Dungeon 2 – Heart of Steel

In the middle of the night, a Druddigon ran through the streets of a warren-like industrial district, the steamy air of surrounding factories penetrated the dragon’s nostrils, and he tried assessing his surroundings to see if any of the large, buildings around him could be used as a hideout.

Blood dripped from his arms as his heart throbbed. The Pokémon looked back to make sure there was no one following him before he stopped to catch his breath in a nearby alley. 

Panting, he leaned against the wall, grumbling to himself. Whatever was chasing him, Razor thought it should be far gone by now, and his racing heart could ease a bit. 

It wasn’t an ideal situation by any means, and to add insult to injury, the Pokémon heard something crawling near him. It came accompanied by the clicking of metal, and the mere sound made the dragon think he was in danger again.

The dragon’s heart skipped a beat. He was desperate. The Druddigon opened his mouth, fire flickering inside of it. He was prepared to attack whatever was chasing him.

“W-Whoever you are, show yourself! I’m not a-afraid of you!” the reptile insisted.

No response. In spite of his insistence, the Druddigon trembled with fear, and his eyes darted around the darkened alley. His assailant was still out there, he knew it, and the taunting silence did little to soothe his fraying nerves. The Dragon-type raised his head and called out to the unseen presence, perhaps a gift would appease it.

“My job gave me a lot of money! I can give twice as much as your contractor promised! No—triple!” He yelled, trying to reason with his hidden attacker. “Th-That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Just take it and please don’t kill me!”

In the air, a pair of black eyes appeared, and as soon as the Druddigon turned his face to look at it, his body went rigid out of sheer fright. 

No matter how he tried or how much strength he tried to summon, his body simply wouldn’t move. The Druddigon realized that the momentary distraction he suffered got him hit by what he assumed to be Mean Look. It certainly felt like one, since he’d been left paralyzed.

“Well, I could spare you, Razor… but our team doesn’t like to leave a job unfinished,” an unseen voice answered.

His first reaction was to turn his head and try to find where the voice came from. The Dragon-type used all the strength he could muster to try and break free from his paralysis, pleading all the while with the voice in the shadows.

“I-I’m just trying to become the mayor of this city! Bright Dawn needs a new leader! P-Please, I’m begging you!”

A pink energy blade appeared in the air, though Razor didn’t recognize the move at first, mesmerized by the sight and petrified over what it could do to him. 

Razor’s eyes shot wide as the blade zipped forward and sank into his chest. He was left dumbstruck as his scales around where the blade struck him were cleaved off and fell to the ground, and in the blink of an eye, his chest began to leak with blood, the blade dissipating into the air. Razor clutched at his chest, coughing up blood and gasping for air. He panted as he tried to follow where the blade came from, where he could vaguely see a lurking shape. 

“W-Who… are you?”

Razor trembled, barely able to force his wounded body to stand up. There off in the shadows, the silhouette of a large, bipedal Pokémon could be seen approaching, and with each step it took, Razor heard the noise of metal clicking.

“Aren’t you quite the chatterbox? My name is Flint. My… associates and I are called the ‘Heart of Steel’,” the shadowy figure scoffed. “Not that any of this matters, since you won’t be alive to tell anyone else about it. But I found it amusing to at least answer your question.”

The Druddigon politician squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look, just in time to see the voice’s owner emerge from the shadows. The lamp above the two of them lit up, revealing the assailant: a Bisharp.

At first, Razor failed to recognize who the Steel-type was, but the situation he was in caused memories of rumors he heard to flood back. The way he was attacked, how Bisharp talked, the name of his organization… it all made sense now.

“The Heart of Steel Crew…” he murmured. “I’ve heard of you, you’re a mercenary band of all Steel-types… there isn’t any job you won’t do for the right price.”

“You’ve heard of us…? I must admit, it’s quite flattering,” the Bisharp noted, smiling. “Even in your world, it seems our reputation precedes us.”

It was then that Razor understood the circumstances he was in. By now he figured Flint could not be bribed, and his membership in the Heart of Steel Crew only confirmed it. But he was a Steel-type, one frailer against energy-based attacks at that. 

If he could somehow torch that Bisharp, then… then he could escape! He could get help and put this entire nightmare of a night behind him!

Razor used all his strength to get up. Flames crackled inside his snout, alongside a puff of smoke from his nostrils, and he spat out a brilliant gout of fire at the Bisharp.

The dragon’s sudden attack lit up the entire area, engulfing everything in its path, Razor’s heart skipping a beat. Had he hit the mercenary? After the smoke dissipated, Razor saw the criminal’s body disintegrating entirely and smiled out of relief.

His happiness was short-lived, as the light from the fire and the lamp quickly made it apparent that the Bisharp he hit had a translucent body, almost invisible. It wasn’t Flint he’d hit, but…

“Ah! He used Substitute!” Razor cried. The Druddigon’s hopes sank, as he felt a chill settle over his body from the blood he’d already lost. 

“Your talent for spot analyses is impressive. Then again, it’s to be expected,” Flint’s voice said. “I doubt you’d have gotten the idea to run for mayor without it. Shame that talent didn’t save you now.”

Razor whirled about, realizing the voice was coming from the opposite direction of the Substitute. The Druddigon attempted to try and attack again, only for his injuries to catch up with him and send him slumping to the ground on his back, with slow labored breaths.

“Though I suppose that’s the same sort of oversight that made you overlook the fact that Psycho Cut is a move with greater odds of leaving critical damage on its targets,” Flint sneered. 

“I used it on you for a reason . After all, dragons may be powerful targets to take down, but they’re not invincible”

Razor looked up at Flint, coughing more blood as he tried extending his arm towards the crook. He knew very well that his pleas would likely prove futile, but he opted to try and appeal to the Bisharp’s heart once again. It was more than just his own self-preservation, Razor wanted to see that child he held dear again, even if it meant giving up on his dream .

“Please… I beg you, spare my life…” Razor croaked. “Whatever you and your companions want, I’ll give it to you…”

Flint merely rolled his eyes at the pathetic sight beneath him.

“Hmph, I’m surprised you wasted your breath on that sorry show. If it was that buffoon of an Empoleon handling this job, maybe he’d take you up on your offer,” Flint scoffed. “But unfortunately for you, I’m not him. I’ve seen every job I accepted through, and I intend to keep it that way.”

In a mere flick of his arms, Flint cut through the air, generating a wind blade aimed at the dragon’s throat. For a brief moment, the alleyway filled with Razor’s screams, followed by the sound of slicing wind, and then silence. The Bisharp snatched a blue scale off the ground from beside a puddle of pooling blood and took a quick glance around, before setting his gaze on an open entrance to the city’s sewers. The perfect spot to tie up his mission’s loose ends.

---

In another area of Bright Dawn was a bar. Dingy, dirty, and reeking of beer even from its nondescript entrance. The inside was little better, with several wanted posters hanging on the walls, a testament to the nature of its customers. In spite of seemingly going out of its way to repulse would-be customers, even at the late hour, the place was patronized by an assortment of Pokémon of different colors and kinds. 

While some of the patrons wiled away their time drinking and talking with each other, this particular bar carried a strangely business-like atmosphere. It was especially around a mission board in the wall near the bartender, one that some other patrons were scanning. 

Much like the Hero Guild, the board was riddled with requests of various natures, problems that needed to be made to go away for a price. However, their intended audience was not Rescue Teams like in a guild, but mercenaries who wished to find jobs. 

Among them were an Empoleon and Aggron, sitting on one of the tables that were closest to the bar, and talking between sips of beer from a pair of tall glasses. Unlike the other patrons, neither of the two bothered to pay attention to the board, but traded pointed banter with each other.

“Stop being a whiny baby, Napoleon,” the Aggron chortled, looking at his companion. “With how much of a greedy bastard you are, you know damn well you’re gonna jeopardize the mission!”

“More like you were too scared to give me a chance, Atlas.” the Empoleon grumbled, drinking some more of the beer. “C’mon, when was the last time we had an opportunity like this? We get paid a shit ton of money and make a killing in the process! Did you really think that I wouldn’t want a chance at a job like that?”

Atlas rolled his eyes and snarled, his tail thumping loudly on the wooden floor.

“No, but I expected you to be realistic about things. Flint is stealthy and effective, we both know he’d fulfill the task to perfection,” Atlas said while placing the glass on the table. “ Next time I’ll let you go after our target. But sometimes, the mission picks the ‘mon. You should already know that, Napoleon.” 

“Whatever,” Napoleon grumbled back. “Mayor Prometheus paid us a huge amount of money for this first job… I suppose I just wanted more to do than just sitting around and blowing my share of it here on drinks.”

While the two were busy bickering, Flint entered the bar to cheers and hollers from the other patrons, something he promptly ignored. He’d just kinda gotten used to the attention, like ‘mons in a guild, even mercenaries had their heroes and idols they cheered on, and such was life when he was one of the most accomplished regulars at the bar. 

Besides, he didn’t do his missions for fame anyway, proving himself efficient and enjoying the thrill of the combat was far better. Then he heard his team talking about the mission and soon stood behind Napoleon.

“Tch, you two need to learn a thing or two about talking softly. Even with the normal welcoming committee, I could hear you two going at it the moment I set foot in here,” the Pokémon said. Flint approached the team, claiming an empty chair at Atlas and Napoleon’s table as he settled in and glared at them.

“You were talking about me, right?” he asked. “Something the matter?”

“Yeah, apparently Atlas thinks I’m some little kid who can’t think past seeing a couple coins when being offered a mission…” The penguin said, taking another sip.

“And is he wrong by any chance?” Flint couldn’t help but snort, tapping Napoleon’s arm playfully. “Anyway, it was an easy job, Atlas. Razor’s dead, and it’ll be a while before anyone finds his body. Next time, get me a more challenging mission than that. Napoleon honestly could’ve handled that one.”

The Bisharp took his time to tease his teammate, who could only blush and grunt in annoyance.

Atlas let out a loud laugh and nodded. “Probably. You never know with a ‘mon like him who only sees the bottom line on his missions.”

The Empoleon shot an annoyed frown back as Atlas finished his beer. The Aggron set aside his glass before opening his backpack and dropped some coins onto the table. Afterwards, he got up, looking down at his companions.

“Well, I’ll take your two requests into consideration.” The steel-headed reptile said. “As long as Napoleon there doesn’t mess things up for us, alright? Who knows, if you behave I might give you a bigger allowance to work with…”

“Well, thanks, dad! ” the Empoleon retorted. An annoyed look settled on the penguin’s face, begrudgingly waving to Atlas as he left.

“I actually should be headed off myself, I have to pick up the reward with our client,” Flint sighed, a neutral look back at the Empoleon. “Just don’t get too drunk tonight, Napoleon. I’m not coming back to carry you out of here.” 

“Well, I’m not makin’ any promises on that front. If I do get sloshed, guess I’ll stay here a little longer than planned!” He laughed, waving to the waiter to order another glass.

Flint shrugged the comments off, there were better things to do than humor his teammate, after all. And besides, he had places to be in. 

With that in mind, he left the bar, the light of the moon shining on his body. Flint then looked to the right, before walking off down the dimly-lit street.

---

The Bisharp continued on his way, passing through one street. If it wasn’t nighttime, he’d have stopped to pick up supplies for their missions… and some groceries. Even mercenaries had to eat, and he was pretty sure the refrigerator at their [BASE] was running empty again.

Though then again, even if he could, did[ it make sense to do shopping for the team? Flint could’ve sworn it was Napoleon or Atlas’ day to handle the team’s shopping. 

Hm. Speaking of shopping, I think my day to buy our food is tomorrow. No take-out, though. That’s for peasants.

Now with a clear mind, he strolled towards the city hall building, making his way over through the less well-lit parts of the city. 

At this late hour, few Pokémon were out of their homes, and most of those who were, were out amusing themselves indoors in the likes of bars. 

There shouldn’t be many witnesses to see him moving around. If the police investigated, Flint could do worse than having most of the witnesses they would come across either being drunk or tired when they saw him.

“Hrmph, I dunno why I’m worrying so much,” He muttered to himself. “If anything goes really sideways, I doubt Atlas would be too angry if someone were to blame that fat Empoleon.”

The icy wind blew on Flint’s body while the Pokémon walked in silence, in the distance, smoke steamed from tall chimneys coming from factories in Bright Dawn’s industrial districts.

A few steps later, Flint arrived at the huge building that was the city hall, containing several floors and tempered glass in order to protect the inside from most attacks. An impressive piece of architecture , he thought to himself.

Flint didn’t linger too long in front of the city hall, he was here for business, not to admire its construction. He entered the building and was met by a hallway full of chairs and a receptionist that was entranced with a book. While she wasn’t really impressed by Flint’s sudden appearance, she seemed little surprised that he came in this late.

“Good evening, Secretary Jane,” Flint greeted. “Wouldn’t have expected you to still be on the job at this hour, but I guess life’s just full of surprises.”

“Do you have an appointment?” The Gothitelle spoke rigidly.

“I do, actually, and you know it.” Flint answered. “Tell the mayor that Flint’s here for him.”

The Psychic-type picked up a wired phone from the desk, typing some numbers on the keypad. Once she received an answer, she briefly described the Pokémon who had entered the building.

“He’s just up the stairs, sir.” She said, writing some things in a notebook. “Mayor Prometheus has been expecting you.”

Flint went up the well-clean stairs, and he straightened his posture to be as respectful as he could. He wasn’t much for ceremony, but leaving positive impressions on their clients was also part of his job. And with a client who was such an important figure, it was best not to give him anything to complain about.

“Come on in!” A voice from inside the room said.

Flint opened the door and entered the office. The place was wide, having a portrait of Bright Dawn’s Alakazam mayor on the wall, and a large, comfortable chair for any visitor. He could even see the other side of the city through the window. 

True to Secretary Jane’s words, the Alakazam mayor  was there waiting for him, seated behind his desk with a glass of wine in his hand. All the while, the Psychic-type simply stared at the Bisharp with a neutral expression, rubbing his mustache. 

Flint drew near and bowed to the mayor and opened his hand, showing a single blue scale.

 “Mayor Prometheus. As you requested, the job is done with proof of completion,” He stated, not showing any signs of remorse after the murder. “It’s from his tail. You won’t find another Druddigon in all of Bright Dawn missing one like him until his corpse turns up.”

“Good to know… I presume there were no witnesses when you took care of my little errand?” The Alakazam asked, taking some more of the drink.

“I threw his body in the sewers and there are not many Pokémon out in town at this time.” He nodded, putting the scale on the mayor’s desk. “And those that are awake right now should hardly matter for this.”

Prometheus touched the scale, it was blue and hard to the touch, just like a real dragon’s.

“Right… I thank you for the job well done,” the Alakazam remarked. “And I see that I can count on your Heart of Steel Crew to make good on a contract.”

The mayor put the glass on the table, opened a drawer, and took out a closed envelope. Flint smirked, his eyes almost sparkling at the sight of his reward for a job well-done.

“Of course you can. If you wish to use our services again in the future, we will be there to see through any missions to our clients’ satisfaction. Our record should speak for itself: it’s only once in a blue moon that we’re not able to deliver on a contract,” the Bisharp said. “As for when our paths will cross again, I’m sure we’ll meet soon. Atlas was admittedly a bit wary of accepting this mission, but I’m sure I can convince him to come around.”

Flint then approached the table, taking the envelope and putting it in his backpack. He took another, quick look at Prometheus and offered his hand, to which Prometheus shook it.

“Especially with this sort of generosity,” Flint remarked. “If you want to hire us again, you know where to find us.”

At that, the Bisharp left, slipping out of the office going on his way back into the shadows of Bright Dawn.