[Pokémon] The Fall to Redemption [PG-13]

Side Chapter II - Wrath of the Waves

I thumb open my cigarette lighter and three rolled joints lean close to suck up the fire's warmth. Y'know, even before I started smoking I always carried a lighter. It made me feel good, whenever some passerby on the street asked me for a light, that I could do something nice for another somebody. Plus, it's all poetic and stuff - y'know, one bro sharing his light with another, sending out a warm glow for all mankind. It feels right, man.

Once we're all lit up my students lean close to soak up my personal light. Exhaling smoke, I keep going with my lesson. "So then, this Karl guy was all like 'dude, it's the workers who control the means of production; they're the ones who really run everything'!" My students gasp. "Whoa..." I love it, the way they're all mesmerized. Takes me back to philosophy class with Profesor Duester and how he'd have me hanging on every word. College was killer-lame but the Duester was all right.

Natie's hand shoots up. "Big Kahuna, I get what you're saying, but I don't 'get-get' it. Think you can spell it out all clear-like?"

"Well bro, it's like surfing. When you're on top of a big wave you feel you're king of the world. 'Cept you gotta remember you didn't get there on your own steam. You're there 'cause of the water - it's all those zillions of drops holdin' t'gether and workin' as a team that picked you up so you can do some wickedly awesome ridin'. What I'm sayin' is, if we all just learned to be like the wave and worked together as one, think of how awesome we could make society." The boys awe again.

"But waves move blindly," a voice interrupts. "You need people with vision to guide the mob. Maybe the wave is like a community but there's always going to be inequality - water nearer the top and water trapped at the bottom. If you tried to level everything you'd be left with a limp and lifeless puddle."

My students turn to this new voice from the bedroom. Hayley walks out, multi-tasking like usual: holding hairpins in her mouth, texting with one hand and buttoning up her blouse with the other. "Morning, surfer boys. How's Brawly treating you this morning?"

"Awesome!"

"Killer!"

"So hot ... I mean, good, Ma'am!"

Hayley shoots me a wink and I just shake my head. She always gets a kick out of teasing the boys - popping out in just a towel, or waiting till she's in the kitchen to pull on her nylons. Hey, not that I'm complaining; we all need our egos scratched some time. Like, I know I'm boss at surfing but there's nothin' like that extra kick you get when there's a crowd cheerin' you on.

Her lipstick's fresh so I peck Hayley on the cheek. "How'd you sleep?"

"A lot longer than you," she smirks. "It's beyond me how you manage to get yourself up at five-thirty for these early morning practices."

"I do what I gotta for my elite class." Yoga at sunrise, surfing at first light, and then back to my shack to soak up some RnP - that's Rest 'n Philosophy. I make some decent scratch teaching Cianwood's tourists how to balance on the waves, but it's the dedicated surfers that I live to teach. "You stayin' for breakfast?"

Hayley grabs a quick drag of my joint and shakes her head. "Can't hon - the ferry leaves in fifteen minutes and I'm meeting a client back in Olivine. I'll call you next time I'm on the island." Before she can get out the door I wrap my arms around her.

"I love you."

Hayley doesn't say anything - she doesn't have to. She tousles my hair and plants a kiss on my forehead. "Later, Hon." I've barely started my weed but at that moment I am flyin' high. Natie looks up at me like I just won the radio lottery.

"Big Kahuna, you are the luckiest dude on Lugia's blue sea!" Presley seconds the motion.

"On the sea? Dude, more like the whole planet!" Flounder scratches his head, though.

"I don't get it, Big-K. Isn't your lady some big-shot lawyer from Olivine? I mean, we know how awesome you are, but those corporate suits won't give nobody the time of day unless you got, like, three college degrees. Why's she like you so much?" The question earns the kid noogies from his bros.

"We'll explain it when you're older, Tubby." The two high-five. I just shrug my shoulders.

"What can I say - Hayley 'n me, we're soulmates. We met, an somethin' just clicked."

It all goes back two years ago. Hayley's office had sent her to Cianwood to defend a case against our gym leader - I heard ol' Chuck got over-excited again and started fighting pokemon matches himself. She was at the gym until late and all the paperwork left her tired like a boss. She'd worked through supper, missed the last ferry home, and the hotels were gonna squeeze her like a lemon if she walked through their doors. Not a cool day. So Hayley was walking along the boardwalk and tryin' t'clear her head when Khaki Jones and his boys drove down the strip in their Thunder Buggy. There were puddles all over the road from last night's storm and Jonsey sent a huge wave flying all over Hayley. When I saw her she looked ready to cry.

So I tossed my towel over her shoulders and, when Jonsey spun around for round two, I tossed my beer can right at his head. "Party's over, losers!" Justice served, I turned to help the out-of-town chick.

"Hey, you need a place to get cleaned up? 'Cause, um, there's a coin laundry just down the street from my shack and the owner, she's, uh, super good about carryin' spare clothes ..." I kinda choked and started mumbling halfway through. Couldn't help it - once I got a good look at this babe in the dripping wet clothes it was like my tongue stopped working. Dude, she was hot!

As for Hayley, she looked me over, stepped so close I could smell the perfume over her body and flashed me a crooked little smile. "This outfit's hand-wash only."

"It's not all perfect," I admit to the boys. "I mean, she works in Olivine so it's not like she can get out here every day - more often it's just a few hours - but man, when she does get here it's just the best day ever. But y'know, I am thinkin' of proposin' a more permanent situation for us."

I go to my pantry and show the boys the velvet box I've been hiding behind the coffee tin. The pearl ring leaves them speechless. "Big Kahuna, that's huge! Is that a clampearl's?"

"Fraid not, little dude. I snatched this bad boy from the belly of a cloyster." Again, they gasp.

"So that's how you got your hand all messed up last month!" I just smile sheepishly. What can I say? I couldn't surf for a week with all those stitches but Hayley was worth it. That girl, she's greater than any wave in this world.

The cabana door bursts open. It's Coolridge, the snack shop owner, and he's in a panic. "Big Kahuna, Big Kahuna - bad news!"

"Whoa, slow down, dude. Here." I offer him my joint and let him puff up the skunky sweetness until his breathing steadies. "Okay, so what's got your mellow all harshed up, bro?"

"It's Khaki Jones! You know how he was shooting his mouth off about riding the Whirl Run? Well he just came in and he says he circled three pools!"

Natie chokes on his joint. "Three? But that means he beat the Big-K's record!" Presley slams his fist.

"That snake - there's only two days of summer tides left! After that, the water's too rough to ride the Run for a whole year!" Flounder goes into panic mode and has to pull out his inhaler.

"Big-K, this is bad! When everybody hears this, Khaki's surfing school is gonna nab all the new riders! He's trying to shut you down again!"

"Big Kahuna, what're we gonna do?"

My hands make the T sign for 'Time Out'. "First," I explain, "I'm gonna make breakfast." The boys' jaws drop again.

"Aren't you mad, Big Kahuna? You taught Jones everything about surfing and then he sold out to those corporate moneybags!"

Am I mad? Right now I want to crack Khaki's skull like an eggshell! Instead, I fiddle around with some pots and pans in the kitchen, counting to twenty-one-thousand until I'm cool enough to fake a smile. "Whatever, man. Look, I'm pumped that you guys are worryin' about me, but I get by fine with the students I got. I'm not teachin' for the money, I teach 'cause it's what I love." I try not to think about the stack of letters in my dresser drawer, each stamped with an angry, red overdue.

"Still," I add, "stealing a bro's personal record sounds like a challenge. Looks like I gotta remind everyone how a real Cianwood surfer rides." I'm waiting on a big cheer from my boys but they all go into shock.

"Big Kahuna, no! The sharpedo migration's already started!"

"And the waves'll be even rougher!"

"You don't wanna piss off Lugia," Flounder yells. My mind's made up, though. I declare the class finished, grab some cash from my money tin and head for the door. "Where ya goin', Big Kahuna?"

"Olivine City. Next ferry leaves in half an hour, right? If I'm gonna ride the Whirl Run, there's somebody I wanna make sure is waitin' for me at shore."

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Olivine rides up on the horizon like a wave of pointy, metal teeth. I can't remember the last time I hit the big city. College, I guess, and 'cept for philosophy class that place killed my buzz so bad I didn't ever wanna come back. City life messes you up, man; makes you all about the money. I don't really wanna think about those days - back when the cops knew me as the Brawlster - but the ferry between Cianwood and Olivine is killer long and there's nothin' to do but think. It's not like you can just plow through the sea; you've gotta circle around it and the rocky islands at the center. I scope out the Whirl Islands from the observation deck; check out the four sinkholes where water swirls down in corkscrews. The Mouths of Lugia. Three years ago I made the impossible possible - I wind-surfed around two of those whirlpools in a single run, dancing around their hungry lips like a finger just begging to be bitten off. Everyone said I was nuts when I went out, but when I came back they cheered me like a hero.

Now everybody's cheering for that lame-wad Khaki Jones, when yesterday they were all laughin' behind his back and talkin' about what a sell-out he was. Now the burger joint is selling 'Khakiburgers'; the mayor's talkin' about a celebration parade - yeah, thanks for offering me one, Derrick! - and all the ice cream vendors are lickin' their chops and thinkin' of all the tourists Jonesy's big story will rake in.

I hate money and what it does to people. Money turns people into dirty, rotten liars; it makes students stab their teachers in the back; it keeps lovers apart at their separate jobs, and when you don't have enough money it makes people look down on you like you're scum. The world would be so much better if we just got rid of this rotten capitalist system; stopped helping ourselves and learned to help each other!

I'm gonna lose Dad's shack... I can kick anybody's ass in a fair fight, so how is it I'm getting sucker-punched by piles of paper? Dad ... Every beam in that house we cut, sanded and nailed with our own bare hands and now some pencil-necked geek from the bank thinks he can take it away? My knuckles are going white from wringing the railing like a neck. Whoa, good vibes, Brawly! Think good vibes! I've still got the most beautiful babe in all of Johto by my side, and I've still got my fame as the guy who made the Whirl Run. Or, at least, I had that fame. Jonesy, you mandibuzz - it wasn't enough that you picked my bones clean, now you gotta crack open the leftovers and suck up the marrow.

I have to do this run. I have to get my title back. It's all I've got left.

My fists are still trembling. Good vibes, good vibes! This is my chance to show everybody just what I'm made of and how little all those corporate sponsorships or lab-tested surfboards really matter. Plus, it's gonna give me the best scenario for a proposal ever. I've got it all figured out: I'll invite Hayley to watch my run tomorrow, and after I surf in I'm gonna walk right up to her. "That was for you, babe," I'll say. "I don't want no one sayin' you're stuck with the second-best surfer in all Cianwood. I wanna be your number one." Then, I'll get down on one knee...

The ferry whistle knocks me out of that fantasy. We're in Olivine. Quick as a yanma I boogie off the ship and to the finance district. Hayley never did tell me where she lives but I've looked up the name of her law firm. The streets are crowded and the cars zip by, reckless as bullets. What's the rush, buddy? If I can't spot Hayley, she'll definitely see me. Blue hair, shorts and sandals - I stick out like a sore thumb, and the suits all glare at me to make sure I know I'm not welcome. Whatever, man.

Then, out of nowhere, I spot Hayley across the street. I'm about to call out her name when some pervert, this bald-headed suit with thick glasses, grabs Hayley from behind, bends her over and forces her lips against his own. My vision goes red. You pig! I've gotta storm over there and knock his clock into Kanto, but I'm trapped by the rush of cars! I might as well be on the other side of a river! I watch as Hayley pushes away the jerk - yeah, you show him, girl! - but then she gives the guy a crooked little smile, stands up on her toes and plants a peck on his cheek.

What?

She smiles at the suit; laughs at some corny joke he tells her and lets him carry her overnight bag. Then she spots somebody behind the guy and her eyes beam. Hayley kneels down, throws open her arms to scoop up a four year-old girl in a flowery dress and she smothers the kid with kisses.

My gut goes cold. I race across the street even though the light's still green; even through there's a car marked 'student driver' coming full speed...

When I come to it's a few seconds in the future. My brain must have switched off from the stress. It hurts to move but I crane my neck around. The busted-up car is pressed against my chest, there's a brick wall digging into my back and there's no room for a person in between. I can't see anything below my ribs.

My hands crumple the car fender. I shove the car across the street; I stand, smash my fist through the concrete wall and I roar. Then I stamp across the street, knocking over everything and everybody in my way until I'm face to face with Hayley. I grab her, I shake her, I scream at her. "You like messing with me, *****? You think you can make a joke out of Brawly?"

In my head, that's how it goes down. In the real world I'm pinned behind a busted car and my blood's pouring out so fast I can't even whimper. I'm supposed to ride all four Whirl Islands! I'm supposed to get eaten by a sharpedo or smashed against a rock or taken down by the undertow! I'm supposed to save my home and show Khaki Jones just how little all his corporate sponsorships got him! I'm supposed to train my boys into the next-gen of great Cianwood surfers! I'm supposed to marry Hayley, grow old with her and watch my boy learn to ride his first surfboard...

I want to scream until the city crumbles but I'm choking on my own blood...

Hayley glances at the noisy traffic accident and speed-walks away, covering her girl's eyes so she doesn't see the mess. I can't tell if she saw me or not, but it wouldn't make any difference. She's one of them. Just another greedy swinub snorting up money like a vacuum, eyes shut to everything but herself. I want to slap her face so bad but I'm too weak to move, too weak to do anything with this rage.

When breathing gets too hard and everything starts going dark I don't close my eyes - I clench them shut.

Chapter 9 - The Lost Leader

If I were a man with the power of god, where would I live?

Not in Mauville City, I decided. The place was a lawless dump: garbage filled the streets, the local economy revolved around brewing moonshine and half-demolished buildings drooped over the streets like rows of threadbare beggars; people ripped off their own wall panels when they needed to feed their fire pits. The city's garrison of gold-plated soldiers couldn't care less about maintaining order; they were too busy patronizing the local gambling dens and taverns. Being assigned to Mauville was like a paid vacation.

Where's the leader? I wondered. Crazy cultists had already gobbled up Slateport City; didn't he care about preserving the fraction of territory he had left? I tried paging Norman for intel but the ranger wouldn't return my calls. What was keeping him so busy all of a sudden? Well, staying in Mauville was an invitation to get mugged so I ventured north beyond the city until I came across a beautiful, gated mansion. Three stories tall, Windstrate Hills was surrounded by watchtowers and patrolled by disciplined soldiers. Now this was a palace fit for a leader!

At the same time, I didn't like the look of the guards' Nidoqueens and Explouds so I made camp in the surrounding forest, sending out my flyers for aerial reconnaissance. Winry and Dolce couldn't tell me just how many soldiers or pokemon were behind the walls but, judging by the way they shivered upon return, I figured that I did not want to risk a head-on assault. So I waited. I sat down in my little camp and watched from behind the trees, trying to spy a weak spot in the defenses. My pokemon used this huge delay for their own purposes.

You probably guessed as much, but Michael had fallen hard for the sweet fire chick who had tended his wounded paw and he was determined to impress Robin at all costs. He couldn't communicate directly - Amon planted himself between hen and mutt at all times - but he could send covert signals. Michael would walk around on his hind legs or do flips to show off his strength. He kept foraging for berries and mushrooms and, through a series of nips and growls, ensuring that I gave the biggest to Robin. At night, the electrike would put on a miniature fireworks display by firing static bursts from his coat.

Robin, at first, just blushed and hid her face, overwhelmed and embarrassed by all this flattery. It was a strange reversal to have someone else working so tirelessly to impress her, but I think she grew to like the attention. Whenever she wanted to express her appreciation she'd snap a flame between her talons and blow the ember towards Michael like a kiss. It was their secret game, like school kids seeing how many notes they could pass unnoticed, and on the rare occasion that paw and talon were able to touch the two would sigh in contentment.

Then Amon would start snarling and Robin would shrivel up like a battered housewife and Michael would slink away like a good beta male.

"Pipe down," I hissed. We'd spent three days staking out the Windstrate mansion but it felt like three decades of sappy, romantic mush. "We're on a mission here!"

Michael and Robin seemed to giggle. I think they scored extra points in their lovers' game whenever Amon and I - the crusty chaperones - lost our cool. I zapped the pair into their pokeballs. Lousy kids...

My mightyena heaved a sigh and sat down. Amon's eyes were bloodshot. I don't think he'd slept much these last days, eaten by the fear of lowering his guard before a rival. The wolf was so tired he didn't even protest when I sat at his side and started scratching behind his ears. "Women," I muttered. The wolf growled in agreement.

"I wonder if I had a girlfriend when I was alive." I couldn't remember any family and I didn't care to remember my so-called friend Roderigo; what really piqued my curious was whether I had left behind a special someone. Had somebody loved me? "Whaddya think, Amon? I bet I was a serious lady-killer."

At first I thought the mightyena was wheezing; I finally realized the wolf was laughing himself hoarse. "Some bro you are," I muttered. I didn't dwell on that long. Winry was chirping for me to look back at the mansion. Seemed an opportunity had arisen.

An unfamiliar troop of soldiers had gathered at the mansion gates. It looked like they had marched down from the mountains, dragging not just pokemon but carts of cannons and explosives. Now some heated discussion was taking place between the troop commander and the officer assigned to the mansion garrison. I couldn't hear what they said but actions spoke louder than words. The gates to Windstrate Hills rumbled open and the garrison joined rank with the mountain troop, marching southward. Zebedee, you sly old huckster! The soldiers were mobilizing to confront the Dewford uprising! Only a token two guards remained to guard the front gates.

It was Go Time. I called out Robin and Michael, sprinted to the back fence and had my pokemon boost me over into the spacious backyard. Ready or not, Leader, it's your turn to fall!

We were immediately spotted by a wrinkly old lady watering the flowers. Her watering can hit the ground and her voice hit altissimo. "Thieves! Help, help! Somebody save me!" A rescuer teleported in immediately: a meditite monkey hissing and crawling on all fours. Michael and Robin dashed at the bodyguard.

Something's not right, I realized. The shimmering aura surrounding the monkey - this wasn't any ordinary pokemon! Amon realized it as well. Swift with worry he galloped after the others and tackled Robin to the ground. Oblivious, Michael charged onward at the glowing monkey, pouncing straight through the psychic illusion and face-planting in the lawn.

The real meditite lunged at Michael from the bushes, foot first. A swift crack burst from Michael's neck as the electrike sailed through the air and into my chest. We both crashed in the dirt like wreckage.

"Cor!" Columns of flame exploded over the lawn, forcing the meditite and his old lady to retreat inside the house. Robin pushed herself free of her watchdog and raced over to my side, snatching Michael and cradling his body to her chest just as I'd held Megumi's corpse. Robin cawed, shook him and snapped fire in her fingers to rouse the dog's attention but Michael would not answer.

Robin raised her beak to the sky and wailed.

The rest went quickly. The gold-plated guards seized me, their pokemon dragged Amon and a shell-shocked Robin into the mansion. The combusken only resisted when they tried to take away Michael's corpse. She hugged the dog to her chest and refused to surrender him. We were brought before the master of the house, a super-sized cheeseburger of a man who redefined the term 'living large'. Huge leather boots down below, a huge cowboy hat perched up above, and a cigar the size of a submarine sandwich pursed between his lips. Even his bushy sideburns were obscenely oversized!

"Boy howdy, lookie what the delcatty dragged in," he drawled. "Boy, ah do declare y'all have given Grandmammy Windstrate a right an' wicked scare. Y'feelin' all right, Granny?"

The old lady was happy as could be, snuggling with her newfound meditite. "I'm naming him Jethro," she declared.

The rancher took a reflective puff of his cigar. "Well, seems y'all are the luckiest varmin t'shuffle through mah backyard. 'Cause if you'd hurt ol' Granny ... well, let's just say ah ain't all that forgivin' t'those who cross mah family."

I said nothing, just hung my head, stared at the floor and goaded the fat man to keep monologuing.

"Now, the fact that y'all decided t'barge onta mah property tells me y'all ain't got no idea who yer crosin', so ah reckon we gots some introductions t'git through." He tapped the star-shaped badge pinned to his leather vest. "Son, yer lookin' at the one 'n only Ray Windstrate. Folks 'round these parts call me the Underground King on account ah run the minin' operations on Mosdeep Island. Now, ahm many things - family man, huntsman - but first 'n foremost ahm a businessman. World's all about give 'n take. Fer example, ah give the Emperor all mah know-how about digin' 'n excavation; he gives me this beautiful home out here in the mountains. Ah give folks the honour of bein' part of mah family; they cook, clean 'n look after me. Ain't that right, ladies?"

A female chorus shouted affirmative from the kitchen. Satisfied, Windstrate strolled up close, lifting my chin with his cigar so our eyes would meet.

"So son, if you've got the brass t'barge inta mah house 'n take mah peace of mind, you better have somethin' mighty precious y'all 're willin' t'give. ... Well? Speak up, son! No time t'be shy!"

I lunged, ripping the badge off his vest. Victory! Leader Windstrate was powerless! My flyers would take out the guards and I'd be off with another prize! I waited for the rush of memories to overpower my vision but nothing happened. I just stood before the surprised guards, a stupid kid clutching a cold lump of metal. Windstrate had stepped back, alarmed by my sudden motion, but now he took stock and he laughed.

"Hoo-ee, izzat why y'all broke in? Robbin' mah gold?"

I shook and hammered at the badge as if a few good bangs could kick-start its magic. "Why isn't this working? You're the leader of Mauville! I just took your power! Work, you stupid thing!"

"Leader? Son, ah ain't no leader - at least, ah ain't got no dang-fangled magic powers like the rest o' those freaks. We ain't had no leader in Mauville fer ages."

My head was spinning. I didn't resist as the soldiers grabbed me again; I welcomed the cold grip that kept me from fainting in disbelief. He's not the leader ... Windstrate continued his lecture.

"Now son, lemmie explain yer situation: y'just tried t'rob the commander of a labour camp. Y'see, when the Emperor finds somebody he don't like, they're sent t'me and ah throw em in a pit t'dig fer elemental stones. An when y'all can't dig no more, it's playtime with the twins. Lizzie 'n Tate, those two'll show y'all a whole new meanin' of pain." Windstrate's gold star was back in his possession and he studied the badge carefully while he deliberated my fate. "Y'all broke in just fer this? Y'let yer mutt die fer a bit of shiny metal?" His oversized eyebrows burrowed in a frown.

"Word of advice, son - there's plenty of diamonds 'n gold in this world but there ain't nothin' more precious than a pokemon's life."

And with that I was shoved out the front gates without as much as a threat to stay away. I was beneath Windstrate's concern. Amon yapped at the guards, trying to salvage his pride with a show of force. Robin just clutched Michael's dead body and shut out the world. As for me, I stumbled all the way back into Mauville City, dazed and confused. He wasn't the leader... I stared at the gold star in my palm - Windstrate had tossed it to me before showing me the door. He probably had a drawer full of these worthless pins. Had I wasted all these days for a piece of junk? My electrike was dead - what was I supposed to do now if the Cult of Aqua showed up?

The more I thought about Michael, the more my nose began to twitch. The air in Mauville stank but this was something new from the usual garbage and ash. It was a whiff of something pungent and metallic, like ...

I noticed a dark red stain on my shirt, right about where Michael's snout would have hit. Ugh! Was it coming from my shirt? I ducked down the nearest alley and pulled out a spare from my backpack, tossing the dirty one. No help. It was like the smell had soaked into my skin. The smell of blood.

"This is sick!" I gasped, pinching my nose and hyperventilating through my mouth. "Robin, get rid of that thing, it's rotting!"

The hen didn't respond. She just kept clutching the lost mutt as though, if she only showed enough affection, Michael would spring back to life. Amon saw that it was up to him to force the issue; uttering a disgusted snort he took Michael's paw in his mouth and tugged. Robin sprang to life and belted out an ugly caw on par with Amon's most terrible roars. The mightyena took a step back, confused and frightened by this new aggression from the fire chick. Then he barred his fangs and growled to remind her who was in charge!

Robin's claws ripped through the wolf's face. Amon yipped and whinnied like a frightened puppy, and when Robin raised her hand for another round he turned tail and scampered into the city, leaving a trail of paw-prints and blood in his wake.

My firebird shot me an ugly, 'don't follow me' look and stormed off in the opposite direction, maybe looking for some fit place to bury Michael. I just slumped down against a random shop and did my best to cover my nose. It's still here, I realized. Even with the corpse gone that stench of blood still surrounded me. I groaned and banged my head against the wall, trying to short out my sense of smell. Was this blood another punishment for getting a pokemon killed, just like Trisha's clawing pain? It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my fault!

"Hey, mister, are you okay?" The voice belonged to a young girl. "How come you're crying?"

"I'm not crying," I hissed back. My eyes are just watering from the stench! "Whoever you are, go away!"

"No!" the voice cried back. "I can't leave you when you're all sad! Does this make it better?" The sweet scent of perfume wafted through my nostrils. Oh merciful release! The fragrance of flowering trees and ripe, juicy fruits wrapped around me like a comforting embrace. I turned to hug the girl and bury myself in her aroma but the street was deserted.

"I'm down here, mister!" The bipedal weed with chocolaty eyes and a ponytail of green leaves barely stood a foot off the ground. I did a double-take.

"You're an oddish?"

"Yup, yup, yup!" Her leafy hair bobbed affirmative. I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Oddish can't talk." Base level pokemon didn't have the brain capacity for human language. The weed's eyes went wide with alarm.

"W-we can't?" Her eyes darted around as though checking for cops. "I'm so sorry! Please don't tell on me! I won't say another word. I mean, I won't say any words at all, not just 'another word'." She gasped. "Oh no, I keep saying words! Okay, this one is definitely the last one! I mean, not the words 'this one', but all the words I'm saying now." The oddish moaned. "Oh dear, I'm not very good at not talking, am I?"

Wow, she was naive. "Hey, I don't care. Natter all you want, just keep doing that smell thing." I knelt over the oddish like she was a campfire and wafted her aroma into my face. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff!"

The oddish giggled. "You're weird, mister. Oh - I'm sorry, I never introduced myself! My name is Elucia De l'Âme Cassé, but my friends call me Elsie!"

"Friends?" I was already scrambling through my sack for a pokeball; I did not need to hear about a current trainer. Elsie, however, looked away and shuffled her feet awkwardly.

"Um... that's the thing. I kinda don't really have a lot of friends. None, actually." An epiphany struck her bubbly brain. "Oh, hey - maybe we could be friends!"

"Sure, smells good to me."

Elsie giggled again. "You're funny, master. Oh, is it okay if I call you master? That's what pokemon call their human buddies, right?"

Aromatic and subservient - I could get used to this. Kind of a shame that she had to chatter so much but I tagged her with a pokeball and then released Elsie and her lifesaving aroma. "Oh, this is so exciting!" the weed squealed. "I've always wanted a human buddy! Now I have someone I can ask about human stuff, like 'why don't you guys have leaves', and 'how come you're so tall'? Oh, we should get something to eat! You're supposed to eat sweet things to celebrate, right, and I wanna celebrate my new master!" Before I could stop her, Elsie danced up the front stoop of a shop and banged her head against the door to knock. "Hello? Anybody home? Can you tell us where to find a restaurant?"

This door, I should mention, opened outward. When the owner threw open his entrance Elsie went flying across the street and into the opposite wall with a thwack, sliding down into a pile of trash. "Elsie?" I cried. I think she was okay, though. She staggered out with eyes like a drunken spinda and she lisped something about "Thplinters..." but she was alive.

"You the help I was promised?" An old man in welding goggles posed in the doorway, hands on hips and eyebrows arched angrily. His beard was white and bushy as a delibird's mane and his hands were black and greasy with machine oil. He pulled his goggles up to his forehead and flipped out a golden pocketwatch.

"Late!" he declared. "You're late! If I had a magikarp for every minute you were late do you know how many I'd have?" Elsie and I shook our heads. "I'd have five! And what am I supposed to do with five magikarp, huh? Do I look like I own an aquarium? Don't answer that! You kids today - you all think the world runs on your time and your rules. And who told you to come to the front door?"

This was spiralling out of control. "Whoa, I think you've got the wrong guy."

"Of course I do! I asked for a hard working assistant and I get you, ya lazy little slakoth." He jabbed a finger at my pokenav. "What frequency are you on? I've only been calling you for the last hour! And you - why didn't you tell me the kid was here?"

For the first time I realized we had company: a scraggly old manetric had been napping next to the shop's front steps. The mutt glared back at its owner, irritated over the rude awakening, and repositioned so its patchy blue rear mooned the front door. The bearded man snorted back.

"Lazy bones! Bah, never mind. You're here anyway. You ready to work, kid?" I couldn't see what lurked within the shop depths, but whiff I got through the front door smelled foul - a cocktail of rust, oil and ozone strong enough to knock the blood out of my scent receptors. The smell didn't faze Elsie at all, though. All she saw was a crabby senior in need of a girl scout.

"Ooh, we can help, mister!" she chirped. "I'm good at helping! C'mon, master, let's help!" The weed and her precious aroma bounded into the dark shop without a second thought. The old man seemed impressed.

"I like the spark in your oddish, kid. You got a name? Bah, doesn't really matter. Not like there's any other kids here, right? Kid is fine. As for you, no more of this 'mister' garbage. I got a name, so you use it!"

How did my pokemon keep dragging me into these charity cases? Well, whatever. This geezer seemed to recognize my pokenav; I wonder if he knew Norman? "Fine, all right, let's get this over with, mister uh -?"

The man held open his door and motioned for me to enter the black maw. "Wattson."

-----------------------------------------------------

Wattson, it turned out, was the proprietor of Mauville's local fix-it shop. When your wagon busted its wheel or your plowshare went dull as a brick you took your tools to Wattson and he'd patch them up good as new. Provided you could sell him on the project. Wattson only took on jobs that sparked his interest.

"I'm an old man and I won't stand being bored," he told the farmer waiting in his shop. "Give me a challenge and I'm all over it, but I won't waste my time on cookie-cutter projects!"

I glanced around the shop, littered with half-assembled wagons and bicycles; "boring" fixer-uppers Wattson had discarded like old toys in a kid's playpen. "I just need a new scythe for harvest," the farmer pleaded.

"And I need stimulation!" Wattson snapped. "If I had a trubbish for every time you people came and bored me I'd be running a garbage dump! Get out and don't come back till you've got a real problem!"

I'd only been paying minimal attention to the conversation. My interest had been hijacked by Wattson's ceiling. The light inside his shop didn't come courtesy of windows or candles or torches, but by rows of glowing lightbulbs. "How'd you make those?" I asked once the farmer slammed the door.

"With filament and glass," Wattson huffed. "I'll spare you the details, kid; you'd just get a headache." Must have been an electrical engineer, I decided. Hadn't Birch said you kept your skills and working knowledge when you crossed over to this world? Wattson must have been some specialist - not only had he crafted electrical lighting for his home, he'd even developed a motion-tracking system that adjusted the light as he walked across the shop. The bulbs burned brighter wherever Wattson stood underneath them.

"Time to get you working, kid." The old coot herded me to a work bench covered with piles of electronics. "Pokenav assembly station," he announced. "Speakers, circuit boards, casings. Put 'em together pronto. Gotta get this order to Lavaridge ASAP."

"I thought you didn't take 'cookie-cutter' cases."

"I don't, but my assistants do. Get a move on, kid. They promised me a box of lava cookies and a new sweater if they're shipped out tomorrow."

So Wattson was the genius "mechanic from Mauville" who had designed Petalburg's pokenavs. I put together a sample communicator while Wattson observed but the device wouldn't even work! "Where's the battery?" I grumbled while spinning the dials. "It's broken!"

Wattson smirked, took the communicator and gently twisted its knobs until the radio crackled to life. "Gotta have the magic touch," he winked, twirling his pocket watch for show. "Well, now you know how it's done. If you finish early, here's a list of things to do."

I scanned the parchment checklist. Re-align broken bike wheel (new sweater); 4x horseshoes for adult ponyta (tepig roast). Unbelievable, I wasn't an assistant, I was scab labour! "Hey, Wattson - !" but the old fart had already retreated to a back room.

"Don't bother me till you're done!" The instant he slammed the door all the lights dropped to a faint glow. Great, just great.

"Let's get to work, Master!" Elsie chirped. "We can't leave until we finish all our chores!"

I could have walked out of the shop that instant - I didn't owe Wattson anything and I think he was expecting me to work for free! - but I wanted to learn more about how this cranky old coot could generate electricity in this backwater realm. Plus, there was something cool about Wattson and his attitude. He worked on his own terms, never letting anyone boss him around. I liked that.

As for the manual labour, I had my secret weapon. Elsie's lack of arms left her pretty useless but once I popped Winry out of her capsule the machine-loving taillow needed only glance at the electronics and she instinctively knew how to snap together the puzzle pieces. Piece of cake!

"Miss Winry, you're really good with gadgets," Elsie chimed. "But Master, isn't it cheating if she does all your work for you? Won't Mister Wattson get angry?"

"I don't think he cares how it gets done," I said. And by that logic, genius 'Mister Wattson' would be the biggest cheater of us all. Actually, I was growing skeptical about the 'genius' part as I scanned the inventions lining the shop walls. I mean, rubber boots nailed onto small stepladders? Reading glasses with microscopes strapped to the lenses? I got the feeling grandpa Wattson was like that story about a thousand aipoms with a thousand typewriters: give them enough time and they'll eventually bang out something intelligible.

Brilliant flashes of light flickered through the door to Wattson's back room. Just what was that old codger up to anyway? The pokenavs were finished so the three of us crept towards the door to sneak a peek. Thank the boundless wisdom of Arceus I had the sense not to barge in because a lightning bolt blasted the door off its hinges. One step inside and I would've been roasted!

Wattson turned from a metal flagpole crackling with static. "Whoa, how about knocking, kid? Live experiment in progress!"

He'd nearly turned me into Virgil the Pile of Ash and that was the best apology had to offer? "What the heck is that thing?" I blurted.

"Tesla coil," Wattson answered, casual as though we were chatting over tea. "The pole stores an electric charge and discharges it from the sphere on top."

"You built a lightning gun," I deadpanned. "Why would you build a lightning gun?"

Wattson scrunched his face into a seriously puzzled look. "I dunno. Not my job to worry about how people use tools. I just figure out how to build them. If I had a braviary for every time I stopped and worried about what I was designing, those buzzards'd still be endangered. Ha!" He slapped the pole and a second accidental discharge shot between my legs. I fell on my backside hugging Elsie for dear life, snorting up soothing nose-fulls of pollen to calm my racing heart. Wattson frowned, shut off his machine and approached me sternly. "Kid, are you a jar-skull?"

"A what?"

"You know - oh, what do you kids call it these days - a jar-skull? A dish-brain?"

"A pot-head?" Elsie offered.

Wattson snapped his fingers. "That's the one! Level with me, kid, cause I've seen you sucking on that weed ever since you came in. You're working with precision electronics so if you're chasing the dragonite you do it on your own time."

"I'm not a druggie," I bristled. "I just -"

"Master smells me to make himself feel better!" Elsie explained.

"Because I can't get this smell out of my brain!" I blurted. I took a deep breath and tried to explain calmly. "Look, my electrike was killed today and since then I smell like I'm covered in blood! And it's not just Michael - there was a wingull, Trisha; she died too and now I get these clawing pains all over my body!" Yeah, I was seriously not calm now. "I can't explain it - it's like there's some invisible monster following me round, tormenting me every time I screw up and get someone killed! It's like -"

"- Guilt," Wattson summarized. I nodded in agreement. "Yeah ... I dunno, maybe?" Winry and Elsie laid their heads against me in sympathy. Wattson checked his watch and smiled. "You're lucky you came here, kid, cause I know just the solution to your problem." I leaned in close to hear the words of salvation.

"Get over it!" Wattson screamed. "Yeesh, 'I can smell my dead dog!' Kid, I've met a lot of bleeding hearts but you take the cake! You're gonna get nowhere fast if you keep getting hung up on others."

"Mister Wattson!" Elsie gasped.

"Look, kid, do you remember what you were doing before you came to this land? Don't answer that - nobody remembers, not even me. But look at this." Wattson lifted his sweater and shirt to his chin. Underneath, a huge surgical scar scraped through his breastbone, and a dark, red bruise stained his left pec. "You know what this is, kid? I'll tell ya: internal bleeding. I had a heart attack. I mean, I can't remember it but look at the size of that smear - my arteries must have burst clean off! I don't know how the docs sewed me back up but they saved me!"

They didn't, I thought.

"Point is I was at death's door. I could've been a goner but I survived. This scar? It's a message: life is precious. Now, I don't know who knocked me out and shipped me off to this Nowhere-Land but they gave me a second chance. I can't waste my time sobbing over what other people want, or whining about how I might hurt people! I'm here to seize life by the throat and, by Arceus, I'm gonna throttle the juices out of it!

"You wanna know how you stop the hurting, kid? You live for your dreams! Me, I've got a bucket list of things I wanna invent. My brain's jumbled full of these blueprints and sketches and I've got to get them out and into the real world. It's what I live for!"

He started pulling gadgets off the shelves to show me. "Haven't you ever wanted to mow the lawn while riding your bicycle?" Well he'd made bicycle with circular saw wheels. "I call it the bi-mower! Or how about when you're sitting down but you want to grab a book off the shelf?" A fishing rod with a metal claw snapped in my face. "The extendo-grabo! Isn't this neat? What we need is to find you a project; keep your mind so busy there's no room for pain."

A world without pain. That would make my eternity in limbo pretty appealing. Wattson had transformed the muck of Mauville into his own private paradise. Could I do the same? "If you had a second one of those poles, and you shot lightning from one to the other -"

Wattson's eyes sparkled. "An electric fence! Hey, you're getting the hang of it! We can start it right now! Gonna need more copper wiring, though. Grab some from the back storage room, would ya?"

I gladly raced off for supplies. Keep busy, I thought. Shut everything else out. No pain, no stench, no risking my safety on some Oracle's stupid fetch-quest. Just stay here and build something fun. Wattson needed wiring from the storage room. I found a number of back doors; which was the right one? I opened one at random and found a staircase sinking into darkness. "I don't think this is the right door," Elsie shivered, but my nosey curiosity urged me down. Nuts to her - I wanna know what's down here!

I had to move carefully - there were no railings to grip, and shortly there were no walls on either side. The stairwell opened into an underground cavern. I followed the path down into the darkness until I heard the current of an underground river, and along the riverbank I found a towering city of metal.

Skyscrapers, streetlamps and neon-light palm trees - at my approach everything blazed to life. This wasn't any rustic farming town; this was a glamorous, modern metropolis! The streets were deserted but idle magnetons hovered in the air, asleep or on screen saver, I guess.

"I see you found New Mauville." I spun and found Wattson standing behind me! The old man brushed past me and gave a wistful look at the city. "She's something, ain't she? I drew up the blueprints and my magnetons did all the heavy lifting. Electric lighting, indoor plumbing, climate controlled apartments. Everything's built on hydraulic plates too. I was gonna dynamite the old town and raise this baby up to the surface! It was gonna be the ultimate city!"

Wattson took me on a tour of his masterpiece, pointing out the movie theatre, the toy store and the waterslide park. Whatever we approached lit up with a cheery glow - more hidden motion-sensors, I assumed. New Mauville was incredible, a paradise of modern technology hidden under the muck of purgatory - but I quickly understood why Wattson spoke of it in the past tense. With the added lighting I could see all the half-completed buildings at the outskirts. "What happened to it?" I asked.

"Nothing much. I got bored."

"You got bored?"

Wattson shrugged. "Building a city's hard work, kid. If I kept focusing on New Mauville I'd have no time for my other inventions. No, I've given up on my plans to convert the city, I have. I'd rather put my time into making lots of gadgets in my shop."

I could understand his reasoning but Elsie was horrified. "What about all the people?" Wattson stared at her, confused. "Weren't you building new homes for everyone up above?"

The mechanic had to digest her logic slowly. "The people …? Wait, you thought …? Ha! Why would I let those Mauville rubes into my perfect city? They'd just wreck everything!"

"It's a puzzle," I added. "You build it to challenge yourself. Besides, all the people I saw up above looked plenty happy with their mud pit city. Why waste energy on them if they're already satisfied?" My answer pleased Wattson and he gave me a congratulatory pat on the back. Still, I hesitated, building an entire city and just letting it rust in a cave …

Elsie's counterattack was interrupted by an electric buzzer. Wattson jogged over to the riverbank, and the electric lighting left with him. "Looks like we have guests. Ahoy there, boys!" Wattson was shouting at the two-man crew of a rowboat; I guess the underground river eventually flowed out the cave network and into the ocean. The two rowers lashed their boat to a metal dock and hopped onto land to greet Wattson. I gulped and scooped up Elsie so her leaves would mask my face. Both boaters were grizzly pirate-hobos from the Cult of Aqua.

"Wattson, sorry we're late! Took us a while getting through the underground." The cultists did their best to keep up phony smiles but Wattson was genuinely pleased to see the pair.

"Boys, you tell old Archie he's outdone himself this time! This latest assistant he sent, this kid is something else! I'd put you two to work too but he's wrapped up the pokenavs already, ha!"

The pirates glanced at each other, confused, but willing to roll with the punches. "So what you're saying is that you've finished all your side projects. So that means you can aid us with the submersible's power supply?"

Wattson's jolly grin deflated. "Ugh, that again? You people and your tunnel-vision; don't you ever want to try something new?"

"We're grateful for all you've done but we cannot complete our sacred journey without -"

"- An adequate power source for the electrical engine; I know, I know - I designed the blasted ship, didn't I?"

The smaller pirate had heard enough and flicked out his knife. "Old man, you will complete the Kaien or else -" a bolt of lightning blasted the pirate-hobo into the river. When he surfaced, gasping for air, Wattson fired a second jolt of electricity from his fingers, turning the entire river into a sizzling short-circuit.

"Or else what?" Wattson snarled, twirling his pocket watch. "You're gonna send your fishies after me? Need I remind you people why I work with you instead of for you?" Blue static still crackled over the mechanic's free hand and the big pirate raised his hands in a surrender pose. "Tell Archie I'm bored to death with submarines and engines. If he wants a favour, it'd better be for something fresh, got that?"

"We'll be back," the pirate growled, "but if you insist we leave then your assistant goes as well. You there, recruit, get over -" The pirate jumped and grabbed at his bandana once he recognized my face. "You again! Wretched spy - your master's sent you to steal away Wattson for Magma, hasn't he? Well just wait until Father Archibald hears of your poisonous works; this time there'll be no mercy for you filthy heathens!"

Who the heck are these Magma guys? That's what I wanted to yell at the hobo but he'd already hopped into his boat, fished his electrocuted cohort out of the water and paddled up the river with all his strength, shouting "Death to the terraphiles!" and other cultish gibberish. Well forget him - I had more pressing concerns.

Wattson.

"That lightning ..."

The old man chuckled. "Oh, that? Just a little trick I picked up from the Emperor. Back in the day I was head engineer for the Imperial Legions. The Emperor would come to me with his problems and I'd throw together a solution. Wattson, I need a machine to smash these city walls. Wattson, I need a weapon that can blast through solid rock. Ah, good times..."

"You worked with the Emperor?"

"Sure! That man stretched my brain to its limit, trying to come up with all the weapons he wanted. The old fart liked me so much he even asked me to serve as Leader of the Mauville region!" Wattson laughed. "Can you imagine - me, a Leader?"

Oh, I could. And I knew what I'd soon have to do. "So what happened?" I asked, stepping away and pretending to admire New Mauville.

"I said yes, of course!" Wattson waggled his electrified fingers at me. "It got me these magic babies, didn't it? I mean, I don't give a bidoof's backside about the governing part but look at me now!" Wattson charged a sphere of electricity in his palm and blasted it at the nearest magneton. The inert pokemon immediately powered into overdrive, spinning its appendages in a frenzy while hunting for work. "I'm a living power plant," Wattson declared. "Communicators, lightbulbs, pokemon - I can juice them all up!"

You can juice up my memories too. While Wattson belly-laughed and watched his super-charged Magneton fly around I pantomimed battle plans to Winry. Circle wide around the cave; then come at him from behind. It fell to me and Elsie to keep up a distraction.

"But now you're helping the Cult of Aqua?"

"Sure, they came at me with some pretty neat ideas. Wanted a ship that could travel underwater; hoo-boy, I busted my brain trying to figure out how to deal with the pressure gradients but I whipped up some designs real quick! See, kid, if you wanna live your dreams you can't get caught up taking sides. I'll work with whoever inspires me. The Emperor, the Aquas; even you, kid. That electric fence idea … you've got some imagination."

I chuckled loudly, hoping to cover up any sound of flapping wings. "Well, let's just say you're not the only one who remembers lightbulbs and electric circuits."

Wattson nodded, then spun and bombarded the sky with lightning. Winry crash-landed at my feet - charred and crackling with blue static but breathing.

"Of course, the flipside is I don't get hung up on making friends. Who are you, kid? You're not with the Cult, but you're not flying Magma's colours either. Did the Emperor send you to straighten me out?"

I picked up Elsie and Winry and started backpedalling. "I'm here for myself."

"Well that makes two of us. Shame we couldn't work together but Coulomb said it best: like charges repel." Wattson's supercharged magneton started spinning towards me, blindingly fast. Elsie hid her face in my chest. "I'm honestly curious, kid - what was your plan? Tickle me to death with that oddish? Or have you got another bird you wanna send into the power lines?"

It turned out I did. The cavern trembled and rocks crumbled from the cave ceiling as a drill of fire burst into the underground and slammed down between me and the magneton. Robin shook off her flame cloak, cocked a fist and smashed her claws into the magneton's central eye. The robot squealed and short-circuited, and while Wattson gaped at his downed worker I picked up a hunk of rock and raised it over my head...

-----------------------------------------------------

A punch to my face sends my vision spinning. I recognize the high school setting but not my attackers, two dumb jocks who have cornered me and are taking turns booting my curled up body. Once they've had their fill they spit on me and walk off. My past self decides it's smart to be mouthy. "What'd I ever do to you?"

The taller one puts his boot on my head, grinding me down into the linoleum. His explanation is typical bullying trash. "What'd you do? You exist, that's what."

They saunter off, while the sound of clicking high-heels rushes towards me. "Ohmygosh, are you okay? Here, let me help you up!"

My vision is righted and now I'm facing an impossible beauty. Long, raven hair, and lips open with concern. "I can't believe someone would do something like that at this school. Can you walk? Here, let's get you to the nurse's office. I'm Adelina, by the way. What's your name?"

"Virgil…" Adelina fills my vision; I can't take my eyes away from her. I do catch one other detail - a stocky boy spying on our first meeting from behind a corner. He scampers off, horrified of being caught.

Roderigo...

-----------------------------------------------------

With a blink I returned to the darkness of New Mauville. I was still standing. My latest blackout didn't send me tumbling over, and cold metal rested in my hands. In the right was Wattson's cannibalized pocket watch; in the left was the ripped-out core of the machine - a golden broche in the shape of an egg yolk, shielded and shut off from the world by an impenetrable outer shell. The second of the Emperor's enchanted badges. I clenched my fist around it, wondering if I could coax out another memory. Adelina...

"NO!" Wattson screamed and struggled but Robin had the old fart pinned down good. "Give it back you little brat! I need it! I need it to finish my projects!" The old man's whining disgusted me. I motioned for my bird to step aside so I could belt Wattson in his fat, ugly stomach.

"Newsflash, grandpa: I don't care." It felt good to see him gasping for air. That old thing had caused me a lot of trouble by hiding in plain sight. I was finished here. "Robin, Winry, we're leaving! Elsie, you coming or not?" The oddish had run to the old man's side and looked torn at the prospect of leaving him hurt and alone.

"B-but master ..."

"Elsie, your master asked you a question! Are you in or out?"

The weedling hesitated, then doused Wattson's bleeding face with spores - "Feel better when you wake up..." - before running after me.

We took the stairs back to the empty machine shop and let Wattson's masterpiece slip into darkness. The lights of New Mauville would never shine again.

-----------------------------------------------------

It was invigorating to climb the slopes of Mount Chimney and to gaze down upon the continent. Two badges hung around my neck, and once I surmounted this volcanic beast I'd snatch another from Lavaridge. My sides still ached and the air still stank of blood but this was my moment of triumph. So of course Elsie had to spoil the moment with her chirping.

"He was an old man. You didn't have to kick him, Master."

"He was a puppet of the Emperor. He deserved to be humbled."

"He's still a person!"

"He was my enemy!" I spun around to give the weed a piece of my mind. "Let me explain how this works: everybody in this world is out to get me! Everybody looks at me and decides I'm some sort of freak that has to be chased away and beaten down! Heck, I couldn't get any respect even when I was alive, and that was back when I didn't have this face! It's kick or be kicked, Elsie! That's how the world works!"

"No it isn't! Mr. Windstrate could have kicked you but he let you go!"

Behind us, the setting sun heated the sky into an orange glow. I was scrambling to come up with a retort when a whimper broke our argument. A lowly mightyena with scars through its muzzle crept around the bend. "Amon, about time you caught up! Back me up here - we can't show any mercy, right?"

I barely finished that sentence. Amon was changed. His tail hid between his legs and his head hung limp and lowly off his shoulders. The once proud wolf couldn't look us in the eye. He inched his way towards Robin and dropped something at her feet. Berries, I realized; the same type Michael had foraged for his crush.

Robin had changed too. She still wore her spectacles but now silvery dog tags hung around her neck. Eyes once full of wonder now glared at the world, hard and bitter. The torchic who had wailed over the fear of being alone was gone. This hen didn't spare a glance at the mightyena or his apology offering. She huffed out a snort and Amon flinched as though physically struck. That was the killing blow. The mightyena shuffled to my side and nudged my belt with his wounded snout.

No, not my belt, but the attached pokeballs. "Amon ..." The dog just whimpered. Do it, his eyes pleaded. I've nothing left.

A moment later I had a newly filled capsule in my hand and a lump in my throat. Robin stared out at the sun, clutching her necklace; Winry coughed and sputtered, still stinging from Wattson's electric attack. I thought of Dolce, who'd lost an eye for me; Trisha, who'd lost her body for me; Megumi, who'd lost her life. Every time I fight, these pokemon carry the scars. I could kick at the world all I wanted but it wasn't my body they'd strike back at. Slowly and reluctantly I turned to face my companions.

"I'm sorry," I muttered to Robin. "I knew something was wrong at the mansion and I could have stopped Michael but I didn't. It's my fault and I'm sorry." If she heard me, the combusken made no response. "Winry, I never thanked you for saving me way back in Petalburg Woods, so thanks. Way to take one for the team back there." The taillow just winked at me. All part of the job, hon.

Finally, I looked to Elsie. "You're weird, and I don't mean the talking part. You're way too nice, way too optimistic about people, and it drives me nuts how you're right about some things. I mean … I guess I shouldn't have done that to Wattson. … Sorry."

The oddish smiled and nuzzled against my ankle. "I'm glad to hear it. You do bad things, master but you're not a bad person."

Then why am I in purgatory? That thought had to be set aside as a voice crackled over my pokenav. "Virgil? This is Norman! Come in, Virgil!"

I brought the communicator to my lips. "Where've you been, Norman? Been trying to reach you for days! Hey, I got another -"

"Don't talk! We have a situation, Virgil."

I was all ears.

"I should have called you sooner and I'm sorry, but there's been trouble back in Petalburg. Three days ago we had a visitor drop into Littleroot. A flying dinosaur landed in the village and its rider started interrogating the farmers. Demanded to know everything about the local boy who had left to stir up trouble on Dewford Island."

Three days ago ... that was when I hit shore in Slateport. "This rider, did he have a huge scar across his neck?"

"It wasn't a 'he', Virgil. No, this was someone worse. Winona."

"Winona?"

"She's the leader of Fortree territory and the Emperor's former intelligence officer. Makes it her business to know everybody's secrets. Word's gotten out about your crusade."

Zebedee you worthless barnacle! Winona must have read the news reporter's story! "What did she do, Norman?"

"Well, at first no one was keen on talking with an outsider. We Petalburgers stick together, and everyone kept their mouths clammed tighter than a shellder in an ice bath. So Winona ordered her bird pokemon to start knocking over houses. Virgil ... they told her you'd lived with Linda."

My blood went cold. "Norman, is she -"

"She's safe," he emphasized. "Linda's safe. Birch is looking after her." Then he hesitated. "Virgil ... when we got to her, Linda was in bad shape. Kept mumbling about pain all over her body and now she's burning up with a fever. She can barely walk; it's like she had the life sucked out of her."

That didn't make any sense. "People don't get sick here! If you hurt, you heal up, right? Norman?" My asking was only a formality - we both knew the truth. "It was Winona! She did something to Linda, didn't she?"

"Virgil, this whole thing's got me baffled as a beartic in the summer sun. But you've seen what these leaders can do. Poison, a magic curse - it's not impossible. Winona's figured out what you're after and she's not gonna sit around and wait for you to hit Fortree. She's coming for you, Virgil."

"Bring it," I spat. "If she wants to pick a fight, I'm ready!" Saying I was mad would've been an understatement - I was downright furious. Linda was the kindest, most selfless person I knew; Winona had no business dragging her into this muck. But once I take her badge the spell ought to break, right? "I'll call you back, Norman. I've got reinforcements coming in."

I cupped a hand over my eyes and waved at the horizon. Elsie bounced to my side. "What do you see, Master?"

"There's a pokemon flying towards us. Looks like a tropius..." More importantly, it looked like my easy ticket over Mount Chimney. I waved my arms at the flying dinosaur. "Hey, over here!"

"M-master, are you sure we should call to it?" Winry and Robin looked apprehensive as well.

"Of course I'm sure! Look, you're new to this team but wild pokemon have been popping up to help me ever since I left Petalburg. We need a ride out to Fortree and that fossil is coming straight at us."

"M-master ... there's someone riding on its back..."

I looked again. Now the beast was close enough that I could see its saddle and harness, and the outline of a woman on the dinosaur's back, a woman with purple tresses that whipped through the wind like wings. I also saw the leafy green of the tropius glow with a brilliant, hot light. "Oh shiii-"

The solarbeam hit low, chewing up the rock beneath our ledge but it wasn't a missed shot. The mountain side shook and quaked and crumbled into pieces. Robin and Winry tumbled from the ledge. Elsie shrieked "Master!" and I zapped her into her pokeball as the ground beneath our feet disappeared. Time seemed to slow into nothing, and for a sickening eternity I was weightless, suspended between heaven and earth, listening to a horrified voice scream over the mountain. The voice, I realized, was my own.

Then I plunged into the abyss.

Side Chapter III - A Spark of Sloth

My wife, Clara, was a visionary. She took the old and reshaped it into something new and beautiful. That's how she made her living when I met her: "recycled art", she called it. She'd accept donations of old clothes and stitch them into designer dresses; people would send old junk to her shop and she'd craft them into art sculptures for sale.

We met because mechanical repairs were never her specialty. It was her car; I'd always notice the old clunker in the back lane - how could anyone miss the dented bumper held on by duct tape? - and it bothered me to see such a straightforward repair go unchecked. Money must have been tight, but still... When I finally introduced myself and approached her about it, Clara shrugged. "I know it's not right, but I can keep going. You understand, I'm sure?"

I didn't. Building and maintaining machines has always been second nature to me. At four I made my first toy car out of a cereal box and jar lids, and from there on I could always see the potential in my world. A tree was just an unshaped table; steel an unrealized machine, and copper wiring was a snake waiting to thread itself through a house and bring light. The next morning I returned to Clara's shop with my welder and tools. "Free of charge," I assured her. I wanted to know more about this woman who could breathe new life into the old. I wanted to make sure she'd never have to "keep going" when things weren't right.

Forty-five years later I think I finally understand what you meant, Clara. It isn't right when a man wakes in the morning, turns to kiss his wife and remembers he's alone in his bed. It isn't right when all that's left of your lover's smile is framed photograph on the nightstand. It isn't right being so alone but you man up, you plug up that hole, and you keep going.

The hoots of twelve coo-coo clocks greet me every morning. My bedroom shelves are lined with delicate music boxes, wind-up figurines and toy robots with light-up eyes and action sounds. I've decided I like clockwork mechanics. Lots of little pieces. Lots to keep you busy when the going gets slow.

These days, all my goings are slow. I'm slow to rise, slow to get dressed; my fingers fumble over the buttons on my shirt. The surgical scar dug into my chest can't hide fast enough. Those doctors act like such big-shots but I'd never leave such an obvious seal on my repair work. I don't care much for mirrors anymore. I can't stand to see that scar, that show of weakness, or the stranger with gray hair and withered skin who looks back on me.

That man isn't Wattson Voltaire. That man couldn't assemble the precision electronics on a circuit board, his hands couldn't carve, hammer and raise up a house for his wife. He can't even maintain himself.

When I shuffle into the kitchen Abigail is bowed in prayer - scrunched over her poketch and texting orders to the underlings at her office. "Breakfast's getting cold," she says, forgoing 'good morning', or even 'how are you feeling, dad?' I think back over my years of parenting; try to remember what I might have done to make her turn out so cold, so distant. I've built automobiles and computers that have lasted for years. Surely I could raise a decent human being.

Breakfast is a bowl of sludgy oatmeal served in a styrofoam bowl, one of those 'instant meal' concoctions Abigail swears by. I try a spoonful and, sure enough, the slop clings to my throat like sawdust. This isn't what you need to start the day. Breakfast means protein - eggs and bacon with a healthy squirt of hot sauce to jumpstart your taste buds; then coffee, black and steaming, to slurp it all down and fire up your body for the day. My daughter may be a grown woman, but she's not too old for a lesson on a proper meal. I march to the fridge to gather my ingredients and do a double take. The fridge - my fridge - has been ransacked; emptied out and filled with nothing but flavorless yogurt and protein shakes.

"You're on a diet, dad. Doctor Markenson told us you've got to watch your cholesterol." Abigail doesn't even look up from her wristwatch, and her indifference makes me bristle. I don't care if she's four or forty; you never speak to your father so flippantly!

"I don't need you to buy my groceries." I slam the door, grateful to shut out the refrigerated cold. I've dressed in long pants and a sweater but my teeth still chatter. Abigail's bought a quilt that I'm supposed to wrap around my shoulders but it's heavy and cumbersome; might as well stuff me into a burlap sack. No, what I need is a jacket. A jacket with interior pockets that you can slide a hot water pack into. I've already figured out the design in my mind's eye; all that's left is to craft my invention.

"Dad, what're you cutting up those washcloths for?"

"It's cold. I'm making a jacket."

Abigail yanks the scissors from my hand and sits me back at the table. "Honestly, dad, you don't have to make things so complicated. I'll turn up the heat."

You'll crank up my heating bill, you mean. I've saved away, but I'm not made of money. Not after the surgery. I'm too tired to argue. If I had a joltik for every time we fought, I'd have enough energy to power an entire city. Abigail goes back to her texting while I stir up my oatmeal, trying to make it more appealing. How long has it been since we actually talked to one another?

"How are things at the office?"

What do you care? She doesn't say it, but I can read the irritation in her face. "Fine. We're evaluating a new formula for battle potions. Animal testing starts tomorrow."

"Uh huh? And what about that boy you're seeing? Rory or something?"

"I'm not seeing anyone, dad."

"Why not? A pretty girl like you ought to have -"

"Dad, we've had this conversation before. I'm happy with my life and I don't need to share it with anyone."

"Well who's going to look after you? You never let me teach you how to cook or how to change a tire or how to use a hammer! What're you going to do when things start falling apart around your place?"

"When I'm hungry I order take-out. I call the tow-truck when my car breaks down and I hire repairmen to fix my appliances. People don't need to worry about building or fixing things, dad. I make enough money that I can let other people handle that for me."

Where's your pride? Where's that spark to shape your world? I glance at the trees in my backyard. "The sitrus berries look plenty ripe. I'd better get a ladder and start picking them."

"Outside?" Abigail shoots up and blocks my path. "Dad, it's the middle of summer; you shouldn't be out in this heat."

"I can do whatever I damn please!"

"Dad, you had a double bypass surgery; the doctors warned you about exerting yourself and now you want to go outside, climb up ladders and lift heavy pails? You need to rest and take things easy!"

"Rest up for what? You won't let me work in my shop; you won't let me cook my own meals! I'm like one of your damn pokemon - trapped inside a little cage and only let out to do whatever you say!"

"Dad, that's not - "

"I built this house and everything in it! I don't need you telling me how to live my life! Your mother and I, we made everything ourselves and we didn't rely on anyone!"

"And is it any wonder you're in such bad shape? Look at yourself - your clothes are nothing but patches, the roof is falling apart, and if your license wasn't already revoked you'd still be driving that god-awful wreck you call a car. By Arceus, do you realize how badly you embarrassed me every time you showed up at school in that junk pile? Or how the girls made fun of me for wearing nothing but home-spun hand-me-downs? I guess you never did; you were always too busy building some new 'invention' that blasted workshop!"

"You... you ungrateful little girl! After everything your mother and I did for you -"

"You know dad, you're right. I should be thanking you for inspiring me. Do you know why I always worked so hard? At school, at my part-time jobs, at university? I worked so I could get a real job and I wouldn't have to grow up a worthless miser like you and mom!"

Ticking clocks and humming appliances fill the silence. I'm furious but I can't scream anymore. I've got no breath in my lungs; my heart is aching like a swollen fruit, ready to fall off. My heart...

Abigail catches me, keeps me from falling. She sits me down in my chair and gets me a glass of water. I guzzle it down as I pant like a dog. "We looked after you. Your mother and I - we tried teaching you to be resourceful."

"Wake up, dad. You're not a young man anymore. All this heavy lifting, this climbing; all this tinkering - it's not safe, dad."

"Living isn't safe," I growl.

My daughter takes my hand and kneels so she can look me in the eye. "Dad, I don't want to lose you. You always say there's nothing you can't fix; well, I want to fix us. I don't want us to be cold and angry anymore. But you have to help me, dad. Please? For me?"

Abby always did have her mother's eyes. "I'll try," I mumble, and my daughter hugs me tight. It's the first real warmth I've felt since Clara passed.

Then the beep of her poketch brings us back to reality. "I've got to run, dad - there's a big meeting at the office this morning. I've set out meals for lunch and dinner; you just need to re-heat them in the microwave, okay? Oh, and remember: two tablets after every meal. Got it?"

She slides over the pill box with my blood thinners. "Right..." Pleased with my compliance, Abigail kisses my forehead and marches out the door.

And I survey my accomplishments. She's right; the house really is falling apart. The kitchen sink is leaking, the paint is peeling, and the cracks running through the plaster are too many to count. I look over the toys and trinkets on my shelves; arrange them from oldest to newest and realize just how cheap my latest creations look. Like a child pieced them together. These problems should energize me, motivate me - there's something that needs to be fixed and improved, but...

You're not a young man anymore, dad.

I look at my trembling, withered hands, scarred and callused from years of labour. My mind is brimming with inventions and ideas but how could hands like these ever keep up?

What's left for me now? Sit and think about my wife and how empty the world seems without her? This isn't living, this is marking time. Stuck in a glass jar and kept under observation. Frozen alive and left on display.

Two tablets after every meal.

I carry the pillbox to the kitchen sink, pop out my morning ration and flush the pills down the drain.

Chapter 10 - The Dragon Master of Mount Chimney

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you fall to your death. Well, I was already dead and saddled with amnesia so I didn't expect to be shown any fancy movies when Winona sent me tumbling off Mount Chimney.

But I remembered watmel berries. I remembered that one summer Roderigo treated us to a pair of those green melons with shells as tough as sandshrew scales and flesh that would chip your teeth if eaten raw. The shopkeeper offered to blend the fruit into smoothies but we shook our heads and ran off to the nearest flight of stairs. Watmel is plenty sweet but we knew the real treat is preparing it yourself. You lift the fruit over your head and you chuck it at the ground. Then you kick it. You boot it. You smash it against solid rock over and over until the meat inside is rattled into jelly. Stab with a straw, high-five your buddy and enjoy.

When my corpse finally smacked into the mountain's base I decided Winona had an especial fondness for watmel.

My eyes were among the first organs to regenerate. I was lying face up in the ashlands of Mount Chimney; a pile of rocks had me pinned below the waist. Volcanic gases spewed from geysers and flakes of sulfur fluttered from the sky like snowflakes. At another time I might have enjoyed the haunting scenery; now, I was just pleading for my lungs to stitch together so I could scream. I was swimming in pain and struggling to keep my head above water. "Ro-bin?"

No reply. I wondered just how durable Birch's apricot balls were, and what happened to the animal inside if the machinery broke. "El-ssssie?"

"SHAAA!" A metal beak thrust into my face; feral yellow eyes blinked in my features. My muscles froze. A skarmory. Nature's slaughterhouse - a living battalion of blades designed for the sole purpose of snatching, slicing and swallowing up meat in a vortex of steel. Winona must have sent this minion to extract my corpse. My body writhed - I had to get free of these rocks; fight, flee; anything!

The yellow-eyed demon watched me struggle and it wasn't impressed, but neither was it interested. The skarmory turned to the rocks at my feet and began picking through the rubble. It cawed triumphantly, pulled out a nice flat stone and set about whetting its beak against the grain.

It didn't care about me. You're not Winona's, you're a wild.

I looked again at the volcanic smog congesting the air. I laughed, and my laughter turned to coughing the more I breathed in the gas. I could see the shadow of Winona's tropius through the sulfur clouds, circling overhead like a hungry scavenger but never daring to drop into the poisonous smog. The steel-plated skarmory was fine, but no ordinary pokemon could survive in fumes this thick. Stalemate. As soon as my muscles re-grew I could crawl out and run away.

Winona must have figured as much. Flashes of light burst around her brachiosaur and mechanized magnemites dove into the smog, sweeping the ground with their radar eyes. Clever girl...

I assessed my body. My ribs were still sticking out, and there was no way I was pulling myself out of those rocks. "Hey ... help ... me!"

The skarmory turned and I immediately regretted my choice. The bird was a mess. Its meat-hook beak was twisted on an angle and the plating above its left eye was dented inward, probably forcing quite a bit of pressure down on its brain. It bobbed its head from side to side like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, counting time in some compulsive habit. Pokemon have some degree of sentience, but this bird didn't strike me as having an ounce of sanity in its dented skull. And I'd just called its attention to the helpless pile of meat pinned to the ground. Brilliant.

But with the levitating magnemites buzzing closer I had no options. "Help me," I pleaded. I could lift my hand a little and the skarmory followed my gesture to the incoming drones. Recognizing the hated electric type, the bird made an ugly hiss and decided we had a mutual enemy. It crouched overtop my chest and fanned out its wings so that, when the magnet pokemon scanned the ground, it picked up the skarmory's empty metal instead of human flesh. The drone continued on its path, and the skarmory flashed me an ugly grin. Mine. All mine.

It went for my shoulder first, clamping down hard with its beak and dragging me free of the rocks. Play through the pain, I hissed. Every spare second gave my body time to regenerate; once I was strong enough I could fight off the bird and run. That was my plan, but the skarmory was prepared. An explosion of heat sent my body into spasms. Fire! My blood was gasoline and someone had dropped a match in my veins; I was burning alive! That was when I noticed the purple sap oozing from between the bird's metal plating. Poison! This skarmory had adapted so thoroughly to the toxic wasteland that its body secreted poison! I dug my fingers through the dirt, grasping for a rock, a root - anything to toss in this monster's face! All the while the skarmory snapped its wings like scissors, delighted to have found prey so fresh and feisty. No more picking at rocks for sandshrew or choking down hot slugma; there'd be fat, juicy flesh in the belly tonight, carved by a master swordsman. The fire was too much; I was blacking out!

A stone whizzed through the fog and clanged against the buzzard's metal skull. Who dared? The skarmory spread its wings and shrieked, but its rabble only helped the next shot hone in on its throat. The bird coughed and sputtered, and the stone mortars kept pelting and denting its armoured hide. No meal was worth this abuse. My captor tucked in its wings and raced into the toxic fog faster than a dodrio on carbos.

Two strong arms seized me under the armpits and dragged me away...

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I awoke in a traditional Johtonese home - tatami mats on the floor, incense wafting on a shelf and a low-set table clustered with medicine vials. "I must be dreaming," I muttered.

"Why not?" chirped a child's voice. Good point - maybe this quest was all a bad dream I'd conjured from the fog of sleep. Then I caught sight of my scarred face in a mirror. My mind flashed back to my fall down a skyscraper-sized mountain and a wave of nausea forced me to lie down.

"You're awake! Splendid, most splendid!" An old man in a lounging robe had entered the room. Thick glasses obscured his eyeballs, while hair as fluffy as mareep's wool puffed from his head and chin. "Naturally, some rest and my herbal remedies were exactly what you needed to get the poison out of your system." Was this eccentric grandpa the one who had dragged me from the wreckage? My host urged me to join him at the table for refreshments. "My name is Cozmo and you, young land, are in Fallarbor Town, a most thriving site of geological wonders! Let me introduce you to my friends - over there is Desmond, that's Gloria, and to your right is Raymond."

Desmond, Gloria and Raymond were all large boulders seated around the table for an imaginary tea party. "Um, hi?" I ventured.

Cozmo rubbed his hands with delight. "Oh it's been so long since we've entertained guests! I insist you join us for tea, Mr. Virgil." Turning to the kitchen, he bellowed, "Matsuda! Some tea for our party! Matsuda, you useless lump, where are you?"

A squishy blue pokemon prodded my side. "WHYYYY-NAUT!" Matsuda squawked, saluting me with its floppy ear. A tray with fresh tea balanced on the bright pokemon's head and I reflexively grabbed my cup before the wobbly poke-servant could spill it in my lap. Cozmo slurped down his cup with relish and immediately spat it over the wynaut.

"You imbecile, are you trying to kill me? I asked for hot tea, not scalding! Take it back!"

"Wyy..." Matsuda whimpered. Cozmo's face dialed to a furious red.

"Why?? You ungrateful little wretch, you'll do as you're told!"

"Naut!"

"Oh I'll tell you what's 'not' happening - your supper! Out of my sight!"

"Wyyy...." Matsuda sniffled, trailing his dangling ears across the floor.

Cozmo turned to me for sympathy. "Do you see the insolence I have to put up with? Miss Gloria, you're so right - good help is so hard to come by these days. Oh, my good Virgil, if only I were blessed with obedient and conversational pokemon like you. Isn't that right, Hermes?"

I try my best, sir. A stone face hovered up beside me, making me jump. Sorry if the telepathy's a little loud. The Maker was kinda cheap about handing out vocal cords to us rock types. The solrock's eyes flashed a bright red every time its scratchy voice echoed in my head. Name's Hermes. Take it easy, boss; I'm on your team.

"Hermes brought you to my house, unconscious from the poison," Cozmo explained. "Once I saw what marvelous company you keep, Mr. Virgil, I knew I had to assist, no matter the consequences."

So a solrock had joined my team? The psychic rock wasn't much to look at, but I admired his initiative. Now it was time to get out of the geology club. "Hermes, was it? Well, thanks for the assist. Cozmo, it's been great but I've got to split. Hermes, tell the other pokemon we're leaving."

Others?

That was hardly comforting. "You know, Robin, Winry, Elsie. Where is everybody, anyway?" I scanned the room and Hermes glanced around with me, still confused. A cold, clammy feeling rose from my stomach. "The pokemon that fell along with me. You saved them too, right?"

Hermes' rock body couldn't show any emotion, but the way he tilted his face to avoid my eyes told me he was debating; hesitating over something. Finally making up his mind, the solrock hovered to a corner shelf and levitated the remains of an apricot ball into my hands. Magma combed over your crash site pretty thoroughly. This was all that was left. Boss, I ... I wouldn't get my hopes up.

It was suddenly very hard to stand. "How long have I been out?" I whispered.

Four days. We had to keep you sedated while we washed out your insides. Tracked a lot of grit into your guts, Boss.

"And there was nothing else when you found me? No pokemon, no capsules?" My hand lunged to my neck. The string I'd tied on since Dewford was gone. "The badges! Hermes, tell me you took the badges!"

You barely had any clothes ... or skin left. I didn't see any badges, Boss.

There was nothing left to say, so I drank my tea and took stock of all the pains running through my body. My nose reeked of blood, my ribs screamed under the crush of talons but now I'd found a torture to top it all - despair. All the pokemon I'd befriended, all the victories I'd earned; the magic badges - they were gone. Crushed to dust or buried in the rubble along Mount Chimney. "All this suffering ... for nothing."

I was clearly unnerving Cozmo with my bitterness. "Don't give up, my friend! Look on the bright side - you're a local celebrity!" The geo-maniac slid a paper across the table; it was an old-fashioned 'Wanted' poster featuring an artist's sketch of my burned face and a hefty reward for my capture. "That woman with the tropius has been showering the town with these portraits! Clearly you've made quite an impression on that lass!"

Winona! I crumpled the poster in my fist - a sorry substitute for her neck, but it did the trick for now. Winona, Winona, Winona. I could scream her name for a thousand years and my rage still wouldn't be satisfied. Had I really wasted precious time feeling sorry for myself when Linda was wasting away from a Leader's curse? Well I may have lost my teammates but I wasn't losing Linda! "Cozmo - that tropius! Where's the last place you spotted it?"

My determination made the old man sweat in his seat. "Well, that is, I believe she's been made a guest of our Leader. She and her birds have been patrolling the skies for days now, but at sunset she always returns to Fort Lavaridge on the far side of the mountain."

"Hermes, you know the way?"

Yeah, boss. Leave it to me.

I got up, and hesitated. Could I really defeat a Leader with nothing but a solrock? "Hermes, I'm counting on you to handle whatever pokemon she's got. You up for that?"

Hermes' crystalline eyes twinkled as though to smile. No worries, boss, I brought some backup.

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Cozmo's shack stood on the outskirts of Fallarbor Town, as though the whole community had uprooted its foundations and taken a generous side-step away from the squirrely old man and his rock collection. I could see why Winona had missed this place: desert weeds had overtaken the yard and ash from the volcanic geysers coated the roof, melding the house into the dusty red landscape. The perfect camouflage. Standing guard outside the front door was a humanoid pokemon with leathery skin and a short lizard snout. Boss, meet Armstrong. He's the one who chased off the skarmory and carried you out here.

I nodded my hello to the machop. The fighting type looked me over and struck a bodybuilding pose that made his muscles bulge and sparkle. Armstrong likes to let his muscles do the talking. He says "hello".

"Oh." I wondered whether I should strip of my shirt and flex my abs in reply. I settled for a handshake. Armstrong probably didn't speak Ninety-Pound Weakling. "Good to have you on board, Armstrong. I'm out of pokeballs so I hope you don't mind walking." No problem there. Armstrong gave me an eye-full of his calves and glutes to prove that his lower half was ready and eager to conquer a long hike. So with Hermes as our guide, we began our march across the mountain wasteland.

Fallarbor Town looked like a ghost town. Worn, wooden shacks plunked down in a red dustbowl and not a soul in sight. I saw the occasional flicker of movement behind a window curtain but whoever they were, no one seemed keen on going outside while I was around. Winona's wanted posters were plastered everywhere; maybe they'd given me a terrifying reputation.

We should be able to move pretty easily, Hermes assured me. Lavaridge's Leader has been supervising a of construction project on top of the mountain. All the Magma conscripts from this town left days ago to help out.

Again, that name everyone seemed to recognize except me. "Magma... fill me in Hermes - just who or what is a Magma?"

Hermes twirled his body like a pinwheel. Hmm, that's a tricky one. The rock-type enjoyed tossing gestures into his speech; spinning like a wheel meant he was thinking hard about a subject. The Brotherhood of Magma; they're supposed to be Lavaridge's personal army. Cozmo told me that after the Cult of Aqua started rallying against the Emperor, Lavaridge's leader conscripted all the young folk from the region to fight back against Aqua. But if you ask me ... Hermes zipped close to my face and froze, dead serious. Magma's more like a religious order made to worship the Lavaridge Leader.

We paused at Fallarbor's town square where an angry charizard statue roared at the citizens. The dragon pokemon clutched a stone tablet in its claws and I recognized it as a tome used by ancient cultures used to record a list of laws. Fallarbor's leader had prescribed only one:


I'd met some pretty self-righteous jerks in my travels but this new Leader was something else. I mean, who invents a religion for the sole purpose of glorifying themselves? "Sounds like this leader's a jealous god."

Hermes rotated a quarter-turn to show he didn't understand things any better. Lavaridge is a weird place, Boss. There are quotas on the number of pokemon you can own, on what types you can keep. Lance may call himself the Dragon Master, but -

"Lance?" I'd stopped in my tracks, overcome by a new rush of memory. Newspaper headlines, television reports...

Hermes and Armstrong flocked to my side. You know this Leader, boss?

"No, I mean, I never met him, but ... where I'm from, the most powerful trainer in all of Kanto and Johto was this guy they called the Dragon Master. Lance." I explained everything I remembered - how Lance and his family trained rare and powerful dragon pokemon; how he'd defended our cities from criminal organizations like Team Rocket; how he'd ruled over the Elite Four and finally ascended to the champion's throne. But ... had he died? Had Johto's mightiest been cast into purgatory?

Boss, your skin's going pale. Is that normal for humans? Hermes was doing his confused quarter-turn again, but with an added tremor. I was frightening him.

"Let's keep moving," I said, forcing a brave face. "You said the Dragon Master was supervising the construction, right? So he'll be far away from Fort Lavaridge? Look, let's just find Winona and get out of here." I'd beaten Brawly and Wattson - a stoner and an old man - through sheer luck. How could I dare challenge a dragon tamer so amped up on the power of a magical artifact that he declared himself a god?

I was about to find out. The ambush came at the crossroads; a trio of red-robed monks who dressed like holy men but moved like bandits, tossing a net over me and Armstrong while the third sicced his poochyena on Hermes. "Tell the machop to stand down, Petalburg boy, or my baltoy fries your brains!" The lead monk pointed his little clay pokemon at my head like a gun. A volcano symbol was printed over their robes and little devil horns were sewn on top of their hoods. The Brotherhood of Magma, I presumed.

Hermes' screams wailed through my skull. Boss, I can't see it, get it off me! Get it off, it's so cold!

The net wouldn't stop Armstrong, but that poochyena had its jaws over Hermes like he was a chew toy; I had no choice, not unless I wanted Hermes smashed into pebbles. "Just do what they say, Armstrong. We'll figure something out." Cackling to themselves, the monks lashed our wrists with rope and tied us together as a chain gang. Hermes, they stuffed in a sack to drag through the air like a burlap balloon. Then the strangest thing happened: each monk pulled an apricot ball from his cloak and recalled their pokemon. They had pokeballs in Lavaridge?

Before I could process this anomaly the monks jabbed my back and ordered me to march. "Start walking, boy! It's a long road to the top of Mount Chimney!"

Just looking at the mountain's smog-covered peak made my legs buckle. "You're seriously making me walk up that?" Again? I thought privately.

That comment sent the monks into stitches. "See, lads? Swallows every word he hears, like the good little Petalburg boy he is. Don't be daft, son! There's a cable car up the road from here. Now get moving! You're due for a chat with the Pokemon Professor."

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Sure enough we found a cable car past the next turn in the road. A stationary bicycle mounted inside moved the car along the line and the monks made Armstrong pedal us upward. The machop seethed every minute of the ride, insulted that he'd been pressed into such menial labour. Hermes said nothing; he was still shivering from the traumatic attack of the dark-type.

On the way up I got a good eyeful of the monument Magma had been constructing atop the mountain. The entire southern rim of the volcano had been plated over with metal and a giant metal charizard head thrust from the wall like an ugly gargoyle. Were they building some kind of cathedral up here? Once the monks pushed us out I could see towering columns and what looked like a raised altar leaning over the crater of lava. Was this supposed to be a temple to house Magma's deity-Leader, and if so, what was with all the giant gears and machinery sticking out of the floor?

I got no answers. My captors pushed past the construction area to a large tent of purple canvas on the far side of the crater. Hanging drapes portioned the interior into separate areas, and we stepped into what looked like a foreman's office. Mobile peg boards with construction blueprints surrounded a mahogany table stacked with books and parchment. At our intrusion, the monk seated behind the desk uttered a sigh of disgust.

"Professor! Professor Maxwell, we got him! He was at the crossroads, just like you said!"

"As I anticipated," the professor smirked, ignoring eye contact with his underlings. "Fallarbor was the closest refuge from the impact site, and a stranger to these lands would travel by established routes. Predicting the boy's movement was elementary." Maxwell finally looked up at us, throwing off his hood to reveal a head of slicked red hair and eyes permanently narrowed into contempt for the idiots surrounding him. "Remove your hoods, you oafs. I can't bloody well see who I'm talking to with these ridiculous cloaks." Maxwell jotted down the monks' squad number and issued new orders. "Rendezvous with Squad 11 and reinforce the southern pass. We've received reports of Aqua activity around Mauville City and I will not have our boarders violated by those rebel scum!"

"That ain't fair, professor! You said there'd be time off for whoever caught the boy!"

The disobedience didn't faze Maxwell. Instead of sullying his calm intellect by yelling he simply placed a pokeball on his desk and tapped the release button. The mightyena that popped out took care of the yelling. The squad of monks raced outside, leaving Armstrong, myself and a bagged Hermes with this pokemon professor. Maxwell spared us a glance.

"Do forgive the lack of chairs; I had expected your would lie in hiding for another twenty-four hours. Clearly something quelled your cowardice and roused that foolhardy nature of yours." We'd only just met but the way Maxwell summed up my actions made me feel like a lab specimen he had spent years analyzing. The professor went back to scribbling his notes and didn't address me until he was finished his current page. "So, how is Birch? Still wasting away in Petalburg, clinging to hope like a remoraid on a dying Mantine?"

Now there was a surprise. "You know Professor Birch?"

"We were travelling companions," Maxwell confirmed. "We journeyed around the continent together, we explored its mysteries; we bonded over our shared disgust of the masses." He smirked - a fond memory - then went hard as granite. "Regrettably, when the war broke out Birch chose to uphold an illogical loyalty to Steven and opposed the Emperor. I, on the other hand, maintained the intellect to appreciate the inevitability of this new power's rise."

Birch, a rebel warrior? I tried to imagine the plus-sized professor, or this gaunt scarecrow, commanding pokemon on the battlefield. Maxwell seemed to guess at my thoughts. "Of course, I didn't sully my hands in battle like Brawly and those meat-puppet soldiers. No, my talents lied in analysis. I shared my knowledge of the land - of Steven's pokeball technology - with a promising field commander specializing in draconian pokemon and assured his flawless takeover of the Lavaridge mountain range. As you can see," Maxwell gestured to the lavish tent, "we've come to a most mutually beneficial partnership. The unchallenged strength and charisma of a dragon tamer supported in his daily operations by my genius."

"Pretty stupid costume you're wearing."

Maxwell forced a thin smile. "A little aesthetic mismanagement is a small price to pay for power. Which brings us to our next subject - the badges you liberated from Brawly and Wattson. The Dragon Master would very much like them, if you please."

"Go suck an exeggcute."

"A pity," Maxwell sighed, standing and removing a knife from a drawer. He moved quickly, slashing the ropes at my wrists and then Armstrong's. "Let's get rid of those primitive restraints, shall we? I have simpler methods of keeping animals in check." He tossed a pokeball into Armstrong's hands. "Listen well, fighting type: you're holding a pressure ball, my custom design. The entire shell is wired to a hair-trigger. Adjust your grip in the slightest and you'll release the voltorb inside." Maxwell turned to me. "The badges, please."

Armstrong's eyes were glued to the pokeball. I tried to play cool. "I'll order him to drop it. We'll take you with us."

"You won't," Maxwell countered. "You and I will survive - somewhat frazzled - but your pokemon will die. I've profiled you, boy, and your impulsiveness is matched only by your selfishness. You act only for your own profit, and there's no profit in killing the last pokemon in your troop." He glanced back at Armstrong. "Your machop is beginning to perspire. The badges, please."

I scowled. "You don't know me."

"Oh but I do, most intimately. From Winona's reports I've learned about your exploits in Dewford and Mauville; now that I've seen you first-hand I've completed my assessment." He reached for a measuring stick on his desk and began pointing at me.

"Let's start with your palms - smooth and without callus. You're a city boy, unused to labour or difficulty. You pay no attention to your studies and you can't be bothered with a part-time job. Next I look at your posture; the way you lean on one hip indicates your defiance of authority, but you always keep your back arched. Clear signs you have an ego to uphold. Selfish through and through." To Armstrong. "Good sir machop, your arms are trembling quite thoroughly. The badges, please."

"Shut up!"

"And your face. My, my, your face. There's so much living to be discovered in our dying. Oh, don't look at me with that pathetic shock; did you presume I hadn't deduced the true nature of this world? You and I and the rest of the trash here are dead; disembodied spirits moved on to a new world. Your pokemon will not be so fortunate. The badges, please."

I shut my eyes and grit my teeth but Maxwell pushed on. "Now, your burn scars are the mark of an explosion, but what kind? The fact that they're localized on your head eliminates a house fire or a large-scale combustion; no, this was deliberate. You were targeted. An incendiary device aimed at your face? A vial of acid thrown at your features? Yes, whoever did this to you - and it was done deliberately - wanted you to suffer."

"I swear to God, Virgil, I'm going to kill you!"

"That's enough!"

"The badges."

"I lost them," I blurted. "They're gone. Please don't kill my pokemon. They're all I've got."

Maxwell snorted and hit a kill switch on the pressure ball. Armstrong collapsed. "Did Birch share with you his Personality Transference Theory? That we continue to live out the passions and flaws that first killed us? I wonder if this is how you died - gambling a friend's trust just to maintain your ego."

"My best friend killed me," I confessed. "Why'd he do it?"

"Oh, that's elementary. You're a teenager - awash with hormones and incapable of rational thought. It was a crime of passion."

"I'm Adelina, by the way. What's your name?"

Roderigo...

"I'm convinced of your ignorance regarding the Emperor's relics," Maxwell concluded. He rang a bell, summoning two guards to drag away Armstrong and Hermes. "Dropped in the rubble, most likely. I'll have to organize a more thorough investigation of the badlands."

"Are we done here?"

"Ah, again he postures! A kitten shinx with delusions of luxray. Spare me the bravado, boy. I would have fed you to my mightyena except the Dragon Master has requested to see you for himself."

Lance! I tried to run but that mightyena materialized at the tent doorway, growling and forcing me back. Maxwell lifted me to my feet. "Try to appreciate the honour: the greatest and most powerful leader in all this existence has deemed your worthy of an audience. Step quickly, boy. The Dragon Master awaits."

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Maxwell prodded me beyond a curtain to the back of the tent. Everything was black, the only illumination a pair of torches. The Dragon Master preferred the darkness for his meditations.

The Dragon Master, the scourge of Team Rocket; the champion of the Johto-Kanto Alliance... at least, I was pretty sure it was him. Lavaridge's leader had that same blaze of red hair, only longer than I remembered, and bundled into a whip-thin ponytail. He had those same intense eyes and hardened cheekbones, but everything below his nose was hidden - a scarf encircled his mouth and a black cape hugged his body. Are you like me, I wondered? Disfigured by death?

"My lord, this is the boy Winona spoke of."

Lance stood and took his own turn to appraise me. I just kept my eyes on the floor and tried not to flinch when his cloak brushed my leg. "This is the boy?" The Dragon Master's voice thundered low and sonorous and ... forced? Wait, was he deliberately speaking in a lower pitch? "This is the maggot that sent Winona shivering? The insect that cast Brawly into the sea?" He laughed, and it was one of those overdone 'bwa-ha-ha-ha' villain bits you hear in the movies. Then he started monologuing!

"And yet you fell so readily into the dragon's claws! As expected, for I, Lance the Dragon Master, am peerless among the leaders of this land!"

Something was ... off. "You're Lance? The Dragon Champion of Johto?"

My words pleased the leader. "Ah, humility. You are wise to address me as 'champion', lowly mortal, for I am great and powerful beyond all comprehension."

No, this didn't make sense. "Birch said we keep our personalities even after we die. Lance was a jerk, but he wasn't power hungry. What's with this evil overlord routine? And why are you hiding your face?" I took a bold step forward. "Are you really Lance?"

"Be silent, boy or I will-"

"Are you a girl?"

"SHUT UP!" The torches flared into pillars of rage. "I am the Master of Fire and Earth, the Lord -"

"Lord of the Mountain, yeah, I read the signs." To Maxwell, "This is a joke, right? A body double or something, righ-WHOA!" Fiery serpents spun from the torches and twisted around my body.

"I AM the Master of Dragons and you will bow before me, boy!" I quickly crouched on the ground. Imposter or not, this person was clearly unstable.

Maxwell forced his way through the awkwardness. "My lord, the boy has no badges. He's useless to us. We should dispose of him and his pokemon before he can create any undue mischief." But I'd prodded the dragon master beyond the point of reasoning.

"No," s/he snarled. "The machinery's finally ready; I want him to watch. I want him to see me in my moment of triumph. I've bested Winona - I've caught this pitiful assassin; now I'm going to achieve what the Emperor never could and obliterate the Cult of Aqua in a single blow!"

The Dragon Master pulled me close, a smile forming through the scarf. "You saw those torches, boy? You saw the power I command?" I had. Brawly manipulated water, Wattson electricity; the Dragon Master was a living flamethrower able to command and fuel fire. "You haven't seen anything yet. Maxwell, gather the troops at the altar. When I sit upon the Throne of God, boy, you'll be the first to grovel at my feet!"

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Something was wrong with Mount Chimney. When Maxwell shoved me out of the tent I found black smoke rising from the crater and a rumble like thunder trembling through the ground. None of the Magma monks paid it any attention but as Lance stomped toward her altar, teeth grit and fists clenched, the mountain seemed shake in rage alongside her.

We all took our places for the ceremony - Lance at the center of the altar, raised where all the assembled monks could see and glorify her. Maxwell and a spare grunt stood back and to the side, guarding me and my pokemon. Armstrong looked weary and defeated; Hermes was still stuck inside that bag. I tried whispering to them but Maxwell shushed me. The show was about to begin.

The Dragon Master stretched her arms and a shower of fire exploded from the volcano. "My loyal subjects, the day of ascension has come! For too long our splendour has been confined to this wretched mountain; today, our might will spread over this land with such fire and such furor that even the boundless ocean will shrink before us!"

Maxwell gestured at the crowd and the hooded monks raised their fists to cheer. "Hail Magma! Glory to the Dragon Master!" It was a well-rehearsed line but they sounded like kids cheering over birthday socks - totally forced. A group huddled around an especially tall monk refused to cheer altogether, crossing their arms in defiance of this mandated religion. These monks didn't care about Lance or her crazy ideas; they just followed along to avoid getting burned!

Lance didn't seem to mind; she was far too obsessed with her theatrical master plan to pay her underlings any attention. "Fires of the inferno - your master summons you! Go forth and cleanse the land of all who oppose me!"

That's when the ground really began to shake and I realized I wasn't standing on a mountain any more, but on the back of a giant stirring from its rest. The lava pooled inside the crater - it was bubbling up, rising! Lance's face was screwed up in fierce concentration and her arms stretched over the molten liquid like a conductor demanding her orchestra for more: more volume, more thunder, more power! She was using her power to pull the lava up from the earth!

Maxwell relayed orders into a pokenav and a metal clang shook the altar. Magma monks rushed to peer over the safety railings, shouting, "It's opened, it's opened!" They were all pointing to the giant charizard head, it's jaw unhinged like a snake and glowing red with liquid fire.

Obliterate the Cult of Aqua in a single blow. The charizard gargoyle, it wasn't a statue, it was a spout! Magma had transformed the volcano into a continent-sized tea kettle and they were going to direct the lava straight towards Slateport City, a knife driven into the heart of the Aqua rebellion! But the Cult's home base was so far away! I thought of all the land I had trekked through - Windstrate's mansion, Mauville's houses and farms.

I turned to Maxwell. "That lunatic's gonna bury everyone alive!"

"And those who survive will bow in terror before the Dragon Master." Maxwell's eyes blazed with admiration. "Can you not admire the audacity, the brilliance of it all?"

Brilliance, or insanity? The Dragon Master cackled before a backdrop of bursting hellfire while gallons of lava spewed down the mountain slope. "I am the Master of Fire and Earth! Look upon my works and tremble!"

Someone among the monks had had enough of looking. A stone whizzed through the air and clipped Lance's ear, bursting her bubble. Maxwell's jaw dropped; the Dragon Master boiled over in rage. "Who dares?"

"I dare!" That especially tall monk had stepped forward from the crowd, followed by a group of like-minded heretics. "Your words are bold, Dragon Master, but they are no more than the mewling of a child! Your tyranny ends today!"

Lance grit her teeth, the Magma monks muttered to each other, confused. Only Maxwell had the puzzle solved, and he gave a dry chuckle. "Wolves in sheep's clothing. Knew I should have pushed for the uniform redesign."

Father Archibald shucked his disguise, and Deacon Shelly and ten other Aqua pirates followed suit. "I sensed your dark ambitions when we uncovered your spy in Slateport, and then again Mauville, but had I realized the true depths of your depravity I would have ended your terraphilic slander years ago! This land-making machine must be destroyed! Children of Aqua, wash these sinners from the face of the earth!"

Rusty knives thrust into the air with a roar. Maxwell rolled his eyes at the bravado and called orders through is pokenav. "Squads 3 through 6, form perimeter Delta. Remaining squads, attack positions Bravo."

"Make them suffer, Maxwell!" Lance was paralyzed on the spot; her face screamed to join in the battle but she had to focus all her energy on the volcano to keep the lava flowing. Archibald and his men were surrounded, an island of blue in a sea of red, but what they lacked in numbers the Aqua strike force made up for in iron will. The pirates swept through the Magma monks like a tempest of gyrados, blood in their wake and smiles on their faces. I'd been wondering how warfare worked in this world - how could you win if your opponents automatically reattached missing limbs or regenerated stab wounds? Maxwell's strategy was containment. Apricot balls cracked open and a ring of numel encircled the pirates with flamethrower breath. Shielded behind their pokemon, the monks started tossing chains and nets over the char-broiled pirates. You couldn't kill a soul but you could immobilize it.

Archibald had a far more gruesome strategy - marching through the fire, seizing a hapless monk by the neck and swinging him into his allies like a club. You terrified the enemy into submission.

The pirates had hidden pokemon under their robes - portable shellder and clampearls that they now turned into high-pressure water cannons. Archibald wasn't satisfied with slicing up the monks or hacking off limbs; they blasted Lance's minions off their feet and off the mountain! The lucky ones fell off the slopes; others got a one-way trip into Mount Chimney's fiery pool. I shut my eyes; I didn't dare see what happened when a regenerating body sunk into a bath of liquid fire. The Magma monks felt much the same; one by one the survivors scattered and fled.

Maxwell took the battle in stride. He could plan and out-think his opponents by five steps but tactical brilliance wouldn't help when his chess pieces panicked and ran off the board. "Human error," he hissed, mentally tallying a list of tortures for his cowardly subordinates. "My Lord, our objectives are compromised. We must retreat."

"No! Not when I'm so close! Hold them back, Maxwell!"

"With what? Your minions have left us!" Archibald and his pirates were charging the walkway, ready to skewer us all. They would have done it too, if Armstrong hadn't slammed his fists into the stage, blasting off a shockwave that bowled the Aquas off their feet. Lance scowled at me. "I don't need your help!"

"Never look a gift horsea up the snout," Maxwell retorted, snatching his master by the wrist and dragging her for the cable car. "Tabitha, throw the boy in the pit and get moving!"

That order was for my guard, who clubbed Armstrong, picked me up over his head and started marching for the lava pool. "Hermes, zap his brain with a psychic blast or something!"

Boss, I'm not a kadabra! I don't have those kind of powers!

"I thought you were a psychic!"

I'm a rock!

Too late anyway. My guard tossed me through the air, but instead of plunging into a molten bath I rammed against an invisible wall and crumpled on the ground. The monk had a second to puzzle over my survival before his face went blank, like an invisible rake had smacked him across the head. I ran to untie Hermes.

"What was that back there?"

I'm a rock, Boss! I float, and I can put up psychic barriers. He demonstrated again, and this time I saw the rainbow shimmer of the invisible barrier that had spared my fall. Not exactly great offense.

"Unless you use your barriers as an invisible two-by-four," I gestured to the unconscious guard.

Huh, never thought of that till now.

Next thing I knew I was racing alongside Deacon Shelly and some Aquas for the cable car, our grudge match on hold as we both aimed for a bigger fish to fry. Maxwell shoved the Dragon Master into the car and made his stand, rolling a six-pack of pokeballs towards us.

"Stand back!" he ordered, brandishing an electronic trigger with a big red button. "One more step and I detonate these pressure balls. I'll blow this ledge apart and send us all into the fire!"

Shelly held back her grunts but Armstrong wasn't deterred. My machop whipped a rock at the cable car's support beams, smashing its rope line. "So much for your escape," I laughed.

"Don't insult my intelligence, boy. I always have a contingency prepared."

With a push of a button the cable car transformed. The rail pulleys detached, a propeller unfolded from its backside, and the roof popped open to release a red, cigar-shaped balloon. Maxwell waved adieu and stepped into his miniature zeppelin as it lifted off the mountain.

"Coward!" the deacon roared. "Neither earth nor air will spare you from the ocean's wrath!"

In reply, Maxwell stuck his trigger hand out the window and punched the red button. We all flinched as six capsule balls exploded with six handfuls of confetti and streamers. A colourful paper fluttered into my face. It read, Moron.

Describing Armstrong as stunned was an understatement.

"Well that bites," Shelly muttered, dropping her holy woman act and aiming her knife at my heart. "But at least I get the satisfaction of gutting you!"

Father Archibald seized her wrist in mid strike. "Stay your hand, Shelly. This boy is no brother of ours, but neither is he kin to the Dragon Master. Go help the others dismantle that wretched land-making monstrosity."

Shelly protested but a cool glare from her leader shut her up. Archibald focused his stare at me. "Once more I spare your life, boy. Consider it thanks for prompting us to investigate the Brotherhood's operations here." He had one last warning before turning away. "Choose your friends carefully. When Aqua sweeps away the refuse of the Emperor there will be no mercy for the undecided."

Hermes, Armstrong and I stayed and watched the zeppelin retreat. At our backs the temple pillars fell to the Cult of Aqua and the great charizard's gush of lava slowed to a trickle. Looks like they're headed to Fort Lavaridge, Hermes observed. Boss, that place is a stronghold; once they get their defenses set we'll never get that badge!

Badges? Was he still squawking about badges? I didn't care about the disappearing blimp but what did catch my attention was the flock of birds that came to escort the ship, and the massive tropius leading the pack. The rider with purple hair ...

"We're after Winona," I reminded him. "And if the Dragon Master gets in my way then I'll take her down as well."

Side Chapter IV - Flames of Envy

I'm glad Flannery is gone.

When you see a diseased or disfigured animal, do you prolong its suffering? No - you put it out of its misery, and I'm glad I did the same for Flannery. It's better for her, and it's better for the family that she's no longer among us.

They say every family has its black mareep - a deviant who brings shame to the bloodline. That was our Flannery: the one nobody wanted, the one who couldn't do anything right. Since the day of the ritual she marked herself for a life of shame and ridicule.

I should explain: when children of the Dragonmoore clan come of training age we are never given starter pokemon. We are not helpless commoners and we need no such charity. My kin and I, it is our duty to find and tame our own pokemon, deep in the darkness of Blackthorn's dragon den. It is a rite of passage to prove that we are worthy of the royal blood within our veins; worthy of continuing the dynasty that drove the Fae from Kanto and brought order to this Arceus-forsaken region; worthy of the glamour that binds dragons to our will and maintains our family's authority.

Lance, of course, was the first to emerge from the trial, head held high and obediently followed by his new dratini. Clair exited some hours after, grimy with mud and lashed with cuts but walking tall and proud like a proper Dragonmoore. A newfound horsea was cradled in her arms.

The family waited with bated breath for the final cousin to emerge. What magnificent beast would Flannery tame, they wondered? A hot-headed bagon, young and impatient to become lord of the skies? A ravenous gible, hungry for the taste of battle? Oh, how they deluded themselves - convinced that blood alone could make a champion. If only they could have seen the real Flannery at that moment. The girl I had spied in that cave was a sobbing, sniveling embarrassment to the family - howling like a coward about how she "w-w-wanted to go home" as though being thrown into the black pit were some punishment rather than an opportunity for glory.

It was near midnight when a cry went out from Grandmama: a light was shining from the cavern mouth! The grown-ups rushed to the entrance and there was Flannery - shivering and exhausted, her clothes torn to rags, and yet beaming with pride over the dragon she tamed. Flannery squeezed her partner's paw and introduced "Ignius" to the family - a lizard with fiery scales matching the orange of her hair, and a column of flame crackling from its tail.

The family's reaction was like a great engine catching on its gears - applauding hands froze in midair; grinning jaws dropped stupidly - all their excitement screeching to a halt. Flannery looked to the horrified faces and her smile faltered. She'd been expecting jubilant cheers for her return; not these ghastly statues. Clair gasped, aunt Nora blanched; grandfather shook his head and turned away. It was up to Lance to clue in the stupid girl, and he was more than pleased to serve as interpreter.

"You big dummy, that's not a dragon pokemon! A charmander's a fire type!"

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No one was quite sure what to do with Flannery. Oh, there were plenty of ideas - Grandmama raved and ranted about expelling the girl from the family; Aunt Nora, who'd adopted the child from her late sister, pleaded for compassion; Lance tugged at the grown-ups' pant legs and told anyone who'd listen that he and his fists could "fix" Flannery. In the end, they had to consult the elders and the runt passed on a technicality: the ancient scrolls never said anything about partnering with a dragon type specifically; (the monks from ages ago must have assumed that bit too obvious to put in writing). Flannery's glamor had activated, bonding her to the beast and its fiery ilk; she was a full-fledged Dragonmoore.

One by one the family turned away, shaking their heads or snorting with disgust. Only grandfather made his opinion known, starring down at the girl with the same icy glare he gave challengers who'd beaten his Elite Four and come for his throne.

"You are my granddaughter," he told the girl, "but you are not my heir."

The train ride home into the mountains was a long and confusing silence for Flannery. She had finished grandfather's horrible game, she had endured that miserable cave and found her own pokemon; why was everyone so mad at her?

"Is there something wrong with Ignius?" she asked her aunt.

"Of course not, sweetheart." Her guardian's reply was automatic; she couldn't crush her sister's child over a well-intentioned mistake. "But sweetheart, your grandfather really wanted you to bond with a dragon pokemon, that's all."

At that age, Flannery's conception of a dragon had been limited to 'it looks like a lizard'. "Ignius is a dragon," she insisted. In her mind the charmander was no simple partner, it was her savior. The little lizard was a guardian come to her rescue, summoned by her gentle sobs and sheltering her with the light and warmth of its tail. She didn't fully comprehend yet but she had also saved the charmander - an orphaned egg, most likely pilfered by a sneasel and misplaced in the cave. Both of them would have died in the darkness of the cavern, but together they emerged.

"Iggy is a good pokemon," Flannery insisted. I'm a good girl, is what she secretly thought. "And I'm gonna prove it to grandpa!"

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Back home in the Silver Mountains, Flannery began her training. She and her charmander cut their teeth on the wildlife of the badlands, grew to trust and work as a team. When the time came to return to Blackthorn for grandfather's birthday, the girl and her charmeleon arrived ready to prove their mettle in battle.

"Seadra, water gun!"

"Dragonair, earthquake!"

While her cousins ate and laughed at the barbeque Flannery waited bedside at the pokemon center, squeezing Ignius' claw to sooth his wounded pride. She poured over her memories of the battles; how could she have lost so easily? Had she not trained with all her might? Had she not poured her soul into becoming the very best?

Her defeat that day planted a cruel discovery in Flannery's mind - a hideous thought she fought long and hard to uproot, but which always returned with its infestation: not all pokemon are great. Yes, all were unique, but not all were powerful. It could be a flaw of their body or of their typing, but something would always hold them back from the greatness of a dragon pokemon. Throughout the Kanto-Johto Alliance, none were stronger than the almighty dragons.
When she shuffled back to the celebration and found that cake had been served without her, it dawned just how low she had fallen from her family's esteem.

Not all Dragonmoores are great...

The three cousins had brought gifts and home-made cards for grandfather. Lance, who hadn't a creative bone in his entire body, was the apple of the old man's eye thanks to a crude stick figure card. Behind her bangs, Flannery considered her own gift - a canvas painting of grandfather and her soaring through the skies on their respective dragons. Lance couldn't even scribble within the lines and yet he'd been invited up on grandfather's lap to show off his amateur creation.

This wasn't fair. This had to be corrected.

"Grandpa, didja look at my painting?"

"Don't interrupt, child. Lance is telling us about his fencing lessons. Quite skilled with a rapier, aren't you, boy?"

Flannery had been painting since she'd been a year old and had scrawled a smiling sun over the living room wall. Aunt Nora always praised her sketches, her neighbours commissioned pictures; a gallery in Pewter city stocked her canvases for sale. Worthless, she realized. At that moment she decided that if she couldn't win by her natural talents she would have to borrow another's.

"I know fencing too, Grandpa!"

"Do you, now?" Flannery was too young to recognize the disdain in grandfather's voice and took his reply as encouragement.

"Uh huh! I'm the best there is at that dumb sport. I could totally beat up Lance, 'cept I didn't bring my sword 'n stuff here."

Grandfather hushed Lance's snickering. "I look forward to seeing your skills next year."

"Yeah, bring it on," Lance snorted.

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She hated the sport; hated the smothering masks that tangled her hair, hated the way her instructor jabbed her with his rubber-tipped epee like a bully digging his finger into her skin; hated how he insisted she always slow down and practice the basics. Flannery had no time for basics. Lance had a year's start on her; if she didn't master the advanced techniques how would she ever beat him?

She would not find out next year. On the train ride home she locked herself in the bathroom compartment, sniffling over the scar slashed across her abdomen. Lance had claimed his tip had come off accidentally - the same way her fist had 'accidentally' lodged into his smug face - and, in truth, she didn't care about the scar. What truly stung was the memory of grandfather's palm across her cheek.

"Shameful beast. A Dragonmoore accepts defeat with honour."

Ignius nudged her with its snout. She nuzzled his head, grateful for its warmth. "It's not your fault, Iggy. I have to try harder next year."

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Fencing, archery, swimming. Each year Flannery accepted a new challenge, cutting off another piece of herself and replacing it with Lance. Each year Flannery remained a counterfeit, a shadow incapable of matching the original's greatness. Each year she became more of a nuisance to her family, more of a blemish to be hidden up and ignored. Clair and Lance were being groomed for gym leaderships; there was even talk they might one day serve as grandfather's elites! All Flannery received were notices that the rangers were recruiting for a post on the Seafoam islands. Clair and Lance were mailed individual invitations to the annual family gatherings; Flannery's envelope was addressed to "Ms. Nora Dragonmoore and Guest."

A guest. A lowly, fire-training commoner allowed to attend out of the boundless pity of grandfather.

Flannery had to prove her greatness, had to show that she was deserving of her royal blood, but there was only one talent that would redeem her in grandfather's eyes.

"I need a dragon pokemon."

The ninetales that had won her a top seat in breeding pageants, the flock of magby she'd hand-raised, repopulating the species after the Cinnabar eruption; Ignius, now a flying inferno who'd saved Lance's dragonairs from a wild weavile - none of them were good enough for grandfather. She had to raise a dragon.

Flannery had tried catching her own. Dratini were common enough in the rivers of Blackthorn, and swablu migrated through the region every winter but the same rotten glamor that let her pet slugma without suffering burns served as a warning to wild dragons. They hissed at Flannery, nipped and pecked at her fingers, jerking away as though she smelled of sour milk. Flannery's very presence disgusted the dragons of the land. But surely a bred pokemon would have no such reservations? Surely an egg from a special nursery, a faraway region at that, a baby she could hatch, imprint upon, and nurture from birth would love her?

After so much pleading and bargaining, Aunt Nora relented. They contacted a professor from the Kalos region and arranged the transfer of a special goomy egg. The species wasn't much in the way of ferocity but their gentle nature would make the bonding process that much easier; foolproof, in fact.

Flannery covered all of the expenses herself, as agreed. She sold off the last of her magby to breeders, auctioned off her ninetales so the food money could go towards shipping costs. Even Ignius had to go; it broke her heart to send him away but Viridian's gym leader was a kind and caring man who would treat him well. She had no regrets.

Flannery took odd jobs to fill out the expenses. It was all she could do. She had tried painting again, to sell off her artwork, but found that all of her drawings came out clumsy and ugly. At first the change left Flannery stunned; this talent flowing like magic from her fingers had rotten from disuse. Then she smiled. By failing at painting she had peeled away one more wretched layer of her skin; torn off another trait grandfather ignored to make way for a true dragon master.

The joy she felt when the incubation pod arrived was unimaginable. She was giddy, light as an altaria among the clouds. Life was beginning anew! Flannery kept the egg warm in the hot springs, soaking her body until the temperatures left her dizzy. She hung red-tinted heat lamps over her bed and slept with the egg hugged to her chest. Dehydration? No matter; not so long as her energy and love could soak through the speckled shell, imprinting on the little life inside.

After five long days of fitful sleep the eggshell finally cracked and splintered, and a gelatinous purple pokemon squeezed itself out from its crèche. Flannery loved it immediately. "My baby!" Flannery held it up to her face, making sure that it would recognize her as its mother. The goomy blinked and took in its trainer for the first time.

The slug pokemon shrieked and sprayed its poison over Flannery's face.

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The doctor finishes scribbling her notes. "So the reaction of the goomy hatchling - that was what prompted Flannery to take her life?"

"The rejection was too much for Flannery to accept. She threw away the newborn and ran to the kitchen to find something sharp. I was more than happy to assist her." I finish my story without flinching, without ever losing my smile. A commoner might have felt grief but I am a Dragonmoore and I feel no such weakness. Not for an aberration like Flannery.

The doctor chooses her words carefully, concerned I might become upset. "Losing Flannery must have affected you profoundly."

"Not really," I snort. "She was a weak, watery girl who couldn't do anything right. The family is better off without her. I am better off without her." Perhaps that sounds sociopathic, so I add, "We are grateful that your asylum has taken in Flannery. She finds it very comforting here."

"Is that so?"

"No," I confess. "Flannery spent her whole life trying to earn her family's love; she'd accept no substitute. Maybe one day she'll realize that some people just aren't good enough to be loved."

A tap at the door - the doctor's secretary informs her of an urgent phone call, and she excuses herself. I wave her off; the office is spacious enough and I don't need a babysitter. I do grow restless rather quickly, and find myself exploring the room and thumbing through the many shelves of books. One shelf contains a set of souvenirs: snow globes, small statues and a decorative hand mirror. I look in the mirror and my body is flooded with the same terror that baby goomy felt. That red hair, those miserable eyes, that detestable body! I jerk myself away, hand over my heart to keep it from bursting out my chest. Flannery was in that mirror! I steal another glance, and Flannery's shocked expression backs away from me.

What's wrong with me? I look exactly like Flannery! I check the jagged bolts screaming from my wrists. Hadn't I done enough to expel her? I have to fix this at once. Grandfather doesn't love Flannery; he loves ...

Lance! I tear through the doctor's drawers for scissors; there's only a letter opener but that will do. Flannery's hair falls around me like cinders from a fire, revealing my natural spiky cut. It's hacked to pieces and hideous but it's not Flannery. It's not Flannery.

But when I check the reflective glass I see her still: in these eyes, these breasts, this skin coating my body like a loathsome tar.

It has to go.

I angle the blade towards Flannery's chest; steel myself for the blow, holding comfort in this small truth:

I'm not Flannery.