Work Text:
The building stuck out from the rest of the peaceful neighborhood, because it looked anything but.
A tall wall, made from unforgiving cement blocks, wrapped around it on all sides. The top of the walls was covered in sizzling electric wire and the air above was subtly distorted with the shimmer characteristic of Psychic type energy shielding. The building behind it couldn’t have been any different. Colorful mosaics of various Pokemon decorated it on all sides, many cunningly placed so that windows and doors became eyes and mouths. The roof was artificially thatched into a giant nest from which loomed a giant Latias statue, smiling down at the neighborhood from behind her fortress walls. The sign hanging crookedly from her beak declared in haphazardly striped bright blue and red that this was, indeed, the “Latias’ Rest Pokemon shelter.”
Zelda Maldonado, secretary, shelter manager, and general dogsbody, felt like she empathized a lot more with the wall than the shelter that morning as she sat behind the front desk with a loose-leaf binder in front of her. Hanging up the phone with a slam that had become habitual that morning , she viciously crossed out one more name on the long list with a stroke of her red pen, then folded forward to lean her forehead against the pages. “Another one,” she muttered. “If this keeps up we’re gonna fold because nobody wants to staff the place.”
She glanced at the place she kept her little sticky note collection that served as a chaotic sort of calendar. Normally there was a spreading cloud of notes, indicating adoption events, appointments, and the new volunteer training classes. Alas, her cloudy sky was for once clear, with only a few lone stickies circling her desk to rain on her parade.
She plucked one of them moodily, staring at the name. “Oh, this one’s Monday...” She peered at it more closely. “Michael... Arano?”
“Yes ma’am?” A basso-profundo voice rumbled, and Zelda jumped in her seat. She hadn’t heard anyone come in. She looked up... and up... and up.
The man looming over her might as well have been carved from a particularly sizable chunk of granite. His shaved head sat almost two meters in the air above her, casting a shadow over the desk. A t-shirt that had probably been stolen from a tent factory and a set of fatigue pants settled over a large frame packed with the sort of muscle gained not from the gym but from labor. Black eyes fixated on her face, glaring down from her above an abrupt nose and set in the sort of face, scarred in all directions as it was, that most mothers wouldn’t love. She swallowed as she stared at him, wondering if she’d put the wrong note on her schedule and was about to be shaken down.
Then a broad smile with gleaming white teeth split his face, and ugliness became simple homeliness as a spade that might resemble a hand came over the desk at her and engulfed the hand she offered back to him in response in a grip gentle as velvet. “Warrant Officer Mike Arano at your service, ma’am. I’m told you need volunteers to take care of Pokemon here at the shelter?”
“Y-yes,” she choked out, forcing down the atavistic fear response. “Are you here for our morning induction class?”
He nodded. “I have quite a bit of Pokemon experience if you’ve seen my file, ma’am.”
“Your file-” she began, then remembered the strange email with an attached document mostly filled with black marker that had hit her inbox last week. It had his name on it. “Oh. That. Well, I couldn’t read most of it...” as a valley forming on his face turned his eyebrows into a mountain range, she hastily continued, “But it did say you came highly recommended from the Rangers, which is good enough for me! We can get class started now. You can call me Zelda. I’m one of the few permanent staff here.”
As she stood, he stepped back to allow her passage. “How many others today?” He asked.
“Welllll...” she said slowly. “Today? Just you.”
---
"So, what's on this end?" Mike asked as they rounded the corner to the last portion of the hallway.
Zoe sighed. "It's our longest term resident and the major reason we're short on volunteers lately."
The door they stood at was quite different from the others. The "isolation" signs, heavy steel frame, and magnetic lock made that clear enough. There was a shutter, which Zelda slid open to reveal a plexiglass window. Through it, Mike saw a long, narrow room-- which Zelda had called a run-- filled with the same things as all the others. A comfortable if worn bed sat against the back corner, a selection of toys sprawled over the center, buckets for food and water sat near the door, and a covered place for the Pokémon to relieve themselves crouched against one corner.
Slumbering on the bed lay the blue-white form of an Alolan Ninetales. As Mike peered at it, he realized quickly how small the Ninetales was in comparison to their normal size. Its fur was unkempt, its frame almost gaunt, and Mike sucked in a breath as his eyes traced a fine network of scars that patterned its body, head to toe.
"This Pokemon was rescued from a smuggling operation a few weeks ago. We suspect that she was evolved early in life. That's why she's so tiny. I think the smugglers were trying to turn her into a battler the hard way. As a result... She doesn't like people. She's not going to bite you unless you chase her, but she loves pranking anyone who comes into her run."
Mike shot her an incredulous look and she held up her hands. "Look, you go in there, Arceus knows what's gonna happen."
Mike shrugged. "It'll be fine. Wanna show me the feeding schedule?"
---
Whistling tunelessly, Mike rounded the corner, carrying the Ninetales' dinner. A quick peek through the shutter, however, revealed no Ninetales. Frowning, but guessing that this was part of the prank routine, he keyed the door code and stepped through.
The room itself was chilled, as befit an ice type, and Mike felt his flesh prickle into goosebumps as he filled the Ninetales' buckets. He scanned the end of the room, ascertaining that the facilities were clean and the bed fresh, before he began to turn towards the exit.
A flash of white was his only warning, but years of reflexive training and a speed that few would guess the ogre-like man possessed came to his stead. His hands shot out, legs swept into a spinning turn, and his right hand tingled with icy cold as he grasped a furry foreleg. The ease of long practice converted the motion of his hands into a flip, and the blur of white precipitated into a panting, shocked Ninetales cradled in his arms on her back like a baby.
The moment froze in time as human and Pokemon studied each other. Mike noted the wide, expressive eyes-- shocked, but not afraid: mischievous, but not malicious. Almost without conscious thought his left hand shifted up a few inches and trowel-like fingers stroked behind the pricked ears.
The Ninetales quivered, the motion almost but not quite pressing against the gentle pet, before she became a white blur again and reappeared at the back of the kennel, crouched in the universal posture of fear, jaw open in a soundless snarl.
Mike only smiled. "Goodnight, Ninetales," he said, pressing the door release and stepping out.
Many would have missed it, but Mike's ears caught the querulous "Niiine?" As the door hissed shut, and his smile only widened.
---
Mike gritted his teeth as the mocking laughter filled his ears, that nasally voice screaming "this time, you lose!"
Beneath him, his hands moved in a rhythmic pattern with the ease of long practice. He embraced the preservation of life via violence as hands went down and hands went up, the familiar rhythm unchanging even as ribs fractured under fingers.
"Just hold on, buddy," he whispered. "Comms, when is help coming?"
A long moment, and then the radio on his shoulder crackled. But instead of the dulcet tones of the Operations director, the radio only spat forth more mocking laughter. "Help is never coming," the nasally voice howled.
Beneath him, the voice that only said one word, that only knew one word, that could imbue one word with a thousand meanings, whispered from a broken throat. "You lose."
Mike sat up with a scream, chest heaving, as the nightmare broke. He stared at his hands, not bloody, felt only sweat soaked pajamas instead of vest and uniform, found only wadded bedclothes with him instead of someone... else.
He remembered the breathing exercises and focused, grounding himself in the now of cool air, soft sheets, an alarm clock glowing 4:47 on his nightstand. Slowly the trembling left his shoulders and he calmed. "Could use a drink..." He muttered past dry lips, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The darkness was little hindrance to him as he navigated the apartment, padding soft as a sprigato over the solid floor. He swung the refrigerator open, reaching for the pitcher of filtered water within.
The light bulb that clicked on as the door came open barely penetrated the darkness. But it was enough to highlight the red and white circular Pokebed lying next to the refrigerator, to pick out the burn spots in the fire resistant fabric, to illuminate the shaky letters scrawled in a child's handwriting on its edge.
Surtur.
The darkness cradled his sobs until morning.
---
The ice-fox sat patiently on her bed, whiskers twitching as she felt the human-steps outside her room-cage. They were the light steps of angry-busy-funny, as opposed to big-strange-soft, and her lips crooked into a smile. Angry-busy-funny was so EASY!
The door hissed open, and the fox tilted her head as angry-busy-funny edged into the room. She wore some sort of cloth-thick-WARM, had a big-flat-wall attached to her arm that was taller than she was, and spike-foot-things that clattered against the floor. Angry-busy-funny must think that she had out-smarted ice-fox! But ice-fox was smarter than any human.
She shut her eyes, feeling for the cold wind that blew through every part of her body and wound throughout the room. Her tails spread as she gathered tendrils of breeze together, weaving them into a howling gale that whistled through her haunches down to her belly... then opened her mouth and allowed the wind to escape.
Angry-busy-funny screeched as the big-flat-wall froze to the floor. She pulled at it, screeching more as the cold wind froze her arm to it, and then twisted down to encase her spike-foot-things! Ice-fox giggled, holding a paw to her mouth as Angry-Busy-Funny howled many words. Some of them were familiar. Others were short, sharp, and very angry! Even hated-painful-WRONG hadn’t used some of those. But she was not done with the human!
She trotted forward, rounding the human’s side, and reared up slightly on her hind legs to nose at the cloth-thick-WARM at just the right spot. Angry-busy-funny screeched as her muzzle dipped into the cloth-carry-thing and found the metal-small-ringings that humans liked to keep with them. Tossing her head to hear them jingle, ice-fox carried them away as angry-busy-funny shook her untrapped hand at ice-fox. New toys from humans were always so much fun!
---
"Mike!"
"Doc!"
The room Mike squeezed himself into was small, but homey. A small desk sat in the back corner, an assortment of chairs and even a small couch filling the rest of the space. A tiny table balanced an eclectic selection of hot drinks next to the desk. The person behind the desk, smiling faintly, swiveled his wheelchair as Mike passed him to settle onto the groaning couch.
Calm blue eyes, sitting under white eyebrows and a thick shock of white hair appraised Mike through wire-framed spectacles. The man wore a faded t-shirt advertising the local high school sports team, and a blanket swathed around his midsection that gently drew attention away from the lack of legs.
Mike poured a cup of coffee, leaning back and drawing in a long whiff of the aromatic beverage as he considered Dr. Robert Campbell, and Dr. Campbell considered him back. Mike took a deep breath. "It's been a week, doc."
Campbell replied, "Want to tell me about it?"
"Yeah..." Mike stretched out the word, eyes far away. "The breathing exercises are helping like you said. It's just hard to do them in time sometimes before the panic hits." Campbell nodded. "There's the nightmares. Same stuff. Fewer this week."
"Good." Campbell leaned forward slightly. "How was your first week at Latias?"
Mike blew out a long sigh. "It was... it was..." his hands spasmed. "OK." The moment stretched out, Dr. Campbell waiting patiently. "It was... Doc, it's one of the hardest things I've ever done. I have to take care of things again and every time I do it I think about him. The beds, the food, just... everything." His shoulders shook.
"Is it any easier?" Dr. Campbell asked quietly.
Mike let the silence lingered. "I... I... signed up for more shifts, doc. As many as they'd give me. They're short staffed and they don't have anyone like me. They can use the help."
Dr. Campbell said mildly, "Seems like you're fitting in OK."
Mike shook his head. "I knew you were right, but I almost didn't walk in the first day. Or the second. But it's been a week and it's just a part of life now. Easier every day. They got me working on some easy rehab cases, behaviors, yaknow."
Campbell smiled. "I did talk to Zelda. The only person who would call those cases easy is the person with a master's in applied Pokémon behavior. Also known as you. She's very impressed. Wants to keep you forever."
Mike shook his head. "You said eight weeks, it'll be eight weeks. I should be able to clear their backlog by then. I did have a question for you, though."
Campbell raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" He said.
Mike leaned forward. "Did you send me to somewhere on purpose that had one of the Breaker's projects?" At Campbell's flat expression, Mike forged on. "The hallmarks are specific. A particular pattern of physical abuse. An early forced evolution. Exotic type choice. Mistrusts people, yet will not harm anyone unless so commanded. Only one particular group of motherfuckers does things that way, and you sent me right where I'd run into a victim!" He gulped, realizing his voice had risen into a shout, and muttered an apology.
"That... is the point of exposure therapy, Mike." Campbell steepled his fingers. "I remember you telling me you just wanted to get through this so I'd lift your medical invalidation and you could get back to work."
Mike nodded, looking down.
"How much of that is wanting to go back to work, and how much of that is going to be taking more swings at the Breakers because they hurt you and you don't feel like you have anything else to lose?" Campbell posed that question neutrally, but Mike winced like he'd been stabbed.
"They..." He took a deep breath. "Every time I look at that poor fox, I remember, doc. They took Surtur from me. I'm not done with them yet." His face became thunderous. "And like I asked last week, I want my base access back. I want to see him. And I need to go check on Demi anyway."
"You know seeing him as he is now isn't going to help," Campbell said gently.
Mike folded his hands, grimacing. "I... I know, doc. But I can't not go see him. Even if he ain't... him... anymore."
Campbell rocked back in his chair. "OK." He said, simply. "I'll write a limited pass. Please keep up therapy weekly if I do that. Anything else before we get to today's work?"
Mike smiled, a smile filled with light. "No, doc. Thank you so much."
---
Mike strode down the hallway with purpose. He hadn’t anticipated an early morning call from Zelda at the shelter to rescue her from a Pokemon when he had begged off the shift to go attend to other things, but he did have time and he doubted it would take him very long.
He rounded the corner before the enclosure and spotted the fuming shelter manager leaning against the wall. The cold-weather clothing, spiked boots, and police surplus riot shield she had with her seemed excessive, as was the death glare she was directing at the enclosure.
"Fox got your keys?" He chuckled, and she groaned.
"I can't believe I fell for that," she muttered.
"No big deal, ma'am," he said, chuckling as he emptied his own pockets. "I'll get em back for you. Brought a secret.”
He hit the door and lumbered in, wincing as arctic chill smote him across the face. The run was definitely colder than usual, a biting wind howled past him, and he could swear he saw snowflakes flying past him. The ice fox sat demurely at the end of the run, tails curled around her paws, eyes glinting at him as she cocked her head at his presence. A muffled jingling accompanied the motion, and light glittered off the stolen keyring that dangled from her jaws.
As he took a step, his foot flew out from under him. Only reflexes and training saved him, allowing him to turn what would have been a fall onto his back for anyone else into a half-kneeling position, ice cracking under his knee as he slammed into it. The ice fox chuffed at his mishap, chirping “Ninetales” as his arms briefly windmilled for balance.
“Alright, girl, you got me,” Mike ruefully called across the pen. “Did you want me to go skating?”
She rose to her feet, giving the keys a little shake to make them ring, and set herself. Then she was gliding across the floor with a grace professional skaters would envy. The floor iced over as she came, floating over the ground to circle him just out of reach. Her tails spread wide into a sail, almost seeming to catch the bitter wind to allow her to fly.
Mike crossed his arms. “Look, I know you want me to chase you, but it’s too tight in here. I’d just end up banging my head on the walls.” She yipped, dipping her head to fire a coruscating ray of light that sailed over his head by inches.. “Ahh, that’s the plan. I’m sure me confused and flailing on the ice would be funny, but if you want to do that, we’d need to go to the big pen in the back and have you ice it up.” She chirped at that, almost seeming interested. “But you’d need to get in your ball or let me carry you-”
The growl that responded to that was thunderous as her eyes narrowed and she came to a halt before him, smashing ice with a single blow of her paw. A tail whipped forward and Mike clutched his eyes, blinking away tears, as icy wind almost blinded him. “And I see what you think of that. It’s OK. You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”
The growl died away as Mike reached into his jacket, pulling out an oily, paper wrapped package. The fox froze even as Mike winced, trying to control his gorge. “I stopped by a friend’s before I came. Howsabout I give you this, and you give me the keys.”
He unfolded the package, revealing a selection of small fish. The fermented, salt odor was almost overpowering. With utmost care, he slowly reached forward to set the package on the ice in front of him.
The fox stared, tails slowly vibrating. “Niiinetales?” She said quietly, quickly pacing forward. “Ninetales!”
She blurred and the fish vanished, a ring of keys left in their place, as the Ninetales precipitated out of the air on the other side of the pen. Her face wore an expression of complete bliss as she rubbed one side of her face, then the other on the fish, before taking small bites of it. Mike chuckled and got to his feet, swiping the fish from the ground and turning to leave. “Surstromming always works on Ninetales,” he said, laughing as he opened the door.
The ground abruptly turned to ice under both his feet and he went head over heels out the door, skidding to a halt with a thud against the opposite wall. He had a glimpse of the Ninetales yipping in amusement before the door slammed shut behind him.
---
Before...
Imagine: a large auditorium, old and past its day, with musty carpet, faded wood paneling, and beige folding chairs beginning to split. Its seats are filled with men and women wearing the field uniform of the International Police, briefing packets before them, and a few psychic pokemon. A single lectern stood at the front of the room. The low volume chatter in the room fell away as a woman in the dark blue uniform of the International Police stepped to the podium and activated the projector screen behind her.
"Good morning, Officers," she said crisply. "Welcome to the briefing for Operation BREAKEVEN. I am Captain Felicity Anderson, IP Trainer Response Team. If this is not your meeting, please stand up and exit the room." She waited for a moment, then continued when nobody moved. "It is assumed that all operators and support staff here have been read into CASE TEAM BREAKER. If not, please contact your CO after this meeting. Hold all questions until the end."
She flashed a map on the viewing screen. "Here’s the situation. CASE TEAM BREAKER is a force that appears to number in the dozens and their activities have been seen on a multiregional level.”
Her face grew dark. "Approximately three weeks ago, a trio of young teens on their Journey stumbled across an operation taking place near one of the main transmission conduits of the Box network. A Breaker crew were tunneling down into the conduit and building a small base there. They were unable to give an accurate number but estimate that the operation had at least sixteen OPFOR. Designation: Breaker. The Breakers were seen with automatic weaponry, personal body armor, and hand-to-hand weapons. Each OPFOR was accompanied by a trained Pokemon. Designation: Broken.”
The map flickered, changing to another map. "We tasked satellite monitoring to assess all major Box network lines and had a lucky break. This is junction HH-37 in the Box network. Satellite imagery shows signs of earth moving at this site. It appears the Breakers built another base. We’re going to raid it. Based on previous observations, it will be assumed that if attacked, CASE TEAM BREAKER will attempt to engage us directly to buy time to remove any evidence before finally withdrawing.”
Captain Anderson’s gaze swept out. "This will be an assault mission. Charlie Squadron will perform recon on the objective and provide eyes in the sky in case CASE TEAM BREAKER attempts to flee. Baker Squadron will be transportation for Fourth Platoon who will breach the compound, insert themselves, and clear the main objective. Platoon leaders, you have your direct orders in the handouts.”
She made some adjustments to the map. “Execution. The intent of this mission is to bring as many of CASE TEAM BREAKER as possible into custody. We need the humans alive for intelligence purposes, because we have yet to catch them moving Pokemon or breaking them. Nonetheless, lethal force will be authorized at your discretion, because neither the Breakers nor the Broken will hold back from engaging you with every tool at their disposal, and they are individually very capable combatants. This is not the Rockets or anyone else, people, if you see a Breaker or a Broken you can anticipate that they will be trying to kill you, personally. We need to control the objective and access their databases so that we can finally start to understand these people.”
Another stab. “Scheme of Maneuver. Fourth Platoon will be performing a HALO jump with Fly move support provided by Charlie Squadron. Attached will be a team of handlers with Warrant Officer Michael Arano leading to act as your support group and to handle any Broken who are not under immediate control of a Breaker. Following the drop, Alpha Squadron will form a perimeter and circle the objective. Details are again found within your individual handouts.”
The Captain frowned as the stood before the group. “Time of assault will be at zero two hundred hours. Third platoon from Second Company will be standing by in reserve. There will be no resupply. Any questions?"
One man raised his hand before speaking. “Why haven’t we noticed their activity in the Box network before?”
The Captain shook her head. " As many of you are aware, CASE TEAM BREAKER has been very difficult to handle. They're not like the usual run of costumed teams like the Rockets. Very good information security. We aren’t certain why their activity in the network has yet to be detected, but what we do know is that Porygon can be Broken like anything else. The main reason we don’t have much information from the precipitating incident is that, again, they are very good at information security, and all we have to go on is a big hole in the ground. The Breakers set off a Broken Electrode Self-destruct when the kids on their Journey came across them and proved to be a more difficult fight than the Breakers expected. The only informant I have to go on is one kid's Espeon, the only one of a 16-strong party that made it out alive. And that poor boy is scrambled. The Joys have their work cut out for them."
"Fucking hell," the man breathed.
"Aye," the Captain responded. “Any more questions?”
There was a heavy pause, then Captain Anderson resumed. “"One of our major issues with the Breakers is how good they are at smuggling Pokemon once they're done with them. We have yet to catch any in transit. This mission cannot fail. Lieutenants, brief your platoons. Warrant Officer Arano, your team.”
Her shoulders drew into a line as the Captain barked. “Dismissed!”
---
Now...
Mike keyed his way ino the isolation pen, fingers dancing over the keypad without looking, and walked in. The ice fox laid on her bed, face almost startled as she swiveled to face him. She looked rather more startled when he walked over to the wall next to her bed, still several feet away from her, and lowered himself to the ground with a sigh. “Ninetales?” She said, staring at him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m early,” he rumbled, staring off at the wall. “Morning rounds aren’t even due for another two hours. It’s dark out. I know.”
The fox got up, front legs forward and rear hiked into the air with tails pointing in all directions as she stretched, lazily, then laid back down, head facing him. Her nostrils flared as he opened his jacket, and then eyes widened as he pulled a familiar greasy package from an inside pocket.
“The post office Kadabra is, I think, going to murder me if I continue to order this much surstromming for weeks on end, sweetheart,” he said, bass voice tinged with fondness as fingers extracted a small fish and tossed it to the Ninetales. She caught it in midair easily, laying the morsel at her feet and worrying at it daintily with her teeth as eyes remained on his face.
“Tales, Nine, Ninetales!” Came the response, and he smiled briefly.
“Yes, yes, I’ll keep bringing the princess her fish every time. You do still need to eat your kibble yaknow.”
He tossed her another fish as she finished the first one, blowing out a sigh. The minutes stretched out in comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the Ninetales eating. “You ever have nightmares, Ninetales?” He asked at last.
She looked away. “Tales,” she finally said, voice devoid of emotion as she stared over his shoulder.
“I knew that you do,” he said, drawing forth another fish. She glanced at him for a moment, accepting the toss, and laid it at her feet. But she kept her eyes on him, ignoring the treat, as he continued. “I read the original notes. Zelda’s observations. You don’t sleep well.”
“Nine.” She responded, dipping her head.
“I think it’s because we have something in common,” he said, looking her in the eyes. She yipped, scornfully, glaring at him. She turned, back feet scratching at the floor as if to cover the fish, then began to walk away.
“We both lost something at the hands of the same people,” he said to her retreating back, and she stopped suddenly, frozen. “You lost your innocence, the wholeness of your body, and almost your mind to people who wanted to make you a slave. I lost my best friend and my partner to those people. He died trying to protect me and everyone else on my team from them. And I can’t stop dreaming about that, every night. Sometimes I see things that remind me of him and I can’t help but remember it all over again.”
Her tails twitched as, ever so slowly, she looked over her shoulder at him. For the first time, her ruby-red eyes caught his and remained locked to him. She blinked, slowly. “Ninetales Nine?” She asked.
“I guess that’s why I’m here,” he said, maintaining her gaze. “I talked to the therapists. They help some. But nobody really, really gets it. Nobody knows what it’s like to hate those bastards. I thought... you might.”
She stared at him still, maintaining the gaze for long moments. Then, slowly, she turned and walked towards him. Her head dipped to pick up the fish, and then she paced towards him, closing the distance ever so slowly. Just barely out of his reach she dropped the fish and hunkered down on all four paws, laying her tails down like a blanket behind her. “Ninetales,” she said, quietly, taking a bite of fish. An icy breath washed over the ground, assembling into a low icy wall that separated the two.
“Story?” He asked, eyebrow raised. “Well, alright. His name was Surtur, and...”
---
The barracks was quiet as Mike walked down the hall, clad once again in his uniform. Those few he passed greeted him warmly and he them, but it was clear that his mind and purpose lay elsewhere.
The doorway to the Pokemon section loomed ahead and he fumbled his keycard out of his pocket for the entrance. The door beeped and slid open, revealing a trim man in a similar uniform to his standing behind it.
“Captain?” Mike asked, drawing to attention.
“Warrant Arano,” the other man, Captain Akkad Baud replied with a grim smile, stepping through the door to face Mike. “I’m surprised to see you here. Psych still has you marked as inactive.”
“They agreed to let me come back and see Surtur and Demi contingent on my continued adherence to therapy, sir.” Mike said, gazing quietly at a part of the wall located directly behind Baud’s left shoulder.
The Captain’s face softened, and he stepped forward, reaching up to set a hand on the giant Warrant Officer’s shoulder. “Did they say that was a good idea?”
“They didn’t stop me.” Mike’s voice was curt, but part of the tension went out of him as Baud touched him.
Baud sighed, squeezing Mike’s shoulder.. “That isn’t the same thing, Mike, but I understand. Demi is doing well, should be fit for service soon. Surtur is...” he swallowed. “Unchanged.”
“I know.” Mike said, face like stone. “As his trainer I have access to all the records.”
Baud shook his head slowly, stepping back. “I won’t keep you. Is there anything I can do to help you... Mike?”
Mike paused for a moment, pondering. “There is, actually.” At Baud’s raised eyebrow, he went on. “There’s a case I’m working on. I want the unredacted file with all relative files for Broken six-three-niner, sir. For professional purposes.”
Captain Baud nodded, slowly. “For helping a Broken?” At Mike’s answering nod, he went on. “It’ll take me some time, but yes. I’ll release it.” A happier smile spread across his face. “Glad to see you doing something positive with your time, Mike. Look forward to having you back with us. Go see your Pokemon.” Mike grunted in response and stepped through the door.
The Pokemon section of the barracks reminded him of the runs at the shelter. Long, narrow metal enclosures, in a variety of sizes. The International Police could and would store their Pokemon in balls or in the Box system, but many of them needed a space to live in instead, either because they were trainer-owned and not used to full-time Ball accommodation, or because they needed to stay out for medical purposes.
Mike counted numbers as he walked, whispering to himself. “22... 24... 26... 28.”
Run 28 had a Nurse Joy standing in front of it, writing something in a binder. She looked up as he approached, startled. “Oh! Mr. Arano!” She put the binder back in the clip made for it on the door. “Good to see you!”
The voice was familiar to Mike, who’d had years of experience with the Joys and could pick out individuals with effort. “You must be the one I’ve been talking with,” he said, gesturing at the pen. “How is he?”
In lieu of response, she pressed a button, and the door to Run 28 opened at the top. The new window revealed an Arcanine, dozing quietly on the floor. As the light from the change flowed into the cell its eyes shot open and it heaved itself to its feet. Its eyes locked on Mike and it barked, glaring at them.
“Surtur,” Mike breathed. “Hey, partner, it’s OK.”
The barking continued, interspersed with growling, and the Joy quickly hit the button as the Arcanine leapt for the opening. The door slammed shut, the THUD of a large body hitting it head-on following a moment later. The sound of scratching, barking, and growling resounded from the other side as the huge Pokemon dug at the door.
The Joy looked back at Mike. “No change,” she said quietly. “Tests are the same. Almost complete total loss of higher brain functions due to six minutes without oxygen. The instincts are there, the motor control is there, but... as far as we can tell, he isn’t.”
Mike leaned against the door, whispering the name of his best friend over and over as the mindless thing his brother, comrade, partner had become bayed in irrational, homicidal lust for his blood.
---
The door to the Ninetales pen opened and Mike stepped through, food and water in his hands.
For once, she was up at the bowls when he arrived, and barely stepped back as he refilled them. Her paws danced a little and he smiled, setting aside the buckets and sitting next to her. "Hey sweetheart," he said, removing a packet of her favorite treat.
She trilled at him happily and his smile only widened. The day before, with some coaxing, she'd set a paw on his lap to get a piece. He was hoping for more than that today. As usual, he offered her a piece, and she took it daintily from his hands, munching with an expression of foxy bliss on her face.
"You need a name, you know," he mused, and she jolted in the middle of chewing her fish. "I don't like calling you by species name. All my Pokemon have names." She stared at him, almost fixated. "Would you like... Kameah? It's a queen's name. Fit for you, little queen."
The fish dropped from her mouth to the floor with a little thud, and his heart thrilled as she rose and walked towards him. She set first one forepaw, than the other on his knee, and barely daring to breathe he stroked the top of her head behind the ears. She tolerated one stroke, pressing her head to his hand, and then she dragged her fish just a little bit closer to him so that she could sit and eat.
It felt like victory.
---
Before...
The bay of the huge transport aircraft was quiet except for the drone of its engines as the rows of trainers sat, faces grim, waiting for the drop. Abruptly the intercom crackled, the bored voice of the pilot crackling into the bay. "Coming up on final turn, time to drop point 10 minutes..."
The quiet became a buzz of activity as final gear buddy checks began, but the sound of a whistle brought Mike and everyone else's attention to the front as Lieutenant Zhao Xue climbed to his feet. "Alright people, listen up," he shouted. "This is the first time we have the initiative against these Pokemon-abusing, murderous fucks!" The susurration of anger vibrates through the bay. "We only got that because they decided that killing twelve innocent Pokemon and three kids was a good idea! So let's do this one right. We need this intel so we can shut them down. Kick their asses, don't piss on em, take prisoners as able. You see Pokemon not actively hostile, you let WO Arano's people handle them. The Farm is having good success with helping some of these poor things and every one that we rescue is one more the Breakers can't use against us. Coord, take it away."
Aye sir, the whisper sounds within every skull as the Alakazam next to him stands, spoons twirling. Commencing battle network Integration, stand by...
Mike grits his teeth as for a moment he and every other trainer is one. Dozens of competing stimuli clash for precedence in his mind, but the intense training pays off and he keeps his dinner as the feeling fades into the background. As one, the trainers stand, the eerie coordination granted to them by the psychic Pokemon fully evident as they queue for the jump lines. Baker Squadron with their full belts of Pidgeot balls took the lead, with Mike's team and the other support groups bringing up the rear.
The jump itself sucks Mike's breath from his lungs as it always does. It’s less of a jump than a dive as the support trainers scatter from the aircraft. The wind buffets him for a moment until, clear of the aircraft, he and the rest open their arms and feel the braking force.
Subdued flashes mark Baker Squadron releasing their Pidgeots and he locks onto the flying Pokemon as it trims its wings to close on his team. Its claws snag the special tethers and he grunts as it pours Flying Type Energy into the psychoactive materials laced into the harnesses. Glowing white outlines each of the Pidgeots as one and then...
Skip
- still soaring-
Skip
-closer to the ground-
Skip
-a flash of trees as the Pidgeot screams over the treeline-
Skip
He recognizes the landing site as the exhausted Pidgeot drops the tethers to bank away and as one all of them pull their parachutes. The ground rushes up at them, almost too fast, and he braces, making sure his knees are unlocked--
The synchronized thud thud thud of three dozen trainers and Pokemon onto the ground is almost uncanny, but Mike has no time to waste as, like every other member of the team, he’s already ditched the chute and is reaching for his belt. Surtur’s comfortable, flaming bulk materializes in front of him and Mike smiles as his partner’s comforting presence reaches across to him through the link. Demi’s ball flashes, depositing the icy Rapiddash behind him and he feels her add her power to the psychic network along with dozens of other Pokemon as she nuzzles his hair for a moment.
A Rhydon stamps as a Dugtrio vanishes into the ground, and abruptly Mike is aware of the layout of the Breaker base as the Pokemon expertly sift through the vibrations and generate a three-dimension layout. Lieutenant Zhao gestures and immaterial markers courtesy of the psychic network appear on the ground as trainers stack up for breach. The support team backs up, behind their bulwark of defensive Pokemon, as the ground shivers under Breaching moves.
The first trainer and his Pokemon, a Glaceon and Umbreon, dive into the first hole, weapons at ready. The first inkling anyone has that the mission might not go well is when all three of them hurtle back up into the air almost instantly, followed by a huge Metagross that hovers up behind them. It's covered in glowing runic lines gleaming in sync with a huge accumulation of Psychic energy. Their minds reverberate with its laughter as it gestures at them, the initial trainer and his Pokemon landing on the ground with quite literal boneshattering force.
Things got much worse after that.
---
Surtur hissed down the hallway like a steam kettle as Mike crouched behind him, finger on the trigger of the oversized rifle that he’d taken from one of the frontliners who... no longer needed it. He wasn’t an operator of their calibur, but Surtur was a potent combatant running on at least half a tank and it wasn’t like anyone else was going to do the job.
He risked a glance back into the room they’d built a field hospital in. The servers unplugged and piled in a corner behind a hastily-built barricade, as well as a mound of Pokeballs, reassured him that maybe something good could come out of this... clusterfuck. The bodies piled helterskelter on the floor were another matter. Demi trudged weakly from groaning man to unconscious Pokemon, her horn flickering with waves of Heal Pulse as she spread healing power not to cure but simply to stabilize. The pile of unmoving bags, each with a black tag, in the opposite corner seemed to laugh at her.
The psychic network was down. Their radios were barely operational. Lieutenant Zhao had put out the call for backup and he knew that Alpha was on the way to support them, but nobody had expected... this.
The whole dug-out base had stopped shaking with overpowered moves minutes ago. Mike wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Given how the day was going, it could just mean that the Breakers had overpowered the remnants of the International Police and he was the last man standing. Which would probably transition into him not standing shortly thereafter. He sighed. “Demi, any psychic communications?”
She shook her head at him. “Dash, Dash,” she whispered, and he grimaced before keying his radio.
“All units this net, this is Sierra Gamma Three-One, please respond, over.”
Nothing but static answered him.
Something skittered in the hallway and Mike spun as a Leafeon cantered around the corner. It was bruised and battered, but its skin glowed green with the runic lines characteristic of Broken Pokemon and its eyes glinted with madness. Faced with a Pokemon far more sizable, barely scratched, and with a Type Advantage the Broken Leafeon charged. Mike started to call for Surtur, but the huge Fire Dog beat him to the punch and filled the hallway with Flamethrower. He kept it up for far longer than usual, turning the packed earth of the hall molten, and finally let up only to gasp for breath.
The Leafeon emerged from the flames charred, with its fur laid open to reveal bone, and still moving. Its eyes fixed on Mike as it gathered its feet under it, ready to pounce far further than any normal Pokemon could. Then Surtur slammed into it, his body alight with Overheat, and the Leafeon went flying.Surtur fell to his belly, gasping on the ground, breathing hard.
The Leafeon got back up, staggering, but eyes still alight with hate. Mike sighted the rifle onto its face and held down the trigger.
The IP had come loaded for Ursaring, and the high-caliber ammunition in their rifles bore more of a resemblance to autocannon rounds than anything normally man-portable. Even Mike’s sizable bulk was barely adequate to brace him as he poured rounds into the charging Broken Pokemon. It took all fifteen in the magazine, but as the bolt cycled open and locked back, the Leafeon’s charge converted to a slide as it slumped bonelessly to the floor. The green network of lines over its body faded as the Broken Pokemon suddenly aged rapidly, leaving behind only a skeleton with parchment-like skin stretched over its skull to skid, shuddering, to a halt at his boots.
His eyes caught another flicker of movement down the hall and he had a moment to see a small man, eyes alive with hatred, scream in a nasally voice, “This time you die, ippie fuckfaces!” Before a sound that would ever live in his nightmares resounded through the hall.
Ka-chunk
Surtur lurched from the ground, the loyal Pokemon diving to place himself before his trainer and the threat, mouth open in the signature roar of Flamethrower. The 40mm grenade sailed neatly into his mouth and detonated with a dull thump that sent Surtur reeling. His sacrifice gave Mike a moment to dive for the doorway before the Breaker hosed the hallway down with automatic rifle fire. One round spangled off his ceramic armor, but it did his job and Mike made it unharmed to the doorway. Hasty fingers switched magazines and Mike racked the bolt, spinning out of the doorway to return fire. The scene that met his eyes made him gasp.
Surtur lay on the ground, his jaws held wide open by a strange foam. Shit! That’s firefoam! Mike realized. The Arcanine’s paws clawed over and over at his mouth as he choked on the foam that had sealed his throat. But Mike’s attention was caught more by the Breaker running at him, reloading his own weapon, and with a yell Mike brought up his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The Breaker went down in a welter of gore and Mike discarded the rifle to skid to his knees next to his best friend.
Experienced eyes assessed the situation as he screamed for Demi to bring him an aid kit. Firefoam was an excellent flame retardant. It was also sticky and cured rapidly in the presence of flame... or Fire Pokemon. The grenade had detonated in Surtur’s mouth, choking him, and even as Mike drew his combat knife and pried fruitlessly at the obstructing foam he watched his best friend’s struggles grow weaker. “Hang in there buddy!” He shouted as Demi dropped in next to him, barrel heaving as she tossed him a combat medical kit from her saddlebags. He had exactly one try to cut the lifesaving hole in Surtur’s neck to bypass the foam choking the Arcanine out and give him lifesaving air.
His hands moved with what felt like glacial speed as he watched Surtur’s eyes lock onto him, terrified and begging for help. The scalpel tumbled into his right hand as he drove his left into the Arcanine’s neck, searching for the right spot. The little notch under his thumb appeared after a moment of desperate prodding and he drove the scalpel below it instantly. The tough Pokemon skin yielded to his frenzied blows, but even as the hole opened Surtur stilled. His eyes rolled up as his heart stopped.
The next few minutes lived only in Mike’s nightmares as individual snippets of horrific memory. Jamming a breathing tube into Surtur’s unmoving body through the gash in his neck. Rolling him to his back to allow big hands to squeeze his chest with the frantic blows of CPR. Demi dropping to the ground in exhaustion, completely spent from firing Heal Pulse after Heal Pulse into Surtur’s body.
The rescuers found the last man standing crouched over the shattered, barely breathing, unmoving body of his friend, weeping.
---
Now...
"Hey, Kameah," Mike said, stepping into the run. "I have something to show you."
The ice fox didn't move her feet, but did tilt her head at him as he sat down across the run from her, taking two pictures out of his pocket. "Do you know this person?" He asked, showing her one image.
The response was immediate. The calm, quiet fox turned into an ice demon of rage, a growl resonating off the walls of the enclosure. Her teeth bared, her eyes slicked back. Ice crackled into existence around her as the temperature plunged .
Mike set the picture down, avoiding her gaze. "It's the one who tried to break you, isn't it?"
Her glare was all he needed to know the answer to that.
He sighed. "Kameah... I know that people hurt you. The problem with us humans is that we're a lot more gray than Pokemon. Most of you are good and gentle souls. People can be that. They can also do very bad things."
The growl, if anything, only grew.
Mike blew out a long breath. "But this one, this man..." He slowly held up the second picture, the one he had taken from the files. The one whose face he saw sometimes. "You don't need to hate all people because of this one. Because he can never hurt you again. And the reason that he can never hurt you again..."
The growling cut off as the fox's eyes met the image, trailing into a confused whine at the sight of a pile of bloody chunks of bone and grey-tinged flesh on a steel exam table.
"... is because he's dead." Mike said quietly. "He killed my partner. He shot him with something that choked him so bad that even though I saved his body, I couldn't save his mind. The parts of his brain that made him, him are dead. Only an animal remains." His tone... changed. Became darker. Deeper. "That’s why I shot that rat bastard in the head. And that’s why I took your ball off his corpse."
The ice fox stiffens, all movement abruptly ceasing. She might as well have been a statue as she stares at him. The minutes pass, until Mike sighed and went to get up.
The picture vanished from his grasp as a winter gale sliced past his hand and the Ninetales reappears at the end of the run, the picture of a dead man’s corpse between her paws. She looked at Mike. She looked at the picture.
She's still looking at it as he leaves the run.
--
Mike sat, stewing in his own juices in the heat, staring at the laptop screen as the television blathers in the background. There’s half a dozen unfinished letters there. A letter of resignation. A letter requesting reinstatement. A letter authorizing Surtur’s transfer to long term care. A letter requesting euthanasia. The list goes on.
Something crinkled in the background and his ears perked up, head swinging towards his bedroom. He recognized the soft sound of a window sliding open, and adrenaline began to flood his system. Who would dare burgle the home of an International Police officer, given that it was obvious he was home and the lights were on?
Then he swallowed hard as the temperature dropped. An icy Ninetales flowed through the doorway, eyes fixed on him. He could barely move as she trotted on dainty feet around his coffee table to jump up lightly on the couch next to him. Her presence cooled him immediately, like the world’s best air conditioning, as she nudged the laptop off his lap onto the couch next to him with a flick of a tail. She immediately took its place, dropping into a sitting position that left her head equal to his as her tails fanned over his legs.
“What are you doing here?” He stammered into the face of the Ninetales as she touched him nose-to-nose.
“Nine,” she said, very matter-of-factly. Mike, like most experienced trainers, could understand simple concepts in Pokespeech to a degree, and this one was very easy to translate. She’d said “Mine.”
“So... you want to stay here?” He asked.
She looked at him as if he were a very stupid Vulpix. “Nine. Tales.” She repeated slowly, stretching out the words. “Mine. Stupid,” he translated.
He scratched his head. “Well... I’m going to have to call Zelda at the shelter, and arrange adoption, and-”
She put a paw on his lips, a vulpine smile on her face. The intent was obvious. He chuckled. “Yes, yes, I know. Human things, human can worry about them, you don’t care.” His face grew serious. “But... why me?”
In response, the fox snuggled against him, tucking her head against his neck. She yawned. “Ninetales.” He blinked.
She had said “Safe.”
A tiny snore echoed from below his neck, and as he put both arms around the slumbering fox, his face relaxed. Mike felt something he hadn’t felt in quite some time.
Happiness.