EVERYONE: Short Story Compilation

[Patrick Haines]

EVERYONE: (Grunt Work/The Battle of Champions)
-The normal level of cartoon violence seen in Pokémon
-A few, non-fatal, kicks to the face

MATURE: (The FireLord)
-A significant level of violence

This first work is a strange little experiment into my idea of writing from the antagonist's point-of-view. It follows the exploits of Toby, a semi-competent Team Rocket Grunt, as he tries to work his way up the ladder to Team Rocket Admin. Takes place, as the experienced reader will quickly see, during the events of RBY/FRLG/LGPE.

Spoiler: Grunt Work is a Four-Part Series

Grunt Work-Cerulean City
Grunt Work-Celadon City
Grunt Work-Lavender Town
Grunt Work-Saffron City

The second story is just a quick, little write about an unofficial battle between the top two trainers in my world (Patrick and Red). Theoretically, it is the battle at the end of GSC/HGSS, when Gold climbs Mt. Silver to battle Red. Gold, obviously, being Patrick in this case.
NOTE: The story makes a couple of references to my longer fic The Legend of Ampharos. You don't need to have read that work to understand/enjoy the story, the references just reiterate a little of the character building I did for Patrick in that story.

Spoiler: A Battle of Champions is a Three-Part Series

A Battle of Champions-Preparation
A Battle of Champions-The Journey
A Battle of Champions-The Battle

The third story follows Gerome, a power-hungry mage on his attempt to conquer than nation of Tera. Along with his faithful companion, Skrali, he seeks recognition and destruction with his formidable magic.
Clearly not Pokémon, although Skrali has some inspiration in his design from Tornadus/Landorus.

Spoiler: The FireLord is a Three-Part Series

The FireLord-Part One: Califor
The FireLord-Part Two: Orox
The FireLord-Part Three: The Council

Grunt Work-Cerulean City

‘This is the life,’ thought Toby, yawning loudly as he walked toward the eastern outskirts of Cerulean City. A couple of kids in swimming trunks and tank tops, likely headed for the Pokémon Gym, skipped by. He scowled menacingly at them and they scampered away from the mean man in a hurry. Toby smiled wider, the criminal life was the best.

The up-and-coming Team Rocket Grunt had just arranged another shipment of stolen Pokémon from Cerulean down to Celadon City, thanks to a bunch of tough trainers who were, unknowingly, working for the criminal organization out on Nugget Bridge. After the ‘Nugget Brigade,’ or so they called themselves, softened up local or traveling trainers a bit, Toby or one of his lackeys would step in and swipe the weakened Pokémon. On the rare occasion that someone actually defeated everyone on the bridge, another lackey would bribe the challenging trainer with a Nugget and offer them a position with Team Rocket.

The technique was laughably simple and had been wildly successful. Every week for four months, Toby would send two of the other Grunts south with a dozen or so new Pokémon for drop off at the Game Corner in Celadon, where Team Rocket would sell them or pawn them off as prizes. Toby, during his first week on the job, had made the mistake of only sending one man south with the shipment and, somehow, he had been defeated and apprehended by the police. He hadn’t made the mistake of underestimating the stupidity and weakness of his fellow Grunts after that.

Four months of success, and his prowess on the battlefield, however, had completely erased that initial failing from the minds of his superiors and Toby was looking forward to the day, very soon, where he would no longer be another faceless Grunt, but an all-important Team Rocket Admin. In fact, a meeting of the Admin had been called for the following day in Lavender Town, something new and big was going down, and Toby had been invited. It was finally his time to shine.

Toby just needed one more exploit, something personal and impressive, to present to the meeting Admins tomorrow. Stealing Pokémon from little kids was, for lack of a better term, child’s play and he needed something that spoke more to his criminal mastery and instincts. He had contemplated robbing the Bike Shop a few times, but he didn’t know what Team Rocket would do with a couple dozen bikes. Other than that, all the town had were some middle-class citizens, the Pokémon Center, the PokéMart, and Misty’s Gym. The gym was too well-protected, Team Rocket had a source inside Silph Co. that could steal all the Pokémon Center supplies they needed, and he had shoplifted from the PokéMart so many times it was getting boring. He needed something bigger.

A loud huffing and the pounding of footsteps sounded behind Toby and he turned quickly, hand going to the three PokéBalls at his waist. He was easily the most talented trainer in Cerulean, other than Misty, who he passionately loathed, and was always looking for an excuse to call out his Pokémon. Sadly, there was no need. One of his least favorite lackeys, a fat, blonde teenager named Kody, was hurrying up behind him, gasping for air.

“What do you want,” Toby snapped, partly because he liked to be mean, mostly because he was actually annoyed to see the useless underling.

“Your…hat…, sir,” Kody managed between sucking large gulps of air.

Toby snatched the black hat from Kody’s meaty fist and tucked it into the waistband of his new blue jeans. A smile spread across his face at the fat kid’s words though. He had finally gotten the other Grunts to call him ‘sir.’ It had taken dozens of gut punches and a couple of broken noses, but he had earned the fear, if not the respect, of the men he considered his lessers. He turned on his heel to leave the pathetic boy sweating in the dust when the wheezy voice called out to him again.

“Wait.”

“What did you say to me?” Toby demanded, turning again and locking his malicious brown eyes on Kody’s now-terrified blue ones.

Knowing he had about ten seconds to impart his news before receiving a jarring punch to the face, Kody blurted out an almost intelligible sentence.

“Mattisawthatkidagain.”

It was a kick, instead of a punch, that Toby delivered, and it was to the groin, not the face. Not that one is preferable over the other. Either way, the fat Grunt collapsed to his knees and moaned pitifully.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Toby smirked, contemplating kicking out again, just for the fun of it.

“The kid who beat Matti yesterday,” Kody winced in pain before continuing, knowing another kick could be forthcoming, “we saw him come back into town this morning.”

“Bah,” Toby spat and kicked dirt at the fat, sweating face before turning and successfully leaving the other Grunt.

Matti had been punked the day before by some short little kid and his Pidgeotto, it wasn’t a big deal. ‘When all you carry around for protection are Zubat and Ekans,’ Toby thought to himself, ‘you should expect to get your ass kicked regularly.’ He patted the three PokéBalls at his waist and remembered all the times he had embarrassed his fellow Rocket Grunts. ‘No, it’s not a big deal,’ the soon-to-be Rocket Admin assured himself.

“What is it, daddy?” a high-pitched voice sang out clearly across the street, interrupting Toby’s musings.

“It’s TM28, darling,” a much deeper voice responded, “so I can teach my Diglett how to Dig.”

Toby’s head snapped up and he locked his eyes on a tiny girl holding hands with her father and walking in his direction. He smiled politely and waved as the two passed him and then ducked into an alleyway to spy on the two. A TM was a far greater prize than he could have ever hoped to imagine. They were a relatively new technology, Silph Co. having developed them about five years prior, and maybe 100 actually existed. Giovanni had succeeded in getting his hands on a TM Machine, but his leak inside Kanto’s largest corporation had still failed to obtain any of the actually TMs. Toby would be the first.

The two innocents about to be robbed knocked on someone’s front door in the distance and a plump woman in a sickeningly pink dress answered the door. Toby was too far away to hear the conversation, but the woman’s laugh echoed down the empty street and she stepped aside to let the little girl inside. Her father waved good-bye, blew her a kiss, and returned the way he came. Several houses down, not far from where Toby had initially seen him, the man pushed open a door and stepped inside.

From his place in the alleyway, Toby mulled over the coming robbery in his head. Judging by the slim frame and wicker hat of the TM’s owner, taking his prize was going to be a walk in the park. He would break down the door with his Raticate, terrifying the deplorable little man, and likely swipe the little CD before the man could even call out his Diglett. Chuckling at his own ingenuity, Toby pulled his hat from his waistband and situated it on his mop of tangled brown hair before unzipping his jacket to reveal a long sleeve black shirt with a big, red letter R emblazoned on the front. He contemplated changing into the rest of his uniform as well, but decided against taking off his pants in an alleyway that, he just realized, was directly behind the Pokémon Gym.

Toby unhooked Raticate’s PokéBall from his waist and strode proudly into the sunlight, red R on his chest blazing proudly. As he approached the man’s house, he noticed, with relish, that it was open. With the April sun beating down, his prey had left the door cracked to let in the spring breeze. And his worst nightmare. Toby kicked open the door and leapt into the single-room house with a horrible shout, not even bothering to let Raticate out of his PokéBall.

“Hand over that TM and no-one gets hurt,” he shouted to the man he had seen before, who was now cowering beside the kitchen sink, “Team Rocket will…”

Toby didn’t finish his sentence as pain shot through his back and he found himself lying on the floor, a Nidorina standing over him. ‘Should have stuck to the original plan,’ Toby berated himself, calling out Raticate to deal with Nidorina. The Mouse Pokémon tackled her and sank his teeth into her neck. Another scream rose from the other side of the room.

“Do something Ernie,” a middle-aged woman called, “he is hurting my Nidorina.”

“Uh, right,” Ernie responded shakily, “Go, Diglett.”

The Mole Pokémon popped out and Toby had to hold back a laugh as he released Machop to handle the tiny creature. It only took a single Karate Chop to finish it. Ernie collapsed in a corner behind his fallen Pokémon and Toby turned all his attention to Nidorina. She and Raticate were in a tough scrap, but it was Ernie’s wife he was more concerned about. She was making a dash for the door.

“Raticate, Quick Attack,” Toby shouted, pointing toward the fleeing woman.

Raticate made to obey, but Nidorina latched on to his back leg with Bite and wouldn’t let go. The woman was gone.

“Raticate, Hyper Fang.”

Hyper Fang sunk into Nidorina’s neck and she fell sideways into a chair. Toby rounded on Ernie. The Grunt didn’t even have to say anything. He gave the terrified man his most malicious look and held out his hand. Ernie gave up the TM. Toby wanted to pump his fists in the air, cackle a bit, and gloat in the man’s face, but he knew his time was limited. His wife, no doubt, had gone for the police and he had a limited time to escape. Luckily, there was a back door. Recalling Raticate and Machop, he sprinted out the back door and into the spring sunshine.

Toby was barely out the back door before he heard two female voices through the open back door of the house. Ernie’s wife had returned with an officer. A weak male voice was heard responding to the voices and the Grunt knew he only had moments before he was arrested. He couldn’t run. None of his Pokémon were big enough to carry him and, strong though he was, he was not a runner. Fight or hide? Toby suddenly remembered where he was and dove into some thorny hedges just as two women appeared.

The thorns cut into Toby’s flesh and tore at his new jeans and team uniform. It had been the right decision. Stepping into the sunlight with Ernie’s wife, wearing her trademark jean shorts and ridiculous overalls, was Misty. Toby sighed in relief. He could defeat the officers in town, but he stood no chance against Misty. As much as he hated her, he also respected her abilities as a trainer and avoided her as much as possible. A lot of his underlings, most notably Matti and Kody, fawned over the gym leader like she was the mythical mermaid she portrayed in her water shows, but Toby had no interest in the 19-year-old. Instead, he sat silently in his bush, bleeding slightly, as Misty hurried off down the path out of town.

Ernie’s wife stayed posted by the back door, awaiting her return, and Toby didn’t dare move, lest he disturb the dense bushes and give away his position. About ten minutes later, Misty returned with a forlorn look upon her face. She informed the older woman that she would have someone come to the house to investigate further and not to worry, Team Rocket’s boldness would not go unpunished. Toby chuckled internally at the comment, but sighed deeply when the women walked back inside and waited another five minutes before finally stepping out of the bushes.

The cuts on his arms and legs stung terribly as sweat poured into them and his knees popped as he stretched his stiff muscles. He was about to throw his jacket back on and discard the black hat when another high voice rang out behind him. He turned, expecting to see a little girl. Instead, he saw a little runt in overly large clothes glaring at him seriously from beneath far too much brown hair. The anger and frustration that had risen in his stomach quickly became a laugh as he starred down at the munchkin.

“What do you want, brat?”

“Return the TM you stole,” the kid responded boldly.

“Or what? You will go home and tell your mommy?”

No emotion crossed the short boy’s face at the comment and Toby was a little disappointed that he didn’t seem to scare the kid at all. He was about to turn and walk away when a flapping of wings sounded from above and a Pidgeotto landed beside the boy. The Bird Pokémon was nearly as tall as the munchkin, yet the two made an oddly intimidating couple nonetheless. Something that both Matti and Kody had said came back to him…this was the boy with the Pidgeotto from Nugget Bridge.

“How about we make this interesting,” Toby said, sizing the boy up a second time, “we battle. If you win, I will give you the TM. If I win, I get your Pidgeotto.”

If the boy was surprised by the demand, he didn’t show it, but he contemplated for a long moment anyway. His brilliant blue eyes sparkled behind overly long bangs and his response to the man, twice his size and three times his age, was mind-boggling.

“Pidgeotto are super common, I am sure you can steal one of them from anyone. If you win, I will give you this.”

The boy held up a disc similar to the one Toby had stolen, but it had a blue tint to it instead of brown. Another TM. The boy was right, he could snag a Pidgeotto anywhere. Team Rocket Admin was going to be just a fleeting memory as he hurtled up the ladder to Giovanni’s personal muscle.

“Deal.”

Toby opened with Raticate. The Mouse Pokémon was still a little hobbled from his battle with Nidorina, but the Grunt didn’t care. Pidgeotto was just another speed bump on his way to a big bonus and a promotion. The Bird Pokémon, however, wasn’t chosen to battle. The munchkin called out a Charmeleon. Toby wasn’t overly concerned, after all, he had three Pokémon himself, but there was something strange about the Flame Pokémon. He had never met one himself, but he had seen them on television and he thought they were supposed to be red. This one was orange.

“Raticate, Hyper Fang.”

“Charmeleon, Dragon Rage.”

Raticate was fast. Charmeleon was faster. Dragon Rage washed over the Mouse Pokémon and, weakened as he was, knocked him out in a single blow. Toby was shocked. Raticate was his oldest and strongest Pokémon; even weakened, he should have been a match for this punk. The Grunt stared down the pint-sized kid, rage rising again, and sent out his second Pokémon.

“Machop, Karate Chop.”

“Charmeleon, Ember.”

Ember hit hard as well, but Machop shook it off and landed a strong Karate Chop. Toby made ready to finish off his opponent with Low Kick, but Charmeleon, without receiving orders, latched on to Machop’s arm with Fire Fang. That was all it took for the Superpower Pokémon to go down too. Toby quickly saw his bonus and his promotion slipping away. All he had left was a wildcard and Charmeleon was tearing through him like wet paper. He had to try anyway.

“Drowzee, Hypnosis.

“Charmeleon, Smokescreen.”

Toby raged internally. Hypnosis was inaccurate on the best of days and there was no way it would succeed through a Smokescreen. Confusion and Pound were unlikely to hit either, but he had to choose one. Until he didn’t. The Team Rocket Grunt waited too long to decide and Charmeleon erupted from the Smokescreen and Scratch tore ugly lines across Drowzee’s long nose. With no time to react, Toby panicked and Dragon Rage finished the Hypnosis Pokémon as well. It was over. He had lost to a runt.

Toby’s mind reeled. He had to escape before anyone else showed up and there was no way he was keeping his end of the bargain. Despite his aversion to running, he turned to sprint for Route 9. He didn’t get far. In less than three steps, Charmeleon cut him off and flashed his dangerous fangs up at the dishonest Grunt. Toby attempted to step around the Flame Pokémon, but Pidgeotto swooped in and cut him off. The munchkin, who had followed his Pokémon, used the distraction to swipe the TM from Toby’s hand.

Shocked and off-balance, Toby fell and hit the ground hard. He remained there only a moment before scrambling back to his feet and continuing his flight toward Route 9. Neither the Pokémon nor their brat gave chase. Toby had lost the TM, but no-one had witnessed it or his defeat at the hands of a child, so his reputation should still be intact. All he needed to do was swipe a couple Pokémon at Rock Tunnel before the meeting the following day and his promotion, if not his bonus, would still be forthcoming. ‘That kid was just a minor set-back,’ thought Toby, ‘no real problem.’

Toby didn’t know how wrong he was.

 

[Patrick Haines]

Grunt Work-Celadon City

The Rocket Admin meeting had gone exceptionally well for Toby. He hadn’t been promoted to full Admin, but his new status was essentially provisional. If he proved himself as the Chief Security Officer for Rocket’s Game Corner, he’d have a nice plush office and a hefty paycheck when Team Rocket successfully assumed control of Silph Co. in the coming weeks.

As it was, no one knew about the little munchkin who had thrashed him and the police investigation into Team Rocket had been pinned solely on the Grunts remaining in Cerulean. They claimed to be ignorant of the events, which was true, but Toby wasn’t about to admit that. He had been at his new post for nearly a month and was thoroughly enjoying it. His new underlings were more respectful and fearful of him, as they should be, and Celadon was a much more ‘happening’ city than Cerulean.

At the moment, he was supervising the graveyard shift and leaned back in his plush director’s chair to prop his feet up on his desk. A huge bank of televisions adorned the wall before him and about half a dozen Grunts starred up at them, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Toby doubted they would see anything. The Game Corner would be a terrible place to rob, it was run by criminals and other criminals knew that, while the authorities had no idea that Team Rocket was operating under their noses. To make things more entertaining, a Rocket Scientist inside Silph Co. had recently gotten his hands on a Porygon, which was now being offered as a high price reward at the Game Corner. In addition to raking in piles of cash, possessing Porygon also gave the organization the appearance of collaboration with Silph Co.

‘This is the life,’ Toby thought to himself again, closing his eyes and imagining the mansion and swimming pool he would buy once Giovanni controlled the region.

“Someone is at the front door, boss,” one of the Grunts called.

Toby jolted out of his fantasy and his reclining chair snapped back to its natural position with a loud crack. The Chief of Security glared around the room, but not a soul even cracked a smile at his plunder. ‘Perfect henchmen,’ Toby thought, ‘though I preferred ‘sir’ instead of ‘boss.’’

“It looks like a kid,” another Grunt added, and a horrible feeling washed over Toby.

Mess of hair flying, he leapt from his chair and fixed his eyes on the monitor showing the exterior of the front door. A short kid in baggy clothes and a mop of brown hair was fiddling with the door knob.

“Impossible,” Toby muttered under his breath.

“What’s that, boss?” asked the first Grunt, Toby didn’t know names yet.

Toby wasn’t sure what to do. This position was supposed to be a breeze, just a place holder until he was given real ranking, yet he smelled danger. That kid, whoever he was, was no joke. Despite his age and appearance, Toby knew not to underestimate him a second time. He took a deep breath and tried to work out a strategy. A few dozen Grunts, as well as Giovanni, were stationed in their secret base beneath the Game Corner. In addition, several different traps were set up to confuse invaders and the elevator required a special key. Infiltrating the base, even for the little whiz kid, would be no mean feat. If he could even get in the building.

“Umm, boss,” the only female Grunt in the room muttered, “what is he doing?”

Toby glanced over at Jill’s rugged features before glancing up at the screens again. The boy at the door was now accompanied by a Haunter. The Gas Pokémon, its normal, creepy smiling playing across ethereal lips, floated through the front door of the Game Corner, unlocked the door, and admitted the small boy. The Chief of Security jumped into action.

“Jill, wake the other Grunts and get them to their positions. You,” Toby pointed to another Grunt, snapped his fingers a couple of times trying to think of his name, and eventually giving up, “activate the traps and the elevator locks. AND WHERE IS OUR GUARD ON THE FIRST FLOOR?”

The Grunts in the room scurried about silently to do their master’s business. Jill rushed out of the room, the other Grunt that Toby had indicated pulled up the security system on his computer, and a final man swiveled a camera around to find the first-floor guard sound asleep on the floor of the Game Corner. Toby wanted to swear, but he kept his cool and his eyes on the monitors. The boy wasn’t wandering aimlessly around the Game Corner, he was striding purposefully for the northeast corner. He had come for a single reason and he knew where he was going.

A thought struck Toby and he pulled up one of the main floor cameras on his personal computer and quickly hit REWIND. Only the dark, empty room full of slot machines was visible on the screen until the rewinding clock on the screen hit 12:30 a.m. He watched, in reverse, the night manager closing out and the last customers leaving. As the clock wound back passed 11:00 to 10:00 and further, more people appeared in the picture. Finally, at 9:13 p.m., Toby saw what he was looking for, a messy-haired kid in overly large clothes. He stepped, nonchalantly, through the front door, spoke innocently with a couple of patrons, approached the coin exchange desk and was greeted by a smiling young girl who had no idea that she was an accessory to a dozen crimes. They spoke only briefly before the boy nodded his head and walked toward a poster on the wall advertising Porygon as a new prize at the Coin Exchange next door. He starred at the poster for a long time and then, almost as if he knew he was being watched, looked purposefully into the camera and smiled.

Toby paused the old recording and looked up at the live one. The young trainer was once again standing in front of the Porygon poster, this time cautiously poking the Grunt sleeping on the floor with his too-big tennis shoe. The Grunt woke up. And panicked. Toby wasn’t surprised to see the Grunt jump to his feet, begin spluttering and waving his arms, and then send out his Pokémon without provocation. Haunter defeated the Grunt’s Raticate and Zubat with a single Thunderbolt each.

‘Predictable,’ Toby sighed to himself.

The Grunt then disappeared off the camera screen and the boy stepped forward and ripped the poster off the wall. Behind it was a button. Naturally, he pushed it.

The Grunts in the security room watched in shock and awe as the tiny boy walked calmly down the first set of stairs and proceeded to make a mockery of every Grunt that stood in his way. Haunter single-handedly plowed through the first two Grunts without taking an ounce of damage before the boy, finding nothing of interest, descended a second set of stairs. Another Grunt fell before the duo. Beyond that Grunt, however, was a maze. Toby chuckled to himself. The tiles built into the floor would shoot the little boy hither and yon, never finding the right path, until he got sick or frustrated and left. Or that was the hope. It didn’t quite play out that way.

All of the Grunts in the security room, including their nervous boss, laughed aloud when the boy stepped on the first tile, fell flat on his bottom, and was zipped across the room at high speed. When he finally came to a stop, Toby was convinced that the boy would turn back, but, instead, he appeared to be talking to himself. Or, possibly something invisible. He was gesturing with his hands quite a bit and nodding as if someone was speaking back. Toby personally zoomed in with the camera and saw nothing. Until the boy summoned Charizard, which took up the entire zoomed in screen. Toby quickly zoomed the pixilated, black-and-white picture back to its full screen and watched in annoyance as the boy mounted Charizard and proceeded to hover over the annoying tiles. He reached another set of stairs.

The Chief Security Officer grew more concerned. Two more Grunts fell, this time to the wrath of Charizard, before the little intruder doubled-back. He tried the elevator. As instructed, the elevator had been locked down, so the boy doubled-back some more. Getting back through the tile maze was simpler than moving forward, but, on the next floor down, he encountered another. With Charizard’s help, he bypassed it as well, roasting two more Grunts while doing so. Another staircase and Toby was close to biting his nails. Only three Elevator Keys existed. One was on his keychain, one was with Giovanni, and one was with Carmen, the Chief Recruitment Officer for Team Rocket. Toby’s and Giovanni’s keys were safe, but the little runt was heading directly for Carmen’s office.

Carmen was not a skilled battler and it quickly became evident to those watching on the computer monitors that she was going to lose. Her Zubat landed a single blow before Cubone took it down with Headbutt and she tried to cover her escape with Smokescreen, but the munchkin, as ever, was prepared. He had left Charizard to guard the door. As Cubone handled Koffing with Bone Club, the Recruiting Officer exchanged words with the intruder and, with little resistance, handed over her Elevator Key. Toby watched only long enough to see the boy re-call Charizard and Carmen sprint for the stairs before he started shouting orders again.

“You two,” he indicated at the two older members of the security crew, “apprehend Carmen before she escapes into the city. The rest of you, lock down this room as soon as I leave.”

Toby and the two guards rushed out of the room, the Grunts heading for the main level and their boss heading for the elevator. It didn’t take long for the Chief Security Officer to reach Giovanni’s office and he found Boss Rocket waiting for him with a smile on his face.

“I suppose you have come to warn me about this kid wandering about the facility making a fool of my men.”

“Yes, sir,” Toby responded respectfully, bowing slightly.

“Then, perhaps you would like to join me in watching him make his way here.”

Toby was confused at the demeanor of his boss and idol, but he simply accepted the older man’s invitation and stood silently watching as the nightmare of a child exited the elevator, succinctly defeated Giovanni’s personal guards, and entered the room. Unsure what he should do, Toby looked to his boss for instructions, but the head of Team Rocket was standing stoically behind his desk and grinning at the young boy standing in the door way.

“So, I must say, I am impressed you got here,” Giovanni addressed the boy casually, “I assume you are here for this.”

Giovanni pushed a strange-looking device across the table, which Toby recognized as the Silph Scope, a high-value item that Team Rocket had recently acquired through their infiltration of Silph Co.

“The Silph Score is a little consequence to me, but I will take it off your hands if you wish,” the munchkin responded with bravado, “but the real reason I am here is to put you out of business.”

Giovanni tilted back his head and laughed raucously. Toby wasn’t sure how to react. He had never faced Giovanni in a duel, and he knew that is where the encounter was headed, but he also knew the boy was a force to be reckoned with. Their first encounter, he knew now, was no fluke, and the kid was considerably stronger now than he was a month prior. Sweat began pouring down the officer’s face. Nervous, not only for his boss, but also for the direction his career was taking. The kid had no chance of single-handedly defeating Team Rocket, even if he beat Giovanni today, but if the incident in Cerulean came to light…it could be disastrous. In addition, Giovanni could easily blame today’s events on him as well, though if Carmen was caught, he could use her as a scapegoat. Giovanni’s voice interrupted Toby’s inner musings.

“So, it is a battle you want, good. Let’s keep this simple. Three versus three. You win, the Silph Scope is yours and I will leave Celadon. I win…well, I will come up with a good punishment once you are crying at my feet.”

“Deal.”

It was an odd de ja vu moment for Toby, but it was lost on Giovanni and he tilted back his head and laughed maniacally again. It was an intimidating sight. ‘What was I thinking,’ Toby thought, ‘this runt has no chance against Giovanni.’

“Rhyhorn, let’s get this over with quickly.”

"Mankey, Karate Chop.”

It was the first time that Toby had seen the munchkin use Mankey and he was a little surprised. He had monsters like Charizard and Haunter that could cause nightmares for anyone and a Cubone that would be a perfect match-up against Rhyhorn. So, why the Pig Monkey? The question was answered quickly. Mankey leapt across the room and landed a Karate Chop squarely on Rhyhorn’s back, causing it to roar and lash out with Horn Attack. Mankey danced away and landed on Giovanni’s desk. The Spikes Pokémon, with its tiny legs, rammed the desk a couple of times, but its foe was completely out of reach.

“Mankey, Flip and Karate Chop.”

Mankey, doing exactly as ordered, flipped off the desk, over Rhyhorn’s head, and landed another Karate Chop squarely to the back. The Spikes Pokémon went down. Giovanni, composed as ever, hands crossed behind his back, chose Kangaskhan as his second Pokémon.

“Kangaskhan, Mega Punch.”

“Mankey, Low Kick.”

The Parent Pokémon lumbered forward with surprising speed for something of its size, fist glowing and ready to strike. Mankey swooped in first. Low Kick swept the legs from beneath Giovanni’s Kangaskhan and she went crashing to the floor. Mega Punch, missing its mark in the fall, smashed into the floor, shattering several tiles. Kangaskhan pushed herself back up.

“Comet Punch.”

“Fury Swipes.”

The foes closed on each other again, ready for the scrap. Kangaskhan landed the swifter punch, but Mankey raked her claws across her opponent's knee. A second punch hit home and then a second swipe. Tiring of swiping at knees, Mankey leapt into the air and dodged the third round of Comet Punch, while landing on the Parent Pokémon’s head and continuing to dish out Fury Swipes. Kangaskhan shook her head furiously to try and throw the Pig Monkey off, yet, as Fury Swipes ended, the brat ordered Karate Chop and took a 2-0 lead over an angering Giovanni.

Toby took several steps away from his boss. He had only met the leader of Team Rocket a couple of times, but, if the man was anything like himself, he might lash out at an underling when frustrated. Toby didn’t want to be in swinging distance if that happened. Giovanni, however, mastered his ire and motioned to a Persian who was lazing in the corner of the room. The sleek and well-groomed Classy Cat Pokémon sauntered forward to match her opponent.

“Persian, Slash.”

“Mankey, Karate Chop.”

Both Pokémon surged forward and, for once, Mankey wasn’t the faster. Persian landed a devastating Slash across her silly pig nose and knocked her backwards. The Pig Monkey refused to go down without a fight though and successfully landed Karate Chop too. Persian hissed her distaste in her rival’s face and attacked again. Mankey couldn’t take another Slash and Toby realized, with some renewed hope, that it was the first time he had seen the boy lose a Pokémon. Parasect came out next. Giovanni laughed aloud at the choice and Toby was just as confused with the second choice as the first. Once again, the kid’s choice became quickly evident.

“Persian, Slash.”

“Parasect, Spore.”

Persian loped forward with practiced speed and easily outpaced the sluggish Mushroom Pokémon. Long, sharp claws raked across the huge mushroom decorating the big bug’s back and a fine, green powder erupted forth. It floated down over a coughing Persian and she was soon snoozing at Parasect’s feet. The match was over. Parasect officially ended it with a powerful X-Scissor, but it was decided before the final hit landed.

Toby weighed his options. He could run and hope that he got farther than Carmen, who was likely locked in the security office by now, tied to his chair and awaiting punishment. He could challenge the kid as well and prove that he didn’t have a chance either. Or, he could wait it out and hope Giovanni didn’t pin the entire incident on him. He chose option number three and, for the time being, it was the right choice.

“What!” Giovanni shouted, anger rising again at his loss, but quickly fading as well, “this cannot be! I see that you raise your Pokémon with the utmost care. A child like you would never understand what I hope to achieve, but I will honor our promise and step aside. I hope we meet again.”

Toby was shocked at his boss’s reaction, but the tiny infiltrator took it in stride and nodded. Parasect scuttled over to the desk, retrieved the Silph Scope, and the two exited the room the same way they came. The elevator doors clanged shut before Giovanni turned and addressed his Chief Security Officer.

“Before I met that little boy, I was ready to pin this mess on you,” he breathed menacingly, “but now I can see that no one really stood a chance to stop him. This time. However, I do want to know how he got a key to that elevator.”

Toby sighed in relief. Only internally though, he still had to salvage the situation. He pulled out his Elevator Key and showed it to his boss.

“Carmen gave up her key with practically no fight and then attempted to flee the facility,” Toby said, more than willing to throw his cohort under the bus, “we even have the video evidence. My men should have apprehended her by now.”

“Excellent, now what to do with you?”

The quite-possibly-former Chief Officer of Security gulped loudly. Had he pushed his luck too far?

“I have a special assignment for you,” Giovanni crowed, “Tobias, is it?”

It was, technically, and Toby was in no position to correct the Team Rocket Boss, especially with such a malicious look on his face. He simply nodded. Yes.

“Good. Head back to Lavender Town, you will receive your instructions there.”

“Yes, sir,” Toby bowed again and made to leave the room.

“Oo, and Tobias,” Giovanni continued, his voice dripping with venom, “I don’t give people third chances.”

 

[Snuggle Tier List]

I think I want to review this fic? I think? I don't like writing reviews like these, but this fic is so absurd I think I have to. So here goes:

Who is this fic for? And having read both Cerulean City and Celadon City, I still don't have an definitive answer.

Let me give you an example. Take this paragraph from Cerulean City:

Toby just needed one more exploit, something personal and impressive, to present to the meeting Admins tomorrow. Stealing Pokémon from little kids was, for lack of a better term, child’s play and he needed something that spoke more to his criminal mastery and instincts. He had contemplated robbing the Bike Shop a few times, but he didn’t know what Team Rocket would do with a couple dozen bikes. Other than that, all the town had were some middle-class citizens, the Pokémon Center, the PokéMart, and Misty’s Gym. The gym was too well-protected, Team Rocket had a source inside Silph Co. that could steal all the Pokémon Center supplies they needed, and he had shoplifted from the PokéMart so many times it was getting boring. He needed something bigger.

What is trying to be accomplished by this paragraph? Clearly, our protagonists aren't nice people, which means the fic is going to be dogged by unsympathetic protagonist. Toby literally admits, in his own internal monologue no less, that he steals Pokemon from kids. And there's not a hint of guilt about it! And this is our viewpoint character, the one the audience is stuck listening to for both chapters so far. And all I want to do is punch him in the face.

This isn't necessarily bad, per se. Having unsympathetic protagonists means you can kick 'em in the nuts for entertainment (if taking the comedy route) or character development (if going dramedic). And, fair is fair, Toby does suffer his share of defeats. Like, here's his big robbery in the Cerulean City chapter:

“Hand over that TM and no-one gets hurt,” he shouted to the man he had seen before, who was now cowering beside the kitchen sink, “Team Rocket will…”

Toby didn’t finish his sentence as pain shot through his back and he found himself lying on the floor, a Nidorina standing over him. ‘Should have stuck to the original plan,’ Toby berated himself, calling out Raticate to deal with Nidorina. The Mouse Pokémon tackled her and sank his teeth into her neck. Another scream rose from the other side of the room.

Okay, this paragraph establishes that Toby made a mistake. He overreached, thought a tough job would be easier for him, and got his butt smacked to the curb. Toby even acknowledges his failure, which makes him not that much of a smug egotist to smack around, deflating any comedic potential (See Dennis from "It's Always Sunny in Philipelphia" for how to pull off a hilariously incompetant egotist). But then Toby, having admitted to himself he made a mistake, succeeds in stealing the TM from a cartoonishly innocent family. So Toby's character development becomes not "this crime was a bad idea", but "how I pulled off this crime was flawed". And even the chapter's ending paragraph:

Shocked and off-balance, Toby fell and hit the ground hard. He remained there only a moment before scrambling back to his feet and continuing his flight toward Route 9. Neither the Pokémon nor their brat gave chase. Toby had lost the TM, but no-one had witnessed it or his defeat at the hands of a child, so his reputation should still be intact. All he needed to do was swipe a couple Pokémon at Rock Tunnel before the meeting the following day and his promotion, if not his bonus, would still be forthcoming. ‘That kid was just a minor set-back,’ thought Toby, ‘no real problem.’

Toby didn’t know how wrong he was.

It all just reinforces the very reasons Toby's unsympathetic. He's a bad person. He'd steal from anyone if he could get away with it. He's willing to cause physical pain if you attempt to defend yourself - from him. And if Toby gets beat fair and square, it's not because he's a bad person. No, it's because of someone else. "That kid". No harm to mafia cred, no foul, at least in Toby's eyes.

So...why has Toby been made unsympathetic? (I'm giving the benefit of the doubt and assuming this is intentional) Which brings us to Celadon City. And now I'm going to make a ton of wild guesses based on quotes from this chapter. Here we go!

Toby sighed in relief. Only internally though, he still had to salvage the situation. He pulled out his Elevator Key and showed it to his boss.

“Carmen gave up her key with practically no fight and then attempted to flee the facility,” Toby said, more than willing to throw his cohort under the bus, “we even have the video evidence. My men should have apprehended her by now.”

Theory #1: Toby is evil. Evil is cool. Therefore, Toby is cool...or so he thinks. The events of this chapter coincide roughly with game canon, and game canon does not steer well for Toby. Thus, this might just be a slow start to Toby's redeption arc, as he learns organized crime doesn't engender particularly long careers.

‘This is the life,’ Toby thought to himself again, closing his eyes and imagining the mansion and swimming pool he would buy once Giovanni controlled the region.

Theory #2: Toby is being built up for a fall from grace. AKA "The Scarface Plot". Toby is written to be unsympathetic to show how this breed of unsympathetic character isn't such a good role model.

“You two,” he indicated at the two older members of the security crew, “apprehend Carmen before she escapes into the city. The rest of you, lock down this room as soon as I leave.”

Theory #3: Toby is going to replace Giovanna in some capacity. This one's more of a crack theory, but I'll admit; Toby seems at least competant at what he does. This doesn't make him any less face-punch-able - if anything, his potebtial to be a major threat means I'm considering more permenent solutions - but it could shift the canon in interesting new directions. In which case, "the kid" is our stealth protagonist and Toby is our stealth antagonist.

Toby weighed his options. He could run and hope that he got farther than Carmen, who was likely locked in the security office by now, tied to his chair and awaiting punishment. He could challenge the kid as well and prove that he didn’t have a chance either. Or, he could wait it out and hope Giovanni didn’t pin the entire incident on him. He chose option number three and, for the time being, it was the right choice.

Theory #4: Toby isn't meant to be taken seriously. His real purpose is to flesh out the characters around him; namely, Giovanni and his grunts. If I were a betting man, I'd bet on this theory. I'm new-ish to Pokemon fan fiction tropes, but I do know Team Rocket has a sizable subfandom with the general Pokemon fan community. To its credit, the Celadon City chapter does flesh out how Team Rocket organizes its operations. We get an internal monologue from one of Giovanni's underlings about how they see Giovanni. I'd go so far as to say this is an attempt at fanon, a way to recontextualize the original Kanto games. And that definately has an audience, but...

Eh. I think the tone is too childish for me. That Everyone rating makes the story too subdued for my taste. The label signals nothing out of the ordinary for Pokemon canon, which means any villian protagonist is rubbing up against cartoony villanry. I tried to suss out your authorial intent from the text, and this is probably a failure of me as a reviewer, but I just couldn't figure out what this fic was going for. So I went in with no expectations, and the best I could do was read it as a character drama. And character drama + Everyone rating + villian protagonist just doesn't work for me.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on what exactly you were aiming for, so I could more properly give feedback. You got my head spinning as a critic, which I guess means my time here wasn't wasted. So, in a roundabout way, it was worth the read. And maybe a reread, if I can hunt down some context. See you around?

 

[Patrick Haines]

@Snuggle Tier List The entire point of the fic was a little bit of fun and experimentation with writing. After finishing my last Pokémon fic, someone mentioned that most of the fics on here are pretty standard journey fics, so I decided to take a slightly more unique approach. It is kind of a plot filler, a little insight on what happened between all of Rocket's escapades in Kanto, and a look inside the criminal organization. We always get to play as the protagonist, but what does the antagonist look like kind of thing...

Toby is also supposed to re-shape (or at least make you re-think) some stereotypes about Team Rocket/All Evil Teams. For me, pretty much every member of every team has been laughably simple to defeat in the video games (and Jessie/James get their butts kicked constantly too). They carry limited Pokémon, they are more dangerous in numbers, ect. An old anime episode had me thinking though (where Jessie/James compete in some sort of tournament with borrowed Pokémon and have some success), do the Grunts suck or is the protagonist just that strong? Giovanni, after all, is a gym leader and I kick his butt too. So, with Toby, I tried to take the approach that not all Grunts are useless henchmen who run around kissing the ground Giovanni walks on.

I also tried to give a little bit of organization to a team that always just seems to be standing around waiting to lose. There are higher Grunts, lower Grunts, and even titles/job positions before hitting Admin. Some Grunts (Kodi/Matti) are useless, others are loyal robots (Security Grunts), and not everyone earned their positions by battling (Carmen is, admittedly, a terrible battler). Some attempt to give depth to the organization.

I suppose the biggest reasons for the story are: practice writing and a little bit of world building. I love to write and when an idea pops into my head, I just want to get it down on paper. I am also trying to write a second, full-length fanfic that is a little more outside the box than my last. This story is a little more insight to the world/canon I am building/have built. That is also one reason I kept the EVERYONE rating. My original story (and likely all my other stories) are EVERYONE. I, like you apparently, am a crazy manchild who refuses to give up on Pokémon, however, I still see it as the kid's game that I have played my whole life. I threw a little fun violence and attitude into the story because it was needed, but I don't see Pokémon as a blood/guts/real world scenario. I prefer the little fantasy goggles I still see it through. Also, I have read a few Mature/Teen fics and just don't like all the death, angst, guns, violence, ect. I don't see a need for it.

Any other questions, let me know. I am actually finished with the story (I don't post my first until I have everything done), but I try to post in chunks/at a pace that people can read enjoyably.

 

[Snuggle Tier List]

@Snuggle Tier List The entire point of the fic was a little bit of fun and experimentation with writing. After finishing my last Pokémon fic, someone mentioned that most of the fics on here are pretty standard journey fics, so I decided to take a slightly more unique approach. It is kind of a plot filler, a little insight on what happened between all of Rocket's escapades in Kanto, and a look inside the criminal organization. We always get to play as the protagonist, but what does the antagonist look like kind of thing...

Toby is also supposed to re-shape (or at least make you re-think) some stereotypes about Team Rocket/All Evil Teams. For me, pretty much every member of every team has been laughably simple to defeat in the video games (and Jessie/James get their butts kicked constantly too). They carry limited Pokémon, they are more dangerous in numbers, ect. An old anime episode had me thinking though (where Jessie/James compete in some sort of tournament with borrowed Pokémon and have some success), do the Grunts suck or is the protagonist just that strong? Giovanni, after all, is a gym leader and I kick his butt too. So, with Toby, I tried to take the approach that not all Grunts are useless henchmen who run around kissing the ground Giovanni walks on.

I also tried to give a little bit of organization to a team that always just seems to be standing around waiting to lose. There are higher Grunts, lower Grunts, and even titles/job positions before hitting Admin. Some Grunts (Kodi/Matti) are useless, others are loyal robots (Security Grunts), and not everyone earned their positions by battling (Carmen is, admittedly, a terrible battler). Some attempt to give depth to the organization.

I suppose the biggest reasons for the story are: practice writing and a little bit of world building. I love to write and when an idea pops into my head, I just want to get it down on paper. I am also trying to write a second, full-length fanfic that is a little more outside the box than my last. This story is a little more insight to the world/canon I am building/have built. That is also one reason I kept the EVERYONE rating. My original story (and likely all my other stories) are EVERYONE. I, like you apparently, am a crazy manchild who refuses to give up on Pokémon, however, I still see it as the kid's game that I have played my whole life. I threw a little fun violence and attitude into the story because it was needed, but I don't see Pokémon as a blood/guts/real world scenario. I prefer the little fantasy goggles I still see it through. Also, I have read a few Mature/Teen fics and just don't like all the death, angst, guns, violence, ect. I don't see a need for it.

Any other questions, let me know. I am actually finished with the story (I don't post my first until I have everything done), but I try to post in chunks/at a pace that people can read enjoyably.

I see where you're coming from. "Make the bad guys less incompetant" is an admirable goal. And you absolutely accomplished that, so full props!

Oh, and there is definately a way to do a Teen/Mature fic without grimdark edgy-ness. I don't know if you ever played Explorers of Sky, but that “E for Everyone" rating is a trap. It looks like it's going to be a trashy fun lighthearted adventure, and then I'm watching a Charmander suffer a scarily accurate depiction of chronic depression, wondering "how did we get here?" Oh, and if you haven't played it yet, I'd recommend Pokemon XD: Gales of Darkness. Not the best story ever told, it definately has a slow start, but it avoids Pokemon: Colosseum's hilariously over-the-top edgy I-blow-up-buildings-to-establish-my-character protagonist while still being a little more mature than your average canon story, with themes of rehabilitation and "evil is short-sighted and can't level up" and...shuffles notes...freedom of the press? What?

Anyways, all said, I'm still looking forward to the next few chapters. I think I can read them through the lens of "developing Team Rocket into a non-pushover“, though I'm still curious how that might happen under an Everything rating. As with all any good reviewer, I want to be proven wrong whenever I drop criticism. I wanna read good stuff, heck it! So with that in mind, I think I'll wait until all chapters are published, and then give an overarching final thoughts. See if you did what you set out to do. It'll be a far more constructive review when done like that.

(Oh, and honestly: my reviews are a little self-centered. As in, I like dissecting other people's fiction so that I might become a better author myself, AKA "steal good ideas, trash bad ones". So if I ever cross the line, please treat me like the parasitic prick I'm being. I don't want my ego inflating beyond acceptable parameters. Not after...shivers. Never again.)

 

[Patrick Haines]

@Snuggle Tier List Thanks for the feedback, it can be hard to come by. I suppose my goal as an author is to entertain, so I am glad I have pulled that off and I hope you like the second half of the story (Chapter 3 should go up this weekend, after one final read through). No Spoilers though.

I would like to get my hands on XD once I have my GameCube back in possession, but that is going to be a couple years. I am actually trying to acquire/complete pretty much all of the Pokémon adventure style games (no Pinball, Trozei, ect). I have finished RBY and only need a couple more items to complete GSC, but a lot was rolled out with Gen 3 so that will take more time. And give me more ideas for stories.

 

[Patrick Haines]

Grunt Work-Lavender Town

Toby frowned and clicked on his walkie-talkie, frustrated at where his ‘special assignment’ had landed him and doubtful that anything positive would come of it. He’d only been at the Rocket Headquarters in Lavender Town, a run-down fishing shack on the border of Route 12, about three hours before a Pidgey showed up with his instructions from Giovanni.

Kidnap the old man Fuji and use him as bait to kidnap the kid too. Help will arrive shortly.

Since his arrival, the disgruntled Toby had been staking out the city and preparing to snatch the old man. That part of the assignment should be pretty simple. Despite an impressive vitality for a man so advanced in age, Toby should have no problem abducting him, especially with the aid of the two Grunts who had arrived the day prior.

Mr. Fuji, as the locals reverently referred to him, was a very routine person. He lived in the Pokémon Volunteer House near the center of town. Every morning, the old man ate breakfast at his home and then took a brisk walk around town. He ended his walk, without fail, at the Pokémon Tower, where he spent most of the day. Toby planned to corner him in the tower and sequester him there until the boy showed up. Toby wasn’t sure how the two were connected, but Giovanni was convinced that they were.

“He’s headed out, boss,” a voice crackled over the walkie-talkie, “but he’s got a kid with him.”

“What kid?” Toby demanded, attempting to control his emotions.

He was in no hurry to challenge his little rival again, but if he could trap them both simultaneously, it would save some time. Toby wanted nothing more than to be back in Saffron, aiding with the Silph takeover and reaping the benefits.

“A little girl,” came the response, “long blondish-brown hair, not more than 4 or 5.”

“Proceed as planned,” Toby answered, his heart slowly returning to its normal pace.

The first voice confirmed the command and reported that everything else was in order. Five minutes later, a second voice commented on the progress of the old man and young girl. Not long after the second report, the two strolled into Toby’s line of sight. Mr. Fuji’s daily walk was only being slowed slightly by the cute girl’s short legs. Toby waited until they rounded a corner and scurried to his new position. Two more updates on their progress and boredom began to creep up on the ring leader, even as he saw the pair approach Pokémon Tower. Mr. Fuji unhooked a PokéBall from his waist, handed it to the girl, and entered the building as normal. The girl scampered away.

“Proceed with Phase Two,” Toby said to the walkie-talkie.

Secretly, he was glad that the girl had left. He was a criminal and had few qualms about doing anything that would earn him money or prestige, but something about kidnapping a little kid seemed wrong. Even if he was planning to kidnap a different little kid. ‘That boy is a menace though,’ Toby rationalized, and stepped from his hiding place.

“Mr. Smith, nice to see you again,” the receptionist greeted Toby as he strolled through the front door of Pokémon Tower, false grief written all over his face.

Toby greeted her with a subdued wave and continued up the stairs to the second floor. He’d made it a point to visit Pokémon Tower every day since his arrival to make himself known. On his first day, after receiving instructions from Giovanni, he had even gone through the trouble of finding a pathetic Marowak and putting it out of its misery so he would have a Pokémon to entomb at the tower.

The fake tears were replaced with a wide grin as he looked over the rows and rows of headstones. This part was going to be fun. Dodging the roaming Channelers, whose job it was to tend the departed Pokémon’s souls, Toby began to tap loudly on a tomb with his knuckles. A low wail echoed off the high ceiling and the pleased Grunt continued to the next tomb. Loud tapping, pitiful wail, next tomb. He continued all the way down the left side of the room and then ascended, knowing his lackeys would do the same with the other rows of tombs as they followed him up the tower.

Toby continued to disturb the headstones as he steadily climbed upward, out of breath, but satisfied, when he reached the sixth floor. One of the Channelers, an extremely annoying girl named Jennifer, grinned stupidly at him when he appeared. She had been attempting to flirt with the slightly older man every day that he had come to ‘visit’ his departed Pokémon. Marowak’s tomb was on the far side of the floor and Toby, regrettably, smiled back and attempted to duck past her.

“Where are you going so fast, cutieeeeeee,” she giggled, her normally-high pitched voice at an even more unpleasant tone than normal, “don’t you want to talk to meeeeeeeeeeee.”

Even if he had wanted to talk to her, Toby don’t think he would have been able to find the words. A wildly disturbing countenance had overtaken her and she began giggling manically, never taking her bloodshot eyes off the subject of her rejected affections.

“Kisssssssss,” she suddenly hissed, launching herself at him, “give meeeeeee a kissssssss.”

The horrified man backpedaled and bumped into a headstone. The crazed Channeler approached, arms outstretched, ready to….well Toby didn’t know, but he didn’t want to find out either. Luckily, he never did. The sound of pounding echoed on the stairs and two brown-haired men, faces contorted in fear, flew into sight. They barreled over Jennifer and she fell, smashing her head on the floor when he landed.

“Drew, Greg,” Toby exhaled and steadied himself on the headstone that he had been trapped against, “did you proceed with the plan?”

“We did,” confirmed Drew, the taller and bulkier and the two, “but I think it worked too well.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are Gastly and Haunter everywhere,” Greg picked up where his cohort had left off, “I think some of them are possessing the Channelers.”

Realization dawned on Toby’s face as he looked down at Jennifer sprawled on the floor, a small trickle of blood running down her forehead. She had been possessed. That explained the strange speech, the insane behavior and…well not the high voice, she always had a high, annoying voice, but it explained everything else.

“Is she ok?” Drew asked and Greg bent down to check.

“Just unconscious,” Greg noted, “she’ll wake up in a couple of hours with a pounding headache, but she will be fine.”

Toby rolled his eyes at his underlings. They were loyal to a fault, but too soft-hearted to be good Team Rocket Grunts.

“Leave her be,” the annoyed boss commanded, “you two need to get back downstairs.”

“Downstairs?” both men moaned incredulously, disbelieving that even the cold-hearted Toby would send them back into that chaos.

“Yes, downstairs. I need reports on who is coming up to rescue the old man.”

Greg was about to respond, possibly to refuse, when a look of abject terror overtook him and he began stuttering senselessly. Drew, following his buddy’s gaze, mimicked the reaction. Toby was about to reprimand both of them when a chill came over his entire body and cut him short. Trembling slightly, he, too, turned. Hovering above the three of them, far larger than the actual form of the Bone Keeper Pokémon, was a ghost Marowak.

“RUN,” Toby screamed, losing his cool as the Marowak swung its enormous Bone Club down at them.

All three men dove to the ground and turned for the stairs headed down, completely forgetting their mission in their fear and panic. Marowak cut them off. Seeing no alternative, the Team Rocket Grunts, as a single, terrified unit, sprinted up the final set of stairs to the sanctuary on the top floor. Mr. Fuji was already there, kneeling before an altar at the back of the room. Toby, attempting to restore some of his dignity, brushed the dust off his jacket and unzipped it to reveal his Team Rocket shirt beneath.

“You are our prisoner, Mr. Fuji,” he stated with all the authority he could muster, “don’t try to flee if you don’t wish to be hurt.”

The bald man pushed himself up from the altar and turned to see the three members of Team Rocket standing menacingly before him. Drew and Greg had removed their jackets as well and were pulling on their black caps to complete their uniforms. Mr. Fuji, his mustache jiggling, chuckled.

“I have no intention of leaving, but I think you will find that you are the one who is trapped.”

All three men gave him a confused look, so he continued.

“That is the Marowak you brought in, yes, Mr. Smith,” the old man emphasized the name to prove he knew that it was an alias, and a bad one at that, “but it seems to be rather upset with you. What could you have done to that poor Marowak to upset it?”

Toby knew exactly what he had done, and he had a feeling that Mr. Fuji did too, but he wasn’t about to admit it. Instead, mustering his bravado, the Grunt-in-charge attempted to prove Mr. Fuji wrong. Mr. Fuji wasn’t wrong. Marowak’s ghost hovered at the bottom of the stairs, staring intently up at Toby with rage burning behind its skull-covered eyes. Toby sighed loudly and returned to his men.

“Nothing changes,” he whispered to them, “we wait for the boy. With any luck, all the ghosts running around will weaken him and he will be too exhausted to fight once he reaches us.”

Greg and Drew nodded and one of them retrieved a rucksack from behind the altar. It was filled with provisions, just in case the kidnapping turned into an extended hostage situation, and Greg also produced a pair of dice. The three wasted the next several hours gambling away their nefariously-earned coins and waiting for their prey to appear. A little before 3:00 p.m., the loud crackling of Toby’s and Drew’s walkie-talkies drew their attention away from their game.

“Give…me…blood…” an eerie voice sounded over the receiver.

The sounds of combat followed the spooky words and, when they stopped, a woman groaned softly, “I feel anemic and weak…”

“Rest for now,” another, much stronger voice came through from the other end, “make your way down when you have the strength.”

The receiver went dead without a response being heard and Toby glared over at Greg.

“I dropped by walkie-talkie on the sixth floor when we were running from the ghosts,” he explained.

Toby rolled his eyes again and held down his anger, “he is close. Get ready.”

Greg scooped the dice off the floor while Drew returned the rucksack to its hiding place behind the altar. Both Grunts hid behind large headstones on opposite sides of the room and waited. Toby snuck to the stairs and peered downward.

The ghost of Marowak was no longer starring angrily up the stairs at him, something else had caught its attention. A pair of raggedy, old shoes came into view, but stopped short of the hovering ghost. Toby rubbed his hands in anticipation, ready for the Marowak to pound his little rival into a pulp. Once again, things didn’t develop as Toby had planned.

Instead of attacking the young boy, the over-sized ghost dropped to one knee and opened her arms to him. Or so it seemed. A small Cubone, the boy’s Cubone, had been cowering behind his master unseen. It rushed forward and was enveloped by the ghost. ‘What is going on,’ Toby pondered, watching the spectacle, ‘is that Cubone’s…mother?”

A wave of pity and remorse washed over the supposedly hardened criminal, but he pushed it away. He had a job to do. As he watched, the ghost of Marowak began to waver and slowly vanish. Her child had put her at peace. And, judging by the enraged glint in the Cubone’s eyes, she had instilled her rage in him. The fuming Lonely Pokémon mounted the stairs and his master was close behind. Toby abandoned his viewpoint by the stairs and rushed back to Mr. Fuji’s side. It was time to end this once and for all.

Cubone’s skull came into view first. Toby signaled for his lackeys to have patience. Cubone and his master strode purposefully across the room. The Grunts waited. Mr. Fuji and the munchkin shared a friendly smiley has he approached the altar.

“NOW,” shouted Toby.

Drew and Greg leapt from behind their headstones and released their Pokémon. A Rattata zipped across the floor at high-speed. Cubone smashed it over the head with Bone Club and it fainted on the spot. Greg tried his luck with Zubat. The runt summoned Eevee and the two were soon trading Bites. Now it was Toby’s turn, no holding back.

“Raticate, Hyper Fang.”

Raticate started across the room to double team Eevee, but a big, black tail appeared and knocked him backward. Toby, who was a little taller than the Flame Pokémon, gazed over Charizard’s black skin with awe and fear. He hadn’t noticed the color difference in Celadon because of the black-and-white cameras, but now every eye in the room was trained the powerful lizard. Everyone’s, including Zubat’s, who took a hard Quick Attack and joined Rattata on the floor, unconscious.

“Don’t hold back,” commanded Toby, recovering from his shock, “give this punk everything you have got.”

As if to demonstrate exactly what he meant, Toby released Drowzee and Machop into the mix. Greg and Drew, following suit, released all of their Pokémon. Three more Zubat, a Golbat, and another Raticate appeared, all awaiting orders to attack the little kid and his Pokémon. The munchkin, however, delivered the first blow.

“Haunter, Shadow Ball.”

Haunter materialized and Shadow Ball devastated the Psychic-type Drowzee. The Team Rocket Grunts ordered their Pokémon into action. The runt tossed out two more Pokémon, Parasect and Mankey, while Charizard scorched Toby’s Raticate with Flamethrower, evening the odds at six Pokémon a piece. It didn’t stay that way long. Machop attempted to engage Eevee, but Charizard stepped between the two and lashed out with Wing Attack. Machop was able to dodge it, but not the Bonemerang from Cubone. He hit the floor and Charizard finished him with Slash. 6-5.

Parasect, avoiding the four Flying-type Pokémon, lashed out at the remaining Raticate. The Mouse Pokémon took the challenge. On the other side of the room, all the Zubat launched Air Cutter at Eevee. She danced away. Golbat, seeing Mankey as the weakest opponent, swooped in with a Wing Attack of his own. Haunter, forgotten in the melee, took down Golbat with a single Thunderbolt. 6-4.

The rest of the melee didn’t play out any better for Team Rocket. Eevee, her attacking arsenal limited, counted the Zubat with Charm. The Bat Pokémon wavered slightly at her cuteness, allowing her friends to step in and finish the job. Charizard swatted one from the sky, allowing Cubone to finish it with Headbutt, while Mankey bounded up the Flame Pokémon’s back and grounded another with Karate Chop. Eevee finished the job with Quick Attack. Thunderbolt was all Haunter needed to finish off the final Bat Pokémon and, as it fluttered unconscious to the ground, Parasect triumphed over Raticate with X-Scissor. 6-0.

“HOOOOOOOOOOW?” Toby howled, ripping off his hat and throwing it to the ground.

He was so outraged that he wanted to grasp his thick mop of brown hair and start yanking. He didn’t, he was too vain for that, but he did stomp up and down screaming, like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he doesn’t get what he wants. When the passion subsided, the author of all his torment still stood before him, amused grin upon his face.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving too?”

Toby looked around. Greg, Drew, and their Pokémon were gone. It was over. Once again, he had come up against this mysterious child and, once again, he had been embarrassed. It was unlikely, in their cowardice, that Greg and Drew would return to Saffron, so there was still a chance that Toby could lie his way out of the situation, but knowing the truth himself would be painful enough. He hung his head, recalled his Pokémon, and headed for the stairs. He heard Mr. Fuji and the kid exchange a few words, but their meaning was lost on him.

The trip down the tower was quicker than the trip up. The punk had handled all of the Gastly and Haunter, released all of the possessed Channelers, and still had enough energy to demolish three seasoned members of Team Rocket in the sanctuary. Toby’s rage was gone and, for the first time since his childhood, he felt like crying. He didn’t, but he felt like it. As he reached the bottom floor, the grief on his face real this time, the receptionist spoke with him one last time.

“Have a nice day, Mr. Smith.”

“It will most certainly not be a good day,” Toby snapped back, and his spirits lifted as a tear sparkled on the bubbly girl’s crest-fallen face.

‘Maybe everything will work itself out after all,’ Toby thought as he stepped into the warm summer air, mind running over a number of good lies he could pass off to explain his failure, ‘maybe everything will work itself out.’

 

[Patrick Haines]

Grunt Work-Saffron City

Toby dropped his pencil on the lacquered wooden desk and reclined in the high-backed chair to relax a moment. He was sitting in a corner office of Silph Co., high up on the sixth floor, gazing out over the city through the immaculately clean windows. He had finally arrived exactly where he wanted to be. It lasted all of two seconds.

“Are you finished with that report yet?” a demanding female voice called from the door, “we have plenty more Grunts who need this office.”

Toby sighed deeply, pushed himself up from the chair, and grabbed the report he had just finished working on. He trudged slowly to the door, where a dozen other faceless Grunts were waiting to complete their own reports, and handed his paper to Ariana. She didn’t even take it from his hand, she just pointed to a stack of papers on a table to her left.

“Report to Proton on the fifth floor for your post,” the Team Rocket Admin ordered, not even making eye contact with the man who had been so close to being her equal just over a month ago.

‘I wonder if she even remembers me,’ Toby mused, ‘probably not.’

The former Chief of Security kept his eyes averted and slunk past the line of Grunts toward the stairs. Not the elevators, he remembered vividly, anyone using the elevators would be considered an enemy and be imprisoned on sight. Toby sighed again. He had run over a dozen different lies to tell Giovanni about what happened at Pokémon Tower, such as: Drew and Greg betrayed me and helped the kid; Mr. Fuji was the boss of a rival gang and he barely escaped with his life; and the kid was a close, personal friend of the Champion, Lance, and they showed up together. Each seemed as ridiculous of the next, but they all sounded better than the truth. Toby shook his head as he ran over the events in his head one more time. How had the kid done it?

Toby walked past a couple of Grunts discussing ‘The Disturbance’ at Pokémon Tower and ignored them as he mounted the stairs. The local news had reported on ‘The Disturbance’ just a day after it had happened. Team Rocket wasn’t mentioned by name, but an anonymous source reported that hooligans had riled up the Pokémon and several Channelers had suffered strange symptoms from their interactions with the upset Pokémon. It was a far cry from the truth, but it forced Toby to at least report a part of what happened. He claimed that Greg and Drew, who, as expected, abandoned Team Rocket, had caused ‘The Disturbance’ and scared the kid away. Without the kid, Mr. Fuji was no longer needed as bait, so Toby left him to suffer at the hands of the ghosts. Just for good measure, Toby had swiped a trio of Meowth from a Lass on Route 7.

Ariana hadn’t been impressed. Luckily, Toby hadn’t had to explain his failure to Giovanni, who was busy with the Silph Co. President, but his months of hard work had come to naught. He was a faceless Grunt once again. No one to boss around, no semi-fancy title, just his Pokémon and a meager paycheck. Toby, like the other Grunts, was hoping that paycheck would take a significant bounce once the Silph. coup was complete, but, four days into occupying the Saffron Building, little progress had been made. All wasn’t lost, yet he didn’t have the confidence in Giovanni that many of the newer Grunts did.

With a hung head and a depressed expression, Toby joined a line of half a dozen Grunts waiting to see Proton. He could hear screaming from behind the door and hoped that he wasn’t due for similar treatment. After five minutes of practically unintelligible yelling, with only words like ‘failure’ and ‘embarrassment’ audible through the door, an attractive young assistant came for the next Grunt in line. Much of the same thing followed, though Toby also heard the word ‘Mewtwo’ mentioned repeatedly during the second berating. He recalled something about Project Mewtwo being mentioned during the Admin Meeting a month prior, but had never been filled in on the details. The pretty assistant appeared again.

Thankfully, the next few Grunts were in line only for assignments and not for punishment.

“Second floor stairwell, third floor elevator, sixth floor elevator, fifth floor conference room,” Proton read off to the Grunts ahead of Toby, barely looking up from his desk. His countenance changed, however, when Toby entered.

“Toby, my boy, nice to see you again.”

“Admin Proton,” Toby responded respectfully, bowing slightly, as was the norm when addressing a superior.

“No need to be so formal,” the Rocket Admin chuckled, “close the door, have a seat.”

Toby was mildly concerned. The two Grunts who had been berated had been forced to close the door. For that matter, where were those Grunts? They hadn’t returned out the front and there were no other doors. Toby glanced around the room as he pushed the door shut and took a seat. Other than the chair he was sitting in, a stool for the assistant, and Protons’ desk, there was no other furniture. No pictures on the walls, no potted plants, nothing. No bodies either, but no explanation of where they could have gone.

“You look nervous, Toby,” Proton said, still wearing a smile, “bad luck got you down.”

“Bad luck?” the confused Grunt queried.

“Yea, heard you had a bad run of things after all that work you did in Cerulean. Terribly unlucky, if you ask me.”

“Right, bad luck” said Toby, measuring his speech and weighing the situation, “just can’t seem to catch a break since Cerulean. The Team is about to get the break it needs though.”

“Quite right, quite right,” Proton agreed, “and I think I can find a nice assignment for you here after all that work you put in for us up in Cerulean. Heck, I would send you back up there if I could, hasn’t been the same since you left.”

“Really?” Toby blurted before he could catch himself.

“Indeed,” the Rocket Admin answered, surfing through his computer to find the perfect assignment for Toby, “some kid named Kody got arrested for stealing a TM, which he didn’t even have in his possession, and another punk, Matti I think, got roughed up trying to rob Misty.”

Toby had to hold back a laugh at the thought of Matti attempting to relieve Misty of her Pokémon. It was one of the most ridiculous things he had ever heard. Kody being mistaken for him, however, gave it some competition. Toby was tall, well-built, and brunette; Kody was short, fat, and blonde. That poor little man he had robbed was either an imbecile or had been so horrified that he couldn’t remember a single detail from that day. Toby amused himself with the thought until Proton’s voice announced that he had a good assignment for a man of great wit.

“Storage Room on the 4th floor. Supervising the search of the materials there and noting what could be useful to us.”

“Excellent,” Toby responded earnestly, glad to have earned the respect of at least one Admin.

“Your computer has a direct link to our communication system and the cameras,” Proton added, “so you can stay connected with the rest of us in this monstrous building.”

Toby thanked his superior, stood, shook his hand, and headed for his new post. He’d had his setbacks, but everything was coming up Toby now. The Silph invasion was well underway, he had dodged a bullet in Lavender, and he had been given a respectable position to start working his way back up the ranks.

A few hours later, his own pretty little assistant was serving him a BLT and gushing over his huge biceps. He flexed for her a couple times and she flushed, giggled, and rushed out of the room. ‘This is the life,’ Toby thought, taking a bite out of his sandwich and looking over the inventory of items on the clipboard before him. It was his job to decide what to ship out to their warehouses in Viridian and Sevii. He read slowly down the lengthy list:

Three Cases of Iron
Six Cases of Full Heals
One Crate of Max Revives
TM 41
An Escape Rope

Toby stopped reading and shifted his eyes back up the paper. He re-read. TM 41.

“Maggi,” he shouted, and his petite little assistant bumbled into the room, “find me the Grunt who wrote TM 41 on this paper without informing me.”

She nodded and bustled off.

“And bring me the item too,” he shouted as an afterthought.

‘I am not letting another TM slip away,’ Toby thought to himself.

While he waited for Maggi to return, he turned his eyes to the lone computer screen on his desk. It wasn’t the bank of monitors he had commanded in Celadon, but it was in color. The system had access to all of the cameras in the building, yet was currently set to shuffle through only the fifth floor. A picture of the hallway outside the store room popped up, showing a single Grunt patrolling back and forth. The picture shifted to a couple of scientists fiddling with a bank of eight-foot tall computers. Another shift showed a second Grunt pacing back and forth beside a long table in a conference room. The next shift showed the stairs and almost made Toby’s eyes pop out of his head.

Standing between the set of stairs headed down to the third floor and the set headed up to the fifth, was a boy. And not just any boy. A boy with overly long bangs, too-big clothes, and roughed up tennis shoes. There was no mistaking the nightmare that Toby watched as he glanced swiftly around the atrium before mounting the next set of stairs, but he hit REWIND and double-checked anyway. It was him.

Panic setting in, Toby accessed the camera database and pulled up the fifth-floor cameras. Instead of having them flash across the screen, he pulled them all up simultaneously, so he could see the entirety of the fifth floor at once. He almost wished he hadn’t. Toby watched as the boy headed directly for Proton’s office, as if he knew exactly what he was looking for. Somehow. A Silph/Rocket Scientist noticed the rogue child and engaged. Big mistake. A few Bone Clubs and a quick Bonemerang later, Koffing, Weezing, Magnemite, and Magneton were laid out at their trainer’s feet without having damaged the angry Cubone. The Scientist’s shock was evident, even on the tiny camera, and he fled as soon as he had gathered up his Pokémon. Another Grunt, having heard the raucous, rushed to investigate. Toby recognized the man as one of the Four Rocket Brothers. The brothers were famous in Team Rocket for their cruelty and brutality. Famous or not, the munchkin smashed his Arbok with another Bone Club and Toby watched another grown man slink away from the small child in shame.

The boy, Cubone still at his side, stuck his head into Proton’s office. It was empty. With Cubone in the lead, they headed for the south wall of the building. Skirting a Teleportation Panel, they entered a narrow hallway and, a little further on, Cubone bent to sniff something on the ground. The runt picked it up and they continued down the hallway. At the very end of the hall, back near the stairs, Toby saw a man crawling around on the floor, as if looking for something. It was Rocket Admin Proton. The boy approached.

The cameras, despite being in color, lacked sound and Toby could only guess at the exchange taking place between the Admin and the tiny infiltrator. He saw the kid hold up the item Cubone had found. He zoomed in for a better look. It was a Card Key. A look of shock, followed by anger, crossed Proton’s face and he promptly attacked with Hypno. Cubone proceeded to annihilate the Hypnosis Pokémon with Thrash. Proton, deciding to take matters into his own hands, rushed at the small boy. Charizard appeared. Proton stopped dead. The two exchanged words for a brief moment and the boy brushed past the Admin and entered the elevator.

Toby was unsure what he should do. He was, more-or-less, safe from the boy’s wrath in his little storage room, but Team Rocket itself appeared to be at risk. On three different occasions now, the munchkin had appeared, destroyed their plans, and disappeared again without a word. Nothing was stopping him from doing it again. Toby switched over to the elevator feed. The runt stopped on the third floor. The Grunt who had received his order just before Toby attempted to stop Charizard, it was the expected slaughter. Even the man’s Dewgong, which is an odd Pokémon for a Grunt to be carrying, fell swiftly to Slash. Charizard still trailing along for protection, the boy used his Card Key to open a shutter door and stepped on to a Teleportation Panel. He vanished.

Toby had been avoiding the Teleportation Panels since his arrival and had no idea where each headed. He started surfing through the different camera feeds, attempting to find his quarry again. Not on the sixth floor, not on the eighth floor, not on the tenth floor. Toby froze in horror when he finally found the kid again. He was strutting down the hallway on the 11th floor, just outside the President’s Office.

‘How did he know where to go?’ Toby stumbled internally with the question, ‘only a select few people know how to access the President’s Area of the top floor.’

A grainy memory flashed across Toby’s mind and the answer came to him.

“Proton,” he said aloud, not realizing anyone was within earshot.

“What was that, sir,” Maggi asked, returning with the TM in her dainty fist, though the man he had asked for was absent.

‘Sir,’ Toby smiled to himself, ‘I think I love this girl.’

In response, however, he just shrugged the girl off and returned to the computer monitor. Maggi placed a soft hand on his shoulder and watched as well. They starred on in amazement as Charizard and Haunter worked together to defeat three Rattata, a Zubat, an Ekans, an Exeggcute, a Drowzee, and a Marowak. Giovanni’s personal guards out of the way, the runt continued down the hall. A last second thought jumped into Toby’s mind. He pulled up the Silph Co. Interweb and quickly typed a message.

Boss, it is the same kid from Celadon, he will be there in moments.

A response came through only seconds later...

I have been watching him. This is going to be fun.

Fun, Toby supposed, was in the eye of the beholder, but he doubted that Giovanni was having fun as he battled the kid for a second time. Toby and Maggi were having fun looking on, the runt may have been having fun watching the Rocket Boss rage at his Pokémon, but it was very clear that Giovanni was not having fun. Toby, on second thought, was actually a little disappointed with the battle, if only because the first one had been better.

Giovanni attacked first with Nidorino, which Haunter had no trouble dealing with. Poison Jab missed and the countering Psychic launched the Poison Pin Pokémon into a wall, shattering a picture frame. Kangaskhan fared no better. It was actually a horrible decision by Giovanni, as the Normal-type could do practically no damage to Haunter, and a combination of Psychic and Thunderbolt ended the Parent Pokémon too. Possibly growing bored with Haunter, or due to fatigue, the munchkin (Toby somehow had never learned his name) switched to Vaporeon. A single Bubblebeam was more than enough to deal with the same Rhydon that Mankey had knocked out a little more than a week prior and Nidoqueen put up very little fight either. The female Drill Pokémon survived Bubblebeam and countered with Body Slam, which was the only damage Giovanni was able to dish out over the entire battle. An Ice Beam was the end of Giovanni and, by the look of it, Team Rocket.

“What just happened?” Maggi asked over Toby’s shoulder.

Toby, oddly enough, found himself laughing, “Giovanni lost to that runt again and look,” he said, pointing to the screen, “now he is running away.”

The Grunt was right. Giovanni, his Pokémon wiped out again, had pushed passed the kid and he was pounding down the hallway toward a Teleportation Panel and, quite possibly, escape. Toby didn’t care. Whether Team Rocket survived or not, he was done with it. He made a snap decision.

“How would you like to get out of here with me?” he said, turning to Maggi, “maybe catch a movie, get some dinner?”

“Are you asking me out?” the younger girl flushed, “I would love to, but how do we get out of here?”

“I am, or was, a criminal, my dear. I have a plan.”

Toby did, indeed, have a plan. Earlier, he had noticed that his storage room had a large box of clothes marked DONATIONS. Taking Maggi by the hand, he shifted around some of the boxes his men had been sorting and found what he was looking for. Surprisingly, none of his men were around, possibly why Maggi hadn’t come back with the TM culprit, but that would just make his job easier. He chose a well-worn, but adorable, sundress for his date and an old pair of khakis and polo shirt for himself. Looking positively mundane, the two criminals found an empty office and sat down behind a desk to wait.

Three hours later, the police cleared the 4th floor of Silph Co. and the two former members of Team Rocket were released, claiming that they were temporary employees who had been caught in the hostage situation. Toby even produced two temporary work IDs that he had found in a desk drawer. Sunshine smiling down on them, Maggi and Toby, hand-in-hand, skipped down the street toward a nice restaurant and had the romantic date night that Toby had promised.

---

A few months later, Toby was relaxing at his favorite bar, The Green Kingler, when a special report flashed across the television screen behind the bartender. Two familiar faces were featured in the top right corner and Toby leaned forward to prod the distracted manager.

“Herb, turn it up a bit.”

The portly little man had to stand on his toes to do so.

“Giovanni, the Viridian City Gym Leader for the last 20 years, was outed today as the Boss of Team Rocket. The criminal organization, which attempted a hostile takeover of Silph Co. in June, has been scattered to the winds and the International Police has teams scouring the region for rogue members.”

“We don’t have anything to worry about, dear,” Maggi’s voice whispered in his ear, as she kissed him gently and sat down on the adjacent barstool, “we got out and we are going to stay out.”

Toby smiled over at his fiancée. She had been spending most of her weekend afternoons on Lilycove Beach, basking in the sun and drinking mojitos. A beautiful bronze tan had been the result. The two of them, against all odds, had gone straight. Toby was the PokéBall Department Manager at the Lilycove Department Store and Maggi was the governess for a local family. They had bought a cute bungalow overlooking the sea and were happy. Truly happy.

“You are right, love, we are the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Cohete and nothing can stop us.”

As if to prove his point, Toby finished his drink, paid Herb, and turned to leave the bar, putting Team Rocket behind him for the last time.

 

[Patrick Haines]

A Battle of Champions: Preparation

Patrick let the door to the Trainer House slam behind him. Another disappointing battle. Bryan had warned him that the challenge would be lacking, but he had tested his luck anyway. Four times. Now, on with the true task at hand.
The Champion had spent a week training in Viridian City, hoping to run into the ever-elusive Blue. The gym leader was as elusive as ever. Now Patrick had to resort to something he still was on the fence about. Talking to Red’s mom.
It’s not that Red’s mom was rude or mean, but the information Patrick wanted seemed intrusive and, perhaps, personal. It didn’t matter, he had to suck it up and ask or he would always be left to wonder, ‘what if?’ Honestly, it wasn’t a question Patrick had ever asked himself and he cursed Bryan a little bit for bringing up the subject, but now the question reverberated in his head over and over like a horrible song.

What if you can’t beat Red? What if you can’t beat Red? What if you can’t beat Red? What if you can’t beat Red? What if you can’t beat Red? What if you can’t beat Red? What if you can’t beat Red?

Patrick let Charizard out of his PokéBall and the big lizard’s roar worked to deafen the broken record in the Reigning Champion’s head, if only momentarily. Sadly, he knew Bryan was right. Despite being undefeated, four Time Champion of the Pokémon League Tournament, possessing 16 Gym Badges, and defeating the Elite Four in both of their configurations, a single doubt still lingered in the back of some people’s minds. Red, also, was undefeated. He had only defeated the Elite Four once and hadn’t travelled to Johto, but his record was impressive nonetheless. Defeating the rarely-seen former Champion was the only way to silence the few critics that still existed.

As Charizard and Patrick meandered down Route 1 toward Pallet, vaulting the ledges to avoid wild Pokémon, the twelve-year old got lost inside his own head. Four years ago, something like this wouldn’t have bothered him. When Professor Oak first asked for his help with the Pokédex and gave him Charmander, he barely knew what existed in the strange world in which he found himself living. His guardian and mentor had admitted once that a secondary reason for sending Patrick off was in hope that he could find some of his memories along the way, but that hadn’t happened. In the five years since washing up on the shores of Pallet Town and being found by Lucy, he hadn’t remembered a single thing from his old life.

His mind wandered to Lucy for a moment; her long, black hair and her gleaming blue eyes. The way she moved and how she always smelled of strawberries. He thought about her every day and often wondered if his tiny form ever crossed her mind. He had never felt that way about a girl before, and he actually knew quite a few. A Flamethrower from Charizard, sent as a warning to a bold Rattata that had approached, returned Patrick’s thoughts to Red and away from Lucy.

The Pokémon League Challenge had been foreign to him when he had awoken that day in Professor Oak’s spare bed and he had no intention of taking it until he reached Pewter City and met Brock. The Pewter City Gym Leader had told him that travelling up to Mount Moon could be dangerous and that he needed stronger Pokémon for the trip. The rough and ready man had suggested a Pokémon battle to test the younger boy’s strength and gave him a couple days to prepare. A single battle against Brock was enough to convince Patrick that the Pokémon League Challenge was worth investing some time in. He had battled some Bug Catchers in Viridian Forest, but none of those battles ignited the fire and passion in his heart like battling Brock did. It was then, staring down Brock across the arena, small mountains towering over his small frame, that he felt what it was like to be truly connected with his Pokémon.

Reliving the moment sent a chill down Patrick’s spine and he reached over to caress Charizard’s black skin. The Flame Pokémon had been with him since the beginning and had been a huge part of that battle and the fire it lit within the young boy’s soul. A Mankey, who he affectionately called Nisa, had fought with him too. The stubborn girl had refused to evolve, forcing him to catch a Primeape, but he loved her more for it. Those two Pokémon meant more to him than anything in the world and he sadly wished that he was carrying Nisa’s PokéBall. If he let her out, the little Pig Monkey would crawl up his back and sit cross-legged on his head, just to prove that she could.

Patrick fiddled with his PokéGear momentarily. Bill had given him a test model that allowed him to access all functions of the PC System, including his Pokémon Storage, from anywhere, but the technological genius had taken it back to work out the bugs. This wasn’t the first time that Patrick wished he still had the advanced technology. It had been extremely useful in his work assignments for Professor Oak and the little business with Mewtwo and the Ultra Beasts. In frustration at his current predicament, the normally spunky young boy kicked a loose rock across the path. Charizard, thinking it was a game, blasted it with a perfectly aimed, yet controlled, Flamethrower. A smile came back to Patrick’s face.

Nisa and Charizard were good friends and had sparred many times, usually with Charizard winning easily, and the rock reminded Patrick of the time when they had first played the game. Nisa, after seeing Charizard fall to a Rock Slide in battle, had decided, during their next training session, that rocks were the best way to defeat the Flame Pokémon. As such, she started chucking scattered stones at her opponent instead of attacking outright. Charizard, just as now, thought it was a game and began sharp-shooting them out of the air. It had become regular training for a time after that and had been useful against a lot of small, quick Flying-types that felt Speed would compensate for their frail defenses. Ironically, Patrick had recently taught Mankey Rock Slide with the use of a TM.

Charizard, confused as to why there weren’t more rocks to scorch, growled a little in his throat. Patrick kicked another for good measure. It hit the final ledge before the narrow path into Pallet Town and shot up into the air. The Flame Pokémon scorched it without fail and turned back to give his master a goofy approximation of a smile. The young boy returned the smile and pulled out a PokéBall. He wouldn’t need Charizard in town.

Kicking through the last of the tall grass before entering the tiny hamlet, Patrick contemplated stopping by the Pokémon Lab first. ‘Best to get this out of the way,’ he decided finally, turning toward the western side of town. Although both Red and Patrick technically resided in Pallet Town, they had never met. Red was already well on his journey when the younger of the boys washed up shore and, on the rare occasion that the former Champion actually visited home, Patrick was off on his own journeys or on business for the professor. Red’s mother, however, he was well-acquainted with. She and Professor Oak were close friends and they had shared some meals together at the lab or had mother-son talks when Patrick’s lack of parents weighed on him heavily. Additionally, Patrick had spent a few days living with Mrs. Maple the summer before when a Magmar accidentally set fire to Professor Oak’s spare rooms. As such, the lonely, yet cheery, middle-aged woman greeted him kindly when he knocked on her door.

“Bit early for dinner, dear,” she said after exchanging pleasantries, “or are you here for something else?”

“I...,” Patrick started, but couldn’t continue.

He wasn’t sure why it was so hard to ask Mrs. Maple about the whereabouts of her son. Perhaps he was guilty about trying to defeat him or concerned about bringing up her son, whom she talked about very little. Whatever the case, he was having trouble finding the right words. Or any words for that matter. The ashamed-looking boy just stuttered a couple of times and started coughing.

“You don’t look so good,” his host commented with a concerned tone, rushing over to the sink for a glass of water, “come sit down.”

Patrick allowed himself to be led across the room to a table and a glass of water was forced into his hand. He took a few swigs, tried to talk, failed again, and took another swig. When he opened his mouth in a third attempt to speak, a loud belch erupted from his mouth and echoed around the small room.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking ashamed.

“It’s a natural reaction,” the always-motherly figure reminded him, “just remember to always say, ‘excuse me.’”

“Excuse me,” the boy repeated dutifully.

“Now, I suppose you are here about Red’s location,” Mrs. Maple guessed, in the wake of an extended silence.

Patrick admitted that he was and breathed a sigh of relief that she had brought up the subject instead of him. Because of his status with the league, people that knew him usually treated him far older than he actually was. In order to maintain appearances, Patrick tried his best to act mature, but it was nice to have someone treat him like a child occasionally. It was nice to actually be able to act like a child occasionally. Agatha, another friend of Professor Oak’s and a former member of the Elite Four, had offered him some solid advice on the problem once. 'Being a mature member of society is important, but don’t try to grow up too fast and never lose your child-like wonder.'

“You aren’t the the first person to come looking for him,” she said, “but you are the first that I don’t mind giving his location.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most of the trainers who go looking for my Red just want the prestige of beating him,” she explained, “you are different.”

“I don’t know if I am,” Patrick admitted.

“The fact that you couldn’t ask me for his location is proof that you are different,” Mrs. Maple assured him, “you feel guilty about challenging him, possibly because you know you are one of the few people who may be able to beat him. And you aren’t here because you want to beat him. You are here because other people want you to beat him.”

“Or him to beat me,” Patrick added.

“Either way, I don’t have any qualms giving you this,” she continued, pulling a piece of parchment from a kitchen drawer and laying it on the table, “I only told the other trainers that he was on Mt. Silver. I will give you this map that explains where he normally trains.”

Patrick unfolded the parchment to see a hand-drawn map of the mountain range separating Kanto and Johto. He had spent some time training there himself while working on a project hatching Pokémon for Professor Birch, so he was familiar with the area. Route 28 and Silver Cave were the home of the most powerful wild Pokémon in either region and were off-limits to any trainer without express permission from the Pokémon League or one of the professors. The Reigning Champion had that permission, but was a little concerned about the journey nonetheless. Red’s standard training location, which was marked on the map with an X, was at the peak of the harrowing mountain. Attaining the summit would require his strongest Pokémon, meaning he wouldn’t be at full strength to challenge Red.

“Max Repels, dear,” Mrs. Maple said, reading his expression and patting him gently on the hand.

“That feels like cheating,” the young boy said, looking up into her kind, blue eyes.

She chuckled, “it is your decision. In the end, no-one is going to know if you made the trip up there with the aid of Max Repels.”

“I would know,” was the response, though it was barely whispered and Mrs. Maple decided to drop the subject.

“Well, you should get some rest before you make the journey. Would you like to have dinner here or shall we head over to the lab and poke fun at the professor’s questionable cooking?”

It was Patrick’s turn to chuckle. The Professor’s cooking was, indeed, questionable, but it hadn’t hurt anyone. That they knew of. It was decided, for the sake of their stomachs, that Patrick would help Mrs. Maple with the cooking and let the professor, or possibly a rogue Scyther, make the salad. Either way, it wouldn’t get eaten.

With his challenge against Red out of mind and the folded-up parchment shoved in his bag, Patrick led the way across town to the Pokémon Lab. Together, with the closest thing he had to parents, Patrick enjoyed the rest of the afternoon and an entertaining dinner. It wasn’t until his surrogate mom, and Red’s actual mom, had headed home that he began to worry again. He didn’t have one challenge in front of him, he had two. And he was unsure which he was looking forward to less.

 

[Snuggle Tier List]

I have a looooooong overdue I.O.U. for a review of the completed Grunt Work. Let's not waste any more time.

First, from your reply to my previous review, it seems the "goal" of the fic was to flesh out Team Rocket. Make them seem like actual characters instead of generic goons. So I'm going to laser-focus this review through this lens.

Long story short: you succeeded.

While I wouldn't call Team Rocket competent, they're definitely organized. Kinda. What middle management exists either yells about paperwork or offloads their problems as underprepared assignments; unless Giovanni steps in, grunts seem able to wander about committing crimes without much oversight. And wandering about is exactly how Toby started, until he had something he could spin to his bosses.

This perspective makes Toby the perfect character for fleshing out Team Rocket. He bounces up and down the totem pole, to generic grunt to mid-boss back down to grunt work (pun not intended). What credibility he earns for himself seems to come entirely from lying to his bosses. He's not competent in the slightest, but he sticks around because of his spin control. Which makes me wonder; if Toby can get away with this, who else can? Who else is?

I was amazed to learn Team Rocket grunts earned paychecks. It's just a baffling dumb way to fund organized crime, because, well, you're organized crime. If you have a till to steal from, someone's gonna skim off the top. Toby would. And people like Toby seem to survive Team Rocket's meat grinder. Giovanni might be the boss, his word might be law, but you need more than fear and bodies to run an illegitimate business. And he's too worried about his pet projects (nice mention of "Project Mewtwo") to properly manage his crime family.

This isn't a criticism of the story. It's a criticism of Team Rocket. They're an organization with enough cred to get a stream of recruits, but with systemic problems trickling down from up top. And that characterization fits the games' Team Rocket perfectly. It explains why "some kid" can steamroller through their entire organization. It explains why Team Rocket seems to commit crimes with no rhyme or reason. It explains why, in the end, Toby bails, just like the grunts before him. And so, through this lens, I think your story succeeded...

...but I'm conflicted. Reading the story through this lens was fun. But it's a hidden lens. A good chunk of Team Rocket's "fleshing out" came in the first half of Chapter 4, where Toby spends most of his time around Team Rocket's admins. Until then, if I wasn't explicitly told this fic was fleshing out Team Rocket, I don't think I would've understood until Chapter 4.

Don't get me wrong, I like Grunt Work. But I'm not sure how many other people will get that experience. The "I get it!' switch is placed towards the end, but once you get there, the whole fic is put under a much better light. So...if a piece of media in it's whole is great, but you have to wait until the end to "get it", does that make it good?

I think Chapter 1 started too late in the plot. If there had been a short prologue that fleshed out Team Rocket's leadership, then Toby lying and cheating could've been symbolic of Team Rocket's systemic failures right from the get-go. And then, I'd would've been cheering whenever Toby lies or cheats or just plain screws up, because it would reflect on his bosses. And for a chaptered fic where you can't read everything at once, putting all the payoff in the final chapter could easily backfire. By the time you publish what I consider a great "reveal" ("the grunts aren't the problem, it's the leadership!"), I don't believe people would still be reading.

I'll close my review here, because I've broached on the "it's only good if you read the whole thing" topic before and got singed. Regardless, I enjoyed completing Grunt Work, and long story short: you succeeded. Full props.

 

[Patrick Haines]

@Snuggle Tier List Thanks for the feedback, I really appreciate it. Grunt Work was a bit of exploratory writing for me (style and whatnot) and the fact that it wasn't terrible makes me happy. Honestly, I write mostly for myself and just post here to see if anyone else thinks my stories are good. Haha.

I don't really have much to say about your review. If I ever go back and edit/re-write, I may take your advice and add a prologue or focus a little more on the administration early on, but I am happy for now (I have ALOT of other projects going).

The "not worth it unless you read the whole story thing" intrigues me though. I am not criticizing you, but I kind of thought that is the whole idea of a story. If I give away everything in Chapter 1, what is the point of continuing to read? I try and make the story interesting/exciting enough and sprinkle in enough details to continue building that you are excited when I post the next chapter and dive right in (I don't think I have mastered that yet, but it is what I am going for). I suppose a story like this is a little different because you were looking at the overall "theme" and not necessarily the ending.

Does that make sense? It is almost about predictability. When I read (and what I try and do while I write), I want to be enraptured by the story. I want to continue reading and have to force myself to put the story down. I don't want to be reading and the whole time going, "well, I knew that was going to happen." Could just be me though.

 

[Snuggle Tier List]

The "not worth it unless you read the whole story thing" intrigues me though. I am not criticizing you, but I kind of thought that is the whole idea of a story. If I give away everything in Chapter 1, what is the point of continuing to read? I try and make the story interesting/exciting enough and sprinkle in enough details to continue building that you are excited when I post the next chapter and dive right in (I don't think I have mastered that yet, but it is what I am going for). I suppose a story like this is a little different because you were looking at the overall "theme" and not necessarily the ending.

Does that make sense? It is almost about predictability. When I read (and what I try and do while I write), I want to be enraptured by the story. I want to continue reading and have to force myself to put the story down. I don't want to be reading and the whole time going, "well, I knew that was going to happen." Could just be me though.

I think I know what you mean. If a story's completely predictable, why even read? You already know what's going to happen. There's no tension, in the "what's going to happen next?" sort of the word.

But here's the rub: Grunt Work was guaranteed to be predictable. It was a companion piece to the game's canon, which meant Team Rocket was already doomed. I knew Red was going to mess everything up, plow through every grunt. I could guess where Toby was going to end up by knowing where Red will show up. Even some of the smaller details, like Marowak's ghost, the Cerulean City break-in, the channelers in the tower; canon had already given the story away.

So if I'm picking up a story like Grunt Work, I've already accepted it's going to be predictable. There wasn't going to be any tension, because canon says so. Which meant this story needed some other way to enrapture. What I found in Chapter 4 was enjoyment in watching Team.Rocket fail. By reframing Toby (a greedy thief willing to throw most anyone under the bus) as the product of Team Rocket's leadership, then I could cure my dislike of Toby and savor his organization's written-in-detail failures. And that revelation makes the first three chapters much more enjoyable to read, even if they're predictable.

I think canon dealt Grunt Work a bad hand. You didn't have many plays as an author, which is why I'm impressed you managed to win so much. But until that final chapter, it looked like you were doomed. You found a way to make a predictable story entertaining, which is absolutely a success. I just wish I caught on sooner. And that might be a failure of me, failing to follow the sprinkles. I think I needed a map.

 

[Patrick Haines]

A Battle of Champions: The Journey

Patrick was up long before the sun the next day. He knew that Professor Oak was an early riser and wanted to be on the road before his guardian had any more words of wisdom to share. He valued the professor’s advice and council above anyone else’s, but this was one area that the aging man could no longer help. Though it was true that Professor Oak had been a successful trainer in his youth, his knowledge of battling in modern times was limited. Professor Oak’s training pre-dated the Pokémon League, which was founded in 1967, and he founded his lab at age 17 In 1955. So many advancements had occurred, not just in battling, since those days, that Patrick had to trust his instincts more than anything.

The trip up Route 1 was boring, as per usual. A couple of stray Sentret, recently migrated from Johto, scampered about, but Patrick ignored them as he mulled over a dozen different decisions in his head. The first decision was quite simple to make. He refused to use the aid of Max Repels to climb the mountain. If he was truly the strongest trainer in the world, he could make the journey and defeat Red without them. The second decision was a little harder. He had been to the lone Pokémon Center on the southern slopes of Mt. Silver several times, so he could fly up the mountain and save some time. He decided against this too, however, deciding that the training on his way to the Pokémon Center would be beneficial. The final decision was the most difficult. Which Pokémon to take. Technically, only a Pokémon who could light the dark cave was required, but the Reigning Champion always felt more comfortable with a Pokémon who could prove useful in dangerous or difficult situations.

Patrick was still mulling over his decision as he entered Viridian City. He had left Pallet just after 5:00 a.m., yet the sun had crested the distant mountains and bathed The City of Evergreen in its early morning embrace by the time the distracted boy ambled absent-mindedly into the Pokémon Center. The nurse at the counter flashed him a quick smile, which he didn’t see, and he flopped himself down into a chair in front of the PC. Since completing the Johto challenge less than a year ago, he had completed the Johto Pokédex, which gave him access to every Pokémon native to Kanto and Johto. Not all of them were battle-ready, but he had his PC sorted well enough that he could scan through them relatively easily. He opened Box 1 and began muttering to himself.

“Venusaur...Blastoise...Charizard. Well, of course, he is an obvious choice. Raichu...Sandlash...Nidoking.”

Patrick paused and pulled up Nidoking’s information on the screen. He would need a strong Ground-type to deal with Red’s Pikachu, but he wasn’t sure if Nidoking was the right choice. Questionable defenses, middling speed, and rather predictable. If he still had the Nidorino that he had traded to Bryan, which specialized in Special Attack and not Attack, then maybe it would be a good option, but, instead, he returned to list and his muttering.

“Parasect...Mankey, maybe, she is a bit of a wild card...Arcanine, don’t need another Fire-type...Machamp, honestly, Mankey is probably better...Alakazam...Rapidash, wow, I have a bunch of Fire-types...Slowbro...Gengar.”

The Reigning Champion stopped muttering again and looked over the last two options. Slowbro was an interesting Pokémon that he had had a lot of success with recently. The Hermit Crab Pokémon could take a lot of damage and was no slouch dishing it out either. Will, Koga, and Bruno had each gotten a healthy taste of him at Patrick’s last Elite Four Challenge, with Slowbro completely sweeping Bruno’s team. Gengar, too, had a number of redeeming qualities. Despite being a primarily offensive Pokémon, he had three defensive immunities, three resistances (four if you counted the exceedingly rare Fairy-type), and very manageable weaknesses. Patrick added Gengar to his team with Charizard and wrote Slowbro’s name on a tiny slip of paper as another option.

“Kingler,” he continued his muttering, “Slowbro is a better choice...Marowak, maaaaybe...Dragonite, still needs some training.”

With that, he came to the last of the Pokémon in Box 1. He added Marowak’s named under Slowbro’s on his list of ‘maybes,’ thought a second longer and added Mankey as well. On to Box 2 and his Johto Pokémon. The muttering didn’t stop.

“Typhlosion, I really have too many Fire-types...Feraligatr, hmm, him or Slowbro...Espeon...Umbreon.”

Patrick paused again and looked at the last two names. The day and night forms of Eevee were two of his newer Pokémon and he loved using them both. Gengar could do a lot of the same things as Espeon, but Umbreon was tricky and could surprise a lot of people. He added the Moonlight Pokémon to his team. Upon returning to his list, he laughed aloud, causing two boys snoring in the far corner to snort in their sleep.

“Unown, I trained that one way too long before I realized he wasn’t going to learn anything except Hidden Power...Scizor, another no-brainer...Houndoom...Kingdra.”

The Reigning Champion looked down at his list of ‘maybes.’ He immediately scratched Mankey off the list. He loved Nisa with all his heart and she was a fierce battler, but what she possessed in tenacity and mischievousness didn’t compensate for her utter lack of defensive presence. Marowak. Patrick scratched his head. He had no idea what Pokémon to expect from Red, but exactly one Pokémon was a given. Pikachu. He needed a Ground-type to handle it and Marowak was the only one who fit the bill. That left him needing a Water-type: Slowbro of Feraligatr? The two had a lot of similarities, but Patrick had more experience with Slowbro and added the Psychic/Water-type to his team.

Charizard, Scizor, Umbreon, Marowak, Gengar, Slowbro.

--

After a quick stop by the PokéMart, Patrick jogged out toward Route 22 and the Reception Gate that separated Mt. Silver, Victory Road, Tohjo Falls, and Viridian City. The cool March air felt good whipping through his mess of brown hair. The young boy loved the feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins and didn’t stop running until he reached the eastern door of the gate. Sweat dripping down his face, legs burning from the effort, he pulled open the door. A few guards milled around inside and they all reacted to the creak of the door.

“Well, if it isn’t our fearless champion,” one of them stated, immediately recognizing Patrick, “what can we do for you today?”

“On my way up to Mt. Silver, Charlie,” the boy responded, panting slightly, “never can get enough training after all.”

“No, I guess you can’t,” responded Charlie, “but are you training your Pokémon or yourself?”

Both of the other guards chuckled at Charlies’ remark, thinking he was just commenting on the boy’s sweaty and exhausted appearance. The Champion knew better. Charlie, though nearly 60, was a decent trainer himself and took great pride in both his own fitness and that of his Pokémon. They had discussed, on more than one occasion, the importance of both. As such, Patrick ignored the other two guards and very seriously answered the question.

“A little bit of both, Charlie. Pokémon can’t grow properly if their trainer is unwilling to grow.”

Charlie smiled knowingly at the young boy and the other guards quickly silenced their snickering. They waved good-bye to each other as Patrick made his way across the small guard shack. The wise guard’s words rang in the Champion’s head as he started phase one of his journey. Patrick had learned very early in his original journey that earning a Pokémon’s respect took far more than strength. It took a mutual respect, copious amounts of love, a level head, and, possibly most importantly, the willingness to grow. After all, why would a Pokémon be willing to grow and change if its master was too stubborn to do so?

Honestly, the Reigning Champion had far too many Pokémon to properly care for, but he did his best. The strong battlers received the most attention, as he spent the most time with them, but, when he had a break from his assignments with Professor Oak, Patrick always found time to play with the others. He also knew that Professor Oak took a little extra time to care for his ward’s Pokémon. It helped that Patrick had quite a few rare Pokémon for the professor to study, but Patrick doubted that was the primary reason behind the professor’s extra care.

A rustling on the path ahead drew Patrick’s attention. A Ponyta had stuck its flaming head out from between two trees to investigate the human on the path. The Champion weighed his options. He almost always walked with his Pokémon when he wasn’t in a city, but which one to choose was always hard. Being out of their PokéBalls and spending time with him served to strengthen the bond between trainer and Pokémon, yet, with the number of strong, wild Pokémon running around, Patrick had to choose carefully. Pontya and Rapidash were common, which meant Scizor was out of the question; the odd Tangela meant that Marowak wasn’t a good choice; while Donphan made using Charizard tenuous. Feraligatr, especially equipped with Ice Punch, would have been perfect, but the Champion had chosen Slowbro, so that wasn’t possible. The Hermit Crab Pokémon, like Umbreon, was too slow and passive to be effective in wild battles, so Gengar was the only choice.

The Shadow Pokémon grinned wickedly at Patrick as he burst forth and Ponyta decided that she didn’t want to tangle with him. The Fire Horse Pokémon’s mother, however, was in the mood for a challenge. In a flash of hooves and fire, a Rapidash erupted from the bushes behind Ponyta and lowered its head at Gengar. The Ghost-type was faster and landed Shadow Ball without problem. The wild Pokémon, not accustomed to Ghost-types, barreled through it with Take Down. No effect. Gengar, used to better opponents, hit Rapidash with another Shadow Ball and she trotted off. Gengar, grinning its mischievous grin ear-to-ear, floated down in front of its master.

“Well done, DoomsDay, lead the way.”

Gengar did a backflip, landed on one foot, jumped again, and landed on his hands. Walking upside-down, like a macabre clown, Gengar started down Route 28. Patrick smiled broadly and trailed after. The goofy ghost scared off another Ponyta with a malicious look before a Tangela boldly stepped onto the path to battle. Sludge Bomb was more than enough to send it scurrying back into the bushes. After that, the wild Pokémon took less interest in the stray human and the insane Gengar.

When Patrick had recovered his breath from the jog up Route 22, he contemplated jogging some more. The autumn air was cool and, despite the altitude, the moist air would be easy to breath. Maybe a race was even in order. He loved exercising with his Pokémon. He would spar with them, race with them, and occasionally weight train with them. Racing was the best though. He was still young, and somewhat frail, but he was quick. After comparing him to a dozen or so Pokémon, Professor Oak decided that Patrick Base Speed was 94.

The Reigning Champion laughed at the thought and then his watch beeped. Noon already. He called out all his Pokémon, handed out some PokéBlocks, and settled into a peanut butter sandwich and potato chips. While he ate, he reviewed what he knew about Base Stats by testing his knowledge of his own Pokémon. Obviously, all Pokémon had strengths and weaknesses, but Professor Oak had developed a standardized system in the 1980s to measure each of a Pokémon’s five stats: Health, Attack, Defense, Speed, and Special. It was later discovered the Special was split into Attack and Defense as well. In general, any stat measuring over 100 was great, while over 120 was phenomenal, and under 80 was questionable. Speed and Health didn’t quite fit that model, but it was a good place to start.

Patrick evaluated his Pokémon. Scizor and Gengar were his strongest offensive Pokémon with Attack, or Special Attack in Gengar’s case, of 130. Their opposite Attacks, however, were abysmal. Umbreon and Slowbro were more defense, with high Health and Defensive Stats, although Patrick didn’t know the exact numbers, and Charizard was well-rounded. Marowak, statistically, was suspect, but was very important to the upcoming battle. Patrick racked his brain for their Speed Stats. Gengar, he knew, was the fastest at 110. Charizard, too, was fast, at 100. The other four, however, were all slower than the speedy young kid. Umbreon and Scizor both fell somewhere in the 60s, while Marowak was a sluggish 45, and Slowbro was a breath-takingly slow 30.

Not much of a race after all, Patrick thought to himself, but, at least, it will be quicker than walking. Returning Slowbro and Marowak, he really didn’t need to watch the two crawl up the remainder of the path, he explained the situation to his remaining Pokémon. They all seemed excited. After making sure that he had collected all of his belongings, Patrick counted down from three and the five of them took off at a sprint. Or a fly. Charizard and Gengar disappeared over the treetops, the Shadow Pokémon with a slim lead. Umbreon, Scizor, and Patrick had to follow the path. The human had the early lead, but his bag was slowing him considerably and he didn’t have the endurance that his Pokémon did. Umbreon, therefore, hustled past him as the Pokémon Center came into view.

Extremely winded, and disappointed at his performance, Patrick walked the last 100 meters toward the red-roofed building situated on the side of Mt. Silver. He fully expected Scizor to come buzzing past him as he did, but the Pincer Pokémon never appeared. Concern overcoming him, the Champion readied himself to go back and search for his lost Pokémon when a high, metallic sound caught his attention. He would know the sound anywhere. It was Scizor’s voice. He turned to see the tall, red bug standing with Gengar and Charizard, talking animatedly and swinging his pincers around.

How did he beat Umbreon and I? he wondered.

As he approached his favorite Pokémon, he noticed several leaves stuck to his left pincer. Patrick turned and investigated the path behind him. There were two separate paths that could be taken down from Mr. Silver. The southern one, which they had come up, was the only one accessible by conventional means for someone ascending. The northern one, which led to a local celebrity's getaway, was separated from the other by steep ledges and scraggly trees. Scizor, using his short wings, must have traversed the ledges and used his pincers to cut down the trees, shortening the route and beating Umbreon up the hill.

“DeathStroke,” Patrick tsked sarcastically, “you cheated.”

The Pincer Pokémon shrugged his slim shoulder as if to say, ‘Rules? What rules?’ and immediately disappeared into a ball of energy. Charizard and Gengar quickly followed, but the Champion decided to keep Umbreon around for company. The two entered the Pokémon Center and the nurse, half-asleep at her counter, didn’t even look their direction.

“Excuse me,” Patrick called politely.

The nurse looked up and a mortified expression overcame her.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I thought you were someone else. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“Don’t get much company?” Patrick asked, semi-rhetorically.

“No,” the middle-aged woman answered, “just Red and he usually ignores me. Just comes down off the mountain once a week for a little healing and then disappears again.”

“Doesn’t he need you for the healing?”

“Not really,” the nurse responded honestly, “the new machines these days are super easy to use. Put your PokéBalls in, push the button, wait five minutes. Heck, they are so easy to use, I am surprised that they haven’t replaced this position with an instruction booklet, it would do as much good as I do.”

“You are still needed for more serious injuries,” the Champion pointed out, trying to boost her spirits, “and no machine will ever take the place of the beautiful, smiling faces of the Pokémon Center nurses.”

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest little kid,” the nurse responded, blushing a little, “what can I do help?”

“Just a quick check of my Pokémon for now, but, if you are free later, I need a date for dinner.”

The woman laughed. As if she had anywhere else to be.

“I think I am a little old for you, but I would love to join you for dinner. How does Johto-style sticky rice and edamame sound?”

“Fantastic,” the boy responded earnestly, “what time is best for you?”

The woman laughed again, but she was enjoying the kid’s company, “I am free anytime between now and eternity.”

“Let’s try some time before eternity,” Patrick grinned, “how about seven? It will give me time to do a little more training before I head up the mountain in the morning.”

“It’s date,” the nurse agreed, “my name is Grace, by the way.”

“Patrick.”

 

[Patrick Haines]

A Battle of Champions: The Battle

Training had been followed with dinner, as planned, and then Patrick was early to bed. He slept a little longer the next day, but not much, and was out before the sun. The mouth to Silver Cave wasn’t far from the Pokémon Center and the Reigning Champion was soon standing in the pitch-blackness. He called out Charizard and Scizor. The Flame Pokémon would light the way and the Pincer Pokémon could deal with whatever decided they looked like easy prey early in the morning. Patrick had another concern as well.

“FireStorm, DeathStroke,” he said softly, addressing his Pokémon, “we have a very important battle this afternoon and I need you both well rested. If we are attacked, defend yourselves, but don’t go looking for trouble.”

Both Pokémon looked a bit disappointed at the command, but set off nonetheless. Patrick knew they had a tendency to be high-spirited and didn’t want them chasing wild Graveler around the cave. Their route to Red was direct, but long, and he needed to be ready at the summit. The early stages of the trip went as expected. A couple Graveler, seeing Charizard as easy prey, attacked them after about 20 minutes of walking, yet a couple of Bullet Punches from Scizor were enough to scare them off. An Ursaring tried his luck a little later on, but Flamethrower singed the Hibernator Pokémon and he ran off too.

Letting his Pokémon deal with the minor threats that were coming their way, Patrick lost himself within his own mind. He didn’t want to spend too much time worrying about the upcoming battle, so he distracted himself with a little challenge. Although he hadn’t thought to give his Pokémon nicknames when he first started out, mostly because he wasn’t good at coming up with names, he had decided, when he set out for Johto, to start naming his Pokémon after comic book characters. The idea had come to him because he liked to call Sabrina Ms. Strange, thus the first Pokémon he had nicknamed was Alakazam. Obviously, he chose Dr. Strange.

Some of the names came easily to him. FireStorm was obvious for Charizard and AquaMan for Golduck, but others were much more difficult. He settled on DoomsDay for Gengar and DeathStroke for Scizor, while Umbreon was aptly named Rogue. Marowak had taken some time, but he had eventually settled on The Punisher. Plenty of the Pokémon not in his party had names too. Sandslash was Wolverine, Nidoking was BaronZemo, Machamp was TheHulk, Feraligatr was Ronan, and Crobat was BatGirl. Naturally, the last one was a female. He had even named Mankey Nisa. Technically, her full name was NisaAlGhul, but she didn’t answer to that.

Patrick’s challenge for his little journey: think of a good name for Slowbro. All of his other party Pokémon had nicknames after all. Even Slowbro's split evolution had a nickname (MadHatter), so it was only natural that the Hermit Crab Pokémon had one too. The Champion mulled over ideas as his Pokémon led the way deeper into the mountain. Occasionally, they had to fend off a Golbat or Onix, but Patrick barely noticed. His Pokémon were practically self-sufficient. He double-checked the map a couple of times, but spent most of his time lost in thought.

Swamp Thing was the first thing that popped into the boy’s nerdy mind. The water-theme fit, but that was about it. Slowbro was more of a river or seaside Pokémon anyway. He decided to reserve Swamp Thing for a Poison-type. Drax was the next name that surfaced. The Guardian of the Galaxy´s bulk fit the bill, but he was also a bit aggressive for something like the Hermit Crab Pokémon.

Something from the Aquaman series would probably fit the bill, so Patrick racked his mind for anything he knew about the series. They were not his favorite set of comics, but they were mostly aquatic themed. Aquaman was taken by Golduck, Mera would have worked if Slowbro was female.

“Vulko,” Patrick said aloud, causing his Pokémon to look at him.

He grinned sheepishly and told them to continue. Charizard rolled his eyes, but he and Scizor marched on toward a gap in the cliff face ahead.
Patrick was happy with his choice. NuidisVulko. He would just call Slowbro Vulko. He was Aquaman’s mentor, so it didn’t fit the greatest, yet Patrick really liked the thought. He stuck with it.

With a name finally decided on, Patrick looked up. The three of them had entered a slightly brighter cavern with sun streaming in through a hole high in the ceiling. Stretching out before him was a bridge carved naturally out of the stone. It wasn´t very long, but nor was it wide, and a dark abyss was all that could be seen by glancing over the side. The Champion had been in the cavern once before, yet hadn’t had the nerve to cross. He steeled himself to do so this time.

“Oh, get on with it scaredy cat,” a voice said from the near darkness.

Patrick almost jumped out of his skin. Charizard’s tailed flared up for more light as he and Scizor searched for the source of the voice.

“It’s only me, geez,” said a small, pink creature, appearing at Patrick’s eye level.

“Mew,” the boy shouted in surprise and excitement, his voice echoing off the walls, “what are you doing here?”

“Well, someone has to be witness to this historic event,” the New Species Pokémon answered, and Patrick was unsure if that was the whole truth.

He didn’t particularly care. He hadn’t seen his best friend since the business with Arceus and Mewtwo and had been concerned once or twice about his recovery.

“I am fine,” said Mew, reading his mind, “and I am here to make sure you don’t do anything silly. Like fall in a big hole or get knocked off a mountain.”

Patrick still felt like he was hiding something, but he knew better than to question the enigmatic Pokémon. His appearance, however, and the decision on a name for Slowbro, made the Champion antsy to find Red. According to the map, there was a ladder on the back wall that led up to the hole. Patrick, gritting his teeth again, started across the bridge. With Charizard and Mew there, even if he fell, he would be saved, but fear of heights wasn’t something that Patrick had completely mastered, so he was nervous nonetheless. The bridge proved more of a mental challenge than a physical, however, and the Champion set to work locating the ladder.

It was well-hidden, and Patrick doubted he would have found it on his own, but Mew, possibly impatient himself, revealed it after about five minutes of searching. The climb up was unpleasant. The young boy wasn’t good at judging distances, but, needless to say, it was high. Very high. That, along with its vertical nature, made Patrick’s arms scream for relief long before he reached the top. Mew offered to help, but Patrick refused to take it.

“I can make it myself,” he said stubbornly through gritted teeth, “if my Pokémon are always helping me out of tough situations, I will never grow stronger myself.”

Mew backed off, but was ready to help anyway. Just in case. When Patrick’s head finally broke into the afternoon air, he pulled himself up onto the mountaintop and lay there, gasping for air, for a long moment. The warm sun beat down on the cool peak and the boy recovered quickly. Standing up, he saw himself surrounded by rocks, all taller than him. Finding a gap in the rock, he stepped through and saw Red sitting on the edge of a cliff. Stretched out below the former champion was one of the most beautiful sights Patrick had ever seen.

Ages ago, a great river had carved out a verdant valley on the back side of the terrifying mountain called Silver. Now, gorgeous waterfalls cascaded down from the harrowing slopes and smaller tributaries wound through luscious forests of both deciduous and coniferous trees. Every environment a Pokémon could possibly need, except the ocean, was represented. Caves dotted the mountainside, a great plain stretched out between the forests, and Bryan could see large Flying-type Pokémon soaring over the icy peaks.

Red just stared out over the expanse in silence. Patrick was loath to break the serenity of the moment. In the end, he didn’t have to.

“I suppose you’ve come to challenge me,” Red spoke over his shoulder, not moving from his dangerous perch.

“If you are willing,” the younger boy answered.

Red was, admittedly, shocked by the response. Most people who hunted him down demanded a battle immediately to prove he really was ‘as tough as people say.’ Someone polite enough to actually ask might be a true challenge. He pushed himself away from the edge and turned around.

“I know you.”

If Patrick was surprised at the former champion’s knowledge of him, he didn’t show it. His face remained as emotionless as it always did in preparation for a battle. He let the older boy continue.

“Patrick, right?” he asked, looking for confirmation, “winner of the last couple Pokémon League Tournaments.”

The champion only nodded.

“Let us begin,” stated Red, his face set and serious. Anticipating, for the first time in a long time, the taste of a true battle.

“Rules?”

“Standard Pokémon League Championship regulations. 6v6, no shifting Pokémon, held items allowed, no administered items during the battle.”

“Who shall determine a knockout?”

“I will,” came Mew’s voice.

Red’s face registered shock as the New Species Pokémon appeared.

“What is that?”

“My name is Mew, and what I am can be explained later,” Mew responded, reading Red’s mind and predicting the next question, “for now, just know that you are being watched. And judged.”

Mew’s comment finally answered the true reason as to why the New Species Pokémon had appeared. Patrick knew that Arceus had taken an interest in him, but it would also make sense that it would take an interest in other powerful trainers. This battle suddenly meant a lot more than pride and titles. The Reigning Champion stared across the expanse of the mountain at the former champion. They were both thinking the same thing.

Who to start with?

Patrick didn’t want to use Marowak, because he needed the Bone Keeper Pokémon for Pikachu. Charizard, too, was out of the question. He couldn’t afford to use his best Pokémon and risk losing to Pikachu in Round 1. That put Slowbro out of the question too...or did it? He was weak to Thunderbolt, but would take the hits better than Charizard. It would still be a mismatch, but less of one. Crossing his fingers and hoping Red didn’t choose Pikachu, Patrick tossed out his first PokéBall.

Slowbro materialized opposite a Pokémon of nearly identical size. Not Pikachu. Blastoise.

“Hydro Pump.”

“Amnesia.”

Blastoise was the faster of the two Pokémon and his most powerful attack washed over Slowbro as the Hermit Crab Pokémon closed his eyes and concentrated on boosting his Special Defense. Hydro Pump did some damage, but it wasn’t great. Red’s next move, however, proved why he was a former champion.

“Blastoise, Toxic.”

The slowly increasing poison would be wildly detrimental in a drawn-out battle between two defensive titans. Although the two Pokémon could do damage in the right situations, this was not the right situation. Patrick countered with Scald, hoping for a Burn. No luck. Another surprising move by Red followed.

“Blastoise, Mega Punch.”

‘Ugh, a physical attack,’ Patrick thought to himself, ‘now I really need that Burn.’ Slowbro attempted to dodge the incoming attack, but, as expected, was too slow. Patrick tried Scald again. Blastoise took the attack directly in the face and reeled backward. When he recovered, he was clearly suffering. ‘The Burn,’ Patrick screamed internally, ‘early luck.’ The Reigning Champion raised the stakes even further with his next move.

“Vulko, Rest.”

A peaceful smile washed over Slowbro’s face and he drifted off to sleep. Health and Poison were healed, essentially resetting the Hermit Crab Pokémon, while Blastoise was looking rough. Red was never one to call it quits. The Shellfish Pokémon dished out another Hydro Pump and took Slowbro’s Snore for minimal damage, but the Burn continued to hamper him. Another Hydro Pump, impossible to dodge due to sleep. Another accurate Snore. Slowbro was finally ready to wake up and Red took a major gamble.

“Blastoise, Ice Beam.”

The freezing cold beam washed over the Shellfish Pokémon and tiny crystals began to form on Slowbro’s damp skin. The crystals grew and grew until Slowbro was Frozen in place, unable to move. Red had some luck of his own. It was an interesting situation. Slowbro had more health, but could do absolutely nothing. Blastoise was slowly losing health, but had at least one free shot. The Shellfish Pokémon made it count.

“Blastoise, Mega Punch.”

Blastoise’s fist began to glow again. He waited and waited, allowing the power to build up. Patrick could do nothing except pray that Burn had weakened his attack enough for Slowbro to survive the hit. The Shellfish Pokémon finally swung forward, throwing his entire weight behind the blow. The ice encasing Slowbro shattered and the Hermit Crab Pokémon went skidding across the rocky terrain, screaming pitifully. A critical hit. The luck remained with Red...or did it.

Slowbro had clearly fainted, but Mew made no announcement. Blastoise was weaving about and collapsed. A combination of the effort and the Burn had been his end. A tie. Not the way either boy wanted to start, but better than one of the alternatives. Mew floated over and confirmed Blastoise's status.

“Both Pokémon are unable to battle. Another blind decision will be made.”

Reigning and former champions nodded the heads and chose another Pokémon. They threw them out simultaneously and, once again, similar shapes formed. Actually, identical shapes. Charizard and Charizard. The only difference in the two was their skin tone. Patrick’s with his black skin, Red’s with the standard orange.

“Flamethrower,” the boys yelled in unison.

Although the competitors knew the match-up of Flame Pokémon would be won physically, the true power of any Fire-type was evident in its Flamethrower. The resulting spectacle was unbelievable. The streams of fire met between the two Pokémon and the proud fire lizards began to vie for dominance. Red’s Charizard took a step forward, trying to force FireStorm back, but his counterpart mirrored his move. They closed in on one another, Flamethrowers sparking and shooting small jets of fire in every direction. FireStorm increased the intensity of his attack and gained some ground. Red’s Charizard wouldn’t give in and mimicked the move. Their power was identical, it all came down to endurance. And it was Red’s Charizard that faltered first.

It was just a flicker, a tiny loss of power, but FireStorm capitalized. He thrust his neck forward, throwing every ounce of power behind Flamethrower, and his stream of flame engulfed the other. Red’s Charizard disappeared into the inferno. It only lasted for ten more seconds, but it set the tone for the rest of the match-up. Red’s Charizard, without receiving a command, flew upward and away from the attack. FireStorm followed. The two exchanged Wing Attacks; shot off a couple, less accurate Flamethrowers; and returned to the ground.

“Dragon Pulse,” came the next simultaneous command.

The attacks met in the air a second time. Unlike Flamethrower, the attacks ricocheted of one other and blasted some innocent rocks into smithereens. Red’s Charizard waited for instructions. FireStorm didn’t. Wing Attack caught the orange Charizard unprepared and he reeled backward, unable to counter. FireStorm lashed out and landed Crunch. The resulting melee was like watching two starving Pyroar fighting over a single piece of meat. The savagery was intense and it looked more like two Outrages than a flailing combination of Wing Attacks, Crunch, and Headbutt.

In the end, FireStorm, more experienced in the melee-style of fighting, persevered. A surprise, close range, Flamethrower, threw the other Charizard backward and into a boulder. The impact resulted in a sickening sound, but the first lead of the match. FireStorm was suffering greatly from the duel, yet had come out on top. Red’s face was passive as he made his next decision. It was an obvious one, yet Patrick couldn’t really say he blamed the former champion.

“Pikachu, Thunderbolt.”

“Charizard, Flamethrower.”

Normally, Charizard are faster than Pikachu. Normally. But this was no ordinary Pikachu. It was Red’s Pikachu. The single most powerful un-evolved Pokémon in the world. Its abilities defied logic at the best of times. True, the ultra-rare Light Ball hanging around its neck explained a portion of its power, but the Speed variance was beyond comprehension. FireStorm may not have been able to take the powerful Thunderbolt at full health, he definitely didn’t stand a chance after the previous battle.

The match even, Patrick did the only thing he could. He chose Marowak. The Bone Keeper Pokémon was the perfect counter for Pikachu, but it still wouldn’t be easy. The last time, actually the only time, that Patrick had seen Red battle with Pikachu, the Electric Mouse Pokémon had known Thunderbolt, Thunder Wave, Iron Tail, and Double Team. Two of those moves would be completely ineffective against the Ground-type and the other two were counter-able. Duel number three was under way.

“Marowak, Earthquake.”

“Pikachu, Iron Tail.”

The Ground-type attack surged forward, but the speedy little rodent leapt over the incoming assault and whipped Iron Tail across Marowak's skull-encased head. Patrick was speechless. He had never seen any Pokémon dodge Earthquake. Red took the opportunity to launch another Iron Tail. Luckily, Marowak defended on his own. Marowak’s Thick Club fended off the barrage of Iron Tails, but he couldn’t find an opening to attack himself.

“Pikachu, 62,” Red called.

Patrick was again surprised by the skill of, not just the opposing trainer, but his Pokémon too. He had, just recently, read an article in Pokémon League Quarterly about a group of trainers attempting to teach their Pokémon to react to numbers instead of the names of Moves. In doing so, they wanted to hide the nature of their attacks until it was too late. The experiment, however, had mostly failed. Some of the Pokémon could associate one number with one move, but most just didn’t understand the associations and the project was deemed a failure. Red, obviously, didn’t think so and Pikachu was more than smart enough to remember a couple of numbers.

Iron Tail lashed out again, but it missed. On purpose. ‘62 isn’t a move,’ Patrick realized too late, ‘it is a feint.’ Marowak, seeing the opening after the missed assault, attempted a Headbutt. And was plastered by Pikachu’s DynamicPunch. The Punisher staggered backward, one hand to his head. DynamicPunch was a guarantee of Confusion, but Patrick had a plan.

“Pikachu, Iron Tail.”

“Marowak, take a deep breath, Swagger.”

Pikachu shot forward, but had to cover the ground that had opened between the two after DynamicPunch. Marowak, on the other hand, responded well. He waved gaily to his opponent and winked too. Pikachu halted his attack, boosted by the compliment, but Confused as well. Swagger was an interesting move, and no-one was really sure how it worked, but it did and now both Pokémon had to fight through Confusion.

Pikachu successfully did so with his first Iron Tail, but Marowak ended up hitting himself in the head when he attempted a Headbutt. Luck would, once again, determined the outcome of the battle. Red stuck with the barrage of Iron Tails, as they were slightly more accurate than DynamicPunch. Patrick decided to change tactics.

“Marowak, Earthquake.”

Pikachu attempted the same move that he had during his opening jaunt. Either Confusion or fatigue guaranteed its failure. Instead of leaping over the Earthquake, Pikachu tripped on his own tail and smashed face first into the ground. As powerful as the little Mouse Pokémon was, Earthquake would always be the end of it. Patrick re-took his narrow lead. Momentarily.

As in any battle that shifting is dis-allowed, momentum will wax and wane with the type advantages. The first two duels had been neutral, but Pikachu over Charizard and Marowak over Pikachu had been a product of superior typing winning the day. Venusaur versus Marowak would prove no different. Giga Drain ended The Punisher before the Confused Bone Keeper Pokémon could react and the score was quickly even once more. Patrick was glad for the slim margin, however, because it gave him some insight into Red strategy.

Venusaur were extremely versatile Pokémon and he had seen several different strategies employed when using them. When used in correlation with Sunny Day, often in Doubles, the Seed Pokémon was usually offensive. A combination of Chlorophyll and single-turn Solar Beam, along with a solid Special Attack, made them a force to be reckoned with. Occasionally, when combined with Swords Dance, the Reigning Champion had seen physically offensive Venusaur as well, though its effectiveness was limited. Once, in a wildly effective combination, he had seen Venusaur paired with a Charizard that knew Sunny Day. After a single sun-boosted Growth, along with Chlorophyll, Earthquake and Solar Beam tore through entire teams.

Red, however, was employing the older, and perhaps more trusted, strategy. Defense. Giga Drain, combined with good bulk and moves like Leech Seed, Toxic, and Synthesis, could make the Seed Pokémon extremely difficult to handle. If equipped with Black Sludge or Leftovers, even more so. As such, seeing Giga Drain gave away Red’s strategy and made the next selection simple for Patrick.

“Go Scizor, Use Swords Dance.”

The brief look of frustration that flashed across Red’s face said everything. Scizor resisted literally everything that Venusaur had. Toxic was useless, Giga Drain would do minimal damage and, though Leech Seed and Synthesis could keep the Seed Pokémon alive for a while, the conclusion of the duel was practically inevitable.

Red did the only logical thing and used Leech Seed to slowly sap Scizor’s strength. Patrick was patient. Another Swords Dance was enough that he knew Venusaur wouldn’t be able to take the attack that would be forthcoming. The only thing Red could really attempt to do was stall and Patrick was thoroughly against the idea. As such, he ordered a single attack that he knew wouldn’t allow for Leech Seed or Synthesis to have any true effect.

“Acrobatics.”

Without an item, and boosted by both Technician and Swords Dance, Acrobatics annihilated Venusaur. The battle was picking up pace. Red’s next choice in Pokémon, however, reversed the idea of speed and slowed the battle to a snail’s pace.

“Snorlax, Curse.”

Patrick almost cursed himself. CurseLax, as the strategy was called in many battling circles, was one of the most annoying, yet effective, battle strategies in the world. Even with all of Scizor’s boosts, it was going to be a rough battle. The Reigning Champion decided to go for damage early and ordered another Acrobatics.

Despite only a single boost, Snorlax didn’t take the copious amounts of damage that Patrick had hoped. Instead, the Sleeping Pokémon took a bite of her Leftovers and used Curse again. Patrick attempted to avoid the inevitable with Acrobatics, followed immediately by Bullet Punch. It wasn’t enough. Snorlax took a couple more bites of Leftovers and used Rest. The young boy sighed deeply, ‘here we go.’

As predictable at the tides, Red ordered Sleep Talk and waited for Snorlax to decide which of her moves to use while sleeping. Patrick prayed it wasn’t Curse. Technically, his prayer was answered, but the resulting attack proved to be worse. Following another round of Acrobatics, Snorlax chose Body Slam. The hulking Pokémon simply rolled over and smashed the helpless Pincer Pokémon beneath her great bulk. The move was boosted, but not very effective, yet Paralyzed the steel bug.

As Patrick held back another curse, Snorlax Sleep Talked a Curse and Scizor fought through Paralysis to land Acrobatics. Two turns having passed, Snorlax popped awake, still snacking away on her Leftover that she somehow managed to eat even while sleeping. Acrobatics and Body Slam collided, each doing their damage, and Patrick tried to assess what Scizor would need to do in order to win. He was doing some damage, but not a lot, and Rest, Leech Seed, and Leftovers could make the battle last a long time.

“Scizor, Swords Dance,” he decided, hoping the extra boost would swing the match-up a little more in his favor.

Snorlax continued her assault with Body Slam and Scizor looked weakened.

“Scizor, Roost.”

The Pincer Pokémon moved to obey, but Paralysis finally took its toll and he failed. Red took the opportunity to Curse and Rest again, while Roost succeeded in healing Scizor on its second attempt. And the battle drug on. Patrick would do some damage, Red would return some damage, Scizor would Roost, Snorlax would Rest. The cycle continued. Until a thought came to the Reigning Champion.

'Sleep Talk has a limited number of uses. The key to this duel isn’t power, it is timing.'

Patrick knew what he had to do. He had to wait. Body Slam, Acrobatics, Body Slam, Bullet Punch, Rest, Roost, repeat. Over and over. A few Curses were thrown in to mix up the Body Slams, but the battle was going nowhere. Until, the inevitable happened. Sleep Talk failed. Red had had the foresight to use a rare item called PP Up on Body Slam, but Sleep Talk had not been so lucky. Patrick’s opening had come.

Instead of using Roost, the Reigning Champion pressed the offensive. Acrobatics...Sleeping Snorlax...Acrobatics...Sleeping Snorlax...Paralysis.
Patrick kept his cool. His strategy could still work. Paralysis, if anything, was beneficial. It was saving the PP of some of his moves, something Snorlax sorely needed at the moment. The next Body Slam pushed Scizor to the brink of exhaustion, but he fought through Paralysis and landed a final Bullet Punch before a final Body Slam ended him.

Snorlax needed to Rest, and she still had a couple left in her, but Patrick didn’t give her the chance. Curse, despite its Attack and Defense boosts, murders a Pokémon’s speed. Not that Snorlax is fast to start with.

“Gengar, Sludge Bomb,” Patrick shouted, his emotions and urgency getting the better of him.

A huge glob of purple sludge hurtled forward. It hit Snorlax’s arm as she went to take another bite of the infinite Leftovers. She smashed herself across the face and the nastiness spread across her body with alacrity. Despite a naturally high Special Defense, Gengar was extremely powerful and Sludge Bomb got a boost from STAB as well. Although Patrick didn’t know if they were having a true effect, Gengar was also wearing an experimental piece of battle technology called Wise Glasses.

Whatever the case, Snorlax took the assault hard. Mew floated over to assess the damage. Was Snorlax sleeping again or had Sludge Bomb been her end? The New Species Pokémon took a moment to confirm.

“Snorlax is unable to battle. Red, please choose your final Pokémon.”

Red tried to keep his face passive as he unhooked the last PokéBall from his belt, but Patrick could see the exhaustion on it as clear as he could feel his own exhaustion. The Reigning Champion had expected something glorious, yet this was beyond anything he had ever considered. The match and been back-and-forth with barely any room to breathe between bouts. Some match-ups had been quick. Too many had been drawn out. How would the end play out?

“Donphan, Rollout.”

A somewhat interesting choice by Red. It was his first non-Kanto native Pokémon, but the Armor Pokémon were common on Mt. Silver, so it made sense. The grey elephantine creature exploded forward toward Gengar.

“Gengar, Up,” Patrick ordered.

Using its natural abilities, Gengar floated upward and away from the attack. Donphan, its impeccable training shining through, slammed its trunk into the ground and shot skyward. Both Patrick and Gengar were too shocked to react and the Shadow Pokémon took the attack directly in the stomach. Painful as it no doubt was, Gengar shook it off and launched Shadow Ball after the now-fleeing Donphan. It missed.

“Again, Donphan,” Red emphasized, as the Armor Pokémon turned sharply and made another line for its opponent.

Shadow Ball hit the approaching Donphan, but did nothing to slow its momentum. Gengar stayed hovering to give his opponent a more difficult target, yet Donphan was too practiced and the Shadow Pokémon took a second blow.

Patrick was a little surprised that DoomsDay took the consecutive blows. Rollout increases in strength the more it hits and Gengar is borderline horrible on the defensive end. The Reigning Champion tried to capitalize on the situation.

“Gengar, Shadow Ball again.”

It was repetitive, but more effective than anything else in the Shadow Pokémon’s arsenal. Predictability, however, leads to bad things. Donphan, having seen the same attack three consecutive times, increased his pace and avoided the projectile. His increased speed meant that he couldn’t launch himself upward as he had been, so he rolled underneath the floating Pokémon before lashing out with his trunk. Again, Gengar and Patrick were befuddled.

The attack missed by miles, but, as always, Red and his Pokémon had a plan. Donphan wasn’t aiming for Gengar, he was aiming for an outcropping of rock. The Armor Pokémon bounced off the barrier and ricocheted back in Gengar’s direction. The Shadow Pokémon had no chance to dodge. The score was even a final time.

A smile of satisfaction crossed Red’s face as Patrick fingered his last PokéBall. Donphan had taken minimal damage in the previous duel and Rollout was still building in power. Even against a good, defensive Pokémon, the Armor Pokémon had a good chance to finish the final duel very quickly. Patrick was quick to disappoint his opponent.

“Umbreon, Protect.”

Donphan, already plowing forward, could not stop his momentum as the clear, unbreakable bubble formed around the Moonlight Pokémon. He careened into it full force and Rollout’s momentum was stopped. Neither Pokémon took any damage, but Red looked as though he had been punched in the gut. Rollout was his best chance at winning and Protect completely negated its effectiveness. The match, however, was far from over.

“Umbreon, Toxic.”

“Donphan, Earthquake.”

Neither Pokémon were fast, yet Umbreon was a little faster and raked poisonous claws across Donphan’s leathery hide. Three little purple lines appeared and began to sap his health. Earthquake, too, found its mark. Umbreon didn’t seem to mind much, she simply returned to her starting position, took a bite of her Leftovers, and sized up her opponent. The Moonlight Pokémon was only a couple of inches shorter than her foe, but considerably lighter. Those factors clearly explained the differentiation in speed and power. Umbreon made up for that lack of power with some nifty tricks.

“Dark Pulse.”

“Headbutt.”

Donphan put his thick head down and rushed forward as Umbreon released Dark Pulse. The black and purple energy washed over the Armor Pokémon and he Flinched. Umbreon took another bite of Leftovers. Toxic sapped at Donphan’s health.

“Earthquake.”

“Protect.”

The rocky earth trembled and heaved around Umbreon, but her shield protected her from all harm. Umbreon took another bite of Leftovers. Toxic sapped at Donphan’s health. It wasn’t looking good for the Armor Pokémon.

“Stone Edge.”

“Dark Pulse.”

Thankfully for Red’s chances, Dark Pulse didn’t Flinch his Pokémon AND Stone Edge landed for critical damage. It didn’t seem to change the flow of the battle at all. Umbreon, cool as a cucumber, took another bite of Leftovers and was content to watch Donphan suffer from Poison. The next series of jaunts all but ended it for the former champion.

“Moonlight.”

“Earthquake.”

Moonlight healed more damage than Earthquake dealt and any chance Red thought he had was washed away. Donphan was on his last leg and Patrick was kind enough to finish it with Dark Pulse instead of using Protect and letting Poison finish its job.

It was over. Patrick had won. Oddly, he wasn’t ecstatic or even happy. He was exhausted. And sweating. He collapsed to the sun-warmed stone beneath his feet and inhaled deep breaths of cool mountain air. Red, suffering in exactly the same way, barely made it to where Patrick had fallen before he joined him. The two starred at each, faces remaining emotionless. Perhaps because they were both too tired to express anything other than fatigue.

They had just participated in what was, possibly, the match of the century and not a single soul had witnessed. Well, one soul did.

“Arceus did well to choose the two of you,” Mew stated mysteriously, floating before them in his normal way, “I have no doubt you will both fulfill your destinies.”

Both boys, one not even a teenager, the other on the cusp of manhood, just stared back. Patrick, familiar as he was with Mew, knew he wouldn’t get an explanation. Red, new to the idea of legendary Pokémon, looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. Mew smiled back at them and a warm sensation of healing filled their bodies.

“I will be seeing both of you again soon,” the New Species Pokémon finished and vanished.

Patrick and Red, perhaps suffering from the exhaustion, perhaps under the influence of Mew, laid back on the stone ground and closed their eyes. Within moments, they were both asleep, snoring away like Snorlax had been earlier in the day. As the late afternoon sun beat down upon them and the autumn air began to cool, both boys enjoyed their dreamless sleep, unaware of the games being played by the Legendary Pokémon or that they were already involved.

 

[Patrick Haines]

The Fire Lord-Part One: Califor

Gerome sat overlooking the small town of Califor, tossing a ball of fire back and forth between his hands and smiling to himself.

This first conquest is going to be simple, he thought.

A loud siren sounded behind him and he trained his eyes to a long, winding path leading out of the mountains. He knew what to expect. Within minutes, a line of ragged, filthy miners trudged into view, heading home from an arduous day of working the diamond mines.

It was hard, yet honest work, though it would have been more fulfilling if Fágo, the Fire Kingdom, didn’t take half of the diamonds as tribute. Sure, the mine was in their volcano, but they provided no labor and minimal management to its operation. Gerome had cared...once. No longer. Fágo would receive their punishment in time, but the multi-talented mage had his eyes on smaller fish at the moment.

As the last vestiges of the working men disappeared into town, an unearthly shriek echoed down from higher on the mountain and Gerome’s smile widened. A large, scaly, avian creature swooped majestically downward and perched beside its master. Most people would agree that everything from its black beak to its long tail feathers were hideous to behold, but Gerome appreciated the power and savagery that lay beneath its deep, green scales.

“Ready, Skrali?” Gerome asked his dearest friend, pushing himself to his feet.

The bird-creature responded with a shrill coo and flapped its black wings hard. Gerome couldn’t smile any wider than he already was, yet a primal excitement surged through his body. His heart began beating faster as adrenaline kicked in. Skrali swooped down toward the humble village and Gerome followed. He muttered a single word and the earth beneath his feet leapt forward and down the steep mountainside.

Wind whipping his shoulder-length, ebony hair backward, Gerome surfed down the steep incline, racing his avian friend toward imminent destruction. Skrali reached the town first.

A scream rose up at the very sight of the scaly creature. Dozens more rose high into the evening air as it opened its wicked beak and flames poured forth. In an instant, half a dozen buildings on the eastern side of town disappeared in an inferno. Gerome chuckled internally. All too easy.

As warriors and hunters scrambled about in response to the creature’s attack, Gerome arrived at the city’s western gate. The panic had yet to reach that end of the city and a young man whittling on his front porch waved a hand of greeting as Gerome entered town. A wicked grin crossed the older man’s face as he raised a hand in greeting as well. A fireball burst forward.

The projectile screamed past the young man and exploded on impact, sending the unfortunate victim flying into the roadway at Gerome’s feet. He kicked the singed body to confirm its demise.

Seventeen.

The warlock claimed no other victims as he marched down the street. Most of the townspeople were at the market this time of day; welcoming their sons and husbands home from the mines, buying bread for their evening meal, or mingling with friends they hadn’t seen since the morning market rush. Predictable.

Skrali proceeded down the eastern end of town, leaving bonfires in its wake; Gerome made his way toward the central square from the west, leaving a legacy of smoldering rubble and matchsticks. Screams of unbridled fear filled the air as master and servant drew closer together. Women, children, and the elderly attempted to escape the burning city, while the town guard, hunters with their longbows, and a handful of other brave men finally confronted Skrali.

“Bring the Atheria down,” Gerome heard a deep voice boom over the chaos reigning in the streets, “its wings are its only weakness.”

The twang of the loosed arrows was lost in the hubbub, but Gerome saw his friend veer into a cloud of gray smoke to dodge the first volley.

“Concentrate,” came the booming voice again, “miners, flush him out!”

A group of the men Gerome had seen earlier responded immediately to the guard captain’s orders. As one, the miners knelt to the ground and used their magic to rip up portions of the street to use as projectiles. As the earth flew threateningly upward, Gerome waved a hand and the stones turned to dust.

Once again acting as a unit, the miners turned to face the newcomer. Gerome pulled the brown hood of his full-length overcoat off his head and stared down his next challenge, well aware that the hunters were launching a second volley. As the arrows arced skyward again, the miners attacked too. Gerome swept his left arm upward and a wall of earth rose before him, shielding him from the attacks. Safe from the initial danger, he jabbed both arms forward and the earthen wall mimicked his motion.

The miners, concentrating on their adversary, were able to leap from its path. One of the hunters, who was focused elsewhere, wasn’t so lucky. He was pushed at high speed down the now-empty street until Gerome, with a malevolent glint in his eye, swept four fingers to the right, commanding the wall to turn. Wall and hunter smashed into one of the few remaining structures not aflame, sandwiching the innocent man.

Eighteen.

Chaos erupted in the ranks of the hunters at the loss of their man. While the guard captain attempted to quell it, Skrali swept out of the gray smoke. The Atheria’s black wings shifted forward and solidified into scaly, taloned forelegs. The back legs also lengthened and thickened, so, by the time Skrali landed among the terrified men, he had taken on his beast form. The black beak and tail feathers remained, but it made the creature no less suited to do battle on the ground. It proved as much by ripping out the throat of its nearest assailant.

Caught between one of the most dangerous animals in the world and a warlock they had no chance of besting, most of the warriors fled after their wives, mothers, and children. Gerome let them run and focused on the few men that stayed to fight. The guard captain had engaged Skrali with his sword and was doing everything in his power to hold the savage creature at bay. The others turned to Gerome.

Two arrows and two earthen projectiles flew towards him. While snapping the thumb and middle finger of his left hand, Gerome unsheathed his sword with the other. Reacting to his powerful magic, the arrows turned and buried themselves in their owners’ chests.

Twenty.

With the sword, he cleaved the earthen projectiles into neat pieces. His left hand, palm to the sky, rose a few inches and the earthen projectiles did the same. Gerome thrust his sword forward. He sent the projectiles, spinning uncontrollably, in the opposite direction. The miners had no chance to react to the assault. Although they used their magic every day in the mines, their skills were no match for the ruthless warlock. The heavy earth smashed their rib cages flat like pancakes.

Twenty-two.

By now, the town center was empty. Nearly every building in the city was burning or already ash and the remnants of the evening market had been smashed under panicked feet. Only the guard captain still stood in defense of his lost city, respectfully holding his own against the fire-breathing Atheria.

Gerome caught Skrali’s eye as it easily dodged a sword thrust and nodded his head slightly. His friend understood perfectly. Abandoning its physical assault, the Atheria opened its wicked beak and unleashed another stream of fire. The guard captain threw himself to the dirt, but Gerome held his ground as the stream of fire raced toward him.

Just as planned. He held both hands before him, palms out, ready to receive the fire. As it reached him, he angled his hands in opposite directions and the intense flame followed his silent instructions. The homes and businesses on either side of the wide, dirt road burst into unquenchable flames and Gerome cackled at his handiwork. Every building in the small town now raged with fire, feeding the manic energy flowing through the warlock.

“RAYMOND,” Gerome shouted at the top of his lungs, relishing in the heat and smoke growing around him.

The guard captain turned, but never took his full attention from the Atheria. It didn’t push the assault. In fact, at the sound of Gerome’s voice, it took a step back from its worthy opponent and settled down on its hind quarters like some horrifying dog waiting for a treat.

With the full attention of his final foe, Gerome whipped off his brown overcoat and threw it to the flames. A growing wind whipped up his hair again and rippled his damp, white tunic across his well-muscled chest. A look of appalled realization crossed Raymond’s face and he forgot Skrali completely.

“Gerome? What are you doing? This isn’t you.”

Gerome laughed maniacally, “it is now, dear boy, it is now.”

Without further explanation, Gerome launched himself forward. Raymond barely had time to raise his sword before the other was upon him. He parried several vicious blows before being able to counter. Gerome leapt back and out of reach.

“You have improved in my absence,” Gerome said with a hint of smug acceptance.

“It is my duty to defend this city,” Raymond responded honestly, “and, as much as I loved you, I was tired of always being second best.”

Gerome roared with laughter again, “there it is. Poor Raymond, older, but never better.”

It was Raymond’s turn to press the assault. Rage and years of resentment manifested in the barrage of attacks that followed and Gerome struggled to fend off each subsequent blow. At last, Raymond’s fury met with success and his long sword drew an ugly, bloody line across Gerome’s forearm. In an attempt to use the injury in his favor, Raymond didn’t back down. Until he found himself drifting backward and away from his opponent.

Knowing what was happening, he summoned his own limited magic to cease the spell and returned his gaze to Gerome. Though younger, his adversary was taller and stronger. Although their skill with the blade had evened out over the years, it was clear that Gerome was the more skilled mage. As if to clarify, the bigger man’s hand began to glow red and he slapped it over the wound that Raymond had opened.

The flesh sizzled beneath Gerome’s palm, like a piece of meat being tossed on the fire, but he showed no outward signs of pain. When he pulled his hand away, a nasty burn was evident and the wound had closed. Raymond didn’t wait for an invitation to further his assault. He rained blow after blow down on his old friend, yet never found another opening. All too late, he realized Gerome’s game.

Raymond’s arms began to grow heavy and his blows began to fade. Fatigue was setting in and the heat and smoke from the burning town were only accelerating it. Gerome finally reacted as Raymond came in for an overhead strike. His arm shot out and latched around the smaller man’s wrist. With a simple twist, Raymond’s joint snapped and the sword fell helplessly from his useless hand.

Gerome didn’t hesitate or say a word. He just drove his sword through Raymond’s chest.

The impaled man collapsed to his knees and coughed blood. It was over. Inching towards death, Raymond stared deep into Gerome’s now-black eyes. In their youth, the eyes had been blue. A beautiful blue with yellow starbursts radiating from the black pupil. The starburst was still there, the only color in an otherwise empty, emotionless pit. The boy Raymond had known, had loved, who had married his sister, given him a nephew, was gone.

“Gerome. Why?”

“Why not?” responded Gerome, tossing his dying brother-in-law to the ground.

Twenty-three.

 

[Patrick Haines]

The FireLord-Part Two: Orox

Over the next couple of days, the desert communities of Sahar and Kaman fell before the combined power of Skrali and Gerome. Both had succumbed quickly and, upon the demise of Kaman, the power-hungry fiend discovered something shocking. Sitting in the ruins of the prison, unaffected by the conflagrations, was a boy. He was a child of the Fire Kingdom, imprisoned for not but his nationality. Gerome knew the kid would be useful in the days to come, so he kept him hidden as he moved forward with his plans.

Thus it was, within a week of Califor’s fall, Gerome found himself sitting in a darkened doorway watching the only gate in or out of Orox, Tera’s second largest city. He knew that the Tera Conclave, an order of the most powerful Earth Mages in the kingdom, would soon mobilize to stop him, yet he had seen only one enter the city in nearly two days of watching.

His vigil, however, had provided him with information: a town hall meeting was to be held at noon that very day to discuss the threat of the FireLord. Gerome smiled at the moniker they had given him; he quite liked it. Gerome had never been much to his liking to start with. As to the meeting, it was likely a trap. Draw the usurper in, have the conclave representative face him, end the threat before it spread. The FireLord didn’t care much if it was a trap. He planned to spring it.

The big clock tower over town hall, Gerome’s eventual destination, struck eleven. Only an hour to wait. Eyes still trained on the people flowing in and out of the city’s gate, Gerome continued sharpening his sword. Its dual-edged blade gleamed in the midday sun, much as it had the first time the villain had seen it. It had once held a place of honor as the greatest piece in a blacksmith’s collection. It was made of a special metal, native to Fágo, and forged in the heat of their volcano. The FireLord had fallen in love with its power and beauty, seeing in it the potential to spill the blood of hundreds at his feet. It hadn’t disappointed. Its first victim had been its creator and its silvery surface had reflected the blood of a dozen others since.

Gerome paused in his sharpening as a familiar face passed through the gate. A survivor from the assault on Califor. His father-in-law. Sheathing Demon’s Blade, as he had named it, he made sure his weathered face was well hidden in its cowl and fell in step a few feet behind the white-haired man he had once greatly respected.

No one suspected that the hooded man weaving through the throngs of people in midtown was the great evil that was the buzz of the town. He just blended into the dozens of other scamps and vagabonds that were begging for coins or food. Outside his destination, two armed guards were checking entrants for weapons. The meeting was open to the public, though only a few would be permitted to speak, but the guards were ensuring that no misguided soul used the chaos created by the FireLord to attempt an assassination of one of the elders who would be in attendance.

Gerome watched his father-in-law as he was searched and then disappeared over the threshold. The guards would be the next two men to fall to Demon’s Blade, but if it was the trap that Gerome expected, he needed to spring it at the proper moment. Time crawled by as the FireLord waited. The clock on the bell tower seemed to have all but stopped and Gerome’s mind began wandering before he was finally snapped back to reality by the chime of the noon bells. His time had come.

One of the guards turned to push the town hall doors closed and Gerome took his opportunity. He bound from the shadows of the alley in which he had been waiting and drove his silver sword through the man’s back. He was dead before his partner could react.

Twenty-four.

The second guard had just enough time to draw his own sword before Gerome attacked. The weapons clanged together with a mighty force, blood from the first victim raining down on the guard. Despite the splatter of his partner’s blood, the overmatched guard parried Gerome’s next two blows.

All luck ended there. With a powerful downward stroke, the guard fell backward, smashed his head on the stone wall, and slid to the ground, unconscious. Gerome flicked the tip of his sword across the man’s neck and watched his life pour out.

Twenty-five.

It didn’t take long for a passerby to notice Gerome’s handiwork and her horrified scream alerted the rest of the street and, most likely, everyone in attendance of the meeting. Gerome proceeded quickly with the next step of his plan. With his right index and middle fingers, he drew a simple rune on the outside of the town hall door. As he stepped away, another town guarded intercepted him. With a quick word of magic, he added number twenty-six to his list.

Another magical word later and he was shooting upward on a pillar of earth and looking down at the proceedings within the town hall through an exterior window. He activated the rune that he had drawn on the entrance. An explosion blasted the door into kindling and shook the buildings foundations. Every eye in the hall turned to the opening, while Gerome took the distraction to phase through the glass window. No one saw him until it was too late.

Fire poured forth from both hands, igniting wooden chairs, wool tapestries, and more than one unfortunate man’s trousers. Despite the chaos, the trap was sprung. A dozen archers leapt from their hiding places around the hall and loosed arrows at the balcony upon which stood Gerome.

The mage threw himself to the floor. Several arrows flew over his head, others stuck fast in the balustrade, and one zipped by close enough to open a cut on the big man’s ear. Before Gerome could stand, the balcony collapsed. The fifteen-foot drop was enough to knock the breath from the interloper. It also gave the archers just enough time to nock more arrows. And burst into flames.

Skrali came crashing through a window at the back of the hall, dousing its master’s assailants in flame and transforming into its beast form simultaneously. The trap had failed. Most of the attendees fled for the side doors, while Skrali made a game of eviscerating as many as possible. In the meantime, Gerome was pushing himself up from the fall. A middle-aged man made the mistake of attempting to flee past him. With a single swipe, the FireLord removed the man’s head from his shoulders.

Twenty-six.

As the man’s blood dripped down the sword, it welled in a rune engraved near the base of the blade. The rune began to glow a sinister black color and energy flowed up Gerome’s arm. Power flowed stronger through his veins and the tiny nick on his ear closed. He turned to face his only true opponent in the room.

“You’re reign of terror and destruction ends here, FireLord,” the Tera Mage stated firmly, showing nothing but determination on his youthful face.

That really does have a nice ring to it, Gerome thought to himself, let’s prove the boy wrong.

Living up to his adopted moniker, Gerome bathed his adversary in flame. Everything not already burning was added to the conflagration and the young mage disappeared into the fire. Gerome thought he had dealt the final blow quite easily, but when the inferno abated, a pillar of stone stood where the mage had been. Gerome stared at it intently. It exploded.

If not for the protective charms woven into his sword and overcoat, that may have been the end of the FireLord. That young mage would have risen on the fame of defeating such a powerful warlock and the very future of Ajakim Tak would have been re-written. Sadly for the people of Orox, and later the continent, Gerome walked away from the blast with little more than a few scratches and a nasty bruise to his thigh. The battle, however, was far from over.

In his rage at being injured, Gerome launched himself at the other mage. With no sword or shield to defend himself, impaling appeared imminent. Until a shield of stone materialized to deflect the blow. Gerome stepped to the left and the right, looking for an opening, but the shield mirrored his movements and defended its master.

Anger rising, the FireLord swung a mighty fist forward. He muttered a word as he swung and his hand began to blaze an electric blue. Fist met rocky shield and the barrier crumbled, but the release of energy pushed both mages backward. It was the Tera Mage, whose name is lost to history, who attacked next. Summoning the pieces of his broken shield, he pelted his adversary with the small, jagged stones. Gerome relied on another natural protective spell to defend him.

Raising his blade before him, he activated another rune and an invisible barrier surrounded him, deflecting the projectiles. His opponent was relentless. Time and again, the sharpened stones were repelled by the shield, only to return to the air and bombard it again.

Until a single stone found its ways through the invisible barrier. It embedded itself in Gerome’s arm and elicited a deafening scream from the large man. Turning his weakness into an attack, the FireLord magically amplified the sound waves. What little remained of the town hall crumbled.

A section of still-burning ceiling crashed down between the adversaries. Gerome stepped through it without fear of burning. His foe had vanished.
Suddenly more alert, he adopted a defensive stance behind his shimmering sword and assessed his surroundings. He stood in the smoldering ashes of what was once the town hall. Only two living beings were in sight: Skrali and a man he appeared to be toying with. Every other soul had abandoned the city. The fear in which Gerome instilled, combined with his power, was enough to ensure that. He had almost dropped his guard, assuming the Tera Mage had given up, when the sandstorm set in.

It blasted through the entire city, dowsing the persisting fires and effectively blinding the FireLord. As the fine particles of sand raged and their great roar filled Gerome’s ears, a second, higher pitched sound caught his attention too. He whipped around and sliced an arrow from the air. A second and a third flitted toward their mark, each from a different direction, each meeting the same fate. As a fourth arrow approached its target, Gerome tired of the game. He dropped to one knee, the arrow flying harmlessly overhead, and slammed his open palm into the ground.

A shock wave of air of radiated outward and cleared the sandstorm. Anything not tied down, including Gerome’s adversary, was sent flying through the air. Gerome saw the body fly through the air. It careened toward a tall, stone building and the FireLord assumed the battle for Orox was over. The body would splatter against the immovable wall, he would add another number to his tally, and enjoy the rest of the evening tearing the city down to its foundations. He was, at least for the moment, disappointed.

The Tera Mage adjusted his trajectory in the air, turned to face the building, and reached both his arms and legs out before him. When he contacted the building, instead of being smashed like an ant beneath a boot, he...stuck. Another animal metaphor popped into Gerome’s head at the sight. His opponent looked exactly like one of the sticky-feeted geckos he had seen in Eastern Torbello. The tiny green animals used their feet to scale trees and escape predators, not unlike the Tera Mage was doing now.

The shock of his opponent’s crafty survival almost cost Gerome the duel. The Tera Mage ripped a portion of the stone roof from his building and heaved it at his grounded foe. A last second swipe with his magically-enhanced sword thwarted the danger, but the battle drug on. His adversary leapt from the building and slammed his fist into the ground. A great fissure opened at the impact point and raced toward Gerome. He mirrored the spell.

The two fissures met one another equidistant from the dueling mages and initiated a catastrophic earthquake. Every building in the vicinity crumbled to dust in seconds, while huge chunks were torn from others or thick cracks split them in two. Gerome, unintentionally, was receiving aid in his wanton destruction. Now, all he had to do was defeat the annoying young mage. It was more difficult than he ever anticipated.

For hours, the two dueled throughout the city, ever-looking for the upper hand. The FireLord cast forth fireballs, called down bolts of lightning, and launched concentrated blasts of air with his blade. His adversary defended or dodged every blow, countering with sandstorms and enormous chucks of stone or earth. He lacked creativity or diversity of magic, yet his style was decidedly effective. Nothing, save fatigue, seemed likely to end the battle before nightfall. Until nature intervened.

Neither of the mages could have predicted how Mother Nature would react to the tremendous release of magical energy. So, when dark rain clouds rolled over the scorching desert sun, neither were prepared. The torrential downpour that followed halted the battle in its tracks. The FireLord had practiced all five elemental magics, yet he had only conquered four. His mastery over water was laughable. His adversary, however, was native to the desert and had only witnessed rain a handful of times in his short life.

Both proceeded with caution, unwilling to surrender. It was Gerome who found the opening. Though he had no mastery over water, he knew, from long years of study, how to counter it. Taking shelter behind the remnants of a destroyed pub’s bar, he sat cross-legged in the mud and closed his eyes. He searched for an incantation. His preoccupation with a potential surprise attack slowed the process, yet when he found it, the effects were instantaneous.

Even as the first syllables left his mouth, the temperature began to rise. It reacted with the cool, moist air and a wispy fog began to form. The longer Gerome whispered the incantation, the hotter the air grew and the thicker the fog rolled. The FireLord didn’t end the incantation until the fog was so dense that he could barely see his own hand an inch from his face. It was time to set his plan in action.

He sunk his hands into the mud until he felt more solid ground and began to whistle softly. The sound reverberated eerily through the fog and the ruined city. A faint echo vibrated through Gerome’s fingertips. A footstep. His whistling continued. The next footstep was closer. The FireLord
reached out with his magic and located his adversary in the impenetrable mist. Unmoving, so as not give away his location, he muttered another incantation.

Unbeknownst to the Tera Mage, mud began to crawl up his robed legs. Gerome’s time had come. He stood, shouting a word of magic and jabbing Demon’s Blade into the soupy earth. Simultaneously, the mud around his foe’s legs hardened and another blast of wind burst outward. The wave of air cleared the worst of the fog and threw the Tera Mage off balance. Gerome wrested his sword from the earth and attacked.

He was slowed, ever so slightly, by the additional weight of the sword, giving his opponent a moment to react. It was just enough to avoid disembowelment, but not enough to avoid harm entirely. Gerome removed the man’s left arm, from the elbow down, with his encumbered swipe, all but ending the epic duel. Covered in his own blood and unable to contain his howls of pain, the Tera Mage crumpled to the ground. The earth binding his legs shattered under his weight, leaving him moaning and crying in the deepening mud.

Gerome found the firmest footing he could on the soaked ground and towered over his fallen foe. The Tera Mage summoned a final shield of stone to protect himself, but he couldn’t maintain his concentration through the pain. A quick thrust of the Gerome’s sword shattered his last defense and pierced his racing heart.

Twenty-seven.

The fall of Orox was complete. It hadn’t gone as anticipated, yet it was almost better this way. The Tera Conclave wouldn’t underestimate him again.

A shrill coo sounded from the center of the city and Gerome slogged through the still-falling rain, knowing what he would find when he arrived. Despite the destruction that had raged around it, Skrali had not moved. He still crouched in the ruins of the town hall, a bloody, yet living, man pinned beneath one claw. It was disappointment, not disbelief, that overcame the elderly man’s features when a ragged, yet victorious, Gerome returned.

“You were meant for greater than this, Gerome,” he wheezed.

“There is nothing greater than this, old man,” the FireLord retorted, “history has repeatedly overlooked me, but now the records will be written in the blood of the men I have slain and the tears of the kingdoms I will conquer.”

The haggard face fell. All, it seemed, was lost. There was no coming back from the descent Gerome had begun.

“Where is my grandson?” the man finally asked, hoping against hope that he didn’t already know the answer.

A spasm of guilt and remorse momentarily flashed across the FireLord’s face. It lasted no more than a second and anyone else might have missed it, yet it confirmed the old man’s suspicions, while raising even more questions. He never got a chance to ask them. With the moment of weakness behind him, Gerome stepped forward and set the tip of his silver sword against his father-in-law's neck.

“You will see him soon, old man.”

It took an imperceptible flick of the wrist to open the man’s jugular.

Twenty-eight.

 

[Patrick Haines]

The FireLord-Part Three: The Council

The final phase of Gerome’s plan took no small amount of patience and misdirection. Neither were qualities in which the FireLord excelled. He preferred facing his rivals head-on, quick and efficient. Despite his misgivings toward the types of tactics he was using, he knew he needed them to succeed. He had done a lot of damage to Tera in a short amount of time and he was confident in his own skills, but he recognized the line where confidence became hubris and he refused to cross it. He could bring down entire cities, he could defeat powerful mages in single combat, yet the destruction of a unified conclave was impossible. His only course of action was divide and conquer. So far, his plan was unfolding perfectly.

“Milord,” cried a young boy, bowing quickly to a guard standing at the entrance to the Tera Conclave’s fortress, “the FireLord and the Atheria have been spotted outside Lodor.”

A wicked smile crossed Gerome’s face as he watched the proceeding unfold from a dark corner of the fortress’s entrance hall. He had been concerned that the young boy he had saved from the ruins of Kaman would never fool the watchmen of Lodor, but his brown overcoat and some creative spell-casting had done the trick. Fear, too, likely played a role in the mistaken identity. Either way, the gambit had succeeded.

The guard disappeared instantly, practically running down the stone hallway to inform his superiors. The messenger boy nearly fainted from exhaustion as soon as he disappeared from view. Lodor was at least a six-hour ride from the fortress, although the Tera Mages would cover it in half that time, and it appeared that this boy had traversed the final leg of his harrowing journey on foot. His face was streaked with dirt and sweat, while one of his sandals was missing and his foot had begun to bleed. As such, Gerome barely needed the sleep spell to incapacitate him.

In less than five minutes, dozens of footsteps could be heard echoing down the corridor. The Conclave was sending out their full force to combat the FireLord. No able-bodied man was spared. Ten, twenty, thirty, thirty-seven Tera Mages, the most skilled magic users in the realm, marched passed the hidden intruder, the same thought on each of their minds: it must be I who strikes the final blow.

Gerome knew the culture all too well. In a former life, he had been a member of the Tera Conclave himself, he knew everything conceivable about it. Its protocols, its structure, and its culture. Most of the mages marching out to face him cared little for the kingdom itself, they were more concerned with personal glory. The prestige from defeating the FireLord would be all the fame the triumphant would need to cruise through the rest of his life. An automatic seat on the Council of Elders, kingdom-wide fame, and, most likely, a hefty reward of gold.

Gerome chuckled at the thought. None of those things would matter soon. They were all going to die. He watched the two uneven lines march through the front gate and into the sand. No sooner did magical feet touch earth than the sand surged forward, propelling them along at a fast clip. The FireLord just smiled to himself as they went. Not thirty minutes from the arrival of the messenger, who still slept soundly, completely ignored by the army, the fortress was all but empty and ripe for the picking.

Gerome threw off his new, black cloak and marched down the empty corridors. He stuck his head in all of the rooms on the main level, just to confirm that the whole of the army had left. He didn’t expect the conclave to muster any last-minute tricks, but if he was going to build an empire to endure eternity, he needed to start being careful now. A half dozen or so servants teemed around, scrubbing floors, washing laundry, and emptying chamber pots. Gerome took the time to cast his simple sleeping spell, tie them all with stout rope, and stow them out of sight. He had, by his own estimations, three hours before the Tera Conclave realized his deception and turned back to defend their keep. He had work to do by then.

The second floor was even less occupied than the first, but Gerome repeated his process. When every servant of the conclave was sleeping and bound, he made for the main tower. The fortress had five towers, one at each corner of the stronghold and one at the center. The final floors of the corner towers were reserved for the strongest members of the conclave, each of the them currently marching, or surfing, off to war. The central tower held the council chamber, where the Council of Elders would be awaiting news of their forthcoming triumph.

The twelve old men were sitting around a large circular table, chatting quietly amongst themselves, not a care in the world. They were the oldest members of the Tera Conclave, each formidable in their own right, but well past the prime of their days. Though he didn’t know for sure, it wouldn’t have surprised Gerome if each of the decrepit old men were over one hundred years of age. Their age and ability no longer mattered. They were the decision-makers for the conclave and the kingdom which shared its name.

The FireLord sneered in disgust at the twelve nearly identical white beards lazing about the room. Not a single woman in the group. A travesty, to be sure. Gerome knew his fair share of powerful female mages, yet the bureaucracy of the conclave would never let one sit on the Council of Elders. That would end with his rule. Power and skill would determine a person’s fate. Not their gender, the color of the skin, nor the station they were born into.

Gerome reached the door of the council chamber without being seen. The council members were so absorbed in their trivial conversations that they didn’t even hear the booted footsteps of their greatest enemy ringing down the corridor. Three were dead before they knew he had entered, arrows bifurcating their wind pipes.

The FireLord then leapt on the back of a high-backed stone chair and fired again. A single arrow split into eight pieces, felling all, save one, of men arranged about the broad, sandstone table. So powerful were the bolts, they pinned their targets to their seats. Each of the eleven dead men sitting straight up and staring forward.

The final man quivered under the gaze of his superior. Demon’s Blade hovered just centimeters from his throat as the FireLord strode leisurely across the table. The last seat was higher and grander than the rest, more of a throne than anything. In it, Gerome saw the position from where he would rule his empire. It wasn’t time, however, to rid it of its current occupant.

As the FireLord grasped his hovering sword and pulled it from the trembling man’s throat, the Council Master attempted to speak. With a flick of the wrist, a sticky substance shot forward and silenced him. Happy with the result, Gerome ran the tip of his blade across the man’s forearm. He moaned in protest behind the gag. Blood seeped slowly from the long wound and Demon’s Blade soaked it in. Jumping from the table, Gerome began to trace a circle around each of the dead men, using his weapon like a huge, deadly pen.

Each time the blood-ink ran dry, he returned to the Council Master and opened another wound. The old man’s willpower did him credit, but he still lost consciousness long before Gerome finished his ritual. Once he completed the small circles around each of the council members, he traced a larger circle which encompassed the entire group. On the table, using blood from his original host and each of the others, he drew twelve runes. At the epicenter of his design, bringing together the twelve men and the twelve runes, was an arrow pointing toward the ceiling.

Checking that the Council Master still lived, Gerome took a deep breath and ascended the stairs at the back of the council chamber. They led to the roof. From his perch atop the roof, he enhanced his vision and stared into the distance. The Tera Mages were just arriving in Lodor. He was short on time. As fast as he dared, for fear of making a mistake, the FireLord duplicated the design from the council chamber on the roof. He didn’t use blood for the mirror image, simply carving the design into the stone with his never-dulling sword.

When the design was complete, identical to its counterpart, except an X decorating the center, it began to glow a deep purple and the tower hummed loudly. It was time. Gerome took up his position in the epicenter of the design. He could see, in the great distance, the Tera Mage’s scouring Lodor for some sign of him or Skrali. They would find nothing. It was too late. He raised his hands to the sky and began to chant the incantation he had been mastering for months. The tower hummed louder.

Power radiated upward from the council chamber, siphoning the magic of the dead council members and channeling it into Gerome. Even gagged and beneath several feet of stone, the scream of the Council Master could be heard for the last time as his magic was pulled from him, leaving an empty husk that would have been dead long ago without the aid of his now-stolen magic. As the magic of the deceased poured into him, the FireLord began to chant louder, thundering his words to the heavens. As he reached a crescendo, he dropped his hands from the sky and pointed them in the direction of Lodor.

The ground beneath the city trembled. Gerome focused harder and it began to shake in earnest. Citizens ran from their houses in alarm and the Tera Mages halted in their manhunt. A colossal hiatus opened at the center of town, swallowing buildings and citizens alike. From the hiatus erupted rivers of molten lava. Homes and businesses burst into flames, while those unable to escape the flows perished instantaneously.

Gerome dropped to one knee and gritted his teeth in effort. If anyone had been watching, it would have appeared that he was attempting to lift an immense weight. The earth beneath Lodor heaved more energetically and began to rise. As Gerome struggled back to his feet, a great mountain began to erupt from the sand beneath the distant city.

Enflamed buildings tumbled down the slopes of the surging peak, smashing helpless people and animals beneath them. Others found themselves standing on firm ground one moment and falling from a forming cliff the next. Only the fortunate few people on the very outskirts of the booming city were able to escape the magical catastrophe.

With tremendous effort, Gerome reached his feet once more. He threw his arms skyward and the mountain shuddered to a halt. Silence reigned for a long minute before being broken by a mighty explosion. The volcano erupted. A vast cloud of black smoke christened the summit into being. Lava rushed down its newly formed sides, washing away any remnants of life or civilization that had been tough, or lucky, enough to survive.

The FireLord collapsed. His deed was done. The Tera Conclave was destroyed and his show of power would guarantee that no one would question his authority. The kingdom, or what was left of it, belonged to him.

--

A few hours later, the FireLord sat upon his new throne contemplating his new fortress. The walls were mostly barren, a few bloodstains had soaked into the sandstone floor, and some stray ashes were all that remained of the Council of Elders. The servants, as expected, had all sworn loyalty to him upon waking. After all, they had always served the most powerful order in Tera. The only difference, that order was now a single man. Everything else, for the moment, was in order.

A rhythmic clicking brought Gerome from his silent reverie. Skrali, in his beast form, was strutting down the corridor toward the council chamber. Behind him, Minak, the young fire mage from Kaman, trotted to keep pace. The two of them had performed their duties spectacularly. The Atheria had proved its worth time and again. The boy, with any luck, would be a powerful ally in the days to come.

Upon entering the room, boy and beast mounted the freshly conjured steps that led onto the table’s surface. Gerome had removed the stone chair opposite his throne and raised his own seat even higher above the others. It was his rightful place above the warriors who would eventually sit at his table.

Skrali approached, talons still clicking on the hard surface, and bowed its feathery head to its master. Minak mirrored the gesture. The FireLord smiled down at them and motioned for them to take their rightful places alongside him. The Atheria leapt into the air, transforming along the way, and perched itself upon the back of the throne. The boy took up the lower seat at Gerome’s right. He turned and addressed his new master.

“Milord, it is over.”

The FireLord couldn’t help but laugh, “my dear boy, it is far from over. I am just getting started.”