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For two days, Austin had been preparing, but as he sat alone in the cafeteria, poking at his cold plate of eggs and toast, he couldn't ignore the pit of anxiety in his stomach. His fork hovered aimlessly over the plate, stabbing at the same piece of toast over and over. The faint hum of the radio played in the background, the usual morning news filling the air with talk of weather, politics, and random city events. His ears pricked at every mention of Mt. Moon, though.
He was waiting—hoping—for some news. Any news about Team Rocket.
It wasn't just paranoia; it was a pattern. In the anime, in the games, Mt. Moon was where Team Rocket had made their first big move. It wasn't a question of if they'd show up, but when. The thought of running into them made his chest tighten. If something went wrong—if Team Rocket came after him—what would happen to Pikachu? To Vee? To the rest of his team?
He clenched his fist under the table. Just thinking about it made his gut churn.
Beside him, a map of the area lay open, its edges creased and worn from constant folding and unfolding. His finger traced the mountain range's winding paths for the hundredth time. Mt. Moon wasn't just a mountain—it was a sprawling network of caves and tunnels that cut through the rocky terrain, offering a shortcut between Pewter City and Cerulean City. The alternative? Trekking two weeks over harsh mountain paths. For most trainers, the caves were the obvious choice.
But Austin wasn't most trainers.
He had thought about skipping Mt. Moon altogether, taking the longer, safer route. But every time the idea crossed his mind, he imagined Team Rocket ambushing him on the mountain trail instead, and his grip on the fork tightened until it bent under the pressure. He'd prepped for this. He'd battled hard to make his team stronger. He'd trained himself to climb. He'd cooked enough meals to last them two weeks, packed carefully, planned meticulously. And yet, no amount of preparation erased the doubt gnawing at him.
He glanced at the map again, then at the clock on the wall. It was time to execute Plan A.
Plan A was simple: call in a false report to the Pokémon Rangers. Lure them to Mt. Moon under the pretense of an emergency, and let them deal with any Team Rocket presence before he even got there. It was their job, right? Protecting civilians? Handling criminals? This was the smart move—safer, cleaner.
But even with the plan ready, Austin couldn't shake the weight of unease pressing down on him as he approached the phone booth. It was tucked away at the edge of a small park, its faded blue paint chipped and rusted in places. The glass was scratched and fogged with age, making the inside feel cramped and oddly claustrophobic. As he stepped inside, he adjusted the mask on his face—a simple precaution to keep himself anonymous—and took a deep breath.
This had to work.
His hand shook slightly as he dialed the number for the Pewter City Pokémon Rangers. The line clicked, and a pleasant but professional voice answered.
"Pewter City Ranger Station, how can we help you?"
Austin pinched his nose to alter his voice, adding a faint tremble of panic to sell the story. "H-hello? Is this the rangers? Please, I need help!"
"Sir, are you okay? What happened?" The operator's voice immediately shifted to concern.
"I—I was hiking near Mt. Moon when these Pokémon thieves attacked me! They—they're crazy! I barely got away!" He let his voice shake, adding a rasp to make it sound like he'd been running.
"Pokémon thieves? Sir, when did this happen?"
"An hour ago," he lied, gripping the receiver tightly. "I—I just made it to safety on my Rapidash. They—they had these uniforms with a big red 'R' on them." He was laying it on thick, but it had to be convincing.
There was a pause on the other end, and for a moment, Austin thought the operator believed him. But then her tone changed, growing sharper. "Sir, are you sure about this?"
"Yes!" he insisted, his voice rising slightly. "They're still there! I swear!"
"Sir," the operator interrupted, her voice firm. "We've had a patrol stationed at Mt. Moon for the past week. They check in every hour. Either you're mistaken, or you're playing a very dangerous prank."
Austin's stomach dropped. "I—I'm not—"
But the line cut off before he could say anything else.
He stared at the phone in stunned silence, his heart hammering. A patrol? Every hour? That wasn't what he'd expected. His whole plan relied on Team Rocket being unchecked at Mt. Moon, but if the rangers were actively monitoring the area...
Am I wrong? he thought, his mind racing. Are they not there? Or are they hiding from the rangers entirely?
Stepping out of the booth, the morning air felt cool against his skin, but it did nothing to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. What now?
He paced a few steps, staring down at the sidewalk. Maybe he'd been paranoid this whole time. Maybe Team Rocket wasn't even at Mt. Moon. But the idea of traveling through the tunnels, even with the rangers' presence, still left him uneasy. What if they weren't enough? What if they missed something?
He paused, glancing back at his map. Should he stick to the original plan and take the long, safer route around the mountain? It would cost time, but it would keep him away from the threat. Or should he trust the rangers, push through the caves, and hope for the best?
His gut twisted with indecision. For all the preparation he'd done, all the scenarios he'd planned for, he hadn't anticipated this.
Taking a deep breath, Austin squared his shoulders. Whatever choice he made, it had to be his own. No one else was going to protect him or his team. If he wanted to make it through this journey, he'd have to trust himself—and his Pokémon.
For now, though, he needed to keep moving. One way or another, Mt. Moon awaited.
----
[Mt. Moon]
Arianna stood at the cliff's edge, her sharp gaze tracing the endless stretch of rocky crags and jagged peaks silhouetted against the setting sun. The mountain range sprawled out like a labyrinth of shadows, its winding paths swallowing every trace of light as night fell.
The wind howled through the valley below, carrying the sharp tang of pine and dust. Arianna inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp air. The mountains always did this to her—invigorated her, sharpened her focus. Up here, in this stark and unfiltered clarity, failure seemed intolerable.
"Ma'am."
A grunt's voice broke her reverie. She turned slowly, her crimson hair catching the last golden rays of sunlight. Her piercing gaze landed on the young man standing stiffly behind her, his nervous energy poorly masked by a rigid posture.
"Report."
He snapped to attention. "Captured trainers now total twenty-six. Supplies are running low—food and clean water won't last more than four days unless we start rationing. Some of the prisoners are causing disruptions—one even broke a Pokéball containment unit. Repairs are underway, but—"
"Stop." Her gloved hand rose, and the grunt fell silent mid-sentence, swallowing hard.
Arianna stepped toward him, her boots crunching against the gravel. "You're telling me," she began, her tone icy, "that despite controlling one of the most strategic locations in this region, despite a team of thirty grunts under my leadership, you can't manage something as basic as rations?"
The grunt's mouth opened and closed uselessly. His eyes darted toward his partner, a stocky woman standing nearby, smirking faintly at his predicament.
"You." Arianna's attention snapped to the woman. "Since your colleague has lost the ability to speak, perhaps you'd like to explain why our logistics are failing?"
The woman straightened but didn't lose her edge. "Ma'am, the supply issue stems from the volume of prisoners we're taking. Transporting and holding trainers this far from our bases isn't exactly—"
"Volume of prisoners?" Arianna's voice rose, sharp as a blade. "Are you suggesting we stop taking prisoners? That we allow these meddling trainers to wander off, alert the authorities, and bring the wrath of the Rangers down on us?"
"No, ma'am," the woman replied quickly, her confidence cracking under Arianna's glare.
Arianna studied her for a long moment, letting the weight of silence settle. Finally, she laughed—a sharp, humorless sound.
"Good. Because if I hear about dwindling supplies one more time, I'll test the efficiency of our rations myself—starting with yours." She smiled, the threat hanging in the air.
"Yes, ma'am," the grunt stammered.
"Now leave," Arianna commanded, dismissing them with a flick of her hand. "And take him with you."
The grunts scrambled to obey, the younger one nearly tripping over his own feet as he hurried off. Arianna's smirk returned as another figure emerged from the shadows, his gait lazy and unbothered.
Slate leaned against a support pole, his foxlike face split in a perpetual smirk. His uniform was pristine, his slicked-back hair untouched by the wind. Yet there was an air of mockery in the way he lounged that would've earned any other grunt a reprimand.
"Trouble in paradise, boss?" he drawled.
"Careful, Slate." Her voice was light, but her eyes gleamed with warning. "Your habit of speaking out of turn might get you reassigned to waste disposal."
He chuckled. "Oh, come on. You know you'd miss me. Someone has to point out when you're about to lose your temper."
"I don't lose my temper," Arianna corrected coolly. "I employ precision anger when it's warranted."
"Right. Precision. Like when you smashed that grunt's PokéNav because he stuttered during a report?"
"That was a calculated loss."
Before he could retort, a third grunt ran toward them, tablet in hand and breathless. "Ma'am!"
Arianna's gaze sharpened. "What is it?"
"We've spotted movement in the southern range." He thrust the tablet toward her. The grainy thermal image showed a faint humanoid figure weaving through the terrain.
"They're not using fire or visible light," the grunt continued. "The way they're moving—it's deliberate. Avoiding open areas. Almost as if they're trying not to be seen."
Arianna's lips curled into a predatory smile. A lost hiker wouldn't behave like this. Someone trying to hide, though—that was interesting.
"Have you tracked where they're heading?"
"They've stopped for now. It looks like they've set up camp near the ridge overlooking the west valley."
Her mind raced. A Ranger wouldn't operate this covertly. A random trainer wouldn't have this level of tactical awareness. This was no ordinary trespasser.
"Slate," she said, her voice suddenly sharp with authority.
"Yes, boss?"
"You're in charge until I return."
His smirk faltered. "Wait, you're going personally? For one trainer?"
"I have a feeling about this one," she said, pulling on her gloves. "And I don't entrust interesting opportunities to those less competent."
"Don't forget to send a postcard," Slate quipped, but there was an edge of unease in his tone.
Arianna ignored him, her smile growing. The hunt was on.