There was a revelation that started dawning on Red as he traveled.

  "I don't have an angle!" Blue yelled, flinching as another poisonous projectile slapped against the ground. Bits fell onto his shoe, making him wildly fling it around and sending it flying like a sprinkler.

  His own pokémon were balancing on one another behind a particularly thin obelisk. The way they constantly moved made Red worry that they would eventually topple when a more violent attack was sent their way. The egg at the bottom was glaring at the group who were gleefully snickering as if this was a game. Even the psychic blasts rumbling the solid stone didn't change Exeggcute's unflappable demeanor.

  Meanwhile, the ghost expert who was supposed to be their main support for the mission was floundering in the face of human opponents. Those ambushes that they'd pulled off on the possessed trainers below didn't work so well on an intelligent squad who commanded their pokémon to keep eyes on their flanks. Any hint of shadow emerging from the bricks would be forced to recede as either buzzing clouds of pink or purple shots of poison splattered where it was trying to attack.

  Morty tried poking out to glance at the situation, receding back when a glob of spit flung right where his eyeball was. "Neither do I. Geeze, what's with these guys? I've never heard of Team Rocket being this coordinated."

  The top of the Pokémon Tower was a large field of tombstones. Most were the same squat, silly height where Charmeleon eclipsed over the gray boxes. Some would assume that these were the most luxurious (as luxurious as a final resting place where your body wasn't even stored could be) of the whole place considering it was the highest floor. Tour guides would happily lead visitors far away from the bereaving, mood-killing mourners while giving the interesting history, fluffed up with enough words that the same information communicated in the brochure at the front desk could extend past thirty minutes of walking. The tower was built sequentially with the bottom part having been built before Lavender Town even existed. Each floor was added by another generation, meaning the dinky tombstones at the top floor were the newest.

  Red wasn't an engineer, but he guessed that's why the whole tower was almost a grave itself—without windows, decorative flourishes, all for the service intending for future generations to build higher. Higher donors willing to have their dearly departed's names be displayed for all eternity or when the tower finally collapses (whichever came first) paid for the few larger tombstones they were using as cover. A very recent problem came from turning it into a tourist site as people outside the town wanted to buy their own spots, another spat starting over extending the tower after its last renovation had only been thirty years prior, and the role of outsiders taking up the graves previously made for the locals.

  Interesting history, something that made Red more excited than the frustrated grunts of his comrades.

  "Aren't you supposed to be the adult here? Do something!" Blue yelled, cringing when another barrage coated the floor around him. "You must have some kind of ace pokémon that can wallop these guys! Come on, let's see it!"

  "Funny that you say that. I do have an ace pokémon who's currently back at my gym to make sure that the younger ghosts aren't misbehaving. I only took along my weaker ones 'cause I thought this would be an easier mission," Morty said, smiling as if it actually were funny.

  There was a beat where only the enemy trainer's taunts could be heard.

  "Are you kidding me!? What kind of adult are you!?"

  One of his Ghastly poked out from the ceiling. There was an unspoken agreement among the heroes when their opponents didn't immediately shoot. There were three grunts, four pokémon pinning them down. A Drowzee and Koffing were doing all the work in covering the three trainers with their surprisingly strong attacks—the unconscious body of Blastoise propped up by two tiny graves still hadn't been recalled—while a Zubat and Golbat were keeping their backs watched.

  Morty's hand chopped down. Blue gave a thumbs up. Red shrugged, hand revolving asking for more. Morty chopped down, moved the hand to the right, and held up a two. Blue gave a thumbs up. Red was looking between Chameleon and Blue for some kind of reassurance that he wasn't the only one who didn't know what was happening. Blue pointed at the enemies and counted down from five.

  Five. The eggs finally stopped moving. The whole balancing act was a show. Latent psychic energy made them perfectly line up like a totem pole.

  Four. Charmeleon was confused also. He moved his claws around, trying to communicate that he didn't understand to his trainer, who was moving his hands around to show that he didn't recognize what his pokémon was trying to say.

  Three. Morty breathed, dropping the unflappable demeanor when the kids weren't looking.

  Two. Blastoise groaned as he started coming back to consciousness.

  "Go!" Blue yelled.

  Morty was surprised since it was a Johto-wide tradition to count to zero. Thankfully Charmeleon was proactive enough to step out since his trainer was too surprised to call out an order. From above the Ghastly formed a ball larger than itself, glossy, like the surface of a bright pool.

  Three different attacks sailed towards the same unaware Drowsy. His lumbering feet managed to avoid the stream of flames, accidentally stepping away from the ball that exploded into quiet screams, but not the counter-psychic that knocked him onto his butt. Left with an ambush that didn't take out the pokémon that they'd all fired against, the pokémon were struck dumb, standing in the open waiting for a counterattack. Red's arm hooked around his pokémon's belly as visible sound waves scattered the floor's dust. His allies’ pokémon started dropping unconscious.

  "You guys were supposed to aim from left to right! The signal! Why didn't you follow the signal?" Morty yelled.

  "What signal?" Blue started smacking his arm. "Was it the weird, I dunno, kung-fu that you were doing?"

  "It was the silent signal so their pokémon didn't hear our plans!" He bumped the back of his head against the stone. "This may have been a mistake."

  "Which part?" Red muttered bitterly, trying to glance out again. It felt like his eyes tried to escape their sockets. One of the grunts knew that the heroes would be too afraid to try another move like that and was using the time to heal up his pokémon. It would've been wholesome, the way that he patted the bald yellow scalp while bumping foreheads, if the pokémon didn't go back to sending psychic waves to dissuade Red from sticking out, and if the trainer wasn’t Team Rocket, and if he didn’t feel like screaming in frustration.

  More attacks spread around the field. Red winced as multiple tombstones were damaged. A poor neighboring engraving had turned from Scruffles to S?roff+?s because of the Zubat's horrible aim.

  "It was just supposed to be a visit seeing what was aggravating the pokémon," Red continued to mutter, getting concerned whines from Charmeleon. "Of course it was Team Rocket! Who even are these people? Why are they everywhere?"

  Morty glanced over. The man was sucking in his jaw as if afraid that it'd poke out. "You don't know who Team Rocket is?"

  Any more conversation was interrupted as they heard more pokéballs being released. The trainers looked between themselves, starting to visibly sweat.

  Their ward finally stuck out his head a bit. With no tombstones large enough to cover another body, he was forced to hunker down with his hands over his bald head. Red thought that bushy eyebrows finally graduate into true jungles when they start hanging off, partially covering the poor person’s eyes. It was the only positive of the whole scenario saving that man; he just wished that there was somebody a little more forthcoming that one of their town members had disappeared curiously around the same time that the ghosts in the tower had become agitated.

  "Excuse me, sirs, I don't mean to be an obnoxious bother but, heh, you do, uh," the man, one Mr. Fuji, interrupted himself with a gulp, tugging at his collar, "have a handle on this situation, right?"

  Morty impassively watched as his Ghastly was caught off guard by the new forces, sticking out a bit too far and getting punished by a barrage of attacks. None of them were very effective against ghost-types but the difference was well made up by getting hit at four angles at once. His pokémon bounced like a basketball when it fainted.

  "Like a glove," he said.

  The Wheezing finally became experimental. The glob of poison was shot in an arc, nearly grazing the roof. Nobody could've expected it unless they were watching. As it was, Red was given a gift of a stinging foot as it landed straight on his shoe. Kicking it off left behind a little squishy dome. The globule stuck like a piece of gum, though being about the size of a fist with the consistency of a jellyfish made that imagery slightly nauseating to Red.

  "Come on, 'hero', do something!" Blue yelled.

  That finally snapped something inside of him. Red's head turned like it was on a dial, clearing angles with tiny snaps until he was staring at Blue.

  "Come again?"

  "You're supposed to be the guy, the awesome trainer who has groupies and is too good to catch new pokémon." Blue's teeth bared, a predator's delight rather than a good-hearted smile. "Show us why you deserve to be here, 'cause from where I'm standing, you've been cowering behind there while we do all the work!"

  Red forgot about Team Rocket, about how they'd been ambushed upon entering the top floor, about anything other than the smarmy smile of a friend whose relationship has run deeper than either boy was comfortable with, because that's exactly how Blue could manage to get underneath his skin so easily, how he could feel motivated without the other party putting much thought into their insult, which then led to another layer where Red knew he was being manipulated and Blue knew that he wasn't even trying to hide the manipulation.

  Leading straight from the staircase towards a lone tombstone on the other side of the room was a clear path that the Team Rocket grunts had stationed themselves. On both sides were tombstones that they foolishly weren't using out of sheer confidence in their strength.

  "Give Charmeleon covering fire," he simply said, hooking his hands underneath his pokémon's armpits. The lizard didn't fuss. His tongue was greedily licking his lips, already imagining the payback he was going to inflict.

  The orders that came from the two other trainers were filtered into background noise as he chucked his pokémon over the tombstone. It was the surprise factor that made their pokémon's aim even worse. Half-formed sonic waves chipped off pieces of stone around Charmander, raining debris down on his scaly skin as he dashed between the tiny tombstones. Thanks to his small stature they provided effective cover, as he only needed to wait for the next series of attacks to fly above his head before dashing for the next one. Tiny nicks came about from lucky hits. When he was finally getting exasperated from having to leapfrog, finally came down multiple shots from his side. Jets of water and pink clouds that distorted the space behind them flew overhead as multiple gaseous pokémon emerged from the walls.

  It was his chance. Without any fear of getting attacked, Charmeleon ran straight towards his prey. The first one was the Drowzee, the only one who had managed to hit him. Flames arced from around his teeth as he bit down on its body. Deeply he sank, giving himself enough leverage that he could thrash his target around before tossing the limp pokémon at the nearby Wheezing. Knocking out one of their own had awoken the pokémon around him to the real threat. It was already too late.

  "Holy moomoo," Morty said as he watched three entire pokémon trimmed within ten seconds of impact. Singular bites were able to knock out the weaker ones. A Wheezing was thrown across the room, smashing into a Zubat and bouncing them against the ceiling. "Why were we waiting so long when you have an ace pokémon?"

  "Ace? He's good but he's not that good. We have to work on his techniques, he doesn't have that much move variety, he's pretty slow, and I'm not satisfied with Fire Fang. See? He could've done way more damage if he could control the fire better." Red didn't turn to see the incredulous looks he was being given. "He's also not too tolerant of pain. It's pretty easy to knock him down, which is probably his biggest problem. It made it so that he would have been too distracted to run at them when he was getting attacked. See? He's ripping through them so easily because he doesn't want to get hit."

  Only the Zubat were left after the initial massacre, sending down absurdly loud screeches that created a cycle: fly away as the Charmeleon used the tombstones to leap ever closer, screech at him when he was about to catch them, and then scatter to opposite ends of the room again. The dance was ruined when one of Morty’s Ghastly popped out from the walls to finish off the fight.

  There wasn't time for a celebration yet. From the crowd of quivering grunts stepped forth a cocky man, swaggering forth with his thumbs hooked into his pockets. His slicked back purple hair caught Red's eye for how shiny it was. Even in a place where the lightning was obnoxiously bright (and he realized it was probably exactly so guests could clearly see when a ghost was coming) it was absurd seeing his head shine like a helmet.

  The man put his fingers up, framing the Charmander who was growling at him.

  "This little scamp doesn't seem all that good. I dunno! I guess that you're all just incompetent or something," he said. Red thought that his voice was how he imagined a poet to sound like, carefree, and oozing a self-confidence that bordered on narcissism. "Name's Petrel. You're looking at a grunt who's quickly rising through the ranks. I was sent here as backup which seemed superfluous at first, but I guess the big boss was prepared for these guys being horrible at their job. Let's get this over with. I bet we'll rake in a huge sum for a gym leader and some brats as ransom."

  "Gym leader?" Blue repeated. His finger trailed among all the people in the room before landing on Morty. "You!?"

  "Not the time, kid," Morty said, preparing for the pokéball that was sailing through the air.

  Formed in front of Charmeleon was the biggest Raticate that any of them had ever seen. Its fur was well taken care of, underneath a hard pill made of pure muscle. Already Raticate were larger than babies; this one fought against a young child before their growth spurt, casting a few inches over Charmeleon's already considerable height. There was no sign that one was afraid of the height and weight difference, nor the other shying away from the brief spurts of fire that leaked out of his opponent's mouth. One leapt for the other, claws grabbing onto their own.

  Charmeleon let out a grunt of surprise as he was grappled. His foot stepped back, feeling the full weight of the pokémon fall down onto him. Soon enough any hope of spurting out fire was denied as he was sputtering out short breaths in exertion. His shoulders were forced back, the smaller pokémon's wicked teeth chattering like a jackhammer as they got nearer. Snorts emitting air hot as an oven became shorter and shorter. Its entire body started trembling. Within five seconds, he had been forced down to his knees.

  The optimal move would've been for the others to intervene. Red running ahead made Morty hold out a hand against Blue.

  Red skidded behind his pokémon, falling on the ground and smacking his palm down.

  "Come on, Charmeleon! You've got this! Remember your training! Remember what we've done together! You can do it! It's all you! All that time that we've fought together means something!"

  More encouragement came out like a stream. An endless generator of encouragements of basically rewording the initial ones until Red ran out of synonyms in his limited thesaurus and started repeating the same exact lines. Each second the pokémon started visibly struggling more, until its arms started buckling from the strain. The display made Petrel laugh.

  "You've got to be kidding me. Your pokémon isn't going to find some hidden well of strength in him. That's done! The weak are—"

  "Shut up!" Red screamed. "We're stronger than this, stronger than you! I'll never let myself be defeated by you Team Rocket goons! And if you think that this is all Charmeleon has, you're wrong! We're stronger together, better than you'll ever be! Show them what you’ve got, Charmeleon!"

  Belting out alongside his trainer made the room seem to shake. Their voices intermingled, turning into one monotone as a brilliant shine enveloped the pokémon. The Raticate, refusing to let go, let out a pitiful squeak as its paws started lifting until it was kicking in the air. The remaining silhouette became visible when the shine started dying down. Everyone could see the massive wingspan stretched wide, the stubby snout elongating. Nobody really had words for what happened. Morty was struck silent, Blue seething, Petrel already raising his hands in surrender, and the grunts who hadn't tried making a break for it babbling in pure confusion.

  Only Red, standing underneath the protective wing of his pokémon, looked as if he was completely unsurprised by the outcome.

  It wasn't that much of an issue rounding up the criminals past that. Morty did the bulk of the work, calling the police and watching as the statements were taken. Blue was happily engaging with the attention, bragging about the parts of the fight that he'd been involved in, embellishing the details to the consternation of the officer forced to deal with him. Red's part hadn't been very long; both of his comrades had emphasized that he wasn't much of a talker, leaving him in the back of the room with his newly evolved pokémon hovering behind him. Charizard was happily testing out his new wings, making a concerted effort to keep afloat for a few flaps longer each time he leapt. Red made a note to himself to properly train that later. What to do? Wing-ups, flying target practice for Squirtle…the possibilities were endless.

  He stared at the lone tombstone. None of the police had been harassed upon entering the tower. That meant the incident was dealt with, probably. He turned around, about to walk away, when there was a sound of thumping. Nobody else seemed distracted—not even Charizard, happily attempting a loop before falling on his head. It was rhythmic, loud. It sounded as if it were coming from beyond the walls in all directions. His world was swirling. Wordless chants joined along with the stomps.

  He spun around. A transparent pokémon wearing a skull on its head was standing on top of the tombstone. Every thump came from its bone striking against the tombstone. A single nod and it vanished. No preamble. The silhouette was so memorable that he swore that he could still see it standing there, watching him. The thumping had dissipated. Only his heart carrying the beat reassured him that it had happened in the first place.

  "Red from Kanto!"

  Normalcy returned when the gym leader ran up from behind. Only a glance was afforded to the grave before he focused on Red.

  "Gotta say, you handled that pretty well. I would almost say that you didn't need us at all with the way that you're battling. You thinking of going to Johto?"

  Red shook his head. "Not for a while. I have a few more badges to get and, well, I'm not sure yet. I think I'll make a bid for Champion, but I'm not sure if I'm good enough."

  "Heh." Morty made it clear that was his response by letting it linger. "Since you've been such a great help, I'll give you a free answer and advice. I'll answer any question you have and give you advice for free. Careful now! It's not often that you have a gym leader's ear."

  "Every gym leader has given me advice on any questions I have even before I battle them. Both Misty and Brock even gave me strategies that a fire-starter could use when I scheduled my fight." Red shook his head as logic didn't budge the unflappable grin. "Fine. What did you mean by Team Rocket? Does everyone know about them?"

  That made Morty sober up a bit, though only a bit. His eyes were still shining and tone kept bouncy. Now that Red thought about it, there wasn't a single time when Morty sounded dire. Keeping it easy must've been the man's motto. "Ah, that one. Not the thing I'd expect a trainer to ask me, but whatever. I'll give you the big scoop: Team Rocket has been a presence for quite some time, longer than you've been alive. They're the biggest criminal group that exists. I'm more shocked about how you haven't heard of them. You haven't been extorted? Had a pokémon disappear? Challenged to a battle and had more money taken from you than what's allowed?"

  Red shook his head, dumbstruck. "I live in Pallet Town and—"

  "You live there? Nevermind, that makes sense. That place has no money. You're a bunch of country bumpkins from what I hear. Team Rocket's only really a problem in the big cities because that's where they can slip away easily and make the real money. It'd defeat the purpose of doing crime if it didn't pay, and your rink-a-dink town barely makes more money than the museum up north, right? That sounds right." Morty relaxed against a gravestone. Now that they weren't in a crazy situation, Red thought that was disrespectful. "Granted, they've certainly been bolder than they have before. This is a huge spot, pretty much the only reason anyone in Johto would know anything about Lavender Town—it's practically mocking Kanto. Well, it's a Kanto problem. Johto has a Team Rocket presence but we don't have it nearly as bad where civilians are getting kidnapped. I'm sure you guys can figure it out, heh."

  Red didn’t have a response.

  "Now for the advice! Run while you can. Your wannabe rival over there probably still wants to battle, especially now that you got yourself an evolution, and he hasn't begun to touch the fight with Team Rocket since he's too busy claiming all the glory. If you run now you can get ahead of him. Here's some money. Buy a new pair of shoes on your way out. And hey! Don't be a stranger. If you're ever in Johto, then swing on by and I'll tell you why we weren't possessed while the girls were. If I'm feeling generous, you'll get the ear of a gym leader again. If you're feeling generous, I'll show you how I've made fire-type trainers weep during my career. Catch you later, 'hero'!"

  On his way down, Red saw a white circle floating above the ground. One of the only channelers who wasn't possessed. She pointed to the thing and claimed again that there was magic that would heal his pokémon. He left without entertaining her.

  Red left the tower. The revelation that had been dawning seemed to strike him harder than ever. It wasn't just Lane who was annoying. Eccentric people were annoying, and people were annoyingly eccentric.

  Red was starting to think that he liked pokémon better than people.

  Waves crashed underneath the short dropoff into the sea. Sharper edges with tufts of grass still growing on the sides of the discolored rocks, mud lines trailing down from long term erosion, looked as if the world was sliced through with a cake knife. A single nudge further would make him tumble down into the ocean. Murky water hid the schools of fish that were battling deep under; so sudden was the dropoff that if the water was drained then the basin would dip further than any mine or valley on the continent. The white picket fence quaintly dug in between the route from the untamed wild with its flowers, long grass, and buoys that demarcated the 'safe' zone from the 'rocks that will kill you' zone. Groups of bicyclists would glance at the crazy person with his thumb sticking out towards the ocean as they sped past.

  "Would you get back over here? The dirt is literally sinking as you're standing there!"

  If his brown hair wasn't disciplined underneath three different layers of hair gel (one that was applied that day, one that was applied after the river debacle, and a natural sheen from the amount of sweat since he didn't stop for a shower at the pokémon center) then it would’ve been flowing freely in the harsh breeze. Shaking striped legs tried to follow dutifully along with her trainer even though her other claw was gripping tightly on the fence. Her free claw still dutifully was turned upwards in its best approximation of a thumbs up. Another strong wave crashing against the cliff face sent water splashing on their feet. It numbed his digits and sent a thrill up his spine.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "I'm trying to catch a taxi!" Lane yelled back.

  The crazy woman was some kind of official, Lane scoffed derisively in his head. Some woman! She was wearing the same getup that a pokémon ranger would wear with their stupid orange heads and stupid ropes hooked to their belts. Lane scoffed again, jabbing his thumb more aggressively into the sky. If she were so worried about their well-being, then she would've forcibly dragged them back onto stable ground.

  "You can't keep saying that nonsense! Get over here!" the ranger yelled.

  There were boats out in the sea. It wasn't as if they were acting like fools for no reason. Lane wondered if waving around the money like a flag would get them a better reception.

  "I'm not leaving until I'm picked up!" Lane yelled. "See? There's one coming right now!"

  The ranger regarded the boat approaching in horror. Its weathered hull and yellowed flag declared the owner's pride at being too lazy for maintenance. Just through the shimmering images were Tentacruel swimming alongside the hard metal. It was built like a crescent, with the bow tilting slightly upwards. The man inside, ripped sleeves showing off his inflated muscles, was chewing on gum. The Slowpoke on deck didn't seem to acknowledge that people had entered its vision, continuing to chew on five pieces of gum. The helm was inside a tiny room that protected the sailor from weather, windows smudged as the best cleaning they'd been given was the ocean's breeze and a stained rag inside one of the drawers.

  Lane gave it a once over and was satisfied. Lulu felt the exact opposite.

  "What's up with you, boy? Don't they teach you nothing? There ain't any etiquette for sea taxis," the sailor said, spitting his gum into the sea.

  The ranger frowned at blatant littering.

  Lane took the moment to wave the money around. "I've got money! Get me as close to Lavender Town as possible!"

  The sailor leaned in, eyes squinting. "Yep. That's a good price. I'll take you there."

  "You can't be serious, sir! This is flagrantly disrespecting the sailor's zones! And—and decency!" the ranger yelled.

  "Lady, those codes are only for the politicians to feel good about themselves. You're actually on the field. You should know how often they're violated," the man said. The ranger gritted her teeth, unable to answer. "'Sides, we've got a good path that'll hardly kick up a fuss. We'll head around as far as possible t' avoid any rocks and then circle round the region. F'it makes you feel better, we're goin' through Magikarp's Pass. This boat 'ere is small 'nough for it. Not that I'd ever recommend going through 'er, but money greases any hull."

  The leap towards the boat was small. Perks of being on land just elevated above the sea level. Lurantis leaned against the Slowpoke as the rocking immediately started doing its devilish works on her. Money exchanged hands. Within a few strokes, the boat was moving again, Lane waving at the ranger who spent about ten minutes of her life trying to convince a kid not to do something stupid. It took much longer for the cyclists and hills and rangers to become little specks. His source of entertainment was gone. With that came boredom already.

  He walked around to the entrance of the captain's seat. The man had taken another piece of gum as he was lazily keeping a single arm on the wheel. The radio blared about local elections that were happening around the region before transitioning into a caller bragging about their shiny Caterpie.

  "What was all that jargon you two were speaking about?" Lane asked.

  The man lowered the radio's volume. "Buncha legal shlock. They make zones where amateurs, fishers, swimmers, and big ships're allowed. The amateurs don't interrupt work. Sailors make a living. Swimmers get not run over. Big ships get to ship 'er cargo. Natural pokémon generally ain't no problem—'less they're a Gyrados." The man shivered as if his feet were dipped in the water. "Never cross that 'un. Never done it. Nobody done it and lived to tell the tale. Safer than not t'just avoid the pokémon waters anyways. Jus' one overpowered Goldeen an' you're capsizin'."

  "So we're crossing through where only swimmers are allowed?"

  "There's a band 'tween Fuchsia, Cinnabar, and Pallet where only swimmers are allowed. Ships still need to get through though so there's three different passes: Gyrados, Slowpoke, and Magikarp. Magikarp is the least used cause it's the smallest and heads into some deadly sea stacks. It'll get us to where you want the fastest though," the fisherman said.

  It took a while, but Slowpoke finally raised its head as if the trainer called it.

  "Not you, Nessie. Settle down."

  The pokémon continued looking at him for a few more seconds before laying its head back on the deck. Lulu rolled off the soft fat onto the hardwood. A harsh thump came from her limp body bouncing against the weathered deck.

  Lane winced at the pokémon's dazed eyes. "I don't think you've got sea legs, Lulu. I'll call you out later."

  They floated languidly along the ocean. Those same places where he had once been walking across came and went. It was with a careful eye that he traveled along the visible coastline. It was only when the mist became too much that he had to turn back to the captain.

  "Do you have binoculars on the ship?"

  The man patted down a pair that were lightly thumping against the wall. Black, utilitarian, with visible finger marks running across the grips and calcified ocean lining the right glass. Putting the thing up to his eyes made Lane feel like he was more holding onto a telescope as one eye had turned to hardened water. It still zoomed in well enough that the details of the forest became sharper. Trees depositing their gunk that gathered alongside the softer waves between protruding rocks. The contours of the landscape that would dip further below sea level to the heights of cliffs that'd have secluded houses built at their apex: those would be gone within the next few years. A Spearow dived into a crowd of Wurmple. The binoculars quickly redirected somewhere else towards the sheer amount of pokémon that dotted the entire coastline with their magical little bodies. Too many species to count were visible from a vantage point they'd never expect. Only a wary Ekans had spotted Lane looking from the boat and waved its tail in greeting, or in threat; Lane wasn't an expert in the pokémon's body language to tell. The sheer variety that was visible from the harshest crags to the few bars that provided an even inlet for smaller pokémon to rest had convinced him of the area's importance. Noting down the place on his map with the sailor's help, he continued looking along for his other objectives.

  Rocks spiced the coast. Tiny and big, they spread across the land to create a treacherous path if the boat floated any nearer to land. Only a flock of Wingull carried along by the wind floated alongside them. Thunder rolled in the distance. An adventurous bird lowered down in front of the boat and leaned. The tip of its wings skidded alongside the water, sending off tiny rainbows into the air. Staring into the horizon in the opposite direction would swallow you whole if you weren't careful. The grinding intersection where neither sea nor sky was comfortable in their respective place fought for dominance at a place that he could hardly make out. Swirling dark clouds emitted from the sky eventually changed the scenery. Finally, he complained to himself. Staring at the nature that nature'd as nature does was starting to get boring. Pokémon only made the same craggy cliff and sandy beach and wet ocean so much more interesting before they became another feature, the same as a rock (the billionth rock that existed on this rock) or patch of dirt (the quadrillionth patch of dirt that existed on this dirt-encrusted rock).

  Lane leaned against the railing, letting his head hang. The pole was uncomfortably pressed against his spine but he also didn't want to move. It was that mood where you were bored while not wanting to do anything. Petting the Slowpoke was cool for an hour before the fat blob started becoming more like a breathing stress ball.

  The sailor was an attentive man, also not critical of a young person's whims. When he was sure that they were heading in the right direction, he came out of the box for conversation.

  "So what's your story, young 'un? Name too if you're feelin' generous."

  Entertainment! Lane shot up, patting his lap excitedly.

  "Well, I'm Ha"—he violently coughed—"hahaha, that's interesting how you ask for my name because it's a very weird one! It's Lane, and I'm a historian. I'm currently cataloguing the future champion's journey by following him around like a stalker. He doesn't like me very much."

  The man always had gum. No matter rough waves or calm, there was a piece stuck between his molars. Lane could see it bounce around in the back of his mouth as he talked. "Wasting your time? That's about the long and short of a journey."

  Lane started laughing. "That's honest!"

  "True tha’, least for the most of us." The man slid down, sitting next to his pokémon with a hand resting on its head. "See 'ere, I ain't a battler. See a strong pokémon and I'm skedaddling. That's the most of us in Kanto, but we got a whole tradition over it. Why?"

  Lane eventually realized the question wasn’t rhetorical. "Because you guys are dumb?"

  "Speak like that to the wrong guy and you'll get your hide whooped. It ain't dumb. Nessie here's my partner, been since day one. See, kids love to battle. No better way teach 'em lessons than setting 'em off doin' the thing they love." He spat out the gum in a wrapper, the same one that had lasted for three hours. Another piece popped inside. He offered one to Lane, who gleefully swallowed it whole. "Lotta lessons. I learned I ain't strong and I ain't important and I went back to my home so I could be a fisher just like my pa."

  "You're saying that I'm going to be disappointed in my hero?" Lane asked, laughing in bemusement.

  The man just shrugged in response. "I ain't got the lessons you'll learn known, 'cept I got one that I think'll be important: that we ain't important people. Got a lot of luck and big stories and big 'ol hero moments I done. Got a lotta kisses from pretty ladies in thanks too. Took me a while to recognize that I ain't the type to be the one, and you'll only know when it's time to know."

  Lane stood up suddenly. His hands were clasped behind his back, swinging around whimsically as he traipsed around the boat. The man was watching while Slowpoke was watching an afterimage five seconds behind. Lane started swaying, tracing long lines around the deck. His feet were moving in the best approximation of a dancer, a ballerina whose grace carried him from the portside to starboard. His hands played a fanciful tune before coming to a stop in front of the man.

  "You don't have to tell me that! I'm not the hero! Red is the hero! He's the hero and future champion of the region!" He spun once, standing airily at the center of the swaying boat. "Y'see, I'm fine with being a red link on a 'pedia page, only a vague mention that the historians would debate if I ever existed. Maybe that's asking for too much, but I'd love for that. A little mention that I had fun once because I will have fun. Let me show you how that's done."

  He walked to the very tip of the boat. Boot planted on the curved edge, a heroic horn gripped tightly in the ridges of his fingers. His mouth curled around the woody lips. A deep breath inhaled. The salt in the air hurt the cracks in his lips. A mighty blow came out. So came the call of a Lapras, mournfully blowing into the air for any other of its kind. He took a deep breath and then gave another blow. Through the harsh wind and force smashing against the boat, the fake Lapras' cry ended in a panicked foghorn.

  The hero was thrown off his mighty steed into the water.

  "Kid!"

  The sailor ran out of the cabin. Before running past the Slowpoke, he gave the pokémon a kick, then grabbed a rope to throw out. The Slowpoke stared. The rope flew. The Slowspoke licked its nostrils. The sailor yelled down at Lane. The Slowpoke got up and jumped overboard.

  Lane was deposited back on deck with teeth marks ripped through his shirt and a whole deal of slobber more than he was used to dealing with, laughing. He thought the whole thing was so funny that he laughed about it far past that day.

  Walking through the devastated hallways of the company was interesting because the definition of 'devastated' varied depending where he was walking. Those areas around the teleporters were heavily guarded by Team Rocket and were promptly destroyed by him. Some had signs of fierce battles while others were desolate, places where there should usually be people moving around midday being reduced to ticking clocks keeping time for the photocopiers. All the same, he carved through the resistance. Hostages lit up as he beat down their captors. Guards assigned to certain junctions were left wailing as a kid half their height wiped them.

  Red was aggrieved. The battles weren't even that hard! It just showed the competence of Team Rocket that he, who'd barely been training for around two months, was able to do all of this.

  He remembered all the lessons that Professor Oak had given him, specifically about evolution. Evolution was a tricky, misunderstood process that Oak had been able to enthusiastically talk about for hours. Do it too early and the pokémon has developmental problems. Do it too late and the pokémon has emotional disturbances. Even if it was a clean evolution, all sorts of caveats came from the new form. Stories regaled by younger trainers about people who took an entire decade to make it to their pokémon's final evolution, others whispering about how the housepet was their father's partner who never evolved. Statistics bolstered the argument: the average trainer had evolved their starter after six months, then only a fraction of those could get the final evolution after another year.

  Red stared at the glowing form of his Squirtle. Wiping through the rest of their pokémon was much easier when the enemies were that demoralized.

  He fought to the highest point of the building. He would've been there if it weren't for two grunts who stood in front of the teleporter that was going to take him there.

  "Oh? Looks like the twerp has finally gotten here," the one on the right said. He was surprisingly short and had a voice straining against puberty.

  "Shall we bring him in? The boss will be happy," the one on the left said. Red honestly mistook her for a man until she spoke, especially since she was taller than her partner.

  It was enough that Red had to sigh. They clearly had all their pokéballs hooked on their belts (a handy device for trainers. Cheap knockoffs for all brands existed, the most popular and the one that was standard issue for Team Rocket being Au Revoir Fantina.), which meant that he was dealing with five pokémon between the two of them. There was the same exact cockiness that every grunt kept up. Whether that was delusion or a method of pumping themselves up was unclear.

  "Look, can we skip this?" Red asked.

  The two grunts kept up their pokéballs, backs arched to look as intimidating as their pokémon. The words took a moment to sink in.

  "What?" the man asked.

  "Do you two have lives? Do you do anything other than this?"

  Both of their faces turned red. Embarrassment, fury, and some strange mix of shame came over them.

  "Who the heck do you think you are!?"

  "I'm just saying that it's pathetic how you're wasting your time doing something like this. What is this even going to achieve? Even if Sabrina didn't step in, you were eventually going to get overwhelmed by the cops outside." He jabbed a finger towards the window. Morbidly curious, the man peered through the glass and paled at the ocean of sirens. "Plus there's the fighting-type specialist. If all of you are getting beaten by me, then that's not even going to compare how badly you would've lost to them. And what even is up with that? You have all this time on your hands to train and you all battle like you've just gotten your second badge. Where are all of you from?"

  "I got to the seventh gym before calling it quits!" the man interjected.

  Red tapped a finger on his thigh. "Okay? How much have you trained since then?"

  "Um, that's—"

  "And have you kept the same pokémon since? If so, then you should've built up a team instead of your two pokémon."

  "Well—"

  "And your excuse?" Red asked, looking at the woman.

  "I'm a dockworker! I work! I'm not laying around all day like this bozo!" she said, pointing at her partner. He squawked in protest.

  "So then why are you here?" Red asked.

  "Not everything is alright like in your fantasy world," the woman said bitterly. "In the real world—"

  "Not what I asked," Red said, tone flat like a board. "I mean why are you here? If you're supposed to be too busy to be training pokémon, then why are you doing a job where you're expected to fight?"

  The grunts were looking uncomfortably between themselves. The man was too busy looking down from the window while the woman was realizing that the team briefing had neglected to make a certain aspect clear: even if the building made it so that the employees were trapped, they too were trapped when the police had barricaded the lower floors.

  "Hey, can I talk to you for a moment?" The woman didn't wait for an answer as she forcibly dragged the man so they were facing the other direction. While Red crossed his arms in impatience, she lowered her voice to a hush. "I know that we're Team Rocket and all that. Discipline, unity, we're all one family, that kind of stuff and all that, but can I be honest with you for a moment? I'm in it for the money."

  The man glanced back. Red was still waiting. Keeping his eyes off the boy was hard, but he managed to pull them away. "You know what? Same. Never liked those team unity meetings."

  "Oh, yeah, those are the worst. They're just—did you get paired with Johnson? In the, in the falling backward one, you know? The, what's it called?" She knocked her head a few times to get the memory jogging.

  "Trust fall?"

  "Trust fall! Yeah, that's it!"

  "Yeah, with Johnson? Yeah, he makes you think that you're actually falling and waits a second longer 'cause he's strong enough to grab you when you're, yeah."

  "Yeah, just the absolute worst."

  "Yeah."

  "Yeah, and, you know, I like to be free. And we're standing across from the kid that single handedly destroyed our home base."

  "Allegedly," the man interjected.

  She blinked once, then twice, waiting for some kind of punchline. None came.

  "He broke into—"

  "Allegedly," he interjected.

  "—our base and beat everybody up. I'll tell you what isn't alleged: he probably beat everybody else downstairs."

  The man glanced back again. He could see the bloodthirst in the boy's eyes. "Totally. Yeah, I've, you know what? I'm, I'm gonna be honest. Never cared for battling."

  "Oh, you too? Thank goodness. I thought that I was the only one," the woman said, relieved.

  "Yeah, because, you know, it's like, uh, how do you say it…"

  "It's barbaric. Not very civilized," she said.

  "Yeah! That's exactly it!" He jabbed a thumb back. "You know what happens when our kids are exposed to battling? That."

  Red didn't even care to pretend that he was offended.

  "Oh, yeah, that's awful. It's just like, how do we allow our kids to be going around doing stuff like that? It's like they're—" She paused, eyes trailing upwards like they were trying to swap backwards to see her brain. When he was about to ask if she was possessed, she came back. "Okay. Let's say we stole some of the worker's clothes and skedaddled. Just run out the front door and don't look back. I saw some lockers back there that we can steal from. Probably a little money in them too."

  "Great idea."

  They shuffled past Red awkwardly without saying another word. All in all, that took more time than if he actually battled them.

  "Hey! Don't think that you're getting away from me! You avoided our last fight like a coward! You've left a debt open and I'm here to collect!"

  He was about to be ambushed by Blue in the middle of a hostage situation. People! People. The people who couldn't beat weak grunts, the grunts who were dominating the region despite having teams that would lose against gym trainers, those around him annoyingly eccentric—people! He repeated 'people' in his head for long after he left the building, being praised by an adoring crowd in front of cameras while staring blankly into the horizon.

  By the time that he was deposited back at the boardwalks that partially made Route 12, he felt like napping for the rest of the week. Bathing in freezing cold rivers and the even colder sea made his skin feel like it was turning into a plastic baggie that held all that was 'him' in. Not to mention the disastrous losses of tons of valuable pieces when he fell into the ocean—like a lot of money. Thankfully he had the sense to throw his bag on the boat so that everything didn't get swept up in the waves; not that it escaped the abuse that everything else did during the rest of the trip, but was an improvement rather than a vindictive reminder that even the hardiest pieces of clothes had a last straw. His trusty sack's strap was fraying. A beak had nearly ripped it asunder when trying to gore his heart out and the ocean had done the rest.

  Hey, but the map was okay, and a lot of the food. Knowledge and food—the things that made the world turn he'd heard once, though he personally thought that was both pretentious and stupid.

  The boat had made it within six hours, but his own feeble body was acting as the real obstacle. Being through the worst planned three days in his life would leave enduring marks on his body. There was a pretty deep scratch that was left behind by the forest which Lane idly wondered if it was going to scar. The rest barely began the healing process. But he had an image to maintain! So he dragged, tugged, pulled, whatever needed to happen with whatever leg became bum. Sometimes he'd become too tired to continue. Other days he'd have enough energy to walk normally.

  Five days. While he nearly crossed an entire hostile forest within a single day, dragging his tired body through a place that was comparatively an amusement park had taken five entire days.

  It was actually inside the city proper where they found each other again. Red was walking down the street with his normal stoic face. Lane had just done a makeover. A jacket that looked just enough like a suit while being insanely comfortable didn't go with the normal pair of jeans. A barber had redone the hair dye and styled it back to its former brown glory, slicked back and ready for a business deal. A trusty backpack that had some kind of whatchamacallit technology (bigger on the inside than it was on the outside) had replaced his soldiering napsack. Just to sell the illusion, the cherry on the Alcremie, they got matching sunglasses. Lulu had initially protested before going along with it before realizing how awesome she looked.

  A random street corner was chosen. He pretended to be reading the paper when Red walked up. Red continued walking, barely pausing, forcing Lane to pretend that running didn't hurt.

  "Rude of you to ignore me, hero!" Lane said when he caught up.

  Red barely rolled his head over. "You disappeared all that time to get a makeover?"

  "None of the places here allowed me to shop with all the Rocket goons protecting the places," Lane said, sighing mournfully. "I mean it when I say that I was thinking about your problems when I went on my shopping spree."

  Red looked down at Lurantis. She adjusted her sunglasses.

  "You're horrible."

  Lane once again had to speed up while pretending that his legs weren't shattering. "But hey! Have you done the gym yet?"

  "Yes."

  "Darn! I wanted to watch this one too but, ah! You could've just stopped by and picked me up, hero!"

  That finally got Red to stop and squint his eyes. "Were you sitting at this corner the entire time waiting for me to walk by?"

  "Perhaps. Maybe. Mayhaps not. Where are we heading next?"

  He continued walking, continued staring ahead as if he weren't having a conversation.

  "Fuschia City."

  "Ohohoho."

  "No. Don't make that sound."