The first thing Hibiki saw was the hazy form of scenery flashing by. As his consciousness returned, he found that he was strapped into the passenger seat of a car, looking through the windshield. The back of his head throbbed painfully, but he shook himself awake and glared at the driver sitting beside him. Curtis glanced at him, did a double-take, then jerked the vehicle back on course, returning his eyes to the road.
"Good morning. Well, late morning," he said with a guilt-inflected undertone. "Sorry for rushing you out of nowhere and punching you in the head like that. Your brother's orders."
"My-" Hibiki felt a wave of dizziness, shook his head, then tried again. "My brother ordered you to hit me on the head?"
"Well, uh . . . no. Those weren't the exact words." Curtis swallowed, and cleared his throat, gazing solidly ahead at the road. "He charged me to get you out of there before the, uh, poop hit the fan. This was a couple days back. Said he'd use a secret phrase to signal when it was time. Remember when he was yelling 'RELEASE our pokemon' to the camera? That was supposed to be it." Curtis shook his head. "Of course, the original plan was supposed to be that you would be in your designated seat, only a couple rows away from mine. In the end, to get to you, I had to sneak down below the stadium without getting caught. I guess I had nothing to worry about though, with Kenta distracting everyone's attention like he did."
Anger welled up inside of Hibiki. It aggravated his headache, but he burst out anyway. "What the goddamn HELL! I TOLD him that I would be with him to the end! I can't believe he pulled the rug out from under me at the last second!"
"He said you'd react that way," sighed Curtis, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and fishing through his pocket with the other. "Look, I know how you feel. I told Kenta over the phone that I didn't want to miss the main event either. But . . . here we are. I can't stress enough how important it was to him that your future be secure, whatever happens back there."
Curtis pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it into Hibiki's lap. "I'm not turning around, so don't ask. But I will let you borrow that, if you wanted to watch the live stream at PKTV's website. Just because we aren't there, doesn't mean we have to miss it, right?"
Hibiki tapped a few buttons on the digital keyboard, and in a moment he was looking down on a field of movement from a high, all-encompassing view. It was like the camera man had rushed to the highest seat in the stadium, and somehow managed to position himself atop the safety wall to view the chaos outside. Just beyond the Indigo Coliseum wall, a mass of people and pokemon were pounding against each other in all-out war. There was no question that the further army of Silhouette-controlled pokemon were winning, beating aside smaller and less-experienced trainer pokemon by the dozens for every one. Yet paradoxically, as time wore on, they were pushed backwards and recalled, retreating before the waves of lesser pokemon that continued to fall in one or two hits. Hibiki soon noticed another trend: pokemon that had seemed to be on the other side just minutes ago were now reappearing on the side of the stadium trainers.
He did it, Hibiki thought, his body tingling with hope and pride. Any second now, the camera guy will recognize that Kenta's turning the tide like we had always planned! I wish I could be there to explain it for him.
A thought occurred to him. There's no live reporting going on here. I wonder how much trouble the media's going to get in just for filming this? And all the people with Kenta, for that matter. He and I kicked the Beedrill nest, but how many people will be stung? . . . I should have been there!
Within the taped audio of the phone, a roar of animal pain suddenly issued. Curtis glanced warily at Hibiki for a moment. "What was that?"
"I'm not sure, but it sounded like . . ." As Hibiki watched, the camera guy swiveled the lens so that it turned inwards toward the stadium's electronic screen. "A Typhlosion."
***
"Baku!" Kenta dropped the Master Ball he was holding, turning fully around as the cry of pain issued from within the stadium. He bolted through the main entrance, ignoring the quizzical looks of Brendan and Red. The burning ring of fire left by Belle had not receded, but Kenta took no notice of the heat as he stared up at the image on the screen. There, in what looked to be a gymnasium-sized room made entirely of cement, lay a red creature surrounded by at least ten Marowak. It was bruised and bloodied, and the collar of flames around its neck had dwindled to almost nothing. At the slighest movement from the miserable creature, a Marowak would fling a spinning bone club at it, beating it into submission. The wretch gave the appearance of ferret roadkill, only it could still breathe, and it screamed when struck.
"Baku!" Kenta cried in a throat-tearing wail that reverberated off the walls.
"Do I have your attention?" came the voice of Jenn. "Good."
Kenta stood rooted, arms limp at his sides, gazing up at the screen as Jenn continued in a icy voice. "You'll have to forgive the brutal treatment. Believe me, nobody regrets it more than I do, but whatever training you put him through . . . it's made this necessary. Your Typhlosion- Baku, right-? is a singularity. All Typhlosion are supposed to have high speed and firepower, but low defenses. But yours . . ."
Jenn gave a sigh, as one who has just been given a very large workload. "You know what? I could reprimand you for being such a warlord and training a berserker, but that would probably just feed your defiance. It's funny how you get to know a trainer by the pokemon he raises. How about I sum up what Baku's been doing since he came into my care? And then I'll let you know what I'm leading up to."
Kenta said nothing. He continued staring up at his bloodied and beaten Typhlosion on the scoreboard screen, face pale, body stiff. From behind him, Red approached nervously, half-glancing at the screen.
"Gold, the Military Police are backing away, but th-" He stopped as Kenta subconsciously held up a hand to hush him, never taking his eyes off the screen. Jenn was talking.
"Singularity is what 'S-class' stands for. True S-class pokemon are nearly as rare as shiny discolored ones. I first suspected yours was one when he fought down five A-class pokemon at the same time. Thanks to you, we've had to rethink his containment procedures several times over. After a few dozen broken Ultra Balls, Timer Balls, and Repeat Balls, at least a dozen more A-class pokemon put into physical rehabilitation, two researchers forced into early retirement, and a partridge in a pear tree, we've settled on the current conditions you see now. Concrete walls two feet thick, an oxygen-reduced climate, a 24-hour live surveillance, and a force of ten Marowak who are motivated purely by self-preservation. Oh, and occasionally we have to break- well, REbreak the S-class's legs."
Kenta's eyes stared on, wide and aghast with horror- but of a certain kind- the sort that comes before frenzied rage. Jenn must have noticed, because her conversational pace changed.
"I have it on good authority that this pokemon is the vey reason you started your crusade in the first place. As you've gathered, he's hardly been a cooperative guest; he takes after his master. I, for one, am willing to have him off my hands."
The image suddenly changed back to Jenn's face, a curdling smile upon her lips, and her fingers folded together. It was the same look that Silvaki Kurisawa wore. "Listen carefully, Kenta Nyna. I'm prepared to make a deal with you. I offer it exactly once, and on my terms alone. You fought this hard and this long to get your Typhlosion back. As a reward, though it is unprecedented, I will give him back. All I ask in return is that you disappear, and you stay quiet this time. I'm not implying your death, because I don't need your martyr status factored into the equation. Just you- gone. What is your answer?"
Kenta opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. He covered his eyes, his face wrinkled with worry, and still he tried to speak- without success. Red glared up at Jenn's face upon the screen.
"So, all of a sudden you've gone from threats to business deals. That was a quick change. Do you even realize that the world is watching you try to bribe Gold?"
"Things have changed in the past five minutes," Jenn replied, no longer smiling, "and it wasn't just because of your obnoxious meddling here. But things are far enough along now that it hardly matters anymore."
Kenta raised his head, and finally managed to speak in a hoarse, croaking voice. "You can guarantee I'll get Baku back?"
Red turned to him in surprise. "Gold!"
"Not immediately," said Jenn, smiling once again as if pleased by his answer. "It would need to be somewhere a little closer to the Pokemon League HQ, due to that localized signal in your area blocking teleports. Besides, a little down payment is in order first. I want you to go back out and tell all those trainers what I've just told you. Tell them you've succeeded in what you've set out to do, and now you're going to disappear. Make sure to be clear that you do NOT want anyone looking for you."
Red stared hard at Kenta, but his eyes were blank. Kenta slowly reached up and took off his hat. "I am . . . so . . . tired." His voice was hollow.
"Gold!" Red grabbed him by the cuff of his shirt and shook him with one arm. "I don't know if I believe in the devil, but I'm telling you, this feels like a deal with the devil as much as anything I've ever seen. Don't tell me you're out of spirit now, when the revolution's gotten this far!"
"God, shut UP!" Jenn suddenly erupted, breaking off abruptly from her former composed demeanor. "You blind, stubborn, intolerable buffoon! Haven't you figured it out yet? I'm only offering diplomacy because I considered that it might be a little easier. The truth is, I don't NEED to deal, I don't NEED your consent, I am already beyond you! Maybe this will make it easier to grasp!"
She ducked off-screen for just a second, but that was all the more time it took for things to change. At once, the stadium grew suddenly darker, as if a thick cloud had blocked out the sun overhead. There was a sharp whistle like that of high winds, then with a crack, something appeared at the very center of the stadium ring. It was a mix of palatinate purple and dark gray, with physically little girth but great height. On its fur were sickly green splotches of test tube markings, and all along its body were black veins that stood out like worms. Its dead eyes stared at nothing, and yet saw everything. Anyone who had ever seen pictures from the Mew Clone Project off the Deep Web might have described this creature as a blacker Mewtwo, if it were stretched to the breaking point.
"This is Mew3," said Jenn. "He's another S-class pokemon. A minute ago, he was handling the Elite Four members who had remained behind from the Master's Tournament. Now he's here with you."
Mew3 raised its head very slowly. As Kenta and Red stepped back toward the flame wall, Jenn's smile widened. "He's my new pokemon."
"Good morning. Well, late morning," he said with a guilt-inflected undertone. "Sorry for rushing you out of nowhere and punching you in the head like that. Your brother's orders."
"My-" Hibiki felt a wave of dizziness, shook his head, then tried again. "My brother ordered you to hit me on the head?"
"Well, uh . . . no. Those weren't the exact words." Curtis swallowed, and cleared his throat, gazing solidly ahead at the road. "He charged me to get you out of there before the, uh, poop hit the fan. This was a couple days back. Said he'd use a secret phrase to signal when it was time. Remember when he was yelling 'RELEASE our pokemon' to the camera? That was supposed to be it." Curtis shook his head. "Of course, the original plan was supposed to be that you would be in your designated seat, only a couple rows away from mine. In the end, to get to you, I had to sneak down below the stadium without getting caught. I guess I had nothing to worry about though, with Kenta distracting everyone's attention like he did."
Anger welled up inside of Hibiki. It aggravated his headache, but he burst out anyway. "What the goddamn HELL! I TOLD him that I would be with him to the end! I can't believe he pulled the rug out from under me at the last second!"
"He said you'd react that way," sighed Curtis, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and fishing through his pocket with the other. "Look, I know how you feel. I told Kenta over the phone that I didn't want to miss the main event either. But . . . here we are. I can't stress enough how important it was to him that your future be secure, whatever happens back there."
Curtis pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it into Hibiki's lap. "I'm not turning around, so don't ask. But I will let you borrow that, if you wanted to watch the live stream at PKTV's website. Just because we aren't there, doesn't mean we have to miss it, right?"
Hibiki tapped a few buttons on the digital keyboard, and in a moment he was looking down on a field of movement from a high, all-encompassing view. It was like the camera man had rushed to the highest seat in the stadium, and somehow managed to position himself atop the safety wall to view the chaos outside. Just beyond the Indigo Coliseum wall, a mass of people and pokemon were pounding against each other in all-out war. There was no question that the further army of Silhouette-controlled pokemon were winning, beating aside smaller and less-experienced trainer pokemon by the dozens for every one. Yet paradoxically, as time wore on, they were pushed backwards and recalled, retreating before the waves of lesser pokemon that continued to fall in one or two hits. Hibiki soon noticed another trend: pokemon that had seemed to be on the other side just minutes ago were now reappearing on the side of the stadium trainers.
He did it, Hibiki thought, his body tingling with hope and pride. Any second now, the camera guy will recognize that Kenta's turning the tide like we had always planned! I wish I could be there to explain it for him.
A thought occurred to him. There's no live reporting going on here. I wonder how much trouble the media's going to get in just for filming this? And all the people with Kenta, for that matter. He and I kicked the Beedrill nest, but how many people will be stung? . . . I should have been there!
Within the taped audio of the phone, a roar of animal pain suddenly issued. Curtis glanced warily at Hibiki for a moment. "What was that?"
"I'm not sure, but it sounded like . . ." As Hibiki watched, the camera guy swiveled the lens so that it turned inwards toward the stadium's electronic screen. "A Typhlosion."
***
"Baku!" Kenta dropped the Master Ball he was holding, turning fully around as the cry of pain issued from within the stadium. He bolted through the main entrance, ignoring the quizzical looks of Brendan and Red. The burning ring of fire left by Belle had not receded, but Kenta took no notice of the heat as he stared up at the image on the screen. There, in what looked to be a gymnasium-sized room made entirely of cement, lay a red creature surrounded by at least ten Marowak. It was bruised and bloodied, and the collar of flames around its neck had dwindled to almost nothing. At the slighest movement from the miserable creature, a Marowak would fling a spinning bone club at it, beating it into submission. The wretch gave the appearance of ferret roadkill, only it could still breathe, and it screamed when struck.
"Baku!" Kenta cried in a throat-tearing wail that reverberated off the walls.
"Do I have your attention?" came the voice of Jenn. "Good."
Kenta stood rooted, arms limp at his sides, gazing up at the screen as Jenn continued in a icy voice. "You'll have to forgive the brutal treatment. Believe me, nobody regrets it more than I do, but whatever training you put him through . . . it's made this necessary. Your Typhlosion- Baku, right-? is a singularity. All Typhlosion are supposed to have high speed and firepower, but low defenses. But yours . . ."
Jenn gave a sigh, as one who has just been given a very large workload. "You know what? I could reprimand you for being such a warlord and training a berserker, but that would probably just feed your defiance. It's funny how you get to know a trainer by the pokemon he raises. How about I sum up what Baku's been doing since he came into my care? And then I'll let you know what I'm leading up to."
Kenta said nothing. He continued staring up at his bloodied and beaten Typhlosion on the scoreboard screen, face pale, body stiff. From behind him, Red approached nervously, half-glancing at the screen.
"Gold, the Military Police are backing away, but th-" He stopped as Kenta subconsciously held up a hand to hush him, never taking his eyes off the screen. Jenn was talking.
"Singularity is what 'S-class' stands for. True S-class pokemon are nearly as rare as shiny discolored ones. I first suspected yours was one when he fought down five A-class pokemon at the same time. Thanks to you, we've had to rethink his containment procedures several times over. After a few dozen broken Ultra Balls, Timer Balls, and Repeat Balls, at least a dozen more A-class pokemon put into physical rehabilitation, two researchers forced into early retirement, and a partridge in a pear tree, we've settled on the current conditions you see now. Concrete walls two feet thick, an oxygen-reduced climate, a 24-hour live surveillance, and a force of ten Marowak who are motivated purely by self-preservation. Oh, and occasionally we have to break- well, REbreak the S-class's legs."
Kenta's eyes stared on, wide and aghast with horror- but of a certain kind- the sort that comes before frenzied rage. Jenn must have noticed, because her conversational pace changed.
"I have it on good authority that this pokemon is the vey reason you started your crusade in the first place. As you've gathered, he's hardly been a cooperative guest; he takes after his master. I, for one, am willing to have him off my hands."
The image suddenly changed back to Jenn's face, a curdling smile upon her lips, and her fingers folded together. It was the same look that Silvaki Kurisawa wore. "Listen carefully, Kenta Nyna. I'm prepared to make a deal with you. I offer it exactly once, and on my terms alone. You fought this hard and this long to get your Typhlosion back. As a reward, though it is unprecedented, I will give him back. All I ask in return is that you disappear, and you stay quiet this time. I'm not implying your death, because I don't need your martyr status factored into the equation. Just you- gone. What is your answer?"
Kenta opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. He covered his eyes, his face wrinkled with worry, and still he tried to speak- without success. Red glared up at Jenn's face upon the screen.
"So, all of a sudden you've gone from threats to business deals. That was a quick change. Do you even realize that the world is watching you try to bribe Gold?"
"Things have changed in the past five minutes," Jenn replied, no longer smiling, "and it wasn't just because of your obnoxious meddling here. But things are far enough along now that it hardly matters anymore."
Kenta raised his head, and finally managed to speak in a hoarse, croaking voice. "You can guarantee I'll get Baku back?"
Red turned to him in surprise. "Gold!"
"Not immediately," said Jenn, smiling once again as if pleased by his answer. "It would need to be somewhere a little closer to the Pokemon League HQ, due to that localized signal in your area blocking teleports. Besides, a little down payment is in order first. I want you to go back out and tell all those trainers what I've just told you. Tell them you've succeeded in what you've set out to do, and now you're going to disappear. Make sure to be clear that you do NOT want anyone looking for you."
Red stared hard at Kenta, but his eyes were blank. Kenta slowly reached up and took off his hat. "I am . . . so . . . tired." His voice was hollow.
"Gold!" Red grabbed him by the cuff of his shirt and shook him with one arm. "I don't know if I believe in the devil, but I'm telling you, this feels like a deal with the devil as much as anything I've ever seen. Don't tell me you're out of spirit now, when the revolution's gotten this far!"
"God, shut UP!" Jenn suddenly erupted, breaking off abruptly from her former composed demeanor. "You blind, stubborn, intolerable buffoon! Haven't you figured it out yet? I'm only offering diplomacy because I considered that it might be a little easier. The truth is, I don't NEED to deal, I don't NEED your consent, I am already beyond you! Maybe this will make it easier to grasp!"
She ducked off-screen for just a second, but that was all the more time it took for things to change. At once, the stadium grew suddenly darker, as if a thick cloud had blocked out the sun overhead. There was a sharp whistle like that of high winds, then with a crack, something appeared at the very center of the stadium ring. It was a mix of palatinate purple and dark gray, with physically little girth but great height. On its fur were sickly green splotches of test tube markings, and all along its body were black veins that stood out like worms. Its dead eyes stared at nothing, and yet saw everything. Anyone who had ever seen pictures from the Mew Clone Project off the Deep Web might have described this creature as a blacker Mewtwo, if it were stretched to the breaking point.
"This is Mew3," said Jenn. "He's another S-class pokemon. A minute ago, he was handling the Elite Four members who had remained behind from the Master's Tournament. Now he's here with you."
Mew3 raised its head very slowly. As Kenta and Red stepped back toward the flame wall, Jenn's smile widened. "He's my new pokemon."