The Strength of the Soul
Summary: Five years after he becomes a Pokemon Master, Ash finds himself drowning in a sea of corruption, his dreams achieved but painfully realized. Can he survive on his own against such a powerful and shadowy adversary? Is he really as alone as he thinks?
A/N: Wow. I cannot even begin to put into words how shocked I was at the response the prologue got. I sat at my computer for about half and hour before posting it, carefully debating whether or not to submit it for fear of alienating my 'fan base'. I'm still very nervous that I'll end up drifting over into the realm of melodrama, but until that happens I'm going to try my damnedest to hold myself up to the expectations my lovely readers have set for me. I hope I won't disappoint you. ^_^
I'm also quite pleased at the confusion I've generated by the ambiguity of the last sentence of the prologue; everything should make much more sense by the end of the chapter. Or the middle, depending on how well you can make inferences.
WARNING: People, the 'R' rating really comes into play this chapter. There is one scene in particular that is very, very dark and disturbing and was emotionally shattering for me to write; you'll know it when you come to it. Suffice it to say that this chapter, as well as the rest of the fic from this point on, is not for the kids in the audience. Consider this fair warning.
Disclaimer: see prologue
Thanks Again to: Rae8, Erina-chan, Metal Mewtwo, Cyberwraith9, odd sponge out, KazOhki, x Angel of the Night x, Kayla, and Gryphon Turboclaw
Fic in its entirety dedicated to: Karen (cultnirvana), for deceiving me into thinking I'd be half-decent at drama. ^_^ Any good in this fic is thanks to her for inspiring me and boosting my confidence enough to continue it.
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The harsh glare from the streetlight set the small room awash in neon light. Ash tossed and turned violently in the short bed, desperately seeking some small bit of comfort upon the hard, lumpy mattress. His eyes were shut tightly against the bright light flooding his bedroom, its severity nearly painful.
The day had ended routinely enough; after returning from lunch, he settled in from a quick interview with one of the local news nets, carefully maintaining his cheerful façade throughout. It sickened him to be forced to betray his true nature in such a manner, to pretend to be happy and satisfied with life when in reality he spent every waking moment wondering what horrible act he had committed in his past to deserve such a cruel and unusual punishment.
Ash clamped the pillow over his head, vainly trying to stop the morbid thoughts crossing his mind for at least a few hours, but it was to no avail. His mind continued to flash back to all the moments in his life that had resulted in the hell he lived in now--his inauguration as a Pokemon Master, Misty's murder, Brock's disappearance, the League's seizure of all his belongings and 'monetary assets', and his complete inability to fight back anymore. The latter was an acquired ability, one that he had gained after spending five years being unable to speak up on pain of death.
Ash sighed and flipped onto his back, staring at the cracks running along the ceiling and once again shielding his eyes against the bright light assaulting his eyes. That oppression was what he could not forgive; it was what caused his thorough self-loathing. He had sacrificed his innocence and virtue in exchange for safety from the League's wrath. Countless people were murdered or just 'disappeared' the second they crossed the organization, and Ash sat idly by and watched it happen. Once upon a time he would have cried out in indignation and fought valiantly against the corruption. But how could he decry them now that he had become as vile as they for failing to stop them?
The light was too harsh, Ash noted, turning his head away and seeking comfort in the darkness once again.
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"We expect the job to be carried out thoroughly and completely--and in the next three days. You know what the price of failure is."
The young woman grasped the cracked coffee mug with shaky hands, their cuticles ragged and nails bitten down to the quick. She had been held under the League's thumb for the past five years and been forced to carry out deeds unimaginable, but to be assigned to kill Ash…
The hot beverage had begun to scald her chapped lips, but she was so lost in thought that she remained oblivious. Fighting back a desperate sob, she turned her dim eyes to the .44 Magnum lying upon the kitchen table, a dangerous glint upon its sleek metal frame.
How she hated that weapon. They couldn't have given her something that made a clean hit; that would be too 'boring'. No, they had to issue her a Magnum, whose impact was tantamount to being shot by a cannon at close range. It was all about the drama, they had said. A clean bullet wound led to confusion by those present at the time of the hit; with a Magnum, the near-explosion tearing through the victim would be difficult to mistake. It never failed to make her violently ill.
In just a few short days, she'd once again be arming herself with that same gun that she had carried with her to countless assassinations, her breath caught and beads of sweat collecting upon her forehead as she prayed to whatever deity might be listening to forgive her. It would be infinitely worse this time; to finally see Ash, with his boyish charm and ruggedly handsome looks, his eyes bright and honest, and to watch him fall at her hand…
Tears began to pool in her aquamarine eyes for what seemed like the millionth time in the past five years. She had lost everything--her family, her friends, every semblance of life she had once had. The only thing that held her sanity was the fact that Ash was safe, even if it meant endless suffering for her. The League, unfortunately, knew of that weakness all too well and exploited it ruthlessly.
She had no escape from this life; if she fled, they would kill Ash. If she committed suicide, they would kill him. If she did anything other than what they explicitly commanded or refused to follow orders in any way, shape, or form…she couldn't bear to have the one thing left in her life be struck down because of her.
But now she had no choice. The day that she had dreaded since they first placed that deadly weapon in her hand had finally arrived; she had known that it was inevitable, that they would eventually grow tired of Ash's virtuous nature and have him killed. She was naïve enough to believe that they would enlist someone else. But why should they, when the most pain they could possibly inflict upon him would be his murder at her hands?
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"*cough* Yeah, like I said, *cough*, there's no way I can make it into work today. *cough**cough*"
Ash continued his melodramatic coughing for a few minutes, trying his best to convince the employee on the other line of the severity of his 'head cold'. Another sleepless night combined with the rapidly intensifying feeling of being overwhelmed by corruption had left him completely burnt-out, so he decided to feign illness and spend the day in Pallet Town with his mother.
"Well, you've racked up quite a few sick days, Mr. Ketchum," the employee said somewhat suspiciously. Ash could have sworn he knew that voice but brushed aside the strange feeling. "But, what the hell. You're a Master; I guess you've earned some free time. I'm taking off in about ten minutes myself. Hope you feel better," he said amiably, then hung up.
Ash let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding, carefully placing the phone back in its cradle. "Maybe a day in the country'll do me some good," he said to himself, stopping only to grab his keys off the hook as he headed out of the small apartment.
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The man leaned back in his chair, casting a smirk at the phone beside him. He silently reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small notebook.
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"Oh, my little boy has come back to me!"
Ash rolled his eyes a little as his mother began to squeeze the life out of him with one of her death-grip hugs, joyous tears freely flowing. It had been nearly seven months since he'd had the time to see his mother, even though she remained the only source of solace in his corrupted life. "I've missed you so much, Mom," he said earnestly, returning the hug with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
"How have you been? Are you eating right? Remembering to change your you-know-what's every day? Brushing your teeth twice a day? My goodness, look how thin you are! I'll make you some lunch right away!"
Ash laughed as his mother immediately rushed into the kitchen to whip up some food for him. It had been so long since he'd seen her, and he'd almost forgotten how her overeager mothering never failed to cheer him up. "Still the same mom," he said to himself, relaxing into the sofa a little.
The house hadn't changed since he was a kid, he noted. It was still completely immaculate, with lacy drapes, carefully positioned knick-knacks, and countless photographs of times past. There were pictures of Ash as a toddler, his mother and Professor Oak on one of their countless vacations…
…and a picture of him and Misty.
Ash felt another wave of grief wash over him at the decade-old picture, showing the two of them smiling broadly and flashing the 'V' sign at the camera. They had been so young and carefree then; they had no idea of the horrors that faced them just a few years down the road.
Damn it! he swore mentally, tearing his eyes away from the photo. Can a single day go by where I'm not forced to remember everything that I've lost?
"Honey, I didn't remember if you liked crunchy or creamy peanut butter, so I'm making two sandwiches just in case!"
"That's fine, Mom," Ash called back to her, his voice distant as he tried desperately not to remember…
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The rain fell lightly upon the somber group clad in black, their heads bowed silently at the graveside. It wasn't really even raining, but technically misting-a fact which made the event somehow even more bitterly ironic.
Ash felt completely devoid of any emotion as he listened to the minister carry on with his eulogy before the soft sniffling and sobs drifting from the solemn crowd. He couldn't believe that his Misty was really gone, that she could possibly have died just as they had begun to realize their feelings for each other. Fate was far too cruel a mistress.
They hadn't even found her body after she had been murdered; both she and her three sisters had simply vanished. That was the only solace that Ash had as he watched the empty coffin slowly lower into the ground. The police had said quite definitively that there was no way that Misty could have survived both the shooting and the explosion that soon after leveled the Cerulean City Gym, and they soon declared her legally dead.
But the hope that she could still be alive, remote as the possibility was, kept the fire that burned in Ash's heart alive. With that he could be strong enough to face the Championships at Indigo Plateau and attempt to become an official Pokemon Master at long last. The title would mean nothing to him without Misty by his side, but he could at least try to procure it in her honor.
In the meantime, Ash vowed never to lose faith, to always hold the belief that she was alive somewhere and waiting for him to return to her. I promise you, Misty, if you're out there somewhere, I'll find you, and I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again for as long as I live.
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I can't…I can't…I…can't kill him…
She stood at the sink, her head bowed and her uncontrollably shaking hands hanging uselessly at her sides. "I can't kill the man I love," she said in a choked whisper, barely even recognizing the pained voice as her own.
"Sure you can."
The startled young woman immediately reached for her weapon at the voice, holding it in a defensive position as she whirled to face him. Upon seeing his face, she slowly lowered it, a suspicious glare in her eyes. "What do you want, you bastard?"
The man smirked, pulling off his jacket and tossing it carelessly aside. "Just wanted to check up on you," he said with a shrug. "You've only got two and a half days now, you know."
"Stop it!" she cried angrily, slamming the gun down upon the rickety kitchen table. "You think I don't know that? You think that I'm not counting down the seconds until I have to gun down the last thing in this goddamn miserable existence that I have left?!"
His countenance remained unchanged. "Must be hard," he said in a mock-sympathetic tone. "Though I'll never understand what you see in that little punk."
"I assumed you'd be able to see," she said, matching his wicked tone, "just how special he is, seeing as how you're always spying on him."
"Orders," he replied with a shrug. "The League wants constant updates on our little subversive Master. What would happen if he managed to escape just as our fiery little assassin-" He gripped her chin and tilted her head so that her eyes met his. "-were about to take him down?" The man smiled wickedly at the slightly panicky look in her eyes. "Of course, not that you're not exceptionally good at another interpretation of the phrase…"
"Stop," she pleaded, mentally cursing the weakness and desperation laced through that single word. He thrived on that weakness, that vulnerability; she knew that all too well by this point.
He seemed to ponder her words for a brief moment, then pulled her forward for a harsh, bruising kiss. He felt no pleasure from it, no passion…just a sick, twisted desire filled by seeing her so helpless against him. There was nothing she could do now, just as she'd been unable to stop him the last five times he'd done this. She was completely--
The man let out a sharp scream as he felt a deep pain radiating from his right arm. He quickly pulled away from the hellish embrace to see one of her small, delicate hands wrapped around the steak knife now protruding from his forearm. Her blue eyes were wild with fury, her hair disheveled and her lips bruised and bleeding from the intensity of his forced kiss. "You have taken everything from me," she said in a low, dangerous voice, ignoring the hot blood running down her fingers. "I won't let you take that anymore."
In spite of the throbbing pain shooting up his arm, an amused smile came to his lips. With one swift jerk the knife was extracted from the flesh of his arm and had slashed her across the face. "Well, well, well," he said with a laugh. "Looks like this kitten is really still a tiger after all. I thought we'd beaten that fight out of you long ago, bitch."
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Ash chewed thoughtfully upon the first of seventeen sandwiches his mother had made him, each with a slightly different brand of jelly or sliced at a different angle. "Thanks, Mom," he said with his mouth full, downing a glass of lemonade to wash the peanut butter from his mouth. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Probably starve," she said pointedly, pinching at his arm. "Look at this; you're all skin and bones! You have to start coming to visit more so I can make you some nice home-cooked meals!"
Ash simply shook his head and smiled as he took another bite.
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The young woman fought viciously, desperate tears streaming down her face as she fought against those merciless hands tearing at her clothes. "Please, God…" she whispered.
"God can't hear you," he said viciously, once again capturing her mouth with his.
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"Do you want to watch a movie later?" Ash asked, skimming through the copy of TV Guide on the coffee table. "My Fair Lady's on channel four."
"That sounds nice, dear. Have you had enough to eat?"
"I'm absolutely stuffed, Mom. You've really outdone yourself."
Ash's mother smiled warmly at him and pulled her young son into a hug. "I'm so proud of you, honey."
And for a moment, Ash could almost pretend that everything he'd done was right.
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The blood still seeped from the deep stab wound in his arm, snaking its way down the perspiration-dampened flesh. He remained oblivious to the pain as he focused on the agony and humiliation tainting the features of the woman beneath him. "And you think," he said with a cold smile, dragging his tongue along her neck, "that bastard would still want you if he knew what you've become? That he'd still love you?"
Tears continued to fall from unblinking turquoise eyes.
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"Sweet dreams, my little boy," Ash's mom said softly as she tucked Ash into bed, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead.
"Mom, I'm not a little kid," Ash protested as she pulled the covers up to his chin. "I don't need to be tucked in."
"I don't want to hear any arguments, young man," she said sternly, flicking the light off and smiling at him. "Goodnight."
Ash kept that stubborn scowl in place for a moment, only to feel the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. In reality, it felt wonderful to be treated as a child, to once again feel that comforting security that only a mother could offer. A contented smile played across his lips as he rolled over and quickly fell asleep.
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He tugged his jacket back on without bearing a passing glance at the small, silent figure curled into the fetal position on the cold hardwood floor. He withdrew a small notebook from his pocket, making note of a few things before pulling out a few coins and tossing them at the young woman. "Might as well give you a little something for your troubles," he said emotionlessly. And then he was gone.
And the tears kept falling.
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Ash awoke in a cold sweat, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. He couldn't quite figure out why he'd awoken with such a start; he hadn't been dreaming or experiencing a nightmare. Maybe I'm just not used to spending a night away from that damned apartment, as much as I hate it. Running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, he pushed the covers aside and quickly dressed. Stopping only to whisper a short goodbye to his mother, he started back towards his convertible and soon was speeding back to his apartment in Viridian City.
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She scrubbed vigorously at her pale skin, trying desperately to remove the feel of his body against hers. She had been foolish enough to believe that it would be less painful, both physically and emotionally, over time; but no, he only took delight in her pain, her humiliation. He could achieve pleasure from nothing else.
She finally exited the shower and wrapped a towel around her slim frame, resting her back against the wall and slowly sliding down to the floor. It didn't matter how much they did to her or how much they took from her; in the end, they could always hurt her more. And in less than seventy-two hours, they would finally succeed in taking her last source of emotional refuge from her.
Suddenly, something deep within her seemed to snap. Paying no heed to the cries from her broken body, the fair skin marred by dark bruises and slash marks, she made her way to the bedroom and threw on the first clothes she saw. She stopped only to grab her gun before starting towards the garage, a look of pure determination and unadulterated hatred blazing in her eyes.
She was going to stop them if it was the last thing she did.
And she knew that it very well may be.
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Ash sighed and jingled his keys as he started up the six flights of stairs leading to his League-issue apartment. Since they'd seized all his material possessions, he'd been forced to live in whatever quarters they assigned him, even if the only option was the dingy apartment in which he now lived. It wasn't really so bad, though; it provided him with a dark, quiet space in which to think.
The day he had spent with his mother had been well-spent; for the first time in a long while, Ash felt rejuvenated, full of life and energy. He was in such high spirits that he didn't even notice the black-clad figure until he had slammed into him.
"S-sorry," he stammered quickly to the man, whose stern countenance and solid frame gave him the appearance of a brick wall. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
The man's features remained unchanged. "Ashton Ketchum?" he asked in a monotone, his eyes hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
"Yes?"
He produced an Uzi from a holster hidden at his hip by his long, black trenchcoat. "I've come to kill you."
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"Are you sure that this was a wise decision?"
The man smirked at the shadowy hooded figures once again before him, their expressions somber. "We can't trust that bitch," he said simply, crossing his arms against his chest. "She's too unreliable."
"And what exactly has granted you the authority to make such a decision?" one of the figures asked curtly, its anger evident.
"Trust me," the man replied. "I've taken care of everything."
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Ash ducked behind the stairwell just as the man set off his first round of ammunition, the bullets ricocheting off the stairs' steel frame. He didn't even dare to hazard a glance as the Uzi continued to spit out its high-speed projectiles at a deadly rate, the bullets whizzing by his head. Who would want me dead? his mind asked in a panic.
No time to think about that now! Ash quickly launched himself down the stairwell, dodging shots with each step. He faintly heard the man curse as he stopped to reload, then once again came after his target, shooting between breaths.
"You can't escape, Ketchum!" Ash heard his pursuer yell angrily. He held his breath as he ducked into the apartment building's lobby, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. Dammit, there's nowhere left to run! And to top it all off, there's no cover! What should I do?
Ash didn't have a chance to answer his own unspoken question as he heard a click behind him. He slowly turned his head to see the gun pointed squarely at his chest. Stealing a glance to the left and the right, he realized that he was trapped--and staring at the business end of an Uzi. "Why are you doing this?" he asked in disbelief, beads of sweat rolling down his face as he stared into the face of death.
"You're a subversive," the man replied simply, never taking his eyes off Ash. "The League finds you troublesome. As such, they have ordered you to be destroyed." His finger tightened on the trigger.
Ash felt his throat tighten as he realized that death was mere seconds away, but despite his paralyzing fear his mind had begun to race. He was a subversive? The League thought he was dangerous? What had he done?
But suddenly, it didn't matter. Death didn't matter. For five years, he had lamented his miserable existence, wondering why he had been cursed with such pain. If this was the only way to end his suffering, then so be it. He closed his eyes.
A shot rang out.
Ash fell to his knees, expecting the pain of the bullet wound to begin to flood his senses at any moment. And yet it did not come. He slowly opened his eyes, only to see the assassin lying face-down in a pool of blood, the Uzi lying uselessly in his outstretched hand. Wh-what? he thought incredulously. His thoughts froze as he observed the figure standing at the other end of the lobby, its arms extended and a gun gripped tightly in its hands. The figure slowly stepped forward, and he felt his heart stop as the stark neon light illuminated his savior's features.
"Misty…"
|To Be Continued...|
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I warned you, didn't I? *sigh* As a woman, that rape scene was very, very difficult to write, but it was kinda essential to the plot. Story before comfort, I suppose. I just hope that my loyal readers won't be utterly repulsed by it and come to despise me. I think that, as of this chapter, I've made a complete 360 from my original Humor/Romance designation.
I honestly don't think that I surprised a single member of the audience with the ending. Really, I don't. It would be nice if I had had someone fooled, but I'm being realistic here. The hints were so rampant; very, very observant individuals who have read the rest of my works will note that in Chapter Three of 'Temp. Ceasefire', I mentioned that I'd be writing a fic "where Ash and Misty reunite". Plus, the "cerulean-blue eyes" was a big-ass clue; cerulean, as in Cerulean City? Get it?
Thank you very much for reading; this story has really become my baby, and I'm very anxious to see what everyone thinks of this chapter, as it was very emotionally taxing to write.
Comments and criticism welcome.