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Private/Closed Planet of the Pokérus

Discussion in 'Pokémon Role Play' started by rawheight, Jun 23, 2018.

  1. Leon turned what Matt had said over and over and over in his mind. Mossdeep City Gym. Psychic Pokemon. The thought made him shudder. Who knew how many deranged, 'Rus-infected Psychic-types there were on the island milling around just waiting for weak-minded humans to fall prey into their traps. It gave enough of a bad taste in his mouth that by the end of the day, after dinner in the mess hall, Leon had signed up for one of the post-graduate classes on telepathy.

    Over the next few days a simple pattern developed. Wake up, eat breakfast, go to work. Eat lunch, go to class, train, then dinner. After dinner he and Combusken either continued their training or picked up a late shift. He was beginning to get used to the odd swaying and occasional buck of the ship at sea, but then again the water and been calm thus far.

    Then, on the morning of the day they were supposed to reach Mossdeep, there was a strange, new sound that echoed throughout the belly of the ship. It wasn't loud, per se - the enveloping water around them muffled most sounds. But by the way the ship shook and shuddered afterward, even Leon could tell something had gone wrong.

    Everyone at the water purifying plant had paused their work, looking anxiously from one to another.
    "That almost sounded like..."
    "The Electronics Bay," another said grimly.

    ***

    Deep in the hull, in an outboard bay where the cooling water flowing against the surface of the ship kept the temperature low, switchboards and radio equipment were housed both in operation and in stasis. Here, the blue glowing light of possession was just fading from a trainer's eyes. Beside him: the blackened, smoking orb of his Electrode.

    With one last creak, the rivets buttoning panels of the ship's side together began to give way, and the Melbourne started taking on water.
     
  2. Learning to harness his psychic powers was, as Matt had expected, a grinding and frustratingly torturous trial. Matrix had accepted him into the class, not out of any sense of sympathy for his crippling burns, but for fulfilling the conditions incumbent on anyone wanting to take part. One: own a Psychic-type pokemon whom you were on good terms with. Two: achieve graduate status. Three: be recommended by an officer in good standing. Here, Father Freeman had put in a word. Thus, Matt quickly learned that being psychic was infinitely more complex than bending a spoon merely by staring hard at it. It required gaining a new appreciation for reality: really looking at one's surroundings as though noticing them for the first time.

    At first, Matrix would have his students close their eyes, and focus only on the presence of their Psychic-type pokemon allies. It was a specialized form of "bonding time," and it was meant to synchronize human and pokemon psychic energy to the point that it became recognizable. The pokemon effectively became the tutors, and without their sense of sight, the humans' other risen senses became ever-so-slightly more susceptible to molding. This lasted for hours on end some days, and if progress was not forthcoming, swabs of cotton in the ears and nose to further limit senses. This all came well before the "looking" stage.

    Just as a sample for what was to come, Matrix changed up his lesson one day, passing out flyswatters to the whole class. He then opened a foul-smelling barrel next to his desk, which contained an impressive stack of severed fish heads thrown out from the morning's breakfast. With everyone looking on, he proceeded to levitate the fish head from student to student, giving each just enough time to feel the light weight and texture of it before moving on. Afterward, he sent fish heads flying at everyone at once, to their shock and disgust.

    "Balance those on the flyswatters," he instructed casually, with the ghost of a smile on his face. "Feel the difference of weight, from when it was in your hand, to when it sits on the swatter end. This is just a small indicator of what it is like to apply telekinesis."

    Matt and the other students had their arms extended, fish heads on flyswatters, when the ship shook with a sudden, violent spasm. Less than thirty seconds later, one of the underclassmen burst through the door in a state of subdued panic. It was probably the strangest scene he had ever stumbled into, but Matt had been concentrating too much to get a proper look at the boy's face.

    "Professor Matrix!" he breathed hurriedly. "The hull's been breached. There was an explosion powerful enough to tear it right open!"

    "Already identified," Matrix responded, in a voice that was distant and subdued. His eyes were half-closed, but Matt could see the cyan aura radiating behind his lids. "Ah. It's flooding. How unfortunate." Still not looking at the newcomer, Matrix pointed a finger at him. "Tell the crew to brace for a vertical rise. There may be some shaking before we're through. The Gyarados can only take so much exertion at once."

    A minute later, Matt felt the same sensation as he had a few weeks back: the sudden, minor shift of gravity like he were in an ascending elevator. The Melbourne rose out of the ocean, towed upward by the incredible power of Matrix's school of Gyarados. Never before had Matt appreciated the true extent of Matrix's power as much as he did now. The man could hold no less than six empathy links at once, in sync, with non-psychic pokemon that were naturally given to rampaging tendencies. If Matt's own psychic ability was that of a level five Ralts, Matrix brandished the mastery of an Alakazam in its high eighties at the least. He could only wonder what this extraordinary trainer had been through to achieve such potency.

    "We're going into orange alert," Matrix uttered in a steady, but strained voice, as he stood with his arms outstretched, and his back arched. It seemed as if he had to fight for every word that issued from his mouth. "Get an emergency repair crew down there to patch the hole. Find out what happened. Go!"
     
  3. The message of the ascension had barely reached those in the water purifying plant when the ship suddenly pressed up against their feet in the rise. There was a commotion in the doorway as several sailors ran past in an effort to get down to the hull to begin repairs.
    "What are you guys waiting for?" One of the foremen finally barked out. "We have most of the fire-types right here. If there's welding to be done, we need to get down to the hull," he ordered, and the group suddenly shook off their stillness like a dream, jumping into action. As they turned toward the doorway, however, they saw they were far from the worst of the damage.

    The blue glow of possession haunted the eyes of one of the sailors as he slowed in the hallway from a run to a full stop. Just beyond the doorway to the water purifying plant, they heard the heavy clunk as he shut and sealed the hallway door that led down into the hull. Someone on the other side had stopped and turned and was banging on the door from the far side, shouting in confusion.

    "Is it possible...? The Psychic-types from Mossdeep already reaching out to stop our arrival?" Leon wondered out loud in amazement. Who was to tell who would be next? How were those being possessed being chosen? He wondered if there were any chance that his few days of training would be enough to ward off any psychic attacks.
    "The only way we're going to be able to get to the hull now is from the outside," he told Combusken with a faint frown. In another area of the ship, down deep in the belly, there was another explosion that tipped the vessel sideways from the blast. Leon almost fell but caught himself at the last minute, sprinting toward the door and making his way up to the deck, his Pokemon following just behind.

    They would have to patch the holes in the Melbourne from outside... but how? A flying/fire type would be ideal - did anyone have a Charizard or Talonflame? Otherwise they would have to scale the side of the ship - there'd be too much jostling on a flying-type to try and repair the hole with tools. Matt knew the ship better than he did. Leon's psychic abilities at this point were all but non-existent. Still, he did what he could to reach out to the other trainer - he didn't know enough to tackle this situation on his own.
     
  4. An alarm began to sound throughout the ship, signaling orange alert. As message of a telepathic attack spread, Matt wheeled his way through squadrons of soldiers whose brave faces partially masked their nervousness. He could understand their trepidation. Next to Ghost-types, psychic pokemon were the most eerie and unpredictable, not to mention, the most intelligent. Sergeants shouted, and crewmen stood in lines, listening to orders. As Matt concentrated to sense for Leon's location, he picked up the general gist of the message being spread from top brass. It went thus:

    All non-graduate personnel were to submit themselves instantly to the Sleep Powder or Hypnosis sedation of the nearest ranking officers, to prevent their minds from falling to possession. Melbourne Academy graduates were, by necessity, stronger in body and mind than any of their pokemon, so they would take over operations. However, if any of them appeared to succumb to psychic manipulation, or encounter allies of like status, the same rules applied. The only pokemon permitted out of pokeball would be those of type Steel, Psychic, and Dark, unless otherwise noted as necessary. Priority one was to quarantine and/or subdue compromised allies. Priority two was to return the ship to full working condition.

    These orders took perhaps thirty seconds to issue. Thank God for contingency plans; they allowed such quick efficiency. Just as Matt got a lock on a psychic signature he believed was Leon, he rounded a corner to see four undergraduates of Academy 119 speed marching out of a barracks-designated area.

    "You, there!" he called. "You guys need to be asleep-"

    One of them turned, and he instantly saw the blue glow of the girl's soulless eyes. The next instant, she and her three companions doubled back into their room and slammed the door shut.

    "Hey!"

    Matt wheeled himself up and tugged at the knob. The door was locked. What the hell was the Psychic-type controlling them trying to accomplish?

    "Rotom!" In a burst of light, Matt's Ghost-type appeared in front of him. It was partially against protocol, but then again, Matt would plead the "otherwise necessary" clause of the orders. The electric ghost grinned cheekily at him as it floated in midair.

    "I forget- do you know Hypnosis?"

    Rotom shook his head. Matt sighed.

    "Fine. Guess we're doing this the old-fashioned way. Phase through this door and knock those kids out. I don't care how; find a toaster or something to hijack. Just don't do any permanent blunt force trauma damage, got it?"

    Rotom's grin grew wider, as if to say: "no promises." The next moment, he'd disappeared through the door. After a couple of seconds, Matt heard four clangs, as if a gong were being stricken by a thick, dull object. A few more seconds passed, and the lock clicked. Matt pulled open the door, to be greeted by a floating microwave with eyes.

    "Huh. I didn't think they actually had one of those," he said casually, waving Rotom on. "Alright, let's go find Leon. With any luck, he can tell us if Arcanine's okay."
     

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