Thank you for reading. Hopefully you enjoy. If you REALLY like it, I have a P-a-t-r-e-o-n, under the same name, where you can read 5 chapters ahead.
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Maybe it was the familiarity of the situation – the repetition of events unconsciously compelling me to complete the recreation – but much like in the aftermath of my first raid on a Team Rocket, Sevii-based hideout, I found myself sitting with my back against a tree, physically and emotionally drained.
Or maybe I was in an overly contemplative mood, and it wasn't that deep. It was Sevii; there were trees everywhere.
Regardless, a good 20 minutes after the frenzied escape from Mt. Ember before we pissed off Moltres even more, that was where I was, watching with listless, half-lidded eyes as the remaining Mahogany forces swarmed around in front of me. We'd retreated to the forest's edge with haste, chased by constant tremors and a pillar of pitch-black smoke from the top of the volcano to hurry us along.
Something made easier by the lack of stuff we had to carry with us. When we made it downstairs, keeping the Shadow Sneak to bypass a collapsed section, it was to find the Johtonians already rushing their wounded and dead outside. The Rockets and Cinnabar Trainers had been left where they fell, and everything else was a lost cause.
Blaine's corpse wasn't the only thing Mewtwo took with him: all the captured Pokémon, all the machines, all the drugs, every last scrap of paper.
All gone. Teleported out by the clone's unrestrained might.
Pryce and his men – and women, a dusty Jenny waving away a Trainer and their Chansey – had stopped within the no-man's-land between Moltres' domain and trees to take stock of their injuries – and worse. Of the 25-ish Trainers we'd attacked with, eight appeared beyond saving, which was pretty good given we were outnumbered. 5 were charred black, the scent of grilled meat under the sulfur and brimstone making my stomach clench when the wind shifted. I imagined those were from Blaine's personal forces, the Gym Trainers he'd brought unexpectedly getting the same boost as their boss. Another one was mostly a bloody smear, their lower body twisted and broken. Falling debris, perhaps?
The last two, though, almost seemed like they were sleeping – if you didn't look at their faces or the bloody hole in their backs. It was very neat, a slightly elongated oval with no tearing in the soot-covered snowsuits.
A single precise strike. An assassin's blow. Combined with the swollen faces, blood leaking from bulging eyes and veins black against the red skin, it wasn't hard to guess the culprit.
Toxicroak. Executive Ariana's Toxicroak. The same rank as Proton and a woman who had mentioned the name.
My fingers slowly grew white around the PokéDex.
"You need to get that checked." Pryce's quiet but firm voice yanked me from my darkening thoughts. I looked up at his weathered face, remarkably untouched given what we'd been through, other than some singed clothing and irritated skin, and then followed his nod back down to my free arm. The forearm rested on my thigh, the lower third and my hand jutting 30 degrees to the left. The bone pressed against the skin, the end stabbing out to the side like a second elbow. It was swelling like crazy, already twice as thick as my other arm, black and yellow spreading over the limb.
"You know I'd forgotten about that?" I was telling the truth as well. In all the craziness, the pain had fallen to the wayside. Reminded of it, however, I hissed as an involuntary twitch sent a jolt of fire through it, a throbbing beat pulsing painfully in sync with my heart.
"Shock will do that."
"I'm not in shock." He looked at me skeptically, but I held his gaze, pushing down the pain. After a moment, his eyebrow did that little quirk again, and he turned away with a hum.
"So you are not. I made the right choice bringing you. Brad has… mostly complimentary things to say, and I can not deny that you were an asset atop the volcano." He waved a hand forward, letting a pink-and-white, egg-shaped Pokémon waddle towards me.
"Figured you guys would use Dewgongs or something as healers," I mused, observing the Chansey look over my arm with a constantly bouncing, cheerful tune like I couldn't see the splintered tip of the bone emerging from my skin.
"Every Indigo Gym is granted a personal group of highly specialized Chanseys. While I am proud of Mahogany's healers and what they can accomplish in the frozen wilds of Johto, there is nothing to lose from admitting their worth other than pride and lives." He held out a rough piece of what looked like ancient leather. I wrinkled my nose at the clear denture marks overlapping the surface, but said nothing when I opened my mouth and bit down on it while Chansey's deceptively strong, tiny hands gripped down on either side of the break.
I made eye contact with the Pokémon and went to nod my readiness, but the little bastard didn't wait. The joyful smile grew as she yanked to either side, the bone sliding back into my body with a wet slurp!
"HHHHNNNNNNNGGGGGG!" I screa-yelled, yelled with manly pain, bellowed really, as Chansey let go of the upper part to push down on the break, still humming to itself as it tried to realign the two parts, missing several times and jabbing the shattered bone into the muscle. "HNNNNNNGGGHH! HNN! HNNNN! AHH, FUCK!" I spit out the chewed-up leather as the 'highly specialized healer' finally got it right with a little nod of satisfaction. The stubby hands lit up with soft pink light. In the corner of my mind, not busy with screaming in pain, I noted the similarities with Aurora's Fairy-Type energy and the differences from the proposed Normal and underlying Psychic-Type that gave Chansey their abilities. "FUCK! Ohhhh, I hate Chansey! Why are you such sadistic little assholes!?"
"It is a fair question," Pryce agreed. "I imagine it has something to do with their training. Finding joy in their work, and such things."
"Couldn't they find joy in actually helping people?" I grumbled, sighing as the bright pain faded to manageable, and then to a dull throbbing under the anesthetic effects of the healing. Looking back up at Pryce, I took him in again. As I'd thought, physically he seemed fine, standing with a straight back, hands on his cane as he gazed out over his men. But his eyes… "What about you? You okay?"
He blinked a couple of times as he tuned back in, glancing at me fleetingly before looking away again.
"Hmm? Not to worry, I am unharmed." I just nodded and let it go. Pryce hadn't shown himself to be a man who was open about his emotions, so it didn't surprise. What did was when he continued. "But that is not what you are asking." He went silent again, staring down at where rocky ground gave way to grass, tapping his cane on the seam between the two. "I am in an odd mood, and I suppose you deserve something for your efforts. This conversation will not be repeated." I nodded silently and waited for him to continue.
After a minute of nothing, I thought he'd gotten cold feet, but eventually, his voice came like it was being dragged out of him. "I feel… I feel robbed." He frowned at his own words. "Which is ridiculous. The day is won. Blaine has been defeated, for good this time. A major backer and presumed high-ranking member of Team Rocket has been brought down, another base raided, secrets exposed. Even with Blaine's freak making off with all the contents of the base, it is unquestionably a victory." He stopped again. "And yet… and yet I feel… unfulfilled."
Chansey ended the technique, my arm noticeably less swollen and the puncture wound scaped over by rough skin, and pulled a roll of bandages out of a little pouch on the side of the healer-equivalent of a toolbelt it had on. "More than 40 years," Pryce mumbled, starting to talk to himself as much as me. "Four decades in the making. Half my life. Most of Blaine's. We… ruined each other, in ways that there was no coming back from. Or, no coming back for him. This was always going to happen." He tapped a beat for another moment with his stick. "I was ready to die, coming here. I was ready for everyone to die, you included, as long as Blaine came with us, to finally lance the boil that has been festering in my side for so many years." I was vaguely insulted by that, but let it go. I knew what I'd been getting into.
I REALLY hadn't, but injury and death had always been on the table.
"Yet, here I stand, alive. As always. More than that, I…" something between a scoff and a snort left him. "I feel that I might as well not have come, ha!" The bark was filled with self-derision. "I sound like a child, whining that I didn't win the Silver Cup on my first try, but it is the truth. I feel cheated out of my closure, reduced to a bystander as my own destiny unfolded before me. I was supposed to kill Blaine. We were supposed to settle this once and for all, pull out all the tricks and finally be done with it, come whatever may. Instead, it was he who did it." Pryce looked almost lost as he shook his head. "I told him, everyone told him, that his ego, his pride, would be the end of him. And it was. He built his own killer, irritated his own creation to homicide. It is… beautiful. Ironic to the highest degree, farcical, almost – like it was taken from a play. There is no more fitting end to Blaine Heatmoore than the one he got, but it was not I who brought it upon him. And so, I am left… unsatisfied."
The silence that followed felt more final than the earlier ones, and I thought about saying something, but I had nothing. Pryce was right. He was being kind of childish, but…
"And what about you?" He asked, turning it around on me. "Brad tells me you had quite the tantrum during your encounter with Koichi – though I share your disappointment. I thought somewhat fondly of him, myself."
My hands clenched, the stabbing pain from the broken arm grounding me in the surge of wrath at Pryce's words. "I'm fin-..." I stopped, not even needing to look at him. That wasn't fair. He'd been unexpectedly honest.
"Ariana got away." It wasn't a question. I'd checked every corpse we ran by and hadn't seen her anywhere, nor was she among the Mahogany group. "Koichi, Blaine, Ariana… everyone who actually mattered got away. Well, 'got away' is a little strong for Blaine, but…" I sighed as well, trying to let it all flow out of me as Bruno had taught me. It didn't work. "It doesn't feel over. It doesn't even feel like a win, not really, just… more chasing shadows. More taking out a piece and watching them cut it off before I can follow it. I try to actively work against them, and I get nowhere; I try to leave them alone, and they infiltrate my life without me knowing. I… how am I supposed to, to move on, to fucking… heal or whatever when every single person I meet might be affiliated with Team Rocket." I rubbed my eyes, frustrated, sparing Chansey a strained smile as she tied the bandages off with a little bow and a couple of 'comforting' claps on the arm.
"... I tried to move on," Pryce murmured as we stared after the departing Pokémon. "The war was over, just like that. My signature on the bottom of a piece of paper and decades of build-up, years of fighting, and thousands of lives, combatants and civilians alike, was just… over."
"You were fully in command at the end?" I asked, realizing that I didn't actually know who signed Professor Oak's peace treaty on Johto's side.
"I was fully in command from the start," my head shot up to stare at the elderly Trainer. "It was I who rebelled. It was I who convinced the others that we deserved better than suppression, that we had the strength to overthrow those who would hold us down. It was I who ventured to these islands, partook in their trials and traditions, who plumbed the depths of Seafoam and faced Winter itself to show my sincerity and have them join us against Kanto. And it was I who, facing loss and even worse conditions than before, met with young Samuel and hammered out our agreement." He waved me off when I went to question him about that. "Never mind for now. Tales for another time, preferably by a different man. Perhaps you can lure Samuel to speak of it. That wasn't my point."
He chewed on his words while over with the others; the Mahogany Trainers lowered their heads, Brad reaching out to close the eyes of a man who'd been lying down. On closer inspection, it was Brown Guy, the third leader of the Mahogany forces whose name I'd never gotten. "I tried to move on. Find this 'peace' they all spoke of, that I had to speak of. The world progressed, changed. Mostly for the better, a little for the worse, but I believe I made the right choice. Yet, I was forced to watch as people who killed my friends, my loved ones, continued on. And they had to watch me do the same. We smiled politely. We avoided each other, said that it was 'difficult' but right, said that it would fade. It didn't. It just lingered. Spreading. Festering, until it all boiled over and here we stand now."
Brad pulled a sheet over Brown Guy's face while I could see Jenny's mouth moving.
"So, what? You shouldn't have signed? You just said it was the right choice." I poked at the story, trying to find the moral.
"I did," Pryce nodded, "and it was. The mistake was assuming my enemies were as willing as I was to put it aside for the sake of our countries. I told myself that if I ignored the political sabotage, the occasional assassin, we could just… move on. I was wrong. I should have killed them all 40 years ago. It would have spared myself and the whole world a lot of pain."
I didn't know what to say. It wasn't really advice, but the parallels to my own situation were evident. I tried to imagine it. I'd leave the Sevii Islands behind and only deal with Team Rocket when they showed themselves. Maybe Mewtwo went the way of canon and killed Giovanni, letting the rest scatter to the winds. I'd still have my bounty, but with the organization broken up, there would be fewer willing to try and claim it. I could gather the last Badges, compete in the Indigo League. Maybe I'd even win. I could travel, see the other nations, or I could stay in Kanto, maybe join the Waterflowers on a more permanent basis, figure shit out with Misty.
And all the while, I'd just have to trust that nobody was doing anything weird in the shadows until the day my house was blown up when they finally felt they were ready.
"Enough of that," Pryce dismissed. "Regardless of our sourness, this is a victory. There will be time for such thoughts. Are you making a call?" He gestured to the PokéDex in my uninjured hand.
"Yeah," I agreed, lifting the device and lighting the screen back up from the lack-of-attention-induced slumber to show the contact I left off on. "I was about to call Walter, you know, Walter Waterflowe-"
"Absolutely not." Pryce instantly shut down with a grimace. "I can do without the second deathmatch of the day, thank you very much."
"Hey, Walter is my friend!" I protested. "And Blaine was his friend. He should hear this from me rather than the news or, Mew forbid, Lance. Speaking of which, have you contacted the League yet?"
"I have, though not Lance. I have no desire to inform our esteemed Champion of this… mess. He would likely use it to simply attack me, rather than risk me refusing once more. Or seek to challenge Moltres. Possibly both at the same time."
"Let him fight Moltres," I snorted, my tired, stupid body tingling at the thought, "idiot could use a reality check."
"Oh, I doubt it would turn out the way you wish," Pryce mused, staring at the smoke erupting from Mt. Ember. It showed no signs of slowing, Moltres signaling its victory. He didn't respond to my questioning look at his words, instead continuing his own line of thought. "No. I am hardly in a state nor mood to deal with a Blackthorn at the moment. Or ever, really. I have done more than enough of that for one lifetime. No, better to leave it to someone so very… eager to be diplomatic."
I didn't even need to look at the bright flash of Teleportation over to the side to know who he meant, yet I did so anyway. Sure enough, Elite Four Bruno's large, overly muscular frame strode toward the Mahogany Trainers, Machamp and Poliwrath at his sides.
"Poor Bruno, dude," I sighed. "He's really trying to hold this shit together, and everyone else is making it an absolute hell for him."
"He is the one to take on an impossible task," Pryce snorted as Bruno caught sight of us and veered our way. "I feel no guilt for taking advantage of it."
"Starting to think you don't feel much guilt in general," I snarked back, raising a hand to Bruno as the tall, tanned man stopped before us.
"Explain. Now." He demanded.
I let Pryce do so, only adding the part where I recognized Adam and followed him into Blaine's office, and the words I overheard. Bruno had a small recorder in his hands, interjecting with questions here and there like he was looking for holes in the story.
"How did you know it was here?" He grunted when Pryce got to the part where we left Cinnabar. In response, Pryce shrugged.
"Blaine has-had been interested in Mt. Ember for a long time. If he was going to have a secret base anywhere, this was my first guess." I kept my face blank, only offering a shrug when Bruno looked at me. Mentally, however, I made a note to thank Pryce for keeping Slowking out of it. Moltres was one thing – most people wouldn't try to throw down with a Legendary, lance notwithstanding. An ancient Slowking who could talk? Even without knowing Slowking's significance, Pryce seemed to know that some things were better left unsaid.
Bruno scowled at the two of us, clearly suspicious, but let the Mahogany Gym Leader go on. Once Pryce was done, Bruno was rubbing his forehead, clearly distressed.
"... fuck." I started. That was the first time I'd heard Bruno swear. "Periwinkle, I will need your camera."
"Good luck with that," I answered, reaching up and wrenching it from its shoulder mount. I'd put my shirt back on before we attacked the base – specifically to record the events – but as it turned out, 'rated for Trainer life' didn't extend to a two-on-two between Masters and Legendaries. As such, it was little more than a lump of molten glass and metal, the lens running down the exterior like icicles. "I don't know how much it got."
"I will take anything that helps with this mess," he sighed, and I shrugged, pulling up the footage on my PokéDex.
I'd actually gotten a fair amount, including the entry into the base, the fight with Koichi, and even Mewtwo and Moltres showing up. That was where it stopped, though: the image grew hazy and twisted before going black.
"My condolences, Elite Four Bruno," Pryce drawled, and I shot him a look. There was no need to be rude just because he didn't believe in Bruno's dream. "It can be hard, having family turn against you like that."
I looked at Bruno, but he might as well have been carved from stone. "You're related to Koichi." After a moment, he grunted and nodded slightly.
"He is a distant relative of the Pebble Clan." My eyes nearly rolled out of my head. Of fucking course he was.
"It doesn't matter," Bruno continued before anyone could say anything. "Former Gym Leader Koichi will be hunted down and brought to justice. We have more pressing concerns."
"This abomination of Blaine's," Pryce nodded, equally seriously. "It is still out there, presumably returned to its Team Rocket Masters. That thing could fight nearly on even footing with Moltres, and that was while wearing what turned out to be Psychic-suppressing equipment. Such a thing is a threat to the whole of Indigo."
"It is," Bruno agreed, before narrowing his eyes. "But that is not my first concern. This… Mewtwo is gone for now. It will need to be tracked before anything can be done about it. Of more immediate, pressing concern is your assault on a fellow Gym Leader."
The air seemed to freeze, a Snorlax-thick tension erupting between the two Masters as they stared at each other.
"Excuse me?" Pryce was exceedingly calm. "My… assault?"
"That is how it will be perceived, yes." Bruno held out a hand towards me to stop me from interjecting. "The grudge between you and Pryce is well known. You claim Blaine was behind the attack on Mahogany. Between the video and Periwinkle's word, I believe you." I blinked at that vote of confidence, genuinely a little touched. Bruno was good people. "But the word of a child and footage that could have been manipulated to provide you with an excuse will not convince those who don't want to be convinced. You will be blamed for this, especially since you failed to inform anyone about this before acting."
"That is fine," Pryce couldn't have sounded more dismissive if he'd tried. "I can handle such things."
"Not this time," Bruno insisted. Behind them, I could see that the Mahogany Trainers had drifted closer, not quite close enough to hear what was being said, but close enough to be of assistance if things turned sour – all except Brad, who was staring straight at us with crossed arms, blatantly listening in. "The Clans are growing more and more angry, and things between Kanto and Johto get worse alongside it. You will be used as a justification and a symbol in turn. If it were someone else, even a different Gym Leader, maybe it would have been mitigated, solved in the backrooms of Indigo Plateau. Not you, though. Never you."
Pryce didn't answer, glancing over to Brad, who met his gaze evenly before inclining his head slightly.
Bruno sighed, rubbing his face again and looking more stressed than I'd ever seen him. "I will try to advocate for you, pull some favors. It will not be enough, however. Maybe… maybe if I got Goodshow on board, we can do something, but I don't see how you will remain a Gym Leader."
Pryce straightened to his full height, which was still head and shoulders shorter than Bruno. Despite that, the smaller, older man in no way looked lesser. "I have led Mahogany for 60 years. I have bled, killed, and worse for it. You can take it from my dead hands."
"If the problem is the lack of proof," I cut in before they could stop me – or come to blows. "Then how about we find out from the horse's mouth?"
They looked at me, confused, and it took me a moment to realize it was because I forgot to say Rapidash instead. Instead of explaining, I took two PokéBalls from my belt and threw them to the watching Brad. "Can you get them some healing? Sol, my Arcanine, fought Blaine's Houndoom and has some really nasty Denia-Dark-Type burns, I mean, on his underside. Zorua, meanwhile," I threw a glare at Pryce, "is only unconscious."
The large man – Bruno's height, if not an inch taller – caught them with one hand, nodded to me and turned around. Rather than start walking, though, he stuck his free fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle that got the attention of a pair of white-clad Mahogany Trainers. They looked up just in time for the first to catch Sol's ball while Zorua's flew right between the second's panicked hands and smacked him straight in the forehead. Brad turned back to us, re-crossing his arms while behind him, the second Trainer fell to the ground boneless as his friend desperately tried to revive him.
That was fine. I wasn't trying to get him to leave; I just saw the opportunity to get my Pokémon fixed up.
"I could have kept this to myself," I started, reaching out for my backpack and grimacing as I banged the broken arm against the tree. The bag had been left with the few supplies – like massive amounts of Burn Heals and Potions – that we had stashed in the forest for post-battle. "Waited until you left and then followed up on it alone. I'm not doing that, so I expect a little trust in return."
"And what does that entail?" Pryce questioned, Bruno backing him up with a grunt, though I noticed that neither of them protested giving me the benefit of the doubt while I opened the bag and took out the thing on top.
"It means," I said, looking down at the photo in my hands, taken from Blaine's desk, "that you let me take the lead on this one."
"Why?" Bruno demanded, so I turned the frame around to show the three men in it. The Fighting-Type Master's brow furrowed for a second, though Pryce seemed to get it immediately, and Bruno took only a second before his eyes lit up with realization.
"Do we have a deal?" I asked, knowing that I'd already shown my hand and they could just say no.
They didn't, however. Instead, they looked at each other for a moment and even included Brad in the silent conversation before turning back to me.
"I suppose you have earned the chance," Pryce granted, Bruno nodding along. Behind them, Brad gave me a thumbs up. "How do you wish to proceed?"
I half-snarled, half-grinned, not bothering to stamp down my rising Aura, even when Bruno frowned at me. "I guess I do have to make a call, then."
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Bill Masaki smoothed his hair back for the seventh time since getting the call, happy that his new hair gel did not make his palms greasy. He had spent a pretty penny on it, a new formula all the way from Kalos, but what was money for if not to be spent?
That was a mindset that often surprised people, simple-minded bints that they so often were. They thought Bill clung to his money, like a Kangaskhan to its young. Bill snorted at the mere thought, tugging at the lapels of his suit, which cost more than most people made in their whole, insignificant lives. Money was good. Money was great. Bill had grown up with money, and he could not imagine a life without it.
But it was what money could buy that he truly craved. Some blokes hoarded power, but not Bill, no, he was smarter than that – smarter than them, smarter than everyone, really. What good was it all if it didn't give him what he wanted? You could have the biggest pile of cash in the whole world, and it would not matter if you didn't use it for something.
No, Bill cared a lot more about things that furthered his goals and ambitions than he did about money itself. That was why he was so nervous, more nervous than when he was pitching a multi-billion Poké idea to a board of people he had screwed over half a dozen times each.
It was so much more important than billions, Silph. Co. or the Devon Corporation. It was about Bill's one true passion, the only thing that had ever stirred his heart and made him care about something beyond himself.
Pokémon.
Bill loved Pokémon. He adored them. Every single thing about them, Bill found endlessly entertaining and fascinating. He had spent millions on 24/7 surveillance of the most common of Pokémon, slaved away for days at a time for 'insignificant' discoveries, and snooped around in ancient ruins and deserts, pulling fossils from the rocks and running for his life as the locals took offense at his research – Pokémon and humans alike.
As much as he loved demonstrating his obvious superiority to the fools that dare claim to be his equal, proving how far below him the so-called 'experts' and 'brightest minds' were as he broke barrier after barrier, paving the way in every field he touched, he would give it all up for Pokémon. There were days when he dreamed of giving it all up, building the largest reserve in the world and becoming the finest Breeder that had ever been.
He still might. He'd already bought a massive amount of land in southern Hoenn.
But it was that love that had him so up in arms. That same love that made his mistake so much more costly than offending someone normally was. Most days, he relished the opportunity.
Not that time.
"Hey Bill."
"Peri, mate!" Bill painted on his brightest smile, throwing his arms out in greeting as he walked into the random clearing on One Island. Strange place to meet – especially given the lad's history with the island chain – but if that's what he wanted, then be it far from Bill to argue. "So good to hear from you! I was starting to get a little worried, hehe! Last we met, things, uh, things got a little out of hand, but it is wonderful to see you willing to move on from that unpleasantness! Not that I thought you wouldn't, of course; you are a bright lad, much too bright to let a little misunderstanding get in the way of mutual benefit!"
Lather them with compliments, take responsibility without admitting fault, insinuate that they were clever for doing what Bill wanted. Tricks of the trade, long integrated into Bill so deeply he barely thought about them anymore.
But he did then. Periwinkle had that effect on him, the little psychopath. It had seemed like such an opportunity, back in that minging lighthouse he had bought. A boy with a Titan Dragon-Type – something Bill was in that very lighthouse to look for, though he ended up finding something beyond even that – feeling underappreciated working under that hack Oak, and oh so very vulnerable to a little cash and compliments. Yes, please! Boy even had an alternate-patterned Alpha Growlithe as well, and his collection had only grown since. A 'friend' of Bill's had reliably informed him that Peri had added a Dragonair to his team, and had integrated himself with the Blackthorns, a nut Bill had been trying to crack for years! The boy just kept giving!
Bill just wished the lad was a little more stable, just a tad. Just enough that Bill didn't fear for his teeth every time Peri frowned. He liked the kid, he really did.
He was just a teensy tiny bit terrifying.
Thankfully, he wasn't frowning then, throwing Bill a flash of a grin. He did look rough, though. His arm was bandaged and in a sling, the top of his red hair looking like it had been burnt off. Actually, looking closer, his skin in general looked like he had been a little too close to an angry Fire-Type. Bill could relate; he had a patch of scar tissue the size of his palm across his lower back from an ornery Charizard.
But it was the eyes that really put Bill off. Peri was kind of scary at the best times, but in that clearing, he seemed to look through Bill in an unnerving way, his gaze blank and almost empty.
Yet, Bill felt pinned under that stare, like a Weedle being hunted by a Pidgeot.
"Man, you look like you have been mullered! Terrible hairdo, too; I'll give you my barber's contact. The Blackthorns do that to you?"
"Hmm?" The boy reached up and seemed surprised to find his hair gone. "Oh. No, it wasn't the Blackthorns, though they were dickheads. No, I walked a little too close to Mt. Ember."
"Mt. Ember, eh?" Bill locked in, putting his unease behind him at the words, looking over the trees to see if he could spot it. It was not hard; the volcano was spewing more smoke than some of the more illicit clubs Bill had been in. "Uh, she looks pissed! Anything interesting? The locals have refused to allow me close for years; it's the largest volcano in Indigo!" Bill clicked his tongue when Peri shook his head. "Oh well. Maybe I can sneak in during the chaos of the eruption. Is that why you called me, though, mate?" A term of endearment, reminding him of their friendly relationship.
"No, that's not why I called you. Honedge evolved." Bill's eyes lit up at that. It wasn't the first Honedge he had seen, but they were rare and infuriatingly unwilling to be studied, Doublade even more so! "His control is a little shitty, though, so you might want to recall your Alakazam."
"Hmm?" Bill looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, his Teleport Alakazam was still standing there, looking very done with Bill. He quickly did as Peri suggested. Honestly, he had forgotten it was still there.
"Alrighty then, whip it out!" He rubbed his hands together as Peri reached into his pocket. "Keeping it in its ball, eh? That control must really-eh?" Only, it wasn't a PokéBall, perhaps Bill's greatest invention. Rather, it was a…
A photograph?
"Before we do that," Periwinkle said slowly, still staring into Bill's soul with that haunting look. "I wanted to talk to you about this."
Bill frowned, looking at the photo as Peri turned it around. The glass had been broken, shards ripping the image beneath, but the contents were still easily definable. Three men stood side by side, dressed in matching lab coats. Bill, of course, recognised his own handsome mug, grinning smugly from the left side of the picture. On the right side was the oldest among them, Old Man Fuji, looking quite exasperated with the whole thing.
And in the middle, glaring out of the frame, fuming with anger that he was being kept from his work by something as silly as a quick photo for commiseration, was Blaine Heatmoore, Gym Leader of Cinnabar.
Bill's mouth went dry, all saliva vanishing up as his heart went from steady to hammering in-well, in a heartbeat.
"W-wha…" He stammered, unable to complete the sentence. His hand moved back to the three PokéBalls at his waist without thought, only for something large and immovable to clamp down on his wrist. Twisting sideways, he met the dark eyes of the towering, shirtless martial artist, Bruno of the Elite Four glowering down at him. A soft sound and tug made his head turn again, finding an ancient-looking man, Pryce of Mahogany, watching him stoically with Bill's belt dangling from a hand.
"As I said during the call," Periwinkle started walking closer, his shadow writhing as a pair of large swords emerged, the evolved Ghost-Type very much not in its ball, "I need to talk to you."
The Duoblade came to rest on Bill's shoulders, crossing over his neck as the edges kissed and split his soft skin. A single droplet of blood ran down his pale complexion as Periwinkle got right up to him, nose to nose, and whispered the words Bill had dreaded hearing from him ever since he learned the boy's past.
"What is your relation to Team Rocket beyond helping them with their cloning program?"
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Ah, characters talking. My bread and butter.
Thank you for reading. Hopefully you enjoyed. If you REALLY liked it, I have a P-a-t-r-e-o-n, under the same name, where you can read 5 chapters ahead.