Chapter Twenty-Six: Past and Future
"Manfred… Manfred…"
The voice was agonised, but familiar. Manfred opened his eyes, to find himself floating in an all too familiar world. He was floating over a series of floating boulders. A faint, light Pokémon in the distance roared softly.
"G-Giratina?"
It had been years since Manfred had spoken to the legendary Pokémon. But he looked different: he was glowing, but translucent. He swum mid-air, slowly, but frantically. Never before had Manfred spoken to Giratina in such a distressed state.
"It's… been years. What happened to you?"
"It is perhaps best I show you."
Suddenly, the dream opened up, and he stood before a battle that took place many, many years ago. It was obvious from the look of tiredness in Giratina's eyes that it was almost over. Evan Emerit, a look of greed smeared across his face, ordered his Tyranitar to deliver one final blow: Crunch.
The green dinosaur leapt towards Giratina. Thoroughly exhausted, Giratina pulled back, but was too slow. Howling in pain, Giratina collapsed, falling into the abyss below.
Evan Emerit stepped forward. Before him laid an orb, swirling with darkness. The orb that Giratina had fought him to protect.
"The Griseous Orb," said Evan, a triumphant smirk on his face. "Get it, Tyranitar."
Obediently, Tyranitar waddled over to the Griseous Orb, picking it up. Suddenly, from below, Giratina emerged, enraged. Evidently, it was not defeated. Evan almost screamed his next command, and Tyranitar used yet another Crunch attack. Giratina flew forward. The Griseous Orb was between them. Darkness collided with darkness.
Neither Pokémon stood tall after the attack. Tyranitar lay injured and unconscious on the floating platform. Giratina was nowhere to be found.
Evan walked slowly, cautiously, towards the orb. He knelt down, and touched it. Manfred's guess was right: suddenly, Evan convulsed. Convulsed as if he had a demon inside him. This was partially true. It was painful: Evan opened his mouth as if to scream, but he couldn't.
Suddenly, the dream faded back, so Manfred was talking with the faint, light Giratina.
"The Griseous Orb is what keeps me in my Origin Form. I must be in contact with it. But, in the Distortion World, space operates in such a way… that it's as if everything touches everything. This kind of darkness can be untapped by a human to learn psychic powers – the same kind I taught you.
"However, when I collided with Tyranitar, using my full force against his full force, the Griseous Orb right between us… I was nearly dead, Manfred. Somehow, the connection between myself and the Griseous Orb ripped out the darkness within me, splitting my spirit, leaving only the light as you see now. There are some things in this world that even I don't understand. The Griseous Orb that Arceus gave to me all those centuries ago is one of them.
"Then, when Evan touched it, his greed, his malice, his darkest ambitions running high, my dark half merged with that, inhabiting his body. The result? Evan Emerit and this new, darker personality. A grotesque fusion between the darkness of myself, and the darkness of Evan. Lord Augury, as he was called."
"So… that is the story?" Manfred was overwhelmed.
"Yes. Only now do I have the strength to tell you this. Three years ago, I woke, and have built the strength ever since to communicate with you again."
Manfred didn't know how to respond.
"But there is a danger, now, Manfred. As Lord Augury expunged Evan Emerit, the one hedge of good that rested within him has gone. Lord Augury will grow. He will become darker. That kind of force doesn't rest. It mutates. It will have been doing it slowly over the past three years. Here's where it picks up, Manfred. Time is running out for the human world."
"What – what can I do?"
Giratina shook its head. "I don't know. But kill it fast. As you know, my power is terrible. If you think that Augury's at his strongest…" Giratina paused. "Once my darkness comes through, there will be no hope. Not for Torcra, not for your entire world."
*
The situation was hardly appetising. The alleyways of Cronine City on a cold morning. Warm smoke puffed against the frost. It emanated from a cigarette, held by an unshaven youth. Approaching this young man was a man in a long, black trench coat.
"I told you a year ago. No."
"Liam, surely you've noticed how circumstances have changed?"
Liam, Charlotte's trainer friend, waved his cigarette in the face of the Knife recruiter. "You're not roping me into a war. I'm a trainer, not a bloody soldier."
The man reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. "Perhaps this will change your mind."
Liam casually tore it open and took one glance at the handwriting. "Ah, so Charlotte's in the Knife? And you thought that would win me over?" Liam scoffed. "I'm sure a lot of my old friends have joined you. It seems to be the new thing that's eating up the numbers of free trainers."
Charlotte assured me this would work, the man thought. "Read it."
Liam scanned through the letter.
"Liam,
"I know you're not the type to get dragged into someone else's battle, so I'll make it your own. Remember four years ago how you said that you've heard of a rumour that could get your head cut off? That's what we're fighting against.
"If you know about heads being removed you know enough. It's probably not enough for you that he's got your friends – including Bevan. That's right – he has your childhood friend, possibly the only person you really cared about before you became a trainer. But Liam, if you think that the Oligarchy caring about Pokémon is going to cease, you are wrong.
"Don't be short-sighted. If you don't fight with us against He who is Merely a Rumour, you will perish. You're probably stubborn enough to continue training even under this kind of rule, but to what end? What's the point in being a trainer if nobody else is? I'm surprised you've found anyone to battle now.
"-Charlotte."
Liam smiled.
She knows how to play me. Or, rather, she thinks she does. "Did you really think that would work?"
The man smiled. "Dagger didn't think so either. I have another envelope for you."
Liam took this one, tore it open, and looked at it. His cocky smile faded, and almost immediately he stuffed the note in his pocket hurriedly.
"Yeah, like that's not suspicious," joked the Knife recruiter. "Dagger has a way of doing that to people."
He looked at the man strangely, with a hint of horror in his eyes. Totally oblivious to what this meant. Figures, Liam thought disdainfully. Liam swore very loudly. Angrily. He took a deep breath, turned to the Knife agent, and managed to mumble, "I'm in."
*
Seven people stood in the room. It was the first day of 'President Evan Emerit's' rule. The day that Augury could walk free in his mask, and people would respect him as a revolutionary. A merciful, benevolent leader who had lifted the oppressive martial law. Of course, they were living under the same oppressive regime that they were three years ago. More oppressive, in fact. They just didn't know it. Augury was building up Unit 6, and the Cloaks. The people, blinded by the ignorance forced upon them from a young age, simply didn't understand true tyranny.
Six of the seven people were formerly Oligarchs, all formally under arrest. The understanding was that they would essentially retain the equivalents of their old jobs within Augury's new regime. Of course, that was not to be the case.
The bearer of bad news, the seventh person, was Bevan. He sat in a black cloak, the standard Cloak uniform. And the standard uniform for any of Augury's mercenaries. The image was completed by his dark, cold, unforgiving eyes. Over three years, he had changed. He had become ruthless. And, most horribly, he had completed his transformation to someone who was emotionless. In his new world, there was nobody to get attached to. Nobody to lure out love or hope. Augury had seen to that.
Bevan motioned for the Oligarchs to sit. Used to obeying him by now, they all did. Nervously. Bevan circled them for a while, allowing the fear to sink in. The only one who maintained his usual air of confidence was Calvin Shore, the former Hands of the Oligarchy.
Always play with your food, Augury had taught him.
Only kill it immediately if it poses a real threat to you. That way, you establish a reputation for being terrifying. That is how you control people.
Finally, the sound of cracking was heard. Bevan didn't even look as he psychically snapped the neck of the new Voice. "Nothing personal," Bevan mused aloud to the cadaver. "We just couldn't have such a vociferous supporter of martial law kept alive."
The other Oligarchs simply sweated. In power, they were all fearless. But in weakness, their true natures were laid bare. They had all resented Rex, but Bevan was truly terrifying. He was young, but he was creative. Even his morbid taunts were emotionless. They were simply for the purpose of achieving a goal: fear. So that the surviving Oligarchs would know their place before this cruel eighteen-year-old. He was almost demonic.
Bevan continued circling, and stopped behind Gareth, the current Nose. "Time's up," Bevan whispered, before snapping his neck too. The expression on his corpse was one of pure, undiluted fear.
Bevan turned to Simon, the Brain, putting a light telekinetic grip around his neck. "Give me a reason why you shouldn't join the dead. Your entire operation has been a failure."
"You… have discretion over who lives?"
Even though his face was dripping with the sweat of fear, Simon Gordon couldn't resist satisfying his curiosities.
"In your case, yes," said Bevan simply. "Thirty seconds."
"We've done good work. We're making major progress on the Red Files, and…" At the mention of the Red Files, Simon Gordon's head twisted three-hundred and sixty degrees.
If he's mentioning those failures as his greatest achievements, then I need no more time for consideration.
"The rest of you are free to live. Samantha and Susan, you will be in subsidiary positions, similar to your roles in the Oligarchy. Calvin, you'll control the economy and the finances. Answerable to Augury, of course." Bevan leaned in. "By the way, for what you three did, death is far too kind. The fact that you now live comfortable lives… count your blessings, former Oligarchs. You deserve nothing less than torture until you die." He said it with such a tone of promise. Perhaps if it was a passionate speech it wouldn't have been so horrifying. But it was cold. Blank. Emotionless.
Just as he had worked alongside a terrorist organisation, he now worked alongside the state.
What difference is there? This was the question that Bevan would often ask his conscience in the early stages of his duties.
He had never received any response.
*
"Martial law's over, Cicero. It's high time we put some of your inventions to use." Dagger approached his chief scientist. "I must say, I can't wait to test some of these out."
Cicero frowned. "There is too much glee in your voice. These do some terrible things."
"For great purposes," amended Dagger. "If not for anything else, they must be great leaps in the field of science."
"Yes," said Cicero, not fooled. "But you'll not subvert my conscience by trying to appeal to my intellectual nature."
"It's a debate we've had many times, Cicero."
"Yes, but now that we're actually putting them out there… it's hard to think that my creations will do such horrific and unnatural things. Why did we have to get to this point?"
"It all stems back to the Event. In a time of such catastrophe, people were simply willing to sacrifice their freedom to be safe. The government liked their power and held on. And then you've got a clever man like Augury who plays the system, and we end up where we are. Building a reset button."
"It's a shame so many lives have to be lost in the building of this metaphorical button."
"Indeed," said Dagger grimly.
