Chapter Text
and will you be ready to fight or will you go away
will you blame others or will the blame be yours
will you run straight to the sun or towards the darkness
will you be ready to fight, to always look for freedom?
.
(September 15, 2005 – present day)
In her mind there’s a hard line that separates the world before and the world now. A stark contrast, obvious to the naked eye. And yet when she looks back she struggles to find the exact point where that line stands, the moment where the world before ended and the world now began.
Maybe it would be easier if there was one. If change had happened by force, with spilled blood, with a confrontation he came out of victorious. At least it would be a tangible defeat staring back at her from the dark of her room as she gazes at the ceiling till the first hours of the morning.
Misty’s steps echo along the semi-deserted street. She walks fast, head lowered, the hood of a gray hoodie pulled over her hair. Not that long ago she would have been zigzagging through the crowd of trainers and passerbys looking at the shop windows and sitting at the tables of the open air cafes—Cerulean City was always a tourist attraction, busy and bursting with life. But now the tables are empty, and the few other civilians she crosses barely meet her glance before going about their way.
None of them have pokémon by their side. That’s the most glaring difference, once it truly sets in. Not the eerie silence or the rolled down shutters, or the watchful eyes of the surveillance cameras recording their movements from every corner.
(It’s for everyone’s safety, she can hear the echo of his pleasant-sounding voice in one of the many press statements. Just a temporary measure until we can properly understand and eradicate the problem.)
The whirring noise of the camera lens follows her movements as she cuts through an alley. She hastens her pace further, nails digging nervously into her palms.
Her glance catches briefly on the propaganda posters plastered along the wall. She knows the words on them without stopping to read: the reassuring, appealing promises of a safer and prosper future, printed in black and red. Some of the phrasing rings familiar, heard time and time again in what now feels like another life.
(—TO THE STARS ABOVE!)
The omnipresent capital letter persists in her peripheral vision as she keeps walking like an afterimage burned into her retinas. Clawing at her mind with the reminder that no one realizes what was happening until it was too late.
Her head pokes beyond the corner. Her heart jumps in her chest a bit as she sees the checkpoint between her and the pokémon center—it wasn’t there last time. But that was a couple weeks ago, and the surveillance got tightened further since. He issued another press statement to announce it, smiling like always and promising that this too would be temporary. She stalls for a few moments, her lip nervously caught between her teeth.
Four sentinels, she counts, all men. Right in front of the entrance, so no chance to avoid them by taking a different route.
Wind sweeps the alley sharply. A glimpse of the red capital letter sneers at her once more from a flier pushed against the tip of her sneaker before another gust snags it away.
She swallows. Her hands briefly hovers over her belt on instinct, closing in a fist as it finds only empty space. Then she takes the hood off her head and steps forward. The muscles of her shoulders draw tight as she advances towards the roadblock.
“Halt.”
The command is loud in the silence of the street. Misty stops. One of the four men looks her over, tall and heavyset, the shape of his biceps visible under the black uniform. Under the brim of his beret his eyes are a glacial blue.
“To protect the world from devastation,” he says, addressing her with the customary greeting they all use. The words grate in her mouth as she musters the answer.
“To unite all peoples within our nation.”
The sentinel gives a small nod of approval. “Your ID,” he commands, and Misty fishes in her pocket for it, her palms sweaty as she hands it over.
He studies it, one brow quirking upwards a bit. “A gym leader,” he notes, flipping it towards one of his peers so he can see as well. He doesn’t hand it back to her. Instead he holds it out of her reach, locking his glance into hers.
“What do you declare?”
Misty swallows again. Her throat is dry. “I need to get some healing potion from the pokémon center. One of the gym’s pokémon is sick and we’re out.”
The man looks at her, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you carrying any pokémon with you?”
She raises her eyebrows in what she hopes will look like surprise at the ridiculousness of the suggestion: “Of course not.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “Search her,” he says tipping his head towards one of the others; then turns back to her, a sneer behind the pretense of agreeableness. “It’s for everyone’s safety, of course.”
She holds his glance as the second man steps towards her. Gloved hands pat her waist and she feels her stomach twist like a wet rag in revulsion, but she stands still, holding her chin up in defiance. When the man bends down to check her ankles she sees the full party of six pokéballs at his belt. She sees the handle of a gun, too, hanging out of a holster. A real one, not like the tranquilizer guns they all carry strapped to their backs.
At the end of the street an old man in a fisherman hat turns the corner in her line of sight. Misty recognizes him: he runs a pokémon supply store a few blocks from the gym, though the last few times she walked past it a sign in the window said CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. His head turns briefly towards them and for a second their eyes meet; then he lowers his in a hurry, hastening his steps until he’s gone from sight.
A lump in her throat, Misty wonders if he’d do anything if for some reason she were to call for help. And then if she would in his place, and what she could even do without her pokémon and against all four of them.
“She’s clear,” the sentinel’s brisk voice announces after stringing her along a few moments still. He rights himself and takes a step back, but the other man’s icy glance doesn’t let her go yet. For a second she’s almost sure he can read the lie on her face. But he nods his head towards the pokémon center then, dismissing her.
“Go.”
She frowns with expectation. “My ID?”
“You can pick it up on the way back,” he replies curtly. He glances at the pokégear strapped to his wrist to check the time. “Twenty minutes max. Should be enough to get some potion.”
Misty presses her lips together. She knows that trying to argue probably wouldn’t do her any good, though, and after a second of hesitation she walks around the roadblock, the nails of her thumbs digging into her fists in frustrated impotence. She can feel the sentinel’s eyes on her back like darts.
Her pace picks up inadvertently as she leaves the checkpoint behind. Only once she’s put some distance between herself and them she takes a moment for the tension to leave her body in a shaky breath, her heart a little too loud in her temples.
A moment, not more. Her time’s already short enough as it is.
The glass doors of the pokémon center stand in front of her as she looks up, covered in red-black posters as well. She breathes in, then grabs the handles and pushes them open, stepping onto the beige tiled floor.
The unnatural silence hangs inside as well. Normally she would have walked into the chatter and cries of the journeying trainers and their pokémon, maybe the squeak of the wheels of a stretcher pushed by the Chansey nurses. But no trainers have been traveling for a while. The lobby is as empty as the cafe tables now, and the sound of her footsteps turns the head of the Nurse Joy sat behind the counter. Black scrubs in place of her pink ones and a red letter on her cap where a cross should be.
For a brief pause they look at each other across the lobby in silence. Nurse Joy doesn’t meet her with the greeting.
“Can I help you?” she asks instead, voice lowered to a slightly hushed tone.
Misty looks past the dark uniform and sees the face of the woman she considers a friend. The same woman she trusted for advice many times as she took the reins of the gym years ago, who always offered her kindness and understanding. She breathes in like she’s standing on the edge of the tall rocks of Cerulean Cape and takes a leap of faith.
“I need to speak to someone. I think you can help me.”
They leave behind the public videophones of the lobby. Instead she follows Nurse Joy past the counter and past the “STAFF ONLY” sign on the door behind it. The echo of their footsteps bounces between the walls of the corridor.
Nurse Joy doesn’t need to dial a number from the service phone in the back. She explained it to Misty once, in the time before now, on a day when she was lending a hand because a pod of beached Lapras had the pokémon center overworked: it’s an intranet that directly connects to every pokémon center in Kanto. How is that different from using the phone?, she asked, and Nurse Joy explained how it was faster and more efficient for emergencies—and also how the signal was encrypted to protect patients’ data and medical records in accordance with privacy laws.
The phone only rings briefly before they hear the soft click of someone picking up. The small screen lights up and the face of another nurse comes into view. She can’t see Misty where she’s standing, but Misty sees her, and the identical black uniform she’s got on.
“Pewter City pokémon center. To protect the world from devastation.”
“I need to consult with Doctor Peters,” says the woman stood near Misty, without wasting breath returning the greeting. “It’s urgent.”
The Pewter City nurse doesn’t ask questions, just nods and sets the phone down like it’s business as usual. It used to be, probably, before things changed and pokémon centers became largely empty and silent. From her spot with her back to the wall Misty watches her walk out of frame, impatiently nibbling at her lip.
Nurse Joy turns to hand her the receiver. “Here you go,” she says. “Just hang up once you’re done, like a regular landline.”
“Thank you.” For a second of pause their eyes meet as Misty’s fingers close around the device. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.”
“I figured I shouldn’t,” the woman assures her. Misty gives a grateful nod. She remembers something then, and urgently whips her head to follow her as she starts to turn to leave.
“Nurse?”
“Yes?” The woman stops.
“I need some healing potion. For later. I told those guys outside it was what I was coming here for.”
Nurse Joy tips her head promptly. “I’ll have it ready for you.”
Misty gives her another wordless thank you and turns back to the screen, drumming her nails nervously on the receiver while the woman’s footsteps fade behind her. Through some slight static she looks into a corridor much like the one she’s standing in, except empty. The sentinel’s voice urges her from the back of her mind as the seconds pile up: twenty minutes max.
The click of the phone being picked up again reaches her ear. A white labcoat steps in front of the frame; then the young man inside of it adjusts himself to the camera and pulls a pair of reading glasses out of his pocket. He slips them on and pauses, blinking at the screen.
“…Misty?”
She breathes out in a small sigh of relief. “Hi Brock. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Not like there’s much to do these days,” he says grimly. Then shakes his head a little, a crease forming at the center of his forehead. “But why are you calling me from the pokémon center?”
Misty’s teeth sink into the inside of her cheek. “I needed to talk to you about something. Something important.” She hesitates a bit, her hand tight around the receiver. “I wasn’t sure if—it’d be a good idea to call from the gym. I needed to be absolutely sure that no one would be listening. Nurse Joy once told me that this line is protected.”
She hasn’t stopped thinking of something Delia Ketchum said to her the last time they talked, about the sentinels that showed up at her door to ask about Ash. How they knew exactly how long it’d been since she last heard from him—something she couldn’t recall mentioning to anyone except in a phonecall with Professor Oak just days prior. Delia only sounded puzzled, but her words kept nagging at Misty’s mind for the rest of the conversation and after, in the background of every other thought. On the screen Brock’s eyebrows rise into arches.
“Smart,” he comments. His face darkens then, the lines of it drawing tauter. “It’s about what I think, isn’t it?”
She sighs out again. “Probably. I heard the latest news.”
“My family did too. I was at work but my brother told me earlier.”
For a second they look at each other, neither adding anything. He bows his head then, reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he slips off his glasses like he’s got an incoming headache. “I guess it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Have you already thought about what you’re going to do?”
She locks her eyes into his, firm. “I’m not going to give them my pokémon.”
“So are you thinking of joining?”
“I don’t want to do that either.”
Brock looks at her. “Then what? What’s the third option?”
“Fighting.” It rolls off her tongue effortlessly, with a fire she had been swallowing down for too long. “We need to do something, Brock.”
He lets out a small tense breath, like he both expected and feared her answer. “Fighting all of them?” he asks. “It’s you gym leaders and barely anyone else who still can. They have an army. You saw how easily they contained the protests last time.”
She did see. Tranquilizer guns against trainers already hesitant to battle after all that had happened. “It’s only going to get worse,” she retorts shaking her head. “There won’t be anyone left if we let them go through with this. We need to do something now or it’ll really be too late.”
Brock purses his lips thoughtfully and stalls for a moment, letting her words sink in. Misty looks at him.
“If all of us gym leaders refuse to cooperate and we really fight back this time—maybe that’ll do something,” she insists. “Maybe it could force them to take a step back.”
“Have you spoken to any of the others about it?” he asks. She bites her lip.
“Not yet. I wanted to hear your thoughts first.”
“Maybe it could work,” he says in another sigh. “Maybe not. I don’t know, Misty. I’ll talk to Forrest about it, see what he thinks.”
“We only have a week.”
“I know.”
“And I only have—” her glance catches on the digital clock on a corner of the screen and she counts quickly, trying to calculate how much time she’s spent already. “—another five minutes here, I think.”
“Huh?”
“I got stopped at a checkpoint on my way. I told them I was coming to the pokémon center to get some healing potion. They gave me twenty minutes.”
Brock’s forehead draws into a worried frown. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. They just searched me, I didn’t have any pokémon on me so they let me go. But I better get going before they decide to come and check what’s taking me so long.”
“Go then. I’ll talk to my brother and get back to you. Tomorrow? It was a good idea to use the pokémon center’s line. We can keep doing this.”
“I’ll try to make it.” She starts to put down the phone and then stops, her bottom lip catching between her teeth. She hesitates a moment. “Just another thing—you haven’t heard from Ash, have you?”
She knows the answer from the way his shoulders drop, before he even speaks. It’s what she expected, but her insides squeeze together all the same. “No. Neither have you, I suppose.”
“Yeah. I’m worried about him, Brock.”
“I know. So am I.” Brock lets his head hang for a second before looking back to her. “He’s Ash though. I’m sure he’s hanging in there, wherever he is.”
Misty’s nails dig into the plastic of the receiver. There’s sharper words on her tongue; part of her wants to say that she’s not just worried, that she’s angry with him for disappearing like this. For being nowhere to be found when someone like him could maybe make a difference. But she holds the fire in this time and breathes out her frustration, glancing towards the clock again.
“I need to go. See you tomorrow then. I’ll try to think of a way to get in touch with Erika and the others too in the meantime.”
Brock nods. “Be careful.”
Nurse Joy has readied a brown paper bag on the counter. She grabs it as she breezes by, only pausing for a second to meet the woman’s eyes and register her small nod; then speeds towards the door. Only as she crosses it she slows her pace to a walk, trying to steady her breath to conceal the haste of her last steps.
The sentinels’ eyes track her as she approaches the roadblock. The one who spoke to her earlier tips his head as she stops in front of them, her heartbeat again a little too loud in her ears.
“To protect the world from devastation.”
She lets out an irritated breath. “Haven’t we gone over that already?”
He reaches to rip the paper bag from her hand and opens it. “Looks like healing potion,” he confirms, after studying the content.
“I told you,” Misty can’t keep herself from snapping. She bites her tongue as the icy blue eyes of the sentinel lift to narrow at her.
He lifts his wrist to check his pokégear again. “Eighteen minutes,” he comments, raising his eyebrows. “Took you quite some time.”
She gives a little shrug. “You said I had twenty,” she remarks. “I stopped to have a chat with Nurse Joy. We’re good friends. Is that a crime?”
“Not yet,” he concedes. He stalls and Misty forces herself to hold his glance, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. Finally he lets out a scoff and reaches into his pocket to hand her her ID, along with the paper bag.
She takes both and shoves the ID back into the pocket of her shorts. “Can I go now?”
He tips his hat sarcastically in a nod. Misty lets a second pass. Then walks around the roadblock again, the men’s piercing glances on her back as the sound of her steps follows her in the empty street.
“Enjoy this last week at your gym,” comes in a sneer behind her. She freezes in her tracks for a second but doesn’t stop. She bows her head and leaves behind the roadblock, and the sentinels and their belts heavy with pokéballs and weapons, her nails digging into her palms until they leave marks.
***
(March 21, 2005)
She’s mopping the blue tiles of the hallway when the BREAKING NEWS flashing on the screen of the living room’s TV catches the corner of her eye. It’s late and her mind is half caught in going over her last match of the day and analyzing her pokémon’s performances; but she pauses, looking through the doorway as her brow slowly creases into a frown. A somber-faced news anchor mouths inaudible words, images of ambulances and police sirens behind her shoulders.
“Violet,” she calls, to her sister filing her acrylic nails on the couch. “Turn the volume up.”
Violet lifts her eyes from her manicure. “Huh?”
“The volume,” Misty repeats, nodding her head towards the TV. “I want to hear what happened.”
Her sister’s hand gropes the cushions for the remote. The news anchor’s voice suddenly floods the room as she unmutes.
« …still in shock at the unbelievable tragedy that unfolded today during the charity match expected to take place at the Indigo Stadium. The dynamic of the accident is still unclear, but from early reconstructions it would appear that one of the trainers lost control of his Salamence, which violently attacked the crowd. Updates are still coming in, but the provisional toll is four dead and eleven wounded. Only the prompt intervention of the stadium’s security guards prevented what could have been an even worse tragedy, as the rogue pokémon was shot down with tranquilizer darts. — »
Misty looks at the screen as a cold pit settles in her gut, her hands tight on the mop’s handle. Shaky images recorded with a pokégear’s camera show a blueish blur swooping into views at the crowd screams, cutting abruptly before the carnage. On the couch Violet has forgotten about her nails. A reporter stands in the crowd as the feed cuts to the stadium, her grasp white-knuckled around the microphone.
« Yes—this is Gabby Sakamoto, here with Elite Four member Ariana, who was present at the match as a special guest. Ariana—can you tell us anything about what happened in there? »
The redheaded woman answers collectedly, her distinctive composure intact even as the red-blue light of the police sirens reflect in her eyes and on the gold of her earrings, but Misty tunes her out, struggling to move on from the news anchor’s words. Never in her eighteen years of life she’s heard of something like this happening. It feels like a crack spreading suddenly under her feet, leaving the ground unstable as she stares at the flashing lights.
***
She doesn’t expect Daisy to be waiting for her at the door, the lines of her face taut at the edges. She’s ushered in after barely having had the time to step inside and the door shut behind her, deadbolt and all, and her sister’s hands close around her shoulders tight with worry.
“Where have you been?”
Misty blinks. “At the pokémon center. Why, what’s happening?”
She can hear the muffled noise of the TV coming from the living room. She drops the paper bag with the useless healing potion on a chair, instinctively craning her neck towards the sound in an attempt to make out something.
“They said on the news that Lt. Surge got arrested.”
Daisy’s words hit her like a cold shower, snagging her attention back. “What do you mean arrested? For what?”
“Something about dangerous conduct. They were talking about it just now.” Daisy’s fingers grab hold of a strand of her golden hair and roll it nervously. “They encouraged people to stay inside, in case like—this causes some unrest and something else happens. Some other accident like the last time there were protests. I didn’t know where you went and I thought maybe—”
Her voice trails off. Misty swallows, her throat suddenly dry. She knows Surge: she wouldn’t put it past him to act irresponsibly. She hasn’t forgotten the windows of his gym exploding during his match with Ash all those years ago, and she knows that similar shenanigans have cost him a slap on the wrist from the League a couple of times. But he’s still not really the type to stir up trouble without a reason, even if his reasons are sometimes stupid like wanting to show some rookie trainer who’s boss.
She also knows he’s just hotheaded enough that he could react to the latest news with a hell no.
She walks around Daisy and towards the living room with a breath half held in her lungs. The broadcast has already moved on from the news, though, and is now showing one of the PSAs asking for everyone’s cooperation for a safer tomorrow, the red letter on a seal in the corner. Violet’s head turns from the couch she’s sitting on with Lily as they hear her walk in.
“There she is,” she comments. She looks relieved as well, but she disguises it in a headshake. “I knew she was probably around.”
Misty reaches them, taking off her hoodie to toss it over the couch’s armrest. “What did they say?”
“You mean about Surge?” Violet’s shoulders lift in a small shrug. “That he was taken into custody after ignoring the restrictions. Not much else.”
A vague sinking feeling sets in Misty’s stomach. Surge isn’t a weak trainer. He’s also a hulking mountain of a man—whatever happened it’s hard to imagine him complying without putting up a fight. But if he did it must have been a fight he lost.
“They didn’t say what he did?”
“Just that. It was so weird, like—why would he?”
Misty presses her lips together, her thoughts racing over the noise of the TV. It’s Lily’s voice that rises after a few moments, hesitantly like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.
“Do you think that maybe—it was because he refused to do what they want?”
Misty’s eyes dart to her as she echoes the same suspicion that was nagging at her mind. Violet turns as well, her penciled eyebrows drawing into a frown.
“You think they’d arrest him for that? A gym leader?”
Lily shrugs: “Why not, I mean it’s not like they haven’t arrested other people before.”
Violet ponders about it for a second. “Nah,” she says then. She grabs the remote and mutes the TV, then reaches for one of the fashion magazines on the coffee table as if to shut off the conversation. “I’m sure it was like some misunderstanding or something. They’ll probably have cleared things up by tomorrow.”
“Yeah but if it was,” Lily insists. “That means we’re gonna have to like—join them, doesn’t it?”
“We won’t,” Misty stops them. Lily looks at her.
“But what do we do then? Do we give them our pokémon? If we don’t they could just arrest us too.”
Misty hesitates. But she looks into her sister’s eyes and tries to show a resolve she’s not fully sure she has. “They won’t. I’m taking care of it.”
“Taking care of it how?”
She turns to meet Daisy’s worried glance. Her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek a bit. At the corner of her eye the TV screen switches to an advert showing images of an orderly Kanto, black uniforms among the crowd. She doesn’t have to look to know that their smiles look fake like the tone of the sentinel’s voice when he said for everyone’s safety, of course.
Her nails dig angrily into her palm again, retracing familiar marks.
“Somehow. Just trust me.”
***
(May 16, 2005)
The recently elected president of the Pokémon League appears on TV for a press statement the day after Kanto is shaken by another inexplicable tragedy.
It’s the third of its kind in less than two months. For weeks now every newscast and talk show seemed to talk about nothing else whenever the TV was on, dissecting every aspect of the accidents and inviting pokémon expert after pokémon expert to try and give an explanation to the aggressions and answer the questions: how do we know if it’s going to happen again? Are we safe?
Professor Oak made an appearance too. Looking like he hadn’t slept in several days, he admitted that he’d never encountered something like this in all his years of studying pokémon behavior, especially happening repeatedly over such a short period of time and in seemingly unrelated circumstances. He did not have the answers.
The president opens his speech with composure, offering his condolences for the lives lost. He speaks looking directly into the camera, with an assuring presence that beckons attention—the same that won him the Elite Four’s unanimous vote among the candidates that stepped up after the former president resigned, unable to take the heat as people looked to the Pokémon League for guidance.
« The Pokémon League cannot stand and watch after senseless tragedies like these, » he tells to the reporters’ microphones and to millions of watchers all over Kanto. « Therefore, in the face of this latest even more devastating loss, we are announcing precautionary measures we will be establishing with immediate effect, trusting in everyone’s cooperation. For the time being, we’re barring any pokémon battles official or unofficial from taking place. »
It’s something that some of the experts had been suggesting, but hearing it come into effect for real feels destabilizing all the same. As if the crack under her feet spread further, leaving her in even more precarious balance.
“Any pokémon battles? Does that mean like, our gym too?” Lily puts in with a frown. Daisy hushes her.
“Let us hear.”
« —this includes gym battles, Elite Four challenges, any secondary competitions and even casual sparring between trainers, » the president is saying. « Trainers looking to participate in the upcoming Indigo Conference need not worry, as the start of the competition will be appropriately delayed to account for the lost time. We’re also asking everyone to refrain from letting your pokémon outside their pokéballs in urban setting, with the exception of pokémon centers and your private homes. »
Misty swallows. It sounds sensible enough, with the terrible images of the news reports still burned into her eyes; but it doesn’t make the lump in her throat any smaller.
On the TV screen the president gives a reassuring smile, looking right into their eyes.
« It’s for everyone’s safety, » he assures them, and for some reason the hair at the back of Misty’s neck stands on ends a little. « Just a temporary measure until we can properly understand and eradicate the problem.
You don’t have to worry. »
***
She stares at the ceiling at night gripped by her thoughts, feeling like she’s sinking in quicksand.
Surge out of commission means one less person she can count on. Her already shaky plan feels even more laughable now, weakened already before she even managed to set it in motion. And if her and Lily’s suspicion is right and he was arrested for refusing to comply she wonders if the outcome would be any different if she or Erika or Forrest were to do the same, and if their attempt wouldn’t just be as easily repressed as his was. Her mind goes to the weapon she saw at the sentinel’s belt.
The numbers of the digital clock on her nightstand turn from 1:59 to 2:00. She breathes out in a sigh and rolls over to her side, still not managing to stop staring at the dark.
A sudden noise comes from the window behind her. It sounds like knocking, and she startles and props herself up on her elbow, her heart suddenly in her throat.
It’s too dark to make out anything outside. All that looks back at her from the window is the vague shadow of her reflection, outlined by the faint greenish glow of the clock. She’s half wondering if she’s somehow imagined it when the sound comes again, slightly louder and more urgent this time.
She blinks. Slowly, she reaches under her pillow until her hand closes around the familiar shape of Staryu’s pokéball, kept close even if she’s not supposed to—the PSAs advise to store them at a safe distance. She pushes her blankets aside to stand, eyes fixed on the window as her bare feet find the cold tiles of the floor.
There’s a rustling outside. Then the knocking, a third time, and she swallows and finds the pokéball’s release button under her thumb. She covers the few steps through the room quickly and flattens herself against the wall.
She still can’t see anything as she attempts to squint through the blinds and the dark. She gingerly closes one hand on the knob and hesitates a moment still, a breath half held in her throat. Then swings it open at once, letting in the chilly night air to bite her arms.
It takes her a moment to process the shape of the dragon hovering over the slope of the gym’s roof, orange wings spread against the starry sky. Then the trainer sitting on its back.
Her breath pauses in her chest.
“Finally,” he’s got the nerve to say. Like he hasn’t been missing in action for nearly three months. Like she hasn’t been worrying herself sick over his complete radio silence, like she hasn’t had to stop herself from dissecting every possible horrible thing that could have happened to him over and over again. Dead, hurt, captured for who knows what reason. Arrested like Surge.
“…Ash?”
“Right,” he says. She blinks, her mind still half tangled in disbelief.
“They could see you—there’s security cameras,” is what she manages to blurt out, hissing under her breath. He shrugs.
“Yeah, but they don’t record this far up. Guess they didn’t really account for people flying.”
Misty’s hands suddenly itch with the urge to slam the window shut in his face. She doesn’t, and instead closes them into fists and stares at him, defiantly sat atop Charizard with Pikachu on his shoulder like nothing has changed at all.
“Where have you been?! No—wait, come inside first. Do you know what could happen if someone sees you?!”
and if someone sees me talking to you. She moves away from the window to make way and he hops off Charizard to dangle his feet in, grunting as he bumps his head against the blinds in the dark. He reaches towards his belt and the dragon disappears in its pokéball in a red flash. She closes the window after them, panes and blinds, her heart rushing a little too fast in her throat as she makes sure no one could possibly glance in.
Her hand gropes for the switch on the wall. They stare at each other for a beat as light floods the room. She vaguely registers the stubble lining his cheeks and the wear of his clothes, with at least a thousand questions boiling on her tongue. Then he draws an eager breath, a determined spark alit in his eyes.
“I have a plan,” he says like he’s picking up a conversation they had five minutes ago and not months. Misty blinks.
“What plan?” She doesn’t leave him the time to answer and shakes her head. “Where have you been all this time? Why are you at my window in the middle of the night?!”
His lips purse briefly like he’s unsure which question to start from. “Well, around Kanto, and because—”
“What do you mean around Kanto? Doing what?”
“I’ll tell you if you let me explain,” he snaps. “I needed to figure something out, okay? I told you, I have a plan.”
“A plan,” she repeats. Her nostrils flare out in anger as she looks at him, alive and in front of her in one piece. “And in all this time you were—around Kanto figuring it out, it never once crossed your mind to get in touch with me, or Brock, or your mom and let us know what you were doing? Do you know how worried we’ve been?!”
The volume of her voice spikes and she forces it down, reminding herself of her sisters sleeping at the other end of the hallway. “I didn’t have a lot of time to spare,” he retorts, irritation flaring up in his words as well. “Plus I wasn’t sure it’d be such a great idea, you know? I didn’t wanna risk giving away where I was.”
“You could have found a way! It’s been three months, you could have been dead for all we knew!”
A tinge of guilt crosses his eyes for a second like it only occurred to him now that he left them all with nothing for that long. Before he can find a remark Pikachu hops down from his shoulder and reaches her, nuzzling her leg to demand some of her attention to himself.
“Chuu.”
Misty breathes out some of her frustration in a forceful exhale. She crouches down despite the angry static crackling along her nerves and gives the pokémon’s head a thorough scritch. The warmth of his body and the scratchy texture of his fur ground her a little as her fingers run through it.
“Hey Pika-pal,” she greets him in a sigh. The fury raging in her chest doesn’t give way, but some much needed relief blossoms beyond it, allowing her lungs to expand fully in a breath at last.
She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looks back to Ash. She takes note of his presence wholly, like she’s seeing him now for the first time, down to his muddy sneakers leaving marks on her carpet.
Three months of nothing and now he’s there like nothing happened.
“Things have been getting even worse since you’ve been gone, you knew that?” she tells him, the words sharp and almost accusatory on her tongue. Ash sighs out some.
“Yeah, caught wind of it. I saw more sentinels around too, I had to wait till it got dark to find a way into the city.” He stretches his shoulders a bit, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck like it’s sore. His eyes fall on the pokéball still in her hand. “You still have your pokémon though, right?”
She glances down at it and stands, setting it aside on her drawer. “Yeah, well. Not for long maybe.”
“What do you mean?” he asks with a frown. She turns back to him.
“They announced a new restriction just today. They’re extending the ownership ban to gym leaders as well. We’ve got a week to decide, then we can keep our license if we agree to join the operation and work with them or else lose our position and have to turn our pokémon in like everyone else.”
Saying it out loud brings the gravity of it back to her after his sudden reappearance had momentarily bumped it to the back of her mind, and she swallows, feeling her breath cut short like there’s a weight closing down on her. Ash is silent for a second, his brow crumpling further as he takes her words in.
“Join them,” he repeats. “That’s a smart move. So they can control the gyms as well without taking them by force.”
“Yeah, I think you nailed it,” she sighs. Ash looks at her.
“You’re not thinking of doing it, are you?”
“I’m not. But I don’t want to give them my pokémon either.”
“And you won’t,” he promises. “So we’ve got a week then. That’s enough to get my plan going.”
“What plan?” The realization that she still doesn’t have answers to any of her questions riles her up again. “What have you been doing all this time?”
“I needed to take a good look at things first,” he tells her. “To know how many of them there are and what could work against them all. But I have an idea now. I know what I’m going to do—I just need to convince people, we can still fight them if we really join forces.”
Misty frowns, failing to follow his eager words. She wants to ask what the hell he’s talking about; but she stops herself with the words still on her tongue, her glance catching again on his stubble and beat up clothes and the way his shoulders seem weighed down by exhaustion. She shakes her head tightening her jaw.
“How long have you been on the road?” comes out of her instead. Ash blinks.
“Uh—weeks? Not sure, I mean, I haven’t really stopped anywhere for long.”
Misty lets out another sigh. “Let me get you something to eat,” she bargains, fighting to keep the furious wave trying to rise up inside her at bay. “You’re going to sit down and explain calmly where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. And then you can take a shower and get a couple hours of sleep if you need them. As long as you’re out of here without anyone seeing you.”
He looks unsure for a moment, like he doesn’t want to waste time. But he doesn’t manage to hold back a resigned exhale and she sees that he really is exhausted, maybe even more than she thought.
“Yeah, okay. Maybe that’s not a bad plan.”
He explains his plan to her over a bowl of microwaved instant ramen and a can of pokémon food for Pikachu. She listens leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over the faded Psyduck print of her pajamas.
“You really think that’s going to work?” she asks with a hint of skepticism. He stuffs another mouthful in and nods.
“Hm-hmm. I’ve been taking a look at things all around Kanto. There’s a lot of those sentinels everywhere, far more than we could fight on our own, but not everyone listened to them, you knew that? There’s still people who didn’t turn in their pokémon. Some are hiding out in the wilderness but there’s some in the cities too, just keeping them hidden. I’ve been talking to people here and there. If we all join forces I’m sure it can work.”
She feels the flame that had been somewhat smothered by the news of Surge’s arrest reignite a little at that information. For a moment she’s silent, processing it; then shakes her head a bit.
“And you think that’ll be enough to convince them? They have everything to lose.”
Ash lifts his shoulders in a small shrug. “I’m sure a lot of them would fight if they felt there was a chance. People aren’t stupid, some have got to suspect this isn’t just about safety at this point. And if I do this right I’m sure the news is gonna spread fast enough.”
Misty presses her lips together. “There were protests after they made trainers turn in their pokémon,” she tells him after a moment. “Some tried to fight but they didn’t go far, most people lost heart after another accident happened. After that it didn’t take much for them to get things back under control.”
Even some members of the Elite Four joined the outcry believing the crackdown to be excessive. That was until the news spread that in Viridian City a Dragonite escaped its trainer’s control and fired a hyper beam at the crowd protesting, killing a woman on the spot and causing at stampede that resulted in three more people trampled to death among many injuries. The crowds dispelled pretty quickly after that and the sentinels’ dart gun did the rest. Ash mulls over her words for a second, chewing on another bite.
“Yeah,” he says then, “but what if nothing like that happened this time.”
“How do you know it won’t?”
“These accidents.” He fishes some noodles out of the bowl. “There’s something about them that doesn’t convince me.”
“What do you mean?” she asks arching her eyebrows. Ash looks at her.
“Well aside from the fact that I don’t know why pokémon would just do that—those people that are out there hiding with their pokémon, I’ve talked to some of them. They’re living their life like always. It doesn’t seem like they’ve had anything happen. Isn’t that kinda strange?”
She blinks. “What are you saying? That—they’ve been causing all these accidents on purpose? How would they even do that?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs a bit before diving back into his ramen. “I’m just saying it’s strange.”
She lets his words sink in for a few moments, her thoughts loud in the silence of the sleeping gym. She felt certain they used the accidents to their advantage in their rise to power, of course, but until now she thought they saw the opportunity and built upon it. Even now she struggles to see a possible connection, with the accidents happening in so many unrelated circumstances. Her breath escapes her lungs in a sigh.
“There’s something else that might discourage people.”
He frowns: “What?”
“Surge got arrested today. They said it on the news. They didn’t say what he did exactly, but—I have a feeling he didn’t agree with the new restriction.”
Ash swallows hard, his confidence seeming to falter for a blink. “It’s gonna be different if we’re all together,” he says though, finding it again quickly. “They can’t arrest everyone.”
“They could do worse.” She looks him in the eyes. “They carry weapons now. Real ones, not just the dart guns. The kind meant to kill people.”
“They won’t dare. Then the whole safety thing wouldn’t hold any water anymore.”
“Even if they don’t knowing that they might could make people not want to risk it.”
His forehead crumples for a moment. “It won’t,” he insists though. He lifts the bowl to his mouth and tilts his head back to get the last of the broth before setting it back down. “I’m sure I can convince them, they’ll trust me. I’m the Champion.”
Misty’s eyebrows shoot up a little at the overconfident glint in his eyes. She wants to say that she’s not sure if that means anything anymore, like everything else that belongs to the life before. Instead she bows her head in a small scoff before nodding towards the empty bowl.
“Do you want some more?”
He shakes his head. “I’m good.”
She picks it up without commenting and sticks it in the sink. As she turns the knob and watches it fill with water her teeth plant themselves into the inside of her cheek, holding the words in until she can’t anymore.
She closes the water and turns. “I wasn’t the only one wondering where you were, you know?”
“Huh?”
“People wondered why—in such a time of crisis for Kanto, the Champion was nowhere to be found.”
She’s asked herself if the protests would have persisted if he’d been there spearheading them. His determination and his fire always had a way of shining through and moving consciences even against the most desperate of odds, even when he was just the rookie trainer Ash Ketchum from the town of Pallet. Now he’s someone people look up to by the thousands, the boy who conquered the Kanto League with a tiny Pikachu and a smile on his face a few months short of turning eighteen.
They look at each other across the table, in a silence that feels suddenly charged. “Including you?” he asks after a long moment, his brown eyes looking into hers.
Misty’s nails bite her palms a little. “You vanished without a word,” she reminds him instead of giving a straight answer, and keeps half of the sentence to herself: right when I expected you to be the first in line to fight. “You didn’t tell me or anyone else what you were planning. I spent the last three months worrying about you!”
“I didn’t have a plan at first,” he retorts, frowning. “When they said they were taking people’s pokémon I knew it was crossing a line and I had to do something. But I didn’t know what when so many people believed them! I needed to know more first. And I had to lie low or it would have been a lot harder to get around with Pikachu and the rest of my pokémon.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know any of that! All I knew is that you disappeared.”
Pikachu lifts his head from his bowl to look from one to the other as they glare across the room. She shaker her head. “They noticed too, you knew that?” she asks. “The Champion just vanishing into thin air isn’t something that doesn’t draw attention. I talked to your mom a couple weeks ago, she said that a group of sentinels showed up at her door and asked a lot of questions about you.”
The cross look on Ash’s face lifts to leave way to worry. “Was she okay?”
“Yeah. But they suspect you’ve been up to something.”
He reflects on it for a moment, pursing his lips. Then shrugs. “If they went to my mom it means they have no idea where I was,” he downplays. He looks back to her then and pauses, and at once it’s like something in his eyes shifted, searching her for something to grasp and hold onto beyond her anger. Suddenly he looks younger than his eighteen years, even under the stubble framing his face.
“Listen,” he starts. There’s a trepidation in his voice and she realizes: he looks scared, just a little. “I need to know if you’ll be with me for this. That’s why I came here first. I can convince more people but—I need to know if I can count on you.”
Misty clenches her jaw but something in her chest gives a little, softening under the defensive wall she put forward. She leans back against the kitchen counter with another sigh. The worry and confusion he left her with for the past two months don’t sting any less, but her heart knows the answer without hesitation, even if for a couple moments longer she leaves him to marinate in uncertainty.
“You know the answer is yes.”
His expression perks up. “Great,” he says. “It’s gonna work. We’ll sort things out with Surge too, I’m sure there’s some way we can get to him and get him out once we get this going. I need to speak to Brock too, and Gary. The more people we have on our side the better. Just the time to get to Pewter and Pallet and—”
“I can talk to Brock,” she stops him. “He still works at the pokémon center in Pewter. I figured out I can contact him from the one here, I think it’s safe.”
“You’d do that?”
She looks at him and understands his fear. The fire she swallowed down for too long though burns still, and she listens to the roar of the flames in the quiet of the kitchen. She’s taking care of it, like she told her sisters.
“Of course.”
***
“At least he’s okay,” Brock sighs from the videophone screen. “Where is he now?”
“He left before dawn. He said he’d be heading to Pallet to speak with Gary and then to the Indigo Plateau. Brock—you and Forrest will be with us, right?”
His face looks slightly pained through the faint static, its lines tense, but he nods. “You know I couldn’t say no,” he answers. But she can see hesitation as he looks her in the eyes. “You both realize this is a huge risk though, do you?”
It’s not like she hasn’t bitten the inside of her cheek bloody going over every possible outcome in her mind. She swallows but holds Brock’s glance.
“Yeah, well. It’s the best idea we’ve got, do you have something better? Preferably before the week is over.”
His lips purse for a second. “What if—we could reach for help outside of Kanto?” he tries suggesting. “I’m not sure how much people know of what’s going on here. It wouldn’t surprise me to know it’s a better picture than reality. But there’s got to be plenty of people Ash knows who’d be willing to help if they knew.”
“I thought of that too. So did Ash. But he said he’s been at the borders and there’s even more soldiers guarding them than he imagined. Even if he could sneak out, or we could figure out how to contact people without getting caught—there’s not much they can do if they can’t even get in.”
They look at each other through the screen in the silence of the pokémon center’s hallway. “I really think this is the best shot we’ve got, Brock,” she insists. “We need to get people to fight back here.”
“Enough people do trust him,” he reminds her, like she doesn’t know already. “They might think these methods are harsh but they still believe it’s really for everyone’s safety. Can’t really blame them after everything that’s happened.”
“Yeah—and they’ll keep believing it if nothing changes,” she retorts. She shakes her head, looking him in the eyes still. “It didn’t take much to put an end to the protests because people are scared. But maybe Ash’s example can change that.”
Brock sighs. “It could still end very badly, even if he does manage to be convincing enough.”
“Maybe, but we’ll never know unless we try.”
“I’m just making sure you know what this could entail.” Brock’s glance is serious as he looks at her from the screen. “I know you trust Ash. I do too—I want to. But this might be beyond him too.”
“I know,” she insists. “But what alternative do we have, Brock? We’ve let this go on long enough. We need to do something.”
He doesn’t have an answer. Misty lets out a sigh, tormenting the phone cord between her fingers.
“If only I could think of a safe way to get in touch with Erika and the others too I could let them in on the plan and make sure they’ll back us. It’d take too long for Ash to fly to everyone. We don’t have enough time.”
“Erika will be ready to back you even without warning, I’m sure. The others too probably.”
“Yeah. I just wish I could talk to them.”
Her eyes fall on the clock in the corner and she hesitates a second, biting her lip. Then sighs again. “I’d better go now. The sentinels were even more suspicious to see me back here today. We can count on you, then, yeah?”
She looks back to him with expectation. Brock resigns himself to a nod.
“You can.”
They exchange a quick goodbye and hang up. She watches the screen go dark, then turns to leave.
Her breath snags in her throat as she makes out the silhouette of a person at the end of the hallway.
Recognizing Nurse Joy’s scrubs and hair loops isn’t enough to halt the sudden rush of her heart. She chose to trust her but now she wonders to what extent she really can and how long she’s been standing there, scrambling to think of a plausible justification.
They look at each other for what feels like an interminable moment. Then the woman takes a small step forward.
“I’m sorry,” she tells her. “I was getting some supplies from the back and I couldn’t help hearing some of you conversation.”
“How much of it?” Misty inquires. Her voice comes out a little hoarse. Nurse Joy raises her hands apologetically.
“Only the last part.” She steps another cautious step closer, coming under full light. Her face looks gentle. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not going to report you or Doctor Peters or anything. I want to help.”
Misty studies her expression, quirking one eyebrow. “Help how?”
“I heard you don’t know how to contact the other gym leaders safely. I can get you in touch with them.”
Misty is silent for a second. “How?” she asks then, her heartbeat a low rumble in her ears still.
Nurse Joy stops a few steps from her, clasping her hands over her black skirt. “Through the other Joys. There’s one of us for every town in Kanto.”
Silence hangs for a few moments again. “I thought you only heard the last part,” Misty says. “How do you know what intentions I have?”
“You came here yesterday right after they announced the restriction and asked to use the pokémon center’s protected line to speak to someone. I figured that whatever you had in mind was probably something those guys in black outside wouldn’t approve of.” A faint glimpse of a smile pulls at the corners of Nurse Joy’s lips, briefly. “Whatever your intentions are exactly—I’m on your side. Let me help you.”
Misty takes a small breath, the tension in her body easing a little. “It’s—it’s not that I don’t trust you,” she tells her. Her glance lingers on the black scrubs, the way the Pewter City nurse answered the phone with the greeting coming back to mind. “But the other Joys—”
“I know my sisters and colleagues,” the woman says. “I can vouch for them. None of them agree with this. They may have made us wear these uniforms and promise loyalty, but as nurses we’ve vowed to help pokémon first. That will always be our first priority. And this isn’t it, not anymore at least. There’s got to be another solution, even after all those terrible accidents.”
But you’ve all complied so far, some part of Misty wants to retort, but she bites down on her lip and stops herself: so have you. So has everyone. Nurse Joy looks at her.
“If you trust me with a message I can contact the other Joys through the intranet and have it delivered to the gym leaders, or whoever else you need it to,” she says, nodding her head towards the videophone behind her. “We know how to be discreet. We won’t raise suspicions.”
Misty hesitates. But a hopeful spark lights up in her chest at the thought of how useful a tool what the woman is suggesting could be.
There’s one of us for every town in Kanto.
“Think about it if you need to,” Nurse Joy offers. “I’ll be here.”
***
(September 21, 2005)
The treetops open and the skyline of the Indigo Plateau comes into view, with the stadium at the center and the roofs of the Pokémon League Village surrounding it. On top of the hill behind them the imposing building where he faced the Elite Four and Lance. It feels like forever ago when it was less than a year, but the place looks largely unchanged except for one thing. The flagpoles along the stone staircase flying the black and red of the operation.
Ash stalls Charizard in the air. He releases some exhaustion in a long exhale, then claws at his palms to keep himself awake and lucid. The days of flight from Cerulean to Pallet and from Pallet to the capital weigh down on his muscles adding to the almost three months of nonstop travel, but he doesn’t have time to rest. Not with the end of the week this close.
He turns to meet Pikachu’s eyes. They exchange a nod, then he draws a tense breath and pushes Charizard forward.
They fly low, trying to keep out of sight as they circle the city. There’s a checkpoint guarding every point of access. He can’t tell from that distance if they have weapons like Misty told him, but he can see their numbers, higher than in Cerulean. Unsurprising when in one of these building is the President’s residence.
They retreat between the trees after their recon. In Cerulean he found a way in from the coastline, after the lights of the city dimmed for the night; here maybe he can do the same from the hillside, where the treetops are dense and tall all the way down to the city’s perimeter. He’ll still have to fly past the roadblocks, but at least that’ll give him the advantage of not being seen approaching.
Charizard’s paws touch the forest floor. They won’t have to wait long—the sun is already low on the horizon. He watches it settle between the hilltops and turn the sky orange through the canopy of branches that shields them, accompanied by the loud rush of his heart.
Once it gets dark enough he swallows, finding his throat dry. He reaches instinctively towards the pokéballs at his belt and turns to find Pikachu’s eyes again. “Alright, let’s do this,” he mutters under his breath, before spurring Charizard back into flight.
They remain close to the ground, zigzagging between the trees. When they emerge from them again the city is ahead of them at the bottom of the hill’s slope, the group of sentinels guarding one of the checkpoints close enough to see the dart guns strapped to their backs.
( I’m gonna confront them, he told Misty as he dove into the bowl of instant ramen. )
He waits for them to have their backs turned on him. Then directs Charizard in a swift leap towards one of the buildings ahead, past the roadblock and the sentinels’ heads. The dragon’s talons grasp the ledge of the roof and there they go still, Charizard’s wings half raised to shield the trainer and the smaller pokémon on its back, Ash’s breath held in his lungs. He listens to the silence of the street below, his heart louder still.
They didn’t see them. He lets his breath go slowly, a slight tremble in his knees clasped around the dragon’s back. He doesn’t have time for hesitation: he reaches for the fire of determination that drove him here and quietly nudges Charizard into flight again, diving quickly behind the building’s corner. The pokémon’s shadow follows them, an opaque shape on the asphalt of the empty street.
He remembers the layout of the city from the times he’s been here before. As his eyes find the stadium the image of it as he saw it the last time pops up in his mind, flooded in the glare of the spotlights, superimposing over the dark silhouette he sees now looming beyond the rooftops. He grits his teeth as they glide forward.
“Halt!”
He spins around with his heart suddenly in his throat. He didn’t see a second checkpoint at an intersection. From the street below them four sentinels look at him as they draw their dart guns, eyes widening in shock as recognition sinks in.
“Isn’t that—”
“Champion Ash Ketchum?!”
( Confront them? That’s it? That’s the plan it took you three months to come up with? )
His hand rushes to unhook one of the pokéballs at his belt, Pikachu’s cheeks readily crackling with sparks. The guns fire and they dribble to the side, narrowly avoiding the barrage of tranquilizer darts; and Ash’s thumb finds the pokéball’s release button to unleash the pokémon in a red flash. Pikachu leaps from his shoulder to the shape solidifying in the air.
“Go Pikachu, Staraptor! You know what to do!”
The bird pokémon plunges with Pikachu on its back diving under another hail of darts. A blast of electricity explodes at the sentinels as soon as they’re at closer range, stunning two of them while the other two dive for cover. A blink and Staraptor’s risen back up in the air, Pikachu’s familiar weight back on Ash’s shoulder while one of the men aims his dart gun at them and the other scrambles to get back to his feet.
“Surrender at once!”
Charizard’s mouth opens in a flamethrower. The street is painted in a flash of orange light, the gun half-melted in the sentinel’s hands; but the blast momentarily obscures the other and before Ash has got the time to realize it there’s the sound of another gun going off. He sees the dart flying out of the smoke from the corner of his eye.
It’s blocked by Staraptor’s promptly outstretched wing before it can hit Charizard. Its pained screech snatches Ash’s breath from his lungs.
Staraptor sways, losing altitude before plummeting to the ground. The red flash of Ash’s pokéball catches it before it hits the asphalt. Jaw clenched, Ash wastes no time and pushes Charizard in a rapid dive as the man fires again, missing them by inches.
“Thunderbolt again, Pikachu, quick!”
A blinding explosion sweeps the street. They rise back above the rooftops leaving behind four unconscious sentinels and their weapons scattered on the asphalt. Ash’s eyes scour the area below them, his heart deafening in his temples.
It looks like the brawl didn’t reach anyone’s ears. He lets a few moments pass to be sure, for once grateful for the echoing emptiness of the city, then looks down at Staraptor’s pokéball still clasped in his hand. He hooks it back to his belt with an angry tremble in his fist.
They got out of that quick enough but he can’t waste any more time now. He needs to be fast before one of them wakes up and gives the alarm.
Charizard turns in the direction of the stadium. Cautious but swift they fly past the stretch of rooftops before it, diving behind a few corners to stay out of sight from the checkpoints and the security cameras.
A last dash and they’re past the stadium’s walls. Past the rows of seats of the stands.
They land at the center of the arena, raising a small cloud of dust from the long-untrodden ground. He stalls for a moment as his glance runs over the jarringly empty stands: the last time he was here they were packed with people and pokémon, their cheers loud enough to be heard for miles as he lifted the trophy above his head. For a second he can almost hear them still, a faint echo of something past.
He balls his hands into determined fists and looks around more closely, searching for the fuse box that controls the lighting system. Luckily it doesn’t take long to spot it.
His steps echo in the silence as he hops off Charizard. In front of the box he stops. He takes a long breath before prying it open, his pulse louder still. His hand closes around the lever of the switch.
It’s gotta do something, he repeats to himself. It needs to.
“Ready to rumble, buddy?” he whispers, turning to meet Pikachu’s eyes one more time. Pikachu nods.
The glare of the spotlights fills the stadium at once as he flips the lever, blinding and sudden after the semi-darkness their eyes had gotten accustomed to. Bright enough to be seen from near anywhere in the city, he hopes. He climbs back on Charizard and gives it a couple minutes' time for people to start noticing, their breaths a little shaky now.
Some muffled commotion begins to rise from outside. He clenches his teeth and spurs Charizard towards the sky.
They emerge in the beacon of light of the stadium in front of a small crowd with their noses turned upwards. Among them he sees the black of the sentinels’ uniforms, but several others look like civilians, no doubt drawn out of their houses by curiosity over what’s going on. There’s gasping as he comes into view.
Some draw back at the sight of a pokémon, the barrel of several dart guns promptly raising towards them. Some stay though, and among them he spots the lights of a few pokégears, aiming towards him to record whatever is about to happen. Like he hoped.
He breathes in while below the sentinels try to contain the crowd.
( I’m gonna do it somewhere public. Somewhere where lots of people will see. )
(June 22, 2005)
The President’s face grows more somber with every appearance, though he never loses that assuring air that makes people listen to what he has to say like he’s speaking to them directly.
He seems to grow in importance too as his voice becomes a familiar one and the restrictions he put in place unavoidably entangled with everyday life. His title sounds like it’s spelled with a capital letter as the news anchor reads it, tuning into his latest statement.
« With heavy hearts, we must acknowledge the fact that the measures we’ve taken so far haven’t been enough to contain the problem, » he says to the microphones, looking into the camera like always. Something stands out this time: he doesn’t have his Persian with him. Usually it was inseparable from him in all his public appearances, curled at his feet or looming in the back of the frame. « The restrictions on battles and pokémon carry seemed to help at first, but they’ve now proven insufficient. »
Silence hangs in the pause that follows his words. His face darkens as he looks in the camera still. « As you’ve probably learned from the news, over the past days we’ve become aware of unsanctioned battling still taking place on our territory despite the guidelines. And one of these illegal battles has now resulted in an accident that claimed three more lives. »
“I’m challenging you!” Ash raises his voice towards the sentinels below. “I am Ash Ketchum, Kanto’s Champion! And I don’t stand for what you’re doing!”
The guns don’t fire yet—he’s pretty sure he’s too high up for their range. One of the sentinels lifts a megaphone to address him.
“This is a violation of the safety measures! Cease and turn in your pokémon at once!”
“I won’t!” he yells back. “My pokémon aren’t a danger, I know it! You have no right to them! You have no right to take anyone’s, you can’t expect people to keep going along with this!”
The crowd is growing despite the sentinels’ attempts to contain it. Ash grits his teeth looking at the black and red uniforms. The moment he first saw them on a TV screen was when things clicked, but he realized that they meant nothing to most people. That they were so scared, so confused by what had been happening that they’d cling to anyone promising them safety and answers. He needs them to see them for who they are.
With a nudge of his knees he pushes Charizard to descend a few feet lower. The guns go off promptly, missing as the dragon quickly takes itself back out of range. “You’re shooting at a completely harmless pokémon,” he growls. “Charizard is under my complete control. It hasn’t done anything to harm anyone! It’s you who are trying to harm it!”
“All available units,” one of the sentinels below them speaks into a radio, calling for backup. “Unauthorized pokémon in the stadium area.”
“They are not unauthorized!” A flame rises high in Ash’s chest, roaring loud. “No pokémon should be! They are living beings! You can’t solve the problem by taking them away from their trainers and shooting at them!”
He can feel the dozens of eyes looking up at him in a mix of expectation and fear. He closes his fists, nails pressing into his palms.
“I’m not gonna stand for this,” he insists. He runs his eyes over the crowd in a silent hope. “People won’t stand for this. Not forever. It’s gone on long enough.”
« Therefore, » the President continues, « I find myself forced to take more drastic measures. With immediate effect, all trainers are required to consign their pokémon to the authorities. High level trainers such as gym leaders and members of the Elite Four are for now exempt from this restriction, but anyone in possess of a basic pokémon training license will be required to comply. Any transgressions will be regarded as dangerous conduct and result in arrest. »
“Cease at once,” the sentinel with the megaphone insists. More black uniforms have joined the crowd, responding to the call for backup. “This is your last warning.”
Ash holds his glance while the others keep trying to dispel the crowd. Some of the action gets rowdy, people pushing to see against the barricade they’re forming.
“I won’t.”
As if on cue several of the sentinels reach towards their belts. Ash’s stomach crumples slightly remembering Misty’s words—they carry weapons now, real ones—but instead it’s their pokéballs their gloved hands go for. In a red flash after another a circle of Zubat and Golbat materializes in the air around them, closing them in.
He’s heard of them. They’re trained to stun and contain, aiding the sentinels as a last resort move.
At his swift nudge Charizard rises to a higher height, narrowly taking itself out of the crossfire of sonic waves of their supersonic attacks. Turning in a spinning motion it spouts a column of fire at them, taking down a good half of the circle in one fell swoop. There’s some screaming rising from the crowd, but the flaming arch dissipates without further damage as Charizard turns its head upwards to face the few opponents that dodged the blow.
Another blast handles them, followed by a pointed thunderbolt from Pikachu zapping a lone Zubat that had managed to escape. Ash reins Charizard in and turns back to face the crowd, his heart loud still but the roar of the flames of his determination louder.
“You see?!” he insists, gliding closer again but remaining out of the range of the dart guns. “They’re the only ones being aggressive, not my Charizard or my Pikachu! There’s no need for this!”
There’s more eyes on him now, even as the sentinels keep trying to usher people away from the stadium’s plaza. He scans the crowd to catch sight of a few pokégears aimed at him still, but as he watches one of the men in black knocks one out of a woman’s hands, jerking her by her elbow to shove her aside. They don’t want this recorded then, it seems—good.
The Elite Four’s building seems to loom behind them from the hillside, with its black and red flags blowing. He wonders if he’s watching too, maybe from there.
“These people,” he continues, looking down towards the eyes gazing at him. “They’re not doing what’s best to protect us!”
( I’m gonna let everyone know, he told Misty. I’m gonna make them see who they really are. )
The sentinels reach for their pokéballs again. More red flashes paint the buildings and the faces of the crowd. He expects more Zubat; but instead he finds himself cornered between a Skarmory, a Shedinja and a Talonflame.
For a moment he’s taken aback—it’s not the kind of pokémon he expected them to have. But it’s nothing he can’t take and he faces them steadfast.
Charizard dives to dodge Skarmory’s wing attack. Another flamethrower hits the steel pokémon square, not k.o.’ing it but stunning it sensibly.
“See?” Ash insists again, swerving to avoid a charge from Talonflame. “They’re using force when we aren’t doing anything bad, we’re just defending ourselves! We aren’t the threat here! Why don’t the restrictions apply to them as well?”
A faint sharp sound rises from somewhere. Brief—something like a whistle, carried to Ash’s ears by the wind. His eyes turn instinctively in that direction, failing to find a source.
« It’s a temporary measure and your pokémon will be treated with the utmost care. But as I hope you will understand, it’s necessary. I myself pledge to keep my own pokémon safely contained until this will all be over. »
Charizard goes suddenly stiff under him. Its head turns abruptly towards the sound, pupils suddenly contracting on the blue of its irises. Its teeth bare in a growl, sparks flying from its jaw, and Ash blinks in confusion as he tries to regain its focus.
“Charizard—what’s wrong?”
Briefly he registers Pikachu’s back arching as well, his fur standing on ends like pinpricks against his neck. Then a sudden uncoordinated movement from Charizard almost unsaddles him. It’s by pure luck that they manage to avoid the brunt of Talonflame’s solar beam, only earning a painful scorching smear.
He’s got the quick reflexes to spur Charizard upwards and away from the brawl. Charizard listens, though reluctantly, and once they’re back at a height seems to go calm, its breaths ragged still but its demeanor docile again. Ash catches his breath, one hand clasping the shoulder that was grazed by the attack.
“What was that…?”
The three opponent pokémon circle below them. He glances at Pikachu, now seemingly calm as well. He doesn’t have time to spare, and after taking a moment to really be sure that both are okay he tightens his fists and dives back down, aiming Charizard’s power towards Shedinja.
“Alright, enough, let’s get rid of them—flamethrower again!”
The blast scorches the bug pokémon. Charizard dodges another charge from Talonflame and then turns to face it, mouth aglow as another flame grows between its jaws.
A faint whistle. Again, barely audible under the commotion. It hardly registers to Ash’s ears at all, his focus on the battle at hand.
Charizard opens its jaws. Then its charging motion comes to a sudden halt, and its back arches upwards under Ash’s body as if in a fit of pain, coming close to throwing him off balance again. Its misfired flame misses Shedinja, spraying flaming sparks haywire towards the crowd’s heads.
There’s screams and scattering footsteps below them. At a loss, Ash clings to the pokémon’s neck to remain on saddle and forcefully steers it away once more. It takes all of his willpower this time and he almost goes flying as Charizard bucks forward, but at last he’s back in control, heart racing in his throat as they stall under the glare of the stadium’s flashlights.
He glances down. Some of the crowd has dispersed, clearing the space below the battle. The eyes still aimed at them look in apprehension.
Something tries to click together at the back of Ash’s mind. That sound and the way both Charizard and Pikachu seemed to react to it. The way the sentinels’ pokémon keep circling below instead of chasing them up in the air, as if—
as if trying to draw them closer.
His hands tighten into fists. He can’t dive back down to put an end to the battle—it’s what they’re trying to get him to do. He doesn’t know how they’re doing it but he’s sure they want him to lose control of Charizard somehow. But he’s got no way to prove it, not to the scared crowd holding their breaths below them after he risked giving them a taste of its fire.
He was hoping to push them to show more of their true face, but there’s too much at stake now. If they manage in their intent he’ll have played straight into their game and reinforced people’s fears proving that pokémon are dangerous, even under the skilled control of a Champion. Cornered, he curses under his breath, nails digging into his palms as he stalls for a moment unsure of what to do.
He’ll have to hope this is enough. That whatever those pokégears aimed at him managed to record can still be enough of a message to spread past the city in the ripple effect he was trying to stir.
He breathes in and drives Charizard in a circle above the crowd.
“Listen.” He raises his voice at the top of his lungs. “Listen to me! These people, the operation—they aren’t doing this to protecting us! We need to fight back!”
Skarmory snaps at them. More red flashes go off, surrounding them in another whirlwind of Golbat and Zubat.
« To aid the process, the Pokémon League is ordaining a special force unit. Their purpose will be to protect our population, containing and reducing the risk of further accidents. For this scope they will be equipped with nonlethal tranquilizer weapons, as well as highly trained pokémon able to quickly intervene with stunning moves at the first signs of aggressiveness. The purpose is to minimize harm, so you need not worry about your pokémon’s safety. »
The screen behind the President’s back turns black. A seal forms at the center, a red circle containing a capital letter R.
« We’re calling it Operation R. R like rebirth. »
“They’re doing all of this to control us! They are Team Rocket, a criminal organization!”
The wind snags the words out of his throat as the supersonic attacks force them into retreat again, higher up above the stadium. Skarmory and Talonflame chase them this time, targeting them with a crossfire of hyper beam and brave bird to drive them farther from the crowd. They dodge and turn back around, ready to take them down with another blast of fire.
The stadium’s spotlights go dark at once. They stumble as the night suddenly closes around them, losing sight of the opponents.
Before Ash’s eyes can begin to adjust another burst of sonic waves rises to target them and force them to dash higher still as the bat pokémon chase after them unaffected by the darkness. Their screeches follow them, loud in Ash’s ears.
They rise up high above the empty crater of the stadium, now a pit of blackness far below. He glances down. With a breath trapped in his lungs he sees the lights of the Indigo Plateau and the Pokémon League Village go dark one by one, erasing the city from sight in a sweeping black void.
***
Rushed footsteps on a carpeted floor. The sentinel stops on the doorstep, breath short.
“Sir—”
“I’m looking.”
The man on the red armchair sits in front of the screens broadcasting the security cameras footage. One hand runs through Persian’s silky fur, the rings on his fingers catching the light. He doesn’t turn.
“I knew that kid was up to something. He’s put on quite a show,” he comments, a disdained click rolling off his tongue. His hand goes stiff as his voice sharpens. “Stop him. And do what you can to keep this contained here.”
The sentinel nods. “Yes sir.”
“Just in case word still manages to spread—” the man stops him as he begins to turn. “We’re going to need a bigger distraction. Something that will stick in people’s heads.”
A moments passes. A scoffing exhale leaves his mouth.
“Prepare the prisoner.”
***
On the couch in the living room her sisters are watching a dance show. It’s a rerun—TV studios haven’t really produced anything other than those propaganda ads in a while. It comes with a warning at the top of the screen reminding watchers that the dance moves performed alongside pokémon are to be considered unsafe. It doesn’t stop Lily and Violet from loudly nitpicking at the performances, and after a while Misty stands from her armchair, finding refuge from their chatter in the hallway. She leans her back against the wall with a sigh while the muffled music echoes along the walls.
Outside of the window the sky is dark above the rooftops. Her teeth draw blood from her lips as her nervous fingertips find Staryu’s pokéball in her shorts’ pocket.
She promised Ash that she’ll be ready to back him up if this works as they hoped and his message reaches enough people to stir a reaction. He should be close to the Indigo Plateau by now. She hopes, at least—there’s only one day left until they’ll be required to make their choice.
The music stops abruptly. She blinks and turns, her pulse suddenly hastening as the sound effect of the news follows.
She hurries back into the room in time to see the seal with the red R and the words BREAKING NEWS disappear to leave way to the news anchor. She closes her fist around the pokéball while Violet frowns at the screen.
“What happened now?”
“Shh, let’s hear it,” Lily hushes her, reaching for the remote to turn the volume up.
Misty expects to hear about Ash. But as the news anchor stands somber-faced in her black pantsuit with an embroidered R the screen behind her shows a picture of Lt. Surge. It’s his official one, taken from the Pokémon League’s website, where he stands at attention with a proud air.
« News has just reached us of the tragedy that unfolded at the Vermillion City police station. » The anchor’s words feel pointed somehow, like they’re conveying something more than what’s being said. « Lieutenant Surge, the local gym leader, attempted escape following his arrest this past Friday, managing to get a hold of the pokémon that had been confiscated from him as mandated by our safety measures. As authorities caught up with him he turned to violence, forcing a reaction from our operation’s sentinels. »
The air in the room feels suddenly colder. The news anchor seems to look directly into Misty’s eyes.
« We’re saddened to report that Lieutenant Surge was killed in the confrontation. »