Special Episode 2: From Frontlines to Headlines

It’s a windy day in Correl Park. Beams of sunlight shine through the trees and onto my fur as I walk the lakeside loop, granting me brief waves of respite from the biting breeze. I open my bag and pull out my wrinkled canvas coat. I’m still not used to the cold.

“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Hey ma’am, would you like a copy of the Cressinger Times? Only one poké.” A young oshawott skips over to me and flashes a toothy smile as I struggle to button my coat.

“Oh yes, absolutely! One moment.” Reaching into my bag, I fish out a couple of silver coins and drop them into a tin can strung around the child’s neck. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, Miss Lycanroc! It’s a juicy one, promise!” The oshawott pulls out a rolled up newspaper from his unbuttoned backpack and hands it to me before skipping away. “Extra! Extra!”

A slight smile creeps onto my face, but promptly fades. Innocence is not a luxury this world can afford right now.

Taking a seat at a nearby bench, I gently place my camera (my precious Rangefinder IX-T16) beside me and unroll the newspaper. A journalist must always admire their own work…

Huh. Strange, must have missed it. I extend my claws and flip through the paper again, searching more deliberately.

Alomomart Recalls Tropical Berry Supply After L-Sovi Outbreak.

President Corvel Condemns Use of Berry Pesticides.

Cressinger Guild Impresses Investors for 5th Consecutive Quarter.

The Bartwo Barboaches Upset the Skygusty Spearows in 3-1 Fashion.

Update: Strange Pokemon Sighted at Skiddo Forest Following Natural Disaster.

Cici-Fey the Fabulous Furret Breaks Up With 13th Boyfriend After 2 Weeks.

Was this the wrong issue? No.

I can feel the heat behind my good eye as it glows red in frustration. Of course. The Times would always bend a knee to their biggest sponsor.

I used to hold the guild in high regard. Following the success of Celoville’s Core Guild, the Cressinger Guild was formed under the guise of a noble cause, with a mission to keep the community safe from natural disaster and criminals alike while setting a heroic example for the youth. I was a freshly evolved journeyman at the time, and I would jump at any opportunity to interview their members on whatever valiant tall tales they could brew up. I even snuck into guild affairs on multiple occasions to get an inside scoop, making acquaintances with many members through my first alias, Artena.

My fame as a journalist grew with the guild. Agencies were quick to catch wind of my sensational pieces and the job offers came flying in. Oh, how they’d beg me to join their third-rate agencies with nothing more to offer than a barely livable wage. No thanks, I’d rather work alone.

Or that’s what I thought, until one day I received an inconspicuous letter, sender redacted. It was from Palomere, the nation neighboring Reystone to the west known for its fertile river cities, blistering deserts, and incredible food. My eyes widened as I peered at the contents.

“Remember Becha, if something’s too good to be true, it’s false. Lotta slimy folk out there. Gotta pick your cards wisely and modestly.” Oh, shut up Pops. Some folk won’t make this much in their lifetime. Plus, they enclosed five racks in cash up front just for considering the offer. Without second thought, I packed up my bags and hit the road to Palomere.

I had been somewhat aware of a situation unfolding in the sandy nation from scattered bits of news and hearsay. There was a civil war that had been brewing for the past year or two as a resistance group had mobilized against the monarchy. From what I’d read, the Resistance was a ragtag group of savages on their last legs looking to usurp the throne from the magnanimous King Vanaduke. I still didn’t know who my mysterious client was, but it had to be a connection with royalty. Maybe a noble looking to boost their public image at the very least.

The coordinates on the letter led me to the southern border of Palomere. I don’t know why I assumed I would be greeted with cake, confetti, and maybe even a welcome party. Ego really played into my delusions. I was instead met with a rusty knife to my throat. I had entered Resistance territory.

The Resistance had to take such precautions; their only advantage in the war is their secrecy. Resistance engineers had designed an intricate series of cave networks underneath the military base of Arkenarr connecting to every refuge scattered across the southern bend, through which I was taken to meet the Flames.

The Flames represent the inner circle of Resistance leaders. They are an elusive bunch, rarely revealing their identities to anyone, let alone those outside the Resistance. The soldiers who apprehended me made sure I knew that.

They gave me my assignment. Propaganda is a potent weapon for those who can wield it. The Kingdom had crafted numerous narratives about the war and spread them across the continent. The Flames needed a warrior on the media front, and they didn’t have many options. Naturally, I accepted the offer. Desperate mon and their wealth are easily parted.

Transitioning from a glorified tabloid writer to a war correspondent is about as turbulent as it sounds, but my true challenge was becoming aware of what matters. I was knocked off my mighty mudsdale and trampled by it as I witnessed brutal horrors obscured from the outside world. Pokemon fall like shedinja in a windstorm in front of my camera, their final moments staying with me forever. They replay in my mind every night.

The Kingdom is not righteous. They are criminals on an unimaginable scale. They breach the tenets of civilized pokemon and violate the sanctity of life on the daily. It was sometime during the Siege of Amber Bridge, my second battle, that I realized I had the most important job in the continent. I had to expose the putrescence of the system that goes to such gruesome extents to maintain a status quo soaked in the blood and tears of the common folk. They pit brother against brother while they sit on their velvet thrones and wear their silly gilded crowns. They say the Resistance are the instigators, but the Resistance is simply a product of their own sin. The war started long before the Resistance even took form, when King Vanaduke took the throne and waged it against his own citizens.

The Resistance is not without fault, but they are a means to an end. They are a necessary stick in the mud for the bloodthirsty machine. Diplomacy is dead; the Kingdom killed it. And a cornered animal can only fight back.

War cannot be sensationalized through common means. Once it becomes analogous to a spectator sport, it is drained of all humanity. It must be put under deep scrutiny, and the suffering of each and every victim must be broadcast. The public will not know it as a numbers game, but as a blight upon Araegis.

Times are as dire as ever for Palomere. The Cressinger Guild has partnered with the Kingdom in recent years, funding and researching an unknown weapon. The Flames fear the worst. I return to my home nation not only to report, but to investigate. No truth ever hides from me.

A dense cloud drifts in front of the sun, casting an eerie shadow on the lavender field in front of me and snapping me back into the present. I struggle to contain a sneeze as a chilly gust of air delivers a cloud of pollen directly toward my snout. I never thought I’d miss the deserts of Palomere, but at least I wasn’t allergic to sand.

After vigorously shaking my head to ease my allergic reflexes and adjusting my eyepatch, I flip through the paper once more. Something had caught my eye earlier. There wasn’t usually a wanted category on the news. And since these didn’t go straight to the guild, they were probably from the guild.

My claw lands on the high definition images of a krokorok, a raichu, and a hydreigon.

“Hah!” I know these guys from my days as Artena. And if the guild is looking for them, I’ll just have to find them first.