The corridor stretched on like a vein through the Center's body, sterile white walls already marred with streaks of grime and blood. Every corner felt too sharp, every fluorescent light too harsh, flickering as if the building itself knew something terrible had seeped inside.
Joy pushed ahead without faltering, her nurse's coat flaring behind her, one hand still pressed to the cut on her temple. She didn't look back—she trusted the others to follow. That was her strength: she always believed in the people behind her, even when the world gave her no reason to.
Ashley stumbled but kept moving, her breaths coming in small bursts. Her legs ached with phantom pain, her body screaming reminders of the Spearows' talons, but she clenched her jaw and forced herself on. Misty's grip on her arm was firm, almost harsh, dragging her forward when her knees threatened to give out. It wasn't kindness exactly—it was determination, the kind that demanded survival at all costs.
Diana floated a half-step behind them, gown trailing like moonlight across the tiles. Her gaze snapped left and right, into vents, into shadowed corners, as though she could see threats forming in the air before they were born. When they came, she was merciless.
The first grunt lunged from a side hall, a Raticate at his heel. Diana moved faster than breath—her arm flicked, invisible force slamming the grunt into the opposite wall, ribs groaning under the impact. The Raticate's fangs gleamed as it leapt for Joy's throat, but Diana caught it mid-air, suspended like a puppet on a string. The Pokémon shrieked and thrashed, claws tearing at nothing, before Diana snapped her wrist. Bones cracked, and the creature collapsed into a twitching heap.
The grunt screamed for his partner, but Diana's eyes burned cold. A second later, he was silenced, pinned to the floor with crushing psychic weight. She shifted her hand again—one final push would have caved his chest in.
"STOP!" Joy's voice rang sharp through the corridor, fiercer than any order she had ever given to a patient. She stood between Diana and the grunt, blood dripping down her cheek but her eyes blazing. "This is a Pokémon Center. A place of healing. You will not kill here."
The words hung heavy. Diana's psychic pressure thickened, like the air itself was about to shatter. Misty froze, wide-eyed, her grip tightening on Ashley. Even Ashley, despite her trembling, whispered hoarsely, "Diana, please…"
And then, slowly, the weight lifted. The grunt collapsed, gasping for air, his Raticate barely breathing beside him. Diana's gaze never wavered, but her arm fell to her side. She had obeyed—but only barely.
Joy nodded once, sharp and certain, though her hands trembled when she turned back toward the hall. "Thank you," she said, voice lower now, but still firm. "But remember—our duty is to protect life, not destroy it."
They pushed forward again, the Center groaning around them. The further they went, the more they heard it—the thundering boots of more Rocket grunts. Backup. Reinforcements. The faint echo of Bob and Libre's battle behind them was drowned out by the sound of enemies trying to choke them off from the rear.
Misty glanced over her shoulder, jaw clenched. "They're trying to box us in."
Joy's voice went tight. "Then we get to the transfer room now. It's the only place we can secure."
The emergency lights overhead flickered again, dimming to a sickly red glow. Somewhere in the Center, the generators strained under the assault, the hum of the systems faltering. Joy's lips pressed thin she knew what would come if the power failed. Pokémon mid-treatment would die.
And then, as if answering her worst fear, the lights blinked out entirely. Darkness swallowed the corridor.
The corridor stretched like a vein into the Center's heart, the flickering red emergency lights painting everything in a sickly pulse. Joy pressed forward, her white coat torn and bloodied but her resolve unbroken. Ashley and Misty flanked her, dragging a cart they had just filled from the storage racks—rows upon rows of Poké Balls containing the sick and injured Pokémon the Center was sworn to protect. The corridor behind them rattled with echoes: Rocket boots, the cries of enemy Pokémon, the pounding chaos they had narrowly outrun.
Diana glided at the rear, arms raised, her psychic barrier shimmering translucent blue against the hail of attacks slamming from behind. Ember, Acid, Swift—every strike that hit her wall shuddered the tiles under their feet. And still she held, the Alpha's raw power stretched thin but unbroken. She did not falter. She would not.
Misty, panting hard, snapped her last Poké Ball open. Staryu burst into being, spinning and lashing water jets to help reinforce Diana's barrier whenever cracks threatened to split. "Go!" Misty barked at Joy and Ashley. "Get them to the transfer room—I'll hold the line!"
Joy's voice trembled but carried iron all the same. "No! We go together. The Pokémon don't survive if we split!" She pushed the cart harder, her shoulder bleeding through the coat where the grunt's earlier shove had split skin. Ashley, pale and shaking, shoved at the other side, every phantom throb from her wounds stabbing into her nerves, but she didn't stop. She couldn't.
The transfer room's reinforced doors loomed ahead. For one breath it seemed like salvation. Then a figure stepped from the shadows to block the way.
It was the grunt. The one Diana had nearly ended in the corridor before. His face was swollen, one eye purpled shut, but the madness in the other burned hotter than ever. His hands clenched a length of steel pipe, and his voice cracked as he screamed, "YOU BITCHES THINK YOU CAN JUST KILL MY PARTNER AND WALK AWAY?!"
Ashley froze. Misty swore under her breath. Joy stiffened but raised her hands, trying reason. "Please—listen. There are sick Pokémon in these Poké Balls. They'll die if we don't transfer them—"
"SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH!" the grunt roared, surging forward. The pipe came down. The crack of metal against bone echoed like a gunshot. Joy dropped to her knees, hands clutching her head, blood streaking her fingers. He struck again, and again, raining blows as she tried only to shield her skull. The pipe slammed into her ribs—once, twice—the breath wheezing out of her lungs each time until her groan broke into a wet cough.
"STOP IT!" Misty screamed, rushing him—but the pipe swung sideways and caught her across the ribs. The impact launched her into the wall, her cry cut short as she crumpled. Before she could even rise, another blow smashed into her back, forcing a ragged gasp from her throat.
Ashley grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall, desperation guiding her. She staggered forward, swinging it at the grunt's side—but his boot lashed out, crushing her stomach with brutal force. The extinguisher clattered away as she fell to her knees, choking, bile burning her throat as she vomited on the tile. The grunt kicked again, again, each blow thudding into her ribs and shoulders until she could only curl weakly, coughing blood.
The grunt turned, pipe dripping red now. He kicked the cart, sending Poké Balls clattering across the floor like marbles. His lip curled in a snarl. "You think I care if your precious sick rats die? That freak—" he jabbed the pipe toward Diana, still holding the barrier against the onslaught "—murdered my Raticate. She's a monster. And monsters need to be put down."
Diana's body shook under the rain of attacks, cracks spiderwebbing across her psychic shield. She couldn't split her focus, not without dooming them all.
Ashley, gasping, blood running from her temple, reached with trembling hands and caught the grunt's leg. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "No… you won't… touch her…"
The grunt looked down, eyes blazing with disgust. "Stupid slut," he spat. "If you want to die so badly, I'll start with you." He raised the pipe high, the veins in his arms standing out with the force of his rage.
Ashley closed her eyes. Her thoughts weren't of herself. They were of Pikachu—sleeping, sick, too weak to fight. "I'm sorry," she thought, tears streaking her cheeks. "I wasn't strong enough… to protect you… or anyone else…"
And then a sound cut through the chaos.
A low growl. Sparking, defiant.
"Pika…"
Everyone froze.
From the far end of the hall, Pikachu dragged himself into the light. His fur bristled with static, patches burned and bandaged, his steps wobbly—but his eyes were fire. Sparks flared in time with his labored breaths, building, building, as if the very air knew what was coming.
The grunt snarled and raised the pipe again. "YOU'RE NEXT, RAT—"
"PIKAAAA—CHUUUUU!"
The thunder cracked.
Electric light swallowed the hall, brighter than any emergency lamp. The bolt struck the grunt square in the chest, blasting him off his feet. His scream tore through the Center, high and bloodcurdling, as his body convulsed under the onslaught. The smell of burning flesh filled the corridor.
When the light finally faded, the grunt lay still, smoke curling from his body. The pipe clattered free. He did not move again.
Pikachu staggered, his little body swaying, but he managed a weak grin at Ashley before collapsing. "Pika…" he whispered, and went limp.
Ashley screamed his name, dragging herself toward him on hands and knees, ignoring the pain and blood. Misty coughed, forcing herself up. Joy, shaking and half-conscious, pushed against the wall, her eyes wide with horror and relief all tangled together.
And through it all, Diana's barrier finally faltered—then flared back, stronger, her eyes blazing with wrath and determination.
The battle wasn't over. But Pikachu had bought them one more chance.
Joy didn't rise. She couldn't. She was already curled on the floor, one arm wrapped over her head, the other pressed weakly against her ribs where the pipe had found bone. Each breath came ragged, broken by pain. Her nurse's coat, once spotless white, was smeared with blood and dirt. She looked small now, crushed, the very image of someone who had given everything only to be punished for it.
And still, she wept.
The sound tore through the corridor—raw, choking sobs from the woman who had always stood untouchable behind her counter, the one who smiled no matter how many broken bodies were brought through her doors. Ashley's own tears blurred her vision. Misty pressed a trembling hand against her mouth. To see Nurse Joy cry was worse than the violence itself. It meant something pure had been broken.
"I swore…" Joy whispered, words shaking as badly as her hands. Blood dripped from her temple, running down to her jaw. "I swore I would heal, not harm. That I would save every life that came through these doors. My family… my sisters… we all swore…" Her voice cracked into another sob. "But they won't stop. They won't stop until—"
Her head bowed, and tears spattered onto the tiles. Then, with a shudder that seemed to drag the weight of the world onto her back, she forced the words out.
"Diana." She looked up at the towering Alpha Gardevoir, eyes red and glistening. Her voice was hoarse, shredded by pain and despair. "…Kill them. All of them."
Ashley broke. The sound that tore out of her was half scream, half sob, as she clutched Pikachu tighter to her chest. Misty staggered back a step, shaking her head, tears spilling free as she pressed herself against the wall. The oath every child had grown up trusting, every story of kindness and safety embodied in this one woman—it had just been shattered.
And Diana moved. The psychic field around her swelled like a storm breaking free of its cage, her eyes burning cold and merciless. There was no hesitation. No pity. She accepted the command like it had been waiting for her all along.
The day the healer gave the order was the day the world changed.
Nurse Joy was still on the floor, her breath ragged, blood streaking from the gash at her temple. But her hands—steady in spite of the tremors—moved numbly to gather the scattered Poké Balls. Each one she touched, she cradled for half a heartbeat, as though reminding herself they weren't just tools of war but lives—fragile, sick lives—that needed to survive this nightmare. She stacked them into the container with methodical precision, even as her shoulders flinched at every sound behind her.
The sounds came sharp, wet, and merciless. A grunt screaming mid-plea, cut off by the crunch of bones. The gargling choke of another, silenced halfway through. Pokémon cries—some sharp and defiant, others high-pitched and panicked—ending in abrupt snaps, like strings breaking on a harp. Each noise rattled down the corridor, carried into the sterile walls of the Center, until the girls couldn't block it out no matter how tightly they clenched their jaws.
Ashley, pale and shaking, forced herself to help Joy. Her hands moved too fast, scooping up Poké Balls and passing them into the nurse's container. Every shriek from the hall made her fingers stutter, but she refused to stop. Misty, though gritting her teeth and trembling in sync with every distant snap of bone, forced her own arms to work, pulling more Poké Balls from overturned trays and handing them off.
But none of them could ignore it completely. They flinched together when a woman's scream tore down the corridor, raw and sharp, followed by the sickening wet crunch of flesh giving way. Misty squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip until it bled. Ashley whispered apologies under her breath—not to Joy, not to Diana, but to every cry that faded too quickly.
And still Diana worked in the distance. The air was thick with her psychic power—an oppressive pulse that pressed at their chests, the kind of weight that said she wasn't fighting to win. She was fighting to erase. Every sound that reached them was proof of it.
Nurse Joy's tears hit the tiles silently as she kept her hands moving, filling the container with precision no different from her work on an ordinary day. Except this wasn't ordinary. Her oath—her family's oath—was broken with every scream that ended abruptly behind her. She knew it. The girls knew it. That was why they cried quietly alongside her as they worked, trying desperately not to listen, and failing every time.
And then—silence.
No more cries. No more screams. No more wet, broken sounds. Just the faint hum of the failing generators and the ragged, uneven breathing of three girls who refused to look behind them.
Nurse Joy wiped at her eyes with the back of her bloodied hand, forcing herself to focus. "They're ready. We move to the transfer room."
Ashley nodded shakily, Misty steadied the container with white knuckles, and together they pushed forward. Pikachu lay slumped beside the filled container, his breathing shallow, sparks twitching faintly in his cheeks. Joy hesitated just long enough to slide him closer with trembling hands, tucking him against the metal rim so he'd travel with them.
The girls didn't speak about it, but each glance at the small body burned them. He wasn't a Poké Ball, wasn't cargo — he was family to Ashley, and yet here he was, set down like another fragile life they had to save.
When the transfer room doors hissed open, Pikachu was the first thing Ashley grabbed to carry in. She pressed him gently against her chest before turning back to help Misty and Joy haul the container inside. His fur was warm — too warm — but the faint stir of his breath gave her the strength to keep moving.
Nurse Joy staggered in first, her uniform still streaked with dirt and crimson. She numbly guided the cart of Poké Balls into place, every motion heavy but exact. Ashley followed close behind, Pikachu limp in her arms, his warm little body pressed tight against her chest as though the closeness alone could keep his spark from flickering out. Misty shoved the door controls until they locked with a clang, then turned to help Joy unload the container.
They worked in silence for a while, though silence here didn't feel like relief. It was haunted, filled with the echoes of what they'd left behind. Every time a Poké Ball clinked into place on the transfer platform, Ashley flinched—her mind replaying the sounds from the corridor: bones snapping, cries cut short, wet chokes that ended too soon. Misty's jaw was set tight, but her hands trembled each time she reached for another ball.
When the tray was almost full, Ashley finally broke the silence, her voice small and cracking. "But… if the power's out… how can we even send them? Won't they just… won't they just die here?"
Her words landed like a stone. Nurse Joy froze for a breath, then forced herself to look at Ashley, eyes rimmed red with tears she hadn't let fall. "This Center is built for emergencies. We have a system—Pikachu stationed here to channel their electricity into the grid when the generators fail. It's the only way we can keep life support running… and keep the transfer machine stable long enough to get them to safety."
Ashley blinked at her, the explanation half-surreal, but the weight behind Joy's tone silenced her questions. Misty, still braced at her side, whispered, "So that's why… that's why there were Pikachu registered here."
Joy nodded faintly, but her movements stayed mechanical. She reached for another Poké Ball, placed it gently into the tray, and whispered—not to the girls, but to herself—"They'll make it. They have to."
The last Poké Ball clicked into place just as the doors behind them opened again. The girls stiffened, but the silhouette that stepped through wasn't another grunt. It was Diana.
Her gown drifted over the threshold, silver-blue in the crimson glow. She said nothing, but her presence filled the room like a tide rolling in. Behind her… nothing followed. No footsteps. No screams. No enemy Pokémon. The corridor she had held was silent now, its horrors sealed behind her eyes alone.
Ashley squeezed Pikachu tighter, Misty let out a shaky breath, and even Nurse Joy—her oath fractured and her hands still trembling—closed her eyes for a heartbeat as though thankful that someone, anyone, had returned to guard them while they worked.
The machine hummed to life on backup current, lights flickering weakly along its spine. It was ready to take the load. The girls, though bruised, bloodied, and shaken, pushed forward. They had to. The lives inside those Poké Balls depended on it.
Joy raised her whistle and blew. The sound was thin, almost lost in the tension—but it carried. A moment later, the door at the far end slid open, and a squad of Pikachu padded in, their small forms illuminated by the sickly red lights. They clustered together, tails twitching, sparks flashing nervously in the gloom.
Joy's voice softened as she knelt. "I'll need your strength now. Please—help me save them."
The Pikachu looked at one another, then back at her. And as though they had always known this moment would come, they lined up neatly along the machine. Sparks leapt from cheek to cheek, the current building into a chain, until the machine's lights flared brighter, steadier.
Ashley and Misty both leaned closer, watching the console hum alive. The transfer rig blinked green, systems stabilizing as power surged into its veins. Joy exhaled shakily, relief breaking through her numbness. "It's working. We can send them."
Ashley pressed Pikachu against her chest, whispering, "Hear that? You did it. You all did." His body stirred faintly, though his eyes remained closed, the static in his cheeks syncing to the rhythm of the others.
For the first time since the nightmare began, the girls felt something different in the air. Not horror. Not despair. Hope. Fragile, flickering, but real.
But then—Ashley's Pikachu shifted. His ears twitched, sparks flaring weakly as though answering the chain of power coursing through the others. Ashley gasped and pulled him closer, panic spilling over. "No, no, you're still sick! You can't—please, don't push yourself."
Her words trembled in the air, but Pikachu ignored them. His eyes opened, hazy but burning with determination. He looked toward Diana, standing sentinel by the doors, and a low growl built in his throat.
The Alpha tilted her head, and her voice entered their minds, soft but undeniable: "He is asking to help. Even in this state."
Misty and Joy both froze. Ashley shook her head violently. "No! He'll die if he tries—he can't!"
But Diana's gaze never wavered. "He believes he has failed his trainer. He says he must fight. He would rather break himself than stay behind while you are in danger."
The stationed Pikachu looked up at him now. Their leader—a scarred one, older, eyes sharp—stepped forward and studied him. For a long, aching heartbeat, no one moved. Then the leader gave a single solemn nod.
The chain shifted. The helper Pikachu turned, tails raised, sparks building again. Ashley's cries broke as she lunged to grab him, but Pikachu jumped from her arms, planting himself among the others. His stance was unshakable.
Lightning surged.
Dozens of Thunderbolts poured into him at once. The walls shook. The air split open with ozone and blinding light. The girls shielded their eyes, their ears ringing with the chorus of Pikachu cries. The world became white fire.
And then—silence.
When they lowered their arms, Pikachu stood cloaked in lightning, every spark crawling across his fur like living armor. His eyes burned with renewed strength. His tail whipped like a blade.
"...Pikachu."
Not weak. Not broken. Alive.
Ashley sobbed, hands shaking. Misty covered her mouth, awe cutting her breath short. Joy leaned against the console, trembling with something halfway between fear and reverence.
And with the transfer complete, Diana finally turned, her gown stirring like smoke, and stepped back toward the entrance.
"He is ready," she said to them all, her voice echoing across their minds. "Now I will return to my trainer."
The girls could only watch as Pikachu fell in beside her, his body crackling like a storm contained in fur.
----
Bob's chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, each breath scraping fire down his throat. Sweat and soot clung to his skin, streaked with blood from shallow cuts that painted his shirt in half-dried stains. His right arm hung heavy at his side, the skin swollen and purpled where the poisoned barbs had pierced through. He'd pulled some of them free, snapping brittle tips between his fingers and throwing them aside, but others remained buried—tiny splinters of venom still pumping agony into his veins. Every heartbeat was a reminder that the clock was ticking.
But his eyes never left the smoke.
Libre crouched at his heel, her paws planted firm despite the tremor running through her body. Her golden fur was scorched black in patches, her breathing ragged from overexertion. Sparks crackled weakly along her cheeks, sometimes sputtering out before they could even form. She had spent everything in the battles leading up to this point, yet her posture was defiant, her tail curled into a faint, twitching heart-shape. There was no bravado left in her voice, no wrestler's theatrics. Only silence—pure, stubborn, unyielding silence.
The Pokémon Center's lobby had become a ruin around them. Ceiling tiles lay shattered across the floor, walls scarred with burn marks and gouges from claws. The sterile smell of medicine was gone, replaced by the acrid tang of smoke, ozone, and blood. Shards of glass glittered under the dying emergency lights, each one catching the faint red glow like droplets of fire frozen in time. It was the aftermath of a war zone, and yet Bob knew the war wasn't finished.
The silence was deceptive. Too still. Too heavy.
Then came the sound.
A hiss—long, wet, and venomous. Followed by a guttural, rattling cough that reverberated through the smoke. Two shadows slithered forward, their forms massive, wrong against the backdrop of the shattered lobby.
First, a serpent. Its body was long, coiled muscle gleaming like oiled steel, the hood flaring wide with bright, garish markings that glowed faintly in the haze. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air, dripping venom that hissed when it struck the broken tiles.
Arbok.
Next came the floating bulk, grotesque and bloated, twin heads fused together in a grotesque parody of life. Each head wheezed in alternating breaths, one laughing low and cruel while the other sputtered noxious gas in choking plumes. Purple smoke curled from its pores, eating into the floor and filling the air with a stench that made the lungs burn.
Weezing.
Bob's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing against the sting. His poisoned arm throbbed, his muscles screamed, but he planted his boots firm on the ruined tile. At his side, Libre bared her teeth, sparks reigniting at her cheeks in defiance despite the tremors wracking her small frame.
And then the smoke parted, revealing the shapes behind them.
Jesse.
Her smile was sharp and merciless, framed by the gleam of the red emergency light. She walked like she owned the room, every step rolling her hips, her gloved hand trailing across Arbok's scales with casual intimacy.
James.
Broad-shouldered, his body taut like a coiled spring. His sharp eyes burned with cruel amusement, his every movement as calculated as a duelist who knew the endgame was already set.
And between them, Meowth's claws flexed, his grin wide enough to show every sharp tooth.
Bob spat iron to the floor, blood mixing with ash. He squared his shoulders, his good hand curling into a fist, and glared at the monsters before him. His voice came low, steady, cutting through the poisoned air like a knife.
"…Didn't expect Team Rocket to have their Pokémon evolved this early."
Libre crouched lower, her sparks flaring one last time. Arbok's hood widened, Weezing rumbled with its twin voices, and Jesse's smirk curved sharper.
The storm hadn't passed. It had only just begun.