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The tawny-haired Aqua girl recalls her last pokémon—a very determined Carvanha with too many teeth even for that kind of fish—and yells, “Hey, d’you wanna work for us?”
It catches May so off-guard that she almost drops the potion she’d been holding up to the impressive bite mark on her squirmy Aron’s side. “What?”
“Do you want to join Team Aqua? You’re, like, crazy strong!” the girl shouts happily. “First Mate would love you!”
May just stares. “Are you serious?”
“Totally! As long as you’re not, like, a Magma spy!”
Of course she isn’t, she hates those freaks. She can’t believe she’s thinking about this, though. Not saying yes, she reasons. Just checking. Casing the joint.
“Sure, whatever,” she yells back, and ends up with the Aqua girl (who’s honestly maybe only a year older than May herself) dragging her by the hand to central Slateport, where a whole gaggle of teenagers in striped shirts are waiting. The few closest to the front peer at May.
“Oh-em-gee, Marina, who’s this?” one of the girls asks interestedly, spelling the O-M-G out loud. She looks about fifteen, coils of black hair spilling out from under her blue bandanna.
The girl who’d drug May there—Marina, it seems—puts her hands on May’s shoulders and presents her to the group. “This is, um—“
“My name’s May,” May says, biting down her nerves. She isn’t sure if she wants Team Aqua to actually like her, or if she just doesn’t want to get attacked.
Marina bounces on her heels. “Yeah, yeah! This is May! I found her under Cycling Road, we had a battle and she’s wicked strong! Like, knocked out Tetra in one shot!”
“Seriously?” one of the taller boys with approximately fifty million freckles all over his face asks wondrously. “Dude, Tetra is, like, unbeatable. Strongest Carvanha in Hoenn. What’d you use?” He directs the last question to May.
“Uh, my Aron,” May replies. A collective gasp sweeps the group, and a girl at the front with wire-rimmed glasses jumps up and down a little.
“Can I see? Please-please-please?” she asks in a thick Unovan accent. May lets Aron out of its ball pretty much on autopilot, but it thankfully doesn’t seem to mind. The glasses girl crouches down and scratches behind its armored head, and it trills contentedly.
“So cute,” she says to herself. “I love steel types.”
May is astounded. Aren’t these people supposed to be, like, evil criminals? She swears she’s heard of one of these guys having killed someone before, but this is just a bunch of ninth graders.
Another one of the boys, a guy with a deep tan and sharp nose, leans forward. “I’m Jordan. I like your gloves. From the Department Store in Lilycove, right?”
“Uh, yes,” May says, feeling a tiny flush dust her cheeks.
The girl with coily hair suddenly gasps and stands up straight, staring over May and Marina’s heads towards the beach.
“Hey-hey! First Mate’s back!” she yells, flapping a hand behind her at the rest of the group.
The Aqua kids all scrabble to get themselves in some semblance of formation. May recalls Aron back to its ball (the glasses girl looking sad to see it go) and lets Marina maneuver her into the line with the rest of them. She tries not to think about how much she sticks out—decked out in green and orange next to the straggly line of blue and white—as a tall woman with an impressive quantity of frizzy ginger hair stalks closer to the group. This, apparently, is “First Mate”.
The intimidation thing seems to be an act, though. First Mate uncrosses her arms and shoots the group a beaming grin as she gets closer. “Hey, y’know you guys don’t hafta do the whole lineup thing with me, that’s the Captain’s bag! You guys got what we needed from the museum?”
“Yeah! Um, and I made a friend!” Marina chirps, jostling May’s elbow.
“Hi,” says May.
“…Hi,” says First Mate, her round blue eyes going narrow and calculating again. “Uh, who’re you?”
“I’m May,” she says.
“She’s May!” says Marina cheerfully. “She wants to join Team Aqua!”
May decides not to correct Marina that she’s just window shopping, thanks, at least not while First Mate is eyeing her like she thinks May’s a Voltorb about to self-destruct.
First Mate blows a long breath out between her teeth, a curly piece of orange hair flipping upward on the draft. “You really wanna work for us? Really wanna expand the ocean?"
"Okay," says May.
First Mate eyes the rest of the group. "How good is she?”
“Beat Tetra first try,” a blonde boy farther down the line says. First Mate whistles in acknowledgement, crossing her arms back over her chest and squinting at May.
A very, very long moment passes before First Mate steps forward, pulls the green bandanna off May’s head, and messes up her hair with a blue-gloved hand. “‘Kay. I guess you’re in, bucko. Gimme a sec to talk to the Captain and get you a change of clothes.”
That easy. Marina throws her arms around May’s shoulders from the side, practically vibrating with joy, and May is surprised that most of the other Aqua kids are cheering. First Mate drops May’s bandanna in her outstretched hand before abruptly walking back the way she came—presumably to wherever “the Captain” is.
“My name’s Shelly, by the way,” she calls, waving carelessly behind her. All the other kids immediately jump to follow suit with belated introductions.
“I’m Pearl!”
“I’m Dylan!”
“I’m Molly!”
“I’m Kyle!”
As she’s circled by a slew of excited teenagers, smacking their hands on her shoulders and back in welcome, May can’t stop a smile from creeping over her face.
Maybe this will beat a bike ride all the way back to Littleroot alone.
“I know you’re there, children, you’re not as sneaky as you think. Come out where I can see you.”
Caught! Brendan, grimacing, retrieves his hardworking Kecleon back to its pokéball. Its Light Screen shimmers out of existence, removing Brendan’s apparently-useless invisibility. The Magma boy at Brendan’s side that’d escorted him up the volcano winces in sympathy.
The man in the red coat, who’s turned away from whatever contraption he’d been fiddling with and is now staring at Brendan and the Magma boy, crosses his arms.
“May I help you two?” he asks, a little irritably. “Adam, you’re meant to be at the cable car station with Sierra and Gemma.”
“Uh, sorry, Boss,” says Adam, pulling embarrassedly at the collar of his red hood. “Just, um—this guy wanted to see you, so.”
“I want to join your team,” Brendan says, all in a rush.
Boss blinks at him, clearly not expecting that response. “I—what?”
“I want to join Team Magma,” Brendan presses. “I—I’ve seen what you guys are doing, and—and I want to help. I think we should expand the land—continental space is crucial to the development of most types of pokémon, and—and marine development comes second to that, and—“
“Slow down,” says Boss, raising a hand, and Brendan shuts up immediately. Probably for the best—he always seems to start stuttering when he tries to say too much at once, and he’s trying to salvage a good first impression here.
“Do you know who I am?” Boss asks. Not pointedly, really, not threateningly, just… asks.
“You—you’re the guy in charge, right?” Brendan responds, internally proud that his voice doesn’t waver.
Boss inclines his head, a little half-smile on his pale face. “Yes, I am the guy in charge. And you are very young for someone to want to join Team Magma. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Brendan trades a glance with Adam, who shrugs and nods.
“Ah—yes, sir.” Brendan jumps to attention, barely stopping himself from giving some kind of salute. He doesn’t know what sort of gesture he’d do, but this guy—Boss—seems to just sort of have that effect.
“What’s your name?” Boss asks, studying Brendan.
“Um, Brendan? Brendan Birch?”
“Birch,” says Boss thoughtfully, almost to himself. “Professor Birch?”
Fuck.
“I’m his son, uh, sir,” says Brendan miserably. Adam fidgets a little.
Boss nods. “You don’t have to call me sir, Brendan,” he says. And that’s it.
“Okay,” says Brendan, not trusting himself to say anything else. He guesses he’s off the hook for having a famous dad, so he’s gonna try to preserve his good luck.
Boss nods idly and taps a few more buttons on his weird machine. It beeps. He nods one more time, apparently satisfied, before turning back to Brendan and Adam.
“I admire your forth-righteousness. Not many people come directly to me to ask to be a part of my organization.”
“Was—was I not supposed to?”
Boss raises a thin eyebrow. “I was just making an observation. You’re quite jumpy.”
“Sorry,” Brendan mutters, fiddling with the strap of his bag. This is kind of going downhill.
Boss studies Brendan for a few more moments before abruptly clapping his hands together, startling Brendan (and Adam, whose attention’d been wandering) back to attention.
“Alright, I will allow you to join Team Magma,” he says decisively. “You seem… capable, I suppose. Certainly quite bold, which is a desirable quality.”
Okay, maybe not.
Brendan feels himself light up a bit at the praise. Boss fishes in his coat pocket for a moment before producing what Brendan first thinks is a weird coin—but then he holds it up between his thumb and forefinger and Brendan can see it’s a teeny Magma logo, cast in metal.
“You’ll need a uniform, and to check in with my administrators. If I provide you with directions to our base of operations, will you be able to get there by yourself?”
Brendan nods furiously, his hat almost falling off his head. Boss holds out the Magma emblem, and Brendan takes it. It’s heavier than it looks.
“Return down Mt. Chimney and enter the Jagged Pass. Turn left at the first fork and right at the second. Hand that to whoever’s guarding the entrance and tell them I sent you.”
“Yes, sir—um, Boss, I mean,” Brendan stumbles, shoving the Magma emblem deep into his pocket so that it won’t fall out. His cheeks burn, but Boss doesn’t comment on it.
“Should—should I accompany him, Boss?” Adam asks, gaze flicking back to Brendan. Boss’s thin mouth twists down a little bit.
“No. This is to see if he can do it by himself. You are to return to the cable car stop. I don’t doubt that Sierra and Gemma have already informed Tabitha of your wanderings.”
Adam grimaces. Brendan feels a little bad for him.
Boss watches as Brendan wrestles with his bag for a moment, pulling out and unfolding his bike, and turns to leave.
“Mister Birch.”
Brendan looks back. “Yes, Boss?”
Boss’ grey eyes are piercing in the dim light of the fading day, glinting with the glow of the volcano. “Arceus help you if you’re trying to lie to me. For any reason.”
The hair on the back of Brendan’s neck stands up. Yeesh, remind him never to pull a fast one on this guy. “R-right. Of course, Boss.”
Boss waves him off, and Brendan skids down the volcano as fast as his Mach bike will take him.
A man with steel hair and aquamarine eyes stops Wally outside of the Petalburg gym.
“Just finished a battle?” he says, tapping Wally’s freshly-procured Balance Badge with a mica-edged fingernail.
“Um, yes,” says Wally nervously. “Do—do I know you?”
The man stares blankly at him for a millisecond before giving a close-mouthed smile.
“Well, I don’t know. Do you? I’m not the least-known person in this city, there’s your hint.”
Suffering Shaymin, this guy is already weird. He waits patiently as Wally squints at him for a little bit, turning his head this way and that as if a new angle would give him insight to the identity of this man he’s sure that he’s never seen before in his Goddamn life—hey, wait a second.
“Ah—Champion Stone! I am so, so sorry,” Wally thinks he might actually just burst into flame from embarrassment. He can physically feel the heat crawling up his face, God alive.
The Champion (the Champion!) just kind of shakes his head good-naturedly. “It’s quite alright. Part of why I hang around out here is so less people recognize me. Can you follow me for a moment?”
Wally says yes instantaneously, obviously, because of course he does. The Champion walks down the street away from Norman’s gym just long enough for Wally to maybe start to get nervous before stopping abruptly in front of a little café with ample, if empty, outdoor seating.
The Champion sits in one of the uncomfortable-looking wrought iron chairs and motions for Wally to follow suit, so he does, setting his bag on his lap primarily so nobody steals it and secondarily so that he can fidget with the stuff inside of it without it being immediately obvious. He occupies his hands with his Pokédex, for the moment.
“I’d like you to know that I’ve been watching you for a while now,” the Champion begins. Wally tenses a little, and the Champion shakes his head violently. “No, no, not like that. I’ve been, um, monitoring your journey—no, that sounds worse.”
Wally almost wants to laugh, though he doesn’t dare to.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress,” is what the Champion eventually decides on. “I think you have quite a lot of potential. You’re on your fifth badge before most boys your age would have their second, and I daresay that you might actually give Winona a run for her hard-earned money. You’re a natural, from what I’ve seen.” Another close-mouthed smile, like a gentle crack in a river rock.
Wally feels his entire upper body turn Cherrim-pink from the praise. He wouldn’t be surprised if he glowed in the dark right about now. “Th-thank you, sir.”
The Champion nods. “So, I have a proposal to make.”
Wally tilts his head to the side questioningly.
The Champion leans forward in his tiny, uncomfortable chair, crossing his arms and resting his elbows on the rickety table. “I want you as a future member of my Elite Four. Whenever Drake or Glacia decide to retire, be that in two years or twenty, I want you there to replace them.”
Wally only very, very narrowly manages to stop himself from saying something extremely rude.
“Is this—I mean, this is a joke,” he says instead, his pleased flush draining and hurt creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. “You’re messing with me.”
“Please, trust me—I’m not,” the Champion stresses, raising his hands placatingly.
“The stability of the Hoenn league isn’t the best, lately. We’ve had many regime changes, with Wallace entering the Hall of Fame, and—and Drake being old enough to retire soon, it’s—it’s stressful,” he finishes, and from this close Wally can see the dark circles beneath his eyes. “We’re hurting for people who can be relied upon.”
“So… you’re asking me because you’re desperate?” Wally asks, detachedly wondering from where the Hell he’s getting the stones to ask this sort of shit.
“No, that’s not—“ The Champion drops his head into his ringed hands. “You’ll have to forgive me. My, ah, my people skills leave much to be desired. Let me change the subject—I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Um, okay,” says Wally, fidgeting in his seat.
“You’re still in contact with May Maple and Brendan Birch, correct?”
It’s such an out-of-pocket question that Wally has to take a second before he responds.
“Y-yeah, of course I am. I haven’t talked to them in a few days, though. They’re okay, right?” he asks, a little panicked at the end—but the Champion raises a calm hand.
“Yes, they’re alright. At least, as far as I know. I’m asking because this favor I’d like you to do concerns them immediately.”
Wally has a really, really bad feeling about this, but whatever hidden, masochistic sense of obligation he has spurs him on. “Uh, sure.”
“I’m sure you’re at least peripherally aware of the two organizations that have set up operations in Hoenn,” the Champion begins, his voice sharp like a piece of cut quartz. “Team Aqua and Team Magma. One attempting to expand the sea, the other attempting to expand the land.”
Wally nods, though not without trepidation. Everyone’s heard of Aqua and Magma—hard not to, with a gang of teenagers dressed in either blue or red hassling people on the street every day in half the region’s cities. He doesn’t like where this is going, though.
“Foolish ambitions, of course, but they’re only as dangerous as their resources and leadership will allow them to be.” The Champion fixes Wally with an unreadable expression, hard eyes boring holes into his forehead. “I’ve received some troubling information recently regarding Miss Maple and Mister Birch’s possible… involvement with these organizations. May with Team Aqua, and Brendan with Team Magma.”
“That’s impossible,” Wally argues—argues! “My friends aren’t criminals.”
The Champion flattens out his mouth in displeasure, and the expression is so bizarrely and suddenly austere that it takes almost all the wind out of Wally’s sails immediately. “Well, I don’t know for sure if it’s true, but if you’re doubting the credibility of my sources—“
“No, sir,” Wally mumbles.
“Look,” says the Champion. “I don’t want to believe that May and Brendan are in league with these organizations either—I’ve met them both, by and by, and they seem to be very nice children. But from what I’ve been told…” He trails off.
“This is my favor. I am going to register myself into your PokéNav. I would like you to continue your friendship with May and Brendan as normal, without alerting them to the fact that this conversation has taken place. If either Miss Maple or Mister Birch tell you anything, and I do mean anything, regarding the designs of or their involvement with Team Aqua or Team Magma, I want you to report to me immediately.”
“You… You want me to spy? On my friends?” Wally asks, more than a little hurt. The Champion grimaces.
“‘Spy’ is a distasteful word. Think of it as… I don’t know, observation. Data collection. This is quite important, Wally. You’ll be perfect for this. You could even return to Ever Grande with me, if you like—it would be a wonderful training opportunity,” the Champion wheedles.
Yeah, Wally really doesn’t like this.
“What if…” A surge of bravery overtakes him. “What if I say no?”
The Champion gives him another little smile.
“You’ve run away, right?” the Champion asks, blunt as stone. “Your father in Verdanturf is looking for you.”
Every muscle in Wally’s body tenses up. The Champion knows. The Champion knows. Arceus, he’s in so much trouble.
“He doesn’t want you to challenge the League. He doesn’t have the confidence in you that I do.”
Wait, what?
“Wait, what?” Wally says, before he can help it, eyes wide. “You—what?”
“Mm-hmm,” the Champion nods, crossing his arms again. “Now, I’ve never had the occasion to meet your father personally, but I doubt he would be too happy to know your planned whereabouts, no?”
It occurs to Wally that that sentence—possibly this entire conversation—was a carefully concealed threat.
“Wally, I know how you feel,” says the Champion, and Wally reflexively scoots backwards in his chair at that tone of voice. He debates the possible efficacy of just getting up and running, but tragically concludes that this restaurant they’re at is just far enough away from the Petalburg gym that he’d absolutely have an asthma attack before reaching Norman.
Wally vaguely wonders if that was on purpose, and then internally berates himself for thinking so low of the region’s Champion, and then reminds himself that that same Champion is threatening to absolutely ruin his career as a trainer if Wally doesn’t work as his double agent, so that’s probably not out of the realm of possibility, and then he realizes that the Champion is actually still talking.
“I’ve been where you are. I think you can do it.”
“Seriously?” Wally asks skeptically.
“Yes,” the Champion smiles again, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes this time. “It’s why I’d like you as part of my Elite. You remind me of myself at your age. My father—he sings my praise now, of course, now that I’ve proven myself. But before… well. He was much like yours. Too afraid to let me go. Too worried I’d climb too high. Too worried that I’d fall.”
Wally chews his bottom lip. Avoids eye contact. Fiddles with the clasp of Kirlia’s pokéball. He wishes May and Brendan were here—or, well, maybe he doesn’t, if they actually are working for the bad guys, but he doesn’t know if he can trust the man in front of him to tell him the truth.
“But you have potential. Importance. It's immediately apparent. You could be great—you will be great. The region’s safety may very well be resting on your shoulders.” The Champion tilts his head and smiles that vague smile again as he stands up from the iron café table. “If you come back to Ever Grande with me, if you train to be a part of my Elite Four—if you keep an eye on your little friends for me—Wally, you're smart. You know that you’d be doing me a wonderful favor. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?”
Wally shrinks even further back in his seat, holding Kirlia’s pokéball in a death grip.
The Champion, who seems about eight feet tall and carved out of marble backlit by the sun as he is, looks down at him and holds out a hand.
“This is what I’m offering. In exchange for your service, in exchange for your assistance—in exchange for your strength on my side—I’ll make sure you disappear. Your father will never find you until you want him to.”
Wally looks up at that—he has to. Even if the idea of doing this stupid spy mission is making his stomach ache, even if this whole thing is suspicious, that offer—well, that offer is too good to be true. “You can do that?”
The Champion smiles, a real smile, for the first time—his Champion smile, the one from television, a proper grin with the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, three thousand megawatts cut from flawless diamond—and replies, “All that and more. For your loyalty.”
Wally tastes blood from how hard he’s bitten his lip. He thinks about May and Brendan. He thinks about the Elite Four. He thinks about his father.
He shakes.
The year is 2004.
Three twelve-year-olds meet in Mauville City. One blue, one red, one green.
The blue one’s a fresh-minted pirate that runs with Aqua angels, wild and salt-spun and cradled in the arms of the endless sea.
The red one’s a hooded soldier among the ranks of Magma demons, brittly precise in their dealings and unyielding as bare, dry earth.
The green one’s tangled in the strings of the League, plied with promises and blinded by Ever Grande’s cloudless sky.
The end approaches. The doomsday clock ticks down.