The lower city stank.
Kairos wound his way through it anyway, following coordinates some stranger had rattled off over a crackling connection.
And honestly?
The place made that sketchy alley where he had first landed look like a resort.
Pipes dripped something he did not want to identify.
Cables overhead formed this impenetrable mesh, like someone had dumped a bucket of spaghetti and left it there to rot.
Oil, garbage, and the unmistakable funk of too many bodies crammed into too little space. Delightful.
People existed here.
That was the only word for it.
Existed.
Hollow-eyed figures sprawled in shelters cobbled from shipping containers and tarps, looking like they had given up on anything better a long time ago.
The Pokémon situation was different down here too, not just those chrome-plated Electric types from topside.
He spotted a Meowth wielding welding-torch claws, sparks flying as it patched sheet metal.
A crew of Machoke hauled crates nearby, hydraulic rigs bolted to their backs doing most of the heavy lifting. And in the corners, quick hands exchanged quick goods. Black market stuff, obviously.
Weird, seeing it all.
The professor's gleaming district might as well have been on another planet.
Anyway. He was lost.
The alleys followed zero logic, and the signs were faded beyond reading. Of course he had gotten turned around.
He was scanning for someone who looked approachable, not an easy find, when shouting pulled his attention toward a grimy side passage.
Three older kids had surrounded a skinny boy. Classic setup.
The kid clutched a ratty backpack, shoulders hunched, trembling like a leaf.
"Yo, freak! Talking to your invisible friends again?" The tallest one shoved him hard.
"Always mumbling crazy garbage," another chimed in, grabbing for the bag.
"Nobody wants you around!"
Kairos sighed.
He genuinely preferred staying out of other people's drama, but something about watching a kid get kicked around just... no. He could not walk past it.
Plus, he needed directions anyway.
He stepped into the alley.
The boy in the middle suddenly went still, looked up, but not at his tormentors.
His gaze locked onto the shadow pooling beneath Kairos's feet.
The fear melted off his face. Curiosity replaced it. His voice came out small but crystal clear: "Mister, that big purple thing in your shadow... it is kinda cute, actually."
Kairos felt the words hit him like a truck.
Beneath his feet, he sensed Gengar stiffen too.
Wait. What?
This kid could see Ghost types?
He buried his shock fast, striding forward to plant himself between the boy and the bullies.
Nothing dramatic, he simply deflected the hand about to shove the kid again.
"Three on one seems a little uneven, do you not think?"
Barely any effort. But the punk whose arm he had pushed stumbled backward like he had walked into a steel beam. The other two froze.
"The hell? Who even are you?" the tall one spat. "Mind your own business!"
Kairos ignored him completely.
He crouched down to meet the boy's eyes and softened his voice. "Hey. You are okay. You said you saw something in my shadow?"
A nod.
Still some fear lingering, but more than that, excitement. Like finding someone who finally understood him.
"Yeah," the kid whispered. "Purple. Floating. Always grinning." He rushed to add, "I see lots of stuff nobody else can see. That is why they call me a freak."
Interesting.
Kairos filed that away immediately.
He glanced back at the frozen bullies. "You can go now."
They exchanged looks, clearly wanting to throw some parting tough-guy line.
But something in Kairos's expression killed that idea. They slunk off without another word.
Only then did he turn back, offering his hand.
"I believe you. Everything you said. Name is Kairos. What is yours?"
"A Axuan," the boy mumbled.
"Axuan."
Kairos gestured toward his shirt pocket, where a faintly luminous rainbow feather lay hidden.
Ho-Oh's feather, thrumming with life energy. Maybe it would trigger something in a kid with perception like this. "Can you see anything here?"
Axuan squinted at the spot. Shook his head slowly. "Cannot see it... but it feels warm. Really warm. Like, like Little Candle."
"Little Candle?"
Something shifted in the boy's expression. He unzipped his worn backpack with exaggerated care, revealing soft cloth padding inside.
And nestled there, flickering gently, was a tiny flame.
A Litwick.
Kairos's jaw actually dropped. Just a little.
A Litwick? Here? In a world drowning in Electric types and mechanical monstrosities, an actual living Ghost Pokémon? Just as shocking as when the professor had seen his Chandelure.
So this world did have native Ghost types.
"Where did you find it?" The question escaped before he could stop himself.
Axuan stroked the little flame tenderly. The Litwick nuzzled against his fingers.
"Little Candle followed me home from the old pipe district, way up above." His honesty was disarming.
"Sometimes there is this weird wind up there. Carries dirt and... I dunno, a strange smell. I like exploring there. That is where we met."
"Old pipe district, higher up?" Kairos latched onto those words.
Axuan shrugged uncertainly.
"Big old pipes. Abandoned stuff. Nobody really goes there, and the League patrol bots almost never show up."
Questions piled up in Kairos's head, but he swallowed them. The kid did not know more, that much was obvious.
He glanced around at the incomprehensible maze surrounding them.
"You know how to get to the Rusty Propeller bar? I am completely turned around."
Axuan brightened. "Yeah. I can take you, mister."
A pause.
"And... thanks. For helping me."
---
With Axuan navigating, the labyrinth became manageable.
Before long, a building flickered into view, crude neon sign sputtering overhead.
A rust eaten propeller design. The name barely legible: The Rusty Propeller.
Kairos pushed through the heavy door and immediately regretted breathing.
Noise slammed into him. Smoke hung thick enough to chew. The lighting was awful, the smell worse.
Rough looking types packed the place, tattered clothes, faces carved by hard living.
Modified Electric Pokémon hummed alongside their owners, filling the air with a constant low buzz.
Chaotic. Oppressive. Home sweet home, apparently.
He told Axuan to stick close and made straight for the bar.
The bartender was a slab of muscle with a scar bisecting his face, idly polishing a glass.
"Looking for Old Smoker," Kairos said. No preamble.
One eyelid lifted.
The bartender took in Kairos's relatively clean clothes and snorted. "Old Smoker? Know the rules?" Two fingers rubbed together. Universal language.
Kairos patted his pockets. Oh. Right.
He was broke in this world.
"I Don't have money at the moment."
"No money?"
The bartender's voice pitched up like he had heard the century's best joke.
"Hey, everybody. Upper city rich boy wants free intel." Laughter erupted around them. Mocking, ugly laughter.
Axuan tugged nervously at Kairos's sleeve. "Maybe... maybe we should come back? I have a little saved up at home, I could..."
Kairos frowned, weighing options. Leave and return or go with something more creative?
Then his gaze snagged on three familiar figures slouched in the corner.
Neon green hair. The same punks who had tried to mug him earlier and bolted when things got scary.
They were drinking, laughing, having themselves a grand old time.
Well. Problem solved.
He shook his head at Axuan, Don't worry, and walked directly toward their table.
One of them noticed. Recognition flickered. His smile curdled instantly, drink nearly slipping from his fingers.
The crowd picked up on the tension. Conversations died. Everyone watched with hungry anticipation.
These three were known quantities, local muscle, not to be messed with, and this stranger who looked like easy pickings was strolling right up to them?
This should be good.
Kairos stopped at their table. Voice casual. "Need a favor. I need money to see Old Smoker."
Dead silence.
Then sharp intakes of breath all around.
Was this guy suicidal? Talking to them like that? Asking to borrow money?
But what followed made every jaw in the room hit the floor.
The three did not get angry. They launched from their seats like rockets, scrambling over each other, forcing painful smiles onto their faces.
"B Boss. Please, sit. Sit down." The green haired leader frantically offered his own stool, wiping it down with his sleeve.
"Drink? You want something? Kid, want juice? On me. Totally on me," another babbled.
The third whirled toward the bar and bellowed, "Scarface. Get Old Smoker. Tell him there is someone important. Move it."
The bar went cemetery quiet.
Everyone stared. Kairos's calm face. The three punks performing complete personality transplants. What was happening?
Axuan sipped the synthetic juice they had frantically purchased for him, peering up at Kairos. "Why are they so scared of you?"
Kairos shrugged.
"No clue. Maybe folks around here are just naturally hospitable."
The three punks' faces went green at that.
Hospitable? Were you kidding? They knew exactly why they were acting like this.
But outwardly?
All they could do was nod along, smiles strained to breaking. "Yeah. Yeah. Gotta treat friends right."
While Scarface went to deliver the message, one punk leaned close and whispered, "Boss, careful with Old Smoker. If you want to trade info, you need something valuable. Something that catches his interest. That is his rule. Otherwise..." He trailed off ominously.
Another elbowed him.
"Moron, why are you warning him? With the boss's strength, Old Smoker is nothing to worry about."
"Enough." Kairos cut them off with a slight smile. "I know what I am doing."
The scarred bartender returned.
His attitude had shifted noticeably, respectful now. He gestured toward the back. "Sir, Old Smoker will see you."
Kairos nodded, took Axuan's hand, and followed.
A hidden corridor. A heavy metal door at the end. The bartender knocked, then pushed it open.
The room beyond was quieter.
Still dim, but arranged like some hoarder's museum, mechanical parts dangling from walls, yellowed maps, even what looked like Pokémon skull fossils. The air was thick with tobacco and machine oil.
A man in his fifties occupied a battered leather couch. Grease stained jacket.
His left arm from the elbow down was polished chrome, mechanical replacement. An old metal pipe hung from his teeth, smoke curling upward.
Beside him, perched on a stand, was a Murkrow. Beak, talons, eyes, all clearly modified. Red mechanical irises tracked the newcomers coldly.
Old Smoker.
The man's gaze swept over Kairos, lingering on those clean clothes. His expression soured immediately.
"Dressed like that, coming to the lower city?" Displeasure dripped from every word. "Don't want upper city rich boys here. Scarface, throw him out."
Two heavies stepped forward.
But Kairos just smiled.
He patted Axuan's shoulder reassuringly, then calmly retrieved a small cloth pouch from his system space.
He set it on the table. Soft metallic clink.
"Friend."
His voice was easy, confident.
"Got something good here. if you don't look, you might regret it."
"...Hm?"
Old Smoker paused mid puff. His sharp eyes shifted from Kairos's face to that ordinary looking pouch.
Tension stretched.
Then he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
He waved his men back.