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The night sky stretched endlessly above, a dark canopy speckled with stars that seemed indifferent to the chaos below. The faint outline of Mt. Moon loomed in the distance, its shadowy ridges sharp and foreboding. Austin stood at the base of a jagged cliff, his breaths visible in the chill air. His legs felt like lead, his muscles burned, and the weight of the bicycle strapped to his back was a cruel reminder of his predicament. But this wasn't the time to complain. Arianna and her grunts would be scouring the forest floor for him, their numbers growing as they spread like a plague.
The forest wasn't safe anymore, but the cliffs? A cave carved into the side of the rock face—that might be.
His eyes tracked upward, where Spearow circled the cliff. The bird Pokémon let out a sharp cry, swooping down and landing on the narrow ledge beside Austin. Its talons clinked against the metal of the climbing gear strapped to his chest, tugging at one of the carabiners with a sense of urgency.
"All right, all right, I get it," Austin muttered under his breath, wiping sweat from his brow. He reached into his bag, retrieving a coil of rope. Spearow hopped closer, its sharp eyes tracking his every move.
"You're really into this, huh?"
Spearow let out an impatient squawk and gripped the rope in its talons, flapping its wings for balance as it tugged it free from Austin's pack. The bird darted up to the first ledge, finding a secure rock outcrop to anchor the line. It looped the rope with precision, its sharp beak working like a tool as it tightened the knot.
"Not bad," Austin muttered. "Maybe I should let you do all the hard work."
Spearow gave him an annoyed glare before fluttering back down to Austin, landing lightly on his shoulder.
"All right, partner," Austin said, securing the other end of the rope to his harness. He tested the tension with a few experimental pulls, the rope holding firm. "Let's do this."
He grabbed hold of the first handhold, his fingers digging into the rough stone as he began the ascent. The climb was slow, each movement deliberate as he adjusted his weight to account for the heavy bicycle strapped to his back. Spearow hovered nearby, darting ahead to scout for better grips and footholds, chirping directions when needed.
"Yeah, yeah, I see it," Austin said through gritted teeth as Spearow screeched and pointed its beak toward a sturdier ledge to his left. He shifted his weight carefully, reaching for it with trembling fingers.
At one point, his foot slipped on a patch of loose gravel, sending small rocks skittering down the cliffside. His stomach dropped as he clung desperately to the ledge, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.
In an instant, Spearow swooped down, grabbing hold of the bicycle's frame with its talons. The bird flapped its wings furiously, easing the strain on Austin's back just enough for him to regain his footing.
"Thanks," he rasped, pressing himself flat against the rock face for a moment to steady his nerves.
Spearow chirped sharply, as if to say, Stop messing around and focus.
"I'm trying, okay?!" Austin shot back. "You're not the one carrying half a bike shop on your back."
The climb continued, the muscles in Austin's arms and legs screaming in protest. Spearow remained vigilant, darting between him and the higher ledges to secure the rope and scout the best path forward. At one point, it even tugged on the straps of Austin's pack to shift the weight, making the climb just a little more bearable.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Austin hauled himself over the last ledge and into the narrow mouth of a cave. He collapsed onto the dirt floor, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Spearow fluttered down beside him, its feathers ruffled but its eyes sharp and alert.
"You… are officially the MVP," Austin panted, giving the bird a weak thumbs-up.
Austin sat up slowly, wiping the sweat from his brow as he glanced around the small space. It wasn't much, just a shallow cave carved into the side of the cliff, but it would do for now.
Before he could fully relax, a sharp cry echoed from deeper within the cave. Spearow immediately shot forward, a blur of motion as it used Quick Attack to strike at whatever had made the noise. A soft thud followed, and Austin quickly reached into his bag for his flashlight. He flicked it on, the beam cutting through the darkness to reveal the creature Spearow had intercepted.
It was a Sandslash.
The bipedal, spiny Pokémon stood its ground, claws extended and glinting in the light. Its quills bristled with tension, and its almond-shaped blue eyes burned with fierce protectiveness. Behind it, two smaller forms huddled—a pair of Sandshrew, trembling as they pressed against the walls of the cave.
"Whoa, whoa," Austin said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Easy there."
The Sandslash didn't move, its sharp claws scraping the ground as it shifted into a defensive stance.
Austin reached for his belt and released Rattata, the small Pokémon landing on the ground with a soft thud.
"Rattata," he said softly, keeping his voice calm, "tell them we mean no harm. We just need a place to rest, and then we'll leave."
Rattata gave him a nod, her tail flicking as she cautiously approached the Sandslash. She squeaked and chattered, her tone soothing as she communicated with the wary Pokémon.
Austin, meanwhile, dug into his bag and pulled out the small meal he had packed for the morning. He opened the container, letting the aroma of cooked rice and berries waft through the air.
"Tell them they can have this," Austin said to Rattata, his voice steady but soft. "If they'll let us stay for a while."
The Sandslash's eyes darted between the food and Austin, its quills slowly lowering as Rattata continued to squeak. After a tense moment, the Sandslash relaxed slightly, giving a small grunt of approval.
"Thank you," Austin murmured, carefully setting the container down on the cave floor before backing away.
With the immediate threat neutralized, Austin turned his attention to Pikachu. The electric mouse lay motionless, its small chest rising and falling in shallow intervals. A lump formed in his throat as he pulled out a clean cloth, a bottle of water, some antiseptic, and a Full Heal. His hands trembled as he knelt beside his injured partner.
The injuries were worse than he'd let himself admit.
Pikachu's fur was matted with blood, deep cuts crisscrossing its body like a grim map of the battle they had barely survived. The sight made his chest tighten, guilt twisting in his gut.
"This shouldn't have happened," he muttered under his breath. "I'm sorry, buddy. I'm so sorry."
Gritting his teeth, Austin poured water onto the cloth and began cleaning the wounds with slow, deliberate care. Each wipe felt like an eternity, the stench of blood and antiseptic mixing in the cold, stale air of the cave. Pikachu's body twitched faintly with every touch, and Austin flinched, his heart aching with every sign of pain.
Once the wounds were clean, he sprayed the Full Heal over them, watching as its restorative properties took effect. The cuts began to close, leaving faint scars in their place. It was almost miraculous, but the process was slow, each passing second stretching the weight of his guilt.
Finally, Austin cradled Pikachu against his chest, resting his head against the small, battered body. He closed his eyes, letting the soft rhythm of Pikachu's breathing ground him.
Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
The sound was steady. Reassuring. For now.
A soft tap on his arm broke the silence. He opened his eyes to find one of the Sandshrew standing beside him, holding a smooth rock in its tiny claws. The little Pokémon placed the stone in his hand, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
Austin felt a lump rise in his throat as he clutched the rock tightly against his chest. "Thank you," he whispered.
The Sandshrew chirped happily before scurrying back to its family, who had begun cautiously nibbling on the food he'd offered.
Rattata returned to his side, nudging his cheek with her nose and letting out a soft squeak.
"Sorry for not calling you out earlier," Austin said, stroking her fur gently. "I was planning to use you for a sneak attack, but... she was too strong."
Rattata squeaked again, her tone a mix of frustration and reassurance.
"I know," he murmured. "We'll figure something out. We always do."
Leaning back against his backpack, he let his exhaustion catch up with him. The cold, hard floor of the cave pressed against his back, but he was too tired to care. Spearow perched at the cave entrance, sharp eyes scanning the darkness beyond, while Rattata curled up beside him, her presence a small comfort.
For now, they were safe. But the question loomed in his mind, heavy and unrelenting: What do we do next?
A faint hiss broke through the silence—a Pokéball opening. The sound was familiar, enough to rouse him from his shallow rest. Instinctively, he kept his body still, listening for any further movement. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
Vee had released itself.
There was no noise, no movement after that. Just... silence. Curiosity overtook his need for stillness. Opening one eye, he caught sight of Vee sitting a few feet away, motionless. The Pokémon stared blankly at Pikachu, its ears drooped low, its entire posture heavy with an emotion Austin recognized but didn't know how to address.
"Don't worry, Pikachu is fine," Austin said softly. The words were as much for himself as they were for Vee. In truth, he didn't know if Pikachu was fine. He could only hope. The little electric mouse hadn't stirred much since their harrowing escape from Arianna.
"Eve..." Vee's voice was low, almost a whisper, but its body betrayed the sound. Its fur bristled, and its gaze flicked sharply toward the forest beyond the cave's entrance. A low growl rumbled in its throat.
"Angry?" Austin asked gently.
Vee turned its head to meet his gaze, and the unrelenting, burning anger in the Pokémon's eyes was unmistakable. It wasn't just anger born of frustration. It was an anger steeped in helplessness, in the pain of witnessing things it couldn't control.
Austin felt something different. His anger wasn't a wildfire like Vee's—it was cold, sharp, and calculating. But it burned all the same, smoldering beneath his skin.
"I'm scared," he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. The confession drew every eye in the cave—Vee, Rattata, Spearow. Even Pikachu, unconscious as it had been, stirred faintly at the sound.
"I'm angry too," Austin continued, his voice growing stronger, steadier. "But I know those feelings won't help us right now. We're in a bad situation, and I don't know about you, but I'm not going down without a fight."
The cave fell silent, save for the faint rustle of the wind outside. For a moment, Austin wondered if his words had even reached them.
Then, softly, a weak voice broke through the quiet: "Pika..."
Everyone turned, eyes widening as Pikachu stirred, barely able to lift its head. Its eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but the flicker of determination within them refused to die.
Austin placed a gentle hand on Pikachu's back, careful not to touch its still-tender wounds. "Don't push yourself too hard, buddy."
Vee growled low in its throat. Spearow gave a sharp cry, and Rattata squeaked, her tail flicking with energy.
Austin looked around at his team, a small smile spreading across his face. "Good to see everyone on board."
Turning his gaze to the Sandslash family, he bowed his head slightly in respect. The mother Sandslash stood protectively in front of her babies, her sharp claws glinting in the dim light.
"Miss Sandslash," Austin began, his tone calm and measured. "How would you like some extra food for your babies? In exchange, you could help us with something."
----
2:00 AM – Somewhere in the forest
Christopher Hayes trudged through the dark forest with a scowl that could curdle milk.
"You want the damn kid so bad? Go find him yourself, you psychotic harpy!" Christopher muttered, just loud enough for himself to hear. It was the only outlet he had. He would never dare say it to her face. Arianna was like a storm—beautiful and terrible all at once. And terrifying. Let's not forget terrifying.
Adjusting his flashlight, the beam sliced through the thick underbrush. He hated this assignment. He hated the forest. But most of all, he hated that trainer for making his life more difficult.
Christopher sighed, his boots crunching against the forest floor. His hand hovered near his Pokéball, ready to defend himself if something jumped out. He was already imagining the tongue-lashing he'd get from Arianna if he came back empty-handed, when suddenly, the bushes ahead rustled.
"Finally," he muttered, his fingers closing around the Pokéball. His heart raced as the bushes shook again. He braced himself for some wild Pokémon or—if he was lucky—the kid himself.
Instead, a small Rattata burst out, darting straight toward him.
Christopher exhaled sharply, relaxing his grip on the Pokéball. "Just a stupid Rattata," he grumbled, stepping aside to let it pass.
But the Rattata didn't pass.
The moonlight glinted off the Quick Claw necklace, and Christopher's instincts screamed at him—a moment too late. The Rattata lunged, its body a blur as it slammed into him with Quick Attack, knocking the air from his lungs.
White-hot pain exploded in his head as he hit the ground hard, his vision swimming. The world tilted and spun, a nauseating whirlpool of shadows and light. His ears rang, and blood trickled from his temple where he'd struck a rock.
He groaned, trying to push himself up, but his arms felt like jelly. Through blurry vision, he saw a figure step out of the shadows.
A boy.
No, not just a boy. A boy wearing a paper bag over his head. The crude disguise only made him more unsettling in the moonlight.
Christopher's breath hitched as realization dawned, cold and sharp as a knife. This was Arianna's target.
And he was screwed.
----
When Christopher came to, the first thing he noticed was the sensation of water being sprinkled on his face. It was cold and irritating, snapping him out of his daze.
He blinked groggily, only to find himself in a horrifying predicament. His body was buried in a shallow hole, dirt packed tightly around him. Only his head stuck out, leaving him completely immobile.
"Someone help me!" Christopher yelled, panic overtaking him as he struggled futilely against the packed earth.
A sharp slap across his face silenced him.
"Quiet," the boy with the paper bag said, crouching down to his level. His voice was calm, almost eerily so. "I'd suggest you take a moment to assess the situation before you start yelling again."
Christopher's breath hitched as he locked eyes with the boy—or rather, the two crude eyeholes in the bag. The sheer absurdity of it only made the fear worse.
Swallowing hard, Christopher forced himself to calm down, his mind racing. The boy could have killed him. He hadn't. That meant there was a reason. A way out.
He plastered on a nervous smile, his survival instincts kicking in. "Alright, boss," he said, his voice shaky but trying to sound cooperative. "What do you need?"
"Name?"
"Christopher Hayes," he replied immediately, forcing the smile to stay.
"Do you know why you're here?" Austin asked, his fingers absently drumming on the thermos by his side.
The question was deceptively simple, and Christopher's mind scrambled to form an answer that wouldn't land him in more trouble. His throat was dry, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
"We were ordered to capture a special Eevee. That's it!" he blurted out.
Austin gave a low hum, nodding slightly. His demeanor was casual, almost indifferent, but every movement and word was deliberate. The way he tapped the thermos wasn't idle—it was a subtle distraction, drawing Christopher's focus toward the container and making him wonder what it held. Keeping his enemy guessing was part of the game.
"Interesting," Austin said after a pause. He motioned toward Vee, who gracefully shifted into its Vaporeon form. Its liquid body shimmered in the moonlight as it slipped into the thermos. The sight was mesmerizing, and Austin let the silence stretch, giving Christopher time to let his imagination run wild.
"And do you know who created this special Eevee?"
"I—I don't know. Please, just let me go."
The grunt's voice cracked, panic seeping through every word. Exactly what Austin wanted—fear made people malleable, desperate to escape the nightmare they thought they were trapped in.
Austin didn't respond immediately. Instead, he rummaged through his backpack, his movements deliberate and calm. To Christopher, the nonchalance conveyed authority—Austin was in control here, and Christopher was powerless.
"I'll tell you who made him," Austin said finally, pulling out a small syringe. "I did."
Christopher blinked, stunned. The absurdity of the claim threw him off balance, which was precisely the point.
"That's impossible. You're just a kid."
Austin's head snapped toward him, his tone shifting to sharp indignation.
"I have Benjamin Button's disease."
The unexpected statement left Christopher speechless, his mind reeling. It didn't make sense, but the conviction in Austin's voice made him hesitate. Doubt was a powerful tool, after all.
Austin shook his head, muttering as he tore the syringe's packaging open and placed it beside the thermos, carefully keeping both out of Christopher's view. The placement was deliberate, creating a connection in Christopher's mind between the syringe and the mysterious contents of the thermos.
"You don't find it a little too convenient that an Eevee experimented on by Team Rocket just happened to trust a trainer it met in Viridian Forest?" Austin's tone carried a mocking edge, as if Christopher should have figured it out already.
Christopher's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. The sheer absurdity of the situation scrambled his thoughts. Exactly what Austin needed—an overwhelmed mind was easier to manipulate.
"What do you want from me?"
"Open your mouth," Austin said, his tone chillingly casual.
Christopher clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head.
Pikachu trotted up, slapped him hard across the face, and let its cheeks spark menacingly.
Left with no choice, Christopher yelped and opened his mouth.
In one smooth motion, Austin squirted water from the syringe into the grunt's mouth.
Christopher coughed and gagged, panic rising with every breath.
"What—what was that?"
"Vaporeon's liquid form," Austin said evenly, motioning toward the thermos.
Christopher froze, his face draining of color. The calm, matter-of-fact way Austin spoke made it impossible to dismiss.
"No… I—"
"Do you feel it?" Austin interrupted, his voice low. "Or do I need to inject some into your jugular for you to really understand what's happening?"
Christopher's breath hitched. He could almost feel something moving inside him. His stomach churned as the power of suggestion took hold, the placebo effect amplifying his fear into physical sensations.
"I—I feel it! I feel it!" Christopher cried, nodding frantically, tears streaming down his face.
"Good," Austin said. "You see, Vee can hold its liquid form for a long time. But here's the catch: if it decides to stop maintaining that form… well." He paused, letting the silence stretch unbearably. "Imagine every molecule of that liquid solidifying inside you. Spikes, claws, an explosion of tissue, organs… Gone in an instant."
Christopher's lip quivered, his mind conjuring the horrifying image Austin had painted. The mental picture was vivid, gruesome, and utterly believable.
"You understand now, don't you?" Austin continued, his voice dropping lower. "You're alive because I'm letting you be. And that's not something I do lightly."
Christopher broke. His sobs were uncontrollable as tears streamed down his face.
"Please! I have a sick mother who needs surgery. Please, I'll do anything!"
Austin stood back, arms crossed, letting the man's cries echo in the night. He didn't interrupt, didn't mock. The silence was part of the strategy, letting Christopher's imagination run rampant, filling the void with dread.
Finally, when Christopher's sobs dulled into pathetic sniffles, Austin spoke. His tone softened, almost kind.
"Anything?"
"Yes, yes!" Christopher nodded rapidly.
"Good." Austin's voice hardened again. "Then all you need to do is what you've done your entire life."
"What?"
"Obey," Austin said simply.
"Obey..."
"Exactly," Austin said, snapping his fingers. "Sandslash!"
The mother Sandslash, who had been watching the exchange from a distance, stepped forward. With practiced ease, she began digging Christopher out of his makeshift prison.
"What Pokémon do you have?"
"Oddish and Venonat," Christopher mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.
Austin's mind raced. Those Pokémon weren't powerhouses, but they had utility. He could work with that.
"Great," Austin said with a nod. "You're going to help me. And if you try anything stupid, remember..." He motioned toward the thermos.
Vee, still maintaining its liquid form, rippled faintly, its body shimmering ominously in the dim light.
Christopher nodded fervently, his thoughts too clouded with fear to question anything.
"I'll do whatever you say."
"Good." Austin straightened, his tone commanding. "Let's get started."
----
The forest was cloaked in the stillness of night, shadows stretching long across the uneven ground. A faint wind rustled the branches, carrying with it the distant sound of scurrying Pokémon and soft hoots. The grunt moved cautiously, his flashlight cutting through the dark as he scanned the underbrush. His hand rested on his PokéBall, ready for anything—or so he thought.
The sound of digging shattered the eerie calm, sharp and abrupt. The grunt flinched, spinning toward the noise with his heart racing.
"Who's there?" he barked, trying to mask the fear creeping into his voice.
Before he could react further, twin bolts of electricity streaked through the air, slamming into him. His body seized as the thundershocks coursed through him, sending him crashing to the ground in a heap. Paralysis locked his limbs, and his breath came in shallow gasps.
From the shadows, Austin stepped forward, his paper bag tilting slightly as he looked down at the prone grunt. Venonat skittered to his side, its radar-like eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
"Good job, everyone," Austin said, his tone calm, almost disconcertingly casual. He crouched beside the grunt, yanking the PokéBalls from his belt and tossing them into his bag.
Christopher emerged from the trees a moment later, his shoulders hunched and his head down, just as he had been for the past hour. He glanced at the unconscious grunt, then at Austin, who was already stripping the man of his uniform.
"Good job, boss," Christopher muttered, his tone flat but not without a hint of admiration. For the past hour, he had been helping Austin systematically take down Rocket grunts across the forest, one by one. With Venonat's radar vision, they had managed to sneak up on each of them undetected, incapacitating them before they could alert others.
Each time, the routine was the same: Austin would disable the grunt, strip them of their belongings, lock their PokéBalls, and tie them to a tree in nothing but their underwear. It was efficient, ruthless, and oddly precise—everything a Team Rocket operation wasn't. Christopher didn't comment on it anymore; he'd learned quickly to keep his head down and follow orders. It was easier that way.
"Fifteen-minute rest before we move on to Mt. Moon," Austin announced, shaking the satchel to dump its contents onto the ground.
"So, how many grunts are there?"
Christopher sighed inwardly. This was the fifth time Austin had asked, and he wasn't sure if the kid didn't trust him or just liked to double-check everything.
"Fourteen grunts, two captains, one executive."
"Good," Austin said. "We've already taken out four grunts in the forest. That leaves a captain at the front entrance, another at the exit, and about ten grunts inside. Half of them should be asleep by now, right?"
Christopher gave a dry laugh. "Yeah, we do shifts. Half the grunts sleep while the other half pretend to be useful. It's the Team Rocket way."
Austin didn't react to the joke, his focus fixed on the map. "Perfect. That means we only have to deal with one captain and five grunts. Should be easy."
"Easy," Christopher echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. Austin spoke as though destroying an entire Team Rocket operation was just another errand to run.
Austin sifted through the satchel's contents, pausing when he pulled out a gleaming Boulder Badge. He held it up, turning it over in his fingers. "Mind telling me how he got this?"
"Poker night," Christopher said. "This Eevee mission was supposed to be a quick job—two days tops. But it's been dragging on for a week or so now. Trainers keep coming through Mt. Moon, so we've been capturing them to check their Pokémon and supplies, seeing if they've got anything worth taking. When we didn't find the Eevee… well, all that loot had to go somewhere."
"Loot?"
Christopher shifted uncomfortably, as if realizing how bad it sounded. "Yeah, we started using the stuff we confiscated—Pokéballs, money, TMs—as prizes for poker nights. You know, to keep morale up."
"Morale. How noble."
"It wasn't my idea," Christopher muttered defensively. "I just… played along. I even won a TM for Flash during one of the games."
"Convenient," Austin said, his tone flat. "So how exactly are you dealing with the rangers inside Mt. Moon?"
Christopher sighed, his hand brushing through his hair as if trying to smooth out the growing tension.
"There are only four of them stationed there. Not exactly an army. We dealt with them pretty quickly."
"Four rangers?" Austin asked. "Must have been such a challenge."
"You're underestimating how annoying they can be," Christopher said. "But their main job is to make sure normal people don't wander into Pokémon territories. I'm sure you know why."
"I do," Austin said, the paper bag shifting as he nodded. "But I like to let my 'goons'—" he stressed the word—"explain things. Makes them feel important."
Christopher chose to ignore Austin's earlier jab, though his face tightened. "Mt. Moon's huge," he continued. "There are tons of Pokémon colonies hidden inside. The public trail is set up so it avoids those territories completely. The rangers are there to make sure people stick to it. Because if someone wanders off and ends up in a colony..."
"They don't come back."
"Exactly," Christopher muttered, casting a glance toward the shadowy forest around them. "Most people don't get how dangerous it is. They think wild Pokémon are just obstacles, not predators."
Austin was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the map in his hands. Then, without looking up, he asked, "And the trainers you've captured? What's happening to them?"
Christopher hesitated, sensing the weight of the question. He had to tread carefully. "We haven't... done anything to them," he said. "By executive orders, they're fed once a day, given water when they ask. Sure, it's not comfortable, but we're not torturing them or anything."
"No assault?"
Christopher shook his head quickly. "None. That kind of thing would bring way too much heat on us. Think about it—if it got out that Team Rocket was assaulting trainers, whether physically or..." He paused, swallowing hard, "...or worse, it'd be all over the news, and we don't want that kind of attention."
"Whose attention are you so afraid of?"
"The Pokémon League," Christopher said immediately. "You think they're just a sports league? They're way more than that."
"Enlighten me."
Christopher exhaled heavily. "Sure, they run tournaments, but that's just the public face. The League's a pipeline for talent—trainers who win get recruited into all kinds of organizations: the military, the Rangers, G-Force, even private security firms. That's why the League's top members are people you don't mess with."
"The Elite Four," Austin said flatly.
Christopher nodded. "Exactly. Those guys aren't just celebrities—they're powerhouses. If even one of them got wind of what we were doing here, it'd be over. They'd rip through our operations like tissue paper."
The conversation lifted a small weight off Austin's chest. Knowing that Team Rocket hadn't crossed certain lines—at least not here on Mt. Moon—was a relief. If someone had been subjected to something truly heinous because of their hunt for Vee, because of him, Austin knew he would never forgive himself.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice calm but pointed. "Do you know Sird?"
"Yeah, I've met her."
"She killed some Beedrill in Viridian Forest," Austin said evenly. "Why not avoid that kind of mess?"
"Pokémon die in the wild all the time. A few dead Beedrill don't raise any red flags. But humans? That's a whole different story. You kill a person, and suddenly the League, the government, and the media are all over us. Pokémon deaths can be swept under the rug. Human deaths can't."
Austin hummed, the sound low and thoughtful. "Convenient," he said, the word heavy with unspoken judgment.
Christopher stayed quiet, unsure of how to respond. The conversation had veered into uncomfortable territory, and he didn't trust himself not to say something stupid.
Austin held out his hand. "Hand it over."
Christopher hesitated for a split second before pulling the TM from his pocket and placing it in Austin's hand. He didn't need to ask why—he already knew the answer. The boy wasn't leaving anything to chance.
"Is this, like, a justice thing?" Christopher asked after a moment, his tone edging on awe. "You're gonna return all this stuff to the trainers it belongs to?"
Austin snorted. "Hell no. Finders keepers. I'm gonna use it."
"Oh." Christopher blinked. "And the uniforms?"
Austin glanced at the pile of black fabric and shrugged. "Free fabric. I'll use it to make new clothes."
Christopher raised an eyebrow. "You know those uniforms are military-grade, right? Pretty durable stuff."
Austin's hand paused mid-motion. He hadn't known that, but he wasn't about to admit it. "Exactly," he said, as if it had been his plan all along.
Austin checked his watch and folded up the map. "Okay, break's over. Let's move. We have to take down Team Rocket before sunrise."
Christopher glanced at Venonat, then at the unconscious grunt tied to a tree. "You're crazy, you know that?"
Austin tilted his head, the paper bag rustling slightly. "Maybe. But crazy gets results."
"Fair enough."
----
The entrance to Mt. Moon was as foreboding as the rumors suggested. Slate stood there in the uniform of a Pokémon Ranger. The ground was a coarse mixture of gravel and dirt, littered with faint tracks from trainers who had passed through earlier in the day. The massive cave mouth yawned before him, its interior pitch black except for the faint flicker of a dim, oil-fed lantern hanging from a rusty hook. The flickering light barely illuminated the craggy edges of the entrance, casting shadows that danced ominously in the night.
Around Slate, the air was cold and still, with only the occasional whisper of wind threading through the pine trees dotting the rocky terrain. Beside him, another grunt—a woman with short, dark hair tied back into a ponytail—was watching the mountain's path with mild disinterest. Both were on guard duty, but neither expected much trouble. After all, who would be foolish enough to come here at 4 o'clock in the morning?
The stillness was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Christopher stumbled into view, dragging what appeared to be an unconscious Austin behind him. The boy's face was obscured by a scarf, his limp body slung over Christopher's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Boss," Christopher called out. "I captured the trainer Executive Arianna was talking about!"
Slate straightened up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, well," he said, his voice deep and gravelly as he sauntered toward Christopher. "Looks like you might've actually done something useful for once, grunt."
Christopher flinched at the condescending tone but forced a sheepish grin. "Yeah, boss. Lucky break, right?"
Slate chuckled. "You're lucky Arianna isn't here to see this pathetic excuse of a haul. You think dragging a kid in like this is impressive? She'd eat you alive."
Christopher unceremoniously threw Austin off his shoulder, letting the unconscious boy hit the ground with a dull thud.
"Hey, easy there."
"I'll do what I want," Christopher snapped, rolling his shoulder as if Austin had been some unbearable burden.
"Oi, the grunt's grown himself a pair of brass ones now, huh?" Slate mockingly patted Christopher's face, his fingers tapping just enough to be irritating.
Christopher slapped Slate's hand away, glaring. "Of course I've got balls. I just captured Arianna's target and the Eevee the big boss has been searching for. You know what that means? Sweet promotion. Maybe even a transfer out of this backwater assignment. So, maybe you should show me some respect, bitch." He blew a raspberry.
Slate's smirk dropped like a stone. His jaw tightened, and a vein pulsed in his temple as he stepped forward, grabbing Christopher by the collar and yanking him close. "Watch it—"
But before Slate could finish his threat, Austin's body shifted—too fast for an unconscious man. In one fluid motion, he twisted and drove a taser straight into Slate's thigh.
The electric crackle filled the air as Slate's eyes went wide with shock. His body seized up, muscles locking as he let out a guttural growl of pain, yet surprisingly, he stood up. Unfortunately for the man, Spearow threw something toward him from the sky. Just as he reached for his Pokéball, a flash of color exploded above him. The Oddish unleashed a cloud of Sleep Powder that blanketed Slate, the shimmering particles clinging to his body. His eyes fluttered shut, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.
Meanwhile, the female grunt barely had time to react before Pikachu appeared in front of her. The electric mouse unleashed a point-blank Flash, blinding her completely. She stumbled backward, hands clawing at her eyes, just as Rattata leapt forward and delivered a powerful Iron Tail to her stomach. She hit the ground with a heavy thud, unmoving.
Austin dusted himself off, motioning for his team to regroup.
"Good job, everyone." He crouched down, quickly stripping Slate of his Pokéballs, satchel, and—after a moment of hesitation—his uniform. He left Slate in nothing but his underwear, tying him securely to a tree.
Turning to the unconscious female grunt, Austin frowned. "Mama raised me better," he muttered under his breath. He decided against taking her uniform, settling for removing her Pokéballs and securing her hands with rope instead.
"What now, boss?"
Austin straightened, holding up the items he had looted. "You're going to the camp where the grunts are sleeping. Use Oddish to Sleep Powder them, loot everything useful, and head to Plan B."
"We're still doing Plan B?!"
"Yes," Austin said firmly. "Take Sandslash with you. I'll handle the prisoners."
Christopher nodded and disappeared into the shadows with Sandslash at his side.
Austin pulled out the crumpled map, his fingers tracing the marked route toward the ranger outpost hidden deep within Mt. Moon. He unfolded it carefully, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the path. With a slow exhale, he secured the map back into his bag, adjusted the straps, and climbed onto his bike.
The cavernous walls of the mountain loomed around him, jagged shadows dancing under the faint glow of his headlamp. The bike's wheels hummed softly against the dirt as he pedaled forward, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of the tunnels.
After a few minutes of riding, he came to an abrupt stop. His heart seemed to stall as his eyes landed on something out of place—a shattered red convertible, its paint gleaming faintly in the dim light of the cave. The vehicle was tilted at an awkward angle, its front left wheel blown out and the body scuffed with deep scratches.
Gary's car.
Torn, abandoned, left to rot in the eerie quiet of the mountain.
Austin felt a strange, creeping numbness crawl over him, starting in his chest and radiating outward. His grip on the bike handles slackened, his arms hanging limply at his sides. It wasn't shock—it was a hollow, suffocating weight that settled deep in his core. His thoughts slowed, grinding to a halt as if his brain couldn't—or wouldn't—process what this meant.
This was Gary's car. Which meant Gary had been here. Which meant—
A small, sharp jolt brought him back. Pikachu nudged his arm with a spark from its cheek, the faint zap snapping him out of the trance. Austin blinked, his breath hitching as his fingers curled back around the handlebars.
"Yeah, I know," he murmured, his voice hoarse and distant. He reached down, giving Pikachu a light pat on the head. "I'm taking responsibility. I'll make this right."
-----
The ranger outpost was a dimly lit, cramped structure carved into the side of Mt. Moon. Its walls, made of rough-hewn stone, radiated dampness. The air was thick, humid, and stank of sweat and unwashed bodies. On the floor, scattered haphazardly like forgotten toys, lay 26 trainers, most of them children barely older than 10. Their wrists and ankles were tied tightly with thick rope, the coarse material digging into their skin. A few older trainers were slumped against the walls, their faces pale and hollow, their eyes open but empty, staring at nothing.
The flickering light of a single lantern hanging from the ceiling cast long, jagged shadows that danced eerily across the room. Most of the kids were asleep, curled up for warmth, but their sleep was restless—filled with soft whimpers, muffled sobs, and the occasional twitch of a body jolting awake from a nightmare. The small water canisters on a table near the door were almost empty, and the stale scent of fear and despair hung heavy in the room like a suffocating blanket.
At the center of the outpost, two female Team Rocket grunts stood near a makeshift table littered with half-eaten rations.
"Ugh," groaned Marla, the taller of the two, a lean woman with sharp features and a perpetual scowl. "I'm so over this assignment. Babysitting a bunch of snot-nosed brats wasn't what I signed up for."
"Yeah, well, at least they're not screaming anymore," Della, the shorter grunt, replied, her stockier frame hunched over as she stuffed a cracker into her mouth. "Could be worse. Remember that one kid from Viridian who wouldn't stop yelling about his dad being a cop?"
"Yeah, but quieter isn't better. Quiet just means they've given up. Creepy little zombies."
"Whatever," Della said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of food. "It's not like they're our problem. Execs just want them alive. No point stressing about it."
Marla snorted, tapping her boot against the floor. "Still, doesn't feel right. Even for us. I mean, look at them. Half of them look like they'd keel over if we so much as sneezed in their direction."
"Yeah, well, we don't get paid to feel right," Della said, shrugging. "Besides, Arianna would rip us apart if we stepped out of line. No touching, no tormenting, no fun."
"No fun," Marla echoed bitterly. She grabbed a ration bar from the table and bit into it angrily. "It's like she's got a goddamn rulebook for how to be a boring villain. No killing, no beating the prisoners, no..." She gestured vaguely.
Their banter was cut short by a sharp knock at the door.
Both women froze, their casual demeanor vanishing in an instant. Marla's hand instinctively went to her belt, fingers brushing over the Pokéballs clipped there. "You expecting someone?"
"No," Della whispered, her voice low. She glanced toward the door, her eyes narrowing. "Maybe Slate?"
Marla frowned, motioning for her partner to stay quiet. She took a cautious step toward the door, her boots scuffing softly against the floor. The knock came again, louder this time, echoing through the outpost like a challenge.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
Della grabbed a flashlight from the table, clicking it on. "This better not be the men playing pranks," she muttered.
The duo suddenly heard the sound of water splashing onto the door. The tension in the room eased immediately, and Della rolled her eyes.
"Ugh, screw you guys for pranking us," Della muttered, slamming the flashlight onto the table.
From beyond the door, a distorted laugh echoed—a tinny, artificial sound, like it was coming through a walkie-talkie. The laugh was exaggerated, almost cartoonish, but familiar enough to make them drop their guard.
"Yeah, hilarious," Marla said with a sarcastic snort. "Slate probably sent one of the new grunts to mess with us."
She unlocked the door with an annoyed huff and pulled it open, only to be met with the sharp, glowing tail of Rattata swinging straight at her face. The Iron Tail connected with a sickening thud, and Marla crumpled to the ground, unconscious before she even hit the floor.
"What the—!" Della shot to her feet, but her words were cut short as the puddle at her feet began to shift. The water coalesced, reforming into the sleek, shimmering figure of a Vaporeon.
Before she could react, a blast of water hit her square in the chest, drenching her completely. The shock was enough to knock her back, but what came next sealed her fate—Pikachu darted out from the shadows, his cheeks sparking brightly as he unleashed a Thunder Shock. The electricity coursed through the water, amplifying its effect, and Della let out a strangled yelp before collapsing beside her partner, twitching slightly before going still.
The room was silent for a heartbeat, save for the faint hum of Pikachu's sparks fading into the air.
Then, like a floodgate breaking, the prisoners erupted.
A wave of relief swept through the tied-up trainers as they stirred, their once-empty eyes lighting up with hope. Murmurs of "We're saved!" and "Someone came for us!" filled the room. A boy no older than ten began sobbing openly, his face buried in his hands. An older girl with a bruised cheek whispered, "Thank you," over and over again as if it were a mantra.
But not everyone was celebrating.
Austin's eyes immediately locked onto one person in the back of the room. Gary Oak.
Unlike the others, who looked exhausted but relatively unharmed, Gary lay slumped against the wall, unconscious. His wrists were tied tightly behind him, his usually pristine hair matted with sweat and dirt. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, and a streak of dried blood trailed from the corner of his mouth. Surrounding him were his cheerleaders, their faces pale and streaked with tears. They huddled close to him, some whispering his name in desperate pleas for him to wake up, while others glared toward the grunts, their fear barely masking their fury.
Pretty sure Gary wouldn't stay still if he could help it, Austin thought grimly. The sight of him beaten and subdued only reinforced how far things had gone.
"Hero?" someone called out, their voice trembling with hope.
Austin blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. He realized the trainers were looking at him now, their faces a mixture of gratitude and desperation. Cries for help filled the room, overlapping and frantic.
"Help us!"
"Please untie me!"
"They barely feed us!"
Austin raised his hand to silence them, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "Don't worry," he said, scanning the room. "I'm going to help you all. But you need to stay quiet—"
A voice interrupted him, cutting through the chaos like a knife.
"So that someone dangerous doesn't get alerted?"
The room fell deathly silent.
Austin's blood turned to ice as he whipped around, his heart pounding in his ears.
Standing just a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall, was Arianna. Her lips curled into a cold, dangerous smile as her sharp eyes took in the scene. She looked almost amused, like a predator toying with its prey.
"Well," she said, her voice smooth and dripping with menace. "Looks like the little hero decided to play savior. How adorable."
Austin's Pokémon immediately reacted, their anger palpable in the tense air.
The oppressive fear in the room seemed to shift as the Pokémon stood their ground, their anger a blazing defiance against the cold smile Arianna wore—a smile that widened as if she was savoring the challenge, making the air in the outpost feel suddenly colder.
"I hope you're ready to bleed for that bravery!"