Goldenrod, August 3rd, 1923...
One year ago...

It was another one of those warm, sepia days that almost seemed quotidian in the western planes of Johto, as a golden-brown light poured in through the slatted windows of the train cart, and bathed the locomotive’s interior in a shade of autumnal bronze.
Below the hills on which the train had built its tracks, fields of flaxen and golden durum fluttered in the midst of a balmy summer current, and in the distance, the light-umber silhouette of the region’s capital was advancing quickly upon the iron horse’s line of trajectory.
And upon seeing this, Shawn- a Kantonese expatriate- took a few steps back, and glanced contently about himself.

He was in the third car of some magnificent, light-maroon coloured locomotive colloquially known as “The Johto Belle”, a marvel of machinery made up of brass, roaring pistons and fed by steam, which funnelled into the air above its fore in great twirling columns, lingering there a spell before slowly disappearing into the distance.
Its interior was just as splendid, he thought: Dark oaken cabins, finished with fogged glass doors, and furnished with rich red leather.
To city folk, it might have been a regular occurrence: To a farm boy, it was a luxury the likes of which he’d never seen before.

Shawn Wesley Caster was a child of Kanto, and the country- it was a farmer’s blood which ran through his veins- but by nature, he’d always been a gentleman of the big city: And he’d felt it the moment his train had jounced and jolted its way across the craggy border which joined his homeland, and his new one.
And yet despite this- despite his original, fair country complexion, and his inexplicable coveting of city life- he’d spent the last twelve years of his life in the blistering heat of Orre’s mountainous desert, bunkered down in the ruins of what- he was told- was once the jewel in Orre’s crown: Phenac City.

It felt right, he thought, to finally be journeying to Johto after that ordeal: Soldiers weren’t made for the simplicity of country life.
With a fond sigh, he sat himself down, and laid his hand gingerly against the mass of amber-fur which had fallen asleep beside him.
He stroked it, affectionately: The Growlithe, in turn, paid him some low purr of encouragement in response.
“So, Johto, huh?”, Shawn asked, his Kantonese drawl as thick on his tongue now as it had been twelve years prior, “’s gotta be better than a desert, right?”
Reynard- the Growlithe he’d questioned- simply shrugged.
The trainer laughed, reclining into his seat, “Well, you’re just full’a talk today. Tired, boy?”
Reynard barked once in confirmation, before laying his head on Shawn’s leg, “Tsk, and you used to be such a little trooper…”
Shawn scratched Reynard behind the ear, “Go on then, rest up: We’ve got a big day ahead’a us. A big week, even.”

And with that, the pair fell into silence as The Belle rattled onwards to her final destination.
In that time, Shawn entertained himself with people watching: And for the most part, that was boring.
Ladies and gentlemen of all shapes and sizes wandered past his cabin, in suits all shades of pallid beige: The sort of people who hadn’t worked a day in their lives, and didn’t intend to in the near future, either.
The only thing of note, truly, had been the presence of a lone Mr. Mime, lunging his way up the corridor between rooms in a flowing pink dress, and humming quite contentedly to himself as he did it.
Shawn had gotten a laugh out of it, but Reynard hadn’t woken in time to spot the spectacle, and just as soon as he’d realised this, he’d gone back to sleep.

When, finally, the station had come into view, it was a whole new sort of scene to behold.
A series of massive stone pillars helped suspend the palatial platform at which the engine had finally docked: A building the colour of swirled sandstone, which, in its extravagance, left the pale linoleum flooring that made up the platform itself rather lacking in substance.
Across the station, a veritable circus act was arranged: Husbands and wives in all manners of decadent, contrasting and clashing colours were arranged in clusters, all awaiting the arrival of their respective soldiers.
Some waited in vain, some out of respect for others: But all of them had an excitement about them, the sort that only came in the short silence that followed a war, in which society rebuilt itself.

Shawn and Reynard had been waited on by nobody, however: And the former felt somewhat under-dressed as he weaved his way through the bustling of the crowds, with naught more than his leather jacket to highlight him against the grain.
Still, the effort was worth it, existential crisis or no; Upon exiting the station, he was faced with the full force of the city’s towering skyline; Sky scrapers overlooked every street, and restaurants the likes of which this country boy had ever seen- those that didn’t belong to a franchise, but were all of their own- were glowing in the russet noon.
“Well I’ll be,” the trainer murmured quietly, stunned. He stared for a few moments, awestruck by the pure size of it all: So much so, in fact, that he had yet to realize the street he was stood on was otherwise hollow, devoid of all other human beings.
That is, until Reynard began growling.

Shawn looked down to see his pup of a pokémon in a stance, snarling back towards the train station as if he’d sensed something horribly awry.
Turning around, the trainer stared up at it: It was grand, and the brass clockface that adorned its front told him it was ten past six.
“What?”, he asked, kneeling down beside his pokémon, and stroking him slowly, cautiously, “Something the matter, boy?”

“… self-destruct!”
Suddenly, a new figure charged out into the street, a good ten feet away from the duo: And looking over his shoulder, Shawn caught sight of him hurtling across the street without another word, and disappearing into the adjacent alleyway, trailed behind only by a weighted leather satchel.

For Nurse “Joy” (as she’d been dubbed by the locals) of Goldenrod Station’s Pokémon Centre, it’d been a fairly uneventful day.
She’d sat at her desk- the same old, age-worn mahogany semi-circle she sat behind most days- for most of it without incident, and had even managed to sneak the occasional cigarette break in between the few sporadic customers that actually bothered to visit.
The weekends were a pokémon centre’s true days of action: When trainers poured in from every direction, keen to have their companions treated after a hard week of battling.

She sighed, and swept an irritant lock of pink hair from her face, before neatly tucking it behind her ear.
Then, she threw a glance over her shoulder, to the trio of rooms in which they stored the pokémon incubators: Small chambers which emitted a warm, reddish-tan healing energy from all sides.
Across the walls, she could make out the silhouette of her Chansey, a clipboard detailing each chamber’s residents clasped between the stubby shapes that made up her hands.

Joy smiled softly: Sometimes she genuinely wondered if Chansey was a better nurse than she was. Even on quiet weekday afternoons like this one, that little fusspot always found herself more work to be doing, if not of the medicinal kind, then definitely of the bureaucratic one.
She giggled softly, turning back to face the infirmary’s entrance, “Maybe she ought to have my degree,” she mused to herself, sportively, “Nurse Chansey does have a nice ring to it… although, these folks would just call her ‘Joy’.”
She glanced down at her name badge- “Hello, my name is Dolores!”- and then grinned, “Well, it’s certainly more interesting than Dolores.”

What followed was a few more minutes of clock watching- A sport she’d become quite adept at since graduating from medical school- during which the timepiece’s hands seemed to almost intentionally slow their movements, as if to spite her vigilance.
But Joy wasn’t quick to back down: With a pen tucked neatly between her fingers, she rhythmically tapped away a complimentary tune to the clock’s ticking, some old jaunty earworm she’d picked up from the radio that flanked her desk’s left.
This was a short lived game, however: Before the hour’s quart had passed, the doors were suddenly flung open, and in poured the cacophonic voices of Goldenrod’s train-station denizens, followed by a sprinting figure, carrying with him a small bundle of fabrics.

He cut a handsome figure, or at least Joy thought so: Sharp, defined features, and a well-maintained, coffee-coloured countenance.
He’d draped himself in a long, hazel overcoat, which billowed in his wake as he charged across the lobby- his frenzied footsteps bouncing harshly against the clay tiles which lined its floor- and thrust his textiles outwards, in her direction.
“Nurse Joy!”, he pleaded, voice dripping with desperation, “Nurse Joy! Nurse Joy, there’s been an accident!”

Joy perked up, eyes widening as she readjusted the small, white hat that adorned her fuchsia mane, “Wh-What seems to the be the problem?”, she asked, almost taken aback by the gentleman’s momentum.
“It’s my pokémon, there’s something very wrong with him!”
He forced his bundle into her outstretched hands, his grip quivering, his palms clammy.
“Oh my!”, she began feverishly unwrapping whatever injured creature he’d lent her, as her Chansey- seeming having heard the commotion- rushed to her aid, “What seems to be the problem?”

However, when at last she peeled away the blankets, she found her hand freezing- hesitating- as her concerned expression dropped, contorting into a perturbed frown.
In her lap, and juxtaposed to her, was a Koffing, grinning just as vacant and vacuously as it had the day it was born.
She stared, fixated for a moment, before glancing back up at the creature’s tamer.
His visage had undergone a speedy transformation, having dropped the façade of concern, and instead become almost sickeningly pleased with itself: He grinned as though he’d just achieved his checkmate, and leaned across the counter so that their faces were but inches apart.
She could see it now: His face was kind, but his eyes hollow. Devoid of mercy, and all else, save for the murky brown of their irises.
“He’s got a habit of blowing up on pretty little things who scream too much… catch my drift, sweetheart?”
She nodded, mutely, and swallowed for lack of anything else to do.
“Att’a girl,” he reached out, and patted her cheek condescendingly, “Where’re the pokémon?”

She hesitated: The entire Hippocratic oath suddenly weighed heavily on her shoulders.
But his gaze, it peered through her: And his grin, totally without falter, broke her.
“In… in the back,” she whispered, looking away, and catching the eye of her Chansey.
Chansey nodded, as if to assure her she’d made the right choice… she wasn’t so sure.
“The back,” he repeated, straightening up and stalking across the room. He peered into one of the trio of ajar doorways in the pokémon centre’s rear, “Nice.”

What followed was the most painful experience “Nurse Joy” had ever experienced: She sat idle, as her thief’s Koffing wriggled gleefully in her lap- totally ignorant of his surroundings- and the short, mechanical whines of stolen pokéballs retracting their inhabitants rung out in rapid succession behind her.
Clock watching, again, was her only brief solace: But a mere half of an hour later, he was done, and returned to her with a worn leather satchel, bulging with new prizes.
He smiled wryly at her, before gripping her chin and forcing her to maintain eye contact with him.
“Hey, don’t bother none…” he chuckled, “I’ll even let you keep your Chansey, how’s that sound?”
She nodded mutely, tears swelling in the corners of her eyes.
He relinquished his grip, and pointed at her pokémon with a wink, “I’ll just have to see you another day. But I will see you, no doubt about that.”

And with that, he simply turned, and began to depart. His robbery silent, and his threat echoing through Joy’s mind even after he’d stopped uttering it.
Then, she felt that familiar presence in her lap, and spoke up, “S-Sir.”
He paused, his hand against the frosted glass of the door, a moment away from stepping out into the oncoming dusk. He threw a glance back to her.
“Call me Delgada.”
“D-Delgada.”
“Yeah?”
“Your… your Koffing.”
“Oh? Oh, right! Haha, y’know, where does my memory go sometimes…? I almost forgot!”
He turned away from her again, “Hey, Joy? Gimme a call when you get out of the burn ward. I like to keep in contact,” he said softly, much to her confusion.
“Burn ward…?”
“Koffing,” he began, voice suddenly authorative, and strict.
“Koffinnng?”, his pokémon chimed keenly, but nonetheless dull-wittedly, in response.
And with that, Delgada stepped out into the dusk, “Self-destruct!”
And then the doors closed, and he was gone.

Suddenly, Shawn found himself back on the battlefield.
Goldenrod’s barren evening streets faded beneath the stygian black sands of Orre, and the distant train’s holler was suddenly and unceremoniously silenced by the unmistakable screech of a falling incendiary.
Upon instinct, he’d whisked Reynard into his arms- despite the Growlithe’s resistance, as, quite obviously, he wished to be the protector, as opposed to the protected- and clutched him tightly to his chest, as he hied his way across the arenaceous mounds that had swallowed the roads, and dived hurriedly into the shelter of a nearby alleyway.

Even there, however, he wasn’t safe from the impact.
A ripple of translucent heat had erupted forth from the battlefield in waves, penetrating even the sand-coloured bricks behind which Shawn sought protection, and buffeting both him and his pokémon harshly, tossing them into the adjacent wall, followed promptly by the floor.

Suddenly, the train station’s eastern wing was totally decimated, made immediately imperceptible to the eye as it was engulfed by a writhing pillar of rich, red flame, spiralling unquenchably against the afternoon sky, as it bathed the city’s silhouette in a baleful titian glare.
From the inferno’s base poured forth great billows of malignant fumes, toxic and totally without end, and at its core was the mournful wailing of a familiar young woman, unrelenting and nerve-rattling.

Just as soon as this had come to pass, however, it ended: The pillar expanded rapidly, before a single thunder clap escorted a massive, roaring fulmination.
A fiery orb, which extended to engulf most of the station’s east, before finally dissipating in one long, debilitating flash of light, which rendered its onlookers- Shawn amongst them- blinded, and stunned.

When the flames ceased, there was little left: The pokémon centre had been totally destroyed, and buried beneath the charred rubble of Goldenrod station’s mighty pillars.
The scent of torrefied flesh- one Shawn knew well, despite how fervently he wished for the opposite to be true- hung heavily in the air, and even with the ringing in his ears, he could hear the explosion’s echo travelling through the skyscrapers.
Johto itself seemed to be quaking, trembling lightly as those who’d survived rushed from the station’s crumbling supports.

Shawn stared, but saw nothing: It wasn’t until Reynard concernedly began to lap away at his lightly singed cheeks that he eventually returned to total consciousness, eyes glazed over as precarious embers danced before them, and wrote their ghosts into the ground around him.
He was back in Goldenrod, now: The war seemed far away. But today, Goldenrod didn’t look much better than Orre had.
Slowly- shakily- the trainer got to his feet, his Growlithe rushing to his side to offer him support.
He shook his head lightly, and placed a hand against his temple, “I thought I’d be used to seeing stuff like this…” he muttered to himself, before glancing back to the alleyway through which the most likely suspect had escaped, “The city ain’t much different from the country, I suppose,” he muttered, eyes lingering on the other gentleman’s path, “Weasels are dangerous in all shapes an’ sizes.”

Reynard whined concernedly up to him, but Shawn waved a dismissive hand at the gesture, and instead nodded towards the rubble.
He was calm outside, despite the shellshock within.
That was the first thing they taught you in the Ranger’s academy: Coping with the horrors of war.
“Smell any survivors, boy?”, he asked, weakly, as he hobbled towards the smouldering wreckage, as though it was any other day back on the battlefields of Phenac.
“Arf!”, Reynard assured him with a nod, canid nose twitching.
“Go fetch.”

Evangeline closed her compact with a soft sigh. She didn’t even cry anymore – She wasn’t entirely sure what to think about that. Was she so emotionally hollowed to it that she just had no reaction anymore? It was barely even a footnote anymore; it meant even less than it used to. Sure, she used to wail and cry before, but at least it was something. A reaction to show that she was still there... But what did she have now?
“Ah?” Evangeline was snapped out of her thoughts by a soft hand on her leg. Looking down, she noticed Angelina patting her leg, giving her trainer a bright smile. Ms. Avery sighed softly, soon returning her Mawile’s smile, “You know that smile of yours is painfully infectious, don’t you?” Angelina simply grinned coyly. Evangeline gently placed her hand over Angelina’s as she returned to her thoughts. What was it he had said earlier?

Cigar smoke swirled in sedated, leisurely waves around the room as Evangeline redressed herself. He chuckled wryly at her flank, taking another long, decadent drag of his claro, "Not keen to stay today, either?"
“... No. I have things to do.”
"Visiting your sister again, are you?" Ms. Avery paused, nodding gently. He shrugged, indifferently, and reclined slowly into his pillows, "Please give Angelina my regards, then. As you always do, I'm sure." She nodded once again.
There was no Angelina – Evangeline was an only child, she knew that full well; and deep down, she had the feeling he knew as well. But it was an excuse to leave as quickly as possible, and Evangeline would snatch it up whenever she could. As Evangeline reached for the door handle, she was stopped by the sound of his voice, "Oh, and Evangeline, my dear..." he smiled a thin, sardonic simper, "You might want to steer clear of Goldenrod station... just for a little while." Evangeline didn’t reply for a long moment – She wanted desperately to be out of that cloying, smoke-filled room. But curiosity set her feet in the ground and pushed the words out of her mouth.
“Why?” He chuckled, that smug grin of his evident in the voice that spoke.
"I couldn't possibly say," he replied, caustic smile unwavering, "Of course, as the mayor of this fine city, I'd never associate myself with their likes..." he chuckled, almost darkly, "But from what I've 'heard', Team Rocket might be making an appearance there... and what they plan on doing might just remind this windy little city who they ought to be paying protection to..." he trailed off, "... allegedly, of course." Evangeline clutched the handle and pushed the door open.
“... Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”
"I'll see you later... darling." The door closed behind her without any reply from Ms. Avery.

“And what they plan on doing might just remind this windy little city who they ought to be paying protection to...” Evangeline murmured, “What could they have planned this time, Angelina?” The Mawile’s expression soured at any reminder of him, her shoulders rolling in an uncaring shrug. Evangeline tittered humourlessly, “My sentiments exactly. Knowing them, it’s probably just another random theft. Perhaps we should go and warn some people, tell them to keep their pokeballs close.” Angelina looked up at her trainer with a look of concern.
“Ma-wile...” Evangeline countered her Mawile’s concerns with a simple, coy grin.
“Yes... But he says a lot of things, doesn’t he?” Just as Evangeline found Angelina’s warm smile infectious, so too did Angelina find her trainer’s coy grin catching.
“Ki-hihihi~” Angelina snickered mischievously as the two trotted towards Goldenrod Station...

They didn’t get far. A deafening roar pierced the air as smoke billowed from the station, the scent of ash and fire being carried on the wind. Evangeline and Angelina exchanged a look that conveyed a simple meaning:
“They wouldn’t... Would they?” The pair rushed towards the station – Or whatever was left of it.

Of course it wasn’t a pretty sight. It looked like a warzone, the smoke rising high to the sky. Hurriedly she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and clamped it over her mouth, her eyes slowly scanning the ruined landscape. The debris of what used to be the Pokemon centre. The sound of tears, of despair. The smell of death, clinging to the air around her. The stench of burning flesh would have been enough to make Evangeline sick to her stomach if she weren’t so... Frozen. She simply stood catatonic, her free arm hanging limply by her side. It took all her will to keep the handkerchief pressed to her face.

“And what they plan on doing might just remind this windy little city who they ought to be paying protection to...”

This was just a reminder – They weren’t trying to start a conflict with anyone in particular, they were just telling everyone who ruled Goldenrod. Evangeline had to keep from dropping to her knees as the realisation came crashing down on her – The realisation of what she was truly involved in. Scant hours ago she had been in the same room as the man who ordered all of this, the man who could erase more than a dozen lives with a simple wave of his hand. “... My god.”
“They would.”

Around One Year Ago: February 8th, 1923

"Carl what in the world are you thinking?!" Annamarie screamed, standing next to her father who was equally upset. Across from them stood Carl, with two suitcases, and a backpack slung behind him, standing next to him was Rucker, carrying a bag in each large arm.

"Son, I respect your decisions, but do you think this is the right one?" Jean questioned, worry in his voice.

"It's completely ridiculous!" Annamarie backed.

Carl felt cornered. Never before had his parents been this upset with him. He had a decent job, a good pay, and one of the best Pokemon Dockworkers as a partner. Sure, Rucker was coming along, that was a given. But deep down inside, Carl knew that there was something about Sinnoh that the burly and adamant Machamp didn't want to leave behind. "I know what both of you mean, both of you-"

"Do you, Carl, do you?!" his mother shouted. "Anna, please, let him finish." Jean had put his hand on her shoulder, rubbing her back and trying to calm her down.

"What both of you mean...I know that with the war and all that you're worried about me leaving Sinnoh at all, that I'd find better success in Jubilife. But I want to get out of Sinnoh, do you not understand that? I'm sick of hassling other workers and sitting back and thinking nothing of it! I want change, I want to go somewhere new; do something new and exciting with my life!"

Jean had moved away from Anna, and walked over to Carl, putting his hands on his shoulders. "Boy, I know you do. I think we've all had times where we've wanted to move on, to do something new. As much as your mother would like to disagree, I realize that there's no changing your will. Something I'm proud of in you, but it's also a double-edged sword."

"Jean! You're not...you're not...letting him go, are you?!" Anna threw her hands down in an animated fashion, clenching her fists, tears were welling up in her eyes. "Carl, do you even realize how dangerous it is out there?!"

"I realize that, mother, but everything has a risk. I was almost crushed by a crate that one time, and I was saved by Rucker. We can take care of each other and stay safe." Carl replied, Rucker letting out a smug "'Champ!" has he put his lower set of arms on his hips, raising his other two arms and flexing and flexing them.

"This'll be my chance, to get away and to start a new life. Haven't you ever wanted to do that?"

Annamarie sighed, and finally threw in the towel. She stormed over to Carl, and locked him in a deep embrace, sobbing.

"I...I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

He hugged his father as well, and began striding towards the door. He turned around, taking one last look at his home. The white and red-trim walls, the maritime paraphernalia, and he'd never forget the smell of his mom's cooking, and the scent of the ocean that always hung in the house. They seemed to blend together so harmoniously despite being so differently. He exchanged his last "I love you's" with his parents, before setting out with Rucker, and running to the nearby port.

They reached the dock where the ship, the S.S. Milotic was resting. They were beginning to board; they barely made it.

Rucker fetched two passes from his bag and showed them to the man at the booth. He stamped them, and allowed them onto the ship. Carl and Rucker hiked past several decks before reaching their room. They settled their things down, and the two sat on the small cot.

"Well buddy, we did it. We're starting a new life in a new city, a new region! Things are gonna be tough, but I think for the better." Carl smiled. Rucker answered similarly.

"It's about a week by sea to Olivine, so we should get our rest now."

"Champ!"

One Week Later

They hurried with their things, making sure to grab every last piece of clothing, every parcel of food, every sock that went under the bed, clambered up the decks and got to the edge. It was nighttime, and it was nearly pitch-black as the Milotic cut through the churning water, but they could see a light.

It was from an old tower, there was light pulsating from it, as it would periodically wash over Milotic's decks. Carl was absolutely astounded, as light shone over Olivine City it looked absolutely marvelous--architecture that was wildly dissimilar to Sunyshore's. A few hours later, they docked, and Carl and Rucker headed towards one of the stations, coach buses were delivering rides between Olivine and Goldenrod. Carl pulled a map out of one of Rucker's bags, reading it.

"Goldenrod's Johto's main city, guess we better start there."

"Champ!"

The two walked over to one of the coaches, paid the fee and got on towards Goldenrod.

Now

Carl was nearly thrown awake by the initial blast. He looked out through his apartment window. There was smoke, and ash, pluming in the air like coming out of a massive chimney. He could see a faint glow through it.

Fire.

He threw a set of clothes on and grabbed his Pokeballs, unlocking his door and throwing himself down the stairs. He rushed out the front door of the complex and ran towards the site. He called out Rucker, who was able to quickly keep pace. When he arrived at the scene it was complete chaos. On the streets it was complete anarchy, some running towards the sites of damage and others running from it. On the ground laid soot and blood, and the fires smelt like molten metal, burning wood, and flesh.

Carl cursed. "Not even a year and this hell happens. Some kind of welcome wagon." he hissed to himself. He tapped Rucker on the back to keep on moving. He took a moment to get his bearings, and realized that he was at the Goldenrod Station.

Someone, or something had bombed it. Into a nearby fountain, Carl drew one Pokeball and called out Lamplight. They were dangerously close to the blaze, and Carl ordered the Lanturn to use Surf. The fish drew in a massive torrent of water, cycling it around her body, before jetting it out onto the fire.

At the station, there was a bench. Perched upon that bench was a woman, bundled in heavy clothing, her mouth covered by a flu mask. Laid against the bench to her side was a crutch. Her attention was apparently focused on the book in her hands. Though it was not actually there. Instead, she was listening, listening to the families crowding into the station as they talked and gossiped. After all, the soldiers were returning home today, it was practically an air of celebration. Sons and daughters returning from Orre, back to their families, their friends, their lovers. And where there was such joy, there was a lack of guarded lips. The woman sat and listened as the gossip and chatter flowed, listening for anything worth value.

Then the bomb struck, sound then madness, faster than her damaged body could react. Even though she was out of the worst of the danger, she still was caught in the shockwave, the wall behind her bench taken out with her under its shadow. A flash, everything went dark. A shock, everything went still. The woman's gone, disappeared under the rubble. Her crutch was gone, thrown away by the blast. Then life returned to the area. Cries of panic, cries of fear as people came to and reacted. Fleeing, terror, hysteria. Consumed many, most. No one noticed the figure under the debris.

A flash, and light returned. She came to, though she couldn't move. Her vision was blurry, her face warmed by the blood leaking from a gash. She tried to move an arm, pain. Might be sprained, might be broken. Another injury for the list. Another wound for the collection. She tried the other, no pain, but no give. One arm pinned, one arm broken. Pointless to try the legs, not without support, not without a crutch. So she was stuck, trapped until rescued. If she was rescued, if someone finally took the time to notice her, under the rubble. If someone beside her kept a clear head in this madness. After all, she couldn't do anything, so why would she have wasted energy panicking?

Tenebrous shadows moved hurriedly through the smouldering debris, almost totally obscured by the thick, sable pall which lingered motionlessly throughout the wreckage, save for the glare of a cigarette’s tip, and the keen swish of a pokémon’s tail.
Reynard had been the first to brave the shroud, his breed immune to the fell lick of a blaze, sheltered from heat and flare alike by the aegis of their remarkable fur, and an ability known colloquially as “flash fire”: Shawn had been in quick pursuit, but not nearly at the same pace.
The Growlithe’s footfalls were heavy, and determined, his padded forepaws dampening the igneous cracked stone beneath them, and his tail brushing aside the broiling ashes and embers which hung precariously in the still night.
This was a routine he knew well: One all military “fire-hounds” did.
At one time, Reynard might have performed this exact manoeuvre to excavate a collapsed bunker, or explore a ruined quarter of Phenac in the hopes of unearthing some gravelly injured survivor…
Today, Shawn hadn’t an idea what to expect.

But he followed, walking the safe path his pokémon had carved out for him as it weaved amongst the destruction and searched tirelessly for some- any- indication of life below the surface.
And his senses- canidae, and thus highly elevated beyond those of any simple man, Shawn included- did not fail him.
As though he was still a cub, he soon began pawing at a meagre outcropping: A small collection of weighty, charred stone, perhaps owed to what had at some point been one of the station’s supporting pillars.
And once Shawn had reached his side, he glanced up at his trainer searchingly: It was an unspoken language the two shared, an inaudible signal which begged the question, “Is it friend, or foe?”
Shawn moved his cigarette to the other side of his mouth, and exhaled a small, inconsequential cloud of gunmetal smoke.
“We aren’t soldiers anymore, little guy,” he assured his companion, his voice calm despite every nerve in his body entreating him to acknowledge the opposite: That war never ended, not on the coasts nor the mainland.
He took another drag of his cigarette, and knelt down beside Reynard.
“Dig away.”

And so he did, his heavy paws shifting and shovelling away at the seared mass beneath his feet, until finally he smothered all remnants of flame in the process, and Shawn joined him with his bare hands.
After a few long moments of travail, their combined efforts broke apart the stone tomb beneath them, and disinterred a womanly figure: Although she was a curious one, because a flu mask obscured the lower portion of her face.
Although he’d found her, Reynard was powerless to drag her free: That was the duty of a creature with thumbs, and one that Shawn took upon himself as the Growlithe rushed off again in search of further survivors.

Shawn hauled his newfound, disentombed charge from her newly built sepulchre, and knelt down at her side as he laid her across the path Reynard had left for him.
She seemed conscious, that was good: But he couldn’t quite make out whether or not she was breathing- as indeed, the rising of a chest could just as easily have been the writhing of warm air- and so endeavoured to remove her flu mask… and reveal her scarred features.

Perhaps had it been anyone else who’d unearthed her, they might’ve been a little more surprised; But soldiers saw scars so very often in their lifetimes that, for men like Shawn, they became a meaningless embellishment; Equivalent to the colour of a person’s iris, but with a slightly more interesting story behind them.
Still, she looked to be a civilian, so he supposed the injury was slightly sadder in that respect.
But that didn’t matter right now: He could see she was breathing, that was the important part.
He waved a hand in front of her eyes slowly, just to ensure she wasn’t concussed, and then smiled encouragingly down at her, as embers hovered above his head.
It was the same, inexplicably calm gesture a fireman offered the victim of a house fire, totally serene through routine.
“Hey there,” he greeted, loudly and above the crackling hiss of their surroundings, as he shifted his cigarette to the other side of his mouth again, “Can you hear me? I’m going to try and get you out of here: Can you walk?”

He offered his hand to her- it’d been blackened by the effort of exhuming her- before his attention was sharply drawn by something else.
”Yelp!”
A moment of panic took over, as the trainer threw a glance over his shoulder to find his Growlithe…
… a little soggy.
Some creature, external to the flames, had begun to dampen the outlying blaze, although in the centre it burned too brightly for the efforts of a solitary team: And Reynard, being a fire pokémon, was not so cheerful to be in their path.
Still, he looked unharmed: Shawn offered him a sympathetic smile, and a gentle shrug, before the two returned to their duties.
Reynard barked into the night, as if to alert the pokémon on the other side that he was there, before he continued his search.

“Find the Joy!”, Shawn ordered, before turning back down to the figure at his knees.
“Again: Can you walk?”

Angelina tugged on her trainer’s sleeve, trying desperately to pull her out of her dazed stupor. It didn’t seem to be working, though – Evangeline kept staring out at the destruction before her, her body trembling violently. She thought she was ready for any stupid trick they pulled next; the Rockets were a powerful force, but she never even began to imagine they’d ever move up from petty theft and needless cruelty to Pokemon. But the flames and rubble stood as a monument against that, as a cruel reminder that the Rockets were dangerous, and they were everywhere. Huh…
“Where… Have I heard that before?” She whispered under her breath.

Evangeline lay on the edge of the bed, staring at the door as she sobbed quietly. She thought she would get used to it, that she’d eventually accept that being with a man she didn’t love was a necessity for her a this point. But while she had stopped bawling and wailing, her crying certainly wasn’t quiet. With a quivering voice she whispered, “I-I don’t want to do t-this anymore…” Across from her, some shaded figure reclined into his armchair, his havana slowly broiling away at the tip as he held it loosely in one hand, and batted its smoke away with the other.
"Cry as much as you'd like, sweetheart," he encouraged, before taking a long, indulgent drag of his cigar.
"There isn't a pokémon on this green Earth I haven't heard cry harder." Evangeline breathed out shakily, still sniffling and sobbing.
“I-I’ll… I’ll r-run away,” She murmured, “I-I’ll tell the police about this. I’ll t-tell them about everything, you’ll have the Jennies on you b-before you can finish that cigar.” He paused for a long, quiet moment.
Then he exhaled, and watched as an expansive, hoary cloud rushed forth from his lungs, and spread slowly throughout the whole room, leaving nothing untouched, uncorrupted.
Then, he lowered his coffin nail, and reached for the brass-embellished rotary at his chair's side.
Brrnnng... brnnng... brnnng...
Thrice, he twirled his finger through the dial, each time striking the number '9'.
Then, he extended it to her, as an offering.
"Feel very free," he offered, simply, "See if you're thinking a little clearer afterwards." Evangeline looked up at what he was offering her. Carefully she reached for the receiver, as if wary that there was some kind of trap in place. She looked at the phone, and then back at him.
“What… What have you got planned?” She breathed distrustfully.
"Everything." Evangeline warily put the phone to her ear and asked for the police. After describing the specifics – All the while cautiously looking up at him – She waited for a moment.
“… Oh, my name? Um, E-Evangeline Monique la Devereaux Avery.” Upon the mention of her name, Evangeline was quickly transferred to another line- which was highlighted by a gentle 'clicking'- before she was greeted by a soft spoken, mirthful tone, "Hello, Evangeline! I'm sorry to hear you're having problems with Giovanni... but, once you've gone to bed with The Devil..."
“G-Gone to… What are you talking about?” Evangeline murmured, “Come on… Send the police, he’s in charge of Team Rocket!” She begged, her tone getting more and more desperate.
"In charge of Team Rocket, huh? Fancy that!", the other half of the call responded, with a delighted chuckle, "I guess that means he's paying both of my wages!" Evangeline went deathly silent, her hands shaking.
“W… What?”
"What a generous guy, huh?"
“I… I’m hanging up!” Evangeline threw the receiver in shock, cradling her head in her hands, “What… W-What on earth is the meaning of this…?” Giovanni smiled faintly from the shadows, lowering his panatela into a nearby ashtray.
"How rude: It's customary to say goodbye, first."
“T-The police… They’re all just Rockets, aren’t they?” Evangeline murmured, not even bothering to respond to his wry comments.
"Not all of them," he admitted, "Some are upstanding, hard working men... but I'm in the process of trying to fix that."
“But either way they’re powerless…” Evangeline breathed, more to herself than anyone else. She shook her head, “This… This doesn’t change anything. I’ll run away, I’ll get the police from some other city!”
"And then... what?", Giovanni asked, almost with a genuine curiosity, "They'll... suddenly have jurisdiction here? As if my election wasn't nice and legal?" Evangeline creased her brow – He had a point. Evangeline swallowed hard, trying hard to think.
“I-I’ll… I’ll…” After a moment, she hung her head, defeated. It was just as she suspected – She couldn’t do anything, “You’re… Right.” Turning the back of his seat to her, he let out a brief but nonetheless cruel chuckle, "Of course I am. Now dry your eyes, or I might just have to call the Jennies myself." Evangeline nodded, quickly wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt.
“O-Of course, sorry…” She mumbled morosely.
"Att'a girl."

“Mawile! Ma-wile!” Evangeline was snapped out of her daze by Angelina’s voice. Looking down at her Mawile for a moment, she saw a look of concern and urgency in those small eyes. Evangeline gave her a reassuring, if slightly weak, smile before pulling a pokeball from her belt.
“Right, come on… Let’s help out. Isabella, come on out!” Thrusting her hand forward, the ball opened and in a display of lights, a Froslass hovered in front of the pair. Isabella gave her trainer a a vague look backwards. “Isabella, I need you to stop these flames. Use hail!” With a dismissive nod, Isabella waved her arms dramatically as the air turned cold and small white crystals began to fall from the sky – It had begun to hail.

It was your typical kind of idyllic sunny day in the sleepy part of Kanto that Terrance lived in, as in the arse-end of nowhere. He had been sent out on the most exciting or errands. Going into town to buy some supplies. He could hardly wait! Which was a complete lie and the reason why he meandered along the dirt road in his family's trusty pickup truck. Samson, however, was having a great time. The Houndour was in the carriage, his two front paws up on the roof and his tail wagging ceaselessly, whilst his tongue hung out lazily from the side of his mouth. Every now and then he'd bark at sheep or cows who had strayed too close to the road. Only in a playful way. He liked to scare them.

Still, sooner or later they had to arrive at the small dusty town which stood in as the main centre for Terry's home area. The pickup trucks door opened unwillingly, screeching with every movement, before being slammed shut. The man whistled once and bounded down. To think just a week ago he'd still been with the army, gun in hand and ready for action. The fanfare was the biggest this area had seen when the few young men and women returned. As could be expected many mothers and fathers broke down in tears of joy, whilst there was always that somber edge of remembering those who hadn't made it home. But the buzz didn't last long, and the town turned itself back to the usual humdrum business of just living. So Terrance was thrown straight back into the life of a farmer, something he'd been unfamiliar with for thirteen years.

The bell above MacGreary's General Store rang out daintily as Terry walked through the door, Samson following close behind. Being on his best behavior. Old Man Mac was the most well known man in town. His big red face, lined by mutton chops, his shiny bald head and his rotund body were all pretty difficult to miss. Put them altogether and he became a regular celebrity. His face beamed when he saw Terry walk in.

"Ah, Terrance ma'boy!" his fancy cityfolk drawl was still pretty clear "How are you, how are you? Put it there son!" he took Terry's hand and clasped it in both of his, before shaking vigorously "I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have all the young folk back! How is everything on the home front ma'boy?"

"Doin' jus' fine, thanks kindly for enquirin'. Been sent to collect them goods we ordered."

"Of course ma'boy, of course!" he wrapped one big thick arm around Terry's shoulders and headed back out the shop "We've got everything ready for you already. See, look there, Jim's already hard at work! Say now Jim, you be careful with those goods!" Mac lowered his voice "His a good boy, Jim, but a bit slow and the uptake."

Terry knew Jim, and he knew he wasn't slow. Mac just thought that about everyone from the countryside at first. Still, he was a good, honest man and you couldn't ask for more. Terry suddenly felt a small parcel being placed into his hands.

"I also set aside some choice sausages for your ma and pa. I know the Rationers are still going to be taking their pork for some time, so I wanted to thank you and your family in some small way."

"Well, much obliged Mac!" Terry replied, genuinely surprised.

They continued chit-chatting for some time, whilst Jim got on with his work, occasionally needing help from Terry or Mac, sometimes both. This went on for a while before a murmur, which had started as just normal background chat became much more noticeable. It was coming from The Dusty Bar, everyone's local watering hole.

"Now, what the devil do you suppose those patrons are yammering about?" Mac asked pointedly.

Terry replied with a shrug before approaching, followed first by Samson, then Mac and when curiosity finally got the best of him, Jim. As they closed in, Terrance began to pick out a few words from the small group gathered outside who were relaying the news from inside. 'Goldenrod', 'Fire', 'Station'. There was too much of a hubbub to pick things apart properly. His frustration was suddenly vocalized by good ol' Mac.

"I say there, stand aside people! Let a veteran through! Clear a path!"

At first people were slow to move, but soon changed their mind when Mac went barreling forward, clearing the way for Terry, Sam and Jim to follow. They got in just in time to hear the radio repeat the news.

"...I say again. Goldenrod City Train Station has been bombed. A massive explosion has just torn through the structure and it's hard to say how much damaged has been done and whether anyone has been hurt. The smoke can be seen around all the city and reports are coming in it was felt from outside the city! We have no idea who carried this attack out or why. Suffice to say causalities are likely to be high. The fire brigade and other emergency services are doing what they ca-"

It was at this point that Terrance's hearing drifted away from the radio and it just became static. All he could hear was explosions and slowly his hands balled up into fists and he began to shake. He stayed like this until a slight nudging brought him back as Samson nuzzled his hand. Terry gave a weak smile to the Houndour and ruffled the canine's head. He could hear that Mac had started talking to others, speaking of their mutual disbelief and guessing at what could of happened, or why. Terrance had had enough, he pulled down his flat cap a bit more and weaved out, mentioning to Jim that he would finish loading up the goods.

Once outside Terry took a long breath and allowed himself a few moments to regain his composure. He had no idea what happened in there, but he sure as Hell didn't want it happening again. The man made quick work of what was left to be done, jumped back into the truck, with Samson now in the passenger seat and slowly trundled back out of town.

The woman shook her head, clearing cobwebs, before looking to the boy holding her and shook her head. For a second, her expression was one of rage before quieting and becoming clearly pained. "Not without help. Normally I'd use my crutch, but it was likely destroyed. So you get the honor of keeping me up until you can find something else." She groaned and shook her head again before checking her pockets. Swift pats to every one, pat-pat-patta-pat-pat Checking her pockets for her pokemon. FIrst she found one, then another, then one more. All three accounted for. "Good, they're all alright." She clapped her hands together and looked to the person next to her. "Alright, what needs done here?"

She turns back to survey to the chaos before bringing out one of the balls and unleashing the being within. A Smeargle emerged from within and looked at her, before saluting with a spray of paint from its tail. She looked to him then pointed at the guy holding her up. "See him, whatever he says, please do. People are at stake. And we don't like losing people, don't we, Sketch?" The Smeargle nodded before looking to the boy holding her up.