Chapter 1 – Thief

In den frühen Jahren nach den glühenden Blitz, die Pokémon, welche mitsamt und unter Menschen gewohnt haben, hatten es schwierig. Ihr Aufschrei hat nach einiger Zeit den Mitleid der Götter unserer Welt hervorgerufen, welche uns den Segen des Gelöbnisses geschenkt haben. Das große Abkommen unter Pokémon, welches unsere Zivilisation untermauert, welches die unterschiedlichen Welten von den Städten, den Feldern, der Wildnis und den mysteriösen Orten voneinander säumt.

Anschließend haben sich die Pokémon von Wunder in zwei Gruppen unterteilt. In eine haben sich die Pokémon gesammelt, welche zur Zeiten der Menschen in der Wildernis gelebt haben wie es die Natur vorgeschrieben hatte. Als Gegenleistung, um ihre eigenen vorgeschriebenen Angelegenheiten durchzuführen, haben sie das Recht aufgegeben mit den Pokémon, welche in den Feldern und Städten leben, einzugreifen, und sind heute bekannt als „Wilde”.

Die Pokémon in der anderen Gruppe, welche in den Feldern und Städten lebten, sind geblieben um die Weisheit der verstorbenen Menschen under denen sie gelebt haben zu streben. Ihnen wurde Schutz von der strengen Natur von den Göttern geschenkt, solange sie auch ihre Zugehörigkeiten trugen. Als Gegenleistung haben sie ihr Recht aufgegeben, sich mit Zähnen und Klauen zu ernähren, und durften nur von den Ernten ihrer Feldfrüchte speisen, von den Gegangenen ergattern und den Gummis die sie herstellten sich ernähren. Diese Pokémon sind wir, die wir heute als „Zivile” kennen und nennen.

Und wie auch mit allen was Ordnung hat, gibt es auch diese die danach streben, diesen Schutz und die Strukturen zu zerrütten. Die vielleicht abscheulichsten unter denen sind die Ganoven, Ungeziefer, welche in der Wildnis oder den mysteriösen Orten auf leichte Beute warten und manchmal auch Leben beenden, welche sich auch feige versuchen sich hinter den Schutz der Gelöbnis zu verstecken und sich in den Siedlungen der Zivilen untertauchen.

Solche Kreaturen haben schon seit unsere Geschichte geschrieben wurde existiert. Ihnen ist es egal wie schwer oder brutal sie dafür von den Königen und Herrschern unserer Gefilde bestraft werden, es wird immer solche geben, die ein solches Leben auswählen.

–  Auszug aus »Die Gesammelten Legenden aus Wunder«

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The next day, Lyle left work at the Oran field earlier than usual, under the pretense that his dinner from the prior night disagreed with him. He was met with disapproving frowns and accusations of slacking off, which was to be expected when effectively claiming to have come down with the world’s best-timed stomachache. But with less pay to give out that day and his recent performance having been less-than-impressive, much to Lyle’s relief, his overseers hardly attempted to stop him.

Within a couple hours, he found himself following Kate through the twists and turns of Waterhead Cave, one of the Mystery Dungeons within a day’s journey of Moonturn Square. It was said that places like them were areas where the space and time of the world had been damaged and intermixed with other dimensions from the effects of the Great Flash. The legendary sundering that had spirited away the humans of yore, leaving only their ruins and fragments of their knowledge behind as proof they once lived in Wander…

Along with distorted spaces like this soggy cave of a Mystery Dungeon. Most of them had formed far back enough in history for their origins to be shrouded in myth and folklore, with Waterhead Cave being one of the exceptions. The place had been formed by a patch of Distortion settling around a waterlogged cave centuries ago, and true to its name, it fed water into a nearby river that passed by just outside of it.

A low growl echoed off the surrounding gray stone walls of a small chamber in between three passages. There, Lyle paused on all fours and looked about warily for any sign of a hostile Wilder nearing. After a moment seeing naught but Kate ahead of him, he realized that the sound was coming from his own stomach. … Right, moving through a Mystery Dungeon’s Distortion was supposed to wear down Pokémon, and one of the ways that manifested was through hunger pangs.

Lyle sighed and reared upright to fish a Tiny Apple out of his satchel, and chewed at it to work it down to a discardable core. Whatever his thoughts, backing out from Kate’s offer now would be an ordeal in and of itself. How would he even find his way out on his own?

… Why on earth had he ever agreed to come to this gottverdammten hole?

He felt his stomach rumble again, evidently not yet quieted by his meal. Right, that was why he’d agreed to this, and backing out wouldn’t solve any of his problems back outside this Mystery Dungeon. If he was going to turn Kate’s offer down, he should at least get a better feel for what he’d be getting into first.

Lyle stopped nibbling at his Tiny Apple for a moment, and looked about his surroundings where he saw a nearby stream of glowing blue water running past rounded stalagmites. The blue water was Waterhead Cave’s defining feature, and the primary source of light for the Mystery Dungeon’s floors beyond his body’s fire.

He’d heard in the past that the water was supposedly filled with some sort of plankton that gave off light in the dark. But considering the strange and surreal nature of Mystery Dungeons, he’d just as easily have believed it if the light were an effect caused by its Distortion. After all, he only needed to look up above him for a reminder of its effects.

There, off in the distance, was the cave floor’s ceiling. And on it, he could see the outlines of another floor of chambers and passages. There was even a set of falls filled with the same vibrant blue water that dumped out into a set of pools, except it all remained firmly over his head and stubbornly defied gravity like a roosting Zubat.

“Oi! Hurry up, princess!”

Lyle looked over at Kate, who was waiting on him with her arms folded impatiently. The Quilava sighed and hurriedly finished up what was left of his Tiny Apple. Whatever enigmas lay behind the inner workings of Mystery Dungeons, they weren’t terribly relevant to him or Kate. The two of them were there because such places were easy terrain for Outlaws to cover their tracks. Though after six floors’ worth of travel through the dank, distorted floors of Waterhead Cave with Kate constantly goading him to hurry up, Lyle was starting to wonder if these Mistral Marauders and their allies had overdone it a bit.

“Would it really have killed you all to just bribe a barkeep to look the other way and planned things out in a tavern?” he grumbled.

“Tch, come now, you’re not that out of practice, are you?” Kate scoffed. “We’re hitting up a caravan! Where else did you expect us to gather together before the big job?”

Lyle shot back a sour frown, casting the thinned core of his apple aside before drawing up to his guide. He watched as Kate turned her attention behind her and up towards the left, and followed her gaze to a passage in one of the stony walls of the chamber they were in where he saw fog spilling out. Their destination, he presumed.

“Hrmph, I’d think someone would’ve considered meeting in a place with some actual creature comforts,” the Quilava huffed. “If I’d known you were going to drag me all the way to some Pocket in the middle of Waterhead Cave, I’d have thought twice about agreeing to this job.”

“With over fifty ‘mons in the mix? You’d get townsfolk asking questions,” Kate scoffed back. “And if we tried to camp in the forest with a party that big, we’d get spotted or smelt out!”

The Sneasel stopped in order to tie a string around her right claw, and passed a loose end about the length of her body and over to her Quilava companion.

“Needed some help getting in?” she asked. “The Distortion in the Pockets here gets a bit thicker than what we went through at the entrance.”

Lyle flattened his ears at the gesture, and let the fire on his body flicker with a sour frown.

“Kate, I might be out of practice, but I know how to get through a Mystery Dungeon’s fog,” he insisted. “I’m not some rookie Hunter who needs my paw held just to make it to the first set of stairs!”

The Sneasel said nothing in reply, before shrugging her shoulders and turning for the mist.

“Suit yourself. Just don’t fall behind.”

Kate stepped ahead into the fog as the string trailed after her, prompting to Lyle lower his head and follow along. Such fog cropped up as barriers between the distorted insides of Mystery Dungeons and their surroundings, both around their exteriors as a whole, and around the little islands of normality inside like the Pocket they were approaching. With each step forward, the mist around them thickened and less and less of the surrounding cave passage was visible.

About thirty paces in, the fog grew too thick for Lyle to make out his Sneasel guide, and the effects of the Distortion similarly diminished his ability to hear or smell her. As eerie as the experience was, none of it was surprising. He’d been through this song and dance before, including when he and Kate had first come into Waterhead Cave from its entrance.

The Quilava stepped forward, and yelped after feeling his forepaw stumble after stepping on a patch of loose earth that suddenly gave way and dropped into a foggy void. B-Blauflamme, that was way too close. He could’ve sworn he was still on the path, but if he was, that wouldn’t have happened.

The Quilava stood paralyzed for a moment, unsure where to even start to retrace his steps amid the thick mist about him, when he felt Kate’s string from earlier brush his hindlegs. Reflexively, Lyle jumped and pounced on it, seeing that he’d come across its end as he felt it run taut in his paws.

Guess the string was good for something after all. The Fire-type breathed a quiet sigh of relief before rearing up, and after feeling tugs at the string’s other end, followed cautiously after his unseen guide. After making his way forward a few steps, Lyle watched as the fog thinned little by little, until he could just make out Kate looking back at him with an amused smirk.

“So you needed help after all,” she snorted, prompting Lyle to flatten his ears out in embarrassment.

“… Shut up,” he grumbled. “This isn’t helping your argument earlier for not meeting in a more normal place.”

“Well, it means that if someone comes after us, they’re gonna have to work for it. Kinda hard to scent someone when the floors constantly reshuffle and occasionally blow away everything that’s on ’em,” she said. “Besides, it’s not as if there aren’t other benefits to coming out here.”

“Like what?”

The sound of chatter filtered into the fog from up ahead, as Kate motioned to follow. Lyle stepped forward warily as the mist cleared, revealing an encampment consisting of an unruly mass of tents, hastily-assembled lean-tos, and mats spread out to sleep on where a small mob of Pokémon was milling about. Three particularly prominent tents anchored the Outlaw hideout, one in the center, one to the right, and one to the left. At once, the Quilava noticed that the center tent was teeming with Pokémon gathered together, with two tents anchoring the ends of the encampment on either side of it. On the left was one with a green banner with a lighter twin-peaked design set out in front of it, while on the right was one with a blue banner with a lighter wind swirl that matched Kate’s scarf. The patterns of the Outlaw bands who were pulling this job off, he presumed.

“Well, I don’t think that some bar would let us go all out with interior decorating like this!” the Sneasel chuckled. “Come on! Make yourself at home!”

Lyle wandered about the encampment with Kate following at his side, gawking at the center tent that had been set up with makeshift wooden tables spread out under it. There, a number of wooden barrels that smelt of beer had been rolled into place at the corners. And in between at the different tables, Lyle could overhear Pokémon in green and blue scarves talking with each other much as the customers at the Oran field’s tavern might.

There was an Arbok and a Pinsir trading wartime gossip of how an entire Fähnlein₁ of soldiers from the army had been curiously wandering the countryside. A little further off, a Granbull and Furfrou played a game of cards with drawings of different Pokémon on them as the Granbull reminded her challenger ‘You know how this works, draw seven cards and play a basic’.

The entire gathering almost reminded Lyle of a market day in a village, or the reveries of the Autumn Festival around the start of Weinmond₂ in just a couple weeks, except it was significantly less legal and it had a homeliness and warmth that he hadn’t known in many, many moons. The Fire-type shook his head and let his muzzle curl up in a small smile and a contented sigh, when he felt a sharp prod at his shoulder.

“Well look what the Delcatty dragged in!” a low, rough voice cheered.

Lyle rubbed at his shoulder and turned with a frown, only to pause at the sight of a Marowak in a green scarf drawing back his bone. The Ground-type shot a cheerful grin back and wagged his tail, as Lyle couldn’t help but be disarmed by the greeting and ease his features into a smile.

“Alvin…”

“‘Once a thief, always a thief,’ huh? Took you long enough to come back, Lyle!” the Marowak chuckled. “And here I was worried that you’d gotten caught after you tried to get out of the game!”

Lyle’s smile faded almost as soon as the lizard’s words left his mouth. No, this was a one-time affair, and for his own sake, it was best for Alvin to be clear about that. The Quilava inhaled sharply and shook his head back with a stern frown.

“Just… don’t get too ahead of yourself, Alvin,” he insisted. “I’m just here for this one job. If it weren’t for me being in a bit of a tight spot, I’d still be doing my day job.”

Alvin’s expression visibly drooped at Lyle’s reply, clearly disappointed with his erstwhile friend’s lack of interest in returning to a life that just two years ago, they’d happily shared with one another. Before the Ground-type could stew on the matter, Kate stepped forward, and prodded at Lyle’s shoulder with her claw and gave a teasing smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say,” she scoffed. “I know you, Lyle. All you need is to dust off those skills a bit, and you’ll be back to your old self again!”

“That’s right! I mean, we’re probably gonna have to lay low after this job anyways, so you can hang around for a little bit at least, can’t ya?” Alvin insisted. “Why with how good the Terra Tyrants have been for me and the Mistral Marauders have been for Kate, you’ll be in good paws afterwards.”

Lyle said nothing for a moment. He probably should’ve been more annoyed at the prospect of having to ghost his job for multiple days since it likely meant having to scrape and bow to not get kicked off of it. And yet, something about the prospect of spending that time with old friends seemed to drain his misgivings away, prompting him to shake his head and smile back at his companions.

“Heh, I suppose it can’t really be helped with you two dragging me back into trouble, can it?” he replied. The stoat opened his mouth to ask Alvin of his exploits from the past two years, only to be cut off by a sharp shout from behind. The three turned about, seeing a Seismitoad blocking a Thievul, garbed in the same colors at the entrance of a third tent in the same style as the Terra Tyrants’ and the Mistral Marauders’ tents that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Oi! This tent’s for Riparian Raiders only!” the Seismitoad barked, making the fox flinch and shrink back.

“But the boss just went in there earlier!” the Thievul protested. “It’s even got our colors!”

“Hrmph, you aren’t him and there’s business going down,” the Water-type shot back. “Don’t you see the red? Your crew’s green, so sod off and poke around your own tent!”

Lyle blinked and eyed the tent as the Thievul was run off. On closer examination, the banner in front of the tent had a design with a pair of wedge-like blades laid out in a rough chevron on it. Though ‘red’ … as in the color of an Apple? Alvin had explained to him in the past that its color looked different enough to Pokémon like him that they could pick it out from sight alone without needing smell or other senses to help them. So then all along, the ‘mons in green scarves he’d spotted were really from two entirely different bands of Outlaws!

“Pah, I told those Riparian Raiders ‘mons that they ought to change the shade of their scarves for this job!” Alvin scoffed. “That’s the third guy who’s bumbled in like that!”

Lyle paused and blinked at Alvin’s grumbling. Kate had mentioned that their job would involve the Mistral Marauders and the Terra Tyrants, but…

“‘Riparian Raiders’?” Lyle asked. “I thought that this was just a job between two crews.”

“It was,” a higher-pitched voice cut in. “Until your friends’ bosses realized that it’d take more than mere greed to get the better of that caravan.”

Lyle, Kate, and Alvin turned to their left, where they spotted a Heliolisk in a scarf with the tent’s same bladed pattern and evidently red fabric sauntering up, folding his arms as he shot a sidelong glance with an unimpressed scoff.

“Really, we’re the ones who pointed out the caravan would be passing by a common watering spot!” the Electric-type insisted. “If you went in without our guidance, you’d probably be marching yourself straight to being press-ganged into the army!”

Lyle paused and frowned back at the Heliolisk. Attitude aside, something felt… off about the ‘mon’s speech. It was said that Pokémon who came from walks of life where using Hightongue was more common had it reflect in their accent. And with an accent like his, the ‘mon sounded like he’d be more at home sucking up to some noble family in their salon than out here in a Mystery Dungeon’s Pocket rubbing shoulders with other Outlaws!

“… I’m sorry, who are you again?” he asked.

“The name’s ‘Dalton,'” the basilisk answered. “It’s my job to help shock and awe the Riparian Raiders’ enemies on land or on water. And I’d say I do a pretty damn good job at it.”

Lyle cocked a brow puzzledly, when a chirping voice chimed in from behind.

“Easy there, Dalton. Go off making too many enemies around camp, and we’ll be short on help before our job even starts!”

The Quilava turned his attention over to a Swellow in the same, blade-patterned garb approaching, who ruffled his feathers with a dismissive scoff.

“The name’s ‘Artem’, and we’re from a crew under the lead of Parker the Vanguard that operates on rivers for our jobs. Hence the name,” the Swellow explained. “I mean, I guess it’s a bit much for us to expect more sedentary gangs to be familiar with us, given we used to operate near Port Velhen. But your bosses wouldn’t have pulled us in if they thought they had a good bead on their surroundings.”

The Swellow’s explanation drew a sharp frown from Kate, as Alvin shook his head with a low grumble and gave an aside glance at his Quilava companion.

“We… kinda wound up taking them on as extra help at the last moment,” he sighed.

“And you’re certainly very lucky for it. Boss Parker doesn’t shy away from sticking it to a Grünhäuter or two with her blades!” Dalton piped. “It’s always a treat to part those leeches from money they shook down from others. Serves the rotters right!”

Dalton brushed past the three as Lyle looked after the Electric-type with an exasperated scowl, the Riparian Raider’s Swellow companion taking wing after him. The Quilava felt a nudge at his shoulder and turned to see Kate elbowing him, whispering out of the side of her mouth with the barest attempts of hiding her words from the departing Heliolisk.

“Don’t worry, the Samurott running that scaly wannabe’s gang doesn’t have anywhere near as much of a pole up her butt as he does,” she reassured.

Lyle blinked, but decided not to question the matter too deeply as he took in his surroundings. Now that he thought about it, where were the leaders of the Outlaw bands? This entire time, he’d seen plenty of their members, but no one who obviously stood out as leader material…

“Oi! Everybody simmer down a bit!” a sharp, avian voice cried out.

Lyle and his companions quieted along with the other gathered Outlaws, turning their attention to the right of the central tent where the forms of a Staraptor in a blue scarf, a Steelix donning a few battered segments of green armor with similarly-colored garb, and a Samurott in a red scarf with the patterns Lyle had spotted earlier could be seen gathered just outside. After seeing a few other Outlaws get up and leave their seats and his friends set off, Lyle followed along, gathering with a small crowd of other Pokémon at a wide, cleared space where lines had been sketched into the ground. A few Pokémon there at the edge were practicing erecting and dispelling arcing barriers of light, Protect from the looks of it. As the three leaders made their way out, it quickly occurred to Lyle that this space was a battlefield.

“We’re about ready to give the briefing for the job tonight. But it’s come to our attention that we’ve got some prospective help here in our midst,” the Staraptor said. “So everyone who’s looking to join up, make your way to the front.”

Lyle watched as Pokémon about the gathering in scarves of different colors made their way to the front of the gathering, joining the procession himself towards the front of the crowd in full view of the three leaders. Kate and Alvin shadowed him to the row behind, but even with their close presence, the Quilava couldn’t help but feel put on the spot as the leaders sized them up and the Steelix—Ford of those ‘Terra Tyrants’, he assumed—let out a sharp snort.

“Naturally, we’re not just going to let you come aboard,” the Steelix added. “If you want in, you’re gonna need to impress us.”

Right. Every Outlaw leader in all of Varhyde, and probably the whole world of Wander worth their salt made a point of first getting a feel for their prospective recruits’ strength. And the fastest way of doing that was usually through a quick bout of sparring. Lyle’s ears pricked at the sound of keratin scraping, as he spotted the Samurott of the three stepping forward with a drawn blade and sharp scowl.

“As such, we’ll be testing the mettle of anyone who wishes to join us,” she barked. “You will have one minute to hold out against your choice of one of us in the ring. Should you be overpowered, fail to impress any of us, or just don’t have the guts to put your hide out on the line…”

Parker raised her blade and motioned off towards the edge of the crowd to Lyle’s right. There, a Beheeyem floated forward, and gave a gruff wave back as the otter turned to the gathered Outlaws.

“Roswell here will show you the exit from this Mystery Dungeon,” the Water-type said. “And you can try your luck stealing from marks more appropriate for your skills.”

Myra paused and shook her plumage before looking about the group, her eyes going from one unfamiliar-scarved Pokémon to the other before stopping and shaking her head with a stern frown.

“You new faces in the crowd are being rather quiet right now,” the Staraptor said. “Do we have any first takers?”

Lyle looked about and noticed a few other Pokémon like him in the crowd who weren’t wearing any of the bands’ garb. A few seemed to be uneasy about the challenge and traded worried murmurs and glances, and it was honestly hard to fault them.

All of the Outlaw leaders seemed like formidable sparring partners, and with his acceptance on the line, he honestly didn’t know which of the three was best to challenge. Ford was the obvious choice, but it was unlikely he’d just lucked across those green armor plates. Either they were some sort of trophy, or he’d kept them as a memento from a prior life in the army. Myra was imposing, to say the least, and she’d be able to easily hound him from the air. And Parker… well, it was already obvious what the hurdles for sparring with her would be.

… Where would he even start? Lyle glanced at the others for inspiration, and noticed that even in the midst of his and the other Outlaws’ uncertainty, some of the audience members seemed eager for the challenge. Foremost among them was a Lurantis who strode forward and shot an arrogant grin back at the three Outlaw leaders.

“Yeah, I’ll take a shot at that Samurott!” the Grass-type insisted. “I could beat her with my eyes closed!”

Parker narrowed her eyes, before stepping onto the battlefield and giving a twirl of her unsheathed seamitar, tightening her grip about the hilt and holding it tense.

“Bold words, Lurantis,” she snorted. “Let’s see you back them up.”

The Lurantis stepped onto the battlefield and the pair took their marks at opposite ends of the dividing line, both bracing for battle as the Protect users at the fringes took their positions. Myra and Ford made their way to opposite ends of the battlefield, the Staraptor grasping a small hourglass on the ground with her talons before she spoke up and launched into a countdown.

“Drei… Zwei… Eins… Los!₃” the hawk shouted.

In a flash, the Lurantis lunged forward at the Samurott, bracing his leafy claws for a slash that he aimed at the base of the otter’s neck. The mantis’ strike found its mark and drew a pained bellow, prompting him to hop back and click his mandibles with a self-satisfied chitter.

“Hah! Piece of cake-“

The Lurantis’ confident mood promptly crashed to earth after Parker brought the flat of her seamitar down and clubbed him across his face, sending the mantis flying off his feet and crashing onto his back in the dirt. The Lurantis tried to get up, when an icy ray abruptly sailed in and froze one of his claws to the ground. The Grass-type went wide-eyed, desperately trying to pull himself free when he looked up at an incoming blue blur and saw the otter leaping up and bringing her blades down with an overhead slash and an audible crack.

“AAAAAAAGH!”

Lyle and his companions flinched as they heard the Lurantis’ screams as the blades dug into his thorax, the Water-type pulling them back trailing flecks of yellowish fluid. The Grass-Type’s frozen claw had freed from the ground in the struggle, but his fighting spirit had been wholly depleted as he curled up and tried to shield his wounded thorax with a low whimper. Parker spat some water onto her blades and circled about the felled Lurantis, the hapless mantis desperately trying to scrabble away as she strode forward and threw a paw forward.

The Samurott pulled the Grass-type Outlaw up by the back of his neck, the frightened bug flinching and looking away as he braced for a finishing blow… which never came. Instead, the leader of the Riparian Raiders looked over her foe with disgust for a brief moment, before dropping him to the ground on his stomach and leaving him to look up at the three Outlaw leaders gathering about him.

“Hrmph, I expected as much,” Parker spat. “The Riparian Raiders have no place for idle boasters on it.”

“I’m out too,” Myra scoffed. “You lost me at the whole ‘whimpering on the ground’ moment.”

“Tch, what is this, a Day Care?” Ford growled. “Get up and take a hike already!”

Ford nipped at the back of the Lurantis’ scarf and dragged the Grass-type up onto his feet, the still-shivering Outlaw hobbling off the field as fast as his condition let him for the Beheeyem teleporter at the crowd’s edge. After a moment to roll his eyes at the Lurantis’ now-depleted bravado, the Beheeyem grasped the Grass-type and the pair vanished in a flash, leaving the gathered Outlaws to look a moment at the blank space where the two were, and slowly turn their attention back to the battlefield where Myra shot a sour frown back.

“Any other takers?” the Staraptor demanded. “If you think that this is going to be easy, do yourself a favor and give up right now.”

No immediate reply came and for a second, Lyle worried that the bosses would start forcing matches. Some nervous hems and haws floated about the would-be recruits at the front of the crowd. Some like a Pidgeotto studied the three leaders carefully, trying to gauge who their best sparring partner would be. Others like a visibly unnerved-looking Absol were unsettled by Parker’s brutal opener, and debated with their peers if it was better to withdraw in advance. Lyle noticed Kate and Alvin looking at him uneasily, evidently worried he’d be scared off much the same. The Quilava shook his head and stepped forward as fire flickered to life from his body’s vents.

He had to impress these three, didn’t he? Even if he had to keep himself from shivering and part of him thought this was a terrible idea, fortune did favor the bold, and the boldest thing ‘Lyle the Fleetfoot’ could do right then and there was to dance circles around Parker for a minute.

“I would like a chance to challenge the Samurott.”

Alvin went wide-eyed at his friend’s request, and hurriedly forced his way through the front and up to Lyle’s side. With widened eyes, he brought his free paw down to Lyle’s shoulder and sharply tugged at it.

“Lyle, what are you doing?!” he hissed. “Didn’t you just see what she-?!”

Parker raised a brow at the stoat’s request and twitched her whiskers puzzledly, before shaking her head and narrowing her eyes in reply.

“I would encourage you to learn from others’ mistakes, Quilava,” she huffed. “There isn’t anything you can do that that Lurantis couldn’t.”

… Honestly part of him was regretting this choice already, but the fastest way to make it onto a crew was by putting on an impressive display. And he didn’t have to win against Parker, just hold out for a minute. And the bosses didn’t say anything about how he needed to do that either. The Quilava glanced back at Alvin and gave a brief grunt in reply.

“Alvin, relax. I’ve got this,” he insisted. “Though as for your concerns, Admurai₄…”

Lyle reared up and turned around, facing his back towards the Samurott. The Quilava forced the fire out of the vents on his head and tail, the flames coming out vigorously enough to distort the surrounding air before he looked over his shoulder with a determined scowl.

“Why not give me a chance to try and prove you wrong?” he insisted. “If I fail, then that’s on me, isn’t it?”

Low murmurs went about the gathered Outlaws, as mutters of ‘he’s crazy’, ‘whelp, he’s a goner’, and other doubts of the Quilava’s odds and soundness of mind floated about that he tried his best to block out. Even Alvin and Kate seemed to be alarmed by Lyle’s choice of challenger, as the Marowak attempted to speak up, only to be cut off by a sharp huff from the Samurott as she rolled her eyes and scowled down at her Quilava challenger.

“So be it,” she spat. “But don’t expect addressing me in a polite tone to earn you any leniency. Let’s just hurry this along so we can test more serious candidates.”

Lyle sucked in a sharp breath and stepped onto the battlefield as Parker took her place, as Alvin, looking around and sensing he was too late to make a difference, grudgingly slunk off back for into audience. Lyle felt the fire churn in his belly, his vents flickering anxious, impatient cinders as he sized his opponent up.

Myra and Ford took their places at opposing ends of the battlefield along with the Protect users, as Ford performed the countdown that time. As soon as the Steelix’s rumbling “Los!” left his mouth and Myra flipped the hourglass timer over, the Quilava’s fire sprang to life and he jumped onto his toes, darting side-to-side as the Samurott approached him with her blades drawn.

“I fail to see what you’re doing differently here,” she harrumphed.

Parker abruptly spat up a jet of water at Lyle’s place on the battlefield, the Quilava somersaulting out of the way as he felt stray droplets cling to his pelt and heard a hiss ring out from water that had strayed into his fire. Lyle rolled onto his feet and returned to his rhythmic back and forth, a small smirk spreading over his muzzle as his unease began to dissipate. Beyond getting him a bit wet, the Samurott’s attack had little to show for her effort.

Deep breaths. He might have been out of practice for two years, but he clearly still did a damn good job at living up to his reputation as ‘Lyle the Fleetfoot’.

The otter narrowed her eyes and spat up another Water Pulse, only for Lyle to evade it again. She tried a third time, but the Quilava’s swift feet proved to be his salvation once more as he unexpectedly bobbed and weaved aside from her attacks. The Samurott gave a sharp frown, as she realized that perhaps she’d underestimated her challenger, and barked out in reply.

“Hrmph, it’s certainly a difference, but you won’t land any blows just by running away all the time!”

Parker formed a large orb of water in her mouth, spitting it onto the ground as it fanned out into a spreading mass of water that she leapt onto. The mass churned forward, cresting into a wave that she rode straight towards the Quilava. Lyle froze for a moment as the wave approached, the Samurott coming closer and closer until at the last second, he jumped up, and latched onto her arm as she rode the Surf forward, feeling briny water splash against his pelt as he dug his paws into the Outlaw leader’s hide.

“Gah!”

Lyle hastily clambered up the Samurott’s arm and onto her shoulder as bluish-white fire built in his mouth, the Quilava spitting it down on the otter’s forward shoulders as she audibly winced and looked back to see him, along with a large burn on her back. The Quilava smiled at his handiwork, as the lingering pain from the burn was bound to throw Parker off her game while moving her limbs about, and make her safer for him to approach in close quarters. The Fire-type’s satisfaction proved short-lived, as Parker abruptly bucked her body and attempted to shake her unwelcome passenger loose.

The stoat threw his paws onto the Water-type’s scarf and clung on for dear life, as a few cheers and entertained laughs came from the gathering of Outlaws as in spite of her best efforts, the stoat stubbornly hung on. After a few fruitless attempts to shake him loose, Parker spoke up, her tone evidencing a grudging respect for her furry nuisance.

“Hmph, clever show, Quilava,” she said. “But there’s a vulnerability you’ve been overlooking.”

Lyle felt Parker lurch and tightened his grasp on her scarf, only to look to his left and his eyes to shrink to pins as he saw the ground fast approaching. The next thing he knew, the world abruptly went dark as the Samurott rolled over, the full weight of her body pressing him into the dirt. Lyle yelped and wheezed for air, the light returning to his vision just as a blur of blue passed over him. The Quilava lay on the ground stunned for a moment trying to catch his breath, when he felt a slashing pain dig into his flank and send him airborne.

“A-AAAAH!”

He sailed through the air, watching the ground shrink for about a second, before it rapidly drawing near again and he faceplanted into the dirt. The stoat’s body pinwheeled over to the edge of the battlefield before he felt his back hit something warm and solid. Lyle lay there as his vision ran muddy, and looked up to see the dissipating flash of a Protect barrier and its Azumarill creator looking down at him before pushing him back onto the field. The Quilava let out a dazed groan, hearing the start of a count for time when he heard Alvin and Kate’s voices calling out one after the other.

“Lyle!“

“Come on, get it together!”

Lyle staggered up just as he heard a “Zwei” leave Ford’s mouth, followed by a few startled gasps in the crowd. His fur was still dripping water, and a glance at his right flank revealed ruddy droplets oozing from underneath his pelt. The Quilava panted hoarsely and tried to flare out his flames, only for them to sputter unevenly, a sure sign that Parker’s attack had badly drained him. Enough that he wouldn’t be able to weather a second blow of that sort. Just then, he flinched after a low growl filled his ears, making him turn his attention back down the field just in time to see Parker approach with her blades drawn.

“A better show than the last taker, but I’m afraid things are at their end here,” the otter snorted. “Have at you!”

The Quilava felt his blood run cold as he heard Parker let out a piercing bellow and charge him with her seamitars at the ready. As the Samurott brought her blades down, Lyle spat up smoke from his throat. The Quilava spewed out a cloud of black haze around him and rolled aside just as Parker’s left blade hit the ground with an audible chunk.

Lyle reflexively hopped back from the noise and glanced up to see Parker’s silhouette in the smoke tug at her blade and struggle to free it from the battlefield’s earth. She- She’d left herself open! This was as good of a chance to land a strike as he was going to get!

Without thinking, the Quilava dashed for Parker and lunged up as he neared. The stoat crouched and spat fire at the tip of his snout, leaping forward and diving into it with a wheeling somersault into the side of Parker’s head.

“Grah!”

Parker recoiled and lost her grip on her blade, whirling around to see Lyle having landed behind her panting tiredly. The Samurott shot a sharp glare and let water build up in her throat, ready to deluge her weakened opponent when a loud thud rang out and Ford cried out over the din of battle.

“Time!”

Parker abruptly spluttered, her water coming out inertly and doing little more than to splatter onto the ground. As the Samurott coughed from her fumbled attack, she glanced off at the sidelines to see Ford freeing his tail from the ground, having slammed it to mark the end of the battle. The Samurott stared incredulously, realizing that the full minute had come and gone, before turning back to see Lyle step forward, shooting up a proud, if visibly tired smile back up at her.

“Heh. Sounds like it’s been a minute already, and here I am still standing,” he said. “That proof enough for you that I can handle this job?”

Parker winced from her burn, before yanking her stuck seamitar from the ground and sheathing it with a loud rattle. The Water-type growled and made her way over to a bag waiting on the side of the battlefield, where she fetched a Rawst Berry and shot a sharp glare back in Lyle’s direction.

“Hrmph, you won’t be able to run the clock out like that in the field,” the Water-type snapped. “Your ability to turn a couple gimmicks in your favor isn’t good enough for me to make room for you.”

Lyle blanched and pinned his ears back as his body’s fire ebbed away. Gods, he was such an idiot. All this time, he’d been so focused on just making it through the entire minute against a foe he was disadvantaged against that he’d completely neglected whether or not he’d offend the very Leaders he needed to impress in the process!

The stoat let his eyes fall towards the ground, feeling a sick churn in his stomach when Myra’s voice abruptly spoke up from the sidelines.

“Well, I’ve certainly got a spot for him,” the Staraptor insisted. “The challenge was to last a minute, and he more than delivered.”

Lyle looked up to see Parker turning with a raised brow as Myra stepped onto the battlefield and approached him. Lyle blinked incredulously as the Staraptor neared, the hawk giving a small, guarded smile as she sized him up.

“When Kate told me about you, she just said that you could punch above your weight. Not that you could also fight your way out of a corner,” she said. “Being able to come back from a tough spot like when Parker nicked you there can mean the difference between coming back to camp with loot, or getting staring down the likes of hard labor or conscription.”

“And you’re a gutsy one. That Smokescreen of yours was timed so well that for a second, I thought you had military training,” Ford added. “Here I was thinking you’d take the easy way out and spit some fire my way, but you took on long odds and you made something of ’em.”

The Steelix also slithered out onto the battlefield, much to Parker’s frowning displeasure. Undeterred, Ford looked down, paused a moment in thought, before giving a knowing smile.

“And that’s exactly the sort of talent I need on my Terra Tyrants,” he said. “So, what’ll it be Quilava? Are you feeling like wearing my colors tonight or Myra’s?”

Lyle stared up at the two Outlaws leaders, still somewhat incredulous at the turn of events where he’d gone from worrying if any of the bands would accept him, to having the fortune to choose between two who’d offered him a place in their ranks. The Quilava hesitated a moment, looking back at the crowd behind him where the other Outlaws were already trading impressed murmurs over his performance, when his eyes settled on Kate and Alvin and he mulled his choice.

After a moment’s hesitation, he turned back and looked up at Myra and Ford, and opened his mouth to answer…

---

After casting his lot in with the Terra Tyrants and leaving the battlefield, Lyle had his wounds from sparring treated with an Oran Berry. He’d reflexively frowned at the sight at first, as it looked just like the ones he picked day in and day out. Considering his company, might very well have been one of them. But healing was healing, and he made no protest beyond an occasional wince as the fruit was pressed up against his wound so that its juices could provide gauze and help it seal up. Once that was finished, he dutifully scarfed down its pulp, making sure to wring out the last bits of the berry’s healing properties.

Within an hour, the field of would-be recruits had winnowed to about ten Pokémon of the gang leaders’ liking who were taken on for the night’s raid, with the three bosses sizing up a Golbat who’d successfully made it through a minute-long battle with Myra. Lyle had already given his orange berry picker scarf over to the Terra Tyrants for ‘safekeeping’ and donned one of their green scarves in its stead, still sporting creases in it from being kept folded in storage. The Quilava pawed at his garb from his place in the audience, as Kate shot a teasing grin over at him.

“Having regrets already, huh?” she asked. “After putting on a show dancing around like that, I’m surprised you opted to stick with the slow and plodding group tonight.”

Lyle flattened his ears and turned his head up with a low snort.

“It was a hard choice, alright?” he retorted. “It’s just that I haven’t seen Alvin in two years, and…”

The Marowak shot a sideways glance over at Lyle, when a sharp bark rang out from the center of the encampment.

“Oi, gather round!” Ford bellowed. “We’re starting the briefing!”

There, the bosses were making their way with the Golbat towards a mat with a paper map that had been spread out over it. Lyle and his companions made their way over with the other Outlaws, and as they neared, they saw that various glyphs and lines had been added to a rough map of a path running through grassy fields past a riverbend hemmed in by hills on the other end. The whole of the paper was marked up with colored dots and glyphs denoting each of the three Outlaw bands taking part in the raid that night, with sets of squares in the center denoting their marks and targets.

“Alright everyone,” Myra said. “Tonight, we’re pulling a job that’s riskier than our normal fare, but fortune favors the bold. And if we play things right, we’ll get a bigger payout than we could hope for in full a season of normal work.”

The Staraptor pointed a wing down and followed it along the course of the path to where the squares were drawn on the map, giving it a firm poke before looking up at her audience.

“Tonight, the Roly-Poly Caravan will be sending eight wagons and forty ‘mons southbound on the northern route from Moonturn Square,” Myra explained. “We’re going to pay them a little visit, and help ourselves to their merchandise!”

A few of the Outlaws blinked and traded puzzled frowns with one another at the mention of the ‘Roly-Poly Caravan’. Lyle vaguely recalled hearing the name before, but whenever he did, the first thing he’d heard of the outfit didn’t have anything to do with its members’ strength, but…

“You mean that trading caravan with all the Togedemaru with speech impediments and thing for stupid-sounding names?” a Graveler asked. “That ‘Roly-Poly Caravan’?”

“Psh. We’re jumping through hoops for this big team-up over a bunch of fat rodents?” a Duraludon chimed in. “How tough could they be?”

“Plenty of others have said the same before and found themselves performing hard labor alongside Rothäuter₅ captured from Edialeigh and stripped of their red plates with that sort of attitude. Or else spent the rest of their miserable lives starving away in Apricorns or marched off as cannon fodder for the army,” Parker growled. “I’d strongly encourage you not to be so glib, Duraludon. The Roly-Poly Caravan moves close to half of the material the army ships around here in Varhyde, and they’re second only to those lizards from the Colorswap Consortium in their ability to put up a stiff fight.”

Lyle blanched at the Samurott’s mention of the Colorswap Consortium, and could see the color drain from the faces of a few of the newer recruits in the gathering. The Colorswap Consortium was a network of merchants built around a clan of Kecleon that operated throughout Wander’s lands, and Varhyde was no exception. They were allegedly descended from a founder who lived in the same era as Shiren the Wanderer and other early, folkloric explorers of Mystery Dungeons. And more importantly for ‘mons like him, they were brutally difficult to rob. Even on the rare occasions where a job successfully was pulled off against them, they had a reputation of having the last laugh against ‘mons who wronged them one way or another.

If Parker was mentioning this Caravan in the same breath as them, just how were they supposed to succeed even with the benefit of numbers? Ford seemed to pick up on their misgivings, as he cut in with a sharp harrumph.

“Thankfully for us, those spike balls still have two things they can’t match those Kecleon on,” he insisted. “They aren’t any good chasing down ‘mons off the beaten path, and their fighting spirit crumples up when they get split up and forced to fight on their own.”

“And that’s where our team-up comes in,” Myra said.

The Staraptor pointed off at the three clusters of dots that had been drawn on the map, and took a small hunk of charcoal in her beak, drawing faint lines going from their positions into the mass of squares in the center.

“If we come at them from three directions, we stand better odds at splitting their ranks off into more manageable chunks,” she explained. “The Riparian Raiders will come in from the water, the Terra Tyrants from the hills, and I and my Mistral Marauders from the route behind them…”

As the leaders continued on laying out the battle plans for their impending raid, Lyle drifted off in his thoughts for a moment. He was prodded back to attention by Alvin poking at him with the tip of his bony club, as the Marowak shot an aside glance at him with a quiet frown.

“What was with you earlier, Lyle?” he demanded. “Parker was the hardest opponent you could’ve picked to prove yourself, and you almost lost your chance to take part in this job because of it!”

The Quilava said nothing for a noticeable pause, before flattening his ears and shaking his head back. He wasn’t really sure he had an answer to his friend’s question. But what did it matter anyways at this point?

“Well, I pulled it off,” he scoffed back. “So it’s a bit moot now.”

“Since when were you the type to take risks just to showboat? That’s the sort of thing you used to give Kate an earful about!” the Marowak pressed. “Kate said you wanted to come along, so why would you put yourself on a limb like that?”

Lyle looked away and fell into silent contemplation. … Did he want to be here? After all, he’d been lucky to slip away in the confusion on that fateful night when the Foehn Gang had their encampment raided by guards not far from his hometown of Freeden Village. Many of their compatriots hadn’t been as fortunate.

His family had found out about his… part-time work not long beforehand and thrown him out of the house over it, with his father being particularly offended. The time since then had been a struggle just to eke out enough to get by on his own, even before Nils had found out about his past and started extorting him… and here he was taking the same old risks in the hope that just this once would make enough of a difference to give him a chance to start over again.

No. This wasn’t the same. He’d come in with his back against a wall and with a clearer understanding of what he was getting into. The moment he got what he’d come for, he was out.

“Tch, everything’s a risk, Alvin. Robbing ‘mons out in the fringes isn’t exactly a safe lifestyle, even with numbers to fall back on,” the Fire-type retorted. “It just happened that the reward for this job was good enough to chase.”

“Can’t the same be said for being out on your own?”

Lyle looked up over at Alvin, as his Marowak companion pawed uncomfortably at his shoulder and looked towards the ground in a low voice.

“I mean… Kate said that you weren’t really doing well on your own when she found you,” he murmured. “And your family at least had to find out you were robbing ‘mons on routes before they cut you off…”

Lyle quirked a brow back at the Ground-type. Alvin never liked talking much about his family life, but from what he’d been able to gather back in the Foehn Gang, he was the youngest child of three who’d grown up without his mother, and under the care of a father that didn’t particularly care for him. He had… suspicions given Alvin’s species for how that’d all came to pass, but he never had the heart to pry deeper. Tonight would be no different as whatever thoughts Lyle had to continue the topic were dispelled by Alvin shaking his head and looking back up at him with a small smile.

“But now that you’re here, things don’t have to be like that!” he insisted. “I mean, the Terra Tyrants aren’t the Foehn Gang, but they still provide something to lean on. And we can watch each others’ backs just like old times!”

Lyle looked back at his old friend and couldn’t help but feel his features soften and find himself smiling back. Yes this was a giant risk, and part of him was still screaming that it was a stupid idea. But here in this Pocket, in this encampment here with Alvin and Kate and these other Outlaws, he found himself at ease again. He didn’t need to worry about the Oran field, or Nils, or how to stretch his meager pay to make ends meet, or the world that was falling apart around him. It was just him, his friends, and their allies plotting together in search of a fresh score… just like those happier days gone by that he kept finding himself revisiting.

“Hey princess!” Ford’s voice cried.

“Huh?!”

Lyle jolted up and let his vents flicker to life with a start. The Quilava looked over to see Alvin stiffen up and turn to attention, and followed suit to see Ford scowling down at him with an impatient glare.

“Try to pretend you’re paying attention here!” the Steelix snapped, making Alvin bow apologetically and stammer back in affirmation.

“U-Understood, boss!”

The Steel-type turned back to the map on the mat, the three looking at each other for a moment before drifting away. Parker shook her head, and stepped forward to address the gathered Outlaws.

“Mrph, we’ll cover more detailed strategies as part of your assignments,” she said. “Before we split up to handle them, I think it’s about time we set down a few ground rules.”

Lyle remained tightly focused on the leaders as they approached. He’d been through such briefings during past team-ups with other crews. Times when the ringleaders would remind their subordinates of what their roles were and what was expected of them. Myra was the first to speak that night, as she strode to the forefront of her peers.

“First off, remember that we’re in this to rob those ‘mons. Focus on grabbing what you can fence or use for yourself, and don’t waste time on stuff that’ll raise questions or bog you down,” the Staraptor said. “If you can’t take it, break it so it can’t be used against you.”

Lyle thought nothing of the Staraptor’s demand, as he’d heard it before many times in the past, and it made a sort of sense. A mark that limped back to town with naught but the hide on his body couldn’t come back to bite a ‘mon. In the background, Ford clamped onto an empty barrel and rolled it forward, stopping it in full view of the crowd as a dark, serious expression settled over his face.

“Second. It should go without saying, but don’t double-cross us,” he added. “The only reason we can even think about taking on those Togedemaru tonight is because we’re all working together. And if anyone gets any cute ideas…”

The Steelix tensed his tail as a gleaming sheen glinted along its contours, before he brought it down on the barrel and dashed it into splinters. Chunks of wood flew by the feet of the front of the crowd as a few Outlaws who had more sensitive ears flinched from the noise. Ford pulled back his tail, and narrowed his eyes with a low, threatening growl.

“Trust me, it won’t end well for them,” he snarled. “This isn’t the army. If we have to take someone apart, it’s gonna happen nice and slow.”

Lyle couldn’t help but shiver at Ford’s threat, but it was simple nature. A cornered ‘mon would lash out, and one risking life and limb for a score was no exception. No matter what side of the law a ‘mon was on, there were few creatures lower than a traitor, and Outlaws rewarded theirs in much the same fashion as their foes outside the underworld did, if not with greater viciousness. If someone in the crowd tonight was really prepared to sell the lot of them out, he had to admit he wouldn’t lose that much sleep over sending the rotter to the Spirit World if it was his hide on the line.

Lyle shook his head to try and get off of the darker train of thought. A sharp huff turned his attention back to the leaders where Parker had taken center stage, and looked about the gathering before speaking up herself.

“Lastly, keep your eyes sharp on the job and look out for your partners… within reason. At the end of the day everyone here wants to get paid and not get caught,” she added. “I’m not holding up the rest of my gang to save your sorry tail if we have to retreat and neither will anyone else. So don’t sit around waiting to be helped and know when you’re getting yourself in over your head.”

Lyle bit his lip at the otter’s words as the precarity of his situation was thrown back into sharp relief. They were bands of Outlaws, not a charity. They were here to make money, and in dirty, dangerous fashion. If the choice came down to helping a struggling comrade or getting away… well, an Outlaw couldn’t spend ill-gotten gains if captured, and the guards didn’t cut any breaks for altruism for the Outlaws they did catch. Lyle shook his head uncomfortably, breathing in quietly as Myra looked about the group, before pointing a wing out at the gathered brigands.

“So what do you all say?” Myra asked. “Everyone clear about how this is gonna work? And are you all ready to stick it to those rodents tonight?”

The Staraptor was met by a chorus of ‘ayes’ and bays of affirmation from the Outlaws, a few whipping themselves up with calls of ‘those rats won’t know what hit ’em’ and similar jeers. The hawk shook her head, before giving a knowing smirk back at the surrounding thieves.

“That’s just what we wanted to hear.”