“But what if he’s ready for it? That boy is a tricky one. We’re only allowed two pokémon, and they’re our rides out of here.”
“We’ll call for more backup. We can’t lose here; these three are top-priority criminals! Pidgeot-!- oh, hell. The little one had another pokémon. A Snorlax.”
At that moment, Hibiki had thrown his Heavy Ball, and an enormous mound of black and white fur blocked all of the view from the direct front. However, to his right he could see a blue streak dashing straight for Bolt the Salamence; it was Maikeru’s Glaceon. Its trainer’s voice rang out furiously.
“Don’t let up! It’s his damn Salamence that’s the biggest threat now. We’ll fix that just like we did yesterday. Glaceon, Ice-”
Maikeru didn’t get to complete his sentence. A flash of lightning, and a thunderclap so loud that it rattled Hibiki’s teeth, drowned out every other noise in the vicinity, stunning anybody too close. When Hibiki’s eyes were strong enough to see again, he stared at the burned and twitching Glaceon before him, feeling a sense of déjà vu at the sight of the ruined pokémon.
“Just like yesterday,” Kenta agreed coldly, glancing up into the sky. “I told you not to disgrace Eagun’s funeral. The weather may be feigned, but the spirit is real.” He turned his attention to the police squadron, who still stood looking uncertain of what to do. His hand directed their attention to Snorlax.
“Did you know that these creatures can learn Selfdestruct?” he asked lightly, but with a hardened face. “It ranks up there with Regigigas’s Giga Impact, in terms of devastating force- only with this move, every pokémon on the field suffers the damage.” He took a couple of steps forward, so that he was right next to Bolt. “My Salamence happens to know Protect, so we’ll be fine, but I can’t say the same for you and your Pidgeot. So . . . are you going to get out, or are we going to force you out?”
“Now, hold on just a minute!” barked Officer Jenny, putting up her hand authoritatively. “You don’t want to do that. Let’s just stop and talk about this-”
Kenta turned his glance to Hibiki. Not wanting to give the police time to think, Hibiki counted backwards in a loud voice, subconsciously edging closer to Bolt as he did so. Wes was already beside Kenta, looking apprehensive and excited.
“Five. Four. Three . . . two . . .”
That did it. As lightning streaked the sky again, the police officers lost heart and retreated on the backs of their Pidgeot, leaving behind a snowstorm of feathers. In a moment, all that could be seen of them was a collection of shrinking specks in the distance. Hibiki surveyed what they had left behind: all around him were fallen trees, and just ahead of him, a blackened singe in the ground where Zapdos had fried Maikeru’s Glaceon with a Thunderbolt. Beside him, Kenta took a deep breath and exhaled, then glanced at the stream that once more separated Agate Village from the mainland. He smiled guiltily at Wes.
“Er, sorry about breaking your bridge.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Wes in a distant voice, obviously still recovering from the tension of the battle. “Let’s just get your Salamence to pull a tree over the gap. He can do that, right?”
***
With Eagun’s funeral still under way, nobody was willing to go back to the Myth Trainer’s house after openly resisting the law and destroying the woodlands outside of the village. Instead, Wes led Kenta and Hibiki into a tunnel underneath the village where the rain could not reach them. They went far enough in that Hibiki could see the light on the other side, and there they sat, listening for a while to the steady pitter-patter of the droplets outside. At one point, Wes tried to light another cigarette, but after a number of failed attempts, he gave up and flung the stick away.
“This place is so nostalgic, it overwhelms me,” he sighed, pulling out Umbreon’s pokeball and spinning it on his finger. “Just ahead of us is the Relic Stone, where I used to always come to purify the hearts of my Shadow Pokémon. That’s what you’d have to do to beat Cipher’s artificial aggression treatment.” He shook his head. “No doubt, Maikeru had to go through the same thing, when he saved Orre from Cipher. And Eagun was there for both of us, each time.” He closed his eyes. “I didn’t have a right to turn him away from the funeral like I did.”
The desire to ask a question flared up in Hibiki’s chest. He had been meaning to do it for a while, but the previous battle had interrupted them. “Wes,” he said, “You say that Maikeru rescued Orre from Cipher’s second takeover. Kenta and I have fought him twice now, but . . . I really don’t know; is he a good guy, or a bad guy?”
Wes gave a hollow laugh and looked at the ground. “Maikeru was probably the youngest person to ever take down a criminal syndicate . . . except maybe for Red. Along with being a child genius, he was as pure-hearted as the pokémon he saved: a true hero. But it must have planted a radical idea in his mind, after seeing so many good pokémon turned bad by men.” Wes looked longingly at the cigarette he had cast on the ground, then reluctantly turned away. “Pokémon can be trained by anybody over the age of ten, or at least that’s how it once was. But Maikeru thinks- and I’m sure we all agree on this- that there are many, many people who can’t use pokémon responsibly.”
Hibiki and Kenta both nodded. Wes nodded back. “Every single region in Japan where new pokémon are discovered, soon has a new criminal organization trying to harness their power for selfish ambition. Just look at those fools in the most recent one.” Wes clasped his hands together, fidgeting with his hands. “So Maikeru decided that everyone should give their most powerful pokémon to one ruling force who could be absolutely trusted to make the best decisions. Do you need to know anything else?”
There was a silence.
Kenta knew he was with G.R.I.P., thought Hibiki, watching his brother resting with his arms tucked behind his head. But just how high up is he, that he has an actual place in the government’s ranks at his young age? And how did he attain the kind of power that enabled him to own the former champion’s signature pokémon? Just who are we really dealing with, here?
“So, can we prove that they can’t be trusted?” Kenta finally asked, staring at the cave ceiling. “After all, Steven’s Metagross can’t just tell him where it’s been. He may just think we stole it from that nonexistent wilderness rehabilitation clinic.”
“Well, whether you can prove it or not, it’s out of my hands now,” said Wes, stretching his arms. “You’re the revolutionaries committing the treason. You’ll figure something out.” He grinned, looking oddly sinister. “Who are you guys, anyway? A few days ago you were nobodies, and now the media won’t shut up about you.”
Kenta extended his arm and shook Wes’s hand. “Nyna Kenta. And my brother, Hibiki.”
“Kenta and Hibiki . . . Eagun would have been proud of you.” Wes glanced at the Snag Machine still on Hibiki’s arm. “Well then, I’d better get back to the funeral. I suppose you’re off to rob the rich and give to the poor. When can I expect to hear reports about you using my baby?”
“Give it a couple of days,” replied Kenta, heading towards the rear entrance of the rocky tunnel. “There’s another matter at hand that requires first priority. If the government hasn’t already figured out how to make Master Balls, they soon will.”
“And if they do . . .” Wes started, and Kenta nodded. “They’ll be able to pursue any pokémon they want. Including the legendaries. Especially the legendaries.”
***
A rousing cheer greeted Kenta and Hibiki when they returned to the Rocket ninja hideout under Mahogany Town, with the Snag Machine in possession. Hibiki stayed close to Kenta, looking nervously at the ecstatic criminals who had come to celebrate the success of their newest outlaw brethren. “They aren’t cheering for us,” said Kenta in undertone, as everyone finally took their seats at the discussion table. “They’re happy because the next phase of the plan is about to be set in motion, and they’re due to receive some quality toys.”
Hibiki nodded, getting his gist. That very morning, before they had left to meet Marina, Kenta had stopped to talk to the “owner” of Mahogany’s gift shop, who was really the gatekeeper to the underground hideout. “I’m leaving a message for all of the leaders here,” Kenta informed him. “Ask them: ‘if you had a Master Ball, what would you capture with it?’” After running into Marina, it was time for a brief stop at Kurt’s, and after Kurt’s, business in the Orre region.
Now here they were, seated amongst a variation of Rockets, Magmas, Aquas- Hibiki’s heart leapt. Team Aqua was here now-? . . . And they were all looking at Kenta expectantly. Not making eye contact with anyone, Kenta reached into his cloak pocket and began rolling pool ball-sized orbs down the table to each team representative. Even after being with Kenta the longest, Hibiki marveled at how his brother had the foresight to be ready for every occasion in advance. When all eight representatives had a Master Ball in hand, Kenta intertwined his fingers and spoke in the authoritative tone he always used when dealing with people he didn’t trust.
“I can’t guarantee you that any of those will work,” he said, looking at the Master Balls he had just given away. “Every last one of them is less than a week old, and made by an old-fashioned craftsman. But they’re yours to use how you see fit.” He glanced up, finally making eye contact with a few of the many pairs of eyes looking back at him. “I’m not going to lecture you like the trainer clubs I’ve been visiting. Most people would say I’m insane for doing what I just did. However, it would be nice to discover that you guys aren’t the evil monsters that the media has portrayed you to be.”
“You cocky son of a bitch.”
The voice came from behind Kenta and Hibiki, and the crowd opened to reveal the one Rocket member who had spoken. The silence in the room was deafening. Hibiki stared at him, unable to believe his ears. The Rocket, however, came forward, hands balled in fists, arms stiffly at his sides. It was Yosuke, the Rocket Kenta had met back in Azalea Police Station. Kenta watched him, expression neutral, and Yosuke glared daggers at him through his Rocket mask.
“Listen to yourself. You think you’re so great?” he spat. “Yesterday it was ‘I’m not as used to stealing as you people probably are,’ and today, it’s ‘you’d better prove yourselves to be good for my noble act of generosity.’ Who are you to judge, huh?” He stalked up to Kenta until a couple of his teammates blocked the way and grabbed him by the arms. “Shut up, man!” one of them whispered. “He’s helping us out, here. Who cares?”
“I CARE!” Yosuke roared, straining to pull free as he maintained his furious eye connection with Kenta. “We take him into our hideout when he’s fleeing the police, and he turns around and wipes his feet on our faces! You guys have seen how he segregates himself from the rest of us. He does that with everyone he meets.
“Well, come down from your throne and hear this, Mr. High-and-Mighty! Some of us don’t have the option of getting jobs legitimately. Some of us have to turn criminal, because we’ve been turned away everywhere else. We’re not lesser people for it!”
“We’ll call for more backup. We can’t lose here; these three are top-priority criminals! Pidgeot-!- oh, hell. The little one had another pokémon. A Snorlax.”
At that moment, Hibiki had thrown his Heavy Ball, and an enormous mound of black and white fur blocked all of the view from the direct front. However, to his right he could see a blue streak dashing straight for Bolt the Salamence; it was Maikeru’s Glaceon. Its trainer’s voice rang out furiously.
“Don’t let up! It’s his damn Salamence that’s the biggest threat now. We’ll fix that just like we did yesterday. Glaceon, Ice-”
Maikeru didn’t get to complete his sentence. A flash of lightning, and a thunderclap so loud that it rattled Hibiki’s teeth, drowned out every other noise in the vicinity, stunning anybody too close. When Hibiki’s eyes were strong enough to see again, he stared at the burned and twitching Glaceon before him, feeling a sense of déjà vu at the sight of the ruined pokémon.
“Just like yesterday,” Kenta agreed coldly, glancing up into the sky. “I told you not to disgrace Eagun’s funeral. The weather may be feigned, but the spirit is real.” He turned his attention to the police squadron, who still stood looking uncertain of what to do. His hand directed their attention to Snorlax.
“Did you know that these creatures can learn Selfdestruct?” he asked lightly, but with a hardened face. “It ranks up there with Regigigas’s Giga Impact, in terms of devastating force- only with this move, every pokémon on the field suffers the damage.” He took a couple of steps forward, so that he was right next to Bolt. “My Salamence happens to know Protect, so we’ll be fine, but I can’t say the same for you and your Pidgeot. So . . . are you going to get out, or are we going to force you out?”
“Now, hold on just a minute!” barked Officer Jenny, putting up her hand authoritatively. “You don’t want to do that. Let’s just stop and talk about this-”
Kenta turned his glance to Hibiki. Not wanting to give the police time to think, Hibiki counted backwards in a loud voice, subconsciously edging closer to Bolt as he did so. Wes was already beside Kenta, looking apprehensive and excited.
“Five. Four. Three . . . two . . .”
That did it. As lightning streaked the sky again, the police officers lost heart and retreated on the backs of their Pidgeot, leaving behind a snowstorm of feathers. In a moment, all that could be seen of them was a collection of shrinking specks in the distance. Hibiki surveyed what they had left behind: all around him were fallen trees, and just ahead of him, a blackened singe in the ground where Zapdos had fried Maikeru’s Glaceon with a Thunderbolt. Beside him, Kenta took a deep breath and exhaled, then glanced at the stream that once more separated Agate Village from the mainland. He smiled guiltily at Wes.
“Er, sorry about breaking your bridge.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Wes in a distant voice, obviously still recovering from the tension of the battle. “Let’s just get your Salamence to pull a tree over the gap. He can do that, right?”
***
With Eagun’s funeral still under way, nobody was willing to go back to the Myth Trainer’s house after openly resisting the law and destroying the woodlands outside of the village. Instead, Wes led Kenta and Hibiki into a tunnel underneath the village where the rain could not reach them. They went far enough in that Hibiki could see the light on the other side, and there they sat, listening for a while to the steady pitter-patter of the droplets outside. At one point, Wes tried to light another cigarette, but after a number of failed attempts, he gave up and flung the stick away.
“This place is so nostalgic, it overwhelms me,” he sighed, pulling out Umbreon’s pokeball and spinning it on his finger. “Just ahead of us is the Relic Stone, where I used to always come to purify the hearts of my Shadow Pokémon. That’s what you’d have to do to beat Cipher’s artificial aggression treatment.” He shook his head. “No doubt, Maikeru had to go through the same thing, when he saved Orre from Cipher. And Eagun was there for both of us, each time.” He closed his eyes. “I didn’t have a right to turn him away from the funeral like I did.”
The desire to ask a question flared up in Hibiki’s chest. He had been meaning to do it for a while, but the previous battle had interrupted them. “Wes,” he said, “You say that Maikeru rescued Orre from Cipher’s second takeover. Kenta and I have fought him twice now, but . . . I really don’t know; is he a good guy, or a bad guy?”
Wes gave a hollow laugh and looked at the ground. “Maikeru was probably the youngest person to ever take down a criminal syndicate . . . except maybe for Red. Along with being a child genius, he was as pure-hearted as the pokémon he saved: a true hero. But it must have planted a radical idea in his mind, after seeing so many good pokémon turned bad by men.” Wes looked longingly at the cigarette he had cast on the ground, then reluctantly turned away. “Pokémon can be trained by anybody over the age of ten, or at least that’s how it once was. But Maikeru thinks- and I’m sure we all agree on this- that there are many, many people who can’t use pokémon responsibly.”
Hibiki and Kenta both nodded. Wes nodded back. “Every single region in Japan where new pokémon are discovered, soon has a new criminal organization trying to harness their power for selfish ambition. Just look at those fools in the most recent one.” Wes clasped his hands together, fidgeting with his hands. “So Maikeru decided that everyone should give their most powerful pokémon to one ruling force who could be absolutely trusted to make the best decisions. Do you need to know anything else?”
There was a silence.
Kenta knew he was with G.R.I.P., thought Hibiki, watching his brother resting with his arms tucked behind his head. But just how high up is he, that he has an actual place in the government’s ranks at his young age? And how did he attain the kind of power that enabled him to own the former champion’s signature pokémon? Just who are we really dealing with, here?
“So, can we prove that they can’t be trusted?” Kenta finally asked, staring at the cave ceiling. “After all, Steven’s Metagross can’t just tell him where it’s been. He may just think we stole it from that nonexistent wilderness rehabilitation clinic.”
“Well, whether you can prove it or not, it’s out of my hands now,” said Wes, stretching his arms. “You’re the revolutionaries committing the treason. You’ll figure something out.” He grinned, looking oddly sinister. “Who are you guys, anyway? A few days ago you were nobodies, and now the media won’t shut up about you.”
Kenta extended his arm and shook Wes’s hand. “Nyna Kenta. And my brother, Hibiki.”
“Kenta and Hibiki . . . Eagun would have been proud of you.” Wes glanced at the Snag Machine still on Hibiki’s arm. “Well then, I’d better get back to the funeral. I suppose you’re off to rob the rich and give to the poor. When can I expect to hear reports about you using my baby?”
“Give it a couple of days,” replied Kenta, heading towards the rear entrance of the rocky tunnel. “There’s another matter at hand that requires first priority. If the government hasn’t already figured out how to make Master Balls, they soon will.”
“And if they do . . .” Wes started, and Kenta nodded. “They’ll be able to pursue any pokémon they want. Including the legendaries. Especially the legendaries.”
***
A rousing cheer greeted Kenta and Hibiki when they returned to the Rocket ninja hideout under Mahogany Town, with the Snag Machine in possession. Hibiki stayed close to Kenta, looking nervously at the ecstatic criminals who had come to celebrate the success of their newest outlaw brethren. “They aren’t cheering for us,” said Kenta in undertone, as everyone finally took their seats at the discussion table. “They’re happy because the next phase of the plan is about to be set in motion, and they’re due to receive some quality toys.”
Hibiki nodded, getting his gist. That very morning, before they had left to meet Marina, Kenta had stopped to talk to the “owner” of Mahogany’s gift shop, who was really the gatekeeper to the underground hideout. “I’m leaving a message for all of the leaders here,” Kenta informed him. “Ask them: ‘if you had a Master Ball, what would you capture with it?’” After running into Marina, it was time for a brief stop at Kurt’s, and after Kurt’s, business in the Orre region.
Now here they were, seated amongst a variation of Rockets, Magmas, Aquas- Hibiki’s heart leapt. Team Aqua was here now-? . . . And they were all looking at Kenta expectantly. Not making eye contact with anyone, Kenta reached into his cloak pocket and began rolling pool ball-sized orbs down the table to each team representative. Even after being with Kenta the longest, Hibiki marveled at how his brother had the foresight to be ready for every occasion in advance. When all eight representatives had a Master Ball in hand, Kenta intertwined his fingers and spoke in the authoritative tone he always used when dealing with people he didn’t trust.
“I can’t guarantee you that any of those will work,” he said, looking at the Master Balls he had just given away. “Every last one of them is less than a week old, and made by an old-fashioned craftsman. But they’re yours to use how you see fit.” He glanced up, finally making eye contact with a few of the many pairs of eyes looking back at him. “I’m not going to lecture you like the trainer clubs I’ve been visiting. Most people would say I’m insane for doing what I just did. However, it would be nice to discover that you guys aren’t the evil monsters that the media has portrayed you to be.”
“You cocky son of a bitch.”
The voice came from behind Kenta and Hibiki, and the crowd opened to reveal the one Rocket member who had spoken. The silence in the room was deafening. Hibiki stared at him, unable to believe his ears. The Rocket, however, came forward, hands balled in fists, arms stiffly at his sides. It was Yosuke, the Rocket Kenta had met back in Azalea Police Station. Kenta watched him, expression neutral, and Yosuke glared daggers at him through his Rocket mask.
“Listen to yourself. You think you’re so great?” he spat. “Yesterday it was ‘I’m not as used to stealing as you people probably are,’ and today, it’s ‘you’d better prove yourselves to be good for my noble act of generosity.’ Who are you to judge, huh?” He stalked up to Kenta until a couple of his teammates blocked the way and grabbed him by the arms. “Shut up, man!” one of them whispered. “He’s helping us out, here. Who cares?”
“I CARE!” Yosuke roared, straining to pull free as he maintained his furious eye connection with Kenta. “We take him into our hideout when he’s fleeing the police, and he turns around and wipes his feet on our faces! You guys have seen how he segregates himself from the rest of us. He does that with everyone he meets.
“Well, come down from your throne and hear this, Mr. High-and-Mighty! Some of us don’t have the option of getting jobs legitimately. Some of us have to turn criminal, because we’ve been turned away everywhere else. We’re not lesser people for it!”