was still warm. “But I think you’ve hit the nail on the head. Everyone gets nervous when new rules are laid down, especially the rule-keepers. And sometimes they get hasty, and break old rules to uphold the new.” He snapped the complimentary chopsticks apart. “Anyway, this is where my lie comes in. I told Officer Jenny that I was there on a certain Captain’s orders to release Kurt, because he was being unlawfully contained. She probably would’ve believed me even if she didn’t already know me.” Kenta shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth. “I’ll tell you what, acting in the name of authority works wonders.”

Valtor dug into his own share of the food, surprised at his own hunger. After all his excitement in the past twelve hours, there was really no wonder that he was so hungry, but then again, he’d never participated in anything like this before. Guilt curbed his appetite a little bit, and for a moment, he felt his stomach give a small twitch; a threat to throw up. But he swallowed his food, and voiced his concerns quietly to Kenta so that nobody else in the restaurant would hear.

“Hey, um . . . is it really okay that we’re doing this? Lying and working in secret and stuff?”

Kenta looked at Valtor somberly, and somewhat sadly. He rested his head on his chin with a sigh. “No. No, it’s not okay,” he muttered in a raspy tone, looking somewhat disgusted. “Not when the government does it, and not when we do it. We’re both guilty.”

“Then what makes us better?” Valtor pressed. “Why can’t we continue to just be good, and let them alone be wrong?”

“Because I can’t go back to that anymore,” responded Kenta in a final tone. He had a haunted look in his eyes. “There’s no more ‘life the way it was’ for me, now. If they find me out, I’m a dead man. Remember what I told you this morning about Silph Corporation?”

Valtor thought for a moment. I only remember him saying he was betrayed there by Silhouette, and that Bolt rescued him from death at the end. I didn’t really question much about it after that.

He saw that Kenta was gazing at him, but with a faraway look in his eyes. “I didn’t really go into detail about it, did I?” Kenta asked softly, stirring his chopsticks through his rice. “We were too busy talking about what we’d be doing, and not about what had already happened. But we’ve got time now.”

“Okay.” Valtor chewed a piece of his chicken absently, his focus on his older brother, his only brother. “I’m listening.”

Kenta was in another place. The words he spoke were Valtor’s to hear, but he was no longer talking to Valtor directly. He was reliving the past.

***

The halting of the Silph elevator, along with the glowing matrix-dotted “3” just above the double-doors, confirmed for Kenta that he was on the third floor. He braced himself as the doors slowly parted before him, but had no idea what he would do. Outside, standing right in the center of the hallway, two figures waited for him to come out. One was a man in his late thirties wearing a suit, and the other, a sleepy-looking pokémon with a miniature trunk, which Kenta recognized as a Drowzee. Kenta walked straight forward, determined to avoid eye contact with either of them, and both allowed him past and followed from behind. He could tell by their footsteps that they were very close.

“Into the room on the left,” the man said sternly, pointing to a doorway reading “302.” Kenta turned the knob and pushed inwards, pondering how he would take on the trainer with the Drowzee if it came to that. He’d have to be quick, or the man would simply have Drowzee use Disable on him and freeze up his entire body.

Kenta’s train of thought failed him as he saw what was waiting for him within Room 302. A woman was sitting on a table in the center of the room, next to a computer. Tied up on the floor were Officers Dei and Sosuke, the two men in charge of the original Silph inspection. Kenta noticed a phone on the wall to the left, out of the corner of his eye, but he would only try it if he knew he couldn’t be detected. He hadn’t forgotten the receptionist’s threat from a minute ago. If there really were Electrode positioned throughout the entire building, he wouldn’t do anything to risk making them explode.

“You.” The woman sitting on the table pointed at Kenta, and slid off the edge so that she touched down. “Are you the backup cop?”

Kenta nodded.

“Where’s your partner?”

“Downstairs. At the front desk.”

“What’s he doing there?”

Kenta looked at her. “Don’t you know? He’s keeping the rest of the force from flooding in here and arresting you people for what you’re doing.”

The woman shook her head. “My name is Rena Saishi,” she said, putting her hand out to shake. “And I’m currently the most distrusted person involved in the Master Ball Project. They haven’t told me a thing in the last half hour.”

Kenta didn’t move, and waited until Saishi’s hand had dropped. “Distrusted?” he repeated skeptically. “I find that hard to believe, considering they left you to guard the hostages.”

“Then I’ll help your unbelief. You see . . .” Saishi reached into her work blouse, and from under her bra, pulled out a tiny, spherical object colored purple. “Anyone in charge of holding the Master Ball automatically becomes the most distrusted person.”

She widened the ball, and Kenta looked at it in alarm. He continued to stare, unable to believe his eyes. He’d only seen the “Master Ball” one other time, and that had been two years ago when his father’s old colleague, Professor Elm, had presented the concept to him. At the time, Elm had picked up an Ultra Ball from one of Blackthorn City’s dragon tamers. Supposedly, this particular Ultra Ball was unusually powerful, and had helped the trainer succeed in capturing a fishhooked Dragonair on the first throw. From this Ultra Ball, Elm had done some redesigning, and finally showed Kenta gleefully the fruit of his labors . . . an imperfect Master Ball. Kenta recalled how badly his old professor had wanted to be the one to finally succeed in making the true Master Ball, but he’d never have that now.

Saishi tossed the Master Ball casually to herself, looking closely at Kenta as his eyes followed it. “They suspect me rightly, you know. I came to your people not long ago, offering this ball for a . . . modest reward. They were very interested, but just the slightest bit skeptical to whether or not it was the real deal. I didn’t have it at the time. Meanwhile, the people on my end were all becoming more and more suspicious of one another as the Master Ball neared completion, and I began to want out of the project. I knew too much by then, you see? I’m not nearly as useful as I was in the beginning.

“So what’s a poor businesswoman to do? Stay here and be arrested or possibly shot by my own people? Or . . . do I depart from this place, just as the police are swarming in to take away all the criminals who want me out of the picture? Ah, but I can never leave this building with any trace of the Master Ball Project on my body. The door alarms will catch me. Security is harsh in this place, and I’m stuck in this room . . .”

She smiled suddenly, evilly, triumphantly. “. . . with three pokémon-holding officers, a telephone, and a dead security camera. Ah, the hasty scramblings of frightened criminals when they realize they’ve been cornered. And all it took to set this whole thing off was a vital Master Ball document ‘accidentally’ left on the Silph network’s public server during inspection. How careless!”

“You set your own people up?” asked Kenta incredulously. He narrowed his eyes. “But in doing so, you made a serious mistake, lady. Your receptionist informed me that this whole building will be blown to bits by Electrode if more police officers arrive for backup. Or didn’t they tell you that, either?”

Saishi threw back her head and began to laugh. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Is . . . is that what she told you?” she managed to gasp, wiping a tear from her eye. Kenta nodded, and Saishi snickered a few more seconds before answering. “I am one of this project’s administrators!” she declared with a waving gesture towards the telephone. “I know the leader too well. He wouldn’t dare destroy this building, not only because his precious project’s information is still here, but also because of sentimental value. He just plain likes the building!”

She offered him the phone, still laughing to herself. “Please, by all means, call for backup. Oh! On one condition.” Saishi held up her finger and Kenta waited, his mind whirling as he tried to keep up with it all.

What have I gotten myself into?

“Once you make the call, Officer, I want out of here. My people may try to silence me when they see police cars swarming in over the horizon, and that won’t do, oh no. You and those other two on the floor must be my bodyguards until I’m seen to safety.”

Kenta smiled grimly at her. “Your bodyguards, huh?”

“Indeed.” She returned the smile. “Why do you think I volunteered to watch over you guys?”

I see. You need us. In spite of this careful planning you’ve done, it’s all for nothing if we don’t cooperate.

“Then I’m setting down my own condition.” Kenta put out his hand sternly. “Hand over the Master Ball for now. I’ll keep it safe.”

Saishi looked at him disbelievingly. “You’ll set no such condition,” she said softly. “I don’t even know you, and I certainly will not bargain with you. I’ll keep the Master Ball, thank you very much.”

I may never get another chance at this. I must have that ball!

“You may as well hand it over now,” Kenta reasoned, trying his hardest to stay calm. “It’ll be taken from you the moment you’re amongst officers anyway. I, on the other hand, know who you are now. I can vouch that you secured it with me . . . if you let me hold it. I can do nothing if it’s on you.”

One way or another, lady, he thought as Saishi glared at him, apparently doing some fast thinking. His thoughts drifted to the two pokémon in his pocket. If I have to, I’ll take it from you by force. Nobody else will have seen it but your prisoners, and who do you think they’ll side with?

Very reluctantly, Saishi offered Kenta her Master Ball, her face contorted in an ugly look. Taking it away, Kenta sank the ball into his pocket with a pounding heart, and pulled out a pokéball in its place. “Bakuphoon,” he murmured, and in a burst of light, a giant fire ferret appeared before him. The Typhlosion gave him a salute, and Kenta returned the gesture before pointing towards the tied-up Dei and Sosuke. “Cut those officers free from their ropes,” he ordered hastily. “Afterwards, stand by for orders. Do not attack this woman, she’s a friendly. Go!”

As Bakuphoon scampered over the prisoner officers and began chewing on their bonds, Saishi rushed to the computer and knocked on the screen. “Porygon! Time to go.” The head of a virtual pokémon with a 32-bit appearance poked out of the monitor, and it nodded to its master before ducking back inside. Kenta picked up the telephone receiver and listened for a dial tone. For a moment, he heard nothing, then Porygon’s echoing cry resounded through the phone. The next moment, it was working again, and Kenta had the feeling that Porygon had broken through Silph’s security system to connect him with the outside world. Not pausing for a moment, he dialed the number to his military outpost and waited impatiently until he heard someone pick up on the other end.

“HQ, this is Sergeant Kenta Daitan, requesting immediate backup to the Silph Corporation building in Saffron City, repeat . . .”

When he’d finished his call, Officers Dei and Sosuke were already free, with their own pokémon out. A Weezing and a Growlithe stood at ready beside Bakuphoon, and Saishi’s Porygon floated out of the computer the next moment to total four pokémon on alert. Kenta saluted his two comrades briskly.

“Are you two both okay?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“And you heard everything?”

“Affirmative. What are our objectives?”

“We’re on the third floor of Silph Corporation, and we need to get out. Our job is to protect Ms. Saishi from harm; she’s got information on the Master Ball, and her comrades now consider her a whistle-blower. Also, Lieutenant Shen may still be on the first floor, we need to save him as well. We’ve got ten minutes before backup arrives. Are we taking the elevator, or the stairs?”

“Stairs. They might trap us in the elevator.”

“Alright. Be advised, there’s one man out in the hallway with a Drowzee.” Kenta turned to Saishi sharply, a lot more comfortable now that his side was somewhat back in control. “What else might we run into? Pokémon? Firearms?”

“No guns, except for the higher-ups,” Saishi responded hurriedly. “But everyone has pokémon. Mostly there are Magnemite and Magneton, and a few Electrode . . . but those are used for pokéball research, not battling!”

Hmm. If that’s the case, enemy pokémon should be at levels in their upper twenties or lower thirties. Moderately powerful, but nothing we can’t handle. Let’s just hope they don’t attack in large numbers.

“Listen,” said Kenta, “the hallways are confining. There’s enough space for only one pokémon to effectively battle at a time. Any attacks will be straightforward and predictable. We’ll need a berserker out front to pave the way, while someone else covers the rear. Who’s going?”

Bakuphoon’s paw immediately shot up. “Bakra!”

Kenta smiled fondly at his starter pokémon. “As expected. Alright, Baku, I’m going to pull back the door, one the count of three. Ready? One . . .”

“Cover him,” commanded Officer Sosuke, and his Growlithe charged the door just as Kenta yelled “three!” and yanked it open. Both Fire-type pokémon lunged out into the hall, and a sudden yelp of surprise from the guard on duty was followed by a brilliant orange aura as the Growlithe and Typhlosion lit up the whole passage. Kenta and his companions rushed out the door into the heated-up hallway, and were met with the sight of charred walls and two smoldering figures lying unconscious on the floor. An instant later, an alarm began to sound, and water began spraying down from the ceiling on everyone.

“Oh hell, we’ve triggered the smoke detectors!” cried Dei. Kenta shook his head and waved his hand in a "follow me" gesture. “Dammit . . . don’t stop now, the stairs are this way!”

“Porygon, didn’t you disable the fire alarm?!” barked Saishi furiously at her Porygon. The virtual pokémon hovered a few feet back from her, looking terrified. She pointed back into the hostage room, where the computer still sat indifferently to the sudden chaos. “Don’t just float there, go turn it off!”

Every door in the hallway banged open as Silph employees emerged, looking around to see what the cause was for the sudden outbreak of noise. All eyes fell on the uniformed officers in the middle of the passage and their Fire-type pokémon, and a single shout went up from them. “Escape! Escape, they’re trying to escape!”

“Get out of the way, or we’ll put you down!” Kenta warned, rushing forward alongside his Typhlosion. “Baku! Flame Wheel! Make a path!”

“Electrode!” One of the workers in a white lab coat cast a pokéball on the floor, and a creature looking like the enormous version of its ball appeared. “Use Selfdestruct!”

There was no time to react. Bakuphoon smashed headlong into the Electrode, unable to maneuver right or left, and the enemy pokémon exploded, throwing Kenta and the others back from the force of the blast. “Baku!” shouted Kenta, horrified that his own pokémon having been caught in the explosion. As the smoke cleared, he saw his Typhlosion rise and shake off the attack vigorously. “Hey! You okay?”

Bakra!” Bakuphoon looked back at him, then shot a thumbs-up. The next moment, his eyes narrowed and he bore his fangs fiercely at the scientists still standing in front of him. The collar of fire on his neck flared up to a luminous blaze, and a swirling mist formed at his feet as the water surrounding him evaporated instantly into steam. Kenta knew this mode. Baku was in his berserk state, where mind conquered matter, and pain didn’t register unless his adrenaline flow was halted somehow. Baku could take some serious punishment in this state. Kenta had once seen him charge straight through a pressure-stream of water without even slowing down. Earlier in that same day, he’d been smashed full in the face by a Hitmonlee’s Hi Jump Kick, only to shake it off and incinerate the foe with a single devastating Flamethrower in retaliation. When push came to shove, Bakuphoon feared nothing, not even legendary pokémon.

“Hold them back! Magneton!” The next Silph scientist threw his pokéball, and from it emerged a three-way connection of Magnemite, combined to form a more powerful magnet pokémon. It crackled with electricity, and the Silph trainer pointed at Bakuphoon furiously. “Use Thunder! It’s a sure hit in this climate!”

Kenta covered his eyes instinctively. He didn’t want to take his sight off the battle for a moment, but if he was going to command Bakuphoon properly, he’d have to avoid going blind. He heard a loud disembodied crash, the kind only concentrated electricity could create, and felt his body jerk wildly. When he opened his eyes, he was looking up at the ceiling, and the nozzles that were still spraying water down on him. Pulling himself to his feet, he realized that he’d been blasted down by misdirected lightning from the Thunder attack. Six of the Silph workers near the Magneton’s trainer were lying scattered through the hall, having been hit a lot harder by misdirected lightning for being so much closer. Bakuphoon himself was on all fours, his body shuddering from electric shocks, but his face alive and murderous.

“Are you CRAZY?!” shouted one of the two remaining Silph employees from behind the door of another room, at his colleague. “What in the hell is wrong with you?? You’ll kill us all, you bleeding lunatic!”

“But . . . but conditions are rainy, and Thunder always strikes-”

“Baku!” shouted Kenta, pointing at the Magneton. “Pay them back triple! Flamethrower!”

The scientist sneered at him. “Ha! Even with the type advantage, your damage is halved thanks to- waaaaargh!” The rest of his sentence was cut off as Bakuphoon’s fire breath found him, along with his Magneton. The Typhlosion didn’t cease flame until almost fifteen full seconds had passed, and Kenta had to run up and yank on Bakuphoon’s back to keep him from continuing. “Stop! Don’t, you’ll murder him!”

Bakuphoon let off, slumping down, then pointed with a paw to his throat. Kenta understood in a moment, what he was trying to say. “Oh . . . you got paralyzed, and you couldn’t stop. Alright, I think you’ve taken enough-”

But Bakuphoon was up and on his hind legs, snarling and bearing his blackened teeth in spite his injuries. The two remaining Silph scientists gasped in terror and ducked behind their door, slamming it. “M-monster!” Kenta could hear them crying loudly. “That’s not a pokémon, it’s the devil himself!”

Seeing that the front passage was clear, Kenta checked behind him. Officer Sosuke’s Growlithe was gone, and he was crouching near the doorway they’d escaped from, holding its pokéball tenderly in his hands. Officer Dei’s Weezing was locked in combat with another Magneton, whose owner had thankfully not been reckless enough to cast Thunder. Kenta waved urgently to them. “Retreat! You can’t beat him, Steel-types are immune to poison!”

Dei nodded and shouted “Smog attack!” before following his comrades and Saishi down the hallway towards the stairs. Behind them, a cloud of toxic green gas billowed out and blanketed the passage in impenetrable murk. The small force of escapees had reached the staircase, when Dei pressed the elevator button, and the doors immediately opened. “I’m setting up a decoy,” he said, rushing inside and pressing the “lobby” button. Ducking back out, he followed the group as Kenta led the way down the stairs.

The steps were somewhat slippery because of the water sprinklers, and everyone but Bakuphoon clung to the banister as they hurried down to the lower floor. Further up, Kenta could hear angry shouting issuing from jostled Silph Corporation workers on higher floors, getting closer each second. “Keep up the pace,” he commanded as they swept past the second floor. From behind, he heard Dei order his Weezing to use another Smog on the hallway, which in turn covered the Silph workers in a blinding fog before they could react quickly enough.

“Any goons on the first floor we should know about?” Kenta asked Saishi as they neared the lobby. “No,” came her speedy reply, “there shouldn’t be anybody except- ”

At that moment they reached the bottom of the stairs, where they were greeted by the sight of Shatu being held at gunpoint by the woman behind the front desk.

“-that **** of a secretary.”

“Don’t move!” she screamed, holding the pistol less than a foot away from Shatu’s head while he kept his arms raised high in the air. “Any sudden movement, and he dies!”

At that moment, the elevator ground open, which Dei had set up on the third floor. For a second, the secretary’s eyes shifted to the splitting doors, and a moment later Kenta heard a loud bang from right behind him. The secretary dropped out of sight below the desk, and Shatu leaned over the side automatically to see what had happened. Kenta knew before he did, as he glanced behind him to see Ms. Saishi holding her own smoking pistol. “Dead!” he heard Shatu cry in surprise, looking back at the group at the bottom of the stairs. “Kenta, what’s going-”

Kenta heard an incoming clanking from behind him. He turned around just in time to see another Electrode bouncing down the stairs straight at the whole group, like a great lethal bowling ball. A flash of red shot out in front of the escape party, and in the next moment, an explosion expelled the small force backwards and sent them skidding across the waxed floor. Kenta scrambled to his feet, and looked to see what had just happened. Bakuphoon was lying on the floor beside a fainted Electrode, chest rising and falling rapidly. This was now the second Selfdestruct attack he’d braved in five minutes, and Kenta simply couldn’t imagine how he was able to take so much abuse.

“Explanations later!” barked Saishi, sprinting headlong for the door, and grabbing Kenta’s arm as she passed him. “We have to go!”

“Baku, return!” called Kenta, holding up the Typhlosion’s pokéball as he was pulled away. The red beam shot out and disintegrated his pokémon back into its safety zone, and Kenta exhaled in relief. He’d have time to thank his loyal pokémon partner when they were back home, but first, they had to get out alive. In the meantime, he sprinted after Saishi, Dei, Shatu, and Sosuke as they dove for the door and burst through it. The chill of early November air struck his face, and its implication of freedom was one of the best feelings of his life.

But there was one more thing to do. Thinking quickly, Kenta broke away from the group and made a dash to the right and down the first ally. Behind him, the sounds of sirens were approaching, and he hastened to get his deed finished. Pulling a Luxury Ball from his pocket, he gave it a light toss out in front of him. In a burst of light energy, a creature with the appearance of a shell on four legs stood before him, teething on something in its mouth. Kenta reached back into his pocket and pulled out the Master Ball he’d been given ten minutes previously, and held it in front of the Shelgon on the ground.

“Bolt, spit that out. I have something else you need to hold now.”

The shell dragon coughed a grayish-blue stone with a dotted pattern into his hand; an Everstone. Kenta knelt down and held the Master Ball out for Bolt to take, when he heard rapid footsteps approaching from behind. Standing up and turning around, he found himself at gunpoint as Saishi glowered at him with trembling limbs. “You dirty pig,” she spat, “I knew you just wanted that ball for yourself! Give it back to me this instant, or I swear to the gods I will pull this trigger and blow your head wide open.”

Kenta looked at her, and at the pistol in her shaking hands, and took a deep breath to compose himself. “If you shoot me,” he warned, “my Shelgon will shatter your Master Ball between his teeth. He knows Crunch; he’s more than capable of doing it.”

“I see. Then I’ll have to shoot him first.”

“Bad idea.” Kenta stiffened, bending his knees in preparation to make any necessary sudden moves. “I’ve taught him Protect also, for exactly this kind of reason.” His eyes narrowed. “And if you do shoot him, I will break your neck with my bare hands, even if it’s in full sight of the whole police force. Nobody threatens my pokémon’s life.”

The two of them stood there in the alley staring one another down, while in the background patrol cars screeched to a halt and police could be heard shouting to one another as they charged the Silph building. Kenta glanced behind him at his Shelgon, who was still standing dutifully awaiting orders. “Bolt,” he muttered, “go hide in the bushes back there. Do not let this maniac hit you. She’s already killed one person.”

Bolt blinked to show he understood, and twisted around, ducking into the undergrowth. Kenta turned back to Saishi, smiling grimly. “I’d put that gun down if I were you,” he muttered, so that only she would hear. “If any of my force happens to see you holding an officer up, you’ll be off to prison just like the people you betrayed.”

Saishi smiled back, nastily. “That’s what you think.”

Turning, she waved her hand at one of the patrol cars, shoving the gun hastily under her shirt. “Captain Arcada! Over here, over here, quickly!”

Kenta’s stomach leaped at the name of his captain being mentioned. From around the corner of the Silph building, he could just make out Captain Wester Arcada approaching him with two deputies at his heels. “Go take the building!” Kenta heard him command the other two. “I’ll be fine. Report back in five minutes!”

“Captain,” blurted Kenta hastily as Arcada marched up behind Saishi. “Be careful, she’s got a gun!”

“He has the Master Ball,” said Saishi even more quickly, turning to Arcada and pointing at Kenta. “Thank goodness you’re here, tell him to hand it over!”

Kenta’s heart rammed even faster as Arcada took his eyes off Saishi and focused his full attention on him. “Kenta!” said the captain loudly and passionately, looking at him in surprise. “You have it? Good work, my boy, excellent . . . I’ll take over possession of it now. We have to get it out of here before things get any worse on this block!”

For a moment, Kenta considered calling Bolt out of the brush to deliver the precious ball over to his superior officer. After all, it was his civic duty, and it came as a natural impulse. But something was holding him back, and it wasn’t just his own wish to see the Master Ball gone, either. The air between Captain Arcada and Ms. Saishi lacked the usual hostility of absolute police authority over lawbreaking civilian. Rather, it was as if police captain and Silph conspirator were actually cooperating. He stared at them for a moment, hesitating, then made up his mind and sealed his fate.

“Captain,” he said in a reasoning, but insistent tone, “that woman was going to shoot me. She almost did, just now!”

“That’s not important at the moment,” answered Arcadia impatiently. “Right now, what’s important is-”

“Not important?” demanded Kenta incredulously. “How can you say that? Don’t you care if I live or die?!”

“Ms. Saishi’s knowledge, and the Master Ball’s power, can affect the world more than one cop’s actions ever could,” said Arcada sternly. “You did your duty, in seeing both safely out of Silph Corporation. Now it’s time to move on!”

“Wha-?” Kenta stared at him, shocked, and his brain clicked. “Wait . . . how did you know I was guarding her? I didn’t mention anything about that over the phone!”

Arcada looked taken aback, then resumed his stern face. This time, however, there was some pity in his voice, similar to how he’d sounded when he’d called Kenta at the stadium. “I’m sorry, Kenta,” he said sadly. “I couldn’t let you know anything. It might have affected Ms. Saishi’s safety.”

“What?”

“You can tell him later!” Saishi growled irately, her hand hovering over her shirt at the place where she’d stored her gun. “Just order him to give you the ball!”

“No!” shouted Kenta, unwilling to let Arcada’s explanation be cut off. “I need to hear this! Continue!”

Arcada swallowed, then picked up as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “We suspected for a while that Silph was planning to make illegal and unregistered Master Balls, to sell on the black market to bitter trainers affected by G.R.I.P.’s new policies on pokémon training. The timing would’ve been just right. But we couldn’t find any incriminating evidence against the corporation, even when Ms. Saishi tipped us off. Therefore, we had no warrant for storming and taking the building. So she agreed to feed information to one of our inspection teams while they were still inside the building, so that we’d have grounds for making arrests. In return, however, we had to offer her protection, so that her fellows wouldn’t kill her before we could get her out of the building.

“That’s where you come in, Kenta. Your rank isn’t that great since you haven’t been with the force long, but records show that you’re a very passionate pokémon trainer. You and Lieutenant Shen were to be led blindly into Ms. Saishi’s presence, so that you could escort her back out of the building when she freed you again.” Arcada lowered his head in apology. “We couldn’t tell you, or you might not have acted your part right. I hope you will forgive me for being secretive. It was for a good cause.”

Kenta didn’t know how he took it all in. He felt he shouldn’t have been able to swallow Arcada’s words. Who could have accepted such an explanation so willingly?

Someone who’s been suspicious of his government all along, that’s who. This isn’t shocking news, it’s goddamn vindication!

“Captain,” he said slowly, angrily, through his teeth. “No offense, but you’d make a horrendous pokémon trainer.” He glared at his commanding officer. “Do you have any idea how alone I felt back there?! A good team doesn’t keep secrets. They think, and act, as one! When there’s victory, the joy is shared amongst all, when there’s terror, every team player shudders together, and when there’s pain, not one member is numb to the agony.” He pointed insistently to himself. “I joined this force because Silhouette was the most honest professional organization I could think of. I thought we were an absolute good in Japan. But how can I think that now . . .” He turned his glare to Saishi. “When you’ve just casually brushed off the fact that this woman was going to murder me?”

Arcada sighed and closed his eyes, then shook his head wearily. Reaching behind him, he pulled out his pistol and clicked it into loaded position. “You’re too naďve,” he said softly, then pointed the gun at Kenta’s leg. “Now,” he bellowed, with much more force than before, “Enough with this insubordination! Stand down and deliver the Master Ball. This is an order, Sergeant Daitan!”

Kenta looked at him miserably, feeling betrayed, but not freshly betrayed. “I suppose you’re not going to admit you want the Master Ball for your own power either,” he murmured, turning away from his captain. “One way or another, you’ll have it for yourselves.” He tensed his body. “But I won’t be the one to give it to you!”

Barely understanding what he was doing, moving on pure instinct, Kenta tore off down the alley for the bushes at the end. Behind him, he heard a scream of fury from Saishi. “No! My Master Ball! I won’t let you get away!”

Then he heard a gunshot, and his mind registered excruciating pain in both his lower back and his stomach, on the right side of his body. Falling forward, but unable to do anything about it from shock, his upper torso crashed through the branches and leaves of the bushes, while his legs and feet remained visible on the outside. As his blood began to pool out from under the bush’s leaves, Arcada and Saishi looked at each other in horror.

“You shot him.”

“It had to be done.”

“What if he’s dead?”

“Then one of the Silph executives killed him.”

“. . . . . hey, look at tha-!”

Bolt blasted out of the bushes at the two humans, a great blue blur, and smashed past both of them with his mighty Salamence wings extended. Arcada and Saishi were unconscious in a second’s time, and their bodies were thrown backwards out of the alley and onto the sidewalk outside of the Silph Corporation building. Wheeling around and rushing back with a clap of his wings, Bolt returned to his alley and snatched Kenta up in his teeth. Holding him by the back of his uniform, the Salamence hauled his wounded trainer onto his back, then took off once more. Hovering through the lower allies of Saffron City at eighty miles an hour, Bolt finally increased altitude at city limits and soared eastward, with the sun at his back.

***

Both brothers sat for a moment in complete silence, their food being finished along with Kenta’s story. Valtor tried to look down at the place on Kenta’s stomach where he’d been penetrated by a bullet, but the table was blocking it from view. He looked up at his big brother, his awe renewed by all that Kenta had been through. “How on earth did you survive?” he asked in a hushed voice. “After losing so much blood?”

Kenta shook his head very slightly, barely moving it from side to side. “I don’t know,” he murmured quietly. “It may have been raw willpower to live. The proper condition had been fulfilled.”

“What condition?”

“I was shot by the right person.” Kenta narrowed his eyes. “Arcada. My own chief.”
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Recently discovered Pathfinder (modern D&D). Thanks for introducing me to the concepts all those years ago.
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« Reply #6 on: September 03, 2009, 09:39:40 pm »

I was lurk-reading until now. :u

I also wish I had something more valuable to say than, "I like it lots, man, lawlz." The funny thing is, I should be entertaining myself pointing out the typos and inaccuracies in my summer reading books, rather than reading fanfics. But oh well.
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« Reply #7 on: September 08, 2009, 10:28:12 pm »

I thought I saw more views than just mine and Terak's.  I'm glad this is important enough to warrent a response from you; it shows that you're taking me seriously.  Next part's here!

***

Valtor heard a humming noise coming from the other side of the table, and Kenta looked down at his pocket. “Phone’s ringing,” he said, pulling out a green cellular phone. Valtor looked at it curiously. “Hey, that’s not your old phone, is it?”

“Nope. Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” came Curtis’s voice in Kenta’s ear. “Uh, could you come over here real quick? We’ve got a problem.”

Kenta’s eyes widened. “The Master Ball isn’t giving you trouble, is it?”

“No, it’s not that, though that was a surprise,” said Curtis in a nervous voice. “But we found out what the Master Ball’s made of. Hurry over, okay?”

“Alright, but hold on.” Kenta motioned to Valtor to listen carefully, then annunciated his words very carefully into the speaker. “From now on, don’t give your secrets to anyone who doesn’t enter your house with a password. We need to be secretive, or the lot of us will likely be hauled off to prison again. And this time, it’ll be much more serious.”

He heard Curtis gulp. “If you say so. What’s the password then?”

***

“Why that password?” asked Valtor, as he and Kenta left the restaurant and began their short walk down the freezing street towards Kurt’s house. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t like it, I’m just wondering.”

“It’s an antonym,” said Kenta, already looking happier now that he was moving again. “It symbolizes our cause, like a good password should. Tell me, Valtor, who are we against?”

Valtor thought for a moment. “Silhouette?”

“Not them, but you’re close. Think bigger.”

“ . . . G.R.I.P.!”

“Right!” Kenta shot him a thumbs-up and smiled. “The Government Restrictive Institute on Pokémon. They were the forerunners of this whole mess to begin with, and it’s in their name that the government has stolen our pokémon away.” His face darkened. “How appropriate, that the acronym spells out the status of Pokémon Japan. They’ve got a death-grip on every trainer in this country, and they’re not letting go.”

They had reached Kurt’s doorstep. Kenta raised his voice. “That’s why we demand a release!”

The sliding panel door opened, and Curtis poked his head out and looked at them. “Welcome back!” he said jubilantly, bidding them to come in with a swinging of his hand. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for getting Grandpa back! Maisy’ll be so happy when I call her!”

“Well, it’s about time you showed some gratitude for that,” said Kenta in a grumpy voice, crossing his arms. Valtor looked at him in horror, and immediately his face cracked. “Ha, ha, just kidding. How’s Elder Kurt enjoying his freedom?”

Curtis poked a thumb at the work bench in the back of the room and smiled, rolling his eyes. Kenta shrugged, putting up his arms. “Of course. He’s not happy unless he’s working on something. There’s a good man.”

“Yep.” Curtis turned and waved Kurt over, grinning. “Grandpa, take a break.” He looked back at Kenta. “Hey, do you have the time?”

“Yeah, uh . . . it’s 2:25. Why?”

“I reviewed the television guide earlier today. There’s this thing that’s airing once every three hours for the whole week, discussing how active pokémon holders are to train now. I figured you might want to take a look at it, and see for yourself what G.R.I.P. is expecting from Pokémon Japan. But before it comes on . . .”

Curtis lowered his voice. “I’ve still got something to ask you. What’s this I hear about you wanting Grandpa to make as many Master Balls as he possibly can?”

Valtor looked at Kenta expectantly. He himself had already known from earlier in the morning that a plethora of Master Ball duplicates was part of Kenta’s plan, but he’d been flabbergasted by the news when he first heard it. Kenta gave Valtor a reassuring nod, and motioned to the floor mats around a traditional Japanese ground-level table. “You guys may want to sit down.”

It took Kenta about half an hour to discuss his reasons for needing Kurt to make as many Master Balls as humanly possible. Curtis made a few astonished interjections at Kenta’s daring, but Kurt retained a face of silent awe. When he’d finished, the two pokéball-makers gave each other a lasting look of silent agreement, then gave Kenta a firm nod.

“I’m in. My years are many, and I’ve seen mostly everything there is to see. What can they hope to do to me at this point in my life, if they catch me?”

“And if I’m caught, I can always flee to America . . . joking! Joking!”

Kenta smiled at the two of them. “I appreciate it, you guys. I know this is risky, but we’re not alone. Before long, we’ll have more friends than this entire town can hold, even if they all stood shoulder-to-shoulder.” He clasped his hands together tightly, determinedly, staring down at them as he thought about the long road ahead. “You’d be surprised how quickly a resistance can form when times are desperate. All you need is a common foe.”

“You mean, like this one?” asked Curtis, flipping out a remote from his sleeve and pressing a button. The television came on, and Valtor gave an involuntary grunt of anger at the man’s face on the screen. It was Silvaki Kurisawa, the appointed head of G.R.I.P.

“-may think that pokémon training will be less worthwhile now that there are only two available spaces on your team,” he was saying with a sympathetic smile, looking directly at the camera, at his home audience. “Let me assure you, however, that pokémon has never really been about catching ‘em all, as the popular slogan went in the old days.” He gave a short laugh. “I mean, come on . . . before the pokémon space bacteria spread to the Johto region, we only knew of a hundred and fifty pokémon, and some of them were merely considered mythical creatures for a while. Yet, can you imagine having to feed just twenty pokémon a day? How about forty? How about eighty? It’s just ridiculous, how we used to think.”

“Listen to his voice,” snarled Valtor, glowering with fury. “Listen to how sleek he is. This guy could be the king of dirty lawyers.”

“He makes a valid point though,” said Kenta, with a thoughtful hand under his chin. “This is precisely the reason I’ve only captured four pokémon in my life.”

“My friends, you must have a different goal now,” continued Kurisawa in his reasoning tone. “Rather than catching them all, you should be about battling them all! That’s what pokémon do- they live to battle. And the minor restrictions we’ve placed on usable pokémon will make such a goal far more achievable. Don’t worry- restricted pokémon are not gone forever! G.R.I.P. promises to have five zoos up and running before the end of this very year. Everyone, not just you- your mother, your father, your sister and brother, all will have a chance to see such magnificent pokémon as Sinnoh’s Garchomp, and the Herron Region’s Ungarmax.”

“You know, this guy makes some convincing arguments,” observed Curtis, watching the T.V. with his arms crossed. “He’s doing all the right things. You see how he’s invoking family and friends? And he’s promising that everyone’ll have equality in getting to experience pokémon, trainer or not. He’s really trying to make G.R.I.P.’s vision sound good, here.”

“Yeah, but I wonder how he’ll sugarcoat the fact that he’s torn countless families apart,” muttered Kenta through his teeth. “Every trainer’s team is his family away from home. Bakuphoon, Spear, and Bolt gave me a sort of comfort that overcame my homesickness on the road. You can’t get that sort of intimacy from just anyone.”

“Kenta,” said Curtis quietly, nervously, “no offense, but could you wait on that? Kurisawa’s discussing catching policies now.”

“. . . Alright.”

“Now, there’s a method that you can use which is quite simple, when determining whether or not you should have a certain pokémon,” Kurisawa was saying brightly, smiling in a similar fashion to the Dali Lama. “If your pokémon is the kind you’d naturally run across in the wild, such as a Mareep or a Weepinbel, then you’re fine! On the other hand, if strange circumstances so happen to wind you up with, say, a Metagross, you should get it sorted out as soon as possible on our website. Make sure you do a thorough check on any suspected borderline pokémon, and you’ll do just fine!”

As the website address appeared at the bottom of the screen, www.grippolicies.gov, Kurisawa raised a finger and made a "this-is-important" face like the one Valtor had seen his elementary school teachers often give him. “Be advised! There is one pokémon that is not in the uber category of forbidden candidates, but is still illegal to own by anyone without authorization. Also known for causing blackouts to minor cities, this pokémon is Magneton. For the reason just given-”

“Magneton!” repeated Kurt, looking suddenly overwhelmed. He glanced wildly at Curtis. “Turn that off!”

“O-okay.” The picture of Magneton on the television screen went blank, and Kurt clapped a hand to his forehead. “Just think! Magneton. But it makes sense!”

Everyone looked at him, and Valtor raised an eyebrow. “What makes sense, sir?” he asked, trying to sound polite. “Is Magneton special?”

“Well . . . yes, and no.” Kurt held up Kenta’s Master Ball in his hand, and all eyes turned to the forbidden object. Kurt cleared his throat. “Though I live in this little out- of-the-way town, I am not ignorant to the many pokéballs invented by designers over the years,” he said importantly. “Other than the compound and expand mechanism, they’re really not all that complex. The power of a pokéball comes from its magnetic potential.”

“Magnetism?” said Kenta. “Is that really all there is to it?”

“Indeed. My family’s been making pokéballs for almost a hundred years.” Kurt held up one of his custom-made apricorn pokéballs: a Lure Ball. “Back in the nineteen- twenties, we didn’t have much to work with other than natural materials like apricorn shells and magnetic rocks from the cave east of Azalea. Pokémon themselves are the ones that turn into energy when being sucked into pokéballs; the ball itself has nothing to do with that part. I mean, have you ever seen a regular cat go into a pokéball? It doesn’t work.

“Anyway, the first pokéballs were so weak that their only purpose was to hold pokémon already tamed. Then as time went on, we eventually learned to make better magnets for the balls so they would stay snapped shut when activated, and temporarily turn off when the pokémon needed out. These were the electromagnets.”

Kurt turned his head towards the television screen. “What’s fishy about this is the fact that the most powerful electromagnet currently known to man is being dubbed a forbidden pokémon . . .” He again raised the Master Ball. “And meanwhile, the crowned jewel of the pokéball collection is made of something very much like Magneton!”

A heavy silence fell following Kurt’s words as the meaning clicked, and Valtor recalled what Kenta had remembered seeing and hearing back at Silph Corporation. The trainers there used mostly Electrode and Magneton! Of course . . . it’s so obvious now!

“Hold on a second,” said Kenta, suddenly looking horrified. “If this really is a Magneton, does that mean . . .” His eyes widened. “No! They can’t! Are they killing pokémon just to turn them into balls?”

“Well, wait a minute,” said Kurt, as Kenta leaped to his feet in alarm. “I didn’t say your Master Ball necessarily was a Magneton. It just bears similar features in metallic structure.”

“I still have to be sure!” Kenta hefted up Valtor’s backpack and darted into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. The three remaining people at the table barely had time to exchange wondering glances when Kenta was back out, in his Brendan Birch clothes again. He turned his eyes gravely to Valtor. “Put up your hood. We’re going to Kanto!”

***

“Kenta, was this part of the plan?” Valtor asked him sometime later, as the two brothers soared through the clouds of Kanto on Bolt’s back. “We didn’t know until about twenty minutes ago that the Master Ball was a pokémon.”

“The plan was originally to get the necessary raw materials for Kurt to make dozens of Master Balls with,” Kenta shouted to him over the screaming of the passing wind. “But all that changes if it means killing innocent creatures. Silph probably could’ve made the Master Ball years ago, and their project may have only been halted by ethical dilemmas.”

So we don’t have a plan now, thought Valtor nervously as they dropped lower towards a nearby mountain peak. This is scaring me. We need to be thinking out loud here, or we might finally make the fatal blunder that gets us locked away before anything can happen!

“Hey, bro,” he said again, pulling Kenta’s sleeve to hold his attention. “Sorry, but what makes you so certain that we need to be going this way?”

“Oh, just a little incident that happened not long after I got shot.” Kenta looked down past Bolt’s neck, at the ground far below. “Bolt, pull down here. You remember this spot, don’cha, boy?”

They were approaching a village nearby a great mountain to the north. A transmission tower was lodged in the mountain, and a pathway ran down from it and into the village. Bolt touched down just beyond the town’s boundaries, and Valtor shaded his eyes to get a clear look at the houses. Up above, he hadn’t noticed it, but each and every building within the town had a long, metallic stick rising out of the highest part of the roof. He dismounted from Bolt’s back, and automatically covered his mouth as the dust from the dirt road swirled around him. Kenta patted his Salamence on the head, tossed him a pokéblock, and gave him a quick salute. “Nice flying today, Bolt. You’re going to sleep well tonight!”

Bolt munched the pokéblock happily, then raised his wings and looked at Kenta inquisitively. Kenta smiled. “There’s a good soldier. Keep an eye in the sky, and let me know if you see any suspicious activity.”

Valtor again covered his face as Bolt took off once more, kicking up a dust storm in the process. He didn’t lower his arms again until he felt Kenta’s hand on his back, guiding him forward. “We have to keep moving,” said Kenta, picking up a light jog. Valtor kept with him, and looked once more at the town before them. Again, something had escaped his notice; a chain-linked fence surrounded the place on all sides, and only where the road led in was there an open gate. He turned to eyes to Kenta, and saw that he was smiling.

“On first impression, it may seem like these people don’t like outsiders, but they’re really very friendly. Welcome to Henna Villa, the town where everyone owns a jeep.”

They passed through the gates, and Kenta looked around the village with relish. “This takes me back,” he said, as they continued jogging past houses. “Ready for another story, Valtor? It’s relevant to what we’re doing now.”

“Uh, sure.” You never did get to mentioning what happened to you after the Silph incident.

Kenta pointed at one of the random houses as they passed it, with a grayish-green cement wall. “This was the place where I was nursed back to health. I suppose I’ll begin here.”

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« Reply #8 on: September 12, 2009, 12:19:29 pm »

Something was blocking air flow. Kenta couldn’t breathe properly. Struggling for oxygen, he widened his mouth and thrashed wildly, pushing something heavy off his body. He heard a human shout of surprise, followed by a loud bump, and he opened his eyes and gasped for breath, heaving his chest up and down. Taking a first look at his surroundings through blurred eyes, he beheld a crumpled blanket around his ankles and two bedposts just above them. Turning and looking down to the left, he saw a young man with green-dyed hair, younger than him, but not by much. Kenta guessed he was about Curtis’s age, a thought which calmed him a little bit, but not significantly. The two of them stared at each other, the bedroom dead silent, and the other boy spoke first, timidly.

“Uh . . . hi. Uh, sorry. My name’s, uh, Levian. Yeah. Sorry.”

“S-sure. I’m Kenta.”

Kenta noticed that Levian had fallen back and his hand was crushing a banana peel. On the floor, lying a little further away from him, was the broken-off top of the banana. Levian picked it up hurriedly, and threw it in a nearby waste bin. “Sorry,” he said again, not looking Kenta in the eye. “You’ve been out for three days, and I was worried that you’d die if you didn’t eat anything. So, uh, I kind of tried feeding you a banana.” He scratched the back of his head, looking embarrassed. “But you sorta choked on it, and almost died anyway.”

“That’s okay,” said Kenta softly, looking around the bedroom. “I’m fine, now. But what am I doing- ouch!” He clutched his left shoulder; for some reason, it was stinging. Levian put up his hands, looking concerned. “Careful, now . . . you got an electrical burn there. And . . . on most of your upper torso.”

“Burns?” Kenta looked down at his bare chest; he was bandaged from waist to shoulders in medical wrappings. Levian walked over to the end of the bed and picked a shirt off the floor. Kenta recognized it as the top of his officer’s uniform. “So . . . are you a cop?” Levian asked him, pointing at the badge on the shirt’s left breast pocket. Kenta nodded, distracted by the two bullet holes in the lower part where Arcada had shot him. They were miniscule, but they were there. Looking down at his stomach, Kenta searched for the bullet hole, but saw no sign of it except for a red patch. Against his better judgment, he poked the spot, but felt no piercing pain from it. Everywhere else on his chest, a dull burning caused him to ache, but not the gunshot wound.

“Alright . . . Sergeant Daitan,” Levian said, reading Kenta’s badge, “you’re not from around here, are you?” He looked up at Kenta, smiling slightly. “I’ve never seen you before. Were you part of the unit that got driven back by the wild electric pokémon around these parts?”

Kenta looked at him, wondering what to answer, wondering what he was talking about, when his burns took control of his senses and he allowed himself to drop backwards on his pillow in pain. Levian clicked his tongue and shook his head, crossing his arms. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. What’s with the police these days? Leaving their own man behind, when the going gets tough.”

“Excuse me, but where am I?” Kenta asked him, while trying to concentrate on his breathing and ignore the pain.

“Heh, you’re in my room of course.” Levian stopped and put a finger to his forehead. “Oh. You mean the town. This is Henna Villa! You probably haven’t heard too much about us, because we’re a recent settlement.” He pointed out the window. “You can’t see it from where you’re lying, but we’re here because of our transmission tower. There’s a power plant east of here that generates electricity, but it can’t really dish the power out that efficiently. Our tower directs the electricity throughout the Kanto region, all the way to the magnet train and beyond.”

Levian turned back to Kenta, looking apologetic. “Unfortunately, that tower has made the electric pokémon around here a little crazy, ever since its finish. You won’t be the first guy who’s been zapped silly by a wild Raichu or Electabuzz. Or those darn Magnemite and Magneton,” he said darkly. “Those ones are the worst. Being Steel- types makes them even more sensitive to the electric flow than the others.”

The pain had diminished in his body somewhat, and Kenta risked sitting up again. He felt vulnerable, and for good reason. I wonder if anybody else on the force knows I’m here, he thought nervously, as Levian watched him curiously. If Arcada or anyone else from the government finds me, I’m done for. He twitched involuntarily as another thought struck him. The Master Ball! Does this kid know I have it?

He was still wearing his uniform pants. Thinking quickly, Kenta pulled the heavy blanket back over his body, and hastily shoved his hand into his right pocket. His fingers touched the smooth, rounded surface of a pokéball, and he relaxed. Alright, there’s that. And . . . yeah, I’ve still got my lockpick, too. He checked his other pocket. Now, where’s Bakuphoon’s pokéball? He felt the hard, semi-smooth surface of a hole-dotted item, and by touch, he recognized it as Bolt’s Everstone. No regular pokéball, and no Luxury Ball, either. Suddenly recalling the events preceding his loss of consciousness, Kenta once more rested his head against his pillow, sadly.

Levian looked over at him, with an anxious face. “Hey . . . are you okay, Officer? Should I go call someone?”

“No! No.” For a third time, Kenta jerked himself upright, and endured another wave of agony from his stinging upper body. “I’ll be okay.”

Sheesh, I can’t relax for a moment, here.

Putting his feet down on the floor, Kenta stood up from Levian’s bed and gave him a sharp look. “Listen,” he said firmly, “I appreciate you taking care of me, but you cannot tell anyone that I’m here. I have reasons for it, alright?”

The other boy gave a small nod, looking taken aback. “O . . . okay. So you’re, like, a spy or something?”

“Something like that, you could say. Yeah.” Hmm, looks like I got lucky. This guy doesn’t seem to have a clue about me. But what if he’s not the only one?

“Hey, uh, Levian. Do you live alone here?”

Levian smiled and shook his head. “I haven’t got parents, but I wouldn’t call it alone, with four hyperactive sisters in the house. Don’t worry though, they won’t come in here. I expect they’ll leave my room well enough alone, at least until they’re in middle school.”

Oh, good, the others are just children. Well, then . . . maybe Levian can help me, now that I know he’s not a threat.

Kenta returned Levian’s smile and saluted him with a bowed head. “You seem like a good, upstanding citizen,” he said brightly, trying to be as friendly to a total stranger as he knew how. “I won’t take up you room any longer, but could I trouble you to show me around this place and tell me a little more about it? I’d be most grateful.”

I have to gain back my bearings. And if possible, I need to find Bolt!

Looking flattered to have been complimented by a police officer, Levian hurried to the door and opened it. “I’d be honored to show you my humble Henna Villa,” he said happily, tossing Kenta his uniform jacket. “Just . . . put that on in case any of my sisters see you. Are you sure you’re up to this, after just regaining consciousness?”

“Sure, I’m sure.”

Five minutes later, the two of them were walking down the dust street of Henna Villa, with Kenta holding his police hat under his arm so it wouldn’t attract attention. He listened carefully as Levian explained the way of life of the mountain town.

“Over there’s the village pub, Soca’s. It’s actually a pretty family-friendly place, and all the travelers who pass through this area stop there to eat. See how there’s nothing but jeeps in the parking lot? Everyone here owns a jeep because the terrain is so rough. In these parts, you pretty much have to stick to the dirt road wherever you go, or risk getting flipped right over. It’s awful when there’s something on the path, let me tell you. Especially if it’s an electric pokémon! Those things are simply bat-crap insane because of that tower we built. But what can I say? Kanto needs that thing.”

“How come there are lightning rods on all the houses?”

“Oh, we get lots of thunderstorms. And sometimes, during the more nasty ones, some people say they see a giant flying creature of some sort hovering overhead, flapping golden spiked wings. You’re not safe with just one lightning rod, when that thing’s around. They need to be everywhere.”

Levian cringed. “Those damn Magnemite and Magneton, they come even more often than thunderstorms, though. I can’t tell you how many times a civilian was nearly zapped, when a nearby lightning rod avert the path of electricity. One time, my youngest sister was nearly hit . . .” His face darkened. “And if she had been hurt, I would’ve taken a sledgehammer to those Magneton and . . . and . . .” His shoulders drooped and he hung his head. “And gotten my brains fried by two hundred volts. Who am I kidding?”

Wow. These things really are a problem, thought Kenta worriedly. He avoided eye contact with Levian. “And . . . you say that my police force couldn’t get them to quit?”

“Nope. They came with their K-9 Growlithe force and tried burning them back, but the Magneton just pushed right through the flames and electrocuted them all. We even tried training this area’s Rock-type pokémon to drive them away. Nothing works. I’m beginning to think they’re immortal.”

They were standing on the eastern outskirts of Henna Villa, overlooking a steep hill which sloped down into a valley of tall grass. Much of the grass was blackened, probably from the harsh battle that had taken place in the valley not long ago. Kenta looked at Levian, and noticed a hint of fear in his eyes. “That’s where they live,” he said softly, pointing with his finger. “And I’ll tell you now, there is no sight in the world more terrifying than Magnemite and Magneton suddenly materializing out of the grass, and flying right at you in a massive swarm of electric death.”

The last word, “death,” gurgled and faded in his throat, but Kenta could tell what he meant. In his stomach, he felt queasy for Bolt’s safety. Just knowing his dragon friend was somewhere amongst a swarm of insane Electric-type pokémon unnerved him nearly to panic state. Kenta turned to Levian and pointed up the mountainside, at the dirt road leading to the highest part of the mountain. “Thank you for everything,” he said with a quick smile, trying not to sound hasty. “For taking care of me, for the tour, and for that warning. I want to see your tower up close, before I return to where I came from. If I ever get a chance, I’ll come back and repay you for your kindness.”

“Wait!” Levian put out his hand as Kenta turned away from him. “Look- you’re still hurt. At least come back to Soca’s pub for one last meal later. An hour, okay?”

Well . . . after all he’s done for me, I can’t say no. Hopefully an hour will be long enough to find Bolt.

“ . . . Alright. Don’t worry, Levian, I’ll return in one piece.”

***

Levian checked his watch. It had been an hour and five minutes since he’d let Kenta go off by himself, and he already felt foolish for doing it. Cop or no cop, he wouldn’t stand a chance if the local electric pokémon did decide to attack him. How much longer could he, Levian, sit in Soca’s and wait like this? Looking up from his watch, he nearly leaped out of his skin when he saw that Kenta was standing next to him, leaning on the table. The latter grinned cheekily.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine. Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“I anticipate hearing that a lot.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Kenta slid into the seat opposite from Levian, and looked around the inside of the pub. It seemed like a typical restaurant for the most part, with families of four and five chatting busily away at their own tables, but there was a rowdy din coming from further in the back. Leaning to the side a little, Kenta spotted the source- a giant of a man was sitting on his stool in front of a bar, laughing uproariously and waving around a great mug of beer in his right hand. Kenta’s police impulses immediately kicked in, and he wondered if he’d have to step in if the man happened to be an angry drunk. But he stopped himself, realizing with some regret that he wasn’t really an officer anymore. Instead, he turned his attention back to Levian, pointing subtly at the big man.

“He seems to be having a swell time.”

“Oh, that guy.” Levian rolled his eyes. “That man’s name is Boris. He’s a hiker who lumbered in here about five days ago. Apparently, the guy goes from town to town, challenging people to pokémon battles and spending his winnings on booze. Kind of depressing, if you ask me.”

Kenta looked back at Boris, feeling less annoyance and more pity for the man now. On the move all day, and hitting the bottle all night, huh? It’s . . . almost as if he’s trying to escape from something. I wonder if a bad memory haunts that guy . . .

“So he collects money for winning battles, you say? What about if he loses?”

Levian made an ugly face. “Boris happens to be a TM move tutor. He doesn’t pay money for losing, he agrees to teach the victor a special move. We happen to need that very move, and badly, because of its usefulness against the Magnemite and Magneton. But the trainers of Henna Villa aren’t seasoned enough, and he’s beaten all of his challengers so far.”

Kenta raised an eyebrow, interested. “Is that so? What move is it?”

***

“Hey. Boris!”

“Hmmmm?”

The enormous hiker swiveled slowly around in his chair, holding his mug carefully so that nothing would spill, and stared somewhat blearily down at Kenta. He leaned himself lower so that he was almost face level with Kenta. “What can I do for you, b- *urp!*- buddy?” he belched, swaying slightly with a silly grin on his face.

Kenta pointed a thumb at himself. “I hear you’re a pokémon trainer. Well, I’m one too!” he declared, pumping his chest up. “If you’re up to it, I challenge you to a battle!”

I hope I sound childish enough, he thought, clenching his fist. I need this guy to say yes.

Boris gave a guffawing laugh, then raised his mug and drained the rest of the beer in one drink. Banging it down on the counter and breathing an “aaah!” of satisfaction, he dropped onto his feet from the stool and stood towering over Kenta. “Got any money, kid?” he asked with a smile. “I could always use some more of that!”

“No, I don’t have any money . . .” Kenta reached into his pocket and pulled out his grayish-blue rock. “But I will stake this.”

“What’s that?”

“An Everstone.” Kenta tossed the stone between his hands. “Did you see the news? Soon they’ll be banning every pokémon that’s considered too powerful for ordinary trainers. You may want to hold on to this, just in case one of your pokémon is about to evolve into something overly-strong.”

At this, Boris laughed even harder and louder, causing a few heads at some tables to turn. The hiker paid them no heed. “All of my pokémon are already overly-strong, evolved or not!” he bellowed gleefully. “But if you really want to battle, I suppose I could just sell your stone later. Consider this one on me!”

It doesn’t sell for much, but now’s not the time to be saying that.

“Okay, then.” Kenta leaned closer to Boris’s bearded face, so that only he would hear. “Meet me on the eastern outskirts of the town. I’ll take you, there.”

In less than ten minutes, the two trainers were out of Soca’s and standing apart, facing one another with the mountain atmosphere looming around them. Boris widened one of his pokéballs and gave it a hefty throw, wearing the same silly smile from when Kenta had met him. “Alrighty! Go get them, Machoke!”

A gray, humanoid pokémon with the face of a stubby-snouted alligator appeared in a burst of light, arms outstretched as though ready to tussle. Kenta put his fingers to his mouth and blew, sending a shrill whistle echoing through the mountains. From behind a colossal rock formation to his right, a bolt of red and blue shot up into the sky. A moment later, it thudded to the ground in front of Kenta, causing a slight tremor in the earth which shook his balance. From the opposite side of the battlefield, Boris gave a low whistle and scratched his beard excitedly.

“Well now, that’s a pretty big animal, isn’t it?” he called to Kenta. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those before. How’s its battling ability?”

“You’ll see,” muttered Kenta, his mind flashing to Levian. This isn’t just for you, but for everyone in your village. You gave, and now you’ll get back. “Bolt! Use Dragonbreath!”

“Crush! Dash straight through it!” roared Boris in response.

Bolt opened his mouth wide and blasted out a firestorm of green flames. The Machoke rushed straight into the pillar of fire, holding up its arms in a cross to protect its face. “Now!” came Boris’s shout, “Cross Chop!”

“Hold strong!” barked Kenta, his entire body tense and alive, no longer feeling the pain of the burns.

Machoke pulled its arms tight in a scissor-chop, and smashed both sides of Bolt’s face with the incredible power of two Karate Chop attacks. An impulse commanded Kenta to cringe, but he resisted bitterly. He’d long since learned from Bakuphoon that to falter even for a moment from empathized pain was dangerous to the pokémon’s health. The trainer had to take mental blows and bear them quietly, no matter how horrifying. To the ignorant onlooker, it might appear that the trainer was cold and indifferent to his pokémon’s pain. Those within the relationship, however, knew the real truth. And it was about to pay off.

“We’ve got you now!” cheered Boris heartily. He stopped short as Bolt’s great jaws slammed together on his Machoke’s arms, causing it to roar in pain. “On the contrary,” called Kenta, “we’ve got you. Bolt, time for Fly!”

The enormous Salamence wings billowed out, and a moment later, the two pokémon combatants were gone in a storm of scattering dust. Kenta watched Bolt rise at a vertical angle, then twist and corkscrew in a spinning arc, the Machoke still hanging helplessly from his mouth. As they dove back towards the ground at a furious speed, Bolt let go of Machoke’s arms and curved his flight at level with the ground. Machoke slammed onto the dirt road with the force of a falling comet, still spinning, and slowed to a stop at an awkward body angle. The swirls in its eyes proved that it would not be getting back up.

“Crush!” cried Boris, looking absolutely stunned at the result of Bolt’s deadly work. “Are you okay? Speak to me!”

“Ma . . . . . choke . . .”

Bolt landed beside Kenta, giving him a look that seemed to ask “how did I do?” Kenta beamed at his hardworking Salamence and patted Bolt’s neck. “For someone who only recently gained his wings, you’re one hell of a flier already,” he said approvingly. “But how’s your jaw? That was quite a hit you took.”

Bolt’s lips parted into an intimidating smile that showed all his gleaming teeth, and Kenta nodded, understanding. “Ah, I get it. You’ve got a new special ability now, don’t you? Just in time, too.”

Both of them looked over at Boris, who’d just recalled his beaten Machoke into its pokéball. He looked distinctly more serious, now. “That’s quite a tough ‘un you’ve got there,” he boomed, holding up a second pokéball. “Is that supposed to be one of them illegal pokémon you were talking about?”

“Bolt’s not illegal yet,” said Kenta, smiling humorlessly. And when he is, they’re not getting him like they took Baku. I swear to that.

“Whatever you call him, he’s still just practice!” bellowed Boris, tossing his next pokéball. “Show ‘em what you got, Spike!”

In a flash of white light, Boris’s next pokémon appeared; a Pupitar. Something occurred to Kenta, and he held up his hands in a “t” sign. “Woah, hold on a second! Time out.” He pointed to his Salamence. “Bolt’s the only pokémon I use, now. I thought this was a one-on-one battle!”

“You should’ve said something beforehand, then,” Boris replied, crossing his arms resolutely. “The winner is whoever’s still got a pokémon left to use. That’ll be me!”

Bolt gave a deep-throated growl, and Kenta’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll see about that. How’re you feeling, Bolt?”

Any noise the Salamence might’ve made was drowned out by a sudden shrill siren sounding to the west. Both trainers and pokémon turned in alarm at the sound, and Kenta noticed a familiar figure running from the distant town of Henna Villa straight at them. “Hey!” came Levian’s voice faintly over the siren. “What are you guys doing out here?! It’s dangerous now! The magnet pokémon are coming back out!”

Kenta turned and looked behind him, down into the grassy valley. Out in the field’s distance, a massive rustling of tall grass signified a large-scale movement in his direction. Remembering his last encounter with a Magneton from a few days back, Kenta hurriedly returned his attention to Boris. “We’re out of time!” he said forcefully. “This match’ll have to be called a draw. Here’s your Everstone-” He pulled the rock from his pocket once more and strode to the giant hiker’s side, thrusting it into his hand. “Now do the right thing and teach my Salamence that move!”

Boris looked away stubbornly. “Not happening,” he said gruffly. “You haven’t beaten us, so you don’t get nothin’.”

“ . . . Fine.” Kenta turned to Bolt. “Keep yourself safe.” He rushed towards Levian, who was bidding him to hurry with a furiously waving hand. “We’ll do this another time. For now, we need to get to safety!”

Kenta waited impatiently as his bearded opponent jogged a couple yards to catch up with him, then stumbled and fell over. He and Levian rushed to Boris’s sides and hauled him to his feet, and the hiker gave a whine of frustration. “Dagnabbit! This ground’s too unsteady, even for me. What’s with this place?”

Kenta and Levian looked at each other, and Kenta shook his head. “Lost his footing. You know what? I think he’s had too much to drink.” The two of them turned and glanced down at the field in the distance, and Kenta gasped softly as the first few Magneton burst out of the tall grass before his eyes. Levian gritted his teeth. “Tch! They’re coming too fast. How’re we going to get this boozer back to town before they’re on us?”

“All right. All right.” Boris looked wearily at Kenta, a defeated look in his eyes. “You win, laddie. I’ll teach your dragon my special move. It’s the only thing that can contest pokémon of those types at this point.”

Now dozens of Magnemite and Magneton were approaching, and a yellow aura surrounded the swarm as electricity sparked and zapped around them. Kenta felt his heart pound faster; it was easily possible that he and his companions could be electrocuted to death in mere moments.

This guy had better know what he’s doing.
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« Reply #9 on: September 18, 2009, 10:25:36 am »

Having made it through Henna Villa, Kenta and Valtor now continued along the dirt path leading east. Kenta pointed up ahead for his to see brother, where the terrain took a steep dive downwards. “That’s where it happened. Right on that spot.”

“So did you win?”

“Win? Oh, no.” Kenta waved his hand, as if brushing off a stupid question. “Boris was too out of it, and Bolt failed to learn the move on time. The Magneton swarmed over us, and everyone except Boris’s Pupitar got zapped to death where we stood.”

“Oh.” Valtor lowered his head, horrified at what he’d just heard. Then his mind caught up with Kenta’s statement.

“ . . . You ass.”

Kenta snickered, grinning from ear to ear with a rogue smirk. “Ha, ha, you actually believed me for a second! See, this is why I like having you around.”

“Not cool,” grumbled Valtor. “What really happened?”

“Heh, heh, heh.” Kenta took a moment to compose himself, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. In the end, Bolt learned the super move, and every Magneton coming at us did a U-turn after feeling the force of a Salamence’s strength. It’s like Champion Lance always says: you don’t mess with a dragon. Oh, and speak of the devil-”

Valtor was amazed at how fast Bolt returned. One moment he was a speck in the distant sky, and the next, he was right on top of the two trainers. With a great flap of his wings, Bolt halted his forward momentum, and Valtor was nearly blown off his feet from the resulting blast of wind.

Kenta’s former smile was gone, and his body tensed as he readied for action. “What’d you spot, Bolt?” he asked sharply. “Is there some sort of trouble up ahead?”

The Salamence nodded. Kenta’s eyes narrowed. “Can we afford a head-on? Or do we go covert?”

Bolt lowered his head and flattened his wings. Kenta nodded and faced Valtor, who wore the same wide-eyed look he always did when his brother surprised him. “Break’s over, Valtor. Keep low. We’re going to move forward, quickly and stealthily, until we can see what we’re up against. Time to move.”

Without another word, he knelt into a crouching posture and shot forward, moving quickly over the slope and downhill into the grassy valley below. Valtor followed him, feeling highly uncomfortable at the idea of rushing straight into danger. He didn’t speak until the two of them had planted themselves behind a nearby boulder a few seconds later, when Kenta had waved him over.

“Kenta! What if we run into a crazed Magneton in the grass or som-”

“Ssh! Keep your voice down.” Kenta pointed around the side of their boulder. “Check that out. We won’t be going into the tall grass.”

Valtor looked. The dirt road ran down the incline and into the valley, but it curved to the left just before reaching the tall grass. Parked around the spot of the curve were three patrol cars and one enormous sixteen-wheeler truck. Standing a few feet away, a group of police officers were pointing and shouting at someone standing opposite of them; a young man with spiked gray hair. Even as Valtor watched, the officers threw pokéballs out in front of them, and the young man did the same. From the cops’ side, pokémon emerged from their capsules, which Valtor recognized as a Sandslash, Growlithe, Graveler, another Sandslash, a Dugtrio, and another Growlithe. The young man’s opposing pokémon was a metallic bird with sharp wings, which Valtor identified as a Skarmory.

“Looks like a scuffle between the police and some college-age kid,” whispered Valtor, glancing up at Kenta. “But why would he challenge six officers like that? He can’t possibly hope to win against those numbers!”

Valtor was about to say something else, but he forgot everything as he noticed Kenta’s expression. He was standing stock-still, eyes wide and staring, mouth slightly ajar with bewilderment. “Maybe he can,” Kenta barely whispered. “I can’t believe it. Do you know who that man is?”

Valtor shook his head slowly.

“He championed the Hoenn League until about three years ago. He was a prodigy with Steel-type pokémon! What’s he doing all the way out here?”

Steven Stone.

In a moment, Kenta darted out from behind their boulder and was charging straight down the slope before Valtor knew it. “Stay there!” he called to Valtor as he went, putting two fingers in his mouth. Valtor heard him whistle, and an overhead draft suddenly pushed his body down with its force. Bolt’s shadow swept under his feet, and Valtor watched in fear and helplessness as trainer and pokémon rushed to Steven’s side.

Kenta skidded to a halt between the two parties about to battle, his hands up in a gesture to keep anyone from doing anything. “Hold up!” he panted, as the wind from his sprint vanished from his gut. “What’s . . . going on?”

So much for going covert.

Nobody spoke for a second, then one of the officers pointed at Kenta. “Look at that. Did he have reinforcements?”

“Brendan!” cried Steven, looking stunned. “What are . . . what are you doing here?!”

Kenta leaped backwards so that he was at Steven’s side, and looked him full in the face. “Quickly,” he said hurriedly, “I need to know what you’re doing here first!”

Steven stared at him. “Wait . . . you’re not Brendan Birch.”

“There’ll be time for that later. Why are you fighting them?”

“Hey! You!” One of the police officers pointed angrily at Kenta. “Get out of here! Celebrity or not, that man is interfering with official business. Stand down at once!”

“They’re burning the wild Magneton out here!” Steven shouted back furiously. “After already fighting them unconscious! It’s euthanasia!”

Kenta lost feeling in his body. For a moment, all he could feel was a dull tingle running up and down his arms and legs.

No . . .

“These creatures are a hazard to the lives of every citizen in Henna Villa!” barked another officer. “For as long as they live, these Magneton will continue to return and wreak havoc. This is the only way to stop them for good!”

“Just because they don’t look like other animals doesn’t make them any less of living things!” cried Steven in return. “Steel-types have always been looked at without pity, because they resemble machines. I’ve seen it all! I know the cruelty of you people!”

“Enough of this,” snapped the first officer. “Graveler. Use Rock Throw on his Skarmory!”

“Sandslash, Slash attack!”

“Dugtrio, Rock Slide!”

In a moment’s time, three attacks were shooting straight at Steven’s pokémon, and that’s when Kenta regained himself.

“BOLT!”

Skarmory wheeled and dodged to avoid its enemy’s offenses, but Kenta could hear scrapes and clangs as claws and rocks smashed against the bird’s steel flesh. They were loud at first, but in a second, they were considerably softer. It was as if the enemy was holding back for some reason.

Steven turned his head, looking astonished at Kenta’s action. “What in the . . . ?”

Bolt was hovering right over Kenta’s head, wings fully extended, bearing claws and fangs, and uttering a deep-throated growl full of threat. His Intimidate ability had kicked in, and on the opposite side, the Ground-type pokémon cowered back in fright at their immense new foe.

“I see you’ve got friendly intentions,” muttered Steven from beside Kenta, shooting him a quick smile. “I’ll take the offensive, then.” He turned his attention back to the battle. “Aim for the Graveler, Skarmory! Steel Wing!”

Kenta didn’t see the attack hit. Skarmory was suddenly gone, and the boulder pokémon on the opposite side was flung backwards by seemingly nothing, with chips of stone flying from its hide. Just like that, Graveler was down, and the officer recalled his beaten pokémon with a grunt of fury.

“No matter,” said another of the uniformed men, pointing at Skarmory. “We don’t need physical attacks. Growlithe, Flamethrower!”

“Growlithe, Overheat!”

Time to unleash that special move . . .

“Do it, Bolt!” Kenta shouted, bracing himself. “Earthquake!”

Even as the flames licked from the Growlithes’ mouths, Bolt shot up high into the sky, then bulleted down with all the force of a five-ton bomb. Skarmory wheeled around the Flamethrower attack, but the other Overheat struck it full on, lighting the bird in an orange glow from the absolute heat. That was when Bolt smashed the ground on all fours, sending a shockwave through the earth that rattled everything within a fifty-foot diameter. Kenta jumped as high as he could to avoid the tremor, and waved his arms frantically as he came back down and felt the ground continue to quake. When it had ceased after about ten seconds, he looked up from his feet to see what damage had been caused. Last time it had been devastating; about sixty or seventy Magneton were jumbled so badly by the tremor that they’d disassembled from relentless rattling.

This time, the results were lesser, but still deadly. Both Growlithe were lying on their sides, their tongues hanging out, shaken into submission. The enemy Dugtrio was also down; its three heads were slumped to the ground, and swirls of defeat were present in all six eyes. Still standing, but on all fours with shaking limbs, were the two Sandslash.

Kenta checked beside him, concerned for Steven’s Skarmory. The metallic bird was still up in the air, glowing from its last devastating attack, but holding on with a grimace. Kenta let himself relax momentarily. It’s good my teammate was using a Flying-type, he thought grimly. He’s taken enough damage without Earthquake’s raw power tacked on.

The officers made shouts of angry exclamation, and Kenta heard one mutter something to the effect of “this is why they shouldn’t have taken our guns.” One of the Growlithe trainers pulled out his pokéball and recalled his fallen canine, then looked to his colleagues. “Fall back,” he instructed. “Guard the package.” The others nodded and recalled their beaten pokémon, then turned and raced for their patrol cars.

Steven turned hastily to Kenta, looking alarmed. “They must mean that truck!” he exclaimed, pointing as the entire squad of cars gunned their engines almost synchronously. “That’s where they’ve thrown all the Magneton they slaughtered. They must have over a hundred in there!”

So that’s how we beat them so easily, thought Kenta. They were fighting Magneton before I got here. They must be low on pokémon power!

“Skarmory, return.” Steven held out a pokéball and withdrew his scalded bird into a beam of red light. He glared furiously as the squad cars took off, with three in front of the holding truck and three behind. “Damn it. All I’ve got left is my Aggron, and he’s not fast enough to catch them. They’re going to get away!”

“The hell they are,” gritted Kenta, thinking quickly. I can’t just have Bolt bust open that truck, because what’ll we do then? Knock out six cops and the truck driver? Never . . . I will NOT stoop to criminal actions! There has to be a better way!

His eyes turned to Steven, and suddenly- an epiphany struck him.

“Say . . . does your Aggron happen to know Dig?”

***

The police truck driver noticed that all three cars in front of him were slowing down. He strained his eyes and searched ahead, wondering what could be the problem. He soon saw for himself; something was in the dirt road, taking up the whole driving space and then some. It was black and white, and absolutely enormous; possibly one of the biggest land animals he’d ever seen in his life. But why would there be one here of all places? And why now, of all times?

Kenta and Valtor watched from behind a rocky outcrop as the squadron of police vehicles inched to a complete halt. Valtor glanced down at the Everstone in his hand, which until a few minutes ago, had been strung around his Munchlax’s neck. He looked uncertainly at Kenta, who was still watching the dirt road with intense interest.

“Bro?”

“Yeah?”

“I understand that it couldn’t be helped, when Bolt evolved, but . . . but we removed an Everstone deliberately, this time. We’re lawbreakers, no matter how you look at it.”

Kenta shook his head, watching as the police blared their horns in an attempt to scare his brother’s new Snorlax off the road. “The law should be for the benefit of all the people under it,” he answered adamantly. “Not for the few people with the power. Ah, right on time-”

Valtor looked. The six police officers and the truck driver had gotten out of their cars to go push Snorlax out of the way. Below the truck, out of sight to anyone not looking, the ground pushed up and a metallic horned head appeared. Valtor watched as Steven’s Aggron raked the underside of the truck with its Metal Claw attack, easily cutting through the softer metal with its power. The steel behemoth of a pokémon hastily began hauling limp Magneton from the hole and pulling each and every one underground. So far, Kenta’s plan was going amazingly smooth. The police apparently hadn’t even noticed the single loud scrape of Metal Claw, from all their yelling to move Snorlax. Feeling he could relax for the moment, Valtor looked back at Kenta, wanting to return to the issue of being a lawbreaker.

“Even if you say that . . .”

“I know. I know.” Kenta looked at Valtor sadly, with a defeated expression on his face. He heaved a sigh. “Alright. This is the last time we make exceptions. From here on out, we go straight.” His eyes hardened. “But I have my priorities. When the time comes, I WILL choose the Greater Law.”

“The Greater Law?” echoed Valtor, curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Love.” Kenta’s eyes burned passionately as he spoke the one word. “No law is higher than a loving relationship. The bond shared between a pokémon and its trainer is exactly that; a love with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. It’s what allows us to endure in battles, when strategy has been stretched to its limit. It’s what makes us do things that the rest of the world may deem strange, such as sacrificing your own life for another.”

Kenta lowered his head. “That’s what Baku was willing to do for me, up to the very last time we saw one another,” he whispered, his eyes brimming. “He threw himself in front of an exploding Electrode, to make sure I wouldn’t get hurt. Greater love has no one than that. I don’t deserve him. I really hope they’re treating him well, right now.”

Valtor had never seen his brother shed tears before. This in itself was no great surprise, since Kenta probably believed that letting Valtor see him like this would destroy his macho image. But right now, thought it might have been because of the pressure that Kenta was under, Valtor still felt distinctly moved by his brother’s show of tenderness. Over their past few hours together, Kenta had seemed little other than cold and formal with his pokémon. For Valtor, it was good to know that he wasn’t really like this at heart.

The brothers took a moment to glance down at Aggron’s hole, but where the steel beast had been working before, there was now only a cover of overturned soil. Kenta sniffed loudly, hastily wiped an arm across his face, then stood up with a set expression. “Right,” he said, reaching into his pocket, “time to move Snorlax out of their path. Valtor, remind me to make more pokéblocks after this.” He tossed the red candy cube as hard as he could, and it landed and rolled a dozen or so yards away from Snorlax. Noticing the brightly-colored snack, Snorlax hefted himself to his feet with a deep grunt and pounded eagerly towards the pokéblock, sending the officers and pokémon who’d been pushing him toppling into the dirt. The policemen looked at each other, baffled, and one shrugged. “Looks like he’s distracted. Let’s move quickly, in case he comes back.”

Not wasting another minute, the cops hurried back into their patrol cars and gunned the engines, all taking off at once in a great dust cloud. Kenta and Valtor watched them until they had become specks in the distance, and only then did they crawl out of hiding. Kenta strode to the road-spot of freshly dug-up soil and stomped his foot beside the hole cover. “It’s okay,” he called into the ground, “they’re gone, open up.” They waited for a couple of seconds, and then Aggron’s horns popped out from below the road, followed by his head. The gray-haired head of Steven Stone also appeared a moment later, turned the wrong way. He twisted around, looking up at Kenta and Valtor with a somber expression.

“No survivors. I couldn’t even spark one of them back to life.”

“I’m sorry,” said Valtor softly, and Kenta lowered his head in respect for the dead. Steven’s expression turned slightly colder. “So, ‘Brendan,’ I did what you told me,” he said in a flat voice. “Now that we have them all lumped together in this grave down here, tell me what we’ve gained from this. No-” He put out his hand as Kenta opened his mouth. “First, before anything else, tell me who you really are.”

Valtor looked at Kenta, wondering what he was going to do. He’d need to make a habit out of lying if he planned on staying alive, but this was different. Steven had helped them. Feeling his head nod, Valtor realized he was subconsciously urging his brother to do the right thing. Kenta glanced at him, sighed softly, and looked back at Steven.

“My name is Sergeant Kenta Daitan. I was last in service two months ago during the Silph Incident, and the only police officer reported dead. Only a handful of people know that I’m alive right now, including you as of this moment.”

Steven’s lips stretched into an oval shape as his eyes widened, and he muttered a quiet “oh.” Kenta proceeded to explain everything else to him, leaving out the sentimental bits and staying as practical as he could. From the reason he was dressed like Brendan Birch, to the password for getting to Kurt, to the Master Ball replication plan, Kenta explained in as short an order as he knew how. Valtor listened closely, having heard it all before, but still finding merit in how everything was steadily coming together.

“So that’s why we need these Magneton,” Kenta finished, putting out his arms in a reasoning gesture. “Since they’re dead anyway, Kurt can examine them to see if they’re Master Ball material. If it turns out they are, well . . .” He looked away, sadly. “The plan isn’t ruined, but it’ll be hindered.”

Steven and Aggron sat across from him, rapt with attention, looking horrified. Kenta swallowed with difficulty, knowing the next question would be painful to ask. Taking a deep breath, he forced it out. “Steven, please . . . seeing as to how these Magneton have all passed on, won’t you let us turn them into Master Balls if they are the right material?”

The former Hoenn champion stared at him with a look of mingled disbelief and suspicion. Kenta cringed on the inside. “I don’t like doing it,” he continued determinedly, “but it’s essential. And I swear, even if it’s not enough, I will never kill a Magneton or any other pokémon to harvest its power.”

Steven closed his eyes, and Kenta could hear a gurgle in his throat. It was clear that the other man was experiencing some inner moral struggle. “Why,” he finally asked, “should I believe you?”

“Please.”

Kenta and Steven turned and looked at Valtor, who was kneeling before the former champ. “You saw what those policemen were doing to the Magneton,” he pleaded. “They won’t even reason with you. In today’s world, you can’t put faith in your own government anymore. Where are your other pokémon?” He pointed to the hulking Aggron, and Skarmory’s pokéball on Steven’s belt. “Or are those your only two?”

Steven said nothing for a minute. When he spoke again, it was without looking at the Daitan brothers. “They’re going back to the wild,” he muttered halfheartedly. “Cradily, Armaldo, and Claydol. They’re going to be free.”

“That may or may not be,” stated Kenta, softly. “Either way, I notice you left one out. Tell me, what about your world-renowned Metagross? I hear Brendan was one of the only two people to ever beat it in battle.”

“They say he’s in good hands,” replied Steven, refusing to make eye contact. Kenta and Valtor exchanged glances. “Can you be sure of that?” asked Kenta, praying he wasn’t sounding pushy or paranoid. “If you saw him again, would you two even recognize each other?”

“Of course I’d recognize him!” barked Steven angrily. “He has a vertical scar down his left eye. It’s his proudest battle wound.”

“No, no. I mean, by behavior.” Kenta addressed Steven grimly. “Team Rocket and Cipher both tried- and succeeded- in making their pokémon artificially more aggressive than they could ever naturally be. Have you ever seen the movie, Jacob’s Ladder? I’m not saying our own government would do that, but think about it. Why would they suddenly decide to collect a massive amount of powerful animals, which are trained to follow orders without question? Forget what they said about trainer safety for a moment. Our pokémon trainers are safe- now what? Where is all this power going? How will it be channeled?”

“You say it like I haven’t already thought it through,” accused Steven. “I’ve been to pokémon rehabilitation before. I know it works. Every powerful pokémon released to the wild doesn’t forget its trainer. They won’t hurt any other humans. They’ll act as ambassadors between us and untamed pokémon. That is how their power will be used.”

Silence elapsed for another minute. Valtor looked at Kenta; the latter appeared to be doing some deep thinking, by his distant expression. Steven didn’t wait long, but stood up and turned to his Aggron. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go home.”

“After everything I’ve told you, is that all you have to say?” Kenta asked, feeling stunned and a little hurt at Steven’s lack of empathy. Steven recalled his Aggron into its ball, still not looking at either of them. “I will not reveal to anyone, who you are,” he declared firmly. “If you get caught and punished for treason because of me, it’ll feel like your blood is on my hands. And I don’t want that, in case you happen to be right.” Steven shook his head. “I hope you’re wrong. But after what I’ve seen and heard today, I need to be by myself to think.”

“It seems to me like you already made up your mind earlier,” said Kenta, as Skarmory reappeared out of Steven’s other pokéball. “I can only wonder how you knew that the police would be coming here today to attack the Magneton of the Henna Villa area. You were certainly prepared to oppose them then.”

“For all I know, you could’ve been there for the same reason they were,” Steven shot back, mounting his metallic bird. “I don’t know whose side to take anymore. But in any case, do what you want with the Magneton buried here. Desecrate their bodies. I can’t stop you in my present condition. Your Salamence knows Earthquake.”

“I’m not your enemy!” called Kenta insistently, as Steven and his Skarmory lifted off the ground. “I promise I have your best interests at heart. I know how you feel!”

But Steven was off, soaring away from the roadside scene at forty miles an hour. Kenta and Valtor stood in silence and watched him go, until they could no longer see him. Heaving a sigh, Kenta reached into his pocket and drew out his green cell phone. “Well, in spite of all that, this still turned out better than I dared hope,” he said sadly, dialing Kurt’s number.

“How?” asked Valtor, watching him press the buttons.

“How? Valtor, we now know those police were shipping dead Magneton. It might not be proof to anyone else, but it’s proof to us that they’re using these creatures for their bodies. If all goes well, this might completely vindicate us later . . . hello, my friend.”

As Kenta spoke to the old apricorn craftsman over the phone, Valtor pulled out his Heavy Ball and recalled his new Snorlax. Kenta’s Salamence knew how to hide, but if anyone saw Snorlax hanging out with him, Valtor feared getting busted. They were in up to their necks as it was.

“Yeah,” Kenta was saying, “I’ll take a picture and send it to you now. You’ll have to come here to get them, so be sure to bring plenty of apricorn balls with you.” He stopped. “I think about a hundred. Yes, I know it’s insane . . . do you even have that many balls made? . . . Oh, I see. Well, I don’t like to burst your confidence, but you’ll still have nothing left over after the tide of trainers that’ll be coming through your door. Never mind though, we’ll worry about that later. For now, can Curtis come and get them? . . . Good, he’ll need to bring a shovel. And another thing, you should hurry. We’ve only got so long before those cops realize their luggage is gone. I hope you’ve got a darn good flying pokémon ready . . . okay, yeah, that works.”

A minute later, Kenta snapped his phone shut and looked at Valtor. “Curtis coming on his Fearow,” he explained, “but we won’t be around to greet him when he gets here. We have to hurry up and get to our next destination.” At the sound of the news, Valtor’s shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Kenta walked up and put a concerned arm around him, sensing it was time to be a responsible big brother. “I know you’re tired of being on the go all the time,” he said in as soothing a voice as he knew how. “But we can’t wait to do this. Every hour we wait, the outrage diminishes. Nothing but a strong willpower can win us this fight.”

Valtor nodded slowly. Kenta returned the nod, looking him in the eyes. “We’ll take a vacation after this. A long one. But for now, we have to get some soldiers on our side.”

“ . . . Where will we find them?”

“First, we go to the nearest pokémon fan club.” Kenta pointed in the direction of the sun, which was slowly beginning its descent. “We’re heading southwest. To Vermilion City.”
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Recently discovered Pathfinder (modern D&D). Thanks for introducing me to the concepts all those years ago.
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