Luna and Thief
The Orange Isle's Chapter Thirteen: Folded Paper

If there had been any noise that annoyed him anything more than the occasional buzz from Vibrava's wings, it had to be the beeping.
That endless, annoying beeping. The rhythmic tap left Thief's head round in rope. Everything became a murky mess of thoughts.
“You understand Luna is deaf, right Thief?" The conversation from the other night had played in Thief's skull, crept up like an unwanted gnat in the small of his back. A reminder? It left his weak-felt jaw to clench. His eyes, like gentle saps of ember, glanced around the room in his dreary way. The windows battered against the pane.
“Scarf…?" His voice fought through the strange constant flux of consciousness. In this case, other than solid static – it appeared like a metallic coffee. A sickly swirl of off grey and green colors sputtered around him. Every moment he glanced around – the phobia of that Abra clung around him.

Let alone that Chesshira left him sick to the very core that hadn't been from his ribs lightly compressed against the healing deck either. A loud breath drew into his lungs as the otherwise cold air flooded into his body and lowered his temperature bit by bit. There had been yelling earlier, terrible, terrible yelling.
“Scarf? Marill?" He began to mutter out, “Where is… everyone?" The occasional buzz touched his ears, and as he glanced up…
That buzz had been from Griffin's Pokenav, not Vibrava… by then, the human had fallen asleep upstairs – he couldn't rest in the cells. An officer only glanced at both curiously; it hadn't been Jenny, but she had a build very close to her.

In some way, the Growlithe wondered if this officer and Jenny could have been related. Perhaps one from an entirely different region altogether, but that had been a single thought throughout a sludge of numbness and mental blanks.
The sense of static crept up in his ears while his pelt flared. Another rapid heat-stroke that hadn't made any connection…Either that or it had been the constant inflammation of the partially healed burns on his chest. There hadn't been any strength left in his body
Not a single one to give.
That left Thief in a fit of curses as he hazily glared about. The sense of time always confused him, yet he knew one thing for sure. That Pokenav on Griffin's stomach glared back at Thief. The Officer continued to stare at them, both silent.
Maybe there had been something alien about it, the idea that he steadily paced and paced over his Pokemon.

As rowdy as they could be, the trainer – granted the numbers – had been growing their trust through the Pokemon he already had prior. His assumption had been that by then, they probably had looked through every video file about Griffin they had in the cities and centers. As though proudly, he remembered some television shows. Ever since Thief learned of the symbols, how to read them – He knew he could understand those shows.
As Hollywood as his thoughts may have been, they hadn't been entirely wrong; Thief knew that much through the thick sludge that surrounded his eyes and flooded his head. The Officer's being had told him that clearly. It was the only thing that made sense to him as that Growlithe stared at Griffin intensely.

The static dared to have him another letter; the very thought of it left him sick and ill to his gut – the empty line of bile dared to creep back upon him. The memory from Viridian City wouldn't just go. It pestered the corners of his hidden thoughts with the constant name in his mind.

“Amalbert."

It clung to the sides of his scalp as though every sense of hypotension shocked his nerves. The sickly crawl ran up the small of his spine as Thief only stared at his trainer and the spot where Luna had been. It made him realize that even the slow turns of his head made the world a blur as though everything moved as quickly as he wanted to feel. Those eyes lightly dilated to the light while the mossy symbols sat in his vision.

*Pokemon Medical Ward*

That is what it said in return for him, that smaller sign, then the one that floated above her – hooked by firm cables.

*Front Desk, Offices*

They had pointed in the two opposite directions; at least he knew one way to go – not that he had any chance in hell to do so. That sense of paralysis ran through him. The ragged inhale shocked his lungs with a hazy sense of torn pain. Not to mention the nerves which left his chest to quiver and wheeze from the shock. A reminder that even with the compression bandages and the pressure he applied from naturally laying down hadn't been enough to mimic the bones he lost. Thief glared around the room again, the blur – the sense of retching wanted to overwhelm him.

Even Marill had been gone. Bandit, Seo, Moonlight, Luna, Marill, Scarf… Leafeon. All of them had just disappeared.

He hadn't even seen Lycanroc, Haxorus, or Vibrava; the Growlithe didn't even know, and it left him in a teary-eyed fit at every thought that crawled up his back. The sheer sense of hopelessness – all because he couldn't move…

Trapped in himself.

When he pushed his forepaws to the healing deck, he finally focused on his stupor – the familiar shotgunned line of pellets and rocks that scarred his chest cut through him like ravenous claws. That shred and tear ran down his whole pectoral region; dared to shred up his abs much the same. The only way to explain that pain had been the thought of a Pidgeot sinking its talons into him endlessly.

Another desire to throw up crossed his inflamed stomach, his face flushed from the dizzier sense of blood that ran to it. A fluster of weak strain touched the Growlithes brow as he had just forced his head over the edge of the healing dock. That Growlithe, the other one from before, had worn a funny little harness or vest on him now. Overall, a few more officers had long stepped from their respective offices when Arcanine came in with its blood-curdling screams.

“Funny tail." The Growlithe lightly commented; it seemed more of a friendly gesture than an outright insult. “Your trainers' team is an all-around pain in my tail." He said with a gentle yawn and the smack of his lips after. “Don't tell me your planning a little escape too. I've never seen a Pikachu that can pick a lock until now." Thief coughed in reply to the K-Nine unit's words.
“The sign above you says, 'Front Desk' and 'Offices.' The one next to us says 'Pokemon Medical Ward.' We all have our petty things, I guess."
“That's… You can read that?" Thief smiled idly back at the other Growlithe – a sparkling example of all the ones from around there.
“Human… taught me…" Thief lightly trailed off before he shook his skull wildly; the drugs made his mind wander all over.
“Either way, you all just got me in a world of trouble… It had been bad enough letting Moonlight go, but it's a little hard not to." The Growlithe commented back as Thief narrowed his eyes.
“Why?"
“Huh? Oh, his tattoo. He had one Uhm… well, human's put them in strange places – private…. Private places…" The other Growlithe seemed to gesture his paw down. “According to the tattoo, we spotted… Small town for a small cat, I guess." The Growlithe commented again, “The tag checks out, but I mean, who's going to stare at an Espeon's crotchline long enough to see it?" The harnessed Growlithe gave a little spat. “It's a tattoo given to GPD Pokemon."

An odd creepy feeling crawled up Thief's hindquarters; it made his head swirl.

“The number isn't really in the system, but we know it's 'in the system'" The Growlithe made a notion with his nose. “The information is that he's from a bred batch of Pokemon for training and flunked - sold. Currently owned by an “Akiyama Ayumu," correct?" Thief sluggishly nodded his head back.
“Y – yeah… I mean, Moonlight has been with Logan and Griffin for a long time now, though." The Growlithe nodded in return as Thief made a small heave of a sound.
“The med's right?"
“My… everything"
“It's almost as bad as getting shot – even with this heavy thing on, it still shatters bones easily enough." The other Growlithe commented, but there hadn't been a single sound of a joke in his tone – that left Thief uneasy.
Unlike humans, he's bluntly using his dominance to assert the idea that I can't leave. I can't trust them with finding Luna – they can't find her. She'd be gone, long gone before they did; Bandit too. Thief wildly desired to do anything aside from feeling like he went through the worst hell-week of training in his life, but nothing could be done.
“I… need to go…"
“Washroom?" Thief turned his head at the Growlithe, confused. “What? You're bloody kidding…" The Growlithe commented back to him. “You ain't leaving this damned room – it's bad enough that our camera's caught Marill and Pikachu swimming in the direction Sceptile and Moonlight went." Thief felt himself crawl again
Swam… Marill? They both swam out there in this? Thief pushed down on his hind legs, but everything had felt limp and heavy. I… have… I can't leave them.

I can't leave them…

I… can't…

His jaw clenched as that injured Growlithe aimlessly stirred against the healing deck, but the struggle had been for utterly nothing. There was nothing he could do. The emptiness and pressure had built all around him. Just the movement made his vision haze into a depth of unconsciousness. A clear warning to stop.

“They become legends."

It had been the variable Baba Yaga by every sense of appearance which loomed over him in that hot, volcanic region. “Bind, learn it, it'll be useful – with all the blows you've taken, it'll be easy." Her voice held a gentle yet instinctively spiteful tone with him – it hadn't mattered how well she hid it. Thief knew it had been there in her mood. “Why jump in the way if you're as scared and meek as you say?"

“She's a friend. One of my oldest… the only one at one point. I get to listen to her talk all the time now." His own words brought a cruel cross of blurs to his eyes; the machine beeped incandescently underneath him. “She isn't deaf, but it's like that… She was younger than all of them, smaller but… older – nicer. I just… wanted all of that to be a dream. I barely get… how you… how you hold… on so…"
“Affectively?" She had replied with this stoic casualness she usually had – a tone that told Thief she expected those words from him.

“Strongly. You're strong. You're much stronger than I've ever been. I've known that the moment we've met, I couldn't not see that." The Absol had pulled her head back, aside from her casual loom over him as though ready to strike. He had muttered out pointless words, emotions…

How he felt, but that didn't matter – it never had and could.

There had been this shock in her look, as though she caught the Growlithe on a contradiction.
“Leave yourself – if you want to fight, fight for a reason. Throw yourself to it – keep going regardless of what you lose. Just win the damn fight cub; if you have something to protect, win." She growled at the end of those words, “Luna that Vulpix sees something in you and you tolerate her disability; not a single Pokemon I know is willing to do that." She replied, in turn, it brought this smaller sense of warmth to Thief's hairy chest – even his breath heated a little.
“She's afraid of Thunder because it hurts her ears – that's why she uses the trick." Absol explained her theory, all of it… until a name caught his distant thoughts.

“Lumine." Thief froze, recanting the story of Luna's near sleep talks to Absol hardly a few days earlier.
“My sister…? I don't know where she went, but I think I saw her a long time ago. A Vulpix helped me out of the woods near Hoenn – after that, Griffin caught me stealing food from him… or… more accurately, Bandit did. Just like she did with Luna. I'm… I feel like Yuny protected Akamaru… the fight keeps replaying in my head," The Absol tenderly laughed.
“Reminds me of silly legends." She replied casually, but Thief heard it again.

That growl.

“You make that sound Lycanroc makes, hiding a snarl. Do you both hate me… that much?" Seo only glanced over the Growlithe studiously as though it quite clearly reminded her of something or someone, but her gaze softened at his tail.

Towards a little shell that made gentle sounds of softer laughter and spoke of the dreams that it wanted to share with him.

“We all remember when we look at those with the same eyes, similar weaknesses. Can you handle the pain?" Seo's words cut into him, and Thief could only cough against the soft bed that Luna had spent her uncertain time making, despite her injured leg and head.
“I… can… I just can't handle the sounds… I never…" His coughs ran through his back and neck.

“Silly legends, they all can be. It's never about what was said. It's what's learned from it… Thief. You've long learned Bind; you've learned your weakness – your fright. Apply it" She had paused at that moment, her gaze softened just a little more – a decision or realization of her own. “Use that fear to drive you forward, even in the face of hell, if that's your best choice and chance – use that motivation." There had been this cackle, one that made him feel too fuzzy on the inside.
“I think she'd say something like, “Even if you look foolish, pee and all down your legs – it doesn't matter - if you're the one left standing."

“I think she'd say that too."

Thief hadn't any chance in hell to move, but his only way out he could see had been based on if he could stand and walk – here he had been no differently crippled then Seo had been before she disappeared. That very thought left his eyes teary. When Luna had gone, he hadn't even known or realized at first.

The drug overpowered him endlessly – or the multiple ones he couldn't tell; at any time, the device was sure to administer what he needed but not wanted.
The healing deck had been another thing entirely too. The Growlithe understood something about humans – that most, if not all, couldn't actually utilize the healing layer. It had something to do with metabolic rates, stasis, and some other funny words that Thief hadn't a clue of but still desired to learn about. He had to move or do anything…
“Hey? You okay? You look glossy."
“How do you use… bind?"
“Bind?" The Growlithe pulled his head back, and then his eyes dilated a touch. “You haven't been… using bind?"
“I don't… don't really know how."
“My sweet Arceus. No wonder why your healing is taking so much longer, aside from your crazy jump in." The Growlithe commented. “My cousin told me that he saw you earlier in the hospital and later that night." Thief blinked bit by bit…

In the haze of yet another high, one too freshly closed to his memory – when everything seemed so crisp and clear that the image actually glossed over for him…
He vaguely remembered seeing another Growlithe – even during lunch, ill as all sin and recovering. The thought never came to his mind until then. It had been such a pointless detail that it made the Growlithe glance at the harnessed one. “You got a look of trust in your eyes; you'll be surprised exactly how often we Police Pokemon end up in a center." The Growlithe adjusted his posture to mimic one of many stone creatures. Simple and rigid. “I really only know one. It's a basic recovery posture for the move." He explained, “Your entire body language has to change to really get to know it – that's why it's easier to learn through a technical machine." He continued to say. “So, relax your body, stay at ease, and breathe deeply. It's like a state of meditation or rest. You need plenty of that. Mind over Body, Will over Mind." He said with a smaller sense of laughter. “It's how I've come to know it as a Pokemon. Some of the best can sense inside themselves with the move; I think Psychic's call them 'cores'," The Growlithe commented to Thief as he'd adjust his way. The relaxed, focused position… it felt more like Odor Sleuth then Bind. He forced himself to breathe in slowly and deeply as that Growlithe gave him a trustworthy smile. It seemed feigned, but even with the light sting in his lungs from a full, slow breath… he did feel at least a little better about it.

Luna:

Not the head. That rang in her deaf world, in her head intending to commit to that. It repeated as did the slam against the steel bars in front of her. The lights finally hit on, at least one - the bulb managed to find a connection. It never intended to be out in the first place, but she couldn't clutter her mind with random thoughts aside from.
She's not dead.
The crackle against the bar shook her body to the very core, her voice yelled out aimlessly in the now dim light – that fresh scent had been there alright… In a larger cage across from her, Luna had matched out the tail…
Withered.
Another dry plume crackled against her throat as Luna tried to force her body temperature higher; the dehydration hadn't helped, but now her shoulder felt about the same, if not worse then an individual mouse she knew.
Another slammed rattled the solid block of every steel ball, her eyes had been in a fit of tears, but by then, she couldn't even find the water she needed to well them up. There had been containers in the corner… she couldn't read them…

But a word like 'Car Fluid' came to her thoughts; she hadn't a clue if something could dissolve into the skin and sap out any sense of warmth… but that fresh scent left her gutturally roaring in utter silence… aided only by a dim orange light. She rammed against the bars again – to the point that she swore her shoulder would break… it left her in a fit of pants, tears – vomit…

It had to have been her tail. She could tell by the spots and speckles on the withered grey and black fur; she looked as though they had starved and dehydrated her for the full week – shoved her in here for every night. They drenched her in a fluid to make sure she'd freeze to death when she hadn't died from dehydration first. Luna couldn't stop wailing the name out. At least she felt warmer. Her pulse shot past two ninety; she knew that to be accurate - her smaller insignificant body slammed on the steel once again in her fit of self-induced pain. Luna didn't stop screaming. Utterly deaf, she didn't stop crying at the lifeless, grey-black tail in the cage across from her. It looked stiff. Like rigor had settled in.

Not the head.

Her words sprung in her skull, bounced around aimlessly – she felt herself snarl against the steel, a fit of dismay more than resilience. Her little fuzzy red form slammed against the box again – she didn't stop. Even when she swore, she heard something crack; pain shot through her as another fit of tears streaked down her face. These were miraculous, actual tears… matted to her dry and frigid skin and sure to freeze in the moments that followed.
Her internal body temperature hit an average forty-one degrees Celsius, on par with her increased heart rate. For her to even try fire…
A multiple of three had been the minimum, and a decrease of her heartrate was essential. Luna had no control over those things. If anything, her flame had become no different; the sparks used to light a bic.

A dry heave came to her muzzle as she wailed, screamed… eventually curled to the coldest corner of the cage and bundled herself.
Fuck them…

The anger settled in. It slowly settled in as though someone handed Luna a very human-Esque gesture with a single finger; fright didn't work for her now…

But there hadn't been any morale for enough rage – aside from the endless vulgar course words which sparked through her skull… along with the thoughts of ramming her own head against the bars. Whatever was better than soaked in fluids that could kill someone in negative five in under an hour. She did everything she could think of to warm herself – Psychic didn't even work for her…
The blows to the skull from Abra and Heal bell for Thief had been too much for her to try that now; Will-o-wisp couldn't help her, again it be cold fire.
There hadn't a move either physically or elemental based she had that could help her. Ice didn't come to her disposal. All she could do, aside from the last hour of staring at her, wide-eyed… sick to her stomach – words ran through her endlessly.

She knew the tail; the rest hadn't mattered in the slightest.

That was Bandit's tail, and they did that to her.

Luna had no way out, stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no one… Granbull had to be dead by then, even with her constant screaming for help. Not a single wild type had any to spare. That much came to her then, curled in a ball – all she could do was seethe, broil and stun herself with every single word Bandit told her. They all churned and played in her head, spun… spun… Vertigo got to her, regardless of any fit of anger she had – she was the only one that knew what happened.

Luna had been as good as dead now for that.

The anger came in waves, mixed in with tears – fright and constant dry retching. They killed...

They murdered Bandit.

Luna didn't know what pissed her off the most about it all, the fact that they did…

Or the pure knowledge that every human would only say 'It's just a Pokemon.'

It left her to bite her lip; her heart rate had spasmodically reached just under three-fifty. An average for any fox chased by prey… but she hadn't been running. Her own damn heart couldn't handle the stress, regardless of how much she roared out nothing at the vent. Fright, rage, fear… whatever. It all cascaded through her skull in a flurry of emotions – that had to be Bandit.
Luna couldn't not know anything about her by then.
Except for one or two questions, she always wanted to ask her.
She's not dead. She's cheating; Bandit always cheats – I know it. Open the damn bars, heat yourself… Screw your own heart.

FUCK IT.

She left herself to hyperventilate, similar to how she had when her ribs had been shattered at the Magnet train; Her heart rate continued to spike. She knew the threshold – she reached that with Abra. The max heart rate, for a Vulpi, when chased by prey, had been about three fifty – but that had been a WILD fox. Her heart rate peaked around three seventy BPM. Bundled best she could – tail and all… the fox felt a peak or high from the lack of air. Anything and everything screamed at her to stop panicking – but she had to use any tool she had to get out alive.

Eventually, her core temperature finally reached one hundred and three degrees centigrade. She knew it would hurt like hell if it hadn't killed her.

She only needed just enough to spark a flame – the one that couldn't die out, the one that flickered like mad with her panic… and like any flint to kindle. She sparked her shredded-up throat to let out a current of the hotter pyre in any attempt to burn anything down. The flame had been a weak orange, but in this case, she hadn't cared for its lackluster spew in the room. She cared about temperature, the hotter her cage got – the warmer it got around her; she'd cheat.

She'd cripple her own damn flamethrower if she had to, especially if it meant getting Bandit and even Granbull out alive with her.

I'll get you out, even if it kills me.

The cravings. The attitude – the mood swings. Damnit, please. Please…

Take me away but leave her be.

The sprawl of fire left her inside to broil with every contrast of temperature. Because of her 'sacred flame,' the kind that ALL of them had, running out of fire had been impossible. But no one ever mentioned or fought against the notion that every single muscle, nerve, organ, and blood vessel could literally contract or pop from a sudden transition of frozen and hot temperatures.

Without her body temperature adequately regulated, it would be impassable for any fire type move to be used; the contrast would shock her system. Injured, Luna knew the air was patiently frigid. Stamina had been her only friend against that.
If she sat and did nothing, again they'd all die – the thought crept up in the back of her skull -
Eventually, her luck with her fire would run out, and the actions she did now would hurt her much further on.
Her throat felt as though it came to the point of cracking under the contrasts of cold saliva to the enraged hot pyre. It had been a pretty standard thing for her.
Problem equals burn it; I AM a living fireball. The more optimistic thoughts touched The Vulpi's skull. I bet you're using something to stay alive, giving them another human gesture – another middle finger.
I know you are, so I'm going too.
The sharp steam pooled at the bottom of her throat. A tear – it made her eyes water more from the pain, but eventually… slowly – the bars melted.
Luna sputtered her flames to take in a breath, like a jet engine, before it sparkled a red fire turned blue – those flames licked across Granbulls cage; illuminated the room in an eerie glow. Her tears even refracted against the blurry ghastly blue lantern as the room filled into detail.

All the shelves were cages of dead Pokemon, like some grotesque morgue.

It didn't make her stop in fright, not when her only way out had been the move she held under the crackled throat – the scorch of expulsed mist that sliced into her lungs and esophagus. She hadn't locked Flamethrower that long before, to both warm and melt steel.
Another Abra situation all over and the prospect of losing anything had been too real for her.

If she hadn't lost already.

The dreadful sense of drowning surrounded her, as though the blood pooled at the base of her throat – the urge to swallow that sickly churned fluid, one she hadn't wanted to think about. It teased her with the notion of taking it in. The ill-set tremble burned through her as Granbull's cage – the front bars… had crackled and snapped from the sudden contrast of cold to hot-heat.

That shocked even Luna – she never knew steel could do that. With a hazardous drop and slip to the floor – her hindleg in shock from the landing - she started yelling out Granbulls name.
The son of a bitch, literally, had been in the first stage of Hypothermia – but he hadn't been utterly screwed in the colder environment.
Pokemon was naturally much more resilient than any human being ever could be. Granbull had hopped down from the cage as Luna laid sprawled out on the tile floor below them. It had been disgusting compared to the cage, never cleaned.

She certainly hadn't wanted to lick herself now; she hadn't wanted to do that since Viridian.
The Granbull made a few daft gestures with his arms until Luna found herself in a squealing protest where he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
“Bandit!" She yipped, but the Granbull hadn't given her a moment or chance. “She's alive. Let me go, Granbull!" Luna didn't even get to see the entire cage before Granbull broke through the refrigerators vent and got them both out of that room. She had no way to move back… No way to know aside from scent and a familiar tail alone.

The Granbull had run, bolted faster than she had expected it to – quarter frozen alive. There had barely been the second to chitter at him as they burst out a vent to the mysterious outside world. It had been about a story high – a little complex-like Pokemon center or warehouse, something in the middle of nowhere. The snow had been the worst contender, the scents, the alien trees – the endless mountainous region. Wherever the hell they ended up, she hadn't like it; the altitude told her that much. Luna ended up in the snow about twenty, if not thirty meters, into the thick woods. She only stared at Granbulls face, his utterly empty chatter – the scars around his neck in silence – she read his lips. Apologies, and explaining the stench of in all the cages but hers. What he did helped get them out, but to who knows where… not only that, it felt colder outside than inside; the entire region blanketed in snow… every tree had been of Aspen, Pine, and Elm. The forest was nothing like Kanto, the Orange Isles, or even Hoenn.
“Where the hell are we?" Luna jolted at the sound of her own voice – her heart rate had begun to taper off. “This place is… freaking freezing – it's a dry cold."
“Y – yeah…" The Granbull commented back to her. “Do you know how to dig a den?" Luna flinched from that question.
“O – Of course, I do." She mentioned back sharply. “I – I mean, I've been shown… sort of." Her brow gently furrowed.
The term sort of is loose with 'I wasn't paying attention. Can you show me again, mom? Not now? Okay…'
There had been a shake of her head; the world became a strange haze of bright colors. Her concussion hadn't been as bad now… but it was still there, throwing her off balance – messing with her eyes. The ill set feeling in her stomach.

Something she felt had been around with everyone; in the total sense of surviving… Bandit left behind. The thought made her dry retch over and over. Granbull could only stare as the realization settled in.


She had already been dead, probably before they even got close to her.

Thief:

Another blackout, the long breath in and out – the attempt to Bind… Thief simply knocked out. It felt like his brain throttled against his own neck, a lump in his throat by the time he opened his eyes. Something lightly gripped him, tugged him close out of nowhere.

The entire building had shaken from somewhere below them – the deafening crash, roar, and odd crackle touched the air.
“What the hell." The Officer hadn't missed a beat with the radio; Thief could hear the crackling voice in response. It left him in shock, a wonder of the sounds around them both as the other Growlithe sniffed the air.
“Gun oil? I smell gun oil… that sounded like a wall collapsing – or a couple. There's a Pokemon downstairs and a big one." The Officer walked to the door, right as Griffin had stirred awake.
“W – What the hell?"
“Stay here. The glass is bulletproof for a reason." She commented back, closed the medical wing door on them both, and readied her firearm. She radioed that there had been static for another few seconds, and then that officer had begun to warily move from the medical wing. Thief could barely see the officer, but he assumed that she had stood behind the wall of the staircase, listening to her radio.

An assault on a police precinct seemed impossible – not even Team Rocket would do such a thing, but time and time again, Thief had to think to himself.
About the storm caused by a Pokemon…
About all the missing Pokemon and the other trainers affected by them.
How stupidly upfront, direct, and evident of a goal it could be – if communication had been narrowed to nothing, travel was near obsolete…

The only evidence and wild card witness had both been in the same building amid a storm.

Thief swallowed cautiously.

The paint on that Sandslash hadn't Seo had some on her paw – the paint was fresh. Who's Sandslash was that?

A someone is directing them – the real members are in the police precinct with us. They played an act. The 'unknowns' downstairs, between victim and suspects, ARE the actual suspects. Thief's eyes slowly dilated from realization.
They're going to destroy the evidence and kill Griffin; there must be more they want. I can imagine how much they may hold here on them. If it seems utterly pointless to even… With a Rotom, they could fry the entire Police's dispatch. It'll become a dead zone for those funny phones. Thief bit his lip and cautiously swallowed. His heart began to spike – the uncomfortable heat went with it. I better learn Bind pretty freaking quick.

His throat seemed lightly parched as he ran the numbers through his head. He hadn't a chance to see too many of them.
There had been a man around thirty-five, brown-greying hair – sunkissed. Caucasian. He stuck out in his thoughts the most. Thief gave a little tremble to the notion and realization.
The way they held their posture, it was like their own way of being 'at ease' their body language. That's what was off about them all. The body language felt recorded muscle memory. Good.

Maybe some of the best damn acting…

Thief bit his lip again and snarled lightly. Just the action made his whole-body protest. All those individual little stab wounds to the broken ribs.
All of it, from one frightening snarl. There had been some moments of silence; footsteps came around the corner – Thief could see one officer. He knew nothing about guns, but he understood that it had been a stubby one, more significant than a handgun. His radio chattered about nothing, or so Thief had thought. A machine gun was all he really saw; as the officer passed by – their gloved hands flicked by the curtains and left both Griffin and Thief in the dark.
They moved quick. Thief could barely register that their hand unconsciously closed the blinds to the ward they were in; the whole thing appeared like a magic trick.
Whoever they had been, they were decked out head to toe… but he recognized a single thing.

The uniform underneath had been no different than Smokyles' trainer.

The mobilization had been intensely quick. The Growlithe nearly wondered if Arcanine and her yelling earlier put them ALL on guard for the night. He wouldn't be surprised – if Thief could think the situation at the beginning of it…

Then before it clearly happened, someone was smart enough to call it; that had been the nature of the situation alone.

Aside from nerves, that paralytic shock which ran down his back and against Griffin's jacketed stomach; the only thing that genuinely made the Growlithe flinch had been the sound of whip-cracks and brick that peppered the walls and soil underneath them. In the muddle of voices, there had been a single voice he heard - muffled.
“Anti-Terrorism, Regroup! Staggered Phalanx, get behind the tree line! Windows, dipshit! Windows!" The soft voice just touched the room, but Thief knew it had been one that called over the sound of gunfire no different than anyone with the lungs they needed to do so. Just their voice put the Growlithe on edge alone, let alone his owner who had a fit of quiet – stress-induced tears down his face.
Another snap of those whips slashed down at the walls below them… there hadn't been a single shot of return fire from inside the building, however. Thief had a feeling that all the voice had done was look and recognize something on the uniform.

That terrified them both. Thief shook his skull wildly and forced himself to think.
Scholar… Scholar. Bandit said that. She called me that, told me to be that, hadn't she? Thief dryly smacked his lips with his tongue as he thought up the side of the building. It had been the front where they stepped inside. There was an older road behind us, the treeline curved in like some parade ground; a small as sin one sure… but it feels like I can call it that…?
A lot of parking spaces, though. The city is behind us. We're not in the thick of it because they have a dock here for boats. Thief coughed – recalled the medical operating room IN the police station, not just the ward of healing docks which had been on the floor they were on. There had been saltwater in the air – IN the building without a single-window open – most nailed shut for the storm.

Finally, a sound half 'slapped' against a wall – it sounded like a rib-breaking thud against the concrete below them. Under Thief's paws, the further tremble under his feet left his whole little fuzzy body in shivers until something precariously flipped the curtain up. A Pokemon had flipped the curtain up, and it went Thief to glare at the plumes on its skull – a rose-red color, as though feathers had gingerly placed themselves there. It's the emerald-mossy face, and bright yellow beak led down to its white-feathered wings, like a beautiful hand-woven blanket.
Xatu, but Thief knew something had been… off about it. Its eyes had been entirely dilated. Luna mentioned something about that to him at the hospital, or someone did. The whole thing was a blur that left him utterly Freezing cold.

A ghost he had drawn in with his frosted breath amongst the narrowly, tri-walled space gunfire. They had been about fifty meters away from the building, popping rounds into windows and other various spots where they thought movement could be. Thief ran it all through his head. It sounded too much like a television video.

Yet with real lead flying about, his pulse wouldn't drop.

Even his vision had turned into a crisp haze of colors, it seemed dark, narrow. Focused on anything, everything.
Foreground, Background. Everything and a single round hadn't even come close to Thief and Griffin yet.
The Xatu that honestly looked as though they had sweated to the point their heart would give out slowly rose a talon at them – to the bulletproof barrier.
Leafeon said something like that about Vaporeon and Umbreon's eyes… yet as the frozen yet utterly impulsive Xatu twitched, like a move to turn the bulletproof glass in front of them into wild – thousand-piece shrapnel… Thief watched a strange black blob flick past its cheeks. The freakish guttural cry left him to nearly piss himself on Griffin's stomach. His fur on end.

Beanbag used Tackle but at three hundred feet a second under the distance of ten feet. Thief wondered if it killed the poor thing, shocked, however… even with a bird's hollow bones…

It would take more than a non-lethal forty-gram bean bag ejected from a twelve-gauge shotgun to fully shatter bones – let alone knock it out. If it hit a human in the head, it would kill them without question.

Thief knew a blow like that would wind the hell out of him, in his current condition – it would kill him. But Xatu had every sense of 'wild type' appearance to it; a blow like that had been no different than an enraged Mankey's fist. The tools the police had, they hadn't been used to flat out incapacitate Pokemon… If they had those tools, it would be overkill for a human being.

A scary thought crossed his mind as the Xatu, backed from recoil shot it's plumed up high – the Second Beanbag had redirected around a Psychic-Esque shield. The human would take a blow next… If it hadn't been for the Growlithe, which popped from the flank line. That Growlithe had straight-up body slammed the Xatu into the bulletproof glass with everything he had. Thief felt the glass near bend as the psychic barrier had dipped into it… until Moonlights random words from Luna's 'classes' came to him; the confusion wouldn't cease. He could always hear the classes from a distance, being only at the fields close by.
“The most difficult thing with Psychic moves has always been pressure. The mental strain to change a force – like gravity, which is always – is immense. The further out a psychic wall, the harder it is too flat out hold it. It's why you got hurt in the Magnet Train Luna. You had it close to your skin like a second one, but the barrier and the pressure will give way – discrepancies. Your own move can kill you. All of them can kill their own user."
Thief swallowed softly as he watched the pressure expel like trapped colored wind, the other Growlithe, vest and all, that pushed in had been in a fit of wild pants. The other officer pumped the round… Thief barely saw the uniform, but he knew one thing about it.

It had been the most familiar uniform they knew, the one they'd see every single day.

A little hand gesture came to her, and the Growlithe nodded in return… Thief only stared at Xatu – the thing looked unconscious, but the scent that came off him? The one he caught onto thanks to the crack in the glass… It had been overdosing on whatever those utterly disgusting people had forcefully given it. His panting crossed dried out lips as he stared at the clock in fright.

It's been less than five minutes from the start. How long does this go on for? It started to crawl into Thief's skull. How long could this go on for? We're not even in the middle of it.
The Growlithe, that other one… had simply scampered off to another part of the upstairs floor… Thief heard another pump – like a tube. It began to slowly make sense to him.
The police in Kanto and Johto primarily deal with Pokemon and trainers. Their response is with a standard-issue revolver, but they're trained to use those long tubes. I've seen them on the news rarely. I think there was a big protest and they used them, or something like them.

They're riot controlling any Pokemon that could flank the ones that are using real guns or whatever they use… Thief dryly swallowed, a ragged breath shot through him as another row of shots rang out. Griffin only stared at the cracked-up glass – by then, he already long looked like hell. Unshaven… unclean.

Hell.

Then Thief heard the familiar expulsion of fire that erupted by one of the walls – it followed another tube-like pump and thump.
It's all he could explain and make it out to be, as silly as it sounded. In fact, the dumb thought made his lips falter. A simple, childish, foolish notion that broke him out of the ferocity of the situation; the frantic sounds of a Bayleef cut into his ears. The Growlithe used a fire-type move against it. It sounded nothing close to Luna's pyre in that alleyway. In fact, it seemed like one he hadn't heard since Akamaru would flick his flames to show Yuny what they could do. The fire hadn't been anything to kill anything.

It had been no different than merely politely asking for the one in the wrong to stand down. The Growlithe used tournament-based combat to overpower their opponent.

Information began to get him when a familiar sound, all too real gunfire, erupted at the wall to their left. Top left. The dockside? There could have been another stair-case that let them flank about the forces below them.
There had been incandescent radio sounds, constant 'licks' all around the walls of the hallway – automatic fire…

All in three bloody seconds.

The curtain had only been partially open… Thief wanted it shut closed; keep them in the dark. He swore he could nearly see the flickers – every third or so fly by had been a bright streak of yellow-ember. They had been shooting at the police… They had been shooting at them. Something had been that important in those files that Griffin managed to take. Something else here had been that important to know and erase. There had been a plume of smoke that erupted into the hallway – an expulsion from a Pokemon. It buffeted the whole glass with an eerie fog before a contrast of web-lines shot out. Thief recognized the Pokemon, Spinarak; it shotgunned the hallway with a string shot during the smoke line. It may have meant nothing for the rounds flying by, but that also meant that no human could cross the line – they had to cut themselves from the situation, outgunned for the time being as the footsteps followed to the Medical Ward.

Then, the world turned into a bright eruption of deafening white. It took Thief the seconds – five or so precise seconds to become purely blank minded.
He pissed himself at the thought that one of those rounds found a ricochet and hit him clean between the eyes - Griffin through the stomach. In a tinnitus induced silence, the thumps came into play before a roar of concrete put Thief to the ground.
“Griffin!?" He yelped out in an eruption of shock, buried beneath his trainer – pain through his sides to the point that he retched the name out. His heart rate felt doubled and heavy by then… buried by his trainer…?

By his corpse?

The idea had been to the point that Growlithe couldn't tell if he soiled himself further, but eventually, he had been pulled from the nape of the neck. The hallway had been an eruption of sparks – smoke and near molten lava. One glint of steel came from the screen like – one of those men, still dressed in the camo but no mask to cover him this time leaned swiftly from a corner ahead.
This one-man had brown hair, caramel skin; it's all Thief caught hold of wide-eyed, teary-eyed – waited for the intense flash that he'd never see.

The extreme sound he'd never hear.

The thoughts that wouldn't even connect as a round would sever those bridges instantly.

Mienshao.

Thief never knew that the internals of a tool that intricate had been springs, stoppers – precision-cut metal and brass. With a move, his eyes couldn't keep up with as told in the Pokedex of them. All he saw was the human foam at the mouth – his chest cavity had curled around Mienshao's imperatively precise and quick arm. She used Brickbreak on a human being, center mass of the sternum.

A human who wore a chest-plate that did utterly nothing to stop the concussive, rapid stiff blow from a single Mienshao.

Struck with a solid steel I-Beam, if they made them in smaller frame-like arms, she hadn't given the human a chance before the gun had shattered, and his sternum had fractured under the blow of her paw – a SINGLE arm. Humans, against a Pokemon, were cannon fodder, especially under a meter of distance. Yet what Thief knew about Pokemon that quick, angled, and precise?

They may have existed for the sole purpose of killing a human being.

Thief felt the arm take him or someone did in the haze, and eventually, he realized they were pushed from a large hole – the kind that rebar couldn't even hold up to. A full second story high – the top floor aside from the roof of the precinct building.

Both Griffin and Thief couldn't make a sound, not when yet another Pokemon had caught them.
“I got your kid, G." The voice cut into him. “Fuck, I know what you mean by 'before it becomes a warzone.' Get the grunts to pick us up. He's unconscious – the concrete tagged him in the back. I need more than a fucking USP Twelve." They continued to say; the world became of a haze of bright lights and purple hues for a moment… then the nose kicked in, and he caught onto the blood. Kicked by shrapnel, Griffin rested against the Pokemon, but Thief felt the head-blow again, even when Griffin had buried him unconsciously – literally. Whether it was when they stood or laid down – Thief couldn't tell.

Donphan.

Thief smelled that underneath him, confused he looked up at that supposed 'cop' from Cinnabar. Team Rocket clothes, as expected.
Now nothing made any sense to him at all. The outfit had been like any other Team Rocket outfit but geared differently. The pants had a utility belt – one with holster, Pokeballs, gun – pistol magazines. A vest and a few other knick-knacks Thief could blurrily see. There may have been explosive ordinance in the mix for all he knew.
“Zoroark…?" He'd mutter the name at Donphan. The Pokemon ignored him and just bolted off with their trainer. Mienshao had been able to carry him on his back. “Where… Luna…? Where are we… going?" Thief couldn't stop himself from throwing up. The ride pushed them closer to the city – more quickly then he thought.
Donphan, Mienshao, Zoroark… He has more, right? I can't remember… I think he has a Psychic-type too – like Jean. Officer Jean? No… like the Umbreon and Vaporeon does? Someone does. His thoughts continued to race through his mind. They had reached what looked like – through blurry images – a dockyard. One like Seok's… and right when Thief thought he had been in the clear… his ribs took a blow to the concrete that let him winded and begging for air. The fall was a blur.

The shock ripped through him like those rocks did. His body felt heavy again, but he cursed himself for the thought that he just didn't seem unconscious – Griffin even hit the ground with a tumble too.
At least he had been. It looked like it hurt like hell. The few seconds ran through his ears on playback – adrenaline, his mind demanded answers; their frontline from brave people in service felt broken. Their lives in a stranger's arms, one that stole from them while the whipcrack recorded on playback. Thief forced his head to curve – that stung with burning pain. Donphan's eyes had eerily stayed dilated and unblinking. A smaller pool of blood drizzled from it; there hadn't been an absurd amount – just an eerie little pool… The whipcrack.

The bullet had gone clean through that Donphan without a second of hesitation.

The voice called back to him in the swamp of sounds and rapid thoughts. “I fucking missed him." And… “Doesn't matter, Move in."
The rain had gotten into his mind too. He wondered if the wind had anything to do with the sound that reached him in that life flashing second… but eventually, Thief found himself to his feet – jaws around Griffin's nape in a mix of blood from his jaw and saliva from the stress.
Thief pulled Griffin best he could, just to keep him out of the way where the shot could've come from. His whole back screamed at him as Thief forced air down his lungs – the deeper breath even stung – the corners of his vision turned black. But by Arceus's sake, that Growlithe but anything he had into dragging Griffin behind a wooden container. The closest thing that made sense to hide around or in.

“Down one, single shooter; I need your men up. I need them up here now." The voice had replied gruffly into a radio. “For fuck sakes, get them down here."
“ETA five."
“Shite." The voice called back, then a chamber had received in the air. The crackle of two Pokeballs and a hand gesture.
“Mianshao, Break the damned bay door – Kirlia, cover her, then on me." He told them back in fluid signs and spoken language as Thief hazily stared around the corner of a shipment crate. Immediately a whip snapped nearby his ear. “Zoroark will be back. My orders remain the same."
If he had anything left in his bladder, it'd be gone by then. The sudden expulsion of wood behind him left his world sharp and hazily black. The whole air felt hot, pushed back from the force of around that cut by the Growlithe's skull without any hesitation. Aside from jump onto Griffin's stomach by a defensive reflex, nothing else would've left him to move from the killing blow of a follow-up shot.
Who's coming back? What did he say?
“We got two shooters." The man called back into the radio – dressed in his black uniform, the red R plastered on the sides of the shoulders – the gear he had outfitted on him.

The problem that Thief realized quickly while a sound of metal flicked and sparked thanks to jacketed hollow point steel puncturing against the box beside them… was that both the shooters had those odd longer guns. The stranger with them only had a forty-five pistol. The constant stressful trembles ran through his tiny body as Thief stared at them from the angle he had. Somehow, they'd have to move INTO the warehouse a few meters nearby them…
If Thief faced away from the building – the shooter had a higher ground two hundred meters back, if not further. He only wondered if they wore masks and stared sluggishly at a wall of the warehouse… a bay door – anything. It had been clearly locked tight; the storm called off any duties. The Mienshao shot left, a move dispelled the thought of a round passing through her – a second.
It only took a second, matched to match as the round had flicked off the Psychic ward Kirlia held around Mienshao – the rest tore through the near-invisible barrier. The bullet had deflected around the smooth and cylindrical wall – like some primitive Targe. Thief could see the bubble bend in like a balloon to burst. The next pound of a round shot through the air – he couldn't see any funny red trail lines like before now.

Nothing but whips shot over their heads and pinged at a crate in front of them – a wooden kind. A sticker told Thief that it had been construction material on the inside that may have been a stroke of luck.
*Trace Shipments LTD*
*Processed from Vermillion City, Shipment Number: 2715* Rested on the side of the box before the sticker shot outward and another bullet swung above them.
Whip cracks remained. Bullets punched through the empty slots where the rebar hadn't touched or reached. The seconds rolled like hours. Thief only slammed his ear against Griffin's chest. There had still been a heartbeat. The Teenager had been sure to awake at any given second.
Thief hadn't been much for praying in any way; he just held his ear against Griffin's chest.
He hoped that Griffin would as his vision blurred into static and darkness.

Tears streamed from his amber-cream eyes and fuzzy orange cheeks.

I can't carry you. I'm not large enough to bring you. Wake up.

Wake up…

“Warm-up."

The stillborn sea air rose in his skull, the usual mildew-invested cavern. The sun had finally been out after days and nights of frozen rain. His own thoughts played on a voice recorder for a surreal second. “See… take in a biiiiig breath and hold it in. Wait until your tummy warms up and then out." That time he heard his own voice in his ears… all the cub had done – his fur had the color palette of chocolate gram and vanilla cream. In fact, the orange seemed more of a hue to the chocolate strips down his back. The chilled air hollowed through the damp cavern wall; sunlight had just pulled over.
“… ….? Where's Am?" A younger one, this cub – the youngest had been the only female from the litter. The ill churn touched his stomach lining. The countless lie he told, although he knew they all heard it.

The sounds.

Aside from Thief's offset cream fur, her pelt had more verticality in their stripes. Cream orange, dark orange – her fluffy scalp had been a sprinkle of the colors.
“That's how you warm up! Stay in the cave. I'll get food for tonight." The voice he made had the closest sound he could make to a coo. He didn't know how to make it properly…
That night, or more accurately, every night – the shrubs had burned all around their den. To get food, Thief had to start heading into the village – into their den sides. For the first few nights, the other Growlithes and Vulpix's would run them out… until an all too familiar Arcanine came into the mix.
Thief's eyes had dilated every night when that Arcanine let him take his food. But there had always been enough to feed everyone.

Albeit barely, since the food supply had dwindled from foolish spite.

That Arcanine, the one where he'd catch strands – a whiff of a scent that never wanted to leave hovered around his fuzzy arm pelt every night. He remembered every night…

When that smallest one would stare at him, like a herding dog of sorts.

“You smell like a Vulpix!" She'd say, announcing the apparently hidden gem of scent in his fur. “They don't give us food." Thief nodded softly in return, the nervous smile painted on his cheeks.
“They don't." A somber voice lit up; finally, the sun had been out that day. The night had been crisp, clear – the moonlight in full. A hum of insects around them as though the ocean spring falls had ceased. Thief couldn't pull his head away from the rare few extra berries he put on the side.
“The red ones are my favorite!" It made his stomach queasy. He knew that the last thing they both wanted to see had been that color. Yet even then, Thief had kept the food on the side, divided away from the strange leaf casket that carried them.
“It's still cold…" The needy voice left Thief's pelt calmly flared. The burn in his chest felt surreal and real. A whipcrack demanded his attention as if he saw the overlay of memory along with the reality.
“It's not. Not anymore, see. We'll all huddle together tonight and watch the sky! We won't have to hide in the cave tonight, I promise. Just tonight. It'll be warm… It'll be warm…" Thief hadn't realized that he had broken into tears mid-sentence; he didn't know when he started. The berries.

They had rested there naively.

Innocently.

That had been the first night that the youngest one – the only girl of the litter had pointed her paw and said that two of the stars looked like friendly creatures. One big, one small. That was when the one they huddled around, that one in the middle told a story about them.

He always had been the best storyteller. He made them simple. Concise.

Warm.

There couldn't be any rage in his voice, just uneasiness. Nervousness. A shy, kind and short worded Growlithe. The sense of adventure hadn't been there,

He more enjoyed flowers, but those had been long trampled and ripped apart.

Thief couldn't remember the words to the song he sang, but he knew the song. He knew the words then. Even with the thuds, crackles screeched metal – Thief couldn't remember now. The icy chill flooded his organs, his ear directly against Griffin's heartbeat – nose to it.
“I'm cold…" Thief had simply rested his body overtop his younger brother, hid him beneath his gut.
“We're all here…" His voice trailed off. “We'll wake up tomorrow, and we'll play for the day. I promise."
“Like Meyer?" The name made his pelt rest, his back settled. “He was always the nicest Ninetales, no matter what." They said as Thief found his nose buried against their poufy neck. He checked all their temperatures like that. If anything, he felt too hot. For Thief in the least. Yet one thing he knew for sure.
“Like Meyer, he got old. I've told you." The nod crossed his cheeks.
“Like all of us will."

That younger brothers' eyes, in the wondrous hue they had been, were like rays of sunshine compared to the rest of them.

Hyperventilation, the taste of thinly settled dust flooded in his mouth, the world in slow motion. Vertigo, blood. For just, even a second, Thief swore he saw the rounds vibrate – the air vibrates around them. He didn't, or couldn't, feel his own heartbeat. All he could do was listen for Griffin's. The cracks sounded deafening.
Closer?
Mienshao had been on the flank line – a shooter had stayed back with a scoped weapon. There had been no reason to move – that would be dumb. All they did was continue to place shots in the box they hid behind. The wood had split apart and revealed every piece of rebar which jutted from it. From a slit, one that could be indescribable from the others, a flash sparkled.
Boom. Boom boom. Boom…. …. Boom…
It sounded distorted by then… his lungs felt heavy… too heavy. Thief crumpled aimlessly against Griffin's chest.

Dirt sparked up when he felt himself tumble.

Kirlia and MienShao had moved to take Griffin inside of the warehouse. The Pokemon had been capable of punching a hole in.

That said, even with the Psychic ward – Thief could smell blood, Fresh blood from somewhere.

In the dirt, groveling… Thief's mind became blurry of all things, a desperate desire to see… even one more of them. So many images flickered in his thoughts like dozens upon dozens of interweaved pictures. Then the Growlithe knew why, the silhouette that stared at him… The barrel of a strange gun in slow motion. It all became clear.

Crystal through the folded paper.

He died that day.