Flint, for all intents and purposes, had borne witness to more than his share of life's cruelties — some memories resting like healed scars upon his soul, others festering in corners of his mind he wished he could scour clean. Tonight, he had expected only silence. The creak of his ramshackle home on the edge of Viridian Forest was a lullaby he had grown accustomed to, a weary rhythm that meant another day had passed without calamity.
He had stepped outside for a last lungful of cool night air, letting his gaze drift to the sprawl of Pewter City below. The rooftops shimmered faintly in the moonlight, the streets hushed, the pale outline of the hospital standing like a watchtower against the dark.
And then the world changed.
A bloom of fire erupted, tearing the stillness asunder. It wasn't the whole hospital — just one section high on its flank — but the violence of it was no less shocking. The blast ripped through a cluster of rooms, shattering walls and windows, the night sky momentarily bright as dawn. Glass and debris blossomed outward from that corner, caught in gravity's hand before falling in ruin. The thunderous report followed a heartbeat later, a deep concussion that rattled the loose boards beneath Flint's boots and seemed to reverberate in his chest.
For a moment, he stood transfixed, the image searing itself into memory beside others he had never wanted to recall. Then, with a grimace that was equal parts fury and desperation, he turned back inside.
"Not again."
The floor groaned as he knelt, prying up one of the warped boards to reveal the compartment beneath. Within lay the tools of his former life — the Poké Balls he had hidden away, hoping to use them only when his task was complete and if there was an emergency. Well, fate had decided it for him, it seemed.
Gripping them with practised familiarity, Flint strode out into the night, heading toward the carnage as the lights of all of the houses of Pewter City were turned on and the specks of people were going into the streets. Memories pressed in on him as he ran — the war, his family, and the boy and girl he had aided only days past. He prayed they were not in that wing of the hospital… but the fire's glow told him hope was a fragile thing.
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By the time Flint reached the hospital, the street outside was thick with people. Neighbours stood barefoot in their nightclothes, clutching children close, hair still mussed from sleep. Shopkeepers with soot on their hands leaned on one another, whispering questions no one could answer. The voices blended into a restless murmur beneath the sharp, steady crackle of the fire.
He pushed through them carefully, murmuring apologies as shoulders turned toward him, faces pale and wide‑eyed. The iron gate caught against his hip as he passed, its cold bite grounding him before the noise of the crowd dulled behind him.
Inside, the air was hotter, harsher. Firefighters moved with grim determination, hoses dragging against their bodies, water striking the flames with a hiss that felt too small, too slow. Orderlies shepherded patients down the steps — some leaning on crutches, some carried in shaking arms, some clutching medicine bottles like lifelines. Flint's gaze snagged on a boy no older than his own son once was, barefoot, coughing into his mother's shoulder as she half‑ran, half‑stumbled away from the smoke.
Brock stood at the centre of it all, shouting orders without panic. His voice was measured, steady — the kind people trusted. Onix loomed beside him, the stone serpent's body shielding the worst of the fire from those on the ground. Smaller Pokémon darted in and out of the haze, dragging blankets and stretchers, clearing splintered wood and glass with jaws and claws.
In the grass, doctors knelt around the injured, sleeves rolled, hands moving quickly and sure despite the blood and ash. One man bit down on his scarf to smother the sound as they bound a deep cut along his arm. A young nurse murmured the same soft words over and over — to her patient or to herself, Flint couldn't tell. All of them were wearing their night gear or civilian clothes.
His eyes drifted to the far wing — the one where the blast had torn through the upper rooms. There, at the edge of the crowd, a cluster of elders stood apart. They weren't shouting, weren't helping. Just staring, their faces lit orange by the glow, eyes hollow and distant, as if remembering something they wished they'd forgotten.
The heat clawed at his skin, smoke burned in his lungs, but none of it cut as sharply as the thought that pressed in on him, relentless and quiet:
Were they in there?
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While his eyes swept the grounds, searching for any glimpse of them, Flint caught sight of a familiar silhouette moving through the haze. Officer Jenny. The same one who had taken his statement nearly a fortnight ago.
Even through the smoke, he saw the limp in her stride, the stiffness of her body as she pushed forward. The bandages beneath her uniform pulled at each movement, slowing her down, but her face betrayed no weakness. Her eyes were sharp — too sharp — fixed on something beyond the shifting crowd.
For a moment, she stopped, shoulders taut, teeth sinking into her lip as though to choke back a curse. Frustration ran across her features in clean, hard lines. Flint narrowed his gaze and followed hers.
At the edge of the hospital grounds, half-hidden by the line of trees, he finally saw them. The boy and the girl. They lay on the grass, pale shapes beneath the glow of the fire. Nurse Joy knelt beside them, her jaw tight with focus, while her Chansey worked with calm precision, its small hands moving in steady, practised motions.
Around them, the boy's Pokémon stood in a loose protective circle, ears pricked, bodies rigid. Their breaths came quick, but their eyes never left the medics. Even in their exhaustion, they held fast — as if they understood this was the only line of defence that mattered now.
Relief and dread collided in Flint's chest, twisting into something heavy and hard. They were alive. That much was clear. But the fact that they were on the ground, battered and barely moving, meant the danger of the night had left its mark.
His gaze flicked back to Jenny. He didn't like the look in her eyes, the way her jaw clenched around something unspoken. His mind turned back to a few nights past, when he'd seen her limping out of Viridian Forest, her uniform smudged, and her face drawn. The kids had spoken then of an attack by Team Rocket.
Flint's fingers tightened unconsciously around the Poké Balls in his pocket. Does she have a hand in this?
The thought sat uneasily with him. If she did, then he'd have to watch her. Quietly. Carefully. Without letting on what was stirring in his mind.
For now, he stayed where he was, silent among the noise and the firelight, watching.
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When the flames finally began to die out under the combined effort of water and weary hands, the chaos shifted. Officers moved in to guide people away from the wreckage, their voices steady despite the exhaustion in their faces. Some helped ferry the wounded toward the Pokémon Centre — now the only medical refuge left standing.
Flint lingered in the thinning crowd, his eyes drawn to one corner of the grounds. There, the group of kids — Ash and the girl, Yellow — were being tended to. Nurse Joy knelt close, her Chansey hovering like a quiet shadow. Ash cradled Yellow against him, his arms locked tight around her, as though letting go even for a second might break her.
Movement caught Flint's attention. Officer Jenny. She strode toward them with clipped steps, her limp more pronounced now, but her expression hard enough to cut through the smoke. Instinct had Flint following, keeping pace just far enough back to watch without drawing eyes.
"You three."
Her voice carried, low but firm. Ash stiffened instantly, and Flint saw it — the way the boy's body went rigid, the way Yellow's breath hitched. The girl began to tremble in his arms, her wide eyes glazing over as her chest rose and fell too fast. Flint knew that look. She was starting to have a panic attack.
Nurse Joy rose to meet Jenny's approach; her own expression caught somewhere between exhaustion and steel. "Yes, Officer Jenny?"
Jenny's gaze swept over them once, sharp and unyielding. "I believe that both of you were there. Don't deny it. You're coming with me — both of you."
Ash's head snapped up. "What?!"
The word was raw, half-shouted, his grip on Yellow tightening protectively. Yellow's breath came quicker still, and she buried her face against his chest as though trying to disappear. Her small fingers clutched at his sleeve, trembling, nails digging into the fabric.
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(AN: Sorry for the short chapter after the previous one.)