The Odd One Out -- A Reborn Story

[Oscarus]

2 hours ago, Mindlack said:

early ones are around 2.5-3k words long, the later ones are maybe 3.5-5k words long.

So it's longer than anticipated. Especially the later ones. I assumed those were 1-2k words, while the latest chapters for my are 5k+ (with quite a few crossing 7,5k)

2 hours ago, Mindlack said:

and that you won’t mind the more… unusual takes that this story has

You're saying this to a guy who has killed major character despite their personal plot being far away from being finished. 

There are no "unusual takes" for me - just those who are predictable, and unpredictable 

[Aphelli]

On 3/27/2022 at 11:17 PM, Oscarus said:

So it's longer than anticipated. Especially the later ones. I assumed those were 1-2k words, while the latest chapters for my are 5k+ (with quite a few crossing 7,5k)

I may have overestimated the earlier ones – I wrote them quite a while ago and I haven’t checked the word counts since the fic’s second birthday. I think 2k words was some kind of low-average for the early chapters. And I know it’s been long since I released a chapter under 3k words. Five thousand is something like my upper limit for now: I’ll split rather than risk the chapters grow much longer. Perhaps it will change. 

 

On 3/27/2022 at 11:17 PM, Oscarus said:

You're saying this to a guy who has killed major character despite their personal plot being far away from being finished. 

Okay, I have three reactions to this. 
 

1) well, it takes some daring, sure. 
2) but then again GoT did this repeatedly and everyone loved the show for it (not the only example, but I think it’s the best-known one). So how much more mainstream can this trope get? 
3) but there is, of course, a difference between a Reborn fanfic and GoT – you don’t have the same expectations. So in this sense you probably did take a significant risk. 

(I really should read your story now, for the sake of reciprocity if anything else – and, I suppose, to avoid unfounded speculation as to its content – but your status update from today suggests that’s not the actual start, so where should I begin?). 
 

On 3/27/2022 at 11:17 PM, Oscarus said:

There are no "unusual takes" for me - just those who are predictable, and unpredictable 

Well, that one is unusual by my standards. But again (as we discussed not too long ago), I’m not speaking about plot events as much as the “story logic” (or maybe “story outlook”). The plot deviations are rather minor – but the details matter. 

Let’s just say that if you’re expecting “hero learns to kick ass and right all wrongs with the help of his friends, overcomes hardships, beats Gym Leaders and thwarts enemies thanks to their indomitable willpower and love for their Pokemon, also wins over the hearts and minds of the members of the evil Team and redeems them through their fundamental decency, awesome talent, winner charisma, and persistency” – this might not be the most accurate description of how the story goes. 

[Oscarus]

51 minutes ago, Mindlack said:

but there is, of course, a difference between a Reborn fanfic and GoT – you don’t have the same expectations

I haven't even watched GoT, so cannot compare 

[Oscarus]

52 minutes ago, Mindlack said:

(I really should read your story now, for the sake of reciprocity if anything else – and, I suppose, to avoid unfounded speculation as to its content – but your status update from today suggests that’s not the actual start, so where should I begin?). 

I'm "repairing" the story, so everything will be on the same level of consistency without holes. 

I will soon send out links to the episodes in Wattpad... as I won't waste my time editing everything all over again here, and copying format is a bad idea - I've done it once and destroyed accidentally some eyesights. 

 

And no, I am far from beginning - as of right now, there are 38 episodes (including those "not repaired"), with the last one ending just before the battle for Millennium Badge. The first episodes might be on the shorter side, but the deeper we go, the longer they get. 

[Aphelli]

22 minutes ago, Oscarus said:

I haven't even watched GoT, so cannot compare 

Neither have I. But by “cultural osmosis” (aka “I overhear people”) I know a bit of what it’s about. Killing, sex, rinse and repeat a few times, and also politics, betrayals, war, revenge, dragons and undead horrors. As far as I know, the series is “infamous” for killing off many beloved characters before their time. 
 

I should have been clearer – I meant that one does not expect the same thing at all when reading a Pokemon fanfiction and when watching such a TV show. Which is why the comparison was not sound. 

 

17 minutes ago, Oscarus said:

And no, I am far from beginning - as of right now, there are 38 episodes (including those "not repaired"),

 

I remember that part (and sorry if I implied you were beginning – I know you’re not and I really didn’t want to mean that). But in the status update I was referring to, you mention Oscar 6-0-ing Cynthia – is that, for instance, part of that story? Or another one? Or the backstory? Or merely a headcanon (if the concept even makes sense for someone’s own OC)? 

 

17 minutes ago, Oscarus said:

The first episodes might be on the shorter side, but the deeper we go, the longer they get. 

 

Same for you and me, then. I suppose we grow to enjoy the sound of our own voices. 

[Oscarus]

1 hour ago, Mindlack said:

you mention Oscar 6-0-ing Cynthia – is that, for instance, part of that story? Or another one? Or the backstory? Or merely a headcanon (if the concept even makes sense for someone’s own OC)? 

Backstory. And also I did 6-0d Cynthia once irl in the past. 

He apparently wasn't in good mood at the time, so he went all out. But... I'm not the first one to create a character who does that - Reukra and Soul have destroyed her as well. 

 

[Oscarus]

1 hour ago, Mindlack said:

I meant that one does not expect the same thing at all when reading a Pokemon fanfiction and when watching such a TV show. Which is why the comparison was not sound. 

Obviously. Two completely different universes with different sets of rules and laws. Comparing it objectively would be impossible. 

[Aphelli]

Time for a new chapter! 

 

E19 is out and my draft isn't even complete as I had hoped. Time has flown so fast and I have been so slow...

So, to motivate myself, I have decided to only start playing E19 after my full draft for Part Three is complete. 

 

The good news is: I have one chapter to go. 

The bad news is: it's going to be a very long one, there are obstacles for the "good guys" I don't really know how to overcome, and even then I need to carefully edit my previous unpublished drafts (68-70) to make sure that everything is mostly consistent.

 

Bottom line: I want to experience first-hand E19, so I'm not looking at any spoilers until I play. So, please, do not write any E19 info whatsoever on this thread (not even in spoilers because I can resist temptation only so much) until I ask otherwise. On the other hand, I have no issue with E18 game information or lore, nor with pre-community release dev blog content.

 

(Well, I tried to phrase this clearly, but there will be loopholes. Moreover, it's not like there's anything I can (or would, even if I could) enforce. I'm just asking to not be spoiled, and you know what this sentence means. Pretty please. Thank you.)

 

 

But enough delay... Time to move forward!

 

 

Chapter 67: Wrong Game

 

 

Spoiler

“How long have you known?” I asked Radomus.

“From the beginning.” he replied lazily. “Not the same pitch, not the same words, not the same attitude… Wasn’t it obvious?”

 

Well, no.

 

“So,” Adrienn grunted, getting up, scowling at the dirt marks on their clothes, “that is why you made such cruel comments against this fake Gardevoir.”

“But of course!” Gossip Gardevoir confirmed. “I wouldn’t stay with my Master if he wasn’t worth it. And he is, I can assure you, a very attentive Trainer. And a very good one, as I expect you will find out.”

“He’s still violent.” Adrienn frowned, rubbing their elbow.

“You rushed me.” Radomus observed.

“So, are you paying taxes?”

“Perhaps it would be best to discuss this matter outside.” Radomus offered, sounding amused. “Just a second.”

 

The Gym Leader crouched by the unconscious priest, rummaging between the tails of his robe.

 

“Uh, what are you doing?” Cain asked.

“Finding this Ditto’s Pokeball. I would rather not have it turning on us… ah,” he added with satisfaction, “this one is empty.”

 

The Ditto was recalled.

 

“Nonetheless, I owe you thanks,” Gossip Gardevoir told Adrienn, “for offering so gallantly to take what appeared to be my side.”

“It’s nothing,” they answered. “I couldn’t bear to do otherwise.”

“So sweet!” she commented admiringly, on the tone of addressing an audience who didn’t exist. “This will make for a great interview!”

“Gardevoir.” Radomus sighed. “This is another matter that we should discuss above ground. I trust none of you want to stay down there?” he eyed us. Adrienn and Cain voiced their agreement, while I slightly shook my head.

“Yes, Master!” Gossip Gardevoir almost sang. “Dear audience, this is us taking our leave! See you next time!”

 

The universe blinked.

 

And we were suddenly standing outside Reborn’s walls (except for El who looked soundly asleep in a patch of wet grass). We could have, through the half-open Grand Gates, a peek at the city.

 

“No fucking way.” Cain commented, awestruck.

“I was wondering how I would find an exit.” Adrienn remarked. “This is a lot more effective.”

“How did you get there in the first place?” I chimed in, curious about how unlikely this encounter had been.

“I heard this morning that the Grand Gates were stuck, so I went – why are you looking at me like this?”

“It’s been years since these Gates were stuck closed.” Cain managed to articulate.

“What are you talking about? They worked perfectly yesterday!”

 

Uh…

 

“We’re still talking about the same city, right?” Adrienn went on, bemused at our uncomprehending faces. “Reborn City?”

 

They peeked through the gates.

 

“I mean, I would know, I’ve lived there all my life…” they mumbled, slipping through the half-open Gates.

 

When they reappeared two seconds later, their face was pallid.

 

 

“This is a joke, right? This has to be!”

“What’s the matter?” Cain asked, concerned at Adrienn’s excited tone.

“What do you mean, what’s the matter!” they answered with a furiously energetic shrug. “What is this place?” they pointed at the gate.

“This is Reborn City.” Radomus said calmly, to Cain’s quiet nod. 

“But that’s impossible!” Adrienn protested. “Look!”

 

They motioned at us to follow them through the Grand Gates. Which still weren’t supposed to be working.

 

“Gardevoir, keep an eye on El, will you?” Radomus instructed his Pokemon.

 

I looked hesitatingly at the elderly priest who had tried to fool us so boldly, still contentedly sleeping in the wet grass. He had certainly kidnapped Gossip Gardevoir – even though it had backfired – and it occurred to me that it would be leaving the both of them alone. It felt… wrong. What would happen to him? 

 

“Master,” Gardevoir seemed to echo my thoughts, “shall I deliver this villain to the authorities?”

 

Radomus briefly stopped in his tracks.

 

“You may do so, Gardevoir,” he agreed.

 

One problem I wouldn’t have to deal with, I thought with a certain relief, as Gossip Gardevoir disappeared along with the sleeping man in his drenched white robe, and I followed Radomus and Cain to the Gates.

 

Inside the city’s walls, atop the Grand Staircase with this enormous hole blasted through it – a trove of anguished memories – Adrienn was frantically watching the city.

 

Not much was worth a glance. In the distance, the color of the lake was an even more unnatural reddish brown color, while the buildings of Lapis, North Obsidia, and even the Grand Hall looked worn, stained, precarious, ugly. I remembered vividly the dirty streets, full of potholes and littered with garbage, their sour smell – all of which I thankfully wasn’t able to physically experience at the moment – to say nothing of the utter wrecks that once had been western wards, or the nearly empty Coral or the post-apocalyptic Wasteland.

 

“That can’t be Reborn City…” Adrienn said, in denial. “The staircase was white marble, not this ghastly dusty color, and it didn’t have a gaping hole in it!” – the ladder had been taken off, but the cave hadn’t been blocked off, I noticed – “And look at the lake! It was supposed to be a stunning crystalline blue water, a really Azurine Lake, not this abomination! These streets, these buildings… how could they come to this? It was all so clear this morning… And why is it so cold, all of a sudden?”

 

“Why are you looking at me like this?” they reacted to our stares. Mine was concerned, as Cain’s looked. Radomus’s was impenetrable, but in all likelihood he already had the answer to these questions, if he hadn’t created them in the first place. “We’re in May, right?”

 

If they believed that the month was in May, and that the gates were still functional yesterday… Then their memories were ten years late. What a case of improbable amnesia …

 

“We’re in December.” Cain pointed out.

“But that’s impossible! I went down there to inspect the gates not two hours ago, because they had stopped working. We’re May 3^rd!” Adrienn insisted. Something seemed to strike them. “My Gym…” they whispered. “What happened to my Gym?”

 

What Gym?

The Gym they were running ten years ago? If so, it probably didn’t have much luck surviving the darker ages.

 

“What Gym?” Cain echoed my thoughts.

“What do you mean, what Gym?” Adrienn replied, in an exalted tone. “I’m Adrienn! The Fairy Leader of the Reborn League! The highest-ranked Gym inside the city itself! It’s in Coral Ward! By the… water…” their voice wavered.

 

In the Coral Ward…

 

I remembered. No happy fate had befallen the Gym.

 

“No…” they whispered, glancing at our faces – I felt like a doctor delivering fatal news – their shoulders slumping. “But I have to know,” they repeated like a mantra. “I have to see.”

 

And they took off, hurtling down the staircase towards the heart of the city.

 

“We shouldn’t leave them alone.” Radomus said softly. “It’s going to be hard for them to face the truth.”

 

I fancied finding myself in the same situation – realizing someday that it was not the day I believed it was, that I had lost a decade’s worth of memories, and that, in the mysterious meantime, my home, my town had decayed to a pathetic parody of life, that my everyday sights had rotted into the dreary state of a terminally diseased patient in palliative care under apathetic supervision.

 

There were only two ways I could have reacted from such a situation. I could go mad in various unhelpful ways, or I could manage to go sane – although the latter was as unlikely as striking with a dart the bull’s eye of a target I couldn’t see.

 

As we walked deeper in the city, broadly following Adrienn’s footsteps, I couldn’t help but compare the hideous reality of our environment – the noxious smell, the garbage, the homelessness – with what I remembered from Kalos – and anxiously wonder what string of calamities would trigger a comparable change there. And here was the marvellous, the terrible secret: if it ever happened in my lifetime, there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing to see, nothing to prevent, nothing to help. Assuming I ever came back home, of course.

 

We found Adrienn in front of the ruined Gym of the Coral Ward, its walls tainted with ten years’ worth of tagging paint in half-erased layers, and its dome ceiling collapsed. They looked utterly despondent, with their slumped shoulders, and their blank stare at the ground.

 

“What…” they whispered in a stricken voice. “How could this happen?”

 

What was there to answer? That the last ten years, starting with a series of damaging freak earthquakes, had made Reborn into a martyr city? That at least some of the most recent damage had been caused by a terrorist organization led by a religious fanatic hell bent –

 

Wait…

Could it be?

 

El’s potential links to Team Meteor were worth thinking about, at any rate, even though I suspected that Gossip Gardevoir's suggestion had rather mitigated the risk of him getting away. Although I couldn't imagine how she would frame the situation to them, without any witnesses... 

 

But there were. Cain and I. Who weren't supposed to be here. Although there would be – if I could trust Ame, which I shouldn't – perhaps a certain leniency in my case? But not Cain's, at any rate. 

 

Nonetheless, this... story of Adrienn's was worrying, too. Nothing seemed to fit. Ten and a half years ago, Adrienn allegedly left their Gym, to check on the Grand Gates.

 

If Adrienn is honest, I know that this was ten years ago because the Grand Gates suddenly stopped working. Then they learn that ten years have elapsed, and they rush to their Gym, which has been left into disrepair.

 

So no one thought of reclaiming the building for any purposes. If Adrienn wasn’t lying – or otherwise telling a falsehood – about being a Leader once, then the Gym had been neglected, but had not changed hands. Which suggested at least that Adrienn had officially disappeared.

 

But how could they mistake a whole different season? Dress so lightly? I thought as I distractedly glanced at them. And how on earth could their jacket be so clean?

 

All this suggested that Adrienn was not speaking the truth, and, therefore, was either genuinely disturbed – or we were with a maniac in the empty, foggy streets – a fog that had to be taking years off my lifespan – of a deserted Ward.

 

If they were not on the same insane side as Radomus, the danger might not be this huge – assuming someone was aware of it.

 

When I tuned reality in again, Adrienn and Radomus were arguing, to Cain’s pained and disbelieving face, about the reasons why the Reborn crisis triggered ten years ago had been so dire. The city should have managed to rebuild, Adrienn argued, people don’t sit idly, they reach out, they help out – while the chessmaster was offering alternate explanations why it didn’t happen – the death blow to the economy – which wasn’t an explanation as much as a description – the power failing, the collapse of the supply chains, the destruction of the Railnet, the lack of outside help.

 

And then the atmosphere of despair, of helplessness. The certainty of disaster leading everyone to leave the sinking ship of progress. The rise of day-to-day thinking following that of poverty, creating motive for and driving up crime. Leading to crime groups taking power from the legitimate authorities, already strangled by their failure to deliver minimal prosperity according to the implicit social contract. I could have sworn I was listening to Hari Seldon explaining the ruin of the Galactic Empire. Which said miles about how sneaky and dangerous I rated Radomus. 

 

And I didn't dare interrupt them, or point out to Cain that we were in deep water. None of this was either Radomus's or Adrienn's business.

 

“There’s Team Meteor, too.” Cain pointed out, thankfully bringing back the topic to a more down-to-earth topic.

 

“Team Meteor? What’s that?” Adrienn asked, frowning at the ominous name and at Cain’s scowl.

 

“Apparently, the main reason why the lake is like this. And the Staircase, too.” I answered, not mentioning everything else. Of course, Adrienn was most certainly either severely damaged memory-wise, or pretending to – but there was no reason to not tell the truth in this particular case.

 

“But… that’s impossible… how could they do it? Get away with it?” Adrienn pleaded. “How could this all happen? I told you, two hours ago, the city was shining and bustling, not this horrid cesspool…”

“Surely there is only one possible explanation.” Radomus offered in a reasonable tone of voice.

 

Sure.

 

“I suspect that you have travelled through time.”

 

 

I tensed immediately. This was completely wrong. Plain impossible. Very suspiciously so, indeed. My hands grabbed Pokeballs of their own accords, and I felt my heart rate double. Adrienn was a nutcase, Radomus was their accomplice, and this was a signal.

 

But if this was a signal, it didn’t make either of them do anything. In fact, Adrienn looked speechless.

 

“Gabriel?” Cain asked, worried. “What’s the matter?”

“They’re – he’s – lying.” I answered harshly. “That’s impossible. But there’s another explanation.”

“So you are still ascribing ill ends to me?” Radomus enquired. “What better explanation do you offer?”

“She’s – sorry, Adrienn, they’re – nuts. Memory issues. Maybe a cleaning freak. Or just pretending.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Adrienn replied heatedly.

“No. That’s why my favorite explanation is that you’ve some nasty amnesia. Or your brain is stuck ten years ago, or something.”

“And you, Cain,” Radomus pleasantly asked – how could he remain so calm in front of such an outrageous claim? – “what do you think?”

“I don’t know…” Cain answered uncertainly. “It’s weird, sure, but you don’t look insane to me, Adrienn…”

“Thank you,” they replied with slightly raised eyebrows.

“But time travel? Isn’t that pushing it a bit far?”

“How else would you explain it? Adrienn here used to be the Fairy Gym Leader ten years ago, until one day they up and disappeared. But the body was never found, so they left the Gym as it was. Then everyone had bigger concerns than this Gym.”

“At least it was still useful to some people.” Adrienn commented sadly. “Though I wish someone had kept the water running for them too.”

 

“They could have simply left the city for any reason, and decided to come back only now. They could have memory problems, as I pointed out, or faking them.” I argued. These sounded like weak arguments, but they weren’t. Time travel was impossible. Therefore there had to be another explanation. “They could just believe they’re Adrienn. You, or they, could be embellishing, or mistaken, on all the relevant facts. The point is,” I added, more exalted, “that literally any other explanation is more plausible than time travel. And how would it even work in the first place?”

“Well,” Radomus answered calmly, perhaps with a hint of amusement, “ten years is a long time to ponder one’s questions. And Adrienn Flores’s disappearance” – the mention of their surname seemed to upset Adrienn, for some reason, and unsettle Cain – “was a truly remarkable event, although I concede that I am working from second-hand information. The past is, after all, a foreign country, and aren’t these a little difficult to reach these days?”

 

My blood ran cold at this remark and my hands clenched on my Pokeballs.

He had Gossip Gardevoir at his service, so of course he would know this about me.

What did he want from me? Why had he involved me at all?

 

Why me?

 

“At any rate,” Radomus went on, undisturbed, with Cain and Adrienn’s full attention, “you are forgetting about the Gates: they worked today, after we visited this underground temple, when they hadn’t in over a decade, as anyone else will tell you. You cannot assume the two events are uncorrelated.”

“Yes,” I snapped back. “I can. And even if they were, this isn’t on the same level as time travel. This is impossible, full stop.”

“How do you know it?”

“Because it doesn’t work like that! Even if they were telling the truth, that’s just not possible!”

“Suppose I showed you a photograph of them from ten years ago.” Radomus mused. “You would find that they have the exact same face. Certainly not like they aged ten years in the meantime.”

“I told you!” Adrienn protested. “Two hours ago it was spring, and now you’re telling me it’s nearly winter!”

“Some people don’t look like they age!” I replied. “And anyway, how come they would have travelled through time and none of us did?”

“We met El with the Amethyst Pendant, remember? One of the keys of this temple…” he mused, shaking his head. “There would be extravagant power concealed within.”

“You believe in this too?” I spoke incredulously.

“That’s not the point!” Adrienn interrupted us, grim determination on this face. “There is a far more pressing question.”

 

But… there wasn’t. How could there be? A possibility of time travel? There was no end to the uses it could be put to. It could be a tremendous good to tap into, an unrivalled possibility for information – perhaps not quite tantamount to winning the survival game we were overall losing, but a tide-turner without the shadow of a doubt – and a formidable new threat to defend against, for the exact same reasons.

 

However, I had to notice that if time travel there had been, it could have been something more limited – and almost conceivable – Adrienn would have been frozen in time for ten years, every second they spent in the temple magnified roughly forty thousand fold. As if they had been orbiting something as heavy as a gigantic black hole.

 

And mass is energy, I mused.

 

I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. This was impossible, for crying out loud! Nothing man made, let alone a buried ancient temple, could invoke general-relativistic effects. The likelihood of this being somehow fake was still overwhelming.

 

But what drove Radomus to pretend it wasn’t?

 

“We can’t leave the city in this state, anyway.” Adrienn stated, dead earnest.

 

These were words I wanted to hear, and not because of all the misery it would cure. Just, selfishly, because the city couldn’t recover without transportation, which meant that my tribulations would soon come to an end. Finally, I would be able to get home.

 

If the police wasn't already coming for us. 

 

“Sure, but what can we do?” Cain shook his head. “We can help here and there, but you don’t think we can do much more, do you?”

“That would be quite the feat.” Radomus assented, without letting me mention to Cain how he could help by getting out before getting jailed.

“Look at this place.” Adrienn gestured at our lackluster surroundings, where I knew were the deserted harbor, the all but empty and derelict residential buildings. Their words were as solemn as an oath – and, in a way, it was one. “That’s like all the city I saw today. It lost its spark. Its drive. I’m going to rekindle the hope for a better future. And we’re all going to rebuild this city.”

 

 

Right. And it’ll rain marshmallows, too.

Because someone swearing something didn’t make it happen. The oath was the easy part. The one that cost nothing.

And Adrienn was still having some breathtaking memory issues. Which didn’t help matters.

 

“Do you… really think it can be done?” Cain asked, his eyes shining as he looked Adrienn, his voice shaking.

“They would need to stop time again, I fear.” Radomus chuckled.

 

Very funny.

 

“Haha.” Adrienn replied, deadpan. “Maybe I will. So who’s supposed to be in charge around here?” they added, far more practically.

“Maybe you should go see Ame at the Grand Hall, I guess? She’s in charge of the League anyway.” Cain offered.

“Ame?” Adrienn shook their head thoughtfully. “That doesn’t ring a bell. But never mind – I’ll have to see her anyway, and the sooner the better.”

 

Adrienn walked away from us in a purposeful stride back towards the main Wards. I didn’t want to imagine how the staff at the Grand Hall would react to their fantastic claims and very nearly insane projects, or dwell on what Ame would think of this unbelievable story. But it wasn’t my concern anyway.

 

“Well,” Radomus said after a long, silent minute, “I don’t think we have anything else to do in Reborn City today. Perhaps it’s time to head back to the castle, so as to reassure Luna, and hold both of your battles?”

 

Now he was starting to get the right idea.

  

“Cain?” I seized the moment. “You remember that we're not really welcome, right?”

“Yes.” Radomus approved. “I believe that Gardevoir will have distracted them a little, but they certainly on our tracks as we speak.”

“We’ll have to cross the whole city again to leave it?” Cain asked, disbelieving. “We’ll never make it! We'll have to hide in the Wasteland...”

 

Sound thinking, I agreed, even though the Wasteland sounded as unappealing a route as possible. And even then, there was going to be either a long, long walk, or – the prospect filled me with foreboding – the Tauros afterwards.

 

“We could do that.” Radomus said with an amused smirk. “But what if we vanished instead?”

 

It took a second to remember what had happened barely an hour ago. Gardevoir had teleported us out of the ancient temple. That was certainly extremely convenient, but it was somewhat disconcerting that Radomus had barely asked. Did that mean that I was at his – or, which was almost more terrifying, his Gossip Gardevoir’s – mercy, defenseless against his dictating my every move?

 

“Gabriel, Cain, I assume that you’re coming?” Radomus asked. “Or you want to get back to the castle on foot?”

 

I glanced at Cain. I wasn’t fond enough of hiking to walk the entire way back, and he didn’t look like he was. The afternoon wouldn’t be enough, by far.

 

“Excellent.” Radomus nodded. “Gardevoir?” he clapped hands.

 

There was the vague pervasive feeling of a huge wave of some kind – not liquid, not light, something else entirely – washing, in some sense, all over my body, shutting down my senses for a fraction of a second. And as simply as that, we were standing near Vanhanen Castle’s lowered drawbridge, inviting us back in stone walls that looked safer and saner than Reborn City, the assumed Adrienn’s delusions – all the more painful since they partly echoed my heart’s desires – although of course they would hurt even more everyone else who believed it – their very home was at stake – and buried ancient temples linked with dangerous jewelry hunted for by terrorist organizations.

 

The weather had worsened while we were away, and it was pouring, so Cain and I barely shared a glance before we walked across the bridge and into the castle, and shut the door behind us.

 

The dark entrance hall, with its bare chests of drawers, its turned-off lamps, its chessboard floor and its procaryote computer, was empty and silent, apart from the pleasant sound of the rain which it was protecting us from. This time, the other room was unlit and empty, although I noticed straightaway that the pieces had a different layout on the chessboard.

 

White to move, a little card read, and mate in four.

 

“Do you think she’s here?” Cain asked nervously, scanning the room.

 

I blinked and tried to clear my mind from the strangely compelling – and perhaps above my level – chess problem. Where would Luna go?

 

“It doesn’t look like anything bad happened here.” I watched my surroundings too. With the vases in their natural position, the neat chessboard, we might have been able to notice if a fight had broken out.

So a better conclusion was that Luna was in a safe room somewhere in the castle. After all, if others expected Radomus to surround the ways to his castle with traps, surely the chessmaster was clever enough to have a safe room there too.

 

And possibly other places too, come to think of it.

 

Not, of course, that it was a good thing to utter either of these in the castle of a dangerous person with dangerous enemies.

 

Cain tried to open the couple of doors that we could see to the room – the one leading to the Arena, and another one, left of the entrance, leading who knew where, but both were locked shut.

 

“What are you doing?” Cain asked me, as I was coming back to the chess puzzle, frowning in concentration, picturing the board two moves afterwards, while I knew very well that I had to be missing some possible counter-moves from Black.

 

“Solving the chess puzzle.” I replied distractedly, worried about a Black Bishop that really could ruin everything. 

“You can play chess?”

“I know the basics, maybe a little more.” I answered. “And you?”

“No. I’ve never played. I’m more of a strip poker guy.”

 

Thank you for the mental image, I sighed internally.

 

“But do you think he’ll ask us to play chess?” Cain added.

“He said he was a professional player, no? There’s no way we can play a fair game with him.”

 

But then again, it would be par for the course, wouldn’t it? After Corey? After what I heard about this League?

 

“You used to be a Leader, didn’t you?” I added. “Wouldn’t you know?”

“I was a backup.” Cain replied, a smile on his lips. “I wasn’t invited to the socials.”

 

This chat was interrupted by the clear sound of a small bell ringing, the same sound that was used to call for a servant in the days of old. It sounded as if someone was giving the bell a good shake, because it kept on ringing and ringing, until the handle of the door not leading to the Arena turned and Luna appeared, in the same old-fashioned, but no less striking, garments she was wearing.

 

“Luna!” Cain exclaimed, relief obvious in his voice. “We were worried!”

“Master had plans for such a situation,” she replied softly. “Surely I could not stay alone, undefended, in the most exposed part of this dwelling. But it is over now, for the bell means that Master is coming back!”

“Why do you insist on calling him master?” I asked, as I didn’t find the concept very reassuring.

“What else might I call the owner of this castle, he whom I serve as a maid?”

 

It was true, of course. And given my latest pieces of experience, I was certainly not in a position to judge anyone’s lifestyle.

 

“Luna,” Radomus entered the room from the Gym, delighted, “I am back, and I have rescued Gossip Gardevoir in your stead, as you wished.”

 

“Master, I cannot find the words to express my gratefulness.” Luna replied on a formal tone, despite the radiant smile on her face.

 

“But this is not all I have found.” Radomus added, his grin widening. “I believe that this house is lacking some staff. Therefore, I have decided to hire a butler.”

 

 

Something felt wrong about this later statement. It could have been the Leader’s voice, his grin – or perhaps my own paranoia. But as Radomus brought forth his new butler, an elderly man in a classical dark grey suit and tie, I started feeling sick because in a flash of horrified understanding, things such as El’s methods and Radomus’s evasions started making the worst kind of sense.

 

I realized that all that was wit did not glitter.

That wanderers could get lost.

That pious lies existed for a reason.

That sometimes choosing wrong was worse than not choosing at all.

 

Don’t lie to yourself, Gabriel. In your heart of hearts, you’ve always known.

 

Because in such a city as Reborn – as I knew all too well – there was no authority. There was just power, and those too weak to wield it –

 

If Radomus had trapped his castle, and gone to confront El himself – why would he let a useless police ascertain the crime, a powerless justice enact a meaningless sentence, rather than do it all by himself?

 

And because I had let it happen, I was responsible for the most heinous of crimes that could be committed on a thinking human being, as Elias’s mind was made to obey another will than its own, a crime so dark that no retribution or reparation could balance it.

 

My inaction was beyond forgiveness. As had been done to Elias and, as looked increasingly likely, Luna, so could be – or, I shuddered, so could have been – done to me.

 

I tried my hardest to keep a poker face and, more importantly, to keep from hyperventilating in the sheer panicked reflex. Fortunately – if anything could mitigate the horror of Radomus’s atrocity – Luna’s reaction and departure had been more spectacular than mine, so I was probably still under the radar.

 

I watched in nauseated fascination as Elias was made to hand over the Amethyst Pendant back to Radomus, then was dismissed, as the Leader started explaining in a few brief sentences how the Gym challenge was going to work.

 

As if it could have the slightest importance! How could he not feel revulsed at how degrading an act he had perpetrated?

 

But I had to at least pretend I was listening – although it was beyond my strength to actually make sense of his words – force myself to not show any sign of the nervousness I was feeling, and settle for a frantic scan of the room, trying to assess my options. I could try and grab any kind of improvised weapon – a vase, a chair – and strike Radomus, strike to kill without restraint or remorse – ridding the world of such a horrid potentiality was worth the bloodshed and the legal retaliation – then run without looking back, lest the monster came back from the grave deadlier than ever before.

 

But I wasn’t going to do what was necessary.

I wasn’t going to protect myself. Or anyone else.

I wasn’t a hero.

I was a coward.

 

So I waited until Radomus had completed his speech, and went on acting completely casually, making, to  my own disgust, a desperate effort to suppress any sign of febrility. But as soon as he and Gardevoir exited the room, I grabbed my bag, searched the right Pokeball on my belt, and, dismissing Cain’s shocked glance, I started running.

 

Out. Into the rain.

It didn’t matter.

 

I would get caught soon – the hedge maze wasn’t the greatest place to pick up speed, in spite of Batley showing me the way from the air, and my heavy bag wasn’t made for the comfort of my shoulders, my back or my legs. Perhaps I would be made Radomus’s gleeful cook or whatever.

It didn’t matter.

 

I ran for my life. My sanity. My mind.

Leaving Elias in the most sorry state conceivable for a man.

I couldn’t help him either way. I had to try and save myself.

Knowing that it certainly wouldn’t happen. Not from such a threat.

 

I hit my head as I reached the outer stone walls of the maze and my mind went spinning in the metaphorical abyss.  

 

Character rates:

Spoiler

Cain: 8+/10 (no change). Same.  

Adrienn: 3/10 (-2). I'm super weirded out, because what they're saying doesn't make sense. It's even worse since I wholeleartedly agree with their stated goal. 

Radomus: -3/10 (-7). What a horrific piece of garbage. And I didn't do anything to stop him. 

 

Player's note:

Spoiler

Unlike Fern, Cain has become a dangerous opponent with a full team of threatening Pokemon. I was wary of fighting him, and that is why I made sure to slightly overlevel him. I think it was necessary.

 

 

Let’s play.

 

 

Oops, I think I shook the board a bit too much.

 

 

I switch to Antum as Cain brings in Mimikyu. I expected (was almost hoping for, really) the Swords Dance, since Mimikyu can’t really hurt me… right?

 

 

Well, I made a mistake... Mimikyu has Drain Punch, if I remember correctly. 

 

 

Well, Antum can’t do anything any more in this battle… Sorry.

 

 

I agonized over the choice of the switch-in. I made the calculations, and it was… not guaranteed I could come on top. But the other options were Krookodile (who – somehow – wasn’t as fast), Meowstic (who would just die to Shadow Sneak), Ribombee (who should survive one hit but probably not strike very hard without set-up – although I didn’t check, to be fully honest), and Gastrodon (who might have managed to do the job but on the other hand, maybe not).

 

 

That was a relief (Roserade’s HP are the damage from one Shadow Sneak, after Giga Drain recovery).

 

 

I switch out to Callan against Cain’s Pokemon, because Roserade isn’t going to do well. I know I’m triggering Competitive but Meowstic doesn’t threaten me this much.

 

 

 

 

Cain decides to sacrifice Meowstic to hold a Light Screen. I’m not sure it was the best choice, but it accomplished something.

 

 

 

I send Wizzard against the Primarina, but he’s probably going to lose.

 

 

 

We deal some damage to each other – I use Giga Drain, damped by the screen, the Primarina uses Moonblast for a purpose I don’t fathom.

 

 

As the Moonblast deals some 50 HP, I use Synthesis to recover – as Cain has a screen, I can’t hit very hard anyway. But then the Moonblast curbs my Special Attack, and I understand.

 

 

I know the Blizzard is incoming, so I switch to Elidee, either as a sack, or as a Quiver-Dancer.

 

 

Given how hard Blizzard hurt, I can’t survive another attack even after a Quiver Dance, so Elidee is going to be a sacrificial victim.

 

 

And the screen is gone. Time for revenge.

 

 

Cain makes an obvious switch. But little does he know about my secret weapon…

 

 

Field-boosted Nature Power.

 

 

Wizzard can't fight that, so I send Callan instead.

 

 

Why is Nidoking faster again? (quick Wiki check) Oh, right, full EVs. Oops. 

 

 

So… much… damage…

 

 

 

Funny how Earthquake ends up being his downfall again.

 

 

And it’s basically over now.

 

 

[Candy]

We've both been beaten by Ame xD

But tbh my case is more like the story of the tortoise and the hare, cause I most definitely had time to be caught up to E18 by now 

I also won't be playa E19 for a whale so no spoilers will come out of this Candy's fingers uwu

[Aphelli]

On 4/26/2022 at 8:46 AM, Candy said:

We've both been beaten by Ame xD

But tbh my case is more like the story of the tortoise and the hare, cause I most definitely had time to be caught up to E18 by now 

I also won't be playa E19 for a whale so no spoilers will come out of this Candy's fingers uwu

 

Yes, indeed. Or perhaps you weren't too sure about how to write down the E18 episodes without full knowledge of what on earth happens in there. And then time happened. 

Thank you for the "no spoilers"!

 

Speaking of which: I have started playing E19 and I love it! Even though (spoilers for the first five minutes):

Spoiler

a random policeman maybe three minutes into the game manages to make irrelevant this entire fanfic's plot line ("we'll be able to send outgoing cars"^^). 

But I'm still very early on, so I stand by my request: no spoilers, please. 

 

 

Anyway. 

I hope you're doing well. As you may have noticed, I (finally) changed display names, for, er, psychological reasons?

We're getting into the Part Three finale. I'm not quite sure about the path I have chosen (even though the full draft is there, it will need some more work), and perhaps I will need to make a few changes depending on E19 lore. 

 

I'm seeing a general reluctance of a lot of people on the forums and discord on criticism -- and while I can understand the reason, it feels... alien. Like we're living in parallel worlds (which we are, in a manner of speaking). So, I'll state my own "stance" one more time (I can still change if I get the reason why everyone seems to agree it's a bad idea): if you want to comment on, or criticize anything I write, you may (even something as trivial as pointing typos), and don't worry about "balance" (but please do try being articulate and in good faith). I won't take offense -- just maybe disagree and argue.

 

Please just don't spoil E19 until, say, the beginning of Part Four? 

 

Digression over. I hope you enjoy! 

 

This is 'Mind Games' finale starting. Can you beat the odds? Can you beat the impossible situation this "writer" has conjured? 

 

 

 

Chapter 68: Underworlds

 

Spoiler

A comfortable, fuzzy warmth was pervading my body as I slowly recovered consciousness. The silence, the darkness I could somehow perceive beyond my shut eyes were inviting me to prolong my nap. After all, I hadn’t been sleeping so well lately – one had to seize the opportunities as they presented themselves.

 

The above was somewhat more articulate than what I actually experienced, which was a primal desire to indulge my tingling eyes, and enjoy the comfort of… what, exactly?

 

All sleepiness left me as I realized that I had no idea where I had been dozing off. Given how rough and cold the surface my head was laying on was, how slumped my body felt, and the mild headache I had, I wasn’t in a bed – and therefore I had no reason to fall asleep there.

 

I could only vaguely remember black-clad shapes under Radomus’s walls – they probably had knocked me out after they spotted me. This memory, the last one I had, gave me another rush of adrenalin – how come I was there at all?

 

I opened my eyes. I was bent over a worn wooden desk in a small room, with only a tiny candle producing a faint flicker of light. I could just make out a couple of dark shapes on a small bookshelf that I assumed to be books. But it was what I couldn’t see that was worrying me most.

 

My bag wasn’t in the room! My bag, with the essentials that I hadn’t left at the Agate Pokemon Center. In particular, I would be missing the money a lot – as I barely had anything on me – but the worst could well be the loss of the Ruby Ring, the jewel that Team Meteor would kill for…

 

I didn’t have my Pokemon either, I realized. Someone – possibly the men in black from before – had taken them from me. My current situation, it was clear, was somewhere between tragic and terminally bad: I was defenseless and resourceless.

 

I took one of the books – old, crinkled paper, with many folded pages, and more than a few ones ripped – and carefully approached it from the candle. Comments on ‘The Prophets of Arceus’, I deciphered, by a certain Cantar, of whom I knew nothing.

 

So, a religious book. This made matters problematic, because there were two groups of people I knew of who could be interested in such a thing. El’s people – or the Meteors. And they didn’t have to be distinct! I remembered with apprehension. While I had managed to make sure that the latter possibility would be lethal, I didn’t know what to think of the former. After all, I had seen El bound to Radomus’s will by a most heinous action. So how could I end up in El’s power? It didn’t track.  

 

Or it could just be a mental image. A forgery forcefully overwriting my senses. Could that be how El had been bound to obey Radomus’s will? Had he been put into a situational context where being the butler made sense? Had he suffered through the nightmare of powerlessly feeling another entity replacing his will as his body’s mover? Or had the takeover been so strong that his mind had been sent into limbo, an irrelevant illusion, a simulated world for one to pretend to be able to act upon?

 

I put the book back on the shelf, steeled myself, had a last glance at the room – noting that there didn’t seem to be any window – and slapped myself.

 

It hurt.

 

I punched the desk, just enough to feel the shock on my knuckles.

 

It still hurt.

 

But it didn’t help with anything. I could still be trapped within myself – feel the pain merely because I expected it.

 

The best proof that I wasn’t in limbo would be to get hold of some piece of information difficult to find on my own, but that I could confirm. Typically, some prime factorization. Or a big anagram. But this didn’t block any of the more refined forms of limbo.

 

On a hunch, I suddenly turned back. Everything looked normal.

 

As a wise philosopher once said, if there’s no test able to separate reality from a simulation – or a dream – then the dream is reality.

 

So the sanest option was to pretend this was reality – not even ask the question.

 

I tried the door. The handle gave in, and, to my surprise, the door opened and looked out into a corridor just as dimly-lit – but I didn’t dare go too fast. Instead of directly leaving the room, or even manifesting myself, I listened.

 

My breathing sounded like a loud disturbance that I couldn’t ignore in the surrounding silence – so it was time to go. I pulled the door open, wincing at the telltale creaking, slipped through the gap and shut the door. I was in a narrow corridor of cold brick, barely lit by a few sparse candles, and with irregular wood bracing – nothing of which inspired a lot of trust, least of all the unnerving stillness of the surroundings.

 

 

Then again, it also meant that I was free to sneak around for a little bit.

 

I seemed to be in a sort of maze: the corridor led into other resembling corridors, tangling with one another in a confusing floor plan. I was scouting slowly, freezing every so often to listen for threats, in particular every one of the many times I came close to a door. I didn’t dare open them, for fear of drawing whoever was inside’s attention. However, the building was bland enough that I couldn’t draw much information from it. Either I found the exit by blind luck – but what if my bag was in there somewhere? – or I would have to talk to someone.

 

This lifelessness, this silent emptiness, brought back to me the idea of a simulation, a dream – or a prison for a mind.

 

Bland corridors leading nowhere, running in endless circles…

 

I was gathering whatever crumbs of daring I still had to open one of the doors at random – just to know what was inside – but the sound of purposeful footsteps, too irregular to come from only one person, stopped me dead. Worse, it was coming in my direction!

 

I couldn’t stand there, in the open. The other people could come from either way and I didn’t want to meet them before I knew who they were. I took a deep breath, and decisively pressed the door handle, only to find it locked. Instead, I started to trot away, in whichever direction that got me further from the steps – except that they kept coming closer, and soon I could hear voices, and in particular their definitely unfriendly tones.

 

There was the sound of a heavy mass hitting a wall, fortunately not so close to me as to concern me with becoming part of the quarrel. It dawned into me that simply watching this group of people, from a safe distance, could give me a lead.

 

A blow resounded against a wall, and a key turned in a keyhole.

 

“Come on,” I heard Cain’s clear, outraged voice protest, “you’re not going to bring me down here again? It’s a terrible place! Why did you think I went up?”

 

“Arceus,” an exasperated voice groaned back with a slap, “just shut up for once. How hard is it to just sit still for a while?”

 

I heard the group enter the corridor I had just left and took a cautious peek. I was lucky: they were trying to get away from where I was, so I could keep a wary eye on them – already, even guess which door they had left from. I could make out three people, two in plain-colored robes, maybe white, the third one looked and sounded like Cain.

 

“I wasn’t doing anything to you.” Cain replied. “So why didn’t you sit still instead?”

 

I winced at the sound of a kick and Cain’s moan.

 

“You know,” he panted slightly, “there’s usually a safe word when I’m doing this kind of stuff.”

 

One of the two white-clad bullies audibly punched him in the face. The other one turned suddenly back to lock the door again. I cursed myself for my slow wit – I might have been able to escape the same way had I been quicker on the uptake and on my feet. Instead, I was stuck cringing at the two bastards’ mistreatment of Cain, hating myself for watching so indecisively – neither trying to find an edge or boldly go to his rescue.

 

What if it was a simulated test?, my inner simulation-argument-enthusiast suggested.

Shut up, I snapped at this bit of me. We already agreed this was reality.

 

Cain replied to the punch by a kick producing a grunt of pain, and then the second goon, having heard the noise, threw out a Pokeball at Cain.

 

“Missed.” Cain snarked as he easily dodged.

 

But this success of him just meant that he was now stuck between one of his aggressors, who seemed to be trembling with rage, the other one, who looked more composed, at least from behind, and an angry Pyroar. At least, I thought with soothing cowardice, I now knew that it would have been futile to fight them alongside Cain with our bare fists.

 

“I’ll show you when I get my Pokemon back.” Cain snarled defiantly.

“Sure you will,” someone answered contemptuously. “But for now, either you shut up and you do what we tell you, or Pyroar eats you. Is that clear?”

“Well, er, I’m not really into that, but I know a few guys who are, so how about we switch?”

 

Typical Cain, I thought with weary amusement. Never knows when to stop.

 

The Pyroar didn’t get him. The grunt he had punched did, with a swear and a punch into his ribs. To my horror, Cain dropped.

 

But the robed figure who owned the Pyroar sighed as they knelt by the boy.

 

“Matt, he’s just a stupid kid. There’s no need to get so worked up. Wrath is a sin, remember.”

“Sorry, Nehemiah. I don’t know how you can remain so calm, after all the horrors he has uttered here.”

“Forgive him, for he knows not what he says.” Nehemiah shrugged as he quoted. “Let’s just put him in his cell.”

“Is he…” Matt asked hesitatingly, as my brain was just starting to realize the grisly implications of what I had seen.

“Of course not. But you rung his bells pretty well.” Nehemiah added carelessly. “Nice one. He was really starting to get to me too.”

 

These words made me sick. Surely Cain had been foolish to provoke his captors again and again, but this didn’t excuse the unwarranted brutality, the very callousness of their response. And it made all the more pressing my need – and his – to get away from this place.

 

Because it was a sight that I – or my subconscious or whatever – wouldn’t make up.

Or would they?

Shut up.

 

But I couldn’t help him right now – only get knocked out as he had been. The best I could do was keep watch from a safe enough distance, and figure out what to do. The obvious shortcut would be to ask the two people, who were familiar with the place, since they certainly had a key, but it was risky. Their words had suggested that they viewed Cain as a prisoner – so I had to be one, too.

 

Which meant that I had no one but Cain to rely on for escape. Since I didn’t intend to leave him alone eventually, that made the next steps much simpler. I just had to follow the two brutes to check where Cain was held, wait for them to leave, and regroup afterwards.  

 

In spite of my musings, I had not lost the two robed men, although I had stopped outright watching them, revolted and worried I wouldn’t manage to keep silent after seeing them drag the unmoving Cain on the ground by the ankles.

 

“Let’s just hope he stays down there this time,” one of the men grunted, clumsily pushing Cain (whom he was still dragging by his ankles) into the room. Far enough from them, especially as I wasn’t watching their face, they were almost undistinguishable, and I couldn’t tell anymore which one was Matt and which one was Nehemiah.

“It’s only for less than an hour now, I think.” the other supplied. “Then we’ll kick him out.”

“It’d be about time, too… Tell you what, I have an idea.”

 

The man locked Cain in, then opened another door, took a chair, and put it under the door handle.

 

“Yeah, good idea. Now let’s do the same in the staircase. This way I’m sure he won’t escape.”

 

With Cain wounded and locked in his room, the exits barred, this was going to be difficult. Therefore, I had to not lose my head, and keep track of the men’s exit. Soon, I was once again alone in this messy tangle of corridors.

 

It took me a few minutes to find Cain’s door, now extremely recognizable due to the wooden chair set against its handle, preventing his exit even if he could bypass the lock.

 

I listened intently once again, but didn’t hear anything. I carefully carried the chair out of the way and softly knocked at the door.

 

I waited in an agonized silence, every second seemingly raising my inner temperature by a few degrees until I felt myself sweating in anguish. After an eternity, I knocked again, a bit stronger.

 

Had I imagined all of this? Was this fantasy mindspace?

 

“Cain?” I asked, appalled at how soft my voice sounded. A voice like that would have let an ant go first at a crossing. Not escape from what started to look like a layered, protected lair, complete with its squads of cruel and punch-out-happy guards.

 

With my ear literally on the door, I thought I heard a grunt. Then there was a dull shock against the door, pressing it back, and Cain answered amidst what seemed like deliberately slow breaths:

 

“Who’s there?”

“Gabriel.”

“Why are you here?” he asked. “I’m not the one in trouble.”

“Aren’t you?” I replied, taken aback.

“Okay, maybe a little. But don’t waste time on me.” Cain admitted, his breathing faster, his voice more pressing. “Luna’s the one in trouble!”

“Luna?”

“Why are you even here if not to rescue her?”

“I don’t even know where we are.” I admitted, lost. “Nor what Luna has to do with this place.”

“Well.” Cain panted. “After you ran out… I challenged the Gym. Everything was going pretty well… Until the Gym Trainers started attacking us. I think they had drugged Luna beforehand. We tried to resist… But El caught Radomus off guard… And then there were… too many of them… They beat me. So this place is El’s headquarters… and he’s finally got Luna.”

 

I had listened carefully to Cain’s tale, concealing my emotions. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of vicious satisfaction when I heard that El had been able to take revenge on the captor of his will. But what to make of the rest? A father drugging their runaway daughter? Kidnapping even the more-or-less innocent bystanders? With guards? Like these?

 

This had to be reality. I wouldn’t make something like this up. If Cain was telling the truth, of course, this was ruling out any reasonable possibility of this being some fabrication. More than any other day was, at any rate.

 

But wouldn’t it be how any good fabrication would work? Pretending to be reality right until it didn’t matter?

 

Far simpler to not question the reality of what I was experiencing.

 

“I’ve tried to break her out… a couple of times now. I didn’t make it.” Cain concluded. He checked the door. “They’ve locked me in… so you should just go… get Luna.”

“I saw them lock the exit too.” I supplied. “I think they wedged it with a chair.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Cain answered breathlessly. “Ow… I don’t know, just shake it or something.”

“Through the lock?” I asked again in disbelief.

“Not the lock! Randall’s going… to take care of it.”

“Randall?”  

“Guy has a key. No idea why he stays here.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. He –“

 

Cain probably said something more, but I stopped listening to him as I heard the echoing sound of slow, carefree footsteps. I didn’t want to stay around and find out what they were, so I started getting away reflectively. Half a minute later, I was in a different corridor, peeking into Cain’s.

 

I only saw a stooped figure of medium build in worn clothing – nothing like the white robes of earlier – get close to Cain’s door. They did something with the door, and then pushed it, making a visible effort for a short while before pushing it a lot more smoothly. Soon, Cain came out, leaning against the corridor wall, and the two started chatting, with Cain distractedly glancing around after a brief moment.

 

I decided to show myself. This had to be Randall, and I was probably safe, all the more so since there was no one in a black hat around. But I became more and more uneasy as I got closer to Cain. Randall’s watchful stare was not the trouble – Cain’s thoroughly pummeled and swelling face, smeared with dried blood mixed with make-up, was, while his forcefully slow breathing, and his leaning against the wall were unnerving when compared to his usually far more dynamic and upbeat demeanor.

 

“So he’s the guy you’re with.” Randall said in a raw voice through his bushy beard.

“You still don’t want to join us?” Cain offered. “We could really use… another teammate.”

“Sorry, lad.” Randall answered. “I really like the place. It’s the only food I’ve had in a week. I don’t want no trouble with them.”

 

It sort of made sense, seen in this light. But it made our reliance on Randall dangerous. Given his situation, he would do anything for consideration – and who could blame him? Why wouldn’t he rat us out?

 

My lack of poker face betrayed me once again. Randall was watching me and brought up the topic himself.

 

“I’d never tell on you!” he protested, rather irritated. “Promise.”

“I believe you.” I answered.

 

It was a lie, of course. Such a statement was stupidly unlikely. As villains all over the fictional realms loved to gloat, never was such a meaningful word. Still, I was willing to accept, at least, that he wouldn’t go out of his way to betray us.

 

Cain was less hurt than I feared from his looks, but he was still in rather bad shape. In spite of the effort he was making, his breaths were loud, pained, he was leaning regularly on the wall, and he was slightly limping.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Don’t worry… about me,” he replied. “Luna first.”

“You really think we can rescue her, without Pokemon?” I questioned, as Randall was unlocking the door I had noticed earlier, the one where Cain had come from.

“Handle’s blocked.” Randall announced. “Maybe there’s a chair on the other side. But you just shake the door a bit and you should be able to open it. Just wait a sec, will you?”

 

And Randall trod away in the same carefree pace.

 

“He doesn’t want… to get mixed up in it.” Cain reminded me. “If we were found… and he was nearby… what would it look like?”

“What about the key?”

“They’ll assume… we picked the lock.” Cain shrugged with a surprised wince. “Happened twice already … didn’t catch on.”

“So what do you propose that we do?”

“I don’t know… I’ve tried to sneak around… Wanted to find Luna. Then I would make a diversion… and she’d be able to escape.”

 

I marveled at Cain’s dedication. Using himself as bait, repeatedly, when he knew what the other side was capable, to rescue a girl he had met this very day – that was a lesson in bravery. At the same time, without Pokemon, I gave us very low chances of pulling this off. All the more so since…

 

“They’re all wearing these robes, upstairs?” I asked Cain.

“Yeah… why?”

“So it would be easier to sneak around if we were wearing them too, no?”

“I guess… but I don’t know… where we can find them,” he panted back.

 

So, a rescue mission, with no Pokemon, no cover, and among numerous, vicious enemies. It might not be utterly impossible, but it certainly was quite close. And there was something else, too…

 

“Do you know how much time we have?” I asked Cain.

“Search me,” he replied. “I have no idea what these lunatics want with her.”

“I think I overheard the guys who got you back downstairs chatting. They said like they’d kick you out in less than an hour.”

“Less than an hour?” Cain repeated in a strangled voice. “They’d kick me out?”

“I don’t know.” I replied uneasily. “I think that’s what they were saying.”

“Wait… so you saw them… what they did… and you didn’t do anything?” he added, sounding like he didn’t believe his own words.

“Yes.” I admitted, somewhat ashamed, my eyes lowered. “Especially after they started hitting you and then sent the Pyroar out. I hated it, but I figured I wouldn’t be able to help anyway – that keeping them unaware of my enmity would be giving me better odds.”

“Jeez…” Cain whispered. “I really thought you were my friend.”

 

This hurt, of course. More than I expected.

 

“I’m no one’s friend.” I answered in a tiny, ashamed voice. “At least not in that sense. I’m not even sure I’d have acted differently if you were my brother. If what I did only got us both beaten up, what would be the point? Then again,” I added, staring at Cain’s shocked face, “it might have been worthwhile if it had allowed him – or you – to flee. But I don’t think this was the case.”

“I see.” Cain spat. “So your letting Kiki die… was the best you could do… wasn’t it?”

 

Ow.

 

“No.” I admitted, shaking my head. “Cowardice it was. But in this case,” I added, in a tone that was too matter-of-fact and not enough ashamed, “that means that at least one of us can walk unaided and has enough breath for an entire sentence.”

 

I saw Cain pale in anger and he clenched his fists.

 

“Come and repeat that to my face,” he threatened between his clenched teeth.

“You’re welcome to pummel me any time you want.” I muttered sadly, shaking my head, eyes downcast as I still couldn’t face him. “I deserve it, for sure. But let’s just get Luna out first.”

 

Cain didn’t voice his agreement as much as slowly unwind his entire body, including his contorted face.

 

“Fine,” he mumbled.

 

The handle of the door that Randall had unlocked was indeed stuck. Perhaps they did put a chair on the other side. As he had recommended, I started shaking the door down a little. My first attempt was too shy to even make noise, let alone solve the problem. So I tried harder, until the door started shaking in its frame, producing an unbelievably loud din to my tense ears, more accustomed to searching for the steps of ladybirds in this disturbing maze. It seemed inconceivable that no one paid attention to the racket caused by my efforts, as it sounded loud enough to be heard at a kilometer away.

 

After uncountably many of my frantic heartbeats, the handle gave way, and I was able to open the door, which led into a narrow, unlit staircase. I realized as soon as I set foot that the stairs were poorly kept, with irregular steps, many of them damaged – bashed in or swollen or outright broken. But the climb was not even worthy of consideration when compared to the hardships that were awaiting us.

 

Whatever this compound was, we had to figure out its structure and its exit. We find to find out where Luna was kept. In an ideal world, we would also have to find out our Pokemon and my bag. If the world wasn’t ideal, we would have to do all this unseen.

 

And I still had to decide whether it would be the right thing to ‘save’ Luna at all. Whether her stated wish to stay with Radomus was genuine or forced.

 

Part of the answer to these questions lay with Luna herself, but I suspected that she would be – with perhaps good reason – very reluctant to discuss them, and my reasonable objections (along the always pleasant lines of “stop listening to your heart and do the smart thing”) were not going to persuade her. Because as far as I knew, very little could help me tell apart which universe I was in – the one where Luna had fled a father she didn’t want to see, or the one where El did whatever it took to reclaim his abducted girl, taken and bound by chains nastier than should ever have been invented?  

 

“Gabriel?” Cain hissed as he reached, behind me, the top of the stairs.

“Yes?” I whispered back.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Sorry. I was thinking of something.”

“And can we start… doing something instead?”

“Do you think we should split up?” I suggested. “You locate the way out, I look for Luna –” because, I mused, Cain wouldn’t let me search on my own for the exit, would he?

“Okay,” he agreed. “You go first… Check the way’s free, will you?”

 

With infinite caution, I grabbed the door handle and pressed it, then moved the door by perhaps a few millimeters, dreading that its hinges could squeal or anything else draw attention otherwise.

 

The corridor we would be entering was noticeably wider, better lit and in a better state than downstairs, but seemed to have an otherwise similar structure. It was also busier, with people in stained white robes strolling there regularly. I could hear snatches of mostly irrelevant chatter – instructions given for whatever they were working on, reports, or even gossip.

 

When the corridor seemed empty and silent, I gestured to Cain, pushed the door completely open with my shaking hands, and slipped out. In the open, I felt conspicuous, as if I were naked; I felt as though the whole world was staring at me. That I couldn’t possibly make a single step before being found out – apprehended – beaten up, in the best of cases...

 

I blew to force me to relax, my breath sounding like an unruly storm. If I was shaking this nervously, I would be all the less stealthy. And I started walking away, making sure my footing was almost silent, and trying to not give away how hard I was listening.

 

But these corridors carried echoes, and whispers that sounded so close, making my hair stand on end and my body freeze in dread of its impending demise – a reaction I despised myself for not being able to control, and also for its primitive pointlessness – actually weren’t. I had given up on trying to use sounds of footsteps to know how safe I was for this very reason.

 

I remembered Pyrous, so few days ago. I had been able to compose myself so much better then, even though I was facing an actual, deadly enemy. Then again, I had played the most sensible role of all – mine, the role that everyone expected me to play. The gnawing terror, the despair at our situation – I was feeling them too.  

 

I was constantly turning around to watch my back, because my heart pounded so loudly to my ears. The worst were the turns – I had to carefully peek around, to make sure I was not rushing head first in someone else’s field of vision, while dreading that someone came at my back, or worse, got out of a room only to find themselves face to face with me. More than once, I was forced to briskly retrace my steps to evade someone who was coming the other way, praying to not run into someone else.

 

It was at a crossroads that all hell broke loose. A Butterfree was flitting around past the corner, and I withdrew my head instantly, starting to make my way back, the uneasiness I had been slowly getting myself accustomed to surging back in full force. Weren’t bugs attracted to motion in general? I started fleeing the corner at the fastest walking pace I could keep, looking for potential hiding places.

 

The doors in the corridor were obvious choices, but how could I find out which ones were unoccupied?

 

It didn’t matter much. The Butterfly sounded the alarm almost immediately with a buzz who resounded deafeningly. And soon enough, it launched another Bug Buzz right at my back. The move wasn’t powerful enough to hurt me – thank the heavens – but the buzzing had a unique headache-inducing ability.

 

I started running. I had lost stealth, but I needed to lose this Butterfree soon or it would… – I stopped dead when I saw a pale young glassed figure with remarkably unruly black hair clad in a white robe, a Dustox at his side, slowly beating its wings, and a purple light pulsating around its body.

 

“Look who this is,” said El’s guard.

 

I took a deep breath.

 

“Nice to see you again, Bennett.”

“Might I ask you what you are doing up here?” he enquired.

“Tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine.” I suggested, aiming for confident, pleasant and relaxed. I probably managed neither.

“I don’t think so.” Bennett replied seriously. “I believed you would be a lot more sensible than your… friend,” he added with a grimace.

“I believe I am.” I replied, as truthfully as I knew how.

“Then please get back in your cell without doing a fuss.” Bennett’s face lightened. “Otherwise I’m going to have to force you,” his face grew darker, “and neither of us would enjoy it.”

 

Bennett didn’t look threatening. His eyes were rather unfocused, darting on all sides rather than fixated on me. In other words, he wasn’t exactly comfortable with his position. This was the silver lining, and I had to exploit it, by keeping my eyes on him and not be too tame. The cloud was, of course, that he was still holding the actual monopoly on violence, and thus I couldn’t be too rebellious, lest I forced his hand.

 

“That’s a lot more courtesy than your colleagues have given him.” I observed. “They were pretty rough about it, last time I saw them.”

“They did what they were told to.” Bennett winced again. “Now, are you coming?” he asked again, with a certain impatience.

“Why?” I replied genuinely. “I mean, because you have the upper hand, obviously.” I made myself more precise. “But why are you keeping me here? What have I got to do with anything?”

“The orders came from El.” Bennett answered. “I am sure he must have had valid reasons.”

“That’s an odd way to gain access to the Elite Four, for sure…” I mused aloud, slowly, remembering what Serra had told me. “Kidnapping the Leaders… Then again, you’re basically planning scarcity, so there is some sense to it…”

“This isn’t kidnapping,” Bennett answered earnestly. “This is a rescue! Don’t you understand what happened to Luna?” he added, his voice raising in intensity.

 

So, this was the story he believed.

A story which, I remembered, could still turn out to be true.

 

“Again,” I insisted, “I don’t understand why this requires Cain or I to be captive.”

“You shouldn’t be held for too long.” Bennett answered, evading my eyes. “We should be done soon. Just another hour, perhaps. Now, can you please go downstairs?”

 

As I had heard. Assuming, of course, that “done” didn’t mean “done getting rid of you”.

 

“That’s not really trust-inspiring.” I commented. “Why did we need to be here again?”

“So that you wouldn’t interfere, of course!” Bennett pointed out.

“If you had left me alone outside Vanhanen Castle, I certainly wouldn’t have known I had to get involved.” I replied, rather acidly. “Even if I had, I’m not sure I would have done a thing. And I don’t think I could have got in this place in, what, four hours? Let alone manage to do anything by myself against everyone else inside. Cain,” I then admitted, “would have been more dedicated. But I don’t think there’s very much he could have done either.”

 

There was an embarrassed silence on Bennett’s part, the young man’s eyes lost in reverie.

 

“If so,” Bennett eventually said, “I am sorry this happened to you. But I may not disobey El.”

 

“Tell you what,” I offered with an almost manic poise. “Why don’t you bring me to him? I can explain him the same thing I did to you. I’m not interested in opposing him. I want to stay out of his way. And he owes me. And you know it’s wrong to keep people prisoners for no reason.”

 

I watched with unbelievable calm the idea make his way on Bennett’s face, until it seemed to satisfy him.

 

How to dig one’s way out?

One step at a time.

 

 

 

[Evi Crystal]

Alright I have finally catched up with the last two chapters without doing my usual commentary like I do. But first my feedback:

 

In Chapter 67 you managed to make me feel more bad for Gabriel than I already do since his eviction from the Belrose Mansion. Can't catch just a break without getting pulled into another mess

But uh-huh now he's getting slowly mad now. Yikes...

 

On 5/21/2022 at 12:50 PM, Aphelli said:

Then again, it also meant that I was free to sneak around for a little bit.

 

I seemed to be in a sort of maze: the corridor led into other resembling corridors, tangling with one another in a confusing floor plan. I was scouting slowly, freezing every so often to listen for threats, in particular every one of the many times I came close to a door. I didn’t dare open them, for fear of drawing whoever was inside’s attention. However, the building was bland enough that I couldn’t draw much information from it. Either I found the exit by blind luck – but what if my bag was in there somewhere? – or I would have to talk to someone.

 

Mmmh, this description captivated me, as you portrayed the Sanctum Subseven maze. Eerie and silent, despite the holy light surrounding you. Big irony that fits Elias at finest shivers

 

Also hey Randall's here finally being the useful NPC he is (one of my favorite NPCs in Reborn). Same goes for his trusty Klefki

 

Aaaand Cain another beat down from the enemy. Let me get the first aid kit quickly... Here

 

On 5/21/2022 at 12:50 PM, Aphelli said:

“Wait… so you saw them… what they did… and you didn’t do anything?” he added, sounding like he didn’t believe his own words.

“Yes.” I admitted, somewhat ashamed, my eyes lowered. “Especially after they started hitting you and then sent the Pyroar out. I hated it, but I figured I wouldn’t be able to help anyway – that keeping them unaware of my enmity would be giving me better odds.”

“Jeez…” Cain whispered. “I really thought you were my friend.”

 

This hurt, of course. More than I expected.

 

“I’m no one’s friend.” I answered in a tiny, ashamed voice. “At least not in that sense. I’m not even sure I’d have acted differently if you were my brother. If what I did only got us both beaten up, what would be the point? Then again,” I added, staring at Cain’s shocked face, “it might have been worthwhile if it had allowed him – or you – to flee. But I don’t think this was the case.”

“I see.” Cain spat. “So your letting Kiki die… was the best you could do… wasn’t it?”

 

Ow.

 

Ouch... Not like he asked for getting involved into this mess and being responsible for her death, Cain. But still...

 

On 5/21/2022 at 12:50 PM, Aphelli said:

“Come and repeat that to my face,” he threatened between his clenched teeth.

“You’re welcome to pummel me any time you want.” I muttered sadly, shaking my head, eyes downcast as I still couldn’t face him. “I deserve it, for sure. But let’s just get Luna out first.”

... Gabriel sign 

 

On 5/21/2022 at 12:50 PM, Aphelli said:

Cain’s thoroughly pummeled and swelling face, smeared with dried blood mixed with make-up, was, while his forcefully slow breathing, and his leaning against the wall were unnerving when compared to his usually far more dynamic and upbeat demeanor.

Poor Cain.... Slips the first aid kit to him

 

On 5/21/2022 at 12:50 PM, Aphelli said:

“Well.” Cain panted. “After you ran out… I challenged the Gym. Everything was going pretty well… Until the Gym Trainers started attacking us. I think they had drugged Luna beforehand. We tried to resist… But El caught Radomus off guard… And then there were… too many of them… They beat me. So this place is El’s headquarters… and he’s finally got Luna.”

How dare that false priest drugged my precious daughter (yes I'm adopting her as well)

Why wasn't an option to deck Elias for that? Now I really want to do that now

 

Okay done with commenting. It was a tense yet nice chapter to read

[Aphelli]

On 5/23/2022 at 7:22 PM, Evi Crystal said:

In Chapter 67 you managed to make me feel more bad for Gabriel than I already do since his eviction from the Belrose Mansion. Can't catch just a break without getting pulled into another mess

But uh-huh now he's getting slowly mad now. Yikes...

 

Yes, slowly but surely Gabriel reaches breaking point. At last. How is this story supposed to proceed if the protagonist’s default stance is thoughtful and qualified? 
 

On 5/23/2022 at 7:22 PM, Evi Crystal said:

Mmmh, this description captivated me, as you portrayed the Sanctum Subseven maze. Eerie and silent, despite the holy light surrounding you. Big irony that fits Elias at finest shivers

 

Also hey Randall's here finally being the useful NPC he is (one of my favorite NPCs in Reborn). Same goes for his trusty Klefki

Ah yes, I remember you gave him a bigger role in Chronicverse. I’m actually not enamored with the character, but I needed someone to help Gabriel and Cain get out – like in the game, actually, no? 

 

On 5/23/2022 at 7:22 PM, Evi Crystal said:

Aaaand Cain another beat down from the enemy. Let me get the first aid kit quickly... Here

 

Yes, it’s turning into a worrisome pattern for me. Then again, how is a bunch of brutal thugs supposed to react to Cain (who, in this story, is basically unable to give in to what he regards as evil or plain wrong)? 
 

 

On 5/23/2022 at 7:22 PM, Evi Crystal said:

Ouch... Not like he asked for getting involved into this mess and being responsible for her death, Cain. But still...

 

... Gabriel sign 

Well – Gabriel could have turned himself in. And for all Cain knows, Kiki and everyone else would have lived. 
 

This also ties to a comment I read on the discord – that Cain was, in this story, pretty “all-in”.

 

It’s true! I think it’s also a faithful interpretation. In this story at least (but that’s really how I see the character), Cain will go to (almost) any lengths for people he cares about, even if they just met, or to make things right, even if he doesn’t have to get involved. No matter the risk to himself. 
 

Conversely, it hurts Cain a lot that Gabriel (whom he regards as a friend) watched him get hit without interfering (no matter the reason), because it means in his worldview that Gabriel doesn’t care about him at all. He can come to terms with that (“people are different, “he’s not entirely wrong”, etc), but not while he’s stressed out of his mind and high on urgency-fueled adrenalin.  
 

It doesn’t help that Gabriel’s rebuttals are… less diplomatic than would be ideal. 

 

 

On 5/23/2022 at 7:22 PM, Evi Crystal said:

Poor Cain.... Slips the first aid kit to him

Yes… he’s going to need it. It’s not over. 

 

On 5/23/2022 at 7:22 PM, Evi Crystal said:

How dare that false priest drugged my precious daughter (yes I'm adopting her as well)

Why wasn't an option to deck Elias for that? Now I really want to do that now

Given how Luna reacts to El, I didn’t expect him to be able to convince her to come along peacefully. So force it is… 

 

On 5/23/2022 at 7:22 PM, Evi Crystal said:

Okay done with commenting. It was a tense yet nice chapter to read

Thank you for commenting so consistently!

… and I just remembered I still haven’t commented on AO3… 

 

Any ideas on how they’re getting out of this mess? 

[Evi Crystal]

20 hours ago, Aphelli said:

It’s true! I think it’s also a faithful interpretation. In this story at least (but that’s really how I see the character), Cain will go to (almost) any lengths for people he cares about, even if they just met, or to make things right, even if he doesn’t have to get involved. No matter the risk to himself. 
 

Conversely, it hurts Cain a lot that Gabriel (whom he regards as a friend) watched him get hit without interfering (no matter the reason), because it means in his worldview that Gabriel doesn’t care about him at all. He can come to terms with that (“people are different, “he’s not entirely wrong”, etc), but not while he’s stressed out of his mind and high on urgency-fueled adrenalin.  

 

Cain is a true friend, which I appreciate and feel for him. 

 

20 hours ago, Aphelli said:

Yes, slowly but surely Gabriel reaches breaking point. At last. How is this story supposed to proceed if the protagonist’s default stance is thoughtful and qualified? 

I wonder what their reactions will be? This cannot end well for both Gabriel and the others

[Aphelli]

Hello again! 

So I'm quite busy trying to figure some math out, and also experiencing Reborn's amazing E19 -- and right now I'm at this point in the game. So I figured I'd upload another chapter, to keep the momentum. 

I'm not sure if I'll be able to upload the final chapters as fast, because they're massive and editing them scares me a bit.

 

I believe I should warn you that this chapter and the next ones will probably be more violent than usual. 

 

Again, I invite you to put yourself in the frame of the 'Mind Games' by picturing the situation where we left it.

Start thinking of possible escapes. Check the armory.

And when you're ready -- enjoy. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 69: Back Op

 

 

Spoiler

1.30 pm

 

As usual when he borrowed the tunnel, Arclight started whistling. He had been doing it so many times that he didn’t even need to consciously think about it. Bits of melody spontaneously sprang from his heart to his mouth, modulated by rhythm that seemed to have laid dormant in his very bones.

 

It wasn’t that the place made him happy. It did not. The mouth of the tunnel was concealed behind a broken wardrobe in the cluttered cellar of one of the most unremarkable – albeit rather on the dingy side – apartment blocks in the Lapis Ward. The gallery itself had been excavated by hand without any heavy machinery, so it was a narrow, low and completely unpleasant place.

 

The tunnel was leading him into a bizarre network made of old, disused tunnels, older foundations for the city – Reborn, like many cities in better shape, had been built upon its past selves – and more recent paths connecting the entire structure made with whatever was on hand. And, here and there, painstakingly hidden passages linked the underworld to the higher city.

 

Arclight didn’t like it there. As far as he was concerned, the less time he spent down there, the better. And if he could, he would have the place erased and filled with concrete. But it wasn’t up to him.

 

He had known for a very long time, like everyone, that goods that were frowned upon in the city could be acquired in a more discrete place, without questions or taxes. He was well aware that, even when he was the life and the music of the parties held in his Nightclub, some illicit substances were sold, traded or offered to participants, to… enhance their experience. Back then, it had seemed harmless fun – but now, he knew better.

 

Not that he had wanted to. But with the state of the city, money had been short at the Nightclub until it had finally broken down. He had had to find a way to get by, when music was his main skill and only passion, while nobody wanted to fund another venture. So when one of the minor, least unsavory gangs, made him an offer, he didn’t want to refuse. It was an exceptional agreement, with good compensation – they would find the place, help him set up the party, he would supply cocktail ideas and get the more unusual ingredients, then he had a mostly free hand with the music – with some special demands from time to time.

 

The money the parties brought in had been a godsend to the gang, and they had invested this money in more lucrative, but more morally dubious activities, to Arclight’s dismay. But he knew that his resignation wouldn’t be accepted.

 

This was when the police made a move on him. With his exploration of Reborn’s criminal scene and its nauseating achievements, he had learnt to despise them for their inability to see what was happening right under their eyes, for their ineffectiveness. To give an example, the main arteries of this underground maze – known as Seventh Street, after a curious error in numbering Reborn’s official streets – business were lit with stolen power from the city.

 

But the police had surprised him: they knew of the hidden world, they had explained, but they needed a key.

 

Arclight had little love lost for the policemen, many of whom were bribed tools or useless cowards on their best days, and who had only tried to bust the least wild ones of his illegal parties. But he hated this underworld, made with dust and rock and stolen power, made of spontaneous friendships and easier betrayals, with theft and kidnapping, extortion, pimps, where everything ended in booze, blow and blood. So many tears for everyone on and under the surface.  

 

As a bonus, they had promised him immunity and paid him some cleaner money. But he soon came to realize that they weren’t very interested in action. As the DJ, Arclight knew things; he was told little details and bigger tales. The police couldn’t bust Seventh Street. They wouldn’t round up enough of the criminals to make a difference; the little proto-society would disappear and reform somewhere else out of their grasp. But now, if Arclight could help them to sort out the most infamous of the lot, help them act against the most egregious violators of the law – this was something they could do.  

 

And even now, I can’t even do that, Arclight thought bitterly, without it influencing the whistle everybody knew him by. He had a particular dislike for Pokemon theft and trafficking, and the fate of the Pokemon that Team Meteor had stolen from the children revolted him. It had been obvious to him that they would end up either on Seventh Street or a more sinister, more secluded place somewhere in the ramifications of the tunnel.

 

But no one had seemed to know anything. No one! Even though he ought to have heard of it at some point, with something so big on the loose for over a week. He had sounded out most of his contacts dealing in stolen Pokemon, gambling on the miserable time he had spent getting to know them while pretending to get along with them, sympathizing with their plights. To no avail. None of them had said anything useful. That could mean two things, either of them very bad.

 

First, it could mean that they honestly didn’t know. So many Pokemon of this quality could have been stolen by the biggest and baddest gang of all, roaming in the marketplace – a metaphorical, shadowy, and, given how good these Pokemon were, exclusive – and no one knew anything about it. This was absurd. How could a secret so big be kept?

 

Which left the second solution: they didn’t trust him. It was certainly deserved – but how could they have known anything? If at least he had had the satisfaction to take action, to put away at least the worst of the murderers, of the Rare Candy-traffickers, of the Pokemon traffickers… But instead, all this soul-tainting act of putting up with how sick – aggressive, petty, cruel – this world was would have been for nothing.

 

Sorry, Ame, he thought – for perhaps the fifth time this day and the twentieth time in the past week. I’ve tried everything I could, but no one has a clue about these Pokemon.

 

 

*

 

Around 3 pm

 

Saphira was angry.

 

Of course, it had been long since she had been an overall pleasant person to be with, except to precious few people. But with years of use, her useful persona had turned into another layer of clotted blood between her heart, her mind and her body, sheltering everything but her permanent rage. Rage at her fate, rage at Sigmund, rage at Ame, rage at Reborn at large.

 

But getting back in Seventh Street – that was opening another can of worms. A dark, bloody part of her past that she had tried to bury, once she had fulfilled her purpose there. It may have given her skills, but she hadn’t expected the recurrent images of nameless people that she had assaulted by the dozen. All of them had been despicable, in various fashions. Many of them would have been willing to mug a child asking for directions rather than help them out, not to mention what they would do to an adult if they could. But still, the vivid images pictures – and she would be damned if she ever told anyone about them. She, and no one else, was in control of her mind.

 

She had used a different entrance than Arclight, one of many poorly sealed manholes in the less reputable parts of the Peridot Ward, which didn’t lead to the city’s noxious sewers but in a different set of tunnels instead.

 

To compound matters, she wasn’t there of her own volition. She was there because she had been handed a deal she couldn’t refuse. She had been given a lead on her sister’s stolen Pokemon, and the other babies’, and in exchange – overall, it certainly was a cleaner business than what she had been used to.

 

Don’t focus on the details, and perhaps you’ll decide that he’s not using you like he always did.

 

She resented the black hood and cape that constrained her movements, and, more importantly, restricted her line of sight, but she didn’t have the time to search the entire city and it wouldn’t do if people fled at her sight – if the younger denizens didn’t, the older ones, or the savvier ones, absolutely would.

 

So instead she had played pretend. She explained loudly to the vendors in Seventh Street that she had come here on behalf of a rich old lady – a mean hag with shrill caprices, really, but she had to live, hadn’t she – who wanted the best Pokemon that she could buy. For protection, she told me, but between you and me, I know it’s really to show off and bully everyone else.

 

She was pretending not to notice the vendors’ awkward stares and stuttering denials, not to realize that what she was asking couldn’t happen on grounds so overt, so unsafe. They didn’t know her, didn’t trust her black clothes, impractical, conspicuous, and hiding her identity: she could be undercover, or try and swindle them. Conversely, they wouldn’t get a chance to get the better of her there… A stubborn perversity pushed her to embarrass her interlocutors further, elaborating on the tale she had utterly forged, always shifting from requests for business – she gave me a lot of money, you know – and an all-purpose rant – always shouting, thinking I’m stealing from her, she gives me detailed lists on what to buy at what price and I’m not to pay a single cent more, she always checks the money…  

 

When she had made sure that everyone had noticed her and what she was asking for, she – to the vendors’ apparent relief – something about failing standards and back in her days flicked in her mind, but she squashed the useless thought – finally accepted their denying any involvement in Pokemon traffic, and absent-mindedly went on, seemingly overwhelmed by curiosity and oblivious to where she was walking.

 

What she expected didn’t fail to happen. The character she had invented, a naïve, unexperienced, chattering young woman carrying a lot of money, would draw the attention of the more primitive predators lurking behind the orderly, almost civilized, exterior of the Seventh Street stalls.

 

All her experience shouted at her that she was being pointlessly reckless, but in this case, it was important to keep acting in character, let herself be followed deeper and deeper in a maze she remembered only imperfectly, without even turning to check how many would be pursuing her.

 

She stopped at some point which she felt was remote enough, displaying signs of worry. She felt a tinge of pride in her acting ability that only two scowling youths were following her from a distance, tainted with pity. They didn’t look like they had been here for long, they could have had a life, but instead had ended up down there. What a waste.

 

Then one of them catcalled her and the cold, sweeping fury took over.

 

“Sweetheart,” one of them drawled, brandishing a knife, “we’re taking that money you’ve been boasting so much about.”

“So you can give it to us now, or we can rough you up a little so that your boss believes you,” the other one leered.

“B-but…” Saphira forced herself to stutter, and gave nervous glances, avoiding them, trying to mimic the way Shelly kept talking to her. Let them come closer. “I-if I come b-back without the m-money, m-my mist-tress w-will…”

“Too bad, sweetie,” the first one kept moving towards her, knife pointed at her. “Now be nice with us, and we’ll tell you where you can find Pokemon for the next time.”

“B-but,” Saphira wished she could manage to sob. She couldn’t believe these idiots were actually buying her act. Who did they think they could impress?

“The money,” the other one had an ugly grin, “or we’re gonna show you Pokemon of our own.”

 

She caught the disgusted glance the first one gave the second one.

 

“I-if I give you the money,” she started breathing harder, putting her hand in her collar, her tone more fearful, “will you show me the way back? I-I think I’m l-lost.”

“Sure, you pay us and we part as good friends,” the first one said. He was still holding his knife high, and he was getting closer, but his menacing air was toned down. Offering her an easy way out…

“O-okay,” Saphira said, walking towards them, trembling.

 

The closest one of the muggers was caught completely unaware by the vicious kick on his knee and bent over with a groan, while Saphira’s other hand was already starting her next move, diving into a side pocket that she had “distractedly opened.”

 

“You… you bitch,” the thug with the intact knees snarled. “You’re going to beg me–”

 

“Keep singing, pretty boy,” she replied mockingly, her foot directed at a particularly sensitive point in her adversary’s anatomy, while her free hand brought out a Pokeball that she immediately flung out.

 

The assailant who was starting to recover the use of his knee felt, more than heard, the presence of the new fighter, a powerfully built Haxorus, taller than he was, who was giving him and his wide-eyed partner, still struggling to breathe, a dark look. Then it casually slapped the second one, the one who had made the nastier comments at his mistress, hard enough to slam him into the tunnel wall.

 

“Who the hell are you?” the other one asked, dismayed at how violently the situation had struggled out of control.

“I’m only passing through.” Saphira snapped back in her normal voice. “But you can give me the info I need.”

“You think I’m a narc?” the other one said, his defiant words betrayed by how shaky his voice was.

“I think,” Saphira answered with a handwave to her Haxorus, “that I don’t care in how many pieces you leave this tunnel.”

 

The claws of her dragon grabbed the other boy’s throat – because that’s what he really was, Saphira mused for a split second, a boy trying to play a bad man’s role – pulled him upright against the wall, pinned him, and started squeezing slightly. The victim vaguely struggled for breath, but there was no fighting the force of nature steadfastly choking him. A negligent kick pushed away his comrade when he tried helping him.

 

“Stop it!”

“Listen carefully.” Saphira took her hood off, and focused on him – while he tried to avoid looking at her.

“I am looking for a bunch of stolen Pokemon. Very powerful. I’m sure you know something.”

“I don’t know anything about this!” the thwarted mugger was obviously trying to sound level, but there was mounting panic in his voice.

“You’re lying.” Saphira snapped. Her Haxorus tightened its choke, and the beaten thug glanced anxiously at his co-mugger’s feeble rale.

“Lady, I swear to you, I don’t know! Please let him go!” he was completely freaking out.

“Maybe, but you know someone who knows, and you know where they are. And you’re going to tell me.”

“Please…” her beaten assailant started sobbing. “They’re going to kill me.”

“You stay silent, I kill your buddy and then I kill you. They don’t have to know that you told me anything.”

“P-please…”

 

Saphira stared at the shape of the boy who was almost dissolving on the floor. She nodded at the other one, whose eyes were bulging.

 

“He has five seconds,” she stated with steel in her voice. “Four. Three – ”

“Okay, I’ll tell!” he yelled.

 

 

*

 

Around 3.30 pm

 

 

If Arclight hadn’t tried to make one last hopeless round of all the people who he knew should have known something, given him a lead, he would have missed the shakes. He indeed knew the approximate location in the tunnels of one – several, really, and he had done nothing, shame on his soul – gang of Pokemon traffickers. Yet, he ordinarily wouldn’t have dared tread there, because there were lookouts, and the enforcers didn’t take kindly to outsiders asking indiscreet questions.

 

But apparently, someone else wasn’t bothered as much, not even caring about the tunnel’s sturdiness: its rocky walls were dented with their reinforcements scattered, as if they had been slammed into repeatedly and strongly. Of the five-people squad that should have been standing there, eager to shoo him away or, if needed, rough him up, Arclight could see one standing, looking paralyzed by indecision and shock, two lying on the ground and moaning in unspecified pain, and two crouching near them, clumsily trying to tend to their wounds.

 

“Arclight?” the standing lookout noticed him, surprise more than hostility in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s up with the quakes?” Arclight answered, dodging the question. “What happened to you?”

“You don’t want to be standing here,” the other commented in a monotone with a shudder. “She might go after you next.”

 

She?

 

There was another dull sound, and the ground shook again – not very much, but ominously enough for Arclight and the others, accustomed to living underground, to look uneasily at each other.

 

“You really should leave,” the lookout insisted, some normality creeping back into his voice. “You shouldn’t have come, and the boss will want to deal with you after he dealt with her.”

 

Cutter, Arclight remembered. He had briefly met him a few times. He was a nasty piece of work, even compared to the others, and more than once the DJ had found himself thinking that the world would be a happier place without him, and with someone to deter the others from equaling his crimes.

 

“Either that,” the lookout added, glancing at his comrades, “or she’s gonna wipe her prints herself.”

“What did she want?” Arclight asked, as he couldn’t help himself. Who would be reckless enough, powerful enough to lead so savage an attack?

“I dunno. She showed up out of the blue, spouting nonsense about a huge auction of powerful Pokemon and how we all had to know about it. We tried to send her off. She asked us who was the boss. We told her. Next thing I knew all of us were down—”

“You wanna be a newsman or what?” a crouching member of the squad hissed. “Shut up!”

 

They heard the chilling echo of a very short, but heartfelt, scream.

 

“You’re not doing anything.” Arclight stated grimly. He had been in this environment long enough to understand the widespread, pragmatic outlook. A gang was only useful as long as it protected its members, after all.

“You want to try and hold her, mate, knock yourself out. But not with us,” the same gang member snarled. “We didn’t even slow her down. I don’t think anyone else can.”

 

So, she could well be interested in the same Pokemon as he was, she was extremely powerful and capable of violence without an instant’s warning… Interesting… and ominous.

 

“And you really didn’t know what she was talking about?” Arclight asked.

“You’re asking too many questions, man. You know no one around here likes that.”

 

No, this was a lead, the first one he had found in a week. He couldn’t let it go.

 

“Do you mind if I go ahead?” he blurted out before he had time to think it through.

 

The lookout just looked at him in disbelief. He wouldn’t have dared request this in normal times. It would have been too suspicious. But now…

 

“I’m not stopping you,” the lookout shrugged. “But the tunnel is trapped, and I don’t want to know what Cutter’ll do to you.”

 

 

 

*

 

About the same time

 

 

Cutter was a small, stout man with a shorter temper and even less benevolence than calm. He hadn’t cared in the slightest when the alarm was sounded by his most exposed or lowest-ranked guards. He had just settled in a good (stolen, naturally) armchair, caressing a sharp and poisonous blade taped to his armrest when the sounds of struggle came nearer.

 

When the intruder had somehow avoided the traps, thwarted – more like bulldozed through – the ambushes, swatted aside like beginners his most solid enforcers, he had remained calm and smiling. But when the black-clad shadow had reached in his very room, when it had absent-mindedly dodged the lovingly crafted volley of poisoned darts, and when it had taken its hood off, when he was able to take in the merciless face of his assailant, and her striking red hair, all his composure slipped.

 

“Cutter." Saphira spat, her breathing fast, but controlled – like it was a routine jog. “Long time no see.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

To his credit, the gangster-in-chief’s voice was still defiant, with only the slightest tinge of fear, even the hand on his blade relaxed. He only needed a couple of seconds, an opening, anything.

 

This hope was brutally crushed when the she-devil’s Haxorus surged out of nowhere, grabbed him by the throat, and effortlessly pinned him to the nearest wall, his feet dangling just above ground.

 

“I haven’t forgotten about you,” she said in a deceptively soft voice. An idle gesture, a new Pokemon. “Dell hasn’t forgotten either. You knew you’d pay one day.”

 

Saphira watched the man’s wide open eyes, and a cold satisfaction swept over her when she saw the fear – fear of pain, fear of death – overtaking him – when his feet started to shake faster, when his chest moved, with little impact on his breathing. She could tell that her Naganadel was watching as carefully as she was, with more potent a dislike.  

 

“Anything…” Cutter whispered in a hoarse voice, straining to produce the sound. He didn’t recognize the freak creature with a stake-sized dart that was levitating on a twisted back near the girl, little drops of a smoking liquid eating the ground, but it was buzzing malevolently.

 

Saphira waved her hand, and Cutter was free on his feet again – for the half-second it took for the Haxorus to stomp on his knee, hard enough to make him scream in pain and collapse face first on the dirty, rough floor.

 

He shook his head, biting his tongue to force him to stay silent, and started pushing on his two arms to get himself off the ground.

 

His muscles failed to respond.

 

But he could still move his head and look at the bitch. She was enjoying this, he felt furiously. It’s her hands I should have had cut off, the fleeting, enraged, impotent thought coursed through his mind.

 

The full strength of the electric shock came next, to his excruciating surprise.

 

“Please…” he found himself begging breathlessly.

 

How he hated this sound of his voice!

 

Saphira looked critically at the pleading body lying before her and its pointless attempts at recovering strength enough to lift himself up. A dark impulse in her wanted to keep this coming. Make the man pay for everything he did. Give the rest of the scum a warning.

 

But what would it accomplish? Which one of the killers or drug-dealers down here cared about karmic retaliation?

 

She shook her head. It wasn’t why she was here. She crouched near Cutter.

 

“Let’s be very clear,” she whispered in her ear. “You’re a piece of shit. You deserve all the agony you haven’t experienced yet.”

 

The man was shaking harder, still incapable to pull himself on all fours. Maybe he was even sobbing like a little shit. Probably for the first time in some thirty years. Good.

 

“But I have better stuff to do than kill you. So you tell me the info I need, and I get out. Simple?”

“What do you want?” Cutter’s voice was a breathless hiss.

“There’s a big Pokemon auction this afternoon. I want to know where it is. And don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“It’s…” Cutter’s teeth were clenched, but he couldn’t suppress his shudders. 

“You lie to me, three guesses as to what happens.” Saphira got up. “Be careful about what you say.”

 

She recalled Naganadel.

 

“Blacksteam Factory,” Cutter rasped. “It’s probably started already.”

“Excellent,” the Gym Leader acknowledged negligently. However unexpected the answer was, she doubted that the person lying on the floor would have the spine to lie to her.

 

As a goodbye, her Haxorus kicked Cutter in the head. Nothing permanent, but it would help him with the knee pain, and her with her grief.

 

 

*

 

Still about the same time

 

 

After far too long a hesitation, Arclight had decided to take a chance inside the gang’s quarters, not only out of curiosity but more importantly because he had to know about these powerful Pokemon and this auction. If they really existed, if they were what he was looking for. But he had to admit that he was disappointed, because this territory was spread out and mostly empty, except for the guards, most of whom were struggling to get back on their feet and didn’t care to call him out.

 

But he had to be careful. The floor was so far from smooth that it seemed engineered, and he was very wary of the smoother spots after the first one concealed a pit so dark that its depth couldn’t be assessed. It couldn’t be more than a few meters, but that was already hazardous enough. He became even more cautious after realizing that another of the gang’s traps consisted in “controlled” cave-ins.

 

He also noticed that the standing – or even valid – gang members were far fewer and conspicuously uninterested in stopping him, just staring at him in disbelief. They were right, he knew, he was being incredibly reckless. But it was either that or lose the only lead he had had, so he wasn’t giving up. Not even the sight of the fighters of the gang, lying on the ground with various grimaces of pain, bloodied or not, without the will or the strength to get back up, was enough to let him stop.

 

If I get on her bad side, she could kill me, he thought grimly. Fuck that, he strengthened his resolve, I’m not like them, I can get away, I don’t have anything to defend.

 

Arclight’s pace slowed down when he noticed the buzzing. It was so faint at first that he wondered if his brain had finally caught up with all the horrors he had seen and heard about this place, if this was the day he finally turned insane – but then it got stronger, closer somehow, and it carried a presence that he knew he wasn’t the only one to feel. As he nervously got on, systematically checking around him, he could see the actual gang members, wounded or not, starting to shudder. What made him most uneasy was when he noticed that one of the very few gangsters still standing was completely oblivious to him, his horrified eyes bulging, as though confronted with a nightmare he wasn’t able to dispel, an inarticulate, primal moan escaping from his throat.

 

The pieces started falling into place when he saw the dragon-shaped wrongness levitating ahead of its Trainer, a shape clad all in black. Hell, he had seen them more than once, but never from up close. A Pokemon shouldn’t look like that. And this buzzing, pointy, absurd sting…

 

“Saphira?” Arclight muttered incredulously, the terrifying realization dawning on him.

 

She took a few quick steps forward to check out the face of the person who had called her name.

 

“Arclight,” she finally recognized him – she didn’t quite keep the hostility out of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you were in Labradorra,” Arclight replied, less quickly than he would have liked. “How do you know this place anyway?”

“I don’t have time for this,” she snapped after a glance at his face. “We’ll trade stories next time you come to visit.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Arclight snapped back. “You blast your way in, you make your way out, and to hell with everyone else?”

 

He met Saphira’s eyes and he realized that he was going a lot too far. The Naganadel’s giant sting seemed to be vibrating harder, which couldn’t be a good sign.

 

“Family business.” Saphira finally hissed after raising her head and pinching her nose, striding to leave.

 

Arclight’s eyes shot at her, his interest obvious, and turned around to stay next to her.

 

“Charlotte’s stolen Pokemon?” he muttered.

“Why do you care?”

“We need to talk,” Arclight insisted urgently.

 

Saphira stopped.

 

“Fine,” she decided, “just follow me. I hope for your sake that it’s not a trick. And whatever happens, you better keep your mouth shut.”

 

The Leader wasn’t angry at him now, but she was watching his face very sternly. There was absolute determination, a frightening ruthlessness in her voice, hinting at the depth of the well of wrath he was walking next to.

 

And he had thought that Titania was the one with issues!

 

[Evi Crystal]

Now this was a suprisly yet nice change of a current chapter. Didn't expect for this one to happen, but I enjoyed it the parts involving DJ Arclight and Saphira in all her ruthless brutality towards the scum. Especially liking her small act

 

12 hours ago, Aphelli said:

Arclight had little love lost for the policemen, many of whom were bribed tools or useless cowards on their best days, and who had only tried to bust the least wild ones of his illegal parties. But he hated this underworld, made with dust and rock and stolen power, made of spontaneous friendships and easier betrayals, with theft and kidnapping, extortion, pimps, where everything ended in booze, blow and blood. So many tears for everyone on and under the surface.  

It is 100% just truth, when you think Bout this! I like this description because it tells us sort of years of down spiraled madness and hidden dangers.

[Aphelli]

On 6/6/2022 at 11:54 AM, Evi Crystal said:

Now this was a suprisly yet nice change of a current chapter. Didn't expect for this one to happen, but I enjoyed it the parts involving DJ Arclight and Saphira in all her ruthless brutality towards the scum. Especially liking her small act

 

I didn't intend to have these Pokemon stolen from Charlotte and the others for ever. And the time seemed right to have that plot play out. Saphira's small act was a spur of the moment thing... I needed to make her interact with the darker facade she had lost physical touch with. But of course, her fighting ability hasn't changed one bit. Nor has her willingness to use it.    

 

On 6/6/2022 at 11:54 AM, Evi Crystal said:

It is 100% just truth, when you think Bout this! I like this description because it tells us sort of years of down spiraled madness and hidden dangers.

 

Part of how I see 7th Street comes from novels I read about the power, reach (and, incidentally, atrocities) of Mexican drug cartels, which include their usual "relationship" to the police. I assumed that something like that had to happen in Reborn as well. Ten years is a long time of misery... Also, I like your new profile picture. 

 

 

 

 

Hi!

 

I'm not saying much more today. There should be more than enough in the chapter, which is significantly longer than any I have written so far... Enjoy! (and beware the details)

Next in line will be the final chapter of Mind Games... an even longer one, probably. If it doesn't end up split for ease of editing. 

 

Chapter 70: Insider Trading

 

Spoiler

About 4.15 pm

 

 

“Blacksteam?”

 

Arclight’s heart churned in disgust at the possibility. They weren’t even doing this underground, they were flaunting? But, just practically, how could they do that? As far as he knew, doing business aboveground was almost taboo in Seventh Street. It was a last-resort measure when parties felt so much that they had absolutely no other way to prevent treachery that they were ready to risk getting found out, busted or, worse, tailed. The nerve!

 

“With how many Pokemon they’re selling, and how strong and rare some of them are,” Saphira explained to him, catching his tone, “it’ll take a lot of money to buy them. This means rich people, and they don’t care to find themselves underground.”

 

Arclight nodded. However repulsive the behavior of these rich assholes were – buying Pokemon that had been stolen from children – it made sense. He wouldn’t have bet much on their survival odds underground either, savvy bodyguards or not.

 

They were back in the open air, somewhere in the Peridot Ward, strolling towards Blacksteam Factory. This location was a spanner in the works: there was only one way to reach the building, which made it particularly easy to defend, although Saphira suspected that there had to be a secret exit somewhere. Because there was so much money involved, there would be security – starting with a lot of lookouts – and the Pokemon would be safely evacuated long before either of them could reach the building if they came too close.

 

So they had to find another way.

 

Hopefully, Arclight was thinking, one that wouldn’t put him at too much risk, either for himself or for his job with the police. Thankfully, Saphira wasn’t aware of it at the moment. He would have to bring up her case to his handlers’ attention, which she would certainly have objected to. She had shown herself far more apt at navigating this world than she should have been: how to get down in the first place, how to dodge all the traps and mow through the ambushes, how to find her way, how she had found their exit so quickly – one that Arclight hadn’t suspected existed!

 

Saphira, on the other hand, was glad that Arclight had bought her story about this being a purely personal venture. She was relieved that he hadn’t realized how the timeline didn’t add up. While she generally was fond of straightforward action, she would never have acted like this if she had actually had to investigate. She knew she was noticeable: messages would have been heard, plans re-arranged to elude her. Being this blunt had been conceivable only because she had known she was out of time.

 

Bloody typical, her mind picked up a promising idea. How long had they waited before telling her?

 

“Okay, I know what we’re going to do,” she whispered to Arclight, slowly speeding up.

 

She waited for the DJ to process what she said and to catch up with her pace.

 

“There’s someone. Someone who knew everything that was going on, what everyone was doing. He was pulling off some really impressive stunts too. Anyway, after a few big shots, people started to fear him, fear what he knew – because he had to know a lot more than he was showing. And he took full benefit of it. Sometimes he would send someone from him at some place and everyone knew it was serious business and he was watching them.”

“Let me guess. We’re going to pretend we’re one of these envoys, right?”

“You will. I’ll be your bodyguard. They’ll buy it.”

“But,” Arclight frowned, “there must have been other people who lied like this, no?”

“We’ll worry about this later.” Saphira replied urgently.

“Look, Saphira, I’m all for getting the Pokemon back, but that guy will be pissed if we do anything like this.”

“Who’ll know?” Saphira snapped. Just take the story already… “Worst case scenario, things get out of hand. With how much they’re going to sell? It won’t surprise anybody.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Okay,” Saphira sighed. “I agreed to pen-test him a couple of years ago,” she lied. “He owed me a favor, and I’ll call it in. You can tell him, if you want.”

“Before or after he has me cut to pieces?”

 

Arclight was no innocent. He knew what happened to people who disturbed the powers-that-be underground, and that said powers did not forgive, nor did they forget. He would have to leave the city for a long while. Then again, if it was a way to escape this oppressive, bloody universe, and end his presence on a high note, one little bit of genuine good, he’d take it. He was sick of this world, and this city who seemed to get uglier by the week.

 

“Can you promise me that there won’t be consequences?” he insisted.

“No.” Saphira scowled. “We’re about to make a shot worth millions, of course there’ll be consequences.”

“I meant from the guy you were speaking earlier.”

“Ah.” She remained silent for a few seconds. “Then yes, I promise you that I can sort this bit out.”

 

“Fine,” Arclight decided. “You know we’ll have to get out of here really fast, right?”

“I’ll need to stay a bit longer.” Saphira replied. “Something else to do, I can’t help it. If you want to help, you’re welcome. But afterwards, yes.”

“Sure.” Arclight agreed. How bad could it be? “How do you think I should look?”

“You have to look determined,” Saphira frowned, thinking. “Really determined. But you’re also supposed to know more than what everyone is seeing. Almost like you’re playing cards with them and you can see their hand.”

“They’re going to kill me if I go around looking like that.”

“They won’t,” Saphira shook her head. “And if it really came to that, I could hold off a lot of them while you escape.”

 

Arclight barely suppressed the sentence ‘you always says the sweetest things’, complete with an ironic coo, because Saphira was clearly not joking any more. In fact, Arclight wondered, she looked like she might have strongly resented such a joke. She had put her black hood on – although the dimming daylight made it rather unnecessary – and she looked a bit tenser than usual, as they knew they were approaching the massive, disused factory.  

 

She stopped abruptly when they met an idle young man with the face of a teenager, looking a little bit too aimless in this suspiciously empty neighborhood.

 

“We’re invited,” Saphira went straight at him, eyes narrowed, not letting him any room for denial. “Announce us.”

“What are you talking about?” he answered, bewildered. “There’s nothing around here!”

 

Saphira got closer to him with so much hostility that Arclight wondered whether he should stop her.

 

“Don’t lie to me,” she snarled. “There’s a sale in Blacksteam. They’ve told you to look out for troublemakers. We’re invited, and I don’t feel like mowing through the security. I won’t ask again.”

 

He took a step back.

 

“Whoa, calm down, miss. We’re not – “

 

Saphira struck him mid-sentence with a strong, and rather unforgettable, blow from her knee, before a single uppercut brought the breathless boy down.  

 

Worthless, she thought. Even there they just can’t do proper security any more. Back in her days, no one would have left themselves so exposed to such an attack. Then again, they’d have recognized her on sight.

 

“Saphira,” Arclight whispered at her, shocked. “How old is he?”

“Stay in character,” she snapped between clenched teeth. “He’s lowlife fodder who has no right to question or inconvenience his betters, and deserves what came to him.” 

“I’m not doing – “ Arclight started to protest, aghast at his partner’s behavior.

 

Then Saphira purposefully kicked the lying youth’s head, hard, drawing blood and a dazed whimper of pain.

 

“He is an annoyance and an obstruction.” Saphira told Arclight, staring straight in his eyes, her voice surprisingly even when compared to her grim, hard face, “You were given a job. He told you what happened if you botched it up. This guy?” she nodded at the trembling shape on the ground. “He’s a street rat. He’ll recover. But the Pokemon will be gone, and the job missed. So either man up and get onboard, or get lost. What’ll it be?”

“Yeah,” Arcligth sneered, “I bash kids’ heads in all day, sure. Everyone knows it.”

“I’m here so that you don’t have to do that”, the Leader snapped. “As you should bloody know, everyone here reacts to confidence and intimidation. If you look like you’re lost, or you don’t want to stand for yourself, they’ll kill you. Are we on the same page now?”

“Just stop beating everyone up for no reason,” Arclight asked somberly.

“And how else am I showing them that I’m calling the shots? The damsel in distress act? But if they stay in their place, I won’t attack them. That’s the best deal you’re going to get.”

“Fine,” Arclight grunted, with sickened reluctance. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the blood flowing from the youth’s mouth.

 

Barely two minutes happened before someone who actually looked like a mobster bodyguard came to meet them at a brisker, more purposeful pace. He was built much more powerfully, and his scowl was a lot more telling. It told most people, for instance, that they had better be in another town very soon.

 

“What are you two doing here?” he asked in a low voice, his arms slowly swinging along his body, slightly crouching as he faced them.

“We’re invited to the party in Blacksteam.” Saphira replied coldly.

“Where are your invitations?”

 

Invitations? Arclight thought. They didn’t have invitations…

 

“He,” Saphira nodded at him, in a categorical tone, “was sent by someone who needs no invitations. I’m his bodyguard.”

 

A mixture of confusion and fear utterly failed to appear on the man’s face. He looked more annoyed than anything. Probably wondering how to get rid of us, Saphira thought. Street trash was as good and as valuable as cannon fodder, and no one would bother asking questions – but someone like the thug facing her was far more valuable. She could have taken him without batting an eye, but the fact that he had come meant that someone’s eyes were on them. If she broke in all the way – as she knew she could – she would miss her shot. So she had to start showing her hand. 

 

“Lasker,” she said, stressing the first syllable and very faintly rolling the ‘r’.

 

The man straightened up slightly and didn’t reply at once, as though he was suddenly unsure of where he was treading in. He glanced at her again, trying to make out her features under her hood, then he started to examine Arclight. To his credit, Saphira thought, the DJ was keeping his composure as he had agreed to, confidently staring straight ahead without paying attention to the guard, even though he had no idea how bad of a risk they were taking.

 

“He’s the DJ,” the mobster finally scoffed. “He’s not Lasker material.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Saphira replied, her voice seemingly softer, but somehow drawing the man’s attention again.

“Yeah, right,” his grin grew larger, more self-satisfied, more cocky. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, baby, but you should just go home and stop talking like the men around here. You thought you could say that name for the thrill, didn’t you? I can give you some thrill without you having to say anything.”

 

Arclight’s fists slowly clenched as the other man’s words became more patronizing, his innuendoes clearer, as he held out a big hand towards Saphira.

 

Saphira was watching him icily as he spoke, and did not bother to move as he extended his hand. She could feel her partner-in-legitimate-crime getting tenser too. But all-out fighting wasn’t a solution.

 

She drew back her black cowl, and repeated, glaring at the thug’s eyes with threatening certainty.

 

“We are sent by Lasker. Announce us.”

 

Seeing Saphira’s face made the mob guard drop all pretense of playfulness, his extended hand drop in dismay, and his eyes widened as though the very Grim Reaper, instead of a twenty-two-year-old redhead, was in front of his eyes.

 

“Bloody Red…” he whispered, shocked awe and remnants of long-lived terror in the eyes that were unable to look at her face, unwittingly walking small steps backwards.

“Do it.” Saphira snapped, milking for all its worth the advantage that her fame gave her.

 

The man looked at Arclight’s face, now grimmer and irritated. His frantic eyes made every effort to look everywhere but at Saphira.

 

“It would be my honor,” he managed to articulate, his head slightly bowed.

 

 

*

 

About 4.30 pm

 

 

Saphira remembered, from discussing Amaria’s operation, that there was another entrance to the building, at its top, but she, Arclight and their self-appointed guide used the main entrance to the factory. This was rather fortunate: if she tried to recover the Pokemon by force, before or after the sale, whichever gang was in charge of the sale’s safety – for a good fee, of course – would be ready to bar the way they entered the facility, so they would need another way out.

 

A skinnier young man, uncomfortable in the smart suit and shoes that he didn’t know how to wear, was waiting for them inside. He kept casting the pair anxious glances, as though they were ticking time bombs with a countdown he didn’t know.

 

“He’ll tell you everything,” their first guide tried to take his leave, with his composure back. “Just a word: you understand, I am sure, that we need a tight security in this place. If you send out any Pokemon, or do anything too suspicious, the guards will attack you.”

 

Arclight used all his self-control to not glance anxiously at Saphira. She remained stoic – that is, scowling – because she had expected something like that. She could even use this demand to her advantage.

 

“I’m his bodyguard,” she nodded at Arclight. “How am I supposed to protect him without Pokemon?”

“Let us take care of this, please. We will not let anyone else enter.”

“Entrances?” she questioned dismissingly.

“There are three of them. One is our own, and is heavily guarded on both sides. Another is on the roof, and we guard it too. The last one is where you’re standing. We have lookouts all around the place. And many other guards patrolling the facility, ready at seconds’ notice.”

 

Well, so much for the roof escape… or maybe not.  

 

Saphira could see that it wasn’t a boast, either. The gang controlling the factory had four members guarding this entrance, two of them watching carefully her and Arclight, the two others staring at the entrance, one slightly behind the other one, all of them steady and alert with one Pokeball in each hand – half of them Ultra Balls, the other half more varied.  

 

“What about teleportation?”

“We have someone who knows this stuff, Liz. She covers it for us. She’s also jamming all of the electronic stuff we don’t want.”

 

This degree of care didn’t surprise her, but it was making the problem harder. Much harder, in fact.

 

“Fine.” Saphira relented. “Shall we?” she turned to Arclight, noting the small knowing smile on his lips, as though he had already known what had been said. Was he just a good actor, or…?

 

The DJ nodded slightly absent-mindedly. Saphira definitely knew much more than she ought to. How come? Something else was nagging his mind, too: suppose he mentioned her to the police. They would start digging. What would they find? How deeply in trouble would he put her in?

 

And would she deserve all of the trouble?

 

The large thug nodded slightly to both of them, and started first walking in the corridor, his eyes glancing everywhere, one Dusk Ball and a Great Ball in his hands. After a minute of anxiously watching the DJ and the Leader, the skinny young man shily cleared his throat.

 

“Please follow me,” he said softly, pointing towards the corridor.

 

His voice was getting increasingly flustered as he led them through wide metallic corridors, worn by dirty soles, time, greasy spots, and some suspiciously dark red stains. They met four pairs of patrolling guards in the meantime, who displayed no sign of acknowledgement except for wary gazes following the group for as long as they could.  

 

“So,” the young man said as they walked, “it’s an auction, right? You just, er, raise your hand to bid on the Pokemon that interest you, okay? We will announce how much the bids are, but of course you can say so if you want, if you want to choose how much you’re overbidding. Here’s what we’re selling,” he handed Arclight a few sheets of paper, folded together.

 

It was good that their guide looked so terrified of both of them. It made Arclight a lot more confident to play his role. Intimidation, Saphira knew, was a matter of practice, whether it was about appearance or the actual ability to back it up, and Arclight, while no pushover, wasn’t on the level of the money they would be up against. As far as everyone else knew, he was the pleasant, neutral DJ who could set up so awesome parties. The Lasker name, and herself, were doing all the heavy lifting.

 

But it was a small relief. It was only the easiest part of her problem, she knew. In a few minutes, they would be ushered in the auction room. There would be dozens of watchful people – and a number of paranoid guards – making sure that the Pokemon were handed to the people most willing to pay for them. They would have careful security protocols – tried-and-tested by many attempts, successful or not, to bypass them, not least her own.

 

Perhaps we’ll be able to use the Lasker name again, she thought. Maybe they won’t dare ask us to pay, trusting Lasker to be good on the money. But it was unlikely. They had been let in because Lasker was known to not take kindly to rejection – even by Seventh Street standards – nor to demands that he mind his own business. But giving credit was certainly too outrageous a request – even if it did not demonstrate an implausible, and therefore lethally dangerous, cluelessness.

 

She hadn’t had the time to tell Arclight how to behave at the auction, either. She had brought just enough money to afford one of the least remarkable Pokemon on display. Arclight probably couldn’t, either. So what should they do?

 

Watch, some part of her suggested. Note who bought what. Then jump them.

Lasker might have managed it. Found yet another clever way to bypass the security. But the bastard was slipping, she knew. And yet, he had still had the gall…

But she had to act, not mull. Find the flaw, exploit it and get out.

 

“These Pokemon…” the young man was explaining Arclight, “Some of them are very powerful and can be quite aggressive. And the police is also looking for some of them, so, um... anyway, we’ve locked the Balls.”

“So you’re going to make us pay you some outrageous number and we’ll only get empty balls?” Saphira snapped at him.

“N-no, of course not. There is, er, a machine in the room showing that the Pokeballs contained what we said they would. You’re a bit, um, late, so you won’t be able to test it, but everyone else has. We’re not going to try to swindle you. Anyway, the lock is time-sensitive, it’ll lift around the end of the sale, but it’d still be a b-bad idea to use them at once.”

“So instead you’ll jump us someplace after we leave? Tip someone else off? Track the Balls?”

“No, of course not!” the young man protested. “We made, er, plans to avoid this! You’ll be told after the sale.”

 

Tracking Balls? Two of the three found themselves thinking. What kind of paranoid nutcase would think of that?

 

Had they voiced their befuddlement, had Saphira been in a more perverse mood, she could have told them stories. Indeed, she would be damned if she let herself get had again by a tampered Pokeball – however disreputable and cracked down on the practice was. For while the biggest bullies in town would gleefully pillage and murder throughout the underworld as much as they could, an abundance of tampered Pokeballs was making them too vulnerable to the weaker groups they preyed upon. Instead of the business-favorable stability – read, control through intimidation – that their strength permitted, this was promising generalized escalation and chaos.

 

Arclight and Saphira were unexpectedly led into a guarded stairwell, up the stairs, and they stopped in the corridor just outside the stairwell exit, as a nasty-looking, strong mobster went obstructing it. Two colleagues of his, with faces just as pleasant, and big hands clutching dark Ultra Balls, took up position on each side, completely controlling the paths that someone wishing to make an exit could take.

 

As the young man mumbled some awkward and flustered goodbyes, Saphira and Arclight tuned out the guards’ repeated warning about the painful fate that awaited them should they try anything funny, and entered the room just opposite the stairwell.

 

There hadn’t been a window in the steel corridor, just like there wasn’t one in the room they had been ushered in. It was wide and flat. About fifty people in formal wear were sitting in groups of three or four at separate cheap, slightly chipped, stained, wooden tables. Eight mobsters stood motionless, wary, their icy gaze sweeping the room regularly. The two guards closest to the entrance glared at the newcomers, but nobody else paid them any attention, which was as good as they could have hoped for. Saphira slowly put her hood on again. Recognizing her would make everyone else on edge – which wouldn’t help her in the slightest.

 

At the other end of the room, a worn Pokemon Center machine stood in the leftmost corner, but the main feature was a wide counter with a dozen labelled shoeboxes, in front of a stage. A platter, apart from all the boxes, contained ranges of Pokeballs in individual compartments. Behind the counter, a small overhead projector displayed a widened version of what the machine could have read, had it been plugged in and if Pokeballs were inside.

 

Currently, it showed a rather agitated Typhlosion. Saphira’s fists clenched on their own. It had to be Charlotte’s. She was not going to let the assholes behind the goons at the other tables get away with stealing from her sister. How could they have dared in the first place? And it would suffice of a single word to make them think twice…

 

“Three hundred,” an excited voice said, the auction organizer’s, a man with twinkly chestnut eyes, shoulder-length black hair glistening dark blue which he enjoyed shaking.

 

His hands were covered by two very fine white gloves. One of them was pointed at one of the buyers, two fingers in his other hand were pinching the hem of a small black top hat. He was pacing relentlessly on the stage, behind the counter.

 

It took all of her self-control to not react explosively when the Dragon Leader felt Arclight’s hand lightly on her arm, as if to invite her towards a free table, not too close from the stage, but not at the back of the room either.

 

“It’s not a good idea to touch me.” Saphira angrily hissed in Arclight’s ear.  

“I hate what’s happening too,” Arclight replied in a softer mutter. “But we’re not here to make a scandal, are we?”

“We are not,” Saphira whispered back, making a visible effort to unwind her body and cool her boiling blood.

“Speaking of which… Bloody Red?” Arclight questioned, as his curiosity – and reservations about his ally – had kept growing as he wasn’t able to voice them, overwhelming his concerns about their current situation. “Lasker? Modified Pokeballs? Anything else I need to know?”

“Not now,” she deflected.

 

“Three hundred thirty,” the auctioneer smiled and nodded to the bidder, as he lightly skipped back and forth on stage, his arms apparently swinging of their own volition, his shoes barely making any noise as they brushed the floor.

 

So far above her means…

 

“Fine,” the DJ replied with a hint of the amusement that he didn’t feel, “so what do I do now? Three hundred sixty? Four hundred?”

“You can’t afford that, can you?”

“It’s thousands, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“So what do we do?”

“I don’t know…” Saphira trailed off, unsure of herself. How would she ever manage to bypass all this security, certainly trained and on high alert, and get the Pokemon back, when she could barely afford this one – which was very good indeed, but not, and by far, the best one on display for the day?

 

“Three hundred sixty! Going once!” the overexcited showman skipped in place, his arm flying towards the latest bidder.  

 

“Do you know this clown?” Arclight asked Saphira.

“No,” she answered, barely listening, still trying to figure out what she could do.

 

“Going twice!”

 

Saphira was shaking. One of her sister’s favorite Pokemon was slipping from her hands and she couldn’t do anything to do it… If only she had a little time, to figure out something. Anything!

 

“Sold at three hundred sixty!” the auctioneer trumpeted. “To the new fire insurance in the city,” he extended his hand at the buyer. “You better give me a discount!” he chuckled theatrically.

 

A curtain of blood fell over Saphira’s eyes. She did not know where she was any more. All she could smell was the thick, throat-irritating, unbreathable smoke. The panic, the helplessness. Laura’s weakness as she wouldn’t wake up, wouldn’t move fast enough, Charlotte watching the inferno outside, her face an unholy mixture of dismay and morbid fascination – the house collapsing in the blaze behind her…

 

And she hadn’t been able to do anything!

 

Out, screamed the tiny sliver of rational thought that remained in her consciousness. She needed to get out of this room, or she was going to snap for good. She didn’t remember getting up, nor starting to walk. She didn’t realize that the entire room was somehow avoiding to look at her, even though her dirty, worn black cape and hood looked out of place, as though her rage was as bright and painful to behold as a star.

 

Somehow, she found herself outside the room without remembering any interaction with the pair of guards on either side. The momentum of her wrath, the effort of keeping it in line propelled her perhaps twenty paces in the corridor, before someone found themselves bold enough to ask threateningly:

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

 

*

 

 

Arclight had half-heartedly tried to stop Saphira from making a scene, but he could feel that it was not a good idea, even without looking at her. Moreover, making a scene, displaying failure of any kind, even surprise, was only exposing his weakness. He could but hope that she could keep herself together, while he figured out what to do, so that they may eventually take action together.

 

He watched as a black-clad individual, gracelessly wearing his ill-fitting formal clothes, walked slowly towards the wide counter in front of the stage with both hands held high above his head, a stack of bank bills in his right hand. He stopped as he faced one of the shoeboxes on the counter, and put there the stack of bank notes, before walking back two steps.  

 

Arclight watched the manic entertainer put his hat on the counter, carefully pick a Pokeball on the platter, absent-mindedly juggling with it. Then he leant on the counter, leaving the ball on it while he seized and counted the bank bills. Apparently satisfied, he took them from the box and put them behind the countertop – hidden from view – while putting the Pokeball into the box.

 

The few next Pokemon to be auctioned were less strong, and definitely less impressive than Charlotte’s Typhlosion was. There was a Swellow, probably Noel’s, Shelly’s Volbeat and Illumise, some even weaker Pokemon, but not the kind that roamed the streets either. While all of them were worth something, they helped Arclight get a better grasp of who really was in the room.

 

Half the buyers were big gangs, trying to get ammunition for the fights they would inevitably run into. They were interested in Pokemon they trusted to be high-potential, like a baby Goomy, a Heracross, and, for one who seemed a little bit less primitive than the others, a Sableye and the Illumise. The others knew how to wear suits, which put them in the ranks of the affluent, selfish Lapis trash that would collect Pokemon for ostentation, treat them as living decoration or entertainment, if not outright psychopathic abuse, hardly a more enviable fate than a life of brutal, life-or-death combat.

 

At least, Saphira would have thought in her normal state, a gang out for fights will be careful to manage their strongest Pokemon properly, to use them as effectively as possible.

 

The more the sale went on, the more disgust was seeping into Arclight’s soul, for everyone else in the room, sitting and standing, the predatory gangs who dealt in blood for blood’s sake, and the so-called “model citizens” who could afford the right to theft without its dangers, without even the excuse of an inescapable misery in a merciless pretense of society.  

 

He wished he could escape from this place. There was a ghastly feel in the room, and it wasn’t due to the dirty money and dirtier people. It reeked of compromission. Somehow, by accepting the rules binding this place, Arclight was feeling complicit in the infamy – all the more so since he had to participate to not stand out too sorely, but never so much as to be forced to pay money that he hadn’t seen in a long while. He could not suppress the same thrill – marred with too weak a tingle of horror – when the salesman announced a Volcarona, doubtlessly Charlotte’s, which raised the entire room’s excitement by another notch.

  

*

 

Spoiler

“What do you think you’re doing here?” the tone was inquisitory, and Saphira knew that she was as good as dead if she betrayed any instant of uncertainty.

“My job,” her reply was automatic, her poise impeccable.

 

It was, without the shadow of a doubt, the easiest part of the impending confrontation, but she felt good hearing her own voice, snappy and commanding. It helped her focus, get her ideas in order.

 

“And what is that?” the mobster asked contemptuously.

“I’m Arclight’s bodyguard. And I’m looking through this facility. I’m not leaving his safety into your hands.”

“You think we can’t do the job?” he snarled.

“I think you don’t care enough.” Saphira shrugged in a harder voice. “I do.”

 

It felt comforting seeing the guard undecided, if only for a moment. She was in control again, of something at least. As she should have been in the first place. If he hadn’t…

 

Curse him, she thought. If only he had told her sooner! She would have had time to prepare herself, to make plans, to recruit useful allies – whatever the means. But now – how everything unfolded was outside her hands. Her attempts to control it would be as precise as kicking a ball rolling down a steep hill.

 

And that stupid hyperactive histrion with his stupid hat and his stupid jokes and –

 

A little smile, slightly too hopeful, appeared on Saphira’s lips. Perhaps there was a way to come out on top of this impossible mess.

 

A way that a tour of the factory might actually help.

 

 

*

 

 

In spite of her poise, Saphira wasn’t entirely sure what she had hoped to accomplish with this tour. More precisely, she had had several goals, some of which were easy, and some of which were so open-ended that they could range from straightforward to impossible.

 

First, she had wanted to better understand how the gang’s security worked. It was easy. On the first floor, she had counted no less than a dozen guards constantly patrolling on high alert, ready to throw Pokemon out at half a second’s notice – and they certainly wouldn’t be run-of-the-mill ones.

 

She also had proceeded to deliberately annoy her escort, by insisting to search some of the closed rooms. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Anything suspicious. Clothes in excess. More Pokeballs. A secret passage. Or even a secret compartment. Anything else that could give her an edge.

 

“What is the point?” the stout mobster asked, after she had repeated the procedure on the ground floor for the fourth time. “I cannot help,” he added more threateningly, “to find your actions highly suspicious.”

“You didn’t clean up the mess in the corridors,” Saphira shrugged. “I can’t help but think you could have missed something someplace else.”

“Careful, miss,” the reply wasn’t disguising its hostility any more. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah, I’m pretty sure I know,” Saphira answered, scorning the threat. “It used to be a squat, I guess?”

“What’s it to you? They wouldn’t have made it through the winter anyway.”

 

But the blood spots left on the floor weren’t signs of neglect, Saphira knew. They had been left on purpose. What we want, it said, we take. You get in our way, you die.

 

The problem was, she was proposing to do exactly that.

 

 

*

 

 

“So, how does it work after the auction?” she switched topics, both satisfied and displeased at her fruitless search. “How will you prevent everyone from stealing from everyone else?”

 

The other guard shrugged. The girl had been incredibly persistent, only relenting when he had denied her access to the gang’s more private rooms, which were far from the center. This wasn’t even sensitive information – there was little point in giving it. He knew how nightmarish security for anyone, or anything, could be.

 

“You remain in the room with most of the guards. We take our cut of the money in a safe place. We escort the dealer out with his share. A few minutes after he leaves, you start leaving, one group after another. Each of you has five minutes to scatter.”

“What about your lookouts?”

“You accepted the risk when you came here.” A shrug. “It’s not like they’re very valuable either. If one of them is too nosy, just knock him off a bit.”

 

 

*

 

 

If the previous auctions had been outrageous, the ones that Arclight had been left to witness alone had been worse, and he was struggling to hold his disgust back when Saphira came back. The Pokemon sold had been stronger than before. The Volcarona had been sold well over four hundred thousand, Charlotte’s Ninetales at nearly six hundred thousand, but it was still change money compared to what had been coming.

 

After a little cool-off, a Salamence – Heather’s, no question – had been set in the machine, with readings that had hyped the room, and fired everyone’s twisted imagination. He had seen the fierceness of the bids, and the shameless profligacy of the audience, throwing around seven-digit sums like they meant nothing. Like there weren’t the equivalents of a dozen people’s yearly rent!

 

A smug, closely shaved guy in a fitting suit with too much muscle to not be a top henchman bought it with a flip-off at slightly under ten million.

 

I’ve seen this guy somewhere, Arclight wondered. But I don’t know where or when.

 

And then the hunt was on. He watched, incensed and powerless, as the bidding for the most insanely powerful Pokemon of the lot, Heather’s and Anna’s, certainly, started. The showman wasn’t even bothering to disguise their source, and instead reveled in the buyers’ fever, his smooth voice sounding like it was caressing the mountains of cash needed to afford such creatures.

 

Anna’s Starmie was sold at four million and a half, with only a couple of really interested buyers. But Heather’s fliers were all worth above seven million, while her Therian Landorus was the most disputed of all, until finally the same formally clothed meatbag bought it for fifteen million and flipped everyone off, again.

 

“So, you’re done with the tantrum?” Arclight grunted to her when she sat back, apparently oblivious to what she had missed. “I mean, if you aren’t, we can put it to use, get rid of all this scum. That’d be right up your alley, no?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she whispered back sadly. “There’ll just be more bloody chaos, and then the worst of the bunch will rise to the top. Like they always do. This place is a lost cause. Plus, killing is not what it’s hyped to be.”

“Worth a try,” the DJ muttered, without raising the implicit admission. “Any other ideas?”

“Not much,” the Leader replied on the same tone, glancing at the Pokemon list. Only a couple more remained, as Charlotte’s Darmanitan was knocked down at five hundred thousand. They didn’t have much time left.

 

Worse, she still didn’t know what she should do. She had a couple of ideas, sure – but they were all unforgivably risky. The premise made sense, sure – but what if she was mistaken? She knew the consequences if she failed.

 

“Take those,” she decided, handing Arclight two balls. “If things go wrong, you’ll notice. They’ll know what to do.”

“What do you mean? What are you planning to do?”

 

Saphira shook her head.

Arclight was just able to not swear aloud.

 

 

*

 

About 5.20 pm

 

 

After a last (and, most of the attendants thought, pitiful) buffoonery by the show-off auctioneer, the sale took end. Soon enough, as Saphira had been told, more guards were sent into the room, while the gang moved its filthy cash away first, and then escorted out the auctioneer and his bag, heavier in dirty money but some fifty Pokeballs lighter.

 

A wary silence fell on the place, as the guards took the shoeboxes on the counter one by one and put it on the corresponding buyers’ tables. Now was the dangerous time. All parties had been careful, but no one could know whether anyone else was planning mischief, and they did not dare drop their guard. Many dark looks came towards Saphira and Arclight, who were all the more conspicuous since they had barely taken part. Everyone stayed seated at their table, glaring at their neighbors.

 

But there was something that Saphira could do. Oblivious to everyone else’s opinion, at Arclight’s indication, she went to seek the group who had bought Charlotte’s Ninetails while she was elsewhere. Their leader did look more distinguished than most of the other attendants put together, but it was not much indication. It just meant that he indulged in his eccentricity on his own. He listened politely to her quiet offer of seven hundred thousand – something she could technically pay if she went back to Labradorra – but was forced to decline. It was, he explained in a mild voice, a present to his wife for their thirtieth anniversary, to celebrate the warmth of their love.

 

Showing disgust, pointing out the hypocrisy, would have been tipping her hand off. Instead, she just as politely thanked him for his time and went back to her seat.

 

Then, at the guards’ announcement, everyone was to pick their box and leave the room to get on the ground floor, closer to the exit, where groups would make their way out one by one, to avoid the temptation to hit and run another group’s purchase.

 

Following Saphira’s hints, Arclight didn’t rush, and found himself first of the queue, followed by half a dozen mobsters, who looked even readier to react to anything improper, to break the wary silence, the stressful balance of deterrence.  

 

Saphira didn’t move. Given what the guard had told her, it wouldn’t make any difference to anyone if she stayed. She didn’t expect them to insist much. After all, what could she do? Everything worthwhile – the money and the Pokemon – were under a heavy guard against which she doubted her odds. This “Liz” – the lookouts – was making sure that no one from the outside could interfere in the building.

 

And where did this leave her? Waiting in the room. Waiting for a tiny chance that might come, the safest remaining possibility. If it didn’t manifest, then she would have to tip more of her hand to Arclight – dangerous information in unreliable hands, for an unsure benefit.

 

She sighed and kept waiting.

 

The minutes she needed to check her hunch had no business being so long.

 

 

*

 

 

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Ace,” an unassuming man with a diminutive frame and a shaved head shook the auctioneer’s hand. “I will look forward to your next windfalls.”

 

The man who had been called Ace smiled.

 

“It was my pleasure too. I’ll be in touch.”

 

He was now alone on the roof. Free, and a good eight figures’ worth of cash richer. How so many buyers could have been interested was beyond him. These Pokemon were dangerous! Belonging to Leaders, Elite members! They wouldn’t have been this good if they hadn’t been fiercely loyal.

 

It would serve the suckers right if…

 

He froze. No. No yet. He grabbed a Pokeball and sent out a Whimsicott.

 

“You know where to go,” he said fondly, giving the Pokemon his bag. “Don’t be seen.”

 

He watched the Windveiled Pokemon shoot off the roof with a favorable sudden gust of wind. He trusted his fairy to be faster and even sneakier than he could be.

 

He waited for a few more minutes.

 

Now, no one had any reason to be watching out where he planned to go. He went back in Blacksteam Factory.

 

 

*

 

 

The same black-clad figure in a cowl was still sitting in the auction room, against rhyme or reason. Saphira! He had recognized her – even before that fire ‘joke’, a blatant confirmation if there was ever one – but ‘Ace’ wouldn’t have, so he had had to stay in character.  

 

What he definitely didn’t expect was the massive Haxorus unexpectedly grabbing his throat and pinning him against the nearest wall, obviously not out of overenthusiastic admiration for his juggling skills. Not that Saphira was incapable of something like this – but he had expected her to be more controlled. There was no telling how dangerous an unrestrained Saphira was. Even for him. Even now. But he had hoped that she wouldn’t have figured it out.

 

“Fancy seeing you here, Corin,” she walked slowly, warily, in her direction with her cowl still on.

“Who are you?” he gasped, earnest fright in his voice.

“I’m in a hurry,” she snapped back. “Stop pretending, Corin. I’d hate to have to ask Haxorus to remove your lenses.”

 

The green dragon raised threateningly his other claw, and, indifferent to the auctioneer’s panicked efforts to get free, raised it close to his face.  

 

“Fine, I’m Corin,” he shouted breathlessly, before his head fell back panting.

“Put him back on his feet,” Saphira commanded her Pokemon curtly.  

 

Corin wavered a bit when his feet were fully on the ground and rubbed his throat. The Leader saw his eyes dart all across the room, but it was hopeless. There was only one exit, and he would have to go through her and, more impossibly, Haxorus to reach it.

 

“Shit,” he said in a raspy voice. “We could have worked something out.”

“I’m not interested in ‘working something out’.” Saphira snapped. “Where are the Pokemon?”

“What Pokemon? Those you watched me auction without bidding a single time? I’d have given you a discount, too.”

“Yeah, right, you’ve turned into a straight seller. You’ve taken the money somewhere, sure, but you would never sell them all these wonderful mons.”

“For this much money, sweetheart, I’d do anything. Did you even count how much it was? Tell you what: it was so much that I could give you a million and not feel the loss.”

 

For Corin, who had a soft spot for grand profligacy, this didn’t mean much.

 

“I don’t give a fuck about the money, Corin. Where are the Pokemon?”

“Why do you care? You have plenty of good ones on your own.”

“The fire-types?” she dropped her voice, which only made her sound more dangerous and more furious. “They’re my little sister’s.”

“I don’t have them,” Corin repeated, his voice shakier, making sure to let his unease show through.

 

He knew Saphira from long ago, and he knew how unbalanced she could be. Any false move, anything…

The worst was that, first, she was right, and second, she was – had been for a long time – strong enough to swat him aside and not notice. There was only one way he could salvage this situation. 

 

“I’m curious, though. How did you recognize me?” he questioned.

“I don’t know who you were impersonating, but your footsteps were too light. And I remember your fingers. Then, I realized someone like you wouldn’t have any issues switching some Pokeballs.”

“Why would I take such a stupid risk?”

“Then why did you come back here?” she snapped back.

“But to see you, of course!” he smiled manically. “It’s been a while.”

 

Perhaps too much.

 

“You’re stalling, Corin.” Saphira accused him. “This doesn’t have to be complicated. You keep the money, I get the –“

 

The floor of the room shook, as something hit it and exploded. Saphira’s reflexes kicked in before she even knew it, and she was rolling behind a table, protecting herself from the shock wave.

 

She thought she was going to have a heart attack when her brain checked back in, as she could feel keen claws pressing the delicate skin of her neck, belonging to a humanoid shape right behind her. She narrowed her eyes at the serene Corin, braced against the wall.

 

“Zoroark, if the Haxorus does anything to me, kill her,” Corin ordered, in a cold voice briefly piercing the friendly mask.

 

Lost!

 

The dismayed realization shot through her mind. She had thought she held all the cards, but she had fallen to an old trick she should have remembered. Typical Corin… or Lasker, too. But she doubted that the former had been the latter’s agent. He valued his independence far too much.  

 

“It’s okay, Haxorus,” she commanded wearily. “Don’t do anything for now.”

 

“As you know, we need to hurry before they come to find out what happened. Here’s the deal you’re going to take: you’re here to get these mons, so you have a way out. We both get out. And because I’m so fond of you, I’m giving you a Pokeball of your choice.”

 

“And if I don’t?” she sneered defiantly.

 

“If I were you,” Corin retorted pleasantly, “I wouldn’t waste precious time like this. More on the point, you do as I say, or you die, one way or another.”

 

Saphira went red, almost blinded with burning rage. She convulsed violently, trying to get free of the Zoroark’s grasp on her throat, but all she achieved was to feel the claws digging in her neck, just enough not to draw blood. The Haxorus grunted threateningly at Corin.

 

“Last warning, Saphira,” the thief urged her. “Call Haxorus back on the count of three. Or Zoroark kills you. Be sensible. You can always chase me later. But if you don’t let me go, then you die and you’ll have lost your sister’s Pokemon forever. One,” he lifted a long, thin, nimble finger.

 

Who would have thought that he’d end up giving this order? They had had so much fun together, not so long ago. They had managed a few big shots – his plans, his disguise, her strength, her ability to think on her feet – back when she had been an enforcer whose free-lancing tendencies were tolerated. 

 

With a very slow, very controlled motion, as if to ascertain that she wasn’t in a nightmare, her glare still irate enough to trigger nuclear meltdowns, she drew the Haxorus’s Pokeball.

 

“Good,” Corin nodded patronizingly. “Now, the getaway.”

 

Already a dimmed concert footsteps seemed to rush through the facility. The plan she had counted on wouldn’t work if they came close enough to engage them. They would surround the room, block escape with Imprison, set up a Trick Room perimeter to expose the sneak attacks – only then would they start breaking through the walls and attacking from all sides. Saphira was good, but she wouldn’t survive such a coordinated, carefully organized assault. They only had a little time, less than two minutes.

 

“Saphira?” Corin urged her, his composure slipping.  

 

The Charizard that she called out immediately made a beeline for the impudent Pokemon that dared threaten its mistress. But the Zoroark was ready and simply dug its claws just a little bit more, drawing a little red line on Saphira’s throat.

 

“Let’s make things clear once and for all, Charizard.” Corin severely said. “You attack me, Saphira dies. You attack Zoroark, Saphira takes the shot. Is that clear?”

 

How dared he! Saphira felt like screaming. He was using her as a human shield against her own Pokemon! He was going to pay for that.

 

“Dragon Dance,” she forced her voice to be even.

 

Corin was right, however furious this fact made her. There was no happy ending for her than the one he would be delivering. He held all the cards. Her escape plan was already very risky – and it was nearly suicidal for her to carry it out restrained. But she had no choice.

 

The Charizard was keeping its threatening focus on Corin, even as it was drawing power, as the thief in his mid-twenties made a few quick steps until he found himself behind the counter, picked up a fabric bag, its bottom curved by the weight of many balls.

 

So simple! Saphira cursed herself. How had she not puzzled it out? She had to be senile. Already.

 

The footsteps had become louder and were close to the room. They were almost out of time.  

 

But Saphira was willing to bet they had overlooked how their security could be punched through – with a devastating, flashy and almost literal uppercut. A bold move underground, where it could start a very revealing earthquake, or worse, an uncontrolled collapse, but a piece of cake in a more air-filled world.

 

“Flare Blitz!” she shouted in a hoarse voice as the feedback blazed through the Mega Ring, feeding a surge of overwhelming rage in her mind and a violent convulsion through her body against the will, power, and scorching hot aura that were transmitted to the fiery dragon.

 

Red light started surrounding the stamping dragon. It roared in challenge, as its shape blurred, owing as much to the overwhelming surge of Mega Evolution power as to the sudden heating of the air surrounding it. Propelled by the first burst of its newfound power, it shot up through the ceiling with a searing shock wave without even slowing down.

 

“Remarkable,” Corin commented admiringly. “Now, you’re going to call your Charizard back. Alright?”

 

Saphira’s breathing steadied as she obeyed her smiling former ally with a heavy heart, mastering her ire’s death drive, willing to compromise to fight another day.

 

“See?” Corin said with a smile, taking a Pokeball off his pocket, as the gang was starting to attack the walls.

 

Then his Gyarados bounced him out of the building, while he took his Zoroark back, as the walls started giving way.

 

 

*

 

 

Riding a Flygon, Saphira dived towards Arclight, who had just been let go before Corin’s Zoroark triggered the security and sent the building in lockdown.

 

“What was that?” he asked, concerned at her murderous face. “What happened?”

“Not here,” she urged him. “Climb on Dragonite.”

 

He noted the absence of any extraneous Pokeballs on her, which meant they had failed.

Worse, her hurry meant that their attempt had been detected, which was even worse.

 

 

*

 

 

Once the Gyarados had bounced him out of the facility, Corin found it easy to fade into the maze of small streets of the Peridot Ward. He felt like cackling with glee. Not only did he have an eight-digit sum of money, he also had got hold of so many great Pokemon! A Volcarona that he was dying to find more about – starting with where in Reborn it could have come from; of course, the big Salamence and the Landorus – not that he intended to indulge in his curiosity just above the city. And so many more!

 

Things had started off at a great pace with that delightful fellow Ace, but even his wildest dreams hadn’t suggested the magician would be so useful to him!

 

Because Ace may have been the better card trickster, but they shouldn’t have trusted the drinks that Corin had prepared for them. Afterwards, it had been only routine to impersonate them, sneak a big bag of empty balls into the facility, set it up behind the counter, with Zoroark to cover it up – a passive illusion in a dark place out of sight, a foolproof disguise without anything telltale signs. And then, the big switcheroo. Fifty times in a row, flawlessly.

 

Am I good, or am I good?

 

It’d have been a lot easier with Ace, of course. They’d have hacked the machine and gone with the actual balls even before the sale started. What a shame that they had been so straight, even coming from Team Meteor. Poor fellow, he realized with amused compassion. They’d wake up with a little headache, they wouldn’t realize that nine figures’ worth of angry money would be coming after them to deliver pain beyond anyone’s worst nightmares.

 

But why did it matter? There was only one game in town, and it was survival; if you tried to play and fail – who was to blame? Who had set the rules? He certainly hadn’t.

 

Still, he felt bad. He’d have to give a few thousands to the old priest who, however shady, was trying to dabble in philanthropy in these predatory parts. 

 

Corin didn’t notice at once when he was not alone any more.

 

“Hello, handsome,” a graceful, long silhouette in a white dress muttered in his ear. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

 

All the blood seemed to leave Corin’s face as his bag, filled with Pokeballs stolen from thieves, started moving of its own volition.

 

 

*

 

5.30 pm

 

 

 

“So we got nothing,” Arclight grimly concluded at Saphira’s curt, and annoyed account, when they were able to find a safe place to meet, in the ground floor of the Department Store that nobody would dare attack. And we’re busted. And this Lasker guy is going to kill us for this.

“Not quite,” Saphira corrected. “I know who has them. I can probably figure out where he is. The problem is, I missed this shot, but I’m going to need your help even more for the other thing.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Arclight replied. “Unless you have a real plan this time instead of randomly barging in like that.”

 

Saphira suppressed an urge to mount Arclight’s head on Dell’s sting, because it would be proving his point. Instead, she glared silently at him for a second, then made her mind. She had a deal, and however much she hated it, she was going through with it. With or without this ally that she hadn’t counted upon anyway.

 

“Excuse me,” a dramatic whisper with a hint of amusement blew at her face, “but I believe that someone is waiting for you outside.”

 

Gossip Gardevoir – the Gossip Gardevoir – was standing in front of both of them, chucking softly at Arclight’s face that seemed to be bursting open with questions and Saphira’s stormy eyes.

 

Saphira rushed outside with a foreboding. Arclight followed her, driven by curiosity, ignoring the satisfied chuckle of Radomus’s talking Pokemon. Outside, a pallid Corin – in his auctioneer garb – was trembling on his legs, barely able to stand. His hand that was holding a large fabric bag full of Pokeballs was certainly shaking hard enough to create a tornado at the other end of the world.

 

Arclight stared at Saphira taking violently the bag off Corin, at the thief’s limp fall like that of a puppet whose strings nobody was holding any more, and at Gossip Gardevoir who had no reason to meddle in an affair she couldn’t possibly have known about.

 

What the hell was actually going on?

 

 

[Evi Crystal]

20 hours ago, Aphelli said:

I didn't intend to have these Pokemon stolen from Charlotte and the others for ever. And the time seemed right to have that plot play out. Saphira's small act was a spur of the moment thing... I needed to make her interact with the darker facade she had lost physical touch with. But of course, her fighting ability hasn't changed one bit. Nor has her willingness to use it.    

True. As the strongest Gym Leader of the Reborn League, she never disappoints- both in an impressive and terrifying manner (as seen with your description of her Pokemon being equally ruthless as her. Their style depicted clearly). But personality wise she changed a lot the last ten years...

 

Today's chapter got me to shed a few tears for her, because of the flashback with her family's burning house in Tazan Cove and how it affected them. Not being able to save most of her sister's Pokemon. It was a heartbreaking monent

 

On 6/5/2022 at 11:38 PM, Aphelli said:

Saphira was angry.

 

Of course, it had been long since she had been an overall pleasant person to be with, except to precious few people. But with years of use, her useful persona had turned into another layer of clotted blood between her heart, her mind and her body, sheltering everything but her permanent rage. Rage at her fate, rage at Sigmund, rage at Ame, rage at Reborn at large.

This one from the previous chapter is another tearjerker moment for me, because the damage was already done so much and without any help she got... She became very hardened and guarded to the bone. It still makes me sad, how Reborn's society got to this point. Like she lost any hope and now hates the world for ruining her and her sisters life. The emotional scars never to heal...

 

20 hours ago, Aphelli said:

Also, I like your new profile picture. 

Thank you very much^^

[Aphelli]

I agree that Saphira has had a difficult life story -- and did terrible things to herself. And I don't think that it's over, not by a long shot. 

I had expected you to point "Liz" out as well, but it was such a small shout-out anyway. 

 

Anyway, no more delaying. Build-up time is over. This is the real deal -- or so I hope -- it is massive (much longer than the previous chapter) and it is not going to be peaceful. The violence warnings on the previous chapters still apply. 

 

After that, I'm taking a break, I don't know for how long. I haven't been able to think enough about what happens next. I need to use the endgame (and maybe postgame) story elements to decide what happens now, while I'm barely done with E16 material in my E19 save (although I believe I know most of E18 lore).  I certainly have a few ideas, but I need to flesh them out more, and see if they keep making sense, and if I want to write the story in this direction. 

 

In the meantime, I guess that you can search the math problem of Chapter 16 think about this last chain of events. A lot of things aren't quite spelled out, don't you think? What really happened? Who knows what? Is Chekhov's magazine (to extend the metaphor) empty? These are riddles that you may want to ponder in the near future.  

 

Without further ado... enjoy! (hopefully)

 

 

Chapter 71: Deep Lunacy

 

Spoiler

Bennett led me confidently through the maze, with his Dustox in rear-guard to make sure that I wasn’t attempting to get the better of him – something which would have been difficult to achieve in so unfavorable a situation in any case. He met a couple of people in theoretically white robes, with various degrees of cleanliness, one of whom made an untoward comment at both of us, which we ignored.

 

Bennett stopped in front of the door, glancing nervously left and right, his fist raised, but unwilling to knock.

 

“Are you really sure? I don’t think he likes you very much.” Bennett told me in a lower voice.

“He wouldn’t be the first one here.” I shrugged. “But I think we can agree on some things.”

“As you wish,” Bennett replied somberly, and knocked.

“Come in!” the priest’s voice, inside, already sounded quite unwelcoming.

 

Bennett pressed the handle, slightly pushing the door inside, and motioned to me.

 

“You asked for it,” he said softly, as he slipped away.

 

El’s room was more a study. The walls on my left and in front of me were covered in books, most of them perused and pertaining to religion, or history, many of them old and yellowing, ready to get parted from a few of their leaves. Near the corner between two bookshelves stood a medium-large dark wooden desk. Two heavy wooden cupboards stood against the wall behind me, separated by the door I had entered through. There was another smaller rectangular table, with three seats, on my right. A short corridor in the back of the room seemed to lead towards spiral stairs to the right, which slightly sped up my heart – the exit could be so close already!           

 

“What,” El asked in an outraged tone, standing from his desk, “is the meaning of this?”

 

He was glaring at me in a long cloak of pale gold, his grave face covered in a faded white miter.

 

“How did you come here?” he snapped.

 

Everything in me – my education, my awareness of being the intruder in this room, my fear of the other man’s presence and irritation, the stern authority of the priest’s ceremonial clothing – advocated for bowing my head and confessing my sins. But I didn’t. I had come here to talk, and El was being charitable enough to not insist on his already sour welcome.

                                                                                                                                    

“I talked Bennett into sending me here.” I replied levelly. “I wanted to ask” – I forced myself to stare at El’s very light blue eyes, and keep going without taking so much as a visible breath – “why I am being held prisoner here.”

 

“Do you not see?” El sighed, sadness and resignation written on his face. “Is it possible that a soul so gentle as yours was twisted so utterly by this demon that you have only known for a few hours?”

 

“What are you talking about?” I questioned uneasily.

 

I didn’t have a gentle soul. I had a shapeless one.

 

“How is it possible that,” El asked in a sadder, softer tone, “after listening to my plight, you decided to side against me?”

 

“I didn’t side against you.” I protested. “I think I made my position quite clear.”

“Yes, you have.” El confirmed. “Not content with turning your back on me, you turned a blind eye when the swine attempted to take over my mind.”

“The latter is true.” I admitted, bowing my head in shame. “I didn’t support him, but I didn’t fight him for what he did to you. But the former is wrong. You drew us in this temple for no reason, and I didn’t support Radomus attacking you. Whatever I did, whether I even was there or not, he could have attacked at any other time.”

 

And, I carefully didn’t add for the sake of diplomacy, he hadn’t been particularly helpful either when I had tried to ascertain the truth.

With good reason, since he had had a Ditto, for Arceus’s sake!

A Ditto, and we had all bought its act.

 

“Which is why you made certain to force his hand,” El accused me. “You gave him the choice of when to strike. You handed him a temporary victory, because you were too afraid of fighting him.”

“You are your Ditto would still have been exposed,” I retorted, carefully avoiding the part of his answer that had hit just a little too close, “and you would have lost anyway.”

“And yet do I look like I lost?” El’s replied, more serenely confident than ever. “In His Holy temple, where I begged for the strength to free my daughter…”

 

In the temple? He barely had a word for Luna, I remembered. For his Lord, the world and Radomus, sure. But not Luna. 

 

If I remembered correctly. If my mind hadn’t been altered.

 

Damn Radomus. His temporary takeover of El’s mind had opened up so many different nasty interpretations for every memory, every recollection, making reality almost out of reach…

 

“He sent me at the hands of my Enemy, only so that I could turn the tables on him, and smite him down by the Lord’s power and His command. He brought my daughter back to me.”

“What have you done?” I asked, slightly alarmed by the martial tone that El was opting for.

“The Lord forbids me or my brethren to kill the swine named Radomus,” El replied, “but neither does He expect that I endeavor to keep him alive. Suffice to say that the world will be rid of his filth in the next few hours. And as for my daughter,” El added, softer and sadder again, almost regretful, “she has been greatly spoiled and defiled by the darkness – and it will take all of the Lord’s power to cleanse her soul anew.”

 

I just stared at him, aghast, as the horror of the situation started to sink in. There wasn’t even a right choice, was there? It was just the conflict of two evil men for a girl, one a horrific predator for minds masquerading as a chessmaster, and the other one an hypocritical fanatic clinging to antique ideals by twisting the sayings of a holy book.

 

And there was nothing I could do.

 

“This is why you, and your… friend,” he added with disgust, “will be staying here for another half hour, until this is done.”

 

“This is mad…” was all the reply I could muster. “If you hadn’t taken either of us, assuming that we would want to, we wouldn’t even be here to disrupt anything you did!”

“I find it very reasonable instead,” El replied, “for it is said that the Lord struck with folly the wisdom of men. The wisdom of the Lord is folly to the eye of men.”

 

This confirmed my idea. There was no possible discussion with El, except on his terms – on which, of course, he was guaranteed to come out on top. But there was a card that I could perhaps use to my profit.  

 

“But is it not written that the Lord forbids one to steal?” I argued.  

“Such is His law, in very deed.” El agreed.  

“Still, you are keeping from me my bag and my Pokemon.” I insisted, trying to avoid thinking of the many precedents that could be used to argue against me.

“Did the Lord not reward His people with the riches of their slave-drivers, after He smote the flesh of their flesh and the blood of their blood?”

 

I winced as I recognized the reference – and it had indeed come to the foremost of my mind as the example that could be used against me.

 

“You would compare me with them?” I questioned, trying to sound more like a martyr than an orator. “They were a powerful nation, filled with malice and envy, fatted by the sweat, tears and blood of their slaves. I am a wanderer, poor and homeless, who didn’t so much as raise his voice against you, in spite of your claims, and I merely ask for what little I own in this city.”

 

“Perhaps it is true indeed,” El gently acknowledged.

 

It didn’t sound right at all. I had expected an uphill battle of hypocritical rhetorics that I barely hoped to win – this being far from my forte, while my opponent would be in his element. That the fanatical priest could concede this point was ominous. But he was indeed walking towards one of his locked cupboards, inserted a small key, and opened it.

 

“You may have it.” El showed me.

 

Who was this man? Fanatical and absurd one time, gentle and understanding the next one?

And what of the Ditto, of his thugs? Although he would certainly dismiss – or rather praise to the skies – the latter as ‘soldiers of God’ that he had recruited for his crusade.

 

But what could be the trap? The harm in taking my belongings back?

 

“Take it,” El repeated.

 

Slowly, carefully, not daring to trust the too comfortable surge of relief flooding my brain, I took the bag by its handle, and put the Pokeballs on my belt, giving to my waist a certain added weight, which was both uncomfortable and more comforting. The bag felt normal – as absurdly heavy as I remembered. It was certainly fortunate that I couldn’t have fit a bike in it.

 

“I would like to warn you however,” El said in a very soft, but very serious tone. “I am giving this to you because I realize that I have deceived you one time too many, and that I desire your trust back. But do not mistake this desire to make amends for weakness. Try to use my gift against me, and I shall be merciless. Were you now a far better Trainer than the one I saw challenging Bennett a week ago, you would remain far beneath the guards of this temple.”

 

How does one get out of trouble?

One step at a time.  

 

“What about Cain?” I asked again, trying to ignore how unlikely this was to succeed.

“Agreed.” El rummaged through the cupboard. “Consider it an additional token of goodwill.”

 

 

*

 

 

“You have got to be kidding me.” Arclight grunted. “This sucks worse than Blacksteam, and that’s saying something.”

“You want out, just say so.” Saphira shrugged. “You’ve earned it.”

“I’m not speaking about that!” the DJ protested. “I’m speaking about bringing Gossip Gardevoir underground of all peop – beings! Spilling the beans is what she does!”

“Do not worry,” the Gardevoir chuckled, “I will happily keep this secret if it means that I can save my Master.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think you’re actually capable to do that,” Arclight pointed out. “Is there actually anything you know that you haven’t broadcast live yet?”

“Well, I know of a number of objectionable and shadowy dealings by upstanding members of the Reborn League. Starting for instance with your friend,” Gardevoir replied lightly as she ignored Saphira glaring daggers at them. “But because I am able to keep secrets, I will not tell you,” she chuckled on.

“Fine.” Arclight relented half-heartedly, frustrated at not learning more about Saphira’s relationship with the city’s underworld. “But this is still completely nuts! We know even less than for Blacksteam, and we’re going to challenge whoever is in charge of that place and escape with everything they have? Seriously?”

“You want out, I won’t mind.” Saphira repeated. “But it’s two Leaders we’re talking about, and I’m not leaving them. Do you know how hard it is to have them replaced?”

 

Arclight pondered this for a moment. He had no particular fondness for Radomus – the man wouldn’t let him speak to the public of his battle style as a Leader unless he managed to win a chess game, something which, in spite of various advantages handed to him, Arclight had never managed to do. Luna was a slightly different story.

 

It didn’t make sense. He knew he was missing something. But he could hardly stay idle while two Leaders were kidnapped.

 

“And how come you got involved in any of this?” he had to ask Gossip Gardevoir.

“I was at my wits’ end to try and rescue my Master and Luna,” Gardevoir replied dramatically. “Because they had been taken someplace where I, a weak Gardevoir, could not rescue them. Then, I noticed Saphira’s arrival to Reborn City. Imagine my surprise! And my relief! But when she told me that she had more urgent business to take care of – picture my dismay! But she agreed to a deal – I helped her with her issues, and she would help me with mine. I have fulfilled my part.”

 

It was as good a story as any, Arclight thought. He nodded.

 

“Great. By the way, Gardevoir,” Saphira asked, “what did you do to him?” she nodded at Corin. “We may need him.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

A deeply apologetic El summoned two guards in white robes to guide me upstairs, in a far wider room with a ceiling at least four meters tall, supported by regularly spaced stone arches. It still had no windows, leaving me to assume that we were still underground, but three huge, intricate glass chandeliers were flooding the room with bright electric light.

 

A massive stone altar, perhaps eighty centimeters tall, sized as a one-person bed, stood on an elevated platform about three quarters of the way towards the end of the room, right underneath one of the chandeliers, and I anxiously noted the metal snap hooks as thick as fingers tied to it. Dozens of indistinct rows of old wooden benches, split in two by a central alley, were facing the length of the altar.

 

This was El’s church, obviously.

 

I found myself facing its exit. It would be easy to break rank and run – reach for the main gate which was no more than thirty or forty meters away. I could make it if I just fooled two guards for a few seconds. As long as the doors weren’t locked. But what would happen then? Would El not give chase outside? Would his outrage at the betrayal of his trust ever stop?

 

No. With such guards as he had, I believed El to be anything but harmless, and his terms had been clear. I couldn’t exclude either that he would retaliate against Cain. No, steeling myself and honoring the informal deal – by staying and not interfering – was the best course.  

 

There were a few rows of seats on either side of the altar, mostly hidden from the entrance by a stone wall with only a grid pattern to see through. I was led towards a seat facing directly the altar, on the left. El visibly trusted me as much as I trusted him, as his two hooded minions didn’t leave my side. They remained standing.

 

“Two of you for me?” I asked, a bit at random. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

“So is His Grace’s desire,” one of my guides answered. “It would be wiser to not defy it,” he added, the threat obvious.

“Isn’t it a bit excessive?” I questioned, a bit shily.

“It is a world of evil which we live in,” the other spoke in a passionate voice, “and His Grace believes that the sight of purity helps one remember their heart’s desire for the Lord’s light.”

 

In other words, people not under his spiritual authority bended more easily to El’s will when he reminded them more constantly of the physical threat they were under. Nothing particularly new or insightful.

 

Nothing to do but watch.

And remember.

 

A few minutes afterwards, four more guards came in from the lower floor, pushing onwards a gagged Cain with his hands behind his back who was bleeding from both eyebrow arches. As he came into the larger room, his eyes widened, frantically looking in every direction. He skipped forward uncertainly, then, as the group was nearing the altar from the side opposite mine, he suddenly ducked and sprinted towards the exit as I had considered to do. I got up in surprise – and ashamed excitement for his unrelenting attitude.

 

Unfortunately, the guards weren’t caught unaware. Namely, one of them sent out a Heliolisk whose low-powered Thunderbolt convulsed Cain’s leg muscles, making them unresponsive. The spirited teenager fell headfirst on the stone floor, his handcuffs – that I could only see now – preventing him from controlling his fall. I sat down again, dejected.

 

“We told you what would happen if you tried anything,” one of his guards growled as he stalked towards the slightly stunned Cain, his intent all too clear.

 

Why couldn’t they leave him alone? I thought, sickened at how Cain had been treated. But it wasn’t going to happen. Not unless someone made them. I was the only one there for Cain and I couldn’t do even a single thing as he was once again kicked in the face.

 

Nothing that would stop the beating…

 

No, that wasn’t true. There was something I could do. Something which didn’t have great odds, but at least didn’t carry a similar risk.

 

I took a deep breath.

 

“Stop it!” I got up and shouted at them, disregarding my own guard dogs, a tad too panicked for my taste.

“He was asking for it,” one of his guards looked up from kicking Cain’s ribs.

“No, he wasn’t. You’ve seen what you did to him? Of course he’s going to take every chance to escape.”

“And he knew what would happen if he got caught.”

“You’re supposed to be holy men, aren’t you?” I questioned, looking at their robes. “Do holy men repeatedly gang up on an unarmed victim? Look at what you already did to him! Hasn’t he had enough? Haven’t you had enough? Aren’t you supposed to forgive? To turn the other cheek?”

 

I had said these words because I had to, because there was something I could do, because they were waiting for me to say something once I had spoken up – but I didn’t expect them to actually work.

 

“So you’re telling us what to do, now?” one of them turned his anger towards me.

“I’m just asking.” I replied with a deep breath. “I mean, I don’t recall any part of your book sanctifying, encouraging, or even authorizing this kind of display.”

“No book tells me what to do,” he snarled and started towards me. “Looks like you’re itching to take his place to me.”

 

I felt serene, all of a sudden. I didn’t know what he was about to do to me. I didn’t know if I could take it. I didn’t know if I would even react, try to stand for myself. But at least I had broken the assault on Cain. He was weakly wriggling, trying to bend his stiff legs so as to be able to stand again.

 

“Cut it, Matthias,” one of his associates grabbed his sleeve. “He’s got a point, you know.”

 

‘Matthias’ didn’t look happy at all about this, but his clenched fists relaxed and he let the matter go, to my relief. His accomplices grabbed Cain’s arms and pulled him up like a doll, keeping him upright for the couple of seconds it took for his legs to stand firm again. Then they started pushing him again towards the altar, the Heliolisk watching sullenly the troop’s step.

 

I wasn’t very good with faces. But I didn’t need any skill to guess what was on Cain’s, frustration, pain, revolt, rage, as they brought him towards the altar, then towards my side – except they brought him against a back pillar and they…

 

“You’re chaining him to the wall?” I asked, scandalized, feeling a dreadful cold pervading my body.

“You got a problem with that?” ‘Matthias’ drawled.

“Yes, I do! What do you think you’re achieving?”

“He’s always sticking his fat purple nose in our business. This is one time when he’s not going to do it!”

“Is it what El did to you?” I asked, struck with a sudden idea born out of desperation. “When he made you work for him, did he beat you all up again and again? Did he tie you up to make you obey him?”

 

That got their attention, even Cain’s as he laid bloodied eyes on me. I had to keep it, lest the spell was broken and they finished this barbaric business of theirs.

 

“That’s what El gave you, isn’t it?” I insisted. “I’m guessing he gave you food, he gave you shelter, he gave you purpose, he gave you comrades. And this is how he won you over. Not by beating you over and over. Please,” I pleaded, suddenly uneasy with all the stares I was getting.

 

“Take his cuffs off.” I didn’t know how I found the daring to utter the words, even so in a pleading voice that was so unfamiliar to me. “Guard him if you want. You’re many; he’s one. You have Pokemon; he doesn’t. He’s weary, battered; you’re not. What can you fear from him?”

 

And somehow it did the trick. One of the cult members shook his head, and, instead of chaining Cain’s cuffs to the pillar, and to our great confusion, his co-thugs took them off. Cain uneasily rubbed his hands against his wrists, then tried to wipe the mesh of blood and make-up all over his face, with little success, and they led him towards my seat.

 

“You are right,” the one who had shaken his head told me, as he motioned to Cain to sit farther than me.

 

I saw the teenager glance with obvious purpose at my bag, which was in front of my feet – and therefore in his way – as he hopped over it.  

 

“But, boy,” he insisted, watching Cain threateningly, “you will stay still. One word too high, one gesture too dangerous, and I will kill you myself, for betraying the trust I put in you. You as well,” he added for me, “and you had better be thankful.”

 

I looked in his eyes.

 

“I am.” I assured him.

 

I wasn’t lying. Nothing in the man forced him to behave with anything approaching reason, sanity or decency. Every little bit helped. A semblance of civilization, step by step, just the bare minimum, a Geneva Convention, even with a thuggish foe whose only allegiance was El’s inconsistent word.

 

“And you’re just going to do nothing?” Cain hissed to me as he removed his gag. “You have your bag and Pokemon, now! You could go help Luna! You’re not going to just sit and… watch, are you?”

“I am.” I replied loud. “We wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything.”

“But how can you bear it?” he gritted his teeth. “You know it’s awful and how can you manage to… not do anything?”

“It’s because,” I replied in a low, dreary voice, “I know it’s pointless. If we try anything, not only does the same awful thing happen anyway, but we get hurt too, or killed, and we can’t do anything later. And they extended trust, you see? They took your handcuffs off. If you use it against them, you won’t be able to count on that later.”

“I don’t want their trust,” Cain shouted back in a whisper. Was there the shadow of a tear in his tone? “I hate what they’re doing. I hate their guts. I hate them!”

 

This time, there was no mistaking the tears watering his voice rather than his eyes.

 

 

The room was very slowly starting to fill with more people. First, more and more white robes walked out of the stairs from the lower floors, some of them sitting on benches like ours, either from a distance behind us, or opposite us. Soon, El himself came standing next to the altar, wearing the solemn look of a priest who was going to accomplish their holy service – that of the function that he was occupying. His slow gaze encompassed the whole room equally, not showing any sign of recognition as it swept over us. Bennett came up too, glancing all around him and then choosing a seat most remote from everybody else, in the shade behind the altar. I was half watching all this crowd – a dangerous crowd, I knew – but I was also keeping an eye on Cain who looked very downcast.

 

But there was nothing I could do to make him feel better. We had lost. We had surrendered. We had accepted to abide by their terms – something that he was probably having trouble to accept. We had abandoned Luna. Radomus too, but somehow I couldn’t muster the will to be angry with El after what had been done to him. Barely even to be sad.

 

Then the main doors were opened – so they had not been locked after all – and El’s brethren started to come in, some in white-ish robes of various quality or cleanliness, others in some semblance of decent clothes, others again in what might be the only pieces of clothing they could afford.

 

El’s church was not only a place to pray, I could see: it was also a meeting place, and the flurry of new people brought sound there. Oblivious to how El could treat his forced guests, men and women greeted one another, shook hands, laughed together, exchanged a few words, and then left to catch up with yet other groups. This seemed to be another blow to Cain’s morale, especially as he glared daggers at the two guards who remained watching us.

 

“How can they?” he was repeating in outrage between his clenched teeth, his head still bowed. “How can they?”

 

One of the newcomers, in an immaculate ironed robe and hood, wasn’t interested in the other attendants, and instead lightly climbed the steps to the altar to directly greet El.

 

“I had hoped you would come,” I listened to him say as El put an arm on his visitor’s shoulder. “I am glad to see you today. How is your father?”

“He saw your message,” a faintly familiar voice answered – but in the overall din, I couldn’t figure out if I was merely imagining things – “but as you know, he is very busy these days.”

“Always working, as usual. I suppose this can’t be helped. I am glad that you are here, at any rate.”

“I am glad to be here too,” the other one answered, bowing slightly.

 

Then he climbed down the altar and sat in the first row.

 

As the flow of newcomers slowed down, the room grew slightly warmer, and a strong woody smell started to fill it as light smoke raised from golden-plated disks hanging from the ceiling – incense, of course – while they sat down – men on one side, women on the other – and the small talk slowly merged into a unified sound. A chant started spreading across the room, first from scattered islands of piety or knowledge, or simple love for song, but gaining ground at every repetition, taking over the singers’ neighbors, and also encouraging people not surrounded by singers to try their own voice, joining at their own pace and with their own comfort.

 

Regardless, the power of this simple song, with a very recognizable air and its simple rhythm, seemed to draw everyone in, sharing for once the same voice of harmony – not quite to the point of being able to decipher the lyrics, naturally. And the atmosphere of the room changed subtly. It was not any more a wide meeting place with a creepy altar in its cold and empty middle. It was the room of a brethren united by faith under a guide – although El wasn’t singing himself, delegating this to a properly-clad subordinate with the voice of an opera singer. Perhaps he had been one before the city came to its current end. It was the room of a people believing in the holy word of a savior that would redeem them, help them rise above the crudeness of life as they had to live it – day to day, ever compromising for survival with the ugliness of necessity.

 

Cain, needless to say, was watching the choir and the song leader with a mixture of disgust and despondency.

 

Then El started praying in a slow, powerful voice that carried over to the entire room and focused the reverent attention of everyone else. He was chanting with passion in an ancient language whose meaning he might have been the only one to know, but the audience – who religiously listened to its guide’s words in an otherwise respectful silence – knew its cue and the words it was supposed to say in unison. The priest wasn’t completely alone most of the time either – regularly, one of his group would sing along him for some thirty seconds before stopping.  

 

Then, with a slight release in the etiquette – there were coughs, whispers, children moving through alleyways, and two of El’s robed henchmen leaving the platform for the inner quarters where we had come from, Cain and I – five members of the assistance, in rather proper clothes, climbed up the few steps and stopped in front of the altar.

 

O Lord; open my mouth and my voice shall proclaim Your praise, El enunciated as the silence came down again, drawing everyone else to repeat the sentence, and then the five individuals started praying in imperfect synchronization, but with the rest of the room’s attention focused on them. Again, while they were speaking alone most of the time, at times, they would slow down and start singing with the entire cult following suit.

 

It lasted for an insufferable number of seconds before the last chant, slow and stern, came to an end, just at the moment the pair of aides came back with Luna.

 

“Blessed be the Lord and His Reign for the centuries’ centuries, for the old world and the new one,” El articulated, and the room repeated.

 

But Luna was unrecognizable. Clad in a pristine white robe, with a tight headscarf of the same color covering her hair, she was following the others with her eyes fixated on the floor. Gone were the desire and commitment to help a kidnapped friend, no matter the cost to herself; gone was her being a maid – whether it was a game, a compulsion, or anything in between. Gone was the life in her, no matter how strangely it expressed itself – she looked like a blank automaton.

 

“What has he done to her?” Cain whispered to me, disgusted.

“I don’t know…” I muttered, horrified.

 

How could he bear this look on her face? This way of being, or perhaps more accurately, of non-being?

 

In the surrounding silence, Luna walked slowly closer to the altar, and, at El’s discreet hand gesture, sat on it.

 

“Brethren. My friends,” El started dramatically. “Surely you can remember that nearly a year ago, my family was struck with a terrible bane, an atrocious blow of the kind that destroys households forever. You remember that my daughter, Luna, had been kidnapped.”

 

He stood silent for a few seconds, as if to appreciate his effect. The entire room – everyone, not only his enforcers – seemed to be holding its breath to better listen to him, hanging onto his every word.

 

“I have found out that a demoniac being, the vile Radomus Vanhanen, had broken into her mind and rewritten it,” he resumed with hatred in his voice, as a gasp of shocked outrage seemed to run through the crowd. “He made her forget that she was my daughter. He turned her respect for the Lord, His cult and His Sanctity into blasphemous heresy! Her purity, into shameless immodesty! She was the apple of my eye, and he turned her into an abomination to the eyes of the Lord.”

 

“It was only today that I managed to reclaim her, but at what cost?” the loud, outraged hostility turned to a softer-voiced sadness, and the room focused again on him. “The fiend had turned her so thoroughly against me that I was forced to compel her obedience. Although I finally defeated him, he hid her true self deep inside her mind, and I do not know if I will be able to bring back who she really is. Perhaps her blemish is irredeemable.”

 

“But I think not,” El added resolutely. “For I believe that the Lord is holy and almighty. I believe that with my faith in Him, with all of your faith, my daughter can be restored. Let the ritual begin.”

 

Bennett sprung out of his chair, handing a Pokeball to his neighbor, as Luna slowly tilted backwards until she lay on her back on the altar, and he bound her wrists and ankles with the chains that the altar had. Meanwhile, several members of El’s brand of clergy went to him, exchanged a few words, and walked away to their seats.  

 

“This guy’s creeping me out,” Cain commented for me, pointing towards Bennett. “He didn’t even ask for her safe word!”

“Maybe not in front of her father?” I suggested.

 

Cain drew away from me.

 

“Not you too! What have they done to you?” he asked, anguished. “First you reply to my jokes. Then you really think he’s her father? That’d be so fucked-up.”

“He believes he is,” I carefully chose my words. “Bennett believes it too. So he wouldn’t ask for a safe word in front of him. Plus, we’re still in a temple.”

“That’s not stopping him,” Cain commented. “Look how he’s staring at her!”

 

Nothing seemed particularly amiss to me, but I didn’t doubt that Cain had had more experience than I had in this domain of human affairs.

 

When the silence came back, El slowly took a small trinket with a fine golden chain from a pocket in his robe and tied it around his neck. He walked closer to the altar, and sent out seven Pokemon: a Wobbuffet, a Solrock, the Heliolisk and the Pyroar that I had already seen, Bennett’s Dustox, a Drampa, and a Chatot.

 

“Wobbuffet, Safeguard,” El ordered in a precise voice.

 

Somehow, the protection was almost tangible, a slightly green veil surrounding El, the altar, and the Pokemon that he had chosen.

 

“O Lord,” El suddenly boomed, his voice sweeping through the room, “God of Earth and Skies, God of our fathers and their forefathers, who made Man to serve and love you, heed your servant!”

 

And the Pokemon started glowing. White fire engulfed the Pyroar; lightning shot up from the Heliolisk and froze in mid-air above Luna; blinding light, as befitted a star (albeit a toy model of one, fortunately not hot enough to melt the Earth), glowed from the Solrock – forcing me to narrow my eyes.

 

“O Creator, who reigns almighty on the old world and the new world,” El added, more puissant, “I beseech you, restore your creature so that she may adore you again!”

 

In normal times, I would have found this ridiculous. Whether or not such a being as El’s Lord existed, it was extremely doubtful that it cared about such a cult, and what was required just shouldn’t have been possible. But now… Nothing of this should have made sense, and yet the powers of the various Pokemon seemed to combine themselves and radiant white light shone from the altar, far brighter than it should have been for any reason.

 

As bright as if El had been burning magnesium underneath, I remembered from a chemistry class in an older, more civilized age… how reckless…

 

El’s voice, somehow even further amplified, started saying words of an ancient language, words that didn’t make any sense and shouldn’t have done anything – and yet they did. Every sound was like a small explosion to which one couldn’t but give their full attention, inexplicably vibrating stone, bone and minds, brightening the light a little each time.

 

The words were heavily enunciated at first, all their weight falling on the scenery and the audience who had to bear them, but El sped up, and the steady intrusive vibration slowly turned into an unbearable thrumming, encompassing and swallowing up all other perceptions – the light, El’s voice and the ambient rumble, the vibration of the very chair I was sitting on, how uncomfortably warm the air seemed to become. Even the smell of incense seemed far more potent.

 

The discharge of the Dustox’s psychic energy – somehow amplified – fell on Luna like thunder, like the sound of a divine arm knocking the sturdiest door in the world down, the sound of an unstoppable blow breaking its lock and ripping it off its hinges.

 

Luna’s scream of agony fell like a cold shower on my dulled consciousness, jerking me upright in indignation before my brain caught up with my body and I stopped myself, because the situation had not changed. I was closer to rescuing Luna from the snake or the madmen – who could tell? – who posed as her father – but I was still powerless. What really was this doing of El’s? How could it be thwarted?

 

Not too unsurprisingly, the knee-jerk reaction Luna’s cry elicited in Cain’s was to get up and walk up towards her, so I grabbed his arm immediately.

 

“What are you doing?” I hissed. “You’re going to get us killed!”

“I’m not going to sit and watch,” he replied. “Let them try it.”

“What are you doing?” Luna screamed, the rattling of chains betraying her attempts to get away freely.

 

I tried to focus again, to ignore El’s renewed ritualistic formulas and the deeply concerning thrumming they seemed to induce in everything and everyone inside the room, to have a rational look upon this manifestly impossible situation, to figure something out…

 

“O Lord, cleanse my daughter from the impurity that was forced upon her!” El thundered, the mere presence of the sound disjointing my thoughts again.

 

Another waterfall of somehow enhanced psychic energy struck Luna, drawing a panicked supplication.

 

“Please, what are you doing? Stop!”

 

Cain got loose from my grip and walked grimly towards the guard that was ferociously eying us.

 

Point One: We’re outgunned and they’ll kill us if we put themselves in their way. Starting with him, I thought resignedly.

 

El suddenly lifted his head, glared all around himself, briefly considered Cain, then me, then turned away from us, to my very partial relief.

 

“The enemies among us,” he shouted, “in the name of the Lord,” he drew a Pokeball, “I shall obliterate them.”

 

Two robed and hooded figures stood in the main alleyway of the temple, apart from everyone else. They nearly got squashed by the first massive punch thrown by El’s huge, unbelievably fast and incensed Slaking. And that was before ten, twenty, thirty other balls were thrown at them.

 

Point Two: whoever they were and whatever they thought they were doing, it wasn’t going to be enough.

 

 

*

 

Spoiler

Gardevoir was alone – almost – in the lower parts of the complex. It had been her choice. Whether they were out of time was not a settled matter yet, so they had had to split up to avoid missing their objectives, disregarding the obviously greater risk.

 

With Corin’s feeble mumbles and Saphira’s insight, they had tried to braimstorm about what El could have done to Radomus, provided that he was still alive. The alternative had been too terrible for her to contemplate. How could she have gone on living in a world which her dear Master had been taken from?

 

Certainly, Luna may have had intelligence with… entities… that made someone’s passing a little more reassuring, but Gardevoir couldn’t imagine bearing the permanent separation from her Master.

 

It had been heartbreaking to hear the suggestions about how El would make sure Radomus wouldn’t escape his fate. There was no telling the kind of agony that her poor Master, if he was still alive – he was! he had to be! – must have endured in the past few hours.

 

The advantage of sending her downstairs was that, of course, that no one cared too much about one more or less figure in a hooded white robe. Even if she seemed to have a little too many good Pokemon in her pockets.

 

El knew he hadn’t caught her – and he knew she wouldn’t stay idle. It made sense that he would carefully protect his quarters against teleportation. Hence her thoroughly mundane method of intrusion. El’s dungeon of sorts had another way in than from the church, and it had been left unguarded for some reason. So Corin had picked the lock – his last contribution to the operation, in exchange of him keeping his brain and six figures’ worth of change – and in she was.

 

She had hoped to be able to use telepathy to locate her Master, but El had been wary of it too, as Saphira and Corin had reasoned. She could feel the dulling of her psychic senses, acuity dissolving into noise at far too close a range, the mental equivalent of a thick fog. This wasn’t easy – but it wasn’t much harder than blocking teleportation, if one knew, as El certainly did, how to go about it. It would have been far too daunting a task for a single Pokemon, no matter how powerful, which was why the old zealot would have set up a network.

 

Now, Gardevoir couldn’t do anything on her own, and she would have had to recruit allies, didn’t she? Allies that would certainly be powerful Trainers, but without much experience with Psychic Pokemon. They would trip up the network. Perhaps destroy it, or jam it, if they were very good – ignorant that, by then, El’s damage would be done.

 

Hence her idea.

 

“Go, little Abra!” she muttered, sending all the Pokeballs out.

 

The baby Abra was sitting on the floor asleep. She felt the surge of power as it reflectively tried to Teleport away, and the blockade struck in action.

 

Offering her, and the flurry of Elite Psychic Pokemon that Saphira had agreed to lend her, the perfect opportunity to infiltrate it. After all, how could Zina’s Pokemon not remember her, or what Radomus had trained them to do, when Anna was a small child and the Orphanage was so accommodating towards discrete private donors?

 

Thirty seconds later, this commando of a new type had dynamited El’s painstakingly crafted telepathic network from the inside, Gardevoir had herself knocked out the thug that El has chosen as dead man’s switch – the dead man being almost certainly her Master – and left a heartfelt personal message to the cult’s leader. Now, she could figure out in a matter of seconds where Radomus was, leaving her comrades-in-arms to deal with whoever was unlucky enough to roam the corridors.

 

She was horrified when she found Radomus in a low-ceiling cell that looked like a torture chamber, with dried blood stains all over it. Her master was in terrible shape. He was in an upright position, in underwear that didn’t belong to him. His left big toe was the only part of his body in contact with a solid place, the table underneath him, while his right leg was red and blue, his knee bent at an unnatural angle. A tight rope was keeping his arms stretched upwards behind his back, at an unnatural position.

 

El had visibly given his prisoner a hopeless alternative. Radomus could give in to the pain, lose his focus, let his foot rest – and the noose that his head rested in would take care of the rest. Or he could try keeping it together until El himself came back to announce him that all his works had been undone, Luna was back under his firm guiding hand, and he had overstayed his welcome in this world.

 

“Gar…” he could only articulate as he saw the look of thunderstruck horror on his Pokemon –a thunder powerful enough to genuinely harm Gardevoir. He hoped she didn’t –

 

The furious Gardevoir telekinetically shoved a knife through the noose that was both threatening and partly supporting him. It meant that the rope tying his arms had drawn them upwards in his back, in a position that definitely didn’t work for human beings, and the chessmaster couldn’t suppress a gasp of exhausted pain.

 

“Master?” Gardevoir fruitlessly asked in anguish, before figuring out El’s nasty trick, and shoving the knife again through the rope, letting finally Radomus collapse on his wounded leg in a helpless heap on the small table that broke under his weight.  

 

Oh, how she hated that priest – she was going to make him pay.

 

But first, she had to save her Master. After so much work today, she had barely enough energy left to Teleport out into one of his many ‘safe houses’ – cheap, small, unremarkable, scattered locations that he had bought throughout the city under a variety of aliases – and come back, but not enough to do the same for Luna – let alone Arclight and Saphira as further passengers. 

 

Her Master first. Saphira and Arclight could handle themselves, couldn’t they?

 

“Thank you, Gardevoir…” Radomus gasped.

 

 

*

 

 

If Saphira hadn’t thrown herself at him, Arclight would have been pulp. He had had trouble to adjust already – Saphira’s serious mode, when she suggested the various ways in which El could have set his security up, and how they could bypass it, had been the most disturbing sight of her that he had witnessed so far – the callous, inhumane practicality even worse to witness than her bouts of heated aggression. And while Gardevoir had told them that the second they could strike would be apparent, he hadn’t been ready enough for what the priest had thrown at them.

 

How was that Slaking so… much?

 

But soon, it was not only the Slaking, but almost thirty Pokemon, all of them dangerous and powerful, focusing on them, all while El was delivering his message to his flock.

 

“Brethren,” he started, “as you can see, the forces of evil have entered this very temple. With the help of the Lord, we shall thwart them and send them back to the hellish void where they belong! Should you want to join in this holy crusade, you are most welcome. Otherwise, please step aside so as to avoid the crossfire.”

 

That little respite gave Saphira time to send five Pokemon out – Naganadel, Haxorus, Dragonite, Charizard, and Flygon – while Arclight more conservatively used a Jolteon, an Exploud, and a Raichu.

 

Arclight and Saphira were outnumbered worse one to three, when counting the Pokemon on the battlefield, and one to eight when counting the Trainers. No easy odds by any means, but not unbeatable ones, especially if El’s tactics were as primitive as they looked like.

 

It made sense, Saphira thought. He’s read a bit about psychic stuff, because he was after Radomus, but he never cared about fighting effectively with so many Pokemon at his disposal. It would have been a lot less possible if half the group could set screens, use Helping Hand, weaken and cripple her mons, letting the others clean up.

 

But there wasn’t time for these considerations. All hell was ready to break loose, but neither El’s clergymen nor the Slaking were attacking.

 

“Hold!” El commanded haughtily, his voice easily echoing throughout the room, even forcing Saphira to stand down from the immediate attack she was about to order.

“Miss Belrose, I can believe that you have already caused me great harm today. But let me tell you this: I do not wish for this battle to happen. You and your acolyte may withdraw unmolested. I beg of you to seize this chance, for it will be your last. Should your unprovoked assault continue, with the Lord’s guidance, I shall smite you down.”

 

Saphira’s answer came in the sound of a loud gong, as her Dragonite threw itself at the old priest and bounced on the Safeguard.

 

 

***

 

“So be it.”

 

Madness. What folly had drawn these people to fight here of all places? Shouldn’t Saphira – the uncontested top Leader in the League – be more sensible? A brawl of such intensity carried a huge risk of collateral damage, or cave-ins. How much structural damage could every one of her moves deal? And even if the thirty-ish opposing Pokemon were no match for her, it still turned the battlefield into utter chaos.

 

Saphira’s sidekick had had a good idea from the start. His Exploud’s Boomburst should have overwhelmed El’s chanting, still loud enough to drown the sound of the conflict. But the unnatural thrumming of stone and body kept going, drowning even the sound of the battle. All it had achieved was provoke El’s Slaking into bringing the Exploud down with one powerful slap, swatting it aside in the seats like a negligible quantity.

 

Saphira’s Haxorus had then taken to contain the alleged Lazy Pokemon – which this one certainly wasn’t – dodging the sledgehammer blows and retaliating with its plentiful power, but its opponent wasn’t as slow as its muscle mass suggested. That particular fight was a stalemate, I believed.

 

What wasn’t a stalemate was… all the rest. Very soon, Saphira’s Pokemon had taken the fight to their enemies, either crushing the seats around them or standing on the edge of the platform, raining all flavors of energy on the dragons and the two Trainers.

 

Saphira’s Dragonite’s game of bowling was effective at disruption, but it also confined the Pokemon in the middle of his enemies, at the heart of every attack that could be thrown at him. And El’s followers weren’t being parsimonious: given their numbers, they had easily twice, or maybe three times as many Pokemon to throw. If a Kingdra came in the way of an empowered Moonblast, did it matter as much as the damage it landed onto the Dragonite?

 

Naganadel was, surprisingly, the first of Saphira’s Pokemon to fall, having made itself the center of attention while its shower of nasty-looking acid caught five Pokemon on the field – triggering its Beast Boost.

 

This only drew Saphira’s other Pokemon to fight harder, nastier. The Charizard and the other guy’s Noivern teamed up to send a dark fog towards the enemy Trainers. An Espeon and a Beeheyem teamed up as an answer, uprooting the chairs and sending them straight at the intruders’ faces. The Raichu’s Focus Blast put a term to that, at the cost of sending a lot of splinters flying in all directions – including the helpless non-combatants on the sides.

 

The Haxorus was the next to fall, as it didn’t manage to evade a Shadow Ball fired in its direction, leaving it defenseless against the Slaking’s crushing physical might, forcing the Dragonite to withdraw from the field to solely focus on this greatest of threats.

 

Overall, it was clear that Saphira couldn’t win the fight. Every minute saw her Pokemon get more and more tired, less precise, less apt at dodging, if no less willing to fight – while she seemed to be willing to use as many Revives as necessary, it required precious seconds of vulnerable motionlessness. And how good would that be, if for every fallen foe, two could take its place?

 

Point Three: if they couldn’t do anything about the situation, I certainly couldn’t either. And it was probably not worth blowing whatever embryo of goodwill I still had with El.

 

“You attacked my Master!” a new, terrifying voice shouted, from the inside of the sanctum, as though to personally prove me wrong. “No one does tha—”

 

A Shedinja sprung out of the wall for a second, shadowy claws piercing the Gossip Gardevoir’s abdomen, before retreating. With a moan of pain, the Gardevoir collapsed on the floor, where it was immediately targeted by a new salvo of fresh and angry Pokemon.

 

It was an unwise move on their part, because they were instantly the targets of a furious Gothitelle, whose first Psychic attack immediately pounded one of them into the ground, then followed with a Shadow Ball as a special present for the insolent Shedinja, before focusing on the next targets.

 

Point Four: if they started attacking the walls, we were going to die messily and for no reason.

 

The squad of Psychic types coming from the back was scarily powerful and effective, but this meant that the odds remained stacked against Saphira, Gossip Gardevoir et al. There were always more enemies to fight, more Pokemon to subdue, more unhealthy attack combinations.

 

Then, perhaps taken aback by the fierceness of the assault, their enemies brought out the big guns, Mega Evolving far too many Pokemon at a time than was sane. A Kangaskhan. A Lopunny. An Audino. A Medicham. A Sceptile. An Abomasnow. A Pinsir. An Altaria. A Blastoise. All of them jumping with bloodthirsty eagerness in the fray, forcing Saphira and the other one to reply in kind, Mega Evolving a Charizard and an Ampharos. The Ampharos’s first attack shattered one of the chandeliers, raining glass shards on their opponents – and Cain and I as well. And meanwhile, the brightest, loudest discharge of psychic power yet struck Luna, drawing from her renewed screams of pain.

 

“Please stop!” she implored. “Please!”

 

This was going to be a bloodbath, I looked dully at the glass embedded in my clothes. My face stung. And there was nothing I could do.

 

“Are you even listening to me?” Cain shouted in my face.

“What do you want?” I answered, a bit guiltily – I had somehow managed to tune him out entirely, obsessed by the battle, my own injuries – and still enthralled by the rhythm of El’s doing.

“We’ve got to do something! I’m not leaving them fight alone!”

“You know you’re not going to be much help, right?” I replied after thinking for a second. “They’re all a lot better than we are. And if you lose, they’ll make you pay.”

“You know I don’t care about that.” Cain replied. “I’m going to help. Give me my Pokemon.”

“Your funeral.” I concluded grimly.

 

I glanced around me – nobody was paying attention. Bennett had left the altar’s side and was trying to harass the squad of Psychic Pokemon. I nervously searched my bag.

 

“Here.” I handed him six Pokeballs.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think I’m doing you a favor.”

 

And Cain went off to fight, calling a Marowak to deal with – that is, succumb to, after a brave attack – the Abomasnow and a Meowstic to temporarily bolster Saphira’s defenses.

 

Point Five: None of this mattered if El did to Luna – whatever he wanted to do.  

 

And there was no penetrating the Safeguard – if Saphira’s Dragonite had failed, I wasn’t about to succeed. But how could that effect even exist, let alone last for so long? This had to be related with the thrumming, the unnatural power of El’s voice, his presence.

 

And the old temple too! I remembered. Something similar, but less powerful, had happened as well. He hadn’t been physically – or psychically – protected, but he had still seemed so much deeper than everyone else who had sounded so... dull, for a time.

 

Luna screamed again as El’s voice rose to another pitch, somehow drawing another shot of psychic power at every one of his room-shaking words.

 

Luna was screaming.

There was nothing I could do.

She was screaming and you did nothing. 

There was nothing I could have done!

Nothing, really?

Saphira couldn’t break it!

Luna is screaming.

Then don’t attack, moron!

What else is there to do?

 

I felt empty. Scared.

It was nothing less than a declaration of war.

A war that I absolutely could not win.

A war that wouldn’t even be for anything.

A war where I wasn’t even sure that I was in the right. After all, it looked like the war leaders were Saphira and Gossip Gardevoir, two people decidedly not of the highest moral character. Yet El had lied too – and his methods, especially his treatment of Cain, were nothing short of repulsive.

 

Perhaps it was worth a try.

 

I glanced another time around me. No one was paying any attention. I took a Pokeball.

 

“Tech, Light Screen on Luna.”

 

 

*

 

 

Arclight couldn’t believe his eyes. One second, the room was constantly thrumming under the thundering words of the priest hidden in his green bubble, which made his control on the Mega Ampharos extremely precarious, without counting his still-standing Luxray, and the constant assaults on his physical person, requiring constant dodging as well – making the revival of his fainted Pokemon harder and harder. Then again, the Ampharos’s role was just to unsophisticatedly cause a downpour of lightning on any and all enemies, letting Saphira’s rampaging dragons – Charizard, Flygon, Haxorus – to deal with the thus diminished foes.

 

The next second, there was a smaller red half-sphere inside that spot centered on Luna, El’s words had lost all their punch, and the priest looked confused, flailing, unsteady on his legs, without his greenish bubble, and the tired, but just as willing to fight, remnants of the psychic horde started attacking the Pokemon that had helped El – the Dustox, the Heliolisk, the Pyroar, the Solrock, the Chatot, the Drampa.

 

The Slaking roared in fury and finally managed to connect a fist on the Dragonite’s head, immediately fainting Saphira’s ace.

 

Then it savagely jumped directly at Arclight, and only the blow missed his head by a hair’s length.

 

“Ampharos!” he called.

 

This time, the Slaking didn’t bother trying to dodge, defying the attack, daring the lightning strike to hurt it.

 

Just what was with this Pokemon? How could it take everything so easily?

 

The Ampharos’s lightning struck another time, which again failed to deal any visible damage. However, it drew the Slaking away from the Trainer and towards the Pokemon, a big sacrifice saving so little time of Arclight’s life.

 

“Marowak, Will-o-Wisp!” a voice that he didn’t know commanded.

 

The voice belonged to a teenager in dyed purple hair and fishnets of all people, his light swollen face a mix of blue, red bloodstains, and dried black make-up.  

 

“Cain?” Saphira shouted. “Get the hell out of here! This is out of your league!”

“I’m not bai…” he tried to reply, as Saphira’s Mega Charizard tackled him out of the further enraged Slaking’s grasp.

 

Then it got up to face the formidable foe that had felled two of its mightiest allies.

 

“Then don’t hold back.” Saphira snapped, dodging the Mega Abomasnow’s Ice Beam after her Flygon. “It’s war out there.”

 

 

*

 

 

In for a penny…

 

“Meowstic,” I decided, “Light Screen, Reflect for Cain’s team.”

“Gabriel?” Cain shouted through the room. “Any Revives?”

 

I checked quickly through my bag. None of them remained from my ordeal at Pyrous and I hadn’t found any since.

 

“No!” I yelled back.

“Then free Luna!” he called, narrowly eluding a fiery attack.

 

I stared at the weary priest, who was bent over the altar and panting.

 

How would I free her? I didn’t have the keys to her chains, and I didn’t have the Pokemon to break them without risking injuring the girl. Someone had the keys, of course, but I wasn’t going to ask El for them – or any other of his minions.

 

Something seemed to move beside the altar. And El still looked stunned.

 

How could that have happened again? Light Screens didn’t turn red…

 

I went over the altar to investigate, crouching behind it when an explosive Energy Ball tried to get me, letting it wash over the red Light Screen. When I reached the place where I had seen motion, just lay a small folded square of paper – and a ring of keys.

 

Important, it read, in messy capital letters. Flee Elias and his friends. Get Luna out.

 

I tried the keys in the lock. They fit in.

 

One removed, three to go.

 

I was worried that everyone would just focus on me, but it looked like Saphira, Cain and the others were making a very fine distraction. Anyway, Meowstic had surrounded me with another red Light Screen and a Reflect – just in case.

 

I heard the Mega Charizard’s roar of effort as it managed to Flare Blitz into the Slaking and slam it against a wall, making the entire room shake once again – but at least in a more comprehensible way, if more physically threatening.

 

Two.

 

“Thank you,” Luna said, drawing herself up and rubbing her wrists.

“I need to untie your legs.” I mumbled.

“Please do,” she replied with a tone of formal politeness, as though I had offered her some cake to go with her tea.  

 

Where was that lock?

 

I felt firm hands grabbing both of my arms, surrounding my torso.

 

“You treacherous snake,” El shouted in my ears. I hanged on the keys for all I could, even as he shook me and threw me to the ground.

 

“How dare you!” he shouted as he tried to step over my ankle to crush it.

 

But I was faster. I managed to get on my legs again – albeit in an unstable crouch – when he pushed me again lying on the ground, keys digging into my right hand.

 

“I trusted you!” he ranted, incensed.

 

He put his foot on my back, stepping with enough weight as to prevent me from moving.

 

“I should have killed you like the weaseling worm that you really are.”

 

I don’t know how, but a violent squirm got me out of his grip and unbalanced him for the second I needed to get back on my feet. The bad news was that El was standing between the altar and me; to compound the issue, he had drawn a psychoanalytically big knife and looked rabid enough to use it.

 

“Neither you, nor anyone else, will deprive me of my daughter,” he stalked in my direction, his knife steadily advancing on me.

 

I walked backwards, uneasily, hypnotized by the knife aimed at my stomach. But it couldn’t last for long. I would soon be out of space. But how could I go forward when far too few centimeters in front of me stood a big, pointy piece of metal ready and eager to spill my innards on the ground?  

 

Ah. Of course.

 

“Meowstic, the knife!”

 

El looked perplexed for half a second, before he realized with a snarl what I was talking about. He drew his arm forward, all too clearly willing to strike, I jumped backwards – and then the knife left El’s arm and shot up in the wall behind me, too high for either of us to grasp.

 

I rushed back towards the altar, too fast for the old El, no matter his fury, to grab at me.

 

There! I noticed the lock on Luna’s right leg.

 

One turn and two turns and…

Onto the next one.

 

I saw in the corner of my eye another Pokemon sent by El.

 

“Meowstic!” I asked, distractedly.

 

Where in the heavens was that lock?

 

There was the sound of a fist.

 

There!

 

My stupid hand was trembling as I put the key in the keyhole.

 

“Primarina, Moonblast!” Cain shouted.

 

One turn and…

The key got stuck.

 

Then something infinitely stronger than El’s arms surrounded my torso and started pulling me backwards. It was a Pokemon with one huge muscular arm squeezing my ribs against its soft fur.

 

“You brought this on yourself, Gabriel.” El said. “Goodbye.”

 

The other arm – just one of these arms was strong enough to block my entire upper body! – gently surrounded my neck.

 

“I wish you a nice trip to hell.”

 

Oh shit.

 

The Bewear’s arm started squeezing my neck with agonizing slowness.

 

Oh god no.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t free myself.

 

My brain frantically scanned for solutions.

 

Nothing possible.

 

“And so,” El whispered in my ear, “does Solaris.”

 

I was going to –

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

I think the relative silence – water was still trickling somewhere – woke me up. Or perhaps it was the familiar scent of a colder air from the city, with its perfume of various forms of refuse.

 

“Are you okay?” Cain asked.

 

I was sitting against a wall on the floor of a small room with a half-torn, stained wallpaper, my hand resting against – thank goodness – my bag. There was just a worn wooden desk on my right, Cain sitting at it, then a tall locked cupboard. Saphira was between me and a door, pacing the room. And on my left, after another door, lay on a berth…

 

I rose up too fast and I felt my head spinning so much I had to lean against a wall for the couple of seconds it took for my dizziness to subside.

 

“Calm down, Gabriel,” Radomus’s dreaded voice said in a raw whisper.

 

He sounded tired, which wasn’t a surprise, given how he looked. His face had worse bruises than Cain’s, and it still had room to look deathly pale. Gardevoir didn’t seem to be around. Perhaps I could afford to be forthright, for once.  

 

“How am I supposed to calm down after what you did to El? Don’t you realize what it means to me, to anyone with half a brain that is forced to cross your path?”

“It was mere jest.”

“It’s not a joking matter!” I insisted, furious.

“Fine.” Radomus sighed wearily. “I did hypnotize El, but look at what you saw for a moment. I got hold of him for nearly an hour before I was able to make him surrender that gem he took from your friend. And he turned against me after that interval again. Human minds are… robust. Sure, any strong Psychic Pokemon can confuse someone for a short while. But what you seem to have suspected me of doing? It would take much more than that. It’s power that I do not have. Fortunately so, one might say.”

 

“So that was why El was doing all this thing with the green Safeguard and the weird chanting?” Cain asked, at precisely the right time.

“I wasn’t there, but I suppose that is why. To force Luna to obey him again after she decided to leave… he wouldn’t manage that with a Psychic Pokemon.”

“So what the hell was that?” Saphira questioned.

“I believe he used Luna’s Emerald Brooch.”

“Emerald Brooch?” Cain asked. It was nice to see that we were similarly in the dark.

“This is important.” Radomus tried to raise his voice, but it sounded weaker and weaker. “Gabriel, you met Solaris underneath the city, correct?”

 

The mere mention of the Meteor Leader made me shiver.

 

“El said he knew him, too!” I cut him off in another whisper.

“But he’s too good.” Saphira chimed in. “He could be Elite Four, and all Ame said about the one member I didn’t know was that he was old. I guess it was him.”

“But that’s impossible!” Cain interrupted, indignant. “Someone working with Team Meteor… in the Elite Four?”

 

Wasn’t it what Corey had said, though? About other members of the League being compromised?

 

“Ah.” Radomus tried to chuckle, but he ended up coughing. “Imagine what would have happened if El wasn’t in the Elite Four instead. Free to use his considerable talents in direct opposition to us.”

 

I fought to suppress a smile of admiration creeping in my face, because I wouldn’t grant this to Radomus. That was a chessmaster’s move. Working directly against them, El would have been nigh-unstoppable. By being in the League, he could tell himself that he was being a valuable spy… but it would, in fact,  significantly restrict his options.

 

“Why did he accept, though?” I asked, for I could not fathom any reason why the priest would agree to limit his usefulness.

“Pride? Miscalculation? His like for secrecy and underhandedness?” Radomus asked rhetorically – with whichever rhetoric he could muster with his visibly failing strength. “I don’t know. But he did. You’re basically the only ones who know now. Can I count on you to not screw this up? And above all, don’t tell Ame, because she’s going to fire him.”

 

Pride and miscalculation. There was probably at least another person in this room guilty of the same flaws.

 

At least, the manner in which El was proposing to get Bennett an Elite Four spot was clearer now. Indeed, there might not be another person in the entire operating area of the League able to offer such a position.

 

“I don’t get it…” Cain frowned. “We can’t just pretend that nothing happened!”

“Do you want to fight him face to face the next time to go against Team Meteor?” Saphira replied. Do you want this monstrous Slaking to demolish the Grand Hall in front of everyone’s sight? Collapse the Opal Bridge? It’s a real danger that Team Meteor has someone so high up in the League, but I agree with Radomus. He can’t be as damaging from the shadows than he would be as an avowed enemy.”

 

“But let us back to the Brooch, please.” Radomus asked. “Gabriel, Solaris gave you a little speech about some seals, I assume. Or keys.”

 

Ruby for pain. Sapphire for love. Emerald for faith. Amethyst for the beyond, my memory replayed. I nodded, uncertain where this went. Was jewelry really what it all was about?

 

“They are very old stones.” Radomus went on, “But they were only remade as jewelry a short while ago. The seal of pain, Ruby, was made into a Ring. The seal of love, Sapphire, became Bracelets. Emerald, the seal of faith, was set into a Brooch. Finally, the seal of the beyond, Amethyst, was encrusted in a Pendant. A traveling merchant found these ancient curiosities and sold them throughout the city.”

 

“Listen to me,” Radomus insisted, his voice turning hoarse for lack of strength, his fists clenched and his face contorted. “The four jewels must not fall in Team Meteor’s hands.”

 

“Speaking of which, where is the Amethyst Pendant?” Cain asked.

“In a safe place, and I will keep it there.”

 

“You asked me before, Gabriel.” Radomus tried to speak, his voice rushed, as though he believed he wouldn’t have time to finish. “El is not only dangerous because he is so strong. He is the heir of a cult millennia old and the church he was in has been consecrated ground for centuries. In such a place, a gem as powerful as these will resonate with the holy energy and thus produce some truly breathtaking effects.”

 

Consecrated ground? Magical gems?

Obvious nonsense. The world didn’t work like that.

 

“Okay,” Saphira shrugged. “That’s good to know. Anything else? Because I still have children to take care of, in case you didn’t know, Radomus.”

“So soon? Without even a ‘thank you’?”

“Why? You dropped the ball good today.”

“How then fortunate that I had allies,” he replied, the infuriatingly enigmatic quips giving him a measure of vitality.

 

“What are you talking about?” Cain questioned.

“You remember the kids’ stolen Pokemon? I got a tip today in the nick of time. I asked Gossip Gardevoir to help me with them. She wanted me to rescue him in return. It nearly blew up in my face. Anyway, I have to go. Luna, do you want a ride?”

“Yes, please,” a soft, dreamy voice said from behind me.

 

Ten seconds and the gurgling sound of a struggling plugged sink later, the door next to me opened, and Luna got out, in the same clothes as I had last seen her, with army-short hair. At least, she had a genuinely human expression on her face. It looked perhaps a little too neat for the ordeal she had just been through – she had probably spent some time washing it.

 

“I didn’t have time to thank you all for saving me from this place.” Luna said simply. “I wouldn’t have made it out without you, and I am deeply grateful. Thank you, Saphira. Thank you, Cain. And thank you, Gabriel. But I thought there was someone else?”

 

Radomus emitted a strange sound, somewhere between a pained cough and a chuckle.

 

“Whoa.” Cain went over to see the Psychic Leader, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“He left a little while ago now.” Saphira answered Luna. “Because we’ve kicked up quite a fuss already. But I can put you in touch.”

“Fine,” Radomus articulated, his breathing strained. “Luna… stay safe.”

“I will, Master,” she bowed. “Gabriel, Cain, I will let you know when I am available for challenges in Iolia Valley.”

 

Still peculiar, wasn’t she?

 

Radomus’s breathing slowed down as Luna left the room. It was loud and pained.

 

“Do you think we can leave him like this?” Cain asked me.

“Don’t worry… it’s not so bad…” he articulated, an blatant lie.

“Are you serious?” he asked, eying the Gym Leader’s extensive injuries. “You belong in a hospital!”

“Call one when you leave… I’ll manage. Any questions?”

 

I had one, in fact.

 

“Why did you involve me in all this?”

 

His eyes may have glinted, but Radomus was visibly fighting to stay awake.

 

“When you figure it out… you’re ready to know.”

 

Bastard.

His eyes shut, his body relaxed, and his breathing steadied completely, hoarse and very, very slow.

 

“So what happened in the end?” I whispered to Cain.

“After the Bewear got you, you mean?” he replied. “Not much. Luna got up and managed to unstuck the key. Then that Gothitelle managed to teleport all of us out of that place and here. Just like that, all of us, Pokemon and humans, with your bag and all. Absolutely amazing. Anyway, you were still out when we arrived, so we sat you here while Saphira, I and the other guy healed the Pokemon – the Gossip Gardevoir was in a pretty bad state – and tended to Radomus’s wounds, then mine. Then Luna got in the bathroom.”

 

I looked at him in silence.

 

“I’m glad you decided to help out in the end.” Cain said eventually. “Even though I have no idea what you did, with the red stuff and…” he added, more excitedly, but cut himself off as I put my fingers on my lips, glancing at Radomus.

“Right,” Cain whispered.

 

But I wasn’t so confident. In fact, I wasn’t even sure that I had done the right thing. I had no reason to take what Radomus had said at face value, all the more so since he had proven himself so unworthy of trust. Sure, El had acknowledged links with Solaris, but that didn’t make him an all-around abomination that could do, or tell, or feel no right.

 

“Are you okay?” Cain asked me.

 

Me? I could have scoffed. Radomus belonged in a hospital, Cain had suffered far too many beatings for a single day, and I, who only had scratches to show, who didn’t even fight, wouldn’t be okay?

 

But as I shut my eyes, I could already feel the arms of the Bewear grabbing my torso, crushing my windpipe once again, the physical feeling of helplessness – of failing to breathe – of impossible urgency. And I would be alone tonight to live it again. And again. Which attempt on my life wouldn’t be a close miss? How many more could I survive? How long could I keep rolling natural 20s every time it mattered?

 

What a fucking wimp, I thought at myself, disgusted.

 

Someone started pounding on the door.

 

I glanced at Radomus, who seemed to still sleep uneasily. I grabbed Pokeballs nervously, while Cain went to open. I saw him briefly stiffen in surprise, his shoulders slumping a second afterwards.

 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” a deep voice said. “Cain LaRue, right? You are under arrest for breach of the piece, conspiracy and child kidnapping.”

 

Two officers went into the room without slowing down, forcing him to stand back.

 

“Arceus, Gabriel,” one of them said, recognizing me. “I thought you had understood that you’d be in trouble if you stayed?” She sighed. “Now I have to arrest you as well, for conspiracy, and being an accomplice to child kidnapping.”

 

Why could I never get a break?

 

Sometimes the universe was conspiring against me and there seemed to be little point in resisting.

 

“As you wish.” I extended my hands.

“Just don’t try anything, and you won’t be necessary.”

 

“Mr. Radomus Vanhanen,” another officer enunciated loud and clear, shaking the Leader’s shoulder hard enough to draw a gasp of pain.

 

“What are you doing?” Cain exclaimed, outraged. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?”

“You are under arrest for multiple counts of tax fraud.” Do not move. We will escort you to the hospital.”

 

Tax fraud? As El had told…

 

This wasn’t exactly evidence supporting the course of action I had chosen. Cain stopped in his gallant endeavor, gazing at the half-awake Leader, gaping, dumbfounded. But he couldn’t stay so for long and instead turned to defend himself.

 

 

*

 

 

My tired resignation was greeted as agreeable, lawful compliance, whereas Cain’s protestations got him handcuffed again, in spite of my fruitless exhortations to moderation on both sides. For of course Cain thought little good of the police, and they certainly didn’t see in Cain a law-abiding citizen – in spite of all the kindness in his heart. Radomus got, for some reason, cuffed to the stretcher.

 

Apparently, they weren’t even looking for any of us. They had hoped to question Saphira in relation to various cases of assault where she may have been a witness, they said. But Radomus had been a wanted man inside the city for a while, and Cain’s assault on the Orphanage – to which I had ironically been pegged as an accomplice – had been high-profile.

 

Worn down by the pointless struggles of the day, I shut up to turn to the thoughts buzzing in my head.

 

Tax fraud. El being in the Elite. The note. Solaris. Ditto. Consecrated ground. Bewear. The Ruby Ring. The Emerald Brooch. The red Light Screen… the green Safeguard.

 

And a tiny bit of knowledge which had somehow snuck its way into memory while I had been unconscious. I didn't know how I knew it. I didn't know what it meant either. But I knew that the Void was coming. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To be continued…

 

 

Player's note:

Spoiler

So. Radomus. Right.

 

That battle always gives me the shivers, because the field is designed to Radomus’s advantage and he has a team of really good mons. I haven’t computed BSTs, but I’d expect them to be a lot bigger than Noel’s or Serra’s. Plus the Double Battles, the Trick Rooms, the hard hitters and their Seeds? Contrary Malamar? A bloody Metagross?

 

It’s going to take some thought to beat that guy. And, by thought, I mean that what I really need is POWER! UNLIMIT–

 

Anyway, well, the plan is simple: nuke him hard and good. As the threats as soon as they come onto the field –

EX-TER-MI-NAT—

 

And maybe tone done the references, I guess? Also, why do I have to quote the villains? Why can’t I do the pure-hearted hero who thwarts the schemes of the cold and calculating villain with the power of love, friendship, decency and also some actual superpowers? But since I’m brute-forcing, it’d have be a hero who punches a lot, so à la Superman?

 

Never mind.

 

 

I’d love to tell you about my E19 fight with Radomus – how I went in with an entirely different team (of slow Pokemon) to embrace the power of the Trick Room… and then how Radomus completely threw the fight after a couple of close, but unsuccessful attempts. But no. This is the Gabriel save, and it’s staying E18 until Hardy, since mid-game upgrades are at our own peril. It’s a bit of a shame because that would make for a much more comfortable Circus arc, sure…

 

 

The enemy is here doubly threatening. Reuniclus threatens to set up a Trick Room, where he will be faster and mow down everyone else with his super-boosted Psychics and Focus Blasts. On the other hand, Gallade can still Close Combat Callan and this is above 85% damage through Intimidate, while Krookodile is still an important asset to me.

 

 

But we’re in Doubles, so double threats can be dealt simultaneously. Tech’s Fake Out will flinch Gallade, and a Dark Gem-boosted Crunch terminates Reuniclus.

 

The first turn happens as planned, but the fight is not over by any means. There are four cases, all of which I have studied. Radomus can send Malamar, Slowking, Gardevoir or Metagross. The first one is the easiest to deal with, and the one I expected – I can expect Superpower + Close Combat on Krookodile, so I make the switch to Elidee (Ribombee) while Tech sets up a Reflect. Next turn, a Seed-boosted Dazzling Gleam is enough (with Gallade’s SpDef drop due to Close Combat and Ribombee’s spread) to make a double KO, so I get a decisive lead.

Metagross and Gardevoir felt unlikelier, and they’re somewhat more tricky to deal with. Both pretty much imply that Callan will have to sacrifice himself for damage while baiting effective moves from both enemies.

 

So, obviously…

 

 

I was a bit surprised at this choice because Krookodile still has a super effective move. But this also forces my hand, because I can’t let Radomus set the Trick Room.

 

 

So Tech and Krookodile destroy the Slowking at once.

 

 

The downside is that Gallade is free to Close Combat here.

 

 

Radomus sends in Malamar, so we’re back on track. The difference between stage one is that I cannot expect both enemies to target Callan with the super-effective Fighting move, because he’s so low on HP, and the switch-in (Ribombee) is far too frail to tank a Strength. So Krookodile has to go down. I now wonder if this couldn’t have been solved by entering the fight with a slightly damaged Callan, just enough to die to Gallade’s Close Combat? 

 

 

But Callan still moves before his enemies, so he can kill Gallade after the Fake Out damage and the lowered defense.  

 

 

So, let’s talk numbers at this point. I have five standing mons in full health, Radomus has three. Elidee was useful for Slowking, Malamar and Gallade maybe. But she can’t hit Metagross or Gardevoir too hard and I can deal with both of these. Superpower Malamar is a disaster in waiting, on the other hand.

 

 

So you know where this is going.

 

 

Tit for tat. Now we’re four against Metagross and Gardevoir.

 

 

I switch Tech out for Blaziken, because Metagross’s only damaging move to Blaziken is Zen Headbutt, which it’s not going to use against Tech. Gardevoir could, of course, be a problem, but Klinklang’s Gear Grind will take care of it. It would be quite bad if Antum missed this move, so I gave them a Wide Lens.

 

 

Still, Metagross hits hard through Reflect. But we’re four to one, Blaziken has a Fire Gem…

 

 

Leaf actually missed Blaze Kick. And Metagross used Zen Headbutt.

 

Now this is getting uncomfortable. Metagross has an Assault Vest, is physically bulky and hits very hard even through Reflect. On my end, I have Watt (the team’s sixth member, whom I only chose because it would have been silly to face Radomus with five Pokemon), Tech and Antum. Watt is the only one who can do non-pitiful damage. I’m still not using items. Sigh.

 

 

Every little bit helps.

 

 

Just a couple more turns…

 

 

So… close…

 

 

Back to square one. How many of these does he have?

 

 

I make the ill-advised decision to speed this up and have Watt use Discharge instead of Signal Beam. Worse, I don’t realize right away that it’s a stupid mistake. On the other hand, it finally occurs to me that Klinklang has a set-up move.

 

 

Reflect has just ended and I need it. Metagross can’t hit neutrally Klinklang so I hope it’ll target Watt and I can switch Tech in.

 

 

Meanwhile, Radomus uses another Ultra Potion and Klinklang is doing some 25% damage at +1. Too little.

 

 

I set up Reflect again and Antum Shift Gears a second time.

 

 

Metagross got paralyzed the previous turn – I figure I can buy another free set-up round with Fake Out. Only too late do I remember that it is bound to fail.

 

 

At last, Klinklang starts doing some good damage, while I swap Tech with Watt again.

 

 

And it’s finally over.

 

 

How many Elo do I win?  

 

Death count:

Spoiler

Actually, I've played through this part a good while ago, so I don't entirely remember. I think it's essentially correct, but there may be one more reset somewhere when I realized I made a dumb mistake (forgot to relearn the right move / use the correct TM), which should count as a death.  

 

Total Parts 1: 6

Total Part 2: 1

Kiki-Aya: 0

Aya-Serra: 1

Serra-Noel: 0

Noel-Radomus: 1 (again, I should have been less reckless against the Grand Hall grinding Trainers, always better equipped than I would like)

Total Part 3: 2

Total Parts 1-3: 9 (10 at most)

 

Author's comment: 

 

Spoiler

I fought myself all the way about whether I was going to write this note. Suffice to say that the E18 resolution of the scene is unsettling for me, for reasons I don't want to get into. When I tried to expand a bit more, it devolved in the kind of explosive, all-targeting rant that was extremely uncharacteristic and pointless. 

 

Suffice to say that I am not very fond of the way Radomus, Gardevoir and Cain team up to ridicule Bennett while we're supposed to cheer and scoff along when it isn't even necessary. 

 

(Radomus being the Know-It-All-But-I'm-Not-Telling who shows up in the Sanctum and single-handedly disrupts El's doing bugged me as well, but not as deeply. His speech also does not address El's claims, of which Bennett is convinced: that he somehow took away Luna from El through not-innocent means, and he has an unnatural hold on her. I think that it's not entirely unreasonable. If your teenage daughter had absconded and ended up "playing maid" in the castle of a single and mysterious man twice as old as she was, you would be worried.)

 

This is why I believe that the E19 scene is much better: the spotlight is back on El and what he wants, and how his allies react to the fact. 

 

 

[Aphelli]

Hello ! I hope you're all doing well. 

 

Today, The Odd One Out turns three years old. Happy birthday, and thank you for your continued interest!

 

Three years of writing… I never expected the fic to grow so much, or actually to last so long. I have a bit of a commitment issue for some works, so I tried to stick to it more carefully than before, and that’s how it came out. My pdf for the story so far is about 500 pages long, with some 270,000 words in 71 chapters. To give an idea, that’s apparently between three times 1984 and one half of War and Peace. But obviously, the word count doesn't matter as much as what the words are, and any comparison point I could use for word count is safe in this regard. 

 

I’d like to remain enthusiastic. But I’m heavier-hearted these days with respect to this fic – I have major issues to progress further. The reason is not any kind of real-life difficulty (though it could matter in the future; math is hard), but is really about the story itself.

 

Before I explain a little bit more, I want to make one thing clear. This is not intended to be an “I give up” notice. I’m not the only fanfiction writer who experienced difficulties, kept saying their story was not dead in face of their lack of progress, but did not ever revive it: this is why I’m wary of making an unqualified commitment. But I certainly intend to not leave you hanging, were I to decide that I did not want to go on and that solutions to my conundrum were unsatisfactory. At the very least, I intend to spell it out, and perhaps give a very brief account of what might have otherwise happened.  

 

But I am delaying, and stating worthless intentions instead of explaining where my problems lie. The short version is the obvious one: the final version of Reborn sheds a very different light on the entire game. I expected that I knew enough about the events of the early game to twist them in full understanding. That, whatever revelations E19 had in store, surely they couldn’t be so earth-shaking that the plan would need a major revision. 

How very wrong I was.

 

One of the first lines of the game is now that people will still be able to leave if they want to. I jokingly commented that this was not an encouraging start as far as TOOO was concerned. But it was – indeed – just the start. 

 

Having followed the story up to this point, you deserve a slightly deeper dive into the specifics. This is how I currently feel, about as well as I can say it, but this is not set in stone. Obviously, E19 spoilers abound below – read at your own risk.

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

First, some of the E19 plot arcs make less sense in light of previous events and character interpretations in TOOO: Gabriel is absolutely willing to acknowledge Fern’s contributions, while he can’t take seriously the latter’s repeated verbal abuse, and has sincerely smiled at him at least twice – also, he sure doesn’t expect to solve everything with a battle that he’ll obviously win. Perhaps more embarrassing, Sigmund is milder than in canon (though not harmless by any means).
 

Spoiler

He’s not ECT-ing every child in the facility for so-called therapeutic reasons, and he wouldn’t push Cal’s buttons out of the blue.

But these are minor. 

 

A much more serious issue is that I think I’ve plotted myself into a corner. The following elements seem to strongly constrain any form of “happy ending”.

 

1. Lin is God. She cannot be made to stop. The only way to stop her is to make her want it.
2. If Lin is not stopped, the world gets reset. We can safely call this a Bad Ending.
3. Lin does not care about preventing the Bad Ending.
4. As far as I can tell, Gabriel is a close contrary to Lin and/or Terra, with an outlook they disapprove, despise, or just don’t understand: the trust in institutions and processes (such as, say, the Orphanage), the importance of rules, the value of family, the offer to help out others in the (small) ways he can, the reluctance of conventional heroics, as well as his finding “gremlin acts” childish, selfish and pointlessly annoying (these feelings get exacerbated for deliberate cruelty for its own sake). Also math. To the point where I wonder why she even bothers watching – he’d be so boring!
5. Therefore, one wonders why Lin would want to let him win, or why Terra would agree. Even though I do not know what reason counts as “good” to Lin or Terra.
6. Lin definitely has a soft spot for gratuitous cruelty, and I am not sure what kind of abuse is beyond her. It’s not difficult to me to imagine her pushing Gabriel over the edge without a care. I’m not sure about what lies beyond this edge, but it won’t be pretty, it will be painful to write in a first-person, and I doubt it will even help stop the Bad Ending.
7. Gabriel does not know any of this. As far as he knows, there is one “Min” person in Team Meteor that Saphira curb-stomped and Laura mentioned for some reason. But it’s definitely Solaris calling the shots (and did I mention that Solaris hates and despises him?). As such, he does not have a good reason to not escape the life-threatening conflict as soon as he can (aka when the station is rebuilt) – which leads to a Bad Ending, as per canon.
8. Any reason powerful enough to make him stay must satisfactorily answer the following question: “why me? Why won’t your Elite Four, the paragon Adrienn, and Saphira handle this better than I ever could?”
9. Even if Gabriel was made aware of the higher stakes (as well as the related concept that Lin is God), I’m not sure what would happen. Remember: you can’t beat God unless God wants you to. You know that, I know that, Lin knows that, and Gabriel (when he learns) will know that Lin knows that. So what’s the point of standing up to oppose her? The Grim Lin (the E19M persona) is clearly uninterested in mutually beneficial agreements or any sort of rational discussion anyway. Lin is not interested in rational discussion either, apart possibly to mess further with Gabriel.
10. I want to minimize the number of chapters where the life of someone he strongly cares about (typically, a relative), is dangled in front of him by Lin as a way to keep him “playing”. I do not know if it is in character for her, but Gabriel would definitely be extremely concerned about such an possibility, and this would probably lead towards very dark storylines.
11. The only people that could give Gabriel the relevant information are Terra (just for the sake of completeness), Anna (whom Gabriel regards as slightly insane, and I suspect that she doesn’t actually understand what kind of “hero” he is), Shade (whom Gabriel will probably flee, given what they tried to do last time they met), and Lin, who is perhaps the most interesting possibility. It’s unlikely Lin could be genuine enough to not speak as the Grim Lin, but Gabriel would balk anyway at involving himself deeper unless he was absolutely sure what is was about. I’m not sure what the Grim Lin could do apart from becoming a joke or involving the previous point.  

 

This is, of course, without delving too much into what other groups with at least limited agency can do. Apart from Lin, Gabriel has angered every Meteor higher-up, and it is unrealistic that no one seek revenge at all – a revenge that would not take the form of a civilized battle. The plans for Agate, Ametrine and Labradorra are still in motion (although none of them seems to serve any kind of purpose). While she is far away and not taken completely seriously by people around her, I do not think Anna will gladly let her (alleged) pawn do as he likes.  

 

But I think that my problems lies, in a way, deeper than this. In a previous version of this text, I wanted to talk at length about Rules (sorry for the capital letter – but how fitting!). Fictional universes are determined by their workings, what kind of consequences are assigned to what actions, how people view these actions and what consequences they expect, how they believe other people will react. As I may have discussed previously, standard fantasy attitudes get you famed and immortalized in LotR, but betrayed and hopefully only killed in GoT, or met with a more interesting (but no less fatal) end in the Discworld. Will, righteousness and the power of love (or of friendship) can help you in a superhero story – unless you get punished because the universe’s creator decides that none of this supplies the necessary skill, strategy or resources to overcome the enemy.

 

A part of me thinks that, in this story’s Rules (which are certainly not more valid than any other set), Lin would be rather different – and not in a good way.

 

I tried to keep a certain realism check so far (within limits due to Pokemon basic lore that I did not want to overthink – and plot armor as well).

 

Spoiler

Meteor is so violent because no terrorist group rose to power by any other reason – and remember where their recruits mostly come from. Cain gets pummeled because that is the best outcome you can hope for when you annoy members of a similar kind of gang as a prisoner without any kind of value. Saphira sends Gabriel away because she’s seen far too much ugliness to believe that the nameless stranger who repeatedly finds himself in interesting situations and consistently survives unscathed is just a lucky guy. Gabriel balks at involving himself in the various PULSE situations because they’re war weapons and it’s not really conceivable that he’ll be able to do anything except get painfully killed.

 

 

But ultimately, I think it’s not about Rules as much as themes – the kind of story I want to write. So, what is The Odd One Out about? The story started because I thought the plot could be toyed with and because this premise interested me.

 

The story is set in a dying city that does not go gentle into the night, another piece of setting which I thought was worth exploring. I wanted to think about what kind of place remained after what Reborn has been through. Deeply dysfunctional politics, an economic slump and their various consequences on people were obvious starters, but I suppose it still remains in the background and my Reborn City is not as “lived in” as in some other examples that I've come across. That’s acceptable; I can’t do everything.

 

Gabriel is not a traditional hero. He has little desire for Pokemon battle, let alone life-or-death fights, for, unlike his “colleagues” from parallel universes, he’s far too aware of how easily he could lose them, and that winning them is not up to him. Because who thinks that there is a sorting algorithm of encounters in their life? That the difficulties they face are commensurate to their abilities?

 

He’s come from a sheltered background, with no experience of this level of hardship. He’s thrown into this struggle without knowing the first thing about the place, with no kind of structure or organization remotely able to address it, leaving people defenseless against the grisly, down-to-earth reality. Yet, he chooses to fight in this war that isn’t his. Because it’s right, because it’s useful, and because it would be wrong (and frowned upon) not to. 

 

He fights in his way, because he’s more comfortable with it, because it’s less risky and he’s a bit of a coward, because, as I’ve said, he’s not overconfident enough to disbelieve in defeat (and he realistically should have lost more already), and sometimes because he thinks it’ll be more helpful. And other times he won’t fight because he thinks it’s not the way or it is not his fight.

 

Here’s the important thing: he chooses. He chooses whether to fight, he chooses how, and his actions have meaningful consequences – for which he’s partially responsible.

 

Other people too make meaningful choices.

Spoiler

Cain chose to go against Reborn’s law to help out Heather. Noel chose to lie about Sigmund because he hoped it would hasten Anna’s freedom. Sigmund chose to involve Team Meteor. Saphira chose to put herself through hell hoping to become strong enough to protect her sisters from the big, bad world out there.

This concept is not even really specific to the story: for instance, the canonical Ace, Luna and Terra made choices that shaped their lives and the rest of the world (in minor or major ways), albeit long ago.  

 

Perhaps the philosophy is just – sure, you’re in the losing side of a brutal war, but all is not lost. It will be difficult, it will be painful, it will look hopeless and you’ll have to be lucky – but it can be won if you go the right way about it. That means goals, priorities, sensible actions, and not falling into every trap. And, of course, sufficiently insane plot armor luck.

 

These themes, this angle, seemed to me a good fit for Reborn when I first saw the game. Sure, there were Terra and Lin who were weird, but they were so far ahead, there would be perfectly sensible explanations coming.

 

 

Enter “Lin as God” – which is certainly a mostly sensible explanation for the game plot, especially given the E19 changes to early game.

 

Gabriel is then no more the boy who must fight to earn a future he lost when entering Reborn (“and my interest aligns with the city’s, so I don’t have to be self-sacrificial, thank goodness”), who has to keep his mind on this goal and plan so that he doesn’t need to survive beating all of Team Meteor in a Pokemon battle. Now he is to play a ridiculous part in a deadly farce – the tragedy of an retired bookkeeper when money loses half its value overnight, or perhaps of the scientist who witnesses a literal curse slay his family.

 

“Lin as God” means that reality, since it is only bound to the inconsistent whim of a (at least slightly) sociopathic teenager, is utterly disconnected from the characters’ choices and actions. The time and energy to investigate what is, so as to better understand what to do? Plans? Strategy? Trade-offs? The taboo dilemmas of war? Even the soul-burning effort to grow stronger so as to keep one’s family safe? None of these matters. Whatever you work to achieve, whatever you endeavor to protect more than everything else, Lin makes it real, or Lin makes it not.

 

 

I'd like to reiterate: this is not a rant. Lin is a well-made character, an important component of the game and one of the key parts of its originality. And there’s lots of Lin-based story material… I just wish my angle was in it.

 

I don’t want to have spent over a hundred chapters torturing Gabriel for something he could do nothing about in the first place. Even assuming he gets out alive and wholesome, the pain, his and the other characters’, must have had a point beyond “help Lin realize she maybe should use her power more responsibly and perhaps ditch it to go back to the real world” (and “entertain us”, I suppose).

 

That’s ironic, isn’t it? In a way, I expected Gabriel to break the endgame by being unexpectedly effective – though simply not rushing into both Devons and the Labradorra tournament would already go a long way. And now the endgame did things that I haven’t expected and may well break him.

 

 

However, the situation for the story is not as bleak as this piece may suggest. I could manage to pinpoint more precisely what in canon disturbs me (as far as its consequences for the fic are concerned) and avoid it. My feelings on the role of Lin may well change. I may grow more comfortable with the idea of her dangling over Gabriel someone’s life to keep him playing. Aya’s kidnapping might be enough to keep Gabriel in Reborn. I may figure out more ways towards a “happy ending”, or at least that avoid the darker plotlines. Perhaps in a more far-reaching way, I could also change some Lin lore.

 

 

None of this is going to be easy, and that is the final point I wanted to talk about. I’ve spent the last three years, 270k words, and many hours of thought on this story and giving up on it would be a crying shame. But it also has set me in my ways; I’ve been working on the small picture, trusting that the big picture would hold up when I needed it. Now, all the above suggests I need a new big picture. And I’m not quite sure how to get it – as much as possible, without betraying too much the masterpiece that this game is.

 

Great chess players can visualize the board, compute or otherwise feel consequences of their actions, perhaps ten to fifteen moves in advance. In my case, I can only see one move at a time. How it impacts everyone else, how they react, and all the consequences of these reactions – I can’t easily see them all. The tree of possibilities is huge, and so few branches, I fear, lead to any sort of happy ending – and how can I distinguish them? How do they manage, the fanfic writers who make compelling plots from the pieces of dynamited canons and their original takes?

 

I don’t know. But I want to find out.

I'll try to tell you either way.

 

[CURIE]

On 10/12/2022 at 6:08 AM, Aphelli said:

All that stuff you typed

 

Hey, I'm not gonna waste both our times with a generic "don't give up you can do it" comment, in fact there's something I feel like needs to be said in regards to the problem you're facing.

 

Spoiler

So your main problem is that in actual Reborn cannon, Lin is "god" and that screws up the story you've been trying to tell.  But you seem to misunderstand something:  At the end of the day, no fictional character in any work of fiction is truly "god", the author is.  You could change literally anything about Reborn cannon, and who would stop you?  I've done that a lot already in my own story, and there's gonna be more of it in the future.  For example: that line you mentioned from the early game, about apparently the train bombing not stopping people from leaving the region, somehow.  That's actually the first I've heard of it, since I never played the neo-early game, and it kind of messes with some of the events of my own story.  My solution?  I'll just ignore it!  I'm keeping it the way it was before!  That train station is the only (viable) way in and out of the region because I say so!

 

If Lin being literally impossible to beat is a problem for the story you wanted to tell, then just make her not literally impossible to beat.  It's already implied in the game there are some things she cannot do, maybe expand on that and have the characters come up with a way to beat her.  Or just invent a weakness.  Or just change what Lin's powers even are in the first place.

 

Obviously I started my story long after you did, but it was still before episode 19 came out (it might have been in beta at that time actually, but I didn't play the beta so that doesn't matter).  I didn't know how cannon Reborn would end, but I had some ideas for how my story's end/postgame would be.  Then I episode 19 came out and I played through its end/postgame content, and while I found stuff that I could mold to fit my already-conceived plans, there was also stuff that I just couldn't or didn't want to use.  I just threw that stuff out- well actually I guess I'm gonna throw that stuff out, if/when I ever get that far.  And I'll either replace those things with stuff I came up with myself, or skip them entirely.  I can't go into specifics for obvious reasons.  I'll admit though, this was probably easier for me because I saw the "Lin is omnipotent" plot twist coming from fourteen million miles away.  It was kind of obvious to be honest...

 

I know I'm almost a month late here but I've been busy IRL and wanted to get to finishing the next chapter of my own story.

[Aphelli]

On 11/4/2022 at 8:27 AM, CURIE said:

I'm not gonna waste both our times with a generic "don't give up you can do it" comment

 

I wouldn't consider such a comment a waste of time. I too have a dopamine rush when I get a reply. ;)

Then again, while appreciated, such a comment would be indeed of little practical help regarding the issue I've been discussing.  

 

 

On 11/4/2022 at 8:27 AM, CURIE said:

I know I'm almost a month late here but I've been busy IRL and wanted to get to finishing the next chapter of my own story.

 

No problem! We all have busy real lives and I'm not in a hurry (otherwise, I wouldn't have spent 70 chapters just to get to Subseven). 

 

For the rest (naturally, spoilers to a hypothetical reader who wouldn't have played E19):

 

Spoiler

On 11/4/2022 at 8:27 AM, CURIE said:

that line you mentioned from the early game, about apparently the train bombing not stopping people from leaving the region, somehow.  That's actually the first I've heard of it, since I never played the neo-early game, and it kind of messes with some of the events of my own story.  My solution?  I'll just ignore it!  I'm keeping it the way it was before!  That train station is the only (viable) way in and out of the region because I say so!

 

Of course I wasn't going to let a throw-away line like that get in the way of the story. I included it for the joke, along the lines of: "look, the game negates my premise in the first minutes! Why didn't I realize that it would go on doing that?" 

 

On 11/4/2022 at 8:27 AM, CURIE said:

So your main problem is that in actual Reborn cannon, Lin is "god" and that screws up the story you've been trying to tell.  But you seem to misunderstand something:  At the end of the day, no fictional character in any work of fiction is truly "god", the author is. You could change literally anything about Reborn cannon, and who would stop you?  I've done that a lot already in my own story, and there's gonna be more of it in the future. 

If Lin being literally impossible to beat is a problem for the story you wanted to tell, then just make her not literally impossible to beat.  It's already implied in the game there are some things she cannot do, maybe expand on that and have the characters come up with a way to beat her.  Or just invent a weakness.  Or just change what Lin's powers even are in the first place.

 

Yes... and no. It's a bit difficult to express what I mean by that. I think the idea is that the world must stand on its own. If I -- the writer, instead of the characters -- make the calls, the story collapses into nonsense. All I can do to keep Gabriel's plot armor is keep providing better fish to fry to the villain, subtly fudge save rolls, or give good reasons for the cavalry to come; if I go further than that, the point is lost. 

The same goes for any other story goal.

If there's an omnipotent Lin, she has to be similarly free to act on her own (lest I go completely against character) -- and none of the above solutions work. It's not that Lin is completely unstoppable; it's that there is no practical way to stop her. Or, more precisely: the two options I know of (maybe Anna route has a third one? I should play that) require information almost no character has any reason to believe exists.  

Changing canon is, of course, a possibility (which I've already done, in small and less-small ways here and there), but it doesn't come for free. 

1. Without Lin (which implies the suppression of Terra for obvious reasons), the Meteor story starting from the Circus stops making sense. The sleep spell on Agate, the takeover of Labradorra, the blockade of Ametrine, even the Pulse Abra in Spinel Town, do not contribute to further any of Team Meteor's aims. The only reason why they exist is for Lin to set up her Big Epic To End All Epics. 
2. This leaves Meteor free to enact far more damaging plans (which I haven't researched) and also leaves much room for everyone else to react. That's a big tree of possibilities, and I'm not entirely sure how to go about picking a good path.
3. Inventing a weakness to Lin doesn't make much sense on its own (although I guess I technically already did), and is potential for a huge plot hole: how is one supposed to figure out what her weakness actually is? It's not like Lin would advertise it (or even know of it). Then again, maybe she would. 
4. Curbing her powers or changing their nature is something I'm exploring, but it's still sensitive to points 1 and 2, hence isn't straightforward. 

 

On 11/4/2022 at 8:27 AM, CURIE said:

Obviously I started my story long after you did, but it was still before episode 19 came out (it might have been in beta at that time actually, but I didn't play the beta so that doesn't matter).  I didn't know how cannon Reborn would end, but I had some ideas for how my story's end/postgame would be.  Then I episode 19 came out and I played through its end/postgame content, and while I found stuff that I could mold to fit my already-conceived plans, there was also stuff that I just couldn't or didn't want to use.  I just threw that stuff out- well actually I guess I'm gonna throw that stuff out, if/when I ever get that far.  And I'll either replace those things with stuff I came up with myself, or skip them entirely.  I can't go into specifics for obvious reasons.  I'll admit though, this was probably easier for me because I saw the "Lin is omnipotent" plot twist coming from fourteen million miles away.  It was kind of obvious to be honest...

 

I'm terrible at predicting plot twists. In this case, it was probably compounded by the fact that I was still thinking that the game's "theme" (?) wouldn't change too much from what I had inferred from the earlier parts of the game. If the deviation had been more minor, this is how I would have proceeded as well. But the scope of necessary modifications is now, I think, much wider. 

I guess the relevant comparison would be... suppose I wrote a fanfiction about a detective story so far. All very logical, very "fair whudunnit" so far, but I don't know how it ends. If it turns out "there are literal wizards and one of them did it", then obviously, unless I want to follow suit, I need to change stuff more - with the necessary ripples - than if the end follows the implicit "code" of the beginning.