Once again, bobandbill takes heaps of work from reviewers with his BETA report. XD Thanks. ^^ Also, thanks to Mewtwo42 for the compliments. ^^
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Chapter 5: Pain
Watson looked through curved slits upon the downtrodden streets of Lilycove City. Being from the much smaller Verdanturf, he wasn't used to this kind of bustling activity. Suits walked in and out of buildings, Citizens hurried to work, Guards patrolled: everyone had something to do, somewhere to be. There was building after building after building, parted by endless, defective roads and narrow concrete pavements. Despite this activity, it was no less sombre here than it was in Verdanturf Town: misery and fear still smothered Lilycove just like every other place in this wretched region.
Power, however, rested with Watson. He was out of his drab dogi and in a powerful dark silver armour that evoked fear in passing citizens. He bore the menacing Empire crest over the right side of his chest: if someone were to strike his heart, the symbol would remain intact. Watson recalled a common saying by the Hoods in Hoenn.
'We don't need your life to sustain the Empire.'
Watson was assigned the job of patrolling Lilycove, and had been doing this for a few days now. His instructions were clear: "Kill the criminals, scare the Citizens, and leave the Suits alone." He felt he was doing a fine job at the second instruction: Watson sneered at Citizens that were in range and even released his houndoom to terrify a young couple.
Just to remind them that it was not their place to enjoy themselves.
He did ponder about the relation with the Suits, though. He'd always recognised their importance: they were intelligent people – the brains – were they superior to Guards? But only the top Suits were allowed to carry pokémon, and even then, only one. In that sense, they were inferior. Perhaps the two classes were equal? Or maybe the Hoods planned it like this to create a further sense of confusion, to disorientate people so they became intellectually dependent on the Empire.
He admired the Empire's intelligence for this.
However, Watson was bored, and wanted to exert some of his well-earned power. So, when he saw a child protesting about not being bought a toy he wanted, Watson seized the opportunity. He slowly approached the duo, his cold boots menacingly quiet along a dark road of this melancholy area.
"Is there a problem here, Citizens?"
Fear swelled up in the green eyes of the mother. The blond-haired boy seemed to not fully understand the power that Watson wielded; he must have been five years old at most.
"Please," the mother pleaded and her brunette hair shook, "It's alright."
"So your child is guilty of rioting and you're guilty of perjury, then!"
The Empire had a knack for hyperbole in its criminal charges. As a Guard, Watson was the policeman, judge, jury, and executioner over this woman and her child. Lying to a Guard was tantamount to perjury, and punishable by a cruel, public death, at the Guard's discretion.
Watson was in two minds about this situation. In his hands, he held the lives of two people he had never met. Absolute fear was in the mother's eyes, and now the child was beginning to cry. He had real power now – this made him feel incredibly fulfilled. But was it enough to just have the power and to be feared if he did not use it?
And if he did, would it be moral? Watson had never had any time for ethics; they only held him back. But now he was in a situation of power. He was a Guard! He could exercise his own morals! To an extent, at least.
He stood there, looking at the woman through the metal slits of his helmet, observing her – what would he do? Watson had been abused by the Guards in his childhood – it served to make him tougher. Didn't it?
Yes. It did. If Watson was left to glide through his childhood without discipline, then he would not be what he is today: a powerful Guard.
"Give me your child," said Watson coldly.
Maternal instincts kicked in, and the mother sobbed, "No, anything but that!"
"You will do as I say or you will be fed to the beedrill, along with your child!"
The mother's mouth hung half open, and the blond-haired boy hid, now terrified, behind his mother. Was he becoming a monster? Either way, it was too late to back down now. Mercy was not to be shown.
"Boy, stand in front of me."
Sobbing quietly, his eyes red with fearful tears, the boy slowly approached the front of Watson. Several Citizens were now watching – it was intoxicating. They hated this Guard and what he was doing, yet their vulture instinct made them curious as to his punishment. And Watson, with an air of satisfaction, noted their fear: it hung in the air, like a malodorous gas.
This boy was to fall victim to a reenactment of Watson's punishment when he was six. He threw a master ball vigorously on the ground (Ira had been transferred from its pokéball after Watson graduated) and a scyther emerged. Both the boy and his mother looked fearfully at this giant insect.
"Slash his thigh open," Watson said sadistically.
Ira hesitated. There was a silent murmur emerging: could the Guard not control his own pokémon? Anger erupted and Watson spluttered, "Ira! How dare you defy me! Slash it open now!"
Ira reluctantly lifted her large claw and brought it down with immense power upon the child's thigh. The poor child screamed in pain as he fell with great force upon the ground. Blood stained the concrete menacingly. The mother fell down to her child and she wrapped a bandage around him; Citizens always carried bandages in case of incidences like these. An unwelcome pang of remorse hit Watson's chest.
This was no treatment for a child!
However, he could not show kindness. Mercy was forbidden for Guards once the rampage had begun. Ira, on the other hand, seemed significantly more downtrodden at this act. She was finally beginning to see Watson as a friend, and then this catastrophe happened.
"Hopefully this will teach you to show your brat the difference between right and wrong," concluded Watson, only being able to vaguely remember what had incited such an attack. "Ira, return."
By the time Watson turned his head to look upon the streets, the audience that he knew was once there was gone. In its place, a puddle of fresh, yellow vomit.
What an ugly area: a black façade rose high into the air, without windows or texture; twisted gargoyles of Hoods and powerful pokémon surrounded the place; it was desolate, feared, hated. There was no grass, only concrete, and it was built into a large wall of rock. The rest of Lilycove was beautiful compared to this eyesore.
It was the office of the Lilycove Hood.
Each area in the Empire had a Hood assigned to it. The purpose of the Local Hoods was simple: instill fear, terror, and suffering over their region. The Lilycove Hood was quite a terrible one: he was well known across the Empire for being the most vicious, sadistic Local Hood. Rumor had it that he had been offered many promotions before, but he'd obviously turned them down: they didn't give them enough opportunity to torture Citizens anywhere else.
Watson's job here was simple: make sure those coming in and leaving had the authority to do so. And it was quite easy, but tedious: only Guards and Suits went in and out of this building, so he had no opportunity to exert his power.
Until the afternoon.
Watson had received a signal through his helmet to enter the building. His helmet had an excellent communicator within it, so he could call for backup or be called upon when needed. But it had a far more useful purpose. It could identify Hoods. A few days ago, he had seen a Hood briefly pass, who his helmet identified to be the Deputy Supreme Commander of the Guards. Curious that he (or she – it was impossible to tell) would be coming through Lilycove. But, as Watson knew, it wasn't his place to ask questions.
At least, not verbally.
As he hurriedly entered the building, he noticed that it was almost precisely like the Guard academy: windowless, depressing, and with black marble walls. There were no redeeming features of this soulless building.
Watson further noticed that there were a few other Guards at his tail, running from elsewhere. What could possibly be wrong? They were about to find out: a senior Guard approached them. He wore almost the same intimidating uniform, but three white stars were visible on the left side of his chest, opposite to the Crest of the Empire.
He spoke in a half-whisper, signaling danger, "we have received credible information that there are rebels inside this building, so we're bulking up our security inside."
One Guard asked with a genuine worry within his voice, "Is it His Eminency?"
One pompous, familiar voice answered the question for the senior Guard. "Why else would they come into the master of Lilycove's place of work unless they wanted to kill him?"
Ah, his old rival, Kayla – he hadn't seen her since the academy, and he could see that she hadn't changed much.
And so, for an hour, these Guards patrolled the interior of the Lilycove Fortress. It seemed to be a false alarm – there were no bombs, no drawn pokéballs, and no rebels storming in. Well, there might have been – rebels had no uniform and simply disguised themselves as Citizens and Suits. But, if they had entered, they certainly hadn't done anything.
"So, how has your career been treating you?"
An innocent question, as most would have taken it. Watson was now assigned to stand Guard at a door that had no discernible purpose, with his old rival Kayla. However, Watson, being naturally sceptical, decided not to answer.
"I heard you ordered your scyther to attack a five-year-old," she said, still maintaining an innocent tone of voice. "Not using your own fists anymore to injure the helpless?"
He couldn't help himself, "So that's an admission that you're helpless?"
"No, Young, just a ploy to get you to say something."
And so they stood, mostly in silence, exchanging occasional sneers and insults at each other. At five minutes until the next rotation, both seemed extremely relieved that they would soon be out of each other's company. And not necessarily because they didn't like each other – but because their mutual hatred seemed to be waning.
It seemed, that despite the Hoenn education system, they were both intelligent, and could connect on an intellectual level. However, the way they connected on this level was through slinging insults back and forth, some of which would not be insulting to most people, simply because they wouldn't understand them.
Bzzz.
Their communicators were speaking to them with the voice of the senior Guard. "We have identified a rebel who is masquerading as a Suit. He will use the identification card of Robert Carter – kill on sight."
Watson and Kayla exchanged worried looks; a couple of minutes ago, they had admitted a Suit through the door they were guarding. And his identification card definitely said "Robert Carter."
They hurriedly used their communicators to inform the other Guards of this and told them of their location, shortly before silently opening their door and, pokéballs drawn, creeping forward. Keeping as low as they could, they moved along this dimly lit corridor and eventually reached a shiny metal door.
And behind it, they could hear muffled sounds of crashing; sabotage; destruction.
Watson silently pulled the door open and snuck in, Kayla at his tail. It was terrible: a graveler, at the command of what looked like a Suit, was destroying files and computers. Piles of information now lay in shreds and ruins on the white-tiled floor.
At the release of Amicus and Aliquant, the distracted rebel noticed them. "'Bout time, Empire lackies," he grinned. Next to him stood a large, grey pokémon with four stubby, but seemingly powerful arms protruding from its body. "Graveler, Rock Polish!"
"Aliquant, Vital Throw!"
The rock pokémon seemed to weep some kind of transparent liquid out of its body, making it almost instantaneously shiny and lubricious. The makuhita charged at graveler, who merely stood, looking amused. By the time Kayla realized what had happened it was too late: Aliquant, with all its force lunged at the pokémon, quickly losing its grip and hitting hard down upon the floor.
"Amicus, Fire Spin!"
The houndoom released a hurricane of fire, but Graveler easily slid out of the way. It seemed unbefitting for such a brutish pokémon to slide away with the grace of an ice skater. Footsteps sounded behind them, and the rebel knew he was in trouble.
"Graveler, Mud Sport!"
The graveler said its own name, and released upon the Guards and their pokémon a large amount of thick, disgusting mud, that knocked the humans off their feet, and made the pokémon flinch. By the time they'd wiped their eyes, two backup Guards stood behind them, and the rebel was gone, the pitter-patter of his feet vaguely audible through a white door on the other side of the room.
Watson was not going to wait. He ran after this infidel, determined not to have that blast of mud as the last word. He ran agilely and rapidly to his prey. The black marble walls either side of him were phantasmal whirs of shadow, but he could see the running rebel now.
After a few more seconds of running, the rebel took a sharp turn to the side, which Watson wasn't prepared for, and in his attempt to slow down, ran past the door. Quickly recovering from this embarrassment, he turned and ran through this new far more narrow corridor, and saw an open door at the end.
Watson's killer instinct was now in overdrive: just a little further, and he would have singlehandedly caught a rebel! In his first week of being a Guard!
The carrot of success now bigger and juicier than ever, he emerged through the door, refusing to show any sign of tiredness. Light flooded this room – or, more accurately, it appeared to after the dimness of the corridor. He stood on a black marble balcony above the atrium, running around the circumference of it. Below, there were numerous pokémon battles occurring in a series of blind rages. Shouting, fire, electricity, ice: the terrifying calmness of this building had now become exciting chaos.
Scanning both his left and his right, he saw the rebel a catchable distance away from him. To his left.
"Amicus, catch him!"
The houndoom emerged from its ball with a determined expression upon its face, and sprinted after the rebel. Upon seeing the futility of running from a houndoom, the suited rebel approached it and released his graveler.
"Graveler, Rollout!"
The animate rock curled itself into a ball and rolled, with increasing acceleration, at Amicus. Watson, running along the balcony to meet the battle, shouted the obvious to his companion, "Dodge it, Amicus!"
Watson's pokémon moved to the side with ease, but the rolling pokémon simply turned and sped back, even faster, towards Amicus. Amicus dodged again, but with more difficulty this time. As Watson reached the battle, Amicus had dodged the spinning rock for a third time, and it didn't look like it could be done a fourth.
"Amicus, Torment!"
The houndoom let out a low, psychotic growl that caused the Graveler to immediately stop rolling, and instead proceed forward in a painful tumble. When Graveler tried to achieve its balance, it looked positively enraged; unable to think clearly.
However, it never regained its balance, as Amicus lowered its head and thrust it off the balcony, where it hit the floor below with a painful whine and a large thud. Even in a high-pressure situation like this, Watson still felt that hurting the enemy's pokémon that badly was a terrible act.
Once again, though, remorse had tricked him: in his moment of reflection, the suited rebel was flying down to the floor to aid his comrades, his long blonde hair flying in the wind created by his method of transport: a staraptor, a large, grayish brown bird with a white belly and crimson crest feathers.
Watson withdrew Amicus and sent out Ira, who had still not forgiven Watson for his atrocious act upon the small boy.
"Please, Ira," Watson pleaded, "I know it seems wrong – but – look, I promise I'll explain later if you help me save Lilycove from anarchy!"
Ira seemed to find some sense in this, and her trainer was desperate: rarely was he so inarticulate. So, with an obvious reluctance, Watson was allowed to climb upon Ira's back, and they flew down with haste to the atrium.
It was quite a spectacular sight: pokémon of all species and strengths were evident on both sides, a spurt of flame would come up, a gust of wind would blow it away, a hail of rocks would fight against that wind, only to be smashed by a powerful punch. Watson wanted nothing more than to involve himself in this large battle immediately.
He quickly released Amicus again, and told him to use Fire Spin on an ivysaur that seemed to be causing one of his fellow Guards trouble.
"Ira, Swords Dance!"
Ira leapt into the air and swung her blades with a mad fury to protect herself from the fierce spray of water from an enemy quagsire, and the water flung around the room, lightly raining upon its inhabitants.
"Quagsire, Mud Bomb!"
What was it with rebels and mud? "Ira, Safeguard!"
At his command, the scyther raised its claws in front of its body and glowed a heavenly white, and the ball of mud released by the quagsire's mouth fell to the ground upon touching this aura.
Something hit Watson's foot: it was Amicus! He was engaged in two battles at once, and was far too inexperienced to win them both. The poor houndoom lay pathetically at his feet, breathing heavily; bruises seemed to be developing on Amicus's front legs and forehead.
In this moment of distraction, Ira fell back into Watson: he'd been paying too much attention to his injured pokémon and not enough to his healthy one. Watson now lay painfully on the marble floor, struggling to get up, with all the weight of Ira on him.
He painfully whispered a single word to both of his pokémon.
"Sorry."
And at this word, Watson felt the powerful foot of a rebel hostilely meet his face. His senses drifted away, and before oblivion cradled him, Watson knew nothing. Nothing but one feeling, that crept through his body and grappled it with all its might.
Pain.
