They found the first body in Mauville's dead river, bloated and clutching a cracked Poké Ball.
Liam stared at the scene from the overgrown banks, his stomach twisting. The body was fresh—another trainer who had tried to defy the Crimson Code and lost. He stepped back, his boot crunching on shattered glass, and swallowed hard. This was normal now. The League didn't tolerate rebellion, and the world didn't forgive weakness.
A low chirp broke the silence. Gligar, perched on a half-collapsed signpost, flicked its tail nervously. It was watching the corpse too, its sharp eyes locked on the red stain spreading in the filthy water. Liam clenched his fists. "Let's go," he said, his voice tight. "Nothing we can do here."
But as they moved on, Liam couldn't shake the image. The trainer's face was frozen in shock, their hand gripping that ruined Poké Ball like it could've saved them. He kept telling himself it wasn't his problem. It wasn't his fight. Yet the pit in his stomach wouldn't leave.
The road stretched ahead, cracked and crawling with weeds. Wild Pokémon rustled in the underbrush, but none dared come close. Even they seemed to sense how broken this world was. Liam adjusted the strap of his pack, Gligar gliding low beside him, its wings slicing through the humid air.
Then the radio broadcast crackled to life, sharp and jarring in the eerie quiet.
"Attention, citizens of Hoenn. The Crimson Code ensures our survival. Report any fainted Pokémon immediately. Together, we rebuild. Together, we endure."
Liam stopped walking, his jaw tight. He hated that voice. It was always calm, always hollow, like the person saying it didn't believe a single word.
"Endure," he muttered under his breath, kicking a loose stone into the brush. "What a load of—"
A sound cut him off: muffled crying.
He froze, motioning for Gligar to stay quiet. They crept forward, and Liam peered through a break in the trees. A small group of trainers was gathered around a boy kneeling in the dirt.
The boy's Pokémon—a fainted Swellow—lay limp in his arms. Its feathers were ruffled, its chest still, and its wings dragged in the mud. A League officer stood over him, towering and unyielding.
"You know the Code," the officer said, voice sharp as a blade. "Hand it over."
The boy shook his head, clutching the Swellow tighter. "Please," he choked out. "It's not weak! It just needs—"
The officer yanked the Poké Ball from his hand and tossed it aside. "Weakness is a liability."
Liam's stomach churned. He couldn't look away. The officer raised a black device, pressing it to the Swellow's neck. There was a low hum, followed by a sharp, final crack.
Gligar flinched, and so did Liam.
The boy screamed, reaching for his Pokémon, but it was too late. The officer didn't even flinch. They turned, stepping back into the League truck like it was just another day's work. The boy was left alone, crumpled in the dirt, crying into his empty hands.
Liam stumbled back, his breath shallow. Gligar looked up at him, its claws gripping his shoulder tightly. It didn't need words to ask the question on both their minds: What happens if that's us?
That night, Liam couldn't sleep.
The ruins of Mauville stretched out around him, cold and empty, the wind howling through broken windows. He sat with his back against a crumbling wall, Gligar curled close to his side. The image of the Swellow wouldn't leave his mind.
He clenched his fists, staring into the fire. "This can't be how it ends," he muttered.
Gligar stirred, tilting its head.
Liam's voice was barely above a whisper, but the firelight caught the determination in his eyes. "They want us to follow their rules. They want us to give up when it gets hard." He shook his head. "Not us, buddy. Never us."
Gligar chirped softly, its tail curling around his arm like a promise.
But in the back of Liam's mind, a darker thought gnawed at him. What happens if I can't protect you?