There was a singular moment where Hoshi was pretty sure his heart stopped beating entirely.

  Then he grimaced, cursed himself in his head, cursed everything else in his head, replaced the grimace with as bland a look as he could force, and turned around. “Sir,” he said, “Sorry, I didn’t notice you come in.” Please, please, please let the cat be less intelligent than I think it is.

  Meowth the persian was, as was usually the case, dressed in a suit. Today’s was a sleek black satin paired with a simple head wrap of the same colour; it was almost feminine in cut, though the aging feline’s face overpowered the aesthetic by an order of magnitude. Ninja-chic. Of course, why would I expect anything else?

  But as Hoshi’s eyes wandered, he saw that the Pokémon was, like the instructors, also sporting something uncharacteristic: an open wound, placed high on his front right leg, slowly oozing blood into the reed-fibre mats – and also onto a roughly-woven sack.

  “Meow.”

  “You’re bleeding,” Casca replied, echoing his thoughts. Her words, unlike Hoshi's, managed to completely hide any fear she might be feeling. “Are you… alone, sir? Did something happen to the instructors?”

  The predator stared at them, nonplussed, and they stared back. He heard. There’s no way he didn’t hear, it’s a fucking cat. Arcus, how long was he eavesdropping? His mouth dry, Hoshi nonetheless opened it to speak – only to be smacked in the face by the wet sack.

  “Pah!” he spat, the familiar metallic tang of fresh blood coating his tongue as rough burlap pooled in his lap. He felt his team bristling around him, not quite aggrieved enough to attack, but working up to it. “Everybody calm down. What’s..?”

  “Meow,” the persian said, and promptly held out its paw. Hoshi struggled to think for a moment, but as Meowth waggled his injured limb the human looked down, saw the familiar shape of the sack’s piled contents, and realised what he wanted.

  “Potions.”

  “Meow.”

  “Right, right.” With defter motions than he thought himself capable of with the day he’d been having – thanks a lot, muscle memory – he popped the top off a canister of medicinal spray and began hosing down his bosses’… pet? Team member? Partner?

  Or maybe he’s the boss, and they’re just his mouthpiece, said a wild thought from his still-panicking subconscious. It would explain why they seem so Arc-damned weird, if they’re being directed by a small sapient panther.

  The cut healed, blood clotting and disappearing within seconds, and Meowth made a pleased rumble low in his chest. Then he threw his head and turned, gesturing for them to follow.

  A beat, and then Hoshi felt his girlfriend’s fingernails digging through the soft silk of his kimono. “If the instructors get back anytime soon we’re fucked,” she whispered. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure he actually says stuff to them – like, that it isn’t just a funny act.”

  “He can read,” Hoshi supplied. “And type. On a keyboard.”

  “Yeah. So… Do we run?”

  Why the fuck are you asking me? I didn’t know a minute ago, so-

  But as he thought about it, the situation crystalised. No, things actually have changed. Even if we run, Jessie and James will be on our tail within… The two were actually running late already. Anywhere from ‘a few minutes’ to ‘forever because the ninjas got them’ – but that second one seems a lot less likely.

  They tracked Giovanni across five continents, there’s no way they won’t find us basically instantly – if they bother to look. Would they? As absurd as it was, whether he and his girlfriend came out of this with their hides intact came down to predicting what Jessie Oakley and James Kidd would do in a novel situation. Fuck me.

  “Casca,” he whispered back as he watched Meowth’s tail retreat. “I trust your judgment with this shit way more than mine. Would they come after us?”

  “Oh, sir! I didn’t see you come in,” Ryan’s voice reached out from across the room, the other Rockets only now realising the persian had appeared. “For some reason I assumed you’d stayed in Vermilion, but I don’t recall why I thought that. Are the Senior Executives returning soon?”

  “I’d give it… five-to-three odds. Jessie would want to, and James tends to take her lead, but they’re both injured.”

  “And if we do go and they do catch us, what happens?”

  Her tone was less certain. “Now that’s a good question.” Meowth turned and beckoned them again, more insistently, and the golbat bundled up against Hoshi’s side hissed. “I think… They probably wouldn’t kill us, but it would be pretty bad. They love Rocket, the same way you love Kanto. It’s an ideal for them, and if we turn traitor…”

  He nodded slowly. Okay, I think there’s time for one more. “And if we’re straight with them?” Casca’s ungroomed hair whipped his shoulder as she sent him a sharp look, but he kept his eyes forward. “Serious question. If we just say ‘hey, we’re not up for fighting the League yet,’ what happens?”

  She chewed on the question. “…Speculating here…”

  “Go on.”

  “I think they’ll probably stick us in a basement somewhere. Not a punishment punishment, but there’d be a lock on the door.”

  The cat gave them a glance that was almost a Mean Look, and Hoshi knew that time was up. “I think we gamble on staying – but I’m willing to be talked out of it.” He stood, returning Guts and Venus but leaving Crow out; she was the most level-headed of his Pokémon by a landslide, and he wanted the false comfort of a Pokémon’s protection without the volatility that he’d felt radiating off the other two. “Last chance.”

  The woman at his side ceased digging her fingernails into his chest, standing with him. “I… I guess I’ll take that gamble with you,” she said in a more normal volume. “But since you’re making the call, I’m not regretting anything. Fair enough, stud?”

  They walked forward, Crow tottering forward with a waddle that he would have found very cute if Hoshi’s heart hadn’t been trying to make up for its earlier pause by running double-time. “Fair enough.” Arcus, this whole trip has been a clusterfuck.

  “…And as you can see, the machine is working,” Ryan concluded with a nod.

  “Meow.”

  Their return failed to grab much attention from the others, despite Hoshi’s emotions labeling each passing moment as a horrible, towering mistake. Be cool. It’s… The situation is what it is. No going back, only forward. “I see there was some good stuff in there after all,” he said as nonchalantly as possible. “I was afraid it would be nothing but dregs; if I was a League employee, I’d be pretty tempted to ‘misplace’ the cream of the crop.”

  Ryan snorted, and…

  And Meowth gave a pleased chuff.

  “That is because you are a man of action,” the blond grunt said, “While they are ineffectual bureaucrats.” Then the haughtiness dripped away as the man’s expression dipped towards concern. “Are you feeling well, Mutsu? I apologise for not thinking of your mental state; I can’t even imagine being aligned against my own family.”

  That brought Hoshi up short. Actual sympathy? From Ryan? Fuck, we really are all going crazy. “I’m… yeah, my head’s on a bit straighter. I should apologise too – I didn’t mean to imply you’re a bad trainer, just-”

  He held up a hand. “As I said, I didn’t – and continue to not – disagree with the base of your statement. If the Senior Executives point us in the direction of the Elite Four, I have no doubt you will suddenly hear many arguments in-line with your own thoughts, from a great many mouths.” He glanced towards Meowth and smiled, the expression wan and brittle but not fake. “But I see no reason to carry on about it further. Come, let’s get you two of you your share of the spoils – I convinced Menard to leave something specific for you, Mutsu…”

  He turned, and Hoshi’s eyes followed him – partially, at least; the senior grunt couldn’t resist letting his gaze be drawn to the bounty of Pokémon gathered around. I still have reservations, but… Arcus, some of these look strong.

  Mimi had picked up a team of fire types, Bart was getting a batch of eevee evolutions working on combo attacks with his electabuzz, Kenny was cheering on a machoke and nidoking as they grappled…

  And for a moment he locked eyes with Meowth, the persian’s expression too inhuman to discern. Then it turned, padding off silently towards a side room.

  “Something better than nidoking?” Casca asked, her own gaze following the same track.

  “Yes! Well, in the long run…”

  Hoshi turned properly to give his subordinate a dubious look. “Really. Fine, let’s see it.”

  The three dodged through the crowd of Pokémon, Crow following at Hoshi’s heel, to where the transfer machine sat. It was in use; Tor squatted down, his hands hovering over the quasi-assembled controls with a conflicted look on his face. “Tor!” Ryan called. “Are you not done yet? I swear it’s been ten minutes since I last checked in – are you having trouble with the machine?”

  The man shook his head, causing the wild hair that had once been a neat, professional-looking crew-cut to shake. “No, I’ve got it. Just… indecisive.” How many good ones can there be left? Even accounting for the stasis meaning that this is years worth of Pokémon, we’re still sharing with the rest of Rocket – unless we’re the first to get in, for some reason? Hoshi discarded the speculation to just step to the side, and saw that the rookie – should I still call him a rookie? Last night was basically a small war; it feels almost disrespectful at this point – was looking at the profile of a noctowl.

  “Pretty strong Pokémon,” he commented.

  Tor grunted – and then, expression going from anxious to firm, he clicked a button. The machine’s fans blew harder as a series of blinking lights lit up along the thickest of the wires connected directly to the Gym’s main electrical hub, their pattern implying something coming up into the kiosk. The screen transitioned to a loading bar, ‘Transfer in Progress’ displayed in white text-

  And with a slightly muted beep, a Pokéball – a Jet Ball, to be specific – materialised in a circular nook. There was no holder for it to roll into, and so the ball dropped, bounced off the floor, and rolled. Crow swept a wing out to stop it, and Hoshi reached down.

  He presented the ball to the younger-looking man, and Tor collected his new Pokémon. For whatever reason, his expression was almost sour. Expecting something better, maybe? Hopefully there’s a few good ones left for me and Casca – though I guess I should keep my expectations reasonable. “Thanks…” Tor muttered. “Well, that’s six with Spearow, so I guess I’m done.”

  “Not gonna trade it out for another evolved ‘mon?” Casca asked, causing all three men to blink.

  Huh. You know, I didn’t even consider that. From the look on Ryan’s face the rich bastard saw the very idea as offensive, and even Tor had a hint of distaste in the curve of his eyebrows. Boxing your starter… heh, that might be the smart thing to do here, but I don’t think many trainers would ever go for it.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “…No. Uh, I’ll get out of your hair.” The two-day-old Rocket Grunt edged away, giving a particularly wide berth to Hoshi’s golbat, and then there was nothing between him and the idling screen.

  Well… Again, no reason to put it off. Hoshi stepped forward – and suddenly realised his kimono didn’t have pockets. His hands roamed over the silk for a moment, increasing confusion twisting his features as he found that there were pockets inside the chest, but that they were empty. “…My wallet’s gone.”

  Casca made a small inquisitive sound. “Is it? It- actually, it might be with your clothes – one sec, I’ll go check the pile.”

  The Fuchsia City Pokémon Gym wasn’t a hard place to navigate… on the surface, anyway. Just the main room, with a medical centre and storage area coming off one end, and some offices and what was probably housing for live-in trainers the other.

  But while it was mocked-up as traditional architecture on the surface, in reality it was a hyper-modern military installation. The paper walls were way too thick to be real, thick enough that Casca would eat her fresh new socks if there weren’t at least some hidey-holes worked into them. Then there was the floor; under the mats – which were real tatami, as far as she could tell – was a mess of steel panels. She didn’t know what they did on an individual level, but again some of them were probably concealed entrances to a tunnel network.

  It was like being in the academy again – in fact, she had a sneaking suspicion that the Electric Academy had taken inspiration from this very building, or at least one like it.

  She was of two minds about it: on one hand, it would be very easy to defend from inside, and theoretically easy to escape from should things turn sour. On the other, the people most likely to lay siege to them were also the people who knew what every single one of those mystery panels did. The thought made her teeth itch.

  Steady, girl. No need for paranoia; we’ve got enough real problems that we don’t need to go jumping at shadows. They’d easily cleared the Gym trainers out when they’d arrived, and Jessie and James were right: the vast majority of Fuchsia’s forces were in Viridian, and would be staying there until Boss Archer was convicted and the Nationals could begin.

  But still, I’ll be keeping the more obvious exits in my head until we’re out of here.

  She slid the door to the medical area open, and waited a beat to make sure the poliwrath watching from the side got a good look at her before stepping through.

  “Kichi,” Cliff greeted from his bed. “The Executives back yet?”

  “No, sorry. Just looking for my man’s wallet.”

  “Hm.” With a nod Cliff lowered himself down, and she took that as a dismissal. All right, let’s get right to it.

  A few steps took her to the medical bin they were using to store their wrecked clothing. Let’s see… Ugh, it’s all crusty…

  There we go. Easy. Casca wasn’t sure how they’d managed to misplace Hoshi’s wallet, especially with it being so obvious; the moment she grabbed his pants, the weight of the overfull thing shifting around was completely unignorable. I know I wasn’t at a hundred percent, but just tossing his ID in the trash? Stupid. Within a second she’d extricated her prize from the bloody fabric, and she turned back to leave.

  Only to stop as her eyes caught on the room’s other patient. A moment of internal debate, and then Casca made her way towards Puce’s bedside. Hoshi can wait one more minute – in fact, I think talking with Ryan might actually help calm him down a bit.

  More than enough reason for a little detour. “Hey girl, how you feeling?”

  Puce was undeniably the person who’d walked out of last night’s fight the worst – excepting Nerine, maybe, if the Fuchsian girl had even survived. She had so many puncture wounds, it was probably only the swelling from the poison that’d kept her from bleeding out. Looks like she’s dressed up as a mummy, Casca noted with a shiver. Her right ear down to her chin had also been slashed open to the bone, and according to Jessie she’d had so many toxins in her system it was entirely possible there would be permanent liver damage.

  It was a miracle the woman was even conscious; even accounting for the disparity in mass, Puce had shrugged off a disproportionate amount of the same paralysing agents that had put Casca and Hoshi on the ground.

  It would be scary, if she didn’t seem so… small, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Bad day, huh?”

  Puce replied with a grunt, not even moving her eyes, and Casca frowned.

  “Maybe lie down for a bit? You’re not getting a proper rest, sitting up like that.”

  No response at all. Puce simply stared at the floor, her large brown irises rimmed in more than a little red. Damn, this is pretty bad. Sorry stud, this might take more than a minute…

  She sat next to the catatonic woman, pressing her shoulder to Puce’s arm. “It wasn’t your fault, you know. She got all of us – I’m half-convinced she got the instructors too.” Maybe. Hoshi might trust me to be ‘good at people,’ but those two are… very strange. Hah, not that the rest of us are much better…

  “Do you think…” Puce said in a bland tone. “I killed her?”

  “…I Don’t know, girl. If you did, then… I think she’d understand. She seemed to really regret it.”

  Silence for long seconds, the bandage-wrapped woman blinking slowly. “Was it real?” she eventually asked. “I can’t even tell… Were we friends? She helped me so much, if she were planning to betray us from the start… why do that?”

  Because it’s the easiest thing in the world to fall in love with a lie, Casca didn’t say. “I don’t think we’ll ever have an answer, big girl. The world’s… tough like that.” This isn’t working. I think I might even be making her spiral harder. But then a thought occurred. Would that..? Or would it be even worse..?

  Everything was discombobulated, and Puce was a solid brick wall as far as discernible emotions were concerned; she would have to keep making gambles, and hope. “Hey,” Casca continued, hands moving to her belt. “I’ve got something here for you. Hold out your hands.”

  Puce failed to obey, so with an internal wince she flipped over the woman’s hands herself. Putting the size aside, she’s got nice fingers. Covered by as many bandages as the rest of her, but slender and soft. Girlish – also like the rest of her, really. “C’mon, help me out here. You’ll like this, I promise.” Or get angry. But it’ll put a crack in the wall, at least.

  The large hands gained some semblance of rigidity, even as her face remained so expressionless the word blank wasn’t enough. Casca could only shrug and accept it, depositing the two storage-mode Rocket Balls into Puce’s cupped palms where they looked even smaller than they were.

  Finally, a spark of something. Puce’s narrow eyebrows curved, the nostrils of her pointed nose thinning as her squared jaw, the only part of her face that was even slightly masculine, tensed. “These are… Tomato and Sherry?”

  Is that the venonat’s name? “Yeah. Got them back in their balls after knocking them out – didn’t heal them after, for reasons I’m sure you understand.”

  Puce continued to look at the balls, her face scrunched – and then, very slowly, she brought her hands in and cupped them in a double-fist. Her back bent further, and if her hair had been longer Casca was sure it would’ve covered her face in shadow. “…Thanks.”

  A long moment of silence. “Do you feel..?”

  “I’ll live. I’ll get some sleep now.”

  Despite her words, Puce did not move. Casca sat at her side for a moment more, before letting out another imaginary sigh and standing. “Alright. See you in a bit, Puce.”

  Arc, how long does it take to check a pocket?

  Hoshi suppressed the urge to grind his teeth as his girlfriend’s absence drew on – it had only been a few minutes, and he realised that his growing unease was mostly just the product of fermenting anxiety. “Why a golduck?” he asked, as much to distract himself as to satisfy his genuine curiosity.

  Ryan quirked a brow. “Why not? It is a regal and imposing Pokémon, with balanced offense and defence, as well as access to psychic type moves.”

  Rather than reply verbally, the senior grunt only looked past his subordinate to where the other three stolen Pokémon – a kadabra, scyther, and charizard – were allowing Jormungandr to bounce around them with an air of half-strained, half-amused forbearance,

  “…And yes, if you must know, Menard took my first choice water type out from under me.” He shook his head. “That man seems to always manage to slip into the front of the line, it’s uncanny. But it does seem a good fit; I’m eager to see what each of them can do out in the field.”

  Hoshi nodded. “They do look strong.” And old – actually, a lot of these Pokémon are past their prime. I guess that makes sense, since they’re from deceased trainers… “Have you checked their moves?”

  “Yes; mostly standard fare, though the charizard and golduck have TM moves in Brick Break and Power Gem. Not bad by any means.”

  The two stood for a moment, arms crossed, and simply observed the Pokémon. I wonder who owned them. At least a few must’ve been from professional trainers; did they get their badges? Fight in the end-of-season tournaments? Could one of these old Pokémon have faced a Champion in battle?

  It wasn’t likely, but staring at the thick, knobby chitin covering the kadabra’s shoulders and the numerous scars dotting the charizard’s belly, it was obvious that these monsters had a history. And they’ll be making a new history, soon – win or lose. “Do you think we’ll be able to win?”

  Ryan took his time answering. “I’m not sure. It seems impossible, doesn’t it? But if there was a time to do it, it is now; public support of the Indigo League has been shaken by the Moltres and,” he tilted his head, platinum hair and topaz eyes flashing as he gestured to the rookies. “Those college insurrectionists as well. We don’t necessarily have to defeat anyone; make them look to be poor enough defenders of the peace, and the citizenry will turn on them.”

  Again, Hoshi nodded. “Like they did to Lance.”

  “Just so.”

  Another silence, as comfortable as any Hoshi had seen since he’d woken up. His hand drifted down to lightly scratch the top of Crow’s head, the wrapped-up golbat making muffled happy sounds in response.

  “And what of your own Pokémon?” Ryan eventually asked.

  “They’re… fine. Some of the injuries stuck.”

  A nod. “Such is life. A trainer’s Pokémon is a weapon; they are not meant to be safe.”

  Yeah. “Blah. You sound like Kiribo when you say things like that.”

  A couple more minutes passed as Hoshi left Ryan’s side and wandered across the room, checking in on the others. Bart was the same aggravatingly soft-spoken asshole as he’d been since they met, Kenny was in turns ecstatic about his new Pokémon and worried about his grandmother, Mimi was way too upbeat given the situation…

  And Tor was being coached by Meowth as his friends watched. Hoshi joined the pair of rookies in observing the persian make adjustments to a hitmonchan’s form, the latter’s blistering punches emitting a rapidly-shifting aura of elemental energy. “Looks good,” he commented.

  “Sure does,” Mojo replied, then followed at a lower volume with “Man, this thing’s turned into a real clusterfuck, hasn’t it?”

  Lilian clicked her tongue. “Don’t whine. This is exactly what we joined to do – and years faster than I thought it would happen, too.”

  “C’mon, Lil. A couple days ago I was worried Donald might edge me out as first place batter… Now I’m a damn criminal. Like, capital T traitor.”

  The woman’s face hardened, and before she could speak whatever harsh thing was on the tip of her tongue Hoshi intervened. “Yeah,” he said, with enough force it would be hard to interrupt. “I thought this was years off too. I can appreciate that the higher-ups in Rocket have probably been planning this for a long time, but from down on the ground I can’t quite see the big picture. But don’t worry…”

  The hitmonchan’s movements slowed, the fighting type running out of breath. “I doubt the instructors would send you three right into the fire – they’re weird, but I trust them a lot when it comes to Pokémon training.” Ryan probably isn’t wrong about he said, though-

  “High praise!” came James’s voice from over Hoshi’s shoulder, and for a second time his heart froze in his chest. Crow squeaked, nearly falling over as her newly-bipedal body struggled to handle the novelty of being off-balance.

  Arc-! Damn it, every single time…

  The sensation was less intense than before, and he mastered himself quickly. He turned, receiving Jessie’s follow-up as he did. “Especially from the direct student of a Gym Leader! And…”

  James winked. “As for the fire, be it literal or metaphorical, you can be sure we’ll be keeping a close eye on the heat.”

  “Meow,” Meowth broke in, approaching. The instructors nodded in-sync, then gave similarly simultaneous thumb-ups.

  “It’s all done!” said Jessie. “And you?”

  “Meow.”

  “Splendid!” said James. “And they’ve all filled up on the fruits of the Professors’ efforts?”

  A shake of the feline’s black-wrapped head. “Meow.”

  That made both senior executives turn Hoshi’s way, and he cursed in his head. I really wish I could speak fucking cat right now… “I didn’t have my licence on me when I woke up,” he explained, making a half-blind guess about what they’d been… communicating. “Casca went to check my clothes. Or maybe I lost it after I passed out – or even during the fight, it’s not like I was paying attention to my pockets mid-battle.”

  Jessie and James looked at each other, then turned away to mutter. “Lost his ID?” Jessie started, and Hoshi wasn’t sure if she was stage-whispering on purpose or if it was just a habit – either way, he could hear her voice clearly.. “That’s…”

  “That’s three Pokémon going unpilfered!” James took up at the same volume. “There’s no way we can get a new one with the academy blown up…” Oh, so they did mean it was ‘no more’ as in gone. That’s not ominous at all.

  “Maybe Hypno thought to make a spare?”

  “As if!”

  They turned back. “Meowth,” Jessie said in a more normal volume. “Go help Grunt Kichi with that while we get the rest of them in line over here. Assuming no more delays, we-”

  “Meow.” Again Meowth gestured, and Hoshi turned to see his girlfriend approaching. She gave a little wave at the attention, a melancholy smile on her face, and something in his gut unclenched.

  “Hey there sir, ma’am. Found your wallet, stud.” She underhanded the thick fold of leather his way, and Hoshi felt another burst of relief. Whew. That’s one potential crisis solved, at least.

  The instructors apparently agreed, letting out twin sighs. “There we go, Senior Grunt,” James said. “Go get some Pokémon, there’s no time to spare!”

  “We’re on a time limit here, you know! The Nationals only last so long!”

  “Right,” Hoshi replied, obeying even as his thoughts disagreed. We’ve got until the end of the month before it even starts, and the year for the last tournament to be over. What exactly is the rush?