Firstly, I would like to thank bobandbill for BETAing this chapter, which was a really useful report. ^_^
Chapter Two: Blackmail
First class of the day.
Amply spaced across a large training room, a hundred students eagerly stood. Quite typically, four black marble walls imposed themselves on the room, but the floors were covered in blood red sponge mats, with the colours unevenly distributed. Was it possible that the mats were once not this colour?
Despite this possibility hanging over the cadets, almost all of them looked excited in their own way; some had arrogant smiles, others nervously looked around the room. A short, bruised girl by the name of Kayla Oxford, on the other hand, had her own way of showing her determination.
Glaring into the back of the head of her assaulter.
One of the Guards had inquired about her bruise earlier, without sympathy in his voice; merely the sadistic desire to punish the offender. Kayla had replied that she tripped and fell, to which the Guard chuckled unkindly, calling her an idiot. Many male cadets had approached this attractive girl and offered to defend her honour by breaking a few of Watson's bones. She declined fiercely; she wasn't about to become the damsel in distress who needed saving.
One foolish cadet didn't want to take no for an answer. Watson, being quite powerful, had this future Guard pinned against the wall, immobile, in seconds. So, the class resorted to the tactics of ostracisation, which Watson was all too familiar with.
"Settle down," commanded an entering voice.
A gruff, muscular man with a mane of greying black hair entered the room. He was a fully qualified guard, yet wore a black dogi, to associate himself with his students. His dark brown eyes flared with a deep loathing at the cadets; they were still, after all, Citizens. Watson wasn't sure whether he'd look more intimidating with the Guard's armor on or off.
He strutted powerfully towards the front of the class, and issued another order, "Release your pokémon."
The opening of master balls sounded and a hundred houndour emerged, all looking fierce, ready to battle. One houndour in particular seemed more bloodthirsty than the rest. Watson's houndour, Amicus, after witnessing the events of the previous night, seemed to have a newfound respect for his trainer; Watson had established himself as the alpha male between the two. Watson had always sought loyalty from pokémon, but he couldn't help but wonder if his wish had been ill-received.
"And this, cadets, is what you're aiming for," gloated the instructor, releasing from his master ball a houndoom. It had a fierce hatred in its eyes that matched its master's, with demonic horns protruding from its head; a symbol of power. It was significantly larger than the houndour, yet still possessed the intimidating black fur, vicious teeth, and a vaguely exoskeletal protrusions.
The ultimate predator.
The two hundred beings in the class gazed in wonder at this magnificent creature, knowing what the reward would be should they succeed. The fantasy of the houndour had passed; they were now mere puppies; weapons for the weak.
"Now, everyone get a partner and prepare to faint, and faint only. If you kill the opponent's houndour, you'll be sent to Mt. Ember for vandalism of Empire property," sneered their teacher, revealing his yellow teeth.
Mt. Ember prison. The most feared place in the Hoenn region. Every criminal, regardless of the level of their crime, would be sent to this gargantuan complex. The conditions were terrible: the fierce climate, the most sadistic Guards in the region, and, most horribly of all, complete isolation from friends and family. Nobody was entirely sure what was there, but silent rumours of torture chambers had been passed around. The Guards made no effort to quash such speculation.
After all, it was
they who started them, and not untruthfully.
Kayla moved with swift determination towards Watson, piercing those who would try to steal her prey with her furious eyes. Watson doused her fiery glare with his cold, blue eyes, taunting, "Come back for another one?"
"We'll see who's laughing when I humiliate you in front of everyone."
More social threats. Watson was surprised: she was either very perceptive or incredibly oblivious. He had shown no signs of caring about his recent excommunication from the social hierarchy of the cadets, so why should humiliation harm him? On the other hand, maybe she had detected his secret, insecure need to be seen as powerful by others, to be feared?
"Ready your pokémon! On my mark! Three, two, one, fight!"
"Fortis, launch into his neck!"
Kayla's order was the first in the class, but Watson was quick to respond.
"Amicus, fall to the side!"
Amicus couldn't see what Watson was trying to do, but obeyed him unhesitatingly. Fortis, in its haste, missed the now falling houndour's neck and tripped over its body, flipping halfway into the air and landing on its back.
"Amicus, leer!"
Amicus's eyes became an angry red, locking Fortis in a trance. Fortis could now not hear the desperate, shrill screams of her master; she simply continued to lie on her back. She didn't even hear the attacking order of the enemy trainer: before she knew it, she had been struck by the tough head of Amicus, and had been knocked even further across the room.
Kayla, in a cool shrillness, cried, "Fortis, rip into its leg!"
The female houndour attacked the male one's closest leg, and pulled it across the floor, vigorously shaking its head. Under Watson's orders, Amicus bit back, but the counterattack only served to release, not to cause any damage. The two houndour stood, furious and weak. Fortis was unspeakably tired and hurt from being thrown across the room, and Amicus had a wounded leg.
It was now a battle of endurance: if either went forward to attack, they would collapse in pain, so they stood weakly, panting, eyes locked in fierce contact. It was a magnificent sight: all other houndour in the room had now either one win or one loss. However, these two stood strong against those resting, determined to win.
Fortis faltered.
Amicus leaned forward in anticipation.
Fortis stubbornly regained its stance, growling to show that it was not defeated.
And finally, one fell, utterly defeated. It was obviously the second strongest houndour in the room, but with one loss, it would be considered to be in the bottom half in terms of strength. One of the weak ones. Two cries were released: one gleeful, the other disheartened.
As Watson rushed forward to collect his defeated soldier, he couldn't help but smile at its courage and determination. Despite the loss, he was proud of his pokémon. He was undoubtedly disappointed in himself, yet this emotion was drowned by his pride.
Six o'clock.
Watson had suffered many taunts that day after his morning loss. This is, of course, despite the fact that Amicus and himself together had won every other battle throughout class that day, and the most prominent jeerers were those who he defeated. Either way, his loss to Kayla now left him, in the eyes of others, weak.
He pondered about how he thought about it. He'd always assume he'd be angry at the pokémon should he lose: after all, it's the pokémon doing the battling, not him. Yet, this did not match his true emotions. He instead felt immensely disappointed in himself, for not reacting quick enough, not predicting his opponent's next move, not maximizing Amicus's potential.
He only felt pride and gratitude for the fearless houndour that had unquestionably obeyed his orders for his master's ends.
Watson lay on his bed with his houndour on his chest, trying to understand his various repetitions of its own name. It was not as he expected: when he tried to learn patterns in their speech, he was unsuccessful. There seemed to be no grammar to their language, at least by his standards. It was when Watson stopped trying to decipher the language, and just listened aimlessly, that he understood.
He chatted with Amicus about battle strategy, sometimes not understanding huge blocks of what his pokémon said, but he didn't care; at least they were communicating.
"When a pokémon charges at you, drop low and attack their leg."
"<With my teeth or claws? Teeth give me the advantage of strength and grip, but … more maneuvering capabilities.>"
"Which do you find easier?"
"<Claws, usually. I often find it hard to retain a grip. However, you need to be my eyes when I'm doing this, and…>"
And so they jabbered, Amicus understanding Watson's speech fluently, while Watson only having a fragmented knowledge of what his houndour was saying. And Watson, for the first time in years, was finding himself to be experiencing a foreign emotion. An emotion that was so odd, yet seemed so obvious and natural.
Happiness.
Midnight.
A lone palace stood strong against the isolated forest, darkened by the night. It was a fortress, surrounded by Guards and all kinds of vicious, bloodthirsty pokémon circling the black, towering, titanium fence. In day, it was just as gloomy as it was at night: a violent violet, dark and deadly. As one would expect, its fortress exterior has a lavish interior, the most lavish in the entire Empire. For this palace housed a Hood, the most powerful and terrible of all.
The Emperor of Hoenn.
This particular Hood had recently been called into a large room. Its walls were a beautiful crystal blue, and its floor was emerald green. Its only spoiling factor was that it had no windows. No room in the residence of any Hood did.
Two Guards stood, holding a wounded middle-age man between them, each unkindly clutching an arm. He had scraggly, greying brunette hair, and a suit that may once have been nice. Not now, though: it was now covered in dirt and torn in various places. His head sagged down, as he did not want to look into the empty void of that hood. Not again.
The Emperor telepathically induced the emotion of job satisfaction in the Guards' heads. A signal for them to leave.
What he had to say was far too important for them to hear.
The Hood tilted his head to look down at this pathetic figure. This man once had a bright future; a successful career awaiting. Unfortunately for him, he threw it away. He tossed this happy, successful life off a cliff to fulfill one thing. His principles.
Such a pathetic concept.
The pathetic man involuntarily lifted his head – try as he might, he could not resist telekinesis this powerful. His hazel eyes looked into the dark void, fearful, once again. The Emperor began to communicate telepathically.
"[You've caused me a lot of trouble. Your society has been looking for you.]"
The victim enragedly protested, "Society hasn't been looking for me! You have! You and your lackies! How dare you equate the Empire with society? This isn't a society! It's a mass of terrified people living under a shroud of secrecy and oppression, a pain that you inflicted upon them!"
"[Was it me, or was it you?]"
"How was I to know that this would happen!?"
"[You placed those master balls on the black market, Mr. Eckleberry. Surely you expected malicious use?]"
"Not like this. I thought maybe you worked for Team Aqua or Magma, at worst," whispered Eckleberry. He was desperate, even in the face of such a powerful adversary, to maintain his innocence.
A surge of pain was telepathically induced by the Emperor through the former Deputy Head Ball Developer of Devon. A punishment for his naïveity.
Eckleberry rolled on the ground for a few seconds, attempting to regain his sense of existence. Eventually, he spluttered, "Why don't you just kill me?"
"[I have no intention of doing that. But, I did call you here for a reason. I take it you don't recognise the Empire as having the right to rule?]"
Was this some kind of trap, so this villain would have an excuse to psychically induce more pain in him? He chose not to answer.
The Emperor coupled his telepathic message with a sense of mockery. "[If you refuse to answer, I'll answer for you: you don't. You still think the Republic should govern, correct? Well, I recall a Republican law stating that, as a consumer, I have the right not to receive faulty goods.]"
What was the Emperor talking about?
"[And yet, I'm unhappy with these master balls.]"
"What?"
"[They're good, but not perfect. I require a much more powerful product.]"
"The master ball is the most powerful thing possible! There is nothing with it you can't catch," said Eckleberry with a tone of finality.
"[Lies.]"
The poor man, who was still groveling on the ground, received a further jolt of pain. It was truly agonising, as if his entire body had simply became a wound, a giant reservoir for all the physical pain in the world.
"[There are a set of pokémon that it can't catch. The Fabled Ones. The Legendary Pokémon.]"
It suddenly dawned on Bjorn Eckleberry what this man was trying to say. He was horrified: legendary pokémon could quash the rebellion once and for all. He was, of course, far too craven to join the rebellion, but he was a strong sideline supporter of it.
"[Yes, the rebellion will be quashed,]" the Emperor started, examining Bjorn's thoughts. "[However, it will allow me to do something much more.]"
Bjorn's eyes widened fearfully, and he managed to whimper out a single word: "What?"
"[I shan't reveal anything more than I have to.]"
The destruction of the rebellion would be a useful side effect of gaining the Legendary Pokémon, but that wasn't all. He had a far more diabolical plan in his mind, which only the upper echelon of Hoods knew about.
The Hoenn Empire was planning to expand its borders.
"[As I said before, Mr. Eckleberry, I have no intention of killing you. I need you to create for me a master ball that has the capability to capture the Legendary Pokémon. Regardless of whether you comply, you will be sent to prison. The variable, of course, is where.
"[If you help me, your prison will be a luxurious mansion with a sizable budget. You will live with the luxury of an average Hood, save the ability to exit the house. On the other hand, you can be sent to the underground sector of Mt. Ember prison. And I will personally tell the Guards there that I will find favour with those who show the most schadenfreude with you.]"
Mt. Ember prison was terrible. Everyone knew this. But the underground sector was reserved for the most loathed enemies of the Empire. One of the few things the Empire did in public was show imprisonment. And they made extra care to make imprisonment in the underground sector big news.
The situation was ironically similar to that of twenty years ago. He could live a life of luxury and betray his conscience, or live a life of hardship but keep his conscience clear. He stared desperately into the darkness of the Emperor's hood, contemplating his past and future. The latter was riding on this one ultimatum that the most powerful man in Hoenn had provided.
Blackmail.