A Compromised Existence

After hours of trekking, Team Venture was finally back at Treasure City. Knowing they would look out of place in the affluent southern boroughs, they tried their hands at the north. The first they reached was Butterfield, tucked in the very northeast of the city on the banks of the River Labor.

It was one of the newest, established to house fishermen, mills, warehouses and crop traders from the nearby settlement of Capim City. Its age and economic status were already abundantly clear in the first street Surge and Rhyzo traversed. It was a narrow strip wedged between rows of rickety brick buildings. For every architectural grotesque, there was another dirty tent to match, filling whatever space was left.

Surge and Rhyzo shuffled past an obstacle course of crowds. From a free-range Bagon to a Lokix with a missing limb, from a Gloom with a trail of hungry children behind her to a Bronzong with patches of rust, destitute denizens in a variety of types and bodies thronged the street.

The street was dark; devoid of a reliable light source. Surge’s Aura vision burst into life. The cloaked surroundings in his eyes became a canvas of Aura signatures. The sheer diversity of bright colors startled him like a camera flash. He focused his breathing to get used to an abundance of signatures. No matter how much he decompressed, something was tearing at him from within.

The snarl in Surge’s stomach had become a thunderstorm wailing for food. Back in the outskirts, he had tried a lunch of leaves and legumes, but it was rejected and banished by his digestive system. Rhyzo disclosed the truth, he was a carnivore and he needed the meat of ferals. It was another blow to his vow of non-violence.

“Surge, have you found a meat shop yet?” Rhyzo said.

“No. I’m looking around.”

“Serves your stupidity right. Why can’t you check the sides of the street?”

“Why don’t we ask some-Ow!”

Surge bumped into the back of a Crawdaunt. The Crawdaunt, who smelled like a murky river, turned to him and said. “Watch where you’re going, city slicker!”

“Excuse me, do you know of a meat shop around here?” Surge asked.

“I dunno. I have no use for a meat shop.” The Crawdaunt left him in haste.

“Why don’t you ask another carnivore?” Rhyzo suggested.

Amidst the crowds, Surge approached a pair of Poochyena and learned of a Sneasel’s meat shop on the left side of the street. They crossed a ditch of junk to reach the scanty pavement on the left. He guided Rhyzo through obstacles with the help of his Aura vision while the Rhydon kept an eye out for a Sneasel.

After a short walk, they arrived at the meat shop. It was a small cubicle frosted with ice. Skinned ferals of common species like Rattata and Wingull were displayed on the shelves, preserved in blocks of ice. The Sneasel butcher, standing atop a tall stool, welcomed Team Venture.

“Hey, butcher,” Rhyzo began, feeling the shop’s temperature rustle against his hide. “I want one pound of Rattata for my friend Surge. He’s famished to his ribs!”

The Sneasel took a glance at an uneasy Surge. Noticing the Pecha Scarf around his neck and the Blowback Orb in his paws, he asked. “Are you dungeoneers?”

“Yes.” Rhyzo gave a blunt half-truth. “A criminal stole all our money. We’re broke now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Why don’t you open your bank accounts? Anyway, one pound of Rattata is 20 golds.”

Bank accounts?! On us?! “We don’t have ’em. Instead, we have this.” Rhyzo plucked one of the gold ore pieces from his spikes and placed it on the counter.

The Sneasel blinked at the ore. “Gold ore…? Seriously?”

Rhyzo nodded.

“Let me tell you something.” The Sneasel rested his arm on the counter and lowered his voice. “I’ve been offered gold ore before. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Really?” muttered Rhyzo. That’s a glimmer of hope. “Who did it?”

“An unauthorized dungeoneer.”

Someone who shares my plight? “What did you do about it?”

“I called the cops.”

Mewdamn it! Rhyzo’s visage sank. Guess I should tread this with extra care. “Anyway, will you please accept this ore?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t accept ores.”

Now what do I do? I can’t let Surge starve to death. No matter how sucky he is at battling, I still need him! If he’s adapted well enough to guide me through this hive under darkness, he’s got potential.

“Hey.” The Sneasel pointed to the Blowback Orb. “Why don’t you sell that Wonder Orb and use the funds to buy my meat? You’ll get a week’s worth of savings.”

Hell yes! Rhyzo grinned.

“Would you like to buy the orb?” Surge opened his mouth and showed the orb.

“No. I’m sorry.” The Sneasel shook his head. “I don’t have any uses for it. But there’s a swap shop right opposite here. You’ll certainly get a buyer there.”

“Thanks, Sneasel,” Surge said with restraint.

“We’ll be back soon,” Rhyzo assured.

Team Venture crossed the street and arrived at the right side. The swap shop was waiting in front of them. It was a collection of assorted items arranged haphazardly on an old sheet of cloth. A Klefki presided over the sheet, greeting Team Venture with a jingle of her keys.

What’s this? A living object selling objects? Surge thought, grasping the Blowback Orb. He showed the orb to the Klefki and asked. “I would like to sell this Wonder Orb. How much will you pay for it?”

The Klefki inspected the pristine glass of the orb. “When did you find it?”

“Today.”

“Ooh, a brand new one!” the Klefki piped. “It’s worth 300 golds.” She handed (or rather, keyed) over a bag of coins to Surge.

Surge accepted the bag. “Thank you, madam.”

“‘Madam’ is an odd term, but I value your patronage, Lucario.” Isn’t it upper-class slang?

Team Venture returned to the meat shop and offered 20 golds to the Sneasel. The Sneasel took out a slab of Rattata meat, cut it into neat chunks with his claws, froze the chunks in a block of ice, put the block in a wooden box and gave the box to Rhyzo. Team Venture left the meat shop and set out on a house hunt.

---

The night had meandered, and Team Venture was still plodding across the street. Whatever dwellings they found were either dilapidated, crammed with oversized families, tiny, or a combination of the above three. The air was getting colder and sleeping on the street posed a risk of capture.

On the way, they passed by a Machoke in the middle of the pavement wrapped in a dusty blanket. Surge couldn’t help but contemplate this display of peaceful slumber in the epicenter of deprivation, ignoring the aches on his feet. What held back their fortunes? What hardships and tragedies did they endure? His thoughts mirrored the circumstances of his own predicament.

Surge was an outsider to his past, much like himself to the Machoke’s. Common knowledge like Pokemon species and types was an uphill task to assimilate because of its complexity. It was something he could have learned in his lost childhood like math and languages. He had no memory of past allies or loved ones to return to and retrieve some fragments. He was alone, abandoned in the lowest rungs of society with only a dubious Rhydon to guide him.

“Hey, get your mind back here!” Rhyzo hissed. “Why did you stop looking around? My night vision sucks.”

“Sorry,” Surge muttered. “I’ll look behind.” He turned around and searched for gaps between the clusters of Aura signatures which represented occupants. He found a particularly large gap to his right and told Rhyzo about it.

“Look what your wandering brain has done. You could have left that valuable space behind! And someone else would have caught that space in our place.”

Team Venture trotted to the open space. Rhyzo brushed his hooves against the bare soil, feeling a smattering of grass blades. “I’ll make a burrow here,” he declared. “Stay away or you’ll get mud all over your fur.” He gave Surge the box of frozen meat.

Rhyzo threw his body to the ground. He gripped the soil with his claws and activated his spinning horn. He curled into a Drill Run and bored into the ground, leaving flying specks of soil in his wake. Surge heard the whirr of his horn from a distance, appreciating the creative uses of attacking moves.

After the whirr had abated, Rhyzo clambered out of the new entrance and called. “Surge, come here.”

Surge went to the entrance and found mud all over Rhyzo’s body. “You’re splattered in dirt. What will you do?”

“It’s nothing to me,” he said casually, bearing a fanged grin. “I like mud baths. They keep my hide healthy.”

“Mud keeps you healthy?” Surge remarked in light amusement. “You’re a Ground-type after all.”

“I need a favor. Can you use your Metal Claw as a torch? I’ll follow you.”

“Sure.” Surge returned the meat box to Rhyzo. He raised his paw and a Metal Claw sprang from its spike. Held back by its insufficient light, he lowered his arm and made out a stairway under the ground.

Surge carefully descended the stairway, illuminating each step one by one. Rhyzo held his other paw, dragging his hooves along the stone steps to check for edges. They reached the floor of their new cave and Surge looked around. All was darkness, except for himself and Rhyzo. He realized Aura vision didn’t work on non-living things.

“Damn, I forgot to get firewood,” said Rhyzo. “Will you lead me back up once more?”

Surge brought Rhyzo out of the tunnel in mild exasperation. He returned to the cave after Rhyzo passed the box back and left. Unable to see anything but his own signature, he rested against the cave’s walls and closed his eyes, giving a well-earned break to his feet.

After a bout of serenity, a thud from above roused Surge. He flashed his Metal Claw at the entrance and found Rhyzo holding…an uprooted tree?!

“You said you’ll fetch mere firewood…” Surge commented, hearing leaves rustle outside.

“I’ve got a week’s worth of it.” Rhyzo struggled to squeeze the tree’s branches into the cave. “Surge, will you cut off the tree’s branches?”

Again, they went outside. Surge removed all of the branches with Metal Claw. The tree’s trunk and branches were brought into the cave.

“Do you remember how to make a fire?” Rhyzo asked, more relaxed than he was at Drenched Bluff.

“Yes,” Surge said in relief. “It’s one of the few things I can recollect from my past.”

“Bring it on!” Rhyzo arranged a heap of trimmed branches in the middle of the cave. He gave a flintstone to Surge.

Surge scraped the flintstone against the edge of the heap. A blaze emanated, embracing the whole cave in a warm light. The heap of branches became a small bonfire.

Rhyzo casted a slab of rock beside the bonfire and used it as a seat. He observed the lit surroundings, a hollow cocoon of stone as large as an average bedroom. The frugal atmosphere only enhanced the smile across his jaws, a rare moment of softness. Here he was beginning a happier life with an ally by his side; it could have been even better without the realities he was kept in the dark about. He was liberated. Unchained. Far away from those horrible, horrible Renegades…

“What are you smiling about?” Surge expressed in contentment, surprised by his serene emotion.

“Huh?!” gasped Rhyzo. “I smiled?”

“Yes. You should smile more often. Be calmer, more willing to accept the opinions of others, and more mindful of your temper.”

“I’ll gladly smile more,” Rhyzo bragged, “if I didn’t have all the shit Team Renegade dumped on my shoulders!” His voice took a sharp turn to his usual rock-hard growl.

“You’re already far away from them. Why don’t you live in the present?”

“We’re on a quest. I will not rest until justice is served to those lowlifes.”

“I appreciate your commitment, but you could drown in your own hate. Make sure to cherish the little gems of life you were deprived of. Like this bonfire.”

“I already am. Remember the view from Pinkerton Guild?” Rhyzo’s voice lightened again.

“Yes.” Surge closed his eyes and cracked a smile of his own.

“Hey, you forgot about your hunger.” Rhyzo pointed out.

“Oh,” Surge stated in apathy. He brought the meat box from the corner.

“What’s with the long face? Where’s your appetite?”

“Being a carnivore feels…” he said with guilt, placing the box near the fire. “…wrong. I am forced to sacrifice a life to satisfy my diet.”

“They’re just ferals,” Rhyzo scoffed. “Not even endangered ones at that. Every Lucario eats ferals. Look at Hado Ironfist, the badass leader of Team Evolution. Does eating meat diminish his status as the greatest active dungeoneer today? Not one damn iota.”

“So much for a heroic species.” Surge tossed a little piece of sarcasm as he sat on the ground.

“Sir Phyton the Grovyle is a meat-eater too. That doesn’t make the public turn against a former ally of Team Pokepals who helped prevent time from freezing over.”

“You mean to say that eating ferals is an accepted practice?”

“Yeah. Even you must have eaten Rattata or Pidgey sometime in your lost past. Your amnesia’s screwing you.”

“I understand now, Rhyzo,” Surge conceded. “How would I live to see today without any malnutrition otherwise?” He opened the box and saw the Rattata meat preserved in ice. With a lighted stick of wood, he melted the ice. He inserted the stick into one of the meat chunks and smoked it over the bonfire. Once the meat attained a bronze color, he slowly brought it to his snout and took a measured bite.

He chewed the meat with caution. It was lean, firm and mild, similar to a foodstuff he couldn’t recall.

“What does it taste like?” Rhyzo asked.

“It’s average, for lack of a better term,” Surge said after he swallowed the meat. “Not too undercooked, not too overcooked. It’s just a means to attain the nutrients I need.”

“You sound like a scholar.”

Surge’s hunger, long neglected, yanked the strings within. He found himself cooking and wolfing down every meat piece. Did survival instinct override his ethical challenges? In no time, the box was emptied, leaving only water behind. He finished his dinner with a few licks of water from the box.

“Would you like some water?” Surge offered the half-full box to Rhyzo.

“You’ve got me thinking of dinner too.” Rhyzo plucked some leafy branches from the felled tree. “I’d browsed my fill after the exploration, but all this walking and talking burned it off.” He ripped every leaf off the branch with his fangs.

“Do you eat meat?” Surge asked as he watched Rhyzo shear leaves faster than a Munchlax.

“I don’t. I’m a herbivore.”

“I would’ve liked to be a herbivorous Pokemon.”

“You already have a metric crapton of resistances and Aura vision. Deal with it.” After he was full, Rhyzo grabbed the box and gulped the remaining water in it.

“Dinner is done,” Surge said with finality. “Now we can go to sleep.”

“No,” Rhyzo rebutted, burying the gold ore pieces in one corner of the cave. “We must plan our next mission first.”

“Alright,” Surge agreed, sitting patiently.

“Give me that bag of coins.”

Surge untied the string which held the bag around his arm. Rhyzo accepted it and buried it in another corner.

“Would you like to store this?” Surge showed his Pecha Scarf.

“No. Keep it.”

Rhyzo settled down in his rock seat and began. “We don’t need to wake up early tomorrow. We’ll go to Drenched Bluff at night.”

“A nocturnal mission? Why?”

“To avoid those pesky dungeoneers who might catch us on sight.”

Surge nodded. “Why are we going to the same dungeon again?”

“To get what’s inside the fountain at the top. Everyone’s checking it. There must be something valuable in there.”

“What will we do in the day then?”

“Simple. You will sharpen up your battling skills. No Lucario chucks Aura Spheres at their own allies, makes glaring misses with long-ass Metal Claws or slips with every Quick Attack.”

What’s the deal with my species? Surge questioned, looking at his paw spikes. Am I destined to be an invincible seeker of justice just because I can sense and manipulate Aura? It’s too much.

His eyes roamed the dancing bonfire-lit walls. I’d help anybody in need, but extending this to every Pokemon on the planet is a tall task. How do I devote my whole life to facing unspeakable evils, witnessing the traumas of innocents and battling vile criminals?

“Your mind’s wandering again, Surge.” Rhyzo snapped him out of his plight.

“Rhyzo, I have something to say,” Surge slowly began, his eyes drooping. “Are Lucario naturally fighters?”

“Of course. You’re a Fighting-type to begin with. You lack the take-no-crap attitude Fighting-types are renowned for. I bet your amnesia’s holding you back.”

Surge stared and blinked at Rhyzo’s angular eyes.

“You’ll get over it quickly,” he encouraged. “What will happen if I get attacked by a Water-type like that Shellos in Drenched Bluff? Will you retaliate or run away like a moron?”

Now that is something I need battling skills for. “I will retaliate,” he stated in a steely tone.

“What will you do if a stronger Pokemon attacks us? Be it feral, dungeoneer or Renegade?”

“Fight back in self-defense?”

“Exactly. And you need the power and skill to win. If you neglect your training, you’ll be reduced to a bloody paste. So will the Pokemon you intend to save.”

“Does that mean battling is a necessary evil?”

“If you say so.”

“Rhyzo, I understand now.” Surge gave a nod of approval. “I will train in self-defense.”

“That’s my Surge!” Rhyzo applauded, giving him a fist bump. “I knew you’d get out of your funk.”

Surge cleared his throat. “Now, please listen to me. Just as you wanted to get a point across, I would like to discuss another.”

“What’s your point?” Rhyzo relaxed in his rock seat.

“Why do you attack every feral on sight?”

“To build strength.” The response was immediate.

Surge replayed Rhyzo’s battles in his head. “You have always defeated most ferals with a single natural attack. Does this mean they are weak?”

“Yeah.”

“If you desire to build strength,” Surge’s voice grew a little firmer, “why do you attack weak ferals? Aren’t you looking for formidable opponents?”

“There were only wusses in Drenched Bluff.”

“You’re taking the safe route. Easy battles do not yield much strength or experience.”

“But many easy battles can.”

“Think about it, Rhyzo. You asked me to take on a horde of some… tentacle-slinging Pokemon in a corridor… What is that Pokemon’s name?”

“Which battle are you talking about?”

“The one with the friendly fire incident.” Pangs of pain simmered in Surge’s heart. “When I injured my snout.”

“I regret that incident, but it was your fault.” He glared at Surge. “Running at those Lileep like an idiot high on X-Eye Seeds.”

“They would have been provoked by an Aura Sphere regardless. Taking a diversion would have been the best option. This is what battle hunger does to us. It pulls us into manufactured danger.”

“Those tentacles would not-” ranted an irritated Rhyzo.

“Imagine this scenario.” Surge raised his paws. “If you attack a baby feral, its parents will be out for your blood. The same will happen if you attack a member of a horde. This could be the reason for their aggression.”

“That presents an opportunity for a good battle!”

“Would you risk injuries, energy expenditure and super-effective blows just for a defenseless feral?” Surge glared back. “It’s a poor mindset for exploration.”

Rhyzo was resigned to silence. Guess what, he knocked some sense into me. I was thrilled to fight everybody in that dungeon. From the looks of it, I’d get my ass roasted if I’m not careful.

“Huh, you’ve flattered me, Surge,” he finally admitted with a shrug. “Beating every feral in sight won’t work if I piss off their loved ones.”

“Finally realized ferals have families?” Surge gave a sly smile.

“They’re living beings, too.” Rhyzo loosened up. “I’ll fight only the stronger ferals from now. Deal?”

“Deal.” Surge shared another fist bump with him.

“Alright, I’ll outline tomorrow’s plan. Wake up, learn about the ferals of Drenched Bluff, train until evening, set off to Drenched Bluff and return with whatever’s inside the fountain. Get it?”

“Yes.” He gave a resounding nod.

Rhyzo stood up and said with a grin. “Goodnight, Surge.”

“Goodnight, Rhyzo.” Surge met his gaze. “I hope tomorrow will be a good day.”

The two walked to opposite corners of the cave, distancing them from the hazard of the bonfire. Rhyzo plopped to the ground and rested his head on the mound where he store the gold ore. He immediately shut his eyes and fell into a slumber to recharge his fighting instinct.

Surge sat on the ground. Feeling discomfort from the hard surface, he tried to lie on his side, only for his chest spike to scrape against the floor. Argh, why do Lucario have a cumbersome organ like this? he lambasted. Wouldn’t it interfere with sleep? Ah, the priorities of Pokemon…

He elevated his chest above the floor and slipped his palms under his head to act as a makeshift pillow. A sudden poke from one of his paw spikes made him jolt in shock, relieved that he hadn’t accidentally impaled himself. Surge kept his paws away from his head and closed his eyes.

Rhyzo’s bright Aura lay right in the middle of what was supposed to be a retreat into slumber. Surge gave an incredulous look beneath his eyelids. How do I fall asleep when I have permanent vision? Is there any way to turn it off?

He rested himself on his back, with only the Aura-less ceiling in front of his eyes. At last, he found a refuge in true darkness. He closed his eyes again. As he drifted into sleep, he mulled over the events of the day.

I’ve had a long day. A long,  long  day. From the moment I opened my eyes at the beach, I was introduced to a world that both amazes and appalls me in equal measure. From a stunning seaside suburb to this impoverished slum, I have witnessed both extremes of Pokemon society.

The circumstances surrounding me are mind-boggling. I’m a member of a hero species, rescued from a crime syndicate? And my job involves fighting hordes of ferals in dungeons? Like a newborn, I’ve been thrust into this world, devoid of any knowledge, my paw tightly held as I navigate the complexities. My mentor, however, is more abrasive and stubborn than I initially believed. Hope he mellows out with time.

I can only imagine what challenges and beauties await as I ease into my life as an amnesiac. Will I finally find someone to save in a dungeon, or will there be an eldritch creature lurking in the depths? Perhaps I might come across figures from my forgotten life, the very keys to unlocking the depths of my memories.

Perhaps…