Chapter Text
Something flashes in the depths of the dark alleyway.
Another burst of light radiates out into the night, and then another. It’s psychic energy, fired in singular bursts rather than a sustained wave, more white than pink in its intensity. The air stirs from a heavy thud, and a small black shape is launched out onto the sidewalk, groaning in pain.
Look. Inside the alley, two small shapes - one light and one dark - dart back and forth between snarling Pokemon, landing strikes as they go and then withdrawing out of range. Their movements are furious and yet controlled, and there's a sequence to it, a cadence these two follow like steps in a dance.
The dance only lasts for a few seconds before all their opponents are down. Their trainer, the guard, still stands by the end of it - he staggers backwards into an alcove, jamming a key into a door and twisting it hard enough to warp the aged wood frame. His eyes are fixed on the two Eeveelutions as they creep closer, their fangs bared.
He never sees it coming. As the door jerks open, an arm snakes out of the shadows, wrapping around the guard's windpipe before he can react. The choke quickly takes effect, and a vague outline draws back into the shade, rocking its captive gently to the ground.
Only when he's satisfied that the guard won’t wake does the outline take form. A tall, lean figure emerges from the building’s shadow, half-crouched, snagging the fallen key with a flick of his wrist.
The tall figure pockets the key, then jerks his head to one side. The two Pokemon behind him take off at a run, diving into the building's darkened interior. The man pauses, standing up straight, glancing backwards at the alleyway. Something prickles at his senses - an instinct that even the veil of a watcher cannot deflect entirely. He doesn't see it, doesn't hear it, couldn't comprehend it if he tried, but he knows it’s there.
When he finally steps inside, he pulls the door shut behind him, the only precaution he can take against a watcher's attentions. And the alley is empty once more.
Distant, muffled sounds come from behind the door - yells of shock and barked commands, a handful of scattered gunshots, and the thrumming of psychic energy. The slams and thuds of physical violence follow, raw and percussive in their intensity, and once they’ve ceased, there’s a plea for mercy, barely enough to echo beyond the door. Then silence falls. The sequence repeats over and over, varying and growing dimmer on each repetition, a corrupted recording that eventually dissolves into static.
This is a dangerous part of town - where graffiti spreads like moss on the walls, where dim streetlights cast weird shadows across the cracked sidewalks, where one in every ten houses has a hidden safe under the floorboards, loaded with cash and drugs and illegal weapons. Yet there's no violence. The local Pokemon-runners have long since consolidated all power in this little town in their own hands, and the gangs of Orre are not known for their kindness to rivals, nor their accommodation of disruptions. Anyone who crossed them would be courting death and worse.
Yet this figure and his Pokemon seemed to think nothing of it - indeed, they’d practically welcomed it. And the way they'd dispatched the doorwardens...
The door creaks open. It feels like it’s been mere minutes since the trio entered - but only the dark one emerges. He snuffs the air as he steps into the open, but a few seconds later he turns away, retreating back into the darkened building. The door he leaves ajar.
It's not a proper invitation, but it will do.
Follow. It's barely navigable inside, and the only guide is the faint golden glow of the dark one's rings, bobbing as he makes his way forward. The dark one moves quickly, expertly picking his way past the debris, eyes fixed ahead. The pursuit only lasts a few minutes before he reaches a side door, wriggling his way through the gap and into the open.
There are no lights on this side of the compound, but the bright moonlight is enough to illuminate the three of them. The tall figure, their trainer, stands next to a large hovering contraption, flanked on either side by the light one and the dark one. The light one pricks her ears up, murmuring slightly. Does she feel fresh forest air, smell the earthy tang that accompanies a watcher? Does she know what they herald?
The dark one might have noticed it, but he seemed preoccupied, too distracted to stir. “Let it go, sis,” he whispers. “I just came that way, there’s no-one inside.” The light one’s ears droop in response, and she turns her head away.
The trainer doesn't notice the exchange. His hands are out of sight, but his arms move with languid grace, and a precision that only comes through familiarity. His eyes are cast downwards, but a fire is visible there nonetheless, a burning intensity that fixes him in place and ties him to his task.
Only when he steps away do the cracks show, where his flames have begun to eat away at him. His hand trembles as he raises it, and it takes him a few moments to gather himself. “Elena,” he says. “You know the drill.”
Watch as the light one - Elena - steps forward, eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration. The air around the bike begins to shimmer, vibrating with psychic energy, faster and faster and faster until finally a spark catches in mid-air, hovering ghost-like above their heads.
Then a popping sound is heard, like a cork flying off a bottle, as air is released from a tight container to return to the open sky. The tall figure steps backwards, turning away from his fallen vehicle, seemingly ignorant of the sudden splash from behind him. His pokemon follow him, moving in step and in accord, reflections of one another.
As they reach the edge of the alleyway, the spark finally falls, landing beneath the bike in a cushion of viscous liquid. The dark pool ignites, the flames sweep greedily outward-
And the trio disappears in a sudden burst of light, as the alley is consumed by fire.
The blaze engulfs the small space, and tongues of flame stab upwards at the sky, the only plane open to them. They barely make it a few meters before collapsing back to earth, drowning the courtyard in violent orange flares and billowing black smoke.
Then two pinpricks of scarlet light shine within the inferno, and around them violet miasma is woven into a barrier stronger than steel. The hemispheric shield stands tall, filtering out the smoke, holding the asphyxiating heat and scorching flames at bay, slowly receding into the distance.
When the flames finally die away, the trio are visible, standing by an open gate at the compound’s edge. The light one drops to her haunches as her shield evaporates, and the dark one prowls around her anxiously. Only their trainer looks back, firelight glinting in his eyes. His hands are no longer trembling.
“I always did like that bike,” he mutters, a husky trace of regret audible in his voice. Sorrow, fear, and relief flash across his face, melting into a strange acceptance. Resolve flickers and shines in his eyes as he steels himself for the road ahead.
“Well,” he whispers to his silent companions, “let's get going. Wouldn't want to go to all this trouble just for the cops to catch us.”
The light one shakes her head, chuffing slightly as she gets back to her feet, but the dark one nods solemnly, stepping to his master's side. After a second, the light one joins them - and the trio turn tail, disappearing soundlessly into the night.