The Big Adventure

“…I scrubba-dub-dubbed the so-called guests spick n’ span, boss. Given ’em a cleanin’ they won’t dare forget.”

“Thank you, Snipstch.”

Pate turned her ears towards the words. She chased them in her mind, trying to scrounge up more past the lingering pain in her bottom jaw, or the cold dampness of her fur.

“I made it look like an accident, see? Like they took a wrong turn on their way to your office–into a rubber ducklett bathhouse sorta sitch, see? Into the business end of a nozzle, see?”

‘…Thank you, Snipstch? Just to clarify… you only sprayed the prisoners off with the garden hose, like I specifically asked?”

“Whoa, whoa! I don’t know anything about any prisoners. But yes, I used the hose.”

Her vision was practically useless for the time being. She saw a Braixen at a desk of some sort, poring over papers. She heard the thick stack rustling on his desk. There was this Snipstch, a Rattata maybe, fur charcoal-gray like he was born in the tropics–any island along a line that spanned the Sand and Grass Continents. Quite a rare species to see living so deep into the Water Continent’s mainland.

The bright lights made her dizzy. Pokemon who fainted claimed that remembering the last three things that happened to them was the fastest way to regain their bearings. Pate clenched her eyes shut again and made an account.

First: utter contempt towards her medic, Pawn. What he said to her was reprehensible.

Second: she was snatched out of her violent reply by this Braixen.

Third: said Braixen used a move to make a four-foot drop feel like a three-story nose-dive.

Her squad had fallen. Her leadership failed. She almost wished to return to being dazed and confused, but with every passing moment, the bars of the cage she was in became harder to ignore. That last bit wasn’t figurative: there were real bars, spaced tightly enough to prevent someone of her size from squeezing through.

Pate had spent the last several years shadowing other squads, running errands, and keeping within sight of wherever her father stationed headquarters. Whenever she wanted to learn about the world outside ‘all-sizes welcome’ communal spaces, dirt tents and carved-out dens, she had to backorder the latest issue of Komala Interiors and settle with the artworks.

But this place was it. A real life feat of architectural design, made specifically for a bipedal Pokemon of modest height. Neutral beiges for the walls, black granite floors, all free of clutter. She almost went slack-jawed at the symmetric multifunctional bookcases, inlaid into the far wall, that interspersed their shelves with larger nooks for decorations. A trail of blood that led from the far bookcase to the desk marred the prettiness.

That, and the cage. Its bars stretched from deep within the tile to the ceiling above. It was clearly not something this Braixen whipped up for them. Why would a room this nice double as a prison cell?

“By the way,” Snipstch said at the door. “You look worse than a Slowpoke in a marathon, boss. This thing of ours ain’t belly-up, is it?” The passion in his voice dropped for a second. “Are we going to be okay?”

“No,” The Braixen stated. He grunted, taking weight off his wound. “I mean, yes. We’re good.”

“What went down? So I can rest the others’ minds.”

“Hm, good idea. Small carriage robbery. I laid down the rules to their tugger, told the traders to scram. Suddenly, a Scyther with a rescuer badge pops out from under the wares.”

“The heck? Rescuers don’t get tricky like that!”

“He nicks me as I’m thinking that exact thing. But I drove him off, and they wasted their element of surprise. Spread the word that Castle’s mayor intends to make a full recovery.”

“You got it, head honcho.” The Rattata bowed his head and scurried from the room. He poked his head back in. “Oh, and I was never here.”

Once he was gone, a more familiar voice filled the silence.

“You talk a tough game,” Pawn said, “but we both know you need to faint.”

It uniquely annoyed her that he had managed to wake up first. She subdued an ear twitch, interested in what the two had to say to one another.

“Would if I could,” the mayor said. “When Nebra signaled there were intruders, I only had time to pull my fancy new wagon off the path and run to meet you all. You thoroughly saw, partook, and adorned yourself with our scant preserves in storage. We need the restock, so I need to get back to it before they do.”

“That jam was delicious,” Bear said wistfully. “You should have peanut butter down there. And some bread, some milk…”

Grin smiled and patted his back. “Buddy, that’s exactly the issue he’s talking about.”

Pate might have remained silent and continued listening in. Except for one thing: Grin and Bear weren’t even in the cage.

“Grin! Bear!” She shouted, popping up onto her feet. “Attack him this instant! Turn the tables! I can use ranged attacks from here.”

They tilted their heads at her. The Braixen, however, leaned in and smirked.

“Annoy me, and I’ll singe your stumpy tail off.” He drew back and resumed his writing. “These two aren’t in a position to do anything–they’re captive, same as you. Just, the Floragato kept breaking out of the cage somehow.”

“Three weeks as an escape artist,” the Floragato bragged. “My most daring escape was from my predatory contract with the circus! They’re still after me. It’s horrifying…”

The mayor yawned and stretched out over his desk, closing his eyes for a spell.. “And I’d rather… oof. I’d rather not try to force the Boltund into a cell. I’m not stupid.”

“We’d have a fun time if you tried,” Bear promised, tail wagging.

The Raboot shrugged. “You’re anemic. Hence your waning ability to keep your head unglued from the desk–forge it, should I be trying reverse psychology? You’re the spitting image of health. Go frolick outside.”

“I’ve never heard a prisoner nag so much about their captor’s health. I put some fucking mud on it already,” the Braixen grumbled. He picked up the pen and scribbled down more directives. The more he spoke on the situation, however, the less it seemed an entire stack of orders could solve any of his lacks. He blinked hard to regain focus, the consternation glistening in his pale eyes.

“Mud. Okay. Listen, I’m a professional worrywart,” Pawn said. “Your body is a temple, not an adobe hut after a rainstorm. You want to stay up past your bedtime, fine. At least let me stitch up–”

“I knew it,” Pate snapped. “Mayor? Since you like skipping things, you should just know this little bunny boy here wants to join you. He’s a little smart, if whiny. Keep one eye on him. No loyalty.”

“I’m not betraying you, little doggy girl. Do you think he deserves the long-term complications of delaying a faint? He could be scarred, or suffer long-lasting complications, all over some two-bit banditry and a ghost town.”

“You also bandaged Pengy… I get it now. You only like Pokemon who treat you like trash.”

“You’re a walking Paradise City Resort, then. Every minute with you is like I’m trapped in a sauna at max heat.”

“I was nice to you. I was–I wanted to sympathize with you!”

“No, you want me to be a naive animal who worships your grand insights, bonking my praise against whatever insecurity you’ve conceived for yourself that week. You’re desperate to be a leader despite having none of the qualifications, so all that’s left is to promise faster than you fail. Promise to understand me, promise to help me, plenty of better Pokemon have already tried. Q.E.D.”

“You did not just fucking Q.E.D me. When did I say any of that?! When in DIalga’s timelines did I tell you that was my intent–if you offer him treatment again,” she said in a sudden, furious switch, “you’ll need to process trauma care for two.”

“Yeah? Try me–”

A flamethrower engulfed the cage. The two squabblers dove for separate corners, shielding their eyes from the intense heat.

As the dancing orange embers tapered, they sputtered like a campfire on its last island of burnable wood.

“Stop…” the mayor dropped his wand, trembling claw chasing after it. It flipped over the edge of the desk.

“Arguing…”

Thud. The bandit passed out, splaying arms knocking aside his missives. Paper rained onto the floor in a loud shuffle.

The four waited for the Braixen to reawaken. The nap dragged on. There were a couple twitches, writhing, some mumbling. It all slowed to a standstill, replaced with uneven puffs of air. There was a chance the mayor had fainted.

“Whoa,” Bear breathed. “When you’re mayor, you get to fall asleep during conversations.”

“Yeah,” Grin said.

Pate tore her eyes away from Pawn and ran as far towards them as her cage allowed, jumping onto her hind legs. “You two! I forgot you were here for a moment. Find the key to this cell and free us.”

“They won’t.” Pawn moved over as well, pressing his face against a narrow opening between the bars. “Grin absolutely doesn’t care, and I am starting to doubt Bear is sentient.”

The Boltund drew back, stung. “I am that.”

The comment roused Grin, however, his voice careening into an angry mewl. “Stop it! You want me to find the key?” He stormed over to the Braixen and lifted up one of his ears. “Maybe it’s behind this one. Or–” he lifted up the other large, fuzzy listening device-“here? Arceus, his ears are so soft. They’re like velvet.” The next search was around the mouth. The Floragato moved the unconscious bandit’s jaw up and down. “Hi there, I’m mister Sour, I hid the key and didn’t say where. Also, if the town finds out I’ve been incapacitated, they’ll monster-house your butts.”

“What did you just call him?” Pate asked cooly.

“My name’s Sour!” Grin repeated in his best gruff voice. He pulled the mayor’s face back into a dumb smile. “Hardy dardy… Bear, check if I have a marker in my bag.”

The Houndour grinned, though it was more of a strange grimace: the face someone with pre-existing heart conditions makes when they stumble into their surprise birthday party.

“Step away from him,” she ordered in a hush. “Right now.”

“Look how floppy his tongue is. Ble-ee-h! Wait, what’d you say? Is this fella important?” Grin stopped wagging the unconscious Braixen’s head and refocused.

Pate sat down to stop her tail from wagging. “He’s a warlord. Not just a, a one of those, he is the… THE warlord. He’s infamous! His Fhang Clan controls the backstreets of Treasure Town. He came out on top of the Five-Way Clash of Grass, bested every official exploration team and discovered the Lost Wilderness first, outsmarted Buizel of the Expedition Society. All as a teen! His command, his, his genius, it’s like my blueprint. Ruthless criminals like him paved the way for the modern era of battle.”

Pawn harrumphed. “Does this modern era involve rubbing mud all over your cuts–”

“I’ll rip your ears off and cram them down your disrespectful throat. Oop. Yeah, I’m too exci–here it comes.” The Houndour sprinted to the corner of the cage and doubled over, retching. Everyone politely, awkwardly waited for her to work through it. When she was done, she dove right back into it.

“…False alarm. Fhang saved so many Pokemon from the Void. Some towns still have a holiday where they cower in their houses and write pleas for mercy… because he disappeared during the war. But now he’s right here in the same room as us. And… we’re his prisoners.”

“I didn’t expect doting from Atlas’s girl,” Sour said.

The Braixen rediscovered his wits, digging himself out of his deep stupor. “Grin, was it? Stop touching my face.”

“Pass out again,” the Floragato insisted, pen in paw. “I wanna do your makeup.”

Pate began to hyperventilate. Steam shot from her skull helm. “By Arceus, by Arceus, by Arceus, it’s really you. Standing here, capturing me. You know me?”

Sour nodded. “Houndour, Tall Grass, this to that. I stopped his roots from taking hold in the Grass Continent… would love to reminisce on how I managed to outfox the stubborn bastard, but I have an itinerary and a deadline. Pate, do you have a way of contacting your father?”

Her puppy-dog adoration shattered in an instant. All the energy, the off-kilter fervor, reversed itself into pure dread. “Wait. Sour-Warlord Sour, please. I will do anything, just please don’t make me do that.”

Bear titled his head. “Why don’t you want to call your dad? He’ll come bail you out.”

“I understand it sucks harder than a vacuum trap,” Sour said softly. “If you don’t like it, don’t screw up next time. I know he wouldn’t let you run off without a way to call home. Tell me where.”

“We used it up on an earlier emergency.” The lie made up for its lack of effort with sheer spite.

“My flamethrower can engulf your entire cell. Nowhere to hide from the flames. For us fire types, having our resistance slowly overcome can be a distinctly horrific experience.”

“Burn me to a crisp, do what you must, you’re not getting it.”

Pawn raised a paw. “I’d rather not get burned. It’s…”

Grin angled his head, trying to read into the look the two squabblers had exchanged. It lasted for several, eternal seconds, an intense silence that Sour allowed to transpire.

“It’s true. What she said,” Pawn finished. “The senior knights mutinied. We used it to consult Atlas.”

Sour gnashed his teeth and slammed the desk. “I can’t take no for an answer. I admire the stubborn attitude, Pate. Like father, like daughter.” He pushed up to his feet and collected his wand from the floor, hobbling over to the cage. Even running on empty, the dregs of fight in this fox imposed on them like a smog. “But daughter better talk to father, before daughter learns to never meet her villains. Three.”

Pate moved to the far wall. She gestured for Pawn to get behind her.

“Two…”

They took in deep breaths. Fire ate away at the air itself as it raged, and losing their own wind early would make everything feel far worse.

“One…”

“I have it!” Grin mewled. “It’s in my bag.”

The Braixen shook the embers away and stowed his weapon. “There’s an unexpected weak link.”

“No,” the Houndour breathed. Her legs buckled, dropping out from underneath her. “Why?”

“it’s as obvious as a Sudowoodo disguising themself as a rock,” the Floragato said, his confidence growing. “I’d never want my commander to be hurt. Because I care.”

Grin waited for the uneasiness in his gut to lift. Seeing the assortment of puzzled and distraught faces in the room worsened it instead.

Despite getting what he wanted, the warlord looked less than pleased. “Don’t expect me to thank you. Grab the orb: you’re to ask for immediate support and supplies delivered to Castle. Money, food, the like.”

“I’d try the Tall Grass’s gruel before you ransom Pate for it,” Bear suggested. “She’s worth at least some peanut butter.”

---

Once, Grin found himself stuck in the middle of a violent barfight. Chairs thrown, water and fire and electricity blasting everywhere like fireworks. There was no way out–until he made an exit by leaping through a closed window. That evening he discovered a lot of information: he was gay, bars are terrifying, bounties are even more terrifying, lies could become truths, and they called it the ‘art’ of seduction for a reason. It was a whole thing.

A shard of glass had embedded itself in his foot. The bounty target and his pals were already an in an avalanche after him (“that’s the weird-ass bounty hunter that was hitting on me,” the rhydom was hollering), and Grin didn’t want to spend the next few hours beaten and hogtied until rescuers found him. So he hobbled through the woods, back to Bear at their nearby camp, his thoughts flooded with awkwardness, pain and confusion.

That was about half as excruciating as setting up the communication orb. He balanced it on Sour’s desk, wishing it would fall over and shatter.

“You know,” Grin whispered guiltily, “I think this is actually an itemizer orb.”

“What role do you play in her squad?” Sour asked.

“Advisor…”

Pate was stone. She refused to move from where she slumped minutes ago, eyes dejectedly locked on the carpet’s grooves.

Sour shook his head and tutted. “Bang up job, friend. Supplies. Food. Money.” With a click of his claw, the orb stirred to life.

Long-range communication orbs first pinged their twin, allowing whoever held it to block or establish two-way communication. This helped avoid unwanted calls: the orb only worked for one conversation regardless of length, after all. The ring’s tone echoed within the ball, a short trill followed by a sound not unlike a spoon tapping the rim of a glass.

Bwee, ting… bwee, ting… bwee–

The connection established itself on the third trill. Sounds of business bled through the orb, a forum of voices begging to be heard in a large assembly hall. That was how Atlas preferred to conduct his operations: if something actually mattered, an underling could plead or shout loud enough to grab his attention.

“Another resupply request from Job, third damned one this month!” A bird squawked.

“Two of my recruits are gone! The hazing from the veterans is out of control!”

“We’ve lost yet more ground to the docile-to-work program in the east. Action cannot be delayed…”

“Sir, I am now one-hundred percent certain we got our food and glue supplies mixed up. I caught our builders using peanut butter to shore up the barricades…”

A stately voice rose above the cries… and rose the hackles on Grin’s fur.

“Pate,” Atlas said.

The assembly fell into absolute silence.

“No…” Grin shook off his frazzles and breathed. “Nope! It’s me, her advisor. The Floragato. Hope everyone’s having a, uh, nice day–”

“Which one of you died? Let me guess… the Raboot.” Laughter followed.

Grin wilfully ignored the fact that the conversation was public to the entire assembly. “He’s alive. In fact, we all are. Are you in the mood for a funny story?”

“A scout already told me most of your knights are busy being alive somewhere far from Castle. Spare the antics. Put Pate on.”

He glanced over at the Houndour. She was engaged in a breathing exercise, ears folded from the noise.

“That’s the thing, packmaster. We hit a bit of a snafu over here. Do you know someone named Sour?”

“The little Fennekin?!” Atlas bellowed. He roared with laughter. Others in the hall joined him, despite not knowing what was so funny. “Knew he didn’t die. What is the brat up to?”

Sour leaned in, making sure to not press his bandage into the desk’s edge. “Playing mayor for a change of pace. I’ve your daughter caged up. Think you can spot me a quick ransom, for old time’s sake? Local towns are starving me out with an embargo–the trade kind, not the move.”

Atlas moved away from the orb, murmuring to someone.

“…I’ll cut to the chase: I’m about to have an opening for a son or daughter,’ Atlas said. “I could spare you a swathe of land and knights to start over with. What do you say?”

Pate bit back a whine.

“Flattering, but I have to pass,” the Braixen said. “It’s the supplies or nothing, Atlas.”

More murmuring. This aside dragged on much longer, its volume and passion rising. Whispers became hisses, and the hisses whistled louder until a bird’s warble broke room volume–

“This all feels hasty!” It cried. “Packmaster, you don’t need–”

“And here I thought I’d at least lose one child while gaining another,’ Atlas lamented. “If I could only be so lucky. Let Pate know she is no longer my daughter and that she failed her mother. Grin: inform her knights they’re fired. Write to me when you have lodgings, and I will dispatch a squad to escort you and Bear back to base. I’m sure you tried your best to make her a competent leader. I’ll permit you a few days to help free her if you feel bad.”

Grin planted his paws on the desk. “You have to be kidding! Atlas, she’s heard everything. It’s my fault. I screwed up. Please don’t do this.”

“Let’s add humbleness to your list of promising qualities. Pate stuck her nose in too many books, became nose-blind to the scent of the land. That offer is always open, Sour.”

The orb shut off. Call over.

The bar incident had officially shrunk to a millionth of what he felt right this instant. Grin had only lost his words once in the last year, when Bear showed him a new dance move as his birthday present. How odd, that the best and worst moments of his life both left him speechless.

He cringed until his muscles cramped. “Commander, I–”

Pate mumbled. Her voice was a long, hoarse slurry.

“You have to speak up,” Sour said.

“Pa…” she sat up and tensed her throat, pushing words out like Tangela in a spaghetti strainer. “Pawn will treat your wound. Grin and Bear will retrieve your wagon. You let us go.”

Sour pushed the orb. It rolled, slowly, over the edge. “Can you patch me up through those bars, Raboot?”

The medic stopped staring at Pate and nodded.

“I’ll take what I can get..”

Pate stamped her tears into the carpet. “Grin… don’t bother coming to see me after your work is done. Leave me alone, please.”

The advisor didn’t know what else to do besides take the advice. He slung his bag over his shoulder and darted into the hall. Bear followed close behind. And like that, the superstars were over before they had a chance to shine. Their lights were to drift apart, chanced beacons doomed to grow unfamiliar from one another yet again–

Bear sprinted back into the room. “Hey, um… we left without asking where the wagon is.”

Sour sighed. “Go downstairs and leave town using the trail to your right. It’s off the path in a clearing, can’t miss it.”

“My right right now, or my right when I’m leaving?”

“When you’re leaving.”

“And will the wagon be on the left side of the trail, or the right?”

“Left.”

“What color is it–”

“For crying out loud, figure it out yourself!” Sour shouted. He picked up a paperweight figurine of Ho-Oh and threw it at the Boltund’s head. It went wide, crashing into the wall. Red bloomed from the Braixen’s bandage–his eyes rolled upward, and he collapsed onto the floor.

Bear pawed at the shattered remains of the rainbow bird. “Goodness! Uh…” he ran over and, by the tail, tugged the unconscious Pokemon over to the cage. “Sorry about that. See you all in a bit.”

And with that, Grin and Bear were gone.

---

An hour of moping brought Grin to the wagon’s resting site: down a slight hill from the main path, just before a copse, some wood hastily wedged under its wheels. Its wood paneling lacked frills, and the roof had several thin sheets of plywood nailed over spots broken into by past storms. It was common for trading groups to use carriages like these to barter small essentials, taking and dispensing whatever their capital could afford–the idea was to happen to have some high-button item that would normally require weeks to order in towns this far from a city. Roaming thrift shops, essentially.

Bandits had a hard time picking out the valuables from these things, since they didn’t maintain logs of what was on board. For a mayor desperate for resources, though, the random assortment of cookware, dungeon loot, medicine and food was Arceus-sent. It made sense why he targeted them.

Grin also knew it was a lucky break for them as well.

He pulled the wagon’s back bed down and tugged a sack towards himself. “This is good,” he told Bear. “Let’s pick out what we need, and then it’s on to the next adventure!” There was no way he would work underneath a Pokemon like Atlas.

Bear frowned. “Grin, are you ready to talk about what happened? Or talk at all?”

An hour or a million years later, the Floragato didn’t want to discuss it. But the more he danced around the topic, the more it snuck to the front of his mind. “It’s funny, honestly. Berry pickers, arm wrestlers, snow shovelers, stowaways, dentists,” he rattled off. “I managed to ruin so many jobs these past couple months. I’m really messing up things faster than usual. You’re struggling to keep up.” The string binding the sack’s neck refused to untangle. He yanked its end hard. “I’m thinking you choose the next job.”

“We always take turns choosing,” Bear said. The idea to be mercenaries was his: tons of pointless fighting, funny politics, and a brief bout of pretending they could make a name for themselves.

“It’s only fair. Since I’m… always… the problem!”

Grin gave up on untying the string and dug his claws into the sack instead, tearing off the top. The damned things in it were still clinging to the neck, though, too unwieldy to remove. Grin growled under his breath and wrenched the bag back and forth, banging it repeatedly against the wagon’s bed.

Bear smiled encouragingly. “I don’t see it that way. Please, the bag’s had enough–”

Grin yowled and tore the bag out of the wagon, throwing it onto the ground. He stamped it with his foot, scraping his toe-claws across it until it unraveled. Miniature signposts and spare tent stakes spilled from the gash. Useless to them. He stared at the destroyed bags, bad emotions welling up in his chest at the ruined tatters.

“Let’s face it. I’ll always be a Walking Disaster,” he muttered.

The Boltund changed tactics on a dime: he grabbed Grin’s wrist with his teeth and insisted he crouch down to eye level.

“You said you would never call yourself that. Sit down right now.”

Grin wanted to stand right back up and continue demolishing things. A long look into Bear’s eyes convinced him to plop down on the tail-bed

“I didn’t mean it. This time was really bad,” he said.

“Don’t give me excuses. You told me you wouldn’t. You now owe me a chat about your feelings.”

Anything but those. Grin played with his fur, passing a claw-tip up and down along his chest.

A job application form. A town crier asking if anyone needed work. The simple sight of a Pokemon in need. These things, strung together, composed the pair’s life. They could never stay doing one thing, or live in one place, for too long.

Thanks to Grin, though, that was never a worry. He always found a way to muck it up once he cared too much.

“Those two seemed neat.”

“Who, Pate and Plan?”

“Pawn. And yeah. I want to see what’d happen if they were a little less dysfunctional, you know? When we jumped that Empoleon, my fur stood on end. It was cathartic. To just… stomp that creep into the dirt with friends.”

Bear nodded. “Friends, yeah. What if…” he struggled to come up with words. Then, it hit him all at once, and he blurted it out. “We only need to hang in there!”

“Huh?”

“You wouldn’t leave me alone. That’s how you saved my life. Maybe we’ve finally found more Pokemon like me, who need a you.”

Grin’s ears perked. He knew he had a corrosive personality. That meant stay away for your own good; that meant Grin slowly broke down those he stayed too close to. But didn’t toothpaste break down plaque? Didn’t acid help clear off rust? Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for him to use his power for good. The proof it could happen was right in front of him, saving him from himself.

Bear’s excitement grew. “I did a good think, Grin! Instead of you whining through our next four or five adventures, let’s just stick with them for a few months and see what happens.”

“Are you for real? That’s dangerous,” Grin said. They both knew what could happen if they stayed in one place for too long.

“You deserve better, because you make me happy.”

“There’s also the small issue that Pate hates my guts.”

“When has anything ever managed to get rid of the two of us?” Bear asked, smirking. “It’s time, Grin. I’m calling it.”

“Oh ,yeah. Let’s do it together. One… two…”

The Floragato popped up. This was happening. They were pulling the lever, making a stand. After running aground from being on the run, it was time to finally stop scraping by on life’s samplers and eat a full-course meal. They cheered in unison:

“Grin and Bearet’s Big Adventure!”

“What in the world was that?!”

The two froze. Both of them knew exactly what ‘that’ was: the start of something grand. That voice belonged to someone else walking down the path.

“Behind the wagon,” Grin whispered.

---

The two darted behind the carriage just as a group of Pokemon ran onto the scene. Grin slid down onto his belly and watched them from beneath the undercarriage. Bear laid down next to him.

A Scyther looked around for the source of the yelling. “I heard voices.”

“Didn’t that sleepy fella Sour mention he was cut up by a Scyther?” Bear asked.

The Floragato nodded. Not just cut up, surprise-attacked. The bug had returned to the scene of the crime.

More rescuers followed. A Heracross, A Nidorino, and a Gloom. Full team… Grin counted one silver badge on the Scyther, a rookie emblem on the Nidorino, and two bronze badges on the others. Rescue guilds had drastically upped their requirements for each rank after the war. A team like this was likely among the best the local charters had to offer.

“I definitely heard a voice,” the Scyther said. “Keep your eyes up. I don’t think Sour would risk returning here. But maybe.”

The Heracross stretched out her wings. She looked none too happy to see the wagon, her arms crossing at the sight. “Sour this, Sour that. The fuck has been wrong with you lately, Letza?”

Letza buzzed his wings. “Pardon me?”

“Plotting ambushes. Having us rescue property instead of Pokemon.” She gestured to the wagon. “This is bullshit.”

“I know those wings of yours can’t lift you off the ground, Scurs, but try to see the bird’s eye on this. An entire town has been subjugated. We’re rescuing scores of Pokemon.”

The Gloom hummed. “Castle isn’t on any maps, lead. It has no paperwork, no registry, no nothing–who are we even rescuing? Ho-Oh primaries?”

“They’re townsfolk,” Letza answered.

Scurs scoffed. “Who are free to come and go, and yet haven’t posted a job.”

“They’re under duress.”

“Arceus, Letz! Blink twice if Team Thunder Awe is mind-controlling you.”

Letza swung a blade, his eyes alight. “Entei’s whiskers, you’ve gotten casual with me! We depose Sour, we all get a shiny new rank. Do you know how rare that is? A single mission giving two teams and seven rescuers promotions at once? More metal means more resources means safer dungeons and happier townsfolk. Don’t–” he raised his blade up. “Do not keep arguing about this. That’s an order.”

Scurs dismissed him with a pincer, turning away. She remained silent. “Secure the wagon, head on to Castle to help with the arrest, right? Sure, whatever gets us to quit acting like knights.”

Bear shimmied in place, smiling. “Yay! They’re being rescued.”

“Not yay,” Grin whispered back.

“Not yay?”

“Very boo.”

“Boo,” Bear breathed.

Void knights and rescue guilds didn’t exactly have the best of relationship. Knights like the Tall Grass got things done, but their methods hardly abided by the same guidelines as a historied network of guilds overseen by the Expedition Society. There was a sort of quiet agreement to alleviate the headache: knights practice a bare amount of discretion. In return, rescue guilds only get involved in knight problems that are right in front of their noses.

Being saved by a rescuer, working together, reporting crimes to them… all reputation-killers for a mercenary. And most rescuers rubbed in the humiliation when they had the chance–they loved to make their run-ins with knights very public in both their reports and the stories they shared around town. They always dropped names.

So if this lot found Pate of the Tall Grass trapped in a cage… it was somehow more over for her.

“We have to stop them from reaching Castle,” Grin said.

Bear looked confused, but nodded. “If you say so. Which one do I stab first?”

“Let’s try to avoid a fight. I got it. We’ll use the classic human turned Pokemon routine. Rescuers eat that stuff right up.” Grin had received more than a few free meals, drinks, and inn rooms this way. If all went well, he could get the Scyther’s disgruntled team to turn against him.

Bear nodded excitedly. “Okay, okay! What’s my angle?”

“Um.” This was usually a solo routine. “You can, uh–”

“P-P-Pokemon!” The Nidorino squealed. He was low enough to the ground to peek under the carriage. Grin and Bear stared at him as he spun around to butt his leader’s leg. “Lead, t-there’s Pokemon behind the wagon!” He stammered.

The Floragato inhaled. No time for line readings. They simply had to wing it.

Grin jumped out from behind the wagon and gasped dramatically. He shaped the wagon in his paws, walking around it with dramatic flair. “What… is this! The wheels. The chassis. Could it be? Yes… it reminds me of an auto vehicle! The one I was in when I… died! And talking Pokemon… oh my!”

The Nidorino’s startled warble pitched into an excited squeak. “A vehicle?! I read about those. Were, were you a hu–”

“And I am that vehicle!”

Bear scooted and crawled out from behind the wagon at a glacial pace. “Vroom. Vroom? What happened to my torque? My axels? What are these strange thingies… legs?!”

Grin stared at him.

He continued unabated, mimicking his first steps in a new body. “I am a Pokemon! But I was a humble car once upon a time! A… car turned Pokemon?!”

Letza pointed at the Boltund with his blade, just to make sure his squad was seeing this.

“A car turned Pokemon?” Bear said again–desperately, this time.

Yes, and? Was law in the world of improv, even when one’s partner set out on a (generously-put) remix. The Floragato remembered himself, stepping away in shock.

“I was driving you! You, uh… the memory’s foggy…”

Bear looked at the rescuers. “I lost control in the rain. My wheels slid off a cliff and we both exploded and died.”

“You killed him!” The rookie accused. “This must be your atonement: you’ve gotta help the Floragato save the world.”

His leader bit back an insult. “Ridonino, you need to cut back on your storybooks.”

Grin snort-chuckled. “His name is Ridonino–” he coughed. “Ah, damn you my car! Really? Nice going, you dumb, uh, nice going… you… metal turd.”

Bear wiped a paw across his eyes. “Metal turd? Why is windshield wiper fluid leaking from my blinkers?”

“This is incredible,” the Heracross said. She eased towards them, drawn in by the act. “That fox Sour is done for. I’d much rather help the first-ever car turned Pokemon.”

Letza shook his head. “I really hope you’re believing them simply to piss me off. Sour’s only more dangerous now that we have him cornered. Floragato, Boltund, why have we found you near this stolen wagon? Is this torn bag on the ground your handiwork?”

“Torn bag?” Grin asked. “That reminds me of my airbag! Ah, the trauma!”

Bear sidled up close to the wooden carriage, mouth agape. “Oh-hoh, vroom. Didn’t notice this beauty there. Look at all that junk inside your trunk! Gimme your name, big lady, mine’s Milktruck.”

Grin blinked. “Wow. Um. Hey! How dare you, uh, flirt while I’m despairing… Milktruck?”

“How can I not? Look at her spokes! She’s an antique, but I love my ladies old and sophisticated–”

“Okay,” Grin hissed, “time out.”

They huddled close for a quiet out-of-character discussion.

“Buddy, it feels weird for a human vehicle to flirt with a Pokemon vehicle. At least, this fast. You literally just got here.”

“It’s what my character would feel,” Bear helpfully explained, “My character’s a little perverted.”

The scyther’s throat thrummed with an angry chitter. “Why are you two whispering? Give me your names! Now!”

“This whole pervert angle-that doesn’t mesh with you killing me, or the whole wider plot.” What mythical being was passing world-saving destinies out to weird milk trucks? Was he a milk delivery man speeding to his next delivery in the rain? The plot was too complex! Most Pokemon only learn things about the human world by coincidence.

“Well, firstly, you were driving fast in the rain. You only have yourself to blame. And, secondly… uh…”

“Bear, did you say firstly when you only have one point to make? We talked about this. It’s tacky.”

Letza swung his blades together, producing a violent grinding noise. “We will take this as an act of provocation! We have cause to restrain you both.”

Ridonino blinked. “Whoa! We’re attacking Milktruck? Over what?”

“I got a second point,” Bear said. “Secondly… you’re silly. Nope. Sorry. Let’s just scrap the whole car idea.”

Grin shrugged and smiled. “Don’t be sorry. It’s, to be honest. You’re a novice, and I shut you down in a pretty gatekeeper way. Fail roleplay moment. You can be a car, any kind you want.”

“You’d love me, even if I was?” Bear whispered shyly.

“Of course, bud! I bet you’d have a cute lil’ horn and everything.”

“Beep beep!” Bear honked, swaying side to side in dance.

“Ye-aa-h, break it down cardog, woo!” Grin cheered.

“Beep beep!” He winked his right eye in rhythm, slowly turning in place. “What’s this? Tick tock tick tock…”

“Ooh, uh… turning indicator!”

“Honk-beep! Wait. Okay. Vroom, pop!” The Boltund’s swaying became dizzied, hindquarters scrabbling to stay balanced. Eventually, his back right hind-leg splayed out flat, leaving him three-fourths standing.

“Four wheel drive?” Grin asked.

“Buzz!”

“Driving under the influence?”

“Nuh uh. Pop. Pop…”

“Ah, me, I got it!” Ridonino cried. “I read that cars have tires that can pop!”

“Beep-ba-beep!” The Boltund imitated a motor with a raspberry, jowls flapping from its intensity. Grin mimicked having a hand on the wheel, leaning back as if on a long, cool autumn cruise.

Letza gestured to the dancing duo. “We could be earning our new ranks right–”

The Gloom reached into her bag and tossed a coin to the pair.

“Lossom?”

“Permission to admit they’re killing it requested, lead.”

“Denied. That’s a demerit.”

Ridonino hemmed and hawed. “Please, lead, they’re bonding! Don’t be such a Dusknoir.”

“They’re members of Fhang,” Letza said, voice low. “At least, I sort of hope they are.”

The Heracross hummed angrily. “We don’t get to just hope that into existence.”

The team leader narrowed his eyes, his blood heated by her testy tone. “Scurs, I order you to detain them.”

“On what basis?” She asked.

“My badge is silver while yours is bronze.”

Scurs clacked her pincers together. “A difference in metal won’t make me attack a potential human and their car. Unposted mission, or a fun evening with two wackjobs. I know my pick.”

“You cannot be buying their crap! We can’t wait for Sour’s face to pop up on a bounty board, we need to mop these idiots up and save Castle!”

“Castle’s residents don’t want our help, yet you’re forcing us to force it on them. Why?”

“Why?” Letza threw back. “Why are you questioning me?”

“Who were you talking to in the hall a couple nights ago? Why were we hiding in carriages trying to ambush Sour the morning after, like a bunch of bounty hunters?”

“…Attack them now,” the Scyther ordered, “or it’ll be months indoors for the lot of you.”

Scurs winced. “The outpost chief will hear about this…”

Bear broke right out of his routine, his face suddenly serious. He spared the arguing rescuers a furtive glance. “They’re really going at it.”

The Floragato nodded. To the untrained eye, he was standing in place. In reality, he was slowly gliding towards the wagon’s goods, his steps not warranting the slightest sound from the grass beneath his pads.

He deftly flipped open the box of unidentified orbs, catching it before its lid clapped against the wood. His paw wiggled with excitement at the assorted cloudy blues and deep purples contained within the crystal balls. “Sorry, Bear. I was totally ready to do this car bit for the next couple hours. Their leader is just too stubborn.”

One of the orbs spoke to Grin, urging him to pick it up. He snatched it, rustling the other contents of the box as he did so.

Letza jolted at the noise, turning away from his argument. “What?! When did you-don’t you move another step! Team Understone, move in.”

Scurs frowned. “Not until we get some answers.”

The Floragato stepped away from the box. He looked straight into Letza’s eyes-no longer as a badly-acted once-human, but something equally as unbelievable. His violet irises pulsed with light that, perhaps in the dead of night, might have illuminated the dark in a pink pallor.

“Pick a direction and run,” he told them plainly, “and you won’t get hurt.”

The rescuers’ demeanor changed. Their argument moments ago felt small, a trite bickering compared to the altercation that hung over them now. None of them reacted swiftly to Grin’s suggestion, affording him time to brandish the stolen orb.

Mystery dungeons are like orange juice. The dungeon is the squeezed juice, and their ‘mystery’ the pulp. The pulp swirls around in the drink, flakes at first, followed by visible clumps as things randomly collide. Clumps cluster, becoming cohesive lumps, and the lumps sink under their own weight and coalesce with other lumps. This end product hardens-or a better term would be calcifies–into what Pokemon call an orb: the runoff of dungeon energy into inanimate objects.

Many such objects only work within dungeons. Some, like the one in Grin’s claws, were either simple or powerful enough to trigger anywhere: these fetched high prices.

One needed specialized knowledge to identify an orb, and time to properly appraise its usability and potential. Except for Grin. When he brushed up against type energy-from Lunala’s moongeist weave to the blowback orb in his claws-he could sense how it all came from the same orange.

“Catch this,” he instructed, tossing it over to the Heracross.

Letza gasped. “Don’t!”

Scurs was readied for a debate, not a battle. She reflexively caught the orb, as most would when told to casually hold on to something. Her eyes widened as she inspected it. It spewed an imperceptible force from itself, the recoil pushing her pincer against her body.

She balked. “It’s–”

On.

The orb exploded with a crack of thunder. Scurs broke and re-entered the sound barrier in the same second. By the time her scream wriggled back into reality, she was dozens of feet away, tumbling clear to the other side of the trail. The smell of kicked-up dust clogged the summer air.

Letza proved his silver ranking, reacting immediately to the surprise attack. He crossed his steel blades together and slashed downward. No orders. No pulling rank. His violent intent embodied itself in pure green energy, an X speeding towards its target.

This move had countless hours of practice behind it. It was likely the one that left Sour in dire straits, and Grin didn’t have any way to not join him.

Unlike Sour, though, Grin sensed the ends of the X were the most dangerous. They would elongate at the last moment, clipping poor souls scared away by the attack’s center cross. He wrenched to the left, put his arms over his head, and jumped over the bottom of the slash as it dug into the dirt.

Being hit like this was his best bet, but it certainly didn’t feel like it.

The X’s top limb embedded itself in his arms. Strands of green fur flew. His hide broke. He lost a breath somewhere between the air and the ground, and the searing sensation surrounding the impact flared into a stinging fire. The energy broke around his limbs, but the serrated remnants dug into the bridge of his snout before properly fading.

A strong urge to faint overtook the Floragato. Most Pokemon described it as a kind of nausea: it took mental willpower to push back these dark corners of unconsciousness. Grin groaned, working past the stupor. Just blinking made his entire face ache.

Letza was upon him in three blinks, blades lifted and crossed for another attack.

“Don’t you dare rise!” He yelled. “That goes double for your friend.” He peeked over his crossed arms, surprised to find a noticeable lack of dog. “Lossy? Do you have eyes on the Boltund?!”

“Looking!” Lossom called back. The pair’s eyes darted from one shadow to the next. One instant the Boltund was next to the wagon. The next, gone, his own friend left to writhe in the dirt.

Ridonino’s search fared far better. Bear dropped down right in front of him, his landing silent and dangerous.

Ridonino jolted. One didn’t exactly expect a Boltund to drop down from the sky.

“Whoa, whoa, wait!”

Bear had unsheathed his mawblade, using its point to frighten the Nidorino back onto the path. The blade’s grooved, leather grip stymied his tongue. Yet, despite the impediment, his voice sounded sharper than ever.

“I won’t hurt you,” Bear promised. “Go, little buddy.”

“Ha. You got it. Bye,” the rookie whimpered. He scrabbled up the slope, kicking up blades of grass and loose pebbles.

Letza bit back a frustrated scream. “Dem–” demerit, he almost called after the Nidorino. A stern write-up wouldn’t sway a fledgling to stand against this beast.

Lossom, despite her enjoyment of the show earlier, at least knew when to attack. She wasted no time: vine buds appear from beneath her flower. Letza had seen her strike a wooden dummy from up to thirty feet away with this attack. She kept rookies whittling new wood targets late into the night.

But the next yelp was hers. She tipped forward, planting her hands in the dirt for purchase.

Her money from earlier… the Scyther saw it ricochet from her body into the air, before floating by itself over to the Boltund. He still faced away from them, nose pointed to the sky, a pupil tracking the Gloom’s movements.

The coin glinted in the sun, centered perfectly between the dog’s pointed ears.

“Lossom, roll!” Letza ordered.

She swung off her arms and log-rolled, just before the coin exploded into the dirt where she was.

Letza untucked his wings and flew forward. He stomped where the coin landed. As he thought, it pressed into his foot, vying to break free-again, on its own. Its force felt as thought it would stamp its ubiquitous poke icon into his foot.

He had never seen Lossom lose a beat before. But something about the hole left by a mere coin tore down her composure.

“I don’t understand,” she breathed.

Letza kept his foot on the money. “Stay alert.. He’s using some kind of magnetic–”

“Oh shoot!” Bear barked excitedly. “Grin! Grin!”

The Floragato had crept his way back to the wagon, using one of the cloths to staunch the cut between his eyes. “What?”

“Magnet! That’s the word.”

Grin gasped. “Magnet! I told you it started with an M.”

“What else do you know about it, Scyther? I’ve always wondered what exactly a ma…” he tested the word, smiling at it. “Magnet does. It just makes metal love or hate each other, right?”

Letza felt his spirits drop. His best guess was that this Boltund used steel-type moves to summon metal into his body, then created magnetic forces between it and other metallic objects.

And that guess was more than the user himself knew. This random Fhang member was combining moves off of pure instinct.

What would it look like when he performed moves he understood?

Letza hung his head. His tongue dried in his mouth, threatening to chip away before he could speak. “Damn you. We yield–”

“Hey,” Ridonino called, panting as he came back to the path. “Lead, I helped Scurs up.”

The Heracross had seen better days. She steadied her uneven feet, one pincer caressing the blowback orb’s impact site.

“I’m gonna ground that cat into a wheatgrass shake,” she threatened. “So ya better not have been yielding just now.”

Bear sighed and looked up at the Nidorino. “I told you to run.”

The rookie swallowed. “I agree with Scurs. We shouldn’t even be here fighting. But… this is my job, and I believe in Letza.” He got into what, in his mind, was a decent battle stance. “I won’t run off when my job gets ugly or confusing.”

Guilt riddled Letza. It was true: the reasons behind this mission weren’t pure. And still he dragged them into this, made them question their duties, and for what? A new color of badge? For some favors promised quietly behind closed doors?

A memory came back to him…

“I was scared.”

The smaller Scyther sobbed into his steel arms. Pokemon marched by in droves, retreating from yet another lost refuge, defeated and dirty. The difference between this and the last void-infested hovel was unspeakable. Half the rescuers tasked with defense, gone.

Turned to stone into the middle of the night. And he had been right there with them, unable to stop it. Only able to listen to his leader’s order to flee.

It took him hours to sort the forest-flying above the canopy was guaranteed doom. When he arrived, the procession merely shuffled to allow his battered body within itself. Only one Pokemon cared to stop and comfort him. His leader’s leader and mentor, Mouts.

The Heatmor sat next to him, wiping the tears away. He nodded his team to continue along without him.

“But I should have fought,” Letza said, frustrated.

Mouts shook his head. “That’s disobedient and cowardly.”

“Oh, right.” He laughed joylessly. “Running away was the brave thing.”

The Heatmor closed his eyes. “My understudy… your leader… she’s finally getting some rest. We still have to deal with these hungry bellies and sad faces. She entrusted this work to you.

Letza fixed his eyes on the ground, grief replaced with shame. But the shaking lessened.

“This retiree has an order for you,” Mouts said. He closed in, eyes curled in a genuine smile. “When you become a top-ranked rescuer, always treat your team’s faith preciously. With arms like yours, it will be how you embrace those you care for.”

Letza blinked away the mist in his eyes.

“Today, Ridonino… I violated your trust in me. You’ve taught me I have many old lessons to revisit.”

The words fully rekindled his recruit’s brave spirit. “We can learn them later… together. For now, let’s give these two our–”

He looked down at the orb that had plopped down between his forelegs. He followed its path to the Floragato by the wagon.

Grin pointed to the box. “I found a second blowback orb in here.”

Rido sighed. “Aw, Shuckle–”

The angle on this one sent him soaring, like a Nidorino that careened into the Fearow evolutionary line. He was a blue-gray glint in the clear-blue skies by the time the sound cleared.

No one left had time to check where he landed.

“Dirty trick,” Lossom growled. Her vines were primed from before, and she wasted no time launching them. The bulbs danced in mid-air, disguising their angle of attack from Bear.

The Boltund stepped backward and gave them a lightning-quick pruning.

The Scyther jumped to Bear’s right flanked and launched another one of his cross attacks.

Bear jumped in place, tucked his legs, ducked his head, and spun. The energy passed at a razor’s edge, its off-green glow kissing his body. It cleaved into the earth, making its mark on naught but the earth.

He had tidily threaded the scant opening in the X without even glancing at its shape. Letza faced the possibility that their opponent could read minds.

“Damn it,” the Scyther snarled. “Lossy, sync up with–”

A new vine from her slammed into his chest. He sailed backward, wheezing… eyes catching on to the the waltz of bolts rising from the coin.

Thuder struck the metal. The noise and light bewildered his senses. The Boltund’s fighting style fried his wits. Psychic, magnetic, electric. Pure, instantaneous, calm chaos.

“Cover me,” he rasped, fear entering his voice. He waved his arms around in a panic, deterring the Boltund from approaching while he recovered.

But the monster’s attention was already elsewhere.

Scurs used her waning strength to skirt the others’ battle and arrive at the wagon. She braked hard several feet away, fighting for breath; the blowback orb probably knocked the wind out of her and told it to never come back.

Grin fished madly in his box of goodies for some bug spray. The remaining orbs were useless one-offs, or unusable outside of a dungeon, or both. It didn’t help that his arms were trembling from their injuries… he armed himself with a frying pan and a rolling pin as Scurs approached.

“You’re gonna wish you were in a car accident,” she said, puffing.

“I, I thought it’d be funny,” Grin pleaded. “And it was. Let’s hash this out with words-smart strike!”

He threw the pan at her.

She caught the base with her pincer. It whirred to life, vibrating rapidly… and it crunched the iron around itself. The cookware thudded, uselessly bent beyond repair.

“Is… is that it?” She asked. “Can you not use moves or something?”

Grin fumbled with the rolling pin, nearly dropping it. He wiped the blood from his nose. “Hey, you break it you buy it-smart strike!”

Scurs was feeling a tad let down. This was far from the well-deserved beat down she planned on delivering. She swung out her pincer again, catching the rolling pin–

OH. OH WOW. I CAN’T EVEN BE MAD. THAT’S DECENTLY CLEVER.

“What… the…” Scurs gazed into space. Her haggard breathing steadied as a foreign voice, eerie and smooth, danced within her mind. The rolling pin had something on it. A poison? No… a bit of pretty purple cloth…

“Who…”

LUNALA. SO, TO PUT THINGS INTO PERSPECTIVE: GRIN TRICKED YOU INTO ADORNING MOONGEIST CLOTH. HE IS EXPLOITING YOUR INITIAL SHOCK TOWARDS ABSOLUTE OBJECTIVITY.

Scurs waved her arm in front of her face. Thousands of honest whispers rose to the surface, telling her exactly how it moved and danced. The mathematics of the cosmos played its orchestra in the mind of a Heracross who always asked her leader to balance her books back home.

“What…”

HE PICKED UP THE PAN. HE’S… ALRIGHT, HE’S CLIMBED ONTO YOU. OUCH. YOU’RE GETTING THE UPPIES. YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE THAT.

“Uppies… wait, what?”

Grin lifted the pan into the air, his body hooked around Scurs’ own.

“Bear, uppies!” He shouted.

“Uppies!” Bear confirmed.

The Boltund coiled. He threw his head in a wide arc, letting his mawblade fly free into the sky. It went up, and up, until it soared right above Grin’s frying pan. It crackled with electricity, a second beacon in the sky besides the sun.

The pan jerked upward. Held steady in Grin’s claw, they followed its path upward.

WHEN YOU WAKE UP, CAN YOU ASK HIM A COUPLE QUESTIONS–

The cloth slipped off Scurs’ pincer. She gawked at it, at the ground she was leaving behind.

“L-Let go. Let go! Don’t give me uppies!”

The speed picked up. She tried to remember how to break out of a grapple. Shouldn’t have been hard against a Pokemon this weak. Yet Lunala and her objectivity lingered, muddying her mind.

By the time she wrenched free, it was into the open air. The rescuer decided she actually preferred being held onto a bit too late.

Gravity grabbed her by the waist and tugged. Down… down… she tried to use her wings, but a mid-air break was difficult even in peak condition. This was happening.

“Sorry!” Grin called after her.

Down… ground. She cried out as she made impact, bouncing up a couple feet. Ridonino had only given her a few oran berries from his cute, yet woefully lacking rescuer bag. Between this and her last tumble, her body had reached its limit… outmaneuvered by a poor improv artist with no moves…

Scurs fainted.

Grin continued upward, carried by the frying pan to Bear’s mawblade. He tugged it free from its suspension, and with the last of his arm-strength, chucked it at Lossom.

The Gloom saw the silver reflection and doubled back, her vines falling limp with momentary distress. She pieced together how to use them again, contorting them awkwardly to swat away the sharp object.

Bear darted in on her blind side, drifting in close on his forepaws. He buck-kicked center mass with his hind legs.

The good news was that the mawblade didn’t find its mark. The bad news was that Bear’s high-horsepower kick sent Lossom rolling through the countryside. Friction nibbled away at her, the sheer force of this kick planting the grass type a foot in the ground. Dirt burst upward in a geyser at her endpoint, cascading over those left standing.

Lossom herself, though, certainly wasn’t in season yet. She blinked tiredly and made one last grab for the edge of her new flowerbed.

She fainted.

The Boltund shook off the jitters left over from his kick. For the first time since the battle started, he showed some emotion: an ear-to-ear smile and stirring tail. “Surrender. Grin and I’s teamwork is flawless–”

Grin plummeted through the wagon’s roof.

The entire carriage shook as he broke through the shingling, multiple shelves, probably a couple ceramic plates-something hard, too, judging by how his yowl cut off about halfway down. There was a bit of silence, followed by glasses falling and shattering.

Bear’s ears flattened. “Ooh… I gotta catch him after uppies. I always forget.”

“You–” Grin coughed violently from inside the cart, his voice drowned out by cracking wood planks and shifting glass shards. “You gotta catch me after uppies, bud…”

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Can I keep saying cool stuff to the Scyther?”

“No, I mean-yeah, I know you love that part. I’m okay, really.”

The impact jostled the wagon’s tires over their wooden stoppers. It rolled lazily down the hill, towards the trees. It wasn’t until its front kissed the broad end of a willow that its momentum came through, the cracks of wood-splinter once again flooding the clearing. Grin howled.

Letza winced. “Arceus. I… I think I’m just going to round my team up and go home. The Opalescence can sort you out themselves.”

Bear nodded. “Those Ho-Oh goofballs? Why are they making rescuers take the town back? Grin,” he called, “I just learned crucial info!”

“Nice… sleuthing…” Grin groaned, his voice weak. “I’m… okay… be out in a second…”

Branches snapped and broke loose as something hurtled down from their canopy-shaken loose by the wagon accident. Ridonino, unconscious from his free flying lessons, dropped right from the tree and into the hole left by Grin.

Another loud thud came from inside the wagon.

“Ah…”

Nidorino hide becomes toxic during battle. Bear shrank, teeth gritted, tail between his legs.

Letza shook his head. “All things considered, encountering you two helped remind me why I’m a rescuer in the first place. Thanks for that. And… thanks for going easy on Rido.”

“You’re welcome. Now we gotta go back to Castle and make sure your friends don’t save our friends.”

“What-never mind. Tell Team Thunder Awe that Letza has called off the mission. Not that they’ll heed my words,” he added under his breath.

“Thanks! And good battle. If we meet again, I’ll teach you how to make your X-scissor rotate as it moves. Makes it much harder to predict.”

Letza took a break from peeling Lossom from her crater to raise a blade up in acknowledgement.

That was one group of rescuers down. But another team was already in town-if Sour couldn’t hang in for an hour longer, Pate’s future was truly done for.