Misheard Whisper
[b][color=#FF0000]I[/color] [color=#FF7F00]also[/c
- 3,486
- Posts
- 16
- Years
- Age 30
- He/They
- Nimbasa Gym
- Seen Oct 3, 2022
![[PokeCommunity.com] Fractured](https://i690.photobucket.com/albums/vv263/Misheard_Whisper/Fracturedtitle.png "[PokeCommunity.com] Fractured")
Rated M for violence, language and themes that may offend
Well, this is my latest project. I've been working on it for a little while (read: about three days), but I have a new policy. I'm not going to post a chapter until the one after is finished. I know some people prefer to write their whole fic before posting it, while others (like me) tend to post a chapter as soon as it's done. This is kind of the middle ground, I guess.
Anyway, as I've hinted at above, this story is a little darker. It's a bit more psychological than my earlier fanfictions, and it looks to be a little shorter than they were intended to be, but that depends on which direction the plot takes. I have done some advance planning this time, so between that and my new one-chapter-ahead idea, this should hopefully not be dropped midway like all of my others.
Now, my biggest note: this fic uses a mixture of canon and original characters. This is my first time writing with canon characters (save for a few Cyrus cameos), so . . . I'm not asking you to sugar-coat your reviews or 'go easy' on me because I'm inexperienced with canon characters. All I'm asking is that you bear this fact in mind if you choose to review.
Foreword
In an alternate universe . . .
The Johto region has been plunged into chaos. Instead of the harmonic, relaxed region you know, it is cracked and splintered. Each of the major cities – Cianwood, Olivine, Ecruteak, Violet, Cherrygrove, Blackthorn and Goldenrod – has become a self-governing state, most of which are led by an individual that was once known as a 'Gym Leader'. Peace is an unfamiliar term, and citizens live with constant fear and paranoia. Wars and skirmishes break out with alarming regularity between all the city-states, save one. Blackthorn, a relatively small community in the far north-eastern corner of Johto, struggles to remain neutral, while its Gym Leader-turned-President races against time to get to the bottom of the whole affair.
The event known as the Split happened only around two years previously, yet it is already an event set firmly in history. Few people know its cause, and fewer still will tell you when asked. Could the cause be as simple as human greed and envy, or are there more powerful forces at play? One woman finds out, and the revelation is hardly to her taste . . .
Sighing, Clair Dragonchild rested her head wearily on her desk. Breathing in, she inhaled its familiar, woody scent, overlaid with decades of coffee stains and varnish. She closed her eyes and let herself drift for a minute. She had done this so many times, she thought absently. This cluttered little desk in this cluttered little study was like a refuge for her in these times.
How did it get like this?
What sort of madness was this? What could possibly have happened to spark all the madness that was threatening to engulf her city? The Split had been so long ago that she had almost forgotten what had caused it.
My city . . .
As many times as she heard it said, she still couldn't get used to the idea of Blackthorn being her city. She didn't want to own a city, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself. Being a Gym Leader had been all well and good, but she didn't want this. Nobody should want this. The only problem was that there was nobody else she deemed worthy to run Blackthorn. She was stuck with the job.
A single angry tear forced its way out from between her tightly-shut eyelids, crawling across her face and, succumbing to gravity, falling to the surface of the desk. Irately, she brushed it away and sat straight upright in a single abrupt motion. Clenching her fists, she berated herself silently. This wasn't like her, not in the slightest. Was she going soft? Or was she just not up to the job?
"The pressure of running a city is a heavy burden for even the most able," said a soft voice from behind her. "Don't be so down." Smiling a little, Clair brushed away more tears before they could form.
"Thank you, Pryce," she murmured. "You always seem to know what I'm thinking." Turning in her chair, Blackthorn's President observed her most trusted advisor – and oldest friend. Pryce, an aging, quiet man with receding white hair framing a bald crown, had once been the Gym Leader in Mahogany. Once the Split occurred, however, Pryce had wisely decided to ally Mahogany with Blackthorn. Clair had accepted happily – the two cities had always had a good relationship, after all, and Pryce was far more experienced than she was.
"Perhaps. That's what happens when you know someone for a long time."
Clair cracked a weak smile. "How come I can never read you, then?" she asked. "I've known you just as long as you've known me."
"Naturally. However, Mahogany's residents have long been known for our secrecy and – I hesitate to say – deception. When I was the Gym Leader, I spent many years perfecting the art of remaining cold and impassionate. Old habits die hard, as they say." Clair sighed.
"Why will you not take the leadership of Blackthorn, Pryce?" she asked, not for the first time, or the second, or probably even the hundredth. "You're so much more suited to this sort of thing than I am!"
"What sort of thing might that be?" Although Pryce's aged face displayed no emotion, as usual, Clair had the strangest feeling that he was laughing at her on the inside.
"Politics," she snorted. "I never was any good at negotiation, or diplomacy, or whatever else I'm supposed to be good at for this job. I'm only President because I was the Blackthorn Gym Leader, and I'd give it up in a second – to the right person, of course."
"And you believe I would do a better job of that than you?" Pryce shuffled his way around beside her and perched himself on the edge of her desk, among all the paperwork, leaning heavily on his cane.
"Yes, you would!" Clair exclaimed, waving a hand agitatedly. "You're a brilliant negotiator and a level-headed mediator. You always seem to know what to say in any given situation . . . Just having you in a room calms everybody down. You're just what Blackthorn needs if we want to stay neutral!" She placed heavy emphasis on the last word. "Please, Pryce, I'm asking you to do this. Not just for me, but for Blackthorn!" The old man was silent. After a short interval, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, tipping his head back toward the ceiling.
"Listen, Clair," he said seriously, his voice level. "I may be all of that, or I may not, but whether I have those skills or not is irrelevant. That is not what Blackthorn needs. You are looking at this the wrong way, my friend. In these times of unrest and civil war, a city does not need a leader who can keep the peace. A city needs a leader who can actually lead. A leader who is strong. And you, Clair . . . you are the strongest person I know."
Clair frowned and rested her forehead in her hands as she tried to puzzle this out. "I don't follow you, Pryce. Are you suggesting I lead Blackthorn to war? That I take up arms against the rest of Johto, just like all the other city-states?"
"No, not in the slightest. I have always admired the conviction with which you have backed up your policy of neutrality, and I see no reason for you to abandon that now. All I am saying is that Blackthorn will doubtless require a steadfast and resolute leader like yourself, especially if things carry on as they are."
"You think they will?" Clair asked, discouraged. If things kept spiralling out of control like they had been recently, Johto would descend into total anarchy. "Where will that leave us?"
"The same place everyone else will be," said Pryce grimly. "Chaos."
"I don't want that," Clair said quietly. "Not for Blackthorn. The rest of Johto can go to hell for all I care, but I'm not letting anything happen to my city!"
Pryce nodded in satisfaction. "There you are, you see? You've just proved my point again. Blackthorn needs you, because you are the one person who will refuse to give in. Being stubborn isn't necessarily a bad thing." Clair said nothing, staring firmly at a coffee stain on her desk. Pryce nodded a second time, and withdrew from the study without a further word. The door shut behind him with a loud click.
"You're right, Pryce," she said aloud, once he had gone. "I have to do this." For Blackthorn's sake.
Sighing wearily, Clair pushed her chair back and made her way to the window, picking her way between piles of books and miscellaneous junk. She had never bothered to keep the little study tidy, seeing no point. Nobody ever came in except herself and Pryce. Situated in the building that had used to be the Blackthorn Gym – now the unofficial headquarters of the Blackthorn governing body – it was an out-of-the-way little room at the end of a long, boring corridor, behind a plain, unmarked door. The plush, bluish-purple carpet was barely visible beneath all of the paraphernalia strewn about the room.
The window, which normally caught the morning sun and sent it streaming across Clair's desk, was now dark and dull. Clair pressed a hand to the glass and peered upwards to the rapidly darkening sky. "Looks like rain again," she mumbled wearily. The glass was pleasantly cool, so clear rested her forehead against it for a few seconds. It was remarkably relaxing, but any small comfort was doomed not to last.
A strident beeping pierced the silence of the small room, coming from a small Dratini-shaped alarm clock on her desk. Knocking over a pile of forms in the process, Clair whacked it on the head to activate the sleep function. 09:55, read the LCD screen set into its side. Right, she had a meeting in five minutes to discuss . . . something. She was sure it was important to somebody.
Time to act like a President. Drawing herself up to her full height and adjusting her cape, Clair fixed what she hoped was a relaxed, yet determined look on her face and pushed the door open.
When Clair entered the conference room two minutes later, Pryce stumbling slightly behind her, everybody seated around the large oval table stood respectfully and bowed their heads.
"Stop doing that," she snapped. "I'm a President, not a deity. Right, what's on the agenda for today?" She slid into a chair at the head of the table and glanced around her makeshift Cabinet. There was still no organisation, she reflected bitterly. Fifteen of the city's most influential or useful people – many of them members of the Dragon Clan – sitting in no particular order around a table. None of them had any particular job or position. There were no undersecretaries, no elected ministers, nothing, in fact, at all. There was no election system – the people Clair chose to help her were the ones she could trust to do so. Is this what you'd call an oligarchy? she wondered. She wouldn't know, really. Politics was all so very confusing.
Until the Split, there had been no need for local politics. The rules came from the Indigo Plateau, or rather, the political department thereof. Most of Johto's people had been under the impression that the Elite Four had been running the country, but Clair knew that it was not so. Lance, Will, Koga, Karen and Bruno had just been figureheads. Sure, they had been powerful in their own right, but what sort of foolishness would it be to appoint a nation's leaders based on their skill at Pokémon battling? The Gym Leaders had been partially responsible for the enforcement of the law in their respective cities, but the police force had dealt with most of that.
Johto had, in fact, been a relatively quiet, peaceful nation. In the years leading up to the Split, its crime figures had been the lowest in recorded history. It had been a country where ten-year-old children could wander freely around the countryside with just a small Pokémon for protection.
Now, of course, there was no such opportunity. As Clair looked into each of the fifteen faces in front of her, she saw that each and every one of them was thinking the same thing. They knew that Johto was on a downhill slide to chaos. Clair took a deep breath, making up her mind.
"No," she said firmly. "No. Screw the agenda; we're doing this my way. Any objections?"
A city needs a leader who can actually lead. A leader who is strong. Pryce's words echoed in her head as she slammed her hands down on the table and pushed herself to her feet. Behind her, the old man himself nodded, satisfied, in his little chair in the corner.
"We've been going through this cycle of madness long enough. We can't just keep trying to stay neutral, avoiding confrontation, blah, blah, blah. We've been saying that for two years now, and it's got us nowhere."
Blackthorn needs you, because you are the one person who will refuse to give in.
"Sure, we're not at war every other weekend like the rest of Johto, but all we're doing is delaying the inevitable. We can't go on like this! Surely you can see that! The whole of Johto is going to be destroyed, and we're going to go down with it!"
"What the heck are we supposed to do, then?" The speaker was Gideon Truman. At twenty-two years of age, he was the youngest person to be granted a seat on Clair's Cabinet, but none would deny that he had earned it. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with sharp-edged good looks, topped off with a mop of blond hair that fell across his face in a way that never failed to stir the hearts of most females he encountered, Gideon had an undeniable charisma, an air of relaxation that seemed to float around wherever he went. It was evident even now; while the other fourteen people around the table were sitting on the edge of their seats, hanging on to every word of Clair's radical pronouncement, Gideon was half-slumped in his chair, twirling a strand of hair around his index finger and regarding Clair lazily with his piercing green eyes.
"I don't know, exactly," Clair confessed, frowning at him. Too laid-back. It wasn't as if he didn't have his uses, of course. He was an excellent negotiator, and highly intelligent, but she personally couldn't stand him. She had been on the verge of firing him for several months, but something kept causing her to delay it. "What I do know is that we need to do something, and fast. I couldn't care less what happens to the rest of Johto, to be honest, but the problem is that if everything else self-destructs, there's a damn good chance that they'll drag us down with them."
"So . . . what, then?" Gideon leaned forward, casually tilting his head. "What do you want to do, Madam President?" His tone, although level and polite, carried a hint of mockery with it. "Should we, perhaps, undergo a mass exodus? Pack up the whole city and move it to . . . oh, I don't know, Sinnoh? Or are you going to go back on that non-interventionist policy of yours and declare war on everyone else? Dragonair mounted with cannons, perhaps?"
Clair glared at him, her face flushing red. "I'm suggesting nothing of the sort, and don't you know it, Truman! If you're going to be like that, you can take your sarcastic suggestions and shove them up your – no!" Clair brought herself up short. "What I mean is that I'd like you to make helpful contributions to the discussion, or else shut up. Alright?"
Gideon smirked. "Chill, Prez. You need to wind it down a little. No, don't worry, I got it. I'll stay in my place from now on. Just tell me one thing, if you please. Do please tell me you're not going to renege on your promise to say neutral? I always admired how . . . vehemently you argued for that." Clair felt a shudder run down her spine at Gideon's words. They were almost the same as Pryce's just minutes earlier.
"No," she said, quietly but firmly, looking down at the table. "There is no way in hell that's happening."
"That's good to hear. But then, my earlier question still remains? What do you suggest we do? Our options as I see them are severely limited."
"You're right," Clair admitted. "We don't have much room to manoeuvre here. But listen to me, people. We have to do something, because if we don't, nobody will! Blackthorn is the city that has had the strength to stand strong and alone for the last two years, and Blackthorn has to be the city to stand up and say that enough is enough! We have to be the ones to end it! We are the final barrier, the only thing standing between Johto and total destruction!" There was a deafening silence around the table at this point. Even Gideon was nodding thoughtfully. The only sound came from the regular ticking of the small clock on the wall.
Eventually, Clair's ear caught a slight scraping from behind her. She turned to see Pryce getting to his feet, using his cane as a lever to haul himself from his chair. He was getting older, she thought. Before long, she would have to put him in a wheelchair. Not that he'd ever admit to it, of course, but the erstwhile Gym Leader of Mahogany was not as agile as he had once been.
"You have something to say, old man?" Gideon asked lazily. He had produced a cigarette from somewhere and slotted it into the corner of his mouth. It remained unlit, however, due to a less-than-polite request Clair had made a few months previously regarding smoking indoors.
"Yes, I do." Pryce made his way around the table to the vacant chair at the end opposite Clair. It was rightfully his, as the sixteenth Cabinet member, but he had for some reason always chosen to sit apart from his colleagues, quietly observing. He lowered himself into the chair, wobbling slightly. Every eye in the room was fixed on him. He took a deep, quavering breath.
"Clair," he said slowly, solemnly. "I do believe the time has come. I have been waiting two years for you to step up to the plate like this. I am slightly ashamed to confess I was beginning to doubt you had the conviction to make a stand, and had to give you a gentle prod in the right direction. However, the decision whether to act on my advice or not was yours to make, and yours alone. I'm glad you made the right choice."
"You're speaking in riddles, old man," Gideon grinned. "What's this 'the time has come' stuff?"
"What I mean, Mr Truman, is that the time has come for me to reveal the truth about why the Split happened. The story that was spread around was a vague one. Two Gym Leaders had a spat, perhaps. Or maybe the Pokémon League was getting a bit too big for its boots. Then again, it was suggested that maybe subtle threats were made by a person or persons unknown to make the cities divide like this." Heads were nodding all around the table, each of the present company having heard one or more of these stories at some point in time. Pryce rapped his cane sharply on the linoleum floor for attention.
"Let me tell you now, there is no truth whatsoever to any of these stories. To understand why the Split really happened, we must first look into the mind of a certain individual – that of Lance Dragonchild, the former Champion of the now-defunct Pokémon League."
"Lance! What does he have to do with the Split?" Clair demanded, her mind suddenly racing as fast as her heart. She hadn't seen or heard from her cousin since before the Split, it was true, but . . . Was it possible that Pryce was suggesting Lance had something to do with orchestrating the Split? No, she was jumping to conclusions. Still, she had to be sure.
"Oh, Lance has everything to do with the Split," Pryce said darkly, "and I was right there in the thick of everything. Just a year before the Split happened, in Mahogany, there was a group of criminals operating under the moniker of Team Rocket."
"I remember that lot," Gideon put in. "They were using a radio broadcast to force Pokémon evolution in the Lake of Rage, right?"
"That's right," agreed Pryce, "but Lance and a young friend of his managed to put a stop to their plans and disband the organisation. It seemed that all was well for a little while.
"Soon, however, Lance became somehow . . . different. He came back to Mahogany many times, with the excuse that he needed to look into Team Rocket's affairs further. I became a little wary of him. Of course I would. Why would he need to investigate a broken organisation like the Rockets? In any case, I followed him on one of these visits. I found him in the old Rocket hideout, tinkering with the radio transmitter that those villains had been using to affect the wild Pokémon. I pressured him a little bit, and he admitted that, morbidly fascinated by what the Rockets had managed to achieve, he had begun experimenting with different radio frequencies to affect the minds of Pokémon and people."
"That . . . kind of does sound like Lance," Clair mused. "He was always so curious. But I can't see where you're heading with this. Lance would never do anything like causing the Split!"
Pryce shook his head sadly. "That's where you're wrong, child. Lance was a great man, to be sure. A great Champion, and a good, honest soul. But even the most pure of hearts can be corrupted, and this research of Lance's was turning him . . . well, I wouldn't say it was turning him bad. He just became more and more curious, is all. He wanted to see what would happen if he did this, or that. After I confronted him, he stopped coming back to Mahogany. I didn't see any trace of him for months, until one cold day in February.
"A messenger arrived at my Gym with a dispatch from Lance for every Gym Leader in the Johto region. It summoned me to a special meeting for all Gym Leaders at the Indigo Plateau. My suspicions instantly aroused, I told the messenger that I would go, and that I would go to Blackthorn to tell you in his place. He went home, and I went to the Indigo Plateau alone. I didn't know what Lance was planning, but I knew it couldn't be anything good, and I didn't want you to get involved, knowing the level of attachment you have to your cousin."
Clair realised that she had been holding her breath, and let it out sharply. "So then . . . what?" She found herself unable to move, unable to do anything but listen to Pryce as he told his tale. The Cabinet seemed to be having the same reaction. Even Gideon was chewing nervously at the end of his cigarette.
"I arrived at the meeting, and just as I expected, everyone else was there – Whitney, Falkner, Chuck, Morty, Jasmine and Bugsy – and nobody knew what was going on. Lance appeared and told us of his vision for a new Johto. He was clearly mad, totally delusional, and what he was saying made no logical sense. It didn't matter, though. What did matter was that he locked the seven of us in a room and turned on a special radio signal. To this day, I can only guess how it worked, but it seemed to be suggesting that we go along with Lance's crazy plan.
"For one reason or another, though, it had no effect on me. Perhaps it was because I already suspected what he was up to. Perhaps it was because I'm old and a little deaf, or perhaps it was just because I've spent all my life training my mind to be as sharp as broken ice. In any case, the other six were totally under his spell. He was laughing crazily– something inside him had clearly snapped. I pretended to go along with it. He issued orders for the Gym Leaders to go back to their home cities, seize control, and tear Johto to shreds by any means necessary."
"No!" Clair protested. "That's not right! Lance would never do a thing like that! What the hell are you saying, Pryce? That doesn't sound like Lance in the slightest!" She felt the first burning touch of anger in the pit of her stomach. How could Pryce accuse Lance of doing something like orchestrating the Split?
"I thought so too. I didn't want to believe it, you know. You have to believe me when I say I was always fond of Lance. I admired his strength and determination, but . . . the man I saw that day two years ago was Lance, but . . . not Lance, at the same time."
"You're still talking in riddles, old man!" growled Gideon, grinding his teeth agitatedly. "Look, I only ever met this Lance fellow once or twice, but from that, and from what I've heard from people who know him better, I know he wouldn't act like that."
Clair blinked, taken aback for a moment by the unexpected backup. "He's right, Pryce. Please . . . Please tell me it isn't true!" she begged, suddenly knowing beyond all doubt that it was.
"I know it's far-fetched," Pryce conceded, "but you must believe me when I tell you that everything I say is the truth. I know it sounds like something out of a science-fiction movie – radio waves manipulating human minds, a good man driven crazy by . . . what? Lust for power? I'm sorry, Clair. I don't really know why it happened, but I know it did." Slowly, he pulled himself from his chair and made his way out of the room.
Once he had left, every head in the room silently swivelled towards Clair. She was breathing hard, and her eyes were a little wild.
No! No, it can't be! Not Lance! He would never . . . never!
Numb with shock, Clair Dragonchild fell back in her chair, buried her face in her hands, and fought back the tears that were threatening to break loose.
The Johto region has been plunged into chaos. Instead of the harmonic, relaxed region you know, it is cracked and splintered. Each of the major cities – Cianwood, Olivine, Ecruteak, Violet, Cherrygrove, Blackthorn and Goldenrod – has become a self-governing state, most of which are led by an individual that was once known as a 'Gym Leader'. Peace is an unfamiliar term, and citizens live with constant fear and paranoia. Wars and skirmishes break out with alarming regularity between all the city-states, save one. Blackthorn, a relatively small community in the far north-eastern corner of Johto, struggles to remain neutral, while its Gym Leader-turned-President races against time to get to the bottom of the whole affair.
The event known as the Split happened only around two years previously, yet it is already an event set firmly in history. Few people know its cause, and fewer still will tell you when asked. Could the cause be as simple as human greed and envy, or are there more powerful forces at play? One woman finds out, and the revelation is hardly to her taste . . .
Chapter 1: Dragon's Lament
Sighing, Clair Dragonchild rested her head wearily on her desk. Breathing in, she inhaled its familiar, woody scent, overlaid with decades of coffee stains and varnish. She closed her eyes and let herself drift for a minute. She had done this so many times, she thought absently. This cluttered little desk in this cluttered little study was like a refuge for her in these times.
How did it get like this?
What sort of madness was this? What could possibly have happened to spark all the madness that was threatening to engulf her city? The Split had been so long ago that she had almost forgotten what had caused it.
My city . . .
As many times as she heard it said, she still couldn't get used to the idea of Blackthorn being her city. She didn't want to own a city, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself. Being a Gym Leader had been all well and good, but she didn't want this. Nobody should want this. The only problem was that there was nobody else she deemed worthy to run Blackthorn. She was stuck with the job.
A single angry tear forced its way out from between her tightly-shut eyelids, crawling across her face and, succumbing to gravity, falling to the surface of the desk. Irately, she brushed it away and sat straight upright in a single abrupt motion. Clenching her fists, she berated herself silently. This wasn't like her, not in the slightest. Was she going soft? Or was she just not up to the job?
"The pressure of running a city is a heavy burden for even the most able," said a soft voice from behind her. "Don't be so down." Smiling a little, Clair brushed away more tears before they could form.
"Thank you, Pryce," she murmured. "You always seem to know what I'm thinking." Turning in her chair, Blackthorn's President observed her most trusted advisor – and oldest friend. Pryce, an aging, quiet man with receding white hair framing a bald crown, had once been the Gym Leader in Mahogany. Once the Split occurred, however, Pryce had wisely decided to ally Mahogany with Blackthorn. Clair had accepted happily – the two cities had always had a good relationship, after all, and Pryce was far more experienced than she was.
"Perhaps. That's what happens when you know someone for a long time."
Clair cracked a weak smile. "How come I can never read you, then?" she asked. "I've known you just as long as you've known me."
"Naturally. However, Mahogany's residents have long been known for our secrecy and – I hesitate to say – deception. When I was the Gym Leader, I spent many years perfecting the art of remaining cold and impassionate. Old habits die hard, as they say." Clair sighed.
"Why will you not take the leadership of Blackthorn, Pryce?" she asked, not for the first time, or the second, or probably even the hundredth. "You're so much more suited to this sort of thing than I am!"
"What sort of thing might that be?" Although Pryce's aged face displayed no emotion, as usual, Clair had the strangest feeling that he was laughing at her on the inside.
"Politics," she snorted. "I never was any good at negotiation, or diplomacy, or whatever else I'm supposed to be good at for this job. I'm only President because I was the Blackthorn Gym Leader, and I'd give it up in a second – to the right person, of course."
"And you believe I would do a better job of that than you?" Pryce shuffled his way around beside her and perched himself on the edge of her desk, among all the paperwork, leaning heavily on his cane.
"Yes, you would!" Clair exclaimed, waving a hand agitatedly. "You're a brilliant negotiator and a level-headed mediator. You always seem to know what to say in any given situation . . . Just having you in a room calms everybody down. You're just what Blackthorn needs if we want to stay neutral!" She placed heavy emphasis on the last word. "Please, Pryce, I'm asking you to do this. Not just for me, but for Blackthorn!" The old man was silent. After a short interval, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, tipping his head back toward the ceiling.
"Listen, Clair," he said seriously, his voice level. "I may be all of that, or I may not, but whether I have those skills or not is irrelevant. That is not what Blackthorn needs. You are looking at this the wrong way, my friend. In these times of unrest and civil war, a city does not need a leader who can keep the peace. A city needs a leader who can actually lead. A leader who is strong. And you, Clair . . . you are the strongest person I know."
Clair frowned and rested her forehead in her hands as she tried to puzzle this out. "I don't follow you, Pryce. Are you suggesting I lead Blackthorn to war? That I take up arms against the rest of Johto, just like all the other city-states?"
"No, not in the slightest. I have always admired the conviction with which you have backed up your policy of neutrality, and I see no reason for you to abandon that now. All I am saying is that Blackthorn will doubtless require a steadfast and resolute leader like yourself, especially if things carry on as they are."
"You think they will?" Clair asked, discouraged. If things kept spiralling out of control like they had been recently, Johto would descend into total anarchy. "Where will that leave us?"
"The same place everyone else will be," said Pryce grimly. "Chaos."
"I don't want that," Clair said quietly. "Not for Blackthorn. The rest of Johto can go to hell for all I care, but I'm not letting anything happen to my city!"
Pryce nodded in satisfaction. "There you are, you see? You've just proved my point again. Blackthorn needs you, because you are the one person who will refuse to give in. Being stubborn isn't necessarily a bad thing." Clair said nothing, staring firmly at a coffee stain on her desk. Pryce nodded a second time, and withdrew from the study without a further word. The door shut behind him with a loud click.
"You're right, Pryce," she said aloud, once he had gone. "I have to do this." For Blackthorn's sake.
Sighing wearily, Clair pushed her chair back and made her way to the window, picking her way between piles of books and miscellaneous junk. She had never bothered to keep the little study tidy, seeing no point. Nobody ever came in except herself and Pryce. Situated in the building that had used to be the Blackthorn Gym – now the unofficial headquarters of the Blackthorn governing body – it was an out-of-the-way little room at the end of a long, boring corridor, behind a plain, unmarked door. The plush, bluish-purple carpet was barely visible beneath all of the paraphernalia strewn about the room.
The window, which normally caught the morning sun and sent it streaming across Clair's desk, was now dark and dull. Clair pressed a hand to the glass and peered upwards to the rapidly darkening sky. "Looks like rain again," she mumbled wearily. The glass was pleasantly cool, so clear rested her forehead against it for a few seconds. It was remarkably relaxing, but any small comfort was doomed not to last.
A strident beeping pierced the silence of the small room, coming from a small Dratini-shaped alarm clock on her desk. Knocking over a pile of forms in the process, Clair whacked it on the head to activate the sleep function. 09:55, read the LCD screen set into its side. Right, she had a meeting in five minutes to discuss . . . something. She was sure it was important to somebody.
Time to act like a President. Drawing herself up to her full height and adjusting her cape, Clair fixed what she hoped was a relaxed, yet determined look on her face and pushed the door open.
***
When Clair entered the conference room two minutes later, Pryce stumbling slightly behind her, everybody seated around the large oval table stood respectfully and bowed their heads.
"Stop doing that," she snapped. "I'm a President, not a deity. Right, what's on the agenda for today?" She slid into a chair at the head of the table and glanced around her makeshift Cabinet. There was still no organisation, she reflected bitterly. Fifteen of the city's most influential or useful people – many of them members of the Dragon Clan – sitting in no particular order around a table. None of them had any particular job or position. There were no undersecretaries, no elected ministers, nothing, in fact, at all. There was no election system – the people Clair chose to help her were the ones she could trust to do so. Is this what you'd call an oligarchy? she wondered. She wouldn't know, really. Politics was all so very confusing.
Until the Split, there had been no need for local politics. The rules came from the Indigo Plateau, or rather, the political department thereof. Most of Johto's people had been under the impression that the Elite Four had been running the country, but Clair knew that it was not so. Lance, Will, Koga, Karen and Bruno had just been figureheads. Sure, they had been powerful in their own right, but what sort of foolishness would it be to appoint a nation's leaders based on their skill at Pokémon battling? The Gym Leaders had been partially responsible for the enforcement of the law in their respective cities, but the police force had dealt with most of that.
Johto had, in fact, been a relatively quiet, peaceful nation. In the years leading up to the Split, its crime figures had been the lowest in recorded history. It had been a country where ten-year-old children could wander freely around the countryside with just a small Pokémon for protection.
Now, of course, there was no such opportunity. As Clair looked into each of the fifteen faces in front of her, she saw that each and every one of them was thinking the same thing. They knew that Johto was on a downhill slide to chaos. Clair took a deep breath, making up her mind.
"No," she said firmly. "No. Screw the agenda; we're doing this my way. Any objections?"
A city needs a leader who can actually lead. A leader who is strong. Pryce's words echoed in her head as she slammed her hands down on the table and pushed herself to her feet. Behind her, the old man himself nodded, satisfied, in his little chair in the corner.
"We've been going through this cycle of madness long enough. We can't just keep trying to stay neutral, avoiding confrontation, blah, blah, blah. We've been saying that for two years now, and it's got us nowhere."
Blackthorn needs you, because you are the one person who will refuse to give in.
"Sure, we're not at war every other weekend like the rest of Johto, but all we're doing is delaying the inevitable. We can't go on like this! Surely you can see that! The whole of Johto is going to be destroyed, and we're going to go down with it!"
"What the heck are we supposed to do, then?" The speaker was Gideon Truman. At twenty-two years of age, he was the youngest person to be granted a seat on Clair's Cabinet, but none would deny that he had earned it. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with sharp-edged good looks, topped off with a mop of blond hair that fell across his face in a way that never failed to stir the hearts of most females he encountered, Gideon had an undeniable charisma, an air of relaxation that seemed to float around wherever he went. It was evident even now; while the other fourteen people around the table were sitting on the edge of their seats, hanging on to every word of Clair's radical pronouncement, Gideon was half-slumped in his chair, twirling a strand of hair around his index finger and regarding Clair lazily with his piercing green eyes.
"I don't know, exactly," Clair confessed, frowning at him. Too laid-back. It wasn't as if he didn't have his uses, of course. He was an excellent negotiator, and highly intelligent, but she personally couldn't stand him. She had been on the verge of firing him for several months, but something kept causing her to delay it. "What I do know is that we need to do something, and fast. I couldn't care less what happens to the rest of Johto, to be honest, but the problem is that if everything else self-destructs, there's a damn good chance that they'll drag us down with them."
"So . . . what, then?" Gideon leaned forward, casually tilting his head. "What do you want to do, Madam President?" His tone, although level and polite, carried a hint of mockery with it. "Should we, perhaps, undergo a mass exodus? Pack up the whole city and move it to . . . oh, I don't know, Sinnoh? Or are you going to go back on that non-interventionist policy of yours and declare war on everyone else? Dragonair mounted with cannons, perhaps?"
Clair glared at him, her face flushing red. "I'm suggesting nothing of the sort, and don't you know it, Truman! If you're going to be like that, you can take your sarcastic suggestions and shove them up your – no!" Clair brought herself up short. "What I mean is that I'd like you to make helpful contributions to the discussion, or else shut up. Alright?"
Gideon smirked. "Chill, Prez. You need to wind it down a little. No, don't worry, I got it. I'll stay in my place from now on. Just tell me one thing, if you please. Do please tell me you're not going to renege on your promise to say neutral? I always admired how . . . vehemently you argued for that." Clair felt a shudder run down her spine at Gideon's words. They were almost the same as Pryce's just minutes earlier.
"No," she said, quietly but firmly, looking down at the table. "There is no way in hell that's happening."
"That's good to hear. But then, my earlier question still remains? What do you suggest we do? Our options as I see them are severely limited."
"You're right," Clair admitted. "We don't have much room to manoeuvre here. But listen to me, people. We have to do something, because if we don't, nobody will! Blackthorn is the city that has had the strength to stand strong and alone for the last two years, and Blackthorn has to be the city to stand up and say that enough is enough! We have to be the ones to end it! We are the final barrier, the only thing standing between Johto and total destruction!" There was a deafening silence around the table at this point. Even Gideon was nodding thoughtfully. The only sound came from the regular ticking of the small clock on the wall.
Eventually, Clair's ear caught a slight scraping from behind her. She turned to see Pryce getting to his feet, using his cane as a lever to haul himself from his chair. He was getting older, she thought. Before long, she would have to put him in a wheelchair. Not that he'd ever admit to it, of course, but the erstwhile Gym Leader of Mahogany was not as agile as he had once been.
"You have something to say, old man?" Gideon asked lazily. He had produced a cigarette from somewhere and slotted it into the corner of his mouth. It remained unlit, however, due to a less-than-polite request Clair had made a few months previously regarding smoking indoors.
"Yes, I do." Pryce made his way around the table to the vacant chair at the end opposite Clair. It was rightfully his, as the sixteenth Cabinet member, but he had for some reason always chosen to sit apart from his colleagues, quietly observing. He lowered himself into the chair, wobbling slightly. Every eye in the room was fixed on him. He took a deep, quavering breath.
"Clair," he said slowly, solemnly. "I do believe the time has come. I have been waiting two years for you to step up to the plate like this. I am slightly ashamed to confess I was beginning to doubt you had the conviction to make a stand, and had to give you a gentle prod in the right direction. However, the decision whether to act on my advice or not was yours to make, and yours alone. I'm glad you made the right choice."
"You're speaking in riddles, old man," Gideon grinned. "What's this 'the time has come' stuff?"
"What I mean, Mr Truman, is that the time has come for me to reveal the truth about why the Split happened. The story that was spread around was a vague one. Two Gym Leaders had a spat, perhaps. Or maybe the Pokémon League was getting a bit too big for its boots. Then again, it was suggested that maybe subtle threats were made by a person or persons unknown to make the cities divide like this." Heads were nodding all around the table, each of the present company having heard one or more of these stories at some point in time. Pryce rapped his cane sharply on the linoleum floor for attention.
"Let me tell you now, there is no truth whatsoever to any of these stories. To understand why the Split really happened, we must first look into the mind of a certain individual – that of Lance Dragonchild, the former Champion of the now-defunct Pokémon League."
"Lance! What does he have to do with the Split?" Clair demanded, her mind suddenly racing as fast as her heart. She hadn't seen or heard from her cousin since before the Split, it was true, but . . . Was it possible that Pryce was suggesting Lance had something to do with orchestrating the Split? No, she was jumping to conclusions. Still, she had to be sure.
"Oh, Lance has everything to do with the Split," Pryce said darkly, "and I was right there in the thick of everything. Just a year before the Split happened, in Mahogany, there was a group of criminals operating under the moniker of Team Rocket."
"I remember that lot," Gideon put in. "They were using a radio broadcast to force Pokémon evolution in the Lake of Rage, right?"
"That's right," agreed Pryce, "but Lance and a young friend of his managed to put a stop to their plans and disband the organisation. It seemed that all was well for a little while.
"Soon, however, Lance became somehow . . . different. He came back to Mahogany many times, with the excuse that he needed to look into Team Rocket's affairs further. I became a little wary of him. Of course I would. Why would he need to investigate a broken organisation like the Rockets? In any case, I followed him on one of these visits. I found him in the old Rocket hideout, tinkering with the radio transmitter that those villains had been using to affect the wild Pokémon. I pressured him a little bit, and he admitted that, morbidly fascinated by what the Rockets had managed to achieve, he had begun experimenting with different radio frequencies to affect the minds of Pokémon and people."
"That . . . kind of does sound like Lance," Clair mused. "He was always so curious. But I can't see where you're heading with this. Lance would never do anything like causing the Split!"
Pryce shook his head sadly. "That's where you're wrong, child. Lance was a great man, to be sure. A great Champion, and a good, honest soul. But even the most pure of hearts can be corrupted, and this research of Lance's was turning him . . . well, I wouldn't say it was turning him bad. He just became more and more curious, is all. He wanted to see what would happen if he did this, or that. After I confronted him, he stopped coming back to Mahogany. I didn't see any trace of him for months, until one cold day in February.
"A messenger arrived at my Gym with a dispatch from Lance for every Gym Leader in the Johto region. It summoned me to a special meeting for all Gym Leaders at the Indigo Plateau. My suspicions instantly aroused, I told the messenger that I would go, and that I would go to Blackthorn to tell you in his place. He went home, and I went to the Indigo Plateau alone. I didn't know what Lance was planning, but I knew it couldn't be anything good, and I didn't want you to get involved, knowing the level of attachment you have to your cousin."
Clair realised that she had been holding her breath, and let it out sharply. "So then . . . what?" She found herself unable to move, unable to do anything but listen to Pryce as he told his tale. The Cabinet seemed to be having the same reaction. Even Gideon was chewing nervously at the end of his cigarette.
"I arrived at the meeting, and just as I expected, everyone else was there – Whitney, Falkner, Chuck, Morty, Jasmine and Bugsy – and nobody knew what was going on. Lance appeared and told us of his vision for a new Johto. He was clearly mad, totally delusional, and what he was saying made no logical sense. It didn't matter, though. What did matter was that he locked the seven of us in a room and turned on a special radio signal. To this day, I can only guess how it worked, but it seemed to be suggesting that we go along with Lance's crazy plan.
"For one reason or another, though, it had no effect on me. Perhaps it was because I already suspected what he was up to. Perhaps it was because I'm old and a little deaf, or perhaps it was just because I've spent all my life training my mind to be as sharp as broken ice. In any case, the other six were totally under his spell. He was laughing crazily– something inside him had clearly snapped. I pretended to go along with it. He issued orders for the Gym Leaders to go back to their home cities, seize control, and tear Johto to shreds by any means necessary."
"No!" Clair protested. "That's not right! Lance would never do a thing like that! What the hell are you saying, Pryce? That doesn't sound like Lance in the slightest!" She felt the first burning touch of anger in the pit of her stomach. How could Pryce accuse Lance of doing something like orchestrating the Split?
"I thought so too. I didn't want to believe it, you know. You have to believe me when I say I was always fond of Lance. I admired his strength and determination, but . . . the man I saw that day two years ago was Lance, but . . . not Lance, at the same time."
"You're still talking in riddles, old man!" growled Gideon, grinding his teeth agitatedly. "Look, I only ever met this Lance fellow once or twice, but from that, and from what I've heard from people who know him better, I know he wouldn't act like that."
Clair blinked, taken aback for a moment by the unexpected backup. "He's right, Pryce. Please . . . Please tell me it isn't true!" she begged, suddenly knowing beyond all doubt that it was.
"I know it's far-fetched," Pryce conceded, "but you must believe me when I tell you that everything I say is the truth. I know it sounds like something out of a science-fiction movie – radio waves manipulating human minds, a good man driven crazy by . . . what? Lust for power? I'm sorry, Clair. I don't really know why it happened, but I know it did." Slowly, he pulled himself from his chair and made his way out of the room.
Once he had left, every head in the room silently swivelled towards Clair. She was breathing hard, and her eyes were a little wild.
No! No, it can't be! Not Lance! He would never . . . never!
Numb with shock, Clair Dragonchild fell back in her chair, buried her face in her hands, and fought back the tears that were threatening to break loose.
Last edited: